storm to be controlled.  Thirdly, I would suggest that Iago, though thoroughly selfish and unfeeling, was not by nature malignant, nor even morose, but that, on the contrary, he had a superficial good-nature, the kind of good-nature that wins popularity and is often taken as the sign, not of a good digestion, but of a good heart.  And lastly, it may be inferred that, before the giant crime which we witness, Iago had never been detected in any serious offence and may even never have been guilty of one, but had pursued a selfish but outwardly decent life, enjoying the excitement of war and of casual pleasures, but never yet meeting with any sufficient temptation to risk his position and advancement by a dangerous crime.  So that, in fact, the tragedy of Othello is in a sense his tragedy too.  It shows us not a violent man, like Richard, who spends his life in murder, but a thoroughly bad, cold man, who is at last tempted to let loose the forces within him, and is at once destroyed.

3

In order to see how this tragedy arises let us now look more closely into Iago’s inner man.  We find here, in the first place, as has been implied in part, very remarkable powers both of intellect and of will.  Iago’s insight, within certain limits, into human nature; his ingenuity and address in working upon it; his quickness and versatility in dealing with sudden difficulties and unforeseen opportunities, have probably no parallel among dramatic characters.  Equally remarkable is his strength of will.  Not Socrates himself, not the ideal sage of the Stoics, was more lord of himself than Iago appears to be.  It is not merely that he never betrays his true nature; he seems to be master of all the motions that might affect his will.  In the most dangerous moments of his plot, when the least slip or accident would be fatal, he never shows a trace of nervousness.  When Othello takes him by the throat he merely shifts his part with his usual instantaneous adroitness.  When he is attacked and wounded at the end he is perfectly unmoved.  As Mr. Swinburne says, you cannot believe for a moment that the pain of torture will ever open Iago’s lips.  He is equally unassailable by the temptations of indolence or of sensuality.  It is difficult to imagine him inactive; and though he has an obscene mind, and doubtless took his pleasures when and how he chose, he certainly took them by choice and not from weakness, and if pleasure interfered with his purposes the holiest of ascetics would not put it more resolutely by.  ’What should I do?’ Roderigo whimpers to him; ’I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it.’  He answers:  ’Virtue! a fig! ’tis in ourselves that we are thus and thus.  It all depends on our will.  Love is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.  Come, be a man....  Ere I would say I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon.’  Forget for a moment that love is for Iago the appetite of a baboon; forget that he is as little assailable by pity as by fear or pleasure; and you will acknowledge that this lordship of the will, which is his practice as well as his doctrine, is great, almost sublime.  Indeed, in intellect (always within certain limits) and in will (considered as a mere power, and without regard to its objects) Iago is great.