I remember the time when I had not seen any other river than the one near my town. It was as clear as crystal, and joyous, too, as it ran on its course. But it was shaded by bamboos whose boughs bent to every breeze as if always complaining. That was my only world. It was bounded at the back by the blue mountains of my province. It was bounded in front by the white surface of the lake. The lake was as smooth as a mirror. Graceful sails were to be seen everywhere on it. [50]

At that age, stories pleased me greatly and, with all my soul, I believed whatever was in the books. There were good reasons why I should. My parents told me to be very careful of my books. They urged me to read and understand them. But they punished me for the least lie.

My first recollection of reciting my letters reaches back to my babyhood. I must have been very little then, for when they rubbed the floor of our house with banana leaves I almost fell down. I slipped on the polished surface as beginners in skating do on ice. It took great effort for me to climb into a chair. I went downstairs step by step. I clung to each round of the baluster.

In our house, as in all others in the town, kerosene oil was unknown. I had never seen a lamp in our town, nor a carriage on our streets. [51]Yet I thought Kalamba was a very gay and lively town. One night, all the family, except my mother and myself, went to bed early. Why, I do not know, but we two remained sitting alone. The candles had already been put out. They had been blown out in their globes by means of a curved tube of tin. That tube seemed to me the finest and most wonderful plaything in the world. The room was dimly lighted by a single light of coconut oil. In all Filipino homes such a light burns through the night. It goes out just at day-break to awaken people by its spluttering.

My mother was teaching me to read in a Spanish reader called “The Children’s Friend.” This was quite a rare book and an old copy. It had lost its cover and my sister had cleverly made a new one. She had fastened a sheet of [52]thick blue paper over the back and then covered it with a piece of cloth.

This night my mother became impatient with hearing me read so poorly. I did not understand Spanish and so I could not read with expression. She took the book from me. First she scolded me for drawing funny pictures on its pages. Then she told me to listen and she began to read. When her sight was good, she read very well. She could recite well, and she understood verse-making, too. Many times during Christmas vacations, my mother corrected my poetical compositions, and she always made valuable criticisms.

I listened to her, full of childish enthusiasm. I marveled at the nice-sounding phrases which she read from those same pages. The phrases she read so easily stopped me at every breath. [53]Perhaps I grew tired of listening to sounds that had no meaning for me. Perhaps I lacked self-control. Anyway, I paid little attention to the reading. I was watching the cheerful flame. About it, some little moths were circling in playful flights. By chance, too, I yawned. My mother soon noticed that I was not interested. She stopped reading. Then she said to me: “I am going to read you a very pretty story. Now pay attention.”

On hearing the word “story” I at once opened my eyes wide. The word “story” promised something new and wonderful. I watched my mother while she turned the leaves of the book, as if she were looking for something. Then I settled down to listen. I was full of curiosity and wonder. I had never even dreamed that there were stories in the old book which I read without understanding. [54]My mother began to read me the fable of the young moth and the old one. She translated it into Tagalog a little at a time.

My attention increased from the first sentence. I looked toward the light and fixed my gaze on the moths which were circling around it. The story could not have been better timed. My mother repeated the warning of the old moth. She dwelt upon it and directed it to me. I heard her, but it is a curious thing that the light seemed to me each time more beautiful, the flame more attractive. I really envied the fortune of the insects. They frolicked so joyously in its enchanting splendor that the ones which had fallen and been drowned in the oil did not cause me any dread.

My mother kept on reading and I listened breathlessly. The fate of the two insects interested [55]me greatly. The flame rolled its golden tongue to one side and a moth which this movement had singed fell into the oil, fluttered for a time and then became quiet. That became for me a great event. A curious change came over me which I have always noticed in myself whenever anything has stirred my feelings. The flame and the moth seemed to go farther away and my mother’s voice sounded strange and uncanny. I did not notice when she ended the fable. All my attention was fixed on the fate of the insect. I watched it with my whole soul. I gave to it my every thought. It had died a martyr to its illusions.

As she put me to bed, my mother said: “See that you do not behave like the young moth. Don’t become disobedient, or you may get burnt as it did.” I do not know whether [56]I answered or not. I don’t know whether I promised anything or whether I cried. But I do remember that it was a long time before I fell asleep. The story revealed to me things until then unknown. Moths no longer were, for me, insignificant insects. Moths talked; they knew how to warn. They advised, just like my mother. The light seemed to me more beautiful. It had grown more dazzling and more attractive. I knew why the moths circled the flame.

The advice and warnings sounded feebly in my ears. What I thought of most was the death of the heedless moth. But in the depth of my heart I did not blame it. My mother’s care had not had quite the result she intended.

Years have passed since then. The child has become a man. He has crossed the most famous rivers of other countries. He has [57]studied beside their broad streams. He has crossed seas and oceans. He has climbed mountains much higher than the Makiling of his native province, up to perpetual snow. He has received from experience bitter lessons, much more bitter than that sweet teaching which his mother gave him. Yet, in spite of all, the man still keeps the heart of a child. He still thinks that light is the most beautiful thing in creation, and that to sacrifice one’s life for it is worth while.

Rizal’s sacrifice of his life, on the Luneta, Manila, December 30th, 1896. He is now buried, in the imposing Rizal Mausoleum, near the scene of his execution.

[58]

Professor José Burgos. He was unjustly executed in 1872. Of him, Rizal wrote:

“He awakened my intellect and made me understand goodness and justice. His farewell words I shall always remember: ‘I have tried to pass on to you what I received from my teachers. Do you now do the same for those who come after you?’”

[59]

I spent many, many hours of my childhood down on the shore of the lake, Laguna de Bay. I was thinking of what was beyond. I was dreaming of what might be over on the other side of the waves. Almost every day, in our town, we saw the Guardia Civil lieutenant caning and injuring some unarmed and inoffensive villager. The villager’s only fault was that while at a distance he had not taken off his hat and made his bow. The alcalde treated the poor villagers in the same way whenever he visited us.

We saw no restraint put upon brutality. Acts of violence and other excesses were committed [60]daily. The officers whose duty it was to protect the people and keep the public peace were the real outlaws. Against such lawbreakers, our authorities were powerless. I asked myself if, in the lands which lay across the lake, the people lived in this same way. I wondered if there they tortured any countryman with hard and cruel whips merely on suspicion. Did they there respect the home? Or over yonder also, in order to live in peace, would one have to bribe tyrants?

The Lake, Laguna de Bay, from the Kalamba shore. Rizal’s brother, General Paciano Rizal-Mercado, cleared this region of Spanish soldiers after Dewey’s victory and then told the people to go to work. He set the example by again becoming a farmer.

[61]

Pencil Sketch of a Manila School Girl.

You perhaps attended a village Spanish school to learn your letters. Possibly, you have had to teach the letters in Spanish to others smaller than yourself. In either case, you must have noticed what I have, that children find great difficulty in mastering certain syllables. These are ca, ce, ci, co, ga, ge, gua, gui, etc. It is because Filipino children do not understand the reasons for such irregularities. Nor do they know the cause for the changes in value of the sounds of certain consonants.

Rizal when he was with Dr. Pardo de Tavera, in Paris, in 1889.

[63]

In the old times, blows fell like rain. Many pupils were whipped every day. Sometimes the schoolmaster broke the ferule and sometimes he broke the children’s hands. The first pages of their primers fell to pieces from long and hard use. The children cried. Even the monitors had to suffer at times. Yet those syllables which cost the children so many tears are of no use to them.

Those syllables are necessary only in the learning of Spanish, which language in my time only three boys in a thousand ever really learned. These three learned it in Manila, by hearing Spanish spoken, and by committing to memory book after book. I often wondered what was the use of learning it at all when in the end one spoke only Tagalog. But I kept my wonder to myself. I felt that to try to make reforms in the Philippines at that time would be to embark on a stormy voyage. [64]

After I grew up, I had to write letters in Tagalog. I was shocked at my ignorance of its spelling. I was surprised, too, to find the same word spelled differently in the different works which I consulted. This proved to me how foolish it was to try to write Tagalog in the Spanish way. The spelling in use today by all Filipino scholars is a great improvement over the old style. I want to place the credit for this change where it belongs. These improvements are due to the studies in Tagalog of Dr. T. H. Pardo de Tavera alone. I have only been one of the most zealous champions of the change from the Spanish style. [65]

My father was a friend of the owners of the Kalamba estate. He was intimate, too, with the manager in charge of the plantation. Frequently, important visitors came to the plantation house. Then the manager asked my father for whatever he needed. He very often asked for a turkey, and my father gladly gave [67]it to him. The poultry yard at our house was always full of turkeys because my father was a fancier of these fowls.

Rizal at 30

Doctor Blumentritt considered this the best likeness among all the portraits of Rizal

But one season there came some epidemic and almost all the turkeys died. Only a few pairs, which were being kept for breeding, were left. Just at this time the manager one day sent for the customary turkey. Naturally my father had to tell the messenger that he had no turkeys to spare, because the greater part of them had died. This reply made the manager furiously angry. He wound up his abuse by saying, “You will pay for this in the end!” A few days later my father received a note from the manager, saying that he was going to raise the rent on the land which my father occupied. He said the rent would be one-third more than father was then paying. [68]

The reason for this decision was clear. It was because my father had refused to give the manager the turkey. The proof of this was that no other tenant received any such notice.

Father paid this increase on the day set, without a single word of protest, being among the first to pay. But after a few months, there came another note. In it the manager gave notice that the rent would be doubled. This, he said, was because my father was growing rich from the rented land where he had installed machinery for making sugar.

My father could not pay this price. Then he was summoned to appear in court; and finally the alcalde ordered him to leave the land. So he lost his houses and machinery, all because of a turkey. [69]

Crayon portrait of Rizal’s cousin, Leonore Rivera, to whom he was engaged. The drawing was made in 1882, just before he sailed for Spain. During his absence, his letters were kept from her and she was told that Rizal had forgotten her in the gay life of Europe. This was done because her mother’s advisers thought Rizal’s political ideas made him unsuitable for a husband. Leonore finally consented to the marriage urged upon her instead, and when too late, through Rizal’s return in 1887, learned how she had been deceived. She died not long afterwards, of a broken heart, it was said.

On February 28th, 1888, I arrived in Yokohama. A few moments after reaching the hotel, I received the card of the official in charge at the Spanish legation. I had not even had a chance to brush up when he called. He was very pleasant and offered to assist me in my work. He even invited me to live at the legation, and I accepted. If, at the bottom, there was a desire to watch me, I was not afraid to let them know all about myself. I lived at the legation a little over a month, and traveled in some of the nearby provinces of Japan. At times, I was alone; at others, with the Spanish official himself, or with the interpreter. [71]While there, I learned to speak Japanese, and made a slight study of the Japanese theatre. After many offers of employment, which I refused, I sailed at last for America, about April 13th.

On the steamer, I met a half-Filipino family, the wife being a mestiza, the daughter of an Englishman named Jackson. They had with them a servant from Pangasinan. The son asked me if I knew “Richal,” the author of Noli Me Tangere. Smiling, I answered that I did; and, as he began to speak well of me, I had to make myself known and say that I was the author. The mother paid me compliments, too. I made the acquaintance of a Japanese who was going to Europe. He had been a prisoner for being a radical and editor of an independent newspaper. As the Japanese spoke only Japanese, I acted as interpreter for him until we arrived in London.

During this voyage I was not seasick. [72]

I visited the larger cities of America, where I saw splendid buildings. The Americans have magnificent ideals. America is a homeland for the poor who are willing to work.

I traveled across America, and saw the majestic cascade of Niagara. I was in New York, the great city, but there everything is new. I went to see some relics of Washington, that great man whom I fear has not his equal in this century.

I embarked for Europe on the “City of Rome”, said to be the second largest steamer in the world. On board, a newspaper was published up to the end of the voyage.

I made the acquaintance of many people. They wondered at my taking about with me a foreigner who could not make himself understood. The Europeans and Americans were astonished to see how I got along with him. I could speak to every one in his own language and understand what he said. [73]

I arrived in Manila the 26th of June, 1892. It was on a Sunday, at 12 o’clock, noon. A number of carbineers, including a major, met me. A captain and a sergeant of the Guardia Veterana were there in civilian clothes. I disembarked with my luggage, and they inspected it at the custom house.

From there, I went to the Oriente Hotel. I occupied Room No. 22, which overlooks the Binondo Church.

That afternoon, at four, I presented myself to His Excellency, Governor-General Despujol. He told me to return at seven in the evening [74]and I did so. He granted my petition for the liberty of my father, but not for the liberty of my brother and sisters. He told me to return on Wednesday evening at half past seven.

From there, I went to see my sisters. First I saw my sister Narcisa, afterwards Neneng (Saturnina). On the following day, Monday, at six o’clock in the morning, I was at the railway station, bound for Bulacan and Pampanga. I visited Malolos, San Fernando, and Tarlac. On the return I stopped at Bacolor, reaching Manila on Tuesday at five o’clock in the afternoon.

Seven-thirty on Wednesday saw me with His Excellency. But not even then did I get him to revoke the deportation decrees. Still he gave me hope for my sisters. As it was the festival of Saints Peter and Paul, our interview ended at 9:15. I was to present myself on the following day, at the same hour. [75]

That day, Thursday, we spoke on unimportant matters. I thanked him for having revoked the order to banish my sisters and told him that my father and brother would come by the first mail-steamer. He asked me if I wished to return to Hongkong and I answered, “Yes”. He told me to come again on Wednesday.

Wednesday he asked me if I persisted in my intention of returning to Hongkong. I told him that I did. After some conversation he said that I had brought political circulars in my baggage. I replied that I had not. He asked me who was the owner of the roll of pillows and petates with my baggage. I said that they belonged to my sister. He told me that because of them he was going to send me to Fort Santiago.

Don Ramón Despujol, his nephew and aide, took me in one of the palace carriages. At [76]Fort Santiago Don Enrique Villamor, the commander, received me. He assigned me to an ordinary room containing a bed, a dozen chairs, a table, a washstand, and a mirror. The room had three windows. One, without bars, looked out on a court; another had bars, and overlooked the wall and the beach; the third served also as a door and had a padlock. Two artillerymen were on guard as sentinels. They had orders to fire on anyone who tried to make signs from the beach. I could not talk with anyone except the officer of the guard, and I was not allowed to write.

Don Enrique Villamor, the commander of the fort, gave me books from the library.

Each day the corporal of the guard proved to be a sergeant. They cleaned the room every morning. For breakfast, I had coffee with [77]milk, a roll, and coffee-cake. Lunch was at 12:30, and consisted of four courses. Dinner was at 8:30, and was similar to the lunch. Commander Villamor’s orderly waited on me.

On Thursday, the 14th, about 5:30 or 6 p. m., the nephew notified me that at ten o’clock that night I should sail for Dapitan. I prepared my baggage, and at 10 was ready, but as no one came to get me, I went to sleep. At 12:15, the aide arrived with the same carriage which had brought me there. By way of the Santa Lucia gate, they took me to the Malecon, where were General Ahumada and some other people. Another aide and two of the Guardia Veterana were waiting for me in a boat.

The “Cebu” sailed in the morning at nine. They gave me a good stateroom on the upper [78]deck. Above the doors could be read “Chief”. Next to my cabin was that of Capt. Delgras, who had charge of the party.

Ten from each branch of the military service were in the party. There were artillery, infantry of the 70th, 71st, 72nd, 73rd, and 74th regiments, carbineers, cavalry and engineers, and Guardia Civil. Of artillerymen there were at least twelve.

We were carrying prisoners loaded with chains, among whom were a sergeant and a corporal, both Europeans. The sergeant was to be shot because he had ordered his superior officer, who had misbehaved while in Mindanao, to be tied up. The soldiers who obeyed orders and tied the officer up were given twenty years’ imprisonment; and the officer himself was dismissed from the service because he had let them tie him up. [79]

I ate in my stateroom, the food being the same as the officers had. I always had a sentinel and a corporal on guard. Every night, Captain Delgras took me for a promenade on deck till 9 o’clock.

We passed along the east coast of Mindoro and the west coast of Panay. We came to Dapitan on Sunday, at seven in the evening. Captain Delgras and three artillerymen accompanied me in a boat rowed by eight sailors. There was a heavy sea.

The beach seemed very gloomy. We were in the dark, except for our lantern, which showed a roadway grown up with weeds.

In the town we met the governor, or commandant, Captain Ricardo Carnicero. There was also a Spanish ex-exile, and the practicante, Don Cosme. We went to the town hall, which was a large building.

[80]

My life now is quiet, peaceful, retired and without glory, but I think it is useful too. I teach reading, Spanish, English, mathematics and geometry to the poor but intelligent boys here. Moreover I teach them to behave like men. I have taught the men how to get a better way of earning their living and they think I am right. We have begun and success is crowning our trials.

The Plaza of Dapitan, Island of Mindanao. The townhall appears in the lower righthand corner. Rizal made a raised map of Mindanao Island on the plaza, to teach their home geography to the Dapitan people. The map has been restored by the Insular Government and a bronze tablet tells its history

[81]

I think that I ought to mention to you a slight error which I have noticed in your letter. It is a little error which many in society make.

One should not say, “I and my sisters greet you,” but “My sisters and I greet you.” Always you have to put yourself last. You should say: “Emilio and I,” “You and I,” “My friend and I,” and so on. For the rest, your letter is well written. In it you express your thoughts clearly. You use only the necessary words, and your spelling is good.

Keep on advancing. Learn, learn and think much about what you learn. Life is a very [82]serious matter. It goes well only for those who have intelligence and heart. To live is to be among men, and to be among men is to strive.

But this strife is not a brute-like, selfish struggle,—nor with men alone. It is a strife with men, and at the same time with one’s own passions. It is a struggle with the proprieties, with errors, with prejudices. It is a never-ending striving, with a smile on the lips and the tears in the heart.

On this battlefield, man has no better weapon than his intelligence. He possesses no more force than he has spirit. Bring out your intelligence, then, and improve it. Strengthen and educate yourself that you may be prepared for the struggle. [83]

1. Low words are stronger than loud words.

2. A petted child is generally naked (i. e. poor).

3. Parents’ punishment makes one fat.

4. New king, new fashion.

5. Man promises while in need.

6. He who believes in tales has no mind of his own.

7. The most difficult to rouse from sleep is the man who pretends to be asleep.

8. Too many words, too little work.

9. The sleeping shrimp is carried away by the current.

10. The fish is caught through the mouth. [84]

He carries me, I carry him.—The shoes.

A deep well filled with steel blades.—The mouth.

Mrs. José Rizal. Wood medallion by Rizal of his wife, made at Dapitan. Her maiden name was Josephine Bracken. She was Irish, but had been adopted by an American. Her foster father became blind and, in hope of recovering his sight, went to Dapitan. There Rizal became engaged to Josephine but could not marry her because a political retraction was required of him before the ceremony would be performed. They were finally married in Fort Santiago, half an hour before his execution. Mrs. Rizal gave Speaker Osmeña his first lessons in English. She died five years after her husband

[85]

DON’T gamble.

DON’T be a drunkard.

DON’T break the laws.

DON’T be cruel in any way.

DON’T be a rabid partisan.

DON’T be merely a faultfinding critic.

DON’T put yourself in the way of humiliation.

DON’T treat anyone with haughtiness or contempt.

DON’T condemn anyone without first hearing his side.

DON’T abandon the poor man who has right on his side. [86]

DON’T forget those who, worthily, have come to want.

DON’T fail those without means who show application and ability.

DON’T associate with immoral persons or with persons of bad habits.

DON’T overlook the value to our country of new machinery and industries.

DON’T ever cease working for the prosperity and welfare of our native land.

A pipe which Rizal made, of chalk, in Fort Santiago for his last Christmas gift to his father

[87]

Rizal at 27. From a Hongkong photo. Taken just after Governor-General Terrero, who admired the author of Noli Me Tangere, had advised Rizal to leave the Islands to escape enemies so powerful that even his protection might not insure safety. Rizal had dared to help the Kalamba tenants to answer fully and truthfully inquiries which the Government had made regarding their landlords

[91]

Without liberty there is no light.

One evil does not correct another.

My dearest wish is the happiness of my country.

It is a useless life which is not consecrated to a great idea.

A man keeps his independence while he holds to his own way of thinking.

If our country is ever to be free it will not be through vice and crime.

Knowledge is the heritage of mankind, but only the courageous inherit it.

It is better to honor a good man in life than to worship him after he is dead.

Resignation is not always a virtue; it is a crime when it encourages tyrants.

In the flames of war those who suffer most are the defenceless and the innocent. [92]

I have worked for the good of my native land, I have consecrated my life to the welfare of others.

We need criticism to keep us awake. It makes us see our weaknesses so that we may correct them.

There are three ways in which one may accompany the course of progress: in front of, beside, or behind it.

Where are the young men who will consecrate their best years, their ambitions and their enthusiasms to the welfare of their native land?

Manila skyline. Rizal’s last view of the city as the steamer, in 1882, was taking him to Spain. Drawn on shipboard

[93]

Mariang Makiling was a young woman. She lived somewhere on the beautiful mountain Makiling, between Laguna province and Tayabas province. No one knew just where or how she lived. Some said she lived in a beautiful palace surrounded by gardens. Others said she lived in a poor hut made of nipa and bamboo.

Maria was tall and graceful. Her color was a clear, pure brown, kayumanging kaligatan, as the Tagalogs say. Her eyes were big and black. Her hair was long and thick. Her hands and feet were small and delicate. She was a fairy-like creature born under the moon-beams of the Philippines. She flitted in and [94]out among the woods of Makiling. She was the ruling spirit of the mountain; but she seldom came within sight of man.

Hunters sometimes saw Maria on the night of Good Friday when they went out to trap deer. She would be standing motionless on the edge of some great cliff. Her long hair floated in the wind. She sometimes approached them. She would salute them gravely, then pass on and disappear among the shadows of the trees. They never dared to question her, to follow her, or to watch her.

She liked best to appear after a storm. Then she would scurry over the fields bringing back life to the fallen plants, and setting everything to rights. The trees straightened up their wind-blown trunks. The streams went back into their beds. All signs of the storm disappeared as she passed. [95]

Mariang Makiling had a very good heart. She used to lend the poor country folk clothing or jewels for weddings, baptisms and feast days. All she asked in return was a pullet as white as milk. It had to be a dumalaga; that is, one that had never laid an egg.

Sometimes she appeared as a simple country girl and helped the poor old women to pick up firewood. Then she would slip gold nuggets, coins and jewels into their bundles of wood.

A hunter was one day chasing a wild boar through the tall grass and thorny bushes. Suddenly he came to a hut in which the animal hid. A beautiful young woman came out and said:

“The wild boar belongs to me. You have done wrong to chase it, but I see that you are very tired. Your arms and legs are covered with blood. Come in and eat. Then you may go on your way.” [96]

The man was charmed by the beauty of the young woman. He went in and ate everything she offered him. But he was not able to speak a single word. Before the hunter left, the young woman gave him some pieces of ginger. She told him to give them to his wife for her cooking. The hunter thanked her and put the roots inside the crown of his broad hat. On the way home his hat felt heavy. So he took out a number of the pieces and threw them away. He was surprised and sorry the next day when his wife discovered that what they had taken to be ginger was solid gold. The supposed roots were bright as rays of sunshine.

But Mariang Makiling was not always kind and generous to the hunters. Sometimes she punished them. [97]

One afternoon two hunters were coming down the mountain, carrying some wild boars and deer which they had killed during the day.

They met an old woman who begged them to give her a quarter. They thought that was too much to give, so they refused. The old woman said that she would go and tell the mistress of those animals, and she left them. This threat made the hunters laugh heartily. When night had fallen and the two were near the plain, they heard a distant shout—very distant, as though it came from the top of the mountain:

“There they go-o-o—o!”

Then another even more distant cry replied:

“There they go-o-o—o!”

That cry surprised both the hunters, who could not account for it. On hearing it, the dogs stuck up their ears. They uttered low growls [98]and drew nearer to their masters. In a few minutes the same cry was heard again, this time from the mountain-side. On hearing it, the dogs thrust their tails between their legs and came close to their masters. The men stared at each other without saying a word. They were astonished that the one who uttered the cry could travel so far in such a short time. When they reached the plain, the fearful cry was heard again. This time, it was so clear and distinct that both looked back. In the moonlight, they could see two strange, gigantic shapes coming down the mountain at full speed. Both hunters ran as fast as they could with such heavy loads. Still the strange creatures came nearer.

The men, coming to a spring called bukal, threw down their burdens, and climbed a tree; [99]and the dogs fled toward the town. The monsters came up, and in a few seconds devoured the wild boars and deer and went back toward the mountain. Only then, did the hunters recover. The more courageous took aim but his gun missed fire and the monsters escaped.

No one ever knew whether Mariang Makiling had parents, brothers and sisters, or other kin. Such persons spring up naturally, like the stones the Tagalogs call mutya. No one ever knew her real name. She was simply called Maria. No one ever saw her enter the town or take part in any religious ceremony. She remained ever the same. The five or six generations that knew her always saw her young, fresh, sprightly, and pure.

For many years now no one has seen her on Makiling. Her vapor figure no longer wanders [100]through the deep valleys. It no longer hovers over the waterfall on the serene moonlight nights. The melancholy tone of her mysterious harp is no longer heard. Now lovers are married without getting from her either jewels or presents. Mariang Makiling has disappeared.

Some blame the people of a certain town who not only refused to give her the customary white pullet but even failed to return the jewels and clothing borrowed. Others say that Mariang Makiling is offended because some landlords are trying to take half of the mountain.

Inkstand and pen-tray made, and used, by Rizal in Dapitan. He used it, too, in writing his last poem “My Last Thought” in Fort Santiago.

[101]