SOURCE: 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, pp. 211-22. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1994.

[In the following essay, Berge links the disappearance of the Fool and Cordelia's final silence to Lear's failed search for self-knowledge. In the critic's judgment, although the king comes to understand his daughter's initial reticence as a strength rather than a fault, he never comprehends his own complicity in the tragic events.]

In the chaotic world of King Lear, resolution of character seems remote and veiled from an aged king bent on denying the unspoken truth. Dramatically speaking, his enemies fare conventionally better. Philip McGuire concludes that when the mortally wounded Edmund declares that “The wheel is come full circle”, his words serve as an explicit statement of dramatic fulfilment.¹ Accordingly, Edmund, Goneril, and Regan move towards a dramatic consummation in which their deaths bond them in malevolence. However, Lear, Cordelia and the Fool seem divided, separated, and never allowed a mode of completion like their three counterparts. Lear's hopes of union with Cordelia are never realized, and are portrayed as unnatural: “We two alone”, as the king puts it, “will sing like birds i'th'cage” (5.3.9). Cordelia's final line, “Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?” (5.3.7), echoes Lear's wish for dramatic union, but she is silenced before it can be fulfilled. In the Folio addition to the play, the Fool reiterates this attitude on union when he utters, in despair of common sense, a contradictory disunity: “And I'll go to bed at noon” (3.6.41); John Kerrigan aptly stresses that this line “expresses the Fool's determination to leave King Lear with its course half run”.² The Fool's intentional silence marks the end of his usefulness to the king in madness, and Cordelia's silence would appear to function in a similar way. Their removal from speech deprives Lear of their supporting influence and drives him farther into self-examination. However, fulfilment remains elusive for Lear. McGuire's argument that the play's final scene presents silences which deny our certainty of a single “promised end” seems to point directly to the dramatic elusiveness Shakespeare tried to cultivate.

Shakespeare portrays this theme of irresolution through Cordelia, the Fool, and finally of Lear. When Shakespeare imposes a silence on Cordelia and the Fool, effectively halting their fulfilment, he denies Lear the chance to gain the dramatic completion which Regan, Goneril, and Edmund enjoy. The Fool's disappearance leads to a shift towards Lear's madness, and Cordelia's speechlessness allows Lear to deny the reality of their imprisonment. Lear imagines a captivity of companionship:

                                                                                                                                            So we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news, and we'll talk with them too.

(5.3.11-14)

Lear is dependent on Cordelia and the Fool for support. Questions of stability and independence are raised by the need of these characters. For this reason, it is necessary to examine exactly how the Fool and Cordelia influence Lear, and what they take with them when they are removed from speech and action.

The question of Cordelia's character has been an issue of criticism for some time. Samuel Johnson could not bear the treatment of Cordelia and the painful ending of King Lear. John Danby explains Johnson's reaction as a product of the prevalent attitude towards Cordelia at the time: “It was intolerable to the moral optimism of the eighteenth century that such transcendent goodness should not be taken care of in the human universe.”³ Harley Granville-Barker stated the contrary in his conception of Cordelia: “It will be a fatal error to present Cordelia as a meek saint.”⁴ William Elton conceptualizes Cordelia as the model of self-sacrificing and healing virtue: “Cordelia is devoted to curing division. Strife between North and South […] has its antithesis in Cordelia's healing and restoring forgiveness.”⁵ What all three critics acknowledge concerning Cordelia is her strength of character and silent resolve. Her courage in standing up to Lear and his demands while wrapped in the mantle of his power emanates from what Elton describes as her “argumentum ex silentio” (Elton, 25), and what Granville-Barker sees as her enduring “without effort, explanation or excuse” (303). This strength of character, the ability to stand with full certainty, is one of Cordelia's main personality traits and functions. She is fully aware of her abilities and her own qualities, as she firmly states: “I am sure my love's / More ponderous than my tongue” (1.1.72-73). Cordelia's silent determination and faith in what she believes to be true give her the strength to remain constant to her principles of love and order.

The inception of a character such as Cordelia, whose nature is more prevalent than her words, and, as Elton notes, whose constancy to order is unwavering, creates a force which is directly opposed to the half-meanings and wild uncertainty of Lear (Elton, 75). Lear's words illustrate his selfish and confused personality as he remarks to Kent early in the play: “I loved her most, and thought to set my rest / On her kind nursery” (1.1.117-18). The real problem which Cordelia faces seems captured by Harry Berger's hypothesis that Cordelia embodies the young woman of virtue attempting to break away from the paternal bondage and filial duty that are exploited by Lear.⁶ Her values suddenly come into conflict with Lear's “darker purpose” (1.1.31), which is illustrated by an image of confusion expressed by Gloucester: “but now in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most” (1.1.3-4). The aim for which Lear seems to be exploiting Cordelia is stated unequivocally when Lear expounds: “and 'tis our fast intent / To shake all cares and business from our age” (1.1.33-34). This introduces a grievous wound both to society and to order:

Beneath the surface, then, his darker purpose seems to be to play on everyone's curiosity, stir up as much envy and contention as he can among the “younger strengths” with the aim of dominating and dividing them, humbling and punishing them.

(Berger, 355)

Lear's fear of weakness and need to dominate may lead to self-deception and reliance on the quantity of words rather than their quality. Regan and Goneril act as the dispensers of this excessive and formless language which offers much but provides little substance. It is in this vein of empty praise that Goneril states: “Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter” (1.1.50). Regan reasserts these words, notably with her own version of Goneril's shadowy sentiment:

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.

(1.1.64-66)

They are directly opposed to Cordelia, who avoids such formlessness and remains silent in truth.

Recent criticism has placed much emphasis on the Cordelia of the opening scenes as a speaker and performer of truth. Marion Perret rightly points out that “The opening scene asks us to balance good words and the deeds that should verify them […]. The test of goodness becomes action.”⁷ Cordelia personifies the virtue that both action and truth form together. Her short and terse “Nothing, my lord” (1.1.82), which is repeated, answers Lear's demands for verbal opulence and self-justification. The nakedness of such a statement, compared with the utterances of Regan and Goneril, draws attention to itself and becomes a challenge for action on Lear's part. It goads Lear into making a choice between truth and self-deception. Cordelia's style of speech, operating as a challenge, emphasizes her rejection of the meaningless style her sisters use and Lear's insistence on quantity instead of quality.

In Lear's lack of judgement he insists on the quantity of language as he reverbalizes his demand for Cordelia's mended speech. The Folio version of the tragedy enhances this aspect of Lear with an added imperative: “What can you say to draw / A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak” (1.1.80-81). Further on he becomes insistent: “Nothing will come of nothing, speak again” (1.1.85). Finally he issues a threat to procure his need for quantity of speech: “How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, / Lest you may mar your fortunes” (1.1.88-89). In this way he demands an opulence of Cordelia which she is unwilling, and, according to Sophia Blaydes, is unable to provide: “She has not her sister's eloquence to express the nature and breadth of her love, but she is secure that Lear knows of her love; yet, she is puzzled at his request.”⁸ Cordelia's assurance of her position as speaker of truth never falters, even in reply to Lear's accusation: “So young, and so untender?” (1.1.100). She answers with another short reply typical of her character: “So young, my lord, and true” (1.1.101). This simple exchange embodies all that is contradictory between Lear's psychological bearing and Cordelia's certainty of mind and speech.

Lear recoils from Cordelia's certainty of mind like a wounded lion. Her certainty forces him to gaze at his own fears and weaknesses, which he is intent on denying. In epic proportions he renounces Cordelia in a speech which is self-damning as well as revealing:

For by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate and the night,
By all the operation of the orbs
From whom we do exist and cease to be,
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee from this forever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved,
As thou my sometime daughter.

(1.1.103-14)

Lear's reaction to Cordelia's assurance in her role as the speaker of truth serves to portray his denial of guilt. His ironic use of the “barbarous Scythian” and the cannibalistic image which he advances only recoils upon himself. Lear goes to great lengths to deny his guilt throughout the play, which leads to a revealing process of self-exoneration. Berger sketches Lear's method of self-justification with insightful accuracy: “In the first scene, Lear seems on the verge of forcing others to make him acknowledge not so much what they really think about him, but what he has always thought about them, and therefore—by a kind of recoil—about himself.” And as Berger also mentions, Lear will not let self-knowledge interfere with his false conception of self and “spends the rest of the play trying continually to regain the sleep of self-deception”.⁹ Lear spends most of the play denying the truth of his guilt in the “division of the kingdom”, but Shakespeare gives King Lear a model of truth and self-knowledge to aspire to in the character of Cordelia. It is this choice of following Cordelia's model which serves as a crux for further development.

Lear's growth to self-knowledge is constantly based on his image of Cordelia, which changes as he changes. Lear first conceptualizes Cordelia as a creature who seemed substantial but, in fact, was nothing: “Sir, there she stands. / If aught within that little seeming substance” (1.1.191-92). He soon changes his thoughts after Goneril chastises him for the riotous behaviour of his knights:

                                                  O most small fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature
From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this gate that let thy folly in
And thy dear judgment out.

(1.4.221-27)

Lear's image of Cordelia is now further from the empty, hollow concept he had. He acknowledges that there is something in Cordelia which to him is ugly. In addition, he seems to separate the “small fault” and Cordelia by personifying the ugliness, giving it a separate existence outside of Cordelia.

In the storm scene Lear separates Cordelia even further from the cause of his anger. Raging against Regan and Goneril, he assigns to them the role of persecutors, yet forgets to mention Cordelia. In his growing madness he excludes Cordelia in an attempt to avoid his guilt over his denial of her:

                                                  Here I stand your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man;
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That will with two pernicious daughters join
Your high-engendered battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this.

(3.2.18-23)

His exclusion of Cordelia from his fury is a telling sign of his changing conception of Cordelia. This change comes at a crucial moment in Lear's development as he leaves selfish concern for a moment to tend to the fool: “Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? […] Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart / That's sorry yet for thee” (3.2.66 and 70-71). Harvey Birenbaum remarks that in the fourth Act, Lear “finds relief from self-awareness but only by complete submission into the truth of his pain”.¹⁰ His own violence, deception and mortality are made clear to him. He can now see Cordelia in the role of victim as he states: “Take that of me, my friend, who have the power / To seal th'accuser's lips” (4.5.161-62). Lear's awareness of his own guilt expresses itself in his madness and reveals a soul tormented by his own denial of truth. Lear tells Gloucester:

                                                  Get thee glass eyes,
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now.
Pull off my boots. Harder, harder! So.

(4.5.162-65)

Lear's removal of his boots—his “lendings”—symbolizes rejection, and perhaps the disgust and guilt Lear harbours in regard to his treatment of Cordelia. His view of Cordelia's silence has changed drastically from an ugly blemish to an abused strength. It is through this perception of Cordelia that Lear is able to make crucial changes in his character. He now understands his fault in relying on the quantity of language and not the unspoken truth. What remains to be discussed is whether or not Lear follows her example of constancy in the face of her uncertainty and despair of the “kind gods” (4.6.14) as she is removed from speech and action.

Cordelia's conception of truth lies beyond the realm of opulent speech and perhaps speech itself, as suggested by Anne Barton: “In Cordelia's case, the declaration of the inadequacy of language happens to express a true state of feeling. Her love for her father does indeed make her breath poor and speech unable.”¹¹ Her resolve not to taint her love prompts her to remain taciturn: “What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent” (1.1.57). Cordelia's conception of truth also lies in her pious and reverent belief in providence and divine justice, the “kind gods” (Elton, 76). This is certainly true of the beginning of the play, but does it remain true when civil war, the manifestation of the collapse of justice and order, breaks out?

The reappearance of Cordelia in Act 4 is substantially altered in the Folio version by the cutting of an entire scene from the Quarto. In the Quarto scene, a gentleman relates to Kent a dynamic and emotional Cordelia rather than the simply anxious leader of the Folio. When asked how Cordelia was moved by her father's fallen situation, the gentleman portrays a struggle between patience and sorrow in Cordelia, using contrary images:

Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears
Were like a better way; those happy smilets
That played on her ripe lip seemed not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence
As pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief,
Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,
If all could so become it.

(Quarto, 4.3.13-21)

The gentleman's attempt to romanticize Cordelia's distress does not mask the struggle between the patience needed to accept fate and the sorrow of despair. This conflict alters Cordelia's attitude towards the “kind gods” and her behaviour. Indeed, the gentleman further relates that Cordelia's sorrow turns her terse, firm language into broken exclamations of deep doubt:

Pantingly forth, as if it pressed her heart;
Cried “Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! Sisters!
Kent! Father! Sisters! What, i'th'storm? i'th'night?
Let pity not be believed!” There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
And, clamour-moistened. Then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

(Quarto, 4.3.24-30)

Cordelia's surprise and shock are not only confined to the actions of her sisters, but are extended towards the storm and the night, symbolic embodiments of the gods (Elton, 232). This is a crucial revelation for Cordelia, whose perceptions of justice and truth have thus far been based upon her faith in the “kind gods”. This episode, according to Anne Barton, is similar to the opening scenes in that Cordelia cannot give linguistic shape to her intentions (Barton, 25). However, Cordelia's broken and panting words attempt to give shape to her shock and despair and emphasize a frightening rejection of pity and Cordelia's conception of the benevolent gods.

The strong and emotionally upset reaction of Cordelia in the gentleman's report may be the very reason why this scene is not included in the later Folio version of the play which is generally considered superior. Ian J. Kirby has noted the elusiveness with which Shakespeare wrote, agreeing “that in King Lear Shakespeare frequently frustrates his audience”.¹² The Folio conforms to this elusiveness by removing the gentleman's careful observations and by presenting Cordelia as “much more the active exponent of her father's rights”.¹³ The inner struggle, which is so prominent in the Quarto version, is modified to appear less obvious, more evasive. This allows Cordelia a more self-confident re-entrance to the play, and thus a stronger effect is achieved once Cordelia begins to doubt the benevolence of fate. Her few lines in Act 4, scene 3 echo the shock found in the Quarto concerning the fate of King Lear: “Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now, / As mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud” (4.3.1-2). She questions not only her own but also mankind's ability to cope with Lear's madness: “What can man's wisdom / In the restoring his bereavèd sense?” (4.3.8-9). The elements of doubt are present in the Folio as they are in the Quarto, but are made less potent by the omission of the gentleman's remarks.

In either case, Cordelia's prayer becomes far more than a plea for Lear's good health:

                                                  O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abusèd nature;
Th'untuned and jarring senses O wind up
Of this child-changèd father!

(4.6.14-17)

This prayer becomes a final wish for the gods to remain kind, a hope for divine justice. Her gods confound her by remaining, as they have ever been, silent.

The result of the confusion in Cordelia's mind concerning her faith in the benevolent gods leads to a striking manifestation of despair and consequently to her removal from the world of King Lear. Her very last lines are uttered in captivity:

                                                                      We are not the first
Who with best meaning have incurred the worst.
For thee, oppressèd king, I am cast down,
Myself could else outfrown false fortune's frown.
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?

(5.3.3-7)

Cordelia's “best meaning” intentions are devalued horribly by her having “incurred the worst”. The awareness that the gods' justice is not based on the merit of the individual, reveals a changed Cordelia. The devaluation of divine justice may be an indication that Cordelia is bitter. In coldly addressing Lear as “oppressèd king” rather than “father” or “dear Lord”—a mode of address to which she is accustomed—she gives her last speech an accusing tone which shows the strained imbalance in her character. It is also unlike her to view fate, fortune, and the effects of time in negative terms. Yet, she says: “Myself could outfrown false fortune's frown” (5.3.6). Earlier Cordelia saw a positive view of time and fate: “Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides; / Who covers faults, at last with shame derides” (1.1.274-75). Her last line further illustrates an attitude of despair with a powerless wish on Cordelia's part to see her sisters. It is perhaps feelings of distressing isolation which prompt her to call for the sight of her tormentors. Cordelia ends her life with these words, which are strange, unstable and bitter.

Like Cordelia, the Fool is also removed from speech and action at a crucial point. In a Folio addition, the Fool's last line, “And I'll go to bed at noon” (3.6.41), expresses his despair in watching his master succumb to the seeming madness of the heath. Lear's preceding utterance emphasizes the inversion of values in his world: “We'll go to supper i'th' morning” (3.6.40). The Fool echoes this sentiment with the surrender of his final line. Uttering in despair of common sense his anguish over the deflation of a King to a madman, the Fool complains: “This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen” (3.4.72). His final silence serves the play's action by illuminating the polarity between reason and madness in Lear. The Fool attempts to provide, unsuccessfully, a support for Lear with his replies of common sense:

O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o'door. Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughters blessing. Here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools.

(3.2.10-12)

In his delusion, Lear ignores the advice and common sense of the Fool and goes on to voice a frightening hatred aimed at Goneril and Regan. His madness is so powerful that Edgar remarks: “My tears begin to take his part so much / They mar my counterfeiting” (3.6.18-19). The Fool becomes so overwhelmed by Lear's madness that he imposes a self-induced silence, effectively suppressing common sense and truth.

The Fool, in his privileged role as Lear's verbal antagonist, is very like Cordelia in regard to the unspoken truth. The Fool presents the truth much like Cordelia, in precise terms but with all the problems of speaking truth in the deceptive world of King Lear. The Fool's first discussion with Lear points directly to Lear's denial of truth, but in allegory: “Truth's a dog must to kennel. He must be whipped out, when the Lady Brach may stand by th'fire and stink” (1.4.97-98). Arthur Davis remarks that: “The fool is of no practical help to the King, and his value as a companion is severely limited by the nature of his running commentary.”¹⁴ If Lear were able to accept his denial of the truth, the Fool would indeed become a valuable companion. However, Lear's denial and his stubborn lack of common sense deny him the Fool's unique rarity as a speaker of truth. In fact, according to John Kerrigan, the Folio additions to the text enhance this distance between the two characters:

Still more strikingly, F emphasizes the Fool's hard-headedness. The new lines resemble the 1.4 quips about unfee'd lawyers and rent. Only whereas such observations were then to the point, they now seem distressingly irrelevant. The Fool's first few jokes may not have helped Lear recover his kingdom, but they did make him “See better” what he had done when he gave his crown away. At TLN 1322-7, by contrast, the Fool's sallies are disengaged from the king. The two characters no longer speak the same language, because Lear is losing touch with the way things are.

(220)

To buttress his theme of irresolution further, Shakespeare forbids Lear the common sense of the Fool. The Fool's silence seems self-imposed but this is more because Lear has gone beyond his help. As a result, the Fool despairs of his own common sense and succumbs to the topsy-turvy values of Lear's madness in his last line: “And I'll go to bed at noon” (3.6.41). The Fool completes his action and speech in the play much like Cordelia, in opposition to his perceived values. The sense of uncertainty, however, is far more prevalent in the Fool's case because his confusion is mirrored in the disorientation of Lear's madness.

When Shakespeare imposes a silence on both Cordelia and the Fool, these two characters are in despair of their personal views of the world. The Fool despairs of common sense while Cordelia surrenders to feelings of bitterness. Shakespeare purposely does this to allow for a lack of dramatic fulfilment or resolution for Lear. Through doubt of their own principles, Lear is denied the Fool's common sense and Cordelia's pristine goodness as vehicles for fulfilment. Lear's denial of truth is finally acknowledged late in the play, but even this has a tone of misunderstanding. Lear still does not fathom Cordelia's love for him: “If you have poison for me, I will drink it. / I know you do not love me” (4.6.70-71). Even near the end of his play, Shakespeare denies the audience any form of completion.

The irresolution of the final scene is the conclusion of Shakespeare's tragic vision in King Lear. The Folio again enhances the already elusive Quarto in terms of dramatic completion and points in the direction Shakespeare was exploring.¹⁵ The debate over whether or not Lear dies happily or in anguish testifies to Shakespeare's ability to leave in question the meaning of his play. If we take into consideration the role of the Fool and Cordelia as discussed, we can see a definite pattern of refusal of any form of resolution in the play. Uncertainty on the part of Cordelia and the Fool creates a rich substructure of shifting values, attitudes and hopes. The spoken truth becomes just as uncertain as Cordelia's “Nothing”, as Lear realizes too late. He demonstrates his grief with howling:

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones.
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so,
That heaven's vault should crack.

(5.3.231-33)

Anne Barton states: “At the very end, entering with Cordelia dead in his arms, Lear will find that the howl of an animal is the only possible response to the situation” (27). Lear's howls are the closest he comes to any form of resolution between himself and the spoken truth, and they are cries of inarticulate disorder. He is denied dramatic union with the Fool because of his madness, and Cordelia's doubt and death leave him to face his own death and spiritual fulfilment or non-fulfilment alone.

Notes

1. The Tragedy of King Lear, ed. Jay L. Halio, New Cambridge Shakespeare, Cambridge, 1992, 5.3.164. Philip McGuire, Speechless Dialect: Shakespeare's Open Silences, Berkeley, 1985, 151.

2. John Kerrigan, “Revision, Adaption, and the Fool in King Lear”, in The Division of the Kingdoms: Shakespeare's Two Versions of King Lear, eds. Gary Taylor and Michael Warren, Oxford, 1983, 229.

3. John Danby, Shakespeare's Doctrine of Nature: A Study of King Lear, London, 1969, 114.

4. Harley Granville-Barker, Prefaces to Shakespeare, Princeton: N. J., 1946, 303.

5. William Elton, “King Lear” and the Gods, San Marino: Calif., 1966, 77.

6. Harry Berger, Jr., “King Lear: The Lear Family Romance”, The Centennial Review, 23 (1979), 368.

7. Marion D. Perret, “Lear's Good Old Man”, Shakespeare Studies, 17 (1985), 89.

8. “Cordelia: Loss of Insolence”, Studies in the Humanities, V/2 (1976), 15.

9. Harry Berger, “King Lear: The Lear Family Romance”, 358.

10. Harvey Birenbaum, “The Art of Our Necessities: The Softness of King Lear”, The Yale Review, LXXII/4 (1983), 591.

11. Anne Barton, “Shakespeare and the Limits of Language”, Shakespeare Survey, 24 (1971), 24-25.

12. Ian J. Kirby, “The Passing of King Lear”, Shakespeare Survey, 41 (1989), 147.

13. Jay L. Halio, King Lear, 4.3, note to SD “Enter … Cordelia”.

14. Arthur G. Davis, The Royalty of Lear, New York, 1974, 85.

15. Thomas Clayton, “‘Is this the promis'd end?’: Revision in the Role of the King”, in The Division of the Kingdoms, 129.