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LECTURE V
OTHELLO
There is no doubt that Othello was the

practically
tragedy written next after Hamlet, Such external
evidence as we possess points to this conclusion,
and it is confirmed by similarities of style, diction
and versification, and also by the fact that ideas
and phrases of the earlier play are echoed in the
later.^ There is, further (not to speak of one
curious point, to be considered when we come to
I ago), a certain resemblance in the subjects. The
heroes of the two plays are doubtless extremely
unlike, so unlike that each could have dealt without
much difficulty with the situation which proved
fatal to the other but still each is a man exception-
;
ally noble and trustful, and each endures the shock

of a terrible disillusionment. This theme is treated
by Shakespeare for the first time in Hamlet, for
the second in Othello. It recurs with modifications
in King Lear, and it probably formed the attraction
which drew Shakespeare to refashion in part another
writer's tragedy of Timon. These four dramas
^ One instance is worth pointing out, because the passage in
Othello has, oddly enough, given trouble. Desdemona says of the
maid Barbara : She was in love, and he she loved proved mad And
'
did forsake her.' Theobald changed '

mad to bad.' Warburton
'
'
read * and he she loved forsook her. And she proved mad '
Johnson said 'mad' meant only 'wild, frantic, uncertain.' But what
Desdemona says of Barbara is just what Ophelia might have said
of herself.
176 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. v.
may so far be grouped together in distinction from

the remaining tragedies.
But in point of substance, and, in certain respects,
in point of style, the unlikeness of Othello to
Hamlet is much greater than the likeness, and the
later play belongs decidedly to one group with its
successors. We have seen that, like them, it is a
tragedy of passion, a description inapplicable to
Julius Caesar or Hamlet. And with this change
goes another, an enlargement in the stature of the
hero. There is in most of the later heroes some-
thing colossal, something which reminds us of
Michael Angelo's figures. They are not merely
exceptional men, they are huge men as it were,
;
survivors of the heroic age living in a later and

smaller world. We do not receive this impression
from Romeo or Brutus or Hamlet, nor did it lie
in Shakespeare's design to allow more than touches
of this trait to Julius Caesar himself; but it is
strongly marked in Lear and Coriolanus, and quite
distinct in Macbeth and even in Antony. Othello
is the first of these men, a being essentially large
and grand, towering above his fellows, holding a

volume of force which in repose ensures pre-
eminence without an effort, and in commotion
reminds us rather of the fury of the elements than
of the tumult of common human passion.
What is the peculiarity of Othello^ What is

the distinctive impression that it leaves ? Of all
Shakespeare's tragedies, I would answer, not even
excepting King Lear, Othello is the most painfully
exciting and the most terrible. From the moment
when the temptation of the hero begins, the reader's
heart and mind are held in a vice, experiencing
the extremes of pity and fear, sympathy and repul-
sion, sickening hope and dreadful expectation.
LECT. V. OTHELLO 177
Evil is displayed before him, not indeed with the

profusion found in King Lear, but forming, as it
were, the soul of a single character, and united
with an intellectual superiority so great that he
watches its advance fascinated and appalled. He^
sees it, in itself almost irresistible, aided at every
step by fortunate accidents and the innocent
mistakes of its victims. He seems to breathe anj
atmosphere as fateful as that of King Lear^ but,
more confined and oppressive, the darkness not
of night but of a close-shut murderous room. His
imagination is excited to intense activity, but it is
the activity of concentration rather than dilation.
I will not dwell now on aspects of the play
which modify this impression, and I reserve for
later discussion one of its principal sources, the
character of I ago. But if we glance at some of its
other sources, we shall find at the same time
certain distinguishing characteristics of Othello,
(i) One of these has been already mentioned
in our discussion of Shakespeare's technique.
Othello is not only the most masterly of the
tragedies in point of construction, but its method
of ponstruction is unusual. And this method, by
which the conflict begins late, and advances without
appreciable pause and with accelerating speed to
the catastrophe, is a main cause of the painful
tension just described. To this may be added
that, after the conflict has begun, there is very
little relief by way of the ridiculous. Henceforward
at any rate lago's humour never raises a smile.
The clown is a poor one we hardly attend to him
;
and quickly forget him I believe most readers of

;
Shakespeare, if asked whether there is a clown in

Othello, would answer No.
(2) In the second place, there is no subject more
exciting than sexual jealousy rising to the pitch
of passion and there can hardly be any spectacle
;
at once so engrossing and so painful as that of a

M
;
178 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. V.
great nature suffering the torment of this passion,

and driven by it to a crime which is also a hideous
blunder. Such a passion as ambition, however
terrible its results, is not itself ignoble if we;
separate it in thought from the conditions which

make it guilty, it does not appear despicable it ;
is not a kind of suffering, its nature is active and ;
therefore we can watch its course without shrinking:.

But jealousy, and especially sexual jealousy, brings
with it a sense of shame and humiliation. For this
reason it is generally hidden if we perceive it we
;
ourselves are ashamed and turn our eyes away

and when it is not hidden it commonly stirs
contempt as well as pity. Nor is this all. Such
jealousy as Othello's converts human nature into
chaos, and liberates the beast in man and it does ;
this in relation to one of the most intense and also

the most ideal of human feelings. What spectacle
can be more painful than that of this feeling turned
into a tortured mixture of longing and loathing,
the 'golden purity' of passion split by poison into
fragments, the animal in man forcing itself into his
consciousness in naked grossness, and he writhing
before it but powerless to deny it entrance, gasping
inarticulate images of pollution, and finding relief
only in a bestial thirst for blood ? This is w^hat
we have to witness in one who was indeed great '
of heart' and no less pure and tender than he was

great. And this, with what it leads to, the blow
to Desdemona, and the scene where she is treated
as the inmate of a brothel, a scene far more painful
than the murder scene, is another cause of the
special effect of this tragedy.^
(3) The mere mention of these scenes will
remind us painfully of a third cause and perhaps
;
it is the most potent of all. I mean the suffering
*The whole force of the passages referred to can be felt only

by a reader. The Othello of our stage can never be Shakespeare's
Othello, any more than the Cleopatra of our stage can be his
Cleopatra.
;
of Desdemona. This is, unless I mistake, the most

nearly intolerable spectacle that Shakespeare offers
us. For one thing, it is mere suffering and, ceteris
;
paribus, that is much worse to witness than suffering

that issues in action. Desdemona is helplessly
passive. She can do nothing whatever. She
cannot retaliate even in speech no, not even in
;
silent feeling. And the chief reason of her help-

lessness only makes the sight of her suffering more
exquisitely painful. She is helpless because her
nature is infinitely sweet and her love absolute. I
would not challenge Mr. Swinburne'5 statement

that we pity Othello even more than Desdemona
but we watch Desdemona with more unmitigated
distress. We are never wholly uninfluenced by
'the feeling that Othello is a man contending with
another man but Desdemona's suffering is like
;
that of the most loving of dumb creatures tortured

without cause by the being he adores.
(4) Turning from the hero and heroine to the third
principal character, we observe (what has often
been pointed out) that the action and catastrophe
of Othello depend largely on intrigue. Wemust
not say more than this. We must not call the
play a tragedy of intrigue as distinguished from a
tragedy of character. lago's plot is lago's character
in action and it is built on his knowledge of
;
Othello's character, and could not otherwise have

succeeded. Still it remains true that an elaborate
plot was necessary to elicit the catastrophe for
;
Othello was no Leontes, and his was the last

nature to engender such jealousy from itself Ac-
cordingly lago's intrigue occupies a position in the
drama for which no parallel can be found in the
other tragedies the only approach, and that a
;
distant one, being the intrigue of Edmund in the

secondary plot of King Lear, Now in any novel
or play, even if the persons rouse little interest
and are never in serious danger, a skilfully-worked
;
i8o SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. v.
intrigue will excite eager attention and suspense.

And where, as in Othello, the persons inspire the
keenest sympathy and antipathy, and life and death
depend on the intrigue, it becomes the source of a
tension in which pain almost overpowers pleasure.
Nowhere else in Shakespeare do we hold our breath
in such anxiety and for so long a time as in the
later Acts of Othello,
(5) One result of the prominence of the element

of intrigue is that Othello is less unlike a story of
private life than any other of the great tragedies.
And this impression is strengthened in further
ways. In the other great tragedies the action is
placed in a distant period, so that its general
significance is perceived through a thin veil which
separates the persons from ourselves and our own
world. But Othello is a drama of modern life
when it first appeared it was a drama almost of
contemporary life, for the date of the Turkish attack
on Cyprus is 1570. The characters come close to
us, and the application of the drama to ourselves
{if the phrase may be pardoned) is more immediate
than it can be in Hamlet or Lear, Besides this,
their fortunes affect us as those of private indi-
viduals more than is possible in any of the later
tragedies with the exception of Timon, I have
not forgotten the Senate, nor Othello's position,
nor his service to the State ^ but his deed and
;
his death have not that influence on the interests

of a nation or an empire which serves to idealise,
and to remove far from our own sphere, the stories
of Hamlet and Macbeth, of Coriolanus and Antony.
Indeed he is already superseded at Cyprus when
his fate is consummated, and as we leave him no
vision rises on us, as in other tragedies, of peace
descending on a distracted land.
(6) The peculiarities so far considered combine
with others to produce those feelings of oppression,
*See p. 9.
I
:
LECT. V. OTHELLO i8i
of confinement to a comparatively narrow world,

and of dark fatality, which haunt us in reading
Othello. In Macbeth the fate which works itself
out alike in the external conflict and in the hero's
soul, is obviously hostile to evil and the imagina- ;
tion is dilated both by the consciousness of its

presence and by the appearance of supernatural
agencies. These, as we have seen, produce in
Hamlet a somewhat similar effect, which is in-
creased by the hero's acceptance of the accidents as
a providential shaping of his end. King Lear is
undoubtedly the tragedy which comes pearest to
Othello in the impression of darkness and fateful-
ness, and in the absence of direct indications of
any guiding power. ^ But in King Lear^ apart from
other differences to be considered later, the conflict
assumes proportions so vast that the imagination
seems, as in Paradise Lost, to traverse spaces wider
than the earth. In reading Othello the mind is
not thus distended. It is more bound down to the
spectacle of noble beings caught in toils from which
there is no escape while the prominence of the
;
intrigue diminishes the sense of the dependence of

the catastrophe on character, and the part played
by accident 2 in this catastrophe accentuates the
feeling of fate. This influence of accident is keenly
felt in King Lear only once, and at the very end
of the play. In Othello, after the temptation has
* Even here, however, there

is a great difference ; for although the
idea of such a power not suggested by King Lear as it is by
is
Hamlet and Macbeth, it is repeatedly expressed by persons in the
drama. Of such references there are very few in Othello. But
for somewhat frequent allusions to hell and the devil the view of the
characters is almost strictly secular. Desdemona's sweetness and
forgivingness are not based on religion, and her only way of
accounting for her undeserved suffering is by an appeal to
Fortune: * It is my wretched fortune' (iv. ii. 128). In like manner
Othello can only appeal to Fate (v. ii. 264)
but, oh vain boast!
Who can control his fate?
Ûlrici has good remarks, though he exaggerates, on this point

and the element of intrigue.
: ——
1^^
i82 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. v.
begun, it is incessant and terrible. The skill of

I ago was extraordinary, but so was his good
fortune. Again and again a chance word from
Desdemona, a chance meeting of Othello and
Cassio, a question which starts to our lips and
which anyone but Othello would have asked, would
have destroyed lago's plot and ended his life. In
their stead,Desdemona drops her handkerchief
at the moment most favourable to him,^ Cassio
blunders into the presence of Othello only to find
him in a swoon, Bianca arrives precisely when she
is wanted to complete Othello's deception and
incense his anger into fury. All this and much
more seems to us quite natural, so potent is the
art of the dramatist but it confounds us with
;
a feeling, such as we experience in the Oedipus

Tyrannus, that for these star-crossed mortals both —
Sva-SatjULove^ —
there is no escape from fate, and even
with a feeling, absent from that play, that fate has
taken sides with villainy.^ It is not surprising,
therefore, that Othello should affect us as Hamlet
and Macbeth never do, and as King Lear does
only in slighter measure. On the contrary, it is
marvellous that, before the tragedy is over, Shake-
Ând neither she nor Othello observes what handkerchief it is.

Else she would have remembered how she came to lose it, and
would have told Othello and Othello, too, would at once have
;
detected lago's lie (ill. iii. 438) that he had seen Cassio wipe his
beard with the handkerchief * to-day.' For in fact the handkerchief
had been lost not an hour before lago told that lie (line 288 of the
same scene\ and it was at that moment in his pocket. He lied
therefore most rashly, but with his usual luck.
For those who know the end of the story there is a terrible
2
irony inthe enthusiasm with which Cassio greets the arrival of

Desdemona in Cyprus. Her ship (which is also lago's) sets out from
Venice a week later than the others, but reaches Cyprus on the
same aay with them
Tempests themselves, high seas and howling winds,
The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel
As having sense of beauty, do omit
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by
The divine Desdemona.
So swiftly does Fate conduct her to her doom.
—
speare should have succeeded in toning down this

impression into harmony with others more solemn
and serene.
But has he wholly succeeded ? Or is there
—
a justification for the fact a fact it certainly is
that some readers, while acknowledging, of course,
the immense power of Othello, and even admitting
that itdramatically perhaps
is Shakespeare's
greatest triumph, still regard it with a certain dis-
taste, or, at any rate, hardly allow it a place in
their minds beside Hamlet, King Lear and
Macbeth ?
The distaste to which I refer is due chiefly

to two causes. First, to many readers in our
time, men
as well as women, the subject of sexual
jealousy, treated with Elizabethan fulness and
frankness, is not merely painful but so repulsive
that not even the intense tragic emotions which
the story generates can overcome this repulsion.
But,' while it is easy to understand a dislike of
Othello thus caused, it does not seem necessary
to discuss it, for it may fairly be called personal
or subjective. It would become more than this,
and would amount to a criticism of the play,
only if those who feel it maintained that the ful-
ness and frankness which are disagreeable to
them are also needless from a dramatic point of
view, or betray a design of appealing to unpoetic
feelings in the audience. But I do not think
that this is maintained, or that such a view would
be plausible.
To somereaders, again, parts of Othello appear
shocking or even horrible. They think if I may —
—
formulate their objection that in these parts
Shakespeare has sinned against the canons of
art, by representing on the stage a violence or
brutality the effect of which is unnecessarily pain-
fuland rather sensational than tragic. The pas-
sages which thus give offence are probably those
i84 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. v.
already referred to, — that

where Othello strikes
Desdemona (iv. 251), that where he affects to
i.
treat her as an inmate of a house of ill-fame (iv. ii.),

and finally the scene of her death.
The issues thus raised ought not to be ignored
or impatiently dismissed, but they cannot be
decided, it seems to me, by argument. All we
can profitably do is to consider narrowly our ex-
perience, and to ask ourselves this question If :
(we feel these objections, do we feel them when

we are reading the play with all our force, or
only when we are reading it in a half-hearted
manner? For, however matters may stand in the
former case, in the latter case evidently the fault is
ours and not Shakespeare's. And if we try the
question thus, I believe we shall find that on
the whole the fault is ours. The first, and
I
I least important, of the three passages that —
I of the blow —
seems to me the most doubt-
I ful. I confess that, do what I will, I cannot
reconcile myself with it. It seems certain that
the blow is by no means a tap on the shoulder
with a roll of paper, as some actors, feeling
the repulsiveness of the passage, have made it.
It must occur, too, on the open stage. And there
is not, I think, a sufficiently overwhelming tragic
feeling in the passage to bearable.make
But it
in the other two scenes the case is different.

There, it seems to me, if we fully imagine the in-
ward tragedy in the souls of the persons as we
read, the more obvious and almost physical sensa-
tions of pain or horror do not appear in their own
likeness, and only serve to intensify the tragic feel-
ings in which they are absorbed. Whether this
would be so in the murder-scene if Desdemona
had to be imagined as dragged about the open
stage (as in some modern performances) may be .
doubtful but there is absolutely no warrant in the

;
text for imagining this, and it is also quite clear

LECT. V. OTHELLO
that the bed where she is stifled was within the

curtains/ and so, presumably, in part concealed.
Here, then, Othello does not appear to be, unless
perhaps at one point,^ open to criticism, though it
has more passages than the other three tragedies
where, if imagination is not fully exerted, it is
shocked or else sensationally excited. If never-
theless we feel it to occupy a place in our minds
a little lower than the other three (and I believe this
feeling, though not general, is not rare), the reason
lies not here but in another characteristic, to
which I have already referred, the comparative —
confinement of the imaginative atmosphere. Othello
has not equally with the other three the power
of dilating the imagination by vague suggestions of
huge universal powers working in the world of
individual fate and passion. It is, in a sense, less
*
symbolic' We
seem to be aware in it of a certainX
limitation, a partial suppression of that element in j
Shakespeare's mind which unites him with the
mystical poets and with the great musicians and
philosophers. In one or two of his plays, notablyX
in Troilus and Cressida, we are almost painfully \
conscious of this suppression we feel an intense
;
intellectual activity, but at the same time a certain I
coldness and hardness, as though some power in/

his soul, at once the highest and the sweetest, were/
for a time in abeyance. In other plays, notably
in the Tempest, we are constantly aware of the
presence of this power and in such cases we seem
;
to be peculiarly near to Shakespeare himself

Now this is so in Hamlet and King Lear^ and, in
a slighter degree, in Macbeth but it is much less
;
so in Othello, I do not mean that in Othello the
^ The dead
bodies are not carried out at the end, as they must have
been the bed had been on the main stage (for this had no front cur-
if
tain). The curtains within which the bed stood were drawn together
at the words, Let it be hid' (v. ii. 365).
'
2 Against which may be set the scene of the blinding of Gloster

in Kin^ Lear
fist SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. V.
suppression is marked, or Trot/us and

that, as in
Cressida, it strikes us as due to some unpleasant
mood it seems rather to follow simply from the
;
design of a play on a contemporary and wholly

mundane subject. Still it makes a difference of the
kind I have attempted to indicate, and it leaves an
impression that in Othello we are not in contact with
the whole of Shakespeare. And it is perhaps
significant in this respect that the hero himself
strikes us as having, probably, less of the poet's
personality in him than many characters far in-
ferior both as dramatic creations and as men.
I
The
character of Othello is comparatively simple,
1 but, as I have dwelt on the prominence of in-
trigue and accident in the play, it is desirable to
show how essentially the success of lago's plot is
connected with this character. Othello's descrip-
tion of himself as
one not easily jealous, but, being wrought.
Perplexed in the extreme,
is His tragedy lies in this that
perfectly just. —
his whole^ji ature was indisposed to jealousy, and
yet was such that he was unusu ally open to
decep tion, and if once _,_wronghr to passion, likely
^
to act with little j eflectjon with n o delay^ and in

,
the^ "m6st~decisive manner

conceivable.
^Tlet me hrst set aside a mistaken view. I do not
mean the ridiculous notion that Othello was jealous

by temperament, but the idea, which has some little
plausibility, that the play is primarily a study of a
noble barbarian, who has become a Christian and
has imbibed some of the civilisation of his em-
ployers, but who retains beneath the surface the
savage passions of his Moorish blood and also
the suspiciousness regarding female chastity com-
mon among Oriental peoples, and that the last
three Acts depict the outburst of these original

feelings through the thin crust of Venetian culture.
It would take too long to discuss this idea,^ and
it would perhaps be useless to do so, for all argu-
ments against it must end in an appeal to

the reader's understanding of Shakespeare. If he
thinks it is like Shakespeare to look at things in
this manner that he had a historical mind and occu-
;
pied himself with problems of Culturgeschichte

' '
;
that he laboured to make his Romans perfectly

Roman, to give a correct view of the Britons in the
days of Lear or Cymbeline, to portray in Hamlet a
stage of the moral consciousness not yet reached by
the people around him, the reader will also think
this interpretation of Othello probable. To me it
appears hopelessly un- Shakespearean. I could as
easily believe that Chaucer meant the Wife of
Bath for a study of the peculiarities of Somerset-
shire. I do not mean that Othello's race is a
matter of no account. It has, as we shall presently
see, its importance in the play. It makes a
difference to our idea of him it makes a differ-
;
ence to the action and catastrophe. But in regard

to the essentials of his character it is not impor-
tant and if anyone had told Shakespeare that no
;
Englishman would have acted like the Moor, and

had congratulated him on the accuracy of his
racial psychology, I am sure he would have laughed.
Othello is, in one sense of the word, by far the
most rom antic figure am ong 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 know not whence —
almost as if from
wonderland. There is something mysterious in his
descent from men of royal siege in his wanderings
;
^ The reader who

is tempted by it should, however, first ask him-
does act like a barbarian, or like a man who, though
self whether Othello
wrought almost to madness, does 'all in honour.'
! ;;
i88 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. v.
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 borne a charmed life
even in chance references to his baptism, his being
sold to slavery, his sojourn in Aleppo.
And he
not merely a romantic figure
is his ;
own nature is romantic. He has not, indeed, the

meditative or speculative imagination of Hamlet
but in the strictest sense of the word he,- is more
H
po etic than amlet Indeed, if one recalls Othello's
most famous speeches those that begin, Her — '
father loved me,' *0 now for ever,' Never, I ago,' *
*
Had it pleased Heaven,' It is the cause,' Behold, * '
I have a weapon,' Soft you, a word or two before

*
you go '
—
and if one places side by side with
these speeches an equal number by any other hero,
one will not doubt that OtVif^Hn i<^ tht^ gr^ât^gt
popt of t hpm all There is the same poetry in his
casual phrases like —
These nine moons wasted,' '
*
Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust
them,' You chaste stars,' It is a sword of Spain,
* *
the ice-brook's temper,' It is the very error of *
the moon —
and in those brief expressions of intense
'
feeling which ever since have been taken as the

absolute expression, like
If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear,
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate,
or
If she be false, O then Heaven mocks itself.
I'll not believe it;
or
No, my heart is turned to stone ; I strike it, and it hurts my
hand,
or
But yet the pity of it, lago ! O lago, the pity of it, lago
;
or
O thou weed,
Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er been
born.
And this has accompanied

imagination, we feel,
his whole life. He has watched with a poet's eye
the Arabian trees dropping their med'cinable gum,
and the Indian throwing away his chance-found
pearl ; and has gazed in a fascinated dream at the
Pontic sea rushing, never to return, to the Pro-
pontic and the Hellespont and has ^felt as no ;
other man ever felt (for he speaks of it- as none

other ever did) the poetry of the pride, pomp, and
circumstance of glorious war.
So he comes before us, dark and grand, with a
light upon him from the sun where he was born
but no longer young, and now g rave selLcontroll^, ,
steel ed by the experience of countless perils^ har dr

shi ps and vicissitudes, at on ce simple and stately
in beari ng and in f^peerhâ^^rpft t TP^^ natural ly
modest ^But fully_XQni5Qus-jQL his worth, proud of
his _servic es the state, unawed by dignitaries
to
a nd~~uneiatecl "By "Tionours, secure, it wQuld, seem,
against all dangers from without and all, rebellion^
-from within. And he comes to have his life
ctpwned with the-~finaLglory of love, a love as
strange, adventurous and romantic as any passage
of his eventful history, filling his heart with tender-
ness and his imagination with ecstasy. For there
is no love, not that of Romeo in his youth, more
steeped in imagination than Othello's.
The sources of danger in this character are re-
vealed but too clearly by the story. In the first
place, Othflln^Q mt'nrlj for all its poetry, is very
§inigle__ He is not observant. His nature tends
outward. He is quite free from introspection, and
is not given to reflection. Emotion excites his
imagination, but it confuses anT^HuTTsTils^mtellect.
.^ssazfia^^x"*'^''^'^
•»**• ^-'»«s*^Twii-fMiF *>mmpm/t
: :
I90 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. V.
On he is the very opposite of Hamlej with

this side j
whom, however, he shares a great openness and

trustfulness of nature. In addition, he has little
experience of the corrupt products of civilised life,
and is ignorant of European women.
In the second place, for all his dignity and
massive calm (and he has greater dignity than any
other of Shakespeare's men), h e_ is by natu re full.
of the most vehe ment passio n. Shakespeare em-
phasises his self-control, not only by the wonderful
pictures of the First Act, but by references to the
past. Lodovico, amazed at his violence, exclaims :
Is this the noble Moor whom our full Senate

Call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature
Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid virtue
The shot of accident nor dart of chance
Could neither graze nor pierce?
I ago, who has here no motive for lying, asks
Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon
When hath blown his ranks into the air,
it
And, like the devil, from his very arm

—
Puffed his own brother and can he be angry ?^
This, and other aspects of his character, are best

exhibited by a single line one of Shakespeare's —
—
miracles the words by which Othello silences in
a moment the night-brawl between his attendants
and those of Brabantio
Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
And the same self-control is strikingly shown where

Othello endeavours to elicit some explanation of
the fight between Cassio and Montano. Here,
however, there occur ominous words, which make
us feel how necessary was this self-control, and
make us admire it the more :
Now, by heaven,
My blood begins my safer guides to rule.
And passion, having my best judgment coUied,
Assays to lead the way.
* For the actor, then, to represent him as violently angry when
he cashiers Cassio is an utter mistake.
We remember these words later, when the sun of

reason is *
collied,' blackened and blotted out in
total eclipse.
Lastly, Othello's nature is allof one piece. His
trust, where he trusts, is absolute. Hesitation is w
almost impossible to him. He is extremely self-
reliant,and decides and acts instantaneously. If
stirred to indignation, as in Aleppo once,' he*
answers with one lightning stroke. Love, if he

loves, must be to him the heaven where either
he must live or bear no life. If such a passion as
jealousy seizes him, it will swell into a well-nigh
incontrollable flood. He will press for ifnmediate
conviction or immediate relief. Convinced, he will
act with the authority of a judge and the swiftness
of a man in mortal pain. Undeceived, he will do
like execution on himself.
This character is so noble, Othello's feelings and
actions follow so inevitably from it and from the
forces brought to bear on it, and his sufferings
are so heart-rending, that he stirs, I believe, in
most readers a passion of mingled love and pity
which they feel for no other hero in Shakespeare,
and to which not even Mr. Swinburne can do
more than justice. Yet there are some critics and '^
not a few readers who cherish a grudge against
him. They do not merely think that in the later
stages of his temptation he showed a certain obtuse-
ness, and that, to speak pedantically, he acted with
unjustifiable precipitance and violence no one, I ;
suppose, denies that. But, even when they admit

that he was not of a jealous temper, they consider
that he was easily jealous
*
they seem to think '
;
that it was inexcusable in him to feel any suspicion •
of his wife at all and they blame him for never

;
suspecting I ago or asking him for evidence. I
refer to this attitude of mind chiefly in order to

draw attention to certain points in the story. It
comes partly from mere inattention (for Othello did
:
192 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. V.
suspect I ago and did ask him for evidence) ;

partly
from a misconstruction of the text which makes
Othello appear jealous long before he really is so ^ ;
and partly from failure to realise certain essential

facts. I will begin with these.
(i) Othello, we have seen, was trustful, and
thorough in his trust. He put entire confidence
in the honesty of I ago, who had not only been
his companion in arms, but, as he believed, had
just proved his faithfulness in the matter of the
marriage. This confidence was misplaced, and we
happen to know it but it was no sign of stupidity
;
in Othello. For his opinion of lago was the

opinion of practically everyone who knew him
and that opinion was that lago was before all
things honest,' his very faults being those of excess
*
in honesty. This being so, even if Othello had

not been trustful and simple, it would have been
quite unnatural in him to be unmoved by the
warnings of so honest a friend, warnings offered
with extreme reluctance and manifestly from a
sense of a friend's duty.^ Any husband would
have been troubled by them.
(2) lago does not bring these warnings to a
husband who had lived with a wife for months
and years and knew her like his sister or his
bosom-friend. Nor is there any ground in Othello's
character for supposing that, he had been such if
a man, he would have felt and acted as he does in

the play. But he was newly married in the circum- ;
stances he cannot have known much of Desdemona

before his marriage; and further he was conscious
of being under the spell of a feeling which can
^ I cannot deal fully with this point in the lecture. See Note L.
2 It is important to observe that, in his attempt to arrive at the facts
about Cassio's drunken misdemeanour, Othello had just had an

example of lago's unwillingness to tell the whole truth where it must
injure a friend. No wonder he feels in the Temptation-scene that
'
this honest creature doubtless Sees and knows more, much more, than
he unfolds.'
give glory to the truth but can also give it to a

dream.
(3) This consciousness in any imaginative man
is enough, in such circumstances, to destroy his
confidence in his powers of perception. In Othello's
case, after a long and most artful preparation,
there now comes, to reinforce its effect, the ^y
suggestions that he is not an Italian, not even
a European that he is totally ignorant of the
;
thoughts, and the customary morality of Venetian

women ^ that he had himself seen in Desdemona's
;
^
deception of her father how perfect an actress
she could be. As he listens in horror, for a
moment at least the past is revealed to him in a
new and dreadful light, and the ground seems to
sink under his feet. These suggestions are
followed by a tentative but hideous and humiliat-
ing insinuation of what his honest and much-
experienced friend fears may be the true explanation
of Desdemona's rejection of acceptable suitors,
and of her strange, and naturally temporary, pre-
ference for a black man. Here I ago goes too
far. He something in Othello's face that
sees
frightens him, and he breaks off Nor does this
idea take any hold of Othello's mind. But it is
not surprising that his utter powerlessness to repel
it on the ground of knowledge of his wife, or
even of that instinctive interpretation of character
which is possible between persons of the same
race,^ should complete his misery, so that he feels
^ To represent that Venetian women do not regard adultery so
seriously as Othello does, and again that Othello would be wise to
accept the situation like an Italian husband, is one of lago's most
artful and most maddening devices.
^ has ever chanced to see an African violently excited,
If the reader
he may have been startled to observe how completely at a loss he was
to interpret those bodily expressions of passion which in a fellow-
countryman he understands at once, and in a European foreigner with
somewhat less certainty. The effect of difference in blood in increas-
ing Othello's bewilderment regarding his wife is not sufficiently
realised. The same effect has to be remembered in regard to
Desdemona's mistakes in dealing with Othello in his anger.
N
!
he can bear no more, and abruptly dismisses his

friend (iii. 238).
iii.
Now I any man situated as Othello

repeat that
was would have been disturbed by lago's com-
munications, and I add that many men would have
< been made wildly jealous. But up to this point,
- where I ago is dismissed, Othello, I must maintain,
/ does not show jealousy. His confidence is shaken,
he is confused and deeply troubled, he feels even
horror but he is not yet jealous in the proper sense
;
of that word/ In his soliloquy (iii. iii. 258 ff.)

the beginning of this passion may be traced but ;
it is only after an interval of solitude, when he

has had time to dwell on the idea presented to
him, and especially after statements of fact, not
mere general grounds of suspicion, are offered,
that the passion lays hold of him. Even then,
however, and indeed to the very end, he is quite
unlike the essentially jealous mani^ quite unlike
Leontes. No doubt the thought of another man's
possessing the woman he loves is intolerable to
him no doubt the sense of insult and the impulse
;
of revenge are at times most violent and these ;
are the feelings of jealousy proper. But these

are not the chief or the deepest source of Othello's
buffering. It is the wreck of his faith and his
ôve. It is the feeling.
If she be false, oh then Heaven mocks itself;
the feeling,
O lago, the pity of it, lago
the feeling,
But there where I have garner'd up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
—
Or else dries up to be discarded thence. . . .
You nothing like this in Leontes.

will find
Up to this point, it appears to me, there is not
a syllable to be said against Othello. But the play
—
IS a tragedy, and from this point we may abandon

the ungrateful and undramatic task of awardinsf
praise and blame. When Othello, after a brief
interval, re-enters (in. iii. 330), we see at once
that the poison has been at work and burns like *
the mines of sulphur.'

Look where he comes Not poppy, nor mandragora.
!
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world.

Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owedst yesterday.
He *on the rack,' in an agony so unbearable
is
that he cannot endure the sight of I ago. Anticipat- ^
ing the probability that I ago has spared him the

whole truth, he feels that in that case his life
is over and his occupation gone
'
with all its '
glories. But he has not abandoned hope. The

bare possibility that his friend is deliberately
deceiving him— though such a deception would be
a thing so monstrously wicked that he can hardly
conceive it credible is a kind of hope.— He
furiously demands proof, ocular proof And when
he is compelled to see that he is demanding an im-
possibility he still demands evidence. He forces
it from the unwilling witness, and hears the
maddening tale of Cassio's dream. It is enough.
And if it were not enough, has he not sometimes
seen a handkerchief spotted with strawberries in
his wife's hand ? Yes, it was his first gift to her.
I know notthat ; but such a handkerchief
I am
sure it was your wife's —
did I today
See Cassio wipe his beard with.
*
If it be that,' he answers —but what need to test
the fact? The madness of revenge is in his blood,
* '
and hesitation is a thing he never knew. He passes

judgment, and controls himself only to make his
sentence a solemn vow.
The Othello of the Fourth Act is Othello in
his fall. His fall is never complete, but he is
much changed. Towards the close of the Tempta-
: — :
tion-scene he becomes at times most terrible, but

his grandeur remains almost undiminished. Even
in the following scene (iii. iv.), where he goes to
test Desdemonamatter of the handkerchief,
in the
and receives a fatal confirmation of her guilt,
our sympathy with him is hardly touched by any
feeling of humiliation. But in the Fourth Act
*
Chaos has come.' A
slight interval of time may
be admitted here. It is but slight for it was ;
necessary for lago to hurry on, and terribly

dangerous to leave a chance for a meeting of
Cassio with Othello and his insight into Othello's
;
nature taught him that his plan was to deliver

blow on blow, and never to allow his victim to
recover from the confusion of the first shock. ^
Still there is a slight interval and when Othello ;
reappears we see at a glance that he is a changed

man. He is physically exhausted, and his mind
is dazed.^ He sees everything blurred through a
mist of blood and tears. He has actually forgotten
the incident of the handkerchief, and has to be
reminded of it. When lago, perceiving that he
can now risk almost any lie, tells him that Cassio
has confessed his guilt, Othello, the hero who
has seemed to us only second to Coriolanus in
physical power, trembles all over he mutters ;
disjointed words a blackness suddenly intervenes

;
between his eyes and the world he takes it for the ;
shuddering testimony of nature to the horror he

has just heard,^ and he falls senseless to the ground.
1 See Note M.
2 Cf. Winter's Tale, I. ii. 137 ff.
Can thy dam?— may't be?

Affection thy intention stabs the centre
I
Thou dost make possible things not so held,

Communicates! with dreams ;— how can this be?
With what's unreal thou coactive art,
And fellow'st nothing then 'tis very credent
:
Thou may'st cojoin with something ; and thou dost,

And that beyond commission, and I find it,
And that to the infection of my brains
And hardening of my brows.
:
When he recovers it is to watch Cassio, as he

imagines, laughing over his shame. It is an im-
position so gross, and should have been one so
perilous, that lago would never have ventured it
before. But he is safe now. The sight only adds
to the confusion of intellect the madness of rage ;
and a ravenous thirst for revenge, contending with

motions of infinite longing and regret, conquers
them. The delay till night-fall is torture to him.
His self-control has wholly deserted him, and he
strikes his wife in the presence of the Venetian
envoy. He is so lost to all sense of. reality that
he never asks himself what will follow the deaths
of Cassio and his wife. An ineradicable instinct
of justice, rather than any last quiver of hope,
leads him to question Emilia but nothing could ;
convince him now, and there follows the dreadful

scene of accusation and then, to allow us the relief
;
of burning hatred and burning tears, the interview

of Desdemona with lago, and that last talk of hers
with Emilia, and her last song.
But before the end there is again a change.
The supposed death of Cassio (v. i.) satiates the
thirst for vengeance. The Othello who enters
the bed-chamber with the words,
It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,
IS not the man of the Fourth Act. The deed

he is bound do
no murder, but a sacrifice.
to is
He is to save Desdemona from herself, not in
hate but in honour; in honour, and also in love.
His anger has passed; a boundless sorrow has
taken its place ; aad
this sorrow's heavenly
It strikes where it doth love.
Even when, at the sight of her apparent obduracy,

and at the hearing of words which by a crowning
fatality can only reconvince him of her guilt,
these feelings give way to others, it is to
righteous indignation they give way, not to rage ;
and, terribly painful as this scene is, there is almost

nothing here to diminish the admiration and love
which heighten pity.^ And pity itself vanishes,
and love and admiration alone remain, in the
majestic dignity and sovereign ascendancy of
the close. Chaos has come and gone and the
;
Othello of the Council-chamber and the quay

of Cyprus has returned, or a greater and nobler
Othello still. As he speaks those final words in
which all the glory and agony of his life long —
ago in India and Arabia and Aleppo, and after-
wards in Venice, and now in Cyprus seem to —
pass before us, like the pictures that flash before
the eyes of a drowning man, a triumphant scorn
for the fetters of the flesh and the littleness of
all the lives that must survive him sweeps our
grief away, and when he dies upon a kiss the
most painful of all tragedies leaves us for the
moment free from pain, and exulting in the power
of 'love and mans unconquerable mind.'
3
The words just quoted come from Wordsworth's
sonnet to Toussaint I'Ouverture. Toussaint was
a Negro and there is a question, which, though
;
of little consequence, is not without dramatic

interest, whether Shakespeare imagined Othello
as a Negro or as a Moor. Now I will not say
that Shakespeare imagined him as a Negro and
not as a Moor, for that might imply that he
distinguished Negroes and Moors precisely as we
do but what appears to me nearly certain is
;
that he imagined Othello as a black man, and not

as a lio;ht-brown one.
In the first place, we must remember that the
brown or bronze to which we are now accustomed
1 See Note O.
in the Othellos of our theatres is a recent innova-

tion. Down to Edmund
Kean's time, so far as
is known, Othello was always quite black. This
stage-tradition goes back to the Restoration, and
it almost settles our question. For it is impossible
that the colour of the original Othello should
have been sforgotten so soon after Shake-
speare's time, and most improbable that it should
have been changed from brown to black.
If turn to the play itself, we find many refer-
we
ences to Othello's colour and appearance. Most
of these are indecisive for the word black was
;
*
'
of course used then where we should speak of

a '
dark complexion now
' and even the nick-
;
name thick-lips,'
*
appealed to as proof that
Othello was a Negro, might have been applied
by an enemy to what we call a Moor. On the
other hand, it is hard to believe that, if Othello
had been light-brown, Brabantio would have
taunted him with having a sooty bosom,' or that '
(as Mr. Furness observes) he himself would have

used the words,
her name, that was as fresh
As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black
As mine own face.
These arguments cannot be met by pointing
out that Othello was of royal blood, is not
called an Ethiopian, is called a Barbary horse,
and is said to be going to Mauritania. All this
would be of importance if we had reason to believe
that Shakespeare shared our ideas, knowledge
and terms. Otherwise it proves nothing. And
we know that sixteenth-century writers called any
dark North- African a Moor, or a black Moor,
or a blackamoor. Sir Thomas Elyot, according
to Hunter,^ calls Ethiopians Moors and the ;
following are the first two illustrations of Black- *
amoor in the Oxford English Dictionary 1 547,

'
:
^New Illustrations, ii. 281.

'I am a blake More borne in Barbary 1548, '

;
*
Ethiopo, a blake More, or a man of Ethiope.'
Thus geographical names can tell us nothing
about the question how Shakespeare imagined
Othello. He may have known that a Mauritanian
is not a Negro nor black, but we cannot assume
that he did. He may have known, again, that
the Prince of Morocco, who is described in the
Merchant of Venice as having, like Othello, the
complexion of a devil, was no Negro. But we
cannot tell nor is there any reason why he should
:
not have imagined the Prince as a brown Moor

and Othello as a Blackamoor.
Titus A^tdronicus appeared in the Folio among
Shakespeare's works. It is believed by some good
critics to be his hardly anyone doubts that he
:
had a hand in it it is certain: that he knew

it, for reminiscences of it are scattered through
his plays. Now no one who reads Titus
Andronicus with an open mind can doubt that
Aaron was, in our sense, black and he appears ;
to have been a Negro. To mention nothing else,

he is twice called coal-black ; his colour is com-
*
'
pared with that of a raven and a swan's legs; his

child is coal-black and thick-lipped he himself ;
has a fleece of woolly hair.'

*
Yet he is 'Aaron
the Moor,' just as Othello is 'Othello the Moor.'
In the Battle of Alcazar (Dyce's Peele, p. 421) Muly
the Moor is called the negro and Shakespeare
*
'
;
himself in a single line uses negro and Moor of *

'
* '
the same person [Merchant of Venice, iii. v. 42).

The horror of most American critics (Mr.
Furness is a bright exception) at the idea of a
black Othello is very amusing, and their arguments
are highly instructive. But they were anticipated,
I regret to say, by Coleridge, and we will hear
him. No doubt Desdemona saw Othello's visage
'
in his mind yet, as we are constituted, and most

;
surely as an English audience was disposed in

LECT. V. OTHELLO 20I
the beginning of the seventeenth century, it would

be something monstrous to conceive this beautiful
Venetian girl falling in love with a veritable negro.
It would argue a^ disproportionateness, a want of
balance, in Desdemona, which Shakespeare does
not appear to have in the least contemplated.'^
Could any argument be more self-destructive?
It actually did appear to Brabantio 'something
monstrous to conceive his daughter falling in love
'
with Othello, —
so monstrous that he could account
for her love only by drugs and foul charms. And
the suggestion that such love would argue dis- *
proportionateness is precisely the suggestion that

'
I ago did make in Desdemona s case :
Foh one may smell in such a will most rank,

!
Foul disproportion^ thoughts unnatural.
In fact he spoke of the marriage exactly as a

filthy-minded cynic now might speak of the marriage
of an English lady to a negro like Toussaint.
Thus the argument of Coleridge and others points
straight to the conclusion against which they argue.
But this is not all. The question whether to
Shakespeare Othello was black or brown is not
a mere question of isolated fact or historical
curiosity it concerns the character of Desdemona.
;
Coleridge, and still more the American writers,

regard her love, in effect, as Brabantio regarded
it, and not as Shakespeare conceived it. They
are simply blurring this glorious conception when
they try to lessen the distance between her and
Othello, and to smooth away the obstacle which
his visage
*
offered to her romantic passion for
'
a hero. Desdemona, the eternal womanly in *

'
its most lovely and adorable form, simple and

innocent as a child, ardent with the courage and
idealism of a saint, radiant with that heavenly
purity of heart which men worship the more
* Lectures on Shakespeare^ ed. Ashe, p. 386.
202 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. V,
because nature so rarely permits it to themselves,

had no theories about universal brotherhood, and
no phrases about one blood in all the nations
*
of the earth or barbarian, Scythian, bond and

'
*
free '
but when her soul came in sight of the
;
noblest soul on earth, she made nothing of the

shrinking of her senses, but followed her soul
until her senses took part with it, and loved '
him with the love which was her doom.' It was

not prudent. It even turned out tragically. She
met in life with the reward of those who rise too
far above our common level and we continue to
;
allot her the same reward when we consent to

forgive her for loving a brown man, but find it
monstrous that she should love a black one.^
There is perhaps a certain excuse for our failure
to rise to Shakespeare's meaning, and to realise how
extraordinary and splendid a thing it was in a gentle
Venetian girl to love Othello, and to assail fortune
with such a downright violence and storm as is
^ '
^ I will not discuss the further question whether, granted that to

Shakespeare Othello was a black, he should be represented as a
black in our theatres now. I dare say not. We do not like the real
Shakespeare. We like to have his language pruned and his concep-
tions flattened into something that suits our mouths and minds. And
even if we were prepared to make an effort, still, as Lamb observes,
to imagine is one thing and to see is another. Perhaps if we saw
Othello coal-black with the bodily eye, the aversion of our blood, an
aversion which comes as near to being merely physical as anything
human can, would overpower our imagination and sink us below not
Shakespeare only but the audiences of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries.
As I have mentioned Lamb, I may observe that he differed from
Coleridge as to Othello's colour, but, I am sorry to add, thought
Desdemona to stand in need of excuse. 'This noble lady, with a
singularity rather to be wondered at than imitated, had chosen for
the object of her affections a Moor, a black. . .Neither is Desde-
.
mona to be altogether condemned for the unsuitableness of the person

whom she selected for her lover' {Tales /ram Shakespeare). Others,
of course, have gone much further and have treated all the calamities
of the tragedy as a sort of judgment on Desdemona's rashness, wilful-
ness and undutifulness. There is no arguing with opinions like this ;
but I cannot believe that even Lamb is true to Shakespeare in imply-

ing that Desdemona is in some degree to be condemned. What is
there in the play to show that Shakespeare regarded her marriage
differently from Imogen's ?
expected only in a hero. It is that when first we

hear of her marriage we have not yet seen the
Desdemona of the later Acts and therefore we ;
do not perceive how astonishing this love and

boldness must have been in a maiden so quiet
and submissive. And when we watch her in her
suffering and death we are so penetrated by the
sense of her heavenly sweetness and self-surrender
that we almost forget that she had shown herself
quite as exceptional in the active assertion of her
own soul and will. She tends to. become to
us predominantly pathetic, the sweetest and most
pathetic of Shakespeare's women, as inn:ocent as
Miranda and as loving as Viola, yet suffering
more deeply than Cordelia or Imogen. And she
seems to lack that independence and strength
of spirit which Cordelia and Imogen possess, and
which in a manner raises them above suffering.
She appears passive and defenceless, and can
oppose to wrong nothing but the infinite endur-
ance and forgiveness of a love that knows not
how to resist or resent. She thus becomes at once
the most beautiful example of this love, and the
most pathetic heroine in Shakespeare's world.
If her part were acted by an artist equal to Sal-
vini, and with a Salvini for Othello, I doubt if the
spectacle of the last two Acts would not be
pronounced intolerable.
Of course this later impression of Desdemona is
perfectly right, but it must be carried back and
united with the earlier before we can see what
Shakespeare imagined. Evidently, we are to under-
stand, innocence, gentleness, sweetness, lovingness
were the salient and, in a sense, the principal
traits in Desdemona's character. She was, as her
father supposed her to be,
a maiden never bold.

Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion
Blushed at herself.
But suddenly there appeared something quite

different— something which could never have ap-
—
peared, for example, in Ophelia a love not only-
full of romance but showing a strange freedom
and energy of spirit, and leading to a most
unusual boldness of action and this action was
;
carried through with a confidence and decision

worthy of Juliet or Cordelia. Desdemona does
not shrink before the Senate and her language to
;
her father, though deeply respectful, is firm enough

to stir in us some sympathy with the old man
who could not survive his daughter's loss. This
then, we must understand, was the emergence in
Desdemona, as she passed from girlhood to woman-
hood, of an individuality and strength which, if
she had lived, would have been gradually fused
with her more obvious qualities and have issued
in a thousand actions, sweet and good, but surpris-
ing to her conventional or timid neighbours. And,
indeed, we have already a slight example in her
overflowing kindness, her boldness and her ill-
fated persistence in pleading Cassio's cause. But
the full ripening of her lovely and noble nature
was not to be. In her brief wedded life she ap-
peared again chiefly as the sweet and submissive
being of her girlhood ; and the strength of her
soul, first evoked by love, found scope to show
itself only in a love which, when harshly repulsed,
blamed only its own pain when bruised, only gave
;
forth a more exquisite fragrance and, when re-

;
warded with death, summoned its last labouring

breath to save its murderer.
Many traits in Desdemona's character have
been described with sympathetic insight by Mrs.
Jameson, and I will pass them by and add but a
few words on the connection between this charac-
ter and the catastrophe of Othello. Desdemona,
as Mrs. Jameson remarks, shows less quickness of
intellect and less tendency to reflection than most
of Shakespeare's heroines but I question whether

;
the critic is right in âdding that she shows much

of the unconscious address common in women.'
*
She seems to me deficient in this address, having

in its place a frank childlike boldness and per-
sistency, which are full of charm but are unhappily
united with a certain want of perception. And
these graces and this deficiency appear to be
inextricably intertwined, and in the circumstances
conspire tragically against her. They, with her
innocence, hinder her from understanding Othello's
state of mind, and lead her to the most unlucky
acts and words and unkindness or anger subdues
;
her so completely that she becomes passive and

seems to drift helplessly towards the cataract in
front.
In Desdemona's incapacity to resist there is
also, in addition to her perfect love, something

which is very characteristic. She is, in a sense, a
child of nature. That deep inward division which
leads to clear and conscious oppositions of right
and wrong, duty and inclination, justice and injus-
tice, is alien to her beautiful soul. She is not
good, kind and true in spite of a temptation to be
otherwise, any more than she is charming in spite
of a temptation to be otherwise. She seems to
know evil only by name, and, her inclinations
being good, she acts on inclination. This trait,
with its results, may be seen if we compare her,
at the crises of the story, with Cordelia. In
Desdemona's Cordelia, however frightened
place,
at Othello's anger about the lost handkerchief,
would not have denied its loss. Painful experi-
ence had produced in her a conscious principle of
rectitude and a proud hatred of falseness, which
would have made a even one wholly innocent
lie,
in spirit, impossible to her and the clear sense of

;
justice and right would have led her, instead,

to require an explanation of Othello's agitation
2o6 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. V.
which would have broken lago's plot to pieces.

In the same way, at the final crisis, no instinctive
terror of death would have compelled Cordelia
suddenly to relinquish her demand for justice and
to plead for life. But these moments are fatal to
Desdemona, who acts precisely as if she were
guilty and they are fatal because they ask for
;
something which, it seems to us, could hardly be

united with the peculiar beauty of her nature.
This beauty is all her own. Something as
beautiful may be found in Cordelia, but not
the same beauty. Desdemona, confronted with
Lear's foolish but pathetic demand for a profession
of love, could have done, I think, what Cordelia
—
could not do could have refused to compete with
her sisters, and yet have made her father feel that
she loved him well. And I doubt if Cordelia, 'falselv
murdered/ would have been capable of those last
words of Desdemona her answer to Emilias — *
'
O, who hath done this deed ?
Nobody: I myself. Farewell.

Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!
Were we intended to remember, as we hear this

last *
falsehood,' that other falsehood, It is not *
lost,' and to feel that, alike in the momentary

child's fear and the deathless woman's love,
Desdemona is herself and herself alone ?
^
^ V^hen Desdemona spoke her last words, perhaps that line of the
ballad which she sang an hour before her death was still busy in her
brain,
^ Let nobody blame him : his scorn I approve.
Nature plays such strange tricks, and Shakespeare almost alone

among poets seems to create in somewhat the same manner as
Nature. In the same way, as Malone pointed out, Othello's exclama-
tion, Goats and monkeys
* (iv. i. 274) is an unconscious reminiscence
!
'
of lago's words at in. iii. 403.

;
LECTURE VI
OTHELLO
Evil has nowhere elsebeen portrayed with such

mastery as in the character of lago. Richard III.,
for example, beside being less subtly conceived,
is a far greater figure and a less repellent. His
physical deformity, separating him from other
men, seems to offer some excuse for his egoism.
In spite of his egoism, too, he appears to us more
than a mere individual he is the representative
:
of his family, the Fury of the House of York.

Nor is he so negative as lago he has strong
:
passions, he has admirations, and his conscience/

disturbs him. There is the glory of power about
him. Though an excellent actor, he prefers force
to fraud, and in his world there is no general
illusion as to his true nature. Again, to compare
lago with the Satan of Paradise Lost seems
almost absurd, so immensely does Shakespeare's
man exceed Milton's Fiend in evil. That mighty
Spirit, whose
form had yet not lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruined and the excess
Of glory obscured
2o8 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. vi.
who knew loyalty to comrades and pity for victims ;

'
who
felt how awful goodnessand saw
is,
Virtue in her shape how lovely; saw, and pined

^
His loss;
who —
could still weep how much further distant
is he than lago from spiritual death, even when,
in procuring the fall of Man, he completes his
own fall It is only in Goethe's Mephistopheles
!
that a fit companion for lago can be found.

Here there is something of the same deadly cold-
ness, the same gaiety in destruction. But then
Mephistopheles, like so many scores of literary
villains, has lago for his father. And Mephi-
stopheles, besides, is not, in the strict sense, a
character. He is half person, half symbol. A
metaphysical idea speaks through him. He is
earthy, but could never live upon the earth.
Of Shakespeare's characters Falstaff, Hamlet,
lago, and Cleopatra (I name them in the order
of their births) are probably the most wonderful.
Of these, again, Hamlet and lago, whose births
come nearest perhaps the most
together, are
subtle. And if lago had been a person as
attractive as Hamlet, as many thousands of pages
might have been written about him, containing
as much criticism good and bad. the As it is,
majority of interpretations of his character are

inadequate not only to Shakespeare's conception,
but, I believe, to the impressions of most readers
of taste who are unbewildered by analysis. These
false interpretations, if we set aside the usual
lunacies,^ fall into two groups. The first contains
views which reduce Shakespeare to common-place.
In different ways and degrees they convert his
^ It has been held, for example, that Othello treated lago abomin-
ably in preferring Cassio to him that he did seduce Emilia that he

; ;
and Desdemona were too familiar before marriage and that in any
;
case his fate was a moral judgment on his sins, and lago a righteous,
if sharp, instrument of Providence.
LECT. VI. OTHELLO 209
lago into an ordinary villain. Their lago is simply

a man who has been slighted and revenges him-
self; or a husband who believes he has been
wronged, and will make his enemy suffer a jealousy
worse than his own or an ambitious man
;
determined to ruin his successful rival one of —

these, or a combination of these, endowed with
unusual ability and cruelty. These are the more
popular views. The second group of false inter-
pretations is much smaller, but it contains much
weightier matter than the first. Here lag o, is_a
bem£_w ho hates g ood simply because it is. good,
and loves evil purely_ for itself }ih^ÂctiQn_ is
not ~pF6mpte3~ by any plain motive like revenge,
j ealousy or amBTtio'h.' IF sjirmgi Trom a motive- *
less man gnity/ o r a disin terested- delight in the

pam of others and t)thello, Cassio and Desde-
,•
mona are scarcely more than the material requisite

for the full Attainment of this delight. This second
lago, evidently, is no conventional villain, and he is
much nearer to Shakespeare's lago than the first.
Only he is, if not a psychological impossibility,
at any rate not a hwnan being. He might be
in place, therefore, in a symbolical poem like Faust,
but in a purely human drama like Othello he
would be a ruinous blunder. Moreover, he is
not in Othello he is a product of imperfect
:
observation and analysis.

W Coleridge, the author of that misleading phrase
*
motiveless malignity,' has some fine remarks on
lago and the essence of the character has been
;
described, first in some of the best lines Hazlitt

ever wrote, and then rather more fully by Mr.
—
Swinburne, so admirably described that I am
tempted merely to read and illustrate these two
criticisms. This plan, however, would make it
difficult to introduce all that I wish to say. I
propose, therefore, to approach the subject directly,

and, first, to consider how lago appeared to those
2IO SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. vi.
who knew him, and what inferences may be drawn

from their illusions ; and then to ask what, if we
judge from the play, his character really was.
And I will indicate the points where I am
directly indebted to the criticisms just mentioned.
But two warnings are first required. One of
these concerns lago's nationality. It has been
held that he is a study of that peculiarly Italian
form of villainy which is considered both too clever
and too diabolical for an Englishman. I doubt if
there is much more to be said for this idea than
for the notion that Othello is a study of Moorish
character. No doubt the belief in that Italian
villainy was prevalent in Shakespeare's time, and
it may perhaps have influenced him in some slight
degree both here and in drawing the character

of lachimo in Cymbeline. But even this slight
influence seems to me doubtful. If Don John
in Much Ado had been an Englishman, critics
would have admired Shakespeare's discernment in
making his English villain sulky and stupid. If
Edmund's father had been Duke of Ferrara instead
of Earl of Gloster, they would have said that
Edmund could have been nothing but an Italian.
Change the name and country of Richard III.,
and he would be called a typical despot of the
Italian Renaissance. Change those of Juliet, and
we should find her wholesome English nature
contrasted with the southern dreaminess of Romeo.
But this way of interpreting Shakespeare is not
Shakespearean. With him the differences of period,
race, nationality and locality have little bearing on
the inward character, though they sometimes have
a good deal on the total imaginative effect, of his
figures. When he does lay stress on such
differences his intention is at once obvious, as in
characters like Fluellen or Sir Hugh Evans, or
in the talk of the French princes before the battle
of Agincourt. I may add that I ago certainly
i
'
cannot be taken to exemplify the popular Eliza-

bethan idea of a disciple of Macchiavelli. There
is no sign that he is in theory an atheist or even
an unbeliever in the received religion. On the

contrary, he uses its language, and says nothing
resembling the words of the prologue to the Jew
of Malta :
I count religion but a childish toy,

And hold there is no sin but ignorance.
Aaron Tihts Andronicus might have said this

in
(and is not more likely to be Shakespeare's creation
on that account), but not I ago.
I come to a second warning. One must con-
staintly remember not to believe a syllable that
lago utters on any subject, including himself, until
one has telted his statement by comparing it with
known facts and with other statements of his own
or of other people, and by considering whether
he had in the particular circumstances any reason
for telling a lie or for telling the truth. The im-
plicit confidence which his acquaintances placed in
his integrity has descended to most of his critics ;
and this, reinforcing the comical habit of quoting

as Shakespeare's own statement everything said by
his characters, has been a fruitful source of mis-
interpretation. I will take as an instance the very
first assertions made by lago. In the opening scene

he tells his dupe Roderigo that three great men
of Venice went to Othello and begged him to
make lago his lieutenant that Othello, out of
;
pride and obstinacy, refused that in refusing he

;
talked a deal of military rigmarole, and ended

by declaring (falsely, we are to understand) that he
had already filled up the vacancy ; that Cassio,
whom he chose, had absolutely no practical know-
ledge of war, nothing but bookish theoric, mere
prattle, arithmetic, whereas lago himself had often
fought by Othello's side, and by old gradation '
212 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. VI.
too ought to have been preferred. Most or all

of this is repeated by some critics as though it
were information given by Shakespeare, and the
conclusion is quite naturally drawn that I ago had
some reason to feel aggrieved. But if we ask
ourselves how much of all this is true we shall
answer, I believe, as follows. It is absolutely
certain that Othello appointed Cassio his lieutenant,
and nothing else is absolutely certain. But there
is no reason to doubt the statement that I ago had
seen service with him, nor is there anything

inherently improbable in the statement that he was
solicited by three great personages on lago's
behalf. On the other hand, the suggestions that
/he refused out of pride and obstinacy, and that
he lied in saying he had already chosen his officer,
\have no verisimilitude and if there is any fact
;
at all (as there probably is) behind lago's account

of the conversation, it doubtless is the fact that
lago himself was ignorant of military science, while
Cassio was an expert, and that Othello explained
this to the great personages* That Cassio, again,
was an interloper and a mere closet-student without
experience of war is incredible, considering first
that Othello chose him for lieutenant, and secondly
that the senate appointed him to succeed Othello
in command at Cyprus ; and we have direct
evidence that part of lago's statement a lie, for is
Desdemona happens to mention that Cassio was

a man who all his time had founded his good
' '
fortunes on Othello's love and had 'shared dangers'

'
with him (iii. iv. 93). There remains only the

implied assertion that, if promotion had gone by
old gradation, lago, as the senior, would have
been preferred. It may be true Othello was not
:
the man to hesitate to promote a junior for good

reasons. But it is just as likely to be a pure
/invention and, though Cassio was young, there
;
•js nothing to show that he was younger, in years

Cor than lago.

in service, lago, for instance, never
calls him young,' as he does Roderigo
*
and a ;
mere youth would not have been made Governor

of Cyprus. What is certain, finally, in the whole
business is that Othello's mind was perfectly at
ease about the appointment, and that he never
dreamed of lagos being discontented at it, not
even when the intrigue was disclosed and he asked
himself how he had offended lago.
necessary to examine in this manner every

It IS
statement made by lago. But it is not necessary to
do so in ppblic, and I proceed to the question what
impressiorr he made on his friends and acquaint-
ances. In the main there is here no room for
doubt. Nothing could be less like lago than the
melodramatic villain so often substituted for him
on the stage, a person whom everyone in the
theatre knows for a scoundrel at the first glance,
lago, we gather, was a Venetian ^ soldier, eight-
and- twenty years of age, who had seen a good
deal of service and had a high reputation for
courage. Of his origin we are ignorant, but, unless
I am mistaken, he was not of gentle birth or
breeding.^ He does not strike one as a degraded
^ See
III. iii. 201, V. i. 89 f. The statements are his own, but he has
no particular reason for lying. One reason of his disgust at Cassio's
appointment was that Cassio was a Florentine (l. i. 20). When
Cassio says (ill. i. 42) I never knew a Florentine more kind and
'
honest,' of course he means, not that lago is a Florentine, but that he

could not be kinder and honester if he were one.
2 I am here merely recording a general impression. There is no
specific evidence, unless we take Cassio's language in his drink (11. ii.
105 f.) to imply that lago was not a 'man of quality' like himself. I do
not know if it has been observed that lago uses more nautical phrases
and metaphors than is at all usual with Shakespeare's characters.
This might naturally be explained by his roving military life, but it is
curious that almost the examples occur in the earlier scenes (see
all
e.g. I. i. 17, 50
30, 153, 157 ; i. iii. 343
I. ii. 11. iii. 65), so that the use
; ;
of these phrases and metaphors may not be characteristic of lago but

symptomatic of a particular state of Shakespeare's mind.
214 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. vl
man of culture for all his great powers, he is

:
vulgar, and his probable want of military science

may well be significant. He was married to a
wife who evidently lacked refinement, and who
appears in the drama almost in the relation of a
servant to Desdemona. His manner was that of
a blunt, bluff soldier, who spoke his mind freely
and plainly. He
was often hearty, and could be
thoroughly jovial but he was not seldom rather
;
rough and caustic of speech, and he was given

to making remarks somewhat disparaging to human
nature. He was aware of this trait in himself,
and frankly admitted that he was nothing if not
critical, and that it was his nature to spy into
abuses. admissions he characteristically
In these
exaggerated his fault, as plain-dealers are apt to
do and he was liked none the less for it, seeing
;
that his satire was humorous, that on serious

matters he did not speak lightly (iii. iii. 119), and
that the one thing perfectly obvious about him
was his honesty. Honest is the word that springs
'
'
to the lips of everyone who speaks of him. It

is applied to him some fifteen times in the play,
not to mention some half-dozen where he employs

it, in derision, of himself. In fact he was one of
those sterling men who, in disgust at gush, say
cynical things which they do not believe, and
then, the moment you are in trouble, put in practice
the very sentiment they had laughed at. On such
occasions he showed the kindliest sympathy and
the most eager desire to help. When Cassio
misbehaved so dreadfully and was found fighting
with Montano, did not Othello see that 'honest
I ago looked dead with grieving ? With what '
difficulty was he induced, nay, compelled, to speak

the truth against the lieutenant Another man !
mieht have felt a touch of satisfaction at the

thought that the post he had coveted was now
vacant but I ago not only comforted Cassio, talking
;
to him cynically about reputation, just to help

him over his shame, but he set his wits to work
and at once perceived that the right plan for
Cassio to get his post again was to ask Desdemona
to intercede. So troubled was he at his friend s
disgrace that his own wife was sure it grieved *
her husband as if the case was his.' What wonder

that anyone in sore trouble, like Desdemona, should
send at once for lago (iv. ii. 106) ? If this rough
diamond had any flaw, it was that lago's warm loyal
heart incited him to too impulsive action. If he
merely heard a friend like Othello calumniated,
his hand flew to his sword ; and though he re-
strained timself he almost regretted his own virtue
(l ii. I- 10).
Such seemed lago to the people about him,
even to those who, like Othello, had known him
for some time. And it is a fact too little noticed
but most remarkable, that he presented an appear-
ance not very different to his wife. There is no
sign either that Emilia's marriage was downright
unhappy, or that she suspected the true nature of
her husband.^ No doubt she knew rather more of
him than others. Thus we gather that he was
given to chiding and sometimes spoke shortly and
sharply to her (iii. iii. 300 f ) and it is quite ;
likely that she gave him a good deal of her tongue

in exchange (n. i. loi f.). He was also unreason-
ably jealous for his own statement that he was
;
jealous of Othello is confirmed by Emilia herself,

and must therefore be believed (iv. ii. 145).^
But it seems of his had
clear that these defects
not seriously impaired Emilia's confidence in her
husband or her affection for him. She knew in
^ See further Note P.
2 But by no means follows that we are to believe his statement
it
that there was a report abroad about an intrigue between his wife and
Othello (l. iii. 393), or his statement (which may be divined from
IV. ii. 145) that someone had spoken to him on the subject.
: : :
2l6 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. VI.
addition he was not quite so honest as he

that
seemed, for he had often begged her to steal
Desdemona's handkerchief. But Emilias nature
was not very delicate or scrupulous about trifles.
She thought her husband odd and wayward,* *
and looked on his fancy for the handkerchief as

an instance of this (iii. iii. 292) but she never ;
dreamed he was a villain, and there is no reason

to doubt the sincerity of her belief that he was
heartily sorry for Cassio's disgrace. Her failure,
on seeing Othello's agitation about the handkerchief,
to form any suspicion of an intrigue, shows how
littleshe doubted her husband. Even when, later,
the idea strikes her that some scoundrel has
poisoned Othello's mind, the tone of all her
speeches, and her mention of the rogue who (she
believes) had stirred up lago's jealousy of her,
prove beyond doubt that the thought of lago's
being the scoundrel has not crossed her mind
(iv. ii. 1 And
any hesitation on the subject
15-147). if
could remain, surely it must be dispelled by the

thrice-repeated cry of astonishment and horror,
*
My husband which follows Othello's words, Thy
!
',
*
husband knew it all and by the choking indigna-

'
;
tion and desperate hope which we hear in her

appeal when I ago comes in :
Disprove this villain if thou be'st a man

He says thou told'st him that his wife was false
I know thou did'st not, thou'rt not such a villain
Speak, for my heart is full.
Even if I ago had betrayed much more of his

true self wife than to others, it would
to his
make no difference to the contrast between his
true self and the self he presented to the world
in general. But he never did so. Only the feeble
eyes of the poor gull Roderigo were allowed a
glimpse into that pit.
The bearing of this contrast upon the apparently
excessive credulity of Othello has been already
pointed out. What further conclusions can be drawn

from it? Obviously, to begin with, the inference,
which IS accompanied by a thrill of admiration,
that lago's powers of dissimulation and of self-
control must have been prodigious for he was not
:
a youth, like Edmund, but had worn this mask

for years, and he had apparently never enjoyed,
like Richard, occasional explosions of the reality
within him. In fact so prodigious does his self-
control appear that a reader might be excused for
feeling* a doubt of its possibility. But there are
certain observations and further inferences which,
apart from confidence in Shakespeare, would remove
this doubt. It is to be observed, first, that lago
was able to find a certain relief from the discomfort^
of hypocrisy in those caustic or cynical speeches'
which, being misinterpreted, only heightened con-1
fidence in his honesty. They acted as a safety-]
valve, very much as Hamlets pretended insanity/
did. Next, I would infer from the entire success of
his hypocrisy — what may also be inferred on other
—
grounds, and is of great importance that he was
by no means a man of strong feelings and passions,
like Richard, but decidedly cold by temperament.
Even so, his self-control was wonderful, but there
never was in him any violent storm to be con-
trolled. Thirdly^ would suggest that lago, though
thoroughly selfish and unfeeling, was not by nature
malignant, nor even morose, but that, on the
contrary, he had a superficial good-nature, the kina\
of good-nature that wins popularity and is often'
taken as the sign, not of a good digestion, but;
of a good heart. And lastly, it may be inferred
that, before the giant crime which we witness,
lago had never been detected in any serious
offence and may even never have been guilty of one,
but had pursued a selfish but outwardly decent
life, enjoying the excitement of war and of casual
pleasures, but never yet meeting with any sufficient

; '
2i8 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. vi.
temptation to risk his position and advancement

by a dangerous crime. So that, in fact, the tragedy
of Othello is in a sense his tragedy too. It shows
us not a violent man, Hke Richard, who spends his
life in murder, but a thoroughly bad, cold man, who
is at last tempted to let loose the forces within him,
and is at once destroyed.
In order to see how this tragedy arises let us now

look more closely into lago's inner man. We
find
here, in the first place, as has been implied in
part, very remarkable powers both of intellect
and of will. lago's insight, within certain limits,
into human nature his ingenuity and address in
;
working upon it his quickness and versatility

;
in dealing with sudden difficulties and unforeseen

opportunities, have probably no parallel among
dramatic characters. Equally remarkable is his
strength of will. Not Socrates himself, not the
ideal sage of the Stoics, was more lord of himself
than I ago appears to be. It is not merely that|
he never betrays his true nature he seems to be
;
master of all the motions that might affect his will.

In the most dangerous moments of his plot, when
the least slip or accident would be fatal, he never
shows a trace of nervousness. When Othello
takes him by the throat he merely shifts his part
with his usual instantaneous adroitness. When
he is attacked and wounded at the end he is
perfectly unmoved. As 'Mr. Swinburne says, you
cannot believe for a moment that the pain of
torture will ever open lago's lips. He is equally
unassailable by the temptations of indolence or of
sensuality. It is difficult to imagine him inactive
and though he has an obscene mind, and doubtless
took his pleasures when and how he chose, he
certainly took them by choice and not from weak-
;
ness, and pleasure interfered with his purposes

if
/the holiest of ascetics would* not put it more

\resolutely by. What should I do ? Roderigo
*
'
whimpers to him I confess it is my shame to

;
*
be so fond but it is not in my virtue to amend

;
it/ He answers Virtue a fig 'tis in ourselves

:
*
! !
that we are thus and thus/ It all depends on our

will. Love is merely a lust of the blood and a
*
permisôn of the will. Come, be a man. ... Ere

I would say I would drown myself for the love
of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity
with a baboon.' Forget for a moment that love
is for I ago the appetite of a baboon forget that he ;
is as little assailable by pity as by fear or pleasure
and you will acknowledge that this lordship of the

will, which is his practice as well as his doctrine,
is great, almost sublime. Indeed, in intellect (always
within certain limits) and in will (considered as a
mere power, and without regard to its objects)
I ago is great.
To what end does he use these great powers ?
—
His creed for he is no sceptic, he has a definite
—
creed is that absolute egoism is the only rational
and proper attitude, and that conscience or honour
or any kind of regard for others is an absurdity.
He does not deny that this absurdity exists.
He does not suppose that most people secretly
share his creed, while pretending to hold and
practise another. On the contrary, he regards most
people as honest fools. He declares that he has
never yet met a man who knew how to love
himself; and his one expression of admiration in
the play is for servants
Who, trimmed in forms and visages of duty,

Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves.
'These he says, *have some soul.' He

fellows,'
professes to stand, and he attempts to stand, wholly
outside the world of morality.
;
220 SHAKESPEAREAlS TRAGEDY lect. VI.
The existence of lago's creed and of his corre-

sponding practice is evidently connected with a
characteristic in which he surpasses nearly all the
other inhabitants of Shakespeare's world. What-
ever he may once have been, he appears, when we
meet him, to be almost destitute of humanity, of
sympathetic or social feeling. He shows no trace
of affection, and in presence of the most terrible
suffering he shows either pleasure or an indifference
which, if not complete, is nearly so. Here, how-
ever, we must be careful. It is important to realise,
and few readers are in danger of ignoring, this
extraordinary deadness of feeling, but it is also
important not to confuse it with a general positive
ill-will. When lago has no dislike or hostility to
a person he does not show pleasure in the suffer-
ing of that person he shows at most the absence
:
of pain. There is, for instance, not the least sign

of his enjoying the distress of Desdemona. But
his sympathetic feelings are so abnormally feeble
and cold that, when his dislike is roused, or when
an indifferent person comes in the way of his pur-
pose, there is scarcely anything within him to
prevent his applying the torture.
What is it that provokes his dislike or hostility?
Here again we must look closely. lago has been
represented as an incarnation of envy, as a man
who, being determined to get on in the world,
regards everyone else with enmity as his rival.
But this idea, though containing truth, seems much
exaggerated. Certainly he is devoted to himself;
but if he were an eagerly ambitious man, surely
we should see much more positive signs of this
ambition ;and surely too, with his great powers,
he would already have risen high, instead of being
a mere ensign, short of money, and playing Captain
Rook to Roderigo's Mr. Pigeon. Taking all the
facts, one must conclude that his desires were
comparatively moderate and his ambition weak
thathe probably enjoyed war keenly, but, if he

had money enough, did not exert himself greatly
to acquire reputation or position ; and, therefore,
that he was not habitually burning with envy and
actively hostile to other men as possible competitors.
But what is clear is that lago is keenly sensi-,
tive to\ anything that touches his pride or self-
esteem. It would be most unjust to call him vain,
but he has a high opinion of himself and a great
contempt for others. He is quite aware of his
superiority to them in certain respects and he
;
either disbelieves in or despises the qualities in

which they are superior to him. Whatever disturbs
or wounds his sense of superiority irritates him at
once and in that sense he is highly competitive.
;
This is why the appointment of Cassio provokes

him. This is why Cassio's scientific attainments
provoke him. This is the reason of his jealousy
of Emilia. He does not care for his wife but ;
the fear of another man's getting the better of

him, and exposing him to pity or derision as an
unfortunate husband, is wormwood to him and as ;
he is sure that no woman is virtuous at heart,

this fear is ever with him. For much the same
reason he has a spite against goodness in men
(for it is characteristic that he is less blind to its
existence in men, the stronger, than in women,
the weaker). He has a spite against it, not from
any love of evil for evil's sake, but partly because
it annoys his intellect as a stupidity partly (though
;
he hardly knows this) because it weakens his satis^

faction with himself, and disturbs his faith that
egoism is the right and proper thing partly be-
;
cause, the world being such a fool, goodness is

popular and prospers. But he, a man ten times
as able as Cassio or even Othello, does not greatly
prosper. Somehow, for all the stupidity of these
open and generous people, they get on better than
the 'fellow of some soul.' And this, though he
: —
222 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. vi.
is not particularly eager to get on, wounds his

pride. Goodness therefore annoys him. He is
always ready to scoff at it, and would like to strike

at In ordinary circumstances these feelings of
it.
irritation are not vivid in I ago no feeling is so

— but they are constantly present
4
Our task of analysis is not finished but we are ;
now in a position to consider the rise of lago's

tragedy. Why did he act as we see him acting
in the play ? What is the answer to that appeal
of Othello's
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil

Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?
This question Why?question about I ago,

is the
just as the question Why
did Hamlet delay ? is
the question about Hamlet. lago refused to answer
it but I will venture to say that h^cotild not have
;
answered it, any more than Hamlet could tell why

he delayed. But Shakespeare knew the answer,
and if these characters are great creations and not
blunders we ought to be able to find it too.
Is it possible to elicit it from lago himself against
his will ? He makes various statements to Roderigo,
and he has several soliloquies. From these sources,
and especially from the latter, we should learn
something. For with Shakespeare soliloquy gene-
rally gives information regarding the secret springs
as well as the outward course of the plot and, ;
moreover, it is a curious point of technique with him

that the soliloquies of his villains sometimes read
almost like explanations offered to the audience.^
Now, lago repeatedly offers explanations either to
* See, for instance, Aaron in Titus A7idronicus^ II. iii. ; Richard
in 3 Hcjiry F/., III. ii.and v. vi., and in Richard III.^ I. i. (twice),
I. ii. ; Ednxund in King Lear^ I. ii. (twice), iii. iii. and v., v, i.
LECT. VI.
'
OTHELLO 223
Roderigo or to himself. In the first place, he says

more than once that he hates' Othello. He gives
*
two reasons for his hatred. Othello has made

Cassio lieutenant and he^ suspects, and has heard
;
it reported, that Othello has an intrigue with

Emilia. Next there is Cassio. He never says he
»
hates Cassio, but he finds in him three causes of

offence Cassio has been preferred to him
: he ;
suspects him too of an intrigue with Emilia and, ;
lastly, Cassio has a daily beauty in his life which

makes I ago ugly. In addition to these annoyances
he wants Cassio's place. As for Roderigo, he calls
him a snipe, and who can hate a snipe ? But
Roderigo knows too much and he is becoming a
;
nuisance, getting angry, and asking for the gold

and jewels he handed to lago to give to Desde-
mona. So lago kills Roderigo. Then for Desde-
mona a fig s-end for her virtue but he has no
: !
ill-will to her. In fact he Moves' her, though he

is good enough to explain, varying the word, that
hisrMust' is mixed with a desire to pay Othello in
his own coin. To be sure she must die, and so
must Emilia, and so would Bianca if only the
authorities saw things in their true light but he ;
did not set out with any hostile design against

these persons.
Is the account which lago gives of the causes
of his action the true account ? The answer of
the most popular view will be, Yes. lago was, as
*
he says, chiefly incited by two things, the desire

of advancement, and a hatred of Othello due
principally to the affair of the lieutenancy. These
are perfectly intelligible causes we have only to ;
add to them unusual ability and cruelty, and all

is explained. Why should Coleridge and Hazlitt
and Swinburne go further afield ? which last ' To
question I will at once oppose these If your view :
is correct, why should lago be considered an extra-

ordinary creation and is it not odd that the people
;
who reject it are the people who elsewhere show

an exceptional understanding of Shakespeare?
The difficulty about this popular view is, in the
first place, that it attributes to I ago what cannot
be found in the I ago of the play. Its I ago is
impelled by passions, a passion of ambition and a
passion of hatred for no ambition or hatred short
;
of passion could drive a man who

evidently so
is
clear-sighted, and who must hitherto have been so
prudent, into a plot so extremely hazardous. Why,
then, in the I ago of the play do we find no sign
of these passions or of anything approaching to
them ? Why, if Shakespeare meant that lago
was impelled by them, does he suppress the signs
of them ? Surely not from want of ability to dis-
play them. The poet who painted Macbeth and
Shylock understood Who ever doubted
his business.
Macbeth ambition or Shylock's hate } And what
s
resemblance is there between these passions and
any feeling that we can trace in lago ? The re-
semblance between a volcano in eruption and a
flameless fire of coke the resemblance between a
;
consuming desire to hack and hew your enemy's

flesh, and the resentful wish, only too familiar in
common life, to inflict pain in return for a slight.
Passion, in Shakespeare's plays, is perfectly easy
to recognise. What
vestige of it, of passion un-
satisfied or of passion gratified, is visible in lago?
None that is the very horror of him.
: He has
less passion than an ordinary man, and yet he
does these frightful things. The only ground for
attributing to him, I do not say a passionate hatred,
but anything deserving the name of hatred at all,
is his own statement, I hate Othello'; and we know
*
what his statements are worth.

But the popular view, beside attributing to lago
what he does not show, ignores what he does
show. It selects from his own account of his
motives one or two, and drops the rest and so it ;
makes everything But it fails to perceive

natural.
how unnatural, how strange and suspicious, his
own account is. Certainly he assigns motives
enough the difficulty is that he assigns
;
so
many. A man moved by simple passions due to
simple causes does not stand fingering his feel-
ings, industriously enumerating their sources, and
groping about for new ones. But this is what
laofo does. And this is not all. These motives
appear and disappear in the most extraordinary
manner. Resentment at Cassio's appointment is
expressed in the first conversation with Roderigo,
and from that moment is never once nientioned
again in the whole play. Hatred of Othello is
expressed in the First Act alone. Desire to get
Cassio's place scarcely appears after the first
soliloquy, and when it is gratified I ago does not
refer to it by a single word. The suspicion
of Cassio's intrigue with Emilia emerges suddenly,
as an after-thought, not in the first soliloquy but
the second, and then disappears for ever.^ lago's
'
love of Desdemona is alluded to in the second
'
soliloquy there is not the faintest trace of it

;
in word or deed either before or after. The

me ntion of jealously. _oi_.Qthello_ is followed by
HecTarations tha,L,Qthello is infatuated about Desde-
mona and is of a Constant nature," andT" during;
Othello's sufferings lago never shows a sign
of the idea that he is now paying his rival in his
own coin. In the second soliloquy he declares
that he quite believes Cassio to be in love with
Desdemona it is obvious that he believes no
.
such thing, for he never alludes to the idea again,

and within a few hours describes Cassio in solilo-
quy as an honest fool. His final reason for ill-will
to Cassio never appears till the Fifth Act.
What is the meaning of all this ? Unless
Shakespeare was out of his mind, it must have a
^ See, further, Note Q.
P
meaning. And certainly this meaning is not con-

tained in any of the popular accounts of lago.
Is it contained then in Coleridge's word motive- '
hunting ? Yes, motive-hunting exactly answers

' '
'
to the impression that lago's soliloquies produce.

He is pondering his design, and unconsciously
trying to justify it to himself. He speaks of one
or two real feelings, such as resentment against
Othello, and he mentions one or two real causes
of these feelings. But these are not enough for
him. Along with them, or alone, there come into
his head, only to leave it again, ideas and sus-
picions, the creations of his own baseness or un-
easiness, some old, some new, caressed for a
moment to feed his purpose and give it a reason-
able look, but never really believed in, and never
the main forces which are determining his action.
In fact, I would venture to describe lago in these
soliloquies as a man setting out on a project
which strongly attracts his desire, but at the same
time conscious of a resistance to the desire, and
unconsciously trying to argue the resistance away
by assigning reasons for the project. He is the
counterpart of Hamlet, who tries to find reasons
for his delay in pursuing a design which excites
his aversion. And most of lago's reasons for
action are no more the real ones than Hamlet's
reasons for delay were the real ones. Each
is moved by forces which he does not understand ;
and it is probably no accident that these two

studies of states psychologically so similar were
produced at about the same period.
What then were the real moving forces of
lago's action ? Are we to fall back on the idea of
;
a motiveless malignity
* ^
that is to say, a dis-
'
interested love of evil, or a delight in the pain of

others as simple and direct as the delight in one's
* On the meaning which this phrase had for its author, Coleridge, see
note on p. 228.
/
;;
own pleasure ? Surely not. I will not insist that
this thing or these things are inconceivable, mere

phrases, not ideas ; for, even so, it would remain
possible that Shakespeare had tried to represent
an inconceivability. But there is not the slightest
reason to suppose that he did so. lago's action
is intelligible
; and indeed the popular view con-
tains enough truth to refute this desperate theory.
It greatly exaggerates his desire for advancement,
and the ill-will caused by his disappointment, and
it ignores other forces more important than these
but it is right in insisting on the presence of this

desire and this ill-will, and their presence is enough
to destroy lago's claims to be more than a demi-
devil. For love of the evil that advances my
interest and hurts a person I dislike, is a very
different thing from love of evil simply as evil
and pleasure in the pain of a person disliked
or regarded as a competitor is quite distinct from
pleasure in the pain of others simply as others.
The first is intelligible, and we find it in I ago.
The, second, even if it were intelligible, we do not
find in I ago.
Still, desire of advancement and resentment
about the lieutenancy, though factors and indis-
pensable factors in the cause of lago's action, are
neither the principal nor the most characteristic
factors. To find these, let us return to our half-
completed analysis of the character. Let us
remember especially the keen sense of superiority,
the contempt of others, the sensitiveness to every-
thing which wounds these feelings, the spite
against goodness in men as a thing not only
stupid but, both in its nature and by its success,
contrary to lago's nature and irritating to his
pride. Let us remember in addition the annoy-
ance of having always to play a part, the con-
sciousness of exceptional but unused ingenuity and
address, the enjoyment of action, and the absence of
'
228 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. VI.
fear. Andus ask what would be the greatest

let
pleasure of such a man, and what the situation
which might tempt him to abandon his habitual
prudence and pursue this pleasure. Hazlitt and
Mr. Swinburne do not put this question, but the
answer I proceed to give to it is in principle
theirs.^
The most delightful thing to such a man would
be something that gave an extreme satisfaction to
his sense of power and superiority and if it in-
;
volved, secondly, the triumphant exertion of his

abilities, and, thirdly, the excitement of danger, his
delight would be consummated. And the moment
most dangerous to such a man would be one
when his sense of superiority had met with an
affront, so that its habitual craving was reinforced
by resentment, while at the same time h^ saw an
opportunity of satisfying it by subjecting to his will
the very persons who had affronted it. Now, this
is the temptation that comes to lago. Othello's
eminence, Othello's goodness, and his own depend-
ence on Othello, must have been a perpetual
annoyance to him. At any time he would have
enjoyed befooling and tormenting Othello. Under
ordinary circumstances he was restrained, chiefly
by self-interest, in some slight degree perhaps by
the faint pulsations of conscience or humanity. But
disappointment at the loss of the lieutenancy supplied
the touch of lively resentment that was required
to overcome these obstacles and the prospect of
;
satisfying the sense of power by masterinor Othello

^ Coleridge's view is not materially different, though less complete.
When he speaks of * the motive-hunting of a motiveless malignity,' he
does not mean by the last two words that ' disinterested love of evil
or 'love of evil for evil's sake' of which I spoke just now, and which
other critics attribute to lago. He means really that lago's malignity
does not spring from the causes to which lago himself refers it, nor from
any motive in the sense of an idea present to consciousness. But
'
'
unfortunately his phrase suggests the theory which has been criticised
above. On the question whether there is such a thing as this sup-
posed pure malignity, the reader may refer to a discussion between
Professor Bain and F. H. Bradley in Mindy vol. viii.
;
through an and hazardous intrigue now

intricate
became irresistible. I ago did not clearly under-
stand what was moving his desire though he tried ;
to give himself reasons for his action, even those

that had some reality made but a small part of
the motive force one may almost say they were no
;
more than the turning of the handle which admits

the driving power into the machine.
'
Only once
does he appear to see something of the truth.
1 1 is when he uses the phrase to plu7ne up my *
will in double knavery.'

To plume up the will,' to heighten the sense
*
of power or superiority —
this seems to be the un-
conscious motive of many acts of cruelty which
evidently do not spring chiefly from ill-will, and
which therefore puzzle and sometimes horrify us
most. It is often this that makes a man bully
the wife or children of whom he is fond.
The boy who torments another boy, as we say,
'for no reason,' or who without any hatred for
frogs tortures a frog, is pleased with his vic-
tim's pain, not from any disinterested love of evil
or pleasure in pain, but mainly because this pain
is the unmistakable proof of his own power over
his victim. So it is with lago. His thwarted

sense of superiority wants satisfaction. What
fuller satisfaction could it find than the conscious-
ness that he is the master of the General who has
undervalued him and of the rival who has been pre-
ferred to him that these worthy people, who are
;
so successful and popular and stupid, are mere

puppets in his hands, but living puppets, who at
the motion of his finger rnust contort themselves
in agony, while all the time they believe that he
is their one true friend and comforter ? It must
have been an ecstasy of bliss to him. And this,
granted a most abnormal deadness of human
feeling, is, however horrible, perfectly intelligible.
There is no mystery in the psychology of lago
b
:
230 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. vi.
the mystery lies in a further question, which the

drama has not to answer, the question why such
a being should exist.
lago's longing to satisfy the sense of power is,
I think, the strongest of the forces that drive him

on. But there are two others to be noticed. One
is the pleasure in an action very difficult and perilous
and, therefore, intensely exciting. This action sets
all his powers on the strain. He feels the delight
of one who executes successfully a feat thoroughly
congenial to his special aptitude, and only just
within his compass and, as he is fearless by nature,
;
the fact that a single slip will cost him his life only
increases his pleasure. His exhilaration breaks out
in the ghastly words with which he greets the sun-
rise after the night of the drunken tumult which
has led to Cassio's disgrace By the mass, 'tis :
*
morning. Pleasure and action make the hours seem

short.' Here, however, the joy in exciting action
is quickened by other feelings. It appears more
simply elsewhere in such a way as to suggest that
nothing but such actions gave him happiness, and
that his happiness was greater if the action was
destructive as
well as exciting. find it, for We
instance, in his gleeful cry to Roderigo, who pro-
poses to shout to Brabantio in order to wake him
and tell him of his daughter's flight
Do, with like timorous^ accent and dire yell
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.
All through that scene again, in the scene where

;
Cassio is attacked and Roderigo murdered ever^.. ;
where where lago is in physical action, we catch

this sound of almost feverish enjoyment. His blood,
usually so cold and slow, is racing through his veins.
But lago, finally, is not simply a man of action;
he is an artist. His action is a plot, the intricate
plot of a drama, and in the conception and exe-
'^
I.e. terrifying.
cution of it he experiences the tension and the joy

of artistic creation. 'He is,' says Hazlitt, 'an
amateur of tragedy in real life and, instead of
;
eijiploying his invention on imaginary characters

or. long- forgotten incidents, he takes the bolder and
more dangerous course of getting up his plot at
home, casts the principal parts among his nerirest
friends and connections, and rehearses it in down-
right earnest, with steady nerves and unabated ""^
resolution.' Mr. Swinburne lays even greater stress
on this aspect of"Tag?s character, and even declares
that the very subtlest and strongest component of
'
his complex nature 'is the instinct of what Mr.

'
Carlyle would call an inarticulate poet.' And those

to whom this idea is unfamiliar, and who may
suspect it at first sight of being fanciful, will find,
if they examine the play in the light of Mr. Swin-
burne's exposition, that it rests on a true and deep

perception, will stand scrutiny, and might easily
be illustrated. They may observe, to take only
one point, the curious analogy between the early
stages of dramatic composition and those soliloquies
in which I ago broods over his plot, drawing at
first only an outline, puzzled how to fix more than
the main idea, and gradually seeing it develop
and clarify as he works upon it or lets it work.
Here at any rate Shakespeare put a good deal
of himself into I ago. But the tragedian in real
life was not the equal of the tragic poet. Tiis
psychology, as we shall see, was at fault at a
critical point, as Shakespeare's never was. And
so his catastrophe came out wrong, and his piece
was ruined.
Such, then, seem to be the chief ingredients of
the force which, liberated by his resentment at
Cassio's promotion, drives I ago from inactivity into
action, and sustains him through it. And, to pass
to a new point, this force completely possesses him;
it is his fate. It is like the passion with which
a tragic hero wholly identifies himself, and which

bears him on to his doom. It is true that, once em-
barked on his course, I ago could not turn back,
even if this passion did abate and it is also true
;
that he is compelled, by his success in convincing

Othello, to advance to conclusions of which at the
outset he did not dream. He is thus caught in
his own web, and could not liberate himself if he
would. But, in fact, he never shows a trace of
wishing to do so, not a trace of hesitation, of look-
ing back, or of fear, any more than of remorse ;
there is no ebb in the tide. As the crisis ap-

proaches there passes through his mind a fleeting
doubt whether the deaths of Cassio and Roderigo
are indispensable but that uncertainty, which does
;
not concern the main issue, is dismissed, and he

goes forward with undiminished zest. Not even
in his sleep —as Richard's before his final battle
in
— does any rebellion of outraged conscience or pity,
or any foreboding of despair, force itself into clear
consciousness. —
His fate which is himself has —
completely mastered him so that, in the later
:
scenes, where the improbability of the entire success

of a design built on so many different falsehoods
forces itself on the reader, I ago appears for
moments not as a consummate schemer, but as a
man absolutely infatuated and delivered over to
certain destruction.
5
ago stands supreme among Shakespeare's evil
I
characters because the greatest intensity and subtlety

of imagination have gone to his making, and because
he illustrates in the most perfect combination the
two facts concerning evil which seem to have im-
pressed Shakespeare most. The first of these is
the fact that perfectly sane people exist in whom
fellow-feeling of any kind is so weak that an almost
absolute egoism becomes possible to them, and with
— :
it those hard vices —such as ingratitude and cruehy

— which to Shakespeare were far the worst. The
second is that such evil is compatible, and even
appears to ally itself easily, with exceptional powers
of will and intellect. In the latter respect I ago
is nearly or quite the equal of Richard, in egoism
he is the superior, and his inferiority in passion
and massive force only makes him more repulsive.
How is it then that we can bear to contemplate
him nay, that, if we really imagine him, we feel
;
admiration and some kind of sympathy? Henry

the Fifth tells us :
^
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,

Would men observingly distil it out;
but here, it may be said, we are shown a thing

absolutely evil, and —
what is more dreadful still
this absolute evil is united with supreme intellectual
power. Why
is the representation tolerable, and
why do we not accuse its author either of untruth
or of a desperate pessimism ?
To these questions it might at once be replied
I ago does not stand alone he is a factor in a ;
whole and we perceive him there and not

; m
isolation, acted upon as well as acting, destroyed
as well as destroying.^ But, although this is true
and important, I pass it by and, continuing to
regard him by himself, I would make three remarks
in answer to the questions.
In the first place, I ago is not merely negative
or evil —
far from it. Those very forces that moved
him and made his fate sense of power, delight in —
performing a difficult and dangerous action, delight
in the exercise of artistic skill are not at all evil —
things. We
sympathise with one or other of them
almost every day of our lives. And, accordingly,
though in I ago they are combined with something
detestable and so contribute to evil, our perception
^ Cf. note at end of lecture.
of them IS accompanied with sympathy. In the

same way, lagos insight, dexterity, quickness,
address, and the like, are in themselves admirable
things the perfect man would possess them.
; And
certainly he would possess also lago's courage and
self-control, and, like I ago, would stand above the
impulses of mere feeling, lord of his inner world.
All this goes to evil ends in lago, but in itself it
has a great worth and, although in reading, of
;
course, we do not sift it out and regard it sepa-

rately, it inevitably affects us and mingles admira-
tion with our hatred or horror.
All this, however, might apparently co-exist with
absolute egoism and total want of humanity. But,
in the second place, it is not true that in lago
this egoism and this want are absolute, and that
in this sense he is a thing of mere evil. They
are frightful, but if they were absolute lago would
be a monster, not a man. The fact is, he tHes to
make them absolute and cannot succeed and the ;
traces of conscience, shame and humanity, though

faint, are discernible. If his egoism were absolute
he would be perfectly indifferent to the opinion of
others and he clearly is not so. His very irri-
;
tation at goodness, again, is a sign that his faith

in his creed is not entirely firm and it is not;
entirely firm because he himself has a perception,

however dim, of the goodness of goodness. What
is the meaning of the last reason he gives himself
for killing Cassio :
He hath a daily beauty in his life

That makes me ugly?
Does he mean that he is ugly to Then

others.**
he not an absolute egoist.
is Does he mean that
he is ugly to himself? Then he makes an open
confession of moral sense. And, once more, if he
really possessed no moral sense, we should never
have heard those soliloquies which so clearly betray
!
his uneasiness and his unconscious desire to per-

suade himself that he has some excuse for the
villaihy he contemplates. These seem to be in-
dubitable proofs that, against his will, I ago is a
little better than his creed, and has failed to with-
draw himself wholly from the human atmosphere
jpibout him. And to these proofs I would add,
though with less confidence, two others. lago's
momentary doubt towards the end whether Rode-
rigo and Cassio must be killed has always surprised
me. As a mere matter of calculation it is perfectly
obvious that they must and I believe his hesita-
;
tion is not merely intellectual, it is another symptom

of the obscure working of conscience or humanity.
Lastly, is it not significant that, when once his
plot has begun to develop, I ago never seeks the
presence of Desdemona that he seems to leave
;
her as quickly as he can (iil iv. 138); and that,

when he is fetched by Emilia to see her in her
distress (iv. ii. no ff.), we fail to catch in his words
any sign of the pleasure he shows in Othello's

misery, and seem rather to perceive a certain dis-
comfort, and, if one dare say it, a faint touch of
shame or remorse ? This interpretation of the pas-
sage, I admit, is not inevitable, but to my mind
.(quite apart from any theorising about I ago) it
seems the natural one.^ And if it is right, lago's
discomfort is easily understood for Desdemona
;
is the one person concerned against whom it is

impossible for him even to imagine a ground of
resentment, and so an excuse for cruelty.^
* was suggested to me by a Glasgow student.
It
2 Acurious proof of lago's inability to hold by his creed that
absolute egoism is the only proper attitude, and that loyalty and
affection are mere stupidity or want of spirit, may be found in his.
one moment of real passion, where he rushes at Emilia with the|
cry, 'Villainous whore!' (v. ii. 229). There is more than fury in(
his cry, there is indignation. She has been false to him, she hasi
betrayed him. Well, but why should she not, if his creed is true ?;
And what a melancholy exhibition of human inconsistency it is that;
he should use as terms of reproach words which, according to hiniy
should be quite neutral, if not complimentary ^
There remains, thirdly, the idea that lago is a

man of supreme intellect who is at the same time
supremely wicked. That he is supremely wicked
nobody will doubt and I have claimed for him
;
nothing that will interfere with his right to that

title.But to say that his intellectual power is
supreme is to make a
great mistake. Within cer-
tain limits he has indeed extraordinary penetra-
tion, quickness, inventiveness, adaptiveness but the ;
limits are defined with the hardest of lines, and

they are narrow limits. It would scarcely be un-
just to call him simply astonishingly clever, or simply
a consummate master of intrigue. But compare
him with one who may perhaps be roughly called
a bad man of supreme intellectual power. Napoleon,
and you see how small and negative lago's mind
is, incapable of Napoleons military achievements,
and much more incapable of his political construc-
tions. Or, to keep within the Shakespearean world,
compare him with Hamlet, and you perceive how
miserably close is his intellectual horizon; that such
a thing as a thought beyond the reaches of his soul
has never come near him that he is prosaic through
;
and through, deaf and blind to all but a tiny

fragment of the meaning of things. Is it not
quite absurd, then, to call him a man of supreme
intellect ?
And observe, lastly, that his failure in perception

is closely connected with his badness. He was
destroyed by the power that he attacked, the power
of love and he was destroyed by it because he
;
could not understand it and he could not under-

;
stand it because it was not in him. lago never meant

his plot to be so dangerous to himself He knew
that jealousy is painful, but the jealousy of a love
like Othello's he could not imagine, and he
found himself involved in murders which were no
part of his original design. That difficulty he
surmounted, and his chc^nged plot still seemed to
! ;
prdsper. Roderigo and Cassio and Desdemona once

dead, all will be well. Nay, when he fails to kill
Cassio, all may still be well. He will avow that
he told Othello of the adultery, and persist that
he told the truth, and Cassio will deny it in vain.
And then, in a moment, his plot is shattered by a
blow from a quarter where he never dreamt of
danger. He knows his wife, he thinks. She is
not over-scrupulous, she will do anything to please
him, and she has learnt obedience. But one thing
in her he does not know —
that she loves her
mistress and would face a hundred deaths sooner
than see her fair fame darkened. There is genuine
astonishment in his outburst What Are you*
!
mad.'*' as it dawns upon him that she means to

speak the truth about the handkerchief But he
might well have applied to himself the words she
flings at Othello,
O gull! O dolt!
As ignorant as dirt
The foulness of his own soul made him so io-norant

that he built into the marvellous structure of his
plot a piece of crass stupidity.
To the thinkinor mind the divorce of unusual
intellect from goodness is a thing to startle and ;
Shakespeare clqarly felt it so. The combination

of unusual intellect with extreme evil is more than
startling, it is frightful. It is rare, but it exists
and 'Shakespeare represented it in I ago. But the
alliance of evil like lago's with supreme intellect is
an impossible fiction and Shakespeare's fictions
;
were truth.
The characters of Cassio and Emilia hardly

require analysis, and I will touch on them only
from a single point of view. In their combina-
tion of excellences and defects they are good
examples of that truth to nature which in dramatic

art is the one unfaiHng source of moral instruction.
Cassio is a handsome, light-hearted, good-natured
young fellow, who
takes life gaily, c\nd is evidently
very attractive and popular. Othello, who calls
him by his Christian name, is fond of him Desde- ;
mona likes him much ; Emilia at once interests

herself on his behalf. He has warm generous feel-
ings, an enthusiastic admiration for the General,
and a chivalrous adoration for his peerless wife.
But he is too easy-going. He finds it hard to
say No and accordingly, although he is aware
;
that he has a very weak head, and that the occa-

sion is one on which he is bound to run no risk,
—
he gets drunk not disgustingly so, but ludicrously
so.^ And, besides, he amuses himself without any
scruple by frequenting the company of a woman of
more than doubtful reputation, who has fallen in
love with his good looks. Moralising critics point
out that he pays for the first offence by losing
his post, and for the second by nearly losing his
life. They are quite entitled to do so, though the
careful reader will not forget lago's part in these
transactions. But they ought also to point out that
Cassio's looseness does not in the least disturb
our confidence in him in his relations with Desde-
mona and Othello. He is loose, and we are sorry
for it but we never doubt that there was a daily
;
*
beauty in his life,' or that his rapturous admiration

of Desdemona was as wholly beautiful a thing as
it appears, or that Othello was perfectly safe
when in his courtship he employed Cassio to *go
between' Desdemona and himself. It is fortunately
a fact in human nature that these aspects of
Cassio's character are quite compatible. Shake-
speare simply sets it down and it is just because
;
1 Cassio's invective against drink may be compared with Hamlet's
expressions of disgust at his uncle's drunkenness. Possibly the subject

may for some reason have been prominent in Shakespeare's mind
about this time.
he truthful in these smaller things that in greater

1?
things we trust him absolutely never to pervert
the truth for the sake of some doctrine or purpose
of his own.
There is something very lovable about Cassio,
with his fresh eager feelings his distress at his ;
disgrace and still more at having lost Othello's

trust his hero-worship and at the end his sorrow
; ;
and pity, which are at first too acute for words. He

is carried in, wounded, on a chair. He looks at
Othello and cannot speak. His first words come
laterwhen, to Lodovico s question, Did you and he *
consent in Cassio's death?' Othello answers *Ay.'

Then he falters out, Dear General, I never gave
*
you cause.' One is sure he had never used that

adjective before. The love in it makes it beautiful,
but there is something else in it, unknown to Cassio,
which goes to one's heart. It tells us that his hero
is no longer unapproachably above him.
Few of Shakespeare's minor characters are more
distinct than Emilia, and towards few do our
feelings change so much within the course of
a play. Till close to the end she frequently sets
one's teeth on edge and at the end one is ready
;
to worship her. She nowhere shows any sign of

having a bad heart but she is common, sometimes
;
vulgar, in minor matters far from scrupulous, blunt

in perception and feeling, and quite destitute of
imagination. She let I ago take the handkerchief
though she knew how much its loss would distress
Desdemona and she said nothing about it though
;
she saw that Othello was jealous. We rightly

resent her unkindness in permitting the theft, but
—it is an important point —
we are apt to misconstrue
her subsequent silence, because we know that
Othello's jealousy was intimately connected with the
loss of the handkerchief Emilia, however, certainly
failed to perceive this for otherwise, when Othello's
;
anger'' showed itself violently and she was really

'
distressed for her mistress, she could not have failed

to think of the handkerchief, and would, I believe,
undoubtedly have told the truth about it. But, in
fact, she never thought of it, although she guessed
that Othello was being deceived by some scoundrel.
Even after Desdemona's death, nay, even when
she knew that I ago had brought it about, she still
did not remember the handkerchief; and when
Othello at last mentions, as a proof of his wife's
guilt, that he had seen the handkerchief in Cassio's
hand, the truth falls on Emilia like a thunder-bolt.
'
O God she bursts out, O heavenly God
!
'
* !
'
^
Her stupidity in this matter is gross, but it fs

stupidity and nothing worse.
But along with it goes a certain coarseness of
nature. The contrast between Emilia and Desde-
mona in their conversation about the infidelity of
wives (iv. iii.) is too famous to need a word, unless —
it be a word of warning against critics who take
her light talk too seriously. But the contrast in the
preceding scene is hardly less remarkable. Othello,
affecting to treat Emilia as the keeper of a brothel,
sends her away, bidding her shut the door behind
her and then he proceeds to torture himself as
;
well as Desdemona by accusations of adultery.

But, as a critic has pointed out, Emilia listens at
the door, for we find, as soon as Othello is gone
and lago has been summoned, that she knows
what Othello has said to Desdemona. And
what could better illustrate those defects of hers
which make one winX!:e, than her repeating again
and again in Desdemona's presence the word
Desdemona could not repeat than her talking ;
before Desdemona of lago's suspicions regarding

Othello and herself; than her speaking to Desde-
mona of husbands who strike their wives than ;
^
So the Quarto, and certainly rightly, though modem editors
reprint the feeble alteration of the Folio, due to fear of the Censor,
*
O heaven ! O heavenly Powers !
A
— !
the expression of her honest indignation in the

words,
Has she forsook so many noble matches,
Her father and her country and her friends,
To be called whore?
If one were capable of laughing or even of smiling

when this point in the play is reached, the differ-
ence between Desdemona's anguish at the loss of
Othello's love, and Emilia's recollection of the
noble matches she might have secured, would be
irresistibly ludicrous.
And yet how and
her defects, vanish
all this, all
into nothingness when we see her face to face

with that which she can understand and feel
From the moment of her appearance after the
murder to the moment of her death she is trans-
figured and yet she remains perfectly true to
;
herself, and we would not have her one atom

less herself. She is the only person who utters
for us the violent common emotions which we
feel, together with those more tragic emotions which
she does not comprehend. She has done this once
already, to our great comfort. When she suggests
that some villain has poisoned Othello's mind, and
I ago answers,
Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible;
and Desdemona answers,

If any such there be, Heaven pardon him;
EmiliaJ^s retort,
A halter pardon him, and Hell gnaw his bones,
says what we long to say, and helps us. And

who has not felt in the last scene how her glorious
carelessness of her own life, and her outbursts
—
against Othello even that most characteristic one.
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain
lift the overwhelming weight of calamity that

oppresses us, and bring us an extraordinary
Q
lightening of the Terror and pity are

heart ?
here too much to bear we long to be allowed

;
to feel also indignation, if not rage and Emilia

;
lets us them and gives them words. She brings

feel
us too the relief of joy and admiration, a joy that —
is not lessened by her death. Why should she
live ? If she lived for ever she never could soar
a higher pitch, and nothing in her life became
her like the losing it.^
I The feelings evoked by Emilia are one of the causes which mitigate
the excess of tragic pain at the conclusion. Others are the downfall
of I ago, and the fact, already alluded to, that both Desdemona and
Othello show themselves at their noblest just before death.

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!

There is no doubt that Othello was the

ally noble and trustful, and each endures the shock

did forsake her.' Theobald changed '

may so far be grouped together in distinction from

survivors of the heroic age living in a later and

and grand, towering above his fellows, holding a

What is the peculiarity of Othello^ What is

Evil is displayed before him, not indeed with the

and quickly forget him I believe most readers of

Shakespeare, if asked whether there is a clown in

at once so engrossing and so painful as that of a

178 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY LECT. V.

great nature suffering the torment of this passion,

separate it in thought from the conditions which

is not a kind of suffering, its nature is active and ;

therefore we can watch its course without shrinking:.

ourselves are ashamed and turn our eyes away

this in relation to one of the most intense and also

of heart' and no less pure and tender than he was

it is the most potent of all. I mean the suffering

*The whole force of the passages referred to can be felt only

LECT. V. OTHELLO 179

of Desdemona. This is, unless I mistake, the most

paribus, that is much worse to witness than suffering

silent feeling. And the chief reason of her help-

would not challenge Mr. Swinburne'5 statement

that of the most loving of dumb creatures tortured

Othello's character, and could not otherwise have

Othello was no Leontes, and his was the last

distant one, being the intrigue of Edmund in the

i8o SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. v.

intrigue will excite eager attention and suspense.

(5) One result of the prominence of the element

his death have not that influence on the interests

LECT. V. OTHELLO i8i

of confinement to a comparatively narrow world,

tion is dilated both by the consciousness of its

intrigue diminishes the sense of the dependence of

* Even here, however, there

^Ulrici has good remarks, though he exaggerates, on this point

i82 SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY lect. v.

begun, it is incessant and terrible. The skill of

a feeling, such as we experience in the Oedipus

^And neither she nor Othello observes what handkerchief it is.

irony inthe enthusiasm with which Cassio greets the arrival of

LECT. V. OTHELLO 183

speare should have succeeded in toning down this

The distaste to which I refer is due chiefly

already referred to, — that

treat her as an inmate of a house of ill-fame (iv. ii.),

(we feel these objections, do we feel them when

in the other two scenes the case is different.

doubtful but there is absolutely no warrant in the

text for imagining this, and it is also quite clear

that the bed where she is stifled was within the

intellectual activity, but at the same time a certain I

coldness and hardness, as though some power in/

to be peculiarly near to Shakespeare himself

father loved me,' 0 now for ever,' Never, I ago,'