Richard II: Critical Essays 9781138849556, 9781315724881, 9781138849747, 9781315724904, 0824092384

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SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM

Volume 5

RICHARD II

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RICHARD II Critical Essays

Edited by JEANNE T. NEWLIN

First published in 1984 This edition first published in 2015 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 1984 Jeanne T. Newlin All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-138-84955-6 (Set) eISBN: 978-1-315-72488-1 (Set) ISBN: 978-1-138-84974-7 (Volume 5) eISBN: 978-1-315-72490-4 (Volume 5) Publisher’s Note The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of this book but points out that some imperfections from the original may be apparent. Disclaimer The publisher has made every effort to trace copyright holders and would welcome correspondence from those they have been unable to trace.

R I C H A R D II Critical Essays

Jeanne T. Newlin

GARLAND PUBLISHING, INC. . NEW YORK & LONDON

1984

© 1 9 8 4 Jean n e T . N ew lin

All rig h ts reserv ed

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Main entry under title: Richard II: Critical essays. (Shakespearean criticism ; vol. 2) 1. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. King Richard II —Addresses, essays, lectures. 2. Richard II, King of England, 1367-1400, in fiction, drama, poetry, etc.— Addresses, essays, lectures. I. Newlin, Jeanne T. II. Series. PR2820.R5 1984 822.3'3 82-48290 ISBN 0-8240-9238-4

P rin ted on acid -free, 2 5 0 -y e a r-life p aper M an u factu red in th e U nited S tates of A m erica

Acknowledgm ents

"Sym phonic Im agery in Richard II" is reprinted w ith the p erm is­ sion of R ichard D. Altick and T h e M odern Lan gu age A ssocia­ tion of A m erica. E xcerp ts from the books of John Russell B row n and R ob ert O rn stein are reprinted w ith the perm ission of the a u th o rs. T h e Folio Society has g ran ted perm ission to reprint from John Gielgud's Stage Directions. T he ch ap ter from E rn st H. K an torow icz's The King's Two Bodies is reprinted w ith the p erm is­ sion of P rinceton U n iversity Press. The Shakespeare Quarterly has given perm ission to rep rin t B ren ts Stirling's "Bolingbroke's D ecision ." T h e ch ap ter from E .M . W. Tillyard's Shakespeare's History Plays is reprin ted w ith the perm ission of C h a tto & W indus. Stanley W ells' critique, "John B arto n 's Richard 11/' is reprinted w ith the perm ission of the au th o r and Furman Studies. Cam bridge U n iversity P ress has gran ted perm ission to rep rin t m aterial from John D ov er W ilson's edition of Richard 11. The section from Shakespeare's Histories at Stratford, 19 5 1 is reprinted w ith perm ission of M ax R ein h ard t at T h e Bodley H ead. The essay by William B u tler Y eats is reprinted w ith the perm ission of M ichael Y eats, A nne Y eats and M acm illan, London, Ltd. I am indebted to L au ren ce P. Senelick for his tran slation of the A lessandro M anzoni le tte r in Opere Complete, 1 8 4 3 .

T h e dead body of R ichard II (Paul Scofield) in th e c o u rt of H en ry IV (Eric P o rte r); T e n n e n t P ro d u ctio n s L td., L yric T h e a tre , H am m ersm ith , L on don, D ecem b er 2 4 , 1 9 5 2 ; d irected by John G ielgud.

Contents Editor's Preface

ix

Introduction

xi

Bibliography

xix

Part I. R ichard II: The H istorical and Political D ynam ics

1

Q ueen Elizabeth I, "R em ark s to William L am b ard e" (1601)

3

John D over W ilson, "In tro d u ctio n to R ichard II" (1939)

5

E .M . W. Tillyard, Shakespeare's H istory P lays (1944)

23

Robert O rnstein , A K ingdom fo r a Stage (1972)

45

E .H . K an torow icz, The King's Two B odies (1957)

73

Irving Ribner, "B olingbroke, a True M achiavellian" (1948)

95

Part II. R ichard II: The T heatre

105

C .E . M on tag u e, "F .R . B enson 's R ichard II" (1899)

107

W illiam Butler Yeats, "A t S tratford -on -A von " (1901)

115

T.C. W orsley, Shakespeare's H istories at S tratford, 1951 (1952)

127

H . G ranville-Barker, "L e tte r to John G ielgud" (1937)

135

John G ielgud, Stage D irections (1963)

139

John Russell B row n, Shakespeare's P lays in P erform ance (1966)

145

Stanley W ells, "Jo h n B arton 's R ichard II" (1976)

163

vii

Richard II P a rt III. Richard II: T h e P sych ology of its C h a ra cte rs

185

Sam uel T ay lo r C oleridge, "L e ctu re s on Shakespeare and M ilton " (1 8 1 2 )

187

W alter P ater, Shakespeare's English Kings (1 8 8 9 )

193

E.K . C h am b ers, The Tragedy of King Richard the Second (1 8 9 1 )

207

B ren ts Stirling, "B olingbroke's 'D ecisio n '" (1 9 5 1 )

217

P a rt IV. Richard II: P o e try and R h eto ric

231

A lessan dro M anzoni, " L e tte r to M r. C h au v e t con cern in g the unities of tim e and place in T ra g e d y " (1 8 2 0 )

233

A lgernon C h arles Sw in b urn e, "K ing R ichard II" (1 9 0 9 )

239

R ichard D. Altick, "Sym p h on ic Im agery in Richard II" (1 9 4 7 )

249

G EN ER A L ED IT O R 'S PR EFA C E

The G arland series is designed to bring to g e th e r the best th at has been w ritten about Shakespeare's plays, both as dram atic literatu re and theatrical p erform ance. With the exception of som e early plays which are treated in related com binations, each volum e is devoted to a single play to include the m ost influential historical criticism , the significant m odern in terp retatio n s, and review s of the m ost illuminating productions. The collections are intended as resou rce com panions to the te x ts. The scholar, the stu d en t, the reader, the d irector, the acto r, the audience, will find h ere the full range of critical opinion, scholarly debate, and popular taste. M uch of the m aterial reproduced has been extrem ely difficult for the casual read er to locate. Original volum es have long since been out of print; definitive articles have been buried in journals and editions now obscu re; th e a tri­ cal review s are discarded w ith each day's new spaper. "T h e best th at has been w ritte n " about each play is the criterion for selection, and the volum es rep resen t the collective w isdom of fo rem o st Shakespearean scholars th ro u g h o u t the w orld. Each editor has had the freedom and responsibility to make accessible the m ost insightful criticism to date for his or her play. I express my gratitu d e to the team of international scholars w ho have accepted this challenge. O ne would like to say with K eats "th a t is all/Ye know on earth , and all ye need to k n ow ," but the universality of Shakespeare will stim ulate new responses, yield fresh m eanings, and lead new gen eration s to rich er understandings of hum an n atu re. G enerally the essays have been reproduced as they appeared originally. Som e concessions in p u nctuation , spelling, and d ocu­ m en tation have been made for the sake of con fo rm ity . In the case of excerp ts, notes have been renum bered to clarify the referen ces. A principle of the series, h ow ever, is to reproduce ix

X

Richard II

the full te x t, ra th e r than exce rp ts, excep t for digressive m aterial having no bearing on the subject. Joseph Price

Introduction

Richard II is v ery m uch a play of the tw en tieth cen tu ry . C ritics of earlier tim es would be astonished at the fourfold division of essays in this volum e w hich signifies the politico-historical in­ te re st, the excitem en t for the psychological, th e praise for the p oetry, and the stage trium phs g en erated by the play in recen t decades. G en eration s of critics from D r. Johnson to Sw inburne h ave disparaged these precise areas. Shakespeare, it w as said, had failed to give dram atic m ovem en t and unity to the reign of R ichard; in fact, n eith er audience n or read er could grasp the historical even ts and issues of A ct I. F u rth e r, th ere w as not enough subsequent action as R ichard m erely crum bled before Bolingbroke's th reat. T h e historical sou rces provided battles, flights, and am bushes w hich Shakespeare ignored. And the p ro tag o n ist? For the critics of the eigh teen th and n in eteen th cen tu ries, little w on d er th a t no acto r could succeed in such a static and u n sym p athetic role. A udiences will delight in a hero o r a villain, but they w ere not inclined tow ard the ch a ra cte ri­ zation of such a w eak, vapid personality as S hakespeare's king seem ed. T o them , Richard w allow ed in sen tim en tal verse and turgid rh eto ric. The play w as rarely p e rfo rm e d .1 1 have included Sw inburne's essay in the volum e not for its ow n m erit but as the last g re a t clap of th u n d er before the clouds dispersed over the sun-king. W hen set against traditional opinions such as Sw inburne's, the arg u m en ts of m odern critics gain clarity and em phasis. It is poetic, o r ra th e r d ram atic, justice th a t the im petus for reappraisal about the tu rn of the cen tu ry cam e from the th eatre. If Q ueen Elizabeth, upset by the them e of deposition, could xi

xii

Richard II

com plain th a t "th is trag ed y w as played 40 tie tim es in open stre e ts and h o u ses," w e can rejoice th a t key p erfo rm an ces o ver the last eigh ty y ears h ave propelled the play into the ran k s of Shakesp eare's m asterp ieces. T h e en tire canon has profited from tw e n tie th -c e n tu ry p rodu ction s, and less popular plays such as Two Gentlemen of Verona, Titus Andronicus, All's Well That Ends Well, Troilus and Cressida, Coriolanus, Pericles, Timon of Athens, and Cymbeline h ave been resto red to som eth in g like the initial en th u siasm w ith w hich Elizabethan and Jacobean audiences g reeted th em . P erh ap s only Troilus, h o w ev er, can rival the radical ch an ge w hich th e rep u tation of Richard II has u n d ergon e. Richard leads th e w ay into the n ew -fou nd appreciation for the full Shak esp earean canon. This appreciation distinguishes tw e n tie th -c e n tu ry audi­ en ces, read ers, and critics from earlier g en eratio n s. T he ra g s-to -rich e s sto ry began in 1 8 8 9 w ith W alter P ater's Shakespeare's English Kings. Recalling C h arles K ean's revival, P a te r praised R ichard as "th e m o st sw ee t-to n g u e d " of all S hakespeare's kings, the deposition scene as a H andelian an th em , and the play as a m usical com position, possessing "a certain co n ce n tra tio n of all its p arts, a simple co n tin u ity , and evenn ess in e xecu tio n , w hich are ra re in th e g re a t d ra m a tist." This im age of R ichard as p oet w as realized on stag e in the 1 8 9 9 S tra tfo rd -u p o n -A v o n p roduction o f F.R . B enson and, in a ra re instance of th eatrical review ing, C .E . M o n tag u e w ro te an exten sive and insightful critiqu e of both play and p erfo rm an ce. His review prodded sch olars and audiences to recon sid er the m erits o f th e play. O ne th e a tre -g o e r needed no prodding. In 1 9 0 1 , William B u tle r Y eats w ro te a ch arm in g essay on his experien ces at S tra tfo rd and, am ong the plays w hich he had seen, singled o u t S h ak espeare's w eak king for his special approval. T h e in terp retatio n of R ichard as a sensitive poet w ho loved to "m o n arch ize " re m o te from the realities of m o n arch y w as now set, no doubt influenced by Freud's exploration of th e subconscious. Its fulfillm ent in the th e a tre m aterialized in Sir John G ielgud's first p o rtra y a l of the role in 1 9 3 7 . In the interim , one o f th e m ost su ccessfu l R ichards w as the young H arley G ran ville-B ark er. His exp erience as a cto r, d irecto r, critic p rom pted his critique of G ielgud's p erfo rm an ce in an invaluable le tte r to G ielgud dated O cto b e r 15, 1 9 3 7 . Since th a t p rodu ction , w hich drew o u t all the em otional p oten tial of

Introduction

xiii

the play, the role of R ichard has com peted w ith H am let in a ttra ctin g and challenging m ajor acto rs. As Gielgud w ro te in 1 9 6 2 , "R ich ard is one of those rare p arts in w hich the a cto r m ay indulge him self, luxu riatin g in th e language he has to speak, and attitudinizing in consciously graceful p oses." T h a t conscious sense of self is in the ch aracterizatio n s of both R ichard and H am let, and it is in terestin g th a t in the recen t B B C televised p roductions D erek Jacobi played both roles. In 1 9 5 1 , the sp ot­ light on the p ro tag on ist widened to cast new light on o th e r aspects of the play. Produced at S tratfo rd -u p o n -A v o n as the first play in the cycle w hich included the tw o p arts of Henry IV and Henry V, Richard II drew atten tio n to its them e and to H enry Bolingbroke w hose ch a ra cte r gained com plexity th ro u g h the co n tin uity of th ree plays. Produ ction s of the last tw o decades have elaborated the full te x t, giving full play to th e am biguities w hich Shakespeare has w oven into the design. Essays by John Russell B row n and Stanley Wells d em o n strate the richness of both te x t and p erfo rm an ce. A m ong the am biguities, of co u rse, is the cen tral question of the righ t to the thron e. Is the legitim ate heir to keep the th ro n e thou gh he is w eak, irresponsible, and perhaps ruinous to the co u n try ? Should the crow n be usurped by a stro n g , co m p eten t execu tive? It is the g re a t debate am ong the ch a ra cte rs of the play, and it becam e the g re a t debate of h istorically-orien ted critics in the first half of this cen tu ry . This kind of scholarship illuminated all of Shakespeare's h istory plays as critics set them in th eir Elizabethan co n te x t. T h ey w ere explicated w ith re fe r­ ence to B ritain's epic w ars, first w ith F ran ce, then w ithin itself. Political doctrin es such as the T u d o r Divine R ight th eo ry , M achiavellianism , and L an castrian -Y o rk ist attitu d es to su cces­ sion w ere b ro u g h t to bear in in terp retin g the plays. N ew m e a n ­ ings w ere attach ed throu g h the cosm ology implied in the later p hrase "G re a t C hain of B ein g" and a theology w hich stressed divine retribu tion . T h e search for co n tem p o rary significance found allusions particularly in Richard II, and the findings and co n jectu res w ere reinforced by the play's revival at the tim e of the E ssex rebellion. All of these T u d o r co n cern s and their rela­ tionship to Shakespeare's play are set forth w ith exceptional clarity by John D ov er W ilson in his introduction to the N ew

Richard II

xiv

C am b ridge edition. S om ew h at later, E .M .W . Tillyard, in assim i­ lating this m aterial, fashioned a coh eren t design for Shakespeare's tw o tetralo gies. Tillyard considered th ese eight plays to be an epic dram a, intended by its au th o r to d em o n stra te the co n se ­ quences of u su rp ation and the d estru ctiven ess of a co u n try divided. Richard II is the prelude, th e seed w hich blossom ed during the H undred Y e a rs' W ar and into th e W ar of the R oses. F or both W ilson and Tillyard, R ichard is the royal m a rty r; for som e later critics, th e C h rist-fig u re , th e sacrificial lamb. As for R ichard's crim es, they w ould cite G aun t: G od's is th e q u arrel, for G od's su b stitu te, His deputy an oin ted in His sigh t, H ath caus'd his d eath , th e w h ich if w ro n g fu lly , L et h eaven rev en g e, fo r I m ay n ev er lift A n an g ry arm again st His m in isters. (I.ii.3 7 - 4 1 )

T h e devil m ay q u ote scrip tu re, and critics supportive of Bolingbroke find justification in G au n t's dying w ord s: O had th y gran d sire w ith a p ro p h et's eye Seen h ow his son's son should d e stro y his son s, F ro m fo rth th y reach he w ould h ave laid th y sh am e D eposing th ee b efore th o u w e rt p ossess'd , W hich a rt p ossess'd n ow to depose th yself. (Il.i. 1 0 4 - 1 0 8 )

T h e am bivalence w ithin G au n t is ch aracteristic of the political am bivalence th ro u g h o u t th e play, perhaps deem ed n ecessary by Shakespeare w hen con fron ted w ith the dilemma of T u d o r Divine R ight th eo ry condem ning all u su rp ation on th e one hand and Elizabeth's lineage traced back th ro u g h the L an castrian s to H en ry IV on th e o th e r. T o m ake eith er R ichard o r H en ry h ero o r villain had its risks. S hakespeare seem s to h ave ch osen to strap the political question to the shoulders of G aun t and Y ork as ch o ru s ch a ra cte rs, rep resen tativ es of England w ho finally adopt a p ragm atic stan ce ("N or friends, n or foes, to m e w elcom e you are:/T h in g s past red ress are now w ith m e past c a r e ." ) as indeed England itself did in 1 3 9 9 . Y o rk 's position is as p ragm atic as th a t of the g ard en ers w ho know th a t superfluous b ran ch es m u st be lopped aw ay " th a t bearing boughs m ay live." Th e

Introduction

xv

tension and strain w hich Shakespeare m ou n ts betw een political ideals and political realities is analyzed m ost perceptively by R obert O rn stein in his ch ap ter on Richard II in A Kingdom for a Stage. T he political am biguities w ithin the ch ara cte rs of Richard and Bolingbroke are put into historical perspective in significant w ork by E.H . K an torow icz and Irving Ribner. The sensitive, self-pitying poet w ho insists on his divine righ t to rule is related by K an toro w icz to the legal notion of the king's public, co rp o ­ ra te role and his private, personal m orality. Irving Ribner's sy stem atic correlation of The Prince w ith the p rogressive steps of Bolingbroke illustrates for the m odern reader w h a t Shakespeare m ight have considered the "tru e M achiavellian." T he g re a t in terest in the play, h ow ev er, rem ains w ith the psychological am bivalence of the p ro tag on ist and, to a lesser d egree, w ith his an tag o nist. Scholarly journals o ver the last th irty years abound in w h at m ight be called loosely p sych o­ analytic studies of Richard. Y e t perhaps no one in itself is as rich as the th ree earlier essays I have included in P art III. In fact, taken to g e th e r they com prise a psychological p o rtra it of Richard w hich anticipates later perspectives. C oleridge m ay not have know n the term m anic-depressive as applied to Richard in criti­ cism of the 1 9 7 0 s , but consider his sym p tom atic analysis: He s ca tte rs him self in to a m u ltitud e of im ages, and in con clu sion en d eav ou rs to sh elter h im self from th a t w hich is aroun d him by a cloud of his ow n th o u g h ts. T h ro u g h o u t his w hole ca re e r m ay be n oticed th e m o st rapid tran sitio n s — from th e h igh est insolence to th e low est h u m ility— from hope to despair, from th e e x tra v a g a n ce of love to the agonies of re s e n tm e n t, and from p reten ded resign ation to th e b itte re st rep ro ach es.

P ater's description of the "m o st sw eet-ton g u ed " of Shakespeare's kings is unsurpassed; one curious m easu re of its influence is how m any subsequent analyses assum e a "fatal" physical b eauty in Richard, an elaboration of P ater's, n ot of the te x t. Th e psy­ chology of all the dramatis personae and, in p articu lar, the c o n tr a s t­ ing ch a ra cte r traits of Richard and H enry are treated co m pellingly by E.K . C h am b ers. W riting only tw o y ears a fte r P ater, he exp resses a sim ilar adm iration for this neglected play: "A nd

Richard 11 a fte r all, in this play, it is the effect on the em otion s th a t is the g re a t thing; th ere is hardly a n o th e r th a t m oves us, th a t o v e r­ w helm s us, like th is." A m ong m odern studies of ch aracterizatio n in Richard 11, m o st im pressive is B ren ts Stirling's "B olingbroke's 'D e cisio n .'" Its ach ievem en t lies in the in teg ratio n of ch a ra cte r and s tru c tu re in resolving the crucial question of the play: at w h a t point does H en ry decide to take the cro w n ? E u ropean criticism of the play is n eith er as innovative n o r as distinguished as w ith o th e r Shakesp earean plays. Richard 11 su f­ fered the sam e slights on the C o n tin en t as it did at h om e, alth ough th ere is a body of n in ete e n th -ce n tu ry G erm an criti­ cism .2 In the tw en tieth cen tu ry , th ere is a distinguished dis­ cussion of the play's im agery by W olfgang C lem en in his book The Development of Shakespeare’s Imagery. O bjections to Richard 11 in F ran ce and Italy w ere based on the g eneral ch arg e again st Sh akespeare th a t he violated the classical principle of the unities. T h e g re a t Italian novelist and playw right A lessan dro M anzoni used Richard II to co u n te r this ch arg e. In one of the earliest R om an tic reb u ttals to classical rules, M anzoni elevated the d e­ m ands of p oetry above th o se of critical principles. I h ave e x ­ cerp ted this little-k now n , ch arm in g le tte r not only for its h is­ torical value but also for his appreciation of the play's "m o st exalted p o e try ." A t least from P ater on, each critic w ho has w ritte n about Richard II d irectly o r indirectly pays trib u te to its p oetry . Indeed, any study of S hakespeare's language, p oetry , rh e to ric, o r im a­ g ery will con tain rew arding analyses of th e g re a t speeches in the play. In addition to C lem en, M .C . Bradbrook, C aroline Spurgeon, and D erek T rav ersi are especially helpful.3 R ichard Altick, in the ou tstan d in g essay on the subject, syn th esizes S h akespeare's poetic techniques. T h e essay is reproduced in P art IV. T h e g re a t quality of this lyrical play sings o u t passionately to us in the m o st poignan t, and perhaps finest, passage: N o m a tte r w h e re — of c o m fo rt no m an speak: L et's talk of g ra v e s, of w o rm s, and epitaphs, M ake d ust o u r p ap er, and w ith rain y eyes W rite so rro w on th e b osom of th e e a rth . L et's ch o ose e x e c u to rs and talk of wills;

Introduction And y et not so, for w h at can w e bequ eath Save o u r deposed bodies to th e g ro u n d ? O u r lands, o u r lives, and all are Bullingbrook's, And n oth in g can w e call o u r ow n but d eath , And th a t sm all m odel of the b arren earth W hich serv es as paste and c o v e r to o u r bones. Fo r G od's sake let us sit upon th e grou n d And tell sad stories of th e death of kings: H ow som e h ave been depos'd, som e slain in w ar, Som e h au n ted by th e g h o sts th ey h ave deposed, Som e poisoned by th eir w ives, som e sleeping kill'd, All m u rth e re d — for w ithin th e hollow crow n T h a t roun d s th e m o rtal tem ples of a king K eeps D eath his c o u rt, and th e re th e an tic sits, S coffing his s ta te and grinn in g at his pom p, A llow ing him a b reath , a little scen e, T o m o n arch ize, be fear'd, and kill w ith looks, Infusing him w ith self and vain con ceit, As if this flesh w hich walls ab ou t o u r life W ere b rass im pregnable; and h u m or'd th u s, C o m es at th e last and w ith a little pin B ores th o ro u g h his castle wall, and farew ell king! C o v e r y o u r h eads, and m ock n ot flesh and blood W ith solem n re v e re n ce , th ro w aw ay resp ect, T rad ition , form , and cerem o n io u s d uty, Fo r you have but m istook m e all this w hile. I live w ith bread like you, feel w an t, T a ste grief, need friends: subjected th u s, H ow can you say to m e I am a king? (III.ii.1 4 4 -7 6 )

Sw inburne, w ho disparages so m uch of the play, w rites of the "m agn ificent p o e try " in this scene. It "m ig h t alm ost have been u ttered by the divine and unknow n and unim aginable poet w ho gave to e tern ity the Book of Job."

NOTES 1. For a concise review of th e stage h isto ry , see A rth u r C olby S pragu e, Shakespeare's Histories: Plays for the Stage (London, 1 9 6 4 ). 2. C h ristian Eidam , "U b er die Einleitung in S h ak esp eares Richard II," Die Neueren Sprachen, X IX (1 9 1 1 - 1 2 ) , 2 7 7 - 9 5 .

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3. W .H . C lem en , The Development of Shakespeare's Imagery (L on don, 1 9 5 1 ); M uriel B rad b roo k , Shakespeare and Elizabethan Poetry (L on don, 1 9 5 1 ); C aro lin e S p u rg eon , Shakespeare's Imagery and W hat It Tells Us (L on don, 1 9 3 5 ); D erek T ra v e rs i, An Approach to Shakespeare, 3rd ed., 2 vols. (L on don, 1 9 6 8 - 6 9 ) .

Bibliography

Altick, R ichard D. "S ym p h on ic Im agery in Richard 11." P M L A , 6 2 (1 9 4 7 ), 3 3 9 -6 5 . B ro w n , John Russell. Shakespeare’s Plays in Performance. L on don: Edw ard A rnold, L td., 1 9 6 6 , pp. 1 1 5 -3 0 . C h a m b ers, E .K ., ed. The Tragedy of King Richard the Second. London and N ew Y o rk : L on gm an s, G reen and C o ., 1 8 9 1 , pp. vii-xxv ii. C olerid ge, Sam uel T. "L e ctu re s on Shak esp eare and M ilto n ." Coleridge's Shakespearean Criticism. Ed. T h o m as M iddleton R ay so r. C am bridge, M ass.: H arv ard U n iv ersity P ress, 1 9 3 0 , Vol. II, pp. 1 8 6 - 9 2 . Elizabeth I. "R em ark s to William L am b ard e," A ug. 4 , 1 6 0 1 , M emorandum, pr. N ichols, Eliz. iii,552, from Lam bard fam ily M S. Q u oted in E.K . C h am b ers. W illiam Shakespeare. O x fo rd : U n iv ersity P ress, 1 9 5 1 (first ed., C laren d on P ress, 1 9 3 0 ), Vol. II, p. 3 2 6 . Gielgud, John. "K in g R ichard th e S eco n d ." Stage Directions. N ew Y ork: R andom H ou se, 1 9 6 3 , pp. 2 8 - 3 5 . K an to ro w icz, E rn st H. The King's Two Bodies: A Study in M edieval Political Theology. P rin ceto n : P rin ceto n U n iversity P ress, 1 9 5 7 , pp. 2 4 - 4 1 . M an zon i, A lessand ro. " L e ttre a M . C h a u v e t su r l'unite de tem p s et de lieu dans la tra g e d ie ." Opere Complete. P aris, 1 8 4 3 , pp. 2 5 7 - 6 0 . U npublished tran slatio n by L au ren ce P. Senelick, 1 9 8 2 . M o n tag u e, C .E . "F .R . B en son's Richard 11." M a n ch e ste r Guardian, D ec. 4, 1899. O rn stein , R o b ert. A Kingdom for a Stage: The Achievement of Shakespeare's History Plays. C am b rid g e, M ass.: H arv ard U n iv ersity P ress, 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 0 2 - 2 4 . P a te r, W alter. Appreciations with an Essay on Style. London: M acm illan & C o ., 1 9 1 1 , pp. 1 8 5 - 2 0 4 . P urdom , C .B . Harley G ranville-B arker: M an of the Theatre, Dramatist and Scholar. C am b rid g e, M ass.: H arv ard pp. 2 5 1 - 5 5 .

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P ress, 1 9 5 6 ,

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R ib n er, Irving. "B o lin g b rok e, a T ru e M ach iav ellian ." M L Q , 9 (June, 1 9 4 8 ), 1 7 7 - 8 4 . Stirling, B re n ts. "B o lin g b rok e's D ecisio n ." SQ , 2 (Jan., 1 9 5 1 ), 2 7 - 3 4 . Sw inb urne, A lgern on C h arles. "K ing Richard II." Three Plays of Shakespeare. London and N ew Y o rk : H arp er and B ro th e rs , 1 9 0 9 , pp. 5 9 - 8 5 . T illyard, E .M .W . Shakespeare's History Plays. L on don: C h a tto & W indus, 1 9 4 8 , pp. 2 4 4 - 6 3 . W ells, S tanley. "Joh n B a rto n 's Richard II." Furman Studies, N .S ., 2 3 (June, 1 9 7 6 ), 6 4 - 8 1 . W ilson, John D o v e r, ed. King Richard II. N ew C am b rid g e Edition. C am b rid g e: C am b rid g e U n iv ersity P re ss, 1 9 3 9 , pp. x v i-x x x v iii. W ilson, John D o v er, and W o rsley , T .C . Shakespeare's Histories at Stratford, 19 5 1 . Lon don: M ax R ein h ard t, 1 9 5 2 , pp. 3 4 - 4 3 . Y e a ts , William B u tler. Ideas of Good and Evil. L on don: A .H . Bullen, 1 9 0 3 , pp. 1 4 2 - 6 7 .

PART I R I C H A R D II The Historical and Political Dynamics

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Queen Elizabeth 1 Rem arks to William Lambarde (16 01)

I am R ichard II, k now ye n ot th a t?

H e th a t will fo rg et G od, will also fo rg e t his b en efacto rs; this trag ed y w as played 4 0 tie tim es in open s tre e ts and hou ses.

3

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John Dover Wilson Introduction to Richard II (1 9 3 9 )

"T h e significance of Richard's fall to the contem po­ raries of Shakespeare" To the co n tem p o raries of Shakespeare Richard w as no ordinary m an; and it is by failing to realize this th a t m odern criticism , despite all its p en etratin g, and for the m ost p art just, analysis of his hum an qualities, leaves ev ery th ou gh tfu l read er and sp ectato r of the dram a baffled and dissatisfied. R ichard w as a king, and a good deal m ore. First of all he stood in the eyes of the later middle ages as the type and exem p lar of royal m a rty r­ dom ; of a king not slain in b attle, not defeated and killed by a foreign ad versary , not even deposed ow ing to w eakness or tyran n y in favor of his heir, but th ru st from the th ro n e in his m ay of you th by a m ere u su rp er, und er color of a p rocess at law u tterly illegal, and then foully m u rdered . O n e m ay catch so m e­ thing of this aspect of his traged y by tu rnin g to the "fo rm of p rayer w ith fastin g," for "th e day of the m arty rd o m of the Blessed King C h arles I," w hich w as printed in the Book of C om m on P ray er until half-w ay th rou g h the n in eteen th ce n ­ tu r y ,1 o r by rem em b ering the passionate devotion w hich the m em ory of M ary Q ueen of Scots inspired until an even later date. R ichard com bined the personal a ttractiv e n e ss of M ary w ith the w ron gs of C h arles, and m o reo v er belonged to a period w hen men w ere far m ore sw ayed by the glam or of kingship and the tend en cy to canonize those they adm ired than th ey have been during the last th ree cen tu ries. N ot th a t the adm iration w as universal; th ere w ere, as ev er in such cases, tw o parties, the idolaters and the d efam ers. As long as the house of L an caster, 5

6

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w hich trium phed in R ichard's fall, ruled the co u n try , it w as of co u rse treason ab le fo r Englishm en to take his side. B u t from the first on the C o n tin en t, w h ere th o u g h t w as free, the reading public, already rejoicing in B occaccio's m o st popular book, De Casibus lllustrium Virorum (1 3 6 0 -7 4 ) , w hich S hakespeare's R ichard seem s to be describing in the w ell-know n lines: F o r G od's sake let us sit upon th e grou n d , A nd tell sad sto ries of th e d eath of k in gs— H ow som e h ave been deposed, som e slain in w ar, Som e h au n ted by th e g h o sts th ey h ave deposed, Som e poisoned by th eir w ives, som e sleeping killed; All m u rd ered , . . .

had found in R ichard's ow n "ca su s" a peculiar appeal; so m uch so indeed th a t no few er than th ree d ifferen t co n te m p o ra ry accou n ts of it, favorable to R ichard, have com e dow n to us in the Fren ch to n g u e, while y et a fo u rth of sim ilar sym p athies, th ou gh in Latin n ot F ren ch , reposes in the library of G ray's In n .2 O ne of the F ren ch chronicles exists in som e tw e n ty or m o re M S. copies to be found in variou s co n tin en tal libraries. This w idespread in terest m ay, it is su ggested , h ave been due in p art to anti-English feeling am ong Fren ch p atrio ts during the la tte r half of the H undred Y e a rs' W a r.3 B u t th a t the "sad sto ry " w as also valued for its ow n sake is proved by the p ersisten ce of its popularity, w hich, w hen the accession of the T u d o rs healed the dynastic b reach , found voice in England itself, so th a t the trag ed y of R ichard appears, not it is tru e v ery sym p athetically told, in The M irror for M agistrates, 1 5 5 9 - 6 3 .4 This w ell-know n book, an im m ense corp u s of such "ca su s," w as a co n tin u atio n and en largem en t of L yd gate's Falls of Princes, w hich in tu rn w as itself an adaptation of Boccaccio's original collection. M o re o v e r, the m ost rem arkable fact about the fo u r original p ro-R ich ard chronicles is th a t th ey already, as w e shall see later, give u tte ra n c e to th a t m ystical con cep tion of th e m a rty re d king w hich w e find in S h akesp eare, and com p are his b etrayal w ith th at of C h rist and his enem ies w ith Pilate and Judas, m uch as th e play itself does. N or is it certain th a t they are n ot in this n e arer the tru th than th e o rth o d o x m od ern h istorian w ho has on the w hole accepted the L an castrian version of the revolu tion

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of 1 3 9 9 . T h e official sto ry , embodied in the P arliam en t Roll, w as being denounced by a scholar in 1 8 2 4 as "a g ross fabrication of H enry IV for purposes of s ta te ";5 and a re ce n t study of the evidence by P ro fesso r G albraith and M iss C larke com es to v ery m uch the sam e co n clusion .6 Y et the fall of R ichard fascinated the late medieval and Elizabethan w orld as m uch by its m agnitude and its u n acco u n t­ ableness as by its pathos and the sacrilege th a t b rough t it to pass. D ow n , dow n I com e, like glist'rin g P h aeth o n : W an tin g th e m an age of u n ru ly jades,

are w ords w hich Shakespeare places in his m o u th , and some critics have taken them as the keyn ote of the play. B u t though in their su n -im agery they exp ress the splendor of the ca ta s­ trop h e, like th at of Lucifer from the em p yrean , they do not touch its m y stery , of w hich all at th at period w ho studied the young king's care er w ere conscious, and w hich is one of the main im pressions th at Shakespeare's play still leaves upon ou r minds. This m y stery w as closely associated w ith the supposed w orkings of F o rtu n e, a R om an deity w hich continued to e x e r­ cise under Providence a poten t influence o v er m en's th o u gh t during the middle ages, and w as conceived of by Elizabethan England far m ore co n cretely than by the England of o u r own day, despite its daily race-m eetin g s, its football pools and its alm ost universal habit of gam bling. T h e symbol and attrib u te of F ortu n e w as, of co u rse, h er w heel, w hich is hardly ev er absent from any of the cou n tless pictures and referen ces to h er in medieval a rt and literatu re. Shakespeare m akes no m ention of the w heel in Richard 11, thou gh he em ploys the less familiar figure of F o rtu n e's buckets in the deposition sce n e .7 His reticen ce, h ow ev er, is part of his subtlety. F or the w heel is co n stan tly in his mind th ro u g h o u t the play. Indeed, it d e te r­ m ines the play's shape and stru c tu re , w hich gives us a com plete in v ersio n .8 The first act begins im m ediately a fte r the death of the D uke of G lo u cester, w hen , as F ro issart n otes, Richard w as "h ygh uppon the w h ele,"9 and exhibiting all the hybris and ty ran n y expected of persons in th at position, w hile, at the sam e tim e, his opponent, Bolingbroke, is show n at the low est point of

Richard II

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his fo rtu n e , at the b ottom . B u t from the beginning of A ct II the w heel begins to tu rn m y steriou sly of itself, o r ra th e r by the action of F o rtu n e. T h e will of the King seem s p aralyzed; he becom es an alm ost passive agent. Bolingbroke acts, and acts forcibly; yet he too appears to be borne upw ard by a p ow er beyond his volition. This last is an im p ortan t point, since it rules o u t those indications of deep design w hich som e subtle critics, follow ing C olerid ge, think th ey d iscover in the ch a ra cte r of the u su rp er from the v ery beginning, but w hich I feel su re w ere n ot in­ tended by Shakespeare. C ircu m stan ce drives Bolingbroke on from point to point: he takes w h at F o rtu n e and Richard th ro w in his p ath. Th e attitu d e of the nobles tow ard him in Il.iii show s th a t they regard him as a claim ant to the th ro n e , and by th a t tim e the larger horizon has begun to open out before him . B u t this is quite a d ifferen t thing from en tertain in g deep designs. Bolingbroke is an o p p o rtu n ist, n ot a sc h e m e r.10 And w h en , the hand of D eath upon him , he looks back o v er the ev en ts th a t had led to his accession, and solem nly declares: T h o u g h th en , God k n o w s, I had no such in ten t, B u t th a t n ecessity so bow ed th e sta te T h a t I and g re a tn e s s w e re com pelled to k iss,11

the deep n ote of co n tritio n proves the sincerity of the w ord s. In fact Shakespeare follow ed Daniel, w ho him self accepted the jud gm ent of the h istorian s of his tim e upon this m a tte r. As w e shall see, Daniel considered th at Bolingbroke W as w ith occasion th ru s t into th e crim e,

for w hich F o rtu n e w as m ore responsible th an th e crim inal, w hile the relations b etw een the tw o cousins th ro u g h o u t the play are already defined, as a recen t sch olar has n oted , in the follow ing passage from H olinshed, w hich is itself b orrow ed from H all:12 T his suerlie is a verie n otab le exam p le, and n ot v n w o o rth ie of all p rinces to be well w eied, and diligentlie m arked , th a t this H en rie duke of L a n c a ste r should be th u s called to th e kingdom e, and haue th e helpe and assistan ce (alm ost) of all th e w h ole realm e, w hich p erch an ce n eu er

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th e re o f th o u g h t o r yet d ream ed ; and th at king Richard should th u s be left d esolate, void, and in despaire of all hope and c o m fo rt, in w h om if th ere w ere anie offen se, it o u g h t ra th e r to be im puted to th e frailtie of w an to n yo u th , th an to th e m alice of his h a rt: but such is th e deceiuable ju d g em en t of m an , w hich n ot reg ard in g things p resen t w ith due con sid eration , th ink eth eu er th a t things to com e shall haue good su ccesse, w ith a p leasan t & delitefull end. B u t in this deiecting of th e on e, & aduancing of th e o th e r, th e p rouidence of God is to be resp ected , & his se cre t will to be w oo n d ered a t . 13

The second g re a t attra ctio n , then , of the sto ry of Richard of B ord eau x and H en ry, Duke of L an caster, for the m en of the fifteenth and sixteen th cen tu ries w as th at it afforded, in its spectacle of the "dejecting of the one and advancing of the o th e r," a p erfect exam ple of the m ysteriou s action of F o rtu n e, w orking of co u rse under the inscrutable "providence of G od," according to the quasi-m echanical sym bolism under w hich they conceived th at action. And this in tu rn co n stitu ted one of the main appeals of Richard II for the sp ectato rs w ho first w itnessed it. For, thou gh the operation s of F o rtu n e w ere m ost evident and p oten t in the lives of the g reat, everyth in g hum an w as subject to them . It is a point w hich did not escape P ater, w ho has seen so m uch in this play. "H is g rie f," he w rites of R ichard, "becom es nothing less than a cen tral expression of all th at in the rev olu ­ tions of F ortu n e's w heel goes down in the w o rld ."14 Shakespeare's play w as a m irro r, n ot only for m ag istrates, but for ev ery son of w om an; and w hen on Shakespeare's stage the "d ejected " king gazed into the glass— incom parable sym bol for th at ag e!— w h at he saw th ere w as the brittlen ess both of his ow n glory and of all earth ly happiness. In the third place, the reign of Richard II possessed a peculiar significance in the h istory of England, as the Elizabethans u n d er­ stood th at h istory. In itself, and for the tw o p ro tag on ists w ho b rough t it to an end, a striking exam ple of a tu rn of F ortu n e's w heel, it m arked the beginning of a m uch g re a te r revolution in the sto ry of the nation's fo rtu n es. Shakespeare and his co n ­ tem p oraries, rejoicing in the T u d o r peace and looking back with h o rro r to the period of civil strife, know n as the W ars of the

Richard II

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R oses, w hich preceded the accession of H en ry VII, w ere h au n ted by fears of a re tu rn of such an arch y , and found its origin in the ev en ts of the last few years of R ichard II's reign. And righ tly so; for the deposition and m u rd er of Richard n ot only shocked the conscience of C h risten d o m , th ey stru ck at the legal basis of the m on arch ical, th a t is to say the w hole co n stitu tio n al, sy stem of England. As P ro fesso r G albraith puts it, "T h e p ro ced u re of deposition as well as the act itself w as a cause of the 'disorder, h o rro r, fear, and m u tin y' of the fifteenth c e n tu r y ." 15 In King John S hakespeare had dealt, for the one and only tim e, w ith the question of th e relations b etw een this co u n try and the P apacy, w hich w as one of the tw o main problem s of T u d o r England. In Richard II, w hich I think followed im m ediately a fte r, he now handles the o th e r and, in T u d o r eyes, still m ore im p or­ ta n t problem , the problem of g o v ern m en t, or ra th e r of the G o v ern o r o r Prince. W riting on "th e n atu re of T u d o r d esp o t­ ism ," Neville Figgis, o u r chief au th o rity on th e h isto ry of the idea of kingship in England, rem ark s: T h e exaltatio n of th e royal a u th o rity w as due to th e need of a stro n g g o v e rn m e n t. T h e crim e of th e L an castrian d yn asty had been, n ot th a t it w as capriciou s o r self-seek in g o r op p ressive, but th a t it w as w eak , th a t law and o rd e r w e re n ot m ain tained and p rivate w a r w as on ce again b e­ com in g p rev alen t. It is as "sav io u rs of so cie ty " th a t th e Y o rk ists and a fte rw a rd s th e T u d o rs w in th eir position . In th e s ta tu te s of liveries and in th e S ta r C h a m b e r is to be found th e raison d'etre of T u d o r d esp otism . G o v e rn m e n t m u st be effectiv e, p rivate op p ression m u st be punished, g re a t o ffen d ers m u st be forced to subm it to th e a u th o rity of th e C ro w n . T h a t is th e gen eral s en tim en t. In a w ord , obedience m u st be en forced . T h e v e ry cau ses, w hich d rov e m en to su p p o rt th e T u d o rs at all, d rov e th em also to insist on th e p aram o u n t im p o rtan ce of obedience, and to p ro ­ claim th e iniquity of reb ellio n .10

In th at age m en could not think of g o v ern m e n t excep t as e m ­ bodied in a single person. Indeed, only a v ery small p ro p o rtio n of the hum an race is capable of thinking o th erw ise today. D an g ers for g o v ern m en t and o rd er m ight th e re fo re arise from th re e

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causes: from w eakness of ch ara cte r on the part of the m o n ­ arch, from the accession of a m on arch w ith a w eak claim to the th ro n e, and from the turbu len ce and am bition of the g re a t nobles su rrounding him , w ho m ight take ad van tage of eith er of the tw o w eaknesses just m entioned or of som e o th e r occasion. E xcep t for the abortive in su rrection of Essex at the end of her reign, Elizabeth had little trouble from h er nobles, w ho w ere for the m ost part 'n e w m en " and close ad h eren ts of her dynasty from m otives of self-in terest. B u t the o th e r tw o d angers made a special appeal to the fears of h er subjects. N ot only w as h er own title, as also h er legitim acy, open to question, but being u n ­ m arried she had no heir, so th at the succession w as left at hazard. W riting on The State of England, Anno Dorn. 1 6 0 0 ,17 a co n tem p o rary law yer, Sir T h om as W ilson, en u m erates no few er than tw elve d ifferen t "co m p etito rs th at gape for the death of th at good old Princess the now Q u e e n ." M o reo v er, though h istory in retro sp ect depicts h er as a stro n g ch a ra cte r and a g re a t statesm an , to h er co n tem p o raries, w ho judged h er co n ­ duct from day to day and could n eith er see h er reign as a whole n or appreciate to the full the difficulties th at faced h er, she probably appeared a w eak and vacillating w om an . In any event, as we shall see, th ere is plenty of evidence th at h er co u rtiers spoke of h er not infrequently as "R ichard II" and th at she h erself w as conscious of their doing so. All this being so, the Elizabethans felt m uch the sam e in­ te re st in the L an castrian and Y o rk ist period, culm inating in "th e glorious union of H enry VII," as Englishm en of the eigh teenth and the n in eteen th cen tu ries felt in the Civil W ars and the "G lorious R evolution of 1 6 8 8 ." And just as the reign of C h arles I m arked the beginning of the one stru g gle, so th a t of Richard II m arked the beginning of the o th er. T h e period 1 3 9 8 - 1 4 8 5 w as, m o reov er, a self-contained one, w as sufficiently rem o te to be safe to w rite about, and possessed som ething of an epical quality, inasm uch as it em braced the m arty rd o m of a king, the effo rts of a u su rp er to establish his rule, the brilliant episode of H enry V's victories o ver the foreign foe, the downfall of g o v e rn ­ m ent and the reign of chaos during the q uarrels of the rival dynasties, and finally the resto ratio n of ord er at the hands of a new d yn asty, heir to the claims of both houses. It is n ot su r­

12

Richard II

prising, th e re fo re , th at no few er than th ree elab orate accou n ts of this critical period have com e dow n from the six te e n th ce n ­ tu ry. T h e first is th at earliest of T u d o r h istories, Hall's Chronicle (1 5 4 8 ), w hich set the tone for all the h istories th a t follow ed ;18 th e second is the poem already spoken of, a poem in eight books, entitled The Civil W ars between the two houses of Lancaster and York (1 5 9 5 -1 6 0 9 ) by Sam uel Daniel; and the third is the d ram atic cycle of Sh akespeare's English H istories, com posed during the y ears 1 5 9 0 - 9 9 . W h at Englishm en, in the age of the T u d o r peace, th o u g h t about the W ars of the R oses, and the u su rp ation of H e n ry Bolingbroke in con n ection w ith th em , finds eloquent, if quaint, expression on the very title-p age of Hall's book, w hich ru n s: The union of the two noble and illustre fam elies of Lancastre & Yorke, beyng long in continuall discension for the croune of this noble realme, with all the actes done in both the tymes of the Princes, both of the one linage & of the other, beginnyng at the tyme of kyng Henry the fowerth, the first aucthor of this deuision, and so successively proceading to the reigne of the High and Prudent Prince Kyng Henry the Eight, the indubitate flow er and very heire of both the saied linages.

And I do n ot know of any b e tte r te x t to set in the fo re fro n t of this, the first (though not the first w ritten ) of Shakesp eare's series of historical plays upon the sam e th em e, th an Hall's title and the following w ords w ith w hich his book opens, and w hich, as w e shall find, w ere th em selves inspired by a passage in F ro issart: W h at m ischiefe h ath in su rged in realm es by in testin e deuision, w h a t depopulacion h ath en su ed in c o u n trie s by ciuill discencio, w h at d etestab le m u rd er h ath been com itted in citees by sep erate faccion s, and w h at calam itee h ath ensued in fam ou s regios by d om estical discord & vn n atu rall c o n tro u e rs y : R om e h ath felt, Italy can testifie, F rau n ce can b ere w itn es, B e a m e 19 can tell, S cotlan d e m aie w rite , D en m ark e can sh ew e, and especially this noble realm e of Englande can ap p aran tly d eclare and m ake d em o n stracio n . Fo r w h o a b h o rre th n ot to e xp resse th e h eyn ou s factes com itted in R o m e, by th e ciuill w ar b etw en e Julius C e s a r

The Historical and Political Dynamics and h ard y Popey by w h ose discorde th e b righ t glo ry of the triu p h an t R om e w as eclipsed & shad ow ed ? W h o can reh erce w h at m isch efes and w h at plages th e p leasan t co u n tre e of Italy h ath tasted and su ffered by th e sedicious faccions of th e G uelphes and G eb elyn es? W h o can re p o rt th e m isery th at daiely h ath ensued in Fau n ce, by th e discorde of the houses of B u rgoyn e and O rliens: O r in Scotland b etw ene the b ro th e r and b ro th e r, the vncle and th e n ep h ew ? W h o can curiou sly endite th e m anifolde battailles th a t w ere fo u g h t in the realm e of B eam e, b etw en e th e catholikes and the p estiferou s sectes of th e A dam ites and o th e rs ? W h at d am ­ age discencion h ath dooen in G erm an y and D en m ark e, all ch ristian s at this daie can well declare. And th e T u rk e can b ere good testim o n y , w hiche by th e discord of ch risten princes h ath amplified greatly his seign iory and dom inion. B ut w h at m iserie, w h at m u rd er, and w h at execrab le plagues this fam ou s region h ath su ffered by th e deuision and discencion of the ren ou m ed hou ses of L an castre and Y ork e, m y w itte can n o t com p reh en d e n or m y to u n g declare n e th e r y et m y penne fully set fu rth e. F o r w h at noble m an liueth at this daie, o r w h at g e n tle ­ m an of any au n cien t stocke o r p rog en y is clere, w h ose linage h ath

n ot ben infested and plaged w ith this vn -

n aturall deuision. All th e o th e r discordes, sectes and fac­ cions alm oste liuely florishe and con tin u e at this p resen te tym e, to th e g re a te displesure and preiudice of all the Christian publike w elth. B u t th e olde deuided c o n tro u e rsie b etw en e the forn am ed families of L acastre and Y ork e, by the vnion of M atrim o n y celeb rate and co n su m m ate be­ tw en e th e high and m igh ty Prin ce K yn g H en ry th e seu en th and the lady Elizabeth his m o ste w o rth y Q u en e, th e one beeyng in dubitate h eire of the hous of L an castre, and the o th e r of Y o rk e w as suspended and appalled in th e p erson of th eir m o st noble, puissat and m ig h ty heire kyng H en ry the eigh t, and by hym clerely buried and p erp etually ex tin ct. So th at all m en (m o re clerer than th e son ne) m aie ap parantly perceiue, th at as by discord g re a te th y n g es decaie and fall to ru in e, so th e sam e by con co rd be reuiued and erected . In likewise also all region s w hiche by deuisio and discencion be vexed , m olested and troubled, bee by vnion and a g rem en t releued pacified and en riched . . . .

74

Richard 77

Richard II and Q ueen Elizabeth B u t while Elizabeth lived, th e older an xieties g overn ed m en's th o u g h ts and in th eir fears th a t h er reign m ight be the prelude to y et a n o th er period of an arch y , th ey n atu rally bent eagerly enquiring eyes upon the ev en ts of the reign of R ichard II w hich had led up to the earlier period of trouble and p articu larly upon the action s of the u su rp er H en ry IV, w ho w as, as Hall tau g h t th em , "th e first au cth o r of this deuision." T h e re are [w rites Sir Edm und C h am b ers] m an y indi­ catio n s of an an alogy p resen t to th e E lizabeth an political im agination b etw een th e reign of R ichard II and th a t of Elizabeth h erself. A le tte r of Sir Francis K nollys on 9 Jan u ary 1 5 7 8 excu ses h im self fo r giving u n w elcom e cou n sel to th e q ueen . H e will n ot "play th e p artes of King R ichard th e S econd's m en "; will n ot be a co u rtly and u n statesm an lik e fla tte re r. C learly th e p hrase w as fam iliar. H en ry Lord H u n sdon sim ilarly w ro te at som e d ate b efore 1 5 8 8 , "I n e v e r w as one of R ichard II's m e n ." M o re cry p tic is a le tte r from Raleigh to R o b ert C ecil on 6 July 1 5 9 7 , "I acq u ayn ted m y L: g en erall [Essex] w ith y o u r le tte r to m ee & y o u r kynd a c­ cep tan ce of y o u r e n te rte y n e m e n te , h ee w as also w on d erfu ll m e rry a tt ye co n sait of R ichard th e 2. I hope it shall n ev er a lte r, & w h e re o f I shalbe m o st gladd of as th e tre w w ay to all o u r good, q u iett & a d v an cem en t, and m o st of all fo r h er sake w h ose affaires shall th erb y fynd b e tte r p ro g re s sio n ." All th ese allusions are of co u rse in p erfect loyalty, the u tte ra n ce s of d evoted , if critical, officials.20

O th e rs, h ow ev er, m ight em ploy the analogy fo r d ifferen t ends. Thomas of Woodstock, the only o th e r e x ta n t Elizabethan play on the su b ject,21 is p aten tly u n sy m p ath etic to R ichard, its them e being the glorification of his uncle th e D uke of G lo u cester, w hose m u rd er w as the first link in the chain of ev en ts th a t led to the King's dow nfall. And th a t this play w as n ot u n con n ected w ith co n tem p o rary politics m ay be surm ized from the fact th a t th e Earl of E ssex traced his d escen t from the sam e duke, w hich re m o te alliance w ith the blood royal co n stitu ted his sole claim to th e crow n . M o reo v er, a fte r the su m m er of 1 5 9 7 (w hen for a brief space E ssex, Raleigh and Cecil w ere in accord), as the Earl

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fell by d egrees into disfavor and began to en tertain seditious th o u gh ts tow ard his royal m istress, he seem s to have identified him self m ore and m ore in im agination w ith Bolingbroke, and to have contem plated w ith increasing equanim ity the possibility of Elizabeth's deposition in his favor. In Jan u ary, 1 5 9 9 , one John H ayw ard w as foolish enough to publish a prose h istory entitled The First Part of the Life and Raigne of King Henrie 1111 w ith an epistle dedicatory to Essex in w hich the Earl is described as "m ag n u s et presenti iudicio et futuri tem poris exp ectatio n e"; w ords th at su ggest an heir to the th ro n e at the least. A p art from this the book seem s innocent enough to the m odern eye; but it w as considered seditious by the au th o rities, and suppressed. The m ost rem arkable of all o ccu rren ces, h ow ever, connecting the fo rtu n es of Elizabeth and Essex w ith those of Richard and his rival w as the p erfo rm an ce at the Globe th e a tre , by the exp ress wish of the Earl's su p p o rters, w ho added an h on orariu m to th eir o th e r persuasions, of a play, Richard II, generally assum ed to be Shakespeare's, on the eve of the attem p ted rebellion, w hich took place on 8 Feb ruary 1 6 0 1 , and cam e, as all men know , u tterly to grief. The tran sactio n at the Globe w as dis­ cussed at length in the trial th at followed; but Shakespeare w as not am ong the Globe players brough t to book, and th ere is no evidence th at he and his com pany suffered in any w ay for their part therein . O n the co n tra ry , they are found playing at C o u rt before the Q ueen on the day preceding E ssex's execu tion . A n y ­ one w ho knew the play, as Cecil did, would have been able to acquit its au th o r of treason able in ten t. N everth eless, the Q ueen herself appears to have nourished a grudge against it. A t least th at seem s the n atural deduction from the fam ous sto ry told by William Lam barde, keeper of the T o w er record s. W hile he w as visiting h er at G reenw ich on 4 A u gu st 1 6 0 1 , and presen ting her w ith his P an d ecta of all h er rolls, bundells, m em b ran es, and parcells th at be reposed in h er M ajestie's T o w e r at London . . . h er M ajestie fell upon th e reign of King R ichard II, saying, "I am Richard II, k now ye n ot th a t? " W.L. Such a wicked im agination w as d eterm in ed and attem p ted by a m o st unkind G en t, th e m o st ad orn ed c re a ­ tu re th a t ev er y o u r M ajestie m ade.

16

Richard 11 H er M ajestie. H e th a t will fo rg e t G od, will also fo rg e t his b e n e fa cto rs; this tra g e d y w as played 4 0 tie tim es in open stre e ts and h o u se s .22

Unhappily no th eatrical record s of Shakespeare's com p an y have com e dow n to us; but from H enslow e's Diary it appears th a t the lon gest run for a play belonging to th eir rivals, the Adm iral's S erv an ts, w as th irty -o n e p erfo rm an ces spread o v e r tw o and a half y e a rs .23 Q u een Elizabeth, th e re fo re , in m en tion in g the fo rty p erfo rm an ces of Richard 11, w as em phasizing som eth in g quite ou t of the com m on . She refers, w e m u st suppose, n ot to the revival of 1 6 0 1 , w hich w as for one occasion only (and w h en , as the players av erred to those w ho urged th em to act it, the dram a w as so "sta le " th at "th e y should g et n oth in g by playing" it 24), but to the original p erfo rm an ces in 1 5 9 5 - 9 6 , at w hich tim e, it w as asserted in official n otes con cern in g E ssex d raw n up in 1 6 0 0 , "th e Erie h im self" w as "o ften p resen t at the playing th ereo f, . . . w ith g reat applause giving cou n ten an ce and lyking to the sa m e ."25 It is to be p resum ed also th a t the deposition scen e, w hich w as n ot printed until afte r Elizabeth's d eath , had been acted on all these occasions. As Sir Edm und C h am b ers rem ark s, it "w as evidently given at the 1 6 0 1 p erfo rm an ce"; and I ag ree w ith him th a t "it w as probably given in 1 5 9 5 also ."26 C ertain ly it is u n ­ likely th a t Sir Edw ard H oby would have offered a m aim ed and deform ed play w hen he desired "K . R ichard " to "p re se n t him selfe to " the view of Sir R ob ert Cecil. F u rth e rm o re , had the scene been forbidden by the C en so r, the players could hardly have acted it w ith im punity, as th ey appear to have done, in 1 6 0 1 . C learly, th e w hole play, as we now have it, received the C e n so r's en d orsem en t in 1 5 9 5 — as w hy should it n ot, at a tim e b efore suspicions had begun to attach th em selves to the Earl of E ssex and while he y et stood high in th e Q u een 's fa v o r? — and w as acted from the original "allow ed book" at the revival six y ears later. N ot th a t the deposition scene contained an yth in g in the least seditious; on the co n tra ry , its w hole te n o r m ight seem to appeal for the sym p athy of the audience on behalf of the distressed King. And I believe this obvious fact m ay have stood the C ham berlain 's S erv an ts in good stead during the trial of E ssex. Y e t, w h at in norm al tim es w ould seem quite innocuous

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m ight take on a d an gerou s com plexion w hen treaso n w as abroad. T h at Shakespeare's Richard 11 exhibited the spectacle of a m o n ­ arch being actually d eth ron ed , and th at m on arch popularly regard ed as the p rototyp e of the Q u een , w as enough to ren d er it "good p ro pagan da," as the m odern political jargon goes, in the eyes of the hotheads of E ssex's p arty, w ho would rem em b er perhaps the private co m m en ts by their leader upon it afte r seeing it in 1 5 9 5 . And th a t the sam e spectacle had been cu t out by the C en so r of books, w ho w as a different fu n ction ary from the C en so r of plays, w hen the dram a cam e to be printed in the au tu m n of 1 5 9 7 , is, perhaps, an indication th at by th a t date the au th orities w ere beginning to g row n ervous about the in ten ­ tions of the h ead stron g Earl, and m o re conscious of the analogy b etw een R ichard and E lizab eth.27 O r m ay it have been decided th at w h at w as safe enough to p erfo rm in loyal and P ro te sta n t London m ight prove too exciting for heady w its to read at the universities or in the C ath olic n o rth ? T he foregoing p aragrap hs are offered as an explanation of a situ ation w hich has h ith erto baffled enq u irers by presen ting a series of apparently irreconcilable con tradiction s. H ow cam e a play w hich is p atently loyalist in ton e, if critical of Richard's actions, to be used for seditious ends? W hy w as a scene, allowed by one cen sor, considered dan gerou s by an o th e r? H ow w as it th at the C ham berlain's m en, having enacted a play at the r e ­ quest of co n sp irators and for seditious purposes, escaped sco tfree from the vengean ce of the au th o rities? Th e probability th at Richard 11 w as well know n to these au th o rities, and particularly to Cecil, in 1 5 9 5 , and know n to have had nothing w h a te v e r to do w ith the disaffection of E ssex, taken to g e th e r w ith the p ro ­ gressive d eterio ratio n of the relations betw een E ssex and Eliza­ beth during the years 1 5 9 7 - 1 6 0 1 , is sufficient, I think, to accou n t for all the circu m stan ces.

Richard and Bolingbroke W h atev er, then, Shakespeare's personal attitu d e tow ard E ssex m ay have been, the association of his Richard II w ith the Earl's schem es w as an accidental one, and has no relevance

18

Richard II

eith er to the purpose of the d ram atist o r to o u r u n d erstan din g of the play. T h e play is, n everth eless, steeped in Elizabethan political n otions, and unless w e grasp them w e are likely to miss m uch th a t the au th o r intended us to perceive. N ot th a t he w as a ttem p tin g an yth in g in the n atu re of a political arg u m e n t. O n the co n tra ry , the political situ ation he dealt w ith w as m erely the m aterial for d ram a. He takes sides n eith er w ith R ichard n or w ith Bolingbroke; he exhibits w ith ou t co n cealm en t the w eak ­ ness of the King's ch a ra c te r, but he spares no pains to evoke o u r w h o le-h earted pity for him in his fall. Indeed, it is p artly because it succeeds in holding the balance so even th a t Richard II is a favorite play w ith h istorian s. It develops the political issue in all its com p lexity, and leaves judgm ent upon it to the sp e cta to r. S h ak esp eare's only prejudices are a p atrio tic assertio n of the p aram o u n t in terests of England above th o se of king or subject, an assertio n w hich, follow ing a hint in F ro issa rt, he places upon th e lips of the dying John of G au n t, and a quasi-religious belief in the san ctity of an anointed m o n arch ; and it is p art of his d ram atic setting th at th ese tw o prejudices o r ideals are irre co n ­ cilable u nder the historical circu m stan ces w ith w hich th e play deals. A n o th er reason w hy th e m odern h istorian tends to delight in Richard II is th a t, unlike m o st of S hakespeare's o th e r ch ro n icleplays, the ev en ts it relates are w ith m in or excep tion s regard ed as historically co rre c t. T h u s w e have o u r g re a te st im agination at w ork , in the d isinterested spirit of tru e a rt, upon a series of facts, adm irably adapted for d ram atic tre a tm e n t, w hich are still for the m ost p art a ttested by m odern h istory . And how closely S h ak esp eare's diagnosis of R ichard's ch a ra c te r tallies w ith th a t of a typical h istorian of o u r tim e m ay be seen from the following e x tra c t from Sir C h arles O m an 's Political History of England, 1 3 7 7 1 4 8 5: R ichard's te m p e r on an y given occasio n w as incalculable. E n erg y and ap ath y , o v er-co n fid en ce and abject d epression cam e to him at th e in ap p rop riate m o m en ts. . . . H e w as a c re a tu re of m ood s, and his m oods alw ays visited him at th e w ro n g tim e. If he had n ot been th o u g h tless, a rro g a n t, and o v erb earin g in 1 3 9 8 , he m ight h ave reigned fo r m an y a

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year. If he had show n com m on resolu tion in 1 3 9 9 , he m ight h ave m ade a fair fight fo r his c ro w n : it w as by d esertin g his arm y at M ilford th a t he ruined him self. L a te r ev en ts show ed th at he p ossessed m an y friends, and th at th ey w ould have defended him if he had given th em the chan ce. It w as n ot the d eath s of G lo u cester and A rundel th a t doom ed him to d estru ctio n , but his vain b oasting, his p etty in terfe ren ces w ith th e liberties of his su b jects, his fits of passion, his senseless acts of injustice to m en of m in or im p ortan ce. . . . Y e t few ty ra n ts h ave shed so little blood— if few h ave m ade so m an y foolish b oasts co n cern in g th eir p rero g ativ e. R ichard can n o t be called cru el, n or w as he a n o to rio u s evil liver, n o r a th riftless w eakling. N ev erth eless he fooled aw ay th e cro w n w hich kings intellectually, as well as m orally, his in ferio rs p reserved to th eir d eath -d ay. . . . N o sovereign w as ev er m o re en tirely th e a u th o r of his ow n d e stru c tio n .28

T h ere, excep t for his p o e try — a large excep tio n — and for o th er slighter variations and small differences of em phasis, stands Shakespeare's Richard as C oleridge saw him. And y et, if we follow C oleridge and m ost m odern critics in isolating the figure of R ichard from the d ram atic com position of w hich it is only a p art, and ignoring the political prepossessions of the audience for w hom the play w as w ritte n , we miss m uch, perhaps m ost, th at Shakespeare intended. For his Richard, as o ften happens w ith his ch aracters for one reason o r an o th er, is to be viewed on a double plane of vision: at once realistically as a m an, and symbolically as the royal m a rty r w hose blood, spilt by the u su rp er, cries out for the v engean ce w hich tears England asu n d er for tw o g en eration s. Looked at m erely from w ithin the fram ew ork of the play of w hich he is the cen tral figure, he seem s the ra th e r contem ptible person th at C oleridge has de­ picted; seen in the secu lar perspective of the w hole cycle, his personal failings, the oL fiapnoi of his peculiar traged y, becom e the occasion of som ething m uch larger than him self, the deposi­ tion and death of the Lord's anointed. F or th a t break in the lineal succession of God's depu ties-elect m ean t th e beginning of political chaos.

Richard II

20

T a k e b u t d eg re e a w ay, u n t u n e t h a t strin g , And h a r k w h a t discord follo w s!

is the m oral of Shakespeare's series of English ch ron icles as of ev eryth in g else he w ro te th a t tou ch es political issues. And w h at is tru e of Richard is tru e also of the lesser c h a ra c ­ te rs in the play. T h e proph etic voice of G au n t, fo r exam p le, p ron ou n ces judgm en t n ot only upon the sp en d th rift King, w hose deposition it fo retells,29 but also by im plication upon Bolingbroke, the son w ho lifts A n a n g ry a rm a g a in s t G o d 's m i n i s t e r , 30

and becom es th e sacrilegious in stru m en t of his deposition. As I h ave said above, Bolingbroke is n ot rightly u n d erstoo d until he is regard ed as in p art at least the puppet of F o rtu n e . A nd, successful as he is in Richard II, w e feel even h ere th a t he has been cau g h t up into the tragic net by u su rp atio n , so th a t it is w ith no surprise w e find him at the beginning of the sequel n ot only ren ew in g his vow to go on a crusad e in expiation of his guilt, but pronou ncin g him self "sh ak en " and "w an w ith ca re ." Indeed, th e w hole play is as full of foreboding as it is of p atriotic sen tim en t. Civil w ar is already implicit in th e strife b etw een Bolingbroke and M ow b ray, w ith w hich it opens, and in the w rangling of the nobles b efore R ichard's deposition, while it is explicit in the prophecy of the Bishop of C arlisle (IV.i. 1 2 9 - 4 9 ) and in the scarcely less significant w ords of Richard to N o r th ­ um berland at V .i.5 5 - 6 8 . T h u s w hen R ichard's trag ed y is ended, w e are left w ith the feeling th a t England's has only just begun. Y et the foreboding has alm ost en tirely evap orated in the H istories th a t im m ediately follow. W hen S h akespeare cam e to give us the Henri/ IV w e know , his m ood had changed. In 1 5 9 5 he had evidently no inkling th at Sir John F alstaff w as w aiting for him round the co rn er.

NOTES Note: O rig in a l f o o t n o t e s h a v e b e e n re n u m b e r e d . 1. O u r la t t e r - d a y " r o y a l i s t , " M r . T . S . Eliot, is still fo un d r e f e r r i n g to th e e x e c u t i o n o f C h a r l e s I as " t h e M a r t y r d o m " sans p h r a se , in a

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recen t publication; see Seventeenth Century Studies in Honour of Sir Herbert Grierson, p. 2 4 2 . O n th e o th e r hand a C ath olic h isto rian like M r. H ilaire Belloc, w h o speaks of R ichard II as th e "sa cra m e n ta l m a n ," and of his d eth ro n in g as "sa crile g e ," show s th a t th e m edieval con cep tion of R ichard is n ot y et e x tin ct (see History of England, III.9 0 - 9 1 ) . 2. R eprinted w ith a valuable in tro d u ctio n by M .V . C lark e and V .H . G alb raith as "T h e D eposition of R ichard II" (Rylands Library Bulletin, vol. XIV , Jan. 1 9 3 0 ). 3. P. viii of P reface to Chronicque de la Traison et M ort de Richard Deux roy Dengleterre (ed. B. W illiam s, 1 8 4 6 ); see below. 4. "I would (quoth o n e o f th e c o m p a n y )," ru n s th e p ro se preface, "gladly say s u m w h a t fo r K in g R ichard . B u t his p e rs o n a g e is so sore intang led as I th in k e fe w e b e n e fice s be at this d a y " (p. 11 0 , ed. L.B. Cam pbell, 1 9 3 8 ). 5. See Archaeologia, X X . 1 3 8 . 6. S e e n o t e 2. 7. C f. IV .i.1 8 4 - 8 9 . 8. C f. The Goddess Fortuna in M edieval Literature, by H .R . P atch , 1 9 2 7 , and The M edieval Heritage of Elizabethan Tragedy, by W. F arn h am , 1 9 3 6 , pp. 4 1 5 - 1 8 . 9. B e rn e rs ' Froissart, V I.3 0 7 (T u d o r T ran slatio n s). 10. T h e passage depictin g B o lin g b ro k e as a deep politician o ccu rs in Co leridg e's 1 8 1 8 no te s . In th e le ctu r e s o f 1 8 1 1 - 1 2 he to o k a dif­ f e r e n t view. "In B o li n g b r o k e ," he th e n declared, " w e find a m an w h o in th e o u t s e t has b e e n s o re ly inju red: th e n , w e see him e n c o u rag e d by th e g r ie v an c e s o f his c o u n t r y , and by th e s tra n g e m i s m a n a g e m e n t o f th e g o v e r n m e n t , ye t at th e sam e tim e scarcely daring to look at his o w n v ie w s, o r to ac k n o w le d g e th e m as designs. He c o m e s h o m e u n d e r th e p re t e n c e o f claim ing his duked om , and he p ro fe s se s t h a t to be his o b je c t alm o s t to th e last; b ut, at th e last, he a v o w s his pu rpose to its full e x t e n t , of w h ic h he w as h im se lf u n co n sc io u s in th e ea rlie r s t a g e s " (T .M . R a y so r, Coleridge's Shake­ spearean Criticism, 11.1 8 8 -8 9 ). 11. 2 Henry IV , III.i.7 2 - 7 4 . 12. F a r n h a m , op. cit. 13. H olinshed, Chronicles, ed. 1 5 8 7 , vol. Ill, p. 4 9 9 /2 /5 0 . 14. Appreciations, p. 1 9 9 . 15. C larke and G alb raith , op. cit., p. 33. 16. Divine Right of Kings (2nd ed.), p. 88. 17. Edited from th e m an u scrip ts am on g th e S tate P apers in th e Public R ecord O ffice by F.J. Fish er (Camden M iscellany, vol. XV I, p. 2).

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18. C f. C .L. K in g s fo rd , Prejudice & Promise in XVth Century England, p. 3: "H all's p r e s e n t m e n t o f past h i s to r y appealed n a tu ra lly to t h o s e w h o c a m e a f t e r him , and w as em bedded f irm ly in th e opinion o f th e t i m e ." 19. I.e., B o h e m ia . 20. W illiam Shakespeare, 1.353. 2 1 . Jack Straw (1 5 9 3 ) deals w i t h th e P e a s a n t s ' R e v o lt, 1 3 8 1 , and has n o t h i n g to do w ith th e D e p o s itio n . T h e e n t r y in S im o n F o r m a n 's Booke c o n c e r n in g a Richard II, s ee n in 1 6 1 1 , does n o t d escrib e this play. F o r th e a u t h e n t ic i t y o f t h e Booke see RES, July 1 9 4 7 . 2 2. C h a m b e rs, W illiam Shakespeare, 1 1 .3 2 6 -2 7 . 2 3. C h a m b e rs, Elizabethan Stage, 11.148. 2 4. W illiam Shakespeare, 11.326. 2 5. Ibid., 1.354, 11.323. 26. Ibid., 1.355. 2 7. See above, p. 11. 2 8 . Political History of England, 1 3 7 7 - 1 4 8 5 , pp. 1 5 0 - 5 1 . 29. II.i.108. 3 0 . I.ii.4 0 - 4 1 .

E.M.W. Tillyard Shakespeare's History Plays (1 9 4 4 )

Richard II is im perfectly execu ted , and y et, th at im perfection g ran ted , perfectly planned as p art of a g re a t stru c tu re . It is sharply co n trasted , in its ex tre m e form ality of shape and style, w ith the subtler and m ore fluid n atu re of Henry IV; but it is a n ecessary and deliberate co n tra st; resem bling a stiff recitative com posed to introduce a varied and flexible aria. C om ing after King John the play w ould appear the stra n g e st relapse into the official self w hich Shakespeare had been shedding; taken with Henry IV it show s th at Shakespeare, while retaining and using this official self, could develop w ith brilliant success the new qualities of ch a ra cte r and style m anifested in the B astard. Richard II th erefo re betokens no relapse but is an organ ic part of one of Shakespeare's m ajor ach ievem ents. But the im perfections are undoubted and m u st be faced. As a sep arate play Richard II lacks the sustained vitality of Richard III, being less interestin g and less exactin g in stru c tu re and co n tain ­ ing a good deal of v erse w hich by the best Shakespearean standards can only be called indifferent. N ot th at th ere is an y ­ thing w ron g w ith the stru c tu re , w hich is th at of 2 Henry VI, the rise of one g reat m an at the exp en se of an oth er; but it is simple, as befits an exordiu m , and does not serve th rou g h the excitem en t of its com plications to make the u tm o st dem and on the pow ers of the au th o r. F or illustrating the indifferent v erse I need not go beyond the frequ ent stretch es of cou p let-w ritin g and the occasional qu atrain s th at m ake such a co n tra st to the verse of Henry IV. It is not th at these have not got their function, w hich will be dealt w ith later, but th at as p oetry they are indifferent stu ff. T h ey are as n ecessary as the stiff lines in 23

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3 Henry VI spoken by the F ath er w ho has killed his Son, and the Son w ho has killed his F ath e r; but they are little b e tte r p oeti­ cally. For p resen t purposes it does n ot m a tte r in the least w h e th e r th ey are relics of an old play, by Shakesp eare o r by som eon e else, or w h e th e r Shakespeare w ro te them w ith the re st. T h ey o ccu r th ro u g h o u t the play and w ith the excep tion of perhaps tw o couplets are n ot conspicuously w orse in the fifth act than an yw h ere else. T h ere is no need for a th e o ry th a t in this act, to save tim e, Shakespeare h urriedly began copying chunks from an old play. Until th ere is decisive p roof of this, it is sim plest to think th a t Shakesp eare w ro te his couplets along w ith the rest, intending a deliberate co n tra st. He had done the sam e thing w ith the T alb ots' d eath in I Henry VI, w hile, to accou n t for the indifferent quality, one m ay rem em b er th a t he w as n ever v ery good at the couplet. T h e best couplets in A Midsummer Night's Dream are w eak com pared w ith the best blank v erse in th a t play, while few of the final couplets of th e so n n ets are m ore than a co m p eten t close to far h igh er v erse. I tu rn now to a larg er quality of the play, of w hich the couplets are one of several indications. O f all S hakespeare's plays Richard II is the m o st form al and cerem onial. It is n ot only th at R ichard him self is a tru e king in ap p earan ce, in his com m and of the trappings of ro yalty , while being deficient in the solid v irtu es of the ru ler; th a t is a co m m o n ­ place: the cerem onial ch a ra c te r of the play exten d s m uch w ider th an R ichard's ow n n a tu re o r the exquisite p a tte rn s of his poetic speech. First, the v ery actions tend to be sym bolic ra th e r th an real. T h ere is all the pom p of a to u rn a m e n t w ith ou t the physical m eeting of the tw o arm ed knights. T h ere is a g re a t arm y of W elshm en assem bled to sup p ort R ichard, but they n ev er fight. Bolingbroke b efore Flint C astle speaks of the terrible clash th ere should be w hen he and R ichard m eet: M e t h i n k s K in g R ich ard and m y s e l f should m e e t W ith n o less t e r r o r t h a n t h e e l e m e n t s O f fire and w a t e r , w h e n t h e i r t h u n d e r in g s ho ck At m e e t in g t e a rs th e cloudy c h e e k s o f h e a v e n .

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But instead of a clash th ere is a highly cerem on iou s en co u n ter leading to the effortless subm ission of R ichard. T h e re are violent challenges before H en ry in W estm in ster Hall, but the issue is postponed. T h e clim ax of the play is the cerem on y of R ichard's deposition. And finally R ichard, im prisoned at P o m fret, erects his own lonely state and his ow n griefs into a gigantic cerem on y. He arran g es his ow n th o u g h ts into classes corresp on d in g w ith m en's estates in real life; king and beggar, divine, soldier, and middle m an. His ow n sighs keep a cerem onial o rd er like a clock: N o w , sir, th e sound th a t tells w h a t h o u r it is A re c la m o ro u s g r o a n s, w hich strik e upon m y h e a rt, W hich is th e bell: so sighs and te a rs and g r o a n s S h o w m in u t e s , tim e s, and h o u rs.

Second, in places w h ere em otion rises, w h ere th ere is stro n g m ental action, Shakespeare evades direct or n atu ralistic p resen ­ tation and re s o rts to con ven tion and conceit. He had done the sam e w hen A rth u r pleaded w ith H u b ert for his eyes in King ]ohn, but th at w as exceptional to a play w hich contained the agonies of C on stan ce and the Bastard's perplexities over A rth u r's body. Em otionally R ichard's p arting from his queen could have been a g re a t thing in the play: actually it is an exch an ge of frigidly ingenious couplets. Rich. G o , c o u n t th y w a y s Qu. S o lo n g e s t w ay shall Rich. T w i c e fo r o n e step And piece th e w ay o u t

w ith sighs; I m ine w ith g r o a n s. hav e th e lo n g e s t m o an s. I'll g r o a n , th e w ay bein g s h o rt, w ith a heav y h e a rt.

This is indeed the language of cerem on y n ot of passion. Exactly the sam e happens w hen the D uchess of Y ork pleads w ith H enry against h er husband for h er son A u m erle's life. B efore the clim ax, w hen Y ork gives the new s of his son's tre a ch e ry , th ere had been a show of feeling; but w ith th e e n try of the D uchess, w hen em otion should culm inate, all is changed to p rettin ess and form al antiphony. This is how the D uchess com p ares h er own quality of pleading w ith h er husband's: Pleads he in e a r n e s t ? look up on his face; His eyes do drop no te ars , his p ray e rs are je st;

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Richard II His w o rd s c o m e fr o m his m o u t h , o u r s f r o m o u r b re a s t : H e prays but faintly and would be denied; W e pray w ith h e a r t and soul and all beside: His w e a r y jo in ts would gladly rise, I k n o w ; O u r k n e e s shall kn eel till to t h e g r o u n d t h e y g r o w : His p ray e rs are full o f false hy po crisy; O u r s o f tr u e zeal and deep in te g rity .

And to "fra m e " the scene, to m ake it unm istakably a piece of deliberate cerem on ial, Bolingbroke falls into the norm al lan­ guage of d ram a w hen , having forgiven A u m erle, he vow s to punish the o th e r co n sp irato rs: B u t fo r o u r t r u s t y b r o t h e r - i n - l a w and th e a b bo t, A nd all th e r e s t o f t h a t c o n s o r t e d c re w , D e s t r u c t i o n s t ra ig h t shall dog t h e m at th e heels.

T h e case of G au n t is d ifferen t but m o re com plicated. W hen he has th e state of England in mind and rep roves R ich ard , thou gh he can be rh etorical and play on w ord s, he speaks the language of passion: N o w H e t h a t made m e k n o w s I see t h e e ill. T h y d e a th -b e d is n o le ss e r th a n th y land W h e r e i n th o u liest in r e p u t a t io n sick. And th o u , to o c are le ss p a tie n t as th o u a rt, C o m m i t 's t th y a n o in te d body to th e cure O f t h o s e physicia ns t h a t f irst w o u n d e d thee. A th o u sa n d f la t t e r e r s sit w ith in t h y c ro w n , W h o s e c om p ass is no b ig g e r t h a n th y head.

B u t in the scene of private feeling, w hen he p arts from his banished son, both speakers, ceasing to be specifically th e m ­ selves, exch an g e the m o st exquisitely form al com m onplaces traditionally deem ed ap p rop riate to such a situation. G o , say I s e n t t h e e fo r to p u rch a se h o n o u r And n o t th e king exil'd th e e ; o r suppose D e v o u r i n g p e stile nce h a n g s in o u r air And th o u art flying to a f r e s h e r clime. Look, w h a t th y soul holds dear, im agine it T o lie t h a t w ay th o u g o 'st, n o t w h e n c e t h o u c o m 's t.

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S upp ose the sin ging birds m u sicia ns, T h e g rass w h e r e o n th o u tread 's t th e p re s e n c e strew 'd , T h e flo w er s fair ladies, and th y steps no m o r e T h a n a d elightful m e a s u r e or a dance; F o r gn arlin g s o r r o w h a t h less p o w e r to bite T h e m an th a t m o c k s at it and sets it light.

Superficially this m ay be m a tu re r v erse than the couplets quoted, but it is just as form al, just as mindful of p ropriety and as unm indful of n atu re as Richard and his queen taking leave. R ichard's sudden sta rt into action w hen attacked by his m u r­ d erers is exceptional, serving to set off by co n tra st the lack of action th at has prevailed and to link the play w ith the n ext of the series. His groo m , w ho appears in the sam e scene, is a realistic ch a ra cte r alien to the rest of the play and serves the sam e function as R ichard in action. Thirdly, th ere is an elaboration and a form ality in the cosm ic referen ces, scarcely to be m atched in Shakespeare. T h ese are usually brief and incidental, show ing indeed how intim ate a p art they w ere of the things accepted and fam iliar in Shakespeare's mind. But in Richard II they are positively paraded. The g re a t speech of Richard in P o m fret C astle is a tissue of them : first the peopling of his prison room w ith his th o u g h ts, making its m icro ­ c o s m c o r r e s p o n d w ith th e o r d e r s of t h e body p o litic ; t h e n th e doctrin e of the universe as a musical h arm o n y; then the fan tasy of his ow n griefs arran ged in a p attern like the w orking of a clock, symbol of regu larity opposed to discord; and finally m ad ­ ness as the co u n terp art in m an's m ental kingdom of discord o r chaos. T h ro u g h o u t the play the g reat com m onplace of the king on earth duplicating the sun in heaven is exploited w ith a persistence unm atch ed an yw h ere else in Shakespeare. Finally (for I om it m inor referen ces to cosm ic lore) th ere is the scene (Ill.iv) of the g ard en ers, w ith the elaborate com parison of the state to the botanical m icrocosm of the garden. But this is a scene so typical of the w hole trend of the play th at I will speak of it generally and n ot m erely as a n o th er illustration of the traditional corresp on dences. The scene begins w ith a few exquisitely m usical lines of dialogue betw een the queen and tw o ladies. She refines her grief in a vein of high cerem on y and sophistication. She begins

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by asking w h at sp ort th ey can devise in this gard en to drive aw ay care. B u t to ev ery sp o rt proposed th ere is a w itty objection. Lady. M a d a m , we'll tell tales. Queen. O f s o r r o w o r o f jo y? Lady. O f e ith e r, m ad am . Queen. O f n e i t h e r , girl: Fo r if o f joy, bein g a l t o g e t h e r w a n tin g , It d o th r e m e m b e r m e th e m o r e o f s o r ro w ; O r if o f grief, b ein g a l t o g e t h e r had, It adds m o r e s o r r o w to m y w a n t o f joy. Fo r w h a t I ha v e I need n o t to re p e at, And w h a t I w a n t it b o o ts n o t to com plain .

Shakesp eare uses language h ere like a v ery accom plished m u si­ cian doing exercises o v er the w hole com pass of the violin. T h en th e re e n te r a g ard en er and tw o serv an ts: clearly to balance the queen and h er ladies and th ro u g h th at balance to su g gest th a t the g ard en er w ithin the walls of his little plot of land is a king. N oth in g could illu strate b etter the d ifferen t exp ectatio n s of a m od ern and of an Elizabethan audience than th e w ay th ey would take the g ard en er's opening w ord s: G o , bind t h o u up yo n dangling apricocks, W h ic h , like u n ru ly child re n, m ak e th e ir sire S t o o p w i t h o p p re s sio n o f t h e i r prodigal w e ig h t.

T h e first th o u g h t of a m od ern audience is: w h at a ridiculous w ay fo r a g ard en er to talk. Th e first th o u g h t of an Elizabethan w ould have been: w h at is th e sym bolic m eaning of those w ord s, spoken by this king of the gard en , and how does it b ear on the play? And it w ould v ery quickly conclude th a t the ap ricots have g ro w n inflated and overw een in g in the sun of the royal favor; th a t oppression w as used w ith a political as well as a physical m eaning; and th a t the ap ricots th reaten ed , unless re stra in e d , to upset the pro p er relation b etw een p aren t and offsp rin g, to offend again st the g re a t principle of ord er. And the re st of the g ard en er's speech w ould bear o u t this in terp retatio n . G o th o u , and like an e x e c u t i o n e r C u t o f f th e head s o f to o f a s t g r o w in g sprays, T h a t look to o lo fty in o u r c o m m o n w e a l t h .

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All m u s t be ev en in o u r g o v e r n m e n t . Y o u thu s employ'd, I will go ro o t aw ay T h e n o iso m e w eeds, w hich w i t h o u t p ro fit suck T h e soil's fe rtility f r o m w h o le s o m e flow ers.

In fact the scene tu rn s out to be an elaborate political alle­ g ory , w ith the Earl of W iltshire, Bushy, and G reen standing for the noxious w eeds w hich R ichard, the bad gard en er, allowed to flourish and w hich H enry, the new g ard en er, has rooted up. It ends w ith the queen com ing forw ard and joining in the talk. She con firm s the g ard en er's regal and m oral function by calling him "old A dam 's likeness," but cu rses him for his ill new s about R ichard and Bolingbroke. T h e intensively symbolic ch a ra cte r of the scene is confirm ed w hen the g ard en er at the end proposes to plant a bank w ith rue w h ere the queen let fall h er tears, as a m em orial: Ru e , e v en fo r ru th , h e re s h o rtly shall be seen In the r e m e m b r a n c e o f a w eeping qu e e n.

In passing, for it is not m y im m ediate co n cern , let me add th at the g ard en er gives both the p attern and the m oral of the play. T h e p attern is the w eighing of the fo rtu n es of R ichard and Bolingbroke: T h e i r f o r t u n e s b o th are weigh'd. In y o u r lord's scale is n o t h in g but h im s e lf And s o m e fe w v a nitie s th a t m ak e him light; B u t in th e balance o f g r e a t B o lin g b ro k e B esides h im s e lf are all th e English peers, And w ith th a t odds he w e ig h s K in g Richard down.

For the m oral, though he deplores R ichard's inefficiency, the gard en er calls the new s of his fall "black tidings" and he sy m ­ pathizes w ith the queen's so rro w . And he is him self, in his m icrocosm ic gard en, w h at n eith er Richard n or Bolingbroke sep arately is, the au th en tic gard en er-k ing , no u su rp er, and the just rep resser of vices, the m an w ho m akes "all even in our g o v e rn m e n t." The one close Shakespearean analogy w ith this g ard en er is Iden, the unam bitious squire in his K entish gard en, w ho stands for "d eg ree" in 2 Henry VI. But he com es in as an obvious foil to

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the realistic disorder just exhibited in C ade's rebellion. W hy w as it th at in Richard II, w hen he w as so m uch m o re m a tu re , w hen his brilliant realism in King John show ed him capable of m aking his g ard en ers as h um an and as am using as the g raved igg ers in Hamlet, Shakespeare ch ose to p resen t them w ith a d egree of form ality unequalled in any play he w ro te ? It is, in a d ifferen t fo rm , the sam e question as th at w hich w as implied by m y discussion of the o th e r form al o r cerem on ial fe a tu re s of the play: nam ely, w hy did S hakespeare in Richard II m ake the c e r e ­ m onial o r ritual form of w riting, found in differing qu an tities in the Henry VI plays and in Richard III, n ot m erely one of the principal m eans of exp ression but the v ery essen ce of the play? T h ese are the first q u estions w e m u st an sw er if w e are to u n d erstan d the tru e n atu re of Richard II. And h ere let me rep eat th at thou gh Richard him self is a v ery im p ortan t p art of the play's cerem onial co n ten t, th a t co n ten t is larg e r and m o re im ­ p o rta n t than R ichard. W ith th a t cau tion , I will try to explain how the ritual o r cerem on ial elem en t in Richard II differs from th at in the earlier H isto ry Plays, and th ro u g h such an exp lan a­ tion to co n jectu re a new in terp retatio n of th e play. T h e re is no finer instance of cerem onial w riting than the scene of the g h o sts at the end of Richard III. B u t it is su bservien t to a piece of action, to the B attle of B o sw o rth w ith the o v e rth ro w of a ty ra n t and the trium ph of a righ teou s prince. Its d u ty is to m ake th a t action a m a tte r of high, m y sterio u s, religious im port. W e are n ot invited to dwell on the ritual happenings as on a restin g-p lace, to deduce from them the ideas into w hich the mind settles w hen the action of the play is over. But in Richard II, w ith all the em phasis and the point taken out of the action , w e are invited, again and again, to dwell on the sh eer cerem o n y of the variou s situ ation s. T h e main point of the to u rn am en t b etw een B olin g­ broke and M ow b ray is the w ay it is cond u cted; th e point of G aun t's p arting w ith Bolingbroke is the sh eer p ro p riety of the sen tim en ts th ey u tte r; the p o rten ts, put so fittingly into the m o u th of a W elsh m an , are m ore excitin g because th ey are app rop riate than because they precipitate an ev en t; R ichard is e v er m o re co n cern ed w ith h ow he behaves, w ith the fitness of his cond u ct to the occasion, th an w ith w h at he actually does; the g a rd en er m ay foretell the deposition of R ichard y et he is far

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m ore in terestin g as rep resen tin g a static principle of ord er; w hen R ichard is deposed, it is the precise m an n er th at com es b efore all— W ith m ine ow n tears I w ash aw ay m y balm, W ith m ine ow n hands I give aw ay m y cro w n , W ith m ine ow n to n g u e deny m y sacred state, W ith m ine ow n b reath release all d uty's rites.

W e are in fact in a w orld w h ere m eans m a tte r m ore than ends, w h ere it is m ore im p ortan t to keep strictly the rules of an elaborate gam e than eith er to win o r to lose it. N ow though com pared w ith ourselves the Elizabethans put a high value on m eans as against ends they did n ot go to the e x tre m e . It w as in the Middle A ges th at m eans w ere so elabo­ rated , th at the rules of the gam e of life w ere so lavishly and so m inutely set fo rth . Richard II is Shakespeare's picture of th a t life. O f co u rse it would be absurd to su ggest th at Shakespeare pictured the age of Richard II afte r the fashion of a m odern historian. But th ere are signs elsew h ere in Shakespeare of at least a feeling after historical verity; and th ere are special reason s w hy the age of Richard II should have stru ck the im aginations of the Elizabethans. I noted elsew h ere th at at the end of 2 Henry VI C lifford and Y ork , thou gh enem ies, do u tte r som e of the chivalric sen ti­ m en ts proper to medieval w arfare. Such sen tim en ts do not re cu r in 3 Henry VI, w h ere we have instead the full barbarities of W akefield and T o w to n . Shakespeare is probably recording the h istorical fact th at the decencies of the knightly code w en t dow n under the stress of civil carn ag e. B ut the really convincing analogy w ith Richard II is the play of Julius Caesar. T h e re , h ow ever slender Shakespeare's equipm ent as h istorian and h ow ev er m uch of his ow n tim e he slips in, he does succeed in giving his picture of antique R om e, of the dignity of its g o v ern m en t and of the stoic creed of its g reat m en. T .S . Eliot has rightly noted how m uch essential h istory Shakespeare extra cte d from Plu tarch. And if from P lu tarch , w hy not from F ro issart likewise? Till recen tly Shakespeare's debt to B ern ers's tran slation of F roissart's C hronicle has been alm ost passed o ver, but now it is rightly agreed th at it w as considerable. T o recogn ize the debt

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helps one to u n d erstan d the play. F or instance, one of the m inor puzzles of the play is plain if we g ran t S hakespeare's acq u ain t­ ance w ith F ro issart. W hen Y o rk , horrified at R ichard's co n fis­ cating G au n t's p ro p erty the m o m en t he died, goes on to e n u ­ m e rate all R ichard's crim es, he m ention s "th e p rev en tion of poor Bolingbroke about his m a rria g e ." T h ere is n oth in g m o re about this in the play, but th ere is a g reat deal about it in F ro is s a rt— R ichard had b rough t ch arg es against th e exile Bolingbroke w hich induced the F ren ch king to break off Bolingbroke's en g ag em en t w ith the d au g h ter of the D uke of B erry , the king's cousin. If S h akespeare had been full of F ro issart w hen w riting Richard II he could easily have slipped in this isolated referen ce. B u t quite a p art from any tangible signs of im itation it is scarcely co n ­ ceivable th a t Shakespeare should n ot have read so fam ou s a book as B ern ers's F ro issart, o r th at having read it he should n ot h ave been im pressed by the bright p ictures of chivalric life in those pages. N ow am ong Shakespeare's H isto ry Plays Richard II is the only one th a t falls w ithin the period of tim e covered by F ro issart. All the m ore reason w hy on this unique occasion he should heed this g re a t original. N ow thou gh F ro issa rt is g re a tly in terested in m otives, he also w rites w ith an eye u n m atch ed am ong ch ro n iclers for its eag er o b serv ation of e x te rn a l things and w ith a mind sim ilarly u n m atch ed for the high value it placed on th e p rop er disposition of th o se things. In fact he show ed a lively belief in cerem on y and in the p roprieties of h erald ry akin to Elizabethan belief y et a lto g eth er m o re firm ly attach ed to the general schem e of ideas th a t prevailed at the tim e. Shakesp eare's brilliant w it m u st have grasped this; and Richard II m ay be his intuitive rend ering of F ro issart's m edievalism . B u t th ere w ere o th e r reason s w hy the reign of R ichard II should be notable. A .B. Steel, his m o st recen t h istorian , begins his study by noting th at Richard w as the last king of the old m edieval ord er: th e last king ruling by h e re d ita ry rig h t, d irected and u n d is­ p uted , from th e C o n q u e ro r. T h e kings of th e n e x t h un d red and ten y ears . . . w e re essen tially kings de facto n o t deju re, successfu l u su rp ers recog n ised a fte r th e e v e n t, upon co n ­ d itions, by th eir fello w -m ag n ates o r by p arliam en t.

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Shakespeare, deeply in terested in titles as he had show ed him ­ self to be in his early H isto ry Plays, m u st have know n this v ery well; and G au n t's fam ous speech on England can n o t be fully u n derstood w ith ou t this know ledge. He calls England T h i s n u rs e , this t e e m in g w o m b o f royal kings, Fear'd by th e ir breed and fa m o u s by t h e ir b irth , R e n o w n e d fo r th e ir deeds as far fro m h o m e, Fo r C h r i s t i a n service and tru e chivalry , As is th e sep u lch re in s t u b b o r n J e w r y O f the world's r a n so m , blessed M a ry 's son.

R ichard w as no cru sad er, but he w as au th en tic heir of the crusading P lan tagen ets. H en ry w as d ifferen t, a u su rp er; and it is w ith referen ce to this passage th a t w e m u st read the lines in Richard II and Henry IV w hich recou n t his desire and his failure to go to Palestine. T h at h on o r w as reserved for the au th en tic P lan tagen et kings. R ichard then had the full san ctity of medieval kingship and the stro n g pathos of being the last king to possess it. Shakespeare probably realized th a t h ow ev er pow erful the T ud ors w ere and h ow ev er undisputed th eir hold o ver their co u n try 's ch u rch , they had not the sam e san ctity as the medieval kings. He w as th erefo re ready to draw from certain French tre atises, an ti-L an castrian in ton e, th at m ade R ichard a m a rty r and com pared him to C h rist and his accu sers to so m any Pilates giving him o v er to the w ishes of the London mob. Shakespeare's Richard says at his deposition: T h o u g h s o m e o f yo u w ith Pilate w a s h y o u r hands, S h o w in g an o u tw a r d pity; ye t you Pilates H av e h e r e deliver'd m e to m y s o u r c ro ss, And w a t e r c a n n o t w ash away y o u r sin.

Holy and v irtu ou s as the Earl of R ichm ond is in Richard III, he does not pretend to the sam e kingly san ctity as R ichard II. Such san ctity belongs to a m ore antique, m ore exotically ritual w orld; and Shakespeare com posed his play accordingly. N ot only did R ichard in him self hold a position unique am ong English kings, he m aintained a co u rt of excessive splendor. Fro issart w rites as follows in the last pages of his chronicle:

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Richard II T h i s K in g R ich ard reigned king o f E ngland t w e n t y - t w o y e a r in g r e a t p ro s p e rity , holding g r e a t e s t a t e and sig nory . T h e r e w as n e v e r b e f o r e a n y king o f E ngland th a t s p e n t so m u ch in his h o u s e as he did by a h u n d re d t h o u sa n d florin s e v e r y ye a r. Fo r I, S ir J o h n F r o is s a r t , c a n o n and t r e a s u r e r o f C h in a y , k n e w it well, fo r I w as in his c o u r t m o r e th a n a q u a r t e r o f a y e a r t o g e t h e r and he m ade m e good c h e e r . . . . A nd w h e n I d ep arted f r o m him it w as at W in d so r; and at m y d ep artin g th e king s e n t m e by a k n ig h t o f his, S ir J o h n G o l o f e r , a go b le t o f silver and gilt w e ig h in g t w o m a r k of silver and w ith in it a h u n d re d no b les, by th e w h ic h I am as y e t th e b e t t e r and shall be as lo ng as I live; w h e r e f o r e I am b o u n d to pray to G o d f o r his soul and w it h m u ch s o r r o w I w r i t e o f his d eath .

B u t Shakespeare need n ot have gone to F ro issart for such inform ation . In an age th a t w as both passionately adm iring of royal m agnificence and far m o re reten tiv e of trad ition th an o u r ow n , the glories of R ichard's co u rt m u st have persisted as a legend. A n yhow , th a t S hakespeare w as aw are of them is plain from R ichard's address to his ow n likeness in the m irro r: W as this face th e face T h a t e v e r y day u n d e r his h o u se h o ld r o o f Did ke e p te n th o u s a n d m e n ?

T h e legend m u st have persisted of this co u rt's co n tin en tal ele­ gan ce, of the curiosities of its dress, of such a thing as A n n e of B ohem ia introd ucing the cu sto m of riding side-saddle, of R ichard's invention of the h an d kerchief for nasal use. T h en th ere w ere the poets. Shakespeare m u st have associated the beginnings of English p o etry w ith C h au ce r and G ow er; and th ey w ro te m ainly in R ichard's reign. T h ere m u st have been m uch medieval a rt, far m o re than now su rvives, visible in the g re a t h ou ses of Elizabeth's day, illum inated books and ta p e stry ; and it w ould be generally associated w ith the m ost brilliant reign of the Middle A ges. Finally in R ichard's reign th e re w as th e glam o r of a still in tact nobility: a v ery pow erful glam o r in an age still devoted to h eraldry and y et possessing an a risto cra cy w ho, com p ared w ith the g re a t m en of R ichard's day, w ere u p starts.

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All these facts would have a stro n g , if unconscious, effect on Shakespeare's mind and induce him to p resen t the age of Richard in a brilliant yet rem o te and unrealistic m an n er. He w as already m a ster of a certain antique lore and of a certain kind of c e r e ­ monial w riting: it w as n atu ral th at he should use them , but w ith a d ifferen t tu rn , to do this p articular w ork. T h u s he m akes m ore solem n and elaborates the inherited notions of cosm ic c o r re ­ spondences and chivalric procedu re and he m akes his ritual style a cen tral and not peripheral co n cern . H ence th e p orten tou s solem nity of the m oralizing g ard en ers, the pow erful em phasis on the isolated symbol of the ru e -tre e , the elaborate circu m ­ stan ces of the to u rn am en t betw een Bolingbroke and M ow bray, and the unique artifice of Richard's g re a t speeches: speeches which are the tru e ce n te r of the play but cen tral w ith a far w ider referen ce than to the m ere ch a ra c te r of Richard. In speaking of medieval illuminated books and tap estry I do not wish to imply anything too literal: th at Shakespeare had actual exam ples of such things in mind w hen he w ro te Richard II. Bu t it is tru e th at m any passages in this play call them up and th at unconscious m em o ry of them might have given Shakespeare help. Take a passage from one of R ichard's b est-kn ow n speeches. Fo r God's sake, let us sit upon th e gro und And tell sad sto rie s o f th e d eath o f kings: H o w som e have be e n depos'd, s o m e slain in w ar, S o m e h a u n te d by th e g h o s t s th e y hav e depos'd; S o m e poison'd by th e ir wives, s o m e sleeping kill'd; All m u rd er'd : fo r w ith in th e hollo w c ro w n T h a t ro u n d s th e m o r ta l tem ples o f a king K eeps D e a t h his c o u rt , and t h e r e th e antic sits, S c o f fin g his s ta te and g rin n in g at his pomp, A llow ing him a b re a th , a little scene, T o m o n a rc h is e , be fear'd, and kill w ith looks, I nfu sin g him w ith self and vain con ce it, As if this flesh which walls a b o u t o u r life W e re b rass im preg nable, and, h u m o u r'd thu s, C o m e s at th e last and w ith a little pin B o re s t h r o u g h his castle wall, and f are w e ll king!

C ritics have seen a referen ce h ere to the M irror for Magistrates, but C h au cer's Monk's Tale would suit m uch b e tte r. D eath , keep­

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Richard II

ing his co u rt, is a pure m edieval m otive. Still, th ese m otives w ere inherited and need imply n oth in g unusual. B u t D eath the skeleton w atch in g and m ocking the king in his trappings is a clear and co n crete im age th a t rem inds one of the visual a rts, and above all the exq u isiten ess, the v ery rem o te n e ss fro m w h a t could have happened in an actual physical attem p t, of som eon e boring th rou g h the castle wall w ith a little pin precisely re ca p ­ tu res th e technique of m edieval illum ination. B efore the to u rn a ­ m en t Bolingbroke p rays G od: And w ith th y b lessin gs steel m y lance's point T h a t it m ay e n t e r M o w b r a y 's w a x e n coat.

T h at again is just like m edieval illum ination. W hen a w ound is given in medieval a rt th ere is no fusion of thing striking w ith thing strick en ; the blow simply rests in a p re-existin g hole, while any blood th at sp outs o u t had p re-existed just as surely. This is the kind of picture called up by M ow b ray's "w a x e n c o a t." O r take this com p arison . If an yw h ere in Henry IV w e m ight exp ect m edievalism it is in th e description of th e P rince p e r­ form ing the m o st sp ectacu lar of chivalric actions: vaulting o n to his h orse in full arm o r. I saw y o u n g H a rry , w i t h his b e a v e r on, His c u isse s o n his th ig h s , gallantly arm 'd , R ise f r o m t h e g r o u n d like f e a t h e r 'd M e r c u r y , And vaulted w ith s uch ea se in to his seat, As if an angel dropp'd d o w n f r o m th e clouds, T o t u r n and w ind a fiery P e g a su s A nd w itch th e w o rld w it h no b le h o r s e m a n s h ip .

T h ere is n oth in g m edieval h ere. It is a description recalling the a rt of the high R en aissance w ith fused colors and subtle tra n si­ tions. Set beside it G au n t's advice to Bolingbroke about to go into exile: S u p p o s e th e s in ging birds m u sician s, T h e g rass w h e r e o n t h o u tre a d 'st th e p re s e n c e stre w 'd , T h e flo w e r s fair ladies, and t h y step s no m o r e T h a n a d eligh tfu l m e a s u r e o r a dance.

H ere each item is distinct, and th e lines evoke the m incing figu res of a m edieval tap estry in a settin g of birds and flow ers.

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T he case for the essential m edievalism of Richard II is even stro n g e r w hen it is seen th at the co n sp irato rs, w orking as such, do not sh are the cerem onial style used to rep re se n t R ichard and his co u rt. O nce again the usual explanation of such a co n tra st is too n arro w . It has been the habit to co n tra st the "p o e try " of Richard w ith the practical com m on sense of Bolingbroke. But the "p o e try " of R ichard is all p art of a w orld of g orgeou s to u rn am en ts, conventionally m ou rn ful queens, and impossibly sen ten tiou s g ard en ers, while Bolingbroke's com m on sense e x ­ tends to his backers, in particu lar to th a t m ost im p ortan t ch ara cte r, N orth u m b erlan d . W e have in fact the co n tra st not only of tw o ch aracters but of tw o w ays of life. O ne exam ple of the tw o differen t w ays of life has occu rred already: in the co n tra st noted b etw een the m an n ered pleading of the D uchess of Y ork for A u m erle's life and H enry's vigorous resolve im m ediately a fter to punish the co n sp irators. The D uchess and h er family belong to th e old ord er w h ere the m eans, the style, th e em broidery m a tte r m ore than w h at they fu rth e r o r express. H en ry belongs to a new o rd er, w h ere action is quick and leads so m ew h ere. B u t o th e r exam ples are needed to back up w h at to m any read ers will doubtless seem a dangerous and forced th eo ry of the play's significance. First, a new kind of vigor, the vigor of stro n g and sw ift action, en te rs the v erse of the play at II.i.2 2 4 , w hen, a fte r R ichard has seized G aunt's p ro p erty and announced his com ing jou rn ey to Ireland, N o rth ­ um berland, R oss, and W illoughby rem ain behind and h atch their conspiracy. N orth u m b erlan d's last speech especially has a d ifferent vigor from any vigorou s w riting th a t has gone before: from the vigor of the jo u sters' m utual defiance o r Y ork 's m oral indignation at the king's excesses. A fte r en u m eratin g Boling­ broke's su p p orters in B rittan y , he goes on: All t h e s e well furnish'd by th e D u k e o f B ritt a in W ith eight tall ships, t h r e e t h o u sa n d m e n o f w ar, And m ak in g h i t h e r w ith all due exp e d ien ce And s h o r t ly m e a n to to u c h o u r n o r t h e r n sho re: Perhap s th e y had e re this, but th a t t h e y stay T h e first d ep artin g o f th e king fo r Ireland. If th e n w e shall s h ak e o ff o u r slavish yoke, Imp o ut o u r d roopin g c o u n t r y 's b ro k e n w ing,

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Richard II R e d e e m fr o m b r o k e n paw n th e blem ish'd c ro w n , Wipe o f f th e d ust t h a t hides o u r s ce p tre 's gift A nd m a k e high m a j e s t y lo ok like itself, A w a y w i t h m e in p o st to R a v e n s p u r g h .

T h e fo u r lines describing by d ifferen t m etap h o rs how th e land is to be resto red are n ot in a ritual m an n er but in S h akespeare's norm al idiom of Elizabethan exu b eran ce. It is n ot for n oth in g th a t th e n ext scene show s the Q u een exch an gin g elegan t co n ­ ceits about h er so rro w fo r R ichard's absence w ith B u sh y and G reen . B u t the largest co n tra st com es at the beginning of the third act. It begins w ith a v ery fine speech of Bolingbroke recou n tin g to Bushy and G reen all th eir crim es, before th ey are execu ted . It has the full accen t of the w orld of action , w h ere people w an t to g et things and are rou sed to passion in th eir a ttem p ts: Bring fo rth th ese men. B u s h y and G r e e n , I will n o t v e x y o u r souls (S in ce p re s e n t ly y o u r souls m u s t p art y o u r bodies) W ith to o m u ch u r g in g y o u r p e rn icio u s lives, F o r 't w e r e no charity.

T h a t is the beginning, and the speech goes on to things th e m ­ selves n ot to th e w ay th ey are done o r are em broidered. And w h en at the end Bolingbroke re co u n ts his ow n injuries it is w ith plain and u nderstandable passion: M y s e lf a prince by f o r t u n e o f m y b irth , N e a r to th e king in blood, and n e a r in love Till you did m a k e h im m i s in t e r p r e t me, H av e stoop'd m y n e c k u n d e r y o u r inju rie s And sigh'd m y E nglish b r e a t h in fo re ig n clouds, E a tin g th e b i t t e r bread o f b a n i s h m e n t .

T h e scene is followed by R ichard's landing in W ales, his pitiful inability to act, and his w ond erfu l self-d ram atization . As a dis­ play of extern als, as an exaltatio n of m eans o v er ends (here carried to a frivolous excess), it is w ond erfu l; yet it con tain s no lines th at for the w eight of u n affected passion com e n ear B olin g­ broke's single line, Eatin g th e b i t te r bread o f b a n i s h m e n t .

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Th e w orld for w hich Bolingbroke stands, th o u gh it is a usurping w orld, displays a g re a te r sincerity of personal em otion. Thu s Richard 11, although reputed so simple and hom ogeneou s a play, is built on a co n trast. T h e w orld of medieval refin em en t is indeed the main object of p resen tatio n but it is th reaten ed and in the end superseded by the m o re fam iliar w orld of the p resent. In carryin g out his object Shakespeare show s the g re a te st skill in keeping the em phasis sufficiently on R ichard, while hinting th at in Bolingbroke's w orld th ere is th e probability of developm ent. In o th e r w ords he m akes the w orld of Bolingbroke not so m uch defective as em bryonic. It is n ot allowed to com pete w ith R ichard's but it is ready to g row to its p roper fullness in the n ext plays. This is especially tru e of the co n sp ira to rs 'c h a ra c­ ters. H otsp u r, for instance, is faintly d raw n, yet in one place he speaks w ith a h earty abru ptness th a t show s his cre a to r had conceived the w hole ch a ra cte r already. It is w hen H otsp u r first m eets Bolingbroke, n ear B erkeley C astle. N orth u m b erlan d asks him if he has fo rg o tten the D uke of H ereford , and H otsp u r replies: N o, m y good lord, fo r th at is n ot fo rg o t W hich n e'er I did rem em b er: to m y know ledge I n ev er in m y life did look on him.

At the beginning of the sam e scene N orth u m b erlan d 's elaborate com plim ents to Bolingbroke show his politic n a tu re : it is the sam e m an w ho at the beginning of 2 Henry IV lies "cra fty -sick ." Bolingbroke too is co n sisten t w ith his later self, thou gh we are show n only certain elem ents in his ch a ra cte r. W h at m arks ou t the later Bolingbroke and m akes him a ra th e r path etic figure is his bew ilderm ent. For all his political acum en he does n ot know him self com pletely o r his w ay about the w orld. And the reason is th at he has relied in large p art on fo rtu n e. D ov er W ilson rem arked tru ly of him in Richard II th a t thou gh he acts forcibly he appears to be borne upw ard by a p ow er beyond his volition. He is m ade the first m o ver of trouble in th e m a tte r of the to u rn am en t and he w an ts to do som eth in g about W oodstock's m u rder. But he has no steady policy and having once set events in m otion is the serv an t of fo rtu n e. As such, he is n ot in con trol of events, thou gh by his ad roitn ess he m ay deal w ith th e u n ­

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predictable as it o ccu rs. N ow a m an w ho, lacking a steady policy, begins a co u rse of action will be led into tho se "b y -p ath s and indirect crook'd w ay s" of w hich H en ry speaks to his son in 2 Henry IV. Sh akespeare says n oth in g of th em in Richard II, but th ey are yet the inevitable resu lt of H en ry's ch a ra c te r as show n in th a t play. It is w o rth anticipating and saying th at P rince Hal differs from his fath e r in having p erfect know ledge of him self and of the w orld around him . O f all types of m en he is the least subject to the sw ay of fo rtu n e. A n o th e r quality show n only in em b ryo is h u m or. It is nearly ab sen t but th ere is just a tou ch : sufficient to assu re us th a t S h akespeare has it th ere all the tim e in readiness. It o ccu rs in th e scene w h ere A u m erle describes to Richard his p artin g from Bolingbroke. Rich. And say, w h at s to re of p artin g te a rs w ere shed? A um . Faith , n on e fo r m e: ex ce p t th e n o rth -e a s t wind W hich th en blew b itterly ag ain st o u r faces, A w ak'd th e sleeping rh e u m , and so by ch an ce Did g race o u r hollow p artin g w ith a te a r.

Richard II thu s at once possesses a dom in an t th em e and con tain s w ithin itself the elem en ts of those d ifferen t things th a t are to be the th em e of its su ccesso rs. It m u st n ot be th o u g h t, because Shakespeare tre a te d h istory , as described above, in a w ay new to him th at he has lost in te re st in his old th em es. O n the c o n tra ry he is in terested as m uch as e v er in the them e of civil w ar, in the kingly typ e, and in the gen eral fo rtu n es of England. And I will say a little on each of th ese before tryin g to sum up the play's m eaning in the te tra lo g y to w hich it belongs. Richard II does its w ork in proclaim ing the g re a t th em e of the w hole cycle of S hakespeare's H isto ry Plays: the beginning in p ro sp erity , the d istortion of pro sp erity by a crim e, civil w ar, and u ltim ate renew al of pro sp erity . Th e last stage falls outside the play's scope, but the second scene w ith th e D uchess of G lo u ces­ te r's en u m eratio n of Edw ard Ill's seven sons, her acco u n t of G lo u cester's d eath , and h er call for v en g ean ce is a w o rth y exord iu m of the w hole cycle. T h e speeches of the Bishop of C arlisle and of R ichard to N orth u m b erlan d , p arts of w hich

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w ere quoted n ear the beginning of this ch ap ter, are w o rth y sta tem en ts of the disorder th at follows the deposition of the rightful king. In doctrine the play is entirely o rth o d o x. Shake­ speare know s th at R ichard's crim es n ever am ounted to tyran n y and hence th at o u trig h t rebellion against him w as a crim e. He leaves u n certain the question of w ho m u rdered W oodstock and n ever says th at Richard w as personally responsible. Th e king's uncles hold perfectly co rrect opinions. G aunt refuses the D uchess of G lo u cester's req u est for v engean ce, the m a tte r being for God's decision alone. Even on his deathbed, w hen lam enting the state of the realm and calling R ichard the landlord and not the king of England, he n ever preach es rebellion. And he m entions deposition only in the sense th at Richard by his ow n con d u ct is deposing him self. Y ork u tte rs the m ost co rre ct sen tim en ts. Like the Bastard he is for supporting the existing g o v ern m en t. And thou gh he changes allegiance he is n ever for rebellion. As stated above, the g ard en er w as against the deposition of Richard. As well as being a study of m edievalism , Richard takes his place am ong Shakespeare's m any studies of the kingly n atu re. He is a king by unquestioned title and by his extern al graces alone. B u t o th ers have w ritten so well on Richard's ch a ra cte r th at I need say no m ore. Lastly, for political m otives, th ere is the old M orality them e of Respublica. O ne of Shakespeare's debts in Richard II is to Woodstock; and this play is co n stru cted v ery plainly on the M orality p attern , w ith the king's th ree uncles led by W oodstock inducing him to v irtu e, and Tressilian Bushy and G reen to vice. T h ere are traces of this m otive in Shakespeare's play, but with W oodstock dead before the action begins and G au n t dying early in it the balance of good and evil influences is d estroyed . Bushy, G reen , and B agot, h ow ev er, rem ain v ery plainly M orality figures and w ere probably m arked in som e w ay by their d ress as ab stract vices. If Shakespeare really confused Bagot w ith the Earl of W iltshire (according to a co n jectu re of D over W ilson) he need not be following an old play heedlessly: he would in any case look on them all as a gang of bad ch aracters, far m ore im p ortan t as a gang than as individuals, hence not w orth being careful over separately. O nce again, as in the earlier tetralo g y , England herself, and not the p ro tag on ist, is the main con cern . G aun t

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speaks h er praises, the g ard en er in describing his ow n symbolic garden has h er in mind. As p art of the g rea t cycle of English h isto ry covered by Hall's chronicle the ev en ts of the reign of Richard II take their proper place. B u t h ere som eth in g fresh has happened. Th e early tetralo g y had as its co n cern the fo rtu n es of England in th at exciting and in stru ctiv e stre tch of h er h istory . Richard II has this co n cern too, but it also deals w ith England h erself, the n atu re and n ot m erely the fo rtu n es of England. In Richard II it is the old brilliant medieval England of the last P lan tagen et in the au th en tic su ccession ; in Henry IV it will be the England n ot of the Middle A ges but of Shakespeare him self. We can now see how the epic com es in and how Richard II co n trib u tes to an epic effect. T h o se w ork s w hich w e h on o r by the epic title alw ays, am ong o th e r things, exp ress the feelings o r the habits of a large group of m en, o ften of a nation. H ow ever cen trally h u m an , h o w ev er pow erful, a w ork m ay be, w e shall n ot give it the epic title for th ese qualities alone. It is n ot the p artin g of H e cto r and A n d rom ach e o r th e ran som in g of H e cto r's body th a t m ake the Iliad an epic; it is th at the Iliad exp resses a w hole w ay of life. Shak esp eare, it seem s, as well as exploiting the m ost cen tral hum an affairs, as he w as to do in his traged ies, w as also impelled to fulfill th ro u g h the dram a th a t peculiarly epic fu n c­ tion w hich is usually fulfilled th ro u g h the n a rra tiv e . Inspired p artly perhaps by the exam ple of Daniel and certain ly by his ow n genius, he com bined w ith the grim didactic exp osition of the fo rtu n es of England during h er terrible ordeal of civil w ar his epic version of w h at England w as. This new tu rn given to the H isto ry Play is a g re a t strok e of S h akespeare's genius. T h ro u g h it he goes beyond an yth in g in Hall o r Daniel o r even Spenser. Hall and Daniel see English h isto ry in a solem n and m oral light and they are im pressive w riters. Spen ser is a g re a t philosophical poet and epitom izes the eth o s of the Elizabethan age. B u t none of these can tru ly picture England. O f the epic w rite rs Sidney in A rcadia com es n e a re st to doing this. It is indeed only in p atch es th at au th en tic England appears th rou g h m ythical A rcadia, but th a t it can, this d escrip ­ tion of K alander's house in th e second ch ap ter of the book is sufficient p roof:

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T h e h ou se itself w as built of fair and stro n g ston e, not affectin g so m uch any e x tra o rd in a ry kind of fineness as an h on ou rab le rep resen tin g of a firm statelin ess: th e lights, doors and stairs ra th e r directed to th e use of th e g u est th an to th e eye of th e artificer, and y et, as th e one chiefly heeded, so th e o th e r n ot n eglected; each place h and som e w ith o u t cu riosity and hom ely w ith o u t lo ath so m en ess; n ot so dainty as n ot to be trod on n or y et slubbered up w ith good fellow ship; all m o re lasting th an beautiful but th at th e con sid eration of th e exceedin g lastin gn ess m ade the eye believe it w as exceedin gly beautiful.

This exp resses the au th en tic genius of English dom estic a rch i­ te ctu re. O f this g re a t new epic attem p t Richard II is only the prelude. W hat of England it pictures is n ot only antique but partial: the confined w orld of a medieval co u rtly class. In his n ext plays Shakespeare w as to picture (with m uch else) the w hole land, as he knew it, in his ow n day, w ith its m ultifarious layers of society and m an n ers of living.

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Robert Ornstein A Kingdom for a Stage (1 9 7 2 )

The n atu raln ess and sp on tan eity of the B astard's speeches signal Shakespeare's com plete m astery of his poetic medium . Thoroughly at ease now with his blank verse line and able to mimic w ith it the accent and cadence of daily speech, he could have turned his back fo rev er on the form al rh eto ric of the Henry VI plays and the d eclam atory style of Richard III and King John. In­ stead of m oving forw ard to explore the new horizons of his poetic pow ers, he chose to fashion Richard II in a style so richly textu red and conceited as to appear alm ost m an n ered , and so orotu n d and sen ten tio u s th at the dialogue often consists of choric p ro ­ nou n cem en ts. If this choice of poetic style is re tro g ra d e , it is intentionally so, because even as the racy idiom of the Bastard's speeches aims at Elizabethan "co n tem p o ran e o u sn e ss," the c e re ­ m onious form ality of Richard II sum m ons up rem em b ran ce of an antique past. C reatin g th rou g h poetic m an n er the medieval am biance and settin g of his p lay ,1 Shakespeare is less concerned to individualize the voices of his ch aracters than to project in their sen ten ces the collective con sciousn ess of an age which treasu red form ality and o rd er, and w hich found th eir analogical and symbolic expression ev eryw h ere in the universe. M ore than a d ram atic p ro tag on ist, R ichard is also the poetic voice of his era and the quintessential expression of its sensibility. W hen he falls, a w ay of life and a w orld seem to fall w ith him. W h atev er scorn R enaissance hu m an ists professed for the monkish su perstition of the middle ages, Shakespeare's co n ­ tem p oraries treasu red and enjoyed its artistic legacy. The a n ­ cient ballads m oved as severe a critic as Sir Philip Sidney, and the chivalric rom an ces, w hich inspired the sage and serious 45

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S pen ser, had an en orm ou s vogue w ith bourgeois as well as a risto cratic read ers. T o be su re, the winds of ch an ge w ere blowing aw ay the last vestiges of medieval feudalism in the sixteen th cen tu ry . The m anorial system w as in decay; castles and abbeys w ere falling into ruin, and the old a risto cra cy w as losing its p reem in en t place in the life of the nation. B u t the past lived on in the im m em orial cu sto m s of tow n and co u n try , in cen tu ries-old ob serv ances and rituals, and in the p agean tries and jou sts staged by T u d o r m o n arch s, w ho so u gh t to re c re a te the m agnificence of medieval co u rts. B ecause m uch of the e n ­ during ch a ra cte r of the nation w as inscribed in its an cien t trad i­ tions, Elizabethans hoped to find in the past record ed in the C h ronicles and recreated by poets and d ram atists a m irro r for th eir ow n tim es. W h ere the "g re a t d eb ates" o ver the royal succession in the first tetralo g y m erely expose the ironies of political expediency, the speeches of G au n t and Y o rk in Richard II defined fo r S hakespeare's audiences the a risto cra tic and co n ­ servativ e bias of th eir society. H ere w as in carn ate the English re v e ren ce of trad ition and the English conviction th a t tim eh onored righ t descends inviolate from g en eratio n to g en eration . T h u s, while Richard II described for Elizabethans days th a t w ere no m o re, it also reaffirm ed for them the con tin u ity of past and p resen t th a t m ade trad ition so vital a force in English life. T h ere is an artistic pleasure in the evocation of a m edieval eth o s in Richard II, n ot a political nostalgia fo r an earlier tim e. T h e re is no intim ation th at England u n der Richard w as a p re lapsarian paradise, a w orld of o rd er and h arm o n y th a t w as to be d estroyed by a primal sin of disobedience. T h e opening scenes introd uce us to a w orld w hich already know s violent co n ten tio n and m o rtal enm ity, in w hich m en have shed the blood of th eir n e a rest kin and fear th eir fath er's b ro th er's son. D eath in the form of political m u rd er has blighted the gard en of sta te , and serp en ts' ton g u es have hissed th eir tem p tatio n of van ity into the ears of the K ing, w hose extra v a g a n ce th re a te n s to ban k ru pt the realm . B u t if R ichard's co u rt is "h o llow ," as D erek T ra v e rsi su g g e sts,2 it is n ot an ancien regime g row n o versop h isticated and decadent. A lth ou gh n ot cast in the h eroic mold of his a n ce sto rs, Richard is the son and gran d son of w arrio rs; his b aro n s are proud, co u rag eou s m en like G au n t, Y ork , M ow b ray, and

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Bolingbroke, for w hom h on o r is a su p rem e value. Such m en are the tru e rep resen tativ es of the feudal aristo cracy , on which u p starts like Bushy, B agot, and G reen are parasitic grow th s. R ath er than the shuddering d estru ction of a political ord er grow n effete and im potent, Richard II d ram atizes the convulsion of a still vigorous political o rd er w hich tu rn s against the king w ho w anton ly th reaten s its existen ce. Paradoxically, it is the w ould-be p reserv ers of the statu s quo w ho becom e the agents of revolu tion ary ch an ge; it is the defenders of the old regim e w ho becom e the leaders of the new . T hu s, w hen the old ord er gives w ay to the new , th ere is no radical change in the m oral tem p er of English politics. N orth u m b erlan d's m an n er is blunter than B ushy's, but his w ords and g estu res are not m ore sincere o r adm irable. The play acting does n ot end at C o u rt w hen the rebels triu m p h , because they also know how to p retend , how to faw n, and how to stag e-m an ag e political sh o w s.3 T he opening scenes of Richard II, th en , do not establish the h arm o n y o r stability of the m edieval state. W h at they exp ress is the im p ortance of the idea of ord er to the m edieval mind. M ore than an "elab orate g a m e ,"4 the cerem on ies of R ichard's co u rt project the decoru m s th at o rd er his kingdom. C o u rte sy is a suprem e chivalric value, not simply a refin em en t of m an n er; and m an n er of speech co u n ts because it bespeaks breeding, even as the form s of language co u n t because the feudal oath s of allegiance are the foundation upon w hich all h ierarch y rests. In such a w orld, height of nam e has a literal reality, because lowliness m u st hug the g roun d , kneeling in supplication to stated m ajesty. M ow b ray flings him self at R ichard's feet in the opening scene; M ow bray and Bolingbroke kneel to g e th e r before Richard as th eir joust begins, and they m u st sw ear to g e th e r an oath of allegiance before they depart to exile. R ichard is am azed to see N orth u m b erlan d erect before him at Flint C astle, but Bolingbroke is quick to kneel before Y ork and to stoop before R ichard, w ho raises his cousin up to the th ro n e itself. O n th at th ro n e, H enry later w atch es A u m erle, Y o rk , and his wife kneel to him in supplication. T h e clim actic m om en ts of the play are cerem onies of ascension and declension acted out on the heights and depths of the playhouse stage. It is from the gallery th at Richard descends at Flint C astle to the "g ro u n d ," the base co u rt

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w h ere kings g ro w base. It is from the grou n d th a t Bolingbroke ("in God's nam e") ascends the steps to p latform ed m ajesty. Even as the cerem on ies of Richard II d ram atize h ierarch ical d eco ru m s, the p o etry sounds a rh eto ric of ord er in elab orate balances, sy m m etries, and alliteration s, and the dialogue re tu rn s again and again to the fund am en tal sanctities of feudal life: blood, nam e, fam ily, birth, p ossession, hon o r, pride, and co u rag e. T h e th em atic im ages of the first tetralo g y re fe r to the thin gs of this w orld, to sights and sounds of n atu re and h um an activity; th ey allude to the h arv estin g of fields, th e h u n tin g and slau gh ­ terin g of anim als, the fu ry of sto rm s, the sw arm in g of insects. T h e elaborate con ceits of Richard II are m o re im m ediately "philo­ sophical" in th a t they body fo rth the w orld as em blem and idea, as a m etaphysical landscape com posed of the Ptolem aic ele­ m en ts, e a rth , w a te r, air, and fire, each th eoretically in its proper place in the ascending h ierarch ical ord er. If one looks for H ook er's vision of cosm ological o rd er, one can find som eth in g like it in the speeches of Richard II. Y et one m u st w on d er at a play w hich describes an ideal cosm ological schem e in its p oetry and m ocks it in its d ram atic actio n .5 T o find in the g re a t speeches of Richard II an "E lizabeth an W orld P ictu re " and in its plot a depiction of the b ru te realities of p ow er politics is to d isto rt S hakesp eare's sense of the com plex relationship b etw een politi­ cal ideals and political realities. As a m a tte r of fact, the p o etry of Richard II does n ot declare the un iversality of cosm ic h arm o n y ; it speaks instead of the u n iversality of co n ten tion and ch an ge. It su g gests th at if h ierarch y is n atu ral, sovereign place is n eith er fixed n or im m utable. S tars fall and con su m e them selves; rivers o verflo w th eir banks; and clouds dim th e radiance of th e sun. T h e sea endlessly challenges the land, the falcon v e n tu re s into the eagle's space, and the elem en ts them selves are p ro tean in th eir qualities. T h e yielding w a te r can be as forceful as th e rage of blood and the swelling tide of ocean s; it can d row n land and quench fire. Such con ceits do not project S h akespeare's belief in analogical o rd er; th ey exp ress in d ram atic v erse his aw aren ess of m an's will to discover p attern and stability in a u n iverse of d isorder and flux. T h ere w ould be no need for m etaphysical co n cep tions of h ierarch y if ev ery king, baron, and co m m o n e r w ere as he should be. It is precisely because the n a tu re of kings

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is not alw ays regal that the royal office m ust be m ade a religious m y stery and the king an image of divine A u th o rity . If enough m en believe, as G au n t does, th at it is sacrilegious to lift an arm against anointed m ajesty, then, w h atev er gods m ay be, th ere is a divinity th at hedges a king. M edieval theologians used the idea of cosm ological o rd er to relate the im perfection of hum an existen ce to the perfect h a r­ m ony and purposefulness of God's u n iverse. In medieval feudal­ ism the idea of ord er served as a restrain in g influence on politi­ cal am bitions, because it made all au th orities and privileges in terrelated and interdependent. In the absence of institutions w hich could effectively m aintain the statu s quo and equilibrium of pow er, it w as essential th at ev ery m em b er of a feudal society accept his place, acknow ledge th at of his superiors, and respect the righ ts of those beneath him. As Y ork attem p ts to remind R ichard, all feudal au th orities are links of a single chain. All aristo cratic privilege is supported by the sam e m y stery of blood inheritan ce and g uaranteed by the sam e rights of tim e. While the king's place is g re a te r, his right is no d ifferent in kind from th at of his low liest peer. A king could be w eak, e x tra v a g a n t, grasping, and capricious, as Richard w as, and the feudal hierarchy still su rvive, but it could not survive if a king w ere allowed to disregard the righ ts of his subjects. C om ing to Richard II from Richard III and King John, w e m ay think th at its depiction of political conflict is so m ew h at a tte n u ­ ated or lacks im m ediacy and intensity. W e have to keep in mind, h ow ever, th at the earlier H istory Plays deal w ith e x tre m e and m elodram atically conceived political situ ation s— w ith failures of o rd er th at loosed m ere an arch y on the w orld in the rages and plots of M achiavellian con sp irators. B ecause Richard is weak and irresponsible, his kingdom faces a political crisis in the opening scenes of the play, but because of the re stra in ts of tradition, the p ow er stru ggle is oblique, and the challenges masked by protocols. Capable now of artistic nuance and in­ direction, Shakespeare did not have to m ake h istory a study in blacks and w hites, and he had available to him Daniel's poised and analytical accou n t of the politics of R ichard's fall in The Civil Wars. He found in H olinshed, m o reo v er, a relatively sober chronicle of Richard's catastro p h e, one th at is untou ch ed by the

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propagandistic d istortion s th at made M a rg a re t, Suffolk, and Richard III gloating villains. A lthou gh H olinshed roundly co n ­ dem ns Bolingbroke and his follow ers (and all his subjects, for th at m atte r) for their disloyalty to R ichard, he does n ot a tte m p t to vilify them . He does n ot malign Bolingbroke's c h a ra c te r o r m otives; and he passes no judgm ent on Y o rk , w ho failed to su pp ort R ichard as th e King's Lord G o v ern o r, o r on N o rth ­ um berland, w ho played a fairly tre a ch e ro u s role in bringing R ichard into Bolingbroke's hands. O f co u rse, S h akespeare m ight have followed Woodstock in m aking R ichard a crim inal w ho b ro ug h t dow n a just ca ta stro p h e upon him self, or followed the French C hron icles in m aking him a saintly m a rty r crucified by m alicious tra ito rs .b He w as n ot tem p ted , h o w ev er, tow ard th ese e x tre m e , p artisan p ersp ectives, because he saw th a t th ere w ere n eith er h ero es n or villains in the dram a of R ichard's fall, and n eith er simple righ ts n o r simple w ron g s on eith er side. A w are th a t R ichard b etrayed him self even as he w as betrayed , Shakespeare sensed th a t th e re w as a psychological m y stery at the h eart of his behavior, for th o u gh in f a tu a te d w ith h is r o y a lty , R ic h a r d s u r r e n d e r e d it to B o lin g b ro k e

w ith o u t a real stru g gle. He n ever fo u gh t again st th e rebels although th ere w ere m en ready to bear arm s to defend his righ t; he stole aw ay from an arm y prepared to fight for him , and he bid his su p p o rters flee. C ap tu red w ith ou t a stru g g le, he even con sen ted to participate in th e cerem on y of his d egradation . D aniel can think of v ery reasonable m otives for R ichard's a c ts .7 S h ak espeare m ore perceptively co n fro n ts the illogic of his b e­ h avior and the fascinating co n trad iction s of his n a tu re . H ere w as a king n oto rio u s for sensuality and e x tra v a g a n ce , w ho lacked neith er physical cou rage nor political acum en and tenacity. E ngaged in b itter political stru ggles from his earliest days, he w rested co n trol of his realm from pow erful relatives, and while v ery you n g d em o n strated extra o rd in a ry valor and coolness in dispersing th e Jack S traw rebels, even as he proved his m anliness at the last by slaying th ree of his m u rd e re rs .8 N ot surprisingly, S h akespeare is unwilling to p o rtray R ichard as an effem in ate Edw ard II o r as the puppet of his sycoph an ts as in Woodstock. A lth ou gh Y ork and o th ers com plain th a t the King is misled, the R ichard w e see is m anipulated by no one. T h e one tim e he

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appears w ith his co terie, he clearly com m an d s— he decides to farm o u t the realm , to allow blank ch a rte rs, and to seize G aun t's e states. Y ork argu es th at too m any vain ton gues have buzzed in R ichard's ears, but the Richard we see is too self-absorbed to listen to any w ords but his ow n and too shrew d to be easily co rru p ted . N eith er indecisive n or ineffectual, he has lashed out at and m urd ered a pow erful enem y. From the v ery first scene, h ow ev er, it is apparent th at he can n o t m eet the p articu lar ch al­ lenge w hich Bolingbroke rep resen ts, and his fear and h atred of Bolingbroke breeds in R ichard som eth in g v ery like a will to disaster. To see Richard only as a p oet-manque o r a political fan tasist is to see less than half of Shakespeare's p ortrait. W ith a poet's taste for language and an acto r's h u n g er to hold the ce n te r of the stag e, Richard looks forw ard as the play begins to the spectacle of M ow b ray and Bolingbroke "frow n in g brow to b ro w ." But he know s precisely w h at their quarrel is about, and he is not taken in by th eir high sen ten ces and noble p ostu res. He know s th at, thou gh they speak the sam e language of d evo­ tion, one of them m erely flatters him. Because he is willful and arro g an t like L ear, Richard is capable of stupendous folly and, like Lear, has m uch to learn about his n atu re and royal state. But he does not, like L ear, doom him self because in a m om en t of rash an ger he fo rgets w ho loves him , or because he can n ot recognize his enem ies. A w are th at Bolingbroke's am bition soars to a kingly pitch, he intuits also th at Bolingbroke would be his kingdom 's heir. His blindness com es, paradoxically, from too m uch light, from too lucid a recognition of the th re a t w hich he can n ot adm it to him self o r to o th ers. Fully in com m and of his m aterials and fully engaged in his artistic task, Shakespeare triu m p h s in Richard II precisely w here he failed in King John— in the subtle psychological revelation of his p ro tag on ist's n atu re. T h e p ortrayal of Richard is necessarily oblique in the opening scenes, because he strikes the co n v en ­ tional p ostu res dem anded by cerem onial occasions. W e would m ore quickly grasp his ch a ra cte r and m ore quickly fath om the political situation of the opening scene if, as Holinshed rep o rts, Richard g rew furious at Bolingbroke's m ention of the m u rd er of G lo u cester.9 Th e Richard w hom Shakespeare conceives is in-

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capable of m eetin g Bolingbroke's challenge in this direct fashion. A lth ou gh he can tu rn w ith an ger and scorn on th o se w ho re p resen t Bolingbroke, he n ever d ares pit eith er his rag e o r his a u th o rity again st his cousin. He is vain and sophisticated en ou g h , m o reo v er, to enjoy the hidden dram a of the en co u n te r and the m asking of m otives; he takes pleasure in declaration s of im p ar­ tiality and g ratitu d e w hich he edges w ith subtle and m ocking irony. Perhaps Shakespeare dem ands too m uch from his audi­ ence in exp ecting them to follow the oblique exp osition of the first scene, but a perceptive listen er would n ot miss th e cu rious fact th a t the King does n ot wish the issue of treaso n and m u rd er to be pursued. He would n ote also th a t R ichard's p re ­ ten se of negligent indifference and im partiality is n ot v ery co n ­ vincing. For, while R ichard w arn s Bolingbroke th a t he is n ot p repared to think ill of M ow b ray, he licenses M ow b ray to say w h at he will about R ichard's princely cousin, w hom he carefully puts in his place as his "fa th e r's b ro th er's s o n ."10 It is also revealing th a t R ichard u n d ertak es to calm M ow b ray but calls on G au n t to pacify Bolingbroke. M ow b ray will n ot obey the K ing's com m and to th ro w dow n Bolingbroke's g age, but he tu rn s tow ard R ichard and flings him self at his feet in a g e stu re of subm ission, declaring: "M y life thou shalt com m an d , but n ot m y sh am e." T h e obd u rate B olingbroke, in co n tra st, tu rn s tow ard his fath er, unwilling to pick up his gage and unwilling also to m ake M ow bray's g estu re of fealty. He refu ses R ichard's co m ­ m and because he would n ot seem crestfallen in his fa th e r's sight. B ecause he is careless of his ow n rep u tation , R ichard ca n n o t fath om M ow b ray's and Bolingbroke's rag e, and he can n o t quiet it. His clever jests accom plish n oth in g, his royal com m an d s are d isregarded; but he has im m ense skill in cam ouflaging his failure. Ju st as he artfully puts G au n t b etw een him self and Bolingbroke, he artfu lly avoids pressing the m a tte r of his su b jects'ob ed ien ce to his com m an ds: W e w ere n ot born to sue, but to com m an d ; W hich since w e can n o t do to m ake you friend s, Be read y, as y o u r lives shall an sw er it, A t C o v e n try upon Saint L am b ert's day.

(I.i.196-99)

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E very inch a king, he com m ands M ow bray and Bolingbroke to do th at w hich only a m om en t before he forbade. W ith such sleights of hand, a weakling like R ichard can m aintain the sem ­ blance of au th o rity . He can n o t, h ow ev er, settle issues by evading them . Because he has not m et Bolingbroke's challenge, he has m erely postponed the direct co n fro n tatio n w hich m u st ev en ­ tually com e. The first scene of Richard II intim ates the King's shallow ness and w eakness; the second docu m en ts his unscru pu lou sn ess and sets fo rth the m yth of royal au th o rity th at sh ores up his p re ­ tense of m ajesty. U rged by G lou cester's w idow to reven ge his m u rd er, G aun t confesses his obligation to act, but stro n g e r than any familial tie is his conviction th at R ichard's office is sacro san ct. He can n o t lift his arm in an ger again st "G od 's sub­ stitu te I His deputy anointed in His sig h t." Y e t even G aun t's patience has its limits, especially w hen he is tricked by Richard in the third scene into becom ing a p artn er to the banishing of his son. Precisely w hy R ichard chooses to halt the joust betw een Bolingbroke and M ow bray at the v ery last m om en t we do not know , but we recognize the ch aracteristic th eatricality of the g e stu re: here is the w eakling's pleasure in com m anding (and hum iliating) m en stro n g e r than him self. And, thou gh we do not know w h at happens in the council th at precedes the sen ten ces of banishm ent, we recognize the trium ph of C om m od ity in the inequitable term s: ten years of exile (quickly cu t to six) for Bolingbroke; perpetual banishm ent for M o w b ray — the first of the princely favorites to discover the m eaning of co u rtly rew ard in the second tetralo gy . T oo politic to confess his obligation to M ow bray, R ichard n everth eless h esitates to pronou n ce his sen ­ ten ce, and M ow b ray, w ho exp ected b etter, is stunned by this betrayal of his "d e a re r m e rit." Sham eful to the last, R ichard callously dismisses his appeal— "It boots thee not to be co m ­ p assio n ate"— and then seeks to appease G aun t by cu ttin g the term of Bolingbroke's exile. B u t he can n o t, w ith sham solici­ tude, co u rt G aun t's favor any m o re than G aun t can w ith plati­ tudes teach Bolingbroke to think positively about his y ears of exile. As Daniel phrased it, R ichard has "th o u g h t best to lose a friend to rid a fo e ";11 he will soon learn th at he needs friends, and th at his clever w ords have w on him only a secu rity of

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w ord s. He is safe from the th re a t of Bolingbroke only so long as Bolingbroke h on o rs his o ath of exile. W h ere rh eto ric had the pow er in King John to tu rn m en and nations about, arg u m en ts and appeals seem im potent in Richard II. G au n t's and Y ork 's counsel can n o t save R ichard, because he will n ot listen, and R ichard's sen ten ces can n o t reconcile Bolingbroke and M ow bray o r appease G au n t o r m ove N orth u m b erlan d o r affect the silent earls w ho w itn ess his anguish in the deposition scene. O n the o th e r hand, w ord s are of im m ense con seq u en ce in a feudal w orld, w h ere so m uch depends on o ath s, titles, and nam es, and w h ere, for the sake of a nam e, m en will take arm s again st a king, as R ichard learns w hen he attem p ts to erase the nam e of L an caster. He is n ot so foolish as to seize Bolingbroke's inh eritan ce against all trad ition and established right just to g et m on ey for his Irish w ars. He strik es a cow ard 's blow at his living fear, and the depth of th at fear is m om en tarily revealed in the shrill fu ry w ith w hich he tu rn s on the loyal G au n t and in the b ittern ess of his respon se to Y o rk 's defense of H ereford : "R ig h t, you say tru e! As H ereford 's love, so his [G au n t's]; / As th eirs, so m ine; and all be as it is!" (II.i.1 4 5 - 4 6 ). Unable to o u tface B olin g­ broke, R ichard w ould d estro y him in exile. He seeks, as G au n t u n d erstan d s, to kill the nam e of L an caster, but the nam e s u r­ vives and becom es th e rallying point of opposition to the King. It is the nam e of L an caster w hich Bolingbroke says he com es to seek in England, and he m u st find th a t nam e on ev eryo n e's lips before he disbands his arm ies. A fte r the unpredictable tw ists and tu rn s of plot in King John, the unfolding of the d ram atic action in Richard II has a com pelling simplicity and a u th o rity . T h ree g re a t "public" scenes in A cts I and II are enough to chronicle Richard's infatuation w ith disaster. Spacing th ese "public" scenes are tw o brief "p riv a te " m o m en ts: first, w hen G au n t speaks w ith G lo u cester's w idow, and, second, w hen R ichard and his fav orites joke about Bolingbroke's d ep ar­ tu re to exile. In th e fo rm er, G au n t recognizes the th re a t of R ichard's irresponsibility but will not take arm s again st him ; in the latter, R ichard n otes Bolingbroke's co u rtin g of the people but dism isses any fear of his rivalry. Self-indulgent and cap ri­ cious, R ichard seem s to act on the spur of the m o m en t, and y et the p attern of his b ehavior unfolds w ith an inexorable logic,

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because each of the public scenes in w hich he appears is a variation of the one b efore; each is an o th er step tow ard , and a reh earsal for, his fateful en co u n ter w ith Bolingbroke at Flint C astle. In the opening scene and in the to u rn ey scene, M ow bray is Richard's su rro g ate. T h en the dying G aun t bears the b ru n t of R ichard's h atred of Bolingbroke, while Y ork stru ggles to rem ain neu tral and N orthu m b erlan d decides to take Bolingbroke's part. The scene of G aunt's death , too often regarded as simply an occasion for m em orable sen ten ces, is crucial to the political dram a of Richard U, because h ere R ichard com m its the u n p ar­ donable sin against feudal righ t for w hich he m u st pay w ith his crow n and his life. He com es prepared to patron ize his uncle again, only to discover th at the dying G au n t can n ot be cajoled and will no longer be still. C onvinced th at Richard will d estroy England, G aun t does not leave the quarrel to God; he is m ore concerned w ith saving England than w ith saving R ichard, w hom he considers already doom ed. It is the "o rth o d o x " G au n t w ho speaks con tem p tu ou sly of R ichard's failings, w ho first declares him unfit to rule and su ggests th at if R ichard's gran dsire had know n w h at crim es Richard would com m it, he would have deposed Richard before R ichard attained the th ro n e. N ew in­ spired by his love of England, G aun t speaks of it as a "blessed p lot," an o th er Eden, a "dem i-p arad ise," but he does not imagine a divinity hedging a reckless king o r an arm y of angels m u sterin g to defend incom petent m ajesty. His advice to R ichard is abso­ lutely pragm atic: a king m u st use his head to save his head, because he can n ot degrade the land w ith ou t degrading him self. He can n ot lose the affection and loyalty of his people w ith ou t grow ing pale and sickly. W h ere G au n t is willing to risk R ichard's ire by speaking bluntly, Y ork w ould avoid conflict and risk. Know ing th at Richard will n ot listen to good counsel, he urges G aun t to be silent o r at least circum sp ect. Silent him self while R ichard heaps abuse on G au n t, he then offers a timid plea on G aun t's behalf and finds his ton gue only w hen Richard seizes G aun t's estates. Then his w ords sound a dangerou s w arnin g because they in­ tim ate the breaking point of loyalty: "H ow long shall I be pa­ tient? A h, how long / Shall ten d er duty make me su ffer w ro n g ?" (II.i.1 6 3 -6 4 ). York's p atriotism , though as sincere as G au n t's, is

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less ideal and less d isinterested . He does not speak of the m y sti­ cal en tity of England; family, in h eritan ce, and the righ ts of tim e are his them es. H e sees R ichard's law lessness as a m o rtal d an ger to the aristo cratic righ ts w hich g u aran tee his ow n place, for if R ichard can take aw ay H ereford 's inh eritan ce, no title o r e sta te is safe. W h ere G au n t places England above any o th e r cau se, Y o rk instinctively identifies the n ation's w ell-being w ith his ow n, and he attack s R ichard as one w ho, turnin g on his ow n blood, jeopardizes the v ery idea of righ t. A bsolutely frank in exp ressing his disaffection, he w arn s R ichard again st seizing H ereford 's lands: Y ou pluck a th ou san d d an g ers on y o u r head, Y o u lose a th ou san d w ell-disposed h e a rts , A nd prick m y ten d er p atien ce to th o se th o u g h ts W hich h o n o u r and allegiance can n o t think.

(Il.i.205-208) A lth ou gh Y ork could n ot be b lu n ter, Richard will n ot h ear the th re a t in th ese w ord s and foolishly appoints Y o rk to be his Lord G o v ern o r w hile he is in Ireland. Ju st as Y o rk w as too timid to speak o u t w hen G au n t did, so the o th e r barons say nothing while Y o rk p ro te sts R ichard's act. C au tiou s and secretiv e, N orth u m b erlan d will n ot open his dis­ co n ten ted th o u g h ts until the King has gone and only a fte r he had heard Ross and W illoughby speak. T h en his only co n ce rn is to p ro tect his ow n possessions: T h e K ing is n ot him self, but basely led By fla tte re rs ; and w h a t th ey will in form , M erely in h a te , 'g ain st an y of us all, T h a t will th e K ing sev erely p ro se cu te 'G ain st us, o u r lives, o u r child ren , and o u r h eirs.

(Il.i.241-45) T h ese w ords ca rry us dow n from the h eigh ts of G au n t's p a tri­ otism to the plains of self-in terest. Unlike the outsp ok en G au n t, N orth u m b erlan d , W illoughby, and R oss o ffer no counsel to the King, and w ith o u t any stru g gle of conscience take arm s again st him . First th ey blame the fav orites, n ot R ich ard , but as th ey w arm to their subject, th ey speak m ore freely of th eir "m o st

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d egen erate king." Even here th eir plans for reform in g the king­ dom are am biguous: . . . th en w e shall shake off o u r slavish yoke, Imp ou t o u r drooping co u n try 's broken w ing, R ed eem from broking paw n th e blem ish'd cro w n , Wipe off th e d ust th a t hides o u r scep tre's gilt, And m ake high m ajesty look like itself. (Il.i.2 9 1 - 9 5 )

C an high m ajesty look like itself so long as R ichard is king? The question is so d an gerou s th at the w ould-be re fo rm e rs do not pause to consider it. T h ey are co n ten t to speak in figures, though they act sw iftly and directly enough. Y e t they do not appear eith er unscrupulous o r unconscionable; th ey rally to H ereford's cause because it is th eir o w n — in defending his right, they p ro tect theirs. So responsible seem s R ichard for the calam ity th a t befalls him, and so inevitable seem s his tragic fall, th a t one can n ot believe Shakespeare w anted to persuade his audience th at R ichard should have been allowed to con tin u e the rash blaze of riot w hich th reaten ed to d estro y England. A ccording to Tillyard, the d octrin e of Richard II is "en tirely o rth o d o x. Shakespeare know s th at R ichard's crim es n ever am ounted to ty ran n y and hence th at o u trig h t rebellion against him w as a c rim e ."12 Y et in fact Richard w as guilty of the law lessness w hich medieval and R enaissance th eo rists defined as ty ran n y . A ccused of tyran n y by his co n tem p o raries, he is called a "w an to n T ira n t" in Woodstock, w hose au th o r m akes m uch of the co rru p tio n of the law by Richard's rapacious fa v o rite s.13 Shakespeare grasps the m ore im p ortan t issue of R ichard's political law lessness and leaves no doubt th at at his w o rst he w as, as The M irror for Magistrates declares, a m on arch w ho "ruled all by lu s t."14 W hen a king recklessly end an gers the foundations of law and plunders his co u n try , w h at is an honorable subject to do? He can rem ain loyal despite all; he can rebel; o r he can like York try to avoid having to com m it him self in eith er w ay. O ne can sym pathize w ith Y ork 's h esitation because one can see as he does th at Bolingbroke is w ron ged but n ot innocent. W h ere Hall relates th at Bolingbroke cam e back to England only afte r the

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g re a te st m en in the co u n try sued for his re tu rn , S hakespeare has the rep o rt of Bolingbroke's re tu rn com e at the v ery close of the scene in w hich R ichard seizes G au n t's e sta te s. Perh ap s Shakespeare telescopes tim e only to achieve a striking effect: no so o n er does R ichard o v erreach him self, than nem esis in the form of Bolingbroke appears. Y et this handling of ev en ts leaves open the possibility th at Bolingbroke led an arm y to England and then discovered th at Richard had given him a p erfect excu se for rebellion. Daniel m o re explicitly questions the m otives of Bolingbroke, w ho sw ore on landing in England th at he cam e back only to gain his ducal estates. Shunning the easy w isdom of hindsight, he refu ses, h ow ev er, to find Bolingbroke guilty of calculated am bi­ tion. Perh ap s, he su g gests, F o rtu n e conspired w ith Pride and T im e, T o m ake so easie an a scen t to w ro n g , T h a t he w h o had no th o u g h t so hie to clim e (W ith fav ou rin g c o m fo rt still allur'd along) W as w ith occasion th ru s t into th e crim e; Seeing o th e rs w eak en es and his p art so stro n g "A n d w h o is th e re , in such a case th a t will "D o good , and feare, th a t m ay live free w ith ill?15

Like Daniel, S hakespeare sees Bolingbroke as a "m an of d estin y ," o r, ra th e r, as a m an w ho gives him self to his destiny by refu sin g to think about the conseq u en ces of his acts. John Palm er d e­ scribes him as "th a t m o st d an gerou s of all climbing politicians, the m an w ho will go fu rth e r than his rivals because he n ever allows him self to know w h ere he is g o in g ."lb Leading an arm y again st the King, he declares him self obedient to the will of h eaven ; and h eaven o r fo rtu n e plays its p art in even ts. Even as winds and tides delay R ichard's re tu rn from Ireland, p o rte n ts of d isaster dism ay those faithful to him. Had Bolingbroke m et d eterm ined opposition, the height of his am bition would have been m easured by his w illingness to press on. B ecau se th e re is no opposition, and co m m o n ers and nobles flock to him , his re tu rn from exile becom es a triu m p h an t crusad e. D eclaring the hopelessness of resistan ce, the K ing's favorites sca tte r to save them selves. Y o rk , R ichard's Lord G o v ern o r, is determ in ed to do

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"so m e w h a t," but not very m uch in R ichard's behalf. Using his age as an excu se for h esitation , he co n ten ts him self w ith such feeble g estu res as gath erin g ca rts of arm o r, and even before he m eets Bolingbroke his decision to be "n e u te r" is made. M eeting no obstacles, Bolingbroke does n ot have to decide consciously how far he will go. He can allow him self to be carried tow ard g reatn ess on the tide of events. Even w hen he faces R ichard at Flint C astle, he need not scale forbidden heights of pow er because R ichard descends to his ow n abasem en t. Prey to h ysteria as he lands again in England, Richard is incapable of dealing w ith the crisis of the rebellion. O ne m om en t he loses him self in fantasies about the earth w hich he has despoiled. The n ext m om en t he dream s th a t his dazzling radiance will dissolve the clouds of rebellion. This sense of om nipotence quickly fades, h ow ev er, as rep o rts of calam ity, crow ding one upon the o th e r, drag his high th o u gh ts dow n to the earth w hich is th eir resting place. It is not enough to say th at R ichard lu xu riates in his so rro w or finds pleasure in the prosp ect of his degradation. W hen he sub stitu tes the self-pity of imagined m artyrd o m for the fantasy of om n ip oten ce, he su rren d ers to a destiny which has an unim peachable au th o rity because it has been so long dreaded— a destiny w hich seem s unavoidable because his very attem p ts to p rev en t it have only b rough t it into being. He would like to imagine the self-affrigh ted Bolingbroke trem bling at his sunlike radiance, but in fact it is he w ho trem bles at the prospect of the m eetin g, and w ho is prepared b eforetim e to give all— his lands, his nam e, his life— to Bolingbroke. This abject su rren d er is an em otional relief as well as a to rm en t because it ends R ichard's need to p retend and to fear; it resolves the terrible con tradiction b etw een his im perious arro gan ce and his know l­ edge of his w eakness. W h ere Richard, despite the prom ptings of his follow ers, subm its too readily to "d estin y ," his opponents avoid any m en ­ tion of the fu ture. Leading an arm y against sacred m ajesty, Bolingbroke and N orth u m b erlan d discuss n eith er plans nor goals: they ch at about the cou n tryside and the pleasure or com panionship during a jou rn ey. D espite the bland triviality of their co n versatio n , h ow ev er, they obviously u n d erstand each o th er. O u t to rid the nation of sycoph ants, N orth u m b erlan d

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faw ns on Bolingbroke, d eferrin g to him as if he w ere an heir app aren t. Bolingbroke, in tu rn , as H otsp u r will recall, is a v ery king of smiles and co u rte sy w ho graciou sly accep ts p ro ffers services even as he w rites o u t verbal p ro m isso ry n otes th a t will fall due w hen his infant fo rtu n es com e of age. Q uick to kneel b efore Y o rk and suave in his apologies for his action s, B olin g­ broke, like his su p p o rters, assum es the cu sto m a ry p atriotic stan ce of rebels. W h at Y o rk know s to be "g ro ss rebellion and detested treaso n ," Bolingbroke, w ith som e justification, describes as a challenging of law. D eterm in ed to rid the nation of its leeches, he does n ot h esitate to rev en ge him self on th e hated sycop h an ts, w hom he accu ses of misleading the King. Y e t he is deferen tial of Y o rk 's pose of n eu trality and v ery cau tiou s in m oving again st R ichard. H e sw ears devotion w hile he th re a te n s d evastation . He parades his arm y but does n ot hurl it again st the defenseless king, because he know s th a t R ichard is still arm ed w ith the m y stery of the kingship. W hen in his fan tasy R ichard called on his nam e to arm , w e smiled; yet tw e n ty thou san d m en w ere ready to die for R ichard, and if Bolingbroke p roceeds too callously, o r even too obviously, tw ice tw e n ty thou san d m en m ay arm them selves again for R ichard's sake. B efore the m agic p oten cy of R ichard's title, Bolingbroke and his follow ers m u st m ake the an cien t g estu res of fealty; they m u st insist to Y o rk and to R ichard (and to th em selves) th a t th ey com e only for Bolingbroke's inh eritan ce. T h o se w ho su p p ort B olin g­ broke do n ot claim the righ t to put aside oath s of allegiance; on the co n tra ry , th ey declare th a t they have taken solem n o ath s to su pp ort his cause. A lth ou gh Bolingbroke is apprehensive about his m eeting w ith R ichard, the issue is n ever really in doubt. For, despite th eir p ro testatio n s and th eir g estu res of fealty, Bolingbroke's su p p o rters no lon ger think of R ichard as king. N orth u m b erlan d , to be brief, om its R ichard's title; the m ore loyal Y o rk is a s to n ­ ished th a t R ichard "y e t looks" like a king. T he rebels' plans, m o reo v er, reach beyond the m eetin g at Flint C astle; as R ichard gu esses, he m u st re tu rn w ith th em to London w h e th e r he w ishes to o r not. Had R ichard proved him self in this crisis to be as regal as the sun, Bolingbroke m ight possibly have been "th e yielding w a te r." Had he m aintained his au th o rity w ith u n sh ak ­

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able confidence, Bolingbroke m ight have been trapped by his p ro testatio n s of loyalty and forced to settle for his ducal estate. B u t, thou gh R ichard can o u tface the lackey N orth u m b erlan d , his n erve fails at Bolingbroke's approach. Plunging tow ard calam ity, he u tte rs the th o u g h ts th at Bolingbroke can n o t; he unkings him self even while his opponents speak of duty and devotion: W h at m u st th e K ing do n ow ? M u st he sub m it? T h e K ing shall do it. M u st he be depos'd? T h e K ing shall be co n ten ted . M u st he lose T h e nam e of king? A G od's n am e, let it go! I'll give m y jewels fo r a set of beads, M y g o rg eo u s palace for a h erm itag e, M y gay apparel fo r an alm sm an 's go w n , M y figured goblets fo r a dish of w ood, M y scep tre fo r a p alm er's w alking staff, M y sub jects fo r a pair of carved saints, And m y large kingdom for a little g rav e, A little little g rav e, an o b scu re g rave. (III.iii.1 4 3 - 5 4 )

Advised by A um erle to tem porize, R ichard, overw helm ed by a sense of im potence, seeks refu ge in religious fantasies; w hen he m u st prove his kingliness, he p roves unable to com m and his ow n n atu re: he w an to n s w ith his w oes. T h ere is no indication in later scenes th at R ichard recov ers from his failure at Flint C astle. He finds no fortitu de in resig n a­ tion and no stren g th to endure because his ren u n ciation of the w orld is an aesth etic attitu d e self-pityingly stru ck. Y et he does begin to face the b itter tru th about him self th at he has so long know n and denied. T oo intelligent to delude him self, he realized as he landed in England th at his tears w ere futile, his w ords idle, and his conju ration s of earth and h eaven senseless. A less intelli­ gen t m an m ight have clung to the last ta tte re d shreds of his royalty at Flint C astle, but Richard is no m ore deceived by the regal g estu res he m akes than by the kneelings and scrapings of his enem ies. He flings aw ay the p reten se of rule because he is too hum iliated by its feebleness; and although he would escape into fan tasy, he also would confess the reality of his sta te to follow ers w ho have m istook him all the while. He is not the

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sun-king w ho can dissolve the clouds of rebellion; he is a g liste r­ ing P h aeth o n , a m ock -Ph oeb u s w ho could n ot co n trol the co u rsers of the sun. In earlier scenes G au n t, Y o rk , and N o rth ­ um berland served as ch o ru ses to the King's w an to n n ess. N ow th at his princely education has begun, Richard can act as his ow n tragic ch o ru s. A natom izing his follies even w hile he e x ­ poses the sham s of his enem ies, he d iscovers too late w h a t he is and needs, and he cherish es th e ten d er feelings of Y o rk , w ho w eeps for R ichard but supports Bolingbroke. As he falls from pow er, R ichard rises in o u r sym pathies, fo r calam ity m akes him w iser and m o re graciou s, th o u gh less kingly and less capable of rule than before. His days of folly ended, he is in the m igh ty hold of the Bolingbroke he tried to beggar. O n ce he alone betrayed his responsibilities; now he is s u r­ rounded by m en w ho have b etrayed their o ath s of allegiance but w ho con tinu e th eir sham of obedience. W h ere R ichard callously dismissed the loyal M ow bray, Bolingbroke facilely wipes the blood of Bushy and G reen from his hands. W h ere Richard m ade a m ockery of his princely obligations, his enem ies th ro w aw ay resp ect, fo rm , and cerem on iou s duty. T o p reserve ancient righ t, th ey violate the sacred bond betw een subject and king, and w ould then judge the K ing guilty of all the disorder in the land. A t his deposition R ichard will be asked to confess his political crim es. T h e G arden scen e, w hich com es before, o ffers a m ore com p assionate jud gm en t in w hich the G ard en er's indictm ent of R ichard's failures is co u n tered by the Q u een 's loving d e v o tio n .17 Isabella speaks of R ichard's d egradation as a second fall of m an. O ne scene later, R ichard com p ares him self to C h rist, and a fte r the deposition, Y ork speaks of R ichard's e n try into London as if it w ere a second jou rn ey to C alv ary . H ow shall w e in te rp re t th ese religious allusions? W e m ight say th at S hakespeare "b alan ces" the English view of R ichard's law lessness w ith the Fren ch view of his C hristlike m arty rd o m , excep t th a t R ichard's capriciousness and narcissism are n oth in g like A dam 's innocence or C h rist's selflessness. Like C h rist, h ow ev er, R ichard stands for sacrifice. Like C h rist's, his trial is a sham of justice th a t deposes a m ock ery king. He has a Judaslike B ag ot to accuse him and for judges a h ost of "P ilates" w ho w ash th eir hands of any

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com plicity in the degradation of a king by listening to Richard's "w illing" abdication. York's an n ou n cem ent th at Richard "w ith willing soul" adopts Bolingbroke as his heir is the cue for the ritual dram a of the deposition to begin. Called fo rth to su rren d er his tired m ajesty in open view , Richard refu ses, h ow ever, to play the role as it w as cast, because thou gh dazed and defeated, he will not, like the pliant B agot, speak freely of his guilt. O u trag ed by the prospect of a public hum iliation, he decides to expose the sham of his willing abdication and to change his part from defendant to p ro secu tor. Y et he can n ot alter the script v ery m uch; n or can he escape the dam ning exp osu re of him self. We do not know w h at private reason s he had for agreeing to abdicate; all we know is th at he con sen ts to the m ockery of his "w illing" abdica­ tion, and th at con sen t is dam ning, for a tru e king w ould have refused to collaborate in his degradation. A lthough it w as prob­ ably not in R ichard's p ow er to save his crow n , he alone could d eterm ine how he w ould lose it— w h at show of legitim acy he would lend to the proceedings against him. He appears at the deposition because he can n ot resist the o pp ortun ity to be once m ore at the cen ter of the political stage, and to make the em otional appeals w hich he know s will be futile. H enry VI could lose a crow n to find him self. Richard is too vain and self-absorbed to experience this kind of spiritual grow th . A lthough he w ould w rap him self in the purple m antle of C h rist, he know s the sham efulness of his conduct. Even as he calls his barons judases, he adm its th at he is the g re a te st tra ito r of all, one w ho b etrays his ro yalty by p retending, h ow ev er badly, th at he is willing to ren ounce it. T o rm en ted by co n trad icto ry im­ pulses, he would cast off the p reten se of m ajesty, and he would also cling to it for a last few m om ents. He can n o t sustain his p art, h ow ever, before the tenacious Bolingbroke; intending to "e x p o se" the fraudulence of the deposition, he ends by co n fess­ ing his incom petence to rule and by acknow ledging Bolingbroke's ro y a lty .18 A purely im partial proceeding would have w eighed Richard's crim es again st those of his revolted follow ers. H ere only the King is found guilty, and he m u st accept the verdict, for if he

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allows m en to consider him a god on earth , he m u st be willing also to serve as their scapegoat. If in p rosp erou s tim es the stre n g th of tw en ty th ou san d loyal m en flourishes in his cheeks, th en he m u st accept as his ow n the guilt of the tw e n ty thou san d m en w ho w ere driven to rebellion by his sham eful con d u ct. If his carelessn ess m u st be th eir affliction, th eir disloyalty m u st be his princely "failu re." T h e M ay or w ho acted as audience to Richard and Buckingham 's p ostu rin g in ro tte n a rm o r w as a pliant h yp ocrite ready to believe an yth in g he w as told about H astin gs' guilt. T he earls w ho stand silent and sham efaced at R ichard's deposition are a n o th er breed. T h ey see w h at th ey w a n t to believe: the ord erly con tin u ation of royal a u th o rity and the p reservatio n of an cient cerem o n y , trad ition , and form . A m ong th e silent w itn esses is Y o rk , w ho later describes to his w ife the sham eful scene of R ichard's re tu rn to London as Bolingbroke's p risoner: N o m an cried "G o d save h im !" No joyful to n g u e gave him his w elco m e h om e. B u t d u st w as th ro w n upon his sacred head; W hich w ith such gen tle so rro w he shook off, His face still com b atin g w ith tears and sm iles (T h e badges of his grief and p atien ce), T h a t had n ot G od fo r som e s tro n g p urpose steel'd T h e h e a rts of m en , th ey m u st p erfo rce h ave m elted And b arb arism itself h ave pitied him . B u t h eaven h ath a hand in th ese ev en ts, T o w h ose high will w e bound o u r calm c o n te n ts . T o B olingbroke are w e sw o rn sub jects n ow , W h ose s ta te and h o n o u r I fo r aye allow .

(V .ii.28-40)

This is no h yp ocrite w ho sen tim en talizes the m an he b etrayed . His h e a rt grieves for the callous m istreatm en t of th e K ing, but he is co n ten t to have R ichard deposed and to a ttrib u te to G od's will the cou rse of ev en ts in w hich he played a significant role. C om ing after the deposition scene, Y ork's description of Richard's "C a lv a ry " m akes the rude jeering populace a la rg e r audience to the preceding sp ectacle.19 W e know now th at the ritual of depo­ sition w as n ot a politic fraud con trived to hoodw ink a gullible com m on s. T h ou san d s played th eir p arts in the hum iliation of

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the King, and thou gh it w as stage-m an aged by Bolingbroke, the ritual expressed the will of a nation. The elegiac ton e of Y ork 's speech m akes ev en ts th a t have just occu rred seem d istant and "rem em b ere d ." No longer the main a cto r in the dram a of h istory , R ichard faces a personal destiny th at is m ore pathetic than tragic. Unable to win the crow n of heaven, he also can n ot accept his fate on e a rth , because w ith ou t a crow n he does not know w h at p art to play o r even w ho he is: I h ave no n am e, no title— N o, n ot th a t n am e w as given m e at th e fo n t— But 'tis usurp'd. A lack th e heavy day, T h a t I h ave w orn so m an y w in ters ou t And know not now w h at nam e to call m yself! O th a t I w ere a m o ck ery king of sno w , S tand ing before th e sun of B olingbroke T o m elt m yself aw ay in w a te r drops!

(IV.i.25 5 -6 2 )

Like the dying F austu s, w hose despairing speeches he echoes, R ichard is torm en ted by a realization of loss and em ptiness, for in giving up his kingship, he finds nothing excep t the n oth in g ­ ness of his existen ce, he sees only shadow s and m ocking images. O nce he talked of the dazzling radiance of his m ajesty; now he know s th at if m en winked at him, it w as only in co n tem p t. No su n-god , not even a glistering P h aeth o n , he sees him self at the deposition as a m ockery king of snow m elting before the b rig h t­ ness of H en ry's regality, and he can find no escape from this sense of his un reality. Lacking, as Isabella sees, the will to resist his fate, he is too shallow in his religious convictions and too accu stom ed to the p resen ce of an audience to bear th e solitude of im prisonm ent. His attem p ts at philosophy and theology are no m ore than facile, and though he tries to avoid the pain of self-realization by spinning out con ceits, he can n o t keep his th o u gh ts from retu rn in g to the dead ce n te r of his nihilism: S om etim es am I king: T h en tre a so n s m ake m e w ish m yself a b eggar, And so I am . T h en cru sh in g p en u ry P ersu ad es m e I w as b e tte r w h en a king;

66

Richard II T h en am I king'd again; and b y-an d -b y Th ink th a t I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, A nd s tra ig h t am n oth in g . B u t w h a te 'e r I be, N o r I, n o r any m an th a t but m an is, W ith n oth in g shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd W ith being n oth in g . (V .v. 3 2 - 4 1 )

O ne last m o m en t of h eroism and R ichard is spared the m ock ery of his existen ce. T h e crisis of R ichard's incom petence ends w ith his deposi­ tion. T h e crisis of H en ry's reign begins as soon as he is e n ­ th ron ed , because he can m ore easily seize the crow n from R ichard th an possess it in peace and safety. H aving m ade the crow n stoop to arm ed m igh t, he can n o t quickly raise it again above the aren a of political co n ten tio n , for he has deposed a m yth of a u th o rity in degrading R ichard. If one king can be set aside, so can an o th er; and if force can d eterm in e w ho w ears the cro w n , th ere is no lon ger any lim itation on the height of am bi­ tion. Y o rk m ay tra n sfe r to H en ry th e em otional loyalty he once felt for R ichard, but o th e r m en will n ot acknow ledge th e new king, and H en ry's a u th o rity can n o t re st on his opp ortun istic alliance w ith the P ercies— an alliance w hich R ichard prophesies will n ot last. T o stre n g th e n his position H en ry m u st, like R ichard before him , m anipulate the form s of judgm ent. W ringing all the political ad van tage he can out of G lo u cester's m u rd er, he stages a h earing b efore the deposition scene in w hich B agot is called fo rth to speak of R ichard's p art in the m u rd er of G lo u cester. T ru e to his kind, B ag ot im plicates A u m erle; o th e r peers, eag er for Bolingbroke's favor, add th eir accu sation s; and, as in the opening scene of the play, gages are flung dow n and ch arg es of tre aso n and m u rd er hurled. T h e situ ation is tightly con trolled , h o w ev er, by Bolingbroke, w ho halts the show a fte r B ag ot has done his p art in accusing Richard and the peers have tripped o v er one a n o th er in their desire to challenge A u m erle. N ow the stage is set for the an n o u n cem en t of R ichard's abdication, and w hen C arlisle tries to in terfere, he is im m ediately a rre ste d by the h en ch m an N orth u m b erlan d , w ho proves th at it is as d an ­ g ero u s to speak h on estly to the new King as to the old.

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By the tim e the deposition scene has ended, th ere is no doubt of H enry's political qualities— he is stro n g , determ in ed , shrew d, and ru thless, n ot particularly attra ctiv e but em inently capable. W h at he is like as a m an is hidden until the fifth act, w here som ethin g of his personal n atu re is revealed. W e discover, alm ost w ith surp rise, th at this silent, skilled politician is a fath er dis­ turbed by the w ayw ard n ess of his son. W e learn too th at he has enough h u m o r to appreciate the com edy of Y ork 's quarrel w ith his wife o ver the judgm ent of A u m erle. Tillyard would have us adm ire the cond u ct and the statem e n ts of Y o rk , w ho supposedly "u tte r s the m ost co rre ct se n tim e n ts."20 A t best, h ow ever, Y ork is an odd specim en of T u d o r o rth o d o x y — very slack in supporting the existin g g o v ern m en t w hen Richard was king and in defending R ichard's righ t as his Lord G overn or. U tterin g the m ost co rre ct sen tim en ts, Y ork w arn ed Bolingbroke not to take too m uch and then helped him take the crow n. R a th er than a stan d ard -b earer of T u d o r royalism , Y ork seem s m ore accu rately described by Palm er as a p rag m atist, a stu rd y , h o n est, w ell-m ean ing m an , p rom p t w ith sensible advice but easily flu stered , sh rew d en ou gh to see w h at's com ing but n ot clever o r reso lu te en ou gh to p rev en t it. He stand s for th e av erag e g en tlem an a m a te u r in public life, as tru e to his friends and as firm in his principles as th e tim es allow . N orm ally he m akes th e best of a bad b u sin ess— which is usually n ot so bad a fte r all, eith er fo r him self o r for the n ation . Such m en are loyal to a g o v e rn m e n t as long as it has legal o r trad ition al sta tu s and th e m ean s to en fo rce it. W ith ev ery ap p earan ce of p rob ity and d ev o tio n — by no m ean s w holly assu m ed — th ey co n triv e to find th em selv es in th e long ru n sturdily sw im m ing w ith th e tid e.21

T ru e enough, and yet this sensible, adaptable cre a tu re is a sto n ­ ishingly adam ant in condem ning his only child. Unlike the callous N orth u m b erlan d , w ho can pursue his ad van tage and ad van ce­ m en t w ith ou t qualm ("m y sins on m y head"), Y ork would be tru e to the feudal values he ch erishes. H aving equivocated his loyalty to Richard, he is determ ined to prove a liegem an to H enry, if n ecessary by sacrificing an Isaac at the altar of loyalty.

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Shakespeare did not en large the role and develop the c h a ra c ­ te r of Y o rk , w ho is a v ery m inor and sk etch y figure in the C h ron icles, simply to m ake him a m outhp iece for pieties o r to add him to the list of trim m ers in the H isto ry Plays. Like M ore's H y th lo d ay e,22 Y o rk lives u n der a political sy stem w hich offers no sa tisfacto ry co u rse for the subject of an a rro g a n t, heedless king. He can o ffer counsel, w hich will be disregard ed. H e can flee th e co u rt and the problem of political action (w hich is Y o rk 's first instin ct), but if he is draw n back against his will into the toils of political crisis, he can only justify to him self the choice th a t he thinks rig h t— o r tell him self, as Y o rk does, th a t he really has no choice at all. W h ere ch a ra cte rs like Blanch and F ran ce in King John debate th eir dilem m as, Y o rk lives his; and w h ere the B astard bru sh es aside his perp lexity, Y o rk finds escape first in "in actio n " and then in co m m itm en t. T o recogn ize Y ork 's in teg rity , h ow ev er, is n ot to agree w ith Bolingbroke th a t he is a "sh eer, im m acu late, and silver fo u n tain " of tru th , and A u m erle a m uddy, defiled stream of treaso n . T h e re can be no simple judgm ent of loyalties in a tim e of ch an ge w hen fidelity to the past becom es treaso n to the p resen t. A lth ou gh com p ared to the p ragm atic and opp ortun istic alliances w hich su p p ort the new regim e, A u m erle's devotion to R ichard seem s p recious, it does n ot m ake the con sp iracy to m u rd er H en ry any less vile. A futile attem p t to call back y esterd ay , the plot doom s R ichard and sacrifices the peace of England. Instead of providing an ideological solution to the problem of political loyalty in Richard II, S hakespeare m akes us aw are of its en orm ou s difficulty. W e realize th a t m en bow to circu m stan ces in bow ing to kings. Since th ere is no altern ativ e to the rule of H enry, it is "rig h t" for A u m erle to kneel before him ; and if H en ry is n ot the righ tfu l h eir to the th ro n e, he is n everth eless the tru e king. Like A u m erle, H en ry m u st bow to n ecessity. T h e barons rebelled to redeem the crow n from "broking p aw n ," but the new king com es to p ow er ow ing debts of g ratitu d e th a t can n o t be paid w ith ou t cheapening his m ajesty. B ecau se his claim to th e th ro n e is questionable, H enry m u st leave no doubt of his au th o rity o r his will to rule. A lthou gh he can forgive his n ot-v ery -d an g ero u s cousin A u m erle, and be g enerou s to C arlisle, w hose co u rag e he adm ires, he m u st hound the o th e r co n sp ira ­

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tors and rebels to their d estru ction . And w h e th e r he w ishes to o r n ot, he m ust be rid of R ichard, because R ichard is his living fear, the excu se for if not the cause of m u rd erou s plots and bloody rebellion. A fte r the peaks of d ram atic inten sity reached in the fou rth act, the plot of Richard II alm ost inevitably descends to an a n ti­ clim ax in the fifth, in w hich S hakespeare's artistic in terest or en ergy apparently w anes. T h e tone of the Y o rk -H e n ry -A u m e rle episode is u n certain , and the rhym ing couplets h ere and in the last scene are astonishingly pedestrian. In V.ii the unnam ed E x to n and his accom plices are th ru st ou t on the stag e, by the p rom p ter's hand, it seem s, not the p layw right's. M ore aw kw ard still— especially for the K ing— is E xto n 's intrusion on the royal council in the concluding scene, w h ere he defies all rules of cerem on y and decorum in his h aste to exhibit the corpse of Richard. N everth eless, the tableau of m ou rn in g th at concludes Richard II has an artistic p ow er and righ tn ess lacking in the de casibus cliches th at em broider the last scene of King Joh n . Like R ichard in the opening scene, H en ry in the closing scene m u st pretend to judge a h en chm an for a crim e in w hich he is com plicit. A t the sam e tim e th at he m akes E xto n his scap egoat, he is h on est enough to adm it th at he needed the poison of E xto n 's act. Bow ed w ith so rro w o v er R ichard's corpse, as the nation will bow w ith so rro w for y ears to com e, he feels the w eight of the kingly cares he took w ith the crow n. Like Richard he has shed a kinsm an's blood; like R ichard he fears rebellious subjects; and like R ichard he banishes the follow er w ho w as his hangm an. W retch ed once because he w as sentenced to exile, H enry now has reason to envy M ow bray's pilgrim age to the Holy Land, and he will die still longing for the clearness he m ight win by leading a C ru sad e against the T u rk.

NOTES 1. See Tillyard's excellen t discussion of th e m edievalism of Richard II. History Plays, pp. 2 4 4 - 5 8 . 2. Shakespeare from Richard II to Henry V (S tan fo rd : S tan fo rd U niv. P ress, 1 9 5 7 ), p. 1 7 . 1 d isagree w ith T ra v e rs e s assu m p tion th a t th e artificial­

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Richard II ity of th e speeches in th e opening scen e of Richard II is an indication of falsity of em o tion o r d ecad ence. T h e artificiality of M o w b ray 's speeches is no g r e a te r, a fte r all, th an th e artificiality of th e G a r­ den er's allegorical sen ten ces in th e la te r G ard en scen e.

3. W h ere T illyard thinks "a g r e a te r sin cerity of p erson al e m o tio n " is th e h allm ark of th e n ew political o rd e r in Richard II (History Plays, p. 2 5 9 ), T ra v e rsi su g g ests th a t fear is a "sign of th e n ew o r d e r ," as in Y o rk 's read in ess " to sacrifice his ow n blood fo r a u su rp e r w h o has only used him as an in s tru m e n t" (p. 4 5 ). It is difficult to think of an o rd e r of w h ich N o rth u m b erlan d is a chief re p re s e n ta tiv e as m o re sin cere in p erson al em o tion th an th e o rd e r rep resen ted by A u m erle, C arlisle, and th e Q u e e n , w h o are d evoted to R ichard. 4. T h e p h rase is T illyard's, w h o , I think, e x a g g e ra te s th e aesth eticism of R ichard's C o u r t: "W e are in fact in a w orld w h e re m ean s m a tte r m o re th an ends, w h e re it is m o re im p o rtan t to keep strictly th e ru les of an elab o rate g am e th an e ith er to win o r to lose it" (p. 2 5 2 ). O n th e c o n tra ry , ju st b en eath th e su rface of c e re m o n y at R ichard's C o u rt is th e grim reality of political con flict con d u cted w ith ru th less purposes and effects. 5. W h ere Tillyard stre ss e s th e cosm ic lore of Richard 11, R ib n er says, "T h e re is a p ath etic iro n y in R ichard's proclaim in g th e c o m m o n ­ places of T u d o r political th e o ry at th e v e ry m o m en t w h en B olin g­ broke is m aking head again st him in spite of th e m " (English History Play, p. 1 6 4 ). 6. It seem s alm o st c ertain th a t S hak esp eare con su lted both La Chronicque de la traison et mort de Richart Deux roy Dengleterre (edited and tran slated by B. W illiam s, English H istorical Society, IV, 1 8 4 6 ) and Jean C re to n 's Histoire du Roy d'Angleterre Richard 11 (edited and tr a n s ­ lated by John W ebb in A rchaeologia, X X , 1 8 2 4 ). T h e n u m b er of verbal ech o es in Richard 11 fro m La Chronicque de la traison is im p res­ sive. Fo r exam p le, th e Chronicque re p o rts th a t L on d o n ers on h earin g of Bolin gb roke's re tu rn fro m exile said, " O u r lives, o u r p o sses­ sions, and all w e h ave are at his se rv ice " (p. 1 8 7 ). In S h ak esp eare's play, R ichard resp on d s to S croop 's re p o rt of B olin gb roke's triu m ­ phal re tu rn to E ngland , " O u r lands, o u r lives, and all are B olin g­ b ro k e's" (III.ii.1 5 1 ). See n o te 19 fo r S h ak esp eare's b o rro w in g s from C re to n . 7. T h e re is no in tim ation in D aniel's poem of R ichard's will to s u r ­ ren d er to B olingbroke. Sensibly advised by his loyal fo llow ers to accep t Bolin gb roke's te rm s at Flint C astle, R ichard is tre a c h e ro u s ly cap tu red by N o rth u m b erlan d in D aniel's p o em — an incident S h ak e­ speare om its from his play. W h en asked to s u rre n d e r his cro w n ,

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R ichard, accord ing to D aniel, first tries to retain th e sh ow of m ajesty, th en resolu tely says he w ould so o n er die th an relinquish th e cro w n , but finally is p ersuaded to give up th e cro w n to save his life (Civil W ars, pp. 1 0 8 - 2 6 ) . 8. A lth o u g h Shak esp eare begins Richard 11 at the sam e point at w hich Hall begins his C h ro n icle, he m u st h ave read H olinshed's acco u n t of th e earlier years of R ichard's reign in w hich R ichard's m anliness and co u rag e w ere m an ifest. It is gen erally assu m ed th a t S hak e­ speare's depiction of th e C ad e rebellion in 2 Henry VI w as based on acco u n ts of th e Jack S tra w uprising, d uring w hich th e youn g R ichard II acted w ith g re a t co u rag e. S h ak esp eare certain ly knew D aniel's appraisal of R ichard: "th o u g h w eake he w as, I H e w as not ill; n or y et so w eake, but th a t I He shew 'd m u ch M artiall valo u r in his place, I A d v en trin g o ft his p erson fo r th e S ta te " (Civil W ars, p. 15 0 ). 9. H olinshed, Chronicles, II, 8 4 5 . 10. See the illum inating discussion o f th e opening scen e of Richard 11 in P alm er, Political Characters, pp. 1 2 4 - 2 8 . 11. Civil W ars, p. 87. D aniel's shrew d insights into th e political im plica­ tions of th e sen ten ces of b an ish m en t probably cued Shak esp eare's m o re oblique p o rtray al of th e sam e ev en ts. 12. History Plays, p. 2 61. 13. A lthough Hall and o th e r C h ro n iclers n ote th a t th e accu satio n s m ade again st R ichard at th e tim e of his deposition strain ed cred u ­ lity, th ey leave no doubt th a t R ichard, w h o w as accused co n tem p o raries of ty ra n n y , did tram p le on legality and In Woodstock, Richard is called "w an to n T ira n t" by John of w h o takes th e m u rd ered W oodstock 's place as d efen d er

by his justice. G au n t, of the

com m on w eal. 14. So evident is R ichard's vicious d isregard of law and his rap acity in The M irror th a t he need n ot be called a ty r a n t: he is ty ran n y personified. 15. Civil W ars, pp. 9 4 - 9 5 . 16. Political Characters, p. 1 3 4 . 17. F o r th e last tim e in th e G ard en scen e, th e m edieval w orld of Richard 11 is p resen ted to view before th e deposition of R ichard u sh ers in th e new regim e. H ere th e political allegory of th e gard en of th e sta te com m ingles w ith th e literary allegory of th e gard en as th e settin g fo r love. T h u s, th e poetic lan gu age of flow ers speaks of political realities even as it c re a te s a m ood of lyric p athos; it defines both R ichard's in co m p eten ce and th e ten d ern ess of the Q u een 's feeling fo r h er "fair ro se ."

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18. In D aniel's ju d g m en t, despite B olin gb roke's noble qualities and cap acity to rule, th e d eposition of R ichard w as a g ra v e e r r o r be­ cau se it led to th e civil w ars of la te r y ears. S h ak esp eare's p ro ­ fo u n d er psychological stu d y of R ich ard 's collapse and failu re of will does n ot allow an au dien ce to reach D aniel's con clu sio n , b e­ cau se th e m an w h o b e tra y s him self th e w ay th a t R ichard does at Flint C astle and at th e d eposition is h ard ly fit to rule. In S h ak e­ sp eare's play, R ichard does n ot learn to o late h ow to be king; he co n fesses to o late his unkingliness. 19. Y o rk 's d escrip tion of R ichard's e n try into L on don is on e of th e m o st strikin g evid en ces of th e influence of C re to n , w h o on one page speaks of th e P ilate role o f th e English in R ichard's fall and of R ichard's and B olin gb roke's e n try into Lon don. T h e L o n d o n ers in C re to n speak of th e ev en t in p recisely Y o rk 's m a n n e r: "A n d th ey m o st d evou tly gave laud and th an k s to o u r L ord fo r it, saying th a t it w as his will, and th a t o th e rw ise he could n ot h ave d o n e" (Archaeologia, X X , 1 7 9 ). 2 0 . History Plays, p. 2 6 1 . 21 . Political Characters, pp. 1 4 2 - 4 3 . 22 . A lth o u g h e a rn e s t m edieval and R en aissan ce m o ralists w ro te books of sage and seriou s advice fo r p rin ces, th e futility o f such co u n sel­ ing is vividly exp ressed by H yth lod aye in th e dialogue of Book O n e of M o re's Utopia.

Ernst H. Kantorowicz The King's Two Bodies (195 7)

T w i n - b o r n w ith g r e a tn e s s , s u b je c t to th e bread th O f e v e r y fool, w h o s e se n se no m o r e can feel B u t his o w n w ring in g. W h a t in fin ite h e a rt's ease M u s t kings n eg lect th a t private m e n enjo y ! . . . W h a t kind o f god a rt th o u , th a t s u ff e r 's t m o re O f m o r ta l griefs th a n do thy w o rs h ip p e rs ?

Such are, in Shakespeare's play, the m editations of King H en ry V on the godhead and m anhood of a k in g .1 The king is "tw in -b o rn " not only w ith g reatn ess but also w ith hum an n a tu re, hence "subject to the breath of every fool." It w as the hum anly tragic aspect of royal "g em in ation " which Shakespeare outlined and n ot the legal capacities w hich English law yers assem bled in the fiction of the King's T w o Bodies. H ow ever, the legal jargon of the "tw o Bodies" scarcely belonged to the arcana of the legal guild alone. T h a t the king "is a C orp o ratio n in him self th at liveth e v e r" was a com m onplace found in a simple dictionary of legal term s such as D r. John C ow ell's Interpreter ( 1 6 0 7 );2 and even at an earlier date the gist of the concept of kingship which Plow den's Reports reflected had passed into the w ritings of Joseph Kitchin (1 5 8 0 )3 and Richard C rom p to n (1 5 9 4 ).4 M o reo v er, related notions w ere carried into public w hen , in 1 6 0 3 , Francis Bacon suggested for the crow n s of England and Scotland, united in Jam es I, the nam e of "G re a t B ritain " as an exp ression of the "p erfect union of bodies, politic as well as n a tu ra l."5 T h at Plow den's Reports w ere widely know n is certain ly d em o n strated by the phrase "T h e case is altered, quoth Plow den," w hich w as used proverbially in England before and afte r 1 6 0 0 .0 The su ggestion th at Shakespeare m ay have 73

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know n a case (Hales v. Petit) rep o rted by Plow den does n ot seem fa r-fe tch e d ,7 and it gains stre n g th on the ground th a t the an on ym ou s play Thomas of Woodstock, of w hich S hakespeare "had his head full of ech o es" and in w hich he m ay even have a cte d ,8 ends in the pun: "fo r I have plodded in Plow den, and can find no la w ."9 Besides, it w ould have been v ery stran g e if S h ak esp eare, w ho m astered the lingo of alm ost ev ery h um an trad e, had been ign o ran t of the co n stitu tio n al and judicial talk w hich w e n t on arou nd him and w hich the jurists of his days applied so lavishly in co u rt. Shakespeare's fam iliarity w ith legal cases of general in te rest can n o t be doubted, and w e have o th e r evidence of his association w ith the stu d en ts at the Inns and his know ledge of co u rt p ro ce d u re .10 A dm ittedly, it would m ake little difference w h e th e r o r n ot S h ak espeare w as fam iliar w ith the subtleties of legal speech. T h e poet's vision of the tw in n a tu re of a king is n ot dependent on co n stitu tio n al su p p ort, since such vision would arise v ery n atu rally from a purely hu m an stra tu m . It th e re fo re m ay appear futile even to pose the question w h e th e r S hakespeare applied any professional idiom of the jurists of his tim e, o r try to d eterm in e the die of Sh akespeare's coinage. It seem s all v ery trivial and irrelevan t, since the im age of the tw inned n a tu re of a king, o r even of m an in gen eral, w as m ost genuinely S h ak e­ speare's ow n and p roper vision. N ev erth eless, should the poet h ave chanced upon the legal definitions of kingship, as probably he could n ot have failed to do w hen con versing w ith his friends at the Inns, it will be easily im agined how apropos the simile of the King's T w o Bodies would have seem ed to him. It w as a n y ­ how the live essen ce of his a rt to reveal the n u m ero u s planes active in any hum an being, to play them off against each o th e r, to con fu se th em , o r to p reserve th eir equilibrium , depending all upon the p attern of life he bore in mind and w ished to cre a te anew . H ow con ven ien t th en to find those ever con ten d in g planes, as it w ere, legalized by th e jurists' royal "ch risto lo g y " and readily served to him ! T h e legal concept of the King's T w o Bodies can n o t, fo r o th e r reaso n s, be sep arated from S hakespeare. For if th a t cu rious im age, w hich from m od ern con stitu tion al th o u gh t has vanished

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all but com pletely, still has a very real and hum an m eaning today, this is largely due to Shakespeare. It is he w ho has eternalized th at m etap hor. He has m ade it not only the sym bol, but indeed the very substance and essence of one of his g re a te st plays: The Tragedy of King Richard II is the traged y of the King's T w o Bodies. Perhaps it is not superfluous to indicate th a t the Shake­ spearean H en ry V, as he bem oans a king's tw ofold e sta te , im­ m ediately associates th at im age w ith King R ichard II. King H enry's soliloquies precede directly th at brief in term ezzo in w hich he conjures the spirit of his fath er's p red ecessor and to the historic essence of w hich p osterity probably ow es th a t m ag ­ nificent e x -v o to know n as the W ilton D ip ty ch .11 N ot to-d ay, O Lord! O ! n ot to -d ay , think n ot upon th e fault M y fa th e r m ade in en com p assing th e cro w n . I R ichard's body h ave in terr'd an ew , And on it have bestow 'd m o re co n trite tears T h an from it issu'd forced drops of blood. (IV .i.312ff.)

M using o ver his own royal fate, o ver the king's tw o -n atu red being, Shakespeare's H enry V is disposed to recall Shakespeare's R ichard II, w h o — at least in the poet's co n cep t— appears as the p rototyp e of th at "kind of god th at su ffers m ore of m ortal griefs than do his w orsh ip p ers." It appears relevant to the general subject of this study, and also oth erw ise w o rth o u r while, to inspect m ore closely the varieties of royal "duplications" w hich Shakespeare has unfolded in the th ree bewildering cen tral scenes of Richard II.12 Th e dupli­ cation s, all one, and all sim ultaneously active, in R ich ard — "T h u s play I in one person m any people" (V .v .3 1 )— are those potentially p resen t in the King, the Fool, and the God. T h ey dissolve, p erfo rce, in the M irror. T h o se th ree p rototyp es of "tw in -b irth " in tersect and overlap and in terfere w ith each o th e r continuously. Y et, it m ay be felt th at the "K in g " dom inates in the scene on the C o ast of W ales (Ill.ii), the "F oo l" at Flint C astle (Ill.iii), and the "G o d " in the W estm in ster scene (IV.i), w ith

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M an's w retch ed n ess as a perpetual com panion and an tith esis at ev ery stag e. M o reo v er, in each one of th o se th re e scenes w e e n co u n ter the sam e cascading: from divine kingship to kin g­ ship's "N a m e ," and from the nam e to the naked m isery of m an. G radually, and only step by step, does the trag ed y p ro p er of the K ing's T w o Bodies develop in the scene on the W elsh co ast. T h e re is as yet no split in R ichard w hen , on his re tu rn from Ireland, he kisses th e soil of his kingdom and ren d ers th a t fam ous, alm ost too o ften q u oted , accou n t of the loftiness of his royal e state. W h at he expounds is, in fact, the indelible ch a ra c te r of the king's body politic, god-like o r angel-like. T h e balm of co n secratio n resists th e p ow er of the elem en ts, the "ro u g h rude se a ," since T h e b reath of w orldly m an ca n n o t depose T h e d ep u ty elected by th e Lord. (III.ii.54f.)

M an's b reath appears to R ichard as som eth in g in con sisten t w ith kingship. C arlisle, in the W estm in ster scen e, will em phasize once m ore th at God's A nointed can n o t be judged "by inferior b re a th " (IV .i.128). It will be R ichard him self w ho "w ith his ow n b re a th " releases at once kingship and subjects (IV .i.2 1 0 ), so th a t finally King H en ry V, a fte r the d estru ction of R ichard's divine kingship, could rightly com plain th a t the king is "su b ject to the b reath of ev ery fo o l."13 W hen the scene (Ill.ii) begins, R ichard is, in the m o st exalted fashion, the "d ep u ty elected by the L o rd " and "G od 's su b stitu te . . . anointed in his sig h t" (I.ii.37f.). Still is he the one th a t in fo rm er days gave "good e a r" to the w ord s of his cro n y , joh n B u ssh y, Speaker of the C om m on s in 1 3 9 7 , w ho, w hen ad d ress­ ing the king, "did n ot a ttrib u te to him titles of h o n o u r, due and accu stom ed, but invented unused term es and such stra n g e n am es, as w ere ra th e r agreeable to the divine m aiestie of G od, than to any earth ly p o te n ta te ."14 He still appears th e one said to h ave asserted th a t the "L aw s are in the King's m o u th , o r so m e ­ tim es in his b re a s t,"15 and to have dem anded th a t "if he looked at an yon e, th a t person had to bend the k n e e ."16 He still is sure of him self, of his dignity, and even of the help of th e celestial h o sts, w hich are at his disposal.

The Historical and Political Dynamics

11

Fo r ev ery m an th at Bolingbroke h ath press'd . . . , God fo r his Richard h ath in h eaven ly pay A glorious angel. (III.ii.60ff.)

This glorious image of kingship "B y the G race of G od" does n ot last. It slowly fades, as the bad tidings trickle in. A curious change in Richard's attitu d e — as it w ere, a m etam orph osis from "R ealism " to "N om in alism "— now takes place. Th e Universal called "K ingship" begins to d isin tegrate; its tran scend en tal "R eality ," its objective tru th and god-like existen ce, so brilliant sh ortly before, pales into a n oth in g, a nomen.17 And the rem ain ­ ing h alf-reality resem bles a state of am nesia o r of sleep. I had fo rg o t m yself, am I n ot king? A w ake th ou cow ard m ajesty! th ou sleepest, Is n ot th e king's nam e tw e n ty th ou san d n am es? A rm , arm , my name! a puny subject strikes A t th y g re a t glory. (Ill.ii. S 3 f f .)

This state of h alf-reality, of royal oblivion and slum ber, ad u m ­ b rates the royal "F oo l" of Flint C astle. And similarly the divine p rototyp e of gem ination, the G od -m an, begins to ann ou n ce its p resen ce, as R ichard alludes to Judas' treaso n : Snakes, in m y h eart-b lo od w arm 'd , th a t sting m y h e a rt! T h ree Judases, each one th rice w o rse th an Judas! (Ill.ii. 1 3 l f .)

It is as thou gh it has dawned upon R ichard th a t his vicariate of the God C h rist m ight imply also a vicariate of the m an Jesus, and th at he, the royal "d epu ty elected by the L o rd ," m ight have to follow his divine M aster also in his hum an hum iliation and take the cross. H ow ever, n eith er the tw in -b orn Fool n or the tw in -b orn God are dom inant in th at scene. O nly th eir nearn ess is fo recast, while to the fore th ere steps the body n atu ral and m ortal of the king: L et's talk of g rav es, of w o rm s and epitaphs. . . . (Ill.ii.145ff.)

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N ot only does the king's m anhood prevail o v er the godhead of the C ro w n , and m o rtality o v er im m ortality; but, w o rse than th a t, kingship itself seem s to have changed its essen ce. Instead of being u naffected "by N onage o r Old A ge and o th e r n atu ral D efects and Im becilities," kingship itself com es to m ean D eath , and nothing but D eath . And the long procession of to rtu re d kings passing in review before R ichard's eyes is p roof of th a t ch an ge: F o r G od's sake let us sit upon th e g ro u n d , And tell sad sto ries of th e d eath of k ings— H ow som e h ave been deposed, som e slain in w ar, Som e h au n ted by th e g h o sts th ey h ave deposed, S om e poisoned by th eir w ives, som e sleeping killed; A ll murdered— fo r w ithin th e hollow cro w n T h a t ro u n d s th e m o rtal tem p les of a king, K eeps D eath his c o u rt, and th e re th e an tic sits Scoffing his s ta te and grin n in g at his pom p, A llow ing him a b reath , a little scen e, T o m o n arch ize, be feared , and kill w ith looks, Infusing him w ith self and vain co n ceit, A s if th e flesh w hich walls ab ou t o u r life, W ere b rass im p regnab le: and h u m o u red th u s, C o m es at th e last, and w ith a little pin B ores th ro u g h his castle w all, and farew ell king! (Ill.ii. 1 5 5 f f .)

T h e king th at "n e v e r dies" h ere has been replaced by the king th a t alw ays dies and su ffers death m ore cruelly th an o th e r m o rtals. G one is the onen ess of the body n atu ral w ith the im m ortal body politic, "th is double Body, to w hich no Body is eq u al." G one also is the fiction of royal p rero gativ es of any kind, and all th at rem ains is the feeble hu m an n atu re of a king: m ock n ot flesh and blood W ith solem n re v e re n ce , th ro w aw ay resp ect, T rad itio n , fo rm , and cerem o n io u s d u ty, F o r you h ave but m istook m e all this w hile: I live w ith bread like yo u , feel w an t, T a s te grief, need frien d s— subjected th u s, H ow can you say to m e, I am a king? (IH.ii. 1 7 l f f .)

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The fiction of the oneness of the double body breaks apart. Godhead and m anhood of the King's T w o Bodies, both clearly outlined w ith a few stro k es, stand in co n tra st to each o th er. A first low is reached. The scene now shifts to Flint C astle. The stru c tu re of the second g re a t scene (Ill.iii) resem bles the first. R ichard's kingship, his body politic, has been hopelessly shaken, it is tru e; but still there rem ains, thou gh hollowed out, the sem blance of kingship. At least this m ight be saved. "Y e t looks he like a king," states Y ork at Flint C astle (Ill.iii.68); and in R ichard's tem p er th ere dom inates, at first, the consciousness of his royal dignity. He had made up his mind beforehand to appear a king at the C astle: A king, w oe's slave, shall kingly w oe obey. (Ill.iii.21 0 )

He acts accordingly; he sn o rts at N orthu m b erlan d w ho has om itted the vassal's and subject's cu sto m ary genuflection be­ fore his liege lord and the deputy of God: W e are am azed , and th u s long have w e stood T o w atch th e fearfu l bending of th y knee, B ecau se w e th o u g h t o u rself th y law ful king: And if w e be, h ow dare th y joints fo rg et T o pay th eir aw ful d u ty to o u r p resen ce? (III.iii.73ff.)

The "cascad es" then begin to fall as they did in the first scene. The celestial hosts are called upon once m o re, this tim e avenging angels and "arm ies of p estilen ce," w hich God is said to m u ste r in his clouds— "on o u r behalf" (III.iii.85f.). Again the "N a m e " of kingship plays its p art: O , th at I w ere as g re a t As is m y grief, o r lesser th an m y name\ (III.iii.136f.) M u st (the king) lose T h e name of king? a G od's name, let it go. (III.iii.145f.)

From the shadow y nam e of kingship th ere leads, once m o re, the path to new d isintegration. No lon ger does Richard im p erson ate

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the m ystic body of his subjects and the nation. It is a lonely m an's m iserable and m o rtal n atu re th a t replaces the king as King: 111 give m y jew els fo r a set of beads: M y g o rg eo u s palace fo r a h erm itag e: M y gay apparel fo r an alm sm an 's g o w n : M y figured goblets fo r a dish of w ood: M y scep tre fo r a p alm er's w alk in g -staff: M y sub jects fo r a pair of carved sain ts, And m y larg e kingdom fo r a little g rav e, A little little g ra v e , an o b scu re g rav e. (III. iii. 1 4 7 f f .)

T h e shiver of those anap horic clauses is followed by a profusion of gru eso m e im ages of H igh -G oth ic macabresse. H ow ever, the second scen e— d ifferen t from the first— does n ot end in those o u tb u rsts of self-pity w hich recall, not a D ance of D e a th , but a dance around one's ow n g rav e. T h ere follow s a sta te of even g re a te r abjectness. T h e new n o te, indicating a ch an ge for the w o rse , is stru ck w hen N orth u m b erlan d dem ands th at the king com e dow n into the base co u rt of the castle to m eet Bolingbroke, and w hen R ichard, w hose personal badge w as the "S u n em ergin g fro m a clou d ," re to rts in a language of confusing b righ tness and t e r ­ rifying puns: D ow n , dow n I com e like glist'rin g P h aeth o n : W an tin g th e m an age of u n ru ly jades. . . . In th e base c o u rt? B ase c o u rt, w h ere kings g ro w base, T o com e at tra ito rs ' calls, and do th em g race. In th e base c o u rt? C o m e d ow n ? D ow n c o u rt! dow n king! F o r n igh t-ow ls shriek w h ere m o u n tin g larks should sing. (IH.iii. 17S f f .)

It has been noticed at d ifferen t tim es how p rom in en t a place is held in Richard II by th e sym bolism of the Sun, and occasionally a passage reads like the description of a R om an Oriens Augusti coin (Ill.ii.3 6 - 5 3 ) .18 Th e Sun im agery, as in terw ov en in R ichard's an sw er, reflects th e "sp len d ou r of the ca ta stro p h e " in a m an n er rem indful of B reugh el's Icarus and L ucifer's fall from the e m ­ p yrean , reflecting also those "sh red s of glow. . . . T h a t round

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the limbs of fallen angels h o v e r." O n the o th e r hand, the "tra ito r's calls" m ay be rem in iscent of the "th re e Ju d ases" in the foregoing scene. In general, h ow ever, biblical im agery is u n ­ im p ortan t at Flint C astle: it is saved for the W estm in ster scene. A t Flint, th ere is a n o th er vision w hich, along w ith foolish P h ae­ tons and Icari, the poet now produces. I talk but idly, and you laugh at m e,

rem ark s R ichard (III.iii.17l), grow ing self-con sciou s and e m b ar­ rassed. T h e sudden aw kw ardness is noticed by N o rth u m b e r­ land, too: S o rro w and grief of h e a rt M akes him speak fondly like a fran tic m an (III.iii.185f.)

Shakespeare, in th at scene, conjures the im age of a n o th e r hum an being, the Fool, w ho is tw o -in -o n e and w hom the poet oth erw ise introduces so often as co u n ter-ty p e of lords and kings. R ichard II plays now the roles of both: fool of his royal self and fool of kingship. T h erew ith , he becom es som ew h at less than m erely "m a n " o r (as on the Beach) "king body n atu ra l." H ow ever, only in th at new role of Fool— a fool playing king, and a king playing fool— is Richard capable of greetin g his victoriou s cousin and of playing to the end, w ith Bolingbroke in genuflection before him, the com edy of his brittle and dubious kingship. Again he escapes into "speaking fondly," th at is, into puns: Fair cou sin , you debase y o u r princely knee, T o m ake th e base e a rth proud w ith kissing it. . . . Up, cou sin , up— y o u r h e a rt is up, I k now T h u s high (touching his own head) at least, alth ou gh y o u r knee be low. (Ill.iii. 1 9 0 f f .)

The jurists had claimed th at the king's body politic is u tterly void of "n atu ral D efects and Im becilities." H ere, h ow ev er, "Im ­ becility" seem s to hold sw ay. And y et, the v ery b ottom has not been reached. Each scene, p rogressively, designates a new low. "K ing body n atu ral" in the first scene, and "K ingly Fool" in the second: w ith those tw o tw in -b orn beings th ere is associated, in

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the h alf-sacram en tal abdication scene, th e tw in -b orn deity as an even low er e state. F or the 'T o o l" m arks the tran sition from "K in g " to "G o d ," and noth in g could be m ore m iserable, it seem s, than the God in the w retch ed n ess of m an. As the third scene (IV.i) opens, th ere prevails again — now for the third tim e— the im age of sacram en tal kingship. O n the Beach of W ales, R ichard him self had been the herald of the loftiness of kingship by righ t divine; at Flint C astle, he had made it his "p ro g ra m " to save at least the face of a king and to justify the "N a m e ," alth ough the title no longer fitted his condition; at W e stm in ster, he is incapable of expounding his kingship h im ­ self. A n o th er p erson will speak for him and in terp ret th e im age of G od-established royalty ; and v ery fittingly, a bishop. Th e Bishop of C arlisle now plays th e logothetes; he co n strain s, once m o re, the rex imago Dei to appear: W h a t s u b je c t can give s e n t e n c e on his king ? And w h o sits h e r e t h a t is n o t R ich ard 's s u b je c t? . . . And shall th e figu re o f G o d 's m a je s t y , His captain , s tew ar d , d e p u ty -e le ct, A n o in te d , c ro w n e d , planted m a n y yea rs, Be ju dged by s u b je c t and i n f e rio r b r e a t h , And he h im s e lf n o t p r e s e n t ? O , fo r f e n d it, G od, T h a t in a C h r i s t i a n clim ate souls re fine d Sho uld s h o w so h e in o u s , black, o b s c e n e a deed!

(IV .i.l2lff.) T h o se are, in good m ediaeval fashion, the featu res of th e vicarius Dei. And it likewise ag rees w ith m ediaeval trad ition th a t the Bishop of C arlisle view s the p resen t again st the background of the Biblical past. T ru e , he leaves it to Richard to d raw the final conclusions and to m ake m an ifest the resem blance of the h u m ­ bled king w ith the hum bled C h rist. Y e t, it is the bishop w h o , as it w ere, p repares the Biblical clim ate by prophesying fu tu re h o rro rs and foretelling England's G olgotha: D iso rd e r, h o r r o r , fe a r, and m u t in y Shall h e r e inhab it, and this land be called T h e field o f G o l g o t h a and dead m e n 's skulls. (IV .i.l4 2 ff .)

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T he bishop, for his bold speech, w as prom ptly a rre ste d ; but into the atm osp h ere prepared by him th ere en ters King Richard. W hen led into W estm in ster Hall, he strikes the sam e chords as the bishop, those of Biblicism. He points to the hostile assem ­ bly, to the lords su rroun d in g Bolingbroke: Did th e y n o t s o m e t im e s cry 'all hail' to m e ? S o Judas did to C h r i s t : B u t He, in tw elve, Found t r u t h in all, b u t one: I in tw e lv e th o u sa n d , no ne. (IV .i.l6 9 ff.)

For the third tim e the nam e of Judas is cited to stigm atize the foes of R ichard. Soon the nam e of Pilate will follow and make the implied parallel unequivocal. But before being delivered up to his judges and his cross, King R ichard has to "u n -k in g" him self. The scene in w hich R ichard "un d oes his kingship" and r e ­ leases his body politic into thin air leaves the sp ectato r b re a th ­ less. It is a scene of sacram en tal solem nity, since the ecclesiasti­ cal ritual of undoing the effects of co n secratio n is no less solemn o r of less w eight than the ritual w hich has built up the sa cra ­ m ental dignity. N ot to m ention the rigid punctilio which was observed at the ousting of a K night of the G a rte r o r the Golden F le ece,19 th ere had been set a fam ous preceden t by Pope C elestine V w ho, in the C astel N uovo at N aples, had "u n d on e" him self by stripping off from his body, w ith his ow n hands, the insignia of the dignity w hich he resign ed — ring, tiara, and p u r­ ple. But w h ereas Pope C elestin e resigned his dignity to his electors, the College of C ardinals, R ichard, the h ered itary king, resigned his office to G od— Deo ius suum resignavit 20 The Shake­ spearean scene in w hich R ichard "un d oes him self w ith h ierophantic solem n ity" has attra cte d the atten tio n of m any a critic, and W alter P ater has called it v ery co rrectly an inverted rite, a rite of degradation and a long agonizing cerem on y in w hich the ord er of co ro n ation is rev e rse d .21 Since none is entitled to lay finger on the A nointed of God and royal b earer of a character indelibilis,22 King R ichard, w hen defrocking him self, appears as his ow n celeb rant:

84

Richard II A m I b o th priest and c le rk ? well t h e n , a m e n .

(IV .i.173)

Bit by bit he deprives his body politic of the sym bols of its dignity and exp oses his poor body n atu ral to the eyes of the sp ectato rs: N o w m a r k m e h o w I will u n do m y se lf: 1 give this h e a v y w e i g h t f r o m o ff m y head , And this un w ield y s ce p tre fr o m m y hand, T h e pride o f kingly s w ay f r o m o u t m y h e a rt ; W ith m in e o w n te a rs I w a s h a w a y m y balm, W ith m in e o w n han d s I give a w a y m y c ro w n , W ith m in e o w n t o n g u e d en y m y sacred sta te , W ith m ine o w n b r e a t h re le ase all d u te o u s o a th s : All pom p and m a je s t y do I f o r e s w e a r . . . . (IV .i.2 0 3 ff.)

Self-deprived of all his fo rm er glories, R ichard seem s to fly back to his old trick of Flint C astle, to the role of Fool, as he ren d ers to his "su cc e sso r" som e double-edged accla m a tio n s.23 This tim e, h ow ev er, the fool's cap is of no avail. R ichard declines to "rav el ou t his w eaved -up follies," w hich his cold-efficient foe N orth u m b erlan d dem ands him to read aloud. N or can he shield him self behind his "N a m e ." This, too, is gone irrevocably: I hav e no n a m e . . . . And k n o w n o t n o w w h a t n a m e to call m yself. (IV .i.2 5 4 ff.)

In a new flash of in ven tiveness, he tries to hide behind a n o th e r screen . Fie cre a te s a new split, a chink for his fo rm e r glory th rou g h w hich to escape and thus to su rvive. O v e r ag ain st his lost o u tw ard kingship he sets an inner kingship, m akes his tru e kingship to retire to inner m an, to soul and mind and "re g a l th o u g h ts": Y o u m ay m y glories and m y s t a te depose, B u t n o t m y g rie fs, still am I king o f tho se. (IV .i.l9 2 f.)

Invisible his kingship, and relegated to w ithin: visible his flesh, and exposed to co n tem p t and derision o r to pity and m o ck e ry —

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th ere rem ains but one parallel to his m iserable self: the derided Son of m an. N ot only N orth u m b erlan d , so R ichard exclaim s, will be found "dam ned in the book of h eav e n ," but o th e rs as well: N ay, all of you, th a t stand and look upon m e, W hilst th a t m y w retch ed n ess doth bait m yself, T h o u g h som e of yo u , w ith Pilate, w ash y o u r hands, Show ing an o u tw ard pity; y et you Pilates H ave h ere delivered m e to m y so u r cro ss, And w a te r can n o t w ash aw ay y o u r sin. (IV .i.237ff.)

It is n ot at random th at Shakespeare introd uces h ere, as a n ti­ type of Richard, the im age of C h rist before Pilate, mocked as King of the Jew s and delivered to the cross. Shakespeare's so u rces, co n tem p o rary w ith the ev en ts, had tran sm itted th at scene in a sim ilar light. A t this h o u r did he (Bolingbroke) rem ind m e of Pilate, w h o caused o u r Lord Jesus C h rist to be scourged at th e stake, and afte rw a rd s had him b ro u g h t b efore th e m u ltitu d e of th e Jew s, saying, "F a ir Sirs, behold y o u r k ing!" w h o replied, "L e t him be cru cified !" T h en P ilate w ashed his hands of it, saying, "1 am in n o cen t of th e ju st b lood." And so he d e­ livered o u r Lord u n to th em . M uch in th e like m an n er did D uke H en ry , w h en he gav e up his rig h tfu l lord to the rabble of L on don, in o rd e r th a t, if th ey should put him to d eath , he m ig h t say, "I am in n o cen t of this d eed ."24

Th e parallel of Bolingbroke-R ichard and P ilate-C h rist reflects a w idespread feeling am ong the an ti-L an castrian groups. Such feeling w as revived, to som e e x te n t, in T u d or tim es. B u t this is not im p ortan t h ere; for S hakespeare, w hen using the biblical com p arison , in teg rates it into the en tire developm ent of R ich ­ ard's m isery, of w hich the nadir has as yet n ot been reached. T h e Son of m an, despite his hum iliation and the m ocking, rem ained the deus absconditus, rem ained the "concealed G od " with regard to inner m an, just as Shakespeare's Richard would tru st for a m om en t's length in his concealed inner kingship. This inner kingship, h ow ev er, dissolved too. For of a sudden Richard realizes th at he, w hen facing his L an castrian Pilate, is not at all

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Richard II

like C h rist, but th a t he him self, R ichard, has his place am ong the Pilates and Judases, because he is no less a tra ito r th an the o th e rs, or is even w orse th an th ey are: he is a tra ito r to his ow n im m ortal body politic and to kingship such as it had been to his day: M ine eyes are full of te a rs , I ca n n o t see. . . . B u t th ey can see a s o rt of tra ito rs h ere. N ay, if I tu rn m ine eyes upon m yself, I find m yself a tra ito r w ith th e re s t: F o r I h ave given h ere m y soul's co n sen t T 'u nd eck th e pom p ou s body of a king. . . . (IV .i.2 4 4 ff.)

T h at is, the king body n atu ral becom es a tra ito r to the king body politic, to the "pom pous body of a k in g ." It is as th o u gh R ichard's self-in dictm en t of treaso n anticipated the ch arg e of 1 6 4 9 , the ch arg e of high treaso n com m itted by the tin g again st the King. This cleavage is n ot yet the clim ax of R ichard's duplications, since the splitting of his person ality will be continued w ith o u t m ercy. O nce m ore does th ere em erg e th at m etap h o r of "S u n kingship." It appears, h o w ev er, in the rev e rse o rd e r, w hen Richard breaks into th at co m parison of singular im agination: O , th a t I w e re a m o ck ery king of sn o w , Standing b efore th e sun of B olin gb roke, T o m elt m yself aw ay in w a te r-d ro p s! (IV .i.2 6 0 ff.)

B u t it is not before th a t new S u n — symbol of divine m ajesty th ro u g h o u t the play— th a t R ichard "m elts him self a w a y ," and to g e th e r w ith his self also the im age of kingship in th e early liturgical sense; it is before his ow n ord in ary face th a t th e re dissolves both his b ankrupt m ajesty and his nam eless m an h ood . T he m irro r scene is the clim ax of th a t traged y of dual p e r­ sonality. Th e looking-glass has the effects of a m agic m irro r, and R ichard him self is th e w izard w ho, com parable to the trapped and co rn ered w izard in the fairy tales, is forced to set his m agic a rt to w ork against him self. Th e physical face w hich the m irro r reflects no lon ger is one w ith R ichard's inner e x p e ri­ en ce, his o u te r ap p earance, no lon ger identical w ith inn er m an.

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"W as this the face?" The treble question and the an sw ers to it reflect once m ore the three main facets of the double n a tu re — King, God (Sun), and Fool: Was this th e face T h a t e v er y day u n d e r his h o u se h o ld r o o f Did keep te n th o u sa n d m e n ? Was this th e face T h a t , like th e sun, did m ak e b e h o ld e rs w in k ? W as this the face, th a t faced so m a n y follies, A nd was at last o u tfac e d by B o lin g b ro k e ? (IV .i.2 8 lff.)

W hen finally, at the "b rittle g lo ry" of his face, R ichard dashes the m irro r to the g rou n d , th ere sh a tte rs n ot only R ichard's past and p resen t, but ev ery aspect of a su p er-w orld . His ca to p tro m ancy had ended. T h e featu res as reflected by the looking-glass b etray th at he is stripped of every possibility of a second or su p er-b od y— of the pom pous body politic of king, of the G od ­ likeness of the Lord's deputy elect, of the follies of the fool, and even of the m ost h um an griefs residing in inner m an. The splintering m irro r m eans, o r is, the breaking ap art of any possi­ ble duality. All those facets are reduced to one: to the banal face and insignificant physis of a m iserable m an, a physis now void of any m etaphysis w h atsoev er. It is both less and m ore than D eath. It is the demise of R ichard, and the rise of a new body n atu ral. Bolingbroke: G o , s om e o f you, c o n v e y him to th e T o w e r . R ichard: O , good! c o n v e y ? c o n v e y o rs are you all, T h a t rise th u s nim bly by a g r e a t king's fall. (IV .i.316f.) Plowden: D e m is e is a word , sig nifying t h a t t h e r e is a S e p a ra tio n of th e tw o Bodies; and t h a t th e Body politic is con veyed o v e r fro m th e B o dy n atu ra l, n o w dead o r re m ov e d fro m th e D ig n ity royal, to a n o t h e r Body n a t u r a l .25

The Tragedy of King Richard II has alw ays been felt to be a political play.2e> The deposition scene, thou gh perform ed scores of tim es

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Richard II

a fte r the first p erfo rm an ce in 1 5 9 5 , w as n ot p rinted , o r n ot allowed to be printed, until a fte r the d eath of Q u een E lizab eth .27 H istorical plays in gen eral a ttra cte d the English people, esp e­ cially in the y ears following the d estru ctio n of the A rm ad a; but Richard II a ttra cte d m ore th an th e usual atten tio n . N ot to speak of o th e r cau ses, the conflict b etw een Elizabeth and E ssex ap­ peared to S hakespeare's co n tem p o raries in the light of the co n ­ flict betw een Richard and Bolingbroke. It is well know n th a t in 1 6 0 1 , on the eve of his unsu ccessfu l rebellion again st the Q u een , the Earl of E ssex ordered a special p erfo rm an ce of Richard II to be played in the Globe T h e a tre b efore his su p p o rters and the people of London. In the co u rse of the state trial again st E ssex th a t p erfo rm an ce w as discussed at som e length by the royal jud ges— am ong them the tw o g re a te s t law yers of th a t age, C oke and B aco n — w ho could n ot fail to recogn ize th e allusions to the p resen t w hich the p erfo rm an ce of th a t play in ten d ed .28 It is likewise well know n th a t Elizabeth looked upon th a t traged y w ith m ost u nfavorable feelings. A t the tim e of E ssex's execu tion she com plained th a t "th is traged y had been played 4 0 tim es in open stre e ts and h o u se s," and she carried h er self-identification w ith the title ch a ra c te r so far as to exclaim : "I am Richard II, know ye n ot th a t ? " 29 Richard II rem ained a political play. It w as suppressed u n der C h arles II in the 1 6 8 0 s. T h e play illustrated perhaps too o v ertly the latest ev en ts of England's rev o lu tio n ary h isto ry , the "D ay of the M arty rd o m of the Blessed King C h arles I" as co m m em o rated in those y ears in the Book of C om m on P ra y e r.30 T h e R e s to ra ­ tion avoided these and o th e r recollections and had no liking for th a t traged y w hich cen tered , n ot only on the con cep t of a C h rist-like m a rty r king, but also on th at m ost u n pleasant idea of a violent sep aration of the King's T w o Bodies. It w ould not be su rprising at all had C h arles I him self th o u g h t of his tragic fate in term s of S hakespeare's Richard II and of the king's tw in -b o rn being. In som e copies of the Eikon Basilike th ere is printed a lam en t, a long poem o th erw ise called M ajesty in M isery, w hich is ascribed to C h arles I and in w hich the u n fo rtu n ate king, if really he w as the poet, quite obviously alluded to the King's T w o Bodies:

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W ith m y o w n p o w e r m y m a je s t y th e y w ound, In the K ing's n a m e th e king h im s e lf u n cro w n e d . So does th e d ust d e s tro y th e d iam o n d .31

NOTES 1. King Henry V, IV .i.254ff. 2. D r. John C ow ell, The Interpreter or Booke Containing the Signification of Words (C am b rid ge, 1 6 0 7 ), s.v. "K in g (R ex)/' also s.v. "P re ro g a tiv e ," w h ere Plow den is actually quoted. See, in g en eral, C h rim es, "D r. John C o w ell," EH R, L X IV (1 9 4 9 ), 4 8 3 . 3. Jo se p h K itc h in , Le Court Leete et Court Baron (L ondon, 1 5 8 0 ), fol. l rv, re f e r r i n g to th e case o f th e D u c h y of L a n c a ste r. 4. R ichard C r o m p t o n , L'Authoritie et Jurisdiction des Courts de la M aiestie de la Roygne (London, 1 5 9 4 ), fol. 1 3 4 r‘v, reprod ucing on th e basis of P lo w den th e t h e o r y ab o u t th e T w o Bodies in c o n n e c t io n w ith the L a n c a s t e r case. 5. See B acon 's Brief Discourse Touching the Happy Union of the Kingdoms of England and Scotland in J. Spedding, Letters and Life of Francis Bacon (London, 1 8 6 1 - 7 4 ) , III, 9 0 ff.; see, fo r th e p rin t of 1 6 0 3 , S .T . Bindoff, "T h e S tu a rts and T h e ir S ty le ," EHR, L X (1 9 4 5 ), 2 0 6 , n. 2, w h o (p. 2 0 7 ) q uotes th e passage. 6. A.P. R o s s it e r, Woodstock (London, 1 9 4 6 ), p. 23 8 . 7. A b o u t S h a k e s p e a re and Plo w d en, see C .H . N o rm a n , " S h a k e s p e a r e and th e L a w ," Times Literary Supplement, J u n e 3 0 , 1 9 5 0 , p. 4 1 2 , w ith t h e additional re m a r k s by S ir D o nald S o m e rv e ll, ibid., July 21, 1 9 5 0 , p. 4 5 3 . 8. J o h n D o v e r W ilson, in his edition of Richard II (below, n. 12), " I n t r o ­ d u c tio n ," p. lxxiv; see p. xlviii ff., fo r S h a k e s p e a r e and Woodstock in gen eral. 9. Woodstock, V .v i.3 4 f., ed. R o ssiter, p. 1 6 9 . 10. S ee, in g e n era l, G e o r g e W. K e e t o n , Shakespeare and His Legal Problems (London, 1 9 3 0 ); also M a x Radin , " T h e M y t h o f M a g n a C a r t a , " H arvard Law Review, L X (1 9 4 7 ), 1 0 8 6 , w h o s t re ss e s v e ry s tro n g ly S h a k e s p e a re 's a sso ciatio n " w it h th e t u r b u l e n t s tu d e n ts at th e I n n s ." 11. V .H . G a lb ra it h , " A N e w Life o f R ich a rd II," History, X X V I (1 9 4 2 ), 2 3 7 ff.; fo r th e a rtistic pro b le m s and fo r a full bibliograp hy, see E rw in P a n o fsk y , Early Netherlandish Painting (C am b ridg e, M ass., 1 9 5 3 ), pp. 1 1 8 and 4 0 4 f., n. 5, and Francis W o rm ald , " T h e W ilton D i p t y c h ," W arburg Journal, X V II (1 9 5 4 ), 1 9 1 - 2 0 3 . 12. T h e a u t h o rit a t iv e edition o f Richard II is by J o h n D o v e r W ilson, in t h e C a m b rid g e W orks of Shakespeare (C am b rid g e , 1 9 3 9 ). M r. W ilson's

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Richard II

"In tro d u c tio n ," pp. v ii-lx x v i, is a m odel of lite ra ry criticism and in form ation . I con fess m y in deb tedn ess to th o se pages on w hich I h ave d raw n m o re freq u en tly th an th e fo o tn o te s m ay su g g est. In th e sam e volum e is a likew ise m o st efficien t discussion by H arold Child, "T h e S ta g e -H isto ry of Richard II," pp. lx xv ii-xcii. T h e politi­ cal asp ects of th e play are tre a te d in a stim u latin g fashion by John Leslie P alm er, Political Characters of Shakespeare (L on d on , 1 9 4 5 ), pp. 1 1 8 ff., from w h ose stu d y, to o , I h ave p rofited m o re th an m y ack n ow led gm en ts m ay sho w . See also K eeto n , op. cit., pp. 1 6 3 ff. W ith reg ard to th e h isto rical R ichard II, th e h isto rian finds him self in a less fo rtu n a te position . T h e h isto ry of this king is in th e m idst of a th o ro u g h rev alu atio n of both so u rces and g en eral co n cep ts, of w hich th e n u m ero u s stud ies of P ro fe ss o r G alb raith and o th e rs b ear w itn ess. A first e ffo rt to sum up th e an alytic studies of th e last decades has been m ade by A n th o n y S teel, Richard II (C a m ­ bridge, 1 9 4 1 ). 13. See also King John, III.iii.147f.: What earthly name to interrogatories Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 14. T h i s is re p o rte d only by H o lin sh e d ; see W .G . B o s w e l l - S t o n e , Shakespeare's Holinshed (L on do n , 1 8 9 6 ), p. 1 3 0 ; W ilson, " I n t r o d u c t i o n ," p. lii. T h e Rotuli Parliarnentorum do n o t r e f e r to th e speech o f Jo h n B u s s h y , in 1 3 9 7 . T o ju dge, h o w e v e r , f r o m th e c u s t o m a r y parlia­ m e n t a r y s e r m o n s , th e sp e a k e r in 1 3 9 7 m a y easily ha v e g o n e far in applying Biblical m e t a p h o r s to th e king; see, e.g., C h r i m e s , Const. Ideas, pp. 16 5 ff. 15. "D ixit e x p re sse , vu ltu a u ste ro et p ro te rv o , quod leges suae e ra n t in ore suo, et aliquotiens in p ecto re su o: Et quod ipse solus p osset m u ta re et co n d ere leges reg n i su i." T his w as one of th e m o st fam ou s of R ichard's so-called "ty ra n n ie s " w ith w h ich he w as ch arged

in 1 3 9 9 ;

see E .C . Lodge and G .A . T h o rn to n , English

Constitutional Documents

1 3 0 7 -1 4 8 5

(C am b rid g e,

1 9 3 5 ),

pp. 2 8 f.

R ichard II, like th e F ren ch king, m erely re fe rre d to a w ell-k n ow n m axim of R om an and C an o n L aw s. C f. C .6 ,2 3 ,1 9 ,1 , fo r th e m axim Omnia iura in scrinio (pectoris) principis, often quoted by th e g lo ssa to rs, e.g ., G los.ord., on D .3 3 ,1 0 ,3 v. usum imperatorem, o r on c .l6 ,C .2 5 ,q .2 , v. In iuris, and q uoted also by T h o m as A quinas (T olo m eo of L u cca), De regimine principum, I I ,c .8 ,IV ,c .l.

The

m axim

b ecam e fam ou s

th ro u g h Pope B on iface VIII; see c .i,V I ,l,2 , ed. Emil F ried b erg , Corpus iuris canonici (Leipzig, 1 8 7 9 - 8 1 ) , 11,937: "L icet R o m an u s P o n tifex, qui iura om nia in scrin io p ecto ris sui c e n s e tu r h ab ere, c o n stitu tio n em con den d o p o ste rio re m , p riorem . . . r e v o c a r e n o s c a tu r . . ." (probably th e place re fe rre d to by R ichard if th e c o r ­

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91

re c t n e s s of the c h a rg es be granted). For th e m e a n in g of th e m ax im (i.e., the legislator should have th e re le v a n t laws p re s e n t to his mind), see F. G illm an, " R o m a n u s p o n tife x iura o m n ia in scrinio pectoris sui c e n s e t u r h a b e re / 7 A K K R , X C I I (1 9 1 2 ), 3 ff.; C V I (1 9 2 6 ), 1 5 6 ff. (also C V III [1 9 2 8 ], 5 3 4 ; C I X [1 9 2 9 ], 2 4 9 f.); also G a i n e s P ost, " T w o N o t e s , 77 Traditio, IX (1 9 5 3 ), 3 1 1 , and " T w o L a w s ,77 Speculum, X IX (1 9 5 4 ), 4 2 5 , n. 35 . S e e also S t e i n w e n t e r , 77N o m o s , 77 pp. 2 5 6 ff.; Erg. Bd., p. 8 5 ; O ld rad u s de P o n te , Consilia, LII, n. i (Venice, 1 5 7 1 ), fol. 1 9 r. T h e m a x im o ccasio nally w as t r a n s f e r r e d also to th e judge (W alter Ullman, The M ediaeval Idea of Law as Represented by Lucas de Penna [London, 1 9 4 6 ], p. 10 7 ) and to th e fisc (G ie rk e, Gen. R., Ill, 3 5 9 , n. 17) as well as to th e council. F o r Rich ard 's o t h e r claim (mutare et condere leges), the papal and imperial d o ctrin e s likewise w e r e r e ­ sponsible; see G r e g o r y VII's Dictatus papae, § VII, ed. C a s p a r (A4G H , Epp. sel., II), p. 2 0 3 ; also Frederick IPs Liber aug., 1 ,3 8 , ed. C e r v o n e , 8 5 , w ith the gloss r e f e r r i n g to C. 1 ,1 7 ,2 ,1 8 . 16. For the g e n u fle c tio n , see Lulogium Historiarum, ed. H ayd en (Rolls S e rie s , 1 8 6 3 ), III, 3 7 8 ; see S te el, Richard 11, p. 2 7 8 . T h e ann alist m e n t io n s it in c o n n e c tio n w ith " F e s tiv al C r o w n i n g s 77 (which th u s w e re c o n tin u e d d uring th e reign o f Richard) and gives an a c co u n t of the king's u n c a n n y d e p o r t m e n t : In diebus solem n ib u s, in quibus u te b a tu r de m o re regalib u s, iu ssit sibi in c a m e ra p arari th ro n u m , in quo p o st p ran d iu m se o s te n ta n s sed ere soleb at usque ad v e s p e ra s , nulli lo q u en s, sed sin g u lo s aspicien s.

E t cu m

aliquem

re sp ic e re t, cu iu scu m q u e g rad u s fu e rit,

o p o rtu it g e n u fle c te re .

17. F o r the body politic as a m ere n am e, see, e.g ., Pollock and M aitland, History, I, 4 9 0 , n. 8: 77le corp oracio n . . . n 'est que un n osm e, que ne poit m y e stre vieu, et n 'est m y s u b sta n ce .77 See also G ierke, G en.R ., Ill, 2 8 1 , fo r c o rp o ra te bodies as nomina iuris, a nomen intel­ lectu al, and th e co n n ectio n s w ith th e philosophic N om inalism . 18. Fo r R ichard's sym bol of th e "R ising S u n ," see Paul R ey h er, "L e sym bole du soleil dans la trag ed ie de R ichard II," Revue de YLnseignement des Langues Vivantes, XL (1 9 2 3 ), 2 5 4 - 6 0 ; fo r fu rth e r literatu re on the sub ject, see W ilson, "In tro d u c tio n ," p. xii, n. 3, and for possible p red ecesso rs using th a t badge, John G ou gh N ichols, "O b ­ serv atio n s on the H eraldic D evices on th e Effigies of R ichard the Second and His Q u e e n ," A rchaeologia, X X IX (1 8 4 2 ), 4 7 f. See for the "S u n of Y o rk " (King Richard 111, L i.2), also H en ry G reen , Shake­ speare and the Emblem Writers (L on don, 1 8 7 0 ), p. 2 2 3 ; and, fo r the Oriens Augusti problem , see m y fo rth co m in g stud y. T h e "su n n e

92

Richard II ary sin g o u t of th e clou ds'' w as actu ally th e b an n er b orn e by the Black P rin ce; R ichard II had a sun shining carried by a w h ite h a rt, w h e re a s his stan d ard w as sprinkled w ith ten suns "in sp len d o r" w ith a w h ite h a rt lodged; see Lord H ow ard de W alden, Banners, Standards, and Badges from a Tudor M anuscript in the College of A rm s (De W alden L ib rary , 1 9 0 4 ), figs. 4, 5, 71. I am g re a tly obliged to M r. M artin D avies, of th e N ation al G allery in L on don, fo r h aving called this M S to m y a tte n tio n .

19. T h e e cclesiastical Forma degradationis w as, on th e w h o le , fa ith fu lly o b se rv e d ; see th e P on tifical o f William D u r a n d u s (ca. 1 2 9 3 - 9 5 ) , III, c. 7, § § 2 1 - 2 4 , ed. M . A n d rieu , Le pontifical romain au moyen-age (Studi e testi, L X X X V I I I , R o m e , 1 9 4 0 ), III, 6 0 7 f. and A ppend ix IV, pp. 6 8 0 f. T h e p e rs o n to be degraded has to appear in full p o n t if i­ cals; th e n th e places o f his c h r i s m a t io n are ru bb ed w it h so m e acid; finally " s e r i a t i m et sig illatim d e t r a h it [episcopus] illi om n ia insignia, sive sacra o r n a m e n t a , q ue in o rd in u m s u s c e p tio n e recepit, et d e m u m e x u it ilium h a b itu clericali. . . ." S e e also S .W . Findlay, Canonical Norms Governing the Deposition and Degradation of Clerics ( W a s h ­ in g to n , 1 9 4 1 ). F o r k n ig h t s , see O t t o C a r tellie ri, A m Hofe der Herzoge von Burgund (Basel, 1 9 2 6 ), p. 6 2 (with n o t e s on p. 2 7 2 ); also D u C a n g e , Glossarium , s.v. " A r m a r e v e r s a t a . " 20. F o r Pope C e l e s t i n e V, see F. B a e t h g e n , Der Engelpapst (Leipzig, 1 9 4 3 ), p. 1 7 5 ; fo r R ich ard , Chronicle of Dieulacres A bbey, ed. M .V . C la rk e and V .H . G a l b r a i t h , " T h e D e p o s itio n o f R ich a rd II," Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, X I V (1 9 3 0 ), 1 7 3 , also 1 4 6 . 21. W a lte r P ater, Appreciations (L ondon, 1 9 4 4 ), pp. 2 0 5 f.; Wilson, pp. xv f.; P a lm e r, Political Characters, p. 1 6 6 . 22 . C f. C h r i m e s , Const. Ideas, 7, n. 2, qu o tin g Annales Henrici Q uarti, ed. Riley (Rolls S e rie s ), p. 2 8 6 : " N o l u i t r e n u n c ia r e spirituali h o n o r i characteris sibi impressi e t in u n ctio n i, q uib u s re n u n c ia r e n o n po tuit nec ab hiis c e s s a r e ." T h e q u e s t io n as to w h e t h e r o r n o t th e king, t h r o u g h his a n o i n t m e n t , e v e r o w n e d in a te ch n ical s e n se a character indelibilis is to o com plicated to be discussed h e re . In fact, th e n o t io n o f t h e " s a c r a m e n t a l c h a r a c t e r " w as developed o nly at t h e tim e w h e n th e ro yal (imperial) c o n s e c r a t i o n s w e r e exclu ded f r o m th e n u m b e r o f th e s ev e n s a c r a m e n t s ; cf. Ferdinand B r o m m e r , D ie Lehre vom sakramentalen Charakter in der Scholastik bis Thomas von Aquino inklusive (F o r s c h u n g e n zu r c h r is t lic h e n L it e r a t u r - un d D o g m e n g e s c h ic h te , VIII, 2) (P a d e rb o rn , 1 9 0 8 ). A d if f e r e n t m a t t e r is the c o m m o n o pinion a b o u t th e s a c r a m e n t a l c h a r a c t e r o f royal a n o i n t ­ ings and t h e i n a c c u ra t e use o f th e t e r m sacramentum; see, f o r th e la tte r , e.g., P.E. S c h r a m m , " D e r K o n ig v on N a v a r ra ( 1 0 3 5 - 1 5 1 2 ) ,"

93

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Z fR G , g erm . A b t., LXVIII (1 9 5 1 ), 1 4 7 , n. 72 (Pope A lexan d er IV referrin g to a royal co n secratio n as sacramentum). See, in gen eral, Eduard E ich m an n, Die Kaiserkrdnung im Abendland (W u rzb u rg, 1 9 4 2 ), I, 8 6 ff., 9 0 , 2 0 8 , 2 7 9 ; II, 3 0 4 ; Philipp O p pen heim , "D ie sakralen M o m en te in der d eu tsch en H e rrsch e rw e ih e bis zum In v estitu rs tre it," Ephemerides Liturgicae, LVIII (1 9 4 4 ), 4 2 ff.; and, fo r England, the w ell-kn ow n u tte ra n ce s of P e te r of Blois (PL, C C V II, 44 0 D ) and G ro ss e te ste (Ep., C X X IV , ed. L uard, p. 3 5 0 ). A ctu ally, the lack of precision w as g re a t at all tim es. 23. IV .i.214ff. 24.

T h e passage is found in th e Chronique de las Traison et M ort de Richard 11, ed. B. Williams, in: English Historical Society,

1 8 4 6 , and in C r e t a n 's

F r e n ch m etrica l History of the Deposition of Richard II, ed. J. W ebb , in: Royal Society of the Antiquaries (L ondon, 1 8 1 9 ). A f i f t e e n t h - c e n t u r y E nglish v e rsio n , w h ic h has b e e n rend ered h e r e , w as edited by J. W eb b , in Archaeologia, X X (1 8 2 4 ), 1 7 9 . Se e, on th o s e sou rce s, Wilson, " I n t r o d u c t i o n ," p. lviii, cf. xvi f. and 2 1 1 . T h e crim e of tre a s o n would n a tu rally e voke th e c o m p a ris o n w ith Judas. T h e c o m p aris o n w ith Pilate w as likewise quite c o m m o n (see, e.g., D a n t e , Purg. X X , 9 1 ), t h o u g h his role w as n o t alw ays purely n e g a ­ tive; see, e.g., O . T r e i t in g e r , Die ostromische Kaiser- und Reichsidee nach ihrer Gestallung im hofischen Zeremoniell (Jena, 1 9 3 8 ), p. 2 3 1 , n. 10 4 , fo r Pilate's inkpot in th e c e r e m o n ia l o f th e B y z a n t in e e m p e r o r , w h o on A sh W e d n e sd ay symbolically " w a s h e d his h a n d s ." 2 5 . P l o w d e n , R ep o rts, 2 3 3 a .

26. P alm er, Political Characters, pp. 1 1 8 f. 27. Wilson, "In tro d u c tio n ," pp. xvi ff., xlix; also Child (ibid.), lxxvii ff.; cf. K eeto n , Legal Problems, p. 1 6 3 . 28. W ilson, pp. x x x ff.; K eeto n , pp. 1 6 6 , 16 8 . 29. W ilson, p. xxxii. 30. Wilson, p. xvii; Child , p. lxxix. 31. A ccord in g to R o s e m a r y F r e e m a n , English Emblem Books (London, 1 9 4 8 ), p. 1 6 2 , n. 1, th e poem w as first printed in th e Eikoti Basilike, edition o f 1 6 4 8 . M a r g a r e t B a rn a rd Pickel, Charles I as Patron of Poetry and D ram a (London, 1 9 3 8 ), w h o prints th e w h o le poem in A p p e n ­ dix C, s e e m s to a s su m e (p. 17 8 ) th a t it w as first published in Bisho p B u r n e t 's M em oirs of the Duke of Hamilton (London, 1 6 7 7 ), a w o r k dedicated to C h a r le s II. A fe w sta n z a s have been published also by F . M . G . H ig h a m , Charles I (L ondon, 1 9 3 2 ), p. 2 7 6 .

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Irving Ribner Bolingbroke, a T ru e Machiavellian (1948 )

T h e Elizabethan m anuscript tran slation of The Prince, edited by H ardin C ra ig ,1 calls atten tio n to the need for investigation of a new aspect of the problem of the influence of Machiavelli upon the Elizabethan d ram a. Investigation of the problem has traditionally cen tered ab ou t the burlesque stage "M ach iavel," w hose genesis has been, w ith questionable accu racy , attrib u ted to the Contre-Machiavel of Innocent G entillet, w ritten in 1 5 7 6 , tran slated into English by Sim on Patericke in 1 5 7 7 , and printed in 1 6 0 2 , w ith its co rru p ted version of the Floren tine's philos­ o p h y .2 The wide influence of the "M achiavelli legend" in England m ay be seen in the traditional "M ach iavels" of the Elizabethan sta g e — the Iagos, A aro n s, G lo u cesters, and Edm unds of Shake­ speare's plays— w hom Edw ard M ey er,3 M ario P ra z ,4 and o th ers have treated . B u t an English tran slation of The Prince, which m u st have been in existen ce as early as 1 5 8 5 , though it be in m anu script form , rem inds us th at the te x t of M achiavelli's own w ork w as know n also, and th at it exerted an influence independ­ ent of such co rru p tio n s as th at of G entillet. N or are m an u script tran slation s the only evidence we have. Lewis Einstein m any y ears ago argued th at the political care e r of T h om as C rom w ell w as modeled closely upon the philosophy of M achiavelli.5 The sto ry of how John W olfe, a London p rinter, published the original Italian of M achiavelli's w orks in England w ith false Italian title-page inscriptions, from 1 5 8 4 to 1 5 8 8 , is well know n. Italian editions of The Prince m u st also have been b rough t back to England by the m any travelers to Italy, and a Latin tran slation w as available by 1 5 6 0 .

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Richard II

A m an ifestation upon the Elizabethan stag e of the actual M achiavellian philosophy in The Prince m ay perhaps be seen in S h ak espeare's Bolingbroke, both in Richard II and in the H e n ry IV plays. H enry IV's political ca re e r, as Shakespeare p resen ts it, coincides stro n gly w ith w h at M achiavelli saw as n ecessary for the new prince w ho w ould unify and stre n g th e n Italy at a tim e w hen the Florentine republic had fallen and M edici despotism seem ed inevitable. W hen we think of Bolingbroke and M achiavelli, w e are im ­ m ediately stru ck by the sim ilarity b etw een the ch aotic England of the one and the ch aotic Italy of the o th e r. Italy, w rites M achiavelli, is "b ro u g h t dow n to h er p resen t position, to be m o re a slave th an the H eb rew s, m o re a serv a n t th an the P e r­ sians, m ore scattered th an th e A th en ian s; w ith o u t head, w ith ­ ou t g o v ern m en t; defeated, plundered, to rn asu n d er, o v e rru n ; subject to ev ery so rt of d isa ste r."6 And Bolingbroke's England, in the dying w ord s of John of G aun t, Is n o w leas'd o u t (I die p r o n o u n c in g it) Like to a t e n e m e n t o r peltin g farm . E ngland, bound in w it h th e t r i u m p h a n t sea, W h o s e r o c k y s h o re b e a ts back t h e e n v iou s siege O f w a t 'r y N e p tu n e , is n o w bound in w ith s h a m e , W ith inky blots and r o t t e n p a r c h m e n t bonds. T h a t E ngland th a t w as w o n t to c o n q u e r o t h e r s H a th made a s h a m e fu l c o n q u e s t o f i t s e l f .7

M achiavelli, w riting The Prince in a tim e co rru p tio n , is calling for a g o v e rn o r w ho bondage and resto re it to p ro sp erity , and dow n the form ula by w hich such a leader end.

of political ch aos and will lead Italy o u t of in his book, he sets m ay accom plish th a t

S o Italy r e m a in s w i t h o u t life and aw a its th e m a n , w h o e v e r h e m a y be, w h o is to heal h e r w o u n d s , pu t an end to th e p lu n d e ring o f L o m b a rd y and th e t rib u t e laid on T u s c a n y and th e king d o m o f N aples, and cu re h e r o f t h o s e s o re s t h a t hav e long b e e n s u p p u ratin g . S h e m a y be se e n pray in g G o d to send so m e o n e to re d e e m h e r f ro m t h e s e cru e l and b a r b a r o u s i n s u lt s .8

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Shakespeare's Bolingbroke appears to be just such a lead er.9 C om ing into pow er at a similar m o m en t in the h istory of England, his handling of th at pow er, w hen it is his, follows closely the form ula set dow n by M achiavelli. As the cu rtain rises on Richard II, w e find Bolingbroke in a typical application of th at philosophy. Bolingbroke, in his a ccu sa­ tion of M ow bray, is co v ertly attack ing the g o v ern m en t of Richard, of w hich M ow b ray is a p art. Bolingbroke know s th a t Richard is as responsible for the m u rd er of G lo u cester as is M o w b ray ,10 and all of his p assionate speeches are m erely the rh etoric of a politician assum ing a pose. This deception for political purposes is com pletely in line w ith M achiavelli's w ords on dissim ulation and the keeping of faith, contained in C h ap ter 18 of The Prince. " T o those w ho see and h ear h im ," he w rites, "h e should seem all com passion, all faith, all h on esty , all h u m an ity, all religion ." Bolingbroke, to his h e arers, seem s all of th at, but he need only seem , fo r as M ach ia­ velli says, "It is not n ecessary , then , for a prince really to have all the virtu es m entioned above, but it is v ery n ecessary to seem to have th e m ." Bolingbroke is the "p ru d e n t" m an w ho "ca n n o t and should n ot observe faith w hen such observance is to his dis­ a d v an tag e."11 The solem n oath he takes to R ichard w hen he is banished, he breaks w ith ease. H on esty and tru st m ean nothing to Bolingbroke w hen his ow n ad van tage is involved. In C h ap ter 4 of The Prince, M achiavelli says th a t in the type of principality to w hich England belongs, w h ere "th e re are a prince and barons, and the la tte r hold th eir positions n ot th rou g h the grace of their lord but th rou g h the antiquity of th eir b lood,"12 a usurping prince m u st have a tool am ong the barons. "Y o u can e n te r them easily, if you win to y o u r side som e baron of the kingdom , because th ere are alw ays som e lords w ho are discon­ tented and desire revolu tion; th ese, for the reason s given, can open you the w ay to co n trol of th e co u n try and m ake v icto ry easy for y o u ." 13 Such a tool Bolingbroke finds in N o rth u m b e r­ land. N ote his cou rtship of the young P ercy: I th ank th ee, G en tle P ercy ; and be su re I co u n t m yself in n oth in g else so happy As in a soul rem em b erin g m y good friends;

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Richard II And as m y f o r t u n e ripens w it h t h y love, It shall be still m y t r u e love's r e c o m p e n s e . M y h e a r t this c o v e n a n t m a k e s, m y hand t h u s seals i t . 14

H ere w e have a sta te m e n t of sw orn friendship, but it is a lying and a deceitful sta te m e n t, for, as becom es a follow er of M achiavelli, a new prince m u st rem em b er the F loren tin e's w arn in g th a t one will n ot be "able to keep as friends th ose w ho h ave placed you th e re , because you can n o t satisfy th em in the m an n er th ey have been looking fo rw ard to, and you can n o t use stro n g m edicine again st them because you are under obligation to th e m ."15 Bolingbroke know s th a t he will have to get rid of the "ladder w herew ith al he m o u n ts the th ro n e " as soon as he is king, and this he does in I Henry IV. This pledge of friendship to th e P ercy s is an excellen t exam ple of calculated M achiavellian deceit. Bolingbroke from the v ery beginning enlists the good will of the com m on people upon his side, and h ere also he is following to the le tte r a basic p recep t of M achiavelli. In The Prince, w e find: H e w h o b e c o m e s ru le r w ith th e aid o f th e g r e a t m a in ta in s h im s e lf w ith m o r e difficu lty th a n he w h o b e co m e s ru le r w ith th e aid o f th e people, b e ca u se th e first is in th e po sitio n o f a prince w ith a good m a n y s u b je c ts w h o m he re g a rd s as his e quals, and f o r this r e a s o n c a n n o t d ir ect t h e m as h e w is h e s to. B u t h e w h o b e c o m e s prince w ith popu la r fa v o r s tan d s alone, and has no s u b je c ts , o r at m o s t o nly a fe w , w h o are n o t read y to o b e y him . F u r t h e r , o ne c a n n o t sa tis fy th e up per class w ith h o n o r and w i t h o u t in ju r y to o t h e r s , bu t it is possible to sa tis fy th e people in t h a t w ay , b e ca u se th e p u rp o se o f th e people is m o r e ju st t h a n t h a t o f th e up per class, sin ce t h e la t t e r w ish to o p p re ss and th e f o r m e r n o t to be oppressed . B esides, w h e n th e people a re u n frie n d ly th e prince n e v e r can m a k e h im s e lf s e c u r e , fo r he has t o o m a n y a g a in s t him . . . .le>

And fu rth e r: B u t a m a n w h o b e c o m e s prince in opposition to th e people and w ith th e fa v o r o f t h e up per c la sses, o u g h t to e n d e a v o r b e fo re e v erything else to gain the support of the people. . . . 17

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And finally: I shall conclud e m e r e ly th a t it is n e c e s s a r y fo r a prince to hav e th e friend sh ip o f th e people; o t h e r w i s e he has no r e s o u rc e in a d v e r s it y .18

This is a stro n gly em phasized point in M achiavelli's philos­ ophy, and it is stro n gly em phasized in Shakespeare's depiction of Bolingbroke. In the first act of Richard II, the king says of him: O u r s e l f and B u s h y , B a g o t h e re , and G r e e n O b se r v 'd his c o u rts h ip to th e c o m m o n people; H o w he did s ee m to dive into th e ir h e a r t s W ith h u m b le and fam ilia r c o u rte s y ; W h a t re v e r e n c e he did t h r o w a w a y o n slaves, W o o in g poor c r a f t s m e n w ith th e c r a f t o f smiles And patie n t u n d e rb e a r in g o f his f o r t u n e , As 't w e re to b anish th e ir a f fe c t s w ith him. O f f goes his b o n n e t to an o y s t e r - w e n c h ; A bra ce o f d ra y m e n bid G od speed h im well And had th e trib u te o f his supple kn ee, W ith T h a n k s , m y c o u n t r y m e n , m y loving friend s'; As w e r e o u r England in r e v e rs io n his, And he o u r s u b je c ts ' n e x t d eg re e in h o p e . 19

H ow successful Bolingbroke's w ooing of the people is, can be seen in the D uke of Y ork 's description of his trium phal m arch th rou g h London: T h e n , as I said, th e D u k e , g r e a t B o lin g b ro k e , M o u n te d upon a h o t and fiery steed W hich his aspir in g rider seem 'd to k n o w , W ith slow and s tate ly pace kept on his c o u rs e , W hilst all t o n g u e s cried 'G od save th e e , B o lin g b ro k e .' W hilst he, fr o m th e o n e side to th e o t h e r tu r n in g , B are he ad ed , lo w e r t h a n his proud steed 's neck, B esp ak e t h e m t h u s, 'I th a n k yo u , c o u n t r y m e n . ' And th u s still doing, th u s he pass'd a lo n g .20

C o n tra st this w ith the crow d's reception of R ichard, w hom he has supplanted. Bolingbroke, in tru e M achiavellian fashion, had w ooed the com m on people and w on them to his side.

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Richard 11

In the m agn ificent deposition scene in Richard 11, H en ry is as M achiavellian as ev er. T o th e crow d , he paints him self as a m an of v irtu e, com ing in subm ission to kingly a u th o rity , m erely to plead a just cau se: H e n r y B o lin g b ro k e O n b o t h his k n e e s does kiss K in g R ich ard 's hand And sen ds a lle gia nce and t r u e fa ith o f h e a r t T o his m o s t royal p e rs o n ; h i t h e r c o m e E ven at his fe e t to lay m y a r m s and po w e r. . . .21

B u t at the end of the scen e, Richard is in H enry's p ow er, and is con veyed to London by him , as a king only in nam e. H ere again Bolingbroke is accom plishing his ow n u njust ends and, at the sam e tim e, giving his act the appearan ce of justice fo r the sake of the crow d . "H e should strive in all his actio n s," says M ach ia­ velli, giving his form ula for the efficient ru ler, "to give evident signs of g reatn ess, spirit, g rav ity , and fo rtitu d e ."22 Bolingbroke is h ere giving the ap pearan ce of having th o se v irtu es w hich M achiavelli says he should p retend to, but need n ot h ave. T h e first act w hich Bolingbroke p erfo rm s upon com ing into p ow er is to d estro y B u sh y, B ag o t, G reen , and the Earl of W ilshire, the faithful su p p o rters of R ichard. N ow , one of the m o st im p ortan t of M achiavelli's principles, contained in C h a p te r 3 of The Prince, is th at w hen a new prince has com e into p ow er, all those w ho supported the old prince m u st be d estro yed . T h e re is a "n a tu ra l and norm al n ecessity ," he w rites, "w hich m akes it alw ays n ecessary for a new ru ler to h arm th o se o v e r w hom he places h im self," even to the e x te n t of wiping o u t the race of the old p rin ce.23 F u rth e r co n firm atio n com es from Bolingbroke's im m ediate a rre s t of th e Bishop of C arlisle, alth ough he is a m em b er of the clergy, w hen he speaks against th e d e th ro n e ­ m en t of R ich ard .24 A n o th e r of the basic principles in the philosophy of M ach ia­ velli is th a t of legality in the m ain ten an ce of a kingdom , and p articu larly of h ered itary legality: I say, t h e n , t h a t h e r e d i ta r y s t a te s , b ein g a c c u sto m e d to th e fam ily o f th e ir prince, are m ain ta in e d w it h f e w e r difficu lties t h a n n e w o n e s , b e ca u se it is e n o u g h fo r th e h e re d ita r y ru le r m e r e ly n o t to g o b e y o n d th e c u s t o m s o f his a n c e s t o r s ,

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and o t h e r w i s e to deal w ith acciden ts by m o v ing slo wly and cautiously . T h i s is so t ru e t h a t if such a prince is o f o rd in a ry diligence, he will alw ays m a in ta in h im s e lf in his position, unless s om e e x t r a o r d i n a r y and e xc e ss iv e fo rc e deprives him o f it; and e v en if he is deprived o f it, he will g e t it back w h e n e v e r th e c o n q u e r o r falls into m i s f o r t u n e . 25

T h ro u g h o u t the plays, Bolingbroke is concern ed w ith the legality of his title. H e know s th at he has no h ered itary righ t to the th ro n e, and it is to him a co n stan t so u rce of an xiety. In Act IV of Richard II, w hen Richard sends in w ord th at he is ready to give up the crow n , H en ry says: Fetch h i t h e r Richard, th a t in c o m m o n view He m ay s u rr e n d e r. S o we shall proceed W i t h o u t su sp ic io n .2t)

He w an ts no doubt cast upon the legality of the tran saction . And in 2 Henry IV, on his deathbed, he speaks of the question w ith his son: G o d k n o w s, my son, B y w h a t b yp ath s and indirect cro ok'd w ay s I m e t this c ro w n ; and I m y se lf k n o w well H o w t r o u b le s o m e it sat upon m y head. T o t h e e it shall descend w ith b e t t e r quiet, B e t t e r opinion, b e t t e r c o n f ir m a t io n ; F o r all th e soil o f th e a c h ie v e m e n t go es W ith m e into th e e a rth . . . . And n o w m y death C h a n g e s th e mood; fo r w h a t in m e w as purchas'd Falls upon th e e in a m o r e fa ire r sort; S o th o u th e garland w e a r's t s u c ce s siv ely .27

Bolingbroke's dying consolation is th at his son, H enry V, will w ear the crow n w ith h ered itary right to b olster it, as M ach ia­ velli said it should be b olstered .28 This preoccu p ation w ith the im p ortan ce of title m akes n ecessary the m u rd er of R ichard II. While Richard lives, H enry's title to the th ro n e is open to question; so R ichard m u st n ot live. A ccording to a n o th er principle of M achiavelli, the deposed ru ler m u st alw ays be d estroyed .

102

Richard II B u t a ft e r w a r d s if y o u w ish to m a in ta in y o u r c o n q u e s t , t h e s e c o n d itio n s will c a u s e yo u in n u m e r a b l e d ifficulties, b o th w ith t h o s e w h o h a v e aided yo u and w ith t h o s e you have o v e r c o m e . N o r is it e n o u g h fo r you to e x t e r m i n a t e th e fam ily o f th e prince, b e ca u se th e no b les will still be left to take th e lead in n e w re b e llio ns. . . ,29

B olingbroke, th e re fo re , m u st d estro y both R ichard and N o rth ­ um berland. R ichard is d estro yed im m ediately and N o rth u m b e r­ land at the first o p p o rtu n ity th at arises. T h a t the m u rd er of Richard is an act of e x tre m e cru elty does n ot dism ay Bolingbroke in the least. If his title is to be m ade secu re, and the nation stren g th en ed and united, R ichard m u st be m u rd ered. M ach ia­ velli says: H e n c e a prince o u g h t n o t to be tro u ble d by th e s tig m a o f cru e lty , acquired in keeping his s u b je c ts un ited and fa ith fu l. B y givin g a v e r y fe w e xa m p le s o f c r u e lt y h e can be m o r e tru ly c o m p a s s io n a t e th a n t h o s e w h o t h r o u g h to o m u ch c o m p as sio n allow d is t u rb a n c e s to c o n t in u e , f r o m w h ic h arise m u r d e r s o r acts o f plunder. L aw less acts are in ju r io u s to a large gro u p , b u t th e e x e c u t i o n s o rd ered by th e prince in ju r e a single p e rs o n . T h e n e w prince, above all o t h e r princes, c a n n o t possibly avoid th e n a m e of cruel, b e ca u se n e w s t a te s are full o f p e rils.30

As a disciple of the M achiavellian philosophy, Bolingbroke can n o t do the killing him self. "P rin ces should have thin gs th a t will bring them h atred done by th eir a g e n ts," says M achiavelli,31 and Bolingbroke accordingly em ploys Pierce of E xto n . Bolingbroke's last sta te m e n t in Richard II is one in the M ach ia­ vellian vein. "I'll m ake a v oyage to th e H oly L an d ," he sa y s.32 M achiavelli m aintains th ro u g h o u t th at the good ru ler m u st appear pious in the eyes of his people. T he political activity of Bolingbroke in Shakesp eare's Rich­ ard II closely adheres to M achiavelli's political philosophy as contained in The Prince. T h ere are a few incidents w h ere B olin g­ broke does n ot follow M achiavelli to the lette r, the m o st n o te ­ w o rth y of these being his failure to d estro y A u m erle; but th ese incidents, in relation to the w hole, are m inor. In alm ost ev ery im p ortan t act, from his q u arrel w ith M ow b ray in the opening

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scene, to his projected pilgrim age to Jerusalem in the closing, the underlying philosophy of M achiavelli can be seen. If we accept this thesis as tru e, m any problem s arise. W as this parallel accidental, o r w as it in ten tion al? Had Shakespeare read The Prince in one of the Elizabethan m anu script tran slation s or in the Italian, or had he perhaps studied the ca re e r of T h om as C rom w ell? T h ere is no doubt th at he w as fam iliar w ith the M achiavel th at cam e to him w ith the h eritag e of th e Elizabethan stage; we find it in his plays. B u t w h eth er or n ot Shakespeare, as a stud ent of political th eo ry , w as fam iliar w ith the actual ideas of Machiavelli is a n o th er m a tte r, and one w hich p resen ts a subject for fu rth e r study.

NOTES 1. Niccold M achiavelli, The Prince: An Elizabethan Translation, edited by Hardin

C r a ig

(Chapel Hill,

1 9 4 4 ). T h e F u r t h m a n M S . which

D r. C ra ig edited, is th e be st of sev e n e x t a n t m a n u s c r ip ts c o n ta in in g th r e e d istin ct tra n s la tio n s o f The Prince, each e n tire ly u n re late d to th e 1 6 4 0 tra n s la tio n of Edward D a c re s. For a description o f the re m a in in g six m an u s cr ip ts see N a po leo ne O rs in i, Studi sui Rinascimento in lnghilterra (Firenze: S a n s o n i, 1 9 3 7 ), pp. 1 - 1 9 . 2. T h e classic p re s e n t a t io n of this th e sis is Edward M e y e r , M achiavelli and the Elizabethan D ram a (W e im a r: Emil Felber, 1 8 9 7 ). O t h e r s in ­ clude Pie ro R e b o ra , L'ltalia nel D ram m a lnglese ( l 5 5 8 - 1 6 4 2 ) (M ilan: M o d e rn is s im a , 1 9 2 5 ), pp. 1 6 5 - 9 4 . 3. M e y e r , op cit. 4. M a rio Praz, "M a ch iav e lli and th e E li z a b e t h a n s ," Proceedings of the British Academy, X I V (1 9 2 8 ), 4 9 - 9 7 . 5. Lew is E in ste in, The Italian Renaissance in England (N ew Y o r k , 1 9 0 2 ), p. 2 9 2 . T h e s t o r y o f C ardinal Reginald Pole's readin g The Prince in m a n u s cr ip t in 1 5 2 7 , upon th e in s tig atio n o f C r o m w e l l w h o had b r o u g h t it w ith him fr o m Italy, is an old o ne t h a t has b e e n told m a n y tim es. See, fo r in s ta n ce , G r a t t a n F r e y e r, " T h e R e p u t a t io n of M a ch iav e lli," H erm athem a, LVI (1 9 4 0 ), 1 5 4 . 6. N iccolo M achiavelli, The Prince, tran slated and edited by Allen H. G ilbert, U n iv ersity C lassics (C h icag o, 1 9 4 1 ), p. 1 7 7 . All fu tu re referen ces to M achiavelli in this paper will be to this edition. 7. William S h a k e s p e a re , Richard 11, II.i.5 9 - 6 6 . S h a k e s p e a r e a n r e f e r ­

104

Richard II en ces are to Complete W orks of Shakespeare, edited by G eo rg e L ym an K ittred g e (B o sto n , 1 9 3 6 ).

8. The Prince, p. 1 7 7 . 9. See discussion of his cau se by th e nobles in Richard 11, II.i.2 2 1 - 3 0 0 . 10. T h i s is m ade clear in A c t I, S c e n e ii, lines 3 7 ff., in w h ic h Jo h n o f G a u n t , speaking o f G l o u c e s t e r 's m u rd e r, says: God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death. . . . t h u s m ak in g R ich a rd 's guilt clear. F o r f u r t h e r evid ence, see also Richard II, II.i.1 2 6 - 3 2 . 11 . The Prince, pp. 1 4 8 - 5 0 . 12. Ibid., p. 1 0 4 . 13. Ibid., p. 1 0 5 . 14. Richard 11, II.iii.4 5 - 5 0 . 15. The Prince, p. 9 7 . 16. Ibid., p. 1 2 3 . 17. Ibid., p. 1 2 4 . 18. Idem. 19 . Richard II, I.iv .2 3 -3 6 . 20. Ibid., V .ii.7 -2 1 . 21 . Ibid., III.iii.3 5 - 3 9 . 22 . The Prince, p. 1 5 1 . 23 . The Prince, pp. 9 7 - 9 8 . 24 . Richard II, IV.i. 1 0 3 - 1 0 6 . 25 . The Prince, p. 9 6 . 26 . Richard II, I V .i .l5 5 - 5 7 . 27 . 2 Henri/ IV , IV .v. 1 8 4 - 9 1 , 1 9 9 - 2 0 2 . 2 8 . The Prince,, p. 9 6 . 2 9 . Ibid., p. 1 0 5 . 3 0 . Ibid., p. 1 4 5 . 3 1 . Ibid., p. 1 5 3 . 3 2 . Richard 11, V .v i.4 9 .

P A R T II R IC H A R D II The T h eatre

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C.E. Montague F.R. Benson's Richard II (1899)

M r. Benson, w hom nothing seem s to tire, played Richard II on S atu rd ay aftern oo n and P etru ch io in the evening. O f the la tte r one need not at this tim e of day say m uch. Like his H am let— of w hich by a m isprint we w ere made to say the o th er day th at it w as one of his "least k n ow n " instead of one of his "b est kn ow n " pieces of actin g ,— it is familiar to ev ery M an ­ ch e ster playgoer. It is un con ven tion al, and in th a t sense co n ­ tentiou s; w hen it w as seen in London ten y ears ago those of the critics w ho hold a brief fo r the conven tion s of the m o m en t w ere scandalized at the notion th at anything Sh akespearean o r partly S h ak espearean should be played in a vein so b oisterou s. By this tim e one would hope th at M r. Benson m u st have b rough t it hom e to everybody th at the play is itself a roarin g extra v a g a n z a , only to be carried off at all upon the stage by a sustained rush of high spirits th at leaves no tim e to think. It is full of legible notices to this e ffe ct— the burlesque bidding for Bianca, for instance, and the "m y h orse, my ox, my ass" speech, and endless o th ers. M r. Benson's g u sty and tearin g P etruch io, w ith a lyrical touch of ro m an ce in the voice and look h ere and th ere in his delivery of lines like S u c h wind as s c a t t e rs y o u n g m e n t h r o u g h th e world, T o s eek th e ir f o r t u n e s f u r t h e r th a n at h o m e, W h e r e small e xp e r ie n c e g r o w s,

strikes us as not only the best P etru ch io we have seen but the only reading of the p art th at will hold w ater. The play, too, furnishes M rs. Benson w ith , w e think, h er best p art in K ath arin e and M r. W eir w ith a v ery good one in G ru m io, both played in 107

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Richard II

the sam e key of v eh em en t and fan tastical h u m o r as M r. B en son 's P etruch io . It does one good to see a play so well u n d erstood and so co u rag eou sly and co n sisten tly played on th a t u n d erstan din g. It w as played w ith infinite zest and spirit on S atu rd ay night to a very full house, w hich it kept in alm ost co n tin u ou s lau g h ter. T h e chief in terest of the day, h o w ev er, attach ed to M r. B enson's R ichard II, a piece of acting w hich is m uch less know n h ere, and to w hose chief in terest we do n ot think th a t critical justice has ev er been done. An a cto r faulty in som e o th e r w ays, but alw ays p icturesq ue, ro m an tic, and inventive, w ith a fine sensibility to b eauty in w ord s and situ ation s and a voice th a t gives this sensibility its due, M r. B enson brings o u t adm irably th a t half of the ch a ra c te r w hich criticism seem s alm ost alw ays to have taken pains to o b scu re— the capable and faithful a rtist in the sam e skin as the incapable and u n faithful King. W ith a quite choice and pointed infelicity, P ro fesso r D ow den has called S h ak espeare's Richard II, "an am a te u r in living, n ot an a rtis t"; M r. Boas, generally one of the m o st su ggestive of re ce n t w rite rs on Shakesp eare, has called his g race of fancy "p u erile" and its p roducts "p seu d o -p o etic." Th e general judgm ent on the play reads as if the critics felt th ey would be "on ly e n co u ra g in g " kings like the R ichard of this play if th ey did n ot assu re him th ro u g h o u t the ages th a t his p o etry w as sad stu ff at the best. "It's no e x cu s e ," one seem s to h ear th em say, and "S e rv e you righ t, you and y ou r p o e try ." It is o u r critical w ay to fall thu s upon the wicked o r w eak in books and leave him half-dead, a fte r taking from him even the good side th a t he h ath . Still it is well to see w h at Shakesp eare m ean t us to, and w e w on d er w h e th e r any one w ho h ears M r. B en son in this p art w ith an open mind can doubt th at S hakespeare m ean t to d raw in R ichard n ot only a rake and m uff on a th ro n e and falling off it but, in the sam e p erson , an exquisite poet; to show w ith one hand how kingdom s are lost and w ith the o th e r h ow the creative im agination goes about its w ork ; to fill the sam e m an w ith th e a ttrib u te s of a feckless w astrel in high place and w ith the quite distinct but n ot incom patible attrib u tes of a typical, a co n su m m ate a rtist. "B u t," it will be asked by p ersons justly tired of sloppy talk about art, "W h at is an a rtist; w h at, exactly, is it in a m an th a t m akes an artist of h im ?" W ell, first a p ronen ess in his mind to

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revel and bask in its ow n sense of fact; n ot in the use of fa ct— th at is for the m en of affairs, the Bolingbrokes; n or in the explanation of fa ct— th a t is for the m en of science; but simply in his ow n quick and glow ing apprehension of w h at is about him, of all th at is done on the earth o r goes on in the sky, of dying and being born, of the sun, clouds, and sto rm s, of g re a t deeds and failures, the changes of the seasons, and the stran g e events of m en's lives. T o mix w ith the day's diet of gifts and sounds the man of this type seem s to bring a w ine of his ow n th a t lights a fire in his blood while he takes the meal. W h at the finest minds of o th e r types eschew he does, and takes pains to do. T o shun the dry light, to drench all he sees w ith him self, his own te m ­ p eram en t, the h u m ou rs of his ow n m oods— this is n ot his dread but his w ish, as well as his bent. "T h e eye sees w h at the eye brings the m eans of seein g." "A fool sees n ot the sam e tree th at a w ise m an sees." "Y o u shall see the w orld in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flo w er." This heightened and delighted p er­ sonal sense of fact, a knack of seeing visions at the instance of seen things, is the basis of art. O nly the basis, th ou gh . For th at a rt m ay com e a m an m u st add to it a veritable passion for arrestin g and defining in w ords o r lines and colors o r notes of m usic, n ot each or any thing th at he sees, nor anybody else's sense of th at thing, n or yet the g re a te st com m on m easu re of m any trained o r un train ed minds' senses of it, but his ow n unique sense of it, the precise quality and degree of em otion th at the spectacle of it breeds in him and nobody else, the net result of its co n tact w ith w h a te v e r in his ow n tem p eram en t he has not in com m on w ith o th e r m en. T h a t is the tru th of art, to be tru e less to facts w ith ou t you than to you rself as stirred by facts. And tru th it m u st be w ith a v e n ­ geance. To find a glove-fit of w ords for y ou r sense of "th e glory and the fresh ness of a d ream ," to model the v ery form and p ressu re of an inw ard vision to the m illionth of a hair's breadth — the vocabulary of m en su ration ludicrously fails to describe those infinitesim al niceties of ad ju stm en t betw een the inward feeling and the m eans of its p resen tm en t. And indeed it is only half tru e to speak as if feeling and its exp ression w ere separable at all. In a sense the fo rm er implies the latter. T h e sim plest feeling is itself changed by issuing in a cry. A ttaining a kind of

no

Richard II

com p leten ess, given, as it w ere, its righ ts, it is n ot the sam e feeling a fte r the cry th at it w as b efore. It has becom e n ot m erely feeling in terp reted by som eth in g outside it and separable from it, but fuller feeling, a feeling w ith m ore in it, feeling pushed one stage fu rth e r in definiteness and inten sity, an arch of feeling crow n ed at last. So, too, all artistic exp ression , if one thinks the m a tte r o u t, is seen to be n ot m erely a tran scrip tio n of th e artist's sense of fact but a p erfectin g of th a t sense itself; and th e e x ­ p erience w hich n ev er attain s exp ression , the exp erien ce w hich is loosely said to be u n exp ressed , is really an unfinished, im p er­ fect exp erience and one w hich, in the mind of an a rtist, p assion ­ ately craves for its ow n com pletion th ro u g h adequate e x p re s­ sion. "T h e re are no beautiful th o u g h ts," a fastidious a rtist has said, "w ith o u t beautiful fo rm s." T h e p erfect exp ression is the com pleted em otion . So the artist is incessan tly preoccupied in leading his sense of fact up to the point at w hich it achieves n ot m erely exp ression but its ow n com pletion in the one w ord , p h rase, line, stanza th at can m ake it, simply as a feeling of his ow n, all th at it has in it to be. He m ay be said to w rite o r paint because th ere is a point beyond w hich the joy of tastin g the w orld about him can n o t go unless he does so; and his life passes in a series of m o m en ts at w hich th o u g h t and exp ression , the sense of fact and the co n su m m ate p resen tatio n of th a t sen se, ru sh to g e th e r like Blake's "soul and body u n ited ," to be indistinguishably fused to g e th e r in a w hole in w hich, alone, each can a ttain its ow n p erfection . W e have draw n o u t this tedious description of the typical a rtist because the fu rth e r it goes the m ore close a description does it becom e of the R ichard w hom M r. B enson sh ow s us in the last th ree acts. In him ev ery o th e r feeling is m astered , excep t at a few passing m o m en ts, by a passion of in te re st in the exercise of his gift of exquisite respon siven ess to th e appeal m ade to his artistic sensibility by w h a te v e r life th ro w s for the m o m en t in his w ay. Lam b said it w as w orth w h ile to h ave been ch eated of the legacy so as n ot to miss "th e idea o f" the rogu e w ho did it. T h at, on a little scale, is the kind of aesth etic dis­ in terested ness w hich in Shakespeare's Richard, rightly p resented by M r. B enson, passes all bounds. T h e "idea o f" a King's fall, the "idea o f" a w ife and husband to rn ap art, the "idea o f" a v ery

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crucifixion of indignities— as each new idea com es he revels in his ow n w arm ed and lighted apprehension of it as freely as in his apprehension of the m ajesty and m y stery of the idea of a kingship by divine right. He ru n s o u t to m eet the th o u gh t of a low er fall o r a new sham e as a m an m ight go to his door to see a su n set o r a sto rm . It has been called the aim of artistic cu lture to w itness things w ith appropriate em otions. T h a t is this Richard's aim. Good new s o r bad new s, the first thing w ith him is to put him self in the right vein for gettin g the fullest and m ost poignant sense of its co n ten ts. Is ruin the w o rd — his mind runs to steep itself in relevan t pathos w ith w hich in tu rn to satu rate the object put before it; he will "talk of g raves and epitaphs," "talk of w ills," "tell sad stories of the death of kings." O nce in the vein, he rejoices like a good a rtist w ho has cau gh t the spirit of his subject. Th e v ery sense of the loss of hope becom es "th a t sw eet w ay I w as in to d esp air." To his wife at their last m eeting he bequeaths, as one im aginative w riter m ight bequeath to a n o th er som e treasu re of possibilities of tragic effect, "th e lam entable tale of m e." And to this intoxicatin g sense of the beauty or poignancy of w h at is n ext him he joins the tru e passion of co n cern for its p erfect exp ression . A t the height of th at preoccupation enm ities, fears, m o rtification s, the very presence of onlookers are as if they w ere not. A t the clim ax of the agony of the abdication scene S h ak espeare, w ith a m agnifi­ cen t boldness of tru th , m akes the artist's mind, in travail w ith the lovely poetical figure of the m irro r, sn atch at the possibility of help at the birth of the beautiful thing, even from the b itterest e n em y ,— say th a t again; T h e sh ad ow s o f my s o r ro w ; ha, let's see.

And nothing in M r. Benson's perfo rm an ce w as finer than the King's air, during the m irro r soliloquy, as of a m an going about his mind's engrossing business in a solitude of its ow n making. He gave their full value, again, to all those passages, so en ig­ m atic, if not ludicrous, to strictly prosaic m inds, in which Richard's craving for finished exp ression issues in a joining of w ords w ith figurative action to point and eke them out; as w here he gives aw ay the crow n in the simile of the well, inviting

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Richard 11

his en em y, w ith th e sam e artistic n eu trality as in the passage of the m irro r, to collaborate m anually in an effo rt to give p e rfe ct exp ression to the situation . W ith A u m erle Richard is full of th ese little sym bolic inventions, tu rn in g them o v er lovingly as a w rite r fondles a p hrase th a t tells. "W ould n ot this ill do w ell," he says of one of them , like a poet show ing a th ren o d y to a friend. T h ere w as just one p oin t— perhaps it w as a m ere slip— at w hich M r. B enson seem ed to us to fail. In the beginning of the scene at P om fret w h at one m ay call the artistic h eroism of this m an , so craven in ev eryth in g but a rt, reach es its clim ax. Ruined, w e a ry , w ith death w aiting in th e n ext ro o m , he is show n still toiling at the attain m en t of a p erfect, because p erfectly e x ­ p ressed , apprehension of such sad d regs as are left him of life, still following passionately on the old quest of the ideal w orld, the unique im age, the one p erfect w ay of saying the one thing. I c a n n o t do it; y e t 111 h a m m e r it o ut.

E veryb od y know s th a t cry of the artist w restlin g w ith the angel in the dark for the w ord it will n ot give, of Balzac "plying the pick fo r dear life, like an entom bed m in e r," of o u r ow n S te v e n ­ son, of Flau b ert "sick, irritated , the p rey a th ou san d tim es a day of cruel pain" but "con tin u in g m y labor like a tru e w orking m an, w ho, w ith sleeves turn ed up, in the sw eat of his b row , beats aw ay at his anvil, w h e th e r it rain o r blow, hail o r th u n d e r." T h a t "y e t 111 h am m er it o u t" is the gem of the w hole p assage, y et on S atu rd ay M r. B enson , by som e stran g e m isch ance, left the w ord s clean out. He m ade am ends w ith a beautiful little piece of insight at the close, w h ere, a fte r the lines M o u n t , m o u n t , m y soul! T h y sea t is up on high, W h ilst m y g r o s s flesh sin ks d o w n w a rd , h e r e to die,

u tte re d m uch as any o th e r m an m ight u tte r th em u n d er the first shock of the im m inence of death , he half rises fro m the g rou nd w ith a brigh tened face and rep eats the tw o last w ord s w ith a sudden re tu rn of anim ation and in tere st, the eag er spirit leaping up, w ith a last flicker b efore it goes quite o u t, to seize on this new "idea o f" the d eath of the body. G re a te r love of a rt could no m an have than this, and it w as a brilliant th o u g h t of M r. B enson's to end on such a n ote. B u t indeed th e w hole

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p erfo rm an ce, but for the slip w e have m entioned, w as brilliant in its equal grasp of the tw o sides of the ch a ra cte r, the one w hich everybody sees well enough and the one w hich nearly everybody seem s to shun seeing, and in the value w hich it rendered to the alm ost co n tin uou s flow of genuine and m agnifi­ cen t p oetry from R ichard to the d escant on m orality in kings, for instance, and the exquisite g reetin g to English soil and the g org eou s rh eto ric of the speeches on divine righ t in kings. O f M r. Benson's ach ievem ents as an a cto r his R ichard II strikes us as decidedly the m ost m em orable.

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W illiam Butler Yeats A t S tra tfo rd -o n -A v o n (19 01)

I I have been hearing Shakespeare, as the traveller in News from Nowhere m ight have heard him , had he not been hurried back into o ur noisy tim e. O ne passes th rou g h quiet stre e ts, w here gabled and red-tiled houses rem em b er the Middle A ge, to a th e a tre th at has been m ade not to m ake m oney, but for the pleasure of making it, like the m arket houses th a t set the tra v e l­ ler chuckling; n or does one find it am ong h u rryin g cabs and ringing p avem ents, but in a green garden by a river side. Inside I have to be co n ten t for a while w ith a chair, for I am unexp ected, and th ere is not an em pty seat but this; and yet th ere is no one w ho has com e m erely because one m u st go so m ew h ere a fte r dinner. All day, too, one does not h ear o r see an incon gru ou s or noisy thing, but spends the h ours reading the plays, and the wise and foolish things m en have said of them , in the library of the th e a tre , w ith its oak-panelled walls and leaded w indow s of tinted glass; o r one row s by reedy banks and by old farm h ou ses, and by old ch u rch es am ong g re a t trees. It is certain ly one's fault if one opens a new spaper, for M r. Benson gives one a new play every night and one need talk of nothing but the play in the innp arlor under the oak beam s blackened by tim e and show ing the m ark of the adze th at shaped them . I have seen this w eek King John, Richard II, the second part of Henry IV, Henry V, the second p art of Henry VI, and Richard III played in their right ord er, w ith all the links th at bind play to play unbroken; and partly because of a spirit in the place, and partly because of the w ay play supports play, the th e a tre has m oved me as it has n ever done 715

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before. T h a t stran g e procession of kings and queens, of w arrin g nobles, of in su rgen t crow d s, of co u rtiers, and of people of the g u tte r has been to m e alm ost too visible, too audible, too full of an u n earth ly en erg y. I h ave felt as I have som etim es felt on g rey days on the G alw ay sh o re, w hen a faint m ist has hung o v er the g rey sea and the g rey sto n es, as if the w orld m ight suddenly vanish and leave n oth in g behind, n ot even a little du st und er one's feet. T h e people m y m ind's eye has seen have too m uch of the e x trav ag an ce of d ream s, like all the inventions of a rt before o u r crow ded life had b ro u g h t m od eration and co m p ro m ise, to seem m ore than a d ream , and y et all else has g ro w n dim before them . In London the first m an one m eets puts any high d ream o u t of one's head, for he will talk to one of som eth in g at once vapid and excitin g, som e one of th o se m any subjects of th o u g h t th a t build up o u r social unity. B u t h ere he gives back one's d ream like a m irro r. If w e do n o t talk of the plays, w e talk of the th e a tre , and how m ore people m ay be g o t to com e, and o u r isolation from com m on things m akes the fu tu re becom e grandiose and im p ortan t. O ne m an tells how th e th e a tre and the lib rary w ere at th eir foundation but p art of a schem e the fu tu re is to fulfill. T o them will be added a school w h ere speech, and g e stu re , and fencing, and all else th a t an a cto r needs will be ta u g h t, and the council, w hich will h ave enlarged its Festivals to som e six w eeks, will engage all th e chief players of Shakesp eare, and perhaps of o th e r g reat d ram atists in this and o th e r co u n tries. T h ese chief players will need to bring but few of th eir su p p o rters, for the school will be able to fill all the lesser p arts w ith players w ho are slowly recov erin g the lost trad ition of m usical speech. A n o th e r m an is certain th at th e Festival, even w ith o u t the school, w hich w ould require a new en d ow m en t, will g ro w in im p ortan ce y ear by y ear, and th at it m ay becom e w ith favorin g ch an ce the suprem e d ram atic ev en t of the w orld; and w hen I su g gest th a t it m ay help to break the evil prestige of London he becom es en th u siastic. Surely a b itter h atred of London is becom ing a m ark of th ose th a t love the a rts, and all th at have this h atred should help an yth in g th at looks like a beginning of a ce n te r of a rt elsew h ere. T h e easiness of travel, w hich is alw ays grow in g , began by

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em ptying the co u n try , but it m ay end by filling it; for ad ven tu res like this of S tratfo rd -o n -A v o n show th at people are ready to jou rn ey from all p arts of England and Scotland and Ireland, and even from A m erica, to live w ith their favorite a rt as sh u t aw ay from the w orld as thou gh they w ere "in r e tr e a t," as C atholics say. Nobody but an im pressionist pain ter, w ho hides it in light and m ist, even pretend s to love a stre e t for its ow n sake; and could we m eet o u r friends and h ear m usic and p oetry in the co u n try , none of us th at are not captive w ould ev er leave the th ru sh es. In London, we h ear som ething th a t we like some tw ice o r thrice in a w in ter, and am ong people w ho are thinking the while of a m usic-hall singer o r of a m em b er of parliam ent, but th ere we would h ear it and see it am ong people w ho liked it well enough to have travelled som e few h ou rs to find it; and because those w ho care for the arts have few n ear friendships am ong those th at do not, w e w ould h ear and see it am ong near friends. W e w ould escape, too , from those artificial tastes and in terests w e cultivate, th a t we m ay have som ething to talk about am ong people w e m eet for a few m inutes and n ot again, and the a rts w ould g row serious as the Ten C om m an d m en ts.

II I do n ot think th ere is an yth ing I disliked in S tra tfo rd , beside certain new hou ses, but the shape of the th e a tre ; and as a larger th eatre m u st be built so o ner o r later, th a t would be no g re a t m a tte r if one could put a w iser shape into som ebody's head. I can n ot think th ere is any excu se for a half-rou n d th e a tre , w here land is not expensive, o r no v ery g reat audience to be seated w ithin earsh o t of the stag e; o r th at it w as adopted for a b etter reason than because it has com e dow n to us, thou gh from a tim e w hen the a rt of the stage w as a differen t art. The Elizabethan th e atre w as a h alf-rou n d , because the players w ere co n te n t to speak their lines on a p latform , as if they w ere speakers at a public m eetin g, and w e go on building in the sam e shape, al­ thou gh o u r art of the stage is the a rt of making a succession of pictures. W ere o u r th e a tre s of the shape of a half-closed fan, like W agn er's th e a tre , w h ere the audience sit on seats th at rise

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tow ard s the broad end while the play is played at the n a rro w end, th eir pictures could be com posed fo r eyes at a small n u m ­ ber of points of view , instead of for eyes at m any points of view , above and below and at the sides, and w h at is no b e tte r th an a trad e m ight becom e an art. W ith th e eyes w atch in g fro m the sides of a h alf-ro u n d , on th e floor and in the boxes and g al­ leries, w ould go the solid-built houses and the flat tre e s th a t shake w ith ev ery b reath of air; and w e could m ake o u r p ictures w ith robes th a t co n trasted w ith g re a t m asses of color in the back cloth and such severe o r d eco rativ e fo rm s of hills and trees and h ou ses as would n ot overw h elm , as o u r n atu ralistic scen ery does, the idealistic a rt of the poet, and all at a little price. N a tu ra l­ istic scene-p aintin g is n ot an a rt, but a trad e, because it is, at b est, an attem p t to copy the m o re obvious effects of n a tu re by th e m eth od s of the ord in ary land scap e-p ain ter, and by his m ethod s m ade co arse and su m m ary: It is but flashy land scap epainting and low ers the taste it appeals to, for th e ta ste it appeals to has been form ed by a m ore delicate a rt. D eco rativ e scene-p ain ting w ould be, on the o th e r hand, as inseparable from the m o vem en ts as from the robes of the players and fro m the falling of the light; and being in itself a g rav e and quiet thing it w ould mingle w ith the tones of the voices and w ith the se n ti­ m en t of the play, w ith ou t overw h elm in g them u n d er an alien in terest. It would be a new and legitim ate a rt appealing to a taste form ed by itself and copying n othin g but itself. M r. G ord on C raig used scen ery of this kind at the Purcell Society p e rfo rm ­ ance the o th e r day, and despite som e m arrin g of his effects by the h alf-rou nd shape of the th e a tre , it w as the first beautiful scen ery o u r stage has seen. H e created an ideal co u n try w h ere ev eryth in g w as possible, even speaking in v erse, o r speaking in m usic, o r the exp ression of the w hole of life in a dance, and I w ould like to see S tra tfo rd -o n -A v o n d eco rate its S hakespeare w ith like scen ery. As w e can n o t, it seem s, go back to the p lat­ form and the cu rtain , and the arg u m en t for doing so is n ot w ith o u t w eigh t, we can only g et rid of the sense of u n reality, w hich m o st of us feel w hen w e listen to the con ven tion al speech of Shakespeare, by m aking scen ery as con ven tion al. Tim e a fte r tim e his people use at som e m o m en t of deep em otion an elaborate o r deliberate m etap h o r, o r do som e im probable thing

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w hich breaks an em otion of reality w e have imposed upon him by an a rt th at is not his, nor in the spirit of his. It also is an essential p art of his m ethod to give slight o r obscu re m otives of m any actions th at o u r atten tio n m ay dwell on w h at is of chief im p ortan ce, and we set these cloudy actions am ong solid-looking h ou ses, and w hat we hope are solid-looking trees, and illusion com es to an end, slain by o u r desire to increase it. In his a rt, as in all the older a rt of the w orld, th ere w as m uch m ake-believe, and o u r scen ery, too, should rem em b er the tim e w hen, as my nu rse used to tell m e, h ero n s built th eir n ests in old m en's beards! M r. Benson did n ot v en tu re to play the scene in Rich­ ard 111 w here the ghosts walk, as Shakespeare w ro te it, but had his scen ery been as simple as M r. G ordon C raig's purple back cloth th at made Dido and A eneas seem w andering on the edge of e tern ity , he would have found nothing absurd in pitching the ten ts of Richard and Richm ond side by side. G oeth e has said, "A rt is a rt, because it is not n a tu re !" It brings us n ear to the archetypal ideas them selves, and aw ay from n a tu re , w hich is but their looking-glass.

Ill In La Peau de Chagrin Balzac spends m any pages in describing a co q u ette, w ho seem s the im age of h eartlessn ess, and then invents an im probable incident th at h er chief victim m ay dis­ co v er how beautifully she can sing. Nobody had ever heard her sing, and yet in h er singing, and in h er ch a tte r w ith h er maid, Balzac tells us, w as h er tru e self. He would have us understand th at behind the m o m en tary self, w hich acts and lives in the w orld, and is subject to the judgm ent of the w orld, th ere is th at which can n o t be called before any m ortal Ju d gm ent seat, even though a g reat poet, o r novelist, or philosopher be sitting upon it. G reat literatu re has alw ays been w ritten in a like spirit, and is, indeed, the Forgiven ess of Sin, and w hen w e find it becom ing the A ccusation of Sin, as in G eorge Eliot, w ho plucks h er T ito in pieces w ith as m uch assu ran ce as if he had been clockw ork, literatu re has begun to change into som ething else. G eorge Eliot had a fierceness one hardly finds but in a w om an turned

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arg u m en tativ e, but the habit of mind h er fiercen ess gave its life to w as ch aracteristic of h er cen tu ry , and is the habit of mind of the S h akespearean critics. T h ey and she g rew up in a ce n tu ry of u tilitarianism , w hen n oth ing ab ou t a m an seem ed im p o rtan t excep t his utility to the S ta te , and noth in g so useful to th e S tate as the actions w hose effect can be w eighed by the reason . T h e deeds of C oriolan u s, H am let, T im on, R ichard II had no obvious u se, w ere, indeed, no m ore than the exp ression of th eir p e r­ sonalities, and so it w as th o u g h t S hakespeare w as accusing th em , and telling us to be carefu l lest w e d eserve the like a c­ cu sations. It did n ot o ccu r to the critics th at you can n o t know a m an from his action s, because you can n o t w atch him in ev ery kind of circu m stan ce, and th a t m en are m ade useless to the S tate as o ften by abundance as by em p tin ess, and th a t a m an's business m ay at tim es be revelation , and n ot re fo rm a tio n . F ortin b ras w as, it is likely en ou gh , a b e tte r King than H am let would have been, Aufidius w as a m o re reason ab le m an than C oriolan u s, H en ry V w as a b e tte r m a n -a t-a rm s th an R ichard II, but a fte r all, w ere n ot th o se o th ers w ho changed n oth in g for th e b etter and m any things for th e w orse g re a te r in the D ivine H ierarch ies? Blake has said th at "th e roarin g of lions, th e h ow l­ ing of w olves, the raging of the sto rm y sea, and the d estru ctiv e sw ord are p ortions of E te rn ity , too g re a t for the eye of m a n ," but Blake belonged by righ t to the ages of Faith , and th o u g h t the S tate of less m o m en t th an the D ivine H ierarch ies. B ecau se reason can only discover com pletely the use of th o se obvious action s w hich everyb ody adm ires, and because ev ery c h a ra c te r w as to be judged by efficiency in action , Shakesp earean criticism becam e a vulgar w orsh ip p er of S uccess. I have tu rn ed o v er m any books in the library at S tra tfo rd -o n -A v o n , and I have found in n early all an an tith esis, w hich g rew in clearn ess and violence as the ce n tu ry g re w older, betw een tw o typ es, w h ose rep resen tatives w ere Richard II, "sen tim en tal," "w eak ," "selfish," "in sin cere," and H en ry V, "S h ak esp eare's only h e ro ." T h ese books took the sam e delight in abasing R ichard II th a t sch oo l­ boys do in p ersecutin g som e boy of fine tem p e ra m e n t, w h o has w eak m uscles and a d istaste fo r school gam es. And th ey had the adm iration for H enry V th a t sch ool-boys have for the sailor or soldier h ero of a ro m an ce in som e boys' paper. I can n o t claim

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any m inute know ledge of these books, but I think th a t these em otions began am ong the G erm an critics, w ho perhaps saw som ething Fren ch and Latin in R ichard II, and I know th at P ro fesso r D ow den, w hose book I once read carefully, first made these em otions eloquent and plausible. He lived in Ireland, w h ere everyth in g has failed, and he m editated freq u en tly upon the perfection of ch a ra cte r w hich had, he th o u g h t, made England successful, for, as w e say, "cow s beyond the w a te r have long h o rn s." He fo rgo t th at England, as G ordon has said, w as made by h er ad v en tu rers, by h er people of w ildness and im agination and eccen tricity; and th o u gh t th at H en ry V, w ho only seem ed to be these things because he had som e com m onplace vices, w as not only the typical A n g lo -S axo n , but the model Shakespeare held up before England; and he even th o u gh t it w o rth while pointing out th at Shakespeare him self w as making a large fo r­ tune while he w as w riting about H en ry's victories. In P ro fessor Dow den's su ccessors this apotheosis w ent fu rth er; and it reached its height at a m om en t of im perialistic en th u siasm , of ev erdeepening conviction th at the com m onplace shall inherit the ea rth , w hen som ebody of rep u tation , w hose nam e I can n ot rem em b er, w ro te th at Shakespeare adm ired this one ch a ra cte r alone o u t of all his ch aracters. The A ccusation of Sin produced its necessary fruit, h atred of all th at w as abundant, e x tra v a g a n t, ex u b eran t, of all th at sets a sail for shipw reck, and flattery of the com m onplace em otion s and conventional ideals of the mob, the chief P ay m aster of accusation .

IV I can n o t believe th at Shakespeare looked on his Richard II w ith any but sy m p athetic eyes, u n derstanding indeed how illfitted he w as to be King, at a certain m o m en t of h istory , but understanding th at he w as lovable and full of capricious fancy, "a wild c r e a tu re " as P ater has called him. T h e m an on w hom Shakespeare modelled him had been full of Fren ch elegancies, as he knew from H ollingshead, and had given life a new lu xu ry , a new splendor, and been "to o friendly" to his friends, "to o favorab le" to his enem ies. And certain ly Shakespeare had these

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things in his head w hen he m ade his King fail, a little because he lacked som e qualities th a t w ere doubtless com m on am ong his scullions, but m ore because he had certain qualities th a t are u n com m on in all ages. T o suppose th at Shakespeare p referred the m en w ho deposed his King is to suppose th at Shakespeare judged m en w ith the eyes of a Municipal C ouncillor w eighing the m erits of a T ow n C lerk; and th a t had he been by w hen V erlaine cried o u t from his bed, "S ir, you have been m ade by the stro k e of a pen, but I have been m ade by the b reath of G od ," he w ould have th o u gh t the H ospital S u p erin ten d en t the b e tte r m an. He saw indeed, as I think, in R ichard II the d efeat th a t aw aits all, w h e th e r they be A rtist o r Saint, w ho find them selves w h ere m en ask of them a ro u gh en erg y and have n oth in g to give but som e co n tem plative v irtu e, w h eth e r lyrical p h an tasy, o r sw eetn ess of tem p er, o r dream y dignity, or love of G od, or love of His cre a tu re s. He saw th at such a m an th ro u g h sh eer b ew ilderm ent and im patience can becom e as unjust or as violent as any com m on m an, any Bolingbroke or Prince John, and yet rem ain "th a t sw eet lovely ro se ." T h e co u rtly and saintly ideals of the Middle A ges w ere fading, and the practical ideals of the m od ern age had begun to th re a te n the unuseful dom e of the sky; M erry England w as fading, and yet it w as n ot so faded th a t the P oets could n ot w atch the procession of the w orld w ith th a t untroubled sym pathy for m en as th ey are, as ap art from all they do and seem , w hich is th e su b stan ce of tragic irony. S hakespeare cared little fo r the S tate, the so u rce of all o u r jud gm en ts, ap art from its show s and splendors, its turm oils and b attles, its flam ings out of the uncivilized h e a rt. He did indeed think it w ron g to o v e rtu rn a King, and th ereb y to sw am p peace in civil w ar, and the historical plays from Henry IV to Richard III, th at m o n stro u s birth and last sign of the w rath of H eaven , are a fulfillm ent of the prophecy of th e Bishop of C arlisle, w ho w as "raised up by G od" to m ake it; but he had no nice sense of utilities, no ready balance to m easure deeds, like th a t fine in stru m en t, w ith all the latest im p rov em en ts, G ervin u s and P ro fesso r D ow den handle so skillfully. He m editated as Solo­ m on, n ot as Bentham m editated, upon blind am bitions, u n tow ard accidents, and capricious passions, and the w orld w as alm ost as em pty in his eyes as it m u st be in the eyes of God.

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T ire d w ith all th e se , fo r r e s tfu l death I c r y ; — As, to behold d e s e rt a b e g g a r b o rn, And needy n o t h in g trim m 'd in jollity, And p u re st faith unhappily fo r s w o r n , And gilded h o n o u r sh a m e fu lly misplaced, And maiden v irtu e rudely s tru m p e te d , And righ t p e rfe c tio n w ro n g f u lly disgrac'd, And s t r e n g t h by limping sw a y disabled, And A rt made to n g u e -tie d by a u th o rity , And folly, do cto r-lik e, co n tro llin g skill, And sim ple t r u t h miscalled sim plicity, And captive good a tte n d in g captain ill: T ire d w ith all th e s e , fr o m t h e s e would I b e g o n e Sa ve th a t, to die, I leave m y love alone.

V The G reeks, a certain scholar has told m e, considered th at m yths are the activities of the D aem ons, and th a t the D aem ons shape o ur ch aracters and o u r lives. I have often had the fancy th at th ere is som e one M yth for every m an, w hich, if we but knew it, would make us un d erstand all he did and th ou gh t. Shakespeare's M yth , it m ay be, describes a wise m an w ho w as blind from v ery w isdom , and an em pty m an w ho th ru st him from his place, and saw all th at could be seen from v ery em p ti­ ness. It is in the sto ry of H am let, w ho saw too g re a t issues ev ery w h ere to play the trivial gam e of life, and of Fortin b ras, w ho cam e from fighting battles about "a little patch of g rou n d " so poor th a t one of his C aptains would not give "six d u cats" to "farm it," and w ho w as yet acclaimed by H am let and by all as the only befitting King. And it is in the sto ry of R ichard II, th at unripened H am let, and of H en ry V, th at ripened Fortin b ras. To poise ch aracter against ch aracter w as an elem ent in Shakespeare's a rt, and scarcely a play is lacking in ch a ra cte rs th a t are the com plem ent of one an o th er, and so, having made the vessel of porcelain Richard II, he had to make the vessel of clay H enry V. He m akes him the rev erse of all th a t R ichard w as. He has the gross vices, the coarse n erves, of one w ho is to rule am ong violent people, and he is so little "to o friendly" to his friends

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th a t he bundles them o u t of d oors w hen th eir tim e is over. He is as rem o rseless and undistinguished as som e n atu ral fo rce, and the finest thing in his play is the w ay his old com panions fall ou t of it b ro k en -h earted o r on th eir w ay to the gallow s; and instead of th at lyricism w hich rose o u t of R ichard's mind like the jet of a fountain to fall again w h ere it had risen, instead of th a t p h an tasy too enfolded in its ow n sin cerity to m ake any th o u g h t the h ou r had need of, Shakespeare has given him a resounding rh e to ric th a t m oves m en, as a leading article does to-d ay. His purposes a re so intelligible to everybody th a t everybody talks of him as if he succeeded, alth ough he fails in the end, as all m en g re a t and little fail in S h ak esp eare, and y et his co n q u ests abroad are m ade nothing by a w om an tu rn ed w a rrio r, and th a t boy he and K ath erin e w ere to "co m p o u n d ," "h alf F ren ch , half E n glish ," " th a t" w as to "g o to C on stan tin o p le and take the T u rk by the b eard ," tu rn s ou t a Saint, and loses all his fa th e r had built up at h om e and his ow n life. Shakespeare w atch ed H enry V n ot indeed as he w atch ed the g re a te r souls in the vision ary p rocession , but ch eerfully, as one w atch es som e han d som e spirited h o rse, and he spoke his tale, as he spoke all tales, w ith tragic irony.

VI T he five plays, th a t are but one play, h ave, w hen played one a fte r an o th er, som ethin g e x tra v a g a n t and su p erh u m an , so m e ­ thing alm ost m ythological. T h o se nobles w ith th eir indifference to death and th eir im m ense en erg y seem at tim es no n e a re r the com m on sta tu re of m en th an do the Gods and the h ero es of G reek plays. Had th ere been no R en aissance and no Italian influence to bring in the sto ries of o th e r lands English h isto ry w ould, it m ay be, have becom e as im p ortan t to th e English im agination as the G reek M y th s to the G reek im agination; and m any plays by m any poets w ould have w oven it into a single sto ry w hose co n to u rs, v ast as those of G reek m y th , w ould have m ade living m en and w om en seem like sw allow s building their n ests under the a rch itrav e of som e Tem ple of the G iants. English literatu re, because it would have g row n ou t of itself, m ight have

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had the simplicity and unity of G reek literatu re , for I can never get ou t of my head th at no m an. even though he be Shakespeare, can w rite perfectly w hen his web is w oven to threads th at have been spun in m any lands. And y et, could those foreign tales have com e in if the g reat fam ine, the sinking dow n of popular im agination, the dying out of traditional p h an tasy, the ebbing out of the en erg y of race, had n ot made them n ecessary ? The m etap ho rs and language of Euphuism , com pounded of the n atu ral h istory and m yth ology of the classics, w ere doubtless a necessity also, th at som eth in g m ight be poured into the em p ti­ ness. Y et how they injured the simplicity and unity of the speech! Shakespeare w ro te at a tim e w hen solitary g re a t men w ere g ath erin g to them selves the fire th at had once flowed h ith er and th ith er am ong all m en, w hen individualism in w ork and th o u gh t and em otion w as breaking up the old rh y th m s of life, w hen the com m on people, no longer uplifted by the m yths of C h ristian ity and of still older faiths, w ere sinking into the earth . The people of S tra tfo rd -o n -A v o n have rem em b ered little about him, and invented no legend to his glory. T h ey have rem em bered a drinking-bout of his, and invented som e bad v erses for him , and th at is about all. Had he been som e h ard drinking, hard-living, hard -rid in g, loud-blasphem ing Squire they w ould have enlarged his fam e by a legend of his dealings w ith the devil; but in his day the glory of a P oet, like th a t of all o th er im aginative pow ers, had ceased, o r alm ost ceased outside a n arro w class. The poor Gaelic rh y m er leaves a nobler m em ory am ong his neighbors, w ho will talk of A ngels standing like flam es about his d eath-bed, and of voices speaking ou t of b ram ble-bushes th at he m ay have the w isdom of the w orld. The P u ritan ism th at drove the th eatres into S u rrey w as but p art of an inexplicable m o vem en t th at w as tram pling out the minds of all but som e few thousands born to cultivated ease.

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T.C. Worsley Shakespeare's Histories at Stratford, 1951 (1 9 5 2 )

W hen we conceive of Richard II as the prologue to the cycle we have to adjust ou r feelings about it radically. It becom es less the traged y of R ichard him self and m ore the Rise of Bolingbroke. Politically it rep resen ts the stru ggle b etw een a new and an old conception of Kingship, and this stru g gle is dram atized in a personal stru ggle betw een Bolingbroke and Richard. T h e dram a is only stren g th en ed by the fact th at the upholder of the old conception is w eak and the upholder of the new stro n g. Th e im portance of the first tw o acts is v ery g re a t in settin g the scene, placing the factions and rivalries and displaying the cu rre n ts of opinions th a t are dividing h earts and loyalties. Som e of these differences are pointed at the v ery opening in distinc­ tions of dress and of bearing. The play opens in the king's palace w h ere a council of state has been sum m oned. Th e first to en te r are the nobles w ho talk am ong them selves, until the king and his en to u rag e com e in. The king takes up the orb and scep tre, and m ou nts the spot-lighted th ro n e w ith his follow ers grouped around him. T h e elegance of the royal p arty now calls atten tio n to the fact th at the nobles, by co n tra st, are plain m en, plainly dressed in ru ssets and dull reds and g reen : dressed plainly, but n ot m eanly. It is, in fact, the kind of plainness of w hich plain m en are proud. While the epicene king and his follow ers are dandies, dressed in pastel pinks, light blues and golds. T h ey parade th eir jew elry; they are frenchified. The plain m en's plain­ ness m ay easily be im agined to be a kind of unspoken p ro test against this frippery. T he king speaks in an affected m ince. G au n t, w hom he first calls ou t, an sw ers him in an u n affected regional accen t. A cci­ 127

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d ents of casting will n ot allow the regional accen t to be accu ra te : and G au n t's W elsh m ay at first strike stran g ely on th e ear. B u t it soon ceases to, and th e poin t— a v ery good o n e — rem ain s (it is to be underlined later): th e speech of the nobles in th eir d ifferen t local pronu n ciation s rem inds us th a t at this tim e th ey lived aw ay in th eir ow n provinces retaining the m an n ers and cu sto m s and individuality of th eir ow n localities. T h ey com e to London, m o st of th em , only w hen th ey are sum m oned on affairs of S ta te , as they are now in this m a tte r of the qu arrel b etw een M ow b ray and young Bolingbroke. T h ese tw o, as th ey now take the ce n te r of the stag e, particu larize a little fu rth e r th ese g e n ­ eralization s. T h o m as M o w b ray is a soldier, n ot a co u rtie r, sim ­ ple, sincere, direct and plain. B u t B olingbroke— and w e m ay h ave noticed the sam e of G a u n t— being of the blood royal, is less plain than the plain m en, thou gh n ot gaudy like th e king's follow ers. He is of the co u rt, but n ot of this co u rt. Spiritually he belongs w ith the plain m en — is a you n g m an of the old v irtu es. He has th eir nobility w ith o u t th eir plainness; and o u t of it he despises the king. For already in the first scenes the n atu re of the personal an tagon ism betw een th ese tw o is foresh ad ow ed . It is lightly stressed in Bolingbroke's first w ord s to the king: M a n y y e ars o f happy days befall M y g ra cio u s s o v e re ig n , m y m o s t loving liege.

T h ere is an easily discernible irony in the em phasis M r. H a rry A n d rew s puts on th at "m o st lovin g." And this iron y R ichard re tu rn s later in giving M o w b ray leave to speak: W e r e he m y b r o t h e r , nay, m y kin g d o m 's heir, As he is bu t m y f a t h e r 's b r o t h e r 's son,

the last line pointed directly at Bolingbroke. O u r sy m p ath y in th ese early scenes can hardly but be w ith the noble virile figure M r. H a rry A n d rew s p resen ts as the youn g Bolingbroke. T h e re is, it is tru e , a touch of a rro g an ce, but it is you th fu l a rro g a n ce , justifiable in view of the tre a tm e n t he receives from th e king. This tre a tm e n t is w orse than u njust, it is frivolous. F o r w hile M ow b ray and Bolingbroke are opposed in a quarrel th a t co n ­

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cern s n ot only their h on o r but th eir v ery lives, Richard w ould, if he could, smile the w hole thing aw ay: F o r g e t, forgiv e, con clud e and be agreed: O u r d o cto rs say this is no m o n t h to bleed.

And the en to u rag e sycophantically laugh at these inadequate little pleasantries. Y et behind the personal stru ggle th ere is, equally im p ortan t, a political stru ggle on foot. T h e principle of Kingship as a sacred inalienable function is w h at R ichard stands upon. "Lions make leopards ta m e ." It is the divine righ t th a t m akes R ichard a lion and he rem ains a lion by v irtu e of th a t even if he proves in his ow n person a feeble one. It is the principle itself th at is now to be attacked and, by the end of the play, o v erth ro w n . H ere at the beginning this principle is n ot even challenged from the outside, though it is th reaten ed from w ithin. A lion, to rem ain a lion, m u st act the lion. It is no good m erely to ro ar: W e w e re n o t b o rn to sue b u t to c o m m a n d ,

if the m om en t afte r you adm it: W h ic h sin ce w e c a n n o t do. . . .

Th e principle, in fact, is to be b etrayed th rou g h the w eakness of its chief officer, and it is this w hich is to make the d ram a. Y et, still at this time th ere is enough com m on goodwill behind th at principle for it to have been m aintained if Richard had been stro n g . In the little scene w hich follows this, the old D uchess of G lo u cester is rebuked— w hen she cries o u t for individual v e n ­ geance against R ichard— by G aun t w ho has as m uch reason as she to fight the king on personal g rou n d s, but w ho stands for the old values: G od 's is th e q u a rre l: fo r G o d 's s u b s titu te , His d ep uty an o in te d in His sig ht, H ath caused his d eath : th e w h ic h if w ro n g fu lly L et h e a v e n re v e n g e : f o r I m ay n e v e r lift An a n g ry a rm ag ain s t His m in ister.

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Th e king is G od's su b stitu te, His m in ister; his o rd ers and acts h ave the au th o rity of th e divine. T o oppose him is to oppose God. T he sacred principle is n ot directly challenged until B olin g­ broke's re tu rn from exile. In the scene at th e lists— w hen the fight is stopped by the king throw in g dow n his w ard er and the king descends and p ro n o u n ces se n te n ce — his a u th o rity is still n ot questioned. Bolingbroke accepts his sen ten ce w ith the sam e co n tem p tu o u s irony he has displayed earlier. F or at least the lion has acted , has asserted his lionship, and no one as yet directly questions his a u th o rity . Even M ow b ray feels th a t the stru g gle is on a purely personal level— as in one aspect it is— and his p rophecy w hen he th ro w s back Bolingbroke's last accu sation in his face, lingers in the mind long later: B u t w h a t t h o u a rt, G o d , t h o u and I do k n o w ; And all to o soo n , I fe a r, th e king shall rue.

T h e issue is forced by the king's recklessly flippant b eh avior o v er John of G aun t's d eath . G au n t on his deathbed felt justified in attack in g the king w ith a violence th at he n ever dared use b efore. B u t it is the king's b ehavior th a t he attack s: n ot his kingship. T h a t the old o rd er can n o t question. G aun t's b ro th e r, Y o rk , now at G au n t's d eath the last surviving of th e Black Prince's sons, is left to ca rry this principle on shoulders all too w eak to su p port it. R ichard's im m ediate seizure of G au n t's p ro p erty at the m o m en t of the an n ou n cem en t of his d eath is alm ost m o re than he can bear. He takes the trim m er's co u rse , "I'll n ot be by the w hile"; but he can 't escape his responsibility by tu rn in g his head aw ay, and w ith a fine stro k e of ironic h u m o r R ichard fixes it m ore firm ly on him by creatin g him Lord G o v ern o r during his absence in Ireland. All this tim e standing by, solid, im m ovable, exp ression less, has been the m o st rep resen tativ e im aginable of the plain m en from the d istant p rovin ces, N orth u m b erlan d . He has said alm ost n oth in g. He has w atched the ta n tru m s of the childish king w ith all the plain m an's scorn fo r the n eu rotic. He has n ot interven ed . B u t he has decided. T h e middle g en eratio n of the older o rd e r has m ade up its mind in him . T h e principle of Divine R ight is no lon ger sovereign . This king, this rep resen tativ e of it, has m ade

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it impossible. W hen the king and his follow ers go out, the plotting begins. Such, in outline, w as the im pression w hich the production of these first tw o acts conveyed to us. A num ber of slight shifts of em phasis b rought them forw ard as the introd uction n ot just to this play but to the w hole cycle. N otably, the principle at stake w as alw ays underlined so th at it m ade a clear im pact unobscured by the personalities in the fo regrou n d . T h e p agean try of the co u rt w as particularly dignified and solem n to rein force upon us th at the king as person is only incidental to the king as function. T he one direct personal clash, th at betw een the king and G aun t, — beautifully produced to a m ou nting clim ax— rem ained lucidly a personal clash. The m ajesty of the king as king, and the respect paid to his sovereig n ty , w ere carefully em phasized, h ow ever wilfully and childishly Richard him self behaved. This childish­ ness of the king— his tears of tem p er and his bored im patience w ith Y ork 's rem iniscences of the Black P rin ce— w as played up unsparingly by M r. R ed grave; and its altern atio n w ith m om en ts of regal dignity and com m and suggested exactly the right co m ­ bination of instability and regality to co n tra st w ith the even dignity of M r. A n d rew s' you thful Bolingbroke. A few touches of production for him — like the solem n lengthening of his exit l in e : W h e r e 'e r I w a n d e r, b o a st o f this I can, T h o u g h banished, y e t a tru e b o rn E n g lish m a n

— establish him firm ly in o u r sym p athy and p repare us for his taking a cen tral position from now on. F or in the grand sw eep it is Bolingbroke w ho is the main ch a ra cte r, not Richard; and w e m u st be persuaded to w atch him no less intently for the rest of this play than w e w atch Richard him self. H ow Bolingbroke rises to his situ ation is as im p ortan t as how R ichard falls to his. So it is Bolingbroke w ho opens the second p art, a Bolingbroke w ho we notice at once has grow n , physically and spiritually, in the years of exile. T h e re is a g re a te r w eight about him now . Th e chin has put on a beard and the youthful arro g an ce has becom e dignity. F o rem o st am ong his follow ers is th at sam e proud N orth u m b erlan d . He is a little less plain now than he w as before. He has learned to fla tte r his new

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m a ste r, th o u gh he doesn't do it v ery well. O r is th e re now a slight irony in his ton e, foresh ad ow in g the ch an ge in him ? From the political point of view this scene w h ere Bolingbroke finds R ichard w ith only a handful of follow ers in Flint castle is the ce n te r of the play. It is h ere th a t the cause is lost, th e old principle of kingship d estro yed by the vacillation of its last cham pion. And th e p rodu ction , rightly for its p u rp ose, plays the scene w ith exag g erated w eigh t and deliberation. F or at the o u tse t it seem s as if the principle can be m aintained if only R ichard will believe in it him self. B u t th e d isasters th a t have befallen him one a fte r the o th e r seem to have unm anned him and by now this principle is only a kind of literary fancy w ith w hich to bem use him self: N o t all th e w a t e r in th e r o u g h ru de sea C a n w a s h th e balm f r o m an a n o in te d king . . . G o d fo r his R ich ard h a t h in h e a v e n ly pay A g lo rio u s angel. . . .

T h e p h rases are fine but (M r. R edgrave m an ages to co n vey in his style of delivering th em ) the p ow er has leaked o u t of th em . He uses them as co n ju ration s: I had f o r g e t m y se lf: am I n o t k in g ? A w a k e t h o u c ow a rd m a je s t y . . . .

and th ey con ju re noth in g but d isaster. If th ey still really m e a n t an yth in g to him , they m ight still w ork. F or this m eetin g b e­ tw een Bolingbroke and the king is the final te st of th eir validity. T h e issue is still theoretically open. Bolingbroke and his fol­ low ers still claim th at th ey com e only for their due. T h e im p er­ turbable N orth u m b erlan d , it is tru e , reg ard s the w hole thing w ith a certain co n tem p t, as play actin g. W hen he goes fo rw ard to bear the king a g reetin g from Bolingbroke and is chidden by Richard for n ot kneeling to the sacred m ajesty, he d oesn 't drop to his knee, he just stands th ere insolently, im m ovably, and lets th e gush of w ord s flow past him . N ot so, th o u g h , Bolingbroke. By an o th e r fine strok e of p rodu ction he, w hen R ichard d escends, tells his follow ers to show all due respect to the king, and he him self p erfo rm s a w onderfully elaborate triple obeisance in fro n t of the m an w ho still m u st be regard ed as his liege lord. And the exch an g e th at follow s betw een them is m ade to ca rry

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an en orm ou s w eight as if it w ere tw o o r th ree tim es longer than the single page of te x t w hich is all it really is. B ol.: M y g racio u s Lord I c o m e but fo r m y o w n. K. Rich.: Y o u r o w n is y o u rs , and I am y o u rs and all. Bol.: S o far be m ine, m y m o s t re d o u b te d Lord As m y t ru e service shall d eserv e y o u r love. K. Rich.: Well you d ese rv e : th e y well d ese rv e to have T h a t k n o w th e s t r o n g 's t and s u r e s t w ay to get. . . . W h a t you will have, I'll give and willing to o For do w e m u s t w h a t fo rce will h av e us do.

The change in Bolingbroke is now pronou n ced . Th e a rro ­ gance has gone and the co n tem p t w ith it. He is alm ost gentle w ith the king. The irony is now all on R ichard's side— an irony, M r. R edgrave m akes us feel, th a t springs from self-pity. But the g re at im pression of this scene is th at we are m ade to feel th at Richard m ight still up to the last w ords gain som ething ou t of the w reck , if he had any longer the will. It is th a t he lacks. He puts his ow n defeat into Bolingbroke's m ou th : K. Rich.: S e t on to w ard s L o ndo n , cou sin, is it so? Bol.: Ye a, my good Lord. K. Rich.: T h e n I m u s t n o t say no.

T h at scene is the turnin g point. Bolingbroke has now seized p ow er: and from now on th rou g h the rest of this play and into the tw o p arts of Henri/ IV we shall w atch him reaping the results of his breaking of the ancient principle, to w hich process, in the longer view , the deposition and m u rd er of R ichard is only incidental. C rim e, accu sation and co u n ter-accu sa tio n , plot and co u n ter-p lo t. The play began w ith this and Bolingbroke's reign is to begin w ith it. Bolingbroke ascends the th ro n e as H enry IV, but even as he does so he know s th at he steps into a louring world of enm ity: Little are we b eholding to y o u r love, And little looked fo r at y o u r helping hands.

If the deposition scene belongs largely and rightly to R ichard, all the sam e Bolingbroke is n ever allowed to sink back into u n im p ortance. So decidedly and im pressively has he been built up for us th at w e are conscious th ro u g h o u t R ichard's eloquent

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d ram atics of Bolingbroke growing th ere on the th ro n e , as, w ith ­ o u t speaking, his eyes follow the deposed king's ev ery action. T h e o th e r cen tral ch a ra c te r, N orth u m b erlan d , has also g row n m eanw hile; but w h ere Bolingbroke g row s in nobility and s ta ­ tu re, N orth u m b erlan d g ro w s only in a rro g a n ce , as if p ow er w ere alm ost visibly rising to his head. T h e m a ste ry w ith w hich th ese tw o ch a ra cte rs have been built up for us is indicated by the fo rce w ith w hich the respective adjectives R ichard applies to th em strike us w hen th ey com e. "M ark , silent k in g," he says to Bolingbroke. "N o lord of thin e, thou haughi insulting m a n ," he cries at N orth u m b erlan d . And in each case— it is th e resu lt of carefu l p rep aratio n of co u rse, as if th ese ep ith ets had been taken from the first as key ph rases and scene by scene been built up to — th e description com es as a kind of co n firm a to ry seal on w h at w e have been feeling about them . This is only a n o th er w ay of saying th a t fo r the special purposes of this produ ction N orth u m b erlan d and especially Bolingbroke— subsidiary roles, ordinarily speaking— have to be kept, and are kept, in the ce n te r of the p icture. T h e em phasis can n o t be allowed to com e dow n too heavily on R ichard, fo r he h ere m akes his last ap p earan ce while the o th e rs go on. This is the main d ifference b etw een a produ ction of the cycle and a produ ction of the play by itself. And h ere the su ccess w ith w hich the p ro d u cer achieved this shift of em phasis is d em o n ­ strated by the fact th a t he did it in spite of a d rastic cu t w hich w orked again st his idea. T he w hole of the sub-plot describing A u m erle's tre a ch e ry and his arrival at his fath e r's h ou se, Y ork 's d iscovery of the plot and the scene w h ere he w ith his D uch ess and A u m erle plead w ith B olingbroke— this scen e, w hich would have helped to rein force the w eigh t on Bolingbroke, w as sa cri­ ficed. Th e resu lt m ight easily have been to tip th e balance d an gerou sly at th e end tow ard the in terio r d ram a of the play, w ith R ichard's long prison scene com ing so close a fte r deposi­ tion. B ut in fact this did n ot happen. C arefu l p rodu ction , to ­ g e th e r w ith the v ery g re a t w eight and dignity w hich M r. A n ­ drew s put into Bolingbroke, established him sufficiently fo r his final rejection of Piers E xto n , sh o rt thou gh it is, to m ake a full effect and to leave Bolingbroke at the end of the play a lonely and noble figure in the fo re fro n t of o u r minds. . . .

Harley Granville-Barker L e tte r to John Gielgud (O ct. 15, 1 9 3 7 )

. . . But 111 now tum ble out m y im pressions of Richard II for you, and if you pick anything useful ou t of them for a fu ture tim e, good. R em em b er, thou gh , th a t I h aven 't looked at the play's print for a fairly long time and m y m em o ry is a sieve. I applauded you at first sight for so unselfishly hiding y o u r­ self in a co rn er. B u t I fear you w ere w ron g to do so. I fancy W .S. th o u gh t of the scene as a m eeting of the Privy C ou n cil— R ichard presiding (the P .C . and the S tar C h am b er, the King absent, w ere the co u rts of the day for S tate affairs) probably raised on a dais at the end o r cen tre of the table, form ally presiding. And a fter letting the discussion rip— and actually, I dare say, playing cup-and-ball o r reading F ro issart o r the New Yorker during the dull parts. But the point is th at while W .S. doesn't begin to write Richard till he com es back from Ireland (till he becom es him self, a man and n ot m erely a K ing), he does keep one guessing and w ondering w h at so rt of a m an he is up to th a t point, and w h at the devil he will do n ext, and the m ore we see of his cryptic face the b etter. You g ot th a t adm irably during the Lists scen e— as good a piece of Shakespeare staging as I can rem em b er. B u t I'd like it done from the beginning. R ichard, of co u rse , carries too m uch sail for his keel and so sw ings violently from side to side at any puff of wind. B u t his stillness and silence in b etw een — which W .S. intended, I think, though he had not yet discovered how to make such things positively effective (as O th ello's si­ lences a re )— show us the poet w ho is n ot really living in this practical w orld at all, but in one of his ow n im agination. All the "plastique" of this p art of the production and the blending of the scene (but not a w ord of the D. of G lo u cester 135

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could I h ear. I fancy she w as g ettin g h er em phasis all w ro n g ) all th at scenic invention excellen t. G aun t's death scene p articularly, and the colloquy a fterw ard s (th ough dam n all th a t crossin g and genu flection and Dies Irae) first-ra te . . . . I un d erstan d you n ot stressin g the se x u a l-p e rv e rt p art of B u sh y -B a g o t-G re e n — th o u gh of co u rse the su ggestion is th ere: but v ery delicately done by S h ak esp eare, an ex post facto one, only b rough t in at th eir dying m o m en t, cf. G av esto n in Edward II by a m an w ho w asn 't a sensitive d ra m a tist— but I think th ey m ight be m o re g org eou sly dressed than the o th e rs, to sh ow th at th ey are the caterp illars of th e C o m m o n w ealth , w h ereas Bolingbroke and M ow b ray and A u m erle should be "rich n ot g au d y ." B ut w h y is the poor D. of Y . (w ho is by the w ay ra th e r a Polonius— a first study fo r h im ?— y o u r m an lacks distinction) so shabby? B u t m y chief g ro u se is about the v erse. It is a lyrical play. W .S. has not y et learned to exp ress anyth in g excep t in speech. T h ere is nothing m u ch , I m ean, in b etw een the lines, as th e re is in M acbeth (for an e x tre m e exam ple). T h e re fo re — I am p reachin g; forgive m e— ev eryth in g the a cto r does m u st be done within the fram e of the v erse. W h atev er im pression of action o r th o u g h t he can g et w ithin this fram e w ith o u t disturban ce of cadence o r flow , he m ay. B u t th ere m u st be n oth in g, no trick, no check, beyond an h on est pause o r so at th e end of a sen ten ce or speech. And I believe you'll seldom find th a t the cadence and em p h asis— th e m ere right scansion of the v erse does n ot give you the m ean ing w ith o u t m uch of any fu rth e r effo rt on the a cto r's p art. T h e pace you m ay v ary all you like. C larity th ere m u st be, of co u rse . B u t h e re, it is really the breaking of the rh y th m w hich d estro y s it, for, as I said, Sh ak espeare has w ritte n one tune and his w ord s are playing th at in th e treble (say); if one tries to play a n o th e r tu n e w ith th em in the b ass— natu rally w e can 't u n d erstan d the thing. V ariety of p ace— to n e — colou r of speech; yes, as m uch as possible, but w ithin the fram e. Y ou m u st n ot tu rn W .S.'s q u avers into cro ch ets o r sem ib rev es— o r sem iquavers for th a t m a tte r. And I think each c h a ra c te r ou gh t to have his ow n speech. I th o u g h t during the first half of the play th ey w ere im itating each o th e r; then I found th ey w ere im itating you and y o u r taste

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for sadder sforzandi; good enough for R ichard and clearly indi­ cated for "D o w n — dow n I co m e— " and "N o lord of thine, thou h au gh t insulting m an — " appropriate to him but quite w ron g for A u gu stu s C aesar-B olin gb rok e or M ow b ray o r the "T e n o r" gallan try of A um erle. The thing g o t— I began to sw ear— m ore and m ore hung up as it w en t on, and you began to play m ore and m ore astride the v erse instead of in it. The scenic invention of the deposition scene w as again adm irable. B. on the th ro n e , you w andering about below like a lost cre a tu re — adm irable (but oh, if you'd have let the m arvellous and sw eet m usic of th a t verse just carry you along with it). Th e tune of th at "bucket and w ell" bit (again the business adm irable) and even m ore of the "N o deeper wrinkles yet . . ." It is like an andante of M o zart. Shakespeare has done it for you. W hy n ot let him ? Y es, scenic invention here again adm irable, but I fancy th at this is m ean t to be a scenic repetition of the opening, w ith B. taking his place on the v ery th ro n e on w hich we saw Richard sitting then. A nd y ou r holding up the w hole play (progressively so) obliged you to cu t the A um erle conspiracy, the d ram atic point of which is m erely th at it is a sw ift and excited interlude betw een the slow (this good again, I th o u gh t) farew ell betw een R ichard and the Q ueen and the slow, philosophical death scene. "I have been w ondering how I m ay com p are . . . e tc .," the pace of which is changed by the arrival of the g room and goes to the rapidity of the d eath — but th at ough t to be a hell of a fight. N ote th at for all the action suggested in the play th ere has been no single strok e of violence till then. It has all been done by politics— B. finessing the old D. of G. and taking you w ith ou t a stru g gle, to w hen at the end th at politician gets his dirty w ork done for him — it should be very dirty. T hen he com es in— the h y p o crite— and condem ns E xton . He feels in a sense w hat he says. But this is w hy the B.'s of this w orld are successful; they can feel th at w ay.

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John Gielgud Stage Directions ( 1 96 3 )

Richard the Second is a cerem onial play. In spite of its long list of ch a racters only a few are of the first im p ortan ce, and m ost of these are very broadly treated , especially in the early scenes. The young King him self, thou gh his personal b eau ty and the su b servien t m an n er in w hich he is treated , as he sits idly on his th ro n e, m u st draw all eyes to him im m ediately, is only lightly sketched at first in a few ra th e r enigm atic strok es. It is not until afte r his re tu rn from Ireland, alm ost halfw ay th rou g h the play, th at his inner ch a ra cte r begins to be developed in a series of exquisite cadenzas and variations. In these later scenes, the subtleties of his speeches are capable of endless shades and nuances, but (as is nearly alw ays the case in Shakespeare) the acto r's vocal effo rts m u st be contrived w ithin the fram ew o rk of the v erse, and not outside it. T o o m any pauses and striking v ariation s of tem po will tend to hold up the action disastrously and so ruin the p attern and sy m m etry of the te x t. T he acto r of Richard can n o t hope at any tim e during the action to be wholly sy m p athetic to the audience. Indeed he m ust use the early scenes to create an im pression of slyness, p etty vanity, and callous indifference. But he m u st also show him self to be innately w ell-bred, sensitive to b eau ty (as he u nderstands it, thou gh he can n ot him self see the b eau ty of the dying G aun t), lonely in his rem o te position of Kingship, you n g, h ead stron g , frivolous, and entirely o u t of sym p athy w ith the older m en w ho try so vainly to advise him and co n trol his w him s. In the later scenes, h ow ever, the lovely lines he has to speak can hardly fail to win a certain sym p athy for him , and he gradually becom es m ore understandable and so m ore pitiable. 139

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B u t ow ing to his u tte r lack of h u m or and his co n sta n t egotism and self-p ostu rin g, th ere is alw ays a risk th a t he m ay becom e tedious and irritatin g to the audience unless the finer shades of his ch a ra c te r are v ery subtly p ortray ed . It is essential for an a cto r playing R ichard to find the e x a ct line of his d isintegration. F irst, by grading the successive scenes as th ey follow one a n o th er, w ith th eir shifting ch an ges of m ood exp ressed in a continually m inor key, and then by developing the detail and co n stru ctiv e p attern of the speeches as they becom e m ore elaborate and involved. R ichard is one of the rare p arts in w hich th e a cto r m ay indulge him self, lu xu riatin g in the language he has to speak, and attitudinizing in consciously gracefu l poses. Y e t the m an m u st seem , too, to be ev er physically on his g u ard, shielding him self, both in w ords and m o vem en t, from the dreaded im pact of the u n know n circu m stan ces w hich, he feels, are alw ays lying in w ait to strike him dow n. He is to rn b etw een the intrinsic w eak ­ ness of his n atu re and th e pride and fastidiousness of his quality and breeding. He strives continually to retain his kingly dignity, to gain tim e by holding it up to the light b efore his enem ies (as he will actually hold up the m irro r later on in the deposition scene), while he p rep ares inw ardly to face the shock of th e n e x t hum iliation. Finally, cast o u t into the em pty darkness of his prison, he is forced to realize at last th a t n eith er his personal b eau ty n or the divine right of kingship can save him from inevitable h o rro r, as he is forced to co n tem plate his p rivate doom . T h u s the a cto r has a dual responsibility. H e m u st p resen t the ex tern al action as the King su ffers his d efeats— the new s of his fav o rites' d eath s, the su rren d er to Bolingbroke at Flint, the defiant sham e of the deposition scene and the agonies of fa re ­ well to his Q ueen . Y et he m u st som eh ow co n triv e at th e sam e tim e to execu te the poetic intricacies of the te x t w ith a full appreciation of its m usical inten tion , using a com pletely lucid (and possibly stylized) m eth od of vocal and plastic in te rp re ta ­ tion. Th e speaking of blank v erse can only be p rojected , so as to hold an audience, by artificial and technical m ean s— to n e , e m ­ phasis and m odulation. Th e task m ay seem an impossibly diffi­ cult o n e— to play, as it w e re , in tw o differen t styles at o n ce, just

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as a singer has to do in opera. But this is actually a question of technique. A good a cto r exp eriences em otion at re h e a rsa l— or im agines the exp erience of it vividly, w hich is not quite the sam e thin g — and then selects, th rou g h trial and e rro r, w h at he w ishes to con vey at each given m o m en t of his p erfo rm an ce. So he has alw ays a double task — th at of living in his role and at the sam e tim e judging his ow n effects in relation to his fellow players and the audience, so as to p resen t an apparently sp on tan eou s, living being, in a p attern carefully devised beforeh and , but capable of infinite shades of color and tem po, and bound to vary slightly at ev ery p erfo rm an ce. T h e acto r is, a fte r all, a kind of co n ju ro r, and in a p art like Richard he will find infinite oppor­ tunities to put his skill into p ractice, playing, as R ichard him self plays, on the feelings of an audience until they are at one w ith the com plicated n atu re of the ch a ra cte r; then , even w hen they can n o t condone his actions or sym pathize w ith his m isfortu nes, they com e at length to un derstand his in tricate n atu re and can sh are in his unique exp erience. W h eth er the scenes of the A um erle conspiracy in the fou rth act should be retained or om itted in the th e a tre is a difficult question to decide. M any people think th a t they are not by Shakespeare, and th at they m ay have been cobbled to g e th e r by a n o th er hand to pad o u t the n ecessary playing tim e, w hen the deposition scene, ow ing to its d an gerous political implications, w as om itted in Elizabeth's day. C ertain ly the rhym ing couplets in these scenes have a stro n g flavor of fustian m elod ram a, and m any of the lines can seem ridiculous unless they are delivered w ith co n su m m ate pow er and tact. Also they make the play considerably longer. O n the o th er hand they are of value to v ary the som ew h at m o n oton o u s tone and style of the main p art of the te x t, and they serve to make a break in style, dividing the tw o g re a t scenes of R ichard's grief (the deposition scene and the farew ell to the Q ueen ) from his final soliloquy and fight to death in the prison. T h ese episodes gain considerably in their effect if the King has been absent from the stage for tw o scenes beforehand. Also, of co u rse, the A um erle scenes con tain the celebrated passage betw een Y ork and his D uchess, describing R ichard's e n try into London in the pow er of Bolingbroke, and the first referen ces to the wildness of Prince Hal.

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T h e opening scene of the play, th o u gh dram atically effective in reading, alw ays p resen ts considerable difficulties for a m od ern audience. Th e im plications of the K ing's com plicity in th e m u r­ der of G lo u cester (which has taken place before the action begins) are n ot easy to u n d erstan d . M o st of us are less fam iliar w ith h isto ry th an the Elizabethans, w ho seem to have had a cu riously detailed know ledge of the in tricate topical e v en ts of the tim es chronicled by H olinshed and so faithfully follow ed in th e H istories of Shakesp eare. Th e opening qu arrel b etw een M o w b ray and Bolingbroke is repeated w ith g re a te r elaboration and form ality in the to u rn a m e n t scene at C o v e n try , w ith only the sh o rt duologue betw een the D uch ess of G lo u cester and G au n t to sep arate th em . This interm ed iate scene also refe rs back alm ost exclusively to the m u rd er of G lo u cester, and it is difficult to m ake it in terestin g , since the D uchess appears w ith ­ o u t any in trod uction and is to h ave no fu rth e r p art in th e action , th o u gh the accou n t of h er death som e scenes later m akes an effective m o m en t fo r old Y o rk . In all this early p art of the play the action is form alized and lacking in p rogression . T h e K ing's m otives seem to be deliberately u n d erstated , w hile the c h a ra c ­ te rs of his Q ueen and v ariou s lords and favorites are v e ry baldly indicated. C erem o n y and fine speaking m u st com bine to hold the in terest of the audience. T h e vocal effects m u st be carefully o rch e stra te d : M ow b ray's fine te n o r speeches, Bolingbroke's stro n g blustering ton es, and the deep bass w arn in g voice of G au n t. U n fo rtu n ately , th ro u g h o u t the traged y , the verse seem s to be too evenly distributed, and o ften w ith m o re m usic th an sense of ch a ra cte r. E veryo n e speaks in im ages, p aren th eses, and elaborate similes, w h e th e r g ard en ers, exquisites, o r tou gh realistic nobles, and th o u gh this rich n ess of m etap h o r gives, in reading, a beautiful, tapestried , so m ew h at G othic effect (like an illum inated m issal o r a Book of H ou rs), the continually artificial style tends to becom e so m ew h at indigestible on the stag e, and stands b etw een the audience and th eir desire to g et on m ore intim ate term s w ith the ch a ra cte rs and situations. It is th e re fo re especially im p ortan t to have acto rs for the chief p arts w ho are stro n gly co n trasted individual types as well as skilled speakers of v erse.

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The m ore simply the ch aracters are played on broad, co n ­ ventional (but n ot too m elodram atic) lines, the scenes appearing to flow sm oothly and sw iftly w ith the co rre c t stress and phrasing, but w ith ou t too m uch elaboration , eith er of action, grouping, o r pauses, the b etter will the b eau ty of the general p attern em erg e and the in terest of the audience be sustained. Th e a cto r of Richard m ay then be allowed, like the solo violin in a co n certo , to take certain liberties w ith his cadenzas, developing their intricacies legitim ately in an alm ost unlim ited v ariety of pace and detail, in co n tra st to the m ore plodding ground bass of Bolingbroke, N orth u m b erlan d and the o th e r nobles. M any of the sh o rte r scenes in the play can produce an e x ­ quisite effect; especially the fam ous episode of the Q u een w ith the gard en ers at Langley, for exam ple, and the little duologue betw een the W elsh captain and Salisbury (which has som ething of the sam e sensitive y et sin ister effect as the little scene in Macbeth in w hich the m u rd erers w ait for Banquo on the lonely h eath ). T h ese passages should have a ro m an tic, simple e x p re s­ siveness in co n tra st to the form ality of the g re a t scenes which precede and follow them . T h ere are several difficult links in the action. T h e scene b etw een R oss, W illoughby and N orth u m b erlan d a fte r G aun t's d eath, and the passage w hen the th ree favorites p art for the last tim e on h earing of Bolingbroke's re tu rn , seem alm ost like choral exercises for th ree voices, and should, perhaps, be directed m ainly from this point of view. T h e quarrel of the peers, before the en tran ce of R ichard in the deposition scene, is difficult to stage w ith ou t a dan gerous risk of seem ing ridiculous (the th ro w ­ ing down and picking up of gloves and so on), and it is advisable to make som e d iscreet cu ts to avoid bathos both h ere and in the A um erle conspiracy scenes, if they are included. T h e ch a r­ a cter of Y o rk , used by Shakespeare as a kind of w averin g ch oru s th ro u g h o u t the play, touching yet som etim es absurd, can be of g reat value, provided th a t the a cto r and d irector can co n ­ trive betw een them a tactfu l com prom ise b etw een com edy and d ram atic effect. To m ake him a purely farcical ch a ra cte r (as has som etim es been attem p ted ) w eakens the play, and is quite opposed, it seem s to m e, to the intention of the d ram atist. The w om en in the cast are v ery lightly d raw n, and th ey are difficult

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p arts for actresses to clothe w ith flesh and blood, th o u gh vocally and pictorially th ey can m ake a considerable e ffe ct— th e tw o D uch esses old and proud, the little Q u een so young and help­ less— in th e so m ew h at con ven tion al episodes allotted to th em . M ost of the ch a ra cte rs, excep t G au n t, Y o rk , C arlisle and the tw o D uch esses, seem to be young and full of life, and th e re should be som eth in g of the sam e im petuous brilliance th a t is so w onderfully vivid in Romeo and Juliet in the w ay th ey g litte r and stru g gle and hurl them selves tow ard th eir fates. Richard the Second is a play, above all, w hich m u st in p erfo rm an ce be finely o rch e stra te d , m elodious, you th fu l, headlong, violent and vivid. It m u st n ot be h eavy o r d raggin g, and the acto rs m u st know w here th ey are going in th eir long speeches. E very e ffo rt m u st be m ade to co n tra st scene again st scene. A t first w e m u st be m ade aw are of the lightness of R ichard's ch a ra c te r, his fatal, ob stin ate frivolity, unchecked by the baleful w arn in gs and im ­ placable nobility of G au n t. T h en , as w e reach the h e a rt of the play, and th e K ing's ow n h e a rt and soul are gradually revealed to us by Shak esp eare, w e m u st see him forced , by the realization of his fav o rites' d eaths and the d esertion of his co u n try m e n , r e ­ lu ctan tly beginning to abandon his co ntem plative poetic fan ­ tasies, to face the b rutal reality of N orth u m b erlan d 's hostility and the grim d eterm in atio n of the ru thless Bolingbroke. T h e g reat problem , as in all Sh akespearean plays, is to achieve a straig h tfo rw ard m usical ren d ering of the v erse, and yet to com bine this w ith a sense of excitin g actu ality in the action . T h e e v en ts of the play m u st really seem to happen, and y et, as in an opera, the m usic of the lines m u st be n eith er slu rred , dragged n or unduly h u rried. In sh o rt, th e technical brilliance of the poetic w riting m u st be co rre ctly balanced and simply e x e cu te d , w ith the added color of ch a ra c te r and p erson ality, while at the sam e tim e the shock of the actu al ev en ts p resen ted m u st appear to be sp on tan eou s and realistically convincing. T h e p o etry m u st be welded im perceptibly into the d ram atic action to a point w h ere the audience will accep t the tw o to g e th e r— and, if su c­ cessfully m anaged, the tw o styles should support one a n o th e r to cre a te a com plete h arm o n y of effect.

John Russell Brown Shakespeare's Plays in Performance (19 66)

So far I have considered the acto r's co n trib u tion to p e rfo rm ­ ance, but relationships b etw een p erfo rm an ces, shifts of in terest from one ch a ra cte r to an o th er, the effects of m o vem en t and changing m odes of illusion have already draw n o u r atten tio n . N ow the stag e-p ictu re m u st com e to the fo refro n t. As a play is p erform ed , a d ram atist is controlling the audience's view of its action , now tow ard s a single ch a ra cte r, now a group, now a dead body, o r an em pty th ro n e, o r nothing. An audience is aw are of the physical objects displayed before it, as well as the w ords it h ears. Shape, size, color; co n tra sts, n um b ers, d istance; m o vem en t, organization and lack of o rg an i­ zation are all influencing the audience's response. T h ere are m om en ts w hen a nu m b er of figures seem to stand w ithin a realistic perspective in calculated relationship to each o th e r, and m om en ts w hen they form a tw o-dim ensional frieze (no figure m ore im p ortan t than an o th er), o r w hen a small eccen tric detail dom inates the w hole, o r w hen an em pty space is m ore im p res­ sive than the rest of a crow ded stage. W e need to speak of the changing picture on the stage as of a com position, as we m ight speak of the form al ch aracteristics of a painting. This deploy­ m en t is p art of the p erform ed play and stron gly affects w h at it does to an audience; it is p art of the theatrical language which Shakespeare developed during the co u rse of his career. T w o w arnings are needed. First it will not be sufficient to list the co n ten ts of the stag e-p ictu re and th eir relationships. We m u st try to describe how the audience perceives th at picture. In a picture gallery we recognize th at th ere is an appropriate w ay of looking at any picture. It w ould be absurd to stand all the 745

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tim e w ithin a foot or tw o of a Fren ch im pressionist painting, a M o n et o r a D egas. T h at w ould be approp riate only if w e w ere considering the painter's tech n iq u e. In o rd e r to see the effect th at his picture is able to tran sm it, w e would au tom atically step back a few paces and so becom e aw are of the relationship of the b ru sh -stro k es to each o th e r, of the w hole effect of light, color, m o vem en t and space. T h e picture is m ade fo r such a wide focus. O th e r p ictu res— som e D utch realists for exam p le— invite, and req u ire, a m inute scru tin y : one needs to step up close to the can vas. So it is in the th e a tre : the righ t focus, be it wide or in ten se, is n ecessary for seeing the m asterp iece. W ith o u t this ad aptation w e m ay see only w h at appears to be in com p eten t b ru sh -w o rk , o r an inability to give distinction o r em phasis. In w atch in g a play in a th e a tre — any play, in any th e a tre — w e som etim es sit forw ard in o u r ch air, head forw ard and eyes in ten t on one p articu lar point in th e aren a o r p icture w hich is the stag e; this kind of d ram atic focus is in ten se, co n ce n tra te d . W e observe o r w atch fo r th e m in u test action o r w ord ; w e o ften see only one p articu lar p erson o r h ear only one p articu lar sound, even thou gh the stage m ay be crow ded or noisy, o r disorderly. T h e opposite e x tre m e is a wide d ram atic focus. Instead of sitting forw ard w e are som etim es relaxed , sitting back, and responsive to the w hole p icture. A t such a tim e no one person o r sound, or action dom in ates the im pression w e receive; w e are sitting back and "tak in g it all in"; w e are conscious of th e overall e ffe ct, of the interw eavin g of p attern and the ran ge of color. It is a wide focus. W e can becom e aw are of a changing d ram atic focus by m arking these tw o extre m e s. W e m u st also rem em b er co n stan tly th at the play e xists in tim e; the stag e-p ictu re is alw ays developing from one fo rm to a n o th e r and at varyin g speeds. O ne m o m en ta ry grou p ing m ay gain em phasis o r m eaning because it echoes an earlier g rou p ing, in a d ifferen t settin g o r w ith a n o th e r dom inating figu re. A single figure m ay be m o re eloquent of loneliness because just b efore the stage had been crow ded and anim ated. T h e chan gin g visual im pressions are also modified by n arra tiv e . So a sudden liveliness m ay appear to be little m o re than a m eaningless dis­ tu rb an ce, because the audience is w holly u n p repared fo r it and so it shocks ra th e r than elucidates. W hen n a rra tiv e exp ectatio n

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is th w arted by a m o vem en t to som e o th e r part of the fable, an apparently static, form al scene m ay lose its im pression of s ta ­ bility, o r a brief descriptive scene take on an unusual air of deliberation. T h e stage picture is alw ays changing and the audi­ ence's reaction to it can be controlled by d ram atic n arrativ e and response to ch a ra cte r and situation. The stage picture can n o t be assessed easily; but if w e do not discover the appropriate focus for each m o m en t we m ay m is­ read the d ram atic t e x t — and th at is done all too easily. I shall consider first, Richard 11: an early play, w ritte n , for the m ost part, in a p articularly lucid style. It begins w ith the stage set form ally. R ichard is en th ron ed and su rrou nd ed, as the Q u a rto edition of 1 5 9 7 says, w ith "nobles and attendants." Richard com m ands the ce n te r of the stag e, but he is seen as a king in relationship to his subjects, ra th e r than as a person interestin g in his ow n right. He speaks in set fashion to his uncle, John of G aun t, and requires precise, official an sw er. W hen G aun t's son, H enry Bolingbroke, and T h o m as M ow bray, Duke of N orfolk, are called to the King's presen ce, they bitterly accuse each o th e r of treaso n . Richard fails to reconcile their dem ands of h on o r and appoints a day for trial by com b at at C o v en try . T he w hole stage em pties at once, and on the outcom e of th at fu tu re ev en t the audience's atten tio n will w ait. So the first scene w ould appear if it w ere played on its own m erits, w ith each w ord spoken as simply as possible. But if the audience has som e previous know ledge of R ichard's h istory , or if the acto rs try to give co n sisten t portray als of th eir roles, th ere will be fu rth e r and conflicting im pressions. R ichard's fo r­ mal p ro testatio n of im partiality, his "F o rg e t, forgive; conclude and be ag reed ," and his co m m en ts on "bold" Bolingbroke, m ay ca rry su b textu al im pressions of irony, apprehension o r a n ta g o ­ nism. Bolingbroke's accu sations m ay seem aimed at the King ra th e r than M ow b ray, and M ow bray's confidence to stem from royal support ra th e r than his ow n innocence. But even if these im pressions are m issed, the audience will be m ade to question the scene's textu al and visual im pressions by the simple dialogue of the n ext scene. M ow b ray has been accused of m urdering T h om as, Duke of G lo u cester, a son of Edw ard III and so Boling-

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broke's uncle and the K ing's, but now , in co n tra st to th e visual elaboration of the first form al p icture, a quiet, still, intim ate scene show s T h o m as' w idowed D uchess appealing fo r rev en g e, and his b ro th e r, John of G au n t, refu sin g because: c o r r e c t i o n lie th in t h o s e han d s W h ic h m ade th e fault.

Th e King and judge of the first scene had been responsible for M ow bray's m urd ering G lo u cester, a fact to w hich no o v e rt allu­ sion has h ith erto been m ade. N ow the audience m u st question the earlier picture in re tro sp e ct, o r find th eir unease s tre n g th ­ ened. The new in form ation is given unem phatically, fo r G au n t does n ot have to p ersuade his h e a re r of its tru th , but just b efore the audience's in terest is red irected to the lists at C o v e n try , the D uch ess is show n alone, believing th a t she goes to die. F or the third scene, at C o v e n try , the full stage is again "s e t" (as th e Q u a rto has it) form ally. T h e King en te rs in p rocession to the sound of tru m p ets, and personal feelings are subdued w ithin the larg er g estu res and m o re fluent respon ses of public c e r e ­ m onial. B u t now th e focus is changed, for th e audience will w atch both sides closely, and "G od's su b stitu te " also, as he stands as judge on a h igh er level of the stag e. T h e ex cite m e n t of the duel itself is quenched before it begins, w hen R ich ard , w ith a simple m o vem en t of his hand, stops proceedings. This is u n exp ected and so draw s all the alerted atte n tio n to the King w ho holds atten tio n by w ise w ord s about civil strife and his ow n duties, and then p ron ou n ces the judgm ent w hich he and his council have agreed upon: Bolingbroke is to be banished for ten y ears and M ow b ray for life. B u t this is n ot all: th e new ly w atch fu l audience m ay discern a brief sign of com plicity o r sham e as R ichard w ith "som e unw illingness" passes sen ten ce on M ow bray, and a co v ert accu sation as the banished m an claim s a "d e a re r m erit": a single h esitation can now sh arp en the audi­ ence's perception of signs of sub textu al m otivation. Bolingbroke's subm ission w ith: Y o u r will be done. T h i s m u s t m y c o m f o r t be, T h a t sun t h a t w a r m s yo u h e re , shall s hine on me. . . .

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m ay seem to veil a rivalry w ith the King him self. Richard dom inates the stage as he gives jud gm en t, but at the close of the scene Bolingbroke is left alone w ith his friends and, as he fails to acknow ledge their farew ells, the co u rse of the dram a w aits upon the exp ression of his personal and private feelings. So a new ly clarified in terest is balanced b etw een R ichard and Boling­ broke. T o sum up the visual effects so far, w e can say th at Shake­ speare has introduced the action w ith a wide focus so th at the audience is made aw are of the p attern s of the King's relation ­ ship to nobles and officials, and of fath er to son and fatherless nephew . But a m ore intim ate focus is then induced w ith a sh o rt scene w hich adds notably, but quietly, to the exposition, and so w hen the n ex t crow ded, form al scene follows th ere are m o­ m en tary intensifications of focus; but these n ever lead to di­ rect n arrativ e sta tem en t. S om etim es the audience's cu riosity is aroused by som e action or speech a fte r it has been com pleted; or one ch ara cte r, by his w ord s, provokes a closer scru tin y of a n o th er, o r of relationships b etw een several o th e r ch aracters. So the m o m en ts of close in terest are sporadic and alw ays lead back to a com p reh en sive view of the stag e, or to a quick review of the preceding action. The audience's intense in terest is not engaged for any single ch a ra cte r o r ev en t, and y et, since the w ider issues have been resolved in judgm ent and banishm ent, it is these insights w hich aro u se m ost of the audience's e x p e cta ­ tion of fu rth e r developm ent. W e can say th at the stag e-p ictu re is at once com prehen sive and subtle, th at the focus is potentially intense o v er a wide design. M ore inform al scenes follow w hich com plicate the audience's view , extending their in terest and know ledge w ith ou t coordi­ n ating individual im pressions. While the splendors and p ro p er­ ties are still alive in the m em o ry , R ichard is seen disrobed and at ease w ith his intim ates. N ow he is sarcastic about "H igh H e re ­ fo rd " and an sw ers the national th re a t of rebellion in Ireland by deciding to lease his royal estates and e xact subscriptions from w ealth y subjects. W hen new s com es th at G au n t is sick, Richard w ishes his uncle w ere dead so th at he m ight seize his p osses­ sions, and then goes to visit him : "P ra y God we m ay make h aste,

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and com e too la te /' he says, and "A m e n " respond his co m ­ panions. In all this th e pious and responsible solem nities of the first regal scenes are m ocked: is this erra tic inform ality a tru e r p icture of Richard and of his co u n try ? In a solem n, static scene th a t follow s, the dying G au n t speaks of the "scep ter'd isle" of England w ith a reite ra tiv e eloquence th a t lends fire to p atriotic com m onplaces and has m ade the speech fam ous o u t of its co n te x t: this is a self-con tain ed , largely verbal episode. N ext R ichard e n ters, and G au n t den ou n ces his h u sb an d ry and openly accu ses him of the m u rd er of G lo u cester. G au n t leaves the royal p resen ce and, as Y o rk tries to placate the king, his d eath is an n oun ced . Im m ediately R ichard co n fiscates G au n t's possessions and Y o rk is no lon ger p atien t but denou n ces R ichard as G au n t had done: his re m o n stran ce is b reath less, n ot so im posing but m ore pitiful th an G au n t's, y et the King does n ot listen; ra th e r, w ith surprising decision, he m akes Y o rk g o v ­ e rn o r in England during his ow n absence in Ireland, and th en again h u rries from the scene. As G au n t and Y o rk h ave taken the ce n te r of the stage in d enunciation, S h akespeare has en su red th a t the King p rev en ts a prolonged close focus by jests and rapid decisions and m o vem en ts. V erbally the situ ation is cle a re r, but the focus is still predom in an tly wide; it has only becom e m o re in secu re, m o re u n certain and m ore freq u en tly disturbed by m o m en tary clarifications and intensities. As soon as Richard has left the stag e, the Earl of N o rth ­ um berland and the lords, R oss and W illoughby, ag ree to g e th e r th a t the King "is n ot h im self" but tran sfo rm ed by his fla tte re rs, and then th ey h asten to join Bolingbroke new ly re tu rn e d at the head of an arm y to red ress all w ron g s. H ere is a sim pler, stro n g e r in terest in the n arrativ e developm ent, but before the audience is allowed to follow it, th ere is a quiet m o m en t in w hich the Q u een m o u rn s the absence of h er "sw e e t R ich ard "— an en tirely new reaction to this baffling figure. W hen she h ears of Bolingbroke's arrival she despairs and Y o rk is unable to rea ssu re h er: "C o m fo rt's in h e av en ," he w arn s, "and w e are on the e a rth ." He has little confidence in his reso u rces o r decisions: and, as he leaves w ith the Q u een , the audience sees R ichard's lesser friends co u n t th eir chances and prom ptly decide to save th eir ow n skins, tw o fleeing to Bristol and one to Ireland. So

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from this gentle and then h esitatin g and shifting scene, the audience will tu rn w ith relief to Bolingbroke w ho now appears confident in arm s and attended by N orth u m b erlan d . T h ey are joined by o th e r nobles and all speak co u rteou sly , as if in h om age to the new cen tral figure. Bolingbroke's speeches are both stro n g and relaxed , so th a t the stage picture is at last ordered and assured (as it had seemed to be at the beginning), and the action steadily developing. Y ork en ters to denounce the rebel, but then declares him self n eu tral. T h ere is a brief scene r e ­ counting the dispersal of the King's W elsh arm y on hearing ru m o rs of his death , and then the action m oves to Bristol w here Bolingbroke, now accom panied by Y ork as well, condem ns to d eath B ushy and G reen , R ichard's cow ardly friends. He takes ch arg e of the realm as if he w ere the king of it, and holds the ce n ter of the stage; again echoing the first " s e t" scene. The n arrativ e en co u rages the audience to exp ect the uneasy focus to settle on the opposition of tw o main figures, tw o potential cen ters of the stage. B u t w hen R ichard re tu rn s as from Ireland w ith A um erle and the Bishop of C arlisle, afte r being absent for som e fou r hundred and sixty lines (over on esixth of the w hole play), he does n ot m eet Bolingbroke at once. The scene of his re tu rn (IH.ii) is an tithetical to th a t of Boling­ broke's: R ichard is joined by o th e r friends, as his rival had been, but they bring bad new s and not an easy co u rte sy ; and, w hereas the rebel's co u rse w as clear, the King's is m akeshift. Y e t from this point to his death the d ram atic focus g row s m ore and m ore in ten t upon Richard for his own sake, w h en ev er he appears; the audience sees progressively deeper into his consciousness. S o m e­ tim es the m ore stable Bolingbroke is a potential rival for a tte n ­ tion in the ce n te r of a crow ded stage, but a fte r his opponent has su rren d ered he says v ery little: he assum es the crow n , but n ever m entions his inten tion to do so; he deposes R ichard, but leaves m ost of th e business and p ersuasion to N orth u m b erlan d and Y ork . T h e audience is continually aw are of Bolingbroke's p resen ce, but he seem s to stand fu rth e r aw ay from them than R ichard, or than he him self had done form erly. Such is the cunning perspective of the stage picture. Th e focus is intensified on Richard by huge tran sition s of th o u gh t and feeling, and by silences. He easily dom inates the

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stage on his re tu rn because all the ill-tidings are know n to the audience before they are told to him , and so th e re is no co m ­ petitive n arrativ e in terest. M o reo v er he is eloquent and the o th e r ch a ra c te rs dependent upon him . B u t the focus is so n a r­ row ly inten se because of his silences: it seem s as if the e x tre m e s of his spoken despair and hope are impelled by som e u n exp ressed fear, som e know ledge o r state of being w hich he can n o t escape and can n o t fully m eet. He tries m any w ays to hope o r despair, to som e stable and " tr u e " reaction : at first plain fan tasy , then affirm ation of tru st in G od, then m editation on the oblivion of d eath , th en ren u n ciation of his duties. B u t his friends on stage can n o t believe o r join in any of th em , and silence alw ays follow s — as if none of his w ord s w ere valid the m o m en t a fte r th ey have been spoken. Richard him self is aw are of this ineffectiven ess and d irects atten tio n to it verbally: he thinks he will be m ocked fo r "sen seless co n ju ratio n " and th a t he has been "m istak en all this w hile." A t the end of the scene he d ischarges his arm y and h u rries o ff-sta g e , "F ro m R ichard's n igh t, to Bolingbroke's fair d a y ," and forbids anyone to speak fu rth e r. He seem s to know th a t it is from the exp ression of his ow n th o u g h ts th a t he tries to escape at the end, ra th e r than from physical or political d an ger. B e ­ tw een the rh eto ric and the silences, the audience's a tte n tio n is draw n tow ard R ichard at the ce n te r of th e stage and tow ard s the u n exp ressed in secu rity and su fferin g at the ce n te r of his being. Th e scene in w hich R ichard co n fro n ts Bolingbroke's arm y provides a wide stag e-p ictu re organ ized , fo r the first tim e, on tw o opposing cen ters. As R ichard speaks and looks royally, claim ing the p ow er of "G od o m n ip o ten t" and prophesying w ar as the resu lt of Bolingbroke's treaso n , he seem s once m o re to justify his position on the upper level of the stage at th e ce n te r of the p icture. Y et w hen N orth u m b erlan d prom ises th a t the rebel claim s only his ow n inh eritan ce, Richard suddenly ch an ges and ag rees to m eet his dem ands: it is as if the focal point of the com position suddenly lost its su b stan ce. As his m essage is c a r ­ ried back, R ichard acknow ledges: O t h a t I w e re as g r e a t As is m y g rie f, o r l e s s e r th a n m y n am e !

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O r th a t I could fo r g e t w h a t I have been! O r n o t r e m e m b e r w h a t I m u st be now !

(Ill.iii.136-39)

Th en again his insecu rity is made ap p arent by the e x tre m ity and variety of his reaction s: he speaks openly and fluently of fu tu re defeat, a life of pious p ov erty and an obscu re death. As A um erle w eeps, R ichard re tre a ts still fu rth e r into the fan tasy of "tw o kinsm en" digging "th e ir graves w ith w eeping ey e s." Mildly he subm its to N orthu m b erlan d 's req u est th at he should m eet Bolingbroke in the base co u rt; but before he descends from his dom inating position in the picture, his mind flashes to his fo rm er pow er and glory: D o w n , d o w n I co m e , like glist'r in g P h a e t h o n , W a n t in g th e m a n a g e o f u n ru ly jades.

To his enem ies it seem s th at: S o r r o w and g r ie f o f h e a r t M a k e s him speak fond ly [foolishly], like a f ra n tic [mad] m an ; Y e t he is com e.

The visual subm ission is criticized, as it w ere, by R ichard's w ords, w hich he can n o t w holly con trol. He cu ts sh o rt all arg u m en t by placing him self in the enem y's pow er before th a t is dem anded of him; and, as before, he h u rries to conclude the scene. From now on, the picture will tend to be dom inated by Bolingbroke and his ag en ts, but the focus is still inten t upon Richard w h en ev er he speaks o r m oves. B o rrow in g phrases from the criticism of p ain t­ ings, we m ay say th a t the w hole com position is static, at rest; but it is disturbed by the figure of R ichard w hich is mobile and restless. A w holly static interlude follow s, of wide focus. It is set in a garden w h ere R ichard's Q ueen o v erh ears tw o gard en ers talk of affairs of state. T h ey speak solem nly and pityingly of the "w a s te ­ ful king" w ho has n ot "trim m 'd and dress'd his land" as they their garden, and rep eat the new s th at he is to be deposed. T h ey are n ot Shakespeare's usual com ic ch aracters im pressing th eir own personalities o r points of view. T h eir quaint, slow -m oving dia­ logue acts as a fixed point of referen ce like G au n t's talk of a

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"scep tred isle," an unequivocal sta te m e n t of the w idest d ram atic issues from outside R ichard's personal dilem m a. T h en the action m oves to London, w ith Bolingbroke in full co n trol. T h e Bishop of C arlisle boldly denou n ces th e rebel and prophesies "D iso rd er, h o rro r, fear, and m u tin y " to fu tu re g e n ­ eratio n s. He is arrested by N orth u m b erlan d and at this ten se m o m en t R ichard is b ro u g h t on to the stag e. He has already decided to resign the cro w n — Shakespeare does n ot use this incident to arg u e about political issues— and now gives effect to his decision step by step, as if obeying in stru ctio n s o r as if seeking to re -cre a te the cerem on ial solem n ity of the early scenes. B u t he is now aw are th at his w ord s and action s do n ot reflect his inw ard n a tu re, n eith er his "reg al th o u g h ts" n or his deep so rro w . And his audience, both on stag e and in the au d itoriu m , is m ade a w are of this disparity. W h en he cries "G od save the kin g," no one d ares respond "A m e n ," and w hen he calls Bolingbroke to stand opposite him w ith one hand on th e crow n he is forced to p ro test th at he can n o t resign his cares w ith the resig n ation of his office. As he tries to speak of this, his w ord s have a new a u th o rity : th ey do n ot exp ress conflicting e x tre m e s and do n ot issue from n erv ou s silences. T h e m an w ho subm its now d om inates th e scene: he d raw s all atten tio n to him self and, w ithin the p attern o r ordained ev en ts, he co n trols the n a tu re of the action and den oun ces his enem ies. Y et this new stre n g th d erives from w eakness: he speaks m o re firm ly and steadily because he now know s he cannot speak of his ow n crim es n or alleviate his g rief; he can n o t tell "w h at nam e to call h im self." It is at this point th a t Shakespeare introduced an incident for w hich his sou rces gave not the sligh test su ggestion : Richard calls for a looking glass and w hen he sees few signs of his sufferin g in it, he dashes it to pieces. T h e tru e im age of Richard is n ot in his ap p earan ce, n or his w ord s. A gain th e scene is quickly finished: he asks for leave to go and is conveyed to the T o w er. Shakespeare has at once p resen ted a wide p icture and led the audience's in terest inten tly tow ard a single figure sta n d ­ ing to one side of the com position; and as the focus intensifies the dram a becom es abruptly disturbed by su b textu al realities and the w hole wide picture is disturbed and rapidly dissolved. T h ere is a brief scene as the Q u een g re e ts h er husband on

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his w ay to prison, not recognizing the royal lion in his meek subm ission. T h ere is no n erv ou s altern atio n of mood now , nor anxious silence. T h ey exch an g e sh o rt rhym ed speeches, and then part w ith a kiss, in accepted silence. But the audience w hose in terest has been so intensified upon R ichard m ay see the v ery fluency of the scene as a deliberately e xtern al m an n er of valediction; Richard com m u n icates his inw ard grief by trying to conceal it, and in p erfo rm an ce the dialogue can sound tend er and p recariou s, as well as controlled. Richard yet again h u rries from the stag e, lest they "m ake w oe w an ton w ith this fond delay"; he is still afraid of w h at he m ight say; for all the verbal form alism of this scene, the ce n te r of the picture is still m y ste ri­ ous, still lacking a defined and static quality. Th e audience h ears of fu rth e r indignities th a t R ichard is made to su ffer, but it has to w ait th rou g h tw o bustling, h alf­ com ic scenes before he is presen ted again. T h e n — and this is for the first tim e in the play— he appears alone. In soliloquy the audience's atten tio n is draw n wholly to him. The focus is now undeniably intense, and yet Shakespeare introduces a considered, reflective, alm ost literary tone: I have b e e n stud ying h o w I m ay c o m p a re T h e prison w h e r e I live u n t o th e world. . . . ( V . v .1 - 2 )

In due o rd er R ichard now describes his disordered th o u g h ts— religious, am bitious, flatterin g — and acknow ledges th at he is co n ten t in none of them . As m usic is played o ff-sta g e , he speaks of "w astin g " his "tim e ," and of his recom p en se in being "w a ste d " by tim e and being forced to "m ark the tim e" of Bolingbroke's p rogress. G rief, folly, faults, defeat and insecu rity are all a c­ know ledged; he no longer tries to escape from such th o u gh ts but seeks to tam e them by exp ressing them thou gh tfu lly. The tone is alm ost unvaried and the pace alm ost steady: not quite, for still the balance is n ot easy. The change has left him helpless, exp ecting th at: N o r I, n o r any m an th a t but m an is, W ith n o t h in g shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd W ith b ein g n o th in g .

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Y e t m usic, played out of tim e, th re a te n s this co m p o su re. O nly w hen he rem em b ers th a t it is m ean t for his co m fo rt and is a sign of love, can he bear th at too, and the scene is once m ore com posed. T h en com es a quickening of in terest in an u n exp ected e n try : he is hailed as "royal P rin ce!," and R ichard an sw ers the v isitor quickly w ith a sharply ironic "T h an k s, noble p e e r!" H e is a g roo m of his stable, and tells R ichard of his h o rse , the roan B arb ary, and of this cre a tu re 's pride in bearing Bolingbroke in triu m p h . Richard cu rses the h o rse, but then stops to consider: b ecause the anim al w as "cre a te d to be aw'd by m a n " he begs its forgiven ess, and rem em b ers th a t he him self has been forced to bear a burden and subm it as if he w ere an anim al. Im m ediately a w a rd er en ters w ith food and o rd ers the g roo m aw ay; the focus is sharpened by the unknow n, and by an a tte n d a n t sense of im m ediate d anger. R ichard, h o w ev er, thinks of his se rv a n t— "If thou love m e, 'tis tim e thou w e rt a w a y "— and a silence can be held in p erfo rm an ce, despite the excitem en t, by an undefined and u n exp ressed sym p athy b etw een m a ste r and g ro o m . Th e la tte r replies: "W h at m y ton gue dares n ot, th a t m y h e a rt shall sa y ." Such a silence does n ot requ ire u tte ra n ce ; m o m en tarily th e re is intim acy and u n d erstan d in g, and even, perhaps, a deep peace. A fte r this intensely focused m o m en t, S hakespeare retu rn ed to his p rim ary sou rces w ith the w ard er's h arsh w ord s asking R ichard to eat. T h e w ard er refu ses to taste the food to guard again st poison, saying th at Bolingbroke's o rd er forbids this, and th en Richard leaps at him w ith: T h e devil take H e n r y o f L a n c a s t e r and thee! P a tie n c e is stale, and I am w e a r y o f it.

T h e re are cries for help and E xto n and his assistan ts ru sh in. A ction is violent and gen eral: Richard kills tw o m en, and th en is o verp o w ered by n u m b ers and stru ck dow n. Suddenly the stage is fully alive w ith his an ger, a u th o rity and physical stre n g th , w ith a stru g gle and then d efeat— all in an in stan t. T h e deep, n ecessarily static focus has been broken, and th en w hen the violence is p ast— violence can sustain in tere st in the th e a tre only for com p aratively sh o rt tim es— Richard speaks his last,

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presum ably faint, w ords (again wholly S hakespeare's invention) th at are all the m ore im pressive by co n tra st w ith the tum ult: M o u n t , m o u n t , m y soul! th y seat is up on high; W h ilst m y g r o ss flesh sinks d o w n w a rd , h e re to die.

R ichard had often longed for death because it would bring oblivion and perhaps pity, but as he faces assassination he finds new aspiration: royal an g er and, then , hope in a w orld beyond death and ch an ge, spring from his deepest being. Shakespeare's R ichard talks a g reat deal about him self— som e critics have called him a poet ra th e r than a king— but an un derstanding of his p art in the play can n ot be found by simply analyzing w h at he says, w eighing the w ord against the w ord; his stage reality depends also on su b text, and on the changing picture as it directs the audience's atten tio n progressively tow ard s the th o u gh ts behind the w ords and the th o u gh ts of silence, and tow ard s his last unthinking, physical reaction s. By simple q u otation it can be show n th at R ichard is a m an w ho talks "to o idly," one "w h o w astes tim e" and is then "w asted by it"; o r th at he is a king w ho m u st u n crow n him self and yet can n ot escape the cares th at "ten d the cro w n ." But such form ulae do n ot em brace the w hole experience the play p ro ­ vides in a th eatre.

In a traged y, afte r death th ere is alw ays m o re to say. If only the eyes are closed and pious cerem onies p erform ed in silence, the audience is show n th a t death affects o th e r people besides the p ro tag on ist. A hushed drum , a bowed head, or a m om en t w ith ­ ou t sound o r m otion is enough to establish death as a fact fo r o th e rs' co m p reh en sion ; the h ero m ay have unpacked his h e a rt w ith w ords but this m u st still be p resen ted , his death m u st have this con sequence. M any d ram atists have made the fu rth e r com m u n ication explicitly, in a ch oru s w hich tells the men and w om en of Th eb es th at no one can be called happy u n ­ til he has died in peace, th at th ere is alw ays an end to tears, th at w isdom is taug h t by suffering. Som e au th o rs, m ore busily,

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have recou n ted d eath 's m anifold im plications th ro u g h a grou p of w om en tidying th eir th o u g h ts aloud; o th ers have an nounced a long-kept secret th ro u g h the m o u th of som e w ise, experienced m an — how he w ho has died had been tru e to his h e rita g e , o r had been stru ck dow n by som e hidden guilt. A u th o rs w ho p re fe r to m aintain a full d ram atic illusion have p resen ted retaliatio n o r subm ission, praise o r blam e, in con tin u ed action , o r have co n ­ cluded w ith a p ray er th a t begs som e god to appease m an's m isery and rem orse. In Shakespeare's day the standard procedure w as explicit co m m en t, a sta te m e n t of the play's m eaning o r significance. Elizabethan traged y usually d rew a firm line a fte r the death of the h ero , and then totalled up good deeds and bad. In this play, Shakespeare's m eth od is to give a n o th e r scen e, a n o th e r picture w ith d ifferen t figures: a fte r the d eath of R ichard, w hen th e focus has been m ore inten se th an ev er b efore, Shakespeare tran sferred atten tio n to Bolingbroke seated in R ichard's th ro n e; a form al " s e t" scen e, w ith a pred om in an tly wide focus. Th e tran sferen ce is, h o w ev er, long prepared for: the wide focus of the early scenes had n ot been invoked needlessly. T h e first stag e-p ictu res w ith R ichard as judge of M o w b ray and Bolingbroke w ere repeated half-w ay th ro u g h w hen Bolingbroke stood as judge of B u sh y and G reen , and then of A u m erle and S u rrey again st the ch arg es of B ag ot, F itzw a te r and o th e rs. In his second jud gm en t Bolingbroke dealt w ith the sam e o ffen ce as had concerned Richard: the m u rd er of T h om as, Duke of G lou ces­ ter. B ut th ere w ere significant d ifferences: the co n te sta n ts w ere m o re n u m ero u s and m ore q uick -tem p ered; the judge said far less than his p red ecesso r, his m ost arrestin g co n trib u tio n s being his silence, his repeal of M ow b ray and th en , on h earing of this old enem y's death a fte r fighting in the crusad es, his praise and p ray er for him . All th ese scenes are echoed in the last form al scene, and so stren g th en it; once th e m o m e n ta ry su rp rise has passed, it seem s the inevitable close to the play as a w hole. Again, b etw een R ichard's farew ell to his Q u een and his last ap p earan ce, S hakespeare elaborated on accou n ts in his so u rces by introducing tw o scenes show ing th e D uke of Y o rk 's dis­ co v ery th at his son, A u m erle, is engaged in con sp iracy again st Bolingbroke. T h e audience need not know th ese ev en ts in o rd er

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to follow R ichard's sto ry — indeed, alm ost invariably the scenes are cu t from m odern p ro d u ction s— so Shakespeare m u st have had o th e r reason s for inventing them . Firstly they d em o n strate the effects of revolu tion ; and, secondly, their com ic details of calling for boots to a loquacious wife provide a release from the tension of following R ichard's sto ry . And they also affect the d ram atic focus. By introducing these scenes Bolingbroke is again seated as judge. A t first he seem s well able to m anage the dan ger to his person, reducing the sta tu re of both A u m erle and his m o th er w ith an ironic: "M y d an gerous cousin, let you r m o th er in" (V.iii.81). B ut, as the D uchess kneels in supplication and refu ses to obey Bolingbroke's thrice repeated "R ise up, good a u n t" until he has prom ised, and doubly prom ised, pardon for h er son's life, the audience is show n both the new king's pow er and his subject's tend ency to doubt the effect of his com m an d ­ ing w ords of friendship and forgiveness. T h e irony touches Bolingbroke closely, for as the suppliant rises she cries (and this is all she says): "A God on earth thou a r t " — the rebel, the silent king, has to h ear him self called a god by those he favors. T o this salutation he an sw ers nothing: but his tone ch an ges and, ig­ noring the agonized and flustered w om an , he speaks directly of tracking dow n o th e r co n sp irators and sw ears th at all of them shall die. The episode ends w hen the D uchess leaves w ith her pardoned son and places such revolu tion s of fo rtu n e in an oth er perspective: "C o m e m y old son; I pray God make thee n ew ." I have dwelt so long on this scene because the final scene of the play is again, for the fo u rth tim e, Bolingbroke en th ro n ed as king and judge. Th e picture including its cen tral figure is now quite fam iliar, so th at despite its wide focus the audience m ay give p articular atten tio n to small points of differen ce, o r im p re­ cision. Y ork , N orth u m b erlan d and F itzw ate r bring new s th at his enem ies are defeated and slain; only the Bishop of C arlisle is b rough t a p risoner before him, and h e — stran g ely p erh ap s— is pardoned because Bolingbroke has seen "sparks of h o n o u r" in this implacable enem y. T h en th ere follows a n o th er, m ore im ­ pressive e n try into the royal p resen ce: Sir Pierce of E xto n w ith R ichard's body in a coffin. A t least fou r m en are needed to bear this burden on to the stag e, and they m u st m ove m ore slowly and cerem onially than the eag er m essen gers w ho have preceded

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them . Bolingbroke does n ot speak, but as the coffin is deliber­ ately placed before him , E xto n an n ou n ces: G r e a t K ing, w ith in this c o ffin I p r e s e n t T h y buried fear.

T h e an sw er is: E x t o n , I t h a n k t h e e no t; f o r t h o u h a s t w r o u g h t A deed o f slan der w it h th y fatal hand U pon m y head and all this f a m o u s land. . . . T h o u g h I did w ish h im dead, I h a t e th e m u r d e r e r , love him m u rd e re d . T h e guilt o f c o n sc ie n c e ta ke t h o u fo r t h y lab o u r, B u t n e i t h e r m y good w o rd n o r princely fav o u r; W ith C a in go w a n d e r t h o r o u g h shad es o f n igh t, And n e v e r s h o w t h y head by day n o r light.

He tu rn s from E xto n , to address his silent, w atch in g noblem en: Lord, I p r o t e s t m y soul is full o f w o e T h a t blood should sprinkle m e to m a k e m e gro w .

And the play ends w ith self-assu m ed penance: C o m e , m o u r n w it h m e fo r w h a t I do l a m e n t, And pu t on sullen black in c o n t in e n t : I'll m ak e a v o y a g e to th e H o ly Land, T o w a s h this blood o f f fr o m m y guilty hand.

A read er of the play m ight claim th at Bolingbroke's last w ord s are p rom pted by his practiced political intelligence: to dash E xto n 's hopes, or to an nou n ce new business to em ploy the en ergies of fractio us nobles (follow ing such counsel as, in Henry IV, Shakesp eare w as to put in Bolingbroke's ow n m o u th ). B u t in p erfo rm an ce such in terp retatio n s are n ot fully satisfyin g, for the p ictu re, th e visual im pression, qualifies th e w ord s. O n the crow ded stage all are silent and inten t upon th eir king, so th at if he attem p ted dissim ulation he would scarcely be co n te n t w ith the con tin u ed silence w hich is the only respon se to his w ord s (com pare Prince John and the Lord C h ief Justice talking to g e th e r afte r H en ry V has m ade a sim ilar a n n o u n cem en t of foreign w ars at the end of 2 Henry IV). M o reo v e r this m oral n ote

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has been heard before w h ere it could serve no political purpose: as Bolingbroke prayed for M ow b ray, as he spoke of his son's irresponsibility hanging like a plague o v er him , and perhaps as he pardoned A u m erle "as God shall pardon m e ," and as he pardoned the Bishop of C arlisle. Possibly Bolingbroke's silence w hen he heard his subjects accuse each o th e r of treaso n and w hen he heard the Bishop denounce his assum ption of the th ro n e should be viewed as earlier attem p ts to conceal a subtextu al guilt. T hese m om en ts passed quickly and w ith ou t em ­ phasis, but the repetition of the picture of a king crow n ed and surrounded by his nobles directs the audience's a tte n tio n p ro ­ gressively upon variations and m o vem en t: slight tensions be­ neath form al poses can thu s becom e im pressive. As at the end of a so n n et, the last line can send the read er back to the first, till the exp erience w hich the son n et gives is view ed w hole and com plete, contained and u n d erstood , so at the end of this traged y , the audience's visual sense will retravel to its beginning, to a group of am bitious, strivin g, related and insecure hum an beings. T o en su re this respon se the aw akening of a new Richard in his death scene has been presen ted so briefly; Bolingbroke has been held u n com m u n icative w ithin the wide picture of the dram a while the intense focus w as directed m ore and m ore upon R ichard; and the early scenes w ere allowed no single dom inant in terest. Instead of co n cen tratin g the dram a upon a h ero's sto ry , Shakespeare has presen ted a m an in isola­ tion and defeat w ho overcom es fear and learns to recognize guilt, responsibility and co u rag e in him self; and has o ff-se t this w ith a m an w ho know s little of fear and recogn izes guilt only w hen he assum es the responsibility he has continually sought. The last scene p resen ts Bolingbroke in a new w ay, verbally: and Richard is th ere in his coffin, eloquent of his ow n sto ry , visually. B oth Bolingbroke's and R ichard's last w ords are about their souls, and of H eaven o r the Holy Land; and this also com pletes a series of scen es, still m o m en ts w hen an isolated figure appeals to a state of being outside the w orld of the stage. In the second scene, the D uchess of G lo u cester is told to "com p lain" to "G od, the w idow 's cham pion and d efen ce," and this reso u rce is again invoked by the u nexpected rep o rt of the banished M ow b ray

Richard 11 fighting in the cru sad es, by Y o rk rem inding the distressed Q u een th at "C o m fo rt's in h eaven , and w e are on th e e a rth ," and his w arn in g to Bolingbroke: T ak e n o t, good cou sin , fu rth e r th an yo u should, L est you m istake. T h e h eaven s are o v e r o u r heads.

T h e last scene, in a m o m en t of piety, lightly draw s these m o ­ m en ts to g e th e r too. T h e su rest and m o st com p reh en sive effects of the co n clu ­ sion are carried by the stag e-p ictu re: view ing the wide p icture the audience m ay see deeply into the ch a ra cte rs and the society p o rtray ed , and even into a tim eless p ersp ective associated w ith traditional religion. This visual and form al language is n ot so precise as w ord s, but it can affect the audience subtly and w ith o u t its conscious know ledge; it can su g gest v a st im plica­ tions and sensitive psychological reaction s; it can aw aken a respon se w ith o u t limiting it by definition, d eclaration o r p ro p a­ ganda.

Stanley Wells

John Barton's Richard II (19 76)

John B arto n 's production of Richard II has already received a good deal of academ ic atten tio n . T h e designer, T im o th y O 'B rien , published an article about his designs in Shakespeare ]ahrbuch, in 1 9 7 5 .1 A stu d en t of m ine, M r. J.E. S tredd er, w ro te an M .A. thesis on the p ro d u ction ,2 and an article by him based on his thesis will appear in the Shakespeare ]ahrbuch fo r 1 9 7 6 . D r. Jam es Tulip, of the U n iversity of Sydney, has also published an essay p artly con cern ed w ith the p ro d u ction .3 1 am , of co u rse , anxious not to duplicate their w ork , and especially n ot to appear simply to be cribbing from m y ow n stu dent's thesis. So I feel th at I should v ary m y approach in this lectu re, and th a t I m ight m ost usefully talk about the play in term s of the production ra th e r than p resen t a descriptive accou n t of the p erfo rm an ce. The am ou n t of academ ic atten tio n th a t this production has already received reflects som e of its ch aracteristics. It w as in som e respects the m ost stron gly in terp retativ e production of a Shakespeare play th a t I have ever seen. It w as also exceptionally stylized. Its m ost strikingly unusual featu re w as th a t tw o acto rs, R ichard Pasco and Ian R ichardson, played the roles of Richard and Bolingbroke altern ately . T h ey are perhaps the best equipped classical acto rs of their g en eration . B oth of them are splendid v erse-sp eak ers, experienced acto rs w ith grace of m ovem en t, exp ressive g estu res, and g reat capacity to sw ay and hold an audience. T h ey are also interestin gly d ifferen t from one an oth er. P asco, taller and of bigger build, has the m ore obviously "co m ­ m itted " acting style. He is an em otional a cto r; his large eyes easily com m and p athos, his rich, v ib ran t voice, w ith a wide tonal ran ge, can be both thrilling and m oving. Ian R ichardson, slighter 163

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in build, is m o re obviously intellectual. He excels in high com edy and sardonic w it, as m ay be su ggested by the fact th a t one of his best roles w as Vindice in The Revenger's Tragedy. He can co n vey a sense of d etach m en t from th e role, a h au g h ty aloofn ess. His voice is less reso n an t, but his speaking is brilliantly incisive, calculated and com pletely controlled . He has en orm ou s te ch n i­ cal accom plishm en t and, perhaps, a m ore n atu ral bent for com edy than for traged y. To see each of these a cto rs w ithin a sh o rt space of tim e as both R ichard and Bolingbroke in the sam e produ ction afforded a fascinating o p p o rtu n ity to con sider the co n trib u tio n of the a cto r's personality to the role he plays. Bolingbroke is often given to a player of the second ran k , and it w as in terestin g to see the p art played by a leading acto r. B u t the decision to ca st th ese p erfo rm ers in both roles also had in terp re ta tiv e im plica­ tions. It has o ften been said th at R ichard II is an a cto r, and, as I shall hope to show , th e p rodu ction explored this aspect of the ch a ra cte r. T h ere w as also a v ery stro n g atte m p t to show close spiritual resem b lan ces b etw een R ichard and Bolingbroke, and this, too, m ay have been helped by the castin g. Th e p roduction had n u m ero u s o th e r unusual fe a tu re s. It w as played on a largely bare stag e. A t its first ap p earan ce, in 1 9 7 3 , th ere w as a n arro w , escalator-lik e stru c tu re , receding as it ro se high er, on each side of the stag e. A platform o r bridge spanning the tw o staircases w as norm ally high above the stage but could ascend o r descend. B efore the p erfo rm an ce began, a pyram id of golden steps w as set in the ce n te r of the stag e. O n it w as a kind of scarecro w on w hich hung th e K ing's rob e, su r­ m ou nted by a m ask and a crow n . It w as at the sam e tim e both a sym bol of the play's co n cern s and a d eclaration of the sym bolic m ethod by w hich th ey w ere to be p resen ted . W hen the p ro d u c­ tion w as revived in 1 9 7 4 , the staircase and bridge w ere no lon ger used. T h e stage w as cleared , and a golden cloak hung high above the stag e as a sun sym bol. A t the end of the scene, w hich coincided w ith the in terval, the cloak w as released and flu ttered dow n to the stag e. T h ere w ere o th e r alteratio n s, too , m o st of them reducing th e n u m b er of symbolic staging devices. H o b b y-h orses— th a t is, co stu m es w hich m ade the a cto rs appear to be riding h o rse s— w ere used from tim e to tim e. T h ey

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w ere particularly appropriate for the scene of the lists (I.iii), giving an im pression of the p agean try associated w ith form al jou sts and to u rn am en ts. Like real h o rses, th ey had to be c a re ­ fully handled. Th e acto rs occasionally introduced hum anizing tou ch es of com edy by m aking the h orses appear to be restive, and patting their heads to quiet them . I m entioned the platform o r bridge w hich, w hen the production w as first given, spanned the tw o staircases, and w hich could ascend and descend. O n it Richard could rise and fall, so th at, in these p erfo rm an ces, "D ow n , dow n I cam e, like glistering P h aeth o n ," referred to a m echanical ra th e r than a hu m an d escent. Richard w ore a splen­ did coat of pleated gold in w hich, as he spread his arm s, he made of him self a visual image of the sun. (In 1 9 7 4 R ichard's d escent w as m ade dow n the steps of the cen tral dais.) The d irector originally intended th at all the ch a ra cte rs in the play excep t the king should w ear m asks. T im o th y O 'B rien w rites th at the idea w as to create a sense of the king's isolation, but th at it "ran so co u n ter to all th at the acto rs had been tau g h t about the exp ressive face being the focus of th eir p erfo rm an ces, and so p erturbed Bolingbroke, th at m asks in the end w ere only used at m om en ts of p o rte n t" (p. 1 17). Even thou gh the co n ­ sisten t use of m asks w as abandoned, M r. O 'B rien w rites th at "th e ir depersonalizing influence w as at reh earsals and co n trib ­ uted to the intended form ality of behavior on the stage in the en d " (pp. 1 1 7 -1 8 ). This rem ark points to a n o th e r special featu re of the production. T h ere w as a v ery conscious stylization of acting m eth od ; m any speeches w ere delivered directly at the audience ra th e r than as part of a dialogue am ong the ch a ra cte rs on stage. This created occasional problem s. F or exam ple, at a dram atic m om en t in the scene of the lists, the Lord M arshal has to say: "T h e King h ath th ro w n his w ard er d ow n " (I.iii.1 1 8 ). The a cto r told m e th at if he spoke this line while starin g straigh t at the audience, he roused laugh ter. Th e inform ation w as obvi­ ously red undant. H ere, a personal reaction w as n ecessary. He had to tu rn to w atch the king's action , then w heel to face the audience to exp ress his su rp rise, for the line to be plausible. In th ese, and o th er w ays, this w as, then , a stron gly stylized and symbolical production. It imposed strain s upon its audi­ ences. T h ey had to respond to unfam iliar production techniques,

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and to try to see the point of deliberately u n n atu ral m eth od s of p erfo rm an ces w hich m ight easily have seem ed ludicrous and p reten tiou s. M y accou n t so far of the d irecto r's m eth od s m ay su g gest tricksiness and gim m ickry. T h e produ ction w as accused of th ese faults. N everth eless, it w as highly successful and w as given m any p erfo rm an ces. It created its ow n audiences, I think. T h o u gh certain aspects of it w ere stran g e and initially puzzling, its im pact w as g reat and repaid a d egree of intellectual and im aginative effo rt in its audiences. It rep resen ted a v e ry serious and intelligent effo rt to find th eatrical co rrelativ es to various fe a tu res of S hakespeare's playw riting techniques in this early play, and it is in these te rm s th a t I should like to con sid er it. Let m e first a ttem p t to ch aracterize som e of Shakesp eare's aim s in w riting the play. T h o u gh he w orked basically from Raphael H olinshed's m a s­ sive chron icle h istory of England, he seem s also to h ave read arou nd the subject a good deal; and he selected from and r e ­ arran g ed h istorical facts w ith som e freed om . T h e g eneral te n ­ dency of his alteration s is to universalize his subject: to tell the sto ry of the reign of R ichard II in a m an n er th a t brings it into tou ch w ith general ideas, and th a t su g gests m a tte rs of fu n d a­ m ental significance behind the p articu lar ev en ts th a t th e play d ram atizes. T h e play is m uch con cern ed w ith kingship, w ith the problem s th a t face an ord in ary h u m an being w ho has to adopt the sem i-divine role of king, to try to live up to its responsibilities and m ake p roper use of its privileges. This co n cern w as stressed in th e p ro gram n ote th at M rs. B arto n w ro te fo r h er husband's p roduction . It is headed The King's Two Bodies, w hich is the title of an im p ortan t book by the h istorian E rn st K a n to ro w icz ,4 to w hich M rs. B arto n refers. This book studies the m edieval and E lizabethan d octrin e th a t a king has tw o bodies, o r n a tu re s, one "flaw less, ab stract and im m o rtal," the o th e r "fallible, individual and subject to d eath and tim e." This dual n a tu re cre a te s g re a t problem s for the m an w ho has to b ear it. He is, as it w e re , an im p erfect hum an being in a guise of p erfection , a flawed face behind an idealized m ask. As M rs. B arto n w ro te , "th e Richard of the early scenes is o ften callous, g reed y, frivolous, selfindulgent and unjust. . . . A p rivate face th a t should rem ain hidden n ot only m an ifests itself but co n trad icts the im personal

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m ask of kingship by w hich it should be overlaid ." It is clear w hy the m ask w as an im p ortan t symbol in this production. A n o th er m ajor con cern of the play is the relationship b e­ tw een the king and his co u n try , and the plight of a co u n try th a t is w eakly govern ed. In this of co u rse it reflects co n tem p o rary con cern s. W hen Shakespeare w ro te it, his V irgin Q ueen w as in h er 60s w ith no obvious heir. It w as feared th a t w h o ev er su c­ ceeded to the th ro n e m ight n ot m atch up to the dem ands of the office, and som e of Elizabeth's subjects w ere even m oved to question the validity of the h ered itary principle. Th e queen's susceptibility to influence by favorites provoked direct com p ari­ son w ith R ichard II. T h ere w ere stro n g m o vem en ts to depose her. It is in terestin g th at the scene of R ichard's deposition w as om itted from the th ree editions of the play published while the queen w as still alive. T h e play m u st have been th o u g h t relevan t to the political situ ation , and eventually it w as actually used as a w eapon in the political cam paign. T he Earl of E ssex's su p p orters hired S hakespeare's com pany of acto rs to p resen t it as a g estu re of support and defiance on the eve of E ssex's rebellion. O bvi­ ously it w as felt, in spite of its historical basis, to deal w ith live issues. It is especially in terestin g th at Shakespeare and his co m ­ pany w ere n ot punished for this special p erfo rm an ce. This, surely, is a m easure of the e x te n t to w hich Shakespeare had tran scend ed topicality and presen ted historical even ts in a m an ­ ner th at could be regarded as poetical and philosophical ra th e r than political and topical. T h e relationship b etw een the king and his co u n try is an aspect of this, for the land is seen in the play both as the so u rce of R ichard's glory, his "large kingdom ," and as the "little g ra v e " w hich eventu ally will sw allow him. M r. B arton symbolized the land by a chalice of earth placed cen trally to the fro n t of the stage. Several ch a ra cte rs took up e a rth from it at significant points. T h e g ard en er planted a sprig in it, w hen he said of the queen:

H ere did she fall a te a r. H ere in this place I'll set a bank of ru e, so u r h erb of g race. Rue even for tru th h ere sh o rtly shall be seen In th e rem em b ran ce of a w eeping Q u een .

(III.iv.104-107)

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And Richard placed his hand close to the chalice on his re tu rn from Ireland at the w ord s: "D e a r e a rth , I do salute thee w ith my h an d ." B efore startin g to w rite Richard 11, Shakespeare m ade a deci­ sion of fu n dam en tal im p ortan ce. He decided to w rite this play en tirely in v erse. It w as a decision he had m ade th re e tim es b efo re, alw ays in h isto ry plays: tw o of the th re e p arts of Henry VI, and King John. H e w as n ev er to m ake the sam e decision again. P artly this m u st be th e resu lt of the rapid evolu tion of d ram atic styles during the 1 5 9 0 s. Richard 11 m u st have seem ed old-fashioned soon a fte r it w as w ritte n . P erhaps this is w h y in 1 6 0 1 — only about six y ears a fte r its com p osition — th e a cto rs w ere able to com plain th at it w as "so old and so long o u t of use as th a t th ey should have sm all o r no com pany at it."5 P re ­ sum ably w hen he w ro te it, S hakespeare w as m ore su b servien t, to the req u irem en ts of h istorical-trag ical decoru m than he w as soon to becom e. T h ese included the con ven tion th a t h igh ranking ch a ra cte rs spoke in v erse, and low -rank in g ones in p rose. In this play, even ch a ra c te rs and episodes w hich m igh t, in a d ifferen t co n te x t, h ave been rep resen ted in prose are given the dignity of v erse. This implies, obviously, a d egree of sty liza­ tion and artificiality in th e langu age, and one resu lt of this is th a t a n u m b er of th e ch a ra c te rs are so lacking in individuality th a t th ey seem m ainly o r en tirely ch oric in fun ction . A partial e x a m ­ ple is provided by the D uch ess of G lo u cester. She has only one scene (I.ii). T h ere is som e personal fo rce behind h er sta te m e n ts as she pleads fo r rev en ge against h er husband's m u rd e re rs, yet w e feel th a t the m ain reason for h er p resen ce in the play is as a spokesm an of the old o rd er and as a m outhpiece for the co n v e y ­ ing of n ecessary background inform ation . M r. B a rto n ap p ro ­ p riately p resented h e r in stylized fashion. In 1 9 7 3 she em erged from a trap d o o r, holding a skull above h er head and crying "B lo od !" to John of G au n t in ton es th at w ere electronically echoed. This created a m elod ram atic im pression w hich exem p li­ fied the d an gers of stylization, and in 1 9 7 4 she simply e n tered from the w ings and spoke quietly, th o u gh she still carried the skull. A sim ilar ch a ra c te r is the W elsh C ap tain , in A ct T w o , Scene

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Fou r. He has a purely choric speech about the state of the co u n try : T h e bay tre e s in o u r co u n try are all w ith ered , And m e te o rs frigh t th e fixed sta rs of h eaven . T h e pale-faced m oon looks bloody on th e e a rth , And lean-looked p rop h ets w h isp er fearfu l ch an ge. . . .

In the note on this scene in my N ew Penguin edition of the play, w hich w as used for this production, I say th at the captain "is im p ortan t ra th e r for his rep resen tativ e quality than for any personal ch aracte ristics." It is an obvious enough co m m en t; I q uote it because John B arto n 's handling of the scene re p re ­ sented a tran slation into theatrical term s of this kind of critical co m m en t. Th e captain's speech w as spoken n ot by one m an but by eight of them ; each of the additional seven w as given one line. T h ey stood in a row across the stage in a low light and w ith their backs to the audience. T h ere w as an accom pan im en t of plaintive horn m usic. T h u s all su ggestion of individuality was elim inated, and th eir choric function w as m ade abundantly plain. The m ost obviously choric scene of all is th a t of the g a r­ deners (Ill.iv). As g ard en ers, they have no reality w h atev er. T h ey are gard en ers simply because this is p art of the m etap hor th at Shakespeare also employs in their language. England has already on a num ber of occasions been com pared to a garden, and now the m etap h o r is fully expanded and developed: O u r sea-w alled gard en , th e w hole land, Is full of w eed s, h er fairest flow ers choked up, H er fru it trees all u np ru n ed , h er hedges ruined, H er k nots d isord ered , and h er w h olesom e herbs S w arm in g w ith caterp illars.

As a literary expression of the state of the kingdom , th at is eloquent. It would be entirely at hom e in an Elizabethan n a rra ­ tive poem . B u t this is a play, not a poem ; and these lines of beautifully controlled, m easured blank v erse have to be spoken by som eone in the guise of a gard en er. W h at usually happens is th at acto rs seek com ic effect, dressing and speaking like the g raved iggers in Hamlet (who, of co u rse, speak prose), and thus

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draw atten tio n to them selves, o r to the ch a ra cte rs th ey are playing, and aw ay from the m eaning of th e scene. This is obvi­ ously w ro n g ; but to play th em as exceptionally w ell-bred and literate gentlem en w ho just happen to have taken up gard enin g as a profession has the equally u n satisfacto ry effect of sa cri­ ficing any sense of reality of the speakers as people. W hen I w as editing the play I did som e re search into the g ard en ers of g re a t Elizabethan estates, thinking th ey m ight perhaps have been rou ghly the equivalent of m od ern p ro fessors of b otan y, o r d irecto rs of A gricu ltural R esearch S tation s, but I w as n ot too convinced by w h at I found. So I th o u g h t John B a rto n hit upon a brilliantly ingenious solution in m aking them m onks, intelligent and literate people w ho m ight n everth eless be also full-tim e g ard en ers. Q uiet organ m usic w as h eard in the first p art of the scen e, w ith the queen and h er ladies; the g ard en ers sang softly as th ey en tered from the back of the stag e. M usic accom panied the head gard en er's final speech as he took a sprig of rue from his sleeve and planted it in the chalice of earth . T h e g ard en ers' scene rep resen ts at an e x tre m e level a p ro ­ ced u re w hich can be observed th ro u g h o u t this play, and w hich is v ery m uch bound up w ith S hakespeare's decision to w rite en tirely in v erse, and in v erse of a pred om in an tly p lan gen t, lyrical, elegiac kind th a t seem s alm ost to have been created for this play. C o n stan tly action as well as language is stylized. Sh ak espeare seem s to be taking the rep resen tatio n of people and ev en ts, as of speech, as far aw ay from a n atu ralistic m ode as he d ares, rigorously subordinating credibility of im m ediate effect to the p attern s of th o u g h t and im age th a t ca rry the play's tru e st m eanings. C on sid er fo r exam ple the w ay th a t ch a ra cte rs in som e of his o th e r plays re a ct to the new s th a t th ey have been banished. H ere is R om eo: H a, b an ish m en t! Be m ercifu l, say "d e a th "; F o r exile h a th m o re t e r r o r in his look, M u ch m o re th an d eath . D o n o t say "b a n is h m e n t." (Ill.ii.1 2 - 1 4 )

H ere is K ent in King Lear:

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(I. i. 180-81)

Y ou will rem em b er C oriolan us: Y ou com m on cry of cu rs, w h ose b reath I hate As reek o' th 7 ro tte n fens, w h ose loves I prize As th e dead carcasses of unburied m en T h a t do co rru p t m y air. I banish you. (Ill.iii.1 2 1 - 2 5 )

And now h ere is M ow b ray, in Richard 11: A h eavy sen ten ce, m y m o st sovereign liege, And all unlooked fo r from y o u r h ig h n ess7 m o u th . A d e a re r m erit, n ot so deep a m aim A s to be cast fo rth in th e com m on air H ave I deserved at y o u r h ig h n ess7 hands. T h e lan gu age I h ave learn t th ese fo rty y ears, M y n ative English, n ow I m u st fo rg o, And n ow m y ton gu e's use is to m e no m o re T h an an u n strin ged viol o r a harp , O r like a cun nin g in stru m e n t cased up— O r being open, p ut in to his hands T h a t know s no tou ch to tu n e th e h arm o n y . (I.iii.1 5 4 - 6 5 )

R om eo's reaction is directly related to his feelings for Juliet. He w ould ra th e r die than be aw ay from h er. K en t's is an idiosyn­ cratic exp ression of his blunt n atu re and his capacity to make the best of a bad job. C oriolan u s's is a w onderfully vivid e x ­ pression of personal h atred and defiance. But M ow bray's is a m editation on the idea th at in a foreign co u n try his language will be of no use to him — n ot an en tirely implausible reaction , but far m ore im p ortan t as one in a sequence of passages co n ­ cerned w ith the function and pow er of w ords, especially a sovereign 's w ord s, than as a personal reaction from M ow bray him self. Similarly only a little later, w hen Bolingbroke and his fath er, John of G au n t, discuss the sen ten ce th at has been passed, th eir co n versatio n soon becom es a philosophical discus­ sion on the pow er of the im agination w hich is deeply relevan t to

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one of the play's overriding co n ce rn s— for the king rules largely by his pow er o v er people's im agin ations— but far from a n a tu ra l­ istic rep resen tatio n of a talk betw een an old fa th e r and his new ly banished son. Such stress in the play's language on the sym bolic asp ects of the situ ation s portray ed is paralleled by sim ilarly calculated stylization of action. Take for instance A ct T h re e , Scene T w o, in w hich R ichard has just retu rn ed from Ireland. H e speaks his m o st confident affirm ation of the p ow er of kingship: N ot all th e w a te r in th e ro u g h ru d e sea C an w ash th e balm off fro m an an oin ted king. T h e b reath of w orld y m en ca n n o t depose T h e d epu ty elected by th e Lord. F o r e v e ry m an th a t B olin gb roke h ath p ressed T o lift sh rew d steel again st o u r golden c ro w n , God fo r his R ichard h ath in h eaven ly pay A glo rio u s angel. T h en if an gels fight, W eak m en m u st fall; fo r h eaven still gu ard s th e rig h t.

Salisbury en ters and rep o rts th a t the W elsh arm y has defected to Bolingbroke. R ichard consoles him self w ith the th o u g h t, "Is n ot the King's nam e tw en ty thou san d n a m e s?" Im m ediately S croop e n ters and rep o rts Bolingbroke's success in raising troo p s in England. R ichard calls for Bu shy, B agot, and G reen and learns th a t they are dead. And R ichard speaks his g re a t m ed itation on the m o rtality of kings. T he action h ere is, of co u rse, unhistorical. S h ak espeare has com pressed ev en ts th a t happened o v er a period of tim e at tw o d ifferen t places, B ark loughly and C on w ay. B u t the reality of th e situation is n ot w h a t m a tte rs. T h ere is just enough tru th in the happenings to form a stru c tu re for S hakespeare's poetic exp loration of the polarities of R ichard's confidence and despair. M r. B arto n found several w ays of reflecting S h ak espeare's dram atic technique in the stagin g. R ichard en tered on h o rs e ­ back: n ot a h ob b y-h orse this tim e, but a large re p re se n ta tio n of R oan B arb ary, a m ythical h orse w ith a u nicorn 's h o rn , propelled on skis. R ichard looked splendid, w ith a g re a t plum e of fe a th e rs above his regal helm et. He dism ounted to salute his land. He w as all confidence in the opening of the scene, and took a cross from the Bishop of Carlisle as he said:

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Fo r ev ery m an th a t Bolingbroke h ath pressed T o lift sh rew d steel again st o u r golden cro w n , God fo r his R ichard h ath in h eaven ly pay A glorious angel.

But he let it fall back into C arlisle's hands as he heard of the defection of the W elsh arm y. A fte r A um erle's w ords of en ­ co u rag em en t, he rem ou n ted the h orse. B u t learning of the deaths of his friends, he let his sw ord cla tte r to the ground and him self dism ounted, speaking his g reat lam ent in a spotlight to the fro n t of the stage. M inor ch a ra cte rs spoke m o st of their lines straigh t ou t to the audience, and w ere sym m etrically grouped. R ichard left the stage quietly and on foot. T h e p at­ terning of the action w as reflected in the varyin g sym m etries of the stag e-p ictu re. Th e d ram atic m ethod illustrated in this scene, and generally ch aracteristic of the play, th row s an em phasis on ideas and their poetical exp ression ra th e r than on credibility of action and p sy­ chologically plausible p ortrayal of individual personalities. Even ch aracters w ith quite lengthy roles in this play are form ed on similar bases. I have already referred to the D uchess of G lou ces­ ter, w ho has only one scene, w hich is in effect p art of the play's exposition. R ichard's queen has an im p ortan t p art to play, but it is n ot because of an ything stron gly individual in h er p ersonality; indeed, at tim es she seem s alm ost like an em blem atic em bodi­ m ent of grief. John of G au n t m akes an im pact because of his b est-kn ow n speech, on England— "T h is royal th ro n e of kings; this seat of M a rs "— one of those speeches w here the acto r's main problem lies in making su re th at the audience does not sing along w ith him. T ony C h u rch delivered it directly to the audience, as a public ra th e r than a private u tte ra n ce , appropri­ ately since G au n t is prim arily a m outhpiece for certain ideals of kingship and national pride. T h ese ch aracteristics of the play help to explain and justify the m ethod th at John B arto n adopted of p ortray in g m any of the play's ch aracters. His acto rs nobly quelled the n atu ral te m p ta ­ tion to hum anize and round ou t the outlines of a p art. T h ey acted as elem ents in a som ew h at ab stract design, not as if each of them w as the cen ter of the design. S om etim es, indeed,

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M r. B arto n m anipulated the play in w ays th a t created an even g re a te r d egree of sym bolism in ch a ra c te r p ortray al. T h e m o st striking exam ple w as th e p resen tatio n of the Earl of N o rth ­ um berland's relationship w ith Bolingbroke. N o rth u m b erlan d w as m ade to seem the active ag en t in Bolingbroke's rise to the th ro n e. H e w as unrealistically p resen ted . T o w ard s the end of A ct T w o , Scene O n e, he appeared, along w ith R oss and W illoughby, in a long black robe concealing buskins, high b oots w hich in­ creased his height. In A ct T w o , Scene T h ree he rode a big black h o rse. His pow er o ver Bolingbroke w as show n to be gradually increasing; correspondingly, Bolingbroke's responsibility seem ed less. N orth u m b erlan d w as in ch arg e of the o ff-sta g e execu tio n s of B ushy and B ag ot, and w o re black plum es in his h elm et. In the episode of R ichard's p artin g from his queen, N orth u m b erlan d appeared at his m o st u nreal, seem ing now a ru th less em bodi­ m en t of m en ace and totalitarian pow er. W e heard th a t he had been spoken of in reh earsals as a "H im m ler-fig u re ," a c h a ra c ­ teristic a ttem p t both to generalize and to find a m od ern eq u iva­ lent. Th e individual w as lost in his co stu m e resem bling a bird of prey, and tow ered o m in o u s l y o v e r the dejected king and q u e e n . Richard w as now "d o w n " indeed. T h e stylization of costu m in g extend ed to the faceless figures on each side of him , riding black h ob b y -h o rses, each w ith a rope attach ed to one of R ichard's arm s. Y o u will perhaps h ave noticed th at th ere are tw o distinct p rocesses in the produ ction m eth ods th a t I have been describing. O ne is an effo rt to devise m eth od s th a t will find ap p rop riate th eatrical co n ven tio n s to m irro r the p articu lar d ram atic co n ­ ventions of this play. T h e o th e r is one th at m ay be said to build still fu rth e r upon these th eatrical con ven tion s. In his p re se n ta ­ tion of th e relationship b etw een N orth u m b erlan d and B olin g­ broke, the d irector w as creatin g a simplified p a tte rn from S h ak e­ speare's m ultiplicity of su ggestiveness. P artly he w as rein forcing stru ctu ra l p attern s th at are p resen t in S h ak espeare's te x t; p artly he w as d istortin g them . T h ese processes w ere observable elsew h ere. A t tim es th ey resulted in clear im p rov em en ts. T h e scene of the gages, for exam p le, has o ften caused e m b a rra ssm e n t in the th e a tre . B ag ot accuses A u m erle of responsibility for G lo u cester's death . A u m erle rejects the accu sation , th row in g

The Theatre dow n his glove as a challenge. F itzw ater rep eats the accusation and th ro w s dow n his glove. P ercy does the sam e; so does a n o th er, anonym ou s Lord. The Duke of S u rrey th row s his glove dow n, taking A um erle's part. Finally A um erle b orrow s an o th er glove and th row s that dow n as a n o th er challenge. Th e highly pattern ed action is obviously calculated, but, as gloves gradually pile up on the stag e, it is in dan ger of seem ing ludicrous. In p erfo rm an ce this scene has usually been sh ortened o r om itted. If you had sm uggled a te x t into the Royal Shakespeare T h e a tre , you would have found th at thou gh the episode w as included, M r. B arto n had so rearran g ed the lines and reassigned the speeches th at he had virtually rew ritten the scene. It cam e over pow erfully, w ith no hint of com edy. O th e r scenes th at have often been om itted are those co n ­ cerned w ith A um erle's conspiracy and his m o th er's attem p ts to save him from its consequences. T h e scenes are, I think, not com pletely successful. Shakespeare is tryin g, n ot quite su ccess­ fully, to achieve a subtle fusion of seriou sness and com edy for w hich he can n o t com m and the n ecessary technical resou rces, so th at the com edy tends to subm erge the seriou sn ess. But there are good reason s for including the scenes, and the aw kw ardness in the w riting can be m itigated by tactful acting. Sir John Gielgud w r o t e in a n i n tr o d u c t i o n to th e play: " T h e c h a r a c t e r of Y o r k . . . can be of g reat value, provided th at the a cto r and d irector can con trive b etw een them a tactfu l com prom ise betw een com edy and d ram atic e ffe c t."6 John B arto n had good acto rs in the roles, and he wisely p erm itted h ere a m ore naturalistic, personal style of acting. By relaxing the stylization evident elsew h ere, he w as facing up to the problem s of the episode and making the best of it, ra th e r than evading the issue by the d rastic cu ttin g to w hich m any d irectors have resorted in des­ peration of making the scenes w ork. A lth ou gh , as I have insisted, m any of the lesser ch a ra cte rs in this play are im p ortan t ra th e r as elem en ts in a design than as individual hum an beings; n everth eless, at the ce n te r of the design is one suprem ely im p ortan t figure, and an o th e r w ho is scarcely less so. Richard and Bolingbroke are ra th e r like the figures on a w eath er clock. As one goes in, the o th e r com es out; and, it would seem , w ith alm ost as little exercise of their own

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w ill-pow er. T his see-saw elem en t in th e play becam e th e m ain ­ spring of the produ ction , th o u gh n ot w ith o u t te x tu a l m anipula­ tion and d istortio n , to som e of w hich I have already re fe rre d . In h er p ro gram n o te, M rs. B arto n w ro te : 'T ik e the tw o buckets filling one an o th e r th a t R ichard im agines in the deposition scen e, buckets w hich take a c o n tra ry co u rse w ithin the deep well of the cro w n , R ichard's jou rn ey from king to m an is balanced by Bolingbroke's p ro gress from a single to a tw in -n atu red being. B oth m o vem en ts involve a gain and a loss. Each, in its ow n w ay, is tra g ic." As a generalized critical sta te m e n t, th a t is acceptable. B u t as such it is inevitably a sim plification. T h ere are im plications of traged y in th e p ortray al of Bolingbroke, especially if w e read his p art in this play in the light of the extend ed p o rtra it of him given in P arts O n e and T w o of Henry IV ; but I should find it difficult to arg u e, and I do n ot suppose th a t M rs. B a rto n would a rg u e, th at the Bolingbroke of Richard II is a fully realized tragic figure. T h e su ggestion of equivalence b etw een R ichard and Bolingbroke w hich M r. B arto n 's production undoubtedly gave required the im p ortation of lines from 2 Henry IV and the tra n s ­ feren ce of an im p ortan t passage in Richard II to Bolingbroke from a n o th er ch a ra cte r. L aten t in th e castin g , it w as m ade in the p roduction even before the first w ord s w ere spoken; and it w as linked w ith an im age to w hich I have already re fe rre d . M rs. B arto n pointed to Shakesp eare's exp lo ratio n of "th e laten t parallel b etw een the King and th a t o th e r tw in -n a tu re d being, the A cto r. Like kings, acto rs are accu stom ed to p erfo rm b efore an audience. Like kings, th ey are required to su b m erge th eir ow n individuality w ithin a role and, fo r b oth , the incarn ation is te m p o rary and perilous. Like the tw o kings in Richard II, th eir feelings tow ard s th eir roles are o ften am biguous, a m ix tu re of exh ilaration and disgust. And . . . R ichard is inten sely co n ­ scious, in the early scen es, of kingship as a role to be a cte d ." An in tro d u cto ry m im e im pressed this parallel upon us. B efore the house lights dim med th ere appeared a figure resem bling S h ak esp eare, carryin g a book resem bling the F irst Folio, printed seven y ears a fte r he died. He con tem plated the robed scarecro w , opened the book, and signalled fo r the ap p ear­ ance of the acto rs. T h ey filed on in tw o colum ns, one headed by

The Theatre Ian R ichardson, the o th e r by R ichard Pasco. T h ey all w ore reh earsal co stu m e. Th e leaders of the com pany joined Shake­ speare at the dais, each holding one side of the book. Shakespeare m ou nted the pyram id, took from the scarecro w the crow n and the m ask, and placed them on the open book. Th e tw o acto rs held the crow n and m ask high betw een th em ; Shakespeare bowed to the acto r w ho w as to play R ichard at th at p e rfo rm ­ ance, and gradually the acto rs took on th eir co stu m es and wigs, in view of the audience, assum ing the appearance of the ch a ra c­ te rs th ey w ere to play. The robing of R ichard w as a kind of co ro n ation ritual; the co u rt knelt to him , chanting w ords not in the te x t: "G od save the King! Long live the King! M ay the King live fo re v e r!" R ichard faced the audience, echoed "M ay the King live fo re v e r!" and rem oved his m ask. T h u s the d irector prefigured the play's co n cern w ith the inevitable tension b etw een the dem ands m ade by the office of kingship, of being God's deputy on earth , and the capacities of the hum an being w ho has to try to fill a role th a t is inevitably too big for him. And, even m ore im p ortan t to this production, he associated this w ith the idea of the a cto r assum ing the role th at he had to play on stage. The hum an being w ho has to play the king in real life w as paralleled w ith the a cto r w ho has to play the role of king in the th eatre. A lthough Richard II is m ore th orou gh ly poetic and verbalized than som e of Shakespeare's later plays, it still leaves quite a lot to the acto rs. R ichard does n ot say v ery m uch in the earlier p art of the play; Bolingbroke does n ot say m uch in the later. The acto rs m u st decide how to in terp ret their silences. R ichard, in his first scene, is visually dom inant but says little. Should the a cto r attem p t thus early to su ggest an yth ing positive about R ichard's personality, o r should he hold back? In the past, acto rs have added business h ere to create a m ore positive im pact. B eerbohm T ree and F.R . Benson are fam ous for having had Richard caress and feed hounds in bored indifference; later in the play, one of the hounds w as seen to have tran sferred allegiance to Bolingbroke. Gielgud su ggests th a t the a cto r "m u st use the early scenes to create an im pression of slyness, p etty vanity, and callous ind ifferen ce." Y et the quarrel betw een Bolingbroke and M ow bray is about a m a tte r in w hich the King

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is deeply im plicated— th e m u rd er of the D uke of G lo u cester. B oth of M r. B arto n 's acto rs, quite righ tly, show ed R ichard's silence as the rev erse of indifference, ra th e r a carefu l keeping silent in the know ledge th at Richard m ight at any m o m en t be directly accused. R ichard's behavior in th e first p art of the play becom es progressively w o rse, culm inating in his bru tal tre a tm e n t of John of G au n t, w hose speech about w h at England o u g h t to be serves as a m easu re of R ichard's personal disqualifications for the kingly office. B u t it w ould n ot be disputed, I think, th at a fte r his re tu rn from Ireland, as the tide of fo rtu n e tu rn s again st him , S hakespeare gradually rein states him in the audience's favor. An in terp retativ e problem arises o v er the p resen tatio n of Richard's relations w ith his fav orites, Bushy and G reen . In A ct T h re e , Scene O n e, Bolingbroke accu ses them of having M ade a d ivorce b e tw ix t his [R ichard's] Q u een and him , Broke th e possession of a royal bed.

Som e critics and acto rs have in terp reted this as an accu sation against R ichard of h om osexu ality . This belief can color an acto r's en tire in terp retatio n of the role. B u t the p ortray al of R ichard's relationship w ith his queen in the rest of the play does n oth in g to support the accu sation . I do n ot think w e can say precisely w h at Shakespeare had in mind; but in M r. B a rto n 's p rodu ction , the suggestion w as n ot m erely avoided but actively n egated . W hen the D uke of Y o rk h eard the accu sation he reacted w ith incredulity, in a w ay th a t su ggested it reflected discredit on w h o ev er m ade it ra th e r th an on R ich ard , against w hom it is m ade. Even before his re tu rn from Ireland, th en , R ichard w as rising in the audience's sym p athy. O ne im p ortan t symbol in this p roduction w as a m irro r. S hakespeare him self calls for it, but M r. B a rto n m ade m uch m o re exten sive use of it th an the te x t req u ires. Th e a cto rs as a cto rs used a m irro r in the in tro d u cto ry m im e, as th ey put on th eir co stu m es. R ichard used the m irro r m ore than once in the scene of the lists; indeed, he decided to go to Ireland only w hen he realized "h o w splendid he will look in arm o u r (he holds his plumed helm et in the crook of his arm and review s him self in the m irro r)" (Stred d er, p. 51). T h e m irro r w as thu s established

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as a symbol of R ichard's vanity before he called for it in the deposition scene (IV.i). In describing som e of the techniques of the p roduction, I have said little of the actin g, but I should like to pay trib u te, particularly, to Richard Pasco's tre a tm e n t of this passage. W e had a pow erful sense of im potent and fru strated rage as he dashed his hand th rou g h the glass. P eter T h om son described the sequel7 w ith a perceptive sense of its sym bolism : "W h en Richard had punched out the glass, Bolingbroke lifted the em pty rin g-fram e and placed it o ver R ichard's head deliber­ ately enough for us to see it pass from halo to crow n , and from crow n to noose to the en orm ou sly stressed accom pan im en t of" T h e shadow of y o u r so rro w h ath d estroy'd T h e shad ow of y o u r face.

(IV.i.292-93) T h ese lines w ere rep eated, chanted in ch o ru s, by the atten d an t lords. T h ere w as self-pity in R ichard's action , perhaps, but th ere w as stre n g th , too; the stren g th of a m an w ho, thou gh he had been stripped of both the fantasies and the realities of m o n ­ a rch y — he now w ore a simple g o w n — still had the stre n g th to seek to know the tru th about him self. F or m e, this w as the em otional clim ax of the p erfo rm an ce. R ichard w ore the em pty fram e of the m irro r round his neck in the scene w ith his queen on the w ay to the T o w er, and it w as still th ere for the opening of his soliloquy sh ortly before his death in P om fret C astle. W h ereas the g ro w th of sym pathy for R ichard g row s n a ­ turally from the te x t of the play, Bolingbroke's position in this respect is m ore problem atical. The m ere fact th a t he takes the place of the deposed King m ay tu rn us against his sinister, largely silent presen ce. "A s he assum es the King's ro le," M rs. B arto n w ro te, he "b ecom es silent, im personal and rem o te: his th o u gh ts and em otions concealed behind a m ask ." We are show n little of his inner feelings. Shakespeare gives him no soliloquy. But in the production, m uch w as differen t. M r. B arto n clari­ fied, stren g th en ed , and simplified Bolingbroke's role. The idea of becom ing king w as show n to have o ccu rred to him earlier than in Shakespeare's te x t. A fter his banishm ent, his fath er, John of G aun t, bidding him farew ell, d rew the shape of a crow n

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in the air o v er his head— quite im properly, I th o u g h t, co n sid er­ ing G aun t's stead fast allegiance to the old ord er. In the sam e episode, the d irecto r added to Bolingbroke's final speech the line: "N o w m u st I serve a long ap p ren ticeh o od ." This adapts Bolingbroke's w ord s, "M u st I n ot serve a long ap p ren ticeh ood / T o foreign p assages" (I.iii.2 7 1 - 7 2 ) , but the inescapable im plica­ tion w as th at he would be apprenticed to th e m o n arch y . I have described already the sym bolical p resen tatio n of N o rth u m b e r­ land as a w ay of m inim izing Bolingbroke's guilt. In the trial of B ushy and G reen , Bolingbroke did n ot speak the ch arg es as from him self, but read them w ith obvious d istaste from a d ocu ­ m en t w hich N orth u m b erlan d handed to him . T h e clear im plica­ tion w as th at they w ere tru m p ed -u p ch arg es. M r. B arto n even gave Bolingbroke the soliloquy th a t S h ak e­ speare failed to provide. It cam e a t the beginning of A ct Five, Scene T h ree, in w hich S hakespeare him self show s the new king unhappy at the absence of his son and exp eriencing som e of the trials and trib u lation s of kingship. M r. B arto n inserted a speech w hich began w ith an abbreviated version of the sam e c h a ra c ­ ter's lam en t on his sleeplessness from 2 Henry IV (III.i.4 - 9 , 1 2 - 1 4 ), continued w ith fo u r-an d -a-h alf lines spoken by W a r­ wick in the sam e play (III.i.8 0 - 8 4 ) , fo u r-an d -a -h a lf lines already spoken by R ichard in Richard II (V .i.5 5 - 5 9 ) , and th re e -a n d -a -h a lf lines based on m o re of H enry's speeches in 2 Henry IV (IV .v .1 8 5 , 1 9 7 - 9 8 ; III.i.3 0 - 3 1 ). Th e gist of this extra o rd in a ry piece of co b ­ bling w as a m editation on royal sleeplessness, and aw aren ess on H enry's p art th at he has been placed w h ere he is by N o rth ­ um berland, and th at civil w ar will ensu e. T h e soliloquy ended w ith w ords from 2 Henry IV: H appy low , lie dow n! U n easy lies th e head th a t w e a rs th e [sic] cro w n !

O n the last line, a group of lords cam e o u t of the shadow s behind H en ry, echoing the line, and a bridge passage w as co n ­ cocted from the lines following this in 2 Henry IV. In the final scen e, too, a skillful series of read ju stm en ts of em phasis drew sym p athy for Bolingbroke at N orth u m b erlan d 's exp en se. T h e heads of the execu ted noblem en w ere b ro u g h t in by N o rth ­ um berland's m en, impaled on pikes, w h ereas in the te x t th ey are

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m erely m entioned. R ichard's [sic; the intended nam e is H enry's] disgust at this brutality w as clear. H arry Percy's accusation against the Bishop of Carlisle w as reassigned to his fath er, N orth u m b erlan d , and Bolingbroke's forgiveness of Carlisle be­ cam e a calculatedly rebellious revulsion against N o rth u m b e r­ land's dom ination. The m anipulation of Bolingbroke's role, and the additions to it, w ere clearly designed to increase sym p athy for him, to su g ­ g est in him an aw aren ess of a cyclical elem en t in h um an h istory, and to bring him closer to Richard. This design w as com pleted in the prison scene. A t the end of R ichard's soliloquy, a g room e n ters to him. He has w ith som e difficulty g ot perm ission to com e to visit his old m aster, w hom he saddens w ith the sto ry of how Richard's h o rse, Roan B arbary, carried the u su rp er, Bolingbroke, to his co ro n ation . This tiny but striking episode has its place in the design of the play. The com m on people have few rep resen tativ es in Richard II. T he groo m is one of th em , and his final allegiance helps to bind us to R ichard in his last m om en ts. He w as played as a hooded figure w ith a rustic accen t. W hen R ichard had said, I w as n ot m ade a h o rse, And y et I b ear a burden like an ass, S pu rred , galled, and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke (V .v .9 2 -9 4 )

he suddenly recognized the m an before him. Th e g room th rew back his hood and revealed him self as Bolingbroke in disguise. R ichard took from his ow n neck the fram e of the m irro r and held it b etw een them , so th at each saw the o th e r as if he w ere a reflection of him self. T h e d irector seem ed inten t on suggesting a recogn ition on Bolingbroke's p art th a t both he and Richard have been the playthings of fo rtu n e, both finally united in a W ilfred O w en-lik e "stra n g e m eetin g " in w hich their shared exp erience of the hollow ness of the kingly crow n draw s them to g e th e r m o re pow erfully than their fo rm e r rivalry sets them ap art. H ere we saw them as them selves, n eith er needing to act a p art. T h ey knelt for a m o m en t in this pose before Bolingbroke left on the line: "W h at my ton gue dares not, th a t my h e a rt shall say ."

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It w as a theatrically im pressive m o m en t, and rep resen ted an exten sion of som eth in g th a t is genuinely p resen t in the play as Shakesp eare w ro te it. I con fess all the sam e th a t I found it strain ed . M r. B arto n said during a public discussion at w hich I took the chair th at he intended it as "a subliminal m o m en t, so th a t th ou gh it is m eaningful to R ichard, he can n o t actually tell w h e th e r it w as d ream o r rea lity ." And M r. O 'B rien w rite s: "W as it the King's eyes th a t gave to the g roo m the face of B olin g­ b ro k e?" (p. 1 1 9 ). This u n certain ty m ight h ave been conveyable in the cinem a by som e kind of superim position of im ages, but in the th e a tre w e could n ot help identifying the a cto r as B olin g­ broke. Th e co n fro n tatio n seem ed to dem and an exp lan ation th at w as n ot provided by the dialogue, and it conflicted w ith the line R ichard has to say only a few m o m en ts later, w hen he attack s the keeper w ith the w ord s, "T h e devil take H en ry of L a n caster and th e e ," a line w hich surely denies the im plication th a t th ere is explicit fellow -feeling betw een the tw o m en. It illu strates a d an ger of M r. B arto n 's p ro d u ction -m eth od s; th a t, at th eir e x tre m e s, th ey w ere directing th eir audience w h a t to think, instead of stim ulating th eir im aginations to think it. H ere, it seem ed to m e, the d irecto r achieved th eatrical e ffe c­ tiven ess at the exp en se of o u r credulity. It w as n ot a cheap th eatricality , because it epitom ized one asp ect of the d irector's in terp retatio n of the play; but it labored the point. I had, h o w ­ ev er, nothing but adm iration for a piece of th eatrical trick ery at the end of the p erfo rm an ce. T h e play had begun w ith the in v estitu re of an a cto r as King R ichard II. It seem ed ab ou t to end w ith the final in v estitu re, follow ing R ichard's d eath , of B olin g­ broke as King H en ry IV. E xto n en tered w ith the coffin of R ichard, w hom he had brutally m urd ered . Ian R ich ard son , w hen he played B olingbroke, fell upon the coffin w ith a g re a t cry of anguish, as if for his d earest friend. M ournful m usic sounded, and on the play's last line the coffin descended, as if into a vault. C o ro n atio n m usic retu rn ed , and the figure of Shak esp eare, seen at the beginning of the play, appeared as if to crow n Bolingbroke, w ho tu rn ed tow ard s him , his back to th e audience. D ru m s rolled pow erfully in crescend o. C o u rtie rs g ath ered around Bolingbroke. He w as invested w ith the golden robe of kingship. All but tw o of his co u rtie rs fell aw ay, the

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m usic reached a clim ax, and the king turned to us. Th e drum s suddenly ceased, and the co u rtiers beside Bolingbroke th rew back their hoods and revealed them selves, one as the a cto r w ho had been playing R ichard, the o th e r as the a cto r w ho had been playing Bolingbroke. Th e robes betw een them , thou gh g litte r­ ing, w ere em pty. Th e face w as n ot th at of King R ichard, n or of King H enry. It w as the face of the etern al king w ho keeps his co u rt w ithin the "m o rtal tem ples of a king." It w as the face of death.

NO TES

1. "D esign ing a Shak esp eare Play: R ichard 11," S hakespeare ]ah rb u ch (W est/ 1 9 7 4 ) , pp. 1 1 1 - 2 0 . 2. "'R ich a rd IY at S tra tfo rd , 1 9 7 3 " ; M . A . in S hak esp eare Studies, U ni­

versity of B irm in g h am , 1 9 7 3 . 3. "D ra m a tic R ep resen tatio n in S h ak esp eare's R ichard 11," Sydney Studies in English 1 ( 1 9 7 5 - 7 6 ) , pp. 3 2 - 4 5 . 4. T he King's Tw o B odies: A Study in M ed iev al P olitical T heology (P rin ceton , 1957). 5. T e s t i m o n y of A u g u s t i n e Phillips, 1 8 F e b r u a r y 1 6 0 0 , q u o t e d in E .K . C h a m b e r s , W illiam S hakespeare, 2 vo ls . ( O x f o r d , 1 9 3 0 ) , 11,325. 6. K ing R ich ard the Second, Folio S ociety, 1 9 5 8 ; rep rin ted in Stage D irections

(London, 1 9 6 3 ) , pp. 2 8 - 3 5 ; q u o tation from p. 3 3 . 7. "S h ak esp eare S traig h t and C roo k ed : A R eview of th e 1 9 7 3 Season

at S tra tfo rd ," S hakespeare Survey 2 7 ( 1 9 7 4 ) , pp. 1 4 3 - 5 4 ; quotation from p. 1 5 3 .

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P A R T III R IC H A R D II T he Psychology of Its C h aracters

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge Lectures on Shakespeare and Milton (18 12)

Having said thus m uch on th e, often falsely supposed, blem ishes of o u r p o et— blem ishes w hich are said to prevail in Richard II especially,— I will now ad vert to the ch a ra cte r of the King. He is rep resen ted as a m an n ot deficient in im m ediate co u rag e, w hich displays itself at his assassination; o r in pow ers of mind, as appears by the foresight he exhibits th ro u g h o u t the play: still, he is w eak, variable, and w om an ish , and possesses feelings, w hich, amiable in a fem ale, are misplaced in a m an, and a lto g eth er unfit for a king. In prosp erity he is insolent and p resu m p tu ou s, and in ad versity, if w e are to believe D r. Johnson, he is hum ane and pious. I can n o t adm it the la tte r epithet, because I perceive the u tm o st con sisten cy of ch a ra cte r in Richard: w h at he w as at first, he is at last, excepting as far as he yields to circu m stan ces: w h at he shew ed him self at the co m ­ m en cem en t of the play, he shew s him self at the end of it. D r. Johnson assigns to him ra th e r the virtu e of a co n fessor than th at of a king. T ru e it is, th a t he m ay be said to be overw helm ed by the earliest m isfortu n e th at befalls him ; but, so far from his feelings or disposition being changed o r subdued, the v ery first glimpse of the retu rn in g sunshine of hope rean im ates his spirits, and exalts him to as stran g e and unbecom ing a degree of elevation, as he w as before sunk in m ental depression: the m ention of those in his m isfo rtu n es, w ho had con tribu ted to his dow nfall, but w ho had before been his n earest friends and favou rites, calls fo rth from him expression s of the b itterest h atred and reven ge. T h u s, w here Richard asks:

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Richard 11 W h ere is th e E arl of W iltsh ire? W h ere is B ag o t? W h at is b ecom e of B u sh y ? W h ere is G re e n ? T h a t th ey h ave let th e d an g ero u s en em y M e a su re o u r con fin es w ith such peaceful steps? If w e prevail, th eir heads shall pay fo r it. I w a rr a n t th ey h ave m ade peace w ith Bolingbroke. A ct III, S cene 2.

Scroop an sw ers: Peace h ave th ey m ade w ith h im , indeed, m y lord.

Upon w hich R ichard, w ith o u t hearing m o re, breaks ou t: O villains! vip ers, d am n'd w ith o u t red em p tion ! D og s, easily w on to faw n on an y m an ! Snak es, in m y h eart-b lo o d w arm 'd , th a t stin g m y h e a rt! T h re e Ju d ases, each one th rice w o rse th an Judas! W ould th ey m ake p eace? terrib le hell m ake w ar Upon th eir sp o tted souls fo r this offen ce!

Scroop observes upon this ch an g e, and tells the King how th ey had m ade th eir peace: S w eet love, I see, ch an gin g his p ro p e rty T u rn s to th e s o u re s t and m o st deadly h ate. A gain u n cu rse th eir souls: th e ir p eace is m ade W ith heads and n o t w ith h an d s: th o se w h om you cu rse H ave felt th e w o rs t of d eath 's d estro y in g w ou n d, And lie full low , grav'd in th e hollow grou n d .

R ichard receiving at first an equivocal a n sw e r,— "P eace have th ey m ade w ith him , indeed, m y lo rd ,"— takes it in the w o rst sense: his p rom p tn ess to susp ect those w ho had been his friends tu rn s his love to h ate, and calls fo rth the m o st trem en d ou s ex e cratio n s. From the beginning to the end of the play he p ou rs ou t all the peculiarities and p ow ers of his mind: he catch es at new hope, and seeks new friends, is disappointed, despairs, and at length m akes a m erit of his resign ation . He sca tte rs him self into a m ultitude of im ages, and in conclusion en d eavou rs to sh elter him self from th a t w hich is arou nd him by a cloud of his ow n th o u g h ts. T h ro u g h o u t his w hole ca re e r m ay be noticed the

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m ost rapid tran sitio n s— from the highest insolence to the low est hu m ility— from hope to despair, from the ex tra v a g a n ce of love to the agonies of resen tm en t, and from pretended resignation to the b itterest rep roach es. The w hole is joined w ith the u tm o st richness and copiousness of th o u g h t, and w ere th ere an acto r capable of rep resentin g R ichard, the p art would delight us m ore than any o th e r of Shakespeare's m aster-p ieces,— w ith, perhaps, the single exception of King Lear. I know of no ch a ra c te r draw n by o u r g reat poet w ith such unequalled skill as th a t of R ichard II. N ext w e com e to H en ry Bolingbroke, the rival of R ichard II. He appears as a man of dauntless co u rag e, and of am bition equal to th at of Richard III; but, as I have stated , the difference betw een the tw o is m ost adm irably conceived and p reserved . In R ichard III all th at su rrou n d s him is only d ear as it feeds his inw ard sense of su p eriority: he is no vulgar ty ra n t— no N ero or Caligula: he has alw ays an end in view , and v ast fertility of m eans to accom plish th at end. O n the o th e r hand, in Bolingbroke we find a m an w ho in the o u tset has been sorely injured: then, we see him encouraged by the g rievan ces of his co u n try , and by the stran g e m ism anagem ent of the g o v ern m e n t, yet at the sam e tim e scarcely daring to look at his ow n view s, o r to acknow ledge them as designs. He com es hom e under the p reten ce of claiming his dukedom , and he p rofesses th at to be his object alm ost to the last: but, at the last, he avow s his purpose to its full e x te n t, of which he w as him self unconscious in the earlier stages. This is proved by so m any passages, th at I will only select one of them ; and I take it the ra th e r, because ou t of the m any octavo volum es of te x t and n otes, the page on w hich it o ccu rs is, I believe, the only one left naked by the co m m e n ta to rs. It is w here Bolingbroke approaches the castle in w hich the u n fo r­ tu n ate King has taken sh elter: Y ork is in Bolingbroke's co m ­ pany— the sam e Y ork w ho is still co n ten ted w ith speaking the tru th , but doing nothing for the sake of the tr u th ,— draw ing back a fte r he has spoken, and becom ing m erely passive w hen he ou g h t to display activity. N orth u m b erlan d says: T h e new s is v ery fair and good, m y lord: R ichard n ot far from hence h ath hid his head. A ct III, S cene 2.

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Richard II Y o rk rebukes him th u s: It w ould beseem th e Lord N o rth u m b erlan d T o say K ing R ich ard :— A lack, th e h eavy day, W h en such a sacred king should hide his head!

N orth u m b erlan d replies: Y o u r g race m istak es m e: only to be brief L eft I his title ou t.

T o w hich Y ork rejoins: T h e tim e h ath been, W ould you h ave been so b rief w ith him , he w ould H ave been so brief w ith yo u , to sh o rte n you, F o r taking so th e head, y o u r w h ole h ead's len gth .

Bolingbroke observes, M istak e n o t, uncle, fa rth e r th an you should;

And Y ork an sw ers, w ith a play upon the w ord s "ta k e " and "m istak e": T ak e n o t, good cou sin , fa r th e r th an you should, L est you m istake. T h e h eav en s a re o 'er o u r heads.

H ere, give me leave to rem ark in passing, th at the play upon w ord s is p erfectly n atu ral, and quite in ch a ra cte r: th e an sw er is in unison w ith the tone of passion, and seem s con n ected w ith som e p h rase then in popular use. Bolingbroke tells Y o rk : I k now it, uncle, and oppose n ot m yself A gain st th eir will.

Ju st afterw ard s, N orth u m b erlan d :

Bolingbroke thu s addresses him self to

N oble lord, G o to th e rude ribs of th a t an cien t castle; T h ro u g h b razen tru m p e t send th e b reath of parle In to his ruin'd e a rs, and th u s deliver.

H ere, in the p hrase "in to his ruin'd e a rs ," I have no doubt th a t Shakespeare purposely used the personal p ro n o u n , "h is,"

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to shew , th at although Bolingbroke w as only speaking of the castle, his th o u gh ts dw elt on the king. In M ilton the p ronoun, " h e r" is em ployed, in relation to "fo rm ," in a m an n er som ew h at similar. Bolingbroke had an equivocation in his mind, and w as thinking of the king, while speaking of the castle. He goes on to tell N orth u m b erlan d w h at to say, beginning: H en ry Bolingbroke,

w hich is alm ost the only instance in w hich a nam e form s the w hole line; Shakespeare m ean t it to con vey Bolingbroke's opin­ ion of his ow n im p ortan ce:— H en ry Bolingbroke O n both his knees d oth kiss King R ichard's hand, And sends allegiance and tru e faith of h e a rt T o his m o st royal p erson ; h ith er com e Even at his feet to lay m y arm s and p ow er, Provided th a t, m y b an ish m en t repealed, And lands resto r'd again, be freely g ran ted . If n o t, I'll use th ' ad van tage of m y p ow er, And lay th e su m m er's dust w ith sh o w ers of blood, Rain'd from th e w ou n ds of slau g h ter'd E nglishm en.

A t this point Bolingbroke seem s to have been checked by the eye of Y ork , and thus proceeds in con sequence: T h e w hich, h ow far off from th e mind of Bolingbroke It is, such crim son tem p est should b edrench T h e fresh g reen lap of fair King R ichard's land, M y stooping d u ty ten d erly shall show .

He passes suddenly from insolence to hum ility, ow ing to the silent rep ro of he received from his uncle. This change of tone would not have taken place, had Bolingbroke been allowed to proceed according to the n atu ral bent of his m ind, and the flow of the subject. Let me direct atten tio n to the subsequent lines, for the sam e reason ; they are part of the sam e speech: L et's m arch w ith o u t th e noise of th re a t'n in g d ru m , T h at from the castle's ta tte r'd b attlem en ts O u r fair ap p o in tm en ts m ay be well perused.

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Richard II M eth in k s, King R ichard and m y self should m eet W ith no less te r r o r th an th e elem en ts O f fire and w a te r, w h en th eir th u n d erin g shock A t m eetin g te a rs th e cloudy cheek s of h eaven .

H aving proceeded th u s far w ith the exag g e ra tio n of his ow n im p ortan ce, Y o rk again checks him , and Bolingbroke adds, in a v ery d ifferen t strain , H e be th e fire, I'll be th e yielding w a te r: T h e rag e be his, w hile on th e e a rth I rain M y w a te rs ; on th e e a rth , and n o t on him .

I h ave thu s ad verted to the th ree g re a t p erson ages in this d ram a, R ichard, Bolingbroke, and Y o rk ; and of the w hole play it m ay be asserted , th at w ith the excep tion of som e of th e last scen es (th ou gh they h ave exquisite b eau ty) S hakespeare seem s to h ave risen to the sum m it of excellence in the delineation and p reservatio n of ch ara cte r.

W alter Pater Shakespeare's English Kings (1 8 8 9 )

A brittle glory shineth in this face; As brittle as the glory is the face. T he English plays of Shakespeare needed but the com pletion of one u n im p o rtan t interval to possess the unity of a popular chronicle from R ichard the Second to H enry the E igh th , and possess, as they actually stand, the u nity of a com m on m otive in the handling of the variou s even ts and persons w hich they bring before us. C ertain of his h istoric dram as, n ot English, display Shakespeare's m astery in the developm ent of the heroic n atu re amid heroic circu m stan ces; and had he ch osen , from English h istory , to deal w ith C oeu r-d e-L io n o r Edw ard th e First, the innate quality of his subject would doubtless have called into play som ething of th at profound and som bre p ow er w hich in Julius Caesar and Macbeth has sounded th e depths of m ighty ch a racter. T ru e, on the w hole, to fact, it is a n o th e r side of kingship which he has made p rom in en t in his English histories. Th e irony of kingship— average hu m an n atu re , flung w ith a w onderfully pathetic effect into the v o rte x of g re a t even ts; traged y of everyd ay quality heightened in degree only by the conspicuous scene w hich does but m ake those w ho play their p arts th ere conspicuously u n fo rtu n ate; the u tte ra n ce of co m ­ m on h u m an ity straigh t from the h ea rt, but refined like o th e r com m on things for kingly uses by Shakespeare's unfailing eloquence: such, unconsciously for the m ost p art, though palpably enough to the careful read er, is the conception under which Shakespeare has arran g ed the lights and shadow s of the sto ry of the English kings, em phasizing m erely the light and 193

Richard II shadow in h eren t in it, and keeping very close to the original au th o rities, n ot simply in the general outline of these d ram atic h istories but som etim es in th eir v ery exp ression . C ertain ly the h isto ry itself, as he found it in Hall, H olinshed, and S tow e, those so m ew h at p icturesque old ch ro n iclers w ho had them selves an eye fo r the d ram atic "e ffe c ts " of h um an life, has m uch of this sen tim en t already about it. W h at he did n ot find th e re w as the n atu ral p rero g ativ e— such justification, in kingly, th a t is to say, in excep tion al, qualities, of the excep tion al position, as m akes it practicable in the resu lt. It is no Henriade he w rites, and no h isto ry of the English people, but th e sad fo rtu n es of som e English kings as conspicuous exam ples of the ord in ary hum an condition. As in a children's sto ry , all princes are in e x tre m e s. D elightful in the sunshine above the wall into w hich ch an ce lifts the flow er fo r a season , th ey can but plead so m ew h at m ore tou ch in gly than o th ers th eir everyd ay w eakness in the sto rm . Such is the m otive th at gives unity to these unequal and in te r­ m itte n t con trib u tion s tow ard a slowly evolved d ram atic ch ro n i­ cle, w hich it w ould have taken m any days to re h e a rse ; a not d istan t sto ry from real life still well rem em b ered in its general co u rse, to w hich people m ight listen now and again, as long as th ey cared , finding h u m an n atu re at least w h e re v e r th eir a tte n ­ tion stru ck grou n d in it. He begins w ith John, and allows indeed to the first of these English kings a kind of g reatn ess, m aking the d evelopm ent of the play ce n te r in the co u n teractio n of his n atu ral g ifts— th a t som eth in g of h eroic force about h im — by a m adness w hich takes the shape of reckless im piety, forced especially on m an's a tte n tio n by the terrible circu m stan ces of his end, in the delinea­ tion of w hich Shakespeare trium ph s, settin g , w ith tru e poetic ta ct, this incident of the king's d eath , in all the h o r ro r of a violent o n e, amid a scene delicately suggestive of w h at is p e re n ­ nially peaceful and genial in the o u tw ard w orld. Like the sensual h u m o u rs of F alstaff in an o th e r play, the presen ce of the bastard Faulconbridge, w ith his physical en erg y and his unm istakable family likeness— "th o se limbs w hich Sir R ob ert n ev er holp to m a k e"1— co n trib u tes to an alm ost coarse assertio n of the force of n a tu re , of the so m ew h at ironic p rep on deran ce of n a tu re and circu m stan ce o v er m en's artificial arra n g e m e n ts, to the re co g n i­

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tion of a certain p oten t n atu ral aristo cracy , w hich is far from being alw ays identical w ith th at m ore form al, heraldic one. And w h at is a co arse fact in the case of Faulconbridge becom es a m otive of pathetic appeal in the w an and babyish A rth u r. The m agic w ith w hich n atu re models tiny and delicate children to the likeness of their rou gh fath ers is n ow h ere m ore justly expressed than in the w ords of King Philip.— Look h ere upon th y b ro th e r G eo ffrey 's face! T h ese eyes, th ese b row s w ere m oulded o u t of his: This little a b stra ct doth con tain th a t large W hich died in G eo ffrey ; and th e hand of tim e Shall d raw this brief in to as h uge a volum e.

It w as perhaps som ething of a boyish m em o ry of the shock­ ing end of his fath er th a t had distorted the piety of H enry the Third into su p erstitiou s te rro r. A frightened soul, him self touched w ith the co n tra ry so rt of religious m adness, doting on all th at w as alien from his fath er's huge fero city, on the geniali­ ties, the soft gilding, of life, on the genuine in terests of a rt and poetry , to be credited m o re than any o th e r person w ith the deep religious expression of W estm in ster Abbey, H en ry the Third, picturesque thou gh useless, but certain ly tou ch in g, m ight have furnished Shakespeare, had he filled up this interval in his series, w ith precisely the kind of effect he tends tow ard s in his English plays. B u t he found it com p leter still in the person and sto ry of Richard the Second, a figu re— "th a t sw eet lovely ro se "— which h au n ts Shakespeare's mind, as it seem s long to have haun ted the minds of the English people, as the m ost touching of all exam ples of the irony of kingship. H en ry the F o u rth — to look for a m om en t beyond o u r im ­ m ediate subject, in pursuit of Shakespeare's th o u g h t— is p re ­ sented, of co u rse, in general outline, as an im personation of "su rvivin g fo rce": he has a certain am o u n t of kin gcraft also, a real fitness for g re a t opportun ity. But still tru e to his leading m otive, Shakespeare, in King Henry the Fourth, has left the highw a te r m ark of his p oetry in the soliloquy w hich rep resen ts royalty longing vainly for the toiler's sleep; while the popu­ larity, the show y heroism , of H en ry the Fifth, is used to give em phatic point to the old earth y com m onplace about "wild

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o a ts ." The w ealth of hom ely h u m o r in these plays, the fun com ing straig h t hom e to all the w orld, of Fluellen especially in his u ncon scious interview w ith the king, the b oisterou s e a rth i­ ness of Falstaff and his com panions, co n trib u te to the sam e effect. The k eyn ote of Shakespeare's tre a tm e n t is indeed e x ­ pressed by H en ry the Fifth him self, the greatest of Shakesp eare's k in g s.— "T h o u g h I speak it to y o u ," he says incognito, u n der co v e r of n igh t, to a com m on soldier on the field, "I think the king is but a m an, as I am : the violet smells to him as it doth to m e: all his senses have but hu m an conditions; and th o u gh his affectio n s be h igh er m ou nted than o u rs y et w hen th ey stoop th ey stoop w ith like w in g ." And, in tru th , th e really kingly speeches w hich S hakespeare assigns to him , as to o th e r kings w eak en ou gh in all but speech, are but a kind of flow ers, w o rn for, and effective only as personal em bellishm ent. T h ey com bine to one resu lt w ith the m erely o u tw ard and cerem on ial o rn a m e n ts of ro yalty , its p agean tries, flaunting so naively, so credulously, in S h ak e­ sp eare, as in th at old medieval tim e. And th en , the fo rce of H otsp u r is but tran sien t y o u th , the com m on h eat of y o u th , in him . The ch a ra c te r of H en ry the S ixth again, roi faineant, w ith La Pucelle2 for his co u n terfoil, lay in the d irect co u rse of S h ak e­ speare's design: he has done m uch to fix the sen tim en t of the "h oly H e n ry ." R ichard the T h ird , tou ch ed , like John, w ith an effect of real h ero ism , is spoiled like him by som eth in g of crim inal m adness, and reach es his high est level of tragic e x p re s­ sion w hen circu m stan ces red uce him to term s of m ere h um an n a tu re .— A h o rse! A h o rse! M y kingdom fo r a h o rse!

T h e Princes in the T o w e r recall to mind the lot of young A r th u r:— I'll go w ith th ee, A nd find th e in h eritan ce of this p oor child, His little kingdom of a forced g rav e.

And w hen S hakespeare com es to H en ry th e E igh th , it is n ot the superficial th o u gh v ery English splendor of the king him self, but the really p oten t and ascen d an t n atu re of the b u tch er's son on the one hand, and K ath arin e's subdued rep rod u ction of the

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sad fo rtu n es of Richard the Second on the o th e r, th a t define his cen tral in te re s t.3 W ith a prescience of the W ars of the R oses, of w hich his e rro rs w ere the original cause, it is Richard w ho best exposes Shakespeare's own co n stan t sen tim en t con cern in g w ar, and especially th at so rt of civil w ar w hich w as then recen t in English m em ories. Th e soul of S h akespeare, certain ly, w as n ot w anting in a sense of the m agnanim ity of w arrio rs. The grandiose aspects of w ar, its m agnificent apparelling, he record s m o n u ­ m entally en ou g h — the "d ressing of the lists," the lion's h e a rt, its un faltering h aste th ith er in all th e fresh n ess of you th and m o rn in g .— N ot sick alth ou gh I h ave to do w ith d e a th — T h e sun doth gild o u r a rm o u r: Up, m y L o rd s!— I saw you n g H a rry w ith his b eaver on, His cuisses on his th igh s, gallan tly arm 'd, Rise from the grou n d like feath er'd M e rcu ry .

O nly, w ith Shakespeare, the a fte rth o u g h t is im m ed iate:— T h ey com e like sacrifices in th eir trim . — Will it n ever be to -d ay ? I will tro t to -m o rr o w a m ile, and m y w ay shall be paved w ith English faces.

This sen tim en t Richard reiterates v ery plaintively, in associa­ tion w ith the delicate sw eetn ess of the English fields, still sw eet and fresh , like London and h er o th e r fair tow n s in th a t England of C h au cer, for w hose soil the exiled Bolingbroke is made to long so dangerously, while R ichard on his re tu rn from Ireland salutes it— T h at pale, th at w h ite-fac'd s h o re ,— As a lon g-p arted m o th e r w ith h er child.— So, w eeping, smiling, g re e t I th ee, m y e a rth ! And do th ee fav ou r w ith m y royal h a n d s.—

T hen (of Bolingbroke) E re the cro w n he looks fo r live in peace, T en th ou san d bloody cro w n s of m o th e rs' sons Shall ill becom e th e flow er of E ngland's face;

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Richard 11 C h an g e th e com p lexion of h e r m aid-pale peace T o sca rle t indigestion, and bedew M y p a stu re s ' g rass w ith faith fu l English b lood.— W h y h ave th ey dared to m a r c h ? —

asks Y ork , So m an y m iles upon h e r peaceful b osom , F righ tin g h e r pale-fac'd visages w ith w a r ? —

w aking, according to R ichard, O u r peace, w h ich in o u r c o u n try 's crad le, D raw s th e sw eet in fan t b reath of gen tle sleep :—

bedrenching "w ith crim son tem p est" T h e fresh g reen lap of fair king R ichard's lan d :—

frigh ting "fair p eace" from "o u r quiet co n fin es," laying T h e su m m er's d u st w ith sh o w ers of blood, Rained fro m th e w ou n d s of slau g h ter'd E ng lish m en :

bruising H e r flo w erets w ith th e arm ed h oofs O f h ostile paces.

Perh aps it is not too fanciful to n ote in this play a peculiar recoil from the m ere in stru m en ts of w a rfa re , th e co n ta ct of the "ru d e rib s," the "flint b osom ," of Barkloughly C astle o r P o m fre t o r Julius C a e s a r's ill-erected to w e r:

the B o istero u s u ntu n'd d ru m s W ith h a rsh -re so u n d in g tru m p e ts ' dread fu l b ray And g ratin g shock of w ra th fu l iron arm s.

It is as if the lax, soft b eau ty of the king took effect, at least by co n tra st, on everyth in g beside. O ne g raciou s p rero g ativ e, certain ly , S hakespeare's English kings possess: they are a v ery eloquent com pan y, and R ichard is the m o st sw eet-to n g u ed of them all. In no o th e r play p erhaps is

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th ere such a flush of those gay, fresh , v ariegated flow ers of sp eech— color and figure, n ot lightly attach ed to, but fused into, the v ery p hrase itself— w hich Shakespeare can n o t help dispens­ ing to his ch aracters, as in this "play of the D eposing of King Richard the S econ d ," an exquisite poet if he is nothing else, from first to last, in light and gloom alike, able to see all things poetically, to give a poetic tu rn to his con d u ct of them , and refresh in g w ith his golden language the trite st aspects of th a t ironic co n tra st betw een the p retension s of a king and the actual necessities of his destiny. W h at a garden of w ords! W ith him , blank v erse, infinitely gracefu l, deliberate, musical in inflection, becom es indeed a tru e "v erse ro y al," th at rhym ing lapse, w hich to the Shakespearean ear, at least in y ou th , cam e as the last touch of refin em ent on it, being h ere doubly appropriate. His eloquence blends w ith th at fatal beau ty, of w hich he w as so frankly aw are, so amiable to his friends, to his w ife, of the effects of w hich on the people his enem ies w ere so m uch afraid, on w hich Shakespeare him self dwells so atten tiv ely as the "royal blood" com es and goes in the face w ith his rapid ch an ges of tem p er. As happens w ith sensitive n atu res, it attu n e s him to a co n gru o u s suavity of m an n ers, by w hich an ger itself becam e flatterin g; it blends w ith his m erely youthful hopefulness and high spirits, his sym pathetic love for gay people, things, apparel — "his cote of gold and sto n e, valued at th irty thousand m ark s," the novel Italian fashions he p referred , as also w ith those real amiabilities th at made people fo rget the d ark er tou ch es of his ch a ra cte r, but n ever tire of the p ath etic reh earsal of his fall, the m eekness of which would have seem ed m erely abject in a less graceful p erfo rm er. Y et it is only fair to say th at in the painstaking "rev iv al" of King Richard the Second, by the late C h arles K ean, those w ho w ere very young th irty y ears ago w ere afforded m uch m ore than Shakespeare's play could ev er have been b efo re— the v ery p er­ son of the king based on the stately old p o rtrait in W estm in ster, "th e earliest e x ta n t co n tem p o rary likeness of any English so v ereig n ," the g race, the winning path os, the sym p athetic voice of the player, the tastefu l archaeology co n fro n tin g vulgar m odern London w ith a scenic rep ro d u ctio n , for once really

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agreeable, of the London of C h au cer. In the hands of K ean the play becam e like an exquisite p erfo rm an ce on the violin. T h e long agony of one so gaily painted by n a tu re 's self, from his "tra g ic abdication" till the h o u r in w hich he Sluiced o u t his in n o cen t soul th r o 7 stre a m s of blood,

w as fo r playw rights a subject read y to hand, and becam e early th e them e of a popular d ram a, of w hich som e have fancied surviving fav orite frag m en ts in th e rh ym ed p arts of Sh ak e­ speare's w ork: T h e king R ichard o f Y n glan d W as in his flow ris th en reg n an d : B u t his flow ris e fte r sone Fad yt, and w a re all u n d o n e :—

says the old chronicle. S tran g ely en ou gh , Shakespeare supposes him an overcon fid en t believer in th at divine righ t of kings, of w hich people in S h ak espeare's tim e w ere com ing to h e a r so m u ch; a g eneral rig h t, sealed to him (so R ichard is m ade to think) as an ineradicable gift by the to u ch — stre a m ra th e r, o ver head and b reast and sh o u ld ers— of the "h oly oil" of his co n se ­ cratio n at W estm in ster; n ot, h o w ev er, th ro u g h som e o v ersig h t, the genuine balm used at the co ro n atio n of his su ccesso r, given, according to legend, by the Blessed V irgin to Saint T h o m as of C a n terb u ry . Richard him self found th a t, it w as said, am ong o th e r fo rg o tte n tre a su re s, at the crisis of his changing fo rtu n e s, and vainly sou gh t reco n secratio n th e re w ith — u n d erstoo d , w ist­ fully, th at it w as reserved fo r his happier rival. And y et his co ro n atio n , by the p ag ean try , the am plitude, the learned ca re , of its o rd er, so lengthy th a t the king, then only eleven y ears of age, and fastin g, as a co m m u n ican t at the cerem o n y , w as carried aw ay in a faint, fixed the type u n d er w hich it has ev er since con tin ued . And n ow h ere is th ere so em phatic a re ite ra tio n as in Richard the Second of the sen tim en t w hich those singular rites w ere calculated to produce. N ot all th e w a te r in th e ro u g h ru d e sea C an w ash th e balm fro m an an oin ted k in g ,—

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as supplem enting an o th er, alm ost su p ern atu ral, rig h t.— "E d ­ w ard's seven so n s," of w hom R ichard's fath e r w as one, W ere as seven phials of his sacred blood.

But this, too, in the hands of Sh akespeare, becom es for him , like any o th e r of those fan tastic, ineffectual, easily discredited, p er­ sonal graces, as capricious in its operation on m en's wills as m erely physical beauty, kindling him self to eloquence indeed, but only giving double pathos to insults w hich "barb arism it­ self" m ight have pitied— the dust in his face, as he re tu rn s, throu gh the stre e ts of London, a p risoner in the train of his victoriou s enem y. H ow soon m y so rro w h ath d estroyed m y face!

he cries, in th at m ost poetic invention of the m irro r scene, w hich does but rein force again th at physical ch arm w hich all confessed. The sense of "divine rig h t" in kings is found to act not so m uch as a secret of pow er o ver o th ers, as of infatuation to them selves. And of all those personal gifts the one which alone n ever alto g eth er fails him is just th at royal u tte ra n ce , his appreciation of the p oetry of his ow n hapless lot, an eloquent self-pity, infecting o th ers in spite of them selves, till they too becom e irresistibly eloquent about him. In the R om an Pontifical, of w hich the o rd er of C o ro n atio n is really a p art, th ere is no form for the inverse process, no rite of "d eg rad atio n ," such as th at by w hich an offending priest or bishop m ay be deprived, if not of the essential quality of "o rd e rs," y et, one by one, of its outw ard dignities. It is as if S hakespeare had had in mind som e such inverted rite, like those old ecclesiastical or m ilitary ones, by which hum an h ard n ess, or hum an justice, adds the last touch of unkindness to the e x e cu ­ tion of its sen ten ces, in the scene w here R ichard "d ep oses" him self, as in som e long, agonizing cerem on y , reflectively draw n o u t, w ith an extrao rd in ary refin em en t of intelligence and variety of piteous appeal, but also w ith a felicity of poetic invention, w hich puts these pages into a v ery select class, w ith the finest "verm eil and iv o ry" w ork of C h a tte rto n o r K eats.

Richard II

2 02 Fetch h ith e r R ichard th a t in com m on view H e m ay s u rre n d e r!—

And Richard m ore than co n cu rs: he th ro w s him self into the p art, realizes a type, falls gracefu lly as on the w orld's sta g e .— W hy is he sen t fo r? T o do th a t office of th ine ow n good will W hich tired m ajesty did m ake th ee o f fe r .— N ow m ark m e! h ow I will undo m yself.

"H ath Bolingbroke deposed thine in tellect?" th e Q u een asks him , on his w ay to the T o w e r:— H ath Bolingbroke D eposed th ine in tellect? h ath he been in th y h e a rt?

And in tru th , but for th at ad ven titiou s poetic gold, it w ould be only "plum e-plucked R ich ard ."— I find m yself a tra ito r w ith th e re s t, F o r I h ave given h ere m y soul's co n sen t T o undeck th e p om pous body of a king.

He is duly rem inded, indeed, how T h a t w hich in m ean m en w e en title patience Is pale cold cow ard ice in noble b reasts.

Y e t at least w ithin th e poetic bounds of Shak esp eare's play, th rou g h Shakespeare's bountiful gifts, his desire seem s fulfilled.— O ! th a t I w ere as g re a t As is m y grief.

And his grief becom es noth in g less th an a cen tral exp ression of all th a t in the revolu tions of F o rtu n e's w heel goes down in the w orld. No! Shakespeare's kings are n ot, n or are m ean t to be, g re a t m en: ra th e r, little o r quite ord in ary h u m an ity, th ru s t upon g reatn ess, w ith those path etic resu lts, the n atu ral self-pity of the w eak heightened in them into irresistible appeal to o th e rs as

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the net result of th eir royal p rero gativ e. O ne a fte r an o th er, th ey seem to lie com posed in Shakespeare's em balm ing pages, w ith just th at touch of n atu re about them , m aking the w hole w orld akin, w hich has infused into th eir tom bs at W estm in ster a rare poetic grace. It is th a t irony of kingship, the sense th at it is in its happiness child's play, in its so rro w s, afte r all, but children's g rief, w hich gives its finer accen t to all the changeful feeling of these w onderful sp eech es:— the g reat m eekness of the graceful, wild cre a tu re , tam ed at last.— Give R ichard leave to live till R ichard die!

his som ew h at abject fear of d eath , turnin g to acquiescence at m o m en ts of e xtrem e w earin ess:— M y large kingdom fo r a little g rav e! A little little g rav e, an ob scu re g ra v e !—

his religious appeal in the last reserv e, w ith its bold referen ce to the judgm ent of Pilate, as he thinks once m ore of his "a n o in tin g ." And as it happens w ith children he attain s co n te n tm e n t finally in the m erely passive recogn ition of su perior stre n g th , in the n atu raln ess of the result of the g reat battle as a m a tte r of co u rse, and exp eriences som ething of the royal p rero gativ e of p oetry to obscu re, o r at least to a ttu n e and soften m en's griefs. As in som e sw eet an them of Handel, the su fferer, w ho put finger to the organ under the u tm o st p ressu re of m ental co n ­ flict, e x tra cts a kind of peace at last from the m ere skill w ith w hich he sets his distress to m u sic.— B esh rew th ee, C ou sin , th a t didst lead me fo rth O f th at sw eet w ay I w as in to despair!

"W ith C ain go w and er th rou g h the shades of n ig h t!"— cries the new king to the gaoler E xto n , dissim ulating his share in the m u rd er he is th o u gh t to have suggested ; and in tru th th ere is som ething of the m u rdered Abel about Shakespeare's Richard. Th e fact seem s to be th at he died of "w aste and a broken h e a rt": it w as by w ay of proof th at his end had been a n atu ral one th at, stifling a real fear of the face, the face of R ichard, on m en's m inds, w ith the added pleading now of all dead faces, H enry exposed the corpse to general view ; and S h akespeare, in b ring­

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ing it on the stag e, in the last scene of his play, does but follow ou t the m otive w ith w hich he has em phasized R ichard's physical b eau ty all th rou g h it— th a t "m o st b eau teou s in n ," as the Q u een says quaintly, m eeting him on the w ay to d e a th — resid en ce, then soon to be d eserted , of th at w ayw ard , frenzied, but w ithal so affectio n ate soul. T h o u gh the body did n ot go to W e stm in ste r im m ediately, his tom b, T h a t small m odel of th e b arren e a rth W hich serv es as p aste and co v e r to o u r b o n es,4

the effigy clasping the hand of his y ou thful co n so rt, w as already prepared th e re , w ith "rich gilding and o rn a m e n ts ," m o n u m en t of poetic re g re t, for Q u een A nne of Bohem ia, n ot of co u rse the "Q u e e n " of S hakespeare, w ho h o w ev er seem s to have tra n s ­ ferred to this second w ife som eth in g of R ichard's wildly p ro ­ claimed affection for the first. In this w ay, th ro u g h the co n n e ct­ ing link of th a t sacred spot, o u r th o u g h ts once m ore associate R ichard's tw o fallacious p rero g ativ es, his personal b eau ty and his "an o in tin g ." A ccording to Joh nson , Richard the Second is one of th o se plays w hich Shakespeare has "ap p aren tly revised "; and h ow doubly delightful Shakespeare is w h ere he seem s to have revised! "W ould th at he had blotted a th o u san d "— a thou san d h asty ph rases, we m ay v en tu re once m o re to say w ith his earlier critic, now th a t the tiresom e G erm an sup erstition has passed aw ay w hich challenged us to a d ogm atic faith in the p lenary verbal inspiration of ev ery one of S h ak espeare's clow ns. Like som e m elodiously contending an th em of H andel's, I said, of R ichard's m eek "u n d oin g" of him self in the m irro r-sce n e ; and, in fact, the play of Richard the Second does, like a m usical com p osition , possess a certain co n cen tratio n of all its p arts, a simple co n tin u ity , an evenn ess in execu tion , w hich are rare in the g re a t d ram atist. W ith Romeo and Juliet, th at p erfect sym phony (sym phony of th ree independent poetic form s set in a g ran d er o n e 5 w hich it is the m erit of G erm an criticism to have d etected) it belongs to a small grou p of plays, w h ere, by happy birth and co n sisten t evolu tion , d ram atic form approaches to som ethin g like the u n ity of a lyrical ballad, a lyric, a son g, a single strain of m usic. W hich so rt of p o etry w e are to accou n t the h igh est, is perhaps a b arren

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question. Y et if, in a rt generally, unity of im pression is a note of w h at is p erfect, then lyric p oetry , w hich in spite of com plex stru c tu re often preserves the unity of a single passionate ejacu ­ lation, would rank h igher than d ram atic p oetry, w h ere, esp e­ cially to the read er, as distinguished from the sp ectato r assisting at a theatrical p erfo rm an ce, th ere m u st alw ays be a sense of the e ffo rt n ecessary to keep the variou s p arts from flying asunder, a sense of im perfect con tin u ity, such as the older criticism vainly sought to obviate by the rule of the d ram atic "u n itie s /'It follows th at a play attain s artistic perfection just in p roportion as it approaches th at unity of lyrical effect, as if a song or ballad w ere still lying at the ro o t of it, all the various exp ression of the conflict of ch a ra cte r and circu m stan ce falling at last into the com pass of a single m elody, or musical them e. As, historically, the earliest classic dram a arose out of the ch o ru s, from which this o r th at person , this o r th at episode, detached itself, so, into the unity of a choric song the p erfect dram a ev er tends to re tu rn , its intellectual scope deepened, com plicated, enlarged, but still w ith an unm istakable singleness, or identity, in its im pression on the mind. Ju st th ere, in th at vivid single im pres­ sion left on the mind w hen all is over, not in any m echanical lim itation of tim e and place, is the secret of the "u n itie s"— the tru e im aginative u n ity — of the dram a.

N O TES 1.

Elinor. D o you n o t read so m e to k e n s of m y son (C o e u r-d e -L io n ) In th e large co m p o sitio n of th is m a n ?

2. P erh aps th e one person of genius in th ese English plays. T h e spirit of deep p ro p h e cy sh e h a th , E x ce e d in g th e nine Sibyls of old R o m e : W h a t's p ast and w h a t's to co m e she can d e scry .

3. P rop osin g in this paper to trace th e leading sen tim en t in S hak e­ speare's English Plays as a so rt of popular dramatic chronicle, I have left u n to u ch ed the q uestion h ow m uch (or, in the case of Henry the Sixth and Henry the Eighth, how little) of th em m ay be really his: h ow far in ferio r hands have co n trib u ted to a resu lt, tru e on the

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w hole to th e g r e a te r, th a t is to say, th e S h ak esp earean elem en ts in th em . 4. P erh ap s a double entendre:— of an y o rd in ary g rav e, as com p risin g , in e ffe ct, th e w h ole small e a rth n ow left to its o ccu p an t: o r, of such a tom b as R ichard's in p articu lar, w ith its actu al m odel, o r effigy, of th e clay of him . B oth sen ses are so ch a ra cte ris tic th a t it w ould be a pity to lose eith er. 5. T h e S on n et : th e A ubade : th e E pith alam iu m .

E.K. Chambers The Tragedy of King Richard the Second (18 91)

T he histories of Shakespeare have a threefold burden. T h ey are largely epical in ch a ra cte r, a bead-roll, as it w ere, of English kings, stretch in g from M agna C h a rta to the com ing of the T u d ors. Th e period from R ichard II onw ard s is practically co m ­ plete; the rest rem ains unfinished, but the interval left afte r King John is partly bridged o ver by Peele's Edward I, by M arlow e's Edward II, and by the play of Edward III, w herein Shakespeare him self m ay have had a hand. It is easy to find the m otive for such a d ram a-cycle in the 'n e w sp rin g" of p atriotic enthusiasm born in England of the Spanish W ars: to this spirit the youthful p o e t,1 for all his deeper insight into things, fully and frankly yielded him self; the exp ression of it is the com m on p rerogative of all the p erson ages in these plays, of John and R ichard no less than of H en ry V him self. In the sixteen th cen tu ry , H istory was just beginning to fill the place of m ere co n tem p o rary C h ronicle; Englishm en w ere just aw aking to a w ider outlook o ver the w orld, and w ith it to a sense th at they had, as a people, a past in w hich they w ere bound to feel an in terest and a pride. A t such a tim e it w as n atu ral th at P o etry too should take a re tro sp e ct, and m ake h er h arv est of all th at w as pity-m ovin g o r sou l-stirrin g in the national record . Secondly, th ere is the elem en t of purely hum an , of tragic in terest in the spectacle of so m any m en called one a fte r a n o th er, not from any grace o r gift of th eir ow n, but by the accident of being kings, to grapple w ith d an gerou s m oral and social forces, and, m ost o ften , failing in th eir task. T h e Vergilian "sen se of tears in m ortal th in gs" is now h ere m ore m an ifest than in the annals of R om an em p ero rs o r English so v ereig n s.2 207

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T h ou gh this is m u ch , th ere is "m o re in it." A t b ottom Sh ak e­ speare is alw ays a stu d en t, and th ese plays are the o u tco m e of a stu d en t's reflection on g rav e questions con cern in g the w ell­ being of a nation. F or S h ak esp eare, as for Thucydides, H isto ry becom es at once a jud gm en t of the past and a fo re ca st of the fu tu re; no lon ger m erely a tale of "fo rg o tte n , far off th in g s," it is an "etern al p ossession ," and a p oten t fa cto r in d eterm in in g the con d u ct of life. T h u s Richard II and the re st are studies in kingship, w herein , to th ose w ho can read, the poet has laid bare his mind upon the problem s of g o v ern m en t in the form w hich th ey appeared in to o u r an cesto rs. His an sw er to th em is one w hich Plato m ight have applauded. He finds the tru e foundation of regal a u th o rity n eith er in an im aginary divine righ t n or in the will of a p arliam en tary assem bly: the genuine king and leader of m en is he w ho best u n d erstan d s and sym pathizes w ith the needs and aspirations of his people, and is best fitted to guide th em in the w orking o u t of th eir proper destiny. John fo rg o t this, and left his co u n try in the hands of a foreign invader; R ichard II and H en ry IV failed to reg ard it, and o verw h elm ed h e r w ith all the h o rro rs of the W ars of the R oses. In the days in w hich this m essage w as delivered, it w as sorely needed. T h e T u d o rs w ro u g h t a g re a t w ork fo r England, but th eir task w as already achieved w hen S hakespeare w ro te . T h e co u n try w as at last free, united, p rosp erou s, a pleasant and a m erry land to dwell in. And now the evils in h eren t in the T u d o r con cep tion of m o n arch y began to o utw eigh its influence fo r good; the gradual exten sio n of the royal p rero gativ e th r e a t­ ened to sw am p the liberties of the people. As yet the d an ger w as hardly felt; it w as reserved fo r the n ext ce n tu ry to p reach once m o re the d octrines, d an gerou s to princes as princes them selves to those w ho put th eir tru s t in th em , of the "divine righ t of k in gs," but Shakespeare saw m o re clearly th an People, P arlia­ m en t, or Q u een : his w ider vision stretch ed back to R unn ym ed e and to P o n te fra ct, and on, w ith vague poetic fo resigh t, to the scaffold outside W hitehall. T h e English histories are his w ord of w arn in g to a regard less n ation, and the fatality w hich has alw ays hung around revivals of Richard II form s a cu riou s co m ­ m en tary on the t e x t.3

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T h ere are thus th read s of unity running th rou g h all these plays; in all w e find a com m on d ram atic tre a tm e n t of h istory; but the sm aller grou p , alm ost an English trilogy, w hich deals w ith Richard II and his tw o im m ediate su ccessors, is w oven even m ore closely into one w eb. It exhibits to us th re e types of king, one of them p erfect, S hakespeare's ideal ru ler, the o th e r tw o im p erfect, because lacking in the essential elem en ts of th a t ideal. H enry V has all the n otes of a tru e king. He has gone th rou g h no degrading intrigues to win his crow n ; n eith er is he w eak and vain, but ra th e r full of reso u rce and overflow ing w ith en ergy. This su p erabundant vitality m ade him w an to n in his y ou th , but once he is on the th ro n e it is soon co n verted into m o re fitting channels. Above all, he is n eith er unjust n or selfseeking; fully in h arm o n y w ith the life of his people, he is ready to put him self at their head and lead them on to the accom plish­ m en t of th eir high fo rtu n es. It is tru e th a t Shakespeare regard s these fo rtu n es as inextricably bound up w ith foreign con q u est; th ere he is the child of his age; but, h ow ev er m uch his spirit m ay resound to the "pom p and circu m stan ce of glorious w a r," yet we feel th at the h o rro rs and the "pity of it" are n ever far from his th o u gh ts. T he o th er tw o kings, in d ifferen t w ays, fall sh o rt of the ideal. Both are purely selfish in th eir aim s, and unscrupulous of the righ ts of the nation in their pursuit of uncontrolled pow er. M o reov er, R ichard is unstable and frivolous; H en ry has the blot of treach ery and m u rd er upon his soul. T h u s both th eir lives are failures; it is good to be a lawful king, and it is good to be stron g and self-relian t, but it is only devotion to a people's cause th at can save from ruin. Y et Shakespeare does not choose to paint in crude colors; both these m en have the ou tw ard aspect, the speech and bearing of a king. Richard II form s p art of a trilogy, and its m eaning is amplified and enriched by com parison w ith the plays th at follow it; y et, as it stands, it has a self-cen tered , independent unity of its ow n. It seem s to have been w ritten som e y ears before Henry IV and Henry V, and perhaps slightly modified at a subsequent period in o rd er to take its place in the series. Th e first essential of ev ery w ork of a rt is a principle of unity, and the English ro m an tic

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d ra m a— having rejected the so-called classical o r form al unities of place, tim e, and actio n — gradually evolved for itself an inner spiritual un ity of th o u g h t. In Shakesp eare this takes the form of an underlying cen tral idea w h o se tru th is illustrated by the d evelopm ent of the action . T h ese ideas are generally h u m an in th eir b earing; th ey deal w ith C h a ra cte r and Love and Kingship, o r, in m an y of the later plays, w ith the deepest problem s of the origin and destinies of m an and the g o v ern m e n t of the w orld. T h e cen tral idea of Richard 11 is a tragical on e; it is a trag ed y of failure, the n ecessary failure of a king, h o w ev er righ tfu lly he m ay reign, h o w ev er "fair a sh o w " he m ay p resen t, if he is w eak and self-seeking and law less. T h e action of the play p resen ts the w ork in g -o u t of this traged y ; it traces th e dow nfall of R ichard from the scenes w here he appears as a pow erful m o n arch , disposing w ith a w ord of the lives of his subjects, to th a t w h ere his unkinged, m u rdered corp se is borne on to the stag e. Th e in stru m en t of his ruin is his cousin H en ry, and th e re fo re Bolingbroke's rise b ecom es a n atu ral parallel to R ichard's fall. T h e king's ow n im age of the tw o buckets holds good: in the first act R ichard is su p rem e, H en ry at the low est depth; gradually one sinks, the o th e r ascends, until th ey are on a level, w hen th ey m eet at Flint C astle. A s is o ften the case, the tu rn in g -p o in t of the action is put precisely in the middle of the play. Still the sam e process con tin u es, and w hen the final ca ta stro p h e of the last act o ccu rs, the original positions of the tw o are exactly rev ersed ; it is now H en ry's w ord th a t is p oten t to doom R ichard. W h e th e r the play has been revised o r n ot, it is at least a m arvel of carefu l w orkm anship; situation s and ph rases co n stan tly o ccu r in th e second half of the play w hich are pointed inversion s of o th e rs at the beginning. T h e m oving fo rces of the play are thu s to be found in the ch a ra c te rs of the chief p erso n ages, in the clash of tw o spirits, one capable, the o th e r incapable, of m aking circu m stan ces the step p in g -sto n es to his ow n end. This is c a r e ­ fully b ro u g h t o u t in the first scene; the opposition b etw een the kings, hidden as yet from o th e rs, is h ere clearly revealed to them selves, and the k ey -n o te of the w hole play is tou ch ed . A com p arison of th e tw o n a tu re s is am ple to explain th e o u tco m e of the stru g gle b etw een th em .

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O n the delineation of R ichard all the resou rces of Shak e­ speare's genius have been poured: it is a w ork of a rt and of love. W e have p resented to us the p o rtrait of a finely tem pered m an, gifted and graced in mind and body. He "looks like a king" for b eauty and m ajesty, w ith his fair face in w hich the blood com es and goes. His m arvellous w ealth of eloquent im aginative speech irradiates the play. His pow er of personal fascination, no less than his intense selfishness and pitiful fate, rem ind us of C harles S tu a rt, the m elancholy-eyed m an, w ho lured S trafford to his doom ; it en th rals the queen, it en th rals A u m erle, it en th rals even the "p o or g room of his stab le." He m eets them w ith answ erin g affection th at tw ines itself around not m en and w om en only, but the h orse he rides upon and the earth he treads. Th e v ery ro o t of his n atu re is an exquisite sensitiveness, intellectual and em otional; he reads his cousin's th o u gh ts in his face; he is a lover of m usic and of p agean try , of regal hospi­ tality and refined luxu rious splendor. And w ithal th ere are lacking in him the elem en ts w hich go to m ake up the backbone of a ch aracter. This beautiful, cultured king, for all his delicate h alf-ton es of feeling and th o u g h t, is a being devoid of m oral sense, treach ero u s, unscrupulous, selfish; he m u rd ers his uncle, robs his cousin, and oppresses his people; he trails the fair nam e of England in the dust; even in the days of his captivity he re g re ts his follies, but scarcely regard s his crim es. It is not in m oral sense only th a t he is deficient, but in m oral and intel­ lectual fiber; like Plato's "m usical m an " he has "piped aw ay his soul w ith sw eet and plaintive m elodies";4 he can divine Boling­ broke's w ishes, but he can n o t judge his ch a ra c te r arigh t, n or can he fo recast the results of his ow n lawless acts. In p rosp erity he yields him self to flatterers; in ad versity he puts an idle co n ­ fidence in a supposed G od-given com m ission to reign. C o n tra ry events are for him n ot a spur to action , but an incentive to im agination; he plays around them w ith lam bent w ords; he is alw ays "stu d yin g how to co m p are." T h e best side of him appears w hen he is fallen; he becom es the p art of victim b e tte r than th at of ty ran t; the so fter qualities in him m ove o u r pity, the ste rn e r ones th at he has n ot are less needed. T ru e , he strikes no blow, and finds a ready co m fo rt in despair, but he keeps his plaining

Ill

Richard II

and poetic lam en ts for his friends, and m eets the rebel lords w ith subtle scorn and all the dignity of o u trag ed ro yalty . Y e t even h ere he b etrays, like a n o th e r of Shakesp eare's c h a ra c te rs — O rsin o in Twelfth N ight— w h at w e are accu stom ed to think of as essentially m odern faults; he is a shade too self-con sciou s, a tou ch too theatrical in his attitu d e. T o the checkered lights and shadow s of such a disposition Bolingbroke p resen ts the m o st com plete co n tra st. He leaves the im pression of little g race and inten se pow er. A m an of iron will and subtle p ertinacious intellect, a tru e "c ro w n -g ra s p e r," he clearly envisages his end and rem o rselessly p u rsu es it, playing w ith a m asterly hand upon th e h ates and loves and am bitions of o th e r m en. R arely does he b etray any em otion ; v e ry rarely does he speak an uncalculated w ord . He can "steal co u rte sy from h e av en " to win the h earts of the citizens o r the favors of the P ercies, but his genuine tem p er is show n in the u n d erto n e of studied sarcasm w hich runs th rou gh his bearing tow ard s Richard in the first act, and m akes itself heard at intervals th ro u g h o u t the play. His life is a w eb of in trigu e; the disillusioned H o tsp u r in Henry IV calls him "su btle king" and "vile politician," while upon his unhappy death -b ed he w hispers to the w atch in g prince "by w h at bypaths and indirect crooked w ays he m et his cro w n ." His schem es are for the tim e successfu l, but before long they recoil upon him in the alienation of the nobles he has tricked and the wild life of his son. As is n ot seldom the case in th e early plays, m an y of the m in or ch ara cte rs are less carefu lly w ro u g h t. T h ey fall m ainly into tw o g rou p s, clu sterin g respectively around Richard and Bolingbroke; but th eir in terest is purely sub ord in ate, as th e re is no secon d ary plot. B etw een the opposing parties stand the tw o dukes, Y o rk and L an caster. John of G au n t rep resen ts th e heroic age of England, of "noble E d w ard " and the Black P rin ce; he un ites the loyalty and piety of the olden days w ith a deep h atred of the king's crim es and new fangled vanities. Y e t he is no rebel; he has a p rivate grief in the b an ish m ent of his son, a public one in the inglorious peace and sham eful m isg ov ern m en t of the realm , but he is co n te n t to "p u t his quarrel to th e will of h eav en ," and his d eath rem o ves the last b arrier b etw een Richard and ruin. T h e D uke of Y o rk is of quite a n o th e r type; he too is

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pious, old-fashioned and loyal, but w ith the loyalty not of the high-principled statesm an , w arrio r, and idealist, but of the w eak, indolent o pp ortun ist, co n ten t to m aintain the established o rd er, and serve w h atev er king m ay reign. A m ong R ichard's su p p o rters, A um erle is in terestin g as the cham pion of his cousin's claim s, but personally he is shadow y. M ow b ray is a plain, upright soldier and serv an t of his king; his unjust exile com es like a thunderbolt upon him ; he u tte rs only a few w ords of dignified rem o n stran ce and leaves his co u n try , to die of a broken h eart. T he Bishop of Carlisle plays the p art of the stern ascetic p relate; it is his function to em phasize R ichard's claim to rule by divine righ t, and pronoun ce the cu rse of heaven on the u su rp er. Th e king's flatterers are curiously ch aracterless; so too are the Percies and F itzw aters w ho su rrou n d Bolingbroke; they typify the h ead stron g , b oisterou s nobility of the day, w hom he duped and made his tools. O n the o th e r hand the w om en, thou gh they have little sh are in the action , are im p ortan t; they tou ch the w orld of politics and intrigue w ith the w arm th of hum an personal em otion. Th e D uch ess of G lo u cester m akes us feel R ichard's villainy; the queen m akes us feel his so rro w ; the first scene w here she speaks brings about a change in our attitu d e tow ard s him. And afte r all, in this play, it is the effect on the em otions th at is the g re a t thing; th ere is hardly a n o th er th at m oves us, th at overw h elm s us, like this. For h ere Shakespeare has n ot been co n ten t w ith producing a single type of unity; he has attem p ted to secu re it not alone in the sphere of im agination but in th a t of feeling, the unity of m usic as well as of painting. He would have us leave the play w ith som ething of the im pression th a t we get from a faultless lyric— a sense of som e o v er-m a ste rin g em otion, th at satisfies o u r con sciou sn ess for the m o m en t, and stirs the "god w ithin u s." W h eth er such an effect is really w ithin the scope of a dram a m ay be doubtful; certain ly none has so nearly attained it as Richard II. H ere it is a divine pity th at wells up as w e w atch the slo w ly-gath erin g fate of the beautiful, sad king. A bout the sam e tim e Shakespeare made a similar exp erim en t w ith the inten ser, m ore personal em otion s of love in Romeo and Juliet. A fterw ard s he seem s to have p referred to develop the dram a on lines distinct from those of the lyric, and to find its

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p ro p er province in the delineation of ch a ra cte r ra th e r than the exp ression of passion. Y e t one is alm ost tem pted to w ish th a t, even at the exp en se of skillful w orkm an ship and stage capabili­ ties, he had given us som e m o re of these soul-piercing, poignant poem -plays, so suffused w ith w a rm th and color, each of them , as has been said of those of the m a ste r-sin g e r of o u r ow n day, like S om e p o m e g ra n a te w h ich , if cu t deep dow n th e middle, S how s a h eart w ithin b lood -tin ctu red , of a veined h u m anity.

T h e elem ent of lyricism is stro n g in Richard II, as it is th r o u g h ­ o u t the early plays, in details of style, no less than in g eneral outline of stru c tu re ; it show s itself in the ch a ra c te r of the v ersification , in the p rop ortion of rh ym in g lines,5 in the a lte r­ natin g one-line dialogue, akin to the or-xo/JLvOid of G reek traged y , and in the c o .u p le ts , q u atrain s, and sestets w hich o cca ­ sionally o ccu r. In Love's Labour's Lost en tire son n ets are inserted in the te x t, while in Romeo and ]uliet an acu te criticism has traced the influence of the g re a t form s of lo v e-p o etry , the S on n et, Epithalam iu m , and A ubade: possibly the "p a rtin g -so n g " b etw een Bolingbroke and G au n t and Richard and his queen m ay ow e som eth in g to a sim ilar o rig in .6 A n o th e r indication of the early date of the play is to be seen in the p revalence of alliteration and also of puns and o th e r verbal conceits. S om etim es, as at the end of act III, sc. i, th ese are used w ith splendid effect; they exp ress the grim h u m o r w hich is the n earest approach to a laugh in this traged y ; but o ften they are farfetch ed and ou t of place. P rose is n ot used; th a t is p roper only to light scen es, and th ere are none h e re . A peculiar effect is occasionally produced by the broken irregu lar m e te r w hich serves to exp ress stro n g and bewildering e m o ­ tions. T h e com plete absence of com edy m akes the play ra th e r unique, and it receives especial distinction from the w on d erfu l m agic of p h rase, above all w hen the king him self speaks. It is n ot the terse, p reg n an t phrase of the later plays, but a pic­ tu resq u e, exu b eran t, im aginative one, w h ere the langu age is at tim es alm ost too rich, too full for the th o u gh t. T h e influence of Sh ak esp eare's tw o g re a te s t p red ecesso rs, John Lyly and C h risto p h er M arlow e, is plainly perceptible. T h e m ocks w hich the poet th rew at certain form s of Euphuism in

The Psychology of Its Characters

21 5

Love's Labour's Lost have som ew h at served to conceal the debt w hich he owed to the real, if affected , genius of Lyly. M id ­ summer Night's Dream is largely inspired by him , and the p resen t play show s traces of a v ery careful study of his m asterp iece, Euphues. M o reo v er the tendency to alliteration and verbal co n ­ ceits is em inently ch aracteristic of the earlier w r ite r.7 As for M arlow e, the resem blance in general outline to Edward II leaves little room for doubt th at Shakespeare used it as a model. It could hardly be o th erw ise, considering the force and b eauty of M arlow e's play, and the stran g e parallel betw een the fortu n es of the tw o kings: the w on d er is th at the plays should be so d ifferen t, n ot th at they should be so alike. N or is it easy to agree w ith M r. Sw inburne th at the death of Edw ard is m ore striking than th a t of R ichard: the self-restrain t of the y ou n ger poet is incom parably in advance of the extrav ag an ce and lon g-d raw n out h o rro r in w hich the elder one revels. T h e spirit of M arlow e m ay also be seen in the "strain ed passion" and occasional bom bast th at m ark som e passages of this play, notably the opening scene. T he inevitable question arises as to Shakespeare's con cep ­ tion of h istory , and his tre a tm e n t of historic facts. It m u st be dismissed here v ery briefly. It seem s certain th a t he m ean t to record faithfully, w ithin the limits imposed by the scope of a d ram a, the spirit of the past, to give action s their tru e p ro p o r­ tions, and trace the real forces th at underlay the sequence of events. W e, from a m odern standpoint, and w ith the results of m odern research to w ork upon, m ay perhaps see o u r w ay to a d ifferen t view of Richard and his age; but, so far as an Eliza­ bethan m ight, Shakespeare m eans to pass an h on est and final judgm ent upon them . O n the o th er hand, it is equally clear th at he held lightly the value of details; the m ere fact th at they happened is not enough by itself to ren d er them precious to him . In this play he rem orselessly rehandles ch ron ology, he alters the ages of m ost of his ch a ra cte rs, he con fu ses Richard's tw o Q u een s and m akes tw o D uchesses of Y ork into one. S om e­ tim es these inaccuracies would seem to be due purely to w an t of care, m ore often they have a m eaning; while he is willing to p reserve the m ost trivial tou ch es if they seem to bear a signifi­ cance beyond them selves. The tre a tm e n t of A u m erle and of John of G au n t will serve to illustrate the m an n er of his m ore

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purposeful alteration s. A u m erle w as really a double-dyed tra i­ to r; he d eserted to H en ry at an early stag e, th en plotted again st him , and finally b etrayed his co n fed erates. Shakesp eare needs som eone to m ake the balance betw een the tw o p arties even , to re p resen t R ichard's cause w hen he is in prison, and to link him to the claims of the H ouse of Y ork . T h e re fo re he takes A u m erle and does his best to w h itew ash him. Q uite sim ilarly, John of G au n t w as really a selfish, am bitious m an, a bad g en eral, and an unpopular m inister; S hakespeare m akes him an im p erson ation of the p atriotic, chivalrous spirit th a t really shone in his b ro th e r, the Black Prince, in o rd er to provide a striking co n tra st to the d eg en erate days of R ichard. . . .

N O TES

1. All S h ak esp eare's h isto rical plays belong to th e first half of his lite ra ry life, i.e., to th e period b efore 1 6 0 0 , w ith th e excep tio n of Henry VIII. H e w as b orn in A pril 1 5 6 4 . Henry VIII m u st n ot be ranked w ith th e earlier g rou p ; it is a w ork of th e p oet's closing d ays, p ro b ­ ably th e last he tou ch ed . He only w ro te half a dozen scen es of it; th e re s t is by F letch er. 2. B ro w n in g 's poem of Protus, in D ramatic Romances, m ig h t alm o st be an ep itom e of Richard II. T h e w h ole of this side of th e m a tte r has been w orked o u t by M r. P a te r in an essay on Shakespeare's English Kings (rep rin ted in th e volum e called Appreciations), th e m o st g racefu l bit of S hak esp earean criticism since C olerid ge. 3. See pp. ix -x . 4 . C f. th e T h ird Book of th e Republic, 4 1 0 E, K .T .X . 5. T h e r a t i o o f r h y m e t o blank v e r s e in Richard II, a c c o r d i n g t o M r . F le ay 's c a l c u l a t i o n , is 1 t o 4. In o n l y t h r e e p la y s is it g r e a t e r : Love’s Labour’s

Lost (5 to 3 ), M idsum m er Night's Dream (1 t o 1), a n d Comedy of Errors (1 t o 3). In Hamlet ( 1 6 0 2 ) , it is 1 t o 3 0 ; in The Winter's Tale ( 1 6 1 1 ) t h e r e is n o r h y m e .

6. See P rof. G erv in u s on Romeo and Ju liet: act I, sc. v; act II, sc. ii; a ct III, sc. v. 7. S e v e r a l

passages

from

Euphues i ll u s t r a t i n g Richard II h a v e b e e n

q u o t e d in t h e Notes, i n clu d in g s o m e f r o m w h i c h t h e p o e t h a s e v ib orrow ed.

S e e , e .g . , I.i i i.2 7 5 , n. a n d V .i ii.6 , n., b u t t h e y d o n o t

a d e q u a t e l y r e p r e s e n t t h e g e n e r a l r e s e m b l a n c e in s t y le b e t w e e n t h e tw o works.

Brents Stirling Bolingbroke's "D ecision " ( 195 1 )

W hen in terp retin g Richard II w e are aw are, of co u rse, th at the king's d eth ro n em en t w as a sym bol of challenge to royal a u th o rity during Elizabeth's reign, th at the deposition scene w as cen sored in certain editions, and th at because of its co n n o ­ tation s, the play w as used by the E ssex co n sp irators to set off their abortive rising. It is n ot th at Richard II contained u n o rth o ­ dox political d octrin e; on the co n tra ry , in the deposition scene itself C arlisle proclaim s th at no subject m ay judge a king and th at, should Bolingbroke be crow n ed , "T h e blood of English shall m an ure the g rou n d , / And fu tu re ages groan for this foul a ct." T h ro u g h o u t Shakespeare's cycle of h istory plays this p roph ­ ecy of C arlisle is recalled again at intervals to give unity and m eaning to the w hole. In Henry V the burden of the king's p ray er at the play's high point of suspense before A gin cou rt is "N o t today, Lord, I O , n ot today, think n ot upon the fault I My fa th e r made in com passing the cro w n !" This is but one of the com m on ly recognized allusions in Shakespeare w hich hark back to the u surpation by Bolingbroke of R ichard's th ro n e. The deed w as viewed by T u d or h istorians as a kind of secular fall of m an w hich tainted g en eration s u n born until England w as redeem ed from conseq u en t civil w ar by appearance of the T u d o r M essiah, H enry Earl of R ichm ond. The d octrin e of Richard II and the succeeding plays is thu s wholly conven tion al, and the un easi­ ness w hich led to banning of the deposition scene m u st have been evoked, not by any avow ed point of view in the play, but by the fact th at its them e of u su rp ation w as an issue too critical even to be presented w ith co n serv ativ e co m m en tary . 217

2 18

Richard 11

It is well u n d erstood th a t this attitu d e of co n cern could have been derived from the ch aracterizatio n w hich accom panies S h ak espeare's p resen tatio n of h istory . W ith o u t a u th o rity from the established so u rces, S hak espeare's Richard b ecom es a royal sen tim en talist, a d efeatist w ho resigns the th ro n e as th o u gh he p referred acting a role of traged y to one of govern in g m en. W ith w a rra n t from th ese so u rces, Shakesp eare's Bolingbroke becom es a victim of e x to rtio n w ho takes o v er a kingship already b an krupt from abuse and incom peten cy, and in the play both the e x to rtio n and the d efu n ct kingship are dram atically m ag n i­ fied. C arlisle's castig ation of Bolingbroke for the "foul a c t" of revolu tion is thu s easy to in terp ret as a concession to a u th o rity , as a piece of stiff m orality alm ost intru sive in S h ak espeare's active w orld of m ixed righ t and w ron g w h ere ch a ra cte rs are n ot to be m easured by rigid m oral stan d ard s. The only difficulty w ith such an in terp retatio n is th a t it is too simple. G ran ted , it rejects a form of criticism w hich dis­ reg ard s the tangle of ev en ts in w hich Bolingbroke acted , and w ould find Shakesp eare's m oral in C arlisle's proph ecy alone. Bu t while rejectin g one form of simplicity it su b stitu tes a n o th e r in introducing the principle th at m en are too com plex to be judged strictly, a point of view long useful in Shakespeare stu d y, but u n fo rtu n ately m isused by those w ho co n sid er co m ­ plexity of ch a ra c te r to be incom patible, at least in d ram a, w ith clear m oral judgm ent. T h ere will be an assum ption in this essay th a t the political m oral of Richard 11 can be described adequately only in te rm s of the play itself, th at the stru c tu re of the idea and the s tru c tu re of the play are inseparable, as th ey need to be in all good d ram atic a rt. B u t this u n co n tro versial prem ise does n ot imply th a t S h ak e­ speare's m eaning lacks precision. If we postpone conclusions until w e have traced his idea in term s of d ram atic action and ch aracterizatio n , it is possible th a t it will em erg e n ot only as m o re m atu re than C arlisle's absolutism , but as less confused than the m oral tangle w hich resu lts if C arlisle's jud gm en t is minim ized. It is possible, m o reo v er, th a t the d ram atic stru c tu re and m otivation of Richard II will likewise be found cle a re r and m o re m atu re than b efore, and the play m ay th u s em erg e in

21 9

The Psychology of Its Characters

several new w ays as a landm ark in S hakespeare's early develop­ m ent as a d ram atist. In Il.i, as resistan ce against R ichard takes form , N o rth u m b e r­ land first tells us of the purpose en tertain ed by Bolingbroke's faction: If then w e shall shake off o u r slavish yoke, Imp o u t o u r drooping co u n try 's broken w ing, R edeem from broking paw n th e blem ished cro w n , Wipe off th e d ust th a t hides o u r scep tre's gilt And m ake high m ajesty look like itself.

So far, nothing of deposition; N orth u m b erlan d 's sta te m e n t is the first of m any w hich stress a goal m odestly sh o rt of the th ron e. T w o scenes later Bolingbroke's suit is pressed again; the place is G lo u cestersh ire w h ere the in su rgen t forces e n co u n ter old Y ork , reg en t in R ichard's absence. T o Y ork 's ch arg e of treaso n "in braving arm s against thy so v ereig n " the reply by Bolingbroke is th at he "w as banish'd H erefo rd " but re tu rn s "fo r L a n ca ste r," th at he rem ains a subject of the king, and th at having been denied "a tto rn e y s " for lawful red ress, he has ap­ peared in person. Before Bolingbroke's assem bled pow er which belies his peaceful aim s, and before the claim for H enry's in­ heritan ce righ ts, Y ork stands as the absolutist, the strict co n ­ stru ction ist: M y lords of England, let m e tell you this; I have had feeling of m y cou sin 's w ro n g s And labour'd all I could to do him rig h t; B u t in this kind to com e, in b raving arm s, Be his ow n c a rv e r and cu t o u t his w ay, T o find o u t rig h t w ith w ro n g , it m ay n ot

be.

Thus in a scene of unusual stren g th are the rebels con fron ted w ith clear disposition of th eir p ragm atic notions of m orality and justice. Ironically, h ow ev er, in the lines w hich follow, York collapses pathetically and alm ost absurdly: But if I could, by H im th a t gave m e life, I w ould a tta ch you all and m ake you stoop U n to th e sovereign m ercy of the king;

220

Richard II B u t since I c a n n o t, be it k now n to you I do rem ain as n e u te r.

This lu xu ry of n eu trality is denied to Y o rk , h o w ev er, in B olin g­ broke's req u est th at he accom pan y the rebels to B ristol in o rd er to "w eed and pluck aw ay " B u shy and B ag ot, the "caterp illars of the co m m o n w ealth ." Y o rk , the erstw h ile absolutist, ca n n o t even decide this incidental issue: "It m ay be I will go w ith you; but y et I'll pause; / F or I am loath to break o u r co u n try 's law s." And in any ev ent, "T h in g s past red ress are now w ith me past c a re ." In the first tw o scenes of A ct III Shakespeare now p resen ts Bolingbroke and Richard in ch aracterizatio n w hich em phasizes the u tte r difference in tem p eram en t b etw een th em ; th en , having sh ow n each individually in parallel scenes, he brings th em to ­ g e th e r for an episode in w hich the issue of deposition is d e te r­ m ined, an issue w hich arises n atu rally and dram atically as a direct result of ch a ra c te r clash. D ram atic stru c tu re , c h a ra c te ri­ zation , and p resen tatio n of idea (the deposition th em e) are thu s fused to the e x te n t th a t none of these qualities can properly be discussed w ith ou t referen ce to the o th ers. Scene i p resen ts B olingbroke, and in keeping w ith the c h a ra c­ te r it is sh o rt and co n cen trated . It opens in the m idst of ev en ts w ith H en ry's terse "B rin g fo rth th ese m en "; B ushy and G reen are then p resented for his brief but u n h urried recitatio n of the co u n ts against th em : th ey have misled and "disfigur'd clean " the king; they have "m ad e a divorce b etw ixt his queen and him "; th ey have forced Bolingbroke to taste "th e b itter bread of b an ­ ish m en t" and disinheritance. T h ese deeds con d em n th em to d eath . "M y Lord N orth u m b erlan d , see them d isp atch 'd ." N e x t, the queen m u st be rem em b ered ; to Y ork : "F airly let h er be e n tre a te d ." And lastly O w en G len d ow er and his forces m u st be m et; unh urried o rd ers are so given. In a little o ver fo rty lines Bolingbroke has passed a d eath sen ten ce, atten d ed to the am en i­ ties of co u rtesy , and has set a cam paign in m otion. Scene ii p resen ts R ichard and his retin u e in a parallel situ a ­ tion and th e co n tra st of this episode w ith Bolingbroke's scene lies in its p ortray al of the king, initially by soliloquies of selfreg ard , then by w ordy defiance w hich collapses as R ichard learns of the W elsh defection, and finally by n ear h ysteria as A u m erle

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cau tion s, "C o m fo rt m y liege; rem em b er w ho you a re ." As Scroop en ters w ith w orse new s, R ichard proceeds from the false stoicism of anticipated defeat into insults directed at his absent favorites, and back again into sen tim en tal despair: L et's c h o o se e x e c u to rs and talk o f w ills; A nd y e t n o t so; fo r w h a t can w e b e q u e a th S a v e o u r deposed bodies to th e gro u n d ? O u r land s, o u r liv es, and all are B o lin g b ro k e 's.

Th e w ord "deposed" is repeated th ree tim es as a kind of refrain in the n ext few lines as R ichard offers to "sit upon the ground / And tell sad stories of th e death of kings." A sh o rt speech of defiance as Carlisle w arn s against this sitting and wailing of w oes, and a final d escen t into sen tim en tal resignation as Scroop rep o rts the joining of Y ork w ith Bolingbroke, these acts co m ­ plete R ichard's p erfo rm an ce in the scene. Lest o u r accou n t of it end by being m erely descriptive, tw o facto rs of Shakespeare's inventiveness should be set fo rth ; to H olinshed's version of R ichard's m isfortu ne he adds the king's em bracing of deposition far in advance of dem and o r su g g estio n ,1 and this extern al behavior he show s to be derived from m otives of playing the m a rty r's role. The scene to com e is thus inevitable; R ichard in effect will depose him self in an agony of play-acting before the u n sentim ental Bolingbroke. But Shakespeare reserves a su r­ prise; not the realist but the sen tim en talist will call the tu rn . The dram atic situation created for this event in the episode before Flint C astle is thus one of en co u n ter betw een a selfcontained realist w ho has com e but "fo r his o w n " and an em o ­ tional d efeatist w ho has determ ined to give him everyth in g. And at the end of the Flint scene Shakespeare will an sw er with clear irony o u r question: when did Bolingbroke, a fte r all his p ro tests to the co n tra ry , decide to seize the cro w n ? For one point of the play, it will appear, is th at this question has no point. In a literal reading, Bolingbroke m akes no decision p rior to Act IV, and th ere he is scarcely m ore than at hand to take the th ro n e. N ow this set of facts is subject to several in terp retatio n s. F irst, we m ay assum e th at prior to the deposition scene th ere is no stage of the play at w hich the deviousness of Bolingbroke

222

Richard II

becom es clear, th a t th ere are obvious lacunae b etw een his dis­ claim ers of am bition in the first th ree acts and his sudden co ro n atio n in A ct IV. In th a t ev en t Richard II is just a bad play, and the fact th at H enry's co ro n atio n is also sudden in the ch ron icles does n ot make it b etter. O r, secondly, w e m ay assum e th a t the historical rep u tation of Bolingbroke w ould have led an Elizabethan audience to recognize th at his denials of royal a m ­ bition w ere insincere, and th a t he intended from the beginning to be k in g.2 This could be th e case, but the play, at least to us, w ould still be the w orse fo r it. N or is it S hakespeare's cu sto m to allow m ajor ch aracterizatio n to re st upon un d ram atized his­ torical background, this in spite of occasional sta te m e n ts to the co n tra ry . Finally, a third exp lan ation of o u r "in d ecisive" B olin g­ broke is th at o pp ortun ism , of w hich he becom es the living sym bol, is essentially a tacit vice: th a t alth ough the o p p o rtu n ist is aw are in a sense of the ends to w hich m eans com m it him , he relies upon ev en ts, n ot upon d eclaration s, to clarify his p u r­ poses. O n the basis of the scene b efore Flint C astle (Ill.iii) and of tw o prom in en t episodes w hich follow it, I believe th a t the in te r­ p retatio n just exp ressed is one w hich fits the d ram atic facts. By the tim e the Flint scene opens w e are aw are of R ichard's im pulses tow ard virtual abdication, but Bolingbroke has n ever exceeded his dem ands for simple restitu tio n of rank and e sta te . N or have his follow ers done so. T ru e , w e have heard Y o rk tell him th a t his v ery appearance in arm s is tre a so n , but B oling­ broke's rejoinder to this w as both disarm ing and ap p aren tly genuine. A t Flint, h ow ev er, d ram atic su ggestion begins to take shape. As H en ry's follow ers parley before the castle, N o rth ­ um berland lets slip the nam e "R ich ard " unaccom panied by its title of king. Y o rk reprieves him w ith a rem ark th a t such b revity once would have seen N orth u m b erlan d sh o rten ed by a head's length. Bolingbroke interced es: "M istak e n ot, uncle, fu rth e r th an you shou ld ." T o w hich Y o rk : "T ak e n ot, cousin, fu rth e r th an you shou ld ." This suggestive colloquy is followed by B olingbroke's ch aracteristic sta te m e n t of h on est in ten tio n : "G o to . . . the castle . . . and this deliver: H en ry Bolingbroke I O n both his knees does kiss King R ichard's hand / And sends allegiance and tru e faith of h e a rt / T o his m ost royal p e rso n ." He will lay dow n his arm s provided only th a t his lands are re sto re d

The Psychology of Its Characters

223

and his banishm ent repealed. If not, w ar is the altern ativ e. W ith d ram atic significance, how ev er, N orth u m b erlan d , w ho bears this m essage from a Bolingbroke "on both his k n ees," fails him self to kneel before Richard and thus becom es again the m edium of "u n co n scio u s" disclosure. R ichard, in a rag e, sends w ord back to H enry th a t "ere the crow n he looks for live in peace, I Ten thousand bloody crow n s of m o th e rs' so n s" shall be the price in slau gh ter. N orth um b erland 's rejoinder is a yet m ore pious assertion of Bolingbroke's limited aim s: "T h e King of heaven forbid o u r lord the King / Should so w ith civil and uncivil arm s / Be rush'd upon! T h y thrice noble cousin / H arry Bolingbroke . . . sw ears . . . his coming hath no fu rth er scope I T han for his lineal ro yalties." R ichard's response is to g ran t the dem ands, to ren d er a wish in soliloquy th at he be buried w h ere his subjects "m ay hourly tram ple on th eir sovereign's h ead ," and, w hen sum m oned to the "base c o u rt," to cry o u t symbolically th a t dow n, dow n he com es "like glist'ring P h aeton , I W anting the m anage of u nruly jades." He en ters the base co u rt, and the scene concludes w ith a p rice­ less m u m m ery of sovereig n ty , each participant speaking as a subject to his king. Boling. Stand all ap art, And show fair d u ty to His M ajesty . [He kneels down.] M y gracio u s lord — K. Rich. Fair C o u sin , you debase y o u r princely knee To m ake th e base e a rth proud w ith kissing it. M e ra th e r had m y h e a rt m ight feel y o u r love T h an m y unpleased eye see y o u r co u rte sy . Up, C ou sin , up. Y o u r h e a rt is up, I know , T h us high at least, alth ou gh y o u r knee be low. Boling. M y g racio u s lord, I com e but fo r m ine ow n. K. Rich. Y o u r ow n is y o u rs, and I am y o u rs, and all. Boling. So far be m ine, m y m o st red ou b ted lord, As m y tru e service shall d eserve y o u r love. K. Rich. Well you d eserve. T h ey well d eserve to have T h at know the s tro n g 's t and s u re st w ay to g et. . . . C ou sin , I am too yo u n g to be y o u r fa th e r, T h ou gh you are old en ou gh to be m y heir. W h at you will h ave, Y11 give, and willing too,

224

Richard II Fo r do w e m u st w h a t fo rce will h ave us do. S et on to w ard s L on d o n , C o u sin , is it so? Boling. Y ea, m y good lord. K. Rich. T h en I m u st n ot say no.

T h e re is no question of w h at "L o n d o n " m eans. It is d e th ro n e ­ m en t fo r R ichard and co ro n atio n for Bolingbroke, an im plication w hich is plain enough h ere but w hich Shakespeare u n d erscores in the v ery n e x t scene w h ere the G ard en er, asked by the Q ueen (line 77), "W h y dost th o u say King Richard is d ep osed ?" co n ­ cludes his explanation w ith "P o st you to London, and you will find it so ." Bolingbroke's an sw er to R ichard, "Y e a , m y good lo rd ," is the aptly tim ed clim ax of the Flint episode, and of the play. W ith this oblique adm ission, com ing w ith g re a t effect im m ediately a fte r his sta te m e n t of loyalty and subjection, H en ry's purposes becom e clear, and the significant fact is th a t n ot he but R ichard has phrased his inten t. T h e king's single line, "S e t on tow ard s London, cousin, is it so ?" is the ironic in s tru ­ m en t for exposing a long line of equivocation w hich the rebels seem to have concealed even from th em selv es.3 And in d ram atic fact, Bolingbroke is still tryin g to conceal it; his sh o rt an sw e r is th e m inim um articu lation of his co n d u ct, an op p o rtu n ist's falling back upon "w h a t m u st be" in o rd er to evade a sta te m e n t of p urpose. T h e quality of this tu rn in the play re sts upon a skillful fusion of plot u n fold m ent, disclosure of political "m o ra l," and ch a racterizatio n , all of w hich p resen t parallel irony. In p lottin g, first am ong these ingred ients, the end of the Flint scene is the point at w hich conflicting forces reach their d eterm in atio n in a clim actic disclosure of H en ry's tru e purpose. B u t this clim ax is also a studied an ticlim ax, for the rebels advance upon Flint C astle only, as it w ere, to find it abandoned w ith the w ord s, "C o m e to L on d o n ," w ritte n upon th e walls. T h ey , and the audience, had exp ected n ot quiet exp osu re of th eir aim s (the actu al clim ax) but d ram atic o p p o rtu n ity for "co n stitu tio n a l" m an ifestoes. As for disclosure of political m eaning, th e second elem en t h e re, it is during the e n co u n ter at Flint th at the rebels achieve th eir m o st eloquent sta te m e n t of legality in seeking only a

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subject's claim to justice from his king. But the lu xu ry of th at sta tem en t collapses at the end of the scene, again w ith the w ord "L o n d o n ." It becom es suddenly ap p aren t th a t Y ork's previous judgm ent w as sound, th at Bolingbroke's use of force to gain just concessions from his sovereign has com m itted him to the d e­ stru ction of sovereign ty. The third com p onen t at the end of the Flint scene is ch a ra c­ terization , a quality w hich is the basis fo r all the dram a and irony in the direction the play has taken. Shakespeare's prior estab lishm ent of Bolingbroke's realism , self-co n tain m en t, and resou rcefu ln ess, along w ith R ichard's ro m an tic defeatism , n e a r­ h ysteria, and p athetic reliance upon o th ers, has furnished a decided p attern for the m eeting of the tw o at Flint. Bolingbroke and N orth u m b erland thus fulfill th eir previously set traits of stability and restrain t; R ichard rep eats the p erfo rm an ce he had enacted before his ow n follow ers in the preceding scene, a p erfo rm an ce w hich richly justifies the description of him by one critic as an in v eterate sp ectato r at his ow n traged y. Full ch a ra c­ terization of Bolingbroke and R ichard, both before and during the Flint C astle episode, thu s provides all of the expansiveness w hich is so deliberately deflated in the last lines. T h e re , with R ichard's know ing referen ce to London and Bolingbroke's on eline reply, the ironic shift in ch aracterizatio n m aterializes. The unstable R ichard, w ho had fled from facts th rou g h every form of em otional exag g eratio n , now drops his sentim ental role and states the tru th of his position w ith quiet w it and candor; the plain-dealing Bolingbroke w ho had offered his dem ands with such co n sisten cy and seem ing h on esty now adm its his sham of rebellion w hich w as to stop sh o rt of rebellion. The end of A ct III, scene iii, is thus a pivotal stage of Richard II. H ere, upon a question asked by the king and an an sw er given by H enry, the trend of the play becom es dram atically apparent in plot, in political m eaning, and in ultim ate ch aracterization . W e have also observed th at perhaps the main ach ievem ent at this point of multiple effect has been a disclosure of am biguity in H en ry Bolingbroke. In concluding this essay I hope to show th at, by the tim e Shakespeare's p o rtrait of Bolingbroke is co m ­ pleted, this am biguity is presented tw ice again by m eans of the sam e d ram atic m ethod.

Richard II

116

T he first of th ese rep etition s o ccu rs in IV.i (the deposition) w hich runs directly parallel to the Flint C astle scene. H ere again w e have R ichard co n fro n ted by the rebels, and h ere also he is in tu rn both defiant and subm issive; his sen tim en tal display is likewise in d ram atic co n tra st w ith H en ry's sim plicity, fo rb e a r­ an ce, and d irectn ess. B u t again in the closing lines th e p arad ox com es. K. Rich. I'll beg on e boon, A nd th en be go n e and tro u b le you no m o re. Shall I obtain it? Boling. N am e it, fair C o u sin . K. Rich. "F air C o u sin "? I am g r e a te r th an a king. Fo r w h en I w as a king, m y fla tte re rs W ere th en b ut su b jects. Being n ow a su b ject, I h ave a K ing h ere to m y fla tte re r. Being so g r e a t, I h ave no need to beg. Boling. Y e t ask. K. Rich. And shall I h av e? Boling. Y ou shall. K. Rich. T h en give m e leave to go. Boling. W h ith er? K. Rich. W h ith e r you will, so I w ere from y o u r sigh ts. Boling. G o, som e of you co n v ey him to th e T o w e r.

Ju st as at the end of Ill.iii, "L o n d o n " m ean t deposition, so h ere the T o w e r m eans im p rison m en t and u ltim ate d eath . This colloquy b etw een the king and his ad v ersary is exactly parallel in technique to the one w hich concluded the scene at Flint. In it R ichard, w ho has again ru n his co u rse of th eatrical em otion , now becom es pointedly realistic; in it Bolingbroke, w ho has again exhibited ev ery sign of g raciou s h o n esty , reveals duplicity in a concluding line. T h ere rem ains a third and final step in the p ortray al of H en ry w hich is analogous in all essentials to the tw o scen es w e h ave exam in ed. T h e fact th at Shakespeare h ere drew upon the ch ron icles m ight imply th at he found in them a su ggestion of Bolingbroke's tacitu rn ity m arked by sudden revelation s of sh ift­ ing purpose. Piers of E xto n , in the sh o rt fo u rth scene of A ct V, ponders som eth in g he has h eard. "H ave I no friend will rid me of this living fe a r? " W as n ot th a t w hat the new king said? And

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did he n ot rep eat it? E xto n satisfies him self th at Bolingbroke did so and convinces him self th at in the saying of it H enry "w istly look'd on m e." It is en ou gh , for E xto n prom ptly m u rd ers Richard and retu rn s w ith the body. H en ry's lines w hich conclude the play are well know n; he adm its desiring R ichard's death but disow ns E xto n 's act and pledges expiation in a voyage to the Holy Land. T h ree tim es— at the end of the Flint C astle scene, at the end of the deposition scene, and in the E xto n scenes at the end of the play— H enry has taken, if it m ay be so called, a decisive step. Each tim e the m ove he has made has been embodied in a terse sta tem en t, and each tim e a n o th er has eith er evoked it from him o r stated its im plications for him. N ever, in an age of dram a m arked by discursive self-revelation , has a ch a ra cte r disclosed his traits w ith such econom y and u n d erstatem en t. Th e Eliza­ bethan ch a ra cte r w ith a m oral co n tradiction usually explains his flaw before, during, and afte r the event. And at length. Until the sh o rt choral "co n fessio n " at the v ery end of the play, Boling­ broke, h ow ever, exhibits his deviousness in one-line adm issions spaced at intervals w hich are aptly arran g ed in parallel series for cum ulative effect. And while each of these adm issions m arks a step in ch aracterizatio n , it indicates at the sam e tim e a critical stage of plot developm ent. T h e conflict of forces is resolved w ith the line on London concluding the Flint C astle scene, for th ere R ichard and H enry reach m utual understanding on the d eth ro n em en t issue w hich the king alone has previously e n te r­ tained. The falling action becom es defined w ith the line n ear the end of the deposition scene w hich sends R ichard to the T ow er. Th e catastro p h e is precipitated by the line to E xto n w hich sends him to death. Finally, at each of these th ree points of ch aracterizatio n and plot unfoldm ent the doctrin e implicit in the play evolves to a new clarity. A t H enry's line on London at Flint C astle it becom es apparen t th at a "co n stitu tio n al" show of force against so v e r­ eignty leads inevitably to the deposition of sovereign ty; at H enry's line in the d eth ro n em en t scene it appears th at deposi­ tion of so v ereig n ty requires im prisonm ent and degradation of the sovereign; and at H enry's line to E xto n it becom es plain th at m u rd er of sovereign ty m u st be the final ou tco m e. The chronicle

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accou n ts of R ichard's la tte r days disclose n eith er a su ggestion of these cu m u lative steps n o r a basis for Bolingbroke's o v e r­ insistence on lawful aims w hich dram atically precedes th em ; we learn only th a t H enry retu rn ed vow ing allegiance and sh o rtly becam e king (B osw ell-S ton e, pp. 1 0 9 ff.). As usual, a p lay -so u rce com p arison em phasizes Sh akesp eare's a rtis try both in stru c tu re and m o tiv atio n .4 In passages such as U lysses' lines on d egree in Troilus and Cressida Shakespeare excels in a p oet's exp ression of T u d o r po­ litical dogm a. In Richard II, h o w ev er, and early in his ca re e r, he show s co n trol of a m uch m o re difficult a rt, th a t of revealing d octrin e integrally w ith p ro gressive g ro w th of plot and of ch aracterizatio n . W ith o u r debt to the English and A m erican revolu tion s we can n o t adm ire the d octrin e as such, but w e can recogn ize in Richard II a stage of Shakespeare's d evelopm ent at w hich, so far as fundam en tals are co n cern ed , political m orality and a rtis try becom e inseparable.

NO TES

1. See B o sw ell-S to n e, Shakespere's Holinshed (L on don, 1 8 9 6 ). It is tru e th a t th e ch ron icles show R ichard in an early s ta te of d esp air, but w ith no p recon cep tion of d e th ro n e m e n t (p. 1 0 6 ), and in a m ood, m uch later, of w illingness to abdicate a fte r arrival in L on don (p. 1 1 3 ). S h ak esp eare, h o w ev er, p re se n ts a king d eterm in ed to ab dicate as early as th e landing in W ales (Ill.ii), b efore R ichard has even e n ­ co u n tered B olingbroke, and con tin u es to p o rtra y him in this m ood from th e re o n w ard . 2. Sam uel D aniel indicates th a t in S h ak esp eare's tim e B olin gb roke's m o tives w e re com m on ly view ed as su sp ect. H e develops th e sub ject at som e len gth (Civil W ars, Book I, S tan zas 8 7 - 8 9 ) and con clu des th a t, in ch a rity , ju d g m en t should be suspended on th e issue of w h e th e r H en ry intended originally to seize th e th ro n e. 3. Self-delusion on Bolin gb roke's p art is a tra it clearly su g gested by Daniel in his en igm atic s tan zas on H en ry 's m o tives (Civil W ars, Book I, S tan zas 9 0 - 9 1 ) . I m en tion this only to sh o w th a t such an in te rp re ta tio n w as m ade o v e rtly at th e tim e Richard II w as w ritte n . 4. D aniel (Civil W ars, Books I and II, L on d o n , 1 5 9 5 ) likewise fails to p re se n t B olingbroke's op p ortu n istic co n d u ct in th e telling m a n n e r

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of Shak esp eare. He does am ply su g g est th e possibility of "u n co n ­ scio u s" d rift tow ard u su rp ation but in no w ay d ram atizes this action in successive steps of cu m u lative d isclosure. D aniel is not to be regard ed w ith c e rta in ty as a sou rce of S h ak esp eare; it is possible th at sim ilarities b etw een th e Civil W ars and Richard II are to be a cco u n ted fo r by D aniel's h aving seen th e play. B u t, in an y even t, a com p arison of S hak esp eare and D aniel is revealing.

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PA R T IV R IC H A R D II P o etry and R hetoric

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Alessandro Manzoni L etter to Mr. C h au vet con cernin g the unities of tim e and place in Tragedy (1820)

This, then , is w h at a rt and philosophy gain by accepting arb itrary rules: forcing g reat m en to co n co ct su b terfu ges in ord er to avoid im proprieties and to com e up w ith subtle a rg u ­ m en ts to evade the thing by adopting the w ord! But if, in choosing as the subject of d ram atic action those illustrious events w o rth y of traged y, th at C orneille m entions, we wish to avoid the e rro r of heaping them up in an implausible m an n er, we fall p erfo rce into a n o th er blunder; w e m u st then abandon a p art of those ev en ts, som etim es the m ost interestin g one; we m u st give up all th o u g h t of providing the re st w ith a n atu ral developm ent: in o th e r w ord s, traged y has to be made less poetic than h istory. The sh o rtest w ay to convince you th at this is indeed the case is to exam ine one of the tragedies conceived on the historical plan, a traged y w hose action is unified, lofty and in terestin g; and to see if its m ost d ram atic qualities can be preserved by squeezing it into the fram ew o rk of the unities. As o u r exam ple, let us consider Shakespeare's Richard II, w hich is by no m eans the finest of the plays he drew from English h istory. The action of this traged y is the deposition of R ichard from the English th ro n e and the elevation of Bolingbroke in his stead. The play begins at the m om en t w hen schem es of these tw o ch a racters are found to be openly opposed, w hen the king, truly disquieted by his cousin's am bitious p rojects, rashly attem p ts to th w art them by m easu res w hich eventually lead Bolingbroke to ca rry ou t his plans. R ichard banishes Bolingbroke; once the 233

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la tter's fath er, the Duke of L an caster, is dead, th e king co n ­ fiscates his p ro p erty and leaves for Ireland. Bolingbroke violates the o rd er of his expulsion and re tu rn s to England, on p re te x t of claim ing the inh eritan ce w hich has been seized from him by an illegal act. His follow ers flock to him in droves: as th eir n u m b er in creases, he chan ges his tu n e, shifts gradually from claim s to th re a ts ; and soon the subject w ho cam e to dem and justice is a pow erfu l rebel laying dow n the law. Th e King's uncle and lieu ten ant, the D uke of Y o rk , w ho goes to m eet Bolingbroke intending to fight him , ends up com ing to term s w ith him . Th e p erson ality of this ch a ra c te r unfolds along w ith the action he is involved in: the Duke speaks in a series of stag es, first to the rebellious subject, then to the leader of a sizeable faction , finally to the new king; and this p ro gression is so n atu ral, so exactly parallel to ev ents th at the sp ectato r is n ot surprised to find, by th e play's end, a loyal serv an t of H en ry IV in the sam e ch a ra cte r w ho had learned of Bolingbroke's landing w ith the g re a te s t indignation. O n ce Bolingbroke's early successes are kn ow n , o u r in terest and cu rio sity natu rally tu rn to R ichard. W e are eag er to see the effect of so g re a t a coup on the soul of this p etu lan t and h a u g h ty king. T h u s, R ichard is called on stag e both by the sp ectato r's exp ectatio n s and by the co u rse of the action. He has been inform ed of Bolingbroke's disobedience and his v e n tu re ; he hurriedly quits Ireland and lands in England just w hen his ad versary is occupying G lo u cestersh ire: but of co u rse the king should n ot m arch d irectly on th e audacious ag g re sso r until he has been p roperly equipped to resist him . H ere plausi­ bility, as deliberately as h isto ry itself, repudiated unity of place, and Shakespeare has n ot followed eith er of th em to any e x te n t. He show s us R ichard in W ales: he could have easily arran g ed his action so as to display the tw o rivals on th e sam e te rrito ry in su ccession ; but think of the things he would have had to sa cri­ fice for th at! And w h at w ould his traged y have gained by it? U nity of action ? C ertain ly n ot. F or w h ere could one find a traged y w ith a m o re unified action than this o n e? R ichard deliberates w ith his rem aining friends on w h a t he is to do, and h ere it is th a t the king's ch a ra c te r begins to assu m e so n atu ral and so u n foreseen a developm ent. T h e sp e cta to r has already m et this rem ark ab le p erson , and flattered him self th a t

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he had scanned him throu g h and th ro u g h ; but he has in him som eth in g secret and profound w hich made no appearance during his p rosp erity and th at m isfo rtu n e alone can cause to b u rst fo rth . T h e basis of his ch a ra c te r rem ains the sam e: it is still pride, it is still the loftiest notion of his dignity; but this sam e pride, w hen it w en t h and-in-hand w ith pow er, w as m an i­ fested as frivolity, im patience w ith any obstacle, a recklessness th at prevented him from even suspecting th a t all hum an m ight has its judges and its lim itations; this pride, once stripped of force, has becom e grave and earn est, solem n and m od erate. W h at upholds R ichard is an unalterable aw aren ess of his g re a t­ ness, the assu ran ce th at no hum an event has been able to d estro y him , since nothing could undo his birth and his king­ ship. He has lost the gratification s of pow er; but the notion of his calling to the highest rank rem ains: in w h at he is, he persists in h on oring w h at he w as; and this stubborn respect for a title th at no one contin ues to acknow ledge rem oves from the sense of his m isfo rtu n e anything th at m ight hum iliate o r discourage him . T he ideas and em otions th rou g h w hich this revolution in R ichard's ch a ra cte r o ccu rs in Shakespeare's traged y are of g re a t originality, the m ost exalted p oetry , and are even quite touching. B u t this historical depiction of R ichard's soul and the events th at modify it necessarily encom passes m ore than tw en ty h ou rs, as is the case w ith the p ro gress of the o th e r deeds, passions and ch aracters th at develop o ver the co u rse of the action. Th e clash of the tw o factions, the ard o r and grow ing activity of the king's enem ies, the tergiversatio n s of those w ho aw ait a v icto ry so as to find out precisely w hich cause d ecent people ou gh t to es­ pouse; the co u rag eou s loyalty of one lone m an, a loyalty the poet has described just as h istory has sanctioned, w ith all the ideas, tru e and false, th at decided this m an to pay hom age to ad versity in despite of fo rce; all this is adm irably p ortrayed in this traged y. A few im proprieties w hich m ight be deleted w ith ­ out altering the arran g em en t should not delude us about the g reatn ess and beauty of the w hole. I am m ajestic show at demand

alm ost asham ed to provide so barebones a sketch of so a painting; but I flatter m yself th at I've said enough to least th at the m ost ch aracteristic featu res of the subject m ore latitude than the rule of tw o unities g ra n ts it.

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Let's suppose now th a t Sh ak esp eare, having w ritte n his Rich­ ard II, had subm itted it to a critic w ho w as convinced of the n ecessity of th at rule. He probably would have said: 'T h e r e are som e lovely situ ation s in y o u r play, and som e adm irable se n ti­ m en ts in p articu lar; but plausibility is deplorably shocked by it. Y ou tra n sp o rt y o u r audience from London to C o v e n try , from G lo u cestersh ire to W ales, from P arliam ent to Flint C astle; the sp ectato r can n o t possibly m an age the suspension of disbelief needed to follow you. T h ere is a co n tradiction b etw een the variou s situ ations you w ish to put him in, and the actual situ a ­ tion in w hich he exists. He is too sure th at he has n ot m oved to be able to im agine he has done all the travelling you dem and of h im ." I don't know for su re, but I think Shakespeare w ould have been ra th e r surprised by such objections. "F o r H eaven 's sak e!" he m igh t have replied, "w h at's all this talk of m oving ab ou t and travelling! T h ere's none of th at h ere; I n ever d ream t of such a thin g, n or did m y audience. I laid before th eir eyes an action th a t unfolds by degrees and is com posed of ev en ts, each of w hich is b ego tten by the previous one and takes place so m ew h ere else; it is the audience m em b er's mind th a t follows th em , he d oesn 't h ave to travel o r p retend he's travelling. Do you im agine he cam e to the th e a tre to see actual e v en ts? And did I ev er h ave it in mind to produce such an illusion on him ? to make him believe th at w h at he know s to have already o ccu rred som e cen tu ries ago is happening again tod ay? th a t these a cto rs are m en actually involved in the passions and co n cern s th ey are talking ab ou t, and talking abou t in v e rs e ? " B u t, sir, I have lost sight of the fact th a t you do n ot base y o u r support of the rules on an objection derived from plausi­ bility, but in fact on the impossibility of p reservin g unity of action and soundness of ch a ra cte rs w ith o u t them . T h en let us see if this objection can be applied to the traged y of Richard II. So! H o w — I ask this out of genuine cu rio sity — how w ould one go abou t proving th at its action is n ot unified, th at the c h a ra c ­ te rs are n ot co n sisten t, and th at this results from the poet staying w ithin the places and tim es supplied by h isto ry , instead of enclosing him self in the space and duration th a t the critics h ave m eted o u t of th eir a u th o rity as proper for all traged ies?

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W h at would Shakespeare have replied to a critic w ho cam e and co u n tered him w ith this law of tw e n ty -fo u r h o u rs? 'T w e n ty four h o u rs!" he would have said, "W h at fo r? Reading H olinshed's chronicles furnished m y mind w ith the notion of a g re a t and simple action, unified and varied, full of in terest and hom i­ lies; and I w as supposed to disfigure and tru n ca te this action on a m ere w him ! I w as not to seek to ren d er the im pression a ch ron icler made on m e, in m y ow n m an n er, for sp ectato rs w ho ask nothing b etter! I would have been less a poet than my source is! I see an even t w hose ev ery incident relates to every o th e r and serves to m o tivate th em ; I see stable ch a ra cte rs develop o v er a period of tim e and in specific places; and to p resen t an idea of th a t ev en t and p o rtray those ch a ra cte rs, I w ould have absolutely had to m utilate one and the o th e r just so th at a tw e n ty -fo u r h ou r span and the precincts of a palace would suffice for their d evelop m en t?" I con fess, sir, you do have in y o u r system one o th e r reply to m ake to Shakespeare: you m ight tell him th at the atten tio n he paid to reproducing deeds in their n atu ral ord er and w ith the b est-docu m en ted principal circu m stan ces likens him ra th e r to an historian than to a poet. Y ou m ight add th at the rule of tw o unities would have made him a poet by forcing him to cre a te an action, a tangled skein, sudden reversals; for "th u s it is," you say, "th a t the limits of a rt give w ings to an artist's im agination, and compel him to becom e cre a tiv e ." T h at, indeed, I agree, is the tru e consequence of th at rule; and the slightest acquaintance w ith plays th at have followed it proves m o reov er th at it has not failed of its effect. In y ou r opinion, it is a g rea t ad van tage: I dare to be of a d ifferent mind, and, on the co n tra ry , I regard the effect in question to be the m ost serious draw back to the rules that cause it. Y es, this need for creatin g, arb itrarily imposed on a rt, m akes it stray from tru th , and im pairs it both in its results and in its techniques. I don't know if w h at I'm about to say runs co u n te r to co m ­ m only approved n otions; but I believe I'm m erely speaking a v ery plain tru th w hen I declare th at the essence of p oetry does n ot consist in inventing deeds: such invention is the easiest, co m m o n est thing in the w orkings of the mind, and takes the least th o u gh t and even the least im agination. T h en too, th ere is

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nothing m ore profu se than creatio n s of this kind; w h ereas all the g re a t m o n u m en ts of p o etry are based on ev en ts provided by h istory or, w h at com es to the sam e thin g, by w h at w as once taken to be h istory . As for d ram atic poets in p articu lar, the g re a te s t ones of ev ery nation have avoided, in p roportion to th eir geniu s, the insertion into dram a of deeds of th eir creation ; and on ev ery occasion w hen th ey w ere told th ey had su b stitu ted invention for h isto ry at essential points, far from accepting this jud gm en t as praise, they dismissed it as blam e. Did I not know the te m e rity th a t lurks in o v er-gen eralized historical assertio n s, I should v e n tu re to state th a t in w h at has com e dow n to us of G reek dram a and even G reek p o etry , th ere is n ot a single exam ple of this kind of creativ ity , w hich co n sists in sub stitu tin g w an to n ly invented causes for know n principal causes. T h e G reek poets took th eir plots, w ith all th eir m ajor circu m stan ces, from n a ­ tional trad itions. T h ey did n ot m ake up ev en ts: th ey accepted them just as their co n tem p o raries tran sm itted th em : th ey in­ cluded, th ey respected h isto ry for w h at individuals, peoples and eras had made it.

Algernon Charles Swinburne "K ing Richard II" (1 9 0 9 )

It is a tru th m ore curious than difficult to verify th at there was a tim e w hen the g re a te st genius ev er know n am ong the sons of m en w as u ncertain of the fu tu re and u n su re of the task before it; w hen the one unequalled and unapproachable m aster of the one suprem e a rt w hich implies and includes the m astery of the one suprem e science perceptible and accessible by m an stood hesitating b etw een the impulsive instin ct for dram atic p oetry , the crow n and con su m m ation of all philosophies, the living incarnation of creative and intelligent godhead, and the facile seduction of elegiac and idyllic v erse, of m editative and u n creative song: betw een the m usic of O rp heu s and the music of Tibullus. T h e legendary choice of H ercu les w as of less m o m en t than the actual choice of Shakespeare betw een the influence of R obert G reen e and the influence of C h risto p h er M arlow e. T he point of m ost in terest in the traged y o r h istory of King Richard II is the obvious evidence w hich it gives of the struggle betw een the w orse and the b etter genius of its au th o r. "'T is now full tide 'tw een night and d ay." Th e au th o r of Selimus and Andronicus is visibly contending w ith the au th o r of Faustus and Edward II for the m astery of Shakespeare's poetic and dram atic adolescence. A lready the b itter hatred w hich w as soon to vent itself in the raging ran co r of his dying u tteran ce m u st have been kindled in the unhappy h eart of G reen e by com parison of his original w ork w ith the few lines, o r possibly the scene or tw o, in his unlovely thou gh n ot unsuccessful traged y of Titus A ndroni­ cus, w hich had been retou ch ed o r supplied by Shakespeare; w hose m arvellous pow er of tran sfigu ration in the act of im ita­ 239

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tion w as n ever o v erm atch ed in any early w ork of a R affaelle while yet the disciple of a P eru gin o. T h ere are six lines in th a t d iscom fortable play w hich can only have been w ritte n , if any tru st m ay be put in the evidence of intelligent com p arison , by S hak esp eare; and y et th ey are undoubtedly in th e style of G reen e, w ho could only have w ritten them if th e spirit of S hakesp eare had passed into him for five m in utes o r so: K ing, be th y th o u g h ts im p erious, like th y nam e. Is th e sun dim m ed th a t g n a ts do fly in it? T h e eagle su ffers little birds to sing, A nd is n ot carefu l w h a t th ey m ean th ere b y , K n o w in g th a t w ith th e shad ow of his w ing H e can at p leasu re stin t th eir m elody.

T h ere is nothing so fine as th a t in the elegiac o r rh ym in g scenes o r passages of King Richard II. And yet it is n ot glaringly o u t of place am ong the sottes monstruosites— if I m ay b o rro w a p h rase applied by M ichelet to a m ore re ce n t literary cre a tio n — of the crazy and ch aotic traged y in w hich a w rite r of gentle and idyllic genius attem p ted to play the p art w hich his friend M arlow e and th eir sup p lanter Shakespeare w ere born to o rig i­ n ate and to sustain. T o use y et a n o th e r and a m o re adm irable F ren ch p h rase, th e a u th o r of Titus Andronicus is evidently a mouton enrage. T h e mad sheep w ho has broken the bounds of his pastoral sheepfold has only, in his ow n opinion, to assu m e the skin of a w olf, and the tragic stage m u st acknow ledge him as a lion. G reen e, in his best w ork s of prose fiction and in his lyric and elegiac idyls, is as su rely the p u rest and g en tlest of w rite rs as he w as the m o st reckless and disreputable of m en. And w hen am bition o r h u n g er lured o r lashed him into the alien field of tragic p o etry , his first and last notion of the w ork in hand w as simply to revel and w allow in h o rro rs a fte r th e fashion, by no m ean s of a wild boar, but m erely of a w e th e r gone d istracted . N everth eless, the influence of this unlucky tre sp a sse r on traged y is too obvious in too m uch of the te x t of King Richard II to be eith er questioned o r overlooked. C olerid ge, w h ose ig­ n oran ce of S hakespeare's p red ecesso rs w as ap p aren tly as ab so­ lute as it is assuredly astonishing in the friend of Lam b, has attem p ted by su p er-su b tle advocacy to explain and e x cu se , if

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not to justify and glorify, the crudities and incongruities of d ram atic conception and poetic execu tion w hich signalize this play as unm istakably the au th o r's first atte m p t at historic d ram a: it would perhaps be m o re exactly a ccu rate to say, at d ram atic h istory . But th ey are alm ost as evident as the equally w onderful and youthful genius of the poet. T h e grasp of ch a ra c­ te r is u n certain ; the exposition of ev en t is inadequate. The read er o r sp ecta to r unversed in the byw ays of h istory has to guess at w h at has already happened— how , w h y, w hen , w h ere, and by w hom the prince w hose m u rd er is the m a tte r in debate at the opening of the play has been m u rdered . He g ets so little help o r light from th e poet th a t he can only guess at random , w ith blind assum ption o r purblind h esitation , w h at m ay be the right or w ron g of the case w hich is n ot even set before him. The scolding-m atch betw een Bolingbroke and M ow b ray, fine in their prim itive w ay as are the last tw o speeches of th e la tte r disclaim er, is liker the w ork of a p re-M arlo w ite than the w ork of M arlow e's disciple. The w hole scene is m erely literary , if not purely academ ic; and the seem ingly casual interch an ge of rhym e and blank v erse is m o re w ayw ard and fitful than even in Romeo and Juliet. T h at the finest passage is in rh y m e, and is given to a c h a ra cte r about to vanish from the action of the play, is a n o th er sign of poetical and intellectual im m atu rity. T h e second scene has in it a b reath of tru e passion and a touch of tru e p ath os: but even if the subject had been m ore duly and definitely explained, it would still have been com p aratively w antin g in depth of n atu ral passion and pun gen cy of n atu ral path os. T h e third scene, full of beautifully fluent and plentifully inefficient w riting, reveals the p ro tag on ist of the play as so pitifully m ean and cruel a weakling th a t no fu tu re action o r suffering can lift him above the level w hich divides and purifies pity from co n ­ tem pt. And this, if m ortal m anhood m ay v en tu re to pass judg­ m en t on im m ortal godhead, I m u st say th at Shakespeare does n ot seem to m e to have seen. T he theatrical trick ery w hich m asks and reveals the callous cru elty and the h eartless hypocrisy of the histrionic young ty ra n t is enough to rem ove him once for all beyond reach of m anly sym pathy o r com passion unqualified by scorn. If w e can ev er be so rry for an yth in g th a t befalls so vile a sam ple of royalty, o u r so rro w m u st be so diluted and adul­

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terated by recollection of his w ickedness and baseness th a t its trib u te could hardly be acceptable to any but the m o st pitiable exam ple o r exception of m ankind. B u t this is n ot enough fo r the relen tless p ersisten ce in spiritual vivisection th a t seem s to guide and anim ate the poet's m anipulation and evolution of a c h a ra c ­ te r w hich at once excites a co n tem p t and h atred only to be superseded by th e loathing and ab h orren ce arou sed at th o u g h t of the d astardly ru ffian by the deathbed of his fa th e r's noble and venerable b ro th er. T h e m agn ificen t p oetry w hich glorifies th e opening scene of the second act, h o w ev er dram atically ap p rop riate and effective in its w ay, is y et so exu b e ra n t in lyric and elegiac eloquence th a t read ers o r sp ectato rs m ay co n ceiv ­ ably have th o u g h t the you n g Shakespeare less richly endow ed by n atu re as a d ram atist th an as a poet. It is n ot of the speaker o r the h e a re r th at w e think as w e read the m ost passionate p an egyric on his co u n try ev er set to hym nal h arm o n ies by the g re a te s t of p atriotic p oets but A eschylus alone: it is simply of England and of Shakesp eare. T h e b itter p rolon gation of the play upon w ord s w hich a n ­ sw ers the h alf-h earted if n ot h eartless inquiry, "H ow is't w ith aged G a u n t?" is a m ore d ram atic tou ch of h om elier and n e a re r n a tu re to w hich C oleridge has done no m o re th an e x a ct justice in his adm irable co m m en t: "A passion th ere is th a t carries off its ow n excess by plays on w ords as n atu rally, and th e re fo re as approp riately to d ram a, as by gesticu lation s, looks, o r to n e s." And the one th o ro u gh ly noble and nobly co h e re n t figure in the poem disappears as w ith a thu nd erclap or the sound of a tru m p et calling to judgm en t a soul too dull in its basen ess, too decrepit in its d egradation , to h ear o r u n derstan d the su m m on s. Live in th y sh am e, but die n ot sh am e w ith th ee! T h e se w ord s h e re a fte r th y to r m e n to rs be!

B u t the poor m ean spirit of the h e a re r is too n a rro w and too shallow to feel the to rm e n t w hich a nobler soul in its ad versity w ould have recognized by the revelation of re m o rse . W ith the passing of John of G au n t the m oral g ra n d e u r of the poem passes finally aw ay. W h atev er of in tere st w e m ay feel in any of the surviving figu res is tra n sito ry , in te rm itte n t, and alw ays qualified by a sense of ethical incon sisten cy and intel­

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lectual inferiority. T h ere is n ot a m an am ong them : unless it be the Bishop of C arlisle: and he does but flash across the action for an ineffectual instant. T h ere is o ften som eth in g a ttra ctiv e in A u m erle: indeed, his dauntless and devoted affection for the king m akes us som etim es feel as th ou gh th ere m u st be so m e­ thing not unpitiable o r unlovable in the kinsm an w ho could inspire and retain such co n stan cy of regard in a spirit so m uch m anlier than his ow n. B ut the figure is too roughly and too thinly sketched to be tho ro u gh ly m em orable as a m an's: and his fath er's is an incom parable, an incredible, an unintelligible and a m o n strou s nullity. C oleridge's attem p t to justify the w ays of Y ork to m an — to any m an of com m on sense and com m on sen ti­ m e n t— is as am using in C oleridge as it would be am azing in any o th e r and th erefo re in any lesser co m m en tato r. In the scene at W indsor C astle betw een the Q ueen and her husband's m inions the idyllic or elegiac style again supplants and supersedes the com p aratively terse and d ram atic m an n er of dialogue b etw een the noblem en w hom w e have just seen lashed into disgust and goaded into revolt by the villainy and bru tality of the rascal king. The dialogue is beautiful and fanciful: it m akes a v ery p retty eclogue: none o th e r am ong th e countless w riters of Elizabethan eclogues could have equalled it. B u t if we look for anything m ore o r for anything h igh er than this, we m u st look elsew h ere: and w e shall not look in vain if we tu rn to the au th o r of Edward the Second. W hen the w retch ed Y ork creeps in, we have undoubtedly such a living and drivelling picture of h ysterical im potence on the dow nw ard grade to dotage and d istraction as none but Shakespeare could have painted. W hen Bolingbroke reappears and H arry P ercy appears on the stage of the poet w ho has bestow ed on him a g en erou s p ortion from the inexhaustible trea su re of his ow n im m ortal life, w e find o u r­ selves again am ong m en, and are co m fo rted and refresh ed by the change. Th e m iserable old reg en t's histrionic a tte m p t to play the king and rebuke the rebel is so adm irably pitiful th a t his last u n n atu ral and m o n stro u s appearance in the action of the play m ight possibly be explained o r excused on th e score of d o tag e— an active and feverish fit of im passioned and dem ented dotage. T he inspired effem inacy and the fanciful puerility w hich

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dunces a ttrib u te to the typical ch a ra c te r of a re p re se n ta tiv e poet n ev er found such gracefu l u tte ra n ce as the g re a te s t of poets has given to the unm an liest of his cre a tu re s w hen R ichard lands in W ales. C oleridge credits the p oor w re tch w ith "an inten se love of his c o u n try ," intended to "red eem him in the h e a rts of the au d ien ce" in spite of th e fact th at "ev en in this love th e re is som eth in g fem inine and p erso n al." T h ere is n oth in g else in it: as anybody but C oleridge w ould have seen. It is exquisitely p re tty and u tte rly unim aginable as the u tte ra n ce of a m an. T h e tw o m en w h o sup p ort him on eith er side, the loyal p riest and the gallant kinsm an, o ffer him w ord s of m anly counsel and m anful ch eer. He an sw ers them w ith an ou tb reak of such m agn ificen t p o etry as m ight alm ost h ave been u ttered by the divine and unk now n and unim aginable poet w ho gave to e te rn ity th e Book of Job: but in this case also the futility of intelligence is as p erfect as the sublim ity of speech. And his u tte r collapse on the arrival of bad tidings p rovokes a co u n te r-ch a n g e of p o etry as splendid in u tte ra n ce of abjection and despair as the preceding rhapsody in exp ression of confidence and pride. T h e scene is still ra th e r am oebaean than d ram atic: it is above the reach of Euripides, but m o re like the im aginable w ork of a d ram atic and tragic T h eo critu s th an the possible w ork of a Sophocles w hen co n te n t to give us noth in g m o re n early p erfect and m o re co m ­ paratively sublime than th e Trachiniae. And it is even m ore am using than cu riou s th a t the co u rtly cen sors w ho cancelled and suppressed the scene of R ichard's deposition should n ot have cu t aw ay the glorious passage in w hich the van ity of kingship is co n fro n ted , by the grovelling rep en tan ce of a king, w ith the grinning hum iliation of death. T h e d ram atic passion of this second g re a t speech is as unm istakable as the lyric em otion of the o th er. And the u tte r collapse of h e a rt and spirit w hich follow s on the final strok e of bad tidings at once com pletes the p icture of the m an, and concludes in equal h arm o n y the finest passage of the poem and the m ost m em orable scene in the play. T h e effect of the im pression m ade by it is so elaborately sustained in the follow ing scene as alm ost to m ake a you n g stu d en t w on d er at the in te re st taken by the young S h ak espeare in the developm ent o r evolu tion of such a w om an ish o r sem ivirile ch a ra cte r. T h e style is n ot exactly v erb ose, as w e can

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hardly deny th at it is in the less passionate p arts of the second and third acts of King John: but it is exu b eran t and effusive, elegiac and O vidian, in a degree w hich m ight well have m ade his ad m irers doubt, and gravely doubt, w h e th e r the fu tu re a u th o r of Othello would ev er be co m p eten t to take and hold his place beside the actual a u th o r of Faustus. M arlow e did not spend a tithe of the w ords o r a tith e of the pains on the p resen tatio n of a ch a ra cte r n eith er m ore w o rth y of co n tem p t nor less w o rth y of com passion. And his Edw ard is at least as living and convincing, as tragic and pathetic a figure as Shakespeare's R ichard. T he garden scene w hich closes this m em orable third act is a v ery p retty eclogue, n ot untou ch ed w ith tragic ra th e r than idyllic em otion . T h e fo u rth act opens upon a m orally chaotic introd uction of incon gruous cau ses, inexplicable plaintiffs, and incom prehensible defendants. W h eth er A um erle o r F itzw ater o r S u rrey o r B agot is right or w ro n g , honorable o r villainous, no read er o r sp ectato r is given a chance of guessing: it is a m ere cockpit squabble. And the scene of deposition w hich follows, full as it is of gracefu l and beautiful w ritin g, need only be set against the scene of deposition in Edward the Second to show the difference b etw een rh etorical and d ram atic p oetry , em otion and passion, eloquence and traged y, literatu re and life. The young Shakespeare's scene is full to superfluity of fine v erses and fine passages: his young com p eer's or m aster's is from end to end one m agnificent model of traged y, "sim ple, sensuous, and pas­ sio n ate" as M ilton him self could have desired: M ilton, the second as Shakespeare w as the first of the g re a t English poets w ho w ere pupils and debtors of C h risto p h er M arlow e. It is pure p oetry and p erfect d ram a: the fancy is finer and the action m ore lifelike than h ere. O nly once or tw ice do w e com e upon such a line as this in the pathetic but exu b eran t garru lity of Richard: "W hile th at my w retch ed n ess doth bait m yself." T h a t is w o rth y of M arlow e. And w hat follows is certain ly p ath etic: though certain ly th ere is a good deal of it. T he last act m ight ra th e r severely than unfairly be described as a series of six tragic o r tragicom ic eclogues. Th e first scene is so lovely th at no read er w o rth y to enjoy it will care to ask w h eth er it is o r is not so lifelike as to convey no less of co n ­ viction than all readers m u st feel of fascination in the co n tin u ­

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ous and faultless m elody of u tte ra n ce and ten d ern ess of fancy w hich m ake it in its w ay an incom parable idyl. From the d ram atic point of view it m ight certain ly be objected th a t w e know n oth in g of the w ife, and th a t w h at w e know of th e husband does n ot by any m ean s tend to explain the sudden p ath os and sen tim en tal sym p athy of th eir partin g speeches. T h e first p art of the n e x t scene is as beautiful and blam eless an exam ple of d ram atic n arrativ e as even a G reek poet could have given at such length: but in the la tte r p art of it we can n o t but see and acknow ledge again the d ram atic im m atu rity of the poet w ho in a v ery few y ears w as to reveal him self as beyond all q u estion , excep t from the m ost abject and im pudent of dunces, the g re a t­ est im aginable d ram atist o r cre a to r ev er born into im m ortality. Style and m etre are ro u gh , loose, and w eak: the dotage of Y ork b ecom es lunacy. Sa folie en furie est tournee. Th e scene in w hich he clam ors for the blood of his son is n ot in any p roper sense tragic o r d ram atic: it is a v ery ugly eclogue, artificial in m an n er and u n n atu ral in su b stan ce. N o feebler o r unlovelier exam ple exists of th ose "jigging veins of rh ym ing m o th e r-w its" w hich M a r­ low e's imperial rebuke should already have w ith ered into silence on the lips of the v eriest M arsyas am ong all th e am oebaean rh y m e ste rs of his voluble and e fferv escen t g en eration . The b e tte r n atu re of the you ng Shakespeare revives in the closing scen es: th o u gh E xto n is a ra th e r insufficient ru ffian for the p art of so im p ortan t an assassin. W e m ight at least have seen o r heard of him b efore he suddenly chips the shell as a fullfledged m u rd erer. T h e last soliloquy of the king is w on d erfu l in its w ay, and beautiful from any point of view : it show s once m o re the influence of M arlow e's exam ple in the cu rious trick of selection and tran scrip tio n of te x ts fo r sceptic m editation and analytic dissection. B u t w e see ra th e r m o re of the poet and less of his cre a tu re the m an than M arlow e m ight have given us. T h e interlude of the g ro o m , on the o th e r hand, gives prom ise of som eth in g d ifferen t in p ow er and pathos from the p o etry of M arlow e: but the scene of slau g h ter w hich follow s is n ot quite sa tisfacto ry : it is alm ost boyish in its im petuosity of b uffeting and bloodshed. T h e last scen e, w ith its final rev ersion to rh y m e, m ay be described in R ichard's ow n previous w ord s as good, "and y et n ot g reatly goo d."

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O f the th ree lines on w hich the g re a te st genius th at ever m ade earth m ore splendid, and the nam e of m an m ore glorious, than w ith ou t the passage of its p resen ce they could have been, chose altern ately o r successively to w ork , the line of traged y w as th at on which its prom ise o r assu ran ce of fu tu re suprem acy w as first made m anifest. T h e earliest com edies of Shakespeare, overflow ing w ith fancies and exu b eran t in beauties as they are, gave no sign of inimitable pow er: th eir joyous h u m or and their sunbright p oetry w ere ch arm in g ra th e r th an prom ising quali­ ties. The im perfections of his first h istoric play, on w hich I tru st I have not touched w ith any sem blance of even the m ost u n ­ willing or unconscious irrev eren ce, are surely m ore serious, m ore obvious, m ore ob tru sive, than the doubtless undeniable and indisputable im perfections of Romeo and Juliet. If the style of lovem aking in th at loveliest of all you thful poem s is fa n ta sti­ cally unlike the actual cou rtsh ip of m odern lovers, it is not unliker than is the style of lovem aking in favor w ith D ante and his fellow -poets of juvenile and fanciful passion. S ettin g aside this objection, the first of Shakespeare's tragedies is not m ore beautiful than blam eless. T h ere is no incoh eren ce of ch a ra cte r, no inconsistency of action. A um erle is hardly so living a figure as Tybalt: C apulet is an indisputably probable as Y ork is ob­ viously impossible in the p art of a h ead stron g ty ra n t. T h ere is little fem inine in terest in the earliest com edies: th ere is less in the first h istory. In the first traged y th ere is nothing else, or nothing but w h at is so su b servien t and subordinate as simply to bring it out and th ro w it into relief. In the w ork of a young poet this difference would o r should be enough to establish and explain the fact th at though he m ight be g re a te r than all o th e r m en in h istory and com edy, he w as still g re a te r in traged y.

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Richard D. A ltick

Symphonic Im agery in Richard II (194 7)

C ritics on occasion have rem arked the peculiar unity of tone w hich distinguishes Richard II from m ost of Shakespeare's o th er plays. W alter P ater w ro te th at, like a m usical com position, it possesses "a certain co n cen tratio n of all its p arts, a simple co n ­ tinuity, an evenn ess in execu tion , w hich are ra re in the g reat d ram atist. . . . It belongs to a small grou p of plays, w h ere, by happy birth and co n sisten t evolution, dram atic form approaches to som eth in g like the unity of a lyrical ballad, a lyric, a song, a single strain of m u sic."1 And ]. D over W ilson, in his edition of the play, has observed th at "Richard II possesses a unit of tone and feeling g re a te r than th at attained in m any of his g re a te r plays, a unity found, I think, to the sam e degree elsew here only in Twelfth Night, Antony and Cleopatra, and The Tempest."2 H ow can we accou n t for th at im pression of h arm o n y, of onen ess, w hich we receive w hen we read the play or listen to its lines spoken upon the stag e? T h e secret, it seem s to m e, lies in an aspect of Shakespeare's genius w hich has o fte n e r been co n ­ dem ned than praised. C ritics and casual read ers alike have groaned o ver the fine-d raw n ingenuity of the Shakespearean quibble, w hich, as D r. Johnson m aintained, w as "th e fatal C leo ­ patra for which he lost the w orld, and w as co n te n t to lose it." B ut it is essentially the sam e habit of the creative im agin ation — a highly sensitized associational g ift— th at produces iterative sym bolism and im agery. Simple w ord-play results from the poet's aw aren ess of the diverse m eanings of w ords, of w hich, how ev er, he m akes no b e tte r use than to d em o n strate his own cleverness and to tickle for a m om en t the w it of the audience. T h ese exhibitions of verbal agility are simply d ecoration s scat249

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tered upon the su rface of the poetic fabric; th ey can be ripped o u t w ith ou t loss. But suppose th at to the poet's associational sen sitivity is added a fu rth e r aw aren ess of the m ultitudinous em otional o v erto n es of w ord s. W hen he puts this faculty to use he is no lon ger m erely playing a g am e; instead, w ord s have becom e the shells in w hich ideas and sym bols are enclosed. Suppose fu rth e rm o re th at instead of being the occu p ation of a few fleeting lines of the te x t, certain w ords of multifold m e a n ­ ings are played upon th ro u g h o u t the five acts, re cu rrin g tim e a fte r tim e like leit-m otivs in m usic. And suppose finally th a t this process of rep etition is applied especially to w ord s of sen su ou s significance, w ord s th at evoke vivid responses in the im agin a­ tion. W hen th ese things happen to certain w o rd s— w hen they cease to be m ere vehicles for a brief indulgence of verbal fancy and, taking on a burden of serious m eaning, becom e th em atic m a terial— th e poet has crossed the borderline th a t sep arates w ord-play from iterative im agery. L anguage has becom e the willing serv an t of stru c tu re , and w h at w as on o th e r occasions only a so u rce of exu b eran t but undisciplined w it now is co n ­ v erted to the h igher purpose of poetic unity. T h a t, briefly, is w h at happens in Richard II. T h e fam iliar w ord-plays of the earlier Shakesp earean dram as p ersist: John of G au n t puns endlessly upon his ow n nam e. B u t in this d ram a a w ord is n ot com m only taken up, rapidly revolved, so th a t all its v ariou s facets of m eaning flash out, and then discarded. Instead, certain w ord s are played upon th ro u g h o u t the dram a. F a r from being deco ratio n s, "g ay, fresh , v ariegated flow ers of sp eech ," as P a te r called th e m ,3 they are w oven deeply into th e th o u g h t-w e b of the play. Each w o rd -th em e sym bolizes one o r a n o th e r of the fund am ental ideas of th e sto ry , and ev ery tim e it reap p ears it perceptibly deepens and en rich es th ose m eanings and a t the sam e tim e ch arg es the atm osp h ere w ith em otional significance. Th e m o st rem arkable thing about these leit-m otiv s is the w ay in w hich they are co n stan tly m ingling and coalescing, tw o o r th ree of them joining to form a single new figu re, v ery m uch in th e m an n er in w hich "hooked im ages," as P ro fe sso r Low es called them , w ere form ed in the subconscious mind of C oleridge. This repeated criss-cro ssin g of fam iliar im ages4 m akes of the w hole te x t one v ast arabesque of langu age, just as a dozen lines

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of Love's Labour's Lost form a m iniature arabesque w hen the poet's quibbling mood is upon him. And since each im age m otif re p re ­ sen ts one of the dom inant ideas of the play (heredity, p atriotism , sycophancy, etc.) the coalescing of these im ages again and again em phasizes the com plex relationship betw een the ideas th e m ­ selves, so th at the read er is kept ever aw are th a t all th a t happens in Richard II results inevitably from the interaction of m any elem ents. It is pointless to try to explain by fu rth e r generalizations this subtle and exceedingly intricate w eaving to g e th e r of m etap hor and sym bol— this glorified w ord-play, if you will— which is the key to the total poetic effect of Richard II. All I can do is to draw from the fabric, one by one, the stran d s th at com pose it, and to su ggest in som e m an n er the magical w ay in which they in teract and by association and actual fusion reciprocally deepen their m eaning. M iss Spurgeon has pointed out how in Antony and Cleopatra the cosm ic g ran d eu r of the them e is co n stan tly em phasized by the rep etition of the w ord world.5 In a sim ilar m an n er the sy m ­ bolism of Richard II is dom inated by the related w ords earth, land, and ground. In no o th e r play of Shakespeare is the com plex of ideas rep resen ted by these w ords so tirelessly dw elt u p on .0 The w ords are but th ree in n um ber, and superficially they seem roughly synonym ou s; but they have m any intellectual ram ifica­ tions, w hich becom e m ore and m ore m eaningful as the play p ro gresses and the w ords are used first for one thing and then for an o th er. As o u r exp erience of the w ords increases, their co n n otatio n steadily deepens. In addition to th eir obvious m ean ­ ing in a p articu lar co n te x t they com e to stand for som ething larger and m ore undefinable— a mingling of everyth in g they have rep resented earlier. Above all, earth is the symbol of the English nation. It is used by Shakespeare to co n n ote those sam e values which w e find in the equivalent synecdoche of soil, as in "n ativ e soil." It sum s up all the feeling inh eren t in the sense of pride in n ation — of jealousy w hen the co u n try is th reaten ed by foreign incursion, of b itter an ger w hen its health has been d estroyed by m is­ m an agem en t o r greed. "T his earth of m ajesty ," John of G aunt calls England in his fam ous speech, ". . . This blessed plot, this

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e a rth , this realm , this England " (Il.i.41 , 5 0 ) .7 And a few lines fu rth e r on: "T h is land of such dear souls, this d ear dear land . . ." (Il.i.57). H aving once appeared, so early in th e play, in such lu stro u s co n te x t, the w ord s earth and land fo re v e r a fte r have rich er significance. W h en ev er they recu r, th ey are m o re m e a n ­ ingful, m ore pow erful. T h u s R ichard's elaborate speech upon his arrival in W ales— As a lo n g -p arted m o th e r w ith h er child Plays fondly w ith h er te a rs and sm iles in m eetin g. So, w eeping, sm iling, g r e e t I th ee, m y e a rth , And do th ee fav o u rs w ith m y royal hand s. M ock n o t m y senseless co n ju ratio n , lords. T his e a rth shall h ave a feeling, and th ese sto n es P rov e arm ed sold iers, ere h er n ative king Shall falter u n d er foul rebellion's arm s (III.ii.8 - 1 1 , 2 3 - 2 6 )

— undoubtedly gains in em otional splendor (as well as d ram atic irony) by its rem in iscences of John of G au n t's earlier langu age. T h e tw o m en b etw een them m ake the English e a rth the chief verbal them e of the play. R ichard, w e have just seen, speaks pridefully of "my e a rth ." To him , ow n ership of the land is the m o st tangible and positive sym bol of his rightful kingship. He bids N orth u m b erlan d tell Bolingbroke th a t "e v ery stride he m akes upon m y land / Is d an gerou s tre a so n " (Ill.iii.9 2 - 9 3 ) , and as he lies dying from the stroke of E xto n 's sw ord his last th o u g h t is for his land: "E x to n , thy fierce hand / H ath w ith the king's blood stained the king's ow n land" (V .v .1 1 0 -1 1 ). It is only n atu ral, then , th a t land should be the key w ord in the discussions of England's so rry condition. Sym bol of Englishm en's nationalistic pride and of the w ealth of kings, it becom es sym bol also of Englishm en's sham e and kings' disgrace: W h y, cou sin , w e rt th ou re g e n t of th e w orld, It w e re a sham e to let this land by lease; B u t fo r th y w orld enjoying b ut this land, Is it n ot m o re th an sh am e to sham e it so? Landlord of England a r t th ou n ow , n ot king.

(Il.i.109-113)

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N orthu m berlan d 's sad allusion to "th is declining land" (II.i.2 4 0 ), York's to "this w oeful land" (II.ii.99), and R ichard's to "this revolting land" (III.iii.163) carry on this m otif. But earth, while it em blem atizes the foundation of kingly pride and pow er, is also a familiar symbol of the vanity of hum an life and of w h at, in the middle ages, w as a fascinating illustration of th at v an ity — the fall of kings. "M e n ," M ow bray sighs, "are but gilded loam o r painted clay" (I.i.79); and R ichard, luxu riating in self-pity, often rem em b ers it; to earth he will re tu rn : A h, R ichard [says Salisbury], w ith th e eyes of h eavy mind I see th y glory like a sh ootin g sta r Fall to the base e a rth from the firm am en t.

(II. iv. 1 8 - 2 0 ) The earth , Richard know s, is accu stom ed to receive the knees of co u rtiers: "F air co u sin ," he tells Bolingbroke a fte r he has given aw ay his kingdom for the sh eer joy of listening to him self do so, "y ou debase you r princely knee / T o make the base earth proud w ith kissing it" (III.iii.1 9 0 - 9 1 ). And the idea of the ground as the resting place for suppliant knees, and th e re fo re the antithesis of kingly elevation, is repeated thrice in the tw o scenes dealing w ith A um erle's co n sp iracy .8 The irony of this association of earth w ith both kingly glory and ab asem ent is deepened by an o th er role the w ord has in this earth -preoccu pied play. F or afte r d eath, earth receives its ow n; and in Richard II the com m on notion of the grave has new m eaning, because the ubiquitous symbol of earth em b races it too. By the beginning of the third act, earth has lost its earlier joyful co n n otatio n to R ichard, and this king, w hose feverish im agination no am ou n t of w oe can cool, eagerly picks up a hint from Scroop: Scroop: T h o se w h om you cu rse H ave felt the w o rst of d eath's d estro y in g w ound and lie full low, grav'd in th e hollow grou nd . Richard: L et's talk of g rav es, of w o rm s, and epitaphs; M ake dust o u r paper and w ith rain y eyes W rite so rro w on th e bosom of th e e a rth .

254

Richard II L et's ch o ose e x e c u to rs and talk of wills; And y e t n ot so; fo r w h a t can be b equ eath Save o u r deposed bodies to th e g ro u n d ? O u r lands, o u r lives, and all are B olin gb roke's, And n oth in g can w e call o u r ow n b ut d eath , And th a t small m odel of th e b arren e a rth W hich serv es as p aste and c o v e r to o u r bones. Fo r G od's sake, let us sit upon th e g rou n d And tell sad sto ries of th e d eath of kings

(III. ii. 1 3 8 - 4 0 , 1 4 5 - 5 6 ) And later, in a n o th e r ecstasy of self-pity, he con ju res an elabo­ ra te im age of m aking som e p re tty m atch w ith shedding te a rs: As th u s, to drop th em still upon one place, Till th e y h ave fre tte d us a pair of g rav es W ithin th e e a rth . (III.iii.1 6 6 - 6 8 )

T h e sam e association o ccu rs in the speeches of th e o th e r c h a ra c ­ te rs. S u rrey , casting his gage at F itzw ater's feet, envisions his fa th er's skull lying quietly in ea rth (IV .i. 6 6 - 6 9 ) ; a m o m en t o r tw o later th e Bishop of C arlisle brings new s th a t the banished M ow b ray, having fou gh t for Jesu C h rist in glorious C h ristian field, "a t V enice gave I His body to th at pleasant co u n try 's e a rth " (IV .i. 9 7 - 9 8 ) ; and in the sam e scene R ichard, having handed o v er his crow n to the u su rp er, exclaim s, Long m ay st th ou live in R ichard's seat to sit, And soon lie R ichard in an e a rth y pit! (IV .i.2 1 8 - 1 9 )

A final them e in the sym phonic p attern dom inated by the sym bol of earth is th a t of the untended garden. M iss Sp u rgeon has adequately em phasized th e im p ortan ce of this iterated im age in the h istory plays, and, as she points o u t, it reach es its clim ax in Richard II, p articu larly in the allegorical scene of the Q u een 's g ard en .9 In Sh akespeare's im agination the m isdeeds of R ichard and his follow ers co n stitu ted an overw h elm in g indig­ nity to the precious English e a rth — to a nation w hich, in happier days, had been a sea-w all'd gard en. And thu s the play is filled w ith referen ces to ripeness and th e seasons, to planting and

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cropping and plucking and reaping, to fu rro w s and plow ing, and caterpillars and w ithered bay trees and th o rn s and flo w e rs.10 A m ong the h ost of garden im ages in the play, one especially is u n forgettab le because of the insistence w ith w hich Shake­ speare thrice echoes it. It is the terrible m etap h o r of the English garden being drenched by show ers of blood. 111 use th e ad van tage of m y p ow er And lay th e su m m er's dust w ith sh o w ers of blood Rain'd from th e w ou n ds of slau g h tered E nglishm en; (Ill.iii.4 2 - 4 4 )

th re aten s Bolingbroke as he approaches Flint castle; and w hen the King him self appears upon the w alls, he casts the figure back in Bolingbroke's face: B u t ere th e crow n he looks fo r live in peace, T en th ou san d bloody cro w n s of m o th e rs' sons Shall ill b ecom e th e flow er of E ngland's face, C h an g e th e com p lexion of h e r m aid-pale peace T o scarlet indignation, and bedew H er p astu res' g rass w ith faithful English blood. (Ill.iii.9 5 - 1 0 0 )

T he Bishop of Carlisle takes up the them e: And if you cro w n him , let m e p rop h esy , T h e blood of English shall m an u re th e grou n d , And fu tu re ages g ro an fo r this foul act. (IV .i.1 3 6 - 3 8 )

And the new K ing— amply justifying P ro fessor Van D oren 's rem ark th at not only are m ost of the ch ara cte rs in this play poets, but they copy one a n o th er on o ccasion 11— echoes it: L ord s, I p ro te s t, m y soul is full of w oe T h a t blood should sprinkle m e to m ake m e g ro w . (V .v i.4 5 - 4 6 )

This extrao rd in ary series of fou r im ages is one of the m any exam ples of the m an n er in w hich the principal sym bols of Richard II so often chim e to g eth er, bringing the ideas they re p re ­ sent into m o m en tary conjunction and thu s com pounding those single em otional strain s into new and revealing h arm on ies. In

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this case the "sh o w ers of blood" m etap h o r provides a re c u rre n t n exu s b etw een the pervasive sym bol of e a rth and a n o th e r, equally pervasive, sym bol: th a t of blood. B oth P ro fesso r B rad ley 12 and M iss S p u rg e o n 13 have pointed o u t the splendid h o rro r w hich S h akespeare achieves in Macbeth by his rep eated allusions to blood. C u riou sly en ou g h , the w ord blood, to g e th e r w ith such related w ords as bloody and bleed, o ccu rs m uch less freq u en tly in M acbeth than it does in m o st of the h isto ry plays. W h at gives th e w ord th e trem en d ou s fo rce it undoubtedly p ossesses in M acbeth is n ot the freq u en cy w ith w hich it is spoken, but ra th e r the intrinsic m agnificence of the passages in w hich it appears and the fact th at in this play it has but one significance— th e literal one. In the h isto ry plays, h o w ­ ev er, the w ord blood plays tw o m ajor roles. O fte n it has the sam e m eaning it has in M acbeth, fo r th ese too are plays in w hich m en's minds often tu rn tow ard the sw ord: . . . o u r kingdom 's e a rth should n ot be soil'd W ith th a t d ear blood w hich it h ath fo stered (I.iii.1 2 5 - 2 6 )

says R ichard in one m ore instinctive (and punning!) association of blood and earth . B ut blood in the h istory plays also stands figu ratively fo r in h eritan ce, d escen t, familial pride; and this is the chief m otivating th em e of the play— the righ t of a m o n arch of unquestionably legitim ate blood to his th ro n e . T h e tw o sig­ nificances co n stan tly interp lay, giving the single w ord a new multiple co n n otatio n w h e re v e r it appears. Th e finest instance of this m ergin g of ideas is in the D uch ess of G lo u cester's o u t­ b u rst to John of G aun t. H ere w e have an elaborate co n trap u n tal m etap h o r, the basis of w hich is a figure derived from the fam iliar medieval genealogical sym bol of the T ree of Jesse, and w hich is com pleted by a second figure of seven vials of blood. T h e im ­ position of the figure involving the w ord blood (in its literal and th e re fo re m o st vivid use) upon a n o th er figure w hich for ce n ­ tu ries embodied the co n cep t of family d escen t thu s w elds to ­ g e th e r w ith e x tra o rd in a ry tig h tn ess the w ord and its sym bolic significance. T h e o ccu rren ce of blood in o th e r senses on the borders of the m etap h o r (in the first and n e x t-to -la s t lines of

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the passage) helps to focus atten tio n upon the p rocess occu rrin g in the m etap h o r itself. H ath love in th y old blood no living fire? Edw ard's seven son s, w h e re o f th yself a rt one, W ere as seven vials of his sacred blood, O r seven fair b ran ch es springing from one ro o t. Som e of th o se seven are dried by n a tu re 's co u rse, Som e of th ose b ran ch es by th e D estin ies cu t; B u t T h o m as, m y d ear lord, m y life, m y G lo u cester, O n e vial full of E dw ard's sacred blood, O n e flourish ing b ran ch of his m o st royal ro o t, Is crack'd , and all th e p reciou s liquor spilt, Is hack'd dow n, and his su m m er leaves all faded, By Envy's hand and M u rd er's bloody axe. A h, G au n t, his blood w as thine! (I.ii.1 0 - 2 2 )

Because it has this multiple function, th e w ord blood in this play loses m uch of the co n cen trated vividness and application it has in Macbeth w here it m eans but one unm istakable thing; but its am biguity here gives it a new so rt of pow er. If it is less effective as im agery, it does serve to u n d erscore the basic idea of the play, th at violation of the laws of blood descent leads but to the spilling of precious English blood. T h at is the m eaning of the w ord as it pulses from beginning to end, m arking the em otional rh y th m of the play. In Richard 11, fu rth e rm o re , the w ord has an additional, unique use, one w hich involves an especially striking sym bol. It has often been rem arked how Shakespeare, seizing upon a hint in his sou rces, plays upon R ichard's abnorm al tendency to blanch and blush. In the im agery thus called fo rth , blood has a p rom in en t part. H ow , dem ands the h au gh ty king of John of G aun t, dare thou w ith th y frozen ad m on ition M ake pale o u r cheek , chasing th e royal blood W ith fu ry from his n ative residence. (Il.i.1 1 7 - 1 9 )

And w hen the King h ears the new s of the W elshm en's d efec­ tion, A um erle steadies his quaking body:

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258 C o m fo rt, m y liege; w h y looks y o u r G ra ce so pale? Richard: B u t now th e blood of tw e n ty th o u san d m en Did triu m p h in m y face, and th ey are fled; A nd, till so m uch blood th ith e r com e again, H ave I n ot reaso n to look pale and dead?

(III.ii.7 5 - 7 9 )

This idiosyncrasy of the King is m ade the m ore vivid because the im agery of the play co n stan tly refers to pallor, even in co n te x ts far rem oved from him . T h e W elsh captain re p o rts th a t " the pale-fac'd m oon looks bloody on th e e a rth " (II.iv.10). In a n o th e r speech, the w ord s pale and blood, th o u gh n ot associated in a single im age, o ccu r so close to each o th er th a t it is tem p tin g to suspect an habitual association in Shakesp eare's mind: Pale trem blin g co w ard , th e re I th ro w m y gag e, D isclaim ing h e re th e kindred of th e K ing, And lay aside m y high blood's ro y alty . (I.i.6 9 - 7 1 )

And as w e have already seen, the King prophesied th a t "te n thou san d bloody cro w n s of m o th e rs' sons / Shall . . . ch an ge the com plexion of [England's] m aid-pale p eace" (III.iii.9 6 - 9 8 ). E lsew here Bolingbroke speaks of "pale b e g g a r-fe a r" (I.i.189); the D uchess of G lo u cester accu ses John of G au n t of "pale cold co w ard ice" (I.ii.34); and Y o rk describes how the re tu rn e d exile and his arm y frigh t England's "pale-fac'd villages" w ith w ar (II.iii.94). T h e idea of pallor and blushing is linked in tu rn w ith w h a t is perhaps the m ost fam ous im age-m o tif of the play, th a t of R ichard (or the fact of his kingship) em blem atized by th e sun. M ore atten tio n probably has been paid to the sun-king th em e th an it is w o rth , fo r alth ough it o ccu rs in tw o v ery fam iliar passages, it co n trib u tes far less to the harm on ic u n ity of the play than do a n u m b er of o th e r sym bol strain s. In any e v e n t, the con ju nction of th e sun im age w ith th a t of blushing provides one m o re evidence of the closeness w ith w hich the poetic th em es of the play are knit to g e th e r. In the first of the sun-king speeches, R ichard com p ares him self, at the length to w hich he is addicted, w ith "th e search ing eye of h eav en " (III.ii.37). Finally, a fte r som e ten lines of analogy:

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So w h en this th ief, this tra ito r, Bolingbroke, W h o all this w hile h ath revell'd in th e night W h ilst w e w ere wancTring w ith th e antipodes, Shall see us rising in o u r th ro n e , th e east, His tre a so n s will sit blushing in his face. . . . (Ill.ii. 4 7 - 5 1 )

And Bolingbroke in a later scene does him the sincere flattery of im itation: See, see, King R ichard doth him self ap pear, A s doth th e blushing d iscon ten ted sun Fro m ou t th e fiery p ortal of th e east. (Ill.iii.6 2 - 6 4 )

A n o th er o ccu rren ce of the sun im age provides a link with the pervasive m otif of tears. Salisbury, having envisioned R ichard's glory falling to the base earth from the firm am en t, con tin ues: T h y sun sets w eeping in th e low ly w est, W itn essin g sto rm s to com e, w oe, and u n rest. (II. iv. 2 1 - 2 2 )

In no o th e r h istory play is the idea of tears and w eeping so insistently p resen ted .14 It is this elem ent which en fo rces m ost stron gly o u r im pression of R ichard as a w eakling, a m on arch essentially fem inine in n a tu re, w ho has no conception of stoic en d urance o r resign ation but a stro n g predilection for grief. This is w hy the play seem s so stran g ely devoid of the heroic; the King and Q u een are too m uch devoted to luxuriating in their m isery, and the o th e r ch a ra cte rs find a morbid delight in at least alluding to unm anly tears. C h aracteristically , R ichard's first question to A um erle w hen the latte r retu rn s from bidding farew ell to Bolingbroke is, "W h at sto re of parting tears w ere sh ed ?" (I.iv.5). Bushy, discussing w ith the Q ueen h er p rem o n i­ tions of d isaster, speaks at length of "so rro w 's eye, glazed w ith blinding te a rs" (II.ii.16). Richard g reets the fair soil of England w ith mingled smiles and tears; and from th at point on, his talk is full of "rain y ey es" (III.ii.146) and of m aking "foul w e a th e r with despised te a rs" (Ill.iii.161). He counsels Y ork,

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Richard II U ncle, give m e y o u r h an d s: n ay, d ry y o u r eyes: T e a rs show th eir love, but w an t th eir rem edies. (III.iii.2 0 2 - 2 0 3 )

In the garden scene the Q u een , rejectin g h er lady's o ffer to sing, sadly tells h er: T is well th a t th o u h a st cau se; B u t th ou sh ould st please m e b e tte r w ou ld st th o u w eep . Lady: I could w eep , m ad am , w ould it do yo u good. Queen: And I could sing, w ould w eep ing do m e good, And n ev er b o rro w an y te a r of th ee. (Ill.iv. 1 9 - 2 3 )

And echoing th a t dialogue, the g ard en er, at the close of the scen e, looks a fte r h er and says: H ere did she fall a te a r; h ere in this place I'll set a bank of ru e, so u r h erb of g race. R u e, even fo r ru th , h ere s h o rtly shall be seen , In th e rem em b ran ce o f a w eep ing queen. (Ill.iv. 1 0 4 - 1 0 7 )

Th e them e reach es a clim ax in the deposition scen e, in w hich the agonized King, handing his crow n to Bolingbroke, sees him self as the low er of the tw o buckets in F o rtu n e 's well: . . . full of te a rs am I, D rinking m y griefs, w h ilst you m o u n t up on high. (IV .i.1 8 8 - 8 9 )

And a few lines later he m erg es the alm ost ubiquitous m otif of te a rs w ith a n o th e r co n stan t them e of the play: "W ith m ine ow n tears I w ash aw ay m y balm " (IV .i.2 0 7 ). O f the freq u en t asso cia­ tion of the anointing of kings, blood, and the act of w ash ing, I shall speak a little later. P ro fesso r Van D oren , in his sensitive essay on Richard II, eloquently stresses the im p ortan ce of the w ord tongue in the p la y .15 Tongue, he says, is the key w ord of the piece. I should p re fer to give th a t distinction to earth; but th ere is no denying the effectiveness of S h akespeare's tireless rep etition of th e idea of speech, n ot only by th e single w ord tongue but also by such allied w ords as mouth, speech, and word. A few m in u tes' stu d y of

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B a rtlett's Concordance will show th at Richard 11 is unique in this insistence upon the con cep t of speech; th a t the w ord tongue o ccu rs h ere o ften er than in any o th e r play is but one indication. This group of associated w ords heavily u n d erscores tw o leading ideas in the play. In the first place, it draw s co n stan t atten tio n to the propensity for verbalizing (as Shakespeare would n ot have called it!) w hich is R ichard's fatal w eakness. He can n o t bring him self to live in a w orld of hard actuality; the u niverse to him is real only as it is presented in packages of fine w ords. A um erle tries alm ost rou ghly to recall him from his w eaving of sw eet, m elancholy sounds to a realization of the crucial situation con fro n tin g him, but he ro u ses him self only m om en tarily and then relapses into a com placent en joym en t of the sound of his ow n ton gue. It is of this trait th a t we are co n stan tly rem inded as all the ch ara cte rs regu larly use peri­ p h rases w hen they m u st speak of w h at they or o th e rs have said. By making th e physical act of speech, the sh eer fact of language so conspicuous, they call atten tio n to its illusory n a tu re — to the v ast difference b etw een w h at the sem anticists call the inten sional and extensional universes. T h at w ords are m ere co n v en ­ tional sounds molded by the ton g u e, and reality is som ething else again, is co n stan tly on the minds of all the ch a ra cte rs. The initial dispute b etw een M ow bray and Bolingbroke is "th e b itter clam our of tw o eager to n g u es" (I.i.49); M ow b ray th re a te n s to cram his an tagonist's lie "th ro u g h the false passage of thy th ro a t" (I.i. 1 2 5 ); and later, in a fine cadenza, he conceives of his etern al banishm ent in term s of the engaoling of his ton gue, w hose "u se is to me no m ore I Than an un stringed viol or a h a rp ," and concludes: W h at is th y sen ten ce [then] but speechless d eath , W hich robs m y ton gu e from b reath in g n ative b reath ? (I.iii. 1 6 1 - 6 2 , 1 7 2 -7 3 )

Bolingbroke, for his p art, m arvels o ver the pow er of a single w ord to change the lives of m en: H ow long a tim e lies in one little w ord! F o u r lagging w in ters and fo u r w an ton springs End in a w ord : such is th e b reath of kings.

(I.iii.213-15)

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G au n t too is preoccupied w ith ton gues and speech; and w hen A u m erle re tu rn s from his farew ell w ith Bolingbroke, from tears the im age th em e sw iftly tu rn s to ton gu es: R ichard: W h at said o u r cou sin w h en you p arted w ith h im ? A u m erle: "F a re w e ll!" A nd, fo r m y h e a rt disdained th a t m y ton gu e Should so p rofan e th e w ord , th a t tau g h t m e c ra ft T o c o u n te rfe it op p ression of such grief T h a t w ord s seem 'd buried in m y s o rro w 's g rav e. M a rry , w ould th e w ord "fa re w e ll" h ave len gth 'n ed h o u rs And added y ears to his s h o rt b an ish m en t, H e should h ave had a volum e of farew ells. (I.iv.1 0 - 1 8 )

And we have but reached th e end of A ct I; the rem ain d er of the play is equally preoccupied w ith the u n su b stan tiality of hum an la n g u ag e.16 B u t the u n rem ittin g stress laid upon ton gues and w ord s in this play serves a n o th er im p ortan t end: it rem inds us th a t R ichard's fall is due n ot only to his p referen ce for his ow n w ords ra th e r than fo r deeds, but also to his blind predilection for com fortab le flatte ry ra th e r than sound advice. W ords n ot only h yp notize, suspend the sense of reality: th ey can sting and co rru p t. And so the ton g u es of Richard II sym bolize also the honeyed but poisonous speech of the sy cop h an ts w ho su rrou n d him . "N o ," replies Y o rk to G au n t's su ggestion th a t his dying w ord s m ight y et undeaf R ichard's ear, it is stopp'd w ith o th e r flatterin g sou nd s, As p raises, of w h o se ta s te th e w ise are found, L ascivious m e tre s, to w h o se ven om sound T h e open ear of y o u th d oth alw ays listen. (Il.i.1 7 - 2 0 )

The v enom to w hich Y o rk refers and the snake w hich p ro ­ duces it form a n o th er them e of th e im agery of this play. The sn ak e-ven om m otif closely links the idea of the gard en on the one hand (for w h at grossly untended garden would be w ith o u t its sn ak es?) and the idea of the ton g u e on the o th e r. All th ree m eet in the la tte r p art of R ichard's speech in Ill.ii:

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Poetry and Rhetoric B u t let th y spiders, th a t suck up th y ven om , And h eavy-g aited toads lie in th eir w ay, D oing an n o yan ce to th e tre a c h e ro u s feet W hich w ith usurping steps do tram ple thee Yield stinging n ettles to m ine en em ies; And w hen th ey from th y bosom pluck a flow er, G u ard it, I p ray th ee, w ith a lurking adder W h ose double ton gu e m ay w ith a m o rtal tou ch T h ro w d eath upon th y sovereign 's enem ies.

(III. ii. 1 4 -2 2 ) And the double association o ccu rs again in the garden scene, w hen the Q ueen dem ands of the g ard en er, T h o u , old A dam 's likeness, set to d ress this g ard en , H ow d ares th y h arsh rude ton gu e sound this unpleasing n ew s? W h at Eve, w h at serp en t, h ath su g gested thee T o m ake a second fall of cu rsed m an ? (III.iv.7 3 -7 6 )

M ow bray elsew here speaks of "slander's venom 'd sp ear" (I.i.171), and to R ichard, the flatterers w ho have deserted him are, natu rally en ou gh , "villains, vipers, damn'd w ith ou t redem ption! / . . . Snakes, in my heart-b lood w arm 'd, th a t sting m y h e a rt!" (IH.ii. 1 2 9 -3 1 ). A lthough England's so rry state is m ost often figured in the referen ces to the untended garden and the snakes th a t infest it, the situation is em phasized tim e and again by at least fou r o th er re c u rre n t them es, som e of w hich re fe r as well to the personal guilt of R ichard. O ne such th em e— anticipating a similar m otif in Hamlet— involves repeated referen ces to physical illness and injury. Richard in seeking to sm ooth o v er the quarrel betw een M ow bray and Bolingbroke says: L et's p urge this ch o ler w ith o u t lettin g blood. This w e p rescrib e, th ou gh no physician; D eep m alice m akes too deep incision. (L i.1 5 3 -5 5 )

T h ere are repeated allusions to the swelling caused by infection. Richard in the sam e scene speaks of "th e swelling difference of

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y o u r settled h a te " (I.i.201), and m uch later, a fte r he has been deposed, he predicts to N orth u m b erlan d th at T h e tim e shall n ot be m an y h o u rs of age M ore th an it is, ere foul sin g ath erin g head Shall break in to co rru p tio n (V .i.5 7 -5 9 )

T h u s too th ere are vivid m en tion s of the rem ed y for such festerin g: Fell S o rro w 's to o th d oth n e v e r rankle m o re T h an w h en he b ites, b ut lan ceth n ot th e sore. (I.iii.3 0 2 - 3 0 3 ) This fest'red joint cu t off, th e re s t re s t sound. (V .iii.85)

Plague, pestilence, and infection are w ord s freq u en tly in the m o u th s of the ch a ra c te rs of this play. A u m erle, during the fu riou s g a g e castin g of IV.i, cries, "M ay m y hands ro t o ff" if he does n ot seize P ercy 's gage (IV .i.49); and elsew h ere Y o rk , speaking to the unhappy Q u een , says of the King, N ow com es th e sick h o u r th a t his su rfeit m ade; N ow shall he try his friends th a t flatter'd him . (II.ii.8 4 - 8 5 )

Indeed, the im agery w hich deals w ith bodily injury directly associates the w retch ed n ess of the m o n arch and his co u n try w ith the ton g u es of the sycop h an ts. A verbal ju xtap osition of tongue and wound o ccu rs early in the plays: "E re m y ton g u e / Shall w ound m y h o n o u r w ith such feeble w ro n g " (I.i.1 9 0 - 9 1 ). G au n t carries the association one step fu rth e r w hen he explicitly co n n ects R ichard's and England's illness w ith the p resen ce of g ro ss fla tte re rs in the King's retin u e: T h y d eath -b ed is no lesser th an th y land W h erein th ou liest in rep u tatio n sick; A nd th ou , too careless p atien t as th ou a rt, C o m m it's t th y an oin ted body to th e cu re O f th ose physicians th a t first w ounded th ee.

Poetry and Rhetoric

265

A th ou san d fla tte re rs sit w ithin th y cro w n , W h ose com pass is no b igger th an th y head.

(II.i.95-101)

And R ichard him self com pletes the circuit betw een the to n g u e w ound association and his personal grief: "H e does me double w ron g I T h at w ounds me w ith the flatteries of his to n g u e" (Ill.ii.2 1 5 -1 6 ). Again, the evil th a t besets England is freq u en tly symbolized as a dark blot upon fair p arch m en t— an im age w hich o ccu rs o fte n e r in this play than in any o th er. Th e su ggestion for the im age undoubtedly cam e from contem plation of the deeds and leases by w hich the king had farm ed ou t the royal dem esnes; as John of G aun t said, England "is now bound in w ith sham e, I W ith inky blots and ro tte n p arch m en t bonds" (II.i.6 3 - 6 4 ). The im age recu rs several tim es. "N o, Bolingbroke," says M ow bray in I.iii, "if ever I w ere tra ito r, / M y nam e be blotted from the book of life" (I.iii.2 0 1 - 2 0 2 ). Richard sighs th rou g h blanched lips, "T im e h ath set a blot upon m y pride" (Ill.ii.81 ) and later speaks of the record of N orth um berlan d 's o ffen ses as including one h einous article, C o n tain in g th e deposing of a king And crackin g th e stro n g w a rra n t of an o ath , M ark'd w ith a blot, dam n'd in th e book of h eaven . (IV .i.2 3 3 - 3 6 )

Carlisle and A um erle in a duet h arm on ize the im age w ith the tw o o th e r m otifs of gardening and g en eration : C arlisle: T h e w oe's to com e; the children y et unb orn Shall feel this day as sharp to th em as th o rn . A u m erle: Y ou holy clerg y m en , is th e re no plot T o rid th e realm of this pernicious blot? (IV .i.3 2 2 - 2 5 )

A um erle's conspiracy w hich stem s from this co n versatio n is itself spoken of by Bolingbroke in A u m erle's ow n term s: "T h y abundant goodness shall excu se I This deadly blot in thy digress­ ing so n " (V.iii.6 5 - 6 6 ). The vividness of the im age is increased by the presence elsew h ere of allusions to books and w riting: "H e

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Richard II

should have had a volum e of farew ells'7 (I.iv.18); "T h e purple te sta m e n t of bleeding w a r" (Ill.iii.94); L et's talk of g ra v e s, of w o rm s, and ep itaph s; M ake d u st o u r p aper and w ith rain y eyes W rite s o rro w on th e b osom of th e e a rth (Ill.ii.1 4 5 - 4 7 )

(an in terestin g exam ple of double association of im a g e ry — te a rs, e a rth -g ra v e , and w ritin g); and in the deposition scen e, w hen R ichard calls for a m irro r: I'll read en ou gh , W h en I do see th e v e ry book indeed W h ere all m y sins are w rit, and th a t's m yself. (IV .i.2 7 3 - 7 5 )

T h e blot im age has a v ery direct relationship w ith a n o th e r class of figures by w hich S hakespeare sym bolizes guilt o r evil: th at of a stain w hich m u st be w ashed aw ay. This im age is m o st com m only associated w ith M acbeth, because of the e x tra o rd in a ry vividness w ith w hich it is used th ere. B u t the them e is m uch m o re insistent in Richard II. Tw ice it is associated , as in M acbeth, w ith blood: Y e t, to w ash y o u r blood F ro m off m y h and s, h ere in th e view of m en I will unfold som e cau ses of y o u r d eath s (III.i.5-7) I'll m ake a v o y ag e to th e H oly Land T o w ash this blood off fro m m y gu ilty hand. (V .v i.4 9 - 5 0 )

E lsew h ere the association is w ith the sto ry of the crucifixion , in a rep etition of w hich Richard fancies he is the su fferer: N ay, all of you th a t stand and look upon m e W hilst th a t m y w re tch e d n e ss doth bait m yself, T h o u g h som e of you w ith Pilate w ash y o u r hands S how ing an o u tw a rd pity; y et you Pilates H ave h ere deliver'd m e to m y so u r c ro ss, And w a te r can n o t w ash aw ay y o u r sin.

(IV.i.2 3 7 -4 2 )

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Poetry and Rhetoric

But in this play the absolution of guilt requires not m erely the symbolic cleansing of bloody hands; it entails the w ash in g-off of the sacred o in tm en t of ro y alty — the ultim ate expiation of kingly sin. The full m easure of R ichard's fall is epitom ized in tw o fu rth e r o ccu rren ces of the m etap h or, the first spoken w hen he is in the full flush of arro g a n t confidence, the second w hen nem esis has overtak en him: N ot all th e w a te r in th e ro u g h ru d e sea C an w ash th e balm off from an anoin ted king. (Ill.ii.5 4 - 5 5 ) W ith m ine

ow n te a rs I w ash aw ay m y balm,

W ith m ine

ow n hands I give aw ay m y cro w n . (IV .i.2 0 7 - 2 0 8 )

W h atev er the e xact co n te x t of the im age of w ashing, one su g ­ gestion certain ly is p resen t w h en ev er it appears: a suggestion of m om en tou s ch an g e— the deposition of a m o n arch , the cleansing of a guilt-laden soul. But the m ost unusual of all the sym bols of unpleasantness which occu r in Richard II is the use of the adjective sour, to g e th e r w ith the repeated co n tra st of sw eetn ess and sou rn ess. A reader of the play understandably passes o v er the freq u en t use of sweet as a conventional epithet used both of persons and of things. But the w ord , h ow ev er com m onplace the specific phrases in which it o ccu rs, has a role in the poetic design w hich decidedly is not com m onplace, for it acts as a foil for the v ery un accustom ed use of its an ton ym . T h ere is nothing less rem arkable in Shak e­ speare than such phrases as "sw eet R ich ard ," "y o u r sw eet m ajesty," "sw eet Y ork , sw eet h u sb an d ," even such passages as this: And y et y o u r fair d iscou rse h ath been as su g ar, M aking th e hard w ay sw eet and delectable. (II.iii.6 - 7 )

But w h at is rem arkable is the m an n er in w hich, in this play alone, m ention of sweet so often invites m ention of sour: "T h in gs sw eet to taste prove in digestion so u r" (I.iii.2 3 6 ); "Speak sw eetly, m an, although thy looks be so u r" (III.ii.1 9 3 ); "h o w sou r sw eet music is!" (V .v .42);

268

Richard II S w eet love, I see, ch an gin g his p ro p erty , T u rn s to th e s o u re s t and m o st deadly h ate.

(III. ii. 1 3 5 - 3 6 ) In addition to this rep eated collocation of sweet and sour, the te x t of Richard II is notable fo r a p ersisten t use, u n m atch ed in any o th e r play, of sour alone, as an adjective o r verb: N ot G lo u cester's d eath , n o r H erefo rd 's b an ish m en t N ot G au n t's reb u k es, n o r E ngland's p rivate w ro n g s, H ave ev er m ade m e so u r m y p atien t cheek. (Il.i.1 6 5 - 6 6 , 16 9 )

"I'll set a bank of ru e, so u r herb of g ra ce " (III.iv. 1 0 5 : this in significant collocation w ith the m otif of tea rs, as the n e x t is joined w ith the m otif of w ash in g — "y et you Pilates I H ave h ere deliver'd me to m y so u r cro s s" (IV .i.2 4 0 - 4 1 ); T h e g ran d co n sp ira to r, A bbot of W e s tm in s te r, W ith clog of co n scien ce and so u r m elan choly H ath yielded up his body to th e g rav e. (V .vi. 1 9 - 2 1 )

T h e o ccu rren ce of sour th u s lends unm istakable irony to ev ery o ccu rren ce of sweet, h o w ev er u n im p o rtan t the la tte r m ay be in itself. Even at a distance of a few lines, m en tion of one quality seem s to invite m en tion of the o th e r, as if S h akespeare could n ev er fo rget th a t the sou r is as freq u en t in life as th e sw eet: Duchess: T h e w ord is s h o rt, b ut n ot so s h o rt as sw eet; N o w ord like "p a rd o n " fo r k ings' m o u th s so m eet. Y ork: Speak it in F re n ch , K ing; say "Pardonne moi." Duchess: D o st th ou teach pard on pard on to d e stro y ? A h, m y so u r h u sban d , m y h a rd -h e a rte d lord, T h a t se t'st th e w ord itself again st th e w ord ! (V.iii. 1 1 7 - 2 2 )

This co n trap u n tal use of sweet and sour is one of the m o st re v e a l­ ing instances of the a rtis try by w hich the p oetry of Richard II is u nified.17 T w o m o re im age th em es, one of m ajor im p ortan ce, the o th e r less conspicuous, rem ain to be m en tion ed. F or one of th em , we m u st re tu rn to the T ree of Jesse passage (I.ii.1 0 - 2 2 )

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Poetry and Rhetoric

quoted above. This passage is the fountainhead of one of the chief them es of the play— the idea of legitim ate succession, of h ered itary kingship. W e have already noticed how , largely as a result of this early elaborate m etap h o r, the close identification of the w ord blood w ith the idea of family descen t deepens the symbolic significance of the w ord as it recu rs th rou g h the play. In addition, as M iss Spurgeon has pointed ou t, in Richard II th ere are m any o th e r co g n ate im ages derived from the ideas of birth and g en eration , and of inh eritan ce from fa th e r to s o n .18 The T ree of Jesse m etap h o r (w hose im p ortan ce M iss Spurgeon failed to n ote) is followed in the n ext scene by one involving the symbol of earth and thus suggesting the vital relationship be­ tw een g en eration and p atriotism : T h en , England's grou n d , farew ell; sw eet soil, adieu; M y m o th e r, and m y n u rse, th a t b ears m e y et! (I.iii.3 0 6 - 3 0 7 )

In John of G aun t's dying speech, earth and g en eration again appear, significantly, in conjunction: T h is blessed plot, this e a rth , this realm , this England, T h is n u rse, this teem in g w om b of royal kings. (II.i.5 0 - 5 1 )

In her scene w ith B agot and Bushy, the Q u een dwells co n ­ stan tly on the idea of birth: S om e u nb orn so rro w , ripe in fo rtu n e's w om b, Is com in g to w ard s me. C o n ceit is still deriv'd F rom som e fo re fa th e r grief; m ine is n ot so, Fo r n oth in g h ath b egot m y som eth in g grief, So, G reen , th ou a rt th e m idw ife to m y w oe, And Bolingbroke m y s o rro w 's dism al heir. N ow h ath m y soul b ro u g h t fo rth h er prodigy, And I, a gasping n ew -deliver'd m o th e r, H ave w oe to w oe, s o rro w to s o rro w join'd. (Il.ii. 1 0 - 1 1 , 3 4 - 3 6 , 6 2 - 6 6 )

R ichard's last soliloquy begins w ith the sam e so rt of elaborated conceit:

270

Richard II M y brain I'll p rov e th e fem ale to m y soul, M y soul th e fa th e r; and th ese tw o b eget A g e n e ra tio n of still-b reed in g th o u g h ts, A nd th ese sam e th o u g h ts people this little w orld, In h u m o u rs like th e people of this w orld. F o r no th o u g h t is c o n te n te d . (V .v .6 -1 1 )

And th ro u g h o u t the play, as Miss S purgeon n otes, "th e idea of inh eritan ce from fath er to son . . . increases the feeling of the inevitable and the foreordain ed , as also of the unlim ited co n ­ sequences of actio n ." T he w ord crown as the sym bol of kingship is of co u rse co m ­ m on th ro u g h o u t the h isto ry plays. In Richard II, h o w ev er, the vividness of the im age and the relevan ce of its sym bolism to the gran d them e of the play are h eightened by several instances in w hich its m etap horical function goes beyond th a t of a simple, con ven tion al m eton y m y: A th ou san d fla tte re rs sit w ithin th y cro w n , W h ose com p ass is no b igger th an th y head; (Il.i. 1 0 0 - 1 0 1 ) fo r w ithin th e hollow cro w n T h a t ro u n d s th e m o rtal tem p les of a king K eeps D eath his c o u rt, (Ill.ii.1 6 0 - 6 2 ) B u t ere th e cro w n he looks fo r live in peace, T en th ou san d bloody cro w n s of m o th e rs' sons Shall ill b ecom e th e flo w er of England's face, (Ill.iii.9 5 - 9 7 ) N ow is this golden c ro w n like a deep well T h a t ow es tw o b u ck ets, filling one a n o th e r, T h e em p tier e v e r dancing in th e air, T h e o th e r d ow n , u n seen , and full o f w a te r. (IV .i.1 8 4 - 8 7 )

In addition, the actu al im age of the cro w n is m ade m ore splendid by the o ccu rren ce, in the play's poetic fabric, of several im ages re fe rrin g to jewels:

271

Poetry and Rhetoric A jewel in a ten -tim e s-b a rr'd -u p ch est Is a bold spirit in a loyal b reast. G aunt: T h e sullen p assage of th y w eary steps E steem as foil w h erein th ou a rt to set T h e precious jewel of th y h om e re tu rn . Bolingbroke: N ay, ra th e r, every tedious strid e I m ake Will but rem em b er m e w h at a deal of w orld I w an d er from th e jew els th at I love. (I.iii.2 6 5 - 7 0 )

And again: "I'll give my jewels for a set of beads" (Ill.iii.1 4 7 ), "T h is precious stone set in the silver sea" (Il.i.4 6 ), and "L o ve to Richard / Is a strange brooch in this all-hating w orld" (V .v.6 5 -6 6 ). Keeping in mind the leading m etap h ors and verbal m otifs w hich I have review ed— earth-ground-land, blood, pallor, garden, sun, tears, tongue-speech-word, snake-venom, physical injury and ill­ ness, blot, w ashing, sweet-sour, g en eration , and jew e l-cro w n — it is profitable to re-read the w hole play, noting especially how widely the various them es are distributed, and how frequently their stran d s cross to form new im ages. T h ere is no extend ed passage of the te x t w hich is not tied in w ith the rest of the play by the o ccu rren ce of one o r m ore of the familiar sym bols. H ow ever, the im ages are not scattered w ith uniform evenness. As in The Merchant of Venice, m etaphorical language tends to be co n cen ­ trated at the em otional clim axes of Richard II. A t certain crucial points in the action, a large nu m b er of the unifying im agethreads appear alm ost sim ultaneously, so th at o u r minds are virtually flooded w ith m any diverse yet closely related ideas. T he first part of Il.i (the prophecy of G aun t) offers a good instance of this rapid cum ulation of symbols and the resu ltan t heightening of em otional effect. T h e w hole passage should be read as Shakespeare w ro te it; h ere I list simply the p h rases th at reveal the various im age them es, om itting a n u m ber which glance obliquely at the them es but are n ot directly connected w ith them : line

5 7 8 12

the ton gues of dying m en w ords w ords the setting sun

Ill 13 14 17 19 23 41 44 45 46 49 50 51 52 57 64 83 95 96 100 10 3 1 0 4 -1 0 5 1 1 0 -1 3 116 118 12 2 12 6 131 13 4 136 141 149 153 157

Richard II As the last taste of sw eets, is sw e e te st last W rit in rem em b ran ce flatterin g sounds Lascivious m e tre s, to w hose ven om sound limps The e arth of m ajesty infection breed This precious stone less happier lands This earth This n u rse, this teem ing w om b of royal kings breed . . . birth land . . . land W ith inky blots and ro tte n p arch m en t bonds hollow w om b land sick [followed by extended m etap hor] thy crow n thy land thy gran d sire . . . his son's son . . . his sons this land . . . this land . . . landlord ague pale . . . blood This ton g u e blood blood T o crop at once a too long w ith ered flow er w ords w ord s His ton gue Th e ripest fru it first falls W hich live like venom w h ere no venom else

T h u s in the first 1 5 7 lines of the scene w e m eet no less th an tw elve of the m otifs of the play. In a n o th e r so rt of h arm o n izatio n , Sh akespeare strikes a long ch ord containing a n u m b er of th e im age strain s and th en in the follow ing m in utes of the play echoes them sep arately. T h e

Poetry and Rhetoric "D e ar earth , I do salute thee w ith m y h an d " speech at the beginning of Ill.ii interw eaves at least six them es w hich shortly are unravelled into individual stran d s. T h e idea of the garden w hich is the fram ew ork for the w hole speech (6 -2 6 ) re cu rs in the line "T o ear the land th at h ath som e hope to g ro w " (212). T he repeated referen ces to w eeping in the initial speech ("I w eep for joy" . . . "w ith h er te a rs " . . . "w eep in g") are echoed in "as if the w orld w ere all dissolv'd to te a rs " (1 0 8 ) and "rain y ey es" (1 4 6 ). R ichard's "N o r w ith th y sw eets co m fo rt his ra v e ­ nous sense" (13) is recalled in Scroop's "S w eet love . . . changing his pro p erty , I T u rn s to the so u rest and m ost deadly h a te " (1 3 5 -3 6 ) and in R ichard's "speak sw eetly, m an, although thy looks be so u r" (193) and "th a t sw eet w ay I w as in to despair" (205). The lurking adder and the venom w hich the spiders suck up (20, 14) find their sequel in R ichard's later "vipers . . . snakes . . . th at sting m y h e a rt" (1 2 9 -3 1 ). The double tongue (21) is succeeded by "d iscom fort guides m y to n g u e " (65), "m y care-tu n 'd to n g u e " (92), the ton gu e th at "h ath but a h eavier tale to say" (1 9 7 ), and the one w hose flatteries w ound the King at the end of the scene (216). Th e initial referen ce to w ounding ("thou gh rebels w ound thee w ith th eir h o rses' h o o fs," 7) is succeeded by "d eath 's d estroyin g w ou n d " (1 3 9 ); and the sam e general m otif of bodily h u rt is carried o u t by "th is ague fit of fear is o ver-b lo w n " (1 9 0 ), w hich links the d isease-th em e to th at of the garden. Finally, the freq u en t use of earth in R ichard's first speech ( 6 ,1 0 , 1 2 , 24) prepares the ear for the five-tim es-rep eated occurrence of the idea (earth . . . ground . . . lands . . . earth . . . grou nd ) in the "L et's talk of g raves, of w orm s, and epi­ taph s" speech. This progressive analysis of the com p onen ts of the original chord of im ages is accom panied by a succession of o th er im ages not included in the chord: an extended sun m e ta ­ phor ( 3 6 -5 0 ), a referen ce to w ashing (5 4 -5 5 ), the m o st fam ous instance of the pallor-blood m otif ( 7 6 -8 1 ), tw o referen ces to the crow n (59, 1 1 5 ), and tw o allusions to w riting (81, 1 4 6 - 4 7 ). And thus the mind is crow ded w ith a richly overlapping series of im ages. A n o th er exam ple of the close array in g of im age p attern s (w ithout the initial chord) o ccu rs in III.iii.8 5 - 1 0 0 :

Richard II Y e t k now , m y m a s te r, God o m ­ n ip o ten t, Is m u sterin g in his clouds on o u r behalf A rm ies of p estilen ce; and th ey shall

(illness)

strike Y o u r child ren y et u n b o rn and u n b eg o t,

(g en eratio n )

T h a t lift y o u r vassal h ands again st m y head And th re a t th e g lo ry of m y p reciou s cro w n .

(crow n )

Tell B olin gb rok e— fo r yon m eth in ks he sta n d s— T h a t ev ery strid e he m ak es upon m y land

(earth )

Is d an g ero u s tre a so n . H e is com e to open T h e purple te s ta m e n t of bleeding

(books, blood)

w a r; B u t ere th e cro w n he looks fo r live in peace,

(crow n )

T en th ou san d bloody cro w n s of

(blood, c ro w n , g en eratio n )

m o th e rs' son s Shall ill b ecom e th e flo w er of

(garden )

England's face, C h an g e th e com p lexion of h er m aid-pale peace

(pallor)

T o s carlet in dignation, and bedew H er p a stu re s ' g rass w ith faith fu l English blood.

(blood)

C u rio u sly, the deposition scen e, th o u gh it is rich en ou gh in individual appearances of the fam iliar th em es, does n ot m esh th em so closely as one m ight exp ect. A final aspect of the use of iterative im agery in Richard II is the m an n er in w hich a p articularly im p ortan t passage is p re ­ pared for by th e in terw eavin g into th e p o etry , long in advance, of inconspicuous but repeated hints of the im agery w hich is to d om inate th a t passage. T h e m eth od is exactly an alogou s to th a t by w hich in a sym phony a m elody appears, at first ten tativ ely , indeed alm ost u n noticed , first in one choir of the o rch e stra ,

27 5

Poetry and Rhetoric

then an o th er, until ultim ately it com es to its rew ard as the them e of a clim actic section. In such a m an n er isthe audience prepared, alth ough unconsciously, fo r R ichard's last grandiose speech. O ne takes little n ote of the first timid ap p earance of a referen ce to b eggary o r bankruptcy in Bolingbroke's " O r w ith pale b eg g ar-fear im peach m y h eig h t" (I.i.189). But in the second act the m otif recu rs: Be Y ork the n e x t th a t m u st be b an k ru p t so! T h ou gh death be p oor, it ends a m o rtal w oe, (Il.i.1 5 1 - 5 2 )

and a hundred lines later the idea is rep eated: "T h e king's grow n bankrupt, like a broken m an " (Il.i.2 5 7 ). The hau n tin g dread of d estitu tion, then , h ow ev er obliquely alluded to, is a re cu rre n t th em e, and adds its small but perceptible sh are to the w hole atm osp here of impending d isaster. It form s the burden of tw o plaints by R ichard m idway in th e play: L et's ch o ose e x e c u to rs and talk of wills; And y et n ot so; for w h at can w e b equ eath Save o u r deposed bodies to th e g ro u n d ? O u r lands, o u r lives and all are Bolingbroke's. (III.ii.1 4 8 - 5 1 ) I'll give m y jew els fo r a set of beads, M y g o rg eo u s palace fo r a h erm itag e, M y gay apparel fo r an alm sm an 's g o w n , M y figur'd goblets for a dish of w ood, M y scep tre fo r a palm er's w alk in g -staff, M y sub jects fo r a pair of carved sain ts, And m y large kingdom fo r a little g rav e. (Ill.iii.1 4 7 - 5 3 )

B u t the time is n ot ripe for the clim actic u ttera n ce of this m otif. It disappears, to re tu rn for a m o m en t in a verbal hint in the deposition scene: Let it com m and a m irro r h ith e r s tra ig h t, T h a t it m ay show m e w h a t a face I have Since it is b ank ru p t of his m ajesty.

(IV.i.2 6 5 -6 7 )

276

Richard II Being so g r e a t, I h ave no need to beg.

(IV.i.309)

T h e D uch ess of Y o rk m o m en tarily takes up the m otif: "A b eggar begs th at n ever begg'd b efo re" (V.iii.78), and Bolingbroke replies: O u r scen e is alt'red fro m a seriou s th ing, A nd now ch an g'd to "T h e B e g g a r and th e K in g ." (V .iii.7 9 - 8 0 )

And now finally com es the clim ax tow ard w hich th ese fleeting re feren ces have been pointing: a clim ax w hich illum inates the purpose and direction of the earlier talk about b eggary and ban k ruptcy: T h o u g h ts ten din g to c o n te n t fla tte r th em selv es T h a t th ey are n ot th e first of fo rtu n e 's slaves, N o r shall n ot be th e last; like silly b eggars W h o, sittin g in th e sto ck s, refu g e th eir sham e, T h a t m an y h ave and o th e rs m u st sit th ere; A nd in this th o u g h t th ey find a kind of ease, B earin g th eir ow n m isfo rtu n e s on th e back O f such as h ave b efore en du r'd th e like. T h u s play I in one p erso n m an y people, A nd none c o n te n te d . S om etim es am I king; T h en tre a s o n s m ake m e w ish m yself a b eggar; And so I am . T h en cru sh in g p en u ry P ersu ad es m e I w as b e tte r w h en a king. (V .v .2 3 -3 5 )

A similar process can be traced in the rep etition of the w ord face, w hich, besides being obviously con n ected w ith the idea of R ichard's personal com eliness, u n d erscores the h overin g sense the play con tain s of the illusory quality of life, of the deceptions th a t m en accept as if th ey w ere reality. T h e w ord o ccu rs casually, u n rem ark ab ly, o ften w ith o u t m etap horical in ten t; but its fr e ­ q u en t appearan ce n ot only rein fo rces, h o w ev er subtly, a dom i­ n an t idea of the play, but also points tow ard a notable clim ax. "M o w b ray 's face" (I.i.195) . . . "N ow n ever look upon each o th e r's face" (I.iii.185) . . . "th e n o rth e a st wind I W hich th en blew b itterly again st o u r faces" (I.iv .6 -7 ) . . . "H is face th ou h a st, for even so look'd h e" (II.i.176) . . . "F righ tin g h er palefac'd villages w ith w a r" (II.iii.94) . . . "T h e pale-fac'd m oon looks

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bloody on the e a rth " (II.iv.10) . . . "H is treaso n s will sit blushing in his face" (III.ii.51) . . . "B u t now the blood of tw e n ty thousand m en / Did trium ph in m y face" (III.ii.7 6 - 7 7 ) . . . T en th ou san d bloody cro w n s of m o th e rs' sons Shall ill becom e th e flow er of England's face. (Ill.iii.9 6 - 9 7 )

M eanw hile Bushy has introduced the corollary idea of shadow : Each su b stan ce of a grief h ath tw e n ty shad ow s, W hich show s like grief itself, but is n ot so (Il.ii.1 4 - 1 5 ) W hich, look'd on as it is, is n o u g h t b ut shad ow s O f w h at it is n ot. (Il.ii.2 3 - 2 4 )

T he related them es m erge as, in retro sp ect, it is plain they w ere destined to do, in the deposition scene: W as this face th e face T h a t ev ery day u n d er his hou seh old ro o f Did keep ten th ou san d m en ? W as this the face T h a t, like th e sun , did m ake beholders w ink? Is this th e face w hich fac'd so m an y follies, T h a t w as at last o u t-fac'd by B olin gb roke? A b rittle glo ry shin eth in this face; A s b rittle as th e g lo ry is the face, Fo r th e re it is, crack'd in an h un d red shivers. M ark , silent king, th e m oral of this sp o rt, H ow soon m y so rro w h ath d estroy'd m y face. Bolingbroke: T h e shad ow of y o u r so rro w h ath d estroy'd T h e shad ow of y o u r face. Richard:

Say th a t again.

T h e shad ow of m y so rro w ! H a! let's see. (IV .i.2 8 1 - 9 4 )

And thus from beginning to end Richard II is, in a double sense of w hich Shakespeare would have approved, a play on w ords. As cou ntless w riters have affirm ed, it is en tirely fitting th at this should be so. King Richard, a poet manque, loved w ords m ore dearly than he did his kingdom , and his traged y is m ade the m ore m oving by the style, half rh etorical, half lyrical, in w hich it

Richard II is told. Splendid w ord s, colorful m etap h o rs, p reg n an t poetic sym bols in this d ram a possess th eir ow n peculiar irony. B u t the language of Richard 11, regard ed from the view point I have adopted in this paper, has a n o th e r significance, en tirely ap art from its appropriateness to them e. It suggests the existen ce of a vital relationship betw een tw o leading ch a ra cte ristics of Sh ak esp eare's poetic style: the u n con trolled indulgence of verbal w it in the earlier plays and the use of g re a t im ag e-th em es in the plays of his m atu rity . A s I su ggested in the beginning, w o rd ­ play and iterative im agery are but tw o d ifferen t m an ifestatio n s of a single faculty in the creativ e im agin ation — an exceedingly well developed sense of association. In Richard II w e see the crucial in term ed iate stage in the d evelopm ent, o r perhaps m ore a ccu rately the utilization, of Sh ak esp eare's singular associative gift. In such passages as John of G au n t's speech upon his nam e, w e are rem inded of the plays w hich preceded this fro m S h ak e­ speare's pen. B ut, excep t on certain occasions w hen th ey co n ­ trib u te to the ch aracterizatio n of the p oet-k in g, th e brief co ru s­ cation s of verbal w it w hich m arked the earlier plays are less evident than fo rm erly. O n the o th e r hand, w hen we stand back and view the play as a w hole, its sep arate m o vem en ts bound so closely to g e th e r by im age th em es, w e are enabled to anticipate the fu tu re d evelopm ent of S hakespeare's art. T h e technique th a t is em ergin g in Richard II is the technique th at eventu ally will have its p art in producing the p o etry of Lear and Macbeth and Othello. H ere w e have the m ethod : the tricks of rep etition , of cum ulative em otional effect, of in terw eavin g and reciprocal coloration . W h at is yet to com e is the full m a stery of the artistic possi­ bilities of such a technique. T ru e , thanks to its tightly in te r­ w oven im agery Richard 11 has a poetic unity th a t is un su rp assed in any of the g re a t traged ies; so far as stru c tu re is co n cern ed , S h akespeare has levied from iterative language ab ou t all th e aid th a t it will give. T h e g re a t im p rovem en t will com e in a n o th e r region. T aken individually, in Richard II Shakesp eare's im ages lack the qualities w hich th ey will possess in the later plays. T h ey are, m an y of th em , too conven tion al fo r o u r taste s; th ey are m arred by diffuseness; th ey b ear too m any lingering tra ce s of S h ak e­ sp eare's affection for w ord s for w ord s' sake. T h e u ltim ate co n ­ den sation, the com pression of a u n iverse of m eaning into a single

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bold m etap h o r, rem ains to be achieved. B u t in the best im agery of Richard II, especially in those passages w hich com bine several them es into a richly com plex p attern of m eaning, w e receive abundant assu ran ce th at Shakespeare will be equal to his task. Th e process of welding language and th o u gh t into a single entity is well begun.

NOTES 1. "S h ak esp eare's English K in g s," Appreciations, lib rary ed. (London, 1 9 1 0 ), pp. 2 0 2 - 2 0 3 . 2. Richard II, ed. J. D o v er W ilson (C am b rid ge, 1 9 3 9 ), pp. x iv -x v . 3. Appreciations, p. 19 4 . 4. T h ro u g h o u t this paper I use th e w ord s image and imagery in th eir m o st inclusive sense of m etap h orical as well as "p ictu re -m a k in g " but n o n -fig u rativ e lan gu age. 5. C arolin e F.E . S p u rg eon , Shakespeare's Imagery (C am bridge, 1 9 3 6 ), pp. 3 5 2 - 5 3 . 1 should add a w ord co n cern in g a relatively little-k n ow n book w hich anticipated M iss S p u rg eon 's g en eral m eth od of im agestud y as well as tw o o r th ree of m y ow n o b serv atio n s co n cern in g Richard II. This is Shakespeare's W ay:

A Psychological Study, by the

R t. Rev. M sg r. F .C . K olbe (London, 1 9 3 0 ). 6. In Richard II the th re e w ord s o c c u r a total of 71 tim es; in King John, th e n e a re s t rival, 4 6 .— I should n ote at this point th a t m y id entifica­ tion of all th e w o rd - and im ag e-th em es to be discussed in this essay is based upon statistical stud y. A given w ord o r g rou p of related w ord s is called a " th e m e " (a) if B a rtle tt's Concordance show s a definite n um erical p rep on d eran ce fo r Richard II o r (b) if th e w ord o r grou p of w ords is so closely related to one of th e fu n d am en tal ideas of th e play th a t it is of g r e a te r im p o rtan ce th an th e com p arativ e n um erical freq u en cy w ould imply. I h ave n ot included an y a rith ­ m etic in this paper b ecau se all such tab u lation s ob viously m u st be subjective to som e d egree. N o tw o p erso n s, doing th e sam e cou n tin g fo r the sam e purpose, would arriv e at precisely th e sam e n um erical resu lts. B u t I am con fid ent th a t independent tab ulation w ould enable an yon e to arriv e at m y gen eral con clu sions. S tatistics h ere, as in all such critical e xercises, are m erely grou n d s upon w hich to base a ju d gm en t th a t m u st even tu ally be a subjective one. 7. I am using the te x t of William A. N eilson and C h arles J. Hill (B oston , 1 9 4 2 ).

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8. T h e m u ch adm ired little p assage ab ou t th e ro an B a rb a ry tak es on added p oign an cy w h en th e o th e r o v e rto n e s of ground are re m e m ­ b ered: King Richard: Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom: So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. ( V .v .8 1 - 8 3 )

9. Shakespeare's Im agery, pp. 2 1 6 - 2 4 . 10. W e m u st n o t, of c o u rse , take garden to o literally. S hak esp eare obviously intended th e te rm in its w id er m etap h orical sen se of fields and o rch a rd s. 11. M ark V an D o ren , Shakespeare (N ew Y o rk , 1 9 3 9 ), p. 88. 12. A .C . Bradley, Shakespearean Tragedy, 2d ed. (London, 1 9 0 5 ), pp. 3 3 5 - 5 6 . 13. Shakespeare's Imagery, p. 3 3 4 . 14. T h e re are m an y m o re re fe re n ce s to te a rs and w eep ing in Titus Andronicus, but th e ob vious in ferio rity of th e p o etry and th e cru d ity of c h a ra cte riz a tio n m ake th eir p resen ce far less rem ark ab le. 15 . Shakespeare, pp. 8 5 - 8 7 . 16. A n o th e r w ay in w hich S h ak esp eare adds to th e c o n sta n t trag ic sense of u n su b stan tiality in this p lay— th e con fu sio n of ap p earan ce and re a lity — is th e rep eated use of th e adjective hollow, especially in co n n ectio n w ith d eath : "o u r hollow p a rtin g " (I.iv.9), th e "h ollow w o m b " of th e g ra v e (II.i.83), "th e hollow eyes of d e a th " (II.i.2 7 0 ), a g ra v e set in "th e hollow g ro u n d " (III.ii. 1 4 0 ), "th e hollow c ro w n " in w hich D eath keeps his c o u rt (III.ii.1 6 0 ). 1 7. T h e sweet-sour c o n tra s t o ccu rs five tim es in Richard II; no m o re th an tw ice in any o th e r p lay.— C o m p are a sim ilar ju xtap o sitio n in th re e of th e so n n ets: Such civil war is in my love and hate That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

(N o. 3 5 )

O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave T o e n te rta in th e tim e w ith th o u g h ts of love.

(N o. 3 9 )

F o r s w e e te s t th in g s tu rn s o u r e s t by th e ir deed s.

(N o. 9 4 )

It is in terestin g to n o te th a t in th e sam e tw o grou p s of so n n ets in w hich th e sweet-sour collocation o ccu rs can be found a n o th e r w ord w h ose use is n o te w o rth y in Richard II:

Poetry and Rhetoric And dost him g ra ce w h en clouds do blot th e heaven

281

(N o. 28)

So shall those blots that do with me remain, W ith o u t th y help by m e be b o rn e alone.

(N o. 3 6 )

B u t w h a t's so b lessed -fair th a t fe a rs no b lo t?

(N o. 92)

W h e re b e au ty 's veil d o th c o v e r e v e ry blot

(N o. 95)

If w e accep t th e h yp oth esis th a t at a given period in his life S hak esp eare h abitually th o u g h t of certain a b stra ct ideas in term s of p articu lar m etap h o rs, th ere is a good case fo r dating th ese so n n ets at th e tim e of Richard 11. C o n v en tio n al th ou gh th e sw eetso u r and blot ideas m ay be, it is plain th at S hak esp eare had th em co n stan tly in mind w h en w ritin g Richard 11; th ey are a hallm ark of the style of th e play. T h eir o ccu rre n ce in th ese so n n ets is possibly significant. 18. Shakespeare's Imagery, pp. 2 3 8 - 4 1 .

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