To such an Indian, Shakspere's lines
But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves,
would be as incomprehensible as a Beethoven symphony. With his usual
genius for condensation, Shakspere has in those two lines given the
essentials of true jealousy--suspicion causing agony rather than
anger, and proceeding from love, not from hate. The fear, distress,
humiliation, anguish of modern jealousy are in the mind of the injured
husband. He suffers torments, but has no wish to torment either of the
guilty ones. There are, indeed, even in civilized countries, husbands
who slay erring wives; but they are not civilized husbands: like
Othello, they still have the taint of the savage in them. Civilized
husbands resort to separation, not to mutilation or murder; and in
dismissing the guilty wife, they punish themselves more than her--for
she has shown by her actions that she does not love him and therefore
cannot feel the deepest pang of the separation. There is no anger, no
desire for revenge.
How comes this gentle concord in the world,
That hatred is so far from jealousy?
It comes in the world through love--through the fact that a man--or a
woman--who truly loves, cannot tolerate even the thought of punishing
one who has held first place in his or her affections.
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