William Shakespeare - The Complete Works/William Shakespeare - The Complete Works on CD-ROM.iso/library/text/lrf/introp.txt

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KING LEAR

Commentary


Act 1

Scene 1
Two noblemen, the Earl of Kent and the Earl of Gloucester, are
holding what appears to be a fairly casual conversation, discussing
the way that their King is planning to divide up his kingdom. They do
not seem to be in the least distressed that the country is to be split
between different rulers, and very soon the subject is forgotten.
Gloucester is accompanied by a young man whom he introduces as
his illegitimate son, Edmond. Gloucester jokes about EdmondÆs
illegitimacy, and Kent replies to him with polite surprise. Edmond is
silent. Perhaps he is not within earshot; perhaps he has heard these
jokes before and is not embarrassed by them; or perhaps he hears ù
and hides his thoughts, even when his father talks of sending him
away from the court.
    The first thirty lines of the play are spoken in an easy, relaxed
prose. They serve as a kind of prologue, in which a great deal of
information is imparted and the two plots of the play are introduced
together.
    The private conversation is hushed when the trumpets
announce the entry of the royal procession for LearÆs ceremony of
abdication. Verse is now the proper medium of communication, and
Lear speaks with measured dignity about the division of his kingdom.
It is to be shared between his three daughters, and Lear means to give
the best portion to the most deserving ù the one who can make the
greatest show of love. He has no male heir (who would automatically
succeed his father), and the land will inevitably be divided after
LearÆs death. Lear intends ôthat future strife May be averted nowö.
He has already apportioned the land between his daughters, so the
ôlove testö is in fact meaningless: but the King enjoys flattery!
    Goneril readily plays her part, giving a fulsome description of
her love that quickly wins her fatherÆs approval. Regan joins in the
competition, seeking to excel her sister. Again, Lear is satisfied, and
he turns with great expectation to his youngest daughter, making no
secret of the fact that Cordelia is his favourite, and that for her he has
reserved ôA third more opulentö than those awarded to Goneril and
Regan. But CordeliaÆs ôasidesö (thoughts spoken for no one ù
except the audience ù to hear) have prepared us for the kind of reply
she will give to her father. She disliked the way Goneril was boasting
of her feelings, deciding that she herself would ôLove, and be silentö.
This determination is strengthened when she hears ReganÆs even
more excessive claims, and recognizes their hypocrisy.
    Cordelia answers her father plainly, with sincerity, intelligence
ù and real love, which acknowledges the limitations, as well as the
extent, of filial love. But Lear does not understand this. He is
disappointed, and he feels rejected ù so he in turn rejects his
daughter. His language is as violent as hers is plain: where Cordelia
spoke of the simple, natural relationship of parent and child, Lear
invokes pagan gods and supernatural phenomena.
    When the division of the kingdom is finally made, there is none
of the ceremony that we have been led to expect. Lear states his
conditions, insisting that he should keep one hundred knights as his
personal retinue; and then he hands over the crown to his two sons-in-
law: ôThis coronet part between youö.
    The Earl of Kent speaks a note of respectful common sense, but
when Lear refuses to listen, KentÆs language becomes increasingly
forceful. His bluntness only inflames LearÆs wrath, and the two men
engage in a short verbal skirmish from which they have to be
separated by Albany and Cornwall. This is reflected in the verse of
the play as the characters break into each otherÆs pentameter lines:

Kent        My life I never held but as a pawn
        To wage against thine enemies, neÆer feared to lose it,
        Thy safety being motive.
Lear                Out of my sight!
Kent        See better, Lear, and let me still remain
        The true blank of thine eye.
Lear        Now, by Apollo ù
Kent         Now, by Apollo, King, thou swearÆst thy gods in vain.
Lear        O vassal! miscreant!
Albany, Cornwall    Dear sir, forbear.

    Lear regains control of the situation and (although he has just
resigned all power along with his kingdom) pronounces a sentence of
banishment on his most loyal courtier.
    Kent accepts his sentence with calm resignation ù indeed, he
almost seems to welcome the thought of being exiled from an
oppressive regime. The rhymed couplets of his speech halt the
movement of the scene for a few moments, allowing the audience to
assimilate what they have just witnessed and (with the actors!) to take
a short break from the rising passions. Kent sums up the action of the
scene to this point and suggests the direction in which it will move.
We have learned that KentÆs judgement is to be trusted ù and we can
be fairly sure that there will be no ôgood effectsö arising from the
ôwords of loveö that were spoken by Goneril and Regan.
    The business of the scene is resumed when Lear, now icily in
control of himself, offers Cordelia to one of her suitors, the Duke of
Burgundy. Cordelia is now, in her fatherÆs eyes, a mere trading
commodity whose ôprice is fallenö. Burgundy seems to share
something of this attitude, but CordeliaÆs other suitor, the King of
France, asks the reasons for LearÆs sudden change of heart. Cordelia
breaks her silence, and defends herself with a forceful modesty which
is also an indictment of her sisters. The King of France knows how to
value Cordelia, and he claims her as his wife. Before she parts from
Goneril and Regan, Cordelia lets them know that she understands
their falsehood. Rhymed couplets again signal the close of an episode
in this long first scene of the play.
    The scene ends as it began ù in prose. Goneril and Regan
discuss what has happened and make their own plans for the future.
For a moment we see Lear through their eyes: he is an old man ôfull
of changesö, prone to ôunruly waywardnessö, and liable to
ôunconstant startsö. Regan is thoughtful, but Goneril is ready for
action!

Scene 2
Edmond, who left the stage in Scene 1 (at line 35) and did not witness
LearÆs disinheritance of Cordelia, now presents himself, alone, to the
audience. He is no longer the reserved ù even shy ù young man
who was so polite when he was introduced to Kent; instead he is
bold, confident, and rebellious. He resents the position of a younger
brother; and he also resents the attitude with which society regards
his illegitimate birth: ôWhy brand they us With base? with baseness?
bastardy? base, base?ö.
    Edmond knows that he is in appearance quite as handsome as
his legitimate older brother (Kent praised EdmondÆs good looks in 1,
1, 17), and he is determined to prove his superior in ability. Edmond
rejoices in the thought (which was quite common at the time
Shakespeare wrote King Lear) that an illegitimate child, conceived in
an act of sexual passion, might have more vigour than a child whose
conception was the result of the parentsÆ marital duty! Certainly
Edmond shows a lot of energy in his first speech, which makes him
very attractive to audiences (or readers); we are taken into his
confidence through the direct address of the soliloquy, and the wit of
his argument compels our sympathy.
    Gloucester enters, lamenting the general state of affairs in the
world. He insists on reading a letter which Edmond is pretending to
hide from him, and learns that Edgar, his elder son, is plotting against
his life. Although we have not met Edgar, we have learned (from his
own soliloquy) that Edmond is not to be trusted: this letter is the
ôinventionö of which he boasted in line 20. But Gloucester, it seems,
is easily fooled: he recognizes EdgarÆs (supposed) treachery as part of
the general social disorder which was predicted by recent
supernatural phenomena (the ôlate eclipses in the sun and moonö).
    After GloucesterÆs departure, Edmond has a moment to scoff at
his fatherÆs superstition and gullibility, and to congratulate himself on
the success ù so far ù of his scheme. At a most opportune moment,
Edgar appears. It is time for Edmond to assume another role: now he
is the caring brother, anxious to protect Edgar from his fatherÆs wrath.
    The scene ends as it began: Edmond speaks his mind where he
can be heard only by the audience, who must applaud ù but not
approve ù the skill with which he has duped both Gloucester and
Edgar.

Scene 3
Time has passed, and Goneril (with whom Lear is spending the first
month, as he had arranged in Scene 1, lines 132û5) is already looking
for an excuse to break the agreement: her father is proving a difficult
guest, and his bodyguard of a hundred knights disrupts her own
household. But these are mere pretexts. Goneril is wanting to start a
quarrel!

Scene 4
We have already seen the true worth of the boasted love of Goneril
and Regan. In contrast is the real love and loyalty of Kent who has
disguised himself as ôCaiusö and come to find service with his former
master. It is useful for us ù audience or readers ù to be reminded at
this point in the play that Lear is still able to command respect:

Kent    . . . you have that in your countenance which I would fain
    call master.
Lear    WhatÆs that?
Kent    Authority.

This, however, is not generally apparent, as the episode with Oswald
amply demonstrates. LearÆs Knight remarks the lack of ôceremonious
affectionö in the treatment of his master, and Lear himself has
ôperceived a most faint neglect of lateö. But the diminution in LearÆs
status is declared by Oswald: Lear demands acknowledgement ù
ôWho am I, sir?ö ù and Oswald replies without hesitation, ôMy
ladyÆs fatherö. Lear is beginning to understand the folly of his
actions, and his Fool is introduced here to drive home the lesson:

Fool    . . . Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.
Lear    Why, my boy?
Fool    If I gave them all my living IÆd keep my coxcombs myself.

Although he is threatened with the whip, the Fool persists in his jests
ù which become increasingly bitter to Lear. The FoolÆs mad
capering is momentarily silenced by Goneril. Lear listens to GonerilÆs
criticisms with bewilderment, unable to believe what he is hearing.
Once again he tries to compel recognition: ôWho is it that can tell me
who I am?ö This time it is the Fool who replies: ôLearÆs shadowö.
Goneril repeats her accusations, requesting Lear to curb the behaviour
and reduce the number of his followers.
    But LearÆs followers, the one hundred knights whom he
reserved in his service (1, 1, 133), are a sign of his status and identity
as a king; Lear will not relinquish this.
    Defending his knights, Lear prepares to leave GonerilÆs house.
Albany, GonerilÆs husband, denies having any part in GonerilÆs
unkindness, and Lear seems to accept this. But he prays to the
goddess Nature, imploring a curse of sterility on Goneril. His
language is strange and terrifying: the Latinate words ù ôderogate
bodyö, for instance, and ôcadent tearsö ù give awesome solemnity.
He sweeps out of the room in a dignified rage ù only to burst in
again almost immediately in a furious temper, weeping passionate
tears because GonerilÆs threat has been fulfilled: his train of followers
has already been cut in half. With uncontrolled anger he once more
curses Goneril before rushing away to find Regan, confident that she
will prove ôkind and comfortableö.
    We can be sure, however, that this will not be the case. Goneril
sends Oswald with a letter to her sister, which will prepare Regan for
the coming of their father; it is unlikely that she will ôsustain him and
his hundred knightsö when Goneril has ôshowed the unfitnessö.
    Albany and Goneril are left alone together, and Albany makes
an attempt to reproach his wife for her treatment of Lear. Goneril is
unrepentant, and defends her conduct, scorning Albany for what she
calls his ômilky gentlenessö ù which, she implies, is mere weakness.
AlbanyÆs warning, expressed in an easy couplet, sounds trite and
unconvincing: Goneril is not worried, and Albany himself can only
be resigned to wait and see what happens ù ôWell, well; thÆeventö.

Scene 5
Lear, too, sends a letter to Regan, no doubt telling her of GonerilÆs
unkindness and preparing her for his unexpected arrival. In LearÆs
first words to Kent ù ôGo you before to Gloucesterö ù the careful
reader finds a problem which is unnoticed in the theatre. Regan is not
at Gloucester (if ù as some editors assume ù it is the town that is
referred to), nor is she yet visiting the Earl of Gloucester. Kent must
travel (as he explains in Act 2, Scene 2, lines 203û13) first to ReganÆs
residence, and afterwards to GloucesterÆs castle in pursuit of Regan
and her husband.
    Shakespeare, it seems, has made a careless mistake ù and one
which is hardly worth noticing, except that it can usefully draw our
attention to the magnificently complex achievement whereby
Shakespeare melds (the American word ù  = melts and welds ù is
most apt) his two plots. At the moment, the plots ù of Lear and his
daughters, and of Gloucester and his sons ù are fairly distinct. But
the merger begins in Act 2, when the characters assemble in
GloucesterÆs castle; Shakespeare is anticipating this when he makes
Lear send Kent to Gloucester.
    This scene does little to further the action: Lear waits for his
horses to be saddled in preparation for the journey to ReganÆs home
and, to pass the time, his Fool makes jokes. These do not entertain
Lear (it is doubtful whether he is even listening), nor do they
particularly amuse the audience. They do, however, effect an easing
of the tension which has been occasioned by the relentlessly swift
action of the play so far. The ôall-licensed foolö speaks to Lear, as
only he can, in the language of homely common sense. The world
seems to be turned upside-down when Folly laughs at Majesty.

Act 2

Scene 1
The two plots begin to fuse. Gloucester has just been informed that
Regan and Cornwall (whom he describes as his ôarch and patronö ù
i.e. his overlord) will shortly be arriving at his castle. Now Edmond is
given the news, and he hears also of the dissension between Albany
and Cornwall (LearÆs division of his kingdom has not succeeded in
averting this, as he had hoped ù 1, 1, 44). Edmond welcomes the
news, seeing at once how he can use this changed situation to his own
advantage. Calling Edgar, and acting in his role of loving brother, he
advises instant flight; then, switching to his character of loyal son, he
pretends to fight Edgar. Edmond is thus able to manipulate both his
brother and his father.
    When Gloucester comes on the scene, EdmondÆs performance
is masterly. He must now give fuel to his fatherÆs suspicions of
Edgar, and at the same time allow Edgar to get well away from the
castle. Playing on GloucesterÆs superstitious nature, he tells how he
found Edgar ôMumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To
stand auspicious mistressö. He draws attention to his own wound ù
and perhaps the gesture that must accompany his ôFled this wayö is to
point in the opposite direction to EdgarÆs actual exit. With assumed
self-righteousness he describes his argument with Edgar, and gives a
melodramatic account of their fight. Of course Gloucester is
convinced ù and his reaction (ôNot in this land shall he remain
uncaught; And found ù dispatchö) encourages Edmond to press his
accusations still further.
    By the time Cornwall and Regan arrive, Gloucester is almost
wild with rage. He confides in them, finding sympathetic hearers.
Regan associates Edgar with her fatherÆs followers, whom she terms
ôthe riotous knightsö, and Edmond is quick to support her in this
opinion. The mock fight with Edgar, and EdmondÆs self-inflicted
wound, have drawn him to the attention of Cornwall, who now takes
Edmond under his patronage ù ôyou shall be oursö.
    At this juncture the two plots become one, interdependent on
each other for their different crises and solutions.
    Cornwall starts to explain why they have now come to visit
Gloucester, but Regan interrupts him. Like Goneril (see Act 1, Scene
4), she dominates her husband. Now she tells Gloucester about the
letters she has received from Lear and Goneril. She will answer them
when she is away from home: in this way, her father will not be able
to come to her house before she and Goneril have decided on a plan
of action. They have apparently chosen GloucesterÆs castle for their
meeting-place because Cornwall is GloucesterÆs overlord, his ôarch
and patronö.

Scene 2
Kent and Oswald, the messengers from Lear and Goneril, have
followed Regan and Cornwall to GloucesterÆs castle. Here they
confront each other. Oswald is slow to recognize Kent (who is, of
course, in his disguise as ôCaiusö), but Kent bears a grudge against
Oswald for the insolence of his conduct to the king in Act 1, Scene 4
(and also ù as we learn later in the scene, lines 214û15 ù for his
reception when he arrived at ReganÆs castle). He is ready to quarrel,
and looses a stream of comic abuse at Oswald, who is first surprised
and then frightened when Kent begins to beat him. His cries for help
bring Cornwall, Regan, and Gloucester out to see what is happening.
Kent continues to insult Oswald, to the bewilderment of his audience.
He extends his insults to include Cornwall and Regan ù and this
conduct cannot go unpunished! Cornwall calls for the stocks. Such
discipline was considered appropriate for the misbehaviour of
servants in any great house, but Kent is the kingÆs messenger and
Cornwall should not dishonour him in this way. KentÆs objections,
however, only make Cornwall ù and Regan ù more determined, and
even GloucesterÆs words carry no weight with them. Gloucester is
embarrassed, but he is also afraid of Cornwall, ôWhose disposition,
all the world well knows, Will not be rubbed nor stoppedö. He must
obey his ôarch and patronö.
    Kent accepts his shameful punishment with dignity, and
consoles himself (and the audience) by reading a letter from Cordelia
which somehow promises to ôgive Losses their remediesö. For
readers of the play, this letter can present difficulties: when did Kent
get the letter, and how did Cordelia learn of his ôobscured courseö ù
since he has been serving Lear in this disguise for no more than two
days? Shakespeare is ignoring any time-scheme ù and theatre
audiences will be too caught up in the action to notice. It is important
only that we should be prepared for CordeliaÆs coming.
    Kent sleeps in the stocks, and the attention of the audience is
drawn to another part of the stage where Edgar describes how, in
order to avoid capture, he will disguise himself as a ôBedlam beggarö.
Shakespeare had been reading a book by Samuel Harsnett which
described the appearance of such licensed beggars ù and of the
rogues and vagabonds who pretended to be ôBedlam beggarsö. After
his soliloquy Edgar leaves the stage; he has established his new
identity, and can safely disappear from the action of the play for some
time.
    This short episode has allowed time to pass ù perhaps the
entire day. Lear, accompanied by his Fool and with a Gentleman in
attendance, arrives before GloucesterÆs castle in pursuit of Regan and
Cornwall. Outside the castle, he discovers his messenger, Kent,
confined in the stocks. When he hears KentÆs account of the way he
has been treated, Lear is suffused with rage and goes inside to find his
daughter.
    The Fool, in his own fashion, answers KentÆs questions until
Lear returns with Gloucester. Regan and Cornwall have refused to
answer LearÆs summons, and he is further incensed with their
excuses. But he controls himself, and even tries to make some
allowances ù until he once more catches sight of Kent in the stocks,
when his anger is re-kindled. Gloucester is anxious to make peace;
Lear feels that he is choking with passion; and the FoolÆs jests grow
even wilder.
    At last Cornwall and Regan come to meet Lear. He greets them
coolly, but then ù turning to Regan ù breaks into an impassioned
denunciation of Goneril which ends with a cry for help and comfort:
ôO Regan!ö. But instead of the sympathy he expected, he finds that
Regan takes her sisterÆs side, defending GonerilÆs actions and
recommending that Lear should return and ask for GonerilÆs
forgiveness. Lear cannot believe what he is hearing. He repeats his
complaints, and reiterates his curses on Goneril. Regan is not
impressed, and Cornwall scoffs at the king.
    Lear still has some hopes, however, that Regan will not be like
her sister, but when Goneril arrives he sees Regan take her by the
hand ù a mark of solidarity. Goneril and Regan (backed by
Cornwall) stand together in opposition to Lear. He tries to bargain
with them about the number of his attendant knights, but they are
adamant in their insistence that the knights must be reduced in
number. Their arguments are eminently reasonable: ôHow, in one
house, Should many people, under two commands, Hold amityö: Lear
could ôreceive attendance From those that she [Goneril] calls
servantsö; and if the servants were unsatisfactory, his daughters
ôcould control themö. But the hundred knights represent his
independence ù even, his majesty ù to Lear; and he clings to this
number. Relentlessly his daughters strip away these remnants of
LearÆs power until at last Regan asks why he should need any of his
knights.
    At this, LearÆs temper explodes, and he is almost speechless
with fury:

I will have such revenges on you both
That all the world shall ù I will do such things ù
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth.

Refusing to weep, but fearing for his own sanity, Lear rushes out into
the night. He takes the Fool with him, and Gloucester follows them.
We hear the distant rumble of thunder.
    The scene, in which so many and such violent passions have
been displayed, ends quietly. Goneril and Regan begin to make
excuses for themselves. When Gloucester returns to report the kingÆs
departure and the gathering storm, the two sisters are ruthless: Lear
must learn his lesson. Gloucester would show pity, but Cornwall
takes command and Gloucester must obey the order to ôShut up your
doorsö.

Act 3

Scene 1
Outside the castle is deserted heathland where (as Gloucester told us
in the last scene) ôfor many miles about ThereÆs scarce a bushö. A
storm is raging, and a Gentleman (perhaps the last remnant of LearÆs
original entourage) describes how Lear seems to have allied himself
with the cosmic powers. Kent (who is still disguised as ôCaiusö)
imparts strange information to the Gentleman, telling him of quarrels
between Albany and Cornwall, and of an impending French invasion
(which he learned, perhaps, from CordeliaÆs letter in Act 2, Scene 2).
The Gentleman must go to Dover, where he will be sure to meet
Cordelia and learn the truth about the man he is now speaking to.
    The scene offers more hope of comfort: when Cordelia returns,
all will be well.
    Kent and the Gentleman separate to resume their search for
Lear; as they leave the stage, the king himself enters.

Scene 2
We see now what the Gentleman had described in the previous scene:
Lear tries to ôout-stormö the elements, whilst the Fool ôlabours to
out-jest His heart-strook injuriesö. Shakespeare is supremely tactful
here. To have shown any more of the kingÆs passion might have
exposed him to ridicule ù and would certainly have taxed any
actorÆs vocal powers. And any more of the FoolÆs hysterical jokes
might very well have produced the wrong kind of laughter.
    Just as Lear is resolving to be patient, Kent comes upon the
scene. His presence seems to set off LearÆs passion again, and now he
hears in the storm the wrath of the gods threatening judgement and
punishment for the crimes of human beings. Kent attempts to
persuade him to take shelter, but Lear at first resists; then, catching
sight of the shivering Fool, he takes pity on him and consents to go
inside. This may be a turning point for Lear: he begins to think of
others before himself.
    The Fool responds with the snatch of a song ù whose tune
would be immediately recognizable to ShakespeareÆs first audiences.
It is the song that was sung in ShakespeareÆs play Twelfth Night by
Robert Armin, who now plays the part of the Fool in King Lear. The
verse lines are adapted to the present situation, but the refrain ù ôthe
rain it raineth every dayö ù is the same.
    With this song, and the FoolÆs prophecy that follows it, the
actor seems to step out of his character to remind the audience that
some things never change: LearÆs dilemma would be the same today
(in the seventeenth ù or even the twentieth ù century), because the
ideal world is yet to come. The words of the prophecy (which parody
some lines quoted in a sixteenth-century book of poetical theory;s2)
may not have been written by Shakespeare ù Armin himself was
quite capable of writing this sort of verse.
    The FoolÆs speech to the audience is dramatically useful
because it helps with the first transition between the outdoor scene on
the heath and the scene indoors in GloucesterÆs castle.

Scene 3
Gloucester, very agitated, takes Edmond into his confidence. Goneril
and Regan have hardened in their attitude to Lear, and have
threatened Gloucester with their ôperpetual displeasureö if he shows
any sympathy towards their father. They have already taken
possession of GloucesterÆs house. Gloucester knows that Albany and
Cornwall are at odds with each other, and he has just learned ù by
letter ù of some new danger from ôa power already footedö. We can
guess that this letter, like the one that Kent was reading at the end of
Scene 1, gives news of an invasion by the army of the King of France.
It seems likely that France, who left England ôin cholerö (1, 2, 23),
has returned to take by force that portion of LearÆs kingdom which
Cordelia should rightfully have inherited.
    Gloucester advises Edmond that they must now support King
Lear against his daughters, and he is determined ù even at the risk of
his own life ù to give comfort to his ôold masterö. Edmond is
sympathetic ù but after Gloucester has left the stage, he discloses his
own intentions to the audience: he will betray his fatherÆs confidence;
reveal the incriminating letter; and hope to profit by GloucesterÆs
certain downfall. The slick, self-congratulatory verse of EdmondÆs
lines is in striking contrast with GloucesterÆs rambling prose. The
hopes raised by GloucesterÆs letter now seem to be threatened by the
intended treachery of GloucesterÆs son.

Scene 4
We return to the wild heath where Kent is shepherding Lear to take
refuge from the storm. The king is reluctant to go inside, arguing that
the suffering of his body eases the anguish of his mind. But he sends
Kent and the Fool in to find comfort ù yet another sign that he is
taking thought for others. And when he is alone he prays, recognizing
his responsibility for the ôPoor naked wretchesö who share with him
the miseries of the storm.
    Suddenly the Fool rushes out to him, scared out of his wits by
something that is lurking in the hovel. It is Edgar, totally submerged
in his character of Poor Tom (for which we were prepared in Act 2,
Scene 2). His appearance is the last straw for Lear, who finally
succumbs to the madness he had feared ever since his daughters first
showed their real natures. In his madness, he assumes that Poor Tom
is in the same condition as he himself: ônothing could have subdued
nature To such a lowness but his unkind daughtersö. Edgar gives a
superb performance as Poor Tom, naked except for a blanket around
his loins. The storm rumbles still. Lear watches and listens; in Tom
he finds the truth about human nature, the essence of humanity
unadulterated by the trappings of civilization. Tearing off his clothes,
Lear tries to become like Tom, but he is restrained by the Fool.
    There is an interruption in the mad frenzy when Gloucester
arrives, coming in search of Lear. Then Edgar, with renewed vigour,
resumes his performance as Poor Tom, and LearÆs genuine madness
responds to his assumed lunacy. His pity for Lear reminds Gloucester
of his own situation and he tells Kent of the son who (as he believes)
has tried to kill him:

    I loved him, friend,
No father his son dearer; true to tell thee,
The grief hath crazed my wits.

If Edgar hears this ù and I think he must ù he can only respond
with the beggarÆs cry, ôTomÆs a-coldö.
    Once again, Kent shepherds the sad, mad little party into the
hovel.

Scene 5
Inside GloucesterÆs castle, Edmond has betrayed his father to
Cornwall, and now he is playing a new role: he is a loyal subject who
has sacrificed his own father for the good of his country! He gets his
reward ù his fatherÆs title, ôEarl of Gloucesterö. An ôasideö spoken
to the audience leaves his hypocrisy in no doubt. But Gloucester
himself is in serious danger.

Scene 6
Lear, in his new and very real madness, joins with Edgar (in his
pretended insanity as Poor Tom) and the Fool to hold a trial of
Goneril (represented by a ôa joint-stoolö) and Regan. The kingÆs
madness distresses Kent, and moves Edgar to tears ù he can hardly
sustain his performance. At last Kent succeeds in persuading the king
to rest and Lear, believing himself to be in his own bed, falls asleep.
    The Fool, responding to LearÆs decision to ôgo to supper
iÆthÆmorningö, makes his final comment: ôIÆll go to bed at noonö. If
supper is to be eaten in the morning, then it is logical to go to bed in
the middle of the day: the world is completely upside-down. He helps
to carry Lear out to the cart in which he will be conveyed to Dover,
and then the Fool disappears from the playÆs action. Being quite
insane, the king has no further need of a fool.
    Gloucester has arranged for Lear to be taken to Dover (where
he will be able to meet Cordelia and the French troops) because the
kingÆs life is now in danger. And Gloucester must know that he is
putting his own life at risk.

Scene 7
Cornwall is preparing to deal with ôthe traitor Gloucesterö following
EdmondÆs betrayal of his father in Scene 6; the French army has
landed in England ù and it is only right that the rulers, Cornwall and
Albany, should defend their territory and punish anyone suspected of
aiding the invaders. But Regan and Goneril are blood-thirsty, and
Cornwall, although he knows that Gloucester should be given a
public trial, is equally vindictive. He sends Edmond out of the room
ù in company with Goneril ù and orders the servants to bring
Gloucester before him, bound as though he were a common thief and
not a nobleman.
    Cornwall and Regan exult in the humiliation of their prisoner,
interrogating him with relentless violence until he is forced to
disclose the kingÆs whereabouts. When the questions persist,
Gloucester ù terrified though he is ù speaks out against the pitiless
treatment that Lear has received at his daughtersÆ hands; he tells
Regan that he hopes to see retaliation from some divine justice, and
he is answered ôSeeÆt shalt thou neverö. Gloucester is bound to a
chair, and Cornwall claws out one of his eyes. Gloucester screams in
agony, but Regan, jubilant in his anguish, demands his other eye, too.
    CornwallÆs servants are revolted by this obscene torture, and
one of them draws his sword against his master. Whilst they are
fighting, Regan snatches a sword from another servant and stabs from
behind, killing her husbandÆs assailant ù but not before Cornwall
himself is wounded. Undeterred, however, Cornwall renews his
assault on Gloucester and tears out his other eye. When Gloucester
calls on his son, Edmond, for help, Regan takes great delight in
telling him that it was Edmond who first betrayed his father:

Thou callÆst on him that hates thee; it was he
That made the overture of thy treasons to us.

Gloucester is bundled out of the room and Cornwall, bleeding
heavily, retires with Regan. Only the servants are left to bring this
outrageous scene to a close with the compassion of their common
humanity.
    It is many years since Shakespeare presented a scene of such
physical brutality ù and even then (in Titus Andronicus, c. 1591)
almost all the actual violence took place off-stage. But in King Lear
Shakespeare wants to show, as far as it is possible in the theatre, the
depths to which human beings can sink and the extent of ômanÆs
inhumanity to manö.

Act 4
Scene 1
Edgar, still in his disguise as Poor Tom but speaking in his own
person, is cheering himself up with the thought that things cannot get
any worse, and so they must improve. But this philosophical
meditation proves to be ironic (proleptic ù anticipatory ù irony is
characteristic of this play). EdgarÆs thoughts are interrupted when he
sees his father and overhears GloucesterÆs conversation with the old
man who is leading him. Although he is sightless, Gloucester can at
last see the truth: he now knows which of his two sons was to be
trusted.
    Greatly distressed by the appearance of his father, Edgar
reverts ù with some difficulty ù to the speech of the mad beggar
and agrees to lead Gloucester to Dover. GloucesterÆs predicament has
brought him, like Lear (in Act 3, Scene 2), to a heightened awareness
of the needs of the suffering poor, and he, too, prays for a fairer
distribution of wealth in a world where ôeach man [will] have
enoughö. But for himself, he is desperate, and he means to put an end
to his misery when ôPoor Tomö has led him to the top of Dover cliff.

Scene 2
Arriving at AlbanyÆs castle, Goneril and Edmond (who seem to be
very intimate) are met by Oswald, who describes a strange alteration
in the character of Albany: ôWhat most he should dislike seems
pleasant to him; What like, offensiveö. Goneril is immediately
scornful of her husbandÆs ôcowish terrorö ù but she can see how she
and Edmond may be able to take advantage of this. She sends
Edmond back to raise up Cornwall and his troops, giving him a token
of her affection which he can wear as a public declaration of their
private relationship ù just as a medieval knight would wear his
mistressÆs scarf in a tournament.
    We have been prepared (by Oswald) to see a change in Albany
ù but even so, we can be surprised by the vehemence of his
denunciation of Goneril. Albany has been absent from the stage since
Act 1, Scene 4, where he offered no more than a mild remonstration
to his wife. But now he confronts her with sheer disgust, accusing her
of such monstrous and unnatural crimes against her father that, if they
are not punished by divine retribution, will lead the whole world to
disaster:

It will come,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
Like monsters of the deep.

This image of cannibalism, indicating the total collapse of all moral
and natural law and order, was not uncommon in Elizabethan
literature; Shakespeare has used it twice before ù in Troilus and
Cressida (1, 3, 123û4), and in a scene which he added to Sir Thomas
More, a play written by several different dramatists of whom
Shakespeare was easily the most distinguished. In ShakespeareÆs
scene, More prophesies a future chaos where ômen like ravenous
fishes Would feed on one anotherö (lines 86û7).
    Goneril is unmoved, however, and repeats her charges of
cowardice to Albany. Husband and wife argue bitterly ù it is a
verbal fight, which is interrupted only when a Messenger arrives and
blurts out his news: ôthe Duke of CornwallÆs deadö. The news of
CornwallÆs death means less to Albany than the occasion for it. The
blinding of Gloucester horrifies him for the deed itself, but he can see
in it the working of some divine power.
    The information disturbs Goneril: she is glad to know that the
old man has been made to suffer, but jealous and suspicious of
ReganÆs dealings with her Gloucester ù that is, with Edmond.
Goneril leaves the stage to write some letters; when she is gone,
Albany learns from the Messenger how Edmond had betrayed his
father and left the house so that Cornwall and Regan ôMight have the
freer courseö in punishing Gloucester for his support of the king.
Albany at last declares which side he is on:

    Gloucester, I live
To thank thee for the love thou showedst the king,
And to revenge thine eyes.

Scene 3
Cordelia enters, ôwith drum and coloursö, discussing her fatherÆs
madness with a Doctor. Lear has been seen wearing a crown made up
of what Cordelia calls ôall the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining
cornö. His disordered mind is thus linked, emblematically, with the
rich cornfield overgrown with weeds ù which itself seems to
represent the torn and divided land of LearÆs kingdom under the sway
of its new rulers.
    To treat LearÆs distraction, the Doctor prescribes the most
natural of all remedies ù what Shakespeare described in another play
as ôThe season of all natures, sleepö (Macbeth, 3, 4, 141).
    Entrusting her fatherÆs person to the DoctorÆs care, Cordelia
prepares to fight for his rights against the advancing English armies:
ôO dear father! It is thy business that I go aboutö (see Luke 2:49, ôI
must go about my fatherÆs businessö). Before she leaves the stage,
however, Cordelia declares (for the more assurance of ShakespeareÆs
contemporary audience) the reason for the presence of a French army
on English soil:

No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our aged fatherÆs right.

Scene 4
Oswald has reached ReganÆs castle, bringing the letter that Goneril
sent to her sister (in Act 4, Scene 2), and also carrying GonerilÆs letter
to Edmond. This arouses ReganÆs suspicions, throwing her into some
confusion. She tries to get Oswald to let her read the second letter,
explaining that Edmond is away on important business: the spectacle
of the blinded Gloucester is turning people against Cornwall and
Regan, so Edmond has gone to find his father and ôIn pity of his
misery, to dispatch His nighted lifeö.
    The information seems partly to be spoken as an ôasideö (when
Regan regrets that they did not kill Gloucester at once), and partly
offered as a kind of humanitarian excuse. But Oswald is a loyal
servant to his mistress, Goneril, and he shows no reaction. His
impassiveness forces Regan to a declaration of her jealousy and her
desires, and she too (like Goneril in Scene 2) has a token of her love
to give to Edmond. Their love ù or lust ù for Edmond is driving a
wedge between the two sisters.

Scene 5
Edgar and his blind father are walking towards Dover. The ôPoor
Tomö disguise is now completely discarded: Edgar wears the clothes
provided by the Servant (in Scene 1) and speaks with his normal
tones and language. The ground they tread on is quite level. But
Edgar must persuade Gloucester that they are reaching the summit of
a high cliff. He points out graphic details ù crows ôscarce so gross as
beetlesö, the samphire-gatherer who ôseems no bigger than his headö,
and the fishermen who ôAppear like miceö ù and he even creates, by
commenting on its absence, the sound of the sea. His description
certainly convinces Gloucester ù and would almost deceive audience
and readers into accepting this for truth, as ShakespeareÆs verbal
compensation for the lack of scenic resources in the theatre of his
day!
    Gloucester parts from his guide (who confides in the audience
the reason for his play-acting like this: ôWhy I do trifle thus with his
despair Is done to cure itö). Gloucester prays to the ômighty godsö,
asking their forgiveness for his weakness (because he cannot endure
his present existence) and for their blessing on Edgar. He then throws
himself ù as he imagines ù over the edge of the cliff. Actually, of
course, he falls flat on the ground! The situation is grotesque ù even
comical; but there is no laughter in the spectacle of a blind man
desperately trying to kill himself.
    Edgar now ôfindsö his father, and again he creates in
GloucesterÆs mind the image of a tall cliff, more than the height of the
masts of ten ships, standing one upon the other. But this time we are
looking upwards, and Gloucester must be persuaded that he has
indeed fallen down and lies on the beach: it is a miracle that he is
unharmed! Edgar describes a monstrous creature seen at the top of the
cliff and Gloucester (still as gullible as he ever was) is certain that
this was ôthe fiendö ù the devil himself. In Elizabethan thought, the
devil was always ready to lead human beings to the ultimate
desperation in which they would commit suicide and thereby incur
eternal damnation. Gloucester is willing to accept a lesson from his
preservation, and endure his affliction with all patience.
    As one crisis is resolved, a new one comes to the fore. Lear
comes on to the scene, ôfantastically dressed with wild flowersö. We
have been prepared for this latest stage in his madness, so the sight is
not totally surprising ù although we should still respond with
something of the anguish that Edgar articulates: ôO thou side-piercing
sight!ö The king is locked in his own world, into which there is no
entry for Gloucester and Edgar, who can only stand and grieve.
    In his madness, LearÆs mind jumps from one subject to another,
sometimes through word-associations (ôpeaceö suggests ôpieceö and
ôbillsö prompts ôbirdsö). The first of these ômadö speeches accustoms
us to ShakespeareÆs technique in creating a language for madness: the
content of the speech is negligible. But when he looks on Gloucester,
Lear sees ôGoneril, with a white beard!ö and this starts off a new
chain of thought-processes which (at least for the playÆs audience) are
more accessible because more relevant to the kingÆs situation.
    Hearing the word ôkingö spoken by Gloucester, LearÆs mind
fastens on this and it moves him from the idea of the kingÆs pardon
for a crime and the crime of adultery to a passionate denunciation of
female sexuality where his horrified imaginings reveal a ôsulphurous
pit ù burning, scalding, Stench, consumptionö.
    At this point some slight respite is needed ù for Gloucester
and Edgar to voice their reactions, for the audience to draw its breath
after this onslaught, and for Lear himself (and the actor playing this
part). The relief is given in the prose exchange between Lear and
Gloucester, which almost becomes comic relief (although it is not
funny) when Lear identifies Gloucester as ôblind Cupidö and when he
plays ôhandy-dandyö with the magistrate and the thief ù let them
change places, and then can you tell which is which?
    There is nothing comic in the tirade that follows, where Lear
inveighs against the power of wealth and the corruption of justice. At
the climax of the speech he pauses, relapsing momentarily into the
madness of exhaustion and ordering the (imagined) footmen to pull
off his boots. His recognition of Gloucester sounds like sanity, and he
preaches patience with a wisdom acquired through suffering whilst
Gloucester weeps in pity of his master.
    His attention is suddenly diverted away from his preaching and
he praises ôa good blockö. Perhaps ôstageö (in the same line) has
suggested something to him (scaffold, executionerÆs block, mounting-
block, hat-block?) which leads him to the notion of felt-shod cavalry
who could take his daughtersÆ husbands by surprise and exact
revenge upon them. But it is Lear himself who is taken by surprise
when the Gentleman ù making a rather clumsy move ù orders
CordeliaÆs attendants to ôlay hands upon himö. Lear evades capture
and, although the Gentleman now speaks in conciliatory tones ù
humouring a madman and honouring a king ù he succeeds in
running away, chased by the attendants.
    The Gentleman remains behind, just long enough to give Edgar
(and the audience) the latest news on the war front: the two armies are
approaching, and will soon join battle. Gloucester renews his prayer
for strength to endure until it pleases the gods to ôtake [his] breath
from [him]ö. Edgar applauds his prayer: ôWell pray you, fatherö. This
form of address was appropriate from a younger man to an older ù
although, of course, it has a different meaning for Edgar who, still
refusing to disclose his identity, prepares to lead Gloucester to safety.
    Once again we have had a brief interval between the distinct,
but closely related, episodes in this most complex scene; and once
again the apparent calm is shattered. Oswald, on his way to deliver
GonerilÆs letter to Edmond, comes by chance ù a ôhappyö chance as
he sees it ù upon Gloucester, ôa published traitorö whose death
would certainly ôraise [OswaldÆs] fortunesö. Although he showed
himself a coward when Kent abused him (in Act 2, Scene 2), he is not
afraid to draw his sword on a blind old man.
    Gloucester welcomes the thought of death, but Edgar once
more saves his fatherÆs life. Assuming the character of a peasant, and
speaking with a stage ôrusticö dialect, he fights and kills Oswald. Just
before he dies, Oswald ù still loyal to his mistressÆs command ù
entrusts GonerilÆs letter to the man who has given him a fatal wound.
Edgar has recognized Oswald for who and what he is ù ô a
serviceable villainö ù but regrets that it was he who had to kill him.
He is reluctant, but compelled by necessity, to read private
correspondence.
    From the letter to Edmond he learns that Goneril is inciting
Edmond to murder her husband, Albany, and bribing him with the
promise of marriage ù he can ôsupply [AlbanyÆs] placeö. This comes
as a complete and shocking surprise to Edgar, who hastily buries the
body of Oswald ôin the sandsö. Shakespeare must have forgotten that
his characters are not on the beach ù or perhaps he has convinced
himself by his own rhetoric, just as Edgar has persuaded Gloucester
that they are at the foot of Dover cliff!
    Gloucester knows only that Oswald is dead and that there is no
more threat to his own life ù or (as he understands it) no relief from
his suffering. He begins to envy King Lear for the insanity which at
least makes him oblivious to all other sorrows. Edgar interrupts his
lamentation, and hurries his father off to hide from the fighting which
is now imminent. A drum signals the approach of the opposing
armies.

Scene 6
Kent has revealed himself to Cordelia, and receives her gratitude as,
with the Doctor, they wait to see whether Lear, when he recovers
consciousness, will be himself again. Cordelia invokes the gods and
prays for their aid to restore her father to health. Lear is carried in,
wearing fresh clothes (which will manifest the change in his
condition), and the Doctor calls for music (which always, in
ShakespeareÆs plays, denotes harmony and reconciliation). Kent and
the Doctor stand back, whilst Cordelia advances to greet her father
with a kiss. It is one of ShakespeareÆs most magical moments.
    Softly (ôher voice was ever soft, Gentle and lowö ù 5, 3, 247),
Cordelia talks to her father, willing him back from the dark recesses
of his tortured mind. Lear gradually returns to consciousness. At first
he is confused ù only a pinprick can convince him that he is really
alive.
    When Cordelia speaks, courteously and respectfully, he does
not know who she is ù although he feels he ought to know her. He
looks around, and sees a strange place; when he looks down at
himself, he sees unfamiliar clothing. But there is a glimmer of
recognition when he looks up again and sees the ôladyö ù his
ôchildö, his own Cordelia. She weeps, with tears of joy. But with the
dawning recognition there comes also into LearÆs mind the
recollection of something hurtful in the past. He cannot remember
just what it was ù and the Doctor counsels Cordelia to proceed
slowly and with caution.
    To the Doctor, naturally, Lear is a patient, and he speaks with
some clinical detachment; but to Cordelia he is not only her beloved
father but also a king, as the formality of her address shows: ôWillÆt
please your highness walk?ö Lear, no longer the autocratic, seemingly
omnipotent majesty who cast off his youngest daughter, now meekly
obeys her and asks her forbearance: ôYou must bear with me. Pray
you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolishö.

Act 5
Scene 1
War is imminent. But AlbanyÆs forces have not yet arrived and
Edmond (who is leading CornwallÆs troops now that the duke is dead)
is getting impatient. He has not received GonerilÆs letter ù because,
as Regan suggests, the messenger ôis certainly miscarriedö: we know
(as Regan does not) that Oswald has been killed by Edgar, who now
has possession of the letter.
    Regan questions Edmond closely about his relationship with
her sister, and asks if they have ever slept together. Edmond denies
this, but Regan is still doubtful and enjoins Edmond, ôBe not familiar
with herö. This Edmond seems to promise, scoffing at Goneril and
ôthe duke her husbandö. Just at this moment the two enter, leading
their army. When she sees Regan and Edmond conferring together,
GonerilÆs suspicions are aroused and, in an ôasideö, she declares her
real feelings to the audience: ôI had rather lose the battle than that
sister Should loosen him and meö.
    Albany has the information that King Lear has joined forces
with Cordelia, taking with him a number of protesters who are
rebelling against the severity of the new regime. A council of war is
summoned. For a moment it looks as though Goneril will stay behind
to speak with Edmond ù but Regan makes sure that this will not be
allowed! They all leave together, but AlbanyÆs attention is caught by
a poor man. We recognize Edgar, still disguised in the ôbest Æparelö
that had been provided by GloucesterÆs servant (in Act 4, Scene 1).
    Edgar produces a letter, which we know is the letter written by
Goneril to Edmond, inciting him to the murder of Albany. He will not
stay until Albany has read the contents of the letter, but promises to
return after the battle when he will demonstrate the truth about them.
Edgar visualizes a medieval tournament (and we remember that
Edmond, like any medieval knight, has been given their favours by
both Goneril and Regan ù in Act 4, Scenes 2 and 4).
    Edmond now comes to call Albany to make his arrangements
for the battle. Alone on the stage, Edmond takes the audience into his
confidence. He enjoys the comedy of his predicament, and the
audience too can laugh when he asks ôWhich of them shall I take?
Both? one? or neither?ö. But audience sympathy soon dissolves into
horror at his cold-blooded contemplation of the murder of Albany and
the frustration of ôthe mercy Which he [Albany] intends to Lear and
to Cordeliaö. Edmond is ambitious to rule over the whole kingdom:
nothing is going to stand in his way!
    We know, however, that Albany will read the letter from
Goneril and learn the truth about Edmond. And Edgar is standing in
the wings ready, ôWhen time shall serveö, to play his part in the
action.

Scene 2
For the present, Edgar must place his father under the shelter of a tree
whilst the quickest battle in all ShakespeareÆs plays is fought out off-
stage. Only the trumpets and drums are heard, sounding the ôAlarumö
and beating the ôretreatö ù calling the troops to engage in fighting,
then signalling an end to their hostilities. Shakespeare is not
interested in this battle, only in its outcome.
    Edgar leaves his father with the injunction to ôpray that right
may thriveö and the cheerful promise to return and ôbring [him]
comfortö. This is more proleptic irony, anticipating EdgarÆs almost
immediate return with the devastating news that the prayer has not
been heard: ôKing Lear hath lost, he and his daughter [are] taÆenö.
Gloucester is sunk in depression, but Edgar has a philosophy to
counter every disaster: ôRipeness is allö ù the important thing is not
to seek death, nor to avoid it, but to be ready to accept when it comes.
Gloucester gives his assent to this, and father and son withdraw to
leave the stage clear for EdmondÆs conquering army with its two
captives.

Scene 3
Cordelia is brave, but worried for her fatherÆs sake. Lear himself,
however, is quite carefree; he can conceive of no greater happiness
than being in prison with Cordelia, where she will enjoy his fatherly
love and will grant him her forgiveness. With serene detachment they
will survey the agitations of life at court, and endure beyond the
fluctuating powers of the ôgreat onesö. Edmond brusquely orders
their removal, and Lear seems to welcome his command. But
Cordelia weeps. She knows that this paradisial prison existence will
never be more than imaginary, and she sheds tears for the harsh
reality which is to come.
    When the king and his daughter have left, under strict guard,
Edmond calls a captain to him and entrusts the man with a grim task.
The captain welcomes his mission (although he does not yet know
what it is): he sees it as a means to preferment ù but the audience
heard EdmondÆs words at the end of Scene 1!
    Albany, coming in with Goneril and Regan, praises Edmond
for the valour he has shown in the battle and requests him to yield up
his prisoners, Lear and Cordelia. Edmond explains that he has sent
them to a place of safety, because he was afraid that the sight of ôthe
old and miserable kingö and his daughter might have such an effect
on the hearts of ordinary people ù ôthe common bosomö ù that
even the soldiers would rebel against their leaders. Furthermore, he
adds, this is neither the time nor the place to deal with ôThe question
of Cordelia and her fatherö.
    Albany is infuriated by the manner of this speech, and he is
quick to reprimand Edmond for his presumption: ôI hold you but a
subject of this war, Not as a brotherö. Regan springs to EdmondÆs
defence, pointing out that he has been acting on her behalf and
consequently has every right to be considered as a brother by Albany.
    Goneril makes the rejoinder that Edmond does not need
ReganÆs favour: he is quite distinguished enough in himself. But with
the position that she has given him, Regan retorts, Edmond is equal to
the highest in the land. Albany remarks that Edmond could be no
more than this if he were ReganÆs husband. Her reply to this is
enigmatic ù but Goneril understands what is meant (and so does the
audience).
    Goneril is ready for a fight, but Regan is feeling unwell.
Refusing to be drawn into a quarrel, she startles them all ù including
Edmond ù with a public declaration: ôWitness the world, that I
create thee here My lord and masterö. Goneril protests. Albany tells
her she has no right to object.
    Edmond equally denies AlbanyÆs right to interfere ù and then
Albany (with a contemptuous sarcasm that he has never shown until
now) proceeds to denounce his wife and her lover. He accuses
Edmond of treachery, and throws down his glove in token of a
challenge. Edmond repudiates this allegation and declares himself
ready to defend his honour. Albany calls for a herald, informing
Edmond that all his troops have already been disbanded.
    All this time ReganÆs sickness has been growing worse; and, in
an ôasideö, Goneril has betrayed herself to the audience: she has
poisoned her sister.
    The Herald reads out the formal allegation and (in accordance
with the rules of chivalry ù and with EdgarÆs instructions in Scene 1)
the trumpet is sounded three times. At the third sound there is a
responding call, and Edgar appears, his identity now disguised by the
full armour that he wears. He declines to identify himself (as would
be more proper in such a combat), but he asserts his nobility and his
right to make such a challenge. He then reiterates, with additions, the
terms of AlbanyÆs indictment, summing them up in the insult that
Edmond is ôA most toad-spotted traitorö. All this Edmond denies as
ôhell-hated liesö, and he takes up the challenge ù even though,
technically, he could refuse to fight an adversary whose name and
chivalric status were unknown.
    Edmond falls under his brotherÆs sword. Albany cries out to
save his life, hoping to get a full confession and explanation from
him. His attention, however, is diverted to Goneril and her
exclamations. He holds a paper in front of her, and she recognizes her
own letter to Edmond, in which she had urged him to murder Albany.
In desperation, she rushes from the scene.
    Edmond, knowing he is close to death, acknowledges his guilt
and asks to know the identity of the knight who has killed him,
forgiving him for his death. Edgar at last reveals himself and extends
his forgiveness to the brother who had so cruelly wronged him. Both
brothers seem to be at last united in their philosophy of retributive
justice: their father paid for his sin of adultery when he lost his sight
through the treachery of Edmond, and now Edgar, in retaliation, has
taken EdmondÆs life.
    The amazed Albany questions Edgar eagerly ù where has he
been hiding? How did he know what had happened to his father?
Edgar tells ôa brief taleö, recounting what the audience already
knows, and adding one thing more: Gloucester is dead. When at last
Edgar revealed himself to his father, the surprise was too great a
shock to the old manÆs heart and it killed him: but he died
ôsmilinglyö. Edmond, too, is moved by this story, and hints that he
may be able to do something to help secure (what now seems almost
certain) a happy outcome for all their troubles.
    Edgar goes on with his story, describing his meeting with a
man who had given him a full account of Lear and his misadventures
before, overcome with his own emotion, he had collapsed. That man,
of course, was Kent. But Edgar had been forced to leave him,
unconscious, when he heard the trumpets sound and knew that he was
called to fight with his brother.
    More excitement! There is a cry for help from a Gentleman,
who waves a knife dripping with blood. Goneril, having confessed to
the poisoning of her sister, has killed herself. Albany demands to see
the bodies, and Kent ù who has revived from his momentary
faintness and managed to catch up with the action ù asks to see King
Lear.
    In all this agitation, the king has been forgotten ù Cordelia,
too! But there is yet another interruption when the bodies of Goneril
and Regan are produced. Edmond looks on them and realizes that
they have both died for love of him. He resolves to do what is
probably the one good deed in his life. Someone must run to the
castle to save the lives of Lear and Cordelia!
    Albany cries out in panic, but Edgar keeps his head and insists
on more specific instructions before sending an officer. Edmond
confesses that he has given orders to the captain (lines 27û8) to hang
Cordelia, making it appear as though she had taken her own life
(which was indeed the case in most of ShakespeareÆs sources).
Albany expresses a prayer for CordeliaÆs safety: ôThe gods defend
her!ö Edmond is carried out; he will die off-stage.
    From the other side of the stage Lear enters, with the body of
Cordelia in his arms. He cannot believe what his eyes tell him is all
too true, and he searches desperately for any sign of life ù a breath, a
murmur. The old man (ôI am a very foolish, fond old man, Fourscore
and upwardö ù 4, 6, 53) has found a new strength in this final
calamity, and he can even boast of having killed the captain when he
was hanging Cordelia. AlbanyÆs officer, who arrived just too late to
save Cordelia, can confirm LearÆs boast: ô|ÆTis true, my lords, he
didö.
    Kent tries to attract LearÆs notice and gain recognition for his
service as ôCaiusö, but the king cannot understand and will not
concentrate ù not even when he is told of the deaths of Goneril and
Regan. All that matters to him now is this lady ù his child ù
Cordelia! And he must be granted a short space of time to grieve over
her body.
    Meanwhile Albany receives news of EdmondÆs death, which he
dismisses as ôbut a trifle hereö. He resigns all his power back to Lear
ù ôthis old majestyö ù and speaks lines that would seem to bring to
an end the action of the play:

    All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings.

But this play has still more.
    All eyes are turned to the sorrowing Lear, lamenting his lifeless
daughter who will never return to him:

Never, never, never, never, never!

The first word is like a stone dropped down a deep, seemingly
bottomless, well, and setting off endless reverberations. The
pentameter is simply perfect, bearing in its simplicity all the sorrow
and weight of this great play. Lear feels again his former sense of
suffocation, and struggles to loosen his clothing ù ôPray you, undo
this buttonö. Some slight ù and probably imagined ù movement
excites him and he turns back to Cordelia. The excitement, however,
is too much for him ù just as his own conflicting emotions were too
strong for Gloucester in EdgarÆs narrative of his fatherÆs death. King
Lear is dying.
    Edgar would try to revive him but Kent knows that such effort
would be pointless and heartless. LearÆs sufferings are now at an end
ù and Kent is ready to follow after his master. Albany, after giving
orders for the removal of the dead king and his daughter, withdraws
and leaves Kent and Edgar in the fore-front of the stage. Kent too
retires. Only Edgar is left to draw the play to a close: there is no
comfort, but there is peace at the last.
    Usually ShakespeareÆs plays are warmly, even rapturously,
applauded as soon as the last curtain falls (or some other signal is
given for the closure of the action). But I have never seen a
performance of King Lear where the ending was not greeted with a
hushed and awed silence.