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cal bloody catastrophical form; but his outward behavior remains un–
changed. In his everyday affairs the weakling remains as timid, as help–
less, as faint-hearted as before. He conspires against the government in
the same way that he often strangles his father in dreams at night, only
to sit down beside him to breakfast the following morning.
DoN PAOLO. Until a banal incident reveals his double life.
MuRICA. Then he's panic-stricken. Terror-stricken.
DoN PAOLO
(after some reflection).
Did they beat you when you were
in jail?
MurucA. Yes, but I assure you the beatings could add nothing to the
fear which had seized me the moment I was arrested. Besides, my father
had often beaten me much more violently when I was a youngster.
DoN PAOLO. Your father?
MuRICA. The moment I was arrested I realized I had staked more
than I possessed. The challenge I had flung down was out of all pro–
portion to my strength. In giving my personal data I couldn't remember
when I was born, nor my mother's maiden name. I signed that state–
ment without reading it.
If
they had written that I pleaded guilty of
robbing and assassinating my grandmother, I should have signed with–
out hesitation.
DoN PAoLo. They let you out of jail and then began the pangs of
remorse; et cetera et cetera, with all that followed.
MuRICA. No. As a matter of fact, on my release from jail I was amazed
to discover that I felt not the slightest remorse.
DoN PAOLO. Not the slightest remorse?
MurucA. My satisfaction at having escaped so lightly left no room for
anything but a vague fear of being found out. I kept asking myself:
"What will Annina say if she discovers my deceit? What will my com–
panions say?" My visit to jail had considerably enhanced my reputation,
and I was terrified of losing it.
DoN PAoLo
(sarcastically).
Of course, I quite understand, honor above
all.
MuRICA. But little by little, as I became reassured that it was relatively
easy to betray without being detected, my fear of disgrace and punish–
ment began to give way, strangely and unexpectedly, to an increasing
horror of impunity. I began to ask myself this question: if a more expert
technique of betrayal could guarantee that I should never be found out,
would that make evil any easier to bear? I began to find it monstrous
that the idea of good should be inseparable from the concept of utility
and linked up with a promise of reward or punishment. So what's useful
is therefore good? But useful to whom? To the prisoner anxious at all
