Cymbeline Act Two –“But kiss: one kiss! Rubies unparagoned…”

Cymbeline Act Two –“But kiss: one kiss! Rubies unparagoned…”

What is most apparent with Shakespeare in his later plays, is the ease with which he moves from scene to scene and character to character and yet he is able to have the overall plot weave into an intricate fabric and have the worlds that individual characters inhabit work like strands to weave a rich tapestry. It is an act filled with theatricality like a man appearing out of a chest to musicians playing love songs outside of a door to twisted deceptions drawn out to bursting point.

We start Act Two with the Queen’s son Cloten, who is talking about loosing at a game of bowls. His gentlemen companions mock him covertly. After Cloven exits, one of the gentlemen comments on how strange it is that such the intelligent and manipulative Queen should have such a fool for a son. He then shows great concern for the situation Imogen is in and shows hope that she will eventually end up happy with her husband back in Britain:

“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! The heavens hold firm

The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked

That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,

To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!”

We then move forward in time to later that evening and to Imogen’s bedchamber. It is almost midnight and Iachimo's trunk is in Imogen’s room and she is in bed reading as she has done for three hours. Imogen leaves the candle burning as she goes to sleep. The lid of the trunk slowly opens and Iachimo appears out of the trunk. He looks at Imogen (noting the birthmark on her breast), takes in all that is in her bedchamber for his future reference, takes the bracelet that Posthumus gave Imogen as a love token (as proof of her intimate relations with Iachimo) and slips back into the trunk.

“The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense

Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus

Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd

The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,

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. But my design,

To note the chamber: I will write all down:

Such and such pictures; there the window; such

The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,

Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.

Ah, but some natural notes about her body,

Above ten thousand meaner moveables

Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.

O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!

And be her sense but as a monument,

Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off. (Taking off her bracelet)

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. No more. To what end?

Why should I write this down, that's riveted,

Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late

The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down

Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:

To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.

Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning

May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;

Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.”

The next morning, Cloten orders musicians to play outside Imogen’s door, so that he can woo her and perhaps this will also “get him gold enough”. After the musicians have finished, Cymbeline and the Queen enter and they advise Cloten that if he keeps trying that Imogen will eventually come round to loving him when time has worn out “the print of his (Posthumus) remembrance”. Then a messenger arrives announcing the arrival of ambassadors from Rome including Caius Lucius. Cymberline says Caius Lucius is a noble man but that this probably signals some trouble and as he exits with the Queen, he tells Cloten to join this the Queen and him in this meeting once he has greeted Imogen.

“A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his: we must receive him

According to the honour of his sender;

And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,

We must extend our notice. Our dear son,

When you have given good morning to your mistress,

Attend the queen and us; we shall have need

To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.”

Cloten then knocks on Imogen's door. When Imogen does finally appear she tells Cloten in no uncertain words that she hates him and can never love him:

“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.”

Cloten then claims that Imogen is being disobedient to her father and then he puts down Posthumus to which Imogen insults Cloten further:

“He (Posthumus) never can meet more mischance than come

To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,

That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer

In my respect than all the hairs above thee,

Were they all made such men.”

Then Pisanio enters and while Imogen talks to Pisanio and says that she cannot find her bracelet and wants Pisanio to get the servants to look for it, Cloten vows to be avenged.

We then move forward in time and across the waters to Rome, where Iachimo, having sailed home has just arrived at Philario's house. Philario and Posthumus are talking about the situation between Rome and Britain and the likelihood of war because Cymberline will not pay the demanded tribute to Rome. Iachimo enters giving Posthumus letters from Imogen and to Iachimo’s question of whether the Roman ambassador Casius Lucius had seen Cymberline, Iachimo answers that the ambassadore was expected to arrive around when Iachimo himself had left. Then Iachimo says to Posthumus that he has won the bet and slept Imogen. Posthumus initially will not believe Iachimo but then Iachimo describes Imogen’s bedchamber in detail and reveals the bracelet as proof and asks for the ring as his debt:

“First, her bedchamber,--

Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess

Had that was well worth watching--it was hang'd

With tapesty of silk and silver; the story

Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,

And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for

The press of boats or pride: a piece of work

So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive

In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd

Could be so rarely and exactly wrought…

The chimney

Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece

Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures

So likely to report themselves: the cutter

Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,

Motion and breath left out…

The roof o' the chamber

With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons--

I had forgot them--were two winking Cupids

Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely

Depending on their brands… (Showing the bracelet)

Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!

And now 'tis up again: it must be married

To that your diamond; I'll keep them...

She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;

Her pretty action did outsell her gift,

And yet enrich'd it too: she gave it me, and said

She prized it once.”

Posthumus is distraught and gives Iachimo the ring declaring:

“It is a basilisk unto mine eye,

Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour

Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,

Where there's another man: the vows of women

Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,

Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing.

O, above measure false!”

Philorio then begs Posthumus to take the ring back saying that what Iachimo says proves nothing and suggests Imogen might have lost it or Iachimo might have corrupted one of her women for it. Then Iachimo hits Posthumus hardest with a description of Imogen’s mole on under her breast:

“If you seek

For further satisfying, under her breast--

Worthy the pressing--lies a mole, right proud

Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,

I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger

To feed again, though full. You do remember

This stain upon her?”

This seems to Posthumus like irrefutable proof and he gives the ring to Iachimo and exits cursing Imogen as he goes. He is followed by Philario and Iachimo since Philario wants to “pervert the present wrath” that Posthumus seems to have for himself and Imogen.

Act Two ends with Posthumus entering another room in Philario’s house and giving a speech filled with rage and self-pity where he condemns women and berates himself and other men for needing them. This speech is theatrical, overly poetic and filled with contradictions which Shakespeare in cludes on purpose. A rant in the style of Hamlet against his mother or Othello against Desdemona.

“Is there no way for men to be but women

Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;

And that most venerable man which I

Did call my father, was I know not where

When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools

Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd

The Dian of that time so doth my wife

The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd

And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with

A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't

Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her

As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!

This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--

Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,

Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,

Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition

But what he look'd for should oppose and she

Should from encounter guard. 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.”