would exclaim:  “Ah, he promises fairly, fairly well, he’s not a fool!” and feel sure that a great deal of Spanish blood must flow in the veins of such an Indian.  If unable to discover any in spite of his good intentions, he then sought a Japanese origin, for it was at that time the fashion began of attributing to the Japanese or the Arabs whatever good the Filipinos might have in them.  For him the native songs were Arabic music, as was also the alphabet of the ancient Filipinos—­he was certain of this, although he did not know Arabic nor had he ever seen that alphabet.

“Arabic, the purest Arabic,” he said to Ben-Zayb in a tone that admitted no reply.  “At best, Chinese!”

Then he would add, with a significant wink:  “Nothing can be, nothing ought to be, original with the Indians, you understand!  I like them greatly, but they mustn’t be allowed to pride themselves upon anything, for then they would take heart and turn into a lot of wretches.”

At other times he would say:  “I love the Indians fondly, I’ve constituted myself their father and defender, but it’s necessary to keep everything in its proper place.  Some were born to command and others to serve—­plainly, that is a truism which can’t be uttered very loudly, but it can be put into practise without many words.  For look, the trick depends upon trifles.  When you wish to reduce a people to subjection, assure it that it is in subjection.  The first day it will laugh, the second protest, the third doubt, and the fourth be convinced.  To keep the Filipino docile, he must have repeated to him day after day what he is, to convince him that he is incompetent.  What good would it do, besides, to have him believe in something else that would make him wretched?  Believe me, it’s an act of charity to hold every creature in his place—­that is order, harmony.  That constitutes the science of government.”

In referring to his policies, Don Custodio was not satisfied with the word art, and upon pronouncing the word government, he would extend his hand downwards to the height of a man bent over on his knees.

In regard to his religious ideas, he prided himself on being a Catholic, very much a Catholic—­ah, Catholic Spain, the land of Maria Santisima!  A liberal could be and ought to be a Catholic, when the reactionaries were setting themselves up as gods or saints, just as a mulatto passes for a white man in Kaffirland.  But with all that, he ate meat during Lent, except on Good Friday, never went to confession, believed neither in miracles nor the infallibility of the Pope, and when he attended mass, went to the one at ten o’clock, or to the shortest, the military mass.  Although in Madrid he had spoken ill of the religious orders, so as not to be out of harmony with his surroundings, considering them anachronisms, and had hurled curses against the Inquisition, while relating this or that lurid or droll story wherein the habits danced, or rather friars without habits, yet in speaking of the Philippines, which should be ruled by special laws, he would cough, look wise, and again extend his hand downwards to that mysterious altitude.