l his old joys forsook him. Sometimes he
thought his wife honest, and at times he thought her not so; sometimes
he thought Iago just, and at times he thought him not so; then he would
wish that he had never known of it; he was not the worse for her loving
Cassio, so long as he knew it not: torn to pieces with these distracting
thoughts, he once laid hold on Iago's throat, and demanded proof of
Desdemona's guilt, or threatened instant death for his having belied
her. Iago, feigning indignation that his honesty should be taken for a
vice, asked Othello, if he had not sometimes seen a handkerchief spotted
with strawberries in his wife's hand. Othello answered, that he had
given her such a one, and that it was his first gift. "That same
handkerchief," said Iago, "did I see Michael Cassio this day wipe his
face with." "If it be as you say," said Othello, "I will not rest till a
wide revenge swallow them up: and first, for a token of your fidelity, I
expect that Cassio shall be put to death within three days; and for that
fair devil (meaning his lady), I will withdraw and devise some swift
means of death for her."
Trifles light as air are to the jealous proofs as strong as holy writ. A
handkerchief of his wife's seen in Cassio's hand, was motive enough to
the deluded Othello to pass sentence of death upon them both, without
once inquiring how Cassio came by it. Desdemona had never given such a
present to Cassio, nor would this constant lady have wronged her lord
with doing so naughty a thing as giving his presents to another man;
both Cassio and Desdemona were innocent of any offence against Othello:
but the wicked Iago, whose spirits never slept in contrivance of
villany, had made his wife (a good, but a weak woman) steal this
handkerchief from Desdemona, under pretence of getting the work copied,
but in reality to drop it in Cassio's way, where he might find it, and
give a handle to Iago's suggestion that it was Desdemona's present.
Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended that he had a headache
(as he might indeed with truth), and desired her to lend him her
handkerchief to hold to his temples. She did so. "Not this," said
Othello, "but that handkerchief I gave you." Desdemona had it not about
her (for indeed it was stolen, as we have related). "How?" said Othello,
"this is a fault indeed. That handkerchief an Egyptian woman gave to my
mother; the woman was a witch and could read people's thoughts: she told
my mo
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