PRESENTACIÓN Y EVALUACIÓN DE LOS CASOS

E n d g a m e 's own allusiveness is indicative of a cultural inheritance, and it suggests a certain continuity with literary ancestors and antecedents. Allusion may constitute an echo that is more than musical, and an answer that is more than - or indeed, something other than - an ironic repudiation of the past. It is too often assumed that Beckett's allusions are only ever indicative of ironic disparities between past and present - in the manner of Winnie's use of Milton's "Hail, holy light" (CDW 168) in the midst of a blazing light" (CDW 138) that is palpably hellish. Often, however, Beckett engages in a more constructive dialogue with writers - his forebears - who have broached "the old questions" (CDW 110).

Many commentators have pointed to links between Endgame 18

and King L e a r . The chess metaphor in the title of Beckett's highlights Hamm's role as impoverished king, with his throne (wheelchair), sceptre (gaff), and retinue. The two plays certainly share a bleak pessimism and a pre-occupation with cruelty. In one of Beckett's elucidatory moments, he explained Hamm's odd response to Clov's

observation about the calmness of the sea. Hamm says "It's because there are no more navigators" (124), and Beckett remarked "It's not worth the waves' while being angry

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because there are no more navigators to drown" . That suggests a world at the mercy of malign powers not unlike those that Gloucester perceives. ("As flies to wanton boys,

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are we to th'Gods;/ They kill us for their sport.") Lear examines the situation in such a universe of "unaccommodated man" - or, in Edgar's case, that of one mimicking such a condition. Endgame reiterates not only the sense of naked vulnerability in a savage universe but also the odd sense that a vision of such extreme indigence may be contrived: Hamm tells of a mad painter and engraver who literally en-graves his world by refusing to see anything other than "ashes"; the case, admits Hamm tellingly, is "not [...] unusual" (CDW 113).

Critics have been slower to observe that the two plays also examine the issue of accommodation itself. Hamm, once a rich and powerful man, may have emulated his forebear and taken pity on "houseless heads"; but, again like Lear, he himself feels homeless. Both plays feature ungrateful offspring, a curse on procreation, and a blind man deceived

by his son and helper. (Clov's description of the black dog as "nearly" white [111] is a comically limp version of Edgar's persuasive rhetoric about the "horrible steep" cliff.) Both plays address family issues: the duties of children; the wisdom and folly of age; the nature of pity; and the possibilities for affiliation.

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As Michael Robinson has shown , another play that lies behind and informs Endgame is The T e m p e s t , also about a spurious family or household. Apart from the direct quotation - Hamm's only partly ironic rendering of Prosperous "Our revels now are ended" (120) - much of the dialogue is reminiscent of Shakespeare's play.

Hamm; Do you remember when you came here? Clov: No. Too small, you told me.

Hamm; Do you remember your father?

Clov; (wearily) Same answer. (Pause.) You asked me these questions millions of times.

Hamm; It was I was a father to you. (110)

Robinson rightly points to the echoes here of Prosperous opening scene with Miranda, during which he recounts the story of their exile, and attempts to inform a daughter who

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is, he claims, "ignorant of what thou art". In both plays the catechism seems to be a kind of ritual. Clov complains "you asked me these questions millions of times"

and Miranda says

[...] you have often

Begun to tell me what I am, but stopg^d And left me to bootless inquisition. Robinson remarks :

It seems that Prospero, despite his magic, has also been silenced by the same impossible answer that eludes Hamm as it has eluded Beckett's earlier heroes. Who is it that can tell me what I am?

There is, to be sure, something peculiarly Beckettian about the idea of bootless inquisition into the nature of being, but as in The T e m p e s t , the issue in Endgame is not purely a matter of ontology. What Clov and Miranda would like to know about their identity is not in the spirit of Montaigne's ruminative "Que sais-je" but rather in that of the child's first thoughts of antecedents and aetiology.

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(Miranda will ask, "Sir, are you not my father?" ) If P rospero and Hamm both stop short of telling their respective children what they are, it's not just because of the ultimate elusiveness of the meaning of being, but because witholding information gives them power. Robinson says Prospero is silenced "despite his magic", but in fact The Tempest shows that a good deal of Prospero's "magic" consists of coercive verbal manoeuvres that "amaze" and

literally fascinate those he would control. When, in E n d g a m e , Clov asks "What is there to keep me here?" (120), Hamm's reply, "The dialogue", is more than just a banal metatheatrical joke; for Clov is indeed enthralled (in both senses of the word) by the ritualised catechism, because he knows it holds the key to his identity.

It may seem, from the weariness of Clov's response in the quotation given above, that he is not unduly anxious to know who he is, that "bootless inquisition" is hardly his concern. Nevertheless Clov's next line, "Yes. You were that [i.e. a father] to me", is bisected by the stage direction "Ne looks at Hamm fixedly", as if to suggest that he is under some kind of spell (110). Moreover, later in the play his desire to find some answers is made more manifest. At first he seems wholly uninterested in Hamm's story, and has to be prodded accordingly;

Hamm: I've got on with my story. (Pause.) I've got on with it well. (Pause. Irritably.) Ask me where

I ' ve got t o .

Clov: Oh, by the way, your story? Hamm: (surprised) What story?

Clov: The one you've been telling yourself all y o u r ...d a y s .

Hamm: Ah you mean ray chronicle? Clov: That's the one.

P a u s e .

Hamm: (angrily). Keep going, can't you, keep going! Clov: You've got on with it I hope.

he [the beggar] asks if he may have his little boy with him.

Clov: What age? Hamm: Oh tiny.

Clov: He would have climbed the trees. Hamm: All the little odd jobs.

Clov: And then he would have grown up. Hamm: Very likely.

P a u s e .

Clov: Keep going, can't you, keep going! Hamm: That's all. I stopped there.

P a u s e.

Clov: Do you see how it goes on? Hamm: More or less.

Clov: Will it not soon be ended? (122) Clov's repetition of Hamm's line "Keep going, can't you, keep going" is more than just vaudeville tit-for-tat. There's a real battle going on here, and Clov speaks with some urgency, the importunate role having passed surreptitiously from Hamm to him. Hamm is anxious to have an interested listener, and he won't finish his tale because to do so would risk losing his audience. Clov at first pretends to be uninterested in Hamm's story but, as it transpires, is more than curious to know w he ther this narrative from the past actually ties up with his own s i t u a t i o n .

story, his situation is, as Robinson shows, in many respects more like Caliban's: he is held captive in a less metaphorical sense. From Hamm's point of view Clov, like Caliban, "serves in offices/ That profit us." Moreover, Clov's words directly echo those of the "deformed slave". He too has learnt to curse: "I use the words you taught me" (113). As Hamm would see it, he has taught him to "know thine own meaning." Clov, then, is both child and slave,

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