Iago and Roderigo, following closely the original text, conspire against Othello, and the crowd make a bonfire in the background. Cassio enters and joins a group of soldiers, and the crowd light the bonfire and sing a chorus in praise of fire generally; at the end of which Iago tempts Cassio to drink, and sings an enlargement of "And let me the canakin clink," the chorus joining in the refrain.
Cassio gets very drunk, and the Shakespeare text is closely followed. Towards the end of the fight Othello has a magnificent entrance. He stops the strife with the words, "Lay down your arms."
After a tremendous fortissimo chord on the orchestra there is a long and most significant pause. Then Othello has a beautiful but most distressing scene with Cassio. All exit save Desdemona and Othello, who sing an exquisite and passionate love-duet, which finishes the first act.
Near the beginning of the second act Iago has his first long soliloquy: very grim, but most dramatic. The duet between Othello and Iago that follows, in which Iago sows the seeds of jealousy, carries the action forward swiftly, and the "green-ey'd monster" lines are impressively set. At the close of the scene a chorus is heard singing softly, "off," accompanied by two notes (tonic and dominant) on the cornamusa, or "bay-pipes." Grove is silent on the subject of the cornamusa; but Riemann, in his Dictionary of Music, says it is "an old Italian kind of schalmey," "also similar to the word bagpipe": so that "bay-pipe" is obviously a misprint for bagpipe in my edition of this work. The schalmey or schalmei was the predecessor of the oboe. This accompaniment is added to by mandolins and guitars on the stage, and gradually the whole orchestra joins in. The chorus is peaceful and melodious, and makes a strong dramatic contrast to what has gone before and what follows. At the end of this chorus Desdemona intercedes with Othello in Cassio's favour, and really fans the flame of jealousy; Othello denounces Desdemona, and the act ends with a dramatic duet between Othello and his betrayer.
The third act has a somewhat longer orchestral prelude than the first two, but the librettist gets to work very swiftly none the less. The handkerchief business is immediately begun. A long duet between Desdemona and Othello follows, the former very loving, the latter very ironical, the whole culminating in a magnificent passage in which Othello sings the words, "I mistook you ... for that strumpet of Venice who has married Othello." Desdemona is overwhelmed with horror, and Othello pushes her out of the room. There is great trumpeting from all sides of the stage, and, to a chorus of welcome by the Cypriotes, the Venetian ambassadors enter, bringing Othello's letter of recall. After a big chorus and ensemble, Othello and his ancient are left alone; the former gets more and more excited, and finally swoons. Iago jeers at the fallen Othello, the chorus, behind, sings "Hail, Othello," and on this situation, to a great music of trumpets, the curtain falls.
The fourth act opens with a short orchestral prelude on the subject of the "Willow Song," which comes a little later. The scene is Desdemona's bedroom, and she and Emilia are discovered. After a short dialogue, Desdemona sings the "Willow Song." For sheer beauty this is the most exquisite thing in the work: it is a wonderful piece of pure lyrical writing. Emilia says "Good night," and exits. Desdemona intones to a sustained accompaniment a "Hail, Mary," and then sings a beautiful prayer. She lies down on the bed, and long-sustained high chords are heard on the orchestra. These cease, and a sinister motive on the lowest bass notes is heard pianissimo. At the first note Othello is seen standing on the threshold of a secret door. To a certain musical figure he lays his scimitar on the table. He stands before the candle, doubtful whether to blow it out or not; he goes to the bed; he stops himself; he raises the curtains and looks for a long time at the sleeping Desdemona; he kisses her once, again, again, and she wakens. It must be understood that until Desdemona wakens not a word is spoken, but the whole action is fitted to the most dramatic and speaking music, and the effect is awe-inspiring. He tells her to pray, as he does not want to kill her soul; and after a short duet he stifles her, and she utters a shriek. This arouses Emilia, who knocks three times on the door—Othello still gazing at Desdemona—three times again, and yet again. Each knock is as carefully written down in the score as if it were a part for a musical instrument—Verdi is so thorough. Finally Othello opens the door. Desdemona manages to gasp out, "I have been slain unjustly, I die here guiltless," and expires. Emilia shouts for help, and Ludovico, Cassio, Iago, and others enter. All is explained to the unfortunate Othello, who suddenly stabs himself. As he is dying he sings the perfect words, "I kissed thee ere I killed thee;—no way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss." Mr Hueffer has slightly altered the last six words, but I have ventured to put back Shakespeare's original text; in fact, I could not have put down the translator's variant. On these immortal words, sung pianissimo, the curtain falls on this great art-work.
The perfect combination of Verdi and Boito, and the sympathy of both with Shakespeare, are amongst the wonders of the world to me. The art of collaboration has never, to my knowledge, been brought to such a pitch of perfection except in the case of Falstaff, the work of the same trio. George Meredith, in one of his letters, dated 1896, with reference to his friend Professor W. G. Plimmer, a well-known amateur musician, writes: "He has got a score of Othello to play to me; says it is Wagner and water; would seem to say it is Verdi-gris of Wagner"; which shows that the Professor may have been some sort of a musician, but was certainly an amateur. Some critics endeavour to trace the influence of Wagner on Verdi's later operas, but I think it was the composer's own rich development in his later years that made his last two operas stand out so much from the rest of his operatic work. Of course, Wagner's influence on his contemporaries, especially the younger ones, was, and is still, enormous in Germany. But though it is quite easy to trace the harmonic and melodic influence of Wagner on Humperdinck or Strauss, I quite fail to see either influence on Verdi. The two operas are the natural result of a glorious old age.
Arnold Krug, born 1849 at Hamburg, has written an interesting symphonic prologue to this play. After the usual slow introduction, we start away with a good, quick, syncopated theme for strings, soon added to by wood wind (evidently the fiery Othello). Then comes the gentle Desdemona theme, which persists for a long time, after which the music gets really exciting. Iago works Othello up to a frenzy of jealousy; Desdemona's gentle explanations are overborne. After a strong climax her end comes, followed shortly afterwards by Othello's. The coda is a short morendo episode, in the major, and very peaceful.
Though this work is by no manner of means great, it is not without interest, and it is one of the few purely abstract compositions we have on this play.
Zdenko Fibich, who has composed a very interesting symphonic poem on the theme, was a leader of the "Young Czech" musical movement. He was born on December 21, 1850, at Seborschity, near Tschlau, and was taught music at Prague and Leipsic. This is his first symphonic poem, but it is a very interesting example of the composer's method.