Melissa Glontea
The significance of setting is paramount in William Shakespeare’s Othello (c. 1603). It is the determinant contributing factor to the tragedies that occur in the play, at first supporting yet finally upending heroes and villains alike. The environment of Venice is conducive to the characters’ strengths and successes. In the hostile context of Cyprus, however, those same strengths are subverted until they ultimately implode, claiming lives; even the brilliant scheming of Iago is no match for the bubbling chaos stewing within the claustrophobic confines of the Citadel. In transplanting his characters from Venice to Cyprus, Shakespeare sets Othello, Desdemona, and Iago on an accelerated course towards destruction, as their glowing strengths, clearly displayed in Venice, transform into mortal weaknesses in the militarized-domestic setting of Cyprus.
Othello, like many of Shakespeare’s plays, has a split geography. The first act takes place in Venice, while the rest of the play occurs in Cyprus. Ayanna Thompson points out that “in a comedic structure, this type of geographic split usually emphasizes the licensing freedom that is enabled outside of the city walls” (21-22). She gives the example of the geographic split in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “in which Athens represents the world of law and patriarchal order […], and the woods represent the world of holiday and licentiousness,” adding that, “[o]f course, tragic tales can contain a geographic split as well in order to mark a break from order into chaos” (22). The geographic split in The Tragedy ofOthello indeed signifies such a break from order into chaos, and the ramifications of that split prove to be paramount to the play’s tragic resolution. More significantly, the chaos which begins to unfold in Cyprus appears to be a direct result of the setting itself.
Othello, Desdemona, and Iago do not themselves undergo significant changes in character over the course of the play; rather, their strengths and their fates are contaminated through exposure to the very setting of Cyprus, which unleashes its own particularly subversive strain of chaos upon them, impeding their otherwise good Venetian fortunes. The move from Venice to Cyprus reflects a shift from safety to danger, as Cyprus imposes its uniquely treacherous natural order onto the transplanted characters. In Venice, the air is figuratively sweet, and while there Othello, Desdemona, and Iago are able to fully utilize and enjoy the fruits of their strengths. In Cyprus, however, the air is quite different, and those same fruits, once exposed to the island’s corrosive properties, begin to quickly spoil.
The effects of the geographic split on the tragedies in Othello hinge on the varying historical contexts of the setting of both Venice and Cyprus. Shakespeare’s fictitious Venice of Othello is very much anchored in historical reality. Shakespeare based the social and political structure of Othello’s Venice on texts such as Sir Lewes Lewkenor’s English translation of Gaspar Contarini’s De Magistratibus et Republica Venetorum (c. 1543), and The Commonwealth and Government of Venice (1599). De Magistratibus contains analyses of Venice’s political, military, and social systems, which the English admired and used as a model for their own society. Othello’s Venice significantly mirrors this text, particularly as De Magistratibus “romanticizes the Venetian state, explicitly painting a portrait of balance, fortune and evenhandedness” (Thompson 17-18). In choosing such a model as the springboard for his plot, Shakespeare creates an environment in which Othello, Desdemona, and Iago operate in the power of their respective strengths, as Venice indeed affords them “balance, fortune and evenhandedness.”
When we meet Othello in Act 1, he is enjoying prominence and success in Venice. Othello has been masterfully steering his fortune despite past adversities and despite facing prejudice from the Venetians around him (1.3.77-95; 129-70). In Act 1, scene 2, Othello demonstrates his seasoned military authority and interpersonal skills when he de-escalates a potentially deadly, seemingly imminent physical altercation. He is in the company of Iago when Brabantio and his men, with Roderigo, arrive intending to engage him in combat, yet Othello calmly and confidently succeeds in convincing both sides to put up their swords (1.2.59). His oratory strengths are further demonstrated in Act 1, scene 3, when Othello eloquently defends himself against Brabantio’s public and very sudden accusations regarding not only his character, but also his marriage to Desdemona.
Brabantio previously loved Othello, often invited him to his home, and treated him with kindness (1.3.129-30), and yet upon learning of Othello and Desdemona’s marriage, he immediately changes his attitude towards his new son-in-law. Brabantio deems their marriage unnatural, asserting that Desdemona only could have married Othello because he abused, stole, and corrupted her with spells, medicines, and witchcraft (1.3.61-65). According to Brabantio’s reasoning, Desdemona’s age, her loyalty to her country, and her good reputation would have prevented her from marrying someone she “feared to look on” of her own accord (1.3.99). Othello’s testimony in response to Brabantio’s accusations secures Othello’s already good reputation and the legitimacy of his marriage. Furthermore, his speech is so powerfully moving, the Duke remarks it would win over his own daughter, as well (1.3.172). Othello’s deeply ingrained, commanding strength of character and the height and sum of his successes that he enjoys in Venice, including his excellent reputation, skills in self-expression, his relationship with his “gentle Desdemona,” and his well-earned position of military status, are especially noteworthy considering that these achievements co-exist along with the ugliness of prejudice in a culturally diverse city (1.2.25).
The play’s complete title, The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice, itself implies an othering effect that accompanies Othello’s dual identity. Historical Venice was a cosmopolitan and diverse city, an established maritime power attracting many migrants arriving “from the hinterlands and cities of Padua, Vicenza, Verona, Bergamo, Brescia, and Crema as well as the territories of Istria, Dalmatia, Albania, Greece, Germany, Flanders, Spain, Portugal, Armenia, the Ottoman Empire, and the Levant” (Ferraro 76). Joanne Marie Ferraro refers to Venice as a “world city,” having developed into one of the “most industrialized cities” of Europe during the sixteenth century (75). She considers what it meant to be Venetian at that time:
The population of Venice was fluid, and to be Venetian was often liminal. Far from insular, the population of this major port was part of a global economic system where peoples of varying origins circulated. It was home to foreign subjects, refugees, and tourists but also to Venetian subjects who had lived for lengthy periods in foreign lands and absorbed hybrid cultures. (77)
Despite the defining multicultural population and identity of Venice, Othello, whose birthplace is not revealed, experiences both direct and indirect prejudice against his perceived “otherness” as it relates to his ethnicity and his physical appearance – even though he is a successful, celebrated, and indispensable Venetian general and citizen.
Language throughout the play, beginning with its title, is one of the means by which prejudice and otherness are imposed upon Othello, “the Moor of Venice.” Othello is both of Venice and not of Venice. His ethnicity and complexion are referred to by those who, perhaps, consider themselves as belonging in Venice more than Othello so as to portray him as an outsider to achieve their own ends. Iago, Brabantio, Roderigo, the Duke, and even Desdemona and Othello himself all partake in offensive attitudes and language when referring to Othello’s Blackness. While Iago and Roderigo use the term “Moor” contemptuously and employ various racial slurs against him in Act 1, scene 1, Nicholas Potter argues that in Othello’s appearance before the Senate, when the First Senator refers to Othello as the “Moor,” the senator is not using the term as a means of disrespect (1.3.48). Potter interprets the First Senator’s use of the term to mean that Othello is theMoor of Venice; he is not the only Moor in Venice, rather, he is most prominent. Potter reasons that Othello has achieved celebrity status, having become the most distinct and distinguished Moor of Venice, and, as such, there is no longer a need to refer to him by his name. While Potter offers this arguably positive explanation for Othello’s being “othered” via the term Moor, one that highlights his prominence and success as an outsider in Venice, it is inarguable that the word is also employed with malice in other instances.
Othello’s Venetian fortune is particularly poignant in light of the negative attitudes, prejudice, and imposed otherness that he overcomes in Venice but later tragically internalizes in Cyprus. Kiernan Ryan argues that Othello later (in Cyprus) points to his complexion as a reason for Desdemona’s supposedly waning love for him: “Haply for I am black / And have not those soft parts of conversation / That chamberers have” (3.3.267–69); and that Othello “instinctively employs his own Blackness as a metaphor for his wife’s alleged depravity”: “Her name, that was as fresh / As Dian’s visage, is now begrimed and black / As mine own face” (3.3.389–91). Othello’s growing, internalized bias against his own Blackness, which occurs on the island of Cyprus, significantly contributes to his rapid unravelling. In contrast, while external, racially charged factors of prejudiced hatefulness also work against Othello in Venice, they do not affect him in the same way there; rather, he remains highly successful despite them. It is not until his arrival in Cyprus that Othello’s success takes a tragic turn as he directs that same prejudice against himself to a fatal degree and his downfall begins.
Desdemona and Iago likewise enjoy the fruits of their strengths and power in Venice. In Venice, Desdemona’s strengths, including her voice and her love for and devotion to Othello, act as buffers to the attempted thwarting of her happiness, and she is able to secure her own well-being while there. Desdemona not only knows her own mind and heart; she is also successful in exercising her own will. Her flourishing agency shines brightest when she delivers an impressive argument before the Senate in response to her father’s opposition to her marriage (1.3.180-89; 249-60). Desdemona makes a clear case for her choice of husband: “That I did love the Moor to live with him / My downright violence and storm of fortunes / May trumpet to the world” (1.3.249-51). She commands her will and her voice in alignment with her love and devotion to Othello, successfully dismantling her father’s attempts to disqualify her marriage. She has willingly transferred and has now secured the care and authority of her person from her father to her husband and “lord” Othello (1.3.252).
Although Desdemona successfully ensures her and Othello’s marriage and happiness before the court, that happiness, as well as her safety, only remain intact while she remains in Venice. Desdemona is protected in Venice, first as the privileged daughter of Brabantio, an affluent, powerful Venetian senator, and then as the wife of Othello, the commanding General of the Venetian army. It is not until her ill-fated honeymoon in Cyprus that the orb of protection surrounding her swiftly deteriorates, her voice fails her, and her goodness, love, devotion, loyalty, and trusting nature prove to be her undoing. Unlike in Venice, in Cyprus Desdemona’s strengths are subverted; she is no longer protected and her otherwise promising marriage suffers tragically as well.
Iago also operates in his strengths in the favorable atmosphere of Venice, where he is on track to reach the zenith of his tricksterdom. Iago is a confident, egotistical, master manipulator. When we meet him in Act 1, he is already brilliantly facilitating his own ends. He effortlessly performs and adapts different roles as needed, successfully chides Brabantio into seeking Othello’s destruction, triumphantly swindles money and possessions from Roderigo, and delightfully shares with the audience his devious, unfolding plans to ruin Othello. Richard Raatzsch considers why Iago has long been seen as one of the foremost tricksters in literature, as well as an incarnation of evil itself. He contends that Othello “is really a glorification of Iago, a paean to ruthlessness, a song of praise for inconsiderateness raised to an absolute level” (13). Raatzsch points to Iago’s general perversion, malice, and wickedness, arguing that Iago’s representations of his motives cannot be trusted, truly known, or explained. They can only be understood to a degree. In Act 1, scene 1, when Iago tells Roderigo “I am not what I am” (l. 64), the audience is left with unanswered questions regarding who and why Iago is: some might wonder whether Iago even understands himself.
The answers to those questions never quite materialize; rather, they serve to set the tone of Iago’s antagonistic role in the play and also perhaps explain why Cyprus becomes a setting of such rapid destruction. There, even Iago loses his mark, and his schemes become increasingly less successful. His declaration, “I am not what I am,” seems in Cyprus to reflect a newly unsettled Iago. His plotting gains substantial momentum in Venice and climaxes in Cyprus, where it ultimately entangles Iago in the inevitability of his own demise, too. The goals of his machinations seem at first to be separated only by the time it will take for the remaining acts of the play to unfold. However, Cyprus has its own stratagem in store, not only against Iago, but against Othello and Desdemona, as well. It is not until the characters reach Cyprus that their strengths and fortunes are subverted by their common, unsuspected enemy.
Historical Cyprus is the keeper of a tragic, tumultuous history; Othello’s Cyprus draws heavily from that history and malignantly applies it to unsuspecting Othello, Desdemona and Iago. Historical Cyprus is situated in the Mediterranean Sea between Asia and Europe. It has been fought over and controlled by many peoples throughout the ages on account of its strategic location and valuable economic resources, such as wheat, olives, wine, and extensive copper deposits: “The ancient writer Ammianus Marcellinus noted that Cyprus was so fertile that it could completely build and stock cargo ships solely from its own resources” (Moore 1). Several empires sought to control Cyprus due to its many assets, and, as a result, “Cypriots would not be left alone to be Cypriots – like a planet that comes too close to two stars, it has been repeatedly pulled apart by the rival gravitational attractions” of opposing forces that have composed Cyprus’s cultural history from classical times to the British occupation (Madigan 841). This residual state of gravitational chaos twists and pulls at the internal threads of Othello, Desdemona, and Iago, who in their communion with Cyprus similarly are not left alone to be as they are. The soil and spirit of Cyprus, heavy with the blood and angst of battles past, stands firm and indomitable in comparison to Othello, Desdemona, and Iago, whose own resilience begins to diminish soon after their arrival on the island.
The Cyprus of Othello buzzes with a chaos and tension reminiscent of historical Cyprus, generating the undoing of Othello, Desdemona, and Iago. As many people died in the quests of dominion over Cyprus, one might imagine its inhabitants sat with a foreboding sense that the next battle for the island was always looming. Perhaps Cyprus came to embody the violent anxiety and fear that accompanied such constant threats to its stability, safety, and freedom, and this same intrinsic volatility served to upend Othello, Desdemona, and Iago:
Cyprus is the contested ground over which empires battle, but it also serves to highlight the problems inherent in those empires. After all, the Turkish threat is destroyed by the natural forces of the storm, but the island releases the violence lurking beneath the surface of the Venetian defenders of the Christian faith. The place seems to be asking if the violence was inherent to them in the first place, or if there was something about Cyprus that made them change (Thompson 24).
Cyprus does not intrinsically change Othello, Desdemona, and Iago; rather, its very soil changes the rules and course to which their fortunes have been hitherto ascribed. Considering each character as being a separate empire, Cyprus effectively activates within each of them the inherent, negative aspects of their own strengths. Othello, Desdemona, and Iago each arrive in Cyprus with their own intents and purposes. Othello is there to defend Cyprus, Desdemona is there to relish the spoils of her victorious marriage to Othello, and Iago is there to advance his plan to wreak havoc on Othello. Much as Cyprus highlighted the inherent problems of its warring empires, it also highlights the already present and potential problems and violence lurking within Othello, Desdemona, and Iago, setting the characters’ strengths against them: Othello’s strengths as a warrior, soldier, general, and loving husband and friend betray him; Desdemona’s strengths as a good hearted, trusting individual and a loving, devoted, and loyal wife to Othello betray her; and Iago’s strength as a brilliant trickster betrays him, as well. All these strengths benefit each character in Venice and work against them in Cyprus, which directly leads to their demise.
One might wonder if the “natural forces of the storm” responsible for destroying the Turkish are not also triggered by the island itself. Cyprus gives the transplanted Venetians a false sense of security after obliterating their Turkish enemy in the tempest on the Mediterranean Sea. They do not realize the storm is coming for them, as well. Othello, Desdemona, and Iago are wholly unaware of their own impending doom, which is foreshadowed upon their arrival to the island in the destruction of the Turkish fleet, as described by Montano and two gentlemen:
MONTANO. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land,
A fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements:
If it hath ruffianed so upon the sea
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,
Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?
2 GENTLEMAN. A segregation of the Turkish fleet:
For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds,
The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane,
Seems to cast water on the burning bear
And quench the guards of th’ever-fired pole.
I never did like molestation view
On the enchafed flood.
MONTANO. If that the Turkish fleet
Be not ensheltered and embayed, they are drowned.
It is impossible they bear it out. (2.1.5-19)
The storm that destroyed the Turkish fleet, which intended once again to take Cyprus, can be considered a defensive maneuver employed by the island. Rather than being subjugated yet again, Cyprus employed an annihilatory tempest against the Turkish fleet. The sheer force and violence of the storm’s wind is described by Montano as having originated on the island, or “spoke[n] aloud at land” and then “ruffianed so” upon the sea,” destroying the fleet. Although editors often choose the 1623 First Folio’s descriptor of the “foaming” shore (2.1.11), the 1622 Quarto’s “banning” shore (defined by E. A. J. Honigmann as “cursing or chiding”) suggests Cyprus indeed curses and chides not only the Turkish fleet, but also the key Venetian players who have made it to the certain, menacing shore that itself has conjured a “billow” that “pelt[s] the clouds” so violently that the “enchafed,” (glossed as “excited, furious”) floods “cast water” even onto constellations (116, n. 11 and n. 17). Cyprus’s “monstrous,” “wind-shaked surge” is unrivaled; the island is responsible not only for the Venetians’ temporary victory, but for their ultimate defeat, as well. The essence behind Cyprus’s leveling violence is impartial, soon to be unleashed on the unsuspecting Venetians themselves. Much as the Turkish fleet found, the tempest that is Cyprus will prove impossible to bear out for Othello, Desdemona, and Iago, as well.
The Citadel in Cyprus allows for a specialized assault on Othello, Desdemona, and Iago through a chaotic marriage of military and domestic schemes and action. “Just as the play’s military spaces are domesticated, so too are its domestic spaces militarized” (Tvordi 95). The Citadel not only houses the soldier’s quarters; it also encamps the wives of two of its most influential men. Desdemona and Emilia’s seminal presence in Cyprus disrupts the fragile personal and military dynamics that exist within the head of the Venetian ranks, a disruption which in turn gives way to a key mode of Cyprus’s impending attack. The potential for corruption is maximized as the already existing military dynamics at play in Othello and Iago’s relationship are set against Othello’s underdeveloped marital trust in Desdemona; and that corruption materializes as tragedy as the militarized-domestic setting of Cyprus accommodates only one victor on the battlefield for Othello’s trust. Iago, too, loses command of his otherwise controlled, devious prowess in the convoluted environment of the Citadel in Cyprus, where the remainder of the play and the imminent unraveling of each character takes place.
Othello’s martial moral code is deeply embedded in his character, and his commitment to soldierly trust has served him well his entire life thus far, until Cyprus. Jonathan Shaw refers to Othello as a “military orphan” whose “moral code is derived entirely from his martial upbringing within a culture which is based on trust; for trust is the basis of all soldiering” (2). Shaw also indicates that betrayal is the most heinous of military sins – and the last to be suspected. Othello and Iago’s rapport has been developed long before they reach Cyprus. These two soldiers have been in many combative, life-and-death situations in which each has entrusted their safety to the other. As Shaw points out, Othello has every reason to implicitly trust Iago, who has repeatedly proven his “honesty” on the battlefield. Othello declares Iago a man “of honesty and trust” (1.3.285). Unfortunately, Iago takes perfect advantage of the general’s established military trust, making full use of it as well as of the personal bond they share. This combination proves to be deadly when stacked against Othello’s domestic trust in Desdemona, who has unfortunately accompanied her husband on his mission to isolated, vengeful Cyprus and unknowingly entered herself into a mortal competition against Iago for Othello’s confidence.
Othello’s deeply rooted military code takes precedence in the militarized-domestic setting of Cyprus. Unfortunately, Othello’s military trust in Iago all too easily trumps his domestic trust in his new bride, with whom he has yet to develop a significant rapport of intimacy. Othello’s trust in Iago is further aided by the fact that although the Turkish fleet has been destroyed in the storm, the Venetian soldiers remain on active duty in Cyprus. Another Turkish attack is possible at any time, and as the general of the army, Othello must be ready and at full attention at all times to answer any coming threat. He has no reason to suspect that his trusted subordinate, Iago, is lying to him regarding anything at all, including the domestic matter of Desdemona’s fidelity. Desdemona’s very presence in Cyprus puts her in grave danger. There, working against her are the militarized-domestic setting; her own good, trusting nature which prevents her from suspecting Iago; her blind love, devotion, and loyalty to an unravelling Othello, which in Cyprus prevents her from effectively advocating for herself; Othello’s military moral code and status; the military dynamics that exist between Othello and Iago; Iago’s masterful scheming; and Cyprus itself.
Iago cleverly weaves Othello’s imbalance of domestic and military trust into his web of destruction. While Shaw argues that Iago’s acute feelings of betrayal in response to Othello passing him over for promotion in favor of Cassio are understandable from a military perspective, Iago’s actions are certainly not excusable. Shaw also draws a parallel between Othello and Iago in their extreme reactions to having their trust betrayed. Othello’s sense of betrayal and his fall from grace occur during the play, while Iago’s fall occurs before the play begins, but both men are given over to the poison of their resentment on the vengefully fertile soil of Cyprus, where, due to the presence of their wives, all hell is willing and most able to rapidly break loose in the hybrid military-domestic setting.
It is clear that domestic and military life do not mix well in Othello and that the militarized domesticity in the garrison in Cyprus plays a significant role in the destruction of Othello and Desdemona’s marriage. Another contributing reason behind this is that, “soldiers do not go on operations with their civilian spouses and partners, based on the long-held view that the two strongest human urges – for sex and violence – should be kept apart” (Shaw 4). This view proves true for Othello and Desdemona, who do not survive Cyprus and Iago’s combined assault on their union. The urgings of cuckoldry against Desdemona by Othello’s trusted fellow soldier, Iago, during an active mission inspire a targeted and misplaced violence against their otherwise protected union. Iago is able to unleash a perfect storm upon Othello and Desdemona’s marriage on the volatile, domestic-militarized soil of chaotic Cyprus where sex and violence converge.
Emilia’s domestic presence in militarized Cyprus also proves to be dangerously out of place, contributing to tragedy in the convoluted quarters of the island as she finally and fatefully decides to do her husband’s bidding. Emilia steals Desdemona’s handkerchief and gives it to her husband; while her actions initially allow Iago’s scheme to move forward, sealing Desdemona and Othello’s fate, they seal Emilia and Iago’s fate, as well. Emilia attempts to set things right, confessing her own crime and accusing Iago of being responsible for orchestrating Othello’s murder of Desdemona, but this accusation prompts Iago to kill her in a defensive rage. Desdemona and Emilia arrive with their husbands in the contained and isolated world of tempestuous, militarized Cyprus where domesticity, regardless of its motives or intentions, is unprotected and denatured by the heated, violent chaos of the island. Desdemona and Emilia are at the mercy of the men around them, most notably their husbands, who are ready and available for the actions of war. Those actions of war are, instead, unleashed against Othello and Iago’s own domestic partners. In Cyprus, rather than being protected by their husbands, Desdemona and Emilia are murdered by them.
Language within the play serves to further emphasize militarized domesticity in Cyprus. Othello calls Desdemona his “fair warrior” (2.1.180), Desdemona refers to herself as an “unhandsome warrior” (3.4.152), and Cassio calls Desdemona “our great captain’s captain” (2.1.74). Desdemona is not a warrior, however, and she is certainly not Othello’s captain. There is no evidence that Desdemona is familiar with the inner workings of military life or strategy, and although her motives in petitioning Othello for Cassio’s reinstatement are noble, she crosses the line of civilian domesticity directly into Iago’s trap, inserting herself into militarized, political territory in which she does not belong by virtue of lack of knowledge, experience, and military status. Furthermore, she is wholly unaware that her willing, well-intentioned interference is an orchestrated ambush against her, carefully planned by Iago. Desdemona does not succeed in having Cassio reinstated. Instead, her repetitive pleadings on Cassio’s behalf only serve to stoke the fire of Othello’s growing rage against her, which is kindled by Iago and fanned by the winds of Cyprus.
Desdemona’s strengths, which ensured her safety and happiness in Venice, prove to be her downfall in Cyprus as she stubbornly continues to trust in the strength and safety of her and Othello’s union despite his apparent unravelling and growing cruelty toward her. Othello is unrecognizable in Cyprus. In Act 4, scene 1, he becomes enraged, striking Desdemona in front of her cousin Lodovico (l. 239), who, shocked at this uncharacteristic behavior on Othello’s part states, “[T]his would not be believed in Venice / Though I should swear I saw’t” (ll. 241-42) and soon after asks,
Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate
Call all in all sufficient? This the nature
Whom passion could not shake? Whose solid virtue
The shot of accident nor dart of chance
Could neither graze nor pierce? […]
Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain? (ll. 264-69)
During Othello’s later verbal assault on Desdemona, he calls her an “impudent strumpet” (4.2.82) and a “cunning whore” (4.2.91).
Othello becomes unhinged before her very eyes, yet Desdemona’s sense of impending doom does not overpower her devotion and love for Othello or her trust in him. She verbalizes her intuition, instructing Emilia to “shroud [her] / in one of these same [wedding bed] sheets” (4.3.22-23) should she die, and then proceeds to discuss and sing the foreboding “Willow Song” (4.3.24-56). Desdemona is unable to successfully plead the case of her innocence and love for Othello; her words and her love serve instead to seal her own demise. As Desdemona is dying, when Emilia asks, “who hath done / This deed?” Desdemona replies, “Nobody. I myself. Farewell” (5.2.121-22). Tragically, her trust proves fatally misplaced in Cyprus, as the laws which govern both Desdemona and Othello’s love, along with their respective strengths, betray the couple and keep justice well out of their reach.
Unlike in Venice, in Cyprus Desdemona’s strengths become a vehicle of her destruction as she loses her ability to effectively navigate them, and they quickly become her undoing. Desdemona can no longer wield her voice in Cyprus. Her words, which were so effective in Venice, fail her both in her domestic and military campaigns in Cyprus. Unknowingly and with the best of intentions regarding her advocacy to Othello for Cassio’s reinstatement, motivated not only by her trust and goodness, but also by her love, devotion and loyalty to Othello, she talks and pleads her way onto the path of her own demise, which she is then unable to talk or plead herself off of. In Act 5, scene 2, despite vehemently insisting on her love, loyalty, and innocence and passionately begging for his mercy, Desdemona is murdered by Othello.
Justice and the lines between the domestic and the military are critically blurred in Cyprus, resulting in devastation. Timothy Turner illustrates the impact which this military justice has on Desdemona’s untimely fate:
Military justice governs Cyprus. […] Othello, for a brief time, is sovereign of the “warlike isle” [2.1.43; 2.3.54], including its “town of war” [2.3.209], and its “general camp” [3.3.348]. The play accordingly depicts an episode of summary justice. When Othello suspects Desdemona has committed a crime, he demands “ocular proof” [3.3.363] that in his mind justifies her execution. In act four, scene two, he interrogates her and demands that she confess her infidelity. When Desdemona declares her innocence, Othello refuses to believe her. Only one answer will satisfy him, and her refusal simply confirms her guilt and justifies her death. This execution is, in a sense, the enforcement of Othello’s obligations and powers as the military governor of Cyprus (114).
Desdemona’s love-inspired words of defense, which prevailed in Venice, fail her in Cyprus, where Othello’s political power substantially increases and his proclivity towards “balance, fortune and evenhandedness” is dismantled completely. Unfortunately, the admirable traits he displayed throughout his life and certainly in Venice are inverted into a fatal poison in a matter of days in Cyprus. Desdemona does not understand military dynamics, she is unaware of Othello’s potent military compass, and she is ignorant of the festering, rapidly growing danger posed by a husband afflicted by Iago’s poisonous cunning. Desdemona’s civilian, domestic attitudes in militarized Cyprus unwittingly challenge both Othello’s instinctive military focus on the Venetian mission and simultaneously feed the misplaced, unjustified, growing outrage and impatience he develops towards her in those few days, courtesy of Iago and the astounding setting of charged confusion and tension provided by Cyprus.
In Cyprus, Othello falls prey to the subversion of both his own strengths, as well as Iago’s schemes. As a confident, experienced, warrior general running the garrison on Cyprus, Othello finds himself under significant, conflicting psychological pressures arising from military dynamics present both in his own character and in the bizarre domesticated operational circumstances into which he and the other characters are thrust. Had the lines between the domestic and the military not been so unceremoniously crossed, Othello would have prevailed in this mission, as he had prevailed in so many other missions thus far in his life. While the military dynamics of Cyprus are not understood by Desdemona, and although they are understood to a point by Othello, they are best understood and manipulated by Iago, who uses the domestic-militarized setting of Cyprus to exploit Othello’s trust and advance his own vengeful plot.
The seemingly invulnerable Iago also falls victim to the perfect pandemonium of Cyprus. His own tricksterly brilliance, which worked very well for him in Venice, traps him in his own ruse in Cyprus, where “events spiral out of his control and his gambles get more extreme” (Shaw 2). This sloppiness is uncharacteristic of Iago. Having pledged to “[practice] upon [Othello’s] peace and quiet / Even to madness” (2.1.308-09), Iago’s success in doing so ultimately destroys him as well in Cyprus. Although he is able to successfully ensnare Othello and Desdemona in his web, he soon after entangles himself in it by making a series of increasingly frantic, poorly executed moves, beginning with haphazardly killing Roderigo, then Emilia. These actions lead one to believe Iago also is swiftly unraveling, losing the upper hand in the game of destruction to Cyprus. It becomes inarguably apparent he has missed the zenith of his villainous greatness while running himself ragged along the coordinates of the Citadel on Cyprus.
While Iago’s designs initially succeed in militarized Cyprus due to the domestic presence and unknowing participation of Desdemona and Emilia, the women’s presence also simultaneously traps Iago in his own game. In a mad explosion of uncalculated desperation, in a room full of important witnesses, Iago murders a grieving, impassioned Emilia for exposing his schemes. Justice for Iago’s victims is immediately vowed by the witnesses. There is no way Iago can possibly talk his way out of this, nor does he attempt to. He has resigned himself to defeat, bested by Cyprus. Iago, too, along with Othello and Desdemona, is foiled by his own subverted strengths, which are warped by the close quarters and chaos of Cyprus.
If one were to measure by blood and body count, Cyprus emerges as the conquering victor of Othello, having ravaged Turks and Venetians alike. Othello, Desdemona, and Iago find themselves too far from the safety of the favorable atmosphere of Venice, which had been conducive to their strengths and well-being; instead, they suffer indefensible attacks from dangerously menacing and malignant Cyprus. Had Desdemona stayed behind in protective Venice, the chain reaction of events that culminate in the tragedies of Othello would have been avoided: Emilia would have stayed behind with Desdemona; Iago’s self-destructive machinations against Othello might not have been so expeditiously successful; Desdemona would not have had the opportunity to fail so miserably in her ill-fated domestic and military dealings in Cyprus; and Othello’s as yet developing trust in Desdemona would not have rivaled his soldierly trust of Iago while under the duress of active duty.
Othello’s indomitable character and military prowess, Desdemona’s potent voice and loving nature, and Iago’s brilliance and perfect, villainous tricksterdom endured unmitigated subversion under Cyprus’s unrelenting offensive siege. The island expertly ambushed each character in its vengeful grip. Even loquacious Iago has been silenced, vowing in his last line never to speak again – forgoing his final opportunity to break the fourth wall (5.2.301). He imparts no further confidence to his audience, leaving them evermore without closure. Cyprus has left Iago speechless. And yet, what we know, we know: Iago will follow Othello, Desdemona, Emilia, Roderigo, and the decimated Turkish fleet unto death and extinction. Cyprus has proven to be an unsuspected, merciless opponent, wielding the subversive weights of its violent history and its deadly, confined, militarized-domestic setting against heroes and villains alike. Finally, we know that having bested the otherwise unmatched Iago, the greatest of all of Shakespeare’s tricksters is the island of Cyprus – which has shown itself to be a tempest impossible to bear out.
Works Cited
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Tvordi, Jessica. “‘In Quarter and in Terms like Bride and Groom’: Reconfiguring Marriage, Friendship, and Alliance in Othello.” Journal of the Wooden O Symposium, vol. 8, Jan. 2008, pp. 85–101.EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=47029697&site=eds-live.
Works Consulted
Bailey, Ellen. “Cyprus.” Salem Press Encyclopedia, 2019. EBSCOhost, doi:10.3331/our_world_481_250379
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