How are the seeds of Richard’s downfall planted in Act I and II?
‘Richard II’ is the first of the Shakespearean Henriad plays, illustrating Richard’s gradual
downfall of his deposal from the throne. In the first acts, the seeds of his own undoing are
planted by his misconception of kingly duties – Shakespeare appears to rate Bullingbrooke’s
Machiavellian political thinking and methodology more than Richard’s less aggressive
approach - and in various scenes where his unbecoming personality traits as a king are
revealed, foreshadowing his ultimate depletion of power and state.
From the very start, Richard’s indecisiveness pervades the crown and uncertainty rules
England, indicative to the audience of weakness. This was considered a kingly and character
flaw, evident when he cancels the Mowbray and Bullingbrooke fight the crowd was so
desperately thirsty for: “Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed.” The commas slicing the
words and the syntactical and rhythmic implementation of short, cutting sounds work to
brutally portray Richard’s ruining of this event, implying he has cut something too short and
the result is a feeling of incompletion amongst the crowd and court - unsatisfactory to say
the least. This drastic change of pace and of ideas resonates, just as these clanking words do
in court, and tear up the ground, planting seeds of doubt in the audience’s minds’. Already is
Richard’s struggle between his political aims and familial ties visible: whilst he wishes to be
fair, he cannot but help “of [Bullingbrooke’s] years/ Pluck four away” placing family above
the throne – as he is of “our sacred blood” – which displays a moral weakness of his. This is
continued through the recurrent symbol of blood, suggesting Richard will fall by family and
his familial ties due to the indecision it causes him when he should be certain of those
obvious choices – allowing the fight to go on – but instead is decisive about what should not
be done – stealing Bullingbrooke’s inheritance and raising taxes to fuel his fight for Ireland.
Moreover, Richard plants the seeds of his own downfall when he grossly misjudges what the
public want by underestimating the power of action and overestimating that of language.
His dependence on language at a very early stage begins to show its flawed pattern: “How
long a time lies in one little word!” The exclamatory exultation seems almost an outcry to
the gods, in adoration of language, giving it a somewhat divine and unlimited power.
Nevertheless, its fickle nature rapidly reveals itself when Gaunt in turn argues it only has a
certain degree of power – “Thou canst help Time to furrow me with age/ But stop no
wrinkle in his pilgrimage” – and of which this power, just like any other, shifts from speaker
depending on circumstance – “Thy word is current with him for my death, / But… thy
kingdom cannot buy my breath” – and in death, Gaunt’s supercede Richard’s own. In other
words, when put in context, language either gains or loses power; this historical context
means language does not hold as much power because as a whole it is not valued by society
– perhaps it is Richard’s hamartia that he fails to realise this, and it seems neither Richard II
nor language fulfil the part history and the public would have them play. Not only this, but
his kingship by supposed Divine Right is called into question: Gaunt exposes the reality that
just words, even those of a king, are ultimately insufficient to create or sustain life, pointing
to the gaps between Richard’s human voice, the Divine and what is considered by the public
as a ‘true king’, ie. leaning towards the Machiavellian approach, not constituted solely by
words.
‘Richard II’ is the first of the Shakespearean Henriad plays, illustrating Richard’s gradual
downfall of his deposal from the throne. In the first acts, the seeds of his own undoing are
planted by his misconception of kingly duties – Shakespeare appears to rate Bullingbrooke’s
Machiavellian political thinking and methodology more than Richard’s less aggressive
approach - and in various scenes where his unbecoming personality traits as a king are
revealed, foreshadowing his ultimate depletion of power and state.
From the very start, Richard’s indecisiveness pervades the crown and uncertainty rules
England, indicative to the audience of weakness. This was considered a kingly and character
flaw, evident when he cancels the Mowbray and Bullingbrooke fight the crowd was so
desperately thirsty for: “Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed.” The commas slicing the
words and the syntactical and rhythmic implementation of short, cutting sounds work to
brutally portray Richard’s ruining of this event, implying he has cut something too short and
the result is a feeling of incompletion amongst the crowd and court - unsatisfactory to say
the least. This drastic change of pace and of ideas resonates, just as these clanking words do
in court, and tear up the ground, planting seeds of doubt in the audience’s minds’. Already is
Richard’s struggle between his political aims and familial ties visible: whilst he wishes to be
fair, he cannot but help “of [Bullingbrooke’s] years/ Pluck four away” placing family above
the throne – as he is of “our sacred blood” – which displays a moral weakness of his. This is
continued through the recurrent symbol of blood, suggesting Richard will fall by family and
his familial ties due to the indecision it causes him when he should be certain of those
obvious choices – allowing the fight to go on – but instead is decisive about what should not
be done – stealing Bullingbrooke’s inheritance and raising taxes to fuel his fight for Ireland.
Moreover, Richard plants the seeds of his own downfall when he grossly misjudges what the
public want by underestimating the power of action and overestimating that of language.
His dependence on language at a very early stage begins to show its flawed pattern: “How
long a time lies in one little word!” The exclamatory exultation seems almost an outcry to
the gods, in adoration of language, giving it a somewhat divine and unlimited power.
Nevertheless, its fickle nature rapidly reveals itself when Gaunt in turn argues it only has a
certain degree of power – “Thou canst help Time to furrow me with age/ But stop no
wrinkle in his pilgrimage” – and of which this power, just like any other, shifts from speaker
depending on circumstance – “Thy word is current with him for my death, / But… thy
kingdom cannot buy my breath” – and in death, Gaunt’s supercede Richard’s own. In other
words, when put in context, language either gains or loses power; this historical context
means language does not hold as much power because as a whole it is not valued by society
– perhaps it is Richard’s hamartia that he fails to realise this, and it seems neither Richard II
nor language fulfil the part history and the public would have them play. Not only this, but
his kingship by supposed Divine Right is called into question: Gaunt exposes the reality that
just words, even those of a king, are ultimately insufficient to create or sustain life, pointing
to the gaps between Richard’s human voice, the Divine and what is considered by the public
as a ‘true king’, ie. leaning towards the Machiavellian approach, not constituted solely by
words.
