Cymbeline is famous for two things: Imogen, the most lovely female character possibly in all of Shakespeare, and that one perfect elegiac song recited over her when she "dies." I gather that scholars are very divided over the merits of this play, which I get, but I fall on the side of the soft-hearted poetry-lovers and have a special place in my heart for it despite its many imperfections. Reportedly Tennyson loved this play most of all Billy's works, but Bloom sneers at it for the most part. At least Goddard was charmed by its notable prose, so I'm not alone.
It's far from perfect, and yet it seduces us. The characters are uneven, if memorable for their fairly distinct roles: the evil and clever Queen, her clotpole of a son Cloten (rhymes with "rotten"), the cypher Cymbeline, the scheming Jachimo, lovesick and dumb Posthumus, the sweet and loyal Pisanio. But none have a clear voice like the nonpareil Imogen, the King's only daughter and the oversized heart of the story. I could see Hamlet chasing her in admiration for her pure lyricism and grace. She is a lovely human being. I wanted to hate her for still loving her under-confident and wayward husband after all he puts her through but she is the kindest and most understanding person there is next to Jesus.
The language is high Shakespearean, and such a relief to read after the last few bare bones works. As much as critics want to chastise the bloated plot and believe that the flowery vocabulary is the main reason it still resonates, my suspicion is that they secretly love the snowballing drama. Billy must have been trying to take the piss a bit, treating each act like a clown car, with twists and details that never cease to climb out. It's an ancient Brittonic telelnovela and lit professors hate that they like it. Just accept that it's a guilty pleasure and live, you guys! With a director like Pedro Almodovar, a story like this would be raised to the sky. Oh, a girl can dream.
ACT I
I love a play that opens with courtly gossip. Two Gentlemen enter and spill the tea about how the King had two sons that were stolen away when they were tiny children, but he still Imogen, his daughter. She has married Posthumus (a "poor but worthy gentleman" who was raised in the court by the King himself), and the King has imprisoned her and banished him for this for no reason. The Queen says she will be a good stepmother and defend Imogen and her husband to the King. As soon as the Queen leaves, Imogen yells "O Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds!" because Imogen isn't stupid. She tells Posthumus to get the F out of town. Posthumus tries to comfort her and says he will go to Rome to live with his friend Philario, where she can write to him. The Queen says the King is coming and leaves again. Posthumus wants to take the chance to R-U-N-N-O-F-T, but not before Imogen hands him a diamond ring that was her mother's. He promises to love her forever and gives her a bracelet.
The King Cymbeline comes and orders Posthumus to be banished under pain of death. He flees. Imogen aches to see him go. The King says Imogen has made him age an extra year over this mess. She defends herself and says she married an eagle instead of that "puttock" Cloten, the Queen's son by another man. Her chutzpah is on show for this entire exchange re: this less-than-ideal marriage arrangement she broke. The Queen comes in and Imogen says they should pen her up. The King orders Imogen locked up for her disrespect. Pisanio, Posthumus' servant, comes and the Queen wishes him to leave. Pisanio says that Posthumus and Cloten just had a fight but were pulled apart. Imogen tells him to meet her later to talk.
Cloten, attended by his kiss-ass Lords, brag about how Cloten would have beaten the shit out of Posthumus if the fight weren't broken up. They damn Imogen for her foolishness.
Imogen meets with Pisanio, who describes to her how romantically Posthumus said his farewells as he left on a ship. She imagines how she would have reacted:
I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
To look upon him, till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
Have turn'd mine eye and wept.
This is Shakespeare back on form!
A Lady comes to tell Imogen the Queen wishes to see her.
Somewhere in Rome, Philario and a friend of his, Jachimo (also spelled "Iachimo" i.e. "Little Iago"), hang with three other dudes from France, Spain, and the Netherlands. They each talk about how cool Posthumus is and wonder at the whole courtly mishap with Cymbeline. They agree that this could stain his reputation, but Philario says they should treat him as a gentleman. Posthumus arrives then, and apologizes to one of the guys about his poor behavior in the past and they all just shrug it off as they talk about the virtues of the women of their respective countries. Posthumus praises Imogen as the most prized of all women, but Jachimo doubts how chaste and good she could possibly be. They make a wager on her loyalty, betting that Jachimo could seduce her with no problem. Philario says this is foolish but Jachimo bets ten thousand ducats against Posthumus' diamond ring that Imogen can be seduced. Posthumus, like a moron, takes the bet, sure that she will not succumb to Jachimo's advances. Jachimo says:
If I bring you no
sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest
bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats
are yours.
They shake on it and leave.
The Queen, her Ladies, and her doctor Cornelius collect flowers on the place grounds. Cornelius gives her a small box containing certain "compounds" that she requested. He asks her WTF she wants wth poisons. She says that as a good pupil of his, she will experiment with them on animals of course, "to try the vigor of them." Cornelius says that it's a nasty business and she says fuck off. Pisanio arrives and Cornelius says in an aside that the box only contains medicines that will "stupefy and dull the sense awhile" to give the effect of death because he doesn't trust her as far as he can throw her. The Queen sends Cornelius away and speaks with Pisanio. She "drops" the box and offers it to Pisanio as remuneration for his task of convincing Imogen to marry her son Cloten. She says the box contains a special concoction of her own making that has cured even the King five times over. Pisanio doesn't trust her, of course, and goes on his way.
Imogen laments about her situation and wishes she were stolen away like her brothers. Pisanio and Jachimo show up with letters from Rome. She reads them, and they tell her to trust Jachimo. Jachimo wastes no time in turning on the Italian charm:
What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul?
Imogen is surprised at his admiration. Jachimo sends Pisanio away and continues to try seducing Imogen while she asks after Posthumus. Jachimo lies and says Posthumus has been engaging in nothing but revels, and has not been sad at all. Jachimo says he pities her for her husband's insensitive behavior. Jachimo says a lady as lovely as her doesn't deserve to be treated this way and that she can have revenge on Posthumus by sleeping with himself. Imogen says "If thou wert honourable, Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange." She calls for Pisanio and says she will tell the King about Jachimo's attempt to assault her so. Jachimo takes it all back and says he was just testing her, and that Posthumus is actually just as honorable as can be. She accepts his apology and he asks if she can house a trunk of valuables in her room, as they are items bought as a present for the Roman Emperor and must be kept safe. She agrees to protect them. He says he must leave the next day, so Imogen sets to writing a letter to her husband.
ACT II
Cloten and his flunkies talk shit about playing bowls, fighting people, and insulting "inferiors." One Lord mentions that an Italian has arrived in court--a friend of Posthumus. Cloten resolves to find this man and a Lord stays behind to roll his eyes at how such a dunderhead was got from such a clever Queen:
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he'ld make!
Imogen, having read for three hours, finally decides to go to sleep at midnight. As she sleeps, Jachimo emerges from the trunk in her room and writes notes about her beauty and all the things around her so he can gather enough evidence that he bedded her:
How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows, white and azure laced
With blue of heaven's own tinct.
He takes off the bracelet given to her by Posthumus:
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
The treasure of her honour.
Satisfied, he climbs back in the trunk as the clock chimes.
The next morning, Cloten and his Lords bring Musicians to Imogen's door to woo her:
Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your
fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
Ewwww indecent pun indeed!
The Queen and Cymbeline encourage him in his pursuit of the lady's hand, saying he must persevere because Imogen is still pining for her "minion" Posthumus. They leave and Cloten wonders if he can "line" her lady's hand to gain access to the room. He meets a Lady and slips her some gold. Imogen awakes and emerges to say "The thanks I give you Is telling you that I am poor of thanks." BURN. He declares he loves her and she will not budge. He says she owes her obedience to her father and must marry him eventually. Imogen continues to put him down in the classiest language:
As I am mad, I do:
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity--
To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather
You felt than make't my boast.
Imogen tears Cloten a new one as Pisanio arrives and Imogen asks him to help her find the bracelet she has somehow misplaced in her sleep.
Posthumus and Philario, back in Rome, discuss the wager made with Jachimo. Posthumus is certain he will win, because Imogen is so perfect. They gossip about politics and how Cymbeline has not paid the tribute to Rome, so war may be imminent. Jachimo finds them and brings letters from Imogen as well as compliments about the lady's beauty. But of course, Jachimo can't help himself:
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.
Posthumus gulps, and Jachimo goes on to describe Imogen's chamber to the finest detail, then drops the bombshell about the bracelet and Posthumus so quickly believes Jachimo was gifted it by a lying cheating woman that Philario insists Jachimo hasn't actually proven anything yet, and dumbass Posthumus says "Oh, right... umm, what else have you got?" Jachimo finally reveals the sight of the mole on her breast and Posthumus goes nuclear, screaming about the horrible whore he married. He storms off and Philario shakes his head at Jachimo, who is proud of his shitty deed.
Posthumus launches into a soliloquy railing on about the inconstancy of women and how he wants vengeance. He perseverates on the image of Jachimo mounting her like a boar or a German (sheesh!) and swears that woman are THE WORST:
Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
For even to vice
They are not constant but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better.
ACT III
Caius Lucius, a Roman General, meets with Cymbeline, the Queen and Cloten re: the back payments not made. The Queen reminds Cymbeline that England owes Rome nothing, and that England is so difficult to conquer that they have the upper hand anyway:
Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors, together with
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--
Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--
O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
And Britons strut with courage.
Reads like a rancid version of John of Gaunt's "Sceptered isle" speech from Richard II.
Cloten chimes in with nasty remarks about Italian noses and Cymbeline finally gets a word in edgewise after Lucius sighs and says he must declare war against the King. They go off to have a civil feast before Lucius must go and ready his army.
Meanwhile, Pisanio receives a letter from Posthumus commanding him to kill Imogen for her whoreface ways and Pisanio argues with it, saying "O damn'd paper, Black as the ink that's on thee!" and refuses to do the murthering. Imogen finds him and he gives her another letter. She squees with feels at the prospect of a love letter from her man:
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
That knew the stars as I his characters;
He'ld lay the future open. You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
For it doth physic love: of his content,
All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!
She reads the cryptic letter, which announces that he is in Milford-Haven in Wales, and she wishes for "a horse with wings!" to scurry to him ASAP. She asks how far it is and he says it's twenty miles "'twixt sun and sun." She says they must hurry and they leave.
Somewhere in Wales, we meet Belarius, Guiderius and Aviragus, men of the woodland. They step out of their cave and stretch and say how lovely a day it is to be out of doors. Belarius posits how noble and wonderful this path is compared to courtly life (which he remembers bitterly):
O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a cheque,
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.
Guiderius defers to Belarius' knowledge to a point, as he and his brother are "unfledg'd" and haven't been anywhere in the world but Wales (honestly, one could spend their entire life in Wales and be as happy as Belarius, for it is a magical and delightful place, tell you what). The boys whine that while their "father" has at least tasted the world beyond Wales, they have no interesting stories to warm them in the cave as they grow old. Belarius insists that courtly life ain't worth it:
Did you but know the city's usuries
And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery that
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
the search,
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sy at the censure
He goes on to explain that he was once a soldier and has many scars from fighting Romans and Cymbeline himself once favored him until one day, some assholes lied to the King, saying Belarius was a traitor and he was banished for the last twenty years. He sends the boys off to hunt for food and soliloquizes about the truths he left out of his story:
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine...
This Polydore,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
The king his father call'd Guiderius...
The younger brother, Cadwal,
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,
Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
His own conceiving...
O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for
their mother,
And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father.
Belarius then runs off to join the boys in the hunt.
Shakespeare really has his hands full of plot this time around, and he couldn't have described it more poetically. This scene is one of the most charming in all of the plays. Belarius' backstory flows with an irresistible romanticism. It's such a joy to read. To return to a place much like the enchanting Arden in As You Like It does my heart good after all these pessimistic plays of the last few weeks.
Pisanio and Imogen arrive in the country near Milford-Haven and she can't imagine why Posthumus isn't there. Pisanio shamefully hands her the letter that accuses her of being a strumpet and asks Pisanio to kill her. Pisanio cries:
What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.
Imogen is so heartbroken over this that she wishes he would kill her anyway:
I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief
Oh is there anything else so wrenching as this? Who has lived who hasn't felt their heart empty of all things but grief?
Pisanio of course refuses this vioelnce and she wails with woe and he says he has lost so much sleep over this and she asks why the F would he follow through with this pretense of riding all the fuck out to Wales, then? He says he needed time to think this over, and he realized that some villain must have corrupted Posthumus. Imogen doesn't want to go back home, so Pisanio suggests waiting for Lucius to show up and volunteer for the army in disguise while Pisanio goes to Rome and tells Posthumus that she has died. He gives her a quick tutorial on acting like a man and hands her some extra manclothes. He also hands her the box from the Queen with the substances in it. He says she should use the medicines within if she's ever sea-sick or whatever. Perhaps it's as good as Midol? Who knows.
Back in Cymbeline's court, the King bids farewell to Lucius, who says he will pass through Wales. The King cannot believe Imogen hasn't come to say goodbye and he asks someone to find her. The Queen says to excuse Imogen because she is heartsick. A Messenger returns and reports that Imogen's room is all locked up and she doesn't answer the door. Cloten adds that he hasn't seen Pisanio for two days. Everyone goes to find her except the Queen, who is glad Imogen is gone, because it brings her closer to the throne. Cloten comes back and says Imogen is gone and Cymbeline is in a rage. Cloten, despite his foul character, is able to see Imogen's superb personality:
I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all
Cloten becomes super jealous and swears revenge on her when Pisanio shows up and Cloten demands he confess where Imogen has gone. Pisanio hands him the letter from Posthumus and Cloten demands Pisanio fetch him the clothes Posthumus left behind so he can disguise himself as Imogen's husband, "ravish" her in Milford-Haven, kill him, then somehow come to her rescue and that will impress her for some twisted reason. Pisanio brings the clothes and as Cloten runs off to dress, Pisanio says to himself that Cloten will never find her.
Back in Wales, Imogen is in drag, and clearly not enjoying herself:
I see a man's life is a tedious one:
I have tired myself, and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me.
She comes upon a cave and draws her sword in case she encounters something scary, and she's a bit amused at what must be her own appearance:
Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens!
Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus arrive with the results of their hunt. Belarius goes into the cave and thinks he sees a fairy. Imogen comes out and insists that she means no harm to them and that she was just looking for food. She says her name is "Fidele" and that she's on her way to Italy. Belarius cheerfully invites her to stay for dinner. Guiderius says that if she were a woman, he would woo her hard. Oh boy. Arviragus says he will treat "Fidele" as a brother. Imogen is impressed at the boys' manner:
Great men,
That had a court no bigger than this cave,
That did attend themselves and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them--laying by
That nothing-gift of differing multitudes--
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
Since Leonatus's false.
Together, they prepare their kill for dinner.
Back in Rome, some Senators and Tribunes are recruiting men for the war against Britain.
ACT IV
In the Welsh forest, Cloten recites a litany against handsome Posthumus that would make an Incel proud.
Imogen comes down with some slight ague, and Guiderius and Arviragus dote on her, saying they definitely feel like brothers to this youth they found. Belarius frets a bit because they keep showing their gentle parentage through their noble actions. She insists that she's not actually sick but sick all the same. She takes some of Pisanio's potion. The brothers wonder at Imogen's s many skills, including cookery:
But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
In characters,
And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
And he her dieter.
Damn, someone was studying Food Network back in the castle.
Cloten shows up and Belarius spots him, knowing exactly who he is. The men encounter Cloten and exchange barbs, because of course Cloten must insult his "inferiors." Guiderius snaps at him: "Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not My dagger in my mouth." They say they'd be more afraid of a toad than of Cloten, who finds it offensive that they do not treat him royally even though he is clearly dressed to the nines. He and Guiderius run off and fight. Belarius and Arviragus wait for Guiderius and soon enough he returns with Cloten's brainless head. Belarius gulps, for now they are all in trouble. Guiderius says they don't have to worry because they are outlaws anyway. Belarius fears revenge; the boys fear nothing. Belarius agrees they must carry on with their day and go home to cook with "poor sick Fidele." Belarius lets the boys head home while he soliloquizes:
O thou goddess,
Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
Civility not seen from other, valour
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.
Shit, Shakespeare, you really pulled through this time, dude. I missed your signature shit, buddy!
Guiderius returns and says "I have sent Cloten's clotpole down the stream."
"Clotpole" really is a great insult and should be used more liberally.
Arviragus comes back, carrying "Fidele" in his arms. All three of them die a little inside, and each spout some tender prose outlining their grief at such a loss. Guiderius and Arviragus nearly seem to be in competition over who can come up with a better elegy for their "brother." Arviragus, IMHO, is the sweetest:
With fairest flowers
Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!--bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse.
O, my grief-tender heart!
They all decide to bury her near their "mother" Euriphile. They drag Cloten's body in as well, for "Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', When neither are alive." Haha! I understood that reference!
Then, the moment we've all been waiting for: the ultimate elegiac poem in all of Shakespeare gets sung by "Cadwal and Polydore" (and boy is it a beauty):
GUIDERIUS
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
ARVIRAGUS
Fear no more the frown o' the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
GUIDERIUS
Fear no more the lightning flash,
ARVIRAGUS
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
GUIDERIUS
Fear not slander, censure rash;
ARVIRAGUS
Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
GUIDERIUSARVIRAGUS
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
GUIDERIUS
No exorciser harm thee!
ARVIRAGUS
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
GUIDERIUS
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
ARVIRAGUS
Nothing ill come near thee!
GUIDERIUS & ARVIRAGUS
Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave!
I'm putting this on the record now that I want this recited at my memorial. I won't have a grave because I'm donating my body to science, but what's good for Ajax is good for Thersites.
Imogen awakens, thinking she just had a crazy dream about cooking in caves with strange men, and she finds a dead body beside her. In the most grotesquely ironic twist of fate, she identifies her husband's clothes and believes it is Posthumus. It's a hard sell that she truly "recognizes" his hand, thigh, foot as belonging to her husband and not that CLOTPOLE, but it's no less a heartbreaking wail she makes:
A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
Murder in heaven?--How!--'Tis gone. Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio--
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me!
where's that?
And to make it worse, she rubs his blood on her cheeks and falls upon him, weeping. Ugh God. WTF. And Everything was going so beautifully.
Just then, Lucius and some soldiers and the Soothsayer enter and debate their next move. The Soothsayer predicts:
Last night the very gods show'd me a vision--
I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus:
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends--
Unless my sins abuse my divination--
Success to the Roman host.
Oh hahaha we'll see about that.
Lucius stumbles upon Cloten's body, with the grieving Imogen upon it, and asks "Fidele" WTF is going on here. She says he is her master, who was slain by mountaineers. Lucius likes this "boy" and how aptly named he is, so he asks if he will be his squire. Imogen agrees, as long as she gets to bury the body first.
Back in the palace, Cymbeline is worried because the Queen has taken ill due to her missing son, and he is concerned about Imogen. Pisanio swears up and down that he knows not where she is, but he will be Cymbeline's servant nonetheless. A Lord comes and reports that some Gallatian forces have landed on England's shores. They go to talk to some Roman senators for counsel. Pisanio whispers that he sent Posthumus the letter saying Imogen was dead but he still hasn't gotten a message back, which is weird.
Our three mountaineers are freaking out about all the ruckus in the woods due to the Roman army. Belarius says that Cymbeline doesn't deserve to have them fighting for England, but the boys are riled up and want to battle the Romans because the only blood they've seen is that of goats and hares. Belarius reluctantly joins them, saying "The time seems long, their blood thinks scorn Till it fly out and show them princes born."
ACT V
Posthumus, all alone, talks to a bloody handkerchief, which Pisanio sent I suppose, and Posthumus immediately has murther remorse and decides not to fight with the Romans after all. He is THE WORST. I am not even quoting him because he makes such a classic lame MANAPOLOGY and I hate that Imogen still loves him and she needs to marry Hamlet already.
On the battlefield, Posthumus goes to "vanquisheth and disarmeth" Jachimo and leaves the sneaky bastard to soliloquize his own MANAPOLOGY for metaphorically screwing over Imogen. Cymbeline is taken by the Romans, but then the Three Mountaineers leap in to save him. Lucius comes and orders "Fidele" to save himself.
Posthumus meets a British Lord and relays the scene on the battlefield in which "an ancient soldier" and "two striplings" acted as "three thousand confident" and shamed the British soldiers for not being as brave as they. He goes on with much detail of the fight and then offers himself up as being guilty of Imogen's death. A Captain comes and says that Lucius was taken, thanks to those three brave dudes who did all the work. They take Posthumus prisoner and bring him to the King.
Posthumus is brought to the camp's stockade and two Jailers attend him. They leave him alone so he can further soliloquize about how grateful he is to be locked up. He admits that he truly owes his life for taking Imogen's:
For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it:
'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers,
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
I'll speak to thee in silence.
Posthumus falls asleep then and sees members of his dead family as music plays. One by one, they tell him how they died, how Posthumus fucked up, and how he never should have listened to Jachimo. They ask Jupiter to descend and listen to their pleas for Posthumus' life. Jupiter, riding an eagle, tells them to shut up because he punishes the people he loves:
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
And happier much by his affliction made.
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine:
and so, away: no further with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.
He flies off as the dead family thanks him for his backhanded blessing. The Ghosts disappear and lay a tablet from Jupiter on Posthumus' chest before he wakes up, completely aroused with wonder. He finds the tablet and reads it:
'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown,
without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of
tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
lopped branches, which, being dead many years,
shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and
freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
He thinks it awesomely uncanny:
'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
"Such stuff as madmen tongue and brain not" has a je ne sais quoi and I love it.
Just then, the Jailers return to lead him to his death. One Jailer provides a rather more common version of the sentiments expressed in Guiderius and Arviragus' song:
A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is,
you shall be called to no more payments, fear no
more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of
parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in
flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too
much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and
sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain
both empty; the brain the heavier for being too
light, the purse too light, being drawn of
heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be
quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up
thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and
creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and
counters; so the acquittance follows.
A Messenger comes and tells them there's been a stay of execution and they need to bring Posthumus to the King.
And we finally arrive at Scene V, the longest goddamn scene in the play in which all the loose ends magically get tied up.
Cymbeline, grateful for victory, awards Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus knighthoods, but they are still looking for a mystery man who apparently helped the effort. Cornelius enters with a bunch of the Queen's ladies to announce that she is dead, and said she never loved Cymbeline and only wanted his nobility and planned to poison him so that Cloten could take the throne but she repented on her death bed. Cymbeline is bemused.
Lucius, Jachimo, Posthumus, and Imogen all get hauled in at the same time, along with the Roman Soothsayer. Cymbeline can't seem to help lauding his victory over the Roman general, and Lucius is sour, saying that Britain basically won by accident. he also says please let my British squire boy go, for he is the BEST ever and deserves to be free. Cymbeline thinks "he" looks familiar and grants Lucius' wish. Imogen asks that she have a word in private with the King and they walk off, leaving Belarius and his boys to wonder how the hell "Fidele" came back to life. Posthumus is the first to correctly identify her, though he keeps it to himself for now. Imogen and Cymbeline return, and the King calls Jachimo forth to explain from whence he got the diamond ring on his finger. Jachimo explains that he got it from Posthumus by villainy in Rome and starts rambling on forever about the whole backstory of the wager surrounding Imogen's chastity and how terrible he was for even hatching his plot to get her in trouble. Posthumus can only take so much of this and comes forward in anger to insult Jachimo to the hilt. But Posthumus also admits that he killed Imogen and he is the worst villain ever.
Imogen wants to intervene but Posthumus himself smacks her and she falls. Pisanio goes to help her, calling her "mistress" and berating Posthumus. Everyone is confused, and Cymbeline says "the gods do mean to strike we To death with mortal joy." Imogen rouses and accuses Pisanio of poisoning her. Pisanio says he got the box from the Queen and honestly thought it was all good stuff inside. Cornelius spills that OH BY THE WAY the Queen was also planning to poison Imogen, so that's why Cornelius only gave her non-deadly poisons in the box that make one only look dead for a time. Belarius and the boys nod their heads, agreeing that this was what must have happened.
Imogen, in a mindblowing act, throws her arms around Posthumus despite his frankly less-than-stellar behavior. Posthumus knows he is not worthy (it's the least he can do) but begs she hang onto him forever. Cymbeline is aghast at this whole sight. The King tells Imogen that the Queen is dead and Cloten is AWOL so Pisanio says Cloten dressed up in Posthumus's clothes in Milford-Haven and then Guiderius says he decapitated Cloten in the woods. Cymbeline says Guiderius killed a prince, a most unlawful act, and will pay. Guiderius gives no shits. Belarius steps forward now, admitting that he is not "Morgan" but in fact Belarius, whom Cymbeline knows well, and then he goes on and on about how he stole his sons twenty years ago and raised them as his own. Cymbeline says that Guiderius had a mole on his neck, so as proof, they discover that yes, in fact this "Polydore" has that very goddamned "natural stamp."
Cymbeline is a puddle of goo at this point:
O, what, am I
A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
may reign in them now! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
To this, Imogen beautifully replies
No, my lord;
I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When ye were so indeed.
The boys say they all loved each other the moment they met, and Cymbeline calls it "rare instinct." Cymbeline is so overjoyed that he calls Belarius brother. Imogen tells Lucius she will do him service yet, Posthumus admits that he was the mystery soldier on the battlefield, Jachimo throws himself at Posthumus' mercy, and Posthumus forgives him. Posthumus then asks for the Soothsayer to interpret his weird ass dream and the tablet he found on his chest. The Soothsayer deconstructs and translates the meaning of the tablet's words, and they have a very nice mini English Lit 101 lesson before Cymbeline blurts out that he will pay the Roman tribute after all. This will bring peace and Cymbeline closes by saying they will all go burn some shit on altars to the gods now in thanks of all this fortune:
Laud we the gods;
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.
Wow. We made it. Despite being wrapped up like one of Martha Stewart's too-immaculate Christmas presents, it's what's inside the box that matters. The shiny paper and bow doth protest too much. Movie time!
Aside from the fact that it's entirely too far-fetched to think anyone could mistake the winsome Helen Mirren for a boy, the 1982 BBC version of this play really ain't bad. The play is way too long, so the movie is way too long, but not because of the text; they cut significant portions out (some really good poetic parts!) but it lingered on asinine scenes that we really didn't need to mull over. Watching Cloten dress in Posthumus' clothes in front of a mirror while reciting absolutely nothing felt like an eternity.
Obviously, Helen is the ideal Shakespearean woman--she was awesome as Rosalind--so she's adorable and makes me love Imogen even more. It was a delight to see her interpretation of this heartfelt character.
Now this 2015 version of Cymbeline... so ummm... why was this movie made? No one asked for a Sons of Anarchy version of this maximally poetic play about ancient Britain. I totally blame Ethan Hawke because I know he has a thing for Shakespeare even though he's crap at it. His version of Hamlet impressed me so little when I first saw it that I didn't think to include it for my two weeks of that play. The only person who delivered any lines right was John Leguizamo as Pisanio. He knows how to deliver Shakespeare. He really does. Anton Yelchin was alright, because, bless his soul, he was a really talented person, but Cloten is a non-starter of a character. Even with great actors like Ed Harris and Delroy Lindo, this thing just didn't fly at all. Milla Jovovich just looked stoned the whole time. Almost everyone didn't seem to know what was coming out of their mouths, and the editing and offbeat musical choices... totally awkward. I think this mainly serves to remind us that not everyone can do Shakespeare, and you know, that's OK. Just don't try to force it.
I really could see this play made into a decent film if it were done in the style of Netflix's The Last Kingdom. That high-romance high-production-value emo-violent-historical-fiction backdrop would suit Cymbeline to a T. I would hate Posthumus way less if he were played by Alexander Dreymon, for sure. Oh man. Wouldn't that be great? Get on that Netflix!
Next week: more romance, pursued by a bear. That's right, we've made it to The Winter's Tale which I absolutely don't remember at this moment for my life. Except for the bear thing. Kyle MacLachlan, beloved actor and vintner, calls his cabernet sauvignon "Pursued by Bear." He is special.
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