CASE FILE 8

Welcome back to Tracing Shakespearean Mysteries. In the Case Files so far, we have travelled to Italy, Navarre and Denmark, exploring a number of mysteries in the plays and collecting evidence for our investigation, which aims at shining a new light on the Shakespearean canon. In this episode we will be returning to Venice for a short time, before sailing on to Cyprus, in other words we’ll be taking a journey into The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice, the first recorded performance of which was in 1604.

Before delving into the mysteries of Othello, it may be helpful to sketch the historical background of the Venetian Republic and its maritime empire, as this context sheds light on the world in which the play unfolds. La Serenissima, the Most Serene, was not only the name given to the Republic of Venice, but also to the city of Venice itself, which emerged in the 5th century when refugees from mainland Italy settled in the Venetian lagoon to escape barbarian invasions, following the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. As Venice expanded, it evolved into an independent maritime republic governed by an elected Doge (often translated as duke in English) and a powerful aristocratic senate.

The Republic’s influence expanded dramatically after the Fourth Crusade in 1204, when Venetian forces helped to capture Constantinople, gaining extensive trading privileges and territories in the eastern Mediterranean. In the 14th and 15th centuries it expanded into the Italian mainland, taking cities such as Padua, Verona, Brescia. and Bergamo, which was then not far from the border with the Duchy of Milan. At the same time, it built a powerful maritime empire that included islands and ports across the eastern Mediterranean such as Cyprus, Corfu, Crete - known by the Venetians as Candia - some of the Cyclades as well as key Adriatic ports and islands, thereby forming a network of maritime, commercial, and military strongholds right across the Mediterranean.

By the late fifteenth century, however, the Serenissima’s long conflict with the expanding Ottoman Empire had intensified, culminating in the Ottoman–Venetian War of 1570 to1573. The decisive year was 1571, when Venice lost Cyprus to the Turks after more than eighty years of rule. Yet only two months later, as part of the Holy League, the Republic participated in the Battle of Lepanto, a major naval engagement in which the allied Christian fleet inflicted a devastating defeat on the Ottoman forces. In only one day it is estimated that in total up to 30,000 men died, mostly Turks, who also lost 200 ships, while the Christian fleet lost only a dozen galleys.

By around 1600, when Othello was written, the Republic of Venice was one of Europe’s wealthiest and most stable states, governed by a sophisticated republican system that had endured for over a thousand years. Its naval base and shipyard, the Arsenale, was one of the most important industrial complexes in pre-modern Europe, employing at its peak up to 16,000 workers. Contemporary accounts claimed that a galley could be assembled in a single day thanks to the use of standardized parts — in fact much like an IKEA wardrobe today! Indeed, it was the Arsenale that enabled Venice to dominate Mediterranean sea power for centuries and to build the merchant fleets that brought the city its cosmopolitan wealth and character.

Now that we have some historical context, let’s move on to a quick recap of the main events in the play.

The story opens in Venice, where Iago, an ensign in the Venetian army, expresses his hatred for the respected Moorish general Othello after the less experienced Michael Cassio is promoted to lieutenant instead of him. Seeking revenge, Iago informs the senator Brabantio that his daughter Desdemona has eloped with Othello. By the time Othello is summoned before the Duke of Venice - accused of using witchcraft to lure Desdemona away from her family - the couple are already married. Othello defends himself with eloquence, explaining that Desdemona fell in love with him after hearing the stories of his life and adventures, which is confirmed by Desdemona herself.

The Duke sends Othello to Cyprus as its military governor, in order to defend the Venetian island against the Turks. Soon after Othello departs with his fleet. Cassio’s ship arrives first, surviving the violent storm that has destroyed the Turkish fleet. Iago then arrives safely with his wife Emilia and Desdemona, while Othello’s ship arrives soon after. Once everyone has reached Cyprus, Iago begins to weave his fatal web. He manipulates Cassio into drinking excessively and provoking a brawl, which leads Othello to strip him of his position as lieutenant.

Feigning friendship, Iago advises Cassio to seek Desdemona’s assistance in regaining Othello’s favour. At the same time, he begins to insinuate to Othello that Cassio and Desdemona are secretly lovers. Through lies, manipulation, a staged and misleading conversation between Cassio and a prostitute, and the use of Desdemona’s stolen handkerchief as false evidence, Iago gradually convinces Othello that his wife has betrayed him. Consumed by jealousy and rage, Othello agrees that Cassio should be murdered. However, Iago’s attempt on Cassio’s life fails, but leaves his victim seriously injured.

Meanwhile, ignoring Desdemona’s pleas of innocence, Othello smothers her in their marriage bed. When Emilia discovers the crime and exposes her own husband’s deception, Iago immediately silences her with a fatal stab of his sword. Othello, realising that he has killed his innocent wife, is overcome with guilt and takes his own life. Iago is then arrested and we are told that he will be tortured, whereas Cassio is appointed governor of Cyprus.

The primary source for Othello is found in Gli Hecatommithi, a collection of 112 tales published in 1565 by Giovanni Battista Giraldi (also known as Cinthio). The narrative on which Othello is based is the 7th novella of the third decade, a section explicitly dedicated to the theme of marital infidelity. Although the novella's plot closely parallels that of the play, it is worth remembering that a complete English translation of Cinthio's text did not appear until 1753 - some 150 years after Othello was written. Although a French translation had been available since 1584, the play contains details found only in the Italian original, lending further support to the view that our playwright was able to read Italian. So, let’s begin by examining the key similarities and differences between the two works.

First of all, the plot: in both versions a Moorish officer in the service of Venice marries a Venetian noblewoman against her family’s wishes. He is later sent to Cyprus for military reasons, where a malicious subordinate manipulates events so that the husband becomes consumed by jealousy and ultimately kills his wife.

The characters also correspond very closely, but in Cinthio's novella, only Disdemona is given a name. The three main male figures are identified simply as “the Moor,” who is the captain, “the Ensign,” and a third man described as “the leader of a small military unit.” Their roles and relationships closely mirror those of Othello, Iago, and Michael Cassio in the play.

There is, however, an important difference in the ensign’s motivation. In the play, Iago is driven primarily by resentment after Cassio is promoted above him. By contrast, in Cinthio’s novella the ensign is secretly in love with Desdemona, and when she rejects him, he resolves that if he cannot have her, then neither can the Moor.

In both works, the supposed proof of adultery is a stolen embroidered handkerchief, which is used to implicate Desdemona and her alleged lover. Jealousy - the “green-eyed monster," as Othello calls it - becomes the driving force of the action in both narratives.

The ending, however, differs significantly. In the play, Othello smothers Desdemona and then, realising her innocence, takes his own life. In Cinthio’s novella, the Moor and the Ensign conspire to murder Disdemona by beating her with a sand-filled stocking and then collapsing the ceiling of the room to make her death appear accidental. After returning to Venice, the Ensign makes it known that the Moor murdered his wife. The Moor is consequently arrested and brought back from Cyprus for trial; however, the crime cannot be conclusively proven. He is therefore condemned to permanent exile, so Disdemona’s relatives later track him down and kill him. The Ensign, meanwhile, returns to his hometown, where he continues his evil behaviour, until he is eventually arrested and tortured on the rack, dying soon afterwards without confessing his crimes; only then does his wife find the courage to reveal the full story.

Cinthio’s source story, published in 1565, predates the Ottoman–Venetian War of 1570 to 1573 and makes no mention of the Turks. In contrast, Othello is full of references to Ottoman forces and their stronghold at Rhodes, and the sinking of the Turkish fleet at the beginning of Act II clearly evokes the Christian victory at Lepanto. Our author appears to have been fully aware of the profound impact on the Venetian psyche of this victory, which is highlighted by the fact that shortly after the battle, the State commissioned the artist Tintoretto to memorialize the event in the Doge’s Palace. Although this original work was lost to a fire in 1577, it was replaced by Andrea Vicentino’s depiction of the battle, a monumental canvas measuring five-by-fourteen-metres, which took him ten years to paint, beginning in 1595.

As for the actual setting, when Cyprus belonged to the Republic of Venice, its principal civil governor was known as the Luogotenente, or Lieutenant of Cyprus, while the chief military commander was the Captain General of the fortress at Famagusta, referred to in the play as the citadel.

It is worth noting that Othello is sent by the Duke of Venice to Cyprus as the island’s military commander, accompanied by his lieutenant, Michael Cassio, who at the end of the play is entrusted with all authority there. This may be coincidental, yet the use of the term lieutenant echoes the Venetian title luogotenente, the official designation for the governor of Cyprus. In other parts of the Venetian maritime empire, however, different titles were used: in Candia (Crete) the Venetian representatives were known as the Duke and the Captain, while in Corfu they were called the Bailo and the Captain.

In conclusion, the precision with which the source story is reproduced points to a close reading of the original Italian text - remember there was no translation into English until 1753. This once again suggests that our playwright possessed a good knowledge of Italian, and also familiarity with recent Venetian history and political terminology. His knowledge also extended to street names in the city. In 16th century Venice, different streets were home to specific trades, the most famous being the Rialto – the commercial heart of Venice, the exchange where many merchants traded their goods. But there was also a street for blacksmiths, for goldsmiths, for regulated prostitutes, as well as for printers, publishers and booksellers. In the play, Othello's lodgings are in the Sagittary, known as Vicus Sagittarius in 16th-century formal Latin documents, but more commonly called Frezzeria in Venetian, the place where arrows were made, not far from St. Mark’s Square. How might all this be explained? As with other so-called Italian plays, the question of how the author had so much local knowledge re-presents itself here.

Another question is how did the protagonist of the play get his name, as in the source story he is always known simply as the ‘Moor’? Here we need to turn to the insights of Roger Prior, a former scholar at the University of Belfast. In his 2008 article, Shakespeare’s Visit to Italy, Prior proposed that the answer may lie in Bassano del Grappa, a town in the foothills of the Alps, about seventy kilometres northwest of Venice. In the late 16th century, the town’s main square contained two apothecary shops: one known as the sign of the Moor, and the other owned by the Otello family—possibly providing the inspiration for the name Othello. But that is not all. Prior also suggested that a fresco in the town may have had an important influence on the play. In the 1590s, the house of the salt merchant Dal Corno stood in the Piazzotto del Sale, or Salt Square, which today is known as Piazzotto Montevecchio, and the house can still be seen there. In 1539 its whole façade was richly decorated with a fresco by the celebrated local painter Jacopo Bassano. Although time eventually damaged the painting, it was carefully removed in 1975 for preservation and is now kept in the Civic Museum of Bassano. I have posted photographs of this remarkable work on our website.

First, let’s describe the fresco and then consider its connection, pointed out by Roger Prior, to one of Iago’s speeches about jealousy. Beneath the eaves of the three-storey house, a series of cherubs appear between curtains, while below them runs a frieze depicting numerous animals. Among these are a wolf and several goats, traditionally associated with vices such as cunning, foolishness, and lust. In contrast, a lion and an eagle symbolize virtues such as courage and intelligence, believed to be attainable through study, diligence, or the practice of music - depicted by books and musical instruments in the frieze. A monkey - more precisely, a baboon - is visible as well; in ancient Egyptian culture this animal symbolized writing and knowledge, but in Renaissance iconography it also carried more ambiguous associations - that of human folly, foolish imitation and lust.

Below the animals and between the large windows are paintings of nude, allegorical figures - including Truth, Prudence, Rhetoric, and another that is now difficult to identify. These figures were hidden from view whenever the window shutters were open. The slatted shutters, which allowed someone inside the house to look out, while preventing anyone outside from seeing in, were originally installed by jealous husbands to prevent other men from glimpsing their wives. Perhaps not surprisingly therefore, this type of shutter was called, and still is called, a gelosia - a jealousy - particularly in the Venice region. The notion that an open gelosia can hide the figure of Truth, is something I will be returning to in a moment, but first let’s complete the description.

Below the shutters, a cherub lies atop crossbones next to an hourglass, accompanied by a Latin inscription reminding passersby that death makes all things equal. Beneath the first floor windows runs a series of Old Testament scenes, including Judith cutting off the head of Holofernes, the drunkenness of Noah—when, after the Flood, he plants a vineyard, drinks wine, and is found lying naked in his tent - and the escape of Lot and his daughters from Sodom, who, believing themselves the last humans after the town’s destruction, get their father drunk on successive nights to preserve their family line, resulting in the births of Moab and Ben-Ammi. In the escape from Sodom, contrary to God’s command, Lot’s wife looks back at the burning city and is turned into a pillar of salt, which is depicted in the fresco next to the doorway of the salt merchant’s house.

It was Prior’s belief that the town of Bassano, and this fresco in particular, helped to shape Othello, a play centred on the destructive force of jealousy. The merchant who commissioned the costly fresco, however, probably did not intend it to convey a message about jealousy and lust to passers-by. Yet this is the interpretation that emerges from the play. Even the merchant's surname, Dal Corno ('of the horn'), which may also allude to the long-established Italian symbol of cuckoldry, is indeed exploited to this effect when Othello declares:

A horned man's a monster and a beast.                                      (4.1.77)

More intriguingly, Prior believed that it was the allegorical and animal imagery in the salt merchant’s fresco which inspired one of Iago’s more obscure speeches about jealousy. At this point in the play, Act 3, scene 3, the seed of doubt has been sown: Othello suspects that Desdemona may be betraying him with Cassio, but he is still not certain. Notice the imagery in the following pivotal speech, in which Iago asks Othello what kind of proof would satisfy him of his wife's infidelity, pointing out that it would be impossible to catch her and Cassio in the act of adultery.

What shall I say? Where's satisfaction?
It is impossible you should see this,
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say,
If imputation and strong circumstances,

Which lead directly to the door of truth,
Will give you satisfaction, you may have't.                                   (3.3.458-465)

Iago talks about “prime goats”, meaning lustful and on heat, and “hot monkeys,” which also suggest uncontrolled sexual desire. “Salt as wolves in pride” brings to mind a pack of wolves during mating season—here, salt carries its Early Modern English meaning of salacious or lecherous. When Iago says “fools as gross / As ignorance made drunk,” he is highlighting the moral degradation that comes with drunkenness, as told in the stories of both Noah and Lot. And the “door of Truth” could refer to the large door-sized shutter, the gelosia, which once opened, hides the Truth.

In total, scholars have identified around 55 references to animal imagery in Othello, the highest number in any Shakespearean play. These range from farm and domestic animals to predators, exotic species, insects, birds and reptiles. Many of these images clearly evoke sexual desire, as in Iago’s infamous words to Desdemona’s father:

[...] an old black ram

Is tupping your white ewe,                                                                (1.1.97-98)

Followed by the horse metaphor, intended to emphasise the bestiality of the old moor eloping with young Desdemona:

you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse;

you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have

coursers for cousins and jennets for germans.                            (1.1.125-127)

- ‘germans’ meaning immediate family

Perhaps significantly for our investigation, during which we have come to realise that our playwright has a much deeper understanding of Italy than is generally presumed, it should be pointed out that Barbary horses from North Africa, Jennets from Spain, and coursers -fast, highly-prized riding and warhorses - were considerably more familiar in sixteenth-century Italy, particularly in military circles, than they were in London.

Othello himself uses animal imagery to express jealousy and self-degradation:

I had rather be a toad

And live upon the vapour of a dungeon

Than keep a corner in the thing I love

For others’ uses. (3.3.311-314)

Even Cassio refers to animals when reflecting on his own drunken state:

To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! (2.3.325)

While Emilia emphasises the predatory nature of men in a semi-animalistic metaphor:

They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;

They eat us hungerly, and when they are full,

They belch us. (3.4.121-123)

But as she lies dying, after being stabbed by her husband Iago, she uses a more noble animal image:

[...] I will play the swan

And die in music. (5.2.296-297)

To help us explain such extensive animal imagery, perhaps we should look more closely at the artist of the fresco, Jacopo dal Ponte, better known as Jacopo Bassano, after the town where he was born around 1515, which as previously mentioned is not far from Venice. While in the fresco, the animals served as symbols of men’s virtues and vices, elsewhere they became central to Jacopo Bassano’s art. He transformed animals from mere background details into protagonists of rural life, filling his biblical and pastoral scenes with dogs, sheep, cattle, birds and domestic farm animals, all rendered with remarkable naturalism: from his 1548 masterpiece Two Hunting Dogs Tied to a Tree Trunk - a study of just two dogs, celebrated for its extraordinary anatomical realism and now in the Louvre Museum - to his large scale compositions, such as The Entrance of the Animals into Noah’s Ark, now in the Museo del Prado, which features nearly seventy different animals, including lions, leopards and camels. Already renowned during his lifetime, Bassano was regarded as one of the foremost painters of the Venetian Renaissance, alongside Titian, Tintoretto, and Paolo Veronese.

This would not be the first time our playwright appears to have drawn inspiration directly from art. As we learnt in Case File 4, The Rape of Lucrece contains an exceptionally detailed description of The Battle of Troy by another Italian artist, Giulio Romano. The vivid details of these paintings that we find in our author’s works, makes it increasingly difficult to believe that these descriptions could have come from second-hand accounts — leading us to conclude that he probably saw the paintings for himself. Would you agree?

A final detail pointed out by Roger Prior in his article is that the person responsible for designing the fresco was the son-in-law of the owner of the house Zuanne Dal Corno. Lazzaro Dal Corno - it appears he took not only the daughter, but also the family name - was an official representative of Venice. He was also a man of letters who, after having recited a Latin Eulogy to the Emperor Charles V during one of his visits to Italy, probably in the 1530s, was granted the honorific title of Count Palatine - a name that we find In The Merchant of Venice as one of Portia’s unsuccessful suitors. In fact, when Nerissa tells her that after the Prince of Naples, the Count Palatine wishes to try his luck with the caskets, Portia replies:

He doth nothing but frown, [...] he hears

merry tales and smiles not: I fear he will prove the

weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so

full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had

rather be married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth

than to either of these. MOV (1.2.46-52)

In fact, from Portia’s words, the Count would seem to be a local man she has already met, so quite possibly Count Lazzaro who was known to have been a philosopher (he died in 1583) and a published poet and, as Prior tells us, a rather gloomy one at that. Prior also tells us that the death’s-head comment could well refer to the fresco on the house, as at least until 1648, the cherub on the facade was known to have been accompanied by death’s-heads which, as they can no longer be seen, were presumably painted over at some point. If you remember, in The Merchant of Venice I spoke about the three characters whose names all sound similar - Salanio, Salerino and Salerio, all derivatives of the word for salt, so possibly connected in some way to the salt-merchant’s house in Bassano. This information, I think you would agree, does sound intriguing and plausible. We will leave the town now, but will be returning there in a later episode.

In conclusion, during our investigation of Othello, we have found another source story that was only available in Italian, further suggesting that our playwright had a good knowledge of the language, particularly the Venetian variety, as well as detailed knowledge of the Venetian Republic’s history and governance. He also appears to have been familiar with the Latin name for one of Venice’s streets, which usually only appeared in official documents. We then turned our attention to Bassano, with which the playwright seemed well-acquainted. Details of this town seem to emerge in the play: the name of the protagonist and a speech which refers to the images in a giant fresco on the facade of a house belonging to salt merchants. Moreover, we may be able to attribute the extensive use of animal imagery in Othello to the artist responsible for the fresco, Jacopo Bassano. Lastly, details regarding the town also seem to appear in The Merchant of Venice.

So, did you find this information convincing? There’s no denying that certain questions keep coming up again and again. But remember, we are still gathering evidence, so we should avoid making any premature judgments.

In the next Case File, we’ll be exploring something a little different: not only the mystery surrounding Venus and Adonis, but also its feminine perspective and how it resonates across other works. I hope you will join me for that.