Another major source for Othello was Philemon Holland's translation of Pliny the Elder's Naturalis Historia, an encyclopedia published in approximately 77 AD. It was the likely source of some of the more exotic natural references found in the play, particularly in the speeches of the title character. According to Norman Sanders (see yesterday's post), it was where Shakespeare found "the cannibals, anthropophagi, hollow caves, mines of sulphur, gum-dropping Arabian trees, chrysolite, mandragora, colloquintida, the movement of the Propontic and the Hellespont waters, and possibly his reply to Brabantio's charge of seducing his daughter by means of witchcraft".

This fact helped to answer a question that I've always had in regard to the plays: How is it that each one has its own linguistic world, clearly distinctive from the rest? Part of the answer has to be that he allowed his reading to deeply influence not just the plots of his plays, but also their diction. At times, his work seems to be almost of a synthesizing nature - as he allowed his imagination (with its unparalleled education in poetry and drama) to be fertilized with the knowledge he found in the preparatory reading that he did for each play.

The assimilative nature of English is due to a number of factors, one of which is definitely the work of Shakespeare. The ever-expanding vocabulary of the language (already easily the largest in the world) at least partially owes its nature to Shakespeare's approach. For example, in working with the Italian prose tale of Cinthio in the writing of Othello, he seems to have made verbal allusions to both the Italian original and a French translation done by Gabriel Chappuys. At this point, I'll quote (at some length) Norman Sanders' introduction of the New Cambridge edition:

"There are four verbal links that draw the play and the Italian version together. Othello's demand, 'Give me the ocular proof... Make me to see't' (3.3.361-5) is closer to Cinthio's 'se non mi fai...vedere co gli occhi' than to Chappuys' 'si tu ne me fais voir'. [The first quarto's] use of the unusual word 'acerbe' ('bitter' in the Folio) at 1.3.338 may be an echo of Cinthio's 'in acerbissimo odio'; just as Iago's gloating 'I do see you're moved' (3.3.219) is nearer to the Italian 'ch' ogni poco di cosa voi moue ad ira', where describing the enchafed flood at 2.1.16, may have been influenced by Cinthio's Moor who speaks of the sea in a similar way in a passage omitted by Chappuys: 'ogni pericolo, che ci soprauenisse, mi recherebbe estreme molestia'.

Evidence that it was the French version that Shakespeare used is of the same kind. The words 'if it touch not you, it comes near nobody' (4.1.187) seem to echo Chappuys' 'ce qui vous touche plus qu'a aucun autre', where the Italian verb is 'appartiene'; and Iago's emphasis on the importance of Cassio's 'gestures', as Othello spies on them in 4.1, is nearer to the French 'gestes' than the Italian 'atti'. Perhaps more substantial than these verbal similarities, however, is one of Chappuys' additions to the original text. In the lines of the play concerning Cassio's request that Bianca copy the embroidery of the handkerchief, the phrase 'take out the work' (or a variant of it) is used three times (3.3.298, 3.4.174, 4.1.145) - a sense of 'take out' found nowhere else in Shakespeare. No similar phrase occurs in Cinthio; but Chappuys adds to the Italian passage dealing with Cassio's decision the phrase 'tirer le patron' (copy the pattern)."

It seems evident, therefore, that Shakespeare found ways of echoing other languages while writing in English. It is a trait that English has yet to lose. More on the sources of Othello tomorrow.

Wednesday's post concerned Shakespeare's use of Cinthio's prose tale as a source in the writing of Othello. Over the next couple of days, I'll discuss some of the other sources delineated by Norman Sanders in his introduction to the New Cambridge edition, and give some conjecture regarding Shakespeare's way of working with them. Incidentally, there is no evidence that Shakespeare ever left England. This puzzles some, who feel that first-hand knowledge must be necessary for someone to write so convincingly of settings as diverse as those found in the plays. I would argue that all the evidence points to Shakespeare being what Blake called a "mental traveller", and that his reading provided his imagination with everything it needed. And so, in honour of the upcoming film version of The Tempest, I'll end with an appropriate quote from Prospero (often considered to be an alter-ego of the author), who in telling his daughter Miranda about the treachery that led to their exile, recounts the kindness of Gonzalo who saved them and allowed Prospero to keep his most-loved possessions:

Some food we had and some fresh water that

A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,

Out of his charity, being then appointed

Master of this design, did give us, with

Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,

Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,

Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me

From mine own library with volumes that

I prize above my dukedom.

The better that we know a Shakespeare play, the more interesting it becomes. As we become aware of how much it contains, and how deeply each part is related to the whole, our experience of learning from it and interacting with it becomes deeper. Also, knowledge of the play allows us to appreciate the scholarship, criticism and commentary related to it, which can lead to new ways of considering history, art, philosophy, political science, and the human condition.

In spending time with Othello recently, and writings related to it, I found that there was much more in the play than I had realized. Today, I'll mention just one area of revelation: the way that seemingly innocuous scenes contain thematic information vital to understanding the play. For example, the exchange between a clown and the musicians at the beginning of act three, where he asks them to play only if they "have any music that may not be heard" (in other words to stop), is usually considered to be little more than momentary comic relief, but as Harold Goddard points out in his essay on the play in his excellent The Meaning of Shakespeare (1951), it actually foreshadows a great deal more: the "sudden interruption in the music of Othello's love which is to be the subject of the act." This made me consider the nature of music itself, in that it can only be appreciated in certain states of mind, and that our attitude towards it and other subtle beauty in life is the result of our thought. It also reminded me that no part of a Shakespeare play should be overlooked.

One of the most remarkable things that I learned in preparing for today's lecture on Othello came from Norman Sanders' splendid introduction to the New Cambridge edition. In it, he gives a concise but thorough summary of the sources that Shakespeare used in writing the play. The most important of these was the original prose story version from Giraldi Cinthio's Hecatommithi, or The Hundred Tales, in English. Shakespeare followed it quite closely, particularly in acts three to five, but he made many changes and additions as well. The most striking example of which concerned the small amount of original material that led to the creation of some of the play's most memorable moments: "A sentence in Cinthio to the effect that Desdemona's family wished her to marry another man is the seed that produced Desdemona's noble birth, her elopement and her distraught and racially prejudiced father, indeed much of the matter contained in the first three scenes of the play... Perhaps most remarkable of all are the breathtaking addresses to the Senate by Othello and Desdemona which Shakespeare conjured out of one bald statement from the Italian original: 'It happened that a virturous lady of wondrous beauty called Disdemona, impelled not by female appetiete but by the Moor's good qualities, fell in love with him, and he, vanquished by the lady's beauty and noble mind, likewise was enamboured of her.'" (The altered spelling of Desdemona is not a typo. It's Cinthio's.) It seems, therefore, that one of the ways that Shakespeare worked was to begin with a result (in this case, Desdemona's family's thwarted wish regarding her choice of husband) and to work backwards from it. Sanders' introduction has many enlightening moments such as this one. It's highly recommended.

Among the many expressions, idioms, aphorisms, etc. that come from Shakespeare, I think I may have found one that wasn't even intentional. I've never been convinced by the origins given for the phrase "brand new" in dictionaries - any that I've seen anyway. Some quote Shakespeare, correctly, as having used the expression "fire-new" several times. From there, the theory goes that people began to use the image of a brand as a substitute for fire - but why? And where is the first recorded use? Well, in sonnet 153 the two words appear together, but "brand" is used as a noun, not an adverb. It seems strange, but it may be that just the fact that they appeared together in a Shakespeare poem began their linked usage. Here's the poem:

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:

A maid of Dian's this advantage found,

And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep

In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;

Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love

A dateless lively heat, still to endure,

And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove

Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.

But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,

The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;

I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,

And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,

But found no cure: the bath for my help lies

Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress' eyes.

The line in question refers to Cupid's brand, which had been put out by a maid of Dian's thus giving birth to healing hot springs ("a seething bath"), being reignited ("new-fired") by the eyes of the poet's mistress. The poet visits the bath hoping for a cure, but can only find it "Where Cupid got new fire - my mistress' eyes". Quite a poem, isn't it? I don't know that my theory is right, but I kind of hope so.

Another example of telescoped time can be found in 2.3 of Othello, which begins with Othello giving Cassio instructions for the evening's watch, and with Iago stating it is "not yet ten o' the clock." We then witness drinking and singing on the part of the soldiers - all of which is staged by Iago for the purpose of getting Cassio drunk and into a brawl with Roderigo, who is waiting offstage. When an awakened Othello intercedes, he listens to the accounts of the incident and admonishes and demotes Cassio on the spot. Iago then pretends to sympathize with Cassio, and suggests that he should present his case to Desdemona, who will, out of kindness, convince Othello to change his mind. Then follows a soliloquy by Iago during which he gives his real plan:

... whiles this honest fool

Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes

And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,

I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,

That she repeals him for her body's lust;

And by how much she strives to do him good,

She shall undo her credit with the Moor.

After this, Roderigo, who is both secretly in love with Desdemona and Iago's dupe, enters and is told to have patience and to go get some sleep, because "'tis morning''. The entire scene is usually performed in slightly less than twenty minutes.