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is puzzling. On the one hand, he
makes caring pronouncements,
arguing that, “’Tis not enough to
help the feeble up / But to support
him after” (1.1.109–110). However,
he also declares that “there’s none /
Can truly say he gives if he
receives” (1.2.9–10). How can
Timon’s guests ever repay his
generosity if he will not let them
do so? Flavius suggests that
Timon’s “worst sin is he does
too much good” (4.2.39), but
Apemantus is keenly aware of the
glass-faced flatterers who circle
around Timon like vultures, and is
frustrated by his blindness (and
vanity): “It grieves me to see so
many dip their meat in one man’s
blood; and all the madness is, he
cheers them up, too” (1.2.39–41).
Retreat from humanity
Having learned that his “fortunes
’mong his friends can sink”
(2.2.227), Timon turns his back on
society and heads for the woods,
where he concludes he will find
“Th’unkindest beast more kinder
than mankind” (4.1.36). Like
King Lear, Timon discards his
clothes, in an attempt to be free
from the “disease” of false
friendship and sugar-tongued
sycophancy. Once outside the
Athenian walls, Timon announces
that he will bear nothing but
nakedness from this detestable
town. As a cursing misanthrope,
Timon grows in lyrical prowess,
spitting forth condemnatory verse,
shaped to shock: “This yellow
slave / Will knit and break religions,
bless th’accursed, / Make the hoar
leprosy adored, place thieves, /
And give them title, knee, and
approbation / With senators on
the bench. This is it / That makes
the wappered widow wed again. /
She whom the spittle-house and
ulcerous sores / Would cast the
gorge at, this embalms and
spices / To th’ April day again”
(4.3.34–42).
Entrenched firmly at the other
extreme of humanity, Timon’s
pronouncements are as savage and
bilious as they had once been naive
but well meaning. His hymns to
hatred possess a strange music that
is both hypnotic and somewhat
overwhelming. Having looked to the
gods and the mercenary soldier
Alcibiades to wreak vengeance on
Athens, Timon looks forward only to
his own death: “My long sickness /
Of health and living now begins
to mend, / And nothing brings
me all things” (5.2.71–73). Rather
than remaining in a “dream of
friendship,” Timon prefers to rail
through his “sickness.” He dies at
peace with himself, although still
at war with humankind.
Few Shakespearean characters
embody a nihilistic vision with the
same commitment as Timon. This
is one of Shakespeare’s longest
roles, and it provides actors with a
challenge: to avoid presenting “the
middle of humanity” and concentrate
on capturing the “extremity of both
ends” while retaining psychological
realism for audiences. ■THE KING’S MAN
Here lie I, Timon, who alive
All living men did hate.
Pass by and curse thy fill,
but pass
And stay not here thy gait.
Timon’s epitaph
Act 5, Scene 5Timon the banker
A 2012 production at the
National Theatre in London,
set Timon of Athens in the
financial district during
the credit crunch. The action
is imagined as a meltdown
among the financial elite,
played out to a backdrop of
anti-capitalist protest. Timon’s
debts are a “liquidity crisis.”
Timon, played by British
actor Simon Russell Beale, is
a vain philanthropist, who is
fawned upon while his stock
is high. He is a power player in
a world where friendship is a
commodity with a cash value.
This production exemplified
Karl Marx’s characterization
of the play as about the power
of money. Timon’s scorn is
directed toward today’s elite:
“Your solemn masters are
large-handed robbers and
filch by law.”
When Shakespeare wrote
the play, England was going
through a political crisis, and
Guy Fawkes had recently
been executed for his part
in the Gunpowder Plot. In
Hytner’s production, protesters
wear the Guy Fawkes masks
popularized by the Internet-
based Anonymous activist
movement, and the play feels
as relevant as ever.