At the moment when I arrived
it was two o'clock; the great gate opened to admit a carriage. Whose?
--That of the stalking-horse!
"It is fifteen years since--well, even while I tell the tale, I, the
exhausted orator, the Minister dried up by the friction of public
business, I still feel a surging in my heart and the hot blood about
my diaphragm. At the end of an hour I passed once more; the carriage
was still in the courtyard! My note no doubt was in the porter's
hands. At last, at half-past three, the carriage drove out. I could
observe my rival's expression; he was grave, and did not smile; but he
was in love, and no doubt there was business in hand.
"I went to keep my appointment; the queen of my heart met me; I saw
her calm, pure, serene. And here I must confess that I have always
thought that Othello was not only stupid, but showed very bad taste.
Only a man who is half a Negro could behave so: indeed Shakespeare
felt this when he called his play 'The Moor of Venice.' The sight of
the woman we love is such a balm to the heart that it must dispel
anguish, doubt, and sorrow.
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