I had no society--knew nothing of society--saw it at a distance,
under suspicious circumstances, and was myself an object of
its suspicion. Its attractions were desirable to me, but seemed
unattainable. It required some sacrifices to obtain its entrée,
and these sacrifices were the very ones which my independence would
not allow me to make. My independence was my treasure, duly valued
in proportion to the constant strife by which it was assailed. I
had that! THAT could not be taken from me. THAT kept me from sinking
into the slave the tool, the sycophant, perhaps the brute; THAT
prompted me to hard study in secret places; THAT strengthened my
heart, when, desolate and striving against necessity, I saw nothing
of the smiles of society, and felt nothing of the bounties of
life. Then came my final emancipation--my success--my triumph!
My independence was assailed no longer. My talents were no longer
doubted or denied. My reluctant neighbors sent in their adhesion.
My uncle forbore his sneers. Lastly, and now--Julia was mine!
My heart's desires were all gratified as completely as my mind's
ambition!
Was I happy? The inconsiderate mind will suppose this very
probable--will say, I should be. But evil seeds that are planted
in the young heart grow up with years--not so rapidly or openly as
to offend--and grow to be poisonous weeds with maturity. My feelings
were too devoted, too concentrative, too all-absorbing, to leave me
happy, even when they seemed gratified. The man who has but a single
jewel in the world, is very apt to labor under a constant apprehension
of its loss. He who knows but one object of attachment--whose
heart's devotion turns evermore but to one star of all the countless
thousands in the heavens--wo is he, if that star be shrouded from
his gaze in the sudden overflow of storms!--still more wo is he,
when that star withdraws, or seems to withdraw, its corresponding
gaze, or turns it elsewhere upon another worshipper! See you not
the danger which threatened me? See you not that, never having been
beloved before--never having loved but the one--I loved that one
with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my strength; and
required from that one the equal love of heart, soul, strength?
See you not that my love--linked with impatient mind, imperious
blood, impetuous enthusiasm, and suspicious fear--was a devotion
exacting as the grave--searching as fever--as jealous of the thing
whose worship it demands as God is said to be of ours?
Mine was eminently a jealous heart! On this subject of jealousy, men
rarely judge correctly. They speak of Othello as jealous--Othello,
one of the least jealous of all human natures! Jealousy is a
quality that needs no cause. It makes its own cause. It will find
or make occasion for its exercise, in the most innocent circumstances.
The PROOFS that made Othello wretched and revengeful, were sufficient
to have deceived any jury under the sun. He had proofs. He had
a strong case to go upon. It would have influenced any judgment.
He did not seek or find these proofs for himself. He did not wish
to find them. He was slow to see them. His was not jealousy. His
error was that of pride and self-esteem. He was outraged in both.
His mistake was in being too prompt of action in a case which
admitted of deliberation. This was the error of a proud man, a
soldier, prompt to decide, prompt to act, and to punish if necessary.
But never was human character less marked by a jealous mood than
that of Othello. His great self-esteem was, of itself, a sufficient
security against jealousy. Mine might have been, had it not been
so terribly diseased by ill-training.