“Mutual Cunning” in King Lear: A Study of Machiavellian Politics

Abstract

When scholars view characters in King Lear through a Machiavellian lens, they read Edmund, Goneril, and Regan as stock Machiavels. In contrast, they often perceive Cordelia, Kent, and Edgar as selfless, apolitical characters. This essay argues that the latter characters are more complicated and politically adroit than they are often judged to be. They are Machiavellian as well, but Shakespeare conceives them within a more appreciative view of the concept of realpolitik. This essay explains the characters’ strategies by relating them to Machiavelli’s tenets of achieving and maintaining political power. The central quandary of the play is the lack of a male heir to the throne. Cordelia attempts to solve the problem by marrying the King of France for political reasons. She has an alliance with Kent, who helps her to justify her invasion of her homeland with French forces. Once the plans for a surprise attack go awry, Cordelia does not follow Machiavellian strategies and is consequently killed. Ironically, Edgar is as ambitious as Edmund, whom he lets plot against his father and bring about Gloucester’s slow decline so as to inherit his father’s fortune while Edmund incurs the blame for his father’s demise. Like Kent, he enlists a disguise for self-advancement. The most adroit Machiavellian characters—Edgar, Kent, and the King of France—all survive through chicanery and cunning. Shakespeare illustrates that secular methods of governorship defeat the old world of divine politics.

1. Introduction

Until the middle of the twentieth century, critics typically read King Lear in Christian terms, almost as a morality play. Religious interpretations predominated, focusing on Lear’s spiritual journey to salvation assisted by the Christ-like Cordelia and selfless Kent. With the movement in the 1960s to more secular views of the play as anti-pastoral, absurdist, and even nihilistic drama (Mack 1965, pp. 65–66; Stampfer 1960, pp. 1–10; Everett 1969, pp. 184–202; Kott 1974, pp. 7–68), attention began to turn to historicist and post-structuralist readings of the text as a commentary on the advent of a new world order—the movement away from feudalism to the rise of capitalism, individualism, and “amoral Machiavellianism” (Graham 1991, p. 439). This shift has allowed critics to turn from an exclusive focus on Lear and his pilgrimage to other concerns, such as politics. As a result, some scholarship interprets the play as offering the “most demystifying, indeed materialist, of Shakespeare’s meditations on kingship” and sharing political concerns with the history plays, with the first quarto calling it “A True Chronicle History” (Halpern 1991, p. 222).

As Shakespeare’s interest in governance generated more attention, scholars began to explore the influence of Machiavelli, considered by some as “the first modern political scientist”, on his understanding of governmental power (I. T. C. Rutter 1987–1988, p. 20). Critics long thought Machiavelli’s works were not available to early modern British readers in either English or a foreign language, and thus, they could have known of his ideas only secondhand through writings that misrepresented, even distorted, his thoughts. But Irving Ribner helps to discredit this view by opining that “an English translation of The Prince must have been in existence as early as 1585, though it be in manuscript form” (Ribner 1948, p. 177). Felix Raab addresses the controversy with more conviction by claiming the numerous references to him and his tenets indicate that “at least from the middle [1580s] onwards, Machiavelli was being quite widely read in England and was no longer the sole preserve of Italianate Englishmen and their personal contacts” (Raab 1964, p. 53). He asserts that many manuscript copies of his works in Italian, Latin, French, and English circulated throughout early modern England, the numerous copies attesting to their popularity and the eagerness with which the British sought them. While there has been a debate about Shakespeare’s familiarity with the Italian author, more recent critics convincingly argue for a direct route of influence (Chaudhuri 1995, pp. 123–24; Roe 2002, pp. x, 4; Plaw 2005, p. 32). Scholars, then, are more likely today to believe Shakespeare did indeed read his works, either in English or another language.

Early moderns often misread and misunderstood Machiavelli’s philosophy and viewed him as advocating evil methods to achieve selfish ends and the abandonment of all moral dictates—a misreading that persists even today as people think of him in sinister terms. But some appreciated his keen insight into the inner workings of the world of power and ability to describe accurately the dynamics of early modern politics, which they saw operating at their sovereigns’ courts, seriously considering him an influential philosopher. While some early scholars argue for an ideological antipathy between Shakespeare and Machiavelli (Lewis 1955, pp. 161ff, 177ff; Sanders 1980, chaps. 4–6, 8–9), more recent critics acknowledge an affinity. They now recognize Shakespeare has a “sophisticated grasp of the working of realpolitik and, like the Florentine, is a political realist,” with S. Schoebaum observing the world of policy and power “lurks everywhere in the Shakespeare canon” and “no playwright in this period treats such themes so often or with such complex variety” as he (Schoebaum 2004, pp. 102–3, 106–7). With his dramatic presentations of politics coinciding with some of Machiavelli’s views, Shakespeare was likely influenced by his works, which helped him refine his own attitudes to the burgeoning secular world. Moreover, some recent readers detect a deeper layer to his seemingly one-dimensional, evil Machiavels and recognize Machiavellian influences are more pervasive in his characters, even those viewed as conventionally honorable and heroic (see, for example, Ringwood 2019, pp. 38–48).

Such characters appear in King Lear, which easily lends itself to a political reading since it centers on an eighty-year-old King of Britain, who is planning to go into retirement and abdicate some of his authority. Power and influence are at stake and lead to a war and the death of all the heirs to the throne. Scholars have viewed Edmund, Goneril, and Regan as one-dimensional Machiavels—sinister, deadly, and evil (see, for example, Ringwood 2019, pp. 47–48). As a simple contrast, they have read Edgar, Cordelia, and Kent as representatives of a feudal mindset that values loyalty, honesty, and selflessness (Halpern 1991, pp. 216–17, 243). These readings, then, reduce a complicated play to a story of good versus bad. But as critics begin to read these latter honorable characters more critically, they note some of their troubling, perplexing behavior, which make them more complicated than one-dimensional paragons of virtue. This essay will read them as politically savvy characters who enlist Machiavellian maneuvers, not according to the view of Machiavelli as a proponent of villainy and immorality but as an astute philosopher of secular politics. Their ambitions motivate them to engage in the dangerous pursuit of power, in which virtuous means are anathema to success. Their understanding of realpolitik is superior to that of the obvious Machiavels—Edmund, Goneril, Regan, and Cornwall—and makes them more difficult to detect, as Shakespeare has them project noble personas to conceal their motivations and sharp political acumen. That they enlist Machiavellian strategies to achieve power and defeat their adversaries does not make them evil villains but rather astute political agents who outsmart less skilled strategists in the battle for influence and fortune.

2. Act 1, Scene 1: “Darker Purpose[s]”

Although the play is set in pre-Christian times, it is rife with political nuances apposite to early modern England. It begins in crisis, with the aged King contemplating “crawl[ing] toward death” (1.1.40).1 As the father of three daughters and no sons, he faces the problems of gynecocracy and succession—a situation that beset England from the reign of Henry VIII through that of Elizabeth I. As David Farley-Hills observes, Lear has “the ‘curse’ of female succession to contend with” (Farley-Hills 1990, p. 197). The King recognizes the perils of having only daughters as heirs. Some of his first words in the folio, in fact, refer to the “future strife” (1.1.43) he is trying to avoid. He knows the situation is fraught with the threat of discord.

Although eighty years old, he has not named a successor yet. The hereditary system of primogeniture applies to males and allots the lion’s share of the inheritance, and in Lear’s case, the position of king to the eldest male in the family. But since no male heir exists in Lear’s family, the succession becomes riddled with problems and dangers, which probably contribute to the delay. Even if a king names the eldest daughter as his successor, her position is shaky because of her gender, and thus, others, such as her sisters and their husbands, may try to overthrow her. The competition to produce a male heir and attain political advantage also heightens the rivalry. In the sources for Shakespeare’s play—Monmouth, Holinshed, and The Mirror for Magistrates (Bullough 1973, pp. 337–402)—after Cordella becomes queen, the sons of her two sisters usurp the throne based on the privileges of their gender. Such a situation predictably fuels competition and tension between the daughters and creates an unhealthy family dynamic.

Given early modern patriarchal constructs, which designate women as inferior to men and subject to their husband’s rule inside and outside of the household, the choice of a husband for a daughter of a king without male heirs has great import. At least in theory, the husband of the daughter who succeeds him will have substantial political power because of his gender. The spouses of Goneril and Regan certainly do; when Lear relinquishes some of his sovereignty, he offers it to his two sons-in-law, not their wives, by “invest[ing] [Cornwall and Albany] jointly with [his] power, /Pre-eminence and all the large effects/That troop with majesty” (1.1.131–33).

Cordelia’s two suitors “long in [Lear’s] court have made their amorous sojourn, /And here are to be answered” (1.1.47–48), a description that implies the wooing process has been so protracted that the suitors impatiently demand an “answer” and prod Lear to finally make a choice. As an aristocratic father and more importantly a king, he has absolute power in the choice of his daughter’s future husband, since royal marriages were “matters of national policy and international relations” and “an essential diplomatic instrument to which the preferences of young people involved were scarcely relevant” (Orgel 1996, p. 47). That he does not enforce this prerogative with his youngest daughter proves his indulgence toward Cordelia. Since Lear has not yet announced a decision, he and Cordelia could be at loggerheads over the choice of a husband, which would account for the two foreign suitors’ lengthy stay in England. Such facts suggest Goneril and Regan have been obedient and amenable to Lear’s appropriate choice of British husbands, both of whom he “affect[s]” (1.1.1) or for whom he has a fondness (OED 2000, “affect” v 2). But his youngest daughter may not display the same pliability and holds up the process.

Lear alludes to a “darker purpose” (1.1.35), to a concealed and secretive motive (OED 2000, “dark” a 4, 7a), and a desired objective or result that he hopes to achieve (OED 2000, “purpose” n 1a, 3). His “darker purpose” centers on his intention to influence Cordelia’s upcoming marriage. While the play takes place in pre-Christian times, all the names of the husbands and suitors carry significance for early modern England. Her two suitors are the Duke of Burgundy and the King of France, and just as Lear “affect[s]” Albany over Cornwall, he prefers one of her suitors over the other—although the truth may be that he has reservations about both because of their foreignness. Henry Jaffa elucidates Lear’s choice as the Duke of Burgundy, a preference betrayed by his words, actions, and political common sense. He contends Lear would never prefer the King of France, who as a “great and near power” always posed a threat to Britain, one of the reasons Queen Elizabeth I never seriously entertained marital negotiations with French royalty, “Cordelia’s marriage to France would have been a political blunder of the first magnitude. …A French marriage would inevitably have given rise to the French claims to the British throne, such as actually led to the French invasion that occurs in the play” (Jaffa 1957, p. 414).

Lear’s lavishing Cordelia with a gift of more valuable property than that of her sisters—”a third more opulent” (1.1.86)—can be his way of bribing her, of making her more amenable to his choice of a husband for her. But he may be offering her even more; that he gives a coronet to Cornwall and Albany upon disinheriting her can indicate that he initially intended to give it to her as his successor (Jaffa 1957, p. 415). Lear is attempting to outbid the King of France by giving his youngest daughter enough prospects of power and property to influence her to accept his proposition of marrying a duke, like her sisters, and living with him in Britain. Moreover, by forcing her to express boundless love and obedience to him, he intends to corner her into accepting whatever he asks of her, such as her marrying the man of his choice. His resorting to such extreme measures can mean that Cordelia is more interested in the King of France than the Duke of Burgundy as a spouse. That he thinks promises of riches and sovereignty can sway her indicates his recognition of her political ambition, which may explain her preference for the more powerful and influential King of France. Both Jaffa and Harry Berger Jr. ponder whether she has ulterior motives. Berger asks a series of questions that invites the reader to give serious thought to the possibility, “Has [she] no darker purpose? Is she as pure a redemptive figure as those about her believe? Does she entirely escape the play of darker purposes circulating through the Lear community?” (Berger 1997, p. 42). Jaffa conjectures more precisely, “Cordelia’s course could be interpreted … as a clever scheme to become queen of France and England, thus defeating Lear’s just policy, which is national and patriotic. Goneril and Regan were shallow hypocrites, but how could Lear know that Cordelia was not a clever one” (Jaffa 1957, p. 420)? Her actions and these two scholars’ contentions allow for Cordelia to be calculating and less than transparent about her true motivations, which involve defeating her father’s “darker purpose”. From the very beginning, then, Shakespeare humanizes her, intimating she is not an idealized icon as some critics have read her for many years.2

Shakespeare first presents Cordelia delivering cryptic asides, musing to herself during her sisters’ public declarations of love, “What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent” (1.1.62) and “Then poor Cordelia!/And yet not so, since I am sure my love’s/More ponderous than my tongue” (1.1.76–78). She knows she is going to be “silent” yet look loving and devoted at the same time. Carol Rutter notes that female characters “do not speak asides in Shakespeare’s tragedy—except in Lear” and “the aside is Iago-speak, manipulative, duplicitous, ulterior, deviant” (C. Rutter 1997, p. 185). Lesley Kordecki and Karla Koskinen likewise assert that these lines “show her to be more plotting, more destructive, than otherwise deemed” (Kordecki and Koskinen 2010, p. 61). Her asides, then, can be the first indication of her Machiavellian nature that enables her to be cunning when necessary. Machiavelli observes that princes who “have done great things are those who have taken little account of faith and have known how to get around men’s brains with their astuteness; and in the end they have overcome those who have founded themselves on loyalty” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 45). Her asides designate her scheming, indirect nature—her outwitting her father “with [her] astuteness”. Shakespeare presents the audience with a character who calculates and strategizes her actions and words. She later refers to this strategy when she claims, “what [she] well intend[s]/[She’ll] do’t before [she] speak[s]” (1.1.227–28). Having her in both asides strangely refer to herself formally as “Cordelia”, Shakespeare highlights her penchant for theatrics, a key component of Machiavellian maneuvers, as she looks at herself from a detached perspective and considers the impact of her upcoming performance.

When Lear asks Cordelia to express her love for him, her response is strange. She first offers no answer; in the folio, she twice says “nothing” (1.1.87, 89), the second time reiterating her response as if for emphasis. Her admirers attempt to glorify her, to interpret her rebuff of her father as a noble act that signifies her refusal to monetize her love or resort to flattery like her sisters. But her response is extreme and “radically breaks decorum” (Hofele 2021, p. 134), a clue that she has ulterior motives. Elisa Oh interprets her silence as a “radical act of political rebellion” (Oh 2008). Her father gives her several opportunities to “speak again” (1.1.90); in fact, in the folio, he gives her five chances to express her love by asking her five separate times if she means what she says. In telling her to “mend [her] speech a little” (1.1.94), he lets her know she would not have to say too many words of love to please him. But she does not accept his invitation. That she knows she can be “richer” (1.1.232) saying nothing rather than playing along with his game signifies either she has keenly figured out his motives on her own, or she has been tipped off, possibly by his trusted advisor Kent, whose alliance with her becomes more obvious as the play continues.

When she finally says more than one word, her response is markedly devoid of affection, almost robotic, “You have begot me, bred me, lov’d me. I/Return those duties back as are right fit, /Obey you, love you, and most honour you” (1.1.96–98). She goes on to declare her prospects as a wife rather than a daughter, as follows:

That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care and duty

Sure I shall never marry like my sisters

To love my father all.

(1.1.101–04)

She seems to know that the love test relates to her upcoming marriage, as she boldly announces she intends to wed and prepares, on her own terms, for the next stage of her life. Her response indicates she knows exactly what her father wants her to say—she “love[s] [her] father all”—but she speaks the opposite by giving him excess logic, not love, and expressing devotion to a husband, not a father. Her responses are tinged with passive aggression and seem designed to hurt his feelings. Richard Halpern claims she is “at least a little cruel to her father” (Halpern 1991, p. 248).

She perceives an expression of love as a tactical blunder, since her agenda is different from his. She says “nothing” and makes her subsequent response detached and impersonal because she knows she would not have to say much to please him, as he says, and she does not want him to be able to interpret her words as adequate expressions of love. If he is satisfied with her answer, she will have to accede to his “darker purpose”. This analysis contends that Shakespeare has her behave like a “very astute fox” to detect “snares” (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 69, 79). Halpern argues that “she poses a fundamental challenge to his authority and, moreover means to do so” and “wins a total victory over” him (Halpern 1991, pp. 249, 250). Her silence does not indicate traditional womanly passivity but rather stubborn willfulness.

Ruining a public ceremony and disrespecting Lear as father and king, she gives him no other alternative but to reassert his majesty and power. In other words, she provokes him to take punitive action against her and intentionally distresses him. While seeming counterproductive, her behavior provides her with a way to conceal her shrewdness under a façade of victimization and martyrdom—an appropriate pious pose for early modern women, valued for their selflessness and self-sacrifice. Although her sisters obey their father’s command to “speak” of their love, she contrasts them to herself to make them look like bad wives, who do not love their husbands enough. While claiming to be “true” (1.1.108) or sincere and free from deceit (OED 2000, n 2), she betrays deviousness. Although stubborn and recalcitrant, she makes herself look sincere and principled. Shakespeare has her abide by the Machiavellian dictate of performative politics; she projects a public image that evokes her listeners’ sympathy and respect and distracts attention from her suspicious behavior.

Lear directs all his words to dissuading France from marrying her, and thus, indicates his purpose for the love test is to convince his daughter to marry Burgundy and stay in England so he can “set [his] rest/On her kind nursery” (1.1.124–25). In contrast, Cordelia’s words indicate her preference for the King of France and disinterest in Burgundy, whose mind she does not try to change about rejecting her and instead summarily rebuffs him, “Peace be with Burgundy. /Since that respect and fortunes are his love, /I shall not be his wife” (1.1.249–51). In contrast, she finally speaks at length to clear her character and present herself as a suitable companion to a king, as follows:

I yet beseech your majesty,

If for I want that glib and oily art

To speak and purpose not—since what I well intend,

I’ll do’t before I speak—that you make known

It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,

No unchaste action or dishonoured step,

That hath deprived me of your grace and favour,

But even for want of that for which I am richer,

A still soliciting eye and such a tongue

That I am glad I have not—though not to have it

Hath lost me in your liking.

(1.1.225–34)

She denies she is a smooth talker, yet her speech is sophisticated and eloquent. Her words indicate that her rhetorical skills far outmatch those of her sisters, and if she had wanted to express her love for her father, she could have easily given a moving speech. She can certainly find the words to present herself as a virtuous spouse, but not as a loving daughter. She clears the way for France to make her his bride and says nothing more to her father—no farewells, no words of concern, no apologies for upsetting him. She not only refrains from expressing heartfelt love for her father but also continues to disrespect and disobey him by leaving with the King of France to marry him without her father’s approval. Jaffa correctly characterizes her as displaying a “very shrewd selfishness” and “boldness” (Jaffa 1957, p. 420).

The King of France makes himself look noble, loving, and unmercenary, and scholars typically accept his self-characterization and view Cordelia and him as true lovers who escape an oppressive father.3 But some of France’s language hint at more worldly motivations; she serves as a “most choice” (1.1.253) consort for him by providing him with the possibility of becoming “most rich” (1.1.252) and having a claim to the British throne.4 He gives her a worldly incentive for accepting him as her husband as well; she will become powerful as the queen of France and possibly Britain. Shakespeare has him utter the truth; in losing Britain, she has “a better where to find” (1.1.263). For she is “richer”, as she says, and “most rich”, as France says, by marrying a wealthy man of martial and governmental might. The wise Fool clarifies her prosperous situation by claiming Lear “did the third [daughter] a blessing against his will” (1.4.101–02).

Knowing the importance of projecting a stellar public image, Cordelia continues to enhance herself at the expense of her sisters, whom she condemns, as follows:

The jewels of our father, with washed eyes

Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are,

And like a sister am most loath to call

Your faults as they are named. Love well our father.

To your professed bosoms I commit him,

But yet, alas, stood I within his grace

I would prefer him to a better place.

So farewell to you both.

………………………………………………….

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,

Who covert faults at last with shame derides.

Well may you prosper!

(1.1.270–77, 281–83)

She portrays her sisters as foils to her noble character. With her “washed eyes”, she presents herself as more perceptive than her father, who cannot perceive their true sinister nature, which she clearly detects with her superior moral character. She implies they are the dissemblers, not she; they are the “fault”-ridden, shrewd, and crafty ones, whose elaborate schemes will be revealed, while she is the righteous, straightforward sister. But her actions contradict her words, an indication she is disingenuous. She seems reluctant to part with her father, yet she has done nothing to prevent it and everything to cause it. She acts as if she is concerned for her father’s wellbeing and wishes she could take him “to a better place”, yet she leaves him with her sisters, who she predicts will mistreat him. If she believes they will abuse him, she should be able to express her love and save him from mistreatment.

Adept at turning the tables, she makes herself look unloved and conversely portrays her sisters as pampered daughters. With perhaps a sarcastic tone, she calls them “the jewels of our father” or the favored ones, when, in fact, she has always been his pet. She claims she wishes she “stood” “within his grace”, but she has “always” been his favorite daughter, who could have easily maintained that position, and her sisters have always stood outside of “his grace”. She enhances her victimization by speaking of her sorrow—“washed eyes”—and assumes the patient Griselda role, maligned, unloved, and banished, as she helplessly waits for time to reveal her truly virtuous nature.5 She engages in a consummate performance that holds her audience “in suspense and admiration, and occupied with [the] outcome” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 88). She dominates the scene, focusing the audience’s attention on her behavior and its effect on all of the main characters.

Shakespeare allows for Cordelia, rather than her sisters, to be the one who will use “plighted cunning” to devise an elaborate scheme to bring about their downfall. While speaking sarcastically when she wishes her sisters “prosper[ity]”, she is the one with plans to “prosper”. Her words make her “seem” unambitious, but her actions suggest she is a capable and shrewd politician whose “darker purpose” is to overthrow her sisters and seize full power for herself—an agenda far more momentous than that of her father. Like a Machiavellian prince, she “turn[s] to deceit” to “conceal [her] intent” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 29).

Shakespeare makes her a “great pretender and dissembler” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 70). She exhibits the qualities Machiavelli claims are most valuable for a prince to “seem” to have, “he shall appear all mercy, all faith, all honesty, all humanity, all religion. And nothing is more necessary to appear to have than this last quality” (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 70–71). Although likely possessing some, if not all, of the above-mentioned characteristics, she must know she would place herself in a “harmful” situation if she acted upon them, but “by appearing to have them, they are useful” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 70). Machiavelli further explains that one should have all the above-mentioned qualities but should “remain with a spirit built so that, if [one] need not to be those things, [one is] able and know[s] how to change to the contrary” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 70). She is like the prince “who never preaches anything but peace and faith and is very hostile to both. If he had observed both, he would have had either his reputation or his state taken from him many times” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 71). Because her adversaries—particularly her sisters—are deadly and cruel, she cannot “make a profession of good in all regards”, since she will “come to ruin among so many who are not good”. She knows she has “to be able not to be good, and to use this and not use it according to necessity” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 61). Practicing deceitful strategies, then, becomes necessary to protect herself from her duplicitous sisters and others who might want to cause her harm.

Like a skilled Machiavel, she fools others with her dissembling, including many scholars, for, as Machiavelli claims, “he who deceives will always find someone who will let himself be deceived…. Men in general judge more by their eyes than by their hands, because seeing is given to everyone, touching to few. Everyone sees how you appear, few touch what you are” (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 70–71). Shakespeare has Cordelia cultivate a public image of appearing apolitical, peaceful, passive, long-suffering, and especially religious, concealing that she can be shrewd and deceptive when it serves her advantage. Few detect the inconsistency. Although Machiavelli does not apply his principles to women, his advice about dissembling is particularly germane to early modern female figures of power because their “direct political intervention was more difficult to explain or accept”; women “were not expected to be partisans, nor movers of political action” (Lee 1986, p. 195). Likewise, the Machiavellian King of France projects an image of an honorable suitor who loves Cordelia and conceals his ambition and disregard of a father’s marital plans for his daughter. Most scholars believe in the façade.

As a political figure, Cordelia makes a shrewd move, for her father’s plan could place her and Britain in a precarious situation. Hoping to curtail “future strife”, he inadvertently increases the probability of serious consequences. Common law designated the equal distribution of an estate, but Lear does not abide by either primogeniture or common law and offers Cordelia more than her sisters. As the youngest daughter in a world of primogeniture and the one isolated from her siblings, she probably would be the first to fall. Her sisters, who undoubtedly resented her before the love test because of their father’s favoritism toward her, feel even more disdain for her afterwards and could plot, along with their husbands, to defeat and even kill her as they prove to be lethal characters, except for Albany. Her resources to battle her sisters and protect herself would be limited. The country could be embroiled in war for years, with the two elder sisters first aligning to destroy Cordelia and then turning on each other, as they do near the play’s end. Cordelia’s motivation, then, is partially self-protective. She may want to be Lear’s sole successor, but she realizes she must resort to a political coup of her own devising to protect herself and her father’s kingdom. She acts to protect herself from harm and possibly death and, like Machiavelli, “sees survival as a prince’s first duty” (Riebling 1991, p. 276).

Machiavelli states that a prince must enlist “great ingenuity” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 26) to achieve success, and her scheme certainly is ingenious. In contrast to the uncertainty of her fate in Britain, she travels to France, marries a shrewd ruler, and becomes queen of a rival power. She leaves the kingship of Britain chaotically divided and saddles her sisters, who probably harbor latent hostility for their father, with the difficult chore of trying to please him—a nearly impossible task. Having disappointed him, she leads him to react violently and transfer his anger towards her onto her sisters once she is gone. Consequently, she accomplishes even more in provoking her father into a public display of rage; scaring her sisters into fearing they will soon be the recipients of his next fit of wrath, she predisposes them to take punitive actions against him to safeguard themselves, and thus, further enrage him. She provides her sisters with the opportunity to capitalize on his disempowerment; accelerate his personal and political collapse, which she initiates by breaking his heart with her refusal to express the depth of her love; and exercise their new power—a situation that will create turmoil and uncertainty, destabilize Britain, and make it ripe for an attack. Certainly, she plants the seeds for potential disaster for her sisters and father.

She also proves to be a good strategist, like Machiavelli’s “wise princes” who recognize the importance of thinking about the future, as follows:

they not only have to have regard for present troubles but also for

future ones, and they have to avoid these with all their industry

because, when one foresees from afar, one can easily find a remedy for

them but when you wait until they come close to you, the medicine is not

in time because the disease has become incurable.

(Machiavelli 1985, p. 12)

Anticipating the “troubles” that will occur over the succession issue, she acts preemptively rather than waiting for her sisters to give her a reason to attack them.

That she appears later in the play as a military leader, dressed for war and ready to attack her enemies, indicates the political dimension to her character and her realization that she must resort to violent means to settle the crisis. Machiavelli acknowledges dominions “are acquired either with the arms of others or with one’s own” and “a foreigner will be brought in by those in the province who are malcontent either because of too much ambition or out of fear” (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 6, 11). Her precarious situation and unrealized aspirations make her a malcontent. Her attraction to the King of France, then, is not rooted in love, but rather in the power he can provide her. Not having sufficient arms to defeat her two sisters on her own, she marries a powerful foreigner who can provide her with military might to wage a campaign against them. Machiavelli advises princes to align themselves “with kings and princes so that they must either benefit you with favor or be hesitant to offend you” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 33). Certainly, she aligns herself with a powerful figure who can benefit her.

But there are also liabilities, and Machiavelli warns that a prince should be careful about bringing in “a very powerful foreigner”, who might assume more authority than he should and compromise the prince’s political stature (Machiavelli 1985, p. 15). By marrying France, she provides him with a legal interest in Britain and the opportunity to wield foreign rule, a liability of gynecocracy in a patrilineal culture. Although this was a fear of the British, Cordelia sees it as her only option. She will have to share power with him, but at least he is an ally, who strengthens her position and protects her from her violent sisters. Of course, the King of France must recognize the opportunity of expanding his dominion. Shakespeare dramatizes the foreign threat that the English feared for many years during the reign of women.

3. Kent’s Alliance with Cordelia and the King of France

Cordelia and the King of France do not want to be implicated in any disreputable business that will transpire. Similar to Machiavelli, Shakespeare has them recognize the need “to avoid those things that would make [them] hateful and contemptible” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 72). Consequently, they exit after Act 1, Scene 1, and leave behind an agent to ensure their agenda stays on course—Kent. Shakespeare parallels Kent and Cordelia to underscore their similarities and alliance, as follows: both are the King’s favorites, both refuse to flatter him, both say the wrong words and offend him, and both make him angry and disappoint him so much that he renounces them. That Kent has the third-largest number of lines indicates his importance to the play. Even though he receives less critical attention than other characters, scholars typically view him favorably.6 But perhaps he is not what he seems to be.

Something is not right about Kent; he is too good to be true—too selfless, too loyal, too apolitical. Shakespeare makes his behavior, like Cordelia’s, troubling and illogical to suggest more is going on than either character professes. The audience encounters his strange conduct from his first interchange with the King, when he assumes the role of Cordelia’s defender and argues with him over his disowning of her. He is so “plain” (1.1.147), blunt, disobedient, and “unmannerly” (1.1.44), as he himself admits, that he insults him. Lear gives him several opportunities to “mend [his] speech” (1.1.93), just as he did previously with Cordelia, but he will not shut up. He speaks too much; she too little.

Unable to silence his advisor and tormented by his verbal attack, the King has no other alternative but to save face and banish the obstreperous earl, who humiliates him and undermines his authority in public. The flagrancy of his rudeness implies it is more than just “plainness” or lack of aplomb. While professing rhetorical ineptitude, he displays a remarkable ability to make his disobedience, impudence, and rudeness look honorable. Mirroring Cordelia, he deliberately instigates his banishment and further upsets the King, actions meant to accelerate his decline. Unexpectedly facing the defiance of two of his favorite companions—his youngest daughter and his treasured advisor—Lear begins his descent into madness. Kent’s tactics allow him to present himself as a victim, garner sympathy, and dispel suspicion about his motivations. He impresses Cordelia with his allegiance and ingratiates himself with her, since he supports her performance as a virtuous, misjudged daughter. Most importantly, his expulsion allows him to resign into obscurity, assume a disguise, and work surreptitiously from the shadows.

Condemning her sisters and father and defending Cordelia, Kent means to further her cause because he is working for her, not Lear. That his behavior duplicates hers indicates they have similar motivations and are in collusion. He, then, displays more political savvy than selfless loyalty and embodies the Fool’s directives, “Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after” (2.2.261–63), “an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly” (1.4.99–100). Perceiving Lear’s old age and concomitant declining power, he changes his alliance, because he recognizes he has nothing to gain in following the declining King and instead seeks the favor of a more powerful figure.

Kent leaves Act 1, Scene 1, with as much theatrical flair as he occupied it by vowing to obediently follow the King’s commands and leave Britian. The audience soon learns though that he lies and misleads everyone, for in Scene 4 he reappears not only in Britain but also close to the King. He speaks some truth, however, when he announces he will “shape his old course in a country new” (1.1.188), a line that may contain a bawdy pun on “country” to denote “cunt” (Partridge 1969, p. 87): his allegiance is to a woman now. Moreover, juxtaposing his reference to a “country new” to the immediate entrance of the King of France, Shakespeare allows for Kent’s real allegiance to be with a different country and a different king. In fact, he may primarily serve the King of France, since in assisting Cordelia, the future queen of France, he indirectly aids her future husband. That the King of France has “long” been at court allows for Kent to have connected with him and turned his service from Lear to him.

Because Cordelia and Kent are the King’s favorites, they seem incapable of scheming against the man who lavished them both with his love and riches. But Shakespeare realizes, as does Machiavelli in the following passage, that these are precisely the kind of people to suspect:

It would seem, then, that conspirators have all been men of standing or

intimates of the prince, and, of these, those who have been moved to

conspire by too many benefits are as numerous as those moved to

conspire by too many injuries … For to all these men their emperors

had granted such wealth and so many honours and titles that there seemed

to be nothing wanting to complete their power, save the imperial title….

A prince, therefore, who wants to guard against conspiracies, should

fear those on whom he has conferred excessive favours more than

those to whom he has done excessive injury. For the latter lack

opportunity, whereas the former abound in it, and the desire is the same

in both cases; for the desire to rule is as great as, or greater than, is the

desire for vengeance.7

The first scene, then, depicts a king’s planned ceremony gone awry, with him being effortlessly foiled by superior schemers. Not only Lear but also Cordelia, the King of France, and Kent seem to have strategized before the beginning of the play, and at its commencement, they set their political agenda in action.

4. Edgar’s “Pretend[ing] and Dissembl[ing]”

Shakespeare juxtaposes the main plot to the subplot, a story about a bastard son, Edmund, who manipulates his father into turning against his legitimate son, Edgar, so that he can be the sole heir to his father’s fortune. As with Cordelia and Kent, scholars often read Edgar as a noble, apolitical character, who selflessly dedicates himself to caring for his father and avenges his mistreatment by killing his abuser—his brother.8 But some of his problematical actions indicate he is not as solicitous as he seems and is instead adept at the Machiavellian strategy of “color[ing]” his nature by “pretend[ing] and dissembl[ing]”, of adopting personas when they prove to be advantageous to his agenda (Machiavelli 1985, p. 70). Certainly, Cordelia is adept at concealing her true intentions when it serves her purpose, but Kent and Edgar literally dissemble by concealing their real identity and assuming a new one. The parallels suggest Edgar, like Cordelia and Kent, is an ambitious Machiavellian schemer, and Edmund, ironically, is unwittingly correct in accusing his brother of resenting his father for living so long and denying him his fortune.

In his first appearance, Edgar is strikingly naïve; he easily falls into his brother’s plot and never expresses suspicion about his motivations. Although undoubtedly knowing Edmund is untrustworthy and resentful of him, he nonetheless believes his story that he has “offended” his father and that he should “forbear his presence until some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure” (1.2.158–60). Rather than trust him, Edgar should have cleared up the misunderstanding by meeting with his father. Instead, Shakespeare has him comply with his instructions. Even Edmund admits his “practices ride easy” (1.2.180). In their next meeting, Edmund informs him that since their father is coming, he will “draw [his] sword upon” (2.1.30) his brother, who, in turn, must draw his sword and “defend” himself (2.1.31) and then run away. Again, Edgar falls quickly into the trap by making himself look guilty and missing the opportunity to talk to his father.

As the play progresses, Shakespeare heightens the audience’s skepticism of Edgar’s naivete by revealing his complexity. Since at the play’s beginning he seems naïve yet goes on to deceive and outwit every character with whom he comes in contact, including his own brother and father, his earlier simpleness must be a pose he assumes, like his many other personas, which fools Edmund into believing his brother is “foolish[ly] honest” (1.2.179). He succumbs to Edmund’s entrapment not because he is gullible and “foolish”, but because he is cunning and knows his brother’s agenda of inheriting his father’s fortune coincides with his own. He realizes, as does Machiavelli, that a wise person “should have anything blameable administered by others, favors by themselves” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 75). Knowing that Edmund resents a father who is ashamed of him and has deprived him of an inheritance, Edgar lets his brother do the dirty work of causing their father’s gradual decline—one that will reward him with the long-awaited family fortunes. He removes himself from the action and lets his brother incriminate himself and set the stage for their father’s deconstruction—a plan similar to Cordelia’s scheme to incriminate her sisters. Ironically, he shrewdly dupes Edmund, not vice versa. Edmund is Machiavellian, but not as accomplished as his brother. Edgar and Cordelia’s motivations are embodied in the dictum that “the younger rises when the old doth fall” (3.3.25).

His ability to assume several personas and accents, which he changes at will, and fool every character he meets makes him a deceiver and dissembler by nature—an asset for a Machiavellian character. Anthony Dawson observes “no one in Shakespeare has as many disguises as Edgar, no one plays so many roles” (Dawson 1974, p. 35). Noting “there is always a certain ambivalence about disguise in Shakespeare”, Maurice Charney contends Edgar’s many disguises “undercut his role as a spokesman for moralistic values” and instead make him a “trickster figure, a little like Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream” (Charney 2016, p. 201). Moreover, Shakespeare’s audience would have viewed some of the personalities that he adopts as indicators of a scheming nature. His performance as Poor Tom, a Bedlam beggar, casts him as a practitioner of theatrics to fool his gulls and a charlatan, the “stereotype of the con man” (Carroll 1987, p. 431), “inclined to murder and assault, arson and vandalism” (MacDonald 1981, p. 42). He betrays his craftiness with claims of being possessed by devils, false assertions that some scholars argue could have reminded Shakespeare’s audience of Reverend Samuel Harsnett’s satirical pamphlet entitled A Declaration of Egregious Popish Impostures, in which he contends that diabolical possession is a deception perpetrated by papists for political ends (Halpern 1991, p. 225; Greenblatt 1982, pp. 239–42; Greenblatt 1988, pp. 94–128). Since the audience knows that Edgar’s “fiendish” pose is a sham and he is only pretending to be pursued by devils, the similarities to the deceitful papists are striking. Edgar certainly sees the advantages of what Machiavelli calls “fraud” to advance oneself, a skill at which he excels (Machiavelli 1985, p. 32).

He stays in disguise longer than necessary for several reasons. He has a strained relationship with Gloucester, and the disguise allows him to express his resentment toward a flawed father. Even though later in the play Gloucester no longer poses a threat to him, because he has had his eyes gouged out and his spirit so crushed that he is suicidal and wants only “to live to see [Edgar] in [his] touch” (4.1.25), Edgar does not relieve his father’s misery by identifying himself. Instead, he continues the deception, when he dupes his father into believing he survives a fall from the cliffs of Dover and the gods deliver him from the fiend’s pursuit of him, with the fiend being himself. Shakespeare presents him as orchestrating a fraud on his father as did Harsnett’s papist priests on their credulous audiences. The deception is gratuitous and unkind; even Edgar must admit to himself that he “trifle[s] thus with his despair” (4.6. 33), that he is mocking and “making sport” of his father (OED 2000, “trifle” v 1a, 2a). But he deceives himself by saying that he has a benign motive of “cur[ing]” him (4.6.33). If that is his intention, he does not accomplish his goal. He so aggravates Gloucester’s poor condition that “his flawed heart” will “burst” (5.3.195,197) at the least provocation, while he appears as an altruistic protector and thus employs one of the major elements of Machiavellianism—dissimulation. Concealing his ambition under a guise of magnanimity, he can inherit his father’s riches upon his imminent death.

His meeting as Poor Tom with the King and his father gives him the advantage of being privy to private conversations, and thus, keeping apprised of both political and domestic situations without being detected. He even seems to promote the King’s decline by speaking gibberish to him, sometimes about fiends and devils tormenting people and leading them to commit suicide; encouraging him to remove his clothing and endanger his life by braving the elements; and furthering his delusions by participating in his mock trial of his daughters. He can certainly see that the King’s deterioration throws the future of the governing of Britain into question. When a gentleman with attendants enters in 4.6, he, as Poor Tom, asks questions about the impending war. While he stays informed about the battle for power, his remaining in disguise precludes him from putting his life at risk by participating in it. Thus, he keeps his father alive and protects him from an assault by Oswald to prolong his disguise as an innocuous caretaker. He conceals himself during politically tumultuous times to avoid dangers and survive, especially since his brother is a menacing character who would not shy away from killing him to have all his father’s fortunes for himself. Like Cordelia, the precarious situation in which he finds himself compels him to suppress whatever good qualities he has so that he survives the perils that surround him and does not “come to ruin among so many who are not good” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 61). Upon finding out who wins and who loses the war, he can plot his next move as he waits for the opportune moment to reveal himself.

5. Kent’s Involvement in a Coup

As the double of Edgar, Kent assumes the disguise of a lowly person—a servant—to situate himself close to the King so he can “trifle” with his despair and engage in surreptitious scheming while he “seems” a selfless, dutiful subject. When meeting up with Lear in 1.4 and after easily manipulating him into trusting him, Kent, disguised as Caius, begins to work for Cordelia and the French cause. Despite giving up his title and staying with Goneril in her court, Lear is giving orders and acting irascibly by hurling a barrage of insults at Oswald, Goneril’s servant—“you whoreson dog, you slave, you cur!” (1.4.79)—and striking him for his “looks” at him (1.4.82). If Kent’s intention is to protect Lear, he should have tried to calm him. Instead, he seizes the opportunity to make matters worse by showering physical and verbal abuse on Oswald himself; he calls him a “base foot-ball player” (1.4.84–85), and after tripping and causing him to fall, he threatens to punish him further if he stays. Oswald runs away in fear to report the abuse to Goneril, who capitalizes on the opportunity to take remedial action by telling her father “a little to disquantity [his] train” (1.4.240). Kent’s rowdiness underscores the unruly behavior of the King and his men and prods Goneril to restrain them by exercising her new authority, an act that enflames the already distressed King.

Lear tells Goneril he will go to his more loving daughter Regan, who he assures himself will treat him better. He and Goneril each write a letter to Regan to try to influence her and order Kent and Oswald, respectively, to deliver their message. Kent now sets to work to create turmoil between Lear and his other daughter, and once again, Oswald becomes the victim of his assault. When meeting him at Gloucester’s castle, he begins the insults immediately by instructing him to set his horse “i’th’mire” (2.2.5), threatening to “beat [him] into clamorous whining” (2.2.22), and verbally pummeling him with a barrage of insults, as follows:

[Oswald is] a knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud,

shallow, beggarly, three-suited-hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking

knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing,

super-serviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave, one

that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service and art nothing

but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and

the son and heir of a mongrel bitch.

(2.2.14–22)

Shakespeare makes the gratuity and outrageousness of the tongue-lashing impossible to miss. The cowering Oswald tries to ignore the rudeness, but this only causes Kent to accelerate the attack by drawing his sword upon him, all else having failed, “Draw, you rogue” (2.2.29), “I’ll make a sop o’th’ moonshine of you. Draw you whoreson cullionly barber-monger! Draw!” (2.2.29, 31–32). Although Oswald refuses to duel, Kent persists in his challenges, betraying his determination—in fact, desperation—to combat with and even kill his victim. Shakespeare again calls attention to the excessiveness of his behavior by having Goneril’s servant express incredulity at the rampage, “Why dost thou use me thus?” (2.2.10). He has him enlist the word “use” to suggest he is being “used” or manipulated (OED 2000, 8a, 9).

When Cornwall, Regan, and Gloucester enter the scene, Oswald describes the abuse to which Caius has subjected him, while Kent only exacerbates his situation by insulting even the politically powerful characters and refusing to apologize for his injurious actions. Knowing Goneril has written to her sister of the riotous behavior of Lear and his retinue, to which he contributes in 1.4, he validates the allegations by behaving lawlessly himself and clearly identifying himself as one of Lear’s men. Consequently, to fuel the animosity between the King and his two daughters, he behaves badly to encourage Regan and Cornwall to believe and support Goneril and take punitive measures against her father and his knights. If he had been able to wound or kill Goneril’s servant, he would have made Lear’s men seem more dangerous, provoked more punishment for himself and the King, and thus created even more hostility. But he is satisfied with his punishment and claims he will “sleep out, the rest [he’ll] whistle” (2.2.154), while he waits in the stocks for the denouement of his scheme. At the end of 2.2, he sets the stage for a disastrous confrontation between the father and his two daughters.

Once Lear enters the scene and sees his servant in the stocks, Kent continues to act provokingly. The King reacts as Gloucester and Kent predict by taking his servant’s punishment as a personal affront to his authority, “tis worse than murder/To do upon respect such violent outrage” (2.2.213–14). When he questions his servant about who “set [him] here” (2.2.203), Kent definitively identifies Cornwall and Regan as his oppressors in the following: “It is both he and she, /Your son and daughter” (2.2.103–04). Moreover, he downplays his incendiary behavior by declaring that all he did was “draw” when he saw Oswald, because he momentarily lost his temper; he had “more man than wit about [himself]” (2.2.232). He denies his culpability and exaggerates Regan and Cornwall’s offensiveness; he claims to have committed only a “trespass” (2.2.234), a breach of duty (OED 2000, n 1), and he makes himself a victim, as Cordelia did earlier, of their disrespect for Lear. Sitting in the stocks, he serves as a visual reminder of the King’s misfortune, and he says nothing—not a word to appease him or stave off impending disaster. He manages to stir up Lear’s violent temper and cause the “first physical symptoms of hysteria” in the King (Muir 1972, p. 128).

When Regan and Goneril enter, Lear is already fuming at a situation instigated by Kent, and all it takes for him to implode is for Regan to propose a further reduction of his entourage. Furious and insulted, he chooses to leave Gloucester’s castle and hurls himself into the storm, which rages as violently as he. He withdraws from the scene, cuts himself off from his daughters, and puts his life in danger by consigning himself to the “enmity o’th’ air-/To be a comrade with the wolf and owl-” (2.2.398–99). Although the catalyst for much of the dissention, Kent remains mute as the situation becomes more dangerous and does not try to defuse the hostility by taking responsibility for it. He is silent because everything goes exactly as he planned. He works to overthrow the two sisters, contribute to the King’s decline, and advance himself by helping Cordelia and France to gain control of Britain.

6. The Plot to Overthrow Goneril and Regan and Rule Britain

Unraveling Kent’s perplexing behavior in these scenes helps to reveal Cordelia and the King of France’s covert political plot, since he advances their agenda during their absence from the play. Once he is alone in the stocks, he looks at a letter that corroborates his alliance with Cordelia, and says the following:

I know ’tis from Cordelia,

Who hath most fortunately been informed

Of my obscured course, ‘and shall find time

From this enormous state, seeking to give

Losses their remedies.’

(2.2.164–68)

While not revealing the letter’s contents, Shakespeare establishes a line of communication between Kent and Cordelia, who knows of his “obscured course”, a reference to his disguise. That she gets a letter to him despite his being in disguise is intriguing. It indicates he either writes to her to inform her, although this seems unlikely since not much time transpires for him to get a letter to her and for her, in turn, to respond to it in writing and have it delivered to him; he decides on the disguise upon his banishment and informs her offstage; or she knows about it before his exile because it is part of a plan between them—that he will get himself removed from the court, conceal his identity, and place himself at the side of the King, despite his public profession of going to another country. The last explication supports the reading that they formed the plot before the play begins. “Obscured course” can also refer to his hidden agenda, which aligns with hers. His sanguine attitude after being placed in the stocks derives from his assurance that he has accomplished at least the first steps of a “course” or planned action (OED 2000, n 23) that will please Cordelia and her husband, who will reward him.

Behind their façades of plainness and honesty, Kent and Cordelia “harbour more craft” (2.2.100), as Cornwall shrewdly notes about Kent. Her letter provides clues to their collusion and the motive behind his destructive behavior. Although he does not read it aloud, it must confirm the French are in Dover and “already planning to invade Britain, since a few hours later in 3.1, he sends a Gentleman to meet [Cordelia] on British soil” (Knowles 1999, p. 35). Scholars puzzle over the time frame in the play and notice Shakespeare so condenses events that he creates questionable scenarios, such as not allowing enough time to intervene between the sisters’ mistreatment of Lear and the invasion by French forces. When Kent reads the letter, Goneril has suggested only that the King “disquantity [his] train” “a little” (1.4.240), and Regan has yet to meet with her father. Moreover, since he has the letter in his pocket, and it is not delivered to him at that moment, he most likely receives it before Lear has any confrontation with Goneril. Consequently, “Lear’s mistreatment by his daughters cannot be Cordelia’s motive for invasion in 3.1, since she cannot yet know anything about it” (Knowles 1999, p. 37). The text indicates a short period of time transpires—at the most a “fortnight” (1.4.286)—between the play’s beginning and the landing of foreign forces at Dover. The tight time period provides more evidence that before the first scene, or soon after Act 1, Scene 1, Cordelia, Kent, and the King of France engage in a conspiracy in which they prepare for an invasion

If the invasion is to appear as something other than what it really is—a move at “state seeking” (2.2.167) or empire building—Cordelia and France need a justifiable cause, which Kent fulfills. He effortlessly manipulates Lear and his two daughters; he provokes the sisters into letting their latent hostility toward their father and ambitious nature surface and incites the King to denounce and repudiate them. Such actions reveal them as “dog-hearted daughters” (4.3.46), as Kent says, while Cordelia appears as a virtuous saint in comparison—a heroic figure who will forgive her father for disowning her and save her country and father from her evil sisters.9 Although Goneril and Regan are ruthless power wielders, Kent and Cordelia outwit them with an ingenious entrapment. Moreover, by inducing the sisters to reduce the King’s standing army, Kent renders him vulnerable, unable to defeat his opponents on his own, and thus, in need of external support, readily provided by the French.

Timing and opportunity are important in political takeovers, and a good ruler must be impulsive; Machiavelli states “it is better to be impetuous than cautious” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 101). Cordelia and France hope to have time on their side by invading early and without detection, so they can catch the British off guard. In preparation for an imminent surprise attack, Kent manages to speed the process along by accelerating the deconstruction of both Britain and its old ruler, and thus, he provides a justification for an unexpected invasion.

His lines in the quarto better clarify his involvement and the political strategizing:

But, true it is, from France there comes a power

Into this scatter’d 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.

(3.1.30–34)10

Because an invading army can more easily overcome an unsettled nation, Kent does his best to create disarray and disharmony among the governing bodies, which will result in a “scatter’d kingdom”. The British have been “negligen[t]” of state affairs largely because his incendiary behavior and Lear’s rageful fits have distracted them, actions that can make a surprise invasion easier to accomplish. As an insider, he knows France is secretly infiltrating Britain and has played his part in facilitating the occupation. Because Dover—one “of our best ports”—is on the coast near France, Cordelia and France’s choice of this area for their occupation makes logical sense. But for foreign troops to occupy a part of Britain without alerting attention or suspicion must mean they receive help and protection. Frederick Flahiff clarifies “Dover is located in Kent’s earldom” and the last scene takes place in Dover Castle, “traditionally the seat of the Earls of Kent” (Flahiff 1986, pp. 20, 21). These facts allow for Kent to have been instrumental in aiding France, Cordelia, and their troops by providing for their safekeeping and concealment in his own earldom until they “show their open banner” and declare war. When later expressing her boundless appreciation to him for his assistance (4.7.1–3), Cordelia is referring to these actions among others.

Although exiting in 2.2 with Lear and the Fool, Kent in the next scene has become separated from them at a most dangerous time—when they are on the heath in the middle of a life-threatening storm. He removes himself from his monarch’s side to strategize, and in 3.1, he arranges for a Gentleman to go to Dover and give Cordelia a note from him. He speaks to him of intrigues and spies, as follows:

Sir, I do know you

And dare upon the warrant of my note

Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,

Although as yet the face of it is covered

With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall,

Who have, as who have not that their great stars

Throned and set high, servants, who seem no less,

Which are to France the spies and speculations

Intelligent of our state—what hath been seen,

Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes,

Or the hard rein which both of them hath borne

Against the old kind King, or something deeper,

Whereof, perchance. these are but furnishings.

(3.1.17–29)

Although he refers to others—Albany and Cornwall’s servants, who secretly serve as moles for France—his intimate knowledge of the most covert political moves indicates he does not tell the Gentleman the whole truth; he can be speaking indirectly of himself, Caius, Lear’s “servant”. While trying to direct the Gentleman’s attention elsewhere, he is the spy of whom he speaks, with “intelligen[ce]” or secret information, which allows him to make “speculations” or engage in risky enterprises that offer him and his “master” the chance of great or unusual gain (OED 2000, “speculation” 8). His knowledge of “cunning”, “seem[ing]”, and the “deeper” significance of actions underscores his Machiavellian astuteness and helps to account for his separation from Lear; he has been operating as a double agent, spying on conditions in Britain to inform France and doing his part to prepare for the French coup.

Although the audience does not know the contents of the letter that Kent pays the Gentleman to deliver to Cordelia, he has information about the location of the French “power” and their readiness “to show their open banner”. He must inform Cordelia in his message that the time for the attack is at hand—he has accomplished his mission. This vital information must be delivered promptly, so the French can make military preparations, which take precedence over locating and caring for Lear. Much of what he says about Cornwall and Albany actually applies more to Cordelia, the King of France, and himself. They engage in “mutual cunning” or a conspiracy to “cover” their “divisive” actions (OED 2000, “division” 4) under a “face” of altruism; they resort to “packings” or underhanded plots and manipulations; and they plot “something deeper” or a profoundly crafty political scheme (OED 2000, “deep” a 17) and conceal it under acceptable “furnishings”. Kent has others, such as the Gentleman, act for him and conceals his involvement in the coup. Machiavelli argues princes have done great things by “deceit” and references Septimus Severus, who used the “pretext” of avenging Pertinax’s death to go to Rome and invade it with his army (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 69, 78). Similarly, Kent and Cordelia engage in an amazingly sophisticated and complex deceit, so well concealed under a “pretext” that it escapes detection.

Certainly, he could save Lear from much of the excruciating torment he suffers. He is the Earl of Kent after all—a man of influence and power—who could easily drop his disguise, take immediate action to ensure the King is in Dover in his own earldom, and arrange for him to be reunited with Cordelia rather than endure one moment in the storm. The debilitated and powerless King, who begins to see his mistakes, no longer poses a threat to him. But he remains in obscurity as a servant because such a disguise allows him to operate without notice, and revealing himself at this early stage in the plot might endanger him and his plans. He continues with his plot by signaling the commencement of the war and traveling with Lear to Dover.

Moreover, in resorting to a circuitous means of assisting Lear, he helps with his rescue but only after the King endures pain, because his suffering and deterioration serve a political purpose. The “something deeper” he and Cordelia have plotted involves allowing the King to plunge into physical and mental decline and letting the sisters incur the blame for it. Such acts bring him closer to death and the throne within reach of a successor, while the French side can sanction its political invasion with the pretext of saving the King from the sisters’ cruelty. They adhere to Machiavelli’s tenet of facilitating their adversaries’ downfall by accentuating their mean-spiritedness and encouraging others to hate and disdain them. Unfortunately, Lear must suffer in the process. Like Edgar, they ensure that “anything blameable” is “administered by others, favors by themselves” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 75). Kent must increase the hatred toward the sisters, for a leader who “does not make himself hated cannot be attacked” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 4). They act like Machiavelli’s “wise Prince”, who “astutely nourish[es] some enmity so that when he has crushed it, his greatness emerges the more from it” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 85). Machiavelli observes that “a powerful and spirited prince” will give the subjects “fear of the enemy’s cruelty” to bring “glory to his siege”, and nothing makes a prince so esteemed as “to undertake greater enterprises” and “to give rare examples of himself” (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 44, 88). They manipulate the situation to make Cordelia look like a savior pitted against the devil.

Although at the end of 3.6 Kent sets out for Dover with the King and the Fool, Shakespeare does not permit us to see him again until 4.3 of the quarto, when he has a conversation with the Gentleman at the French camp near Dover. Once again, he absents himself from Lear, whom he leaves behind “’i’the town” (4.3.39). He will not appear again in the same scene with him until 4.7 of the quarto or 4.6 of the folio, and even then, Shakespeare provides no indication he accompanies him on his way to the French camp. His lack of appearance in this part of the play signifies not a reduced role so much as a lack of dedication to the King and a greater involvement in offstage plotting.

7. Cordelia’s Return to the Play as a “Woman Warrior”

Cordelia finally physically re-enters the play in 4.4, with Shakespeare presenting her more as a commanding, armed leader of soldiers than a loving daughter. The folio underscores the martial Cordelia, with the stage directions reading “Enter, with drum and colours, Cordelia, Gentleman, and Soldiers” (Shakespeare 1997, p. 321). In having her appear ready for battle and probably dressed in armor before she reconnects with Lear, Shakespeare highlights the importance she places on her imperialistic goals and the planning for war, “Our preparation stands/In expectation of” the “British powers” (4.4.22–23, 21). Sarah Werner claims, “there are signs of a forceful Cordelia from the start, suggesting that her appearance in armor is not anomalous”, and she is a “woman warrior”, “as unruly as, or even more unruly than, her sisters” (Werner 2009, pp. 233, 235, 238). She avoids those qualities that would make her lose supporters and weaken her cause; Machiavelli argues “what makes [a prince] contemptible is to be held variable, light, effeminate, pusillanimous, irresolute, from which a prince should guard himself as from a shoal. He should contrive that greatness, spiritedness, gravity, and strength are recognized in his actions” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 72). While Machiavelli is designating desirable and undesirable qualities for men, not women, Cordelia nonetheless avoids the above-mentioned weaknesses and embodies the strengths by showing herself to be “great”—a decisive and inspiring leader of an army.

As a skilled Machiavellian, she recognizes the necessity of war, as she raises an “adequate army”, goes to battle “in person, and performs [her]self the office of captain” to inspire loyalty in the army; bring credibility to her mission; and achieve honor for herself (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 43, 49). Like a Machiavellian prince, she does not “take anything else as [her] art but the art of war and its orders and discipline” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 58). Moreover, the King has not talked to her or asked her to help him regain his kingdom, yet she is preparing for battle, which implies she has “jumped the gun” and betrays her imperialistic motivations. In having his protagonist suffer to the point of losing his senses—which her words clearly delineate (4.4.1–6)—Shakespeare clarifies he is in no condition to be reinstated as king. These facts allow Shakespeare to indicate she acts more for herself than for her father.

She enlists the Machiavellian tactics of both “fraud” and “force” to defeat her sisters. Machiavelli explains the necessity of resorting to violence when confronting dangerous foes, as follows:

There are two kinds of combat: one with laws, the other with force. The

first is proper to man, the second to beasts; but because the first is often

not enough, one must have recourse to the second. Therefore it is necessary

for a prince to know well how to use the beast and the man.

(Machiavelli 1985, p. 69)

Machiavelli contends that when princes “are able to use force, then it is that they are rarely in peril. From this it arises that all the armed prophets conquered and the unarmed ones were ruined” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 24). He also refers to the Romans who “seeing inconveniences from afar, always found remedies for them and never allowed them to continue so as to escape a war, because they knew that war may not be avoided but is deferred to the advantage of others” (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 12–13). She, thus, attempts “to eliminate those who can or might offend” her by preparing for war (Machiavelli 1985, p. 32). She is willing to be a “very fierce lion to drive off wolves” and succeed (Machiavelli 1985, p. 46).

Instead of waiting for fortune to bless her with an opportunity to advance herself, she relies on Machiavellian virtù, which includes pride, courage, prudence, forcefulness, and ruthlessness, if necessary. Shakespeare has her “avoid a middle course [of action], and prefer the extremes” (Machiavelli 1950, 2.23.2). She refuses to accept her father’s “middle course” of trying to avert “strife”. Instead, she takes the initiative and makes her own opportunity to change the course of events by resorting to the “extreme” means of war. She is like the great “innovators” whom Machiavelli cites, such as “Moses, Cyrus, Romulus, [and] Theseus”, who came to power “by their own virtue and not by fortune”. She realizes her sisters and their future offspring will always pose a threat to her and “eliminat[ing]” their “blood line” to the throne will be beneficial to her and the kingdom’s future wellbeing (Machiavelli 1985, pp. 9, 22). In having Cordelia defy the gender expectations for early modern women and embody qualities reserved solely for men, Shakespeare pays tribute to women—and probably his own queen Elizabeth—as power wielders and military leaders who outperform their male compatriots.

Shakespeare delays the meeting of daughter and father not only to create dramatic suspense but to highlight her as a military leader. Anticipating their reunion, she orders her troops to find him before the war begins in the following:

It is thy [Lear’s] business that I go about;

Therefore great France

My mourning and important tears hath pitied.

No blown ambition doth our arms incite,

But love, dear love, and our aged father’s right:

Soon may I hear and see him.

(4.4.24–29)

Launching an invasion on her own country with foreign forces, she conceals what can be perceived as traitorous actions with an acceptable justification; portraying herself as selfless and nationalistic, she claims to act, not for herself, but for her father, by retrieving his “right” or legal claim to authority (OED 2000, n 9a). She fights for the “right”—a righteous defense of truth and justice (OED 2000, n 6a). Lear’s resignation from politics in 5.3 indicates yet again the fallacy of her claim that “it is [her father’s] business that [she] go[es] about”, since he would rather live with her in prison than be the ruler again. But she needs her father to reappear and sanction her cause. She resembles Alexander VI in her ability to “color” her real motivations. Machiavelli states “there never was a man with greater efficacy in asserting a thing, and in affirming it with greater oaths, who observed it less” and cites him as an example of his maxim that “one who has known best how to use the fox has come out best” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 70). She disguises her political aspirations and conspiratorial activities under a virtuous façade of protecting her father, by which she shows herself “prudent as to know how to avoid the infamy of those vices” that would endanger her political future (Machiavelli 1985, p. 62).

Although scholars often deny her political aspirations by citing her self-professed lack of “blown ambition”, the circumstances under which she makes this profession are questionable. Since no one impugns her motives, her self-justification is gratuitous and defensive, indicative of her fear that her real motives might be too patent. In a psychoanalytic reading of the lines, Roberto Speziale-Bagliacca observes it is a “Verneinung, a defensive negation, which Freud has shown reveals the very desire one wants to hide and disown” (Speziale-Bagliacca 1980, p. 416). Kordecki and Koskinen agree that she “protests too much” and is “ambitious enough to bring troops against her native land”. Moreover, they argue her professed love for her father and retrieval of his throne “could be a great deal less selfless than usually presented” (Kordecki and Koskinen 2010, pp. 169, 173).

Although some scholars rhapsodize about the heartfelt reunion of Lear and Cordelia in 4.7 (Rozett 1987, p. 242; Barber 1986, p. 292), Shakespeare has Cordelia exercise some restraint in her meeting with her father by being taciturn. The meeting consists of only forty lines, with her speaking short, mundane statements that identify her and their location and being preoccupied with the upcoming battle. She seems to have ordered that her father be “arrayed” or dressed for combat (OED 2000, v 1) in anticipation of the commencement of the war. In 5.2, the editorial commentary indicates she takes her bedraggled father into battle with her and her troops. Although “he’s scarce awake” (4.7. 51) and barely recognizes her, she wants him to assume a regal stature to consecrate her and her enterprise (OED 2000, “benediction” 1) and nullify his earlier dispossessing of her. Having him accompany her in battle, while detrimental to his wellbeing, bolsters her military expedition and blesses her cause as a patriotic and loving act. Shakespeare continues to focus on her as a skilled strategist rather than a compassionate daughter.

In Shakespeare’s source The True Chronicle, the battle to regain the throne is successful largely because it is a surprise and catches the enemies off guard. In his play the battle takes place off stage, and she is defeated almost before the war begins. He does not make it last longer because the result has been predetermined for some time. Much earlier, Gloucester sets her defeat in motion when he unwisely shares privy information about the surprise attack with Edmund, who, in turn, leaks the vital information to Cornwall. With the British forewarned of the invasion, it is no longer a surprise, and they quickly prepare for a formidable defense, one in which they have the advantages of fighting on their own soil and the greater incentive to defend their country. Unlike the other versions of the story, Shakespeare has Lear and his youngest daughter suffer imprisonment, with Cordelia being hanged.

8. The Desertion of Kent and the King of France

During the war, she stays the course and fights despite the odds. Other crucial figures, however, falter and abandon her cause and are partially responsible for her fall. First, the King of France’s absence drastically hurts her position since the French forces would be less committed to the mission without their ruler leading them. Machiavelli notes the importance of a ruler’s presence during a war, as “better soldiers” “become better when they see themselves commanded by their prince” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 104). Although his absence is not noted in the folio, Shakespeare intimates in the quarto it is a matter of defection, with the Gentleman offering a feeble excuse, “Something he left imperfect in the state which since his coming forth is thought of, which imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger that his personal return was most requir’d and necessary” (4.3.3–6). Since later in the scene the Gentleman and Kent express knowledge about the British forces, the King of France, perhaps informed by Kent, must know of their preparation for war and abandons his wife, not to attend to matters of state in France but to preserve his life, so he can live to plan another invasion. Knowing the British have discovered their planned attack and robbed it of its surprise, he retreats out of “much fear and danger” for his own wellbeing. He also preserves his image by not personally associating himself with a foreign invasion, just as he removed himself from the action throughout the play. His craven retreat provides more support for the assertion that politics, not love, constitutes his union with Cordelia, and while having ambitions to expand his empire, he is not willing to risk his life in the process. Since she loses the leadership of the King of France and most importantly the advantage of a surprise invasion, around which their strategizing revolves, her defeat is not surprising.

The other deserter is Kent, who mysteriously disappears at the end of 4.3 in the quarto and does not reappear until 4.7, when he momentarily reunites with Cordelia, only to disappear inexplicably again until the very end of the play. His absence is even more glaring in the folio as he last appears in 3.6. His increasing absence from the play signifies his craftiness; he recedes, like the King of France, the closer the culmination of their plans approaches and waits on the outcome to gauge his next move, claiming his “point and period will be throughly wrought,/Or well or ill as this day’s battle’s fought” (4.7.95–96). When appearing in 4.3 of the quarto, he already knows about the King of France’s return to his homeland—perhaps because he advised him—and of “Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers” (4.3.49). Assessing the British have been tipped off to the attack, he does not rush to the assistance of Lear and Cordelia; rather, he recedes deeper into his disguise and disappears. Before he leaves, he explains his absence to the Gentleman by saying: “Some dear cause/Will in concealment wrap me up awhile” (4.3.52–53). Shakespeare enfolds him in “concealment” by literally hiding him from our view (OED 2000, 4) and figuratively making him a mysterious figure (OED 2000, 3). While the audience does not know where he goes, he is not taking care of Lear. Given the precariousness of the French cause, he intends to “lie low” and capitalize on his disguise (OED 2000, “concealment” 4b) to protect himself during a war and scheme behind the scenes. The “dear cause” is most likely something precious in his regard (OED 2000, “dear” 5a)—his own personal and political survival. That both he and the King of France abandon Cordelia indicates their alliance and shrewdness as strategists.

Cordelia expresses her profuse gratitude to Kent, “how shall I live and work/To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,/And every measure fail me” (4.7.1–3). Her words confirm he has conspired with her, served as a spy for France, and performed such integral components of the conspiracy that she will never be able to repay him adequately. Obviously, if she had won, he would have reaped inestimable rewards and been at the center of the French court—as he has been at Lear’s court. His next response belies his professions of loyalty, however, for when Cordelia tells him to remove his “weeds”, he declines, “Yet to be known shortens my made intent./My boon I make it that you know me not/Till time and I think meet” (4.7.9–10). If he were as faithful to her as he claims, he would doff his disguise and assist her in the upcoming battle. His maintaining his disguise beyond its professed purpose indicates his selfish motives. His foremost “made intent” or contrived scheme (OED 2000, “made” 1c; “intent” 1b) involves protecting himself, which takes precedence over his fidelity to Cordelia. Like Edgar, he does not want to come out of disguise until the time is “meet”—when Cordelia and the King of France have won the war and the kingdom, and he can be on the winning side. Should Cordelia not win and Edmund and the sisters rule (as they almost do), he will not be treated kindly—if he survives. Staying in disguise, moreover, allows him to engage in a game of cunning and plotting offstage, while Cordelia fights open warfare. Kordecki and Koskinen agree that he “does not actually fight in the war” but may “operate instead as a spy, manipulating the players behind the scenes” (Kordecki and Koskinen 2010, p. 175). He betrays his commitment to his own “boon” or advantage (OED 2000, n 5), emerging from the conspiracy as a “made” or successful man, and that does not involve associating himself officially with a woman who might not succeed—even though he served as her agent earlier.

Kent, then, is not as selfless as he seems, and Cordelia makes a mistake in putting absolute faith in him. Machiavelli warns the prince against this misjudgment in the following:

The choice of ministers is of no small importance to a prince…. When you

see a minister thinking more of himself than of you, and in all actions looking

for something useful to himself, one so made will never be a good minister;

never will you be able to trust him, because he who has someone’s state in

his hands should never think of himself but always of the prince, and he

should never remember anything that does not pertain to the prince.

(Machiavelli 1985, pp. 92, 93)

Kent “think[s] of himself” first and foremost. He does not support her in the war and does not appear until the very end—after she and Lear are taken prisoners and she is hanged; Edgar defeats Edmund; and Goneril and Regan are dead, and only the feckless Albany remains. While Shakespeare does not inform the audience of Kent’s whereabouts, he cannot be far from the action. That early in the play he effortlessly changed his allegiance from the King to her should have tipped her off to his self-interest.

In the characters of Kent and the King of France, Shakespeare’s assessment of human nature resembles that of Machiavelli in the following:

For one can say this generally of men: that they are ungrateful, fickle, pretenders and

dissemblers, evaders of danger, eager for gain. While you do them good, they are

yours, offering you their blood, property, lives, and children, as I said above, when

the need for them is far away; but when it is close to you, they revolt.

(Machiavelli 1985, p. 66)

Two of her closest allies betray her by supporting her when success seems imminent but recoiling when victory becomes less certain. Machiavelli explains why such men bolt, “since there is more foresight and more astuteness in the great, they always move in time to save themselves and they seek rank from those they hope will win” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 40)—a perfect description of Kent and the King of France.

9. Cordelia’s Mistake

Cordelia proves herself a courageous leader, committed to her cause despite a change in fortune. She embodies Machiavellian virtù by “entering into” “dangers” that display her “great spirit and high intention” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 32). Since her sisters posed a threat to her, she had to resort to war. Machiavelli quotes Livy, who claims “‘war is just to whom it is necessary, and arms are pious when there is no hope but in arms’” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 103). The necessity of war for Cordelia makes her martial efforts noble. Nonetheless, she would have been wiser to have abandoned the war plans once the British became privy to them, an act that would have resulted in her living to strategize another more promising coup. She needed to “have a spirit disposed to change as the winds of fortune and variation of things command” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 70). Machiavelli further addresses the mistake that Shakespeare has Cordelia commit as follows:

If one governs himself with caution and patience, and the times and affairs turn

in such a way that his government is good, he comes out prosperous; but if the

times and affairs change, he is ruined because he does not change his mode of

proceeding…And so the cautious man, when it is time to come to impetuosity,

does not know how to do it, hence comes to ruin: for if he would change his nature

with the times and with affairs, his fortune would not change.

(Machiavelli 1985, p. 100)

Certainly, Kent and the King of France modify their strategy. But she does not, and this leads to her loss of the war and her life.

10. Mysterious Deaths

Another potential ally who lets her down is Edgar. Although knowing of the impending war, he, like Kent, stays in disguise and protects himself by never entering the battle to fight for his godfather’s “right”. Both Kent and Edgar embody the opportunism that Machiavelli advocates for success; flexible and able to capitalize on fortune, they quickly adjust their behavior to suit the circumstances. When Edgar kills Oswald and in picking his pockets discovers Goneril’s note, in which she tells Edmund of her plot to kill her husband, he recognizes that fortune has provided him with a way to benefit and ingratiate himself with Albany, whose side may win the war. In giving the letter to Goneril’s husband, he negotiates with him by vowing to “champion” Edmund over “what is avouched” in it (5.1.44, 45), if Albany achieves “victory” (5.1.42), but if he loses, he tells him his “business of the world hath so an end” (5.1.46). In other words, he will not duel with Edmund to avenge the wrong unless Albany’s side wins and Albany can reward him; he is not motivated by a desire to right a misdeed but to benefit himself. A fast thinker and schemer, he seizes a “fortunate opportunity” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 23) to advance himself by letting Edmund do all the hard work of leading the British powers to victory, while he comes in the last minute and enlists virtù to kill him and gain all that his brother achieved. Like Machiavelli’s prince, he “know[s] immediately how to prepare to keep what fortune has placed in [his] lap” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 26). Moreover, Edmund has proved himself to be a ruthless foe, who is responsible for the plucking out of his father’s eyes and the hanging of Cordelia. He could easily turn his venomous nature against his brother and end his life. Like Cordelia, Edgar resorts to force to save his own life and ennoble himself.

Much like Ferdinand of Aragon, who was King of Spain and whom Machiavelli praised for “order[ing] great things, which have always kept the minds of his subjects in suspense and admiration, and occupied with their outcome” (Machiavelli 1985, p. 88), Edgar creates a spectacle by which to awe his audience. He orchestrates a chivalric display, quite an ironic technique for a man adept at realpolitik, by climactically waiting until the third trumpet call to appear in disguise as a mysterious armored knight, who fights to overthrow “a most toad-spotted traitor” (5.3.136). Upon defeating his brother, he dramatically reveals himself as the good son of Gloucester, tells of his donning “a madman’s rags” (5.3.186), and recounts his selfless nurturing of his blind father—a story as astonishing as his duel and, likewise, meant to amaze his listeners. Like Cordelia, he waits for the appropriate time to appear as the savior who defeats a vile sibling and fights for righteousness. In fact, he upstages Cordelia, who loses her battle, and amazes the audience with his skills at performative politics.

According to his account, he kills his father by “burst[ing]” “his flawed heart” with the revelation of his real identity and the story of his “pilgrimage” (5.3.197,195). He would have the audience believe the death was unintentional—the result of shock. But that Shakespeare has it occur offstage prevents the audience from feeling certain Edgar is telling the whole truth of his death, especially since earlier he seemed to enjoy aggravating his suffering. At the very least, he is responsible for his father’s death, as he himself admits, when he delays divulging his identity and thus causes him to suffer needlessly, which contributes to his demise. All these facts suggest he is a keen-witted, accomplished strategist, motivated primarily by self-advancement.

The quarto indicates Edgar and Kent meet up behind the scenes and let down their well-guarded disguises to each other, an unveiling that indicates they feel the time is “meet” and probably decide on a plan. With the defeat of Cordelia and the precariousness of their situation if Edmund and Goneril were to succeed, they have more to gain in working together to defeat a common enemy—not on the battlefield, as Cordelia has failed to do, but through scheming, for not just Edmund stands in their way but also Goneril, who conveniently dies. Appearing with a “bloody knife” that “came even from [her] heart” (5.3.223), the Gentleman announces her death. Edmund says she “poison’d [Regan] for [his] sake,/And after slew herself” (5.3.238–39), an interpretation critics have accepted. Shakespeare substantiates the first part of his statement as Goneril refers to the poison she administered to her sister (5.3.96). But he does not confirm the explanation of her death as a suicide; in fact, “of all the suicides in Shakespeare Goneril’s has received the least attention” (Faber 1967, p. 313). Edmund’s explanation is a mere assumption; he has been present on stage, while she dies off stage, and he has no better knowledge than the audience that she killed herself. His need to believe he was beloved compels him to read her death as a suicide over her loss of him. But he may be wrong.

Certainly, throughout the play, Goneril displays remarkable conviction and self-assurance—qualities not conducive to suicide. Moreover, right before her exit, she does not express any intention to take her life. Although caring for Edmund enough to kill her sister over him, she does not show any emotional vulnerability when he is wounded, nor does she attend to him. She seems more angry than despondent. When she leaves the scene, Albany orders his men to “Go after her; she’s desperate, govern her” (5.3.159), because he fears her anger at Edmund’s wounding and suspicions of foul play make her a dangerous person, capable of extreme recklessness and violence (OED 2000, “desperate” 4), and determined to resort to any measure to exact revenge—on others and particularly on him. When the Gentleman announces her death, he merely produces the “bloody knife” that “came even from the heart” of Goneril, but he does not say how it got there, and Albany does not ask. Instead, blithely accepting Edmund’s explanation, Albany is glad to be rid of a wife for whom he expresses contempt.

Shakespeare casts suspicions on Goneril’s death by having Edmund, immediately after labeling Goneril’s death a suicide, admit to Albany that he concealed a murder plot against Cordelia behind a claim of suicide in the following lines:

He [the captain] hath commission from thy wife [Goneril] and me

To hang Cordelia in the prison and

To lay the blame upon her own despair,

That she fordid herself.

(5.3.250–52)

Might Goneril have been murdered as well, a homicide concealed under the guise of suicide? After all, when the Gentleman enters and says the “bloody knife” “came even from the heart of –O, she’s dead!” (5.3.223), the audience has been waiting for news about Cordelia and for a moment thinks the Gentleman reports her death. Although immediately disabusing the audience of this notion, Shakespeare concatenates the deaths of the two women and allows for Goneril’s death to be similar to Cordelia’s. He creates just enough ambiguity to allow his audience to contemplate the possibility of murder, not suicide. Certainly, Goneril has enemies who would want her dead.

Shakespeare provides some clues that can point to a specific character as being involved. The close positioning of Kent’s arrival with the announcement of Goneril’s death and the bringing in of the bodies can conflate him with her demise. He appears for the first time since Act 1, Scene 1, as himself, not in disguise. Since the overly cautious Kent, who studiously guards his real identity throughout much of the play, finally appears out of disguise, he must feel the moment is “ripe”, and he can do so without endangering himself. He would reveal himself only if he knew Goneril and Edmund—the opposing side to Cordelia and the King of France for whom he has acted—are defeated or dead. Again, the ambiguity invites the audience to consider the possibility that Kent is involved in Goneril’s death either by murdering her himself or having the act executed by an agent, like the Gentleman, whom he has remunerated before for services rendered. With Edgar and Kent meeting off stage, Shakespeare gives them the opportunity to plot how to permanently remove the new leaders of Britain, with Edgar disposing of his brother while Kent attends to Goneril. Neither Edgar nor Kent tries before this time to save either Lear or Cordelia. Edgar may realize an heirless throne can fall to him as Lear’s “godson”—as it does. Kent is more dedicated to ridding himself of the adversarial war victors than rescuing Cordelia, an act that could reveal his status as a spy and even endanger his life. If Edmund and Goneril had survived to rule Britain, both Edgar and Kent’s lives would have been in danger, their political ambitions would have been stymied, and their plotting would have been in vain. On the other hand, Edmund and Goneril’s demise provides a gateway to success for Edgar and Kent—a good reason for their wanting them dead.

While Lear despairs over the loss of his daughter, Kent is concerned with protecting his secret status as spy; rather than consoling him, he tries to force the old man to recognize him and confirm his caring for him as his faithful servant Caius. Shakespeare makes Lear understandably preoccupied with more immediate concerns and has him refuse to give his “servant” the profuse tribute he wants everyone to hear, a slighting that makes Kent try even harder and underscores his agenda of impressing everyone with his reputedly selfless dedication and concealing his strategizing. His working as a spy for the French to aid them in their attack on Britain never becomes public knowledge, just as Edgar never mentions he met up with the King on the heath and exacerbated his madness.

The King speaks of Caius curtly and dismissively, “He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that;/He’ll strike and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten” (5.3.282–83). Not exactly a glowing commendation. Not having seen his servant for many scenes, he assumes he is long dead, an assertion that belies Kent’s claim that he “followed [his] sad steps” (5.3.286). What he notes as the most distinguishing quality about Caius is his ability to “strike”. Undoubtedly, Lear refers to Caius’ violence, like that against Oswald. But the word “strike” can denote not just to deal a blow but to stab or cut a person with a sharp weapon (OED 2000, 31), a characterization that Shakespeare may mean to give credence to his deadliness, and thus, his possible involvement in Goneril’s stabbing death.

The last mysterious death is that of the Fool, who has not appeared since the end of 3.6 and whom the King seems to finally mention, “And my poor fool is hanged” (5.3.304). Some scholars contend he is not referring to his erstwhile companion but to Cordelia, whom he endearingly calls “fool” (Shakespeare 1987, p. 205). The ambiguity allows Lear to be referring to both his daughter and his former companion. In using the word “fool” in a play in which a major character by that designation mysteriously disappears, Shakespeare can be informing the audience of the reason for the absence of Lear’s cohort. When the King describes Cordelia’s demise, he remembers the Fool because their deaths may have been similar—both were hanged. Shakespeare does not clarify whether he witnesses the Fool’s hanging, as he does hers. If the Fool has been hanged, as Lear seems to imply, he does not definitively identify the hangman. Perhaps he was a mere agent, like Cordelia’s murderer, who follows the orders of a superior. But since Shakespeare allows the audience to view Kent as a cunning, dangerous character, who mysteriously disappears and operates behind the scenes throughout the play, he provides the opportunity for him to be involved in the Fool’s hanging by either handling it himself or arranging for an agent to commit it for him.

He would have reasons for wanting him dead. While the Fool’s lines are typically obscure and enigmatic, he several times voices suspicions of Caius by alluding to his untrustworthiness and cunning nature and seeming to penetrate his disguise. The Fool consistently gives the King good advice, tries to protect him from the storm, and provides sound and loyal companionship. Such solicitous actions are counterproductive to Kent’s secret intentions of letting the King suffer and directing the blame to Goneril and Regan. Indeed, when Lear appears in 4.6 without the Fool, his mental and physical decline signals that his companion has served as a kind of stabilizing force, and without him, he quickly deteriorates. Moreover, only Kent and the Fool set out for Dover with Lear, along with “some five- or six-and-thirty of his knights” (3.7.15). Kent safely arrives; the Fool does not seem so lucky. That Kent was one of the last characters with him suggests he had the opportunity to dispose of a companion who posed a threat to him and his secret agenda. Shakespeare does not provide enough substantive support for this interpretation of the two deaths to be asserted with certainty. But a reading that applies a Machiavellian perspective to the text and the presence of a character who operates behind the scenes throughout much of the play invite serious consideration of the offstage deaths and allow for the possibility that Kent is involved in them.

11. A Problematic Ending

In the last few lines, Albany stays true to his character and displays the “cowish terror of his spirit,/That does not undertake” decisive actions (4.2.12–13). Showing himself the “vain fool” (4.2.62) Goneril claimed him to be, he cannot give his momentary kingship away fast enough. This weak nature, however, keeps him alive, since the other characters, especially Edgar and Kent, do not perceive him as a political threat. Rather, they view him as someone to manipulate for their political advantage. After “resign[ing]” (5.3.297) the rule to the dying Lear, he gives it to Kent and Edgar and refuses, even in his resignation, to make a choice between the only two noteworthy characters still standing. Kent and Edgar’s professions of selflessness in their attending to Lear and Gloucester, respectively, and Edgar’s performance of chivalry so impress him that he believes in the honorable façade they project and rewards them. By the play’s end, they have done very well for themselves, and Edgar made a shrewd move in choosing to fight Edmund and vindicate Albany. If Edgar accepts the kingship, as the text implies, he indeed gains much more than his father’s fortune and title.

But while joining forces to defeat a common enemy, Kent and Edgar will probably not remain friends for long, since the succession issue remains unsettled at the play’s end, with Lear dying heirless and neither Kent nor Edgar being rightful heirs. Kent’s response to Albany’s assignment of power shows the same ambiguity of much of his dialogue, “I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; /My master calls me, I must not say no” (5.3.320–21). Scholars interpret these lines as signifying his intention to follow Lear into death, and he may mean for his words to be interpreted as such. They base their reading on a perception of him as a loyal subject and Edgar’s words when he describes him as near death (Thompson 1988, p. 34; Kiernan 1996, p. 121). But neither of these assumptions is correct. Kent can be strategizing yet again; while leading those at court to believe in his death, he can be planning to operate behind the scenes and not make his move “till time” and opportunity are “meet”. In Act 1, after his banishment, he made a similar profession, when he announced his intention to go on a “journey”—“He’ll shape his old course in a country new” (1.1.188)—but this was untrue, as he stayed closer to the King than ever and worked incognito for the French. If past actions are any indicator of the future, he lies again to mislead and deceive. The word “journey” can denote a literal or figurative short trip (OED 2000, 2), but it can also signify a business operation (OED 2000, 6) or even a military campaign or expedition (OED 2000, 4).

In the quarto, Edgar says nothing, but in the folio, Albany’s lines are assigned to him as follows:

The weight of this sad time we must obey,

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne most: we that are young

Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

(5.3.322–25)

Although there is critical debate about whether Edgar or Albany is the more appropriate character to say these lines, the insight they show makes them more suitable to the shrewd Edgar than the ineffectual Albany. As some scholars have argued, the play does not end hopefully with a return to order or a rejuvenated state (Honigmann 1976, p. 122). Edgar’s ambiguous lines can indicate he fears for his life against the “olde[r]” Kent, who has “borne most” or shown a tough resiliency to endure the vagaries of fortune. Jorgen Dines Johansen believes he “prophesizes his own early death” (Johansen 1972, p. 117). Albany orders the two men to “rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain” (5.3.319), with the word “sustain” meaning to preserve (OED 2000, v 4) the wellbeing of the kingdom. But Shakespeare uses the line to suggest a dark future that will consist of a “sustain[ing]” or continuation (OED 2000, v 5a) of the war and carnage (“gored”). The folio’s ending with a “dead march” can signify the continuance of war and bloodshed, with the play concluding in the same chaotic state in which it began.

Shakespeare does not provide clarity about the roles the remaining characters will likely adopt at the play’s end. But he intimates that Edgar will officially assume the kingship, although his position is shaky, since he has no hereditary legitimacy to the throne. Kent’s last lines can signify his intention to continue his espionage and possibly assume a different disguise. Since he does not have the resources to lodge a military coup on his own, he would have to resort to underhanded means, of which he is manifestly capable. He could try to outsmart and overthrow Edgar and assume the position of king himself. But Shakespeare makes him so politically astute that it seems unlikely he would place himself in the seat of power and endanger his life, since, like Edgar, he has no legal claim to the kingship. Certainly, the surviving husbands of Lear’s daughters have a more legal right to the throne. Since the apolitical Albany abdicates, only Cordelia’s husband is left. Kent’s last actions and his reference to a “master” after Cordelia’s death can refer to the King of France and his intentions to help him plan another invasion on a severely disjoined and compromised Britain, which he has been instrumental in creating. Moreover, the King of France has a compelling “cause” for the attack; under the pretext of avenging the wrongful deaths of his wife and father-in-law and reestablishing their rightful reign, he can conduct a governmental take-over.

12. Conclusions

While Lear gradually comes to a greater and more jaded understanding of justice, authority, and inequity between the social classes, he is so mentally impaired by the play’s end that he remains in a fog about the Machiavellian world that surrounds him. Unlike in the sources, he dies as a symbolic representation of the demise of the feudal world—one based on the divine right of kings—rendered obsolete and ineffectual in the climate of realpolitik. Shakespeare ends the play with a political prospect Elizabethans feared—an invasion and war orchestrated by a politically adroit foreign leader, the King of France, who turns out to be the craftiest Machiavel of all, operating from the sidelines through spies and surrogates and concealing his scheming. In fact, Shakespeare removes him from the play’s action so completely that the audience almost forgets about him. With the death of all the king’s immediate heirs, the survival of only the cowardly and apolitical Albany, and the unstable assignment of a godson as king, the King of France has an even better chance of taking control than the previous plot provided, especially with the invaluable assistance of a spy. Just as the play begins with a plot, so too it ends with the possibility of another scheme to secure all of Britain for the French, a danger deriving from the pitfalls of gynecocracy in a government based on male dominated primogeniture.

This reading of the play adds more support for the contention that Shakespeare was familiar with and influenced by Machiavelli’s writings, especially The Prince and The Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livy. He suffuses the play with realpolitik by displaying a hierarchy of Machiavellians, from the least skilled to the most consummate practitioners, who excel at disguising their political ambitions behind poses of altruism and enlisting shrewd cunning to empower themselves. Unlike Machiavelli, he does not portray politics as limited solely to males; rather, his female characters, especially Cordelia, can be just as, if not more ambitious, cunning, and fearless as the men. But, like Machiavelli, he presents politics as a less than honorable profession, one that can cause ambitious people to turn on and exploit family members to realize their aspirations. He complicates the audience’s response to these characters by making them feel disturbed by some of their actions, especially their treatment of the father figures in the play, but simultaneously feel admiration for the ease and expertise with which they advance themselves and their agendas in a pernicious world of political intrigue. Their cleverness, pragmatic understanding of the art of politics, and numerous masterful strategies impress the audience. Shakespeare attempts to come to terms with a new world view, one that fascinates and repels at the same time, evoking mixed emotions in the audience’s reactions to his proponents of this world of cunning and dissimulation—the Machiavellians.