Shakespeare's tragedy of Cymbeline

Introduction

SHAKESPEARE in his policy of authorship just reverses that of the popular fiction-writers of our day. Niggard of space, prodigal of thought, he uses the closest compression, they the widest expansion : his aim is to crowd the greatest possible wealth of mind into a given time ; theirs, to fill the largest- possible time with a certain modicum of matter. The difference is greatly owing, no doubt, to the different spirit of the present age, which requires the popular author to be a miser of his own time, and a spendthrift of the reader's.

The Poet's structure of language and mode of expression are in keeping with this policy, and indeed took their growth under its discipline. Nor is this all. His whole cast of dramatic architecture and composition proceeds by the same laws. In studying a work of his, the mind, if really alive, does not stop with the work itself; for indeed this stands in vital continuity with a world outside of itself. He so keeps the relations of things, that besides what is expressed a great many things are suggested, and far more is inferred than is directly seen. Whatever matter he has specially in hand to bring forward and press upon the attention, the delineation opens out into a broad and varied background and a far-stretching perspective, with seedpoints of light shooting through it in all directions. Thus, if we look well to it, we shall find that in one of his dramatic groups the entire sphere of social humanity is represented, though sometimes under one aspect, sometimes under another ; for the variety of these is endless ; and the mind, instead of being held to what is immediately shown, is suggested away, as by invisible nerves of thought, into a vast field of inference and reflection. This is because the part of nature, as he gives it, is relative to the whole of nature ; isolated to the eye indeed, for so it must be, but not to the mind. Hence, in reading one of his plays the hundredth time, one finds not only new thoughts, but new trains of thought springing up within him. For indeed what he opens to us is not a cask, but a fountain, and is therefore literally inexhaustible.

And this habit of mind, if that be the right name for it, grew upon the Poet as he became older and more himself, or more practised in his art. It may almost be said indeed that his later works would be better, if they were not so good ; they being so overcharged with life and power as rather to numb the common reader's apprehensive faculties than kindle them; and in fact it is doubtful whether the majority of those who read Shakespeare ever grow to a hearty relish of them. For average readers, he was better when less himself; and so I have commonly found such readers preferring his earlier plays. And it is remarkable that even some of his critics and editors, especially those of the last age, thought he must have been past his prime and in the decadence of his powers, when he wrote Antony and Cleopatra, which is perhaps his crowning instance of workmanship overcharged with poetic valour and potency. But, generally, in the plays of his latest period, we have his fiery force of intellect concentrating itself to the highest intensity which the language could be made to bear, and often exceeding even its utmost capacity ; while in turn the language in his use became as a thing inspired, developing an energy and flexibility and subtilty such as may well make him at once the delight and the despair of all who undertake to write the English tongue. For he here seems a perfect autocrat of expression, moulding and shaping it with dictatorial prerogative ; all this too, with the calmness of a spontaneous omniloquence. In his hands, indeed, the language is like a grand cathedral organ, with its every touch at his instant command, from the softest notes which the most delicate spirit of sense can apprehend, to the lordliest harmonies that mortal hearing is able to sustain.

Date of the Composition.

The Tragedy of Cymbeline, as it is called in the original copy, belongs, both by internal and external marks j to the last ten years of the Poet's life, — the same period which produced Othello, Coriolanus, Antony and Cleopatra, The Tempest, and The Winter's Tale. The only contemporary notice we have of it is from the Diary of Dr. Simon Forman, who gives with considerable detail the leading incidents of the play as he saw it performed somewhere between April, 1610, and May, 161 1. It may be well to add that Cymbeline, as we learn by an entry of Sir Henry Herbert, Master of the Revels, was acted at Court in January, 1633, and was " well liked by the King" ; which is to me an interesting fact in reference to that ill-starred Prince, Charles the First, who, whatever may be thought of him as a statesman and ruler, was undoubtedly a man of royal tastes in literature and art.

There is no reason to doubt that Cymbeline was fresh from the mint when Forman saw it. It has the same general characteristics of style and imagery as The Tempest and The Winter's Tale ; while perhaps no play in the series abounds more in those overcrammed and elliptical passages which show too great a rush and press of thought for the author's space. The poetry and characterization, also, are marked by the same severe beauty and austere sweetness as in the other plays just named : therewithal the moral sentiment of the piece comes out, from time to time, in just those electric starts which indicate, to my mind, the Poet's last and highest stage of art.

The play was first printed in the folio of 1623, where it makes the last in the volume. It is there placed in the division of Tragedies, as The Winter's Tale is in that of Comedies ; though the two might, I think, with more propriety be set apart in a class by themselves. For in these instances the Poet gave himself up more unreservedly than ever to the freedom and variety of Nature, ordering the elements of dramatic interest in utter disregard of dramatic precedent. For the divisions of Tragedy and Comedy are arbitrary ; there is nothing answering to them in human life : and why should the Drama be tied to any other conditions than those of human life ? And Shakespeare seems to have thought that there was no reason or law of Art why all the forms of human transpiration should not run together just as freely in the Drama as they do in fact. If he had been a pedant, he would not have thought so ; but he was not a pedant. Nor have we any reason to suppose that the folio arrangement of the plays was of his ordering : it was the work, no doubt, of the Editors, who classed the plays according to their general affinities ; and signs are not wanting that they were sometimes at a loss how to place them.

INTRODUCTION.

Sources of the Plot.

In its structure, Cymbeline is more complex and involved than any other of the Poet's dramas. It includes no less than four distinct groups of persons, with each its several interest and course of action. First, we have Imogen, Posthumus, Pisanio, and Iachimo, in which group the main interest is centred; then, the King, the Queen, and Prince Cloten, the Queen's shrewd blockhead of a son, who carryon a separate scheme of their own ; next, the Imperial representative, Lucius, who comes first as Roman Ambassador to reclaim the neglected tribute, and then as general with an army to enforce it ; last, old Belarius and the two lost Princes, who emerge from their hiding-place to bear a leading part in bringing about the catastrophe. All these groups however, though without any concert or any common purpose of their own, draw together with perfect smoothness and harmony in working out the author's plan ; the several threads of interest and lines of action being woven into one texture, richly varied indeed, but seeming as natural as life itself; the more so perhaps, that the actors themselves know not how or why they are thus brought together.

The only part of the drama that has any historical basis is that about the demanding and enforcing of the Roman tribute. This Shakespeare derived, as usual in matters of British history, from Holinshed, who places the scene in the reign of the Emperor Augustus, and a few years before the beginning of the Christian era. The domestic part of the King's action, with all that relates to the Queen and Cloten, except the name of the latter, is, so far as we know, a pure invention of the Poet's ; as is also the entire part of Belarius and the King's two sons, except that the names Guiderius and Arviragus were found in Holinshed. The main plot of the drama, except the strong part which Pisanio has in it, is of fabulous origin, the story however being used with the Poet's customary freedom of enrichment and adaptation.

What source Shakespeare drew directly from in this part of the work, is not altogether clear. During the Middle Ages, and under the Feudal system, heads of families were liable to be away from home, often for a long while together, in wars and military expeditions. Then too the hospitalities of those times were large and free, the entertainment of strangers and travellers being made much of in the code of ancient chivalry. Of course the fidelity both of husbands and wives was liable to be sorely tried during these long separations, the former by those whom they were meeting or visiting, the latter by those whom they were entertaining. It might well be, that absent husbands, full of confidence in those to whom and by whom the sacred pledge had been given, sometimes laid wagers on their fidelity, and encouraged or permitted trials of it to be made. Doubtless, also, there was many a polished libertine who took special pride in provoking some arrangement of the kind, or in making such trials without any arrangement. Thus questions turning on that point came to be matter of common and familiar interest, entering into the serious thoughts of people far more than is the case in our time. So that there was no extravagance in the incident on which the main plot of this drama turns.

The chief points in the story seem to have been a sort of common property among the writers of Mediaeval Romance. The leading incidents — as the wager, the villain's defeat, his counterfeit of success, the husband's scheme of revenge by the death of the wife, her escape, his subsequent discovery of the fraud, the punishment of the liar, and the final reunion of the separated pair — are found in two French romances of the thirteenth century, and in a French miracle-play of still earlier date. There are two or three rather curious indications that the miracle-play was known to Shakespeare, though this could hardly be, unless he read French. A rude version, also, of the story was published in a book called Westward for Smelts, and was entitled "The Tale told by the Fishwife of the Stand on the Green " ; placing the scene in England in the reign of Henry the Sixth, and making the persons all English. This, however, cannot be traced further back than the year 1620, and there is no likelihood that the Poet had any knowledge of it. But the completest form of the story is in one of Boccaccio's Novels, the Ninth of the Second Day, where we have the trunk used for conveying the villain into the lady's bedchamber, his discovery of a private mark on her person, and her disguise in male attire. As these incidents are not found in any other version of the tale, they seem to establish a connection between the novel and the play. Boccaccio is not known to have been accessible to the Poet in English ; but then it is quite probable, and indeed almost certain, that he was able to read Italian books in the original. The substance of the story is soon told.

Several Italian merchants, meeting in Paris, went to talking about their wives. All agreed in speaking rather disparagingly, except Bernabo, of Genoa, who said his wife was perfectly beautiful, in the flower of youth, and of unassailable honour. At this, Ambrogiulo became very loose-spoken, boasting that he would spoil her honour, if opportunity were given him. The wager was then proposed and accepted. Going to Genoa, the intriguer soon found that Ginevra had

IO CYMBELINE.

not been overpraised, and that his wager would be lost unless he could prevail by some stratagem. So he managed to have his chest left in her keeping, and placed in her private chamber. When she was fast asleep, with a taper burning in the room, he crept from his hiding, made a survey of the furniture, the pictures, and at last discovered a mole and a tuft of golden hair on her left breast. Then, taking a ring, a purse, and other trifles, he crept back into the chest.

Returning to Paris, he called the company together and produced his proofs of success. Bernabo was convinced, and went to seeking revenge. Arriving near home, he sent for his wife, and gave secret orders to have her put to death on the road. The servant stopped in a lonely place, and told her of his master's orders ; she protested her innocence, and begged his compassion ; so he spared her life, and returned with some of her clothes, saying he had killed her. Ginevra then disguised herself in male attire, and got into the service of a gentleman who took her to Alexandria, where she gained the Sultan's favour, and was made captain of his guard. Not long after, she was sent with a band of soldiers to Acre, and there, going into the shop of a Venetian merchant, she saw a purse and girdle which she recognized as her own. On her asking whose they were, and whether they were for sale, Ambrogiulo stepped forth and said they were his, and asked her to accept them as a gift ; at the same time telling her they had been presented to him by a married lady of Genoa. Feigning pleasure at the tale, she pursuaded him to go with her to Alexandria. Her next care was to have her husband brought thither. Then she prevailed on the Sultan to force from Ambrogiulo a public recital of his villainy ; whereupon Bernabo owned that he had caused his wife to be murdered. She now assures the Sultan that, if he will punish the villain and pardon Bernabo, the lady shall appear ; and on his agreeing to this she throws off her disguise, and declares herself to be Ginevra, and the mole on her breast soon confirms her word : Ambrogiulo is put to death, and all his wealth given to the lady : the Sultan makes her rich presents of jewels and money besides, and furnishes a ship in which she and Bernabo depart for Genoa.

It may be gathered from this brief outline that in respect of character Imogen really has nothing in common with Ginevra. And indeed the Poet took none of his character from the novel, for this can hardly be said to have any thing of the kind to give ; its persons being used only for the sake of the story, which order is just reversed in the play. But the novel presented certain obvious points of popular interest : these the Poet borrowed as a framework of circumstances to support his own original conceptions, evidently caring little for the incidents, as we care little for them, but in reference to this end.

General Characteristics of the Play.

I have spoken of the difficulty of classing Cymbeline, as it has too much of the tragic to be called a comedy, and yet not enough of it to be fairly ranked as a tragedy. Perhaps it may be taken as proof that the Gothic Drama, like the Gothic Architecture, is naturally capable of more variety than can be embraced within the ordinary rules of dramatic classification. Hazlitt describes it as a " dramatic romance" ; which description probably fits it as well as any that can be given. For it has just enough of historical or traditionary matter to give it something of a legendary character, while its general scope admits and even invites the freest playingin of whatsoever is wild and wonderful and enchanting in old Romance. By throwing the scene back into the reign of a semi-fabulous king, the Poet was enabled to cast around the work an air of historical dignity, and yet frame the whole in perfect keeping with the deep, solemn, and all but tragic pathos in which it is keyed. A confusion of times, places, and manners, with the ceremonial of old mythology and the sentiments of Christian chivalry, the heroic deeds of earlier and the liberal ideas of later periods, all blended together without restraint and in the order merely of inherent fitness, the play has indeed some improbable incidents ; yet the improbability is everywhere softened by distance, and even made grateful by the romantic sweetness, the sober wisdom, and the pathetic tenderness that spring up fresh and free in its course. All which may sufficiently account for the strong sentence some have put in against this play, and also for the equally strong and far wiser judgment of the poet Campbell, who regards it as " perhaps the fittest in Shakespeare's whole theatre to illustrate the principle, that great dramatic genius can occasionally venture on bold improbabilities, and yet not only shrive the offence, but leave us enchanted with the offender."

Schlegel pronounces Cymbeline " one of Shakespeare's most wonderful compositions." Few will deny that he has chosen the right word for the impression which the play leaves strongest in the mind. Several indeed surpass it in grandeur and vastness of design, but probably none in grace and power of execution. I cannot well conceive how a finer and more varied display of poetry and character could be reduced within the same compass. Except the vision and.

INTIODUCTION. 1 3

what pertains to it, in the fifth Act, of which I am to speak further presently, the most improbable of the incidents were, as we have seen, borrowed from general circulation, the storyhaving been cast into divers forms, and already fixed in the popular belief. The incidents being granted, Shakespeare's ordering of them to his use, the whole framing and managing of the plot so as to work out the result proposed, are exceedingly skilful and judicious. Take, for instance, the circumstances of the King's two sons having their home with the noble old exile in the mountain- cave, and of the heroine straying thither in disguise, faint and weary, and entering the rock in quest of food and rest, and what follows in her intercourse with the princely boys ; — what could be more delightful, what more inspiring of truth and purity than all this ? Will any one say that the sweet home-breathings of Nature which consecrate these delectable scenes do not a thousand times make up for the strangeness of the incidents ? Of course the leading purpose of the play is to be sought for in the character of Imogen. Around this, however, are ranged a number of subordinate purposes, running out into a large diversity of matter and person; yet all are set off with such artful blendings and transitions of light and shade, and grouped with such mastery of perspective and such picturesque effect, that every thing helps every other thing, and nothing seems out of place.

It is to be noted, also, that the persons, for the most part, have each their several plot, and are all at cross-aims with one another, so that the ground-work of the drama presents little else than a tissue of counter-plottings. And all are thwarted in their turn, and, what is more, the final result is brought about by their defeat ; as if on purpose to illustrate again and again that men are not masters of their lot ; and that, while they are each intent on their several plans, a higher Power is secretly working out other plans through them. Accordingly, if the bad thrive for a while, it is that they may at last be the more effectually caught and crushed in their own toils ; if the good are at first cast down, it is that they may be uplifted in the end, and " happier much by their affliction made." And so, while the drama is bristling throughout with resolves and deeds, nevertheless all of them miscarry, all fail. It is the very prevalence, in part, of what we call chance over human design, that gives the work such a wild, romantic, and legendary character ; making the impression of some supernatural power putting to confusion the works of men, that its own agency may be the more manifest in the order that finally succeeds.

Some Parts of it not Shakespeare's.

The play, notwithstanding, has one very serious and decided blemish. I refer to that piece of dull impertinence in the fifth Act, including the vision of Posthumus while asleep in the prison, the absurd " label" found on his bosom when he awakes, and the Soothsayer's still more absurd interpretation of the label at the close. For nothing can well be plainer than that the whole thing is strictly irrelevant : it does not throw the least particle of light on the character or motive of any person ; has indeed no business whatever with the action of the drama, except to hinder and embarrass it. This matter apart, the denouement is perfect, and the preparation for it made with consummate judgment and skill. And it is a noteworthy fact that, if the apparition, the dialogue that follows with the Jailer, the tablet, and all that relates to it, be omitted, there will appear no rent, no loose stitch, nor any thing wanting to the completeness of the work.

It is difficult to believe that Shakespeare wrote the passages in question at any time ; impossible, that he did so at or near the time when the rest of the play was written. For I think every discerning student will perceive at once that the style of this matter is totally different from that of all the other parts. How, then, came it there ? Some consider it a relic of an older drama, perhaps one written by Shakespeare in his youth. But the more common opinion is, that it was foisted in by the players, the Poet himself having nothing to do with it. There is no doubt that such things were sometimes done. Still I am inclined to think that it was supplied by some other hand at the time, and that the Poet himself worked it in with his own noble matter, perhaps to gratify a friend ; for he was a kind-hearted, obliging fellow, and probably did not see the difference between his own workmanship and other men's as we do. At all events, I am sure it must have got into the play from motives that could have had no place with him as an artist. And how well the matter was adapted to catch the vulgar wonder and applause of that day, may be judged well enough from the thrift that waits on divers absurdities of the stage in our time. Doubtless, in his day, as in ours, there were many who, for the sake of this blemishing stuff, would tolerate the glories of the play. — All the lines which are judged to fall under this exception are here marked with asterisks.

Imogen the Organic Force of the Play.

In Shakespeare's characteristic plays (for some of his earlier ones proceeded rather from imitation than character) there is always some one governing thought or organic idea, l6 CYMBELINE.

which serves, secretly perhaps, but not the less effectively, both as a centre of interest and as a law in the composition. This governing thought is often difficult, sometimes impossible to be seized and defined ; a kind of corporate soul ; something too " deeply interfused " to be done up in propositions, or expressed in logical forms. It is like the constitution of a State, which cannot be put into words, nor cribbed up in definitions ; a silent, unwritten law, which is nevertheless felt and obeyed, the more so, perhaps, that nobody can tell why : in fact, it is rather a social power than a law ; a power that governs men most when they are least aware of it. The old Greeks were acquainted with it, or something like it, under the name of " the omnipresent power of King Nomos." And in matters of art Criticism has often damaged both itself and its subject by undertaking to make definitions of that which naturally is not capable of them.

In Cymbeline the governing thought is more accessible to criticism than in most of its compeers ; the very complexity of the work having perhaps caused that thought to be emphasized the more. For, varied as are the materials of the drama, there is notwithstanding a deep principle of inward harmony pervading them all, and binding them together in the strictest coherence. Gervinus, the German critic, was the first, I believe, who rightly apprehended this point. "We have only," says he, "to examine its several parts according to their internal nature, and refer to the motives, and we shall catch the idea which links them together, and perceive a work of art whose compass widens and whose background deepens in such a manner, that we can only compare it with the most excellent of all that Shakespeare has produced ! " This " idea," as Gervinus here calls it, has its clearest illustration in the heroine. Imogen is an impersonation of the

INTUPDUCTION. I/

moral beauty of womanhood. This beauty is the vital current of the whole delineation, and every thing about her, her form, her features and expression, her dress, her walk, her speech, her every motion, all are steeped in its efficacy. Its leading development takes on the form of a calm, selfcentred, immovable fidelity, all her other virtues coming out in the train of this. This virtue radiates from her into others, her presence acting as an inspiration of truth on most of those about her. Her husband is as strong in fidelity to her as she is to him : for it is observable that, while they each believe the other to be false, this belief never so much as tempts either with a thought of becoming so. They may be betrayed, but they will not betray. The same virtue shines out equally in their man Pisanio, whom the Queen rightly describes as " a sly and constant knave, not to be shaked." He deceives her indeed, or tries to do so, but only that he may be the truer where his obligations of truth are higher and more sacred. Nothing can start him from his fidelity. So too with the Court physician, Cornelius, who knows the Queen's character thoroughly, as he also does her feelings towards the Princess ; therefore he distrusts her, and his sharp practice in cheating her is all because he must and will be faithful to those against whom she is plotting. And the studied hypocrisy of the courtiers proceeds from the same cause : not a man of them,

Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Whatever else may happen to them, they cannot choose but be true to Imogen. Thus on all sides the heroine's truth begets truth, or finds it ; and the several instances of departure from it only serve to intensify it, and render it more pronounced. The Queen, to be sure, is deeply false, false to every thing but her son and her own ambition ; while the King is too weak, and Cloten too wayward, to be either false or true. Iachimo, too, begins a thorough-paced concentration of falsehood ; but he learns a new lesson from Imogen, and catches a soul of truth in his interview with her, which proves a seed of life, and keeps working in him, till it brings him out quite another man. And these exceptions, again, have the effect of emphasizing the leading thought by contrast, as the other instances just referred to do by reduplication. Finally, we have another issue of the same thing at bottom, in the stanch old manhood of Belarius. Many years back, two villains had falsely accused him to the King, who, preferring flattery to service, had thereupon stripped him of his possessions, and banished him. "Beaten for loyalty excited him to treason." In his first feeling of revenge, he caused the two infant Princes to be stolen from their nursery ; but he has ever since been doing his best to build them up in. all manly thoughts and virtues, that he might return them, as he does at last, far nobler men than court-breeding could have made them. Thus his fidelity approves itself the stronger and more fruitful in the end, for its temporary lapse ; and he serves the King most truly when excluded from his service.