Richard III

Tell me, good grandmother, is our father dead?

No, boy.

Then why do you weep so often, and beat your breast, and cry, “Oh Clarence, my unlucky son”?

Why do you look at us and shake your head, and call us orphans, wretches, castaways, if our noble father is still alive?

My pretty children, both of you misunderstand me. I’m lamenting the sickness of the king, because I’d hate to lose him—I’m not mourning your father’s death. What would be the point of crying over someone who was already dead?

So you’re admitting Clarence, my father, is dead. My uncle the king is to blame for this. God will take revenge. I will pray every day that he does.

And so will I.

Quiet, children, quiet. The king loves you very much. Innocent sweethearts, you have no idea who’s responsible for your father’s death.

Yes we do, grandmother, because my good uncle Richard told me. He said the king was forced by the queen to make up charges against my father that would send him to prison. When my uncle explained this to me, he wept and hugged and kissed me. He told me I could rely on him as if he were my father, and he said he would love me as if I were his child.

Ah, it’s a shame that a liar can seem so nice, hiding his wicked intentions under a mask of goodness. He is my son, yes, and I’m ashamed of him. But he didn’t get his deceitfulness from my breast.

You think my uncle was lying, grandmother?

Yes, boy.

I can’t believe that. Wait! What’s that noise?

No one can stop me now from wailing and weeping about my terrible luck. I don’t care if it kills me. I plan to fall into the blackest despair.

Why are you making such a scene?

I’m simply performing the violent tragedy that is my life: Edward—my husband, your son, our king—is dead. Why should we live now that our leader is dead? Why are the branches still living when the root is gone? Why aren’t the leaves withering now that the sap is all dried up? If you do intend to live, then mourn. If you’re going to die, be quick about it so you can catch the king’s departing soul or follow him, like obedient subjects, to his new kingdom of endless night.

As the king’s mother, I have a large share in your grief. I have wept at my own good husband’s death and only kept myself alive by looking at his sons, the mirror images of him. But now these two mirrors of their princely father have cracked to pieces: my sons are dead. And my only comfort is Richard, who is nothing like his father and only causes me shame. You may be a widow, but you’re also a mother. You have your children as comfort. But death has snatched my husband from my arms and plucked my two crutches, Edward and Clarence, from my feeble hands. Since your woes are only a portion of mine, I have every reason to surpass your lamentations and drown out your cries with my own.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Ah, Aunt, you didn’t weep at our father’s death. How can we help you by crying for your sorrow?

You didn’t sympathize with us when we became orphans; we won’t cry for you!

I don’t need your help in grieving. I have my own sources of misery. In fact, all the world’s springs and oceans flow from my weeping eyes. I could drown the world. My poor husband, my dear Edward!

Our poor father, Clarence!

My sons Edward and Clarence!

What support did I have other than Edward? And now he’s gone.

What support did we have besides our father? And now he’s gone.

What support did I have besides my two sons? And now they’re both gone.

There has never been a widow who suffered such loss as me.

There have never been orphans who’ve suffered what we have.

There was never a mother who suffered so much loss. Alas, I am the mother of all these others’ griefs. Each of them has a single loss, while I share them all. She weeps for Edward and so do I, while she does not weep for Clarence, though I do. These young children cry for Clarence and so do I, though they don’t cry for Edward, as I do. Alas, all of you can turn to me with your sorrow, because I feel all of it. I will comfort you by adding my own grief to your sorrow.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Calm down, dear mother. God is unhappy that you’ve responded so unthankfully to his doings. In everyday life, when a person is unwilling to pay back a loan that was generously offered, he’s considered ungrateful. How much worse it is when Heaven is the lender, as in your case?

Be a careful mother, madam, and think about your son, the young prince. Send for him right away and have him crowned. Your peace of mind depends on him. Bury your sorrows in dead Edward’s grave and plant your hopes in Prince Edward’s rise to the throne.

Sister, calm down. All of us have reason to mourn the dimming of our shining star the king. But no good comes from all this wailing. Oh, mother, forgive me. I didn’t see you there. On my knee, I humbly ask your blessing.

God bless you and make you obedient, loving, and kind.

(he stands) Amen. (to himself) And make me die a good old man! That should be the point of a mother’s blessing. I’m surprised my mother forgot to make it.

You mournful princes and grieving gentlemen who have been sharing this burden of grief, now it’s time to cheer each other up with love. Though we have lost a generous king, we are about to enjoy the benefits of a new king. We must preserve our goodwill toward each other and not break into factions again. I think a few members of the court should fetch the young prince from Wales and bring him to London to be crowned our king.

Why only a few courtiers, my lord of Buckingham?

Because if many of us go there, the hostility between us may break out again, which would be very dangerous with the young prince so newly crowned. When you have a situation where everyone seems free to take off on his or her own, it’s important that the heads of state keep a low profile. We wouldn’t want the prince or his new authority to be undermined by squabbling factions.

The king made peace among all of us. I, at least, intend to stick to our agreement to get along.

And so do I. I think we all do. But, since our agreement is a recent development, it shouldn’t be put to the test, which could happen if the coronation turned into a huge ceremony. So, I agree with noble Buckingham—only a few should go to meet the prince.

I think so too.

Then we’re agreed. Now we need to figure out which of us will go to meet him. Madam and mother, will you go to offer your support to this weighty business?

For God’s sake, my lord, let’s be sure to be part of the group that meets the prince. Along the way, I’ll find an opportunity to separate him from the queen’s proud relatives, as step one in the plan we’ve discussed.

You are my other self, my oracle, my prophet, my dear brother! I plan to act like a child and do exactly what you say. To Wales then, for we will not be left out.