# The Truth

THE TRUTH
DIALOGUE
1915
THE TRUTH
A bachelor's apartment.
The bell rings. Presently Luisa enters, followed by the Servant.
Luisa. Is your master alone?
Servant. He is, señorita.
Luisa. Announce me, or rather—no, you may announce me. Surprises are dangerous, although he will certainly be surprised; I notice that you are surprised yourself. You stand there without knowing what to do or say.
Servant. I? Not at all, señorita.
Luisa. Isn't he alone? Tell me the truth.
Servant. Yes, señorita, absolutely.
Luisa. Does he expect any one?
Servant. Only a few friends; it is early as yet.
Luisa. Of course they always appear. Who is coming?
Servant. Señorito Gonzalo; perhaps three or four others.
Luisa. The usual group, I suppose? Señorito Gonzalo never fails.
Servant. The señorita knows.
Luisa. Oh, do you know?
Servant. Yes, señorita, I saw it in the paper. You are to be married—if I may make so bold.
Luisa. Thank you. Probably you have heard a great deal more here, though, than you ever saw in the papers.
Servant. I pay no attention to what the young gentlemen say. While they are discussing their affairs, I am busy with the service. Besides, they speak French.
​Luisa. But you understand French?
Servant. I do, señorita—enough to talk with the French when travelling, but the young gentlemen speak such excellent French that I cannot understand them. I don't exaggerate. I hear the young gentleman behind the door now. The bell rang, and he has heard my voice, so naturally, announcing no one…
Luisa. And he has heard my voice, too, a woman's voice, which must be extraordinary in this apartment. Come in! Come right in! It is I.
Pepe enters.
Pepe. You? Luisita! [To the Servant] Why didn't you announce this young lady at once?
Luisa. He was as thoroughly shocked as yourself.
Pepe. To tell the truth——
Servant. Anything else, sir?
Pepe. Not at present. Ask my friends into the other room… Don't shut that door!
The Servant goes out.
Pepe. Well, Luisita? Are you alone? Have you permission to come?
Luisa. Why permission? Papa and mamma would be terribly shocked. Imagine what people would think if they knew that I was here with you, alone, a bachelor, in your apartment. Bachelor apartments have such dreadful reputations; all respectable families are convinced they are scandalous. It was bold of me, wasn't it? Now tell me the truth!
Pepe. Bold of you? You know it.
Luisa. That depends.
Pepe. I hope you have a good reason for coming.
Luisa. Let me explore a little first. I think your room is decidedly chic. I am awfully anxious to see the pictures. Ah!… You have taste; you don't exhibit pictures of girls ​that you know. These are all friends, relatives… Very proper indeed! Oh, this is more interesting! Actresses!
Pepe. Possibly three or four.
Luisa. Ah, La Platanito! Everybody seems to be mad over that girl. I hear she is charming—and startling, too, when she sings.
Pepe. If singing without a voice and without knowing how may be said to be startling.
Luisa. Unless the rest of the apartment is much worse, I should not call it depraved.
Pepe. What did you expect? When a man lives alone, his friends imagine…
Luisa. Exactly—that he has company.
Pepe. But then what would be the use of living alone? I did not desert a loving family to be free; all I wanted was peace, to draw a quiet breath.
Luisa. I know; your aunts have a different idea.
Pepe. I am living by myself precisely because we have different ideas. Now I hope your curiosity has been satisfied. It is my turn, and I am dreadfully curious. What can I do for you? What do you want? How did you ever manage to slip out alone?
Luisa. Doña Rosalia took me to call on Mercedes Santonja, and she left me there. Mercedes was in the secret, so I ran away from her house, and took a cab—it is waiting around the corner now—and here we are.
Pepe. Delighted! Although… Is this something really serious?
Luisa. Serious? Very serious?
Pepe. Because if it isn't serious, then it is very foolish. Nothing could be more serious than foolishness in a woman.
Luisa. I am not sure whether it is foolish or serious, but at least the consequences cannot be serious, that is certain. ​I have come to consult you because you are like a brother to me, you belong to the family; we have known each other ever since we were children. Besides, you are a sensible young man.
Pepe. Extremely flattering! Nevertheless, I intend to acquire a reputation to-day to last me the rest of my life.
Luisa. Why to-day?
Pepe. You are so adorably beautiful!
Luisa. Gracious, Pepe, now don't you be commonplace! Like most men, you imagine that you are not making yourself agreeable to a woman unless you pretend to be in love with her. Women know perfectly well whether or not men are really in love.
Pepe. In that case further effort will be useless. You are madly attractive; that is as far as I am prepared to go.
Luisa. Suppose I should take you at your word? When Gonzalo comes, you will have to challenge him, although he is your most intimate friend, because he is engaged to me. After you have killed him, then you can hurry and speak to papa, and beg him to grant you my hand.
Pepe. Your father would direct his reply at my head.
Luisa. That might convince me that I am as attractive as you say. But aren't we talking nonsense? However, your compliments are no better: "You are madly attractive," "I am desperately in love with you." If you expect me to believe such foolishness, you will have to do more than talk. I came here to ask you a favor, and now I am sure you are going to raise objections, in spite of all the mad affection you insist that you feel.
Pepe. It depends entirely upon the favor. It may be evidence of affection to refuse.
Luisa. Gonzalo, Luis Montalbán, Enrique Santonja, and your friend Bumbum, that ridiculous old person who I ​am perfectly sure demoralizes you all, are expected to-day. I want you to tell me the truth——
Pepe. I am sorry, however, for poor Bumbum!
Luisa. Yes, poor Bumbum! he persuaded the Arellanos's governess that he honestly intended to marry her, and the first thing they knew they had to dismiss her, because when she found out that poor Bumbum was married already, she put in a claim for damages with the British Ambassador.
Pepe. I understood that that governess had already been pretty thoroughly internationalized.
Luisa. Really? Do you know, mother never would consent to a governess in our house?
Pepe. But how silly of her! Your brothers were educated abroad. Why all this sudden interest in poor Bumbum?
Luisa. I am not interested in him, nor in your other friends either. They are merely chorus, marching on. I have come because… Well, I told you… I want to find out…
Pepe. To find out? What?
Luisa. What every woman wants to know—what men say about her when they are alone. In a few days, I shall marry Gonzalo, yet what do I know about Gonzalo? I know him as a suitor, but I haven't the slightest idea what sort of husband he will make.
Pepe. What is the nature of the investigation you propose?
Luisa. I intend to experiment.
Pepe. How? By hiding here and listening to our conversation this afternoon? It may be utterly trifling.
Luisa. Not if you turn the conversation to women. Introduce me as a topic; it should not be difficult. It is timely at least.
Pepe. Poor Luisita! How distressingly feminine! You imagine you are clever, and you are more innocent than be​fore. You have come for the truth. The truth? Do you expect to find it here? Do you suppose that men are sincere when they are among themselves? Why, nobody is sincere with himself! Gonzalo may laugh at your love, and play the sceptic. He may say that he is going to marry for money, or to be comfortable, or else out of mere cynicism. He might even go so far as to boast that he will deceive you, that he is completely indifferent whether you deceive him or not. Of course any statement of that nature you would accept as pure truth?
Luisa. If he ever made such a statement——
Pepe. He may very easily do so. In fact, I have no doubt but that he has done it already.
Luisa. Pepe!
Pepe. All of us do such things. We make light of what is most precious, of patriotism, family, love. If anybody were to hear us, and to judge us by appearances, we should surely be set down as depraved. But we are not; we are merely cowards. The hypocrisy of evil is more common, I think, than the hypocrisy of good, yet it has scarcely been studied at all. And no wonder! It is a frank parade of evil, so it does not seem to be hypocrisy. Yet I believe that more good thoughts are concealed, and more good deeds are left undone, because of this hypocrisy which pretends to be evil, than there are evil thoughts and vicious deeds concealed or left undone by hypocrites of the other sort, the hypocrites who pretend to be good. Evil appears to be evil because evil men are evil, and there can be no mistake about it, and so, to seem sincere, the good pretend to be evil, and those who do not pretend to be evil, by contrast appear fools.
Luisa. As a result, all men are evil.
Pepe. Judged by appearances. Yet, although we are ​said to live by appearances, it is not the way that we live. In the serious, the important moments of our lives, the truth shines out clearly above all the screen of our lies, and it is idle then for evil to pretend to be good, or for good to pretend to be evil. I have often cried all night over what I have laughed at all day. Nobody saw me cry, but everybody saw me laugh. Where was the truth to be found?
Luisa. You just said—in your cowardice; you were afraid to be good. That is mere——
Pepe. Cowardice; precisely. I shall not apologize. It is almost always cowardice, though at times it may be modesty. No matter how sure we may be of our physical charms, it is not usual to undress before the first stranger who happens along. Here at least you agree?
Luisa. Of course not!
Pepe. Even the most hardened, and the most hardened invariably are women, offer samples at best, perhaps not altogether insufficient, nor lacking in courage, but anything like an honest, frank revelation…
Luisa. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!
Pepe. There is also a moral sense of shame. Delicate natures do not expose themselves casually to the chance passer-by.
Luisa. I should hope not. Exposure is one thing, but to wrap oneself up is another, until people imagine that one has something to conceal.
Pepe. True goodness is sportive and joyous; it loves to masquerade, so it passes for folly. False virtue dresses up to go out socially, and walks at a gait which is dignified and slow. I distrust austere gentlemen with their hands in their bosoms, who enlarge upon their virtue at the slightest excuse, and miss no opportunity to eulogize their honor, their integrity, as the phrase runs nowadays—the word is ​longer and conceals more, no doubt, like a train. Where did I read that nobody knows what he may be capable of, until he has been an absolute monarch for some hours, and has starved for some days?
Luisa. If you are going to believe that, we can never know the truth about anybody or anything.
Pepe. The truth? Do you wish the truth about your future husband? All you have to do is to ask. Everybody will tell you the truth as he sees it, and all the truths that they tell you will be lies. It would be wonderful to read the story of our lives written by different people—by our friends, our creditors, our servants. It would be like reading a thousand lives of a thousand different people, and if we were to sit down to write our own lives, the result would not be any more genuine, because, although we are all what we are, we all imagine ourselves to be something quite different.
Luisa. Just the same, the truth must be somewhere.
Pepe. The truth of our lives is in the hearts of those who love us, whose love remains ours through all the moments of our lives. It may be so great that at times they may think that they hate us, and we may believe it too, because not even love itself, if it is sincere, can be the same every day, nor through all the hours of our lives, because it is like life itself, and moves with us at its own step down all the good and all the miserable highways, whether we are sad or whether we are joyful, not because we are this or that, but however we may be. It is but a mood, a passing phase, for better or for worse; we are a little weaker or a little stronger, more heroic or more cowardly, as the case may be. At times we are unjust, even cruelly, at others we are indulgent, with equal injustice. We are so proud that we imagine ourselves to be superior to all love, above the need of all ​friendship; we are so humble that we crave the sympathy of any man, and hunger and starve for pity and pardon. Do you know why I believe you have come to me for the truth? You do not doubt Gonzalo, the one that you doubt is yourself. You are afraid that he may not be as you would have him, because you would not have him however he may be. The bell is ringing… My friends are here, and he will be with them. Will you stay? You have time to hide. Or will you go without being seen? Do you prefer to listen? Or will you let your heart speak?
Luisa. No, I should rather not know; I don't wish to hear. Can I slip out without being seen?
Pepe. Yes, come this way. Follow me.
The Servant enters.
Servant. The gentlemen are in the billiard-room. I asked them to wait.
Pepe. No, show them here. [To Luisa] Are you sure? There is still time.
Luisa. No… Am I making a mistake?
Pepe. A very wise one.
Curtain
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.