I’m saving coffee for later in the day, but I’ve got a cup of chai tea and I’m ready. Let’s do this thing.

9:31 a.m.: Play the First: Richard III

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

What a way to start a play.

I heard this speech performed by Alex Carney at the weekend intensive I attended in May, and I haven’t been able to look at it the same way since. The rhythm of that first line is so absolutely rough, contrasted with the straight iambs of the second line; winter and summer also contrast, verbally and aurally demonstrating a clash. Two lines in and I’m amazed.

Richard uses the speech in 1.1 to tell us exactly what’s going on. He comes right out and says he is “determin’d to prove a villain”, that he has laid plots to set his brother Clarence (who is next in line for the throne, after King Edward IV and his children) against the king, that he will be “subtle false and treacherous”. But being charming and sympathetic — and the first character to be introduced, a device still used in film today — here we are on Richard’s side. Then, in walks that very brother.

Forty-two lines in and there is already enough conflict to grab our attention. What a way to start a play.

10:00 a.m.: ambling onward

And by the end of the scene, it seems things are going to go Richard’s way. Clarence is on his way to imprisonment in the Tower because King Edward fears a prophecy, and Lord Hastings brings word that Edward himself is sick. Richard is also stating plainly that he will kill Clarence and marry “the wench” Lady Anne “not all so much for love, / As for another secret close intent” — to position himself closer to the throne.

Lady Anne, as Shakespeare has it, is the widow of Edward, Prince of Wales. Prince Edward and King Edward are brothers. Thus, marrying Lady Anne would make Richard the king’s brother-in-law.

[According to my footnote, Lady Anne was not historically married to Prince Edward, but let's leave that to the historians. It took me five minutes and a map to figure out the note above.]

Richard is starting to get creepy. It’s trainwreck syndrome setting in — “wait, no, don’t do that, are you going to do that??” — but we can’t fault Richard, because that’s exactly what he said he’d do!

10:29 a.m.: a discussion

This is such a fantastic, disturbing scene. Anne is walking in the funeral procession for Henry VI (father of both Edwards and thus, her father-in-law), mourning him and swearing all kinds of dire things about the “hated wretch” who killed him — that being Richard, who enters, and is cozying up to Anne to make his suit.

I don’t have time to type out the interplay here, but here’s the text of 1.2. Richard and Anne match each other image for image: “Sweet saint”, “Foul devil”; “Lady”, “Villain”, and so on:

ANNE: … No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
RICHARD: But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
ANNE: O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
RICHARD: More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

Anne is strong enough to match him for pages in my text. Richard says that the one who killed Anne’s husband helped her to a better husband. She says “His better doth not breathe upon the earth,” and Richard says he’s the better. Anne spits at him. They go back and forth again and Richard offers her his sword, asking her to kill him, because he’d rather die than not have her love. Anne can’t do it, Richard takes that for affection and gives her a ring.

What Anne does next is up to the actor and the director. Her lines can be sarcastic, honest, wistful, hesitant. She may be falling for Richard, she may want nothing to do with him. Personally, I don’t know how I’d play it — I think Anne is impressed with their wordplay and may see an attractive personality in Richard (one that he’s entirely faking, however). She does end up marrying Richard, but were I acting her part, I’m not sure how I feel about that. I don’t like it, but that’s what Shakespeare tells me is happening.

As an aside, I’m skimming the play already to make headway and keep on posting schedule. I’m a bit disappointed that I’m only in the first scenes of Act I. And this is a play I’ve read! Titus Andronicus is going to be a hoot.

10:59 a.m.: have done thy charm

(Food break 1: Toast.)

I don’t remember if it’s just Act 1 or the whole play, but there’s something great in every scene that I want to spend 25 minutes writing about. I’m having to skim for that part, write about it, and move on.

In 1.3, it’s the entrance of Queen Margaret. Richard (is he in every scene?) is baiting Queen Elizabeth, saying she’s bestowing honors and nobilities on people who don’t deserve it while he’s being ignored. Margaret is the widow of the recently-deceased Henry VI, and to her mind, she should be queen alone instead of Elizabeth and Edward. (Still following the who’s who? Good.) Instead, she’s a kind of dowager, still a queen but not The Queen, honored but no actual power.

While Elizabeth and Richard’s discussion is going along, Margaret makes all these smartass asides, then steps up. It’s getting close to time, so I’ll continue in the next post.

11:31 a.m.: in which I type like I’m talking

Queen Margaret comes in and asserts herself: Richard owes her a husband (Henry VI) and a son (Edward, Prince of Wales), Elizabeth owes her a kingdom, the assorted lords owe her allegiance. She starts laying on this fantastic curse, starting with Elizabeth:

Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward my son, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his youth by like untimely violence.
Thyself, a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory like my wretched self.
Long mayst thou live — to wail thy children’s death,
And see another, as I see the now,
Decked in thy rights, as thou art ’stalled in mine.
Long die thy happy days before thy death,
And after many lengthened hours of grief
Die, neither mother, wife, nor England’s queen.

Did your mother ever get exasperated and tell you she wished you’d have children just like yourself someday? This is in the same vein. Margaret is showing here that the worst she could ever wish on someone is to experience exactly what she’s experiencing.

Richard tells her to end her curse, but then she starts right in on him: “The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul.” (I love that word, begnaw.) She gets into calling him all these names, she’s really on a roll, but this is how smooth Richard is. He interrupts her.

MARGARET: Thou rag of honor, thou detested –
RICHARD: Margaret.

Look at that a second. He’s interrupting her, and she says essentially “Wait, I wasn’t done”. But he didn’t say her name to stop her from talking. By putting her name at the end of all this curse she’s laid against him, he turns it back on her, as Elizabeth points out: “Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.”

Spoiler: Not so much. Margaret’s curses work, but we’ll get to that eventually.

12:00 p.m.: they slay me

Skipping along past 1.4. Clarence has a dream that Richard pushed him over the side of a ship and he drowned, that he went past the river of death and saw the ghosts of three people he’d killed. Then two murderers come in, sent by Richard to kill Clarence.

I love the murderers. This is a great example of the way Shakespeare mixes high humor and low humor for the different people who attended his plays. Anne and Richard’s interplay and Margaret’s curses might have needed a little explication, but I trust that these two excerpts need none.

The second murderer is having, well, second thoughts.

FIRST: How dost thou feel thyself now?
SECOND: Some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.
FIRST: Remember our reward, when the deed’s done.
SECOND: ‘Swounds, he dies. I had forgot the reward.
FIRST: Where’s thy conscience now?
SECOND: O, in the Duke of Gloucester’s purse.

Clarence is pleading for his life, and has been for 90 lines or so.

CLARENCE: If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
Would not entreat for life? As you would beg
Were you in my distress –
SECOND: Look behind you, my lord!
FIRST: [stabs CLARENCE] Take that, and that! If all this will not serve,
I’ll drown you in the malmsey butt* within.

* Wine barrel.

12:30 p.m.: stretch break

Starting to get a little bored with this, and tired. (I’ve been awake for around 15 hours now.) It’s too early to want a nap! Time for that coffee.

I also despair of getting through Richard III, or if I do, timing well enough to have material throughout the ‘thon. There’s 48 posts in the Blogathon and exactly 25 scenes in this play; I’m through five scenes in seven eight posts. I can either start skipping and move on to another play, or keep going about where I’m going and make this the Richard III-athon.

Either way, I will probably end up saving Titus for another day.

1:02 p.m.: on accuracy

Here’s something I don’t know: How would Shakespeare have cast the parts of Clarence’s children in 2.2? Actual children, short actors…?

I hesitate to think actual children would be playing these roles. For one thing, if women were not allowed to be actors, children certainly would not be allowed. For another, these children don’t speak markedly different from the adults:

BOY: Then you conclude, my grannam, he is dead.
The King mine uncle is to blame for this.
God will revenge it — whom I will importune
With earnest prayers, all to that effect.

I’m not sure how old the children would be — I think 10 or 12 — and I don’t know whether an actual 12-year-old would be able to memorize lines like this. Probably so, but to me it sounds like an adult actor playing a child part.

Shakespeare and his contemporaries didn’t go so much for realism on stage, either, the way we’re used to now. Theater relied more on suggestion, which is why characters tend to talk about what a dark night it is, how stormy or how bright. That sets the scene, because there wasn’t scenery like we stage now; as I understand it, the setting was just the actors speaking their lines on the stage. (Don’t ask me about their blocking, I have no idea.)

I’m still shocked to read that Julius Caesar was written to be played in Elizabethan dress. Cassius tells Brutus to “pluck Casca by the sleeve” (and Casca replies, “You pulled me by the cloak”); Cassius in 1.3 and Brutus in 2.1 are “unbraced”. All these are references to doublets. Modern productions tend to choose togas.

I suppose I’ve answered my own question, then; the actors were almost surely adult men. If anybody knows for sure or has references, I’d love to hear it.

1:32 p.m.: feminine representation

More things I don’t know about Shakespeare but should: I wonder which play has the most female parts?

Richard III has five, four of whom are strong characters and powerful women. (#5 is Clarence’s daughter, who only has a few lines.) Not a whole lot of shrinking violets here. Two queens, a duchess (Richard’s mother) and Lady Anne.

Speaking of Lady Anne, that subplot should be coming up soon. King Edward’s just died and Richard has been offstage for a few scenes, and in 2.3, it’s just citizens mourning the king. “Doth the news hold of good King Edward’s death?” etc.

2:00 p.m.: too many Edwards to keep track

I’m now at Act III, Scene 1. Young Edward — that being the son of Queen Elizabeth and King Edward IV, nephew to Edward, Prince of Wales — is directly in line for the crown after Edward IV’s death, and here’s Richard, right on cue.

Another hallmark of Richard (and I have yet to check Bloom, but I believe he’ll back me on this) is the way he acknowledges the audience and tells us what he’s doing. As in 1.1, so in 3.1.

Replying to a comment of Young Edward’s:

RICHARD: [aside] So wise so young, they say, do never live long.
EDWARD: What say you, uncle?
RICHARD: I say, ‘Without characters fame lives long’.
[aside] Thus like the formal Vice, Iniquity,
I moralize two meanings in one word.

Richard is telling us, the audience, how he’s manipulating Edward.

2:30 p.m.: a haunting question

We are now to a scene that I wish I had the brainpower to explicate in more detail.

Richard is gathering his underlings, and Lord Hastings is doing most of the dirty work; 3.2 is mostly Hastings corresponding with messengers. Stanley and Catesby are on stage, Hastings says that “Today the lords you talked of are beheaded”, and Stanley basically says, Great, shall we go then?

A pursuivant (state messenger), who is also for some reason named Hastings, enters. I’ll quote this entire mini-scene.

HASTINGS: Go on before, I’ll follow presently.
[Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY]
Well met, Hastings. How goes the world with thee?
PURSUIVANT: The better that your lordship please to ask.
HASTINGS: I tell thee, man, ’tis better with me now
Than when I met thee last, where now we meet.
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
By the suggestion of the Queen’s allies.
But now, I tell thee — keep it to thyself –
This day those enemies are put to death,
And I in better state than e’er I was.
PURSUIVANT: God hold it to your honour’s good content.
HASTINGS: Gramercy, Hastings. There, drink that for me.
[He throws him his purse]
PURSUIVANT: God save your lordship. [Exit]

I can’t figure out why the pursuivant is in this scene. He isn’t there to bring a message. He isn’t there so Hastings can say something about his enemies, because he just told Stanley and Catesby above. The Tower bit alluded to is in 1.1, which doesn’t call for the pursuivant to be on stage. It isn’t clear who sent the pursuivant, if he’s there through his own will, if he’s a friend of Hastings and is just checking in. It also isn’t clear, at least to me, why he needs to be a special state messenger, and not a plain messenger, like the one earlier in 3.2.

Unless the message is visual. Being a state messenger, he would have a special kind of heraldry pertaining to the state, which I remind you is in flux. Edward IV is dead but Young Edward has not yet been crowned.

My addled brain is bringing up some reference to Shakespeare’s contemporary situation, that Queen Elizabeth (not the Elizabeth in the play) was frail and/or dying, had not named an heir, and while James I seemed likely, no one really knew who the next monarch was going to be. My old Professor Devlin, when I brought up this question to him, suggested that the heraldry borne by the pursuivant would either be or refer to James I’s. Thus Shakespeare, or whoever put on the play, could sneak in some commentary on current events — I remind you, also, that plays were censored and companies fined for offenses, and a textual reference would not have survived the censors — and put in a good word for themselves at the same time. James I did ascend the throne and Shakespeare’s company became the King’s Men.

That’s the conspiracy-theory version of what I think is going on in this scene. I’d really like to flesh this out, with references, and submit it for scholarly publication.

2:55 p.m.: lunch break

I’m draining the last of my coffee and heading into the kitchen. Lunch is a can of Campbell’s (alphabet!) Vegetarian Vegetable soup with some Fritos, and pull-n-peel Twizzlers for dessert and also sugary brain fuel. I’ve also got a can of Jones Cream Soda and the bottle of water I’ve been slowly drinking.

I am so hungry and tired. That last post has been simmering in my head for almost two years and I just did a big push to get it out.

This is post #13, so I’ll take the opportunity to ask — how am I doing? Anybody interested, entertained, maybe learn something? Need a question answered about Richard III or any other play? Please feel free to comment or email, I’d love to get a discussion going.

3:30 p.m.: wearing out

I am starting to lose track of who is on whose side, and whether battles are happening, about to happen, or snuck in between scenes. I’m not so much focusing on criticism at this point — it’s more like understanding what’s happening in the play.

This is a function of exhaustion. I’ve been awake for 16 hours and I’m trying to critically read Shakespeare.

4:02 p.m.: pursuivant, continued

I went back and am rereading. After the pursuivant leaves, a priest comes in and whispers to Hastings. Then Buckingham (who is on Richard’s side) enters and mockingly tells Hastings to go to Pomfret. Hastings says, are you going towards the Tower? and Buckingham says yes, with a MWAHAHA aside.

The scene changes to Pomfret (3.3) where assorted lords discuss how Margaret’s curse is coming true.

Then we move (3.4) to Buckingham, Hastings, the Bishop of Ely and others at a table, discussing when Young Edward’s coronation will take place. Richard comes in and is polite, then sends the Bishop away after some strawberries, then asks for a word with Buckingham. Aside, Richard tells Buckingham that Hastings is not on their side, then Richard and Buckingham leave together. The Bishop comes back with the strawberries, Hastings suspects something is up, then Richard and Buckingham come back in and Richard is all cranky about how his “arm / Is like a blasted sapling withered up”. He’s blaming it on witchcraft performed by Edward’s wife and, judging by the line “Off with his head”, wants Edward dead for it.

More momentarily; time to post this much.

4:28 p.m.: keepping track of lords and pursuivants

The story so far: Act III scene 4, Richard is claiming Edward’s wife threatened his life and the proof of it is his ruined arm. He’s demanding Edward’s head for it.

Everyone leaves except Catesby and Hastings, who takes this chance to note Stanley’s earlier ill-portending dream and experience the wonders of hindsight:

O now I need the priest that spake to me.
I now repent I told the pursuivant,
As too triumphing, how mine enemies

Today at Pomfret bloodily were butchered,
And I myself secure in grace and favour.
O Margaret, Margaret! Now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head.

Now, it seems, the pursuivant was there just for Hastings to gloat. (The heraldry theory could still hold; I only came to it because I didn’t see any textual support, and I’m looking with semi-fresh eyes for that textual support.) Am I misreading the earlier scene, and either Hastings didn’t gloat there, or he needed to clearly gloat to the pursuivant?

Hastings dies between 3.4 and 3.5, as Catesby brings in his head at 3.5.21. Is the pursuivant scene meant to heighten the tragedy, like a twist of the knife? If so, might it be imperfectly wielded? Richard III is a comparatively early play (1597), written before Shakespeare’s best tragedies or even many of his histories. Richard is a well-developed character, as are most of the other major players, but with a plot this convoluted, would it not be natural to throw in a couple of easy scenes?

In the last scenes of Act III, we’re getting away from playing Match the Nobles and back into the main plot of Richard’s run for the throne. Actually, I suppose it’s all main plot, because all the loyalties here and murders there have to line up just right to give Richard the chance.

4:58 p.m.: the plan unfolds

Richard’s strategy now is to get Buckingham to imply to the peoples (or state) that Edward’s children are illegitimate. Quotation with handy footnoted explanations.

RICHARD: Touched you the bastardy of Edward’s children?
BUCKINGHAM: I did, with his contract with Lady Lucy,¹
And his contract by deputy² in France …

1. Lady Elizabeth Lucy bore Edward a child. If, as Buckingham alleges, there had been a formal engagement between them, Edward’s subsequent marriage to Elizabeth Gray would have been ruled invalid. His children by that marriage would have been bastards and hence ineligible to inherit the throne.

2. The Earl of Warwick, as deputy, had contracted with Louis IX of France for the marriage of Edward to Bona of Savoy, the French queen’s sister (see Richard Duke of York 3.3).

Thus: Clarence is dead. Prince Edward is dead. Edward IV is dead. Young Edward is in limbo at the moment and the children of one of those Edwards (I have them mixed up again) are about to be ruled out.

In 3.7, Richard and Buckingham put on another little play for Catesby and the Mayor, convincing them (mostly the Mayor) that the Edward in question is a bigamist, thus should not rule, but by the way Richard is right here and it would be most gracious of him to take the throne, please, we insist…

(Gah, I remember this all happening faster the last time I read it.)

5:29 p.m.: remaining vertical

I’m running at about half and half: I’ll read a bit and crank out a post, then I need to read other blogs and/or surf the Blogathon ring or something to recharge.

I’m not optimistic about making it, since we’re only a third of the way through now. Once I’m done with this play I’m not sure what I’m going to do, because I am not going to be able to process new information. At least, not in the form of multisyllabic printed words.

All I know is that sleep sounds deliciously sweet. And the 7-Eleven was out of Twizzlers.

5:59 p.m.: returning to Lady Anne

In 4.1 it’s like a Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Terrorist Society. The Duchess of York meets Anne and Elizabeth at the Tower, all there to see Elizabeth’s two children, only to find that the King — whoops, Lord Protector (4.1.18) — has forbidden them from it.

Stanley shows up to whisk Anne away to Westminster, to be married to Richard and crowned queen. Anne is less than excited: “Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!” (4.1.36) She refuses to go, and begins a speech that explains her feelings the tiniest bit. She describes how she cursed Richard, but

ANNE: Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Within so small a time, my woman’s heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words
And proved the subject of mine own soul’s curse,
Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest –
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awaked.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick,
And will, no doubt, be shortly rid of me.

To this, the Duchess of York tells Anne, “Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee”, and pretty much says she’s done, she’s going to her grave now, “where peace and rest lie with me.”

And the scene ends. And in 4.2, we have King Richard.

I feel like I’m missing pieces of the action. I’m not sure how much of this feeling is my state of mind or from stopping every half hour to post, but this feels all jumpy. I’m rather excited to watch a film version, because it’ll go right through.

6:30 p.m.: inching closer to the exciting conclusion

Richard is not content to be king; not while Edward is still alive and better liked. (It seems that the Edward in question is one of the children: “Young Edward lives” (4.2.11) compared to “Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead” (4.2.19, note the plural. A footnote to 4.2.57 explains that Clarence’s eldest son is Edward, Earl of Warwick.) And even while Richard dispatches Buckingham to kill the children, he no longer trusts Buckingham or anyone else with two brain cells to rub together:

RICHARD: I will converse with iron-witted fools
And unrespective boys. None are for me
That look into me with considerate eyes.
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.

Suitably, Richard then calls a page and asks if he knows anyone who’d murder for hire, essentially, and the boy says, Oh yeah, sure, there’s this one guy named Tyrrell who’d do it. Next, Richard wants to marry off Clarence’s daughter.

Buckingham has second thoughts about killing Edward IV’s children — oh, now I’m getting all confused about whose children are whose — and Richard blows him off. Buckingham begins to suspect:

And is it thus? Repays he my deep service
With such contempt? Made I him king for this?
O let me think on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecon, while my fearful head is on.

7:01 p.m.: a note

You know, this whole thing might have been easier if I’d gone into it with any kind of plan. Maybe a list of things I wanted to point out, or find support for, or some kind of theoretical interpretation I could side with. Probably anything more fleshed out than “I’m going to read Shakespeare and then blog about it”.

Very sleepy.

Synopsis of 4.3:

RICHARD: The son of Clarence have I pent up close.
His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage.
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom,
And Anne, my wife, hath bid this world goodnight.

7:27 p.m.:

[Cat pictures.]

7:56 p.m.: still in

…by the barest of threads. I keep starting to read, then I wake up five minutes later.

12:08 a.m.: …or not

I fell asleep and, yes, missed the half-hour posting requirement. I’m done. Damn.

I’m going to bed. Tune in tomorrow and I’ll come back to Richard III, starting with 4.4, with fresh eyes and a little more brainpower.

12:31 a.m.: back at it, anyway

Thanks to a little encouragement from Lisa (along with some ham pizza and an unwillingness to have “failed”), I’m going to start back in right now. I’m still in the List of Bloggers, so hey, why not.

*Jedi hand wave*

You didn’t see anything.

*Jedi hand wave*

I’ve been here the whole time.

1:01 a.m.: royal politics get tangled

The story so far: Richard is now king. He’s persuaded Lady Anne to marry him and be his queen but he’s killed her already. Clarence’s children are out of the way and Edward’s two young sons, who had been locked in the Tower, are dead. Edward has a daughter, Elizabeth, Richard’s niece.

Richmond is planning to marry Elizabeth and so “look proudly o’er the crown”, but Richard has an idea to stop that: He’ll marry her himself. “To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer –”

This seems to be one of the places where history does not overlap with the play. (Shakespeare took some liberties to make the story better, notably making Richard a deformed hunchback, when he was probably normal or even attractive and a well-loved sort of guy.) A footnote adds that

It was widely rumored that Anne was poisoned in order to facilitate a plan by Richard to marry Elizabeth, sister to the missing princes; modern historians believe that these allegations are probably untrue. The charges regarding Clarence’s son and daughter ["The son of Clarence have I pent up close; / His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage"] are certainly untrue.

It does add to Richard’s creepiness factor. Not only is he willing to kill anyone to reach the throne, he’s going to marry his niece partially to strengthen his own claim to the throne — which he already has — and partially to remove the possibility of anyone staking a claim through her.

I do have to ask why women were not allowed to rule as queen. If that were possible, Richard’s plan either wouldn’t have worked or would have involved a lot more murdering. Elizabeth I ruled alone in Shakespeare’s day, but when she was crowned she was one of the few people who had a claim. She was also repeatedly pressured to marry. Beyond the feminist criticism, I also wonder what effect the plot of this play and the character of Richard did to support James I’s claim to the throne.

1:31 a.m.: Richard III-athon

Fourteen posts left in the Blogathon, seven scenes left in Richard III. I think I’m going to abandon the idea of moving on to any other plays. After I finish the text, I’m going to put in the movie and either do a few posts about that or talk about some of the overall themes of the play, difficulties and macro-level observations, that kind of thing.

2:00 a.m.: if I could quote it all, I would

Act IV scene 4 is long, but it’s great. As it opens, Queen Margaret is alone on stage and says she’s been lurking about, watching her enemies suffer — basically, watching her curses come true. Queen Elizabeth enters with the Duchess of York, and starts mourning her children. Margaret’s commentary matches the curse she’s earlier laid on Elizabeth.

Saw her children dead? Check.
Specifically, Prince Edward dead? Check.
Someone else is queen in her rightful place? Check.

Margaret, Elizabeth, and the Duchess do have a great interaction here. Elizabeth and the Duchess tell Margaret how right she is and how skilled in curses, and Margaret’s response is EAT IT, BITCHES.

MARGARET: These English woes shall make me smile in France.
ELIZABETH: O thou, well skilled in curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies.
MARGARET: Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days,
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,
And he that slew them fouler than he is.
Bett’ring thy loss makes the bad causer worse.
Revolving this will teach the how to curse.

Margaret exits as Richard enters; Elizabeth and the Duchess his mother confront him, but his response is basically “I’m king, I can do what I want”. The Duchess curses him and Elizabeth seconds it. The Duchess leaves but Richard wants a word with Elizabeth — he wants to marry her daughter Elizabeth. Richard and Queen Elizabeth go back and forth in smart wordplay, echoing Richard’s first scene with Anne (1.2):

ELIZABETH: Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
RICHARD: Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.
ELIZABETH: Shall I forget myself to be myself?
RICHARD: Ay, if yourself’s remembrance wrong yourself.
ELIZABETH: Yet thou didst kill my children.
RICHARD: But in your daughter’s womb I bury them,
Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed
Selves of themselves to your recomfiture.

Isn’t that last comment just skeevy? “I killed your children, but I’ll make you more.” What’s worse is Elizabeth’s reaction:

ELIZABETH: Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
RICHARD: And be a happy mother to the deed.
ELIZABETH: I go. Write to me very shortly,
And you shall understand from me her mind.

Does Richard convince her? Does she give up and let him think he’s won, just to get out of the argument? Like Anne, the actor playing Elizabeth could take this in several different directions.

2:31 a.m.: and we are now in Act V

Things are getting a little rough for Richard. Richmond is bringing an army against him, intending to claim the crown for himself; Buckingham had made an attempt, but ended up wandering off and taken, I think by Richmond’s troops.

4.5 is a short scene in which we learn from Stanley that Richmond has some allies, and Queen Elizabeth “hath heartily consented / He [Richmond] should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.”

3:03 a.m.: curses

I’ve been working on a theme of Margaret’s effective cursing. In 5.1, the captured Buckingham is being led to execution on All Souls’ day. The scene allows him to make a final speech:

Thus Margaret’s curse falls heavy on my neck.
‘When he,’ quoth she, ’shall split thy heart with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.’
Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame.
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

What’s remarkable about this is not his speech, but the fact that Buckingham — and so far everyone else who Margaret cursed, except for Richard — has recognized that her curse was not only effective, but also directly responsible for their present woes, up to and including death.

Margaret did not curse in the name of God, or Hecate (as the witches in Macbeth), or any other deity; her power in cursing comes from her own self and the agonies she has experienced. There’s Christian imagery in the play, mention of angels and devils and hell, and repeated mention of God — “God save,” “God grant,” “God revenge,” “God is displeased,” “God’s sake,” “God prevent,” “God grant,” “if God will it so,” “God keep.” Of many, many mentions (I didn’t count), only two occurrences did not directly mean the deity: “godfathers” at 1.1.48, spoken by Richard, and at 5.2.24, “True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings: / Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings,” spoken by Richmond.

A roundabout way of saying that it’s interesting how Margaret mentions God, but does not invoke him in the sense of lending power to her curse. This is all her.

3:29 a.m.: Bosworth field

[I am off, a little bit, in my scene-counting. I counted from this text, which lists five scenes in Act V. The Norton Shakespeare, from which I'm actually reading and working, breaks Act V into eight scenes, but 5.1 through 5.4 are short and set up for the battle.]

This scene, 5.5, is the ghost scene. The night before the battle, Richmond and Richard are on stage with their tents. Richard sleeps; Richmond, like a hero, commends his soul to God and then sleeps. The ghosts appear in sequence: Young Edward; Henry VI; Edward IV; Lords Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan; the young princes killed in the Tower; Hastings; Lady Anne; Buckingham. For Richard they each have the same message: “Despair and die.” To Richmond: “Live and flourish!”

Richard’s conversation with himself, on waking (5.5.136), is one of the more existential speeches in Shakespeare:

What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by.
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am.
Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason. Why?
Lest I revenge. Myself upon myself?
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O no, alas, I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not,
Fool, of thyself speak well. — Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.

It goes on. And to tell you the truth, I had something meaningful to say about this, but it’s 3:30 a.m. and I totally spaced on whatever it was I was going to say.

3:58 a.m.: nearly the end

Scenes 6 and 7 of Act V are battle-y stuff; 5.6 has the standard rallying speech by Richard to his troops. 5.7 has the descriptive stage directions “Alarum. Excursions“, meaning this would be a thrilling scene to watch on stage but not so interesting in the text, because it’s up to the director to stage the battles. Shakespeare isn’t going to dictate whether Richard enters left or how many people charge this way and that. (Practically, Shakespeare didn’t need to note down that kind of thing. Remember that the texts we have now are scripts, with sufficient notes to stage the play, but not meant to record exactly how it was to be done.)

So 5.7 is a short scene to give a sense of the way the battle is going. It ends with Richard’s oft-quoted line, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

4:28 a.m.: the end of the play

Battle continues. Richard and Richmond enter, fight, and Richard is slain in the stage directions. Richmond opens 5.8 by exclaiming, “God an your arms be praised, victorious friends! / The day is ours. The bloody dog is dead.” From that point on, the scene is a big YAAAAAAAAAAAAY! *much rejoicing*

Stanley brings out the crown, sets it on Richmond’s head, thus crowning him Henry VII. The new king directs the body cleanup and suggests, hey, why don’t I marry Elizabeth?

O now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house,
By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together,
And let their heirs — God, if his will be so –
Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days.

Peace in the land, everybody’s happy, applause etc.

THE END.

In Blogathon news, I’m a hot site on the ring!

I don’t know what that means — I think it means that I’m still blogging, and I’m writing coherent sentences — but hey, I’ll take it!

4:59 a.m.: movie time!

This, so far, is the only part of the Blogathon that’s gone as planned: I’ve finished the text of the play and am watching a 1995 film version, starring Ian McKellen and set in a mythically fascist London of the 1930s.

Notes so far:

• McKellen has nailed the character, at least to my mind. His deformity is a facial droop, a slight hump on his back, a bit of a limp and a seemingly useless left arm. He’s already slinking and scheming before he’s spoken a line.
• Queen Margaret’s character has been folded into the Duchess of York, played by Maggie Smith, who has more recently played Professor McGonagall in the Harry Potter movies. This should be interesting.
• I’m fascinated by the way they’ve done the intro speech: the first few lines are a sort of victory speech done publically, then cut to Richard muttering complaints to himself in the bathroom. He interacts with the camera, pulling the point of view around. It’s a very good adaptation of that facet of Richard’s character.

5:31 a.m.: movie update

Not much else to note at this point. Plenty of lines and some scenes have been cut or moved, of course. For example, Tyrrell is introduced at the beginning and plays the First Murderer, who kills Clarence. Overall the movie matches nicely.

Like the play, it’s dragging a bit while everyone is introduced and background is laid for the larger story to grow on.

Anne, here, is with Richard soon after that first scene, though not seemingly very happily. This helps explain why, later, she complains of never having spent a happy hour in Richard’s bed.

6:00 a.m.: dispensing with act and scene

At the point in the action where Clarence is dead, the boys have been sent to the tower — it’s clear to me now, it’s the young Prince Edward and his younger brother — and the various nobles are setting Edward’s coronation.

Tyrrell, by the way, is a sick puppy. In this adaptation he’s basically Richard’s hit man.

Seeing it acted, I’m having a much easier time keeping track of who’s who and what side each person’s on. Names of various lords can get confusing, especially when some have other titles or different names, but when I can match a name to a face it’s clearer.

I’m also having to watch for about 27 minutes, pause, and write a quick post. Things are happening too fast to describe as I go, because by the time I’ve written something, more has happened that I want to include. This is the difference between reading and watching.

6:31 a.m.: visual medium

Movie continues. Nothing else new, specifically, to note.

I reiterate that seeing the plays, in general, is always a good idea. I approached Shakespeare’s text so long as written words, as literature, that any confusion I experienced was due to insufficient understanding, and it was some failure on my part if I got my Edwards confused or didn’t see if it mattered what lord was on whose side because aren’t they all interchangeable anyway? (In some part they are, but I digress.)

But any confusion is not entirely on my part; to some extent it is inherent in the medium. Any play, any written script is going to be confusing in parts until you get actors on stage to say their lines and go through the motions necessitated by the action. It isn’t literature, it just doesn’t have the verbal cues and hints that remind a reader who someone is and what part they play. Because it isn’t meant to be read. It’s meant to be seen.

7:03 a.m.: movie end

I’m disappointed; the whole cursing aspect has been almost entirely removed. Just a last bit from the Duchess of York saying she’ll be rooting for Richmond’s forces.

Queen Elizabeth consents for Richmond to marry her daughter Elizabeth, and they’re married in secret just before the ghostie scene and battle.

Richard’s dreams are mostly voices — and in fact recycled lines — not condeming apparitions; I’m not sure whether making them ghosts worked with a limitation of the Elizabethan stage or whether director Richard Loncraine chose against it for another reason.

The “A horse!” line? Richard is in a jeep and gets a wheel stuck, can’t get it out, and yells the line. Nice. He dies when Richmond chases him up a staircase into a skeletal building. Richmond has a gun, Richard doesn’t, and seeing that he’s trapped, he falls backwards off the building into a hellish fire while Richmond pops off a couple of ineffective shots in Richard’s direction.

Four posts to go! Now I have to decide what I’m going to write about, thematically. I’m surprised I’ve sustained it thus far.

7:31 a.m.: oh hey, hi

I seem to have ended about two hours early. I haven’t been thinking about themes, I’ve been thinking about a cold shower, and whether I’m going to take it before or after the Blogathon ends at 9:00. My laptop and I have been on this couch for 24 hours straight.

I’m also trying to decide whether to try to stay up the rest of today, or fling myself into bed and hope for the best.

8:02 a.m.: Shakespeare blogosphere

Thought I’d give a shout to the other Shakespeare bloggers out there.

News on the Rialto — Shakespeare-related news and tidbits; tends to mention actors and performances worldwide. Blogging since February 2004 and probably the oldest Shakespeare blog on the ‘net.

Shakespeare Geek — At June 2005, second oldest Shakespeare blog out there. General tidbits and info, performances, commentary.

I Love Shakespeare — As the tagline says, news and rambling on Shakespeare’s sonnets. Heavy on explication and historical info I’d love to be this in-depth and this prolific.

Shakespeare Sonnets Read by Some Guy from New York — That’s what it is. Podcast of the sonnets, read by some guy from New York. Listen on the site or subscribe through your favorite player.

8:30 a.m.: on Julius Casear

I suppose I should return, briefly, to Julius Caesar. I read it before the Blogathon started but I didn’t post anything about it.

In Shakespeare: Invention of the Human, Harold Bloom points out that the play is really about Brutus. Caesar dies in Act III, in what Bloom says is the exact center of the play, and that Shakespeare may have played Caesar because he was an expert in ghosts and old kings. For being the title role, Caesar doesn’t appear on stage very much. Aside from existing to be murdered and stubbornly going to the Senate against Calpurnia’s dream, he doesn’t really do much, either. The real actors are Cassius and Brutus, and later Octavius and Mark Antony.

Bloom also mentions having read Julius Caesar in school, as an introduction to Shakespeare, and thus it has a special mystique for him. The play was also taught widely when Bloom’s generation was young, because it was “straightforward” and the themes seemed strong and clear. (My first Shakespeare play was Romeo and Juliet, in Mr. Pasionek’s English 9 class, and that 1968 Zeffirelli movie has a similarly special place in my heart.)

Perhaps I was sleep-deprived when I read Caesar, too, or perhaps I need to check the SparkNotes, but I didn’t get nearly as much out of it as Bloom seemed to have gotten. Truth be told, after Caesar died it was two acts’ worth of politicking and battle, and I was bored with that.

I’m not sure what that says about my tastes, but there it is.

9:01 a.m.: the ending of our story, the ending

Way to go, bloggers and readers, everyone who made it! I had fun doing this. Thanks to my husband Matt, who stayed up late with me and made a vital run to 7-Eleven, and thanks again to Bec and Ken for their generous donations to the Baltimore Shakespeare Festival.

My plans for the rest of today include taking a long walk outside and staying the hell away from the computer. I’m not sure where sleep fits in, but rest assured, it does.

Tune in later, when I tackle Titus Andronicus after all.