chief; and when Othello at
last mentions, as a proof of his wife's guilt, that he had seen the
handkerchief in Cassio's hand, the truth falls on Emilia like a
thunder-bolt. 'O God!' she bursts out, 'O heavenly God!'[121] Her
stupidity in this matter is gross, but it is stupidity and nothing
worse.

But along with it goes a certain coarseness of nature. The contrast
between Emilia and Desdemona in their conversation about the infidelity
of wives (IV. iii.) is too famous to need a word,--unless it be a word
of warning against critics who take her light talk too seriously. But
the contrast in the preceding scene is hardly less remarkable. Othello,
affecting to treat Emilia as the keeper of a brothel, sends her away,
bidding her shut the door behind her; and then he proceeds to torture
himself as well as Desdemona by accusations of adultery. But, as a
critic has pointed out, Emilia listens at the door, for we find, as soon
as Othello is gone and Iago has been summoned, that she knows what
Othello has said to Desdemona. And what could better illustrate those
defects of hers which make one wince, than her repeating again and again
in Desdemona's presence the word Desdemona could not repeat; than her
talking before Desdemona of Iago's suspicions regarding Othello and
herself; than her speaking to Desdemona of husbands who strike their
wives; than the expression of her honest indignation in the words,

Has she forsook so many noble matches,
Her father and her country and her friends,
To be called whore?

If one were capable of laughing or even of smiling when this point in
the play is reached, the difference between Desdemona's anguish at the
loss of Othello's love, and Emilia's recollection of the noble matches
she might have secured, would be irresistibly ludicrous.

And yet how all this, and all her defects, vanish into nothingness when
we see her face to face with that which she can understand and feel!
From the moment of her appearance after the murder to the moment of her
death she is transfigured; and yet she remains perfectly true to
herself, and we would not have her one atom less herself. She is the
only person who utters for us the violent common emotions which we feel,
together with those more tragic emotions which she does not comprehend.
She has done this once already, to our great comfort. When she suggests
that some villain has poisoned Othello's mind, and Iago answers,

Fie, there is n