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CORDELIA, KING LEAR AND HIS FOOL.

 

CHAPTER IX

 

FURTHER CONFIRMATION.

 

 

Although the blinding of Gloucester, the turning point in the play coming before the first defeat of the evil forces, is one of darkest scenes in Lear, it was perhaps not as dark for Jacobean as it has been for modern audiences. The idea of plucking out eyes is brought to the folktale by Ragan in Leir, when she threatens to go to France in disguise, "and with these nayles scratch out her [Cordella's] hatefull eyes" (line 1904). In Lear, Goneril's suggestion to Regan that she should pluck out Gloucester's eyes would perhaps remind an audience, familiar with the old play, of Ragan's threat against Cordella. That threat was not carried out, and perhaps early audiences of Lear would have expected that this threat against Gloucester would likewise not be carried out. But Shakespeare has Gloucester tell Regan that he had sent Lear off to Dover; "Because I would not see thy cruel nails pluck out his poor old eyes". This possible behaviour towards Lear which Gloucester imputes to Regan is then unleashed against Gloucester by Cornwall, with Regan's encouragement. This must have been a shocking turn of events for those who had seen Leir. Gloucester is then thrust out of doors to smell his way to Dover: however, Edgar, who has already thought to throw off his disguise (3.6.109), is seconded to lead him and "must" remain disguised (4.1.53) even though he feels he can't "daub it" any longer.

 

         In 4.2, among other things, we have Albany's assessment of Oswald as a "sot" and turncoat. Then in Scene 3 we have, as, I have already suggested, Kent's conversation with the disguised France. In Scene 4 we see Cordelia, not long, most have thought, back from France. Lear has been seen as mad as ever, and Cordelia, sends soldiers to look for him. There could be a sense in Cordelia's words here of her not having seen her father for some time, and a longing to see him again. She does not, however, speak about having come from France, and everything she says could have been said by one who had been separated for a short space of time from a loved one who is troubled and missing as Lear is. The point is, that this is the first time she has spoken as Cordelia since the beginning of the play. She declares her love for her father, how she has importuned France with tears - which she could have done just after she was banished from Lear's presence when she left with "wash'd eyes" (1.1.267). The King of France then could have sent back to France for troops to come in at Dover, where he and Cordelia, the "secret feet" (3.1.33), would meet them, in much the same way as Roman troops in Gallia were sent for to be landed at Milford Haven, in Cymbeline (3.5.7), while the general of those forces, Caius Lucius, passes overland from Cymbeline to meet them. Cordelia is now rejoicing in what France has done for her father, in sending for the troops, as the full implications of the presence of those French troops on British soil hits her, but she is also concerned that this presence might seem ambitious on France's part, and she wants to assure her father that this is not the case.

 

          Cordelia's words, "O dear father! It is thy business that I go about", are often said to be an echo of Luke 2:49: "Knew yee not that I must goe about my father's business?" They might also have been an echo of words from Oedipus at Colonus (342-346)[1] where Oedipus says that while others sit at home "Instead of troubling themselves about my business," "Antigone", his younger daughter who has led her blind father about, "has been an old man's nurse". Anyone familiar with that story could have seen Cordelia's words as confirmation of her earlier role as the Fool. There are a number of echoes of Lear in E. F. Watling's 1947 translation of Sophocles' Theban plays.

 

         The Gentleman, whom I believe is France, and who has earlier been told by Kent "some dear cause" would in concealment wrap him up awhile (4.3.51), explains to Edgar that the Queen, Cordelia, is here "on special cause" (4.6.212). We do not see Kent or Cordelia again after the mention of their respective causes, until we see them together at the beginning of Scene 7.

 

         Cordelia begins by commending Kent for his goodness and Kent responds by suggesting that being acknowledged is more than he wants, and yet to Cordelia's suggestion that he change his clothes, he indicates that he wants to keep his disguised identity obviously until he meets Lear and has his services acknowledged by him. He wants his reward from Lear - acknowledgment and praise. His use of the word "acknowledg'd" might be seen as echoing earlier uses of that word in Lear - Gloucester's statements that "the whoreson" Edmund, his son, "must be acknowledged" (1.1.23), even though he has "often blush'd to acknowledge him" (1.1.9); and Lear's words to France when he seeks to avert France's liking away from Cordelia, "Whom Nature is asham'd Almost t'acknowledge hers" (1.1.212). There is irony here in this statement of Kent's for he has had many opportunities to investigate and acknowledge the identity of the Fool but he has not done so. Kent's talk of his "made intent" was no doubt a reminder to the audience of his "good intent" back in 1.4.1-7 where he hoped that Lear would find him serving him in disguise. His use of the word "intent" would perhaps have been meant to cause an audience to recall Cordelia's "since what I well/will intend, I'll do't before I speak" (1.1.223). 

 

         Cordelia then speaks in a way that could suggest that she has actually experienced the storm and deprivation the Fool experienced along with Lear and Kent. True, Kent has sent her letters from which she might have learned something, but her earlier reception of those letters, as reported by the Gentleman to Kent (4.3), could be seen as the reception of letters which contained news that, for the reader, was no news at all. She was not moved to rage (4.3.15,16) and she questioned the bearer of the letters no further (4.3.24) which was surprising to Kent. Now, in this meeting with Kent, Cordelia asks him to "Be better suited: These weeds are memories of those worser hours I prithee, put them off." (4.7.6-8). We must ask ourselves whose memories they are. Certainly they are not Kent's. He's not looking at his clothing. But Cordelia is. They are her memories! She then asks whether Lear "is array'd" perhaps because she was witness to his wanting to tear off his clothes at the hovel, and was perhaps concerned that he might have done so since she saw him last.

 

         When Cordelia speaks over her still sleeping father she asks,

                 Was this a face

                 To be oppos'd against the warring winds?

                 To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?

                 In the most terrible and nimble stroke

                 Of quick, cross lightening?

Her description of the storm here is not one she could have made from anything that Kent reported to her in the letters. It is a description made by one who experienced the storm first hand. Then she says, "Mine enemy's dog, Though he bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire." The thought of this passage is similar to the words of the Fool at 1.4.109:

                 Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipp'd out when

                 the Lady's Brach may stand by th'fire and stink.

The words "that night" are telling ones, suggesting that she had experienced it. I have already commented on her description of the straw as "short and musty" and how this suggests that she saw and smelled it.

 

         When Lear begins to waken, in the Quarto Cordelia says "Sir know me." If Cordelia has been in Lear's presence as the Fool all this time without his knowing it, she might be anxious for her father to acknowledge her. Then she says, "Still, still, far wide", and we might ask, still since when? Since the moment of his delivery to her several minutes before, or still since the time his wits began to turn at the hovel of which she was witness? There is a desperation in her words "O! look upon me, Sir..." a desperation that could have come from not having been recognised by her father for so long. And then there is a relief for her when he acknowledges that she is his daughter Cordelia. She says, "And so I am, I am", as if, at long last! The Quarto does not have the second "I am" as if Shakespeare wanted to emphasise her relief in the Folio even more.[2]

 

         When, in Scene 3, Edmund places Cordelia and Lear under guard she says to Lear:

                 We are not the first

                 Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.

                 For thee, oppressed King, I am cast down;

                 Myself could else out-frown false Fortune's frown.

                 Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?

Who else had there been who "with best meaning" had incurred the worst? I do not believe she is referring to Kent here. I don't think the original audience would have judged his "meaning" to have been the best. She could have been thinking of her disguised husband France who has gone off and died in the bloody arbitrament (4.7.94) the French troops lost. She could have been thinking of Gloucester. The audience might think back to the Fool whom they have not seen and whom they suspected was Cordelia since the same actor played both parts. Her statement that she could "else out-frown false Fortune's frown" might remind the audience of the many ways in which the Fool had out-faced Fortune[3]. And then her use of the words "these daughters and these sisters" instead of simply "these sisters" might arguably result from the phenomenal number of times that she has heard Lear speak of his "daughters" while she was disguised as his Fool.

 

         Lear then talks of their going to prison together and becoming "Gods' spies", which might have been calculated to suggest to the audience Cordelia's role, while the Fool, as an obvious example of what Kent called "spies and speculations Intelligent of our state" for France (Folio 3.1.24). Lear's next words to Cordelia are:

                 Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,

                 The Gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?

                 He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,

                 And fire us hence like foxes.

As we suggested earlier, these turn out to be an echo of what the Fool said at 1.4.316:

                 A fox, when one has caught her,

                 And such a daughter,

                 Should sure to the slaughter,

                 If my cap would buy a halter;

                 So the Fool follows after.

We are next presented with Edmund handing an officer a paper with instructions regarding Cordelia and Lear; the nature of the instructions we are not yet aware of, but Regan will soon assert, in another matter, that "Jesters do oft prove prophets" which is exactly what Cordelia's wearing the jester's cap will prove. Because she wore the Fool's cap she is about to buy herself a halter, as prophesied. If she and France had gone to France, as in the folktale up until Shakespeare's day, it could have been a very different story.

 

         After the third sounding of the trumpet, Edgar appears to defend his title against Edmund. Edgar says "Know, my name is lost", but it is not lost to the audience. However, the Fool's and the Gentleman's names are lost if they were ever known! The story of Lear might have been a very different story if Lear and Kent had asked their names. Might not the Fool's "very gait" at times have prophesied "A royal nobleness" (5.3.174,5) to the audience if the same actor who played Cordelia also played the Fool? Might not she at times have walked with a grace befitting a princess rather than with the wagtail antics of a jester (2.2.64)? All this in the secondary plot could have caused people in the audience to ask why Kent and Lear had not asked the names of the Fool and the Gentleman. And readers of the play since have been content to accept that the fool is just the fool. They have not wondered that Shakespeare's most wonderful Fool should not have a name. Bradley could have added this question to the list of careless attention to detail with which he accuses Shakespeare, and to which we will turn our attention again next.

 

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[1]. Watling, p. 81.

 

[2]. There is perhaps an interesting parallel to Cordelia's feelings that led to her "Sir know me" in The Merchant of Venice where Bassanio is told by the disguised Portia "I pray you, know me when we meet again" (4.1.420).

 

[3]. "Fortune, that arrant whore" (2.4.50); "Must make content with his fortunes fit" (3.2.76).