(Othello to the previous ones.)
Othello. Well, my dear wife—Heavens! how can I contain myself!—how are you, Desdemona? Give me your hand; this hand is wet, madam. Hot, hot, and wet—such a hand requires seclusion; fasting and prayer, much chastisement, and spiritual exercises; for there is a fiery, sweating devil here, who often rises to rebellion; it is a good hand, a generous hand.
Desdemona.
You may indeed say so; for it was the hand that
gave away my heart.
Othello. A generous hand. In former times, hands gave hearts; but our new heraldry is hands without hearts.
{ed. * A satirical allusion to the many baronets created by King James I, who, among other privileges, received a red hand on a silver field in the shield of their ancestors.}
Desdemona.
I understand nothing of this; come, let us now
speak of your promise.
Othello.
What promise, my little dove?
Desdemona.
I sent to Cassio to come and speak with you.
Othello.
I am afflicted with a troublesome cold; lend me your
handkerchief!
Desdemona.
Here, my husband.
Othello.
That which you received from me.
Desdemona.
I don’t have it with me.
Othello.
Right?
Desdemona:
Indeed, not.
Othello. That’s a mistake. My mother had that same handkerchief from a gypsy woman who was skilled in sorcery and could tell people exactly what they were thinking. She told her that as long as she kept it, it would make her lovable and win my father’s heart entirely; but if she lost it or gave it away, she would at once lose all charm in his eyes and become hateful and unbearable to him. My mother gave it to me when she died and begged me, if I ever married, to give it to my wife. I did, and I tell you, take care of it.—Keep it as the apple of your eye: to lose it or give it away would be a misfortune beyond compare.
Desdemona.
Is it possible?
Othello. It is indeed so; there is something magical in its fabric. A fairy, who had seen the sun’s course begin and end two hundred times, made the embroidery on it. The worms were consecrated to spin the silk, and it was dyed with mummies of embalmed maidens’ hearts.
Desdemona:
Indeed! Is that true?
Othello.
Very true; so you can only take care of it.
Desdemona:
If it is so, I would to God I had never seen it!
Othello.
Ha! Why?
Desdemona.
Why do you speak so hastily and abruptly?
Othello.
Is it lost? Is it gone? Tell me, is it gone?
Desdemona.
Gott sey bey us!—
Othello.
What do you say?
Desdemona:
It is not lost; but suppose it were lost?
Othello.
Ha!
Desdemona.
I say it is not lost.
Othello.
Get it, I want to see it.
Desdemona.
Well, I can, my lord; but I will not now. This is a
trifling trick, by which you would dissuade me from my request.
I pray you, let your house be open to Cassio again.
Othello.
Fetch me the handkerchief—I hope not—
Desdemona. Come, you’ll never find a braver man in his place.
Othello.
The Handkerchief—
Desdemona. A man who has built his whole fortune on your friendship; who has shared dangers with you—
Othello.
The handkerchief.
Desdemona:
Truly, you are to be blamed—
Othello.
Away!—
(He leaves.)
