— Enough, already! I shouted, speeding up to a full run.
But Schultz in turn increased his pace and, swift as a greyhound, soon caught up with me:
— Listen! he panted. I’ve put them all in filthy chicken coops and settled them in revolting nesting boxs, where they cluck and brood over their bags of gold, snivelling with fever, rheumy-eyed, flea-bitten, flatulent, and reduced to utter decrepitude.
We were going along like this — with Schultz describing and me whinging and both of us running hell bent for leather — when I saw the exit door up ahead. Being the work of misers, and for the sake of not giving an inch, the door narrowed and shrank the nearer we drew. I made a dash for it, determined to get through the door no matter what, even if I had to dive through the keyhole. But just then I felt myself caught by someone who pushed me roughly toward a table that looked right out of some police station. In front of the table was a hard bench, and my captor forced me to sit down there. The astrologer Schultz, likewise captive, was soon sitting beside me. Only then did I see not only the two raving lunatics who’d hunted us down, but also a man behind the table who seemed to be observing us attentively, even as he adjusted on his cranium a gaudy brass crown.
— What’s this pair doing here? asked the man with the crown at last.
— Fugitives, answered the two lunatics in unison. They were only ten yards away from the exit.
— They lie! shouted Schultz, getting up from his seat.
A strong light was raining down on us from above. The astrologer sat down again and looked at me. And I looked back at him. Then the reason for our capture became obvious: looking at one another by the light of the beacon, we realized we were covered with the yellow dust so abundant in the Plutobarrio; without a doubt, we looked exactly like the rich slobs who inhabited the place.
From that moment on, my memories are confused. My accumulated fatigue, plus the exertion of my last run and the tempting invitation of the bench all plunged me into a lethargy that made it impossible to keep my eyes open and no doubt had me snoring before long. Even so, I retain a vague memory of what happened before I fell completely asleep. First, Schultz turned to the man with the crown to declare that, “being who he was,” he enjoyed right-of-way through that inferno. To which the man with the crown answered: “You’re a liar and a yellow-bellied coward.” And Schultz, more offended by the overly familiar form of address than by the insult itself, asked him “since when had they been eating mazamorra from the same plate.” Only later did I hear from Schultz how the incident ended. The crowned man turned out to be King Midas, the famous plutocrat now fallen on hard times, and he demanded that Schultz undergo questioning to prove he wasn’t a fugitive if he wanted to get out of that spiral with weapons and baggage intact. Schultz accepted and took an exam which, as he later assured me, resulted in an exemplary display of pedantry on both sides.
— Do you think, Mr Midas had asked him, that the iniquities and depradations committed by the so-called bourgeois class, or third estate, warrant its being amputated from the social body?
— No, sir, Schultz had answered. Because by calling it the “third estate,” we are already saying it belongs among the others and in third place. Now, every class or estate is an organ with a distinct but equally necessary social function; and if we were to eliminate a given class, we would be left without one of those functions.
— Tell me what the third estate’s function is.
— To produce material wealth, said Schultz. And let us now recognize that the ugly bourgeois have been born with this vocation: they discover sources of abundance where most people wouldn’t see so much as a blade of grass.
— That sounds rather like praise, Mr Midas came back. So what are we to reproach them with?
— I do not want to insult your intelligence, Schultz replied, by reminding you that when a bodily organ, the stomach for example, fulfils its function, it does so for the good of the entire body, because the continued health of the former depends on that of the latter.
— A comparison as old as the hills! Midas rebuked quite scornfully.
— It’s old but still valid, Schultz shot back. Because if the bourgeoisie is the organ that innately corresponds to the economic function, it ought to fulfil its role for the benefit of the whole social body.
— By what law?
— Many, said Schultz. Would you admit the bourgeois are human?
— Hmm! growled the crowned man inconclusively.
— If they’re human, Schultz argued, they are subject to the great Law of Charity or Loving Intelligence; and they ought to obey it voluntarily by making sure the wealth resulting from their vocation gets to all those among us who do not have it.
— But they don’t obey that law, said Mr Midas. Therefore, they are not human.
— Let’s say they’re stupid brutes, persisted the astrologer. Even so, they would obey the instinct for self-preservation by assuring that material goods are distributed throughout the social body to fortify it. Because the preservation of one organ is subject to the preservation of the total organism.
— Enough of the organ, already! Mr Midas grumbled again. The bourgeois don’t follow the instinct of self-preservation, either. Therefore, they are not even brutes. What are they, then?
— There’s the rub! sighed Schultz. Every social estate or class has a virtue and an opposing vice. If its virtue prevails over its vice, the class will act justly. Otherwise, it won’t be long before its vice will lead it downhill into iniquity. In the third estate, the virtue of producing wealth is opposed by a fatal tendency toward selfishness and usury. That’s why Brahma (be he a thousand times praised!), who understood that the bourgeois, left to his own devices, would obey no law at all, placed him in the third rank of the hierarchy, so that the two upper estates might rule over him with a firm hand.
— Balderdash! Mr Midas said at this point. Take a look at the present city, and tell me the bourgeoisie is in third place!
— What? Schultz asked. Do you find it placed in another position?
— Right up there in first place.
— That’s what I was driving at! the astrologer then exclaimed. If the third estate is now the first, it means that, in the course of History, a double usurpation has been committed.
Schultz recounted to me later that only at this point did the man with the crown look at him with some respect.
— Fine, Mr Midas said. Tell me with grace, concision, and brevity the story of both usurpations.
— It is known, expounded the astrologer, that Brahma (be he a thousand times praised!) arranged humanity in four classes, estates, or hierarchies. The first is that of Brahmin the metaphysician, who, because he knows the eternal truths, exercises the very subtle function of leading all men in the ways of earth and heaven. The second is the estate of Kshatriya the warrior, whose vocation is for worldly government and military defence. The third is that of adipose Vaishya, the bourgeois, who has the function of creating and distributing material wealth. And fourth in the hierarchy is the estate of sweaty Shudra, who was born at the feet of Brahma (be he a thousand times praised!). When all four classes remain faithful to their vocation and stay in their place in the hierarchy, human order rules, and justice assumes the form of a bull firmly planted upon his four pins.
— Whoa there, mister! said Midas. Spare me the metaphorical ballistics!