“To love me, to love me!” chanted Portal, mimicking my voice and manner. “Why, it is the most senseless folly, by Jupiter, and I can’t stand your talking so. It is needless to add that I don’t speak in this manner out of any fantastic regard for morality or inflated consideration for home. Pshaw! As for morality, let everybody settle that question for himself. Home! that is a worn-out institution nowadays, and the one who does most to scuttle it is most deserving of reward from his countrymen. It is not that, by Jove! But it is a question of advantage,--your own advantage. You are losing your mind, and will waste a year’s time in your studies, and all for what? For a figment of your imagination! At our age we all dream about women, and it is natural enough that we should; but we ought to dream about a woman of our own make and not about the very one who would make us unhappy if we were to be united to her. Grant that your aunt is very good, very pure and saintly! Her goodness is only passive--submission to her destiny, a moral routine, my boy--and that’s the end of it, that’s the end. If you were married to Carmen, you would act just as your uncle does; you would not talk to her at table, and would leave her alone as much as possible, because you would not understand her, neither would she understand you, and you would not be able to endure each other. A more complete divorce of soul would never have been seen before. Believe me, and don’t indulge in stupid illusions. Could you become an intimate friend of a neo-Catholic, without culture and full of prejudice? Well, neither could you be a friend to your wife. And what you consider a virtue in her, would surely appear to you like affectation in the neo-Catholic.”
“But,” I exclaimed, “how dare you deny the heroism of a woman, who, in order not to countenance her father’s indecencies, sacrifices her youth, and marries a man whom she cannot love? We have already discussed this subject, and I feel indignant that you do not appreciate the merit of her sacrifice.”
“Why, that’s just it! that’s just it!” vociferated Portal, beside himself. “I will twist the argument around: how dare you characterize as virtuous the action of a woman who accepts a repulsive husband, and does not prefer to sing in a theater, like Cinta, or scrub floors like the scullion who waits on us at Doña Jesusa’s? Why, what difference is there between your ideal angel and Belén, for instance? Belén puts up with her hateful protector, because it is for her interest to do so, in that she eats and spends and has a fine time. And that fine lady, your aunt----”