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Summary
The following morning, Cloten orders musicians to play under Imogen’s window, hoping to win her heart. While the musicians play, Cymbeline and the Queen pass by, and they advise Cloten to be persistent; they promise that Imogen will forget Posthumus eventually. At that moment, a messenger comes in, bringing word that ambassadors from Rome have arrived. The royal couple goes to greet the Romans, asking Cloten to join them once he has bid Imogen good morning.
Cloten then knocks on Imogen’s door, and when one of her ladies-in-waiting comes out, he clumsily attempts to bribe her. Then, Imogen herself appears and treats her suitor coldly, telling him that she will never accept him as a husband. Cloten replies that she is being disobedient to her father for the sake of a second-rate, lowborn fool. Imogen retorts that Cloten is far inferior to Posthumus. Indeed, she claims that he is not fit to be Posthumus’s servant, and that Posthumus’s “mean’st garment / That ever hath but clipped his body is dearer / In my respect than all the hairs above thee, / Were they all made such men” (2.3.153–55). This last insult cuts Cloten to the quick, and he swears that he will be revenged on Posthumus. Imogen, however, is no longer paying attention to him. She has noticed that her bracelet is missing, and she orders Pisanio to have her servants look for it, since it was given to her by Posthumus.
Meanwhile, Iachimo has returned to Italy and comes to Philario’s house, where Philario and Posthumus are discussing the prospects of war between Rome and Britain over the tribute that Cymbeline’s kingdom owes to the Romans. (Tribute here means a payment of one nation by another in exchange for a promise of nonaggression.) Iachimo bears letters from Imogen and declares that he won the bet, claiming to have slept with the princess. Posthumus refuses to believe him, but Iachimo proceeds to describe Imogen’s bedroom in detail and displays the bracelet as a token of his triumph. Posthumus, heartbroken, begins cursing his wife. But Philario tries to calm him, pointing out that this is not conclusive proof, and that the bracelet might have been stolen. But when Iachimo adds the detail of the tiny mole on Imogen’s breast, Posthumus is convinced. He turns over the ring that he wagered and storms out, cursing the treachery of women. “We are all bastards” (2.5.2), he cries before asserting that a man’s every sin comes from the “woman’s part” (23) in him.
Analysis
The scene between Cloten and Imogen serves mainly to heighten our appreciation for the heroine, whose clever wordplay reduces the blundering prince to pitiful imprecations against Posthumus. But here, too, the plot is being furthered. Imogen’s final insult is that Cloten matters less to her than a scrap of Posthumus’s garments. Her phrase “mean’st garment” seem to obsess Cloten, who says them over and over, as though in shock. However, as we will find out later, her words have planted in Cloten’s mind an absurd, sick plan in which he imagines raping Imogen while wearing her husband’s clothing. Adding another level of plot, we have the brief reference to the arrival of the Roman ambassadors. As Cymbeline and the Queen rush off to greet them, the play’s political plot thread begins, which will eventually lead to the war between Rome and Britain. The rapid piling up of plots is noteworthy in this play, which is perhaps more relentlessly plotted than any of Shakespeare’s other works.
Meanwhile, Iachimo has managed to return to Italy as quickly as he arrived in Britain. (Cymbeline may be plot-heavy, but the plots themselves are fleet-footed!) The Italian knave toys skillfully with Posthumus, revealing his “evidence” one piece at a time. However, his virtuosity seems unnecessary, since Imogen’s husband is oddly eager to believe in her infidelity. The scene is a peculiar one, with Philario acting as the voice of reason and Imogen’s defender, while her own husband proves ridiculously ready to think the worst of her. “Have patience, sir” (2.4.133), Philario pleads, and he repeatedly suggests alternate explanations for how Iachimo may have come by his evidence. In contrast, even before Iachimo mentions the mole, Posthumus is ready to declare definitively, “Hark you, he swears! By Jupiter he swears. / ’Tis true—nay, keep the ring—’tis true[:] . . . / he hath enjoyed her” (2.4.153–58). Posthumus displays a remarkable lack of faith for a man who had previously been so certain of his wife’s fidelity that he made a wager on it. Perhaps the willingness to wager signified not confidence but a deep sexual anxiety.
But while we receive hints of such an anxiety, it never manifests itself explicitly, nor has it reared its head prior to this scene. Rather, Posthumus remains almost deliberately two-dimensional throughout, rendering his venomous speech against women and his subsequent decision to kill his wife all the more unexpected. In one sense, Posthumus is a parody of Othello, another husband made mad with jealousy. Yet whereas Othello’s distrust of Desdemona makes sense in context, Posthumus’s sudden loss of faith isn’t entirely understandable. Even if we accept that he feels crushed by Iachimo’s apparently damning evidence of Imogen’s betrayal, his universalizing vitriol against all women seems rather out of proportion. Indeed, the violent cruelty of his language severely endangers his erstwhile reputation as a man of plodding decency. Posthumus risks forfeiting our sympathy entirely, especially since Shakespeare gives him such a wonderfully sympathetic wife. As we move into act 3, the action will shift away from Imogen’s husband for a long time, and when we return to him, his madness will have passed. However, the peculiar anger of these scenes remains with the audience, leaving a bitter aftertaste when Imogen and Posthumus are reunited.
