speech--this is at once the nature of Cordelia herself and the chief
characteristic of Shakespeare's art in representing it. Perhaps it is
not fanciful to find a parallel in his drawing of a person very
different, Hamlet. It was natural to Hamlet to examine himself minutely,
to discuss himself at large, and yet to remain a mystery to himself; and
Shakespeare's method of drawing the character answers to it; it is
extremely detailed and searching, and yet its effect is to enhance the
sense of mystery. The results in the two cases differ correspondingly.
No one hesitates to enlarge upon Hamlet, who speaks of himself so much;
but to use many words about Cordelia seems to be a kind of impiety.

I am obliged to speak of her chiefly because the devotion she inspires
almost inevitably obscures her part in the tragedy. This devotion is
composed, so to speak, of two contrary elements, reverence and pity. The
first, because Cordelia's is a higher nature than that of most even of
Shakespeare's heroines. With the tenderness of Viola or Desdemona she
unites something of the resolution, power, and dignity of Hermione, and
reminds us sometimes of Helena, sometimes of Isabella, though she has
none of the traits which prevent Isabella from winning our hearts. Her
assertion of truth and right, her allegiance to them, even the touch of
severity that accompanies it, instead of compelling mere respect or
admiration, become adorable in a nature so loving as Cordelia's. She is
a thing enskyed and sainted, and yet we feel no incongruity in the love
of the King of France for her, as we do in the love of the Duke for
Isabella.

But with this reverence or worship is combined in the reader's mind a
passion of championship, of pity, even of protecting pity. She is so
deeply wronged, and she appears, for all her strength, so defenceless.
We think of her as unable to speak for herself. We think of her as quite
young, and as slight and small.[180] 'Her voice was ever soft, gentle,
and low'; ever so, whether the tone was that of resolution, or rebuke,
or love.[181] Of all Shakespeare's heroines she knew least of joy. She
grew up with Goneril and Regan for sisters. Even her love for her father
must have been mingled with pain and anxiety. She must early have
learned to school and repress emotion. She never knew the bliss of young
love: there is no trace of such love for the King of France. She had
knowingly to wound most deeply the being dearest to her.