He that was
A Novel by Kenneth E. Harding
BASED ON THE PLAY BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
~I~
Hot and black was the stillness of the Venice evening, disturbed by only the hushed sounds of an oar paddling in an unlit and seldom used canal. It was a gondola that lurched forth with all the haste as such a craft could muster, for he who sat within came now with an urgent need. The round shape of the full moon floated as a bright disk upon the rippling water's surface-- by the light of which was a glimmering form revealed. Within the gondola, a theatre prop, a white tragic mask, a painted tear upon its silent cheek, was held before the face of he whom haste has pressed, sitting slumped amidst his black cloaks. Stealthily the veiled figure disembarked upon the shore, yet there were eyes about that night that would not be shook off. Fine clothes flashed white beneath the billowing cloak as the figure ran into the unlit shadows. Navigating the quiet streets with the speed of familiarity, the shade disappeared under an archway of shadow, and knocked softly upon an unseen door, and upon its opening, vanished within.
While elsewhither in a darkened and closed council chamber, a yellowed parchment was spread wide across a heavy table of dark wood-- a map with the Mediterranean drawn thereon by the flickering firelight was read. The cracked paper was much mark'd upon, with broad black strokes the only evidence of camps of thousands ready to spill the blood of other men. Holding lamps high, brooding men stood over the chart, their broad brows deeply furrowed in examination and debate. Rich tapestries and paintings of battles hung about the walls, veiled in the shadow of that fateful night. Several senators of advanced years, lavishly dressed and adorned with jewels that glinted faintly in the dull light, paced about the chamber clutching letters of import. The Duke of Venice, wizened and powerful, sat quietly by the fireside playing a game of chess with an elegant young man of noble bearing.
"There is no composition in these news that gives them credit," said an aged senator, raising his grey and wrinkled hands.
"Indeed, they are disproportioned," replied another such as he. "My letters say a hundred and seven galleys."
"And mine a hundred and forty."
The heavy oaken door burst inward as a foreign emissary bounded into the room, his breast heaving with gasping breaths, bearing in his trembling hands a scroll. This scroll, with its contents of great weight, was conveyed from the stranger's hand directly to those of the Duke. The seal was broken and the momentous words within were given breath.
Sultan of the Turks to the Signory of Venice: 'We demand of you Cyprus, which you shall give willingly or perforce. Beware, therefore, lest you arouse our wrath for we shall wage most cruel war against you.'
From hand to hand the parchment was passed about the room, whereon each senator studied its contents with grave disposition. When all present who had warrant to glance at such a document had perused it from beginning to end, the Duke spoke.
'''Tis certain then, for Cyprus," said he. "But who should lead our business against the Turkish fleet?"
"Othello?" asked one of the senators. The tone of his voice had conveyed his confidence in the Moorish general, as much as his doubt that his fellow peers saw the same. Of a younger age was he, neither so grey of beard nor hoary of voice; and he stood apart from the rest.
"Marcos Luccicos, is not he in Venice?" asked another senator hurriedly.
"He is now in Florence," rejoined the first. He then repeated his original assertion. "Othello?"
Disapproving glances were directed from all corners at the Duke, who nonetheless sat unmoved at their silent protestations. He would hear the suggestion and be of his own mind.
"Another of his fathom we have none," said the young senator, unrelenting.
The Duke turned his gaze to his refined young companion, sitting opposite him over the chessboard: this silent opponent wore features pale and thin, framed by dark locks done in the fashion of the day, and his apparel was of the finest materials. For the first time since these desperate matters had been brought across their table that night, Prince Lodovico, for so he was, spoke on them.
"The fortitude of the place is best known to him," he said simply, and with great clarity, whereon the Duke was filled with a sudden resolve.
"Fetch Othello hither," he announced strongly, with a nod of his head. Several attendants exited the room thereon, and went into the streets of Venice and into the darkness of night, seeking out he who had been named as Othello.
A veiled figure of delicate female form turned corner after corner, hiding from the eyes of men, seeking deserted streets and alleys. As a whisp of torn dark cloud the secretive figure dashed from one shadowed doorway to the next, coming finally to the lone structure of a chapel wrapped in the silence of deep night. A single light alone shone dimly from all its many windows.
Within the chapel, three men stood in silence, waiting with tension gripping every sinew. A priest watched there, yet a black general stood most notably among them: Othello, a richly decorated robe about his broad shoulders. A stark image was he to the Venetians about him: smooth round head of black skin with earrings of shining gold beneath. Yet much revered was he among the soldiers over whom he held command, and his words were like to thund'rous echoes from heaven when he spoke them. He was neither young nor old, yet his strength was waxing, and he wore it on the mantle of his dark brow. Michael Cassio, a youthful man from Florence, was the other who stood within the dim chapel. A soldier close to Othello was he, although the Venetians would not have it so.
Violently the door swung inward, as if the sum of all winds had blasted it. The thin veiled figure stood within the doorway, catching what breath she could. The veil thrown back, whereon a beautiful young woman was discovered to their eyes. As white as alabaster was her smooth limbs, and bright were her grey eyes; in curls her dark locks fell gently upon her fair skin.
"Desdemona," whispered Othello breathlessly, and the hard features of his face suddenly softened. Standing before the priest, Othello's trembling fingers fumbled awkwardly with a small object that had been in his possession all the evening. A golden ring the Moor brought forth, and then proceeded to slip it upon the finger of the fair maid as words of imperishable vows were given breath. The scene, however, had not gone unseen, despite all their pains to prevent it. In the darkness outside, a richly dressed gentleman and a soldier viewed the exchange through the slight opened window. As Othello's and Desdemona's lips met in a tender kiss, the gentleman's features twisted in agony at the sight.
"I take it much unkindly that thou, Iago, who hast had my purse as if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this!" said the gentleman Roderigo heatedly. His discomfort grew greater with each warm embrace and meeting of the eyes betwixt the dark-skinned moor and the gentle maiden.
Iago could not look at the scene within, yet for reasoning other than that which troubled Roderigo. To the dark horizon he looked with glassy eyes. Not love was the subject of Iago's anger, yet a matter to do with the third of them that stood within the chapel. Othello brought from within his robe a sash of most vibrant red, and forthwith placed it across Cassio's decorated shoulder, who bowed low in acknowledgement of the promotion. Michael Cassio's face could not belie his pleasure, and joy spilled from him. Othello and he clasped arms most vigorously; thereafter the general presented his new lieutenant with the gift of a small bejeweled dagger. Their business being done, Cassio paid the priest for his discreet service, and all departed from the silent chapel, each turning their separate ways into the heated night. Beneath the window, Roderigo turned his head in disgust. He pulled upon the puffed sleeve of the soldier at his side, taking them from the window.
Said Iago darkly and with much effort: "By the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place than he, one Michael Cassio, a Florentine, who never set a squadron in the field, nor the division of a battle knows more than a spinster. Mere prattle, without practice, is all his soldiership. He, in good time, must his Lieutenant be; and I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof - God bless the mark - his Moorship's ensign."
"By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman!" said Roderigo as loudly as he dared, his anger now spilling forth unchecked.
"Why, there is no remedy," replied Iago coolly. "'Tis the curse of service."
"I would not follow him then," said Roderigo in a harsh whisper.
"0, Sir, content you: I follow him to serve my turn upon him. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters cannot be truly followed. Others there are who, trimmed in forms and visages of duty, keep yet their hearts attending on themselves. Throwing but shows of service on their lords, they do well thrive by them; and when they have lined their coats, they do themselves homage. Such a one do I profess myself. You shall mark-- heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, but seeming so for my peculiar end: I am not what I am."
"What a full fortune does the thick lips owe if he can carry it thus," said Roderigo, much in awe. In the highest esteem did he regard this ensign.
"Call up her father," said Iago darkly, and with his eyes he indicated that they should go hence. Though calm his exterior visage, within his bosom was a rage of tempest at the injustice the Moor had set him on.
They raced into the street, with no thoughts in themselves other than the speed of their feet. Through the streets they ran at hazard, and short time did they make in the journey; in haste they arrived at the house of Desdemona's father. No lights shone from within, and all that lie beneath the roof in the realm of dreams wandered. No man nor woman went about the street in such a late hour; silence blanketed the town.
Within a stately room inside the house, an old man, Brabantio, lay asleep in his bed. Uneasily he writhed, as beneath his window a mischief most devilish was being brewed: a trap for another in which he unwittingly would have a part.
"What, ho, Brabantio! Signor Brabantio, ho!" shouted Roderigo with full voice, his hands cupped to his mouth.
"Awake!" called Iago. "What, ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves! Look to your house, your daughter!"
Brabantio sat upright in his bed, violently casting off his sheets, as if it were a nightmare most foul that stirred him. His eyes, opened suddenly wide, stared into the formless shadows of the darkness that heavily filled his bedroom. Slowly did he gain his senses, and realized at length that voices of men had woken him, calling his name from the street below.
"Awake, Brabantio," shouted Iago further.
Brabantio in anger and fear rose from his bed, and exited onto his balcony yet in his nightdress. Iago, at seeing his approach, concealed himself at once into what shadows the street provided for him. Roderigo stood fast, his gaze fixed above him to the balcony, yet his cowardly heart quailed in fear.
"What is the reason of this terrible summons?" asked Brabantio, peering his eyes into the darkness below. "What is the matter here?"
Iago from his hiding place urged the tremorous Roderigo to speak, which the latter finally did.
"Signor, is all your family within?" asked Roderigo nervously.
"Are your doors locked?" shouted the unseen Iago.
"Why, wherefore ask you this?" asked the senator, still confused in the haze of being freshly woken from slumber deep.
"Zounds, sir, you're robbed!" replied Iago. "For shame, put on your gown; your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul. Even now, now, very now, an old black ram is tupping your white ewe. Arise I say!"
"What, have you lost your wits?" Brabantio retorted, now leaning over the balcony.
"Most reverend signor," asked Roderigo, "do you not know my voice?"
"Not I," he answered, frowning. "Who are you?"
"My name is Roderigo."
"The worser welcome; I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors; in honest plainness thou hast heard me say my daughter is not for thee. What tell'st thou me of robbing?"
"Zounds, sir," proclaimed Iago, his words now striking more direct a blow, "we come to do you service, yet because you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter mounted by a Barbary horse. You'll have your grandsons neigh to you; you'll have ponies for relatives."
"What profane wretch art thou?!" Brabantio could not believe his ears.
"I am one, sire that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs."
"Thou art a villain!" exclaimed Brabantio.
"You are a senator!" Iago shouted in reply.
"This thou shalt answer, Roderigo..."
"Sir," replied Roderigo hastily, "I will answer anything. But I beseech you, straight satisfy yourself; if she be in her chamber or your house, let loose on me the justice of the state for thus deluding you!"
"Strike on the tinder, ho!" shouted the senator into his house. "Give me a taper; call up all my people!" He turned within, into the darkness of his room, and paused there listening to the steps of fate overtaking him. "This accident is not unlike my dream," he whispered, struggling for breath, "the belief of it oppresses me already." He went to the door and upon opening it, yelled with great dread: "Light, I say, light!"
Below the balcony in the street, coming alive now with agitation at the night's raised voices, Iago congratulated Roderigo with a firm shake of the hand at the success of their evil deed. Roderigo the gentleman retrieved a leather purse from which came the sound of gold coins being shaken, and this purse he did drop into the outstretched palm of Iago.
"Farewell, for I must leave you," said Iago. "It is not meet nor wholesome for me to stay. Though I do hate Othello as I do hell-pains, yet for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, which is indeed but a sign. So that you and the senator shall surely find him, lead to the Sagittary the raised search, and there will I be with him. So farewell." Iago dashed off to find Othello, and to see to it that his designs went as he had planned.
From out his door in a furious rush did come Signor Brabantio, and in the street he stood, with a tumult growing around him. Men of his household, carrying torches above their heads, had now gathered at his side ready to seek out the black general of Venice who had in secret lured the senator's daughter from the security of her house.
"It is too true an evil," said Brabantio to Roderigo, who met him at his door. "Gone she is. Do you know where we may apprehend her and the Moor?"
"I think I can discover him," said Roderigo.
"0, that you had had her." The old man turned to the servants around him. "Get weapons, Ho!"
Iago, taxing all his strength again, had run at full through streets that were wrapped still in the night's embrace. Foreknowledge did he have Othello's midnight wedding, and thither he turned his feet. Outside the tall door of the chapel he saw waiting Cassio- the man, the Florentine, who withheld his lieutenancy from him. Motionless and speechless in the dark did they wait together for the appearance of the Moor from the door of the place of worship. Cassio, standing there in silence, grew suddenly disturbed and looking about, he discovered that Iago was staring at him, his dark eyes fixed most strangely upon him. Iago coming aware of Cassio's glance, broke the tension with a wink of his eye. Cassio grinned in response, and Iago smiled warmly, belying with learnéd skill the hatred that raged unseen within his breast. Out from the chapel Othello stepped at last to join with them. In the darkness, his ebony features could hardly be made out.
"I pray you, sir, are you fast married?" asked Iago. "Be assured of this: that the Senator her father is much beloved, and hath a voice potential as double as the Duke's. He will divorce you; or put upon you what restraint and grievance the law will allow him."
"Let him do his spite," replied the noble Othello. "My services which I have done to the Signiory of Venice shall out-tongue his complaints. But look, what lights come yon?"
A host of torches approached them through the street, lighting the faces of they who carried them. Iago's heart leapt at the thought of the completion of his designs.
"Those are the raised father and his friends," he said, placing his hand on the arm of the General. "You had best go within."
"Not I. I must be found sooner or late; my title and my perfect soul shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?"
Iago looked more closely at the fast-moving host which approached them, and his brow furrowed as he thought that his plans were becoming disturbed. "By Janus, I think no." He took steps forward to intercept those newly arrived. Servants of the Duke were they, come to summon Othello into that closed meeting wherein were discussed the military deployments against the Turkish foe. Cassio had gone out to meet them also, and spoke with them even as they walked all into the company of the General.
"The goodness of the night upon you, friends!" greeted Othello, raising his hand. "What is the news?"
"The Duke requires your hasty appearance," said Cassio, coming up with them. "It is something from Cyprus, as I may divine. It is a business of some heat. Many of the counsellors, raised and met, are at the Duke's already; you have been hotly called for."
"'Tis well I am found," said Othello. "I will go with you."
They went straightaway from the grey stone steps of the chapel, making for the capitol of the city and the Duke's gathering. Yet they had not taken three score of steps when another troop of men were approaching them quickly, yet this time with weapons drawn. The flash of their steel lit the night air.
Iago pointed to the throng. "It is Signor Brabantio," he announced in alarm, yet inwardly he smiled. "General, be advised: he comes with bad intent."
Cassio, soldier of valour and loyalty, and Iago, with only an outward show of such, took their places in front of Othello, doing the service of a shield. Across from them, the men-at-arms in the service of the senator arranged themselves, and Roderigo, near the arm of Signor Brabantio, stood in terror to find himself thus embroiled in an imminent melee.
"You, Roderigo?" said Iago. "Come, sir, I am for you." He faced Roderigo with his sword drawn, yet not to fight: he did so in order that no other soldier might set upon him and thus bring the gentleman to injury. Their eyes met, and with mutual nods did they confirm their unfolding conspiracy.
"Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them!" cried Othello, stepping forward.
"0 thou foul thief!" chided Brabantio, his harsh words slicing the thick air. "Where hast thou stowed my daughter? Damned as thou art, thou hast enchanted her, to run from her guardage to the sooty bosom of such a thing as thou! That thou hast practiced on her with foul charms, abused her delicate youth with drugs that weaken judgement: I'll have it disputed on. 'Tis probable thinking; I therefore apprehend thee. Lay hold upon him!"
Brabantio's men, swords in hand, made straight for Othello, who neither retreated from their advance nor brandished his curved blade. He stood fast, and raised his hand before them.
"Hold your hands, both you of my inclining and the rest!" he ordered. "Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it without a prompter. Good Signor, where will you that I go to answer this your charge?"
"To prison," said Brabantio coldly, "'til fit time of law call thee to answer."
"What if I do obey?" replied Othello. "How may the Duke be therewith satisfied, whose messengers are here about my side, to bring me to him?"
Confusion clouded the brow of Brabantio, who looked about at the throng of official messengers that had accompanied the Moor.
"'Tis true, most worthy Signor," said Cassio. "The Duke's in council, and your noble self I am sure is sent for."
"How? The Duke in council?" asked Brabantio. "In this time of night? Bring him away. Mine is not an idle cause; the Duke himself, or any of my brothers of the state cannot but feel this wrong as it were their own." Of Brabantio's men, several of the bolder tried to yet lay hold upon Othello, who would not allow himself to be so handled, and shook off the arms that sought to grasp him. They consented to let him go of his own accord, for they being the far more numerous sensed security in their effectiveness. Towards the capitol they sped, each with his own purpose in his heart.
The dark council chamber, where only an hour before those wise men who disputed within decided to summon Othello to wage war against the insolent Turks, now opened to receive him. The great General entered, and with him came his lieutenant Cassio and his ensign Iago. Upon their heels strode Brabantio the senator and Roderigo at his side. The Duke and nobles within the room were met with sudden relief at the appearance of these newcomers.
"Valiant Othello," said the Duke, "we must straight employ you against the general Turkish foe."
Brabantio would not wait for this business, but pushed himself forward.
"I did not see you," continued the Duke. "Welcome, gentle Signor. We lacked your counsel and your help tonight."
"So did I yours," he replied. "Your grace, pardon me: neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, hath raised me from my bed."
The Duke frowned. "Why? What is the matter?"
"My daughter! O, my daughter!"
The Duke in haste voiced a rushed assumption. "Dead?"
"Ay, to me," said Brabantio sadly. "She is abused, stolen from me, and corrupted. Nature could not so preposterously to err without witchcraft."
"Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself and you of her," said the Duke, "the bloody book of the law you shall yourself read in the bitter letter after your own sense, yea, though our own proper son stood in your action."
"Humbly I thank your grace." Brabantio slowly turned, and raising his arm he pointed a baleful finger toward Othello, who stood by in confident silence. "Here is the man."
A silence filled heavy with both embarrasment and amazement did follow. Such was the strength of Brabantio's accusation that hitherto unfriendly eyes now looked upon Othello in even deeper enmity; and even those men who were of partiality to him were now cast into doubt of his character.
"What in your own part can you say to this?" asked the Duke carefully.
"Nothing, but that this is so!" exclaimed Brabantio.
Othello, ignoring this interjection, took a slow step forward. "Most potent, grave and reverend signors," he began, "my very noble and approved good masters: that I have taken away this old man's daughter, 'tis is most true."
Gasps echoed in the chamber: the sounds of noble sensibilities offended, of prudish shock and outrage, setting off hushed whispers that lingered a while ere they died away. Roderigo's once solemn face now twisted in anger as in his mind he painted the sight of his desired woman held in the arms of what was in his sense a base savage. With stern visage and a violent clearing of his throat, the Duke silenced the noise from his subjects.
"True I have married her," continued Othello. "The very head and front of my offending hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, and little blessed with the soft phrase of peace; since these arms of mine had seven years' pith till now have used their dearest action in the tented field; and little of this great world can I speak more than pertains to feats of broil and battle; and therefore little shall I grace my cause in speaking of myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnished tale deliver. Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms, what conjuration and what mighty magic such proceedings am I charged withal-- I won his daughter."
Brabantio objected: "A maiden never bold; of spirit so still and quiet that her motion blushed at herself-- and she in spite of nature to fall in love with what she feared to look on!"
"I do beseech you," said Othello, raising his hand again, "send for the lady and let her speak of me before her father. If you do find me foul in her report, the trust, the office I do hold of you not only take away, but let your sentence even fall upon my life." He bowed his head.
All the eyes turned to the silent Duke, awaiting what decision he would at last make. His Grace turned to see the countenance of Brabantio, who did smile and nod morbidly at the prospect of the Moor perhaps setting his own head beneath the axe.
"Fetch Desdemona hither," proclaimed the Duke.
Othello the General gestured to Iago his ensign, who in haste exited the chamber with attendants to bring her from the place where she had been left.
"Speak and be not silent, Othello," ordered the Duke.
"Her father loved me, oft invited me, still questioned me the story of my life from year to year-- the battles, sieges, fortunes, that I have passed; wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach; of being taken by the insolent foe, and sold to slavery. And of the Cannibals that each other eat, the Anthropophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear would Desdemona seriously incline, and with a greedy ear devour up my discourse; which I observing, took once a pliant hour, and found good means to draw from her a prayer of earnest heart that I would all my pilgrimage dilate. I did consent and ran it through even from my boyish days to the very moment that she bade me tell it."
As he told his tale, to them it seemed that Othello did relive a time filled with the promise of nurtured love, and now his brow softened, his eyes drifting to places the others knew not of. This speech did naught to soothe Brabantio's seething anger, as indicated by his dark grimace, yet the Duke would hear in full all that his General would have to say.
Othello continued: "My story being done, she gave me for my pains a world of sighs. She swore, in faith: t'was strange, t'was pitiful, t'was wondrous pitiful. She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished that heaven had made her such a man. She thanked me, and bade me: if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, and that would woo her. She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used."
Othello, palms raised to heaven, had told his tale in its full course. All eyes now turned to the Duke to hear his answer; but he said: "Here comes the lady; let her witness it. I think this tale would win my daughter too."
Desdemona had only just entered through the door upon the utterance of his words. Iago came in beside her, calmly playing the loyal friend as so oft he did. Flushed was her face, her breathing fast. Down the aisle she approached, straightening her disheveled clothing as she came. In the nervous disarray of haste was she and all her effects, and with trembling hands did she attempt to restore her state to its former gentle order. All eyes turned to her, eager in anticipation, as she neared the centre of the stilled war chamber.
"Come hither, gentle mistress," said Brabantio calmly. "Do you perceive in all this company where most you owe obedience?"
"My noble father," replied the fair maiden, "I do perceive here a divided duty; to you I am bound for life and education. My life and education both do learn me how to respect you. You are lord of all my duty; I am hitherto your daughter. But here's my husband; and so much duty as my mother showed to you, preferring you before her father, so much I challenge that I may profess due to the Moor, my lord."
The face of Brabantio creased with the sudden pain of betrayal; as a man whose greatest hopes had failed him and left him broken utterly. Roderigo, hidden amongst the crowd unnoticed by all save Iago, did likewise sulk in the anguish of the heart, yet with no true claim, for Desdemona had returned not his affections.
"God be with you!" cried Brabantio, poorly concealing his anger and disappointment. "I have done. I had rather to adopt a child than get it. Come hither, Moor! I here do give thee that with all my heart which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee." He addressed his daughter: "For your sake, Jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child; for thy escape would teach me tyranny, to be vented upon them. I am done, my lord."
Taking the fair white hand of Desdemona his daughter, with great reluctance he placed it in the hand of Othello, as dark as bronze. As Brabantio turned away from them, his face contorted again and painfully he clutched at his chest. His feet gave way beneath him, and coming to his aid, Othello and Roderigo rushed to take his arms. Yet in disdain did he push them away, grasping for the back of a nearby chair.
"I humbly beseech you proceed to the affairs of state," said Brabantio thickly.
The Duke did wait until Brabantio had safely seated himself, and when all attention was drawn upon his Grace, he spoke: "The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, you best know the fortitude of the place. Therefore you must be content to smear the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and troublesome expedition."
"The soldierly custom, most grave signors," answered Othello, "hath made the flinty steel couch of war my bed of down most soft. I do acknowledge the natural and prompt action I find in hardness, and do undertake these present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife, with such accommodation as levels with her breeding."
The Duke considered a moment in silence. "Why if you please, be't at her father's."
"No!" growled Brabantio. "I'll not have it so."
"Nor I," said Othello, just as firm, looking not at him. His shows of friendship, gone thus far defeated, would not be seen again by Brabantio.
"Nor I," said Desdemona. "I would not there reside to put my father in impatient thoughts by being in his eye. Most gracious Duke…"
"What would you, Desdemona?" He prompted her to speak further.
"That I did love the Moor to live with him, my downright violence and storm of fortunes may trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued even to the utmost pleasure of my lord. I saw Othello's visage in his mind, and to his honours and his valiant parts did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, a moth of peace, and he go to the war, the rites for which I love him are bereft me, and I a heavy interim shall support, by his dear absence. Let me go with him."
"Let her have your voice," said Othello, taking a single step forward. "I beg it not to please the palate of my appetite, but to be free and bounteous to her mind; and heaven defend your good souls that you think I will your serious and great business scant for she is with me."
Briefly did the Duke glance at the ailing Brabantio, who, with eyes in a mist, would look at naught but the floor beneath his feet.
"Be it as you shall privately determine," proclaimed the Duke at last, "either for her stay, or going. The affair cries haste, and speed must answer it. You must away tonight. At nine in the morning, here we will meet again. Good night to everyone." He rose to leave, and all in the room rose with him. Passing by the place where Brabantio stood leaning upon his chair, he paused for a moment and laid his arm upon that of the senator. "Noble Signor," he said softly, "if virtue no delighted beauty lack, your son-in-law is far more fair than black."
Thereupon he left with his attendants, and the other senators and counsellors of rank also moved to depart. The room became near empty before Brabantio stirred; yet when he walked he made not for the door but for Othello himself.
"Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see," he said darkly. "She has deceived her father, and may thee." Othello turned his head to meet his gaze.
"My life upon her faith," he said solemnly. Brabantio moved his eyes away, wet with tears, and turning his back he exited through the open door.
"Honest Iago," said Othello, moving directly into other business, "my Desdemona must I leave to thee. I prithee let thy wife attend on her, and bring them after in the best advantage. Come Desdemona, I have but an hour of love to spend with thee: we must obey the time."
Othello and Desdemona exited the darkened and silent chamber, each in the other's arms, leaving Iago alone. Yet he was not so, for as he set himself to leave, a tragic voice echoed from the seemingly empty room.
"Iago."
He took no further steps, and did not move. It was a voice that he did well recognize as a source of great income, as well as an instrument by which he could work his dark designs. Behind his back, the gentleman Roderigo stepped out from the shadows.
"What say'st thou, noble heart?" said Iago, and then turned about.
"What will I do, thinkest thou?" asked Roderigo, coming towards him.
"Why, go to bed and sleep," answered he.
"I will incontinently drown myself," Roderigo said through welling tears. "0, Desdemona!" He brought his hands to his face and wept openly.
"If thou dost I shall never love thee after," said Iago, seeking to strengthen him. "Why thou silly gentleman!"
"It is silliness to live, when to live is a torment."
"O villainous!" exclaimed Iago, and going to the Duke's chair he sat himself down, and poured himself a drink of the nobles' very best wine. With a pretended air he sniffed into the glass. "I have looked upon the world for four times seven years, and I never yet found a man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown myself for the love of a guineau-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon."
"What should I do?" asked Roderigo, falling to his knees in his desperation. "I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not in my virtue to amend it."
"Virtue!" scoffed Iago, swallowing a glass of wine. "A fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are the gardens, to which our wills are the gardeners; so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry: the power and authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not the weight of reason to counter the other of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to the most preposterous conclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts: whereof I take this which you call love to be a sect or scion."
"It cannot be!" growled Roderigo, shaking his head.
"It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will," insisted Iago, looking down on him. "Come, be a man. Drown thyself! Drown cats and blind puppies." This drew out a smile from the troubled Roderigo, and Iago lifted him to his feet. "I have professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness. I could never better stead thee than now."
Iago fell silent, but the wheels of his pernicious mind churned out new plots with ever increasing speed and ease. "Put money in thy purse," he said at last. "Follow thou these wars; disguise thy features with an usurped beard."
Roderigo looked skeptical, as he had at other times whilst following Iago's counsels in winning his heart's desire.
"I say put money in thy purse," continued Iago. "It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor-- put but money in thy purse. When she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice. She must have change, she must! Fill thy purse with money. If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a super-subtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shall enjoy her. Therefore put..."
"... money in thy purse," finished Roderigo, looking into the distance with a new found hope.
"A pox on drowning, eh?" said Iago, clapping him on the shoulder. "'Tis clean out of the way. Seek thou rather to be hanged encompassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her."
Roderigo turned to him. "Wilt thou be fast to my hopes?" he asked. Then with fumbling fingers he reached into his tunic, and he drew out a small purse of gold, offering it over; yet Iago made a show of pushing it away.
"Thou art sure of me," answered he. "I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again, I hate the Moor. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him. If thou canst do harm to him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. Go, provide thy money. We will have more of this tomorrow. Adieu."
Roderigo turned to walk away, but then halted and spoke further. "Where shall we meet in the morning?"
Iago pondered for a moment. "At my lodging. Go to-- farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?"
"What say you?"
"No more of drowning, do you hear?"
Now broadly did Roderigo smile. "I am changed!"
Iago this time flashed his palm outward to receive his earned reward; Roderigo ran back to him and dropped his purse of gold into it, after which he turned contented to resume his hasty progress toward the door.
"Farewell," said Iago again, and then called after him: "Put money enough in your purse!"
"I'll sell all my land," yelled Roderigo over his shoulder, and strode through the door into the streets of Venice. At last was Iago left truly alone. He slowly went about the dark and musty room, seemingly listening to the silence and the shadows. He came around to sit again in the Duke's high seat.
"Thus do I ever make my fool my purse," he said softly to the echoes, "for I mine own gained knowledge should profane if I would time expend with such a snipe, but for my sport and profit." He paused long. "I hate the Moor; and it is thought abroad that `twixt my sheets he's … done my office. I know not if't be true but I, for mere suspicion in that kind, will do as if for surety. He holds me well: the better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: let me see now, to get his place and to plume up my will in double knavery. How? Let's see."
He rose from the chair and took up again his pacing, casting his mind back to the grievances, real or fancied, that he had suffered at the whims and policies of the Moor. For ten years had he provided to Othello the good service of a valiant soldier, at the end of which he was not rewarded with his lieutenancy as expected, yet remained the ensign that he was. Michael Cassio, the rival Florentine, had well-filled Iago's deserved commission. He who usurped the position, thought Iago, should not be left to its enjoyment. Therefore, Cassio too must fall into the vengeful design that was at that very moment being wrought. If there be others who surrounded these men that fall into in his net, Iago cared not; so would it be.
His pacing stopped before the chessboard that had hours before provided the Duke with his interim entertainment with Prince Lodovico. There, some dark thing, some thought of hitherto unimagined malice at once forced its way into Iago's schemes, driving out the last vestige of human goodness. He with careful fingers picked several pieces from their places on the board, and then with a broad sweep of his arm, he dashed the rest clattering to the floor. The low rumble of an approaching storm met his ears, as with excited fervor he brought his head level with the chessboard, looking across its bare surface. Upon it, Iago's hand slowly placed the black king, and then followed the white queen. Between them, he carefully set down a white knight. Lightnings raged without, savagely lighting the chamber and all it contained.
"I have it. It is engendered." With dark and baleful eyes did he stare at the three pieces; as a devil was he that had taken on human form. "Hell and night must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light."
With a scoop of his accursed hand, in one grab he pocketed the three pieces. Now with newfound excitement and energy, born from the imagined harm that he could bestow, he exited into the growing stormy night.
Parts 2,3 and 4 will be completed at some time in the future, and added to this archive when they are finished.
Copyright 2000 Kenneth E. Harding. All rights reserved. Permission is given only for personal use.