Lear is impressed with the kindness of his own nature, and feels driven to a barshness which he deems unnatural. In this, of course, he is self-deceived. He is shocked by the ingratitude which has resulted in such treatment that he feels compelled to take again the authority which he voluntarily laid down; and he feels the flood of passion again rising in a tidal wave within him to sweep him from the poise of a sane mind. The consciousness of approaching insanity or the fear of it is not unusual. Hamlet appreciated the danger and used it for his own purpose when a character of less strength would have been swept from the borderland into real not assumed madness. Lear knows himself to be emotional by nature. He realizes how the fits of passion wrack his being; but he is helpless. Self-control, lost through long habit of unrestraint, cannot now be regained in particular fields.

He leaves the stage, taking the Fool with him; and we feel that he is indeed the greater fool, an object of scorn or of pity according to the temper of our own minds.

There are those (see Barrett Wendell) who think the play of King Lear to have been received by the theatre of Shakespeare's time as a comedy or, at least, as so filled with the grotesque as to be the occasion of almost constant laughter. Up to this point, certainly, the character of Lear calls forth no deep sense of tragic fate. The impression deepens as the storm of human passion devastates every character within the range of the drama.

Act II.

Scene I. The Earl of Gloucester's Castle.

Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.

Edmund. Save thee, Curan.

Curan.

And you, sir. I have been with your

father, and given him notice that the Duke of

Cornwall and Regan, his duchess, will be here with

Curan. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?

Edmund. Not I. Pray you, what are they?

Curan. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

Edmund. Not a word.

Curan. You may do then in time. Fare you

9. ear-kissing arguments: whispered rumours.

11. toward: impending.

14. may do: may hear.

(Exit.)

5

10

Scene I. This scene may be considered to take place in the late afternoon or early evening of the day following Lear's quarrel with Goneril and his determination to betake himself with his train to

the home of Regan (I. V.). It is, therefore, the fourth day of action,

some fifteen days after the opening of the play.

Edmund.

The duke be here to-night? The better! best! 15

This weaves itself perforce into my business.

My father hath set guard to take my brother;

And I have one thing of a queasy question,

Which I must act. Briefness and fortune, work!

Brother, a word; descend!

Brother, I say!

Enter Edgar.

My father watches! O sir, fly this place!
Intelligence is given where you are hid!

You have now the good advantage of the night.
Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?

He's coming hither, now, i' th' night, i' th' haste,

25

And Regan with him; have you nothing said

Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
Advise yourself.

Edgar. I am sure on 't, not a word.

16. perforce: by necessity.

18. queasy: delicate, requiring to be handled nicely. (Steevens.) 19. act: do, perform.

work: co-operate with me for success.

27. Upon against, in censure of the party which he has raised in opposition to the Duke of Albany.

28. Advise yourself: think carefully, consider.

In the second scene of the first act Edmund resolved to dispossess his brother Edgar. He arranged a cruel slander by which Gloucester was deceived; and he further promised his father proof of Edgar's guilt that very evening. (I. II. 97.) Now two weeks have passed. During this time Edgar has remained in hiding, while his father's anger burned. This appears unlikely, and prompts one to believe with Eccles that the second scene of the first act should be delayed and made the opening scene of the second act, to be followed directly by the one under consideration. The second scene of the first act, however, contains evidence within itself showing that Shakespeare intended it in its present position.

There appears no escape from the conclusion that here Shakespeare has failed to secure the rapidity of action needed to bring these two scenes into harmony with the play as a whole. We are forced to suppose that for at least two weeks Edgar has remained successfully hidden in his fatber's castle, that Gloucester has retained his anger during all that time, and that now the coming of guests is made the occasion of forcing Edgar to the crisis. The passion of the play as a whole must blind us to these improbabilities even as Gloucester is unnaturally stupid and Edgar equally foolish before Edmund's trickery.