Cymbeline - Episode 1 - The Game Is On

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Hi there and welcome back to Play On Podcast. I'm your friend. Faithful executive producer Michael Goodfriend. And as we continue our journey through the collected works of William Shakespeare, it's been a joy to share our interpretations of some of his most Famous plays, like our last series, the timeless romantic comedy that basically created the genre Much Ado About Nothing.

But the Bard isn't the same incomparable literary figure we know him to be if you leave out even some of the lesser known or more obscure contributions to his canon. We don't get the same sense of his dynamic brilliance if we fail to consider some of his more challenging creations. And so it's my great pleasure to present to you now one of those challenging plays, Symboline,

I call symboling challenging because people have been struggling to fully understand and appreciate it for centuries. The problem starts with defining exactly what kind of play it is. In the first major collection of his works published eight years after Shakespeare's death, called The First Folio, Cymbeline is listed as a tragedy, The only thing is it doesn't follow the main rule of all the tragedies that Shakespeare wrote before it.

in that it doesn't end with everybody dying. But if you wanted to call it a comedy, you might also be wrong, because it doesn't follow the main rules of comedy either. It doesn't end with a big wedding, It's also not remotely historically accurate enough to call it a history play. Some call it a tragic comedy. Scholars even call it a kitchen sink play because it's got a little bit of everything. I prefer to call it a romance.

That's what a lot of people call Shakespeare's later plays, which begin with intense, often tragic conflict, jealousy, tyranny, death. but conclude with reconciliation, redemption, and the reuniting of long separated families. Maybe it's better to call Cymbeline a fairy tale. With its complicated plot and fantastical elements, Cymbeline has been maligned and misunderstood for centuries. Famed Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw even called it stagy trash of the lowest melodramatic order.

that is, until he took the time to rewrite the ending in his own nineteen thirty seven adaptation of the play, which caused him to fall in love with it, calling it one of the finest of Shakespeare's later plays. Regardless of what scholars and famous writers have to say, it's a play that is perfectly suited for the medium of podcasts in which you can envision the rich world woven by these characters. Is it a tragedy? Is it a history? A romance? All of the above?

Who cares? Is it a good story? That's for you to decide. So close your eyes and open your mind, because the game is on. Next chapter podcast presents the Play On Podcast series, Simbling. Episode 1, the Game. For the best listening experience, be sure to use headphones or earbuds. Remember, falsehood is worse in kings than beggars.

Hey. How's it coming along? There's not a man who doesn't frown. The king's courtiers ape his moods more faithfully than our fates obey the stars. What's happened now? Ugh. His daughter, heir to his kingdom, and intended for the only son of his wife, a widow that he recently had married, has given herself to a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded, her husband banished, she imprisoned, while the courtiers play act.

Sorrow, though the king is truly afflicted. Only the king? Lord Clotin too, who lost her, so is the The Queen so desired the match. But not one courtier, although they mask their faces so they match the king's own looks, would deny they're glad for just the thing that makes him scowl. Why's that?

The one who's lost the princess is a thing much worse than words can say. The one who won her, I mean that married her poor decent soul and then was banished is so extraordinary that if you searched each corner of the earth for one like him, you would find something lacking in all whom you'd compare. M but what's his name and family? Ugh

His roots I can't dig up. I know his father was called Sicilius, who allied his honor with Cassibilin fighting against the Romans. That's where he gained the surname Leonotus. and had two other sons, both killed in war. Their father, old, enamoured of his sons from sorrow, quit this life, and then his lady carrying this gentleman, Artheme, died too as he was born. The king takes the babe under his own protection, calls him

Posthumous Leonardus offers him all the learning one his age is able to absorb. This he breathed in like we take air and blossoming gave fruit. He lived at court, which is rare, most praised, most loved by young and old alike. to his dear lady for whom he's banished, the high price she's paid proves his great value, and no one can question what kind of man he is. I'd honor him just hearing how you praise him. But wait, tell me, is she the king's soul child? His only girl. He had two sons.

If this is worth your hearing, prick up your ears. The oldest one, just three. The baby in swaddling clothes when they were Stolen from their nursery, and still no one knows where they are now. How long ago was this? Some twenty years. How can a king's children be taken like that? So laxly guarded and so slow the search that couldn't trace them? It's strange in every way, so negligent, it's almost laughable. Yet it is true. I swear. I believe you. Truly. Now we must hush.

Here come the gentleman. Postulism. The Queen. Mother to Claud. And Princess. Image. No be assured, daughter. You'll find that I prove wrong the unjust image of stepmothers. I treat you cruelly. You're my prisoner, but your jailer will provide you with the keys that keep you locked at home, dear Imogene. Thank you. For you, posthumus.

As soon as I win over the offended king, I'll be your greatest advocate. But as yet the fire of rage is in him. With your leave, I'll ride away today. You know the perils. I'll take a walk around the garden and bemoan the aching of forbidden love, even though the kings decreed that you not speak together. Oh, counterfeit courtesy. How well this tyrant can tickle where she wounds.

My dearest husband I'm wary of my father's wrath, but care not beyond a daughter's duty what his rage can do to me. You must be gone. And I will stay and bear the constant stabs from angry eyes, my wretched life so Is that there is this jewel in the world that I might see again? My queen, my mistress, oh lady, weep no more. Or I'll give cause to be suspected of more tenderness than a man's dignity allows. I will remain the loyalest husband it ever made vow.

I'll dwell for now in Rome with one Falario, who to my father was a friend, to me, known just through letters. Write to me, my queen. And with my eyes I'll drink the words you send, though the ink be made with bitterness. Be brief! If the king comes, who knows how much I'll suffer of his displeasure? And yet I'll lure him to walk this way. Each time I do him wrong, he blindly buys the stings I sell as sweets. Pays dear for my deceits.

If our goodbyes took long as we have left to live, the agony of leaving would just grow. Goodbye. No! Wait a little. Even if you were riding alpha air, this farewell would be too paltry. Look here, love. This diamond ring was my mother. Take it, Bart, and keep it till you woe another wife when Imogen is dead. What's that another? You gentle gods! Give me just what I have, and hold back my embraces of any other with bonds of death. Remain, dear ring, on my hand till my senses feel no more.

Oh, and sweetest, fairest. Just as when I exchanged myself for you, you lost more in the bargain. Now trading tokens, I'm dealt the better hand. Wear this, my bracelet. Oh it is a manacle of love. I'll place it upon this lovely prisoner. Oh gods, when will we meet again? You worm blue thing! Get out! Out of my sight! If after this command you plague this court with your unworthiness,

You die! Awake! Put poison to my blood! The gods protect you! And any loyal friend who remains in court, I am gone! There cannot be a sting in death more sharp than this. Oh, you disloyal thing! You should be making me feel young and light, not weighing me down with cares that age me. Oh, please. Don't let your enraged fury make you ill. My senses are numb to your wrath. A sharper pain mutes all torments and fears. Beyond duty? Obedience? beyond hope, and in despair so beyond heaven's grace.

You could have had the sole son of my queen. I'm blessed that I could not. I chose an eagle and did avoid a pigeon. You took a beggar! Would have made my throne into a vulgar nest! No! Instead, I added a luster to it. Oh, you vile one. Sir, it is your fault that I have left Posthumus. You raised him as my playmate, and he is a man worth any woman. He pays double what he should pay for me. What? Are you mad? Almost, sir. Hey!

Gods! Let me be born again a herdsman's daughter! And my Leonidas, our neighbor shepherd's son! You foolish thing! My lord! They were together again. You refuse to honor our command. Take her away. And lock her up. I implore your patience. Hush! Dear lady daughter, hush. Ah sweet sovereign, leave us to ourselves and try to find some comfort in your counsellor's advice. No.

Let her suffer. Her heart's blood draining out one drop a day until this folly kills her. Strength deserves. Come now, you must relent! Here is your love servant. What now, Pisanio? Lord Clawton, your son, threatened my master posthumous. No harm is done, I trust. There could have been, if my master had been fighting, not just playing, and cared enough to be angry, they were parted by nearby gentlemen.

I am glad for that. Your son flatters my father. Plays his part well to threaten the poor exile. Oh, brave, sir. Why did you leave your master? He ordered me to, and refused to allow me to bring him to the harbour, left these notes. with orders that I follow your commands when you should wish to use me. He has been your faithful servant. I dares take my honor that he'll remain so. I humbly thank your Highness. Hmm. Imogen, walk with me.

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The rigors of action have made you reek like a sacrifice where air comes out, air comes in, and no scent out there can be as sweet as these events. If my shirt were bloody, then I'd change it. Have I hurt him? Didn't prick a nerve. Hurt him if he's not hurt, then his body's a holy carcass. Why, it's a chopping block if it's not hurt. His sword was evading arrest, so it took the back streets. Oh, the villain could not stand his ground.

No, but he kept fleeing forward towards your face. Stand his ground! You own land enough, but he even added to your acreage, gave you new ground. Hmm. As many inches as you gave oceans. I wish they had not come between us. So do I to measure this fool six feet under. How could she love this oath and refuse me? If it's a sin to make an honest choice, she's damned. Sir, as I always tell you, her beauty and her brain don't go together. She shines bright to the eye, but her wit's reflection is dim.

Hmm She won't shine on fools in case she's hurt by the glare. Come on, I'm going to my room. I wish I'd done some hurt. I wish only for this ass's fall, which hurts no one. You'll go with us. I'll soon attend your lordship. No, come. Let's go together. Fine, my lord.

I wish you'd plant yourself on every shore and question every ship. What was the last thing Posthumus told you? It was his queen, his queen. Then waved his handkerchief. And kissed it, madam. Oh, lifeless linen. Happier still than I. And that was all. No, madam, for as long as with my eyes or ears I managed to distinguish him from others. He stayed above the deck.

Waving his glove or handkerchief or hat, the fits and turmoil of his mind expressing best how slowly his soul sailed on, how swift his ship You should have kept your eyes on him till he was small as a wren or less before you turned around. Madam, I did. I never would have blinked. let my eyes crack dry, gazing at him till he had melted from the smallness of a gnat into air, and then have looked away.

And wept. Oh, but good Pisanio, when will we hear from him? Be assured, madam, the first chance that he has. I did not finish my farewell, but had such tender things to say. Before I could tell him how I would think of him at certain hours. Oh, such thoughts and such Or I could make him swear the Bellas of Italia would not betray my place in his heart and his honor d before I could give him that parting kiss.

which I had set between two words like charms, in comes my father, and like the tyrannous cold breath of the north, shakes the blossoms from our buds. The Queen, madam, desires your Highness's company. Those things I bet you do. See that they're done. Madam, I will. I will go to the Queen.

Yavo. Believe it, Falario. I have seen this posthumous Leonardus in Britain. He was then a rising star, expected to prove as worthy as they now claim he is, but I could see nothing in him to admire. Ah. You saw him when he was less adorned than he is now with that which enriches him inside and out. I saw him in France. We have many men who can behold the sun like eagles with eyes as

Strong as his But this business of marrying his king's daughter in which we must weigh him more by her value than his own exaggerates his reputation beyond his worth. And then his banishment. Right. And the sympathy of those who mourn their lamentable separation inflates his reputation further. If only to defend her judgment, which any weak attack would easily lay flat for accepting such a beggar.

But how is it he comes to stay with you? How did he steal your friendship? His father and I were soldiers together, and I often owed him no less than my life. Oh here comes. Same Britain. Gentlemen, I trust that with your savoir faire you will entertain him as a foreigner of his quality deserves. Posthumous sir. I beg you each to introduce yourself to this gentleman whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. Sir, we were acquainted in Orleans.

Y since when I've been in your debt for generosity, which I could never repay, and still owe. Sir, you overrate my measly kindness. I was glad to reconcile you and my countrymen. It would have been a pity for you to duel over such a slight and trivial matter. Beg your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller, who would rather shun all advice than let my every move be influenced by others. But uh even now, with my mended judgment, if I may say it is mended, uh.

My quarrel was not exactly slight. Indeed, it was too slight to be decided by swords and by two such men that would in all likelihood have slain each other or both have perished.

May we politely ask what caused the conflict? Safely, I think. It was much like the argument we fell into last night, each of us lavishly praising our beloved Mademoiselle's No This gentleman at the time vouching and vowing to defend it with his blood that his lady was more lovely, virtuous, wise, chaste, faithful, praiseworthy, and And less Less temptible to seduction than any of the most extraordinary ladies in France!

That lady does not exist. Or else this gentleman's opinion is by now quite out of date. Her virtue remains unchanged. So does my mind. Oh you cannot claim she so outshines ours of Italy. It will provoke me as far as the French did, and I will not reduce her worth. Though I profess she is my idol. Not my friend. as lovely and as good. Comparing as if they were equal would be too lovely and too good for any lady in Britain.

If she outclassed others I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlusters many I've beheld I would still not believe she would eclipse others in virtue, but I have yet to see the most precious diamond that is, nor you, the lady. I praised her as I rated her, just as I do my stone.

What do you esteem it's worth that? More than the world possesses. Either your unparagon mistress is dead, or she's outvalued by a bauble. You are mistaken. One might be sold or given. The other is not a thing for sale. And is only the gift of the gods. Which the gods have given you. Which by their graces I will keep. You may hold the title to her land, but you know that strange fowl do alight on neighboring ponds.

Your ring may be stolen, so to the jewel you estimate priceless, for one is weak, the other prone to accident, a cunning thief or a Courtier, accomplished in certain arts, might risk trying to win both the first one and the last. Your Italy contains no courtier, accomplished enough to vanquish the honor of my mission. I have no doubt you know many thieves.

Nevertheless, I do not fear for my ring. Let us end this here, gentlemen. Sir, with all my heart, this worthy Seigneur, I thank him, does not treat me like a stranger. He acts quite familiar from the start. With just five times this much talk, I could gain ground on your mistress. Push her back, even to the point of yielding, if I had the access and opportunity to befriend her. No

No. I'll stake half my estate on this if you will stake your ring, which in my opinion somewhat overvalues it, but I make my wager more against your confidence than her reputation. Oh, and to prevent personal affront to you, I'll dare attempt it on Any lady in the world, you are greatly deceived in your opinion, which is too bold. And no doubt you'll receive what you deserve for your effort.

What's that? Rejection! Ho Well, your attempt, as you call it, deserves more. A punishment, too! Gentlemen! Enough of this! It flared up too suddenly. Let it die as it was born and treat each other more civilly. I would have staked my whole estate and my neighbors too on the proof of what I've said. What lady would you choose to ambush? Yours. Whose faithfulness you think stands in such safety?

I will lay down 10,000 ducats to your ring, betting that with just your letter of introduction to the court. I'll bring back that honor of hers which you imagine so well guarded. I will wager against your gold more gold to match it. My ring Which I treasure as much as my finger, it's part of it. You are afraid. And that makes you wiser. You can buy the purest lady's flesh at a million an ounce, but you can't protect it from stain. But I see you have some religion in you, since you fear

This must be some Italian turn of phrase. Your purpose is more serious, I hope. Well I own my words myself. And swear I'll carry out what's spoken. The goodness of my mistress exceeds the depth of your vulgarity. I dare you to this match. Here's my ring. I will not allow this way. By the gods, the game is on!

The play on podcast series Cymbeline was written by William Shakespeare and translated into modern English verse by Andrea Tome. All episodes are directed by Rakesh Palassetti and based on the National Asian American Theater Company's. production directed by Stephen Brown Freed. Radio play by Catherine Eaton. Executive producer Michael Goodfriend. This podcast was recorded under a SAG AFTRA agreement. The cast is as follows.

Porva Beatty, as Cecilius, Lord, and Caius Lucius. Annie Fang as Arvaragas, Frenchman, Lady, and the writer. Christine Toy Johnson as Cymbeline. Anna Ishida as Giacomo, Roman Soldier. Maria Cristina Aliveras as theory. The Queen and Valerius, Sarah Suzuki as Filario, Gadarius and Companion, Gina Yi as Clauton and Roman soldier, Giuliana Celestio as Pisano and Jupiter. Casting by the Telsie Office, Karen Castle, CSA. Voice and text coach, Julie Faux. Mix and sound design by Lindsay Jones.

Original music composition by Caroline Ng and Lindsay Jones. With additional composition, orchestration, and arrangement by Stephen Brownfried. Sound engineering and mixing by Sadaharo Yaki. Mix engineer and dialogue editor, Larry Walsh. Podcast Mastering by Greg Cortez at New Monkey Studio. Coordinating producer, Transcend Streaming, Kira Bowie and Liana Keys. The play on podcast series Cymbaline is produced by Next Chapter Podcasts and is made possible.

By the generous support of the Hits Foundation. Visit nextchapterpodcast.com for more about the Play On Podcast series. For more about the Play On Podcast series. Visit Playonshakespeare.org for more about Play on Shakespeare. Subscribe to Play on Premium for

ad-free episodes and join our Patreon for exclusive merchandise and early commercial free releases. Go to nextchapterpodcast.com for our bonus content, where you'll find interviews with the artists, producers, and engineers who brought it all to life. And remember, Falsehood is worse in kings than beggars. Join Play On Premium to get merch like t-shirts, hoodies, and coffee.

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