Rizal and children
By: Ambeth R. Ocampo
Philippine Daily Inquirer
When my students go through Jose Rizal’s expenses in Europe, they note that his biggest and most regular expenses were for the purchase of books and postage stamps. This is not surprising because we all know that he liked to read and study, and to write home a lot because he was homesick in Madrid. Students also note that he bought 1/10 of a lottery ticket every week. When I ask what he did with a ball of yarn, students reply that Rizal probably had a pet cat, and that he used the yarn to darn the holes in his socks or to tie up the maid for kinky sex.
We see ourselves in historical records and I often allow the students to make their own crazy conclusions before drawing them back to the primary source and what it actually says. Other teachers will not allow silly comments in class but I do, hoping that new insight will sometimes be found in a side remark.
Rizal’s letters are seldom read because we are so focused on his novels and poetry in a classroom. Yet it is in and through these letters that we see Rizal plain and gain insight into his works. It may be a trivial matter, but Rizal’s letters to family members are the most endearing. Remember 7-11: that Rizal was the seventh child of 11 born to Francisco Mercado and Teodora Alonso. He was the second of two boys in a home dominated, literally, by women.
Rizal’s sisters were as prolific as their parents, so he was often told about new additions to the family. In a letter dated Nov. 23, 1883, Teodora Alonso related: “Now I’m going to mention to you, one by one, my new debts to the Lord. On June 6, 1882, Lucía delivered a baby boy who was named José. On 15 Sept. 1882, Neneng gave birth to a boy who was named Alfredo. On 14 June 1883, Sisa gave birth to a girl who was given the name María Consolación; on 3 Sept. 1883, Olimpia gave birth to a boy who was named Aristeo; on 24 Nov. 1883, Lucía gave birth to a girl. On the 26[th] of this month, Neneng gave birth to a girl also. Both girls are not yet baptized but they will be on Sunday. Here many die of childbirth but they went through it safely.”
One of the memorable characters of “Noli Me Tangere” is “Sisa” a name taken from the nickname of Rizal’s favorite sister Narcisa. On Feb. 27, 1886, she wrote: “I suppose you don’t know yet that I’m now the mother of six children. In this letter you will see the names of the three older ones written by themselves, and of the last ones, the older was Isabel, the deceased one, and the two, one girl and one boy, are called Consolación and Leoncio López, who is as fat as a melon. The children of Sra. Neneng are three: They are called Alfredo, Adela, and Abelardo. Olimpia’s shortly will be three, like Sra. Neneng’s. The two who are not here are called Aristeo and Cesario; the older one called Aristeo, what a lively boy he is! His godfather is Sr. Paciano. He will be a useful boy when he gets older. At the age of two, he already knows a great deal. He is the only consolation of our parents, I tell you, because when you see this child, even if you are angry, you will be obliged to laugh, he is so funny.”
One can only imagine what joy Rizal, homesick in Europe, got from letters. Neneng, for example, described Alfredo Porfirio or “Freding” in a letter dated Dec. 14, 1882, as having “a well-shaped body, … stout, round-faced, having a sharp nose, small chin and eyes, flat head, bald on the left side. When we go to Manila, we shall have his picture and mine taken and will send them to you.”
Lucia Herbosa, in a letter on Nov. 13, 1882, described a son born to her in that year that they named Jose: “I amuse myself with José’s ear, which is like yours. I tell you that it is really like yours, but I pray that the likeness does not stop there, but that he may have your disposition, your goodness, and diligence in good works.” In July 1886 Lucia’s husband wrote Rizal about their daughter Delfina who was suffering from “a little inflammation of [her] eye, which is the cause of her absence from school. What a pity she did not become a boy! She is bright and very studious. Her mother is always telling her not to read because her inflammation might worsen, but she is so hardheaded.”
Imagine a child insisting on reading! Delfina was to figure in Philippine history 12 years later, in 1898, when she assisted Marcela Agoncillo in Hong Kong in the sewing and embroidering of the first Philippine flag.
Education was important for Rizal’s nephews and nieces. His brother Paciano, on July 18, 1886, requested him: “Furnish me with information of the best schools there. We have many nephews, most of them promising. It is a pity that these ones should fall into the hands of teachers who teach unwillingly and do so only for show. It is true that they inculcate in children very sane principles, such as fear and humility, the first being the beginning of wisdom and the second of apostolic and civic virtue, but it is also true that fear and humility lead to dullness.”
It is not enough to see Rizal as a doting uncle; one should also appreciate that the Rizal family put a premium on the education of their little ones. It was no better way of investing in the future, for children were the bella esperanza de la patria mia (the fair hope of the motherland).
"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.
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.
