So we believe.--The mind of Lear staggering
between the weight of attachment and the hurried movements of
passion is like a tall ship driven about by the winds, buffeted by
the furious waves, but that still rides above the storm, having its
anchor fixed in the bottom of the sea; or it is like the sharp rock
circled by the eddying whirlpool that foams and beats against it, or
like the solid promontory pushed from its basis by the force of an
earthquake.
The character of Lear itself is very finely conceived for the
purpose. It is the only ground on which such a story could be built
with the greatest truth and effect. It is his rash haste, his
violent impetuosity, his blindness to everything but the dictates of
his passions or affections, that produces all his misfortunes, that
aggravates his impatience of them, that enforces our pity for him.
The part which Cordelia bears in the scene is extremely beautiful:
the story is almost told in the first words she utters. We see at
once the precipice on which the poor old king stands from his own
extravagant and credulous importunity, the indiscreet simplicity of
her love (which, to be sure, has a little of her father's obstinacy
in it) and the hollowness of her sisters' pretensions. Almost the
first burst of that noble tide of passion, which runs through the
play, is in the remonstrance of Kent to his royal master on the
injustice of his sentence against his youngest daughter--'Be Kent
unmannerly, when Lear is mad!' This manly plainness which draws down
on him the displeasure of the unadvised king is worthy of the
fidelity with which he adheres to his fallen fortunes.
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