The Diary of Jose Rizal
MADRID -- 1 JANUARY 1883 - NOVEMBER 1884
1st January 1883
Night, I don't know what vague melancholy, an indefinable loneliness, smothers my soul. It is similar to the profound sadness that cities manifest after a tumultuous rejoicing, to a city after the happiest celebration. Two nights ago, that is, 30 December, I had a frightful nightmare when I almost died.1 I dreamed that, imitating an actor dying on the stage, I felt vividly that my breath was failing and I was rapidly losing my strength. Then my vision became dim and dense darkness enveloped me -- they were the pangs of death. I wanted to shout and ask for help from Antonio Paterno, feeling that I was about to die. I awoke weak and breathless.
The last day of the year I spent at the home of Mr. Pablo Ortiga.2 I was gay; I don't know why I joked a lot and lost.3 We went home at five o'clock and Pat., Cal., Per., and Let.4 slept at home. We spent the day together and went to Elvira's house...lottery and I lost. I went home at night and wrote.
1From Noli Me Tangere (Makati City: Bookmark, 1996), pp. 557-559:
The night of light and happiness for so many children, who in the warm bosoms of the family celebrate the feast of the sweetest memories, the feast that commemorates the first glance of love sent by heaven to earth; that night when all the Christian families eat, drink, dance, sing, laugh, play, love, kiss each other...this night, which in cold countries is magic for children with its traditional pine tree loaded with lights, dolls, sweetmeats and tinsel, whose round eyes reflecting innocence look dazzled; that night had nothing to offer Basilio more than orphancy...
The stranger turned his face towards the east and murmured as though praying: "I die without seeing the dawn break on my country...You who are about to see it, greet her...do not forget those who have fallen during the night!"
He raised his eyes to heaven, his lips moved as if murmuring a prayer, then he lowered his head
1st January 1883
Night, I don't know what vague melancholy, an indefinable loneliness, smothers my soul. It is similar to the profound sadness that cities manifest after a tumultuous rejoicing, to a city after the happiest celebration. Two nights ago, that is, 30 December, I had a frightful nightmare when I almost died.1 I dreamed that, imitating an actor dying on the stage, I felt vividly that my breath was failing and I was rapidly losing my strength. Then my vision became dim and dense darkness enveloped me -- they were the pangs of death. I wanted to shout and ask for help from Antonio Paterno, feeling that I was about to die. I awoke weak and breathless.
The last day of the year I spent at the home of Mr. Pablo Ortiga.2 I was gay; I don't know why I joked a lot and lost.3 We went home at five o'clock and Pat., Cal., Per., and Let.4 slept at home. We spent the day together and went to Elvira's house...lottery and I lost. I went home at night and wrote.
1From Noli Me Tangere (Makati City: Bookmark, 1996), pp. 557-559:
The night of light and happiness for so many children, who in the warm bosoms of the family celebrate the feast of the sweetest memories, the feast that commemorates the first glance of love sent by heaven to earth; that night when all the Christian families eat, drink, dance, sing, laugh, play, love, kiss each other...this night, which in cold countries is magic for children with its traditional pine tree loaded with lights, dolls, sweetmeats and tinsel, whose round eyes reflecting innocence look dazzled; that night had nothing to offer Basilio more than orphancy...
The stranger turned his face towards the east and murmured as though praying: "I die without seeing the dawn break on my country...You who are about to see it, greet her...do not forget those who have fallen during the night!"
He raised his eyes to heaven, his lips moved as if murmuring a prayer, then he lowered his head