EXT. NIGHT: HEATH
The camera pans around a harsh cloudscape, lashed by lightning and rain. The heath seems never-ending, overgrown tussocks of grass buffeted by the howling winds. LEAR, traversing the heath, appears from a distance, a small, bedraggled figure, ragged robes whipping about his unsteady frame. The FOOL follows behind, an even smaller shape, hunched against the wind and cold and evidently struggling to keep up. As they move closer in frame, the FOOL'S song is heard on voice-over.
FOOL
(voice-over, sings)
'Fathers that wear rags do make their children blind, but fathers that bear bags shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, ne'er turns the key to th' poor.'
LEAR soldiers on, standing impossibly tall despite his weaving, staggering gait, paying no heed to anything but the path before him. The FOOL stumbles and falls, remaining motionless on the ground for a moment before heaving himself back to his feet to run, bent nearly double, back to LEAR'S side.
FADE TO:
EXT. NIGHT: HEATH
KENT stands alone on the leeward side of a hill on the heath, somewhat sheltered from the storm, but he draws his cloak more tightly about his shoulders nevertheless. He scans the landscape, brows furrowed, searching for something out of sight. A shout makes him turn, one hand going to the dagger at his belt. Another shout, louder, and a bobbing light becomes visible at the crest of the hill. The lightly armored frame of the KNIGHT appears out of the gloom, and KENT replaces his dagger in his belt as the KNIGHT gingerly makes his way down to the valley of the rain shadow.
KENT
Where's the King?
KNIGHT
Contending with the fretful elements; bids the wind blow the earth into the sea or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, that things might change or cease; tears his white hair, strives in his little world of man to outstrom the conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, unbonneted he runs, and bids what will take all.
KENT
But who is with him?
KNIGHT
None but the Fool, who labours to outjest his heart-struck injuries.
KENT
(drawing closer to the KNIGHT as if to divulge a secret)
I do know you, sir, and dare upon the warrant of my note commend a dear thing to you. There is division, although as yet the face of it be covered with mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall. From France there comes a power into this scattered kingdom, who already, wise in our negligence, have secret feet in some of our best ports, and are at point to show their open banner. Now to you: if on my credit you dare build so far to make your speed to Dover, you shall find some that will thank you, making just report of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow the King hath cause to plain. I am a gentleman of blood and breeding, and from some knowledge and assurance offer this office to you.
A jagged flash of lightning lights the screen up in blinding white, startling them both. A gust of wind nearly puts out the KNIGHT'S lamp, and the ensuing clap of thunder makes him shudder, glancing warily over his shoulder before moving deeper into the rain shadow.
KNIGHT
I will talk further with you.
KENT
(hands the KNIGHT his leather satchel, and the cord about his neck, which is strung with a ring)
Nay, do not. For confirmation that I am much more than my out-wall, open this purse, and take what it contains. If you shall see Cordelia- as fear not but you shall- show her this ring and she will tell you who your fellow is, that yet you do not know. (Another, more distant lightning strike, followed by a softer grumble of thunder) I will go seek the King.
KNIGHT
Give me your hand. (The KNIGHT and KENT clasp hands strongly before the KNIGHT passes KENT his lamp) I'll this way, and you that. He that first lights on him holla the other.
FADE TO:
EXT. NIGHT: HEATH
LEAR, facing the camera in three-quarter shot, staggers to the top of a grassy rise as the storm rages around him. A jagged fork of lightning splits the sky, accompanied by a deafening roar of thunder; the FOOL, barely a step behind LEAR, falls to the ground with a cry of shock, hands over his ears like a frightened child. At the base of the rise, the rough-hewn door of a hovel carved into its inside is open a mere crack, allowing us to glimpse a ragged, naked figure, thin and shivering, crouched inside. This is EDGAR, in the guise of Poor Tom, but he pulls the door closed with frantic urgency before we can glimpse his face; he could be, should be, any ordinary beggar. CU on LEAR'S face as rain and tears stream down his furrowed cheeks. He turns his face to the sky, seemingly oblivious to all around him, and shouts, his voice struggling not to be lost in the fury of the storm.
LEAR
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow, you cataracts and hurricanoes, spout till you have drenched our steeples! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, singe my white head! And thou all-shaking thunder, smite flat the thick rotundity of the world, crack nature's mould, all germens spill at once that make ingrateful man.
FOOL
(still prostrate, he grabs the hem of LEAR'S robes)
O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters blessing. (In voice-over) Here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.
LEAR
(to the sky)
Rumble thy bellyful; spit, fire, spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters. I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, you owe me no subscription. Then let fall your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,: a poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man... but yet I call you servile ministers, that have with two pernicious daughters join'd your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head so old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
FOOL
He that has a house to put's head in has a good head-piece. (Sings)'The cod-piece that will house before the head has any, the head and he shall louse; so beggars marry many. The man that makes his toe what he his heart should make shall of a corn cry woe, and turn his sleep to wake-' For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
LEAR
No. I will be the pattern of all patience. I will say nothing.
LEAR sits down where he is, right on the edge of the rise. KENT, carrying a sputtering lamp, appears at the base of the rise. The FOOL spots him and jumps to his feet, ready to call out, but a loud crack of thunder forces him to the ground again, using LEAR'S bent back as a shield. KENT has wrapped a scarf about his face beneath the hood of his cloak; he keeps his face turned away from the driving rain.
KENT
Who's there?
FOOL
Marry, here's grace and a codpiece- that's a wise man and a fool.
KENT
(climbing the rise and dropping to a crouch beside LEAR)
Alas, sir, sit you here? Things that love night love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies gallow the very wanderers of the dark, and make them keep their caves. Since I was man, such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, such groans of roaring wind and rain I never remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry th' affliction nor the fear.
LEAR
Let the great gods, that keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch that hast within thee undivulged crimes unwhipped of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand; thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue that art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake, that under covert and convenient seeming hast practised on man's life: close pent-up guilts, rive your concealed centres, and cry these dreadful summoners grace. I am a man more sinned against than sinning.
KENT
Alack, bare-headed! Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel. Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest. Repose you there; while I to this hard house- more hard than the stones whereof 'tis raised; which even but now, demanding after you, denied me to come in-return and force their scanted courtesy.
LEAR
My wits begin to turn. (To the FOOL, who has begun to shiver)Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself. (To KENT)Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange, that can make vile things precious. (To the FOOL)Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart that's sorry yet for thee. (To KENT)Come, bring us to this hovel.
KENT takes LEAR by the arm and helps him to rise, beginning to lead him down towards the hovel. The FOOL remains at the top of the rise, sitting with his hands on his knees, head hanging low as the rain beats relentlessly down. A flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder make him flinch, and over the rain and wind his laughter- soft, low, and more than a little desperate- can barely be made out. He brings his pipe to his lips with a trembling hand and blows a few notes, then breaks off, almost seeming to sob. The song that follows is haunting, haunted, nearly lost in the storm.
FOOL
(sings, waveringly)
'He that has and a little tiny wit, with hey, ho, the wind and the rain, must make content with his fortunes fit, for the rain it raineth every day.' (Laughs again, louder)This is a brave night to cool a courtesan.
The FOOL glances up into the camera. Slow CU on his face as the earlier fear melts into a small, strange half-smile.
FOOL
I'll speak a prophecy ere I go. 'When priests are more in word than matter; when brewers mar their malt with water; when nobles are their tailors' tutors; no heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors; when every case in law is right; no squire in debt, nor no poor knight; when slanders do not live in tongues; nor cutpurses come not to throngs; when usurers tell their gold i' the field; and bawds and whores do churches build; then shall the realm of Albion come to great confusion: then comes the time, who lives to see't, that going shall be used with feet.' This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.
FADE TO BLACK:
INT. NIGHT: HALLWAY OUTSIDE LIBRARY, GLOUCESTER'S HOUSE
GLOUCESTER, carrying a candle, makes his way down the hall from the direction of the library, speaking rapidly; his speech becomes clear to us as he approaches. EDMUND, looking tired and not altogether interested in the musings of his father, glances surreptitiously at the walls and over his shoulder. At some distance, the offscreen voices of REGAN, GONERIL, and (to a lesser extent) CORNWALL can barely be made out.
GLOUCESTER
Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desire their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house, charged me, on pain of their displeasure neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him.
EDMUND
Most savage and unnatural!
GLOUCESTER
Go to; say you nothing. There's a division betwixt the Dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have received a letter this night-'tis dangerous to be spoken-I have locked the letter in my closet. These injuries the King now bears will be revenged home. There's part of a power already landed: we must incline to the king. I will seek him, and privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask for me. I am ill, and gone to bed. Though I die for it, as no less is threatened me, the king my old master must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund. Pray you, be careful.
GLOUCESTER embraces EDMUND, briefly, before continuing down the hall. From EDMUND'S perspective, we watch as he is handed a cloak and a lamp by a SERVANT, who gestures strongly, seemingly concerned. EDMUND turns away, back in the direction of the library and the guest rooms, seemingly deep in thought. He speaks as he walks, quietly, not precisely cognizant of the camera, but instead striving to remain unheard as the arguments of REGAN and GONERIL grow more distinct.
EDMUND
This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke instantly know; and of that letter too.
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me that which my father loses; no less than all. The younger rises when the old doth fall.
FADE TO:
EXT. NIGHT: OUTSIDE OF TOM'S HOVEL, HEATH
KENT, still holding LEAR'S arm, leads him to the door of Tom's hovel, which remains firmly closed. The FOOL follows closely behind; both he and KENT wear expressions of concern. LEAR, oblivious to their silent solicitation, lets his free hand drift absently over his heart, a vacant expression on his face.
KENT
Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter. The tyranny of the open night's too rough for nature to endure.
LEAR
Wilt break my heart?
KENT
I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter here.
LEAR
Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm invades us to the skin. So 'tis to thee; but where the greater malady is fix'd, the lesser is scarce felt. When the mind's free, the body's delicate. The tempest in my mind doth from my senses take all feeling else save what beats there: filial ingratitude! Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand for lifting food to't? But I will punish home. No, I will weep no more.- In such a night to shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. O Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,- O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that. No more of that.
KENT
(more desperately)
Good my lord, enter.
LEAR
Prithee, go in thyself. Seek thine own ease. This tempest will not give me leave to ponder on things would hurt me more. (To the FOOL) In, boy, go first. (LEAR kneels, and speaks then as if to himself; the FOOL hesitates, glancing between LEAR and KENT uneasily) You houseless poverty- (To the FOOL, more firmly) Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll go in and sleep. (KENT pushes the door to the hovel open, gently motioning the FOOL to enter, though he himself remains outside, watching LEAR)Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are, that bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, how shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you from seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en too little care of this. Take physic, pomp. Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, that thou mayst shake the superflux to them, and show the heavens more just.
A sudden commotion from inside the hovel: a ragged shout, followed by the FOOL'S panicked scream and a string of irate gibberish. KENT turns to the slightly open door in alarm as the sound of the FOOL'S racing footsteps and heaving breaths near the entrance. LEAR stands, perturbed.
EDGAR
(offscreen, in the voice of Poor Tom)
Fathom and a half! Fathom and a half! Poor Tom!
FOOL
Come not in here, nuncle, there's a spirit!
The FOOL cries out again as he suddenly hits the ground; EDGAR, still hidden within the shadows of the hovel, has tackled him and pinned his legs. The FOOL, gasping over EDGAR'S intelligibly growled words, reaches a desperate hand out to KENT, who tries in vain to pull him out by the underarms.
FOOL
Help me, help me!
KENT
(shouting into the hovel)
Who's there?
FOOL
A spirit, a spirit! He says his name's Poor Tom!
KENT
What are thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth!
The FOOL is released with an explosive movement, and he falls forward into KENT'S arms as EDGAR, a blur, bursts from the hovel with a scream of his own that quickly devolves into an animalistic snarl as he crouches before the company. He is stark naked, covered head to toe in mud. Open wounds gape angry and raw on nearly every part of his body, and he wraps both arms around himself, long fingernails tearing into the skin of his shoulders as he stares at KENT wildly, shaking.
EDGAR
Away! The foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp hawthorn blow the cold winds. Ha! Go to thy cold bed and warm thee!
LEAR
(slowly)
Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? And art thou come to this?
EDGAR
Who gives anything to Poor Tom, whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. (To LEAR) Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold,-O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I have him now (EDGAR slaps at various parts of his body on every repetition of "there," as though he is swatting at insects)-and there, and there again.
LEAR
What? Have his daughters brought him to this pass? (To EDGAR)Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all? (EDGAR, in lieu of making a reply, moves to lie on his side, reaching towards the FOOL'S sodden cloak with a pained whimper)Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air hang fated o'er men's faults fall on thy daughters!
KENT
(to LEAR)
He hath no daughters, sir!
LEAR
Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature to such a lowness but his unkind daughters.(To EDGAR, as LEAR stiffly kneels beside him and rests a hand on his shoulder)Is it the fashion that discarded fathers should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment: 'twas this flesh begot those pelican daughters.
EDGAR
(sings)
Pillicock sat on pillicock hill, alow, alow, lo, lo.
FOOL
(sadly, pointed at camera)
This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
EDGAR
(pulling himself to a seated position and grabbing LEAR'S lapel)
Take heed o'th' foul fiend: obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse: set not thy sweet heart on proud array. (A low, keening wail)Tom's a-cold.
LEAR
What hast thou been?
EDGAR
A serving-man...proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of my mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in woman out-paramoured the Turk. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, says (Sings)heigh no nonny. (With frantic energy, to the air beyond the company) Dauphin, my boy, my boy, cessez! Let him trot by.
LEAR
(rises, stares down at EDGAR)
Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! Here's three on 's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself. Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. (LEAR, in a frenzy, begins to tear at his clothes) Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton here!
FOOL
(moves to grab LEAR'S arm)
Prithee, nuncle, be content! 'Tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart- a small spark, all the rest on 's body's cold.
Pan out to catch a glimpse of a bobbing light approaching the group. It is GLOUCESTER, struggling to make his way across the heath, waving his free arm and shouting, the words lost in the wind.
FOOL
(tugging harder on LEAR'S now-stilled arm)
Look, here comes a walking fire.
EDGAR hisses and spits in GLOUCESTER'S direction, scrambling along the ground to crouch behind a shocked KENT.
EDGAR
This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock. He gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. (Sings)'Swithin footed thrice the wold; a met the night-mare and her nine-fold; bid her alight, and her troth plight, and, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!'
KENT
Who's there? What is't you seek?
GLOUCESTER
What are you there? Your names?
EDGAR
Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock- punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, (Sings) 'horse to ride, and weapon to wear; but mice and rats, and such small deer, have been Tom's food for seven long year.'
GLOUCESTER, having reached the party, stares at LEAR in shock. EDGAR darts out from behind KENT to kneel in the center of the rest, throwing out a hand as if in warning and baring his teeth at GLOUCESTER.
EDGAR
(to GLOUCESTER)
Beware my follower. (Turns and addresses the air beside him, moving his hand to grip the rain and empty space in a choke hold)Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!
GLOUCESTER
(to LEAR)
What, hath your grace no better company?
EDGAR
The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman; Modo he's called, and Mahu-
GLOUCESTER
(to LEAR)
Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord, that it doth hate what gets it.
EDGAR
(curls up on the ground, burying his face from view)
Poor Tom's a-cold.
GLOUCESTER
(to LEAR)
Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer to obey in all your daughters' hard commands. Though their injunction be to bar my doors and let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, yet have I ventured to come seek you out, and bring you where both fire and food is ready.
LEAR
First let me talk with this philosopher. (To EDGAR)What is the cause of thunder?
KENT
Good my lord, take his offer; go into th' house.
LEAR
(to EDGAR)
What is your study?
EDGAR
How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.
LEAR
Let me ask you one word in private.
LEAR pulls EDGAR to his feet and takes him off the side, speaking quietly to him. The FOOL, silently, turns to observe the conversation, leaving KENT and GLOUCESTER alone in the foreground. Slow CU.
KENT
(to GLOUCESTER)
Importune him to go, my lord. His wits begin t' unsettle.
GLOUCESTER
Canst thou blame him? His daughters seek his death. O, that good Kent, he said it would be thus, poor banished man! Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my life, but lately, very late. I loved him, friend; no father his son dearer. Truth to tell thee, the grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this! (To LEAR)I do beseech your grace-
LEAR
(turns, startled)
O, cry you mercy. (To EDGAR)Noble philosopher, your company.
EDGAR
(subdued, listing unsteadily towards the leery FOOL)
Tom's a-cold.
GLOUCESTER
In, fellow, there in the hovel; keep thee warm.
LEAR
Come, let's in all.
GLOUCESTER hands his lamp to KENT, whose own lamp has long since blown out. The two converse lowly for a moment as LEAR reaches fretfully out towards EDGAR. GLOUCESTER gently turns LEAR aside and leads him into the hove. KENT, meanwhile, gives EDGAR, who has dropped to a squatting position and is trailing one bleeding hand listlessly through the mud, a long look, before entering the hovel himself. The FOOL, too, watches EDGAR for a moment, the same odd smile touching his lips, though now it is tinged with sorrow. Almost absently, he takes his bauble from his belt and sticks it into the mud, so that the next pass of EDGAR'S fingers brush it. His shoulders sag as he finally enters the hovel. EDGAR drops his head into his hands, knotting trembling and battered fingers into his matted hair. When he speaks, it is still in the voice of Tom, dark and low and yet curiously childlike.
EDGAR
Child Roland to the dark tower came, his word was still 'Fie, fo, and fum; I smell the blood of a British man.'
After a moment of silence, a rumble of thunder sounds. EDGAR picks up the bauble and cradles it to his chest as he enters the hovel, and lets the wind slam the heavy door closed.
FADE TO:
INT. NIGHT: LIBRARY, GLOUCESTER'S HOUSE
The house is silent, eerily so. CORNWALL paces agitatedly, back and forth across the center of the room, hands clasped behind his bowed head in thought. EDMUND, seated in an armchair, watches his movements closely. His hands rest in white-knuckled fists on his knees, but his face is placid, betraying no emotion.
CORNWALL
I will have my revenge ere I depart this house.
EDMUND
How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.
CORNWALL
(stops pacing, turns to look EDMUND in the eye)
I now perceive, it was not altogether your brother's evil disposition made him seek his death, but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself.
EDMUND
How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! (EDMUND hands CORNWALL a letter with its seal broken and hastily remade) This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens, that his treason were not, nor I the detector!
CORNWALL
(taking the letter and hauling EDMUND to his feet with a clasp to the shoulder)
Go with me to the Duchess.
EDMUND
If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.
CORNWALL
True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.
EDMUND
(voice-over)
If I find him comforting the king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. (Aloud to CORNWALL)I will persevere in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
CORNWALL
(claps EDMUND heartily upon the shoulder)
I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love.
CORNWALL, a hand still upon EDMUND'S back, makes for the library door. At the threshold, EDMUND turns his head back, gazing steadily into the camera. A small smile curls over his lips.
FADE TO:
INT. NIGHT: TOM'S HOVEL
The hovel is larger than it appears from the outside. The earthen walls are cracked with dripping roots and plants, and a pile of branches, of varying sizes, rests beside a small, crookedly dug fire pit. EDGAR has wrapped himself in a dirty shepherd's blanket and sits with his knees to his chest against the back wall. To his left, the FOOL gently pulls off LEAR'S sodden robes and urges him to sit. KENT and GLOUCESTER, standing with hunched shoulders by the door, clasp hands.
GLOUCESTER
(hands KENT a box of matches)
Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can; I will not be long from you.
KENT
All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience: the gods reward your kindness!
GLOUCESTER, giving LEAR a final concerned glance, checks the oil in his lamp and exits the hovel. KENT crouches down to build up the fire; with hesitant movements, EDGAR moves to help, deftly sorting the branches by size.
EDGAR
(muttering under his breath)
Frateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent; beware the foul fiend.
Pan over to the FOOL and LEAR, leaving KENT and EDGAR slightly out of focus in the background.
FOOL
Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.
LEAR
A king, a king!
FOOL
No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he's a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.
LEAR
To have a thousand with red burning spits come hissing in upon 'em-!
EDGAR
(to LEAR, softly)
Bless thy five wits.
PAN OUT:
KENT
(to LEAR)
O, pity! Sir, where is the patience now that you so oft have boasted to retain?
CUT TO:
EDGAR'S face in CU. An expression of dull horror resides upon his face; furiously, he brings a hand to his face and swipes at the tears welling in his eyes.
EDGAR
(voice-over in his own voice)
My tears begin to take his part so much they mar my counterfeiting.
PAN OUT:
LEAR
(stabbing at the air)
The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.
EDGAR
(in the voice of Poor Tom)
Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs! (Chants)'Be thy mouth or black or white, tooth that poisons if it bite; mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim, hound or spaniel, brach or lym, or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, Tom will make them weep and wail: for, with throwing thus my head, dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.' Do de, de, de. Cessez! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market-towns. (Voice-over in EDGAR'S voice) Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
LEAR
Then let them anatomize Goneril, and Regan; see what breeds about their hearts. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? (LEAR, shaking off the FOOL, stands and makes his stumbling way to EDGAR, picking him up by both arms and examining him closely)You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only I do not like the fashion of your garments: you will say they are Persian attire: but let them be changed.
KENT
(gently separating EDGAR and LEAR)
Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.
LEAR
Make no noise, make no noise. Draw the curtains. (LEAR mimes closing drapes on each repetition of 'so')So, so. We'll go to supper i'th' morning. (LEAR lies down beside the sputtering fire to sleep)
CUT TO:
The FOOL'S face in CU.
FOOL
(slowly, sadly)
And I'll go to bed at noon.
The FOOL moves to lie at LEAR'S feet, shivering. EDGAR gently places the bauble against the FOOL'S chest and folds his arms over it. Then he retrieves the blanket, placing it over LEAR, before settling into a crouch to watch the two of them. GLOUCESTER enters to the sound of rushing rain, and EDGAR twitches, but keeps his head bowed.
GLOUCESTER
(to KENT)
Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master?
KENT
Here, sir, but trouble him not; his wits are gone.
GLOUCESTER
Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms. I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him. There is a litter ready. Lay him in 't and drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet both welcome and protection. Take up thy master. If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, with thine and all that offer to defend him, stand in assured loss. Take up, take up; and follow me, that will to some provision give thee quick conduct.
KENT, moving with some urgency, moves to pick a dazed LEAR up in his arms. He does not appear to notice the FOOL, but EDGAR cries out and snatches the blanket back, tucking it around the FOOL so that only the top of his head is visible. KENT exits the hovel with GLOUCESTER, making their way towards a litter just barely visible outside the door. Once more, the wind pushes the door closed. EDGAR sighs, and begins to gently stroke the FOOL'S hair, singing softly.
EDGAR
(in his own voice)
'Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? Thy sleep be in the corn, and for one blast of thy minikin mouth thy sheep shall take no harm.
The following soliloquy is read over the next series of intercut shots.
EDGAR
(voice-over, in his own voice)
When we our betters see bearing our woes, we scarcely think our miseries our foes. Who alone suffers suffers most i' the mind, leaving free things and happy shows behind. But then the mind much sufferance doth o'er skip, when grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. How light and portable my pain seems now, when that which makes me bend makes the king bow. He childed as I fathered.
FADE TO:
EXT. NIGHT: HEATH
KENT and GLOUCESTER lift LEAR into the litter; around them are a large group of LEAR'S KNIGHTS and GLOUCESTER'S SERVANTS. KENT moves to embrace GLOUCESTER before swinging up beside the cloaked and hooded driver. GLOUCESTER watches the party drive off into the gloom before turning and walking away.
FADE TO:
INT. NIGHT: FRONT HALL, GLOUCESTER'S HOUSE
CORNWALL and EDMUND meet REGAN and GONERIL, speaking to them urgently. All faces are grim, disfigured by the flickering shadows cast by the hall's dimly-lit torches.
FADE TO:
EXT. NIGHT: HEATH
GLOUCESTER walks, stoically upright against the rain, which is beginning to abate. In the distance, the lights of his estate can just barely be made out.
FADE TO:
INT. NIGHT: TOM'S HOVEL
EDGAR holds the FOOL'S hand, bauble clasped between them, as the FOOL'S ragged breathing gradually slows and stops. Face blank, eyes dark with unshed tears, EDGAR bends to place a kiss on the FOOL'S white brow and eyelids, closing them, before easing the bauble from his hand and casting it onto the dying fire.
FADE TO BLACK:
INT. NIGHT: FRONT HALL, GLOUCESTER'S HOUSE
CORNWALL, EDMUND, REGAN, and GONERIL stand some distance before a lone chair in the hall, along with several of GONERIL and CORNWALL'S SERVANTS. The atmosphere is tense, expectant. All of the torches have been lit anew, but the chair remains in shadow.
CORNWALL
(to GONERIL)
Post speedily to my lord your husband. Show him this letter. The army of France is landed. (GONERIL gives a nod to several SERVANTS, who bow and exit towards the kitchens; CORNWALL turns to the rest)Go seek the traitor Gloucester. Pinion him like a thief, and bring him before us. (The remaining SERVANTS exit)
REGAN
Hang him instantly!
GONERIL
Pluck out his eyes.
CORNWALL
Nay. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your
beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us.
OSWALD, dressed to ride, enters from the direction of the kitchens.
CORNWALL
How now; where's the King?
OSWALD
My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence. Some five or six and thirty of his knights, hot questants after him, met him at gate; who, with some other of the lord's dependants, are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast to have well-armed friends.
CORNWALL
(impatiently)
Get horses for your mistress. (OSWALD dips his head, not quite a bow, and exits)
GONERIL
Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
CORNWALL
Farewell, dear sister, and my lord of Gloucester. (EDMUND takes GONERIL'S arm, leading her towards the back wing of bedrooms) Though well we may not pass upon his life without the form of justice, yet our power shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men may blame, but not control.(A commotion at the front door)Who's there- the traitor?
The front door is kicked in with a bang, and one of CORNWALL'S SERVANTS strides forward. Two more follow, each gripping one of a struggling GLOUCESTER'S arms. The door hits the wall and swings back, slamming closed. GLOUCESTER is brought before CORNWALL and REGAN, who spits at his feet.
REGAN
Ingrateful fox, 'tis he.
CORNWALL
(to SERVANTS)
Bind fast his corky arms.
GLOUCESTER
What means your graces? Good my friends, consider you are my guests. Do me no foul play-
CORNWALL
(to SERVANTS)
Bind him, I say, to this chair!
REGAN
(overlapping CORNWALL)
Hard, hard! O filthy traitor!
The FIRST SERVANT cuffs GLOUCESTER about the head, and swings the chair forward. The SECOND and THIRD force GLOUCESTER into the chair, binding his hands to the arm rests with their belts. Amidst the frenzy of movement, REGAN moves sinuously forward to pluck at GLOUCESTER'S beard.
GLOUCESTER
(outraged)
By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done-!
CORNWALL
(striking GLOUCESTER across the mouth)
Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?
REGAN
Be simple, answerer, for we know the truth.
CORNWALL
And what confederacy have you with the traitors late footed in the kingdom-
REGAN
-To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak.
GLOUCESTER
(haltingly)
I have a letter guessingly set down, which came from one that's of a neutral heart, and not from one opposed.
CORNWALL
Cunning-
REGAN
And false.
CORNWALL
Where hast thou sent the King?
GLOUCESTER
To Dover.
REGAN
Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril-
CORNWALL
(with slight impatience)
Wherefore to Dover, let him answer that first.
GLOUCESTER
(to REGAN)
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 buoy'd up, and quench'd the stelled fires. Yet, poor old heart, he helped the heavens to rain. If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time, thou shouldst have said 'Good porter, turn the key,' all cruels else subscribed. But I shall see the winged vengeance overtake such children.
CORNWALL
See't shalt thou never. Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. (To SERVANTS) Fellows, hold the chair.
The FIRST and THIRD SERVANTS quickly move to the back of the chair, holding it solidly in place; the FIRST tightens GLOUCESTER'S restraints as he moves, making GLOUCESTER cry out in shock. The SECOND servant draws back, looking nervous. CORNWALL pulls his dagger from its sheath, the blade glinting in the torchlight as he approaches GLOUCESTER, who struggles to escape his bonds in vain.
GLOUCESTER
He that will think to live till he be old, give me some help! O cruel! O you gods-! (CORNWALL stabs out one of GLOUCESTER'S eyes, flings it to the floor, and crushes it with his heel; GLOUCESTER screams)
REGAN
One side will mock another; t'other, too, if you see vengeance.
SECOND SERVANT
(to CORNWALL)
Hold your hand, my lord! I have served you ever since I was a child; but better service have I never done you than now to bid you hold.
REGAN
How now, you dog!
SECOND SERVANT
(to REGAN)
If you did wear a beard upon your chin, I'd shake it on this quarrel. (To CORNWALL)What do you mean?
CORNWALL
Villain, thou shalt find-
SECOND SERVANT
Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.
The SECOND SERVANT draws his sword as rushes CORNWALL, who, unbeknownst to REGAN, takes a blow to the abdomen before meeting the blade with his dagger. REGAN whirls to face the FIRST SERVANT and grips his arm hard enough to leave nail marks.
REGAN
Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus! (REGAN runs at the SECOND SERVANT and stabs him in the back; he falls to his knees, reaching towards GLOUCESTER)
SECOND SERVANT
(to GLOUCESTER)
O, I am slain, my lord! Yet have you one eye left to see some mischief on him. (REGAN stabs him again)O! (The SERVANT pitches forward onto his face, dead)
CORNWALL
Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly! (CORNWALL stabs out GLOUCESTER'S other eye)Where is thy lustre now?
GLOUCESTER
(on the verge of fainting)
All dark and comfortless. Where's my son Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, to quit this horrid act!
REGAN
Out, treacherous villain! Thou call'st on him that hates thee. 'Twas he that made the overture of thy treasons to us, who is too good to pity thee.
GLOUCESTER
(in abject horror)
O, my follies! ...Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
REGAN
(to the FIRST SERVANT)
Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell his way to Dover. (The FIRST SERVANT roughly unties GLOUCESTER and leads him towards the kitchens, as REGAN turns to CORNWALL, noting the bloom of blood with some concern) How is't, my lord? How look you?
CORNWALL
I have received a hurt: follow me, lady. (To the THIRD SERVANT)Throw this slave upon the dunghill. (The THIRD SERVANT bears the body of the SECOND after the FIRST; CORNWALL staggers suddenly, doubling over with his hand to the wound) Regan, I bleed apace. Untimely comes this hurt! Give me your arm.
REGAN puts an arm around CORNWALL and leads him towards the bedroom wing. Her face is invisible to us.