Margaret of Anjou, Queen of England Mrs. Glover.
[Commons], [Soldier], [Sonne], [Others], [One], [Voices], [Trumpet], [Messenger]
Title page
Rodwell, Printer, Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.
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PREFACE.
To all who are in the least familiar with the
Historical Drama of Shakspeare, the difficulty
of the present attempt must be obvious. The
valuable materials which lie dispersed through
the three parts of Henry the Sixth are at the
same time so heterogeneous and unwieldy as
to be scarcely capable of being moulded into
a theatrical form. And, though the rules
of the Historic Drama are extremely loose
and indulgent, and the critical unities of time
and place, little operative in the most regular
productions of our Theatre, are wholly excluded
from any share of influence in this its
most peculiar province, it seems at least requisite
that one principal object of action and
interest should be distinctly traced from the
commencement to the termination of the Poem.
This principal object is more or less prominently
conspicuous in all the historical plays
of Shakspeare which have obtained and held
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possession of the stage. In King John, it is
the usurpation of the crown, connected with
the imprisonment and death of Arthur, and
followed by its just result in the distraction of
the realm, and the degradation of the dastardly
usurper. The life, deposition, and murder,
of Richard the Second, are all connected by a
natural and easy chain of events, affording
one great and salutary lesson of morality. The
conquest of France by Henry the Fifth, the
consummation of ambition and its downfall,
in the person of Richard the Third, are objects
equally great in themselves, and susceptible of
high dramatic effect from their simplicity and
and the powerful interest which they excite,
and which never flags so long as they are kept
in view. The same may be said of the divorce
of Queen Katherine, the leading feature in
the play of Henry the Eighth, an incident,
than which it is scarcely possible to conceive
any more important in its associations and
consequences, or more calculated to call forth
the deepest impressions of pathos and dignity.
In most of them, also, some principal and
striking personage commands the admiration,
and awakens the sympathy, even while it may
forfeit the esteem, of the hearer. If, in the
two immortal plays, entitled, the first and
second parts of Henry the Fourth, the course
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of events is without that unity of interest
which is observable in the others, its absence
is much more than compensated by the powerful
varieties of character, and the rich veins
of inimitable humour and transcendent poetry,
which run through them; and the character of
Prince Henry forms throughout a rallying
point, the most conspicuous and attractive,
The three parts of Henry the Sixth are all
equally deficient in both these particulars. The
characters with which they are filled, are
sketched by the master's hand, but they are,
for the most part, only sketches of character.
Fine poetical passages, which unequivocally
proclaim their origin, are scattered over the
extensive surface; but still they are only passages,
and they are but thinly scattered. The
beauties of these plays, especially of the two
last parts (the genuineness of the first, is still,
perhaps, a subject of controversy) are, however,
Shakspeare's beauties, and necessarily
excite the strongest desire, that, if capable
by any process of being preserved to the use
for which they were first intended, they should
not be lost to that use, nor be converted, from
objects of general and public enjoyment, to
those of casual, unfrequent, and private admiration;
and this debt appeared to be still
due from our national stage, which has in
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almost every respect but this, rendered so just
a homage to the first of poets, and which has
so lately reaped the reward of its services in
the full success attending its revivals of others
of his plays, long senselessly abandoned and
considered as useless to the purposes of
theatrical representation.
Such are the motives which have suggested
the present experiment,—an experiment which
confidently anticipates the indulgence of a public
equally alive to poetical feelings and patriotic
impressions. In executing this undertaking, the
first point to be aimed at was that of supplying
the deficiency of a leading object, which it
was immediately obvious must be sought for
in the second part, so decidedly superior to
the two others, especially, regard being had
to the spoliations most unwarrantably committed
by Cibber* note for the purpose of adding to
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another play, in itself a perfect whole, and at
expense of some of the finest scenes, and of
one of the most nobly imagined and highly
and highly finished characters, of the author,
which were wantonly sacrificed to make room
for the admission of this gratuitous plunder.
The fine contrast, which a late admirable
writer has pointed out, between the characters
of Henry the Sixth, and Richard the Second,
may suffice to explain why the former is as
little calculated, as the latter appears to be
expressly fitted, for such an object as that
now sought for. “Both,” observes Mr.
Hazlitt, “were kings, and both unfortunate.
Both lost their crowns owing to their
mismanagement and imbecility; the one
from a thoughtless, wilful abuse of power, the
other from an indifference to it. The manner
in which they bear their misfortunes, corresponds
exactly to the causes which led to them.
The one is always lamenting the loss of his
power which he has not the spirit to regain
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the other seems only to regret that he had ever
been king, and is glad to be rid of the power
with the trouble—the effeminacy of the one
is that of a voluptuary, proud, revengeful,
impatient of contradiction, and inconsolable in
his misfortunes; the effeminacy of the other
is that of an indolent, good-natured mind, naturally
averse to the turmoils of ambition and
the cares of greatness, and who wishes to pass
his time in monkish indolence and contemplation.
Richard bewails the loss of the kingly
power only as it was the means of gratifying
his pride and luxury; Henry regards it only
as a means of doing right, and is less desirous
of the advantages to be derived from possessing
it, than afraid of exercising it wrong. In
knighting a young soldier, he gives him ghostly
advice:—
Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight,
And learn this lesson—draw thy sword in right.”
It then required no long deliberation to fix
the choice on that source of action which runs
through the whole of the second part of Henry
the Sixth, (interrupted as it is, and confounded
with lesser rivulets in its progress,) originating
in the claims of the Duke of York to the
crown of England, carried on to his assumption
of royal dignity, and short-lived conquest of
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the throne, and terminating (abruptly indeed,
but not violently or improbably,) in his downfall
and destruction. The subject is in itself
of grandeur and importance sufficient for the
historic drama. Though not the actual possessor
of the throne of England, Richard Plantagenet,
Duke of York, had an undoubted and indefeazible
right to the splendid inheritance; and,
at least upon the stage, the distinction between
the sovereign de facto and de jure, a distinction,
on account of which the noblest and richest
blood of the nation was poured forth in torrents
during the whole latter half of the fifteenth
century, may be admitted without any prejudice
to the dignity of the latter. The nature
of his claims is presented by Shakspeare himself,
in that singularly affecting scene which
displays his last interview with the dying Mortimer,
with an accuracy and minuteness of
genealogical detail, which it would be scarcely
thought advisable to retain in the representation.
It is Mortimer who speaks thus to his nephew.
“Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,
Deposed his cousin Richard, Edward's son,
The first begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward, the third king of that descent;
During whose reign the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavoured my advancement to the throne.
-- viii --
The reason moved these warlike lords to this,
Was, for that young king Richard thus removed,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body,
I was the next by birth and parentage:
For by my mother I derlved am
From Lyonel Duke of Clarence, the third son
To the third Edward; whereas Bolinbroke
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but the fourth of that heroick line.
But mark—as in this haughty great attempt
They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the Fifth
After his father Bolinbroke did reign,
Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, (then derived
From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
Again, in pity of my hard distress,
Levied an army, willing to redeem
And re-instal me in the diadem:
But, as the rest, so fell that noble Earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were supprest.”
The character of the principal personage,
if not sufficiently strong and decided for the
bold canvas of the theatre, and so far resembling
that of his crook-backed progeny as
to suffer in the comparison, while its points of
dissimilarity were such as to weaken its dramatic
interest, is, however, possessed of a certain
identity, and deficient neither in energy, courage,
nor talent. “All the males of the house
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of Mortimer,” says Hume, “were extinct;
but Anne, the sister of the last earl of Marche,
having espoused the earl of Cambridge, beheaded
in the reign of Henry V., had transmitted
her latent, but not forgotten, claim to
her son, Richard, Duke of York. This prince
thus descended by hIs mother from Philippa,
only daughter of the Duke of Clarence, second
son of Edward III., stood plainly in the
order of succession before the Duke of Lancaster,
third son of that monarch; and that
claim could not, in many respects, have fallen
into more dangerous hands than those of the
Duke of York. Richard was a man of colour
and abilities, of a prudent conduct and mild
dispositions; he had enjoyed an opportunity of
displaying these virtues in his government of
France; and, though recalled from that command
by the intrigues and superior interest of
the Duke of Somerset, he had been sent to
suppress a rebellion in Ireland; had succeeded
much better in that enterprise than his rival in
the defence of Normandy; and had even been
able to attach to his person and family the
whole Irish nation whom he was sent to subdue.
In the right of his father, he bore the
rank of first prince of the blood, and by his
station he gave a lustre to his title derived from
the family of Mortimer, which, though of
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great nobility, was equalled by other families
in the kingdom, and had been eclipsed by the
royal descent of the house of Lancaster. He
possessed an immense fortune from the union of
so many successions, those of Cambridge and
York on the one hand, with those of Mortimer
on the other; which last inheritance had before
been augmented by an union of the estates of
Clarence and Ulster with the patrimonial possessions
of the family of Marche. The alliances
too of Richard, by his marrying the daughter
of Ralph Nevil, Earl of Westmoreland”—
the father and grandfather of the Earls of
Salisbury and of Warwick—“had widely extended
his interest among the nobility, and
had procured him many connexions in that
formidable order.” And, in another place,
after noticing the insurrection of Cade, who
“took the name of John Mortimer, intending
(as is supposed) to pass himself for a son of
that Sir John Mortimer who had been sentenced
to death by parliament, and executed, in the
beginning of this reign, without any trial or
evidence, merely upon an indictment of high
treason given in against him,” the historian
adds, “It was imagined by the court, that the
Duke of York had secretly instigated Cade
to this attempt, in order to try, by that experiment,
the dispositions of the people towards
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his title and family; and, as the event had so
far succeeded to his wish, the ruling party had
greater reason than ever to apprehend the
future consequences of his pretensions. At
the same time they heard that he intended to
return from Ireland; and, fearing that he
meant to bring an armed force along with him,
they issued orders, in the king's name, for
opposing him, and for debarring him entrance
into England. But the Duke refuted his enemies
by coming attended with no more than
his ordinary retinue: the precautions of the
ministers served only to shew him their jealousy
and malignity against him: he was sensible that
his title, by being dangerous to the king, was
also become dangerous to himself: he now
saw the impossibility of remaining in his present
situation, and the necessity of proceeding
forward in support of his claim.” These passages
are sufficient to point out a strong and
important feature of distinction between Richard,
Duke of York, and King Richard the Third,
considered in the light of dramatic characters.
The ambition of the son creates the food it
lives on—that the father is the inevitable, and
almost imperceptible, result of the circumstances
in which he is placed. Those circumstances,
however, are such as to give birth to
all the varieties of passion and sentiment; and
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the compiler of these scenes could reckon on
that great actor who had already, as it were,
incorporated himself with the one, as the no
less faithful and able representative of the
other.
The next point was to strengthen the leading
object which had thus been selected by investing
the principal personage of the drama
with all those graces of declamation and poetry
which could be collected from other parts of
the three plays without injury to historical
truth or dramatic consistency. This was a
hazardous experiment, for which success alone
can constitute an adequate apology. Another
resource remained, hardly less violent, which
was that of interweaving with those flowers
of poetry, which are too sparingly scattered
through the play by its original author, a few
additional beauties, selected from works of
contemporary writers long abandoned and lost
to all theatrical purposes, They are not numerous,
and their excellence will, it is hoped,
supersede the necessity of a further excuse.
But it may be contended that, if interpolation
is admissible in any of the works of Shakspeare,
it is better, as in this instance, to borrow from
Shakspeare himself. The well-known beauties
of his dramas are already appropriated to other
possessors. The great majority of his works
-- xiii --
still retain their station on the stage, and he
who should consider any as absolutely proscribed,
would find his desponding opinion scarcely
to be supported or justified, when set in opposition
to the late successes of Richard the
Second, and Timon of Athens. The present
compiler has already, indeed, shewn that
he has some right to complain of the liberties
previously taken with that public property which
he has endeavoured to restore to the public use;
and still, so long as Cibber's tragedy keeps
possession of our stage, that stage must
continue to be deprived of more than one of
the finest dramatic characters of the author—
among others, the striking and novel exhibition
of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, in the infancy,
boyhood, and youth of his ambitious thoughts.
But he claims at least to be free from the
weakness and presumption of inserting any
passages of his own composition, except such
very few lines, here and there, as seemed
indispensable to the connection of the piece.
In aiming to give a new but characteristic
form to a gothic fabric, he has abstained from
adding any thing of his own but the mere
cement. Where he could not preserve the
original ornaments, he has ventured only to
furnish a few others of the same date and
fashion—but still, humble as his contribution
-- xiv --
has been, he cannot deny that the success of
the attempt has yielded him the most sensible
pleasure—a pleasure which is not abated by the
reflection that that success is far less the result
of any skill of his own than to the active and
powerful exertions of dramatic talent by which
it has been supported.
To Mr, Kean, the whole of the ardent and
important duties attending the preparation and
arrangement of the play for performance were
entrusted by the committee of management at
the express desire of the compiler; and the
public who applauded its representation, will
render justice to the liberality with which the
means were furnished, and the judgment
and talent with which they were employed.
The earnest zeal, the accurate discrimination,
and transcendent powers, which marked the
performance of the principal character will be
most fully appreciated when they are most critically
understood; but their best tribute will,
after all, be found in the admiration, applause,
and sympathy of the great mass of hearers.
The character is of his own original and absolute
creation. In the play of Shakspeare
it can hardly be said to have any distinct
and tangible existence. That which it now
possesses, this consummate actor alone has
given to it.
-- xv --
Of the representative of Queen Margaret
it is impossible to speak in terms too warmly
expressive of the admiration, mingled with
regret, which could not but be experienced
from considering the painful nature of the
task necessarily imposed on her, contrasted
with the strength of feeling and genius which
enabled her to surmount it. The obstacle to
the display of talent presented by the imbecillity
of the wretched Henry, is essentially
inherent in the character, and with difficulty,
if at all, to be surmounted; but it is on that
very account that the greater thanks are due
to the zealous exertions of the performer.
The glorious remonstrance, and affecting
resignation of Duke Humphry, the agonized
and appalling death bed of Beaufort, the
energetic and heart-felt curse of Suffolk, the
chivalrous valour, the fierce and desperate
vengeance of Clifford,—all points of the highest
interest, the greatest conceivable force and
beauty, in themselves,—were supported by
their respective representatives in a manner
which those who have frequently witnessed
their arduous exertions on former occasions,
may have been taught to expect from them,
but which the author of this compilation would
be deficient in gratitude if he did not acknowledge
as very far surpassing his most sanguine
-- xvi --
hopes. It was impossible to behold them, and
not to be in imagination transported to that
calamitous period of the English history, of
which “all that we can discover with certainty
through the deep cloud which covers it, is a
scene of horror and bloodshed, savage manners,
arbitrary executions, and treacherous, dishonourable
conduct in all parties.”
With respect to the comic parts of the play,
the general usage of Shakspeare, the nature
of the historic drama, and the peculiar truth
of character and felicity of humour which
distinguish the passages themselves, are more
than enough to justify their retention as component
parts of the piece; and it is hoped that
they are so arranged as to appear to spring
easily, and almost necessarily, out of the main
action, and to be at least not without their
effect in conducing to its completion. And,
in adverting to the manner in which they
have been performed, it would be most unjust
to conclude this hasty preface, without adding
to the names already memorized those of the
several gentlemen who sustained the principal
shares in this part of the drama, particularly
of Mr. Harley, who (in consequence of the
regretted indisposition of the performer originally
pointed out for it) undertook the part
of the Kentish rebel at so short a notice, and
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supported it with such distinguished ability.
That all have not been here particularized to
whom thanks and applause are due, will, it is
hoped, be ascribed solely to the difficulty—
not the smallest attending his labours—which
the compiler of the play must be supposed to
find, in selecting the objects, when his gratitude
has been so amply merited by all.
One word only in addition to what has been
said as to the principle of this compilation.
The object of concentrating into one play
the entire action, commencing with the pretensions
of Richard to the crown, and terminating
with his death, necessarily embraced
a more extended period of time than that occupied
by either of the parts of Henry the
Sixth, taken singly. The basis, however, of
the present Drama is the second part, nothing
having been added to it from any of the works
of Shakspeare, except the two or three introductory
and concluding scenes, which are
taken from the first and third parts, and nothing
struck out of it, except such passages as
appeared either less susceptible of dramatic
effect, or less immediately connected with
the principal object, than those which are
retained.—sacrifices, which it was quite impossible
to avoid, so as to bring the whole
wishin the limits prescribed by the custom of
-- xviii --
the stage in representation. The compiler is
not aware of any instance in which the language
of Shakspeare has been altered, except
where the reason for alteration is obvious and
decissive; and such instances will be found,
upon comparison, to be of very rare occurrence.
These observations are in some measure
called for by the mistakes which some critics
appear to have fallen into with respect
both to historical facts, and to Shakspeare.
With regard to the latter in particular, while
one complains that the character of Richard is
altogether unfit for the principal part, and recommends
the substitution of the feeble Henry,
as more prominent in itself, and better calculated
to call forth the actor's powers, another
asserts, (without any attempt at proving it)
that Mr. Kean has missed one of the most
brilliant opportunities ever offered to his exertions
in this very character. A third, forgetting
the continuance of action which runs
through all the three parts of Henry the Sixth
and ignorant that not a line is taken from any
other play of Shakspeare, asks (with peculiar
felicity of illustration) what we should think of
a selection from Raphael's pictures put into one
picture, or an opera made out of scenes of
different operas of Mozart, Paesiello, or Cimarosa?
-- xix --
—and politely adds, that a true painter
or musician would “laugh in your face” at
such a proposal. A fourth, (imagining that
the first of the three plays begins with the commencement
of the present Drama, and that
the last ends with the termination of it,) wonders
how any body could think of compressing
the substance of that for which Shakspeare
thought fifteen acts not too large an allowance
of space, into the narrow limits of five. A
fifth severely reprehends the compiler for
modernizing Shakspeare, (whom he has scarcely
ventured to touch,) and with the same
breath, (to shew his own competency to judge
of the liberties supposed to have been taken,)
quotes, as “his favourite passage” in the
original, the short scene between York and
Rutland, for which the compiler has to apologize,
as being the only considerable insertion
of his own composition—one which he judged
necessary for the sake of introducing the highly
characteristic and powerful scene of savage
barbarity which follows, and in which he
scrupulously himself to what that necessity
demanded.
He has now only to express hls deep regret
that, whatever might otherwise have been his
disposition to benefit by the profundity of these
several suggestions, their utter, and (with
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great deference he speaks it) somewhat ludicrous,
contrariety absolutely deprives him
of the opportunity of doing so; and he therefore
trusts that the gentlemen will do him
the justice of ascribing his neglect of
their kind admonitions, to the difficulty in
which they have placed him, and not to any
over-weening preference of his own conceptions.
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