For The Enemy
Edmund’s tragedy lies not within his decent to villainy. An Elizabethan audience would take no issue with a bastard opportunist as an antagonist, plagued by self-interest and a desire to be recognized similarly to his “legitimate” brother, acquiring land and power in an effort to bring upheaval to the social dictates that denied him Edgar’s life. However, sympathy awarded Edmund for his impossible situation, supposed desire for familial affection or last-minute stab at redemption in repenting his having doomed Cordelia is in my opinion misguided. My voice, however, is that of a 21st century “Post-Holden Caufield” reader. No longer does theatre, film, and literature revolve around the victory of social sustainability in which, though everyone is dead, Edgar is there to take up the crown and restore order to Britain. We are instead raised on Rocky, Rudy, and Eric Liddell of Chariots of Fire— men who acted against expectations to overcome various physical, social and moral tribulations, emerging victorious, and if not, all the better for having tried. For this reason, I find Edmund’s tragedy to be in his vehement dedication to his expected nature: the slighted bastard jealously seeking to get “one up” on his father and brother.
It is true that Edmund’s obsession can be attributed to Gloucester’s constant reference to his son’s illegitimacy, and that Edmund’s choice to act against his family is largely due to the expectation that, being a bastard, it is inherently engrained in his character. However, Edmund is at his weakest when he cries, “Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law/ My services are bound” (1.2.1-2) at the beginning of the play because he is destroying any possibility of independence or uncharacteristic achievement.
Edmund makes repeated reference to his nativity and nature— basing many of his calculated plays on what he perceives others to expect of him. “My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon’s Tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so it follows that I am rough and lecherous… My cue is villainous melancholy,” (1.2.139-148) he says, succumbing to a predetermined course instead of choosing a path. When composing the forged letter from Edgar Edmund concludes with the line, “If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR” (1.2.55-57). The gesture of closing the false note as such suggests not only Edmund’s subscription to his predetermined nature, but his belief that Gloucester expects it of him. The letter is believable because it appeals to Gloucester’s perception of Edmund, but presents a shocking Edgar. Gloucester is fully prepared to believe in an Edmund greedy enough to be tempted by the revenue in question and jealous enough to desire the affections of his brother— even if it means betraying his father. That Edgar proposes this rebellion is shocking, but his appeal to Edmund for help is not. Edmund is perceptive enough to know this, and his choice to embrace it and use it as a vehicle is disappointing.
This practice of Edmund’s repeats itself at the beginning of the play’s second act in report of an invented dialogue with his brother. “’Thou unpossessing bastard,’” quotes Edmund of Edgar, “’dost thou think,/ If I would stand against thee, would the reposal/ Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee/ Make thy words faithed? No.’” Again, Edmund is taking his “cue of villainous melancholy” and applying it to Gloucester’s expectation of his behavior. The phony dialogue is effectively phrased, as Gloucester knows it to be true— except, ironically, that in reality it isn’t. Typically he wouldn’t dream of believing his bastard son over his legitimate one, and it is Edmund’s knowledge of and play on this that allows Edmund to manipulate his father into doing so.
Throughout the play Edmund is motivated only to be a villainous bastard, to act as an illegitimate son would and become what he believes he is destined to become. He pursues Edgar’s land and power not because they motivate him, but because the desire to commit and be evil does. Likewise, he pursues the affections of Regan and Goneril, not because he is motivated by desire for their love but because they are instrumental in his self-inflicted purpose of being a monstrosity. Finally, when Edgar strikes him down and accuses him of costing Gloucester his eyes, Edmund cries, “Th’ hast spoken right, ‘tis true;/ The wheel is come full circle; I am here” (5.3.175-176). Fortune’s wheel, which has deposited Edmund back at the bottom he was born into, doubles as a representation of his journey— he hasn’t actually gone anywhere, but rather chased his tail instead of choosing to find any legitimate goal.
Even in death, Edmund returns to this theme: “I pant for life: some good I mean to do,/ despite of mine own nature” (5.3.264). Closing the first sentence during which he considers rebelling against his nature with the word itself suggests Edmund’s dishonesty, confirmed by his delay in saving Cordelia. And so he dies, having never desired anything deviating from that which he was born into and raised believing. To me, this is the greatest tragedy of Edmund— not his supposed loneliness or relentlessly criminal actions. Edmund, necessarily for the play, chooses to accept himself as a villain with no purpose but to advance himself as such and therefore denies himself a world of possibility.
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