Richard III as History

One need look no further than the Academy Award nominations of 2013 to note the controversy that often surrounds dramatizations of historical events and personages. I’ve seen Argo, Django Unchained, Zero Dark Thirty, even Lincoln questioned and debated as representations of history. 

In our postmodern world, we recognize that not even professional historians are completely neutral and objective in their accounts.  Why would we expect that of artists, playwrights, and film-makers?  Indeed, perhaps the value of historical dramatizations lies in their stimulation of interest and conversations about what we think we know about the past.

Similarly, real life events can spark interest in art.  I was fascinated by the recent unearthing of Richard III’s skeleton, which had lain undiscovered since 1485, not only by the archeological dig itself and the process of identifying the remains, but also by the efforts of the Richard III Society to rehabilitate his reputation after the damage done to it by previous historians and especially by William Shakespeare.  The news sent me back to the play, which I had studied in my graduate Shakespeare course, as well as to my undergraduate English history text and lecture notes.

I realized that, having both read the play and seen it in production, I had had my image of Richard shaped more by art and drama than by the historical record.  It was only when I reviewed my notes that I remembered my undergraduate history professor making the case that it was Henry VII, not Richard III, who had had the young princes murdered in the Tower.

Not only did I reread the play, but I reviewed the historical accounts.  Isaac Asimov’s Guide to Shakespeare, Vol. II, is particularly valuable since it compares the plot of Shakespeare’s play to what is known about the historical facts.  Shakespeare was clearly more interested in dramatic effect and the approval of the Tudor monarchy that ruled when he wrote the play than he was in historical truth.   Asimov makes a persuasive case that Richard probably did have the young princes murdered.  However, it’s clear from the historical record that it was Edward IV, not Richard, who had their brother, Clarence, murdered.  Asimov also argues that Richard’s ruthless acts to acquire and keep the kingship could be attributed as much to his desire to end the bloody civil wars that had been raging for decades as to his personal ambition.

In any case, while the newly discovered skeleton of Richard III confirms Shakespeare’s representation of him as a “hunchback” (he had curvature of the spine) there is no evidence that he had a withered arm or any other “deformities.”  Likewise, while the historical record shows Richard acting brutally, he was no more a “monster” than other contenders for the throne during the Wars of the Roses or other periods of British or other national histories.  There is also ample evidence that Henry VII, who succeeded Richard, and his Tudor descendants went to great lengths to create the legend of Richard as a brutal monster, both in his appearance and his deeds, who had grand ambition and little to no conscience.

Shakespeare contributed to this legend and added to Richard’s villainous image the traits of wit, irony, and “larger than life” character that marks most Shakespearean “heroes.”   What is fascinating is the way Shakespeare psychologizes the motivation of Richard’s character, such that the play becomes the study of a “criminal mind,” if you will, and of the steady decline deeper and deeper into corruption and blood, until his own treachery backfires and he himself becomes the victim of treason and violence.  (See next post.)

The examination of Richard’s skeleton showed that he had suffered wounds of humiliation after death, such as a thrust through the right buttock and missing feet.  Thus the Tudors and their followers demeaned his corpse as well as his reputation.

Whatever injustices art may inflict on history, at the very least it can engage and challenge us, not only in the drama but ultimately in the quest for truth.  We should never take any account, whether factual or fictional, at face value, but, rather, as the genesis of conversation, debate, and inquiry.  If art does not always represent the truth of history, it does energize us to seek that truth.