And I tell you, as I told your mother last night, without prejudice to the rectification of my opinion when I have examined the patient, that if the description which you have given me is exact—and I conclude that it is——
Laz. It is. What then?
Berm. Ah! the springs of life cannot be corrupted with impunity. The Son of that father will very soon sink into madness or into idiocy. A madman or an idiot: such is his fate!
(He says this without looking round, with solemnity,
like one who pronounces a sentence: gazing forward and motioning with his arm
towards Lazarus. The latter cowers in his chair and looks at
Bermudez with horror.)
Laz. Ah! No! What? My father! I! A lie! A lie! It is a lie! (Hides his face in his hands.)
Berm. What’s this? Lazarus! Señor de Mejia! Are you ill? What do you say? (Rising and approaching Lazarus.) I don’t understand! Can it be? What?
Laz. That I am the madman? Silence! That I am the idiot? Silence! That I am such—I? Look at me well: study me well: strengthen your judgment: meditate, examine, give sentence!
Bermudez standing, Lazarus seated and clutching
the doctor by the arm.
Berm. But this is not fair, Señor de Mejia! This is not just! By God—by the Holy God!
Laz. Fairness, justice, in a man such as I? Bermudez, Bermudez, I did wrong, I confess—(with a mixture of courtesy, sadness, and some sarcasm)—An idiot who presents his most humble excuses to a wise man! Be generous, pardon me.