Shakespeare's tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice as produced by Edwin Booth
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JCR « CSC 5S?««3C , <r< a eg «Tc< < rcc< < CC rC =4C3?rc <«S ( c 3o cents. BOOTH'S SERIES OF ACTING PLAYS. No. 8. SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO THE MOOR OF VENICE AS PRODUCED BY EDWIN BOOTH. Adapted from the Text of the Cambridge Editors, with Introdu&ory Remarks, 6fc, By HENRY L. HINTON. NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY HURD & HOUGHTON, 459 BROOME STREET. ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY EDITION. OF THE WORKS OF J. FENIMORE COOPER. Printed on tinted paper from clear and handsome type. Each volume contains two engravings on steel, from drawings by F. O. C. Darley, engraved in pure line and etching, and several sketches on wood. In thirty-two volumes, crown 8vo. Precaution. The Prairie. The Spy. Wept of Wish-ton-Wish. The Pioneers. The Water Witch. The Pilot. The Bravo. Lionel Lincoln. The Heidenmauer. Last of the Mohicans. The Headsman. Red Rover. The Mon ikins Homeward Bound. Miles Wallingford. Home as Found. The Chainbearer. The Pathfinder. Satanstoe. Mercedes of Castile. The Red Skins. The Deerslayer. The Crater. The Two Admirals. Jack Tier. Wing and Wing. The Sea Lions. Wyandotte. Oak Openings. Afloat and Ashore. The Ways of the Hour. Each volume sold separately. Price in extra cloth, per volume % 3 00 " " cloth, elegant, in sets only 96 00 " " half calf, gilt or antique, the set 144 00 HOUSEHOLD EDITION. Printed on fine white paper, and handsomely bound. In thirty-two volumes, l6mo. Price in extra cloth, per volume $ 1 25 " " " il the set 4000 " « half calf, the set 8000 The Leather-Stocking Tales, five volumes, comprising :— Deerslayer. Prairie. Pioneers. Pathfinder. Last of the Mohicans. Illustrated Edition, cloth, elegant $15 00 half calf, gilt or antique 22 50 People's Edition, extra cloth 8 75 Household Edition, extra cloth 6 25 HURD AND HOUGHTON, Publishers, 459 Broome Street, New York. SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO THE MOOR OF VENICE AS PRODUCED BY EDWIN BOOTH. Adapted from the Text of the Cambridge Editors, with Introductory Remarks, &?c, By HENRY L. HINTON. NEW YORK PUBLISHED BY HURD & HOUGHTON, 459 BROOME STREET. .A*Hr Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, By HENRY L. HINTON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York, INTRODUCTION Doran, in his ' Annals of the Euglisk Stage' tells us Ducis adapted Shakespeare's Othello to the French stage, for which he furnished two versions. In the first, he killed' Desdemona according to tradition. At this, ladies fainted away, and gentlemen protestingly vociferated. Ducis altered the catastrophe, whereat Paris became divided into two parties, who supported the happy or the tragic conclusion, as their feelings prompted them. Talma played the Moor ; and bred, as he had been, in the shadow and the sunlight of the English stage, he was disgusted with the liberty taken with Shakespeare. One night, when the piece was to end as merrily as a comedy, and the last acl was about to begin, Ducis heard Talma muttering at the wing, e I will kill her. The pit will not suffer it, I am sure. Well, I will make them endure and enjoy it. She shall be killed !' Ducis tremblingly acouiesced, and Talma restored the old catastrophe. There was some opposition, and a little fainting on the part of the susceptible, but, in presence of the marvelous talent of the a£tor, all antagonism gave way ; and Talma, with reasonable pride, noti- fied to his friends on the English stage the successful effort he had made in support of the integrity of the Shakespeare catastrophe. We have taken no such liberty with the text as M. Ducis. Our 'tamperings' — except in a very few instances where it was necessary to substitute certain words that would be less offensive to our refined audiences than the original ones — aim only at shortening the play, at concentrating the dramatic action, which in the original is given at so great length as to be unsuited to our modern custom of assigning only a few hours of the evening to a dramatic representation which formerly occupied the greater part of the day. In making this consolidation, we have avoided, as much as possible, all piece- meal cutting, preferring generally to erase a scene rather than to mutilate iv INTRODUCTION. it, which it would seem has been the practice heretofore. We hold the text of Shakespeare as sacred, and although compelled, as in this instance, to curtail a play, we feel almost as though the invective on Shakespeare's tomb, against him who moves the poet's bones, was leveled at us for pre- suming to take the liberty we do. ' Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear To dig the dust inclosed here ; Blest be the man that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.' We are told that Garrick and Lekain, in like manner, respected the original text of our author ; but the former, more readily than the latter, adopted so-called * emendations.' We should think so, indeed, for the adaptations of the former, which still disgrace the stage, bear very much the mark of attempted 'improvements.' The following incident would seem to show that the great French actor was more respectful : ' When Marmontel "improved" the bold phrases of old Rotrou's Ve?iceslas, Lekain repeated the improvements at rehearsal, but at night he kept to the original passages of the author, and thus created confusion among his fel- low-actors, who lost their " cues." ' In this, Garrick, it is said, deemed him unjustifiable. Although for the sake of scenic effect, and the difference in our modern audiences, certain variations from the original text of Shake- speare become necessary, yet it is in accordance with the spirit of Lekain that we of this day, who reverence the great poet, demand that they should be made. The plot of Othello is taken from the Hecatommithi, or Hundred Tales of Giraldi Cinthio, who was a third-rarte Italian novelist and dra- matist of the sixteenth century. The story is very short, not longer than one act of the play, and the characters consist only of the Moor, Desde- mona, the lieutenant, the ensign and his wife. The incidents of the novel and the play are also dissimilar in many resoects. M. Guizot thus contrasts the Italian Moro di Venezia v/ith the English Othello : ' There was wanting in Cinthio's narrative the poetical genius which filled the scene with actors ; which created the individuals ; which gave each of them his own aspect, form, and character ; which made us see their actions and listen -to their words; which unfolded their thoughts and penetrated their feelings — that vivifying power which summons events 10 rise, to progress, to expand, to be completed — that creative breath INTRODUCTION. v which, breathing over the past, calls it again into being, and fills it with a present and imperishable life. This was the power which Shakespeare alone possessed, and by this, out of a forgotten novel, he has made Othello: Richard Burbadge, actor and artist, was the original Othello. The par- ticulars concerning his a£ting of this part are not known, but there is every reason to believe that it was great, for he had Shakespeare himself as an instructor, and was in his day styled c our English Roscius.' In an elegy upon him in a MS. of the early part of the seventeenth century, his Othello is thus eulogized : — ' But let me not forget one chiefest part, Wherein, beyond the rest, he moved the heart j The grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave, Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave, Then slew himself upon the bloody bed.' Burbadge died in 1618, and was succeeded in the part by Nathaniel Field, who, it is thought, was a performer of women's parts, and was probably the original Desdemona. The following MS. epigram of the time, quoted by Mr. Collier, satirizing him for his jealousy, shows th t he, too, was also a good Othello : — < De Agello et Othello. 1 Field is, in sooth, an a&or — all men know it — And is the true Othello of the Poet. I wonder if 'tis true, as people tell us, That, like the character, he is most jealous. If it be so — and many living swear it — It takes not little from the actor's merit; Since, as the Moor is jealous of his wife, Field can display the passion to the life.' Joseph Taylor, we learn from Wright's Histona Histrionica, played Iago. It i- thought that he was the original, but of his rendering of the role nothing is known. What part, if any, Shakespeare himself sustained in this play, is also still unknown, but, if we may judge from those parts which he is known to have assumed in some of his other plays, we should say Brabantio. vi INTRODUCTION. In later times the c silver-tongued ' Barry seems, according to tradi- tion, to have won the laurels as Othello, and Mrs. Siddons as Desdemona. ' You have no idea/ the latter writes, * how the innocence and playful simplicity of my Desdemona have laid hold on the hearts of the people. I am very much flattered by this, as nobody has ever done any thing with that character before.' John Kemble said of Edmund Kean's Othello : • If the justness of its conception had been but equal to the brilliancy of execution, it would have been perfect ; but the whole thing is a mistake, the fact being that Othello was a slow man,' upon which Doran justly remarks, c To be moved, he was ; but being moved, swift and terrible in moving to consequent purpose.' Coleridge thought Kean was not thorough-bred gentleman enough to play the part. He says : ' Kean is original, but he copies from himself. His rapid descents from the hyper- tragic to the infra-colloquial, though sometimes productive of great erTe6t, are often unreasonable. To see him a6t is like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning.' Kean passed from the stage with the celebrated 'Farewell! Othello's occupation 's gone!' The incident is touchingly told by Doran, and is not out of place here. e He aroused himself to make, as it proved, his last appearance on the stage. The play was Othello, his son, Mr. Charles Kean, playing Iago. The night was the 25th of March, 1833. Edmund Kean was so shattered in frame that he had scarcely strength to pass over him the dress of the Moor ; so shattered in nerve, that he dreaded some disaster. Brandy gave some little heart to the greatly fallen actor, but he anxiously enjoined his son to be ever near him, in case of some mischance, and he went through the part, dying as he went, till, after giving the sweet utterance, as of old, to the celebrated 'Farewell,' ending with ' Othello's occupation 's gone !' he attempted to utter the next speech, and in the attempt fell on his son's shoulder, with a whispered moan, ' I am dying — speak to them for me !' . The curtain here descended on him forever, and the rest was only slow death, with intervals of hope.' The Othello of our own Edwin Forrest is placed by our best critics at the zenith of his Shakespearean efforts. Those, however, whose fortune it was to witness the Othello of the elder Booth can never forget this per- formance. It combined the fire of Kean's with the dignity of Kemble's, and the mellow tones of Barry's. The wonderful elocutionary powers of this great actor are thus described by Elihu Burritt in a late issue of The Church Union. We quote it, no? INTRODUCTION. vii as apropos of Othello, but from a desire to preserve from the ravages of time whatever 'fugitive memorials of this man come to our hand. The actor's fame is, at best, traditionary and fleeting. ' Booth, the celebrated tragedian, was a man who threw into his impersonations an amount of heart and soul which his originals could scarcely have equaled. He did Richard III. to the life, and more. He had made human passions, emo- tions, and experiences, his life's study. He could not only act but feel rage, love, despair, hate, ambition, fury, hope, and revenge, with a depth and force that half amazed, his auditors. He could transmute him- self into the hero of his impersonation, and he could breathe a power into other men's written words which perhaps never was surpassed ; and what is rather remarkable, when he was inclined to give illustrations of this faculty to private circles of friends, he nearly always selected some passage ' from Job, David, Isaiah, or other holy men of old. When an aspiring young professor erf Harvard University went to him by night to ask a little advice or instruction in qualifying himself for an orator, the veteran trage- dian opened the Bible, and read a few verses from Isaiah in a way that made the Cambridge scholar tremble with awe, as if the prophet had arisen from the dead and was uttering his sublime visions in his ears. He was then residing in Baltimore, and a pious, urbane old gentleman of the city, hearing of his wonderful power of elocution, one day invited him to dinner, although strongly deprecating the stage and all theatrical per- formances. A large company sat down to the table, and on returning to the drawing-room one of them requested Booth, as a special favor to them all, to repeat the Lord's Prayer. He signified his willingness to gratify them, and all eyes were fixed upon him. He slowly and reverentially rose from his chair, trembling with the burden of two great conceptions. He had to realize the character, attributes, and presence of the Almighty Being he was to address. He was to transform himself into a poor, sin- ning, stumbling, benighted, needy suppliant, offering homage, asking bread, pardon, light and guidance. Says one of the company present : "It was wonderful to watch the play of emotions that convulsed his countenance. He became deathly pale, and his eyes, turned tremblingly upward, were wet with tears. As yet he had not spoken. The silence could be felt ; it had become absolutely painful, until at last the spell was broken as if by an electric shock, as his rich-toned voice, from white lips, syllabled forth ' Our Father, which art in heaven/ etc., with a pathos and fervicL^olem- nity that thrilled all hearts. He finished ; the silence continued ; not a viii INTRODUCTION. voice was heard nor a muscle moved in his rapt audience, until from a remote corner of the room a subdued sob was heard, and the old gentle- man (the host) stepped forward with streaming eyes and tottering frame, and seized Booth by the hand. 'Sir,' said he, in broken accents, 'you have afforded me a pleasure for which my whole future life will feel grate- ful. I am an old man, and every day, from boyhood to the present time, I thought I had repeated the Lord's Prayer ; but I never heard it before — never!' 'You are right,' replied Booth; 'to read that prayer as it should be read caused me the severest study and labor for thirty years, and I am far from being satisfied with my rendering of that wonderful production. ' " ' COSTUME. From some historical facts mentioned in Othello, it has been inferred that the time of the play is about the year 1 5 70. The marked feature of the Venetian costume of that period is the gown, which was worn very full and long, both by the young and the old. There are, moreover, many absurdities in the fashions then prevail- ing, which, if accurately re-produced, would suit better the comic than the tragic stage. We are consequently compelled to adopt very much the same style of costume as that described in our remarks prefacing the Mer- chant of Venice, to which, therefore, we refer the reader. A mooted point is the dress proper to Othello himself. Shall it be Moorish or Venetian ? Verplanck thus treats this topic : — ' Upon this point painters and tragedians have differed from one another very widely ; some attiring the Moor of Venice as a Mohammedan prince, while within some forty years, he was arrayed in an English major-general's uniform on the London boards. In historical strictness, it is very certain that the Venetian general (who, from motives of state policy as to their aristocracy, was always a foreigner, if not to Italy, at least to Venice) wore an official dress, described by Vicellio, a contemporary of Shake- speare's, as a gown of crimson velvet, with loose sleeves, over which was a mantle of cloth-of-gold, buttoned over the shoulder with massy gold buttons. His cap was of crimson velvet, and he bore a silver baton like those ^which are still the official designations of the field marshals in Europe. When in actual service, he wore the knight's armor of the age, INTRODUCTION. ix with the mantle and baton. Othello, though he could not hold this office if he were a Venetian, could not have held office at all unless a Christian in profession, and must, of course, have assumed the appropriate costume as much as if he had been a Frenchman, or a German, or a Neapolitan. ' Thus much for the antiquarian accuracy of the costume, without regard to what may have been Shakespeare's own ideal portrait of the Moor. But of his intention on this point there can not be much doubt. He did not conceive his Moor as attired in Mohammedan costume. The Moor is one who would not " renounce his baptism, the seals and symbols of redeemed sin." In his last breath he describes the "dog" whom he smote for beating a Venetian and traducing Venice, as a " malignant and turban' d Turk." This the poet could not mean for a portrait of the State's own commanding general, who elsewhere speaks of his own ft helm." The Turks, too, are the enemies of Venice, and no dramatic poet could have conceived so gross an incongruity as the general of any Christian State wearing the uniform and customary attire of the enemies whom he is to combat. But Othello, so far from being represented as a person neg- ligent of these matters, is a soldier, delighting in all " quality, pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war." ' The reasons here put forth for the adoption of the Venetian dress are unanswerable • nevertheless, it is not natural to suppose that Othello would have so completely changed his nature, with his change of nationality, as to check all exhibition of former tastes. While necessarily compelled to assume the garb of the Christian State, under whose banner he fought, he would still affect, as far as possible, the gorgeous display of the East. Then, too, when Works of pure imagination are put upon the stage, dramatic effect is more to be considered than historical accuracy, and who will deny that some touches of Oriental magnificence in the costume of Othello would diversify and heighten the total effect of the piece ? 1* DRAMATIS PERSONS Of this adaptation of Othello as cast for its first representation at Booth's Theatre, New York,. Duke of Venice Brabantio, a senator Gratiano, brother to Brabantio Lodovico, kinsman to Brabantio Othello, a noble Moor in the service of the Venetian state. Cassio, his lieutenant Iago, his ancient Roderigo, a Venetian gentleman • Montano, Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprus .• First Senator Second Officer . .. Second Senator A Messenger Third Senator A Herald First Officer , A Sailor Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio and wife to Othello Emilia, wife to Iago Senators, Officers, Gentlemen, Attendants, Peasants, &c. Scene : Venice : a seaport in Cyprus. Note. — The asterisks that occasionally appear in the text refer to the glossary. THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT I. Scene I. Venice, A street. Enter Roderigo and Iago. Rod. Tush, never tell" me ; I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. Rod. Thou told?st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp'd to him : and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place : But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance* Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war ; And, in conclusion, 12 .OTHELLO. [act i. Nonsuits my mediators ; for, ' Certes,'* says he, 1 I have already chose my officer/ And what was he ? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster. He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I — bless the mark ! — his Moorship's ancient.* Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. Iago. Why, there's no remedy ; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by the old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself Whether I in any just term am affined* To love the Moor. Rod. I would not follow him then. Iago. O, sir,. content you ; I follow him to serve my turn upon him : We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,'* That doting on his own obsequious bondage Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provinder, and when he's old, cashier'd : Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And throwing but shows of service on their lords Do well thrive by them, and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage : these fellows have some soul, And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, scene i.] OTHELLO. 13 Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago : In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end : For when my outward a£tion doth demonstrate The native a£t and figure of my heart In compliment extern,* 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at : I am not what I am. Rod. What a full* fortune does the thick-lips1 owe,* If he can carry't thus ! Iago. Call up her father, Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies : though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't As it may lose some colour. Rod. Here is her father's house ; I'll call aloud. Iago. Do ; with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. 1 * — the thick lips.'' — Othello's complexion and race have furnished a fruitful theme of discussion. Was he, as this phrase would indicate, a negro of the enslaved African race, or was he to be viev/ed, as Coleridge and others have thought, as a ' descendant of the proud Arabs who had borne sovereign sway in Europe (men "of royal siege ") and had filled an age of comparative darkness with their poetry and science ?' It is of importance to the true understanding and feeling of this drama, that we should not mistake the author's own intention and the understanding of his times, as to the relative social position of Othello and his bride. The truth here will be found, as truth so often is, half way between the two extreme opinions. The constant designation of Othello as the Moor, with the reference to Barbary as his native country, his royal descent, his education and experience as a soldier, mark him as descended from a civilized, mixed Arab and African race, then as well understood as now to be different from the other African races. This was a race that had met upon equal terms with the soldiers and nobles of Europe ; and we may learn from history, poetry, and romance, how much the ordinary feeling toward them differed from that which has since arisen, from other causes, toward the negro. — Vf.rpi.an.. H OTHELLO. [act i. Rod. What, ho, Brabantio ! Signior Brabantio, ho ! Iago. Awake ! what, ho, Brabantio ! thieves ! thieves ! thieves ! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags ! Thieves ! thieves ! Brabantio appears above, at a window. Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons ? What is the matter there ? Rod. Signior, is all your family within ? Iago. Are your doors lock'd ? Bra. Why, wherefore ask you this ? Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you're robbM ; for shame, put on your gown ; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul ; Arise, arise ; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you : Arise, I say. Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice ? Bra. Not I : what are you ? Rod. My name is Roderigo. Bra. 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 ; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. Rod. Sir, sir, sir — Bra. But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. Rod. Patience, good sir. Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? this is Venice ; My house is not a grange.* scene i.] OTHELLO. 15 Rod. Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. — Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now — Bra. Thou art a villain. Iago. You are — a senator. Bra. This thou shalt answer ; I know thee, Roderigo. Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you, If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent, As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, — If this be known to you, and your allowance,* We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; But if you know not this, my manners tell me We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe That, from* the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence : Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt, Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes, In an extravagant* and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. 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. Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho ! Give me a taper ! call up all my people ! This accident is not unlike my dream : Belief of it oppresses me already. 16 OTHELLO. [act i. Light, I say ! light ! \_Exit above. lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you : It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produced — as, if I stay, I shall — Against the Moor : for I do know, the state, However this may gall him with some check,*7' Cannot with safety cast* him ; for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in a£t, that, for their souls, Another of his fathom they have none To lead their business : in which regard, Though I do hate him 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 sign. That you shall surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary* the raised search ; And there will I be with him. So farewell. \Exit. Enter Brabantio, and Servants with torches. Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her ? O unhappy girl ! With the Moor, say'st thou ? Who would be a father ? How didst thou know 'twas she ? O, she deceives me Past thought ! What said she to you ? Get more tapers. Raise all my kindred. [Exeunt some of the servants.^ Are they married, think you ? Rod. Truly, I think they are. Bra. O heaven ! How got she out ? O treason of the blood ! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them a£t. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused ?* Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing ? scene ii.] OTHELLO. 17 Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed. Bra. Call up my brother. \_Exit a servant^ O, would you had had her ! Enter Servants with torches. Some one way, some another. \Exeunt some of the servants .] Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ? Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please To get good guard and go along with me. Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most. Get weapons, ho ! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo ; I'll deserve your pains. \_Exeunt< Scene II. Another street. Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants, with torches. lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff* o* the conscience To do no contrived murder : I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service : nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. Oth. 'Tis better as it is. Iago. Nay, but he prated And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour, That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear rum. But I pray you, sir, Are you fast married ? Be assured of this, That the magnifico* is much beloved, And hath in his effecl: a voice potential* As double as the duke's : he will divorce you, Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law, with all his might to enforce it on, Will give him cable. 18 OTHELLO. [act i. Oth. Let him do his spite: My services, which I have done the signiory, Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know — Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate — I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits* May speak unbonneted* to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd : for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused* free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights come yonder ? Iago. Those are the raised father and his friends : You were best go in. Oth. Not I ; I must be found : My parts, my title and my perfect soul, Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? Iago. By Janus, I think no. Enter Cassio and Officers with torches. Oth. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! What is the news ? Cas. The duke does greet you, general,- And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. Oth. What is the matter, think you ? Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine : It is a business of some heat : the galleys Have sent a dozen sequent messengers This very night at one another's heels ; And many of the consuls,* raised and met, Are at the duke's already : you have been hotly called for ; When, being not at your lodging to be found, scene ii.] OTHELLO. 19 The senate hath sent about three several quests''5" To search you out. Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. [Exit. Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? Iago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack :* If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. Cas. I do not understand. I'ago. He's married. Cas. To who ? Iago. Marry, to — Re-enter Othello. Come, captain, will you go ? Oth. Have with you. Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. Iago. It is Brabantio : general, be advised \f He comes to bad intent. Oth. Holla ! stand there ! Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers with torches andweapons. Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. Bra. Down with him, thief! \_They draw on both sides. Iago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons. Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter ? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her ; For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd 20 OTHELLO. [act i. The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage* to the sooty bosoqi Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. Oth. Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining and the rest : Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge ? Bra. To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer. Oth. What if I do obey ? How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state To bring me to him ? First Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior ; The duke's in council, and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. Bra. How ! the duke in council ! In this time of the night ! Bring him away : Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own ; For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans* shall our statesmen be. [Exeunt. scene in.] OTHELLO. 21 Scene III. Another street. Enter three Senators, and Officers with torches. First Sen. There is no composition in these news That gives them credit. Sec. Sen. Indeed they are disproportion^ ; My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. Third Sen. And mine, a hundred and forty. First Sen. And mine, two hundred : And though they jump not on ajust account, — As in these cases, where the aim* reports, 'Tis oft with difference, — yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. Sec. Sen. Nay, it is possible enough to judgement : I do not so secure me in the error, But the main article I do approve In fearful sense. Sailor. \_Within\ What, ho ! what, ho ! what, ho ! Enter Second Officer with a torch, and a Sailor. Sec. Off. A messenger from the galleys. First Sen. Now, what's the business ? Sail. The. Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes ; So was I bid report to the state By signior Angelo. [Second Officer and Sailor pass on and Exeunt. Sec. Sen. How say you by this change ? First Sen. ' This cannot be, By no assay* of reason : 'tis a pageant To keep us in false gaze. When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, And let ourselves again but understand That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace,* But altogether lacks the abilities 22 OTHELLO. [act i. That Rhodes is dress'd in : if we make thought of this, We must not think the Turk is so unskilful To leave that latest which concerns him first, Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake and wage a danger profitless. Sec. Sen. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. \A noise within. First Sen. Here is more news. \_Exeunt. Scene IV. A Council chamber. The Duke and Senators sitting at a table , Oificers attending, a Messenger ; all discovered. Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course toward the isle df Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after fleet. First Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess ? Mess. Of thirty sail : and now they do re-stem Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor, With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus. Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town ? First Sen. He's now in Florence. Duke. Write from us to him ; post-post-haste despatch. First Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo and Officers. Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. [To Brabantio] I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior ; We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. scene iv.] OTHELLO. 23 Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me ; Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care Take hold on me ; for my particular grier Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself. Duke. Why, what's the matter ? Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! All. Dead ? Bra. Ay, to me; She is abused, stol'n from me and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks ; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not. Duke. Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it seems, Your special mandate for the state-affairs, Hath hither brought. All. m We are very sorry for't. Duke \_To Othello] What in your own part can you say to this ? Bra. Nothing, but this is so. Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true ; true, I have married her : The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, 24 OTHELLO. [act i. And little blest with the soft phrase of peace ; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they 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 for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration and what mighty magic — For such proceeding I am charged withal — I won his daughter. Bra. A maiden never bold ; Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion Blush'd at herself; and she- — in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing — To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on ! It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect That will confess perfection so could err Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven To find out practices of cunning hell, Why this should be. I therefore vouch again, That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjured to this effect, He wrought upon her. Duke. To vouch this, is no proof. 