way with his actions and behaviour, and she told him that he had given
great offence to _his father_, meaning the king, his uncle, whom,
because he had married her, she called Hamlet's father. Hamlet, sorely
indignant that she should give so dear and honoured a name as father
seemed to him, to a wretch who was indeed no better than the murderer of
his true father, with some sharpness replied, "Mother, _you_ have much
offended _my father_." The queen said that was but an idle answer. "As
good as the question deserved," said Hamlet. The queen asked him if he
had forgotten who it was he was speaking to? "Alas!" replied Hamlet, "I
wish I could forget. You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
and you are my mother: I wish you were not what you are." "Nay, then,"
said the queen, "if you show me so little respect, I will set those to
you that can speak," and was going to send the king or Polonius to him.
But Hamlet would not let her go, now he had her alone, till he had tried
if his words could not bring her to some sense of her wicked life; and,
taking her by the wrist, he held her fast, and made her sit down. She,
affrighted at his earnest manner, and fearful lest in his lunacy he
should do her a mischief, cried out; and a voice was heard from behind
the hangings, "Help, help, the queen!" which Hamlet hearing, and verily
thinking that it was the king himself there concealed, he drew his sword
and stabbed at the place where the voice came from, as he would have
stabbed a rat that ran there, till the voice ceasing, he concluded the
person to be dead. But when he dragged for the body, it was not the
king, but Polonius, the old officious counsellor, that had planted
himself as a spy behind the hangings. "Oh me!" exclaimed the queen,
"what a rash and bloody deed have you done!" "A bloody deed, mother,"
replied Hamlet, "but not so bad as yours, who killed a king, and married
his brother." Hamlet had gone too far to leave off here. He was now in
the humour to speak plainly to his mother, and he pursued it. And though
the faults of parents are to be tenderly treated by their children, yet
in the case of great crimes the son may have leave to speak even to his
own mother with some harshness, so as that harshness is meant for her
good, and to turn her from her wicked ways, and not done for the purpose
of upbraiding. And now this virtuous prince did in moving terms
represent to the queen the heinousness of her offence, in being so
forgetful of the dead king, his father, as in so short a space of time
to marry with his brother and reputed murderer: such an act as, after
the vows which she had sworn to her first husband, was enough to make
all vows of women suspected, and all virtue to be accounted hypocrisy,
wedding contracts to be less than gamesters' oaths, and religion to be a
mockery and a mere form of words. He said she had done such a deed, that
the heavens blushed at it, and the earth was sick of her because of it.
And he showed her two pictures, the one of the late king, her first
husband, and the other of the present king, her second husband, and he
bade her mark the difference; what a grace was on the brow of his
father, how like a god he looked! the curls of Apollo, the forehead of
Jupiter, the eye of Mars, and a posture like to Mercury newly alighted
on some heaven-kissing hill! this man, he said, _had been_ her husband.
And then he showed her whom she had got in his stead: how like a blight
or a mildew he looked, for so he had blasted his wholesome brother. And
the queen was sore ashamed that he should so turn her eyes inward upon
her soul, which she now saw so black and deformed. And he asked her how
she could continue to live with this man, and be a wife to him, who had
murdered her first husband, and got the crown by as false means as a
thief----and just as he spoke, the ghost of his father, such as he was
in his lifetime, and such as he had lately seen it, entered the room,
and Hamlet, in great terror, asked what it would have; and the ghost
said that it came to remind him of the revenge he had promised, which
Hamlet seemed to have forgot; and the ghost bade him speak to his
mother, for the grief and terror she was in would else kill her. It then
vanished, and was seen by none but Hamlet, neither could he by pointing
to where it stood, or by any description, make his mother perceive it;
who was terribly frightened all this while to hear him conversing, as it
seemed to her, with nothing; and she imputed it to the disorder of his
mind. But Hamlet begged her not to flatter her wicked soul in such a
manner as to think that it was his madness, and not her own offences,
which had brought his father's spirit again on the earth. And he bade
her feel his pulse, how temperately it beat, not like a madman's. And he
begged of her with tears, to confess herself to heaven for what was
past, and for the future to avoid the company of the king, and be no
more as a wife to him: and when she should show herself a mother to him,
by respecting his father's memory, he would ask a blessing of her as a
son. And she promising to observe his directions, the conference ended.
And now Hamlet was at leisure to consider who it was that in his
unfortunate rashness he had killed: and when he came to see that it was
Polonius, the father of the Lady Ophelia, whom he so dearly loved, he
drew apart the dead body, and, his spirits being now a little quieter,
he wept for what he had done.
The unfortunate death of Polonius gave the king a pretence for sending
Hamlet out of the kingdom. He would willingly have put him to death,
fearing him as dangerous; but he dreaded the people, who loved Hamlet,
and the queen, who, with all her faults, doted upon the prince, her son.
So this subtle king, under pretence of providing for Hamlet's safety,
that he might not be called to account for Polonius' death, caused him
to be conveyed on board a ship bound for England, under the care of two
courtiers, by whom he despatched letters to the English court, which in
that time was in subjection and paid tribute to Denmark, requiring for
special reasons there pretended, that Hamlet should be put to death as
soon as he landed on English ground. Hamlet, suspecting some treachery,
in the night-time secretly got at the letters, and skilfully erasing
his own name, he in the stead of it put in the names of those two
courtiers, who had the charge of him, to be put to death: then sealing
up the letters, he put them into their place again. Soon after the ship
was attacked by pirates, and a sea-fight commenced; in the course of
which Hamlet, desirous to show his valour, with sword in hand singly
boarded the enemy's vessel; while his own ship, in a cowardly manner,
bore away, and leaving him to his fate, the two courtiers made the best
of their way to England, charged with those letters the sense of which
Hamlet had altered to their own deserved destruction.
The pirates, who had the prince in their power, showed themselves gentle
enemies; and knowing whom they had got prisoner, in the hope that the
prince might do them a good turn at court in recompense for any favour
they might show him, they set Hamlet on shore at the nearest port in
Denmark. From that place Hamlet wrote to the king, acquainting him with
the strange chance which had brought him back to his own country, and
saying that on the next day he should present himself before his
majesty. When he got home, a sad spectacle offered itself the first
thing to his eyes.
This was the funeral of the young and beautiful Ophelia, his once dear
mistress. The wits of this young lady had begun to turn ever since her
poor father's death. That he should die a violent death, and by the
hands of the prince whom she loved, so affected this tender young maid,
that in a little time she grew perfectly distracted, and would go about
giving flowers away to the ladies of the court, and saying that they
were for her father's burial, singing songs about love and about death,
and sometimes such as had no meaning at all, as if she had no memory of
what happened to her. There was a willow which grew slanting over a
brook, and reflected its leaves on the stream. To this brook she came
one day when she was unwatched, with garlands she had been making, mixed
up of daisies and nettles, flowers and weeds together, and clambering up
to hang her garland upon the boughs of the willow, a bough broke, and
precipitated this fair young maid, garland, and all that she had
gathered, into the water, where her clothes bore her up for a while,
during which she chanted scraps of old tunes, like one insensible to her
own distress, or as if she were a creature natural to that element: but
long it was not before her garments, heavy with the wet, pulled her in
from her melodious singing to a muddy and miserable death. It was the
funeral of this fair maid which her brother Laertes was celebrating, the
king and queen and whole court being present, when Hamlet arrived. He
knew not what all this show imported, but stood on one side, not
inclining to interrupt the ceremony. He saw the flowers strewed upon her
grave, as the custom was in maiden burials, which the queen herself
threw in; and as she threw them she said, "Sweets to the sweet! I
thought to have decked thy bride-bed, sweet maid, not to have strewed
thy grave. Thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife." And he heard her
brother wish that violets might spring from her grave: and he saw him
leap into the grave all frantic with grief, and bid the attendants pile
mountains of earth upon him, that he might be buried with her. And
Hamlet's love for this fair maid came back to him, and he could not bear
that a brother should show so much transport of grief, for he thought
that he loved Ophelia better than forty thousand brothers. Then
discovering himself, he leaped into the grave where Laertes was, all as
frantic or more frantic than he, and Laertes knowing him to be Hamlet,
who had been the cause of his father's and his sister's death, grappled
him by the throat as an enemy, till the attendants parted them: and
Hamlet, after the funeral, excused his hasty act in throwing himself
into the grave as if to brave Laertes; but he said he could not bear
that any one should seem to outgo him in grief for the death of the fair
Ophelia. And for the time these two noble youths seemed reconciled.
But out of the grief and anger of Laertes for the death of his father
and Ophelia, the king, Hamlet's wicked uncle, contrived destruction for
Hamlet. He set on Laertes, under cover of peace and reconciliation, to
challenge Hamlet to a friendly trial of skill at fencing, which Hamlet
accepting, a day was appointed to try the match. At this match all the
court was present, and Laertes, by direction of the king, prepared a
poisoned weapon. Upon this match great wagers were laid by the
courtiers, as both Hamlet and Laertes were known to excel at this sword
play; and Hamlet taking up the foils chose one, not at all suspecting
the treachery of Laertes, or being careful to examine Laertes' weapon,
who, instead of a foil or blunted sword, which the laws of fencing
require, made use of one with a point, and poisoned. At first Laertes
did but play with Hamlet, and suffered him to gain some advantages,
which the dissembling king magnified and extolled beyond measure,
drinking to Hamlet's success, and wagering rich bets upon the issue: but
after a few pauses, Laertes growing warm made a deadly thrust at Hamlet
with his poisoned weapon, and gave him a mortal blow. Hamlet incensed,
but not knowing the whole of the treachery, in the scuffle exchanged his
own innocent weapon for Laertes' deadly one, and with a thrust of
Laertes' own sword repaid Laertes home, who was thus justly caught in
his own treachery. In this instant the queen shrieked out that she was
poisoned. She had inadvertently drunk out of a bowl which the king had
prepared for Hamlet, in case, that being warm in fencing, he should call
for drink: into this the treacherous king had infused a deadly poison,
to make sure of Hamlet, if Laertes had failed. He had forgotten to warn
the queen of the bowl, which she drank of, and immediately died,
exclaiming with her last breath that she was poisoned. Hamlet,
suspecting some treachery, ordered the doors to be shut, while he sought
it out. Laertes told him to seek no farther, for he was the traitor; and
feeling his life go away with the wound which Hamlet had given him, he
made confession of the treachery he had used, and how he had fallen a
victim to it: and he told Hamlet of the envenomed point, and said that
Hamlet had not half an hour to live, for no medicine could cure him; and
begging forgiveness of Hamlet, he died, with his last words accusing the
king of being the contriver of the mischief. When Hamlet saw his end
draw near, there being yet some venom left upon the sword, he suddenly
turned upon his false uncle, and thrust the point of it to his heart,
fulfilling the promise which he had made to his father's spirit, whose
injunction was now accomplished, and his foul murder revenged upon the
murderer. Then Hamlet, feeling his breath fail and life departing,
turned to his dear friend Horatio, who had been spectator of this fatal
tragedy; and with his dying breath requested him that he would live to
tell his story to the world (for Horatio had made a motion as if he
would slay himself to accompany the prince in death), and Horatio
promised that he would make a true report, as one that was privy to all
the circumstances. And, thus satisfied, the noble heart of Hamlet
cracked; and Horatio and the bystanders with many tears commended the
spirit of this sweet prince to the guardianship of angels. For Hamlet
was a loving and a gentle prince, and greatly beloved for his many noble
and princelike qualities; and if he had lived, would no doubt have
proved a most royal and complete king to Denmark.
[Illustration]
OTHELLO
Brabantio, the rich senator of Venice, had a fair daughter, the gentle
Desdemona. She was sought to by divers suitors, both on account of her
many virtuous qualities, and for her rich expectations. But among the
suitors of her own clime and complexion, she saw none whom she could
affect: for this noble lady, who regarded the mind more than the
features of men, with a singularity rather to be admired than imitated,
had chosen for the object of her affections, a Moor, a black, whom her
father loved, and often invited to his house.
Neither is Desdemona to be altogether condemned for the unsuitableness
of the person whom she selected for her lover. Bating that Othello was
black, the noble Moor wanted nothing which might recommend him to the
affections of the greatest lady. He was a soldier, and a brave one; and
by his conduct in bloody wars against the Turks, had risen to the rank
of general in the Venetian service, and was esteemed and trusted by the
state.
He had been a traveller, and Desdemona (as is the manner of ladies)
loved to hear him tell the story of his adventures, which he would run
through from his earliest recollection; the battles, sieges, and
encounters, which he had passed through; the perils he had been exposed
to by land and by water; his hair-breadth escapes, when he had entered
a breach, or marched up to the mouth of a cannon; and how he had been
taken prisoner by the insolent enemy, and sold to slavery; how he
demeaned himself in that state, and how he escaped: all these accounts,
added to the narration of the strange things he had seen in foreign
countries, the vast wilderness and romantic caverns, the quarries, the
rocks and mountains, whose heads are in the clouds; of the savage
nations, the cannibals who are man-eaters, and a race of people in
Africa whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders: these travellers'
stories would so enchain the attention of Desdemona, that if she were
called off at any time by household affairs, she would despatch with all
haste that business, and return, and with a greedy ear devour Othello's
discourse. And once he took advantage of a pliant hour, and drew from
her a prayer, that he would tell her the whole story of his life at
large, of which she had heard so much, but only by parts: to which he
consented, and beguiled her of many a tear, when he spoke of some
distressful stroke which his youth had suffered.
His story being done, she gave him for his pains a world of sighs: she
swore a pretty oath, that it was all passing strange, and pitiful,
wondrous pitiful: she wished (she said) she had not heard it, yet she
wished that heaven had made her such a man; and then she thanked him,
and told him, if he had a friend who loved her, he had only to teach him
how to tell his story, and that would woo her. Upon this hint, delivered
not with more frankness than modesty, accompanied with certain
bewitching prettiness, and blushes, which Othello could not but
understand, he spoke more openly of his love, and in this golden
opportunity gained the consent of the generous Lady Desdemona privately
to marry him.
Neither Othello's colour nor his fortune were such that it could be
hoped Brabantio would accept him for a son-in-law. He had left his
daughter free; but he did expect that, as the manner of noble Venetian
ladies was, she would choose ere long a husband of senatorial rank or
expectations; but in this he was deceived; Desdemona loved the Moor,
though he was black, and devoted her heart and fortunes to his valiant
parts and qualities; so was her heart subdued to an implicit devotion to
the man she had selected for a husband, that his very colour, which to
all but this discerning lady would have proved an insurmountable
objection, was by her esteemed above all the white skins and clear
complexions of the young Venetian nobility, her suitors.
Their marriage, which, though privately carried, could not long be kept
a secret, came to the ears of the old man, Brabantio, who appeared in a
solemn council of the senate, as an accuser of the Moor Othello, who by
spells and witchcraft (he maintained) had seduced the affections of the
fair Desdemona to marry him, without the consent of her father, and
against the obligations of hospitality.
At this juncture of time it happened that the state of Venice had
immediate need of the services of Othello, news having arrived that the
Turks with mighty preparation had fitted out a fleet, which was bending
its course to the island of Cyprus, with intent to regain that strong
post from the Venetians, who then held it; in this emergency the state
turned its eyes upon Othello, who alone was deemed adequate to conduct
the defence of Cyprus against the Turks. So that Othello, now summoned
before the senate, stood in their presence at once as a candidate for a
great state employment, and as a culprit, charged with offences which by
the laws of Venice were made capital.
The age and senatorial character of old Brabantio, commanded a most
patient hearing from that grave assembly; but the incensed father
conducted his accusation with so much intemperance, producing
likelihoods and allegations for proofs, that, when Othello was called
upon for his defence, he had only to relate a plain tale of the course
of his love; which he did with such an artless eloquence, recounting the
whole story of his wooing, as we have related it above, and delivered
his speech with so noble a plainness (the evidence of truth), that the
duke, who sat as chief judge, could not help confessing that a tale so
told would have won his daughter too: and the spells and conjurations
which Othello had used in his courtship, plainly appeared to have been
no more than the honest arts of men in love; and the only witchcraft
which he had used, the faculty of telling a soft tale to win a lady's
ear.
This statement of Othello was confirmed by the testimony of the Lady
Desdemona herself, who appeared in court, and professing a duty to her
father for life and education, challenged leave of him to profess a yet
higher duty to her lord and husband, even so much as her mother had
shown in preferring him (Brabantio) above _her_ father.
The old senator, unable to maintain his plea, called the Moor to him
with many expressions of sorrow, and, as an act of necessity, bestowed
upon him his daughter, whom, if he had been free to withhold her (he
told him), he would with all his heart have kept from him; adding, that
he was glad at soul that he had no other child, for this behaviour of
Desdemona would have taught him to be a tyrant, and hang clogs on them
for her desertion.
This difficulty being got over, Othello, to whom custom had rendered the
hardships of a military life as natural as food and rest are to other
men, readily undertook the management of the wars in Cyprus: and
Desdemona, preferring the honour of her lord (though with danger) before
the indulgence of those idle delights in which new-married people
usually waste their time, cheerfully consented to his going.
No sooner were Othello and his lady landed in Cyprus, than news arrived,
that a desperate tempest had dispersed the Turkish fleet, and thus the
island was secure from any immediate apprehension of an attack. But the
war, which Othello was to suffer, was now beginning; and the enemies,
which malice stirred up against his innocent lady, proved in their
nature more deadly than strangers or infidels.
Among all the general's friends no one possessed the confidence of
Othello more entirely than Cassio. Michael Cassio was a young soldier, a
Florentine, gay, amorous, and of pleasing address, favourite qualities
with women; he was handsome and eloquent, and exactly such a person as
might alarm the jealousy of a man advanced in years (as Othello in some
measure was), who had married a young and beautiful wife; but Othello
was as free from jealousy as he was noble, and as incapable of
suspecting as of doing a base action. He had employed this Cassio in his
love affair with Desdemona, and Cassio had been a sort of go-between in
his suit: for Othello, fearing that himself had not those soft parts of
conversation which please ladies, and finding these qualities in his
friend, would often depute Cassio to go (as he phrased it) a courting
for him: such innocent simplicity being rather an honour than a blemish
to the character of the valiant Moor. So that no wonder, if next to
Othello himself (but at far distance, as beseems a virtuous wife) the
gentle Desdemona loved and trusted Cassio. Nor had the marriage of this
couple made any difference in their behaviour to Michael Cassio. He
frequented their house, and his free and rattling talk was no unpleasing
variety to Othello, who was himself of a more serious temper: for such
tempers are observed often to delight in their contraries, as a relief
from the oppressive excess of their own: and Desdemona and Cassio would
talk and laugh together, as in the days when he went a courting for his
friend.
Othello had lately promoted Cassio to be the lieutenant, a place of
trust, and nearest to the general's person. This promotion gave great
offence to Iago, an older officer who thought he had a better claim than
Cassio, and would often ridicule Cassio as a fellow fit only for the
company of ladies, and one that knew no more of the art of war or how to
set an army in array for battle, than a girl. Iago hated Cassio, and he
hated Othello, as well for favouring Cassio, as for an unjust suspicion,
which he had lightly taken up against Othello, that the Moor was too
fond of Iago's wife Emilia. From these imaginary provocations, the
plotting mind of Iago conceived a horrid scheme of revenge, which should
involve both Cassio, the Moor, and Desdemona, in one common ruin.
Iago was artful, and had studied human nature deeply, and he knew that
of all the torments which afflict the mind of man (and far beyond bodily
torture), the pains of jealousy were the most intolerable, and had the
sorest sting. If he could succeed in making Othello jealous of Cassio,
he thought it would be an exquisite plot of revenge, and might end in
the death of Cassio or Othello, or both; he cared not.
The arrival of the general and his lady, in Cyprus, meeting with the
news of the dispersion of the enemy's fleet, made a sort of holiday in
the island. Everybody gave themselves up to feasting and making merry.
Wine flowed in abundance, and cups went round to the health of the black
Othello, and his lady the fair Desdemona.
Cassio had the direction of the guard that night, with a charge from
Othello to keep the soldiers from excess in drinking, that no brawl
might arise, to fright the inhabitants, or disgust them with the
new-landed forces. That night Iago began his deep-laid plans of
mischief: under colour of loyalty and love to the general, he enticed
Cassio to make rather too free with the bottle (a great fault in an
officer upon guard). Cassio for a time resisted, but he could not long
hold out against the honest freedom which Iago knew how to put on, but
kept swallowing glass after glass (as Iago still plied him with drink
and encouraging songs), and Cassio's tongue ran over in praise of the
Lady Desdemona, whom he again and again toasted, affirming that she was
a most exquisite lady: until at last the enemy which he put into his
mouth stole away his brains; and upon some provocation given him by a
fellow whom Iago had set on, swords were drawn, and Montano, a worthy
officer, who interfered to appease the dispute, was wounded in the
scuffle. The riot now began to be general, and Iago, who had set on foot
the mischief, was foremost in spreading the alarm, causing the
castle-bell to be rung (as if some dangerous mutiny instead of a slight
drunken quarrel had arisen): the alarm-bell ringing awakened Othello,
who, dressing in a hurry, and coming to the scene of action, questioned
Cassio of the cause. Cassio was now come to himself, the effect of the
wine having a little gone off, but was too much ashamed to reply; and
Iago, pretending a great reluctance to accuse Cassio, but, as it were,
forced into it by Othello, who insisted to know the truth, gave an
account of the whole matter (leaving out his own share in it, which
Cassio was too far gone to remember) in such a manner, as while he
seemed to make Cassio's offence less, did indeed make it appear greater
than it was. The result was, that Othello, who was a strict observer of
discipline, was compelled to take away Cassio's place of lieutenant from
him.
Thus did Iago's first artifice succeed completely; he had now undermined
his hated rival, and thrust him out of his place: but a further use was
hereafter to be made of the adventure of this disastrous night.