The Reign of Greed
stammering, and received their grades. He who recited without an error
earned a good mark and he who made more than three mistakes a bad mark.
A fat boy with a sleepy face and hair as stiff and hard as the bristles
of a brush yawned until he seemed to be about to dislocate his jaws,
and stretched himself with his arms extended as though he were in his
bed. The professor saw this and wished to startle him.
“Eh, there, sleepy-head! What’s this? Lazy, too, so it’s sure you [30]
don’t know the lesson, ha?”
Padre Millon not only used the depreciative tu with the students, like
a good friar, but he also addressed them in the slang of the markets, a
practise that he had acquired from the professor of canonical law:
whether that reverend gentleman wished to humble the students or the
sacred decrees of the councils is a question not yet settled, in spite
of the great attention that has been given to it.
This question, instead of offending the class, amused them, and many
laughed—it was a daily occurrence. But the sleeper did not laugh; he
arose with a bound, rubbed his eyes, and, as though a steam-engine were
turning the phonograph, began to recite.
“The name of mirror is applied to all polished surfaces intended to
produce by the reflection of light the images of the objects placed
before said surfaces. From the substances that form these surfaces,
they are divided into metallic mirrors and glass mirrors—”
“Stop, stop, stop!” interrupted the professor. “Heavens, what a rattle!
We are at the point where the mirrors are divided into metallic and
glass, eh? Now if I should present to you a block of wood, a piece of
kamagon for instance, well polished and varnished, or a slab of black
marble well burnished, or a square of jet, which would reflect the
images of objects placed before them, how would you classify those
mirrors?”
Whether he did not know what to answer or did not understand the
question, the student tried to get out of the difficulty by
demonstrating that he knew the lesson, so he rushed on like a torrent.
“The first are composed of brass or an alloy of different metals and
the second of a sheet of glass, with its two sides well polished, one
of which has an amalgam of tin adhering to it.”
“Tut, tut, tut! That’s not it! I say to you ‘Dominus vobiscum,’ and you
answer me with ‘Requiescat in pace!’ ”
The worthy professor then repeated the question in the vernacular of
the markets, interspersed with cosas and abás at every moment.
The poor youth did not know how to get out of the quandary: he doubted
whether to include the kamagon with the metals, or the marble with
glasses, and leave the jet as a neutral substance, until Juanito Pelaez
maliciously prompted him:
“The mirror of kamagon among the wooden mirrors.”
The incautious youth repeated this aloud and half the class was
convulsed with laughter.
“A good sample of wood you are yourself!” exclaimed the professor,
laughing in spite of himself. “Let’s see from what you would define a
mirror—from a surface per se, in quantum est superficies, or from a
substance that forms the surface, or from the substance upon which the
surface rests, the raw material, modified by the attribute ‘surface,’
since it is clear that, surface being an accidental property of bodies,
it cannot exist without substance. Let’s see now—what do you say?”
“I? Nothing!” the wretched boy was about to reply, for he did not
understand what it was all about, confused as he was by so many
surfaces and so many accidents that smote cruelly on his ears, but a
sense of shame restrained him. Filled with anguish and breaking into a
cold perspiration, he began to repeat between his teeth: “The name of
mirror is applied to all polished surfaces—”
“Ergo, per te, the mirror is the surface,” angled the professor. “Well,
then, clear up this difficulty. If the surface is the mirror, it must
be of no consequence to the ‘essence’ of the mirror what may be found
behind this surface, since what is behind it does not affect the
‘essence’ that is before it, id est, the surface, quae super faciem
est, quia vocatur superficies, facies ea quae supra videtur. Do you
admit that or do you not admit it?”
The poor youth’s hair stood up straighter than ever, as though acted
upon by some magnetic force.
“Do you admit it or do you not admit it?”
“Anything! Whatever you wish, Padre,” was his thought, but he did not
dare to express it from fear of ridicule. That was a dilemma indeed,
and he had never been in a worse one. He had a vague idea that the most
innocent thing could not be admitted to the friars but that they, or
rather their estates and curacies, would get out of it all the results
and advantages imaginable. So his good angel prompted him to deny
everything with all the energy of his soul and refractoriness of his
hair, and he was about to shout a proud nego, for the reason that he
who denies everything does not compromise himself in anything, as a
certain lawyer had once told him; but the evil habit of disregarding
the dictates of one’s own conscience, of having little faith in legal
folk, and of seeking aid from others where one is sufficient unto
himself, was his undoing. His companions, especially Juanito Pelaez,
were making signs to him to admit it, so he let himself be carried away
by his evil destiny and exclaimed, “Concedo, Padre,” in a voice as
faltering as though he were saying, “In manus tuas commendo spiritum
meum.”
“Concedo antecedentum,” echoed the professor, smiling maliciously.
“Ergo, I can scratch the mercury off a looking-glass, put in its place
a piece of bibinka, and we shall still have a mirror, eh? Now what
shall we have?”
The youth gazed at his prompters, but seeing them surprised and
speechless, contracted his features into an expression of bitterest
reproach. “Deus meus, Deus meus, quare dereliquiste me,” said his
troubled eyes, while his lips muttered “Linintikan!” Vainly he coughed,
fumbled at his shirt-bosom, stood first on one foot and then on the
other, but found no answer.
“Come now, what have we?” urged the professor, enjoying the effect of
his reasoning.
“Bibinka!” whispered Juanito Pelaez. “Bibinka!”
“Shut up, you fool!” cried the desperate youth, hoping to get out of
the difficulty by turning it into a complaint.
“Let’s see, Juanito, if you can answer the question for me,” the
professor then said to Pelaez, who was one of his pets.
The latter rose slowly, not without first giving Penitente, who
followed him on the roll, a nudge that meant, “Don’t forget to prompt
me.”
“Nego consequentiam, Padre,” he replied resolutely.
“Aha, then probo consequentiam! Per te, the polished surface
constitutes the ‘essence’ of the mirror—”
“Nego suppositum!” interrupted Juanito, as he felt Placido pulling at
his coat.
“How? Per te—”
“Nego!”
“Ergo, you believe that what is behind affects what is in front?”
“Nego!” the student cried with still more ardor, feeling another jerk
at his coat.
Juanito, or rather Placido, who was prompting him, was unconsciously
adopting Chinese tactics: not to admit the most inoffensive foreigner
in order not to be invaded.
“Then where are we?” asked the professor, somewhat disconcerted, and
looking uneasily at the refractory student. “Does the substance behind
affect, or does it not affect, the surface?”
To this precise and categorical question, a kind of ultimatum, Juanito
did not know what to reply and his coat offered no suggestions. In vain
he made signs to Placido, but Placido himself was in doubt. Juanito
then took advantage of a moment in which the professor was staring at a
student who was cautiously and secretly taking off the shoes that hurt
his feet, to step heavily on Placido’s toes and whisper, “Tell me,
hurry up, tell me!”
“I distinguish—Get out! What an ass you are!” yelled Placido
unreservedly, as he stared with angry eyes and rubbed his hand over his
patent-leather shoe.
The professor heard the cry, stared at the pair, and guessed what had
happened.
“Listen, you meddler,” he addressed Placido, “I wasn’t questioning you,
but since you think you can save others, let’s see if you can save
yourself, salva te ipsum, and decide this question.”
Juanito sat down in content, and as a mark of gratitude stuck out his
tongue at his prompter, who had arisen blushing with shame and
muttering incoherent excuses.
For a moment Padre Millon regarded him as one gloating over a favorite
dish. What a good thing it would be to humiliate and hold up to
ridicule that dudish boy, always smartly dressed, with head erect and
serene look! It would be a deed of charity, so the charitable professor
applied himself to it with all his heart, slowly repeating the
question.
“The book says that the metallic mirrors are made of brass and an alloy
of different metals—is that true or is it not true?”
“So the book says, Padre.”
“Liber dixit, ergo ita est. Don’t pretend that you know more than the
book does. It then adds that the glass mirrors are made of a sheet of
glass whose two surfaces are well polished, one of them having applied
to it an amalgam of tin, nota bene, an amalgam of tin! Is that true?”
“If the book says so, Padre.”
“Is tin a metal?”
“It seems so, Padre. The book says so.”
“It is, it is, and the word amalgam means that it is compounded with
mercury, which is also a metal. Ergo, a glass mirror is a metallic
mirror; ergo, the terms of the distinction are confused; ergo, the
classification is imperfect—how do you explain that, meddler?”
He emphasized the ergos and the familiar “you’s” with indescribable
relish, at the same time winking, as though to say, “You’re done for.”
“It means that, it means that—” stammered Placido.
“It means that you haven’t learned the lesson, you petty meddler, you
don’t understand it yourself, and yet you prompt your neighbor!”
The class took no offense, but on the contrary many thought the epithet
funny and laughed. Placido bit his lips.
“What’s your name?” the professor asked him.
“Placido,” was the curt reply.
“Aha! Placido Penitente, although you look more like Placido the
Prompter—or the Prompted. But, Penitent, I’m going to impose some
penance on you for your promptings.”
Pleased with his play on words, he ordered the youth to recite the
lesson, and the latter, in the state of mind to which he was reduced,
made more than three mistakes. Shaking his head up and down, the
professor slowly opened the register and slowly scanned it while he
called off the names in a low voice.
“Palencia—Palomo—Panganiban—Pedraza—Pelado—Pelaez—Penitents, aha!
Placido Penitente, fifteen unexcused absences—”
Placido started up. “Fifteen absences, Padre?”
“Fifteen unexcused absences,” continued the professor, “so that you
only lack one to be dropped from the roll.”
“Fifteen absences, fifteen absences,” repeated Placido in amazement.
“I’ve never been absent more than four times, and with today, perhaps
five.”
“Jesso, jesso, monseer,” [31] replied the professor, examining the
youth over his gold eye-glasses. “You confess that you have missed five
times, and God knows if you may have missed oftener. Atqui, as I rarely
call the roll, every time I catch any one I put five marks against him;
ergo, how many are five times five? Have you forgotten the
multiplication table? Five times five?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Correct, correct! Thus you’ve still got away with ten, because I have
caught you only three times. Huh, if I had caught you every time—Now,
how many are three times five?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen, right you are!” concluded the professor, closing the
register. “If you miss once more—out of doors with you, get out! Ah,
now a mark for the failure in the daily lesson.”