exist only by convention,—by ‘custom’ or ‘the curiosity of nations.’[1] Practically, his attitude is that of a professional criminal. ‘You tell me I do not belong to you,’ he seems to say to society: ‘very well: I will make my way into your treasure-house if I can. And if I have to take life in doing so, that is your affair.’ How far he is serious in this attitude, and really indignant at the brand of bastardy, how far his indignation is a half-conscious self-excuse for his meditated villainy, it is hard to say; but the end shows that he is not entirely in earnest.
As he is an adventurer, with no more ill-will to anyone than good-will, it is natural that, when he has lost the game, he should accept his failure without showing personal animosity. But he does more. He admits the truth of Edgar’s words about the justice of the gods, and applies them to his own case (though the fact that he himself refers to fortune’s wheel rather than to the gods may be significant). He shows too that he is not destitute of feeling; for he is touched by the story of his father’s death, and at last ‘pants for life’ in the effort to do ‘some good’ by saving Lear and Cordelia. There is something pathetic here which tempts one to dream that, if Edmund had been whole brother to Edgar, and had been at home during those ‘nine years’ when he was ‘out,’ he might have been a very different man. But perhaps his words,
Despite of mine own nature,
suggest rather that Shakespeare is emphasising the mysterious fact, commented on by Kent in the
- ↑ I. ii. I f. Shakespeare seems to have in mind the idea expressed in the speech of Ulysses about the dependence of the world on degree, order, system, custom, and about the chaos which would result from the free action of appetite, the ‘universal wolf’ (Troilus and Cr. I. iii. 83 f.). Cf. the contrast between ‘particular will’ and ‘the moral laws of nature and of nations,’ I. i. 53, 185 (‘nature’ here of course is the opposite of the ‘nature’ of Edmund’s speech).
