Cinthio's Othello

1. In Venice there once dwelt a most valorous Moor who, through a combination of conspicuous courage, prudence and lively intelligence in military matters, had endeared himself to his superiors—those who have, from time immemorial, promoted the welfare of the state by the rewarding of excellence. It so happened that a chaste and supremely beautiful lady named Desdemona fell in love with him, moved not by the usual female appetites but by his virtue. And conquered by her beauty and nobility of mind, he likewise became enamoured of her. Love favored them: they were married despite the efforts of her parents to make her take any husband but a Moor. And while in Venice they lived together in such harmony and tranquillity that neither word nor deed was ever less than loving.

2. Now the rulers of the Republic decided to change the garrison which they normally kept in Cyprus, and appointed the Moor commander of the new troops. While he was most pleased to be the recipient of an honor usually reserved for those of noble rank, wealth, loyalty and demonstrated bravery, nonetheless his joy was diminished by the prospect of a long and arduous voyage and he bethought himself of Desdemona and her pain at being left behind. She, on the other hand, whose sole happiness was in the Moor, was delighted at the testimony paid by the noblest and most powerful of republics to her husband's abilities, and longed for the moment when he would set off with his troops, and herself, for such a distinguished post. Thus his troubled looks made her anxious, and, perplexed as to the cause, one day at table she asked: "Moor, why is it that since you have been given such an honorable appointment by the State you are so melancholy?" To which he answered, "My pleasure at this honor is overcast by the love I bear you. One of two things must happen: either I expose you to the perils of the sea, or, to spare you that, I leave you in Venice. In the first case, each hardship you might suffer, every danger threatening us, would be torture for me. But the second would be equally hateful: leaving you would be as leaving part of myself." And Desdemona, enlightened, replied: "Ah, my husband, what thoughts are you thinking? Whom do you contemplate leaving? There is nothing here for consternation. I go where you go-through fire if needs be, let alone on a trim, safe ship. If there are really perils and hardships to come, I wish to share them with you. Truly, I would think you had little love for me if you were to leave me in Venice, or were to imagine that I preferred my own safety to danger shared with you. Prepare for the voyage, then, with that vigor which won you your command." At this the Moor joyfully embraced her, and kissing her lovingly, exclaimed: "God keep you long in such love, dearest wife!" In a short while, having made all necessary preparations, he set sail with his wife and troops, and after a smooth crossing arrived in Cyprus.

3. The Moor had in his company an Ensign who concealed beneath a charming exterior the wickedest nature in the world. This wretch was highly regarded by the Moor, who had no inkling of his depravity; his pernicious heart was cloaked by a manliness and eloquence worthy of Hector or Achilles. Now he too had brought his wife to Cyprus, a beautiful and honorable young woman; being Italian, she was much loved by the Moor's wife and they were much together. In the same company there was also a Captain who, being very dear to the Moor, dined often at the Moor's house with him and his wife. And since Desdemona knew of her husband's affection for him, she treated him with the greatest kindness, and this pleased the Moor highly. The villainous Ensign, concerned not at all for his marriage vows nor for the friendship, allegiance and duty he owed the Moor, fell madly in love with Desdemona, and bent all his mind on how he might enjoy her. Yet he dared not show his passion, fearing that the Moor would see it and kill him. By various subtle means he attempted to reveal his love to Desdemona, but her mind, occupied wholly with the Moor, had no thought for the Ensign or any other. And as all his stratagems proved useless, he fancied that this was so because she was smitten with the Captain, and he considered how he might be rid of him. The love he bore for Desdemona now turned to the most bitter hatred; he began to study how, with the Captain killed, and Desdemona still proving unattainable, he might prevent the Moor from enjoying her. And having meditated upon various wicked and spiteful alternatives he resolved in the end to accuse her to her husband of adultery and to make him think the Captain was her lover. But well knowing the Moor's unparalleled love for Desdemona and his friendship for the Captain, he knew that it would be impossible to persuade the Moor of the truth of either charge except by means of some ingenious deception. He thus waited for the auspicious time and place to inaugurate his evil enterprise.

4. It was not long before the Moor had occasion to demote the Captain for having wounded a soldier while on sentry duty. Desdemona was deeply grieved and repeatedly tried to reconcile her husband and the Captain—so much so that the Moor remarked to the villainous Ensign that his wife's urgings in the Captain's behalf made him fear that he would finally have to take him back. This gave the fiend the opportunity to put his schemes into action. "Perhaps," he remarked, "Desdemona has reason to favor him." "Why?" asked the Moor. And the Ensign: "I do not wish to come between husband and wife, but you would see for yourself if you would but open your eyes." And despite the Moor's urging the Ensign refused to say more. Nevertheless, the words were a thorn in the Moor's heart, and he brooded darkly over their possible meaning.

5. One day, while his wife was attempting to mollify his anger with the Captain, begging him to weigh the years of service and friendship against one small fault, and noting that the wounded soldier and the Captain were already reconciled, the Moor became angry and exclaimed, "Your concern for this man is extraordinary! He is not a brother or kinsman that you should have him so much at heart." The lady answered, humbly and gently, "I would not have you angry with me. I am only distressed at seeing you separated from one who, as you yourself have told me, was a dear friend. He has not committed such a serious crime that you should bear him such hatred. You Moors are so hot-blooded by nature that a little thing moves you to anger and revenge." To these words the Moor replied more angrily than ever, "It will be felt by someone who does not expect it. I will have such vengeance for the wrongs done me that I shall be satisfied." The lady was terrified at these words, and seeing her husband enraged with her for the first time, answered humbly, "Only your own happiness prompted me to speak to you of this, but so you will have no reason to be angry with me, I will speak of it no more."

6. The Moor assumed that the Ensign's words meant that Desdemona was enamoured of that Captain for whom she had repeatedly petitioned, and in deepest melancholy he went to the scoundrel to persuade him to speak more openly. The Ensign, bent upon the undoing of the poor lady, at first pretended to be loath to say anything that might displease his interrogator, but finally appeared to yield, saying, "I cannot deny that it pains me beyond measure to have to say a thing that will wound you most bitterly. Nevertheless, because you wish it and because of the care I must have for your honor as my lord, I will speak out loyally and satisfy your demand. Know, then, that your lady is discommoded by the Captain's loss of your favor because of the pleasure she takes with him whenever he comes to your house; your blackness quite repels her." These words cut the Moor to the quick. But, to know more (he believed all that the Ensign had already said because of the suspicion planted in his mind), with a fierce look, he said, "I do not know what keeps me from cutting out your insolent tongue for imputing such shame to my lady." And the Ensign: "I did not expect any other reward than this for my loving service, but since I have been led thus far by duty and concern for your honor, I repeat that this is how things stand, and if the lady has, by a show of love, blinded you to what you should have seen, that does not at all disprove what I have said. Indeed the Captain himself has told me about it, as one whose happiness is incomplete unless he confides in another." And he added, "If I had not feared your anger, I would have killed him, when he told me, as he deserved. But since this is what I get for telling you what concerns you more than anyone, I wish I had said nothing. If I had been silent, I would not have incurred your displeasure." The Moor, in anguish, answered, "If you do not make me see with my own eyes what you have told me, be assured I will make you wish that you had been born dumb." "That would have been easy," replied the villain, "while he was coming to your house, but now that you have put him out, and for a trivial cause rather than the crucial one, it will be difficult. However, I believe that he still enjoys Desdemona whenever you give him the chance, although he has to be more cautious now than before he fell out of your favor. Nevertheless, I have not lost hope of being able to make you see what you do not wish to believe." And with those words they parted.

7. The wretched Moor, pierced to the heart, went home to await the day when the Ensign would make him see the thing which would make him unhappy forever. The accursed Ensign, on the other hand, was baffled by the problem of the lady's chastity which, as he knew, she guarded so carefully, and which therefore presented an apparently insuperable obstacle to bringing the Moor to believe what he had falsely told him. But after studying the matter, the villain hit on a new plot.

8. The wife of the Moor, as I have remarked, often went to the home of the Ensign's wife and stayed with her most of the day. The Ensign observed that she sometimes carried with her a handkerchief, finely embroidered in the Moorish fashion, which he knew the Moor had given her and was precious to both of them. He conceived the idea of stealing it from her and using it for her final undoing. He had a three-year-old daughter, much loved by Desdemona, and one day when the unfortunate lady was at this devil's house, he took the child in his arms and gave her to the lady. And while she held her and hugged her, the deceiver, an expert at sleight-of-hand, lifted the handkerchief from her girdle so skilfully that she did not notice it, and then he departed most pleased with himself.

9. The unsuspecting Desdemona returned to her home, and busy with other matters, did not think of the handkerchief. But a few days later, looking for it and not finding it, she grew fearful that the Moor might ask her about it, as was his wont. Meanwhile, the evil Ensign, choosing a favorite moment, craftily placed the handkerchief in the Captain's bed where it remained undiscovered until the Captain arose and trod upon it on the floor where it had fallen. Unable to imagine how it came to be in his house, but knowing it to be Desdemona's, he wondered how to return it; finally, he waited until the Moor had left his house, and then went to the back door and knocked. One would think that fate collaborated with the Ensign in the death of the unfortunate woman, for at this moment the Moor came back and, hearing the knock, went to the window and yelled angrily, "Who is knocking?" The Captain, hearing the Moor's voice and fearing that he would come down and attack him, ran away without answering. The Moor came downstairs, opened the door, and went out into the street, but could see no one. He went back into the house angrily and asked his wife who had been knocking; the lady answered truthfully that she did not know. The Moor replied, "It appeared to me to be the Captain." "I do not know whether it was the Captain or someone else," she answered. Although burning with rage, the Moor curbed his fury; he did not want to do anything before talking with the Ensign. He went to him at once, told him what had happened, and asked him to find out all that he could about it from the Captain; the Ensign, pleased with the way things were going, promised to do so. And one day he spoke to the Captain when the Moor was so placed that he could see them conversing together. Then, speaking of everything except the lady, he made the Captain laugh boisterously, and feigning astonishment, suggested by his attitudes and movements of his hands and head that he was hearing something amazing. The Moor, as soon as he saw them part, went up to the Ensign to find out what the Captain had said to him. The Ensign, after allowing himself to be entreated for a long time, finally said to him, "He has hidden nothing from me. He told me that he has enjoyed your wife every time you were away and gave him the opportunity, and that the last time he was with her she made him a present of the handkerchief which you gave her when you were married." The Moor thanked the Ensign, and it now seemed clear to him that if he found that his wife did not have the handkerchief, things were as the Ensign had reported

10. One day, therefore, while talking with his wife after they had dined he asked her for the handkerchief. The poor lady, who had feared such a request, turned fiery red, and to hide her blushes, which the Moor had carefully noted, she ran to a chest and pretended to look for the handkerchief. After hunting for a long time, she said, "I don't know why I can't find it. Perhaps you have it yourself?" "If I had it," he replied, "why would I ask you? But you will be able to look for it at your leisure another time." After he had left, he began to consider how he might kill the lady, and the Captain with her, in such a way that he would not be thought guilty of her death. And since he brooded upon this day and night, the lady inevitably observed that he was not the same toward her as he had been, and she asked him repeatedly, "What is wrong? What upsets you? Why are you, once the merriest man in the world, now the most melancholy?" The Moor invented various answers, but she was left no happier. She knew that she had done nothing that would give the Moor cause for concern, but she did fear that they had been so much together that he had tired of her. And occasionally she remarked to the Ensign's wife, "I do not understand the Moor. He used to be full of love for me, but lately he has been another man. I am afraid that I shall become a warning to young people not to marry against their parents' wishes, that Italian girls may learn from my example not to unite with a man whom God, nature and custom have made a stranger. But as I know he is your husband's good friend and tells him everything, I beg you to say whether you have heard anything from him which might help me." And so saying, she burst into tears. The wife of the Ensign knew everything (for it was she whom her husband had wanted to use in killing the lady, although she would never consent) but she dared not tell anything because of fear of her husband. She said merely, "Be careful not to give your husband any grounds for suspicion, and try to show your love and faithfulness in every possible way." "I am, I do," the lady replied, "but it does no good."

11. Meanwhile the Moor was making every effort towards proving the very thing he did not want to find true, and he asked the Ensign to arrange a way for him to see the handkerchief in the Captain's possession. Though this was difficult for the villain, he promised nevertheless to use every means to produce the proof. Now the Captain had a woman at home who did wonderful embroidery work on fine linen, and when she saw the handkerchief and learned that it belonged to the Moor's wife and was to be returned to her, she decided to copy it first. And while she was thus employed, the Ensign, noticing that she sat near a window and could be seen by anyone passing by on the street, pointed her out to the Moor who was now made absolutely certain that his most honorable lady was indeed an adulteress. He therefore decided with the Ensign to kill both her and the Captain, and they deliberated on how the deed should be done. The Moor asked him to kill the Captain, promising his eternal gratitude. But as the Captain was known to be both prudent and courageous, the Ensign at first refused such a diabolical and dangerous undertaking, and was only prevailed upon to try his hand at it by many entreaties and a large sum of money.

12. This having been decided, the Captain one dark night was leaving the house of a prostitute with whom he customarily diverted himself, when he was accosted in the darkness by the Ensign who, sword in hand, struck at his legs to cut him down. It so happened that the thrust cut him through the right thigh, and as he fell, the Ensign was upon him to finish the killing. But the Captain, being courageous and used to blood and death, drew his sword and wounded as he was, rose to defend himself, crying out in a loud voice, "Murder!" And as a result, the Ensign, hearing people running up with soldiers who were billeted nearby, fled so as not to be taken, and then turned around and feigned that he too had been drawn there by the uproar. Joining the crowd, he saw the mutilated leg, and he judged that even if the Captain were then not dead, he would die from the wound; and although this delighted him, he made a great show of paternal grief over the Captain.

13. By morning the affair was known all over town, and it reached the ears of Desdemona who, being an affectionate creature and not thinking any harm could come of it, showed so much grief that the Moor imagined the worst. He went to find the Ensign, and said to him, "My stupid wife is so overcome by what has happened to the Captain that she is beside herself." "What could you expect," answered the Ensign, "he being her very soul?" "Her soul, is it?" said the Moor, "If I do not tear her soul from her body and rid the world of this corruption, do not call me a man."

14. And after they had debated inconclusively as to whether the lady should die by poison or by the knife, the Ensign said, "I have thought of a method which will satisfy you and cause no suspicion. It is this: your house is very old and there are many cracks in the ceiling of your bedroom. I propose that we beat Desdemona with a stocking filled with sand until she is dead, and thus there will be no sign of blows. When she is dead, we will pull down part of the ceiling on the lady's head, making it appear that a beam had fallen and killed her. In this way no one will suspect you, everyone judging her death to be an accident."

15. This brutal plan pleased the Moor, and he waited for an opportune moment. One night when he was in bed with Desdemona, the Ensign, whom he had already hidden in a closet opening into the room, made a noise according to plan, whereupon the Moor inquired of his wife, "Did you hear that noise?" "I heard it," she answered. "Get up," said the Moor, "and see what it is." The unfortunate Desdemona arose, and as soon as she approached the closet, out came the Ensign, strong and nerveless, and struck her a heavy blow across the back with the stocking which he had ready. She fell, immediately, scarcely able to draw breath, but managed in a weak voice to call to the Moor for help. And arising from the bed he exclaimed, "Most evil woman, this is the reward for your falseness, this is what comes to those who, counterfeiting love, set horns upon their husbands' heads!" The poor lady, hearing this and feeling that her hour had come (the Ensign having struck her again), called on divine justice to witness her fidelity, the justice of this world having failed her. And while calling on the Lord to help her, she died beneath a third blow from the faithless Ensign. Then, laying her on the bed and gashing her head, he and the Moor pulled down the ceiling as planned, the Moor crying out for help, that his house was failing. The neighbors came running at the sound and found Desdemona dead on the bed under a beam—a thing pitied by all because of the lady's goodness.

16. The following day Desdemona was buried and mourned by all the people. But just God, who sees into all souls, did not will that so evil a crime should go without proper punishment. The Moor, whom Desdemona had loved more than life itself, finding himself bereft, began to desire her so much that he searched the length and breadth of the house as though out of his mind. Reflecting that the Ensign was the reason he had lost his lady, and with her all joy in life, and peace of mind, he conceived such hatred for the villain that he could not bear the sight of him; and had he not feared the absolute justice of the Venetian authorities, he would have killed him publicly. But unable to do this with impunity, he stripped him of his rank and dismissed him from the company, and from this arose the greatest and bitterest hatred between the two.

17. The Ensign, most evil of villains, now concentrated on the downfall of the Moor. He sought out the Captain, who had recovered and went around on a wooden leg in place of the one which had been cut off, and said to him, "It is time you had revenge for your lost leg. If you will come with me to Venice, I will tell you who the guilty one is, a thing I dare not reveal here for many reasons, and I will be your witness." The Captain, his anger returning and in all innocence, thanked the Ensign and went with him to Venice. And there the Ensign informed him that it had been the Moor who had cut off his leg because of his delusion that the Captain had lain with Desdemona, and who for the same reason had murdered her and spread the word that the falling ceiling had killed her. On hearing this, the Captain accused the Moor to the authorities both of having cut off his leg and of having killed his wife, and he called the Ensign as witness. The villain testified that both accusations were true because the Moor had told him everything and had even tried to induce him to commit both crimes, and that having finally killed his wife himself out of bestial and unwarranted jealousy, the Moor had told him of the manner in which he killed her. The authorities, on hearing of this crime by a barbarian against one of their citizens, had the Moor arrested in Cyprus and brought to Venice, where they tried by torture to wring the truth out of him. He, however, courageously withstood the pain and denied everything so resolutely that nothing could be drawn from him. But although he escaped death through his steadfastness, he was, after many days in prison, condemned to perpetual exile, where he was finally killed by Desdemona's kinsfolk as he deserved.

18. The Ensign returned to his own country and characteristically accused one of his companions, claiming that he had tried to get him to murder a certain gentleman who was his enemy. The accused denied the accusation under torture whereupon the Ensign was also put to the rack as a means of ascertaining the truth of his charge. And when he had been beaten so much that his body ruptured, he was removed from prison and taken home, where he died miserably. Thus did God avenge the innocence of Desdemona. The Ensign's wife, who knew the facts, narrated these things after his death as I have set them down here.