Play of the Month: Richard II

I just finished studying my thirteenth Shakespeare play, The Life and Death of King Richard the Second, also known as Richard II. Written in 1595, Richard II is a Shakespearean history play about the reign of King Richard II of England (reign 1377–1399). As a dramatised period history of the English monarchy, Richard II chronicles the machinations of the noblemen of the royal court who conspire, precipitate, and realize the downfall and death of the King of England. 

Studying Richard II also marked the beginning of my exploration of the Henriad, which refers to a group of William Shakespeare's history plays depicting the rise of the English kings. Some sources and scholars use the term to refer to a group of four plays (a tetralogy), while others use it to refer to eight plays. In the former sense, the Henriad comprises Richard II; Henry IV, Part 1; Henry IV, Part 2; and Henry V. In the latter case, four more plays are included: Henry VI, Part 1; Henry VI, Part 2; Henry VI, Part 3; and Richard III. As a history enthusiast-turned Shakespeare fan, I'm excited about exploring the Henriad in months ahead. 

As part of my extended study, I read the biography of Richard II, and learned that he was also known as Richard of Bordeaux because he was born in Bordeaux, France. Richard's father was Edward the Black Prince—the eldest son of Edward III, heir apparent to the throne of England, and a distinguished military commander in the early phases of the Hundred Years' War. Richard was born at the Archbishop's Palace of Bordeaux, in the English principality of Aquitaine, on 6 January 1367. In his second marriage, Richard II married Isabella of Valois when she was only seven years old. I was amazed by these historical facts because they showcase the intertwined relationship between England and France, even in the midst of the Hundred Years' War.

Another interesting thing I learned through the play is trial by combat, the medieval judicial practice used to settle accusations in the absence of witnesses or a confession, with the two parties in dispute fighting in single combat; the winner of the fight was proclaimed to be right. The play begins with King Richard sitting majestically on his throne in full state, having been requested to arbitrate a dispute between the nobles Thomas Mowbray and Richard's cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, who has accused Mowbray of high treason for stealing money that had been raised for the English army and of murdering Bolingbroke's uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. Bolingbroke's father, John of Gaunt, 1st Duke of Lancaster, meanwhile, believes Richard himself was responsible for his brother's murder. 

After several attempts to calm both men, Richard acquiesces and it is determined that the matter be resolved in the established method of trial by battle between Bolingbroke and Mowbray, despite Gaunt's objections. Here are some of the dialogues and soliloquies that impressed me most, presented in modern English translation.

Act I, Scene 3

KING RICHARD II

Marshal, ask that champion why he's come here bearing arms: have him state his name and swear that his cause is just. 

LORD MARSHAL

In the name of God and the king, say who you are and why you come wearing knight's armor, who you're fighting against, and why. Speak truthfully, by your knighthood and your pledge of loyalty. Heaven help you to defend your honor and bravery! 

THOMAS MOWBRAY

My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. I come here because I made a promise—that God forbid a knight should violate!—to defend both my loyalty and truth to God, my king, and my children, against the Duke of Hereford who accuses me. And, by the grace of God and the strength of my own bare hands, I'll prove him (by defending myself) to be a traitor to my God, my king, and to me. And as long as I fight honestly, I call on God in heaven to defend me! 

KING RICHARD II

Marshal, ask that knight in arms both who he is and why he comes here dressed for battle. And formally, according to our law, ask him to explain why he thinks his accusation is justified.

LORD MARSHAL

What is your name? And why do you come here before King Richard in his royal lists? Whom are you here to oppose? And what's your argument? Speak like a true knight, so help you God!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

I am Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby. I stand here ready in my armor to prove, by God's grace and my bravery on the field, that Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, is a foul and dangerous traitor to God, King Richard, and to me. And as long as I fight honestly, I call on God in heaven to defend me! 

LORD MARSHAL

On pain of death, no one should be so bold as to touch the king's lists except the marshal and the officers in charge. 

Act I, Scene 3

JOHN OF GAUNT

Everywhere that God can reach is a safe haven to a wise man. Tell yourself this: there is no virtue like necessity. Think not that the king banished you, but instead that you banished the king. Woe sits heavier where it perceives weakness. Go, say I sent you out to win honor and not that the king exiled you. Or pretend there's some disease going around here and you're leaving for a healthier climate. Whatever your soul holds dear, imagine that it lies where you're going, not where you came from. Pretend the singing birds are musicians, the grass the carpet of a royal chamber, the flowers fair ladies, and your steps no more than a dance: for snarling sorrow has less power to bite the man who makes light of it.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand by thinking of the freezing Caucasus? Or feel full when hungry by imagining a feast? Or feel warm in December snow by imagining fantastic summer's heat? Oh, no! Thinking about good things only makes me feel worse. This kind of sorrow is like the feeling of biting into a sore on your mouth to puncture and heal it, but not biting down hard enough to even break the sore's surface, leaving it there intact to hurt even more.

Act II, Scene 1

JOHN OF GAUNT

God knows I see you sick; my vision may not be so good anymore, but I see you are ill. Your deathbed is no less than your land, where you lie with a disease of bad reputation; and you, too careless patient that you are, put your body in the hands of the doctors who first hurt you. A thousand flatters sit within your crown, which is no larger than your head: and yet despite its small size, there is a sickness there that might encompass the whole country. Oh, had your grandfather been able to see the future, seeing how his grandson would destroy his own sons, he would have taken the crown out of your grasp, deposing you before you had it—and now, you are about to depose yourself. Why, cousin,  if you were king of the world it would be a shame to rent out this land; but since you're only king of this country, it's even more shameful to treat it as you do. You're just the landlord of England, not king: you rule as a slave to the law, not by your own right; and you—

KING RICHARD II

A crazy dim-witted fool, thinking that he can presume to criticize me just because he's ill—daring with his criticisms to make us turn pale, chasing the royal blood from our cheeks. Now, by the royal majesty of my throne, if you weren't my father's brother, I would have your head for this. 

Act II, Scene 3

DUKE OF YORK

Tut, tut! Don't "grace" me or "uncle" me: I am no traitor's uncle; and the word "grace" in an ungracious mouth is just profanity. Why have those banished and forbidden feet dared once to touch a dust of England's ground? But then more "why?" Why have they dared to march so many miles upon this peaceful land, frightening her pale-faced villages with war and display of arms? Do you come because the anointed king isn't here? Why, foolish boy, the king is here; he appointed me his representative. If only I were the young lord I was when brave Gaunt, your father, and myself rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, from many thousand French soldiers, oh, then how quickly should my hand (now prisoner to the palsy) punish you for your offence!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

When I was banished, I was banished as Hereford; but as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I ask you to be indulgent with me: you are my father, for I think in you I see old Gaunt alive. Oh, then, my father, will you allow me to stand condemned as a wandering beggar, my rights and income taken from me by force and given away to upstart spendthrifts? Why was I born? If my cousin is King of England, it must be that I am Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; if you had died first, and he was treated this way, he would have found in his uncle Gaunt a father to fight for him. I am refused the right to wear the colors of the dukedom of Lancaster here, although I have the legal right to do so; my father's good are all liquidated and sold, and these and everything he owned are put to ill ends. What do you want me to do? I am a subject, and I challenge the law: I am denied attorneys, and therefore I've come here to claim my inheritance in person.  

Act III, Scene 2

KING RICHARD II

Silly, gloomy cousin! Don't you know that when the sun is down, thieves and robbers roam about unseen, boldly committing murders and other crimes; but when the sun appears again in the east, he sets the tops of trees on fire and shines a light in every dark place—then, murders, treason, and other detestable sins will show themselves for what they are, the cloak of night plucked from their backs. So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke—who has enjoyed the night while we, the sun, were wandering down below—shall see us rising in our throne, the east, his treason will not survive the light of day, and even he will tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea can wash the balm off from an anointed king; no word from an ordinary, earthly man can depose the deputy elected by the Lord. For every man that Bolingbroke has in his army, God has a glorious angel to fight for Richard; and if angels fight, weak men must be defeated, for heaven still defends what is right.

(Enter EARL OF SALISBURY)

Welcome, my lord! How far away is your army?

EARL OF SALISBURY

My weak arm, my gracious lord, is as close the army you're going to get: gloom guides my tongue and makes me speak of nothing but despair. Returning one day too late, I'm afraid, noble lord, has ruined all your happy days on earth: oh, call back yesterday, tell time to run backwards, and you would have had twelve thousand men to fight for you! But today, today, unhappy day, it's too late: your joys, friends, fortune and kingdom are lost. For all the Welshmen, hearing you were dead, have left and gone to fight for Bolingbroke. 

Act III, Scene 3

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

My gracious lord—

KING RICHARD II

Fair cousin, you shouldn't shame your knee by kneeling on the ground. I'd rather that my heart feel you love than my eye see this sign of respect. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know—this high[points to crown]at least, although your knee is low. 

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

My gracious lord, I come only for what belongs to me.

KING RICHARD II

Your own is yours, and I am yours, and everything. 

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

Let it be mine, my most noble lord, only as my true service deserves your love.

KING RICHARD II

Oh, you deserve: they deserve who know the strongest and best way to get what they want. [To York]  Uncle, give me your hands: no, dry your eyes; tears show their love, but won't fix anything. [To Bolingbroke] Cousin, I am too young to be your father, though you are old enough to be my heir. What you want, I'll give you willingly, for we must do what force compels us to do. We'll go to London, cousin, isn't that so?

Act IV, Scene 1

DUKE OF YORK

Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to you from humbled Richard, who voluntarily names you his heir and turns over his kingdom to you. Ascend his throne, and long live Henry, fourth of that name!

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

In God's name, I'll ascend the royal throne.

BISHOP OF CARLISLE

Indeed. God forbid! I know my words may not be welcome, but I must speak the truth. Who among us is noble enough to judge our king? If there were such a person, he would know not to commit such a foul crime. What subject can pass sentence on his king? And who sits here that is not Richard’s subject? We don’t judge thieves without hearing what they have to say, even if they look guilty: so will the symbol of God's majesty, His captain, steward, and deputy-elect, who was anointed and crowned by Him and reigned over us many years—will he be judged by subjects, and without his even being present? Oh, God forbid that in a Christian climate refined souls should be guilty of such a terrible deed! I speak to subjects, and I speak as a subject, inspired by God to advocate for what’s right: my Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, is a foul traitor to the true king. And if you crown him, let me warn you: the blood of the English will water the ground, and our future children will suffer: we’ll have nothing but war, never peace, as families turn against each other; horror and civil war will come to live in this land, which will be called the field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. Oh, if you pit families against each other, it will be the saddest war that ever struck this earth. Prevent it, resist it, let this not happen—or your children and your children’s children will blame you for their suffering.

Act IV, Scene 1

KING RICHARD II

Give me the mirror, and I’ll read from that. No deeper wrinkles yet? Has sorrow struck so many blows against my face and not left any deeper wounds? Oh, the mirror flatters me, like my old courtiers, lying to me! Was this the face that every day under his household roof kept ten thousand servants? Was this the face that, like the sun, blinded people who looked at it? Was this the face that faced so many follies, and was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke? I see a fragile glory shining in this face, and the face is fragile too.

(Dashes the glass against the ground)

For there it is, cracked in a hundred pieces. See, silent king, what I mean by this: my sorrow has destroyed my face.

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

The shadow of your sorrow has destroyed the shadow of your face.

KING RICHARD II

Say that again? The shadow of my sorrow… hmm, let’s see: that’s very true, since my grief is inward, and these outward signs of sadness are just shadows of the unseen grief that lies within. Thanks, king, for your great generosity, that not only makes me sad but teaches me how to lament the cause of my sadness. I’ll ask one favor, and then leave and trouble you no more: shall I have it?

Act V, Scene 3

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

Get up, good aunt. 

DUCHESS OF YORK

Not yet, I beseech you: I'll stay on my knees forever and never have a happy day in my life, until you give me joy again by pardoning Rutland, my son, who has offended you.

DUKE OF AUMERLE

[Kneeling]  I kneel to add my pleas to my mother's.

DUKE OF YORK

[Kneels] I kneel against them with my loyal joints! It won't go well for you, if you grant any forgiveness! 

DUCHESS OF YORK

Do you think he really means it? Look at his face; he's not crying, his prayers are false; his words come from his mouth, but ours from our hearts. He begs weakly and would rather that you not grant his request; we pray with heart and soul and everything else. His tired joints would rather rise, I know; our knees will kneel to the ground until they take root there. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; ours are full of true emotion and deep honesty. Our prayers out-pray his—so let us have the mercy which true prayer should receive.

Act V, Scene 5

KING RICHARD II

I've been thinking how I might compare my prison to the world: but because the world is full of people and here there's no one but me, I can't do it. But I'll give it a try. My brain will be the mother and my soul will be the father, and together they'll produce a generation of children, my thoughts. Those thoughts will populate this little world—they'll have moods just like people in the real world, none of them satisfied. The better sort of thoughts, thoughts of heaven, have too many doubts and make me read the Bible against itself: for example, "Come, little one" versus "It is as hard to come as for a camel to thread the eye of a small needle." Ambitious thoughts dwell on ways to escape, like tearing a passage through my rough prison walls with my weak fingernails—and since, there's no hope of escape, die before they have the chance to go any further. Happier thoughts flatter themselves that they aren't the first people to be unlucky, and won't be the last: like beggars sitting in the stocks who tell themselves that many have and other will be in the same place, and in that thought find a kind of comfort, imagining others who have endured the same misfortunes. So I, in one person, play many people—none happy. Sometimes I'm a king; then treason makes me wish to be a beggar (and so I am); then crushing suffering persuades me that it was better when I was a king; then I'm king again, but soon remember that Bolingbroke has taken my throne, and I am nothing at all. But whatever I am, neither I nor anyone will be pleased with anything, unless he's happy with being nothing. Is this music that I'm hearing?

Act V, Scene 6

EXTON

Great king, I present your deepest fear. Richard of Bordeaux, the greatest of your enemies, lies in this coffin, brought here by me. 

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

Exton, I don't thank you; for you have done a scandalous deed that will make me look guilty in the eyes of the world. 

EXTON

I did this because you asked me to with your own words, my lord. 

HENRY BOLINGBROKE

No one loves poison, even when they need it—and I don't love you either. Though I wished him dead, I hate the murderer and love the one he killed. You won't get anything from me for your efforts but a guilty conscience; go wander in the desert, like Cain after he killed Abel, and never show your face here by day or night. 

[To Lords] Lords, I tell you, I'm sad that I grow by the spilling of blood. Come, put on black clothes and mourn with me: I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, to wash this blood from my guilty hands. Come with me there, and grace our mourning here by joining the funeral procession.