“Yesterday.”
“I am greatly pleased that you have called to see me. What have you studied this year?”
“The Aztec language; here is the invitation to my public examination. The program was as fine as usual, since my teacher, Señor Don Agustin de la Rosa, spoke splendidly, as every year, of the philosophy and richness of the Aztec tongue.”
“Thank you. And how many students were there in the subject?”
“This year we were so many, last year there were so many, the year before so many, and the same, more or less, so I have heard, in years gone by.”
“What a pity! They are few, almost nothing in comparison with the necessity that exists in our Republic for men who study the native tongues. But these few, at least, attend the exercises every school day?”
“No, sir; far from it! Some attend, and others not, just as they please.”
“And, the days they do attend, they study the Aztec grammar and hear it explained?”
“No, sir; by no means. Many days the teacher and we occupy ourselves in the Levilon.”
“And what is that?”
“Levilon, levilon, ton, ton.”
“I understand you, even less.”
“It is a sort of a marsellaise against cleanness and neatness of person and dress; that is to say, against politeness.”1