Re-Visioning Lear's Daughters: Testing Feminist Criticism and Theory

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10.1057/9780230111516 - Re-Visioning Lear's Daughters, Lesley Kordecki and Karla Koskinen

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Re-Visioning Lear’s Daughters



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Testing Feminist Criticism and Theory

LESLEY KORDECKI AND KARLA KOSKINEN




RE-VISIONING LEAR’S DAUGHTERS

Copyright © Lesley Kordecki and Karla Koskinen, 2010. All rights reserved. First published in 2010 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN: 978–0–230–10409–9 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kordecki, Lesley Catherine, 1951– Re-visioning Lear's daughters : testing feminist criticism and theory / Lesley Kordecki and Karla Koskinen. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–230–10409–9 (alk. paper) 1. Shakespeare, William, 1564–1616. King Lear. 2. Shakespeare, William, 1564–1616—Characters—Women. 3. Feminist literary criticism. 4. Fathers and daughters in literature. 5. Sisters in literature. 6. Sibling rivalry in literature. 7. Misogyny in literature. 8. Patriarchy in literature. I. Koskinen, Karla, 1955– II. Title. PR2819.K67 2010 822.3⬘3—dc22

2010001974

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: August 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.



Cover art by Cliff Simon



To our mothers, Ferne and Rosemarie, who taught us to value the story of women




Acknowledgments

ix

About the Text and Notes

xi

Introduction: The Problem with Lear

1

1 The Trial: Goneril, Politician and Appeaser (Act 1, scene 1)

27

2

The Trial: Regan, Soldier and Enabler (Act 1, scene 1)

45

3

The Trial: Cordelia, Heir Apparent and Zealot (Act 1, scene 1)

57

4

Goneril Makes Her Stand: Queen and Mother (Act 1, scenes 3 and 4)

77

5

The Sisters Unite: Kingship and Kinship (Act 2, scenes 1 and 2)

103

6

Regan and Torture: Abuser and Abused (Act 3, scene 7)

135

7

The Sisters and Edmund: Agency and Sexuality (Act 4, scenes 2 and 4 [Q 4.5])

151

8 Cordelia Returns: Sinner and Saint (Act 4, scenes 3 [Q 4.4] and 7)

167

9 Homeland Security: Defeat and Denial (Act 5, scenes 1, 2, and 3 [Cordelia])

185

10 Patriarchy Restored: Duplicity and Death (Act 5, scene 3 [Goneril and Regan])

201

Bibliography

221

Index

229



Contents




This project emerges from the creative collaboration we formed during “Shakespeare on the Green,” a Chicago-area festival that produced Shakespeare’s greatest plays over a twelve-year period. We were privileged to work with many talented and remarkable designers, actors, and staff. We thank all for the extraordinary experience of rethinking Shakespeare. We are grateful to our students, who over the years have taught us to stay open-minded, to keep a sense of humor, and to embrace learning and teaching with passion and dedication. We are also greatly indebted to Shakespeare’s hardworking and perceptive critics, especially inspirational feminists, who have been championing the cause for some time. For encouragement and help with the manuscript, thanks go to Courtney Lehmann, Natalie Foreman, Mike Levine, Cathy Brookshire, Darren Trongeau, Will York and the UAB Department of Theatre, James H. Murphy, Francesca Royster, and DePaul University’s Department of English and grant program. We are also thankful to our editors, Brigitte Shull and Lee Norton, and the staff at Palgrave Macmillan. We are greatly appreciative of the intellectual mentorship of both Judson Allen and Alvin Goldfarb. Al’s passion for theatre and its history is a continual inspiration. Special thanks go to Mike Williams, for countless provocative conversations; to Cliff Simon, for his generosity and keen artistic sensibility; to Scott Parkinson, for his remarkable Shakespearean portrayals; to Steve Carmichael, for his nurturing and kindred spirit; to Amy Lehman, for her steadfast encouragement and critical eye; to Michael Barnard and Vincent VanVleet, for their professional and personal support; and to other wonderful friends for their kind reinforcement. We could not have written this book without the encouragement of our families, especially Connie and Barbara and other strong sisters and brothers. We also acknowledge Frank Kordecki, whose love of Shakespeare rubbed off on his daughter.



Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

Deepest appreciation goes to those who lived with this project for years and yet were perennially enthusiastic: Colette Currie, for her invaluable technical assistance, but mostly for her bracing good humor; and John Swindall, for his unfaltering commitment and strength of character. Their love and patience made this book possible.



x

All references to King Lear cite both the Charlton Hinman Folio facsimile’s Through Line Numbers (TLN) and R. A. Foakes’s Arden edition’s act-scene designation. All exclusively Quarto lines and references are from Arden. Otherwise, the text is from the Folio. We have updated Folio spelling, usually following Jay L. Halio’s edition. We have also standardized some names (notably, Gonerill, Edmond, and Foole) and converted some italicizations. The punctuation, capitalization, and lineation remain the same as in Hinman’s facsimile, since actors often carefully follow these elements. To assist the reader, we have adapted the footnote style of variorum editions to provide both direct quotation and paraphrase of critical works.



About the Text and Notes




The Problem with Lear

Can William Shakespeare’s King Lear be feminist? We think so. The wide expanse of humanity in the play forms too rich a landscape to forsake because of the foregone conclusions of traditional interpretations. We, like a number of critics today, read a very different play from the one routinely seen on stage; we read a story without stereotyped women. This book is based on the premise that criticism can inform interpretation, and in the following pages, we provide discussions for rendering King Lear without innate gender bias. The prodigious Shakespeare industry is such that the theatrical and scholarly communities overlap on both the stage and journal page, and although scholars and theatre practitioners alike have represented Shakespeare’s plays in radical, stimulating ways, this work outlines a process that benefits from the visible interaction between the two disciplines. An interpretive “space” is defined in which critical opinions impel theatrical readings. This great play can accommodate feminists, who no longer need to sit uncomfortably through staged interpretations that often shut down the full humanity of Lear’s daughters. This book, without being prescriptive, carves out new possibilities for feminist readings, especially with a play like King Lear, whose productions over the centuries seemed determined either to demonize or idolize the daughters. Even erudite or theoretical critiques can be materialized, and the theatre can avail itself of diverse feminist criticism in profound ways. We construct original feminist interpretations and note many previous readings, teasing out and testing new ways to hear the words of the women of the play. As such, this book becomes a bridge between literary criticism and theatrical possibilities. Readings are tested in terms of storytelling, and theatre practitioners will recognize immediately that these imagined enactments 10.1057/9780230111516 - Re-Visioning Lear's Daughters, Lesley Kordecki and Karla Koskinen


Introduction


of disparate readings are in no way directives. Rather, they are the kind of physicalized extensions of interpretations that establish their plausibility. Over the years, critics have written about the three overdetermined daughters, the only women in the play, stressing their part in the deterioration of their father and his kingdom through their embodiment either of evil (in the case of Goneril and Regan) or of good (in the case of Cordelia). Indeed, the frequency of the word “evil” in Lear criticism is both remarkable and lamentable. We argue that the actions of all three daughters, like those of most of the men in the play, are a result of Lear’s erratic and irresponsible behavior in the first scene. We see Lear as the flawed, at times highly sympathetic, but ultimately blind human who initiates the tragedy. These interpretations are not simple condemnatory reversals of the moral configuration of the play, but more true deconstructions of the often-assigned binaries. The older daughters are not now entirely virtuous in these readings, nor are their father and younger sister wicked. One must still feel for the magnificently articulate old man who dies at the end. But one should also feel for the women crushed in his story, despite their actions. All three are their father’s daughters, led to their end by him and the environment he created. In abandoning the simplistic ethical categorizations of all the play’s characters, such renderings allow the true tragedy of the story to unfold. Marvin Rosenberg does not see the daughters as “mere appendages to Lear’s story” but rather says that “if they were not thought of only as Lear’s daughters, the play might be their tragedy” (49–50). We have consciously and perhaps provocatively selected a monument of the patriarchal literary canon, a text that many feminists think reductively defines and limits the characterization of its women. Shakespeare’s King Lear has long been known as a powerful apocalyptic vision and the playwright’s most profound statement on nature and the natural, especially in relation to the women characters. However, critics have marginalized the three daughters. Stephen Greenblatt’s enchanting book Will in the World, written in 2004, brings alive the playwright’s world, and yet refers to the women as the “wicked daughters” (Will 84, 327, 360), which in our view is a reductive assessment of the drama.1 Although this interpretation endures, this is old news, and, as these new readings demonstrate, is not necessarily what the text tells us. Shakespeare’s elastic plays have allowed for myriad presentations over the centuries, even differing feminist versions. Many productions of King Lear have simplified 1 Greenblatt’s appraisal of the two older sisters is the commonly held view. Most scholars agree and are too numerous to cite. More surprising, perhaps, are similar evaluations by scholars who have otherwise feminist arguments about the play. This book hopes to change their minds. For recent work on the play, see Kahan.



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the multifaceted women in a play so filled with intriguing male characters that the reductive handling of the daughters often goes unnoticed.2 Despite this trend, a number of critical voices have articulated the debilitating stipulations set on the three female characters. Some readers, like Jane Smiley, have entirely recast the intriguing story to wrest from the play the women so stereotyped through the centuries. Smiley clearly intended that A Thousand Acres subvert the typical readings of King Lear she found offensive.3 The challenge, of course, is to envision King Lear as a complicated world that ultimately fashions the behaviors of all its characters. Why do Goneril and Regan act the way they do? Why is their response to Lear so different from Cordelia’s? How can a world be imagined where their behavior is a product of their environment, not of their immutable natures? And how can this be done so that it is consistent with the language and the action? Kathleen McLuskie’s sage advice is that a feminist production would need to “restore the element of dialectic, removing the privilege both from the character of Lear and from the ideological positions which he dramatizes” (106).4 With of course a nod to Marianne Novy’s series of studies on Women’s Re-Visions of Shakespeare, and borrowing from the title of Adrienne Rich’s foundational “When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision,” we are revisioning Lear’s daughters in a similar act of “looking back, of seeing with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new critical direction” (Rich 18). Staging, like writing, is creative. The word “re-visioning” calls attention to the active and inventive shifting of possibilities, the refocusing of the 2 See Kelly (“See What”), Schafer, Rutter (“Eel,” Enter) and Lusardi and Schleuter for discussions of different productions and their portrayals of Goneril and Regan. Also see Werner (Shakespeare) for discussions of feminist and nonfeminist Shakespeare performances. Some directors find their evaluation of the characters shifting over time. Director Richard Eyre said in an interview: “When I was young I saw two terrible daughters abusing a man more sinned against than sinning. Now I was no longer prepared to judge: all were to blame, all could be forgiven” (Maver 34). See also Calvo, Cima, Goodman, Kershaw, Klett, Kole, Massai, Phelan, Raitt, Rozett, and Viguers for differing thoughts about a possible “afterlife” of this famous play. 3 SMILEY: I had been cool to both Cordelia and Lear . . . In all the productions I saw, no actor, not even my favorite Olivier, could make him sympathetic to me . . . I didn’t like Cordelia, either. She seemed ungenerous and cold, a stickler for truth at the beginning, a stickler for form at the end. No amount of beauty in an actress warmed her up for me. On the other hand, the older sisters, figures of pure evil according to conventional wisdom, sounded familiar, especially in the scene where they talk between themselves about Lear’s actions, and later, when they have to deal with his unruly knights. They were women, and the play seemed to be condemning them morally for the exact ways in which they expressed womanhood that I recognized. I was offended (“Shakespeare” 160–61). 4 KELLY: [R]ethinking the relationship between Lear and his daughters . . . can also provoke debate about gender . . . in historical terms and in current contexts . . . [as well as] the “universal” questions . . . for aged men (“See What” 144).





critical lens on Lear’s daughters. Shakespeare’s text has been kept alive through what Andrew James Hartley calls drama’s “amorphous adaptability—an adaptability made real through the interaction of theatre practitioners with a richly varied and complex text.” A production’s “celebratory and interrogative” constructs can be in opposition to or even “hostile to elements of the play as written or as staged in the past” (72). To this end, presented in the following chapters are readings centering on leading themes that control this multifaceted play. The theatrical alternatives explored are certainly not intended as blueprints for future productions: this method instead shows how critical insights can be translated into material form. All feminist approaches would recognize Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia as intricate human beings caught in a treacherous world. For clarity, this study attempts to group criticism and possible strategies that trace the characters first with attention to power, politics, and history, and second with attention to love, family, and psychology, all intertwined with violence (but these distinctions will melt away in actual productions). The accumulated choices neither reduce the three women to caricatures of morality or immorality, nor are they presented as normative. Also, Lear himself is not regarded as either good or evil, the ultimate victim or oppressor, although our readings admittedly push against the Lear-as-hero strain of criticism and stage production that has worked to diminish the stature of his daughters. Also, our interpretations do not attempt to exhaust feminist readings of the play and are not in “opposition” to each other. We do not claim any is necessarily the intention of the author, whose “intention,” even if possibly deduced, constitutes a notion far too slippery on which to base an interpretation of a single character, much less that of an entire production. Instead, these readings work carefully with the play’s language to find new ways of making Shakespeare’s text come alive. All theatre artists who produce his plays “interpret” Shakespeare. It could not be any other way. Directors or dramaturgs cut the scripts, thus determining in their own minds what is of the most value in telling the story. Actors appropriate to the director’s vision create the characters and communicate this to an audience. Designers work to constitute a world that illuminates the most pressing issues. Interpretations, of course, can run the gamut, from the conventional to the extremely radical, sometimes leaving very little of the original text intact.5 Whatever a particular production attempts, its validity lies in its theatrical viability for the audience 5 Elaine Feinstein and the Women’s Theatre Group wrote and performed a radical revision of the play called Lear’s Daughters in 1987, a “herstory” or a “prestory” (Goodman 37). Young Jean Lee’s 2010 production of Lear focuses on the daughters without their father. More generally, Shakespeare’s text is now undergoing performative studies; see Brown.



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of its time and place. David Bevington, for example, traces “the ways in which changed modes of presentation can arise out of, and contribute to, changed perceptions of the text” (This Wide 2). This may be the one enduring responsibility to the playwright: to make the play “playable.” After all, the work, as literature, remains untouched and unaltered by theatrical production. But obstacles exist, especially since scholarly interpretations of this famous play are particularly fraught with disagreement. * *

*

The Critical Debate King Lear is the story of patriarchy and a particular monarchy whose perversion of love and power produces inexorable violence, betrayal, and chaos. The play tells this tale through the corrosion of discourse from its almost banal beginning, the test posed by Lear’s coy “Which of you shall we say doth love us most?” (TLN 56; 1.1.56, emphasis added),6 and continues its degeneration in the disordered language of the Fool, of Tom, of the insult-slinging Kent, and most affectingly, of the raving Lear himself. Further witnessed is the rigidity of discourse in the rhetorical utterances demanded of all three daughters throughout the play by their father. Women’s language thus becomes suspect, with scene 1 ritualizing this primal notion. Goneril, as the first woman to speak, begins the process of suspicion with her initial response, a speech condemned by traditional critics as hypocritical and portrayed as such in most productions. As many critics argue, all these discursive elements are pivotal to an understanding of the story.7

6 This and all subsequent references to King Lear are the Hinman facsimile’s Through Line Numbers (TLN). We have updated the spelling of words in the Folio, usually following Jay Halio’s edition, standardized some names (Gonerill, Edmond, and the Foole), and omitted some italics. The punctuation, capitalization, and lineation remain the same as in Hinman, since actors often carefully follow these elements. The act-scene references are from Foakes’s Arden edition, and all Quarto lines and references are from Arden. 7 BELSEY: For speaking beings there is no place outside language. But there is no simple way of speaking the truth inside it, either. Drawing ultimately on a spare, austerely told folk tale about the power of words to deceive, King Lear builds a monumental demonstration of the capabilities of language. By its difference from the same folk tale, the play brings into focus the tragic mismatch between word and things that both defines and drives the signifying human animal (63). Rutter concentrates on the use of language (“Eel”).





Three major issues haunt the assessment of Lear’s daughters, all interwoven into the problematics of language. First, critics disagree about the essential temperament of the play: is it irretrievably sexist, and if so, can nonsexist interpretations be justified? Second, critics question why the daughters are portrayed on stage and in readings as stock characters. A final question is whether Lear is primarily about history and power, or primarily about family and love. *

*

*

The Feminist Dilemma Recently, feminists have almost compellingly argued that the play itself, especially through its metaphoric language, is undeniably misogynistic. Many lines could be cited, but two examples suffice. The first is Lear’s famous description of women in act 4: “Down from the waist they are Centaurs, though Women all above: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiend’s. There’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding: stench, consumption” (TLN 2567–71; 4.6.121–25).8 The second can be found in the “good” Edgar’s verbal attack on his bastard brother, in which he characterizes the body of his father’s mistress (absent and, as far as we know, innocent) as the “dark and vicious place where thee he got” (TLN 3133; 5.3.170). One can clearly see, therefore, why Janet Adelman asserts that the play “replicates” the sexist “logic” of Lear, “construing Lear’s fault itself as the legacy of the female, the contaminating maternal inheritance that cannot be disowned or suppressed” (Suffocating 115).9 Gayle Whittier contends that the play is “Shakespeare’s most misogynistic and most rhetorically self-conscious tragedy” (367). These discerning critics are not alone in holding this opinion, but we argue that many moments in the text allow far different enactments, far more striking interpretive paths. A nonsexist Lear, then, may seem to undo the playwright’s original intention for some, or worse yet, become a perverse exercise in “rescuing” Shakespeare from the charge of sexism, albeit a historically commonplace

8 HOOVER: With the centaur passage Lear has reached the nadir of his misogyny . . . Lear radically alters the pagan centaur myth by transforming it from male to female and . . . he then proceeds to combine it with a second image based on the Christian belief that it is the sexuality of woman which leads to the damnation of man” (“Women” 349, 350). 9 Hence, according to Adelman, the portrayal of Goneril and Regan is “entirely complicit with the fantasy of the dark and vicious place” (Suffocating 115).



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sexism. Since we are not positing a reading of Shakespeare’s intentions, we are more persuaded by McLuskie, who although finding much in the text to support such a misogynist reading, turns to actual productions to provide a more complete perspective on the issue of sexism. Urging feminist reconstruction, she reminds us that “sexist meanings are not fixed but depend upon constant reproduction by their audience” (103). Some productions appear to diminish the complexity of Goneril and Regan to increase the audience’s commiseration with Lear, but Lear’s journey is compelling enough without this aid. Carol Rutter suggests a more liberating agenda: to interrogate “cultural strategies as they are reproduced in theatrical strategies . . . to question the clear patriarchal need to shift onto women what begins in this play as male transgression . . . It is men who let loose the demons of this play; it is women who are demonized” (“Eel” 175). That, we argue, is the shadow story of King Lear. The apocalyptic tenor of the end is even more poignant when the scapegoating of the daughters becomes evident. But the good news is that the playwright, as Rutter adds, “positions Lear’s daughters in his theater to do some radical work toward cultural readjustment. They not only challenge but utterly devastate the patriarchal nostalgia that is the bedrock of Shakespearean tragedy” (“Eel” 175), or at least the patriarchal nostalgia embedded in most criticism and production.10 One secret to a feminist telling of the story emerges from a simple realization: the play’s derogation of the female, like all other views, resides in the speeches of characters, flawed individuals whose assessments need to be grounded in the context of the entire story.11 Some of these inflammatory, sexist lines are removed in the Folio, but enough remain that necessitate rethinking. Cristina Léon Alfar links gender intolerance with anxieties about power: “The male characters in King Lear operate under orthodox notions of femininity that cannot be reconciled with the idea of women

10 FINDLAY: Renaissance England was dominated by an oppressive patriarchal culture, yet pressure points—at which contradictions in the positioning of women occurred—created opportunities for resistance (7). 11 ALFAR: Their “evil” is in part defined by the reactions of male character to them (81). HOOVER: Tom’s . . . self-descriptions . . . imply a view of women that differs little from the king’s misogyny and are just as clearly an imposition of internal male fantasies onto the despised “other” . . . Edmund’s sexual exploitation of women also exposes the sexual imaginings of the other male characters by making it unavoidably clear that such fantasies are not about women at all: they are about the men who have them (“Lusty” 92, 95). KAHN: By calling his sorrow hysterical, Lear decisively characterizes it as feminine (“Absent” 33). RUDNYTSKY: Edgar is positively hostile to women (297). SCHAFER: Women directors also have to confront the fact that King Lear contains much vividly expressed and poetically effective misogyny, much of it voiced by Lear himself (128).





in power” (81). Moreover, when we assume that every utterance of Kent or Cordelia represents “right” thinking, it is a short step to disparaging Goneril or Regan, or for that matter, a short step to canonizing Cordelia, transforming her into a colorless icon. For production, one could certainly cut many of the sexist lines of the male characters. This book, however, strives not to “clean up” King Lear, but to demonstrate how this dominant discourse circumscribes the world of the play, imprisoning the daughters in its grip. Quite dramatically, the play’s bigoted language exposes the crippling and ill-fated limitations of both a patriarchal family and a patriarchal monarchy. Since women’s language becomes suspect immediately with Goneril’s and Regan’s protestations of love and Cordelia’s protestation of “Nothing,” men’s language proceeds to determine inexorably the destructive values of Lear’s world. Tellingly, Whittier alleges that “nearly every virtuous male character in the tragedy dissociates himself from the female sex” (368). Yes, but one need not agree with these male characters. More essentially, the critical assumption of their innate virtue can be disputed. This inversion opens the play up to very rich possibilities. Even though plentiful productions and critiques have contributed to the problem of Lear, Philippa Kelly counters that “misogyny in King Lear is less the property of the play than that of gender-inflected ideas and terminologies imposed by critics” (“See What” 138). Other male characters may sway audiences, but Lear’s own magnificent discourse inevitably and prematurely determines the landscape for most productions, reducing the story to pat moralization. Among Lear’s faults is his intense and steadfast misogyny, often glossed over as part of his madness. And yet audiences or readers somehow absorb his profound vilification of his older daughters, even though the same pattern of Lear’s unjust indictment—not only of Cordelia but also of the loyal Kent in the first scene—is routinely denounced. His unpredictable decisions rightfully encounter opposition throughout the play. Goneril and Regan deny Lear the extraordinary living conditions he peremptorily demands in the subsequent scenes, just as Cordelia denies him the extraordinary rhetoric he peremptorily demands in the beginning. Logically, we cannot have it both ways—we cannot condemn Goneril for her formal, conciliatory first speech and then condemn her for her moderated, but Cordelia-like resistance to Lear soon after. If we do, we fall into something akin to Lear’s own irrationality. Thus, the drama’s predominant issues become inseparable from the “nature” of women as perceived by Lear and the other male characters. The imagery alone suffuses the text with destructive biases against women. One scene, for example, exemplifies how Lear sets the doomed ideology of the play. Lear’s lightning-quick denunciation of Goneril in 1.4, bestializing



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and demonizing her with such epithets as “Detested Kite” (TLN 796; 1.4.255) and “Marble-hearted Fiend” (TLN 771; 1.4.251), outlines the strength and depth of his misogyny and the subliminal influence his language has on an audience. Why do we not find questionable Lear’s intense hatred of strong women (first Cordelia, then Goneril and Regan), an animosity compounded by his manly support system of the Fool and Kent and a prominent aspect of his dementia? Critics have seen the character flaw inherent in his possibly incestuous demands on his daughters, his mistaking them for both wives and mothers. But until recently, they have regularly failed to recognize Lear’s pointed misogyny, buttressed by Kent, Edgar, Albany, and more blithely, the Fool, as the tragic flaw of Lear and, perhaps, of the whole kingdom. Interpretations often accede to the play’s misogyny because it occurs nearly everywhere in the play. Kent, Edgar, Albany, the Fool, and Oswald lace the play with assessments that, in another context, audiences would promptly question. But these are the judgments of characters, not the lesson of the story. Revealingly, both characters in and critics of the play do not treat Edmund with the loathing they display toward the elder “monstrous” daughters, even though Edmund unmistakably embodies a “wrong” and devastating perception of family and state. This difference alone points up patriarchy’s insidious hold on our judgment and the possibility, through production, of subverting the crippling sexism that undoes Lear himself. Our readings attempt this subversion. *

*

*

Stock Characters Rutter tells the story of an actor playing a daughter of Lear who articulates to an audience of academics what Rutter saw as the director’s interpretation: that the older daughters are rightfully punished. Thus, in some senses, the actor betrays her own character without reflection (“Eel” 174–75). This replication of what we see as a flawed interpretation becomes a major obstacle for a feminist reading, since through it, the play stereotypes “woman” for the most part as either the nurturing, good daughter or the ungrateful, bad ones. At the end of the drama, only men are left standing, their future uncertain and the play’s lessons unlearned. But an audience need not be so unchanged. If the fate of Goneril and Regan is not assumed as just, the play concludes with a kingdom barren of women, its only feminine





model that of the idealized and now-sacrificed Cordelia. And Cordelia is thought by many today to be the fantasy created by a senile, albeit remorsefully self-acknowledged, “very foolish . . . old man” (TLN 2814; 4.7.60). Reductively equating women and animals, Lear thinks of Cordelia as his playmate and solace in a cage, one of the singing “Birds” (TLN 2949; 5.3.9), eminently preferable to the supposed “Pelican Daughters” (TLN 1856; 3.4.74) he has created out of Goneril and Regan. If the daughters are represented on stage through Lear’s eyes, no real woman is present at any time, dead or alive. This play, in particular, seems to offer such covertly or overtly inadequate portrayals of the women for a number of reasons, among them the following: 1. the overburdened plot, whose busyness trivializes and compartmentalizes the women; 2. the double plot, whose asymmetry is often ignored for mental ease; 3. the neat, bigoted association of women with nature, and the threat of both to Lear and all males; 4. the fairy-tale plotline that misleadingly allegorizes two sisters as foul and one as fair; 5. the absolutist ethic in this all-too-familiar family crisis about an aging parent; and 6. the profound and twisted attraction of Lear’s own dementia. Below we will address each point in detail. *

*

*

1. King Lear is a very busy play. The story line makes one follow the diverse paths of a number of male characters: not only of Lear, but also of Kent, Gloucester, Edmund, Edgar, Albany, Cornwall, Oswald, and the Fool. This array of persons involved in their own actions and development, often with additional personalities taken on in disguise, can lead to the trivialization of the women characters, relegating them to easily recognizable slots to enhance the male characters. The prioritization of the male is a staple of Western culture, even today, where women often serve as marginal entities in dramatic presentations concentrating mostly on men. Thus, the preponderance of interesting male characters helps to impel the simplistic categorization of the women. After all, Regan and Goneril each speak only approximately 6 percent of the total lines, while Cordelia speaks 4 percent, rendering a total of approximately 16 percent of this lengthy play spoken by the pivotal women (Alter 147).



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The daughters become a binary equation. Critics in the past have seen Cordelia as the completely laudatory woman, and this acknowledgment is seen to obfuscate the innate sexism in the play by dividing the women into moral and immoral ones, contributing to the diminishment of the full woman character.12 In addition, and as a result of this binary, the distinctions between Goneril and Regan, two characters who have profoundly different actions and speeches, have rarely been explored.13 Critics appraising Cordelia often fall into even more destructive stereotyping. Through her arguably “monstrous” treasonous attack on Britain in order, as Cordelia says, to rescue her father and put him back on the throne he abandoned, she is “monstrously” construed as a saint or as love and forgiveness personified. Peter Rudnytsky articulates the danger: “The idealization of Cordelia is but the obverse of the demonization of Goneril and Regan and should thus be viewed with suspicion as the symptom of, rather than an antidote to, the play’s underlying misogyny” (301).14 The “underlying misogyny,” however, stems from the male characters. Cordelia’s elevation to sainthood because she leads Frenchmen (the traditional enemies of Englishmen) to their needless deaths constitutes perhaps the worst example of sexism in

12 BERGE: Cordelia personifies the virtue that both action and truth form together (214). DANBY: Cordelia, for Shakespeare, is virtue . . . Cordelia’s invasion of England is simply right (126, 133). DRISCOLL: The highest or goal stage is that of fulfillment, wholeness, or enlightenment and, as the later Jung would say, is identified with Christ as alchemical symbol. Cordelia stands at this stage (160). JAFFA: For when Lear turned to Cordelia to hear her profession, she had already ascended a throne. It was not the throne of Britain, but rather the invisible throne prepared by nature for those of surpassing virtue (425). See also Ryan for a review of scholarship before 2000. Alfar asserts that there exits a “gap” between the concept of “feminine evil” and the presentation of the older daughters (Fantasies 19). 13 DANBY: [The two older sisters are] practically indistinguishable (42). NOVY: Goneril and Regan are much less psychologically complex than most Shakespearean characters of comparable importance . . . [Their] fear of weakness is . . . a standard enough trait in the psychology of violence that it does little to individualize them (Love’s 153, 154). But some critics differ. LUSARDI AND SCHLEUTER: Though in the opening scene Cordelia addresses Goneril and Regan as though they shared the same faults, and though Regan herself claims to be made of the “self mettle” as her sister, subsequent appearances of the middle daughter suggest that she and Goneril are not the interchangeable Dromios of King Lear (68). 14 MCLUSKIE: The close links between misogyny and patriarchy define the women in the play more precisely. Goneril and Regan are not presented as archetypes of womanhood for the presence of Cordelia “redeems nature from the general curse” (4.6.201) (99). MILLARD: [Cordelia is]a more ambiguous character [than that in the Leir story and] . . . raises challenging questions reflective of Jacobean culture, about the redemptive role of women (144). MORRIS: Cordelia is doing exactly what they [other critics] say she is not: she is far from being “true,” she is carefully calculating, and she is actively engaged in playing the game Lear’s way (142). SKURA: Cordelia is more morally ambiguous than her counterpart in the old play . . . not so unrealistically good (125).





the play. She is, after all, an invader.15 Cordelia as Lear’s fantasy daughter (or wife/mother) becomes the ultimate sacrifice so that Lear can feel better about himself. This interpretation, as many have noted, makes Cordelia the “Mary” to the “Eve” supposedly found in the presentation of her sisters.16 Shakespeare, however, appears to abandon the morality play’s treatment of characters as figures of vice and virtue soon after his first plays, and certainly by the late date of King Lear. Cordelia’s portrayal as virtue personified diminishes the human potential of this interesting woman held captive in a world she seems incapable of surviving. Her death at the end is the reason for Nahum Tate’s notorious revision; apparently it is too painful to see the good woman forfeited after all she has done to help her father. This reflects a simplified and marginalized reading of character and reduces Cordelia’s humanity as much as clichéd readings lessen the humanity of her sisters. *

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2. The famous double plot of the play, with daughters and sons positioned for and against Lear and Gloucester, allows for an ultimately misleading mental shortcut that is again derogatory to the women.17 Edmund and Edgar, in this formation, parallel a combined Goneril/Regan and Cordelia. But the similarity falls short almost immediately. Edmund, from the outset, is a truly manipulative, self-serving character, even if one struggling against

15 CHAMBERLAIN: Cordelia, now Queen of France . . . in the end, must inevitably commit violence against England. (185). FOAKES: It is one of the terrible consequences of Lear’s violence in the division of his kingdom and treatment of his daughters that in order to aid him Cordelia must return to England as an enemy of the state (Violence 142–43). 16 ADELMAN: France must be banished from the scene . . . before Cordelia can be reconstituted as Virgin Mother, exempt for the fault of Eve . . . And hence the logic that gives Cordelia no mother: she can play redeeming Mary to Goneril and Regan’s offending Eve only insofar as she is radically isolated from their maternal heritage (Suffocating 120). HOOVER: Instead of adhering to the pagan view of the merely animalistic nature of the male centaur [with his sexual disgust of women in act 4, Lear] converts it to the Christian view of woman as Eve (“Women” 353). KELLY: It seems inevitable that if the sisters are modeled on a simple good-versus-evil paradigm, no matter how irascible their father’s conduct, audience sympathy will remain on his side (“See What” 143). NOVY: The contrast between Goneril and Regan, on the one hand, and Cordelia, on the other, owes something to the traditional tendency in Western literature to split the image of woman into devil and angel, Eve and Mary (Love’s 153). RUDNYTSKY: [T]his splitting of the image of women into diametrically opposed good and evil aspects . . . is a crucial symptom of the misogyny of King Lear that calls for feminist analysis (292, n. 5). 17 THOMPSON: [Feminists] have commented on the way in which the text treats Edmund very differently from the way it treats Goneril and Regan (123).



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unjust patrilineal exclusion. He is the “natural” child, the bastard, outside societal confines. As such, just as with all women, he represents the natural element that societal rule must contain. Still, his actions propel the plot, as do Lear’s, and even Cordelia’s. Goneril and Regan, in contrast, spend their time reacting, not initiating action, until the very end, when Goneril kills not Lear or Cordelia, but her sister Regan, and then herself, and for very different reasons, her trajectory not paralleling Edmund’s at all. Indeed, women’s paths to achieving either power or love in a patriarchy are vastly dissimilar to men’s. Goneril and Regan supposedly have authority after the first scene, but spend the remainder of the play shoring up their dubious control. Edmund works ruthlessly to achieve for himself their ostensible authority, which by the end is determined, ironically, by their attachment to him.18 In this way, as in others, the play distinctly demonstrates the distorted nature of the patriarchy. If the elder daughters are equated with Edmund as conniving and ungrateful children, then his deeds are conflated with theirs, dragging the women down with him. The text does not support such a reading. The double plot has a satisfactory neatness to it, but like most plots assumed by Shakespeare, as the drama continues, it expands into something greater than its initial symmetry. The daughters become whole characters when their dissimilarity from Edmund is recognized. * *

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3. The play has been read and produced as, in part, Shakespeare’s statement on nature and the natural. A number of lines refer to a personified Nature or consider what indeed is natural. John Danby counted forty occurrences of “Nature,” “natural,” or “unnatural” in the play. As early as 1949, he argued that King Lear enacts the struggle between an oldfashioned benign view of Nature, represented by the “Lear party,” and the antagonistic Hobbesian view, espoused by Edmund and “tacitly assumed by Goneril and Regan.” Cordelia, he insists, is Nature “herself” (19–20). But this allegorical reading, like the one equating Cordelia with virtue, is reductive.

18 NOVY: [I]f patriarchy rests on male superiority in physical strength, it ceases to favor old men. In choosing Edmund, Goneril and Regan can be seen as following this form of patriarchy, which defines manhood by capacity for violence. The Elizabethan structure of institutional power did still favor old men (Love’s 221, n. 9). See Hoover on how Edmund fools Goneril and Regan (“Lusty” 93).





More recently, feminists and ecocritics alike have noted how gender informs the play’s discussion of nature, but now with very different results. “The equation of women and Nature is so ancient and so ubiquitous as hardly to need documentation,” explains Jeanne Addison Roberts. “Woman’s fertility, her cyclical anatomical processes, and her subordinate position in most societies confirmed her closeness to Nature and reinforced the view that she was to be controlled by male Culture” (25, 26). The ecofeminist philosopher Val Plumwood argues that this equation does not hurt only women; “Western culture itself . . . has been deformed by its masculinisation and denial of the sphere associated with women” (30).19 Lear and his followers reveal a quality often found in patriarchies, a destructive resistance to nature, in which the policy to conquer natural elements and control land and the people who occupy it leads to one’s own downfall. In this configuration, Lear himself represents what is valued in humanity, what is beset by “ungrateful” women and the relentless storms of nature, both literal and figurative. His rigidity creates the kind of human storm that leads to his downfall, as he warps his vision of his predicament. Initially, Lear addresses Nature as “dear Goddess” (TLN 789; 1.4.267) and labels nonmale, nonhuman threats to his notion of the world

19 ADELMAN: The fantasy given darkest expression in the storm is of Lear’s subjection to the realm of Hecate, in which masculine identity and the civilization that upheld it are dissolved in a terrifying female moisture (Suffocating 112). ALTER: [T]he discontinuities between the patriarchal text and the matriarchal subtext of King Lear license an interpretive space within which to explore the shifty and permeable relationships between the predatory feminine and the vulnerable masculine, between woman as gratifying/betraying mother and man as ever needy, appetitive son, between inchoate, absorbing nature identified as female and the ordering principle of will identified as male (154). BERGER: The elements and his daughters converge; to brave the weather is to stand up to Regan and Goneril and prove to himself that they have not yet deprived him of manliness or potency (37). BRAYTON: By rearticulating Cordelia’s status in terms of property, France takes up the logic of Lear’s map-reading and equates the female body with property—but valuable property nonetheless (409). ESTOK: For Lear . . . women and the environment are each viciously unpredictable and dangerous, and women who communicate freely are monsters . . . [Lear] loses his identity when he loses his ability to control spatial worth (20, 24). MILLARD: Lear succumbs to two unpredictable forces of life: elemental nature and women (150). OATES: [In the play], sexual loathing is only a part of the general fear and loathing of nature itself, most obviously represented by women (26). ROBERTS: In both writers [Ovid and Shakespeare], the implications of human metamorphoses are profoundly important. The loss of male form is especially shocking because it indicates a decline from the distinguishing characteristics of Culture, particularly the ability to communicate as an equal. Human/animal confusion can be tragic, and in King Lear it signifies madness . . . Nature does not respond to Lear’s demands. Women have betrayed him, and animals refuse to be tamed (85, 107). See Rudnytsky for a sexual interpretation of the feminized storm (301). See Craig for how the storm represents male diminishment (11).



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“unnatural.” He first calls Cordelia “unnatural” because she resists him; and because he perceives his two older daughters to be his enemies as early as the second act, he then labels them as monstrous, something outside nature as he knows it. But astonishingly, soon after, Nature “herself” fails the old man, as he brilliantly articulates, when “she” materializes in the form of the storm, now corrupt and abusively sexualized. Ironically, the very natural storm’s elements at the climax of the action are aligned with the supposedly unnatural Goneril and Regan, elements, as he cries, “That will with two pernicious Daughters join” (TLN 1677; 3.2.22). Lear’s confused amalgamation of his perceived environmental and human enemies remains with viewers who, perhaps by this point in the play, seek the simplification found in the self-pitying man’s complaints. The daughters really do not have a chance against characters who espouse essentialist, male-oriented perspectives on nature, deep-seated beliefs held just below the surface, ready to emerge when men are opposed by women. Goneril, Regan, and Nature “herself” are at fault, and Lear now deems Cordelia guiltless. But these conclusions are Lear’s, and not necessarily those of the text, and indeed they play a leading role in Lear’s derangement. The audience is drawn into this perverse logic, bolstered by skewed definitions of the natural and positing an all-too-hasty condemnation and glorification of the daughters. *

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4. The first scene of the play has long been recognized to have a fairy-tale structure that again divides the three sisters into reductive moral categories. The folklorist Alan Dundes confirms that the story is of the Cinderella type (although a different subtype), a structure with well-known iniquitous sisters.20 This configuration pushes archetypal buttons in readers and audiences, resonating strongly for those accustomed to Western folklore.21 More significantly, however, Dundes argues that the play diverges from the folktale model, whose protagonist is not the father, but the daughter, who in many versions of the tale incestuously desires her father (356). He

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Dundes identifies it as the “tale type 923 Love Like Salt,” and “in 1892 Marian Roalfe Cox in her Cinderella, one of the first major full length comparative studies of a folktale, elected to call the initial elements in Cap o’ Rushes (tale type 510B) ‘King Lear judgment— Loving like salt’ ” (Dundes 355). Later, the folktale type was recategorized as “Catskin and labeled Type B1 (tale type 510B, The Dress of Gold, of Silver, and of Stars)” (Dundes 357). 21 DUNDES: The fairy tale projection also helps explain Cordelia’s relationship to her two sisters who are obviously the wicked older sisters (often step-sisters) in Cinderella and other märchen (362).





stresses that the play “reflects an older male’s reworking of a female-centered fairy tale” and concludes that it is a “girl’s fairy tale told from the father’s point of view” (365, 366). This familiar frame leads viewers precipitously into a simplistic reading. Critics recognize the Cinderella theme but disagree on the effect.22 Since Shakespeare alters the tale significantly in one way by casting the father as the protagonist, why not in another? A closer examination of the motivations driving the characters will show that this proverbial structure can no longer contain the “reality” that Shakespeare’s text amplifies. The drama’s women are too complex to be so pigeonholed; we are no longer in the world of the fairy tale. Still, this narrative patterning profoundly affects the audience. Coppélia Kahn thinks that the play “invites” such readings since the “plots, so often derived from fairy and folk tales, provide a substructure close to the patterns of childhood desire on which those simple, primitive stories are built” (“Excavating” 37). The frame may significantly affect how we perceive the family dynamics at work in the play. Marjorie Garber believes that today 22 BELSEY: Prompted ultimately, perhaps, by the story of the folktale daughters who profit by their hypocritical declarations, the play becomes preoccupied by the implications of the potential gap between words and things (53). DANBY: And once made, the distinctions of folk-tale are never revoked. The play in this first scene relies on the folk-tale (117). DRISCOLL: The fairytale division of the kingdom alerts us to the archetypal quality of King Lear (166). MILLARD: [We] align ourselves with the youngest, fairy-tale third child (144). WHITTIER: [The play] explosively sexualizes its literary and folkloristic sources (367). Other critics reexamine this pattern: ADELMAN: [The beginning] with its elements of fairy tale, thus has its roots in the memories of our childhood and the knowledge we had then, knowledge that is primitive and powerful because we feel it not as acquired or debatable, but as part of ourselves” (Twentieth 6). GRAHAM: [E]lements of ritual, morality play, and fairy tale . . . are seen to give way before the onslaught of political realism (439, n. 3). JAFFA: From the view that the story of King Lear is an absurd fairy tale, Coleridge infers that none of the action initiated by Lear in Scene I is to be take seriously (407). MCFARLAND: [I]n the two-dimensional fairy-tale motif of Lear’s processional entrance at the beginning and his arbitrary dividing of his kingdom into three . . . , Goneril and Regan do assume the roles of wicked elder sisters to the Cinderella-like good third sister. But these are . . . not the profound process of the play itself . . . [in which] good and evil are conceptions with little purchase (98). ROSENBERG: The sisters are a controlling factor in the persistent ambiguity of the Lear equation. If they are at the beginning mythic harpies, allegories of evil, Cinderella sisters, Lear’s character is fixed and static (44). STOCKHOLDER: As Lear renders himself childlike, women acquire the magnitude of mothers in a child’s vision, and are configured into a fairy-tale split image of good and bad mothering. But this fairytale configuration merges with the analogical universe the adult Lear keeps in place. He amplifies his infantile split image of the mother into cosmic principles of good and evil (129). Rosenberg discusses this at length 329–335. See Rudnytsky for fairy-tale elements and gender (303).



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“in nonmonarchical cultures,” we mythologize the action: “Kingship may function as a metaphor, so that Lear is viewed primarily as a father, the head of a household, the father of daughters, his kingship receding into a notional world of fairy tale and nightmare” (651). This odd beginning of the play, replete with folktale categorization and moralization, once again contributes to injudicious evaluation of the daughters, this time on a subconscious level. *

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5. Both plots of the play deal with the disposition of an aging parent, portrayed more vividly through Lear’s family. This perennial domestic dilemma also gives rise to dualistic thinking about Lear’s daughters. The human desire to find a right and wrong way to respect one’s parent and yet continue to live one’s life forcefully underpins our response to the actions of all three daughters.23 The play’s appeal on strictly domestic and familial grounds is intense. Nearly all generations respond to this tragically bungled solution to the problem of “kind nursery” (TLN 132; 1.1.125), based on the love of one’s grown children. When Lear asks the heavens to “take [his] part” (TLN 1482; 2.2.381), Paul Kahn glosses, “And so we do, for we are the only ones listening. He describes ourselves. We may be old. Surely, we become old” (63). The character of the increasingly frail man, living through the demise of his body and mind in the storm, has always elicited great sympathy. The more the all-too-human Lear is pitied, the more his perceived adversaries, first Cordelia, then Goneril and Regan, become guilty. His own foolish pride and violence toward all three are somehow forgotten as many once again believe this faulty, far-from-credible character as he attributes his fall to women, shifting the blame conveniently from Cordelia to her sisters

23 CAVELL: We imagine that Lear must be wildly abused (blind, puerile, and the rest) because the thing works out so badly. But it doesn’t begin badly, and it is far from incomprehensible conduct. It is, in fact, quite ordinary. A parent is bribing love out of his children (60). DREHER: The victim of ego inflation, [Lear] had perceived his daughters and subjects as extensions of himself, their function only to please or accommodate him (72). FOAKES: In our world, one in which the problems of an ageing population and of the poor and homeless loom large, Lear’s character is shaped by his plight in the storm scenes, feeling what wretches feel, as a pathetic old man who only wishes he could “forget and forgive” (“Reviving” 202). SCHAFER: [Director Helena Kaut-Howson says] My mother’s death alerted me to many of the issues that are central to King Lear, like this difficult existential problem of ageing and changing, the shift of generations, the transfer of power from one generation to another which can never happen without a trauma (143). See Collington for the misogyny expressed by Early Modern family men (188).





when things do not go his way, and then to Nature “herself.” He is a man going mad, disintegrating in front of us and evoking our pity. Despite his apparent dementia, his complaint appeals to our own mortal fears of aging as well as to the sexist expectation that daughters, rarely sons, must care for aging parents. Culture has shaped interpretation through our views and guilt about the old, and the daughters who will not comply with Lear’s demands come to stand for ingratitude. Lear tells us this, and we too often believe him. *

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6. One of the reasons an audience believes Lear is because Shakespeare’s language in this play, especially Lear’s intelligent, darkly humorous utterances on the moors, is a tour de force. The magniloquence of Lear’s ravings largely establishes the greatness of this drama.24 Like Hamlet’s penetrating soliloquies, we see in Lear’s despair and crumbling reason the dark reflection of our own struggle to keep from falling over the edge. Gloucester dramatizes the fall into hopelessness, but Lear articulates it. The startlingly acute mixture of humor and wisdom, pathos and drama, cannot be overestimated. His majestic speeches, even in their demented forms, represent the cracking of not necessarily the great man beloved by traditional critics, but of the only-too-human “fool,” as Shakespeare relentlessly puns. Iska Alter argues that after all that happens to him, Lear “retains majesty because his language is allowed to propel and control the play.”25 It is possible, however, to interpret the play with sensitivity to both father and daughters. Lear need not win in some tired contest for the audience’s partisanship for the play to be a deeply gripping study of the human condition. Many of us relate to Lear not because we too are kings and parents (although some undoubtedly do for those reasons), but because this thoughtless man can superbly express his pain and even some of his errors. His words make us his compatriots, and his perceived antagonists, his daughters, our own. We are led to disparage Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia because the lunatic Lear is. His absolutist reversal of which of his children is unscrupulous and which upright typifies his flawed thinking, not the moral of the intense human drama before us. The text’s grandeur and 24 ALFAR: [Lear’s] method of utterance exaggerates his age and weakness, so that Lear approaches the ceremony he has arranged theatrically (Fantasies 88). 25 ALTER: [The] linguistic energy unloosed by madness confers upon the character continued authority and forges the audience’s response to the mad, despairing king (152). KAHN, P.: [We] sympathize with [Lear] and accept his perception that his daughters are mistreating him. In the contest for power over the audience, Lear wins (64).



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sublimity show the scope of Lear’s human anguish, but the victim of the anguish does not understand its true source. McLuskie adds that both Lear and Albany brilliantly articulate apocalyptic demise, projecting the “appearance of truthful universality which is an important part of the play’s claim to greatness” (99). We are swept up in Lear’s eloquence and our own pity for a shattered being. This pity need not be lost in a feminist interpretation. The power of the tragic ending, for example, is diminished if the women whose bodies cover the stage are hackneyed characters, mere symbols of a sexist taxonomy of the female. *

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Unfortunately, many resist a reading that provides a full assessment of the daughters by identifying with Lear’s pervasive misogyny, perhaps in part because our world still allows for and incorporates into it both vicious attacks on or subtle debasements of women. The play does not “show” us these women as monsters; it demonstrates how the world forces women into roles that others perceive as monstrous. Cordelia herself presents this argument when Lear accuses her of unnaturalness; “It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, / No unchaste action or dishonoured step” (TLN 249–250; 1.1.229–230) that leads to his “monstering” her. Kelly reminds us that what is “marked in production” can produce “[f]eminist sympathies” (“See What” 145). Audiences construct meaning even more overtly than readers do when they respond to a written text. So, in a special sense, we today “read” the produced play and make it our own. Shakespeare provides us with many opportunities to expose how systems or characters work against an individual’s right to exist and flourish. A play that carefully questions “acceptable” feminine behavior in relation to the Lacanian Father figures in the play and to one’s own father reveals how these structures negatively affect the people involved. Thus, if productions can eliminate innate misogyny, we can transform the play from a mirror of bigoted cultural tradition into an intricate drama with complete, believable women characters. * *

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Power or Love? Critics and directors perennially face the question of how to approach King Lear. Kiernan Ryan calls it a “theatrical art . . . beyond the reach of historicist, feminist and psychoanalytic approaches as they are currently





conceived” (11). Nevertheless, two critical stances are commonly debated.26 Richard Halpern puts the question most provocatively: “What does Lear suffer from: hysteria or historia?” He asks whether one should read the play in a “psychoanalytic, ethical, and personal register or in a political and historical one.” He believes that neither critical approach “manages fully to supplant or eradicate the other” (215). Complicating things further, Dan Brayton argues that the drama hinges on the political distribution of space, even when it is obsessing about the female body. Thus, he thinks that the “familial-psychological” interpretations of the play have been formerly prioritized over the “material-historical” ones such as his own and Greenblatt’s (405). Although feminist commentators in the past have found themselves in the former group, Alfar, Brayton, and others are now showing how power is intertwined with the gender dimensions of the text. This debate has expanded,27 and criticism has refined itself, bringing more nuance to the behavior of the play’s characters. A few clarifications: this study employs the word “power” with the more conventional meaning of control or rule—control asserted by the official authority and its accompanying political manifestations—not as a Foucauldian term denoting the subtle agentless negotiations of cultural

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NOVY: Shakespeare’s plays are concerned with both power and relationship. Lear, for example, depends on power—even though he thinks he wants to give it up—and he wants love (Love’s 159–60). Paul Kahn organizes his study of law and love in the play around these issues (1–7). 27 Hidalgo accuses new historicists of “erasing women” from the play. She accuses Greenblatt of infantilizing the grown women characters in his comparison of women in the play to an infant boy in “Lear’s Anxiety” (47–81). “But the fact remains that it is Greenblatt who has advanced the proposition that there was only one gender, the male gender, on the Elizabethan stage, that because boy actors cross-dressed as women, ‘characters like Rosalind and Viola pass through the state of being men in order to become women. Shakespearean women are in this sense the representation of Shakespearean men’ (Greenblatt Negotiations 92)” (Hidalgo 48–49). Thompson’s “Are There Any Women in King Lear?” reviews the critical debate between feminists and new historicists. See also Ryan 7–8. Boose outlines the debate between feminists and new historicists as well and usefully discusses how theory has shaped perception (“Family” 618–26). Feminists are accused of being overly psychoanalytic in their approach to the play but not historical enough. New historicists are accused of not considering the psychological issues at hand. Bevington (“Two Households”) calls for a truce. We see, as do many feminists today, that gender informs both interpretive paths and triggers both the public and private crises of the play. Byles reminds us that gender makes some of our generalizations untenable: “Stephen Greenblatt’s account of the ‘astronomical’ extent to which the Renaissance man fashioned himself, gives us countless very attractive examples of the mutability and flexibility of male personality as it grew psychically, politically, and religiously . . . Only the last freedom was offered to women” (38).



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sway. Still, our multiple interpretive paths uncover a genealogy of character for the daughters. Additionally, “history” is employed in a more generalized sense. Little is known about the legendary time of the reign of King Lear, although productions interestingly speculate on this, such as when Stonehenge functions as a backdrop. Some feminist interpretations fruitfully exploit the political and historical dimensions of Shakespeare’s Early Modern age. The readings we offer in the following chapters could very well work with historical specificity encompassed in setting and costume, as some of our conjectures indicate. The patriarchal underpinning of Shakespeare’s day and even our own finds itself in our projections. Also, psychological assessments can range between possible Freudian and Lacanian profiles to sociological and metaphysical conceptions of self. As a working format, then, the analyses that follow will address concerns of the family and love as well as of the state and power. Lear in a sense pivots on the interaction of the two realms, the overlapping of private and public. One could argue, of course, that the true greatness of the text lies in its interplay between them.28 Still, no one production of a Shakespeare play can do it all. Both public and private concerns, as feminists have argued for decades, intertwine for women, and both the public and private spheres are delimited differently for women than for men in our world and in the “world of the play” that any enactment must create. The stage has always creatively investigated these interactions, and these readings are mediated through its potent and demanding lens. *

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The Folio Text One of the first decisions theatrical practitioners make in producing Shakespeare is the selection of text, and King Lear offers a particularly rich opportunity. Although feminist interpretations can be achieved with either Quarto or Folio version of the text, the Folio proves better for such a project, since it presents a somewhat altered story. As recently as 2005, R. A. Foakes, citing the example of Lear, argued that character study, long eschewed in criticism, may be worth returning to, in that since we admit the instability of the text, we should consider how character may also be

28 PHELAN: In Lear, the conjunctions and disjunctions of the political and the personal are part of what give the play its enduring interest (25).





“indeterminate” (“Reviving” 193).29 Even more intriguingly, he points out that “Shakespeare himself in all probability changed his conception of the characters between the appearance of the Quarto of 1608 and the Folio text of 1623” (“Reviving” 193). Textual scholars today are intensely interested in the two main versions of the play, and we are indebted to them for their insightful work. The new 2008 edition of the Norton Shakespeare prints three versions of the play: the Quarto, the Folio, and a conflated script. The wide-ranging discussion of the merits or authority of both original versions can be simplified for the purpose here. The later 1623 First Folio may be a revision, possibly by Shakespeare, after the 1608 Quarto was staged and difficulties in production became apparent. Foakes’s Arden edition provides extensive notes on the differences (119–146). In terms of content, the Folio famously mollifies the invasion by the French army, but also changes the play by its numerous omissions and few additions, including its stage directions. Notably, it generally displays a more indefinite ethical atmosphere from which to view and judge Lear’s daughters, thus enhancing their complexity. Scholars note without question the introduction of a different Goneril in the Folio. Foakes comments that the Folio’s changes “make it less clear who is right and who wrong in the relations between Lear and his daughters” (Arden 146). In an article minutely contrasting Goneril in both versions, Randall McLeod warns against even the conflated texts by stressing the Folio’s laudatory distinctions: “F[olio] offers a vision of somewhat greater moral ambiguity than does Q[uarto], a subtlety that does not survive eclectic conflation” (171). Such inquiry can be extended to Lear’s other daughters. Some complain that the Folio’s omissions diminish Cordelia (Ioppolo 167–83), but she is arguably more interesting, more soldier than saint. A number of the moralistic and even misogynistic lines of Albany, Kent, Edgar, an unnamed gentleman, and servants are cut in the Folio, leaving assessment more to the audience. Many small changes can make a profound impression on an audience. We address these and other alterations in detail in the following chapters, but collect together the most prominent to demonstrate the forceful difference these changes make to the presentation of the daughters. Hence, one could venture the subsequent compelling reinterpretations based on textual variations. In the Folio text, Cordelia proves stronger in the first scene and Lear more manipulative, simulating a poor dying man. Later, Goneril is more 29 FOAKES: Interiority and consciousness are produced in the mind of the critic or spectator, not in the text or action of the play, and perhaps only with a constant awareness of a range of possibilities for interpretation can character criticism thrive (“Reviving” 204). See also the recent Shakespeare and Character, edited by Yachnin and Slights.



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reasonable about the retainers and less critical about her old father, and Regan becomes more cautious about Lear’s men and more in tune with her sister. Regan, Goneril, and Cornwall are, in the Folio, three rulers in agreement about banning Lear’s dangerous retinue, presumably thinking that he has ridden off with them in attendance. Still later, the spying for France (in 3.1) is stressed in the Folio, justifying the blinding of Gloucester more, and the Dover invasion is downplayed. The political upheaval is attributed to the power struggle between the dukes, not to the daughters’ treatment of Lear. Additionally, the Folio omits the mock-trial of Goneril and Regan, creating less sympathy for Lear or at least less antipathy for the sisters. The argument between Goneril and Albany, now abridged, weakens the effect of Albany’s poisonous characterization of Goneril and her own hatred of him. The Folio omits the whole of 4.3, an omission that renders Cordelia less saintly because the overly idealistic lines of the judgmental Kent and the Gentleman are gone. This also makes Cordelia’s final assessment of her sisters more ambiguous. The Folio likewise shapes the end of the play differently. Cordelia and later Regan are described “with Drum and Colours” (TLN 2350, 2845), enhancing their military roles. Regan and Goneril, now less trivial in their jealousy, become more focused on the war than on their competition for Edmund. Goneril at the conclusion is more aware of the melodramatic repercussions of her vying with Regan for Edmund. Albany’s more ambiguous role makes him less stridently offered as a model of behavior, and the kingdom, and last lines, now fall to Edgar. *

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Using this Book Our interpretations are not created in a vacuum, as our subtitle indicates. We have included other critics’ statements in our text, but have relegated most of these to the notes so that our argument can be more easily followed. We liberally quote others to create a useful guide for those who wish to follow up on these sources. We should add, however, that we often do not agree with all aspects of these critics’ arguments. Indeed, some commentators may find themselves ill-used by the selection of lines we have abstracted from their writings. For example, many critics try to rehabilitate Goneril and Regan as they appear in the earlier scenes, but then lapse into stereotyping their actions later in the play, when their behavior becomes





enigmatic, distasteful, or arguably reprehensible, but no more so than other Shakespearean characters such as Macbeth and Richard III. Also, critiques from many years ago at times find a place in this work. We look to judgments that offer challenging insights and bring together sometimes vastly different theoretical approaches by merging appraisals. As with working dramaturgy, the contexts of the criticism mean less than the successful characterizations on the stage. We value the insights of all the critics we quote, even if their overall assessments do not align with our own, or if their judgments originate in earlier notions of the play. We employ their direct and astute judgments of the human complexity embedded in Shakespeare’s text at particular moments in the drama. Productions, after all, like all interpretations to some degree, assimilate views to arrive at a workable vision. We overlap performance criticism in coupling staging with critical passages that bolster theatrical choices. The passages assembled, sometimes but not always the most significant in the play, buttress and explore theatrical imaginings. As in the working theatre, commentary is adopted according to the needs of interpretative choices. Furthermore, the dearth of critical evaluation of the older daughters in the later scenes reflects Shakespeare scholars’ neglect of these characters, for all the reasons we list above. Our discussions consciously address this phenomenon, as we strive to follow carefully the journey of each daughter throughout the action. We have found that this process keeps us honest in our projections and brings depth to the interpretations we proffer. Throughout, new line readings based on the Folio variations spur fresh insights. We also refer to contemporary events, such as the Abu Ghraib scandal, and other non-Shakespearean scholarship—such as that on alcoholism and sibling status—much like a working dramaturg would to make a production more immediate for its audience. We turn to timely reflections on torture and recent psychological insights on the family for ways to suggest new interpretations of the women of the play. These contemporary contexts are folded into our discussion and work to underscore the radically different ways that this story can be told. This play is undoubtedly a majestic work about human suffering. We are not attempting to underestimate the significance of Lear’s own journey, but know that the text and indeed a long critical and stage history have adequately brought his path to light. We strive not to belittle any characters, despite the plentiful blame available in the tragic storyline. Indeed, our assessments of the male characters are often supported by the fine insights of those critics not concerned with a feminist approach. The subsequent chapters address the scenes in which Lear’s daughters appear. We begin with the first scene and consider all three daughters



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individually. The book makes overt the practice of combining scholarship and interpretive projections, bringing together the best thinking on the women of Lear and ultimately constituting a refashioning of them. We now turn to the women, presented here in sundry ways to give King Lear yet one more new beginning for those willing to entertain this notion. In such a project, merely to assert that these women can come alive without being stereotyped is not good enough. The following chapters, therefore, convey how this can be done.







The Trial: Goneril, Politician and Appeaser (Act 1, scene 1)

Preface: Lear’s World Placing in perspective the speeches and actions of Lear’s daughters means examining the world that Lear created before the start of the play. Each daughter must react to this world as the story begins and subsequently will attempt in varying ways to change it. Although every production must assess its own “world of the play” and present it on the stage, this book creates worlds on the page to fashion and test feminist analysis, since the reader’s perception of the women’s characters will depend upon the setting. To imagine the story with fresh eyes, this study will entertain specific choices in actions and motivations deriving from the play’s shifting political and social environments. Thus, a first interpretation sees the Lear family, at the same time wifeless and motherless, as embodying the masculine power of the patriarchy. The action informed by such a reading emphasizes how this evidently gendered power is disrupted by the women in the play, as all three daughters find themselves in political positions traditionally held by violence. Lear’s ensuing madness derives in part from a resistance to a female governmental system antithetical to his fundamental ideological framework. Each character can be viewed as bartering for a position of some power, and the language of the text, as well as the love professed, denied, exaggerated, and diminished, is an encoded negotiation of strength and weakness. Each daughter demonstrates her new beginning as a power broker.



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One of the first questions that arises in conceiving the daughters as fully realized women is how they could have an active, meaningful role within a patriarchal society. Shakespeare’s Early Modern audience would view Goneril, the eldest daughter of a sonless monarch, as the next ruler of the land. If a rendering of her character proceeds from this premise, it would drastically change the interpretation of her performance in the love test, which is really more of a loyalty test. From this perspective, Lear is not asking for declarations of “love” as much as assurances of absolute allegiance; his question is merely couched in courtly diction, as Kent demonstrates when introduced to the seemingly inconsequential Edmund directly before Lear’s entrance, “I must love you, and sue to know you better” (TLN 33; 1.1.29). Goneril’s legacy (not just property, but more pointedly rule) is apparently being parceled off. Readers examine and assess Hamlet’s response to his lost throne; why not Goneril’s or, for that matter, Regan’s? Cordelia’s response to an aborted legacy is after all a major part of the action of the play. This world of Lear stresses the political and even the military in a story about war, wherein each character must face the exchange and negotiation of power indicated by Lear’s speech about his enigmatic “darker purpose” (TLN 41; 1.1.35). This is a “man’s” world in which every move is a power play. A challenging feminist reading of the sisters is to establish them as women who judge that they have a right to shape the rule of Britain. Although the play has often been set in a military milieu, this portrayal of the sisters—as future rulers of Britain—would capitalize on this environment by concentrating on how the daughters consciously accept their martial heritage and proudly endeavor to flourish in such a given circumstance. In this way, they are positioned as strong individuals, worthy children of the formidable man who fathered them. In such an atmosphere of warlike struggles, Lear’s world could be imagined as pivoting on violence, as critics have noted, and all three daughters would be responding in kind.1 But gender becomes integral in this patterning. Alfar examines how the characters in the play and subsequent readers of it interpret aggressive women leaders who “defy orthodox notions of appropriate feminine conduct” negatively because they display a “violation of nature.” Alfar contends that we are witnessing the “cultural prejudices” of critics, not so much the opinions of the playwright (80–81). These same cultural prejudices and expectations suggest the need for a stronger interpretation if one is to avoid denigrating Goneril and Regan. If they shape their new government on Lear’s model, a contemporary audience

1 FOAKES: Lear teaches his daughters and their husbands by example how violence may be used to maintain power (Violence 148).



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is bound to view them unsympathetically as women acting “unnaturally,” as do the male characters in the play. A feminist approach could imagine a Goneril who intends to reject her father’s dominant ideology and create a shared form of government in which her sisters are equal players, reflected in her communications with Regan in the first acts. Eschewing Lear’s topdown masculinist model, Goneril and Regan initially favor a radical horizontal structure that encourages cooperation and equal investment. In this interpretation, Goneril and Regan, like any new rulers, want to alter the current system to suit their political agenda and style. They know that their father successfully governed by intimidation, masculine right, and military force, but they instead look to refashion those strategies. This notion may not be so strange. Provocative textual evidence suggests that Goneril and Regan attempt shared rule. Lear unknowingly supports this design by dividing the kingdom between his daughters, unconsciously initiating the very structure he will fiercely oppose. Goneril tells Regan, “Pray you let us sit together” (TLN 328; 1.1.304–5), as they return to their own castles to establish the rule of the land. This moment could be one starting point for a feminist interpretation that subverts an authoritarian structure of governance, offering an interesting beginning for the two sisters’ political aspirations. Goneril has spent a lifetime strategizing about forming a new kind of management, and now that Lear is retiring, she realizes that she may actually be able to institute her vision. Regan and Goneril, then, share a goal of reshaping their country in a more humane, democratic fashion, one that threatens the male-controlled status quo. This, however, positions Goneril and Regan as “other” in Lear’s masculine culture. Although shared rule breaks down in the course of the action, its daring attempt fashions a journey far more devastating for the women in the long run. In pursuit of this ideal, they lose their spouses, their dream of communal government, and eventually their lives. The turning point for both Goneril and Regan is when they realize that their administrative structure cannot survive the hostility of Lear and his men, at which point they make the fatal mistake of reverting to his political model. The later, more militaristic, reactions of Goneril and Regan to their father are a form of learned behavior, informed by Lear’s presumably lifelong behavior toward his subjects. This learned behavior is also reflected in the fact that Cordelia leads an army against her native land. Lear, as a result of his abdication, loses power throughout the action, but he continues to be obsessed with it. And even the minor male characters proceed politically. Kent and Gloucester, both staunch supporters of Lear’s old kingship, become spies. Albany finds himself, like the Fool, at odds with women’s rule, nostalgic for life as it was under Lear’s leadership.



Goneril, Politician and Appeaser


France is the strategic leader he presumably would have been as the head of a foreign land, and Edmund’s ambitions and schemes position him in a strange but doomed compliance with the older daughters’ governance. Cornwall asserts his need for authority, and Lear’s men, most tellingly of all, abandon the powerless Lear. Alternately, Lear’s world can be conceptualized as one of rigid and doomed family structures: in essence, as a study in compromised or denied love driving a dysfunctional family. All three women can be fashioned more as daughters than as rulers, but not necessarily as stereotypical daughters. Goneril and Regan can thus be viewed as wise siblings who know how the world works, patiently waiting to receive the love due from their father. Cordelia reacts as less than a daughter in the first scene, but as some kind of fantasized one at the end, capable of killing others for her father, but forgiving him all. This interpretation shifts the emphasis from the militaristic world of power (the political informing the personal) to a domestic world (the personal informing the political), where the complexities of family relationships dictate the action. In such a world, Goneril and Regan well understand their father’s need for control and undivided affection. Catherine Belsey succinctly notes that “if Lear misunderstands the meaning of kingship, he also tragically misconstrues the nature of kinship” (59). In this psychological reading of the play, Goneril has spent her life paving the way for her younger siblings, and, as the eldest, has had the most difficult childhood. Given the absence of the Mother, she has often been called upon to fill that void for her sisters. Regan and Cordelia are integral to whatever familial world is imagined. An affective coloring may also lead to the oftendiscussed question of incest between Lear and one or all of the daughters. Rudnytsky finds clues for this reading in Lear’s own language. The phrase “darker purpose” “carries a sinister undertone of female sexuality in the play” and is part of Lear’s unwitting attempt to keep an “incestuous hold over Cordelia,” which triggers his abdication (305). In this family drama, Lear may have been functional in the affairs of state, but his behavior toward his daughters is emotionally or even physically abusive.2 In addition, many textual moments underscore a reading involving incest. In such a world, one would look to find other familiar, understandable reasons for Lear’s crumbling mind and abusive behavior. The choice involved in representing Lear’s motivation directly impacts an audience’s ability to sympathize with the plight of the sisters. One possible source

2 QUILLIGAN: Cordelia’s refusal to speak demonstrates by negative example how authoritative female speech in the Renaissance is linked with, indeed may be enabled by, the discourse of incest (1).



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of Lear’s erratic, aggressive actions is here imagined to be years of alcohol abuse, a conjecture not as strange as it may seem, since many of the text’s problematic moments become more lucid with this notion. Given a current climate that is more sensitive to the pathology of human addictions, one could question whether Lear’s alcoholism would demean him or make his later speeches less grand. An audience certainly recognizes Falstaff’s addictions, and they do not detract from his keen intelligence. And Lear, unlike Falstaff, seems to “recover” from his affliction later in the play. Alcoholism could help explain, if not legitimize, his monumental rage. We should challenge why interpreters might prefer to explain Lear’s behavior in terms of frenzied masculine ire, especially in light of female resistance, rather than ascribe it to a common and reasonable cause; that is, an unnamed madness too easily blamed on demonized women is favored over a plausible, admittedly less flattering, defect in Lear. A fundamental source of the familial problem is Lear’s own and perhaps habitual personal behavior, which can be deduced from his actions and those of his followers. Goneril’s vivid description in 1.4 strongly suggests this household environment: “Epicurism and Lust / Makes it more like a Tavern, or a Brothel, / Than a graced Palace” (TLN 753–55; 1.4.235–37). If indeed this demeanor is characteristic of Lear, as the Fool and Kent seem to indicate, and not a result of his retirement, then it provides significant insight into the dynamics of the family. In a domestic world, the lone parent’s character could certainly determine family deportment, and so Lear’s erratic and highly emotional behavior defines the life of his family. Therefore, mental illness, incestuous impulses, and drinking could haunt the Lear family line and contribute to his breakdown.3 Such readings explore how the family relies on alcohol and other escapist methods to tolerate one another and the bleak world they inhabit. Lear’s self-imposed retirement is the result of the toll that his emotional maladies have taken on his failing mind and body. A man in precarious health, he now longs to pursue pleasure with his men and be cared for by his daughters, not unreasonable expectations as such. But Lear takes this further. Critics have long questioned the old man’s motivations, and some, like Adelman, view him as a man looking for his daughters to become, in essence, his mother.4 In such a construct, the older daughters’ tactics for interacting with their 3 ROSS: Lear, like the analysand, plummets and hits “rock bottom” in order to discover there the essence of need, desire, identity, authenticity and love. Along the way, Cordelia, Kent, the Yoda-like Fool and Edgar figure as Lear’s successive analysts (65). 4 ADELMAN: [After he gives his daughters] control over the extended body that is his kingdom, Lear would make them his mothers, deliberately putting himself in the position of infantile need from which he will experience the rest of the play (Suffocating 116).





father would have developed over time. And Cordelia’s abrupt switch from rebellious child to abject caretaker would make more sense. Given this reading, it is possible to see how the minor male characters’ reactions also reveal overt psychological desires. Kent and the Fool, grieving for the drunken camaraderie of Lear’s manly world, are disastrously challenging the sentiments of Lear’s older daughters. Albany and Gloucester cannot give up their blind love for the old man and the comforting gender and familial hierarchy his existence preserves. France and Cornwall, seemingly so different, are both fulfilling highly emotional needs with their marriages. And Edmund, a similarly rejected child, responds powerfully to the regard of Regan and Goneril. Significantly, Lear’s men forsake their old leader as soon as the party is over. Feminist portrayals of the women require readers to tease out the ramifications of life in this fictional realm, however defined. Clearly, through their language and their actions, the daughters wrestle with the constraints of their environment, and each fails to find her place in Lear’s world. *

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Act 1 scene 1 Goneril In the first scene of the play, Lear turns to his daughters and commands them to speak. Rutter provocatively recommends interrogating not Lear’s drama, but that of his daughters, the story that “begins with his command to speak and ends with their dead silence” (“Eel” 174). The women’s speeches in this first scene channel perceptions of them throughout the play. Many productions show Cordelia and Lear transgressing in these early lines, Cordelia through her rigid resistance to the test and Lear through his immediate and excessive anger. These two characters start out “bad” but evolve into stereotypical perceptions of “good” in later scenes. Conversely, Goneril and Regan, who begin their discursive life as exemplary daughters, professing love, are reinterpreted as ingrates in subsequent scenes. How can a feminist interpretation reconfigure the presentation of Goneril to avoid simplification? At what points in the play can the diminishment of her character be challenged and conceived anew? How are her lines confined by past productions? Why does she say what she says and do what she does? Finally, how can her journey from obedient daughter to a



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woman who kills her sister and then herself be negotiated successfully on the stage? For this performative analysis of a militaristic milieu, Goneril is a woman who expects to be heir to the throne. William O. Scott argues that “absent any positive action on [Lear’s] part, the principle of primogeniture, with respect to royal title although not to property inheritance, would have provided that on his death rule would go to his eldest, Goneril” (39). Goneril, on command, responds to the allegiance question with the following: Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty, Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare, No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: As much as Child ere loved, or Father found. A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable, Beyond all manner of so much I love you. (TLN 60–66; 1.1.55–61)

Although Goneril’s first lines in the play are often critiqued as deviously hypocritical and excessive, commentary lately has challenged this.5 As a daughter who eventually fights her father, she is judged retroactively in this first part of the play. Her first words are highly condemned and cited as a manifest example of hypocrisy, but are they?6 No less a theatrical practitioner than Peter Brook questions this assessment. He believes that rigid notions of literary meaning lead to “deadly theatre” and uses the case of Goneril to make his point: Once, when giving a lecture on this theme . . . there was a woman in the audience who had neither read nor seen King Lear. I gave her Goneril’s first speech and asked her to recite it as best she could for whatever values she found in it. She read it very simply—and the speech itself emerged full of eloquence and charm. I then explained that it was supposed to be the speech of a wicked woman and suggested her reading every word for hypocrisy. She tried to do so, and the audience saw what a hard unnatural wrestling with the simple music of the words was involved when she sought to act to a definition . . . Anyone can try this for himself. Taste it on the tongue. The words

5 DREHER: Goneril and Regan have accommodated him by fitting their words to the fortunes they desire, an inevitable result in a contest which measures rhetoric, not affections (66). See Alfar on how Goneril is simply matching Lear’s “theatrics” (89–90). 6 BELSEY: Honest or dissembling, speech can incur banishment or earn property, and it hardly matters for the purpose whether the words match anything outside themselves (53–54).




Re-Visioning Lear’s Daughters are those of a lady of style and breeding accustomed to expressing herself in public, someone with ease and social aplomb. As for clues to her character, only the facade is presented and this, we see, is elegant and attractive. Yet if one thinks of the performances where Goneril speaks these first lines as a macabre villainess, and looks at the speech again, one is at a loss to know what suggests this—other than preconceptions of Shakespeare’s moral attitudes. In fact, if Goneril in her first appearance does not play a “monster,” but merely what her given words suggest, then all the balance of the play changes. (16–17)

In a world of power-driven politics, Goneril could be seen as demonstrating her willingness to participate in the patriarchal order, despite her father’s lack of support for her individually and his overt preference for Cordelia. A politically astute Goneril would recognize the necessity of fulfilling the monarch’s desires, especially if the exchange took place publicly with military men present. Novy notes that “in flattering Lear they are doing a service that women are traditionally expected to do for men. Of them, as well as of his subjects, Lear could say ‘They told me I was everything’ ” (Love’s 152). More immediately, Goneril is a married woman denied her dowry until this critical moment, a circumstance that undoubtedly became definitional for the power base of a duchess. Brian Crick tells us that this may be a “source of grievance” for both older daughters, since they “must await their favoured youngest sister’s marriage before receiving their dowries” (70). The elaborate patriarchal dowry system, with its overt commodification of women to keep them under control, is yet one more characteristic of the single-powered masculinist monarchy that the sisters contend with and hope to undermine. The older daughters are aware of their loss of power in Lear’s adherence to the patriarchal mainstay of women’s dowries. The challenge is always how to translate interesting theoretical approaches into plausible interpretations so that preconceptions of characters or situations fade away. To test feminist criticism, consider Goneril entering a formal, political setting in which she acknowledges the subjects or military men who bow with almost forced respect as she passes. If the men respond with obvious coolness towards Goneril, this establishes the unsupportive, masculine atmosphere in which she must negotiate. Goneril is here pursuing shared rule; she is envisioned as deliberately but surreptitiously making reassuring physical contact with her sisters as she passes them to reinforce her political vision. Conscious that this gesture must not be construed as threatening to Lear or his men, she couches her physical contact in the guise of a formal sisterly greeting, but is careful to ensure that her intent is not lost on her sisters. This enactment challenges the



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accepted notion that the women are jealous of one another and care only for personal power. A perceptive Goneril would be ever mindful that in a military world, the level of one’s power adjudicates the right to speak. Both the commands to speak and the serious repercussions of the responses reinforce this control. King Lear sifts notions of violence and patriarchy through the decisive sieve of language. This is the current political climate that this radically minded Goneril dreams of changing, but she must first successfully pass Lear’s public test. A specific theatrical choice can reinforce the notion that women’s speech is regulated in a masculinist realm. Contemplate Lear using psychological gestures that imperiously indicate his granting someone the right to speak as well as his right to prohibit it. Further, imagine these gestures repeated with all three daughters in the first scene, since repetition serves to plant an idea firmly in our consciousness. For example, Goneril skillfully demonstrates her acceptance of the rules of conduct by graciously allowing Lear to control her speech. She begins to talk once given permission, and she ceases when Lear gestures her to do so. Regan, attempting to gain acceptance of the military audience, then follows the same path as Goneril. On the other hand, a rebellious Cordelia, unbeknown to Lear, usurps his gestures by repeating them to the audience when she speaks her asides. This bold action demonstrates that Cordelia is attempting both to find her own voice and to wrest control of speech away from Lear. Lear’s first real speech, especially as the Folio presents it, with the “crawl toward death” addition, lays out an intricate set of motives and actions. Strong daughters could very well be surprised and shocked by Lear’s claim of weakness. When the more progressive Goneril learns that Lear plans to divide the kingdom in three and finally to “publish” his daughters’ dowers, she understands the importance of facilitating a peaceful transition (TLN 41–50; 1.1.35–44). Goneril is conceding the need to pacify Lear’s ego, and her keen intellect serves her well as she improvises a speech to meet her father’s demands. Lear tells us the test’s purpose is “That we, our largest bounty may extend / Where merit doth most challenge it.” The Folio changes the second line to “Where Nature doth with merit challenge . . . ” (TLN 57–58; 1.1.52–53). This very strange passage contradicts others. He says he plans to give proportional pieces of his kingdom dependent upon his daughters’ declarations of love. The addition of “Nature” in the Folio is suggestive. Foakes thinks that it means “natural affection,” thereby giving Cordelia the advantage (Arden 161), but this reading has its problems. Lear later hints to Cordelia to improve her love declaration “to draw / A third, more opulent than your Sisters” (TLN 91–92; 1.1.85–86). Contrary to his earlier lines, he





presumably has divided the kingdom unequally. But “Nature” may be more prophetic than this. Lear throughout the play sees nature as a fierce “other” that becomes associated with women and his downfall. Lear’s skewed notion of Nature does indeed “challenge” what he perceives as “merit” later. Goneril is asked by Lear to demonstrate how much she loves him, and she strives to please Lear by quantifying her love. In so doing, she demonstrates her willingness to follow official protocol, unthreatening to the male establishment. As a woman raised in a military world, she understands the consequence of winning the approval of the troops, men she and her sisters will eventually lead. To accomplish this, she must graciously submit to her father’s request for a declaration of love, thereby acquiescing to the present ideology. Even when placed in the uncomfortable position of declaring her love publicly, Goneril vigilantly fashions her first speech to placate the assembled audience. Goneril’s speech and motivations could be enhanced by following the Quarto edition’s reading of her first “Sir” (1.1.55) as a one-beat line. This allows Goneril a few moments to organize her thoughts, command the attention of those present, and bring additional weight to her words. Since her goal is to prove she is capable of sharing power, her careful, well-constructed reply is necessary to win over the men she hopes to command. Like Cordelia, Goneril begins her speech with a disclaimer about the impossibility of an answer, since she states that she loves Lear “more than word can wield the matter.”7 Another possibility is that Goneril pauses after she says this, as if this were all she had to say, and the other characters could then respond according to their individual agendas. An encouraged Cordelia momentarily thinks that Goneril is also unwilling or unable to profess her love. Regan anxiously awaits her elder sister’s reply to understand how to manage this verbal trial. Lear, on the other hand, reacts in such a way that persuades Goneril to speak in language pleasing to him. In this political atmosphere, Goneril would have no choice but to continue.8 Goneril improvises a speech to mollify her father and favorably impress those gathered. One simple pause has the power to change the way Goneril is interpreted and perceived. She is no longer a conniving woman who has prepared a declaration to secure as much property as possible. She is instead a seasoned member of a political family, one who needs to demonstrate her effective response to their military leader’s demands, and 7 BELSEY: The love test he imposes on his daughters places the emphasis on utterance . . . the inadequacy of language when it comes to defining a condition that is not purely linguistic (60). 8 Rutter parses Goneril’s political performance that in essence quantifies her love, just as Lear demanded (“Eel” 180).



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therefore is sincere, formal, and well-spoken. A militaristic court would surely have been tossed into an uncertain future once Lear announced his plan to retire, but Goneril’s successful handling of the situation puts them at ease. Alternately, in a rendering of this scene that emphasizes the familial perspective, picture Goneril and Regan, from years of enduring their father’s emotional mood swings and abusive alcoholic antics, playing along with him in his effort to set up his “kind nursery.” When the play opens, envision Lear’s family and guests eating and drinking heavily. To help keep their unpredictable father in good spirits, Goneril and Regan welcome abundant alcohol in such a gathering. Following their father’s lead, both women participate in the excessive drinking that defines this and probably most previous evenings, but Cordelia abstains. With the meal completed, Lear mischievously escorts the gathering into the family’s childhood nursery, blatantly revealing his infantile desires. Imagine him playing on an old rocking horse, gleefully requesting his daughters to shower him with words of love. In this enactment, the inebriated Lear physically treats his daughters as his mothers. Goneril in her first speech could be reacting to the dynamics of the family and a human need for love. When Lear commands that Goneril speak, she responds to her insecure father’s anxious assurance of love, as critics have implied.9 Goneril then specifically attempts to keep her unpredictable, perhaps even drunken, father in good spirits. She can be imagined jokingly playing along with his request, improvising as she goes, enjoying the hyperbole. To test this interpretation, imagine that, after several glasses of wine herself, Goneril makes a boisterous declaration of love by choosing and humorously exaggerating the words that will fulfill her father’s need for familial devotion. Goneril resembles the typical wife or mother in such a situation, and as the eldest child, has learned to pacify the violent father to protect the family. Goneril, most adept at reading and handling Lear’s many mood swings, would model behavior for her younger sisters. She answers him as he taught her, with immoderate language and loyalty. She sizes up her father’s mood and concludes that peace will be kept if they all play along with his perhaps habitual request for declarations of love. In this interpretation, Goneril initially assumes that the inebriated Lear creates this love test more out of sport than any serious intention. She then enters into the

9 See Rosenberg on how Lear begins the language of quantification taken up by Goneril (51).





ceremony thinking that Lear’s need for mothering will be adequately sated by all three daughters.10 Consider, as this Goneril improvises, she strives to top herself, describing at length how much she loves him. Working the amused crowd, she starts with “eyesight” but then leaps to the even greater “space” and then finally surpasses that with “liberty.” To reinforce this notion, the crowd can be envisioned as encouraging her, laughing or verbally acknowledging her success as she builds this hyperbolic case. Words such as “more,” “beyond,” “no less,” and “as much” receive additional, drawn-out stress to drive home her point blatantly. She then repeats the same verbal technique as she creates her second list, starting with “grace” and building to “honor.” Consider the impact if all present congratulated her efforts and openly approved of the prize Lear grants for her successful effort. Whatever the level of informality or parody, the speech would show that Goneril has risen to the occasion and managed to entertain both Lear and the others present. This is not inconsistent, however, with the behavior of a woman who truly cares that her father believes she loves him. If this is her intent, her only recourse in a setting that fashions a partylike environment is to match her protestations of love to the atmosphere in which they were requested. Goneril can also be viewed as a woman subjected to incestuous attention for years by her father, and thus she might deliver these same lines in a manner that reveals her pain.11 Picture Goneril’s discomfort as she is forced to stand and publicly speak words of love to an abusive Lear. The humiliating experience and her desire to avoid further degradation drive her careful choice of superlatives. To test this theory, assume that a self-conscious Goneril rises at her father’s request. She looks to her sisters for support and then, with her eyes downcast, begins to meet her father’s demands. This time, the words come out in a near monotone, as if this speech has been unwillingly delivered before to her demanding father.12 Embarrassed that she has once again acquiesced to Lear’s demands, she sits quietly after she finishes, not reacting to his offer of land.

10

ERICKSON: The motif of the missing mother is only a decoy, for the play’s “darker purpose” produces mother figures to fill the vacuum left by the absence of Lear’s wife (110). 11 QUILLIGAN: The “eyesight” that Goneril claims . . . signals the incestuous bent of Goneril’s speechifying (6–7). 12 GUYOL: Her display of hyperbole in the kingdom-dividing scene is the only instance of extravagant language used by Goneril, and it has the ring of a recitation—as if she had known or guessed what her father’s request would be and was ready for him (316).



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Cultural verbal practices suggest yet a different rationale behind Goneril’s speech. One is reminded of the exaggeration inherent in royal women’s diction in the Early Modern period. Rosenberg offers the example of a comparable letter from Queen Elizabeth I to her father, King James, from Canterbury, dated April 16, 1613, which helps to redefine the verbal environment.13 Goneril’s speech is not unusual for the circumstances. This seventeenth-century expression of love, typical or perhaps even expected of princesses, seems overlooked in the critical rush to make a judgment about the oldest daughter. Some assume that her speech reveals guilt and fabrication because the style of expression is alien to our own and because it conveniently reinforces a stereotype integral to an easy and reductive moralization about the daughters. But Goneril may actually love her father, despite her suspicion or even sure knowledge of his tyrannical needs. In an interpretation of the play that seeks to emphasize the power politics at work, Goneril will be judged by the reaction of other members of Lear’s family and his subjects. The response of Kent, who guides us in our alarm at Lear’s behavior, becomes particularly significant. In such a reading, Kent would be committed to maintaining the current political situation, and therefore approves of Goneril’s acquiescence to his commander’s test. Therefore, if Kent, the supposedly wise adviser, like the other men on stage, initially endorses the response, an audience will be less apt to doubt her sincerity. His later lines, contrasting Cordelia’s speech to that of her sisters, are then incautiously spoken in alarm, when he rises to defend Cordelia’s rash statements. He is a true proponent of this kind of courtly hyperbole, especially when it comes to praising Lear, whom he later goes to extraordinary length to support. Interestingly, the Folio adds “ . . . and with Champains riched / With plenteous Rivers” (TLN 69–70; 1.1.64–65) to Goneril’s allotment of land. This may have been inserted to make Goneril’s portion sound better, perhaps concealing the “more opulent” portion retained for Cordelia.14 Goneril is a poised woman who trusts that Lear’s equal distribution of land is both just and serves to maintain peace, and she therefore openly

13 See Rosenberg for the full letter, which uses words like “my eyes to weep their privation of the sight of the most precious object,” meaning James himself. Also note the phrases: “the flower of princes, the king of fathers” whom she “ceaselessly honour[s]” with “ardent affection” “even unto death.” Rosenberg adds, “Elizabeth, like Goneril, was married when she wrote this. . . . Note that what Goneril says here is exactly the right thing. She pleases her father” (51–2). 14 DOLLIMORE: Even kinship then—indeed especially kinship—is in-formed by the ideology of property relations, the contentious issue of primogeniture being, in this play, only its most obvious manifestation (199).





approves. She is not a nefarious woman doing whatever it takes to obtain control from others, but is instead someone hoping to redefine the very nature of power. Therefore, she is pleased by the division and acknowledges this by visually reaching out to her sisters in a show of solidarity. After her initial speech and until the final exchange, Goneril spends the rest of the scene reacting. A few key moments when characters refer to her directly and thus give focus to her reactions go a long way toward shaping our response to her character. An example is Goneril’s reaction to Regan’s declaration of love to Lear, when she says that “she [Goneril] comes too short” (TLN 77; 1.1.72). If one were to observe Goneril visibly angered by her sister, she would come across as a woman easily shaken, and one would assume that there was some tension between them. If, however, Goneril is presented as a woman understanding leadership, one who recognizes that Regan is responding to the demands of their father, not trying to outdo her, she could be portrayed as silently acknowledging this. Alternately, interpretations stressing the family dynamics at work could reveal a very different interaction between the older sisters at this moment. Goneril is either cajoling her imperious father or outright playing with him. Imagine a more intimate, informal crowd egging Regan on, expressing their disapproval of her copying Goneril’s answer to Lear’s request. The onlookers’ reaction then inspires Regan to quip, “Only she comes too short,” which gains their raucous appreciation. Goneril lifts her glass to Regan and toasts her victory. In this way, the sisters manage to keep their father in good spirits, and the evening is going smoothly. In a more public or military setting, Goneril, listening to her youngest sister’s words about dividing her love between father and husband, would perceive Cordelia’s unwillingness to participate in Lear’s love test as an egregious violation of public decorum. Goneril knows that Lear will not abide this overt disrespect and here tries to communicate this to her younger, more inexperienced sister. Goneril attempts to help Cordelia by furtively usurping Lear’s earlier psychological gesture, trying with this familiar courtly signal to effect Cordelia’s silence. A disappointed Goneril then must stand mutely by as her ideal of shared rule, which included the favored Cordelia, is ineluctably altered. Aware of the political ramifications, Goneril witnesses her dream fade. This interchange can be imagined differently if family and societal themes are emphasized. Consider that when it is Cordelia’s turn to speak, Goneril approaches her supportively to give her the same sign of reinforcement she gave Regan, perhaps even offering her a drink. A censorious Cordelia stops her sister’s advance with a look or gesture when she speaks her first “Nothing” (TLN 93; 1.1.87). As Cordelia makes her stand, Goneril does not intercede. When Cordelia brings both Regan and



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Goneril into her argument with the line “Sure I shall never marry like my Sisters” (TLN 110; 1.1.103), the two older women very naturally exchange a knowing look between them. In more historically or politically based productions, Lear, in a consistently patriarchal move, then righteously gives the reins of Britain’s government to both Cornwall and Albany (“This Coronet part between you” (TLN 147; 1.1.140)), instead of to Goneril and Regan. As an intelligent political strategist, Goneril would have anticipated this. She also understands that the division of the symbolic coronet is a political ploy on her father’s part to wound Cordelia, but realizes that if she and Regan join together and keep peace with Cordelia, a modified shared rule could be a reality. As the scene progresses, however, it becomes more and more obvious that Lear has no intention of relinquishing power. Thus, Goneril watches the action unfold, knowing full well the trials they will face. As France steps forward to claim Cordelia, Goneril recognizes the immense difficulties in future rule; any kind of triumvirate is now irreparably splintered. Cordelia’s partnership with France creates an uncertain political future for Britain. The final conversation between the three sisters is the only time they speak together in the play. In this brief but pivotal exchange, Goneril endeavors to assuage the fears of the politically dangerous France by shifting his new wife’s agenda away from issues about Lear to the domestic matter of pleasing a husband who could threaten Britain. Her words, then, are as much for France as they are for Cordelia. Goneril works to impress France with her level-headedness, revealing a leader worthy of respect in a patriarchy. Her delivery is careful, pointed, and without malice. Although this exchange is typically portrayed as an angry altercation between the sisters, Goneril tries to reach out to Cordelia. She sees herself as the more experienced elder daughter advising her young sister to keep the peace.15 Her choice of such words as “study,” “content,” “received you,” and “obedience scanted” (TLN 302–5; 1.1.278–81) all underscore Cordelia’s restrictive patriarchal duties. Goneril goes as far as she can in France’s presence. Both older sisters chastise their idealistic sibling. With the emphasis on familial themes, Goneril’s last words to Cordelia take on another nuance. Goneril does not disclose her assessment of the banishments of both Cordelia and Kent until the end of the scene. She knows that if Cordelia had placated their capricious father, all would have been well. She thus instructs her willful sister to see the world as it is, not the way she assumes it is. She carefully comments on the distraught

15 See Kelly on the repercussions of Cordelia’s sense of privilege (“See What” 141–42) and Rutter for Goneril’s political sense of speech (“Eel” 180).





Cordelia’s new position as wife and warns her of the dire consequences that “obedience scanted” has on women. Instead of trying to impress France, she is struggling to find terms that will caution her sister without revealing her agenda to France, making her delivery more halting. Searching for words such as “content,” “received,” and “scanted” to press her point to her sister, Goneril now issues a veiled warning about wifehood, since Cordelia so radically misjudged daughterhood. She is counseling a wayward, naïve sister. Claudette Hoover submits that “despite the frequent critical assumption that Goneril and Regan actively hate Cordelia, it is not at all clear that this is the case . . . it is surely important that after Cordelia’s departure from court neither sister mentions her again” (“Horrid” 51–52). The two older women are alone on the stage. As a newly made commander of half of Britain, Goneril has effectively interacted with France. She initiates the process of shared rule with Regan as she specifies the problems they may face with the violent Lear. The Folio omits “not” in the line “You see how full of changes his age is, the observation we have made of it hath [not] been little; he always loved our Sister most” (TLN 314–16; 1.1.290–92). Foakes thinks it is an oversight (Arden 178, n. 291), but maybe Goneril is truly saying they have taken too little care of curbing or at least noting Lear’s irrationality. This makes the statement one of partial responsibility; they could see it coming, but did not do enough to prevent his erratic behavior. This again suggests Goneril’s sense of duty. Perhaps unsure of what Lear’s “compliment of leave-taking” (TLN 327; 1.1.305) entails, Goneril assumes that Lear will either alienate France further or try to win him over; either would further undermine the transition of political power. Since Goneril is now alone with Regan, she is without the burden of having to carry out a public performance and hence she speaks in more informal prose, but in essential ways, the public and the private Goneril are one and the same. A thoughtful, able woman attempting to navigate a difficult situation, she has no secret agenda. Goneril realizes that they must deal with the problem. Significantly, the Folio version has “sit together,” not “hit together” (TLN 328; 1.1.304–5). Like many of the differences between the Quarto and Folio, this change presents less rigid caricatures of the older sisters. They are negotiating, finding their way in a very dangerous environment, one in which a daughter even more beloved than they has been banished.16

16 Alfar notes the daughters’ sensible concerns about Lear’s rash banishments of Cordelia and Kent (91), and that the scene shows no “malicious plan in regard to Lear, but that, instead, like their father, they wish to protect their new authority” (90).



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One can imagine a final image to symbolize their union. Earlier, as Lear was raging against Cordelia, he stripped off his baldric, the sash that denotes his political position, and threw it onto the stage floor. There it remains as an emblem of his abdication of power. Now, at the end of the scene, the sisters take up this baldric. To pledge their oath to this political union, Regan places the baldric around Goneril’s neck, acknowledging her right to assume ultimate leadership of the state. Goneril, wanting to make her vision unequivocal to her sister, removes it, and holding one end, places the other end in her sister’s hands. This gesture transforms Goneril from the power-hungry and corrupt woman she has so often been interpreted to be into one with a more altruistic dream. Shifting the environment to one of family dynamics drives another enactment. When the two older sisters remain on stage, their conversation could confirm that Goneril takes Lear’s need for domestic comfort from his daughters in her stride, assuming the duties of caretaker: “I think our Father will hence tonight” (TLN 312; 1.1.286–87).17 This is what family members do when parents age. But when she accurately relates “how full of changes his age is” and sadly reflects that “he always loved our Sister most” (TLN 315–16; 1.1.290, 292), she hardly demonstrates a scheming mind. Goneril may still love her father, despite the fact that “the best and soundest of his time hath been but rash” (TLN 320–21; 1.1.296–97), as the two caretakers discuss what to do about his violent reactions. In the critics’ special pleading for the old man, many forget that the Sisters’ “assessment of Lear is an accurate one, reflecting both Kent’s judgment in scene 1 and our own” (64), as James Lusardi and June Schleuter note. So when one daughter asks another to “sit together,” rather than the conspiratorial “hit together,” clearly they are working through a family problem, not planning their father’s demise.18 In comparing at length the Folio’s more “reserved” Goneril to the Quarto’s character, McLeod arrives at “a startling, if tentative, conclusion: in the first scene [F’s] Gonerill need not be such a bitch after all” (169–170). A psychologically driven interpretation could cast Goneril, at the end of this scene, as a daughter with a considerable domestic complication and also as a new ruler with an emotionally delicate, aging monarch to accommodate. A reflective woman, she anticipates difficulties in both areas and 17 See Rosenberg for how Cordelia comes across “least good” here and her sisters “least evil” (82). Rutter stresses the scene’s significance; Goneril and Regan remain, “rewrite” the scene, and “demystify the self-mythologizing” father. The last voices in the scene are those of women, and the playwright is “troubling the gendered speech space” (“Eel” 186). 18 ALFAR: [Their] “plot,” if indeed it can be called anything of the kind, does not include a threat against his life (Fantasies 91).





knows that something must be done. Goneril, then, may love her father, but in no naive way. She is scripted as a person whose convoluted relationship with him will continue to unfold as she tries to bring order to the family. She is the oldest female child of a disturbed, powerful father, and her tragedy is just beginning.



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The Trial: Regan, Soldier and Enabler (Act 1, scene 1)

Act 1, scene 1 Regan Regan need not be interpreted as a duplicate of her older sister, but instead can be portrayed as another fully realized woman who understands the dynamics of the political family in which she was raised. General issues of both obedient daughters have been addressed in the previous chapter, but now the focus shifts specifically to Regan herself. Critics write less about Regan than about either of her sisters, and yet questions persist, especially for performance. How can Regan’s journey be traced from her successful passing of the love test to her death at her sister’s hands? What causes her bitter participation in the Gloucester torture scene? How does she, as the middle daughter, see the action differently from her sisters? What clues does this first scene provide that help to re-vision a more comprehensive interpretation of this woman? Regan would be listening closely to Lear’s first speech and its odd intonations. Self-pitying, Lear “explains” his bizarre decision to divide the kingdom with the equally bizarre phrase, “crawl toward death.” The critics speculate on the infantilism suggested as well as the insincerity of the claim.1 If Regan has studied her father and his behavior all her life, this

1 Rosenberg sees here “subverbal echoes of infant and animal” as well as Lear’s dishonesty in that he intends to “hunt, carouse merrily with his knights, seek physical joys” (42).



2


speech would strike her as notable. Lear suggests here that Cornwall is more important than Albany when he says, “Our son of Cornwall, /And you our no less loving Son of Albany”(TLN 46–47; 1.1.40–41)—surely a pivotal fact for Regan—and now announces the publication of the withheld dowries of his older daughters. It can be imagined that pressures must have been placed on Regan to please her husband before her dowry was bestowed, as her line later in the play indicates: to Lear’s claim that he gave his daughters all, we remember that Regan points out, “And in good time you gave it” (TLN 1548; 2.2.439). The “future strife” may even indicate some previous discord, if not between the sisters, which may again lead to stereotyping them, then between their long-denied husbands, who reportedly feud as a result of Lear’s division of the kingdom. A watchful Regan, then, would be assessing Lear’s disturbing characterization of his abdication, as would all present. The Folio also adds: “(Since now we will divest us both of Rule, / Interest of Territory, Cares of State)” (TLN 54–55; 1.1.49–50). This very explicit renunciation says nothing about pomp, which he will immediately require. These lines, interposed directly before the all-important “Which of you shall we say doth love us most” (TLN 56; 1.1.51), make the command to speak even more of a job-interview question for the daughters, whose answers will determine possession and power.2 Regan could be gauging these conditions before she speaks. To make Regan a character distinct from Goneril, which is certainly a goal of a feminist interpretation, her response to a political or military world has to reflect a woman struggling for power in a patriarchy. Her older sister, Goneril, being first born and therefore in line for succession, wisely studies the political workings of the state, excelling in reading political situations and strategizing on the best response. One could then imagine Regan recognizing her sister’s strengths and complementing them. Therefore, to distinguish herself from her sister and to assure herself a vital part in the new rule, an astute Regan, especially considering her later hands-on interrogation of Gloucester, is envisioned as a practicing soldier, perhaps secretly studying Lear’s methods, hoping to emulate her general. She looks to Gloucester, Lear’s military adviser, who wields great power in the state. The notion of a woman as a military player in a patriarchal society is not as far-fetched as it first sounds. One need only look to the Henry VI plays and Joan de Pucelle and Queen Margaret for role models. See Kahn for a Freudian reading of this phrase (“Absent” 40). Rudnytsky points up Lear’s “psychic regression” (306). 2 Alfar bluntly states that Lear is “naïve” if he thinks that daughterly love or duty will banish “political ambition” (87).



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Both women assume the traditional masculine role in war, and although this causes their male counterparts to demonize them, they both exhibit a strong sense of agency. So too with Regan. Consider that these sisters dreamed of a day when they could reshape the rule of the land and bring their shared form of government to the people. Thus, genuinely interested in this solely male domain, Regan has had to study the ways of the soldier covertly. Madeleine Kunin, in her book on military women, itemizes the difficulties encountered by women trying to break into power structures, even in the twenty-first century. She speaks of the parallel worlds that, in this model, Goneril and Regan attempt to enter: “The best analogy to the once all-male political world is the once all-male military world. In both cases women have stepped into a culture that had been created by and for men to protect and defend their citizens, in politics by law and in the military by might” (68). Creating a relationship from the beginning of the play between Gloucester and Regan not only demonstrates Regan’s attempts to position herself successfully, but also strengthens her feeling of betrayal in the blinding scene. Regan befriends Gloucester to learn martial training. Given that his own son, Edgar, was evidently uninterested in such matters, Regan represents a willing substitute for a father longing to pass down his knowledge. Flattered by the attention, Gloucester has condescendingly taught this young woman, never guessing she planned one day to assume his position. She deems military might necessary for the security of the state, but more as a deterrent than a threat. While maintaining a close relationship with the powerful Gloucester, Regan finds her soldierly education further advanced by her marriage to Cornwall. Her husband, a strong military leader who commands the respect of the men under him, understands the necessity of force and, unlike Albany, is not afraid to use it. Cornwall respects Regan and her prominent position and thinks her a capable partner. As a secure, appealing leader, Cornwall makes the despotic Lear, so sensitive to military slight, uneasy. Lear shows open favoritism for his youngest daughter, whose selection of husband he controls, and he prefers Goneril’s husband to Regan’s, as Gloucester states in the first lines. Regan knows this and understands that both she and Cornwall will play a significant role in Britain’s future only if Goneril’s model of shared government succeeds. This reading can be tested by creating a preparation scene in which members of the royal family ready themselves for Lear’s division of the kingdom. Regan is observed conferring with Gloucester and seeking his advice. Picture the two of them laughing together and embracing, creating an appearance of congeniality and cooperation from the beginning. Portraying Regan in a close relationship with an often sympathetic, male



Regan, Soldier and Enabler


character adds a deeper dimension to her character. Further, imagine that as Regan enters the main hall with her husband, both acknowledge the soldiers, saluting them as they pass. The men, less than enthusiastically, but professionally, respond to the royal couple. To reinforce the difficult environment Regan is attempting to join, some men covertly demonstrate discomfort at actually saluting a woman. One way to reconstruct an assessment of Regan is to witness her “understanding” that in order to gain and hold onto power, she must at least threaten to use armed strength. Her actions later in the play will then develop from a more stimulating context. In this light, Regan’s speech is a masterful demonstration of proper military conditioning: I am made of that self-mettle as my Sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I find she names my very deed of love: Only she comes too short, that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense professes, And find I am alone felicitate In your dear Highness’ love. (TLN 74–81; 1.1.69–76)

She knows the soldier must pledge full allegiance to the commander. She works to articulate to all present her loyalty and her character. Such words as “mettle,” “worth,” “true heart,” “enemy,” and even “square of sense” couch her language in more martial terms. Even the stilted diction of “felicitate” may reflect a soldierly duty. Like Goneril, she too is highly conscious of the verbal nature of this trial. With words such as “names,” “deed,” and especially “profess” and “professes,” she assumes a more rigid martial stance and responds in an appropriate military manner.3 In response to the charge that Regan is “besting” Goneril with this speech, it is possible to envision Lear, believing that Regan is finished with her declaration after she utters “my very deed of love,” objecting to this inadequate response. By his imperious gesture, he then forces her to continue. So in this reading, her phrase “only she comes too short” is not to top Goneril as much as it is an utterance to please the general. Regan’s speech proves successful. She is awarded the same amount of land as her elder sister, and the dream of shared rule is becoming a reality. 3 BELSEY: [T]he position of “profess” at the end of the pentameter invites the actor to linger momentarily on the word (60).



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When Lear gives the crown to both Albany and Cornwall, this reinforces their vision, and although the circumstances are surely less than ideal, their model seems to have Lear’s blessing. The sisters are now complementary rulers, Goneril with her diplomatic expertise and Regan with her military understanding, one representing head, and the other, hand. As with Goneril, some may question the genuineness of Regan in this speech, but ritual may be directing their diction.4 Regan can then be seen as performing rhetorically on cue to procure her share of property from Lear, as he openly commands. Like Goneril, Regan uses language to do what is required of her.5 Regan’s withheld dowry may also be driving her actions in the scene.6 Property is power, and the distribution of the material aspects of the state is essential to the assumption of rule. Brayton reminds us that “licensed and regulated female speech becomes the means by which the transmission of property takes place, a significant feature of the play when we consider the general anxiety about women’s bodies and speech so often figured in the Renaissance by the synecdoche of women’s tongues” (402). If Lear were actually to hand over a deed to the property, one could imagine a moment between Regan and Cornwall that makes it clear that Regan has at last received her long-deserved dowry. The first scene is a ceremony to distribute authority, and Regan recognizes this. But Stephanie Chamberlain argues that “female inheritance was viewed as patrilineal decline” (175). Regan then responds both to acquiring her long-withheld dowry as well as entering into the male domain of land possession and rule. As such, she becomes suspect, especially in a culture that expects women to be subjects and powerless, owned like property, not the rulers of it.7 Picture Cornwall asking for the deed and a reluctant Regan handing it over to him. In a more familial interpretation, Regan is very much the middle sibling, the child ignored by an imperious father, who sees her only as a nursemaid for his old age. Portraying Lear as a hard-drinking, mentally unstable man clarifies the action for the modern audience. Like her older sister, Regan has learned to indulge Lear in his drunken games and does so in 4 ALFAR: [They] take their cue from their father’s formality and hyperbole, performing their love as his demand requires of them (89). NOVY: No matter how much the male depends on the female’s response, if he has all the external power, the social approval, and the sole right to initiate, the mutuality is deeply flawed by coercion (Love’s 151). 5 NOVY: [T]he obvious way for a woman to survive is to go along with the social order, as Goneril and Regan do (Love’s 152). RUTTER: Women’s speech, like Regan’s stutter, is defective (“Eel” 179). Alfar notes how this compliance is a part of Lear’s rule (90). See Rosenberg on how Regan’s halting speech does not prevent her from pleasing Lear (53). 6 See Berger for Lear’s denial of dowries (31). 7 See Brayton for equating women’s bodies with property (404).





the first scene. She knows that her father, when inebriated, is capricious in his decisions and aggressive in his attacks. To differentiate Regan from her older sister, imagine that Regan has inherited her father’s weakness for alcohol. Unloved by her father, she turns to alcohol to escape feelings of inadequacy. Picture her drinking heavily from the beginning of the play, and increasing her consumption throughout, so that her downward spiral, like that of her father, results from her deteriorating physical and mental state. Her shocking brutality toward Gloucester, remarkably similar to Lear’s reactions to all three women, is then directly linked to her addiction. Her alcoholism can be used to distinguish her from Goneril and to provide a specific cause for her later violence. In this telling, Regan’s domineering husband resembles her father, and she turns to Cornwall for the love that Lear withholds from her. A familial interpretation can posit Gloucester as a surrogate father figure for Regan, so that his personal and political betrayal later in the play wounds her deeply. All of the men in Regan’s life are seen to ignore, desert, or betray her, and her desperation to hold on to the scoundrel Edmund may stem from this demoralizing pattern. In a world where Regan attempts to earn and preserve the affection and regard she requires, her first response now reveals the long-established family rivalry to sate a demanding father. The variations in the Folio version help one view Regan’s speech somewhat differently. The Folio omits the Quarto’s “Speak” (1.1.68) as Lear addresses Regan, making Lear’s words less of a command to his second daughter. She also no longer starts her speech with the deferential “Sir” (1.1.69). These alterations may support a more informal rendering of the interaction. Further, the Folio adds “too” in “Only she comes too short, that I profess,” heightening the contrast that Regan is making between herself and Goneril. The Folio also changes “ . . . all other joys / Which the most precious square of sense possesses” (1.1.73–74), to “professes” (TLN 79). Foakes thinks this is eyeskip from TLN 77; 1.1.72, “I profess” (Arden 163, n. 74), but Regan could be saying that she professes herself an enemy to all other joys which the most precious square of sense (perhaps meaning here “the tongue”) professes, focusing more on speech, on articulation. This emphasizes the word “test,” the unreasonable demand to equate love or loyalty to words. Cordelia then follows with her line about her love being more ponderous than her tongue, showing that all three daughters in their responses note the impossibility of the verbal trial. Test this reading by assuming that at the beginning of Regan’s speech, the party crowd heckles her for copying her sister’s model. Regan, thoroughly enjoying the contest, switches tactics and, to gain the crowd’s approval, deliberately bests her sister with “Only she comes too short.”



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To win this seemingly lighthearted competition, Regan uses whatever means possible. Imagine that Regan moves to Lear and gestures for him to crawl into her arms. The two drunken family members entertainingly play at being mock-lovers as she holds him, showing her sisters how the game should be played. An uncomfortable Cordelia, responding out of religious piety or concern about an incestuous connection with Lear, observes this intimacy between her sister and her father. In a reading that pursues the theory of incest between Lear and Cordelia, one could infer that Regan is ignorant of any sexual relationship between them and secretly yearns for a close relationship with her father, but can express it only in this humorous display. Lear, operating from either a drunken state or inappropriate sexual desire, is thoroughly captivated by his daughter’s actions and plays along.8 Regan is simply complying with the outlandish test and fulfilling its requirements.9 She knows that Lear has staged a well-worn bribe and is indulgent of its excess.10 Why is she doing this—to avoid his wrath, to court his love, to follow her sister’s lead? This may be a pastime that has taken place in the family many times before. Interestingly, the older daughters never disclose that the test itself was out of character, only that Lear’s banishment of Kent and Cordelia showed “unruly waywardness” (TLN 323; 1.1.299), as Goneril puts it. In another interpretation with a domestic slant, Regan may well perceive her father’s desire for mothering and his fantasies about such mothering, and could enact a bit of that parental nurturing here. She may respond to what Coppélia Kahn calls the “original crisis of masculine identity: the struggle to differentiate the masculine self from the internalized or projected mother—a struggle made more problematic in adult life by sexual and social bonds with women” (“Excavating” 36, 37). Regan is here a maternal woman; not until later in the play does Regan realize she

8 Craig views Lear’s “insincere love-making” with his older daughters simply as “foreplay” to his interaction with Cordelia (5). 9 SCHWARTZ: Like a dramatist whose need for love is so total that it destroys its object and itself, Lear puts words in his daughters’ mouths and demands that they feed the words back to him—a narcissistic circuit that forecloses the space between self and other (28). 10 CAVELL: Lear knows it is a bribe he offers, and—part of him anyway—wants exactly what a bribe can buy: (1) false love and (2) a public expression of love. That is, he wants something he does not have to return in kind, something which a division of his property fully pays for. And he wants to look like a loved man—for the sake of the subjects, as it were. He is perfectly happy with his little plan, until Cordelia speaks . . . For what Lear is doing in that first scene is trading power for love (pure power for mixed love); this is what his opening speech explicitly says (61–62, 68).





cannot possibly satisfy her father.11 Imagine Regan going behind Lear, putting her arms around him, and gently rocking him back and forth like a child. In yet another psychological approach, gender roles determine the kind of response Regan is required to give. Hoover argues that Lear’s daughters need to love him in a specific manner, one articulated publicly, because they are daughters, not sons (“Lusty” 88). Once again, the complicated performance by the daughters in this scene is informed by the particular conditions of women in society. Their love must be verbally shaped differently from masculine love. The trebling of motifs, with the three daughters tested by three love declarations, reveals the folktale formula Shakespeare initially employs in his tale of family dissolution. The same question put to Regan establishes the parallel pattern, but a feminist reading must resist this hermeneutic shortcut. Although an audience responds to the formula, especially if the staging enhances it, one soon abandons the Cinderella story of childhood memory or of the collective unconscious. Reductive assessments begin to unravel even before the test has run its course in Shakespeare’s hands, for Lear’s daughters give complex, distinct responses. Lusardi and Schleuter maintain that “nothing in either Goneril’s or Regan’s professions of love” could imply “that these two are the wicked stepsisters of the Cinderella fairytale or even the pettily malicious young women who appear in the second scene of . . . Leir” (61). Alternately, it is possible to find in Regan’s words indications of a sexual relationship between Lear and his middle daughter. She maintains that she loves him best, and this protestation could be a result of years of wifely service to her father. Critics often contemplate an incestuous relationship between Lear and Cordelia, but Regan could also be explored as an embittered victim of her father’s needs,12 a plotline that Jane Smiley built into her rewriting of the story in A Thousand Acres. In contrast to the psychological readings examined above, in a military focus, Lear’s banishment of both Cordelia and Kent would exemplify his violent governmental extremes.13And yet at the end of the scene, despite Regan’s quick response to Cordelia’s lecture to her sisters, Goneril and Regan do not reject Cordelia, merely correct her. Regan, in a martial environment, as a new general, would be shocked by Cordelia’s open 11 DREHER: Psychologist-critics have noted Lear’s infantilism, which leads him to make impossible demands of his daughters (72). 12 KOSTIS AND HERRMANN: Incest is actually the mainspring of the play and narrowing its focus leads to simplistic and unfounded observations (24). 13 For an extended discussion, see Foakes (Violence 148).



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confrontation with her father, the commander of the state, and even more so by her refusal to follow orders. Driven by her own ambitions, Regan, in the next scenes, works diligently with Goneril, until she loses her mainstay, her husband, Cornwall. Although Regan, like her sister Goneril, has no lines during Lear’s violent outbursts against Kent and Cordelia, the text provides no indication that she was pleased by either estrangement, as some productions may want to project. In an interpretation concerned with emotional ties, this rift between Lear and a beloved lord and daughter would certainly alarm Regan. Her speech and that of Goneril are characterized by Kent as “flattery” (TLN 157; 1.1.149) and by Cordelia as “glib and oily Art” (TLN 246; 1.1.226). But she responds later in the scene when the sisters and France remain on the stage, and her few lines are significant. To Cordelia’s rather sarcastic “professed bosoms” speech (TLN 293–300; 1.1.270–77), in which she “prefers [Lear] to a better place,” Regan curtly rejoins, “Prescribe not us our duty” (TLN 301; 1.1.278). Regan has fulfilled her own duty at the very least; at most, she has met the needs of a loved father. She has enjoyed a few fleeting moments of familiarity with her distant father, and a sister who has always received the lion share of Lear’s affection now criticizes her. This discord is heightened if Cordelia rigidly abstains from drink and Regan does not, making her feel the judgmental comments more sharply. Cordelia, configured as disapproving of Lear’s alcohol consumption, would certainly frown upon her sister participating in heavy drinking. Her censorious condemnation of Regan would have caused friction, played out here, between the sisters. If one presumes incest, Cordelia’s sharp response to her siblings is a veiled warning about their father’s behavior. The “better place” in this reading suggests he should stay with her because she believes she can change or control her father’s unnatural behavior. Or, she could be unconsciously holding on to the only lover she has ever known. If Regan has experienced sexual abuse by Lear, Cordelia’s “better place” line and indeed the whole of the exchange takes on a considerably altered tone. Only after Cordelia leaves do the two older sisters recap and interpret the violence of the domestic scene they just witnessed. A military focus stresses that at Goneril’s comment about Lear’s “poor judgement” (TLN 316; 1.1.292–93), Regan utters one of the most edifying lines in the play: “ ˇ Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself” (TLN 318–19; 1.1.294–95). Here, this line is delivered with conflicting emotions, since by it she admits to both herself and Goneril that the general she emulated is deeply flawed. Regan verbalizes essential information about the man who has already begun the





dissolution of the kingdom, redefining Lear’s behavior as failed leadership.14 After all, the initial division of the country is a gross violation of military decorum. Still, Regan appears to be responding to Goneril, not leading the conversation. The events may have evolved far differently than expected. Her father’s actions concern her and transform her role of “soldier” into that of “general.”15 Regan tries to digest all that has happened as she now shares the responsibility of rule. When she replies, “We shall further think of it” (TLN 331; 1.1.308), here, she wants time to confer with her husband and partner, the militarily shrewd Cornwall. Regan, like the others in a play about a contest of power, begins her journey with her inheritance, with what must seem like her destiny. She subsequently works to shore up her piece of the land with her own soldierly talents, but fails and loses all. Piecing together her claims to authority, Regan demonstrates her considerable efforts to conform to a masculine and martial environment. This key scene between older sisters can be enacted very differently, as a confidential family moment. Sobered by the violence of Lear’s banishments, Goneril and Regan seriously discuss the caretaking of their father and agree on how rash his actions toward Cordelia were, despite their warnings to her about her own lack of duty. Kelly notes how theatrical choices can influence audiences in humanizing characters. The 1990 Michael Kahn production for the Shakespeare Theatre had the older sisters “affectionate” as they “shared a sense of their father’s rejection” (“Kinder” 12). Goneril reacts emotionally when she says that Cordelia is the favorite. Here, Regan judiciously suggests that his behavior reflects “the infirmity of his age,” but immediately provides that definitive and perhaps intimate characterization that strongly identifies a chronic problem; he has “ever but slenderly known himself.” Goneril and Regan show no hatred here, but complete objectivity may reflect a less-than-dramatic detachment.16 Children who love their obstinate, and even violent, aging parents do not need to be blinded by familial love to see and fear unmistakable behavioral aberrance. Regan anxiously anticipates that “Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him, as this of Kent’s banishment” (TLN 325–26; 1.1.301–02).

14 Rutter notes that the older daughters have witnessed what the audience has, but that Shakespeare has them supply a “revisionist history” of Lear (“Eel” 187). 15 ALFAR: [This shows the] suspicious nature of kingship . . . on guard against usurpation and subversion. They will rule, then, in a fashion similar to that of Lear (Fantasies 91). 16 Reid finds “no love in their assessment,” but this is not necessarily true. He does add the “essential” element that they show “no hatred, open or concealed, either. Their attitude toward their father is objective” (227).



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This curious comment sets the stage for the subsequent scenes concerning Lear’s retainers, but also, as Stephen Reid identifies, questions what the older sisters do not say about Kent. Regan’s “casual” comment about Kent’s exile is “surprising” in that Kent had been “openly insulting” to the older daughters. Still, Regan is silent about his disparagement of her and does not gloat about his rift with Lear: “Kent’s devotion to Lear and Cordelia was long-standing, and his indifference . . . to the older sisters was no secret to them. To this also neither Goneril nor Regan took offense” (Reid 228). What kind of women would react like this? Women accustomed to criticism for the obsequious modifications they have adopted to survive in a masculinist realm. Alternately, was Kent, certainly supportive of Cordelia, completely censorious of Goneril and Regan? Kent’s parting words simply remind the sisters to love their father regardless of how irrational or difficult he becomes. The sisters, as well as the audience, could therefore remain undecided as to Kent’s judgment of them. Goneril and Regan, understanding their predicament, try to think their way out of it. New to ruling positions and caretaking responsibilities, they do not want their father in the position of giving them offense, as Goneril rather awkwardly states, an outcome which would (and does) threaten the equanimity of both the family and state. Regan’s last words are the fairly innocuous “We shall further think of it” (TLN 331; 1.1.308), hardly suggestive of a premeditated plan to humiliate or dispense with her father. While Goneril knows that she must find order in this chaos, Regan is overwhelmed by the splintering of the family. Less secure in what the future will hold, she needs more time to think things through. Regan is willing, although apprehensive, to provide her vehement and unpredictable father care. Many interpretations jump to the conclusion that Regan and Goneril welcome Cordelia’s exile, but the family dynamics are not so straightforward. The text goes out of its way to present at this pivotal moment two women who will now be totally responsible for an angry father who always preferred their sister. Jealousy of Cordelia is too simple a motivation here, just as jealousy of another sister who desires Edmund becomes too simple a motivation later. A truly feminist reading must allow each sister a unique reaction to Cordelia, with whom they presumably have a history. Perhaps Regan unrealistically assumes that the division of the kingdom and Cordelia’s exile will result in her being loved and appreciated by her father as never before. The final image of the scene, whether it is viewed as a moment between two cooperating rulers or a moment defining Regan’s trepidation, reinforces the sisters’ difficult upcoming journey. At least initially, we all try to work with the families we were born into; Regan is no different.







The Trial: Cordelia, Heir Apparent and Zealot (Act 1, scene 1)

Act 1 scene 1 Cordelia In a reading of the play that foregrounds its power politics, Cordelia is a favored daughter who reasonably expects at the beginning of the play to be married well, to receive a substantial portion of Britain (property, if not rule), and to be caretaker for her aging father. Cordelia’s lot may well exceed that of her sisters after the division of the kingdom.1 An interesting exploration of Cordelia’s character begins with the fact that she is the preferred daughter. In a political environment where military rule is the norm, what would it mean to be the ruler’s favorite? How would Cordelia’s perspective differ from that of her older sisters? In a scenario in which Goneril holds political expertise and Regan military expertise, the younger daughter believes she has sway in both realms, because Lear has openly acknowledged her familial superiority since he “loved her most” 1 JAFFA: Cordelia alone of the three, seeing the remainder plainly before her on the map, knew in advance precisely what her share was to be. Cordelia alone therefore knew that her speech was not needed to establish her share (417). Alfar sees Lear’s deception about allotments here and his “suspect” concern for the kingdom (88). See Berger for Lear’s “darker purpose” as uneven distribution of property (28).



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(TLN 131; 1.1.124). This does not mean that Cordelia has necessarily tested this supposed prerogative, but only that she assumes she has it. Lear’s promise of choosing a husband for Cordelia could very well cause the young, usually indulged woman to feel powerless, and so she tests and exerts her assumed entitlement by refusing to give Lear the answer he expects from her. Politically, what can Cordelia bring to these public proceedings? Her words, especially the asides, denote a determined woman parsing out a highly significant test of language. How then can she control either her father or the situation? Her decision to respond to his direct question with the repeated “Nothing” (TLN 93; 1.1.87) shows resolve. Testing her wings for the first time, she gains courage as the scene progresses. Initially assuming that her answer will not alienate Lear, Cordelia strives to show the court and her father her strength, wisdom, and readiness to stand on her own. When patently unsuccessful, she does not back down. Instead, Cordelia projects the radical voice of self-truth, preferring to suffer rather than submit to authority. She acts like one empowered—the most loved, youngest child—and demonstrates to both her sisters and father that although she is expected to share rule, in reality she is most prepared for ultimate command. A savvy Cordelia understands that the military requires a steadfast leader. In a psychological interpretation, Cordelia could be constructed as a woman of devout, maybe even fanatical beliefs, as an affectionate daughter, and yet one who is impatient with her father’s patently materialistic and hedonistic ways. Cordelia’s language, unlike that of her sisters, includes frequent religious references, especially later in the play. For example, she refers to “O you kind Gods!” (TLN 2763; 4.7.14) and says to Lear, “And hold your hand in benediction o’er me” (TLN 2811; 4.7.58). In the nursery setting described earlier, Cordelia is envisioned as loving Lear and feels her calling is to provide care, companionship, and even religious instruction for her aging father. Her sternly righteous lines work toward this presentation. In this opening scene, she disapproves of his drunken excess and her sisters’ indulgence of it and believes she can positively affect her family’s wayward behavior. She knows of her father’s plan to rely on her mothering and willingly looks to assume this role, but his insistence on her marriage causes this devout Cordelia to strike out against her father. Many enactments pursuing the fairy-tale motif presume that the youngest daughter is eager for matrimony, neglecting to consider a woman’s reaction to such commodification. Her father believes that she can easily serve as his mother while simultaneously serving as wife for a husband of his choosing. Lear has obviously misunderstood his favorite, who here considers herself already married to God. In other readings, she may consider herself “married” to Lear.



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Testing this further, we see Cordelia struggling in the first scene, since her adherence to obedience directly contradicts her desire to rescript her fate. If she can find a way to resist her father’s test, she may succeed in resisting matrimony as well. She states that after marriage she will be unable to love him all, thereby hoping to convince him to cancel the union. Her sense of duty causes her difficulty in expressing disapproval, understandable in a family with an imperious or alcoholic father whose failing mind often causes him to act irrationally or abusively. Alcoholic families, according to psychologists Sripriya Rangarajan and Lynne Kelly, have a “pattern of conformity orientation”; they “discourage children from talking about their feelings and ideas and stress the primacy of the parents’ opinions and ideas,” which eventually “negatively affects” the self-esteem of the children (659). If one assumes an incestuous relationship between Lear and Cordelia,2 her refusal to meet his needs in the love test is a sign that she is finally taking a stand and breaking away from Lear’s unnatural hold. This Cordelia still loves her father but redefines that love. An anxious Lear first tries to fashion a life in which he shares her with a husband of his choosing, and then, having been rejected, angrily attempts to prevent her from having another man.3 A more radical choice has the psychologically damaged Cordelia striving to maintain the sexual relationship with her father by rejecting the test.4 Notably, the fairy-tale origin of the story involves a daughter’s, not a father’s, incestuous desires.5 Further, as with political readings, this love testing is complicated by prevailing gender issues. Coppélia Kahn thinks that the male characters of Lear, Kent, Edgar, and Gloucester show a “reluctance” to admit love 2 CAVELL: It can be said that what Lear is ashamed of is not his need for love and his inability to return it, but of the nature of his love for Cordelia. It is too far from plain love of father for daughter. Even if we resist seeing in it the love of lovers, it is at least incompatible with the idea of her having any (other) lover (70). CRICK: Lear and Cordelia’s relation [is] bordering on the incestuous (70). JAFFA: In the test Lear becomes the lover and Cordelia the beloved (424). MCEACHERN: In this scene, rather than simply presenting a patriarch’s control over a woman, Shakespeare investigates the incestuous possessiveness that exogamy counteracts; in demystifying the public forms that govern the exchange of women, he reveals the conservative emotional logic of those forms (286). See also Chamberlain’s analysis (177). 3 KOSTIS AND HERRMANN: The underlying twist of hurt irony in [Lear’s] expression “amorous sojourn” betrays a paranoia that the two princes are rivals for the affection of his daughter (29). 4 REID: [Cordelia’s] incestuous love is so close to the surface that she cannot, in safety, speak of it [to her father] (238). 5 DUNDES: [With] a projection of incestuous desires on the part of the daughter . . . a great many details which have puzzled critics for some time may be explained (360; emphasis in original).



Cordelia, Heir Apparent and Zealot


because it “bespeaks a demeaning dependency” producing an “embarrassed shrinking from recognition as part of a masculine identity crisis in a culture that dichotomized power as masculine and feeling as feminine (“Absent” 47). This dichotomy seems to drive Lear; as he gives away and loses power, he becomes an anathema, a feminized man.6 Cordelia first pushes this button, and then her sisters do in subsequent scenes. All meaningful resistance to his wishes makes Lear more the “other.” This seriously compromises the nature of Lear’s own love, so esteemed by many critics. If Lear loves Cordelia so well, how could he disown her and sell her off in an auction that lays bare the misogyny of the dowry system? Despite the persistent leniency of critics, one questions his motives.7 Additionally, a loving daughter does not necessitate a stupid one, even with so damaged a father. Cordelia has seen Lear’s best side during her short life and appeals to it. If he has listened to her in private situations, she may think that, with the right words, he will heed her in a public forum as well. This is especially probable if this scene were structured like a party rather than like a king’s assembly. Many critics read Cordelia in this scene as a principled woman reacting solely to her sisters’ speeches, which she considers hypocritical. However, an interpretation of Cordelia that takes into account the various factors mentioned above avoids such an assessment, because a fresh look at her words gives one pause. In a feminist production tracing agency, Cordelia is confident of her powers, especially her verbal directness, but Lear’s public allegiance test unnerves Cordelia. One plausible explanation is that Cordelia has been a student of Lear’s militaristic and political dealings and therefore knows that the process contravenes acceptable procedure. Chamberlain outlines the legal dilemma: Lear’s test “openly violates provisions of the common law” that “stipulated an equal division of the estate among female heirs.” Lear then makes “female entitlement . . . conditional rather than obligatory—dependent upon the whim of a decidedly anxious paternal authority” (177). So to demonstrate her fitness to rule, Cordelia deliberately presents herself in a professional manner. Naively expecting to be accepted and admired, she decides to be rational, direct, and honest in response to Lear’s personal request. She lacks the political judgment to use diplomacy with her father in a public forum, fatally underestimating the patriarchy’s rules regarding women. 6 NOVY: His initial expectations of Cordelia’s “kind nursery” are so high because he identifies her with nurturing qualities and vulnerabilities not easily admitted by a king whose royal symbol is the dragon (Love’s 156). 7 DREHER: Lear is trying to avoid “future strife” in a personal sense, by providing a comfortable and secure home for himself with Cordelia (69).



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Much is accomplished by her initial asides, however. Cordelia does not play Lear’s game and instantly becomes allied with the audience. This blatant theatrical technique, as with Hamlet in his story, is often used on stage to cement Cordelia’s alignment with the positive values of the play, even though here she is rebuffing Lear. An audience’s complete forgiveness of Lear at the end of the play can only be a function of critical amnesia concerning this first scene. Noteworthy is the fact that the audience already knows that Lear is proceeding recklessly; it does not take Kent or, later, the Fool to convince us that Lear propels the resultant disaster. Her asides articulate our negative reaction toward the practiced rhetorical hyperbole that Lear initiates to assuage his pride and sense of authority, but these same comments can also indicate Cordelia’s own sense of dominance. The asides, like those of Richard III, may even show her to be more plotting, more destructive, than otherwise deemed.8 To highlight Cordelia’s exertion of control, envision her mimicking Lear’s psychological gestures for granting or prohibiting speech during the asides. Here, Cordelia usurps Lear’s signals, demonstrating that speech is owned and controlled by those in authority. When Cordelia pronounces “Love, and be silent” (TLN 67; 1.1.62), she imitates the stop-speech gesture Lear used on Goneril. She also employs the gesture that grants speech to herself, communicating that she intends to speak her own mind. This act reveals Cordelia’s motives in the first scene, contextualizing her actions later when she invades her own country. Although this empowered young woman has surely disputed her father before, she does not understand that the voice she had as a girl is now taken from her as a woman. Her coming of age defines her female nature for the patriarchy; Lear’s highly public and military court precludes the freedom of speech for women.9 Cordelia’s asides, however, may be clear indications of her investment in family and the psychodynamics thereof more than in the state and its needs. If so, her first lines indicate an inability to speak, not a criticism of Goneril, as some would have it: “What shall Cordelia speak? Love and be silent” (TLN 67; 1.1.62). No mention of her older sister is made. She could be rejecting the unnecessary love test altogether, as she indicates later.10 Imagine that Cordelia is the only member of the family who is not drinking; she may be attempting both to save herself and to instruct her 8 Rutter believes that Cordelia’s double nature could be construed with these asides (“Eel” 185). See Whittier on character-dialogue interaction (381). 9 When Claudette Hoover peoples the scene with sons instead of daughters, she notes that incautious speech would not jeopardize dowries as is the case here (“Lusty” 88). 10 MORRIS: Can a person like Cordelia believe that the quality or quantity of love can in the slightest degree be diminished because it is shared? (142). See Morris also on how





loved ones as the voice of reason in these absurd proceedings. Her father is initially taking official state matters as a joke, and she must force him to take things seriously before he moves his focus to her marriage partner. Thus, when Regan succeeds in surpassing Goneril in this game, Cordelia again speaks to us paradoxically about her inability to speak, not her disgust at her sisters: Then poor Cordelia, And yet not so, since I am sure my love’s More ponderous than my tongue. (TLN 82–84; 1.1.76–78)

If she has been involved in an incestuous relationship with her father, an abused Cordelia gives additional stress to “ponderous,” indicating the heavy weight of this burdensome secret. If, on the other hand, Cordelia is covertly in love with her father, she cannot give voice to this unspeakable love. This religiously motivated Cordelia is praying that her father, who knows of her deep love, will listen to her and abandon his foolish test. Her asides are a devout woman’s actual prayers for guidance. She is asking God for the strength to confront her father’s simplistic views of love and for help in persuading him to cease the offending marriage plans. Cordelia cannot resort to her sisters’ humorous tactics with so much at stake. Her goal here is to establish her own rules for his retirement game and her future life. She talks specifically of the weight of her love and rightly complains about the difficulties of adequately expressing it.11 But these asides are nevertheless determinative of the audience reaction to Cordelia. In familial productions, an audience especially identifies with Cordelia, empathizing with her impossible situation. In retrospect, however, one wonders about her supposed inarticulateness.12 When Lear addresses Cordelia as “his joy,” we remember the lines in which Regan claims to forgo all her joys for him. The Folio substitutes the Quarto’s “not least in our deere love” with “the Vines of France, and Milk of Burgundy, / Strive to be interessed” (TLN 90–91; 1.1.84–85). Foakes notes that these new lines bring attention back to the marriage negotiation (Arden 163, n. 83–85), but this also adds a more materialistic and

Cordelia employs “calculated irony” (155). Raitt deciphers this speech using both Lacan and Kristeva (187). 11 Raitt analyzes Cordelia’s rhetoric (183–89). 12 See McLuskie on Cordelia’s centrality in this scene (99). Rutter argues that Cordelia’s asides endear her to the audience but at the same time make her a “hypocrite” (“Eel” 184–85).



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pragmatic note to this highly inflated concern about “love.” Similarly, the Folio heightens the action by having Lear address Cordelia with “Speak,” a command no longer directed to Regan (TLN 92; 1.1.86). Lear may have been slightly suspicious of Cordelia before the scene, and he reminds her that her marriage depends on her response. The “Nothing” (TLN 93; 1.1.87) that Cordelia brings into the play and that suffuses so many subsequent scenes has a curious beginning. Possibly, she cannot express her true self.13 Or, she could use her “Nothing” to jar her drunken father into hearing her. She hopes this shock will return him to a more presentable state, one in which logic and rational thinking will prevail. The Folio intensifies Cordelia’s opposition to Lear’s question by having him repeat her “Nothing” so that she adds yet another “Nothing,” making the word echo in its repetitions. The Folio thus strengthens Cordelia’s resolve with this little verbal sparring.14 Lear’s imperiousness shows itself in this first opposition. Critics have much to say about “Nothing” and emphasize its significance, commenting on Cordelia’s apparent lack of language, a language not geared to support the particular issues of women.15 When Cordelia tries to clarify her strong stance, her supposedly loving father will have none of it.16 Readings that stress women’s personal agency or lack thereof suggest that Cordelia’s response to Lear after the “Nothing” exchange is evidence that she has yet another motivation. Cordelia tells her father in a blunt statement that she must divide her love between father and husband: Good my Lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me. I return those duties back as are right fit,

13

BYLES: Shakespeare gives Ophelia, Desdemona and Cordelia, words to speak that by their very indirectness or obliqueness stress the character’s struggle with the contradictions involved in speaking the true self, especially when that self has been phantasized by another beyond all recognition (39). 14 FOAKES: [This stresses] Lear’s inability to believe that anyone would speak (or fail to speak) in this way to him (Arden 164, n. 88–89). 15 RUTTER: Men cannot see beyond the stereotypes they themselves construct . . . They violate the very code they impose when they require women to speak, then monster them for speaking, or monster their “nothings” (“Eel” 180). Estok argues that Cordelia’s “nothing” makes her monstrous to Lear (20). McLuskie maintains that Cordelia’s language conflicts with Lear’s belief in inheritance (104). 16 DOLLIMORE: For her part Cordelia’s real transgression is not unkindness as such, but speaking in a way which threatens to show too clearly how the laws of human kindness operate in the service of property, contractual, and power relations (198). DREHER: He has sired daughters but has never really known them (72). See Byles on misconstruing feminine discourse (40–41).




Re-Visioning Lear’s Daughters Obey you, Love you, and most Honour you. Why have my Sisters Husbands, if they say They love you all? Happily, when I shall wed, That Lord, whose hands must take my plight, shall carry Half my love with him, half my Care, and Duty, Sure I shall never marry like my Sisters. (TLN 102–110; 1.1.95–103)

In this reading, the speech is more about her upcoming union than her love for Lear. Cordelia confronts her father, the all-powerful monarch, because he has chosen to broker her marriage in a public setting. Had this been a private event, the outcome may very well have differed for a favored daughter. In this public arena, she is powerless to voice her preference for a husband, trying at the very least to set the rules of love and familial commitment. Her father is arguably treating her as a caregiver not as a ruler, compelling her to exhibit to all present that she, unlike her sisters, understands the value of asserting her independence. She will honor her father not by becoming a nursemaid, but by assuming command of his kingdom and entering into a successful arrangement with a foreign husband. Cordelia is here a strong woman trying to break free of the control of an unreasonable ruler. Hence she attempts to argue against Lear’s complete domination. The Quarto has a final line, “To love my father all” (1.1.104), perhaps an effective addition here.17 Cordelia assumes that Lear should and will reside with her, and so she insists that he understand and accept her divided loyalty and her independence as a ruler. Since Lear is to decide whom she will marry, Cordelia will decide how her life will function after marriage. She is negotiating her position; although she will be obligated to care for Lear, she will do so on her own terms. Cordelia attempts to communicate her displeasure with her father and his test as well as her desire to separate herself somewhat from him. Or, if incest is involved, she may lay stress on “Happily, when I shall wed” and “To love my father all” as a way covertly to condemn Lear’s unwanted advances. If, however, she does not wish to be separated from her father, these same lines would communicate an underlying sadness, pointedly telling Lear that she will no longer be his alone. She expects that this ceremony is for the purpose of announcing her future husband, not reassuring Lear of her undivided allegiance. Lear is placing unnecessary pressure on Cordelia, who now seeks a life of her own. Shakespeare emphasizes this by placing “half” both times in stressed positions, interrupting the iambic rhythm of the line: “Half my love with him, 17

Foakes thinks the omission is a simple oversight (Arden 165, n.102–4).



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half my Care and Duty.” She then ends her speech with additional stress on the final “all,” which is set antithetically against “half”: “Sure I shall never marry like my Sisters, / To love my father all.” But she will fail in this negotiation, and not only with Lear. Her freedom will ultimately be limited, since she will be committing herself to another man, her husband. She may be eager to marry well, but she is unaware of how marriage inevitably limits her power. In addition, Cordelia may be hesitant about a life as her father’s caregiver. The ambitious and independent Cordelia may well wonder what her commitment to her father may entail. Harry Berger Jr. asks, “But what about Cordelia in this scene? Has she no darker purpose? Is she as pure a redemptive figure as those about her believe? Does she entirely escape the play of darker purposes circulating through the Lear community?” He thinks that her duty to provide kind nursery “a heavy phrase! A heavy rest!” would be “oppressive” (42).18 She may well be resisting this onerous future definition of herself. Cordelia’s varied motivations lead to a more specific analysis of a daughter relating to her father, as opposed to the Father. Despite her protestations of linguistic inadequacy, as the scene unfolds, Cordelia does state quite a bit and argues the quantification of love in a strange way, almost as strangely as Lear’s initial equation of the expression of love with the inheritance of land.19 She not only struggles to demonstrate the inadequacy of the test, but also determinedly paints a bleak picture of Lear’s life without her total devotion. Some of her quantification—“Half my love with him, half my Care, and Duty”—indicates a primness, an inappropriate rigidity, here used to force her narcissistic or drunken father to recognize the repercussions of this marriage. She reasons with Lear on his own terms, to prepare him for the reality of retirement, if he persists in marrying her off. Lear’s explosive and violent response helps us see Cordelia differently in the public environment of the play. He exhibits his accustomed control over his daughters’ speech, and hence Cordelia’s insubordination begets his quick and absolute response. His sense of family, people, and state is inflexibly constructed by his political supremacy, without which his definitions falter and change dangerously in a new world dominated by the

18 BERGER: [Cordelia would want to] break free of the parental bondage, get out from under, though she is not likely to admit that to herself either; that if she could find a way to do it which wouldn’t jeopardize her self-respect and her sense of obligation to Lear, she would be likely to take it; and that she does find a way, and does take it (42). 19 LUSARDI AND SCHLUETER: Cordelia . . . prescribes the boundaries of love that Lear has reserved the right himself to prescribe (34). See Raitt on the difficulties of the language of love (188–89).





unacceptable desires of others, namely, the three women of the play. Lear demands a public declaration, complete with decorous rhetoric, of allegiance, not love, from the women who will be his decreed caretakers in his old age. Cordelia, plainly preferred, is expected to pledge her loyalty in idealistic terms of love, as he has taught her older sisters. When Cordelia resists, he rejects his daughter and then, almost immediately, Kent, because his extreme military mode cannot accept negotiation or modification. Later in the scene, he attempts to co-opt France, in an effort to strip Cordelia of any power. Cordelia has certainly some responsibility for the conflict.20 She is both instructing Lear on the folly of his love “test” and voicing her disapproval of her sisters for granting Lear’s ill-conceived request. Here, Cordelia thinks that her sisters’ acquiescence has made her task that much more difficult. If they too would have refused Lear’s demand, she could have parleyed her father’s care differently. As it is, to prove her worth and love, she needs to distance herself from Goneril’s and Regan’s protestations of devotion. Her politically and personally naive self-righteousness haunts her throughout the play. Interpretations that probe human needs, especially those foisted upon loved ones, would take special note of this first violent outburst by a father. Cordelia willfully thwarts Lear’s aggressive needs.21 Lear openly demands that his daughters become his mothers or, more incestuously, his wives, and his progressive infantilization can be seen even in this first scene.22 Cordelia’s response sets off his rage, initiating the long process of verbal abuse toward all three of his daughters, delivered with frightening rapidity.23 And the wrath begins to look like a serious mental imbalance. As early as John Charles Bucknill’s 1859 study of The Psychology of Shakespeare, critics admit this. Lear’s exaggerated response to Kent’s legitimate concerns as well as his “attempted violence, checked by Albany and Cornwall; and,

20 ROSS: [Cordelia’s] reckless pride replicates her father’s own headstrong will. Her readiness to risk everything for the sake of honesty foreshadows Lear’s own victimization, one in which he, like her, plays a principal part (66). BERGER: [Cordelia,] for reasons of her own—not all of them available to her—accepted Lear’s challenge . . . and by her stonewalling helped him bring on her plight (44). 21 CAVELL: She threatens to expose both his plan for returning false love with no love, and expose the necessity for that plan—his terror of being loved, of needing love (62). See Byles for Lear’s part in this misunderstanding (54), and Ross on Lear’s desire to control emotion (66). 22 DREHER: He is a frightened child inside an old man’s body, desiring the security of maternal love (67). 23 RUTTER: [With “avoid my sight”], Lear’s failure to see is compounded by his refusal to look (“Eel” 199).



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finally, the cruel sentence of banishment, cruelly expressed; all these are the acts of a man in whom passion has become disease” (140). This “disease” drives Lear throughout the rest of the play. And if one is looking for causes, Bucknill notes that “Lear’s mind is conditioned by extreme age as well as by despotism” (136). Lear’s “despotism” has been an integral part of long-standing critical opinion. Even if Lear’s aging state is taken into consideration, his right to be so demanding is clearly problematic.24 However, if Lear’s fury is buttressed by drink, his response becomes even more probable. The alcoholic, like the child, lives in the center of his own universe. Lear, as master of his patriarchal world, believes that Cordelia must fulfill her womanly duty by marrying. Here his own unspoken, conflicted emotions about losing his “mother” or his “wife” cause much of the tension, violence, and insanity that diminish Lear throughout his journey. Lear’s motives and actions are variously condemned, first by Kent and then by most critics.25 He wants all of Cordelia’s love, and yet he insists on her marrying, denying any contested pull on a wife’s emotions, as Cordelia lays out in her responses. His masculinist sense of self-importance blinds him to his contradictory actions. Or perhaps he assumes that women should act the part of a complete “lover” to a father despite their married status. This can be what Cordelia is protesting. If incest is assumed, a case could be made for why Lear chooses Burgundy for Cordelia. A man of lesser status, more concerned with wealth and power, would not pose a threat to Lear’s personal needs. Imagine a kind of silent bargain between these men concerning Cordelia. Curiously, those who censure Lear’s foolhardy moves in this first scene tend to approve of his ferocious responses in later scenes. An alcoholic Lear may well allow an audience to view his behavior in a new light, as a father responsible for the actions of his daughters. His forceful language will ensure an intense interest in his doomed journey, made all the more compelling because he could have prevented it. In an interpretation underscoring family dynamics, Cordelia’s immaturity can be explored as yet another reason for her distinctly idiosyncratic answer. As early as 1964, Sears Jayne ventured a less saintly assessment of Cordelia. He holds her “partly” responsible: “Had she been more mature, more experienced,

24 COLLINGTON: The older generation cannot monopolize the affection of the younger. The most it can hope for is to keep a corner in the thing it loves (207). 25 DREHER: Desiring to mourn, to wallow in self-pity, he sets himself up for failure (71). MOTHERSEAD ET AL.: [P]arental attachment acts as a mediator between family history of alcoholism, family dysfunction, and specific types of interpersonal distress (e.g., intimacy problems and being overly controlling) (197). McLuskie notes Lear’s refusal to think of Cordelia’s husband as a potential father with rights (99).





she might have understood the dependence of human beings upon each other in general, and in particular the increased need for love which comes with old age.” She does not realize that “the situation called for a statement of love, not a statement of truth” (278). Jayne goes on to qualify this judgment: “Still, the fault is mainly Lear’s . . . If Lear had loved sufficiently, his feelings would have guided him through the crisis. He would have realized the motives behind Cordelia’s awkward disruption of his ritual” (278). This, however, becomes impossible in highly dysfunctional families where everyone has an agenda.26 Lear’s excessive actions may well be part of a “disease.” These considerations lead to a complicated reaction to Cordelia. Audiences for a very long time have sympathized with this youngest daughter and her struggle to retain the love of an overly demanding father competing with other men for her devotion. Many critics view Cordelia as a saint. In the psychological reading suggested above, her distorted religious fervor causes her alone to see herself as such. Her lines later in the play seem to draw Lear into her own distorted spiritual zeal. Further, the language of Lear’s ire provides an essential clue to the demonization of the daughters, as he begins his inexorable, gendered categorizations. Lear’s abrupt disowning of her stuns Cordelia, but not merely because of his estrangement. A redefinition of Cordelia emerges from Lear’s immediate hyperbolic expressions of odium and revulsion toward the daughter who was beloved moments ago. Lear utters a fateful comparison in his speech, comparing her to the “barbarous Scythian” (TLN 123–27; 1.1.117–21) who eats his children, suggesting Cordelia’s devouring of the “baby” in Lear with her stubbornness, revealing his infantile needs.27 The Folio’s addition, “to my bosom” (TLN 125; 1.1.119), personalizes and makes intimate Lear’s characterization of Cordelia as monstrous. These angry, embittered words are among the many references to nature and the unnatural in the play, connecting women to the worst that nature has to offer. Cordelia is the first woman to be categorized as primitive, cannibalistic, and monstrous, but her sisters will soon join her as “unnatural,” in Lear’s mind. Kent’s aborted defense of Cordelia follows this passage, along with Lear’s “Dragon” rant (TLN 130; 1.1.123), introducing the distinctive

26

Reid contends that a father will ordinarily recognize a daughter’s “petulance” and react more positively, “But this daughter’s father is Lear, who, in this all-important particular, is pathological” (239). 27 SCHWARTZ: Lear has reduced the structure of relationships to a model of infantile feeding (28). See Kahn about maternal aggression and violence in this speech (“Excavating” 39). McLuskie asserts that Cordelia’s negative response is seen by her father as unnaturalness personified (99). See Rudnytsky for how Lear reverses the image of the Scythian, which he himself resembles (310).



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bestial imagery that characterizes the misogynistic speeches of many of the men in the play.28 Ecocriticism is quick to highlight this revelatory diction.29 These superbly alienating lines of a father to a daughter possess a singular harshness, not simply as part and parcel of all masculine thinking of the time. Kent’s bias toward Cordelia makes him shocked by this speech, even though he easily lapses into similar rhetoric later about Goneril and Regan. Language defines nature repeatedly in the text. The speeches of not only Lear, but also Kent, Edgar, and, more blithely, the Fool evidence the realm’s pointed and destructive misogyny. This habit of mind and language becomes the tragic flaw of Lear and indeed of the whole kingdom. Lear’s lack of authority over women mirrors that of his lack of dominion over property and nature itself. The metaphoric idiom combines these principles in a way that sets Lear against everyone. The ritual of procuring a husband for a now-disinherited daughter is paramount in readings emphasizing the state. Earlier in the scene, Cordelia was negotiating her future, and the political repercussions become overt when France enters the picture. Cordelia will marry a foreigner with his own agenda and power base. Barbara Millard urges that as the Queen of France, Cordelia is now endowed with a “threatening political meaning for British kings and subjects” (148).30 When Lear disinherits his daughter, he is not only destroying his family, he is making a serious financial move.31 Might is distributed in the form of a woman, with grave monetary and political ramifications. Burgundy, Lear’s favored suitor of Cordelia, is imagined here as a kind of businessman, politically sophisticated and thoroughly immersed in a patriarchal system of bartering for women and alliance. As a kindred spirit, he would have made the perfect son-in-law for 28

HOFELE: [I]t is not the disobedience of the daughters that fractures the moral order but the blind animal rage of the king . . . Lear gives up not only his kingdom but also his ratio and intellectus—the very elements of personality that distinguish man from animal (90). 29 BRAYTON: Lear’s raging appeal to geographic and cultural alterity (the stock Scythian) demonizes Cordelia (408). Estok notes how Cordelia’s resistance and Kent’s defense of her become “unnatural” for Lear (23–24). Rutter argues that the imagery initiates the monstering of the daughters and the “blighting of sexuality,” identifying all as “male projects” (“Eel” 175). 30 CHAMBERLAIN: [A] marriage to France carries with it dangerous overtones, for under the restrictive laws of coverture, this alliance would give her husband a governing interest in English lands (171). See Jaffa on why Burgundy, not France, is Lear’s choice as inheritor of his kingdom (413–14). 31 DOLLIMORE: But in the act of renouncing her, Lear brutally foregrounds the imperatives of power and property relations (199). Chamberlain outlines the material consequences of Lear’s decision (184–85). Rudnytsky notes Lear’s possible gratification in finding a reason to deny Cordelia her dowry (306).





Lear. Far from being heartless, he trusts, as does Lear, in a dowry system of auctioning off women and responds with puzzlement at Lear’s sudden change of heart toward Cordelia. Because Burgundy is a creature fully comfortable in this world of men, he performs as Lear manipulates and leaves the stage and the play with Lear, literally and figuratively.32 Cordelia intercedes to be sure that the suitors do not misunderstand the nature of her father’s accusation.33 She decides to confront her dominant father publicly and speaks without his permission when she defends herself against his accusations. Her boldness is scandalous to both Lear and her sisters, for her behavior is “unnatural” in a military world. She claims the right of speech in front of both Burgundy and France. By doing so, she continues to shame Lear in front of witnesses. She is her father’s daughter; his love and support of her has taught her independence, and she unambiguously displays it here. She rises to the occasion with, “Peace be with Burgundy, / Since that respect and Fortunes are his love, / I shall not be his wife” (TLN 272–74; 1.1.249–51). Rosenberg characterizes her wry comment as pleasing to an audience and the “shadow side of Cordelia at her best” (78). When France speaks of his affection for Cordelia, one sees a momentary return to the “love” that Lear demanded from his daughters, a word easily employed in a patriarchal power move establishing men’s control over women. France’s flowery language, coming seemingly out of nowhere, provides some with a romanticized relief from the strains of the scene, but should this language be taken at face value, especially in the middle of a marriage negotiation, be accepted without challenge? France, the eager suitor, would know the unique political advantage to be gained in winning Cordelia’s hand.34 Thus, France also exerts his power, his considerable influence, choosing to oppose Lear openly.35 He rejects the need for dowry and declares his affection instead, although he pointedly takes possession of Cordelia almost immediately by instructing her to take her leave of her 32 DREHER: Cold, formal, and mercenary, Burgundy is a far more acceptable son-in-law than France. He is a lesser noble; thus, Cordelia could remain in England as regent with the coronet and Lear could live with her. Also, knowing Burgundy’s character, Lear feels sure that if Cordelia were to marry Burgundy, she would certainly love her father more (70–71). 33 FURNESS: [Hudson suspects] Cordelia purposefully uses murder out of place as a glance at the hyperbolical absurdity of denouncing her as a “wretch whom nature is ashamed to acknowledge” (33). See Whittier on the development of Cordelia’s language (389). 34 Rosenberg follows the language of “value and comparatives” here (74). 35 LUSARDI AND SCHLUETER: Now not only will Cordelia not inherit the kingdom, but she will be allied with France. Things could not have gone worse for Lear or for Britain (28). See Rosenberg on Lear’s characteristic exits, with their progression of powerlessness (79).



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sisters. His stature as the ruler of the traditional enemy of Britain makes the politician in Lear work hard to dissuade him from taking Cordelia and, with her, the right to at least part of Britain, but to no avail. Despite his romanticized language, France is a man who understands entitlement. He engages in his own power play with Lear, capturing at least a decisive political, if not a romantic, prize. Even if Cordelia is out of favor at this moment, Lear is old, and the political winds could easily shift at some later date. France now assumes the role of handling Cordelia. His “Bid farewell to your Sisters” (TLN 292; 1.1.269) sounds distinctly like a command, not a suggestion. Cordelia realizes that her independence is short-lived, as she now becomes France’s property. France, an experienced king, in turn recognizes the necessity of staying on good terms with Goneril and Regan, and hence his command to his new betrothed. Renderings leaning more toward notions of love and family would find France’s small part in this scene revealing. When France asks why Lear has disinherited Cordelia by calling her “a wretch whom Nature is ashamed / Almost t’acknowledge hers” (TLN 232–33; 1.1.213–14), France’s own diction shows that he assumes that she is now an “unnatural” (TLN 240; 1.1.220) woman, more barbarian or animal than human. These equations are not lost on critics.36 Some then come to the conclusion that the play is irretrievably misogynistic. But these misogynistic utterances are made by specific characters, characters whose credibility can be questioned. Indeed, Cordelia bravely and eloquently objects to Lear’s characterization of her and France’s immediate assumptions.37 Not only Lear but also France and other men in the play use this particular linguistic technique to condemn women. Demonstrating this abuse of the word “nature” and the women associated with it will crystallize this masculinist tactic. Envision that each time a man in the play projects a distorted nature onto women, a strong psychophysical reaction follows. For example, when France exclaims “a thing so monstrous,” an offended Cordelia reacts abruptly by whipping around to confront Lear with a strong gesture. Again, when France repeats “monsters it,” Cordelia responds with another physical reaction (TLN 238, 241; 1.1.218, 221). The language may also reinforce a reading of incest. Nicholas Koskis and Claudine Herrmann remind us that “the words ‘monstrous’ and ‘monster’ bring to mind the closing speech of Pericles which describes another incestuous relationship between father and daughter” (28). 36 See Brayton on making Cordelia monstrous, and the comparison of the monstrous to witchcraft (409). Rosenberg notes how the definition of nature meaningfully changes with the speaker (75–76). 37 MORRIS: [Cordelia] has been publicly reviled and insulted; and worse than the terms of abuse has been the deliberate unscrupulousness with which Lear has used them (157).





The auctioning of Cordelia to Burgundy and France becomes a painful episode in any interpretation, especially in those tracing family dynamics. To heighten the humiliation and underlying meaning of such an event, consider the impact of Lear grabbing the distraught Cordelia and forcing her onto a raised platform resembling an auction block. Both Burgundy and France look over the “merchandise” in much the way buyers once examined slaves, and thus the objectification of Cordelia is complete. Her father then ruthlessly turns on her, and having taken away her home and role as caregiver, undertakes to leave her without a future.38 If she refuses to fulfill her duties simultaneously as his lover, his mother, and another man’s wife, he will leave her without any security. She immediately becomes a commodity in this masculinist system, the best “object” (TLN 235; 1.1.215) of Lear and now France. Cordelia’s self-defense, that she lacks “that glib and oily Art” (TLN 246; 1.1.226), can also be problematized.39 In response, when Lear spits out his venomous “Better thou hadst / Not been born, than not t’ have pleased me better” (TLN 256–7; 1.1.235–36), the depths of Lear’s cruelty becomes quite clear. And his attack on her is couched in gendered terms.40 But the attack says more than this. He would rather that she not exist if he cannot control her. A woman must be contained, and the phrase “pleased me better” also has sexual connotations. France then claims Cordelia, and she is never given the opportunity to respond. Her silence speaks clearly to her lack of personal power. To make Cordelia’s predicament more compelling, France is explored here as someone other than Cordelia’s “knight in shining armor.” If Cordelia is a woman devoted to religion, this rendering positions France as a lewd man who desires the virginal, nunlike Cordelia for his own lustful ends. Picture France inappropriately touching the woman on the auction block, stroking her, prodding her, and otherwise relating to her as property. Cordelia is painfully aware that his sugared language is a cover for his desires. She is to be passed from a man who demands complete emotional devotion to a man who demands complete sexual devotion. A devout Cordelia is then led from her home with no choice in the matter. France’s behavior would serve to destabilize a traditional romantic vision of this relationship. Yet another reading is imagined if an incestuous Lear cries

38 See Berger’s less sentimental interpretation of “amorous sojourn” (29). Kahn notes that Lear’s abandonment of Cordelia as a sexual partner arouses his need for her as a mother (“Absent” 40). 39 KELLY: [Lear accepts their] verbal dexterity as obedience, and rewards them for it. It is only when they begin to speak and act in ways that don’t suit Lear, that he sees them as unnatural, devilish and unwomanly (“Kinder” 6). 40 Collington notes the emphasis on sexual language here (203).



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out as he watches France sexually fondle his beloved Cordelia. Here one can envision Cordelia suffering both her father’s blatant, public response as the jealous lover and France’s inappropriate physical attention. Goneril and Regan have learned the lessons of the patriarchy and act as such; Cordelia is seen to have at least in part chosen an alternate path. She has a sense of self, but misjudges the violent, gendered world of Lear.41 The challenge for feminist representations is to create a layered personality in Cordelia. If she appears as the one person who was right in the opening scene, she then makes Goneril and Regan look malicious or simply dishonest because she herself judges them to be. If Cordelia’s motives are more varied and ambiguous, then her final moments with her sisters become multifaceted. As a result, an audience will need the entire play and all of the characters’ actions to make final judgment. Cordelia’s relationship with her sisters is revealed before she leaves for France. She thinks them duplicitous; they think her naive and destructively obstinate. All assessments are true in this world that they inherit and are ill prepared to change. These family members know each other’s weaknesses and commit to the rightness of their own positions. France may openly agree with Goneril’s advice to Cordelia to “Let your study / Be to content your Lord” (TLN 302–03; 1.1.278–79). Cordelia recognizes this and looks at both Goneril and France, aware of her dilemma. And based on her words, it seems that Cordelia takes little responsibility for the family rupture. Berger is perhaps her harshest critic. Cordelia “helped Lear commit himself to her sisters’ professed bosoms, after which Lear (with Kent’s aid) worked with Regan and Goneril to bring out the worst in them.” And still, Cordelia does not demonstrate the “slightest recognition of her complicity in this skewing of relationships” (44). Cordelia’s lines to her sisters are more ambiguous than many have noted. When she states that “I know you what you are, / And like a Sister am most loath to call / Your faults as they are named” (TLN 294–96; 1.1.271–73), she is here referring to their lack of support for her. Often it is assumed that because Goneril and Regan do not indulge Lear in later scenes, they lie to him in the love speeches he extorted from them, and hence Cordelia calls them liars. But is this necessarily so? Can she not be angry that her politically astute sisters have managed to handle this delicate situation more effectively than she has, and that they did not speak up in her defense? Also, her line “I would prefer him to a better place” (TLN 299; 1.1.276) is

41 MILLARD: [T]o see Cordelia as either sainted martyr (pathetic, timid, politically naïve, misunderstood) or villain (cold, willful, insensitive, proud, unbending) is to ignore an important dramatic tension in the play (144).





once again indefinite. She does not state that if she were in his good graces, Lear should come to live with her. And her assessment of herself as a “better place,” if indeed she means this, smacks of self-satisfaction. Additionally, Cordelia denies the “realities” that Goneril and Regan have absorbed about both father and husband. She apparently thinks that she can distribute her love in a way consistent with women of influence. Her sisters try to tell her the way their world works.42 What makes the action inevitable and yet irresistible is that in marrying France, she does have power. At this point, she is unaware of how that works in a militarized world. The scene with her sisters can also be interpreted without stereotyping any of them. Cordelia believes she was right and must suffer the consequences of her father’s rejection. She is offended that her sisters have gained all while she, attempting to educate their father and both of them, has lost all. She supposed she would assume the ultimate control of the state by standing up to her father and wedding a political partner, but finds instead that her sisters will rule in harmony without her. Thus, her attempt to exhibit the necessary independent qualities of a ruler has backfired, making her merely an appendage to an imperious husband.43 An interpretation stressing the more private and domestic concerns of this scene with the three sisters yields different results. Cordelia now blames her sisters because she understands that both Lear and France are beyond her reach. If France is ordering her to say something to her sisters, Cordelia may be getting an early idea of her husband’s demands on her. As McLuskie affirms, she is once again contained, her love regulated for the supposed good of society. She is “reabsorbed into the patriarchal family by marriage” (99). The woman who could not grant her father all her love now will be expected to love her husband all, as Goneril tells her, with perhaps some bitterness of her own. Angry at her sisters’ conformity, Cordelia finds that she too must accommodate the sexist world around her. Earlier, Cordelia was most concerned that her father recognize her as the honorable, ethical woman she is when she requested “that you make known / It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, / No unchaste action or dishonored step / That hath deprived me of your Grace and favour” (TLN 248–51; 1.1.228–31). Now, when speaking to her sisters, Cordelia again refers to Lear’s “Grace” when she says, “stood . . . within his Grace” (TLN 298; 1.1.275), suggesting 42 KAHN, P.: This “amorous sojourn” is an affair of state . . . This, we suspect, is the sort of marriage into which both Goneril and Regan have already entered (17). 43 ADELMAN: Cordelia leaves Act I a loving but stubbornly self-righteous daughter, devoted equally to her own harsh truth and to her father, insisting on her right to give half her love to her husband (Suffocating 120).



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religious as well as aristocratic decorum. In this rendering, because of her own spiritual bent, she strives to cast Lear in the role of a religious superior. Before she is ushered out by the man who will control her, Cordelia talks to her sisters for the first and only time in the play. In this critical scene, the three family members are together after a disturbing domestic ordeal. Cordelia rather self-righteously turns on her older sisters, exhorting them to care for Lear. When Regan and Goneril retort to these comments, Cordelia’s last words lapse into a generality about “cunning” that is followed by a “Well may you prosper” (TLN 306–08; 1.1.282–84), which is nearly always played sarcastically.44 But does it need to be? In a final effort to communicate her position to her sisters and France, consider a religious Cordelia taking a cross from around her neck, handing it to Goneril, and taking Regan by the hand, uttering, “Well may you prosper.” Here she attempts to pass on her role as spiritual custodian of Lear. Unhappy, she leaves, alienated from both her father and her sisters. A reading sensitive to the pitfalls of stereotyping avoids painting the sisters as enemies. All three daughters undergo an appalling experience, one that shapes their lives forever. This encounter reveals intricate loyalties. The sisters are strong individuals, political creatures who have witnessed their kingdom divided, their ruler enraged, and their futures uncertain. They may well have feelings for one another, but still strive to preserve their own sense of power, their own precarious path through the hazardous circumstances around them. Or, the sisters could be motivated most acutely by their family relationships. Their volatile and needy father has ruptured the family inexorably. Lear planned for his “kind nursery” with Cordelia, his mother-daughter. She begins to “mother” him by correcting his unreasonable demands for love, especially since he insists on her marriage. Her sisters continue this “mothering” in subsequent scenes, but Lear has another kind of mother in mind, one who will indulge his fantasies and love him “all.” These women are set against one another throughout the play by the self-centered love of their father. Cordelia, young, naive, direct, righteous, and judgmental, leaves the play at this point, not a saint or sinner, but a woman caught in the strictures of the patriarchal family.

44 ROSENBERG: [A] daughter concerned for this father could hardly manage a less effective way of appealing to her sisters to care for him. And as she scorns them, she pities herself—poor Cordelia again (81).







Goneril Makes Her Stand: Queen and Mother (Act 1, scenes 3 and 4)

Act 1, Scene 3 Goneril In one possible interpretation, the play moves from a world dominated and controlled by Lear to a world where Goneril now commands, with the open, shared-rule model she works to create.1 To define both the new political climate and the relationship between Goneril and Albany, a short speechless scene can be imagined before the dialogue begins. Goneril is a competent and innovative commander, counteracting traditional representations that depict women as unsuitable for high governmental positions. Dressed as befitting a leader, she dons a baldric differing from Lear’s, one designed to represent the women’s government. This new baldric is fashioned with two intertwined branches, representing both the union of the sisters and their respect of the natural, thus challenging the masculine view of nature often asserted in the play. Lear’s charge against all three of his “unnatural” daughters is ironically countered in this matriarchal embrace of nature

1 Rosenberg points out that editors call the setting the palace of the Duke of Albany, “but it is now unmistakably Goneril’s, she asserts her mastery, her ownership” (93).



4


embedded in the new monarchal emblem. This association of the feminine and the natural unintentionally threatens the patriarchy even further. The action begins with Goneril seated at a table conducting business for a petitioner. Soldiers line the walls, standing at attention as official business is conducted. Albany is less than enthusiastic as he watches his wife execute these duties. He is here a man who longs to return to Lear’s regime. Protective of patriarchal rule, he disapproves of his wife’s active plan to share the government with Regan and Cornwall. He is seated alongside Goneril, but then, frustrated by the petitioner looking only to Goneril for answers, storms out of the room, leaving the political mess to her. In the background, we hear Lear and his men firing off weapons, carousing, and creating a disturbance. The petitioner looks in the direction of the noise and then at Goneril, indicating that he has come to speak with her about this. The soldiers, discreetly acknowledging the noise outside, look to see how the queen will respond. Goneril assures the men and the petitioner that she will handle Lear and his rabble. As the petitioner exits, Goneril examines a stack of complaints brought against Lear and his men. She crosses to a window and looks out on the wild scene below as Oswald enters to deliver his report accompanied by the soldier Lear attacked. Goneril refers to the soldier when she asks, “Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chiding of his Fool?” (TLN 507–08; 1.3.1–2), her first words in the scene. When Oswald confirms this, Goneril proceeds to deal with her wayward father.2 Goneril appropriately asks Oswald whether Lear struck her soldier for, what seems to her, a trifling reason. She wants to modify Lear’s belligerent habits, establishing a decorum that does not set them “all at odds” (TLN 512; 1.3.6). Such an intention shows the rational, thoughtful woman observed in scene 1 working diligently to solve this serious problem.3 A Goneril very different from the one described above could appear in this pivotal sequence of scenes. The domestic nature of the action has moved many, such as Peter Brook, in his influential 1962 version, to situate the lines in an environment deeply affected by Lear’s retinue. Here, Goneril’s home is imagined in varying degrees of disarray, littered with alcohol bottles and trash, strewn about the place by Lear and his drunken retainers. Overturned furniture and a general atmosphere of disorder locate Goneril’s unease within a compelling context. Oswald and other servants return order to the palace. These details emphasize how Lear has not only shown open disregard for her home, but has also physically attacked one of 2 Alfar points out that Goneril, now so newly authorized as monarch, has to contend with “petty disputes” (Fantasies 92). Reid argues that Oswald’s beating in the next scene makes us believe that the men are truly combative (229). 3 See McLeod for Goneril’s more “measured” response in the Folio (175).



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her gentlemen. Now that Lear has a hundred men, all seemingly at leisure in his fantasy retirement, the situation is unsustainable. Still, she begins the scene with a weary, fact-finding question about Lear’s behavior. Critics of the Lear family dynamics can especially relate to her concerns in these scenes.4 Goneril must revise her longstanding, now fruitless, methods of placation. In the past, she could walk away if her father’s mood turned ugly, but now with him in the house, this is impossible. Feeling hopeless, she also knows better than to follow her old habit of joining him in celebration and leisurely activity, licensing his misbehavior. As a conscientious new ruler, however, Goneril, in her first substantial speech, recognizes Lear’s part in the disruption of her castle. Notably, she avoids an emotional response to her father and instead works through the problem logically. She is a woman unaccustomed to standing up to the volatile Lear. Her language shifts from describing and determining to confront the problem to choosing avoidance. The vocabulary paints a vivid picture of chaotic life at her castle: “day and night,” “every hour,” “riotous,” and “every trifle” (TLN 510, 513, 514; 1.3.4, 7, 8). The swing from this lucid depiction to instructing Oswald to “say I am sick” (TLN 515; 1.3.9) indicates a person unsure about how best to manage her wayward father and his men. Some of these and the following lines result from Goneril’s attention to her own military retinue, very present on stage. A politically motivated reading would reveal that she wants her men to trust her leadership when she states, “I’ll not endure it” (TLN 512; 1.3.6),5 demonstrating that she will not let the situation get out of hand. Although she directs Oswald not to acquiesce to her father or his riotous knights, she promises to take full responsibility for the outcome: “ . . . the fault of it I’ll answer” (TLN 517; 1.3.11). As a capable ruler, she rejects lamenting one day, as her father does later, the “Poor naked wretches,” whom Lear has “ta’en / Too little care of “(TLN 1809, 1813–14; 3.4.28, 32–33). In this family focused interpretation, these same lines delivered by a Goneril who truly suffers from her father’s insensitivity toward her take on a different meaning. The constant worry begins to affect her both physically and emotionally, and, recalling her father’s actions, she attempts to keep her emotions under control. Goneril is seriously appealing to her trusted man, Oswald, when she acknowledges Lear and his men’s effect: “That sets us all at odds” (TLN 512; 1.3.6). She reacts to Lear’s violence against one of her own attendants in a way that draws 4 MCFARLAND: [Goneril] speaks in tones with which many with numerous and longstaying guests can sympathize (96). 5 KAHN, P.: Goneril’s control over speech marks her assumption of the power Lear possessed at the play’s opening (30).



Goneril Makes Her Stand


attention to the brawling, violent action, not to the disrespect to her status that an unsympathetic production might project. The indulged Fool encourages violence, and he and Lear’s other bully men demonstrate their support of this behavior by their actions. Consider that Goneril is literally suffering from a severe headache brought on by the stressful surroundings, so she truthfully claims to be “sick.” Not interpreted as an excuse or power play to anger her father further, her illness stems from Lear’s disruptive behavior. She chooses not to chide her father herself, knowing this will only set him off, but hopes that her own people can control Lear by standing their ground: “Put on what weary negligence you please, / . . . I’d have it come to question” (TLN 519–20; 1.3.13–14). This of course fails. These lines, abruptly following Lear’s relinquishment of his authority, show something very amiss about his “retirement” plans. Lear and his men produce the strained atmosphere in this household. A very different Goneril is now on view than the one we met in scene 1. Here, imagine her hair disheveled, and lack of sleep apparent on her haggard face. Not knowing how to manage the situation effectively, she first decides to avoid her father. Goneril is the child reacting without immediate success to her father’s demanding care. Because an aging parent evokes great sympathy, juxtaposed with Lear, Goneril has often been made to appear unsympathetic on stage, but this does not need to be the case. Goneril’s qualities as a ruler are revealed by some important touches in her next speech. The Folio’s omission of Quarto lines 17–21, in which Goneril attacks Lear as an “old fool” and a “babe,” presents a woman who is less critical of her father and more concerned with how to maintain peace.6 These comments are harsh; their omission, as Foakes puts it, “softens the character of Goneril here, by removing both her insulting words about her father, and her conscious plotting against him” (Arden 191, n. 17–21). Although their deletion makes Goneril appear less judgmental, she need not be viewed as exhibiting stereotyped female softness. Also, the omission of lines 25–26—“I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, / That I may speak”—shows a Goneril focused more on being one with her sister than trying to provoke Lear. These lines presumably constitute the “conscious plotting” Foakes refers to, but 6 FOAKES: [This] seems to fit in with other changes to Goneril’s role, and makes somewhat more plausible her treatment of her father (Arden 211, n. 315–27). HALIO: [A]lterations in Gonerill’s character involve not only cuts but additions and amplifications as well . . . her nature in F is softer (Tragedy 73). MCLEOD: [T]he plan to slack service in F is relatively cool; it reads like the reasoned tit for tat of a woman who is conscious of propriety and principle, and who responds to provocation slowly and in proportion (175).



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also seem little more than petulant, rather silly phrases, well omitted with such a serious issue at hand. In the Folio, Goneril is referring to the governmental structure that she established at the end of 1.1. Thus, she will inform her sister of the potentially dangerous political situation in order to maintain a united front. Her goal is to create a consistent policy throughout Britain so that Lear and his large band of men cannot undermine the rule of the land. Significantly, Goneril’s final speech in this scene directs her tactics at Lear’s knights, not at her father. She tries to get her household and her territories under control by both refusing to accept the knights’ behavior and by informing her sister of present problems. She attempts to manage Lear by placing her focus on his men’s behavior, not on Lear’s, preparing herself for a confrontation: “And let his Knights have colder looks among you: what grows of it no matter” (TLN 525–26; 1.3.23–24). Determined to restore order, Goneril, although beleaguered by Lear and his followers, maintains her professional demeanor throughout the scene. Given the harsh treatment of Oswald, she must prepare her susceptible sister by detailing the repercussions of Lear’s stay. If Regan makes the fatal mistake of backing their infantile father, her life and home will be overrun. These lines show that the trouble between Goneril and Lear starts well before they argue in the next scene. In readings exploring family dynamics, Oswald can be viewed as someone upon whom Goneril relies to keep her home in smooth running order. He is personally invested in returning the house to its former well-run condition and willingly agrees with Goneril’s instructions. Oswald is a decent man, committed to Goneril, a woman he respects. She clearly trusts Oswald in return; she tells him she will write to her sister, whom she assumes will support her, and relies on him to deliver the message. If Goneril as daughter is frustrated and weary, she still need not be the angry woman often portrayed. Here she truly wants to care for her aging father. She tried to provide a welcoming atmosphere, but her efforts have been in vain. After she tells Oswald that she will “write straight to my Sister to hold my course” (TLN 527; 1.3.26–27), one can imagine this exhausted Goneril feeling unsteady on her feet. A devoted Oswald then helps her to a chair so that she can regain her strength. After catching her breath, she requests that he “prepare for dinner” (TLN 527–28; 1.3.27). This close, trusting rapport establishes Goneril as a woman capable of having a strong bond with a man, even though her relationships with her father and her husband are unsuccessful. It also demonstrates that Goneril is a woman worthy of loyalty and compassion; she cares about the people in her charge, and they in return care for her.




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Act 1, Scene 4 Goneril The first argument between Lear and Goneril is pivotal in understanding the two older daughters in the play. Envision Goneril as a woman motivated by her new powers, entering the scene ready to discuss the current unsustainable state of affairs with her father. On Lear’s entry earlier, the Folio’s stage direction has “and Attendants” (TLN 538). The speech prefix later is “Knight,” whereas the Quarto calls them “servants.” This change again emphasizes that the knights who follow Lear are on stage, and behaving inappropriately. Foakes notes that “the more rowdy the knights, the more Goneril’s complaints at 191–4 and later may be justified, so their behaviour here is of considerable importance” (Arden 192, n. 7). To avoid stereotyping Goneril, consider that men from her own military are present off to one side, observing the decidedly boisterous behavior of Lear and his retinue. When their Queen enters, they all respectfully acknowledge her. Lear and his men still wear the insignia representing his reign and behave as though they still control the state. Goneril, supposing her father would require time to adjust to his new role, has allowed them to hold onto these last vestiges of power, in retrospect a grave error. Lear’s men are dismissive of Goneril, openly grumbling as she passes. She knows that this situation will test her powers of diplomacy, and prepares herself for a difficult confrontation. She behaves like a person in charge, but with initial deference to the previous ruler. Despite Lear’s imperious first words to her, “You are too much of late i’the frown” (TLN 704; 1.4.181), she is keenly aware she must present herself as the rational leader, commanding the situation as well as demonstrating her respect for her father in this public arena.7

7 BELSEY: [I]n Goneril’s house, where he is now no more to the servants than “My lady’s father” (77), his orders carry no weight (55). Rosenberg notes that the play carefully shows Goneril “not subordinated” to her father” here (135).



At the end of this scene, she is unable to rest until things are settled. She changes her mind about seeing her father, and comes to talk to Lear when Kent strikes Oswald in the next scene.

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Initially, she does not want to alienate Lear’s followers and perhaps risk creating unrest among her own men. The earlier part of the scene, when Kent trips Oswald, highlights in miniature the problem of the violence of Lear’s followers. Past productions have variously dramatized this. The mean-spirited rough-housing could reenact the very complaint of 1.3, when Oswald reports to Goneril that her follower was being abused by Lear on behalf of his man, the Fool. This blatant repetition of brutal action coalesces in the character of Kent, who represents the old fierce world of Lear. His devotion to his irrational leader often obscures his major contribution to the error of Lear’s ways. The later gratuitous violence of Kent’s attack on the same man in 2.2 reinforces the present encounter. No matter how engrossed one becomes in Lear’s perceived disrespect, a discerning audience cannot comfortably witness the vicious taunts and needless brawling of Kent.8 And yet this crucial scene has pointed domestic and social implications. Lear and his men can be portrayed as returning to Goneril’s home dressed in hunting apparel and camouflage outfits, carrying rifles and liquor bottles, especially if a more contemporary setting is imagined. This drunken retinue enters in very high spirits: some men astride other men’s backs, whooping and hollering, behaving like unrestrained, unruly adolescents. To press this interpretation further, picture men pushing a drunken Lear perched atop a wheeled toy horse taken from the family’s childhood nursery as a joke. Lear is very much the center of this merrymaking. This staging choice endorses Lear’s need for mothering and imagines his “retirement” as a second childhood. His subsequent madness is presaged by his odd and even disturbing behavior here. Envision that when we first see him riding his toy horse, he plays at cowboy by taking his pistol out of his holster and shooting it wildly into the air. This hazardous act is very real, however, causing some men to hit the ground while others, too drunk to run for cover, laugh. Later, Goneril, the beset daughter, will enter the scene with Oswald, who apparently went to her after being attacked by Lear and Kent. To return to a political reading, prior to Goneril’s entrance, the Fool has derided Lear for giving up his power to his daughters. He now taunts the old man, implying that he himself is the fool, and notably condemns him as “nothing” (TLN 708; 1.4.185), using Cordelia’s very word. The Fool’s chiding puts Lear in a foul mood. The unsuspecting Goneril walks into this 8 ERICKSON: As Lear’s surrogate, Kent displays the aggressiveness in which Lear himself has been deficient (106). FOAKES: Lear has taken for granted the use of violence in exercising authority as king, and has encouraged his followers, the knights, and especially Kent to do likewise on his behalf (Violence 145). See Rutter for how the director Peter Brook apparently saw Kent as a violent thug when he baits Oswald (“Eel” 189).





atmosphere. However portrayed, Goneril’s predicament is precisely laid out in the text.9 As she attempts to handle the thorny situation with some official decorum, the Fool publicly ridicules her. A compelling interpretation sees the Fool as a man who understands the benefit and, in his mind, the necessity of maintaining patriarchal superiority and rule. His misogynistic treatment of Goneril, along with his openly critical gibes at Lear, stems from his knowledge that Lear, or he himself, for that matter, will suffer in a world dominated by women. By challenging Lear’s manhood, the Fool attempts to expose the “foul” nature of women, forcing Lear to act against his daughters. Gender becomes overtly entangled with issues of power. As a new ruler faced with the inadequate deference of an underling, Goneril endeavors to discuss the objectionable behavior of the Fool and the knights with her father. The Fool, however, will not allow Goneril private conference with Lear. He breaks in to answer Lear’s opening comments before she can speak. “Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning” (TLN 705–06; 1.4.182–83), he tutors Lear. Goneril, communicating her frustration with his impertinence, causes the presumptuous Fool to remark, “Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing” (TLN 708–09; 1.4.185–86). But he does not hold his tongue and continues his rude interruption, stressing again Lear’s foolish abdication. A logical sovereign, Goneril lays out the problem, painstakingly presenting her reasoning: “I had thought by making this well known unto you . . . ” (TLN 716; 1.4.195), but cannot find language to convince the obstinate Lear.10 The Fool, continually interrupting her attempts, purposely tries to rattle Goneril. He wants to demonstrate to all present that she is a hysterical woman unfit to rule. The Fool, urging Lear’s men to join in censuring Goneril’s “ridiculous” intrusion, mocks her in front of her army. When his snide remarks do not effect the expected breakdown, he turns his attention to Lear, contending in his encoded language that Lear’s lack of authority results from his misguided decision to empower his daughters: “May not an Ass know, when the Cart draws the Horse?” (TLN 735–36; 1.4.215–16).11 Continuing to harp on the switch in power

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ROSENBERG: Goneril does not exist only as a foil to Lear here: she has an identity of her own, and is herself a design of opposites. This will also be true of Albany and Fool. The text scrupulously avoids dictating a fixed “idea” of their roles in the scene, so that extreme demands are made on the audience’s response repertory (127). 10 KAHN, P.: Those who would exercise power—Edmund and Goneril . . . —must gain control over speech (31). 11 McLuskie suggests that the Fool is similar to the daughters in that he constantly expresses the “material basis for the change in the balance of power” (105).



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For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it’s had it head bit off by it young . . . (TLN 726–28; 1.4.206–07)

Once the animal imagery is untangled, this odd comparison begins the bestialization of the older daughters with distinct political ramifications. Heather Dubrow explains that the analogy reflects the “social and legal history that lies just below the surface of King Lear” that has to do with “forms of trespass in early modern England.” Thus, “the cuckoo enters a nest where it does not belong, displacing its rightful inhabitants and in effect gaining title. The episode culminates in violence, as land disputes in the culture often did, and involves as well a travesty of familial ties” (106). Goneril, knowledgeable about political allegory, strongly reacts to being linked to the murderous cuckoo offspring. For his part, Lear reacts to the commonplace cuckoo/cuckold verbal insult. Goneril’s interaction with the Fool, however, can take on more psychological and familial dimensions. Visualize that when the raucous and intoxicated men first see Goneril, they begin to whistle and call to her, but she ignores their juvenile behavior. To reinforce the Fool’s attempts to control Lear, imagine him filling Lear’s glass from the bottle he keeps close at hand, enabling his drunken behavior. A trusted right-hand man and long-standing part of Lear’s entourage, the Fool keeps Lear in drink to ensure his place in this culture, functioning as a constant within his adoptive drunken family. He puts his faith in the man he has served; he has literally served him drink for years. This Fool is anxious not about Lear’s surrendered rule, but about maintaining his psychological mainstay in the flawed and excessive Lear. He views governing women as interloping spoilsports who curtail the party. When Goneril observes the Fool plying Lear with liquor, she collects herself and prepares for the inevitable misogynistic verbal onslaught. Goneril is the long-suffering “mother” to her father, and she succumbs to the current tension. She enters with a cold cloth pressed to her forehead, used to reduce the pain of an intense headache. Lear’s first line to her, “ . . . what makes that Frontlet on?” (TLN 703; 1.4.180), is then his way of mocking her use of the cloth, since a frontlet is literally defined as an ornamental band. He assumes she feigns illness as a way of avoiding him. Lear’s men laugh at Goneril’s presumed dramatics. A purposeful Goneril ignores these insults, taking Lear’s hand in hers in a show of affection.



dynamics, Lear’s beloved Fool once again goads Goneril. He goes so far as to liken Goneril to a cannibal:


The Fool then insults her by telling Lear, “Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning.” This staging tells of a loving daughter trying to negotiate a difficult situation with her father and the men who follow him, not an angry woman impatient with a disobedient old man. In readings highlighting Goneril’s professional obligations as queen and general, she does not allow the Fool to bait her, but instead continues to reason with her father. Lear pointedly does not discuss the situation, shifting his attention to his perceived mistreatment at the hands of others. “Are you our Daughter?” “Does any here know me?” “Who is it that can tell me who I am?” (TLN 730, 738, 743; 1.4.209, 217, 221). These questions illustrate Lear’s deliberate tactics to avoid taking Goneril’s concerns seriously.12 He openly works the crowd by directing these questions to his followers. Lear’s men disrespectfully laugh and mock Goneril, urging Lear on, thus attempting to diminish the effect of Goneril’s words. Her control jeopardizes their carefree lifestyle. They also blatantly refuse to acknowledge a woman leader and ridicule the men who serve her. As Lear’s retinue verbally assaults her, Goneril’s own men move threateningly, whereupon she judiciously puts a stop to any action on their part and instead continues her efforts to reach her father. Purposely diplomatic phrases such as “I do beseech you,” “make use of your good wisdom,” “As you are Old and Reverend,” and “will take the thing she begs” (TLN 747, 731, 749, 757; 1.4.229, 211, 231, 239, italics added) show a leader treating her adversary with respect.13 Goneril reasonably points out that her court “Shows like a riotous Inn” (TLN 753; 1.4.235), revealing her concern for stately decorum. She even asks that Lear “should be Wise”(TLN 749; 1.4.231).14 In readings exploring Goneril’s filial status, the Fool’s taunting and the men’s behavior would surely offend her, as her first words indicate. Here, the Fool actually leads the men in scorning Goneril. All interactions present insurmountable difficulties for a daughter trying to care for her retired father, as Reid recognizes. He defends Goneril’s statement about the “all-licensed Fool” (TLN 712; 1.4.191) since the audience sees him verbally abusing her. Further, when she tells Oswald to “prepare for dinner”

12

KAHN, P.: Goneril has been transformed from his daughter into a public power. He quite literally does not know who she is (37). 13 Alfar contrasts Goneril’s mild reaction to that of her father, “who reacts explosively to Kent’s and Cordelia’s unexpected responses” (Fantasies 93). 14 ALFAR: She must present an ordered and functioning court to visiting heads of state on the lookout for, and ready to take advantage of, any disruptions of government indicating its weakness or vulnerability (92). DUBROW: [W]ithout any other trappings of power . . . it is problematical to maintain a household but not a house (108).



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(TLN 527–28; 1.3.27), in the next scene Lear is seen commanding a dinner for himself and his retinue, Reid remarks: “Preparing of dinner for several hundred people immediately would vex even more gracious a hostess than Goneril” (229).15 Goneril’s first speech begins as a lucid explanation of the unbearable situation, but ends as a murky description of others’ perceptions. Her headache and the disgusted responses from Lear and his followers cause the collapse in her thought and syntax. She struggles to find a way to speak to her father without provoking his wrath in the midst of this boys’-club atmosphere. Goneril attempts to remove her father from his men and speaks in hushed tones to avoid their interference. She, conscious of his heavy drinking, stresses words to make her point. She requests that he accept responsibility with such phrases as “well known,” “what your self too late have spoke and done,” “you protect,” and “your allowance.” She reveals how this situation affects her with the words “safe redress” and “fearful” (TLN 716–26; 1.4.195–204). In the psychodynamics of this family, Lear expects Goneril to violate her own home in deference to his childish need for adoring supporters, and thus her speech has the unwelcome effect of producing more bitter comment from Lear’s Fool. The Fool strives to reclaim Lear from Goneril, ushering him away from her. He pours Lear a drink as he warns him of the dangers of allowing his daughter too much say. His encoded ditty about the hedge-sparrow and cuckoo combines the masculine anxiety inherent in the cuckold image with the now-impotent father, as the Fool pushes every misogynist button in this scene.16 In an interpretation that equates daughters with mothers, the Fool fears that Lear’s desire to be cared for by his daughters affords these women too much control over the life they will all lead. He longs for Lear to dismiss Goneril as he would any other woman, and understands that if he can convince him of this, his old friend will regain power. Gender stereotypes and power plays dominate this banter, as critics point out.17 Political agency drives Goneril, the responsible governor, when she finally tells Lear what it will take to restore order: “A little to disquantity

15

See Berger on Lear’s aggressive behavior (35). Collington argues that this imagery combines male anxiety and “betrayal by blood relations” (203). See Rudnytsky for cuckold imagery and Lear’s feminization (298). 17 ERICKSON: In the Fool, Kent’s aggressive action takes the form of aggressive wit. . . . [His] pointed humor has a misogynist edge (106–07). Rudnytsky notes that the Fool “preys on Lear’s misogyny and sexual anxiety” (298) and stresses Lear’s resemblance to women (304). 16





your Train” (TLN 758; 1.4.240). He reacts with absolute outrage.18 His irate men create a scene, demanding that their “King” refuse her request. Still dressed in the uniforms of Lear’s court, they band together with weapons openly visible, posing a clear military threat. They want this upstart queen to recognize that they are Lear’s army, not hers, and will never obey her. Lear acknowledges the power of his men and grants their wishes with the same kind of violent outburst he displayed toward Cordelia in 1.1. John Charles Bucknill admits that “enough of Lear’s violence, both in language and conduct is manifested, to confirm the truth of Goneril’s harsh accusations” (143). To reinforce the image of a Goneril who is responding rationally to this situation, consider that her men stand at the ready, but she again holds them back. She will not be goaded into a skirmish with Lear’s followers. Her enlightened vision of shared rule, antithetical to the royalist patriarchy Lear espouses, helps her successfully prevent a clash. Foakes says that it is “important to notice that the violence we first see is practiced by Lear and his followers, and is vividly registered in the opening scene” (Violence 145). Goneril’s decisive line—“By her, that else will take the thing she begs” (TLN 757; 1.4.239)—is a Renaissance monarch’s last resort in dealing with an unruly subject. With this line, Goneril pointedly moves to her armed men and stands with them. This action is meant as a nonverbal warning to force Lear and his men to yield. She may have learned this move from her domineering father, but she does everything she can to avoid conflict. Even her circumlocution points this up.19 She has presented a reasonable compromise—that Lear find men of more appropriate conduct—and she again uses words that show a certain level of respect for Lear. His men, anxious for a brawl, recognize that they are outnumbered, and Lear defuses the situation by threatening to leave. Lear’s impulsive action is characteristic of his great failings. He mirrors his earlier disowning of Cordelia in his labeling Goneril a “Degenerate Bastard” (TLN 764; 1.4.245).20 Cursing her in front of both his men and her own, he treats her not as a ruler, but as an ungrateful daughter. However, despite Lear’s aggressive attack on her authority and her very person, she remains strong in facing her father’s rebellion, understood as such in a military setting. Goneril delivers her final words with the utmost restraint and clarity, usurping Lear’s 18 ROSENBERG: [We see] a magnificence—and a touch of masculinity—in the courage with which Goneril pits her authority as ruler and hostess against men accustomed to Lear’s absolute power (121). 19 See Reid for Goneril’s suppliant tone through nearly all these lines (229). 20 Alfar reads this denial of paternity as part of Lear’s denial of respect, a respect that ultimately “yields her power” (Fantasies 94). See Paul Kahn for a similar analysis (39–40).



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stop-speech gesture to silence him: “You strike my people, and your disorder’d rabble, / Make Servants of their Betters” (TLN 766–67; 1.4.247–48). This last attempt of Goneril to convince Lear that she must regain control of her house demonstrates that neither Lear nor the Fool can deter her from her intended course. Although extremely unsettled, Goneril keeps her emotions in check and maintains her restraint. Most productions do not interpret this scene from a political perspective. To view the action as highly personal exposes the dysfunction within Lear’s family. Thus, Lear responds to Goneril’s plea for help with shock that his daughter would dare address him in such a way. The question, “Are you our Daughter?” conveys Lear’s demand for verbal assurance and compliance from this daughter, just as he did in the first scene. Arnold Isenberg feels that “for a man of eighty who is so dependent on his daughters as to require constant reassurances of their affection is pathetically foolish and weak” (191).21 Clearly, Lear requires his daughter’s respect, regardless of his own conduct. Although he commands as any imperious father, as the Father representing the state, he is never to be questioned or defied, especially in front of his men. Therefore, Goneril tries to get Lear away from his hangers-on to induce him to stop this outrageous behavior. She must separate him from the Fool, who plies him with alcohol. She moves him slowly away as she implores: I would you would make use of your good wisdom (Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are. (TLN 731–34; 1.4.211–14)

The Fool, unwilling to let Goneril control the discourse, jumps in with “May not an Ass know, when the Cart draws the Horse?”—now, a strategic distraction. The Fool turns to the already-beleaguered Goneril and irritatingly jokes, “Whoop Jug I love thee” (TLN 737; 1.4.216), torturing her with his arrogance.22

21 McLuskie sees Lear’s story as a domestic tragedy built upon patriarchal oppression. The daughters’ struggle is gendered, and their position in the family is “fixed” by the “rightful order” (98). 22 LUSARDI AND SCHLEUTER: Goneril’s conversation with Lear is repeatedly punctuated by the Fool’s commentary, in which he acridly suggests that her complaints pervert the natural order (65). Rosenberg notes the “intolerable” effect of the Fool’s language, especially on Goneril (118).





The sharp retort about the ass and cart causes Lear slowly to come out of his drunken fog as he tries to regain some control over his disobedient daughter. He characteristically makes the issue all about his own identity. His sarcastic “Does any here know me?” speech indicates his own lack of self-knowledge, heightening the irony and reinforcing the obdurate definitions of an egotistical reality he has conceived for himself. Alcohol further enhances the self-pity reflected in “Does Lear walk thus? Speak thus?” (TLN 740; 1.4.218). As he plays to his audience of men, envision Lear actually slurring some of his words and stumbling about the stage. Lear is a man losing more and more control of his mind and body, and he does indeed walk and talk like this. He aggrandizes himself into the third person and mockingly ends with “Who is it that can tell me who I am?” His self-centered comments relate to his calamitous decision to divide his property in the first scene. Simon Estok points out the essential link between identity and property, arguing that after giving away his lands, Lear gives away his “masculine identity.”23 This acutely psychoanalytic moment climaxes in the Folio’s attribution of the stinging answer to Lear’s question, “Lear’s shadow” (TLN 744; 1.4.222), to the Fool. Most think this clever analysis of the problem is merely the Fool’s continued program to shock Lear back into taking control. This may be true, but the Fool is strangely masculinist in his jokes and jibes, undermining his own persuasiveness to viewers less monarchist and sexist than those in the world Lear created or at least supported, certainly less monarchist and sexist than many audiences today. The Fool implies that Lear is now the shadow of the real man he was before, a man who knew how to handle women. The barroom atmosphere and discourse established in this scene is carefully laid out by the script. Shakespeare pits tavern against court in the Henry IV plays; here, instead of the young, profligate king-in-training, an old disordered monarch confuses play with decorum, to the disruption of everything around him. This Fool, the old man’s best buddy, sees the truth of the matter, and will very soon desert him, as he presages in 2.2 to Kent: “let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following” (TLN 1344–45; 2.2.261–62). Although not yet ready to abandon him, he recognizes Lear’s diminished stature. And despite his “love” for the old man, he is a king’s fool and has little place as an enabler of a retired sot, especially considering

23 Estok reminds us that in this scene alone, Lear “asks three separate times about his identity in a crescendo of increasing frenziedness, first with a simple ‘Dost thou know me?’ (l. 26), then ‘Who am I?’ (l. 78), and finally, in desperation: ‘Does any here know me?’ ” (24–25). Rosenberg calls this moment one of “infantile desperation” (118).



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his antagonistic relationship with the new seat of power, Goneril.24 The Fool then delivers the phrase “Lear’s shadow” with anger, blaming Lear for destroying their world. Directly following this reattributed line about Lear’s shadow, the Folio version omits more lines in which the Fool says that his daughters try to convert him into “an obedient father” (1.4.226). These lines show the Fool rubbing Lear’s nose in his mistakes, but with a more hostile stance toward the daughters, which the Folio’s omission mollifies. These changes are part of a revised presentation of the Fool, as Foakes describes (Arden 133–37). These omissions make the Fool’s role in these early scenes now somewhat adversarial to Lear, as another male voice complaining about women’s power. If one likes to think of the Fool as loved by Lear, no direct evidence shows the Fool loving him back. He merely points up Lear’s folly, a function of his professional banter. Nor does the Fool lovingly intervene for Cordelia. Lear, however, chooses to ignore the Fool’s direct assault, and turns to Goneril. His main tactic is to discredit their relationship, making him a stranger both to himself and to her. His scheme obviously affects Goneril, who acquiesces to her father while reasoning with him. But when Lear childishly asks, “Your name, fair Gentlewoman?” (TLN 745; 1.4.227), an overwrought Goneril exhorts him to renounce these “new pranks” (TLN 747; 1.4.229).25 Goneril, appealing to a sense of propriety, pleads that “As you are Old, and Reverend, should be Wise” (TLN 749; 1.4.231). She does not simply call him “Old,” but adds “Reverend” while she “beseeches” him (TLN 747–49; 1.4.229–31). She is an adult child trying to forge a new relationship with an aging parent.26 Imagine Goneril attempting to make a loving gesture to her father. She tentatively puts her arm around him when she says “Reverend,” but he moves away from her touch. She uses the word “shame” (TLN 755; 1.4.237) in connection with his followers’ behavior, and she now must take charge, despite her love for her irrational

24 DRISCOLL: Monarchy’s autocratic power constitutes the substance of what Lear was; now, with only a monarch’s title, he is, the Fool rejoins, “Lear’s shadow” (171). 25 Lusardi and Schleuter think that Goneril’s “reasoned plea” is of “consummate sobriety,” and that Lear’s men, as servants of a king who is not in power, may indeed be rowdy, “responding to the breach of social order that Lear imposed upon them” (65–66). See Reid on Goneril’s inability to display true emotion in light of Lear’s wrath (239). 26 AGUIAR: Goneril’s behavior toward . . . her father, once she has gained power, might be recognized as not only having motivation—her rebellion against his tyranny—but also her own paternal training: she responds toward him as he would respond toward her (197). MAVER: [Director Richard Eyre comments that he is] convinced that part of the play’s meaning lay in the sense of the young needing to be liberated from the oppression of the old—the universal feeling of the child toward the parent (35). See McFarland for the everyday tensions between older parents living with their grown children enacted here (96).




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. . . Be then desired By her, that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your Train, And the remainders that shall still depend, Be such men as may besort your Age, Which know themselves, and you. (TLN 756–61; 1.4.238–43)

This plan leads to a crescendo of disapproval from Lear’s men.27 Lear is shocked that his “mother” would chastise him in front of his friends. He expects Goneril to care for him by indulging his whims, not to establish rules of the house. His response is to run away from home. He now labels Goneril a “Degenerate Bastard,” to suggest to the men that this creature is not his daughter. His fury is immediate, extravagant, and altogether unfounded.28 During his rant, imagine that he grabs the bottle away from the Fool, continuing to drink as he curses this “ungrateful” woman. Rangarajan and Kelly tell us that gender counts, even here, in that “paternal alcoholism is more disruptive” than that of the mother. It undermines “family communication patterns” that can result in the loss of self-esteem in children. Further, “Male alcoholics are more likely than their female counterparts to display an angry/violent drinking pattern,” one leading to a “dysfunctional family” (667). When Lear retorts, “I’ll not trouble thee” (TLN 764; 1.4.245), the connection between shelter and family status becomes clear. He threatens to leave the home of the bad mother.29 Goneril has exhausted most of her strength by this time and responds to her father’s curse with “You strike my people, and your disordered rabble, make Servants of their Betters” (TLN 766–67; 1.4.246–47). Thomas McFarland concludes that because of these kinds of “nuanced appeals to the sensus communis,” the conflict cannot be reduced to moral binaries (97–98). 27 FOAKES: Lear’s “insolent retinue” of a hundred knights creates a rival authority in her household (Violence 145). 28 Craig points up the rapidity of Lear’s rage (7). See McFarland for Lear’s egotistical response (97) and Reid for the violence of the speech (230). Rudnytsky sees a parallel between Lear’s legitimate daughter and Gloucester’s illegitimate son: both “blame the conception of their repudiated children on the women in question” (294). 29 DUBROW: Because of the complex connections between a home and maternity, housing also participates in the play’s kaleidoscope of tropes for the barren and corrupted female body (115).



father. The men’s continual derision motivates her change in tenor at the end of the speech:

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Albany’s entrance offers a new audience for Lear and an additional, unwelcome obstacle for Goneril, the leader in a political reading. Albany, whose household and military have been thrown into disarray, nevertheless feigns ignorance when Lear claims mistreatment and disparagement of his men. Albany has certainly been privy to their disruptive behavior, but now answers, “My Lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant / Of what hath moved you” (TLN 786–87; 1.4.265–66). Goneril’s soldiers look on in disbelief at his response. This exchange shows how Albany feels displaced by Goneril’s popularity, and his belief in patriarchal rule triggers his lack of support for his beleaguered wife and her men. This, then, is his opportunity to exact revenge on the wife who has taken his rightful place as ruler. The deepening rift developing between husband and wife becomes evident in the way Albany responds to Lear’s outrageous cursing. Goneril now knows that her husband will not support her and will openly undermine her position by professing his “ignorance.” Albany’s defection is yet another crack in the shared-rule model that Goneril works to sustain. Lear’s next allegation, that of “Ingratitude” (TLN 771; 1.4.251), shows his inability to see his daughter as a monarch. As Lear levels these accusations at Goneril, picture him striking her baldric, emphasizing her bastardization of his rule and authority. He follows this with “Detested Kite, thou liest. / My Train are men of choice, and rarest parts” (TLN 775–76; 1.4.254–55), an assertion surely undermined by the earlier part of this scene and Kent’s actions in 2.2. A careful study of the text compels one to wonder why these violent moments exist, if not to substantiate Goneril’s view of the riotous followers. Lear likens Goneril to a “Kite” as well as a “Marble-hearted Fiend” (TLN 771; 1.4.251, 254). The dramatic moment when Lear calls upon “Nature” revealingly defines his relationship with all three daughters. He sees them as inhuman, vessels of offspring, not as truly human. His words echo his earlier curse on the dowerless Cordelia and presage his later derogations of Regan. To further this reading, Lear can be shown to rip the baldric representing the new, “natural” order from Goneril’s chest and then wave it in the air like a captured enemy flag when he curses his “unnatural” daughter, praying that she will be sterile (TLN 789–803; 1.4.267–81). Although ostensibly signifying procreative power, as will be addressed below, women’s fertility, Alfar argues, is inextricably intertwined with politics; it reflects issues of “inheritance, about the right of men to transmit their wealth to legitimate heirs” (Fantasies 23).30 This continuing

30 Alfar also comments on how Lear’s attempt to disclaim kingly paternity threatens the legitimacy of Goneril’s rule and notes that her inability to bear offspring would weaken her





masculine anxiety about political agency can be seen to underpin many seemingly personal statements in the play. Still, interpretations nearly always point up the intense psychological drama of these famous speeches, positioning Goneril in a less political light. From this perspective, her husband is seen as an ineffectual man who avoids any type of confrontation and longs to spend his hours in sport. He enjoys being part of this manly entourage and basking in Lear’s good graces. To retain this favored status, he must not take Goneril’s side in this argument. When Albany returns with a few other men from hunting, Lear tests his loyalty by cursing his wife publicly. The Folio adds Albany’s line “Pray Sir be patient” (TLN 774; 1.4.253), which Foakes glosses as “an addition in F, like 321, strengthening Albany’s role” (Arden 207, n. 254). But his role is also diminished by the Folio’s omission of many of his overly sententious lines derogatory to Goneril and Regan. As Lear begins his final speech, his reeling mind propels him to frenzied heights. He becomes more and more enraged and manic as the speech continues, causing the men who were egging Lear on to fall silent. They no longer want to encourage Lear, now taking a sick pleasure at cruelly devastating his daughter. Paul Kahn stresses that the audience also has “no reason” to love Lear. “If we believe him to be poorly treated by Goneril, we also remember his poor treatment of Cordelia and Kent” (36).31 This scene is no ordinary domestic quarrel. Lear’s bitter name-calling exposes his innate conjunction of a hostile nature with what he perceives as a hostile woman. Here Lear, turning viciously upon Goneril, calls her “Degenerate Bastard,” cravenly attempting to exonerate himself from her creation, a “hideous” (TLN 772; 1.4.252) representative of “Ingratitude,” that “Marble-hearted Fiend.” Then she becomes “Detested Kite,” and all this before he wields his profound sterility curse upon “this Creature” (TLN 791; 1.4.269). In this oft-quoted speech, Lear prays that Goneril will have “a child of Spleen” (TLN 796; 1.4.274), which he implies she herself is, for she has become to him “a thwart disnatured torment” (TLN 797; 1.4.275) that reveals to him “How sharper than a Serpent’s tooth it is, / To have a thankless Child” (TLN 802–03; 1.4.280–81), especially one with a “Wolfish visage” (TLN 827; 1.4.300). The hyperbolic language resonates with twisted authority and wisdom, and many have command in a patrilinear culture (Fantasies 95). See Chamberlain for anxieties surrounding female heirs (175). 31 See Craig on how his curses are meant to affect Goneril and how Lear’s own “fault” is more grave than Cordelia’s (7).



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committed it to memory. Speeches like this go a long way to reinforce sexist portrayals of Goneril. Audiences eager to follow Lear’s journey allow themselves this simplification of the issues. Feminist re-visioning must show the disproportionate cruelty, if not the outright madness, of Lear’s words. We imagine a beset Goneril, now grasping her head in pain, collapsing to the ground when Lear disgorges his repugnant curse. There she remains in a contracted ball, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands as Lear rants. Goneril attempted every possible approach to reason with her father, but when he lashes out saying, “Dry up in her the Organs of increase” (TLN 793; 1.4.271), she suffers the hopelessness of the situation. His horrific words deeply wound the stunned Goneril. She opened her home to Lear, trying to open her heart as well. By providing for her father and his men, she hoped for a loving relationship with her distant father. This dream is now shattered forever. The man whose love she sought despises her, his brutal words haunting her. In addition to the toll it takes on Goneril, this illuminating curse links misogyny to Lear’s perception of Nature.32 Rather than being an attack on Goneril’s ability to produce heirs, this tirade shows Lear’s belittling of women’s procreative bodies. As he spews his invective, Goneril turns quickly away from him, enacting the psychophysical response associated with the derogation of nature. Lear’s speech viciously attempts to co-opt nature’s powers. Further, he reveals his complete lack of love for his firstborn,33 a woman who insufficiently mothers him34 or insufficiently services him sexually. Thus, she needs to be punished by being denied procreative capability, the final remaining function of women.35 This exchange highlights the assault on women’s bodies that pervades the men’s speeches and Lear’s obsession with female sexual 32 ERICKSON: Lear takes revenge in a direct attack on her powers of gestation . . . If he cannot make her infertile, he condemns her to reproduce the filial ingratitude she has inflicted on him . . . Lear’s earlier curse against Cordelia also strikes against procreation: “Better thou / Hadst not been born than not t’have pleased me better” (1.1.233–34) (110). See Estok for the ambivalence of Nature’s gender coding in early modern texts (20–21). 33 ROSENBERG: He has already denied one daughter, now a second—and would deny her his grandchildren (126). Collington points out that women cannot deny their children as men can (203), and Craig notes the depths of Lear’s abhorrence (7). See Rosenberg on how this speech reveals Lear’s misogyny and heralds his insanity (133). 34 NOVY: When Lear curses Goneril with his wish that she bear no children or a “child of spleen,” it is partly because he feels that filial ingratitude such as he experiences is the worst possible suffering—but perhaps also because her behavior toward him makes him think of her as a bad mother (153). Rosenberg argues the infantilism of this speech (Love’s 126). 35 Rutter compares this “appalling” overreaction to Lear’s damning of Cordelia in the first scene (“Eel” 101).





organs. In more military renderings, ruling women threaten, but the psychoanalytical repercussions of the threat of the feminine, the bad mother, in family situations manifest themselves in Lear’s distinctive invectives. His harsh words can also be read as the blame he places on women’s seductive power over men. Alfar tells us that Lear’s speech transforms Goneril into a “monster,” showing his disgust of the female body (Fantasies 94, 95). This shocking speech becomes a turning point in Lear’s journey.36 When Lear screams “Away, away” (TLN 803; 1.4.281), picture some of his men, confused as to how to respond, coming forward with the toy horse, reinforcing his infantilism. Lear, looking with uncertainty at this toy that he rode in on, attempts to gather up all of his imperiousness as he mounts the horse and instructs his men to wheel him off. Lear resembles a pathetic clown in a second-rate circus parade as his men pull and push the wretched man off the stage. Instead of helping from the ground his visibly shaken wife, Albany feebly trails after Lear. When Lear returns, his men are obviously unnerved by his demeanor. As he rushes in, followed by the Fool, envision him lunging at Goneril with raised fists ready to beat her. She moves quickly away from him, trying to cover her face as Lear screams, “What fifty of my Followers at a clap?” (TLN 810; 1.4.286). Albany finally intercedes, preventing Lear from striking Goneril, but not before he manages to spit on his fallen daughter. Even Lear’s disgruntled band reacts with shock at his violent behavior. The alarm of Lear’s men effectively highlights the extreme nature of Lear’s curses. One no longer accepts a wronged father legitimately condemning his daughter, but instead sees an emotionally overwrought and uncontrollable man. Lear’s men stand in disbelief as he openly sobs, shedding “these hot tears” (TLN 816; 1.4.290). The party is clearly over. The men have no desire to follow an unstable Lear, requiring care and attention; they decide to sneak off, deserting their broken leader. Lear is no longer capable of retaining these quickly defecting followers, calling into question his ability to keep the full loyalty of anyone else, with the exception of Kent.37 What Lear

36 ROSENBERG: [The speech] reflects a deep ugliness—a human ugliness now still clothed in righteousness—that will expose itself finally only in madness (125). 37 DUBROW: Lear’s surrender of all his lodgings is more immediately relevant to his retainers as well. Their dismissal indicates that in giving up his castles, he also culpably surrenders his ability to protect those who protect him . . . Male subjectivity, this strand of the plot demonstrates, is in no small measure formed by the ability to shelter (108). KAHN, P.: We do not hear of these attendants again (57). ROSENBERG: Shakespeare was no defender



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claims to be a cosmic betrayal is really a domestic argument over hospitality and his abuse of it.38 Lear’s tearful last speech offers the audience an additional look at his fragile sense of self.39 More imperative for Goneril is his threat: “I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think / I have cast off for ever” (TLN 828–29; 1.4.301–02), the “shape” of the tyrannically needy father and ruler. As Lear witnesses his men desert him, his tears increase. He cries, “Old fond eyes, / Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out” (TLN 820–21; 1.4.293–94). Lear says he will destroy his own eyes if they continue to weep; as Rosenberg notes, this is “another of his childish threats that he will never carry out” (134). Lear now admits to being “ashamed / That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus” (TLN 814–15; 1.4.288–89), again underlining how gender shapes this quarrel.40 Psychologists point out that emotional outbursts are commonplace for many heavy drinkers.41 Picture that when Lear threatens that Regan will “flay” Goneril’s “Wolvish visage,” he claws at Goneril before stumbling out of the scene. Andreas Hofele catches Lear in this diction: “Regan, whom Lear still thinks is on his side at this point, is nevertheless foreshadowed as a clawed creature” (88), as Lear slips into bestializing both daughters. In readings that trace the repercussions of female rule, imagine that when Lear finally exits, he throws Goneril’s baldric to the ground, leaving Goneril with her unsupportive husband. This scene does not end at this point. A significant interchange occurs between Goneril and Albany. Goneril is plainly alone in a world of men who brand her unreasonable and worthy of their disdain, and by association, unworthy of her command. Directly after Lear’s threat, Goneril asked her husband, “Do

of unemployed knights, fat or otherwise, and Lear’s men, if they melt away in a crisis, are not presented as admirably loyal (117). 38 ISENBERG: A hundred knights, fifty knights, twenty-five knights—try as we will to consider the meaning these terms have for Lear rather than the meaning they might have for one of us today, we cannot wholly acquiesce in the values ascribed to them; it is difficult, therefore, to take the king’s predicament quite as seriously as he does himself. There is a limit to sympathy (191). 39 See Paul Kahn on how his desire to “divide his own body” [with “I’ll pluck ye out”] replicates the division of the kingdom (41). 40 NOVY: Patriarchal society exerts social and psychological pressure on men to deny qualities in themselves that would be seen as feminine and instead to project them onto women (Love’s 156). 41 BRENNAN AND MOOS: [C]ompared with non-problem drinkers of the same age, late-life problem drinkers are . . . more likely to express negative emotion openly . . . These drinkers’ overall coping style may help explain their more stressful, less supportive life contexts . . . [P]roblem drinkers’ use of emotional discharge coping responses may place ongoing strain on their relationships with friends and family members (235).





you mark that?” (TLN 830; 1.4.303). Here is a queen who attempted diplomacy rather than adopting the despotic mode of her father. Still, she has been met with public cursing, disrespect, and humiliation. She now expects that Lear will do anything within his power to undermine her rule.42 When Goneril asks Albany directly to acknowledge her father’s unjust behavior, he tells her, “I cannot be so partial Goneril, / To the great love I bear you” (TLN 831–32; 1.4.304–05). In the Quarto, Goneril states, “Come, sir, no more” (1.4.306), but in the Folio, she says, “Pray you, content. What Oswald, ho?” (TLN 833), a change that makes Goneril’s comment less harsh. The Folio also does not have Goneril impatiently interrupting Albany, which is indicated in many conflated editions with a dash after “you.” In the Folio version, Albany’s line ends in a period. The Folio Goneril does not cut him off, but allows him to finish his unsympathetic response. One could argue that she does not experience this “great love” that Albany speaks of and views his ineffectual protestation as his way of avoiding conflict through empty words. He has demonstrated no “partiality” to Goneril and has, in fact, overtly shown concern only for Lear. Here, the Folio makes a substantial addition pivotal to an understanding of the oldest daughter: G This man hath had good Counsel, A hundred Knights? ‘Tis politic, and safe to let him keep At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say. A Well, you may fear too far. G Safer than trust too far; Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart, What he hath uttered I have writ my Sister: If she sustain him, and his hundred Knights When I have showed th’unfitness. (TLN 842–56; 1.4.315–27)

42 See Rosenberg on the many reasons (letters, armed men, Lear’s words themselves) that Goneril has for these fears (135).



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Goneril stresses the danger of the knights again and quite forcefully.43 She thus remains the military leader even under these extreme circumstances. The passage also demonstrates how another variance in punctuation affects the sense. The Folio does not use an exclamation point after Goneril’s “A hundred Knights,” but instead provides a question mark. Similarly, she is not shouting at Oswald at the end of this speech. The line “When I have showed th’unfitness” is not punctuated with the Arden edition’s more threatening dash. In all, the scene can be pictured as a tense, military standoff between the two sides. The threat of violence is always present, and only through Goneril’s insistence that diplomacy prevail is an actual clash prevented. A woman is now taking things in hand.44 When she declares, “I know his heart,” she provides a political assessment, not a personal one. The scene could effectively enact the threat of violence conveyed through Goneril’s fear that Lear’s men will continue to “hold [their] lives in mercy.” This line makes Albany’s response to Goneril all the more telling when he dismissively comments, “Well, you may fear too far.” Still the diplomat, Goneril does not condemn Albany’s ineffectual behavior here, but rather attempts once more to communicate her very real fears. She is interrupted by Oswald’s entrance. Goneril now takes control of the situation by informing Oswald that she will write to Regan about Lear’s outrageous behavior. Her letter to Regan is one of the many missives in this play of distorted and competitive discourse, and is a strong indication of the shared rule she still hopes to accomplish with her sister. As the competent Goneril turns to her passive husband near the end of the scene, she issues a gentle reproof that effects no change in him: “You are much more at task for want of wisdom, / Than praised for harmful mildness” (TLN 867–68; 1.4.339–40). Again, a strong leader is guiding a naive follower, without harsh condemnation.45 She warns Albany that his

43 FOAKES: Two other speeches were added for Goneril in the Folio at 1.4.315–27, and a third for Regan in 2.2, stressing further the danger presented by Lear’s hundred knights and their “riots” (2.2.335). From Goneril’s point of view, it makes sense to demand that Lear “disquantity” his train to fifty (Violence 145). 44 FINDLAY: The intervention of . . . women into the masculine province of history had disturbing consequences for the individuals and the institutions of power they moved into (165). 45 HOOVER: The effect of creating a self-confident and defiant wife who is totally oblivious to the limitations of women, and of having her desire power for sexual and political reasons rather than for domestic ones, is to deprive [Shakespeare’s] audience . . . of a straightforward stereotype that averts disturbing reflection (“Horrid” 54).





“mild” reaction will be “harmful” to their rule. Her displeasure at Albany’s apparent softness could very well spring from her father’s model of military leadership. It is possible to view Albany not as unmanly, as Goneril surmises, so much as resentful of a woman’s rule, even his wife’s. He is concealing his outright preference for Lear’s governance in this understandably misread reticence. Goneril knows full well that both their army and Lear’s must see a hardy leader in Albany, or civil disobedience will surely erupt. Gender stereotypes once again determine action. In reference to the social conditioning of the military of today, one still sees that “gender cuts both ways. Women who refuse to participate are not ‘players’—not one of the guys. And men who refuse have their masculinity mocked and risk ostracism,” as Francine D’Amico writes in “The Women at Abu Ghraib” (46). Not all critics, however, are as kind to Albany, even at this early point in the play. Albany eventually wages war against the man he refuses to deem culpable.46 The scene ends with Albany cutting off Goneril’s thought with “Well, well, the’vent” (TLN 872; 1.4.344), as she tries to discuss his view of the matter. Albany’s arguably dismissive handling of Goneril at the end of this pivotal scene sets up the disintegration of their relationship. Walking off after speaking his last line, he leaves Goneril to have the final moments of the scene alone. Now she releases all of her pent-up tension. Imagine that she bends down and retrieves the baldric that Lear had ripped from her chest and thrown at her feet. Stroking the baldric, which symbolizes her vision of shared rule, a concerned Goneril slowly shakes her head back and forth.47 This all-too-human moment underscores the fact that Goneril’s dream of creating a new form of government is beginning to crumble. Finally, she takes a deep breath, and pulling herself together, exits the scene. This last interchange with Albany can also be played with a more familial and psychological slant, one that emphasizes Goneril’s point of view. For again she looks to Albany for some show of support, this time emotional, but instead of going to his wife, Albany moves to follow Lear. Seeing this, a sobbing Lear waves him off, wanting to endure his unchecked emotion alone. Unsure what to do and now left with

46 Paul Kahn contends that “Albany’s ignorance seems chronic” and “a reflection of his moral innocence. Conversely, his moral innocence is a reflection of his ignorance,” since Albany married into the family and thereby achieved political clout. And for his wife, his reactions are “hopeless ignorance” (42). 47 MCLEOD: [W]e see that the latter lines [those unique to F] show her wrought up, appropriately, only after the event, and even then self-possessed in her emotional extremity, trenchant in irony and rational in argumentation (178).



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A Fox, when one has caught her, And such a Daughter, Should sure to the Slaughter . . . (TLN 837–39; 1.4.310–12)

This insult from the Fool concludes the attack on the beset Goneril. In the end, she recognizes that her only recourse is to contact her sister, her last family member. She explains her side of the quarrel both to gain Regan’s support and to keep them safe from their violent father.



his distraught wife, Albany makes a halfhearted attempt to soothe her. Goneril is now suffering the rejection of both her father and husband as well as the final insults of the Fool:




The Sisters Unite: Kingship and Kinship (Act 2, scenes 1 and 2)

Act 2, Scene 1 Regan The scene opens with an intimation that rumors abound regarding “likely Wars toward, / ’Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany” (TLN 938–39; 2.1.11–12). The military backdrop of the action, then, is certainly not gratuitous, and interpretative choices can fruitfully heighten this. Albany, in his strong desire to uphold the rule of Lear, has become estranged from Goneril, causing her men to assume an imminent civil war. They were, after all, privy to both Lear’s threat to Goneril in 1.4—“Thou shalt find, / That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think / I have cast off forever” (TLN 827–29 1.4.300–01)— and Albany’s obvious lack of support. Goneril’s letter communicated this military hazard to her sister, motivating Regan and Cornwall’s trip to Gloucester’s castle. Given the current political unrest, they travel with a show of force. Regan, an intelligent leader, comes to Gloucester, an admired, high-ranking military man in Lear’s court, to build a solid coalition to assure a stable and secure Britain. Both husband and wife are now “commanders in chief ” and are dressed accordingly. Regan’s military costume, replicating the masculine dress of her men, reinforces her comfort and confidence in commanding the armed forces. Regan



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prominently dons the same baldric celebrating a new order that Goneril wears in 1.4 in this interpretation. Upon arriving, a newly empowered Regan expects to be treated as equal to her husband, but initially Gloucester, very much a part of the patriarchal system, defers to Cornwall; he earlier described him as “The Noble Duke my Master, / My worthy Arch and Patron” (TLN 995–96; 2.1.58–59). This fact is not lost on Regan, who takes more and more control of the discourse as the scene continues. She apparently discovers on the journey that Gloucester, her trusted mentor, has had his life threatened by his son Edgar. The Gloucester subplot conveys the theme of inheritance and property, just like the Lear plot. And just like Lear, Gloucester reveals the blindness of the patriarchal ideal. Jonathan Dollimore notes that “Gloucester’s unconscious acceptance of this underlying ideology is conveyed at several points but nowhere more effectively than in Act II scene I.” Here is where Gloucester replaces Edgar with Edmund, granting him status and property (199).1 Upon entering, Cornwall asks about the “strange news,” but here Regan takes the more militaristic position when she declares, “If it be true, all vengeance comes too short / Which can pursue th’offender” (TLN 1027–28; 2.1.88–89). Regan directly associates Gloucester’s bad son with “the riotous Knights / That tended upon my Father” (TLN 1033–34; 2.1.94–95).2 Gloucester, they assume, has been attacked by one of these very knights. Gloucester says “I know not Madam, ‘tis too bad, too bad.” And the Folio adds the phrase “of that consort” to Edmund’s response: “Yes Madam, he was of that consort” (TLN 1033–36; 2.1.94–97). This small adjustment again enhances the fateful though erroneous association of the now-exiled Edgar with the dangerous retinue of Lear, bolstering both Edmund’s contrivances and Goneril’s decision to limit her father’s retinue. Patently, Regan has taken her sister’s news as fact, sharing her trepidation explicitly with Gloucester and Edmund. The soldier in Regan supposes that Lear’s men, forming a rebellion, have convinced Edgar to kill his father so that they can secure his wealth. Regan is committed to shared power; she communicates her decision that none of Lear’s rebellious men will be allowed at her house, confirming Goneril’s expectation of support. 1 DOLLIMORE: [Both Gloucester and Cornwall offer] to reward Edmund’s “loyalty” in exactly the same way (199–200). 2 Paul Kahn likens the rulers’ gullibility about Edmund to Gloucester’s shortly before. “Like Gloucester, they are taken in by Edmund’s show” (48). He notes the crucial linkage between Edgar and Lear’s men (50). Cordelia “stands with Gloucester, against Edgar. In turn, she expects him to stand with her, against Lear” (51).



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I have this present evening from my Sister Been well informed of them, and with such cautions, That if they come to sojourn at my house, I’ll not be there. (TLN 1040–43; 2.1.101–104)

Gloucester has now been openly informed of the dire situation with Lear and his retainers. Upon hearing this state of affairs, he does not question Regan further on this issue but seems to take this news in stride. Even though his trusted son Edmund tells them all that Edgar is a part of Lear’s band of men, a political slant would stress that Gloucester still chooses to support Lear, seemingly discounting all claims of the daughters, now his true rulers. A psychological reading, however, would need to draw the viewer’s attention to the fact that Regan has been absent since the end of 1.1, when she comments on the rupture between Lear and Cordelia. The contradictory, incendiary letters sent to her from both Goneril and Lear cause Regan much distress, and she is seen shoring up her strength with alcohol, as she decides to vacate her home. Regan loves her husband, but her dependency on alcohol is the source of ongoing tension in their relationship. Thinking Cornwall’s love and support critical to her well-being, she strives for a modicum of sobriety, or at least a show of it, in his presence. As such, she does not deliberately offend Cornwall, but finds she has often managed to do just that. Alternately, a psychological reading of a Regan weakened by years of physical and emotional abuse also sets the foundation for her violent behavior later in the play. The mistreatment she has endured at the hands of her father has left her unable to cope without the support of the men she deems powerful. She is not an evil woman taking malicious pleasure in the blinding of Gloucester, but is instead a woman who, given her ill-treatment over the years, responds in kind. Picture that Regan enters the scene in a heightened emotional state, reacting harshly to the rumors of Edgar’s egregious plan, openly displaying her loyalty to Gloucester, her substitute father. This fidelity is then contrasted with Gloucester’s later arguable infidelity as he proceeds against her commands. Regan stands ready to defend her beloved friend: “If it be true all vengeance comes too short / Which can pursue the offender; how dost my Lord?” Here, Regan fantasizes that great love means great loyalty. But her mind, affected by drink, is somewhat muddied. She finds it necessary to repeat herself: “What, did my Father’s Godson seek your life? / He whom my Father named, your Edgar?” (TLN 1030–31; 2.1.91–92).



Her use of “such cautions” speaks to the strategic move to avoid any direct confrontation with her father’s men:


Once assured that she has the story straight, Regan lays the blame for Edgar’s actions on her father’s drunken cohort. She has already decided that she will not be there if these men come to her home, a decision clearly made well before the negotiating scene with Lear, where, faced with an angry father, she initially wavers in her resolve. Because of her filial anxieties or her drinking, she is a bit careless when she refers to Gloucester as “the old man” (TLN 1038; 2.1.99) in his presence as she explains the situation to Edmund. She is unconscious of her gaffe, but others in the group, particularly the sober, controlled Cornwall, observe how this description affects Gloucester. Edmund and his father share a knowing look, as if to say, one could expect such from a woman. Cornwall, ever sensitive to his wife’s weakness and its impact on his position, catches this moment. Regan is distanced from the men in the scene and placed in the position of “other.” A woman loyal to her husband and friends, she is marginalized because of her drinking, a protective coping mechanism. A damaged woman, however, does not necessitate a pejorative or stereotypical characterization; here, all in Lear’s family are dysfunctional. Another psychological reading could imagine that Regan, a middle daughter unloved by the forceful Lear, works throughout the play to achieve the affection and recognition she has always craved. She is a woman less damaged by the men who surround her and more determined in carving out her place in a loveless world. Alternately, with readings tracking power negotiations, Cornwall here takes over, but only momentarily, as he questions Edmund about Edgar and compliments his commitment to his father. Regan is afforded more lines than Cornwall in the exchange, and it is she, the newly created queen, who explains their unexpected visit to Gloucester.3 Regan declares, “I best thought fit,” not “we” or “Cornwall,” even though she now acknowledges it as “our” home (TLN 1066, 1067; 2.1.125, 126). She overtly claims control by informing those present that she decided to travel to Gloucester’s house to confer with her mentor on the strife between Goneril and Lear. Unlike Cornwall, Regan must work to assert her authority. Her attempt to dominate the discourse is a move to ensure her position with Gloucester and with the men who follow her. Cornwall supports Regan, but is nevertheless conscious of her interruptions and her need to assert herself. Gloucester does, however, recognize Regan’s equal authority when he assures her, “I serve you Madam, / Your Graces are right welcome” (TLN 1072–73; 2.1.130–31). His acknowledgment

3 R. A. Foakes recognizes that when Regan refers to “my house,” she “asserts her personal authority in the scene” (Arden 223, n. 103).



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of Regan as worthy of his respect brings fitting closure to the scene that establishes Regan’s role as queen. Familial interpretations, however, could imagine that when Regan unintentionally dismisses Cornwall with “That if they come to sojourn at my house, / I’ll not be there” (TLN 1042–43; 2.1.103–04), Cornwall pointedly claims his place in what she calls “her house” when he responds “Nor I, assure thee Regan” (TLN 1044; 2.1.104). Here he takes her by the arm, correcting her both verbally and physically. From years of being dominated first by her father and then by her husband, Regan recognizes that it is best to remain silent. Cornwall then takes over the conversation from Regan and changes the subject by complimenting Edmund. Regan, sensing Cornwall’s disapproval, allows him to be in charge of this part of the discussion until, forgetting the earlier correction, she explains why they have traveled to Gloucester’s home. The intervening lines, the conversation in which Cornwall praises Edmund, become an overt patriarchal pat on the back from duke to future duke, or more significantly, from a new father figure for Edmund, who will soon reject his own.4 Regan now makes a conscious effort to be inclusive, speaking of both Cornwall and herself when she adds, “Wherein we must have use of your advice” (TLN 1064; 2.1.123), but later unconsciously slips back to “I best thought it fit” (TLN 1066; 2.1.125), which earns her a sharp look or physical correction from her husband. More careful now, Regan specifically and fondly asks Gloucester, “Our good old Friend,” to “bestow / Your needful counsel to our businesses” (TLN 1068–70; 2.1.127, 128–29). Regan attempts to stay in good favor with her husband and her surrogate father, Gloucester, working at appeasing them both. Although Regan has come to Gloucester for help,5 it could be reasoned that Gloucester’s hospitality to them, just like the daughters’ hospitality to their father, becomes a contentious familial and domestic issue, especially later, when Gloucester betrays Regan for Lear. Dubrow argues that “hospitality is so central to the play in part because it offers a test case for problems and issues at the core of this drama—social responsibilities, bonds of many types, guarding and being guarded” (116). Aware of the growing tension between Regan and Cornwall, Gloucester, with political aplomb and a touch of customary obsequiousness, ends the scene with “I serve you Madam,” followed quickly

4 DUBROW: Cornwall, who has displaced Gloucester as master of a house, offers to become a second father to Edmund, thus displacing his actual parent yet again (113). 5 KAHN, P.: As Lear’s House splits apart, all sides want Gloucester’s support (49).



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by “Your Graces are right welcome.” Personal interactions are starting to become more and more convoluted at this point in the play. *

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Act 2, Scene 26 Regan and Goneril The unwarranted brawl instigated by Kent against the unsuspecting Oswald that opens 2.2 sets the tone for a scene exploring the extreme dichotomy between passionate outburst and reasoned, logical discourse. Interpretations underscoring power relations see Kent from the outset as very much Lear’s man, his belligerent behavior toward Oswald further reinforcing Goneril’s description of Lear’s men as “riotous.” Oswald attempts to cope with this pugnacious stranger in a civil, respectful manner, but Kent/Caius will have none of it. Caius demands that Oswald draw a sword and fight; his refusal to participate in what he deems an absurd combat elicits derisive insults from the hot-headed Caius. Oswald is not a foppish man fearing the fierce servant, but a level-headed, trusted emissary, restraining himself, refusing to be drawn into a senseless quarrel. He is on the queen’s business and acts according to Goneril’s commands. This interpretation of Oswald’s character directly impacts the perception of Goneril’s credibility: as a capable, intelligent leader, she chooses a man worthy of trust. This lengthy squabble, complete with unprecedented verbal abuse, demonstrates the aggression that separates Lear and his old world from the newly installed rulers of the kingdom, his older daughters, and their envisioned governance. Here, Caius deliberately tries to antagonize Goneril’s man, pushing Oswald, spitting at him, throwing punches, and so on, all before finally drawing his weapon. Foakes stresses that the “Folio text gives more weight to the violence of Lear and his knights, and makes the complaints of his daughters more plausible. The most actively riotous of Lear’s followers is Kent.” He notes that Lear “provides a role model” for his daughters in the brutal nature of his old world (Violence 145). 6 We follow the Folio and Quarto designation of the rest of the act as scene 2, not dividing it into scenes 3 and 4 like many editions of the play.



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Once Caius draws his weapon, Oswald, to stay true to Goneril’s charge, has no option but to call for help. His truculent behavior and Oswald’s shouts rouse Gloucester, Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, and their armed forces from the house. On guard against the threat of civil unrest, the men enter the scene with weapons drawn. Cornwall, ever the soldier, steps forward to take command of the situation and only then endeavors to find the cause of the disturbance. Here, Oswald’s claim that he spared this servant’s life would be the truth. He restrains himself from fighting the old man for political reasons. Regan, the conscientious student of military decorum, then understands that these messengers are surrogates for Goneril and Lear in their battle for control. In social and psychological readings, Kent and Oswald forcefully foreshadow the contentious familial relationship between Lear and his daughters. Oswald, like Goneril and Regan, attempts to maintain a civil, considerate tone in the midst of a difficult relationship. But Kent, like Lear, strikes out against perceived injustice. Emboldened by his blind love of Lear, he uses violence, both verbal and physical, to right the alleged wrong. Caius’s grounds for attacking Oswald are that “you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet’s part, against the Royalty of her Father” (TLN 1108–10; 2.2.34–36). He seizes the opportunity both to reinstate Lear to his royal position as “King,” and also, if one notes his rude insults, to demean the upstart female, Goneril.7 Like Lear’s other followers, Caius does not recognize Goneril and Regan in the role of caregiver or mother that the aging Lear insisted upon and adamantly maintains the superiority of the male. He despises Oswald because Lear despises Goneril. This childlike loyalty causes him to behave like a schoolyard bully, much to the bewilderment of Oswald. Kent is a hot-headed defender of Lear and his manly world, reacting not with forethought, but with raw and often misplaced emotion. With the exception of Edmund, the others, as is often portrayed, enter the scene in nightclothes, making the domestic nature of this disturbance obvious. Caius responds to Edmund in much the same way he did to Oswald. He immediately calls for a fight: “With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, I’ll flesh ye, come on young Master” (TLN 1119–20; 2.2.44–45). Edmund, of course, is the same young man whom Kent complimented earlier when he told Gloucester, “I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it, being so proper” (TLN 20–21; 1.1.16–17). Caius’s readiness for a brawl reveals he is clearly part of Lear’s drunken retinue,

7 Rudnytsky stresses Kent’s misogyny in his insults to Oswald and his thoroughgoing masculinity in comparison with Lear’s (297).



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and his irrational behavior reinforces Goneril’s concerns in her letter. The juxtaposition of this patently violent scene between the two scenes in which Lear denies the aggression of his followers cannot be accidental. Caius’s demeanor in the presence of the rulers of Britain is not only fierce but shockingly discourteous in readings underlining the configurations of authority. He openly offends them when, unprovoked, he claims, “I have seen better faces in my time, / Than stands on any shoulder that I see / Before me, at this instant” (TLN 1167–69; 2.2.91–93), and he levels a further insult when he asserts, “None of these Rogues, and Cowards / But Ajax is their Fool” (TLN 1201–02; 2.2.122–23). The military following of Regan and Cornwall overtly react to his rebellious words. His disrespectful demeanor, antithetical to soldiers’ professional code of behavior, earns their visible disdain. The men encourage Cornwall to take decisive action. As Foakes explains, the stocks are “commonly used to confine the ankles of disorderly offenders, and of household servants who misbehaved” (Arden 233, n. 123). Thus, Cornwall takes appropriate action against this servant, whose ferocious and irrational conduct disrupts the household. Kent is no longer an earl; he is now self-identified in his disguise as the simple servant Caius. He displays partial amnesia about the dramatic situation; much like his master, he forgets that he has abdicated his authority. Kent/Caius himself causes Cornwall to sentence him to the stocks, a humiliating punishment for a lord, but commonplace for an unruly underling. Dramatic irony unduly propels the audience into sympathy for the pugilistic character. Further, this encounter formally tests the leadership of Regan and Cornwall.8 Regan, silent throughout most of this exchange, now purposely asserts her authority when she intervenes and extends the length of Caius’s punishment. “Till noon? till night my Lord, and all night too” (TLN 1214; 2.2.132). Her open participation in meting out punishment demonstrates the shared military rule that she practices with Cornwall. Caius’s plea contending unnecessary abuse—“Why Madam, if I were your Father’s dog / You should not use me so” (TLN 1215–16; 2.2.133–34)—is outlandish, given his effrontery. Picture all the witnesses openly responding to Caius’s absurd retort. The onlookers’ reactions in this scene can shift the audience’s sympathies from this belligerent man to the rulers of Britain. Their men have no “agenda” with regard to Lear and simply react to Caius’s outrageous behavior. Without support in this arena, Kent, like Lear, behaves as if he can say and do whatever he pleases without consequence. He is a poor actor

8 KAHN, P.: [An audience has] really no good reason [to be] sympathetic to Lear over Goneril, or Kent over Oswald (59).



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in his role of servant. Once again, the troubling character of Lear’s men is brought to the forefront when Cornwall describes Caius as “a Fellow of the selfsame colour, / Our Sister speaks of” (TLN 1218–19; 2.2.135–36). The pejorative word “Fellow” says it all. Kent’s insubordination to Cornwall and Regan mirrors the reported unseemly activities of Lear’s retinue and, like Edgar’s alleged mutiny, contextualizes the remainder of this pivotal scene. With enactments more concerned with the personal rather than the political, Cornwall seizes control of the situation, trying to understand the clash by questioning the more lucid Oswald, only to be continually interrupted by the brazen Caius.9 The foolish man earns punishment for his scandalous behavior toward Cornwall. Regan, weary from travel and looking to avoid an unpleasant encounter with her father or his men, remains in the background. The first words she utters are a harsh reaction to her husband’s instructions that Caius remain in the stocks only until noon. Here Regan responds in a way that is more personal than political to this unknown servant who seemingly enjoys a closer relationship with her father than she ever experienced, a serving man audaciously criticizing her. In familial readings, Regan has had a lifetime of watching her father treat men of lower status with more care and respect than he accorded her. Caius’s defense of himself causes the susceptible Regan to make his sentence more severe. From the standpoint of power dynamics, Gloucester’s reaction to the situation smacks of that of an old military man who must now serve new leaders. His loyalties remain with the old commander, but he is careful enough to feign allegiance to Regan and Cornwall. Gloucester is a political being committed to retaining as much clout as possible. He still refers to Lear as “King”: “The King his Master, needs must take it ill / That he so slightly valued in his Messenger, / Should have him thus restrained” (TLN 1221–23; 2.2.143–45). Imagine Regan, Cornwall, and their men reacting to Gloucester’s use of “King,” forcing him to amend his speech with the less insulting “his Master.” Although Cornwall admits that he will take responsibility for the stocking of Caius, an incredulous Regan here prompts Gloucester to reconsider his objection when she asserts, “My Sister may receive it much more worse, / To have her Gentleman abused, assaulted” (TLN 1225–26; 2.2.146–47). Regan’s small part in this scene is to reinforce Cornwall, demonstrating to the men present that they are one, and to comment on the more significant slight to her sister’s authority

9 LUSARDI AND SCHLEUTER: [Kent greets Cornwall and Regan with a] display of insolence and insult that provoke them into stocking him (69).



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than to Lear’s. Gloucester’s brief exchange with Caius plainly shows that he supports his old ruler and is already working against the new rule when he assures him that, “I’ll entreat for thee” (TLN 1230; 2.2.152). Moreover, the psychological interactions between characters cement the demise of all concerned. When Gloucester agrees with Caius, Regan, looking to Gloucester as a father figure, experiences a familiar kind of desertion. She tries to appeal to him when she explains that she is more troubled about Goneril and her messenger’s mistreatment, hoping to gain Gloucester’s support. The Folio omits Regan’s next lines: “For following her affairs. Put in his legs” (2.2.148). This then concludes her exchange with Gloucester, with a plea for understanding rather than a demand for control of the situation. Regan’s conversation with Gloucester is cut short in the Folio version by Cornwall’s interjection, “Come my Lord, away” (TLN 1227; 2.2.149). Again, if this line were given to Regan, as it is in the Quarto version, we have a much different character, one attempting control. The Folio Regan is reacting to the situation, not leading it. The Folio stage directions suggest that all exit except Caius and Gloucester. Regan may have wanted to speak further with Gloucester, but the Folio stage directions suggest that she is more anxious to keep peace with her husband. Gloucester strives to remain in Lear’s good graces. As soon as Cornwall and Regan leave the stage, he reassures Lear’s man of his own innocence. Ignoring Caius’s outlandish behavior, he overtly blames Cornwall. This shows Gloucester avoiding conflict with those in power. Having lived a life in which his main responsibility was to pacify Lear, he now covertly attempts to continue his old habits, but is ready to switch loyalties if necessary. He knows that the volatile Lear, always demanding to be treated with utmost deference, will fly into a rage when he sees Caius. In another interpretation, Gloucester, having been subjected to many of Lear’s alcoholic tantrums over the years, would have cultivated ways of pacifying the old man. He must appear blameless in this ordeal or face Lear’s capricious wrath. Finding himself in a delicate situation, Gloucester is undecided about following Cornwall or remaining faithful to Lear. He exits with the purpose of persuading Cornwall to release Lear’s servant, to forestall a showdown between Lear and Cornwall. Following the short speech by Kent, Edgar, the bedraggled son, enters to remind us of Gloucester’s easily shifted loyalty. To return to the political machinations of the play, Kent talks of how Cordelia has “been informed” (TLN 1244; 2.2.165) of his own disguise, one presumes through spies to France, or perhaps by Kent himself. In her missive, she makes a veiled promise of invasion: “seeking to give / Losses their remedies” (TLN 1246–47; 2.2.167–68). The “losses” Cordelia speaks



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of could not be Lear’s losses, because he has experienced none from the hands of his daughters at this point. She must be referring to her own losses or those of Kent. Lear, traveling to Regan’s home, where he expected to be taken in, has instead been forced to continue his journey to find his daughter. This unexpected change in plans puts Lear, the inconvenienced monarch, out of sorts since he is unmistakably not in control. He enters with many from his army and the Fool in tow. All are tense, weary, and angry at having been led on this needless journey. Lear perceives the unrest of his followers, but is distracted and immediately infuriated by encountering Caius in the stocks. Before Lear even asks him his offense, he declares that “ ’tis worse than murder, / To do upon respect such violent outrage” (TLN 1298–99; 2.2.213–14). Anxious to convince his irritated band of his authority and ability to protect and provide for them, made questionable with Caius in the stocks, Lear responds hyperbolically. Lear’s wrath derives from his own loss of power and prestige more than from any harm done to his servant. Caius informs them that when he delivered Lear’s message, Regan had previously received a letter from Goneril, and having read both missives, decided to leave home and travel to Gloucester’s castle. The men grumble about Lear’s “ungrateful” daughters, and this works to Kent’s advantage. As he describes what transpired with Oswald, he proudly admits that his behavior was rash: “Having more man than wit about me, drew” (TLN 1318; 2.2.232). He advantageously edits this more blameless version of the altercation, saying he is being unjustly punished because he responded like any “man” would. Lear and his followers promptly approve Caius’s actions. Uncompromising control remains a masculine quality in the old world of Lear’s patriarchy. The Fool then plays his familiar tune, lecturing Lear on his folly and condemning the daughters, and this, in addition to finding Caius in the stocks, sends Lear into high passion. Lear then marches off to speak with Regan. When Lear and Gloucester reenter, Regan and Cornwall have sent instructions that “They are sick, they are weary, / They have travelled all the night” (TLN 1362–63; 2.2.277–78). Notably, Regan employs Goneril’s tactic in 1.3. Regan postpones the inevitable confrontation with Lear by stating that she is ill. Shutting their bedroom door against the king may have been the only power the women previously had. Now, Regan makes use of this strategy because a rested, more rational Lear will prove less problematic and demanding than one who has traveled all night in a temper. Lear is confused when his “command” to see Regan and Cornwall does not bring them forth; he once again flies into a fury over his lost authority. The Folio heightens this moment by adding Gloucester’s “Well, my good



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Lord, I have informed them so,” whereupon Lear responds, “Informed them? Dost thou understand me man” (TLN 1374–75; 2.2.287–88). This stresses Lear’s imperious anger and Gloucester’s submissive obedience to his old master. Still in denial about his squandered power, Lear is infuriated by the repercussions of his actions. Gloucester explains that Cornwall is not easily moved, and Lear’s response, “Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion” (TLN 1370; 2.2.284) demonstrates his volatile state of mind. Lear refers to Regan as a “wife,” “Daughter,” “her,” “and’s wife” (TLN 1372, 1378, 1390, 1392; 2.2.286, 291, 303, 305), but never calls her by name. He speaks of her as an appendage to Cornwall, not as a ruler in her own right. Lear works to put his upstart daughter in her place, a place defined by her relation to a man. Alternately, instead of being portrayed as an imperious ruler, Lear can be played as a more pathetic drunk, entering with the Fool tugging on the reins of his toy horse and an exhausted solitary knight pushing it from the rear. Lear is visibly disoriented, and it is apparent that he and his men have traveled quite some distance. The knight falls to the ground as Lear utters his first line, “ ’Tis strange that they should so depart from home, / And not send back my Messenger” (TLN 1274–75; 2.2.193–94) to his fatigued man. Caius interrupts this conversation, and the baffled Lear labors to understand what has happened. He anticipated that his “mother” Regan and his friend Gloucester would provide a warm welcome for him and his men. Instead, he finds his messenger in the stocks, which first bewilders him and then incenses him. The Fool rushes to his side to calm him with more drink. Lear takes a long pull before gathering the courage to enter Gloucester’s house. Long before Regan comes to speak with him, Lear is already in a highly volatile state. Lear reenters the stage with news that Cornwall and Regan are sick and will not see him. Gloucester appropriately tells him that he has “informed” Regan and Cornwall that Lear wants to speak to them. The fact that it is no longer a king’s command sends Lear into a rage. In this reading, Regan is tired and obviously longs to postpone the ugly confrontation she attempted to avoid by traveling to Gloucester’s castle. She is less accustomed to playing the role of mother with her aging father, having gratefully left those duties to Goneril and Cordelia. With Goneril’s absence, Regan has no model to emulate and no real means of support. Her only ally is her less-than-popular husband, whom she has unintentionally alienated with her careless words or with her immoderate drinking. Thus, the only way she can defend herself against her father is to deny him access. Lear, the outraged father, wants contact with his daughter. His diction overtly delineates how he differentiates his son-in-law and his daughter and also how he sees himself as a father: “The King would speak with



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Cornwall, / The dear Father / Would with his Daughter speak, commands, tends, service” (TLN 1376–78; 2.2.290–91). Here a manic Lear switches from demanding an audience with Cornwall and Regan to accepting that they may indeed be ill. He then once again reverts to insisting that they speak with him. Lear undergoes many such abrupt emotional shifts, here caused at least partly by the excessive drinking; they take an obvious toll on his failing mind. His violent outburst, “ . . . bid them come forth and hear me, / Or at their Chamber door I’ll beat the Drum, / Till it cry sleep to death” (TLN 1393–95; 2.2.306–08) prompts a nervous Gloucester to fetch Cornwall and Regan. Alternately, Lear, as a spurned lover, feels shut out of the bedroom at this point and threatens to break down the door. Lear had always enjoyed control over his child, both sexually and emotionally, and her blatant refusal to see him causes him to unravel. The necessity to hide his lover’s wrath and his outrage at Regan’s “disobedience” bring on his violent mood swings. As much as Lear seeks a mother in his daughters, he loathes the thought of becoming the mother himself. His language is peppered with lines in which he tries to control the “rising mother.” Earlier he cried, “Oh how this Mother swells up toward my heart! / Hysterica passio, down thou climbing sorrow, / Thy Element’s below” (TLN 1328–30; 2.2.246–48). When Gloucester exits to summon Cornwall and Regan, the Folio has him repeat this sentiment: “Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But down!” (TLN 1397; 2.2.310). He fights against what he supposes are his womanly instincts when later he declares, “And let not women’s weapons, water-drops, / Stain my man’s cheeks” (TLN 1577–78; 2.2.466–67). In renderings accentuating authority, Gloucester successfully persuades Regan and Cornwall to talk to Lear, and Cornwall greets him with deference: “Hail to your Grace” (TLN 1405; 2.2.316). The Folio notes that at this point Kent is freed. Then Regan warmly offers, “I am glad to see your Highness” (TLN 1406; 2.2.317). They attempt to placate the angry Lear by treating him with esteem. Lear, however, responds to Regan’s kind welcome by returning to his old theme of disinheritance, used against both Cordelia and Goneril: that if she were not glad to see him, she must certainly be illegitimate. As Lear says this to Regan, envision him approaching her and fingering the baldric that matches the one he tore from Goneril’s chest. Dropping the baldric, Lear consciously ignores this overt symbol, and pronounces: . . . if thou shouldst not be glad, I would divorce me from thy Mother’s Tomb, Sepulchring an Adultress. (TLN 1408–10; 2.2.319–21)



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This disavowal of paternity may today be construed as an unmitigated personal rejection, but its inclusion here, well before Lear turns against Regan, reflects its true meaning in the patriarchal hegemony. Legitimacy is a form of control exerted by non-child-bearing men who reserve the right to dispute it when provoked. Whittier reminds us that in the play, “No child wonders if his or her father is his or her father, but fatherhood, even when sheltered by the fiction of legitimacy, proves volatile in the extreme.”10 In this play, the fathers of both the plot and the subplot allow the “disobedience of a child, real or imagined” to undermine secure notions of paternity and to aggravate each father’s “existential doubt” (Whittier 370–371). This covert attack demonstrates that Lear interprets his daughters, like he does all others, continually through his ability to control them. From a psychoanalytical perspective, Lear is a childlike man desperately needing his mother, and when Regan enters, he seeks her love and support. He calls her “Beloved” (TLN 1411; 2.2.322), but only after his somewhat veiled threat. Many critics have identified this outlandish conjecture about her mother as pivotal to a gendered reading of the family’s dysfunction.11 As Coppélia Kahn cleverly observes, as in all Shakespeare’s plays, “We hear the cuckoo’s note, the specifically masculine shame at even the thought of a wife’s infidelity, the embarrassment of being wounded in the most vulnerable parts by a woman” (“Excavating” 40). Foakes notes that this is “the only direct mention of Lear’s wife in F” (Arden 246, n. 320). Kent mentions something about “mate and make” in the Quarto’s 4.3.35, rendering the absent mother (Kahn, “Absent”) even more absent in the Folio and reinforcing the familial isolation of the daughters. A reading of incest becomes even more poignant as Lear reminds Regan of her lost mother. As a woman who was forced to take her mother’s “part,” Regan is now told that if she misbehaves she will be responsible for her mother being labeled an “adulteress.” Taken further, this accusation would 10 WHITTIER: [Men] both parody and subsume the functions of the female nature [through the] invention of legitimacy (370). 11 ADELMAN: The fantasy of their illegitimacy is thus his pyrrhic solution to the larger problem of daughters: insofar as he can make their disruptive femaleness entirely derivative from their mother’s sexual fault, he can dissociate himself wholly from it, in effect disowning them as he has earlier attempted to disown Cordelia (Suffocating 108). COLLINGTON: If ever there was a non-sequitur in Shakespeare this is it (203). ROSENBERG: [Lear is] no easy father to love. He breaks out with his instant egocentric measure for all things: if you are not glad to see me, if you do not love me, you must be a bastard, your mother a whore (163). Hoover notes how Lear shifts his insecurities about his fatherhood onto his dead wife (“Lusty” 89).



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imply that Regan was not a blood relative, so not really a victim of incest. Consider that Regan for an instant believes that Lear is making this absurd charge against her mother to distance himself from his own culpability in her abuse. Victims of incest are likely to interpret every interaction with their abuser through this lens. Regan is noticeably unsure of how to handle her father, as her awkward syntax demonstrates: “I have hope / You less know how to value her desert, / Than she to scant her duty” (TLN 1416–18 2.2.327–29). The Folio adds the next passages, Lear’s “Say? How is that?” (TLN 1419; 2.2.329) and Regan’s extended defense of Goneril. Lear’s befuddled response could be in reaction to this convoluted reply. She then attempts to clarify what she means. These Folio lines stress not only Regan’s agreement with her sister, demonstrating shared rule, but also Lear’s inability to understand her. In another psychological approach, in order to pacify Lear, Regan snatches the bottle of liquor from the Fool and pours herself another drink. Unlike the nervous Regan described above, this Regan uses alcohol to handle the situation. Regan reminds Lear that he is old, that “Nature in you stands on the very Verge / Of his confine” (TLN 1427–28; 2.2.336–37).12 It is intriguing that when Regan refers to “Nature,” the Folio has “of his confine” instead of the more familiar Quarto reading, “of her confine.” The fact that Regan attributes to nature a masculine gender may be a way to appeal directly to the aging Lear. Now Lear’s own nature, not just a generalized nature, has definable limits. Consistent with its overall less sympathetic treatment of women, the Quarto opts for the conventional and disturbing association of women with nature, predictably to the denigration of both. The need to care for the aged haunts this play. The elderly Lear elicits pathos from an audience, especially from those who struggle with the problem of dignity for themselves or loved ones. Regan’s association of Nature with her father provides a fuller picture of a woman trying gently to undertake this difficult, often explosive, filial duty. In readings underscoring shifts of dominance, Lear elucidates Goneril’s “unjust” treatment: Thy Sister’s naught: oh Regan, she hath tied Sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture here, I can scarce speak to thee, thou’lt not believe With how depraved a quality . . . (TLN 1412–15; 2.2.323–26)

12

Morris argues the political truth of this statement (153).



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. . . If Sir perchance She have restrained the Riots of your Followers, ’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As clears her from all blame. (TLN 1421–24; 2.2.331–34 )

These lines, unique to the Folio, reinforce the disorderly conduct of Lear’s following and stress Regan’s support of Goneril. Regan tries to reason with her father by reiterating Goneril’s very real concerns. Lear’s men openly react with disapproving jeers to these accusations, however, and Regan and Cornwall begin to understand the genuine threat. Lear makes no effort to defend or silence his men, but instead answers Regan with a curt “My curses on her” (TLN 1425; 2.2.335). Kenneth Graham finds this response instructive: “Cursing is a form of angry assertion for the powerless . . . But it is also a form that discredits Lear, exposing the petulance and willfulness of a man who, like King Richard, sees pride everywhere but in himself ” (448). Regan is judiciously asserting her new position of power when she suggests that her father return to Goneril and “Say [he has] wronged her” (TLN 1432; 2.2.341). Once again, the dissatisfied followers of Lear would grouse over the prospect of being forced to return to Goneril’s castle. The Quarto adds a final “sir” to the last line, but without it, Regan now assumes her rightful position as she instructs her father. Her tone is all-important. At first she is direct, but then she prudently shifts to an appeal as she looks to avoid aggravating the situation further. She beseeches him to cooperate: “ . . . therefore I pray you, / That to our Sister, you do make return” (TLN 1430–31; 2.2.339–40), trying out a bit of her sister’s diplomacy. Plentiful critical comment reinforces a power-oriented view of the ensuing argument. Lear’s sarcastic retort, “On my knees I beg” (TLN 1436; 2.2.344) brings a more forthright response from Regan when she declares, “These are unsightly tricks: / Return you to my Sister” (TLN 1438–38; 2.2.346–47).13 Lacking the diplomatic skills of her older sister, Regan soon tires of trying to appease her stubborn father. Lear refuses to return and again curses the absent Goneril, with her “Serpent-like” tongue (TLN 1443; 2.2.350), for all to hear. His curses exceed any kind of moderation: “ . . . strike her young bones / . . . with Lameness!” (TLN 13 KAHN, P: Power has passed to the daughters in both Lear’s little drama and in the larger one (61). See McLuskie on Lear’s antics in light of familial power maneuvers (106).



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1445–46; 2.2.352–53) he exclaims, to which Cornwall protests, “Fie sir, fie” (TLN 1447; 2.2.253), in an attempt to calm the raging man, who continues, unabated, with “dart your blinding flames” and “Infect her Beauty” (TLN 1448–49; 2.2.354, 355), taxing himself with ever more fantastical and cosmic punishments for one of the joint rulers of Britain.14 The details of Lear’s grievance against Goneril are vital to interpretations marking shifts in authority and the crumbling of Lear’s patriarchy. Lear tells Regan that Goneril “hath abated me of half my Train” (TLN 1441; 2.2.348), which is not the case. Goneril’s exact plea was “A little to disquantity your Train” (TLN 758; 1.4.240), and in fact later in the scene, when speaking to Albany, she remarks, “A hundred Knights? / ’Tis politic, and safe to let him keep / At point a hundred Knights.” Here, Lear’s inaccurate account of the events is tactical. He attempts to paint Goneril as unjust so that Regan will side with him, thereby severing any relationship between these two ruling daughters. Regan begins to lose patience with the brash Lear. She wants to silence his ranting and assume control of the situation when she replies, “Good Sir, to the purpose” (TLN 1466; 2.2.370). Like her sister before her, picture Regan using Lear’s own silencing gesture to stop his speech. This shocks Lear, and he stares dumbfounded at the daughter he assumed had taken his side in the dispute. Unsure how to proceed with his argument, he stops raving and instead turns his attention to the stocking of his servant. A familial approach could proceed with Regan drinking with her father and expecting this camaraderie to enable her to speak with him openly. She then more companionably and almost lovingly says, “O Sir, you are old” and “you should be ruled, and led / By some discretion, that discerns your state” and “I pray you” (TLN 1426–30; 2.2.335–39). Regan, however, has misjudged her father,15 and he mocks her here by pretending to be the out-of-control drunken, feeble man she claims he is by kneeling before her and begging care. Realizing that the old ways of handling her father are now ineffective, Regan, at a loss, once again insists he return to Goneril. This suggestion enrages Lear, who shifts radically from mocking Regan to spewing invective against the absent Goneril.

14 Craig points up the violence of this imagery (7). Rutter argues that women’s betrayal is always registered in “sexual metaphors.” Men can be traitors, but women will be whores, even with political disloyalty (“Eel” 197). McLuskie sees these lines not as a cry from the heart but as the wrath of a man denied power (106). 15 DRISCOLL: They are not wrong to tell him [about his lack of self-knowledge], any more than Cordelia, Kent, and the Fool were wrong to speak truth (173). GRAHAM: Goneril and Regan refer repeatedly to his “dotage” (447).



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The critics eloquently explain that Lear’s derisive speech reveals much about his irrationality and emotional violence.16 Lear’s poignant “Age is unnecessary”17 is immediately countered and spoiled by his manipulative “on my knees I beg, / That you’ll vouchsafe me Raiment, Bed, and Food” (TLN 1436–37; 2.2.344–45). Furthermore, if Regan and Lear had experienced a sexual relationship, Lear’s actions take on a different overtone. Here, the lusty lover pretends to be impotent, and Regan’s phrase “unsightly trick” is then a way to challenge her father’s absurd pretense. She knows all too well the strength of the man kneeling before her. Further, Lear’s characterization of Goneril as “Serpent-like” continues the pattern of women’s dehumanization that Lear reverts to in moments of anger.18 This drunken tirade frightens Regan, who declares that he will soon damn her as well. Lear’s childish need for the extravagant and dangerous male bonding of his many retainers becomes a caretaking issue of mammoth proportions. His inebriation fuels his temper in their negotiations, and just as Regan predicts, he ends up cursing her as well as her sister. Lear protests, “No Regan, thou shalt never have my curse” (TLN 1454; 2.2.359), which Rosenberg glosses as “another promise not to be kept” (167), since the scene ends with Lear’s bitter invective against both daughters. Or imagine an incestuous Lear moving to his daughter and stroking her in a highly personal, sexual manner, like an oily suitor promising his lifelong love and devotion. A pained, openly uncomfortable Regan has to publicly endure her father’s unwanted attention. When Lear compliments but also warns Regan, “ ’Tis not in thee / To grudge my pleasures” (TLN 1457–58; 2.2.362–63), he speaks as a father accustomed to having sexual access to his daughter. When he says this, he leers at Regan, attempting to force her to become compliant. Yet another possibility is that Lear, desperate to receive mothering from Regan, looks to win Regan by claiming her

16 LUSARDI AND SCHLEUTER: Within moments of their reunion, Lear finds himself in mock performance, responding to Regan as he had to Goneril in 1.4 (71). DUBROW: [With “how this becomes the house?” (TLN 1434; 2.2.342)], the text itself will merge disorder in and destruction of a literal dwelling place, a particular family, and a family line (106–107). 17 See McFarland for how this sentiment is common among disgruntled and aged parents (95–96). 18 HOFELE: The specific affinity of woman for the animal substratum of humanity in Lear, her greater susceptibility to deviation into the bestial, can be generally explained with reference to the early modern deficiency model of femininity (89). ROSENBERG: Again the sibilants, the hard consonants, again the invocation of destruction for his issue. Again the curious concentration on Goneril’s body, her youthful beauty . . . [with the] added irony in their coming so soon after Lear’s kneeling mockery of a prayer for substance (165–66).



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as the good daughter who would never behave like her “ungrateful” sister. As he praises her, he crawls into her arms to remind her of the mother he is seeking. Once again, and not for the last time, Lear (and the play’s other apologists for male dominance) takes for granted women’s obedience to “Offices of Nature” (TLN 1462; 2.2.367).19 Lear’s childlike physical contact causes an uncomfortable Regan to cut him off with an abrupt, “Good Sir, to th’purpose” (TLN 1466; 2.2.370). As she utters this retort, she untangles herself from his grasp and endeavors to stop her persistent father’s embarrassing behavior. This startles Lear, and unable to confront Regan’s rejection openly, he snaps back to the stocking of Caius. Lear’s mind is unraveling; the unanswered “injustice” of having his serving man placed in the stocks provides him with the only touchstone he can grasp. When Oswald enters to announce Goneril’s arrival, Lear curses him as well. Cornwall reacts to Lear’s confrontational manner when he asks, “What means your Grace?” (TLN 1475; 2.2.376). This corrective distresses Lear, who returns again to the subject of Caius. Goneril’s entrance offers the possibility of diverse interpretations. She is first explored as queenly, the official manifestation of all that Lear renounced, with her military men splendidly in attendance. This unnerves Lear, whereupon he begs the heavens to take his part. But what is Goneril attempting here? After Lear curses her and storms out in 1.4, Goneril logically goes to enlist Regan’s help in managing the reckless retiree. She now returns accompanied by military men dressed in uniforms prominently displaying the same shared-rule insignia as Regan’s men. Lear notes that he is symbolically surrounded by the new governing parties. Witnessing Goneril and Regan joining hands, he is inescapably aware of the political force he himself has created. Goneril then turns to Lear and, with a slight head bow, shows him public respect. She ignores his insinuations and speaks diplomatically to her father when she asks, “How have I offended?” (TLN 1485; 2.2.384). All can see that she, eminently reasonable, will not yield to Lear’s “hysterical” behavior. Lear shifts the focus to the insulting stocking of Caius, causing a tense moment that tests Cornwall’s power.20 But Regan, as a self-conscious military leader, brings Lear back to the matter at hand. Unprepared for his visit, she recommends that he return to Goneril’s home. Lear can find no way to gain power over Goneril; he has no recourse but to call her a “disease” (TLN 1516; 2.2.411). He dismisses her and 19 COLLINGTON: If Regan proves ungrateful and disrespectful, this would . . . violate the “offices of nature, [the] bond of childhood” (204). 20 Rosenberg points out that an audience might be thinking that Cornwall is next in line for the throne and view the conflict with this in mind (170).



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announces that he will live with Regan. Regan, however, believing Lear’s accusation that Goneril insisted he reduce his entourage by fifty men, begins her negotiations from this point. Lear has been caught by his own lie. To his surprise, Regan supports her sister’s decision to lessen the number of Lear’s followers and explains her reasons in practical terms. . . . what fifty Followers? Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many? Sith that both charge and danger, Speak ’gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, under two commands Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible. (TLN 1533–38; 2.2.426–31)

Regan appeals to her father with language that the former commander should understand. This is one military person speaking to another, as reflected in the lines “Sith that both charge and danger, / Speak ’gainst so great a number” and again, when she reminds him, “ . . . under two commands / Hold amity?” As a military leader himself, Lear knows the validity of this argument. Regan attempts to appeal to her father, the general, thus bringing civility back to the discussion at hand. Lear’s men, anxious to incite the general to act on their behalf, react with indignation at Regan’s words. They are, however, unknowingly making Regan’s case, as their raucous responses interrupt the exchange with Lear. Regan gestures to Lear to get his men under control, but he ignores her request. She recognizes, given the response of these insolent followers, that allowing Lear to have even fifty men could prove dangerous.21 With civil strife in the air, Regan exerts control and comes to her diplomatic sister’s aid by flexing her military muscle. As such, Regan demonstrates her authority by diminishing the number of Lear’s followers first to twentyfive and then finally to none. Goneril, aware now that Lear will prove a menace to peaceful rule, decides to follow her sister’s example and not accept any of his followers. When the headstrong Lear, believing still that Goneril will allow him to keep fifty men, announces, “I’ll go with thee, / Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, / And thou art twice her Love” (TLN 1556–58; 2.2.447–49), Goneril decides to take action. Knowing how forceful she will need to be to make her reckless father listen, Goneril stuns Lear into 21 ALFAR: Their strategy takes heed of the muscle Lear’s knights represent and reflects their grasp of the sincerity of his threats: his men could form a greater army to retake the throne (Fantasies 96). See Morris for Lear’s “absence of political commonsense” (153).



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silence by imitating his stop-speech gesture when she commands, “Hear me my Lord” (TLN 1559; 2.2.449). Lear has a moment of painful recognition when he realizes that both daughters have learned by his harsh example. Goneril reasons that he need not keep any of his men since he will have all of her subjects to serve him. Regan’s succinct question, “What need one?” (TLN 1563; 2.2.452), makes apparent the profound irony of their good governance in light of Lear’s rash imperiousness.22 Although he made a public show of giving up his rule, Lear held on to power by maintaining his retinue of men. In this critical scene, Lear’s men are his power, and what happens to them reflects his own self-directed diminishment. He was able to control matters under Goneril’s rule by dictating life at her castle. Lear knows that without the comforts of hearth and home, his men will be difficult to retain. He struggles to hold himself together and “not let women’s weapons, water-drops, / Stain my man’s cheeks,” but is unable to keep his emotions in check. Crumbling before his men, he strives to regain his authority by seeking revenge on his daughters, the “unnatural Hags” (TLN 1578; 2.2.467), finding no curse sufficiently potent to threaten them.23 He sees women as he sees nature—as agents that must be controlled and molded, as the later storm scene metaphorically represents.24 A distraught Lear finally turns to the Fool with “O Fool, I shall go mad” (TLN 1586; 2.2.475) and exits. His men are at a loss, having witnessed their military strongman fall to pieces before them. Envision their discomfort at watching their general break down and act the “woman’s part.” For Lear’s men, the world has been turned upside down. Their leader is acting the female role, and in their minds, the women are acting the male role, that of strong leader. They leave Gloucester’s home, but it is not apparent whether they follow the failing Lear or not. Feminist interpretations would highlight the riotous men, the out-of-control Caius, and the irrational Lear, all clear and present dangers 22 AGUIAR: Regan and Goneril, in becoming rulers—ironically not of their own volition—are then severely castigated for adopting the characteristics of a strong (read: masculine) monarch (197). 23 GRAHAM: Lear loses the power to pronounce sentences, but he emphatically retains the desire. Consequently, when [challenged], King Lear, private citizen, responds in the familiar forms of private plainness. Like Kent, Lear becomes angry and finds himself unable to reason persuasively (447). 24 DOLLIMORE: [Both Lear and Gloucester] cling even more tenaciously to the only values they know . . . even as society is being torn apart by conflict, the ideological structure which has generated that conflict is being reinforced by it (200). EGAN: The temptation to personalize nature, to see an agency where there is only a meteorological phenomenon, is a trap that the character and the playhouse audience are led into (139).



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to political security. Even Lear’s objection that he “kept a reservation to be followed / With such a number” (TLN 1550–51; 2.2.441–42) reveals his insincerity about his abdication.25 However, instead of recognizing the script’s carefully laid out political issues, many critics and productions simply present the theme of vengeful filial ingratitude, focusing only on Lear’s biased perspective. Even the nearly comic moment when the fickle Lear decides that Goneril, whom he derided and disowned, now, by comparison, appears better than her sister and resolves to return with her does not shake interpreters from their loyalty to Lear’s “side” in this struggle. The painful scene shows that his acquiescence is a ruse that covers his disregard for his daughters’ rights, since he soon turns fully upon them both. And yet most approaches strive to focus on the devastation of the family, which solidifies for many the demonization of the older daughters, and a psychological reading transforms the scene. Imagine that Goneril enters observing her father behaving in much the same mode as when last she saw him. Obviously inebriated, he is accompanied by the Fool, who sits on the ground with bottles at the ready, prepared to provide more drink when necessary. The other lone knight remains on the ground where, after having pushed Lear on, he collapsed with the toy horse toppled next to him. Goneril takes in this pathetic scene and sadly notes that Regan has reacted to the family nightmare with her usual response, by drinking. In a sibling drama, Goneril’s first order of business is to assure her younger sister of her support. When the fragile Lear sees Regan and Goneril greeting one another by taking each other by the hand, he questions Regan’s actions with disbelief. Goneril tries to reason with her father when she asks, “Why not by th’hand Sir? How have I offended?” (TLN 1485; 2.2.384). Lear, unable to provide an adequate response to Goneril’s questions, returns to his familiar question, “How came my man i’th’Stocks?” (TLN 1490; 2.2.387).26 He calls to the heavens to take his “part” (TLN 1482; 2.2.381), reducing the argument to simplistic partisanship and at the same time invoking a cosmic deity. But his body begins to weaken under the stress of his extreme reactions when he asks his “sides” if they will “hold”

25 GREENBLATT: Lear speaks as if he had actually drawn up a maintenance agreement with his daughters . . . But there is no maintenance agreement between Lear and his daughters; there could be none, since as Lear makes clear in the first scene, he will not as absolute monarch allow anything “To come betwixt our sentence and our power” (I.i), and an autonomous system of laws would have constituted just such an intervention (“Cultivation” 112). 26 See Jayne on Lear’s disagreeableness here (281).



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(TLN 1488–89; 2.2.386, 387). Martha Craig thinks that “the more Lear castigates the women from whom he has demanded service, the more his body registers ‘maternal’ distress” (9).27 Cornwall takes responsibility for stocking Kent, thereby removing the one subject Lear’s uncertain mind could revert to when the situation became too confusing or difficult. Cornwall’s admission of this offending act causes Lear to confront a man he sees as his subordinate son-in-law. Picture Lear feebly struggling to strike him when he exclaims, “You? Did you?” (TLN 1493; 2.2.389). Even if she has had quite a bit to drink herself, Regan does not want to see the encounter deteriorate into a brawl. She intervenes and chastises the rebellious Lear: “I pray you Father being weak, seem so” (TLN 1494; 2.2.390). This constitutes a true entreaty.28 Then, with Goneril at her side, she tries once again to persuade Lear to return to her sister’s home. Determined to hold her father to the agreed arrangement and unprepared to take on his care at this time, she will welcome Lear only after his month with Goneril. When she says, “I am now from home, and out of that provision / Which shall be needful for your entertainment” (TLN 1498–99; 2.2.394–95), she moves to the Fool and grabs one of the bottles and holds it up. She then proceeds to fill her glass and drink down the contents. As she attempts to fill it again, Goneril moves to her side and gently takes the bottle from her. The threat of insufficient alcohol, however, is not enough to sway Lear. Instead, he dramatically states that he would rather be homeless or slave to Oswald than return to Goneril.29 The once-dominant Lear, unschooled in this new relationship with his daughters, again resorts to a melodramatic harangue. Three times Lear bellows incredulously, “Return to [or with] her?” (TLN 1500, 1504, 1508; 2.2.396, 400, 404), and finally points to Oswald, ending his outburst with “Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter / To this detested groom” (TLN 1509–10; 2.2.405–06). Imagine an outlandish action to support a reading of these lines that both evokes the incest theme and implies that Lear is seeking a male replacement for 27

Craig argues that internalization of the maternal is toxic for Lear (9). Reid notes the sincerity and submissiveness of both daughters in this scene (234). 29 ADELMAN: [Lear is] driven toward the storm less by his daughters’ actions than by the intensity of feeling with which he responds to their actions: he invents his exposure to the storm (2.4.210–13) well before they close their doors against him (Suffocating 113). BERGER: Being turned out in the storm becomes, for him, a triumph. His decision to reject their grudging hospitality ratifies their monstrous ingratitude (35). CRICK: The daughters are inured to his exclusive love for Cordelia and his refusal to admit their existence, and thus Lear’s demands that they act Cordelia’s part add insult to injury . . . Lear’s diseased imagination expresses his own pathological recoil from the hideous prospect of imagining the detested bride-groom, “the hot-blooded France” (II.iv.213), enjoying his beloved daughter (75, 76). 28



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his daughters. When Lear refers to Oswald as “detested groom,” he grabs the unsuspecting man and jerks him in front of him. Bending him at the waist, Lear makes obscene thrusting motions, indicating that now, deserted by the daughters, he will be forced to have intercourse with this man. This causes Goneril’s succinct rejoinder, “At your choice Sir” (TLN 1511; 2.2.406), as she rescues the embarrassed Oswald from her father’s grasp. Goneril understands that this confrontation is a test of wills and concludes that her only choice is to stay firm with her unreasonable father. Lear wants his daughters to rant and rave as well, and their control only unsettles him further. Or, Lear’s prescient but, at this point, empty threat to be homeless— “rather I abjure all roofs . . . ” (TLN 1501; 2.2.397)—is indicative of his continued manipulations. A weary Goneril accepts his offer with her succinct “At your choice Sir” (TLN 1511; 2.2.406), a rather mild response at this moment.30 Hoping for a more acquiescing response, Lear collapses as he begs, “I prithee Daughter do not make me mad” (TLN 1512; 2.2.407). His mind is indeed beginning to fail him at this point, and his plea here is genuine. Now Lear understands that Goneril, his best hope for a mother (since Cordelia’s rejection), is lost to him. The turning point has also arrived for Goneril, who realizes that after years of compliance to his demands, she will never be loved by him. Lear then disingenuously and ultimately quite cruelly reclaims his role as father of Goneril. He refers to her as “Child” and “my flesh, my blood” (TLN 1513, 1515; 2.2.408, 410).31 And immediately, he tries to wound her by claiming that she is a “disease,” providing potent gender coding, both demeaning women generally and implying the pun on Goneril’s name.32 If instead of highlighting alcohol or obsessive infantilization, one were to look at Lear’s behavior through the lens of incest, one could imagine Lear blaming his daughter for their inappropriate sexual relationship. He then

30 MCLEOD: [The Folio] presents a relatively less extreme picture of Gonerill’s behaviour and of her perception by others than does [the Quarto] (182). GUYOL: Goneril finds a three-word prepositional phrase sufficient reply to Lear’s eleven lines of monumental rage (316). 31 Kahn points up Lear’s recurring command to isolate himself from all three of his daughters (“Excavating” 39–40). NOVY: [With “I must needs call mine”], Lear’s own words to Goneril suggest something of his identification with her (Love’s 156). 32 ADELMAN: Acknowledging Goneril his flesh and blood entails making his own body the site of her monstrous femaleness (Suffocating 108,109). See also Collington (204). Craig believes “it is the disease with which the maternal force of his daughters and his own suppressed guilt have infected his body.” She notes the “association between Goneril’s name and gonorrhea” and its connection to the “symptoms of syphilis” at that time. Lear suggests that the disease is “spread by women, who lewdly encourage sexual activity” (8).



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believes he cannot be held responsible because it is women who seduce men, women who, regardless of protestations to the contrary, have power over men through sexual conquest. Therefore, when Lear says, “Or rather a disease that’s in my flesh,” imagine him trying to wipe the sexual taint off his body. Here Lear once again condemns Goneril when he says, “Let shame come when it will” (TLN 1520; 2.2.415), as if the shame of a sexual relationship is hers and not his. Goneril does not respond to Lear’s curses because Regan rushes to reject Lear’s notion that he and his knights can reside with her. Regan once again calls Lear “old” and hopes that he will act like the dependent man he insisted on becoming. Regan, also drinking, says rather inarticulately, “But she knows what she does” (TLN 1531; 2.2.425), attempting to give support to her sister. Or, if both daughters have suffered sexual abuse at their father’s hands, it is possible to see Regan here trying to avoid her father at all costs. Her sister is willing to take their father in, and Regan pointedly says to Lear, “But she knows what she does,” conscious that Goneril is taking the abuser into her home. Regan then repeats the same argument that her sister made by explaining that expense and peril warn against so large a following.33 This problem of caring for an aging parent is another cause of the stereotyping of the daughters. Here it becomes the overwhelming issue. Alcohol emboldens Regan, and she now speaks her mind and reduces the number of Lear’s men she will accept to twenty-five. Lear, in absolute bewilderment, hears how his “mothers” are chastising him. He utters, “I gave you all—”(TLN 1547; 2.2.439).34 As in the first scene, Lear once again commodifies love.35 Regan, revealing the bitterness of a neglected child who was controlled by a father who withheld her dowry, retorts, “And in good time you gave it” (TLN 1548; 2.2.439). Then, when Lear contends that he made them his “Guardians” (TLN 1549; 2.2.440), he remains blissfully unaware of his hypocrisy. As Philip Collington insists, “Lear cannot have it both ways: he cannot command like a father yet be nursed like a baby. To submit to care is to submit. Period” (204).

33

HOOVER: [Goneril and Regan] show a surprising lack of interest in the frippery which was thought to occupy the minds of women. . . . Shakespeare rejected a motivation that would have been easily grasped by his audience (“Horrid” 53). 34 See Hofele on Lear’s unrestrained feelings (88). 35 BERGER: They owe him all, and he is going to do his best to demonstrate that they can’t and won’t pay it back; by acting unreasonably he will test their gratitude and prove it inadequate (35). DREHER: [H]e still sees love as an exchange of commodities, expecting gratitude in equal measure from Goneril and Regan (68).



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To demonstrate the dysfunctional family dynamics at work, imagine Lear marching to the Fool and refilling his now-empty glass. Toasting the heavens, he announces that compared to Regan, Goneril is the lesser of two evils. He then moves toward Goneril, swatting her when he spits out, “I’ll go with thee.” The Fool, not wanting Lear to accept any concessions, rises in protest, but Lear ignores his interruption. After his hideous curses, he still expects to be taken in by the now-impatient Goneril. She implores her father’s undivided attention with “Hear me my Lord,” stopping the ranting Lear in his tracks. She explains she will take him back on the condition that he returns alone. All these domestic implications are very much defined by gender stereotyping. Women must be women. Thus, when Lear snidely quips to his much-abused daughter, Goneril, “ . . . thou art twice her Love,” Lear misogynistically believes that he can determine a woman’s love by this commodification. Lear’s arguments show his inability to perceive reality; he fatally clings to the decorum he feels is due a father. One can imagine him drunkenly attacking Goneril, immediately characterizing her as a monster, thereby insinuating that a woman who rules, not nurtures, is unnatural. Later, with Regan, he resorts to intense verbal abuse. Even his sentimental comments, for example, his eloquent delineation of “need” (TLN 1564–70; 2.2.453–59), are a momentary break from his manifestly infantile demands of his daughters to define their lives in terms of his “kind nursery.” Lear’s expressive and sympathetic moments become even more tragic when the text’s complex dialectics are allowed to project the ethical shades of gray that accompany the heartrending drama. The Fool, who has also openly abused Goneril, vocalizes his disgust when, joining with Regan, Goneril asks, “What need you five and twenty? Ten? Or Five” (TLN 1560; 2.2.450). This reading highlights how Lear’s “mothers” have tried to establish new rules of conduct, even as the intoxicated, befuddled old man tries desperately to maintain control.36 Overcome with self-pity, Lear reinvents his maniacal response to his daughters in a prayer: “You see me here (you Gods) a poor old man, / As full of grief as age, wretched in both” (TLN 1572–73; 2.2.461–62). He asks to be touched with “Noble anger,” oblivious to the anger he has already expressed toward those present. Significantly, he declares that he does not want effeminizing tears, “women’s weapons,” to spoil his manly grief. Such manifestly gendered statements show Lear’s problems to be psychoanalytic fissures in his own sense of self. This failure of the patriarchy is painfully enacted in a biased old man’s confusion of nobility

36

Brayton examines the effect of Lear’s hysteria (410).



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and true sentiment. “Women’s weapons,” as he calls them, become the despised symbol of Lear’s own condition.37 Lear calls his daughters “unnatural Hags,” believing a mother would never treat a needy son in such a manner. He expects and demands unconditional love. Lear could also be condemning his daughters as “unnatural” because they have been polluted through incest. Again, it is the father’s act but the daughter’s shame. Or, if he understands their forceful stance to be evidence of their resistance to his sexual stranglehold on them, he is angrily reacting to this “unnatural” behavior from his once-compliant daughters.38 This resort to accusations of “unnatural” behavior becomes a trademark of Lear’s wrath. Brayton positions Lear’s characterizations within a now-exposed ideology of women who become “witches” through their strength: “His rhetoric situates him as a sort of exorcist, his daughters as witches, and the pivotal early scenes as versions of a witch hunt” (413). Brayton is not alone in seeing the bigoted language do its worst.39 The linking of uncontrollable women with uncontrollable animality continues throughout Lear’s ravings. Lear’s last words to his older daughters do not stop there, however. He leaves them forever with an undefined threat—“I will have such revenges on you both” (TLN 1579; 2.2.468)—demonstrating simultaneously his own insecurity and tyranny.40 When Lear cries, “But this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws / Or ere I’ll weep” (TLN 1585–86; 2.2.473–75), he takes a poignant line and yet jeopardizes a sympathetic

37 KAHN: [His older daughters] betray and disappoint Lear by not being mothers to him, but in a deeper, broader sense, they shame him by bringing out the woman in him (“Absent” 45). Ross points out Lear’s discoveries, once he goes mad, of “woman, beggar, beast within himself ” (65), and argues that Lear’s madness is a result of feminization and infantilization (66). 38 ISENBERG: [As for] the exacerbated violence and pathos of Lear’s revulsion from his two daughters: nothing we have seen in either of these women explains why their defection should so wrench his mind and rankle his heart (192). 39 Hofele explains how Lear bestializes his daughters (88). See Hoover on Lear’s use of the word “hags” (“Lusty” 88). McLuskie traces the contrast between the daughters in the source play and how Shakespeare’s play highlights the gendered attack on Lear’s daughters (98). MATHIESON: [Lear articulates] a host of bestial analogies linking [Goneril and Regan] to undesirable behaviors: serpent, kite, and vulture. In his “wise” madness, Lear generalizes about all women . . . [The play serves to] chasten the audience through acknowledgment of the animal within us. The vehicles for such chastisement are female and animal (138). 40 ROSENBERG: [This line shows Lear’s] windy rhetoric [and] self-pity . . . The kingchild is returning to the megalomania of youth, when they told him he was everything; the speech is the anguished threat of a child with no power, flinging magic words in an attempt to frighten his elders (171, 178). BRAYTON: [P]ractices that equate the feminine with the monstrous [bring] a masculine anxiety and hysteria [and even] demonic possession (413).



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response with his misogynist abhorrence of “women’s weapons.”41 Goneril not only suffers Lear’s hideous verbal attacks but also endures the pathetic sight of her frenzied father descending into madness. The interpretation of such moments as stunningly irrational is pivotal to a feminist reading. Goneril and Regan are not without faults, even here, but Lear’s madness does not come upon him because they are cruel. The many lines that precede this moment suggest that mental illness, not filial ingratitude, causes Lear’s inability to deal with the world he creates at the beginning of the play. “Bad” children do not have such power, or else most parents would be driven insane by their belligerent offspring. By pitying Lear, we diminish the complexity of the play, the true tragedy that Shakespeare develops from the far simpler fairy-tale plotline. And so Goneril, in this telling, recognizes her father’s intensely aberrant behavior and makes an attempt to physically comfort him as he screams, “The terrors of the earth” (TLN 1582; 2.2.471), but when she touches him, he throws off her arm, saying, “you think I’ll weep” (TLN 1582; 2.2.471), threatening to strike her further. Lear thus everlastingly rejects Goneril and Regan as mothers, creating them anew as unnatural demons, whereupon Goneril backs away from her raving father. Lear’s pitiable “O Fool, I shall go mad” is now heard in this context. Picture an infantilized Lear stomping off, dragging the Fool with him. As they move past him, the knight who is nudged by the Fool awakens to draw the discarded, broken-down toy horse after them. The child who has thrown his temper tantrum now leaves in a huff with his friends and his toy. Lear’s later raving on the heath is reminiscent of the uncontrolled selfpity of the drunk, buttressed by the play’s cosmic language and the patriarchal arrogance of kingship. His thoughts are driven by his problems with his daughters, who he misogynistically believes drive all his actions. His destructive actions and those actions he impels in others by rushing out into the elements have severe repercussions on everyone’s lives. The effect of the Folio’s excision of the later mock-trial scene may be that one better understands Lear’s ranting as madness, not justified ire against evil offspring. After Lear and his sorry men exit, Goneril, visibly shaken, sits down and unconsciously rubs her head. Regan moves to her and offers her a drink from her glass, which Goneril accepts, taking a long swallow. The sisters then sit next to each other, with Goneril putting her arm around 41 ROSS: [Lear] wallows in his masochism. Like Kent, the Fool/analyst has seen this selfdestructiveness all along, only now does Lear begin to grasp the folly of having given up his power . . . [like a] histrionic tot in a temper tantrum [who] becomes openly womanly and undisguisedly hysterical (66).



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Regan. Here are two sisters who have managed to survive their father’s sexual abuse or emotional neglect and now must survive his curses and abandonment. The last bit of this long and momentous scene has clear implications for the military struggle between the older sisters and Lear. As the storm approaches, Cornwall urges everyone to seek shelter. Regan’s concern that “This house is little, the old man and’s people, / Cannot be well bestowed” (TLN 1588–89; 2.2.477–78) does not suggest a woman rashly throwing her father out into the elements, but rather someone concerned about housing a large force. Regan and Goneril recommit themselves to caring only for their father and not his men. They would be foolhardy if they were to offer shelter to Lear’s retainers, men who openly attempt to undermine their authority. In this context, Regan, exasperated, shuts her doors against Lear’s retainers (“For his particular, I’ll receive him gladly, / But not one follower” TLN 1592–93; 2.2.481–82), not foreseeing Lear’s mad raging on the moor, with the debated retinue nowhere in sight. The supreme irony remains that the men Lear insisted upon desert him. No plots are hatched here, as some have assumed. Reid maintains that Gloucester alone reports that Lear’s daughters seek his death, and only after the French invasion (237). But Gloucester’s understanding of political realities is persistently faulty, and his assessment of the death threat against Lear may be suspect. The Folio adds that Gloucester, who revealingly still calls Lear “King,” reports, “He calls to Horse” (TLN 1600; 2.2.487), suggesting, as in 1.4 (Lear’s “Saddle my horses” (TLN 763; 1.4.244), “Prepare my Horses” (TLN 770; 1.4.250), and “Go, go, my people” (TLN 785; 1.4.264)), that Lear is going off in a temper, but probably with his men, not wandering on the heath nearly alone and on foot. The Folio redistributes lines confirming the decision to disallow Lear’s followers from Regan alone to Goneril and Cornwall, thus extending responsibility to all three, and suggesting, as Regan soon indicates, that they and Gloucester assume that he has ridden off with these violently defended retainers in attendance. Goneril, Regan, and Cornwall are now three rulers in harmony about banning the riotous men from the house, with the Folio spreading the accountability more equally among all family members, including to Lear himself. Although Lear’s entire retinue is rarely represented on stage, the text later reveals that indeed Lear still has thirty-five or thirty-six knights with him, along with some “dependents” (TLN 2074; 3.7.15), possibly the Fool or Kent. Lear’s commanding rage on the moors may tempt an audience to glamorize his isolation, causing his daughters to look worse, but the Folio’s alterations once again make the behavior of the daughters more reasonable.



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. . . shut up your doors, He is attended with a desperate train, And what they may incense him to, being apt, To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear. (TLN 1608–11; 2.2.494–97)

Lear’s “desperate train” has exhibited behavior that rightfully gives the new leaders pause. They correctly worry that these followers may convince the enraged Lear to take military action against their government. Their fears, of course, become justified. Lear’s rebellious army has made it apparent that civil war is a serious threat. The rulers then move into the house, uncertain about what will happen. Alternately, the end of this scene can be played as private and more psychological. Cornwall resumes control of this damaged family, attempting to usher them into the house to avoid the coming storm. When Goneril states that Lear “hath put himself from rest” (TLN 1590; 2.2.479), it is possible that she thinks, as Reid says, “He would merely spend an uncomfortable night” (241). A nervous Gloucester returns to report the old man in a rage. Picture the sisters, having dealt many times with their irrational, drunken father, exhausted from the ordeal and thinking it best to let him have his way. They do not know how to reach their mad father and hope that sobriety may change his violent demeanor. Goneril, with the most experience in such family quarrels, wearily counsels Gloucester: “My Lord, entreat him by no means stay” (TLN 1602; 2.2.489). Gloucester, a vulnerable father himself, silently decides at this point to throw his allegiance firmly behind Lear. He agrees with his old friend that these women are “unnatural,” even though he is not brave enough to say so at this moment, and believes that the devotion of children to their father is paramount. Regan shares her concerns with all present. Although Lear arrived with only the Fool and one knight, he continued to fight to retain all one hundred of his followers. The sisters are understandably worried about the threat posed by the drunken men. Gloucester, wanting to hide his allegiance to Lear, approaches the anxious Regan, hugging her as a father would. The beleaguered Regan very much appreciates his show of support, and the others observe this tender moment. Lear’s unpredictable rush into the storm begins Regan’s downfall as she, the adult child of an alcoholic, once again takes to the bottle. Cornwall approaches Gloucester, touches him in appreciation, and then ushers his now-extended family into the house.



The sisters agree with Cornwall that “ ˇ Tis best to give him way, he leads himself” (TLN 1601; 2.2.488) and let him travel from Gloucester’s house. Regan’s motives are political when she states:

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The negotiations surrounding Lear’s retinue become the dramatic cause for the collapse of the kingdom in most readings, as trivial as that may sound in light of the serious issues of authority that Britain faces at that moment. In a political interpretation, the number of men Lear personally commands is a visible weapon potentially menacing to his daughters’ command. But in readings that focus on the deeply troubled Lear family, this pivotal scene reflects the spoiled, aged “child” dictating his irrational whims to women he expects to be “good” mothers, not “bad” ones who thwart his wishes.



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Regan and Torture: Abuser and Abused (Act 3, scene 7)

Act 3, scene 7 Regan Since this act painstakingly builds a complex political environment before this scene, parts of the preliminary scenes need to be reviewed in a reading stressing military relations. In 3.1, Kent sets the stage for the governmental unrest that now exists in Britain, and this often-cut scene is pivotal to a thoroughgoing reading of the complicated military hostilities. The Folio adjustments radically affect the interpretation of the action. The Folio adds lines after “There is division / . . . / . . .’twixt Albany, and Cornwall” that make it evident that although Kent wonders why Cornwall and Albany both have men who are spies for France, he places the blame for the men’s betrayal squarely on the dukes’ shoulders. Stressing the actions of the husbands, not the sisters, he talks of “the hard Rein which both of them hath borne / Against the old kind King” (TLN 1628–39; 3.1.19–29). This passage draws attention to the spies that France has in Britain, and Gloucester, it seems, is one of them. Later, Edmund brings Cornwall proof of his father’s treason, and indeed the proof turns out to be legitimate.



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Despite Edmund’s betrayal of his father, Gloucester is arguably a traitor to the rightful rulers of Britain.1 Albany has never been observed acting against Lear, as Kent reports. If one believes Kent here—and all do—then this problem is political, not familial. Cornwall and, significantly, Goneril’s condemnatory husband are at odds, considerably altering many subsequent perceptions of Albany. This explicit reference to spies contextualizes the traitor Gloucester’s betrayal of Goneril and Regan and their violent, conventionally warlike, response to it. The Folio omits the lines citing Lear’s supposed mistreatment (3.1.34–35) as the initial cause for the internal political unrest and the threat from France. Interestingly, Kent leaves out any mention of Goneril and Regan. In a military reading, Kent refuses to acknowledge women in a position of authority in the government, and therefore, speaks only of their husbands. Lear’s men’s disloyalty stems from the same source as Kent’s; they have never accepted the women as rulers of Britain. Having remained loyal to “King” Lear, and believing that Cordelia will help to reinstate him to the throne, these men enact their treachery against the state in a desire to return to the old order, even though it involves backing the Queen of France. The reference to the French presence at Dover—“Some that will thank you” (3.1.33) and “The King hath cause to plain” (3.1.35)—are in the Quarto only. This omission in the Folio may well reflect some censorship about France invading Britain, as many scholars have speculated, an event perhaps objectionable for the seventeenth-century English stage even in a legendary setting. But for the purpose of understanding the daughters later in the play, the talk of Cordelia—“If you shall see Cordelia” (TLN 1643ff; 3.1.42ff.)—found in both the Quarto and Folio makes clear that Kent is spying on Britain for France’s queen. Both Kent and Gloucester are spies. The timing of the invasion may be altered dependent upon the version, but the political circumstances are set in motion before Lear is on the moors. In both versions, Lear’s “cause to plain” cannot be reason for the invasion, although the Folio version seems to make more sense of it by allowing more time before Cordelia’s invasion. Those who make the play solely about daughters evicting a father will have to skew either text to do so. A less biased look at the daughters and their rule may well resolve some of the inconsistencies in the play’s action. Further, the Folio adds the Fool’s prophecy about ills of the age at the end of 3.2 (TLN 1734–49; 3.2.79–96), which makes the Fool seem more bitter in the Folio, more a

1 R. A. Foakes notes that “in both Q and F Edmund says in 3.5 that Gloucester is spying for France” (Arden 261, n. 22–29).



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recorder of the stupidity of all men, including Lear, rather than a beloved friend who simply bears witness against Lear’s elder daughters. In 3.3, Gloucester complains about Regan, Cornwall, and maybe even Goneril taking over his home. The political conditions are brought up when he tells Edmund about the conflict between Albany and Cornwall. The line “These injuries the King now bears, will be revenged home” (TLN 1762–63; 3.3.11–12) indicates that Gloucester is not only spying, but also working against Cornwall. Preparation is already under way for a civil war between the dukes, but these plans are subverted by the peril from French invaders. Gloucester, in his own words, declares himself a traitor to the rightful power of Regan and Goneril: “ . . . there is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King” (TLN 1763–64; 3.3.12–13). Cordelia and the armies of France stand ready to invade Britain. With reports that some British soldiers and citizens long for a return to patriarchal rule, and with an invading army at hand, real danger looms for Goneril and Regan. Although Edmund patently longs to destroy Gloucester, his political allegiances may not be equally duplicitous. Edmund, the new kind of man, one who deems the old rulers as ineffectual and obsolete, here accepts that the new order set up by the sisters will prove best both for his own political ambitions and for the state. He has much in common with the rejected daughters and views his father’s act as genuinely treasonous. This reading creates a more complex Edmund and avoids simplistic motivations. Edmund, from this perspective, is operating like an agent of the legitimate ruling party, as opposed to his father, France’s agent. In 3.4, we hear Gloucester admit that “grief hath crazed” Lear’s “wits,” after making the shocking announcement that his “Daughters seek his death” (TLN 1950, 1943; 3.4.166, 159). This remains the sole reference to a plot by Goneril and Regan, and one could argue that Gloucester was projecting onto Lear and his daughters his own unfortunate situation with Edgar. He may also think that Lear’s daughters indirectly sought his death when they allowed him to wander unprotected in the storm. Still, the usually vociferous Kent does not even respond to the statement. The audience is again listening to the fallible and highly mediated judgments of spies. Finally, in 3.5, Edmund reveals Gloucester’s disloyalty to Cornwall by showing him the letter that contains information confirming France is at the ready. This letter assures Cornwall that Gloucester has been in communication with France. Edmund is the first to accurately label his father’s actions as treason. Although Edmund’s motives are personally suspect, even reprehensible, his political motivations are less heinous. His report sets the stage for the interrogation/torture scene that follows. Ample reasons exist for Regan to punish, if not torture, the traitorous Gloucester in interpretations based on power, but if the context is a world



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driven by family and even love, this scene, pivotal in understanding Regan, takes on a very different tenor. Critics rarely see Regan here motivated by any passion except cruelty, but one can see another emotion at work, that of an injured daughter, and the preliminary scenes shape this moment. In 3.1, Kent informs a knight that he must travel to Dover to Cordelia. It is apparent that Cordelia and Kent have been in communication and that she trusts Kent’s account of her family’s ordeals. Here, a religious Cordelia is motivated by her desire to escape her life with the lecherous France, to reclaim her position of favor with her father, and to answer the growing concerns of Kent. These factors have spurred Cordelia on in what she deems is a religious campaign to reinstate her spiritually lost father to the throne. Cordelia’s later justification of this military invasion is that she is carrying out God’s “business” (TLN 2377; 4.3.24). Once again, Gloucester informs us of this in 3.3, when he accounts that “there is part of a Power already footed.” When Edmund gives Cornwall Gloucester’s letter in 3.5, he fully understands that Regan’s close relationship with the fatherlike Gloucester has been a sham. The man she trusted to shelter, protect, and, perhaps most importantly, love her is part of a plot to bring her down. Cornwall has both Gloucester’s betrayal of his wife and his own threatened power to motivate his response to the duplicitous earl. That this betrayal is personal is evidenced in Cornwall’s offer for Edmund to exchange Gloucester’s deceitful love for his own true love. “I will lay trust upon thee: and thou shalt find a dear Father in my love” (TLN 1994–95; 3.5.24–25). The fatherly protection Cornwall offers Edmund is in stark contrast to Gloucester’s unfaithful nurturance of Regan. For this daughter, the Father, in all senses of the word, is the site of perfidy. The Folio famously omits the mock-trial scene (3.6.17–55), which dramatizes the special pleading that Lear indulges in, as well as Lear’s sexist epithet: “she-foxes” (3.6.22). This deletion presents a modified view of Lear’s insanity. In the Quarto, Lear could intensify the audience’s antipathy toward his daughters with his biased portrayal of their behavior toward him. The omission of this inflammatory scene is clearly in tune with the Folio’s more moderate presentation of the daughters. Later, the Folio deletes Edgar’s long, generalized speech about “When we our betters see bearing our woes” (3.6.99). These couplets may have been omitted in the Folio because they are just bad poetry—sententious, like many of Albany’s lines. But they are also judgmental, particularly the pat comparison “He childed as I fathered” (3.6.108). This parallel contributes to the double plot’s reduction of the issues. Edmund is actively and dishonestly plotting against Edgar, so the parallel between the two families falls short. For whatever reason, the Folio’s deletion of this line suggests that any filial identification of Goneril and Regan with Edmund is simplistic and reductive. All these emotional intricacies delineating problematic relationships inform the highly wrought blinding scene. 10.1057/9780230111516 - Re-Visioning Lear's Daughters, Lesley Kordecki and Karla Koskinen


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To return to a military reading, scene 7 opens in a heightened state of emergency, as Cornwall announces that “the Army of France is landed” (TLN 2061; 3.7.2–3).2 All previous details set up the painful torture scene that follows. Armed personnel move across the stage, with Regan and Cornwall orchestrating the action. Goneril understands that the time for diplomatic strategies has now passed and willingly, though regretfully, follows the lead of her military partners. Envision maps spread out on a table as Cornwall finishes the missive for Goneril and Edmund to deliver to Albany. The problems brewing between Albany and Cornwall are now irrelevant; Cornwall sends a letter to Albany informing him of the invasion. Britain is now at war, and the rulers must join forces to protect their homeland. To prevent Lear from marshaling sympathetic troops, information must be secured from the traitorous Gloucester as to where Lear has been sent and why. Regan is outraged by the actions of Gloucester, her mentor, and uncharacteristically responds without understanding the military advantage Gloucester could supply when she declares, “Hang him instantly” (TLN 2063; 3.7.4). Goneril, recognizing that forceful interrogation may be required, provides a more judicious punishment when she suggests that they “Pluck out his eyes” (TLN 2064; 3.7.5). The Folio, as is often the case, omits exclamation points, allowing for a very different delivery of these lines. Goneril, like her father before her, is now a ruler resorting to violence to maintain political control. Here, Goneril and Regan are reacting to their shattered dream of shared, compassionate rule, attacked first by Lear and his unruly men, then by the disloyal Gloucester, and finally by a disgruntled sister, all who have contributed to the destruction of the new government. Confronted with a war that will divide the once-steadfast armies, they are forced to face the painful treachery of those feigning loyalty. Both women are deeply affected by the inevitable conflict and have come to believe in the necessity of using force for the good of the state. They now unconsciously turn to their father’s model of rule and begin more and more to adopt his ways, clinging to their waning authority. Power, however, corrupted their father, and its loss drove him mad. Power’s effect on the sisters is equally devastating. Cornwall’s “Farewell, dear Sister” (TLN 2070–71; 3.7.12) reflects this moment of thwarted leadership and peril. The gravity of the leave-taking indicates that the characters recognize the hazards ahead. Examined, however, through the lens of the family, the beginning of 3.7 demonstrates what Gloucester’s betrayal has done to the unsuspecting sisters. Imagine Regan visibly distraught and drinking heavily when the

2 As Alfar outlines, with Cordelia’s invasion, the kingdom of her sisters is “under siege, and anyone caught acting in sympathy with Lear or France is a traitor” (97).



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scene opens. Her tenuous hold on her emotional and mental well-being is in jeopardy as she begins a downward spiral. She demands revenge when she cries, “Hang him instantly” (TLN 2063; 3.7.4), which is delivered through sobs as she gulps down more wine. To undermine the stereotypical jealousy assumed between the sisters, picture Goneril moving to the dejected Regan, holding her in her arms, and reacting to Gloucester’s cruelty with “Pluck out his eyes” (TLN 2064; 3.7.5). She gently removes the bottle from Regan, persuading her that drink is not the answer. Both women trusted him, and both women fully, though perhaps naively, expected him to be sympathetic to the impossible position Lear crafted. Regan, who was particularly close to Gloucester, is devastated by his disloyalty, and her strong reaction shows the effects of this duplicity Cornwall also attempts to control his wife’s emotional outpourings, as well as the dangerous political situation, by offering to punish Gloucester: “Leave him to my displeasure” (TLN 2065; 3.7.6). He pragmatically sends Edmund and Goneril back to Albany with news of Cordelia’s invasion. As Regan learns from Oswald’s report that Gloucester escorted Lear, accompanied by many of those debated rebellious men, to Dover to join with armed forces, she crumbles further. Not only has her father figure chosen her cruel birth father over her, he has also participated in a plot that will endanger her own life. Regan, pushed too far, now lashes out against Gloucester. This scene, one of the most excruciating in Shakespeare’s canon, defines Regan’s character for most viewers.3 Consequently, one must carefully consider the textual evidence to establish a workable feminist interpretation. The cycle of violence, of torture even, pivots on contesting seats of power. How far is too far to go? All three sisters in one way or another can be shown to go to the extreme: each one leads people into war, and each one partakes of Lear’s all-or-nothing philosophy, but it is Cornwall, not Regan, who warns of the violence ahead:4 . . . our power Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men May blame, but not control. (TLN 2085–87; 3.7.25–27)

3 Alfar argues that the scene reflects “Shakespeare’s interest in the violent tendencies of a patrilineal system of kingship.” The play “tests the boundaries of power by giving it to women” (84). 4 ESTOK: Cornwall is acutely aware of the relationship between power/control and possession of home” (“Shakespeare” 31).



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This justification or rationalization of torture strikes a familiar note for today’s American audience, and it could be crucially defined in a military reading. Under George W. Bush’s administration, the U.S. government, in response to “terrorist threats,” reinterpreted the rules regarding treatment of prisoners during interrogation and may be seen as using logic similar to Cornwall’s. The use of torture to elicit information, as in this scene, is more controversial than ever. Clearly, diametrically opposed views exist. Those who support torture argue that defending the safety of a country justifies its use; those who oppose it resist a response that undermines humane ideals, despite the threat to national security. Many dispute breaking such important, ethical laws, but in Lear’s world, torture was an accepted military response. Barbara Finlay, who studied the detainee abuse in Iraq, comes to a more global conclusion: “Militarism itself is the root problem—the entire notion that it is heroic to use violence and massive force against a government-defined enemy.” She asserts that militarism “is always associated with abuse, racism, misogyny, heterosexism, short-sighted patriotism, and objectification of ‘enemy’ nations” (212). The blinding scene displays the psychological effects of aggressive military absolutism on this daughter of Lear, a military female. Studying the women soldiers photographed in the Abu Ghraib torture scandal, Eve Ensler speculates on how “putting a leash on someone and dragging them around and humiliating them could ever be right.” A woman “must have felt she had to prove herself. She had to out-macho the most macho in order to prove she was ‘one of the guys’ ” (18–19). If the taunting and blinding of Gloucester are regarded as sexualized torture—the blinding symbolically representing castration—Regan appears to be following a military code still present today.5 Ilene Feinman argues that “we need to continue to analyze the military as a hierarchical, deeply obedience-based institution that is still foundationally racist and masculinist” (69). Regan’s actions toward Gloucester show a woman responding violently to Cordelia’s real military threat. Regan is married to a quick-tempered man and has joined him in a culture of fear and intimidation. Cordelia is invading Britain with troops from what becomes, at least for Renaissance audiences, its age-old enemy, France. Gloucester received communication about the invasion and helped Lear reach the French troops. Now that Regan has assumed the power that she waited and worked for patiently, she

5 FINLAY: Women in the military are in a highly dominance-oriented, hierarchical institution that engenders and reinforces sexism, misogyny, and harassment of those who are perceived as different (210).



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encounters animosity on all sides. She once supposed that military might could deter violence; she now employs it to uphold her authority. Believing her land to be under attack by her childhood mentor, the criminally and politically incompetent Gloucester, she simulates masculinist solutions. Gloucester fatally misjudges his own sons, intercedes for an aggressively dangerous stranger (Caius), and enables her father, so she thinks, to marshal a force against her. Even before the scene gets under way, the Folio heightens the attribution of the word “traitor” to Gloucester by changing the Quarto’s “villain” in Cornwall’s initial speech to “Traitor” (TLN 2062; 3.7.3). Both Regan and Cornwall call Gloucester a traitor five more times (TLN 2067, 2082, 2089, 2096, 2102; 3.7.8, 22, 27, 33, 37), as well as accuse him of consorting with “Traitors” (TLN 2111–12; 3.7.44). Foakes thinks this shows “the confusion of values in the play” (Arden 295, n. 3), but it also reinforces the daughters’ point of view. Later, the Folio adds the adjective “treacherous” to “Villain” (TLN 2164; 3.7.86), to drive the point home. The text places the audience visibly and verbally in a military trial-and-punishment scenario. The repetition of the word “traitor” explains, if not justifies, the violence of the scene. Although less personally violent than Kent, Gloucester is a company man for the old Lear kingdom, backing the losing interest, fully resistant to the sisters’ subversion of patriarchy, and injudicious in character assessment. His treason, buttressed by Lear’s masculine right to power and his own misogyny, is unreflectively undertaken. He misjudges his own family, empowering the bitter Edmund, and cannot see that the violence of Lear’s world breeds chaos. Oswald reports on Gloucester’s acts against the state in aiding Lear: My Lord of Gloucester hath conveyed him hence Some five or six and thirty of his Knights Hot Questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the Lord’s, dependants, Are gone with him toward Dover; where they boast To have well-armed Friends. (TLN 2074–79; 3.7.14–19)

This account seriously implicates Gloucester and gives him a primary role in abetting the enemy. Lear is seemingly not alone as he is rushed to Dover, where the army of France has landed. A psychological interpretation, however, shows Gloucester to be a man too sparing, at the beginning of the play, in his love for his sons, even Edgar. Surely, he is too sparing in his love for Regan. Like the Lear family, the Gloucester family is dysfunctional, perhaps also afflicted by alcoholism



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and a father’s lasciviousness (as is evident from Edmund’s conception), presenting a much grayer area of good and bad than usually portrayed on the stage. Gloucester demands devotion by virtue of his “fatherliness,” both from his sons and from Lear’s daughters. He does not examine his own responsibility until later in the play, when his lust and sense of privilege become brilliantly criticized by the delusional Lear. Only then does Gloucester “see” the error of his ways: his blind loyalty to the debilitated and debilitating Lear, and his foolish vulnerability to Edmund. Gloucester suffers deeply the supposed betrayal of his son Edgar, but does not recognize the parallel in his own betrayal of Regan and Cornwall. Gloucester’s motivation for his actions have often been reductively ascribed to his love for Lear, but the text provides clues confirming that he misunderstands what is happening around him. When he tells Kent in 3.6 of a rumored “plot of death” against Lear (TLN 2048; 3.6.86), many assume a conspiracy by the daughters, although the dukes’ “division” predates any contest between Lear, Goneril, and Regan. If the daughters are meant here, we have only Gloucester’s word for it.6 In some familial interpretations, the double plotting inhibits a careful perception of characters, but here we see Gloucester’s emotional defects extending to his assessment of the Lear family. Lear, on the other hand, is oblivious to Gloucester’s children. Although most critics limit their assessment of Gloucester to his behavior toward his sons, it is possible to see that he makes the same mistakes toward Lear’s daughters.7 To return to a military reading, Regan now demonstrates to the prisoner Gloucester that she was a first-class pupil of his military tutelage. Although she has suffered betrayal both personally and professionally, her actions are those of a military interrogator, not of a hysterical woman. Gloucester misjudges his former student when he attempts to treat her only as a “lady” and his “Guest” and “Friend” (TLN 2097, 2103, 2093, 2094; 3.7.33, 37, 30, 31). He naively insults Regan, attempting to manipulate his politically treasonous actions by using domestic language, and she responds with indignation at his transparent condescension. Challenging him as he is brought in by her soldiers, she brands him “Ingrateful Fox” and “filthy Traitor” (TLN 2090, 2096; 3.7.28, 32). Regan joins with Cornwall in threatening the bound man when she plucks his beard, the only violence Regan personally 6 ALFAR: No real proof of any such plot exists because Gloucester provides only hearsay in that matter . . . Gloucester’s ability to overhear the truth is suspect . . . [Edgar does not] accuse Goneril or Regan of anything (103). RUTTER: Gloucester . . . misreads all the signs, from the cosmic to the domestic. He gets them all wrong . . . [I]n this, like in so much else, Gloucester is Lear’s double . . . [L]ike the king’s, Gloucester’s sight fails him (“Eel” 199). 7 See Jayne’s critical assessment of both Kent and Gloucester (280).



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executes on the dangerous prisoner. She now assumes the militaristic mindset of torturing a prisoner. The tragedy at hand punctuates how the violence engendered in the kingdom is now embraced by the daughters. When Gloucester complains of being plucked “by the Beard” (TLN 2101; 3.7.36) by this “Unmerciful Lady” (TLN 2097; 3.7.33), one must remember that such treatment is exceedingly mild in cases of treason.8 Cornwall asks about letters from France. Paul Kahn notes that Gloucester’s position, as a “political force,” is far more significant in these matters than that of Tom, Caius, or the Fool, and Cornwall is much more interested in Gloucester’s connection to France than to Lear (100). Regan puts a direct command to Gloucester: “To whose hands / You have sent the Lunatic King: Speak” (TLN 2113–14; 3.7.45–46). Gloucester equivocates when he replies, unconvincingly saying, I have a Letter guessingly set down Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, And not from one opposed. (TLN 2115–17; 3.7.47–49)

This speech, along with his earlier “Good my Friends” and “you are my Guests” (TLN 2093; 3.7.30), brings to mind Rutter’s restatement of Kenneth Tynan’s 1962 review of Peter Brook’s production of King Lear, in which Gloucester was described as a “shifty old rake,” easily transferring loyalty to Cornwall and then back to Lear (“Eel” 189).9 Pressed further, Gloucester admits that he sent Lear to Dover: Because I would not see thy cruel Nails Pluck out his poor old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Anointed flesh, stick boarish fangs. (TLN 2128–30; 3.7.55–57) 8 ALFAR: If as readers we want Regan to show mercy to Gloucester, we are imagining that her duties as a ruler should be limited by her gender (97). FINLAY: The conditions in military detention centers and prisons encourage dehumanization, much of it intentional and part of the system as planned by higher-ranking officers in the interest of obtaining “intelligence.” . . . [Some women] become the instruments of masculine aggression toward others; they become helpers and assistants whose role is to increase the suffering and humiliation of the male “enemy” (210). 9 DUBROW: [Gloucester’s] guests are his superiors politically and socially, and, to the extent that the king’s daughter and son-in-law are themselves sovereigns in the region, all property in one sense belongs to them . . . [T]he reversal of roles that Cornwall and Goneril effect has already been established by feudal models of land tenure, some of which survived into the Renaissance (111). Estok argues that Gloucester’s diminished power is a result of his diminished property, now owned by those whom he calls guests (31).



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His use of the word “Anointed” now unequivocally reveals that he has never accepted Regan as a ruler of Britain. Lear is the only monarch Gloucester recognizes, and he continues to act on the abdicated king’s behalf. He further insults the ruling sisters when he wrongly accuses them of physically abusing their father. Although Lear himself chose to run off, after both sisters agreed to shelter him, Gloucester accuses them of denying him refuge. The riotous knights are forgotten. Gloucester’s personal defense shows both self-pity and rejection of the reality of his situation. This is a political trial. His high-handed condemnation of the sisters moves Cornwall to take decisive action. Gloucester audaciously threatens Cornwall and Regan before they exact their revenge. He ends his accusations with “but I shall see / The winged Vengeance overtake such Children” (TLN 2137–38; 3.7.64–65). Following Gloucester’s own suggestion, his eyes are plucked out.10 Regan now becomes fully initiated into the military world as she not only observes the torture but demands that Cornwall remove the other eye as well.11 The “servants” called for by the Folio are here fully armed soldiers. One of them challenges Cornwall, and Regan turns on him. The sexism of the age is clear, however, when the servant/soldier tells Regan, “If you did wear a beard upon your chin, / I’d shake it on this quarrel” (TLN 2150–51; 3.7.75–76). This confrontational retort comes back to haunt him, but not for long, since Regan arms herself against him. Cornwall is stabbed, and then Regan takes action. The Folio omits the stage direction that “she takes a sword and runs at him behind” (3.7.79). Regan, here the fully enraged military student, faces her foe directly, rejecting the cowardly act of stabbing him in the back. Instead, she battles him to the death. Regan’s stabbing of the disobedient soldier is to be expected in a military milieu. Chaim Shatan explains that “throughout history, the practice of inculcating and exacting blind obedience to commands has been the cornerstone of military organizations” (593). Erin Solaro, studying women soldiers in Iraq, adds that “however different women’s dominance posturing is from men’s, they engage in military aggression about as well as men do.” The “emotional price” women will pay “depends not only on neurobiological differences between men and women, but on how easy we make it for women to come to terms with the fact that they

10 KAHN, P.: Do an old man’s feelings justify support of an invading nation, if that old man happens to have been king? Does France’s protection of Lear support a claim of the legitimacy of French rule over England? (100). 11 RUTTER: For Regan the blinding would be an act of self-defense (“Eel” 204).



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have killed” (108). With the slain servant, Regan exhibits full military aggression.12 Imagine what has been lost by Regan’s abandonment of a new kind of government and her unconscious return to her father’s model. The offending servant, struggling to prevent the blinding, strips off the baldric worn by Goneril and Regan as a symbol of their mutual rule. Lunging at Regan, he rips it from her chest and, shaking the baldric in her face, he exclaims, “What do you mean?” (TLN 2151; 3.7.76). An outraged Regan grabs at the flaunted baldric and demands a weapon from a nearby servant. When Regan stabs the disloyal man, she has clearly lost all hope of returning to her earlier ideal of shared governance. Her first bloodletting leaves her momentarily stunned, looking at the bloody weapon in her outstretched hand. She bends down to pry the now-gory baldric from the servant’s hand. Visibly disturbed but unwilling to succumb to her emotion, she tosses the baldric to the floor. She slams the sword to the ground, telling Gloucester, “Out treacherous Villain” (TLN 2164; 3.7.86). Maintaining the power she was given by her father is now Regan’s sole purpose. She turns to help Cornwall, still alive but not for long, and still part of her shattered power base. Regan desperately presses the discarded baldric to his bleeding wounds. All watch as this once-meaningful symbol is consumed and destroyed, first by the servant’s blood and now by Cornwall’s. Then, placing Cornwall’s arm around her shoulder, she helps him off to seek medical attention, for Regan can little afford to lose the last remaining general who has supported and guided her. One looks, sometimes naively, to find a cause for cruelty in the world, but like Lear, who judgmentally asks, “Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard hearts” (TLN 2034–35; 3.6.74–75), it is useful to persist in the quest. Foakes explicitly argues that “Lear’s addiction to violence licenses Goneril and Regan, as soon as they have power, to behave as he did when king” (Violence 145–6). Whatever the reason, this incident destroys Regan’s hopes for a new kind of rule, and both older daughters will now base their model of governing on their father’s fierce precedent. Because of its martial interrogation and violence, the torture scene often seems to lead to stagings enhancing the machinations of war, even when Regan is reduced to a caricature of the vengeful woman. But the personal issues at stake could produce a noticeably altered design of 12 FINDLAY: The conflict between a queen’s gendered subject position as the weaker vessel and the high-status role of commander created both personal and ideological difficulties as she struggled to define an identity in a traditionally masculine role. To succeed in that role and maintain the reins of government meant performing the patriarchal ideology that went with it (165).



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the action for a more fully rounded presentation of the second daughter. Imagine that when Gloucester is brought into the room, Regan approaches him and strokes his face and beard as she did when she was a child. She looks for the father she loved, but Gloucester, unable to meet her gaze, turns away. Devastated, she stumbles to Cornwall as she cries, “Ingrateful Fox, ˇtis he.” Alternately, to develop the incest theme, picture that when Regan first moves toward Gloucester, the distraught woman sees in him the father who abused her. As she reaches out to touch his face, he takes her hand and holds it in an intimate way that reminds her of Lear. This causes the repulsed Regan to draw her hand quickly back, which she wipes repeatedly on her torso, attempting to remove the filth of tainted physical contact. Observing his wife’s reaction, Cornwall moves to her, trying to stop her hands, whereupon she says, “Ingrateful Fox, ˇtis he.” When Cornwall demands that Gloucester be bound, Gloucester replies, “Good my Friends consider you are my Guests” (TLN 2093; 3.7.30). At this, Regan lets out a gasp of disbelief. Driven to further despair by his hypocritical use of “Friends,” she no longer pities the man who rejected and endangered her. She strikes out against him, wanting to hurt him physically as he has hurt her emotionally. “Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor” (TLN 2096; 3.7.32), she states and then, once he is fastened to the chair, plucks hairs from the beard she used to stroke. “So white, and such a Traitor?” (TLN 2102; 3.7.37) asks Regan in disbelief, with tears rolling down her face, knowing that this beloved man never returned her love. Gloucester responds to her action with Naughty Lady, These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. (TLN 2103–05; 3.7.37–39)

Regan reacts to his meaningless threat by joining Cornwall in extracting crucial information concerning Lear’s whereabouts. To prove her suspicions, Regan needs Gloucester’s confession to accept his betrayal fully. As Cornwall and Regan interrogate Gloucester, Regan confronts his absurd loyalty by insisting that Lear is a “Lunatic” (TLN 2114; 3.7.46), making Gloucester’s actions appear that much more incomprehensible. When Gloucester’s response is to lie about his communications with their enemies, Regan, no longer blinded by love, calls him out as a liar. When questioned about his traitorous actions, Gloucester confesses that he sent Lear to Dover. Regan presses, “Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril”



Regan and Torture


(TLN 2122–23; 3.7.51), emphasizing that Gloucester’s was not an unreflective act, since apparently Regan had warned him not to help Lear get to the French army. Gloucester himself confessed this to Edmund earlier. His line “ . . . if I die for it, (as no less is threatened me)” (TLN 1768; 3.3. 17) indicates an express command not to interfere. These choices underscore the personal relationship between Regan and Gloucester; an earl surely need not be reminded to oppose the enemy. Regan, suspecting Gloucester’s feelings for her father, tried to prevent the treason. Gloucester’s extended speech mimics Lear’s imagery and special pleading. The domestic dispute over Lear’s retinue is now emotionally characterized as a cosmic encounter related in excessive language: Because I would not see thy cruel Nails Pluck out his poor old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Anointed flesh, stick boarish fangs. The Sea, with such a storm as his bare head, In Hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up And quenched the Stelled fires: Yet poor old heart, he holp the Heavens to rain. If Wolves had at thy Gate howled that stern time, Thou shouldst have said, good Porter turn the Key: All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall see The winged Vengeance overtake such Children. (TLN 2128–38; 3.7.55–65)

Regan’s “cruel Nails” pluck out Lear’s “poor old eyes,” and the use of the words “boarish fangs” once again bestializes Goneril. Gloucester’s characterization of Lear’s rant on the moor is in retrospect verbally elevated, with his talk of the “Sea,” the “storm,” “Hell-black night,” and the “Stelled fires.” In this overheated account, Gloucester claims that Lear actually helps “the Heavens to rain.” Gloucester at the end calls on “winged Vengeance” to punish such daughters and in this way discursively transforms himself into the enraged, irrational, and poetic Lear. The eloquent, grandiose, and arguably mad language of Lear constitutes another reason why the daughters are stereotyped, and the tenor is reverberated in this speech by Gloucester, Lear’s fatherly replacement for Regan. In this familial reading, as Gloucester spews forth his hyperbolic disgust of the daughters, Regan stares at him incredulously, thinking, Was it not her father who refused to act in a civil manner at Goneril’s home? Was it not her father who rejected their offer to care for him but not his riotous, destructive band of men? Was it not her father who cursed them and ran away instead of taking shelter in Gloucester’s home? She now understands that the old, vulnerable Gloucester actually sees himself like the wronged



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Lear, and regardless of her love or offers of support, she would always be blamed in this “blind” man’s eyes. Now something breaks in the rebuffed Regan, and she moves to get the bottle that Goneril had taken from her earlier. She drinks in desperation, and a newly enraged Cornwall notes this, exacting his revenge on the outspoken Gloucester by tearing out one of his eyes. This violent stage action invites metaphoric correspondences. Specifically, the blinding has been decoded as castration, Gloucester’s punishment for his past adultery, another repercussion of Lear’s motherless, wifeless world, and offering another parallel between Gloucester and Lear.13 Regan now seeks her own punishment, her own “winged Vengeance,” for being betrayed by this loveless man. She moves to Gloucester, and stroking his beard as she did when she was young, with tears in her eyes, utters, “One side will mock another: Th’other too” (TLN 2143; 3.7.70). She then walks away as her husband moves forward to commit the act, but an unexpected interruption stops her. Cornwall’s loyal servant knows that Regan and Cornwall are acting with uncharacteristic violence, so he moves in to intervene. Regan interprets this servant as yet another man attempting to accuse her of wrongdoing. She strikes out against her husband’s man with “How now, you dog?” (TLN 2149; 3.7.74). The man attacks Regan with stunning disrespect. To reconfigure Regan’s deadly interaction with the servant, now picture her barely able to keep a steady hand, running up behind the man, bringing the sword down upon him. When Regan sees what she has done, she falls to the floor beside him. A wounded Cornwall then musters the strength to tear out Gloucester’s other eye, and Regan, who watches this horrific scene, screams along with the agonized Gloucester. She will be haunted by Gloucester and her retribution toward him. She stands with the bloody sword drooping down by her side, changed forever. When the foolish Gloucester calls for his son, she shakes her head, and in a release of emotion, rhythmically pounds the bloody sword on the floor, accenting Edmund’s, and now her own, hatred of the old man. Regan may have known of Gloucester’s rejection of Edmund, but unlike herself, Edmund was not taken in by Gloucester’s seeming affection. In her mind, Edmund is

13 RUTTER: [Sally Dexter’s Regan shows us that] [a]s Goneril’s role collects up and literalizes the metaphors of speech and silence that monster Lear’s daughters, so Regan’s role collects up the metaphors of sight and monstrous looking that culminate in Gloucester’s blinding (“Eel” 199). See Rudnytsky’s interpretation of blindness and castration in regard to both Lear and Gloucester (293).



Regan and Torture


another wronged child with a traitorous, dangerous father.14 She speaks as much to the disgust of her own gullibility as she does to her disgust of Gloucester when she utters, “Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell / His way to Dover” (TLN 2170–71; 3.7.92–93).15 This revelatory line not only projects his course to the invading army at Dover, but also constitutes a strange leniency for a traitor. As such, he should be executed for his crimes, but is not, perhaps because Regan remembers her past feelings for him. She once again heard a “father” curse and then betray her, but she allows him to live. Regan now realizes that her faithful husband has been injured in the brawl, and dropping the bloody sword, runs to support the ailing Cornwall. The appalling scene has scarred Regan deeply. She has been stripped of her birth father, her substitute father, and now her husband. Cornwall’s death (announced in the next act) will rob her of the one man who has loved her, causing irreparable damage to her psyche. Drink helps drown her sorrow, and from this point on, she always relies on its escapist properties. The Folio ends the scene here, omitting the Quarto’s trite and biased interpretation by more nameless servants, one of whom notes that “Women will all turn monsters” (3.7.101). Foakes explains that these lines were likely excised to reduce the number of servants onstage, but also says, “Q by contrast channels audience response through the servants’ comments on the wickedness of Cornwall and Regan, and elicits pity for Gloucester by directing attention to his bleeding face (106)” (Arden 302–03, n. 98–106). Therefore, the Folio’s omission of the lines has the effect that they no longer turn the complex scene of questioning and torturing a traitor into a reductive moral scenario. Also, the misogynistic lines vanish—like Kent’s and Albany’s pervasive attacks on women that the Folio cuts. The omission of the “monsters” line is especially relevant, since the demonizing of women becomes almost choral with such comments by minor characters in the Quarto. With these sexist observations omitted, one is left instead with the spectacle of a broken Regan and her dying husband. Some feminists may not be comfortable with the violent nature of Regan’s actions in this scene. The purpose here is not to condone violence, but instead to set it within the context of the circumstances of the play. Plausible reasons for Regan’s reactions must be provided while avoiding the reductive rationale of her “evil” nature. These alternate interpretations help explore this point in her tragic journey. 14 Rudnytsky argues that the play punishes Gloucester’s adultery through Edmund (294). 15 See Hoover on the irony of “smell” when it comes to the adulterer Gloucester (“Lusty” 93).



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The Sisters and Edmund: Agency and Sexuality (Act 4, scenes 2 and 4 [Q 4.5])

Act 4, scene 2 Goneril Because of the complexity of the first half of the play, especially in terms of the relationship between Lear and his daughters, the later action places much less attention, both critical and dramaturgical, on the older daughters. When Lear foregoes all semblance of control in the middle acts, he begins a political journey that is the antithesis of that of his daughters. His journey is well documented by critics, but the daughters’ response to the shifts in power dynamics is often reductively rendered, especially in production. Goneril and Regan are traditionally seen as villains, their interactions with Albany and Edmund interpreted almost solely through a stereotypical definition of women’s lust. Even Goneril’s desperate action toward Regan and herself at the end is minimized by the affairs of Edgar and Edmund, although these men are not rulers. Edgar, like Lear, represents the patriarchy. Many find the motivations of the elder daughters obvious and of lesser import. The script is far more nuanced, however. In renderings investigating the daughters as agents of power, Goneril certainly understands the fragile hold she and Regan have on Britain, what with the frenzied Lear threatening to reclaim the throne, the



7


banished Cordelia planning an invasion, and soldiers rumored to be switching allegiances. In 4.2, she travels with Edmund to her castle with letters from Cornwall to convince Albany that he must commit forces to hold off the French threat. When she arrives home, she is not met by her husband as expected, but by Oswald, who delivers an account of Albany’s bizarre response to the current state of affairs. When told of the French invasion and Gloucester’s treachery, Albany smiled and sided with the opposition. Goneril has been without her husband’s political support, and it now seems certain that Albany yearns for a restoration of the old order. Having once enjoyed a place of privilege in the government, he valued the company of Lear’s powerful advisers. Since Lear’s abdication, Albany is increasingly uncomfortable with this overthrow of male rule, causing him to withdraw both physically and emotionally. Consequently, Goneril tends to the affairs of state without his assistance. It is equally possible to conjecture that Albany could be uninterested in the political machinations of his wife and her family. This Albany has had little responsibility in Lear’s government and has been left to follow his own pursuits. Here, his desire to return to Lear’s rule is motivated by nostalgia for his comfortable old life, the one taken from him by the current government. He may even love his wife, but his inability to act on her behalf or support her as queen has created a deep rift between them. In this interpretation, Oswald’s description of the inappropriate responses of her “mild husband” (TLN 2268; 4.2.1) to news of the French invasion propels Goneril to assume the unfamiliar role of military commander. Goneril is the political leader who prides herself on diplomatic prowess: she now finds herself thrust into her sister’s area of expertise. Unable to depend on Albany to lead their troops and defend their government, she no longer focuses her energies on shared rule but looks instead to maintain her own authority. Once Goneril begins to act as both commander and diplomat, the need for Regan’s military expertise is greatly diminished, and Goneril will all too soon decide to assume absolute control. In this scene, she demonstrates her effective powerful rule. She instructs Edmund to return to Cornwall and Regan and to command them to ready their armies. Goneril clearly acknowledges that she is mustering her forces without any help from Albany when she informs Edmund, “I must change names at home, and give the Distaff / Into my Husband’s hands” (TLN 2285–86; 4.2.17–18). Her metaphoric “Distaff” reinforces the exchange of gender roles. Goneril processes the full weight of Albany’s defection in the current political climate. If, as it seems clear, she is suffering the desertion of men who prefer the patriarchal system, then a husband would be a necessary player in maintaining her position. She watched as her ideal of



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shared governance crumbled under Lear’s rebellious actions, knowing that a strong man at her side would help convince the people to remain loyal. In another reading, Albany’s refusal to meet Goneril at her return can be seen as the final straw. Here she decides that although Albany says he loves her, his actions say otherwise. Picture a very different Goneril who, when she says, “I marvel our mild husband / Not met us on the way” (TLN 2268–69; 4.2.1–2), attempts to cover her pain at being rejected. Edmund, seeing her distress, moves to her and puts his arm around her in support. It is at this moment that Goneril decides to join forces with the more politically dependable Edmund. Equally intriguing choices can occur in the context of love and need. In 2.2, Goneril traveled to Gloucester’s home to confer with her sister Regan without the company of her husband. Unable to placate Lear, Albany has removed himself from the problems of the family, leaving Goneril to face the irate Lear alone. Foakes notes that Albany has not been seen since 1.4, despite the division reported between him and Cornwall. “His moral rejection of Goneril makes her pursuit of Edmund more plausible” (Arden 310, n. 3–11). This puts it mildly, as 4.2 shows. Goneril left Gloucester’s home in the company of Edmund knowing full well that Gloucester had abandoned them and was conspiring with Cordelia to throw support behind the mad Lear. Here, Goneril assumes that Edmund, like herself, suffers the betrayal of duplicitous family members. Her delirious father is now being transported to Dover, her sister Regan is crumbling from the emotional strain or resorting to excessive alcohol consumption, and her youngest sister, Cordelia, is returning with a French army so that she may resume her “rightful” place as mother to Lear. Goneril, isolated in this family drama, finds herself susceptible to the attention of her traveling companion, Edmund.1 Psychologically, both Goneril and Regan search for the stability missing in their father. Goneril finds it not in her weak husband, who sympathizes with the abusive Lear, but in Edmund, the new man who appreciates her and thrives without a debilitating reliance on male camaraderie. After all, Goneril is not privy to Edmund’s treachery against his family. And Edmund himself may not be entirely unaffected by her needs. McFarland claims that family origins can act as powerful motivators and that the notion of family

1 KAHN, P.: We are in no position to condemn Goneril’s love for Edmund, in place of a husband whom she seems never to have loved . . . [I]f she does not love him, why all this plotting? (137).



The Sisters and Edmund


as “haven” can have devastating results. Goneril, Regan, and Edmund can thus be seen as “victims” of their respective families (105, 106).2 In this light, Goneril’s comment on entering covers her embarrassment and surprise that her husband did not welcome her home, considering the important news they bring. She tells Edmund that her husband is “mild,” stressing her amazement that he is making a statement by his absence. This public slight, especially in front of the attentive Edmund, reveals her troubled marriage. To reinforce Goneril’s difficult situation, visualize that she falls into her habitual practice of moving her hands to her head to relieve her recurring pain. As Oswald describes Goneril’s husband’s changed demeanor, her discomfort increases. Saving herself further distress, she chooses not to expose Edmund to their dysfunctional relationship. If Albany is in a mood, Goneril would prefer to handle him privately, and so she advises Edmund, “Then shall you go no further” (TLN 2279; 4.2.11). Fearing that Albany’s rejection may make her appear unworthy of affection, Goneril decides to reveal that her husband is a coward, afraid of Lear and hesitant to become embroiled in a family dispute. Turning his back on his wife, Albany refuses to take any stance in what he considers a domestic squabble. She explains this to Edmund: “He’ll not feel wrongs / Which tie him to an answer” (TLN 2281–82; 4.2.13–14). She then regards Edmund and cryptically remarks, “our wishes on the way / May prove effects” (TLN 2282–83; 4.2.14–15). Although those “wishes” remain ambiguous, given her circumstances, she may be needful of Edmund’s solicitous conduct. He is a man who supports her, treating her as no man ever has. Both her father and her husband have rejected her, but Edmund assures her of her worth. However, Goneril as commander relates to Edmund in a decidedly more strategic way. Envision that she places a chain around Edmund’s neck, seeing in him the kind of strong political and military ally she requires to maintain her rule. She gives Edmund a dignified, chaste kiss to underscore her motives. If he will support her, she will share power with this brave, intelligent man. She enlists Edmund’s loyalty and even curtails his language with “spare speech” (TLN 2289; 4.2.21); here she prevents his next words with the same gesture her father used in controlling her tongue in the first scene. This gesture foreshadows Goneril’s adoption of her father’s governing model. She momentarily recognizes what she has done by adopting Lear’s gesture, but quickly dismisses its significance.

2 McFarland compares the behavior of Goneril, Regan, and Edmund to that of biblical characters unloved by their parents (106).



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Edmund’s prophetic reply, “Yours, in the ranks of death” (TLN 2293; 4.2.25), continues to foreshadow the heightening of violence, which will become apparent in the vicious exchange with Albany, who accosts her the moment he enters. Edmund assures her of his allegiance. He has spoken like a courageous man who respects her rule, providing a sharp contrast to the dismissive or ineffectual Albany. The line “Oh, the difference of man, and man” (TLN 2295; 4.2.26) is particular to the Folio and is, like many other lines of the Folio, not sensationalized by an exclamation point. Foakes sees that this is “designed to enhance G’s moment of rapture” (Arden 311, n. 26), but can it not be taken as a true comparison? Although conflated editions add the more effusive punctuation, the statement is a reasonable contrast, considering Oswald’s report of Albany’s strange behavior. The line emphasizes Goneril’s need for someone capable and desirous of sharing the rule of Britain. Instead of a sexual comment, it is seen here as an astute and honest comparison between the spouse she has been fated to marry and the man who seems to represent all the decorum and forcefulness necessary for high rank. Her alliance with Edmund is built upon continued examples of Albany’s unsuitability as royal consort. And how would Edmund assess this alliance in terms of control? As is often assumed, he wields power ruthlessly because his illegitimacy denied him a future.3 Edmund admits later that he relishes the control he has over both older daughters and eventually over Lear and Cordelia. His status as the Earl of Gloucester is pivotal to his interaction with Goneril and Regan. No ordinary sexual dalliance (if it is sexual at all) is in evidence here. His new position is not just a label, not just words in this fiercely military environment.4 By uniting with Edmund, Goneril is purposely aligning herself with additional strength. Goneril’s comparison of Albany and Edmund in this highly militarized world revolves around gender traits, specifically, warlike aggression. Martin Van Creveld maintains that “regardless of any other functions it may serve, violence is perhaps the single most pointed characteristic that men have to set themselves apart from women; or, which amounts to the same thing, violence permits them to express themselves as men” (836). Goneril begins her

3 DOLLIMORE: Edmund’s skeptical independence is itself constituted by a contradiction: his illegitimate exclusion from society gives him an insight into the ideological basis of that society even as it renders him vulnerable to and dependent on it (201). 4 BELSEY: In the medieval society the play depicts, names are more than labels. As so many of the names in the play make clear, titles, acquired by heredity, literally entitle: France, Burgundy, Gloucester, Kent, Albany, Cornwall. To name a person is to specify land, wealth, and the power that corresponds to them (54).





role in joint power with Regan, but soon learns, as does her sister, that the model of supremacy is a strong and ultimately hard-nosed man, and both see this in Edmund. Rudnytsky succinctly states that Goneril and Regan are unable to obtain their political goals without “allying themselves with the feckless Edmund” (303).5 This scene could be understood quite differently if it is played in a way that underscores the social and psychological interactions of the characters. Compelled to seek affection and approval, Goneril gains courage in her relationship with Edmund. She trusts that her love will also be good for Edmund, and she tells him so: “If you dare venture in your own behalf ” (TLN 2287; 4.2.20). She then gives him a token to wear around his neck. Taking the initiative, Goneril offers Edmund a farewell kiss, and he responds with a passion that is unfamiliar to the loveless Goneril. Edmund is confirming his place in Goneril’s mind and heart when he gallantly assures her that he will be “Yours, in the ranks of death.” Again, she moves her hands to her temples, and Edmund, observing her discomfort, gently caresses her as she utters, “My most dear Gloucester” (TLN 2294; 4.2.25). He then kisses her once again and departs. If one had not been privy to Edmund’s duplicitous actions toward his brother and father, this exchange would appear to be one between two people lovingly supporting each other. Goneril’s acceptance of a tender and committed man makes sense. Instead of the advantageous political relationship between Edmund and Goneril, equally plausible is the story of two individuals raised without love now coming together in a true show of support. Goneril is transformed by her very real love and commitment. This unfamiliar affection affords her the strength to face both her antagonistic husband and her uncontrollable father. Rosenberg outlines a Goneril who is very different from the one we often see on the stage at this moment. He tells us that the sexuality of the two older daughters and Edmund has at times “by moralist critics, been equated with simple lust, as if these depraved creatures could only love obscenely. But this again oversimplifies Shakespeare’s designs.” Rosenberg believes that the playwright “takes care to stipulate that these ‘villains’ have grace and beauty; and he gives them worthy language.” Thus, the reading of Goneril as “simply lascivious or serpentine is another way of reducing the whole Lear equation to a morality,” because “[p]owerful and passionate, she yet has touches of grace and humor” (251).

5 ALFAR: [Their] attraction to Edmund is symptomatic of the authority that both women need in order to rule (Fantasies 98).



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Edmund leaves, and Goneril’s observation, “Oh, the difference of man, and man,” refers both to Edmund’s show of bravery and to the physical attention he has paid to her. In the Folio, she also says, “My Foole usurps my body” (TLN 2297; 4.2.28), not “bed,” as in the Quarto.6 And why do we doubt this possible emendation? The use of the word “body” conveys that Albany actually owns her body in this patriarchal world. The Quarto’s more salacious “bed” is replaced with a reference to her body and how Albany is “usurping” her body, all of her identity, which is rightfully hers, not just her sexual being. The Folio line indicates that Goneril no longer respects Albany, who still has possession of her. Goneril interestingly calls Albany her “Foole,” suggesting that the role he has played in the past for her is like Lear’s Fool to him, questioning, subservient but niggling, and critical in his dialogue, as we see in 1.4. A military orientation can help define Goneril’s next interchange with her husband. Albany finally makes an appearance, and the exasperated Goneril retorts, “I have been worth the whistle,” to which he replies, O Goneril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face. (TLN 2300–03; 4.2.30–32)

This harsh reproof to Goneril is unprovoked, indicating that Albany no longer shows his wife even a modicum of civility. The strain between these two makes it difficult for Goneril to muster her diplomatic skill. The Folio cuts many of Albany’s judgmental lines to Goneril in this scene, and again one wonders about the motives for the changes. Gone is the insulting “Tigers, not daughters” as well as the lines that paint Lear as an innocent, abused, old man (4.2.32–51). Goneril, as commander, responds to Albany’s insulting greeting by criticizing him for inaction against those threatening their rule: Milk-Livered man, That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs, Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine Honour, from thy suffering. (TLN 2304–07; 4.2.51–54)

6 Rosenberg compares Albany’s mildness to Goneril’s vigor, making him think that their inequality may seem to her like a usurpation of her bed or body (253).




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See thyself, devil: Proper deformity shows not in the Fiend So horrid as in woman. (TLN 2308–10; 4.2.60–62)

Goneril is labeled “devil” because she accuses her husband of being a coward, and she somewhat ironically does this in terms that indicate his inability to discern insult: “ . . . hast not in thy brows an eye discerning / Thine Honour, from thy suffering.” Here Albany, like Lear before him, sees Goneril as an “unnatural” woman, not as a ruler. Goneril finds herself complicit in a gendered world where by birth, she should lead, but must instead play the game of marginalized wife. It can also be imagined that a milder Albany enters to see his wife offer a chaste kiss to Edmund. The rude language that follows is then a result of jealousy, not an unmotivated attack on his wife. Goneril, of course, unaware that Albany has witnessed the kiss, believes he rejects her because he supports her father. The Folio also cuts Goneril’s lines “Where’s thy drum? / France spreads his banner in our noiseless land” (4.2.56–57). The exchange becomes briefer and somewhat less bitter. Often explained as excising a reference to France, this omission also softens Goneril’s response to Albany. She no longer calls him a “moral fool” to his face, even though he may seem so, and does not criticize his lack of military preparation so precisely, although she still implies it. Also cut is her explanation of the traitors all around them, the villains (presumably Lear, Gloucester, and Cordelia) who are working against Albany, which he apparently could not discern himself. Still, Goneril is generally less severe without these lines and the rather excessive, “Marry, your manhood, mew!” (4.2.69). Her only comeback now is “O vain Fool” (TLN 2311; 4.2.62), which constitutes a less-than-devastating response from a leader of state. In all, these extensive variations present a text that focuses on the political ramifications of Albany’s deficiencies and make the exchange seem less like a personal attack on Goneril. The messenger interrupts this argument to inform Goneril and Albany what has transpired at Gloucester’s castle. Cornwall’s death drastically changes the political landscape that Goneril tries to secure. Albany reacts strongly to Gloucester’s fate, but shockingly does not object at all to the death of Cornwall. In fact, Albany considers Cornwall’s murder



She tries to persuade Albany to rise up, but instead he attacks her for her “unnatural” disposition. Albany’s extreme, harsh language here is emphasized with the Folio’s lines:


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This shows you are above You Justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge. (TLN 2323–25; 4.2.79–81)

The fact that Gloucester was admittedly a traitor and that Cornwall’s death was a murder committed by a servant is irrelevant to Albany, reinforcing the important “division” between the dukes. Despite Albany’s nearly traitorous reaction, Goneril is all business in her demeanor, anticipating more pressingly the need for Edmund’s strength. Goneril’s response to the news begins with the ambiguous “One way I like this well” (TLN 2330; 4.2.84), often interpreted to mean that she welcomes Cornwall’s death because it weakens Regan’s position, helping Goneril become sole ruler. But it could just as easily be interpreted to mean that she “likes” that Gloucester has been punished for his traitorous act and that he no longer exerts undue power over her sister. She expresses concern that her widowed sister may try to shore up her political strength by coupling with Edmund: But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life. (TLN 2331–33; 4.2.85–87)

With Cornwall, the strong military leader, dead, and civil war threatening, Goneril now believes she must possess Edmund to unite her men behind her. She leaves to write to Regan, again trying to secure her kingdom. No moral ambiguity exists in Goneril’s mind about Cordelia’s invasion of her kingdom. Albany continues to work against Goneril’s and his own interests when he admits, “Gloucester, I live / To thank thee for the love thou showed’st the King” (TLN 2344–45; 4.2.95–96). Goneril has rightly understood her husband’s loyalty to Lear and takes the necessary steps to protect her rule. In interpretations that map out a budding love affair between Goneril and Edmund, the end of the scene takes on disturbing familial overtones. It has been rumored that trouble exists between Albany and Cornwall, and Albany distances himself from all three of them: his wife, her sister, and her sister’s husband. The scene now reverts to Albany and Goneril exchanging insults, but of a very different kind. His are devastating; hers pointed but less poisonous. She has returned from the trying ordeal of



actually just:


her father heaping curses upon her to a husband who does the same. Any apprehension she may have had about a relationship with Edmund disappears at her husband’s cruel greeting. The many lines cut from the Folio reflect the kind of stereotyped judgments typical of Albany. He first asserts the patriarchal tenet that a woman is immoral if she does not obey her father, her “origin.” Goneril’s mild response is countered by Albany’s hyperbolic attack: she is “vile,” she’s a “tiger,” and so is Regan. Lear (who exiled Cordelia, Kent, and cursed both his older daughters) is a “gracious, aged man.” Goneril is “degenerate” (literally). And now Cornwall is implicated in vile offenses—but the division between Albany and Cornwall certainly predated Gloucester’s blinding, and maybe even the actions of 2.2, where Lear rushes out into the elements. One wonders whether Albany has always hated Cornwall. The “monsters” reference tops it off and shows Albany’s smug assurance of his moral rectitude (4.2.32–51). The Folio cuts these and many other reductive, vitriolic references to the daughters, leaving the play far less in accordance with Albany’s assessments.7 The omitted lines reflect the excessive nature of Albany’s disgust, and because often used in production, they have reinforced the negative portrayal of the oldest daughter. Without them, a different play unfolds. Albany, Goneril’s “Foole,” does indeed act the same role as Lear’s Fool. Both men have leveled misogynistic curses at the besieged Goneril. Goneril then calls him “Milk-Livered.” Albany tops her charge of cowardice by branding her a “devil” and claims that “Proper deformity shows not in the Fiend / So horrid as in woman.” These retained lines in themselves position her husband in the company of men who accuse women of being monstrous when they disagree with them. The imagery shows this alignment of women with the mythical devils of the world. Here is a prime example of the misogyny of the play residing in the speeches of a group of men (Albany, Kent, the Fool, and Edgar, and of course Lear himself), men all aligned in one way or another against the women of the story. Goneril shoots back with the considerably less inflammatory “vain Foole.” The “Foole” in the Folio has the same capitalization and spelling as in the “usurp” line above. In a key sense, Albany is a fool in that he supports the people waging war on him and will wage war back on them.8 Additionally, the line omits the sensationalizing exclamation point, saving the script from melodrama and allowing a far more reasoned way of

7

See McLeod for the effects of these cuts in the Folio (185). Rosenberg reminds us that Albany himself allowed Lear to leave his own home at night in anger and then attacks Goneril for the same deed (254). 8



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appreciating this dangerously vehement family dispute. The next Folio cut erases Albany’s barely suppressed, violent attack on his wife. After he calls her a “thing,” he has to have a strange sexist chivalry prevent him from savaging her, to “dislocate and tear” her “flesh and bones” (4.2.63, 66, 67), woefully protected by the patriarchal condescension toward women. Again, Albany accosts her with a “monster” reference; she is, according to him, a “fiend” (4.2.64, 67). When Albany responds to the news of Cornwall’s death, Goneril reacts with disbelief. She receives the news of Cornwall’s death with trepidation, and not because she is fiendishly calculating her claims on Edmund. She has witnessed the fragility of her increasingly besotted sister who has just lost her husband, her emotional support. Goneril fears this may cause Regan to turn to Edmund. In her reaction to the news, Goneril calls her life “hateful.” She is a woman estranged from her youngest sister, disowned by her father, and insulted and ignored by her husband. Now, as Goneril clings to her only hope for a healthy relationship with the little-known Edmund, she feels Regan slipping away. In this reading, she also, interestingly enough, looks at the news of Cornwall’s death from a positive perspective. She notes, “One way I like this well,” and then returns to the same affirmative outlook at the end, almost redundantly, with “The News is not so tart” (TLN 2330–34; 4.2.84–88). Now, she assumes that Edmund will want to partner with her, since the powerful Cornwall is no longer a player, and they both will lead Britain. She tries to convince herself that her recent, momentary happiness can survive this new turn of events. Picture this last image: Goneril begins to leave, but turning back to Albany for perhaps one last chance at meaningful communication, she is met instead with his blatant rejection. She then proceeds to read and answer Regan’s letter. *

*

*

Act 4, scene 4 (Quarto 4.5) Regan Ann Thompson asks a simple yet essential question in the title of her article “Are There any Women in King Lear?” She describes how the materialist/ feminist schism in the scholarly criticism of the play has favored the former approach, erasing the women characters in deference to the “greater” matters of history (119–22). In the middle acts of the play, Goneril and now





Regan almost disappear. Both become stereotyped as lustful women who proceed to fight over Edmund simply because wicked women do such things. Regan, particularly, is overlooked. She is often categorized with Goneril, and her specific journey in the play is obscured by the rush of events in the last acts. The text, however, reveals a woman caught in a delicate political situation. This scene introduces what could be characterized as Regan’s hope for a political alliance with Edmund. She is one step behind Goneril, who realized the strategic advantage of such a union in 4.2. Regan, like Goneril, has fully adopted the militaristic ways of their father to protect her besieged reign. Both sisters understand that this necessitates an abandonment of shared rule while also bringing with it the disturbing reality that a male figurehead will be required to unify Britain against France. They both seek a way to keep control over their fragile authority. Goneril is faced with a husband initially unwilling to take arms against Lear and Cordelia, and Regan, now widowed, is alone and politically vulnerable. For these reasons, both sisters find themselves in need of the intelligent, self-assured Edmund, seemingly loyal, courageous, and dedicated. To replace Cornwall and cement her unstable position, Regan wants to maintain rule by marrying the strongest man at hand.9 Regan, now shorn of her husband, has partaken of the violence that accompanies power in this militaristic kingdom in her interrogation and punishment of Gloucester. Her former attempts at reconciliation and cooperation are over, since she is concerned with “Our troops” (TLN 2401; 4.5.18) and the war at hand. Regan learns that Edmund did not speak to Albany when he traveled to their home with Goneril, and this fills her with apprehension. Why wouldn’t the men speak about the civil unrest and a foreign army landing on their shores, especially since Cornwall gave explicit instructions for Goneril and Edmund to deliver his letter to Albany? Often portrayed as a moment of sexual jealousy, reducing the character of Regan, this scene has unmistakable military ramifications. Here Albany, or we may assume Goneril, has sent forth an army to combat the French. Oswald answers Regan’s inquiry about whether Albany’s “Powers” are “set forth” with “Madam with much ado: / Your sister is the better Soldier” (TLN 2384, 87–88; 4.5.1, 4–5). This causes her some trepidation. Soldiering was her role in their shared rule. Suspecting that Goneril and Edmund are secretly plotting to join forces to rule Britain, Regan first seeks evidence to prove her distrust and then tries to prevent their coup, as she imagines it,

9 Alfar believes that the institution of the monarchy is to blame. What she calls Goneril’s and Regan’s “ruthlessness,” she tells us, has more to do with the “routine violence of early modern forms of kingship” (Fantasies 98).



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from moving forward. She asks Oswald, “What might import my Sister’s Letter to him?” (TLN 2391; 4.5.8). Then she attempts to keep him from going to Edmund with Goneril’s letter, saying, “Our troops set forth tomorrow, stay with us: / The ways are dangerous” (TLN 2401–02; 4.5.18–19). But the loyal Oswald will not satisfy Regan’s misgivings and refuses either to stay with her or hand over the letter that Goneril has sent to Edmund. Regan’s political vulnerability is painfully noticeable in her inappropriate conversation with Goneril’s messenger. Regan now expects Oswald to act as her own messenger when she gives him a letter or token to deliver to Edmund. Viewing her sister as a political threat, she shares her beliefs openly with an inferior whom she knows will tell Goneril everything. “And when your Mistress hears thus much from you, / I pray desire her call her wisdom to her” (TLN 2421–22; 4.5.36–37). She, talking with Goneril, albeit through Oswald, exhorts her to “call her wisdom” into account and to see Regan’s own political need for Edmund as greater than hers. This negotiation, common among rulers securing their power base, is not likely to succeed, as she herself suspects. Regan then returns to the very real concern she raised earlier when she acknowledged the folly of allowing Gloucester to live. His blinding has unintentionally turned him into a martyr, and all he need do to turn her people against her is show himself. Regan has lost her mentor, her husband, and now, if her conjectures are correct, her sister. Although she was a student of military rule, she is uncertain how best to proceed politically. Alone and in need of support, Regan once again attempts to usurp Oswald’s loyalty when she promises him, “If you do chance to hear of that blind Traitor, / Preferment falls on him, that cuts him off” (TLN 2424–25; 4.5.39–40). Her regret over allowing Gloucester, “that blind Traitor,” to live shows her correctly assessing the danger of his presence. The bounty she puts on him is a political necessity, not the action of a vengeful woman. Regan, however, acts carelessly. By openly sharing her distrust of her sister, she invites a clash that assumes an all-or-nothing view of future rule. Power is shifting throughout this kingdom interspersed with spies and thwarted strategies. She now decides that the only way to wrest control of the government away from her dominant sister is to align herself with Edmund. Albany would be no match for Edmund, as Regan surmises, and she would therefore be the sole queen of Britain. Both sisters thus compete for Edmund, the man who will legitimize their military position in the patriarchy.10

10 RUDNYTSKY: Emancipated women are by definition evil and dangerous, but even they are barred from genuine autonomy in Shakespeare’s patriarchal universe (303).





Alternately, very different choices could be made to establish Regan’s state of mind and relationship with Edmund in a context of family and love. She is not the lascivious woman conniving to possess Edmund; such a characterization is reductive and does not take into account the odd exchange with Oswald carefully provided. Regan’s need for Edmund is revealed in the most indirect ways, through Goneril’s suspicions and now through Regan’s interview with Oswald. Regan is not seen with Edmund until the last act. This circuitous presentation adds to the uneasiness a reader experiences about her love for him. Envision a sexually abused Regan reacting to Oswald in the strange way victims of abuse sometimes respond to men. She tries to court his favor, his approval, his interest. Whatever survival tactics Regan learned from years of coping with Lear are then demonstrated in her interactions with Oswald as she attempts to manipulate him. Regan has deteriorated since the blinding of her father figure and the death of her powerful husband. In a reading stressing alcohol, Regan drinks continuously throughout this scene, causing clear discomfort for the professional Oswald with her slurred speech and shaky physical condition. Consider that she is spiraling out of control, shockingly bedraggled, and clearly sleep deprived. Or, with a focus on incest, Regan is positioned as a damaged woman now without a dominant male figure for the first time in her life. The loss of Lear, Gloucester, and Cornwall has left her in a state of utter despair and confusion. She misguidedly attempts to replace the absent men with the unsuspecting Oswald. From the outset, a drunken Regan has trouble understanding Oswald’s report. He delivered his news, but is forced to repeat the details so that the shaken Regan can understand what has transpired. Regan But are my Brother’s Powers set forth? Oswald Ay Madam. Regan Himself in person there? Oswald Madam with much ado. (TLN 2384–87; 4.5.1–4)

Regan continues to question Oswald, and he proceeds to provide short, concise answers. She explains Edmund’s absence, although without certainty: “Faith he is posted hence on serious matter” (TLN 2393; 4.5.10). But later, she equivocates: “Edmund, I think is gone / In pity of his misery, to dispatch / His nighted life” (TLN 2396–98; 4.513–15). In her muddled



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state, she seems to invent a mercy killing for Gloucester by his son. This Regan initially gives in to her own pity for Gloucester, but this confuses and unnerves her, and so she switches quickly to Edmund’s speculated observation of the hostile troops: “Moreover to descry / The strength o’th’Enemy” (TLN 2398–99; 4.5.15–16). Oswald makes a move to leave, but Regan, rather than be alone, pathetically tries to convince him to stay with her by offering to share her drink, which he refuses. Or, an abused Regan, demonstrating learned behavior, tries to seduce Oswald, to no avail. Here, she is portrayed as a broken woman, not a conniving seductress. Oswald’s rejection then sends her back to the letter that Goneril has written to Edmund. Earlier in the conversation, she asked, “What might import my Sister’s Letter to him?” (TLN 2391; 4.5.8), and now she returns to the missive that plagues her. Her language is tentative, unsure, as she tries to reason out what is happening. She shifts from asking Oswald a question he could or would not answer to second-guessing the need for Goneril to write a letter to Edmund at all. Then she inarticulately says, “Belike, / Some things, I know not what” (TLN 2406–07; 4.5.22–23), and makes a queenly offer to remember his service. Finally, Regan struggles to take the letter from him. Her dramatic verbal moves thus speak to her confused state of mind. The ensuing plot indicates that she does not intercept this letter, despite this muddled but intense entreaty. This makes sense if she is inebriated or otherwise not in control of the situation. Alternately, her use of the phrase “I’ll love thee much” (TLN 2407; 4.5.23) demonstrates the excessive language she assumes men demand of her. An uncomfortable Oswald bristles at her talk of love, and when this happens, Regan jerks away from him. Oswald strives to stop Regan from pursuing this, but she cuts him off with the startling, “I know your Lady does not love her Husband” (TLN 2410; 4.5.25). Here her speech becomes more slurred as she pictures how Goneril leered at Edmund in her presence. She looks at the amazed Oswald and accuses him of knowing the truth about the adulterous relationship. He reveals nothing to the desperate Regan. She cannot conceive of a life without support in this treacherous world, so as much to convince Oswald as herself, she tells him that “Edmund, and I have talked, / And more convenient is he for my hand / Than for your Lady’s” (TLN 2417–19; 4.5.32–34). Regan’s bald need here is reminiscent of that of her drunken father, pleading for a daughter who will rescue him, just as Regan wants rescuing now. Both women become more like their father in readings tracing power, and here Regan also mirrors Lear in her intense requirement for stability. The play does not grant us a scene with Regan and Edmund coming to some kind of understanding, but we have no reason to doubt Regan’s





claim. Instead of the rabid lust that many readings attribute to Regan at this moment, she speaks more like a woman who has lost nearly everything and clings to one possibility: Edmund. She sees him as the son strong enough to separate himself from a treacherous father, a man who betrayed her. Edmund, in short, will provide the family that Regan no longer has, since she now cannot trust her sister. With this strong bond broken, Regan suffers her most devastating loss. Insecure, Regan scrawls a quick note and hands it to the unwilling Oswald, who forces her to thrust it into his hands. She feels compelled to trump whatever sentiment Goneril has sent in her letter to Edmund. With a now-deranged father, Regan looks for emotional constancy in Edmund, but begins to suspect his shaky fidelity. Imagine her drinking heavily, an emotional crutch and her one true legacy from her father, an inheritance that will jeopardize her union with Edmund.11 Oswald once again makes a move to leave to avoid any further incident. Despondent and unable to calm her raging mind, envision Regan collapsing on the floor, furiously scribbling more letters to Edmund. Dissatisfied with her efforts, she rips them up. Her current, desperate situation causes her to recall her loss of both Cornwall and Gloucester. Before exiting, Oswald looks at her. She looks up, with tears in her eyes, and adds, “If you do chance to hear of that blind Traitor, / Preferment falls on him, that cuts him off.” Turning away, Regan utters a final “Fare thee well” (TLN 2428; 4.5.42) as she hits at the torn papers with a sweeping gesture that sends them flying. The last image of the Regan is one of absolute despair: she is alone now and once again drinks to deaden the pain. She is imagined pulling at her disheveled hair as the scene fades.

11 MOTHERSEAD ET AL.: [P]arental alcoholism, and the degree of family dysfunction in the family of origin, negatively impacts the development of positive parental attachments [which in turn] determines [in the offspring] competence in interpersonal relationships and subsequent development of interpersonal distress in adolescence and adult life (197).



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Cordelia Returns: Sinner and Saint (Act 4, scenes 3 [Q 4.4] and 7)

Act 4, scene 3 (Q 4.4) Cordelia As opposed to her sisters, Cordelia at this point in the action is of intense interest to the critics. Many see her as Lear’s salvation, his miracle, now come to restore what Goneril and Regan have taken away, but whatever the interpretation, her part in the play’s conclusion is far more complex.1 The Folio omits the Quarto’s scene 4.3, in which Kent converses with the unnamed Gentleman, who in addition to explaining quite nebulously France’s absence, offers a highly sentimentalized and stereotyped account of Cordelia’s judgments on her sisters and also patronizes Cordelia herself. The Gentleman’s “rather florid description idealizes Cordelia,” as Foakes says (Arden 318, n. 18–22), with such phrases as “patience and sorrow strove / Who should express her goodliest” (4.3.16–17). Kent calls Goneril and Regan Lear’s “dog-hearted daughters” (4.3.46), bestializing them in the tradition of Lear. The Gentleman depicts Cordelia’s prettified grief, including her comment “Sisters, sisters, shame of ladies, sisters!” (4.3.28). The Folio omission makes it more difficult to gauge the nature of the sisters’ relationship and Cordelia’s own motivations at this juncture in the play. It can also be argued that Kent, the blind devotee of Lear, typically overstates the case. 1

See Millard for Shakespeare’s more political adaptation of Cordelia’s character (143).



8


Our political story begins with Cordelia, noticeably absent since the first scene of the play. Picture her, dressed like a soldier queen, returning with an army, determined to reinstate Lear to his abdicated throne and to acquire her rightful inheritance of Britain.2 The French flags, prominently displayed, signify her invasion against her sisters. The stage direction in the Folio has her appear with drum and colors and soldiers (TLN 2349–50). Foakes links the violence that Lear initiated in his actions toward Cordelia to the violence of Cordelia’s invasion of her native land, and all of this is heightened in the Folio.3 Her noteworthy marriage to Britain’s long-time perceived enemy, at least for Early Modern audiences, now returns to haunt the story, highlighting the power plays of the patriarchal marriage system. As Chamberlain puts it, Cordelia challenges the nation with armed men (187). Cordelia’s marriage to France could upend the entire state, diminishing traditional British order, because she “carries away English land and with it obscures Lear’s patrilineage” (182–83). The disinherited Cordelia did not receive any property, and this motivates her invasion. Therefore, she unsurprisingly returns as a soldier, and even the “Doctor” in this scene and in 4.7 is replaced in the Folio by a Gentleman (TLN 2349, 2744). This is a war environment, and Cordelia comes home with a sense of her power firmly in mind. Her uniform and baldric are clearly those of the French army, in stark contrast to the British uniforms. This banished daughter has been in communication with the hot-headed Kent, who has painted a dire picture of Lear’s life since her expulsion. More importantly, he placed the blame for Lear’s madness squarely on Goneril and Regan, and the outcast Cordelia accepts this biased man’s word as truth. The fact that Lear unambiguously exhibited symptoms of irrationality and madness when he banished Kent and disowned her, his favored daughter, is forgotten or forgiven as she returns to resume her privileged place. Cordelia is a woman who, when she thinks she is right, would rather suffer the consequences than bow to any other authority. Therefore, her 2 Millard believes that she “anticipates on her father’s part a desire he no longer has—to reclaim his throne and power” (155). 3 FOAKES: The staging in the Folio provides a dual perspective on Cordelia. Her determination in leading her soldiers may be seen as consistent with her obstinacy in the opening scene, while her concern for her “dear father” now also displays a quite different aspect of her character. Visually she is Queen of France, armed perhaps, and leading an invading force into England on behalf of Lear, as her “colours” show, presumably those of France, and different from those of the “British powers” (21) she is opposing (Violence 142). WERNER: This scene suggests that Cordelia is as unruly as, or even more unruly than, her sisters . . . the opposites of Cordelia and her elder sisters threaten to collapse into each other . . . In the Folio, we move straight from Gonerill’s audacity to Cordelia’s to Regan’s (“Arming” 238).



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youthful assuredness propels her to march into her homeland with a foreign army to take down the legal authority of her sisters. Cordelia believes that these were the sisters who deserted her when she stood up to the imperiousness of their father. She left Britain stripped of her honored status with full knowledge that her sisters would rule the land. Now, encouraged by Kent’s letters, she arrives in Britain to reconcile with her father and win him back his kingdom. She exclaims that “No blown Ambition doth our Arms incite, / But love, dear love, and our aged Father’s Right” (TLN 2379–80; 4.4.27–28). Cordelia’s claim is suspect, however, since she has been fully informed about Lear’s madness. To expect her father to regain the rule he had willingly given over and for which he is no longer fit is naive at best. Critics seeking to glorify Cordelia sidestep these considerations and forget that, whatever the reading, she is a woman strong enough to face her despotic father and ambitious enough to bring troops against her native land. A political Cordelia knows that her father, as figurehead of the state, will calm the tensions of the divided patriarchy, but she also is positioning herself and France as rulers of Britain. Interpretations concerned more with psychological or social issues imagine the youngest daughter motivated by love, but a love that needs to be questioned in light of her actions. Thus, in one interpretation, Cordelia is bent on an almost religious rescue mission for her father and comes home to give “Losses their remedies” (TLN 1247; 2.2.168), that is, her own loss of his love, as her earlier letter to Kent implied. This love could be a great deal less selfless than usually presented. A rigidly sober, devout Cordelia has been living with a lascivious husband, France, now alienated from Lear. This much-altered woman then would have a strong desire to return to the home of her father and a protected, chaste life. Her escape from a bad marriage and memories of her favored status powerfully drive her communication with Kent. Cordelia understands how to manage men, if not her father, and her prayers, sobriety, and patience create true loyalty. France’s curious absence provokes questions. A clue to Cordelia’s marriage can be found in France’s excuse for leaving the invasion to her. In the Quarto’s 4.3, related by the Gentleman, France abandons the action for “Something he left imperfect in the state . . . ” (4.3.3).4 This suspiciously ambiguous rationale offers a glimpse of his wife’s limited role in their marriage. It makes more sense if this cavalierly negotiated woman has been

4 Rudnytsky speculates that Cordelia would somehow logically lead her army alone, which is perhaps better than the Quarto’s weak explanation (307).



Cordelia Returns


bartered off to an increasingly less devoted husband. Therefore, finding his wife not what he expected, France thinks her doomed attempt to rush to her abusive father’s aid a fool’s errand. Lear, after all, ended up treating him with little respect. Although France has ultimate rights over Cordelia,5 he finds other business more pressing or more appealing than the volatile dysfunction of Britain’s monarchical family and a wife obsessed with her father. Alternately, Maureen Quilligan argues that Cordelia’s “unhusbanded agency” as a result of the Folio’s omission of 4.3, in which the King of France has been in England and now has returned home, supports her reading of incest.6 The Folio does not simplify characterizations. Thus, Cordelia’s rush to rescue her father/lover may have the dark psychological undertones of sexual victimization. Cordelia’s return can thus be seen as a misguided attempt to rekindle her incestuous relationship with her mad father. Believing that her marriage and his separation from her have caused her father to unravel, she acts on a twisted sense of loyalty to the man who she thinks loved her completely. And yet, she asserted that her sisters could not possibly love their father “all” in the beginning of the play (TLN 107; 1.1.100). In a reading of political agency, we learn from Cordelia’s opening speech that she has received detailed reports of Lear’s frenzied behavior. He has been observed singing and wandering half-clothed, with a crown of weeds on his head. Through her words, a prophetic tableau emerges of the lunatic Lear reclaiming his title by wearing a flowered crown constructed while drifting rootless in the wild. Here he is envisioned as reconstructing the life he gave away. As he revealed earlier, he has taken “Too little care” (TLN 1814; 3.4.33), and now begins slowly, unconsciously, to bring together those things he has neglected or damned. The bridelike image created by his flowered crown eerily incorporates onto him both his enemies, women and Nature; only in madness does Lear find a way into the natural and feminine world. As he surmised to the Fool in the previous act, “The Art of our Necessities is strange, / And can make vile things precious” (TLN 1725; 3.2.70–71). Picture that Lear has taken two branches and wound them together on his naked chest to form a natural baldric reminiscent of the one his daughters designed to represent their rule, similarly in accordance with 5 SOLARO: In Anglo-Saxon culture, a wife was a feme covert, a woman whose status was covered by her husband; she owed him, not the state, responsibilities. Her rights were those he permitted her, while the state guaranteed her few rights against his wishes (108). 6 QUILLIGAN: It may be that having a foreign king accompany Cordelia looks more like an invasion, the repulse of which is legitimate (226).



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nature. In his mad state, Lear redefines the world he created. Once captured, he will try pathetically to reconstruct his life with his youngest daughter. Cordelia, in this context, comes across as a competent queen and confident woman who understands the job ahead. In this scene she must first apprehend her father and find a way to cure his diseased mind. Cordelia, presenting herself as a compassionate ruler, hyperbolically offers all of her worldly possessions: “Take all my outward worth” (TLN 2360; 4.4.10). In this story, she designs this tactical move to inspire her soldiers both to exhaust every effort to find Lear and then to fight valiantly to overthrow her sisters’ government. She believes that as their queen she must convince them of her selfless motives and the old monarch’s worth; if successful, victory will surely follow. Cordelia, noticeably distressed by her father’s state, expects that left unattended, he might take his own life: “Lest his ungoverned rage, dissolve the life / That wants the means to lead it” (TLN 2370–71; 4.4.19–20). Cordelia would restore to power this admittedly broken man. An otherwise rational political being, she here exhibits monumental denial.7 Reinstating her shattered father becomes her road to command. Another alternative would be to show Cordelia returning to Britain much altered by her harrowing personal experience of exile. Plainly, life with France has not been good. Imagine that she enters the scene in stark clothing completely covering her body, with a cross prominently displayed on the bodice of her dress. Her appearance resembles the iconographic images of the suffering female saints, but without the zealous energy. She appears haggard and worn, with pale skin and dark circles underneath her sunken eyes. Her strong, independent spirit seems much diminished, almost mirroring the vision she paints of her frantic father: “Alack, ˇtis he: why he was met even now / As mad as the vexed Sea . . . ” (TLN 2351–52; 4.4.1–2). Reminiscent of the mad Ophelia, Cordelia specifically details flowers, demonstrating the painful images in her mind: Crowned with rank fumitor, and furrow-weeds, With Burdocks, Hemlock, Nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining Corn . . . (TLN 2353–56; 4.4.3–6) 7 Millard notes that later in the play, no one talks of Lear’s duties as king; “rather, the mad king demonstrates all too clearly his distance from the mundane world of affairs” (155–56).



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Much legitimate attention has been lavished on the powerful scenes of Lear’s lunacy, but here also is a distraught daughter¸ perhaps even one following her father into a form of psychosis. Her diction echoes that of Ophelia, who remains, as Elaine Showalter demonstrates, a persistent icon of female “malady” (90–92). Phyllis Chesler reminds us that “some mad women in our culture experience certain transformations of self or incorporate the meaning of certain heroines such as Joan of Arc and the Catholic Madonna.” Portrayals of these women may “involve the sacrifice of the Maiden (Persephone-Kore) for the purposes of male renewal” (86). Interestingly, Chesler mentions Joan of Arc, a prototype for Cordelia in some readings, but certainly not the disparaged character whom many see in Henry VI, Part 1.8 Since Goneril and Regan do not sacrifice themselves for Lear, they become condemned as “bad daughters,” which one could argue is a distortion of the text. And Cordelia’s sacrifice, so admired, is here a pathology enacted to restore a lost king, resulting in a death sentence. The earlier description of Lear’s insanity is difficult for Cordelia, who feels responsible for the plight of her father and her country. Here, both she and Lear need salvation. Her offer of “all her outward worth” is demonstrated as she kneels and extends her arms to the men. In exchange for her old life, she would gladly relinquish any material goods acquired by her marriage. The French army follows this pitiable woman out of a sense of duty and compassion; they have no real commitment to invade Britain other than to respond to their king’s command. Cordelia asks whether medicinals can help her ailing father. Here she overtly assumes the caretaker/mother role, citing natural curatives for her demented, possibly alcoholic father, and expressing great concern for the “kind nursery” of him, a nursery that she tried to negotiate to her liking in the first scene. The messenger explains to the weary Cordelia that nature provides remedies to help him rest. Here, Cordelia, herself sleep deprived, is happy to hear of such “blest Secrets, / All . . . unpublished Virtues of the earth” (TLN 2366–67; 4.4.15–16) that could assist them both. If incest were involved, Cordelia’s return is equally pathetic. Here, instead of coming across as a religious martyr, Cordelia is seen as the abused daughter feeling obligated to resume her roles as lover and mother to her once-all-powerful father. Plagued by a perverted sense of responsibility for her father’s well-being, she comes home to rescue Lear from the sisters who never knew how to “truly” love him.

8 CHESLER: “Bad” women aren’t good losers; they destroy, or rather attempt to destroy, others. Ophelia in Hamlet is a “good” loser; Medea in Medea is a “bad” loser (345).



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. . . O dear Father, It is thy business that I go about: Therefore great France My mourning, and importuned tears hath pitied: No blown Ambition doth our Arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged Father’s Right: Soon may I hear, and see him. (TLN 2376–81; 4.4.23–29)

To justify herself, she states that she wages war for her father’s right, not her own. In this action, she becomes the military equivalent of her father and, subsequently, of Goneril and Regan; she takes up Lear’s “business” without any discussion with him about his own wishes at this point.9 She stoutly asserts and perhaps protests too much that she is not driven by “blown Ambition,” but by her father’s “Right,” one that he himself gave away. As the favored daughter, Cordelia has an unambiguous personal incentive to defend her father and their shared power: she works to recreate the life she lost before banishment. Ready for battle, Cordelia tells the messenger that she knows the British army is on the move. And it all comes to pass. In this reading, she is manifestly a political enemy to Britain. Here the challenge is to demonstrate that despite Cordelia’s attempt to correct the absolutist world of Lear, she initiates the most violent of all actions—waging war on the legitimate queens of Britain. She fails, as Chamberlain admits, quite clearly as a result of her command (185).10 In this significant speech, Cordelia explains that her anxiety moved the King of France. The Folio’s choice of “importuned tears” as opposed to “important tears” (4.4.26) can also be interpreted that France has been urging Cordelia to move forward with the incursion. A perceptive ruler, France certainly stands to benefit from Cordelia’s successful invasion of Britain. He would appear far less the aggressor if the old monarch’s beloved daughter heads the French troops. The end of this scene can also be played to accommodate a very different Cordelia, one who quickly shifts from thoughts of the restoration of Lear and herself to the news that the British army is on the march. Here

9 BERGER: I also find a touch of smugness in her echoing the words of Christ (my father’s business) (44–45). 10 Millard examines the politics and efficiency of Cordelia’s threat to her sisters’ inheritance (149).



Cordelia’s last speech in this little scene becomes essential in a military interpretation of the play because it explains her motivation for the invasion of her homeland:


Cordelia is envisioned piously kneeling and delivering her final lines. She is not an assured leader but instead a woman who feels morally compelled to return to right her wrongs. She is accountable for the men she will lead into battle and for the British blood that will be spilled. She has no “blown Ambition” in this reading because she has no plan to return to France, no plan to rule, only a plan to dedicate her life to God and to the care of her aging father. Rosenberg likens the language of her speech to that of the Bible.11 Cordelia delivers these lines as a prayer; the “Father” she first refers to is God, made distinct from the later “aged Father.” Her line “Therefore great France / My mourning, and importuned tears hath pitied” here shows her thanking God that her cruel husband relented to her desires, because God intervened on her part. She then humbles herself in front of her God and from a prostrate position declares, “No blown Ambition.” Even “love, dear love” is read as referring to her spiritual love. Then she turns her attention to Lear as she pronounces that she comes to reclaim her “aged Father’s Right.” This Cordelia would have preferred the life of a nunnery to one among possessive men. She has journeyed back to Britain to reclaim the world of her childhood, a carefree, independent existence. If the incest theme is foregrounded here, these same words acquire an eerily different tone. Cordelia could be offering her physical body to her absent father when she says, “But love, dear love, and our aged Father’s Right.” Picture Cordelia in a trancelike state slowly unbuttoning the bodice of her garment as she speaks these words. * *

*

Act 4, scene 7 Cordelia In a military rendering, Cordelia has located her informant Kent and confers with him at the beginning of 4.7. Cordelia is very much the soldier, and Millard stresses the “incongruity” of that aggressive costuming with the famed reconciliation scene to come (157). Kent and Cordelia are obvious allies; a grateful queen thanks him for helping return her to her rightful place. Although Kent’s violent behavior has undoubtedly made 11 Rosenberg notes how she couches her “need to excuse her invasion” in biblical allusion. He distinguishes between godly and earthly fathers in this speech (260).



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the situation between Lear and his older daughters worse, he claims that he has written and spoken only the truth to Cordelia: “All my reports go with the modest truth, / Nor more, nor clipped, but so” (TLN 2751–52; 4.7.5–6). This is the first time in the entire play that the bellicose, garrulous Kent speaks in such a manner. Here he is humble, succinct, and seemingly honest. Why does Kent seem to be a new man? One possibility is that he recognizes that the only way to restore the old, patriarchal order is through Cordelia, for whom he endured exile. He wants to show himself in the best possible light to acquire a high position of authority within the government. If received, reports of his confrontational behavior would appear false compared with his current gentle demeanor. For unexplained reasons, he also refuses to change out of his disguise. What could he gain by refusing to reveal his identity? Does he conceal himself because of the uncertainty surrounding Britain’s future rulers? After all, Caius was the man who behaved so disrespectfully to Regan, Goneril, and Cornwall. If they remain in power, Kent escapes any accusations of wrongdoing. Imagine that Kent does not actually fight in the war, but operates instead as a spy, manipulating the players behind the scenes. After all, at the end, a free Kent or Caius appears, without concern about his alliance to the losing side. The Folio adds the stage direction “Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Servants” (after TLN 2771; 4.7.20), perhaps to stress Lear’s complete debility, heightening the questionable judgment of a daughter trying to restore the man to supreme power. When the Gentleman enters to ask Cordelia whether they should wake Lear, who has been asleep for some time, a nervous Cordelia refuses to be responsible for the decision to rouse him: “Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed / I’the sway of your own will” (TLN 2769–70; 4.7.19–20). Cordelia is noticeably uncomfortable with her ill father.12 Her uneasiness becomes meaningful, since, as invading avenger, she needs Lear reinstated to minimize her own ambition. She has heard of his madness, but now must confront it directly. Cautiously checking whether he will appear normal, she asks, “is he arrayed?” (TLN 2770; 4.7.20). The Folio line that reads “I doubt of his Temperance” (TLN 2775) instead of “I doubt not of his temperance” (4.7.24) shows the Gentleman adding to the wary Cordelia’s discomfort. Sensing her anxiety, he asks her to “be by good Madam when we do awake him” (TLN 2774; 4.7.23). The Folio omits both Cordelia’s response, “Very well,” and the Gentleman’s

12 WHITTIER: The symbolic rebirth [of Lear], for all its grace, is prefaced by Cordelia’s reluctance to participate (386).



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line, “Please you draw near; louder the music there” (4.4.24–25). With this omission, Cordelia stands apart from the scene, uncertain how to respond to the sick man. The absence of music also diminishes the calming, ethereal quality often created by underscoring. Imagine an awkward pause filling the air while all look to Cordelia, who then feels compelled to approach her father. She moves slowly to the side of his bed, bends down, giving him a quick kiss. Cordelia here indulges in the righteousness of her martial cause by railing about Lear’s condition. But her aggressive stance, quite Lear-like, is apparent in her diction when she states that her “Enemy’s dog” (TLN 2784; 4.7.36) would have had better treatment.13 She uses this moment to accuse her sisters of wrongdoing in front of the soldiers, the Gentleman, and Kent, the kind of public declaration she refused to make in 1.1. In this scene, with her father still asleep, Cordelia proclaims her love and devotion, all the time blaming her sisters for Lear’s condition. Cordelia is most outraged that the royal Lear spent the night in a lowly hovel, “To be opposed against the warring winds” (TLN 2783; 4.7.32).14 In addition to militarizing Lear’s “battle” on the moors, Cordelia is deeply concerned with appearances and proper code of conduct. In her mind, her sisters manifestly violated the rules of decorum when they allowed Lear to spend the night in the storm. But this is the same woman who refused her needy father the satisfaction of a formal protestation of love when he most required it. She concludes her rant against her sisters by expressing awe that Lear had not lost his life as well as his mind, having spent the night with “Swine and Rogues forlorn, / In short, and musty straw” (TLN 2787–88; 4.7.39–40). Cordelia, as a military aristocrat making a public case for war, is not aware of her rather insensitive characterization of the less fortunate “Rogues forlorn.” Imagining Cordelia as a religious, beloved daughter, not as an imperious queen, changes the scene considerably. Picture the Gentleman now accompanying a fragile Cordelia to her father’s sickbed. They are followed by Kent, who is clearly uncomfortable with the zealously religious, unsettled woman. Cordelia has received the story of Lear’s “abuse” by his

13

Millard notes Cordelia’s combination of the “language of nursery” with that of war (157). 14 Hecq explains how Cordelia’s account of Lear’s travails shows her “attachment to the Law impersonated in her father.” Cordelia’s “prolific use of military metaphors” means that she is intent “upon enforcing the Law” of Lear. “Ironically enough, Cordelia turns Lear’s majestic moment of insight into his own powerless and impotent confrontation with the elements into a battle scenario, filling the empty phallic referent with the ammunition of her own discourse” (30).



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beloved follower, Kent, who loyally but blindly feels each “offense” against his master. He makes every effort to appear the strong, sensible adviser, but if Cordelia were in a better frame of mind, she would certainly recognize Kent’s unease. Now she obsequiously bows her head in reverence to Kent and humbly professes, O thou good Kent, How shall I live and work To match thy goodness? (TLN 2745–47; 4.7.1–2)

Imagine an embarrassed Kent, not quite certain how to respond to this religious gesture, taking off his hat and holding it uncomfortably in his hands, stating, “To be acknowledged Madam is o’erpaid” (TLN 2750; 4.7.4). Cordelia, looking up, takes his hat and asks him to change back into his own clothes. She longs for things to return to the old way. Uncertain how to respond to this much-changed Cordelia and recognizing Lear’s fragile state, Kent feels it best to determine for himself the right time to reveal his identity. He gestures for Cordelia to return his hat as he gently denies her request. Alternately, in an interpretation playing up the incest theme, Cordelia’s relationship to Kent positions him more like a matchmaker reuniting estranged lovers. His “goodness” refers to his unspoken complicity in bringing the secret lovers back together. If Kent knows of the sexual relationship between Lear and his youngest daughter, his efforts to convey Cordelia home suggest a very different motivation. He may not know the details of the relationship, but his intense love for Lear drives him to provide for his every need. Cordelia now turns her attention to her father, calling him “the King” (TLN 2761; 4.7.12) when she asks after his health. Following the exclamation point uncharacteristic of the Folio, Cordelia is imagined bringing all of her religious fervor to bear when, beating her chest, she pleads to the gods: O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th’untuned and jarring senses, O wind up, Of this child-changed Father. (TLN 2763–26; 4.7.14–17)

Cordelia’s outburst makes Kent and the others present exceedingly ill at ease. She prophetically calls Lear “child-changed,” for he becomes the child he has been aspiring to be since the first scene of the play. Envision



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this fanatical display causing the mortified Gentleman to help her up from her knees when he asks, “So please your Majesty, / That we may wake the King, he hath slept long?” (TLN 2767–68; 4.7.17–18). Attempting to recover from her unintended public exhibition, Cordelia apologetically suggests that the Gentleman do what he thinks is best. Cordelia’s question, “ . . . is he arrayed?” (TLN 2779; 4.7.20) is spoken in haste, since she is afraid of facing her vulnerable father. In the context of the incest plot, this question can be imagined to hide her discomfort at the thought of her father’s naked body. Power plays can be traced even in this reconciliation scene, reducing the sentimentality of many interpretations. Lear wakes, and the anxious Cordelia asks the Gentleman to speak to him. Despite her military bearing, her confidence flags when she thinks of facing the man who exiled her, but she can do nothing until he regains his senses.15 The Gentleman instructs Cordelia to talk with Lear, and with trepidation she asks, “How does my Royal Lord? / How fares your Majesty?” (TLN 2792–93; 4.7.44). Her use of both “Royal Lord” and “Majesty” is deliberately enhanced to propel a reestablishment of Lear’s authority. She needs her father sane and acquiescent to his kingly role. Lear, however, unable to respond in such a manner, instead imagines himself in hell. This disturbs Cordelia, who turns to the Gentleman and says, “Still, still, far wide” (TLN 2800; 4.7.50). A skittish Cordelia then moves away, but is stopped by the Gentleman, who explains, “He’s scarce awake, / Let him alone a while” (TLN 2801–02; 4.7.51). Lear, obviously bewildered, makes an effort to understand his predicament. Picture that when Cordelia kneels—a gesture designed to help the ailing man recognize his former authoritative position—she ostentatiously places her own crown upon his head. She then asks for his “benediction” over her to help justify her actions against Britain. Lear responds by throwing the crown onto the floor as he howls, “Pray do not mock me” (TLN 2811, 2813; 4.7.58, 59). He then goes on to explain that he is “a very foolish fond old man” and not in a “perfect mind” (TLN 2814, 2818; 4.7.60, 63). His admission of his age and vulnerability ironically echoes Regan’s argument in 2.2 when he was acting like a belligerent child. He now recognizes that he is senile and should be punished for his outrageous behavior. Rather melodramatically, he adds, “If you have poison for me, I will drink it” (TLN 2829; 4.7.72). He has even abandoned his vehement accusations against Goneril and Regan when he somewhat doubtfully mutters, “ . . . for your Sisters / Have (as I do remember) done me wrong.” He then

15 Rosenberg notes that Cordelia certainly is concerned about his mind, but also about how he will receive the daughter he disowned (285).



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explains, “You have some cause, they have not,” to which Cordelia replies, “No cause, no cause” (TLN 2830–03; 4.7.73–75). Cordelia attempts to calm the disoriented Lear, who is still patently confused. Lear asks whether he is in France, and when she responds, “In your own kingdom Sir” (TLN 2835; 4.7.76), imagine her once again taking the crown from her own head and formally placing it on his. He then quietly removes the crown, rejecting authority, handing it back to her as he replies, “Do not abuse me” (TLN 2836; 4.7.76). The soldiers shift uneasily as Lear rejects the return to power. Cordelia is aware of the debilitating effect this rejection will have on the morale of her troops. Lear asks the reluctant Cordelia to walk with him, and she here consents in an effort to break up the scene, awkwardly condescending to help the invalid and hoping that against all odds, her strategy of restoring Lear will succeed. The political agency of all concerned suggests that Cordelia has evolved from the daughter who, in the beginning, is reasonably unwilling to love her father “all” to the one who now must sacrifice all for him, although perhaps not cognizant of this until a later scene. She now ironically gives him the total allegiance she denied him before. Their reunion, seemingly all about Lear’s loss of power, shows Cordelia acquiescing completely to her prescribed female-caretaker role to achieve her ends: a reinstated Lear buttressed by her own authority. Cordelia’s agency, not just Lear’s, problematizes the great poignancy of the scene; the result is apprehension, not simply sentiment. Most critics assume that Cordelia’s reconciliation derives solely from unconditional love, but some feminist critics recognize in her the same woman who resisted Lear’s destructive power in the beginning. She is here at the head of an invading army waging what turns out to be an ill-prepared attack, not whisking her ailing father off to France, as in earlier versions of the story. Her invasion becomes a grand power play to save both her father and Britain for herself. Ultimately, Lear wins by her return, despite the tragic ending. The play’s greatness lies in how that winning brings everyone down. When Cordelia insists “You must not kneel” (TLN 2812; 4.7.59), one can hear a different resonance, one that takes the power away from Goneril and Regan and puts a monarch back on his throne. McLuskie astutely points out that “Cordelia’s saving love, so much admired by critics, works in the action less as a redemption for womankind than as an example of patriarchy restored” (99). The logic of the above choices seems obvious: a woman imperiously invades her native land to seek a form of vengeance or rescue. Still, the temptation to work the reconciliation scene with some kind of deep pathos cannot be denied. The encounter between daughter and father draws one almost inexorably into the concerns of family and self. And yet interpretations can be imagined that do not resort to stereotypes of daughterly love. Thus, when



Cordelia Returns


Lear is brought out, envision Cordelia moving cautiously to his side. Then, like a grieving widow with her husband’s casket before her, she throws herself onto his bed and kisses his face. Kent speaks his line, “Kind and dear Princess” (TLN 2780; 4.7.29), in astonishment at her overt action, and saying this, he quickly helps her off Lear and the bed. Cordelia, shocked out of the grievingwidow role, quickly reverts to the role of nurse and mother.16 The overcome Cordelia then proclaims the next speech while being held back by an anxious Kent. She now romanticizes her father and condemns his mistreatment, thus shifting the responsibility from herself to her sisters. “Had you not been their Father, these white flakes / Did challenge pity of them . . . ” (TLN 2781–82; 4.7.30–31). Her strange question—“And was’t thou fain . . . to hovel thee with Swine . . . ” (TLN 2786–87; 4.7.38–39)—aligns Lear’s mad escapade on the moors with his own childish behavior, since if left to his own devices, he would not have sheltered himself anywhere.17 The Folio shortens Cordelia’s speech, making it slightly less melodramatic. Cordelia abruptly concludes her protestations when she notices that Lear is waking. She quickly breaks away from Kent and moves some distance away from her father. The Gentleman cautiously suggests that she should speak to him, perhaps thinking that this reunion will help to ease both of these troubled souls. Imagine a religious Cordelia gingerly approaching Lear and clasping her hands together as if in prayer, asking him how he fares. Lear sees this suffering, saintlike woman and supposes he has been snatched from death. An alcoholic, mentally unstable Lear, sober after being apprehended and brought back from the heath, visibly suffers both the painful side effects of delirium tremens and hallucinations. With shaky hands, Lear tries to clear away images appearing before him; then, continually placing these hands over his eyes and ears to stop the haunting sounds and sights, speaks: You do me wrong to take me out o’the grave, Thou art a Soul in bliss, but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald, like molten Lead. (TLN 2794–97; 4.7.45–48) 16

MCFARLAND: [Cordelia is the] eternal mother brooding over the infant’s crib (110). ALTER: [Lear presents a] childlike/childish reconciliatory dialogue with Cordelia (152). 17 EGAN: Rather than the acquisition of real knowledge through suffering, Lear’s exposing himself in the storm appears rather more of a melodramatic gesture . . . Kent and Gloucester invited Lear into the hovel seven times ([4.3] 1, 4, 5, 21, 135, 143, and 158) before he acceded, and performers can make this reluctance to go in appear as maddeningly willful self-abuse (145–146). Rosenberg asserts that Cordelia neglects any mention of Lear’s responsibility in the conflict because he is now her “mistreated child” (284).



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In studying this family’s dynamics, Berger traces Lear’s pathetic, yet nevertheless manipulative, moves here. He translates Lear’s lines as “ ‘I am already dead and being punished for my sins, while you are no longer suffering from the wrong I’ve done you’ ” (41). This often-sentimentalized exchange is met with some critical cynicism.18 Lear bemoans his current, painful condition, which here causes Cordelia to kneel down and ask him to “hold your hand in benediction o’er me” (TLN 2811; 4.7.58). When Lear rises and kneels opposite Cordelia, he extends his hands as if requesting a drink. Cordelia ignores the request and instead reacts to his kneeling as blasphemous, commanding, “You must not kneel” (TLN 2812; 4.7.59). The Folio omits the “No, sir” (4.7.59) prior to this, making Cordelia’s reaction to Lear’s kneeling that much stronger. Cordelia objects to anyone kneeling to mere mortals. She does not, as many suppose, object to Lear, the “King,” kneeling as her subject. Her adamant response hurts and confuses Lear, who asks not to be mocked and begs mercy because he is old and senile, but even this sympathetic moment is tinged with our memory of his former proud and unforgiving actions.19 This confession causes the unstable Cordelia to weep, and the bewildered Lear interprets her tears as laughter. Here Cordelia once again drops to her knees, praying to her gods, when Lear finally recognizes her. 20 Lear attempts to help Cordelia to rise, and when he is unsuccessful, joins her when he implores, “I pray weep not” (TLN 2828; 4.7.71).21 Cordelia’s celebrated response to Lear’s suggestion that she has “some cause” not to love him has a disturbing resonance. Many see it as pure forgiveness, but in light of her future devastation, it becomes naive.22 Cordelia embodies the selfless mother Lear has been demand18

To Lear’s “I am mightily abused” (TLN 2805; 4.7.53), Rosenberg comments, “Then, the self-pity” (287). In response to his “I know not what to say” (TLN 2806; 4.7.54), Marjorie Garber offers, “In contrast to the opening scene, it is Lear who now knows not what to say” (690). 19 ROSENBERG: Lear is practiced in mockery, in kneeling to mock; he now has a child’s fear of mockery, of being laughed at, shamed (288). BERGER: On the verge of facing the truth and giving up all claims on his daughter, he divests himself of manhood and becomes the childish dotard so as to maintain or regain mastery of the relationship, to re-impose the bond which his action in 1.1 canceled (41–42). 20 See Byles for how Cordelia’s need for love results in her death (42–43). 21 ERICKSON: His momentary openness to human contact . . . is superseded by a [later] withdrawal into the hollow posture of omnipotent fantasy [his prison speech in 5.3] (114). 22 Byles explains how gender strictures contribute to Cordelia’s sacrifice in that she adopts the “self-image” from her father’s “masculine perception.” Her lack of “anger or resentment” of this man reflects a “crucial failure or evasion of self-knowledge, not only a failure to express, but even to recognize wishes and desires” (37–38). Millard argues that Cordelia



Cordelia Returns


ing all along. Goneril and Regan would not negate themselves for Lear. Cordelia now does.23 Imagine that as Cordelia utters, “No cause, no cause,” she takes the shaking, weeping Lear into her arms and rocks him like the baby he has become. As she does this, she looks to the heavens, happily realizing she has become like the Virgin Mary, comforting her suffering son. Despite the recognition of Lear’s psychological manipulation, unconscious or not, the scene is still wrenching, still representative of the painful misunderstandings inherent in human relationships. It is easy to see why Cordelia is canonized by readers. She certainly becomes Lear’s personal redeemer, but only if one falls too much into Lear’s point of view. The remainder of the play makes it plain that keen irony is at work in Cordelia offering too little too late to a father seeking to consume her with his need.24 Both Cordelia (consciously) and Lear (unconsciously) are physically mimicking the pietà, as Lear makes apparent that he does not know where he is. Cordelia mistakenly chooses an explanation that unsettles him when in reply to his question about his whereabouts she says, “In your own kingdom Sir,” and he begins to cry when he whimpers, “Do not abuse me.” Imagine the wife/mother Cordelia quickly calming Lear down once again by clucking and cooing over him, as she rocks him in her arms. Cordelia needs her father’s love, and without a backward look to her husband, she reconfigures her life with Lear. Now that he slowly recovers from his delirium, becoming notably sober and more lucid, she willingly succumbs to Lear’s demand for mothering. In this compromised state, with her childhood innocence sought but not found, Cordelia paves her way to her own destruction. Since the Folio omits the last exchange in the scene between the Gentleman and Kent (4.7.85–97), this scene ends once again with one of Lear’s daughters on

becomes the “redemptive Son” and is thereby “sacrificial” (156), but by dying actually fails Lear again and evades this role (160). 23 Kahn explains that in a patriarchy, “The mother’s assumed capacity for unconditional love, uncontaminated by self-interest or anger, makes her sacred” (“Excavating” 35), or at least saintly. Adelman is more specific and secular: “Cordelia’s ‘no cause’ . . . kills the great rage in him . . . returning him to the dream of maternal plenitude, where love is outside the realm of deserving” (Suffocating 121). 24 BERGER: [Cordelia has] triumphantly refined the victim’s role to a Christlike perfection, and she has done this by denying, by rising above, the cause . . . [S]he did have a share in the cause he gave her; ignoring what he did is ignoring what she did. And this may be the only way the reunion can take place—its condition; its cost. And in Act 5, her one brief speech indicates that the cause is not simply forgotten, but still there to be denied, for both of them (46).



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the stage with no male characters to editorialize on what has occurred. The script becomes tighter, giving these men’s journeys slightly less attention. A complex characterization of Cordelia heightens the tragic nature of this play and allows the pitiful downfall of the family to be more fully realized.



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Homeland Security: Defeat and Denial (Act 5, scenes 1, 2, and 3 [Cordelia])

Act 5, scene 1 Regan and Goneril The last act of the tragedy is a study in war and politics, so perceiving Lear’s daughters through this lens cannot present any surprises. Revelatory, however, are interpretations focusing on their roles in the present battle, rather than on their generalized and reductive evil. The British armies, now on the march, prepare for battle against the French invaders. The ruling factions, Goneril and Albany and also Regan and Edmund, meet for the first time since the death of Cornwall and the dissolution of shared rule. Regan and Edmund enter in the Folio first with “Drumme and Colours” (TLN 2845–46), casting Regan, like Cordelia in the previous act, in a primarily military role. Goneril and Regan will no longer wear the baldrics symbolizing their shared rule; each wears a baldric signifying her own house. Edmund has clearly stepped into his desired role of future king by questioning whether Albany will assist in their cause. Unlike with Cornwall in 2.1, Regan is now voiceless. No longer a partner to a like-minded spouse, she tries to ensure Edmund’s allegiance by adopting the patriarchal model of women’s silence. Beaten



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down by violence and death, she reluctantly submits to a system contrary to her beliefs, convinced her survival is at stake. Both she and her sister have observed that a woman in their world attains true power solely through a man, and both tragically choose the duplicitous Edmund to help them solidify their authority. Now, the violence of the culture pits the joint queens against each other. We first hear from Regan, a changed woman, now driven to shore up her political power. The confident, military ruler first introduced in the play has been transformed into a vulnerable woman lacking the authority she once enjoyed. Regan’s mind is on Goneril’s serving man, the missing Oswald: “Our Sister’s man is certainly miscarried” (TLN 2851; 5.1.5). She fixates on Oswald because her letter or token was seemingly never delivered to Edmund as she had instructed. Regan fears that Goneril’s letter was indeed received by Edmund, who has established some kind of secret pact with her sister, placing Regan at a disadvantage with him. Regan here concentrates not on the current military situation, but rather on securing her political future by gaining Edmund’s devotion. Her soldierly abilities ultimately have become less effective than her sister’s strategic ones. When Cornwall was alive, Regan manifestly had the more powerful partner, so regardless of her sister’s political expertise, the rule was balanced between their two families. Regan would have been privy to the rumors about the tension between Albany and Cornwall, their servants consequently consorting with the enemy. The present scene reiterates this same discontent later when Albany informs the sisters and Edmund of more deserters: “ . . . the King is come to his Daughter / With others, whom the rigour of our State / Forced to cry out” (TLN 2866–68; 5.1.21–23). This is the first time Goneril and Regan have heard that people are revolting because of the “rigour” of their rule. Incredulous reactions by the women challenge Albany’s unsubstantiated report. Both queens recognize that their hard-fought shared government has been destroyed by men who never supported their right to rule. Regan suspects that Goneril and Edmund are romantically involved. Thinking that she must demonstrate a personal investment in a relationship with Edmund, she directly asks, “Do you not love my Sister? (TLN 2856; 5.1.9). Edmund replies, “In honoured Love” (TLN 2857; 5.1.9). Both are careful, formal, a little cold in their obviously political negotiation. They use the Early Modern language of “love,” but mean the kind of loyalty that princes officially broker. Regan continues her line of direct questioning to avoid any misunderstanding: “But have you never found my Brother’s way, / To the forfended place?” (TLN 2858–59; 5.1.10–11). Even with the Folio’s omission of her repetitive comment, “I



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am doubtful that you have been conjunct / And bosomed with her, as far as we call hers” (5.1.12–13), Edmund’s response obviously does not reassure her. Foakes thinks the lines are “perhaps omitted from F as mere expansion of what is already clear enough” (Arden 358, n. 11–13), but the exclusion makes Regan less the stereotypical insecure or “wicked” woman, scheming for a man. Adamantly stating her position, she tells the oblique Edmund, “I never shall endure her, dear my Lord / Be not familiar with her” (TLN 2861–62; 5.1.15–16). In this politically charged interpretation, Regan will not be placed in the situation of competing with her sister for the future king. The political and the personal become irrevocably intertwined for women in a patriarchy. Power and passion overlap in such a culture that delimits women’s bodies as bargaining chips among rulers. Despite the war setting, some productions may find it preferable to portray the older daughters in the last act in ways that foreground their emotional relationship to Edmund and to each other. Imagine, then, the daughters engaged in a familiar, disconcerting competition for a man’s attention, a behavior learned by years of their father’s emotional or physical blackmail. Each daughter received “love” from their father through compliance. Both carry the psychological scars of abuse, finally caving to its destructive power. Edmund’s emotional dysfunction makes him a bitter rebel disastrously interacting with Lear’s daughters. Intimately understanding life without a father’s love, he advantageously uses this knowledge with Goneril and Regan. After offering what seems to be unconditional love, he manages to manipulate both women to achieve his longed-for personal status. Although Edmund may feel a genuine kinship with these women, his solitary, seemingly loveless life has taught him to look out for himself. He is in a unique position, two women of undisputed royal birth desire him. The sisters, for their part, have been condemned because they need Edmund, politically in some readings, but here, emotionally.1 Psychological needs are equated with licentiousness in a reductive reading of Lear’s daughters. But Edmund, considered a loyal, honest man, notably deceives everyone in the story, and yet when the sisters fall under his spell, they are accused of overweening lust. A feminist interpretation can therefore show the sisters as truly attracted to his emotional stability, Goneril out of genuine love, and Regan out of need. Further, with their father gone, the actions of the two elder daughters now become “lateral,”

1 Women’s need is construed too often as “sexual license,” as Alfar puts it, “symptomatic of female ‘evil’ ” (Fantasies 98).



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as Juliet Mitchell would say, affected not only by their father’s behavior but also by each other as siblings. Their maternal deprivation linked with their father’s hysteria fuels their deadly rivalry for Edmund. Mitchell warns that “sibling displacement evokes a desire to kill or be killed” (35). It is thus possible to stage this scene in such a way that it visibly projects Edmund at the head of Regan’s army, with Regan now lost to alcohol, unable to assume authority. Picture that as they enter, Edmund assists an uncertain Regan to a chair and, longing to keep her quiet, has her drink from a large glass. Having instructed one of the gentlemen to find out whether Albany intends on joining forces, he returns to strategizing with the military men present. This business is interrupted as a suspicious Regan rises and, crossing over to Edmund, announces, “Our Sister’s man is certainly miscarried.” Edmund escorts Regan back to her chair and pacifies her by agreeing, “ ‘Tis to be doubted Madam” (TLN 2852; 5.1.6). He seats her and begins to cross back to the soldiers, but Regan rises, grabbing Edmund’s shoulders from behind, confronting him about loving Goneril. To ensure that Edmund will honestly confess any indiscretion, Regan pointedly repeats “tell me but truly” and then demands more forcefully, “ . . . speak the truth” (TLN 2855; 5.1.8). This embarrassing public display unnerves the politically ambitious Edmund, but he realizes the need for delicacy. Regan, foggy from alcohol and imagining Edmund and Goneril in concert against her, works hard to articulate her fears carefully. She presses Edmund, hoping to uncover the truth; her drinking and paranoia embolden her. She has built all her hopes on this man and now senses his lack of conviction. The exchange is quick, with the desperate Regan facing Edmund directly. Regan stresses the words “Brother’s way,” hoping that Edmund will recognize Goneril as married and unavailable. She then displays her disgust when she spits out “forfended place.” No longer concerning herself with sex, she suspects that the promise of physical favors enhances Goneril’s chances. The soldiers present obviously note this intimate conversation, and so Edmund takes the reluctant Regan back to her chair, responding, “No by mine honour, Madam” (TLN 2860; 5.1.14). As he begins to move away, Regan loudly calls after him, “I never shall endure her,” and then, sinking onto the floor, she reiterates, “dear my Lord / Be not familiar with her” (TLN 2861–62; 5.1.15–16). Edmund reveals his impatience by sharply responding, “Fear not, she and the Duke her husband” (TLN 2863; 5.1.16–17), but Albany, Goneril, and their soldiers interrupt his chastisement. A military reading can enhance the next part of the scene. Goneril, her husband, and retinue now enter wearing the insignia of Goneril’s house, preventing Edmund from any further negotiation of an alliance with Regan. In



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the Folio, Albany and Goneril enter “with drum and colours” (TLN 2864). Now, all of Lear’s daughters are defined by military dress. Goneril, cursed and attacked by her father, sees her country, her seat of power, now threatened by forces supporting him and her sister Cordelia. She has discovered that her former coruler, Regan, is positioning herself with Edmund, the husband she herself politically needs, the one for whom she risks everything. The Folio does not include Goneril’s melodramatic aside, “I had rather lose the battle than that sister / Should loosen him and me” (5.1.18–19). This comment paints her as a woman more concerned about personal matters than about critical matters of state. All Goneril’s actions belie the fact that she would “rather lose a battle.” The exchange begins with Albany’s report that Lear and Cordelia have joined forces with men fleeing the “rigour” of their rule. So although Albany has arrived with their troops, he still criticizes the sisters’ government. From their entrance, Albany and Goneril merely tolerate one another in a professional capacity. Obvious tension arises between them as they proceed with plans to protect the state. When Albany talks of Lear and Cordelia, Goneril, the “better Soldier” (TLN 2388; 4.5.4–5), as Oswald calls her, weary of her husband’s weakness, keeps them on track. The Folio omits at this point a number of Albany’s lines in which he talks of himself as needing to be “honest” to be “valiant” (5.1.23, 24). Foakes thinks the “lines were cut from F in order to remove another reference to the King of France” (Arden 359, n. 23–28). Perhaps; but deleting some of his sententiousness, as well as Edmund’s obsequious “Sir, you speak nobly” (5.1.23–28), also has the effect of diminishing Albany’s moral authority. The Folio has Goneril and Regan focus on the war at hand more succinctly than the Quarto. Regan’s line “Why is this reasoned?” (TLN 2869; 5.1.28) is followed by Goneril instructing Albany to concentrate on uniting their forces, not on debating politics. Here, Goneril’s harshness with Albany makes her impatience with his displaced loyalty and continuous equivocation unmistakable. She is strong in her instructions to Albany, who begrudgingly responds, “Let’s then determine with the ancient of war / On our proceeding” (TLN 2873–74; 5.1.32–33). Goneril and Edmund here share a knowing look, as if to say, Albany hesitates to take action against Lear; he must get approval from military experts. Regan witnesses this mutual exchange, and her distrust of them increases. The Folio omits both of Edmund’s responses to Albany, “Sir, you speak nobly” and “I shall attend you presently at your tent” (5.1.28, 34), projecting an Edmund less solicitous of the disapproving Albany. All exit except Goneril, and upon seeing this, Regan comes back to speak with her. The two women forced to redefine their political aspirations remain onstage, their relationship now undoubtedly adversarial. Wary of Goneril, Regan wants to prevent any private conference with Edmund that may



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undermine her tenuous position. The lines “Sister you’ll go with us?” and “ ‘Tis most convenient, pray go with us” (TLN 2875, 2877; 5.1.35, 37) lay bare Regan’s force of will in this matter. She must keep her political rival close at hand, and Goneril, by this time more confident in her hold over Edmund, obviously understands Regan’s meaning and acquiesces: “O ho, I know the Riddle, I will go” (TLN 2878; 5.1.38). She then exits behind Regan. When Edmund reenters, with his line “To both these Sisters have I sworn my love” (TLN 2902; 5.1.56), we understand that he manipulates them for his own agenda, enhancing his power base. They are already beginning to be erased from the scene.2 The sisters’ dependence on Edmund’s masculine presence evolves when they are bereft of the backing of their husbands, and a slide toward a reestablished patriarchy has begun. To return to a reading underlining family, picture that when Goneril enters, she sees Regan lying in a heap on the floor. She looks to Edmund for an explanation, but he shrugs his shoulders, as if to deny any responsibility for the besotted woman. Albany moves toward Regan and, picking her off of the floor, places her back on the chair, announcing, “Our very loving Sister, well be-met” (TLN 2865; 5.1.20), like a disapproving father straightening up a wayward child. He then delivers the news to Edmund that Lear and Cordelia have arrived with the defecting British soldiers. Here a fearful Albany feels that the people are turning against them and looks to Edmund for help. Albany, once again filled with weak hesitation even in the midst of war, talks of Cordelia and Lear. Uncertain what is happening, Regan asks, “Why is this reasoned?” (TLN 2869; 5.1.28). In readings prioritizing the emotional over the political, the sisters have clearly come a long, arduous way from the opening scene and their appeasement of Lear. The text provides no direct evidence that they dislike one another; their great psychological need and competition for Edmund notwithstanding, they are in this situation together. This small scene paves the way for the last one, in which one sister takes the life of the other and then kills herself. How does it come to this? Note that Goneril’s speech before the men leave addresses unity: Combine together ‘gainst the Enemy: For these domestic and particular broils, Are not the question here. (TLN2870–72; 5.1.29–31)

2 HOOVER: In this passage Goneril and Regan disappear as people (note that they are not even named) (“Lusty” 95).



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The “domestic and particular broils” include the sisters’ anxiety over their loveless lives and their desperate grasping for Edmund. So, for the last time, they can be envisioned as combining against the “Enemy”: their own inability to circumvent their family problems. They are, after all, sisters.3 Imagine that Regan tries to exit, but stumbles. Needing assistance to rise and walk out, she reluctantly asks Goneril, “Sister you’ll go with us?” But Goneril, tired and in pain herself, rejects the needs of her sister. “No” (TLN 2876; 5.1.36), she emphatically responds. Regan, rising unsteadily, falls to the floor. She looks up at Goneril and, with all of the strength she can muster, implores her, “ ‘Tis most convenient, pray go with us.” Worn down with urging Albany to do the “right” thing and frustrated with her sister’s alcoholism and deterioration, Goneril starts to move away. Regan, knowing that she has no choice but to beg for her sister’s aid, begins to whimper, whereupon Goneril turns to her, exhaustedly gives in, and says, “O ho, I know the Riddle, I will go.” Goneril knows that Regan can always depend on her, the old “Riddle,” meaning the learned behavior between the two sisters that defined their life together. Regan expects her to provide mothering, especially if she manipulates her older sister emotionally. The mother-and-child motif, so powerful in readings emphasizing the family, takes a different and poignant turn here. In a nurturing moment, one that proves, devastatingly, not her last toward her sister, Goneril helps the prostrate Regan off the floor and safely out. *

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Act 5, scene 2 Cordelia In this scene, the Folio stage direction reads, “Alarum within. Enter with Drum and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Soldiers, over the Stage, and Exeunt” (TLN 2918–19). In a reading focusing on the political ramifications of Lear’s distribution of his kingdom, the brief battle indicated at the beginning of this scene is quite significant. This clash of bloody violence that has sprung from Lear’s initial love test further perpetuates the ruin of Lear’s house, with British

3 MITCHELL: Sibling relations prioritize experiences such as the fear of annihilation, a fear associated with girls, in contrast to the male fear of castration . . . [ This fear is often the] loss of love [exhibited by] an excessive narcissism which needs to be confirmed by being the object, not subject, of love (3–4).



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soldiers fighting against French invaders. Picture an armored Cordelia, much like Joan of Arc, fearlessly leading her men into battle as Lear stands safely off in the distance. The British begin to overtake the French forces, capturing an unaware Lear. The soldiers then use him to force Cordelia’s surrender. The French army surrenders, and Cordelia and Lear are taken off as prisoners. Alternately, a reading more focused on family relationships could show French soldiers moving across the stage in pursuit of British forces, with Cordelia assisting a rather frail Lear behind them. Lear, in obvious need of a rest, pauses to catch his breath. As he does this, a pious Cordelia unexpectedly kneels down to pray to God for victory. Lear watches with wonder as his daughter becomes lost in prayer. British soldiers enter, unnoticed by the two. They approach with weapons drawn. Lear, seeing these men and uncertain what to do, taps Cordelia on the shoulder to rouse her from her religious trance. Cordelia looks up, rises, and without resistance offers herself up as a prisoner. As she does this, she looks up to God, acknowledging his will. Lear, following her lead, does the same. The British soldiers react with astonishment that they can apprehend Lear and Cordelia so easily. They then lead the captured pair off.4 At this juncture, a short speechless scene can further the action by explaining how Goneril becomes implicated in the capture of her sister and father. Imagine that as the men exit with their prisoners, Edmund and Goneril come onto the stage in silent, heated conference. Edmund, holding a paper, insists that Goneril sign her name to it. Obviously conflicted, she hesitates; Edmund begins to walk away, tactically rejecting her. This familiar desertion causes Goneril to relent, so she moves toward him. She reluctantly signs her name to the paper condemning her father and sister. After signing it, her nervous fingers return to rubbing her temples, whereupon Edmund, removing her hands and taking them in his, leads her off. * *

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Act 5, scene 3 Cordelia The overburdened plot of this last, long, complex scene with its many male characters appears to reduce the women to stock characterizations. 4 Millard contends that Cordelia’s political desires are at odds with her daughterly ones (143–44).



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But the text provides ways to see Lear’s daughters anew. The scene’s military setting is paramount. The Folio’s stage directions at the beginning of 5.3 state, “Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Soldiers, Captain” (TLN 2938–39). R. A. Foakes notes, “The entry in F is more elaborate than in Q, and again calls for the colours of the British forces to be displayed” (Arden 364, n. 5.3.0.1–3). The Folio’s emphasis on a British military victory points up the capture of Cordelia and Lear as enemy combatants. Envision other French prisoners accompanying them onto the stage to accentuate the politics. Edmund demonstrates strategic acumen when he dishonestly assures the prisoners and soldiers alike that the rulers, that is, Goneril, Albany, and Regan, will determine Lear’s and Cordelia’s punishment. The formerly privileged Cordelia has again suffered a severe blow, but this time she will be unable to change the outcome. Bitterly regretting her attempt to help Lear results in her imprisonment—she now plainly sees she will give up her freedom for him. Her tone recalls the rebellious and courageous daughter in the first scene, her righteous indignation at defeat and capture articulated in strong protestations: For thee oppressed King I am cast down, Myself could else outfrown false Fortune’s frown. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? (TLN 2945–47; 5.3.5–7)

In some readings, Cordelia may even be connecting her own actions to her demise. Millard interestingly likens her agency to Edgar’s, in that she leads her father to Dover, but with Lear “the fall is real.” She cannot successfully bring together her goals of general and daughter (156).5 Cordelia here screams for a face-to-face meeting with Goneril and Regan. As a fallen queen, she demands to confront the enemies she created by her invasion, to negotiate or at least understand this defeat. These, her last words in the play, concern Goneril and Regan, not Lear. Unable to accept that she will be imprisoned without being allowed to face them, 5 Berger also sees some recognition of responsibility in the tenor of Cordelia’s regal “oddly formal, aphoristic, remote” last lines. He says that although “she moves into couplets with the old consolation (more sinned against than sinning),” she shows some sense of personal responsibility in her use of “incurr’d” (46). Lear’s speech is seen to be in part a comment on her labeling him “oppressed King,” which, Berger maintains, “has the force of a tactful oxymoron—balancing his dignity against his plight—yet Cordelia’s practice of addressing Lear only by his royal titles in the reunion scene seems less positive and affectionate here, a little too cool” (46). Rosenberg notes how Cordelia is “still formal, still untender” (298). Whittier notes her “male rhetorical stance, a model military stoicism” (392).



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she struggles with her guard, while another soldier helps to restrain the enraged Cordelia. Lear will not pursue confronting Goneril and Regan, nor will he allow Cordelia to hear their side of the story. By this point in the play, he has reconstructed a more acceptable version of each daughter, casting Goneril and Regan unnatural monsters and himself as the wronged victim. Here he remakes Cordelia, reducing this queen to the role of caregiver, usurping her life figuratively as well as literally, as he claims her existence as retribution for his imagined injustices. Lear, seeing their future in prison as a fantasy wherein he lives alone with his favored daughter, silences Cordelia with “No, no, no, no: come let’s away to prison, / We two alone will sing like Birds i’the Cage” (TLN 2948–49; 5.3.8–9). This speech, like his ravings in the previous act, eloquently represents his distorted view of reality, a painfully ruptured construct in which the diminished Lear must endure his daughters’ greater agency. In act 4, he condemned concepts of justice and then pointedly, sexuality, in self-serving, misogynist configurations, his oftentimes poignant and mad declarations drowned in a sea of self-pity. Here he characterizes Cordelia and himself as “God’s spies” (TLN 2957; 5.3.17) in a last little projected intrigue by this man consumed with power. Lear happily anticipates the sacrifice of prison life with Cordelia, a new version of his initial “kind nursery.” Now that his youngest daughter resigns her own position and identity, he finds remedy in “such sacrifices” (TLN 2961; 5.3.20) with this skewed vision of their imprisonment. An indeed pitiful, but ultimately irresponsible, man, Lear constructed a world with blind disregard for others. His world, along with his mind, is forever lost. Even his offer to “kneel down” is suspect in this context. Estok puts it bluntly: Lear is “re-enacting the bizarrely carnivalesque inversion of power relations that have come to characterize him.” He is in essence the “same stupid old man that he was and is no more able to accept the terms of Cordelia’s love now than he was at the beginning of the play” (32). Cordelia, the avenging queen, listens incredulously as her father weaves a bizarre tale of their future life together. Unable to escape the path she sought to avoid when she refused to love her father all, she now understands that she will indeed serve such a sentence. Her forceful father, now reduced to a feeble creature, longs to envelop her in his pathetic cocoon. Picture Lear giggling and patting her as he describes their years together, and Cordelia standing humiliated before the soldiers and Edmund. She knows that her father’s fragile grasp on reality has failed and that senility has taken hold. When Lear joyously exclaims, “Have I caught thee?” (TLN 2963; 5.3.21),6 he puts his tied hands around Cordelia’s neck in an attempt at

6

BERGER: We never learn how Cordelia feels about being caught (47).



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an embrace. She has fought to put on a strong front, but Lear’s irrational behavior now overwhelms her, and tears begin to run down her face. Stanley Cavell asks provocatively, “But why is she in tears? Why does Lear think she is?” and concludes that Lear projects his own reasons. “But her reasons for tears do not occur to him . . . she sees him as he is” and “must again sacrifice” herself; Lear once “again abdicate[s] his responsibilities” (72). Before exiting, Lear, ever the monarch, commands Cordelia to “come” (TLN 2968; 5.3.26), “as if the decision is his to make” (301), as Rosenberg wryly notes. Refusing to look at either Lear or the men surrounding her, Cordelia is ushered out by the soldiers as Lear scurries behind her. All her efforts to subvert the violent and hypocritical world she perceived at the beginning of the play bring on more violence and less personal freedom and power for herself. The ruthlessness of the culture around her ultimately crushes Cordelia, who, like her sisters, fails to find independence. Looking to secure his power, Edmund reasons that the foolhardy Albany will surely allow Cordelia and Lear to live, thus creating an unstable political environment. He therefore sends the Captain with assassination orders. Fashioning an interpretation around love drastically alters the way the last scenes are staged. Readings tracing military agency portray the sisters acting out of a desire to retain power at all costs; psychological readings focusing on family and relationships show the sisters attempting to retain love to the end. The scene begins with Edmund entering, accompanied by the soldiers holding Lear and Cordelia. Edmund dismissively demands their removal to prison. Here, a religious Cordelia approaches Edmund and forgivingly pronounces to him, “We are not the first, / Who with best meaning have incurred the worst” (TLN 2943–44; 5.3.3–4). Edmund looks at this bizarre woman. To press her point, Cordelia raises her eyes to the heavens. Then the martyred Cordelia, as she envisions herself, moves to her father, saying, “For thee oppressed King I am cast down, / Myself could else outfrown false Fortune’s frown.” She sees herself akin to Christ and is speaking to her father as Jesus would to God. The clearly fragile Lear appears infatuated with this saintlike and otherworldly daughter.7 Before him stands

7 BOOSE: [T]he father who imagined that he “gave his daughters all” extracts from his daughter at the end of the play the same price he demanded in the opening scene—that she love her father all . . . And for all the poignancy of [Cordelia and Lear’s] reunion, the father’s intransigence—which in this play both initiates and conditions the tragedy—remains unchanged: it is still writ large in his fantasy that he and his daughter will be forever imprisoned together like birds in a cage. At the end of the play, excluding any thought of Cordelia’s new life with France, Lear focuses solely on the father-daughter merger, which he joyfully



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not a woman of flesh and blood, but a daughter sacrificing all for him, someone he could truly love. 8 In whatever rendering, Lear lives only in his domestic tragedy, not in a political one. He reconfigures Cordelia as his recuperative nurse, as a mother figure, allowing him safely to regress into infantilism. He has never fully recovered from his psychotic, alcohol-induced breakdown. Cordelia as saint has inspired many critical studies, but most critics glorify her into a superhuman female character, a symbol of virtue and sacrifice. This assessment derives from Lear’s fatally flawed perspective: in his eyes, a child sacrificing herself for her father transcends mortal imperfection. But a re-visioning of Cordelia as saint reveals a woman trying to extricate herself from the patriarchal demands of an arranged marriage and the drunken excesses of her family. She turned to religion for help, but it ironically leads her back to Lear as his savior. So she becomes the saint in her own and Lear’s eyes, but with a very different effect. She embraces the role and, like her father, becomes unhinged in her passion. Cordelia’s version of sainthood is irrevocably intertwined with Lear’s demands.9 Even the “gilded Butterflies” (TLN 2953; 5.3.13) of Lear’s demented illusion fulfill his agenda, his union with the mother.10 Cordelia then moves away from Lear, looks up to God, and asks, “Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters?” The mention of his other daughters in this version shocks Lear, who refuses to let them interfere with this dream. “No, no, no, no” he exclaims, “come let’s away to prison” (TLN 2948; 5.3.8). He does not want to work through the past.11 This

envisions (“The Father” 335). Berger comments that Lear banishes Cordelia once more, this time to prison (47). See Dundes for Cordelia’s “Electral complex fantasy” (363). 8 Byles notes Cordelia’s loss of self (39). 9 ADELMAN: [Cordelia’s death is the] prerequisite for his new emotional openness [and a] punishment for the desire he has invested in her. For the mother that threatens to suffocate Lear by his sheer need of her must herself be suffocated: that is the price Cordelia pays for acquiring the power of the displaced and occluded mother (Suffocating 128). See Craig on Lear attempting to return to the maternal sphere (11). 10 ADELMAN: Recasting the walled prison in the image of the walled garden, complete with birds and butterflies, Lear in effect transforms it into a spatialized form of the unfallen maternal body in which he initially sought shelter, the representation of Cordelia’s idealized virgin body . . . recapturing the kind nursery denied him in 1.1 (Suffocating 121). 11 ERICKSON: Authentic communication between father and daughter has ceased. To Cordelia’s gentle nudge, “Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?” (5.3.7), Lear can offer only flat resistance . . . Cordelia is subsumed in the escapist vision Lear constructs for both of them: she is not consulted: her part is once again to “Love, and be silent” (1.1.62). This appropriation of Cordelia is not an act of love but a violation of it that echoes and



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resistance to seeing his other daughters reveals Lear’s true blindness.12 Coppélia Kahn, following Lear’s faulty reasoning through to its logical conclusion, argues that he cannot see them without relinquishing his driving fantasies about Cordelia’s goodness defeating them. Further, prison life with her becomes a “nursery in which Cordelia has no independent being and exists solely for her father” (“Absent” 49). Lear has his emotional delusion realized in this short scene. He still speaks for Cordelia,13 and in his great plan for solace, manages to supplant her husband,14 a pivotal fact for readings exploring the overtones of sexual impropriety in their relationship. Lear longs desperately to maintain a solitary, monastic life with this saintly woman, sent by God to care for him in his old age. Up to this point we doubt Lear’s own religious beliefs,15 but now he begins ingratiating himself into Cordelia’s religious fantasy, as revealed by the lines “When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down / And ask of thee forgiveness” and “So we’ll live, / And pray” (TLN 2950–52; 5.3.10–12). He most blatantly anticipates a spiritual scenario in his lines “And take upon’s the mystery of things, / As if we were God’s spies” (TLN2956–57; 5.3.16–17). He checks to see whether Cordelia understands that he also sees himself as God’s servant. Nodding and smiling, Lear seeks her approval with each new thought. Another interpretation traces the disastrous results of incest. Quilligan, arguing for Cordelia’s necessary death in light of her relations with Lear, maintains that “Cordelia is finally punished for acceding to her father’s incestuous desires” (5). Quilligan discusses how “worst” could refer to incest in Cordelia’s “We are not the first, / Who with best meaning have incurred the worst” (227–8). If so, then Cordelia could be admitting complicity. Regardless of the Renaissance view of culpability,16 Cordelia could still be a daughter damaged irrevocably repeats Lear’s ritual of possessiveness in the opening scene (114). See Adelman on how Lear denies Cordelia’s wishes here (Suffocating 122). 12 Smiley points up Lear’s deserved shame (“Shakespeare” 161). 13 Byles sees that Lear usurps Cordelia’s language here (55). 14 CAVELL: Now, at the end [in his birds in a cage speech], Lear returns her pledge with his lover’s song, his invitation to voyage . . . The fantasy of this speech is as full of detail as a daydream, and it is clearly a happy dream for Lear (69). See Berger on how Lear triumphs over France by replacing him (47). 15 DREHER: A prideful, powerful man, [Lear] is spiritually impoverished. There are many references to the gods in this play, but most of them are curses (73). 16 QUILLIGAN: Our twenty-first-century sensibilities do not allow us to blame someone who is clearly a victim, but we differ from the Renaissance in this (215).



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by this sexual relationship. From its start, this liaison colors all of her words and actions. She mistakenly believes in a mutual, loving bond with her abuser, or she may feel she is responsible for the inappropriate connection. Yet another view has Cordelia thinking that her impending marriage at the beginning of the play constitutes an escape from sexual abuse, hence her angry assertion of independence. In interpretations suggesting incest, she either punishes Lear for forcing her to marry another, or she evades the abuse by such a marriage. Regardless, Lear exerts abnormal control over her. Despite Cordelia’s motivations regarding incest, she now has no choice in the matter. Her return and capture make her Lear’s wife, or once again, his plaything, his little bird. In such a reading, calling out to see her sisters is a pathetic cry for help. Lear squelches any chance of her seeing Goneril and Regan and instead takes full ownership of her. Another possibility is that a religious Cordelia, overcome by her father’s conversion, silently weeps tears of joy. Lear brands his daughter a saint when he tells her, “Upon such sacrifices my Cordelia, / The Gods themselves throw Incense” (TLN 2961–62; 5.3.20–21). Picture Cordelia raising her arms in a gesture of thankful humility, causing Lear to celebrate his success by hugging her with, “Have I caught thee?”17 He then breaks off the embrace to catch Cordelia’s gaze, assuring her, “He that parts us, shall bring a Brand from Heaven” (TLN 2964; 5.3.22). Lear, anxious to begin their religious life together, impatiently orders the soldiers to “come,” announcing his readiness. Cordelia moves past Edmund, giving him a sign of blessing. To develop the incest theme further, these same lines could be enacted much like Lear’s fantasy wedding ceremony. As he forces Cordelia to her knees, he says, “Upon such sacrifices my Cordelia. / The Gods themselves throw Incense,” intimating that her acceptance is celebrated by the gods. “Have I caught thee?” is now the anxious new husband’s question after he forcefully and passionately kisses his bride. His last declaration, “He that parts us shall bring a Brand from Heaven,” is a veiled threat to the disgusted men around them. However interpreted, Lear has achieved his goals.18 He has not mended his imperious ways: “We’ll see ’em starv’d first” (TLN 2968; 5.3.26), as Rosenberg notes, is

17

Craig examines Cordelia’s silence after this speech (12). DREHER: As he is led away to prison, he feels that he has everything he has ever wanted: Cordelia’s love exclusively. The rest of the world may pass away, for he finally has her all to himself (74). 18



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“spoken with his old virulence, with his old compulsion to punishment and revenge under the mask of justice” (301).19 A religious Cordelia is mute, as many have noted, 20 returning her to the ineffability she claimed in the first scene. Now she silently leaves both the stage and the play.

19 ERICKSON: “Have I caught thee?” (5.3.20–21). [Cordelia’s] compliance thus caught, verbal assent is unnecessary: Cordelia accepts her “plight” (1.1.101) by crying. But Lear insists that she stifle her tears as he lapses into the mode of vengeful defiance that blots self-awareness (115). 20 KAHN, P.: Does she think her father insane? Should we think him insane? The next time we see Cordelia, she is dead (164). Rosenberg notes her loss of language as well as loss of freedom (300). See Berger for how Lear offers to kneel again to Cordelia (47).



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Patriarchy Restored: Duplicity and Death (Act 5, scene 3 [Goneril and Regan])

Act 5, scene 3 Regan and Goneril The death of the entire Lear family completes the tragedy, and this last part of the long final scene provides new options for viewing the older daughters. Goneril, Albany, and a visibly shaken Regan, confused by her weakened (i.e., poisoned) physical condition, enter with soldiers. In a military interpretation, the exchange at the entrance of the victors is all about individuals positioning themselves after their triumph has given them ultimate authority. Albany, professing true loyalty to Lear, a man whom he battles against, strategically shifts alliances throughout the story. He compliments Edmund on the day’s battle and then asks about Lear and Cordelia. Edmund explains that for safety’s sake he has removed them to a place of detention. The Folio omits his more moralistic lines (5.3.55–59), so Albany’s rebuke follows Edmund’s lies about his disposition of Cordelia and Lear: “ . . . they are ready . . . Where you should hold your Session” (TLN 2995, 2997; 5.3.53, 55). The changes in the Folio streamline the script and cut some of the men’s aphorisms, placing more emphasis on Cordelia and Lear. Since Albany has read Edgar’s letter exposing Goneril’s plan to assassinate him and marry Edmund, he is now ready to confront



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. . . He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacy may well stand up, And call itself your Brother. (TLN 3003–06; 5.3.64–67)

This open declaration cannot be left unanswered by the strategic Goneril, who must find a way to protest without revealing herself to Albany. Her corrective response is as far as she dare go: Not so hot: In his own grace he doth exalt himself, More than in your addition. (TLN 3007–09; 5.3.67–69)

Goneril’s unnecessary defense demonstrates her obsession with Edmund, whose acquisition consumes the once politically savvy queen. Goneril, unable to stop herself, has no real need to spar with her poisoned sister. A living Regan endangers Goneril’s rule, and Goneril reacts with patriarchal violence. She may, however, be unsure about the efficacy of the poison. Regan knows that Goneril cannot blatantly object to her claiming of Edmund. To do so would reveal Goneril’s own contract with him in front of her husband, Albany. Regan continues to push her point: “In my rights, / By me invested, he compeers the best” (TLN 3010–11; 5.3.69–70). The Folio gives Albany the next line: “That were the most, if he should husband you” (TLN 3112; 5.3.71). Albany’s interjection into the wrangling between Goneril and Regan jars them both. And Regan’s rather curt reply speaks to this marriage possibility between herself and Edmund: “Jesters do oft prove Prophets” (TLN 3013; 5.3.72). Once again, Goneril cannot let this go without a comeback, and the argument accelerates to a showdown. Regan now announces her plans to marry Edmund and thus gain the power advantage over her sister. Goneril no longer contains herself, and regardless of Albany’s presence, reveals her indignation. A far more incautious woman, one struggling to maintain her power base, replaces the once-confident and judicious Goneril: “Mean you to enjoy him?” (TLN 3022; 5.3.79). Albany now corrects his bold wife by asserting, “The let-alone lies not in your good will,” to which the hitherto silent Edmund retorts, “Nor in thine Lord” (TLN 3023–24; 5.3.80–81).



the unsuspecting Edmund, hence his reprimand: “I hold you but a subject of this War, / Not as a Brother” (TLN 2999–3000; 5.3.61–62). Regan, a bit unsure on her feet, comes to Edmund’s defense, seizing the moment to make her public stand:

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The gloves are now off for all, and Albany openly insults Edmund, asserting his class privilege, by responding, “Half-blooded fellow, yes” (TLN 3025; 5.3.81). This leads directly to Albany’s arresting Edmund for treason and implicating Goneril as well. His humorous response to Regan offers a new view of the otherwise-stern Albany: . . . for your claim fair Sisters, I bar it in the interest of my wife, ˇ Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord. (TLN 3029–31; 5.3.85–87)

Goneril’s metatheatrical line, “An interlude” (TLN 3035; 5.3.90), added in the Folio, allows her some wry drollness.1 Fully aware of her desperate straits, she still responds as a leader who understands an absurd predicament. Albany now sounds the trumpets requested by Edgar. Regan’s condition has worsened to the point where she cries, “Sick, O sick” (TLN 3043; 5.3.96). And once again, with the same kind of dark humor, Goneril responds with the aside, “If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine” (TLN 3044; 5.3.97). McLeod thinks that the Folio change from “poison” to “medicine” demonstrates, as does her earlier “An interlude,” that “her wit reappears” (186). Despite her dire circumstances, Goneril proves formidable. Like Regan in the blinding scene, Goneril has crossed the line, embracing her father’s definition of monarchy. A soldier escorts the quickly failing Regan off. Thus, the last conversation between the sisters in the play can be interpreted with a full understanding of the competition for Edmund, but without the usual antifeminist reduction of both Goneril and Regan. In readings focusing on familial relationships, this exchange could be seen to unfold from considerably different emotions. Visualize that Albany enters, followed by Goneril guiding in a very unsteady Regan. Placing her pathetic sister gently on the ground, Goneril attempts several times to take a bottle from her clutching hands. Regan repeatedly pushes her away and drinks the contents down. This is the bottle that Goneril, believing her self-destructive sister to be beyond saving, has spiked with poison. Knowing that her course cannot be changed, Goneril recognizes she will indeed kill her sister. Albany’s demand for the captives, Lear and Cordelia, brings about the heated discussion of Edmund’s position. Regan is barely able to follow the conversation; she does, however, hear Albany deny Edmund’s status as “Brother” (TLN 3000; 5.3.62). Alcohol makes her bold. Impatient with her

1

McLeod believes she is commenting on her husband’s farcical protestations (187–88).



Patriarchy Restored


insipid brother-in-law, she does not suppress her anger. From the ground, slurring her speech and working hard to order her thoughts, she tries to make her point clear. Goneril, witnessing her damaged sister sink further and further into wretchedness, is both embarrassed and helpless. Regan, publicly humiliating herself, can no longer manage to stand upright or talk with clarity. This is the sister Goneril has always loved and protected. Watching Regan drink herself to death finally becomes too much to bear for the similarly fragile Goneril, who in a moment of desperation decided to hasten Regan’s painfully slow demise by giving her poison. Herself extremely shattered emotionally, Goneril justifies poisoning her sister as a mercy killing. Although obviously conflicted, she tries to treat the dying Regan as best she can. Goneril, now at the end of her own rope, strives to find a way to let Regan know that Edmund is hers. Picture Goneril sitting next to her sister, patiently explaining, not jealously spitting out, “Not so hot: / In his own grace he doth exalt himself.” Her drugged sister is incapable of understanding Goneril and therefore tries to explain her position once again with “In my rights, / By me invested, he compeers the best.” Albany finds this pathetic scene to his liking. His overt disapproval of both sisters has expanded into hatred for his unfaithful wife and even some jealousy for the apparently desirable Edmund. He chimes in to confront the vulnerable Regan: “That were the most, if he should husband you.” Although this may seem to confer more power on Albany, the line is typical for him, for he is concerned with marrying women off, aligning them with men. A confused Regan begins to tear up as she answers her now-intolerable brother-in-law: “Jesters do oft prove Prophets.” Goneril, attempting to assure Edmund of her commitment, tries to tell her sister she is mistaken: “Holla, holla, / That eye that told you so, looked but asquint” (TLN 3014–15; 5.3.72–73). In this reading, the proverbial lines of Regan and Goneril are directed to the sententious Albany, not to each other, making them less adversarial and petty than most productions show. Regan fades quickly, reacting physically to both the alcohol poisoning and the actual poison. Trying to hold off the vomit swelling in her throat, she gathers all of her remaining strength and momentarily rises to announce first to Goneril, then to Edmund, and then to all present that she will have Edmund. The Folio adds the line “Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine” (TLN 3019; 5.3.77) to Regan’s speech. This strange, metaphoric self-reference seems to be enhancing her subservience to Edmund, to which Goneril replies, “Mean you to enjoy him?” Goneril reacts to Regan’s self-negation, questioning her ability to enjoy him if he is, as she says, her “Lord, and Master” (TLN 3021; 5.3.79). Regan’s domestic and subservient phrase, directly following the desperate “Witness the world,” demonstrates to all her dire emotional need for Edmund, her replacement for Cornwall and, ultimately, Lear. 10.1057/9780230111516 - Re-Visioning Lear's Daughters, Lesley Kordecki and Karla Koskinen


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Imagine Goneril, with tears in her eyes, pulling her sister back to her side to ask her, “Mean you to enjoy him?” Goneril, whose own grasp is slipping, strains to believe that Regan purposely ruins her only chance for happiness by claiming Edmund. Albany breaks into their conversation with “The let-alone lies not in your good will.” Realizing that Regan’s pledge grants him desired authority, Edmund finally speaks. Although not wishing to alienate Albany, he will not allow him to block his way. Edmund pointedly responds to Albany’s suggestion of Goneril’s powerlessness with “Nor in thine Lord.” Albany now seizes the moment, calling him a bastard, “Half-blooded fellow, yes,” forcefully thrusting Edmund’s familial deficit upon him once again. Regan delivers her final line, reassigned by the Folio from Edmund, as a last-ditch effort to win the game she no longer understands: “Let the Drum strike, and prove my title thine” (TLN 3026; 5.3.82). Similar to Albany’s added “Let the Trumpet sound” (TLN 3037; 5.3.91), this line enhances the duel. After this, she collapses into Goneril’s arms. Goneril strokes her head and wipes the sweat from her brow, rocking her sister back and forth like a child. Albany tries to revive his ailing sister-in-law with “Stay yet” (TLN 3027; 5.3.83), but she is too far gone. Albany next accuses Edmund of treason and, by association, his wife. Imagine that Goneril now unwinds herself from her sister, rises, and moves away. Albany kneels down to Regan, curled up in a fetal position holding her stomach. He tries to reach her by saying, “ . . . for your claim fair Sisters, / I bar it in the interest of my wife” (TLN 3029–30; 5.3.85–86). Taking the ailing Regan into his arms, he glares at Goneril and replies, “If you will marry, make your loves to me, / My Lady is bespoke” (TLN 3033–34; 5.3.89–90). Goneril, disgusted and confused, looks at this perennially unsupportive man, shakes her head, and answers, “An interlude,”2 as if to point out that the man who never involved himself in any of the events that have taken place thus far has waited until this apocalyptic moment to act. Goneril is responding to Albany’s silly characterization of her—“My Lady is bespoke”—pointing up, among other things, Albany’s dishonest motivation, fighting for a woman he loathes. Regan begins to gag and feebly utter, “Sick, O sick,” whereupon Goneril moves to her sister. Instead of speaking the line as an aside, as is universally staged, this Goneril takes her sister’s head in her hands and, wiping the vomit from her mouth, tells her, “If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine.” Foakes believes that “Goneril’s ‘sick’ joke is stronger in F” (Arden 372, n. 97), but here she seriously thinks that the poison is a “medicine” for her disturbed sister. Regan, staring at Goneril, now understands that her sister has drugged

2

See McLeod for how the variations show the Folio Goneril as “self-possessed” (185).



Patriarchy Restored


her drink. Poisoned by both her frustrated needs and the competition that such desperation instills, Regan falls prey to the cruel realities of the Lear family. She gazes at Goneril with a faint smile and, knowingly taking the bottle, drinks the rest of the contents. Then Regan whimpers, “My sickness grows upon me” (TLN 3055; 5.3.105). Goneril hugs her sister close to her, but Albany orders a servant to take Regan out. At the last minute, Goneril kisses the dying woman, who reaches up to touch her older sister’s cheek. When the servant begins to carry Regan out and a weeping Goneril attempts to follow, Albany once again thwarts her. He bars her from leaving with Regan, motioning to a soldier to apprehend her. Power maneuvers uncover the significance of Goneril’s final moments alive. The summoned Edgar now arrives to avenge the wrongs committed by Edmund. Goneril remains to witness the battle between Edgar and Edmund. When Edmund is wounded, Goneril runs to him, chastising his rash, unnecessary behavior. A perceptive political leader, she contends that Edmund was tricked into this trial. This reading makes sense of her last words to him, which are filled not with sentiment but with strategy, as befits a military ally. She knows the laws of war and accuses both Albany and Edgar of breaking those laws by bringing in a disguised man. She tells Edmund he was not defeated legitimately but was cheated by these disreputable practices. A powerful Goneril here confronts these usurpers to the end. The Folio makes the next action quite different from the action in the Quarto version. In the Folio, Albany demands, “Shut your mouth Dame, / Or with this paper shall I stop it” (TLN 3112–13; 5.3.152–53) and then turns to confront Edmund with Goneril’s letter. The Quarto omits Albany’s “hold Sir” (TLN 3113; 5.3.153), with the result that his line “Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil” (TLN 3114; 5.3.154) is now directed to Goneril. In the Folio, Albany does not accuse Goneril of “evil”; that accusation is unequivocally directed at Edmund. Goneril apparently intervenes in an attempt to destroy the evidence against her. When Albany tells her, “No tearing Lady, I perceive you know it” (TLN 3115; 5.3.155), a desperate Goneril responds with defiant strength: “Say if I do, the Laws are mine not thine, / Who can arraign me for’t?” (TLN 3116–17; 5.3.156–57). She laughs bitterly as she knowingly admits the fleeting nature of the power she once held. When Albany confronts her with her letter, she refers to the “Laws” again and insists that they are hers, but of course they are not and never really were in this patriarchy.3

3 ALFAR: [Albany’s] invocation of the law demanding her submission as a woman conflicts with her role as monarch and stimulates her contempt (102).



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As an act of defiance after she spits out her last line, she repeats the stopspeech gesture she learned from Lear with pointed finality. She sharply puts her hand up to prohibit Albany’s response, walking out with her head held high. Albany watches her go before he labels her “Most monstrous!” (TLN 3118; 5.3.157). The Quarto gives her an additional line, “Ask me not what I know” (5.3.158), which weakens Goneril. In the Folio, Goneril exits as a defiant head of state, not a cringing woman.4 The world has clearly unraveled for both Regan and Goneril. Their psyches have become consumed by the power they sought to retain, leading them to more and more violent actions. Goneril’s poisoning of her sister still remains the vile act of a desperate woman, Goneril’s first act of violence outside her wartime duties. Her letter to Edmund urged him to “cut” Albany “off” (TLN 2717; 4.6.258–59), but this is the sentence of a strong, indeed imperious, leader toward an unfaithful underling. Regan’s participation in Gloucester’s blinding and Goneril’s brutal acts, all a result of their father’s legacy, contribute to the sisters’ deterioration and eventual destruction. Another way to play this scene is to suffuse Goneril’s last moments with the entire family’s driving emotions. When a disguised Edgar battles with Edmund, Goneril openly weeps as her world crashes down around her. She breaks free of the soldier restraining her and runs to the fallen Edmund. Holding and kissing him, she speaks through her tears. Goneril, discerning to the end, explains to Edmund that he was tricked into the duel with Edgar. The distraught Goneril pleads for her wounded lover to understand the folly of his actions as if he can somehow undo them. Picture her desperately attempting to stop his bleeding by pressing the skirt of her dress into the wound. Albany moves to the couple and, shoving Goneril’s letter into their faces, spits out, “Shut your mouth Dame, / Or with this paper shall I stop it.” Edmund here tries to save Goneril, grabbing at the paper. Albany rips it away with “hold Sir,” and Goneril herself lunges for the letter. Although realizing the worthlessness of her life, she longs to destroy evidence of her folly. Albany stops Goneril, demanding her confession. “No tearing Lady, I perceive you know it.” Positioned between the two men, Goneril looks back and forth at them both. She stands utterly defeated by the world’s cruelty, tears rolling down her face, and declaims her final words to the heavens: “Say if I do, the Laws are mine, not thine.” In this reading, she confronts God, if one exists in this wretched land, claiming she will not

4

McLeod notes that the Quarto Goneril exits “defeated and shamefaced” (188).



Patriarchy Restored


obey a deity who allows such destruction. She then walks slowly off the stage followed by the soldier Albany orders to accompany her. And what of Goneril’s suicide? Many think she kills herself because she loses Edmund and all hope of escaping Albany’s judgment. From this standpoint, her last words do not indicate legalistic defeat, but rather a defiant, nihilistic response to her abandonment by a higher power. Something has happened to Goneril. She makes an end to the journey she began in this disturbed family.5 She has just ended the life of a sister after defending her country against the imperious attack of another sister. She has just seen the man she hoped would truly care for her killed by his own brother’s chivalric vainglory. Sibling murder abounds.6 When Goneril leaves the stage, the last surviving daughter of Lear proceeds to complete the devastation of the family. In a military reading, the brothers’ duel is an aggressive, primitive ritual fully accepted by this fierce kingdom. Notably, Edgar’s “dark and vicious place” line (TLN 3133; 5.3.170), a disturbingly antifeminist description of the body of Edmund’s unknown mother, is delivered very soon after the last living woman leaves the stage to a completely male cast of characters. Edmund’s mention of “pleasant vices” (TLN 3131–34; 5.3.168–71) appears to refer to Gloucester’s adultery, bringing the play full circle to the bawdy jokes of the first scene, and the vile characterization of Edmund’s mother’s body is a comment on intrusive women, like Goneril, all now erased from the stage and from the seat of power. The Folio also omits a long speech by Edgar (5.3.203–20), not solely a recapitulation of Gloucester’s death. This cut may indeed tighten the last scene, but also, with Kent’s reaction to the death of Gloucester gone, a temptation to glamorize Kent and to make his point of view central is resisted. Then, a Gentleman runs onstage crying for help; he proclaims that Goneril has stabbed and killed herself. He is unmistakably upset by this horrible turn of events, his emotional response heightening the tragic outcome. Goneril becomes her own judge, jury, and executioner. Her final act is once again a strong one, a leader’s move in a violent society. She is taking responsibility for poisoning her sister. In this way, she eschews her father’s example and admits to her actions before her death.

5 Rangarajan and Kelly explain that in cases of parental alcoholism, “[i]ndividuals with low self-esteem are at risk for depressive reactions, including suicidal ideations” (656). 6 MITCHELL: [The] psychic means through which siblinghood is negotiated are crucial. The splitting of the ego and object, identification and projection, and the simultaneous reversal of love and hate [can be processed in both constructive and destructive ways.] . . . [Sibling theory reveals the] interpenetration of violence, power and non-reproductive sexuality; for the engendering of gender as a difference forged out of the matrix of sameness (225).



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Her violent suicide should not come as a surprise. This choice is often associated with heightened military zeal.7 But her suicide also resonates with strength, even after the crushing defeat of her plans. This act may indeed make sense for a monarch and suggests a very different reading of the death of both women.8 Goneril is a ruler unrepentant of her comparatively few crimes, and she becomes the ultimate general by the end of the play. She has taken a strong hand with her raging father, a strong hand with the defense of her country, and a strong hand with her strategic alliance with Edmund. Even the poisoning of Regan is a part of her royal power struggle. Goneril sees Regan’s murder as an assassination of a political rival, one who threatens to take the last remaining formidable consort in the patriarchy from her. Her actions become increasingly violent as she finds herself, despite her lifetime of preparation, a sovereign blocked from success. Although she takes her life like a defeated Roman general, her last lines signal that she tried to become a patriarchal leader, but needed to sacrifice her humanity to do so, much like the male leaders both dead and left standing at the end. But unlike them, by her very death she acknowledges this impossible moral environment where a woman cannot rule. Ironically, in this feminist interpretation, Goneril is indeed the “good” daughter, the one following in her father’s footsteps. At the end of the play, the script, in an uncharacteristic move,9 brings her and her dead sister on stage, strongly suggesting that all three daughters, not just the sanctified Cordelia, are integral to the tragedy. Readings problematizing authority now show that Albany has taken complete control of the scene. Albany calls the sisters’ gruesome deaths “This judgement of the Heavens” (TLN 3185; 5.3.230). Here were two women who tried to redefine their world. When they failed and adopted the militaristic approach of their father, it destroyed them. Imagine Goneril

7 SHATAN: [T]he military in general . . . use only one basic approach to train soldiers: they employ arbitrary coercion to set in motion a profound psychological regression that makes boys out of men . . . [T]his method is inseparable from its so-called excesses. The issue becomes, then, one of accepting or rejecting the need to produce soldiers, and especially suicide squads (589). 8 Alfar sees Goneril’s final act as one of “resistance” to her husband and the patriarchal system. Her “despair” is “not religious, but political.” She thinks that both daughters’ rejection of the status quo “suggest[s] a refusal on Shakespeare’s part to condemn them wholly for their actions” (102–3). 9 FOAKES: It is unusual for bodies to be brought on stage . . . Here Shakespeare wanted to have all three of Lear’s daughters dead on stage in this final scene, in order to recall and to contrast with the opening scene (Arden 382–83, n. 229). Halio makes a similar point (105).



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and Regan brought out on a wheeled wagon, placed in a kind of embrace, with Goneril clutching the baldric they once shared in common. One end of this baldric is draped over Regan as well. This same image was displayed at the end of 1.1, when the sisters first embarked on the journey of a new, progressive rule. Kent enters, having spent the battle behind the scenes disguised as the serving man Caius, in his characteristic role of spy. He asks after Lear and is shown the bodies of the dead sisters. Albany, apparently not surprised by Kent’s reappearance, remarks, “Seest thou this object Kent?” Kent then asks, “Alack, why thus?” (TLN 3194–95; 5.3.237), and Edmund informs him of what has happened. Despite their opposition, both Kent and Albany now seem on the same side. They take a minute to regard the fallen sisters. Albany’s only comment about his dead wife and her sister is that it “Touches us not with pity” (TLN 3186; 5.3.231), revealing not only his hatred, but also his ultimate complicity with the patriarchy. Albany has repeatedly linked the queens’ use of power with moral depravity, and at their deaths, they are again stripped of their authority. Edmund implicates Goneril in the death of Cordelia when he announces, “He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, / To hang Cordelia in the prison” (TLN 3211–12; 5.3.250–52). But earlier, Edmund states, “ . . . for my Writ / Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia” (TLN 3202–03; 5.3.243–44). Thus, Goneril’s part in the execution plan is ambiguous, given Edmund’s pronouncements. He is, however, near death at this point and may be motivated to prove that Goneril preferred him to her weak husband when he claims her collusion in the death warrant. Prior to Edmund mentioning “thy Wife,” the conversation had been taking place between the two brothers. Edmund’s shift to Albany, to whom he speaks these final words, is deliberate. He does not deliver his last lines to the brother who has killed him, but rather to Albany. Even in his ultimate moments, the ambitious Edmund in this reading uses the dead Goneril as a means to best her husband, playing one last power hand. Alternately, these moments announcing the deaths of Goneril and Regan can be powerfully imagined in psychological adaptations. Thus, when the distraught Gentleman enters carrying Goneril’s bloody knife, he obviously mourns her death, his cries for help suggesting his distraught state. He attempts to report the event, but distress cuts off his thought: “ ˇ Tis hot, it smokes, it came even from the heart of—O she’s dead” (TLN 3175–76; 5.3.222–23). The Folio includes the final “O she’s dead,” and this “O” adds to the man’s heightened emotion. Goneril is not an unloved, malignant woman, but one who earned loyalty and profound grief. The Gentleman then explains, “Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister / By her is poisoned: she confesses it” (TLN 3177–78; 5.3.225–26). A repentant Edmund then answers this news with, “I was contracted to them both,



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all three / Now marry in an instant” (TLN 3179–80; 5.3 227–28). He understands that it is fitting that all three, unloved by their respective fathers and having found love with one another, should be united in death, a “marriage” of an impossibly doomed family. Imagine Lear’s psychologically damaged daughters piled haphazardly on a deathbed. No care is taken to lay them out with dignity; instead, they resemble discarded trash. Carelessly draped over Goneril’s body, Regan lies with her head over the edge of the platform, hair spilling onto the stage. Goneril’s arm is thrown across her sister’s body. Foakes comments on the striking action of bringing out the bodies, noting that usually a body carried about onstage or in ceremony would be male. But in this play, the stage directions call for the dead bodies of the three daughters to be displayed upon the stage.10 Albany’s reaction to the dead bodies of Goneril and her sister shows his effort not to be moved by the dreadful spectacle when he says that it “Touches us not with pity.” When Kent enters, Albany asks, “Seest thou this object Kent?” to which the ever-blameful Kent responds, “Alack, why thus?” A man ever critical of these women in life, Kent has trouble understanding this horrible sight. Throughout the play, Kent articulates the unmistakable misogyny and violence of Lear’s old world. His odd part in this last scene knits together the past actions to the present outcome. He represents the blind loyalty Lear demanded from his daughters. Peter Erickson, analyzing the gender politics in the play, argues that the three daughters “share the common purpose of protecting themselves against the father’s total claim on them. Lear subsequently satisfies his need to make a total claim through the absolute, unquestioning loyalty and devotion of the disguised Kent. Frustrated by women, Lear ‘sets his rest’ on the ‘kind nursery’ of male bonding” (104). So at the end, Kent, the true devotee, must return to remind everyone of Lear’s predicament, and Albany responds: “Great thing of us forgot” (TLN 3192; 5.3.235). A dying Edmund claims that all was done for love of him, constructing for himself a gratifying reality and thankfully acknowledging that two women of stature cherished him. Denied love by his father, he asserts to all present that their devotion validates his worth. Edmund’s death underscores the role of the father in the play. The two families spin out of control when both fathers reject each one of their children. First Lear exiles Cordelia, and then Gloucester does the same to Edgar. Soon after, Lear

10 FOAKES: The effect is to reinforce a sense that the violence initiated by Lear has proliferated to bring about not only civil war and war with France, but the destruction of his entire family (Violence 148).



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disowns Goneril and Regan, and finally, Gloucester learns the truth about Edmund, presumably condemning the son kept happily marginalized through bawdy jokes his whole life.11 Finally, even the censorious Albany reacts to the bodies when he instructs, “Even so: cover their faces” (TLN 3199; 5.3.240), extending to his wife and her sister a final courtesy. A soldier moves to the bodies, placing their arms over their eyes. The image is reminiscent of someone overcome with grief, hiding tears. It makes the tableau of the dead sisters even more disturbing.12 The sight of Lear’s older daughters prostrate on the stage bears witness to the dissolution of the family. Returning one last time to readings highlighting violence and military priorities, we see Lear enter with the dead Cordelia, yet another victim of this power-driven family. Cordelia returned to Britain to reinstate her father to the throne and instead was executed on the order of another man seeking that throne. Although many readers and critics have protested against the hanging of Cordelia, Foakes admits that “some political grounds could be argued for her death when she is captured” (Violence 142–43). Lear bears Cordelia’s body with his usual attention to his own thwarted needs. He calls them all “men of stones” (TLN 3217; 5.3.255), which proves true. As for Cordelia, Millard observes that these same men concerned with “restoring a patriarchal order . . . simply forget her” (158). We note Albany’s almost comic line, “Great thing of us forgot.” Yes, the men at the end have for some time forgotten both Lear and Cordelia. Lear grieves that Cordelia is “gone forever” (TLN 3219; 5.3.257), and yet he remains in denial about her death.13 Oblivious to all, Lear hostilely calls Kent and the rest “Murderers,” and this shortly after Edgar indeed has killed his own brother. Here Lear directs the “Traitors all” (TLN 3233; 5.3.267) accusation to Albany, whose military actions indeed make him complicit in Cordelia’s death. An unchanged Lear resorts to violent attack even in a moment like this.14 To Kent, the stubborn old man 11 MCFARLAND: [Edmund] in his descent . . . is unable to purge himself and forge a new being. Hence Edmund also, like Goneril and Regan, is less rewardingly viewed as depraved than as inadequate. Indeed, he is a figure invested with deep pathos (113). 12 Foakes comes to the powerful conclusion that although Albany calls the bodies “a ‘judgment of heavens’ ” (5.3.230), their “visual presence” instead demonstrates “that in some ultimate sense the judgement is on Lear himself, who is finally responsible for the deaths of his daughters” (Violence 148). 13 Berger sees this in tune with his need to rule as he “controls her return and he sends her back again to death.” Similarly, “[t]o have banished her to France was the first step in her banishment from life, and to have caught her in prison was the second step” (47–48). 14 CAVELL: Again he begins to speak by turning on those at hand . . . His need, or his interpretation of his need, becomes her sentence (73).



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replies, “Prithee away” (TLN 3231; 5.3.266), once again exiling him, as Rosenberg points out. In the next breath he brags that he had “killed the Slave that was a-hanging” (TLN 3238; 5.3.272) her.15 Lear defines himself and the world around him in terms of absolute power, and power’s most obvious manifestation for him is violence. He uses bloodshed or the threat of it to achieve his desires or to satisfy his needs. When Lear enters with Cordelia, he places her next to her dead sisters. Forcing himself to believe her alive, Lear pushes the dead bodies of his other daughters out of his way as he sits on the cart and takes Cordelia into his arms. When Kent says, “Break heart, I prithee break” (TLN 3285; 5.3.311), Lear crawls onto the cart and wraps himself in Cordelia’s dead arms. Millard calls attention to how Cordelia, Lear’s military rescuer, is reconfigured in death. She is reduced from a hero to a stereotyped woman. She is “denied a triumphant death,” and her bravery is replaced with Lear’s boast that he has executed the hangman. Lear’s comments about her womanly voice —“Her voice was ever soft, / Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman” (TLN 3236–37; 5.3.270–71)—also undercut her heroism. Lear does not acknowledge his part in her death, and all the men act like “her death was accidental, futile, and meaningless” (159). The administrative negotiation between the surviving men at the end also brilliantly illustrates that Lear’s kingdom will return to business as usual. It matters little whether the fickle and arguably weak Albany rules or whether Edgar takes over. Neither is of royal blood, but both are aristocratic men who loved the irresponsible Lear, not “threatening” women.16 The last scene questions the value of a patriarchal world that resulted in the death and devastation of the monarchy. McLuskie advocates that feminist criticism assert “the power of resistance” (106) to the patriarchy. Critiquing patriarchal power through this tragic ending dramatically enacts this resistance. Allied now with his dead “enemy” Lear, the reluctant Albany personally refuses to “sustain” this “gored state” (TLN 3295; 5.3.319), but all assume that male authority will continue with the rule of Edgar. McLuskie conveys the subtle lesson that Albany and Lear’s “vision” of patriarchal order alone can resist the collapse of the state (99). This restitution of the patriarchy is lucidly portrayed on stage at the end, but the tone of the finale, its “unrelieved darkness” (Rosenberg 323), with death 15 Berger characterizes this line as self-serving, as bragging, and as an excuse for not rescuing Cordelia (48). Estok reads Lear’s last bloody act as illuminating, in that Lear hasn’t forgiven, really. When denied his mythologized future with Cordelia, he kills the man responsible and here brags about his deed (33). 16 Chamberlain argues that Edgar’s inheritance of the kingdom corrects the upset of female inheritance. Now that the daughters are dead, patrilineal order is returned (187).



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and misunderstanding all around, demonstrates the true catastrophe for this kingdom. The Folio grants the last didactic lines to Edgar, a character somewhat less censorious than Albany and possibly less set in his ways, although similarly misogynistic. Although victimized and disguised, Edgar partakes of the bloodshed himself, triumphantly restoring the patriarchy. This change in the Folio shows that Albany, whose allegiance has been suspect throughout and whose bitter and sententious righteousness helped turn audiences against his wife, would be a flawed mouthpiece for these last sentiments. The Folio Edgar does not condemn the daughters in the play, including them more effectively in the “sad time” (TLN 3298; 5.3.322) than the contemptuous Albany. Further, the stage direction added in the Folio once again reinforces military decorum: “Exeunt with a dead March” (TLN 3301; 5.3.325). Clearly, no restorative rule by the young Edgar will compensate the losses. King Lear has often been described as apocalyptic; the pathetic deaths of Cordelia and Lear constitute only a small part of this pessimism. At the end of the play, every word resonates and promises more of the same devastation. The very fabric of the state is corrupt, and no remedy emerges. Alfar emphasizes that although this “ending suggests that ‘evil’ is righteously overcome by good,” it becomes “more ambiguous” because neither daughter “accepts Albany’s identification of herself as a monstrous, ‘serpent’ woman. Rather, Regan and Goneril die everdefiant of Albany’s moral righteousness” (Fantasies 102). In such readings, the tragedy primarily narrates the destructive definition of power, not an individual monarch’s ruin. Rutter asks why we concentrate on the “devastated king instead of on the devastation he causes?” (“Eel”195). The story is grander and far more subversive than that. Those left standing strive to resuscitate the patriarchy. With no survivors in the Lear family, the handing off of rule from Albany to Kent to Edgar becomes a deflating exercise, not a celebratory recuperation of male governance. This dismal projection constitutes a last look at the slaughter brought about through violence. The women characters, all present and dead, appear with little distinction except in the minds of the men struggling to reassert the ideology that killed them. An audience, of course, responds to the shattered man who expresses the cosmic nature of the fall from grace in a painful world. Victimized like his children by patriarchy, he becomes incapable of understanding either power’s relentless hold on its adherents or his personal responsibility in this outcome. His death enacts the inevitable end of a story in which power is defined rigidly along gender lines. And what of the three daughters of Lear? Regan, it could be argued, is killed by her sister because of their competing political need for Edmund’s



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authority. And, like Goneril and Cordelia, she dies a victim of a patriarchy offering no options for strong women, a dominant system stronger than any of the three daughters. Goneril, then, dies bitterly, knowing this inexorable truth. And Cordelia dies as a doomed invader of her native land. Lear gives no indication that he understands the result of his autocratic suppression of the speech and identity of others. He fatally underestimates all three daughters and he expires without true recognition of the violence he bequeathed his children and his country. All ends in failure. The final image of the ruling family reminds us of the senseless destruction initiated by a silly love test that in reality was a test of loyalty. What begins as a power struggle over speech ends with a power struggle over land and command. The catastrophic search for love by the members of Lear’s family leads to very different imaginings of the famous last moments. Now, in a final testing of feminist criticism, a distraught Lear enters, carrying the murdered martyr, Cordelia, in his arms.17 An outside force destroying his saintlike Cordelia penetrates and crushes his monastic fantasy. Lear screams his “Howl, howl, howl” (TLN 3217; 5.3.255) to the heavens, informing God about his murdered savior. Both Edgar and Kent join with Lear in his religious daydream, first when Kent asks, “Is this the promised end?” and then when Edgar completes the thought with “Or image of that horror” (TLN 3224–25; 261–62). Seen as some kind of Last Judgment by these men, Cordelia’s death completes the wreckage Lear has wrought. In this stunningly dramatic moment, the eloquent iconography of Lear holding his daughter as a mother holds a child reverses his characterization as a needy father throughout the play. Rutter posits another conjecture about Shakespeare’s radical objective: “Cordelia-as-corpse is the spectacle that holds and directs the all-male gaze, passive, unresisting, whatever Lear makes of her.” Teasingly, she adds “Or not.” (Enter 5). We are asked to reread the tableau in terms of gender and to note the peculiar message that this story of women’s death could tell.18 Coppélia Kahn links the familial subtext to a powerful gender message, believing that our knowledge of Elizabethan family structure and psychoanalytic theory allows us to see the story as a “tragedy of masculinity” (“Absent” 36). Caught up in the simplistic dualism of moral and immoral characters, critical interpretations 17 See Adelman for Lear as the bridegroom here as well as the “reversed pietà” of the scene (Suffocating 126). 18 RUTTER: How does Shakespeare “play” the body? How do audiences—his, ours— read it? . . . Dead, her text exhausted, . . . [Cordelia’s body] frame[s] the theatrical site of female death not as a conformable but as a subversive site. Cordelia’s body does not behave in death (Enter 2, 5).



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of the play often miss this point. The play explicitly, originally, and radically annihilates all women, including Cordelia.19 The scene quite literally forces an audience to consider the implications of these women’s violently slain bodies. Adelman, identifying the masculinist need to suffocate Cordelia, the “mother,” sees her death as “something that happens specifically to her, not only to Lear, and then as something that happens to her because of the intensity of the emotions invested in her.” Thus, her demise becomes a “recuperation of masculinity, as though it were the exercise of male rage not only against Lear’s redefinition but more specifically against the threat to masculinity inherent in Lear’s vision of blissful fusion” (Suffocating 127).20 Lear’s powerful, all-consuming grief becomes more about Lear than about his daughter. Cordelia has failed to establish an independent self. Her death causes more of Lear’s highly dramatized anguish, but does not reflect on her loss of identity.21 And in the end, she could not save or redeem him.22 In yet another reading, an incestuous Lear bearing the dead Cordelia is reminiscent of a bride being carried across the threshold. As he lays her body down, picture the ruined bridegroom, much like the young Romeo, attempting to bring his love back to life. The last minutes now contrive to heighten gender distinctions. Lear turns to Cordelia’s body with the eerie passage: “What is’t thou sayst? Her voice was ever soft, / Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman” (TLN 3236–37; 5.3.270–71).23 These lines reinforce the stereotype of women’s silence, countering the resistance of Cordelia in the first scene and of Goneril and Regan in subsequent ones. Lear hopes to hear something from the woman he suppressed so soundly in the beginning.24 The irony is

19 Rudnytsky points out that Albany, Edgar, and Kent are left standing, and Albany also “earns his survival by purging himself of any feminine taint” (298). 20 ADELMAN: This is the crime that Cordelia must pay for . . . Insofar as she is the point of origin for Lear’s desire, . . . the terrible recuperation of male individuality from the threat of the overwhelming mother within . . . the excision of the dangerous female presences— the mothers within and without—that threaten to overwhelm male authority and selfhood (Suffocating 128, 129). 21 See Byles for a discussion of Cordelia’s final loss of self (56). 22 Millard comments on Lear’s ultimate possessiveness and how children cannot rescue parents (159). 23 Rudnytsky critiques this idealization of Cordelia here as well as Lear’s ironic praise for this back-talking daughter’s soft voice (302). 24 Adelman analyzes Cordelia’s death by hanging as reflecting “her potentially troublesome voice silenced in her throat.” As she is silenced for the last time in the play, “the stories told about her” will “pay the price of this history” (Suffocating 127, 128).



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All’s cheerless, dark, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters have foredone themselves, And desperately are dead (TLN 3258–60; 5.3.289–90)

Visualize Kent turning the frail Lear to view his dead daughters. Lear, picking up their arms and letting them drop, responds, “Ay so I think” (TLN 3261; 5.3.290). Throughout the play, Kent experiences no moral dilemma, only a strategic obstacle when exiled by his beloved ruler. And Lear uses this man, in both his personae, Kent and Caius. Lear’s treatment of Kent damns him or at least exposes his insanity; he never admits his injustice toward him, even with Kent’s persistent revelation of his identity here. In addition to showing Lear’s mind unraveling, it also accentuates his utter negligence toward the one character who loved him unconditionally.26 Lear slowly comprehends the death of all his children, continuing to play with their bodies until Albany intervenes with “He knows not what he says, and vain is it / That we present us to him” (TLN 3262–63; 5.3.291–92), at which point Kent gently untangles Lear from his daughters. If the reading assumes incest, Lear’s touching of all three daughters leaves an unsettling impression. Consider the uncomfortable voyeuristic effect of observing how Lear must have first started inappropriately touching his daughters many years ago. He strokes a cheek, pats a hand, and kisses their lips. Lear now returns to Cordelia, positioned close to Goneril and Regan. Picking up her lifeless arm and moving it, he says, And my poor Fool is hanged: . . . Thou’lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never. (TLN 3277, 79–80; 5.3.304, 306–07)

25 Berger interprets her soft voice as Lear’s excuse for his misunderstanding of Cordelia in the first scene (48). Rosenberg notes how Lear’s waiting for her response in the first scene is echoed here (315). 26 RAITT: Lear is not Kent’s father, but Kent has loved him as if he were (187).



not lost on the critics.25 The Folio adds “This is a dull sight” (TLN 3247; 5.3.280) during Lear’s exchange with Kent. Lear could be referring to all his dead daughters. We are reminded of Lear’s other daughters sprawled near him when Kent explains,


In repeating “never,” Lear begins this cry first to Cordelia, but then turns to look at his other daughters as well. This peculiar staging choice, with the daughters’ lifeless bodies strewn around their father, presents, as Rutter calls it, a gruesome “family reunion.” Since the body of Edmund has been removed, “the audience looks at a stage crowded with female— only female—death and remembers the opening scene” (Enter 17). This reading stresses the sterility of the moment.27 Masculinity has triumphed to the detriment of the future. The female has been erased, but what is left behind? Not all believe that Lear learns from his mistakes, even at his death.28 Here, however, we imagine Lear as recognizing his own ruinous folly.29 In the extraordinary gesture of carrying Cordelia, Lear demonstrates and then realizes that he himself is the Mother. In the final moments before his own death, Lear sits among his daughters, stroking and fondling them, truly parenting the women from whom he demanded such treatment. Lear becomes humbled by circumstance and his childish perceptions, perhaps even by acknowledgment of his reckless, alcohol-induced, self-centeredness. He first addresses Cordelia: “Do you see this? Look on her? Look her lips,” and touching Regan next and finally Goneril, declares, “Look there, look there” (TLN 3282–3; 5.3.309–10), dying between them. Foakes reminds us that these last lines are in “F only; Q has no direction for the death of Lear” (Foakes Arden 391, n. 310). In this rendering, Lear thinks of all three daughters before dying. His tragedy is made overt by the bodies of his dead offspring around him. One feels moved by his losses and responds sympathetically to the shattered creature, especially if he had vaguely but painfully realized he could have prevented the disaster. The man who majestically articulated many of our great passions could indeed be capable of perceiving his complicity. The “gored” state that Albany refers to is now a family tragedy, calling for mourning. The paltry few survivors are left to bring a country back from the shambles of rule. Jane Smiley, who wrote her own re-vision of this story, one no less devastating, claims that these men’s lack of “imagination

27 BOOSE: Cordelia returns to her father, and the final scene stages the most sterile of altar tableaux: a dead father with his three dead daughters (“The Father” 335). 28 ERICKSON: Lear recognizes his immense loss and initial error, but he repeats the error and never fully understands his contribution to the tragic outcome nor acknowledges his responsibility (115). 29 Novy writes that the “visual image” of Lear carrying the dead Cordelia “in itself suggests a change in him. The allusion to the pietà that many critics have seen here includes the fact that Lear is at this point taking on a posture much more characteristic of women than of men in our society—holding a child, caring for the dead” (Love’s 162).



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or spiritual vision” results in a biting finish, wherein the survivors’ final words become “particularly meaningless” (“Shakespeare” 178). Since the play concludes with the painful death of Lear and all his daughters, matters of state seem doomed, or at least trivial. Domestic disaster suffuses the last scene, resisting any easy moralization. McFarland contends that “the wickedness of the father is finally no more relevant than the evil of the child,” in that the family emerges as central in both plot and subplot. Ultimately, the play reveals “progressive deterioration and dereliction in family relationships” (99). The stage holds the dead bodies of father and daughters, all destroyed by Lear’s lifetime of imperious demands. His daughters ineffectively searched for love in the predetermined world of his kingdom. The daughters, Lear, Edmund, and his father all become casualties of the blind, cruel, loveless family structure. The play interrogates how personal needs are thwarted by aggressively ungenerous fathers and offspring incapable of breaking out of the mold. Here, the personal truly becomes the political, and the future of Britain seems very dark indeed. *

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Feminist readings inspire a wealth of interpretations of Lear’s daughters. Much can be done to rejuvenate this play for the twenty-first century. The drama can tell a story of the patriarchy deconstructed by the strength of female power or a tale of exclusive masculinity itself deconstructed by the strength of female bodies and the maternal principle. The ending need not be a return to masculinist models. Theatre invites a reconsideration of assumptions and future projections. At the conclusion, these dead women, finally silenced, cannot object to the world as it has evolved in their fictional day or our own, but as with other cultural artifacts, we ourselves can construct and learn the lesson. Throughout this book, the goal has been to fashion feminist readings that challenge long-held preconceptions of this famous work. Visualizing interpretations tests theories and creates stories that are aligned with Shakespeare’s text. And the many line readings from the Folio provide fertile ground for a feminist Lear, surely no longer such a transgressive project. This book opens up the play, offering innovative ways of thinking about all the characters. Most significantly, the women are no longer stereotyped as Eve or Mary, rigid representations of virtue or vice. They can display righteous dignity, justifiable anger, doomed frailty, damaged emotions, heroic fatality, dashed hopes, desperate action, and love for one another as well as for Lear and other characters, all depending upon the world bequeathed to them. Re-visioning can pave the way for reimagining other



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overdetermined women in Shakespeare’s plays, especially those caught in fixed interpretations. Such a process can impel liberating theatrical and critical reappraisal. At the very least, the page and the stage can welcome long overdue and decidedly more nuanced renderings of Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia.



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Adelman, Janet. Suffocating Mothers: Fantasies of Maternal Origin in Shakespeare’s Plays, Hamlet to The Tempest. New York: Routledge, 1992. ———, ed. Twentieth Century Interpretations of King Lear: A Collection of Critical Essays. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice–Hall, 1978. Aguiar, Sarah Appleton. “(Dis)Obedient Daughters: (Dis)Inheriting the Kingdom of Lear.” In He Said, She Says: An RSVP to the Male Text, edited by Mica Howe and Sarah Appleton Aguiar, 194–210. Madison, NJ.: Fairleigh Dickenson UP, 2001. Alfar, Cristina Léon. Fantasies of Female Evil: The Dynamics of Gender and Power in Shakespearean Tragedy. Newark: U of Delaware P, 2003. Alter, Iska. “King Lear and A Thousand Acres: Gender, Genre, and the Revisionary Impulse.” In Novy, Transforming Shakespeare, 145–58. Belsey, Catherine. Why Shakespeare? New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Berge, Mark. “ ‘My poor fool is hanged’: Cordelia, the Fool, Silence and Irresolution in King Lear.” In Reclamations of Shakespeare, edited by A. J. Hoenselaars, 211–22. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1994. Berger, Harry Jr.. Making Trifles of Terrors: Redistributing Complicities in Shakespeare. Edited with an introduction by Peter Erickson. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP, 1997. Bevington, David. This Wide and Universal Theater: Shakespeare in Performance Then and Now. Chicago: U. of Chicago P., 2007. ———. “Two Households, both Alike in Dignity: The Uneasy Alliance between New Historicists and Feminists.” English Literary Renaissance. 25.3 (Autumn 1995): 307–19. Boose, Lynda E. “The Family in Shakespeare Studies; or Studies in the Family of Shakespeareans; or The Politics of Politics.” Renaissance Quarterly 40.4 (Winter 1987): 707–42. Rpt. in Shakespeare: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory 1945–2000, edited by Russ McDonald, 606–32. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004. ———. “The Father and the Bride in Shakespeare.” PMLA 97 (May 1982): 325–47. Brayton, Dan. “Angling in the Lake of Darkness: Possession, Dispossession, and the Politics of Discovery in King Lear.” ELH 70 (2003): 399–426. Brennan, Penny L., and Rudolf H. Moos. “Life Context, Coping Responses, and Adaptive Outcomes: A Stress and Coping Perspective on Late-Life Problem



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Abu Ghraib 24, 100, 141 abuse 71, 97, 105, 110, 141, 176, 187 Adelman, Janet 6, 12, 14, 16, 31, 74, 116, 125–6, 182, 196–7, 215–16, 221 agency 47, 123, 151, 193 feminist production tracing 60 greater 194 personal 63 political 87, 94, 170, 179 unhusbanded 170 Aguiar, Sarah Appleton 91, 123, 221 Albany 9–10, 19, 22–3, 46–7, 77–8, 93–4, 96–101, 103, 135–40, 150–5, 157–63, 185–6, 188–91, 201–7, 209–14, 216–18 alcoholism 31, 37, 49–51, 58–9, 83, 85, 89–90, 92, 97, 105–6, 114–15, 124–7, 132, 164–6, 188, 203 see also Lear, and alcohol; Regan, and alcohol Alfar, Cristina Léon 7, 11, 18, 20, 28, 33, 42–3, 46, 49, 54, 57, 78, 86, 93, 139–40, 143–4, 221 Alter, Iska 18, 221 army 29, 84, 100, 113, 122, 137, 139, 142, 152, 162, 168–9 see also invasion authority 13, 18, 20, 22, 30, 49, 61, 88, 92–4, 106, 110–11, 122–3, 168–9, 186, 188–9, 215–16

baldric 43, 77, 93, 100, 104, 115, 146, 168, 170, 185, 210 bastardy 13, 116, 205 battle 109, 145, 173–4, 176, 185, 189, 191–2, 201, 206, 210 behavior, learned 29, 165, 191 Belsey, Catherine 5, 16, 30, 33, 36, 48, 82, 155, 221 Berge, Mark 11, 221 Berger, Harry Jr. 14, 49, 57, 65–6, 72–3, 87, 125, 127, 173, 181–2, 193–4, 196–7, 199, 212–13, 217, 221 bestialization 8, 10, 85, 97, 120, 129, 167, 194–8 see also ecocriticism betrayal 5, 47, 50, 87, 97, 119, 135, 138, 143, 147, 153 Bevington, David 5, 20, 221 blindness 2, 17, 32, 104, 109, 141, 145–6, 149, 163–4, 166–7, 194, 219 bodies 6, 17, 19, 31, 49, 90, 95, 124, 126–7, 157, 171, 187, 208–12, 215–18 Boose, Lynda E. 20, 195, 218, 221 Brayton, Dan 14, 20, 49, 69, 71, 128–9, 221 Brennan, Penny L. 97, 221 Brook, Peter 33, 78, 83, 144, 222 Brown, John Russell 4, 222 Bucknill, John Charles 66–7, 88, 222 Burgundy 67, 69–70, 72, 155 Byles, Joan Montgomery 20, 63, 66, 181, 196–7, 216, 222



Index

Index

Caius 108–14, 121, 123, 142, 144, 175, 210, 217 see also Kent Calvo, Clara 3, 222 Cavell, Stanley 17, 51, 59, 66, 195, 197, 212, 222 Chamberlain, Stephanie 12, 49, 59–60, 69, 94, 168, 173, 213, 222 Chesler, Phyllis 172, 222 Cima, Gay Gibson 3, 222 Cinderella type 15–16, 52 see also fairy-tale motif Collington, Philip 17, 67, 72, 87, 95, 116, 121, 126–7, 222 Cordelia 2–4, 8, 10–13, 17–19, 22–3, 28–32, 34–7, 39–43, 50–5, 57–75, 88, 94–5, 136–8, 167–83, 190–9, 210–18 as daughter 8–9, 17, 28, 35, 39–41, 58, 60–1, 63, 65–8, 70–1, 73, 93, 116, 126, 160, 178–80 dead 172, 181, 196, 212, 215–16, 218 with France 41, 71–2 with Goneril and Regan 36, 40–2, 52, 55, 57, 73–5, 189 as invader 11, 112, 136, 139–40, 152, 159, 168–9, 175–6, 178–9, 192–4 as religious zealot 51, 58, 62, 70, 72, 75, 138, 172, 176–7, 180–2, 192, 195–6, 198–9, 215 as stereotype 2, 8, 10–13, 15, 19, 22–3, 30–1, 58, 60, 67–8, 71, 73–5, 167, 181–2, 196–8, 215–16 as victim of incest 12, 30, 51, 53, 58–9, 62, 64–7, 71–3, 170, 172, 174, 177–8, 180, 182, 197–8, 216–17 Cornwall 10, 23, 30, 46–7, 53–4, 103–7, 109–12, 114–15, 121, 125, 131–2, 135–47, 149–50, 152–3, 158–62, 185–6 Craig, Martha 14, 51, 92, 94–5, 119, 125–6, 196, 198, 222

Crick, Brian 34, 59, 125, 222 curses 92–5, 118, 120, 123, 131, 197 DÁmico, Francine 100, 222 Danby, John 11, 13, 16, 222 demonization 1, 9, 11, 47, 68, 124, 150 disease 67–8, 121, 126–7 Dollimore, Jonathan 39, 63, 69, 104, 123, 155, 222 Dover 23, 136, 138, 140, 142, 144, 147, 150, 153, 193 dowries 34, 46, 49, 60–1, 69–70, 127 Dreher, Diane Elizabeth 17, 33, 52, 60, 63, 66–7, 70, 127, 197–8, 222 Driscoll, James 11, 16, 91, 119, 222 Dubrow, Heather 85–6, 92, 96, 107, 120, 144, 222 Dundes, Alan 15, 59, 196, 223 ecocriticism 14, 69, 90, 95, 97, 120, 129, 194 see also bestialization Edgar 6–7, 9–10, 12, 22–3, 31, 47, 59, 69, 104–6, 111–12, 137–8, 143, 151, 160, 206–8, 211–16 see also Tom Edmund 5, 7, 9–10, 12–13, 23, 30, 32, 104, 106–7, 109, 135–40, 143, 148–66, 185–95, 201–12, 218–19 Egan, Gabriel 123, 180, 223 Ensler, Eve 141, 223 Erickson, Peter 38, 83, 87, 95, 181, 196, 199, 211, 218, 223 Estok, Simon 14, 63, 69, 90, 95, 140, 144, 194, 213, 223 Eve 12, 219 Eyre, Richard 3, 91 fairy-tale motif 5, 15–17, 58 Falstaff 31 family dynamics 16, 20, 30–2, 40, 43, 49–51, 54–5, 67, 72–3, 75, 81, 85, 96–7, 118–19, 131–2, 153–4



230

Feinman, Ilene 141, 223 Feinstein, Elaine 4 female body 14, 20, 92, 96, 219 feminist approaches 1–4, 6–7, 9, 12, 14, 19–21, 24, 28–9, 32, 46, 52, 55, 123, 130, 140, 219 Findlay, Alison 7, 99, 146, 223 Finlay, Barbara 141, 223 Foakes, R. A. 5, 12, 17, 21–2, 28, 35, 42, 50, 52, 62–4, 80, 82–3, 91–2, 167–8, 211–12, 218, 223 Folio Text 21–4, 42–3, 50, 62–3, 98–9, 112–13, 115–18, 130–1, 135–6, 138–9, 157–8, 160–1, 167–8, 189, 201–8, 214 Fool 5, 9–10, 29, 31–2, 61, 69, 78, 83–7, 89–92, 101, 113–14, 123–5, 128, 130–2, 136, 160 Foucault, Michel 20 France 12, 14, 23, 30, 32, 41–2, 53, 69–75, 135–9, 141–2, 144–5, 158, 167–71, 173–4, 179, 211–12 French army 22, 131, 137, 141, 148, 152–3, 168, 172–3, 185, 192–3 Freud, Sigmund 21, 46 Furness, Horace Howard 70, 223 Garber, Marjorie 16, 181, 223 gender 3, 7, 14, 16, 20, 28, 32, 84, 92, 100, 144, 146, 208, 211, 215, 227 gender roles 52, 68, 72, 152, 155 gender stereotypes 1, 6, 9, 11, 23, 39, 46, 63, 73–5, 82, 87, 99–100, 106, 127, 129, 151 see also Cordelia, as stereotype; Goneril, as stereotype; Regan, as stereotype gestures 34–5, 40, 43, 48, 51, 61, 91, 154, 166, 177–8, 180, 198 psychological 35, 40, 61, 89, 119, 123, 207 Gloucester 10, 12, 18, 45–7, 50, 103–7, 111–15, 123, 131–2,

231

135–50, 152–3, 155–6, 158–60, 162–6, 207–8, 211–12 gods 6, 14, 58, 62, 128, 138, 174, 177, 181, 192, 194–8, 207, 215 Goneril 4–5, 8, 22, 34–9, 43, 46, 51, 53, 61–2, 80, 87–8, 109–10, 113–15, 119, 161–3, 210–11 with Albany 23, 77–8, 93–4, 96–101, 152–5, 157–62, 185, 189–90, 202–7 as daughter 28, 30, 34, 37–8, 44, 54–5, 78–81, 83, 85, 87, 89, 91–2, 95, 97, 124–6, 128 with Edmund 23, 140, 152–6, 159, 161–2, 186–90, 192, 202–7, 210 with Fool 84–5, 87, 91, 125, 128 and her men 86, 88, 188 with Oswald 78–9, 81, 99, 125–6 as queen 33–4, 36–7, 39–40, 46, 55, 57, 77–82, 85–9, 93, 97–100, 109, 121–2, 124, 126, 151–2, 188–9 and shared rule 29, 34, 88, 100, 152, 156, 185, 210 as stereotype 5, 8, 12, 15, 28, 32–4, 39, 52, 74–5, 80, 94–7, 120, 127–8, 130, 158, 160 as victim of incest 38, 126–7, 217 Goneril and Regan 2–3, 6–14, 29–30, 32–3, 40–3, 54–5, 73–5, 108–9, 117–19, 121–4, 127, 129–31, 136–9, 167–8, 193–4, 201–7 Goodman, Lizbeth 3–4, 223 governance 28–30, 47, 52, 77–8, 81, 86–7, 100, 108, 123, 132, 136, 139, 141, 146, 152–3, 163 Graham, Kenneth 16, 118–19, 123, 223 Greenblatt, Stephen 2, 20, 124, 223 Guyol, Hazel Sample 38, 126, 223 Halio, Jay L. 5, 80, 209, 223 Halpern, Richard 20, 223 Hamlet 18, 28, 61



Index

Index

Hartley, Andrew James 4, 223 Hecq, Dominique 176, 224 Henry IV 90 Henry VI 46, 172 Herrmann, Claudine 52, 59, 71, 224 Hidalgo, Pilar 20, 224 Hinman, Charlton 5, 224 Hofele, Andreas 69, 97, 120, 127, 129, 224 Hoover, Claudette 6–7, 12–13, 42, 52, 61, 99, 116, 127, 129, 150, 190, 224 imagery 6, 8, 12, 16, 43, 55, 68–9, 87–8, 119, 148, 160–1, 166, 170–1, 180, 196, 210 incest see Lear, and incest; Cordelia, as victim of incest; Goneril, as victim of incest; Regan, as victim of incest infantilization 31, 37, 45, 52, 66, 68, 90, 95–6, 126, 129–30, 196 inheritance 6, 54, 63, 65, 93, 104, 166, 168, 173 invasion 12, 22, 61, 112, 136–7, 139, 141, 150, 152, 162, 168–70, 173–5, 179, 193, 215 see also army; Cordelia, as invader Ioppolo, Grace 22, 224 Isenberg, Arnold 89, 97, 129, 224 Jaffa, Harry V. 11, 16, 57, 59, 69, 224 Jayne, Sears 67–8, 124, 143, 224 Joan of Arc 46, 172, 192 Jung, Carl 11 Kahan, Jeffrey 2, 224 Kahn, Coppélia 7, 16, 46, 51, 59, 68, 72, 116, 126, 129, 182, 197, 215, 224 Kahn, Michael 54 Kahn, Paul 17–18, 20, 74, 79, 84, 86, 88, 94, 96–7, 100, 104, 107, 110, 118, 144–5, 153, 224 Kaut-Howson, Helena 17, 224

Kelly, Lynne 59, 92, 208, 225 Kelly, Philippa 3, 8, 12, 19, 41, 54, 72, 224 Kent 8–10, 31–2, 39, 41–3, 51–5, 66–9, 82–3, 108–13, 135–6, 138, 142–3, 167, 169, 174–7, 180, 210–17 see also Caius Kershaw, Baz 3, 224 King James 39 Kivlighan, Dennis M. 67, 166, 225 Klett, Elizabeth 3, 224 knights 3, 23, 45, 81–4, 87, 92, 96–7, 99, 104–5, 108, 114, 120, 123–4, 127, 130–2, 138 Kole, Robert 3, 224 Koskis, Nicholas 52, 59, 71, 224 Kristeva, Julia 62 Kunin, Madeleine 47, 225 Lacan, Jacques 19, 62 language of the women 5, 8, 32–8, 48–51, 53, 58, 61–5, 68, 70, 73, 87–8, 106–7, 117–19, 164–5, 170–82, 213 Lear 4, 7, 10, 12–13, 19–20, 22–4, 27, 29, 37, 45–6, 151, 219 as aging parent 17–18, 42, 49, 53–4, 58, 66–8, 71, 80, 86, 91–2, 97, 109, 117, 127–8, 178, 197 and alcohol 31–2, 38, 51, 53, 67, 78, 83, 85, 87, 90, 92, 112, 114–15, 117, 124–5, 180–1 with daughters as mothers 31, 38, 49, 51–2, 64–6, 68, 75, 83, 92, 96, 114–16, 120–1, 128, 153, 177, 182 and his men 23, 30, 32, 34, 55, 78–88, 90, 92, 96–9, 104–5, 108–14, 118–19, 122–3, 127, 130–3, 136 and incest 30–1, 38, 51–3, 58–9, 64, 66–7, 71–2, 115–17, 120, 125–7, 129, 131, 164, 177–8, 197–8, 216–17



232

233

Lear—Continued and madness 2, 8–10, 18, 27, 30–1, 94–6, 123, 126, 128–30, 138–9, 147–8, 168–73, 175–7, 180, 195–6, 217 as misogynist 6, 8–10, 12, 14–15, 19, 36, 59–61, 68–9, 71–2, 84–5, 87, 93–5, 97, 118, 124, 128–30 and power 22, 28–9, 32, 34–5, 41, 43, 47, 49, 63–4, 69–71, 88–9, 97–8, 115–16, 121–3, 178–9, 193–5 and violence 12, 26–27, 29, 42, 53, 65, 67, 72–3, 78–80, 83, 88, 96, 99, 112–13, 129–30, 211–13 Lee, Young Jean 4 Leir 11, 52 letters 39, 98–9, 105, 109–10, 113, 137, 139, 144, 152, 161–3, 165–6, 169, 186, 206–7 Lusardi, James 3, 11, 43, 52, 65, 70, 89, 91, 111, 120, 225

militarism 28–30, 33–6, 46–9, 99–100, 103–4, 109–10, 121–3, 138–9, 141–6, 154–5, 157–9, 162–3, 173–4, 185–6, 188–9, 208–9 Millard, Barbara 11, 14, 16, 69, 73, 167–8, 171, 173–4, 176, 181, 192–3, 212–13, 216, 225 misogyny 6–9, 11–12, 17, 19, 60, 69, 71, 85, 95, 130, 141–2, 160, 211, 214 see also Lear, as misogynist Mitchell, Juliet 187–8, 191, 208, 225 mock trial 130, 138 monarchial authority 5, 28, 34, 43, 64, 78, 90–1, 93, 113, 123–4, 145, 162, 171, 173, 179, 195 monstering 9, 11, 14–15, 19, 34, 63, 68–9, 71, 96, 126, 128–9, 149–50, 160–1, 194, 214 Moos, Rudolf H. 97, 221 Morris, Ivor 11, 61, 71, 117, 122, 225 Mothersead, Philip K. 67, 166, 225

Macbeth 24 madness see Lear, and madness marriage 32, 34, 41, 47, 58–9, 62–5, 67, 69–70, 74–5, 154–5, 158, 162, 168–70, 198, 201–2, 211 Massai, Sonia 3, 225 Mathieson, Barbara 129, 225 Maver, Igor 3, 91, 225 McEachern, Claire 59, 225 McFarland, Thomas 16, 79, 91–2, 120, 153–4, 180, 212, 219, 225 McKelvey, Tara 222–3, 226 McLeod, Randall 22, 43, 78, 80, 100, 126, 160, 203, 205, 207, 225 McLuskie, Kathleen 3, 7, 11, 19, 62–3, 67–8, 74, 84, 89, 118–19, 129, 179, 213, 225 mercy killing 165, 204 messenger 109, 111, 114, 158, 163, 172–3

nature 2, 8, 10–11, 13–15, 18, 28, 30, 35–6, 59–61, 68–71, 77–8, 93–6, 108–9, 116–17, 123, 170–2 Novy, Marianne 3, 11–13, 20, 34, 49, 60, 95, 97, 126, 218, 225 Oates, Joyce Carol 14, 225 Ophelia 63, 172 Oswald 9–10, 78–9, 81–3, 98–9, 108–11, 113, 121, 125–6, 140, 142, 152, 154–5, 162–6, 186, 189 parents 10, 17–18, 54, 59, 65, 91, 107, 120, 127, 154, 166 patriarchy 2, 7–9, 13–14, 27–8, 34–5, 41, 46, 59–61, 69–70, 73–5, 78, 104, 151–2, 160–1, 209–10, 212–15 Pericles 71 Phelan, Peggy 3, 21, 225 pietà 182, 215, 218



Index

Index

plot, double 10, 12–13, 104, 116, 138, 142–3, 219 Plumwood, Val 14, 225 poisoning 178, 202–5, 208–9 property 8, 14, 28, 33, 36, 39, 49, 51, 57, 63, 69, 72, 90, 104, 144, 168 Quarto 5, 21–2, 36, 42–3, 50, 62, 64, 80, 82, 98, 116–18, 136, 150, 157, 169, 206–7 Queen Elizabeth I 39 Queen Margaret 46 Queen of France 12, 69, 136, 168 Quilligan, Maureen 30, 38, 170, 197, 225 Raitt, Suzanne 3, 62, 65, 217, 225 Rangarajan, Sripriya 59, 92, 208, 225 Regan 4, 23, 40, 45, 50, 53, 81, 93, 154, 210–11, 214, 218, 220 and alcohol 37, 40, 50–1, 53, 105–6, 114, 117, 119, 124–5, 127, 130, 139–40, 164–6, 188, 190–1, 203–6 with Cornwall 105–7, 111–12, 115, 131, 140–1, 143–7, 149–50, 186 as daughter 36, 46, 49, 51–5, 111, 113–16, 120–1, 125, 127–8, 138, 148 with Edmund 162–6, 185–91, 201–6 with Gloucester 50, 105–7, 111–12, 131, 138–45, 147–50, 163, 166 as military power 23, 35, 46–9, 52, 54, 103–5, 109, 121–2, 135, 141–6, 162–3, 185–6, 189–90, 201 with Oswald 162–6 as queen 28, 104, 106–7, 110, 118–19, 122, 131, 145, 163, 186, 202–3 and shared rule 29, 41–3, 46–8, 53, 99, 115, 117, 137, 146, 151, 156, 162, 185–6, 188–9, 210

as stereotype 8, 12, 15, 18, 23, 28, 52, 74–5, 97, 120, 127, 146, 148, 150, 160, 162 as victim of incest 30, 52–3, 105, 115–17, 120, 127, 131, 147, 164, 217 and violence 105, 137–50, 162 Regan and Goneril see Goneril and Regan Reid, Stephen 54–5, 59, 68, 78, 86–8, 91–2, 125, 131–2, 226 religious zealotry 51, 58, 68, 72, 138, 169, 177, 192, 195–6, 198 Rich, Adrienne 3, 226 Richard III 24, 61, 118 Roberts, Jeanne Addison 14, 226 Romeo 216 Rosenberg, Marvin 2, 16, 37, 39, 43, 45, 70–1, 88–90, 95–8, 120–1, 156–7, 174, 180–1, 199, 213, 226 Ross, John Munden 31, 66, 129–30, 226 Rozett, Martha Tuck 3, 226 Rudnytsky, Peter 7, 11–12, 14, 16, 30, 46, 68–9, 87, 92, 109, 149–50, 156, 163, 169, 216, 226 Rutter, Carol Chillington 3, 5, 7, 9, 32, 36, 41, 43, 49, 54, 61–3, 66, 69, 83, 95, 214–15, 226 Ryan, Kiernan 11, 19–20, 226 Schafer, Elizabeth 3, 7, 17, 226 Schlueter, June 3, 11, 43, 52, 65, 70, 89, 91, 111, 120, 225 Schwartz, Murray M. 51, 68, 226 Scott, William O. 33, 226 sexism 6–7, 9, 11, 18–19, 74, 90, 141, 145, 150, 161 shared rule see Goneril, and shared rule; Regan, and shared rule Shatan, Chaim 145, 209, 226 Showalter, Elaine 172, 226 Skura, Meredith 11, 226



234

Index

Tate, Nahum 12 Thompson, Ann 12, 20, 161, 227 Tom 5, 7, 144 see also Edgar torture 24, 89, 135, 137, 139–41, 143–7, 149–50 toy horse 83, 96, 114, 124, 130 treason 119, 135–7, 139, 142–4, 147–8, 150, 158–9, 203, 205, 212 troops 36, 139, 141, 152, 162–3, 165, 169, 179, 189 Tynan, Kenneth 144

uniforms 88, 121 unnaturalness 19, 33, 68, 123, 129–30, 158, 194 Van Creveld, Martin 155, 227 victimization 4, 17, 19, 52, 66, 117, 154, 164, 170, 182, 194, 197, 212, 215 Viguers, Susan 3, 227 violence 11–13, 27–8, 52–4, 65–8, 83, 88, 92–3, 99, 108–10, 139–44, 149–50, 155, 161–2, 168, 207–9, 211–15 see also Lear, and violence; Regan, and violence Virgin Mary 12, 182, 219 war 23, 28, 47, 100, 103, 132, 137, 139–40, 146, 159–60, 162, 173, 175–6, 185, 189–90, 211 Werner, Sarah 3, 168, 227 Whittier, Gayle 6, 8, 16, 61, 70, 116, 175, 193, 227 Wynkoop, Timothy F. 67, 166, 225 Yachnin, Paul 22, 227



Slights, Jessica 22, 227 Smiley, Jane 3, 52, 197, 218, 226 Solaro, Erin 145, 170, 226 soldiers 22, 45–9, 51, 53–5, 78, 104, 109–10, 137, 143, 145, 152, 162, 168, 188, 190–5, 206–9 spies 29, 112, 135–7, 163, 175, 210 Stockholder, Kay 16, 226 Stonehenge 21 storm 14–15, 17, 78, 121, 123, 125, 131–2, 137, 148, 176, 180

235

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