The Reign of Greed
blushed somewhat when he noticed that he was speaking alone.
“In the future,” decided the General, “all who complain will be
suspended.”
“If my project were accepted—” Don Custodio ventured to remark, as if
talking to himself.
“For the construction of schoolhouses?”
“It’s simple, practical, economical, and, like all my projects, derived
from long experience and knowledge of the country. The towns would have
schools without costing the government a cuarto.”
“That’s easy,” observed the secretary sarcastically. “Compel the towns
to construct them at their own expense,” whereupon all laughed.
“No, sir! No, sir!” cried the exasperated Don Custodio, turning very
red. “The buildings are already constructed and only wait to be
utilized. Hygienic, unsurpassable, spacious—”
The friars looked at one another uneasily. Would Don Custodio propose
that the churches and conventos be converted into schoolhouses?
“Let’s hear it,” said the General with a frown.
“Well, General, it’s very simple,” replied Don Custodio, drawing
himself up and assuming his hollow voice of ceremony. “The schools are
open only on week-days and the cockpits on holidays. Then convert these
into schoolhouses, at least during the week.”
“Man, man, man!”
“What a lovely idea!”
“What’s the matter with you, Don Custodio?”
“That’s a grand suggestion!”
“That beats them all!”
“But, gentlemen,” cried Don Custodio, in answer to so many
exclamations, “let’s be practical—what places are more suitable than
the cockpits? They’re large, well constructed, and under a curse for
the use to which they are put during the week-days. From a moral
standpoint my project would be acceptable, by serving as a kind of
expiation and weekly purification of the temple of chance, as we might
say.”
“But the fact remains that sometimes there are cockfights during the
week,” objected Padre Camorra, “and it wouldn’t be right when the
contractors of the cockpits pay the government—” [23]
“Well, on those days close the school!”
“Man, man!” exclaimed the scandalized Captain-General. “Such an outrage
shall never be perpetrated while I govern! To close the schools in
order to gamble! Man, man, I’ll resign first!” His Excellency was
really horrified.
“But, General, it’s better to close them for a few days than for
months.”
“It would be immoral,” observed Padre Irene, more indignant even than
his Excellency.
“It’s more immoral that vice has good buildings and learning none.
Let’s be practical, gentlemen, and not be carried away by sentiment. In
politics there’s nothing worse than sentiment. While from humane
considerations we forbid the cultivation of opium in our colonies, we
tolerate the smoking of it, and the result is that we do not combat the
vice but impoverish ourselves.”
“But remember that it yields to the government, without any effort,
more than four hundred and fifty thousand pesos,” objected Padre Irene,
who was getting more and more on the governmental side.
“Enough, enough, enough!” exclaimed his Excellency, to end the
discussion. “I have my own plans in this regard and will devote special
attention to the matter of public instruction. Is there anything else?”
The secretary looked uneasily toward Padre Sibyla and Padre Irene. The
cat was about to come out of the bag. Both prepared themselves.
“The petition of the students requesting authorization to open an
academy of Castilian,” answered the secretary.
A general movement was noted among those in the room. After glancing at
one another they fixed their eyes on the General to learn what his
disposition would be. For six months the petition had lain there
awaiting a decision and had become converted into a kind of casus belli
in certain circles. His Excellency had lowered his eyes, as if to keep
his thoughts from being read.
The silence became embarrassing, as the General understood, so he asked
the high official, “What do you think?”
“What should I think, General?” responded the person addressed, with a
shrug of his shoulders and a bitter smile. “What should I think but
that the petition is just, very just, and that I am surprised that six
months should have been taken to consider it.”
“The fact is that it involves other considerations,” said Padre Sibyla
coldly, as he half closed his eyes.
The high official again shrugged his shoulders, like one who did not
comprehend what those considerations could be.
“Besides the intemperateness of the demand,” went on the Dominican,
“besides the fact that it is in the nature of an infringement on our
prerogatives—”
Padre Sibyla dared not go on, but looked at Simoun.
“The petition has a somewhat suspicious character,” corroborated that
individual, exchanging a look with the Dominican, who winked several
times.
Padre Irene noticed these things and realized that his cause was almost
lost—Simoun was against him.
“It’s a peaceful rebellion, a revolution on stamped paper,” added Padre
Sibyla.
“Revolution? Rebellion?” inquired the high official, staring from one
to the other as if he did not understand what they could mean.
“It’s headed by some young men charged with being too radical and too
much interested in reforms, not to use stronger terms,” remarked the
secretary, with a look at the Dominican. “Among them is a certain
Isagani, a poorly balanced head, nephew of a native priest—”
“He’s a pupil of mine,” put in Padre Fernandez, “and I’m much pleased
with him.”
“Puñales, I like your taste!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “On the steamer
we nearly had a fight. He’s so insolent that when I gave him a shove
aside he returned it.”
“There’s also one Makaragui or Makarai—”
“Makaraig,” Padre Irene joined in. “A very pleasant and agreeable young
man.”
Then he murmured into the General’s ear, “He’s the one I’ve talked to
you about, he’s very rich. The Countess recommends him strongly.”
“Ah!”
“A medical student, one Basilio—”
“Of that Basilio, I’ll say nothing,” observed Padre Irene, raising his
hands and opening them, as if to say Dominus vobiscum. “He’s too deep
for me. I’ve never succeeded in fathoming what he wants or what he is
thinking about. It’s a pity that Padre Salvi isn’t present to tell us
something about his antecedents. I believe that I’ve heard that when a
boy he got into trouble with the Civil Guard. His father was killed
in—I don’t remember what disturbance.”
Simoun smiled faintly, silently, showing his sharp white teeth.
“Aha! Aha!” said his Excellency nodding. “That’s the kind we have! Make
a note of that name.”
“But, General,” objected the high official, seeing that the matter was
taking a bad turn, “up to now nothing positive is known against these
young men. Their position is a very just one, and we have no right to
deny it on the ground of mere conjectures. My opinion is that the
government, by exhibiting confidence in the people and in its own
stability, should grant what is asked, then it could freely revoke the
permission when it saw that its kindness was being abused—reasons and
pretexts would not be wanting, we can watch them. Why cause
disaffection among some young men, who later on may feel resentment,
when what they ask is commanded by royal decrees?”
Padre Irene, Don Custodio, and Padre Fernandez nodded in agreement.
“But the Indians must not understand Castilian, you know,” cried Padre
Camorra. “They mustn’t learn it, for then they’ll enter into arguments
with us, and the Indians must not argue, but obey and pay. They mustn’t
try to interpret the meaning of the laws and the books, they’re so
tricky and pettifogish! Just as soon as they learn Castilian they
become enemies of God and of Spain. Just read the Tandang Basio
Macunat—that’s a book! It tells truths like this!” And he held up his
clenched fists.
Padre Sibyla rubbed his hand over his tonsure in sign of impatience.
“One word,” he began in the most conciliatory tone, though fuming with
irritation, “here we’re not dealing with the instruction in Castilian
alone. Here there is an underhand fight between the students and the
University of Santo Tomas. If the students win this, our prestige will
be trampled in the dirt, they will say that they’ve beaten us and will
exult accordingly. Then, good-by to moral strength, good-by to
everything! The first dike broken down, who will restrain this youth?
With our fall we do no more than signal your own. After us, the
government!”
“Puñales, that’s not so!” exclaimed Padre Camorra. “We’ll see first who
has the biggest fists!”
At this point Padre Fernandez, who thus far in the discussion had
merely contented himself with smiling, began to talk. All gave him
their attention, for they knew him to be a thoughtful man.
“Don’t take it ill of me, Padre Sibyla, if I differ from your view of
the affair, but it’s my peculiar fate to be almost always in opposition
to my brethren. I say, then, that we ought not to be so pessimistic.
The instruction in Castilian can be allowed without any risk whatever,
and in order that it may not appear to be a defeat of the University,
we Dominicans ought to put forth our efforts and be the first to
rejoice over it—that should be our policy. To what end are we to be
engaged in an everlasting struggle with the people, when after all we
are the few and they are the many, when we need them and they do not
need us? Wait, Padre Camorra, wait! Admit that now the people may be
weak and ignorant—I also believe that—but it will not be true tomorrow
or the day after. Tomorrow and the next day they will be the stronger,
they will know what is good for them, and we cannot keep it from them,
just as it is not possible to keep from children the knowledge of many
things when they reach a certain age. I say, then, why should we not
take advantage of this condition of ignorance to change our policy
completely, to place it upon a basis solid and enduring—on the basis of
justice, for example, instead of on the basis of ignorance? There’s
nothing like being just; that I’ve always said to my brethren, but they
won’t believe me. The Indian idolizes justice, like every race in its
youth; he asks for punishment when he has done wrong, just as he is
exasperated when he has not deserved it. Is theirs a just desire? Then
grant it! Let’s give them all the schools they want, until they are
tired of them. Youth is lazy, and what urges them to activity is our
opposition. Our bond of prestige, Padre Sibyla, is about worn out, so
let’s prepare another, the bond of gratitude, for example. Let’s not be
fools, let’s do as the crafty Jesuits—”
“Padre Fernandez!” Anything could be tolerated by Padre Sibyla except
to propose the Jesuits to him as a model. Pale and trembling, he broke
out into bitter recrimination. “A Franciscan first! Anything before a
Jesuit!” He was beside himself.
“Oh, oh!”
“Eh, Padre—”
A general discussion broke out, regardless of the Captain-General. All
talked at once, they yelled, they misunderstood and contradicted one
another. Ben-Zayb and Padre Camorra shook their fists in each other’s
faces, one talking of simpletons and the other of ink-slingers, Padre
Sibyla kept harping on the Capitulum, and Padre Fernandez on the Summa
of St. Thomas, until the curate of Los Baños entered to announce that
breakfast was served.
His Excellency arose and so ended the discussion. “Well, gentlemen,” he
said, “we’ve worked like niggers and yet we’re on a vacation. Some one
has said that grave matters should be considered at dessert. I’m
entirely of that opinion.”
“We might get indigestion,” remarked the secretary, alluding to the
heat of the discussion.
“Then we’ll lay it aside until tomorrow.”
As they rose the high official whispered to the General, “Your
Excellency, the daughter of Cabesang Tales has been here again begging