Shakespeare's King Richard III. With introductions, notes, examination papers, and plan of preparation

Front matter

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* English Classics

Introduction

TO

KING RICHARD III

The earliest known edition of the play is a quarto printed in 1597, under the title of The Tragedy of King Richard the Third. Subsequent editions, each printed from the one before it, appeared in 1598, 1602, 1605, 1612, 1622, 1629, and 1634. The folio text of 1623 contains a large number of minor readings which differ from the quartos, while several important passages are omitted, and others are inserted in their place. The play is, moreover, one of the worst printed in the folio ; and the quartos, in many instances, supply the means of correcting the typographical errors. Which is on the whole the better text, and what is the relation of the one to the other are questions which have been much disputed, but will probably never be satisfactorily settled.

The subject had been put upon the stage before, a Latin drama, Ricardns Tertius, having been written by Dr. Legge, and performed previously to 1583 ; and an English tragedy, The True Tragedie of Richard the Third, having appeared in print in 1594. 1 The

1 Both were printed for the Shakespeare Society, by Mr. Barron Field, in 1844.

latter, Shakespeare may have seen ; but, if so, he used it but little. Richard III. is the great dramatist's first tragedy of undoubted personal authorship ; it is written in connection with Henry VI., and appears as its direct continuation. The source of this, as of all Shakespeare's historical plays, is Holinshed's Chronicle, which is here largely taken from Sir Thomas More's History of Richard III. The dramatist, however, did not consider it his duty to follow the historian very closely. The play opens with the imprisonment of Clarence, in 1478, and the next scene goes back to the funeral of Henry VI., who died in May, 1471, seven years before. The startling scene between the Lady Anne and Richard over the dead body of the king — which even the genius of Shakespeare could not make natural or probable — is wholly imaginary. Queen Margaret is also brought upon the stage at a time when she was in strict confinement. Shakespeare has also added greatly to the years of his hero, as Richard, born at Fotheringay in October, 1462, was not quite thirty-three years when he fell fighting bravely and desperately on Bosworth Field. The description of his physical appearance is taken directly from the chroniclers, as well as the list of his atrocious crimes — ten in number. These are : the murder of Prince Edward, son of Henry VI. ; the murder of Henry himself; the murder of Clarence ; the execution, at Pomfret, of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan ; the execution of Hastings : the murder of the young princes in the Tower; and finally, the murder of his own queen and cousin, the Lady Anne

Neville, whom he had espoused in his twentieth year. Now, good Sir Thomas More and the diligent chronicler Holinshed wrote under the fear or favor of the jealous Tudor dynasty, with scanty historical materials, and with strong prejudices. Richard did not murder Prince Edward, who seems to have been slain at the battle of Tewkesbury. Henry VI. was found lifeless in the Tower, and it is highly probable that this weak and sickly monarch had sunk under the sudden shock of utter disaster. Clarence was most likely the victim of his elder brother's hatred and vengeance. He had disputed Edward's legitimacy, on the ground of their mother's alleged infidelity, and had been arraigned and condemned by both lords and commons, Edward himself appearing as an accuser. Hence the royal voluptuary had some motive to furnish the fatal butt of Malmsey, while Richard had no such pressing temptation. Richard, however, did put Hastings to death, his apology being that Hastings and the queen were conspiring both against his authority as protector and against his life. He also cut off Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, justified, as he thought, by reasons of state. Their deaths were necessary towards his own preservation, and the safety of the commonwealth and the old nobility. It is certain that Buckingham and other powerful nobles hated the queen's faction, and the nation witnessed their overthrow without regret. As to Richard's having murdered his own queen, the accusation is wholly unsupported by evidence : Richard was strongly attached to Anne, and had no conceivable interest in her death. The murder of the young princes, however, must stand as a foul, ineffaceable blot on his character. Sir Thomas More's minute and consistent narrative, backed by the universal belief at the time, by the fact that Richard rewarded the men whom More names as the murderers, and by the subsequent defection of Buckingham and the other friends of Richard, leaves no room' for reasonable doubt of his guilt. The act was a revolting breach of trust, a cruelty that outraged public feeling, and ultimately lost Richard both his crown and his life. But for this he would have been a popular and powerful monarch. During his short reign of two years, he exerted himself to reform the laws, to extend commerce, and to civilize Ireland. He encouraged architecture, and was a liberal patron of the gentle art of music. But, in order to secure his power, it appeared necessary that he should rid himself of his nephews ; so long as they lived, he was in danger. They were, indeed, confined in the Tower, but the queen-dowager and a strong faction were busy devising schemes for their liberation ; and the tyrant's plea, necessity, prevailed with the usurper over the dictates of humanity and the eternal laws of Nature and justice.

None of Shakespeare's dramas have been more popular than Richard III. There is great variety of action and bustle for the stage, and the play contains striking speeches and soliloquies — as the grand, exultant speech of Richard at the commencement, Clarence's dream, Tyrrel's account of the murder of the princes, the dream of Richard, and his warlike address to his army. But the chief source of interest and attraction is unquestionably the character of Richard, compounded of such various qualities, and so striking in all. All the other characters are subordinated to this central figure, and within himself all other qualities of mind are subordinated to ambition. This is quite in the manner of Marlowe, whose characteristic it was to embody in a character, and realize with terrific force, the workings of a single passion. Thus, in Tamburlane, he personified the lust of dominion ; in Faustus, the lust of forbidden power and knowledge ; in The Jew of Malta, the lust of wealth and blood. Similarly, Shakespeare has risked his whole play on the success of one figure ; but what a tremendous reality this demonic figure has become ! The matchless usurper is equally successful in personating the saint and the sinner, the statesman and the soldier, the lover, the hypocrite, and the wit. His plastic and commanding intellect carries him through all, and even at the worst saves him from detestation. When the great, final struggle comes, and he is on his last battle-field, deserted by his chief followers, and haunted by ghastly dreams and specters — the avengers of his crimes — his native hardihood and bravery of soul burst forth, and, though defeated, he dies with the honors of a hero and a king. All great English actors — Burbage, Garrick, Cook, Kemble, and Edmund Kean — have tasked their utmost powers to personate Richard,

EXTRACTS

HALL AND HOLINSHED.

The following extracts from Hall and Holinshed will show how closely Shakespeare followed the old chroniclers in writing this drama :

CHARACTER OF RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOSTER.

None evil captain was he in the war, as to which his disposition was more meetly than for peace. Sundry victories had he, and sometimes overthrows, but never on default, as for his own person, either of hardiness or politic order. Free was he called of dispense, and somewhat above his power liberal ; with large gifts he got him unsteadfast friendship, for which he was fain to pill and spoil in other places, and got him steadfast hatred. He was close and secret, a deep dissembler, lowly of countenance,, arrogant of heart, outwardly companiable where he inwardly hated, not letting to kiss whom he thought to kill, despitious and cruel, not for evil will ajway, bu oftener for ambition, and either for the surety or increase of his estate. Friend and foe was muchwhat indifferent, where his advantage grew ; he spared no man's death whose life withstood his purpose. He slew with his own hands King Henry VI., being prisoner in the Tower, as men constantly said, and that without commandment or knowledge of the king, which would undoubtedly, if he had intended that thing, have appointed that butcherly office to some other than his own born brother. Some wise men also ween, that his drift, covertly conveyed, lacked not in helping forth his brother of Clarence to his death, which he resisted openly, howbeit somewhat (as men deemed) more faintly than he that were heartily minded to his wealth. And they that thus deem, think that he long time in King Edward's life forethought to be king, in case that the king his brother (whose life he looked that evil diet should shorten) should happen to decease (as indeed he did) while his children were young. And they deem that for this intent he was glad of his brother's death, the Duke of Clarence, whose life must needs have hindered him so intending, whether the same Duke of Clarence had kept him true to his nephew, the young king, or enterprised to be king himself. But of all this point is there no certainty ; and whoso divineth upon conjectures, may as well shoot too far as too short.

ON TAKING SANCTUARY.

Where a man, quoth the Duke of Buckingham, is by lawful means in peril, there needeth he the tuition

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of some special privilege, which is the only ground and cause of all sanctuaries ; from which necessity this noble prince is far, whose love to his king, nature, and kindred proveth ; whose innocency to all the world his tender youth proveth ; and so sanctuary as for him neither none he needeth, nor also none can have. Men come not to sanctuary as they come to baptism, to require it by their godfathers ; he must ask it himself that must have it; and reason, sithe no man hath cause to have it but whose conscience of his own fault maketh him fain need to require it. What will then hath yonder babe, which if he had discretion to require it, if need were, I daresay would now be right angry with them that keep him there. And if nobody may be taken out of sanctuary that sayeth that he will bide there, then if a child will take sanctuary because he feareth to go to school, his master must let him alone. And as simple as that sample is, yet is there less reason in our case than in that, for therein, though it be a childish fear, yet is there at the leastwise some fear, and herein is there none at all. And verily, I have often heard of sanctuary men, but I never heard erst of sanctuary children ; and therefore, as for the conclusion of my mind, whoso may have deserved to need it, if they think it for their surety, let them keep it. But he can be no sanctuary man that neither hath wisdom to desire it, nor malice to deserve it. And he that taketh one out of sanctuary to do him good, I say plainly that he breaketh no sanctuary.

lord Hastings. (See Act III. Scene 2.) A marvellous case it is to hear either the warnings that he should have voided, or the tokens of that he could not void. For the next night before his [Hastings'] death, the Lord Stanley sent to him a trustymessenger at midnight, in all the haste, requiring him to rise and ride away with him, for he was disposed utterly no longer for to abide, for he had a fearful dream, in the which him thought that a boar with his tusks so rased them both by the heads, that the blood ran about both their shoulders ; and, for as much as the protector gave the boar for his cognizance, he imagined that it should be he. This dream made such a fearful impression in his heart that he was thoroughly determined no longer to tarry, but had his horse ready, if the Lord Hastings would go with him, so that they would ride so far that night that they should be out of danger by the next day. Ah ! good lord, quoth the Lord Hastings to the messenger, leaneth my lord thy master so much to such trifles, and hath such faith in dreams, which either his own fear phantasieth, or do rise in the night's rest by reason of the day's thought ? Tell him it is plain witchcraft to believe in such dreams, which if they were tokens of things to come, why thinketh he not that we might as likely make them true by our going, if we were caught and brought back (as friends fail fliers) ; for then had the boar a cause likely to rase us with his tusks, as folks that fled for some falsehood. Wherefore, either is there peril or none is there indeed ; or, if any be, it is rather

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in going than abiding. And if we should needs fall in peril one way or other, yet had I liefer that men should say it were by other men's falsehood than think it were either our own fault or faint, feeble heart ; and therefore go to thy master, and commend me to him, and say that I pray him to be merry and have no fear, for I assure him I am as sure of the man he wotteth of as I am sure of mine own hand. God send grace, quoth the messenger, and so departed. Certain it is also that in riding toward the Tower, the same morning in which he was beheaded, his horse that he was accustomed to ride on stumbled with him twice or thrice almost to the falling ; which thing, although it happeth to them daily to whom no mischance is toward, yet hath it been, as an old, evil token, observed as a going toward mischief. Now this that followeth was no warning but an envious scorn. The same morning, ere he was up from his bed, there came to him Sir Thomas Haward, son to the Lord Haward (which lord was one of the priviest of the lord protector's council and doing), as it were of courtesy to accompany him to the council, but of truth sent by the lord protector to haste him hitherward.

This Sir Thomas, while the Lord Hastings staid a while communing with a priest whom he met in the Tower Street, brake the lord's tale, saying to him merely, What, my lord ! I pray you come on ; wherefore talk you so long with that priest ? you have no need of a priest yet ; and laughed upon him, as though he would say, You shall have need of one soon. But little wist the other what he meant (but or [ere] night these words were well remembered by them that heard them) ; so the true Lord Hastings little mistrusted, and was never merrier, nor thought his life in more surety in all his days, which thing is often a sign of change ; but I shall rather let anything pass me than the vain surety of man's mind so near his death ; for upon the very Tower wharf, so near the place where his head was off so soon after as a man might well cast a ball, a pursuivant of his own, called Hastings, met with him, and of their meeting in that place he was put in remembrance of another time in which it happened them [to] meet before together in the place, at which time the Lord Hastings had been accused to King Edward by the Lord Rivers, the queen's brother, insomuch that he was for a while, which lasted not long, highly in the king's indignation. As he now met the same pursuivant in the same place, the jeopardy so well passed, it gave him great pleasure to talk with him thereof with whom he had talked in the same place of that matter, and therefore he said, Ah, Hastings, art thou remembered when I met thee here once with an heavy heart? Yea, my lord, quoth he, that I remember well, and thanked be God they gat no good nor you no harm thereby. Thou wouldst say so, quoth he, if thou knewest so much as I do, which few know yet, and more shall shortly. That meant he, that the Karl Rivers and the Lord Richard and Sir Thomas Vaughan should that day be beheaded at Pomfret, as they were indeed ; which act he wist well should be done, but nothing ware that the axe hung so near his own head. In faith man, quoth he, I was never so sorry, nor never stood in so great danger of my life, as I did when thou and I met here ; and lo ! the world is turned now ; now stand mine enemies in the danger, as thou mayest hap to hear more hereafter, and I never in my life merrier, nor never in so great surety.

DEATH OF HASTINGS.

Many lords assembled in the Tower, and there sat in council, devising the honourable solemnity of the king's coronation, of which the time appointed then so near approached that the pageants and subtleties were in making day and night at Westminster, and much victuals killed therefore that afterwards was cast away. These lords so sitting together, communing of this matter, the protector came in amongst them, first about nine of the clock, saluting them courteously, and excusing himself that he had been from them so long, saying merely that he had been a sleeper that day. After a little talking with them, he said unto the Bishop of Ely : My lord, you have very good strawberries at your garden in Holborne ; I require you let us have a mess of them. Gladly, my lord, quoth he ; would God I had some better thing as ready to your pleasure as that. And therewithal, in all the haste he sent his servant for a mess of strawberries. The protector set the lords fast in communing, and thereupon praying them to spare him for a little while departed thence. And soon after one hour, between ten and eleven, he returned into the chamber amongst them, all changed, with a wonderful sour, angry countenance, knitting the brows, frowning, and fretting, and gnawing on his lips, and so sat him down in his place ; all the lords were much dismayed, and sore marvelled at this manner of sudden change, and what thing should him ail. Then when he had sitten still awhile, thus he began : What were they worthy to have that compass and imagine the destruction of me, being so near of blood unto the king, and protector of his royal person and his realm.

At this question, all the lords sat sore astonied, musing much by whom this question should be meant, of which every man wist himself clear. Then the Lord Chamberlain, as he that for the love between them thought he might be boldest with him, answered and said, That they were Avorthy to be punished as heinous traitors, whatsoever they were. And all the others affirmed the same. That is, quoth he, yonder sorceress, my brother's wife, and other with her, meaning the queen. At these words many of the other lords were greatly abashed that favored her. But the Lord Hastings was in his mind better content that it was moved by her, than by any other whom he loved better. Albeit his heart somewhat grudged that he was not afore made of council in this matter, as he was of the taking of her kindred and of their putting to death, which were by his assent before devised to be beheaded at Pontefract that self-same day ; in which he was not ware it was by other devised that he himself should be beheaded the same day at London. Then said the protector : Ye shall all see in what wise that sorceress, and that other witch of her council, Shore's wife, with their affinity, have by their sorcery and witchcraft wasted my body. And therewith he plucked up his doublet sleeve to his elbow upon his left arm, where he showed a weerish, withered arm, and small, as it was never other. Hereupon every man's mind sore misgave them, well perceiving that this matter was but a quarrel. For they well wist that the queen was too wise to go about any such folly.

And also if she would, yet would she, of all folk, least make Shore's wife of her council, whom of all women she most hated, as that concubine whom the king her husband had most loved. And also no man was there present but well knew that his arm was ever such since his birth. Natheless the Lord Chamberlain (which from the death of King Edward kept Shore's wife, on whom he somewhat doted in the king's life, saving, as it is said, that he a while forbare her of reverence towards the king, or else of a certain kind of fidelity to his friend) answered and said : Certainly, my lord, if they have so heinously done, they be worthy of heinous punishment. What, quoth the protector, thou servest me I ween with ifs and with ands ; I tell thee they have so done, and that I will make good on thy body, traitor. And therewith, as in a great anger, he clapped his fist upon the board a great rap. At which token one cried treason without the chamber. Therewith a door clapped, and in come there, rushing, men in harness, as many as the chamber might hold. And anon the protector said to the Lord Hastings, I arrest thee, traitor. What, me, my lord? quoth he. Yea, thee, traitor, quoth the protector. And another let fly at the Lord Stanley, which shrunk at the stroke, and fell under the table, or else his head had been cleft to the teeth ; for, as shortly as he shrank, yet ran the blood about his ears. Then were they all quickly bestowed in divers chambers, except the Lord Chamberlain whom the protector bade speed and shrive him a pace, for by Saint Paul, quoth he, I will not to dinner till I see thy head off. It booted him not ask why, but heavily took a priest at adventure, and made ashort shrift, for a longer would not be suffered, the protector made so much haste to dinner, which he might not go to until this were done, for saving of his oath. So he was brought forth to the green beside the chapel within the Tower, and his head laid down upon a long log of timber, and there stricken off, and afterward his body with the head interred at Windsor beside the body of King Edward, both whose souls our Lord pardon.

CONDUCT OF GLOSTER AND BUCKINGHAM.

Now flew the' fame of this lord's death through the city and farther about, like the wind in every man's ear ; but the protector immediately after dinner, intending to set some colour upon the matter, sent in all haste for many substantial men out of the city into

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the Tower, and at their coining himself with the Duke of Buckingham stood harnessed in old evil-favoured briganders, such as no man would ween that they would have vouchsafed to have put on their backs, except some sudden necessity had constrained them. Then the lord protector showed them that the Lord Hastings and other of his conspiracy had contrived to have suddenly destroyed him and the Duke of Buckingham there the same day in counsel, and what they intended farther was yet not well known ; of which their treason, he had never knowledge before ten of the clock the same forenoon, which sudden fear drave them to put on such harness as came next to their hands for their defence, and so God help them ! that the mischief turned upon them that would have done it ; and thus he required them to report. Every man answered fair, as though no man mistrusted the matter, which of truth no man believed.

PROPOSED MARRIAGE WITH THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH.

There came into his ungracious mind a thing not only detestable to be spoken of in the remembrance of man but much more cruel and abominable to be put in execution ; for, when he resolved in his wavering mind how great a fountain of mischief toward him should spring if the Earl of Richmond should be advanced to the marriage of his neice, (which thing he heard say by the rumour of the people that no small number of wise and witty personages enterprised to compass and bring to conclusion), he clearly determined to reconcile to his favour his brother's wife, Queen Elizabeth, either by fair words or liberal promises, firmly believing, her favour once obtained, that she would not stick to commit and lovingly credit to him the rule and governance both of her and her daughters ; and so by that means the Earl of Richmond of the affinity of his neice should be utterly defrauded and beguiled. And if no ingenious remedy could be otherwise invented to save the innumerable mischiefs which were even at hand and like to fall, if it should happen Queen Anne his wife to depart out of this present world, then he himself would rather take to wife his cousin and neice, the Lady Elizabeth, than for lack of that affinity the whole realm should run to ruin ; as who said, that if he once fell from his estate and dignity, the ruin of the realm must needs shortly ensue and follow. Wherefore he sent to the queen, being in sanctuary, clivers and often messages, which first should excuse and purge him of all things before against her attempted or procured, and after should so largely promise promotions innumerable and benefits, not only to her, but also to her son, Lord Thomas Marquis of Dorset, that they should bring her, if it were possible, into some wan-hope, or, as some men say, into a fool's paradise. The messengers, being men both of wit and gravity, so persuaded the queen with great and pregnant reasons, then with fair and large promises, that she began somewhat to relent and to give to them no deaf ear, insomuch that she faithfully promised to submit and yield herself fully and frankly to the king's will and pleasure.

BATTLE OF BOSWOETH FIELD.

In the mean season King Richard (which was appointed now to finish his last labour by the very divine justice and providence of God, which called him to condign punishment for his scelerate merits and mischievous deserts) marched to a place meet for two battles to encounter, by a village called Bosworth, not far from Leicester, and there he pitched his field, refreshed his soldiers, and took his rest. The fame went that he had the same night a dreadful and a terrible dream ; for it seemed to him, being asleep, that he saw divers images like terrible devils, which pulled and hauled him, not suffering him to take any quiet or rest. The which strange vision not so suddenly strake his heart with a sudden fear, but it stuffed his head and troubled his mind with many dreadful and busy imaginations ; for incontinent after, his heart being also damped, he prognosticated before the doubtful chance of the battle to come, not using the alacrity and mirth of mind and of countenance as he was accustomed to do before he came toward the battle. And, lest that it might be suspected that he was abashed for fear of his enemies, and for that cause looked so piteously, he recited and declared to his familiar friends in the morning his wonderful vision and terrible dream.

Between both armies there was a great morasa, which the Earl of Richmond left on his right hand for this intent, that it should be on that side a defence for his part ; and in so doing he had the sun at his back and in the face of his enemies. When King Richard saw the earl's company was passed the morass, he commanded with all haste to set upon them ; then the trumpets blew and the soldiers shouted, and the king's archers courageously let fly their arrows : the earl's bowmen stood not still, but paid them home again. The terrible shot once passed, the armies joined and came to hand-strokes, where neither sword nor bill was spared: at which encounter the Lord Stanley joined with the earl. The Earl of Oxford in the mean season, fearing lest while his company was fighting they should be compassed and circumvented with the multitude of his enemies, gave commandment in every rank that no man should be so hardy as to go above ten foot from the standard ; which commandment once known, they knit themselves together, and ceased a little from fighting. The adversaries, suddenly abashed at the matter, and mistrusting some fraud or deceit, began also to pause, and left striking, and not against the wills of many, which had liefer had the king destroyed than saved, and therefore they fought very faintly or stood still. The Earl of Oxford, bringing all his band together on the one part, set on his enemies freshly. Again, the adversaries perceiving that, placed their men slender and thin before, and thick and broad behind, beginning again hardily the battle.