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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 twinned stones
Upon the numbered beach, and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
’Twixt fair and foul? (1.6.36–42)
Iachimo addresses these words during the encounter when he attempts to trick Imogen into sleeping with him. Editors suggest that he utters these lines as if to himself, though meaning to be overheard by Imogen. In this regard, his words represent part of his larger effort to sunder the relationship between Imogen and Posthumus. This effort is subtly reflected in the content of his speech as well, which introduces oppositions between “sea and land,” “fair and foul,” and “the fiery orbs above and the twinned stones [below].” Also suggestive is his use of verbs that deal with separation: “distinguish” and “partition.” Iachimo’s tactics of deception, as well as his language of division, foreshadow the dangerous rupture that will sunder the relationship between the already geographically separated Imogen and Posthumus. It will take until the play’s final scene for this rupture to be repaired, resulting in the joyful reunion and reconciliation of the play’s romantic heroes.
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. (5.4.170–74)
The Jailer says these words to Posthumus, who has been sentenced to death by hanging after allowing himself to be captured in a Roman uniform. (He changed back to his original gear after fighting valiantly for the British.) The Jailer speaks of death as a final reckoning, but his language is decidedly economic rather than religious. This language extends the play’s frequent deployment of metaphors related to debts paid and unpaid. Here, though, the idea is that Posthumus’s death will “acquit” him of any outstanding balance he couldn’t manage to pay in life. Of course, Posthumus will shortly be saved from execution by a messenger who shows up to summon him before the king. But the rhetoric of canceled debt foreshadows series of reunions and reconciliations to come in the following scene.
CYMBELINE O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom!
IMOGEN 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 called me “brother”
When I was but your sister; I you “brothers”
When we were so indeed. (5.5.451–58)
In this moment near the end of the play, Cymbeline realizes that, with the return of his long-lost sons, he now has two male heirs who are first and second in line for the throne. Hence, Imogen, who had previously been sole heir, has “lost . . . a kingdom.” But Imogen is quick to reframe this loss of political power in terms of gaining new kinship relations. In acquiring “two worlds,” she has gotten far more than a single kingdom. This brief exchange introduces a rhetoric of kinship that persists throughout the rest of the scene. Cymbeline will embrace Belarius and say to him, “Thou art my brother” (5.5.485), just as Imogen will embrace this man as a parent: “You are my father too” (486). The family reunion then extends to a universal reconciliation.
