“The friars are necessary, they’re a necessary evil,” he would declare.

But how he would rage when any Indian dared to doubt the miracles or did not acknowledge the Pope!  All the tortures of the Inquisition were insufficient to punish such temerity.

When it was objected that to rule or to live at the expense of ignorance has another and somewhat ugly name and is punished by law when the culprit is a single person, he would justify his position by referring to other colonies.  “We,” he would announce in his official tone, “can speak out plainly!  We’re not like the British and the Dutch who, in order to hold people in subjection, make use of the lash.  We avail ourselves of other means, milder and surer.  The salutary influence of the friars is superior to the British lash.”

This last remark made his fortune.  For a long time Ben-Zayb continued to use adaptations of it, and with him all Manila.  The thinking part of Manila applauded it, and it even got to Madrid, where it was quoted in the Parliament as from a liberal of long residence there.  The friars, flattered by the comparison and seeing their prestige enhanced, sent him sacks of chocolate, presents which the incorruptible Don Custodio returned, so that Ben-Zayb immediately compared him to Epaminondas.  Nevertheless, this modern Epaminondas made use of the rattan in his choleric moments, and advised its use!

At that time the conventos, fearful that he would render a decision favorable to the petition of the students, increased their gifts, so that on the afternoon when we see him he was more perplexed than ever, his reputation for energy was being compromised.  It had been more than a fortnight since he had had the petition in his hands, and only that morning the high official, after praising his zeal, had asked for a decision.  Don Custodio had replied with mysterious gravity, giving him to understand that it was not yet completed.  The high official had smiled a smile that still worried and haunted him.

As we were saying, he yawned and yawned.  In one of these movements, at the moment when he opened his eyes and closed his mouth, his attention was caught by a file of red envelopes, arranged in regular order on a magnificent kamagon desk.  On the back of each could be read in large letters:  PROJECTS.

For a moment he forgot his troubles and Pepay’s pirouettes, to reflect upon all that those files contained, which had issued from his prolific brain in his hours of inspiration.  How many original ideas, how many sublime thoughts, how many means of ameliorating the woes of the Philippines!  Immortality and the gratitude of the country were surely his!

Like an old lover who discovers a moldy package of amorous epistles, Don Custodio arose and approached the desk.  The first envelope, thick, swollen, and plethoric, bore the title:  PROJECTS IN PROJECT.

“No,” he murmured, “they’re excellent things, but it would take a year to read them over.”