Richard III is being buried today in Leicester Cathedral after his remains were discovered in the rather unlikely surroundings of a car park in the county in August 2012. Controversial to the end, the reinternment of his remains has been delayed by legal wrangling between Leicester and York as to who should have the bones. Richard III is one of history’s villains, often believed to have killed the sons of Edward IV to secure his own claim on the throne of England (significant crowds attended his funeral procession on Sunday, so maybe he’s been given the benefit of the doubt). This image is due in no small part to the enduring influence of Shakespeare’s portrayal in The Life and Death of Richard III (1591ish), helped along by Laurence Olivier’s 1955 film.
In the interests of balance I thought I would look at this play alongside a novel that seeks to rescue Richard’s reputation.
Richard is an unusual villain in Shakespeare, in that he is the only eponymous character to start his own play (I think…feel free to correct me in the comments!) as he comes on stage to proclaim:
“Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York”
He is also unusual in that he starts with a trochee – bear with me, I’m not going to get too technical & give you flashbacks to the horrors of Shakespeare at school. But I think this is worth pointing out; most characters speak in iambic pentameter (dee-DUM, dee-DUM etc). Richard comes out and seizes the stage with “NOW is…” (DUM-dee): he is in charge from the off.
What follows is the story of a consummate politician doing whatever he deems necessary to seize the crown. Although he tries to persuade us that his disability (a curved spine, possibly a slightly weaker arm one side) means that through medieval ableism he is marked for villainy (the title quote I’ve used is a pun – he is determined in will and determined by fate) really no-one is less disabled that Richard, as the powerful opening shows us. He manages to bend everyone to his will; he seduces Lady Anne within one scene, despite the fact that he killed her husband:
“Was ever woman in this humour woo’d?
Was ever woman in this humour won?
I’ll have her; but I will not keep her long.”
This is the bleak humour of Richard III – he plots to kill his fiancée even as he seduces her. Often the play is described as a tragedy, but it’s really one of Shakespeare’s history plays and the tone is ambiguous: the last production I saw, with Mark Rylance in the lead, played it as a comedy as far as possible.
Richard’s machinations eventually catch up with him and he is defeated by Richmond (Henry VII) at the Battle of Bosworth, desperately crying out “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” A villain indeed, but the audience, like Lady Anne, is seduced by him against our will and the stage is a poorer space when he’s not in it.
Secondly, Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey (1951). It was Emmie’s review of another Josephine Tey novel that introduced to me to this author, and although I don’t normally read series’ out of order, I made an exception for Daughter of Time, as the Crime Writers’ Association voted it the greatest mystery novel of all time.
Inspector Alan Grant has broken his leg and is bored to abstraction away from his job at Scotland Yard. His glamorous friend Marta suggests he try and solve a historical mystery to keep from going stir crazy. Captivated by a portrait of Richard III, he decides to investigate the mystery of the Princes in the Tower.
(Image from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_III_of_England)
Grant’s team is not comprised of his usual fellow policeman, and they all have varying theories:
“Nurse Ingham thinks he’s a dreary. Nurse Darroll thinks he’s a horror. My surgeon thinks he’s a polio victim. Sergeant Williams thinks he’s a born judge. Matron thinks he’s a soul in torment.”
As he becomes more involved in the mystery, Grant repeatedly finds himself in opposition to the legend of Richard III:
“’Always a snake in the grass, if you ask me. Smooth, that’s what he was: smooth. Biding his time.’
Biding his time for what? He wondered… He could not have known his brother Edward would die unexpectedly at the age of forty […]It was surely unlikely that a man busy with the administration of the North of England, or campaigning (with dazzling success) against the Scots, would have much interest in being ‘smooth’. What then had changed him so fundamentally in so short a time?”
Grant needs an ally, and it arrives in the form of American academic Brent Carradine:
“He was a tall boy, hatless, with soft fair curls crowning a high forehead and a much too big tweed coat hanging round him in negligent folds…He brought over the chair, planted himself on it with the coat spread around him like some royal robe and looked at Grant with kind brown eyes whose luminous charm not even the horn-rims could dim”
Between the two of them, they start to piece together what they think happened as various powerful medieval families jostled for the crown. The more research they do, the less likely Richard-as-murderer seems to be:
“One could go through the catalogue of his acknowledged virtues, and find each of them, individually, made his part in the murder unlikely in the extreme. Taken together they amounted to a wall of impossibility that towered into fantasy.”
Tey does an excellent job of balancing academic arguments and historical fact with keeping the plot moving (the novel is only 222 pages). Grant concludes his investigation on the day of his discharge home from hospital, convinced he has his man. Let’s just say Shakespeare could never have dramatised the conclusion he comes to.
To end, I can’t help thinking that if Richard III had a chance to set the record straight, he’d choose to do so through the medium of song: