(_A Refrain_)
"Baroja does not amount to anything, and I presume that he will never
amount to anything," Ortega y Gasset observes in the first issue of the
_Spectator_.
I have a suspicion myself that I shall never amount to anything.
Everybody who knows me has always thought the same.
When I first went to school in San Sebastian, at the age of four--and it
has rained a great deal since that day--the teacher, Don León Sánchez y
Calleja, who made a practice of thrashing us with a very stiff pointer
(oh, these hallowed traditions of our ancestors!), looked me over and
said:
"This boy will prove to be as sulky as his brother. He will never amount
to anything."
I studied for a time in the Institute of Pamplona with Don Gregorio
Pano, who taught us mathematics; and this old gentleman, who looked like
the Commander in _Don Juan Tenorio_, with his frozen face and his
white beard, remarked to me in his sepulchral voice:
"You are not going to be an engineer like your father. You will never
amount to anything."
When I took therapeutics under Don Benito Hernando in San Carlos, Don
Benito planted himself in front of me and said:
"That smile of yours, that little smile ... it is impertinent. Don't you
come to me with any of your satirical smiles. You will never amount to
anything, unless it is negative and useless."