THE WIT AND WISDOM OF IAGO

III

Iago has no doubt about the borders of what it means to be human, even if we may choose to find, as Othello suggests at the play's end, that he may be literally diabolic, as, after twenty occurrences in the play of the word "devil," its last appearance metamorphoses or bisects into "demi-devil" (Othello, 5.2.307), that figure of whom much will be demanded, but nothing answered: "Demand me nothing" (5.2.309). What lies beyond humanity for Iago is to be a monkey: "Ere I would say I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon" (1.3.314-16), this in a play that will move location to Cyprus, home of  "Goats and monkeys" (4.1.265)— and, if I were going to pursue this, it is Cassio's use of the term "monkey" to describe Bianca (4.1.126) that speaks of his construction of the limits of humanity. My concern here is not with the old idea about monkeys and typewriters and the works of Shakespeare, but with monkeys performing a Shakespeare opera.

The Wit and Wisdom of Tyrion Lannister compiles the Imp's wittiest and cleverest sayings. Short and to the point, like Tyrion himself.

Anyway, if the Imp has gathered oodles of reflections on human nature from his vantage point, Iago is no stranger to this realm either. Here are some of his most lifelike reflections:

• And who is it that says I play the villain, when the advice I give is so good, so wise, and so effective?
• What wound did ever heal but by degrees? 
• We work by wit, not by magic; and wit depends on dilatory time.
• Though other things grow fair against the sun, the fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.
• Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
• Our bodies are gardens, and our wills are the gardeners. It's up to you whether you grow lettuce or nettles, whether you raise thyme / time or weed it up (this one inspired Voltaire!).
• Equals attract: clever and attractive young people prefer partnerships with clever and attractive young people.
• Nowadays, promotions are given out of favouritism, and not paying attention to the candidates' merits and first-hand experience.
• We cannot be all leaders, and all leaders cannot be truly followed either. 
• You'll see many a knee-bending knave, that doting on his own obsequious bondage, wears out their time for decades until, grown too old, they're finally fired. Whip me such "honest" knaves. There are others who, keeping a façade of duty, keep yet their hearts attending to themselves,  throwing but signs of service through their lords, concealing their true intentions, and well thrive by those means. To the latter class I belong, and I'm fiercely proud of it. In following him (Othello), I follow only myself; not for love and duty, but seeming so, for my personal end.
• Though I hate that person (Othello / Cassio) as I hate hell's pains, I must show out a flag of love, which is but a sign - I will not wear my heart upon my sleeve for crows to peck at. I am not what I am!
• Why do I employ a foolish henchman? 'Cause I'd be wasting my skills dealing with a twit like that if I were spending time with him... if it weren't for fun and profit.
• Though I have slain men during wartime, I am very restrained by my conscience to do contrived murder; I lack the iniquity sometimes to do me service... Nine or ten times, I have thought of stabbing him under the ribs.
• (Upon being asked to sing Desdemona's praises) I am nothing but a critic. My imagination is as dense as runny honey; coming up with verses or stories of my own plucks out the brains from my skull.
• I have looked upon this world for four times seven years, and, since I first learned to distinguish a benefit from an injury, I have never found anyone who knew how to love themselves.
• Drown youself? Drown kittens! Rather than drown myself for love, I would exchange my humanity with a baboon.
• Trifles as light as air are, to the jealous, proof as strong as sacred texts.
• If there ever were an absolutely perfect proper lady, she would only be fit for being a tavern wench.
• One should be what one seems; and, as for those who were not what they seemed, would they seem not!
• Whenever devils put on their darkest sins, they show a heavenly, angelic first impression.
• There are many decent and hard-working, never-give-up-plucky people who, having grown too old (or old-fashioned) or disabled, are bereft of their means and left in precarious positions.
• Beware of jealousy; it's a green-eyed monster that plays with its food before it eats.
• Utter my thoughts? Why, they are wicked... Where's that palace where courtly intrigue and corruption never have entered? Who has a heart so pure, if not for those unclean apprehensions that keep court in there together with reasonable reflections? Perhaps my guess is not the best one... I confess; it's my besetting sin to meddle in others' affairs, and often my jealousy shapes things that are not. It's neither for your quiet or your good, nor for my own honesty or wisdom, that you should know my thoughts. You cannot know what I'm thinking, neither if my heart were in your hands nor if I kept it myself.
• Suspicions are by nature poisons; at first they only make one wince upon tasting them, but once they hit the bloodstream, they burn like wildfire.
• (To Cassio about his wife, whom the lieutenant has been right-hand-kissing) If she gave you as much of her lips as she gives me of her tongue, you'd have enough. She has no speech? In faith, she has too much; I even hear her voice while I'm trying to sleep.
• Why, the Englishman drinks your Dane dead as easily as you please, he sweats not to drink your Kraut under the table...
• The best conscience of promiscuous women is not to leave it undone, but to keep it unknown.
• (Of a drunken Cassio to another officer): He's a fellow fit of having served Julius Caesar, and do but see his flaw; it's to his virtue a perfect equinox, the one as long as the other. I fear the trust Othello puts him in. This is how he always lulls himself to sleep; he'd wake for two hours if drink didn't rock his cradle. I love Cassio well, and I would do anything to cure him of this evil...
• I cannot speak any beginning to this incident (the drunken fight), and would I have lost in action glorious both of these legs that brought me to a part of it! I would rather have my tongue cut out than do any offence to Cassio; yet, I persuade myself, if I told you the truth, nothing shall wrong him.
• Anyone can get wasted any now and then. It's all right and even healthy to have strong drink, only if it's drunk the right way, responsibly.
• If the scales of our lives had no plate of reason to balance the one of sensuality, our very blood and instinctive nature would lead us towards preposterous conclusions. Luckily, we have reason to cool our raging, burning, unfettered lusts.
• Take note, oh monstruous world, that being straightforward and honest is not safe. I thank you for this profit, and from hence I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence.
• I will turn her (Desdemona's) virtue into pitch black tar, and make out of her goodness the trap that will ensnare them all.
• (To a hungover, demoted Cassio) Reputation is a most false construct; often attained without merit, and lost without deserving either. You haven't lost any reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.
• (To Othello about his own -Iago's- intrusive thoughts) A good name is the jewel of anyone's self. Whoever steals my purse steals rubbish, it's nothing I can't get back again -the better for the one who got rewarded with the theft-; but if someone would filch my reputation, neither the thief nor I would find any gain at all in that.
• Thus credulous fools are caught, and, all worthy and guiltless, meet reproach.
• It's the spite of hell, the Evil One's ultimate jest, to wed and bed a wench, a wanton, and to suppose her chaste!
• It is not honesty in me to speak what I have seen and known. You should better watch yourselves how things unfold.
• This final act (assassinating Cassio) either makes us or breaks us. Think of that and steel your resolve!
• Whether Roderigo kills Cassio or Cassio kills Roderigo, every way makes my gain, this is for me a win-win; if Roderigo lives, he will force me to give him back the gold and jewellery he offered me "as gifts for Desdemona;" should Cassio remain, he has this daily beauty in his life that makes me ugly, and the General would unmask me before him... No, he, Cassio, must die.
• (As they carry a wounded Cassio to the surgeon) This is the night that either makes me or fordoes me quite.
• (To Emilia, as she reveals the truth) I told him what I thought, and nothing more than what he found himself to be true.
• (The last words he says in the play, as he is arrested) Demand me nothing. You know what you know. From this time on, I will never speak word.

(From the opera libretto): 

• If the fragile vow of a lady is not too hard a nut to crack for my wits or for hell itself, I swear that your darling shall be yours, cradled in your arms.
• When I am tipsy, the world throbs, and I defy the ironies of destiny!
• Flee from the vivid cup if you are cowards whose hearts conceal deception.
• Down the throat leads the way to the heart.
• I believe in a cruel god, who made me an ape in his own image, and I am born out of the vileness of germs. I am wicked because I am human and feel the original mud within myself.
• And then, after a lifetime of derision, death stabs all of us in the back. And then? Death is nothingness, and heaven is an old wives' tale. So, after death, all the foolish fun is over.

CHRONICLES OF A USURPATION

CHRONICLES OF A USURPATION
The Shakespeare Day story 2015
by Sandra Dermark


Dearest Elisabeth, Astrid, and Rainer:
Had I not found this story during my pursuit of forgotten tales, these Shakespeare Day celebrations would have been as tiresome as a rainy Good Friday.
Ever since I started this Erasmus, I have been looking for more forgotten stories than ever before. And I hoped with all my heart that the quest would not be an unfruitful one. Roaming the streets of old pre-industrial Leipzig, where Bach and Goethe have walked before, and having at least learned to understand that challenging curse known as the Saxon dialect (my greatest hurdle to fit in and reach what I sought). One day, I entered one of those quaint bookstores when a little thin leaflet of a book caught my eye. "Chronicles of a Usurpation" was written on the cover, in French, in lovely Art Nouveau letters. "CHRONIQUES D'UNE USURPATION", printed in Paris in 1899. Honeysuckle motifs lined the covers. Mesmerized, I caught the booklet and opened it, and then started reading. I was struck. An irresistible urge to read the book took hold of me by surprise.
At dusk, I returned home to the tiresome GDR-era Plattenbau, so different from my usual daytime hangouts (the sacrifice one has to make to study at the Leipzig Uni), with the little pale green book in my contented hands. How much did it cost? Thirty euros. You may call it a bloodletting, but I call it a sacrifice.
So now I'm sitting before my laptop, in this Leipzig Plattenbau, as the April rains pitter-patter restlessly against the window-panes. In my hands, the little Francophone booklet. On my mind, the idea of translating it into English, into which I have found no translation. So I have decided to do it (after all, a story from those days is in the public domain).
Hope you enjoy the story as much as I have!


CHRONICLES OF A USURPATION

I.

"And why should I?", Charles inquired, shiftily looking down.
"Why? The war is over, and we have won! And our general has just married for love!", he received for a reply. "Why else celebrate this evening? The other officers think so."
"The other officers." Charles lifted his face and looked at his second-in-command. A freshly-baked lieutenant aged eighteen (and, previously, a student expelled from university for being a freethinker), who had arrived at this distant fortress shortly before the end of the war, Charles had finally managed to find a place where he could fit in. He was most certainly dashing, tall and lean, and broad-shouldered, with a shade of golden peach-fuzz on his upper lip, a cascade of golden locks tied up with a satin ribbon, and lovely eyes the light green colour of peridots. His looks certainly fit the uniform like those of none other: the breeches were scarlet and tightly-fitting, the doublet was the lovely colour of his eyes, and the coat was white as snow, lined with silver lace and crowned with glittering epaulets. Shiny black knee-high boots with silvered spurs, a cockaded tricorn hat, a sharp rapier of piercing steel, and a couple of pistols engraved with flower motifs completed his attire. No surprise than the few local ladies, his own men, and every other officer from the colonel to his fellow lieutenants, loved him completely.
The sun had already set beyond the bastions, over a night sky lit by blazing fireworks. There was a marquee in the middle of the courtyard, and there is where we lay our scene. Other lieutenants were sitting at their tables, with little steel cups full of the region's best fruit and flower liquor in hand. Yet Charles was not allowed to indulge in such pleasures. He was on guard duty that evening, for his commanding officers had decided that he had proved himself worthy of such a responsibility. This was the first time in his life he had been entrusted with an assignment of such degree, one that, ironically, distanced him from the other lieutenants. Should he take the orders or revel with the others?
The decision that Charles would make would change two worlds, the one within him and the one around him, at the same time, shaping his destiny and making history as well.

It was a realm among many others, a young realm, which had been created less than two decades before. A modest realm, yet prosperous and in peace, filled with hopes and expectations of becoming a great power. Nothing had troubled it during its brief history, save a couple of foreign invasions the decade before, and each one of them had been successfully expelled after a few skirmishes.
The ruler was a queen as young as the realm, who kept her court on the fortified northernmost and highest peak in the lands, in what appeared to be a grand palace, even a little ostentatious, from without, yet was a fortress, and a nigh inexpicable one, within. Those walls had withstood many a collision, though the front during the war was in the provinces while the Queen remained at her court, and there, she sat upon her throne since early childhood, having become exceedingly clever and knowledgeable about the history and the lore of all the realms on that continent, as well as the best and most righteous way in which the State should be ruled, from the council of regents and tutors that had hitherto always reared her within those walls, and whose purpose to guide their Liege would soon come to an end, for now Her Grace would be able to put the knowledge she had acquired to a good use. And, though the throne was uncomfortable and the crown weighed heavy upon her, she had resolved to carry out her reign the best way she could, with the aid of a young boy, the son of the regents' leader, who was destined to marry her: a lad her age, wise beyond his years, who had often found it hard to rein her in until those says, when it was crystal clear that both of them were pleased with each other, and their reign would be a glorious and lasting one. Little did they know of what soon would happen to both of them. 
The young ruler was called Reason, and her prince's name was Conscience.
Still she saw, through the twin windows on the front façade of her hold, the development of the other realms beyond her own, and she heard the words of their rulers through a device that had been installed in the throne room, and all that with a curious touch of wistfulness. 
However, she would soon unleash a chain of events that would bring a tragic misfortune upon both the realm and herself, not to mention her fiancé as well.
It all began with a lack of water, both for the court and the smallfolk, but it would end in a far more catastrophic way than anyone would expect...


II.

The sun had already set beyond the bastions, over a night sky lit by blazing fireworks. There was a marquee in the middle of the courtyard, and there is where we lay our scene. Other lieutenants were sitting at their tables, with little steel cups full of the region's best fruit and flower liquor in hand. Yet Charles was not allowed to indulge in such pleasures. He was on guard duty that evening, for his commanding officers had decided that he had proved himself worthy of such a responsibility. This was the first time in his life he had been entrusted with an assignment of such degree, one that, ironically, distanced him from the other lieutenants. Should he take the orders or revel with the others?
"Why? The war is over, and we have won! And our general has just married for love! Why else celebrate this evening? The other officers think so." He still reflected upon Jamie's words. The ten year older sergeant was a veteran of the wars, about as tall as his commanding officer, dark and sunburned, with a scar from his forehead to his left collarbone. Everything that the Fates had given to Charles (nobility, good looks, education, innocence, confidence...) had they either denied to Jamie, or had been killed within him by the horrors of war. Thus do the powers that be ruin the lives of us smallfolk, and such is the power of that harrowing experience. It came as no surprise that the scarred sergeant admired, but also envied, the still untouched lieutenant, for not having been struck by such suffering, and sought his commanding officer's undoing. Therefore, if anyone should bear the weight of the cross for all of the events that now unfurl, it should not be Charles, but rather Jamie, whose insinuations opened the curtain on these cathartic scenes.

WATERFIRE HOGWARTS AU

Ava is dark-skinned and visually impaired. Wise, witty and somewhat blunt, both sassy and well-organized. Which she has learned to be on account of the discrimination she has suffered. Wise, witty, frank and prescient—with glossy black braids and sunglasses... she can feel things she cannot see... and never flinches from what she feels. Ava has inherited the gift of prescience or foresight... though seeing the future may be rather dangerous...
Her skin is a warm chocolate shade, she's got high cheekbones, her favourite colour is shocking pink, she wears countless little braids (her hair is styled in countless braids) and rarely takes off her round shades, beyond which a pair of golden eyes are cataracted. With her rapier wit and outsider past, she is the Tyrion Lannister of the AU.
Ava is wise, witty and honest—total bestie material. She’s the girl who’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind—oh and did we mention she can see the future?
For Ava, blind since childhood...

Ling, a shy village girl, is an omnivoxa (able to speak any language of any species), though she gets better along with animals and plants than with humans. She is rather straightforward when she talks. She is also a vegan and a firm believer in pacifism. She is obviously skilled in Creature Care and Herbology, though terrible at DaDA, for she'd rather befriend "dreaded beasts" than confront them. With a gentle but powerful nature and a keen intellect she’s not afraid to show, with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and a sword in a scabbard slung over her back. She is ethnically Asian, with long raven hair that she keeps in two odangos. Her family is rather large, and her father went missing a couple of years ago... Her grandmother Wen, the shaman of her clan, encouraged her to go to Hogwarts and cultivate her powers. When she was a child, they mocked her because she could talk to flowers and hear them speak. She does not need to study all of those languages... she simply needs to hear them spoken. 
Ling is soft, peaceful and smart. She uses her brains and gentle nature to communicate with plants and animals. And she can also speak any human language.

Becca: Fierce and quick, quick-thinking... with curly red hair, blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles. She also wears glasses and is left-handed. Rebecca Quickfin thinks quickly and soon she finds out that she can control fire. A gift or a curse? Maybe a token that she is, as she thinks, illegitimate? She fights in the Gryffindor Quidditch team as its captain, is rivals with Astrid for as long as they have known each other... Under pressure, the shying bookworm becomes a violent and moody tomboy who will never leave a friend on his or her own. She has curly red hair kissed by fire, blue eyes, a nice smattering of freckles... She wears golden spectacles as well, and she is left-handed. Some say she is brave, others say that she is foolhardy. Nevertheless, she can be organized and efficient: like any born leader. And she is always honest. Her parents are deceased, and she is muggle-born. She also has a part-time job in the workshop of Honeydukes (I am serious!). She wants to attend university and then run her own business, to make many other people happy. Yet she lacks self-confidence and hasn't got much of a spine, being very quiet and often overlooked, as most bookworms are in fiction. However, she is also colourful and laughing, unusually lively.
She nearly always wears her trusty time turner around her neck.
Becca is definitely somebody you want to have on your team. She’s fierce and thinks fast on her feet . Her ability to innovate makes her a key player.
Becca is a powerful songcaster who can control fire. Sort of. She can’t seem to turn it up or down without burning her dress and singeing her hair.

Astrid: Headstrong, bold, and possessed of a deep well of magical power, Astrid Kolfinnsdóttir—with cascades and braids of white-blonde hair, icy blue eyes... has always been a loner and a military brat. Astrid has long, white-blonde hair, in two ornate braids running along the sides of her head with the rest of it loose, and icy blue eyes. Like her father Kolfinn, she has always turned away from group work. You can see by the way she acts that she is an officer's daughter. She keeps her platinum blond hair in a pair of thin French braids at the sides, the rest of it flowing free. As impulsive as her rival Becca (whom she despises due to the redhead's muggle descent vs. her own pure blood), she is a brilliant yet insufferable student who got kicked out of the Slytherin Quidditch team due to her impressive ego and a duel gone wrong: she will never say no to a duel, whether if she is the challenger or the challenged. And she can be ironic and show some sense of humour when it needs to. This ice-eyed one can sure wield a sword... but are her healing powers for real? And will she regain her role as captain of Slytherin? Well, she never backs from a fight, and will break ere she bends.
Astrid is nearly always sarcastic and negative, employs military metaphors, and fears that she may actually be a squib, for her powers have not awakened yet, leaving her to use a sword instead of a wand, being exceedingly skilled in the use of cold steel.
Not many of her relatives are known, except her father Kolfinn and aunt Sigurlin (Kolfinn's sister). She is later on revealed to be a squib (what ashames her the most), to have a brother called Ragnar, and that her mother is still alive.
Astrid is the oddball of the bunch. She’s bold and headstrong, but deep-rooted issues keep her from trusting the girls at first.
Then there’s angry, aggressive Astrid. That girl has a lot to learn—mainly that her biggest weakness can become her biggest strength.

One possessed of a prophet’s sight.
One who does not yet believe,
Thus has no choice but to deceive.
One with spirit sure and strong,
One who sings all creatures songs.

I actually had it a little hard to assign houses to Ava and Ling, but I think now I have made the best assignations. Besides, Astrid Kolfinnsdottir has previously appeared in my Game of Wands AU as a Beauxbatons student whose father is both a military man and headmaster of Durmstrang (she represented Beauxbatons in the Tournament). But this is another continuity.
My fave is Ava, Becca, or Astrid, I can't decide. Let's start with my fellow Ravenclaw. She's had to be strong because of her ethnic descent and disability. When the glasses come off, she is shocked. They have always called her either "blindie" or "chocolate girl". That's a heck of stress. That's why Ava is conversing with Becca in a way reminiscent of Jon and Tyrion at the start of Game of Thrones Arc I: "If they call you names, make them your names". Ava is the Tyrion character, the one who survives through all discrimination. That's what I like about Tyrion, about Ava, about the extremely Ava-like Toph Beifong, et cetera.
To see Astrid develop her rivalry with Becca into frenmity has also been satisfying. They're both hot-headed, though Astrid appears cooler. Also, Slyth vs. Gryff, ice vs. fire, brawn vs. brains, righty vs. lefty, squib vs. muggleborn prodigy... Completely foils to one anothers.
Besides, Sera and Neela appear as Beauxbatons exchange students. Just a cameo. And Sera's mother is the headmistress of Beauxbatons, making Sera a "lieutenante de diréctrice", Neela's aunt being the vice headmistress, which gives Neels the same status.
To see how Astrid, who bullied Ava at the very start, develops... No matter what they say, Astrid Kolfinnsdottir is now one of my personal gods. I ship her with Luna Lovegood, Enjolras (first-named René in my works), Jaime Lannister, Ava, and of course Becca (Lunastrid, Enjolstrid, Jaistrid, Avastrid, Beccstrid). Even more ships, even threesomes, may be launched (Oberstrid, Renlorstrid, Charlestrid [with Charles XII!], Whitlockstrid, Ty Leestrid, Finnistrid...) It appears that Astrid has dethroned Jaime as my Launcher of 1000 Ships. 
Though Jaimienne is my straight OTP, I have nothing against JaimexCersei, JaimexLoras, JaimexOberyn, JaimexSansa, JaimexLuna, or JaimexAstrid.
There will also, pretty soon, be a shipping crossover fusion fic with Othello characters starring Oberyn and Astrid, with Jaime in a supporting role, as either Iago or Cassio... Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley will also appear...