If you're a writer, you know that sometimes you have to "kill your darlings,” i.e. for the greater good, you must cut out some of your favorite lines or paragraphs to make something work. Well, Timon of Athens feels as if Shakespeare had opened up a Word document and whenever he struck a line or speech from some recent play, he just copied and pasted it into one big dump file and with minimal editing, and turned it into a manuscript for a play. Timon has story and thematic elements from King Lear, Coriolanus, Antony & Cleopatra, with some inclusions of Titus Andronicus, The Merchant of Venice, and even Hamlet. That is to say, it's a fricken mess with moments of genius and insight, mostly about the effect money and commerce has on humanity.
Many scholars point to its incoherence as proof that it had multiple authors, or at the very least Shakespeare collaborated with another dude, or that Shakespeare basically used it as a safety valve to release all the angry shit that he cut out of the superior plays. As a result, Timon is rarely produced, but ironically, it plays better than it reads. It's absurd and soulless, with a main character who really needed a woman to save him from himself, but the only females in the entire thing are two money-grubbing whores. To be fair, most of the men in this are also money-grubbing whores. Athens is a whorehouse, is the point, I guess.
Still, there are flashes of true, cynical truths about human behavior surrounding flattery, money, and power. It also contains an attempt to debate the merits of poetry and painting, and what art's role is in the world that values nothing more than cold hard cash. In a city where free-flowing wine and feasts are respected even above military service, what good is a man's honesty and integrity? What good is a man's deep generosity if he's winning hearts at the same rate he's accruing massive debt? What good is friendship if you won't return as much as you've received? Timon of Athens very nakedly lays this shit out on the table, although it sometimes tastes like lukewarm water.
ACT I
A Poet, a Painter, and a Candlestickmaker (j/k it's really a Jeweller) get together to talk about how much they want to suck up to Timon, the highly-respected rich man of the city. They brag about the gifts they are going to offer to him in exchange for his fortunes and favors. It's really quite sickening. The Poet, however, predicts that Timon will have his downfall. Timon arrives with some senators and everyone fawns over him. He happily hands over a hefty sum to bail out Ventidius, one of his "friends." Another man comes to essentially trick Timon into paying the dowry for Lucilius, who wants to marry his daughter. Timon easily complies. Then the craftsmen present their wares. He says of the painting:
Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man;
or since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work;
And you shall find I like it
When Apemantus, the "churlish philosopher," shows up, he plays the proverbial wet blanket and pokes holes in all of Timon's foolishly optimistic views on the people surrounding him. When Timon asks what he thinks the jewel the Jeweller gave him is worth, Apemantus says "Not worth my thinking." He hangs around and drapes nasty (but true!) witticisms all over the place, saying that this feast is a place "to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat fools." Timon's philosophy, however, is "there's none Can truly say he gives if he receives." Timon also argues:
O you gods, think I, what need we have any
friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they
were the most needless creatures living, should we
ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble
sweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their
sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished
myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We
are born to do benefits: and what better or
properer can we can our own than the riches of our
friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have
so many, like brothers, commanding one another's
fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born!
Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to
forget their faults, I drink to you.
It's pathetic that he doesn't see through these flatters' false adoration. But hey, some dancing ladies arrive to liven up the party, so who cares? Apemantus sits back and shakes his head:
Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!
They dance! they are mad women.
Like madness is the glory of this life.
As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves;
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men
Upon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spite and envy.
Who lives that's not depraved or depraves?
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves
Of their friends' gift?
I should fear those that dance before me now
Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done;
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
They all dance around and drink with the ladies, and when everyone starts to head home, Timon won't let one of the Lords leave until he has given him a jewel. Timon's steward, Flavius, in an aside, reveals that Timon is actually flat broke, and he feels bad for him:
What will this come to?
He commands us to provide, and give great gifts,
And all out of an empty coffer:
Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,
To show him what a beggar his heart is,
Being of no power to make his wishes good:
His promises fly so beyond his state
That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes
For every word: he is so kind that he now
Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books.
Well, would I were gently put out of office
Before I were forced out!
Happier is he that has no friend to feed
Than such that do e'en enemies exceed.
I bleed inwardly for my lord.
Everyone heads out, leaving Timon alone with Apemantus, who heartily drops his warnings to the host:
Friendship's full of dregs:
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs,
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies.
Timon waves him off, saying he'd like him better if he weren't so damn dark. Apemantus shrugs and says to himself:
O, that men's ears should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!
ACT II
A Senator sits at his kitchen table, going over his finances, and he finds that his credit score is shit, so he calls for his servant to bring his bonds to Timon and demand he pay him what he owes. The Senator says "I must not break my back to heal his finger" and that if every usurer calls in their debts, Timon will be stripped like a featherless gull.
Flavius, carrying a stack of bills, frets over Timon's expenses. Some more servants sent from other Senators arrive as well, and they all accost him with dues. Timon only wants to entertain his guest, Alcibiades, for dinner, so he leaves them just when Apemantus shows up with a Fool, and of course, they proceed to call these collectors asses and generally poke fun at them. One of them asks the Fool what a whoremaster is and he replies:
A fool in good clothes, and something like thee.
'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord;
sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher,
with two stones moe than's artificial one: he is
very often like a knight; and, generally, in all
shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore
to thirteen, this spirit walks in.
Timon and Flavius come back, and Timon berates his steward for not warning him about his debts, but Flavius insists he told him on many occasions. Timon says they'll sell his land and Flavius says they've already done that, and he's done all he could to square Timon's accounts, but he mostly cries while Timon parties. Flavius weeps some more about Timon's inevitable doom:
Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made:
Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers,
These flies are couch'd.
Timon laughs and says "I am wealthy in my friends" and plans to strike out and ask money of them. He orders Flavius to send out word to a handful of them to request some cash. Flavius shakes his head, unconvinced that they will pony up. Timon says go to Ventidius then, because his dad died and left him a pile of inheritance recently, and Timon had just bailed him out of jail, so he'll definitely spot him. Flavius prays he does.
ACT III
Timon's servant Flaminius (which is definitely a fabulous drag name) goes to Lucullus and politely requests money. Lucullus takes umbrage and thinks Timon awfully presumptuous for asking him for help. He even attempts to pay Flaminius to say he never saw him. Flaminius leaves, utterly disgusted with Timon’s “friend” and his behavior.
A bunch of Strangers gossip with Lucius about Timon’s dire issues in the financial department, and Lucius scoffs, thinking this nuts, and he is offended at Lucullus for denying Timon assistance. Lucius says he would never leave Timon out in the cold like that. Servilius, Timon’s other servant, arrives and asks for a loan. Lucius claims he has no money whatsoever, leaving the Strangers to comment on Lucius’ flagrant hypocrisy.
Another of Timon’s servants approaches Sempronius for help and Sempronius acts shocked and offended that he was asked last of all Timon’s friends, then refuses to lend anything out of a sense of “honor.” The Servant shakes his head at this and realizes that Timon has run out of people who might help:
The
devil knew not what he did when he made man
politic; he crossed himself by 't...
This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,
Save only the gods: now his friends are dead,
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
Many a bounteous year must be employ'd
Now to guard sure their master.
And this is all a liberal course allows;
Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house.
All the servants of Timon's creditors gather at his house and blab about how much Timon owes to each of the masters. Flaminius tries to send them away as Flavius attempts to sneak out disguised, but they grab him. Flavius points out how everyone was happy to feast with Timon only a short time ago:
Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills,
When your false masters eat of my lord's meat?
Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts
And take down the interest into their
gluttonous maws.
Flavius further says there's money to be gotten from Timon anyway. One servants says "he's poor, and that's revenge enough." Servilius comes out and insists Timon is ill but they don't believe him. So Timon finally bursts out, angry that they won't let him leave his house. They hand over the bills his owes and finally go away. Timon calls his servants to send word to his "friends" back to his house for another great feast.
Alcibiades meets with some Senators who are dead-set on sentencing one of his soldiers to be executed for a crime. Alcibiades pleads with them, defending the soldier's actions. One Senator says "Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy." Alcibiades says the man's actions were done in the heat of the moment and that a better sentence would be to send him back to war so at least his skills can be better utilized before he inevitably dies. Besides, they shouldn't forget that the man also fought bravely in service to Athens and deserves a break. The Senators are not moved and they even then exile Alcibiades for his disobedience. Alcibiades curses them and says "FINE I'll just gather my men against Athens then, bitches!"
Timon has gathered a throng of Lords who are all on the edge of their seats expecting a feast of a lifetime. Timon quiets them for an acerbic speech:
You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with
thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves
praised: but reserve still to give, lest your
deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that
one need not lend to another; for, were your
godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the
gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man
that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without
a score of villains: if there sit twelve women at
the table, let a dozen of them be--as they are. The
rest of your fees, O gods--the senators of Athens,
together with the common lag of people--what is
amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for
destruction. For these my present friends, as they
are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to
nothing are they welcome.
Uncover, dogs, and lap.
The covered dishes are revealed to be nothing more than warm water. Timon adds
May you a better feast never behold,
You knot of mouth-friends I smoke and lukewarm water
Is your perfection.
He lobs curses at the men as he tosses the water at them, calling them villains as they gather their belongings and file out of the house.
ACT IV
Timon steps outside the walls of Athens and promptly delivers a tirade against its citizenry of every walk of life, wishing for an upended society and a plague on everyone. Near the end, he even quits his robes, King Lear style:
Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop
Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,
at their society, as their friendship, may
merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town!
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans!
Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all--
The Athenians both within and out that wall!
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen.
"Breath infect breath" sounds horribly familiar right now.
Meanwhile, Timon's servants are at a loss for his absence and mourn his parting, partially because they're all unemployed now. Flavius shares his last paycheck with the group and then laments:
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live
But in a dream of friendship?
To have his pomp and all what state compounds
But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?
Timon wanders out in the wilderness, to the Athenian shore, and nurses his newfound misanthropy:
Who dares, who dares,
In purity of manhood stand upright,
And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be,
So are they all; for every grise of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:
Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!
He begins to dig and surprisingly, it yields up gold to him. Just then, Alcibiades, followed by a pair of mistresses, finds him, and Timon calls himself "Misanthropos." He insults the mistresses and they dish it right back ("Thy lips rot off!"). Alcibiades asks Timon WTF happened and Timon gives a cryptic but beautiful answer:
As the moon does, by wanting light to give:
But then renew I could not, like the moon;
There were no suns to borrow of.
Alcibiades says he wants to still be his friend, and Timon just wishes that the one mistress, Timandra, gives everyone back home all the diseases. Alcibiades pardons him his foul language because of his obvious struggles. Timon throws the gold at them and the women clamor for more while Timon continues to demean humanity. Alcibiades promises to use the gold to pay soldiers to attack Athens and will come back to find Timon after he is victorious. Timon admits that Alcibiades never harmed him, but he just wants to be left alone.
Timon releases more rancid rage (poetically describing venereal disease) just as Apemantus appears. Timon curses him as Apemantus looks on, utterly bemused by Timon's habit. But Apemantus finds he much more prefers Timon this way, so Timon calls him a fool, and says this is mighty difficult for him to bear:
But myself,
Who had the world as my confectionary,
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men
At duty, more than I could frame employment,
That numberless upon me stuck as leaves
Do on the oak, hive with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows: I, to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burden:
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee hard in't.
But Timon cares not and would eat Athens if he could, and he tries to send everyone away. He admits that he has gold, even if it means nothing in the wilderness, but this gold is "The best, and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm." They continue to debate the merits of being poor and living rough versus the "rich" but empty life Timon had before. When Apemantus says he'd rather be a beast, because the world sucks while populated with men, Timon argues:
If thou wert the lion, the fox would
beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would
eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would
suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by
the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would
torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a
breakfast to the wolf...
What beast couldst thou be, that
were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art
thou already, that seest not thy loss in
transformation!
Timon is just DONE with existence entirely. He even begins digging his own grave as he curses gold:
O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce
'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
That solder'st close impossibilities,
And makest them kiss! that speak'st with
every tongue,
To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!
Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
May have the world in empire!
I mean, if that's not an admonishment of commerce and the absolute power that money has to corrupt people, I don't know what is. That's why he's living off the grid right now.
Apemantus finally quits his side and some Bandits show up, sniffing around for gold. Timon wonders what they want with gold when they have all the bounties of nature, but they answer that they can't live like beasts and Timon says of course, "You must eat men." Timon tosses gold at them while shaming Athens and its society and the thieves are convinced to give up their profession.
When the Bandits leave, Flavius finds Timon, and he wails at the sight of his master. Timon says he has "forgot all men" and Flavius is saddened to be so easily forgotten. He starts crying and Timon compares him to a woman, but then his heart softens, admitting that Flavius was probably the only honest man he ever had in his company. Flavius promises that he is still Timon's dedicated steward, should he want him. Timon offers him the gold from the dirt and says he should be free and leave him, for he is a terrible companion full of bad language.
ACT V
Timon watches from his cave as the Painter and the Poet come near, searching for him. They talk about how Timon has gold and only left his life to test his friends. They are sure their simple show of compassion will convince gold out of him. Timon sees right through their ruse as they approach and start flattering him. Timon uses double-speak, flattering them with slanders, and seems to wrap them around his finger. He gives them gold and sends them away.
Flavius returns with some Senators and shows them Timon's cave. They entreat Timon to return to Athens to save it, now that they lack proper leadership and protection to ward off Alcibiades' soldiers. They offer him "absolute power" to lead them to victory. Timon initially responds that he "cares not" for Athens' fate, if it be attacked or left to the mercy of the gods. Timon says he's been writing his epitaph, which will be useful the next day as his "long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend." He instantly changes his mind and say he loves his country and will help them after all, but not before certain Athenians come and hang themselves on his tree which he plans to fell. The Senators lose hope, having no Timon to save them.
A Messenger reports that Alcibiades sent entreaty to Timon's cave. A Soldier stumbles upon a grave with Timon's epitaph on it, but he cannot read it so he make a wax impression (because soldiers just carry wax around like a weird archaeologists?).
Alcibiades approaches Athens and the Senators speak to him from the walls. They relinquish the "decimation" (one tenth of the valuables within) the army wishes to take in exchange for their lives. Alcibiades agrees. The Soldier comes and gives him the wax impression, bringing news that Timon is dead. Alcibiades reads the epitaph:
'Here lies a
wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft:
Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked
caitiffs left!
Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate:
Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay
not here thy gait.'
Alcibiades sighs and says "make war breed peace" as he plans to bring the olive with his sword.
And that's it.
All my kudos to Jonathan Pryce, who, even as a young actor, was so good that he actually brought some pathos and warmth to Timon in this 1981 BBC production. It's arguably a role almost no one can get right (unlike Hamlet, who can't really be fucked up unless you're a complete failure), but Pryce gives Timon some weight and carries it with dignity. I really wanted to see a more feisty water feast scene, what with more splashing and anger, but he made a choice to play it relatively reservedly, and it lent a dark simmering to Timon's actions that made the final burst more significant. Having most recently seen him play Pope Benedict, it was surprising to see him so animated by resentment in his long defamatory speeches.
So, this one was not the most inspiring or lofty of plays, but it still contained some tasty clues about Shakespeare's mindset while he was on this tragedy streak. Next week, it's Pericles: Prince of Tyre, which is also known for being a bit piecemeal and slapdash and possibly not even Shakespeare's. I mean, after churning out five really intense tragedies in four years, anyone would be pretty brain-dead for a while.
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