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Artemus Ward in London

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VI. OTHELLO.
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Page 116

6. VI.
OTHELLO.

Everybody knows that this is one of
Mr. W. Shakespeare's best and most attractive
plays. The public is more familiar
with Othello than any other of “the great
Bard's” efforts. It is the most quoted from
by writers and orators, Hamlet perhaps
excepted, and provincial theaters seem to
take more delight in doing it than almost
any other play extant, legitimate or otherwise.
The scene is laid in Venice. Othello,
a warm-hearted, impetuous and rather
verdant Moorish gentleman, considerably
in the military line, falls in love and marries
Desdemona, daughter of the Hon. Mr.
Brabantio, who represents one of the
“back districts” in the Venetian Senate.
The Senator is quite vexed at this—rends
his linen and swears considerably—but
finally dries up, requesting the Moor to remember


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that Desdemona has deceived her
Pa, and bidding him to look out that she
don't likewise come it over him, “or words
to that effect.” Mr. and Mrs. Othello get
along very pleasantly for awhile. She is
sweet-tempered and affectionate—a nice,
sensible woman, not at all inclined to pantaloons,
he-female conventions, pickled-beets
and other “strong-minded” arrangements.
He is a likely man and “a good
provider.” But a man named Iago, who
we believe wants to get Mr. O. out of
his snug government berth that he may
get into it, systematically and effectually
ruins the Othello household. Had there
been a Lecompton Constitution up, Iago
would have been an able and eloquent advocate
of it, and would thus have got
Othello's position, for the Moor would have
utterly repudiated that pet scheme of the
Devil and several other gentlemen, whose
names we omit out of regard for the feelings
of their parents. Lecompton wasn't
a “test,” however, and Iago took another
course to oust Othello. He fell in with a
brainless young man named Roderigo and

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Page 118
won all of his money at euchre. (Iago always
played foul.) We suppose he did
this to procure funds to help him carry out
his vile scheme. Michael Cassio, whose
first name would imply that he was of the
Irish persuasion, was the unfortunate individual
selected by Mr. I. as his principal
tool. This Cassio was a young officer of
considerable promise and high moral worth.
He yet unhappily had a weakness for drink,
and though this weakness Mr. I. determined
to “fetch him.” He accordingly
proposed a drinking bout with Michael.
Michael drank faithfully every time, but
Iago adroitly threw his whiskey on the
floor. While Cassio is pouring the liquor
down his throat Iago sings a popular bacchanalian
song, the first verse of which is
as follows:
“And let me the canakin clink, clink,
And let me the canakin clink:
A soldier's a man,
A life's but a span,
Why then let a soldier drink.”
And the infatuated young man does drink.
The “canakin is clinked” until Michael

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Page 119
gets as tight as a boiled owl. He has
about seven inches of whisky in him. He
says he is sober, and thinks he can walk a
crack with distinguished success. He then
grows religious and “hopes to be saved.”
He then wants to fight, and allows he can
lick a yard full of the Venetian fancy. He
falls in with Roderigo and proceeds to
smash him. Montano undertakes to stop
Cassio, when that intoxicated person stabs
him. Iago pretends to be very sorry to
see Michael conduct himself in this improper
manner, and undertakes to smooth
the thing over to Othello, who rushes in
with a drawn sword and wants to know
what's up. Iago cunningly gives his villanous
explanation, and Othello tells
Michael that he loves him but he can't
train in his regiment any more. Desdemona,
the gentle and good, sympathizes
with Cassio and intercedes for him with
the Moor. Iago gives the Moor to understand
that she does this because she
likes Michael better than she does his own
dark-faced self, and intimates that their
relations (Desdemona's and Michael's) are

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Page 120
of an entirely too friendly character. The
Moor believes the villain's yarn, and commences
making himself unhappy and disagreeable
generally. Iago tells Othello
what he heard Cassio say about “sweet
Desdemona” in his dreams, but of course
the story was a creation of Iago's fruitful
brain—in short, a lie. The poor Moor
swallows it, though, and storms terribly.
He grabs Iago by the throat and tells him
to give him the ocular proof. Iago becomes
virtuously indignant and is sorry he mentioned
the subject to the Moor. The Moor
relents and believes Iago. He then tortures
Desdemona with his foul suspicions,
and finally smothers her with a pillow
while she is in bed. Mrs. Iago, who is a
woman of spirit, comes in on the Moor
just as he has finished the murder. She
gives it to him right smartly, and shows
him he has been terribly deceived. Mr.
Iago enters. Mrs. Iago pitches into him
and he stabs her. Othello gives him
a piece of his mind and subsequently a
piece of his sword. Iago, with a sardonic
smile, says he bleeds but isn't hurt much.


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[ILLUSTRATION]

Natural History—Sudden and unexpected Playfulness of the Bear—See page 70.

[Description: 484EAF. Image of Ward being grabbed from behind by a giant bear. Ward is looking backwards toward the bear, which is standing tall and baring his teeth.]

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Page 121
He then walks up to Othello, and with
another sardonic smile, points to the death-couch
of poor Desdemona. He then goes
off. Othello tells the assembled dignitaries
that he has done the State some service
and they know it; asks them to speak of
him as he is, and do as fair a thing as they
can under the circumstances; calls himself
a circumcised dog, and kills himself, which
is the most sensible thing he can do.