What should Cordelia do?--love and be silent?

For the very expressions of Lear--

What can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters'?

are enough to strike dumb forever a generous, delicate, but shy disposition, such as Cordelia's, by holding out a bribe for professions.

If Cordelia were not thus portrayed, this deliberate coolness would strike us as verging on harshness or obstinacy; but it is beautifully represented as a certain modification of character, the necessary result of feelings habitually, if not naturally, repressed: and through the whole play we trace the same peculiar and individual disposition--the same absence of all display--the same sobriety of speech veiling the most profound affections--the same quiet steadiness of purpose--the same shrinking from all exhibition of emotion.

"Tous les sentimens naturels ont leur pudeur," was a _viva voce_ observation of Madame de Stael, when disgusted by the sentimental affectation of her imitators. This "pudeur," carried to an excess, appears to me the peculiar characteristic of Cordelia. Thus, in the description of her deportment when she receives the letter of the Earl of Kent, informing her of the cruelty of her sisters and the wretched condition of Lear, we seem to have her before us:--

KENT.

Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?

GENTLEMAN.

Ay, sir, she took them, and read them in my presence And now and then an ample tear stole down Her delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen Over her pa.s.sion; who, most rebel-like Sought to be king over her.

KENT.

O then it moved her!

GENTLEMAN.

Not to a rage.

Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of father Pantingly forth, as if it pressed her heart, Cried, _Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! Sisters!

What, i' the storm? i' the night?

Let pity not be believed._ Then she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes;

Then away she started, To deal with grief alone.

Here the last line--the image brought before us of Cordelia starting away from observation, "to deal with grief alone," is as exquisitely beautiful as it is characteristic.

But all the pa.s.sages. .h.i.therto quoted must yield in beauty and power to that scene, in which her poor father recognizes her, and in the intervals of distraction asks forgiveness of his wronged child. The subdued pathos and simplicity of Cordelia's character, her quiet but intense feeling, the misery and humiliation of the bewildered old man, are brought before us in so few words, and at the same time sustained with such a deep intuitive knowledge of the innermost workings of the human heart, that as there is nothing surpa.s.sing this scene in Shakspeare himself, so there is nothing that can be compared to it in any other writer.

CORDELIA.

How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

LEAR.

You do me wrong to take me out of 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.

CORDELIA.

Sir, do you know me?

LEAR.

You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?

CORDELIA.

Still, still far wide!

PHYSICIAN.

He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.

LEAR.

Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight!

I am mightily abused. I should even die with pity To see another thus. I know not what to say.

I will not swear these are my hands: Let's see.

I feel this pin p.r.i.c.k. Would I were a.s.sured Of my condition.

CORDELIA.

O look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o'er me-- No, sir, you must not kneel.

LEAR.

Pray, do not mock me: I am a very foolish, fond old man, Fourscore and upwards; and to deal plainly with you, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me; For as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.

CORDELIA.

And so I am, I am.

LEAR.

Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray you weep not If you have poison for me I will drink it.

I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: You have some cause, they have not.

CORDELIA.

No cause, no cause!

As we do not estimate Cordelia's affection for her father by the coldness of her language, so neither should we measure her indignation against her sisters by the mildness of her expressions. What, in fact, can be more eloquently significant, and at the same time more characteristic of Cordelia, than the single line when she and her father are conveyed to their prison:--

Shall we not see these _daughters_ and these _sisters_?

The irony here is so bitter and intense, and at the same time so quiet, so feminine, so dignified in the expression, that who but Cordelia would have uttered it in the same manner, or would have condensed such ample meaning into so few and simple words?

We lose sight of Cordelia during the whole of the second and third, and great part of the fourth act; but towards the conclusion she reappears.