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 traveler, 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
travelers’ 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 color nor his fortune was 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 erelong 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 color, 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 defense 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 offenses
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 defense, 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 behavior 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 honor 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,
favorite 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 honor 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 behavior 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 offense 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
favoring 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 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
news of the dispersion of the enemy’s fleet, made a sort of
holiday in the island. Everybody gave himself 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 color 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 offense 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.
Cassio, whom this misfortune had entirely sobered, now lamented
to his seeming friend Iago that he should have been such a fool
as to transform himself into a beast. He was undone, for how
could he ask the general for his place again? He would tell him
he was a drunkard. He despised himself. Iago, affecting to make
light of it, said that he, or any man living, might be drunk upon
occasion; it remained now to make the best of a bad bargain. The
general’s wife was now the general, and could do anything with
Othello; that he were best to apply to the Lady Desdemona to
mediate for him with her lord; that she was of a frank, obliging
disposition and would readily undertake a good office of this
sort and set Cassio right again in the general’s favor; and then
this crack in their love would be made stronger than ever. A good
advice of Iago, if it had not been given for wicked purposes,
which will after appear.
Cassio did as Iago advised him, and made application to the Lady
Desdemona, who was easy to be won over in any honest suit; and
she promised Cassio that she should be his solicitor with her
lord, and rather die than give up his cause. This she immediately
set about in so earnest and pretty a manner that Othello, who was
mortally offended with Cassio, could not put her off. When he
pleaded delay, and that it was too soon to pardon such an
offender, she would not be beat back, but insisted that it should
be the next night, or the morning after, or the next morning to
that at farthest. Then she showed how penitent and humbled poor
Cassio was, and that his offense did not deserve so sharp a
check. And when Othello still hung back:
“What! my lord,” said she, “that I should have so much to do to
plead for Cassio, Michael Cassio, that came a-courting for you,
and oftentimes, when I have spoken in dispraise of you has taken
your part! I count this but a little thing to ask of you. When I
mean to try your love indeed I shall ask a weighty matter.”
Othello could deny nothing to such a pleader, and only requesting
that Desdemona would leave the time to him, promised to receive
Michael Cassio again in favor.
It happened that Othello and Iago had entered into the room where
Desdemona was, just as Cassio, who had been imploring her
intercession, was departing at the opposite door; and Iago, who
was full of art, said in a low voice, as if to himself, “I like
not that.” Othello took no great notice of what he said; indeed,
the conference which immediately took place with his lady put it
out of his head; but he remembered it afterward. For when
Desdemona was gone, Iago, as if for mere satisfaction of his
thought, questioned Othello whether Michael Cassio, when Othello
was courting his lady, knew of his love. To this the general
answering in the affirmative, and adding, that he had gone
between them very often during the courtship, Iago knitted his
brow, as if he had got fresh light on some terrible matter, and
cried, “Indeed!” This brought into Othello’s mind the words which
Iago had let fall upon entering the room and seeing Cassio with
Desdemona; and he began to think there was some meaning in all
this, for he deemed Iago to be a just man, and full of love and
honesty, and what in a false knave would be tricks in him seemed
to be the natural workings of an honest mind, big with something
too great for utterance. And Othello prayed Iago to speak what he
knew and to give his worst thoughts words.
“And what,” said Iago, “if some thoughts very vile should have
intruded into my breast, as where is the palace into which foul
things do not enter?” Then Iago went on to say, what a pity it
were if any trouble should arise to Othello out of his imperfect
observations; that it would not be for Othello’s peace to know
his thoughts; that people’s good names were not to be taken away
for slight suspicions; and when Othello’s curiosity was raised
almost to distraction with these hints and scattered words, Iago,
as if in earnest care for Othello’s peace of mind, besought him
to beware of jealousy. With such art did this villain raise
suspicions in the unguarded Othello, by the very caution which he
pretended to give him against suspicion.
“I know,” said Othello, “that my wife is fair, loves company and
feasting, is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; but
where virtue is, these qualities are virtuous. I must have proof
before I think her dishonest.”
Then Iago, as if glad that Othello was slow to believe ill of his
lady, frankly declared that he had no proof, but begged Othello
to see her behavior well, when Cassio was by; not to be jealous
nor too secure neither, for that he (Iago) knew the dispositions
of the Italian ladies, his country-women, better than Othello
could do; and that in Venice the wives let Heaven see many pranks
they dared not show their husbands. Then he artfully insinuated
that Desdemona deceived her father in marrying with Othello, and
carried it so closely that the poor old man thought that
witchcraft had been used. Othello was much moved with this
argument, which brought the matter home to him, for if she had
deceived her father why might she not deceive her husband?
Iago begged pardon for having moved him; but Othello, assuming an
indifference, while he was really shaken with inward grief at
Iago’s words, begged him to go on, which Iago did with many
apologies, as if unwilling to produce anything against Cassio,
whom he called his friend. He then came strongly to the point and
reminded Othello how Desdemona had refused many suitable matches
of her own clime and complexion, and had married him, a Moor,
which showed unnatural in her and proved her to have a headstrong
will; and when her better judgment returned, how probable it was
she should fall upon comparing Othello with the fine forms and
clear white complexions of the young Italians her countrymen. He
concluded with advising Othello to put off his reconcilement with
Cassio a little longer, and in the mean while to note with what
earnestness Desdemona should intercede in his behalf; for that
much would be seen in that. So mischievously did this artful
villain lay his plots to turn the gentle qualities of this
innocent lady into her destruction, and make a net for her out of
her own goodness to entrap her, first setting Cassio on to
entreat her mediation, and then out of that very mediation
contriving stratagems for her ruin.
The conference ended with Iago’s begging Othello to account his
wife innocent until he had more decisive proof; and Othello
promised to be patient; but from that moment the deceived Othello
never tasted content of mind. Poppy, nor the juice of mandragora,
nor all the sleeping potions in the world, could ever again
restore to him that sweet rest which he had enjoyed but
yesterday. His occupation sickened upon him. He no longer took
delight in arms. His heart, that used to be roused at the sight
of troops and banners and battle array, and would stir and leap
at the sound of a drum or a trumpet or a neighing war-horse,
seemed to have lost all that pride and ambition which are a
soldier’s virtue; and his military ardor and all his old joys
forsook him. Sometimes he thought his wife honest, and at times
he thought her not so; sometimes he thought Iago just, and at
times he thought him not so; then he would wish that he had never
known of it; he was not the worse for her loving Cassio, so long
as he knew it not. Torn to pieces with these distracting
thoughts, he once laid hold on Iago’s throat and demanded proof
of Desdemona’s guilt, or threatened instant death for his having
belied her. Iago, feigning indignation that his honesty should be
taken for a vice, asked Othello if he had not sometimes seen a
handkerchief spotted with strawberries in his wife’s hand.
Othello answered that he had given her such a one, and that it
was his first gift.
“That same handkerchief,” said Iago, “did I see Michael Cassio
this day wipe his face with.”
“If it be as you say,” said Othello, “I will not rest till a wide
revenge swallow them up; and first, for a token of your fidelity,
I expect that Cassio shall be put to death within three days; and
for that fair devil [meaning his lady] I will withdraw and devise
some swift means of death for her.”
Trifles light as air are to the jealous proofs as strong as holy
writ. A handkerchief of his wife’s seen in Cassio’s hand was
motive enough to the deluded Othello to pass sentence of death
upon them both, without once inquiring how Cassio came by it.
Desdemona had never given such a present to Cassio, nor would
this constant lady have wronged her lord with doing so naughty a
thing as giving his presents to another man; both Cassio and,
Desdemona were innocent of any offense against Othello; but the
wicked Iago, whose spirits never slept in contrivance of
villainy, had made his wife (a good, but a weak woman) steal this
handkerchief from Desdemona, under pretense of getting the work
copied, but in reality to drop it in Cassio’s way, where he might
find it, and give a handle to Iago’s suggestion that it was
Desdemona’s present.
Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended that he had a
headache (as he might indeed with truth), and desired her to lend
him her handkerchief to hold to his temples. She did so.
“Not this,” said Othello, “but that handkerchief I gave you.”
Desdemona had it not about her (for indeed it was stolen, as we
have related).
“How?” said Othello, “this is a fault indeed. That handkerchief
an Egyptian woman gave to my mother; the woman was a witch and
could read people’s thoughts. She told my mother while she kept
it it would make her amiable and my father would love her; but if
she lost it or gave it away, my father’s fancy would turn and he
would loathe her as much as he had loved her. She, dying, gave it
to me, and bade me, if I ever married, to give it to my wife. I
did so. Take heed of it. Make it a darling as precious as your
eye.”
“Is it possible?” said the frighted lady.
“‘Tis true,” continued Othello; “it is a magical handkerchief; a
sibyl that had lived in the world two hundred years, in a fit of
prophetic fury worked it; the silkworms that furnished the silk
were hallowed, and it was dyed in a mummy of maidens’ hearts
conserved.”
Desdemona, hearing the wondrous virtues of the handkerchief, was
ready to die with fear, for she plainly perceived she had lost
it, and with it, she feared, the affections of her husband. Then
Othello started and looked as if he were going to do some rash
thing, and still he demanded the handkerchief, which when she
could not produce, she tried to divert her husband from too
serious thoughts, and cheerfully told him she saw all his talk
about the handkerchief was only to put her off from her suit
about Michael Cassio, whom she went on to praise (as Iago had
foretold), till Othello in perfect distraction burst out of the
room, and then Desdemona, though unwillingly, began to suspect
that her lord was jealous.
What cause she could have ministered to him she knew not, and
then she accused herself for accusing the noble Othello, and
thought, to be sure, that some untoward news from Venice or some
state troubles had puddled his spirits and made his temper not so
sweet as formerly. And she said, “Men are not gods, and we must
not look for that observance from them when they are married
which they show us on the bridal day.” And she beshrewed herself
for so unkindly judging of his unkindness.
Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he accused her more plainly
of being unfaithful and of loving another man, but he did not
name whom. And Othello wept, and Desdemona said, “Alas! the heavy
day! why do you weep?” And Othello told her he could have borne
all sorts of evils with fortitude--poverty, and disease, and
disgrace--but her infidelity had broken his heart. And he called
her a weed that looked so fair and smelled so sweet that the
sense ached at it; and wished she had never been born. And when
he had left her this innocent lady was so stupefied with wonder
at her lord’s untrue suspicion of her that a weightlike sleep
came over her, and she only desired her attendant to make her bed
and to lay her wedding-sheets upon it, saying that when people
teach their babes they do it by gentle means and easy tasks, and
Othello might have chid her so; for in good faith she was but a
child when she was chidden. And this was all the complaint which
this gentle lady made.
Desdemona being retired to bed, expecting her lord would follow
her, soon fell into a slumber, the effect of her troubled
spirits, when Othello entered the chamber, full of the black
purpose which he had meditated, of putting his lady to death. But
when he saw her asleep he thought he would not shed her blood,
nor scar that white skin of hers, more white than alabaster. But
he was resolved she should die, else (as he said) she would live
to betray, more men as she had done him. Then he kissed her for
the last time (as he said), and that kiss was so sweet that he
must needs kiss her again; and he wept, but he said they were
cruel tears.
Desdemona was awakened with his kisses, and she looked upon
Othello, and she saw him gnaw his under lip and roll his eyes,
and she knew he was always fatal when he looked so; and he bade
her prepare for death and to say her prayers, for he would not
kill her soul. And this innocent wife, as she lay at his mercy,
begged for compassion and to know her fault, and then he named
Cassio, and the handkerchief which (he said) she had given him;
and as the guiltless lady was proceeding to clear herself he
suddenly would hear no more, but, covering her up in the
bedclothes, stifled her till she died.
In this instant of time was brought into the house Cassio,
wounded and bleeding, whom Iago had set one of his creatures on
to assassinate; but the fellow not succeeding in his attempt to
kill Cassio (whom he wounded, but not mortally), and being him-
self killed by Iago to prevent discovery, in his pockets were
found certain letters, which made the guilt of Iago, and the
innocence of Cassio, clear beyond all doubt; and Cassio now came
to beg pardon of Othello, and to ask wherein he had offended him,
that he had employed Iago to murder him.
This discovery was as a thunderstroke to Othello, who now plainly
saw that he was no better than a murderer, and that his wife
(poor innocent lady) had been ever faithful to him; the extreme
anguish of which discovery making life insupportable, he fell
upon his sword, and throwing himself upon the body of his dear
injured lady, expired.
These rash acts raised much passion of horror and amazement in
the bystanders, for Othello had borne a fair reputation, and till
he was wrought upon by the arts of a villain, which his own noble
nature never gave him leave to suspect, he was a loving and a
doting husband. He had loved not wisely, but too well; and his
manly eyes (when be learned his mistake), though not used to weep
on every small occasion, dropped tears as fast as the Arabian
trees their gum. And when he was dead all his former merits and
his valiant acts were remembered. Nothing now remained for his
successor but to put the utmost censure of the law in force
against Iago, who was executed with strict tortures; and to send
word to the state of Venice of the lamentable death of their
renowned general.