The Art of Theatrical Make-up

by Cavendish Morton

[Taking him by the throat.

Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul,
Thou had'st been better have been born a dog,
Than answer my wak'd wrath.
Iago. Is't come to this?
Othello. Make me to see't, or, at the least, so prove it,
That the probation bear no hinge nor loop,
To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life!
Iago. My noble lord,—
Othello. If thou dost slander her, and torture me,
Never pray more; abandon all remorse:
On horror's head, horrors accumulate:
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd,
For nothing canst thou to damnation add,
Greater than that.
Iago. O grace! O heaven forgive me!
Are you a man? have you a soul or sense?
God be wi' you; take mine office. O wretched fool,
That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice!
O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world!
To be direct and honest is not safe.
I thank you for this profit; and, from hence,
I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.
Othello. Nay, stay:—Thou should'st be honest.
Iago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool,
And loses that it works for.
Othello. By the world,
I think my wife be honest, and think, she is not.
I think that thou art just and think thou art not.
I'll have some proof: Her name, that was as fresh
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives,
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,
I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied!
Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion;
I do repent me, that I put it to you.
You would be satisfied?
Othello. Would! nay, I will.
Iago. And may: But, how? how satisfied, my lord?
Would you, the supervisor grossly gape on?
Behold her tupp'd?
Othello. Death and damnation! O!
Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think,
To bring them to that prospect: Damn them then,
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster,
More than their own! What then? how then?
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 it.
Othello. Give me a living reason she's disloyal.
Iago. I do not like the office:
But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,—
Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love,—
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately;
And being troubled with a raging tooth,
I could not sleep.
There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs,
One of this kind is Cassio.
In sleep I heard him say,—"Sweet Desdemona,
Let us be wary, let us hide our loves!"
And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,
Cry, "O sweet creature!" and then kiss me hard,
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots,
That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kissed; and then,
Cry'd, "Cursed fate! that gave thee to the Moor!"
Othello. O monstrous! monstrous!
Iago. Nay, this was but his dream.
Othello. But this denoted a foregone conclusion;
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.
Iago. And this may help to thicken other proofs,
That do demonstrate thinly.
Othello. I'll tear her all to pieces.
Iago. Nay, but be wise; yet we see nothing done;
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,—
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief,
Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand?
Othello. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift.
Iago. I know not that: but such a handkerchief,
I am sure it was your wife's, did I to-day
See Cassio wipe his beard with.
Othello. If it be that,—
Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers,
It speaks against her with the other proofs.
Othello. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives;
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge!
Now do I see 'tis true.—Look here, Iago;
All my fond love thus—I do blow to heaven:
'Tis gone.—
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
For 'tis of aspics' tongues!
Iago. Yet, be content.
Othello. O, blood, blood, blood!
Iago. Patience, I say; your mind, perhaps, may change.
Othello. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic sea,
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontic, and the Hellespont;
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,
Till that a capable and wide revenge
Swallow them up.—Now, by yond marble heaven,
In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels.]
I here engage my words.
Iago. Do not rise yet. [Kneels.]
Witness, you ever-burning lights above!
You elements that clip us round about!
Witness, that here Iago doth give up
The execution of his wit, hands, heart,
To wrong'd Othello's service! Let him command,
And to obey shall be in me remorse,
What bloody business soever. [They rise.
Othello. I greet thy love,
Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,—
And will upon the instant put thee to't:
Within these three days let me hear thee say,
That Cassio's not alive.
Iago. My friend is dead; 'tis done at your request:
But let her live.
Othello. Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her!
Come, go with me apart: I will withdraw,
To furnish me with some swift means of death
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.
Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt.

BOTTOM THE WEAVER

A bucolic egoist, vain, dense, and narrow.

The groundwork for this is No. 3 with a little 13 added. White is rubbed into the cheeks in the shape of high lights to broaden the appearance of the face. A triangular shadow painted on the under part of the nose makes this feature seem to tilt upward. The eyebrows are almost entirely obliterated with thick grease paint, as also are the eyelashes. The small perpendicular lines at the ends of the eyes seem to reduce their size. The corners of the mouth are extended with paint, and the tight-fitting wig drawn well over the forehead seems, while it diminishes the size of the head, to make the face appear larger.

Much of the stupidity of countenance is due to expression.

BOTTOM THE WEAVER

Bottom awakes. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer: my next is, "Most fair Pyramus." Hey, ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's, my life! stolen hence, and left me asleep. I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream,—past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was,—there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had,—but man is but a patched fool if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream; it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke: peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.