Play of the Month: King Lear

I just finished studying my twenty-third Shakespeare play, The Tragedy of King Lear, often shortened to King Lear. Set in pre-Roman Britain, the play was written in late 1605 or early 1606. It depicts the consequences of King Lear's love-test, in which he divides his power and land according to the praise of his daughters. Known for its dark tone, complex poetry, and prominent motifs concerning blindness, madness and human nature, the play is regarded as one of Shakespeare's Four Great Tragedies, alongside Hamlet, Othello, and Macbeth.

Through the play and extended reading, I gained some insight into the history of English theater. King Lear has been performed by esteemed actors since the 17th century, when men played all the roles. On 6 September 1642, however, all theatres were closed down by the Puritan government. Upon the restoration of the monarchy in 1660, two patent companies (the King's Company and the Duke's Company) were established, and the existing theatrical repertoire was divided between them. 

From the restoration until the mid-19th century, the performance history of King Lear is not the story of Shakespeare's version, which belonged to the King's Company, but of The History of King Lear—a popular adaptation by Nahum Tate that belonged to the Duke's Company. Unlike Shakespeare's tragedy, Tate's play has a happy ending and is regarded as a tragicomedy. Tate's adaptation was so popular with theatergoers that from the date of its first performance, Shakespeare's version did not appeare on the English stage for over a hundred and fifty years. Finally, the stage play returned to the complete Shakespeare text in 1845. From the 20th century, a number of women have played male roles in the play, notably the Fool and King Lear himself.

In addition, as a history lover I was fascinated by the character of King Lear, which is based on Leir, a legendary king of the Britons said to have reigned in the 8th century BC, roughly contemporaneous with the traditional founding of Rome. As legend has it, Leir is the eponymous founder of the city of Leicester, and is the last in the male line of Brute of Troy, a descendant of the Trojan hero Aeneas and legendary first king of Britain. 

Moreover, I was amazed at Edgar's well-intentioned "toying" with the despair of his blinded father (the Earl of Gloucester) in an attempt to cure his despair at the White Cliffs of Dover, an iconic, 350-foot-high stretch of coastline in Kent, England. Composed of dazzling white chalk, the cliffs face the Strait of Dover and serve as a historic symbol of defense, hope, loyalty, and returning home. Unsurprisingly, in the play, the Earl of Kent, Lear's most loyal follower, ends his lines with "I have a journey, sir, shortly to go. My master calls me. I must not say no."

To supplement my study of the play, I watched the 2008 film King Lear, a recording of Trevor Nunn's theatrical production of King Lear, filmed for British television. This is the only film adaptation to use virtually all of Shakespeare’s text, in which the role of King Lear is played by Sir Ian Murray McKellen, a British cultural icon and the winner of numerous accolades, including a Tony Award, six Laurence Olivier Awards, two Screen Actors Guild Awards and a Golden Globe Award. 

Here are some of the passages and soliloquies that impressed me, presented in modern English translations. 

Act 1, Scene 1

CORDELIA:

My good lord, you fathered me, raised me, and loved me. In return, I am dutiful to you, as I should be. I obey you, love you, and honor you. Why do my sisters have husbands if they claim that they love only you? I hope that when I get married, my husband will take half of my love, and half of my care and sense of duty. Surely I'll never get married like my sisters are married—loving only their father.

LEAR:

Then this is how it will be: your truth will be your only inheritance. For now I swear by the holy light of the sun, the mysteries of witchcraft and the night, and by all the stars whose movements control our lives—I hereby disown you as my daughter. I give up all my duties as a father and dissolve all family ties between us. From now on you will be a stranger to me. Even a foreign barbarian who eats his own children will be as close to my heart, pitied, and helped during difficult times as you were, my former daughter.

Act 1, Scene 4

GONERIL:

Sir, this pretended astonishment of yours seems very similar to your other recent pranks. Please try to understand my purpose. You are old and respected, so try to be wise too. You're keeping a hundred knights and squires here—men so disorderly, vulgar, and bold that our court has become infected with their manners and now seems like a cheap, rowdy inn. Their gluttony and lust make this place feel more like a tavern or a brothel than an honored palace. It's so shameful that it requires immediate action. Therefore it's my desire—and if you won't do it when I ask politely, then I'll do it myself by force—that you reduce the number of knights in your entourage a little. Keep the ones who are older, who suit your advanced age, and who know their proper place—as well as yours.

LEAR:

Darkness and devils! 

[To his attendants] Saddle my horses. Call my knights together. 

[To GONERIL] I won't trouble you any more, you worthless bastard. I still have one true daughter left.

Act 2, Scene 2

CORNWALL:

This is exactly the kind of fellow your sister warned us about.—Come on, bring in the stocks!

GLOUCESTER:

Let me ask you not to do this, your Grace. The man has done wrong, and the good king his master will punish him for it. But the kind of punishment you intend for him is more appropriate for petty thieves than for royal servants. His master, the king, will surely be insulted when he finds out that you value him so little, locking up and humiliating his messenger like this.

REGAN:

My sister may be more insulted to learn that her messenger was abused and assaulted just for following her orders. 

[To servants] Put his legs in the stocks.

Act 2, Scene 3

EDGAR:

I heard myself declared an outlaw, and I was lucky to escape those hunting me by hiding in the trunk of a tree. No port or road is safe for me, and everywhere people are watching and waiting to arrest me. But I'll survive as long as I can avoid being captured. I've decided to disguise myself as the filthiest, lowliest beggar that was ever hated by man. I'll smear my face with dirt, wear a loincloth, make my hair tangled and knotted, and face the wind and bad weather almost naked. I've seen in this country beggars who come from insane asylums, who shriek and stab pins, skewers, nails, and sprigs of rosemary into their numb and deadened arms. With this horrible spectacle, along with their insane curses and occasional prayers, they force lowly farmers and poor villagers to give them alms. "Poor Turylgood!" "Poor Tom!" they call themselves. That's at least something to be. I'm nothing when I'm known as Edgar.

Act 3, Scene 1

LEAR:

Blow, winds, until your cheeks crack! Rage on, storm! You whirlwinds and tornadoes, pour out water until you've drenched the steeples of our churches and drowned their weathervanes! You sulfurous and deadly lightning—herald of the mighty thunderbolts that split oak trees—singe the white hair on my head! And you, thunder that shakes everything, crush the spherical world flat, and crack open the molds from which nature forms humans, and spill all the seeds that grow up to become ungrateful mankind!

FOOL:

Oh, uncle, encountering false holy water (like flattering courtier's speeches) in a dry house is better than being outside getting soaked by rainwater. Please, uncle, let’s go inside and ask your daughters to forgive you. This stormy night has no pity for either wise men or fools.

Act 3, Scene 6

GLOUCESTER:

Because I didn't want to watch your cruel fingernails pluck out his poor old eyes, or see your vicious sister sink her fangs into his kingly flesh. You made him endure a storm so terrible that if it had occurred at sea, the waves would have risen up to extinguish the stars' fires. But the poor old man just added to the rain with his tears. If wolves had been howling at your gate during that storm, you would have said, "Good doorman, let them in." Even the cruelest being would have given in to pity in such a situation, but you did not. I will see vengeance swoop down on you from heaven, you cruel children.

CORNWALL:

No, you won't "see" anything. Servants, hold his chair. I'm going to put my foot on his eyes.

Act 4, Scene 2

ALBANY:

Wisdom and goodness seem vile to vile people. To the filthy everything seems filthy. What have you done? You two tigers—not daughters—what wicked deeds have you done? You barbarous degenerates, you've driven your father crazy. He once was a gracious old man whom even an angry bear would respect. How could my good brother-in-law allow you to do it, when he himself was given his power by the king? If the heavens don't send down avenging angels to punish these terrible crimes, then the end will come: humanity must turn on itself, all of us destroying each other like monsters from the deep.

GONERIL:

You cowardly man, you always turn the other cheek and let abuse rain down on your head. You can't tell the difference between restraining yourself and being taken advantage of. You don't realize that only fools pity villains like Gloucester, whom we punish before they can commit their crimes. Where's your war drum? The King of France spreads his banners in our peaceful country and your kingdom is at risk of war. But all you do is sit here, you moralizing fool, and complain, "Alas, why is he doing that?"

Act 4, Scene 6

EDGAR:

Even if you were made of only thread, feathers, and air, you should've shattered like an egg after falling as far as you did. But you're breathing; your flesh is solid; you're not bleeding; you can speak. You are unbroken. Ten ship masts laying end to end couldn't measure the height you just fell from. Your life is a miracle. Speak again.

GLOUCESTER:

But have I fallen or not?

EDGAR:

You fell from the dreadful top of this chalky cliff. Look up at the height. The shrill-sounding lark up there can't be seen or heard. Just look up.

GLOUCESTER:

Alas, I have no eyes. Are wretched men now not even allowed to kill themselves? It used to be some small comfort when someone in misery could cheat death's plan and frustrate its proud will.

Act 5, Scene 1

EDMUND:

I've pledged my love to both of these sisters now. And they're each suspicious of the other, as if they were both poisonous snakes. Which of them will I pick? Both? One? Or neither? I can't be happy with either one of them as long as the other remains alive. If I married the widowed Regan, it would drive Goneril crazy. But it would be difficult to carry out my plan with Goneril while her husband's still alive. Now then, I'll use Albany's authority and power to win this battle. And when it's over, let Goneril figure out how to get rid of him. Albany intends to be merciful to Lear and Cordelia, but if I win the battle and they become my prisoners, they won't live long enough to see his pardon. My position requires actions, not words.

Act 5, Scene 3

ALBANY:

Carry them away from here. Our business is now to grieve. 

[To KENT and EDGAR] My dear friends, you two should rule this kingdom and keep the wounded country alive.

KENT:

I have a journey to make soon, sir. My master calls me on to following him to the next life, and I cannot say no.

EDGAR:

We must bear the weight of this sad day, and say what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest has suffered the most. We who are young will never see as much as he has seen, or live so long.