Shakespeare and the Nobility. The Negotiation of Lineage

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Author: Catherine Grace Canino

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SHAKESPEARE AND THE NOBILITY

Shakespeare and the Nobility examines, for the first time, how Shakespeare was influenced by the descendants of the aristocratic characters in his early history plays. The Henry VI trilogy and Richard III are among the first plays in the English dramaturgy that reflect the lives and activities of the ancestors of sixteenth-century aristocrats. In a time when the upper classes of England were obsessed with family lineage and reputation, the salient question is how William Shakespeare, a socially inferior playwright and actor, handled the delicate matter of portraying the complex and often unattractive ancestors of the most powerful people of his day. In answer to this question, this study examines the lives of the historical figures and their descendants, and argues that Shakespeare consistently modified his portrayal of the ancestors with their descendants in mind. In addition to providing an historical glimpse into the romance, intrigue, and politics of the Renaissance aristocracy, this book also presents fresh readings of the early histories, with new sidelights on characters too often dismissed as an unsavory lot. c at h e r i ne gr ac e c a n in o is an Associate Professor at the University of South Carolina, Upstate. She has published articles on John Skelton, John Milton’s Paradise Lost, and Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene and A View of the Present State of Ireland. This is her first book.

SHAKESPEARE AND THE N O B I L I T Y: T H E N E G OT I AT I O N O F LINEAGE C AT H E R I N E G R A C E C A N I N O

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521872911 © Catherine Grace Canino 2007 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2007

ISBN-13

978-0-511-47863-5

eBook (EBL)

ISBN-13

978-0-521-87291-1

hardback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of urls for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

This book is dedicated to my own ancestral lineage – my parents, John and Kay Canino.

Contents

List of illustrations List of appendices Acknowledgments

page viii ix x

Introduction: the nobility and genealogy

1

1 The Staffords (Dukes of Buckingham)

33

2 The Dukes of Suffolk

74

3 The Nevilles (Earls of Warwick)

102

4 The Talbots (Earls of Shrewsbury)

128

5 The Cliffords (Earls of Cumberland)

150

6 The Stanleys (Earls of Derby)

177

7 The gentry (William Lucy, Lord Saye)

203

Conclusion

220

Appendices: genealogical charts

233

Index

253

vii

Illustrations

1 Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham by John Faber, 1714, after unknown artist, circa 1521. Courtesy National Portrait Gallery, London. 2 George Talbot, 6th Earl of Shrewsbury by unknown artist, 1580. Courtesy National Portrait Gallery, London. 3 George Clifford, 3rd Earl of Cumberland by Charles Turner after Isaac Oliver, circa 1590. Courtesy National Portrait Gallery, London. 4 Henry Stanley, 4th Earl of Derby, by Isaac Oliver, 1590. Courtesy National Portrait Gallery, London. 5 William Fiennes, 1st Viscount Saye and Sele by Richard James Lane, 1844. Courtesy National Portrait Gallery, London.

viii

page 53 137

156 187

216


1 The Dukes of Buckingham: the Staffords page 234 2 The Dukes of Suffolk: the de la Poles, the Brandons, and the Greys 235 3 The Earls of Warwick: the Beauchamps, the Nevilles, and the Dudleys 239 4 The Earls of Westmorland: the Nevilles 241 5 The Earls of Shrewsbury: the Talbots 244 6 The Earls of Cumberland: the Cliffords 248 7 The Earls of Derby: the Stanleys 249 8 Barons Saye and Sele: the Fiennes 251 9 The Lucys 252

ix

Acknowledgments

A study of this magnitude could not have been completed without accumulating many debts of gratitude, which I can acknowledge though never repay. My largest debt and most profound gratitude is to Jean R. Brink, my mentor and director, whose wise guidance and unfailing enthusiasm for this project made it both possible and pleasurable. She has made me feel like a colleague and a friend, and for this I am forever grateful. I would also like to thank those who patiently guided and encouraged the work’s many and halting evolutions. Skip Brack, Nancy Gutierrez, and Curtis Perry each provided valuable improvements in fact, tone, and form; Ian Moulton, in addition to all this, braved the British Library and Burke’s Extinct Peerage to obtain crucial information for my research. I am also indebted to Joe Pellegrino and Christopher Coia for the last-minute help they have given me. Each of these has gone above and beyond the call and their dedication will not go unremembered. On a personal note, I wish to thank my family and friends for their ardent and unwavering support for this enterprise of mine which must have seemed unwise if not completely insane to them. I am grateful for, but not surprised by, their constant encouragement and sincere happiness on my behalf.

x


It is a commonly held and textually substantiated belief that Falstaff, the corpulent, cowardly, and occasionally criminal friend of Prince Hal in Shakespeare’s Henry IV plays, was originally named “Oldcastle.” Sir John Oldcastle was indeed a companion of the historic Henry of Monmouth, and Shakespeare’s characterization of him has been consistently popular with audiences since its conception. However, the portrayal was not at all popular with Oldcastle’s descendant, William Brooke, Lord Cobham – member of the Queen’s Privy Council, Knight of the Garter, Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, Lord Chamberlain of the Queen’s Household, Lord Lieutenant of Kent, Constable of the Tower and, not least, close friend to Lord Burghley. In fact, Lord Cobham was so offended by the characterization of his ancestor that Shakespeare was reportedly forced to change the name of Oldcastle to Falstaff. Subsequently, in November of 1599, the Admiral’s Men, the rival playing company of Shakespeare’s Lord Chamberlain’s Men, produced a play entitled The First Part of the True and Honourable History of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, the Good Lord Cobham. This play portrayed John Oldcastle as a Protestant martyr – virtuous, brave, and undoubtedly trim – while making frequent disparaging allusions to Shakespeare’s treatment of history. Neither the name change nor the new play helped Lord Cobham; his fellow aristocrats continued to mock him, following Shakespeare’s lead and changing his nickname to “Falstaff ” in their letters to each other.1 Critics are divided as to whether Shakespeare intentionally insulted William Brooke or whether Brooke literally forced him to change the character’s name.2 But in the long run the incident did prove beneficial, or at least edifying, for the playwright. When he wrote his tragedy of Macbeth five years later, he enhanced and vastly improved the character of Banquo from the representation that is found in the chronicles. This was no doubt greatly appreciated by Banquo’s self-proclaimed descendant, the newly crowned King James I of England. 1

2

Shakespeare and the Nobility

Although this study deals with Shakespeare’s earliest history plays, in which Falstaff is not a character, I begin with the Cobham incident because it provides clear evidence that Shakespeare and his contemporaries were cognizant of the importance of family lineage and reputation within the aristocracy. The incident also exemplifies what Louis Montrose terms the “power personation” inherent in the history plays of the sixteenth century. 3 In portraying monarchs and aristocrats, Elizabethan players were in effect granted a two-hour traffic to appropriate, control, and propagate the image of the ruling class. Each time a history was performed on stage, the carefully crafted self-presentation of the monarchy and aristocracy was confiscated and placed into the hands of actors, who might, even under the duress of censorship, manipulate, taint, or completely destroy the rigidly delineated roles and boundaries that formed English society and preserved the power of the hegemony. Once an image is appropriated, even temporarily, the power of that image is eroded. Historical figures become characters, characters become interpretations, and interpretations become evidence of fact. For two hours, the dynamics of power shift; the “ruling class” is at the bar, judiciously following the rules of decorum and rank, while the lower classes sit in judgment upon them, in a decidedly indecorous and democratic forum. As David Kastan explains it, “[c]haracters and speeches are literally scrutinized from above and from below . . . while on the stage aristocratic action is mimicked and criticized by commoner and clown.”4 Montrose and Kastan make sensible points regarding the appropriation of representation that is inherent, and thus inherently threatening, in the history plays. However, the Cobham/Falstaff incident is indicative of another phenomenon of appropriation. In examining the history plays, historicists and historians alike have neglected the critical fact that virtually every English character in the plays is the ancestor of descendants living in Shakespeare’s time, descendants who wielded considerable power and who existed in an atmosphere of genealogical anxiety and blood consciousness. The materiality of family lineage and reputation in the sixteenth century makes the history plays more than theoretical examinations of monarchy or politics, more than exercises in patriotic nostalgia, and even more than endorsements or subversions of the dominant class and gender. Chauvinism and politics can be found in every genre of the Elizabethan play. The history plays are unique in the fact that they are also personal family histories of the aristocracy. They do not depict personas from the mythical past or the legendary past or the foreign past – they depict the progenitors and the consanguinity of the nobility of England. When the history plays appropriate identity, therefore, they are not only appropriating on the level


3

of rank or status; they are also appropriating on the most deeply personal, evocative, and intrusive level of the family. The centrality of family to the early modern societal structure has long been understood by anthropologists but was only studied seriously by historians in the later part of the twentieth century. The most influential historical work on the early modern family is Lawrence Stone’s The Family, Sex, and Marriage in England, 1500–1800, which argues that the early modern family was distinguished by distance and deference, lacking even the most basic attachment of maternal devotion.5 Stone’s assertions have been roundly disputed and fundamentally disproved by more recent historians such as Alan MacFarlane, Judith Hurwich, David Cressy, Ralph Houlbrooke, and Diana O’Hara, each of whom provides substantial evidence of close bonds within the early modern extended family unit.6 The historians’ interest in the early modern family, however, has not entirely breached the citadels of Shakespearean scholarship. Although some critics, such as Catherine Belsey, Valerie Traub, Lynda Boose, and Stephen Orgel, have written extensively about the family in Shakespeare, they and most other scholars concentrate on issues of gender or relationships within the nuclear family, rather than kinship networks.7 Nevertheless, when addressing Shakespeare’s history plays, it is important that we understand precisely the imbroglio he was embarking upon when he decided to realistically depict the ancestors of the English aristocracy, to whom he was obliged to pay at least a minimal and ostensible deference. Shakespeare and his audience, however that audience is defined, lived in a society founded and embedded in the notion of family. The system of kinship that dominated and drove English society was a living network of favor and reciprocity that was more secure, more private, and more exclusionary than the patronage offered by either church or court. It persevered as a still vital remnant of tribal and clannish mentality, whereby blood alone could admit one into a charmed circle of interdependence and mutual obligation that could be activated merely by the appropriate appellation. A letter or petition addressed to a “cousin” was rarely ignored; it implied an intimacy and inferred an obligation. Often, favors were granted, money disbursed, and patronage given between strangers based on nothing more than the most distant claim of mutual kinship.8 The importance and reliability of family was a notion that was instilled in childhood. Every schoolboy was required to read Cicero’s De Officiis, which placed family as the first of the four degrees of social groups, “as the foundation of civil government, the nursery as it were, of the state.” Every literate Englishman was familiar with Thomas Elyot’s intonement that:

4


Where vertue joined with great possessions or dignitie, hath longe continued in the bloode or house of a gentilman, as it were an inheritaunce, there nobilitie is most shewed, and these noble men be most to be honoured.9

If, as David Cressy points out, a living family network provided a “basis for sympathy, linkage, and collaboration,”10 then a family history or genealogy provided a basis for self-definition and societal recognition. In early modern England, the past legitimized the present and guaranteed the future, and both the legitimization and the guarantee were bound up in the notion of family pedigree. Consequently, the creation of family genealogies, the composition of family histories, and the reliance on family connections permeated, and in many cases warranted, Elizabethan life. On the most fundamental level, England’s national and religious identities were founded upon genealogical arguments. Biblical precedence provided the justification for using family lineage as the determinate of personal worthiness and public status. The Old Testament is rife with genealogies that define the character and piety of the Hebrew prophets and patriarchs. Christ’s messianic nature was in large part authenticated by his descent from David, outlined in Matthew 1 and Luke 3, which fulfills Old Testament prophecy and testifies of a savior with not simply deific but royal origins. However, even more significantly, the biblical genealogies were considered essential to understand and profit from the word of God. The draper Roger Cotton, in Direction to the Waters of Lyfe, describes the importance of the genealogies of the Bible: And I pray you, what part of the Bible is there, that doth not thereof consist? be not men the grounde and cause of all the matter there? And how can we knowe the matter as we ought, vnlesse we know the men of whom the matter speaketh? Without the knowledge of these things, you are neyther able to heare or reade the worde of God with understanding . . . for you so think [they are unprofitable or superfluous] the curse of God wyll come vpon you, even to your utter damnation.11

This sentiment was shared by the biblical scholars of the day12 and gave rise to the belief that, as Elyot stated, “nobilitie may in no wyse be but onely where men can auaunte them of auncient lineage.” Although there were humanist polemics (Elyot’s among them) that argued for a man’s personal reputation and responsibility, popular opinion continued to support the biblical notion that a man’s familial connections were the overriding factors in determining personal merit. As a result of this belief, genealogical research and the composition of family histories became an obligation, and in many cases, a preoccupation, for the respublica litteratum of Early Modern England.13 Lord Burghley, for example, was one of the many who


5

passed his leisure time studying the family histories of himself and others.14 Although pedigrees were required reading for the assessment and distribution of titles, more often than not Burghley would “request” a family tree simply to satisfy his own curiosity.15 This was not merely the idiosyncratic pastime of an elderly aristocrat. It was a common practice among all classes of London society to annotate personal chronicles and histories with anecdotes from proud if sometimes meager family trees.16 Among the aristocracy, family lineage was far more than a pastime, however. Pedigree was the overriding consideration in granting titles, arranging marriages, and determining the fate of extant and potential peers. It was genealogy that decided the monarchical destiny of particular families and, consequently, it was genealogy that ultimately defined the character and fortune of the entire country. An extensive family tree not only spoke to the continuity of the family, but of English society. This was significant at every point in English history, but it was particularly critical in the early 1590s, when speculation regarding the succession to the English throne had reached a fevered, if secretive, pitch. By then, it was painfully clear that Elizabeth I was going to die sooner rather than later, and that she was going to die childless. To raise the stakes even higher, Elizabeth quite simply and quite obstinately refused to name an heir, and furthermore forbade any discussion of the issue. As a result, of course, discussion became rampant. As Leonard Tennenhouse points out, the invention of various succession scenarios was the most popular pastime among intellectuals in England and abroad.17 A few brave souls published pamphlets setting forth their opinions of the legitimate and best heir – one of these speculators, Peter Wentworth, was often imprisoned for it.18 The field of candidates for the throne was large, prompting Thomas Wilson to remark, “this crown is not like to fall to the ground for want of heads that claim to wear it, but upon whose head it will fall is by many doubted.”19 In 1600, Wilson narrowed the field to twelve contenders: James VI of Scotland; Lady Arabella Stuart; Edward Seymour, Lord Beauchamp; Henry Seymour; the Earl of Derby; the Earl of Huntingdon; the Earl of Westmorland; the Earl of Northumberland; the son of the King of Portugal; the Duke of Parma; the King of Spain; and the Infanta of Spain.20 As is clearly seen, half of these claimants were members of the English aristocracy. Although James was the leading contender in 1590, he was not by any means the favorite. He was “foreign,” and his mother had recently been executed for treason – both of these factors made him unpopular and subject to debarment.21 Furthermore, as C. G. Thayer suggests, an endorsement of James’ right to the throne could have been seen as an indirect endorsement of Mary’s same right.22 It was perhaps

6


safer, and undoubtedly preferable, for many Englishmen to privately favor one of their own nobles over the problematic James. James himself had to court the English nobility to gain support for his bid, but his position remained uneasy, practically until the moment of Elizabeth’s death.23 The most notorious succession pamphlet was written by Father Robert Parsons, under the pseudonym of R. Doleman, in 1593. A Conference Abovt the Next Svccession to the Crowne of Ingland asserts the right of the Infanta Isabella of Spain to succeed Elizabeth to the throne of England over the other claimants. It would be logical to assume that the Jesuit Parsons was claiming the superiority of Isabella because of her Catholicism. However, this is not the case. The tract is in fact a genealogical argument that asserts the right of one particular branch of the Lancaster family to the throne of England. Parsons’ argument runs as follows: the Lancastrian patriarch, John of Gaunt, was the oldest surviving son of Edward III at the time of Edward’s death. Gaunt’s first wife, Blanche of Lancaster, was a direct descendant of King Henry III. Individually, Gaunt and Blanche were strong claimants to the throne; their issue consequently became even stronger claimants. When their eldest son, Henry Bolingbroke, seized the crown from Richard II, he was not a usurper, according to Parsons’ argument, but merely an overeager and completely legitimate heir.24 Since Henry Bolingbroke’s direct line was eliminated by the Yorks, the Lancaster claim would necessarily carry over to the other descendants of John of Gaunt and Blanche of Lancaster. In the sixteenth century, their only living descendant was the Infanta of Spain. Therefore, as Parsons argues with painstaking detail, the Infanta was indeed the rightful heir to the English throne after Elizabeth.25 The Infanta’s claim, like the York claim, descended through the female line – the Infanta was descended from Philippa, the daughter of Gaunt and Blanche. Parsons’ reasoning may be faulty – if the female line of John of Gaunt could produce an heir, so could the female line of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the York ancestor. Nonetheless, it is interesting to note that late in the sixteenth century, Parsons revisits the same genealogical argument that incited the Wars of the Roses and inspired Shakespeare’s first tetralogy of history plays. Of course, only a few families could claim a genuine genealogical right to the throne of England. Nevertheless, in the latter half of the sixteenth century, nearly all the families of the Elizabethan aristocracy became consumed with what Lawrence Stone calls an “excessive adulation of ancient lineage” and what William Rockett has more colloquially dubbed “the great pedigree craze.”26 The aristocratic pride of ancestry and the construction of family genealogies reached unparalleled heights during Elizabeth’s reign, almost to the point of becoming an obsession for the titled classes. The


7

“older” nobility cultivated and flaunted their genuine genealogies in order to reassert their innate superiority over the “new” nobility; the “new” nobility created counterfeit genealogies in order to compete and gain respectability. The College of Arms granted 2,000 grants for pedigrees and arms in the years between 1560 and 1589 and another 1,760 within the next fifty years.27 External proofs of pedigree, such as family trees and coats of arms, were prominently displayed in every noble household.28 Antiquarian tracts circulated among the nobility, not only recounting family descent but also describing the lives, status, and accomplishments of ancestors, particularly those from a family’s halcyon days of oligarchical splendor.29 As the sixteenth century wore on, the genealogies, both real and counterfeit, grew in size and number until the Tudor heralds were constructing family trees that traced aristocratic ancestors back to the Trojans or even the Old Testament. It was the Tudors themselves who may have started this vogue. Henry VII came to the throne with a victory at Bosworth but with a paltry and slightly tainted pedigree. Patrilineally, he was descended from Owen Tudor and Henry V’s widow Catherine de Valois, who were most probably not married. Matrilineally, he was descended from the Beauforts, the bastard line of John of Gaunt. Henry’s solution was simple enough. His chroniclers constructed a counterfeit genealogy for him that included King Arthur and Brutus, thus providing the Tudor family tree with the twin requisites of longevity and legend. Not to be outdone, the Popham family tree reached impressively back to Noah who, according to Genesis, was a direct descendant of Adam and Eve.30 This genealogical fervor was generally motivated by practical and egocentric aspirations. There were multiple benefits, both tangible and intangible, that could be derived from an impressive lineage. Societal position and personal respectability were directly related to the length and quality of the genealogical scroll and so too was a family’s case for nobility. Without a genealogy, or with an inferior genealogy, an aristocrat, however moneyed, was as Phyllis Rackin notes “nothing more than a commoner.”31 The queen herself tacitly endorsed the importance of a venerable and extensive ancestry. Elizabeth’s reluctance to grant new peerages is legendary, but it may have been based more on elitism than parsimony: of the eighteen peerages that the queen did create, only two of them, Lord Burghley and Lord Compton, belonged to “new” families without ancient ancestral claims.32 The flaunting of a genealogy was simply a more effective method of attaining favor than the flaunting of a purse or a sword. Although their family histories were often used for less than altruistic purposes, the aristocrats’ passion for genealogy should not be discounted as a mere ostentation. Belonging to a well-established and famous family was a

8


source of genuine and demonstrable pride for them. Quite naturally, this pride of family led to a congruous preoccupation with family reputation. Stone refers to it, in fact, as a “cult of reputation.” Nothing could be more damaging than to cast aspersions on someone’s ancestry or ancestors, and the consequence of such aspersions often led to duels and/or generational feuding.33 The peculiarities of aristocratic history necessitate a slight digression in our discussion to address the topic of titular versus familial ancestry. During the Tudor regimes, many Tudor loyalists were granted titles which had previously belonged to other families; these other families either died out from natural causes and the lack of male heirs or were attainted of their titles and honors by the Tudors or their predecessors. The titles of Suffolk, Somerset, and Warwick are some cases in point: the titles were, before the Tudors, held by the de la Poles, the Beauforts, and the Beauchamp/Nevilles respectively. These families were attainted for loyalty to the wrong monarch during the Wars of the Roses, and the Tudors subsequently awarded the title of Suffolk to the Brandons, the title of Somerset to the Seymours, and the title of Warwick to the Dudleys. In a few cases, such as the Dudleys, there was some indirect relationship to the earlier family, but for the most part the new families had absolutely no connection to the old. The question of whether the new family would assume the identity of the old or, more precisely, be affected by the reputation of the old, is one that has not been extensively studied by historians, but it is an important question in the study of genealogical history. The answer is rather simple, if not obvious. The title is larger than the man. When a man is granted a title, his identity is subsumed into that title; he is known, henceforth, not by his surname but by his title. So, for example, Edward Seymour, the Duke of Somerset, is called “Somerset” by himself and his peers; he is never called “Seymour.” “Somerset” is how he is addressed, it is how he signs his letters, it is his legal and personal identity. The appropriation of this new identity goes beyond the title. When a new family was given an old title, it was also given the properties and tenants that belonged to former holders of that title. The only exception to this rule occurred when the property had already been granted to another family. The property, however, never remained in the possession of the previous title holders once they had been attainted. For example, in 1449, when Richard Neville was created Earl of Warwick in place of his father-in-law, he received the title and estate of the Earl of Warwick, which included the familial lands of Warwick, Worcester, Elmley, Cardiff, Neath, Abergavenny, and the Lordship of Glamorgan.34 He was attainted, and in 1492 Henry VII


9

bestowed the title on Edward Plantagenet, the son of the Duke of Clarence, and Richard Neville’s daughter Isabel. Edward Plantagenet was granted the moiety of the Warwick and Salisbury lands, which Henry VII kept in custody until Edward reached his majority.35 But there was a legal debate as to whether Edward Plantagenet was actually entitled to the Salisbury lands, and although two juries and the crown recognized his title to those lands, he never had physical possession of them. Without the lands, Edward Plantagenet could never be considered the Earl of Salisbury,36 and when he was later attainted, his forfeited lands went to the crown. In 1547, John Dudley, a distant descendant of the last Beauchamp to hold the title of Earl of Warwick, was granted the lordship, manor, township, and castle of Warwick.37 John Dudley’s lands were withdrawn when he was attainted and executed, but when his son, Ambrose Dudley, was created Earl of Warwick in 1561, he was given the place, precedence, and lands of the former Earls of Warwick.38 Ambrose’s brother, Robert Dudley, was created the first Earl of Leicester and given the duchy of Lancaster; this was the first time the Lancaster lands had been out of the monarch’s possession since Henry IV. Henry IV, being the Duke of Lancaster, had kept the title and lands of Lancaster when he became king. The title and lands were passed on to all subsequent monarchs, Lancastrian or Yorkist, until Elizabeth I, who gave the lands to Leicester as a sign of her good favor.39 In doing so, she alienated the title from the lands for the first time in three hundred years. The Dudleys had some familial connection to the former Earls of Warwick. When Charles Brandon was created Duke of Suffolk by Henry VIII, however, he had no familial relationship to the de la Poles or the Uffords, the two previous holders of the titles. Nonetheless, when Brandon was ennobled, he was given “all the possessions forfeited by Edmund [de la Pole], Earl of Suffolk, and his brother John, Earl of Lincoln, with the revision of those held by Queen Catherine and Margaret, Countess of Suffolk.”40 Happily for the new Duke of Suffolk, he also received huge grants of monastic lands after the monasteries were dissolved. These monastic lands were in the County of Suffolk.41 When Thomas Howard, the hero of the Armada, was given the Earldom of Suffolk in 1603, he also received the Suffolk estates, and although he spent some time in the Tower for embezzlement, he was never attainted and managed to die in his bed in Suffolk House in 1626.42 There were, by necessity, some exceptions to this rule of land. The Duke of Somerset was one. The Somerset lands had belonged to the Beauforts, who held the title until 1461, when the last Earl of Somerset, Henry Beaufort, turned against Edward IV to join the Lancastrian forces. Somerset was beheaded, his title forfeited, and his lands were given to Richard, Duke

10


of Gloucester, later Richard III.43 Henry VII, who restored many of the Lancastrians’ rights posthumously, created Henry Beaufort’s illegitimate son, Charles Somerset, the Earl of Worcester and granted him the Somerset lands.44 Thus, when Edward Seymour was created Duke of Somerset by Edward VI, the Somerset lands were already in Worcester’s possession. The Earl of Somerset was subsequently given monastic lands in an area slightly southeast of the old Somerset lands. However, these cases were exceptions. In the great majority of circumstances, the lands were bestowed with the titles. Therefore, all the external conditions that contribute to a man’s identity – name, occupation, possessions – were transferred from one man to another at the granting of a title.45 The resultant conditions – ancestral pride and reputation – were transferred as well. Consequently, titular lineage was studied and esteemed with the same scrupulous fervency as a blood family line. The obsession with genealogy has been acknowledged but not significantly studied by historians or literary critics, who tend, like Phyllis Rackin, to attribute it to self-indulgence, vanity, male domination, or the threatening specter of a female fertility.46 While genealogies certainly do function as springboards for patriarchal pride and familial precedence, no one has studied genealogy as an alternative history that acts in the same way as any alternative discourse.47 In the sixteenth century, the aristocratic genealogy provided a site for the negotiation, interrogation, and subversion of the state-sanctioned “Tudor” histories that were required reading for the literate masses. The Tudor regime had various and sundry methods of retaining its precarious hold on the crown, but one of the most effective of strategies was to keep an inordinately tight grasp on any written representations of history. All publicly disseminated histories were subject to censorship, but the chronicles, which were designed for public consumption rather than governmental record keeping, were the most closely scrutinized of all publications, and the only texts to be directly licensed by the Privy Council.48 The reason for this was, quite simply, that the chronicles were the best and most efficient vehicles for government propaganda. They were deliberately didactic in nature, instructing the population, particularly the aristocratic population, on the evils of rebellion and the divine sanction of Tudor rule. Perhaps not surprisingly, the chronicles taught these lessons by exemplifying the rise, triumph, fall, and extinction of once powerful English households that were destroyed, often quite literally, because of the actions of one or two wayward members. In fact, with the exception of Foxe’s Monuments, which focuses on the lives of saintly commoners, the chronicles are themselves little more than elaborate family histories of


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the English elite. It is true, as Claus Uhlig points out, that the chronicles present the history of England as a continuous chain of events surrounding a single theme;49 however, those events are divided into a chronology that is primarily generational. The chronicles rehearse the continuing story of the English noble and royal families, with occasional, unconnected, albeit meaningful episodes involving commoners.50 The families that are emphasized in these cautionary tales are those that paid the price of rebellion; conversely, the price of rebellion is most keenly felt within the structure of the family. It is rebellion that breeds fratricide, infanticide, dishonor, and dissolution of marriage. Most shattering, it is rebellion that may ultimately destroy all vestiges of a family, until there is nothing left but a name associated with disgrace. There were certainly enough extinguished noble families for the Tudor chronicle reader to ponder. When Henry Tudor came to the throne in 1485, there were fifty-seven noblemen: three dukes, one marquess, sixteen earls, three viscounts, and thirty-four barons. When his son, Henry VIII, came to the throne in 1509, there were forty-three noblemen: one duke, one marquess, ten earls, no viscounts, and thirty-one barons. Some of the attrition was owing to the lack of issue, but many noble families were lost in the transition from Plantagenet to Tudor because their members supported the wrong side. Technically, of course, Henry Tudor was the rebel, and his victory and the continuity of his family negated the entire message of the chronicles. Victory has its advantages, however, not the least of which is the ability to transform a rebel into the rightful heir and his opponents into rebellious subjects. Generally, Henry Tudor was wisely magnanimous to the high nobles who supported Richard III and predictably ruthless to the lesser peers who did the same. Nevertheless, despite the pardons and restorations of rank, when the smoke cleared from Bosworth the only earldoms left standing were Oxford, Arundel, Surrey, Shrewsbury, Kent, Essex, Northumberland, Derby, Westmorland, and Devon. The surviving duke was the ill-fated third Duke of Buckingham, whose father was clever enough to be executed for betraying Richard. These were all ancient, illustrious families, to be sure, but other equally illustrious family lines – the Suffolks, the Warwicks, the Somersets, and the Norfolks – were extinguished, at least temporarily, because of their affiliations or quests for power. Further calamity struck the nobility during Henry VIII’s reign. Although he created twelve new peers, five of them left no sons to succeed them. Other noblemen were attainted of their titles because of their participation in rebellions, either real or imagined, during Henry’s reign. Between 1509 and 1547, the nobility was reduced by 33 percent, and 41 percent of the families created by Henry VIII were removed. These terrifying statistics

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provided Tudor chroniclers with enough fodder for a plethora of historical admonitions. Furthermore, anyone who neglected to read the chronicles, or failed to understand their message, could be more forcefully reminded from the pulpit. In the wake of the Northern uprising, An Homilie Against Disobedience warned: Turne ouer and reade the histories of all Nations, looke ouer the Chronicles of our owne countrey, call to minde so many rebellions of old time, and some yet fresh in memorie, yee shall not finde that god euer prospered any rebellion against their naturall and lawfull Prince, but contrariwise that the rebels were ouerthrowen and slaine, and such as were taken prisoners dreadfully executed. Consider the great and noble families of Dukes, Marquesses, Earles, and other Lords, whose names yee shall reade in our Chronicles, now cleane extinguished and gone, and seeke out the causes of the decay, you shall finde, that not lacke of issue and heires male hath so much wrought that decay, and waste of noble bloods and houses, as hath rebellion.

This famous tract has always been studied as a seminal denunciation of rebellion, but it is interesting also to note that, in addition to instilling the fear of God into any potential rebels, An Homilie commands its audience, in the name of God, to “look ouer the Chronicles of our owne countrey” to learn God’s plan unfolding in England. Thus, the study of chronicle history became a religious as well as a political duty. When the chroniclers and the churchmen spoke of rebellion and its consequences, they were speaking, either covertly or openly, of rebellion against the Tudors. However, there was another family whose internal rebellion was so primordial, according to Tudor historians, that all subsequent rebellions spawned from its genesis. This family was not Adam and Eve, as one might expect, but the central family of the chronicles – the Plantagenets. The golden Plantagenets, who had ruled England since 1133, who had thrived and multiplied despite upheavals, murders, usurpations, and warfare, were almost completely decimated by 1485. After the battle of Bosworth, there remained only two relatively important figures that bore the name of Plantagenet. These were Margaret and Edward, the children of George, Duke of Clarence, both of whom met execution at the hands of the Tudors. Edward IV’s living legitimate children were daughters who were assimilated into the families into which they married. Although Henry Tudor technically had Plantagenet blood in him, it was so small an amount that even he did not try to capitalize upon it and preferred instead to call himself a Lancastrian. By Henry VIII’s reign, the only Plantagenet of name was Arthur, Viscount Lisle, the illegitimate son of Edward IV and Elizabeth Lucy. Arthur died without issue in 1542, immediately after being released from the Tower, and with him died the Plantagenet name. According to the chroniclers, the


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reason for this catastrophe lay in one single act of familial rebellion – the usurpation of Richard II’s crown by Henry Bolingbroke. This pivotal act, which was first if not foremost a family betrayal between cousins, managed to accomplish what neither foreign enemies nor domestic dissenters nor rampant diseases could do – destroy the most prominent, durable, and prolific family in the land. Furthermore, this family betrayal precipitated others. As the Plantagenets destroyed themselves with treacheries and disgraces, so did the Suffolks, the Northumberlands, and the Norfolks. As these great families fell with domino precision, so did their dependents. If the Plantagenets were the templates of disaster, however, the Tudors were the new beginning and second chance for England. By holding up the Tudors’ predecessors and their noble cohorts as the ultimate cautionary examples, the chroniclers could protect the Tudors’ name while at the same time reinforcing their claim. Their success, of course, depended largely upon the readers’ acceptance of their narratives as historic truth. As Andreas Hofele points out, in the sixteenth century, the distinction between “history” and “story” was still nebulous.51 No one expected histories to be objective factual accounts or statistic-driven studies, as we do today. Roger Ascham instructed historians to “write nothing false, to be bold to say any truth” and to “avoid flattery and hatred.” However, he also added that the historian needed to “note some general lesson of wisdom and wariness, for like matters in time to come.”52 In other words, histories were expected to be moral lessons rather than exercises in analytical neutrality – and the custodians of morality happened to be those who subsidized the historians and regulated their product. This meant that the historian’s most important task was to declare his acceptance of the prevailing tradition and hegemony.53 In effect, any rendition of the past had to be seen as an endorsement of the present.54 However, this subjectivity, though understood, was not seen as a barrier to the truth. Fundamentally, the Tudor Englishmen viewed histories, particularly state-endorsed histories, as true accounts rather than fictions.55 Because of governmental control over content and distribution, the chronicles became, to the large majority and to all levels of literate Englishmen, the only valid historical representation. Although there were critics of the chronicles, most of the condemnation centered on style rather than substance and was consequently voiced by the more educated readers. To the vast majority of the reading English population, the chronicles remained largely unquestioned and, when they reached their peak of popularity in the late sixteenth century, the chronicles were held next to the Bible in veracity and distribution.56

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To the sixteenth-century aristocrats, the rise and domination of the chronicles meant that their families’ roles in their country’s history were contained in officially sanctioned and widely disseminated Tudor sermons against aristocratic rebellion or dominance. Unfortunately, the changing fortunes of the English monarchy, particularly throughout the fifteenth century, guaranteed that it was a rare aristocrat who did not have at least one ancestor who overstepped his boundaries. Few families escaped calumny. Even those ancestors who dutifully supported the “rightful” king were often portrayed using questionable, sometimes villainous, tactics. As one of many examples, John Clifford, the ancestor to the Earls of Cumberland, was ferociously devoted to his monarch, Henry VI. So ferociously, in fact, that according to the chronicles he savagely murdered the Earl of Rutland, the innocent child of the rebel Duke of York. Historically, the Earl of Rutland was a seventeen-year-old who lost his life in battle at the hands of an unknown warrior. Nevertheless, in the centuries thereafter, John Clifford’s designation as a monstrous child-killer was propagated by the government and widely believed by every literate and semi-literate person in England. The creation of family genealogies, however, circumvented the dual threats of censorship and marketing. It is important to note that genealogy in the sixteenth century went far beyond the “family tree” so familiar to the 21st-century internet devotee. Lineage was crucial, but it was only the beginning. Family histories, or more precisely family versions of histories, were diligently constructed, privately censored, and carefully disseminated among the aristocracy and gentry – to such a degree that the composition of family histories, and the guarding of family reputation, became the primary hobby of the elite.57 In contrast to the chronicler, an aristocrat could happily compose and circulate a family history, evoking whatever fantasy or reality he wished, without fear of governmental despotism or even interference. Cultural materialists such as Jonathan Dollimore and John Drakakis have argued for the inherent subversiveness of literary texts. New historicists such as Stephen Greenblatt and Louis Montrose have argued that literary texts contain sites of contestation against the power structure but that, ultimately, those sites are contained by the hegemony they seek to contest.58 However, we should not be entirely seduced by the working class: literary texts and political pamphlets are not the only loci for subversion and agents of containment are often themselves authors of contestation. The creation of family histories provides one of the best examples of this. Genealogy removed history from the public arena and contained it within the realm of the individual or family unit, and any member (male or female) of the aristocracy or gentry could become a creative but, more


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importantly, uncensored composer of England’s history. However, there is a further implication to the phenomenon of genealogical obsession. The primary purpose of constructing a genealogy, even today, is to establish a sense of personal identity and definition. If, as Phyllis Rackin states, English history was an essential source of self-definition for the nation,59 and if its popularity derived from the growing appetite for “cultural otherness,”60 then genealogical research was a source of self-definition for the individual, and its popularity derived from the growing appetite for personal identity. When John Joughlin states that “in the political memory of a culture, the politics and the poetics of dispossession are often bound to a sense of legacy or testament of living after,” he could well have been talking about genealogies.61 Genealogies provided not only a sense of legacy and continuance but a sense of inclusion. Genealogies allowed an aristocrat, or an aspiring aristocrat, to create not only a place for his family but also a place for himself. Throughout the sixteenth century, genealogy remained a safe locus for aristocratic self-definition and the subversion of the Tudor rendition of history. The rise of the history play, however, dramatically returned the family prosopography to a public venue even more threatening than the chronicles. Christoph Reinfandt describes the historical text as “a culturally charged version of history.”62 If that is true, then the history play can be described as an intimate interaction with history. The chroniclers made crude attempts at characterizations and dialogue, but these attempts paled considerably next to the visual spectacle of historical events and personages literally brought to life before an instantaneously responding audience.63 For a descendant, the theatrical experience substantially heightened the immediacy and intimacy of an ancestor’s portrayal.64 This was far more than a social inferior pretending to be someone of superior rank and status. This was a social inferior convincing – even if only for the dramatic moment – an audience of other social inferiors that he was someone’s great-grandfather. It is one thing to read in the chronicles that John Clifford was a bloody villain. It is quite another to physically witness “Clifford” plunging a dagger into a quivering “child” amidst the shouts and boos of an outraged audience of journeymen and tailors. On a lighter but no less threatening note, it is one thing to read that Sir John Oldcastle was a friend and companion of young prince Hal. It is another to see him sprawled and drunken upon the stage before an appreciative but doubtless highly amused group of groundlings.65 Robert Weimann speaks of the nature of audience participation in the Elizabethan playhouse, wherein “the spectator can laugh with the clowning actor rather than merely at the comic role.”66 The question is whether the

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spectator would continue to laugh if the clowning was at the expense of a member of his family. If we acknowledge the threat of the appropriation of aristocratic identity by the theatrical process, then we should ask how much more visceral that appropriation is when it is one’s blood kin who is being appropriated and interpreted. As the act of performance enlivened the chronicles, so did the diverse and responsive audience of a public playhouse further marginalize the family history. We can speculate whether the rise of the history play and the construction of the first public theaters were related phenomena, but it is certain that they worked together to disseminate the Tudor version of history to a wider and more omnifarious audience than the chroniclers could have imagined. The exact nature of the Elizabethan play audience is a subject still under debate,67 but there is very little argument that the opening of the public playhouses exposed information to classes of people who had heretofore, through illiteracy or disinterest, remained largely ignorant of the lives and wrongdoings of the English peerage. To an aristocrat, the rise of the public theater meant that the triumphs, anguishes, indiscretions, and crimes of his ancestor were now public entertainment, performed in the same locality and for the same clientele as bear-baiting and prostitution. Much has been written regarding the prejudice that was aimed at the public theatre, and most critics suggest that the source of this prejudice was founded in the fear and elitism of the patriciate. When we read the documents of the period, there is very little doubt that there were those among the socio-political elite who maintained a Platonic horror of the theatre, precisely because of its perceived capacity to change the character of those who participated in it. And, if we can believe the chronicles, there was an equal concern for the imitative nature of performance, particularly when it was the inimitable upper class that was being imitated. However, I would suggest that a further, perhaps more implicit apprehension was engendered by the public display of ancestral failings. It is interesting to note, as Montrose does, that while public performances inspired attacks from the authoritative classes, there was less objection to “occasional dramatic performances . . . intended exclusively for elite audiences in the royal court, noble households, inns of court, or guildhalls.”68 But the lack of opposition to performances before an aristocratic audience may have been due as much to endogamy as to elitism. In the case of a history play at least, an aristocratic audience was simply a safer and more familiar venue. While it may have been disconcerting to witness his ancestor pilloried before his peers, an aristocrat had the comfort of knowing that most of those peers were in some fashion related to the same ancestor. If no family escaped


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calumny, neither did any family escape intermarriage. Also, since most of the aristocratic and gentry families contained their own “historians,” there may have been a tacit understanding among them that there was more than one version of historical truth. The public theaters, however, introduced Tudor history to a wide and miscellaneous audience who were neither understanding nor taciturn, and who were more than likely to believe precisely what was set before them. History plays, though not intentionally edifying like the chronicles, could have nonetheless been an even more effective propaganda tool for the Tudors, primarily because they were auditory renditions of history.69 As D. R. Woolf points out, educated Elizabethans first learned their history aurally from schoolmasters or preachers or political speeches.70 Written histories were framed in the vocative case, following the classical tradition of Herodotus, and were designed and intended to be read aloud. The history play was a natural progression to this auditory learning experience. The more educated members of the audience might have been enticed to return to the source material to satisfy some curiosity raised by the play, but the vast majority of audience members, particularly those with little or no literacy,71 would most probably accept the playwright’s version of history as established fact. To an Elizabethan audience, vocal renditions of history were more accessible, more familiar, and probably more believable than the written word. This was particularly true since the Wars of the Roses were recent enough to have continued to be a vital part of the oral tradition. Moreover, the subsequent publication of the plays in quarto form guaranteed that the theatrical experience was not transient. Although, as Woolf has pointed out, the market for “literary” quartos was relatively small, a quarto or octavo version of a play was considerably less expensive than a quarto or octavo version of any written history.72 The affordability of the play quartos increased their accessibility, and as a result they may have reached a wider readership than the chronicle histories. More importantly however, the printing of the play ensured that it outlived its moment of performance. The playwright’s version of events could be reread and reenacted ad infinitum. Consequently, the staged characterization of an ancestor was, by the very nature of its venues, the characterization that would most likely remain in the public’s mind.73 The Cobham/Falstaff incident, among others, gives credence to the idea that the aristocrats were aware of the power of the staged performance and its reactive audience. It also reinforces Montrose’s theories in a rather convoluted way – in this case, the voice of the hegemonic power structure contained in the chronicles subverted the aristocracy’s attempts at subversion

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through the most subversive of all venues, the theater. If we can assume that genealogy empowered the elite classes by allowing them to create their own histories – and if we can assume the theaters’ perversion and appropriation of that power – then Shakespeare’s portrayal of aristocratic ancestors becomes a critical issue. This is especially true for his earliest history plays. If the textual scholarship is correct, the four plays – the three parts of Henry VI and Richard III – were written in the early to mid-1590s. This would make them among Shakespeare’s earliest plays, written at a time when the novice playwright, lacking the protection of the Lord Chamberlain or the king, would have to be particularly cautious about instigating the wrath or affronting the sensibilities of any potential patron.74 Furthermore, the four plays are among the first in English dramaturgy to deal with comparatively recent ancestors. While other dramatists situated their histories in the far distant past, Shakespeare chose to place his within the Wars of the Roses, only a few generations removed from the 1590s. Consequently, Shakespeare is among the first dramatists to allow his audience the opportunity to see a Talbot battle in France or a Clifford quell an uprising or a Lucy wax poetical on England’s future when there were Talbots and Cliffords and Lucys still prominent in the life of Elizabethan London and possibly sitting in his audience. When Shakespeare decided to breathe life into the flawed grandsires of the aristocracy, therefore, he was placing himself into a delicate and heretofore unique situation. The salient question is whether he recognized and responded to the situation – or indeed, whether any response was necessary.75 We know that Shakespeare is acutely aware of the importance of genealogy. The first tetralogy, especially, is permeated with the essentiality of family lineage and reputation. In fact, Shakespeare’s history plays are unique in that they are affirmations of the sixteenth-century view of family genealogy. Family unity and loyalty are the underlying themes of each plotline, particularly of 1 and 2 Henry VI and Richard III. The interrelationship of fathers and sons is celebrated in the characters of the Talbots, the Cliffords, the Nevilles, the Yorks, and the Stanleys. There is a strong message that the achievements of great men lie in the memories of their descendants – Talbot calls for his son to live on for “In thee thy Mother dyes, our Households Name, / My Deaths Reuenge, thy Youth, and Englands Fame” (1 Henry VI 2208–2210; 4.6.38–39). When Henry tries to disinherit his son to appease the Duke of York, the outcry is tremendous and the outcome tragic because, as Robert Pierce points out, nothing is more sacred in Elizabethan eyes than the right of a son’s inheritance.76 York’s genealogical claim to the throne is constantly evoked, and in The First Part of the Contention his


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pedigree is painstakingly described. In no other history play are pedigrees detailed to this degree. As Tennenhouse argues, no challenge to patriarchal authority is successful in the plays unless it is based on blood lines.77 Even Shakespeare’s villains are aware of the importance of genealogy. Joan, in an attempt to save her life, denies her father and tries to claim she is “of a gentler blood” (1 Henry VI 2647; 5.4.8). Warwick responds with a horrified: “Gracelesse, wilt thou deny thy Parentage?” and York agrees: “This argues what her kinde of life hath beene, / Wicked and vile, and so her death concludes” (1 Henry VI 2655–2657; 5.4.14–16). When Jack Cade is attempting to assert his authority, he constructs a false genealogy and claims his father was a Mortimer and his mother a Braces (The Contention 1553–1555); in 2 Henry VI, he improves his lineage and claims his mother was a Plantagenet (2 Henry VI 2358–2362; 4.2.40).78 Some may suggest, as Donald Watson does, that Cade is mocking the idea of genealogy and warning the audience not to take the notion of blood too seriously.79 But Cade constructs a genealogy precisely because he does recognize the notion of blood inheritance – and under no circumstance does he deny that importance.80 Literary scholars are familiar with the fixation on genealogy that runs rampant through Shakespeare’s history plays and frequently cite it.81 They have not, however, asked the resultant question, which is whether Shakespeare’s general affirmation of family lineage and reputation affected his portrayals of individual families. One reason this question may have been overlooked is that few scholars see the nobles in the history plays as individualized personalities. Except for the hero Talbot and Good Duke Humphrey, the nobles in this play group are seen as an indistinguishable group of squabbling, destructive villains who are either, depending on one’s view, overthrowing the rightful king or oppressing the beleaguered commoners.82 Certainly, if we read the nobles as nothing more than a mob of murdering Machiavellians with no individuality, it would be difficult to argue that Shakespeare had any concern over offending their descendants. However, the text does not support such a reading. A close examination of each noble character reveals that every one is carefully crafted to reflect a complex individual, with particular motivations, passions, and convictions. This is dramatically significant in terms of characterization, certainly, but it is also historically significant when we gloss the characters according to their sixteenth-century descendants. What we discover is that Shakespeare was keenly aware that he was writing about the ancestors of the most powerful nobles of his time, nobles to whom genealogy and family reputation mattered, and that, in consequence, he consistently modified and revised the portrayal of their ancestors with the status of their descendants in mind.

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In fact, when we compare the characters to the historical representations in the chronicle sources, we find that he deliberately and carefully created individuals who, in some way, reflected the position or activities of their Elizabethan descendants. As we shall see in the following chapters, when the descendants are prominent people, Shakespeare seems to improve on the depictions of their ancestors that are found in the chronicle sources. That is, without changing the chronicle stories that were known so well, he succeeds in adding something to make the ancestor’s behavior more sympathetic or his motives more understandable. However, when there is no significant descendant, or when the descendant is in some disgrace, Shakespeare capitalizes on London gossip and brings elements of the descendant’s disgrace into the ancestor’s portrayal. This study is not an attempt to establish a motivation, either political or professional, for Shakespeare’s characterizations of the ancestors. I am primarily interested in presenting the evidence, rather than proffering an ideological reason behind it. The incentives for creative endeavor are many and multifaceted, but it would be foolish to deny the driving force of artistic creativity and craftsmanship. In all of these plays, Shakespeare chooses the artistic path over the political one – he never ignores or whitewashes the dramatic potential of a story merely because it may prove embarrassing to an aristocratic descendant. Similarly, as a commercial dramatist, Shakespeare would have to concern himself with the more prosaic world of box-office receipts and audience interest. History plays were beginning their decade of popularity, and Shakespeare most probably decided to capitalize on this by choosing a subject matter – the Wars of the Roses – which had some immediacy to the lives of the audience. However, once Shakespeare chose to write about the recent past, he had to have been aware of the situation in which he placed himself in terms of the aristocracy. This study is an attempt to ascertain and trace that awareness. mechanics As is by now well known, the second and third Henry VI plays offer a unique textual conundrum. There is a quarto version of 2 Henry VI entitled The Contention between the Two Famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster and a quarto version of 3 Henry VI entitled The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke. For nearly a century now, a scholarly debate has raged as to whether these two quartos, entered into the Stationers’ Register in 1594 and 1595, were written by Shakespeare and whether Shakespeare revised these earlier versions to create the final versions, 2 and 3 Henry VI.83 For the purposes of


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this study, all of the variant texts for the Henry VI plays will be examined. There are two primary reasons for this decision. First, the plays contain enough significant differences, particularly in regard to the treatment of the nobles, to mandate their consideration. Second, although it is true that we cannot demonstrably prove that The Contention and The True Tragedie are by Shakespeare, we cannot demonstrably prove that they are not. Unless we can do so, I believe we are obligated to treat them as legitimate texts. Therefore, for the purposes of this study, I will treat 2 and 3 Henry VI as later revisions of The First Part of the Contention and The True Tragedie. The dating of the quarto plays would therefore be in the vicinity of early 1590 to 1593 and the revisions would be in the Jacobean period. Unfortunately, in a comparative study such as this, there must be a significant amount of alternation among several texts. Therefore, in order to avoid confusion as much as possible, in cases where the variations among the texts are slight or insignificant, only the quarto texts will be cited. The quarto texts were chosen simply because we have a firmer date for them, and consequently we can pinpoint with more accuracy the activities of the descendants at the time of publication. A controversy also swirls about 1 Henry VI, whose date, occasion, authorship, quality, and interrelation to the other two parts of the Henry VI trilogy have all been held in doubt.84 1 Henry VI presents its own unique set of problems. First, we have no quarto, either “good” or “bad,” for 1 Henry, and our only text is that of the First Folio. The dating (1592) is suspect and the plotlines are disconnected. The text, although it was certainly attributed to Shakespeare by Heminge and Condell, has been adjudged to be so inferior that most early critics surmised that Shakespeare had little or no part in it. Recent textual scholarship indicates that Shakespeare may have collaborated with other playwrights to write the play, and that it was revised at a later date. Both these claims are difficult to prove, but there is some internal evidence to suggest that the play was revised at a later date than 1592, although we have neither manuscript nor secondary text with which to make a comparison. The disengaged plotlines do indicate multiple authorship. However, since a major plotline is the rise and fall of John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, and since it is widely agreed that Shakespeare had some part in the play, it must be considered a legitimate text for this study and the 1592 date will be presumed. The variations between the quarto and Folio versions of Richard III are comparatively slight, yet there is still a controversy regarding the legitimacy of the quarto text.85 Since 1936 there has been a consensus that this quarto text was also a memorial reconstruction. These theory has recently been disputed, and in fact John Jowett’s most

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recent edition argues for the superiority of the quarto text.86 For purposes of this study, both versions will be considered and any significant differences between them will be described. In addition to the variant texts of the First Tetralogy, this study will also examine the various source materials, both historical and dramatic, for Shakespeare’s plays. Shakespeare’s main sources for the history plays were the 1548 edition of Edward Hall’s The Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre and Yorke, and the 1587 edition of Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland first published in 1577. However, these sources had their own sources, which in turn had their own influences and agendas. In order to present a complete picture of the representative history of a particular character, therefore, the major sixteenth-century English chronicles that preceded Hall and Holinshed will be examined in every chapter. The two major early chroniclers are Robert Fabyan and Polydore Vergil. Fabyan’s The New Chronicles of England and France was probably written between 1495 and the early years of the sixteenth century. The first edition of the work was printed by Thomas Pynson in 1516; a second edition appeared in 1533.87 Polydore Vergil’s History of England was commissioned by Henry VII in 1507 and presented to Henry VIII in 1533. If relevant to the character, other chronicle and dramatic renditions will be discussed. These include: Thomas More’s Historie of King Richard III, which was allegedly written in 1513;88 John Stowe’s Short English Chronicle, which was supposedly from the fifteenth century but was published in Elizabeth’s reign; The Mirrour for Magistrates, published in 1559; John Foxe’s Actes and Monuments, from 1563; Thomas Legge’s Richardus Tertius, which was published in 1579; and the anonymous True Tragedy of Richard III, which was published in 1594. There are instances when many chroniclers, such as Richard Grafton, merely repeat Hall verbatim – in those cases only Hall is examined. In examining Shakespeare’s sources, I am attempting to evaluate all possible representational precedents for a character – not simply histories. I believe that a pattern is established in which almost all dramatists and historians respond to familial status and pressure. However, in order to see the pattern, and Shakespeare’s place in it, all the preceding texts must be examined. Textual scholarship is complex, often confusing, and ultimately indeterminate. Genealogical scholarship is even more so. For purposes of this study, four main sources were used to trace genealogies: Burke’s Peerage and Baronetage (London: Burke’s Peerage, 1978) and Burke’s Peerage and Baronetage (Extinct and Dormant) (London: Burke’s Peerage, 1978); Cokayne’s Complete Peerage, Extant, Extinct, and Dormant of England, Scotland, Great Britain and Wales (London: St. Catherine’s Press, 1926);


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and the genealogical archives of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The family history of an English aristocrat is easier to trace than that of a commoner, simply because all births and marriages, even those of the female line, are recorded. Nevertheless, in tracing the genealogy from the fifteenth to the sixteenth century we span at least four generations, and it is probable that some descendants disappear or are absorbed into different and diverse families. In addition, the branches of aristocratic family trees frequently overlap. This raises the question of Shakespeare’s cognizance of the intricacies of aristocratic lineages. As a student of history, he would of course be aware that different families might possess the same title. However, would he be aware of matrilineal descent or distant connections that are not recorded in the historical chronicles? Would he, for example, be aware that the Dudleys were matrilineally descended from the earlier Earls of Warwick, the Beauchamps, or would he realize that Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, was the niece of the Dudleys? My assumption would be that he was and did, but I am not basing my reading upon those assumptions. For purposes of this study, I am only relying on the family lines of descent that were recorded for public consumption. For instance, it was well known, through the covert but widely circulated works on succession to the crown, that the Suffolks were descended matrilineally from Mary Tudor, Queen Dowager of France. In other cases, the title remained in the same family, so Shakespeare had merely to know the surnames of his contemporaries to recognize their direct descent. My exclusion of all but the main lines of descent, therefore, is not an attempt to ignore certain family lines, but a reluctance to assume Shakespeare’s knowledge of them. This study will focus exclusively on the major aristocratic characters in the five plays of the Henry VI group and Richard III. It should be remembered, however, that the plays emphasize relatively few of the historically important nobles. For example, the Earls of Oxford were historically influential men who played significant roles in the Lancastrian, Yorkist, and Tudor courts. Yet, the Earls of Oxford are such minor characters in Shakespeare’s plays that their roles cannot be examined with any degree of certainty. Conversely, the Dukedom of Gloucester is a royal title held by terrifically prominent characters in the plays, but there were no significant titular or lineal descendants of these characters living in Shakespeare’s time. An examination of their characters would therefore be pointless for this study. Similarly, the royal characters of King Henry, Queen Margaret, and the Yorks were not included in the study, for the simple reason that they did not have descendants in Shakespeare’s time (the Dukes of York’s descendants were absorbed into different families, which will be discussed). The chapters will be divided according to family and titles – Staffords (Dukes of Buckingham), de la Poles and

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Greys (Earls of Suffolk), Nevilles, Dudleys, and Westmorlands (Earls of Warwick), Talbots (Earls of Shrewsbury), Cliffords (Earls of Cumberland), and Stanleys (Earls of Derby). The last chapter examines characters in the plays who are not members of the nobility, but who are part of the upper gentry – the class just above the Ardens, Shakespeare’s maternal family. Thomas Howard, Earl of Arundel (whose ancestor was also a character in Henry VI) wrote that there was no other part of history so considerable as what related to his own family. In other words, everyone in Renaissance England, from draper to duke, was defined, empowered, and destined by his genealogy. If Shakespeare did not share that opinion, he was certainly conscious that nearly everyone else did.

NOTES 1. This story of the Oldcastle/Falstaff problem was first reported by Nicholas Rowe in his eighteenth-century edition of Shakespeare’s plays. Textual evidence supports the story – the 1600 quarto edition of 2 Henry IV still contains the speech prefix Old before one of Falstaff’s lines; more obviously, the epilogue of the play assures the audience that Falstaff is not Sir John Oldcastle. For a thorough examination, see Alice-Lyle Scoufos, Shakespeare’s Typological Satire: A Study of the Falstaff-Oldcastle Problem (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1979). 2. Paul Whitfield White gives an admirable summary of the various theories on Shakespeare’s intent and motivation in “Shakespeare, the Cobhams, and the Dynamics of Theatrical Patronage,” Shakespeare and Theatrical Patronage in Early Modern England, ed. Paul Whitfield White and Suzanne R. Westfall (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 64–90, 64. 3. Louis Montrose, The Purpose of Playing: Shakespeare and the Cultural Politics of the Elizabethan Theatre (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 92–93. 4. David Scott Kastan, Shakespeare After Theory (New York: Routledge, 1999), 135. 5. Lawrence Stone, The Family, Sex, and Marriage in England, 1500–1800 (New York: Harper and Row, 1977). 6. Alan MacFarlane, The Origin of English Individualism: The Family Property a Social Transition (Oxford: Blackwell, 1978) and Marriage and Love in England: Modes of Reproduction (Oxford: Blackwell, 1987); Judith Hurwich, “Lineage and Kin in the Sixteenth Century Aristocracy: Some Comparative Evidence on England and Germany,” The First Modern Society: Essays on English History. Essays in Honour of Lawrence Stone, ed. Al Bleir, David Cannadine, and James M. Rosenheim (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 333–364; David Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death: Ritual, Religion, and the Life Cycle in Tudor and Stuart England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997); Ralph Houlbrooke, Death, Religion and the Family in England, 1480–1750 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998); Diana O’Hara, Courtship and Constraint: Rethinking the Making of Marriage in Tudor England (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000).


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7. See Catherine Belsey, “Gender and Family,” The Cambridge Companion to Shakespeare Tragedy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 123–141; Valerie Traub, “Gender and Sexuality in Shakespeare,” Cambridge Companion to Shakespeare, ed. Margreta de Grazia and Stanley Wells (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 129–146; Lynda Boose, “The Family in Shakespeare Studies or Studies in the Family of Shakespeareans or the Politics of Politics,” Renaissance Quarterly 40 (1987), 707–742; Stephen Orgel “Prospero’s Wife,” Rewriting the Renaissance: The Discourse of Sexual Difference in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1986), 50– 64. 8. David Cressy, “Kinship and Kin Interaction in Early Modern England,” Past and Present 113 (1996), 38–69, 46–47. 9. Thomas Elyot, The Governor, Book II, The second boke, Book I, xviii, page 05 r. 10. Cressy, “Kinship and Kin Interaction,” 48. 11. Roger Cotton, Direction to the Waters of Lyfe. Quoted in Margaret Christian, “Genealogy in the Age of Shakespeare,” Explorations in Renaissance Culture 20 (1994), 89–105, 90. 12. Hugh Broughton, The holy genealogie of Jesus Christ, London (1612), STC 3867.9. 13. William Rockett, “Britannia, Ralph Brooke, and the Representation of Privilege in Elizabethan England,” Renaissance Quarterly 53 (2000), 474–499, 478– 480. 14. The gallery in Burghley’s home at Theobalds was in fact decorated with the Genealogy of the Kings of England (quoted in Alan H. Nelson, Monstrous Adversary: The Life of Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2003), 36). 15. See, for instance: Public Record Office, “Genealogical Note, in Burghley’s Hand,” March 3, 1581, and “Memoranda, by Lord Burghley, of Public Business,” April 30, 1590, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 11, 661; Public Record Office, “Genealogical Notes on the Descent of Baronies,” 1592; “Proofs on Behalf of Lady Fane,” and “Heraldic MS, being a Dissertation on the Descent of Baronies by Writ,” 1593, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 163, 404; and Public Record Office, “Pedigrees [by Lord Burghley],” 1595, and “Genealogical Tables by Lord Burghley of the Kings of Judea,” 1595, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 157–158. 16. D. R. Woolf, Reading History in Early Modern England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 88, 92, 98. 17. Leonard Tennenhouse, Power on Display: The Politics of Shakespeare’s Genres (London: Methuen, 1986), 86. 18. Penry Williams, The Later Tudors: England 1547–1603 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 384.

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19. Quoted in Joel Hurstfield, “The Succession Struggle in Late Elizabethan England,” Freedom, Corruption and Government in Elizabethan England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 108. 20. Public Record Office, “The State of England, Anno Domini 1600, by Thomas Wilson,” June 1601, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth (1601–1603) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 60. 21. John Guy, “The 1590s: The Second Reign of Elizabeth I?,” The Reign of Elizabeth I: Court and Culture in the Last Decade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 1–19, 17. 22. C. G. Thayer, Shakespearean Politics: Government and Misgovernment in the Great Histories (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1983), 92. 23. Williams, The Later Tudors, 385. 24. R. Doleman, A Conference Abovt the Next Svccession to the Crowne of Ingland (London: 1593), 33–41. 25. Doleman, A Conference, 186. 26. Lawrence Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy 1558–1641 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965), 27; Rockett, “Representation of Privilege,” 488. 27. Lawrence Stone, “The Inflation of Honours 1558–1641,” Past and Present 14 (1958), 45–70, 47. 28. Lawrence Stone, The Causes of the English Revolution 1529–1642 (New York: Harper and Row, 1972), 88. 29. The Hastings family, for example, wrote notes on their family which they later gave to William Dugdale, an antiquity scholar, to turn into a family history (J. R. Brink, “Composition Date of Sir John Davies Nosce Teipsum,” Huntington Library Quarterly 37 (1973), 19–32). Other families paid the same type of attention to their own family histories. See for example: Huntington Library, Hastings Family Papers: Special Subjects: Religious and Ecclesiastical Affairs, 1558–1847 and Correspondence, 1477–1892; Egerton Family Papers, ca. 1150–1803; Temple Family Papers, 1228–1810; Folger Shakespeare Library, Rich Family Papers, 1485–1820; British Library, Collection Relating to the Bullen Family. References to the family histories can also be found in Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 26; Linda Peck, “Peers, Patronage, and the Politics of History,” The Reign of Elizabeth I: Court and Culture in the Last Decade, ed. John Guy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 104–105. 30. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 23. 31. Phyllis Rackin, “Genealogical Anxiety and Female Authority: The Return of the Repressed in Shakespeare’s Histories,” Contending Kingdoms: Historical, Psychological, and Feminist Approaches to the Literature of Sixteenth Century England and France, ed. Marie Rose Logan and Peter L. Rudnytsky (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1991), 230–231. 32. Stone, “Inflation of Honours,” 45. 33. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 42. Stone also quotes Robert Markham, reminding his enemy Gilbert, Earl of Shrewsbury, of his “bastardlie descent,” 25. 34. G. E. Cokayne, The Complete Peerage of England or a History of the House of Lords and All its Members from the Earliest Times, vol. xii.ii, revised by Vicary


35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47.

48.

49. 50.

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Gibbs, ed. H. A. Doubleday, Duncan Warrand, and Lord Howard de Walden (London: St. Catherine’s Press, 1910–1955), 385. Materials for a History of the Reign of Henry VII, vol. i, 221–232; Calendar of Patent Rolls, 1485–1494, 62. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. xii.ii, 396, fn. c. Ibid., vol. ix, 724, fn. e. Ibid., vol. xii.ii, 402. Richard Dutton, “Shakespeare and Lancaster,” Shakespeare Quarterly 48 (1998), 1–21, 7–9. Letters and Papers of Henry VIII, vol. ii, no. 94; Statutes of the Realm, vol. iii, 138–141. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. xii.i, 457. Ibid., vol. xii.i, 465. Calendar of Patent Rolls, 1461–1467, 263. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. xii.i, 57, fn. b. This could have its negative effects as well. The title “Duke of Gloucester” was considered ominous and retired after being held by Thomas of Woodstock, Duke Humphrey, and Richard III. Rackin, “Genealogical Anxiety,” 223. Although genealogy supported the established patriarchy of the Early Modern world, particularly through patrilineal inheritance and favoritism, there was in genealogical study a general willingness to accord recognition to female descent, and in many cases the dominant and most meritorious family line was the matrilineal one. This was not, unfortunately, the result of any burst of feminism on the part of the aristocracy. Many of the leading families of the Tudor “new” nobility claimed their titles and their noble lineages from their female lines. And any matrilineal family tree, as long as it had noble roots, was preferable to a patrilineal tree that could be construed as common. For that matter, even a family tree founded upon illegitimacy was acceptable as long as it was also founded upon nobility: the Tudors of course set the best example of both of these phenomena. Not only did they base much of their claim to the throne on their descent from Catherine de Valois, the mother of Henry VI, they also by the 1590s found it necessary to rely on two females to continue in the monarchy. See Simon Adams, “The Patronage of the Crown in Elizabethan Politics: The 1590s in Perspective,” The Reign of Elizabeth I, ed. Guy, 20–45. Cyndia Clegg has written extensively on the censorship issue. See for example, Cyndia Susan Clegg, Press Censorship in Elizabethan England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) and “Liberty, License, and Authority: Press Censorship and Shakespeare,” A Companion to Shakespeare, ed. David Scott Kastan (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), 464–485. Claus Uhlig, “Shakespeare between Politics and Aesthetics,” The Shakespearean International Yearbook. 1: Where Are We Now in Shakespearean Studies, ed. W. R. Elton and John M. Mucciolo (Aldershot: Ashgate Press, 1999), 26–44, 29. This also happens to be Shakespeare’s technique in the history plays (Janis Lull, “Plantagenets, Lancastrians, Yorkists and Tudors: 1–3 Henry VI, Richard

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51. 52.

53. 54.

55. 56. 57. 58.

59. 60. 61. 62.

63. 64.

Shakespeare and the Nobility III, Edward III,” The Cambridge Companion to Shakespeare’s History Plays, ed. Michael Hattaway (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 89–105, 93. Andreas Hofele, “Making History Memorable: More, Shakespeare and Richard III,” The Yearbook of Research in English and American Literature 21 (2005), 187– 203, 190–191. Roger Ascham, “A Report and Discourse written by Roger Ascham, of the Affairs and State of Germany” (London: 1552), The Whole Works of Roger Ascham, vol. iii, ed. J. A. Giles (London: John Russell Smith, 1864, repr. New York: AMS, 1965), 1–62, 5–6, qtd. in Hofele, “Making History,” 90. Paola Pugliatti, Shakespeare the Historian (London: Macmillan, 1996), 32–33. The most famous case of historical censorship, of course, involved John Hayward and his History of Henry IIII. Hayward’s work was little more than a narrative pamphlet, but because it was perceived to promote rebellion he was sent to the Tower and his printer was sent to a common prison. Hayward was tried twice for treason but was never convicted. Nonetheless, Elizabeth was convinced he was a traitor, and he remained in the Tower until James arrived in London as king. Hofele, “Making History,” 190. Woolf, Reading History, 32–33. Rockett, “Representation of Privilege,” 481–482. The seminal works on cultural materialism and new historicism are now nearly twenty years old, but they are still hugely influential. Among them: Jonathan Dollimore, Radical Tragedy: Religion, Ideology and Power in the Drama of Shakespeare and His Contemporaries (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984); Jonathan Dollimore and Alan Sinfield, eds., Political Shakespeare: New Essays in Cultural Materialism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985); Stephen Greenblatt, Shakespearean Negotiations: The Circulation of Social Energy in Renaissance England (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988); and Louis Montrose, “‘Shaping Fantasies’: Figuration of Gender and Power in Elizabethan Culture,” Representing the English Renaissance, ed. Stephen Greenblatt (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988), 31–64. Phyllis Rackin, Stages of History: Shakespeare’s English Chronicles (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990), 4. Rackin, Stages, 15. John J. Joughlin, “Introduction,” Shakespeare and Politics, ed. Catherine M. S. Alexander (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 71. Christoph Reinfandt, “Reading Shakespeare Historically: ‘Postmodern’ Attitudes and the History Plays,” Historicizing/Contemporizing Shakespeare: Essays in Honour of Rudolph Bohm, ed. Christoph Bode and Wolfgang Kloos (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag, 2000), 73–91, 76. Woolf, Reading History, 25. Michael Hattaway, “Introduction,” Cambridge Companion to History Plays, ed. Hattaway, 11.


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65. There were some occasions when the chronicles presented ancestors in heroic lights, and these lights were faithfully recreated by the playwrights. But Shakespeare was never entirely faithful. His characterizations, even in the early plays, always deviated slightly from his sources, and were complex enough to eliminate any omniscient heroes or villains. But apparently, as the Cobham case indicates, such complexity was lost on some members of the aristocracy. 66. Robert Weimann, “Representations and Performance: The Uses of Authority in Shakespeare’s Theatre,” Materialist Shakespeare: A History, ed. Ivo Kamps (London: Verso, 1995), 198–217, 211. 67. For almost thirty years, scholars’ perceptions of an Elizabethan audience were based on Alfred Harbage’s estimation that the majority of theater-goers in London came from the working class (Alfred Harbage, Shakespeare’s Audience (New York: Columbia University Press, 1941)). In 1974, however, Ann Jennalie Cook examined Harbage’s earlier findings and found, based on high ticket prices, poor economic conditions, and a preponderance of the upper class in London, that either no group dominated the audience or a new group, which she implied was upper class, can be proposed as preeminent (Ann Jennalie Cook, “The Audience of Shakespeare’s Plays: A Reconsideration,” Shakespeare Studies 7 (1974), 283–306). Cook’s study has been debated, but it has forced critics to reassess their earlier notions regarding the composition of the Elizabethan audience. The design and repertoire of the Globe Theatre suggest that it attracted a wealthier clientele than the other London theaters. As Alvin Kernan has commented, we should consider that Shakespeare’s aristocratic subject matter was geared to that audience (Alvin Kernan, “The Court and the Public Theater,” Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama 23 (1980), 15–19, 16). Andrew Gurr also admits that playgoing was a favorite diversion for “gallants” and the students at the Inns of Court (Andrew Gurr, Playgoing in Shakespeare’s London, 2nd edn. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996)). Also, we should not forget that the Lord Chamberlain’s Men performed more often at court than any other playing company. Between 1594 and 1612 they performed there 245 times; we know that fourteen of Shakespeare’s plays were presented at court. Recent articles on the subject of audience have focused on the anti-theatrical sentiments that may have affected audience attendance (Jean Howard, The Stage and Social Struggle in Early Modern England (London: Routledge, 1994) and Laura Levine, Men in Women’s Clothing: Anti-Theatricality and Effeminization, 1579–1642 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994)). However, Alan Somerset has argued that public theaters were located in the liberties because of financial considerations rather than anti-theatrical sentiments (Alan Somerset, “Cultural Poetics or Historical Prose? The Places of the Stage,” Medieval and Renaissance Drama in England 11 (1999), 34–59). If this is the case, then it would seem there were few incentives to keep aristocrats away from the theater. 68. Montrose, Purpose of Playing, 46. 69. This is a hotly debated topic, but some of Shakespeare’s own contemporaries believed in the edifying nature of the history play (Thomas Heywood, Apology for Actors (London: 1612)).

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70. Woolf, Reading History, 83. 71. Edward Burns, “Shakespeare’s Histories in Cycles,” Shakespeare’s History Plays: Performance, Translation, and Adaptation in Britain and Abroad, ed. Ton Hoenselaars (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 151–169, 156. 72. Woolf, Reading History, 45–46. 73. The fact that the Master of the Revels, Edmond Tilney, was himself a genealogist may have made matters even trickier (Richard Dutton, “Licensing and Censorship,” A Companion to Shakespeare (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), 377–391, 381). 74. As would all who participated in the production or printing of a play (see Kastan, After Theory, 64). 75. Of course, as David Kastan and Graham Bradshaw point out, neither the play nor its audience is a stable thing. Performances were as fluid as the people that attended them (Kastan, After Theory, 65; Graham Bradshaw, Misrepresentations: Shakespeare and the Materialists (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993), 34). But the question is what affected the fluidity. 76. Robert B. Pierce, Shakespeare’s History Plays (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1971), 77. 77. Tennenhouse, Power on Display, 85. 78. Stephen Longstaffe discusses the sixteenth-century Lacies in relation to Cade’s “genealogy.” Inexplicably, he believes that the mistake in The Contention means that it is “clearly a later version.” It seems far more reasonable to suggest that the mistake was corrected in a later version (Stephen Longstaffe, “Jack Cade and the Lacies,” Shakespeare Quarterly 49 (1998), 187–190). 79. Donald G. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early History Plays: Politics at Play on the Elizabethan Stage (London: Macmillan, 1990), 53. 80. Shakespeare himself certainly did not deny its importance in his own life. He was, in modern terms, “upwardly mobile.” The contention that, as Annabel Patterson states, Shakespeare “must have regarded himself as . . . [among] those below the rank of the landed aristocracy or gentry” (Shakespeare and the Popular Voice (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1990), 1) and therefore fashioned himself as a voice for the common man can easily be countered. Shakespeare was himself descended from landed gentry – his mother’s family, the Ardens, traced their ancestry back to the Normans and married into the aristocracy and upper gentry. His father was an important bureaucrat in Stratford. Once he became a member of the illustrious Lord Chamberlain’s Men (1596), Shakespeare applied for a gentleman’s coat of arms and a genealogy for his father. Patterson states that “we cannot be sure what this deeply symbolic gesture means,” but of course we can. Shakespeare was interested in advancing himself socially as well as financially, and he realized that a genealogy was essential to that advancement. Stephen Greenblatt, in his Will in the World, discusses Shakespeare’s application in detail and concludes that, despite some resistance to the application from genealogists, and despite some implied insecurity in the motto Non Sanz Droict, Shakespeare was “in an act of prudential, selfinterested generosity . . . conferring gentle status on himself and his children.” Stephen Greenblatt, Will in the World (New York: Norton, 2004), 77–81.


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81. See David Riggs, Shakespeare’s Heroical Histories: “Henry VI” and Its Literary Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), 73; Edna Zwick Boris, Shakespeare’s English Kings, the People, and the Law (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1978); Moody E. Prior, The Drama of Power (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1971), 88; Philip Edwards, Threshold of a Nation: A Study of English and Irish Drama (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 39; Tennenhouse, Power on Display, 99; Rackin, Stages, 186, 230–231; Donald Watson, Shakespeare’s Early Plays, 53; and Richard Helgerson, Forms of Nationhood: The Elizabethan Writing of England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 230. Phyllis Rackin does explore the genealogical phenomenon and Shakespeare’s history plays in her article “Genealogical Anxiety and Female Authority: The Return of the Repressed in Shakespeare’s Histories.” However, Rackin proposes that the fixation on patrilineal genealogy and inheritance created an anxiety about women, who were needed to validate patriarchal authority but could not validate paternity, and argues that this anxiety is recreated in the strong women figures of the history plays. 82. See, for example: Brockbank, who refers to them as “murderous automatons” (J. P. Brockbank, “Frame of Disorder – Henry VI,” in Early Shakespeare, ed. John Russell Brown and Bernard Harris (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1961), 94); Berry, who claims that the characters are not developed and do not reveal private passions (Edward I. Berry, Patterns of Decay: Shakespeare’s Early Histories (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1975), 116, 174); Alexander Leggatt, who says what we see is “not a collection of great individuals but a swarm of ants”(Shakespeare’s Political Drama: The History Plays and the Roman Plays (London: Routledge, 1988), 9); Pugliatti, who sees the nobles as “totally treacherous” (Shakespeare the Historian, 157); and Blair Worden, who speaks of the nobles’ “snobbery, selfishness and petulance” and refers to them collectively as “thugs” (“Shakespeare and Politics,” Shakespeare and Politics, ed. Alexander, 22–44, 38). Harry Keyishian returns to Brockbank and uses the term “automaton” to describe them (“The Progress of Revenge in the First Henriad,” “Henry VI”: Critical Essays, ed. Thomas A. Pendleton (New York: Routledge, 2001), 67–77, 77). Maurice Hunt believes that they are all, with the exception of Good Duke Humphrey, overreaching social climbers on the same level as Lucifer (“Climbing for Place in Shakespeare’s 2 Henry VI,” “Henry VI”: Critical Essays, ed. Pendleton, 157–176). Stephen Greenblatt calls them “mentally unbalanced small town criminals: they are capable of incredible nastiness but cannot achieve a hint of grandeur.” Stephen Greenblatt, Will in the World (New York: Norton, 2004), 197. In Richard III, the nobles only serve to advance Richard’s story (Janis Lull, “Plantagenets, Lancastrians,” 96). 83. This debate is summarized in virtually every edition and textual study of the plays. For the most comprehensive recent study see King Henry VI Part Two, ed. Ronald Knowles (London: Arden Shakespeare, 1999), 106–141; and King Henry VI Part Three, ed. John D. Cox and Eric Rasmussen (London: Arden Shakespeare, 2001), 148–175. See also Steven Urkowitz, “Texts with Two Faces: Noticing Theatrical Revisions in Henry VI, Parts 2 and 3,” “Henry VI”: Critical Essays, ed. Pendleton, 27–37.

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84. For a recent and comprehensive summary, see King Henry VI Part One, ed. Edward Burns (London: Arden Shakespeare, 2000), 1–90. 85. David Lyall Patrick, The Textual History of “Richard III” (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1936); Steven Urkowitz, “Reconsidering the Relationship of Quarto and Folio Texts of Richard III,” English Literary Renaissance 16 (1986), 442–466; Laurie E. Maguire, Shakespearean Suspect Texts: The “Bad” Quartos and Their Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); John Jowett, “Richard III and the Perplexities of Editing,” Text: An Interdisciplinary Annual of Textual Studies 11 (1998), 224–45; Adrian Kiernander, “‘Betwixt’ and ‘Between’: Variant Readings in the Folio and First Quarto Versions of Richard III and W. W. Greg’s Concept of Memorial Reconstruction,” Shakespeare Matters: History, Teaching, Performance, ed. Lloyd Davis (Delaware: Delaware University Press, 2003), 239–254. 86. The Tragedy of King Richard III, ed. John Jowett (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 110–127. 87. It has been estimated that Fabyan died between 1511 and 1512. Henry Ellis, Preface to Robert Fabyan’s The New Chronicles of England and France in Two Parts (London: F. C. and J. Rivington, 1811), iii. 88. This is the most widely accepted date of composition, established by More’s nephew William Rastell, who collected and edited More’s unfinished manuscripts in 1557. Rastell declared that it was written in 1513. Rastell’s 1557 edition was preceded by other versions of More’s work that had been appended to other histories – most notably John Hardyng’s Chronicle and Hall’s Union of the Famelies (see below). Both of these chronicles were published by Grafton and both were declared “corrupt” by Rastell. There has been some debate about the number of exemplars that More created. Alison Hanham postulates that there were several drafts (Alison Hanham, Richard III and His Early Historians (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975).

chap t e r 1

The Staffords (Dukes of Buckingham)

The title of Duke of Buckingham has had an inauspicious and unfortunate history in England. The most infamous holder of that title was the Jacobean darling George Villiers, who coincidentally was born the year that the Henry VI plays were first performed and created duke the year that the First Folio was published. However, the title had fallen into disrepute well before James I made the unfortunate choice to bestow it upon Villiers. Almost one hundred years before Villiers was created, the title was permanently attainted from the Stafford family, who lost it after producing, at least according to the chronicles, three successive generations of conspirators and traitors. The first Duke of Buckingham, Humphrey Stafford, was actually something of a hero, who fought valiantly on the side of Henry V and tried desperately to foster a peace between the Yorks and the Lancasters. None of these attributes is displayed in the chronicles, where he is represented at best as an incidental scoundrel and at worst as a vicious little warmonger who helps destroy the good Duke of Gloucester. The second Duke of Buckingham, Henry Stafford, rivals Villiers in being the most famous holder of the title. Henry was the ally and then enemy of Richard III, which made him one of the favorite subjects of the Tudor historians. The third and final Stafford Duke of Buckingham was Edward Stafford, whose spectacular rise and fall most probably influenced the way his father and great-grandfather were portrayed and viewed by succeeding generations.1 The Buckingham title remained dormant for two generations and perhaps understandably no one was attempting to reclaim it when Shakespeare was writing. Of all the nobles in Shakespeare’s canon, none had more representational precedent than dukes Humphrey and Henry. There were numerous accounts, both historical and dramatic, of the dukes, and in The Contention, 2 Henry VI, and Richard III; for the most part, Shakespeare follows the pattern set by his predecessors, making little attempt to salvage the reputation of the two noblemen. However, Shakespeare adds scenes and characters relative to the Stafford name that are neither historically accurate nor dramatically significant. 33

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One way to explain these choices is to read them in the context of the Stafford descendants, who were still prominent, if not terrifically influential, members of Shakespeare’s society. When we do read the texts in this light, we discover that Shakespeare had knowledge of current events, some access to the rumor mill that churned about the aristocracy, and certainly a vast understanding of genealogical connections. Shakespeare’s most significant deviations from the chronicle portrayals appear in The Contention and 2 Henry VI. It should be said that the chronicles themselves deviate from historical accuracy in their depiction of the first Duke of Buckingham. Buckingham was an heroic figure in Henry V’s French wars; his actions earned him the constabulary of France.2 From 1442 to 1450 he was captain of the town and marches of Calais and throughout the 1450s he served as constable of Dover and warden of the Cinque Ports.3 His problems, as far as the chronicles were concerned, began with his unfortunate alliances. In the factionalized court of Henry VI, Humphrey Stafford joined with the Beauforts, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Suffolk against Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester.4 Buckingham played a leading role in the campaign to destroy Gloucester. He sat on the committee of investigation that sentenced Gloucester’s wife, Eleanor Cobham, and was one of the lords who arrested Gloucester on a charge of treason.5 This seems to have been his only lapse of judgment. Buckingham and his half-brother John Stafford, the Archbishop of Canterbury, met with the rebel Jack Cade to promise a redress of grievances; it was Henry VI’s refusal to honor their promises that incited the Cade uprising.6 In the initial stages of the conflict between the Yorks and Lancasters, Buckingham took a neutral stance and actively tried to restore peace. He is recorded as being the only person trusted by both sides. When war finally did break out, Duke Humphrey fought on the Lancastrian side and died in the Battle of Northampton in 1460. Nonetheless, the chronicles treat Duke Humphrey’s place in history as parenthetically villainous. Because of his stand against the Duke of Gloucester, he is listed among those who plotted the “good duke’s” murder; he is also the one who lied to York about the Duke of Somerset’s imprisonment. There is no mention of his attempts at peace and his ultimate contribution to the Lancastrian cause is forgotten. Even the circumstances of his death remain unrecorded. In both The Contention and 2 Henry VI, Shakespeare maintains the chronicle portrayal of Buckingham as a conspirator and a liar. Shakespeare, in fact, increases the Duke’s culpability by having him aggressively covet the protectorship of the king (Contention 127; 2 Henry VI 1.1.175).7 For the most part, however, Shakespeare follows his chronicle sources in keeping the


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Duke of Buckingham a character of minor importance or influence, with one notable exception. No chronicle mentions that Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, was present at the arrest of Eleanor Cobham. Robert Fabyan reports the incident in three sentences. Polydore Vergil does not mention it at all; Edward Hall says simply: [d]ame Elyanour Cobham, wyfe to the sayd duke, was accused of treason, for that she, by sorcery and enchauntment, entended to destroy the kyng . . . upon this she was examined in sant Stephens chappel, before the Bisshop of Canterbury, and ther by examinacion convict & judge, to do open penaunce in open places . . . and after that adjudged to perpetuall prisone in the Isle of Man, under the keypng of Sir John Stanley, knight.8

Raphael Holinshed repeats Edward Hall’s account, only correcting Stanley’s name to “Thomas.”9 Eleanor’s story, a popular one for historical moralists, is repeated in the chronicles of Stowe and Foxe and in Mirrour for Magistrates. Yet none of these accounts suggests the Duke of Buckingham’s participation in the downfall of the luckless duchess. In Shakespeare’s text, however, Buckingham plays a dominant role. It is he who volunteers to trail Eleanor, it is he who spies on the duchess and her conjuring cohorts, and it is he who, with York, arrests the trio (Contention 506–514; 2 Henry VI 668–705; 1.4.46–50). After the schemers are taken into custody in 2 Henry, York specifically congratulates Buckingham on his talent for conspiracy and espionage: “Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch’d her well: / A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon”(2 Henry VI 685–686; 1.4.55–56). Buckingham takes a special interest in Eleanor’s downfall: he asks York if he may be the one who informs the king of Eleanor’s treachery (Contention 518–519; 2 Henry VI 706–707; 1.4.74–75). When granted his request, he breaks into Gloucester’s triumph at the Simpcox scene to gleefully report the duchess’ crime and arrest in lurid detail (Contention 676–684; 2 Henry VI 917–930; 2.1.158–168). There are two other interesting variations from the corresponding stories in the chronicles. First, Shakespeare has Buckingham place Eleanor in the custody of a man called “Stafford.” The second deviation is the alliance with York. This is an odd partnership for the Lancastrian duke to make and it implies a relationship that did not exist, either historically or reportedly. After the Cobham story, Shakespeare returns to the interpretation of Buckingham found in the chronicles. The next significant mention of Buckingham is a brief rendition of his meeting with Cade. In this scene, Buckingham is not the negotiator of history but an arrogant, presumptuous bully. This again is faithful to the chronicle renditions.

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Shakespeare’s next major variation from the chronicles occurs with the amplification of the character Sir Humphrey Stafford. Humphrey Stafford is mentioned in the chronicles as a very minor, rather hapless victim of the Cade rebellion. Fabyan is the first chronicler to tell us of Sir Humphrey Stafford’s encounter with Jack Cade. His report is short but positive: whene sir Humfrey with his company drewe nere vnto Seuenok, he was warnyd of the capitayne at ther abode with his people. And when he had counsayled with other gentylmen, he, like a manfull knight, sette vpon the rebellys and fought with theym longe: but in the end the capitayne slewe hym and his brother. (623)

In Polydore Vergil’s version, Stafford is not killed but immediately and ignobly retreats: The king . . . sent forthwith against them Humfrey Stafford, knight, with a choyse bonde of men, upon whom they gave charge as he came, and at the first encounter put him to flight. (84)

This, needless to say, is an unflattering portrayal of Stafford, who even with a band of soldiers was not willing or able to put up a fight. Edward Hall and Raphael Holinshed return to Fabyan’s version and add a brother and a valiant death to the story: The Quene, which bare the rule, byng of [Cade’s] retrayte well advertised, sent syr Humfrey Stafford knyght, and William his brother with many other gentlemen, to folow the chace of the Kentishmen, thinkynge that they had fledde, but verely, they were deceyved: for at the first skyrmish, both the Staffordes were slayne, and all their companye shamefully discomfited. (Hall 220)

Holinshed only changes the story by adding that the Staffords “were deceiued” by Cade and removing the comment that the company was “shamefully” discomfited (iii.634). Sometime during Elizabeth I’s reign, John Stowe, a private collector of historical manuscripts, wrote a series of historical memoranda. Among the memoranda is a Short English Chronicle, in which Stowe reports the Cade rebellion, incorrectly changes the name of William Stafford to John, and states that the Staffords “were slayne and myche of her peple.”10 Another item among Stowe’s memoranda is entitled “A proclamation made by Jacke Cade, Captayn of ye Rebells in Kent.” Following the proclamation is a “dyrge made by the comons of Kent in the tyme of ther rysynge, when Jack Cade was theyr cappitayn” (101). The Staffords are not mentioned in either the proclamation or the dirge. Baldwin, in his poem for Jack Cade in the Mirrour for Magistrates, gives the Staffords only the briefest of attention: “For after the Staffords and their hoast was slaine / To Blackeheath fielde I marched backe againe” (161). The implication


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in all of these accounts is that Humphrey Stafford was at the very least incompetent, and at the very most cowardly – a man who died quickly and, because of his incompetence, apparently deservedly. In The Contention, Shakespeare has taken the character of Sir Humphrey Stafford, augmented his participation in the rebellion, and transformed him into an ill-fated but admirable hero. In Shakespeare’s version, Humphrey Stafford assaults Cade not only with military might but with strong polemics as well. The scene contains the following colloquy between Cade and Stafford: staf f : cade : staf f : ca de : staf f : ca de : staf f :

Why country-men, what meane you thus in troopes, To follow this rebellious Traitor-Cade? Why his father was but a Brick-laier. Well, and Adam was a Gardner, what then? But I come of the Mortemers. Aye, the Duke of Yorke hath taught you that. The Duke of York, nay, I learnt it my selfe, For looke you, Roger Mortemer the Earle of March Married the Duke of Clarence daughter. Well, thats true: But what then? And by her he had two children at a birth. That’s false. (Contention 1618–1629)

Cade goes on to say that he will allow Henry to be king, but that he shall be Protector, and Lord Say and the Duke of Somerset shall be killed for losing Anjou and Maine and speaking French. Stafford replies by making Cade an offer of mercy, the same offer that Buckingham and Clifford offer later: Well sirrha, wilt thou yeeld thy selfe vnto the Kings mercy, and he will pardon thee and these, their outrages and rebellious deeds? (Contention 1654–1656)

Cade refuses, but Stafford repeats the offer: Go Herald, proclaime in all the Kings Townes, That those that will forsake the Rebell Cade, Shall haue free pardon from his Maiestie. (Contention 1660–1662)

The forces of Cade and Stafford meet in battle, and the Staffords are killed. Shakespeare’s audience may be amused at Cade’s verbal adroitness as well as his active imagination. But, putting Jack Cade’s talents aside, we can see how Stafford has been socially elevated from his place in the chronicles. First of all, he is in a position to offer mercy from the king – an offer that is later

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offered by the much more prominent courtiers Clifford and Buckingham. Second, he is aware of the fact that York is behind Cade’s rebellion. This item of information has not been mentioned in the scenes taking place at court; in order to know it, Stafford would have to be privy to some exalted company. Finally, Stafford’s behavior in the scene is courageous and bold, particularly when it is compared to the chronicle’s depiction. In the chronicles, Stafford is nothing more than Cade’s first victim. Shakespeare gives him a voice and an authority, as well as the courage to face down an angry mob. Moreover, in The Contention, Shakespeare gives Stafford the compassion to offer mercy twice, even after Cade refuses it. Lastly, the battle between Cade and Stafford is played onstage, so the audience is permitted to see Stafford fight and die bravely. The parallel scene in 2 Henry VI is today a source of great pride to the descendants of the Staffords,11 although in this version Stafford is much harsher with Cade and could even be seen as an example of aristocratic abuse.12 He comes before the rebels with a speech filled with condemnation and threats: Rebellious Hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, Mark’d for the Gallowes: Lay your Weapons downe, Home to your Cottages: forsake this Groome. The King is mercifull, if you reuolt. (2 Henry VI 2441–2444; 4.2.111–116)

His brother William, who is silent in The Contention, adds to this: “But angry, wrathfull, and inclin’d to blood, / If you go forward: therefore yeeld, or dye.” When Cade refuses the offer of mercy in 2 Henry VI, Stafford withdraws it: Herald away, and throughout euery Towen, Proclaime them Traitors that are vp with Cade, That those which flye before the battell ends, May euen in their Wiues and Childrens sight, Be hang’d vp for example at their doores: And you that be the Kings Friends follow me. (2 Henry VI 2495–2500; 4.2.165–170)

Although Shakespeare still gives Stafford authority and voice, the voice is ruthless, and the authority offensive. This is exemplified later, when Clifford is able to turn the rebels’ allegiance by appealing to them as equals and never withdrawing the offer of mercy. In many respects, Stafford’s attitude could be fueling the Cade rebellion in 2 Henry VI. In The Contention, after the Staffords are slain, Cade congratulates Dickie the Butcher on a valiant fight


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(1669–1671). In 2 Henry VI, Cade gloats over the Staffords’ fall: “They fell before thee like Sheep and Oxen, & thou behaued’st thy selfe, / As if thou hadst beene in thine own slaughterhouse” (2 Henry VI 2514–2518; 4.3.3–4). He continues, in 2 Henry VI, to say, to the cheers of his compatriots, how he will drag their bodies by his horse’s heels (2521–2522). Later, a messenger verifies to the king that the Staffords’ death has energized the rebels: His Army is a ragged multitude Of Hindes and Pezants, rude and mercilesse: Sir Humfrey Stafford, and his Brothers death Hath giuen them heart and courage to proceede. (2 Henry VI 2567–2570; 4.4.33–36)

These lines are not in The Contention. In 2 Henry VI, Shakespeare seems to be emphasizing that Stafford’s arrogance and harshness have added fodder to this rebellion. Individually, these changes and additions may seem minor, but taken cumulatively they appear to suggest a pattern. The pertinent question to ask is why Shakespeare made these choices regarding the Stafford name. Why make Duke Humphrey so complicit in Eleanor’s downfall, when a more logical choice would have been Eleanor’s nemesis, the Duke of Suffolk? Historically Buckingham sat on the panel that sentenced Eleanor – but there is a great deal of difference between sentencing someone and entrapping her in her crime. And in any event, no chronicle source reports that Buckingham acted as her judge, so to our knowledge any personal connection between Buckingham and Eleanor is purely a Shakespearean invention. Another puzzle is why Shakespeare makes such use of the name of Stafford throughout the play, including the augmentation and improvement of the character of Humphrey Stafford. Is it only a coincidence that it is a Stafford who takes Eleanor into custody, or that it is a Stafford who stands for his king against the commons? To attribute all this to happenstance appears far-fetched, and assumes a society fundamentally different from ours, where familiar names did not evoke conditioned responses. By now it can be safely argued that the parameters of any narrative environment are dictated by the reception and understanding of contemporary events. Likewise, the interpretive function that exists between a narrative device and its audience is often transformed by the celebrity or notoriety of particular individuals in the society. Today, we see this occurring on a daily basis. The frequent recurrence of one person’s name in the news can transform societal vocabulary, humor, discourse, all forms of narration and, ultimately, all reaction to that narration. Although lacking the mixed blessing

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of the mass media, Shakespeare’s London operated on much the same principle. Prominent personalities rose and fell, names were bandied about and then forgotten, and in their brief sojourn of recognition they transformed the narrative environment in which they existed. In the early 1590s, two descendants of Duke Humphrey, both with the surname Stafford, had gained particular fame: Edward, Lord Stafford, who sat in judgment on Mary Queen of Scots, and Sir Edward Stafford, who created an esteemed career as the English ambassador to France. Today, Sir Edward is more famous for his extracurricular activities: during the late 1580s, he followed family tradition and became a spy and informant for the King of Spain. Stafford’s career in espionage was suspected but never confirmed, but there is some indication from the plays that the suspicions may have become part of the larger narrative environment. At any rate, looking at the lives of the two Elizabethan Staffords may help explain Shakespeare’s treatment of the Stafford name and the Buckingham title. In a society as restricted as Elizabethan London, where subtlety as well as discretion had to be the better part of valor, Shakespeare was able to incorporate rather dicey contemporary events into his narrative by using prominent names and associations that, although they had no overt connections, could trigger a response from those in the audience familiar with the Stafford story. Edward, Lord Stafford, the great-great-great-grandson of Duke Humphrey, became the third Baron Stafford in 1566. Baron Stafford had been a devout Protestant during the years of Mary Tudor’s reign. His brother Thomas, in fact, was executed by Mary for plotting against her marriage to Philip of Spain and asserting his own right to the throne in an effort to depose her. The same year that Edward became baron he made a prodigious marriage that actually did bring the Stafford family a proximity to the throne. Edward married Mary Stanley, the daughter of the third Earl of Derby and the granddaughter of the Duke of Norfolk. The Earls of Derby were in line for the throne after the Stuarts and the Suffolks. Mary’s brother, Henry Stanley, was married to Margaret Clifford, the granddaughter of Mary Tudor, who was the sister of Henry VIII; Henry VIII had decreed in his will that, after his children, the throne should go to his sister Mary’s descendants.13 This did not mean that Baron Stafford was in line for the throne; however, his alliance with the powerful Derbys most certainly assured his future. Baron Stafford enjoyed a prominent presence during Elizabeth’s reign and was one of the nobles she trusted most. He was present at the trials and executions of Mary Queen of Scots and the Earl of Essex, and he was made Chancellor for the March of Wales in 1602, a year before his death.14 His association with the Stanleys also associated him indirectly


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with the theatrical world. Many scholars believe that Shakespeare’s first patron was Ferdinando Stanley, Lord Strange – the son and heir of the Earl of Derby and nephew of Mary Stanley Stafford. Although Shakespeare’s association with Stanley remains debatable, the material point is that Lord Strange was a viable patron in the early 1590s whose company enjoyed a great deal of success. The “other” Edward has generated more interest among modern historians, with good reason. Sir Edward Stafford was the nephew of Baron Stafford; he was the son of Dorothy Stafford, the great-great-granddaughter of Duke Humphrey. To add to the general confusion of endogamy, Dorothy Stafford’s husband shared her surname. He was Sir William Stafford, from the Staffords of Blatherwyke. Sir William Stafford’s only claim to fame was his first marriage to Mary Boleyn, the aunt of Queen Elizabeth. Mary and William escaped the fall of the Boleyns unscathed and, although William outlived Mary and went on to marry Dorothy Stafford, this particular branch of the Stafford family remained high in Elizabeth’s estimation and attention. Dorothy and William’s son Sir Edward also made a prominent, if ultimately unfortunate marital selection in 1578. Sir Edward’s second wife was Douglas Howard, the granddaughter of Thomas Howard, second Duke of Norfolk, and the sister of the Lord Admiral. Douglas had been married twice before she was espoused to Sir Edward: once to Lord Sheffield, and afterward, secretly, to Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester and Elizabeth’s favorite. Leicester cast off Douglas, which earned him her undying hatred. When Douglas married Sir Edward Stafford, she shared with him her wealth, her hatred of Leicester and, as subsequent events revealed, her Roman Catholic sympathies. Sir Edward was one of the chief negotiators and ardent supporters of the marriage between the Duke of Alençon and Elizabeth. His support of the marriage put him in direct opposition to Leicester and Walsingham but opened the door to a diplomatic career.15 In 1583, Sir Edward was appointed ambassador to France, and he immediately wrote to Walsingham stating his intent to befriend the French Catholics in order to obtain information.16 However, Walsingham, remembering Sir Edward’s support of Alençon, suspected that his sympathies and activities were actually on behalf of Mary Queen of Scots and the Catholic cause.17 Walsingham’s instincts were, as usual, well-honed. Walsingham sent his own spy to France, who reported back that Sir Edward was a conduit for Catholic correspondence to England, that he was taking bribes from the Catholics, and that he was sharing English dispatches with the Duke of Guise.18 Sir Edward’s susceptibility to espionage was duly noted by that most consummate of all spies, Bernardino de Mendoza. In 1587, Mendoza wrote to Philip II that “now was the time for your Majesty to

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make use of him if you wished any service done.”19 After this point, there are approximately seventy-six letters in the Spanish papers concerning the intelligence passed between Stafford and Spain. Mendoza and Philip rarely mention Stafford by name; he is almost always referenced as “our new friend,” “the new confidant,” or “the English ambassador.” Nonetheless, there is ample evidence that he indeed was in the paid employ of the Spanish government at the same time that he maintained a position of great trust and importance for England. In 1587, Mendoza writes: The English ambassador . . . openly confess me his desire to serve your majesty. He offered himself entirely through me, in the assurance that your Majesty would not order him to do anything against the interest of his mistress the queen, who, however, he could plainly see, had not long to live now that she had the execution of the queen of Scotland.20

A few months later, Mendoza reports to Philip that Stafford has privately acknowledged the Spanish king’s right to the English throne.21 Sir Edward was such an exemplary ambassador for the English in France that he was offered the Viceroyalty of Ireland. Philip disapproved and writes to Mendoza that such a move is ill-advised: “Whilst he is [in France], he can give information as to what is going on both in England and France with greater speed and facility than he could elsewhere.” Philip goes on to state that he does not trust the offer and the English may be suspicious and have “the intention of playing a trick upon him.”22 Philip was correct about the English suspicions of Stafford. Some historians have doubted Sir Edward’s disloyalty, but there is no question that Walsingham had grave doubts of his integrity and that his misgivings were shared by others who were in contact with Stafford.23 Suspicion of Sir Edward might have increased when his brother Sir William Stafford was arrested for a plot against the queen’s life.24 Sir Edward writes frequently that he is being targeted by Walsingham, and Burghley warns of the rumors against him.25 Walsingham did try mightily to remove Stafford.26 Nonetheless, it would seem that the evidence for Sir Edward’s treachery was lacking, because he maintained his post and his relationship with the queen. He was called back from his diplomatic post in 1590, and lived in good repute in England until his death in 1605. When The Contention was composed, the public concern over the Catholic peril was at its zenith. The memory of Mary Queen of Scots’ execution was still fresh in the public mind, as was the justification for her execution. Mary was perceived and portrayed as a genuine threat to the realm. As long as she remained alive, England was in constant peril of rebellions from within and invasions from without. Once Mary was executed,


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those risks increased. In the early 1590s England remained in persistent dread that the Spanish and their Catholic allies would retaliate for Mary.27 The defeat of the Armada, though inspiring a burst of national pride, did absolutely nothing to alleviate these fears. The Staffords were seen, at least officially, as one of the vanguards against the Catholic menace. Thomas Stafford, the baron’s brother, could be viewed as a Protestant martyr, and his treason against a Catholic monarch became a mere matter of semantics in Elizabeth’s time. Baron Stafford emerged as one of the Protestant champions, and his judgment against the Scottish queen assumed his family’s loyalty to Elizabeth and her Protestant regime. Sir Edward Stafford was, in the public eye at least, protecting England’s Protestant interests in Catholic France and fending off those Catholics with an eye for inciting an internal insurgence in England. From an Elizabethan point of view, the Staffords may not have been dramatically heroic but they were stalwart defenders of the faith and the monarchy. In this regard, the valiant stance of the Stafford brothers against Jack Cade can certainly be reflective of the brothers Edward and Thomas from the Marian reign. Humphrey and his brother face seemingly impossible odds: they are surrounded and outnumbered by the rebels, and their voices are drowned out by the casuistry of Jack Cade. The sixteenth-century Staffords were also surrounded by enemies: Baron Stafford and his brother lived as Protestants in Marian England. They too were outnumbered, and outvoiced, by the Catholics. Humphrey’s argument regarding the lie of Cade’s genealogy and his unfitness for the throne is analogous to the Staffords’ argument for the lie of Catholicism and Mary’s unfitness for the throne. Of course, the outcome of the situations differed. Baron Edward was the one Stafford brother able to escape martyrdom. Not only did he do so but he was also given authority by his beloved queen Elizabeth to sit in judgment upon the next Catholic threat – Mary Queen of Scots. It is here where the comparison to Humphrey Stafford is the most evocative. Like Baron Edward, Humphrey Stafford had the authority, given him by Shakespeare, to act on his monarch’s behalf in offering mercy or death to a “rebel” leader. The comparison is not without its underlying moral. The ultimate fate of Humphrey Stafford underscores the wisdom of his descendant Baron Stafford and his peers in “judging” Mary to be worthy of death. If Cade’s story demonstrates anything, it demonstrates that rebels are not to be trusted, particularly brilliant, charismatic ones like Cade and Mary. Humphrey’s leniency in offering mercy twice may have been his failing – a failing Baron Stafford did not inherit. Nevertheless, Humphrey Stafford is a fine and noble namesake of which to be proud – the fact that he was

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not the actual ancestor is beside the point. An Elizabethan audience would have recognized the Stafford name, a good number of them would have known the story of Edward and Thomas, and even those who did not would be able sympathize and cheer a Stafford. The use of the Stafford name for the character who takes Eleanor into custody may also have been a conscious decision. Eleanor is practicing witchcraft and has ambitions to the throne. It would not be too fanciful to see a connection between Eleanor and Mary Queen of Scots. Mary certainly had sufficient ambition, and to an English Protestant, Catholicism was close enough to the occult. Having a Stafford take Eleanor into custody seems entirely fitting. The change in Humphrey’s attitude between The Contention and 2 Henry VI can be attributed to many things. When the revised version of 2 Henry VI was printed and performed, the Marian years were a much more distant memory. If 2 Henry VI was revised in the Jacobean age, it was revised at a time when Edward Lord Stafford was dead and when his son, Edward, was in the Tower “for his Majesty’s displeasure.”28 Perhaps also the time to pay tribute to the Staffords was long past. This brings us back to the less sterling member of the Stafford family, Sir Edward. Was it possible that the rumors of Sir Edward’s activities had reached William Shakespeare? This is, of course, impossible to determine. However, it is interesting to revisit that original scene from The Contention and 2 Henry VI, in which Buckingham spies on Eleanor Cobham, in light of Sir Edward’s escapades. The situations are remarkably similar. Buckingham is spying on a woman at the direction of the Duke of York, who has ambitions to the English throne. Edward Stafford was spying on a woman, Queen Elizabeth, at the direction of the King of Spain, who had ambitions to the English throne. Both men have the complete trust of their supposed monarch, and the expressed approval of their true “monarch.” The only difference is in victim and result. Eleanor Cobham is an illtempered woman who sees herself as first lady of the realm and practices witchcraft for the advancement of her husband. Queen Elizabeth was an ill-tempered woman who happened to be the first lady of the realm and therefore had no need of witchcraft or husband. Eleanor’s entanglement with the occult condemns her, Elizabeth’s defense of “true” Christianity protected her. Eleanor’s punishment is well-deserved, and although the tale cautions the audience against the use of the occult, it could just as well be a reminder of the cunning and influence of spies. Witchcraft or no, Buckingham is certainly not depicted as a hero for his capture of Eleanor. He is simply too eager to spy on Eleanor and too anxious to report her downfall to her husband. He is too much of a pawn of York, who wins him over with


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compliments and friendship. None of this strays too far from Sir Edward, who was all eagerness to spy for the fawning Philip and Mendoza. Shakespeare’s enhancement of Humphrey Stafford could be seen as a tribute to the sixteenth-century Staffords. But Buckingham’s incident with Eleanor could be a much more sly commentary on the same family. Shakespeare could dare do no more, obviously, but to those who had some knowledge of the rumors surrounding Sir Edward the scene might have some resonance. The use of the name Stafford as Eleanor’s custodian may have been a hint to connect the audience to Sir Edward as well as a tribute to Baron Edward. In any event, the transformation of Sir Edward’s ancestor into a spy is a little too close to contemporary events to be sheer coincidence. Another interesting note is that Shakespeare does not emphasize the association between the Stafford name and the Buckingham title. He never refers to the Dukes of Buckingham by their surnames in The Contention or Henry VI. Instead he treats them as two separate and distinct families with decidedly different traits. While many in the late sixteenth-century audience would have recognized the name “Stafford,” there may have been relatively few who realized the relationship of that name to the Buckingham title. Hence, only the most informed of his audience would have recognized the connection and only the most astute would have picked up on the innuendo. If this is not a coincidence, then it demonstrates that Shakespeare’s knowledge of current events and his ability to fit that knowledge into his work was extraordinary. But in order to fully appreciate Shakespeare’s talent in this regard, we need to look at his treatment of Henry Stafford, Humphrey’s grandson and the second Duke of Buckingham. This is of course the famous supporter and collaborator of Richard III, who because of his association with Richard became a favorite target of the Tudor propagandists. For his portrayal of Henry Stafford, Shakespeare had more than chronicle sources and The Mirrour for Magistrates to draw upon for precedent. The rise and fall of the last Yorkist king was a popular topic for dramatists as well as historians, and the Duke of Buckingham was immortalized right along with his comrade. Despite the myriad of source materials, Shakespeare chose to create a variation of the Duke of Buckingham that was a significant departure from the spirit as well as the detail of any preceding text. The best way to understand these deviations is to go through the variant versions, beginning with the historical facts, as best we know them. Henry Stafford, Humphrey’s grandson, was only five years old when he inherited the title Duke of Buckingham. He was the son of Humphrey’s oldest son Humphrey and Margaret Beaufort, descended from the illegitimate

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progeny of John of Gaunt. One year after Humphrey Stafford’s death, a Yorkist victory placed Edward IV on the throne. Edward took immediate steps to control the budding Lancastrian and made the six-year-old his ward, establishing him in the household of Queen Elizabeth Woodville. When Henry was nine years old, Edward attempted to negotiate the Woodvilles into the “old nobility” by forcing the boy to marry Katherine Woodville, the queen’s sister.29 Although young Henry scorned the Woodvilles as his social inferiors and vigorously opposed a union with them, his protestations had little effect. The marriage took place and the reluctant groom was inextricably allied to the two families he most despised.30 The entrée into the king’s family proved to be of little benefit to Henry; he was kept at arm’s length during the reign of Edward and was never placed on the same level, politically or financially, as the Greys or the Woodvilles.31 When Edward died and a power struggle ensued between the queen’s family and Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Henry retaliated for his mistreatment by forming an alliance with Richard to wrest the throne, now held by Edward’s young son, from the control of his sister-in-law. Almost immediately, Henry, Duke of Buckingham, became Gloucester’s chief ally. The duke was, by all accounts, young, attractive, enthusiastic, and well-expressed, which nicely complemented Richard’s own notoriously taciturn personality. It was Buckingham who orchestrated the arrest of Rivers and Grey and the seizure of Edward V. When the Woodville faction was virtually eliminated, Buckingham filled the power vacuum that was left behind. As Protector, Richard made Buckingham Constable, Keeper, and Steward of several counties, including Shropshire, Hereford, Somerset, Dorset, and Wiltshire. He was also given the positions of Steward of Wales and Keeper of all royal lands within. With these appointments, Buckingham became the Viceroy of Wales, the Marches, and much of the West Country.32 Through his eloquence, so it is said, Buckingham was able to remove the king’s younger brother, Richard, Duke of York, from sanctuary and confine him in the Tower with the king. In another oratorical victory, Buckingham convinced the populace (or more likely Parliament) of the illegitimacy of the imprisoned princes and the right of Richard to take the throne. Buckingham insisted on arranging and taking the chief role in Richard’s coronation.33 Some scholars suggest that he may have also arranged the murder of Edward V and the Duke of York. Buckingham remained by the new king’s side for four months; then, in a shift that has been inexplicable to historians, he headed a movement to depose Richard.34 From a position in Wales, Buckingham planned independent uprisings in Maidstone, Newbury, Salisbury, and Exeter, while Henry Tudor, the Earl of Richmond, planned a simultaneous invasion from Brittany. Richard learned


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of the conspiracy and acted immediately; he was aided by a fortuitous flood that stopped both Buckingham’s and Richmond’s advances. Buckingham’s Welsh troops deserted him, and he fled, seeking refuge in the home of Humphrey Banister, a retainer in Shropshire. Banister, an old friend of the duke, promptly betrayed Buckingham to obtain the sizable price Richard placed on his head.35 After his arrest Buckingham asked to see Richard to plead his case but was refused. Henry Stafford, the second Duke of Buckingham, ended his short but glamorous life by being ignobly executed in the public square. For many years, Henry was a favorite subject of balladeers who portrayed him as a great lord deceived by those he trusted most.36 As an associate of Richard III, Henry Stafford should have been a prime target for the Tudor historians, who took such great pains to vilify every aspect of Richard’s life. Nonetheless, the early chroniclers show some degree of restraint in their portrayal of Henry, emphasizing his conversion to the godlike Henry Tudor rather than his association with the demonic Richard. It is estimated that one of the earliest Tudor chroniclers, Robert Fabyan, wrote The New Chronicles of England and France between 1495 and the early years of the sixteenth century. Fabyan reports that Buckingham was merely a spectator to the bastardization of Edward’s children. The plan was hatched and plotted in the fiendish mind of Richard, whose primary instrument was a clergyman, Doctor Raffe Shaa: Then began the longe couert dissumulacion, which of the lorde protector had been so craftily shadowed, to break out at large, in so much that upon the sonday folowinge at Poules crosse, him selfe with the duke of Buckynham and other lordes being present, by the mouth of Doctour Raffe Shaa in the tyme of his sermone, was there shewed openly that the children of king Edward the fourthe were not ligitimate, nor rigtfull enheritours of the crowne.37

Buckingham later argues Richard’s case before the mayor of London. But Fabyan is careful to place him “with other lordes sent down from the saide lorde protector” and is quite vague about who precisely gave the “eloquent wise” oration that convinces the townspeople of Richard’s right to the throne (515). Fabyan is not so ambiguous regarding the reasons behind Buckingham’s desertion of Richard: And in this yere the forsaid grudge encreasying, and the more for as moche as the common fame went that kyng Richard had within the Towre put unto secrete death the two soones of his brother Edwarde the iiii for the whiche and other causes, had within the breast of the Duke of Buckyngham, the saied duke in secret manner conspired against him and allied himself with diuers gentlemen, to the ende to bringe his purpose about. (516–517)

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Buckingham in this early rendition is scarcely the co-conspirator he later becomes. He is an onlooker and minor supporter of Richard’s rise and is so appalled by the rumor of the princes’ murders that he immediately rebels against the new king. Fabyan treats Buckingham’s failed rebellion and death very delicately. There is no mention of amassing troops or of their desertion. Richard learns of Buckingham’s rebellion, offers a sizable reward for his capture, and thus incites Humphrey Banister to betray the man who is taking refuge with him. “[T]he duke made importune labor to haue cum to the kinges presence,” Fabyan reports, “yet not withstanding, he was beheded . . . without speche or sight of ye king” (517). It is only after Buckingham’s execution that his troops flee in panic. In 1507, Polydore Vergil was commissioned by King Henry VII to write a history of Britain. The 26-volume history took him twenty-eight years to write; it was presented to Henry’s son, King Henry VIII, in 1533. Polydore, writing at approximately the same time as Fabyan, is also circumspect in his treatment of Buckingham, although slightly more accusatory. Henry, Duke of Buckingham, was one: With whom the duke of Glocester had long conference, in so muche that as is commonly believed he even then discoveryd to Henry his intent to usurpying the kingdom, and especially for because the duke following afterwards his humor, whether yt were for feare or for obedience, held ever with him.38

Polydore equivocates here, claiming that such accusations are “commonly believed” if not confirmed, and suggesting that Buckingham’s decision to follow Richard was based on either fear of Richard or blind obedience. Ambition and villainy do not seem to be motivating factors. Buckingham and Richard meet Edward’s train, but Polydore makes Richard the clear instigator and primary player in Edward’s abduction. Polydore relegates Buckingham to one of many “sundry other grave men” who approach Queen Elizabeth Woodville for custody of her younger son. Buckingham is not even in attendance at Shaa’s sermon impugning the legitimacy of Edward’s children and brothers (185), and his own speech to the mayor is summarized rather tersely in twenty lines (186). After Richard’s coronation, Polydore changes his focus to the redemption of Buckingham’s reputation. Polydore is the first to suggest that Buckingham’s desertion was owing to the fact that Richard had promised and later refused the Earldom of Hereford to him.39 But Polydore attempts to justify Buckingham’s claim on the earldom by providing a detailed genealogy tracing Buckingham’s lineage back to Thomas of Woodstock (193). This lucrative earldom was once held by John of Gaunt and was inherited by his reigning sons. According to Polydore,


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the title and lands of the earldom rightfully descended to the house of Woodstock after the extinction of the Lancaster line. Implied but not stated is the fact that this lineage also gave Buckingham a right to the throne. When Buckingham claims the earldom from Richard, he is not therefore requesting a reward for services rendered but his rightful due. Richard’s refusal “settyld depe into the duke’s breste, who from that time forth, movyd muche with ire and indignation, began to devyse by what meane he might thrust out that ungratefull man from the royall seat for whose cause he had right done many things against his owne conscience” (194). Now that he has established that Buckingham did have a conscience, Polydore tells us that the duke confesses all to John Morton, the Bishop of Ely, and devises a way to join the blood of the Lancasters and the Yorks and to place the Earl of Richmond on the throne (194). Thus, Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, is not only vindicated by Polydore but established as the very author of the Tudor dynasty. Later, Polydore comes to Buckingham’s defense again. He suggests that the dissent between Richard and Buckingham originated in the duke’s decision to ally himself with Richmond and Ely. This alliance was genuine, according to Polydore, and motivated by Buckingham’s sincere repentance. Polydore dismisses the “common report” that Buckingham was encouraging Richard to commit “many mischievous dedes” so that Richard would be overthrown in favor of Buckingham himself (195). If this was indeed the common report, then the common belief must have been that it was Buckingham, not Richard, who was the Machiavellian mastermind. Polydore’s defense is also an indication that Buckingham was not held in the highest regard by the common people, which Polydore later admits is the cause of the desertion of his own troops. Polydore reports that Buckingham assembled his forces in Wales, but unfortunately revealed himself as a “sore and hard dealing” commander (199). The Welsh soldiers flee, as does Buckingham himself, to take refuge in the home of “Humfrey Banyster,” a man whom he had trusted since childhood (199). Polydore takes a moment to moralize after Buckingham’s execution: This death dyd the duke suffer of king Richerd, whom he had ayded against his own conscience (as the saing is) . . . Hereof surely we may mark, that he loseth his labor, and chargeth his owne lyfe with haynous offense, who helpeth an evell and wicked man, seing that he both receaveth of him for the most part an evell dede for a good and of God always in the ende condigne punishment. (201)

Buckingham’s invaluable contributions to the Tudor dynasty and stricken conscience are apparently not enough to rescue him from divine retribution.

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According to his nephew William Rastell, Thomas More’s Historie of King Richard III was written in 1513. The manuscript was not published until 1543, eight years after the death of Thomas More, and thus we have no idea whether More intended the Historie to be available for public consumption.40 However, once it was published, More’s Historie became the most famous and well-regarded history of Richard III until Shakespeare’s play. More had been raised in the household of John Morton, the Bishop of Ely, the very same Morton who was, according to Polydore, the confessor of Buckingham. Morton was also a great enemy of Richard and one of the men most actively involved in his overthrow. Thomas More had been only a boy of eight when Richard was killed, but his association with Morton convinced his readers that he was a contemporary to the actual events. His history was therefore viewed as an eye-witness report, and it became the exemplar for all subsequent histories of Richard. Grafton, Hall, and Holinshed are fundamentally reproductions of More’s manuscript, and all succeeding dramatic renditions of the story are based almost entirely on More’s vision. More seems to have very little problem assigning a major share of villainy to Buckingham. Elizabeth Donno describes More’s Buckingham as a “prime accessory” rather than a mere partner in crime.41 I would go a step further and say that More’s Buckingham is the second protagonist. More describes Richard’s villainy, but he demonstrates Buckingham’s. Richard is “malicious, wrathful, envious”; he, like Browning’s Duke of Ferrara, “gives commands,” yet his actual dialogue is minimized. Buckingham’s speeches, on the other hand, dominate the text and are the pivotal moments in the action. This, as Donno points out, is clearly indicated in the English version of the Historie. In the Latin version, More equivocates on Buckingham’s initial motivation to join Richard: Although I know that many thought that this duke was privy to all the protector’s council even from the beginning. And some of the protector’s friends said that the duke was the first mover of the protector to his matter . . . But others again, which knew better the subtle wit of the protector, deny that he ever opened his enterprise to the duke until he had brought to pass the things before rehearsed.42

In the English version, More states that he has “for certain” been informed that it was Buckingham who first sent a messenger to Richard to become a “partner of his devices” (88–90). The Latin version ends with the usurpation; the English version, as stated previously, climaxes with Buckingham’s meeting with Ely. According to More, Buckingham’s first villainous actions are incited by his hatred of the Greys. He interrupts the coronation train of young Edward


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V, who is accompanied by his uncle Lord Rivers and his half-brother Lord Richard Grey, and informs the young king that the Marquess of Dorset, Richard Grey’s older brother, is at that moment robbing the king’s treasure from the Tower. Edward protests the innocence of his maternal relations, and Buckingham replies: “Yea my liege . . . they have kept their dealing in these matters far from the knowledge of your good grace” (20). Without waiting for a reply from his good grace, Buckingham arrests Grey and Rivers and takes Edward into his personal custody. At this point, it is Buckingham who takes the lead in assuring the ascension of Richard. More is, for example, the first chronicler to demonstrate the duke’s eloquence. In a now famous speech before the Archbishop of York and assembled clergy, Buckingham skillfully and successfully argues the sanctuary law and convinces his audience that the queen should release the young Duke of York into his custody, alternately using sophistical arguments and emotional coloring (21–42).43 Later, More informs us that Doctor “Shaa’s” brother Edmund is actually the Mayor of London, thereby emphasizing the conspiratorial complexity that thrust Richard into power. More also apprises us of Edmund Shaa’s character: his “proud heart” was “highly desirous” of “his own advancement”; after his speech he “lost his honesty and soon after his life, for very shame of the world, into which he durst never after come abroad” (59–60). Dr. Shaa’s speech is summarized, but Buckingham’s is meticulously detailed. Again in this speech Buckingham is revealed to be eloquent, vulpine, and completely culpable. From a rhetorical standpoint the speech is not a success; from a dramatic standpoint, however, it places Buckingham at the center of the action. More is not convinced of Buckingham’s ultimate conversion (an interesting point since he was mentored by Buckingham’s confessor), nor does he accept the popular notion that Buckingham was deceived. He wryly comments that Buckingham’s conversion was so unexpected, and so unexplained, that “a man would marvel whereof the change grew” (91). Unlike Fabyan, More believes that the change was entirely a matter of greed. Buckingham “pretended himself just inheritor” of the Earldom of Hereford (none of Polydore’s lengthy genealogies here) and his heart was filled with “hatred and mistrust” over Richard’s refusal (91). More acknowledges that there have been many explanations for Buckingham’s betrayal of Richard, but: Very truth it is, the duke was an high minded man and evil could bear the glory of another, so that I have heard of some that said they saw it, that the duke, at such time as the crown was first set upon the protector’s head, his eye could not abide the sight thereof. (92)

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Buckingham’s personal ambition for the throne is not even implied in the previous chronicles, although Polydore suggests he did have a claim. More’s unfinished history climaxes with the meeting between Buckingham and John Morton, the Bishop of Ely, in which Buckingham’s ambition is further revealed. The bishop immediately perceives “the duke’s pride now and then balk out a little breide [outburst] of envy toward the glory of the king” (92–93), and neatly circumvents all of Buckingham’s requests for advice and counsel. Thomas More’s account thus ends as it begins – with Buckingham’s treacherous and culpable nature. It is interesting to note, however, that More’s account also begins with a mistake. When Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham is introduced in the Historie, he is incorrectly identified as Edward Stafford (16). Edward Stafford (Illustration 1) was in fact Henry’s son, the third Duke of Buckingham and a contemporary of Thomas More. Edward, like his father, was orphaned, and obtained the title at the age of six. The young duke had an adventurous beginning. In order to avoid Richard’s wrath, he was twice disguised as a young girl and smuggled from danger by his custodian, Dame Elizabeth Delabearer.44 Edward was in a much more secure position once Henry Tudor took the throne. Henry was his cousin through the Beaufort line and somewhat indebted to the Stafford family, considering that Henry Stafford had given his life in his cause. In addition, Edward Stafford’s mother Katherine Woodville took Jasper Tudor, the king’s uncle, as her second husband. Henry dutifully and immediately reversed the Buckingham attainder and assigned custody of the young duke to his own mother, Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond. When Edward was twelve Henry arranged his marriage to Alianore Percy, the daughter of the Earl of Northumberland. With the marriage and the Stafford fortune, Duke Edward became the wealthiest peer in England, in terms of both money and land. He lived comfortably under the reign of Henry VII, but his position was much more ambiguous under Henry VIII. His connection with the Woodvilles and the Lancasters made him a viable threat to the Tudor dynasty; this was especially worrisome to the then childless Henry VIII. In 1509, shortly after Henry was crowned, Buckingham laid claim to the Constableship of England as the de Bohun heir. The case went to court and the judges initially found in Buckingham’s favor; Henry’s advisors retaliated by asserting the king’s own right to the title and his ability to “excuse” Buckingham from the service of constable. Although Buckingham ultimately lost the claim, his obstinacy in pursuing it put him under immediate suspicion. There was a growing apprehension that he would extend his claim to all of England; consequently, his relations with the king remained


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1 Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham, 1477–1521. Character in Henry VIII, son of Buckingham in Richard III, great-grandson of Buckingham in Henry VI Part 2.

rocky. Henry instructed Cardinal Wolsey to spy on the unsuspecting duke, who was outspoken and unrelenting in his criticism of Wolsey’s and Henry’s foreign policy. He was increasingly open about his ambitions, particularly when he listened to the prophesies of a Carthusian monk who spoke of

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Henry’s death and his own accession to the throne.45 In 1520, Buckingham abruptly withdrew from the court and, within a period of a few months, requested an armed bodyguard to travel to his Welsh lordships. The idea of another Buckingham amassing troops in Wales was enough to convince Henry (with the prompting of Wolsey) of Buckingham’s treason.46 He was arrested on May 13, 1521 on trumped-up charges confirmed by the testimony of disgruntled and well-compensated employees. The verdict was a foregone conclusion and the execution took place on May 17. Another Buckingham had fallen. Two years later, at the first Parliamentary meeting after the duke’s execution, the Dukedom of Buckingham was attainted from the Stafford family. All three of the early Tudor chroniclers were writing during the life of Edward Stafford, third Duke of Buckingham. Polydore’s and Fabyan’s histories were probably written in the transitional period between Henry VII and Henry VIII, at a time when the young Edward still enjoyed the benefits of his Tudor relations and his Beaufort custodianship. This might explain the chroniclers’ ambiguous treatment of Henry Stafford. Polydore’s slightly more accusatory tone could be attributed to the fact that the first draft of the History was completed in 1518, when the third duke was in his downward spiral. Still, we should not discount the politics behind the chronicles, or the perpetuation of what has now been dubbed the “Tudor myth.” The degree of Richard III’s villainy is a matter of debate, but the destruction of Richard’s reputation was an absolute imperative for Henry VII to establish his providential accession. Henry Tudor’s claim to the throne of England was built on perilously shaky grounds. The numerous other contenders, many of whom had a much stronger claim than Henry, were eventually if not easily eliminated, but Henry’s self-promotion as the savior of England was a fantasy that had to be maintained. In order to be a proper St. George, one has to defeat a properly large and sufficiently threatening dragon. Henry’s propaganda machine took great pains to make Richard that dragon. Henry Stafford proved a problem, since he was both the dragon’s confederate and the savior’s conduit. The man who orchestrated, or at least initiated, Henry Tudor’s victory could not be deemed a complete fiend regardless of his somewhat homicidal past, and Polydore and Fabyan treat him with the appropriate amount of discretion. However, Thomas More, writing at the same time, seems to ignore both the “Tudor myth” and the Stafford position. He is almost gleeful in his indictment of Henry Stafford. The most obvious explanation for this could of course be that More had no intention of ever publishing the Historie. We could also assume, as many scholars have done, that much of the Historie is a parody not intended to


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be taken seriously.47 But we should not entirely rule out More’s political position during the composition of the Historie. More’s rise in the court of Henry VIII rather neatly paralleled Edward Stafford’s fall. From the year 1518 to 1523, More became a member of the Privy Council and Speaker of the House of Commons. During those years he enjoyed the friendship and patronage of both Henry VIII and Cardinal Wolsey. More’s association with these two men automatically placed him in an adversarial relationship with Edward Stafford. This, coupled with his upbringing by Morton, may have colored his sympathies and prompted the vitriol against Edward. As stated previously, the impact of Thomas More’s Historie of Richard III in the sixteenth century was tremendous. Richard had been portrayed as a tyrant and a murderer since the beginning of the Tudor regime, but after the More account was published Richard was established as nothing less than a demonic fiend in the public imagination. All chroniclers and dramatists portrayed him so. Buckingham, however, escaped the same kind of calumny. In fact, later historians seemed to exert some effort in rehabilitating the character of Buckingham, even when they borrowed directly from More. Edward Hall, who first published The Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre and Yorke in 1548, is the main case in point.48 Hall meticulously copies, and acknowledges, More’s version of events up until the meeting with the Bishop of Ely. This is the point when More’s version stops, but when Hall picks up the story the tone and emphasis decidedly shift. Borrowing from Polydore, Hall turns the meeting between Ely and Buckingham into a confessional encounter in which we witness Buckingham’s repentance and redemption. The bishop encourages Buckingham to take the throne for himself: “I saye and affirme, yf you love God, your lynage, or youre natyve countrye, you muste yower selfe take upon you the Crowne and Diademe of thyse noble empire” (385). Buckingham assures Ely that he aided Richard for the good of the realme, and that he believed Richard to be “as cleane without dissimulacion, as tractable without iniurie, as merciful without crueltie, as nowe I knowe hym perfectely to be a dissembler withoute veritie, a tyraunte withoute pitie, yea and worse than the tyrant Phalaris, destitute of all truth and clemencie” (386). Buckingham was also prompted by his belief in Richard’s promise that he would only rule until young Edward was twenty-four years of age. But “when he was once crowned king, and in full possession of the whole realme, he cast awaie his olde condicions as an adder doth her skinne” (387). Buckingham acknowledges that he was angry at Richard’s denial of his suit for the Earldom of Hereford. Yet, he bore all these “ingratitudes and undeserved unkindnesses” until he “was credibly informed of the death of the two young innocents, his

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owne natural nephues contrarie to his faith and promise to the which (God be my judge) I never agreed, nor condescended” (387). Here, Hall returns to the themes of the early balladeers. Buckingham is a great man deceived by a villain, the man he trusted most and most thoroughly misjudged. In his dialogue with Ely, Hall’s Buckingham asserts his right to the throne and states that at one time “it encouraged my folishe desyer, and elevated my ambitious entente in so much that I clerely judged and in myne awne mynd was determinately resolved, that I was heyre of the house of Lancaster” (388). However, Buckingham concludes that Richmond and his associates held so much power that “my lyfe and rule wolde ever hange by a heare, never in quiete, but ever in doubte of death or deposicion” (388–389). The duke resolves to “relinquishe all such fantastical imaginacians concerning the obteyning of the crowne” and to support Richmond’s claim (389). Once again, as in Polydore, the duke becomes the author of the Tudor dynasty, plotting with the archbishop to depose Richard, place Richmond on the throne, and unite the houses of York and Lancaster in marriage (389). Hall adds that the bishop does not entirely trust the duke (390) but Buckingham later proves himself. He is “one of the first inventers and secrete founder of this enterprise [to overthrow Richard]” (392). Buckingham presently attacks Richard “with a great power of wilde Welshmen, whom he beynge a man of that curage and sharpe speche in maner against their willes” (392). The Welshmen, unaccustomed to Buckingham’s “lordly and streite commandment,” flee his side. The duke “thus abandoned and left almost alone was of necessitie compelled to flie” (394). To his misfortune he flees to the home of Humphrey Banister. After reporting on the duke’s execution, Hall follows Polydore in providing a moral lesson. It is, however, a different moral that is being taught: By this all menne maye perceive that he not onely loseth bothe hys laboure, traveyle, and industrye, and ferther steyneth and spotteth his ligne with a perpetuall ignomynye and reproche, which in evyl and mischief affirmeth and aydeth an evyl disposed person, considering for the mooste part that he for ys frendelye favour shoulde receive some greate displeasure or infortunate chaunce. (395)

Hall is aware, and makes us aware, that a man’s actions may affect his descendants. To whom is this comment, and this revisionist version of Buckingham, directed? What is Hall’s purpose in spending so much time on the cohort, rather than on the criminal himself? The answers may be found in the fact that Hall’s Union was published in 1548, one year after the Staffords were restored to the peerage. It was not a full restoration. They did not receive the title of Buckingham back, but Henry Stafford, Edward’s son, was “restored


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in blood” by Edward VI, elevated to Baron Stafford, and received a fragment of the great Buckingham estates.49 Henry, Lord Stafford, throughout his life, remained a man of moderate means and aspirations. He was careful to avoid any suspicion of ambition and diligently adhered to the new Protestant politics of the Henrician and Edwardian courts. Like his ancestors, his fortune lay in his choice of wife. Henry, Lord Stafford married Ursula de la Pole, the granddaughter of Margaret Plantagenet and great-granddaughter of the Duke of Clarence. This connection gave him a double claim to the throne – through Thomas of Woodstock and through the Suffolk line. He never asserted the claim, but maintained a low profile through four Tudor reigns. When Edward VI died, Henry was near financial ruin. To his great advantage, he switched religions and loyalties in the Marian court. He was made the chamberlain of the exchequer and his father’s Gloucestershire lands were returned to him. Despite his intense loyalty to Mary and the Catholic religion, he seemed to have little problem adapting to the Elizabethan reign. He maintained favor under Elizabeth, and the lord lieutenancy was temporarily added to his duties and honors.50 Henry had two children – Edward, Lord Stafford, and Dorothy, mother of Sir Edward Stafford. Shortly before Stafford’s death in 1563, the first edition of the Mirrour for Magistrates was published. The Complaynt of Henrye Duke of Buckingham was written by Thomas Sackville, Elizabeth’s first cousin once removed and one of her favorites. Sackville had no reason to appease the Staffords, and so, predictably, his Duke of Buckingham is far more culpable than Hall’s. Buckingham says that he and Richard were “fast ioyned ever since / In faithful love, our secrete driftes to frame.”51 Sackville ignores Hall’s pleas that Buckingham believed Richard to be honest or a temporary ruler. Sackville also disregards Hall’s contention that Buckingham was not as deep in blood as Richard: The gylteles bloud which we vniustly shed, The royall babes deuested from theyr trone, And we like traytors raygning in theyr sted, Those heavy burdens pressed vs vpon. Tormenting vs so by our selues alone Much like the felon that pursued by night, Startes at eche bushe as his foes were in sight. Nowe doubting state, now dreading loss of life, In feare of wreck at euery blast of wynde, Now start in dreames through dread of murdrers knyfe As though euen then revengement were assynde. (325)

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At this point, however, Sackville departs from More by assigning Buckingham a conscience that is not only genuine but unrelenting. Sackville’s Buckingham suffers the tormenting dreams that previous chroniclers had given to Richard alone. Unable to escape the guilt for the crimes he has committed, this Buckingham makes the bold move of using his eloquence to instigate the same feelings in Richard: If neyther love, kyndred, ne knot of bloud, His owne alegeance to his prynce of due, Nor yet the state of trust wherein he stoode, The worlds defame, nor nought could tourne him true Those gylteles babes, could they not make him rue? Nor could theyr youth, nor innocence withal Move him from reuiving them theyr lyfe and all? (330)

Buckingham’s attempts not only fail, but trigger Richard’s mistrust and vengeance. This scenario, too, is a departure from the previous chronicles. Buckingham’s change is not motivated by a cunning and saintly bishop but by the spur of his own conscience. His infidelity to Richard is not framed as such. He neither leaves nor betrays the king but makes a sincere attempt to convert him to righteousness. It is Richard who turns against Buckingham and Buckingham who is forced to flee. There is no mention of the Earldom of Hereford. At the conclusion of Buckingham’s story, the Complaynt introduces another villain. Buckingham does not know who is to blame for the desertion of his troops, but he spends several verses bewailing the treachery of Humfrey “Banastair.” The earlier chroniclers differ on Banister’s motives, but nowhere is he portrayed as the traitor he is here. It is Sackville who points out that Buckingham raised Banister from childhood (660) – a “fact” that the earlier chroniclers fail to mention. After referring to “Banastair” as a “monster” who serves “neyther truth nor trust,” Buckingham calls on the gods to take vengeance on “Banastair” and his “stayned stock” thereafter (640). Sackville ends the piece, as Hall does, with the obligatory nod to Fortune that implies Buckingham’s own stock is now stained: For of my byrth, my blud was of the best, Fyrst borne an Earle, then duke by due descent: To swinge the swaye in court amonge the rest, Dame Fortune me her rule most largely lent: And kind with corage so my corpse had blent, That lo on whom but me dyd she most smyle? And whom but me lo, dyd she most begyle? (345)


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Sackville’s Buckingham is as guilty as More’s but even more repentant than Hall’s. He is culpable of murder, but not disloyalty. He serves Richard and attempts to redeem Richard out of a misguided but intense sense of devotion. It is a devotion notably lacking in Banister, for which Banister is assiduously chastised. Of course, The Mirrour for Magistrates is first and foremost a moralistic handbook. Nevertheless, it is interesting to wonder if the emphasis on loyalty is a reflection of Sackville’s opinion on Henry, Lord Stafford and his constantly fluctuating allegiance. In addition to the chronicle material and The Mirrour for Magistrates, there were two plays on Richard III that preceded Shakespeare’s. The Latin Richardus Tertius was written by Thomas Legge, Cambridge Professor of Civil Law, in 1579.52 Legge adheres faithfully to More’s narrative, but his play is a pure Senecan tragedy in form and characterization. Furor tempts Richard and Buckingham into lengthy yet impassioned speeches, Nemesis brings about their downfalls, and each Actio is ended with a moralistic Choric song. There is also, of course, the classical Tragic Hero. But in this case that hero is the Duke of Buckingham, not the tyrannical king of England. Although the title of Legge’s work belongs to Richard, Buckingham is the true protagonist of the piece. Richard’s pre-battle oration and Richmond’s post-battle coronation are anticlimactic events after Buckingham’s death. The play centers around Buckingham’s fall; Buckingham is Everyman, Richard is merely Vice. Legge’s Buckingham is the most blameworthy of all the versions, although his villainy is not founded in evil but in a gargantuan ego. Richard, Catesby, and Ely easily manipulate the duke to their agendas by massaging or attacking his vanity. In his first approach to Buckingham, Richard calls him “stella Buckingham” and speaks intimately, inclusively, of what he and the duke share: Annon vides quam sit miser procerum status Diuque spreta ut nobilis virtus iacat? Regi licet sanquine superbo iungamur Clarisque lucet inclytum titulis genus Aditus tamen mihi nullus ad regem patet Vetantque cum nepote patruum vivere. [Don’t you see how miserable we nobles are? Don’t you see how long the virtue of the peerage has been spurned? Although we belong to the king’s high bloodline, and are distinguished by great titles, we are nevertheless granted no access to the king]. (Actio Primo, Actus Secundus)53

It is a brilliant move by Richard – to include Buckingham as a member of the king’s bloodline and appeal to his sense of consequence as a peer.

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Buckingham immediately pledges his loyalty to Richard, and he later proudly reminds the young king that they share an ancestral lineage. As Richard’s plan is put into motion, we receive a confirmation of Buckingham’s ego from Catesby, who tells us in soliloquy: Iussit ducis mentem superbam incendere Et concitare prolis odium regiae, Ut sceptra parvis excidant infantibus, Patruique Buckinghamius fraudes iuvet, Regnumque dux infensus acquirat sibi. [[Richard] has ordered me to kindle a fire in that haughty mind and rouse his hatred against the royal children, so that the scepter will fall out of their hands. Buckingham will aid their uncle’s wily schemes and the hostile Duke will gain the kingdom.] (Actio Primo, Actus Quintus)

Catesby calls him “animo tumet supbus” (that arrogant man) as he approaches and delights in the fact that he will soon snare him in the web of complicity. Here Legge departs most significantly from the chronicle sources, and censures Buckingham even more thoroughly than More. Legge does not offer innuendo; he leaves no doubt that the duke participated in the murder of the young princes. Catesby tells Buckingham that the young king is planning to avenge the execution of Rivers and Grey with Buckingham’s blood. Buckingham explodes into hatred and decides, with very little hesitancy, that the boy must die: Hunc ira regis terret: an puerum times? An foeminam? .... Nunquam meo ludet cruore regulus Cuius minas satiabit ereptum caput. Iactura parva si principis, vitam tuam Servare si possis. Parum pueros decent Decora regni. [The king’s anger terrifies this man: will you fear a boy? A woman? This little prince will never sport with my blood; his severed head will repay me for his threats. The loss of a prince is a small thing, if you are able to save your life. The glory of kingship is a poor fit for a boy.] (Actio Primo, Actus Quintus)

This of course changes everything. All of Buckingham’s subsequent actions – his speeches for sanctuary and Richard’s succession, his confession to Ely, and his rebellion – are the actions of a murderer. When he next sees Richard, it is he who argues for the murder of Edward, thoroughly persuaded now that he is nothing but a weak boy who must be eliminated as quickly as possible (Actio Secunda, Actus Primus). In fact, it is he who “convinces”


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Richard that Edward’s death would be a benefit to the country. Legge gives Buckingham his full measure of rhetorical glory. His arguments for sanctuary and for Richard’s accession go on for pages. His confession to Ely is a game of cat and mouse, in which two brilliant minds attempt to outmaneuver each other. We realize he is intelligent, shrewd, eloquent – and absolutely malevolent. By comparison, Richard becomes a shadowy figure of schemes and deception – a Screwtape rather than a Satan. Sir John Harington wrote that the play would move “Phalaris the tyrant and all tyrannous-minded men.” Perhaps, but Harington misses the point. This is not the story of Richard’s tyranny; it is the story of Buckingham’s fall. Thomas Legge was apparently secure enough to have Buckingham’s fall performed three times at Cambridge even though the Staffords were rising in the public estimation at that time. It is notable, however, that the name “Stafford” is never mentioned by Legge or associated with Buckingham. In 1594, only three years before Shakespeare’s version, the anonymous True Tragedy of Richard III was entered in the Stationers’ Register. The True Tragedy takes an interesting approach to Buckingham. It introduces the character through his servant Percival, who delivers a letter to Richard from the duke. Richard responds to the apparent pledge of loyalty with pleasure and discloses his ambitions to Percival. Buckingham is thus removed from any direct involvement with Richard. We are not privy to the content of the letter and Richard’s assumption of Buckingham’s loyalty could be nothing more than an interpretation. Buckingham and Richard later arrest Vaughan, Grey, and Rivers in the presence of young King Edward. Buckingham issues the arrest and has no other lines; Richard is the dominant figure in the disagreement with the Greys and Edward. Afterward Richard tells us that Buckingham is working with the citizens to make him king; again, we are dependent on Richard’s interpretation of events rather than becoming direct witnesses. In dramatizing Buckingham’s downfall, The True Tragedy seems to be following Sackville rather than Hall. Buckingham comes in with dagger drawn at Banister, shouting accusations that Banister has unjustly betrayed him: Ah, villain, thou betrayedst me for lucre, and not for dutie to thy Prince, why Banister, a good seruant thinkes his life well spent, that spends it in the quarrel of his maister.54

Buckingham is arrested by an apologetic herald and ends his life with a lengthy speech praising Richmond “on his knees” and assuring the audience that he was “altogether innocent” of the young princes’ death. He then turns on Banister once more, cursing him for betraying the man who nursed him

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as a child. The herald is so moved by Buckingham’s speech that he arrests Banister as well. This brings us, at long last, to Shakespeare’s Richard III. Shakespeare’s Buckingham also has a slow initiation into villainy. He is a minor figure in the first act quarrel between the Grey and Gloucester factions. He is, in fact, presented as a peacekeeper when he arrives with a request of atonement from the dying Edward IV (500–505; 1.3.36–40).55 He is the one participant of the meeting who is not cursed, but in fact warned, by the prophetic phantom Queen Margaret: O princely Buckingham, Ile kisse thy hand, In signe of league and amity with thee, Now faire befall thee, and thy Noble house: Thy Garments are not spotted with our blood Nor thou within the compass of my curse. ................................. O Buckingham take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns, he bites. (751–762; 1.3.280–290)

In the quarto version of the play, Buckingham dismisses the curse completely. In the Folio, however, the dismissal is bravado; he later says, after Margaret departs, “my hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.” This line is given to Hastings in the quarto. The presence of Margaret at the court is purely Shakespeare’s invention. She appears in no chronicle or dramatic source of Richard III; historically she was in France during the Yorkist regimes. Her main function in Shakespeare is to act as something of a demented but chillingly accurate chorus. Her commendation of Buckingham, therefore, is intriguing. First, she refers to the house of Buckingham, implying that both he and his descendants are innocent of the blood spilled by the Yorks. This demonstrates, again, Shakespeare’s cognizance of the repercussions of family connections, but it also indicates his responsiveness to history. Buckingham’s fall did precipitate the fall of his entire house, for a time at least, but only a shrewd student of history would realize that. Margaret’s warning also implies that Buckingham is still an innocent, and that his innocence makes him particularly vulnerable to Richard’s persuasions. Richard himself confirms this judgment. Shakespeare ignores More’s suggestion that Buckingham initiated the relationship with Richard. Instead, it is Richard who includes Buckingham among the “many gulls” whom he will convince of the Queen’s complicity in Clarence’s death:


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Clarence, whom I, indeed, have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls, Namely to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham; And tell them ’tis the Queen and her allies That stir the King against the Duke my brother. Now they believe it, and withal whet me To be reveng’d on Rivers, Dorset, Grey. But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villainy. (804–814; 1.3.326–335)

Shakespeare has Richard voice a plan and an opinion of Buckingham that extricates the duke from a good portion of responsibility. Of all the precedents of this story, only Hall’s Union suggests Buckingham’s initial gullibility about Richard’s true character, and even this suggestion was part of Buckingham’s own self-assessment. Here, we have Richard’s validation that Buckingham is, at this point at least, a prelapsarian innocent who is just credulous enough to fall. And Richard, as any good tempter, is an excellent judge of character. In fact, in the first part of the play, the character of Buckingham enjoys an ingenuousness he had not seen since the days of Fabyan. His involvement is so minimal that, until the death of Edward, he can still be seen as a peacekeeper. In retrospect his promise of reconciliation with the Greys seems the height of hypocrisy. However, at this point of the play, we have no reason to doubt the sincerity of his intentions (1156–1164; 2.1.32). Buckingham’s initial innocence is a fact that is overlooked by most critics, who understandably prefer to focus on his later oratorical skills and villainy. William Carroll finds it shocking, in fact, that Buckingham exhibits naiveté later in the play.56 However, that naiveté is established almost immediately. The first suspicion that Buckingham has lapsed comes in his assurances to Rivers that the new young king does not require a large train (1400–1405; 2.2.125– 130). Buckingham has now spent some time with Richard, and his promises to protect Edward from the “green and ungovern’d forces” ring false. This entire speech is missing from the quarto version, which indicates that at some point a decision was made to stimulate our suspicions about Buckingham before he actually reveals himself. Those suspicions are confirmed almost immediately, when Buckingham privately tells Richard that he is determined “to part the Queen’s proud kindred from the Prince” (1426; 2.2.146). We see that Richard’s plan has worked; he has inspired a hatred

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of the Greys in Buckingham. We also see Richard’s modus operandi: as in Legge, he has been playing on Buckingham’s considerable vanity: My other selfe, my counsel’s consistory, My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin: I as a child will go by thy direction. (1427–1430; 2.2.151–154)

Such flattery would be hard for anyone to resist, let alone a peer who was virtually ignored in the court of Edward IV. Shakespeare must have known much more of history than what is printed in the chronicles, or at least had some knowledge of the Legge play, which is also more descriptive of Buckingham’s ego. At any rate, Shakespeare’s Buckingham is not initially concerned with placing Richard on the throne. However, it is now clear that he is falling under Richard’s spell. Buckingham’s fall is the dramatic center of the play. It occurs after Prince Edward is taken into custody on the way to his coronation. Buckingham’s banter with Richard after the arrival of young York demonstrates their closeness; it is much different from his earlier, deferential responses to Richard. Remaining behind with Catesby and Richard, Buckingham asks the all-important question of Catesby: What thinkst thou? Is it not an easy matter To make William Lord Hastings of our mind For the installment of this noble Duke In the seat royal of this famous isle? (1747–1750; 3.1.161–164)

Buckingham shows the same kind of naiveté as Othello. He believes with sublime simplicity that Richard is his for ever. However, his complicity is clear. He is now fully engaged in putting Richard on the throne, and he ostensibly takes the dominant role in the plan, instructing Catesby exactly how to insinuate an opinion out of the politic Hastings. But it is Richard who, though he has very few lines, is the dominant figure in the scene, casually tossing off death sentences and promising Buckingham the Earldom of Hereford (in fact Richard does not promise the earldom; he only asks that Buckingham should claim it of him (1785; 3.1.194)). Buckingham has the rhetoric, but Richard has the power. Buckingham is simply too great a “gull” to realize it. Nevertheless, Shakespeare robs Buckingham of his three finest, but also most indicting, oratorical moments. First, Buckingham’s argument with the Greys, so intricately described in More and his successors, is completely eliminated from the play. Act 3 opens after the arrest of Rivers and


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Grey, with the young king already in custody. This decision of Shakespeare’s shifts the emphasis from Buckingham’s hatred of the Greys to his support of Richard; it also relieves him of the responsibility of actively arresting them. Second, Buckingham’s rhetorically brilliant speech on sanctuary is radically condensed and transformed into a dismissive and cynical rebuke of Bourchier’s timid assertion of sanctuary (1623–1635; 3.1.45–55). Buckingham’s second infamous speech, the failed plea to the citizenry regarding Richard’s right to the throne, is performed offstage. Buckingham returns to Richard to report on the speech, which he does briefly, but we quickly see that he has said exactly and only what Richard has told him to say in Act 3 Scene 5. These omissions can certainly be explained by the fact that this is Richard’s play, not Buckingham’s. Richard is the central figure, and Buckingham’s speeches would pull the dramatic emphasis away from Richard as they do in the chronicles. But More, Hall, and Legge repeat the speeches in painstaking detail to illustrate that Buckingham’s rhetorical genius was the instrument that placed Richard on the throne. Here, and this is suggested nowhere else, he is nothing more than Richard’s mouthpiece. This greatly undercuts the character of Buckingham. He is clearly being used; he is not the instigator he believes himself to be.57 As in the earlier scene with Catesby, it is Richard who is in control. This does not exculpate Buckingham in the slightest. In fact, shortly after he reports his failure, he does take the initiative and devises the scheme to present Richard as the piously reluctant heir. He is also at his duplicitous best in front of the citizenry when he “convinces” Richard to take the crown. However, his victory here is owing more to theatrics than oratory. Richard does not need to be convinced of anything and the citizenry only need to believe the performances at hand. Shakespeare rejects Hall’s notion that Buckingham believed Richard to be an honest man. But he also rejects Sackville’s intimation that Buckingham and Richard were of one mind. If Richard III is primarily a study of evil, personified in Richard, then it is secondarily a story of a naif’s fall from grace, personified by Buckingham. Buckingham’s fall is complete, but it is not self-instigated. It originates with and is orchestrated by Richard. Buckingham’s collusion in the murder of the princes is a more complex matter. In More and The Mirrour, Buckingham knew about and participated in the murder of the princes. In Legge, he practically smothers them himself. In Hall, he was informed of the murder; Polydore does not implicate him in either act or knowledge. In Shakespeare’s play, the subject of the murder is broached by Richard on his coronation day. Buckingham is evidently shocked and momentarily hesitates:

66 rich: buc k :

Shakespeare and the Nobility Tut, Tut, thou art all ice: thy kindness freezes. Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? Give me some little breath, some pause, dear lord, Before I positively speak in this. (2613–2617; 4.2.21–24)

Clearly, the murder is not in Buckingham’s mind or plans prior to this moment. He is therefore relieved of the responsibility of originating or carrying out the most notorious crime in English history. But it is equally apparent that it is not the murder that prompts Buckingham to leave Richard. When he returns to the throne room, it is the Earldom of Hereford that is on his mind. In the quarto version, Richard treats Buckingham’s demand as a vicious little game that foreshadows Buckingham’s own death. Before Buckingham is executed with a “strike” of the axe, he once again is a “beggar” for an audience with the king – and once again Richard is not in the giving vein. buc k : k i ng : bu c k : k i ng : bu c k : k i ng : buc k : k i ng : buc k :

I am thus bold to put your grace in mind Of what you promised me. Wel, but whats a clocke? Upon the stroke of ten. Well, let it strike. Why let it strike? Because that like a Jacke thou keepst the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation, I am not in the givng vaine today. Whie then resolve me whether you wil or no? Tut, Tut, thou troublest me, I am not in the vain. (exit) Is it even so, rewards he my true survice With such deepe contempt? Make I him king for this? O let me think on Hastings and be gone To Brecon while my fearfull head is on. (4.3.110–125)

This exchange is such a fine example of Richard’s wit that its revelations about Buckingham are often overlooked. Buckingham’s angry response demonstrates that in many ways he is still the innocent. He believes that it is he who put Richard on the throne, and he is shocked by Richard’s refusal. He seems to have adjusted quite well to the princes’ upcoming death, however, and there is not the slightest indication that the murder has given him more than the smallest nudge of conscience. Buckingham’s redemptive second act is ignored by Shakespeare. There is no great confessional scene with Ely, no voiced plans to support Richmond


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or establish the Tudor dynasty. Buckingham leaves Richard not out of conscience but out of fear and frustration. We next hear of Buckingham through Stanley, who reports to Richard that he is among those “stirring up” Richmond (3265; 4.4.465). Richard has no reaction, which indicates that he has little regard or respect for Buckingham’s famed powers of persuasion. In the next scene, a messenger reports that the “army of great Buckingham” is dispersed and scattered, “And he himself wander’d away alone, / No man knows whither” (3315–3317; 4.4.511–512). The desertion of the Welsh troops, the treachery of Humphrey Banister – all things that would add some sympathy to the character of Buckingham – are eliminated. Buckingham’s last scene is at his execution. His speech, though repentant, is not the confessional found in Shakespeare’s sources. He admits that the souls of the dead nobles are mocking his execution, but he does not admit to his actual participation in their deaths. There is no explanation or excuse for his alliance with Richard. He ends his life only with the acknowledgment that his earlier “prayer” for harmony with the Greys was “feigned” and has turned upon him. His final words: “wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame” (3401; 5.1.25) are ambivalent at best. He is guilty of something, but what? When Buckingham’s ghost appears to Richard, it is not as a betrayed friend but as just another in a long line of victims: The first was I that help’d thee to the crown The last was I that felt thy tyranny. O in the battle think of Buckingham, And die in terror of thy guiltiness. Dream on, dream on bloody deeds and death. (3626–3632; 5.3.167–172)

Buckingham in death accepts no more responsibility than Buckingham in life. His ghost stresses that all he did was help Richard to the throne. It is Richard, and Richard alone, who is responsible for the bloody deaths. A close reading of the play demonstrates that this is true. Shakespeare’s is not a flattering portrait of Buckingham; it is a moralistic one. Buckingham is not a hero, but he is a victim. He is gullible, he is vain, he is ambitious, he is politic. But he is not evil. Buckingham is a casualty of Richard and his own ego. Shakespeare has in fact greatly simplified the character of Buckingham. He has removed the sympathetic notes installed by Hall and Sackville, but he has also eliminated the brilliant cunning created by More and Legge. If our perception of Buckingham were limited to Richard III, we would have no idea of the complexity of the man. We would know

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nothing of the charismatic, striving, intelligent, arrogant, and scheming figure from history who may have been responsible for putting Richard III on the throne. It could be argued that Shakespeare’s portrayal of Buckingham had less to do with the reaction of Buckingham’s descendants than the artistic decision to create the quintessential Machiavel in the character of Richard III. Richard’s totality of evil would be seriously compromised if a co-conspirator of equal villainy aided him. Perhaps, also, only the most dedicated student of genealogy would have realized the connection between the Staffords and the Dukes of Buckingham. The Staffords and their extended families would certainly have known it, however, and while they may have winced at Shakespeare’s characterization of their flawed ancestor, they could rest easier knowing that he was being portrayed as a dupe rather than a devil, and that few others in Shakespeare’s audience would appreciate that this dupe was a Stafford. Nevertheless, for those few who did recognize the relationship, there may have been a few connections that were not so comforting to the Staffords. Once again, we need to return to the supposition that the rumors about Sir Edward Stafford may have filtered down from Westminster. The few who had heard them would find some remarkable similarities between the careers of Sir Edward and Shakespeare’s Buckingham, particularly when one considers the situation from an English point of view. In both cases, the men are pawns, used by men of power who were considered tyrants by the general English population. According to Mendoza, Stafford offered himself entirely to Spain, just as Buckingham offers himself entirely to Richard. Stafford believed Philip to be the rightful king of England, just as Buckingham believes in Richard’s right to the throne. In either case, there is little doubt that this “belief” was grounded in motives that were entirely selfish. Both men, Sir Edward and Buckingham, essentially function as spies and mouthpieces for their respective “masters.” Both pretend to be arbiters of peace while they are secretly working against those they befriended. Both men accept bribes for their work, and both men benefit financially from it. Yet both men are denied important positions by the men they serve – in Buckingham’s case it is the Earldom of Hereford, in Sir Edward’s case it was the Viceroyalty of Ireland. Sir Edward was little more than a tool of the Spaniards, and there is every indication that he had neither the intelligence nor the wherewithal to recognize his position – very much like Shakespeare’s Buckingham. There is also every indication that flattery was the instrument Mendoza and Philip used to gain Sir Edward’s loyalty – or as Margaret puts it, “Look when he fawns, he bites.” Sir Edward never took the fall that Buckingham does, but then


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his treason did not produce the same results as Buckingham’s. Ultimately he proved himself to be a whetted tool. Of course, in the 1590s, there was no way to know what the results of his espionage might be. Nevertheless, to anyone who knew of his activities, Sir Edward Stafford appeared as the quintessential dupe. If Shakespeare had portrayed Buckingham with only half the complexity and intelligence that he possessed in the chronicles, then the comparison to Sir Edward would not be apt. But he has diminished the character – removing almost all doubts, talents, regrets, and aspirations and replacing them with little more than greed and gullibility. This is not a typical pattern for Shakespeare – he usually tends to complicate what he finds in the chronicles. By transforming the brilliant, conniving, charming, ruthless Buckingham into a “gull,” an informant, a puppet, and a victim, he has set up a rather close parallel to Sir Edward. Of course it is impossible to determine whether rumors of Sir Edward’s activities had reached Shakespeare – although news of the arrest of Sir Edward’s brother almost certainly would have reached him. However, one would have to believe very firmly in coincidences to think that the creation of two Dukes of Buckingham that so closely resembled Sir Edward was a matter of chance. At any rate, in The Contention, 2 Henry VI, and Richard III, the name of Stafford is honored, though the ancestor may not be. Shakespeare was apparently not only knowledgeable of contemporary events but also a practitioner of contemporary politics.

NOTES 1. The third duke is not presented in a positive light until Shakespeare’s Henry VIII, where he is unjustly accused by the ambitious Cardinal Wolsey, defended by the saintly Catherine of Aragon, and given a noble death. 2. William Dugdale, The Baronage of England (London: 1675), vol. i, 165. 3. Carole Rawcliffe, The Staffords, Earls of Stafford and Dukes of Buckingham, 1394– 1521 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 118–119. 4. Barbara Harris, Edward Stafford, Third Duke of Buckingham (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1986), 15. 5. Rawcliffe, The Staffords, 20–21. 6. Harris, Edward Stafford, 18. 7. Citations from The Contention (1594) are taken from The Bankside Shakespeare, ed. Charles W. Thomas (New York: Shakespeare Society of New York, 1892). Citations from the Folio text of The Second Part of Henry the Sixth (1623) are taken from The Bankside Shakespeare, ed. Charles W. Thomas (New York: The Shakespeare Society of New York, 1892). Modern act and scene divisions are taken from The Arden Shakespeare: King Henry VI Part 2, ed. Ronald Knowles

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(Surrey: Nelson, 1999). All citations hereafter will be given parenthetically within the text. 8. Edward Hall, The Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre and Yorke (London: 1548), reprinted in Hall’s Chronicle: Containing the History of England, During the Reign of Henry the Fourth, and the Succeeding Monarchs to the End of the Reign of Henry the Eighth, in which are Particularly Described the Manners and Customs of the Periods (London: 1809), 202. All page references hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. 9. Raphael Holinshed, Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland, vol. iii (London: 1587), 622, 625. All references hereafter will be to volume and page and will be given parenthetically in the text. The citations will be to the 1587 edition, unless there are substantial changes between the first and second editions. Both in The Contention and in 2 Henry VI Shakespeare follows Hall by calling the custodian of Eleanor “John Stanley” (Contention 937–947; 2 Henry VI 1253–1257). The correct person was Thomas Stanley, the ancestor of the Earls of Derby (there was a Sir John Stanley, Thomas’ third son, who was the ancestor of the Stanleys of Alderley, but he was not the custodian of Eleanor). This is only significant in that it demonstrates Shakespeare’s use of Hall over Holinshed. 10. These memoranda were in Lambeth Library MS 306, first printed by James Gairdner, ed., Three Fifteenth Century Chronicles with Historical Memoranda by John Stowe, the Antiquary, and Contemporary Notes of Occurrences Written by Him in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth, Camden Society n.s. XXVIII (1880; rpt. New York: 1965), 67. All page references hereafter will be inserted parenthetically. 11. See the internet site: http://clutch.open.ac.uk/schools/twomileash99/ LordsStafford.html. 12. Pierre Sahel, “Some Versions of Coup d’Etat, Rebellion and Revolution,” Shakespeare and Politics, ed. Catherine M. S. Alexander (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 130–141, 139. 13. The Suffolks were descended from Mary’s oldest daughter, so they had precedence over the Derbys. The Stuarts were not designated by Henry VIII’s will but, because they descended from his older sister Margaret, they were next in line after Elizabeth by blood order. 14. Public Record Office, “John Chamberlain to Dud. Carleton,” June 28, 1590, Cal. S. P. Dom. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1598–1601) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), no. 222. Sarah Williams, ed., Letters Written by John Chamberlain, during the Reign of Queen Elizabeth (London: Camden Society, 1861; reprint, New York: Johnson Reprint Corporation, 1968), 139. 15. Conyers Read, “The Fame of Sir Edward Stafford,” American Historical Review 20 (1915), 292–296. 16. Public Record Office, “Edward Stafford to Walsingham,” October 27, 1583, Cal. St. P. For., France. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1587–1603) (London: 1899; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 65. 17. Read, “Sir Edward Stafford,” 297.


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18. Public Record Office, “Thomas Rogers to Walsingham,” undated, Cal. St. P. For. France. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1587–1603) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), f. 370. 19. Public Record Office, “Bernardino de Mendoza to the King,” Jan. 24, 1587, Cal. St. P. For., Spain. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1587–1603) (London: 1899; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 9. 20. Public Record Office, “Bernardino de Mendoza to the King,” Feb. 28, 1587, Cal. St. P. For., Spain. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1587–1603) (London: 1899; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, 1967), 28. 21. Public Record Office, “Bernardino de Mendoza to the King,” May 20, 1587, Cal. St. P. For., Spain. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1587–1603) (London: 1899; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 90. 22. Public Record Office, “The King to Bernardino de Mendoza,” July 6, 1587, Cal. St. P. For., Spain. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1587–1603) (London: 1899; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 124. 23. Martin A. S. Hume, the first editor of the Spanish State Papers, was the first to call attention to the overwhelming evidence of Stafford’s activities in the correspondence with Spain. Professor A. F. Pollard studied Hume’s evidence and came to the conclusion that he had not proved the case against Stafford (“Review of Spanish State Papers,” English Historical Review 16 (1901), 572–577. Conyers Read’s article provided more evidence to implicate Stafford. Mitchell Leimon and Geoffrey Parker have recently reopened the case in “Treason and Plot in Elizabethan Diplomacy: ‘The Fame of Sir Edward Stafford’ Reconsidered,” English Historical Review 111 (1996), 1134–1158. Leimon and Parker conclude that Stafford was playing dangerous games, at the very least, and marvel that Walsingham was not able to recall him. They, along with Read, believe the reason to be his close association with Lord Burghley. 24. In fact William tried unsuccessfully to blackmail the French ambassador in London by proposing the plot. The plan failed, and William was committed to the Tower. 25. These complaints are summarized in the Read and Leimon and Parker articles. 26. Leimon and Parker, “Treason and Plot,” 1145. 27. The correspondence expressing concern about Spain is so voluminous in the State Papers it would be impossible to list them here. The concern is definitely intensified in the immediate years after Mary’s death. 28. G. E. Cokayne, The Complete Peerage of England or a History of the House of Lords and All its Members from the Earliest Times, vol. xii.i, revised by Vicary Gibbs, ed. H. A. Doubleday, Duncan Warrand, and Lord Howard de Walden (London: St. Catherine’s Press, 1910–1955), 186. 29. Giles St. Aubyn, 1483: The Year of Three Kings (London: Collins, 1983), 53. 30. Cokyane, Complete Peerage, vol. ii, 390. 31. Harris, Edward Stafford, 20–21. 32. Paul Murray Kendall, Richard the Third (New York: Norton, 1955), 226–227. 33. Dugdale, The Baronage of England, vol. i, 168. 34. The chroniclers, as we shall see, had various opinions. Two modern historians who differ are James Gairdner, The History of the Life and Reign of Richard

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35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48.

49. 50.

Shakespeare and the Nobility the Third, to which is Added the Story of Perkin Warbeck from Original Documents (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1898) and J. D. Mackie, The Earlier Tudors, 1485–1558 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1952). Still, we should not forget that the Earl of Richmond’s mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, was Buckingham’s aunt. Buckingham may simply have anticipated even more favors from a Tudor reign. Banister’s name is spelled differently in each of the chronicle sources. Rawcliffe, The Staffords, 35. Robert Fabyan, The New Chronicles of England and France in Two Parts (London: F. C. and J. Rivington, 1811), 514. All page references hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. Polydore Vergil, The xxiijth Booke of Polidore Virgill of the History of England: Henry the Sixth, ed. Sir Henry Ellis (London: Camden Society, 1844), 174. All page references hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. This is disputed by Rawcliffe, who argues that Richard did indeed keep his promise to Buckingham (The Staffords, 30–31). The manuscript was first printed in Richard Grafton’s 1543 edition of John Hardyng (see note 48), reprinted with corrections by Hall in 1548, and published in English by More’s nephew Thomas Rastell in 1557. The Latin edition was published in 1566. Elizabeth Story Donno, “Thomas More and Richard III,” Renaissance Quarterly 35 (1982), 430. Thomas More, “The Historie of King Richard III” and Selections from the English and Latin Poems, ed. Richard Sylvester (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976), 42. All page references hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. See Elizabeth Donno’s analysis of this speech, “Thomas More,” 431. Harris, Edward Stafford, 30. Susan Brigden, New Worlds, Lost Worlds: The Rule of the Tudors, 1485–1603 (Middlesex: Penguin, 2001), 140. Rawclife, The Staffords, 36–39. See Donno, “Thomas More,” 437–438, and Alison Hanham, “Sir Thomas More’s Satirical Drama,” Richard III and His Early Historians (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), 152–190. Hall’s work was published posthumously, one year after his death. John Hardyng was the first to append More’s work in the Chronicle published by Richard Grafton. The two texts are virtually identical, which has caused some debate regarding Grafton’s own reliability. The differences between the texts, as well as a description of the various drafts of More’s Historie, are detailed in Donno, “Thomas More.” Holinshed’s version of the story is taken directly from Rastell’s version, incorporating Hall’s corrections and marginalia. Some of his father’s lands had been restored by Henry VIII, who still declared him to be “corrupted in blood” (Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. ii, 183). Andrew Anderson, “Henry Lord Stafford (1501–1563) in Local and Central Government,” English Historical Review 78 (1963), 225–242.


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51. William Baldwin et al., The Myrrovr for Magistrates, Newly Corrected and Augmented (London: 1571), 320. All page references hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. 52. Legge’s play is referred to by Sir John Harington, in Apologie for Poetry (London: 1591), Thomas Heywood in Apology for Actors (London: 1612), and Thomas Nashe in Have with You to Saffron Walden (London: 1596). Legge later became the Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge. 53. Richardus Tertius is taken from the reprint in Shakespeare Society’s Papers, vol. i (London: Shakespeare Society, 1844), 73–164. 54. The True Tragedy is taken from the reprint in the Shakespeare Society’s Papers, vol. i 3–72. 55. Citations from the Folio text of The Life and Death of Richard III (1623) are taken from The Bankside Shakespeare, ed. Charles Thomas (New York: The Shakespeare Society of New York, 1892). Modern act and scene divisions are taken from The Arden Shakespeare: King Richard III, ed. Anthony Hammond (Surrey: Nelson, 1982). All citations hereafter will be given parenthetically within the text. 56. William Carroll, “‘The Form of Law’: Ritual and Succession in Richard III,” True Rites and Maimed Rites: Ritual and Anti-Ritual in Shakespeare and His Age, ed. Linda Woodbridge and Edward Berry (Urbana: University of Illinois Press), 203–219, 205. 57. Marie-Helene Besnault and Michel Bitot see the character as buffoonish and clownish (“Historical Legacy and Fiction: The Poetical Reinvention of King Richard III,” Cambridge Companion to Shakespeare’s History Plays, ed. Michael Hattaway (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 106–126, 115). The mighty Buckingham has most definitely fallen.

chap t e r 2

The Dukes of Suffolk

There was no Duke of Suffolk in the 1590s. The dukedom had been forfeited in 1553/4; the line of de la Pole was extinct, and the family that had held the title briefly in Henry VIII’s reign had been declared illegitimate. The title of Suffolk carried pretensions to the throne, and the family that temporarily possessed it, the Greys, effectively carried those pretensions to the brink of reality. A decade or two of inglorious behavior had bestowed the taint of Tudor displeasure upon all who held the title, and in the successionobsessed talk of the 1590s these were the names spoken in whispers, the objects of secret speculations and the subjects of surreptitious writings. Unencumbered by the influence of either titular or familial descendants, Shakespeare was therefore free to portray William de la Pole in Henry VI Part One, The Contention, and Henry VI Part Two as a consummate villain in the tradition of Richard III. Instead, however, Shakespeare chose to invent a character who is a complex amalgamation of political ruthlessness and romantic devotion, a somewhat pathetic perversion of the romantic hero, whose ruthless ambition, personal weakness, and ultimate downfall are instigated and hastened by a forbidden and all-consuming love. It is true that many critics do not recognize any subtlety in the portrayal of Suffolk and have been generally dismissive of the character, categorizing him, as F. W. Brownlow does, as a “villain absolute”1 or as a one-dimensional Machiavellian felon. Early scholars, promoting the theory of Shakespeare as a Tudor propagandist, relegated Suffolk to the roles of traitorous adulterer and antithesis of the good (and loyal) Duke Humphrey; later critics, spurred by Marxism, cultural materialism, and general sympathies for the common people, have labeled him an elitist parvenu and plutocratic instigator of the Cade rebellion. H. M. Richmond’s early assessment that Suffolk is, “after all, only a type of the anarchistic self-interest and egotistical sentimentality of the English upper classes”2 has set the tone for almost all the studies of Suffolk that followed. Phyllis Rackin describes Suffolk as the “corrupt and haughty courtier” whose purpose is “to raise the audience’s 74


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antipathy” and to “absolve the older aristocracy, represented by the good Duke of Gloucester, of blame and to fix it on parvenu courtiers like Suffolk.”3 Rackin, like many previous and subsequent critics, sees Suffolk as a Machiavel in a Machiavellian universe, whose ignoble end is a result of divine, and plebeian, justice.4 Paola Pugliatti argues that Shakespeare’s Suffolk is a degeneration from the way he is portrayed in the chronicles and that he is “driven by human ambition and the thirst for power.”5 Blair Worden sees him as a “thug” who “regards the law as subordinate to his own will.”6 It is interesting to note that Rackin’s and Worden’s remarks can be applied with equal veracity to Jack Cade, but Cade’s ambition and murders, which greatly surpass Suffolk’s, are celebrated and often deemed heroic.7 In fact, the critics’ view of Suffolk is true only up to a point. The chronicle Suffolk is indeed a one-dimensional thug. He is ambitious enough, but not clever enough, to share the name of Machiavelli. He is a minor figure whose relatively negligible crimes launch an avalanche of sequential catastrophic events. He is a character driven by a thirst for power that is never close to being realized – a man who schemes and grabs but falls long before he reaches the heights he seeks. Naturally, Shakespeare’s creation is more complex, more multifaceted, more profound. The chroniclers are weak enough historians, but to expect their skills at characterization to equal Shakespeare’s seems a trifle unfair. However, the issue is not the complication of Shakespeare’s character – that is a proposition we can safely presume. The issue is the method by which the character is complicated. In effect, Shakespeare has greatly magnified the role of a man who in the chronicles is a minor player. He has also, more significantly, involved the character in a love affair that simply did not exist in the chronicles. The love affair is the central point of 2 Henry VI – it is a relationship that is adulterous and thus passionate, treasonous and thus dangerous, brief yet pivotal. It is the love affair that sends the country into a downward spiral. It is also a love affair that makes the character of Suffolk much more sympathetic than he appears in any chronicle source. Shakespeare’s Suffolk is not a Richard driven to manipulate and destroy others for his ambition. Shakespeare’s Suffolk is an Antony driven to his own destruction by an ill-advised love. Our first encounter with Suffolk, in 1 Henry VI, is in the Temple Garden scene, where he reveals not so much ambition as arrogant defiance: Faith, I have beene a Truant in the Law And neuer yet could frame my will to it And therefore frame the law vnto my will. (1 Henry VI 936–938; 2.4.7–9)8

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Nonetheless, he is not a traitor. Suffolk is the only noble who joins Somerset in pledging his loyalty to the king’s cause, which in this tetralogy is not an insignificant gesture. He then disappears from the play until the end, when he enters with Margaret in hand as his prisoner. The scene is immediately and entirely a love encounter and it is, without the context of the subsequent scenes, a touching one, with all the hesitancy and excitement of young love. Suffolk is so infatuated with Margaret that he almost releases her – then cannot. He shows an inability to form the words to speak to her. He frets that he is married and cannot have her. Through it all, Margaret is bewildered at his confusion (“He talks at random; sure, the man is mad” (1 Henry VI 2523; 5.3.85)). For a moment Margaret becomes the object of a chivalric quest and, as Sen Gupta states, “Suffolk is the knight errant.”9 Then, Suffolk has an epiphany – if he makes Margaret the queen, she will be near him: I’ll win this Lady Margaret. For whom? Why for my king! Tush that’s a woodden thing. ............. ... ............... Yet so my fancy may be satisfied And peace established betweene these Realmes. (1 Henry VI 2525–2529; 5.3.109–116)

This is scarcely Machiavellian. Indeed, one shudders to think what Machiavelli would say of a man who changes the political landscape for a woman. Even in his asides, Suffolk does not reveal any ambition beyond winning Margaret. He does plot, but it is how he will “solicit Henry with her wondrous praise” (1 Henry VI 2634; 5.4.211). As we shall see, the chronicles imply no romantic motivation for Suffolk’s solicitation. They argue that Suffolk is motivated by either greed, ambition, or misplaced loyalties. Shakespeare has added an entirely new, and it must be said rather provocative, alternative. Paul Dean says of this scene that it is the first appearance in Shakespeare’s work of his favorite theme of the ruler’s private and public selves.10 But Suffolk is not a ruler, and he has shown no political ambition yet. Indeed, he has been entirely loyal to the king. Suffolk is using his considerable intelligence and influence with Henry for only one purpose, and that is to remain close to Margaret. The first note of political ambition from Suffolk comes in the last lines of the play. After he has convinced the king to marry Margaret, he is left alone with his thoughts: Thus Suffolk hath preuail’d, and thus he goes, As did the youthfull Paris once to Greece; With hope to find the like euent in loue, But prosper better than the Troian did.


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Margaret shall now be Queene, and rule the King: But I will rule both her, the King and Realme. (1 Henry VI 2926–2930; 5.5.103–108)

The reference to Paris is deliberately ominous.11 By comparing Suffolk to the rather ineffectual Prince of Troy, Shakespeare places him among the lovesick whose devotion spawns the direst consequences. However, and by Suffolk’s own admission, his similarity to Paris ends with the birth of personal ambition. Whereas the Trojan prince cultivated no goal beyond the bedding of Helen, Suffolk’s love has fostered a new vision which positions him as the power behind the throne. The use of a woman for political purposes is certainly a common enough device, but it is interesting that Shakespeare establishes a love relationship first. Suffolk is not courting Margaret to gain power. He falls in love, then realizes the favorable consequences of the relationship. His path to the throne is directly routed through the bed of his beloved. In The Contention, Suffolk and Margaret have obviously attained intimacy. He has married her to the king in absentia, and in the first scene is presenting her to Henry in open court. Henry is properly enraptured, and Suffolk then displays the articles of marriage which give Maine and Anjou to Margaret’s father. Gloucester, enraged, calls him “the new made Duke that rules the roost” (Contention 88), and Somerset decides to include Suffolk in the plot against Gloucester (Contention 124). However, in this version, Suffolk only becomes involved in the plot when he realizes that Gloucester and his wife pose a problem for Margaret. Suffolk dominates the scene with the petitioners but, when left alone with Margaret, he reverts to becoming her swain. When Margaret complains about Gloucester’s influence with the Commons (Contention 323–341), Suffolk responds: Madame, content your selfe a little while, As I was cause of your comming to England, So will I in England worke your full content: And as for proud Duke Humphrey and his wife I haue set lime-twigs that will intangle them. (Contention, emphasis added, 342–346)

We know what these lime-twigs are. Suffolk has set a trap for Margaret’s enemy, Eleanor, the Duchess of Gloucester (Contention 264). Suffolk continues to do Margaret’s bidding. When Henry asks who should be Regent of France, the nobles bicker but Suffolk remains silent until Margaret says: “My Lord in mine opinion, it were best that Somerset were Regent over France” (Contention 366–367). Suffolk immediately gives his opinion, which is, not surprisingly, identical to hers:

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Shakespeare and the Nobility The common state Doth as we see, all wholly go to wracke And Millions of treasure hath bene spent, As for the Regentship of France, I say Somerset is more worthie than Yorke. (Contention 374–379)

When Gloucester is arrested by Suffolk for high treason, the doomed duke warns of the venom surrounding him: Suffolke’s hatefull tongue blabs his harts malice Bewfords firie eyes showes his enuious minde Buckinghams proud lookes bewraies his cruel thoughts. .... ........ ........ ........ ........... And you my gratous lady and soueraigne mistresse Causeless have laid complaints vpon my head. (Contention 1045–1052)

Suffolk immediately rises to the defense, not of himself, but of his love: Doth he not twit our soueraigne Lady here, As if that she with ignomious wrong, Had sobornde or hired some to swear against his life? (Contention 1057–1059)

In The Contention, it is the queen, not Suffolk, who calls together the dukes in a conspiracy for Gloucester’s murder. Once again, Shakespeare ties Suffolk’s ambition, as well as his crimes, to love. The love scenes between Margaret and Suffolk have been mocked by critics for their Petrarchan imagery and inflated language. David Riggs describes them as trite and cliched.12 Robert Ornstein finds them “artificial,” filled with “neoplatonic postures and the pseudo spiritual vocabulary of Petrarchan devotion.”13 Robert Pierce says that they are “hard to take seriously.”14 The language of the scenes may be conventional from the standpoint of the modern literary critic, but it is hard to believe that a 1590 audience would be so jaded by Petrarch that they would fail to see the genuine emotion underlying the language. There is no indication that either Suffolk or Margaret is insincere. This is particularly true of the final scene between the lovers, which is one of the more touching love scenes in Shakespeare and is almost remarkable in its poignancy and passion. With Suffolk’s exile, as we shall later see, Shakespeare again departs from his sources. The chronicles all posit that Suffolk’s expulsion was a ploy by Henry and Margaret to satisfy the blood cries of the Commons; it was intended to be overturned quickly, and in any event it was only of five years’


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duration. Shakespeare, on the other hand, depicts Henry’s sentence as very real and very permanent: “If Suffolke be found to breathe in any place, / Where I haue rule, but three daies more, he dies” (Contention 1324–1325). The lovers are thus faced with a life apart. Alone for one last time, they take their leave. Margaret, who has not spoken a word of love to Suffolk before, kisses his hand and begs him to go to France, where he will be safe until she can have his sentence repealed. Suffolk responds with absolute devotion and, as Philip Bordinat points out, with a speech that foreshadows the great lovers of Shakespeare’s future plays who willingly sacrifice all for love:15 And if I go I cannot liue: but here to die, What were it else, but like a pleasant slumber In thy lap? Here could I breath my soule into the aire, As milde and gentle as the newe borne babe, That dies with mothers dugge betweene his lips, Where from thy sight I should be raging madde, And call for thee to close mine eyes, Or with thy lips to stop my dying soule, That I might breath it so into thy bodie, And then it liu’d in sweete Elyziam, By thee to die, were but to die in ieast From thee to die, were torment more than death, O let me staie, befall, what may befall. (Contention 1392–1404)

This speech is extraordinary, particularly when one considers that it is from the mouth of a supposed villain. Except for Richard III’s love play with Anne, it is difficult to imagine any other villain in the canon speaking so eloquently or so movingly to a woman. And Suffolk, unlike Richard, is sincere. The fact that Shakespeare allows us to view this love is significant, because it compels us see the participants, who after all are engaging in a treasonous affair, in a different light. At the beginning of the play we are presented with an illicit love affair that has bred murder and flirts with treason. It is a love that engenders villainy. However, we now see that as disastrous as this love is, it is sincere and all-encompassing. There is actually a modicum of sympathy for the pair. We do not like the characters particularly, but we are now seeing a couple in love faced with eternal separation. The authenticity of feelings breaks through the stilted language and overshadows the couple’s villainy. The effect is only temporary. Although the couple may evoke sympathy while together, Shakespeare allows their less pleasant attributes to shine

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through when they are apart. Suffolk’s death scene, in particular, underscores his elitism and disdain for the lower classes.16 When he faces his own death at the hands of a commoner, he rather unadvisedly insults his executioner by sneering at him: Base Iadie groome, King Henries blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, Cannot be shead by such a lowly swain. (Contention 1481–1483)

It is true that this treatment of the lower classes is more repellent to our modern sensibilities than it would have been to our sixteenth-century counterparts. Consequently, few critics have found any merit in Suffolk’s behavior at his death. Edna Zwick Boris argues that “the nobly born, ambitious Suffolk thinks of nothing but his own advancement and sees his social responsibility as limited to a sort of public performance.” Boris also recites a rather republican sentiment that “his behavior deserved no indulgence, regardless of his rank; respect for rank should only be accorded to those whose actions, not inherited status, merit respect.”17 These are praiseworthy thoughts indeed, but they are also very post-modern thoughts: a great many in a sixteenth-century London audience (even a great many in a 21st-century London audience) would most certainly believe that respect should be accorded to those with inherited status.18 The pirates themselves apparently believed in the privileges of rank: in the version of the scene in Contention, the lieutenant berates Suffolk for “daring to affye a mighty Lord / Vnto the daughter of a worthlesse King, / Having neythier Subiect, Wealth, nor Diadem” (Contention 2247–2249). So the real consideration is not that Suffolk died as an elitist but that he died as a very foolish one, so choked with his own importance that he did not have the insight to be politic with his captors. In 2 Henry VI, the version of The Contention with which most readers are familiar, the character of Suffolk is slightly altered and his role, both in the play and in the court, is expanded. Suffolk is more conspiratorial, reacting less to Margaret’s demands and more to his own ambition. For example, Shakespeare adds the historical fact that Suffolk demanded a whole fifteenth for costs and charges in transporting Margaret from France (2 Henry VI 138–139; 1.1.130), indicating that his motivation might have been greed as well as love. When a much stronger Margaret demands that Gloucester and his wife be eliminated, Suffolk responds: Madame list to me For I am bold to counsaile you in this; Although we fancie not the Cardinall,


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Yet must we ioyne with him and with the Lords, Til we haue brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the Duke of Yorke, this late Complaint Will make but little for his benefit: So one by one wee’le weed them all at last, And you your selfe shall steere the happy Helme. (2 Henry VI 477–485; 1.3.92–100)

This is quite different from The Contention, when he was not so bold as to counsel the queen, and his plots only concerned Gloucester’s wife (Contention 342–348). Similarly, when the nobles are arguing over the regency of France, Suffolk does not immediately agree with the queen’s choice of Somerset. Instead, he seems more concerned with seizing the opportunity to attack his political enemies. He criticizes Gloucester’s “rule” and blames him for England’s failure in France (2 Henry VI 511–516; 1.3.122–125); after much bickering (which includes the “dropped glove” altercation between the duchess and the queen), Suffolk turns to his other enemy, and says that “York is most vnmeet of any man” (2 Henry VI 558; 1.3.165). He never actually names Somerset as an acceptable regent. When Gloucester turns to insult the queen, Suffolk does not defend her until after Beaufort has reproved Gloucester for speaking to the king as to a child (2 Henry VI 1471–1476; 3.1.178–180). Suffolk takes a much more active part in the downfall of Gloucester in 2 Henry VI. He implicates Gloucester in the downfall of Eleanor and tells the king that Gloucester’s ambition was his motivation (2 Henry VI 1338–1344; 3.1.42–45). In the debate over the fate of Gloucester, Shakespeare makes some interesting changes. In The Contention, Suffolk eagerly accepts Margaret’s decision that Gloucester must fall (Contention 1086–1089). In 2 Henry VI, there is first an exchange between Cardinal Beaufort and Suffolk over the meaning of this crucial event: c ard:

That he should dye, is worthie pollicie, But yet we want a Colour for his death: ’Tis meet he be condemn’d by course of Law. s uf f : But in my minde, that were no pollicie. The King will labour still to save his Life, The Commons haply rise, to saue his Life; And yet we haue but triuiall argument, More than mistrust, that shewes him worthy death. york e : So that by this, you would not haue him dye. suf f : Ah Yorke, no man aliue, so faine as I. (2 Henry VI 1536–1545; 3.1.235–244)

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Margaret, York, and Beaufort insist on the necessity of Gloucester’s death, and Suffolk readily agrees: “No let him dye, in that he is a fox, / By nature prou’d an Enemie to the Flock” (2 Henry VI 1558–1559; 3.1.257–258). What is interesting here is that Suffolk is an active (and speculative) conspirator, not simply an obedient swain to Margaret, as he is in The Contention. Consequently, there is no need for Margaret to remind him, as she does in The Contention, to “remember what you haue to do.”19 Suffolk is also seen as a more dangerous conspirator in 2 Henry VI. Salisbury reports that the Commons fear the king’s death at Suffolk’s hands (2 Henry VI 1977–1980; 3.2.264–266). Later, the king admits that he shares that fear (2 Henry VI 1996–1997; 3.2.282–283). These fears are not included in The Contention. In addition, Shakespeare has intensified the anger of the Commons toward Suffolk. In The Contention, they demand from outside: “an answere from the King” in regard to the fate of Suffolk (Contention 1318). In 2 Henry VI, they threaten to break in if the king does not respond (2 Henry VI 1900; 3.2.278). Also, Shakespeare has added a speech by the lieutenant who executes Suffolk, in which Suffolk’s crimes against the king and state are listed (2 Henry VI 2237–2269; 4.1.70–102). In this speech Suffolk is blamed for everything from the ill-suited match of Margaret and Henry to the rise of York and the Cade rebellion.20 Yet the treatment is not altogether harsh in this play. Suffolk and Margaret’s final love scene is only enhanced in 2 Henry VI, with added speeches of love on both Suffolk’s and Margaret’s part. Suffolk, for example, has these additional words for the queen: ’Tis not the Land I care for, wer’t thou thence, A Wildernese is populous enough, So Suffolke had thy heauenly company: For where thou art, there is the World it selfe, With euery seuerall pleasure in the World: And where thou art not, Desolation. (2 Henry VI 2071–2078; 3.2.358–365)

Whatever sympathy is aroused by this exchange is heightened later in the play, when Margaret appears not only cradling Suffolk’s head, but speaking in a heart-wrenching way of her loss: Oft haue I heard that greefe softens the mind, And makes it fearefull and degenerate, Thinke therefore on reuenge, and cease to weepe. But who can cease to weepe, and look on this. Heere may his head lye on my throbbing brest: But where’s the body that I should imbrace? (2 Henry VI 2532–2537; 4.4.1–6)


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The poignancy of this moment is admittedly lost on some critics. Maurice Hunt takes a certain satisfaction in it and feels it is Margaret’s justified punishment for her pride and self-aggrandizement.21 If Suffolk’s death is a punishment for Margaret, it is certainly not an effective one, for Margaret’s pride and ferocity only increase in the play. Also, since Margaret was not on the ship when Suffolk was executed, it is difficult to see how she can recognize his death as a punishment for arrogance. Margaret can only know that he was killed by commoners, which most probably would only increase her disdain of them. Considering Margaret’s subsequent behavior, Suffolk’s death might be seen as an incentive rather than a punishment. Lisa Dickson, on the other hand, sees the entire episode as grotesque and symbolic of a rupture in the nation.22 The sight of Margaret cradling a severed head is indeed unsettling, but the language transcends the scene, I believe intentionally, so that for a brief moment we forget the gruesome spectacle before us and are forced to empathize with Margaret. At any rate, I believe it is safe to say that no other villain in Shakespeare warrants quite this type of eulogy or this degree of mourning. Although the character of Suffolk is more ambitious, more conspiratorial, and less smitten in 2 Henry, his love affair with Margaret is still the raison d’être of the play. It is the source, catalyst, and context of every downfall, tragedy, and intrigue. Because it is so crucial, the love affair has generated the mandated amount of critical speculation, which primarily centers on the fact that the affair should be repulsive, but somehow is not. E. M. W. Tillyard writes that it “pleased the people but could be spared from the play,”23 indicating that some sympathetic notes could be found in it. David Riggs claims that “[t]he courtier, at his final parting with Margaret, suddenly becomes an idealized and gracious amorist who measures the necessity of death over the permanence of love.”24 Robert Ornstein states that “though [Suffolk] and Margaret adopt the neoplatonic postures and the pseudo-spiritual vocabulary of Petrarchan devotion, their hunger of the flesh shows through.”25 Barbara Hodgdon believes that adultery was thought to be a “given of political marriage,” since “no one moves to correct the Queen’s ‘dishonesty’.”26 Waldo F. McNeir pronounces the scene comical, “turgidly melodramatic . . . a satiric revelation of their grotesque fantasy of themselves.”27 Gwyn Williams finds the affair “as morally and politically reprehensible as Antony and Cleopatra.”28 Antony and Cleopatra are apposite comparisons. As with the Roman couple, we are at once fascinated by the passion of Suffolk and Margaret and at the same time revolted by the catastrophe that ensues from that passion. The consequential nature of the affair may have been Shakespeare’s point. As Williams puts it: “But for this love, to Shakespeare’s mind, the French

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provinces would not have been lost, the good Duke of Gloucester would not have been murdered, the crown would not have passed to the house of York, and Richard, Duke of Gloucester, might never have had the opportunities for the slaughter which brought him to the throne as Richard III.”29 This is an opinion strikingly different from that of the chronicler Edward Hall, who blames Margaret’s marriage with Henry for the ultimate downfall of the kingdom: But most of all it should seeme, that God was with this matrimony not content: for after the spousage, the kings friends fell from him, both in England and in France, the lords of his realm fell at diuision emongst themselfs, the commons rebelled against their sovereign lorde and natural prince, manie felds foughten, and manie thousands of men slaine, and finallie the king deposed, and his sonne killed, and this queene sent home againe, with as much miserie and sorrow as she was receiued with pompe and triumph. (Union 205)

Hall, the only chronicler who actually opines on the matter, argues that it is the marriage that triggers the various disasters that are to befall England for the next fifty years. Of course, the marriage is arranged by Suffolk, so according to Hall all blame can safely be laid upon his shoulders. Although the lieutenant in Shakespeare’s play seems to share Hall’s opinion, and blames Suffolk for England’s imminent demise (4.1.70–100), Shakespeare is rather careful to distribute the culpability, and he constructs several scenarios to dispute Hall’s viewpoint. The nobles begin to fall into division in the Temple Garden scene long before Margaret appears. The loss of France is blamed on Somerset (who not only lost France as regent but whose quarrel with York caused the death of the English champion in France, Lord Talbot). York’s schemes to capture the throne begin before Henry’s marriage and do not seem connected to its outcome. As Clayton Mackenzie suggests, Shakespeare is far more concerned with the dangers of a weak king and rebellious nobles in a disintegrating kingdom than with the adulterous love affair of an ambitious queen.30 Nonetheless, although the affair between Suffolk and Margaret is not responsible for all of England’s ills, it has perverted the natural order of things enough to make England a feeding ground for rebellion and discontent. Shakespeare has therefore created a love affair that is the turning point of one play and the major part of another; a love affair that is dramatically and historically crucial to the action of the play but is almost certainly fictional. The critical commentary is rife with analyses of the nature and motivation of Suffolk and Margaret, but there is scarce mention of the fact that the relationship is entirely Shakespeare’s invention. Historically there is no indication of an intimate relationship between the queen and the duke; the


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chronicles play them as separate and unequal villains. Margaret is a ruthless woman whose vindictiveness and spite endanger her husband’s kingdom for years on end; Suffolk is a relatively short-term scoundrel motivated by personal ambition, greed, and the particular wickedness of ignoring divine providence. The historic Margaret and Suffolk may have been coconspirators in the death of Gloucester, but so was half the court. Polydore Vergil mentions the queen’s “love” of Suffolk, and that comment is repeated, in various translated versions, by later chroniclers. But no chronicler implies that they had a sexual relationship. In fact, the chroniclers intimate that the queen had a relationship with Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and that Prince Edward was in fact Somerset’s son.31 It would seem then, that the salient focus should not be on the nature of the love or the motivations of the lovers or the turgidity of the language, but on the reason for its inclusion at all. It is true, as many would argue, that the addition of a love affair is a common dramatic device and certainly one that elicits audience response. Nevertheless, the question we should ask is why Shakespeare would invent and include a love affair that is crucial to the play but is neither historically accurate, emotionally defined, nor particularly memorable, even to Margaret herself, who forgets Suffolk by the next scene. Before we consider Shakespeare’s motivation, however, we should first examine his role within the context of historical representation. As discussed in the last chapter, the events that frame a particular historical moment also frame the interpretation of any character, fictionalized or historical, that is presented to the public imagination. Within any narrative environment there are implicit moral values engendered by the historical moment and defined and constrained by the power structure or dominant public opinion. Hence, every historical figure is almost exclusively judged by the contemporary values of the historian who tells his story and the audience that reads it – the determination of his heroism or villainy is completely dependent on whether the character meets the moral criteria of the contemporary audience. Each succeeding generation reapplies its moral framework to reconstruct the character in terms of its own value system. It is not only the political victors who write history but the moral arbiters as well. This was certainly the case in Early Modern historiography, and the chroniclers dutifully instilled the dominant moral ethology into their representation of historical figures. In order to be deemed a hero, for example, a rebel could overthrow a monarch for being tyrannical, unholy, perverse – but not for being obstructive or incompetent. However, the chroniclers had the additional burden – or incentive – of creating characters that responded not simply to the dominant

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moral environment, but also to the various micro-narratives that existed in the interrelated power structures of Early Modern England. With the addition of the love affair, Shakespeare is not only responding to the dominant contemporary narrative environment; he is also choosing to reflect his knowledge of the personal history of a particular family. The Suffolk/Margaret love affair is a commentary on another love affair that took place before Shakespeare himself was born. This relationship involved the claimants to the Suffolk title; it was an illicit affair, at least in the mind of the queen, and it resulted in death, divisiveness, and the destruction of the Suffolk line. In Shakespeare’s day, the issue of the relationship had been resurrected because, ill-advised as it had been, it had also given the Suffolk descendants a claim to the throne and thus a growing recognition from the public. The Duke of Suffolk is a prime example of an historical figure whose representation constantly fluctuated according to the status and fortunes of his descendants and the narrative environment in which they existed. Historically, William de la Pole was indeed the power behind the throne, but he was not a villain. He was first vilified by the Yorkist chroniclers, who wanted to make him, rather than the more culpable Duke of York, the scapegoat for the loss of France. By tracing the historic depictions of the duke, we can see how Shakespeare, as a dramatic historian, followed the pattern of his predecessors. We can also see how Shakespeare, as a historic dramatist, used his license to create a love affair that subtly commented on the Suffolks in his midst. In 1495, while Robert Fabyan was beginning his New Chronicles of England and France, Henry VII was having some difficulties with the Suffolks. John de la Pole, the second Duke of Suffolk, was the son of the infamous William de la Pole and of Geoffrey Chaucer’s granddaughter. He married extraordinarily well – his wife was Elizabeth Plantagenet, the second daughter of Richard, Duke of York, and sister of Edward IV and Richard III. This alliance with the royal family gave the children of John and Elizabeth de la Pole a strong claim to the throne – a claim that was much stronger, in fact, than Henry VII’s. Richard III had recognized this claim and declared John and Elizabeth’s eldest son John to be his heir; Henry VII also recognized this claim and, after John conveniently died in the Battle of Stoke, declared him posthumously attainted of his honors. In 1495, Edmund de la Pole, the next eldest son, was forced to surrender the dukedom and to be known henceforth as the Earl of Suffolk. Edmund promptly left the country, declared himself to be the Duke of Suffolk and “The White Rose,” and allegedly joined forces with the Emperor Maximilian. With equal alacrity,


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Henry VII had him attainted and all his honors forfeited. Edmund’s act of rebellion eventually brought him to the Tower in 1506, although his younger brother Richard stayed abroad and adopted both the Suffolk title and the White Rose epithet. Edmund remained in the Tower seven years before he was beheaded in 1513.32 Writing at the time of Edmund’s rebellion and downfall, Fabyan was thus free and perhaps even encouraged to malign Edmund’s grandfather, and he does so earnestly. According to Fabyan, William de la Pole, the first Duke of Suffolk, arranged for the marriage of Margaret of Anjou and Henry VI because of a “newe brande of burnyng envy atwene the lord protectour [Gloucester] and him.” Fabyan says that this envy was so strong it: toke yre in suche wyse, that it left nat tyll both parties, with many other, were consumyd and slayne, whereof ensued moche myschiefe within the realm, and losse of all Normandy. (New Chronicles 616)

Fabyan goes on to say that because of the loss of Maine and Anjou, and because Suffolk demanded “fifteen and half” for the marriage, he “grew in such hatred” from the people that it cost him his life (618). He was “specially suspected” by the people of the murder of Gloucester (619). At the insistence of the populace, the duke was arrested and sent to the Tower “where he was kept at his pleasure a moneth” (622). It was his release from prison, according to Fabyan, that ignited the Cade rebellion; the king, to appease the people, exiled him for five years (622). Fabyan reports Suffolk’s death at sea and suggests that it was Suffolk’s behavior that indirectly caused the Wars of the Roses for “one mischief ensued upon another, to the distruccyon of the nobles of this lande” (622). While Edmund de la Pole languished in the Tower, Polydore Vergil was commissioned to write his history. Polydore was a foreigner who sought patronage, as well as acceptance, in Henry VII’s court.33 As Henry Ansgar Kelly states: “[S]ince Vergil lived under the patronage of the Tudor monarchs . . . he would have had at least the occasion to be motivated by considerations of prudence, gratitude, or favor seeking with regard to those particular elements of English history which would be of vital concern to Henry and his successor.”34 Needless to say, the de la Pole matter was one of those particular elements. Polydore could not extricate this thorny white rose from Henry Tudor’s side, but he could certainly discredit it, and he does so by calumniating the first Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.35 Polydore does not mince words. Suffolk only attained the title of Duke because:

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he had beene the principall contriver of that develish devise, to kill the said duke of Glocester. He was chief author also that a sore subsidie was set upon the people, whereat all men rather inwardly grudged then openly withstoode. (History 74)

Suffolk is, according to Polydore, “th’utter confusion and destruction of his country” (82). He is accused not only of killing Gloucester, but also of taking pay marked for the common soldiers for himself (82). The Commons demand his imprisonment, and he is sequestered for a few days; the queen “supposing that the common people were satisfied with such kinde of ignominie as the duke was thus put unto, commaunded him to be delivered out of ward” (83). Suffolk regains his high favor with the king. The Commons once again become enraged, and the king decides to send him into exile, “upon such intent that when the rage of the commonaltie should be appeased he might be called home againe” (83). Polydore gives short shrift to Suffolk’s murder, since “the ungratious man so well deserved death” and concludes that the murder was “from God deserved punishment” (83). When Polydore began writing his history, the Suffolk title was held in disgrace; by the time he presented his work to Henry VIII, however, the Suffolk saga had come full circle. In 1514, Charles Brandon, a dear friend (and physical replica) of Henry VIII, was granted the title of Duke of Suffolk for his services to the new king. Charles Brandon was exceedingly powerful – Philippe de Bregilles wrote to Margaret of Savoy that Brandon was a “second king and . . . it is he who does and undoes”36 – and with his creation the Suffolk title regained its potency and prestige. Brandon, like his royal friend, was famous for his numerous and quasi marriages, but his most important alliance was to Mary Tudor, the Dowager Queen of France and sister of Henry VIII. As with the earlier Suffolks, this matrilineal line was to prove the glory and the destruction of the family. Mary Tudor and Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, had three children, a son and two daughters. The son, Henry, was godson of the king and Cardinal Wolsey and was created the Earl of Lincoln in 1525, just as John de la Pole had been. Henry Brandon died unmarried in 1533/4, and, after the deaths of his young half-brothers, his eldest sister, Frances Brandon, became the heir to the Suffolk line. In 1551, Frances Brandon’s husband, Henry Grey, the Marquess of Dorset, was created Duke of Suffolk. By decree of Henry VIII, they were granted at their creation “all the possessions forfeited by Edmund de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, and his brother, John Earl of Lincoln, with the reversion of those held by Queen Katherine [of Aragon] and Margaret Countess of Suffolk [Edmund’s wife], for life.”37 Charles Brandon and Henry Grey sequentially followed the de la Poles as the fourth and fifth dukes, respectively.


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When Edward Hall published the first edition of The Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre and Yorke in 1548, Henry Grey was the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon was of recent memory, and the Suffolk title was at the zenith of its prestige. Although Brandon and Grey were of a different familial line than William de la Pole, they were titular descendants and were identified by their title, not their family name. Henry Grey was thus, once he acquired the title, known primarily as Suffolk, not Grey or Dorset. It is therefore not surprising that when Hall addresses the subject of Brandon’s and Grey’s titular ancestor he tries to avoid the direct assault of Fabyan and Polydore. For example, when describing Suffolk’s surrender of the Duchies of Anjou and Maine to Margaret’s father in return for her marriage to Henry, Hall tries to provide a motive for the duke while absolving himself from judgment: [t]he Erle of Suffolke [sic] . . . without the assent of his associates, imagened in his phantasie that the nexte waie to come to a perfite peace was to move some marriage . . . [he] (I cannot saie), either corrupted with bribes, or to muche affectionate to this vnprofitable mariage, condescended and agreed to their mocion, that the Duchie of Aniow and the countie of Mayne should be released and deliuered, to the kyng her father, demanding for her marriage neither peny nor farthyng. (203–204)

Hall frames Suffolk’s rather traitorous action as a misguided and ill-advised attempt at peace. His explanation of why Suffolk gave away the English holdings in France is a masterpiece in vacillation. On the one hand, Suffolk may have been corrupt, but it is equally possible he may merely have been too eager, an innocent enough failing. When describing the murder of Gloucester, Hall is careful to note that he is repeating allegations: the people of the realm (as well as the nobilitie, as of the meane sorte) . . . began to make exclamation against the duke of Suffolke, affirming him to be the onelie cause of the deliuerie of Aniu and Maine, the cheefe procuror of the duke of Glocester’s death, the verie occasion of the losse of Normandie, the swallower up and consumer of the kings treasure, the expeller from the king of all good and vertuous councellours and the bringer in and aduancer of vicious persons. (217)

Hall restates the charges again and again avoids making an overt accusation himself, by saying that the “commons of the nether house, put up to the king and the lords manie articles of treason, misprision, and euill demeanor against the Duke of Suffolk.” Instead of stating directly that Suffolk took bribes from France, Hall quotes from the articles of indictment (217). As to the murder of Gloucester, Hall is reluctant to condemn Suffolk completely. First, it is the queen who decides “with her self” to take on

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the rule of the land because of her resentment of Gloucester’s influence with the king. Suffolk, although earlier he is said to have “ruled the king at his pleasure” (206), is not immediately privy to her plans, and it is never suggested that he is the instigator of them. Later, by her “permission and favour,” diverse noblemen, among them the Duke of Suffolk, conspire against Gloucester (209). Hall then follows Polydore closely, describing the king’s plan to exile Suffolk until the Commons are appeased. When describing Suffolk’s death, however, Hall makes some interesting deviations from Polydore. First, Polydore vaguely ascribes Suffolk’s murder to “his enemies” (History 83). Hall specifically says that he was killed by men from the Duke of Exeter (Union 219). Second, Polydore considers the death to be “from God due punishment”(History 83). Hall once again hedges, stating that the murder was: as men judge by God’s punishment: for above all things he was noted to be the very organ, engine and deviser of the destruction of Humphrey the good Duke of Gloucester. (Union 219) (emphases added)

The differences may be slight but they are significant. Hall does not exculpate Suffolk completely. He calls him an “abhorred toad” (more precisely he says that Henry banished him as an abhorred toad), a “froward person, and ungracious patron”(Union 319). But when discussing the actual crimes, Hall is very careful to state, always, that they were accusations, whereas Polydore treats them as proven facts. In 1553, the Dukedom of Suffolk once again fell into disgrace, and once again an ill-advised relationship prompted the fall. After Edward VI’s death, Henry Grey, with the encouragement of the powerful Duke of Northumberland, proclaimed his daughter Lady Jane Grey to be Queen of England, declaring she was the legitimate heir through her grandmother, Mary Tudor. Jane reigned nine days, after which she, her husband Guildford Dudley (Northumberland’s son), and her father were imprisoned and subsequently beheaded. When Henry Grey was executed on February 23, 1554, he was attainted, his honors were forfeited and, because he had no male heir, the Dukedom of Suffolk was declared extinct. Six years later, William Baldwin wrote Suffolk’s didactic poem for The Mirrour for Magistrates. Baldwin follows Hall’s lead in a subdued interpretation of William de la Pole. In Baldwin’s poem on Suffolk, there is no indication of an affair between the duke and the queen, except that he found her “A louely lady, beautifull, and tall / Fayre spoken, pleasant, a very princely piece.”38 Suffolk marries her to the king and refuses her dowry solely to promote peace (166); however, Duke Humphrey abhors the deed so the queen asks Suffolk to orchestrate


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his murder (166). Because Suffolk arranged the marriage, the Lords and Commons call for Suffolk’s arrest on a charge of treason. The king and queen try to save him but, when the Commons persist, Henry exiles him for five years (167). The Duke of Suffolk is killed by pirates, and the poem ends with this providential warning: Therefore bee bold to write, for it is true, That who so doth such practise but in vre, Of due reward at last shal be most sure. (169)

Baldwin’s account does not describe Gloucester’s murder. We are left to presume that it occurred after Margaret gave the order. Suffolk’s chief crime is arranging an unpopular marriage. This is reflected in the title of the piece, in which the murder is an afterthought: “How Lord William de la pole, Duke of Suffolke, was worthely banished for abusing his king, and causing the destruction of the good Duke Humphrey.” Hall was an historian, as was Holinshed (who reproduced Hall’s rendition of this episode so closely that there is no need to study his account separately). Baldwin imagined himself to be an historian. They were encouraged to equivocate, and apparently the Suffolk title still held some resonance. So, although they could not precisely save the title of Suffolk, they could resist leveling any direct charges against it. However, about the time the first edition of The Mirrour for Magistrates was in print, the fortunes of the Suffolks/Greys again degenerated because of an illicit relationship. In 1560, Katherine Grey, the second daughter and heir of Henry Grey, secretly married Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford and son of the Duke of Somerset. The marriage was against Queen Elizabeth’s wishes, as indeed, was any marriage for Katherine Grey.39 The Queen’s reluctance is understandable. The wills of both Henry VIII and Edward VI stated that after the children of Henry VIII, the succession would be postponed away from the Scottish line, descended from Henry’s elder sister Margaret, in favor of the descendants of Henry’s second sister Mary. These descendants were deemed “the Suffolk line.” As the great-granddaughter of Henry VII, and the granddaughter of Mary Tudor, Katherine was more than a royal princess. Now that her sister, Lady Jane Grey, was dead, and barring the Scottish line, she stood next to the throne after Elizabeth. And she, unlike Elizabeth, had no one questioning her legitimacy. In the previous year, there had been a Spanish scheme to take the throne away from Elizabeth by marrying Katherine to either Philip of Spain or one of his sons.40 The Privy Council had a scheme of its own, which

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actually validated Katherine’s claim, to marry Katherine to the Earl of Arran, the heir apparent of Scotland.41 Instead, Katherine chose Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, a member of the powerful Seymour family. It was a regrettable choice. The Earl of Hertford was the cousin to Edward VI and thus a possible contender for the throne. As such, his existence could do nothing but accelerate Elizabeth’s wrath. The marriage was kept secret for a few months, until Katherine’s pregnancy revealed the entire plan. Edward Seymour and Katherine Grey were sent to the Tower, their marriage was declared nonexistent, and their son, Edward, Lord Beauchamp, was declared illegitimate. Katherine remained a prisoner for several years, both in and out of the Tower, during which time she delivered another son, Thomas. She wrote letter after letter to the queen and to Lord Burghley begging to be reunited with her husband but, unfortunately, the succession question kept resurfacing. In 1564, John Hales, clerk of the Hanaper, wrote a book called A Declaration of the Succession of the Crowne Imperiall of England, throwing aside the Scottish line entirely and supporting the legality of Katherine’s marriage, the legitimacy of her son, and the preference of the Suffolks for the succession. Of course, if Hales’ theory was correct, Lord Beauchamp would be the heir to the throne.42 Hales was committed to the Fleet, and Katherine Grey’s fate was sealed. Recovering neither her freedom, her husband, nor her good name, she died imprisoned in 1567/8.43 In 1563, John Foxe returns once again to the harsh treatment of Suffolk that was presented in Fabyan and Polydore Vergil. Foxe reports that Suffolk was: a man very ill reported of in stories, to be not only the organ and instrument of [Gloucester’s death] but also to be the annoyance of the commonwealth, and ruin of the realm. For by him, and his only device, was first concluded the unprofitable and unhonourable mariage between the king and Lady Margaret . . . [w]hereupon followed first, the giving away the duchy of Anjou, and the city of Maine with the whole country of Maine, to Rene, duke of Anjou.44

Polydore was the first historical chronicler to speak of the queen’s devotion, claiming that “the queen could not well spare him out of her sight.” Hall translates this as “she entirely loved him.” Foxe elaborates that the Duke of Suffolk was “highly exalted” by the queen, who “tenderly loved” him (Actes 716–717). Foxe states it is the queen who is forced by the Commons to send the duke to the Tower, but he repeats Fabyan’s story that Suffolk had “as much pleasure and liberty as could be” (717). Foxe also echoes Fabyan, Polydore, and Hall when he reports that the king reluctantly exiles Suffolk for five years. However:


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The hand of God would not suffer the guiltless blood of Humphrey Duke of Gloucester to be unrevenged, or that flagitious person further to continue. For when he was shipped in Suffolk . . . he was encountered with a ship of war belonging to the Tower whereby he was taken . . . and there, on the side of a ship-boat, one struck off his head. (717)

Foxe was as much a propagandist for Elizabeth as Polydore Vergil had been for Henry VII. It is no surprise, then, that he does not equivocate in his condemnation of Suffolk, considering that the Elizabethan Suffolks had so recently fallen out of their queen’s favor. The most interesting thing about Foxe’s narrative, however, is that it is the first to hint at an improper love affair between Suffolk and Margaret. Coincidentally, Foxe intimates this relationship only three years after the Suffolks had been brought low by another secretive and ill-advised alliance. The doomed marriage between Katherine Grey and Edward Seymour was largely forgotten by both populace and politicians until the late 1580s, when Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, embarked on a campaign to certify the legitimacy of his marriage and restore the Suffolk title to his sons. It was a battle that returned the marriage to the forefront of public dialogue, where it remained until the end of Elizabeth’s reign. Seymour was relentless. There is an extant copy of a notarial instrument affirming Thomas Seymour to be “the true and legitimate son of Edward Seymour Earl of Hertford and Lady Katherine Grey,” dated October 23, 1588.45 Another notarial instrument, dated October 30, 1589, makes the same declaration, “in accordance with a formal declaration to the same effect, dated November 25, 1580.”46 A third instrument, with the same declaration, is dated one year later. In 1591 and 1592, Thomas Seymour, through his procurer Christopher Smith, petitioned the queen to annul the “two unjust sentences promulgated against Lady Catherine Grey and Lord Edward Seymour, declaring that there had been no real marriage between them.”47 These annual petitions were ignored by the queen, but they were a matter of common knowledge. The reason why the queen ignored them was just as commonly known. In the 1590s, the succession question had become a matter of somewhat urgent concern. Elizabeth was now past childbearing years, and her mortality was beginning to show. Talk of succession, and of the Seymours, was rampant in London. The Seymours were an attractive alternative to the “foreign” Scottish king or the even more foreign princes of Portugal, and had fewer Spanish entanglements than either of those alternatives. In 1592, a captured Jesuit priest, George Dingley, reported that the Spanish were hoping that the debate between the houses of Hertford and Derby for the

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throne would open the way for a Spanish attack on England.48 In 1594, Parsons’ A Conference abovt the Next Svccession to the Crowne of Ingland conjectures that, of the domestic contenders, the “House of Suffolk” was the most likely to succeed the queen.49 This may have been too much for Elizabeth. In November of 1595, the queen imprisoned Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford for having “a record secretly put into the court of Arches to prove his first marriage lawful and his children legitimate.”50 Before and despite this imprisonment, Hertford was one of Elizabeth’s favorites and a frequent entertainer of the queen on her progresses. In September 1591 (only two months before Thomas’ petition), the earl gave a lavish four-day entertainment for the queen, which included the services of unnamed poets under the patronage of Hertford. The queen was so pleased by the event that she told the Earl of Hertford that “hereafter he should find reward in her especial favour.”51 After he was imprisoned, she wrote to his wife to comfort her in “your Lord’s misfortune,” and to assure her of the “continuance of our former grace.”52 Two months later, after Hertford “submitted and acknowledged his offense,” the queen was “pleased to show him compassion” and ordered him released to the Archbishop of Canterbury.53 Hertford apparently learned his lesson well. He did not resume his petitions until Elizabeth was dead. His sons were legitimized, posthumously, by Charles II in 1660.54 When Shakespeare began composition of the Henry VI plays, the subject of the Grey/Seymour marriage – and the restoration of the Suffolk title – had become part of his narrative environment. To a dramatist, a star-crossed and forbidden romance, whether factual or fictionalized, is fetching but ultimately conventional. To a dramatic historian, the opportunity to construct an historical romance that reflected and commented upon a contemporary situation would be irresistible. With his creation of the Suffolk/Margaret affair, Shakespeare invented a synthetic narrative that could engage his audience on several levels. To the uninitiated, the romance could be nothing more than an edifying parable on the tragic consequences of adultery. For those in the audience with knowledge of the Grey/Seymour situation, the story of Margaret and Suffolk demands an entirely different engagement. The characterization of the Suffolk/Margaret romance can be seen as a direct response to the Grey/Seymour marriage. It is true there is not a one-to-one correspondence between the two stories; it is more accurate to say that the two stories are reflective of one another. Katherine, like Margaret, was “promised” to another man – specifically the Earl of Arran – when she fell in love with Hertford. The relationship between Suffolk and Margaret, like the relationship between Katherine and Seymour, is


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impulsive and passionate and, for obvious reasons, must remain clandestine. In 1 Henry VI, Suffolk persuasively argues that royal folk should marry for love, not convenience (2872; 5.5.50) – an unlikely argument but one that would have significance for the Earl of Hertford. Gloucester scoffs at Margaret’s suitability, claiming that her father “is no better than an earl, /Although in glorious titles he excels” (2859–2860; 5.5.35–36). Katherine’s father, attainted at his execution, was certainly no better than an earl when he died, although he had once possessed the glorious titles of Duke of Suffolk and Marquess of Dorset. Suffolk is himself but an earl when he meets Margaret, just as Hertford was when he met Katherine. His ambition is to make Margaret queen and to use her position to promote his own. We do not know Hertford’s motivation in marrying Katherine, but we do know he used his dead wife’s lineage to advance his own very ambitious agenda. If Elizabeth’s instincts were correct, and they often were, Katherine and Hertford may have entertained ambitions of their own – and they had more reason to be optimistic than Margaret and Suffolk. Henry, who had none of the instincts of Elizabeth, is astute enough to have his own suspicions when Margaret pleads for mercy on Suffolk. Departing from the sources, Shakespeare hardens the king’s attitude and sentence: No more will I say; if thou dost plead for him Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. Had I but said, I would have kept my word: But when I swear, it is irrevocable. If after three days space thou here be’st found On any ground that I am ruler of, The world shall not be ransom for thy life. (2 HenryVI 2005–2011; 3.2.290–297)

This could certainly be seen as Shakespeare’s attempt to augment the welldeserved punishment of Suffolk; however, the king’s unyielding stance is rather chillingly reminiscent of Elizabeth’s treatment of Katherine and Hertford. Margaret’s near hysteria at the imminent separation from her lover mirrors Katherine’s incessant and unheard pleas to Elizabeth and Burghley to reunite her with her husband. We do not know if Hertford’s personality was replicated in Suffolk, but, like Suffolk, Hertford used his own wife’s fortune to become the wealthiest subject of England. He also used her status to further his own. One of the more interesting parallels between Katherine and Margaret is the image of the prisoner. Katherine’s love resulted in her imprisonment and ultimately her death; Margaret’s love is the result of her imprisonment.

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When Suffolk first spies her, it is to take her prisoner, and her imprisonment is emphasized as the imagery changes from her literal captivity to his captivity by love: Be not offended, nature’s miracle, Thou art allotted to be ta’en by me; So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings. Yet if this servile usage once offend, Go and be free again as Suffolk’s friend. O stay! I have no power to let her pass; My hand would free her, but my heart says no. .......................... Fie, de la Pole! Disable not thyself; Hast not a tongue? Is she not prisoner here? (1 Henry VI 2491–2509; 5.3.55–67)

The dialogue continues in the same vein, until Margaret pays the “ransom” of agreeing to become queen. Thus Margaret and Katherine Grey become mirror images of each other. Margaret is released from bondage and made a queen because of love; Katherine is placed into bondage and barred from her claim as queen because of love. Of course, both stories end in tragedy, as stories of forbidden love must. In the case of Katherine Grey, the tragedy befell her; in the case of Margaret, the tragedy befell her lover (although Shakespeare’s Margaret does eventually become a prisoner again in the court of Edward IV). In neither case is the tragedy the lovers’ alone. The affair of Suffolk and Margaret is divisive, setting up rivalries that will ultimately bring England to civil war. Katherine and Hertford’s marriage was also divisive, and although the consequences were not as dire, the repercussions of the relationship were still felt in Shakespeare’s time. For this reason, we can argue that the relationship between Suffolk and Margaret is meant to be sympathetic but cautionary. A forbidden love, no matter how sincere, can never end well, particularly when the participants rule a country. In addition and not insignificantly, the love affair in 1 and 2 Henry softens the characterization of Suffolk that is found in the chronicles. This is particularly true in 1 Henry and The Contention, where Suffolk is little more than a lovesick swain, who submerges his ambition into the queen’s. This is not to say that the character is admirable, but, as we have seen, he is dealt with much less harshly by Shakespeare than by any other chronicler. This was an astute move on Shakespeare’s part. The Earl of Hertford was not a man to slight. He was not only the wealthiest subject in England but also one of the most powerful. He was a favorite of the queen, a patron of the arts


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and, in the 1590s, he was the father of two sons who were actively petitioning to regain the Suffolk title and establish themselves as possible heirs to the throne. Whether legitimized or not, Edward and Thomas Seymour were identified as Suffolks. In the early 1590s, when the two plays were written, the Suffolk title and the names of Grey and Seymour were the stuff of gossip, and in truth there was just as much chance of a Grey succeeding Elizabeth as anyone else. Shakespeare was creating his character of Suffolk, therefore, at a time when there was no Duke of Suffolk, but when there could be one at any moment. This may explain why Shakespeare adds some facets to the characters that none of the chroniclers seemed to have imagined. As an historian, Shakespeare would have understood the connection between the Greys and the Suffolks, would have understood the significance of the title, and would certainly have understood the importance of a claimant to the throne. If in fact he did revise The Contention after 1603, he had even more reason to be cautious. Upon his accession to the throne, James I created Thomas Howard the first Earl of Suffolk. Thomas was the son of the extraordinarily powerful Duke of Norfolk, and was attainted at the time of his father’s execution. However, he was one of the darlings of Elizabeth’s court. He displayed such valor in the Battle of Calais that he was knighted on the spot, and soon, as one of Elizabeth’s favorites, he was showered with honors both by the queen and by her successor. Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk, rose as high as the position of Lord High Treasurer in 1614. After Shakespeare’s death, but before the publication of the First Folio, Suffolk’s fortunes and reputation plummeted when he was found guilty of embezzlement of the king’s treasury. Once again, the fall of a Suffolk was attributed to a woman. Thomas Howard’s wife, Catherine, who herself was in the employ of the King of Spain, was believed to have “encouraged” her husband to embezzle funds from the Treasury and monies from the king’s subjects. They were both found guilty and sentenced to the Tower. We cannot of course know if someone hardened the portrayal of William de la Pole in 2 Henry VI to reflect the current Suffolk woes – it would, nonetheless, be a fascinating conjecture. In Shakespeare’s lifetime, however, when it came to the Suffolks, the best defense would have been anticipation.

NOTES 1. F. W. Brownlow, Two Shakespearean Sequences (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977), 37. 2. H. M. Richmond, Shakespeare’s Political Plays (New York: Random House, 1967), 47.

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3. Phyllis Rackin, Stages of History: Shakespeare’s English Chronicles (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990), 21. 4. For other Machiavellian readings of Suffolk, see: Michael Manheim, “Duke Humphrey and the Machiavels,” American Benedictine Review (1972), 249– 257; James T. Henke, “The Ego King: An Archetypal Approach to Elizabethan Political Thought and Shakespeare’s Henry VI Plays,” Jacobean Drama Studies, ed. James Hogg (Salzburg: Institut für Englische Sprache und Literatur, 1977), 1–94; and Michael Hattaway, Introduction to The Second Part of King Henry VI, by William Shakespeare (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). John Cox implies Suffolk is a Machiavel when he states: “Suffolk’s rhetorical ability is a telling characteristic of these merely ambitious courtiers, since he repeatedly uses his persuasive power to frame the law to his will, as he puts it. His ability caricatures humanist rhetorical aims” (Shakespeare and the Dramaturgy of Power (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), 85). 5. Paola Pugliatti, Shakespeare the Historian (London: Macmillan, 1996), 156–157. 6. Blair Worden, “Shakespeare and Politics,” Shakespeare and Politics, ed. Catherine M. S. Alexander (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 22–44, 38. 7. See for example Pierre Sahel’s assessment of Cade and Suffolk in “Coup d’Etat, Rebellion and Revolution,” in Shakespeare and Politics, ed. Alexander, 138. 8. Quotations are from The First Folio of Shakespeare, 1623, prepared and introduced by Doug Moston (New York: Applause, 1995). Modern act and scene divisions are taken from King Henry VI Part 1: The Arden Shakespeare, ed. Edward Burns (London: Thomson, 2000). All citations hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. 9. Sen Gupta, Shakespeare’s Historical Plays (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964), 57. 10. Paul Dean, “The Henry VI Trilogy and ‘Romance’ Histories: The Origins of a Genre,” Shakespeare Quarterly 33 (1982), 34–48. 11. As Clayton G. Mackenzie points out, however, “Margaret’s relation to Helen of Troy cannot be pressed to any great extreme . . . her presence [as well as Suffolk’s, it might be added] is surely less to blame for England’s demise than is religious Henry’s inability to command a disintegrating kingdom” (“Myth and Anti-Myth in the First Tetralogy,” Orbis Litterarum 42 (1987), 1–26). 12. David Riggs, Shakespeare’s Heroical Histories: “Henry VI” and Its Literary Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), 113. 13. Robert Ornstein, A Kingdom for a Stage: The Achievement of Shakespeare’s History Plays (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), 44–45. 14. Robert B. Pierce, Shakespeare’s History Plays (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1971), 77. 15. Philip Bordinat, “Shakespeare’s Suffolk: An Exercise in Tragic Method,” Philological Papers 21 (1974), 9–16. 16. This disdain is interesting when one considers that, historically, most of the nobles resented Suffolk because of his low-born lineage. His ancestor, Michael de la Pole, had been raised from wool gatherer to earl by Edward III.


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17. Edna Zwick Boris, Shakespeare’s English Kings, the People, and the Law (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1978), 31. 18. I realize that some of Shakespeare’s plays, such as All’s Well That Ends Well, do express these sentiments, but they do not represent the prevailing thought. What they do represent, perhaps, is Shakespeare’s own changing attitude, since All’s Well was written long after Henry VI. 19. Barbara Hodgdon points out that 2 Henry VI represses what the more sensational Contention represents, since the stage directions of The First Part of the Contention say that Suffolk comes upon the murderers as they are smothering Duke Humphrey. In 2 Henry VI, the murderers are running away when Suffolk comes upon them (Barbara Hodgdon, The End Crowns All: Closure and Contradiction in Shakespeare’s History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 61). 20. In “The Progress of Revenge in the First Henriad,” Harry Keyishian asserts that the lieutenant who accompanies Whitmore supports the Yorks and their “revenging fire.” I am doubtful of this interpretation, but if it were true, it would mean that the lieutenant was technically as much of a traitor as Suffolk (“Henry VI” : Critical Essays, ed. Thomas A. Pendleton (New York: Routledge, 2001), 67–77, 70–71). 21. Maurice Hunt, “Climbing for Place,” “Henry VI”: Critical Essays, ed. Pendleton, 168. 22. Lisa Dickson, “The King is Dead: Mourning the Nation in the Three Parts of Shakespeare’s Henry VI”, Canadian Review of Comparative Literature 20 (2003), 31–53, 38, 42. 23. E. M. W. Tillyard, The Elizabethan World Picture (New York: Vintage, 1959), 158. 24. Riggs, Shakespeare’s Heroical Histories, 116. 25. Ornstein, Kingdom, 44. 26. Hodgdon, The End Crowns All, 61. 27. Waldo F. McNeir, “Comedy in Shakespeare’s Yorkist Tetralogy,” Pacific Coast Philology 9 (1974), 48–55. 28. Gwyn Williams, “Suffolk and Margaret: A Study of Some Sections of Shakespeare’s Henry VI,” Shakespeare Quarterly 25 (1974), 310–322. 29. Ibid., 318. Michael Quinn calls Margaret’s arrival the “original sin” of the Tetralogy (Michael Quinn, “Providence in Shakespeare’s Yorkist Plays,” Shakespeare Quarterly 10 (1959), 45–52, 48). 30. Mackenzie, “Myth and Anti-Myth,” 18. 31. See: Fabyan, New Chronicles, 629; Hall, Union, 230; Holinshed, Chronicles, vol. iii, 641; George J. Becker, Shakespeare’s Histories (New York: Frederick Ungar, 1977), 103. 32. Henry VII and Henry VIII were still cursed by the de la Poles for a bit. Richard, the brother of Edmund, styled himself the Duke of Suffolk in 1510 and claimed the English throne for himself, with the support of the French king. He died unmarried in 1524. He had several brothers (see Appendix 2) but they all died without heirs and the line became extinct in 1539.

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33. This label of propagandist was affixed to Polydore Vergil not very long after his history was published. Sir Henry Savile wrote in his 1596 Scriptores post Bedam that Polydore Vergil was a “homo Italus, et in rebus nostris hospes” (Sir Henry Ellis, Introduction to Three Books of Polydore Vergil’s History of England, comprising the Reigns of Henry VI, Edward IV and Richard III (London: Camden Society, 1844), xxi). Polydore’s foreignness seemed to be an insurmountable burden. He was also accused of being a malicious detractor of the English and of deliberately burning the works of English historians (ibid., xxii–xxxiii). Polydore also had his defenders, whose numbers increased as time went by. 34. Henry Ansgar Kelly, Divine Providence in the England of Shakespeare’s Histories (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970), 86. 35. It should be noted here that before William de la Pole was created Duke of Suffolk he was the Earl of Suffolk. Thus, he was correctly referred to by the chroniclers and Shakespeare as “Suffolk.” 36. Public Record Office, Letters and Papers of Henry VIII, vol. i, no. 2171. 37. Public Record Office, Statutes of the Realm, vol. iii, 138–141; Public Record Office, Letters and Papers of Henry VIII, vol. ii, no. 94. 38. William Baldwin et al., The Myrrovr for Magistrates, Newly Corrected and Augmented (London: 1571), 165. All page references hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. 39. One historian, Richard Davey, quotes Elizabeth saying “it was bad enough to have Lady Catherine to deal with, let alone to endure her brats,” and expressing determination “to keep the sisters Grey, spinsters.” Davey does not provide the source for this quote, but it is not too far-fetched to believe (Richard Davey, The Sisters of Lady Jane Grey (London: Chapman and Hall, 1911), 137). 40. The scheme is recounted in a letter from Sir Thomas Challoner, English ambassador to Madrid, to Burghley: “[King Philip II] was jealous of the French King [because of the alliance of young Francis the Dauphin with the Queen of Scotland] . . . his Council thought how he might bothe ‘geg’ the French King and also have a title to the crown of England, namely, by the conveying out of the realm of the L. K. [Lady Katherine] who is supposed to be the next heir to the realm, and marry her to the Prince, his son, or some other smaller personage . . . the said lady was in the Queen’s great displeasure, who could not well abide the sight of her” (Public Record Office, “Thomas Challoner to William Cecil, Lord Burghley,” October 1, 1559, Cal. S. P. For., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1559–1560) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1971), 2). 41. “The policy of the Council, seeing how necessary the amity of Scotland is to [the queen], intends to offer in marriage to the Earl of Arran the Lady Catherine daughter to the Duchess of Suffolk, that as she is an heir apparent of England, so shall she be matched with an heir apparent of Scotland” (Public Record Office, “Randolph to William Cecil,” September 23, 1560, Cal. S. P. For., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1560–1561) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1971), 310).


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42. Guzman de Silva wrote to King Philip that there was a “great enmity” between Robert Dudley and Cecil because Dudley believed Cecil was the author of the book. The queen, reports de Silva, “is extremely angry about it, although she signifies that there are so many accomplices in the offence that they must overlook it.” (Public Record Office, “Guzman de Silva to the King,” June 27, 1564, Cal. S. P. Spain., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1558–1567) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 364). 43. For an extensive study of the succession question in these early years of Elizabeth’s reign, see Mortimer Levine, The Early Elizabethan Succession Question, 1558–1568 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1966). 44. John Foxe, The Actes and Monuments of these Latter and Perilous Dayes, Touching Matters of the Church, vol. iii (London: John Day, 1563; reprinted New York: AMS Press, 1965), 714. All page references hereafter will be parenthetical within the text. 45. Public Record Office, “Notarial Instrument,” October 23, 1588, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 554. 46. Public Record Office, “Notarial Instrument by Thomas Redman,” October 30, 1589, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 626. 47. Public Record Office, “Instrument Declaring,” November 16, 1591, and “Declaration by John Incent,” October 1592, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 121, 281–282. 48. G. B. Harrison, The Elizabethan Journals: Being a Record of Those Things Most Talked of During the Years 1591–1603, vol. i (London: Routledge, 1938), 167 49. R. Doleman [Robert Parsons], A Conference Abovt the Next Svccession to the Crowne of Ingland (London: 1593), 250. 50. Harrison, Elizabethan Journals, vol. ii, 59. 51. The Honourable Entertainment Given to the Queen’s Majesty at Elvetham in Hampshire by the Right Honourable the Earl of Hertford (London: 1591). The poets are believed to have been Thomas Watson and Nicholas Breton. 52. Public Record Office, “The Queen to Good Francke, the Countess of Hertford,” November 5, 1595, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 121. 53. Public Record Office, “The Queen to the Lord Keeper and Lord Buckhurst,” January 3, 1596, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 159. 54. A. Audrey Locke, The Seymour Family (London: Constable, 1911), 90–92. The successful petition was presented by Hertford’s grandson, William, famous in his own right for secretly marrying another heir to the throne, Lady Arabella Stuart.

chap t e r 3

The Nevilles (Earls of Warwick)

Except for the Plantagenets, the Nevilles were the most powerful and prolific family of the fifteenth century. They were not, according to fifteenthcentury standards, “old nobility,” having only received an earldom in 1397. Yet by the time of the Wars of the Roses, the family had married into or inherited most of the noble titles of England. Consequently, the majority of Shakespeare’s noble characters in the Henry VI trilogy are related in some way to the Nevilles. The Earl of Westmorland, the Duke of Bedford, the Earl of Salisbury, the Archbishop of York, and the Marquess of Montague were Nevilles by surname. The Earl of Northumberland’s mother was a Neville. The Duke of York’s wife was a Neville. However, in the plays as in history, the most prominent Neville was Richard, sixteenth Earl of Warwick, known as “The Kingmaker” for his influence on the fluctuations of fifteenth-century English politics. When the Kingmaker made the ill-fated and fatal decision to support the wrong king, the title of Warwick became extinct. In the sixteenth century the Earldom of Warwick was revived and bestowed upon the Dudley family (who, through its maternal line, was related to Richard Neville), and throughout Shakespeare’s youth the Earl of Warwick was Ambrose Dudley, the brother of Elizabeth’s favorite, Robert, Earl of Leicester. The Dudley brothers reigned in their respective earldoms with power and glory throughout the early Elizabethan era. However, by 1590, during the time that Shakespeare was writing 1 Henry VI, The Contention, and The True Tragedie, the Dudley name had become virtually extinct. Robert died in 1588, without a legitimate heir, and Ambrose died in February of 1589/90, also without issue. The title of Warwick remained defunct until 1618, when it was given to another family.1 Although the memory of Ambrose and Robert still resonated in the 1590s, Shakespeare’s characterization of Richard Neville is very different from the heroic portrayal in his historical sources. Fabyan, Vergil, Hall, Baldwin, Foxe, and Holinshed treat Richard Neville as an English hero even greater than Talbot. Shakespeare’s treatment of Warwick, however, is disparaging, even indicting – indeed, it 102


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often appears that Shakespeare is deliberately exacerbating the flaws in the character. The reason for this change may be reflective of the atmosphere of apprehension in which Shakespeare and his audience dwelled. During the late 1580s and early 1590s, the prospect of rebellion was a real and prevalent fear in England, and one of the most dangerous and feared English rebels at the time was another Neville. Charles Neville, Earl of Westmorland, was a renegade Catholic earl who was the instigator of various plots against Elizabeth and England. The threat of his success was a constant worry for the English, and rumors of his proximity were widespread. It is possible that this fearful environment influenced Shakespeare’s portrayal of Warwick and overrode any concerns about offending the remaining Dudleys or disparaging the late Dudleys’ memories.2 Shakespeare’s treatment of the Earl of Warwick suggests that he is in fact using the plays to comment on, and condemn, the rebellious activities of the Earl of Westmorland who, like Richard Neville before him, was trying to expel his rightful monarch. Shakespeare’s portrayal of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, is a striking departure from the depictions found in his chronicle sources. The historical Richard Neville was matrilineally descended from the Beauforts, the legitimized offspring of John of Gaunt. His grandmother was Joan Beaufort, Gaunt’s daughter, and he was connected to the cadet line of the Earl of Westmorland’s family. The Nevilles were related to the Yorks as well as to the Lancastrian branches of the royal family; however, they had good reason to be loyal to Henry VI. The king lavished lucrative northern lands and important political offices upon them, partly because of their familial connections and partly to keep the Percys at bay.3 However, in what seems a supreme show of ingratitude, the Earl of Warwick became one of the most famously ardent supporters of the Duke of York’s bid for the throne.4 Fabyan says little of Warwick except that he was a Yorkist who withdrew his support from Edward and was slain (New Chronicles 657– 661). This is scarcely surprising since there were no Earls of Warwick when Fabyan was writing. Similarly, Polydore Vergil’s history was also written when there were no Earls of Warwick and when the only living descendants of Richard Neville (the de la Poles) were either imprisoned in the Tower or in exile on the Continent. Polydore had no reason to present a positive view of Warwick; since the de la Poles had a greater claim to the throne than the Tudors, it might have been in his best interest to give a negative portrayal of their ancestor. However, Polydore speaks more highly of Richard, Earl of Warwick, than of any other figure in his history. Warwick was:

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a yonge man, not onely mervailously adorened with vertues in deede, but also had a speciall gifte, as it were by art, even from his infancie, in the shewe and setting forth of the same; for his witt was so ready, and his behaviour so courteous, that he was wonderfully beloved of the people. He was also liberall to all men, which helped him much th’attayning thereof. Moreover, the hautines of his minde, with equal force of body, encreased this same popular good will . . . wherefore he became within a while of such estimation, that whither as he inclined, thither also swayed the more part of the people. (History 94)

Polydore goes on to say that Warwick’s father, the Earl of Salisbury, “was equal to him in vertue, but not so well beloved” (94).5 Polydore Vergil’s Warwick is consistently admirable and admired. Polydore provides two viable motives for Warwick’s disloyalty to Henry VI and allegiance to the Duke of York. First and most importantly, Henry insults the Neville family by discharging Warwick’s father, the Earl of Salisbury, of his office. Second, Warwick himself is insulted when he is injured by one of the queen’s servants. A similar and equally viable motivation is provided for his change of allegiance back to Henry. When Edward, York’s son, is made king, he commissions Warwick to go to France to court Lady Bona, a French princess, as the next Queen of England. While in France, Warwick discovers that Edward has chosen instead to marry Elizabeth Woodville, Lady Grey. The match is a politically disadvantageous one for Edward. Lady Grey is the widow of a minor knight and has no connections that can strengthen the Yorks’ new and still insecure position. But the match is also politically and personally embarrassing to Warwick, who is taken completely by surprise in the French court. Polydore’s Warwick does not act in fury or haste at this betrayal of trust. Instead, he begins to realize that Henry is the better man and ponders the matter over time until: The erle of Warweke beinge thus vexid in mynde, mooyvd, and angry, lest otherwise he might utterly overthrow him selfe and his devyse, determynyd therfor to dissemble and covertly beare all these injuryes, while that time might serve to bring his purpose to effect. (118)

In addition to Edward’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville, Polydore provides another motivation for Warwick’s change of allegiance. It seems that Edward tried to violate a member of Warwick’s household: [k]ynge Edward did attempt a thynge once in the erles house which was much agaynst the erles honestie (whether he woulde haue deflowred his doughter or his nece, ye certyntie was not for both their honours openly knowen) for surely such a thyng was attempted by king Edward, which loved well both to loke and to fele fayre dammosels. (265)


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Now committed to Henry, Warwick returns to France, where King Louis welcomes him “with great rejoysing,” for he “had already the earle of Warwyke in so great admyration for the fame of his noble actes, as that he wishid nothing more than to gratify the man” (129). Polydore goes on to portray Warwick’s return to England and subsequent death as the fall of a great man. The first edition of Edward Hall’s history was produced the year following the creation of John Dudley as the nineteenth Earl of Warwick. Through his mother, Dudley was the descendant of the thirteenth Earl of Warwick, Richard de Beauchamp (Richard Neville married Anne Beauchamp, the daughter to the thirteenth earl and sister and heir to the fourteenth earl). As a young man, Dudley was a favorite in the court of Henry VIII and was particularly well regarded by both Wolsey and Cromwell. He became an executor to the king’s will and afterward was created Earl of Warwick by Edward VI. He was instrumental in the downfall of the Duke of Somerset in 1551 and shortly thereafter was created the Duke of Northumberland, assuming a large portion of monastic lands as well as the power once wielded by the fallen Duke of Somerset. Northumberland was a bully and a disinterested father, but he was intensely loyal to his family and position. Edward Hall demonstrated rather good judgment, therefore, when he followed and even elaborated on Polydore Vergil’s homage to Richard Neville. Hall’s description of Richard Neville is: a man of marvelous qualities but also from his youth . . . so set them forward with wittie and gentle demeanour . . . that emong all sortes of people, he obtained great love, much favour, and more credence: which thynges daily more encreased by his abundant liberalitie, and plentifull house kepynge, then by his riches, aucthoritie, or high parentage; by reason of whiche doynges, he was in suche favour and estimacion, emongst the common people, that thei judged hym able to dow all thynges, and that, without hym, nothyng to be well done. (Union 232)

Further on, Hall calls Warwick the “flower of chivalry” (253) and a “trusty frend” to the “lusty” king Edward (255). When Warwick’s bastard brother is killed in battle (an incident not recorded in Polydore), Hall adds a note of poignancy to the earl’s grief, clearly displaying his devotion and bravery: When the erle of Warwycke was enformed of this feate, he like a man desperate, mounted on his Hackeney, and came blowyng to kyng Edward saiying: syr I praye God have mercy of their soules . . . and because I see no succors of the world, I remit the vengeaunce and punishment to God our creator and redemer. (255)

Warwick then kills his horse so that he will not be able to flee from battle.

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Warwick is not, in Hall, a terribly manipulative man. He is not, for example, responsible for the change in the Duke of Clarence’s allegiance, as he is in Shakespeare. Instead, Hall implies that Clarence is already dissatisfied with his brother’s reign, and Warwick merely possesses the “greate wit, farre castyng, and many thynges vigilantly foreseying” to recognize it and approach him (159). Warwick is able to take advantage of Clarence’s betrayal of Edward, but is always wise enough to refrain from completely trusting him. Hall gives the assault on a female member of Warwick’s household only the briefest of mentions (262) and assures us that the marriage between Edward and Elizabeth Woodville is the primary reason that Warwick withdraws his loyalty from the Yorks. Hall himself condemns the union because “for this mariage was th’erle of Warwicke and his brother [Montague] miserable slain” (265). The fortunes of the Dudley family turned fairly quickly after John Dudley’s elevation to the Dukedom of Northumberland. In 1553, Northumberland, by now the most important peer in the realm, realized that young Edward VI was near death and set out to subvert the succession away from Mary Tudor. Northumberland arranged a series of dynastic marriages for his children, linking his son Guildford Dudley to Lady Jane Grey; her sister Catherine Grey to William Herbert, the first Earl of Pembroke; and his daughter Catherine Dudley to Henry Hastings, the son of the Earl of Huntingdon. He then persuaded the dying King Edward to amend the device altering the succession and called a Parliamentary session to reverse and invalidate Henry VIII’s will. When Edward died on July 6, 1553, Northumberland kept the death a secret for several days to prevent Mary Tudor from claiming the throne, took Jane Grey to his house at Syon, and proclaimed his reluctant daughter-in-law Queen of England. Twelve days later, when Mary Tudor assumed the throne, Northumberland was arrested for high treason. He was beheaded on August 22, 1553 (a few months before Jane and his son Guildford), and was posthumously attainted.6 His three other sons, John, Ambrose, and Robert, were also imprisoned; their honors and titles were forfeited along with their father’s. John was released in 1554 and almost immediately died (presumably because of ill health). Ambrose was also released and, although he was restored in blood in 1557, he lived untitled until Elizabeth took the throne. On December 26, 1561, Queen Elizabeth created Ambrose Earl of Warwick and bestowed upon him “the place and precedence of his ancestors, former Earls of Warwick” with the special provision that the title would succeed to his brother Robert (now Earl of Leicester) if Ambrose failed to produce male heirs.7 Ambrose Dudley enjoyed the continued favor of Queen


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Elizabeth throughout his life. Bishop Quadra reported that she wrote of him: he was not ugly either, and was not ungraceful, but his manner was rather rough and he was not so gentle as Lord Robert. For the rest however, he was so brave, so liberal and magnanimous that truly he was worthy of being the husband of any great princess.8

The fact that this sounds very much like the chroniclers’ description of Richard Neville may or may not have been coincidental. The Dudleys’ legendary intimacy with Elizabeth made them far more powerful than peers who held more illustrious or more aged titles. Perhaps this is why the later chronicles did not deviate from the portrayal of Warwick presented by their predecessors. William Baldwin wrote Warwick’s poem for The Mirrour for Magistrates in 1559, one year after Elizabeth’s accession and two years before the Dudley family honors were restored. The title of Warwick’s poem – “How Sir Richard Neuill Earle of Warwicke, and his brother Iohn, Lord Marquise Montacute [sic], through their too much boldnesse were slaine at Barnet” – is misleading, because Baldwin’s portrayal of Warwick is essentially positive. Baldwin’s Warwick is a good man who becomes so enraged at Edward’s “sinfull prankes” that he changes allegiance to the Lancasters. In the first-person poem, Warwick admits he allied with Clarence, “[I]ncensing him his brother to maligne / Through many a tale I did against him forge.” However, the last six stanzas of the eighteen-stanza poem testify to Warwick’s merit. Among other virtues, Warwick says: I neuer did nor sayd saue what I ment, The common weale was still my chiefest care: To priuate gayne or glory I was neuer bent, I neuer past vpon delicious fare: Of needefull food my bourd was neuer bare, No creditour did curse mee day by day, I vsed playnnesse, euer pitch and pay. (Mirrour 209)

Baldwin ends the poem with an unusual epilogue. In his own words he testifies to the truth of Warwick’s self-assessment: “For if he had not had notable good vertues, or vertuous qualities, and vsed laudable meanes in his trade of life, the people would neuer haue loued him as they did” (210). As Henry Ansgar Kelly has observed: “The moral Warwick points out has nothing to do with his fall, but rather concerns his rise. He ‘tells’ Baldwin to teach those who want the love of the people to do as he did.”9 This representation of Warwick must have been gratifying, and perhaps even

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edifying, to the Dudleys, who in 1559 doubtless realized that their fortunes, too, were about to rise. Those fortunes had most assuredly risen by 1563 and John Foxe, in his Actes and Monuments, responds appropriately. He, like his predecessors, is effusive in his praise: The fame of the earl of Warwick and of his famous acts was at that time in great admiration above measure, and so highly favoured, that both in England and France all men wer glad to behold his personage. (Actes 744)

Foxe even gives Warwick more justifiable reasons for his defection from York, now Edward IV. Foxe says that Warwick had perceived that King Edward had forsaken the needs of his people (745); he further claims that Warwick was angry at the marriage with Elizabeth Woodville because Edward’s two sons from a previous marriage were declared bastards (743). These seem to be reasonable and even noble grounds for Warwick’s change of allegiance. Foxe also adds luster to Warwick’s military prowess, particularly at his death: [t]he earl, rushing into the midst of his enemies, ventured so far that he could not be rescued; where he was stricken down and slain, and there lay he. The marquis Montacute [sic], thinking to succour his brother, whom he saw to be in gret jeopardy, was likewise overthrown and slain. (750)

Hall is the first chronicler who alludes to, and thus may have been Shakespeare’s source for, the devotion of the brothers. However, Foxe reverses the events and has Warwick die first. By 1577, when Raphael Holinshed compiled the first edition of The Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland, the Dudleys were at the height of their power. Their fortunes were somewhat damaged the following year when Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, secretly married Lettice Knollys. When the queen discovered the marriage, she almost sent her beloved Leicester to the Tower and kept him in her displeasure for some time. Eventually, however, Elizabeth and Leicester were reconciled, and he (but not his wife) returned to the queen’s affections. By the time the second edition of Holinshed’s chronicles was printed in 1587, Ambrose and Robert Dudley were still enjoying their powerful status, although age and personal setbacks prevented them from resuming their glory days of the 1560s and 1570s. Holinshed takes no chances, and reiterates the praise which his predecessor heaped upon the Dudleys’ titular and maternal ancestor, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick:


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one to whom the common-wealth was much bounden and euer had in great fauour of the commons of this land, by reason of the exceeding houshoold which he dalie kept in all countries where euer he soiourned or laie. (Chronicles iii, 678)

For the rest of his portrayal of Warwick, Holinshed restates Hall almost completely. When William Shakespeare was writing his first Henriad, the Dudley brothers were dead, the Warwick title had become extinct, and Queen Elizabeth had a new favorite (Leicester’s stepson, the second Earl of Essex). Whether consequently or no, Shakespeare paints a much less flattering portrait of the Earl of Warwick than his predecessors. We are introduced to the titular character in the Temple Garden scene (Act 2 Scene 4) of 1 Henry VI. This Warwick is not Richard Neville, but his father-in-law, Richard Beauchamp.10 Beauchamp is never mentioned by surname, and so we are subtly invited to conflate the two Warwicks. Whether we conflate them or not, the characteristics and desires of the in-laws are similar. In 1 Henry VI, Warwick is one of the instigators of the quarrel between the Yorks and Lancasters, which eventually erupts into the Wars of the Roses. He pleads ignorance of the law and declines to become involved, yet he is the first to pick a white rose for York (at this point an untitled Plantagenet). When the argument erupts into genuine anger, and Somerset calls Plantagenet a “yeoman,” it is Warwick who leaps into the fray with an admonishment against Somerset’s ignorance of genealogy (1 Henry VI 1014–1017; 2.4.82–85). After the Lancastrians Somerset and Suffolk leave in anger, Warwick vows his allegiance to York and is the first to predict, somewhat gleefully, a civil war: And here I prophecie: this brawle to day, Growne to this faction in the Temple Garden, Shall send betweene the Red Rose and the White, A thousand Soules to Death and deadly Night. (1 Henry VI 1057–1060; 2.4.124–126)

This scene was Shakespeare’s own creation; nothing resembling it appears in any chronicle, except for York’s recital of his pedigree before Parliament in Hall and Holinshed (a scene Shakespeare repeats in The Contention and 2 Henry VI). Thus, Shakespeare has chosen to introduce Warwick, not as a man “of marvelous qualities with wittie and gentle demeanour” but as a brawler and instigator of discord. The only noble qualities he seems to possess are loyalty to a friend and a keen sense of history. This fractious side of Warwick is emphasized again in Act 3. This time, he interferes in the argument of Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester,

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and the Duke of Gloucester. As Somerset goads Gloucester, so Warwick goads Winchester: war : some : war :

Me thinkes his Lordship should be humbler, It fitteth not a Prelate so to plead. Yes, when his holy state is touch’t so neare. State holy or vnhallowed, what of that? Is not his Grace Protector to the King? (1 Henry VI 1263–1267; 3.1.56–59)

It should be noted that Somerset, as the nephew of Beaufort and cousin of Gloucester, would be permitted to participate in this discussion. Warwick is not only unrelated to the royal family, he is of a much inferior status. Yet, he is once again seen fueling the flames. His posture changes immediately, however, when the king arrives. Now, he presents himself as a peacemaker: Yeeld my Lord Protector, yeeld Winchester Except ye meane with obstinate repulse To slay your Soueraigne, and destroy the Realme. You see what Mischiefe, and what Murther too, Hath beene enacted through your emnitie: Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. (1 Henry VI 1328–1333; 3.1.112–117)

Warwick’s participation in the Winchester/Gloucester feud does not appear in the chronicles. Moreover, this scene certainly does not conform to the chroniclers’ paean that the Warwicks were, above all, not hypocrites. Historically, we have no idea whether Beauchamp contributed to the instigation of the Wars of the Roses, but we do know that as the captain of Rouen, he organized Joan of Arc’s trial and sat in judgment upon her. In 1 Henry VI, Shakespeare makes Warwick an active and vocal participant in Joan’s fate. Once Joan is condemned, he generously suggests that: because she is a Maide, Spare for no Faggots, let there be enow: Place barrelles of pitch vpon the fatall stake, That so her torture may be shortened. (1 Henry VI 2695–2698; 5.4.55–58)

However, when Joan, in a desperate attempt to save her life, claims she is with child, Warwick is less kind: “Well go to, we’ll haue no Bastards liue, / Especially since Charles must father it” (1 Henry VI 2710–2711; 5.4.70–71). Although Joan was unquestionably hated by the English, infanticide seems a little excessive, even if it is an unborn, French, and illegitimately royal infant.


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The title of Warwick does not, therefore, fare too well in 1 Henry VI. Beauchamp is portrayed as a brawler, a schemer, a hypocrite, and a brute. Of course, to the historically aware, the chronicles’ “much loved” Warwick, Richard Neville, has yet to make an appearance. He does so in The Contention and 2 Henry VI. This is the Warwick who is best known and best loved, this is the moment when the students of the chronicles and English lore may heave a collective sigh of relief because their hero has been restored unto them. However, the characterization of Richard Neville in The Contention and 2 Henry VI is deceptively complex and in the long run even more problematic than that of his predecessor. Initially it appears that Shakespeare intends to follow the flattering depiction of Warwick that is found in Polydore Vergil and Hall. In the first act of The Contention, for example, The Earl of Salisbury addresses his son in the words of the chronicles: And thou braue Warwick, my thrice valiant sonne, Thy simple plainnesse and thy house-keeping, Hath wonne thee credit amongst the common sort, The reuerence of mine age, and Neuels name. (Contention 138–141)

Salisbury repeats the speech in 2 Henry VI, except that he now says Warwick “Hath wonne the greatest fauour of the Commons” (2 Henry VI 199; 1.1.191). However, Warwick’s camaraderie with the Commons is not readily evident and is even less apparent in The Contention than in 2 Henry VI. In The Contention, after Gloucester’s murder, Warwick comes in and announces that the commoners are in revolt: My Lord, the Commons like an angrie hiue of bees, Run vp and downe, caring not whom they sting, For good Duke Humphreys death, whom they report To be murthered by Suffolke and the Cardinalle here. (Contention 1217–1220)

In 2 Henry VI, he adds a self-congratulatory note: My selfe haue calm’d their spleenfull mutinie Untill they heare the order of his death. (2 Henry VI 1828–1830; 3.2.127–128)

In The Contention, there is no indication that he has any relationship with the Commons at all except for the fact that he noticed and reported their uprising. In 2 Henry VI, he appears to be their peacemaker. In both versions, however, it is Salisbury who is sent out to deal with the angry mob, not

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Warwick. After Salisbury’s departure, Warwick and Suffolk engage in an altercation regarding Gloucester’s murder that quickly degenerates into a brawl regarding Warwick’s legitimacy (The Contention 1272–1297; 2 Henry VI 1914–1950; 3.2.209–225). As the two nobles draw swords and begin to duel, Salisbury enters as a spokesman for the Commons.11 This is a departure from Shakespeare’s source material, in which the Nevilles do not involve themselves at all with the Commons’ grievances against Suffolk. Also, although the chroniclers pointedly say that Salisbury was not as loved by the people as Warwick,12 Shakespeare chooses to have Salisbury act as the liaison between the Commons and the king. In both of Shakespeare’s versions, it is the father, not the son, who becomes the confidant of and intercessor for the Commons. Shakespeare’s only other acknowledgment of Warwick’s affinity with the Commons occurs in 2 Henry VI. When the lieutenant is about to murder Suffolk, he speaks admiringly of “The Princely Warwicke, and the Neuils all, / Whose dreadfull swords were neuer drawne in vaine” (2 Henry VI 2258–2259; 4.1.90–91). These lines do not appear in The Contention. It would thus seem that although Warwick’s popularity with the Commons is undercut in both versions, it is at least implied in 2 Henry VI; it is, however, nonexistent in The Contention. Therefore, Salisbury’s assessment of his son, although derived from the chroniclers’ description of Warwick, is not demonstrated in the text. When it appears that Shakespeare is indeed showing Warwick’s better nature, a closer reading negates that perception. The Nevilles do not participate in the destruction of the good duke Gloucester, and it is Warwick who argues vehemently that his death was a murder (Contention 1236–1255; 2 Henry VI 1856–1889; 3.2.159–177). However, as John Cox points out, Warwick’s defense is actually a weapon to disarm Suffolk, his rival in court.13 And, as Michael Manheim argues, the discovery of the duke’s body by Warwick seems a bit too convenient – York’s ally is the first on the scene, accompanied by an enraged public that has assembled with surprising and suspicious haste. Meanwhile, York is safely off in Ireland, seemingly blameless in the affair, while reaping all the benefits.14 This notion that Warwick’s behavior after Gloucester’s murder is more political than ethical is borne out by the fact that Warwick’s indignation over Gloucester’s death quickly degenerates into an open brawl and mutual name-calling between the two rivals. One interesting change between the two versions occurs at the death bed of Cardinal Beaufort. In The Contention it is Salisbury who accompanies Henry to the Cardinal’s death watch. Salisbury comments a tepid “So bad an ende did neuer none behold, / But as his death, so was his life in all”


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(Contention 1437–1438). In 2 Henry VI, it is Warwick who accompanies the king, and his comment is much stronger: “So bad a death, argues a monstrous life” (2 Henry VI 2163; 3.3.30). Since Cardinal Beaufort was such a villainous figure in the play, this could be seen as a positive assessment of Warwick. However, it could equally be seen as self-serving and vindictive. Beaufort had been Beauchamp’s enemy in 1 Henry VI, and in The Contention and 2 Henry VI he becomes Richard Neville’s enemy. Beaufort impugns Warwick’s standing in court, which causes a bitter confrontation between the two men (Contention 362; 2 Henry VI 498; 1.3.109); Warwick’s final judgment of Beaufort, therefore, could be seen as mere retaliation – Warwick is now in a position to freely return Beaufort’s insults. And, of course, Beaufort’s departure, along with Gloucester’s, opens the way for Warwick to advance politically. There are other subtle differences in the characterization of Warwick in The Contention and 2 Henry VI. Like his father-in-law in 1 Henry, the Warwick of The Contention appears to be a man ruled by his emotions. When he hears of York’s claim to the throne in The Contention, he reacts with a vision of violence, as Beauchamp does in 1 Henry VI: Then Yorke aduise thy selfe and take thy time, Claime thou the Crowne, and set thy standard vp, And in the same aduance the milke-white Rose, And then to gard it, will I rouse the Beare, Inuiron’d with ten thousand Ragged staves To aide and helpe thee for to win thy right, Maugre the proudest Lord of Henries blood, That dares deny the right and claime of Yorke, For why my minde presageth I shall liue To see the noble Duke of Yorke to be a King. (Contention 768–777)

This war-mongering speech does not appear in 2 Henry VI, wherein Warwick says simply that he will “one day make the Duke of York a King (2 Henry VI 1045; 2.2.77–78). As discussed above, Suffolk’s insult after Gloucester’s death drives Warwick to forget the duke’s murder and to enter into a duel, stopped only by the entrance of his father. As the plays end, and the Wars of the Roses begin, the Nevilles congratulate themselves on their ability to chase the Lancastrians from the field. It is unclear, however, whether Shakespeare would consider the Nevilles’ triumph to be either heroic or honorable. There is an interesting scene in 2 Henry VI that does not appear in The Contention. When the Nevilles come before King Henry and announce their allegiance to York, Shakespeare

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gives Henry a speech in 2 Henry VI that chides the father for leading his son astray: Why Warwicke hath thy knee forgot to bow? Old Salsbury, shame to thy siluer haire, Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sicke sonne, And wilt thou on thy death-bed play the Ruffian? And seeke for sorrow with thy Spectacles? Oh where is Faith? Oh, where is Loyalty? If it be banish’t from the frostie head, Where shall it finde a harbour in the earth? Wilt thou go digge a graue to find out Warre, And shame thine honourable Age with blood? (2 Henry VI 3159–3168; 5.1.161–170)

Salisbury defends himself by trying to argue York’s claim to the throne. Henry cuts through the legalities by asking a simple “Hast thou not sworne Allegeance vnto me?” (2 Henry VI 3177; 5.1.179). Salisbury responds with more semantics: “It is a great sinne, to sweare vnto a sinne / But greater sinne to keepe a sinfull oath” (2 Henry VI 3180–3181; 5.1.181–182). The queen replies, with shrewd wryness, “A subtle Traitor needs no Sophister” (2 Henry VI 3189; 5.1.191). It is interesting that the most prominent nobles from the Henry VI play group – Suffolk, Clifford, Talbot – were all loyal to the Lancastrian crown. Their familial and titular descendants in the sixteenth century were for the most part loyal to the reigning monarch. Although some were executed as traitors, there was no real evidence that they were anything but inconvenient to the ruling powers. This was not the case with the Nevilles, however, in either the fifteenth or sixteenth centuries. Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, and Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, were traitors to Henry VI. Coincidentally, two members of the Neville family in the sixteenth century, Charles, Earl of Westmorland, and Edmund Neville, were just as dangerous to Elizabeth I. Westmorland was not directly descended from Salisbury and Warwick – he was, however, descended from Salisbury’s father, the first Earl of Westmorland by his first wife, Margaret de Stafford. Westmorland was a Neville, nonetheless, and although the Latimers, the Hastings, the Abergavennys, and the Grevilles were also Nevilles, they did not equal his prominence or his notoriety. In 1569, Westmorland was implicated in a plot (along with the Earl of Northumberland; a cousin of the Earl of Derby; the Earl of Derby; and the Lord Montague) to free Mary Queen of Scots, place her on the throne of England, and reestablish the Roman Catholic religion in England. At the discovery of the plot, Westmorland


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and Northumberland escaped to Scotland. Westmorland was protected by the Laird of Ferniehirst,15 but Northumberland was betrayed and committed to the Tower, where he died under mysterious circumstances. The Earl of Westmorland safely fled to the Spanish Netherlands and eventually to Spain. He never returned to England, where he was attainted of his honors, but for many years he was actively involved with other Catholic refugees in plots to put Mary on the throne and/or to invade England. During the 1590s, Westmorland’s whereabouts and intrigues were a source of constant concern to the English. The apprehension was not simply because of his numerous conspiracies. The Earl of Westmorland was in line for the English throne, claiming matrilineal descent from John of Gaunt.16 Although there was little chance he would ever reach the throne, he was nevertheless more than a simple rebel. In 1588, anxiety about the earl deepened when it was learned that he was meeting with William Stanley, fellow refugee and conspirator and cousin of the Earl of Derby.17 It was later discovered that Stanley, Westmorland, and Father Parsons were plotting to kill the queen and burn her navy.18 In addition to these treasonous activities, Westmorland was also said to be arranging a marriage between Arabella Stuart (of the Stuart claimants, second in line to the throne after James VI of Scotland) and the Duke of Parma, his patron on the Continent.19 The Earl of Westmorland was not the only Neville who conspired against Elizabeth. Edmund Neville was from the Latimer branch of the family, the son of Richard Neville of Pedwyn and Barbara Arden, from a branch of Shakespeare’s maternal line. Like Westmorland, Edmund Neville openly supported the Catholic Church and the enemies of Elizabeth. In 1575, he fled to Flanders and served in King Philip’s mercenary army, dedicated to purging Protestantism from the Netherlands.20 Edmund returned to England in 1584 to lay claim to the title of Lord Latimer, but this claim put him in opposition to Lord Burghley, whose son Thomas had married Latimer’s daughter and hoped to claim the Latimer title for himself.21 Rumor and suspicion dogged Edmund Neville, particularly when he turned down a commission to serve under Francis Drake – it was believed, understandably, that Edmund’s refusal was a sign of his continued allegiance to Spain and the Catholic cause.22 In 1585, Edmund attempted to throw off suspicion by accusing William Parry, one of Burghley’s spies and revelator of the Throckmorton Plot, of conspiring to assassinate the queen. Parry countered in trial that he was only testing Neville.23 Neither could be completely believed, so Parry was executed, and Edmund Neville was consigned to the Tower for several months. The queen offered him the opportunity to regain his freedom on the condition that he serve with Leicester. Edmund

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refused, with the argument that he would break the rules of hospitality if he served against his former patron, the King of Spain.24 His refusal was not taken kindly by Burghley or Elizabeth. He remained in the Tower for fourteen years. His release was prompted by information: in 1595 he charged his keeper, Sir Michael Blount, with conspiracy to form an army against England. Blount took Edmund’s place within the Tower, but Edmund was kept under house arrest for the next sixteen years.25 The “Neville conspiracies” occurred between 1584 and 1595 and thus preceded and encompassed the years when Shakespeare was writing the early Henry plays. Edmund Neville was safely consigned to the Tower during those years, but the Earl of Westmorland remained a fugitive. From reading the State Papers and other correspondence of the time, we can determine the atmosphere of fear created by a titled traitor at liberty. Letters, reports from spies, and confessions from fellow traitors regarding Westmorland’s latest schemes were filed at least on a monthly basis, particularly in the 1590s. The Armada’s defeat seemed to do little to assuage the fear of a second Spanish invasion backed by Westmorland. Armies and navies could easily be rebuilt, powerful alliances could easily be forged, queens could easily be murdered, and wars could easily be begun as long as the right conspiracy was in place. We can safely assume that Shakespeare was neither ignorant of nor immune to these concerns, particularly since they are so well reflected in his early history plays. E. M. W. Tillyard may have miscalculated the importance or even the existence of the Tudor myth, but he was correct about Shakespeare’s view of rebellion, at least in the first Henriad. In these plays, particularly The Contention and The True Tragedie, rebellion is the catalyst for familial destruction and national disaster. There is no redemptive virtue here; kings, nobles, gentry, and commoners all suffer excruciating pain and loss and receive virtually no gain, except for the most fleeting moments of glory. England is brought to the brink of disaster, all because of the ambitions of a rebellious man. A rebellion in Shakespeare’s time would have been equally cataclysmic, particularly if it were launched by a Catholic. Unlike the Tudor usurpation of the Plantagenet crown, or Henry Bolingbroke’s deposition of Richard II, a Catholic regime would not simply be a shift in the political power structure but also a reversal of the religious affiliation of the country. England had been Protestant for two generations by the 1590s – a return to an allegiance to Rome would not have been an easy transition for any stratum of English society and might well have resulted in a situation similar to the Wars of the Roses. As many critics have pointed out, Shakespeare was fully cognizant of the weaknesses of Henry VI. But,


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as an Englishman living in the 1590s, Shakespeare had to also be aware of the consequences of a rebellion and the dangers of a rebellious noble. This awareness prevents him from painting a sterling portrait of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. In the cataclysmic world of The Contention and The True Tragedie, as well as 2 and 3 Henry VI, Richard Neville cannot be the hero he appears to be in the chronicles because he is first and foremost a traitor to his rightful king. Shakespeare leaves little doubt that it is the betrayal by the Yorks and Nevilles that is the stimulus for the Wars of the Roses.26 The Somerset/York feud may lead to the loss of French conquests and the death of John Talbot, Suffolk’s liaison with Margaret may lead to the murder of Gloucester and the Cade rebellion, but it is the conspiracy between the Nevilles and Yorks (perhaps reminiscent of the conspiracy between Northumberland and Westmorland) that leads to the wars that almost destroy England. Shakespeare makes this clear by eliminating any of the motives provided by the chronicles for the Nevilles’ defection. Salisbury is not removed from office, nor does Warwick suffer injury from one of Henry’s servants. Edward IV does not ignore the needs of the people, as Hall states, or disinherit his children, as Foxe asserts. Instead, in Shakespeare’s plays, the Nevilles profess that their only motivation is York’s superior claim. But Shakespeare inserts the Temple Garden scene in 1 Henry VI to demonstrate that this is not in fact the case. In this scene, the representative Earl of Warwick decides to ally himself with York long before York makes his genealogical case in The Contention and 2 Henry VI. Beauchamp divorces himself from the legal debate at hand and remains a disinterested observer up until the point when his friend’s legitimacy is attacked. Then he becomes the most vehement proponent of York and is ready not only to do battle but literally to go to war for him. This is not simply because he is insulted by the blight on his friend’s family. Although the others summarily dismiss the Yorks’ claim, the seed has been planted. The fact is that in Shakespeare the Warwicks are not interested in legalities. They want their friend to be king. In The Contention and 2 Henry, Shakespeare shows that Richard Neville’s place at Henry’s court is precarious; his rank is far below that of his companions. Winchester chides him to “give thy betters leaue to speak” (Contention 362; 2 Henry VI 498; 1.3.109) and Buckingham tells him “[a]ll in this place are thy betters farre” (Contention 364; 2 Henry VI 500; 1.5.111). In a Yorkist court, however, the Earl of Warwick would occupy a place of honor, after York’s four sons. Warwick’s and Salisbury’s self-righteous claims that they are only following the law of rightful inheritance (2 Henry VI 3173–3176; 5.1.175–178), therefore, are as hollow as their descendants’ claim

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of the ascendancy of Arabella Stuart. As Robert Ornstein puts it: “the Nevils [sic] do not support York because they are legitimists; rather they are legitimists because they support York.”27 I would add that they support York because they are opportunists. Viewed in the light of the Earl of Westmorland’s rebellion, Henry’s reprimand to Salisbury in 2 Henry VI seems particularly apt not only for the fifteenth- but also for the sixteenth-century Nevilles (2 Henry VI 3159– 3172; 5.1.161–174). Charles Neville, Earl of Westmorland, went to his grave (1601) trying to “finde out Warre” and shamed “his honourable Age with blood.” He ruined not only his own life but the fortunes of his family, just as Henry predicted Salisbury would do. Westmorland died impoverished and in exile; his titles and honors fell into abeyance, and his four daughters made very unspectacular marriages, mostly to commoners. All of the Nevilles in Shakespeare’s day, at least those that bore the surname Neville, were mistrusted as co-conspirators.28, If Shakespeare revised 2 Henry VI after Charles Neville’s death, then Henry’s speech could have been reflective of Charles Neville’s fate.29 In The True Tragedie and 3 Henry VI, Henry’s predictions are realized and even surpassed. In these plays Warwick reaches both his zenith and his nadir, eventually losing all the things that once demanded his allegiance and devotion. The plays are about the fruits of rebellion, and Shakespeare adds a twist which truly emphasizes the horrors of civil war. In the plays, the Neville family is a house divided against itself. The Earls of Salisbury and Warwick are Yorkists, but their cousins, the Earls of Northumberland and Westmorland, are Lancastrians.30 To make the situation even more complex, the York children are Nevilles as well, since their mother is Cecily Neville, the sister to the Earl of Salisbury and the half-aunt of the Earl of Westmorland. Shakespeare emphasizes this rift in the family in the first scene, when Northumberland and Westmorland quarrel with their cousin Warwick over his betrayal. Westmorland makes a chilling threat against York, in which he vows one family’s blood for another’s: Plantagenet, of thee and these thy Sonnes, Thy Kinsmen, and thy Friends, Ile haue more liues Than drops of bloud were in my Fathers Veines. (The True Tragedie 103–106; 3 Henry VI 107–109; 1.1.95–97)31

In this first scene, when kin turns against kin, Henry too calls for family loyalties, at least in The True Tragedie. When York makes his claim, Henry appeals to their common ancestry:


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Ah, Plantagenet, why seekest thou to depose? Are we not both Plantagenets by birth, And from two brothers lineallie discent? (The True Tragedie 131–133)

Henry’s pleas are in vain, of course, and the Yorks point out that his grandfather only won the throne through rebellion. Later in this scene, Lord Montague, Warwick’s younger brother, calls Edward Plantagenet, Earl of March, his brother, which some critics have pointed to as an historical mistake (The True Tragedie 125; 3 Henry VI 130; 1.1.14).32 Technically, it is true this is a mistake – Montague is Edward’s cousin. However, it could also be seen as a gesture of loyalty and kinship by Montague, and a sign that he has turned away from one branch of the family to embrace another. York makes the same “mistake” later in 3 Henry VI when he calls Montague his brother (371; 1.2.55). This first scene is about family loyalties that have been divided and reassigned and which never will be reforged – one of the most terrifying realities of any civil war. The True Tragedie and 3 Henry VI, which are nearly identical texts, do not differ substantially in their portrayal of Warwick, but there are some interesting variations. Warwick is given more prominence at the beginning of 3 Henry VI; it is Warwick who introduces York to the court and bids the nobles to listen to his claim (3 Henry VI 138–140; 1.1.121–123); the queen notes that he is Chancellor and Lord of Callice (3 Henry VI 268; 1.1.245); and he and Montague are left “protectors of the king” by York (3 Henry VI 372; 1.2.55). However, in both plays Warwick plays the dominant role, even when York is still alive. Once York dies, Warwick takes complete control, instructing Edward, now the new Duke of York, on his future as king (The True Tragedie 1139–1153; 3 Henry VI 1369–1382; 2.6.85–97). Warwick, of course, reaches his zenith once Edward becomes king. In many ways he has supplanted the late Duke of Gloucester’s position. As Gloucester was the advisor and mentor to Henry VI, so Warwick moves in to be Edward’s teacher and right hand: And now to London with Triumphant march, There to be crowned Englands Royall King: From whence, shall Warwicke cut the Sea to France, And aske the Ladie Bona for thy Queene: So shalt thou sinew both these Lands together. (The True Tragedie 1141–1145; 3 Henry VI 1371–1375; 2.6.87–91)

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Edward replies with a dutiful “Euen as thou wilt sweet Warwicke, let it bee” (The True Tragedie 1153; 3 Henry VI 1383; 2.6.99). In 3 Henry VI he acknowledges his debt to Warwick: For in thy shoulder do I builde my Seate; And neuer will I vndertake the thing Wherein thy counsaile and consent is wanting. (3 Henry VI 1384–1386; 2.6.101–103)

Warwick, who was once ridiculed by Cardinal Beaufort and Buckingham for speaking to his betters, is now the reigning noble. But his fall begins early on. The chronicles all record that Warwick had to flee from the second battle of St. Albans, but they also agree that this was because of the queen’s superior forces and in no way reflected upon Warwick’s abilities or state of mind. Shakespeare, however, shows Warwick completely despondent over his loss. He arrives to report his flight to Edward and Richard, and places the blame not on the queen or himself but on his own soldiers, who refuse to fight even with bribery: Our Souldiers like the Night Owles lazie flight, Or like a lazie Thresher with a Flaile, Fell gently downe, as if they strucke their Friends. I cheer’d them vp with iustice of our Cause, With promise of high pay, and great Rewards: But all in vaine, they had no heart to fight, And we (in them) no hope to win the day So that we fled. (The True Tragedie 646–653; 3 Henry VI 787–794; 2.1.130–136)

This, again, seems a departure from the chronicle Warwick who is a friend to the common man. Richard manages to rally Warwick back to his fighting spirit. At his next battle, however, Warwick seems once again to be fleeing: Sore spent with Toile, as Runners with a Race, I lay me downe a little while to breath: For strokes receiu’d and many blowes repaid, Have robb’d my strong knit sinewes of their strength, And spight of spight, needs must I rest awhile. (The True Tragedie 913–917; 3 Henry VI 1056–1060; 2.3.1–5)

When Warwick hears of his brother’s death, he does, as the chronicles report, kill his horse to prevent himself from fleeing once more. However, the fact that he obsesses about fleeing seems a confirmation of his previous flights. The fact is, in Shakespeare’s version of events, Warwick appears a


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poor soldier. To be more precise, we never see him fight, as we do Clifford or York or Richard. At the end of The Contention and 2 Henry VI, he is about to fight Old Clifford when York intervenes (Contention 2129–2131; 2 Henry VI 3234–3236; 5.2.14–15). Salisbury returns from the first battle of St. Albans praising their military prowess, but it is Richard who has saved his life, not Warwick (Contention 2200–2204; 2 Henry VI 3335–3341; 5.3.15–19). When Warwick arrives to fight Young Clifford in another battle, Richard intervenes (The True Tragedie 979; 3 Henry VI 1131–1133; 2.5.12–13). Warwick always appears to be fleeing the aftermath of battle. In 3 Henry VI, Prince Edward warns his father that “Warwick rages like a chafed Bull” (1265; 2.5.125–127), but even this is not given him in The True Tragedie. In short, Warwick seems to talk a great deal about his abilities, but never seems able to demonstrate them. It would appear that Shakespeare is already diminishing the reputation of the great Warwick. The mocking of Clifford’s body also detracts from Warwick’s stature. As Donald Watson points out, the mock ritual – a combination of eulogy and shriving – is blasphemously performed:33 rich : edw : war : cl ar :

Clifford, aske mercy, and obtain no grace. Clifford, repent in bootlesse penitence. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. While we deuise fell Tortures for thy faults. (The True Tragedie 1121–1124; 3 Henry VI 1352–1355; 2.6.69–72)

Warwick is the one who begins this grisly mockery; it is he who first addresses the corpse (The True Tragedie 1111–1114; 3 Henry VI 1342–1345; 2.6.61–63). This behavior seems compatible with the Warwick who mocked the corpse of Cardinal Beaufort. Warwick’s glory is, of course, short-lived. He reaches France to arrange the marriage with Lady Bona and realizes that Edward has betrayed him by marrying Elizabeth Woodville. Incensed, he denounces Edward and switches his allegiance to Henry. In the chronicles, as discussed above, Warwick takes his time to change his loyalties. He returns to England, and contemplates the situation before he actually defects from Edward. Much of what causes him to change allegiance is Edward’s character, which the chronicles detail as being untrustworthy and somewhat degenerate. Edward’s very act of violating a female member of Warwick’s household would justify Warwick’s change of heart. In Shakespeare’s version, however, Warwick simply explodes with anger when he hears of the marriage to Lady Grey, and launches into a tirade against Edward:

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Shakespeare and the Nobility King Lewis, I heere protest in sight of heauen, And by the hope I haue of heauenly blisse, That I am cleere from this misdeed of Edward’s No more my King for he dishonours me But most himself, if he could see his shame. (The True Tragedie 1471–1473; 3 Henry VI 1927–1930; 3.3.181–185)

Warwick goes on to list Edward’s misdeeds, and in passing he mentions an abuse to his niece. Historically, the problem was not Edward’s marriage but his perceived rejection of France. Many of Edward’s supporters were alienated by his support of Burgundy over France and the marriage to Lady Grey was seen as further proof of this.34 However, in Shakespeare, it is apparent that Edward’s greatest crime is his affront to Warwick: Did I forget that by the House of Yorke My Father came vntimely to his death? Did I let passe th’abuse done to my Neece? Did I impale him with the Regall Crowne? Did I put Henry from his Natiue Right? And am I guerdon’d at the last, with Shame? Shame on himselfe, for my Desert is Honour. (The True Tragedie 1474–1479; 3 Henry VI 1932–1938; 3.3.186–192)

It is clear to see who is the focus of this diatribe; in every line, Warwick uses the pronouns “I,” “me,” or “my.” It is no longer Salisbury but “my Father”; the niece has no name but is “my Neece”; Henry is nothing more than a pawn that “I” put from his native right. The legalities and oaths that Salisbury and Warwick have espoused mean nothing. The seed Shakespeare planted in the Temple Garden has now borne fruit. Warwick shows his true colors, and they are neither red nor white. His motive for putting York on the throne is personal ambition and nothing more. His reason for returning Henry to the throne is to assuage his thwarted aspirations. Edward, whom Warwick thought to control, has, in effect, rebelled, and without Edward’s obedience Warwick cannot maintain his power. Many critics have discussed the fact that so many oaths are broken in the trilogy,35 but no one has mentioned that it is the rebels who break them. Salisbury and Warwick break their oath of allegiance to Henry; Edward forswears his oath to marry Lady Bona; Warwick breaks his oath to Edward; Clarence breaks his oath to his brother, and then turns and breaks his oath to Warwick. Richard, of course, plans to break his fidelity to everyone. This does not happen on the Lancastrian side, no matter how villainous


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the character. Suffolk never breaks an oath. He even, perversely, keeps his promise to come back to Margaret, although it is only his head that returns. Somerset does not break an oath. Clifford, murderous though he may be, does not break an oath. Although these Yorkist betrayals are historical, it is interesting to see the way Shakespeare portrays them. Rebels, he seems to be saying, are by their nature untrustworthy – those who would break their oath to their king would break their word to anyone else. Again, this could relate to the activity in his own day. Catholics in England were suspected of rallying around the Westmorland/Stanley conspiracy – in many cases justifiably so. Shakespeare is here very effectively demonstrating that placing one’s trust in a rebel, no matter how noble his lineage, is placing one’s trust in a liar. Shakespeare’s distaste for rebellion may also be determined by the fact that Warwick is seen in a much better light after he changes to the Lancastrian side. He engages against the Yorks, and this time he does not flee. Instead, we are allowed to see him in battle, leading his soldiers to the cry of “A Warwicke, a Warwicke” (The True Tragedie 1669; 3 Henry VI 2252–2260; 4.3.27). In 3 Henry VI, he even forgoes personal ambition, when he chides Henry for choosing him as Protector over Clarence (3 Henry VI 2411–2425; 4.6.26–30). Warwick’s humility is rewarded and both he and Clarence are made Protectors (in The True Tragedie, Henry gives them the joint Protectorship without Warwick’s offer). In both versions, the Warwick-struck Henry calls him “my Hector, my Troyes true hope” (The True Tragedie 1867; 3 Henry VI 2626; 4.8.25). Of course, this Hector cannot be completely trusted; his past behavior demonstrates that. But he does not waver, and serves his king bravely and honorably until his death. In his death, however, Warwick shows that his sense of self-importance and his talent for self-aggrandizement have not faded. In his death speech, he ponders his reputation as a king-maker: The Wrinckles in my Browes, now fill’d with blood Were lik’ned oft to Kingly Sepulchers: For who liu’d King, but I could digge his Graue? And who durset smile, when Warwicke bent his Brow? My Parkes, my Walkes, my Mannors that I had, Euen now forsake me: and of all my Lands, Is nothing left me, but my bodies length. (The True Tragedie 1976–1983; 3 Henry VI 2820–2827; 5.2.19–26)

Shakespeare then gives Warwick a thought that normally only occurs to his royal characters:

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Shakespeare and the Nobility Why, what is Pompe, Rule, Reigne, but Earth and Dust? And live how we can, yet dye we must. (The True Tragedie 2002–2003; 3 Henry VI 2828–2829; 5.2.27–28)

But Shakespeare does allow Warwick a chance for redemption in 3 Henry VI that he does not receive in The True Tragedie. In the latter, Warwick continues to ponder, in near bewilderment, his own mortality. Whie then I would not flie, nor haue I now, But Hercules himselfe must yeeld to ods, For manie wounds receiu’d, and manie moe repaid, Hath rob’d my strong knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spites needes must I yeeld to death. (The True Tragedie 1990–1994)

In 3 Henry VI, however, Warwick’s last thoughts are for his slain brother, not himself. Why then I would not flye. Ah Mountague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my Hand, And with thy Lippes keepe in my Soule a while. Thou lou’st me not: for Brother, if thou didst, Thy teares would wash this cold congealed blood, That glewes my Lippes, and will not let me speake. Come quickly Mountague, or I am dead. ( 3 Henry VI 2836–2841; 5.2.33–39)

This type of emotionalism may seem immoderate, but it is typical of Warwick whom we have come to see as an impassioned, and often temperamental, figure. It would be tempting to think this touching final speech was inserted to honor the recently departed Dudley brothers, but it is more likely that Shakespeare simply wished to continue with the theme of family loyalties. There is nothing in either play to indicate that he was recalling the Dudleys and, after 1589, there was no reason to do so, except perhaps to honor their memory. Instead, Shakespeare seems continually to be evoking memories of the more traitorous branch of the family, apparently to reaffirm the dangers of rebellion. Charles Neville, Earl of Westmorland, died in 1601 (at which point Edmund Neville claimed the earldom). When Shakespeare revised The Contention and The True Tragedie to create 2 and 3 Henry VI, the threat of rebellion from that branch of the Neville family had evaporated (as, in fact, had any more anxiety about the succession). This could be the reason why Shakespeare adds some favorable notes to his portrayal of Warwick in


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2 and 3 Henry VI – Warwick is more allied with the populace, he is less war-mongering, and he has a better death. Also, by the time of the revision, Shakespeare had already written his second set of English histories and his great tragedies, and had already addressed the question, several times over, of justifiable rebellion. On returning to the character of Warwick, he may have realized that even rebels against the throne could have their virtues. Nevertheless, the Warwick of 2 and 3 Henry VI is not a hero; his character has been complicated but the motives and results of his rebellion remain the same. Shakespeare continues to remind us that Warwick’s betrayal, motivated by personal ambition rather than any sense of right, was the catalyst to the war that almost destroyed England.

NOTES 1. Although the illegitimate heirs of Robert Dudley tried to assume the title in the early 1600s. 2. The Dudleys’ niece, Mary Sidney, was the famous Countess of Pembroke, married to Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, one of the most important theatrical and literary patrons in England. 3. Michael Weiss, “A Power in the North? The Percies of the Fifteenth Century,” The Historical Journal 19 (1976), 501–509. 4. In truth the Nevilles supported the Yorks because most of the families with whom they were feuding – the Somersets, Buckinghams, Northumberlands, and Exeters – were supporting Henry. 5. It should be said here that this Earl of Salisbury, the father of Warwick who appears as a character in The Contention and in 2 Henry VI, is not the same Earl of Salisbury who is a character in 1 Henry VI. The earl of 1 Henry VI is Thomas Montacute. After his death his son-in-law, Richard Neville, became Earl of Salisbury. Salisbury’s son Richard Neville also achieved the title of Warwick through marriage. 6. Northumberland’s politic and some would say hypocritical nature was apparent to the end. On the scaffold, he denounced the Protestant faith and declared himself to die in the true Catholic faith. 7. Public Record Office, Calendar of Patent Rolls, vol. i: Elizabeth (1558–60) (London: HMSO, 1939), 386. 8. Public Record Office, “Bishop Quadra to the King,” March 28, 1563, Cal. S. P. Spain. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1558–1567) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1971), 313. 9. Henry Ansgar Kelly, Divine Providence in the England of Shakespeare’s Histories (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970), 77. 10. One interesting note is that the coat of arms of Shakespeare’s mother’s family, the Ardens, was derived from that of the Beauchamps, the family of Richard Neville’s wife, Anne Beauchamp. Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick,

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11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

24. 25. 26.

Shakespeare and the Nobility inherited the title of Warwick from his wife, the sole remaining heir of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick (E. K. Chambers, William Shakespeare: A Study of Facts and Problems, vol. ii (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1930), 29–30). See Emrys Jones, The Origins of Shakespeare (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977), 167 and Annabel Patterson, Shakespeare and the Popular Voice (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1989), 48 for discussions of Salisbury as the people’s voice. Polydore Vergil, History, 94. John D. Cox, Shakespeare and the Dramaturgy of Power (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), 91. Michael Manheim, “Duke Humphrey and the Machiavels,” American Benedictine Review (1972), 249–257. Cokayne, The Complete Peerage of England or a History of the House of Lords and All its Members from the Earliest Times, vol. xii.ii, revised by Vicary Gibbs, ed. H. A. Doubleday, Duncan Warrand, and Lord Howard de Walden (London: St. Catherine’s Press, 1910–1955), 558. Public Record Office, “The State of England by Thomas Wilson,” June 1601, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1601–1603) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 60. Public Record Office, “Examination of Four Soldiers,” June 28, 1588, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 494. Public Record Office, “Voluntary Confession of Gilbert Laton,” February 28, 1593, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 323. Public Record Office, “Charles Paget to Bartolomeo Rivero, alias Thos Barnes,” July 12, 1592, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 244. Henry J. Swallow, De Nova Villa: The House of Nevill in Sunshine and Shade (London: 1885), 156. Public Record Office, “Edmund Neville (signed Latimer) 25 September 1585,” Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 269. Victor H. Matthews, “Edmund Neville: A Catholic in Elizabethan England,” Historical Magazine of the Protestant Episcopal Church 54 (1985), 115–123. Public Record Office, “Confession of Edmond Nevylle, Esq. Touching the Plot of William Parry for the Asassination of Her Majesty,” February 9, 1585, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 47. Public Record Office, “Edmond Neville to the Earl of Leicester,” September 25, 1585, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 36. Matthews, “Edmund Neville,” 120–121. Although we have established that a man’s identity is subsumed in his title, it would seem that Shakespeare was aware, and kept his audience aware, that


27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32. 33. 34. 35.

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Salisbury and Warwick were Nevilles. He frequently evokes the Neville name as a synonym for Warwick. He does not do the same for Richard Beauchamp in 1 Henry VI. Robert Ornstein, A Kingdom for a Stage: The Achievement of Shakespeare’s History Plays (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), 51. Public Record Office, “Information of Jas. Rhoads,” July 7, 1599, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1598–1601) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 238. In 1605 Robert Cecil, the son of Lord Burghley, was created Earl of Salisbury by James I. This would lead me to believe that the revision to The Contention was done before that time. This is a twist on the situation in the sixteenth century, when the northern lords (Northumberland and Westmorland) were the rebels against the throne. Citations from the Folio text of The Third Part of Henry the Sixth (1623) are taken from The Bankside Shakespeare, ed. Charles W. Thomas (New York: Shakespeare Society of New York, 1892). Modern act and scene divisions are taken from The Arden Shakespeare: King Henry VI Part 3, ed. John D. Cox and Eric Rasmussen (London: Thomson Learning, 2001). Citations from The True Tragedie (1595) are taken from The Bankside Shakespeare, ed. Charles W. Thomas (New York: Shakespeare Society of New York, 1892). All citations hereafter will be given parenthetically in the text. Marco Mincoff, “Henry VI Part III and The True Tragedy,” English Studies 42 (1961), 273–288. Donald G. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early History Plays: Politics at Play on the Elizabethan Stage (London: Macmillan, 1990), 93. Christine Carpenter, The Wars of the Roses: Politics and Constitution in England 1437–1509 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 172. See, for example: Larry S. Champion, “The Noise of Threatening Drums”: Dramatic Strategy and Political Ideology in Shakespeare and the English Chronicle Plays (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1990), 86 and Edna Zwick Boris, Shakespeare’s English Kings, the People, and the Law (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1978), 31, 112.

chap t e r 4

The Talbots (Earls of Shrewsbury)

It is generally accepted that Shakespeare’s portrayal of John Talbot in 1 Henry VI is a tribute to Talbot’s descendant, George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, who died around the same time 1 Henry VI was composed. Although some critics argue that Shakespeare was less than enthusiastic about the character, most agree that Talbot is a flat but nonetheless exemplary figure, the last champion of English chivalry and patriotism, the last English “hero” before Henry Tudor.1 Alice-Lyle Scoufos has suggested that this conspicuously laudatory portrayal is in fact a much needed accolade for the beleaguered Elizabethan Talbots. As Scoufos explains, George Talbot was defamed as an overly fond “guardian” and perhaps co-conspirator of Mary, Queen of Scots. At the urging of his estranged wife, Bess of Hardwick, Queen Elizabeth temporarily relieved Shrewsbury of his post as the Scottish queen’s guardian in 1584. Although he was eventually restored to his duties, the rumors of his possible disloyalty plagued him until he died, embittered and alienated from the court, in 1590. Scoufos has suggested that Lyly’s Endymion was an allegory of Shrewsbury’s relationship with Mary Stuart, and that Shakespeare created the character of Talbot to counter Lyly’s negative portrayal.2 This is a provocative suggestion by Scoufos; however, she neglects to point out that Shakespeare’s creation is not his own. In his representation of Talbot, Shakespeare is primarily repeating the characterization found in Edward Hall’s The Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre and York and Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles of England, Ireland and Wales. Furthermore, the ways in which Shakespeare departs from his sources do not amplify Talbot’s heroic stature; in many ways they accomplish quite the opposite. The Talbot character can be read as strictly heroic, and according to Thomas Nashe’s Pierce Penilesse it was read this way by many Elizabethans. However, when the character is viewed in connection with Shakespeare’s source material, and in light of contemporary events, the possibility is raised that Shakespeare is less concerned with paying tribute than he is with capitalizing on the gossip that surrounded 128


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the Talbot family in the years preceding and following the sixth earl’s death. Critics have for the most part been disquieted by the characterization of Talbot. His unflappable nature and unfailing heroism have seemed onedimensional and atypical of a Shakespearean creation. Most critics follow E. M. W. Tillyard’s appraisal of Talbot as a “great and pious soldier” who sets an example of “true grandeur” which, if his fellow nobles had followed, would have saved England from its eventual disaster.3 However, there have been dissenters. Some scholars acknowledge Talbot’s greatness as a character but see his weaknesses, perhaps even his flaws. M. M. Reese, Sen Gupta, A. C. Hamilton, Don Ricks, and Michael Manheim view Talbot as an ultimately helpless figure, unable to comprehend and thus act upon the national tragedy unfolding around him.4 Others perceive a more sinister bent. Robert Pierce states that he has an “animal ferocity” rather than an heroic dignity, that he behaves with “unrealistic bravado” and speaks with the “stereotypical rant of heroes.”5 Emrys Jones claims he is a “great barbarian” and argues that “Shakespeare is too reasonable to give the full weight of his sympathy to simple fame hungry Talbot.”6 Edna Zwick Boris also sees Talbot as overly proud, preoccupied with his own name and a presumption of his heavenly reward;7 Boris’ assessment is shared by Alexander Leggatt, who observes in Talbot an exalted sense of his own heroic identity.8 Nicole Rowan declares he is a “bloodthirsty tyrant”; John Blanpied, more kindly, states that he is merely an embarrassment, the type of hero best celebrated in memoriam.9 More recent critics have seen Talbot as representative of the masculine hegemony made impotent by the female power of Joan and rendered maternal when he dies with his son in his arms.10 These conflicting views of the character of John Talbot actually mirror the contradictory opinions held of the historical personage on whom he was based. John Talbot, first Earl of Shrewsbury, did indeed earn the nickname “Terror of the French.” He might also have justifiably earned the nickname “Terror of the Irish” and “Terror of the Welsh.” He was celebrated by his English peers, as well as by the chroniclers, as the last representative of chivalry in a rapidly changing world, yet he was a brawler, a plunderer, and a despoiler, ruthless at home as well as abroad. He was an excellent warrior but not a good strategist, and blundered in France as often as he triumphed. John came from wealthy but not noble stock. He was the second son of Richard, Lord Talbot, and Ankaret le Strange, both of whom had extensive land holdings in Hereford, Gloucester, and Shropshire. The Talbots had long associations with the house of Lancaster and were followers of that family even before its alliance with the Plantagenets.11 John Talbot was an

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exact contemporary of Henry V, and his elder brother Gilbert served in the young prince’s household. Richard, Lord Talbot died in 1396, and Ankaret took as her second husband Thomas Neville, Lord Furnival of Sheffield, the brother of the Earl of Westmorland. John married Neville’s daughter and heir Maud, and upon his stepfather’s death he succeeded to the Furnival title and estates. The early death of Gilbert and his sole heir also gave John the Talbot estates, which quickly made him one of the richest peers in England.12 His importance was underscored by his second marriage to Margaret Beauchamp, the daughter and heir of the Earl of Warwick. In 1442, he was created the first Earl of Shrewsbury and, as A. J. Pollard notes, this was owing as much to his wealth as to services rendered.13 John Talbot seems to have been born for battle, and when he was not engaged in foreign wars he was occupied in clashes at home. In 1413, he was involved in a property dispute with the Earl of Arundel which turned violent enough to send Talbot to the Tower. Henry V, who appears to have been an excellent judge of talent, decided to harness Talbot’s violent tendencies by making him lieutenant of Ireland, responsible for defending the borders of the Pale. Against the Irish, Talbot was relentless. He engaged in a fifteenth-century version of guerilla warfare, launching an unrelieved series of surprise and terrifying raids upon the Irish.14 The same strategy was used in Wales against Owen Glendower. Before long the insurgent groups in both countries were subdued. However, Talbot’s successes in the field did not prevent him from continuing his quarrels with his own countrymen. Talbot and his brother Richard became involved in a vicious feud with James Butler, the resident Anglo-Irish nobleman in the Pale, which lasted thirty years and seriously undermined Talbot’s military successes in Ireland.15 At home, he was involved in separate feuds with Joan Beaufort, the Lady Abergavenny, Lord Grey of Ruthin, and John Abrahall of Gylough. Talbot’s harsh government in Ireland and brawling behavior at home generated complaints from all quarters, and in 1427 the Duke of Bedford suggested that his brutal nature could be put to better use in the battlefields of France.16 Gloucester, as Protector, readily agreed, and at the age of forty the “Terror of the French” was born. Talbot’s first appointment in France was the governorship of Maine and Anjou. The situation in these territories was similar to that in the Irish Pale – the English stronghold was being dangerously threatened by a succession of French uprisings. Talbot followed form and set up a counter-offensive raid against the French that re-secured the western corner of the country for the English. He also conducted a surprise attack against the French army in Le Mans, rescuing an English garrison that was trapped inside the castle. These victories assured Talbot’s reputation, but his glory was short-lived.


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It was decided that Talbot would join with the Earl of Suffolk on a siege of Orleans. While the English were making plans and awaiting reinforcements for the assault, Joan of Arc arrived to defend the city with French reinforcements and a victorious spirit. The maid from Orleans galvanized the French, infusing the nearly desperate army with morale and determination.17 The English, under-equipped to mount an effective blockade or counterattack, withdrew after two days of fighting. It is true, as Shakespeare portrays, that Joan’s demand for an English withdrawal was issued to Talbot. Talbot, who had done little to help his confederates at Orleans, agreed to the withdrawal and joined Lord Scales in a march north to meet Sir John Fastolfe and reinforcements. By now, however, the French army was inspired. Under Joan’s command they actively pursued the retreating Talbot forces and won several decisive victories against them. On June 18, 1429, the French forces caught up with the English army at Patay and completely destroyed the army that had laid siege to Orleans. Talbot and Fastolfe were wounded and taken prisoner. Talbot remained a prisoner for four years; in 1433 he was exchanged for Poton de Xaintrailles. By then Joan had been captured by the English, and the fortunes of Talbot and the English forces began to change. Talbot was given a high command and charged with the defense of Paris. He fought valiantly, and somewhat successfully, to maintain control of Paris, but in September 1435 the French capital was lost forever. Now, the English concentrated on their remaining holdings in Normandy. Talbot remained in France for the next eighteen years, primarily engaged in the defense of Normandy. During that time, his command was interspersed with significant victories and noteworthy blunders. In 1449, Talbot and Somerset were in Rouen when the French attacked under the command of King Charles. Talbot, now aging, managed to repel the forces for a time but eventually the citizenry of Rouen as well as the armies of Charles proved to be too much for the weakened English forces. Rouen was surrendered, Talbot was taken prisoner, and Normandy was lost. Talbot’s reputation was spared however, and other English noblemen – primarily Somerset and Suffolk – shared the blame for the fall of the duchy. According to Pollard, it was not Talbot’s military prowess that made him a hero, but his willingness to carry on the routine and generally unspectacular military operations year after year.18 He was a loyal and dedicated soldier, who had mastered the art of the surprise attack but little else. By all indications, Talbot attempted to fashion himself as one of the last vestiges of chivalry, but his enemies saw him as a fiend. In many cases, his actions were indeed fiendish – for example, in Santerre he ignited a church in which men, women, and children had taken refuge. Such massacres seem to have been routine for any person who

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opposed him.19 Ironically, on July 17, 1453, the 66-year-old John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, was himself the victim of a surprise attack at the town of Castillon. Talbot was waiting for reinforcements when he heard from messengers that the French army was retreating. He ordered his men to pursue the French, and when they arrived they found the full French army waiting for them. In the battle, Talbot was unhorsed and either had his throat slit or his skull smashed with an axe. The French were ecstatic over his death and rightfully supposed that it was the beginning of the end of English domination. The English chroniclers, perhaps sensing the same, began to write their tributes to their flower of chivalry. The acclamatory reputation of John Talbot, first Earl of Shrewsbury, was established during his lifetime, amplified after his death, and accepted lore by the time Polydore Vergil began writing his History of England.20 In his introduction to Talbot, Polydore makes clear that his reputation has endured three generations after his death. Polydore says of him that he was: a man amongst men of reputation in deede, esteemed both for nobilitie of birth and hautines of courage, of most honourable and high renowne, who was afterward conqueror in so many sundry conflictes, that both his name was redowted above all others through Fraunce, and yet contineweth of famous memory universally at this day. (15)

Polydore goes on to catalog Talbot’s victories in France: he recovers Mayne, which had been lost by Suffolk; he takes Ponthoyse and Magdune; he is captured and ransomed; and he returns to France to take Beaumont, Deepe, and Bordeaux. His less sterling moments are of course ignored. Talbot’s death in Polydore is more mundane and less sentimental than in later versions, which tend to present a dramatic death scene in the arms of a loyal and self-sacrificing son.21 In Polydore, Talbot is simply shot from his horse – to the astonishment of his men, who are confounded to see the legend killed with no more spectacle or significance than a mere soldier (92). Polydore Vergil’s History was written during the lifetime of George Talbot, fourth Earl of Shrewsbury, John’s great-grandson. The fourth earl, coincidentally, was also known for his military prowess and his relationship with France. The earl was installed as a Knight of the Garter for his valiant conduct at the Battle of Stoke in 1487; he also served in the English expedition to Flanders to aid the Emperor Maximilian against the French in 1489. He attended Henry VII in France to sign the Treaty of Etaples, and he was later paid a pension by Louis XII of France to help maintain that treaty.22 But it was on the home front that Earl George achieved his greatest victory, at least politically. The fourth earl continued the family


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tradition of Lancastrian loyalty, although now the ruling Lancasters carried the Tudor name. In 1536, the Henrician reformations – most particularly the suppression of monasteries and the spread of heresy – spawned a series of rebellions in the County of Lincolnshire, which have been collectively referred to as the Pilgrimage of Grace. Upon first hearing of the uprising, Earl George took immediate steps to gather men to suppress it. He asked the king for permission to raise an army of his own, and sent a circular letter requesting that the local nobility and gentry do the same. Earl George ably mobilized his men and, along with the Earls of Huntingdon and Rutland, raised an army of 3,654 to successfully suppress the rebellion.23 This was significant, since the earl was himself opposed to the Reformation and to the king’s marriage to Anne Boleyn. Nevertheless, he acted as a loyal subject, placing his monarch’s needs above his own personal beliefs. His loyalty was rewarded by the grant of the commission of lieutenancy and continuing royal favoritism. Thomas Cromwell and, more significantly, Henry VIII acknowledged their debt to him, and historians have endorsed his importance. James A. Froude summed up the consensus of later historians when he said that Shrewsbury’s “courage and fidelity (during the rebellion) perhaps saved Henry’s crown.”24 His actions secured the place of his family, particularly that of his son and heir Francis. When Edward Hall was writing in 1548, Francis Talbot, the fifth earl, was at the height of his power and influence. Unlike his father, Francis had been one of the chief supporters of Henry VIII’s marriage to Anne Boleyn; he had enthusiastically assisted his father in the suppression of the Pilgrimage of Grace and was rewarded handsomely for his efforts. Among other things, he was appointed Lord Lieutenant in the North in 1544 and a member of the Council of the North in 1545, was one of the chief mourners at Henry VIII’s funeral in 1547, and was appointed Commissioner for Claims to do service at the coronation of Edward VI in 1547. At Edward’s succession, the fifth earl became a man of singular power. He was appointed for life Warden, Chief Justice, and Justice in Eyre, and he was made President of the Council of the North.25 He was also a member of the Privy Council and a close advisor to King Edward. Francis appears to have been a politic man. He participated in the ceremonies creating Edward Seymour as Duke of Somerset, and for a short time was a supporter of the powerful duke. However, he recognized Somerset’s decline and was among the lords present at his arrest.26 He then allied himself with the Duke of Northumberland through marriage and politics. He supported and signed Edward’s will sanctioning Northumberland’s plan for the succession, and he was one of the signatories to the letter endorsing Lady Jane Grey as queen. Nonetheless,

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there are indications that he secretly supported Mary, and he was among those who proclaimed Mary queen on July 19. Earl Francis asked for and received pardon from the new queen for his support, and within a month was high in her favor. He was re-appointed President of the Council of the North and the queen came to rely on him heavily to keep the peace in that volatile region. Shrewsbury and his son Lord Talbot were among those who met and accompanied Philip of Spain on his arrival in London, and his support of the marriage helped ease the uneasy feelings for a Spanish consort. At Mary’s death, he fully supported the new queen and participated in her accession ceremonies. He only lived two years into the Elizabethan reign, and although he maintained his Catholicism, he resumed his place on the Privy Council and was in regular attendance at court. When Edward Hall presented his history to Edward VI, the Spanish ambassador wrote that the fifth Earl of Shrewsbury was one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. We might suppose, therefore, that Hall had sufficient motivation to augment the portrayal of John Talbot that is found in Polydore Vergil. Hall emphasizes the French fear of the first earl: [l]orde Talbot, beyng bothe of noble birthe, and haute corage, after his comming into Fraunce, obteined so many glorious victories of his enemies, that his only name was, and yet is dredful to the French nacion, and muche renouned emongest al other people. (Union 141)

Hall goes into further raptures about Talbot’s preparation for a siege on Aquitaine: Lord, how busy he was in mustering, howe diligent in setting fourward, and how ientelly he entertained his men of warre, as though he went first to warre, and neuer had take payne, either to serve his prince or to gayne honour. What should I speake, how that he thought every houre, as thre, till his armie were ready, or write, what payne he toke to se them shipped and vitayled. But verily men judge that as this labour was the ende and extreme point of all his worldy busyness so he should shew himself: fearce, coragious, and feareful to his enemies. (227)

Hall emphasizes Talbot’s victories; his defeats, such as the rout at Patay, are downplayed. There is no mention that the English were in retreat: “the French horsemen came on so fiersly . . . there was no remedy, but to fight at adventure” (150). Talbot is only taken prisoner because he is shot in the back, the time-honored symbol of the attacker’s cowardliness. Whereas blame is lavished on Suffolk and Somerset for the failures in the field, Talbot retains his unblemished reputation. There is only the slightest indication that he is tricked by the French in his last battle, and that is quickly overshadowed by his bravery and prowess:


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When the Englishmen were come to the place where the Frenchmen were encamped, in the which were iii C peces of brasse, besied diuers other small peces, and subtill Engynes to the Englishmen unknowen, and nothing suspected, they lighted al on fote, the erle of Shrewsbury only except, which because of his age, rode on a little hakeney and fought fiercely with the Frenchmen, and gat then tre of their campe, and by fine force entered into the same. (229)

Later, Talbot, at the point of death, reassures his son and Hall’s readership that he really was “the terror and scourge of the French people so many years” (229). Hall’s sterling portrayal is repeated almost verbatim by Holinshed, who spends most of his time vilifying Joan. In light of Hall’s and Holinshed’s reverent approach to Talbot, Shakespeare’s treatment is striking.27 Although Talbot is undeniably an heroic creation on the surface, his presentation in 1 Henry VI is not without a certain slyness; moreover, Shakespeare has added and manipulated material that could be seen to parallel the activities of the Talbots of his own time. These parallels are akin to an inside joke on the Elizabethan Talbots – those who knew the situation would clearly understand the references, but Shakespeare, very wisely, makes them elusive enough so that they could readily be denied. For example, our first impression of Talbot, through news of a messenger, is not of a great warrior but of a prisoner, who has been “round incompassed, and set vpon” (1 Henry VI 126; 1.1.116). It is true that the messenger then gives a rendition of Talbot’s superhuman exploits on the battlefield, but our first impression of him, nevertheless, is as a failure. Our initial meeting with Talbot is equally unimpressive; he is a ransomed prisoner, bemoaning his treatment by his French captors. At this point we know nothing of his previous victories – only that he is fierce, but ineffective, in battle. His first words in the play are those of complaint, objecting to the fact that he has been traded for “a baser man of arms by far” and declaring that he would have “craved death / Rather than . . . be so vile-esteemed” (1 Henry VI 498–499; 1.4.31–32). Shakespeare follows Hall in giving Talbot the appellation “Terror of the French” in 1 Henry VI, but he puts the words in the mouths of jeering French crowds after Talbot has been captured: With scoffes and scornes, and contumelious taunts, In open Market place produc’t they me, To pay a publique spectacle to all: Here, sayd they, is the Terror of the French, That Scar-Crow that affrights our Children so. (1 Henry VI 506–510;1.4.38–42)

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Talbot goes on to describe how he frightened the French with “his grisly countenance,” but this is his description and assessment, no one else’s. It seems that throughout the play Talbot relies more upon his name and reputation than upon his actions. When he attacks Orleans, it is the cry of his name, “St. George! A Talbot!,” not the sight of his person, that sends the French scurrying. A soldier verifies this: The crye of Talbot serues me for a Sword, For I haue loaden me with many Spoyles Vsing no other Weapon but his name. (1 Henry VI 768–770; 2.1.79–81)

However, Talbot is never actually seen in battle until his last scene, in which he is killed. Shakespeare’s vision of Talbot is that of a legendary man, now weakened, who spends his last days trying to redeem his name and status after his humiliating capture. This is a rather accurate description of George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury (Illustration 2). Shrewsbury had followed his father Francis in honors and preferments; he even resembled his ancestor in being a hostage in France in 1550.28 He first courted disaster when he signed the instrument settling the crown on Lady Jane Grey, but he, like his father, was promptly pardoned and, once Elizabeth came to the throne, he became the Lord High Steward, Earl Marshal of England, and Lord Lieutenant of the Counties of Derby and Stafford.29 His troubles really began in 1569, when he was appointed custodian of the imprisoned Mary, Queen of Scots. Immediately, rumors abounded that he was overly lenient with Mary; it was said that his servants and sons brought her messages, and one of his sons was reported to be involved in an escape attempt. Elizabeth grew annoyed when he requested increasing amounts of money for Mary’s upkeep. This annoyance developed into anger when she learned that Mary had been visited by M. de Ruisseau, one of her councilors in France. Elizabeth canceled Shrewsbury’s permit to come to London, although he wrote to her a pleading letter swearing that Mary was his enemy.30 Recent scholarship suggests this was not the case. In 1583, Shrewsbury moved Mary to his manor house in Sherwood Forest. While there, she was visited by his nephew the Earl of Rutland, an ardent Catholic and follower of Mary. Meanwhile, Shrewsbury’s wife, Bess of Hardwick, and her sons began spreading rumors at court that the earl and the Scottish queen were actually lovers. Shrewsbury tried to counter his wife’s accusations by filing a statute of scandalum magnatum


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2 George Talbot, 6th Earl of Shrewsbury, 1522–1590, great-great-great-grandson of John Talbot in Henry VI Part 1.

against her sons, William and Charles Cavendish, but it was to no avail. In March 1584, the earl was relieved of his position as Mary’s keeper. After his dismissal the earl battled to regain his good name, which continued to be slandered at home and abroad. The anonymous Leycesters Commonwealth complained: “What means these most false and slanderous rumors cast abroad of late of his disloyall demeanures towards her Majesty

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and his countrey, with the great prisoner committed to his charge?”31 The stories of his disgrace extended beyond the English shore. Bernardino Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador and an exemplary gossip, informed King Philip that Shrewsbury was said to be in love with Mary.32 In 1585, the earl wrote to Burghley complaining that his wife continued to malign him.33 He even accused his own son, Gilbert (married to Bess of Hardwick’s daughter), of participating in the circulation of rumors so that he was “obliged to spend [time] defending himself against their accusations.”34 In 1587, the earl was still attempting to punish his wife: he wrote to Walsingham demanding that she be made to retract her “slanderous speeches,” and urged the queen to banish Bess “for the defamation of my house and name.”35 But the stories persisted. For the 1587 edition of Holinshed’s Chronicles, Francis Thynne included an account of Shrewsbury’s faithlessness with Mary. The earl forced him to retract the statement, which Thynne did in a separate document; however, like all retractions, it received much less publicity – and circulation – than the original account.36 When the earl died in 1590, John Harpur wrote to his son Gilbert Talbot, now the seventh earl, hoping that he “may in some measure repaire the decayed honour of your noble and ancient house.”37 Scoufos argues that Shakespeare not only set out to defend the sixth earl in 1 Henry VI in his portrayal of Talbot, but also intended to malign William Brooke, Lord Cobham, whom she believes Shakespeare was deliberating parodying in the character of Falstaff in 1 Henry IV. Lord Cobham was notorious, or famous, for surviving his involvement in the Ridolfi Plot of the early 1570s. Roberto Ridolfi was an undercover banker for Rome living in London as a financier. In 1571, he left for Rome with a packet of letters from Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Duke of Norfolk addressed to the Duke of Alva, Philip II, and the Pope. In his letter to the Pope, Norfolk listed the English nobility who were adherents to Mary Queen of Scots. These were the Catholic nobles of the north, and included Edward Stanley, Earl of Derby, and William Brook, Lord Cobham. When the courier carrying the packet of letters was apprehended, Lord Cobham managed to switch the letters to indecipherable coded documents. Burghley soon realized the hoax and tortured the courier and Norfolk’s private secretary until the entire plot to overthrow Elizabeth and reestablish Roman Catholicism was revealed. Lord Cobham was arrested, but able to escape disaster because of his friendship with Burghley and Walsingham. By the mid-1590s Cobham was sitting on the Privy Council and had been named the Lord Chamberlain of England.


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Scoufos contends that the character of Falstaffe in 1 Henry VI, whose cowardice leads to Talbot’s capture, is an attack on Cobham, who was among those who helped spread the rumors of Shrewsbury’s treasonous activities with Mary.38 Scoufos conflates the characters of Falstaffe in 1 Henry VI with Falstaff in 1 and 2 Henry IV, as did some early critics of Shakespeare.39 But there is no reason to believe Shakespeare did. It is probably true that Shakespeare created the name Falstaff to replace the name of Oldcastle as an appeasement to Lord Cobham, Oldcastle’s descendant, and Scoufos makes a good case that much of the portrayal of Falstaff was a parody of Cobham.40 However, this was done for 1 Henry IV, nine years after 1 Henry VI. In the case of 1 Henry VI, Shakespeare was essentially following the chronicle sources. In his chronicle, for instance, Hall says that Sir John Fastolfe was a soldier at the siege of Orleans where Talbot was taken prisoner (Union 147). He had been hailed as a hero at the preceding battle at Ronuray, and he was “joyously received and welcomed of all the souldiers” when he arrived at Orleans (146). However, he does seem guilty of some cowardliness because he “departed [from the Battle of Orleans] without any stroke striken” (150). According to Hall it was the Duke of Bedford who stripped him of the Garter. His honors were returned to him by his friends “against the mynd of the lorde Talbot,” but this is the only part Talbot plays in the man’s disgrace (150). But, although Shakespeare changes the version found in Hall, there is no reason to believe that Shakespeare considered “Falstaffe” in 1 Henry VI to be any relation to Cobham. It is more logical to assume that he chose the name “Falstaff ” nine years later because the character resembled the one he had used for 1 Henry VI. In light of this, Shakespeare’s portrayal of Talbot does not necessarily seem to be a sympathetic response to the Earl of Shrewsbury’s plight. Furthermore, if we can assume that Shakespeare was privy to London gossip, we can also assume that he had received a negative report of Shrewsbury. We do not have to make such assumptions with regard to the 1587 Holinshed; we know that particular edition was his source for his histories. Therefore we also know that he must have read Thynne’s negative portrayal of Shrewsbury. This could be why Shakespeare’s characterization of Talbot is less complimentary than Hall’s or Holinshed’s. Talbot, when we meet him, is a renowned man whose primary complaint is that he has been debased. This certainly parallels the situation with the Earl of Shrewsbury. There are other parallels. Shakespeare’s Talbot seems to be victimized and ridiculed by, and sometimes at the mercy of, women. Our next encounter with him, after his ransom, occurs in a battle with Joan. Talbot begins the

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scene with, again, a lament that seems to emphasize his weakness, not his strength: Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English Troupes retyre, I cannot stay them, A woman clad in Armour chaseth them. (1 Henry VI 590–593; 1.5.1–3)

After Joan departs, with the ominous warning “Talbot farewell, thy houre is not yet come” (606), Talbot responds: My thoughts are whirled like a Potters Wheele, I know not where I am, nor what I doe: A witch by feare, not force Hannibal Driues back our troupes, and conquers as she lists. (1 Henry VI 614–617; 1.5.19–22)

As Phyllis Rackin states, “Talbot cannot understand the female power that makes him impotent,”41 and he very quickly decides that his shameful defeat is the result of witchcraft. Later, Talbot, Burgundy, and Bedford declare Joan to be a witch before they set siege to Orleans. Joan may or may not be diabolic, but she does take a fiendish delight in verbally tormenting Talbot. When she takes the town of Rouen by stealth, Talbot stands beneath the walls and hurls insults and threats at her. Her response is to mock his reputation: “Are ye so hot Sir: yet Pucell hold thy peace, / If Talbot doe but Thunder, Raine will follow” (1 Henry VI 1494–1495; 3.2.59–60). She leaves the town with an equally flippant: “God b’uy my Lord, we came but to tell you / That wee are here” (1 Henry VI 1509–1510; 3.2.73–74). Talbot is, as Nina Levine so aptly puts it, “disoriented and disarmed.”42 After his death, Joan ridicules his “stinking and fly blowne” corpse (1 Henry VI 2310; 4.7.76). It should be remembered that, despite his best attempts, Talbot never actually defeats Joan. He only manages to chase her from the towns of Orleans and Rouen; yet she always manages to reappear. Regardless of his troubles with Joan, John Talbot probably had less to complain of than his descendant, George. The sixth earl’s problems with women were legendary. There were, as described, his difficulties with his second and much younger wife, Bess of Hardwick. In a letter to Walsingham of June 15, 1586, Shrewsbury complains of his wife’s “devilish disposition” and expresses shame at his choice of “such a creature.”43 In the same letter, he urges Walsingham to influence his son Gilbert Talbot to leave “that wicked woman’s company.” “That” particular wicked woman was Mary Cavendish, who happened to be the daughter of the “devilish” Bess. The old earl believed that Mary was also spreading rumors about him and


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encouraging his son (and heir) to do the same. He was never reconciled with either woman. In 1588, he writes his son that he is glad that Gilbert is coming to see him, but he asks him not to bring his wife, “for her sight cannot as yet content me.”44 Normally, it would be unlikely that anyone outside the family or court circle would be aware of such familial tensions. However, the Earl of Shrewsbury’s plight was so well known, even publicized, that it is fairly certain even an outsider like Shakespeare would be cognizant of it. The encounters between Joan of Arc and John Talbot are not historical, nor in any of Shakespeare’s sources. The scenario – of an old, cantankerous man being outsmarted by a younger, scornful woman – may have had some resonance to those more knowledgeable audience members. In Talbot’s second encounter with a woman, the Countess of Auvergne, he fares much better. The countess lures him to her castle in order to entrap him, but he outwits her by keeping his men outside the door. At his signal, the men enter in force, the countess asks pardon, and Talbot readily provides it, asking only that his troops be fed. In this scene, Talbot is at his best – no longer weak or complaining, but strong and clever, showing for the first time signs of the hero he is reputed to be. This episode has proved puzzling to many critics. Some critics see the scene as a “sexual axis” of the play, around which the other male/female relationships revolve.45 Other critics focus on his statement to the countess that he is but a “shadow” of himself, and believe that this symbolizes the actor’s role.46 The most interesting interpretation, in my opinion, is that of Scoufos. She points out that King Francis II of France, Mary Stuart’s first husband, was known by the title “le Prince Dauphin d’Auvergne” before his coronation. Mary, therefore, would have been “la Princesse Dauphine d’Auvergne.”47 I think it is entirely feasible to suggest that this scene is a commentary of some sort on Shrewsbury’s relationship with Mary. Furthermore, Shakespeare may have made the French woman a countess in order to conflate Bess, Countess of Shrewsbury, with Mary, Queen of Scots, so that both the troublesome women in Shrewsbury’s life could be represented. However, Scoufos argues that the scene was written to uphold the honor of the sixth earl. I find it more reasonable to suggest that it may have been a reproach. John Talbot, first Earl of Shrewsbury, behaves with the countess the way George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury should have behaved with Mary Queen of Scots and Bess of Hardwick. He withstands the charms of the beguiling countess, outplots her, and manages to treat her both courteously and firmly (while supported by a contingent of soldiers). Furthermore, as James Riddell has argued, Talbot shows no vindictiveness toward the countess.48 The same

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cannot be said of the sixth earl’s actions toward his wife. In Shakespeare’s time, almost everyone in England (and abroad) believed that Shrewsbury had succumbed to Mary’s charms. The quarrels between Shrewsbury and Bess of Hardwick were also public knowledge.49 This portrayal of Shrewsbury’s ancestor, handling a similar situation with so much more wisdom, may have been a recommendation, rather than a commendation, for the earl. Moreover, Shakespeare treats the scene with a delicate mockery that does not lend itself to approbation. Talbot is physically dwarfish, and the banter with the countess is self-deprecating. He admits he is nothing but a “shadow” without his men. Shakespeare also pokes gentle fun at Talbot’s reputation. In his chronicle, Edward Hall compares the English hero to a mythological one: But verely men iudge, that as this labour was the ende and extreme point of all his worldy busynes so he should shew himself: fearce, coragious, & fearful to his enemies in the extreme point of his death and naturall departing. Thys English Hector and marcial flower, elected to him, the most hardy and coragious persons. (Union 227)

This description is parodied by Shakespeare, spoken sarcastically by the Countess of Auvergne when she sees the dwarfish Talbot before her: I thought I should have seene some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong knit Limbes, Alas, this is a Child, a silly Dwarfe: It cannot be, this weake and writhled shrimpe Should strike such terror to his Enemies. (1 Henry VI 854–859; 2.3.18–23)

As with the appellation “Terror of the French,” Shakespeare puts Hall’s words into the mouths of people who are mocking the hero and his reputation. Shakespeare seems, throughout the play, to decline to take this hero completely seriously. This is not to say that Shakespeare’s Talbot is wholly unsympathetic or unheroic. He has some stirring moments, such as the siege of Orleans, and some pleasant moments, such as the Auvergne episode. He is, as many critics have pointed out, the last representative of the old chivalric order, and thus he is the one who buries the old warriors Bedford and Salisbury. As Nicholas Greene describes, these are remnants of old England, “the soldierly generation of Henry V.”50 With Salisbury’s death he speaks of revenge on the French, but with Bedford’s he speaks poignantly of a lost comrade:


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A brauer Souldier neuer couched Launce, A gentler Heart did neuer sway in Court. But Kings and mighty Potentates must die, For that’s the end of humane miserie. (1 Henry VI 1580–1584; 3.2.134–137)

Talbot is at his most sympathetic in his last scene, his death scene, in which he and his son fight against all odds and die embraced in each other’s arms. Hall is the source of this scene. The chronicle states that Talbot urges his son to leave: Oh sonne sonne, I thy father which onely hath bene the terror and scourge of the French people so many yeres, which hath subuerted so many townes . . . neither can here dye, for the honour of my countrey, without great laude and perpetuall fame, nor flye or departe without perpetuall shame and continualle infamy. But because this is thy first iourney and enterprise, neither thy flyeng shall redounde to thy shame, nor thy death to thy glory . . . therefore the fleyng of me shal be the dishonour, not only of me & my progenie, but also a discomfiture of all my company: thy departure shall saue thy lyfe, and make the able another time, if I be slayne to reuenge my death and to do honour to thy Prince and profyt to his realm.51 (Union 229)

Shakespeare dutifully repeats this advice in his version: Speak thy Fathers care: Art thou not wearie, Iohn? How do’st thou fare? Wilt thou yet leaue the Battaile, Boy, and flie, Now thou art seal’d the Sonne of Chiualrie? Flye, to reuenge my death when I am dead, ................................. If I to day dye not with Frenchmens Rate To morrow I shall dye with mickle Age, By me they nothing gaine, and if I stay, ’Tis but the shortening of my Life one day. In thee thy Mother dyes, our Households Name, My Deaths Reuenge, thy Youth and Englands Fame. (1 Henry VI 2198–2211; 4.6.26–39)

Hall goes on to say that “the sonne had aunswered that it was neither honest nor natural for him, to leue his father in the extreme ieopardye of his life, and that he woulde taste of that draught, which his father and Parent should assay” and that “nature” was so “wrought in the sonne, that neyther desire of lyfe, nor thought of securitie, could withdraw or pluck him from his natural father” (Union 229). Shakespeare gives this narration voice:

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Shakespeare and the Nobility Before young Talbot from old Talbot flye The coward Horse that beares me, fall and dye: ................................... And if I flye, I am not Talbot’s Sonne. Then talke no more of flight, it is no boot, If Sonne to Talbot, dye at Talbots foot. (1 Henry VI 2217–2224; 4.6.46–53)

Of course, since this scene was taken from Hall, it is difficult to ascribe a motivation for its inclusion. E. Pearlman argues that Shakespeare used the opportunity presented him to supplement the play’s public themes to explore Talbot’s heretofore unseen private life.52 We should also not overlook the fact that the true poignancy of the moment, for an Elizabethan audience, lies in the fact that a family line is extinguished. However, Shakespeare’s choice in using this scene might also be a sly commentary on the private lives of the Elizabethan Talbots. The Talbots of Shakespeare’s time were notable, not only for the earl’s disgrace, but also for their complete lack of familial harmony. The earl complained as bitterly about his son as he did about his wife. Gilbert was deeply in debt in 1587, a debt that the earl staunchly refused to pay. He repeatedly told friends that his son was disobedient, disloyal, and untrustworthy.53 After the earl died, the animosity was transferred to Gilbert (now the seventh earl) and his brothers. Gilbert immediately became embroiled in a quarrel with his brother Henry, who before his father’s death had complained that Gilbert ill-treated him. Gilbert responded that Henry was “very unbrotherly.”54 There was also a quite spectacular dispute between Gilbert and his second brother, Edward, which eventually led to a challenge of a duel between them. The Earl of Essex and finally the queen had to interfere to prevent brotherly bloodshed. Having been dissuaded from violence, Gilbert took his brother to court for hiring a Mr. Wood to poison him. Edward promptly sued Wood for libel; the case was heard in the Star Chamber, and settled in favor of Edward.55 This quarrel, as one might expect, was said to be widely discussed throughout London.56 To add to his troubles, Gilbert became estranged from his wife, Mary Cavendish, shortly after he inherited the earldom and maintained a bitter relationship with his mother-in-law/stepmother Bess of Hardwick.57 The estrangement from his wife was not altogether unfortunate for him; Mary Cavendish Talbot, Countess of Shrewsbury, was suspected of papist leanings which resulted in the queen’s “bad conceit” of her.58 In the end it was Edward who was triumphant; Gilbert and Henry died without male issue and Edward became the eighth earl. The aforementioned events occurred in 1594/5. By 1599, the date that some scholars believe 1 Henry VI was revised, Gilbert, the seventh Earl of


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Shrewsbury, had also been accused of a conspiracy to put Lady Arabella Stuart on the throne. In what must have been considered an extraordinary coincidence, Gilbert was rumored to be “involved” with Arabella, just as his father had been with Mary, Queen of Scots.59 Quite naturally, this rumor disgusted Queen Elizabeth, who is said to “daily bear more and more a bad conceit of the Earl of Shrewsbury and the Countess, for the sake of the Lady Arabella.”60 Gilbert’s choice in ladies made him equally unpopular with James I, and some historians believe that the royal antipathy of the Talbots made them easy targets for gentlemen of lower stature.61 At any rate, one can only imagine the impact of the Talbot and son death scene upon an audience aware of the animosity between his descendants. The war-mongering Talbot turns suddenly affectionate and stoical, willing to put his child’s safety above victory and even family honor. Young Talbot, the neophyte soldier, becomes endearing in his loyalty and self-sacrifice. As in the countess scene, the first earl and his son behaved the way the sixth and seventh earl should have – with devotion to each other and with an awareness and concern for their family name and honor. The irony would not have been missed by a knowledgeable audience of Elizabethans. We know from Nashe’s description of “brave Talbot” that Elizabethan audiences were sympathetic to the character and enjoyed viewing his exploits. However, a comparative reading of 1 Henry VI with Shakespeare’s sources demonstrates that Shakespeare has greatly diminished Talbot’s image as an heroic warrior. His Talbot is a weakened man, miserable about the slander to his name, the loss of his old chivalric world, and his mistreatment by a young French woman. This very closely parallels the situation and status of George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury. These parallels may not have been seen by all members of the audience – that is part of Shakespeare’s genius. However, those who knew the Shrewsbury saga would doubtless have seen the basic irony of Talbot’s story. Talbot’s two finest moments are with his female prisoner and with his son. His behavior in both only serves to underline the misbehavior of his descendants in similar situations. The last thoughts of Shakespeare’s Talbots are for their family honor. That honor had been badly damaged by the Elizabethan Earls of Shrewsbury.

NOTES 1. A. J. Pollard in fact argues that the Talbot legend reached its apogee in the sixteenth century because of Shakespeare’s play (A. J. Pollard, John Talbot and the War in France 1427–1453 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1983), 3). 2. Alice-Lyle Scoufos, Shakespeare’s Typological Satire: A Study of the Falstaff/Oldcastle Problem (Columbus: Ohio University Press, 1979), 134–166.

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3. See E. M. W. Tillyard, The Elizabethan World Picture (New York: Vintage, 1959), 163–173; other critics who see Talbot in strictly heroic terms are J. P. Brockbank, “Frame of Disorder – Henry VI,” Early Shakespeare, ed. John Russell Brown and Bernard Harris (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1961), 72–100, 75; David Riggs, Shakespeare’s Heroical Histories: “Henry VI” and Its Literary Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), 84, 103–107; Robert Ornstein, A Kingdom for a Stage: The Achievement of Shakespeare’s History Plays (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), 37; Edward I. Berry, Patterns of Decay: Shakespeare’s Early Histories (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1975), 29; Robert C. Jones, These Valiant Dead: Renewing the Past in Shakespeare’s Histories (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1991), 3–14; and Alexander Leggatt, “The Death of John Talbot,” Shakespeare’s English Histories: A Quest for Form and Genre (Binghamton, NY: MERTS, 1996), 13. 4. See M. M. Reese, The Cease of Majesty: A Study of Shakespeare’s History Plays (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1961), 168–172; Sen Gupta, Shakespeare’s Historical Plays (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964), 62; A. C. Hamilton, The Early Shakespeare (San Marino, CA: Huntington Library Press, 1967), 17; Don M. Ricks, Shakespeare’s Emergent Form: A Study of the Structures of the “Henry VI” Plays (Salt Lake City: Utah State University Pres, 1968), 48; and Michael Manheim, “Duke Humphrey and the Machiavels,” American Benedictine Review (1972), 83. 5. Robert B. Pierce, Shakespeare’s History Plays: The Family and the State (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1971), 42. 6. Emrys Jones, The Origins of Shakespeare (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977), 160. 7. Edna Zwick Boris, Shakespeare’s English Kings, the People, and the Law (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1978), 31, 76–77. 8. Leggatt, “Death of John Talbot,” 2. 9. Nicole Rowan, “Shakespeare’s Henry VI Trilogy: A Reconsideration,” Elizabethan and Modern Studies, ed. J.P. Vander Motten (Gent: Seminarie voor Englese en Amerikaanse Literatuur, 1985), 191–202; John W. Blanpied, Time and the Artist in Shakespeare’s English Histories (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1983), 29–30. 10. See Phyllis Rackin, Stages of History: Shakespeare’s English Chronicles (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990), 198–199; William M. Hawley, Critical Hermeneutics and Shakespeare’s History Plays (New York: Peter Lang, 1991), 20–24; and Barbara Hodgdon, The End Crowns All: Closure and Contradiction in Shakespeare’s History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 56. 11. Pollard, John Talbot, 7. 12. Ibid., 8. Talbot listed his income as £1,250, which made him financially equivalent to the Earls of Northumberland and Salisbury. 13. Ibid., 8. 14. Edmund Curtis, A History of Medieval Ireland from 1086–1513 (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1938), 291–293 and Annette J. Otway-Ruthven, A History of Medieval Ireland (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1968), 348–356. 15. Otway-Ruthven, Medieval Ireland, 357–361.


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16. Pollard, John Talbot, 11. 17. Alfred H. Burne, The Agincourt War (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1956), 233–242; Pollard, John Talbot, 15. 18. Pollard, John Talbot, 66–67. 19. Ibid., 126. Even Hall reports that Talbot struck down helpless prisoners with his bare hands. 20. Oddly, Fabyan says nothing of him except that he besieged Dieppe and was killed at Castyllyon (New Chronicles 615, 629). 21. Talbot’s sons did indeed die on the field of battle with him. 22. Cokayne, The Complete Peerage of England or a History of the House of Lords and All its Members from the Earliest Times, vol. xi, revised by Vicary Gibbs, ed. H. A. Doubleday, Duncan Warrand, and Lord Howard de Walden (London: St. Catherine’s Press, 1910–1955), 708. 23. G. W. Bernard, The Power of the Early Tudor Nobility (Brighton, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1985), 32. 24. James A. Froude, History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the Death of Elizabeth (London: 1862–1870; reprint, New York: AMS Press, 1969), vol. ii, 522. 25. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. xi, 711. 26. Bernard, Power, 68–73. 27. Talbot’s tragedy is also glaringly absent from The Mirrour for Magistrates. 28. He was sent by his father as one of a number of hostages during the peace negotiations between the French and English. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. xi, 712. 29. Ibid., vol. xi, 713. 30. Edmund Lodge, Illustrations of British History, Biography and Manners, vol. ii (London: J. Chidley, 1838), 153. 31. Anonymous, Leycesters Commonwealth, ed. F. J. Burgoyne (London: Longmans, 1904), 202. 32. Public Record Office, “Letter from Bernardino de Mendoza to King Philip,” June 4, 1583, Cal. S. P. Spain, Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1580–1586) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1971), 473. 33. The Earl of Shrewsbury to Lord Burghley, Sheffield, October 23, 1585, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. G. R. Batho (London: HMSO, 1971), 134. 34. The Earl of Shrewsbury to Gilbert, Lord Talbot, Sheffield, June 17, 1587, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. Batho, 138. 35. Public Record Office, “The Earl of Shrewsbury to Walsyngham,” January 31, 1586/87, and Public Record Office, “The Earl of Shrewsbury to Walsyngham, June 15, 1587. There is an entire volume of the state papers dedicated to the quarrel between the earl and the countess (Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 450–455). 36. See Holinshed, Chronicles (1587), vol. i, 443 and Francis Thynne, An Apology for Certain Passages in Holinshed (London: Camden Society, 1909), vol. xvii,

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37. 38. 39.

40.

41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

Shakespeare and the Nobility 97–99. It is interesting to note that Thynne apologizes that his error “might be eyther offensyve to [the earl’s] honor or injurious to his right noble auncestors.” John Harpur to the Earl of Shrewsbury, Ashbourne, November 19, 1590, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. G. R. Batho (London: HMSO, 1971), 159. Scoufos, Typological Satire, 150. Scoufos points out that in 1625 Richard James described how Shakespeare had to change the name of Sir John Oldcastle to “Falstaffe or Fastolphe” and in 1724 John Anstis criticized Shakespeare for defaming Oldcastle in the character of “Fastolf ” (Scoufos, Typological Satire, 27, 42). However, both of these references are to Shakespeare’s 1 and 2 Henry IV. This has been a very popular topic with recent critics as well. See David Scott Kastan, Shakespeare After Theory (New York: Routledge, 1999), 93, and Paul Whitfield White, “Shakespeare, the Cobhams, and the Dynamics of Theatrical Patronage,” Shakespeare and Theatrical Patronage in Early Modern England, ed. Paul Whitfield White and Suzanne R. Westfall (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 64–90, 64. Rackin, Stages, 199. Nina S. Levine, Women’s Matters: Politics, Gender and Nation in Shakespeare’s Early History Plays (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1998), 36. Public Record Office, “Earl of Shrewsbury to Walsingham,” June 15, 1586, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 452. The Earl of Shrewsbury to Gilbert, Lord Talbot, Sheffield, July 25, 1588, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. G. R. Batho (London: HMSO, 1971), 140. See H. M. Richmond, Shakespeare’s Political Plays (New York: Random House, 1967), 22 and Berry, Patterns, 6. See Emrys Jones, Origins, 146; Berry, Patterns, 7; Leggatt, “Death of John Talbot,” 2–3; Rackin, Stages, 154; and Sigurd Burckhardt, “‘I Am But Shadow of Myself ’: Ceremony and Design in 1 Henry VI,” Modern Language Quarterly 28 (1967), 139–158. Scoufos, Topological Satire, 144. James Riddell, “Talbot and the Countess of Auvergne,” Shakespeare Quarterly 28 (1977), 51–57. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 193–194. Nicholas Greene, Shakespeare’s Serial History Plays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 68. Talbot lost two sons in the battle: one was illegitimate, known in the chronicles as “Bastard Talbot.” E. Pearlman, “The Two Talbots,” Philological Quarterly 75 (1996), 1–22, 3–4. The Earl of Shrewsbury to Gilbert, Lord Talbot, Sheffield, June 17, 1587; Sir Henry Lee to Gilbert, Lord Talbot, Hatfield, July 15, 1587; Sir Henry Lee to Gilbert, Lord Talbot, Litwall, August 13, 1587; The Earl of Shrewsbury to Sir Henry Lee, Sheffield, September 6, 1587; and Sir Henry Lee to Gilbert, Lord


54. 55. 56.

57. 58.

59.

60. 61.

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Talbot, Litwall, September 13, 1587 and October 15, 1587, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. Batho, 138–139. Henry Talbot to Gilbert, Earl of Shrewsbury, Kinoulton, July 6, 1591, and Gilbert’s reply, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. Batho, 168. G. B. Harrison, The Elizabethan Journals: Being a Record of Those Things Most Talked of During the Years 1591–1603, vol. ii (London: Routledge, 1938), 32–34. Richard Parkyns to Gilbert, Earl of Shrewsbury, Bunny, December 31, 1592; Edward Talbot to the Earl of Shrewsbury, Pontefract, June 23 and 24, 1594; the Earl of Essex to the Earl of Shrewsbury, Greenwich, July 7, 1594; the Earl of Shrewsbury to the Earl of Essex, Worksop, July 13, 1594; the Earl of Huntingdon to the Earl of Shrewsbury, York, July 20, 1594; and William Cardinal to the Earl of Shrewsbury, Egmanton, July 31, 1594, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. Batho, 176, 210. Public Record Office, “Elizabeth, Countess Dowager of Shrewsbury, to Lord Treasurer Burghley,” April 11, 1591, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591– 1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 25. Public Record Office, “Note by Robert Bainbridge, of Derby, of Notorious Papists,” January 25, 1592; and “Thomas Phelipes to Wm. Sterrell,” April 7, 1593, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 174, 342. Public Record Office, “James Young, alias Dingley, a Priest to Lord Burghley,” August 27, 1592, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 259; Edward Thurland to the Earl of Shrewsbury, Sutton-upon-Lound, August 25, 1595, A Calendar of the Shrewsbury and Talbot Papers, vol. ii, ed. Batho, 212. Public Record Office, “Thos. Phelipes to Wm. Sterrell,” April 7, 1593, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 124. Alison Wall, “Patterns of Politics in England, 1558–1625,” The Historical Journal 32 (1988), 947–963, 954.

chap t e r 5

The Cliffords (Earls of Cumberland)

Shakespeare faced a serious dilemma in his characterization of John, Lord Clifford. On the one hand, his primary sources Edward Hall and Raphael Holinshed portray Clifford as a “child-killer” and near monster, a portrayal that had long before conferred upon Clifford the appellation of “Butcher” and, more kindly, “bloody Clifford.” On the other hand, Clifford had a direct descendant, and a rather spectacular one, living at the time Shakespeare began his career. John, Lord Clifford was the great-great-grandfather of George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland – darling of Elizabeth, friend of the Cecils, contemporary of Philip Sidney and the Earl of Essex, and favorite of the populace. The earl was not simply a courtier extraordinaire, but a well-known privateer and explorer, who succeeded in paralyzing Spanish fleets, plundering Portuguese wealth, opening up the possibilities of the West Indies, and promoting and financing some of the more popular foreign expeditions of his day. His exploits, both at court and at sea, were celebrated in song and verse. His influence at Elizabeth’s court was substantial, only slightly less than that of the members of the Privy Council. Although he only lived two years into the reign of James I, his influence at that court was even greater. He was keenly aware of his heritage and sensitive about his reputation. Furthermore, he is known to have attended at least one of Shakespeare’s plays, Twelfth Night, which means there is an excellent chance that he may have been a casual patron of the theatre and perhaps even an acquaintance of the playwright. Modern critics have ignored this dilemma and have accepted Shakespeare’s portrayal of Clifford as a savage and bloodthirsty antitype of the courtier. It is true that Shakespeare closely follows his sources regarding the murder of young Rutland and the execution of York, and that, taken separately, these scenes are a strong indictment against Clifford. However, Shakespeare has also added scenes of heroism, loyalty, chivalry, motivation, and repentance – not present in his source material – which do much to redeem the Clifford family name and honor. I would argue in fact that Shakespeare’s portrayal of the 150


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Cliffords – as first and foremost champions of their king – may have been created for the benefit of, and perhaps even as a tribute to, George Clifford, the Earl of Cumberland – who was first and foremost the champion of his queen. The character of Thomas Clifford (Old Clifford), who appears in The Contention and 2 Henry VI, has been virtually ignored by critics. However, John Clifford (Young Clifford), who appears in The True Tragedie and 3 Henry VI, has become one of their favorite targets, particularly for those critics who like to see the Henriad as “anti-aristocratic.” He is seen as representative of the death of “the chivalric code,” and the rise of inhumanity and brutality among the nobles.1 He has a “lust for blood,”2 a “sadistic inhumanity,”3 and a “moral perversion.”4 Several critics have labeled him as a bloodthirsty monster, exemplifying, along with Richard Plantagenent, the darker side of humanity.5 However, these critics fail to note that Shakespeare may have had little choice in the matter of Clifford’s portrayal. The reputation of John Clifford had already been calumniated years before by Edward Hall, who, writing eighty or ninety years after the event, was the first historian to accuse Clifford of slaying the innocent young Earl of Rutland. Hall’s description of the event is, in itself, rather ruthless: While this battaill was in fightyng, a prieste called sir Robert Aspall, chappelain and schole master to the yong erle of Rutland ii sonne to the above named duke of Yorke, scarce of ye age of xii yeres . . . was by the sayd lord Clifford espied, folowed and taken, and by reson of his apparrell, demaunded what he was. The yong gentleman dismaied, had not a word to speake, but kneled on his knees implorying mercy, and desirying grace, both with holding up his handes, and making dolorous countinance, for his speeche was gone for feare . . . the lord Clifford marked him and sayde: by God’s blode, thy father slew myne, and so wil I do the and all they kyn, and with that woord, stucke the erle to ye hart with his dagger . . . In this act the lord Clyfford was accompted a tyraunt, and no gentleman, for the propertie of the Lyon, which is a furious and an unreasonable beast, is to be cruell to them that withstande hym, and gentle to such as prostrate or humiliate them selfes before him. (Union 251)

This decidedly slanted tale is even more remarkable when one considers that neither Robert Fabyan nor Polydore Vergil, who preceded Hall by at least twenty years, mentions anything of it. Fabyan does not allude to Clifford at all. In his History, Polydore writes only that the Earl of Rutland fought and was killed alongside his father, the Duke of York, in battle. No Clifford is mentioned, nor is any detail given regarding Rutland’s death (108). Polydore’s account may in fact be more accurate than Hall’s: Rutland was seventeen, not twelve, at the time of his death, an age when he

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would most probably be in battle rather than trying to hide with his tutor. Likewise, John Clifford was probably no more violent or cruel than anyone else involved in the wars. It is true that Polydore was commissioned to write his History by Henry VII, the man who reversed the attainder against John Clifford and restored the Clifford estates to John’s son, Henry. However, when Hall was writing in 1548, the Cliffords had only risen in power, having received the Earldom of Cumberland in 1525. It is puzzling, therefore, why Hall chose to denigrate their ancestor so thoroughly. In addition to labeling Clifford as a child-killer, Hall ascribes to him the crime of desecrating the corpse of the Duke of York: Yet this cruell Clifforde, and deadly bloudsupper, not content with this homicyde, or chyldkillyng, came to the place where the dead corps of the duke of Yorke lay, and caused his head to be styken of, and set on it a croune of paper, & so fixed it to a pole, and presented it to the Quene . . . in gret despite, and much derision: saiying: Madame, your warre is done, here is your kinges raunsome, at which present, was much joy, and greate reiouysing. (Union 251)

When describing Clifford’s death, from a stray arrow in battle, Hall takes the opportunity to repeat and reemphasize Clifford’s crimes: “[the] ende had he, which slew the yong erle of Rutland, kneeling on his knees” (253). William Baldwin, who wrote Clifford’s poem for the 1559 Mirrour for Magistrates, takes his cue from Hall. The revealing title of the poem is “How the Lord Clyfford for his straunge and abominable cruelty came to as straunge and sodayne a death.” The first-person poem states: I am the same that slue duke Richard’s childe, The louely babe that begged life with teares, Whereby mine honour fouly I defilde: Poore sely lambes the lion neuer teares, The feeble mouse may ly among the beares, But wrath of man, his rancour to requite, Forgets all reason, truth, and vertue quite. (Mirrour 193)

Baldwin has not only repeated Hall’s story, he has reiterated Hall’s rather strange notions of delicacy in the animal kingdom, in which a large animal will not harm a smaller. Baldwin accepts Hall’s story of Clifford’s discovery of York’s body; however, he extends the providential metaphor even further when he describes Clifford’s death: For as I would my gorget have vndoen To euent the heat that had mee nigh vndone, An headles arrow strake mee through the throte,


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Where through my soule forsooke his fylthy cote. Was this a chaunce? no sure, God’s iust awarde, Wherein due iustice playnly doth appeare: An headlesse arrow payde mee my rewarde For heading Richard lying on his bere. (194–195)

Uncharacteristically, Hall neglects to point out the analogy of the headless arrow and the headless corpse. He merely mentions that “some say” the arrow was “without an hedde” and leaves us to our own conclusions. Raphael Holinshed, writing his Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland nearly thirty years after Hall, accepts Hall’s version of Rutland’s death without question. In describing York’s death, Holinshed repeats Hall’s account, then adds a second, more grisly, scene: Some write that the duke was taken aliue, and in derision to stand vpon a molehill; on whose head they put a garland in steed of a crowne, which they had fashioned and made of sedges or bulrushes; and, hauing so crowned him with that garland, they kneeled downe afore him (as the Iewes did vnto Christ) in scorne, saieing to him: “Haile, king without rule! haile, king without heritage! haile, duke and prince without people or possessions!” And at length, hauing thus scorned him with these and diuerse other the like despitefull words, they stroke off his head, which (as yee haue heard), they presented to the queene. (iii, 659)

This last version is, of course, the one selected by Shakespeare in The True Tragedie and 3 Henry VI. Some critics have decided that this selection is Shakespeare’s attempt to recall the medieval morality play, suggesting that York’s ignoble treatment somehow transforms him into the ultimate sacrificial lamb.6 However, it is important to remember that it is Holinshed who first draws these analogies, and he does not do so casually. Holinshed not only makes the Duke of York’s death analogous to Christ’s, he also makes Clifford analogous to the Jews, thus amplifying his affiliation with Herod, the other famous “child-killer.”7 Hall’s story of John, Lord Clifford, was so firmly set in the public imagination that it was even believed by his descendant, Anne Clifford, who wrote a family history in the seventeenth century. Lady Anne, the daughter of George the third earl, writes that Henry Clifford, John’s son, was “not admitted to be a ward to the king [Edward IV], by reason that presently after his fathers death, he and all his posterity were attainted of high treason by Act of Parliament for adhering to the house of Lancaster and for killing the Earl of Rutland.”8 John, Lord Clifford was probably no more hated by the Yorks than any other ardent Lancastrian, but his family suffered for his loyalties more than most. His young son Henry was deprived of all

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of his father’s properties and was, according to Anne Clifford, forced to live in hiding among shepherds for twenty-four years to “conceal his birth and parentage” and escape the wrath of the Yorks – “so odious was the memory of his father for killing the young earl of Rutland.”9 When Henry Tudor came to the throne, he restored the honors and estates to Henry Clifford, who lived another thirty-seven years to become, as his great-greatgranddaughter puts it, “a very rich man.”10 Except for a splendid showing at Flodden Field, Henry lived rather quietly, dedicating himself to the pursuit of astronomy, an interest he cultivated during his pastoral years. The life of his son Henry, however, was decidedly more flamboyant. Henry came to court at the age of ten, and by his teens was estranged from his father, who accused him of living more like a duke than a poor baron’s son.11 His father wrote to Henry VIII complaining that his son was stealing from him and from various monastic houses, but his complaint went unheeded. Young Henry Clifford was an exact contemporary of Henry VIII, and had grown up as the king’s companion and friend – Anne Clifford states that the companionship “ingrafted such a love in the said Prince towards him that it continued until the very end.”12 He further ingratiated himself to the Tudor monarch when he subscribed the letter to the Pope asking him to grant the king’s divorce from Catherine of Aragon. Throughout his reign, Henry had lavished gifts and lands on his young friend, but for this act of loyalty Henry Clifford was awarded large grants of monastic lands and the title first Earl of Cumberland in 1525.13 In return, he was one of the few northern earls who remained unambiguously loyal to Henry, and for his fidelity he was granted the Garter in 1537.14 The king also ensured that his friend married well. Cumberland’s first marriage was to Margaret Talbot, the daughter of the fifth Earl of Shrewsbury (his own mother had been the daughter of a lowly knight, by comparison). Margaret died young, without issue, and Cumberland then espoused Margaret Percy, the only daughter of the Earl of Northumberland. Anne Clifford takes pains to point out that this Margaret Percy was the granddaughter of a Beaufort, and thus a direct descendant of John of Gaunt. Henry Clifford died in 1542, six years before Hall’s first edition was printed. His son by Margaret Percy, Henry Clifford, second Earl of Cumberland, led an even more colorful life and achieved an even more impressive marriage. In 1537, as a further sign of his great affection for the Cliffords, Henry VIII arranged the marriage of Henry, Lord Clifford, to Eleanor Brandon, the youngest daughter of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII. As discussed in the chapter on the Suffolks, the children of Charles Brandon were for a time the most important


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claimants to the throne of England. In his will, Henry VIII named his sister Mary Tudor’s descendants to be heirs to the throne after his own children – a claim that was approved by Parliament and seriously considered throughout Elizabeth’s reign. Anne Clifford tells us that the king himself was present at the nuptials, which took place in the Duke of Suffolk’s (Brandon’s) palace, coincidentally in Shakespeare’s theatrical neighborhood of Southwark. Eleanor and Henry Clifford, second Earl of Cumberland, had one living child, a girl, Margaret, who subsequently married Henry Stanley, Earl of Derby – another claimant.15 According to some of the succession speculators, Margaret Clifford Stanley’s claim to the throne, through the Stanley, Tudor, and Beaufort lines, was much stronger than Elizabeth Tudor’s.16 These marital alliances launched the Cliffords into considerable prominence, so it is difficult to understand why Edward Hall and William Baldwin, writing in the 1540s and 1550s respectively, should introduce and repeat such scurrilous reports about Henry’s great-grandfather.17 It might be easier to explain Holinshed’s motivations. The Cliffords, like most of the northern nobility, were officially Catholics, despite their support of Henry VIII’s divorce. This of course made life under Mary Tudor very pleasant, and it was in fact Queen Mary who arranged the marriage of Margaret Clifford to the very Catholic Earl of Derby.18 When Elizabeth came to the throne, however, the situation became more difficult. The second earl and his second wife, Anne Dacre, were unswervingly loyal to the new queen; however, their brother-in-law, the powerful Duke of Norfolk, was quite the opposite.19 Norfolk swiftly became one of Elizabeth’s greatest enemies, possessing an almost single-minded resolve to remove her from the throne of England, and the Cliffords suffered through their affiliation. In 1569, the earl’s careful balance between queen, family, and religion was shattered by the Great Northern Rebellion, when the Earls of Westmorland and Northumberland and their Catholic followers rose in support of the Duke of Norfolk with the intention of overthrowing Elizabeth in favor of Mary, Queen of Scots. The second Earl of Cumberland remained loyal to Elizabeth, and even sent some forces against the rebels.20 The rebellion was squelched and Norfolk executed; however, rumors persisted that the Earl of Cumberland had initially supported his brother-in-law and only offered his support to the queen when the rebellion seemed doomed.21 There are indications that the fervency of the earl’s Catholicism was tempered by pragmatism. In 1553 he negotiated the marriage of his daughter Margaret into the Dudley family; when those negotiations failed, he began to orchestrate the marriage of his eldest son George to the daughter of the very Protestant Earl

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3 George Clifford, 3rd Earl of Cumberland, 1558–1605. Direct descendant of “Old Clifford” and “Bloody Clifford” in Henry VI Parts 2 and 3.

of Bedford.22 Like the Earl of Derby, however, the Earl of Cumberland could not escape calumny by association, and he died in 1570 before his reputation could be restored. Henry Clifford, second Earl of Cumberland, and Anne Dacre had six children. Upon Henry’s death, their eleven-yearold son George, now the third Earl of Cumberland, became the ward of Francis Russell, the second Earl of Bedford and a renowned and fervent Calvinist. All traces of Catholicism were purged from the young boy. At his majority, George fulfilled his father’s plans and married Anne Russell, Bedford’s second daughter. The new earl was devoted to Protestantism, if not to his wife, and the association with the Bedfords moved the Cliffords back into royal and public favor.


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When Holinshed was writing his first edition in 1577, George Clifford was still in his minority, and Henry Clifford’s association with the northern lords was still suspect. This could be the reason why his Chronicles follow, and even embellish, Hall’s account.23 However, when Shakespeare was writing his first Henriad, the very Protestant George Clifford, third Earl of Cumberland (Illustration 3), had become a powerful and much favored member of Elizabeth’s court.24 Along with Sir Philip Sidney and the Earl of Essex, Cumberland was part of the new, young nobility that captivated the court in the late 1580s. He arrived in London in 1583 and earned the queen’s longstanding goodwill, the mentorship of Lords Burghley and Bedford, and the intimacy of three very influential ladies-in-waiting: his half-sister, Margaret Clifford Stanley, the Countess of Derby, and his sisters-in-law, Ann Russell, Countess of Warwick and Elizabeth Russell, Countess of Bath.25 His closest friends were Sir Philip Sidney, the Earl of Essex and, ironically, Edward Manners, the Earl of Rutland. As this gathering might suggest, Cumberland was a patron of both literary and sporting arts. Poems were written in his honor (Spenser’s Faerie Queene has a dedicatory sonnet to him, referring to him as the “flower of chivalry”), and he and Essex were the chief jousters at all court tournaments and friendly rivals at all sporting events.26 His daughter Anne writes that he had “an extreme love for horse, tilting, bowling matches, and shooting.” He did not, unfortunately, have such a love for his wife – he was a renowned womanizer, although he eventually died a repentant husband. In 1586, Cumberland helped erase some of the stigma on his family name by participating in the trial and execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, and a year later was made ambassador to Scotland, where he won the friendship of James VI.27 His enthusiasm for and support of foreign exploration were recognized by the navigator John Davis, who named the Cumberland Isles (now Cumberland Gulf ) after him. In 1587, Thomas Green dedicated his verse on Sir Francis Drake’s exploits to Cumberland.28 Today, he is best known as one of the founders of the East India Company, which eventually made England one of greatest colonizers of the world. Cumberland was also a gambler and a spendthrift and in 1586 his extravagant lifestyle led to financial difficulties.29 He decided to indulge his lifelong love of geography and his lifelong need for money by becoming what was known in England as a privateer and what was known in the rest of the world as a pirate. Cumberland spent the next decade plundering Spanish and Portuguese ships, an enterprise which was certainly lauded, if not entirely legal, in England (the queen, in fact, was a joint investor in some of his voyages).30 In 1588, he commanded a fleet of ships against the

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Armada – his victories in that battle earned him effusive literary plaudits. He always believed that a second Armada would be launched, and vigorously promoted a preemptive strike against Spain. His plans were rejected, but Cumberland was, and still is, regarded as the most prominent leader of Corsairs among English noblemen. He was certainly the talk of Europe. The foreign papers are filled with his exploits. The Spanish, quite naturally, tracked his every move, from the Indies to India, from the Straits of Magellan to Mexico.31 His capture and plunder of Puerto Rico in 1598 generated a flurry of concerned correspondence from foreign diplomats. Francesco Soranzo, the Venetian ambassador to Spain and Francesco Contarini, the Venetian ambassador to France, report on his activities with some urgency: “The Earl of Cumberland,” writes Contarini, “has reached Spanish Isle, in the West Indies, and has made a rich booty. He captured by force of Arms, St. John of Porto Rico [sic].” Soranzo goes into more detail: Cumberland landed his men and seized the tower, the town was sacked and yielded a booty of four hundred thousand crowns . . . Cumberland is also master of the harbour, which is an excellent one, and able to holde any number of ships.32

From Lisbon, William Resould, under the alias of Giles Van Harwick, writes to Lord Cecil, under the alias of Peter Arston, that “the earl of Cumberland has left 1000 men in garrison in Porto Rico, put forth all the Spaniards, given liberty to the slaves who remain with the English, and means to send more forces, which puts these parts in fear of his return.”33 In 1590, when Shakespeare was most probably writing The Contention and The True Tragedie, Cumberland was granted his greatest honor. He was named the queen’s champion at an Accession Day pageant at Whitehall Palace.34 Cumberland appeared in white as the Knight of Pendragon Castle, and, in his presentation to the queen, indicated that he was deeply aware of his own lineage. In his speech, which was remarkably familiar considering its audience, he made reference to his family’s home and crest: This castle most happie princesse not by Inchantment but by miracle, is one night removed from Westmoreland [the seat of the Cumberlands] to Westminister . . . it is a strange tale to tell by what fortune this Castle was founded . . . Merlin a Prophet . . . found two draggons fighting under ye Castle, which battell being ended, ye Castle was ended . . . so did he foretell that till a Red Draggon did fly into ye Sea, to encounter ye black Eagle, the castle should not be fortunate . . . oftentimes with great courage, but with noe lookd for successe, hath this Draggon pulled some feathers, but not seized on ye Bodie of this displayed Eagle . . . And


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ye lat . . . between two stones of ye Castle, he found these verses wrapped: When a Virgin hath reigned thirty three yeares When a Vine on ye Walles in one night shall grow, When Castor, and Pollux, on the Land appeares, And the Red Draggon shall seem like Snowe; Then shall ye Cormorant, that now the Eagle hight, Have his feathers moulton, by a Virgin’s might.35

The Red Dragon was the Clifford family crest; the black eagle was the Spanish emblem. The speech was delivered by either a page of Cumberland’s or a hired actor, and in addition to promising his future service to the queen, it also makes a pointed allusion to his exploits against Spain. George Peele wrote of the occasion in Polyhymnia, calling Clifford: “Worthy Cumberland / Thrice Noble Earl,” and Nicholas Hilliard created his famous miniature of the earl to commemorate the event. Cumberland continued to be the queen’s champion for three more Accession Day tournaments thereafter, and although the texts of those speeches are not extant, we do know that he hired actors to represent his triumphant mariners. Cumberland’s theme in each of these pageants is clear: he is the Elizabethan Arthur in service to the Virgin Queen against her enemies in Spain.36 Elizabeth, who tended to nickname her favorites, called him “her roge.”37 In 1592, at her instigation, he was named Knight of the Garter and was elected an honorary MA by Oxford University.38 Cumberland’s only falling out with the queen occurred in the mid 1590s when his fleet captured and plundered the Madre de Dios, a Portuguese vessel filled with treasures from the West Indies. The earl was not with his fleet at the time of the attack, and plunderers tried to take their share of the booty; Raleigh was sent to retrieve the queen’s share and this caused a dispute with Elizabeth and Burghley over the ownership of the plunder.39 Despite the dispute with the queen, the capture of the Madre de Dios was a great boon to England, because it raised the possibility of open trade with the West Indies, which would allow the English to obtain such treasures for themselves. And Cumberland was acclaimed as the bringer of the feast.40 His conflict with Elizabeth did not last long – the earl was fortunate in that his greatest advocate was Robert Cecil.41 In 1598/9, Cumberland was put in charge of the San Juan Islands, and was a successful governor there. In 1600, he was granted a fifteen-year exclusive license to trade with the East Indies.42 He took part in the capture, trial, and execution of his old friend Essex after the latter’s rebellion. When James VI came to the throne

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as James I of England, the Earl of Cumberland was among the noblemen who traveled to Scotland to meet him. The northern lords were close to James’ heart, and he appointed Cumberland to be the Lord Warden of the English Marches. George Clifford, the third Earl of Cumberland, died in 1605 of the bloody flux, and Robert Cecil, the first earl of Salisbury, wrote to James that “I loved him living and now admire him dying.” He left his estate and his title to his brother, Francis, with whom he had always had an intimate relationship.43 It was during the early years, when Cumberland was at the peak of the queen’s and the court’s favor, that Shakespeare was faced with having to write the story of his infamous ancestor. That Cumberland was sensitive to his heritage was clear; that he was attentive to his reputation was equally apparent. In 1596, a young peasant boy was sentenced to lose an ear, to be whipped, to be imprisoned, and to be fined for spreading rumors that Cumberland had called the Lord Admiral a traitor.44 The earl’s attendance, along with the queen, at the first performance of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night 45 indicates that he had at least some familiarity with the theatre and with Shakespeare, so his attendance at the play involving his ancestor was a distinct possibility. Shakespeare had other problems with the Cliffords: Cumberland’s half-sister Margaret (the daughter of Eleanor Grey and Henry Clifford, the second earl) was married to Henry Stanley, the Earl of Derby, who many believe was Shakespeare’s first patron.46 She, like Cumberland, was the great-great-grandchild of John Clifford.47 Shakespeare certainly could have avoided the entire tale of John Clifford’s slaying of Rutland and humiliation of York. But the story was doubtless too dramatically attractive, or too familiar to the audience, to avoid. Nevertheless, it was also a tale that may have been fraught with danger for an apprentice playwright. Shakespeare was able to solve, or at least lessen, the dilemma, however. In his portrayal of the Cliffords, Shakespeare changes his chronicle sources and presents both an heroic Clifford to cheer and a repentant Clifford to forgive. The first appearance of a Clifford is in The Contention. This is Thomas de Clifford, Lord Clifford, the father of John, who is known throughout the play as “Old Clifford.” Old Clifford is the heroic Clifford. He does not appear in any of the squabbles or plots among the nobles. He is not involved in the loss of France, the downfall of Eleanor, the murder of Gloucester, or the conspiracy against Henry. His first appearance is as a hero – arriving after Cade’s murderous rampage to subdue the rebels. This does not appear in any chronicle source. Hall and Holinshed both state that it was Cardinal Beaufort and the Archbishop of Canterbury who quelled the rebel forces:


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The archbishop of Canterbury . . . called to him the bishop of Winchester . . . These two prelates seying the fury of the Kentish people, by reason of their betyng backe, to be mitigate and minished, passed the ryver of Thamyse from the Towre, into Southwareke, bringing with them under the kynges great seale, a general pardon unto all offenders. (Union 222)

Holinshed adds more detail: The archbishop of Canturburie, being chancellor of England, and as then for his securite living within the Tower, called to him the bishop of Winchester, who for some safegard laie then at Haliwell. These two prelats, seeing the furie of the Kentish people, by their later repulse, to be somewhat asswuaged, passed by the riuer of Thames from the Tower into Southwarke; bringing with them, vnder the kings great seale, a generall pardon vnto all offenders. (Chronicles iii, 635)

Polydore Vergil does not mention any middle men, and claims that the king issued the pardon himself (History 86). In The Contention, however, Shakespeare takes the credit away from either prelates or monarchs, and gives it to two noblemen, Buckingham and Clifford (whom he mistakenly, but perhaps wisely, calls the Earl of Cumberland). Clifford takes the lead – in fact, Buckingham has but one line. Clifford begins with a stirring speech, recalling the glory days of England: Why country-men and warlike friends of Kent, What means this mutinous rebellions, That you in troops do muster thus your selues Vnder the conduct of this Traitor Cade? To rise against your soueraigne Lord and King, Who mildly hath his pardon sent to you If you forsake this monstrous Rebell here? If honour be the marke whereat you aime, Then haste to France that our forefathers wonne, And winne again that thing which now is lost, And leaue to seeke your Countries ouerthrow. (Contention 1840–1850)

The rebels respond with a chant of “A Clifford, a Clifford” which must have been pleasing and familiar to the Earl of Cumberland, since it is also the chant his “privateers” would shout after his plunders. Old Clifford promises the rebels that they will not be hurt if they surrender (Contention 1861–1866). True to his word, Clifford brings the men before the king and asks for mercy, which they receive (Contention 1893–1896). In the revised 2 Henry VI, Shakespeare changes Old Clifford’s speech, by recalling Henry V:

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Shakespeare and the Nobility What say ye Countrimen, will ye relent And yeeld to mercy, whilst ’tis offered you, Or let a rabble leade you to your deaths? Who loues the King, and will imbrace his pardon, Fling up his cap, and say, God save his Maiesty. Who hateth him, and honours not his Father, Henry the fift, that made all France to quake, Shake his weapon at vs, and passe by. (2 Henry VI 2785–2792; 4.8.11–18)

This time, the crowd calls for Henry. Cade temporarily lures the rebels back, and Old Clifford now intimates a French invasion. Is Cade the sonne of Henry the fift, That thus you do exclaime you’l go with him? Will he conduct you through the heart of France And make the meanest of you Earles and Dukes? ..................................... Wer’t not a shame, that whilst you liue at iarre, The fearfull French, whom you late vanquished, Should make a start o’er-seas and vanquish you? ..................................... Better ten thousand base borne Cades miscarry Then you should stoope vnto a Frenchman’s mercy. (2 Henry VI 2809–2827; 4.8.34–48)

The rebels respond to the second speech with their chant for Clifford. Not all critics see this as a flattering portrayal. Donald Watson sees Old Clifford’s speech as “cynical and irrelevant fiction.”48 I believe it is more, as J. P. Brockbank describes it, “a patriotic exhortation – as from soldier to soldiers, from one Englishman to another.”49 It is true that there is no indication in the text that an invasion from France is imminent. But foreign invasions were always a possibility in the fifteenth century, as well as in the sixteenth – the Elizabethans had only recently repelled such an invasion, and the threat of another was always present. Members of Shakespeare’s audience would probably be as rallied by Clifford’s words as Cade’s rebels, and they would certainly understand the implication of those words – dissension at home opens the door to foreign assaults. The relevant point here is that Clifford did not come in waving his sword against his fellow Englishmen. He does not arrive with an army. Instead, he takes his cue from Henry V, and appeals to the men as his equals – soldiers in the same army, fighting the same enemy for the same king. And, not insignificantly, Clifford keeps his promise of mercy to them. Interestingly, however, in


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The Contention he brings them before the king and asks his pardon. In 2 Henry VI, he leaves their fate to the king (2 Henry VI 2860–2862; 4.8.64– 65). In both The Contention and 2 Henry VI, Old Clifford’s next appearance is a confrontation with the noble rebels York and Warwick. This time he is the literal champion of the beleaguered king – a detail probably not lost on Elizabeth I’s self-appointed champion. In The Contention he kneels to Henry before the Yorkists and courageously stands alone for the king. The parallel scene before King Henry in 2 Henry VI is much the same as in The Contention, except that Old Clifford takes a more forward part. He insults Richard Plantagenet and he tells the king to send York to the Tower (2 Henry VI 3129–3130; 5.1.134–135). (In The Contention, Old Clifford asks the king why he does not send York to the Tower (Contention 2054).) When Warwick and Old Clifford exchange challenges in The Contention, they use the imagery of their family crests, which sounds remarkably like Cumberland’s speech to Elizabeth: cli f f :

I am resolue’d to beare a grater storme, Then any thou canst coniure vp to day, And that ile write vpon thy Burgonet Might I but know thee by thy houshold badge. wa rwi c k : Now by my fathers age, old Neuils crest The Rampant Beare chain’d to the ragged staffe, This day ile weare aloft my burgonet, As on a Mountaine top the Caedar showes That keepes his leaues inspight of any storme, Euen to affright thee with the view therof. cli f f : And from thy burgonet will I rend the beare, And tread him vnderfoote with all contempt Despite the Beare-ward that protects him so. (Contention 2071–2083)

This dialogue is virtually identical in 2 Henry VI (3200–3208; 5.1.198–211). In The Contention, the nobles go to war and Warwick calls Old Clifford from his castle. Old Clifford responds: “Warwicke stand still, and view the way that Clifford hewes with his murthering Curtelaxe, through the fainting troopes to finde thee out” (Contention 2105–2116). Warwick reports to York that Old Clifford has slaine five horses under him that day (Contention 2105– 2111). In 2 Henry VI, Warwick states that only one horse has been killed. Old Clifford arrives to do battle, and York offers to stand in Warwick’s stead. Sen Gupta calls Clifford “militant and murderous” but, if he is, he is no more or less so than Warwick or York.50 Also, and once again, these are

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modern sensibilities; an Elizabethan audience would not necessarily find a man who is fighting for his king to be “murderous.” The contest between York and Old Clifford is significantly changed between The Contention and 2 Henry VI. In The Contention, Old Clifford and York hurl their anger at each other before they begin to fight: york e :

c li f f :

Now Clifford, since we are singled here alone, Be this the day of doome to one of vs, For now my heart hath sworne immortall hate To thee and all the house of Lancaster. And here I stand, and pitch my foot to thine, Vowing neuer to stir, till thou or I be slaine. For neuer shall my heart be safe at rest, Till I haue spoyld the hatefull house of Yorke. (Contention 2133–2140)

In 2 Henry VI this scene becomes, as many critics have pointed out, the last vestige of chivalry in the trilogy.51 The duel is stylistic and courtly, with the adversaries – the king’s champion against the king’s enemy – honoring each other: c li f f : york e : c li f f : york e : c li f f : york e : c li f f :

What seest thou in me Yorke? Why dost thou pause? With thy braue bearing should I be in loue, But that thou art so fast mine enemie. Nor should thy prowese want praise and esteeme, But that ’tis shewne ignobly, and in Treason. So let it helpe me now against thy sword, As I in iustice, and true right exprese it. My soule and bodie on the action both. A dreadfull lay, address thee instantly. La fin Corrone les eumenes. (2 Henry VI 3237–3249; 5.2.19–28)

Clifford’s descendant, the Earl of Cumberland, would likely have been pleased at his ancestor’s portrayal in the play, particularly since that portrayal appears nowhere else. In both The Contention and 2 Henry VI, his ancestor is seen as brave, clever, chivalric, a friend to the people, and a champion of his sovereign. At Old Clifford’s death begins a scene which is also not in the chronicles, and which is remarkable for its addition. This is the scene in which Young Clifford discovers his father’s body. In Hall, Old Clifford is simply listed among those nobles killed at St. Alban’s:


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For there died vnder the signe of the Castle, Edmond Somerset, . . . and beside hym, lay Henry the second erle of Northumberland, Humfrey, erle of Stafford, sonne to the duke of Buckingham, John lorde Clifford [sic]. (Union 233)

Holinshed repeats the casualty list in his Chronicles, although he correctly names Clifford as Thomas (iii, 643). There is no mention of Clifford standing alone for the king before York; there is no mention of his fighting words to Warwick; there is no mention of his chivalric duel with York. There is also no mention of who discovers Old Clifford’s body. In The Contention, the body is discovered by Young Clifford. When he sees his father’s corpse, John Clifford mourns with great anguish and eloquence.52 Significantly, he also invokes the Cumberland title, which did not come into use until 1525: Father of Comberland, Where may I seeke my aged father forth? O dismall sight, see where he breathlesse lies, All smeared and weltered in his luke warme blood, Ah, aged pillar of all Comberlands true house Sweet father, to thy murthered ghoast I sweare, Immortall hate vnto the house of Yorke, Nor neuer shall I sleep secure one night, Till I haue furiously reuenged thy death, And left not one of them to breath on earth. (Contention 2146–2156).

This mistake is an understandable one – in 1590, Shakespeare would have known the Cliffords first and foremost as the Cumberlands. In 2 Henry VI, Shakespeare rectifies the error and removes the Cumberland apostrophe. He also makes Young Clifford more emotional. In this version, Young Clifford does not describe his father’s body, and he is more specific (and prophetic) in his promise of revenge: Yorke not our old men spares No more will I their Babes, Teares Virginall Shall be to me euen as the Dew to Fire And Beautie that the Tyrant oft reclaims, Shall to my flaming wrath, be Oyle and Flax. (2 Henry VI 3271–3272; 5.2.51–55).

Young Clifford begins this scene in 2 Henry VI with a speech which, as F. W. Brownlow notes, is one of the most remarkable in Shakespeare. The speech demonstrates the horrors of war, and the heroic self-sacrifice of a soldier for what he perceives as justice:

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Shakespeare and the Nobility Shame and Confusion all is on the rout Feare frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O Warre, thou sonne of hell Whom angry heauens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosomes of our part Hot Coales of Vengeance. Let no Souldier flye. He that is truly dedicate to Warre, Hath no selfe-loue: nor he that loues himselfe, Hath not essentially, but by circumstance The name of Valour. (2 Henry VI 3251–3260; 5.2.31–39)

As Brownlow argues, Clifford, unlike Henry V, does not engage in oratory, but tells plainly and in spare terms the conditions under which a man might die well.53 It is not difficult to imagine how inspiring this speech might be to the Earl of Cumberland, hero of the Armada, who throughout his lifetime begged the queen for more commissions to fight. In both versions, Young Clifford carries his father on his back, evoking the Trojan hero; in The Contention, he puts down his father’s corpse to fight Richard Plantagenet, and causes Richard to flee: Out crooktbacke villaine, get thee from my sight, But I will after thee, and once againe When I haue borne my father to his Tent, Ile trie my fortune better with thee yet. (Contention 2163–69)

In The Contention, Clifford is more pathetic; in 2 Henry VI he is more vengeful. However, what Shakespeare does in both versions is provide a motivation for Young Clifford’s actions thereafter. The chronicles say only that Clifford used his father’s death as an excuse for killing Rutland. These scenes, at the end of The Contention and 2 Henry VI, show us the reality and profundity of his loss. Harry Keyishan describes Young Clifford as an “automaton of revenge.”54 But he is just the opposite. Automatons have no emotions, yet Young Clifford is all emotion. His grief is excruciating, perhaps even obsessive. In fact, especially in 2 Henry VI, it could be seen as a mental breakdown. By providing a motivation and an emotional framework for Young Clifford, Shakespeare prevents him from being labeled a stage villain or unnatural monster. There may be another reason for the addition of this scene. In 1591, approximately the time that Shakespeare was writing The Contention, George, Earl of Cumberland lost his six-year-old son and heir Robert. This scene, which speaks of the devotion of fathers and sons, could have


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been a tribute to the Cliffords’ family loss. Young Clifford, in the remaining plays of the trilogy, becomes something of a spokesman for the naturalness of family allegiance, particularly the bond between father and son. He speaks of it not only in regard to his own father but also in regard to the relationship of King Henry VI and his son Edward. Throughout The True Tragedie and 3 Henry VI, Young Clifford’s obsessive devotion to his father is constantly mentioned, so that his motivation is never far from our thoughts. In the first scenes of both versions, he has taken his father’s place as the king’s champion, angrily calling for the downfall of the Yorks. He threatens to avenge his father with Warwick (The True Tragedie 106–108; 3 Henry VI 110–112; 1.1.98–100). When Henry falters, he gives the following oath: King Henry, be thy Title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vowes to fight in thy defence. Maie that ground gape, and swallow me aliue, Where I shall kneele to him that slew my Father. (The True Tragedie 169–172; 3 Henry VI 177–180; 1.1.158–156)

However, family loyalties are clearly the first priority for Young Clifford. When Henry disinherits his son for York, Clifford is appalled and joins with the other Lancastrians in wishing the king ill for this breach of family bond (The True Tragedie 187–196; 3 Henry VI 198–205; 1.1.176–210). As Edward Berry states, family loyalties become the emblematic core and thematic center of this opening scene,55 and, it might be said, of the entire play. Berry claims also that in this scene Clifford’s grief reaches maniacal proportions.56 However, it should be noted that Clifford’s love for his dead father is not seen by the other characters as aberrant; instead, it is Henry’s disinheritance of his son, even for the promotion of peace, that is seen as deviant. Later, in a speech to the king, Clifford reiterates that the bond of parent and child is the most important virtue, even greater than the bonds of life itself: Vnreasonable Cretures feed their yong, And though mans face be fearfull to their eies, Yet in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seene them euen with those same wings Which sometime they haue us’d with fearfull flight, Make warre with him that climes vnto their nest, Offering their owne liues in their youngs defence? (The True Tragedie 752–758; 3 Henry VI 897–903; 2.2.26–32)

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Modern critics like to privilege Henry’s leniency over Clifford’s singlemindedness. David Frey claims that Clifford’s analogies are misleading, for the question is not the protection of one’s young, but “one which arises from two totally different conceptions of the universe.”57 However, an Elizabethan audience, like the characters on the stage, may not have shared Henry’s view of the universe, in which a questionable claim to the throne leads to the denial of a son’s birthright. Our next meeting with Young Clifford is at his most infamous point – the murder of the young Earl of Rutland. Shakespeare does not flinch from the portrayal the chronicles offer. Clifford is cruel and deaf to the pleas of the child earl. The scenes are very similar in both versions, but in 3 Henry VI Rutland is even more pathetic and supplicant, calling Clifford “gentle” and “sweet.” However, in both versions, Shakespeare is careful also to include Clifford’s motivation, and a note of pity, in the scene: In vaine thou speak’st, poore Boy: My fathers blood hath stopt the passage Where thy words should enter. (The True Tragedie 338–340; 3 Henry VI 421–422; 1.3.22–24)

Rutland, rather perversely, suggests that Clifford should kill his father instead, indicating filial loyalty is not quite so intense on the York side. Clifford responds that his “soul is in torment” and that he lives “in hell” (The True Tragedie 349–351; 3 Henry VI 432–434; 1.3.32–33). As H. M. Richmond points out, this statement, as well as his stifled pity for the “poore Boy,” indicates the force of self-judgment.58 Shakespeare underlines, once again, Clifford’s obsessive motivation when he stabs Rutland: “thy father slew my Father, therefore dye” (The True Tragedie 365; 3 Henry VI 449; 1.3.46). Andrew Cairncross notes that Shakespeare is elaborating a revenge motif,59 but this is more than a simple revenge plot. In providing these moments of self-loathing, pity, and consuming devotion, Shakespeare takes the purely brutal portrayal presented in Hall and provides the audience with an opportunity, if not for sympathy, then perhaps for understanding. In York’s death scene, Shakespeare does manipulate his sources. In Hall, Clifford finds the dead body of York, beheads it, and sets the head on a pole to send to the queen. In Holinshed, Clifford captures York, and then, as in the Buffeting of Christ, tortures him before he beheads him. As critics have pointed out, in Shakespeare it is the queen who takes the initiative with York.60 Clifford wishes to kill him right away (The True Tragedie 410–411;


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3 Henry VI 508–509; 1.4.49–50), but Margaret and Northumberland insist on prolonging his life with torture (The True Tragedie 412–421; 3 Henry VI 510–519; 1.4.51–60). Margaret is clearly the instigator and villain of the scene. As Naomi Liebler describes, Clifford stands aside and watches while Margaret humiliates York, dips his face in a cloth bloodied with Rutland’s blood, and crowns him with a paper crown.61 After she “crowns” York, Clifford is once again eager to kill him, “for my fathers sake” (The True Tragedie 468; 3 Henry VI 571; 1.4.109), but the queen stops him once more so that York can speak. When Clifford is finally able to deliver the death blow, he invokes his father a second time: “Heere’s for my Oath, heere’s for my Fathers death” (The True Tragedie 537; 3 Henry VI 641; 1.4.175). This is a grisly scene for 21st-century audiences, but when one recalls that the Privy Council had a young boy disfigured, whipped, fined, and forced publicly to wear a paper hat listing his crimes merely for slandering the Earl of Cumberland, then York’s punishment, for betraying his king and killing Clifford’s father, does not seem nearly so shocking or so unjust. We should also here consider the penchant for violence among the Elizabethan aristocracy. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, tempers were short, weapons were ready, and the behavior of the propertied classes, like that of the lower, was characterized by ferocity, childishness, and lack of selfcontrol.62 The educational and social systems of the age inculcated ideals of honor and generosity, not tolerance and compassion. Impulsiveness was not reproved, at least not by the authorities, and readiness to repay an injury, real or imagined, was a sign of spirit. Loyalty to a friend, and certainly to a family member, was a moral duty. The catalog of recorded feuds, duels, vicious pranks, and outright assaults between members of the nobility is lengthy. Ambrose Willoughby pulled out some of the Earl of Southampton’s hair after a game of cards. Thomas Hutchinson bit off part of Sir Germaine Poole’s nose and carried it away in his pocket. In 1593, a group of Talbot and Cavendish men attacked John Stanhope, accompanied by his four retainers. One of those retainers, an elderly man, was struck down and was hacked with swords while he lay on the street. In 1573, Arthur Lord Grey of Wilton and twelve followers attacked John Fortescue from behind, beating him with crossbows. Grey continued to beat Fortescue after he was down until the latter was rescued by his servants. In 1578 Edward Windham was attacked by twenty-five retainers of Robert, Lord Rich, who encouraged his retainers with cries of “cut off his legs” and “kill him” until Windham could flee into the French

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ambassador’s house. Thomas, Lord Burgh tried to murder a man in his bed, and Ralph, Lord Eure hired two servants to murder the Recorder of Berwick – when that was unsuccessful, he hired an expert to try to poison him.63 There was no sense of fair play and no discredit to the organizer if he attacked from the rear or outnumbered his opponent. There was also no official attempt to stop or even confine this behavior. We should remember that it was Philip Sidney, that epitome of good grace and integrity, who warned his father’s secretary that if he read his letters to his father again he would thrust his dagger into him. A gentleman carried his weapon at all times, and was expected to use it if his honor was impugned or his temper was aroused. Considering this situation, Clifford may have been behaving exactly how he was supposed to behave with York. If sympathy for Clifford has so far been suppressed, his death scene does much to return the pity he evoked at the end of The Contention. Hall, Holinshed, and Baldwin all report that Clifford was struck in the neck by a headless arrow. Shakespeare ignores the analogy and does not make the arrow headless (in 3 Henry VI, he does not even point out that it is an arrow). Instead, he gives Clifford a death speech which is filled with repentance and truth. He begins by admitting the weaknesses of Henry: Ah Lancaster, I feare thine ouerthrow, More than my Bodies parting with my Soule! My Loue and Feare, glude many Friends to thee, And now I die, Thy tough Commixture melts, Impairing Henry strengthened misproud York. ..................................... And Henry, hadst thou sway’d as Kings should do Or as thy Father and his father did, Giuing no ground vnto the house of Yorke, They neuer then had sprung like Sommer Flyes. (The True Tragedie 1057–1070; 3 Henry VI 1283–1296; 2.6.3–17)

Clifford is the ultimate loyalist, dying on behalf of his king. However, in his last breath, he becomes both insightful and prophetic. Shakespeare allows Clifford to speak on the dangers of a weak king, which is the thematic message of the trilogy.64 As H. M. Richmond points out, Clifford’s “comments on Henry carry complete authority. His dying pronouncement on Henry’s failure as a king has choric status.”65 Clifford also recognizes his own value to the king. He has been the king’s champion as his father was; now, with both lost, Henry’s rule is doomed. Shakespeare ends the speech on a note of repentance, and recognition of his actions:


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The foe is mercilesse and will not pittie me. And at their hands I haue deserued no pitty. The ayre hath got into my deadly Wounds, And much effuse of blood, doth make me faint: Come Yorke, and Richard, Warwicke, and the rest. I stabde your Fathers; Split my breast. (The True Tragedie 1078–1083; 3 Henry VI 1304–1309; 2.6.25–30)

Although Clifford does not express sorrow at his deeds, he does recognize that he deserves no pity and that justice demands his death. This is a remarkable change from the remorseless monster that is portrayed in the chronicles. After his death, Clifford’s body is mocked by Richard, Edward, and Warwick. This may seem just retribution after his mocking of York, but desecrating a dead body would have been considered blasphemous, particularly since the mockery is a parody of the liturgy:66 rich : edw : war : cl ar :

Clifford, aske mercy, and obtain no grace. Clifford, repent in bootlesse penitence. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. While we deuise fell Tortures for thy faults. (The True Tragedie 1121–1124; 3 Henry VI 1352–1355; 2.6.69–71)

As Naomi Liebler points out, defiling a corpse, to our modern sensibilities, does not seem as cruel as killing a child. However, to an audience with the religious sensibilities of the sixteenth century, such a desecration would be an offense to God.67 Because of this, as some critics have noted, Clifford acquires a pathos and a dignity in death that he may have lost in life.68 It should also be noted that the Yorks always seem to “trump” the Lancastrians in cruelty. Clifford and Margaret mock York before they kill him in a parody of the Torment of Christ; the Yorkists desecrate Clifford’s corpse in a parody of the liturgy. Clifford kills young Rutland, and the Yorks gang up on, mock, and kill young Prince Edward in front of his own mother. Since neither of these scenes of Yorkist brutality is in the chronicles (Edward is killed, but not in front of his mother), we could argue that Shakespeare inserted them to put Clifford in a comparatively sympathetic light. Shakespeare deliberately enhances the name of Clifford by including in his plays the heroic figure of Old Clifford and by adding motive and emotional grounds for the savagery of Young Clifford. By framing the murder of Rutland with touching and emotional scenes of Young Clifford – he enters and exits the play in sympathetic moments – Shakespeare

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has greatly altered the villainous portrayal of Clifford in the chronicles. If the murder of Rutland were removed, and it is only one incident among many, the character of Young Clifford would be admirable, particularly from an Elizabethan point of view. He is a figure of military excellence – ferocious to his enemies and loyal to his king, a king whom he recognizes as flawed but whom he supports with his life nevertheless. This is a portrayal that would have been flattering to George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, who was ferocious to his enemies (or at least his pirating victims), excruciatingly loyal to his queen, and desperate to be a figure of military excellence. NOTES 1. A. C. Hamilton, The Early Shakespeare (San Marino: Huntington Library Press, 1967), 42–44. See also J. P. Brockbank, “Frame of Disorder – Henry VI,” Early Shakespeare, ed. John Russell Brown and Bernard Harris (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1961), 95, and Edna Zwick Boris, Shakespeare’s English Kings, the People, and the Law (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1978), 31, 75–76, 82. 2. David Riggs, Shakespeare’s Heroical Histories: “Henry VI” and Its Literary Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), 98. 3. James Winny, The Player King: A Theme of Shakespeare’s Histories (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1968), 33. 4. See Donald G. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early History Plays: Politics at Play on the Elizabethan Stage (London: Macmillan, 1990), 89 and Clayton G. Mackenzie, “Myth and Anti-Myth in the First Tetralogy,” Orbis Litterarum 42 (1987), 1–26, 12. 5. See Winny, Player King, 41; Larry S. Champion, “The Noise of Threatening Drums”: Dramatic Strategy and Political Ideology in Shakespeare and the English Chronicle Plays (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1990), 85. 6. See Emrys Jones, The Origins of Shakespeare (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977); Nicole Rowan, “Shakespeare’s Henry VI Trilogy: A Reconsideration,” Elizabethan and Modern Studies, ed. J. P. Vander Motten (Gent: Seminarie voor Engelse en Amerikaanse Literatuur, 1985), 54–55; and John D. Cox, “3 Henry VI: Dramatic Convention and the Shakespearean History Play,” Comparative Drama (1978), 42–60, 46–47. 7. For a detailed discussion of Shakespeare’s use of this symbolism, see John D. Cox, Shakespeare and the Dramaturgy of Power (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), 93–96. 8. Clifford Letters of the Sixteenth Century, ed. A. G. Dickens (London: Surtess Society, 1962), 128. 9. Ibid., 133. This comes directly from Hall, who says that Clifford’s “yong sonne, Thomas Clifford [sic], was brought up by a shepperd in poore habit. . . ever in feure to publish his lignage or degree” (Hall,Union, 253). 10. Clifford Letters, ed. Dickens, 129.


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11. Ibid., 21–22. 12. Ibid., 140. 13. Henry Clifford was ennobled at the same time that Henry VIII’s illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, was created Duke of Richmond, which is also an indication of the king’s affection for the Cliffords. 14. R. W. Hoyle, “The First Earl of Cumberland: A Reputation Reassessed,” Northern History (1986), 63–94. 15. See chapter on the Stanleys. 16. Richard T. Spence, The Privateering Earl (Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1995), 9. 17. There is one possible explanation. The first earl, though a true friend to his monarch, was something of tyrant with his own tenants, so much so that the Duke of Norfolk commented that he would have to change his ways. His severity and greediness apparently earned him the enmity of the commons (Hoyle, “The First Earl of Cumberland,” 75). The feelings of the commons do not seem to have affected Hall’s other renditions of the past, however. 18. Spence, Privateering Earl, 11. 19. Henry Clifford’s second wife was Anne Dacre. Norfolk married Elizabeth Dacre, the widow of Anne’s brother, and took guardianship of Elizabeth’s children. 20. Spence, Privateering Earl, 18. 21. G. E. Cokayne, The Complete Peerage of England, Scotland, Great Britain and the United Kingdom, vol. iii, ed. Vicary Gibbs (London: St. Catherine’s Press, 1926), 567. The first six volumes of this set have this title; the second six have the title previously cited. However, the volumes are sequential: therefore, any citation to Cokayne will be to the entire set and will be designated by volume number. 22. The arrangement of Margaret’s marriage was actually an attempt to ally with the Northumberlands. The failure of the Northumberland/Grey regime ended those negotiations, and Cumberland married his daughter off to the Stanleys (R. W. Hoyle, Letters of the Cliffords, Lords Clifford and Earls of Cumberland, c. 1500–1565, Camden Miscellany XXXI, Camden Fourth Series 44 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1992), 20–21). 23. Which Holinshed does not change in his 1587 edition. 24. The Spanish considered him a “neutral” religiously, but because his wife was such a “great Calvinist,” Cumberland was among those that the King of Spain “should not trust” (Public Record Office, “Names of the Heretics, Schismatics, and Neutrals in the Realm of England,” 1587, Calendar of State Papers, Foreign Series, Spain, Elizabeth [I] (1587–1603) (London: 1833; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1971), 190). 25. Spence, Privateering Earl, 53. 26. G. B. Harrison, The Elizabethan Journals: Being a Record of Those Things Most Talked of During the Years 1591–1603, vol. i (London: Routledge, 1938), and Spence, Privateering Earl, 55. 27. Cumberland was the first English noble chosen to attend the baptism of James’ firstborn son (Harrison, Elizabethan Journals, vol. ii, 257).

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28. Richard Hakluyt, The Principal Navigations Voyages Traffiques & Discoveries of the English Nation, vol. vii (Glasgow: Maclehose, 1903), 420. 29. He eventually dissipated his entire fortune. 30. Spence, Privateering Earl, 64–85. 31. After the Armada, Cumberland was to the Spanish what Sir William Stanley was to the English – a threat that seemed to be everywhere at once: see for example, Public Record Office, “Letter from London,” September 24, 1588; “Advice from London,” October 24, 1588; “Advice from London,” March 1589; “Bernardino de Mendoza to the King,” June 6, 1589; “Advice from Rouen,” December 20, 1589; “Don Pedro De Valdes to the King,” March 29, 1593; and “Statement, Made by a Spy of the Adelantado of Castile,” November 22, 1601, Calendar of State Papers, Foreign Series, Spain, Elizabeth [I] (1587– 1603) (London: 1833; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1971), 437, 450, 462, 487, 516, 546, 570, 613, 709. Each of these letters reports Cumberland’s simultaneous location in a different area of the world. 32. Public Record Office, “Francesco Soranzo to the Doge and Senate and Francesco Contarini to the Doge and Senate,” 1598, Calendar of State Papers Relating to English Affairs, Existing in the Archives and Collections of Venice 1592–1603 (London: 1833), 141, 150. 33. Public Record Office, “Giles Van Harwick to Peter Arston,” April 21, 1598, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1598–1601) (London: 1869; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967). 34. Attaining the honor over the favorite, the Earl of Essex. 35. Quoted in G. C. Williamson, George, Third Earl of Cumberland: His Life and His Voyages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1920), 108–109. 36. For a thorough analysis of the Arthurian components of Cumberland’s pageants, see Alan R. Young, “Tudor Arthurianism and the Earl of Cumberland’s Tournament Pageants,” Dalhousie Review 67(1988), 176–188. 37. Spence, Privateering Earl, 100–103. 38. He had received an MA from Cambridge. 39. Spence, Privateering Earl, 107. This dispute is also recorded in: Public Record Office, Correspondence, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 303–328. 40. See Public Record Office, “H. Saint Main to Fitzherbert,” Jan. 18, 1593, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 309, and Public Record Office, “Note of Commodities” brought into the port of London in May by a prize of the Earl of Cumberland and Sir Thomas Jarrett, June 2, 1597, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1869; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 85. These letters are examples of the delight the English took in the plunders of Cumberland. They also felt that he was a protector against the Spanish (Public Record Office, “Memorial to Burghley,” Jan. 20, 1597, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1869; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 16.


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41. Cecil greatly admired him. In 1597 he wrote to Essex that Cumberland’s “spirit, which loves action, is to be much cherished” (Public Record Office, “Sec. Cecil to the Earl of Essex,” July 19, 1597, Cal. S. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth (1595–1597) (London: 1869; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 37). 42. Harrison, Elizabethan Journals, vol. ii, 199. 43. Much to the chagrin of his daughter Anne, who spent her life trying to regain her inheritance through litigation. 44. Harrison, Elizabethan Journals, vol. ii, 96. 45. Spence, Privateering Earl, 179. 46. This is detailed in the chapter on the Stanleys. 47. Margaret and Henry Stanley’s marriage ended in 1567 – but not before the birth of two sons and heirs. 48. Donald G. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early History Plays: Politics at Play on the Elizabethan Stage (London: Macmillan, 1990), 76. 49. J. P. Brockbank, “Frame of Disorder – Henry VI,” Early Shakespeare, ed. John Russell Brown and Bernard Harris (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1961), 73–99, 89. 50. Sen Gupta, Shakespeare’s Historical Plays (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964), 78. 51. See E. M. W. Tillyard, Shakespeare’s History Plays (New York: Macmillan, 1946), 188; Riggs, Shakespeare’s Heroical Histories, 128; and F. W. Brownlow, Two Shakespearean Sequences (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977), 41. 52. Nicholas Greene argues that Clifford’s emotion comes from the fact that his father is so old, and that Shakespeare increases Old Clifford’s age to accentuate this (Nicholas Greene, Shakespeare’s Serial History Plays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 86–87). I do not see strong evidence that Old Clifford is terribly aged in the play – the appellation “old” is simply a way of differentiating him from the son, since they had no titles, like Salisbury and Warwick, to differentiate them. I also question whether Clifford would really be less emotional if his father were younger when he was killed. 53. F. W. Brownlow, Two Shakespearean Sequences (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977), 42–43. 54. Harry Keyishan, “The Progress of Revenge in the First Henriad,” “Henry VI:” Critical Essays, ed. Thomas A. Pendleton (New York: Routledge, 2001), 72. 55. Edward I. Berry, Patterns of Decay: Shakespeare’s Early Histories (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1975), 57. 56. Berry, Patterns, 59. 57. David Frey, The First Tetralogy: Shakespeare’s Scrutiny of the Tudor Myth (The Hague: Mouton, 1976), 55–56. See also Ronald S. Berman, “Father and Sons in the Henry VI Plays,” Shakespeare Quarterly 13 (1962), 487–497, 495. 58. H. M. Richmond, Shakespeare’s Political Plays (New York: Random House, 1967), 64. Berry also sees this as a “startling jolt of sympathy” (Patterns, 60).

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59. Andrew Cairncross, “Shakespeare and the History Play,” Explorations in Renaissance Culture 1 (1944), 65–78, 73. 60. See Tillyard, History Plays, 192–193 and Naomi Conn Liebler, “King of the Hill: Ritual and Play in Shaping 3 Henry VI,” Shakespeare’s English Histories: A Quest for Form and Genre (Binghamton, NY: MRTS, 1996), 31–55, 40. 61. Liebler, “King of the Hill,” 40–42. 62. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 223. 63. These and many other instances are described in Stone, ibid., 224–234. 64. Irving Ribner, The English History Play in the Age of Shakespeare (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957), 115. 65. Richmond, Political Plays, 65. 66. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early Plays, 93. 67. See ibid., 93, and Liebler, “King of the Hill,” 49 for discussions of this ritual. 68. See Jones, Origins, 188, and Larry S. Champion, Perspective in Shakespeare’s English Histories (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1980), 49.

chap t e r 6

The Stanleys (Earls of Derby)

Thomas, Lord Stanley is a relatively minor character in the First Tetralogy. He is yoked wordlessly together with William Hastings in the Henry VI plays, but he ultimately finds his consequence and voice in Richard III. Despite his relegation to a dramatically minor role, the historical Stanley was a critical figure in the establishment of the Tudor regime. His descendants, who held the Earldom of Derby, were among the most powerful, celebrated, and durable families of the sixteenth century. In essence, they ruled the northwest of England and were in such secure positions that not even tremendous debt, damaging gossip, and a proximity to treason could undo them. Throughout the Elizabethan reign, the earldom was held by Henry Stanley. The fourth Earl of Derby was a man dogged by scandal. He suffered marital and financial woes, and because of his family’s Catholic sympathies and associations he was constantly rumored to be a traitor. He was not at all helped by the fact that his wife, who consulted with clairvoyants, was a presumptive heir to the throne, and that his cousin, who consorted with the Spanish, was a known traitor. These scandals defined Stanley to many in the later sixteenth century, except for the few who enjoyed the literary and performing arts. Henry Stanley was renowned for continuing and enriching a dynasty of artistic patronage that was unsurpassed until the advent of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. The Stanleys had been patrons of players, musicians, poets, and tumblers since the days of the medieval Passion Plays. By the 1580s, they had established themselves as the most generous of all noble patrons. Some scholars believe that Ferdinando, Lord Strange, Derby’s son and heir, was Shakespeare’s patron in the late 1580s. Although this point is debatable, there is evidence that Strange’s Men merged into the Lord Chamberlain’s Men at the time that Richard III was written. The theatrical and literary communities, as might be expected, adored the Stanleys. Whether or not Shakespeare was a member of a Derby playing troupe, he would most certainly, as a member of the theatrical community, be aware of the family and sensitive to the portrayal of their ancestor in 177

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his history plays. From his treatment of Thomas, Lord Stanley, we can ascertain the extent of Shakespeare’s acquaintance with and devotion to the Stanley family. Again, this can best be seen by comparing Shakespeare’s portrayals to those of his predecessors. Although Shakespeare did not have to stray too far from the chronicles to maintain the reputation of Thomas, he changed things enough to make his feelings known. Historically, Thomas, second Lord Stanley and first Earl of Derby, was a political realist who flatly refused to commit himself to a cause for its own sake.1 This earned him a somewhat ignoble reputation, but it also allowed him to survive violent changes in regimes and emerge as one of the greatest landowners in England. Stanley was able to exploit the political instability of the fifteenth century and remain unscathed, distrusted and yet relied upon by four successive kings. Lord Stanley came by his politic disposition naturally. His father, the first Lord Stanley, faithfully served and supported Henry VI until he realized that a Yorkist victory was plausible; he then he became a Yorkist and joined York’s protectorate council. At the recovery of Henry VI, Stanley reemerged as a Lancastrian. When the Yorks regained power, Stanley resumed his Yorkist leanings, serving in Edward IV’s Parliament and becoming a chamberlain of the royal household. Thomas, the second Lord Stanley, was a bit more of a gambler. He too began as a Lancastrian, but when he saw that that the tide had turned he flatly refused the king’s summons to combat the Yorkist forces at Blore Heath. He dispatched a letter of congratulations to the Earl of Salisbury, and sent his younger brother William to fight on the Yorkist side. After the victory at Towton, the Yorks rewarded Thomas Stanley by allowing him to inherit his father’s estates in Lancashire and Cheshire. Stanley’s properties were vast, and he soon found himself in competition with Richard, Duke of Gloucester as an empire builder in the north. Ten years later, when Warwick rebelled against the Yorks in an attempt to reestablish Henry VI, Stanley nominally supported Warwick but did not commit himself militarily.2 He adopted the “wait and see” attitude for which he was later to become famous. He married a sister of Warwick, and Warwick naturally expected the support of his brother-in-law. But Stanley refused to commit fully to either side. When the York regime was established, Stanley was again rewarded for his neutrality with estates in Hertfordshire, Cambridgeshire, Suffolk, Kent, and Holborn.3 He became steward of Edward IV’s household and continued accumulating lands and wealth. Stanley got on quite well with the new king. They recognized each other’s worth. Richard III also saw the value of an association with Stanley. After Edward IV’s death, Stanley became a member of the council committee that formed


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to protect Edward V. On that disputable date of June 1483, Richard arrested the committee and Rivers and Hastings were summarily executed. Stanley, however, was only imprisoned for two weeks.4 It is said by the chronicles that Richard feared an uprising in the northwest if Stanley was executed; it is more likely that Richard recognized the advantage of an alliance with a man who controlled nearly half of England. When Richard was crowned, Stanley was made Constable of England and a Knight Companion of the Garter, and was awarded the estates of his fellow “rebels” Hastings and Rivers.5 Stanley was now married to Margaret Beaufort, the Countess of Richmond and mother of Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. This marriage added immensely to his national prestige and power. In spite of the fact that Stanley’s stepson had ambitions to the throne, Richard continued to reward Stanley, his brother Sir William Stanley, and his son George Stanley, Lord Strange, with abundant honors and lands. Richard’s trust was not entirely misplaced; Stanley was a mainstay of the Richardian court and provided Richard with military support during the failed Buckingham rebellion. This may have been less a case of loyalty than of good sense, however; anyone with any military or political savvy would quickly have ascertained that Buckingham’s rebellion was doomed. Stanley’s infamous betrayal of Richard was not as clear-cut as is generally believed. The true traitor was his brother Sir William Stanley, who actively conspired with the Earl of Richmond and his mother, the Countess of Richmond, to take the throne from Richard. Under interrogation, young George Stanley revealed to Richard that his uncle was in secret correspondence with the earl. Richard declared Sir William a traitor and placed George under house arrest to insure his father’s good behavior. At this point Thomas Stanley began negotiations with Richmond, but once again never committed himself fully. He refused to join Richmond’s forces on the battlefield of Bosworth. The chronicles tell us this was entirely a matter of paternal concern for the well-being of his son but it is more likely he was continuing to follow the Stanley tradition of withholding commitment until the winning side was revealed.6 His vacillation kept him prospering nonetheless. When Richard’s defeat appeared inevitable, Stanley materialized at Richmond’s side and took the opportunity to place the crown, last worn by the late King Richard, on his stepson’s head. Again, the Stanleys reaped the benefits of political opportunism. On October 27, 1485, Stanley was created Earl of Derby, a title previously held by Henry IV. He became Chamberlain of the royal household of Henry VII and Chamberlain of the Exchequer. Two years later, Henry confirmed Richard III’s grants to Sir William Stanley and gave him further estates in Cheshire and the Welsh

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Marches. Despite the establishment of the Tudors, the Stanleys remained flexible in their support. Sir William Stanley switched loyalties once again and provided some marginal aid to Perkin Warbeck; for this he was executed and his lands confiscated in 1495.7 Some of the forfeited estates were granted to Derby’s son, Edward Stanley, Baron Mounteagle, so the loss for the house of Stanley was minimal. Derby was apparently unperturbed by the fall of his brother.8 He maintained his power, and his territorial empire in the north, until his death in 1504. When relating the story of Richard III, the Tudor chroniclers tend to deemphasize or excuse Thomas Stanley’s equivocation. Robert Fabyan relates only one anecdote about him – his arrest by Richard in the Tower. And so dayly keeping and holdinge the lordes in counsaile, and felinge their mindes [Richard] sodainly upon the xiii day of Iuny being within the tower in the counsaile chamber with diuers lordes with him, as the Duke of Bukingham, the erle of Derby [sic], the Lorde Hastinges, then lorde chamberlain, with diuers others, an outcrye by his assent of treason was made in the outer chamber. (New Chronicles 514)

Stanley, whom Fabyan mistakenly calls the Earl of Derby, is later released from custody due to Richard’s fear of “his sonne ye lord Strange lest he should have arered Chesshire and Lancastershire against hym” (514). Stanley’s relationship with and aid to the Earl of Richmond are not mentioned. In fact, after his release from prison, Stanley is dropped from Fabyan’s narrative. In Polydore Vergil, Lord Stanley is again consigned to a supporting role, and very little of his legendary prevarication remains intact. He is among those present at the arrest of Hastings; he is thrown into prison but later delivered “safe and sownd” (History 181–183). Like Fabyan, Polydore surmises that Stanley’s deliverance was due to Richard’s fear “perchance lest yf he shwld have done him any wrong, George Lord Strange his soon showld have stirred upp the people to armes soomwher against him” (183). Stanley is not fashioned as a rebel. It is Stanley’s wife, Margaret Beaufort, who takes the dominant role in the rebellion against Richard. She, Bishop Ely, and the Duke of Buckingham enter into a secret correspondence to bring the crown to Richmond. Margaret, Polydore tells us, is a “wyse” woman, who almost single-handedly orchestrates her son’s ascent to the throne. When she hears that the two young heirs have been eliminated, she sees a golden opportunity arising: [she] began to hope well of hir soone’s fortune, supposing that the dede wold without dowt prove for the profyt of the commonwealth, yf yt might chaunce the bloode of king Henry the Sixth and of King Edward to be intermenglyed by


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affynytie, and so two most pernicious factions should be at once, by conjoynyng of both the howses, utterly taken away. (195)

This is the same suggestion that Buckingham earlier made to Ely, but, according to Polydore, Margaret arrives at the idea independently. The countess takes immediate action and enters into negotiation with Queen Elizabeth Grey to procure the marriage of Elizabeth York and Richmond. As the two women conspire, Lord Stanley is relegated to the nameless role of “Margaret’s husband” and does nothing. Once Elizabeth agrees to the marriage, Margaret sends word to her son to gather his troops together. There is no mystery as to why Margaret’s role is emphasized so strongly in Polydore’s account – Polydore wrote his History for her son, after all. Richard believes that Margaret is the “head of the conspiracy” against him, but he, foolishly discounting the “working of a womans wite of smaule accounte,” demands that Stanley place his wife under house arrest (202). The order is either ignored by Stanley or disregarded by Margaret, for there is no cessation of her activities. As the conspiracy grows, Stanley’s marriage to Margaret makes him a prime suspect in Richard’s mind, but Polydore tells us of no direct involvement on Stanley’s part. When Stanley leaves for his country estate, Richard keeps his son George, Lord Strange as a pledge in the court (212). It is for this reason and this reason alone, Polydore tells us several times, that Stanley cannot commit fully to his stepson. While Richmond advances, Stanley tarries at the village of Aderstone: This he dyd to avoid suspition, fearing yf before they showld come to hand strokes he showld overtly shew himselfe to stand and hold with earle Henry, lest that king Richerd, who as yeat did not utterly mistrust his loyalite, might kill his soone, George. (218)

Stanley continues his policy of non-commitment, and Polydore continues to reassure us that his hesitancy is entirely based on parental concern. Richmond seems to understand, because when he sees Stanley and his brother Sir William at Aderstone, he greets them warmly and “all ther mynds wer movyd to great joy” (221). During the battle of Bosworth Field, Stanley finally promises his forces to Richmond, and appears with “one troup of horsemen and a few footmen” whom Polydore dubs the Stanleyans (223). After the battle, Stanley hears the cries of “God save King Henry,” locates Richard’s crown on the field, and plants the crown on his stepson’s head, “as thoughe he had bene already by commandment of the people proclaimed king” (226). Sir Thomas More’s manuscript, ending as it does with Buckingham’s confession, does not allow Stanley the opportunity to show his force or

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faithfulness in Richmond’s rebellion. But More’s Stanley has potential and More seems to prefer him to the more gullible Hastings. Stanley immediately mistrusts the motives of Buckingham and Richard in procuring the custody of the young king and Duke of York: “For while we,” he tells Hastings, “talk of one matter in one place, little wot we whereof they talk in the other place.”9 Hastings ignores Stanley’s wise misgivings and his arrest erupts in a free-for-all in which Stanley, who is also apprehended, barely escapes injury: And another [man] let fly at the lord Stanley, which shrunk at the stroke and fell under the table, or lest his head had been cleft to the teath, for as shortly as he shrank, yet ran the blood about his ears. (Historie of Richard III 49)

More never reports that Stanley was arrested and released. At this point he disappears from the narrative. But before he disappears he is shown to be quick and resourceful and, in light of his attempts to save Hastings, a loyal and brave friend. Thomas Stanley, if not loyal and brave, was certainly quick and resourceful and he emerged triumphant in the first Tudor era. The Stanley empire in the northwest was one of the few remnants of medieval feudalism that Henry VII allowed in his new vision of a centralized monarchy, and since the death of Richard III, the first Earl of Derby became the sole authority over property, politics, and justice in his vast estates. But Earl Thomas could not resist the Stanley predilection for flirting with danger. After crowning his stepson king, the first Earl of Derby seemed to regard him as a competitor rather than a monarch. During the reign of Henry VII, Thomas Stanley and his sons prevented the reading of the king’s proclamation in a Warrington marketplace and forced the royal messenger to read a proclamation from Derby instead.10 Thomas Stanley’s grandson, the second Earl of Derby, was equally bold; he ordered his servants to deliberately break Henry VIII’s commandment against a fair in the town of Whaylley and made his own proclamations regarding the behavior of the citizenry. These activities, quite naturally, irritated the Tudors, particularly Henry VIII, who did not feel the same debt of gratitude or familial loyalty to the Stanleys as his father had. When Thomas, the second Earl of Derby, died in 1521, his son Edward was only eleven and moved into the household of Cardinal Wolsey. During the years of Edward’s minority, most of the Stanley estates passed into the hands of the king; Henry VIII justified the confiscation as payment for a debt the second earl owed the crown. Henry plundered the estates until Edward regained control when he came of age in 1531. It took much longer, however, for Edward to regain the power his family had


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held in the northwest, a territory known for lawlessness and rebellion.11 After another ten years Edward did reassert his authority, but the negative consequences of the king’s actions affected the Stanleys for some time to come. Nevertheless, the Stanley ability to walk the political tightrope remained unscathed and remarkable. In the mid-sixteenth century, the family once again managed to remain in power during the rise and fall of four different regimes. In this case, the differences were doctrinal rather than dynastic. Nonetheless, the Stanleys steered successfully through the religious storms and survived. Edward Stanley, the third Earl of Derby, was a reformed Catholic – i.e. one who supported Henry VIII’s decision to become head of the English Church, but one who would not go so far as to advocate the radical religious reforms instituted by Edward VI. In fact, unlike his ancestors, Edward Stanley momentarily gave up equivocation and took a strong stance against the radical Edwardian Protestantism, stating openly in Edward’s Parliament that the Holy Sacrament should be publicly revered and worshiped.12 Wolsey’s tutelage apparently had made its mark on Earl Edward, although he seemed to have made little effort to prevent Wolsey’s spectacular fall, and in fact sat on the Reformation Commission to approve the Book of Common Prayer.13 Although he was conservative and outspoken on religious matters, Earl Edward was still circumspect politically. He was a supporter of the Duke of Somerset, who as the sole Protector of young Edward VI was king in all but name. Once Somerset fell and was imprisoned on charges of treason, Derby ended up sitting in judgment upon him. One of the charges against the Duke of Somerset was that he used Derby’s son, Henry, Lord Strange, to spy on Edward VI. Although he participated in Somerset’s ruin, the earl’s earlier support placed him in direct opposition to the Duke of Northumberland; he was also in continual battle with Northumberland to preserve Stanley power in the north. As might be supposed from his marital arrangements, Northumberland was an empire builder, and when he was at the height of his power he tried to extend his empire into the traditional Stanley lands. He declared himself the Warden of the East and Middle Marches, and sent a force to the north to remove the Earl of Shrewsbury from the presidency of the north. At one time, he ordered Derby to renounce his title to the Isle of Man in favor of the king. Eventually, Northumberland came to terms with the lords of the north and permitted them their power, and Earl Edward was made Lord Lieutenant of Lancashire. Of course, Derby had the proverbial Stanley last laugh. According to Cokayne, it was an accident that Derby was not among those who signed the document setting aside the succession

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of Mary.14 Considering the history between Derby and Northumberland, and the fact that Derby was one of the Commissioners who sat in judgment of Lady Jane Grey, that does seem doubtful. It was certainly no accident that the conservative Derby flourished in the court of Mary. He played an active role in the persecution of Protestant heresy and brought several noted Protestants, such as George Marsh and John Bradford, before the Privy Council. Although he did object to Mary’s pro-Spanish inclinations, he served as an attendant to King Philip when he married the queen in 1554, and it was Derby who escorted the bride down the aisle. Derby, like all the Stanleys, married well himself. His first wife was Dorothy Howard, daughter of the second Duke of Norfolk. This alliance by chance made him the uncle to two queens of England – Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard – and to the poet Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. When the tide shifted and the Protestant Elizabeth took the throne, the third earl was in a less comfortable position, but nevertheless continued to do well. His relationship to the Norfolks proved touchy in 1569, with the rising of the northern earls, but Derby remained loyal to Elizabeth and helped solidify her reign. He died in 1572, and his funeral was conducted with royal pomp. Edward Hall published his Union the same year that Earl Edward was appointed to the Commission for the Reformation. Hall was faced with the daunting task of continuing More’s narrative of Richard III, and thus had to decide how to deal with the activities of Thomas, Lord Stanley in the Richardian court. As he does with all of the Richard III story, Edward Hall follows Thomas More verbatim in describing Thomas Stanley before Richard’s coronation. At the point where More’s story ends, Hall turns to Polydore for inspiration if not precisely for text. Richard’s suspicions of the Stanleys arise early; as soon as he is crowned, he refuses to let Thomas return to his lands “tyll he herde what his sonne the lorde Strange went about” (Union 376). Margaret, Countess of Beaufort, again takes a principal role in securing the throne for her son. This time she is in the reactive mode, responding to Buckingham’s suggestion of a marriage rather than arriving at the idea independently. The countess is delighted, quite naturally, “both at the good news, and also for the obtaining of such a high friend [as Buckingham] for her sonnes cause” (390). However, her delight and immediacy of action are tempered with the Stanley caution. She may regard Buckingham as a high friend, but she also remembers that “he was one of the first inventors and a secret founder of this enterprise” (391). Rather than send her personal chaplain to Richmond with the proposal, the countess dispatches a third party who carries a “great summe” of money and assurances to her son. Margaret is clearly, in Hall’s version, a co-conspirator


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to the downfall of Richard III. She is as concerned with removing Richard, “reputed by all men for the common enemie of the realme,” as she is with securing the marriage for her son (390).15 She is not only the source of funding for the rebellion; she is also responsible for recruiting various nobles to Richmond’s cause. Stanley himself is a non-entity at this point. When he is mentioned, it is only in association with her. Hall tells us that “nothing [in Richard’s realm] was more merveled at than that the lord Stanley had not been taken and reputed as an enemy to the king consyderinge the workying of the lady Margarete” (393). Stanley is commanded to keep his wife under his custody; Hall adds, which Polydore does not, that this “commaundment was a while put into execution and accomplished.” The “wilde worme of vengeance,” however, still burns in Richard (393). Soon, Stanley becomes the most mistrusted of Richard’s courtiers (408). Like Polydore, Hall focuses on Stanley’s fears as an explanation for his diffidence. Hall tells us that Stanley is secretly preparing to be the first to greet Richmond when he lands on the English shore. Richard, suspecting this, holds George, Lord Strange as a hostage at the court (408). There is no mention of Sir William Stanley’s initial sedition. Because he knows the murderous ramblings of Richard’s mind, Stanley has no choice but to change his plans. Officially, he inclines himself toward neither party, although he is secretly in correspondence with his stepson. Richmond writes that he holds Stanley in “especial trust and confidence” and requests that the two meet on his campaign toward London. Sir William Stanley does meet the earl with a few men, but Thomas Stanley, lodging at the village of Lichfield with five thousand men, hastily leaves when he hears of Richmond’s approach (412). Hall is quick and constant with his assurances of Stanley’s true motives. He tells us three times, as does Polydore, that Stanley’s fears for his son hamper the expression of his true loyalties. He believes his son will not just be killed but will suffer a cruel death if he shows his hand. Hall goes so far as to compliment Stanley’s cunning: But hearing that the erle of Richmond was marshynge thitherward, gaue to hym place, dislodgyng hym and hys, and repaired to a towne called Aderstone, there abydinge the commyng of the earle. And this wylie foxe did this acte to aduoyde all suspicion. (412)

The wily fox, accompanied now by twenty light horsemen, slowly makes his way to Aderstone, “as a man disconsolate, musyng and ymagenyng what was best to be done” (413).16 In Aderstone, William and Thomas finally meet with Richmond who salutes them as friends. The three men conspire in perfect trust for the ultimate defeat of Richard. When Richard is killed

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at the battle of Bosworth, Hall tells us, the majority of his supporters stop fighting. At this point, Stanley joins forces with the Earl of Oxford to rout the small number of Richardians still on the field (419). After his victory, he crowns Richmond, “when he saw the good will and gratitude” of the people toward him. Before Hall ends his narrative, he offers one more defense of Stanley: I must put you here in remembrance how that kyng Richard putting some diffidence in the lord Stanley, which had with hym as an hostage, the lorde Straunge his eldest sonne, which lord Stanley as you have harde before, ioyned not first with his soone in lawes armye, for feare that kyng Richard would have slayne the Lord Straunge his heyre. When kyng Richard was come to Boswoorth, he sent a purseuant to the lorde Stanleye, commanding him to aduance forwarde with his companie, and to come to his presence; which thynge if he refused to do, he sware by christ’s passion that he would stryke of his sonnnes hedde before he dyned. The lord Stanley answered the purseuant that yf the kynge did so, he had more sonnes aliue, and as to come to hym, he was not then so determined. (420)

Richard becomes so infuriated with the response that he demands that George be beheaded. His advisors, knowing that George is innocent, persuade Richard to wait until a more opportune moment to execute young Stanley. This, Hall intones, is as it should be because it obliges Richard to break his holy oath on Christ’s passion. As an indictment of Richard, this passage works very well. As a defense of Stanley, however, it seems rather weak. If Stanley truly feared the death of his son, as Hall repeatedly assures us, he would not be sending Richard such a cavalier response. In fact, Hall’s constant reassurances could be construed as a back-handed allegation; at the very least they seem to indicate that there was something in Stanley’s actions that needed to be defended. Henry Stanley, the fourth Earl of Derby (Illustration 4), was the earl Elizabethan England knew best, primarily through the scandal and suspicion that he generated. In 1555, while still the Lord Strange, Henry wed Margaret Clifford, daughter of the Earl of Cumberland and the granddaughter and heir of Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII. This marriage, though ostensibly auspicious, proved to be a serious miscalculation for Derby. Margaret was a spendthrift and something of a paranoid. She ran up enormous debts, which placed the Stanley family in serious financial difficulty for the first time. In order to pay his wife’s creditors, the earl was forced to sell some of his estates and practically liquidate his inheritance.17 The situation became so serious that the Privy Council had to intervene to appease her creditors; Margaret was forced to sell her own estates in Lincolnshire, Yorkshire, and Staffordshire in order to satisfy her most immediate debts. In addition


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4 Henry Stanley, 4th Earl of Derby, 1531–1593. Great-great-grandson of Stanley in Richard III.

to his wife’s spending habits, the earl’s economic troubles were increased by two diplomatic missions to France, which were on the queen’s behalf but funded by Derby, not the state.18 Derby’s disastrous financial situation was not unique; the Earl of Huntingdon’s finances were in even worse shape. But the crown had been determined to reduce the Stanleys’ power since the days of Henry VIII, and there is some indication that Elizabeth did what she could to exacerbate Derby’s problems. She flatly refused to

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help the countess, despite several pleas on Margaret’s part, and arranged those diplomatic missions hard and fast upon one another. However, with much persuasion from Burghley, the queen finally relented and allowed Earl Henry to dispark one of his properties.19 Earl Henry’s marriage, as might be expected, did not weather the financial storm that surrounded it. The earl took a lover, Jane Halsall of Knowsley, by whom he had four children. To his credit, and unlike many of his peers, Derby acknowledged and made provision for these children; this act of generosity increased the size of his debts even further. Margaret did not seem terribly concerned about the mistress, but she did accuse her husband of selling her own property in order to pay his debts; she also accused him of paying her serving women to spy upon her. The level of gossip surrounding the Derbys did not quite reach the level of the Shrewsburys, although Margaret was in her day as notorious as Bess of Hardwick. Elizabeth despised her, as she did all her apparent heirs, and actually had her imprisoned twice – once for boasting that she was the presumptive heir to the throne and again for gossiping about the Duke of Alençon (Stanley was among those opposed to the marriage) and trying to determine through a clairvoyant whether the queen would live long.20 Derby’s debt placed him in a vulnerable position. His need for money meant that he was not impervious to outside forces that might help amend his situation. The earl, in short, was ripe for bribery, and the sweetest inducement was the crown of England. There is no indication that Derby was ever plotting for the throne; however, there was rampant speculation that he might have been. It was not simply Derby’s debt and lineage that made him dangerous. Derby, like all the Stanleys, tended to maintain Catholic sympathies even in the midst of his Protestant avocation. Although Earl Edward had supported the queen during the Northern Rebellion, rumors persisted that the Stanleys were secretly attempting to free the Earl of Northumberland, who along with the Earl of Westmorland had orchestrated the failed rebellion. In 1572, Burghley’s extensive spy network also discovered that Sir Thomas and Sir Edward Stanley, the younger sons of Earl Edward, were part of the Duke of Norfolk’s plot to free Mary, Queen of Scots from Tutbury and take her to the Isle of Man, a Stanley possession and stronghold. Norfolk was executed for the scheme; Sir Thomas Stanley, along with the Earl of Southampton, was imprisoned in the Tower for an extensive length of time. Norfolk supported Earl Edward’s claim to the throne and planned to see him as King of England after a successful Spanish invasion. Although this appeared to be Norfolk’s fantasy, not the earl’s, it placed Derby on the forefront of suspicion. Earl Edward came


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under immediate investigation, but died before any evidence supporting his Catholic sympathies was uncovered. When Henry inherited the earldom, suspicions were slightly abated for a time. He became a member of the Privy Council, Ambassador Extraordinaire to Paris, and was among those peers who tried and signed the execution order for Mary, Queen of Scots. But as Derby’s debts increased, so did the perceived motivation for treason. Derby reached his financial nadir between 1584 and 1593, when he borrowed money on a scale not previously seen.21 Coincidentally or not, it was during this period that Derby’s distant cousin, Sir William Stanley, defected to the Spanish.22 Stanley’s motivations for defection are questionable; he had served as Governor of Deventer under Leicester’s command and his defection may have been a protest against Leicester’s leadership rather than an overabundance of religious zeal.23 Nevertheless, he defected with a passion, and spent the remainder of his life trying to mount an invasion of England and usurp the Protestant rule. Sir William, along with the Earl of Westmorland, inspired a torrent of concern and speculation in the last Elizabethan decade. He was genuinely and rightfully feared as an immediate threat against Protestant England. Stanley had been a brilliant military commander in Ireland and an exemplary soldier at the Battle of Zutphen, where Philip Sidney was fatally injured. He knew far too well the strategies and weaknesses of the English. And he seemed to be everywhere, courting every Catholic monarch and plotting from every Catholic port. Within the space of two years he was reported to appear in Rome, the Low Countries, and Ireland.24 There were constant rumors that he was about to invade either England or Ireland, and his troops grew larger with each retelling.25 Every so often, a captured priest or Stanley deserter was interrogated regarding Stanley’s activities. One Henry Young confessed that Stanley was about to raise a rebellion in the north of Wales.26 Thomas Egerton reported that a William Randall “acquainted [his interrogators] with an enterprise for surprising the Isle of Alderney.”27 His meetings with the other traitor, the Earl of Westmorland, were tracked and reported with regularity, and the general fear was of a double-pronged attack.28 As might be imagined, his cousins’ activities only increased suspicions about the Earl of Derby, particularly when Robert Parsons and Sir William conducted an intensive campaign to enlist him and his son, Ferdinando, Lord Strange, in the Spanish cause.29 The Spanish viewed Strange as the legitimate and probable successor to the English throne, and sent a steady supply of priests to England to persuade English Catholics of the same.30 Philip of Spain pronounced Derby and then Strange to be most “fit to have

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been proclaimed King . . . so as to gain the hearts of the people.”31 Derby did all he could to assuage these suspicions, but was almost countermanded at every turn by one of Sir William’s new strategies.32 As one of many examples, in 1592 Stanley wrote to Philip, assuring him that Strange and Derby were ready to assist him in an invasion of England from the coast of Ireland. This was duly reported back to Burghley, and had to be denied by Derby. Such reports were not uncommon.33 Sir William was convinced that his cousin was the rightful heir to the throne, and his invasion plans were often capped with schemes to replace Elizabeth with a Stanley. He was twice implicated in plots to kill the queen, whom he considered to be “a wicked creature and likely to overthrow all of Christendom.”34 When Earl Henry died in 1593, Sir William sent Richard Hesketh to Ferdinando, now the fifth earl, with a viable proposal to usurp Elizabeth and place Ferdinando on the throne.35 The three-step process was to convert him to Catholicism, enlist his aid in destroying Elizabeth, and offer him the crown of England.36 Sir William not only endorsed Ferdinando as the next English king, but believed with Philip that all England would support him once Elizabeth was dead.37 He greatly misjudged the new earl. Ferdinando repudiated the offer and exposed Hesketh, who was arrested and executed for treason.38 Ferdinando’s decision was a politic but possibly fatal one. In April of 1594, only six months after his father’s death, Ferdinando himself died very suddenly from a mysterious illness that exhibited every characteristic of witchcraft. The rumors flew that he was either poisoned or bewitched by the disgruntled Catholics. Although Ferdinando may have died on behalf of his queen, the suspicions about the Stanleys did not abate. They were always on the cusp of suspicion and in 1596 they were expressly forbidden to join the Earl of Essex’s expedition to Catholic France.39 Richard Topcliffe, one of the more successful Catholic hunters in England, allegedly stated what much of England was thinking: “All the Stanleys in England were to be suspected as traitors.”40 If the Stanleys occasionally failed or vexed their government, there was a segment of English society which could consistently rely on their unswerving support and fidelity. As early as 1488, when George, Lord Strange patronized the Chester Mystery plays, the Stanleys were renowned for their patronage of the arts, and each successive generation proved to be more generous than the last. The Stanley country seats at Knowsley, Lathom, and New Park were quintessential Renaissance courts, inhabited and frequented by tumblers, actors, musicians, and poets. It was a very different atmosphere from the Earl of Huntingdon’s scholarly sanctuary at York, but it was a dazzling world. The nobility, the gentry, the clergy, and the local officials frequently


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put aside the Stanleys’ questionable religious persuasions and political loyalties and swarmed to the various Stanley seats to become acquainted with the finest in musical and literary endeavors. The queen herself was a regular visitor, which may have been another attempt to bankrupt the family. But there was a lure to Knowsley, which was dubbed the Northern Court because of its entertainments and opulence.41 The Stanleys, more than any other noble family in the sixteenth century, were responsible for keeping a large portion of the players and poets employed. Their patronage extended far beyond their own companies. Earl Henry and his son Ferdinando continued to support and attend amateur plays in Chester, and with their well-known penchant for theatricals, they were certain to be entertained by players and pageants whenever they visited other noble households.42 Their own homes were venues for various acting companies, such as the Earl of Leicester’s Men or the Earl of Essex’s Men, and two of the Stanleys – Ferdinando and William – were poets themselves. In return for their largesse to the creative community, the Stanleys were rewarded with a sort of artistic immortality. The chroniclers may have been circumspect about the Stanleys’ place in history, but the poets were not. From the days of Earl Edward, poems were written about the Stanley ancestors, transforming their vicissitude to heroism and their hesitancy to action.43 The lords and ladies of the Stanley clan received almost as much homage in dedicatory verse as the queen. The Stanley women – most notably Margaret Clifford and Alice Spencer Stanley – became patrons in their own right after their husbands’ deaths. The Derby titles were carried, and thus promoted, by the tumblers and players whom they patronized. Two of the troupes, Derby’s Men and Strange’s Men, achieved highly successful and visible careers in the theatrical world. In the late 1580s, a company of Strange’s Men emerged independent from the larger troupe of entertainers and devoted themselves to the presentation of plays. There is some evidence that one of the members of this troupe was a young player named William Shakespeare. Shakespeare’s association with Strange’s Men is a matter of debate, but there is no doubt that the company performed one of his plays, the First Part of Henry VI, at the Rose Theatre in 1592.44 With or without Shakespeare, Strange’s Men was a popular and well-regarded troupe of players. They were active at court, making six appearances in the years 1591–1592, and during the same period they played the Rose Theatre six days a week for eighteen weeks. Their popularity publicized the Derby title and placed the family above the social and political rumors that surrounded them. The titles of Derby and Strange became synonymous with generosity and appreciation of the arts.

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This may explain why the Stanley misfortunes – marital problems, mounting debts, and possible treason – are not reflected in the dramatic interpretations of Thomas, Lord Stanley. Certainly, as we have seen, the chronicles are careful not to directly insult the great Stanley clan, but the dramatic versions of Richard III are even more judicious. Thomas Legge’s Richardus Tertius, for example, emphasizes Stanley’s closeness to Richmond. Stanley is the first to suspect and fear Richard, but Legge eliminates the story of Stanley’s dream. Stanley’s fears are thus derived from his own reason, not from a superstitious adherence to omens. He is arrested, without dialogue, in the Tower, and the next time we meet him is when Richmond does. The earl is overjoyed to see his stepfather and lavish in his praise and welcome: Nisi vota fallunt, vitricus venit, meus, / Domus, suae Stanleius eximun decus. / Verumne video corpus? An fallor tua / Deceptus umbra? Spiritus vires capit: / Exultat animus, et vacat pectus metu. [Unless my wishes are deceived, my stepfather has arrived, Lord Stanley, the flower of his family. Do I truly see you? Or am I deceived by your image? My spirit revives, my mind exults, my heart grows carefree.] (Tertia Actio, Actus Quintus)

This is a fairly potent effect that Stanley has, and he embraces his son-in-law with equal joy. Their happiness is mitigated, however, when Stanley reveals that his son is being held hostage by Richard for his loyalty. Stanley assures Richmond that he will help him secretly if not openly. Later, as in Hall, Stanley brazenly defies Richard, sending the message “si filium mactes suum plures habet.” Legge’s Stanley is even permitted a small oration to his troops: Properate, solvite patriam tyrannide / Infesta ferte signa, pugna dum calet / Ut verus haeres regna teneat Angliae. / Pugnabit adversus scelus virtus pia. / Pugnate tantum, vestra nunc victoria. / Si vincitis, patria tyranno libera / Medios in hostes ruite passu concito. [Hurry, free our country of tyranny. Carry forward your warlike banners while the battle is hot, so that the true heir can possess the crown of England. Pious virtue will struggle against evil. Just fight, and victory is now yours. If you conquer, our country will be free of the tyrant. Run into the midst of the enemy at full speed.] (Tertia Actio, Actus Quintus)

This is remarkably far from the historical Stanley, who kept his troops at bay until a clear victor was established. Legge stretches historical truth even further when he gives George, Lord Strange an oration, welcoming Richmond as king. Richmond responds with another Stanley tribute:


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O Stanlieorum chara progenies mihi, / O Straunge nobilis, en libens te conspicor: / Quos mihi dedisti, reddo captives tibi. [O beloved scion of the Stanleys, o noble Strange, gladly I see you and I return to you these captives you have given me.] (Tertia Actio, Actus Quintus)

Except for one line from Henry, it is Stanley who ends the play with a celebration over the return of his son. The anonymous author of 1594’s The True Tragedy of Richard III does not introduce us to Stanley until after Richard’s coronation. The subject of conversation between Richard and Stanley is the activities of his wife, the Countess of Richmond, and his son, George Lord Strange. In this version, it is not Stanley’s brother but his son who has gone abroad to join with Richmond. Stanley takes a rather ungentlemanly approach, and disavows any knowledge of or participation in his wife’s actions. Richard is unimpressed and sarcastic – when Stanley asks to go to his house in the country, Richard debates with himself, and finally decides on a provisionary approval: “thou shalt goe, leaving me here thy sonne and heir George Standley for a pledge, that he may perish for thy fault if needs should be” (51). Stanley realizes the gravity of the situation, but states, somewhat nonchalantly, “Well, I will except [sic] the king’s proffer.” The author does not explain how George is suddenly returned from Brittany, or how the young rebel is suddenly transformed into a young boy as he weeps over his imprisonment. There are other inaccuracies in the text as well. Richard tells Catesby that he is holding George to harm his mother: “so pricke the lambe, and wound the damme” [52]. This is not only dramatically inconsistent with his threat against Stanley, but also historically incorrect: George was not the countess’s son. Thereafter, the author adheres to the plot if not the spirit of Legge. Richmond and Stanley meet each other, but this time an argument ensues between them. Stanley attributes his reticence to George’s imprisonment and stresses George’s peril; Richmond seems unconvinced or unmoved by the argument: stanley : rich m on d:

Why sonne, George Standlyes death would doo you no pleasure. Why the time is too troublesome, for him to tend to follow execution. (60)

Nonetheless, father and son are reunited in a very brief but touching moment. Stanley is shown to be a devoted father, if not an entirely conscientious stepfather. William Shakespeare greatly enhances Stanley’s part and in doing so makes some small references that could relate to the contemporary Stanleys.

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However, Shakespeare follows dramatic precedents and ignores the more rebellious branch of the family. We learn for example from Shakespeare, but not from any chronicle source, that there is animosity between the queen and Stanley’s wife, the Countess of Richmond: queen: Yet Derby, notwithstanding, shee’s your wife, And loves not me, be you good Lord assur’d I hate not you for her proud arrogance. derby: I do beseech you, either not believe The enuious slanders of her false Accusers Or if she be accused on true report, Beare with her weaknesse, which I thinke proceeds From wayward sicknesse and no ground malice. (Richard III 486–495; 1.3.20–25) This is interesting in two respects. First, Shakespeare mistakenly refers to Stanley as Derby, a title he did not receive until the reign of Henry VII. To an Elizabethan audience, however, the title Derby would have called to mind the particular branch of the Stanley family that was not engaged in open treason at that moment.45 Even more intriguing is the reference to a quarrel between a queen and a wife of Derby. There is no indication that Queen Elizabeth Grey and Margaret, Countess of Richmond were at odds. In fact they worked together to bring about the marriage of their children. However, Queen Elizabeth Tudor was very much at odds with Margaret, Countess of Derby. The animosity between the two women, which was widely known throughout London, had not abated in the early 1590s – it was a hatred that lingered. Elizabeth viewed Margaret as proud and arrogant and almost everyone, especially her husband, viewed her as weak. The conversation between “Derby” and Elizabeth Grey is one that an audience could well imagine being repeated in the Elizabethan court a few generations later. Another possible reference to the sixteenth-century Stanleys occurs in the “reconciliation” scene between the Greys and the Hastings/Buckingham/Gloucester faction. Derby comes in to ask the king to pardon his servant “Who slew to day a Riotous Gentleman, / Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolke” (Richard III 1228–1229; 2.1.101–102). This petition is not recorded in any chronicle; however, the connection between a Derby and a Norfolk, in this case a connection of enmity, is another interesting addition by Shakespeare. It could simply be a case of foreshadowing – the Duke of Norfolk fought on the side of Richard, and so the hostility between a Stanley man and a Norfolk man was about to


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increase a hundredfold. It could also, however, be a very subtle endorsement of the sixteenth-century Derby claim that they were actually opposed to the 1569 Norfolk uprising. Shakespeare dutifully reports Stanley’s dream and misgivings regarding Richard and gives him a small speaking part in the council meeting at the Tower. But Stanley’s role dramatically increases once Hastings is executed, and Shakespeare makes it clear, even before Richard’s coronation, that Stanley is implicated with Richmond. It is Stanley who expedites Dorset’s journey to Brittany when the queen bids her son to go to Richmond. Shakespeare downplays the countess’ part in the conspiracy completely. Richard has a throwaway line – “Stanley look to your wife / If she convey letters to Richmond, you shall answer it” – but there is no indication that the countess has conveyed such letters or has ever had thought of doing so (Richard III 2691–2692; 4.2.91–92). Instead, it is implied that it is Stanley who orchestrates Richmond’s rise. In the Folio version, Shakespeare insinuates this even more when he makes Stanley, not the countess, the matchmaker between Richmond and Elizabeth York. “Commend me to thy Lord,” he tells Sir Christopher Urswick, “Withall say that the Queen has heartily consented / He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter” (Richard III 3354–3355; 4.4.6–7). This is a departure from all the chronicle sources, wherein Stanley is nothing more than the husband of matchmaker Margaret. Shakespeare’s Stanley is more clever than his prototypes. Rather than merely ask to return to his country home, Stanley posits that he must go to command his armies to come to Richard’s aid. Of course, few are as clever as Richard. The king’s instincts are honed and he says, with his characteristic bluntness, “I’ll not trust thee.” Stanley argues his friendship, but Richard counters that if he leaves he must leave George behind (Richard III 3290; 4.3.495). Although all of his sources emphasize Stanley’s fears for his son’s life, Shakespeare makes the most of it. Polydore’s and Hall’s repeated assurances of Stanley’s true loyalties are transformed by Shakespeare into a genuine paternal regard that places his son before all other considerations. When Stanley encounters Urswick, George’s captivity is the first thing he wants reported to Richmond: Tell Richmond this from me That in the stye of the most deadly boar My son George Stanley is frank’d up in hold. If I revolt, off goes yong George’s head; The feare of that holds off my present ayde. (Richard III 3349–3353; 5.4.1–5).

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Later, he greets Richmond as a son and tells of his dilemma: I, as I may – that which I would, I cannot – With best advantage will deceive the time, And ayde thee in this doubtful shocke of Armes. But on thy side I may not be too forward, Lest being seene thy brother, tender George, Be executed in his Father’s sight. Farewell; the leysure and the fearfull time Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love And ample enterchange of sweet Discourse Which so long sunder’d friends should dwell vpon. God give us leysure for these rites of love Once more Adieu. Be valiant and speed well. (Richard III 3532–3541; 5.3.92–103)

This is a far different speech from that which is found in the source material. It resonates with the theme of family love. Stanley begins by bringing Richmond blessings and prayers from his mother (in stark contrast to the Duchess of York’s curses upon Richard). He refers to George as Richmond’s brother, and ends with the desire to share with his children the “rites of love” between father and son. Shakespeare also brings a sense of immediacy to the situation by adding that George will be executed in his father’s sight, a horrifying prospect for any parent and a prospect that is not contained in the chronicles. Richmond accepts his stepfather’s situation without a murmur. He understands the situation immediately, and makes no attempt to dissuade his stepfather or test Richard’s warning. When Richard bids Stanley to join him, Stanley simply sends word that he “doth deny to come” (3814–3815; 5.3.345), without the challenge or dismissal to the threat on George’s life. The final scene of the play is a familial one. Stanley places the crown on his stepson’s head with a father’s blessing, “Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it,” and with the assurances of George’s safety (3853; 5.5.7). These paternal and fraternal feelings, so deeply expressed in Shakespeare, may be reflective of the fact that the House of Stanley, only two years before the publication of the play, experienced a paternal and fraternal loss with the deaths of Henry, the fourth Earl of Derby and Ferdinando, the fifth Earl of Derby. Ferdinando was the shining star of the Stanley family, brilliant, generous, and greatly beloved. He himself was a poet and a favorite patron for other poets and playwrights. Most of the celebrated writers of the Elizabethan period – Greene, Spenser, Nashe, Harington, Henry Lok, Davies, and Marston – paid tribute to him in dedications or personal


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correspondence. In the conclusion of The Supplication of Pierce Penilesse, Thomas Nashe alluded to him with the designation Amyntas: “In whose high spirit such a Deitie of wisdom appeareth, that if Homer were to write his Odiessea new . . . he need no other instance to augment his conceit than the rare carriage of his honourable mind.” This was the tone of most of the tributes to Ferdinando, whose succession to the Derby title was celebrated as the beginning of another golden age of patronage. Ferdinando’s death was sensational – full of drama, intrigue, bloodthirstiness, and enough mystery to generate gossip for years. The fifth Earl of Derby fell suddenly ill on April 5, 1594. It was a painful, consumptive illness, that generated bleeding from all orifices. “Verie learned men” reported that shortly after the earl fell ill, a waxen image was found in his bedchamber, with hair like his own, “twisted throwe the bellie thereof, from the navel downward.” The doll was quickly thrown into the fire, but the earl became grave. A “homely woman” was then found in his chamber, sitting in a corner and muttering unintelligibly while brewing a potion. When the doctors came in the woman fled, saying that the earl was too deeply bewitched to recover. The earl experienced symptoms such as the suppression of urine and continuous vomiting. His vomit contained a substance which was laced with silver andirons. Ferdinando died painfully on April 16, 1594, and the Catholics and other witches were immediately blamed.46 The artistic community was devastated by the death of the most distinguished patron of his day and the tributes flowed in earnest. Sir John Harington called him “one of England’s greatest peers,” and Spenser wrote in Colin Clout that the Muses were weeping at the loss. It would be, I think, odd if Shakespeare was not also affected by the loss of the fifth Earl of Derby. Whether in his company or not, Shakespeare had to recognize the effect of the loss of such a great and generous patron. Stanley’s devotion to his son and family in Richard III, so deeply felt and eloquently expressed, may well have been Shakespeare’s acknowledgment of sympathy for the Stanley family. NOTES 1. Barry Coward, The Stanleys: Lord Stanleys and Earls of Derby 1385–1672: The Origins, Wealth and Power of a Landowning Family (Manchester: Chetham Society, 1983), 9. 2. Michael J. Bennett, “‘Good Lords’ and King Makers: The Stanleys of Lathom in England 1385–1485,” History Today (1981), 12–17. Bennett disputes the idea that the Stanleys were self-seeking opportunists, but his article seems to support rather than dispute that allegation (17).

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3. Cokayne, The Complete Peerage of England or a History of the House of Lords and All its Members from the Earliest Times, vol. xii.ii, revised by Vicary Gibbs, ed. H. A. Doubleday, Duncan Warrand, and Lord Howard de Walden (London: St. Catherine’s Press, 1910–1955), 205–206. 4. In 1878, James Gairdner, in his introduction to The Life of Richard III, confirms Fabyan’s account that the date was June 13. In 1972, Alison Hanham, based on her reading of the Croyland Chronicles and other contemporary fifteenthcentury records, refuted Gairdner’s claim and ascertained that the date was June 26 (Alison Hanham, “Richard III, Lord Hastings, and the Historian,” English Historical Review 87 (1972), 233–248). Hanham’s claim was disputed by B. P. Wolfe, who had a different reading of the chronicles (B. P. Wolfe, “When and Why Did Hastings Lose His Head,” English Historical Review 89 (1974), 835– 844, and B. P. Wolfe, “Hastings Reinterred,” English Historical Review 91 (1976), 813–824). The matter is significant in a discussion of Richard’s usurpation, because Hastings’ earlier death would indicate that Richard’s coronation was accepted by popular acclamation even after the execution of the king’s top three advisors. See Claire Cross, The Puritan Earl: The Life of Henry Hastings Third Earl of Huntingdon 1536–1595 (London: Macmillan, 1966), 7. 5. P. R. O. C 66/569 no. 26, February 25, 1489; L. R. O., DDk 2/8–11. 6. S. B. Chrimes, Yale English Monarchs: Henry VII (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972), 47. 7. W. A. J. Archbold, “Sir William Stanley and Perkin Warbeck,” English Historical Review 14 (1899), 529–534, 530. 8. Coward, The Stanleys, 15. 9. Sir Thomas More, Historie of King Richard III, ed. William Rastell (London: 1557), 45. 10. Coward, The Stanleys, 143. 11. Ibid.,, 21. 12. J. Strype, Ecclesiastical Memorials, Relating Chiefly to Religion and the Reformation of It, and the Emergencies of the Church of England under King Henry VIII, King Edward VI and Queen Mary I, vol. i (Oxford: 1822), 132–133. 13. A. W. Titherley, Shakespeare’s Identity: William Stanley 6th Earl of Derby (Winchester: Warren and Son, 1952), 13. 14. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, 207–208. Cokayne cites the letter, dated June 16, 1553, whereby Edward VI settled the crown on Lady Jane Grey, which states that “of all whose support would be useful, of all whose opposition had to be dreaded, Lord William Howard and Lord Derby alone were absent, and Lord Derby was represented by his son.” Lord Derby’s son would have been quite young at the time, being a contemporary of Edward VI. It is possible that Edward was simply following Stanley policy and waiting to see which way the wind was blowing, but his subsequent actions prove that he was certainly hoping it was blowing from Spain, not Northumberland. 15. In fact Hall reports that the countess was not as diligent in arranging the marriage as the queen. 16. Holinshed deletes the word “disconsolate.”


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17. Coward, The Stanleys, 31–33. 18. Derby complained bitterly about the debts he was incurring on behalf of his country. British Library, Landsdowne MS 53, fol. 116, “Derby to Walsingham,” August 12, 1587; “Derby to Burghley,” July 5, 1587; and “Derby to Burghley,” August 20, 1587, ibid., fol. 110. 19. Coward, The Stanleys, 35. 20. Public Record Office, “Bernardino de Mendoza to the King,” August 1579, Cal. St. P. For., Spain, Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1568–1579) (London: 1899; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 692–693. 21. Coward, The Stanleys, 32. 22. Sir William Stanley was related through the Stanleys of Hooten. He was the son of Sir Rowland Stanley. 23. Coward, The Stanleys, 145–146. 24. Public Record Office, “Clitheroe to Gerard Bourghet,” August 1591, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 13; Public Record Office, “Thomas Christopher alias Dingley to Lord Burghley,” August 1592, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 255; Public Record Office, “24 October 1593,” Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 131. 25. Public Record Office, “John Gylles to Walsingham,” Dec. 9, 1588, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth (July–Dec. 1588) (London: 1936; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 255; Public Record Office, “Information against William Stanley,” July 1589, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth (1581– 1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, 1967), 51; Public Record Office, “Thomas Phelipes to Thomas Barnes,” October 31, 1591; “James Young alias Dingley to Lord Burghley,” August 27, 1592; “George Dingley to Lord Keeper Puckering,” August 31, 1592, Cal. St. P. Dom, Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 53, 121, 125. 26. Public Record Office, “Confession of Henry Young,” July 30, 1594, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 41. 27. Public Record Office, “Sir Thomas Egerton to the Council,” May 3, 1596, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1869; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 66. 28. Public Record Office, “Examination of Four Soldiers,” June 28, 1588, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 63; Public Record Office, “Ant Atkinson to Cecil,” October 24, 1594, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 131. 29. There is some indication that Strange did not completely dismiss these overtures, particularly at first. One of the Walsingham spies reported that “there is certainly intelligence between Strange and the Cardinal” (Public Record Office,

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30.

31. 32.

33. 34.


“Rob Robinson (alias Sterrell or Saint Main) to John Morice (alias Thomas Phelipes),” June 13, 1592). The Spanish believed that Strange was one of those English noblemen “much alienated by discontent” (“Examination of George Dingley before Lord Keeper Puckering, Lord Buckhurst, and John Fortescue,” September 14, 1592, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 53, 11). Public Record Office, “Statement by John Snowdon to Burghley,” May 21, 1591; Public Record Office, “J. Snowdon to Cecil,” July 3, 1594 and July 7, 1591, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 160, 71, 87. Public Record Office, “James Young alias Dingley, a Priest to Lord Burghley,” August 27, 1592, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 121. Derby tried his best. He was “zealous,” according to the Privy Council, in his attempts to reform his tenants to the Protestant faith (G. B. Harrison, The Elizabethan Journals: Being a Record of Those Things Most Talked of During the Years 1591–1597, vol. i (New York: Anchor Books, 1965), 95). He was among the first to take an oath “for the Association for the defense of Her Majesty’s Person,” and immediately wrote Leicester to inform him of that stand of loyalty (Public Record Office, “Earl of Derby to the Earl of Leicester,” November 6, 1584). He apprehended and interrogated priests, and promptly reported any spies in his area (Public Record Office, “Earl of Derby to the Council,” November 19, 1585 and “Earl of Derby to the Council,” September 6, 1586). From Dover, he was among the first to report on the arrival of the Armada, and he kept Walsingham informed of the Duke of Parma’s withdrawal (Public Record Office, “Earl of Leicester to Walsyngham,” August 8, 1588 and “Lord H. Seymour to Sir F. Walsyngham,” Aug. 7, 1588, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 4, 16, 40). Part of the problem was that Derby was still in touch with Sir William Stanley’s family. He wrote to Robert Cecil, begging him and the queen to treat Stanley’s sons well, and not judge them by their father’s treason (Historical Manuscript Collection, “Earl of Derby to Sir Robert Cecil,” November 8, 1593, Calendar of the Manuscripts of the Marquis of Salisbury, Part iv (London: 1892), 411). Public Record Office, “Thomas Christopher alias Dingley to Lord Burghley,” August 24, 1592, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, 1967), 116. This was from a confession of a Polwhele, who had been encouraged by Stanley and his confederates to murder the queen either by stabbing her or shooting her with a pistol (Public Record Office, “Notes from Confession of Polwhele,” February 2, 1594). The first plot of Stanley’s to murder the queen, which the Pope endorsed, was in 1592 (Public Record Office, “Information by Thomas Phelipes,” 1592, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 116, 118).


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35. Hesketh’s plan is outlined in his confession (Historical Manuscript Collection, “Hesketh’s Instructions for Treating with the Earl of Derby,” 1593, Calendar of the Manuscripts of the Marquis of Salisbury, Part iv (London: 1892), 461. 36. Public Record Office, “Confession of Henry Walpole before Edward Drewe,” June 13, 1594 and July 1594; Public Record Office, “Like Examination of Edmund Yorke,” August 20, 1594, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 12, 4498. 37. Public Record Office, “Examination of Edmund Yorke, Taken before the Earl of Essex and Lord Cobham,” August 12, 1594, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1591–1594) (London: 1867; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 63. 38. Historical Manuscript Collection, “The Lord Keeper to Lord Buckhurst and Sir Robert Cecil,” November 20, 1593; “The Lord Keeper to Sir Robert Cecil,” November 24, 1593, and “W. Waad to Sir Robert Cecil,” November 28, 1593, Calendar of the Manuscripts of the Marquis of Salisbury, Part iv (London: 1892), 418, 421, 423. 39. Public Record Office, “Commission Appointing Robert, Earl of Essex,” April 13, 1596, Cal. St. P. Dom., Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1869; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, 1967), 22, 23. 40. Harrison, Elizabethan Journals, vol. i, 85. 41. French Fogle, “‘Such a Rural Queen’: The Countess Dowager of Derby as Patron,” Patronage in Late Renaissance England, ed. French Fogle and Louis Knaflaa (Los Angeles: William Andrews Clarke Memorial Library, University of California, 1983), 1–29, 10. 42. Titherley, Shakespeare’s Identity, 15. 43. Thomas Heywood, The Earls of Derby and the Verse Writers and Poems of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century (Manchester: Chetham Society, 1853), 6–8. 44. Heywood, Earls of Derby, 13. The source of Shakespeare’s patronage before he joined the Lord Chamberlain’s Men in 1595 has been a subject of critical debate among biographers and literary critics alike. E. K. Chambers claims that Shakespeare initially belonged to the company of Ferdinando Stanley, Lord Strange. After that, claims Chambers, he joined Pembroke’s Men, an offshoot of Strange’s, and still later he became a member of the Earl of Sussex’s Men. This company, in turn, eventually became the Lord Chamberlain’s Men (E. K. Chambers, The Elizabethan Stage, vol. ii (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1923), 129, 199, 338, and Shakespearean Gleanings (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1944)). E. A. J. Honigmann argues that Shakespeare was always part of Strange’s company and bases his argument on documentary clues as well as on the presumptions that Love’s Labour’s Lost and The Phoenix and the Turtle are analogies of Strange’s inner circle and that Richard III is a homage to the Stanleys (E. A. J. Honigmann, Shakespeare: The Lost Years (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985), 63–91). Peter Thomson agrees that Love’s Labour’s Lost is strong evidence of Shakespeare’s

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affiliation with the Strange company (Peter Thomson, Shakespeare’s Professional Career (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 39–40). Burkhart believes he was with Leicester’s Men, which would mean he would have visited the Stanley household (Robert E. Burkhart, “Finding Shakespeare’s Lost Years,” Shakespeare Quarterly 29(1978), 77–79). There is also an argument that Shakespeare was exclusively affiliated with Pembroke’s company (See David George, “Shakespeare and Pembroke’s Men,” Shakespeare Quarterly 32 (1981), 305–323, and Michael Brennan, Literary Patronage in the English Renaissance: The Pembroke Family (London: Routledge, 1988), 94–95). 45. This discrepancy between the use of “Stanley” and “Derby” in Shakespeare’s quarto and Folio texts has been noted and used as an argument for and against memorial reconstruction. Kristian Smidt, Memorial Transmission and Quarto Copy in “Richard III”: A Reassessment (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, and New York: Humanities Press, 1970), 31, and John Jowett, “‘Derby,’ ‘Stanley,’ and Memorial Reconstruction in Quarto Richard III,” Notes and Queries 47 (March 2000), 75–79. 46. A fully gruesome account of Ferdinando’s illness and death can be found in John Stowe’s Annales (1605), 1275–1277. The story is also told in William Camden’s Annals from 1595. A Dr. Hackett was tortured and hanged as a wizard for causing Ferdinando’s death (Cokayne, Complete Peerage, 212).

chap t e r 7

The gentry (William Lucy, Lord Saye)

Shakespeare’s characterizations of the major nobles in the Henry VI play group have their geneses in the historical chronicles of the sixteenth century. It was the chroniclers – Fabyan, Polydore Vergil, Hall, Holinshed, and Baldwin – who first breathed life into the historical figures of Suffolk, Clifford, Talbot, and Warwick, figures who, being neither kings nor victors, might otherwise have been forgotten by all but their own descendants. Shakespeare, inheriting the legacy of the chronicles, took the characterizations he found and inserted his own genius into them, augmenting, diminishing, and even altering the characters completely; nevertheless, the germ of their creation did not lie with him. However, there are some historical figures, either barely mentioned or completely nonexistent in the chronicles, whom Shakespeare not only develops as significant characters but to whom he also provides important functions in the plays. The most interesting of these characters, in terms of this study, are Sir William Lucy from 1 Henry VI and Lord Saye from The Contention and 2 Henry VI. Each of these characters has a small but important role in their respective plays, which Shakespeare creates independently from his historical sources. Each of these historical figures also had descendants who had gained some prominence in Shakespeare’s time. While these characters have been virtually ignored by literary critics, they may actually provide the best evidence that Shakespeare was indeed influenced by the genealogical consciousness in his society. Sir William L ucy The story of the young Shakespeare’s encounter with Sir Thomas Lucy and his subsequent literary revenge is by now an established part of Shakespeare lore. The legend began in Nicholas Rowe’s preface to his 1709 edition of Shakespeare. Rowe states: 203

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[Shakespeare] had, by a Misfortune common enough to young Fellows, fallen into ill Company; and amongst them, some that made a frequent practice of Deerstealing, engag’d him with them more than once in robbing a Park that belong’d to Sir Thomas Lucy of Cherlecot, near Stratford. For this he was prosecuted by that Gentleman, as he thought somewhat too severely; and in order to revenge that ill Usage, he made a Ballad upon him. And tho’ this, probably the first Essay of his Poetry, be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled the Prosecution against him to that degree, that he was oblig’d to leave his Business and Family in Warwickshire, for some time and shelter himself in London.1

The tale was embellished over the years. Richard Davies, an Oxford clergyman, adds that Shakespeare was “oft whipped and sometimes imprisoned by Lucy.”2 Rowe and Davies are also the first to suggest that Shakespeare had his ultimate revenge on Lucy by creating the character of the gullible Justice Shallow in The Merry Wives of Windsor as a parody of Lucy. This identification is based on one line in the opening scene of that play: Shallow accuses Falstaff of deer stealing and is described as having “louses” on his coat of arms (1.1.16–18) – the Lucys of Charlecote have three luces (fish) on their coat of arms. The story of Shakespeare and Thomas Lucy quickly became accepted fact in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, so much so that such luminaries as Henry James would visit Charlecote Park to pay their homage. Ballads about the incident, said to be from Shakespeare’s time, were passed down, and even the descendants of Sir Thomas Lucy elaborated upon the anecdote, saying that no less a personage that the Earl of Leicester had interceded on young William’s behalf.3 However, in the twentieth century, critics examined the story with far more skepticism and found absolutely no documentary evidence for it. Furthermore, as S. Schoenbaum points out, what evidence we do have indicates that the story is entirely fictitious: the Lucys did not have a park at Charlecote until 1618; the law imposed a fine for deer stealing, not a whipping; a Justice of the Peace did not sit in judgment on a defendant he himself was prosecuting; and the luce was also the heraldic device of the Gascoynes, the Earls of Northampton, the Worshipful Company of Stockfishmongers, and William Gardiner, a Surrey magistrate who had indirect connections with the Swan theater.4 Another fact, frequently overlooked, is that Sir Thomas Lucy would have been the wrong person to mock in the 1590s. Lucy was one of the richest landlords in Warwickshire, and had built the earliest of the great Elizabethan mansions at Charlecote. He was an avid supporter of the queen, her religion, and her politics, and as a consequence shared many of the queen’s friends. He had been tutored by John Foxe, who instilled firm Puritan principles


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in him. Lucy was knighted by Leicester in 1565, and when Shakespeare was eight years old Queen Elizabeth spent the night at the Lucy house, four miles from Stratford. Lucy was wealthy enough to offer aristocratic entertainment to the queen, and in gratitude Elizabeth gifted his daughter with a jewel. Lucy was a Member of Parliament and a Justice of the Peace; a zealous Protestant, he became the local leader in the persecution of recusant Catholics after he was created Sheriff of Warwickshire. He arrested and interrogated Jesuits, Ardens, and other Catholics, for which he earned the goodwill of the queen and the Privy Council, and in 1584 he was awarded the lands which were confiscated from the Catholics he persecuted. He died in 1600, and his funeral was arranged by William Camden, Clarenceux King of Arms.5 In short, although Shakespeare may or may not have had cause to dislike him, Lucy was not a man to offend. Therefore, instead of hypothesizing about the connection between Justice Shallow and Thomas Lucy, it might be more sensible to look at Shakespeare’s portrayal of Lucy’s great-great-great-grandfather, Sir William Lucy, in 1 Henry VI.6 William Lucy does not appear at all in the chronicles, except for Stowe’s inclusion of his name among the dead at the Battle of Northampton (A Short English Chronicle 74). Stowe is incorrect; William Lucy was a Yorkist who died in 1466 during the reign of Edward IV. The character of William Lucy in 1 Henry VI, therefore, is a creation of Shakespeare’s imagination, entirely without historical precedent; furthermore, the character performs three vitally important functions in the play. First, Lucy is one of the few characters – and the only non-aristocrat – who clearly sees the consequences of the nobles’ bickering. Second, Lucy is permitted to act as a spokesman for the play’s audience, venting their frustration over the nobles’ dissension. Third, Lucy is given the task of eulogizing Talbot, and thus performing one of the last chivalric acts in the Henry VI play group. William Lucy first appears with York in Act 4, Scene 3, when he warns York that Talbot is in desperate need of aid (1 Henry VI 2027–2033; 4.3.15–20). York replies that it was Somerset’s task to save Talbot and leaves. Lucy, alone, realizes the true cause and bitter end of the conflict: Thus while the Vulture of sedition, Feedes in the bosome of such great Commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to losse: That Conquest of our scarce-cold Conquerer, That euer-liuing man of Memorie, Henrie the fift: Whiles they each other crosse, Liues, Honours, Lauds, and all, hurrie to losse. (1 Henry VI 2057–2063; 4.3.47–53)

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In this scene, Shakespeare uses Lucy to point out that it is the dissension of the nobles that will cause Talbot’s death and England’s destruction. As Edward Berry demonstrates, this is only one of five such unequivocal assertions in 1 Henry VI. The other three assertions are pronounced by King Henry (1272–1280; 3.1.65–73) and the Duke of Exeter (1403–1420; 3.1.187– 201; 1933–1948; 4.1.182–194).7 The fact that William Lucy is only a member of the gentry, not of the aristocracy, would be significant to an Elizabethan audience. He is removed from the quarrel but not from the consequences – he therefore embodies the conditions of the war that was engendered by a noble quarrel, but suffered by all members of society. Lucy becomes even bolder when he confronts Somerset. He chides the duke for allowing his quarrel with York to endanger Talbot: And whiles the honourable Captaine there Drops bloody swet from his warre-wearied limbes, And in aduantage lingring lookes for rescue, You his false hopes, the trust of Englands honour, Keepe off aloofe with worthless emulation: Let not your priuate discord keepe away The leuied succours that should lend him ayde. (1 Henry VI 2080–2087; 4.3.70–76)

This is a strong speech, denouncing Somerset to his face. Lucy, in his frustration, is willing to defy the great duke, only stopping short of calling him a traitor to the English cause. The audience at this point can identify with Lucy’s exasperation. We now realize, along with Lucy, that this quarrel which began in a rose garden over a minor point of law is going to result in the unnecessary death of Talbot and his son. Unlike Exeter, who bemoaned the dissension in private and thus acted as a chorus, Lucy becomes a spokesman for the audience, venting his resentment directly to the culpable nobles. When Somerset continues to blame York, the frustration is almost palpable and Lucy is again allowed to express it on the audience’s behalf: The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now intrapt the Noble-minded Talbot: Neuer to England shall he beare his life But dies betraid to fortune by your strife. (1 Henry VI 2101–2104; 4.3.88–92)

Somerset ignores this pointed condemnation, and replies with a callous: “If he be dead, braue Talbot then adieu” (1 Henry VI 2110; 4.3.98). Lucy retorts, still directly to Somerset: “His Fame liues in the world, his Shame


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in you” (1 Henry VI 2111; 4.3.99). It would not be difficult to imagine an audience cheering at this last line of the scene. Shakespeare has made Lucy, a commoner, the representative of the audience – an audience who knows the ultimate, horrendous outcome of this noble quarrel. The third important role Shakespeare assigns Lucy is as eulogist for the hero Talbot. Lucy confronts the Dauphin in a gallant manner, refusing to acknowledge the possibility of surrender: “Submission Dolphin? Tis a meere French word: / We English Warriors wot not what it means” (1 Henry VI 2288–2289; 4.4.166–167). Again, one can well imagine the Elizabethan cheers that greeted this comment. Lucy then inquires into the whereabouts of Talbot, delivering the epitaph from Richard Crompton’s Mansion of Magnanimitie: But where’s the great Alcides of the field Valiant Lord Talbot Earl of Shrewsbury? Created for his rare successe in Armes. (1 Henry VI 2294–2305; 4.4.171–174)

As Lucy goes on to list all of the titles that Talbot had accumulated, Joan interrupts him, and informs him scornfully that “Him that thou magnifiest with all these Titles, / Stinking and fly-blowne lyes heere at our feet” (1 Henry VI 2309–2310; 4.4.187–188). Most critics, eager to applaud Joan, criticize Lucy’s speech as “pompous,” “jingoistic,” and so “grandiloquent” that the balance of the audience’s sympathy tilts in Joan’s direction because of it.8 But, as Berry points out, much of this is owing to the fact that Joan’s vitality and sarcasm appeal to a modern audience.9 Lucy’s language is no more decorous than Talbot’s when he meets his death, or Joan’s own when she meets the Dauphin (1 Henry VI 335–345; 1.2.128–134). These grandiose speeches are formulaic in the play. In this case, Lucy is paraphrasing the inscription on Talbot’s own tomb, and it is hard to imagine that Shakespeare is mocking an inscription on a grave. It is even more difficult to imagine that an Elizabethan audience would have found a Frenchwoman’s derision of the body of an Englishman amusing. But, most of all, Lucy’s speech is one of the last vestiges of chivalry that is found in the trilogy. Henry V, Bedford, Salisbury, and Talbot represent England’s chivalric past. They are men of honor, valor, and gallantry – men who place their country’s welfare above their own, men who pay their respects to their enemies even as they pledge their loyalties to friends. Each of these men dies within the short span of 1 Henry VI, and each of these men is memorialized with formal speeches that befit their towering lives. Henry is honored by the Dukes of Exeter, Gloucester, and Winchester; Bedford

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and Salisbury are honored by the Earl of Shrewsbury. When Talbot, the last of the great heroes, dies, Shakespeare chooses William Lucy to memorialize him. Despite the procession of fallen characters throughout the Henry VI plays, there is no one else who receives a formal eulogy – not even King Henry VI. Lucy’s honor is for Talbot, but Shakespeare’s honor is for Lucy – he is permitted the last chivalric speech of the play sequence. Furthermore, in Lucy’s last lines he manages to earn the respect of his enemies. After he realizes Talbot is dead, he cries out: Oh that I could but call these dead to life, It were enough to fright the Realme of France. Were but his Picture left amongst you here, It would amaze the prowdest of you all. Giue me their Bodyes, that I may beare them hence, And giue them Buriall, as beseemes their worth. (1 Henry VI 2315–2320; 4.4.193–198)

Joan responds “I think this vpstarte is old Talbots Ghost, / He speakes with such a proud commanding spirit” (1 Henry VI 2321–2322; 4.4.199– 200). We could argue that this is spoken in Joan’s typical sarcastic tone, but the words she says are true. Lucy has spoken in a proud, commanding spirit, much as Talbot once did. When he leaves with the bodies of Talbot and his son, Lucy predicts: “from their ashes shal be rear’d / A Phoenix that shall make all France affear’d” (1 Henry VI 2327–2328; 4.4.204–205). The fact that this prophecy is not fulfilled in the play or its sequels is insignificant. What is most important is the play’s confident affirmation of this potential for renewal. Whoever he may be and whenever he appears, the “future” English hero will be the reincarnation of these fifteenth-century predecessors. It could also be pointed out that a sixteenth-century audience, facing the threat of Catholic conspiracies to overthrow their queen and Protestant way of life, would find great comfort in believing that a phoenix would someday rise to make all of their enemies “affear’d.” When Shakespeare wrote 1 Henry VI, no later than 1590, Sir Thomas Lucy was at the height of his power. Unlike the rest of the nobles we have discussed, Lucy’s power, concentrated in Warwickshire, was something that Shakespeare was likely to have experienced personally. The deer-poaching legend may be just that, but there is no disputing the fact that Sir Thomas Lucy was the Sheriff of the county where Shakespeare spent his youth. Although not as quaint as the idea that Shakespeare was satirizing Thomas Lucy in the character of Justice Shallow, the notion that Shakespeare was


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honoring Thomas Lucy in the portrayal of his ancestor in 1 Henry VI is more likely. L ord Saye James Fiennes, the first Baron Saye and Sele, was a man with aspirations of nobility who met a very ignoble end. He was a hero in the Hundred Years War against France, and was awarded the lordship of Court-le-Compte, the governorship of Arques, and the Captain Generalship of towns along the Seine by Henry V. Henry VI continued to reward him with offices until this minor aristocrat became a member of the Privy Council and Treasurer of England. In 1447 he was created Baron Saye and Sele – commemorating his grandmother’s family, the Lords Saye, and the territory of Sele, formerly called Beeding, a priory in Saumur County, Kent.10 In 1450 he was removed from office after the lower house of Parliament indicted him for the loss of Anjou and Maine. The loss of the French territories was most certainly the fault of those in higher positions that Fiennes, but Henry VI allowed him to take the blame, possibly anticipating nothing more than imprisonment. Henry was wrong. Saye was committed to the Tower for his own protection while awaiting trial. He was handed over to the Cade rebels by Lord Scales (an incident not recorded in either of Shakespeare’s versions), dragged to the Standard in Cheapside by the mob, and beheaded there. His name was never cleared and his reputation continued to be impugned in the chronicle histories. In Shakespeare’s Henry VI, he shares with Sir Humphrey Stafford and the Duke of Suffolk the dubious distinction of being humiliated and executed by a commoner. Although he is a minor character in the play, the recent intense interest in the character of Jack Cade has drawn an associative, albeit slight, notice to the character of Lord Saye. Unfortunately for his lordship, this attention has not been favorable. Saye is often seen as the consummate elitist who betrays his snobbery through his classical learning and who, sadly but inevitably, justly deserves to be decapitated by an angry mob. Cade accuses Saye of much more than giving up France. Saye has also, according to Cade: most traitorously corrupted the youth of the Realme, in erecting a Grammar Schoole . . . appointed Iustices of Peace, to call poore men before them, about matters they were not able to answer. Moreouer, thou hast put them in prison, and because they could not reade, thou hast hang’d them, when (indeede) onely for that cause they haue beene most worthy to liue. (2 Henry VI 2656–2677; 4.7.25–43)

Saye responds bona terra, mala gens (2 Henry VI 2687; 4.7.54), then offers, in his defense, the following speech:

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Shakespeare and the Nobility Heare me Speake, and beare mee but wh’re you will: Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, Is term’d the civil’st place of all this Isle: Sweet is the Covntry, because full of Riches, The People Liberall, Valiant, Actiue, Wealthy, Which makes me hope you are not void of pitty. I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandie, Yet to recouer them would lose my life. (2 Henry VI 2690–2698; 4.7.56–63)

Some literary scholars find this speech highly offensive, particularly since it begins with a Latin phrase and a reference to Caesar. Edna Zwick Boris decides that “instead of drawing upon his learning to help him communicate with his listeners . . . he quotes a Latin sentence that betrays his unfavorable judgment of his accusers . . . he is unable to resist the temptation to flaunt his knowledge.”11 Alexander Leggatt agrees that Saye betrays his learning; Paola Pugliatti finds his responses “absurd, and . . . obviously such as to condemn him.”12 This disapprobation seems harsh, particularly since the remainder of Saye’s speech is in plain enough English and is in fact quite a powerful defense of his actions: Iustice with fauour haue I alwayes done, Prayres and Teares haue mou’d me, Gifts could neuer. When haue I ought exacted at your hands? Kent to maintaine, the King, the Realme and you, Large gifts haue I bestow’d on learned Clearkes, Because my Booke preferr’d me to the King. And seeing Ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the Wing wherewith we flye to heauen, Unlesse you be possest with diuellish spirits, You cannot but forbeare to murther me: This Tongue hath parlied vnto Forraigne Kings For your behoofe. (2 Henry VI 2699–2710; 4.7.64–75)

Annabel Patterson, in her seminal study on the cultural tradition of protest in Shakespeare’s plays, is among the first to clearly define Cade as a representative of the voice of the populace; more precisely, Patterson sees Cade as one of the first members of the populace to speak for himself, rather than through the “ventriloquism” of a member of the dominant culture (i.e. Salisbury). Despite the voice that Cade is given, Patterson sees him as essentially hypocritical and ultimately the tool of the dominant culture because he is in the employ of York. Patterson remains severe toward Lord Saye, declaring that he “stands for that salaried version of liberal humanism


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whose appeal to metaphysical values . . . continually justified its institutional rewards.”13 Judging by critical response, the notion of Cade as social censor is appealing to our modern sensibilities, as indeed is the vision of Cade as underdog rebel. However, critics, in their haste to assign the same roles to Shakespeare, ignore some pertinent facts. First, if adopting a Latinate speech is indicative of social plutocratism, then Shakespeare must have been a tremendous parvenu himself. The Henry VI play group is littered with classical references and flaunts literary and historical knowledge without the slightest regard to the feelings or sensibilities of the unlearned. In short, Shakespeare betrays his own learning throughout the plays; it is doubtful that he would have considered this betrayal as either a sign of elitism or a punishable offense. Second, critics ignore the fact that Saye’s defense of himself is very powerful. After the above speech, as Saye is being dragged off to his execution, he calls out: Tell me: wherein haue I offended most? Haue I affected wealth, or honour? Speake. Are my Chests fill’d vp with extorted Gold? Is my Aparrell sumptuous to behold? Whom haue I iniur’d, that ye seeke my death? These hands are free from guiltelesse bloodshedding, This breaste from harbouring foule deceitful thoughts. O let me liue. (2 Henry VI 2728–2735; 4.7.92–99)

This is rather an extraordinary defense, and certainly raises him above a simple “salaried humanist” who resorts to metaphysical values. Saye is not preaching an erudite philosophy. He is defending himself against each of Cade’s accusations in a forthright and concrete manner. He challenges Cade to answer him in kind and to describe his crimes. But Cade, who has been so eloquent in indicting the aristocracy for its failures and abuses, cannot answer him. Indeed, Cade is actually moved by Saye’s pleas and admits that his case is well-pled: “I feele remorse in myselfe with his words; but Ile bridle it: / He shall dye, and it bee but for pleading so well for his life” (2 Henry VI 2736; 4.7.100–102). Alexander Leggatt states that Cade is moved to sympathy for Saye.14 This is not true. Cade has expressed remorse, not pity. He is not moved to clemency because he regrets Saye’s predicament. He is moved to guilt because he knows Lord Saye’s words are true. Ellen Caldwell has argued that Cade’s “literalism and materialism confound Saye into an admission of guilt.”15 I find no indication of this in the text. Saye never admits to anything but riding in footcloth (2 Henry VI 2678; 4.7.45).

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It may well be that Cade’s accusations carry some validity with regard to the aristocracy in general. It is doubtless true that they did imprison commoners and hang them for little more than their inability to read. But, as Barbara Hodgdon argues, these accusations reproduce almost exactly the nobles’ claims against Gloucester;16 if this is the case, then the claims against Saye must be as invalid as those against Gloucester. Although, as many critics have pointed out, Cade accuses Saye of richly clothing his horse, “when honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets,”17 this does not seem to be a legitimate indictment. Saye states, and Cade does not dispute, that he is not arrayed sumptuously while others are in rags, that he does not extort money from honest citizens, that he does not, as Cade later tells his compatriots, “breake your backes with burthens, take your houses ouer your heads, rauish your Wiues and Daughters before your faces” (2 Henry VI 2807–2808; 4.8.28–30). As Emrys Jones argues, Saye has in fact revealed himself to be “an incorruptible dispenser of justice, a lover of learning, and so a generous patron, a practiced speaker on ambassadorial missions, a member of the intelligence service, . . . a man of heavy responsibility who wakes while others sleep.”18 Shakespeare has provided Lord Saye with a nearly ironclad defense that almost succeeds in saving his life. When he sees that his own virtues will not save him, Saye appeals to the rebels’ souls: Ah Countrimen: If when you make your prair’s, God should be so obdurate as your selues, How would it fare with your departed soules, And therefore yet relent, and saue my life. (2 Henry VI 2745–2748; 4.7.109–112)

At this point, Cade demands that he be killed, and reveals that his true motives for the execution are not Saye’s crimes but his own ambition: the proudest Peere in the Realme, shall not weare a head on his shoulders, vnlesse he pay me tribute: there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me her Maydenhead ere they haue it. (2 Henry VI 2749–2753; 4.7.114–117)

Cade has, in his own words, exonerated Saye by testifying to his own tyranny. When Cade has Saye murdered, it is a turning point in the play. It is at this point, as Chris Fitter states, that Cade’s rebellion becomes an exercise in sadism.19 The third point that critics have ignored about this episode in 2 Henry VI is that Saye’s self-defense is entirely missing from any historical source as well as from The Contention. The historical chronicles of Saye’s own time


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are not kind to him. A fifteenth-century chronicle, by Robert Bale, states that wherever soldiers saw the arms of the Lord Saye they pulled them down and despoiled them.20 Polydore Vergil says only that: [t]he Kentish commons raged with crueltie upon the citizens, none went about to withstand them before that John Saye, lorde treasurer of England, with sundry other gentlemen, were beheaded. (History 85)

Robert Fabyan, who wrote before Polydore, included a few more details. He reports that the commons included Saye in the indictment against Suffolk (New Chronicles 622). Fabyan also indicates that Saye argued for his life: Then the lorde Saye beyng, as before is sayde, at Guyldhalle, desyred that he mighte be iuged by his pyers. Wherof herynge, the capitayne sent a company of his vnto the halle, the whiche perforce toke him from his offycers, and so brought hym vnto the standard in Chepe, where, or he were halfe shryuen, they strake of his hede. (624)

Edward Hall does not deviate from Fabyan’s account: [Cade] caused syr James Fynes lord Say . . . to be brought to the Gylde halle of London, and there to be arrayned: which beyng before the kynges justices put to aunswere, desired to be tryed by his peers, for the longer delay of his life. The Capitayne perceivyng his dilatorie ple, by force toke him from the officers, and brought him to the standard in Cheape, and there before his confession ended, caused his head to be cut of, and pitched it on a highe poole, which was openly borne before hym through the strets. (Union 221)

Earlier, Hall also implies, as does Fabyan, that Saye was not completely innocent of Cade’s accusations. When the people demand that Suffolk be handed over for the murder of Gloucester, King Henry “first sequestered the lord Saye, beyng threescore of Englande and other the Dukes adherents, from their offices” (219). Both Fabyan and Hall seem to believe that Saye was a cohort of Suffolk, and may actually have been responsible for the loss of Anjou and Maine. Raphael Holinshed, in his Chronicles, dutifully follows Hall’s account, only stating outright Hall’s implication that Lord Saye was a party to the loss of Anjou and Maine (iii, 532). Of course, Saye is not sequestered by Henry or associated with Suffolk in Shakespeare. His first appearance in The Contention is when he appears before Henry after the Cade Rebellion has begun and after Suffolk has been killed (Contention 2578–2583). In William Baldwin’s 1559 edition of The Mirrour for Magistrates, Jack Cade’s dreams of joining the nobility are almost fulfilled – he is the only

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commoner to have his own didactic poem in the collection. In the firstperson poem, Cade admits readily if briefly to the murder of Saye: I entred London, did there what I list: The treasurer, lord Saye, I did conspire To haue condemned: whereof when I mist (For hee by law my malice did resist) By force I tooke him in Guyldhall from the heape, And headed him before the crosse in Cheape. (Mirrour 161)

Baldwin does not provide any details regarding Saye’s guilt or innocence, but he does supply a footnote that quotes Hall’s rendition of the story.21 Among John Stowe’s memoranda is A Proclamation Made by Jacke Cade, Captayn of ye Rebells in Kent.22 Cade in this proclamation indicts the Duke of Suffolk for “the dethe of the . . . Duke of Glowecester . . . also the realme of Fraunce lost, the Duchy of Normandy, Gascon, and Gyan, and Anjoy demayn lost” (97). There is no mention made of Lord Saye. Following the proclamation is a “dyrge made by the comons of Kent in the tyme of ther rysynge, when Jack Cade was theyr cappitayn.” This long poem contains the following stanza: Rys up, Lord Say, and rede Parce michi, Domine, Nihil enim sunt dies mei, that shalt thow singe. The Bysshope of Carlyll seyth credo videre All fals traytors to come to evyll endynge. Dwelle thow shalt withe grete mornynge, Rede Tedet animam meam vita mee, Manus tue, Danyell thow shalt synge. For Jake Napis sowle placebo and dirige. (101)

There is very little indication that Stowe was a source for Shakespeare, but this is the only historical document that mocks Saye’s use of Latin as Cade does in 2 Henry VI. In A Short English Chronicle Stowe follows Hall’s story: [t]he Lorde Say was sett oute of the Toure to the Yelde Hall for the meire to have jugement, and whan he came befor the meir he saide he wolde be juged by his peyrs. And the comenes of Kent toke him from the officers and ledd him to the Standart in Chepe and there smote of his hede. And then the capteyn did do drawe him throwe London, and over London brige, and to Seint Thomas Watring, and ther he was hanged and quartered, and his hede and Crowmers hede and a nother manes hede weer sett on London brige. (67–68)


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Saye has no defense in any of these versions, only a rather haughty demand to be tried by his peers. He does not make this demand at all in Shakespeare. In The Contention, Shakespeare gives as little attention to Lord Saye as his sources. In Saye’s first appearance, before the king, Henry tells him to flee with the court to avoid Cade’s wrath. Saye responds “My innocence my Lord shall pleade for me. / And therefore with your highnesse leaue, ile staie behinde” (Contention 1702–1703). In 2 Henry VI, Shakespeare changes this to a courageous gesture on Saye’s part. When Henry offers to take Saye to Killingsworth, Saye responds that his presence could endanger Henry’s life: So might your Graces person be in danger: The sight of me is odious in their eyes: And therefore in this Citty will I stay, And liue alone as secret as I may. (2 Henry VI 2580–2583; 4.4.44–47)

Henry, on the point of fleeing, tells Saye not to trust the Kentish rebels and Saye replies: “The trust I haue, is in mine innocence, / And therefore am I bold and resolute” (2 Henry VI 2595–2596; 4.4.58–59). Our first meeting with Saye in 2 Henry VI, therefore, demonstrates his own bravery as well as his concern for and loyalty to the frightened king. When he is brought before Cade in The Contention, Saye is almost a silent victim. He admits to wearing the footcloth, and says of the men of Kent, “bona terra” (Contention 1790). This is of course a truncation of the full proverb which he gives in 2 Henry VI: bona terra, mala gens (2 Henry VI 2687). His misuse of the proverb in The Contention would seem to be a mockery of his learning, except that in his subsequent lines he appropriately praises the land without indicting its people: Kent in the Commentaries Caesar wrote, Termed it the ciuel’st place of all this land, Then noble Country-men, heare me but speake, I sold not France, I lost not Normandie. (Contention 1795–1798)

This avoids the sarcasm of 2 Henry VI. Saye has said the land is good in Latin and in English, without making mention of the bad people that inhabit it. But what Saye lacks in sarcasm he also lacks in eloquence. Except for his assurance that he is shaking because of palsy (Contention 1800), the above lines are the last we hear from him in The Contention. There is no defense, no argument for his virtues, no plea for the godliness of learning. Cade dispatches him promptly and without regret, and there is no one to speak

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5 William Fiennes, 1st Viscount Saye and Sele, 1582–1662. Son of Richard Fiennes and direct descendant of Lord Saye killed by Jack Cade in Henry VI Part 2.

for Lord Saye. When we read The Contention, we could easily believe that Saye is guilty of all Cade’s accusations. Shakespeare’s change could be explained when one examines the history of Saye’s descendants. Lord Saye’s son William was a Yorkist under the command of the Earl of Warwick. He accompanied the exiled Edward IV to Flanders and was part of the triumphant party that restored Edward to the throne. He married Margaret Wykeham and by this marriage received Broughton Castle, which was to remain the family seat of the Sayes. William Fiennes became the High Admiral of England, but his glory was short-lived and he was slain at the battle of Barnet. Although William was not attainted, his heirs were never summoned to Parliament and thus the barony went into dormancy. The title remained dormant when all the chroniclers were


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writing their histories. In 1590, Lord Saye’s direct descendant, Richard Fiennes, was de jure Lord Saye and Sele. Although the family was extant, it was neither prominent nor important. However, Richard Fiennes began to accumulate honors in the 1590s. He was knighted by Elizabeth in 1592, created Sheriff of Oxfordshire in 1593, and was a companion to the Earl of Lincoln, Ambassador to the Landgrave of Hesse, in 1596. As early as 1586, Richard began petitioning Lord Burghley for the restoration of his rank, listing the Barony of Saye and Sele as 13th on the hierarchy of nobles.23 In 1587, he enlisted the support of Leicester and Lord Chancellor Hatton; by 1597 he was asking Burghley to intercede with the queen.24 On August 9, 1603, James I finally granted Fiennes’ petition. The new king issued a Patent which recognized and confirmed to Richard Fiennes and his heirs the name, style, title, rank, dignity, and honor of Baron of Saye and of Sele.25 If Shakespeare revised The Contention in the Jacobean period, he was dealing with the ancestor of an existing barony and with a baron restored to full honors and rank. This could explain why the character of Lord Saye is so augmented, and so positively portrayed, in 2 Henry VI. Shakespeare provides Richard Fiennes, now the seventh Lord Saye and Sele, with a viable defense for his ancestor. The first Lord Saye is no longer implicated with Suffolk, as he is in Hall and Holinshed. The play never implies that Saye is responsible for – or even connected to – the loss of Anjou and Maine, a charge the chronicles seem to accept. The portrayal of Saye in 2 Henry VI is that of a brave man, loyal to his king, who successfully makes the case that he is a good governor and patron of the arts. In short, the portrayal of Lord Saye is made to be deliberately flattering. One could argue that Shakespeare may simply have been making the case for Saye on the grounds of his humanistic philosophy. This could certainly be true. However, the fact that the radical change in Saye’s portrayal in 2 Henry VI coincides with the restoration of the Barony of Saye and Sele seems likely to be attributable to more than coincidence.

NOTES 1. Nicholas Rowe, “Some Account of the Life etc. of Mr. William Shakespeare,” in Shakespeare’s Works, ed. Nicholas Rowe, vol. i (London: 1709), 2. 2. Quoted in S. Schoenbaum, William Shakespeare: A Compact Documentary Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1977), 98. 3. Schoenbaum, Compact Documentary, 103. 4. Ibid., 104–107.

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5. Ibid., 106; F. E. Halliday, A Shakespeare Companion 1564–1964 (Baltimore: Penguin, 1964), 292. Greenblatt acknowledges the problems with the legend of Shakespeare and Thomas Lucy, but appears to want to believe it, despite its logical flaws. It seems difficult to let go of the idea that Shakespeare was “driven” from Stratford and got his revenge through his pen. Although the story is an attractive and even romantic one, I remain skeptical. Greenblatt, however, also acknowledges the tribute to William Lucy in 1 Henry. Stephen Greenblatt, Will in the World (New York: Norton, 2004), 149–156. 6. Phyllis Rackin, in Stages of History, claims that there was a “William Lucy” in Shakespeare’s “neighborhood” at the time of Henry VI and that Shakespeare knew of him through local tradition (153). The only William Lucy of whom I am aware is Thomas Lucy’s ancestor. 7. Edward I. Berry, Patterns of Decay: Shakespeare’s Early Histories (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1975), 14. 8. Leslie A. Fiedler, The Stranger in Shakespeare (New York: Stein and Day, 1972), 57–58. See also H. M. Richmond, Shakespeare’s Political Plays (New York: Random House, 1967), 31, and Donald G. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early History Plays: Politics at Play on the Elizabethan Stage (London: Macmillan, 1990), 45. 9. Berry, Patterns, 18. 10. The family spelled the name as Saye. Shakespeare spells it as “Say” in The Contention and 2 Henry VI. 11. Edna Zwick Boris, Shakespeare’s English Kings, the People, and the Law (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1978), 66. 12. See Alexander Leggatt, Shakespeare’s Political Drama: The History Plays and The Roman Plays (London: Routledge, 1988), 19, and Paola Pugliatti, Shakespeare the Historian (London: Macmillan, 1996), 172. 13. See Annabel Patterson, Shakespeare and the Popular Voice, (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1989), 50. Her chapter on 2 Henry VI covers pages 31–51. 14. Leggatt, Political Drama, 19. 15. Ellen C. Caldwell, “Jack Cade and Shakespeare’s Henry VI, Part Two,” Studies in Philology 2 (1995), 18–79, 56. 16. Barbara Hodgdon. The End Crowns All: Closure and Contradiction in Shakespeare’s History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 64. 17. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early Plays, 75. 18. Emrys Jones, The Origins of Shakespeare (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977), 171– 172. 19. Chris Fitter, “‘Your Captain is Brave and Vows Reformation’: Jack Cade, the Hackett Rising, and Shakespeare’s Vision of Popular Rebellion in 2 Henry VI,” Shakespeare Studies 32 (2004), 173–219. 20. Caldwell, “Jack Cade,” 41, quoting from “Bale’s Chronicle,” in Six Town Chronicles of England, ed. Ralph Flenley (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1911), 134. 21. Foxe also reports that the commons were angry with Saye and so the king sequestered him (Actes and Monuments, 717). Foxe does not, however, describe the Cade Rebellion.


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22. In Three Fifteenth-Century Chronicles, with Historical Memoranda by John Stowe, ed. James Gairdner, Camden Society, New Series, 28 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1880), 94–98. This is an edited version of Stowe’s memoranda. Subsequent page references are given parenthetically in the text. 23. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. xi, 485. Public Record Office, “Reasons that Caused the Discontinuance of the Title of Lord Say and Sele,” September 25, 1586, Cal. S. P. Dom. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1581–1590) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 356. 24. Public Record Office, “Sir Richard Fiennes to Lord Burghley,” October 16, 1597, Cal. S. P. Dom. Reign of Elizabeth [I] (1595–1597) (London: 1865; reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus, 1967), 518. 25. Cokayne, Complete Peerage, vol. xi, 150.

Conclusion

This study began with the affront of Lord Cobham and is built on the premise that Lord Cobham was the rule, not the exception, to aristocratic sensibilities regarding family in the sixteenth century. If this premise can be assumed, and there is ample evidence that it can be, then other premises must follow: first, that Shakespeare and his audience lived in a society which was founded on and driven by the notion of family and the privileging of genealogy. Second, that the aristocracy was particularly sensitive about family lineage and reputation, primarily because such considerations were paramount in determining an aristocrat’s connections, standing, and future. Third, that the dominance of state-controlled chronicles as disseminators of history meant that a family’s historical identity was largely dictated by a regime whose main objective was the control and suppression of the oncepowerful nobility. Private and family histories could subvert this control, but the rise of the history play meant that the Tudor version of history was suddenly available to a wider, less literate, and less discriminating audience. These premises lead to some final suppositions: that Shakespeare, as a man of his time and place, had to be aware of the importance of family to the aristocratic echelon. Furthermore, as a dramatist of Tudor history, Shakespeare had also to be aware that he was recreating the failings and flaws of the ancestors of that echelon. Because of the universality of Shakespeare, we have a tendency to displace our own cultural peculiarities onto him. However, even if we suppose that Shakespeare was the first modern man, a radical socialist, or a committed feminist, we should also recognize some more prosaic facts as well. Shakespeare lived in a society that required deference to one’s social superiors. These social superiors had the power to make one’s life fairly tenuous if they perceived a lack of such deference. As a playwright and actor, Shakespeare had the added burden of needing at least the nominal support of a noble patron. On the other hand, Shakespeare was also in the business of attracting paying customers of all social ranks. He therefore had to maintain a delicate balance between writing plays that 220

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were entertaining enough to attract an audience, but politic enough to keep him and his fellow actors out of prison. By necessity, this study is an examination of possibilities rather than an argument of fact. We may see the discrepancies between Shakespeare’s plays and his chronicle sources, we may examine the activities and status of descendants, but in the end we can only hypothesize the connection between the two. However, there is enough evidence to suggest a pattern of response. In other words, Shakespeare not only displays some cognizance of family histories and associations in the plays, but he seems also to use the plays to comment on the status and activities of descendants. It is this commentary that sets him apart from his chronicle sources. Taken individually, his portrayals of the nobles could be interpreted as nothing more – or less – than the artistic choice to complicate and breathe life into the pedestrian narratives found in the chronicles. However, when we look at the portrayals collectively, and gloss these choices according to the activities of the descendants, we can recognize the emergence of a definable pattern. This pattern suggests that Shakespeare responded in a sophisticated and nuanced way to the status of the current generation of aristocrats when he was creating the characterizations of their ancestors. This is not to say that Shakespeare was a sycophant. If he had been, there were certainly easier paths to follow than recreating the Wars of the Roses, a national catastrophe brought about by aristocratic greed and ambition. If he wished to flatter the aristocracy, he could have written something entirely laudatory about the nobles, like the anonymous Thomas of Woodstock. Instead, he did choose to complicate the portrayals he found in the chronicles and create characters that were as deeply flawed as they were redeemable. He also could have also followed dramatic precedent and written exclusively about an England long past. Before 1594, the majority of history plays were about early English history: The Misfortunes of Arthur (Thomas Hughes, 1588); The Reign of King Edward the Third (anonymous, 1590); The Life and Death of Jack Straw (anonymous, 1591); The Troublesome Reign of John King of England (anonymous, 1591); The Famous Chronicle of King Edward the First (George Peele, 1591); The Troublesome Reign and Lamentable Death of King Edward the Second (Christopher Marlowe, 1592); and Thomas of Woodstock (anonymous, 1592).1 These plays offered the safety of antiquity, when family connections were vague and family foibles existed in the remote mists of legendary history. The Wars of the Roses, on the other hand, still held immediacy for the Elizabethan audience. And whereas only the most dedicated family historian would be aware of the activities of ancient ancestors, every aristocrat knew what his great-grandfather had done in

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the war that changed the face of England. When Shakespeare decided to broach the subject, therefore, he was delving into an imbroglio that could easily have been avoided if flattery was his motivation. The salient question, of course, is why he delved into the imbroglio at all. When addressing Shakespeare’s treatment of the aristocracy in his plays, most critics, whether Tillyardian or Marxist or materialist or new historicist, focus on assigning a political ideology to Shakespeare. The question of whether Shakespeare was a propagandist for the power structure or a spokesman for the oppressed underclass is ultimately an indeterminate one. But the one indisputable fact is that Shakespeare chose to write almost exclusively about the titled classes, regardless of the genre in which he was writing. Certainly, his plays are polycentric and polyphonic, providing a variety of views and voices and always accommodating more than one concern. But it is the noble classes that dominate his plays. This goes beyond characterization. The plays operate on the aristocratic value system. Aristocratic ethics and beliefs permeate every level of society in the works; the lower classes, even when they appear “rebellious” or “cowardly,” are merely echoing and imitating the good and ill in aristocratic values. Cade follows York in declaring his lineage as justification for a rebellion; Nym, Pistol, and Bardolph behave with the same cowardly hesitation at Harfleur as Sir John Falstaff does at Shrewsbury. Whether Shakespeare’s portrayal of the noble classes was a condemnation or a celebration, I believe it is safe to say that the aristocracy held an absolute fascination for him. Furthermore, I would suggest that this same fascination was found in the society around him. There were many reasons why the nobility captivated discourse in the 1590s, and Shakespeare’s plays indicate an awareness of each of those reasons. The first and most obvious reason is that the aristocracy was the seat of power in Elizabethan England, and as such, it was the class that dominated public interest and opinion. In general, Shakespearean scholars have overlooked or downplayed the role of the English nobility, focusing instead on underrepresented classes or the figure of Elizabeth. Much of this is in response to Lawrence Stone’s hugely influential work Crisis of the Aristocracy, which argues that the aristocracy was in a state of decline in the Elizabethan and Jacobean period.2 Stone’s theories complement the traditionally held belief that the Tudors greatly weakened the aristocracy, transforming the nobles from feudal magnates to a “service” nobility that did little but act as courtiers and councilors to the monarchy. But more recently, historians have definitively disproved the theory that the Elizabethan nobility was substantially weakened.3 In fact, the noble classes, as well as the gentry

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beneath them, spent the last decade of the Elizabethan age flourishing in a rediscovered superfluity of power, status, and influence that they had not experienced since the fall of the last Plantagenet. It is also often supposed that Elizabeth was actively antagonistic toward her nobles and successful in forcing the aristocracy into in a state of social and political decline.4 We now know that much of this was Catholic propaganda and in fact quite contrary to the truth.5 Elizabeth was a shrewd politician, and shrewd politicians know that survival depends on courting the power base. In the sixteenth century, the power base resided exclusively in the aristocracy. It was the nobles, not the queen, who dominated and influenced matters of state. It was the nobles who, in times of peace, acted as ambassadors abroad and who counseled the queen on all matters, foreign and domestic. It was the nobles who, in times of war, raised and commanded armies. The Lord Lieutenancies, which were dominated by the peers, gave them complete control of the local militias at a time when the queen and central government had no standing army. The nobles provided troops, plucked from their tenant bases, for the royal army, and loaned their own ships to supplement the royal navy. Politically, the nobles completely controlled local and county elections. Much has also been made of the ascendancy of the House of Commons during the Elizabethan era.6 However, although the Lower House was enlarged by 119 seats between 1547 and 1584, many of the seats were still under the control of the peerage through their patronage system.7 Elizabeth’s relative lack of interest in religious matters permitted her councilors to control ecclesiastical appointments as well, which of course had extensive implications.8 In addition to power, the peerage enjoyed an impressive range of privileges. More importantly, at least in terms of this study, the aristocracy had the privilege of scandalum magnatum, a means of action against slander, which resulted in the award of excessive damages to the plaintiff peer. As J. H. Hexter points out, the “prestige of [the aristocracy] was probably never higher” than in the latter half of the sixteenth century.9 As the power of the aristocracy grew, many members delegated some of their responsibilities to the upper gentry, which was the social class immediately below the titular peerage in rank and status. The upper gentry consisted of knights, baronets, and “esquires,” and often served as the link between the titled peers (dukes, earls, barons) and the lower gentry – a lower class of professional men such as civil servants, lawyers, higher clergy, and university dons who were granted the appellation of “gentleman.” Shakespeare’s mother’s family, the Ardens, and eventually Shakespeare himself, fell into this latter category.10 The upper gentry maintained significant

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influence in the Elizabethan reign. Its members controlled all county politics (under the protection of the peerage) and they dominated the bench of Justices.11 They enjoyed the same formal right of preference as the peers, and held many of the same legal and even seigneurial privileges.12 They could, like the peerage, hold a coat of arms. Patrick Collinson calls this middle ground of politics a “gentry republic,” where the gentry established and operated in counties as if they were their own peerage.13 The upper gentry families were similar in attitudes and ways of life to the lower reaches of the peerage, and it was with them that social and matrimonial ties were maintained.14 The end of the sixteenth century saw a considerable enlargement of the gentry and an increase in its landownership. The gentry’s share of landownership increased from thirty percent to fifty percent, a gain not made at the expense of the peerage, whose own landownership increased, but at the expense of the crown.15 As the brokers of power, the peers and gentry would certainly draw the intellectual attention of a student of history such as Shakespeare. But, as the preceding chapters have demonstrated, the nobility provided enough high theatre to be irresistible to a fledging playwright. Elizabeth I may have been Gloriana, the Virgin Queen, but by 1590 the brilliancy of that particular star was fading, eclipsed, to a large degree, by the jeunesse dorée who were arriving in her court. The young members of the nobility – the earls of Essex, Cumberland, Rutland, and Southampton among others – were the celebrities of their day and, like most celebrities, they possessed all the attributes necessary to capture public interest. They were comparatively handsome; they at least appeared to be moneyed. They lived extravagantly, they dressed in fabulous attire, they engaged in amorous and foreign intrigues, and they staged entertainments that in spectacle and cost vastly overshadowed anything presented at the public theaters. Their exploits, whether in the battlefield or the bedroom, provided the populace with sensational gossip, and their contention for the throne of England fueled endless speculation. Beyond all this, or perhaps because of it, the nobles fashioned themselves and were perceived as the heroes of England. The times, and the country, were ripe for fresh champions. Foreign exploration, Continental wars, Celtic and Catholic rebellions all beckoned, and these enterprises mandated the services of young, swashbuckling Apollos, not aging, encumbered Dianas. In lifestyles, as well as in authority, the peers in particular fashioned themselves as alternative princes to the aging queen.16 Their manner of living was ostentatious, extravagant, and glamorous, particularly in London, where they had unlimited access to the luxury and entertainment trades of that

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city. The most obvious, or perhaps the most accessible, of the extravagances was their attire. In the 1590s the nobles took full advantage of the sumptuary laws and arrayed themselves in dazzling foreign fashions that were literally weighed down in gold, silver, embroidery, velvet, and silk. The fashions changed so rapidly, and the cost of following them was so exorbitant, that a smuggling trade in luxury cloths and accessories developed and thrived. In 1597, 250 chests containing 97,500 yards of velvet were confiscated for being illegally imported. By comparison, in the years 1564–1565, there had been a scarcity of gold and silver imports, and the main fabric import was the far more modest taffeta. The upper classes accessorized their sartorial splendor with jewelry. The finest jewels and plates were bought, exchanged, and displayed as signs of wealth and position and became something, as Stone describes, of a competitive mania among the aristocracy.17 Personal effects were only a small part of the aristocratic expenditures. The nobles entertained on a princely scale, even if they did not have princely purses to compensate. The goal while in London was to duplicate the amount and quality of feasting and entertainment that could be found at the family seat. Therefore, enormous expenditures were dedicated to finding the rarest and costliest dishes and the most extravagant forms of entertainment for the greatest number of guests. Entertainments were critical; no one could be adjudged a “true” noble unless he could host an extraordinary number of people in the grandest style possible. The gentry tended to host its entertainments in inns, but the peers needed more suitable accommodations in episcopal palaces or rented homes. Those homes, of course, had to be furnished in the appropriate splendor. The aristocrats’ obsession with self-aggrandizement, though distasteful, proved a boon to local merchants and workmen in the capital city. Tailors, jewelers, florists, importers, innkeepers, shopkeepers, grocers, and even the occasional actor, found themselves in demand as never before, all to feed the aristocratic appetite for excess. The lifestyles of the upper classes quite naturally placed them firmly in the forefront of the public imagination. Unlike Elizabeth, they did not sequester themselves backstage until the moments of contrived public appearances. Their positions may have placed them in court, but their appetites mandated that they inhabit the streets of London, interacting with and attracting the notice of the amalgamation of classes that populated the capital city. It should not be assumed that the responses were all critical. A fop bedecked in gold and silver vestments, parading through the streets and spending wildly, might be a humorous or even despicable sight, but it was also a sight that might have attracted a bit of gratitude if some of that overspending fell into one’s own purse. It is

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clear that the aristocrats maintained their flamboyant lifestyles to impress each other. It is less clear whether they cared about their public persona. But it is safe to assume that the public noticed them. The world changes very little. The flamboyant or wealthy or famous attract public attention much more than the virtuous or underprivileged or underrepresented. In the 1590s, something akin to a cult of aristocracy was born in the public imagination, nurtured by poets and artists and pamphleteers who lauded these new champions in flagrant bids for patronage. Would William Shakespeare have been immune or oblivious to this situation? His plays would argue quite the contrary. As a subject of the crown living in Elizabethan London, Shakespeare was exposed to every class and underclass imaginable. He was surrounded by beggars and prostitutes, by merchants and soldiers, by churchmen and alchemists. But he chose to write about none of these groups, except in the most superficial ways. Instead, he wrote about a world he only peripherally inhabited, a world filled with people whose lives and lifestyles had become part of the public discourse. Nor was he a casual observer, merely responding to the current trend in gossip. His selection of the Wars of the Roses as the subject matter of his first plays indicates that he had a particular understanding of the historical moment that lay beneath the aristocratic sensationalism. The aristocracy of the 1590s was actively trying to recreate its fifteenthcentury status and England’s oligarchical past. In some cases, these attempts were merely gestures of showmanship. For example, in the early 1590s, the peerage “rediscovered” and revived certain medieval traditions such as the rituals of chivalry. These rituals included everything from dueling over a misspoken word to the far safer and more lavish reenactments of medieval tournaments. Although these tournaments were frequently held at court and were ostensibly intended to honor the queen, they were in reality selfadvertisements for the nobility. The peers would dress as medieval knights, proudly displaying the livery and crest of their family. They delivered orations and poems magnifying their family’s consequence in England’s history and future, they jousted with “rival” families for honors and ovations, and in general they used the occasion to parade about their wealth and charms. The language of chivalry, which Richard Helgerson describes as the primary language of Elizabethan public display,18 was more than an exercise of bravado. These tournaments recreated, in the most theatrical and ostentatious way possible, a time period when the power of the nobility was at its zenith. However, there were serious undertones to the aristocratic nostalgia for the middle ages. The peerage was actively reclaiming the viceregal powers

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that had been whittled away by the Tudor monarchy.19 For some, the reclamation was unnecessary. Many of the ancient noble families, particularly in the north, still operated as feudal regimes: they held franchises of manor homes; retained knights and squires who indicated their allegiance by wearing their lords’ coats of arms, and operated huge and complex networks of loyalties based on bounty, service, and reciprocity. The “new peers” – those created by Henry VII and Henry VIII – were still despised by the ancient families, but nonetheless did their best to duplicate their quasi-fiefdoms.20 These noble households exerted significant influence over a far-reaching “network” of tenants, protégés, and other inhabitants of the localities, and were often overwhelmed by suitors for their patronage, particularly since the queen herself was fairly miserly with favors.21 The oligarchical past was additionally resurrected in the rights of seigniorage, which gave the peers the ability to exact service and taxes from their tenants, to retain a jurisdiction over petty offenses such as debt, trespass, and nuisance, and to appoint the lowest officers in local government.22 As Christopher Haigh reports, Elizabethan England became a “federation ruled by regional magnates.”23 The power of the aristocracy had grown to such an extent that, by the end of the 1590s, there was no need for subtlety. The Earl of Essex issued a well-received call for a return to baronial England: “For England was most mighty when the nobility held and commanded in war and were grat housekeepers at home and compunded causes against their neighbours.”24 Essex’s call was eloquent but unnecessary. The nobles did rule at home and at war, and in the early 1590s were also beginning to regain the powers and prestige they once had. For virtually every family of the Elizabethan peerage, the Wars of the Roses had marked a turning point. It was the crossroads in history that either triggered the genesis of a noble household or dictated its survival. Shakespeare’s choice to set his earliest history plays in this crossroads may well have been his acknowledgment of the new crossroads at which the aristocracy, and England, found itself. But Shakespeare’s interest in the nobles reached beyond their theatrical lifestyles, and his understanding of them went deeper than their attempts to recreate their former glory. Shakespeare also understood the obsession with lineage and continuity that was so much a part of the aristocratic consciousness. He responded to this obsession not only by acknowledging the descendants of the characters in his history plays, but also by incorporating that aristocratic consciousness of legacy into the other plays in his canon. Many of Shakespeare’s characters express a driving need not only to be remembered but to be remembered on their own terms, which is precisely what the peerage attempted with the creation of genealogies. What is most

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interesting is that the characters who express this need are those without children to carry on their name and perpetuate their memory. They are thus compelled to entrust their stories to outside “historians.” These characters live and die with the hope that they will be remembered and reported correctly, but they, like the titled classes in Shakespeare’s midst, are at the mercy of the “historians” who may appropriate and manipulate their stories any way they wish. Hamlet is perhaps the most notable of these examples. His father’s ghost can demand “Remember me” of his son with full confidence, knowing that, as the bearer of his name, Prince Hamlet has no choice but to remember him. In fact, Hamlet becomes the sole custodian of his father’s memory; he is plagued by it when others have indeed forgotten. Yet, when Hamlet himself dies, he must beg his friend Horatio to remain alive “to tell my story” (Hamlet 5.2.291). Horatio desperately asks the conquering Fortinbras to “let me speak to th’yet unknown world / How these things came about” and to speak them now, “while men’s minds are wild,” lest they be misinterpreted (5.2.385, 398). Horatio understands that it takes only a short while for history to be distorted. Fortinbras, who also bears the name and now the title of his father, agrees to listen and to bury Hamlet as a soldier. Nevertheless, there is no guarantee that the memory of Hamlet will continue past Fortinbras’ hearing. No one bears Hamlet’s name. Also, although the feisty Hamlet of the fifth act may wish to be remembered as a soldier, the fact remains he was not one. What Fortinbras creates may be flattering, but it is not the “real” Hamlet. Similarly, Cleopatra, like the Elizabethan aristocracy, suddenly finds that she has lost control of her own history when she is captured by Caesar. She realizes, like many an aristocrat before her, that her story will now be in the hands of showmen and that she will be staged by some “squeaking boy” in the “posture of a whore” on the stage (Antony and Cleopatra 5.2.215–217). Cleopatra does have children, although they are only named in the play, but she knows that they are as doomed as she. Her children’s deaths ensure that her history is forever in the control of an outsider – in this case her enemy – and Octavius ends the play with the implication that the story of Antony and Cleopatra is now in his hands (5.2.351). As we know, Octavius did indeed manipulate Cleopatra’s story beyond any semblance of reality. In Shakespeare, neither heroism nor kingship is as great a guarantee of immortality as descendants. Othello, who barely has time to conceive a child, ends his tragedy with the plea that when Lodovico “shall of these unlucky deeds relate, / Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate” (Othello 5.2.350–351). The childless Richard II laments “for what can we bequeath / Save our deposed bodies to the ground? / Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke’s” (Richard II 3.2.145–146). He

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might well have added that his story too belongs to Bolingbroke; in the subsequent plays, Richard is only remembered as Bolingbroke’s sin. Hotspur, who in 1 Henry IV appears childless, is dependent on Prince Harry for his memorial. After he slays Hotspur, Harry promises, as custodian of Hotspur’s fame, that “thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave / But not remembered in thy epitaph” (5.4.99–101). Nevertheless, there is no doubt that Hotspur’s story is no longer his to tell. Harry only barely escapes the same fate. His St. Crispin’s day speech in Henry V is a stirring and inclusive call to brotherhood with his nobles at the battle of Agincourt. Yet, underneath it all, Harry must still rely on his men to keep his story alive “from this day to the ending of the world.” It is the good men around him who will teach it to their sons. If Harry dies at Agincourt, he will die without an heir and personal historian (4.3.56). Richard III, only survived by his enemies, is dismissed after his death as a “bloody dog” and buried in a forgotten tomb, doomed to be labeled as the greatest of English villains (Richard III 5.8.4). The presence of a living child, on the other hand, guarantees at least some type of memorial. Aaron, in Titus Andronicus, is the villain absolute to all but his own child. When he takes his baby in his arms, he realizes he holds his own immortality (4.2.105–110) and he fights the powers of heaven and earth, Goths and Romans, to keep that legacy alive. In King Lear, Gloucester’s soul and life are saved by his son Edgar; after Edgar defeats his bastard brother, he saves his father’s story as well. His first act, after revealing himself as “Edgar, thy father’s son” to Edmund, is to tell the truth about his father’s last few hours (5.3.164–180). Henry IV fears that, when he is “sleeping with his ancestors,” his wayward son will abandon his legacy (2 Henry IV 4.3.61). He chides Prince Harry that he will all but be “forgotten dust” when Harry takes the throne (4.3.244). When a chastened Harry promises his obedience, Henry entrusts to his son the story of his usurpation of Richard’s throne. Harry preserves Henry’s memory and, in becoming the type of king his father wanted, ensures the continuity of the Lancastrian rule. But Harry also takes on his father’s sin, and spends the rest of his life atoning for it (Henry V 270–285). As with Edgar and Gloucester, the son becomes the custodian of the father’s soul as well as his memory. Certainly we can argue that the desire to be remembered is a universal one. But in Shakespeare’s day it was the members of the aristocracy who actively maintained the continuity of their family name and histories, and who so openly conflated that continuity with their own personal identities. There were other lessons that Shakespeare apparently gathered from his

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observation of the aristocracy. For example, he may have recognized that identity was transferred with land and title. King Lear loses his identity when he gives his land away to his children. Without the land, he is “not Lear” and he shortly becomes to all intents and purposes childless (1.4.191). Regan, Goneril, and even Cordelia dash his hopes of being guarded and nursed in his old age, and no one, not even Cordelia, seems interested in preserving his name. When Lear dies, outliving all his children, Kent urges the survivors to “let him pass”; there is no comment, as there was with Gloucester, on how he will be remembered (5.3.286). On his part Lear, when he still has some wits left, subjects Goneril to the worst curse in his or his audience’s imagination – that she will not have a child to “honor her” (1.4.240). Macbeth, on the other hand, is an example of the transference of identity with title. He betrays his king and country after he takes on the title of Thane of Cawdor, a title previously held by a traitor. He also realizes that his title, his triumph, and his life are pointless without a child to follow him (Macbeth 3.1.64–65). Shakespeare apparently recognized the difference between a history perpetuated by a family and a history composed by an outsider, and he occasionally invoked the aristocratic belief that family histories were safer loci for the preservation of an individual’s personal identity and remembrance. But there is another facet to the study of noble genealogies and another possible reason why Shakespeare might have returned again and again to the stories of the English aristocracy. The genealogies of the nobility were more than a disparate collection of family stories that only affected a handful of wealthy and titled people. They were symbolic of the continuity of English society. The monarchs and the ruling families of England may change. The treatment and empowerment of the commons may change. The relationship and diplomacy between countries may change. The powers of Parliament and the monarchy may change. But the noble titles endure. Some of these titles had been in existence since the days of the Normans, although often held by different families, and they represented, in a unique way, not only the history but also the identity of England. In no other nation were there Somersets or Norfolks or Exeters, titles that were derived from the English soil itself. They were uniquely, enduringly, symbolically English, and there had to be some comfort in that fact. In the turbulent days of the 1590s, the only certainty was that England was about to be ruled by a new family, perhaps a family that did not derive its origins from the past and lands of England. That new family could bring with it a new religion, new politics, and new alliances with new countries. It would also most probably bring with it a new history. The noble families of England, despite their excesses

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and abuses, represented the only constant in English society. Perhaps that is what Shakespeare understood best when he wrote about them. NOTES 1. Alfred Harbage, Annals of English Drama: 975–1700, revised by Sylvia Stoler Wagonheim (London: Routledge, 1989). 2. Lawrence Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy 1558–1641 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965). Actually, Stone has also been misread. Stone does state that the power of the aristocracy had diminished from its glory days of a virtual oligarchy in the thirteenth century; however, he emphasizes that the true decline did not occur until well into James’ reign. The “crisis” of the Elizabethan aristocracy was in fact an economic crisis, brought about by the bloat of monastic spoils. By the 1590s, only a relatively few families had suffered sizable losses – the de Veres, the Stanleys, the Herberts – and these losses did little to affect social status. In fact they did little but increase the number of expedient marriage contracts and discreet debts. 3. See Helen Miller, Henry VIII and the English Nobility (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986); David Spring and Eileen Spring, “Social Mobility and the English Landed Elite,” Canadian Journal of History 21 (1986), 335–351; G. W. Bernard, The Tudor Nobility (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992); Anthony Easthope, “Romancing the Stone: History Writing and Rhetoric,” Social History (Great Britain) 18 (1993), 235–249; John Guy, “The 1590s: The Second Reign of Elizabeth I?,” The Reign of Elizabeth I: Court and Culture in the Last Decade, ed. J. A. Guy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 1–19, 17; Christine Carpenter, The Wars of the Roses: Politics and the Constitution in England c. 1437–1509 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); G. W. Bernard, Power and Politics in Tudor England (Aldershot: Ashgate Press, 2000). 4. David Riggs, Shakespeare’s Heroical Histories: “Henry VI” and Its Literary Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971). James Shapiro is the latest literary scholar who believes that the Elizabethan nobles were “poor shadows of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers.” James Shapiro, A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare: 1599 (New York: HarperCollins, 2005), 255. I hope this study has disputed that notion. If anything, the Elizabethan nobles were actually “tigers wrapped in gentlemen’s hides.” 5. Christopher Haigh, English Reformation: Religion, Politics, and Society under the Tudors (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), 60. 6. See Edna Zwick Boris, Shakespeare’s English Kings, the People, and the Law (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1978), 31, and Robin Headlam Wells, Shakespeare, Politics and the State (London: Macmillan, 1986), 3. 7. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 260–261. 8. Donald G. Watson, Shakespeare’s Early History Plays: Politics at Play on the Elizabethan Stage (London: Macmillan, 1990), 21. If arrested (and they could only be arrested for crimes of treason, felony, and breaches of the peace), an aristocrat had the choice of being tried by his fellow peers or declaring his right of

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clergy and being tried in the much less competitive ecclesiastical court (M. L. Bush, The English Aristocracy: A Comparative Synthesis (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984), 20). 9. J. H. Hexter, “The English Aristocracy, Its Crises, and the English Revolution, 1558–1660,” Journal of English Studies 8 (1968), 22–78, 51. 10. Penry Williams, The Later Tudors: England 1547–1603 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 408. 11. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 52. 12. Bush, English Aristocracy, 24. 13. Patrick Collinson, Elizabethan Essays (London: Hambledon Press, 1994), 21–22. 14. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 52. 15. Bush, English Aristocracy, 38. 16. The aging queen, though somewhat competitive with her nobility, also demanded, as her father had, that the nobles present themselves in as extravagant a style as possible. The monarchs used the nobility to enhance their own grandeur – the grander the nobility looked, the grander the monarchs looked. It was all for public, especially foreign, consumption (Miller, Introduction, Henry VIII). 17. Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, 6–9. 18. Richard Helgerson, Forms of Nationhood: The Elizabethan Writing of England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 50. There have been many studies on this chivalric revival in late Elizabethan times. See for example Frances A. Yates, Astraea: The Imperial Theme in the Sixteenth Century (London: Routledge, 1975); Roy Strong, The Cult of Elizabeth: Elizabethan Portraiture and Pageantry (London: Thames and Hudson, 1977); Arthur B. Ferguson, The Chivalric Tradition in Renaissance England (Washington: Folger Shakespeare Library, 1986), 83–106; Mervyn James, Society, Politics and Culture: Studies in Early Modern England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 460; Alan Young, Tudor and Jacobean Tournaments (London: George Philip, 1987); and Miller, Henry VIII, 80. 19. See David Starkey, “Stewart Serendipity: A Missing Text of the Modus Tenendi Parliamentum,” Fenway Court (Boston: Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, 1986), 39–51; John Adamson, “The Baronial Context of the English Civil War,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th ser., 40 (1990), 93–120; and Linda Peck, “Peers, Patronage, and the Politics of History,” The Reign of Elizabeth I: Court and Culture in the Last Decade, ed. John Guy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 87–108, 99. 20. Stone,Crisis of the Aristocracy, 205–206. 21. See Peck, “Peers,” 95, and Paul E. J. Hammer, “Patronage at Court, Faction & the Earl of Essex,” The Reign of Elizabeth I, ed. Guy, 68–70. 22. Bush, English Aristocracy, 19–28. 23. Haigh, English Reformation, 48. 24. Quoted in Peck, “Peers,” 100.


233

Henry, Baron Stafford 1534–1565

Elizabeth Davey

Mary Stanley –1609

Isabel Forester

Edward, Baron Stafford 1577–1625

Ursula Pole –1570

Roberta Chapman

Thomas Stafford 1531–1557

Henry, Baron Stafford 1501–1563

Sir Edward Stafford 1552–1604

Douglas Howard

234

Sir John Stafford 1553–1624

Mary Stafford 1495–1545

William Stafford 1554–1612

William Stafford of Grafton

Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk

Elizabeth Stafford

George Neville

Catherine Stafford 1499–1555

Henry Stafford 1479–1522

John Talbot, third Earl of Shrewsbury

Robert Radcliffe, first Earl of Sussex


Elizabeth Stafford –1532

Margaret Beaufort 1437–

Katherine Woodville

Eleanor Percy 1470–1530

Dorothy Stafford 1526–1603

Elizabeth Stafford 1494–1558

Edward Stafford, third Earl of Buckingham 1476/77–1521

Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham 1455–1483

Ann Plantagenet

Anne Neville 1414–1480

Humphrey Stafford 1424–1455

Humphrey Stafford, first Duke of Buckingham 1402–1460

Edmund Stafford

d e s ce n d a n ts o f e d m u n d s ta ffo rd

Anne Stafford 1483–

Charles Neville, sixth Earl of Westmorland 1542–1601

Henry Neville, fifth Earl of Westmorland 1524–1562

Anne Manners

Henry Hastings, first Earl of Huntingdon

Ralph Neville, fourth Earl of Westmorland

Cecily Bonville

T H E D U K E S O F B U C K I N G H A M : T H E S TA F F O R D S

Edward, Baron Stafford 1534/35–1603

1

Edward de la Pole –1485

Catherine de la Pole

Geoffrey de la Pole

Lord Scales

William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk 1396–1450

John de la Pole 1462–1487

Edmund de la Pole 1471–1513

235

Humphrey de la Pole 1474–1513

Elizabeth Plantagenet 1444–1503/1504

Alice Chaucer 1404–1475

Margaret Scrope

John de la Pole, second Duke of Suffolk 1442–1491

Elizabeth FitzAlan

Margaret Beaufort

Michael de la Pole, third Earl of Suffolk 1394–1415

Katherine Stafford 1376–1419

Katherine Wingfield –1386

Michael de la Pole, first Earl of Suffolk 1330–1389

Michael de la Pole, second Earl of Suffolk 1367–1415

Katherine Norwich –1381

William de la Pole 1302–1366

William de la Pole 1478–1539

Margaret Stourton –1521

d e s ce n d a n ts o f w i l l i a m d e l a p o l e

Anne de la Pole, Prioress of Syon –1495

Catherine de la Pole

THE DUKES OF SUFFOLK: THE DE LA POLES, THE BRANDONS, AND THE GREYS

Richard de la Pole “the white rose” –1524

2

Elizabeth de la Pole

Henry Brandon 1535–1551

Charles Brandon 1537–1551

Katherine Willoughby

Anne Brandon –1557

Edward Grey 1503–1551

Jane Grey 1537–1554

Mary Brandon –1544

Anne Browne –1511

Guildford Dudley 1534–1554

Edward Seymour 1586–1615

236

Alice Spencer

Francis Seymour 1590–1620

Ferdinando Stanley 1559–1594

Cont. p.3

Henry Stanley, fourth Earl of Derby 1531–1593

Henry Clifford, second Earl of Cumberland 1517–1569

Elizabeth Grey 1505–1519

Margaret Clifford 1540–1596

Eleanor Brandon 1519–1547

Margaret Neville 1466–

Ferdinando Sutton

Cont. p.2

Mary Tudor 1494–1533

Honora Seymour 1589–1620

Catherine Grey 1540–1567

Frances Devereux 1590–1674

Thomas Seymour 1562–1619

William Seymour 1588–1615

Honora Rogers

Arabella Stuart 1575–1615


Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk 1517–1554

Elizabeth Bruyn

Edward Seymour, second Earl of Hertford 1539–1621

Frances Brandon 1517–1559

Thomas Keyes

Henry Brandon 1515–1533

Mary Grey 1545–1575

Thomas Stanley of Monteagle –1560

Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk 1484–1545

William Brandon –1485

d e s ce n d a n ts o f w i l l i a m br a n d o n ( 1 o f 3)


Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke

Cont. p.1 William Stanley, sixth Earl of Derby 1561–1642


237

Elizabeth de Vere

Edward Stanley


Francis Stanley

d e s ce n d a n ts o f w i l l i a m br a n d o n ( 3 o f 3)

Cont. p.1

d e sce n d a n ts o f w i l l i a m br a n d o n ( 2 o f 3)

Jane Grey 1537–1554

Guildford Dudley 1534–1554


Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk 1517–1554

Margaret Wotton

Thomas Keyes

Edward Seymour



Elizabeth Grey

Cecily Grey

Arabella Stuart 1575–1615

Honora Rogers

Anne Grey


Richard Grey

238

William Seymour, second Duke of Somerset 1588–1660

John Grey

Eleanor Grey

Thomas Seymour 1562–1619

Edward Seymour, second Earl of Hertford 1539–1621

Katherine Grey

Dorothy Grey

Cecily Bonville 1460–1529

Thomas Grey, first Marquis of Dorset 1455–1501

Frances Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk 1517–1559

Thomas Grey, second Marquis of Dorset 1477–1530

Elizabeth Woodville 1437–1492

John Grey 1435–1460/61

Walter Devereaux 1488–1558

Frances Devereux

Thomas Grey

d e s ce n d a n ts o f j o h n grey

Elizabeth Grey

Leonard Grey

Edward Grey

Margaret Dorset

Henry Dudley 1526–1544

T H E E A R L S O F WA RW I C K : T H E B E A U C H A M P S , T H E N E V I L L E S , AND THE DUDLEYS

John Dudley, twentieth Earl of Warwick 1526–1554

Anne Seymour

John Warwick 1550–1552

Anne Whorwood

Ambrose Dudley, twenty-first Earl of Warwick 1528–1589

Jane Guildford 1500–1554

Edmund Dudley 1462–1510


John Dudley, nineteenth Earl of Warwick 1502–1553


239

Anne Russell 1548–1603

Amy Robsart

Anne de Beauchamp 1443–1447/48

Henry Beauchamp, fourteenth Earl of Warwick 1423/24–1445

Elizabeth Wymbash –1563

John Chedder

John Talbot, first Baron Lisle –1453

Elizabeth Talbot 1452–1487

John Talbot, first Earl of Shrewsbury 1384–1453

Richard Beauchamp thirteenth Earl of Warwick 1380/81–1439

Margaret de Beauchamp 1404–1467

Elizabeth de Berkeley 1385–

Isabel Neville 1451–1476

Robert Dudley, first Earl of Leicester 1532–1588

Richard Pole

Anne Neville 1456–1483/84

Cont. p.2

Cont. p.3

Richard Plantagenet

Richard Neville, sixteenth Earl of Warwick 1428–1471

Edward Plantagenet 1473/74–1499

George Plantagenet 1449–1477

Anne Beauchamp, fifteenth Countess of Warwick 1426–1492

Margaret Plantagenet 1473–1541

Cecily Neville –1450

Isabel de Spenser 1400–1439

d e s c e nd a n ts o f r i c h a rd be au ch a m p, t h i rt e e n th ea r l o f wa rw ick ( 1 o f 3 )

3

Robert Dudley, first Earl of Leicester 1532–1588

Robert Dudley 1573–1619

Douglas Howard

Lettice Knollys

Cont. p.1 Guildford Dudley 1534–1554

Jane Grey

Philip Sidney

240

Mary Sidney

Mary Dudley 1532–1586

Jane Guildford 1500–1554

Jane Dudley

John Dudley, first Earl of Warwick 1502–1533

Robert Sidney

Henry Sidney 1529–1586

Thomas Sidney

Catherine Dudley 1545–1620

Henry Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon

d e s c e nd a n ts o f r i ch a rd be au ch a m p, thirteen th ea r l o f wa rw i ck ( 3 o f 3)

Cont. p.1

d e s c e nd a n ts o f r i ch a rd be au ch a m p, thirteen th ea r l o f wa rw i ck ( 2 o f 3)

Ralph Neville

Maud Neville

Philippa Neville

Alice Neville

Margaret Neville

Anne Neville

John Neville

Elizabeth Neville

241

Margaret Neville

Edmund Neville

Thomas Neville

Robert Neville

Susan Neville

Thomas Neville

Barbara Arden

Elizabeth Greville

Anne Stafford 1471–1513

Richard Neville 1539–1590

William Neville 1497–

Richard Neville 1468–1530

Joan Bourchier 1442–1470

Edward Neville

Maud Percy 1345–1378

Elizabeth Beauchamp 1417–1480

Henry Neville 1437–1469

George Neville 1414–1469

Joan Neville

William Neville

Elizabeth Neville

Eleanor Neville

Dudley Neville

Cont. p.2

Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmorland 1363–1425

John de Neville 1337–1388

d e sce n d a n ts o f j o h n d e n ev il l e ( 1 o f 3)

Thomas Neville

Jane Neville

Cuthbert Neville

Marmaduke Neville

Catherine Neville

Henry Neville

Joan Beaufort 1375–1440

THE EARLS OF WESTMORLAND: THE NEVILLES

Margaret Stafford 1364–1396

4

Anne Neville

Thomas Neville

Catherine Neville

Cont. p.3

Katherine Neville

Eleanor Neville

Cecily Neville

Anne Holland (1) –1486

Margaret Neville

Anne Neville

Katherine Neville

Eleanor Neville

Charles Neville

Margaret Neville

Anne Manners 1527–1549

Ralph Neville, fourth Earl of Westmorland 1496–1549

Ralph Neville –1498

242

Adeline Neville

Dorothy Neville


Mary Neville

Ralph Neville

George Neville

Thomas Neville

Christopher Neville

Anne Neville

Anne Holland (2) –1486

Elizabeth Sandys –1529

Isabel Booth

John Neville 1410–1461

Ralph Neville, third Earl of Westmorland 1456–1498

Elizabeth Percy 1390–1437

Elizabeth Holland

Jane Howard 1533–1593

Henry Neville, fifth Earl of Westmorland 1524–1562

Charles Neville, sixth Earl of Westmorland 1542–1601

Margaret Cholmley –1570

John Neville 1387–1429

Margaret Stafford 1364–1396

Ralph Neville, second Earl of Westmorland 1406–1484

John Neville born before 1437–1449/1450

Cont. p.1


Elizabeth Neville

de s ce n d a n ts o f j o h n d e n ev il l e ( 2 o f 3)

Mary Neville

Eleanor Neville

Anne Neville

Thomas Neville

Cecily Neville

Cont. p.1

George Neville

Anne Neville Cecily Neville

Henry Pole

Jane Neville 1481–1538

Francis Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon

Henry Pole 1492–1537

Richard Pole 1462–1505

Margaret Plantagenet 1473–1541

Catherine Pole 1508–1576

Geoffrey Pole

George Plantagenet 1440–1476

Isabel Neville 1451–1476

Anne de Beauchamp 1426–1492

Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury 1400–1460

Richard “the Kingmaker” Neville 1428–1471

Jane Neville


243

Winifred Pole

Reginald Pole

Edward Plantagenet 1473–1499

Anne Neville

John Neville

Alice Montague –1462

Joan Beaufort 1375–1440

Ursula Pole

Alice Neville

Margaret Neville

Catherine Neville

de s ce n d a n ts o f j o h n d e n ev il l e ( 3 o f 3)

Eleanor Neville

Robert Neville

Ralph Neville

Edmund Dudley 1462–1510


John Talbot –1555

George Talbot, ninth Earl of Shrewsbury 1566–1630

Jane Talbot

Margaret Windsor

Gertrude Talbot

Dorothy Talbot

John Talbot 1485–1549

244

Constance Talbot

Gilbert Talbot 1452–1518

John Talbot

Elizabeth Talbot 1502–

Anne Paston

Elizabeth Greystoke

Mary Talbot 1504–

Humphrey Talbot

James Berkeley, first Earl of Berkeley

Gilbert Talbot 1468–1542

Joan Talbot

Eleanor Talbot 1506–1583

Gilbert Talbot

Elizabeth Butler 1420–1473

Elizabeth Wrottesley –1558

John Talbot, second Earl of Shrewsbury 1413–1460

Anne Talbot

Catherine Burnel 1406–1452

Etheldreda (Audrey) Cotton

Christopher Talbot –1460

Margaret Troutbeck

Christopher Talbot –1474

Eleanor Talbot

Catherine Petrie 1546–1596

Mary Fortescue

Eleanor Baskerville

John Talbot –1610

Frances Giffard

James Talbot –1471

Lewis Talbot

Maud Neville 1392–1423

de s ce n d a n ts o f j o h n ta l bot ( 1 o f 5)

T H E E A R L S O F S H R E W S B U RY: T H E TA L B OT S

John Talbot first Earl of Shrewsbury 1384–1453

John Talbot, tenth Earl of Shrewsbury 1601–1653

John Talbot –1607

Jane Guildford


Humphrey Talbot


Joan Chedder

John Dudley, Earl of Northumberland 1502–1553

Thomas Talbot –1469

John Talbot, first Baron of Lisle –1453

Margaret Beauchamp 1404–1467

5

Catherine Talbot

Cont. p.2

Jane Talbot

George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury 1522–1590

Henry Herbert, second Earl of Pembroke

Mary Pembroke

Catherine Talbot 1552–1576

Gertrude Manners –1566

Mary Dacre 1502–1538

Cont. p.5

Elizabeth Hardwick –1607

John Bray

Katherine Stafford 1437–1476


Francis Carless

Thomas Wharton

Mary Talbot –1572

Elizabeth Talbot –1507

245

Margaret Talbot –1515

John Mowbray, fourth Duke of Norfolk 1444–1476

Henry Algernon Percy, sixth Earl of Northumberland

George Talbot, fourth Earl of Shrewsbury 1468–1538

Anne Talbot 1524–1584

Anne Hastings –1506

John Talbot, third Earl of Shrewsbury 1448–1473

Francis Talbot, fifth Earl of Shrewsbury 1500–1560

Cont. p.1


Thomas Butler

Henry Clifford, first Earl of Cumberland

Eleanor Talbot –1468

d e s ce n d a n ts o f j o h n ta l bot ( 2 o f 5)

Anne Talbot

Elizabeth Walden –1567

Henry Vernon

Cont. p.4

Anne Talbot 1445–1494

Herbert

Cont. p.3

Thomas Talbot

Cont. p.2

William Dacre

Cont. p.2

246

Elizabeth Talbot –1552

Anne Hastings –1506

George Talbot, fourth Earl of Shrewsbury 1468–1538


Margaret Talbot




Cont. p.1

Mary Talbot 1580–1650

Mary Talbot 1556–

Grace Talbot 1554–

William Herbert, third Earl of Pembroke 1580–1630

George Saville 1550–1622

Anne Herbert

Henry Grey, eighth Earl of Kent 1583–1639

Francis Talbot 1550–1582


Henry Cavendish

Gertrude Manners –1566

247

Alathea Talbot 1586–1654

Mary Cavendish 1556–1632

George Talbot 1575–1577

Jane Cuthbert (Ogle) –1625/26

John Talbot 1583–1583

Edward Talbot, eighth Earl of Shrewsbury 1559/60–1617

Thomas Howard, second Earl of Arundel 1586–1646

Gilbert Talbot, seventh Earl of Shrewsbury 1552–1616

George Talbot, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury 1522–1590


Henry Talbot 1563–1596

Elizabeth Raynor

Francis Stanley 1562–

Alice Spencer

Ferdinando Stanley 1559–1594

William Stanley 1561–1642



Robert Clifford

Henry Clifford, second Earl of Cumberland 1517–1569/70

Margaret Percy –1540

Francis Clifford 1584–1589

248

Richard Sackville –1624

Anne Clifford 1589/90–1674/75

Margaret Russell 1560–1616

Anne Dacre 1521–1581

George Clifford, third Earl of Cumberland 1558–1605

Florence Pudsey

Margaret De Bromflete –1493

Joan Dacre

Henry Clifford 1454–1523

Henry Clifford, first Earl of Cumberland 1493–1542

Eleanor Brandon 1519–1547

Margaret Talbot –1516

Anne St. John

John de Clifford 1435–1461

Thomas de Clifford 1413/14–1455

Elizabeth Percy 1390–1437

Elizabeth de Ros –1424

John de Clifford 1389–1421/22

Thomas de Clifford 1363–1391

Maud de Beauchamp –1402

d e s ce n d a n ts o f ro g e r d e cl iffo rd

Phillip Herbert –1649/50

Francis Clifford, fourth Earl of Cumberland 1559–1639/40

THE EARLS OF CUMBERLAND: THE CLIFFORDS

Roger de Clifford 1333–1389

6

Grisold Hughes –1613

Edward Stanley, third Earl of Derby 1509–1572

Cont. p.2

Margaret Stanley 1505–1533

James Stanley

Henry Stanley

249

John Stanley

James Stanley

Humphrey Stanley

Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond

Margaret Stanley

Alice Stanley

Mary Stanley

James Stanley, Bishop of Ely 1471–1514

Isabel Stanley

Jane Stanley

Robert Radcliffe, Earl of Sussex

Elizabeth Stanley

Anne Harrington

Joan Goushill 1401–1460

Thomas Stanley 1405–1459

Thomas Stanley, first Earl of Derby 1435–1504

Isobel Harrington

Isobel Lathom

John Stanley 1386–1437

John Stanley 1350–1414

de s ce n d a n ts o f j o h n s ta n l ey ( 1 o f 2)

William Stanley –1495

T H E E A R L S O F D E R B Y: T H E S TA N L E Y S

Edward Stanley, Baron Mounteagle 1463–1523

Anne Hastings 1485–1550

Joan Strange 1463–1513

Thomas Stanley, second Earl of Derby 1485–1521

George Stanley, Baron Strange 1460–1503

Eleanor Neville 1438–1484

7

Margaret Stanley

Elizabeth Stanley

Catherine Stanley

Elizabeth Stanley 1588–1633

Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon

Anne Stanley 1580–1647

Ferdinando Stanley, fifth Earl of Derby 1559–1594


Grey Bridges

Alice Spenser 1555–1636

Thomas Stanley –1576

Dorothy Howard 1511–

John Egerton

250

James Stanley 1606–1651

William Stanley, sixth Earl of Derby 1561–1642

Edward Stanley

Edward Stanley, third Earl of Derby 1509–1572

Frances Stanley 1583–1636


Cont. p.1

Maria Stanley –1609

Robert Stanley 1600–1632

Elizabeth de Vere 1575–1626

Mary Cotton

Jane Stanley 1540–1569

Edward Stafford 1572–1625


Francis Stanley 1562–

Edward Stafford, Baron Stafford 1535–1603

d e s ce n d a n ts o f j o h n s ta n l ey ( 2 o f 2)


Catherine Stanley 1543–

Richard Fiennes

251

William Danvers

Elizabeth Temple

Constance Kingsmill –1587

Elizabeth Fiennes

Elizabeth Fiennes

William Fiennes, first Viscount Saye & Sele 1582–1662

Richard Fiennes, seventh Earl Saye & Sele 1557–1611/12

Ursula Fermor

Margaret Danvers –1541

Richard Fiennes, de jure sixth Baron Saye & Sele 1520–1573

Edward Fiennes, de jure fifth Baron Saye & Sele 1500–1526/27

Elizabeth Codingham –1632

Anne Harcourt 1448–1486

Margaret Wykeham (Perrot) –1477

Emiline Cromer –1451

Elizabeth Croft –1527

Henry Fiennes, third Baron Saye & Sele –1476

William Fiennes, second Baron Saye & Sele 1428–1471

Richard Fiennes, de jure fourth Baron Saye & Sele 1471–1501

Joan Dacre

Elizabeth Battisford

Joan de Saye

James Fiennes, first Baron Saye & Sele 1395–1450

William Fiennes 1357–1402

William Fiennes –1359

d e s ce n d a n ts o f w i l l i a m fien n es

B A RO N S S AY E A N D S E L E : T H E F I E N N E S

Roger Fiennes

8

Thomas Lucy 1605–1640

Alice Spencer

Richard Lucy

Elizabeth Cock

THE LUCYS

George Lucy –1677

Robert Lucy –1615

Constance Kingsmill

Joice Acton

Francis Lucy –1682



252

Elizabeth Lucy

Anne Fermor

Elizabeth Empson 1464–1567

William Lucy 1511–1525

Thomas Lucy –1525

Jane Ludlow

Margaret Brecknock

William Lucy –1492

Edmund Lucy 1464–1495

Eleanor Grey

William Lucy –1466

Anne Lucy

Edmund Lucy

Sir Anthony Hungerford

Thomas Lucy

d e s ce n d a n ts o f w i l l i a m lucy

9

Barbara Lucy

Anne Lucy 1568–

Thomas Cook

Dorothy Arnold

Radigund Lucy

Joyce Lucy

Thomas Herbert

Bridget Lucy

Anne Lucy

Edward Aston

Index

Abergavennys 114 Abrahall, John of Gylough 130 Adams, Simon 27 Adamson, John 232 Admiral’s Men 1 Aeneas 166 Anderson, Andrew 72 Anstis, John 148 Archbold, W. A. J. 198 Ardens 24, 30, 115, 125, 205, 223 Arden, Barbara 115 aristocracy 227, 228 attire of 225 celebrity status of 39–40, 224–226 economic effect of 225 Elizabeth I and 232 entertainments of 225 feuds between 169–170 importance of family 3–5 importance of lineage (see also genealogy) 5 legal rights 231–232 portrayal in chronicles 14–15, 29 portrayal in history plays 2–3, 15–18 power of 222–223 recreation of medieval aristocracy 226–227 titular lineage 8–10, 230 under Tudors 11–12, 227 Arston, Peter 158, 174 Armada of Spain 43, 116, 158, 166, 200 Ascham, Roger 13 Aspall, Robert 151 Atkinson, Ant. 199

Battle of Agincourt 229 Battle of Barnet 107 Battle of Bosworth Field 7, 12, 181, 186 Battle of Calais 97 Battle of Flodden Field 154 Battle of Harfleur 222 Battle of Northampton 34, 205 Battle of Orleans 131, 139, 140, 142 Battle of Ronuray 139 Battle of St. Albans 120, 121, 164 Battle of Shrewsbury 222 Battle of Stoke 86, 132 Battle of Zutphen 189 Beauchamps 8, 23, 125 Beauchamp, Anne, Countess of Warwick 105, 125 Beauchamp, Margaret, Countess of Shrewsbury 130 Beauchamp, Richard, thirteenth Earl of Warwick 105, 110, 126 in 1 Henry VI 109–111, 113, 117, 127 Beauforts 7, 8, 34, 52, 103, 155 Beaufort, Edmund, Duke of Somerset 34, 76, 77, 78, 81, 84–85, 109, 110, 117, 123, 125, 131, 134, 165, 205, 206, 207 Beaufort, Henry, second Earl of Somerset 9, 10 Beaufort, Henry, Cardinal, Bishop of Winchester 80, 81, 82, 112–113 in 1 Henry VI 109, 110, 113, 207 in Contention/ 2 Henry VI 112–113, 117, 120, 121 in Hall 160, 161 in Holinshed 161 Beaufort, Joan, Countess of Westmorland 103 Beaufort, Joan, Lady Abergavenny 130 Beaufort, Margaret, Countess Stafford 45 Beaufort, Margaret, Countess of Richmond 52, 72, 179 in Hall 184–185, 198

Bainbridge, Robert 149 Baldwin, William (see also Mirrour for Magistrates) 36, 73, 90, 91, 107, 152, 203 Bale, Robert 213 Banister, Humphrey 47, 48, 49, 56, 58, 59, 61, 62, 67, 72 Barnes, Thomas 126, 199

253

254

Index

Beauforts (cont.) in Richard III 194, 195, 196 in True Tragedy of Richard III 193 in Vergil 180–181 Becker, George 99 Belsey, Catherine 3 Bernard, G. W. 147, 231 Berry, Edward I. 31, 146, 148, 167, 206, 207 Besnault, Marie-Helene 73 Bitot, Michel 73 Blanpied, John 129 Blount, Sir Michael 116 Boleyns 41 Boleyn, Anne, Queen of England 133, 184 Boleyn, Mary 41 Bona, Lady 104, 119, 121, 122 Boose, Lynda 3 Bordinat, Philip 79 Boris, Edna Zwick 31, 80, 127, 129, 172, 210, 231 Bourchier, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury 51, 65 Bourghet, Gerard 199 Bradford, John 184 Bradshaw, Graham 30 Brandons 8, 70 Brandon, Charles, first Duke of Suffolk 9, 88, 89, 154, 155 Brandon, Eleanor, Countess of Cumberland 154, 155 Brandon, Frances, Duchess of Suffolk 88 Brandon, Henry, Earl of Lincoln 88 Breton, Nicholas 101 Brigden, Susan 72 Brink, Jean R. 26 Brockbank, J. P. 31, 146, 162, 172 Brooke, William, Lord Cobham 1, 138, 139, 148, 201 Broughton, Hugh 25 Brown, John, Recorder of Berwick 170 Browning, Robert 50 Brownlow, F. W. 74, 165, 166, 175 Bullens 26 Burckhardt, Sigurd 148 Burgh, Thomas, Lord 170 Burke’s Peerage and Baronetage 22 Burkhart, Robert E. 202 Burne, Alfred 147 Burns, Edward 30, 32 Bush, M. L. 232 Butler, James, Earl of Ormond 130 Cade, Jack 30, 34, 36, 74, 75, 209 critical response to 210–212 in chronicles 36, 87, 213, 218

in Contention 35, 37–39, 43–44, 160, 161, 213, 215–216 in Fabyan 36, 213 in Hall 36, 160–161, 213 in Holinshed 36, 160–161 in Mirrour 36, 213–214 in Stowe’s Chronicle 36, 214–215 in Stowe’s Proclamation 36, 214 in 2 Henry VI 19, 35, 38, 39, 43–44, 82, 98, 117, 161–163, 209–212, 215, 222 in Vergil 36, 161 Cairncross, Andrew 168 Caldwell, Ellen 211, 218 Camden, William 202, 205 Cardinal, William 149 Carey, Henry, Lord Chamberlain 18 Carleton, Dudley 70 Carpenter, Christine 127, 231 Carroll, William 63, 73 Catesby, William 59, 60, 64, 65, 193 Cavendishes Cavendish, Charles 136, 137 Cavendish, Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury 138, 140, 141, 144, 145 Cavendish, William 136, 137 Cecils 150 Cecil, Robert, Earl of Salisbury 127, 158, 159, 160, 175, 199, 200, 201 Cecil, William, Lord Burghley 4, 5, 7, 25, 42, 71, 92, 95, 100, 101, 116, 138, 149, 157, 159, 188, 190, 199, 200, 217, 219 Challoner, Thomas 100 Chamberlain, John 70 Chambers, E. K. 201 Champion, Larry S. 127, 172, 176 Chaucer, Alice, Duchess of Suffolk 86 Christian, Margaret 25 Chrimes, S. B. 198 Christopher, Thomas 199, 200 Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints 23 Cicero 3 Cicogna, Pascal, Doge of Venice 174 Clegg, Cyndia 27 Cliffords 18, 150, 151, 152, 154, 155, 159, 160, 165, 167, 171, 173 Clifford, Anne 153, 154, 155, 157, 175 Clifford, Francis, fourth Earl of Cumberland 160 Clifford, George, third Earl of Cumberland 150, 151, 155, 156–160, 161, 163, 164, 166, 169, 172, 173, 174, 175, 224 Clifford, Henry 152, 153–154 Clifford, Henry, first Earl of Cumberland 154, 173

Index Clifford, Henry, second Earl of Cumberland 154–156, 157, 173, 186 Clifford, John, Lord 14, 15, 152, 153, 154, 160 critical response to 150–151 in chronicles 150, 166, 203 in Contention 164, 165, 166, 170, 175 in Fabyan 151 in Hall 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 157, 168, 170 in Holinshed 150, 153, 155, 157, 168, 170 in Mirrour 152–153, 155, 170, 173 in 2 Henry VI 114, 165–166 in True Tragedie/ 3 Henry VI 121, 123, 150, 153, 160, 167–169, 170–172 in Vergil 151 Clifford, Margaret, Countess of Derby 40, 155, 157, 160, 173, 177, 186, 188, 191, 194 Clifford, Robert 166 Clifford, Thomas (“Old” Clifford) 18, 121, 164 in Contention 37, 38, 121, 151, 160, 161, 163, 164, 165, 166, 175 in Hall 164–165 in Holinshed 165 in 2 Henry VI 38, 121, 151, 161–164, 165, 171 in True Tragedie/ 3 Henry VI 167, 168, 169, 170 Clinton, Henry, Earl of Lincoln 217 Cobham, Eleanor 34, 39 in Contention/ 2 Henry VI 35, 44–45, 77, 81, 160 in Fabyan 35 in Hall 35 in Holinshed 35 in Foxe 35 in Mirrour 35 in Stowe 35 in Vergil 35 Cokayne’s Complete Peerage Extant, Extinct, and Dormant of England, Scotland, Great Britain and Wales 22, 26, 27, 71, 126, 147, 173, 183, 198, 202, 219 Collinson, Patrick 224 Compton, William, first Earl of Northampton 7 Condell, Henry 21 Contarini, Francesco 158, 174 Cook, Ann Jennalie 29 Cotton, Roger 4 Countess of Auvergne in 1 Henry VI 141–142, 145 Coward, Barry 197, 198, 199 Cox, John D. 31, 98, 112, 172 Cressy, David 3, 4, 25 Crompton, Richard, Mansion of Magnanimitie 207 Cromwell, Thomas 105, 133 Croyland’s Chronicles 198

255

Cross, Claire 198 cultural materialism 14, 28, 74, 222 Cumberland Gulf 157 Cumberland Isles 157 Curtis, Edmund 146 Dacres Dacre, Anne, Countess of Cumberland 155, 156, 173 Dacre, Elizabeth, Duchess of Norfolk 173 Davey, Richard 100 Davies, Richard 204 Davies, Sir John 26, 196 Davis, John 157 De Bregilles, Philippe 88 de la Poles 8, 9, 57, 74, 86, 87, 99, 103 de la Pole, Edmund, third Duke of Suffolk 9, 86, 87, 88 de la Pole, John, first Earl of Lincoln 9, 86, 88 de la Pole, John, second Duke of Suffolk 86–87 de la Pole, Michael 98 de la Pole, Richard 87, 99 de la Pole, Ursula, Lady Stafford 57 de la Pole, William, first Duke of Suffolk critical response to 74–75, 78, 80, 83 historic 84–85, 86, 89, 98, 100, 131 in chronicles 75, 76, 112, 203 in The Contention 74, 77–80, 81, 82, 84, 96, 99, 111, 112, 213 in Fabyan 87, 89, 92, 213 in Foxe 92–93 in Hall 84, 89–90, 92, 134, 213 in Mirrour 90–91 in 1 Henry VI 74, 75–77, 84, 94–95, 96, 97, 109 in 2 Henry VI 74, 75, 80–84, 94–95, 97, 98, 99, 112, 114, 117, 209, 217 in Vergil 85, 87–88, 89, 90, 92, 132 love scenes with Margaret of Anjou 76–80, 82–84, 85, 86, 94–95, 96 de Mendoza, Bernardino 199 correspondence with Philip II re Sir Edward Stafford 41–42, 68 correspondence re Earl of Shrewsbury 138 de Ruisseau, M. 136 de Silva, Guzman 100, 101 de Toledo, Fernando Alvarez, Duke of Alva 138 de Valdes, Pedro 174 de Veres 231 John de Vere, Earl of Oxford 186 Dean, Paul 76 Delabearer, Elizabeth, Dame 52 Derby’s Men 191

256

Index

Devereaux, Robert, Earl of Essex 40, 109, 144, 149, 150, 157, 159, 174, 175, 190, 201, 224, 227 Dickson, Lisa 83 Dingley, George 93, 199, 200 Dollimore, Jonathan 14, 28 Donno, Elizabeth 50, 72 Drakakis, John 14 Drake, Sir Francis 115, 157 Drewe, Edward 201 Dudleys 8, 9, 23, 102, 103, 106, 107, 108, 109, 124, 155 Dudley, Ambrose, third Earl of Warwick 9, 102, 106–107, 108 Dudley, Catherine, Countess of Huntingdon 106 Dudley, Guildford 106 Dudley, John, Duke of Northumberland 9, 90, 105, 106, 125, 133, 173, 183, 184 Dudley, John, second Earl of Warwick 106 Dudley, Robert, first Earl of Leicester 9, 41, 101, 102, 106, 107, 108, 115, 125, 189, 200, 204, 217 Dugdale, William 26, 69, 71 Dutton, Richard 27, 30 Easthope, Anthony 231 East India Company 157 Edwards, Philip 31 Egertons 26 Egerton, Thomas, Master of the Rolls 189 Elizabethan period 3–18, 222, 223, 224, 226, 227 Ellis, Henry 32, 100 Elyot, Thomas 3, 4 Essex’s Men 191 Eure, Ralph, Lord 170 Fabyan, Robert 22, 32, 47, 86, 151, 203 New Chronicles of England and France 22, 48, 54, 86 Cobham’s arrest in 35 Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham, in 47–48, 51, 54, 63 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 36 Jack Cade in 36, 213 John, Lord Clifford in 151 John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, in 147 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 102, 103 Lord Saye in 213 Thomas, Lord Stanley in 198 William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk, in 89, 92, 99 Famous Chronicle of King Edward I 221 Fastolfe, Sir John 131, 139

Ferguson, Arthur 232 Fiedler, Leslie 218 Fiennes 217 Fiennes, James, Lord Saye 203, 209 critical response to 210–212 in Bale’s chronicle 213 in Contention 37, 203, 213, 215–216, 218 in Fabyan 213 in Foxe 218 in Hall 213 in Holinshed 213 in Mirrour 213–214 in Stowe’s Chronicle 214–215 in Stowe’s Proclamation 214 in 2 Henry VI 203, 209–212, 214, 215, 217, 218 in Vergil 213 Fiennes, Richard, Baron Saye and Sele 217, 219 Fiennes, William 216–217 Lords Saye 209, 216, 218 First Folio 33, 97 The First Part of the True and Honourable History of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, the Good Lord Cobham 1 Fitter, Chris 212 Fitzalan, John, Earl of Arundel 130 Fitzherbert 174 Fitzroy, Henry, Duke of Richmond 173 Fogle, French 201 Fortescue, John 169, 200 Foxe, John 108, 204 Actes and Monuments 10, 22 Cobham’s arrest in 35 Lord Saye in 218 Margaret of Anjou in 92–93 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 102, 108 William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk, in 92–93 French Court Charles VII, King of France 110, 131 De Valois, Catherine, Princess of France 7, 27 De Valois, Philip, Duke of Burgundy 140 Francis, Dauphin of France 100 Francis II, King of France 141 Francois, Duke of Alencon 41 Francois, Duke of Guise 41 Henry IV, King of France 100 Louis XI, King of France 105, 122 Louis XII, King of France 132 Frey, David 168 Froude, James A. 133, 147 Gairdner, James 71, 198 Gardiner, William 204

Index Gascoynes 204 genealogy aristocratic obsession with 5–8, 220, 229 biblical precedence 4 importance in Early Modern society 3–5 matrilineal descent 27 as national continuity 230–231 subversive nature of 14–15 succession question 5–6 studies of 10, 19 genealogical sources 22–24 gentry 223–224 George, David 202 Glendower, Owen 130 Globe Theatre 29 Grafton, Richard 22, 32, 50, 72 Great Northern Rebellion 155, 188 Green, Thomas 157 Greenblatt, Stephen 14, 28, 30, 31, 180, 218 Greene, Nicholas 142, 175 Greene, Robert 196 Greg, W. W. 32 Grevilles 114 Greys 24, 40, 46, 50, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 67, 74, 91, 97, 100, 194 Grey, Arthur, Lord 169 Grey, Elizabeth, Baroness Lisle 105 Grey, Henry, second Duke of Suffolk 88, 89, 90, 91, 95 Grey, Lady Jane 90, 91, 106, 133, 136, 173, 184, 198 Grey, Katherine 91–92, 93, 94–96, 100 Grey, Richard 46, 51, 60, 63, 65 Grey, Thomas, Marquess of Dorset 51, 63, 195 Grey, Reginald of Ruthin 130 Gupta, Sen 76, 129, 163 Gurr, Andrew 29 Guy, John 27, 231, 232 Gylles, John 199 Hackett, Dr. 202 Haigh, Christopher 227, 231 Hakluyt, Richard 174 Hales, John 92 Declaration of the Succesion of the Crowne Imperiall of England 92 Hall, Edward 22, 50, 55, 56, 89, 91, 105, 109, 133, 151, 157, 203 Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre and Yorke 22, 32, 72, 89, 154 Beaufort, Margaret, Countess of Richmond, in 184–185, 198 Cade rebellion in 36, 160–161, 213 Cobham’s arrest in 35 Sir John Fastolfe in 139

257

John, Lord Clifford in 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 157, 168, 170 John Talbot, first Earl of Shrewsbury, in 128, 134–135, 139, 142–144 Lord Saye in 213, 214, 217 Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham, in 55–56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 63, 65, 67 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 36 Margaret of Anjou, Queen of England, in 84, 152 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 102, 105–106, 109, 111, 117 Thomas Clifford in 164–165 Thomas Lord Stanley in 184–186, 192, 195 William de la Pole, first Earl of Suffolk, in 84, 89–90, 92, 134, 213 York’s death in 168 Halliday, F. E. 218 Halsall, Jane 188 Hamilton, A. C. 129, 172 Hamilton, James, second Earl of Arran 92, 94, 100 Hamner, Paul 232 Hanham, Alison 32, 72, 198 Harbage, Alfred 29, 231 Hardwicke, Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury (Bess of Hardwick) 128, 136, 138, 140, 141, 142, 144, 149, 188 Hardyng, John 32, 72 Harington, Sir John 61, 73, 196, 197 Harpur, John 138 Harris, Barbara 69, 71, 72 Harrison, G. B. 101, 149, 173, 175, 200, 201 Hastings 26, 114 George Hastings, first Earl of Huntingdon 133 Henry Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon 106, 149, 187, 190 William Hastings, first Baron Hastings of Hungerford 62, 63, 64, 66, 177, 179, 180, 182, 194, 195 Hattaway, Michael 28, 98 Hatton, Christopher, Lord Chancellor 217 Hawley, William M. 146 Hayward, John 28 Helen of Troy 77 Helgerson, Richard 31, 226 Heminge, John 21 Henke, James T. 98 Herberts 231 Herbert, William, Earl of Pembroke 106 Herodotus 17 Hesketh, Richard 190, 201 Hexter, J. H. 223 Heywood, Thomas 29, 73, 201

258

Index

Hilliard, Nicholas 159 historical chronicles as history 13, 85–86 treatment of rebellion in 11–13 Tudor control over 10–11, 45, 47, 220 Hodgdon, Barbara 83, 99, 146, 212 Hofele, Andreas 13 Holinshed, Raphael 22, 50, 91, 108, 109, 203 Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland 22, 72, 108, 138, 139, 157 Cade rebellion in 36, 160–161 Cobham’s arrest in 35 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 36 John, Lord Clifford in 150, 153, 155, 168, 170 John Talbot, first Earl of Shrewsbury, in 128, 135, 139 Margaret of Anjou in 153 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 102, 108–109, 165 Lord Saye in 213, 217 Thomas, Clifford in 165 Thomas, Lord Stanley in 198 William de la Pole, first Earl of Suffolk, in 99 York’s death in 168 Holland, Henry, Duke of Exeter 90, 125, 206, 207 An Homilie Against Disobedience 12 Honigmann, E. A. J. 201 Houlbrooke, Ralph 3 House of Commons 223 Howards 184 Howard, Catherine, Queen of England 184 Howard, Charles, Lord Admiral 160 Howard, Dorothy, Countess of Derby 184 Howard, Douglas 41 Howard, Frances, Countess of Hertford 94, 101 Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey 184 Howard, John, first Duke of Norfolk 194 Howard, Thomas, first Earl of Suffolk 9, 97 Howard, Thomas, second Duke of Norfolk 184 Howard, Thomas, fourth Duke of Norfolk 97, 138, 155, 173, 184, 188, 195 Howard, Thomas, second Earl of Arundel 24 Howard, Lord William 198 Howard, Jean 29 Hoyle, R. W. 173 Hughes, Thomas 221 Hume, Martin 71 Hunt, Maurice 31, 83 Hurstfield, Joel 26 Hurwich, Judith 3 Hutchinson, Thomas 169

Incent, John 101 Jacobean period 222 James, Henry 204 James, Mervyn 232 James, Richard 148 Jarrett, Sir Thomas 174 Joan of Arc 110, 131 in Holinshed 135 in 1 Henry VI 19, 110, 129, 139–140, 141, 145, 207, 208 Jones, Emrys 126, 129, 148, 172, 176, 212 Jones, Robert C. 146 Joughlin, John 15 Jowett, John 21, 32, 202 Kastan, David 2, 30, 148 Kelly, Henry Ansgar 87, 107 Kempe, John, Archbishop of Canterbury 160, 161 Kendall, Paul Murray 71 Kerr, Thomas, Laird of Ferniehirst 115 Kernan, Alan 29 Keyishian, Harry 31, 99, 166 Kiernander, Adrian 32 Knollys, Lettice 108 Knowles, Ronald 31 Knyvet, Catherine, Countess of Suffolk 97 Lacies 30 Lancaster family 6, 34, 49, 52, 56, 103, 107, 109, 113, 114, 129, 133, 153, 164 Blanche of Lancaster 6 Laton, Gilbert 126 Lee, Sir Henry 148 Leggatt, Alexander 31, 129, 146, 148, 210, 211 Legge, Thomas 22, 59, 61 Ricardus Tertius 22, 59–61, 64, 65, 67 Edward Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham 59–61, 64, 65, 67 Thomas Lord Stanley in 192, 193 Leicester’s Men 191, 202 Leimon, Mitchell 71 Le Strange, Ankaret, Lady Furnival 129, 130 Levine, Laura 29 Levine, Mortimer 101 Levine, Nina 140 Leycesters Commonwealth 137 Liebler, Naomi 171, 176 Life and Death of Jack Straw 221 Locke, A. Audrey 101 Lodge, Edmund 147 Lok, Henry 196 Longstaffe, Stephen 30 Lord Chamberlain’s Men 29, 30, 177, 201

Index Lord Lieutenancies 223 Lucys 18, 204, 205 Lucy, Elizabeth 12 Lucy, Sir Thomas 204–205, 208, 209, 218 and Shakespeare 203–204, 205 Lucy, Sir William 203, 218 in 1 Henry VI 18, 203, 205–209 in Stowe 205 Lull, Janis 27, 31 Lyly, John 128 Endymion 128 MacFarlane, Alan 3 Machiavelli, Nicolo 75, 76 Mackenzie, Clayton 84, 98, 172 Madre de Dios 159 Maguire, Laurie 32 Manheim, Michael 98, 112, 126, 129 Manners Manners, Edward, Earl of Rutland 157, 224 Manners, Thomas, Earl of Rutland 133, 136 Margaret of Anjou, Queen of England 23 historic 34, 84–85 in Contention 77–80 in Fabyan 87 in Foxe 92, 93 in Hall 36, 84, 85, 152, 168 in Holinshed 153 in Mirrour 90, 91 in 1 Henry VI 76–77, 84, 94–96, 99 in 2 Henry VI 80, 81, 82–84, 94–96, 117 in True Tragedie/ 3 Henry VI 119, 120, 168–169, 171 in Richard III 62, 68 in Vergil 88 love scenes with Suffolk 76–80, 82–84, 94–96, 168 Margaret of Savoy 88 Markham, Robert 26 Marlowe, Christopher 221 Marsh, George 184 Marston, John 196 Marxist theory 74, 222 Matthews, Victor H. 126 Maximilian, Emperor 86, 132 McNeir, Waldo F. 83 Miller, Helen 231 Mincoff, Marco 127 Mirrour for Magistrates 22, 45, 59, 91 Cade in 36, 213–214 Cobham arrest in 35 Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham, in 57–59, 65 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 36 John, Lord Clifford in 152–153, 155, 170

259

John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, in 147 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 102, 107–108 Lord Saye in 213–214 William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, in 90–91 Misfortunes of Arthur 221 Montacute, Thomas, Earl of Salisbury 125, 142, 146, 207, 208 Montague, Sir John 114 Montrose, Louis 2, 14, 16, 28 More, Thomas 22, 50, 52, 54, 55 Historie of Richard III 22, 32, 50, 54, 55, 72 Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham in 50–52, 54, 55, 58, 59, 60, 62, 64, 65, 67 Thomas, Lord Stanley in 181–182, 184 Morice, John 200 Mortimer, Roger, Earl of March 37 Morton, John, Bishop of Ely 49, 50, 52, 55, 56, 58, 59, 60, 66, 180, 181 Nashe, Thomas 73, 145, 196, 197 Pierce Penilesse 128, 197 Nevilles, Latimer line 114, 115 Nevilles 18, 102, 103, 104, 112, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 124, 125, 127, 163 Neville, Anne, Queen of England 79 Neville, Cecily, Duchess of York 102, 118, 196 Neville, Charles, sixth Earl of Westmorland 5, 103, 114–115, 116, 117, 118, 123, 124, 127, 155, 188, 189 Neville, Dorothy, Countess of Exeter 115 Neville, Edmund 115–116, 124, 126 Neville, Eleanor, Countess of Northumberland 102 Neville, Lady Fane 25 Neville, George, Archbishop of York 102 Neville, George, Duke of Bedford 102 Neville, Isabel, Duchess of Clarence 9 Neville, John, Marquess of Montague 102, 105, 106, 107, 108, 119, 120, 124 Neville, Ralph, first Earl of Westmorland 114 Neville, Ralph, second Earl of Westmorland 102, 103, 118 Neville, Richard fifth Earl of Salisbury 102, 114, 118, 125, 178 in Contention/ 2 Henry VI 111, 112, 113, 114, 117, 118, 121, 122, 125, 127, 210 in Vergil 104, 112 Neville, Richard, sixteenth Earl of Warwick historic 8, 9, 103, 105, 114, 125, 178, 216 in chronicles 102, 111, 112, 203 in Contention 111–112, 113, 117, 121, 163 in Fabyan 103 in Foxe 108

260

Index

Nevilles (cont.) in Hall 105–106, 111, 121 in Holinshed 108–109, 165 in Mirrour 107–108 in 2 Henry VI 103, 111–112, 113–114, 117–118, 121, 163–164 in True Tragedie/ 3 Henry VI 102–103, 118–120, 121–125, 167, 171 in Vergil 103–105, 111 Neville, Richard 115 Neville, Thomas, Lord Furnival 130 Neville, Maud, Baroness Talbot 130 new historicism 14, 28, 222 O’Hara, Diana 3 Oldcastle, Sir John 1, 15, 24, 139, 148 Oldcastle/Cobham controversy 1, 2, 17, 24, 29, 148, 220 Orgel, Stephen 3 Ornstein, Robert 78, 83, 118, 146 Otway-Ruthen, Annette 146 Paget, Charles 126 Paris, Prince of Troy 76, 77 Parker, Geoffrey 71 Parkyns, Richard 149 Parry, William 115, 126 Parsons, Robert (R. Doleman) 6, 115, 189 A Conference About the Next Succession to the Crowne of Ingland 6, 94, 101 Patrick, David Lyall 32 Patterson, Annabel 30, 126, 210 Pearlman, E. 144 Peck, Linda 26, 232 Peele, George 159, 221 Polyhymnia 159 Pembroke’s Men 202 Percys 103 Percy, Alianore, Duchess of Buckingham 52 Percy, Henry, eighth Earl of Northumberland 5 Percy, Henry, fourth Earl of Northumberland 52 Percy, Henry, second Earl of Northumberland 118, 125, 146, 165 Percy, Henry, third Earl of Northumberland 169 Percy, Margaret, Countess of Cumberland 154 Percy, Thomas, seventh Earl of Northumberland 114, 115, 127, 155, 188 Petrarch 78 Phalaris 61 Phelipes, Thomas 149, 199, 200 Philippa, Queen of Portugal 6 Pierce, Robert B. 18, 78, 129

Pilgrimage of Grace 133 Plantagenets 11, 12, 102, 116, 129, 223 as lesson against rebellion 12–13 Plantagenet, Arthur, Viscount Lisle 12 Plantagenet, Edward, Earl of Rutland 14, 150, 151–152, 153, 154, 160, 166, 168, 169, 171, 172 Plantagenet, Edward, seventeenth Earl of Warwick 9, 12 Plantagenet, Edward (prince) 85, 121, 167–169, 171 Plantagenet, Edward III, King of England 6, 98 Plantagenet, Edward IV, King of England 9, 12, 46, 47, 59, 62, 63, 64, 96, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 117, 119, 120, 121, 122, 171, 178, 180, 205, 216 Plantagenet, Edward V, King of England 46, 48, 50, 51, 55, 56, 57, 58, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 66, 182 Plantagenet, Elizabeth, Duchess of Suffolk 86 Plantagenet, Elizabeth of York, Queen of England 180, 181, 195 Plantagenet, George, Duke of Clarence 9, 12, 57, 62, 63, 106, 107, 122, 123, 171 Plantagenet, Henry III, King of England 6 Plantagenet, Henry IV, King of England 6, 9, 13, 116, 119, 170, 179 Plantagenet, Henry V, King of England 1, 15, 33, 34, 130, 142, 161, 162, 166, 170, 205, 207, 208, 209 Plantagenet, Henry VI, King of England 23 historic 14, 27, 34, 102, 103, 114, 116, 125, 130, 178, 209 in Contention 18, 35, 37, 38, 39, 77, 79, 80, 82, 111, 112, 161, 163, 213, 215 in Fabyan 87 in Foxe 92, 218 in Hall 84, 89, 90, 161, 213 in Holinshed 161, 165 in Mirrour 90, 91 in 1 Henry VI 76, 77, 84, 110, 206 in 2 Henry VI 38, 39, 81, 82, 95, 98, 112, 113, 114, 117, 118, 162, 163, 164, 210, 215, 217 in True Tragedie/ 3 Henry VI 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 167, 168, 169, 170 in Vergil 36, 88, 104, 161, 180 Plantagenet, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester 27, 33, 34, 35, 44, 74, 75, 84, 85 in chronicles 87, 88, 89–90, 91, 92, 93, 213, 214 in Contention 77, 78, 99, 111, 112, 160 in 1 Henry VI 19, 31, 95, 109, 110, 207 in 2 Henry VI 81, 82, 111–112, 113, 117, 212

Index Plantagenet, John, Duke of Bedford 130, 139, 140, 142, 207 Plantagenet, John of Gaunt 6, 7, 46, 48, 103, 115 Plantagenet, Lionel, Duke of Clarence 6 Plantagenet, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury 12, 57 Plantagenet, Richard II, King of England 6, 13, 116 Plantagenet, Richard III, King of England historic 10, 11, 27, 33, 45, 46, 47, 52, 74, 75, 86, 151, 153, 178, 179, 182, 184, 192 in chronicles 47–48, 54, 180 in Contention/2 Henry VI 121, 163, 166 in Fabyan 47, 48, 180 in Hall 55, 56, 184, 185, 186 in Mirrour 57, 58, 59 in More 50, 51, 52, 55, 182 in Richardus Tertius 59, 60, 61, 192, 193 in Richard III 31, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 79, 194, 195, 196, 229 in True Tragedy of Richard III 61, 193 in True Tragedie/3 Henry VI 120, 121, 122, 171 in Vergil 48, 49, 180, 181 Plantagenet, Richard, Duke of York (prince) 46, 47, 48, 51, 57, 58, 60, 61, 64, 65, 66, 180, 182 Plantagenet, Richard, Duke of York historic 14, 23, 34, 86, 103, 178 in Hall 151, 152, 168 in Holinshed 153, 165, 168 in Mirrour 152, 153 in 1 Henry VI 84–85, 109, 117, 205, 206 in Contention/2 Henry VI 18, 19, 35, 37, 44, 78, 81, 82, 112, 113, 114, 117, 118, 163, 164, 165, 210, 222 in True Tragedie/3 Henry VI 118, 119, 121, 153, 160, 167, 168–169, 170, 171 in Vergil 104, 151 Plantagenet, Philippa, Countess of March 37 Plantagenet, Thomas of Woodstock 27, 48, 49, 57 Pollard, A .F. 71, 130, 131, 145, 146, 147 Poole, Sir Germaine 169 Popes Clement VII, Pope 154, 200 Pius V, Pope 138 Pophams 7 Prior, Moody E. 31 Privy Council 1, 10, 91, 100, 133, 138, 150, 169, 184, 186, 189, 200, 205, 209 Pucelle, Joan (see Joan of Arc) Puckering, Sir John 199, 200, 201 Pugliatti, Paola 28, 31, 75, 210 Pynson, Thomas 22

261

Quinn, Michael 99 Rackin, Phyllis 7, 10, 15, 31, 74, 75, 140, 146, 148, 218 Raleigh, Sir Walter 159 Randall, William 189 Rasmussen, Eric 31 Rastell, William 32, 50, 72 Rawcliffe, Carole 69, 72 Read, Conyers 70, 71 Redman, Thomas 101 Reese, M. M. 129 Reformation Commission 183 Reign of King Edward III 221 Reinfandt, Christoph 15 Rene the first of Naples Duke of Anjou 77, 89 Resould, William 158 Rhoads, Jasper 127 Riches 26 Rich, Robert Lord 169 Richmond, H. M. 74, 148, 170, 218 Ricks, Don 129 Riddell, James 141 Ridolfi, Roberto 138 Ridolfi Plot 138 Riggs, David 31, 78, 83, 146, 172, 175, 231 Rivero, Bartolomeo 126 Rivers Anthony, Lord Rivers 46, 51, 60, 63, 64, 179 Robinson, Rob 200 Rockett, William 6, 25 Rogers, Thomas 71 Rose Theatre 191 Rowan, Nicole 129, 172 Rowe, Nicholas 24, 203–204 Russells 156 Russell, Anne, Countess of Warwick 157 Russell, Elizabeth, Countess of Bath 157 Russell, Francis, second Earl of Bedford 155, 156, 157 Russell, Margaret, Countess of Cumberland 155, 156, 157, 173 Sackville, Thomas, Lord Buckhurst (see also Mirrour for Magistrates) 57, 58, 59, 65, 67 Sahel, Pierre 70, 98 St. Aubyn, Giles 71 St. John, Anne, Lady Clifford 154 Saint Main, H. 174 Savile, Sir Henry 100 Scriptores post Bedam 100 Scales, Thomas Lord 131, 209 Schoenbaum, S. 204, 217, 218

262

Index

Scoufos, Alice-Lyle 24, 128, 138, 139, 141, 148 Scrope, Margaret, Countess of Suffolk 9, 88 Seymours 8, 93 Seymour, Edward, first Duke of Somerset 8, 10, 105, 133, 183 Seymour, Edward, Lord Beauchamp 5, 92, 97 Seymour, Edward, second Earl of Hertford 91, 92, 93–95, 96–97, 101 Seymour, Henry, Lord 5, 200 Seymour, Thomas 92, 93, 94, 97 Seymour, William 101 Shaa, Edmund, Lord Mayor of London 47, 48, 51 Shaa, Raffe 47, 48 Shakespeare 1, 44, 102, 139, 148, 150, 160, 191, 197 aristocracy in plays aristocracy as subject matter 203, 221–222, 226, 227, 230–231 aristocratic value system in plays 222 dilemma with aristocratic characters 3, 18, 220–221 knowledge of aristocratic genealogies 23 scholarship on aristocrats 19–20 audience 3, 16, 17, 18, 29, 37, 103, 145, 162, 164, 168, 171, 194, 207, 208, 220, 221 gentry in plays 203 as historian 85–86, 97 importance of family lineage in plays 18–19, 227–230 patronage 177–178, 191, 201–202 personal genealogy 30 political ideology 74, 222 relationship with Thomas Lucy 203–204 views on rebellion 103, 116–119, 123, 124 First Tetralogy 2, 6, 18, 99 First Henriad 20, 23, 33, 102, 109, 114, 116, 151, 157, 177, 211 sources 22 textual history 20–22, 202 The Contention between the two Famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster 18, 20, 21, 30, 33, 42, 69, 97, 102, 109, 116, 117, 124, 127, 158, 166, 217 Cade rebellion in 35, 37–39, 43–44, 160, 161, 213, 215, 216 Humphrey Stafford, first Duke of Buckingham, in 33, 34–35, 39, 44–45 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 37–39, 43–44 James Fiennes, Lord Saye, in 37, 203, 212, 213, 215–216, 218 John, Lord Clifford in 165, 166, 170, 175 Margaret of Anjou in 77–80, 84 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick in 111–113, 117, 121, 163 Thomas, (“Old”) Clifford in 37, 38, 121, 151, 160, 161, 163, 164

William de la Pole, first Earl of Suffolk, in 74, 77–80, 81, 82, 84, 99, 111, 112, 213 The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of York 20, 21, 102, 116, 117, 124, 158 John, Lord Clifford in 121, 123, 150, 151, 153, 160, 167–169, 170–172 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick in 102–103, 118–120, 121–124, 167, 171 1 Henry VI 21, 102, 117, 128, 144, 191 Countess of Auvergne in 141–142, 145 Falstaffe in 139 as parody of Lord Cobham 138, 139 Joan of Arc in 19, 110, 129, 139–140, 141, 145, 207, 208 John Talbot, first Earl of Shrewsbury in 18, 19, 21, 84, 114, 117, 128–129, 131, 135–136, 138, 139–140, 141–144, 145, 205, 206, 207 Margaret of Anjou in 76–77, 84, 94–96 Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, in 109–111, 113, 117, 127 Thomas Montacute, Earl of Salisbury in 125 William de la Pole, first Earl of Suffolk, in 74, 75–77, 84, 94–96, 109 Sir William Lucy in 205–209 2 Henry VI 19, 20, 21, 33 44, 69, 109, 124 Cade rebellion in 19, 35, 38, 39, 43, 82, 98, 161–163, 209–212, 215, 222 Henry, Cardinal Beaufort in 113 Humphrey Stafford, first Duke of Buckingham, in 34–35, 44–45 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 38, 39, 43, 209 James Fiennes, Lord Saye, in 203, 209–212, 214, 215, 217, 218 John, Lord Clifford in 114, 165–166 Margaret of Anjou in 80, 81, 82–84, 95, 96, 117 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 103, 111–112, 113, 114, 117–118, 121, 124–125, 163–164 Simpcox in 35 Thomas, (“Old”) Clifford in 38, 121, 151, 161–164, 165 William de la Pole, first Earl of Suffolk, in 74, 75, 80–84, 95, 96, 97, 99, 114, 117, 209, 217 3 Henry VI 1, 20, 21, 117, 124 John, Lord Clifford in 121, 123, 150, 151, 153, 160, 167–169, 170–172 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 102–103, 118–119, 120, 121–125, 127, 167 Duke of York in 118, 121, 150, 153, 160, 167, 168–169, 170, 171 Richard III 21, 23, 33, 177, 201, 229 Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham, in 45, 62–69, 194

Index Margaret of Anjou, Queen of England, in 62, 68 Thomas Stanley, first Earl of Derby, in 63, 67, 177, 178, 193–196, 197 Henry IV plays 1, 24, 139, 148, 229 Bardolph 222 Falstaff 1, 2, 24, 138, 139, 204, 222 Prince Hal 1, 15, 229 Henry IV 1, 229 Hotspur 229 Nym 222 Pistol 222 Richard II 229 Richard II 228–229 Richard II 228, 229 Bolingbroke 228, 229 Henry V 229 Henry VIII third Duke of Buckingham 69 Catherine of Aragon 69, 88 Thomas Cardinal Wolsey 69 All’s Well that Ends Well 99 Antony & Cleopatra 83, 228 Antony 75, 228 Caesar 228 Cleopatra 228 Hamlet 228 Fortinbras 228 Ghost 228 Hamlet 228 Horatio 228 King Lear 229, 230 Cordelia 230 Edgar 229 Edmund 229 Gloucester 229, 230 Goneril 230 Kent 230 Lear 230 Regan 230 Love’s Labour’s Lost 201 Macbeth 1, 230 Banquo 1 Duncan 230 Macbeth 230 Thane of Cawdor 230 Othello 228 Lodovico 228 Othello 64, 228 The Merry Wives of Windsor 204 Justice Shallow 204, 205 Titus Andronicus 229 Aaron 229 Twelfth Night 150, 160 Shakespeare, John 30

263

Shapiro, James 231 Sheffield, John, Baron 41 Sidneys Sidney, Sir Henry 170 Sidney, Mary, Countess of Pembroke 23, 125 Sidney, Sir Philip 150, 157, 170, 189 Sinfield, Alan 28 Smidt, Kristian 202 Smith, Christopher 93 Snowdon, John 200 Somerset, Alan 29 Somerset, Charles, first Earl of Worcester 10 Soranzo, Francesco 158, 174 Spanish Court Catherine of Aragon 9, 88, 154 Farnese, Ranuccio, Duke of Parma 5, 115, 200 Isabella, Infanta of Spain 5, 6 Philip II, King of Spain 40, 42, 44, 45, 68, 91, 100, 101, 115, 116, 125, 134, 138, 173, 174, 184, 189, 190 correspondence with de Mendoza 41–42, 138, 199 Philip IIII, King of Spain 5, 97 Quadra, Bishop 125 Spence, Richard T. 173, 174, 175 Spencer, Alice Stanley, Countess of Derby 191 Spenser, Edmund 157, 196, 197 Colin Clout 197 The Faerie Queene 157 Spring, David 231 Spring, Eileen 231 Staffords 33, 34, 36, 38, 39, 40, 43, 44, 45, 52, 54, 56, 61, 68 Stafford, Dorothy 41, 57 Stafford, Edward, third Duke of Buckingham 11, 33, 52–54, 55, 57 Stafford, Edward, third Baron Stafford 40–41, 43, 44, 45, 57 Stafford, Edward, fourth Baron Stafford 44 Stafford, Henry, Baron Stafford 56–57 Stafford, Henry, second Duke of Buckingham historic 33, 45–47, 52, 68, 72, 179 in chronicles 47, 54 in Fabyan 47–48, 180 in Hall 55–56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 63, 65, 67, 184 in More 50–52, 54, 55, 58, 59, 60, 62, 64, 65, 67 in Mirrour 57–59, 65 in Richard III 45, 62–69, 194 in Richardus Tertius 59–61, 64, 65, 67 in True Tragedy of Richard III 61–62 in Vergil 48–49, 51, 52, 55, 56, 65, 180, 181 Stafford, Humphrey, Sir in chronicles 36, 37 in Contention 37–39, 43–44

264

Index

Staffords (cont.) in Fabyan 36 in Hall 36 in Holinshed 36 in Mirrour 36 in Stowe 36 in 2 Henry VI 38, 39, 43, 209 in Vergil 36 Stafford, Humphrey, Earl of Stafford 45, 165 Stafford, Humphrey, first Duke of Buckingham 33, 35 historic 34, 39, 40, 41, 46, 72 in chronicles 34, 35, 39 in Contention 35, 39, 44–45 in 2 Henry VI 35, 37, 38, 44–45, 78, 117, 120, 161 Stafford, John, Archbishop of Canterbury 34, 35 Stafford, Margaret, Duchess of Westmorland 114 Stafford, Thomas 40, 43, 44 Stafford, William 36, 38, 39 Staffords of Blatherwyke 41 Stafford, Sir Edward 40, 41–42, 43, 44–45, 68–69, 71 Stafford, Sir William 41 Stafford, William 42, 71 Stanhope, John 169 Stanleys 18, 40, 93, 155, 173, 174, 175, 177–178, 179, 180, 182, 183, 184, 186, 187, 188, 190, 192, 194, 196, 197, 202, 231 as theatrical patrons 177, 190–191 Stanley as custodian of Eleanor Cobham 70 Stanley, Edward, third Earl of Derby 138, 182–184, 188–189, 198 Stanley, Sir Edward 188 Stanley, Ferdinando, fifth Earl of Derby 41, 177, 189, 190, 191, 196–197, 199, 200, 202 Stanley, George, Lord Strange 179, 180, 181, 184, 185, 186, 192, 193, 195, 196 Stanley, Henry, fourth Earl of Derby 40, 41, 114, 115, 155, 156, 160, 175, 177, 186–188, 189–190, 191, 194, 196, 198, 199, 200 Stanley, Henry Lord Stranse 183 Stanley, Sir John 70 Stanley, Sir Rowland 199 Stanley, Sir Thomas 35, 70 Stanley, Thomas, first Earl of Derby historic 180, 182, 192 in Fabyan 180 in Hall 184–186, 192, 195 in Legge 192–193 in More 181–182, 184 in Richard III 63, 67, 177, 178, 193–196, 197

in True Tragedy 193 in Vergil 180–181, 184, 185, 195 Stanley, Thomas, second Earl of Derby 182 Stanley, Sir William (Elizabethan) 115, 123, 177, 189, 190, 199, 200 Stanley, Sir William, 178, 179, 180, 181, 185, 193 Stanley, William, sixth Earl of Derby 5, 191 Stanley, Mary Stafford 40, 41 Stanleys of Hooten 199 Starkey, David 232 statute of scandalum magnatum 136, 223 Sterrell, William 149 Stone, Lawrence 3, 6, 8, 26, 148, 176, 222 Crisis of the Aristocracy 222, 231, 232 Family, Sex and Marriage in England, 1500-1800 3 Stowe, John 22, 36 A Proclamation made by Jack Cade Cade in 36, 214 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 36 Lord Saye in 214 Sir William Lucy in 205 Short English Chronicle 22 Cade in 36, 214–215 Cobham’s arrest in 35 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 36 Lord Saye in 214–215 Strange’s Men 177, 191, 201, 202 Strong, Roy 232 Strype, J. 198 Stuarts claim to throne 40, 70, 115 Charles II, King of England 94 James I (James VI), King of England 1, 5, 6, 18, 28, 33, 44, 93, 97, 115, 127, 145, 150, 157, 159, 160, 217 Stuart, Arabella 5, 101, 118, 145 Stuart, Henry, Prince of Wales 173 Stuart, Mary, Queen of Scots 5, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 71, 100, 114, 115, 128, 136, 137, 138, 139, 141, 142, 145, 155, 157, 188, 189 Swallow, Henry 126 Swan Theatre 204 Talbots 18, 128, 129, 135, 136, 138, 144, 145 Talbot, Ankaret 130 Talbot, Edward, eighth Earl of Shrewsbury 144, 149 Talbot, Francis, fifth Earl of Shrewsbury 133–134, 136 Talbot, George, fourth Earl of Shrewsbury 132–133 Talbot, George, sixth Earl of Shrewsbury 128, 134, 136–138, 139, 140–141, 142, 144, 145, 147, 148, 183, 188

Index Talbot, Gilbert, seventh Earl of Shrewsbury 26, 136, 138, 140, 141, 144–145, 148, 149 Talbot, Gilbert 130 Talbot, Henry 144, 149 Talbot, John, first Earl of Shrewsbury critics response to 129 historic 129–132, 139, 146, 147, 148, 207 in Ireland 130 at Orleans 131 in Paris 131 in Rouen 131 in chronicles 102, 203 in Hall 128, 134–135, 139, 144 in Holinshed 128, 135, 139 in 1 Henry VI 18, 19, 21, 84–85, 114, 117, 128–129, 131, 135–136, 138, 139–140, 141–144, 145, 205, 206, 207, 208 in Vergil 132, 134 Talbot, John 132, 135, 143–144, 145, 147, 206, 208 Talbot, Margaret, Countess of Cumberland 154 Talbot, Lord Richard 129 Talbot, Richard, Archbishop of Dublin 130 Tennenhouse, Leonard 5, 19, 31 Thomas of Woodstock 221 Thomson, Peter 201, 202 Throckmorton Plot 115 Thurland, Edward 149 Thynne, Francis 138, 139, 148 Tillyard, E. M. W. 83, 116, 129, 175, 176 Tillyardian theory 222 Tilney, Edmond 30 Titherley, A. W. 198, 201 titles of nobility Arundel title 11 Buckingham title 33, 40, 45, 54, 62, 68 Cumberland title 152, 154, 165 Derby title 11, 40, 177, 179, 191, 194, 197 Devon title 11 Essex title 11 Exeter title 230 Furnival title 130 Gloucester title 23 Hereford title 48–49, 55, 58, 62 Kent title 11 Norfolk title 11, 13, 230 Northampton title 204 Northumberland title 11, 13, 106 Oxford title 11 Salisbury title 9 Saye and Sele title 209, 216, 217, 219 Shrewsbury title 11, 130 Somerset title 8, 9, 11, 230 Strange title 191

265

Suffolk title 8, 11, 13, 74, 86, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 97, 100 Surrey title 11 Warwick title 8, 9, 11, 23, 102, 103, 106, 109, 111, 125 Westmorland title 11 Topcliffe, Richard 190 Traub, Valerie 3 Treaty of Etaples 132 The Troublesome Reign and Lamentable Death of King Edward the Second 221 Troublesome Reign of John King of England 221 True Tragedy of Richard III (anonymous) 22, 61–62 Beaufort, Margaret, Countess of Richmond 193 Thomas Lord Stanley in 193 Tudor myth 54, 116 Tudors 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 49, 54, 56, 57, 72, 74, 103, 116, 133, 155, 180, 181, 185, 222, 227 Tudor, Edward VI, King of England 10, 56, 57, 90, 91, 92, 105, 106, 133, 134, 183, 198 Tudor, Elizabeth I, Queen of England 1, 5, 6, 7, 9, 28, 36, 40, 41–42, 43, 44, 57, 70, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 100, 101, 102, 103, 106, 107, 108, 109, 114–115, 116, 128, 134, 136, 137, 138, 144, 150, 151, 155, 157, 158, 159, 160, 163, 184, 187, 188, 190, 191, 194, 200, 204, 205, 208, 217, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 232 Tudor, Henry VII, King of England historic 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 22, 27, 46, 47, 52, 86, 87, 93, 99, 128, 132, 152, 154, 179, 182, 227 in chronicles 47, 48, 49, 54, 56, 180, 181, 184, 185, 186 in Legge 59, 192, 193 in Richard III 66, 67, 72, 195, 196 in True Tragedy 61, 193 Tudor, Henry VIII, King of England 11, 12, 22, 40, 48, 52, 53, 54, 55, 70, 72, 74, 88, 91, 99, 100, 105, 106, 133, 154, 155, 173, 182, 183, 187, 227, 232 Tudor, Jasper 52 Tudor, Margaret 70, 91 Tudor, Mary, Queen of England 40, 43, 57, 106, 134, 155, 184 Tudor, Mary, Queen of France, Duchess of Suffolk 23, 40, 88, 90, 91, 155, 186 Tudor, Owen 7 Uffords 9 Uhlig, Claus 11 Urkowitz, Stephen 31, 32 Urswick, Sir Christopher 195

266

Index

Van Harwick, Giles 158 Vaughn, Sir Thomas 61 Vergil, Polydore 22, 48, 87–88, 93, 100, 132, 151, 152, 203 History of England 22, 54, 132 Cade rebellion in 36, 161 Cobham’s arrest in 35 Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham, in 48–49, 51, 52, 54, 55, 56, 65, 180, 181 Sir Humphrey Stafford in 36 John Lord Clifford in 151 John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, in 132, 134 Beaufort, Margaret, Countess of Richmond, in 180–181 Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, in 103–105, 111, 112 Lord Saye in 213 Stanley, Thomas Lord in 180–181, 184, 185, 195 William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk, in 85, 87–88, 89, 90, 92, 132 Villiers, George 33 Waad, W. 201 Wall, Alison 149 Walpole, Henry 201 Walsingham, Francis 41, 42, 71, 138, 140, 199, 200 Warbeck, Perkin 180 Wars of the Roses 8, 17, 18, 20, 87, 102, 109, 110, 113, 116, 117, 221, 222, 226, 227 Watson, Donald G. 19, 31, 121, 162, 172, 176, 218, 231 Watson, Thomas 101 Weimann, Robert 15 Weiss, Michael 125 Wells, Robin Headlam 231

Wentworth, Peter 5 Westmorland House 158 White, Paul Whtfield 24, 148 Whitgift, John, Archbishop of Canterbury 94 Whitmore, Walter 99 Williams, Gwyn 83 Williams, Penry 25, 26, 232 Williamson, G. C. 174 Willoughby, Ambrose 169 Wilson, Thomas 5, 126 Windham, Edward 169 Winney, James 172 Wolfe, B .P. 198 Wolsey, Thomas, Cardinal 53, 54, 55, 88, 105, 182, 183 Woodvilles 46 Woodville, Elizabeth, Queen of England 46, 48, 62, 63, 104, 106, 108, 121, 122, 180, 181, 198 in Richard III 194, 195 Woodville, Katherine, Duchess of Buckingham 46, 52 Woolf, D. R. 17, 25, 28 Worden, Blair 31, 75 Wriothesley, Henry, second Earl of Southampton 169, 188, 224 Wykeham, Margaret, Lady Saye 216 Xaintrailles, Poton de 131 Yates, Frances A. 232 York family 6, 18, 23, 34, 46, 56, 103, 104, 106, 109, 117, 118, 119, 122, 123, 125, 153, 154, 165, 167, 170, 171, 178 Yorke, Edmund 201 Young, Alan R. 174, 232 Young, Henry 189 Young, James 149

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