Othello: The Duke and the Turks in Act I scene iii

Act I scene iii of Othello is the first of the quasi-judicial set-pieces of a play which concerns itself throughout with matters of judgment, truth and (in)justice. In Tony Tanner’s words in his Everyman introduction:

Othello is involved - embroiled is perhaps a better word - in law and legalism effectively from start to finish… this is not a formally constituted court of law but a sort of improvised hearing in front of the Duke of Venice which takes place, like much of the play, misleadingly at night. Improvised law, and finally the grossest perversion of ‘justice’, are to become major themes of the play.

The scene is sandwich-shaped: the central part deals with the public confirmation of Desdemona and Othello’s love for each other in that improvised hearing, framed by, firstly, the discussion about war among the Duke and senators, and then by the Iago-Roderigo scene at the end (Put money in thy purse).

No major characters are present at the start: we witness exchanges in the Council Chamber (the Palazzo Ducale? Go if you can) between the Duke, his Senators and two messengers, but I think it is worth looking closely at these pages because they are concerned with central ideas in the play: seeing, judgment, and truth.

At the start the Duke expresses scepticism about information he has just been given:

There’s no composition in this news

That gives them credit.

There are three different reports of how many ships are in the Turkish fleet which is threatening Cyprus: the first Senator has heard 107, the Duke 140 and a second Senator 200. Like the confusion with which the play starts in scene i, on this vital matter of national security there is no clarity. The rulers of the state cannot know what they face: as the Second Senator says, it is not a just account. ‘Credit’ comes from the Latin ‘credere’, to believe: just what and who should they believe? This is the same question later that Othello will have to address about Desdemona.

The Duke stays calm:

Nay, it is possible enough to judgment.

I do not so secure me in the error,

But the main article I do approve

In fearful sense.

He understands that he does not have enough information to judge precisely what the threat is, but assesses that it is broadly true: the Turks are indeed threatening the island.

Then comes more ‘information’. A sailor arrives to announce that the Turks are actually threatening Rhodes rather than Cyprus. The first instinct of the Duke is to seek advice, rather than to take this at face value, and the first Senator gives a wise, and as it turns out, accurate judgment:This cannot be / By no assay of reason. ‘Tis a pageant / To keep us in false gaze.

He has used his expertise and knowledge to inform his (correct) judgment: Cyprus is more important to the Turks than Rhodes, and is far more poorly defended than the latter island: so why would the Turks attack it? It is a feint.

If we make thought of this,

We must not think the Turk is so unskillful

To leave that latest which concerns him first.

And the Duke summarises:

Nay, in all confidence he’s not for Rhodes.

This is how to judge, despite the enormous pressure of a critical decision: look at the evidence, stay calm and dispassionate, and make an informed decision. It is just what Othello does not do later. He will jump into catastrophic judgments based on virtually no evidence, and he will not see that the advisor he turns to is, unlike the First Senator, totally untrustworthy, an ancient who will present him with pageants and keep him in false gaze.

More information arrives from a new messenger. The Turks, heading towards Rhodes in that false gaze have been joined by an after fleet of thirty more ships. The First Senator crisply notes:

Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess?

The Messenger adds that the ships have clearly turned towards Cyprus.

The Duke rapidly polishes off the public requirements in this scene, and it is over: the expert and experienced leadership of Venice has performed impressively. Then he turns his attention to Brabantio’s domestic complaint (hardly welcome at a time of such serious military threat).

This is the only scene in which the Duke appears, but he is worthy of some attention, both in the way he conducted the business of state and now how he addresses this private matter. He is clear-thinking, dispassionate and decisive. There is not a hint of racism in his words to or about Othello: presumably it was he or a predecessor who hired Othello to lead Venice’s military forces, simply because he was a top-class soldier.

Before he knows the truth, the Duke is ready to take Brabantio’s side: he is after all ‘one of them’. But when he sees what the truth is he is not partial in his actions. He follows the evidence when Brabantio says that his daughter has been abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted . The Duke demands to know who is responsible for such a foul proceeding and promises that he will throw the bloody book of law at the person responsible. Then Brabantio points to Othello, but the Duke assumes nothing: he looks for evidence and asks:

What in your own part can you say to this?

Othello then calmly defends his relationship with Desdemona, and when Brabantio retorts with an insistence that this was done by some mixtures pow’rful o’er the blood the Duke responds:

To vouch this is no proof,

Without more wider and more overt test

Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods

Just so: trusting someone’s un-evidenced word, vouching, is no grounds for proof. Thin habits [clothes] and poor likelihoods is a perfect description of the ‘evidence’ Iago will provide later. A few lines later the Duke asks Othello for more information, which comes in the speech Her father loved me, oft invited me.

And this is followed by further wisdom from the Duke, who comments sympathetically

I think this tale would win my daughter too.

Good Brabantio, take up this mangled matter at the best.

Men do their broken weapons rather use

Than their bare hands.

[Othello will indeed use his bare hands later.]

When the Duke gets the final definitive evidence, in the shape of Desdemona’s statement of love, it is all over. In a conclusive set of rhyming couplets, he dismisses the complaint and advises Brabantio to get on with life and accept the truth:

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone

Is the next way to draw new mischief on.

So, no bias, no racism, no favouritism. He says Othello is fair and gives permission to Othello to take Desdemona to war, since Brabantio wants it too. Perhaps that is his only mistake.

The Duke leaves the story for good. In Cyprus, disastrously, Othello, who is an expert soldier but a total novice in matters of the heart will be the sole judge, jury and executioner. In two terrible scenes to come, III iii and V ii, we will see him judge and then punish Desdemona in a travesty of the process of justice: when Iago suggests in Act IV scene i that Othello should

Strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated.

Othello retorts:

The justice of it pleases.

In Tony Tanner’s words this is a kind of ultimate nightmare - pure blind, brutal barbarity acting as if it were the acme of civilised justice.