Richard III

So what did the citizens say?

It’s incredible—they didn’t say a word.

Did you mention that Edward’s children are bastards?

I did. I talked about how he was engaged to Lady Lucy, and how he was engaged to Lady Bona through the help of the earl of Warwick. I spoke of the unquenchable greediness of Edward’s desires and the way he forced himself on the wives of Londoners. I mentioned the way he punished people harshly for minor offenses. I said he was not the son of the noble duke of York, because your father was in France when he was conceived, which explains why he doesn’t have anything in common with his father. And then I suggested that you were the spitting image of your father, both in the way you look and in the nobleness of your character. I went into all your victories in Scotland, your skill as a warrior, your wisdom in peacetime, your generosity, your goodness, and your exceptional modesty. Indeed, I left nothing out. And when my oration came to a close, I asked those who loved their country to cry, “God save Richard, England’s royal king!”

And did they?

No, God help me, they didn’t say a word. Like silent statues or stones that breathed, they just gazed at each other and turned as pale as the dead. When I saw this, I scolded them and asked the mayor what this stubborn silence meant. He said that the people weren’t used to being spoken to except by the Recorder. So I urged the Recorder to repeat my tale—you know, “The duke of Buckingham said this, Buckingham meant that,” but nothing on his own authority. When he was done, a few followers of my own at the far end of the hall hurled their caps in the air. Some ten voices cried, “God save King Richard!” I jumped on this slender opportunity and said, “Thank you, noble citizens and friends. This widespread applause and enthusiastic shouts make clear you stand behind Richard.” And then I broke off and quickly came away.

What blocks of wood! They wouldn’t say anything? Aren’t the mayor and his fellow citizens coming?

The mayor is here at hand. Pretend you’re afraid, my lord, and don’t speak until you’re pleaded with. And make sure to carry a prayer book in your hand and to stand between two priests, okay? Then I’ll have the grounds to build a holy sermon about why you should be king. But don’t be easily won over. Act like a virgin, always answering “No,” but taking it in the end.

I’m going now. If you’re as good at pleading to them as I am at saying no to you, this will definitely come to a happy end.

Hurry, go up to the roof. The Lord Mayor is knocking.

Welcome, my lord. I’m twiddling my thumbs waiting for the duke to show up. I don’t think he wants to be disturbed.

Here comes his servant. Now, Catesby, what does your lord say to my request?

My lord, he asks that you please visit him tomorrow or the next day. He’s inside in prayer, with two reverend fathers. He doesn’t want to be disturbed in his holy work by any worldly requests.

Return to the gracious duke, good Catesby. Tell him that the mayor, some citizens, and I have come to confer with his grace in matters of great importance concerning the general good.

I’ll tell him right away, my lord.

Ah, my lord, this prince is nothing like Edward! He is not lolling in bed but on his knees in prayer. He’s not enjoying himself with a couple of prostitutes but studying with two learned priests. He’s not sleeping to fatten up his lazy body, but praying, to nourish his attentive soul. England would be lucky to have this virtuous prince as king. But I’m afraid we’ll never get him to agree to be king.

But God forbid he says no to us!

I’m afraid he will. Here comes Catesby again.

What’s up, Catesby, what does your master say?

My lord, he wonders why you have assembled such troops of citizens to speak with him, since he had no idea they were coming. My lord, he’s afraid you mean him harm.

I’m sorry my noble brother is suspicious of me. By God, I’m here because I love him. Return and tell him so.

When devoutly religious men are praying, it’s hard to draw them out of it, because they get lost in the wonder of their contemplation.

See how he stands between two clergymen!

Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, to prevent him from ever becoming vain. And, see, he has a prayer book in each hand, the signs of a holy man. Most gracious prince of the famous house of Plantagenet, pardon us for interrupting your righteous, Christian prayer. Please listen favorably to our request.

My lord, you don’t need to apologize. I beg you to pardon me. I’ve been so intent on serving God that I’ve kept my friends waiting. In any case, what would you like?

Only what, I hope, will please God above and all good men on this island, which currently has no king.

I suspect that I have committed some offence to the city and you have come to reprimand me for not knowing better.

You have, my lord. I hope you’ll make up for it!

Why else would I live in a Christian country, if I can’t ask forgiveness for my faults?

Then you should know that we take fault with your resigning the supreme seat, the majestic throne, the sceptered office, of your ancestors—the power and greatness that destiny and your noble birth have handed you—to the wrong person. You aren’t respecting the lineage of your royal family. You’re lost in sleepy thoughts, and we have come to wake you to our country’s needs. This noble island has been compromised. She is scarred by the infamous deeds of King Edward IV. Her royal stock has been corrupted and nearly lost. We want that royalty remembered again. We heartily beg you, in all your goodness, to take upon yourself the responsibility and rule of this land, not merely as a servant, substitute, or other lowly agent of the king, but as the king himself. It is your birthright to be king. It’s for this reason that we are here—the citizens of England and your devoted friends. We strongly urge you on.

I can’t tell which is the better course of action, to leave in silence or to scold you. If I don’t answer, perhaps you’ll think I’m accepting the heavy responsibility you foolishly want to impose on me. But if I do speak and refuse your request, then I’m guilty of reprimanding my friends, who have been faithful and loving toward me. So, I’ll speak to make clear I don’t want the crown but also that I am grateful to you. Here is my definitive answer: thank you for your love, but I’m going to have to turn down your weighty request because I don’t deserve to be king. First of all, even if all the obstacles were eliminated and my path led straight to the crown—if it were truly my birthright—I would rather hide from my greatness than hide inside the greatness of the position itself and be smothered by it. My spirit is poor, and I have so many terrible defects that as king I would be like a little boat tossed about on a mighty sea. So, thank God, there is no real need for me, as I wouldn’t be able to help you much. The royal tree has left us other fruit, which, with time, will do just fine on the throne and make us all happy as king, I’m sure. Someone other than I has the right and the good fortune to be made king. God forbid that I snatch the crown from him.

My lord, what you’ve said makes clear you have a conscience, but your objections are trivial, given the circumstances. You say that Prince Edward is your brother’s son. We agree, but not by your brother’s wife. King Edward was going to marry Lady Lucy—your mother can vouch for that—and then he was betrothed to Bona, the King of France’s sister-in-law. But both of these were put off by Elizabeth Grey, a careworn mother of many children who had once been a beauty but was now a stressed-out widow long past her prime. Nevertheless, under pretence of asking a favor of him, she attracted his lustful eye and seduced him so thoroughly that he completely debased himself, committing adultery with her. It resulted in this Edward, whom we’re polite enough to call “Prince.” Out of respect for the living, I’ll restrain myself from telling you everything. But, my good lord, if you don’t care about this country, at least use your own pure lineage to rescue us from the current corruption of the royal line.

Yes, my good lord, your citizens beg you.

Don’t refuse the love we offer you.

Oh, make them joyful! Grant their law-abiding request!

Alas, why would you heap all these responsibilities on me? I am unfit to rule and to be king. Please, don’t take it badly, but I cannot and will not give in to you.

Perhaps you refuse our request out of love for your brother’s son. You don’t want to depose the child. We know how tender your heart is and what gentle, kind, womanly feelings you have for your relatives, as well as for people from all walks of life. But listen, if you won’t become king, we’ll just get someone else, to the disgrace and ruin of your family. We will not have your brother’s son as king. On this note, we’re leaving. Come, citizens. Damn it, I’m not going to beg anymore!

Oh, please don’t swear, my lord of Buckingham.

Call them back, my lord, and accept their request. If you refuse it, the whole country will regret it.

Would you tie me to a whole world of worries? Well, call them back again. I am not made of stone; I am affected by all these kind pleas, though it goes against my conscience and my soul.

Buckingham, my brother, and you wise, serious men, since you intend to force me to take responsibility for these changing times, whether I want to or not, I’m going to have to be brave and endure the load. But if this imposition you’ve put on me happens to result in dark scandal or ugly reproach, the fact that you forced me to accept this should clear me from blame. God knows, and you may have noticed, I’m not to eager to take on this job.

God bless your Grace! We understand you’re just doing it for us, and we’ll be sure to say so.

If you say that, you’ll only be telling the truth.

Then I salute you with this royal title: long live Richard, England’s worthy king!

Amen.

Will you be crowned tomorrow?

Whenever you want, since you’re the one who wants it.

Tomorrow, then, we will wait on your Grace. Now we’ll take our leave—joyfully.

(to the bishops) Come, let us get back to praying.—Farewell, my cousin; farewell, noble friends.