Robert Burns did the
part to perfection:
O wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea.
How many times does one recite that to all the Ophelias and Gretchens in
the world:
Thy bield should be my bosom.
How one admires one's bosom in that capacity! Looking down at one's
shirt-front, one is filled with strength and pride.
Why are the women so bad at playing this part in real life, this
Ophelia-Gretchen role? Why are they so unwilling to go mad and die for
our sakes? They do it regularly on the stage.
But perhaps, after all, we write the plays. What a villain I am, what a
black-browed, passionate, ruthless, masculine villain I am to the
leading lady on the stage; and, on the other hand, dear heart, what a
hero, what a fount of chivalrous generosity and faith! I am _anything_
but a dull and law-abiding citizen. I am a Galahad, full of purity and
spirituality, I am the Lancelot of valour and lust; I fold my hands, or
I cock my hat in one side, as the case may be: I am _myself_. Only, I am
not a respectable citizen, not that, in this hour of my glory and
my escape.
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