The Reign of Greed - 23

Total number of words is 4766
Total number of unique words is 1551
49.3 of words are in the 2000 most common words
69.3 of words are in the 5000 most common words
77.1 of words are in the 8000 most common words
Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
The profound silence of amazement followed these words. Simoun, the
evil genius of the Captain-General, the rich trader to whose house
they had gone to buy unset gems, Simoun, who had received the Orenda
girls with great courtesy and had paid them fine compliments! For
the very reason that the story seemed absurd it was believed. "_Credo
quia absurdum,_" said St. Augustine.
"But wasn't Simoun at the fiesta last night?" asked Sensia.
"Yes," said Momoy. "But now I remember! He left the house just as we
were sitting down to the dinner. He went to get his wedding-gift."
"But wasn't he a friend of the General's? Wasn't he a partner of
Don Timoteo's?"
"Yes, he made himself a partner in order to strike the blow and kill
all the Spaniards."
"Aha!" cried Sensia. "Now I understand!"
"What?"
"You didn't want to believe Aunt Tentay. Simoun is the devil and he
has bought up the souls of all the Spaniards. Aunt Tentay said so!"
Capitana Loleng crossed herself and looked uneasily toward the jewels,
fearing to see them turn into live coals, while Capitan Toringoy took
off the ring which had come from Simoun.
"Simoun has disappeared without leaving any traces," added
Chichoy. "The Civil Guard is searching for him."
"Yes," observed Sensia, crossing herself, "searching for the devil."
Now many things were explained: Simoun's fabulous wealth and the
peculiar smell in his house, the smell of sulphur. Binday, another
of the daughters, a frank and lovely girl, remembered having seen
blue flames in the jeweler's house one afternoon when she and her
mother had gone there to buy jewels. Isagani listened attentively,
but said nothing.
"So, last night--" ventured Momoy.
"Last night?" echoed Sensia, between curiosity and fear.
Momoy hesitated, but the face Sensia put on banished his fear. "Last
night, while we were eating, there was a disturbance, the light in
the General's dining-room went out. They say that some unknown person
stole the lamp that was presented by Simoun."
"A thief? One of the Black Hand?"
Isagani arose to walk back and forth.
"Didn't they catch him?"
"He jumped into the river before anybody recognized him. Some say he
was a Spaniard, some a Chinaman, and others an Indian."
"It's believed that with the lamp," added Chichoy, "he was going to
set fire to the house, then the powder--"
Momoy again shuddered but noticing that Sensia was watching him tried
to control himself. "What a pity!" he exclaimed with an effort. "How
wickedly the thief acted. Everybody would have been killed."
Sensia stared at him in fright, the women crossed themselves, while
Capitan Toringoy, who was afraid of politics, made a move to go away.
Momoy turned to Isagani, who observed with an enigmatic smile: "It's
always wicked to take what doesn't belong to you. If that thief had
known what it was all about and had been able to reflect, surely he
wouldn't have done as he did."
Then, after a pause, he added, "For nothing in the world would I want
to be in his place!"
So they continued their comments and conjectures until an hour later,
when Isagani bade the family farewell, to return forever to his
uncle's side.


CHAPTER XXXVIII
FATALITY

_Matanglawin_ was the terror of Luzon. His band had as lief appear
in one province where it was least expected as make a descent upon
another that was preparing to resist it. It burned a sugar-mill in
Batangas and destroyed the crops, on the following day it murdered the
Justice of the Peace of Tiani, and on the next took possession of the
town of Cavite, carrying off the arms from the town hall. The central
provinces, from Tayabas to Pangasinan, suffered from his depredations,
and his bloody name extended from Albay in the south to Kagayan in
the north. The towns, disarmed through mistrust on the part of a
weak government, fell easy prey into his hands--at his approach the
fields were abandoned by the farmers, the herds were scattered, while
a trail of blood and fire marked his passage. _Matanglawin_ laughed at
the severe measures ordered by the government against the tulisanes,
since from them only the people in the outlying villages suffered,
being captured and maltreated if they resisted the band, and if they
made peace with it being flogged and deported by the government,
provided they completed the journey and did not meet with a fatal
accident on the way. Thanks to these terrible alternatives many of
the country folk decided to enlist under his command.
As a result of this reign of terror, trade among the towns, already
languishing, died out completely. The rich dared not travel, and
the poor feared to be arrested by the Civil Guard, which, being
under obligation to pursue the tulisanes, often seized the first
person encountered and subjected him to unspeakable tortures. In its
impotence, the government put on a show of energy toward the persons
whom it suspected, in order that by force of cruelty the people should
not realize its weakness--the fear that prompted such measures.
A string of these hapless suspects, some six or seven, with their
arms tied behind them, bound together like a bunch of human meat,
was one afternoon marching through the excessive heat along a road
that skirted a mountain, escorted by ten or twelve guards armed with
rifles. Their bayonets gleamed in the sun, the barrels of their rifles
became hot, and even the sage-leaves in their helmets scarcely served
to temper the effect of the deadly May sun.
Deprived of the use of their arms and pressed close against one
another to save rope, the prisoners moved along almost uncovered and
unshod, he being the best off who had a handkerchief twisted around
his head. Panting, suffering, covered with dust which perspiration
converted into mud, they felt their brains melting, they saw lights
dancing before them, red spots floating in the air. Exhaustion and
dejection were pictured in their faces, desperation, wrath, something
indescribable, the look of one who dies cursing, of a man who is
weary of life, who hates himself, who blasphemes against God. The
strongest lowered their heads to rub their faces against the dusky
backs of those in front of them and thus wipe away the sweat that
was blinding them. Many were limping, but if any one of them happened
to fall and thus delay the march he would hear a curse as a soldier
ran up brandishing a branch torn from a tree and forced him to rise
by striking about in all directions. The string then started to run,
dragging, rolling in the dust, the fallen one, who howled and begged
to be killed; but perchance he succeeded in getting on his feet and
then went along crying like a child and cursing the hour he was born.
The human cluster halted at times while the guards drank, and then
the prisoners continued on their way with parched mouths, darkened
brains, and hearts full of curses. Thirst was for these wretches the
least of their troubles.
"Move on, you sons of ----!" cried a soldier, again refreshed,
hurling the insult common among the lower classes of Filipinos.
The branch whistled and fell on any shoulder whatsoever, the nearest
one, or at times upon a face to leave a welt at first white, then red,
and later dirty with the dust of the road.
"Move on, you cowards!" at times a voice yelled in Spanish, deepening
its tone.
"Cowards!" repeated the mountain echoes.
Then the cowards quickened their pace under a sky of red-hot iron,
over a burning road, lashed by the knotty branch which was worn
into shreds on their livid skins. A Siberian winter would perhaps be
tenderer than the May sun of the Philippines.
Yet, among the soldiers there was one who looked with disapproving
eyes upon so much wanton cruelty, as he marched along silently
with his brows knit in disgust. At length, seeing that the guard,
not satisfied with the branch, was kicking the prisoners that fell,
he could no longer restrain himself but cried out impatiently, "Here,
Mautang, let them alone!"
Mautang turned toward him in surprise. "What's it to you, Carolino?" he
asked.
"To me, nothing, but it hurts me," replied Carolino. "They're men
like ourselves."
"It's plain that you're new to the business!" retorted Mautang with
a compassionate smile. "How did you treat the prisoners in the war?"
"With more consideration, surely!" answered Carolino.
Mautang remained silent for a moment and then, apparently having
discovered the reason, calmly rejoined, "Ah, it's because they are
enemies and fight us, while these--these are our own countrymen."
Then drawing nearer to Carolino he whispered, "How stupid you
are! They're treated so in order that they may attempt to resist or
to escape, and then--bang!"
Carolino made no reply.
One of the prisoners then begged that they let him stop for a moment.
"This is a dangerous place," answered the corporal, gazing uneasily
toward the mountain. "Move on!"
"Move on!" echoed Mautang and his lash whistled.
The prisoner twisted himself around to stare at him with reproachful
eyes. "You are more cruel than the Spaniard himself," he said.
Mautang replied with more blows, when suddenly a bullet whistled,
followed by a loud report. Mautang dropped his rifle, uttered an
oath, and clutching at his breast with both hands fell spinning into
a heap. The prisoner saw him writhing in the dust with blood spurting
from his mouth.
"Halt!" called the corporal, suddenly turning pale.
The soldiers stopped and stared about them. A wisp of smoke rose from
a thicket on the height above. Another bullet sang to its accompanying
report and the corporal, wounded in the thigh, doubled over vomiting
curses. The column was attacked by men hidden among the rocks above.
Sullen with rage the corporal motioned toward the string of prisoners
and laconically ordered, "Fire!"
The wretches fell upon their knees, filled with consternation. As
they could not lift their hands, they begged for mercy by kissing
the dust or bowing their heads--one talked of his children, another
of his mother who would be left unprotected, one promised money,
another called upon God--but the muzzles were quickly lowered and a
hideous volley silenced them all.
Then began the sharpshooting against those who were behind the rocks
above, over which a light cloud of smoke began to hover. To judge from
the scarcity of their shots, the invisible enemies could not have
more than three rifles. As they advanced firing, the guards sought
cover behind tree-trunks or crouched down as they attempted to scale
the height. Splintered rocks leaped up, broken twigs fell from trees,
patches of earth were torn up, and the first guard who attempted the
ascent rolled back with a bullet through his shoulder.
The hidden enemy had the advantage of position, but the valiant
guards, who did not know how to flee, were on the point of retiring,
for they had paused, unwilling to advance; that fight against the
invisible unnerved them. Smoke and rocks alone could be seen--not a
voice was heard, not a shadow appeared; they seemed to be fighting
with the mountain.
"Shoot, Carolino! What are you aiming at?" called the corporal.
At that instant a man appeared upon a rock, making signs with his
rifle.
"Shoot him!" ordered the corporal with a foul oath.
Three guards obeyed the order, but the man continued standing there,
calling out at the top of his voice something unintelligible.
Carolino paused, thinking that he recognized something familiar about
that figure, which stood out plainly in the sunlight. But the corporal
threatened to tie him up if he did not fire, so Carolino took aim and
the report of his rifle was heard. The man on the rock spun around
and disappeared with a cry that left Carolino horror-stricken.
Then followed a rustling in the bushes, indicating that those within
were scattering in all directions, so the soldiers boldly advanced,
now that there was no more resistance. Another man appeared upon the
rock, waving a spear, and they fired at him. He sank down slowly,
catching at the branch of a tree, but with another volley fell face
downwards on the rock.
The guards climbed on nimbly, with bayonets fixed ready for a
hand-to-hand fight. Carolino alone moved forward reluctantly, with
a wandering, gloomy look, the cry of the man struck by his bullet
still ringing in his ears. The first to reach the spot found an old
man dying, stretched out on the rock. He plunged his bayonet into
the body, but the old man did not even wink, his eyes being fixed
on Carolino with an indescribable gaze, while with his bony hand he
pointed to something behind the rock.
The soldiers turned to see Caroline frightfully pale, his mouth
hanging open, with a look in which glimmered the last spark of reason,
for Carolino, who was no other than Tano, Cabesang Tales' son, and
who had just returned from the Carolines, recognized in the dying
man his grandfather, Tandang Selo. No longer able to speak, the old
man's dying eyes uttered a whole poem of grief--and then a corpse,
he still continued to point to something behind the rock.


CHAPTER XXXIX
CONCLUSION

In his solitary retreat on the shore of the sea, whose mobile surface
was visible through the open, windows, extending outward until it
mingled with the horizon, Padre Florentino was relieving the monotony
by playing on his harmonium sad and melancholy tunes, to which the
sonorous roar of the surf and the sighing of the treetops of the
neighboring wood served as accompaniments. Notes long, full, mournful
as a prayer, yet still vigorous, escaped from the old instrument. Padre
Florentino, who was an accomplished musician, was improvising, and,
as he was alone, gave free rein to the sadness in his heart.
For the truth was that the old man was very sad. His good friend, Don
Tiburcio de Espadaña, had just left him, fleeing from the persecution
of his wife. That morning he had received a note from the lieutenant
of the Civil Guard, which ran thus:

MY DEAR CHAPLAIN,--I have just received from the commandant
a telegram that says, "Spaniard hidden house Padre Florentino
capture forward alive dead." As the telegram is quite explicit,
warn your friend not to be there when I come to arrest him
at eight tonight.
Affectionately,
PEREZ
Burn this note.

"T-that V-victorina!" Don Tiburcio had stammered. "S-she's c-capable
of having me s-shot!"
Padre Florentino was unable to reassure him. Vainly he pointed
out to him that the word _cojera_ should have read _cogerá_,
[77] and that the hidden Spaniard could not be Don Tiburcio,
but the jeweler Simoun, who two days before had arrived, wounded
and a fugitive, begging for shelter. But Don Tiburcio would not be
convinced--_cojera_ was his own lameness, his personal description,
and it was an intrigue of Victorina's to get him back alive or dead,
as Isagani had written from Manila. So the poor Ulysses had left the
priest's house to conceal himself in the hut of a woodcutter.
No doubt was entertained by Padre Florentino that the Spaniard wanted
was the jeweler Simoun, who had arrived mysteriously, himself carrying
the jewel-chest, bleeding, morose, and exhausted. With the free and
cordial Filipino hospitality, the priest had taken him in, without
asking indiscreet questions, and as news of the events in Manila had
not yet reached his ears he was unable to understand the situation
clearly. The only conjecture that occurred to him was that the General,
the jeweler's friend and protector, being gone, probably his enemies,
the victims of wrong and abuse, were now rising and calling for
vengeance, and that the acting Governor was pursuing him to make him
disgorge the wealth he had accumulated--hence his flight. But whence
came his wounds? Had he tried to commit suicide? Were they the result
of personal revenge? Or were they merely caused by an accident, as
Simoun claimed? Had they been received in escaping from the force
that was pursuing him?
This last conjecture was the one that seemed to have the greatest
appearance of probability, being further strengthened by the telegram
received and Simoun's decided unwillingness from the start to be
treated by the doctor from the capital. The jeweler submitted only
to the ministrations of Don Tiburcio, and even to them with marked
distrust. In this situation Padre Florentino was asking himself what
line of conduct he should pursue when the Civil Guard came to arrest
Simoun. His condition would not permit his removal, much less a long
journey--but the telegram said alive or dead.
Padre Florentine ceased playing and approached the window to gaze
out at the sea, whose desolate surface was without a ship, without
a sail--it gave him no suggestion. A solitary islet outlined
in the distance spoke only of solitude and made the space more
lonely. Infinity is at times despairingly mute.
The old man was trying to analyze the sad and ironical smile with
which Simoun had received the news that he was to be arrested. What did
that smile mean? And that other smile, still sadder and more ironical,
with which he received the news that they would not come before eight
at night? What did all this mystery signify? Why did Simoun refuse
to hide? There came into his mind the celebrated saying of St. John
Chrysostom when he was defending the eunuch Eutropius: "Never was a
better time than this to say--Vanity of vanities and all is vanity!"
Yes, that Simoun, so rich, so powerful, so feared a week ago, and
now more unfortunate than Eutropius, was seeking refuge, not at the
altars of a church, but in the miserable house of a poor native priest,
hidden in the forest, on the solitary seashore! Vanity of vanities
and all is vanity! That man would within a few hours be a prisoner,
dragged from the bed where he lay, without respect for his condition,
without consideration for his wounds--dead or alive his enemies
demanded him! How could he save him? Where could he find the moving
accents of the bishop of Constantinople? What weight would his weak
words have, the words of a native priest, whose own humiliation this
same Simoun had in his better days seemed to applaud and encourage?
But Padre Florentine no longer recalled the indifferent reception that
two months before the jeweler had accorded to him when he had tried
to interest him in favor of Isagani, then a prisoner on account of
his imprudent chivalry; he forgot the activity Simoun had displayed in
urging Paulita's marriage, which had plunged Isagani into the fearful
misanthropy that was worrying his uncle. He forgot all these things
and thought only of the sick man's plight and his own obligations as
a host, until his senses reeled. Where must he hide him to avoid his
falling into the clutches of the authorities? But the person chiefly
concerned was not worrying, he was smiling.
While he was pondering over these things, the old man was approached by
a servant who said that the sick man wished to speak with him, so he
went into the next room, a clean and well-ventilated apartment with a
floor of wide boards smoothed and polished, and simply furnished with
big, heavy armchairs of ancient design, without varnish or paint. At
one end there was a large kamagon bed with its four posts to support
the canopy, and beside it a table covered with bottles, lint, and
bandages. A praying-desk at the feet of a Christ and a scanty library
led to the suspicion that it was the priest's own bedroom, given up to
his guest according to the Filipino custom of offering to the stranger
the best table, the best room, and the best bed in the house. Upon
seeing the windows opened wide to admit freely the healthful sea-breeze
and the echoes of its eternal lament, no one in the Philippines would
have said that a sick person was to be found there, since it is the
custom to close all the windows and stop up all the cracks just as
soon as any one catches a cold or gets an insignificant headache.
Padre Florentine looked toward the bed and was astonished to
see that the sick man's face had lost its tranquil and ironical
expression. Hidden grief seemed to knit his brows, anxiety was depicted
in his looks, his lips were curled in a smile of pain.
"Are you suffering, Señor Simoun?" asked the priest solicitously,
going to his side.
"Some! But in a little while I shall cease to suffer," he replied
with a shake of his head.
Padre Florentine clasped his hands in fright, suspecting that he
understood the terrible truth. "My God, what have you done? What have
you taken?" He reached toward the bottles.
"It's useless now! There's no remedy at all!" answered Simoun with a
pained smile. "What did you expect me to do? Before the clock strikes
eight--alive or dead--dead, yes, but alive, no!"
"My God, what have you done?"
"Be calm!" urged the sick man with a wave of his hand. "What's done
is done. I must not fall into anybody's hands--my secret would
be torn from me. Don't get excited, don't lose your head, it's
useless! Listen--the night is coming on and there's no time to be
lost. I must tell you my secret, and intrust to you my last request,
I must lay my life open before you. At the supreme moment I want to
lighten myself of a load, I want to clear up a doubt of mine. You
who believe so firmly in God--I want you to tell me if there is a God!"
"But an antidote, Señor Simoun! I have ether, chloroform--"
The priest began to search for a flask, until Simoun cried impatiently,
"Useless, it's useless! Don't waste time! I'll go away with my secret!"
The bewildered priest fell down at his desk and prayed at the feet
of the Christ, hiding his face in his hands. Then he arose serious
and grave, as if he had received from his God all the force, all
the dignity, all the authority of the Judge of consciences. Moving
a chair to the head of the bed he prepared to listen.
At the first words Simoun murmured, when he told his real name,
the old priest started back and gazed at him in terror, whereat
the sick man smiled bitterly. Taken by surprise, the priest was not
master of himself, but he soon recovered, and covering his face with
a handkerchief again bent over to listen.
Simoun related his sorrowful story: how, thirteen years before, he
had returned from Europe filled with hopes and smiling illusions,
having come back to marry a girl whom he loved, disposed to do good
and forgive all who had wronged him, just so they would let him live
in peace. But it was not so. A mysterious hand involved him in the
confusion of an uprising planned by his enemies. Name, fortune, love,
future, liberty, all were lost, and he escaped only through the heroism
of a friend. Then he swore vengeance. With the wealth of his family,
which had been buried in a wood, he had fled, had gone to foreign
lands and engaged in trade. He took part in the war in Cuba, aiding
first one side and then another, but always profiting. There he made
the acquaintance of the General, then a major, whose good-will he won
first by loans of money, and afterwards he made a friend of him by
the knowledge of criminal secrets. With his money he had been able to
secure the General's appointment and, once in the Philippines, he had
used him as a blind tool and incited him to all kinds of injustice,
availing himself of his insatiable lust for gold.
The confession was long and tedious, but during the whole of it the
confessor made no further sign of surprise and rarely interrupted the
sick man. It was night when Padre Florentino, wiping the perspiration
from his face, arose and began to meditate. Mysterious darkness
flooded the room, so that the moonbeams entering through the window
filled it with vague lights and vaporous reflections.
Into the midst of the silence the priest's voice broke sad and
deliberate, but consoling: "God will forgive you, Señor--Simoun,"
he said. "He knows that we are fallible, He has seen that you have
suffered, and in ordaining that the chastisement for your faults
should come as death from the very ones you have instigated to crime,
we can see His infinite mercy. He has frustrated your plans one by
one, the best conceived, first by the death of Maria Clara, then by
a lack of preparation, then in some mysterious way. Let us bow to
His will and render Him thanks!"
"According to you, then," feebly responded the sick man, "His will
is that these islands--"
"Should continue in the condition in which they suffer?" finished
the priest, seeing that the other hesitated. "I don't know, sir,
I can't read the thought of the Inscrutable. I know that He has not
abandoned those peoples who in their supreme moments have trusted in
Him and made Him the Judge of their cause, I know that His arm has
never failed when, justice long trampled upon and every recourse gone,
the oppressed have taken up the sword to fight for home and wife and
children, for their inalienable rights, which, as the German poet says,
shine ever there above, unextinguished and inextinguishable, like
the eternal stars themselves. No, God is justice, He cannot abandon
His cause, the cause of liberty, without which no justice is possible."
"Why then has He denied me His aid?" asked the sick man in a voice
charged with bitter complaint.
"Because you chose means that He could not sanction," was the
severe reply. "The glory of saving a country is not for him who has
contributed to its ruin. You have believed that what crime and iniquity
have defiled and deformed, another crime and another iniquity can
purify and redeem. Wrong! Hate never produces anything but monsters
and crime criminals! Love alone realizes wonderful works, virtue
alone can save! No, if our country has ever to be free, it will not
be through vice and crime, it will not be so by corrupting its sons,
deceiving some and bribing others, no! Redemption presupposes virtue,
virtue sacrifice, and sacrifice love!"
"Well, I accept your explanation," rejoined the sick man, after
a pause. "I have been mistaken, but, because I have been mistaken,
will that God deny liberty to a people and yet save many who are much
worse criminals than I am? What is my mistake compared to the crimes
of our rulers? Why has that God to give more heed to my iniquity than
to the cries of so many innocents? Why has He not stricken me down
and then made the people triumph? Why does He let so many worthy and
just ones suffer and look complacently upon their tortures?"
"The just and the worthy must suffer in order that their ideas may be
known and extended! You must shake or shatter the vase to spread its
perfume, you must smite the rock to get the spark! There is something
providential in the persecutions of tyrants, Señor Simoun!"
"I knew it," murmured the sick man, "and therefore I encouraged
the tyranny."
"Yes, my friend, but more corrupt influences than anything else
were spread. You fostered the social rottenness without sowing an
idea. From this fermentation of vices loathing alone could spring,
and if anything were born overnight it would be at best a mushroom,
for mushrooms only can spring spontaneously from filth. True it
is that the vices of the government are fatal to it, they cause
its death, but they kill also the society in whose bosom they are
developed. An immoral government presupposes a demoralized people,
a conscienceless administration, greedy and servile citizens in the
settled parts, outlaws and brigands in the mountains. Like master,
like slave! Like government, like country!"
A brief pause ensued, broken at length by the sick man's voice. "Then,
what can be done?"
"Suffer and work!"
"Suffer--work!" echoed the sick man bitterly. "Ah, it's easy to say
that, when you are not suffering, when the work is rewarded. If your
God demands such great sacrifices from man, man who can scarcely
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Next - The Reign of Greed - 24
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  • The Reign of Greed - 01
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    64.0 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    72.3 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 10
    Total number of words is 4825
    Total number of unique words is 1515
    46.9 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    64.5 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    72.7 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 11
    Total number of words is 4692
    Total number of unique words is 1498
    47.1 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    65.3 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    74.7 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 12
    Total number of words is 4809
    Total number of unique words is 1590
    46.9 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    64.7 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    73.6 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 13
    Total number of words is 4747
    Total number of unique words is 1598
    43.5 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    61.7 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    69.9 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 14
    Total number of words is 4747
    Total number of unique words is 1597
    45.9 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    63.2 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    71.3 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 15
    Total number of words is 4692
    Total number of unique words is 1528
    47.6 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    66.5 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    75.8 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 16
    Total number of words is 4823
    Total number of unique words is 1636
    46.9 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    64.9 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    73.6 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 17
    Total number of words is 4685
    Total number of unique words is 1432
    48.6 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    67.2 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    74.7 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 18
    Total number of words is 4828
    Total number of unique words is 1472
    47.2 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    65.3 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    73.0 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 19
    Total number of words is 4824
    Total number of unique words is 1492
    46.8 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    65.1 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    73.6 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 20
    Total number of words is 4884
    Total number of unique words is 1476
    49.1 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    68.4 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    78.2 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 21
    Total number of words is 4833
    Total number of unique words is 1628
    46.4 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    65.4 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    75.2 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 22
    Total number of words is 4633
    Total number of unique words is 1578
    45.9 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    64.5 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    73.3 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 23
    Total number of words is 4766
    Total number of unique words is 1551
    49.3 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    69.3 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    77.1 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 24
    Total number of words is 4487
    Total number of unique words is 1705
    37.9 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    57.1 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    66.4 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Reign of Greed - 25
    Total number of words is 734
    Total number of unique words is 394
    44.5 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    59.8 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    67.0 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.