KING RICHARD II. INTRODUCTION. THE period of English history next illustrated by Shakespeare, after King John, is the reign of Richard II. The reign of John, it will be remembered, belongs to the first years of the 13th century; that of Richard II. closes the fourteenth: so that the intervening time was not a great deal less than 200 years,-an interval of great importance for the events that distinguished it, and for the progress of the constitution, but less familiar, it is believed, for the single reason, that the light of Shakespeare's mind has not illuminated it for us. The treatment of our history in this play differs widely from that in King John. In forming a drama out of the events of the latter king's reign, the poet had no choice but to use great liberty with the actual succession of those events, separated as they were in point of time, and to create a dramatic unity, by which the beginning and the close of the reign should be morally connected. It was necessary also to mould the history in such a way as to invent the dramatic action of the personages of the play. In Richard II., however, the historical materials were very different: the history grows out of Richard's character. His character is, indeed, the history, so that the poet is the historian. In this play there are no imaginary characters: all the personages are strictly and actually historical. The tragedy of King John comprehended the whole reign-the events of sixteen years. That of Richard II. has been confined to the close of the reign-only a little more than one year, out of the twenty-two during which Richard occupied the throne. The whole of the previous portion of the reign is omitted, but we know it in the play by its results, and the retrospect that is occasionally given. When he succeeded to the throne of his grandfather, Edward III., Richard was a boy of about eleven years of age. He followed upon a reign that had been triumphant abroad and unresisted at home. The strength and glory of that reign were well fitted to fill the mind of the boy-king with the belief that the throne was impregnable. It was his fate to live in times when pomp and pride became doubly dangerous. There were indications, not to be mistaken, that government was no longer to be an affair of kings and nobles only. "Wat Tyler's Rebellion" was the outburst that had long been threatening, from the high state of popular exasperation. It was a vast and triumphant riot; but, in the midst of it, with an intrepidity worthy of the son of a heroic father, the young king-the manly boy-rode into the metropolis, attended by only sixty horsemen, to meet and conciliate the multitute of his malcontent subjects, assembled by thousands, and flushed with the sudden success of their revolt. His success in quelling the rebellion made him proud of himself, and still more proud of the might of royalty. The suppression was followed by a confused and uncertain period of intrigue and conspiracy and, crime. The king surrounded himself with unworthy favourites who flattered him to his ruin. He gave himself up to a career of lavish expenditure, of wantou misrule, and of despotic pride. His kinsmen and his uncles became odious to him, and he to them. The discontented nobility began to confer and confederate against him. Dethronement and exile were openly spoken of; and even the fate of his great grandsire, Edward II., was darkly hinted at. He was beset with perils, and, still worse, he was surrounded by evil counsellors, and his own evil passions. He was now on the downward path of degeneracy. He could not now meet his foes as, when a boy, he went forth to meet 60,000 infuriated rebels, and, with open intrepidity, overawe and subdue them. The boy was brave because he was innocent; but now, dark counsels of revenge and treachery seemed good to him. Poison and assassination were thought surer and easier means, by which a king could sweep his enemies from off the earth. The Duke of Gloucester was hurried away to a distant prison, where, mysteriously, he died a death of violence: and henceforth the guilt, which the king had now added to his frailties and his follies, was to haunt his life to its close. Retribution, it is said, walks with a foot of velvet, and strikes with a hand of steel. It is at this point of his reign and his character that Shakespeare brings Richard II. before us. The quarrel between the son of the Duke of Lancaster, Henry Hereford, usually called Bolingbroke, and Thomas Mowbray, Earl of Norfolk, with which the play opens, is to be decided, as the king determines, by the wager of battle-that ancient feudal form of trial in which it was supposed that heaven would mark the righteous party by giving him the victory. And here we leave the poet to present the interesting narrative in his own powerful manner, making such selections as will suffice to convey a consecutive view of the story. KING RICHARD II. (A.D. 1398, 1399.) SCENE.-England and Wales. PART I. ACT I., SCENE 1.-The accusation and challenge between Enter KING RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants. [In this scene are narrated the quarrel between Bolingbroke and the Duke of Norfolk, and the accusation brought by the former against the latter for dishonesty and treasonable intriguing against the king. Norfolk challenges his accuser to mortal combat: and the king determines that the quarrel shall be decided by the wager of battle in the lists at Coventry.] K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, •Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, •Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, •If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? 10 •Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument, •On some apparent danger seen in him, •Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face, 15 And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak. [Exeunt some Attendants. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and NORFOLK. Boling. May many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! 20 K. Rich. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us, 25 As well appeareth by the cause you come : Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Boling. First, (Heaven be the record of my speech), 30 In the devotion of a subject's love, - Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 35 40 •Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, 45 •What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: "Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, •Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: 50 The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this, Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech, •Which else would post, until it had return'd 55 •These terms of treason doubled down his throat. I do defy him, and I spit at him; 60 Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain : Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; •And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: 65 70 75 80 ទ K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. 85 90 Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it true;•That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers; The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, •Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say, and will in battle prove,Or here, or elsewhere, to the farthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye,— That all the treasons for these eighteen years 95 •Complotted and contrived in this land, •Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life, to make all this good, That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death, 100 •Suggest his soon believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; •And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 105 |