Shakespeare's Othello, the Moor of Venice

Introduction

s

'' ^ Date of the Composition.

THE Tragedy of Othello was entered at the Stationers' by Thomas Walkley, " under the hands of Sir George Buck and of the Wardens," October 6, 162 1, and was published in quarto the next year. It was also included in the folio collection of 1623, and was printed again in quarto in 1630. These three copies differ more or less among themselves : in particular, the folio has a number of passages, amounting in all to some hundred and sixty lines, that are wanting in the quarto of 1622. On the other hand, the latter has a few lines that are wanting in the folio ; while the quarto of 1630 seems to have been made up from the other two. On the whole, the text has reached us in a pretty fair condition ; though there are a few passages where the reading stands much in question, and gives little hope of being altogether cleared from doubt.

Until a recent date, this great drama was commonly supposed to have been among the latest of the Poet's writing. But, within the last fifty years, two alleged manuscript records have been produced which would quite upset the old belief. One of these was given by Collier from " the Egerton Papers," showing the play to have been acted before Queen Ehzabeth at Harefield, the seat of Lord-Keeper Egerton, in August,

1602. The Other, purporting to be from ''the Accounts of the Revels at Court," and produced by Mr. Peter Cunningham, represents the piece to have been performed before the King and Court at Whitehall on the ist of November, 1604. Both of these records, however, have since been set aside by the highest authority as forgeries. So that we are now thrown back upon the old ground ; our earliest authentic notice of the play being furnished by Sir Frederic Madden from certain manuscripts in the British Museum. It appears that in the Spring of 1610 Louis Frederic, Duke of Wurtemberg, visited England on a diplomatic mission. Among the manuscripts in question, is an autograph diary, written in French, by Hans Jacob Wurmsser, who accompanied the Duke. The. diary extends from the i6th of March to the 24th of July, 1 6 10. Under date of April 30th, we have the following entry : " Went to the Globe, the place where comedies are wont to be played ; there the history of the Moor of Venice was represented."

Two other authentic contemporary notices of the play have reached us, which ought, perhaps, to be here set down. The first is from the Accounts of Lord Harrington, Treasurer of the Chamber to James the First : " Paid to John Heminge, upon the Council's warrant, dated at Whitehall, 20th of May, 1 61 3, for presenting before the Prince's Highness, the Lady Elizabeth, and the Prince Palatine Elector, fourteen several plays." Then, among the plays specified in the account, are Much Ado, The Tempest, TJie Wmtcr's Tale, The Merry Wives, and The Moor of Venice. The other notice is from an elegy on Richard Burbage, the great actor of the Globe company, who died in 16 19. The writer gives a list of the principal characters in which Burbage was distinguished, and winds up with the following :

But let me not forget one chiefest part Wherein, beyond the rest, he moved the heart, — The grieved Moor made jealous bj' a slave, Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave.

The foregoing account obviously concludes OtJiello to have been written in 1609 or early in 16 10. And the internal evidence of style and manner is, I think, in entire harmony with that conclusion ; the diction, versification, and psychagogic inwardness being such as to speak it into close chronological neighbourhood with Cyiiibeline and Coriolamcs. So much is this the case, that Verplanck, writing while the account of performance at Harefield was still deemed authentic, thought the play must have been rewritten after that date, and perhaps made as different from what it was at first as the finished Hamlet was from the earliest copy. — I'he play has one item, or seeming item, of internal evidence, which it is not easy to reconcile with the earliest of the forecited notices. It is in iii. 4, where Othello says to Desdemona,

A liberal hand : the hearts of old gave hands ; But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.

This can hardly be taken otherwise than as an allusion to the new order of the Baronetage which was instituted by King James in 161 1 ; the figure of a bloody hand being among the armorial bearings of those who received the new title. And it is not a little remarkable that, even before the above-mentioned forgeries were exposed, Mr. Grant White still held it certain that this passage at least must have been written '' after the creation of the first baronets." But, as this would draw the date of the writing down two years later than we have found it to be, there appears no way of accounting for the passage but as an after-insertion.

Borrowed Matter.

The tragedy was founded on one of Giraldi Cinthio's novels. Whether the story was accessible to Shakespeare in English is uncertain, no translation of so early a date having been discovered. But we are not without indications of his having known enough of Italian to take the matter directly from the original. The Poet can hardly be said to have borrowed any thing more than a few incidents and the outline of the plot; the character, passion, pathos, and poetry being entirely his own. The following abstract of the tale will show the nature and extent of his obligations :

A Moorish captain, distinguished for his valour and conduct, was in the service of the Venetian Republic. While living at Venice, his noble qualities captivated the heart of a very beautiful and virtuous lady called Desdemona. He returned her love ; and they were married, against the wishes of her friends. Some time after the marriage, he was appointed to the military command of Cyprus, and was accompanied thither by his wife. He had for his ensign a man of a pleasing person, but a lvery wicked heart. The ensign was also married, his wife being a discreet and handsome woman, who was much liked by Desdemona ; and the two passed a good deal of their time together. Both of these went with the Moor to his command ; as did also his lieutenant, a man to whom he was strongly attached, and who was highly esteemed by Desdemona for her husband's sake. The ensign became enamoured of Desdemona ; but, on finding he could make no impression upon her, his passion soon turned to revenge : so he took it into his head that she was in love with the Heutenant, and determined to work the ruin of them both by accusing them to the Moor. The Moor was so strong in love for his wife, and in friendship for the Heutenant, that the villain knew he would have to be very cunning and artful in his practice, else the mischief would recoil upon himself. After a while, the lieutenant wounded a soldier on guard, for which he was cashiered by the Moor ; and the lady, grieved at her husband's losing so good a friend, went to pleading for his restoration. Thereupon the ensign began to work his craft, by insinuating to the Moor that her solicitations were for no good cause. On being required to speak more plainly, he directly accused her of preferring the lieutenant to her husband on account of the latter's complexion. The Moor then told him he ought to have his tongue cut out for thus attacking the lady's honour, and demanded ocular proof of his accusation. The ensign then began a course of downright lying, but still managed so craftily as to draw the other more and more into his toils, and finally engaged to furnish the proof required.

Now Desdemona often went to the ensign's house, and spent some time with his wife, taking with her a handkerchief which the Moor had given her, and which, being dehcately embroidered in the Moorish style, was much prized by them both. The ensign had a little girl that Desdemona was very fond of; and one day, while she was caressing the child, he stole away the handkerchief so adroitly that she did not perceive the act. His next device was to leave the handkerchief on the lieutenant's bolster; where the latter soon found it, and, knowing it to be Desdemona's, went to return it to her. The Moor, hearing his knock, and going to the window, asked who was there ; whereupon the lieutenant, fearing his anger, ran away without answering.

The ensign was very glad of this incident, as it gave him more matter to work with ; and he contrived one day to have an interview with the Heutenant in a place where the Moor could see them. In the course of their talk, which was on a different subject, he laughed much, and by his gestures made as if he were greatly surprised at the other's disclosures. The interview over, and the Moor asking what had passed between them, the ensign then, after much feigning of reluctance, said the lieutenant had boasted of his frequent meetings with Desdemona, and how, the last time he was with her, she had given him the handkerchief. Shortly after, the Moor asked his wife for the handkerchief; and, as she could not find it, this strengthened his suspicions into conviction : still, before proceeding to extremities, he craved the further proof of seeing the handkerchief in the lieutenant's possession. So, while the lieutenant's mistress was sitting at the window of his house, and copying the embroidery, the ensign pointed her out to the Moor. The two then arrange for killing both the parties : the ensign sets upon the lieutenant in the night, and wounds him ; but he fights manfully, and raises an alarm, which draws a crowd to the spot, the ensign himself appearing among them, as if roused by the cry. Upon hearing of this, the lady speaks her grief for the lieutenant ; which so enrages the Moor, that he forthwith contrives her death. The ensign hides himself in a closet of her chamber ; at the time appointed he makes a noise ; Desdemona rises and goes to see what it is, and he then beats her to death with a stocking full of sand ; the Moor meanwhile accusing her of the crime, and she protesting her innocence. This done, they pull down the ceiling upon her, and run out crying that the house is falling : people rush in, and find her dead under the beams, no one susi)ecting the truth of the matter. But the Moor soon becomes distracted with remorse. Hating the sight of the ensign, he degrades him, and drives him out of his company ; whereupon the villain goes to plotting revenge upon him. He reveals to the lieutenant the truth about the lady's death, omitting his own share in it ; the heutenant accuses the Moor to the Senate, and calls in the ensign as his witness. The Moor is imprisoned, banished, and finally put to death by his wife's kindred. The ensign, returning to Venice, and continuing at his old practices, is taken up, put to the torture, and racked so violently, that he soon dies.

Such, in brief, are the leading incidents of the novel. Of course the parts of Othello and Desdemona, lago and Emilia, Cassio and Bianca, were suggested by what the Poet found in the tale. The novel has nothing answering to the part of Roderigo ; nor did it furnish any of the names except Desdemona. Some of lago's characteristic traits may be said to have been taken from the ensign : but this is about the whole of the Poet's obligation in the matter of character. The tale describes the Moor as valiant, prudent, and capable, Desdemona as virtuous and beautiful ; and states that she loved the Moor for his nobleness of character, and that her family was much opposed to the match. These are all the hints which Shakespeare had towards the mighty delineations of character in this play, as distinguished from the incidents of the plot. For, as Mr. White remarks, '' of the complex psychological structure of the various personages, and of their harmonious mental and moral action, there is not even a rudimentary hint in the story." It is to be observed, also, that Roderigo serves as a most effective occasion in the drama ; lago's most inward and idiomatic traits being made to transpire upon him ; and this in such a lO OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

way as to lift the characters of Othello and Desdemona into a much higher region, and invest them with a far deeper and more pathetic interest.

Time of the Action.

The island of Cyprus, where the scene of the drama is chiefly laid, became subject to the Republic of Venice, and was first garrisoned with Venetian troops, in 147 1. After that time, the only attempt ever made upon that island by the Turks was under Selim the Second, in 1570. It was then invaded by a powerful force, and conquered in 1571 ; since which time it has continued a part of the Turkish Empire. The play represents that there was a junction of the Turkish fleet at Rhodes for the purpose of invading Cyprus ; that the fleet started towards Cyprus, went back to Rhodes, there met another squadron, and then resumed its course to Cyprus. These are historical facts, and took place when Mustapha, Selim's general, attacked Cyprus, in May, 1570; which is therefore the true period of the action.

Relative Merits.

In respect of general merit, Othello unquestionably stands in the same rank with the Poet's three other great tragedies, Hamlet, Macbeth, and King Lear. As to its relative place among the four, the best judges, as might be expected, hold different views. In compass and reach of thought, it is certainly inferior to Hamlet ; in the elements and impressions of moral terror, to Macbeth ; in breadth and variety of characterization, to King Lear : but it has one advantage over the others, in that the passion, the action, the interest, all take their growth in the soil of domestic life ; for which cause the play has a better hold on the common sympathies of mankind. It is indeed the greatest of domestic dramas. And I am apt to think it the best-07^ganized oi all Shakespeare's plays. As a piece of dramatic architecture, Othello seems to me so nearly perfect, that I do not care to entertain any thought of how it might be better. On the whole, perhaps it may be safely affirmed of the four tragedies in question, that the most competent readers will always like that best which they read last. For my own part, I acknowledge a slight preference for King Lear ; but I find it not easy to keep up such preference while either of the others is fresher in my thoughts.

Dramatic Use of the First Act.'"^

Dr. Johnson winds up his excellent remarks on Othello thus : " Had the scene opened in Cyprus, and the preceding incidents been occasionally related, there had been little wanting to a drama of the most exact and scrupulous regularity." Of course the meaning here is, that the play would have been the better for such a change. On the plan thus proposed, the whole of the first Act must needs have been withheld, except so much of it as might be cast into the narrative form. That Act is eminently rich in character, in hfe, in every thing indeed for which the dramatic form is most desirable. What narration could supply the place, for instance, of Othello's address to the Senate? Or, those early outcroppings of lago's wickedness, how could they have been turned into narrative without defeating the proper spirit and impression of them? Any attempt, indeed, to produce the best parts of that Act in the narrative form would have made the drama even more irregular than it is now. For in that case the irregularity would have been in the very substance of the work. And what is mere regularity of form good for, that it should be purchased at such a cost?

But I have still deeper reasons for preferring the play as it is. The first Act is, I think, strictly fundamental to the others, as it ought to be, and hence necessary to a right understanding of them. It may be observed generally, indeed, that the Poet displays excellent judgment in his opening scenes. Nor have we any better instance of this than in the case of Othello ; which begins at the beginning, and goes regularly forward, instead of beginning in the middle, as Dr. Johnson would have it, and then going both ways. In the first Act we have a perfect seminary of the whole representation ; the prolific germs, so to speak, out of which the entire work is evolved. From the matter of the opening scenes we gain just such a forecast or preconception of the characters as is needful in order to make their after-course thoroughly intelligible. And the not duly attending to what is there disclosed has caused a good deal of false criticism on the play. This is especially true in the case of lago, who, from inattention to his earlier developments, has been supposed to act from revenge ; and then, as no adequate motives for such revenge could be found, the character has been thought unnatural. I undertake to say, indeed, that neither lago nor Othello can be rightly interpreted at all, without very special reference to what is unfolded of them in the first Act. For there it is that we are to look for the first principles or seminal ideas of those characters.

We often speak of men as acting thus or thus, according as they are influenced from without. And in one sense this is true ; yet not so but tliat the man rather determines the motive tlian the motive the man. For the same influences often move men quite variously, according to their several predispositions. What is with one a motive of virtue, is with another a motive to vice, and with a third no motive at all. On the other hand, where the outward actions are the same, the inward springs are often very different. So that we cannot truly understand a man, unless we first have some insight of his actuating principle, which may serve as a key, or as a clew, to his external behaviour. In brief, as a man's actions are the proper index of his character, so his character is the light whereby that index is to be read. And so, in the case of Othello, we must first have some insight of his character, and of the characters that act upon him, before we can rightly judge whether the main-spring of his action be jealousy or something else. So too in the case of lago : that he has no external provocation to the part he acts, does not necessarily make him unnatural ; for he may have an innate passion for mischief so strong as to supersede all such provocation.

Delineation of lago.

The main passions and proceedings of the drama take their start from lago. And the first Act amply discloses what he js ^mad e of and movedj3y^__ From what he there does, it is plain enough that his actuating principle lies not in revenge, but in a certain original malignity of nature. As if on purpose to prevent any mistake as to his springs of action, he is set forth in various aspects having no direct bearing on the main course of the play. He comes before us exercising his faculties on the dupe Roderigo, and thereby spilling out the secret of his habitual motives and impulses.

We know, from the first, that the bond of union between them is the purse. Roderigo thinks he is buying up lago's talents and services. This is just what lago means to have him think. Here we have, on the one side, pride of purse ; on the other, pride of intellect. It is even doubtful which glories most, the dupe in having money to bribe talents, or the villain in having wit to catch money. Still it is plain enough that lago, with a pride of intellectual mastery far stronger than his love of lucre, cares less for the money than for the fun of wheedling and swindling others out of it. To trace through in detail the course and method of lago's proceedings with Roderigo ; to note, step by step, how he works and winds and governs him to his purpose ; would use up too much space. Wonderful indeed are the arts whereby the rogue wins and maintains his ascendency over the gull. During some parts of their conversation, we can almost see the former worming himself into the latter, like a corkscrew into a cork. And the sagacity with which lago feels and forescents his way into Roderigo is only equalled by the skill with which, while clinching the nail of one conquest, he prepares the subject, by a sort of forereaching process, for a further conquest.

A single item of his practice in this behalf is all I can stay to notice. The hardest part of his scheme on Roderigo is to engage him in a criminal quest of Desdemona. For the passion with which she has inspired him is hardly consistent with any purpose of dishonouring her. At first, he hopes her father will break off the match with Othello, so that she may still be open to an honest sohcitation ; but when he finds her married, and the marriage allowed by lier father, he is for giving up in despair. But lago again besets him like an evil angel, and phes his witchcraft with augmented vigour. Himself an utter atheist of female virtue, his cue is to debauch Roderigo with his own atheism. He therefore at the same time flatters his pride by urging the power of money, and inflames his passion by urging the frailty of woman ; as knowing that the greatest preventive of dishonourable passion is faith in the virtue of its object. Throughout this undertaking, lago's passionless soul revels amid lewd thoughts and images, like a spirit broke loose from the pit. With his nimble fancy, his facility and felicity of combination, fertile, fluent, and apposite in plausibilities, he literally overwhelms the poor fellow's power of resistance. I refer to the dialogue where, finding the man's wits too thick for much argument, he keeps iterating the phrase, "put money in thy purse," and thus fairly beats down his defences by mere emphasis and stress. The issue proves that he knew his man perfectly. Nor can any thing surpass the fiendish chuckle of self-satisfaction with which he turns from his conquest to sneer at the victim :

Thus do I ever make my fool my purse :

For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane,

If I would time expend with such a snipe,

But for my sport and profit.

Roderigo, if not preoccupied with vices, is at least empty of virtues ; so that lago has but to work upon his unfortified posts, and ruin him through these. But the Moor has no such openings : the villain can reach him only through his virtues ; has no way to crush him but by turning his honour and integrity against him. Knowing his "perfect soul," he dare not make to him the least tender of dishonourable services, as such an act would be sure to kindle his resentment. To him, therefore, he uses the closest craft, the artfullest simulation. Still he takes shrewd care not to whiten the sepulchre so much as to provoke a scrutiny of its contents ; not boasting of his moral scruples at all, but rather modestly conl6 OTHFXLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

fessing them ; as though, being a soldier, he feared that such things might speak more for his virtue than his manhood.

I must notice a few particulars of his practice on Othello. And I may as well begin by remarking how, to the end that his accusation of others may stand clear of distrust, he prefaces it by accusing himself. Thus he affects to disqualify Ills own judgment touching the matter he has on foot :

I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not.

Here he of course designs the contrary impression ; as, in actual life, men sometimes acknowledge real vices, in order to be acquitted of them. Acting, too, as if he spared no pains to be right, yet still feared he was wrong, his very opinions carry the weight of facts, as having forced themselves upon him against his will. When, watching his occasion, he proceeds to set the scheme of mischief at work, his mind seems struggling with some terrible secret which he dare not let out, yet cannot keep in ; which breaks from liim in spite of himself, and even because of his fear to utter it. He thus manages to be heard, and still to seem overheard ; that so he may not be held responsible for his words, any more than if he had spoken in his sleep. And there is, withal, a dark, frightful significance in his manner, which puts the hearer in an agony of curiosity. All this will appear by a brief extract from the dialogue which follows close upon Desdemona's first urging of her suit in Cassio's behalf:

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,

Know of your love?

Othel. He did, from first to last : why dost thou ask? lago. But for the satisfaction of my thought;

No further harm.

Othel Why of thy thought. lago?

lago. I did not think he had been acquainted with her,

Othel. O, yes ; and went between us very oft.

lago. Indeed!

Othel. Indeed! ay, indeed : discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest?

lago. Honest, my lord?

Othel. Honest 1 ay, honest.

lago. My lord, for aught I know.

Othel. What dost thou think?

lago. Think, my lord?

Othel. Think, my lord ! — By Heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean something : I heard thee say but now, thou lik'dst not that. When Cassio left my wife : what didst not like? And, when I told thee he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst Indeed ! And didst contract and purse thy brow together. As if thou then hadst, shut up in thy brain.

Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, Show me thy thought.

lago. My lord, you know I love you.

Othel. I think thou dost ;

And — for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath — Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just They're close delations, working from the heart. That passion cannot rule.

In this, and in much of what follows, the more lago refuses to tell his thoughts, the more he sharpens the desire of knowing them : when questioned, he so states his reasons for not speaking, as, in effect, to compel the Moor to extort the secret from him. For instance, in those well-known lines,

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord.

Is the immediate jewel of their souls :

Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing;

'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands .- But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not-enriches him.

And makes me poor indeed ; —

in these lines, he of course means to have it understood that nothing but tenderness of others restrains him from uttering what would blast them. Thus he kindles the intensest craving to know what the dreadful truth is that so ties up his tongue. For his purpose is, not only to deceive Othello, but to get his thanks for deceiving him :

I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip ;

Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb ;

Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me,

For making him egregiously an ass,

And practising upon his peace and quiet

Even to madness.

Here we have a pungent spurt of that essential malignity which causes lago to gloat over the agonies he inflicts. As a stronger instance of the same thing, take the passage where he indulges his terrible energy of expression directly on the Moor, and quietly sucks in the pleasure of seeing him writhe under it :

lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!

It is the green-eyed monster, which doth make The meat it feeds on : that husband lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; But, O, what damnfed minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts ; suspects, yet strongly loves I Othel. O misery !

lago. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough; But riches fineless is as poor as Winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor.