“What shocking things you say! We, we, beg of him!”
“Oh! that would not astonish me; I am accustomed to shocking things. I will go to see Leon and talk to him myself. Who knows but that he may not be so guilty as we think. Horrible lies are invented in the world and it is quite certain that all are not good who are supposed to be. Others on the contrary—if he has really deserted my sister to live with another woman all intercourse between us and him must cease; he must be a stranger to us. Oh! what a shame it is—what misery—to have received from such a man so many favours that we cannot throw back in his teeth!”
“Good heavens! do not speak like that, you will attract attention,” cried the marquesa alarmed by her son’s vehemence. “You are really absurd!”
“Absurd!” repeated Gustavo bitterly. “What do I care; and after all I am the only one of the family who feels the vileness of our existence.”
“Gustavo!”
“I speak for myself, only for myself. This house is as odious to me as my own home. The everlasting babble about morality has deafened me and prevents my hearing the voice of truth—truth, which the more it is felt the less it is talked about. I am equally disgusted with my own part in the world, with the position of my family, and the worldly cynical set who call themselves my friends. I am satisfied with nothing, and the one thing I hope for, is a voluntary exile that may remove me from all who belong to me.”
“And do you wish to add fresh troubles to those I already have to bear?” she said, visibly moved. “You, emigrate, renounce all your future prospects—even the hope of becoming a minister....”
“No, the idea of emigrating is, of course, mere madness; I cannot go. My ambition and my disgrace are one and I am bound to them as the snail is to his shell. Here I must stay—for ever inseparable from my family, my fancy, my class, and my principles!” He accented the last word ironically. “I must live on, seeing what I see, and hearing what I hear. By the way, I have a new disaster to tell you of. This evening Polito was slapped in the face, in a house I need not name, in consequence of a dispute over a game of cards. There was a fight, women screamed—the police interfered....”
“But was he hurt?” asked his mother.
“No—a bruise or two; but the row was heard all down the street—no matter the name of the street;” he groaned and went on: “We live in an evil day, a day of wrath! However, from this time forth I shall insist on managing the affairs of the house, and we shall see whether I can get it out of the present difficulty, and save our credit at any rate—save the honour which is no longer a fact but a fiction. I am deeply vexed that my father should have gone to Leon with the purpose that I suspect.”