King Lear: The Story Of King Lear

William Shakespeare's tragic drama King Lear is among the most frequently read, performed and studied of Shakespeare's plays. The play's themes of injustice, the consequences of rash decisions, and the ways that the hunger for power can corrupt people continue to resonate with readers, critics and viewers after more than four centuries. So does the radical character transformation that Lear undergoes during the play.

The play opens with Lear, the elderly king of $oneril and %ordelia.

ritain, deciding to effectively

retire and divide his kingdom evenly !etween his three daughters" #egan, efore dividing his kingdom, Lear asks for each of his daughters to demonstrate the e&tent of their love for him in words. #egan and $oneril, Lear's oldest daughters, offer !old, over'the'top assertions of their love for their father. (owever, Lear's youngest and more !eloved daughter %ordelia remains silent and e&plains that she could never put the e&tent of her love for her father into words. %ordelia's refusal to vocali)e her love sends Lear into a fit of rage and he e&iles her from the kingdom. %ordelia quickly accepts an offer of marriage from the king of *rance and leaves the kingdom.

#egan and $oneril soon !etray their father and take away all of his remaining political power. The !etrayal of his oldest daughters drives Lear to insanity. (e flees from his kingdom and wanders the countryside during a violent thunderstorm, with his *ool and +ent, a disguised no!leman who remains loyal to Lear, in his company. While wandering the countryside during the storm, Lear comes to reali)e not only the tremendous power of nature, !ut also his insignificance ' and the insignificance of all people regardless of their positions in life ' in comparison to it. Stripped of his political power and wealth and left homeless and insane, Lear comes to truly recogni)e and sympathi)e with the plights of the poor and homeless throughout his kingdom and reali)e the tremendous social and economic disparity that e&ists throughout his kingdom.

,t the same time, $loucester, an elderly no!leman, is tricked !y his illegitimate son -dmund into !elieving that -dgar, his legitimate son, is conspiring to have him killed. $loucester reali)es that Lear's oldest daughters have !etrayed their father and decides to come to Lear's aid, which leads to #egan and her hus!and !linding him and sending him off to wander the countryside. $loucester, however, is accompanied !y -dgar, who disguises himself as a !eggar and leads him to Lear.

%ordelia eventually leads a *rench army to

ritain to rescue her father and restore him to power. The ritish army, however, ritish, although the two are a!le to reconnect. Lear ritish and Lear dies from grief after

quickly su!dues the *rench forces. %ordelia and Lear are imprisoned !y the

comes to reali)e the true e&tent of %ordelia's love for him. The play concludes on a num!er of tragic notes" $loucester dies, -dgar kills -dmund, $oneril poisons #egan and then commits suicide, %ordelia is e&ecuted !y the reali)ing that the daughter who truly loved him is dead.

King Lear: Character Analysis

,t the start of the play, Lear is someone who places more importance upon appearances than actual truth. (e prefers flattery over true love and wants to !e respected as king without taking on any of the responsi!ility that the role entails. Lear's desire for simple declarations of affection and for a life of respect and relative ease has disastrous consequences for his family and for his kingdom. (is retirement leads to a series of conflicts and a war that leaves his entire family dead, including the !eloved daughter who truly loved him, and his kingdom in ruins.

Lear is not an evil person and does, to some measure, learn from his mistakes. .n fact, the transformation he undergoes suggests that he's capa!le of !eing a terrific and righteous king. /ver the course of the play, Lear develops from a foolish, naive king who places value only in appearances and empty declarations of love to someone who gains an entirely new perspective on life. While wandering the countryside during the storm, he comes to renounce politics and mere appearances and reali)es that what matters most in life is true love, such as the sort %ordelia has for him. (e also !egins to feel a strong sense of empathy for others, in

particular for the homeless and downtrodden who populate his kingdom. .n essence, !y losing nearly everything in life that he held dear, Lear develops into a !etter and wiser person.

Critical Interpretations OfKing Lear

+ing Lear is considered, along with Hamlet and Richard III, to !e among Shakespeare's finest tragic plays. Lear himself is generally considered to !e one of Shakespeare's most psychologically comple&, carefully developed and interesting characters. %ritics, however, de!ate the nature of the change Lear undergoes and whether or not it can !e fairly said that he undergoes a radical transformation in personality !y the play's conclusion.

Some critics argue that Lear does indeed change over the course of the play, that he learns a!out the importance of true love a!ove all else and reali)es the consequences of the terri!le mistakes that he has made. They tend to point out that he comes to reali)e his insignificance compared to the powers of nature and develops into a man of compassion and humility. /ther critics point out that while Lear does develop a significant measure of self'awareness during the play and !ecomes a kinder and gentler person over the course of such, he never truly recovers his sanity or develops into a !etter king who puts an end to the strife that is destroying his kingdom.

%ritics have also viewed King Lear as a masterful study into the nature of human identity. 0uring the play, Lear loses his identity as a naive and uninterested king and develops an almost entirely new one as a compassionate common man who reali)es the true nature of the world. ,t the start of the play, Lear's entire identity as king is taken away from him !y his oldest daughters. (is identity quickly shifts from that of a king to that of a homeless and cra)ed wanderer to that of a loving father who would rather rot in prison with his !eloved daughter than return to political power. Lear's identity, like all identities, is ultimately unsta!le and relative to particular social and political conditions. (is identity, like all identities, is su!ject to change, either at the hands of others or due to his own actions and self'reali)ations.

. King Lear is widely considered to !e among Shakespeare's finest, and most tragic, e&plorations into the human mind and human nature. While the play presents a very cynical world view, it also offers lessons that are applica!le to our lives today.

The character of Lear might strike you as familiar. (e is the sort of person who values how things appear on the surface over how things truly are. (e places far more importance on maintaining appearances than fulfilling his kingly responsi!ilities. 1any of us know people who've made mistakes similar to Lear's and paid a tremendous price for doing so. .n a sense, King Lear is Shakespeare's most moral play. .ts 'lessons' are applica!le to all of us. Throughout the play, Shakespeare reminds us of the danger of valuing appearances over truth, of the importance of em!racing and respecting those who truly love us rather than those who merely claim to love us, and of our own individual insignificance in comparison to the powers of nature and the forces of the social world.

It was not without forethought, nor is it without its due significance, that the division of Lear's kingdom is in the first six lines of the play stated as a thing already determined in all its particulars, previously to the trial of professions, as the relative rewardsof which the daughters were to be made to consider their several portions. The strange, yet by no means unnatural, mixture of selfishness, sensibility, and habit of feeling derived from, and fostered by, the particular rank and usages of the individual ! the intense desire of being intensely beloved,!selfish, and yet characteristic of the selfishness of a loving and kindly nature alone !the selfsupportless leaning for all pleasure on another's breast !the craving after sympathy with a prodigal disinterestedness, frustrated by its own ostentation, and the mode and nature of its claims !the anxiety, the distrust, the "ealousy, which more or less accompany all selfish affections, and are amongst the surest contra-distinctions of mere fondness from true love, and which originate Lear's eager wish to en"oy his daughter's violent professions, whilst the inveterate habits of sovereignty convert the wish into claim and positive right, and an incompliance with it into crime and treason !these facts, these passions, these moral verities, on which the whole tragedy is founded, are all prepared for, and will to the retrospect be found implied, in these first four or five lines of the play. They let us know that the trial is but a trick and that the grossness of the old king's rage is in part the natural result of a silly trick suddenly and most unexpectedly baffled and disappointed.

It may here be worthy of notice, that Lear is the only serious performance of #hakspeare, the interest and situations of which are derived from the assumption of a gross improbability whereas $eaumont and %letcher's tragedies are, almost all of them,founded on some out of the way accident or exception to the general experience of mankind. $ut observe the matchless "udgment of our #hakspeare. %irst, improbable as the conduct of Lear is in the first scene, yet it was an old story rooted in the popular faith,!a thing taken for granted already, and conse&uently without any of the effects of improbability. #econdly, it is merely the canvass for the characters and passions,!a mere occasion for,!and not, in the manner of $eaumont and %letcher, perpetually recurring as the cause, and sine &ua non of,!the incidents and emotions. Let the first scene of this play have been lost, and let it only be understood that a fond father had been duped by hypocritical professions of love and duty on the part of two daughters to disinherit the third, previously, and deservedly, more dear to him !and all the rest of the tragedy would retain its interest undiminished, and be perfectly intelligible. The accidental is nowhere the groundwork of the passions, but that which is catholic, which in all ages has been, and ever will be, close and native to the heart of man,!parental anguish from filial ingratitude, the genuineness of worth, though confined in bluntness, and the execrable vileness of a smooth ini&uity. 'erhaps I ought to have added the (erchant of )enice but here too the same remarks apply. It was an old tale and substitute any other danger than that of the pound of flesh *the circumstance in which the improbability lies+, yet all the situations and the emotions appertaining to them remain e&ually excellent and appropriate. ,hereas take away from the (ad Lover of $eaumont and %letcher the fantastic hypothesis of his engagement to cut out his own heart, and have it presented to his mistress, and all the main scenes must go with it. -ot.ebue is the /erman $eaumont and %letcher, without their poetic powers, and without their vis comica. $ut, like them, he always deduces his situations and passions from marvellous accidents, and the trick of bring-ing one part of our moral nature to counteract another as our pity for misfortune and admiration of generosity and courage to combat our condemnation of guilt, as in adultery, robbery, and other heinous crimes !and, like them too, he excels in his mode of telling a story clearly and interestingly, in a series of dramatic dialogues. 0nly the trick of making tragedyheroes and heroines out of shopkeepers and barmaids was too low for the age, and too unpoetic for the genius, of $eaumont and %letcher, inferior in every respect as they are to their great predecessor and contemporary. 1ow inferior would they have appeared, had not #hakspeare existed for them to imitate !which in every play, more or less, they do, and in their tragedies most glaringly2!and yet!*0 shame3 shame3+!they miss no opportunity of sneering at the divine man, and sub-detracting from his merits3 To return to Lear. 1aving thus in the fewest words, and in a natural reply to as natural a &uestion,!which yet answers the secondary purpose of attracting our attention to the difference or diversity between the characters of 4ornwall and 5lbany,!provided the premisses and data, as it were, for our after insight into the mind and mood of the person, whose character, passions, and suffer-ings are the main sub"ect-matter of the play !from Lear, the persona patiens of his drama. #hakspeare passes without delay to the second in importance, the chief agent and prime mover, and introduces 6dmund to our ac&uaintance. preparing us with the same felicity of "udgment, and in the same easy and natural way, for his character in the seemingly casual communication of its origin and occasion. %rom the first drawing up of the curtain 6dmund has stood before us in the united strength and

beauty of earliest manhood. 0ur eyes have been &uestioning him. /ifted as he is with high advantages of person, and further endowed by nature with a powerful intellect and a strong energetic will, even without any concurrence of circumstances and accident, pride will necessarily be the sin that most easily besets him. $ut 6dmund is also the known and acknowledged son of the princely /loster2 he, therefore, has both the germ of pride, and the conditions best fitted to evolve and ripen it into a predominant feeling. 7et hitherto no reason appears why it should be other than the not unusual pride of person, talent, and birth,! a pride auxiliary, if not akin, to many virtues, and the natural ally of honourable impulses. $ut alas3 in his, own presence his own father takes shame to himsself for the frank avowal that he is his father.!he has 'blushed so often to acknowledge him that he is now bra.ed to it3' 6dmund hears the circumstances of his birth spoken of with a most degrading and licentious levity,!his mother described as a wanton by her own paramour, and the remembrance of the animal sting, the low criminal gratifications connected with her wantonness and prostituted beauty, assigned as the reason, why 'the whoreson must be acknowledged3' This, and the consciousness of its notoriety the gnawing conviction that every show of respect is an effort of courtesy, which recalls, while it represses, a contrary feeling !this is the ever trickling flow of wormwood and gall into The wounds of pride.!the corrosive virus which inoculates pride with a venom not its own, with envy, hatred, and a lust for that power which in its bla.e of radiance would hide the dark spots on his disc.!with pangs of shame personally undeserved, and therefore felt as wrongs, and with a blind ferment of vindictive working towards the occasions and causes, especially towards a brother, whose stainless birth and lawful honours were the constant remembrancers of his own debasement, and were ever in the way to prevent all chance of its being unknown, or overlooked and forgotten. 5dd to this, that with excellent "udgment, and provident for the claims of the moral sense,!for that which, relatively to the drama, is called poetic "ustice, and as the fittest means for reconciling the feelings of the spectators to the horrors of /loster's after sufferings,! at least, of rendering them somewhat less unendurable ! *for I will not disguise my conviction, that in this one point the tragic in this play has been urged beyond the outermost mark and ne plus ultra of the dramatic+!#hakspeare has precluded all excuse and palliation of the guilt incurred by both the parents of the base-born 6dmund, by /loster's confession that he was at the time a married man, and already blest with a lawful heir of his fortunes. The mournful alienation of brotherly love, occasioned by the law of primogeniture in noble families, or rather by the unnecessary distinctions engrafted thereon, and this in children of the same stock, is still almost proverbial on the continent,!especially, as I know from my own observation, in the south of 6urope,! and appears to have been scarcely less common in our own island before the 8evolution of 9:;;, if we may "udge from the characters and sentiments so fre&uent in our elder comedies. There is the younger brother, for instance, in $eaumont and %letcher's play of the #cornful Lady, on the one side, and 0liver in #hakspeare's 5s 7ou Like It, on the other. <eed it be said how heavy an aggravation, in such a case, the stain of bastardy must have been, were it only that the younger brother was liable to hear his own dishonour and his mother's infamy related by his father with an excusing shrug of the shoulders, and in a tone betwixt waggery and shame3 $y the circumstances here enumerated as so many predisposing causes, 6dmund's character might well be deemed already suffciently explained and our minds prepared for it. $ut in this tragedy the story or fable constrained #hakspeare to introduce wickedness in an outrageous form in the persons of 8egan and /oneril. 1e had read nature too heedfully not to know, that courage, intellect, and strength of character are the most impressive forms of power, and that to power in itself,

without reference to any moral end, an inevitable admiration and complacency appertains, whether it be displayed in the con&uests of a $uonaparte or Tamerlane, or in the foam and the thunder of a cataract. $ut in the exhibition of such a character it was of the highest importance to prevent the guilt from passing into utter monstrosity,!which again depends on the presence or absence of causes and temptations sufficient to account for the wickedness, without the necessity of recurring to a thorough fiendishness of nature for its origination. %or such are the appointed relations of intellectual power to truth, and of truth to goodness, that it becomes both morally and poetically unsafe to present what is admirable,!what our nature compels us to admire !in the mind, and what is most detestable in the heart, as co-existing in the same individual without any apparent connection, or any modification of the one by the other. That #hakspeare has in one instance, that of Iago, approached to this, and that he has done it successfully, is, perhaps, the most astonishing proof of his genius, and the opulence of its resources. $ut in the present tragedy, in which he was compelled to present a /oneril and a 8egan, it was most carefully to be avoided !and there-fore the only one conceivable addition to the inauspicious influences on the preformation of 6dmund's character is given, in the information that all the kindly counteractions to the mischievous feelings of shame, which might have been derived from co-domestication with 6dgar and their common father, had been cut off by his absence from home, and foreign education from boyhood to the present time, and a prospect of its continuance, as if to preclude all risk of his interference with the father's views for the elder and legitimate son2! He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. 5ct i. sc. i. Coy. Nothing, my lord. Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing. Lear. Nothing can come of nothing: speak again. Cor. Unhappy that am, cannot hea!e "y heart into my mouth: lo!e your ma#esty $ccording to my bond% nor more, nor less. There is something of disgust at the ruthless hypocrisy of her sisters, and some little faulty admixture of pride and sullenness in 4ordelia's '<othing ' and her tone is well contrived, indeed, to lessen the glaring absurdity of Lear's conduct, but answers the yet more important purpose of forcing away the attention from the nursery-tale, the moment it has served its end, that of supplying the canvass for the picture. This is also materially furthered by -ent's opposition, which displays Lear's moral incapability of resigning the sovereign power in the very act of disposing of it. -ent is, perhaps, the nearest to perfect goodness in all #hakspeare's characters, and yet the most in-dividuali.ed. There is an extraordinary charm in his bluntness, which is that only of a nobleman arising from a contempt of overstrained courtesy, and combined with easy placability where goodness of heart is apparent. 1is passionate affection for, and fidelity to, Lear act on our feelings in Lear's own favour2 virtue itself seems to be in company with him. Ib. sc. =. 6dmund's speech2!

&ho, in the lusty stealth of nature, take "ore composition and fierce 'uality (han doth, )c. ,arburton's note upon a &uotation from )anini. 'oor )anini3!5ny one but ,arburton would have thought this precious passage more characteristic of (r. #handy than of atheism. If the fact really were so, *which it is not, but almost the contrary,+ I do not see why the most confirmed theist might not very naturally utter the same wish. $ut it is proverbial that the youngest son in a large family is commonly the man of the greatest talents in it and as good an authority as )anini has said !incalescere in venerem ardentius, spei sobolis in"uriosum esse. In this speech of 6dmund you see, as soon as a man cannot reconcile himself to reason, how his conscience flies off by way of appeal to nature, who is sure upon such occasions never to find fault, and also how shame sharpens a predisposition in the heart to evil. %or it is a profound morale that shame will naturally generate guilt the oppressed will be vindictive, like #hylock, and in the anguish of undeserved ignominy the delusion secretly springs up, of getting over the moral &uality of an action by fixing tne mind on the merephysical act alone. Ib. 6dmund's speech2! (his is the e*cellent foppery of the world+ that, when we are sick in fortune, ,often the surfeit of our own beha!iour,- we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars, )c. Thus scorn and misanthropy are often the anticipations I and mouthpieces of wisdom in the detection of superstitions. $oth individuals and nations may be free from such pre"udices by being below them, as well as by rising above them. Ib. sc. >. The #teward should be placed in exact antithesis to -ent, as the only character of utter irredeem-able baseness in #hakspeare. 6ven in this the "udgment and invention of the poet are very observable !for what else could the willing tool of a /oneril be? <ot a vice but this of baseness was left open to him. Ib. sc. @. In Lear old age is itself a character,!its natural imperfections being increased by life-long habits of receiving a prompt obedience. 5ny addition of individuality would have been unnecessary and painful for the relations of others to him, of wondrous fidelity and of frightful ingratitude, alone sufficiently distinguish him. Thus Lear becomes the open and ample play-room of nature's passions. Ib. .night. /ince my young lady0s going into 1rance, /ir% the tool hath much pin0d away, The %ool is no comic buffoon to make the groundlings laugh,!no forced condescension of #hakspeare's genius to the taste of his audience. 5ccordingly the poet prepares for his introduction, which he never does with any of his common downs and fools, by bringing him into living connection with the pathos of the play.

1e is as wonderful a creation as 4aliban !his wild babblings, and inspired idiocy, articulate and gauge the horrors of the scene. The monster /oneril prepares what is necessary, while the character of 5lbany renders a still more maddening grievance possible, namely, 8egan and 4ornwall in perfect sympathy of monstrosity. <ot a sentiment, not an image, which can give pleasure on its own account, is admitted whenever these creatures are introduced, and they are brought forward as little as possible, pure horror reigns throughout. In this scene and in all the early speeches of Lear, the one general sentiment of filial ingratitude prevails as the main spring of the feelings !in this early stage the outward ob"ect causing the pressure on the mind, which is not yet sufficiently familiari.ed with the anguish for the imagination to work upon it. Ib. 2on. 3o you mark that, my lord? $lb. cannot be so partial, 2oneril, (o the great lo!e bear you. 2on. 4ray you content, )c. 0bserve the baffled endeavour of /oneril to act on the fears of 5lbany, and yet his passiveness, his inertia he is not convinced, and yet he is afraid of looking into the thing. #uch characters always yield to those who will take the trouble of governing them, or for them. 'erhaps, the influence of a princess, whose choice of him had royali.ed his state, may be some little excuse for 5lbany's weakness. Ib. sc. A. Lear. 5 let me not be mad, not mad, sweet hea!en+ .eep me in temper+ would not be mad+6 The mind's own anticipation of madness3 The deepest tragic notes are often struck by a half sense of an impend-ing blow. The %ool's conclusion of this act by a grotes&ue prattling seems to indicate the dislocation of feeling that has begun and is to be continued. 5ct ii. sc. i. 6dmund's speech2! He replied, (hou unpossessing bastard+ )c. Thus the secret poison in 6dmund's own heart steals forth and then observe poor /loster's ! Loyal and natural boy+ as if praising the crime of 6dmund's birth3 Ib. 4ompare 8egan's! &hat, did my father0s godson seek your life? He whom my father named?

with the unfeminine violence of her! $ll !engeance comes too short, )c. and yet no reference to the guilt, but only to the accident, which she uses as an occasion for sneering at her father. 8egan is not, in fact, a greater monster than /oneril, but she has the power of casting more venom. Ib. sc. =. 4ornwall's speech2! (his is some fellow, &ho, ha!ing been praised for bluntness, doth affect $ saucy roughness, )c. In thus placing these profound general truths in the mouths of such men as 4ornwall, 6dmund, Iago, Bc. #hakspeare at once gives them utterance, and yet shows how indefinite their application is. Ib. sc. >. 6dgar's assumed madness serves the great purpose of taking off part of the shock which would otherwise be caused by the true madness of Lear, and further displays the profound difference between the two. In every attempt at representing madness throughout the whole range of dramatic literature, with the single exception of Lear, it is mere lightheadedness, as especially in 0tway. In 6dgar's ravings #hakspeare all the while lets you see a fixed purpose, a practical end in view !in Lear's, there is only the brooding of the one anguish, an eddy without progression. Ib. sc. @. Lear's speech2! (he king would speak with Cornwall% the dear father &ould with his daughter speak, )c. No, but not yet: may be he is not well, )c. The strong interest now felt by Lear to try to find excuses for his daughter is most pathetic. Ib. Lear's speech2! 66667elo!ed 8egan, (hy sister0s naught%65 8egan, she bath tied /harp9tooth0d unkindness, like a !ulture, here. can scarce :speak to thee%6thou0lt not belie!e &ith how depra!0d a 'uality65 8egan+ 8eg. pray you. /ir, take patience% ha!e hope, ;ou less know how to !alue her desert, (han she to scant her duty. Lear. /ay, how is that? <othing is so heart-cutting as a cold unexpected defence or palliation of a cruelty passionately complained of, or so expressive of thorough hard-heartedness. 5nd feel the excessive horror of 8egan's '0, #ir, you are old3'!and then her drawing from

that universal ob"ect of reverence and indulgence the very reason for her frightful conclusion! /ay, you ha!e wrong0d her+ 5ll Lear's faults increase our pity for him. ,e refuse to know them otherwise than as means of his sufferings, and aggravations of his daughter's ingratitude. Ib. Lear's speech2! 5, reason not the need: our basest beggars $re in the poorest thing superfluous, )c. 0bserve that the tran&uillity which follows the first stunning of the blow permits Lear to reason. 5ct iii. sc. @. 0, what a world's convention of agonies is here3 5ll external nature in a storm, all moral nature convulsed,!the real madness of Lear, the feigned madness of 6dgar, the babbling of the %ool, the desperate fidelity of -ent!surely such a scene was never conceived before or since3 Take it but as a picture for the eye only, it is more terrific than any which a (ichel 5ngelo, inspired by a Cante, could have conceived, and which none but a (ichel 5ngelo could have executed. 0r let it have been uttered to the blind, the bowlings of nature would seem converted into the voice of conscious humanity. This scene ends with the first symptoms of positive derangement and the intervention of the fifth scene is particularly "udicious, !the interruption allowing an interval for Lear to appear in full madness in the sixth scene. Ib. sc. D. /loster's blinding2! ,hat can I say of this scene?!There is my reluctance to think #hakspeare wrong, and yet! 5ct iv. sc. :. Lear's speech2! Ha+ 2oneril+6with a white beard+6(hey flattered me like a dog% and told me, had white hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. (o say $y and No to e!ery thing that said+ 6$y and No too was no good di!inity. &hen the rain came to wet me once, )c. The thunder recurs, but still at a greater distance from our feelings. Ib. sc. D. Lear's speech2! &here ha!e been? &here am ?61air daylight?6 e!en die with pity (o see another thus, )c. am mightily abused.6 should

1ow beautifully the affecting return of Lear to reason, and the mild pathos of these speeches prepare the mind for the last sad, yet sweet, consolation of the aged sufferer's death3 To see Lear acted, to see an old mantottering about the stage with a walking stick, turned out of doors by his daughters in a rainy night, has nothing in it but what is

painful and disgusting. ,e want to take him into shelter and relieve him. That is all the feeling which the acting of Lear ever produced in me. $ut the Lear of #hakespeare cannot be acted. The contemptible machinery by which they mimic the storm which he goes out in, is not more inade&uate to represent the horrors of the real elements, than any actor can be to represent Lear2 they might more easily propose to personate the #atan of (ilton upon a stage, or one of (ichael 5ngelo's terrible figures. The greatness of Lear is not in corporal dimension, but in intellectual2 the explosions of his passion are terrible as a volcano2 they are storms turning up and disclosing to the bottom that sea, his mind, with all its vast riches. It is his mind which islaid bare. This case of flesh and bloodseems too insignificant to be thought on even as he himself neglects it. 0n the stage we see nothing but corporal infirmities and weakness, the impotence of rage while we read it, we see not Lear, but we are Lear, we are in his mind, we are sustained by a grandeur which baffles the malice of daughters and storms in the aberrations of his reason, we discover a mighty irregular power of reasoning, immethodi.ed from the ordinary purposes of life, but exerting its powers, as the wind blows where it listeth, at will upon the corruptions and abuses of mankind. ,hat have looks, or tones, to do with that sublime identification of his age with that of the heavens themselves, when in his reproaches to them for conniving at the in"ustice of his children, he reminds them that 'they themselves are old'. ,hat gesture shall we appropriate to this? ,hat has the voice or the eye to do with such things? $ut the play is beyond all art, as the tamperings with it shew2 it is too hard and stony it must have love-scenes and a happy ending. It is not enough that 4ordelia is a daughter, she must shine as a lover too. Tate has put his hook in the nostrils of this Leviathan, for /arrick and his followers, the showmen of the scene, to draw the mighty beast about more easily. 5 happy ending3 as if the living martyrdom that Lear had gone through, the flaying of his feelings alive, did not make a fair dismissal from the stage of life the only decorous thing for him. If he is to live and be happy after, if he could sustain this world's burden after, why all this pudder and preparation, why torment us with all this unnecessary sympathy? 5s if the childish pleasure of getting his gilt robes and sceptre again could tempt him to act over again his misused station, as if at his hears, and with his experience, any thing was left but to die. Lear is essentially impossible to be represented on a stage. 7ou have a natural 8ight to this 'iece, since by your 5dvice I attempted the 8evival of it with 5lterations. <othing but the 'ow'r of your 'ersuasions, and my Eeal for all the 8emains of #hakespear cou'd have wrought me to so bold an Fndertaking. I found that the <ew-modelling of this #tory wou'd force me sometimes on the difficult Task of making the chiefest 'ersons speak something like their 4haracter, on (atter whereof I had no /round in my 5uthor. Lear's real and 6dgar's pretended (adness have so much of extravagant <ature *I know not how else to express it+, as cou'd never have started but from our #hakespear's 4reating %ancy. The Images and Language are so odd and surpri.ing, and yet so agreeable and proper, that whilst we grant that none but #hakespear could have form'd such 4onceptions yet we are satisfied that they were the only Things in the ,orld that ought to be said on those 0ccasions. I found the whole to answer your account of it, a 1eap of Gewels, unstrung, and unpolisht yet so da..ling in their Cisorder, that I soon perceiv'd I had sei.'d a Treasure. 'Twas my good %ortune to light on one 6xpedient to rectify what was wanting in the 8egularity and 'robability of the Tale, which was to run through the whole, as Love betwixt 6dgar and 4ordelia, that never chang'd a ,ord with each other in the 0riginal. This renders 4ordelia's Indifference, and her %ather's 'assion in the first #cene, probable. It likewise give 4ountenance to 6dgar's Cisguise, making that a generous Cesign that was before a poor #hift to save his Life. The Cistress of

the #tory is evidently heightened by it and it particularly gave 0ccasion of a <ew #cene or Two, of more #uccess *perhaps+ than (erit. This method necessarily threw me on making the Tale conclude in a #uccess to the innocent distrest 'ersons2 0therwise I must have incumpred the #tage with dead $odies, which 4onduct makes many Tragedies conclude with unseasonable Gests. 7et was I wract with no small %ears for so bold a 4hange, till I found it well receiv'd by my 5udience and if this will not satisfy the 8eader, I can produce an 5uthority that &uestionless will. <either is it of so Trivial an Fndertaking to make a Tragedy and happily, for 'tis more difficult to save than 'tis to -ill2 The Cagger and 4up of 'oison are always in 8eadiness but to bring the 5ction to the last 6xtremity, and then by probable means to recover 5ll, will re&uire the 5rt and Gudgment of a ,riter, and cost him many a 'ang in the 'erformance. I have one thing more to apologi.e for, which is that I have us'd less Huaintness of 6xpression even in the <ewest 'arts of this 'lay. I confess, 'twas Cesign in me, partly to comply with my 5uthor's #tyle, to make the #cenes of a 'iece, and partly to give it some 8esemblance of the Time and 'ersons here 8epresented. This, #ir, I submit wholly to you, who are both a Gudg and (aster of #tyle. <ature had exempted you before you went 5broad from the (orose #aturnine 1umour of our 4ountry, and you brought home the 8efinedness of Travel without the 5ffectation. (any faults I see in the following 'ages, and &uestion not but you will discover more yet I will presume so far on your %riendship as to make the whole a 'resent to you, and #ubscribe myself 7our obliged %riend and humble #ervant, <. Tat he Tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dramas of Shakespeare. There is perhaps no play which keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which so much agitates our passions and interests our curiosity. The artful involutions of distinct interests, the striking opposition of contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick succession of events, fill the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no scene which does not contribute to the aggravation of the distress or conduct of the action, and scarce a line which does not conduce to the progress of the scene. So powerful is the current of the poet s imagination, that the mind, which once ventures within it, is hurried irresistibly along. !n the seeming improbability of Lear s conduct it may be observed, that he is represented according to histories at that time vulgarly received as true. "nd perhaps if we turn our thoughts upon the barbarity and ignorance of the age to which this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely as while we estimate Lear s manners by our own. Such preference of one daughter to another, or resignation of dominion on such conditions, would be yet credible, if told of a petty prince of #uinea or $adagascar. Shakespeare, indeed, by the mention of his %arls and &ukes, has given us the idea of times more civilised, and of life regulated by softer manners; and the truth that though he so nicely discriminates, and so minutely describes the characters of men, he commonly neglects and confounds the characters of

ages, by mingling customs ancient and modern, %nglish and foreign. $y learned friend $r. 'arton, who has in the "dventurer very minutely criticised this play, remarks, that the instances of cruelty are too savage and shocking, and that the intervention of %dmund destroys the simplicity of the story. These ob(ections may, ) think, be answered, by repeating, that the cruelty of the daughters is an historical fact, to which the poet has added little, having only drawn it into a series by dialogue and action. *ut ) am not able to apologise with equal plausibility for the extrusion of /loucester s eyes, which seems an act too horrid to be endured in dramatick exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve its distress by incredulity. +et let it be remembered that our authour well knew what would please the audience for which he wrote. The in(ury done by %dmund to the simplicity of the action is abundantly recompensed by the addition of variety, by the art with which he is made to co,operate with the chief design and the opportunitywhich he gives the poet of combining perfidy with perfidy, and connecting the wicked son with the wicked daughters, to impress this important moral, that villany is never at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. *ut though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakespeare has suffered the virtue of -ordelia to perish in a (ust cause contrary to the natural ideas of (ustice, to the hope of the reader, and, what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. +et this conduct is (ustified by the Spectator, who blames Tate for giving -ordelia success and happiness in his alteration, and declares, that, in his opinion, the tragedy has lost half its beauty. &ennis has remarked, whether (ustly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of -ato, .the town was poisoned with much false and abominable criticism,. and that endeavours had been used to discredit and decry poetical (ustice. " play in which the wicked prosper, and the virtuous miscarry, may doubtless be good, because it is a (ust representation of the common events of human life/ but since all reasonable beings naturally love (ustice, ) cannot easily be persuaded, that the observation of (ustice makes a play worse; or, that if other excellencies are equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from the final triumph of persecuted virtue. )n the present case the publick has decided. -ordelia, from the time of Tate, has always retired with victory and felicity. "nd, if my sensations could add any thing to the general suffrage, ) might relate, that ) was many years ago so shocked by -ordelia s death, that ) know not whether ) ever endured to read again the last scenes of the play till ) undertook to revise them as an editor. There is another controversy among the critics concerning this play. )t is disputed whether the predominant image in Lear s disordered mind be the loss of his kingdom or the cruelty of his daughters. $r $urphy, a very (udicious critic, has evinced by induction of particular passages that the cruelty of his daughters is the primary source of his distress, and that the loss of royalty affects him only as a secondary and subordinate evil. 0e observes with great (ustness that Lear would move our compassion but little, did we not rather consider the in(ured father than the degraded king.

The story of this play, except the episode of %dmund, which is derived, ) think, from Sidney, is taken originally from #eoffrey of $onmouth, whom 0olinshed generally copied; but perhaps immediately from an old historical ballad, of which ) shall insert the greater part. $y reason for believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the play, is that the ballad has nothing of Shakespeare s nocturnal tempest, which is too striking to have been omitted, and that it follows the chronicle, it has the rudiments of the play but none of its amplifications; it first hinted Lear s madness but did not array it in circumstances. The writer of the ballad added something to the history, which is proof that he would have added more if more had occurred to his mind, and more must have occurred if he had seen Shakespeare. ,e wish that we could pass this play over, and say nothing about it. 5ll that we can say must fall far short of the sub"ect or even of what we ourselves conceive of it. To attempt to give a description of the play itself or of its effect upon the mind, is mere impertinence2 yet we must say something.!It is then the best of all #hakespear's plays, for it is the one in which he was the most in earnest. 1e was here fairly caught in the web of his own imagination. The passion which he has taken as his sub"ect is that which strikes its. root deepest into thehuman heart of which the bond is the hardest to be unloosed and the cancelling and tearing to pieces of which gives the greatest revulsion to the frame. This depth of nature, this force of passion, this tug and war of the elements of our being, this firm faith in filial piety, and the giddy anarchy and whirling tumult of the thoughts at finding this prop failing it, the contrast between the fixed, immoveable basis of natural affection, and the rapid, irregular starts of imagination, suddenly wrenched from all its accustomed holds and resting-places in the soul, this is what #hakespear has given, and what nobody else but he could give. #o we believe.!The mind of Lear, staggering between the weight of attachment and the hurried movements of passion, is like a tall ship-driven about by the winds, buffeted by the furious waves, but that still rides above the storm, having its anchor fixed in the bottom of the sea or it is like the sharp rock circled by the eddying whirlpool that foams and beats against it, or like the solid promontory pushed from its basis by the force of an earth&uake. The character of Lear itself is very finely conceived for the purpose. It is the only ground on which such a story could be built with the greatest truth and effect. It is hisrash haste, his violent impetuosity, his blindness to every thing but the dictates of his passions or affections, that produces all his misfortunes, that aggravates his impatience of them, that enforces our pity for him. The part which 4ordelia bears in the scene is extremely beautiful2 the story is almost told in the first words she utters. ,e see at once the precipice on which the poor old king stands from his own extravagant and credulous importunity, the indiscreet simplicity of her love *which, to be sure, has a little of her father's obstinacy in it+ and the hollowness of her sisters' pretensions. 5lmost the first burst of that noble tide of passion, which runs through the play, is in the remonstrance of -ent to his royal master on the in"ustice of his sentence against his youngest daughter!I$e -ent unmannerly, when Lear is mad3I This manly plainness, which draws down on him the displeasure of the unadvised king, is worthy of the fidelity with which he adheres to his fallen fortunes. The true character of the two eldest daughters, 8egan and /onerill *they are so thoroughly hateful that we do not even like to repeat their names+ breaks out in their answer to 4ordelia who desires them to treat their father well!I'rescribe not us our dutiesI!their hatred of advice being in proportion to their determination to 'do wrong, and to their hypocritical pretension to do right. Their deliberate hypocrisy adds the last finishing to the odiousness of their characters. It is the absence of this

detestable &uality that is the only relief in the character of 6dmund the $astard, and that at times reconciles us to him. ,e are not tempted to exaggerate the guilt of his conduct, when he himself gives it up as a bad business, and writes himself down Iplain villain.I <othing more can be said about it. 1is religious honesty in this respect is admirable. 0ne speech of his is worth a million. 1is father, /loster, whom he has "ust deluded with a forged stony of his brother 6dgar's designs against his life, accounts for his unnatural behaviour and the strange depravity of the times from the late eclipses in the sun and moon. 6dmund, who is in the secret, says when he is gone!IThis is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune *often the surfeits of our own behaviour+ we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars2 as if we were villains on necessity fools by heavenly compulsion knaves, thieves, and treacherous by spherical predominance drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. 5n admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star3 (y father compounded with my mother under the Cragon's tail, and my nativity was under Frsa (a"or2 so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut3 I should have been what I am, had the maidliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardising.I! The whole character, its careless, light-hearted villainy, contrasted with the sullen, rancorous malignity of 8egan and /onerill, its connection with the conduct of the under-plot, in which /loster's persecution of one of his sons and the ingratitude of another, form a counterpart to the mistakes and misfortunes of Lear,!his double amour with the two sisters, and the share which he has in bringing about the fatal catastrophe, are all managed with an uncommon degree of skill and power. It has been said, and we think "ustly, that the third act of 0thello and the three first acts of Lear, are #hakespear's great master-pieces in the logic of passion2 that they contain the highest examples not only of the force of individual passion, but of its dramatic vicissitudes and striking effects arising from the different circumstances and char-acters of the persons speaking. ,e see the ebb and flow of the feeling, its pauses and feverish starts, its impatience of opposition, its accumulating force when it has time to recollect ifself, the manner in which it avails itself of every passing word or gesture, its haste to repel insinuation, the alternate contraction and dilatation of the soul, and all Ithe da..ling fence of controversyI in this mortal combat with poisoned weapons, aimed at the heart, where each wound is fatal. ,e have seen in 0thello, how the unsuspecting frankness and impetuous passions of the (oor are played upon and exasperated by the artful dexterity of Iago. In the present play, that which aggravates the sense of sympathy in the reader, and of uncontroulable anguish in the swoln heart of Lear, is the petrifying indifference, the cold, calculating, obdurate selfishness of his daughters. 1is keen passions seem whetted on their stony hearts. The contrast would be too painful, the shock too great, but for the intervention of the %ool, whose well-timed levity comes in to break the continuity of feeling when it can no longer be borne, and to bring into play again the fibres of the heart "ust as they are growing rigid from over-strained excitement. The imagination is glad to take refuge in the half-comic, half-serious comments of the %ool, "ust as the mind under the extreme anguish of a surgical operation vents itself in sallies of wit. The character was also a grotes&ue ornament of the barbarous times, in which alone the tragic ground-work of the story could be laid. In another point of view it is indis-pensable, inasmuch as while it is a diversion to the too great intensity of our disgust, it carries the pathos to the highest pitch of which it is capable, by showing the pitiable weakness of the old king's conduct and its irretrievable conse&uences in the most familiar point of view. Lear may well Ibeat at the gate which let his folly in,I after, as the %ool says, Ihe has made his daughters his mothers.I The character is dropped in the third act to make room for the

entrance of6dgar as (ad Tom, which well accords with the increasing bustle and wildness of the incidents and nothing can be more complete than the distinction between Lear's real and 6dgar's assumed madness, while the resemblance in the cause of their distresses, from the severing of the nearest ties of natural affection, keeps up a unity of interest. #hakespear's mastery over his sub"ect, if it was not art, was owing to a knowledge of the connecting links of the passions, and their effect upon the mind, still more wonderful than any systematic adherence to rules, and that anticipated and outdid all the efforts of the most refined art, not inspired and rendered instinctive by genius. 0ne of the most perfect displays of dramatic power is the first interview between Lear and his daughter, after the designed affronts upon him, which, till one of his knights reminds him of them, his sanguine temperament had led him to overlook. 1e returns with his train from hunting, and his usual impatience breaks out in his first words, ILet me not stay a "ot for dinner go, get it ready.I 1e then encounters the faithful -ent in disguise, and retains him in his service and the first trial of his honest duty is to trip up the heels of the officious #teward who makes so prominent and despicable a figure through the piece. 0n the entrance of /onerill the following dialogue takes place2!

This is certainly fine2 no wonder that Lear says after it, I0 let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heavens,I feeling its effects by anticipation but fine as is this burst of rage and indignation at the first blow aimed at his hopes and expectations, it is nothing near so fine as what follows from his double disappointment, and his lingering efforts to see which of them he shall lean upon for support and find comfort in, when both his daughters turn against his age and weakness. It is with some difficulty that Lear gets to speak with his daughter 8egan, and her husband, at /loster's castle. In concert with /onerill they have left their own home on purpose to avoid him. 1is apprehensions are first alarmed by this circumstance, and when /loster, whose guests they are, urges the fiery temper of the Cuke of 4ornwall as an excuse for not importuning him a second time, Lear breaks out! 5fterwards, feeling perhaps not well himself, he is inclined to admit their excuse from illness, but then recollecting that they have set his messenger *-ent+ in the stocks, all his suspicions are roused again, and he insists on seeing them. If there is any thing in any author like this yearning of the heart, these throes of tenderness, this profound expression of all that can be thought and felt in the most heart-rending situations, we are glad of it but it is in some author that we have not read. The scene in the storm, where he is exposed to all the fury of the elements, though grand and terrible, is not so fine, but the moralising scenes with (ad Tom, -ent, and /loster, are upon a par with the former. 1is exclamation in the supposed trial-scene of his daughters, I#ee the little dogs and all, Tray, $lanch, and #weetheart, see they bark at me,I his issuing his orders, ILet them anatomi.e 8egan, see what breeds about her heart,I and his reflection when he sees the misery of 6dgar, I<othing but his unkind daughters could have brought him to this,I are in a style of pathos, where the extremes3 resources of the imagination are called in to lay open the deepest movements of the heart, which was peculiar to #hakespear. In the same style and spirit is his interrupting the %ool who asks Iwhether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman,I by answering I5king, a king.I!

The indirect part that /loster takes in these scenes where his generosity leads him to relieve Lear and resent the cruelty of his daughters, at the very time that he is himself instigated to seek the life of his son, and suffering under the sting of his supposed ingratitude, is a striking accompaniment to the situation of Lear. Indeed, the manner in which the threads of the story are woven together is almost as wonderful in the way of art as the carrying on the tide of passion, still varying and un-impaired, is on the score of nature. 5mong the remarkable instances of this kind are 6dgar's meet-ing with his old blind father the deception he practises upon him when he pretends to lead him to the top of Cover-cliff!I4ome on, sir, here's the place,I to prevent his ending his life and miseries together his encounter with the perfidious #teward whom he kills, and his finding the letter from /onerill to his brother upon him which leads to the final catastrophe, and brings the wheels of Gustice Ifull circle homeI to the guilty parties. The bustle and rapid succession of events in the last scenes is surprising. *$ut the meeting between Lear and 4ordelia is by far the most affecting part of them. It has all the wildness of poetry, and all the heart-felt truth of nature. The previous account of her reception of the news of his unkind treat-ment, her unvoluntary reproaches to her sisters, I#hame, ladies, shame,I Lear's backwardness to see his daughter, the picture of the desolate state to which he is reduced, I5lack, 'tis he why he was met even now, as mad as the vex'd sea, singing aloud,I only prepare the way for and heighten our expectation of what follows, and assuredly this expectation is not disappointed when through the tender care of 4ordelia he revives and recollects her. The concluding events are sad, painfully sad but their pathos is extreme. The oppression of the feelings is relieved by the very interest we take in the misfortunes of others, and by the reflections to which they give birth. 4ordelia is hanged in prison by the orders of the bastard 6dmund, which are known too late to be countermanded, and Lear dies broken-hearted, lamenting over her, ILear2 5nd my poor fool is hang'd3 <o, no, no life ,hy should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 5nd thou no breath at all? 0, thou wilt come no more, <ever, never, never, never, never3! 'ray you, undo this button2 thank you, sir.I 1e dies, and indeed we feel the truth of what -ent says on the occasion! I)ex not his ghost2 0, let him pass3 he hates him, That would upon the rack of this rough world #tretch him out longer.I

5s in (acbeth terror reaches its utmost height, in -ing Lear the science of compassion is exhausted. The principal characters here are not those who act, but those who suffer. ,e have not in this, as in most tragedies, the picture of a calamity in which the sudden blows of fate seem still to honour the head which they strike, and where the loss is always accompanied by some flattering consolation in the memory of the former possession but a fall from the highest elevation into the deepest abyss of misery, where humanity is stripped of all external and internal advantages and given up a prey to naked

helplessness. The threefold dignity of a king, an old man, and a father, is dishonoured by the cruel ingratitude of his unnatural daughters the old Lear, who out of a foolish tenderness has given away every thing, is driven out to the world a wandering beggar the childish imbecility to which he was fast advancing changes into the wildest insanity, and when he is rescued from the disgraceful destitution to which he was abandoned, it is too late2 the kind consolations of filial care and attention and of true friendship are now lost to him his bodily and mental powers are destroyed beyond all hope of recovery, and all that now remains to him of life is the capability of loving and suffering beyond measure. ,hat a picture we have in the meeting of Lear and 6dgar in a tempestuous night and in a wretched hovel3 The youthful 6dgar has, by the wicked arts of his brother, and through his father's blindness, fallen, as the old Lear, from the rank to which his birth entitled him and, as the only means of escaping further persecution, is reduced to assume the disguise of a beggar tormented by evil spirits. The -ing's fool, notwithstanding the voluntary degredation which is implied in his situation, is, after -ent, Lear's most faithful associate, his wisest counsellor. This good-hearted fool clothes reason with the livery of his motley garb the high-born beggar acts the part of insanity and both, were they even in reality what they seem, would still be enviable in comparison with the -ing, who feels that the violence of his grief threatens to overpower his reason. The meeting of 6dgar with the blinded /loster is e&ually heart-rending nothing can be more affecting than to see the e"ected son become the father's guide, and the good angel, who under the disguise of insanity, saves him by an ingenious pious fraud from the horror and despair of self-murder. $ut who can possibly enumerate all the different combinations and situations by which our minds are here as it were stormed by the poet? 8especting the structure of the whole I will only make one observation. The story of Lear and his daughters was left by #hakespeare exactly as he found it in a fabulous tradition, with all the features characteristical of the simplicity of old times. $ut in that tradition there is not the slightest trace of the story of /loster and his sons, which was derived by #hakespeare from another source. The incorporation of the two stories has been censured as destructive of the unity of action. $ut whatever contributes to the intrigue or the denouement must always possess unity. 5nd with what ingenuity and skill are the two main parts of the composition dovetailed into one another3 The pity felt by /loster for the fate of Lear becomes the means which enables his son 6dmund to effect his complete destruction, and affords the outcast 6dgar an opportunity of being the saviour of his father. 0n the other hand, 6dmund is active in the cause of 8egan and /oneril and the criminal passion which they both

entertain for him induces them to execute "ustice on each other and on themselves. The laws of the drama have therefore been sufficiently complied with but that is the least it is the very combination which constitutes the sublime beauty of the work. The two cases resemble each other in the main2 an infatuated father is blind towards his welldisposed child, and the unnatural children, whom he prefers, re&uite him by the ruin of all his happiness. $ut all the circumstances are so different, that these stories, while they each make a correspondent impression on the heart, form a complete contrast for the imagination. ,ere Lear alone to suffer from his daughters, the impression would be limited to the powerful compassion felt by us for his private misfortune. $ut two such unheard-of examples taking place at the same time have the appearance of a great commotion in the moral world2 the picture becomes gigantic, and fills us with such alarm as we should entertain at the idea that the heavenly bodies might one day fall fro their appointed orbits. To save in some degree the honour of human nature, #hakespeare never wishes his spectators to forget that the story takes place in a dreary and barbarous age2 he lays particular stress on the circumstance that the $ritons of that day were still heathens, although he has not made all the remaining circumstances to coincide learnedly with the time which he has chosen. %rom this point of view we must "udge of many coarsenesses in expression and manners for instance, the immodest manner in which /loster acknowledges his bastard, -ent's &uarrel with the #teward, and more especially the cruelty personally inflicted on /loster by the Cuke of 4ornwall. 6ven the virtue of the honest -ent bears the stamp of an iron age, in which the good and the bad display the same uncontrollable energy. /reat &ualities have not been superfluously assigned to the -ing the poet could command our sympathy for his situation, without concealing what he had done to bring himself into it. Lear is choleric, overbearing, and almost childish from age, when he drives out his youngest daughter because she will not "oin in the hypocritical exaggerations of her sisters. $ut he has a warm and affectionate heart, which is susceptible of the most fervent gratitude, and even rays of a high and kingly disposition burst forth from the eclipse of his understanding. 0f 4ordelia's heavenly beauty of soul, painted in so few words, I will not venture to speak she can only be named in the same breath with 5ntigone. 1er death has been thought too cruel and in 6ngland the piece is in acting so far altered that she remains victorious and happy. I must own, I cannot conceive what ideas of art and dramatic connexion those persons have who suppose that we can at pleasure tack a double conclusion to a tragedy a melancholy one for hard-hearted spectators, and a happy one for souls of a softer mould. 5fter surviving so many sufferings, Lear can only

die and what more truly tragic end for him than to die from grief for the death of 4ordelia? 5nd if he is also to be saved and to pass the remainder of his days in happiness, the whole loses its signification. 5ccording to #hakespeare's plan the guilty, it is true, are all punished, for wickedness destroys itself but the virtues that would bring help and succour are everywhere too late, or overmatched by the cunning activity of malice. The persons of this drama have only such a faint belief in 'rovidence as heathens may be supposed to have and the poet here wishes to show us that this belief re&uires a wider range than the dark pilgrimage on earth to be established in full extent. Lear,
among the tragedies of passion, is the one in which passions assume the largest proportions, act upon the widest theatre, and attain their absolute extremes. The story of Lear and his daughters was found by #hakspere in 1olinshed, and he may have taken a few hints from an old play, The True 4hronicle 1istory of -ing Leir Bc. In both 1olinshed 's version and that of the True 4hronicle, the army of Lear and his %rench allies is victorious Lear is reinstated in his kingdom but 1olinshed relates how, after Lear's death, her sisters' sons warred against 4ordelia, and took her prisoner, when 'being a woman of manly courage and despairing to recover liberty', she slew herself. The story is also told by 1iggins in The (irror for (agistrates by #penser *%airie Hueene, II. x.=D->=+, from whom #hakespeare adopted the form of the name '4ordelia' and in a ballad *printed in 'ercy's 8eli&ues+ probably later in date than #hakespere's play. ,ith the story of Lear #hakspere connects that of /loucester and his two sons. 5n episode in #ir 'hilip #idney's 5rcadia supplied characters and incidents for this portion of the play, #idney's blind king of 'aphlagonia corresponding to the /loucester of #hakspere. $ut here, too, the story had in the dramatist's original a happy ending2 the 'aphlagonian king is restored to his throne, and the brothers are reconciled. The date of #hakspere's play is probably 9:JA or 9:J:. It was entered on the #tationers' register, <ov.=:, 9:JD, and the entry states that it had been acted 'upon #t. #tephan's day at 4hristmas last,' i.e. Cec. =:, 9:J:. The play was printed in &uarto in 9:J;. '5n upward limit of date is supplied by the publication of 1arsnet's Ceclaration of 'opish Impostures, 9:J>, to which #hakspere was indebted for the names of many of the devils in 6dgar's speeches.' It has been suggested that /loucester's mention of 'late eclipses in the sun and moon' *5ct I. #c. ii, L. 99=+ refers to the great eclipse of the sun, 0ctober, 9:JA, preceded within a month by an eclipse of the moon, and that the words which follow shortly after the mention of eclipses, 'machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us dis&uietly to our graves,' had special point if delivered on the stage while the /unpowder 'lot of <ov. A, 9:JA, was fresh in men's minds. #hakspere cares little to give the opening incidents of his play a look of prosaic, historical probability. The spectator or reader is asked, as it were, to grant the dramatist certain data, and then to observe what the imagination can make of the. /ood and evil in this play are clearly severed from one another - *more so than in (acbeth or in 0thello+ - and at the last, goodness, if we "udge merely by external fortune, would seem to be, if not defeated, at least not triumphant. #hakspere has dared, while paying little regard to mere historical verisimilitude, to represent the most solemn and awful mysteries of life as they actually are, without attempting to offer a ready-made explanation of them. 4ordelia dies strangled in prison yet we know that her devotion of love was not misspent. Lear expires in an agony of grief but he has been delivered from his pride and passionate wilfulness2 he has found that instead of being a master, at whose nod all things must bow, he is weak and

helpless, a sport even of the wind an the rain his ignorance of true love, and pleasure in false professions of love, have given place to an agonised clinging to the love which is real, deep, and tran&uil because of it fulness. Lear is the greatest sufferer in #hakspere's plays though so old, he has strength which makes him a sub"ect for prolonged and vast agony and patience is unknown to him. The elements seem to have conspired against him with his unnatural daughters the upheavel of the moral world, and the rage of tempest in the air seem to be parts of the same gigantic convulsion. In the midst of this tempest wanders unhoused the white-haired Lear while his fool - most pathetic of all the minor characters of #hakspere - "ests half-wildly, half-coherently, half-bitterly, half-tenderly, and always with a sad remembrance of the happier past. The poor boy's heart has been sore ever since his 'young mistress went to %rance.' If 4ordelia is pure love, tender and faithful, and -ent is unmingled loyalty, the monsters /oneril and 8egan are gorgons rather tahn women, such as #hakspere has nowhere else conceived. The aspect of /oneril can almost turn to stone in 8egan's tongue there is a viperous hiss. /oneril is the more formidable, because the more incapable of any hatred which is not solid and four-s&uare. 8egan acts under her sister's influence, but has an eager venomousness of her own. The story of /loucester enlarges the basis of the tragedy. Lear's afflication is no mere private incident there is a breaking of the bonds of nature and society all around us. $ut /loucester is suffering for a former sin of self-indulgence, Lear is 'more sinned against than sinning.' 7et /loucester is granted a death which is half "oyful. 1is afflication serves as a measure of the huger affliction of the king. 6dgar and 6dmund are a contrasted pair - both are men of penetration, energy, and skill, one on the side of evil, the other on the side of good. 6dgar's virtue is active, enduring, and full of device he rises at last to be the "usticiary who brings his evil brother sternly to punishment. 6verywhere throughout the play #hakspere's imaginative daring impresses us. <othing in poetry is bolder or more wonderful than the scene on the night of the tempest in the hovel where the king, whose intellect has now given way, is in company with 6dgar, assuming madness, the %ool, with his forced pathetic mirth, and -ent. The text of the &uarto differs considerably from that of the folio but the opinion that the later text - that of the folio - exhibits a revision of his own work by #hakspere is not supported by sufficient evidence. 'The folio was printed from an independent manuscript, and its text is on the whole much superior to that of the &uartos. 6ach, however, supplies passages which are wanting in the other.' #cene iii of 5ct I) is not found in the folio. ,e wish that we could pass this play over, and say nothing about it. 5ll that we can say must fall far short of the sub"ect or even of what we ourselves conceive of it. To attempt to give a description of the play itself or of its effect upon the mind, is mere impertinence2 yet we must say something.!It is then the best of all #hakespear's plays, for it is the one in which he was the most in earnest. 1e was here fairly caught in the web of his own imagination. The passion which he has taken as his sub"ect is that which strikes its. root deepest into thehuman heart of which the bond is the hardest to be unloosed and the cancelling and tearing to pieces of which gives the greatest revulsion to the frame. This depth of nature, this force of passion, this tug and war of the elements of our being, this firm faith in filial piety, and the giddy anarchy and whirling tumult of the thoughts at finding this prop failing it, the contrast between the fixed, immoveable basis of natural affection, and the rapid, irregular starts of imagination, suddenly wrenched from all its accustomed holds and resting-places in the soul, this is what #hakespear has given, and what nobody else

but he could give. #o we believe.!The mind of Lear, staggering between the weight of attachment and the hurried movements of passion, is like a tall ship-driven about by the winds, buffeted by the furious waves, but that still rides above the storm, having its anchor fixed in the bottom of the sea or it is like the sharp rock circled by the eddying whirlpool that foams and beats against it, or like the solid promontory pushed from its basis by the force of an earth&uake. The character of Lear itself is very finely conceived for the purpose. It is the only ground on which such a story could be built with the greatest truth and effect. It is hisrash haste, his violent impetuosity, his blindness to every thing but the dictates of his passions or affections, that produces all his misfortunes, that aggravates his impatience of them, that enforces our pity for him. The part which 4ordelia bears in the scene is extremely beautiful2 the story is almost told in the first words she utters. ,e see at once the precipice on which the poor old king stands from his own extravagant and credulous importunity, the indiscreet simplicity of her love *which, to be sure, has a little of her father's obstinacy in it+ and the hollowness of her sisters' pretensions. 5lmost the first burst of that noble tide of passion, which runs through the play, is in the remonstrance of -ent to his royal master on the in"ustice of his sentence against his youngest daughter!I$e -ent unmannerly, when Lear is mad3I This manly plainness, which draws down on him the displeasure of the unadvised king, is worthy of the fidelity with which he adheres to his fallen fortunes. The true character of the two eldest daughters, 8egan and /onerill *they are so thoroughly hateful that we do not even like to repeat their names+ breaks out in their answer to 4ordelia who desires them to treat their father well!I'rescribe not us our dutiesI!their hatred of advice being in proportion to their determination to 'do wrong, and to their hypocritical pretension to do right. Their deliberate hypocrisy adds the last finishing to the odiousness of their characters. It is the absence of this detestable &uality that is the only relief in the character of 6dmund the $astard, and that at times reconciles us to him. ,e are not tempted to exaggerate the guilt of his conduct, when he himself gives it up as a bad business, and writes himself down Iplain villain.I <othing more can be said about it. 1is religious honesty in this respect is admirable. 0ne speech of his is worth a million. 1is father, /loster, whom he has "ust deluded with a forged stony of his brother 6dgar's designs against his life, accounts for his unnatural behaviour and the strange depravity of the times from the late eclipses in the sun and moon. 6dmund, who is in the secret, says when he is gone!IThis is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune *often the surfeits of our own behaviour+ we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars2 as if we were villains on necessity fools by heavenly compulsion knaves, thieves, and treacherous by spherical predominance drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. 5n admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star3 (y father compounded with my mother under the Cragon's tail, and my nativity was under Frsa (a"or2 so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut3 I should have been what I am, had the maidliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardising.I! The whole character, its careless, light-hearted villainy, contrasted with the sullen, rancorous malignity of 8egan and /onerill, its connection with the conduct of the under-plot, in which /loster's persecution of one of his sons and the ingratitude of another, form a counterpart to the mistakes and misfortunes of Lear,!his double amour with the two sisters, and the share which he has in bringing about the fatal catastrophe, are all managed with an uncommon degree of skill and power. It has been said, and we think "ustly, that the third act of 0thello and the three first acts of Lear, are #hakespear's great master-pieces in the logic of passion2 that they contain the highest examples not only of the force of individual passion, but of its

dramatic vicissitudes and striking effects arising from the different circumstances and char-acters of the persons speaking. ,e see the ebb and flow of the feeling, its pauses and feverish starts, its impatience of opposition, its accumulating force when it has time to recollect ifself, the manner in which it avails itself of every passing word or gesture, its haste to repel insinuation, the alternate contraction and dilatation of the soul, and all Ithe da..ling fence of controversyI in this mortal combat with poisoned weapons, aimed at the heart, where each wound is fatal. ,e have seen in 0thello, how the unsuspecting frankness and impetuous passions of the (oor are played upon and exasperated by the artful dexterity of Iago. In the present play, that which aggravates the sense of sympathy in the reader, and of uncontroulable anguish in the swoln heart of Lear, is the petrifying indifference, the cold, calculating, obdurate selfishness of his daughters. 1is keen passions seem whetted on their stony hearts. The contrast would be too painful, the shock too great, but for the intervention of the %ool, whose well-timed levity comes in to break the continuity of feeling when it can no longer be borne, and to bring into play again the fibres of the heart "ust as they are growing rigid from over-strained excitement. The imagination is glad to take refuge in the half-comic, half-serious comments of the %ool, "ust as the mind under the extreme anguish of a surgical operation vents itself in sallies of wit. The character was also a grotes&ue ornament of the barbarous times, in which alone the tragic ground-work of the story could be laid. In another point of view it is indis-pensable, inasmuch as while it is a diversion to the too great intensity of our disgust, it carries the pathos to the highest pitch of which it is capable, by showing the pitiable weakness of the old king's conduct and its irretrievable conse&uences in the most familiar point of view. Lear may well Ibeat at the gate which let his folly in,I after, as the %ool says, Ihe has made his daughters his mothers.I The character is dropped in the third act to make room for the entrance of6dgar as (ad Tom, which well accords with the increasing bustle and wildness of the incidents and nothing can be more complete than the distinction between Lear's real and 6dgar's assumed madness, while the resemblance in the cause of their distresses, from the severing of the nearest ties of natural affection, keeps up a unity of interest. #hakespear's mastery over his sub"ect, if it was not art, was owing to a knowledge of the connecting links of the passions, and their effect upon the mind, still more wonderful than any systematic adherence to rules, and that anticipated and outdid all the efforts of the most refined art, not inspired and rendered instinctive by genius. 0ne of the most perfect displays of dramatic power is the first interview between Lear and his daughter, after the designed affronts upon him, which, till one of his knights reminds him of them, his sanguine temperament had led him to overlook. 1e returns with his train from hunting, and his usual impatience breaks out in his first words, ILet me not stay a "ot for dinner go, get it ready.I 1e then encounters the faithful -ent in disguise, and retains him in his service and the first trial of his honest duty is to trip up the heels of the officious #teward who makes so prominent and despicable a figure through the piece. 0n the entrance of /onerill the following dialogue takes place2! This is certainly fine2 no wonder that Lear says after it, I0 let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heavens,I feeling its effects by anticipation but fine as is this burst of rage and indignation at the first blow aimed at his hopes and expectations, it is nothing near so fine as what follows from his double disappointment, and his lingering efforts to see which of them he shall lean upon for support and find comfort in, when both his daughters turn against his age and weakness. It is with some difficulty that Lear gets to speak with his daughter 8egan, and her husband, at /loster's castle. In concert with /onerill they have left their own home on purpose to avoid him. 1is apprehensions are first alarmed by this circumstance, and when

/loster, whose guests they are, urges the fiery temper of the Cuke of 4ornwall as an excuse for not importuning him a second time, Lear breaks out! I)engeance3 'lague3 Ceath I 4onfusion3! %iery? ,hat &uality? ,hy, /loster, /loster, I'd speak with the Cuke of 4ornwall, and his wife.I 5fterwards, feeling perhaps not well himself, he is inclined to admit their excuse from illness, but then recollecting that they have set his messenger *-ent+ in the stocks, all his suspicions are roused again, and he insists on seeing them.

If there is any thing in any author like this yearning of the heart, these throes of tenderness, this profound expression of all that can be thought and felt in the most heart-rending situations, we are glad of it but it is in some author that we have not read. The scene in the storm, where he is exposed to all the fury of the elements, though grand and terrible, is not so fine, but the moralising scenes with (ad Tom, -ent, and /loster, are upon a par with the former. 1is exclamation in the supposed trial-scene of his daughters, I#ee the little dogs and all, Tray, $lanch, and #weetheart, see they bark at me,I his issuing his orders, ILet them anatomi.e 8egan, see what breeds about her heart,I and his reflection when he sees the misery of 6dgar, I<othing but his unkind daughters could have brought him to this,I are in a style of pathos, where the extremes3 resources of the imagination are called in to lay open the deepest movements of the heart, which was peculiar to #hakespear. In the same style and spirit is his interrupting the %ool who asks Iwhether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman,I by answering I5king, a king.I! The indirect part that /loster takes in these scenes where his generosity leads him to relieve Lear and resent the cruelty of his daughters, at the very time that he is himself instigated to seek the life of his son, and suffering under the sting of his supposed ingratitude, is a striking accompaniment to the situation of Lear. Indeed, the manner in which the threads of the story are woven together is almost as wonderful in the way of art as the carrying on the tide of passion, still varying and un-impaired, is on the score of nature. 5mong the remarkable instances of this kind are 6dgar's meet-ing with his old blind father the deception he practises upon him when he pretends to lead him to the top of Cover-cliff!I4ome on, sir, here's the place,I to prevent his ending his life and miseries together his encounter with the perfidious #teward whom he kills, and his finding the letter from /onerill to his brother upon him which leads to the final catastrophe, and brings the wheels of Gustice Ifull circle homeI to the guilty parties. The bustle and rapid succession of events in the last scenes is surprising. *$ut the meeting between Lear and 4ordelia is by far the most affecting part of them. It has all the wildness of poetry, and all the heart-felt truth of nature. The previous account of her reception of the news of his unkind treat-ment, her unvoluntary reproaches to her sisters, I#hame, ladies, shame,I Lear's backwardness to see his daughter, the picture of the desolate state to which he is reduced, I5lack, 'tis he why he was met even now, as mad as the vex'd sea, singing aloud,I only prepare the way for and heighten our expectation of what

follows, and assuredly this expectation is not disappointed when through the tender care of 4ordelia he revives and recollects her.

The Necessity of Reasonable Madness in King Lear At the beginning of King Lear, an authoritative and willful protagonist dominates his court, making a fateful decision by rewarding his two treacherous daughters and banishing his faithful one in an effort to preserve his own pride. However, it becomes evident during the course of the tragedy that this protagonist, Lear, uses his power only as a means of pro ecting a persona, which he hides behind as he struggles to maintain confidence in himself. !his poses a problem, since the audience is prevented from feeling sympathy for the king. "hakespeare#s ironic solution is to allow Lear#s progressing madness to be paired with his recognition of truth, thereby forcing Lear to shed his persona, and simultaneously persuading the audience that Lear is worthy of pity. Lear is initially consumed by what $urton would refer to as the human appetite, %&' and e(hibits traits indicative of someone dominated by the choleric humor) he is prideful, yearns for authority, and bullies others when he doesn#t get his way. After *ordelia refuses to dote on him in the first scene, he goes into a fit of rage) Let it be so; the truth then be thy dower Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee from this for ever +,, i, &&-.&&/0 %1' Lear#s fury, however, only masks the fact that he is really a very needy person, consumed by an insatiable appetite for power and attention. As $loom says, Lear always demands more love than can be given.%2' Lear proves this to be true when he repeatedly re ects those who love him most, banishing both *ordelia and Kent, who would protect him from his other two daughters# impending betrayal. 3espite their devotion to him, Lear is nevertheless unsatisfied with the way they e(press it. $urton predicts that failure to control one#s appetite, resulting in an imbalance of the humors, inevitably leads to madness and tragedy.%4' ,n Lear#s case, as we will see, this is strikingly true. ,n working so hard to pro ect this persona, Lear is untrue to himself, and loses sight of who he is. 5ven the scheming 6oneril and 7egan notice that their father !hath ever but" slenderly #nown himself $ +,, i, 1/1.1/20 !his makes

Lear a very insecure person, which e(plains in part why he insists that his daughters stroke his ego before receiving any of his kingdoms. His identity crisis is highlighted when he asks who can verify who he is, and the response by the 8ool is) !Lear%s shadow $ +,, iv, 19&0 At this point in the play, Lear is sane and is still the monarch of the kingdom. :evertheless, the 8ool#s insightful comment insists that Lear is nothing more than a shadow of his true self. ;lato would say that he is trapped in the shadow world of the cave, unable to grasp the true forms.%9' !his self.imposed persona estranges Lear from his audience< his vulnerability as a human is masked by his rash behavior and un ust decisions. $loom says that before he goes mad, Lear#s consciousness is beyond ready understanding< his lack of self.knowledge, blended with his awesome authority, makes him unknowable by us.%=' >ithout understanding a character, an audience is most definitely unable to sympathi?e with him, and here we run into a potentially problematic issue. Aristotle believes that the purpose of any true tragedy is catharsis, which he defines as the purging of the emotions of pity and fear,%@' !o achieve the desired cathartic effect, an audience must feel sorrow at the plight of the protagonist. >ithout this, according to Aristotle, a work is not tragic, and is, in fact, Auite pointless, for art of any kind must aim at the universal Aualities that all actions of a certain kind share.%/' !here can be no empathy, and thus no catharsis, from an audience that has no universal point on which to identify with a character. !herefore, the completion of Lear#s tragedy depends on the incorporation of Aristotle#s necessary tragic elements of reversal and recognition. "hakespeare achieves this by radically altering Lear#s consciousness. As 6oneril and 7egan become increasingly disloyal, Lear begins to sense that he is losing control of his own life. ,n a panic, he starts his descent into what will become complete madness by the end of the play. $ut as Knight says, ,n madness, thoughts deep.buried come to the surface.%B' !his is indeed true of Lear. A more reflective Auality is apparent in his speech following his daughters# cold re ections. As he begins to lose his sanity, he ironically gains increasing clarity, shown at first by his repentance over banishing *ordelia) !& most small fault, " How ugly didst thou in 'ordelia show($ +,, iv, 1//.1/B0 ,n yet another source of irony, "hakespeare gives Lear three guides toward truth and self.awarenessCand all three are pro ecting personas themselves, for the purpose of helping their king. Kent returns from banishment to serve Lear, pretending to be a vagabond< 5dgar takes on the guise of ;oor !om< the 8ool plays the nonsensical and inconseAuential court ester, when he is in fact the wisest person in the entire tragedy. Dasked by their false identities, these men lead Lear to eventually give up his own faEade and confront himself. However, to do this, he must give up his pride and, ultimately, his sanity. $radley sums this up, saying) Lear#s insanity, which destroys his coherence, also stimulates

that power of moral reflection which had already been Auickened by his sufferings.%&-' !he most important point of Lear#s recognition is the speech during the storm scenes in which he tells 5dgar +;oor !om0) !thou art the thing itself; unaccomodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, for#ed animal as thou art &ff, off, you lendings( 'ome on, be true $ +,,,, iv, &&1.&&90 ,n this crucial passage, Lear has an epiphany. :ot only has he become capable of selflessness, but he finally calls upon himself to be true and unhindered by these lendings, symbolic of the persona he has been so absorbed by. He arrives at this threshold even as the storm, both inside and outside of his mind, begins to break him physically and mentally, and the overwhelming emotional e(haustion seems only to further his understanding. Knight eloAuently calls this stage the rush of madness for this crescendo of silent beauty, a sudden bla?e of light.%&&' $ursting out of ;lato#s cave, into the sunlight, Lear is no longer a shadow, for he desires at last to be the thing itself. !he clothing motif is used again later as Lear, now completely out of touch with reality +or so it would seem0, communes with nature. Having crowned himself with flowers, he tells 5dgar !)hrough tattered rags small vices do appear;" *obes and furred gowns hides all $ +,F, vi, &9/.&9B0 5dgar#s reply demonstrates Lear#s condition most accurately) !*eason in madness($ +,F, vi, &=40 !here is reason in Lear#s nakedness as well. !he king has been stripped, literally and figuratively< he has forfeited his wealth, his dignity, and his sanity. $ut in shedding these things, he has also shed his own blinding pride, and gained what is more important in finding purity and reason. !he reason this is so effective in arousing our sympathies is that Lear#s reformed state of metaphorical nakedness causes us to regard him in a new light. :akedness is eAuated with vulnerability and innocence, and, in his madness, Lear seems almost childlike at times. His words to 5dgar in Act ,F are reminiscent of birth and childhood) )hou must be patient +e come crying hither )hou #now%st the first time that we smell the air +e wail and cry I will preach to thee +hen we are born, we cry that we are come )o this great stage of fools +,F, vi, &=@.&@10

!here is a sharp difference between this attitude and that of Act ,, when Lear angrily asks the 8ool) !,ost thou call me fool boy-$ +,, iv, &4&0 and the 8ool responds !All other titles thou hast given away )hat thou wast born with $ +,, iv, &41.&420 !he 8ool accurately predicts what Lear finally comes to see in Act ,F. >here he was initially indignant, Lear now admits to the inevitable foolishness of humanity, and, more importantly, he is no longer too arrogant to accept his own humanity. !he fact that the image of a child is used to achieve this makes Lear seem more innocent even in his old age, and this leads us to pity for his tragic circumstance. >e are reminded of another time "hakespeare uses this parado(ical imagery in the comedy As Gou Like ,t, when the bawdy HaAues describes the seven stages of man) !Last scene of all" Is second childishness and mere oblivion," .ans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything $ +,,, vii, &=2.&==0 %&1' !his describes Lear perfectly, for he has both descended to a kind of reinvented childhood and ascended to a new level of moral goodness, without anything e(ternal to inhibit him. Let us briefly recall the speaker from !." 5liot#s Love "ong of H. Alfred ;rufrock, a character who seems to share many of Lear#s initial doubts, fears, and insecurities. He describes himself as !/ull of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;" At times, indeed almost ridiculous00" Almost, at times, the /ool $ +&&@. &&B0 %&2' !his is a remarkably accurate description of the King Lear we meet in Act ,. He is wordy without reason, ridiculously passionate where rationality is most needed, and mocked by his fool because he, in reality, is the foolish one for attempting to maintain his false e(terior. $y the time he dies in Act F, Lear is stripped, humbled, and cra?yCyet he is finally redeemed, forgiven by his audience for his mis udgments because he has become true to himself. As $radley says, everything e(ternal has become nothingness to him, andCwhat remains is Ithe thing itself,# the soul in its bare greatness. %&4' >ithout his persona, we are at last willing to appreciate the greatness in Lear, but, ironically, we reAuire his madness to do so.