Despite its unhappy ending, the story of Jose Rizal and Josephine Bracken is

one of the best known in Philippine history. It remains so simply because their marriage
has been the subject of debate simmering for the past 120 years. Whether or not Rizal
married his live-in partner shortly before his execution in Bagumbayan is a question
inseparable from the issue of his retraction from religious error.

Most Sentimental Relic

While historians argue, many visitors will flock to the National Museum to gaze at
what is perhaps the most personal, the most sentimental of Rizal relics—a 19th-century
Spanish edition of the devotional classic “The Imitation of Christ” by Thomas à Kempis.
We do not know if the national hero read the book or not, whether he drew spiritual
comfort from it during his last hours in his Fort Santiago prison cell. But what makes this
ordinary book extraordinary is an inscription on the flyleaf that reads: “To my dear and
unhappy wife Josephine. December 30th 1896. Jose Rizal.”

This small leather bound book measures 14.5 by 8.5 centimeters, and carries the
kilometric Spanish title: De la Imitacion de Cristo y Menosprecio del Mundo por el V.
Tomas de Kempis. Traduccion del Latin por P. Juan Eusebio Nieremberg de la
Compania de Jesus enriquecida con varias e interesantes adiciones por el Ilmo Sr. Dr.
D Antonio Estallela Obispo de Teruel. Con licenica del ordinario Cuarta edicion
Barcelona Imp. Y Libreria de Subirana Hermanos Calle de la Puertaferrisa, Num 13.
1895 [On the imitation of Christ and contempt for the world by Thomas à Kempis.
Translated from the original Latin by Fr. Juan Eusebio Nieremberg of the Society of
Jesus and enriched by various and interesting additions by the Illustrious Antonio
Estallela, Bishop of Teruel … Fourth edition Barcelona Libreria Subirana Brothers …
1895].

Coded Message?

Aside from the inscription, there are faint markings on the table of contents at the
end of the book, crosses and underlined text that await further research to determine if
these are by Rizal or not, if these markings are yet another coded message or
not.Sometime in the mid-1980s, the book was offered to the government for purchase
through the late Serafin D. Quiason, then chair and executive director of the National
Historical Institute (NHI) by the heirs of a certain Silvino Dayco who acquired it from the
husband of Bracken’s adopted daughter, Dolores Abad de Mina, sometime before
World War II.
 Emilio Aguilar Cruz, senior member of the NHI board, confirmed its authenticity
after a thorough examination, since it was supported by a letter from National Library
Director Teodoro M. Kalaw thanking Dayco for lending the book for an exhibition in the
Library before the war. Unfortunately, government funds were not available to purchase
the book at the time so it went missing for almost three decades until it resurfaced a few
weeks ago when its present owner, Patrick Eugenio, donated it to the National Museum,
on condition that it is permanently displayed for the enjoyment and education of the
public.

Aside from the Kempis in the National Museum, the other physical clue to the
Rizal-Bracken marriage is a handwritten autobiography preserved in the Lopez Museum
where Bracken concludes with a declaration that “Before his execution, he married me
at 5 o’clock in the morning.”

In this document, whose authenticity has been questioned, she signed herself
“Josephine Bracken de Rizal, a widow.” To dispute these, letters by Rizal have been
presented to prove he never referred to her as his wife but rather as Josephine, Miss
Josephine, Miss J or Miss B.

“Dolce Estrangera”

In the manuscript of Rizal’s valedictory poem, “Ultimo Adios,” kept in the vault of
the National Library, Josephine is immortalized in the second to the last line, which
reads: “Adios dulce extrangera, mi amiga, mi alegria (Farewell sweet foreigner, my
darling, my delight).”

But the poem was written out, in its final form, and hidden in a small metal cooking
stove on Dec. 29, 1896, and the marriage occurred in the early morning of Dec. 30.

While historians argue, Rizal left us with no doubt regarding his affection for Bracken.

In a letter dated March 14, 1895, Rizal introduced Bracken to his mother in Manila as
follows:

“Bearer is Miss Josephine Leopoldine Taufer, with whom I was on the point of
marrying, relying, of course, on your consent. Our relationship was broken as proposed
by her, because there were many difficulties on the way. She is almost entirely an
orphan. She has no relatives except very distant ones.

“As I am interested in her and it is very easy for her to decide later whether to
marry me, and as she is liable to be left entirely alone and abandoned, I am asking you
to extend her hospitality there, treating her as a daughter until she has a better
opportunity or occasion to come back … Please treat Miss Josephine as a person
whom I esteem and much appreciate, and whom I would not like to see exposed and
abandoned.”
 In one of the last letters to his family, Rizal left specific instructions on where and
how he wanted to be buried. closed this letter with an appeal: “Tened compassion a la
pobre Josefina [Have pity on poor Josephine].”Two hours before he calmly walked to
Bagumbayan for his appointment with destiny, Rizal left a small souvenir, a book
dedicated to his “dear and unhappy wife Josephine.”

MY REFLECTION

The love story of these two famous couple was known in our Philippine history.
Just like any other couples, they’ve been through a lot of struggles to make their
relationship work. Josephine was not the woman of remarkable beauty but her charm
attracted Rizal. She also falls for him. Living with Rizal, Josephine learned how to sew,
cook food and do other tasks to help him and do other tasks to help him in their
household chores. Both of them learned new things with each other.

However, sometimes relationship no matter how happy the both of you living
together, it doesn’t work. Real happy endings in every love story may only happen in
fairytales. If happened in reality, then you must be very lucky. If there is love, then there
is pain. If it is not enduring pain, then it is not love. The pain love brings will not make an
individual a bitter person but instead a better one.

Based on the story, Rizal was able to write a book dedicated to his unhappy wife
Josephine telling all the experiences they have been encountered.
 RIZAL AT CHRISTMAS
Over Christmas carols, smoked tangingue and Schublig at the Manila Peninsula
lobby last week, I wondered what Christmas was like for Rizal in Dapitan. He may have
been in exile, destierro in Spanish, but he was not totally cut off from his family, who
corresponded in writing via snail mail. Rizal’s letters were read by his jailers to check for
subversive content before they were posted, so in some of the letters he would write in
multiple languages, knowing that the officials could only read in Spanish or Tagalog. So
in one amusing letter he wrote a paragraph or two in Spanish, and then shifted to
German, French, English and even Italian to confound the poor reader who probably
needed to ask Rizal himself for a translation.

His last happy Christmas was in Dapitan in 1895, when he was waiting for the
reply to his application to leave his place of exile to serve as a Spanish doctor in Cuba.
His last Christmas in 1896 was far from merry, since he was being tried by a military
court for treason and the penalty was death. But in early December 1895, he wrote to
his mother asking her to buy him a bicycle in case his trip to Cuba was denied:

“If you hear nothing about my departure, I should like you to buy me a second-
hand bicycle, neither very bad nor very good and which would not cost more than 100
pesos. Pepe Leyba could do me the favor of buying one to use in my trips to the town;
neither very good nor very bad. In the next mail, I’ll send you the money together with
another 100 pesos for Father and you. “You’ll receive from Capiz 50 pesos and another
10 pesos from Zamboanga, being fees paid by several patients of mine. I have money
here but I have no means of sending it to you.”

Aside from the Christmas money he sent to his parents, Rizal remitted money for
other bills and obligations, and even asked them to advance funds. Online banking and
Pera Padala would have made things easier for the hero in exile. Grab Delivery or LBC
would have facilitated the sending of the ham, wine, butter and other Christmas goodies
his family sent from Manila to Zamboanga del Norte. Rizal sent through regular steamer
a box containing the following:

“One American balance [a gift for] Paciano; one sack of cacao for you there; two
bottles of lard, one for you and the other for Sra. Sisa (without fail); two bottles of pickles
for you (one for Sra. Sisa, without fail); One roll of sinamay for Trining.” Rizal repeated
that a bottle of lard and pickles should reach his sister Narcisa, and the rest could be
given away as the family pleased. Then he wrote: “The material for pantaloons which
you sent me sold very well at one peseta a yard; so that if you can send other textile like
that or better ones, with their prices, we can do a little business here. I’m not sending
you honey now because the demijohn is not yet full.
 If you would like to buy a lot, tell me the size you need and I’ll look for one. If I
don’t leave this place, I’m thinking of buying a coconut plantation of more than 4,000
trees for 1,500 pesos, all about four or 3 years old. I hope my brother could give me
money after the sale of sugar [harvest]. I believe it is good business. For the erysipelas
of Mr. Hino, I would recommend three grams of boric acid in 100 grams of water for
washing it. Through the next mail, as I have told you, I’ll send you a little money. I have
many patients but many are gratis.”

On the same steamer, Rizal sent a delightful letter to his nephew Mauricio Cruz.
Translated from the original Spanish, it reads: “To Moris in Manila. Study well because
those who don’t know receive knocks on the head. I wish for you a Merry Christmas and
a Happy New Year.” Then Rizal wanted to teach his nephew some English, and wrote
out: “Felices Pascuas en Ingles Merry Christmas (sic). Feliz Año Nuevo. Happy New
Year. Moris, you must be a good boy. Your uncle, J. Rizal.” Of course, Rizal’s letters to
his family may not be as important as the “Noli,” “Fili,” or “Ultimo Adios,” but they remind
those who forget that our hero was not made of bronze and marble, but of flesh and
blood—that it is in Rizal’s humanity that we recognize our own capacity for greatness.

MY REFLECTION

Jose Rizal indeed was a great man, loved by many people. He was so generous.
He assured that this Christmas was remembered by many. Before his departure he
sees it to it that everything will fall into place. Even that he was tried by military court to
put for treason and the penalty was dead, still kept everything in Dapitan as cheerful as
he can. He did not want anybody to feel lonely. Before his departure he has lots of plans
for the goodness of people. He loved his nephew so much and wished to teach him
some English.

Just like many people nowadays, we want our Christmas season to be as happy
as ever. It is where numerous families consider this as the highlight of the year when
everybody assembles around the Christmas tree and showered it with merry lighting
where young children’s eyes illuminate as they appreciate the blessings and you can
just disregard such ordinary stresses.

Christmas day is all about family. Some, we only see during the holidays so it’s
an extra special treat for many. Then there are the children’s faces. Christmas is
reminiscing, catching up, laughter and the warmth of family.
 THE DEATH OF JOSE RIZAL
"The observant will notice metal footprints on the pavement running from Fort
Santiago to the Luneta in seafront Manila. They resemble dancing patterns, but actually
trace the last steps of Jose Rizal as he walked from his prison cell to the site of his
execution on December 30, 1896. The Rizal Centennial Commission claims that the
footprints are based on Rizal’s actual shoe size. When people ask why the steps are so
small, the quick reply is: “If you are walking to your death, would you hurry?”

The slow walk to Bagumbayan field (as Rizal Park or the Luneta was once
called) began at 6:30 a.m. on a cool, clear morning. Rizal was dressed in a black coat
and trousers and a white shirt and waistcoat. He was tied elbow to elbow, but held up
his head in a chistera or bowler hat. A bugler signaled his passage, while the roll of
drums muffled in black cloth gave cadence to his gait.

From Fort Santiago he took a right turn, and walked along the Paseo Maria
Cristina (now Bonifacio Drive), which gave him a view lifting the darkness over Manila
Bay on the right, and a last glimpse of Intramuros, shadowed by the missing sun, on his
left. He walked between two Jesuits, Father Estanislao March and Father Jose
Villaclara. They too were in black – the trademark black hats, tunics, and heavy coats
that made the young Rizal and his Ateneo schoolmates refer to them aspaniki (bats, or
colloquially perhaps, batmen).

Behind Rizal walked the brother of his former bodyguard, Lieutenant Luis Taviel
de Andrade, who had vainly defended him in a farce masquerading as a trial.
The streets were lined with people who wanted to see the condemned man, since Rizal
was many things to different people: “leader of the revolution,” physician, novelist, poet,
sculptor, and heretic, subversive. Rizal was a person one could not be neutral about.
Like him or hate him, he was a celebrity.

Although he was walking to his death, eyewitnesses describe Rizal as serene – a

bit pale, not because of fear of his fate, but because he had not had any breakfast. All he
had been given were three hard-boiled eggs, which he took to a corner of his prison cell,
saying, “This is for the rats; let them have a fiesta, too.” Then he left his cell.

Rizal is said to have nodded left and right to acknowledge familiar faces in crowd.
From time to time he smiled, and is said to have made a few jokes, and laughed at
these himself because the Jesuits flanking him remained somber. Others noticed his
eyes dart quickly from left to right, and some believed that members of his family or the
Katipuneros would make a last-ditch effort to save him from death. Was Rizal waiting for
help that never came? And perhaps for an opportunity to spurn that help? Had he
expected to see his family by the roadside? We will never know more than the fact that
he was walking to his destiny.
 In the clear morning Rizal could probably see as far as Susong Dalaga, and
appreciate the silhouette of a naked woman on the mountain range across from Manila
Bay. “What a beautiful morning!” he said, “On mornings like this I used to take walks
here with my sweetheart.” Before reaching Bagumbayan, he glanced at Intramuros,
sighed, and seeing the spires of the church of San Ignacio, said: “Is that the Ateneo? I
spent many happy years there.” The Jesuits’ response is not recorded.

Someone had the foresight to take a photograph of the execution. The scene
looked like a box, lined, three or four people deep, on three sides. The empty fourth side
faced the bay, and the executioners’ line of fire. Eight Filipino soldiers armed with
Remington’s formed the firing squad. Behind them stood the drummers and another line
of Spanish soldiers with Mausers, ready to shoot the Filipinos if they refused to shoot, or
purposely missed their target.

When everyone was in place, there was a slight delay because Rizal refused the
customary blindfold, and asked to face the firing squad. The Spanish captain who had
guided Rizal to the site insisted that he be shot in the back as ordered, because he was
a traitor to Spain. Rizal declared that he had never been a traitor to the country of his
birth or to Spain. After some coaxing, Rizal finally turned his back, but again refused the
blindfold, and furthermore refused to kneel.

After all this haggling he made one last request: that the executioners spare his
head, and shoot him in the back towards the heart. When the captain agreed, Rizal
clasped the hand of Lieutenant Taviel de Andrade and thanked him once more for the
vain effort of defending him before the military court that sentenced him to death.

Meanwhile, a curious Spanish military doctor felt Rizal’s pulse, and was surprised
to find it regular and normal.

The Jesuits were the last to leave the condemned man. They raised the crucifix
to his face and lips, but he turned his head away and silently prepared to meet death.

The captain raised his saber in the air, ordered his men to get ready, and barked
the order: “Preparen!” This was followed by the order to aim the rifles: “Apunten!” In the
split second before the saber was brought down with the order to fir – “Fuego!” – Rizal
shouted the last two words of the crucified Christ: “Consummatum est!” (It is done).

The shots rang out, the bullets hit their mark, and Rizal executed that carefully
choreographed twist that he had practiced years before, which made him fall faced up
on the ground.

People held their breath as soldiers came up to the corpse and gave Rizal the
tiro de gracia, one last merciful shot in the head at close range to make sure he was
dead.
 A small dog, the military mascot, ran around the corpse whining, and the crowd
moved in for a closer look, but was kept at bay by the soldiers who stood in the first row
of spectators.

After a short silence, someone shouted: “Long live Spain! Death to the traitor!”
The crowd did not respond. An officer approached the person who had shouted, and
berated him. To fill in the gap, the military band played the Marcha de Cadiz.

It was 7:03 a.m. The show was over."

MY REFLECTION

Jose Rizal is indeed a great hero. Rizal was a smart person. He was a
good writer, poet and doctor. He might be handsome, sweet and gentleman. History
says he had a lot of girlfriends who loved him. He traveled to different places and every
place he went, he talked about different women, beautiful women. He wrote novels
about abusive priests and suffering of women and children. He wrote about friendships,
love, goodbyes, exiles and excommunication. He maybe from a rich family, since he
was able to study abroad and travel.

I think his greatest contribution were his books which until today, are used by
schools to learn good values and love of country. But his books are very thick, students
get bored and fall asleep in the class, which resulted to kids not learning the values
taught by Rizal and no love of country.

He was famous about the use of pen instead of arms in fighting for freedom.