Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare
because you are a woman, and unlike men, who only weep when they laugh
or beg.”
They talked awhile; then Timon said, “Yon gold is mine. I will make you
rich, Flavius, if you promise me to live by yourself and hate mankind.
I will make you very rich if you promise me that you will see the flesh
slide off the beggar's bones before you feed him, and let the debtor die
in jail before you pay his debt.”
Flavius simply said, “Let me stay to comfort you, my master.”
“If you dislike cursing, leave me,” replied Timon, and he turned his
back on Flavius, who went sadly back to Athens, too much accustomed to
obedience to force his services upon his ailing master.
The steward had accepted nothing, but a report got about that a mighty
nugget of gold had been given him by his former master, and Timon
therefore received more visitors. They were a painter and a poet, whom
he had patronized in his prosperity.
“Hail, worthy Timon!” said the poet. “We heard with astonishment how
your friends deserted you. No whip's large enough for their backs!”
“We have come,” put in the painter, “to offer our services.”
“You've heard that I have gold,” said Timon.
“There was a report,” said the painter, blushing; “but my friend and I
did not come for that.”
“Good honest men!” jeered Timon. “All the same, you shall have plenty of
gold if you will rid me of two villains.”
“Name them,” said his two visitors in one breath. “Both of you!”
answered Timon. Giving the painter a whack with a big stick, he said,
“Put that into your palette and make money out of it.” Then he gave a
whack to the poet, and said, “Make a poem out of that and get paid for
it. There's gold for you.”
They hurriedly withdrew.
Finally Timon was visited by two senators who, now that Athens was
threatened by Alcibiades, desired to have on their side this bitter
noble whose gold might help the foe.
“Forget your injuries,” said the first senator. “Athens offers you
dignities whereby you may honorably live.”
“Athens confesses that your merit was overlooked, and wishes to atone,
and more than atone, for her forgetfulness,” said the second senator.
“Worthy senators,” replied Timon, in his grim way, “I am almost weeping;
you touch me so! All I need are the eyes of a woman and the heart of a
fool.”
But the senators were patriots. They believed that this bitter man could
save Athens, and they would not quarrel with him. “Be our captain,”
they said, “and lead Athens against Alcibiades, who threatens to destroy
her.”
“Let him destroy the Athenians too, for all I care,” said Timon; and
seeing an evil despair in his face, they left him.
The senators returned to Athens, and soon afterwards trumpets were blown
before its walls. Upon the walls they stood and listened to Alcibiades,
who told them that wrong-doers should quake in their easy chairs. They
looked at his confident army, and were convinced that Athens must yield
if he assaulted it, therefore they used the voice that strikes deeper
than arrows.
“These walls of ours were built by the hands of men who never wronged
you, Alcibiades,” said the first senator.
“Enter,” said the second senator, “and slay every tenth man, if your
revenge needs human flesh.”
“Spare the cradle,” said the first senator.
“I ask only justice,” said Alcibiades. “If you admit my army, I will
inflict the penalty of your own laws upon any soldier who breaks them.”
At that moment a soldier approached Alcibiades, and said, “My noble
general, Timon is dead.” He handed Alcibiades a sheet of wax, saying,
“He is buried by the sea, on the beach, and over his grave is a stone
with letters on it which I cannot read, and therefore I have impressed
them on wax.”
Alcibiades read from the sheet of wax this couplet--
“Here lie I, Timon, who, alive,
all living men did hate.
Pass by and say your worst; but pass,
and stay not here your gait.”
“Dead, then, is noble Timon,” said Alcibiades; and be entered Athens
with an olive branch instead of a sword.
So it was one of Timon's friends who was generous in a greater matter
than Timon's need; yet are the sorrow and rage of Timon remembered as a
warning lest another ingratitude should arise to turn love into hate.
OTHELLO
Four hundred years ago there lived in Venice an ensign named Iago, who
hated his general, Othello, for not making him a lieutenant. Instead of
Iago, who was strongly recommended, Othello had chosen Michael Cassio,
whose smooth tongue had helped him to win the heart of Desdemona. Iago
had a friend called Roderigo, who supplied him with money and felt he
could not be happy unless Desdemona was his wife.
Othello was a Moor, but of so dark a complexion that his enemies called
him a Blackamoor. His life had been hard and exciting. He had been
vanquished in battle and sold into slavery; and he had been a great
traveler and seen men whose shoulders were higher than their heads.
Brave as a lion, he had one great fault--jealousy. His love was a
terrible selfishness. To love a woman meant with him to possess her as
absolutely as he possessed something that did not live and think. The
story of Othello is a story of jealousy.
One night Iago told Roderigo that Othello had carried off Desdemona
without the knowledge of her father, Brabantio. He persuaded Roderigo
to arouse Brabantio, and when that senator appeared Iago told him
of Desdemona's elopement in the most unpleasant way. Though he was
Othello's officer, he termed him a thief and a Barbary horse.
Brabantio accused Othello before the Duke of Venice of using sorcery to
fascinate his daughter, but Othello said that the only sorcery he used
was his voice, which told Desdemona his adventures and hair-breadth
escapes. Desdemona was led into the council-chamber, and she explained
how she could love Othello despite his almost black face by saying, “I
saw Othello's visage in his mind.”
As Othello had married Desdemona, and she was glad to be his wife, there
was no more to be said against him, especially as the Duke wished him to
go to Cyprus to defend it against the Turks. Othello was quite ready to
go, and Desdemona, who pleaded to go with him, was permitted to join him
at Cyprus.
Othello's feelings on landing in this island were intensely joyful. “Oh,
my sweet,” he said to Desdemona, who arrived with Iago, his wife, and
Roderigo before him, “I hardly know what I say to you. I am in love with
my own happiness.”
News coming presently that the Turkish fleet was out of action, he
proclaimed a festival in Cyprus from five to eleven at night.
Cassio was on duty in the Castle where Othello ruled Cyprus, so Iago
decided to make the lieutenant drink too much. He had some difficulty,
as Cassio knew that wine soon went to his head, but servants brought
wine into the room where Cassio was, and Iago sang a drinking song, and
so Cassio lifted a glass too often to the health of the general.
When Cassio was inclined to be quarrelsome, Iago told Roderigo to say
something unpleasant to him. Cassio cudgeled Roderigo, who ran into the
presence of Montano, the ex-governor. Montano civilly interceded for
Roderigo, but received so rude an answer from Cassio that he said,
“Come, come, you're drunk!” Cassio then wounded him, and Iago sent
Roderigo out to scare the town with a cry of mutiny.
The uproar aroused Othello, who, on learning its cause, said, “Cassio, I
love thee, but never more be officer of mine.”
On Cassio and Iago being alone together, the disgraced man moaned about
his reputation. Iago said reputation and humbug were the same thing.
“O God,” exclaimed Cassio, without heeding him, “that men should put an
enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!”
Iago advised him to beg Desdemona to ask Othello to pardon him. Cassio
was pleased with the advice, and next morning made his request to
Desdemona in the garden of the castle. She was kindness itself, and
said, “Be merry, Cassio, for I would rather die than forsake your
cause.”
Cassio at that moment saw Othello advancing with Iago, and retired
hurriedly.
Iago said, “I don't like that.”
“What did you say?” asked Othello, who felt that he had meant something
unpleasant, but Iago pretended he had said nothing. “Was not that Cassio
who went from my wife?” asked Othello, and Iago, who knew that it was
Cassio and why it was Cassio, said, “I cannot think it was Cassio who
stole away in that guilty manner.”
Desdemona told Othello that it was grief and humility which made Cassio
retreat at his approach. She reminded him how Cassio had taken his part
when she was still heart-free, and found fault with her Moorish lover.
Othello was melted, and said, “I will deny thee nothing,” but Desdemona
told him that what she asked was as much for his good as dining.
Desdemona left the garden, and Iago asked if it was really true that
Cassio had known Desdemona before her marriage.
“Yes,” said Othello.
“Indeed,” said Iago, as though something that had mystified him was now
very clear.
“Is he not honest?” demanded Othello, and Iago repeated the adjective
inquiringly, as though he were afraid to say “No.”
“What do you mean?” insisted Othello.
To this Iago would only say the flat opposite of what he said to Cassio.
He had told Cassio that reputation was humbug. To Othello he said, “Who
steals my purse steals trash, but he who filches from me my good name
ruins me.”
At this Othello almost leapt into the air, and Iago was so confident
of his jealousy that he ventured to warn him against it. Yes, it was no
other than Iago who called jealousy “the green-eyed monster which doth
mock the meat it feeds on.”
Iago having given jealousy one blow, proceeded to feed it with the
remark that Desdemona deceived her father when she eloped with Othello.
“If she deceived him, why not you?” was his meaning.
Presently Desdemona re-entered to tell Othello that dinner was ready.
She saw that he was ill at ease. He explained it by a pain in his
forehead. Desdemona then produced a handkerchief, which Othello
had given her. A prophetess, two hundred years old, had made this
handkerchief from the silk of sacred silkworms, dyed it in a
liquid prepared from the hearts of maidens, and embroidered it with
strawberries. Gentle Desdemona thought of it simply as a cool, soft
thing for a throbbing brow; she knew of no spell upon it that would work
destruction for her who lost it. “Let me tie it round your head,” she
said to Othello; “you will be well in an hour.” But Othello pettishly
said it was too small, and let it fall. Desdemona and he then went
indoors to dinner, and Emilia picked up the handkerchief which Iago had
often asked her to steal.
She was looking at it when Iago came in. After a few words about it he
snatched it from her, and bade her leave him.
In the garden he was joined by Othello, who seemed hungry for the worst
lies he could offer. He therefore told Othello that he had seen Cassio
wipe his mouth with a handkerchief, which, because it was spotted with
strawberries, he guessed to be one that Othello had given his wife.
The unhappy Moor went mad with fury, and Iago bade the heavens witness
that he devoted his hand and heart and brain to Othello's service. “I
accept your love,” said Othello. “Within three days let me hear that
Cassio is dead.”
Iago's next step was to leave Desdemona's handkerchief in Cassio's room.
Cassio saw it, and knew it was not his, but he liked the strawberry
pattern on it, and he gave it to his sweetheart Bianca and asked her to
copy it for him.
Iago's next move was to induce Othello, who had been bullying Desdemona
about the handkerchief, to play the eavesdropper to a conversation
between Cassio and himself. His intention was to talk about Cassio's