Othello

Source, Date, and Text

It happened that a virtuous lady of wondrous beauty called Disdemona, impelled not by female appetite but by the Moor’s good qualities, fell in love with him, and he, vanquished by the Lady’s beauty and noble mind, likewise was enamoured of her.

This was the seed from which Othello sprang. The passage comes from an Italian collection of stories, Giraldi Cinthio’s Hecatommithi, which Shakespeare (and many other English dramatists) were reading at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Shakespeare found his plot, and suggestions for his characters, in Cinthio’s narrative, whilst both the Italian and the French versions — there seems to have been no English translation at the time — could have provided a few verbal hints for the play. The work was well researched: Shakespeare did not confine himself to a single source. Although he took most from Cinthio, he also borrowed details from a French novelist, Belleforest, and background material from various history books — one of which, Richard Knolle’s General History of the Turks (published in 1603) provided the name of the mysterious "Signor Angelo" who is mentioned at 1,3,16 but who is never seen or heard of again.

OTHELLO is a black man in a white society, and a soldier among civilians; he is also one of the greatest lovers in the world’s literature.

We learn none of this from the earliest discussion between Iago and Roderigo when they abuse the hated "Moor", with his "pride" and his "thick lips"; later they liken him to "an old black ram". So it is a surprise when the Moor appears, in company with Iago whose baseness is immediately revealed when he starts to slander the man who seemed to be his friend. Othello speaks few words at first, and then — with modesty and self-restraint — delivers a speech which, with amazing economy, tells us who and what he is. Othello is a prince, who has done service to the state as the general in command of the military power — it was not unusual for the Venetians to employ foreigners to lead their armies. Othello is confident of his merit, and of his love for "the gentle Desdemona". When he is urged to hide from the outraged father, he refuses to run away; he feels secure in the rightness of his position:

My parts, my title, and my perfect soul

Shall manifest me rightly.

When he seems to be threatened by the armed Brabanzio and his officers, Othello is calm and relaxed enough to ease the tense situation with a quiet joke:

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.

When Brabanzio demands an arrest, and it looks as though fighting will break out between the officers and those who support Othello, the Moor keeps the peace with gentle dignity:

Hold your hands,

Both you of my inclining and the rest.

Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it

Without a prompter.

A magnificent character is being created before our eyes. More — much more — is revealed when Othello defends himself before the Duke. He is respectful to the senators, and begins by telling the truth:

That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter,

It is most true; true I have married her.

As he expands his defence, we become increasingly, and approvingly, aware of the difference between Othello and the Venetians. Othello does not speak like the rest of the characters: "Rude am I in my speech" is Othello’s description of his own language — but he does not refer to the kind of crude vulgarity which he only learns from Iago as he falls into the ancient’s power. Othello does not waste words in polite circumlocutions (unlike the senators who have been speaking before him), and his meaning is never in doubt. His speech has a peculiar magnificence, which is achieved partly through the rhythms and partly by the economic use of a precise and powerful vocabulary. It is displayed at its most eloquent in the description of his "whole course of love", and the Duke’s response to this eloquence must surely speak for all hearers: "I think this tale would win my daughter too". Othello, we feel, has lived; and Desdemona is to be applauded for her choice of husband.

Love is something new to Othello, and his reaction to Desdemona has a mature intensity that is almost frightening in its richness. As he tells his story to the Duke we can, in the space of some forty lines, watch the development of this mutual feeling from its earliest days, when a shy Desdemona hovered near her father’s exciting guest, to its full flowering in the declaration

She loved me for the dangers I had passed,

And I loved her, that she did pity them.

The meeting in Cyprus, when Othello is re-united with Desdemona after a perilous voyage, has a sublime happiness which even Othello finds hard to describe: the bliss of heaven cannot equal it. His love has embraced Desdemona, and the two seem to be separate from the rest of the play’s characters, in their own world of innocent, joyful loving.

But this earthly paradise has its serpent, and we can never forget the presence of Iago. Only we — the audience — can see his machinations. Every one of the other characters is duped by this "honest" exterior; and, like them, Othello too is deceived by the man whom he knows and trusts. His belief in Iago is quite understandable: after all, he has worked with him for many years, and must have shared the hardships of battle with him. And although Othello has done the state some service, he is still a foreigner in Venice who does not know the customs of the country, whereas Iago is a Venetian, who seems to be wise in the ways of the world and tells his general: "I know our country disposition well" (3,3,205). Othello is "not easily provoked" into jealousy, but when Iago starts his subtle insinuations it is only too easy for Othello to identify in himself the possible reasons that could cause Desdemona’s love to waver. Chief of these is his colour: "Haply, for I am black".

The early scenes of the play emphasised Othello’s colour when Iago and Roderigo abused the "thick lips", and when Brabanzio was revolted at the thought of the "sooty bosom". But Desdemona "saw Othello’s visage in his mind", and the Duke shared her perception when he told the angry Brabanzio that his "son-in-law [was] far more fair than black". But since then, the matter of colour has been largely forgotten as Othello was called upon to demonstrate his public authority and his private love. On stage, of course, the reminder is permanently present in the Moor’s person: but it has seemed irrelevant. Now it matters intensely: it is Othello’s first thought.

But soon the fact of his blackness is forgotten as Othello wrestles with himself, torn between his great love for Desdemona and the doubts, inculcated by Iago, of her faithfulness. Because his love is so great, surpassing all other cares and affections, the thought of its betrayal is equally overwhelming: there is no longer purpose anywhere — "Othello’s occupation’s gone" (3,3,362). His threats to Iago, promising not physical pain but eternal damnation, have a heated violence which is frightening to read — and contrast with the cold, measured lines in which he declares his resolution, comparing himself to the sea "Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on".

Yet this declaration, however, is not final. Othello must experience more anguish, caused in the first place by Iago’s calculated slander. The mental suffering is expressed physically when he falls to the ground in passion: even his body is no longer under his control, almost as though he were experiencing some kind of diabolic possession. Iago dismisses the frenzy as a commonplace epileptic seizure — "his second fit; he had one yesterday". The excuse may satisfy Cassio — or at least have the desired effect of sending him away from the scene — but it is not an adequate explanation for Othello’s distress. There is nothing usual about this episode: Othello’s sense of wrong, like his feeling for Desdemona, is of heroic dimensions.

His subsequent conduct towards Desdemona, however, is less than heroic. Having been confronted with Iago’s "ocular proof" — the missing handkerchief — the Moor treats his wife as though she were a loathed prostitute. The powerful love turns to almighty hatred of the supposed deed of adultery rather than the woman herself, for it is the deed which has defeated his highest ideals.

When, at the beginning of the last scene, Othello approaches Desdemona’s bed, we see that his love is by no means extinguished. He reacts with acute sensitivity to her warm, sleeping, beauty which he experiences as physically as the scent of a rose — the most potent of all English flowers. This speech and the death of Desdemona must surely make the most beautiful of all literary murder scenes! But when his wife lies at peace, Othello must experience the most cruel torture he has so far endured. Emilia, Iago’s wife, reveals the truth of the situation, and Othello is the most miserable of men. A deeply religious man, he looks at the murdered body and foresees his own punishment — he will be condemned on the Day of judgement to eternal damnation:

When we shall meet at compt

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven

And fiends will snatch at it.

When the Venetians, Gratiano and Lodovico, begin the process of "tidying up", Othello is quiet, submissive, and repentant. He is arrested, but before he can be removed from the scene he interrupts with a speech that restores his heroic stature and — with a sudden, unexpected, stroke — rescues his nobility. Othello becomes one of Shakespeare’s great tragic heroes.

DESDEMONA should have made a most successful marriage — in the eyes of Venetian society. She belonged to one of the city’s noblest families, and could have been the bride of any one of its most eligible bachelors — "the wealthy curled darlings of our nation". A girl "so tender, fair, and happy", accustomed to coping with "the house affairs" for her father, would have made a good wife for any man. She is also sexually attractive (as well as beautiful): all the men who speak of her refer to her ability to arouse them — and even Iago flirts with her.

But Desdemona has a mind of her own. In the past, before the play opened, she had refused to marry, being "opposite to marriage" and rejecting the husbands of her father’s choice. Now she has met, loved, and married the man of her own heart: she has given herself, body and soul, to Othello — the black man. Her father thought she must be out of her mind, driven to such a mad action by drugs or even witchcraft; but the only magical power used by Othello is his own personal magnetism, which drew Desdemona from the dreary household chores to learn about a world of adventure and excitement from a man of courage and daring. The colour of his skin did not matter: Desdemona "saw Othello’s visage in his mind", and gave up everything — her father’s love, her fortune, and her reputation in the polite society of Venice — to love and live with him.

This is a woman to equal Othello’s bravery. As the play unfolds, the different aspects of Desdemona’s character are revealed, and blend into a unique personality. Her independence asserts itself again when she refuses to stay in her father’s house whilst Othello is away, and begs leave to accompany her soldier husband to the garrison island of Cyprus. She states a magnificently erotic commitment to Othello:

My heart’s subdued

Even to the utmost pleasure of my lord.

When Desdemona arrives in Cyprus, we become conscious of another attribute: we already know of her birth, beauty, intelligence, and love — but now Cassio’s remarks add a new dimension. He calls her "divine", and although this may seem the sort of hyperbole that is typical of such a courtier, we can recognise something other in his greeting:

Hail to thee, lady! And the grace of heaven,

Before, behind thee, and on every hand,

Enwheel thee round.

The quality — grace — which he wishes for Desdemona is difficult to explain, but it characterises all her conduct, whether active — in the things she does — or passive, in her suffering. Shakespeare’s concept of "grace" is a Christian one: theologically it is defined as the supernatural assistance given by God for the sanctification of the human being.

For a moment the action of the play seems to stand still; then, as Desdemona accepts Cassio’s blessing with thanks, the business begins again and an anxious wife waits to be reunited with her husband. A lesser person might have shown her anxiety to those around — but Othello’s wife must keep her feelings hidden, confiding only in the audience:

I am not merry, but I do beguile

The thing I am by seeming otherwise.

And once the two are together again, she looks forward to a life of ever-increasing love and happiness.

This, of course, is not to be. Desdemona pleads for Cassio with a fervour that could only come from innocence; she cannot imagine that any interpretation, other than her intended meaning, could be put upon her words. To suggest that she is being tactless when she persists in her efforts is to reveal our own sophistication! She bears Othello’s abuse with meekness and patience, allowing only a brief expression of bewildered bitterness, and never swerving in her love for her husband. The outraged Emilia utters the words that any woman might speak, "I would you had never seen him", but Desdemona is firm: "So would not I". And her dying words, after declaring her death to be "guiltless", are an attempt to divert the blame away from Othello by taking it upon herself and speaking a last goodbye: "Commend me to my kind lord. O farewell".

EMILIA is in some ways the foil to her mistress, setting off Desdemona’s spiritual beauty by contrast with her earthy commonsense. This is achieved particularly in the quiet scene (Act 4, Scene 3) when she talks to Desdemona about women and their husbands. If Desdemona is listening, she does not appear to comprehend Emilia’s easy, witty, answers to her troubled questioning. But even the worldly-wise Emilia is blind to her husband’s wickedness. She describes, most aptly, the "eternal villain" who has slandered Desdemona; but she fails to identify him.

Iago’s wife, although he abuses her with a rough good humour, has some loyalty and obedience to her "wayward husband" — enough to pick up Desdemona’s handkerchief and give it to him, without knowing why he wants it. But even Emilia, when she learns the truth of Desdemona’s death, reaches towards heroic stature.

IAGO himself, however, is a very different character from all the others in the play. He seems to be a friend to all — Othello’s trusted "ancient", Roderigo’s ally, counsellor to the downcast Cassio, even adviser to the wretched Desdemona when she has lost her husband’s favour. Most praise him as "honest Iago"; but only to the audience does he show anything of his real self. The rest of the characters have only partial glimpses — and even the audience must make its own judgement on some of the reasons offered by Iago to explain his actions.

He tells Roderigo that he hates the Moor because Othello has chosen another man, Cassio, as his second-in-command, preferring him above Iago. This seems to be the chief motive for his vindictiveness. His anger is that of a man who has been rejected and despised, whose service and experience have been down-graded, and whose career is blocked for lack of paper qualifications. It is, one recognises, an understandable reaction; but it provokes revenge out of all proportion.

Another motive follows fast upon the exposition of this reasonable disappointment, but this one is wholly irrational: Iago hates Othello because he is black. In the presence of his general, Iago appears loyal and respectful: behind Othello’s back he loses no opportunity to abuse or diminish him. This is the reaction of one who, because he feels himself to be inferior, tries to reduce everyone to his own level.

Frequently in conversation Iago shows this "reductive" tendency, sneering at Roderigo’s passions, abusing women — even the most beautiful and virtuous are good only "To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer" — and casting doubt on the integrity and competence of his superiors (slandering Cassio for drunkenness, and suggesting that Othello is a regular abuser of his wife).

But nothing describes Iago so well as his own observation when, referring to Cassio, he remarks

He hath a daily beauty in his life

That makes me ugly.

And Iago is ugly; in the proverbial saying, he is "ugly as sin". The notion that white/black = good/evil is confounded in Iago, than whom no one could be more opposed to Othello.

BRABANZIO is Desdemona’s father, and a member of the Venetian senate. He is outraged when his daughter makes a secret marriage with a black man.

RODERIGO is a young Venetian nobleman who believes himself to be in love with Desdemona. Brabanzio refuses to accept him as a suitor for his daughter, but he has been duped by Iago into sending many gifts to Desdemona (which, of course, Iago has kept for himself).

1. THOMAS RYMER, in the seventeenth century, seemed unable to respond to the poetry and passion of Othello, finding the action unreasonable and the characters incredible. He concluded an essay on the play with this judgement:

There is in this play some burlesque, some humour and ramble of comical wit, some show and some mimicry to divert the spectators; but the tragical part is none other than a bloody farce, without salt or savour.

A Short View of Tragedy, 1693

2. SAMUEL JOHNSON, the first of Shakespeare’s great editors, had the highest praise for Othello:

The beauties of this play impress themselves so strongly upon the attention of the reader, that they can draw no aid from critical illustration. The fiery openness of Othello, magnanimous, artless and credulous, boundless in his confidence, ardent in his affection, inflexible in his resolution, and obdurate in his revenge; the cool malignity of Iago, silent in his resentment, subtle in his designs, and studious at once of his interest and his vengeance; the soft simplicity of Desdemona, confident of merit, and conscious of innocence, her artless perseverance in her suit, and her slowness to suspect that she can be suspected, are such proofs of Shakespeare’s skill in human nature, as, I suppose, it is vain to seek in any modern writer.

General Remarks on Othello, 1765

3. S.T. COLERIDGE, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, was impressed above all by the character of Iago, whose explanatory soliloquies he saw as.

. . . the motive hunting of motiveless malignity — how awful! In itself fiendish; while yet he was allowed to bear the divine image, too fiendish for his own steady view. A being next to devil, only not quite devil — and this Shakespeare has attempted — and executed — without disgust, without scandal.

Marginalia on Othello

4. A.C. BRADLEY, at the beginning of the twentieth century, was fascinated by the character of Othello:

Othello is, in one sense of the word, by far the most romantic figure among Shakespeare’s heroes; and he is so partly from the strange life of war and adventure which he has lived from childhood. He does not belong to our world, and he seems to enter it we do not know whence — almost as if from wonderland. There is something mysterious in his descent from men of royal siege; in his wanderings in vast deserts and among marvellous peoples; in his tales of magic handkerchiefs and prophetic sibyls; in the sudden vague glimpses we get of numberless battles and sieges in which he has played the hero and has born a charmed life; even in chance references to his baptism, his being sold to slavery, his sojourn in Aleppo.

This passage is taken from Gli Hecatommithi by Giovanni Battista Cinthio translated by Geoffrey Bullough (Narrative and Dramatic Sources of Shakespeare, Vol. VII, 1973).

There was once in Venice a Moor, a very gallant man, who, because he was personally valiant and had given proof in warfare of great prudence and skilful energy, was very dear to the Signoria, who in rewarding virtuous actions ever advanced the interests of the Republic. It happened that a virtuous Lady of wondrous beauty called Disdemona, impelled not by female appetite but by the Moor’s good qualities, fell in love with him, and he, vanquished by the Lady’s beauty and noble mind, likewise was enamoured of her. So propitious was their mutual love that, although the Lady’s relatives did all they could to make her take another husband, they were united in marriage and lived together in such concord and tranquillity while they remained in Venice, that never a word passed between them that was not loving.

It happened that the Venetian lords made a change in the forces that they used to maintain in Cyprus; and they chose the Moor as Commandant of the soldiers whom they sent there. Although he was pleased by the honour offered him . . . yet his happiness was lessened when he considered the length and dangers of the voyage, thinking that Disdemona would be much troubled by it. The Lady, who had no other happiness on earth but the Moor . . . could hardly wait for the hour when he would set off with his men, and she would accompany him to that honourable post . . . Shortly afterwards, having donned his armour and made all ready for the journey, he embarked in the galley with his lady, and with a sea of the utmost tranquillity arrived safely in Cyprus.

The Moor had in his company an Ensign of handsome presence but the most scoundrelly nature in the world. He was in high favour with the Moor, who had no suspicion of his wickedness; for although he had the basest of minds, he so cloaked the vileness hidden in his heart with high sounding and noble words, and by his manner, that he showed himself in the likeness of a Hector or an Achilles. This false man had likewise taken to Cyprus his wife, a fair and honest young woman. Being an Italian she was much loved by the Moor’s wife, and spent the greater part of the day with her.

In the same company there was also a Corporal who was very dear to the Moor. This man went frequently to the Moor’s house and often dined with him and his wife. The Lady, knowing him so well liked by her husband, gave him proofs of the greatest kindness, and this was much appreciated by the Moor.

The wicked Ensign, taking no account of the faith he had pledged to his wife, and of the friendship, loyalty and obligations he owed the Moor, fell ardently in love with Disdemona . . . He sought therefore in various ways, as deviously as he could, to make the Lady aware that he desired her. But she, whose every thought was for the Moor, never gave a thought to the Ensign . . . And all the things he did to arouse her feelings for him had no more effect than if he had not tried them. Whereupon he imagined that this was because she was in love with the Corporal, and he wondered how he might remove the latter from her sight. Not only did he turn his mind to this, but the love which he had felt for the Lady now changed to the bitterest hate, and he gave himself up to studying how to bring it about that, once the Corporal were killed, if he himself could not enjoy the Lady, then the Moor should not have her either. Turning over in his mind divers schemes, all wicked and treacherous, in the end he decided to accuse her of adultery, and to make her husband believe that the Corporal was the adulterer . . . Wherefore he set himself to wait until time and place opened a way for him to start his wicked enterprise.

Not long afterwards the Moor deprived the Corporal of his rank for having drawn his sword and wounded a soldier while on guard-duty. Disdemona was grieved by this and tried many times to reconcile the Moor with him. Whereupon the Moor told the rascally Ensign that his wife importuned him so much for the Corporal that he feared he would be obliged to reinstate him. The evil man saw in this a hint for setting in train the deceits he had planned, and said: "Perhaps Disdemona has good cause to look on him so favourably!" "Why is that?" asked the Moor. "I do not wish," said the Ensign, "to come between man and wife, but if you keep your eyes open you will see for yourself." Nor for all the Moor’s inquiries would the Ensign go beyond this: nonetheless his words left such a sharp thorn in the Moor’s mind, that he gave himself up to pondering intensely what they could mean. He became quite melancholy, and one day, when his wife was trying to soften his anger towards the Corporal, begging him not to condemn to oblivion the loyal service and friendship of many years just for one small fault, especially since the Corporal had been reconciled to the man he had struck, the Moor burst out in anger and said to her "there must be a very powerful reason why you take such trouble for this fellow, for he is not your brother, nor even a kinsman, yet you have him so much at heart."

The Lady, all courtesy and modesty, replied: "I should not like you to be angry with me . . . Only a very good purpose made me speak to you about this, but rather than have you angry with me I shall never say another word on the subject."

The Moor, however, seeing the earnestness with which his wife had again pleaded for the Corporal, guessed that the Ensign’s words had been intended to suggest that Disdemona was in love with the Corporal, and he went in deep depression to the scoundrel and urged him to speak more openly. The Ensign, intent on injuring the unfortunate Lady, after pretending not to wish to say anything that might displease the Moor, appeared to be overcome by his entreaties and said: "I must confess that it grieves me greatly to have to tell you something that must be in the highest degree painful to you; but since you wish me to tell you, and the regard that I must have of your honour as my master spurs me on, I shall not fail in my duty to answer your request. You must know therefore that it is hard for your Lady to see the Corporal in disgrace for the simple reason that she takes her pleasure with him whenever he comes to your house. The woman has come to dislike your blackness."

These words struck the Moor’s heart to its core; but in order to learn more (although he believed what the Ensign had said to be true, through the suspicion already sown in his mind) he said, with a fierce look: "I do not know what holds me back from cutting out that outrageous tongue of yours which has dared to speak such insults against my Lady!" Then the Ensign: "Captain," he said, "I did not expect any other reward for my loving service; but since my duty and my care for your honour have carried me so far, I repeat that the matter stands exactly as you have just heard it, and if your Lady with a false show of love for you, has so blinded your eyes that you have not seen what you ought to have seen, that does not mean that I am not speaking the truth. For this Corporal has told me all, like one whose happiness does not seem complete until he has made someone else acquainted with it." And he added: "If I had not feared your wrath, I should, when he told me, have given him the punishment he deserved by killing him. But since letting you know what concerns you more than anyone else brings me so undeserved a reward, I wish that I had kept silent, for by doing so I should not have fallen into your displeasure."

Then the Moor, in the utmost anguish, said, "If you do not make me see with my own eyes what you have told me, be assured, I shall make you realize that it would have been better for you had you been born dumb."

[For some time the Ensign wondered what to do next, because "his knowledge of the Lady’s chastity" made it seem impossible that he should ever be able to make the Moor believe him; and then, "his thoughts twisting and turning in all directions, the scoundrel thought of a new piece of mischief."]

The Moor’s wife often went . . . to the house of the Ensign’s wife, and stayed with her a good part of the day; wherefore seeing that she sometimes carried with her a handkerchief embroidered most delicately in the Moorish fashion, which the Moor had given her and which was treasured by the Lady and her husband too, the Ensign planned to take it from her secretly, and thereby prepare her final ruin. [One day, whilst Disdemona was playing with his child, the Ensign stole the handkerchief; he dropped it in the Corporal’s room.]

[The Ensign] spoke to the Corporal one day while the Moor was standing where he could see them as they talked; and chatting of quite other matters than the Lady, he laughed heartily and, displaying great surprise, he moved his head about and gestured with his hands, acting as if he were listening to marvels. As soon as the Moor saw them separate he went to the Ensign to learn what the other had told him; and the Ensign, after making him entreat for a long time, finally declared: "He has hidden nothing from me. He tells me that he has enjoyed your wife every time you have given them the chance by your absence, and on the last occasion she gave him the handkerchief which you gave her as a present when you married her." The Moor thanked the Ensign and it seemed obvious to him that if he found that the Lady no longer had the handkerchief, then all must be as the Ensign claimed.

Wherefore one day after dinner . . . he asked her for this handkerchief. The unhappy woman, who had greatly feared this, grew red in the face at the request . . . "I do not know," she said, "why I cannot find it." . . .

Leaving her, the Moor began to think how he might kill his wife, and the Corporal too, in such a way that he would not be blamed for it. And since he was obsessed with this, day and night, the Lady inevitably noticed that he was not the same towards her as he was formerly. Many times she said to him, "What is the matter with you? What is troubling you? Whereas you used to be the gayest of men, you are now the most melancholy man alive."

The Moor invented various excuses, but she was not at all satisfied . . . Sometimes she would say to the Ensign’s wife, "I do not know what to make of the Moor. He used to be all love towards me, but in the last few days he has become quite another man; and I fear greatly that I shall be a warning to young girls not to marry against their parents’ wishes; and Italian ladies will learn by my example not to tie themselves to a man whom Nature, Heaven, and the manner of life separate from us. But because I know that he is very friendly with your husband, and confides in him, I beg you, if you have learned anything from him which you can tell me, that you will not fail to help me." She wept bitterly as she spoke . . .

The Corporal [who had recognised the handkerchief and tried, without success, to return it] had a woman at home who worked the most wonderful embroidery on lawn, and seeing the handkerchief and learning that it belonged to the Moor’s wife, and that it was to be returned to her, she began to make a similar one before it went back. While she was doing so, the Ensign noticed that she was working near a window where she could be seen by whoever passed by on the street. So he brought the Moor and made him see her, and the latter now regarded it as certain that the most virtuous Lady was indeed an adulteress.

He arranged with the Ensign to kill her and the Corporal, and they discussed how it might be done. The Moor begged the Ensign to kill the Corporal, promising to remain eternally grateful to him. The Ensign refused to undertake such a thing, as being too difficult and dangerous, for the Corporal was as skilful as he was courageous; but after much entreaty, and being given a large sum of money, he was persuaded to say that he would tempt Fortune.

Soon after they had resolved on this, the Corporal, issuing one dark night from the house of a courtesan with whom he used to amuse himself, was accosted by the Ensign, sword in hand, who directed a blow at his legs to make him fall down; and he cut the right leg entirely through, so that the wretched man fell. The Ensign was immediately on him to finish him off, but the Corporal, who was valiant and used to blood and death, had drawn his sword, and wounded as he was he set about defending himself, while shouting in a loud voice: "I am being murdered."

At that the Ensign, hearing people come running . . . began to flee, so as not to be caught there; then, turning back he pretended to have run up on hearing the noise. Mingling with the others, and seeing the leg cut off, he judged that if the Corporal were not already dead, he soon would die of the wound, and although he rejoiced inwardly, he outwardly grieved for the Corporal as if he had been his own brother.

[Hearing of the Corporal’s death, Disdemona grieved for him; but the Moor "put the worst possible construction" on her grief. He plotted with the Ensign to murder her; they decided to use neither poison nor the dagger, but to beat her to death with a stocking filled with sand and then pull down the ceiling to give the appearance of an accident. The Ensign hit her on the head, and Disdemona cried to the Moor for help, but he said]

"You wicked woman, you are having the reward of your infidelity. This is how women are treated who, pretending to love their husbands, put horns on their heads."

The wretched Lady, hearing this and feeling herself near to death (for the Ensign had given her another blow), called on Divine Justice to witness her fidelity, since earthly justice failed, and she lay still, slain by the impious Ensign . . .

Next day Disdemona was buried, amid the universal mourning of the people. But God, the just observer of men’s hearts, did not intend such vile wickedness to go without proper punishment. He ordained that the Moor, who had loved the Lady more than his life, on finding himself deprived of her should feel such longing that he went about like one beside himself, searching for her in every part of the house. Realising now that the Ensign was the cause of his losing his Lady and all joy in life, he held the villain in such abhorrence that he could not bear even to see him; and if he had not been afraid of the inviolable justice of the Venetian lords, he would have slain him openly . . .

[The Ensign betrayed the plot, accusing the Moor of the murder, to the Captain, who told the Venetian authorities; the Moor was arrested, tortured and condemned to exile. Eventually he was murdered by Disdemona’s relatives. The Ensign was later arrested, and "tortured so fiercely that his inner organs were ruptured"; then he was sent home, "where he died miserably".]

Act 1

Scene 1

Roderigo and Iago inform Brabanzio of Desdemona’s secret marriage to Othello. Enraged, Brabanzio sets out in search of his daughter.

Scene 2

Iago warns Othello that Brabanzio is searching for him. Cassio brings a summons from the Duke demanding Othello’s presence at court on a matter of urgent state business. Brabanzio accuses Othello of abducting Desdemona, and orders him to be arrested. But the Duke’s command must be answered first.

Scene 3

The Duke is hearing about the threatened Turkish invasion of Cyprus, and he welcomes the arrival of Othello and Brabanzio. He hears Brabanzio’s accusation and Othello’s defence, sending for Desdemona to testify to her love. The Duke tries to pacify Brabanzio, and then turns his attention to the Turkish threat. He orders Othello to go to Cyprus. Othello welcomes the command, and Desdemona requests permission to go with her husband. Her request is granted. Roderigo now despairs of ever winning Desdemona’s love, but Iago has a scheme that excites fresh hope in him. Roderigo prepares to sail to Cyprus, and Iago speaks his thoughts aloud.

Act 2

Scene 1

In Cyprus, Othello’s arrival is anxiously awaited, although the Turkish fleet is no longer a threat. Cassio’s ship has docked, then Desdemona arrives, accompanied by Iago. He makes jokes until she is safely reunited with Othello. Iago suggests to Roderigo that Desdemona is in love with Cassio. Left alone on the stage, Iago once again speaks his thoughts aloud.

Scene 2

The Herald proclaims that there will be free drinks for all, in celebration of Othello’s marriage.

Scene 3

Iago has got Roderigo drunk, and he now persuades Cassio to drink too much. A quarrel is started, in which Cassio strikes Roderigo. Iago sounds the alarm, bringing Othello on to the scene. When Othello hears Iago’s account of the fighting, he immediately dismisses Cassio from his office as lieutenant. Othello retires with Desdemona. Cassio grieves over the loss of his position, but Iago comforts him by suggesting that Desdemona will plead with Othello to have him reinstated. Alone on stage, Iago outlines his plan of action, and then he assures Roderigo that everything is under control.

Act 3

Scene 1

Cassio brings musicians to serenade Desdemona. He asks Emilia (who has been sent out by Iago) to let him see her mistress.

Scene 2

Othello leaves his quarters, and goes to inspect the island’s fortifications.

Scene 3

Desdemona promises Cassio that she will intercede for him. Othello returns with Iago. Desdemona pleads for Cassio, and Othello is not unsympathetic. But when Desdemona has gone, Iago begins his insinuations. He causes Othello to doubt Desdemona and her friendship with Cassio. Desdemona comes to call Othello for dinner, and as she leaves the stage — with her husband — she drops her handkerchief. Emilia picks it up and gives it to Iago. When Othello returns to the scene, he is already very jealous. Iago fans his suspicions, claiming to have seen Desdemona’s handkerchief in Cassio’s hands. Othello swears that he will be revenged, and orders Iago to kill Cassio.

Scene 4

Othello asks Desdemona for the handkerchief that she has lost, but she tries to talk to him about Cassio. Othello leaves in a rage. When Cassio comes in, with Iago, Desdemona tells them that her husband is behaving strangely — and Iago goes after Othello. Emilia suggests that Othello may be jealous, but Desdemona declares that he has absolutely no cause for jealousy. As the two women leave, Bianca comes in search of Cassio. He shows her a handkerchief that he has found in his room, and asks Bianca to copy its embroidery.

Act 4

Scene 1

Iago persists in his insinuations until Othello, anguished at the thought that Desdemona might be unfaithful to him, falls into an epileptic convulsion. When he recovers consciousness, Iago promises to get proof of what he has been saying. Othello conceals himself, and listens whilst Iago and Cassio talk about a woman. He assumes that they are discussing Desdemona, and is now convinced of her guilt. Letters recalling Othello to Venice are brought by Lodovico; Othello strikes and insults his wife in the presence of this messenger.

Scene 2

Othello questions Emilia about his wife’s conduct. He sends for Desdemona, and accuses her of adultery. She is very distressed. Emilia tries to comfort her, then goes to fetch her own husband. Iago speaks some words of comfort to Desdemona — and then proceeds with his own schemes, setting up Roderigo to attack (and try to kill) Cassio.

Scene 3

Whilst Desdemona is preparing for bed, she talks to Emilia about unfaithful wives.

Act 5

Scene 1

Roderigo (instructed by Iago) lies in wait for Cassio as he comes from Bianca’s house. There is a quick skirmish of fighting, in which both Roderigo and Cassio are wounded. The cries arouse Othello, who assumes that Iago has murdered Cassio (as he had promised to do in Act 3, Scene 3). Lodovico and Gratiano hasten to see what is the matter, and Iago also appears on the scene. He takes control of the situation, sending Emilia back to Othello and Desdemona.

Scene 2

Othello comes to Desdemona in her bed-chamber, determined to kill her. He accuses her of having committed adultery with Cassio and, although Desdemona pleads her innocence, he covers her head with a pillow and suffocates her. Emilia brings news of the fighting and the death of Roderigo. When she sees the murdered Desdemona, and hears Othello’s accusation, she raises the alarm; this fetches Iago, Gratiano, and Montano into the room. Emilia denounces Iago, who draws his sword on her and escapes from the scene. He is brought back, however, with Cassio; and the full truth is revealed. Othello, convinced of his own guilt, stabs himself. Iago is arrested and taken away to be tortured.

Time Sequences in Othello

On the stage Othello moves very fast — a great swirl of activity which is physical, mental, and above all emotional. Quarrels are struck up, hatreds develop, and love flowers into death. How long does all this take? In the theatre we are too involved — excited, delighted, frightened, and saddened — to worry about little matters of "when" and "how long". Reading is a slower business, allowing us leisure to ask how, for example, could Desdemona and Cassio have the opportunity for adultery, since they sailed from Venice (in separate ships) on the day after the marriage with Othello had been revealed, and seem to have spent only a short time — minutes, perhaps hours — in Cyprus before the arrival of the Moor.

But such questions are irrelevant. When Shakespeare wants us to think about time, as he does in Act 2, Scene 3, he gives very clear directions: it "is not yet ten o’clock" when the scene opens, and early morning when it ends. But when Bianca is berating Cassio for not visiting her, we are meant to be amused at her reproach — not to check her arithmetic:

What, keep a week away? Seven days and nights?

Eight score eight hours? And lovers’ absent hours

More tedious than the dial eight score times.

How can Cassio have stayed away from her for so long? How long has he been on the island? Does it matter?

The dramatist’s hours are infinitely more flexible "than the dial"; critics speak very learnedly of "the double time scheme" in Othello, but I suspect there is really only one time scheme — Shakespeare’s time — which contracts and expands both the clock and the calendar to suit its own needs.

Background

Othello was given before James I in the Banqueting House at Whitehall on 1 November 1604. Information about the Turkish invasion of Cyprus appears to derive from Richard Knolles’s History of the Turks, published no earlier than 30 September 1603, so Shakespeare probably completed his play some time between that date and the summer of 1604. It first appeared in print in a quarto of 1622; the version printed in the 1623 Folio is about 160 lines longer, and has over a thousand differences in wording. It seems that Shakespeare partially revised his play, adding, for example, Desdemona’s willow song (4.3) and building up Emilia’s role in the closing scenes. We base our text on the Folio as that seems to represent Shakespeare’s second thoughts.

Shakespeare’s decision to make a black man a tragic hero was bold and original: by an ancient tradition, blackness was associated with sin and death; and blackamoors in plays before Shakespeare are generally villainous (like Aaron in Titus Andronicus). The story of a Moorish commander deluded by his ensign (standard-bearer) into believing that his young wife has been unfaithful to him with another soldier derives from a prose tale by the Italian Giambattista Cinzio Giraldi first published in 1565 in a collection of linked tales, Gli Ecatommiti (The Hundred Tales). Shakespeare must have read it either in Italian or in a French translation of 1584; he may have looked at both. Giraldi tells the tale in a few pages of compressed, matter-of-fact narrative interspersed with brief conversations. His main characters are a Moor of Venice (Othello), his Venetian wife (Desdemona), his ensign (Iago), his ensign’s wife (Emilia), and a corporal (Cassio) ‘who was very dear to the Moor’. Only Desdemona is named. Shakespeare’s invented characters include Roderigo, a young, disappointed suitor of Desdemona, and Brabanzio, Desdemona’s father, who opposes her marriage to Othello. Bianca, Cassio’s mistress, is developed from a few hints in the source. Shakespeare also introduces the military action between Turkey and Venice — infidels and Christians — which gives especial importance to Othello’s posting to Cyprus, a Venetian protectorate which the Turks attacked in 1570 and conquered in the following year. In the source, Othello and Desdemona are already happily settled into married life when they go to Cyprus; Shakespeare compresses the time-scheme and makes many changes to the narrative.

Othello, a great success in Shakespeare’s time, was one of the first plays to be acted after the reopening of the theatres in 1660, and since that time has remained one of the most popular plays on the English stage.

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

OTHELLO, the Moor of Venice

DESDEMONA, his wife

Michael CASSIO, his lieutenant

BIANCA, a courtesan, in love with Cassio

IAGO, the Moor’s ensign

EMILIA, Iago’s wife

A CLOWN, a servant of Othello

The DUKE of Venice

BRABANZIO, Desdemona’s father, a Senator of Venice

GRAZIANO, Brabanzio’s brother

LODOVICO, kinsman of Brabanzio

SENATORS of Venice

RODERIGO, a Venetian gentleman, in love with Desdemona

MONTANO, Governor of Cyprus