murder, the awful penitence,—these scenes are all familiar to us; we do not look upon them from the outside, we seem to move amidst them, they are so natural and real. In King Lear there is a certain monstrousness which makes us feel apart from the general course of events, and we regard the play as we should some mighty phenomenon of nature. But in Othello we have a certain sense of domesticity. We are affected by the events almost as though they had happened in some family with which we were personally acquainted. The cultured home at Venice where the beautiful daughter lives with her widowed father, the visit of the splendid Moorish soldier with his regal air and courteous manners and fascinating conversation, the growth of love between the brave warrior and the gentle maiden, the secret marriage, the broken-hearted father, the frightful suspicions, the ruin of earthly happiness, the moral confusion and violent deaths, we trace all these things from first to last, and feel an intense personal interest in every new unfolding of this heart-rending story.

I do not think we ought to lay too much stress upon the unsuitableness of Desdemona's marriage. Shakspere wants to make us realise how a perfect marriage was sundered through the malignity of a wicked man. In every possible way he tries to make us regard Othello as worthy of Desdemona's love; and it detracts from the intense humanity of the play to regard the marriage as unnatural or abhorrent. Othello boasts that he comes of lineage as good as any Venetian can claim; and but for his love for Desdemona, he would think it no great honour to be bound in marriage to any daughter of the proud city :

:

'Tis yet to know,—

Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,

I shall promulgate-I fetch my life and being
From men of royal siege, and my demerits
May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune
As this that I have reach'd: For know, Iago,
But that I love the gentle Desdemona,

I would not my unhoused free condition
Put into circumscription and confine
For the sea's worth.

When the Senators hear of the marriage they express no repugnance; and we may notice how, in one of the minor characters, Shakspere helps us to sympathise with Desdemona's choice of a husband. She had received many offers of marriage from the fops and gallants who abounded in the gay city of Venice; and in Roderigo we are significantly shown the kind of Venetian gentlemen who used to come to try to win the maiden's hand. No wonder that, in comparison with such an empty fool and unprincipled libertine, the splendid Othello should draw the currents of her affection to himself and seem worthy of all her trust and love. Let us take Othello's own description of the courtship as he stands before the Senate charged with having won Desdemona's love by 'cunning practices of hell' :—

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her:
The very head and front of my offending

Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field,

And little of this great world can I speak,

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,

And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration and what mighty magic,

For such proceeding I am charged withal,
I won his daughter.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it;
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence

And portance in my travels' history:

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,

It was my hint to speak,-such was the process;

And of the Cannibals that each other eat,

The Anthropophagi and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline:

But still the house affairs would draw her thence:

Which ever as she could with haste despatch,

She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: Which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent,

And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs :

She swore, In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful :

She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd

That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake :

She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,

And I loved her that she did pity them.

This only is the witchcraft I have used:

Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

And the lady does witness to it without hesitation.

father says:

Come hither, gentle mistress :

Do you perceive in all this noble company
Where most you owe obedience?

To which Desdemona replies :

My noble father,

I do perceive here a divided duty:

To

you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me

How to respect you; you are the lord of duty;

Her

I am hitherto your daughter: But here's my husband,
And so much duty as my mother show'd

To you, preferring you before her father,
So much I challenge that I may profess
Due to the Moor my lord.

The poor old man can say no more but

God be with

you! I have done;' he is broken-hearted; his last words, as he bids farewell to his daughter and her husband, seem to sound the knell of coming woe :

Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:
She has deceived her father, and may thee.

The last we hear of Brabantio is in the sad words of Gratiano over the dead body of Desdemona :

Poor Desdemona! I'm glad thy father's dead :

Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain.

The gentle lady's nature was completely conquered by the swift tide of this strong man's love; he had roused in her those most compelling emotions of imagination, pity and reverence. It was his lofty mind, his honourable soul, that won her to him; and she feels that there is nothing in her affection she needs be ashamed of. This is her husband, and she is proud to call herself his wife :

That I did love the Moor to live with him,
My downright violence and storm of fortunes
May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued
Even to the very quality of my lord:

I saw Othello's visage in his mind,

And to his honours and his valiant parts

Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.

This is no superficial fancy; but a deep, passionate union of two noble natures, for whom there might have been as perfect blessedness as earth can give. Indeed, to Desdemona, her love for Othello was almost a kind of religion. Even when his nature seemed to change, not for a moment did she regret that for his sake she had left her home. When he cannot control his anger in her presence, she still thinks it is only some bad news which has troubled him, and will not suffer one word of reproach to be spoken. When he strikes her before the Venetian embassy, she only replies, 'I have not deserved this,' and meekly leaves his presence. At last he tells her of the frightful accusation; and she is simply struck dumb; she can scarcely realise who