[In the essay below, Utterback considers the topics of political instability and the legitimate inheritance of the English crown in Henry VI, Part 3.]

In the opening scene of Henry VI, Part III, Shakespeare faced a difficult expository problem. In solving it he devised a beginning powerful enough to epitomize the prior historical situation and to lead credibly to the play's subsequent involved actions. Further, and perhaps more important, he introduced the fundamental inconsistencies exhibited in the characters' motivations and actions throughout the play. These inconsistencies are displayed succinctly in the stances characters take toward the legal arguments over legitimate possession of the crown that the contrary factions put forward. As Robert Ornstein has observed, Shakespeare recognized that neither side in the Wars of the Roses had a consistent ideological position and that both shifted their positions “as circumstances required.”¹ The way Shakespeare exploited his knowledge in shaping the themes of this drama of a disintegrating kingdom deserves careful consideration.

Numerous issues about kingship are raised in the play. Who is truly entitled to be King? What is required to be a good King? How shall the King order the realm? What is the worth of kingship to its possessor? The opening scene incorporates a debate over the first question in which each faction naturally supports the principles favorable to its leader. These arguments and principles are, by nature, claims upon public assent; around them the order of society is established and maintained. That the different principles issue in opposite conclusions as to who may properly wear the crown indicates the seriousness of the social crisis. Only one idea seems shared by all, the unstated assumption that there shall be one King over the realm. When self-contradictions in principles or their application appear, both Yorkists and Lancastrians act blind to them or simply refuse to be inhibited by them. The conflict of public principles is matched in the debate by equally significant conflicts between principles and private attitudes, and some characters, such as Clifford, exalt their private attitudes to the level of fundamental principles of state. The opening scene's interaction of characters, arguments, and positions thus produces complications, shifts, and alterations characteristic of the whole drama. In this society the public principles lack logical coherence, the factions cannot agree on what the principles of public order truly are, and the wilfulness of individuals abruptly overrules commitments to principles.

In molding the historical record into drama Shakespeare shaped the conflicts he wanted to develop, for he altered characterization, motivation, and causation, even as he oversimplified the Parliament of 1460, which Act I scene i represents. The Yorkists take over the stage at once, military victors literally securing the possession of Parliament, palace, and throne. Warwick enunciates York's position as “victorious Prince” (I.i.21)² and his evidently superior hereditary claim to the throne. York's own directness contrasts with Warwick's civility, for he announces bluntly that they have “broken in by force” (l. 29). It is implicitly acknowledged that Parliament must ratify any attempt to alter the possession of the throne, but in the very act of mentioning Parliament Warwick contradicts any such Parliamentary principle with an appeal to force:

The bloody parliament shall this be call'd
Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,
And bashful Henry depos'd. …

(ll. 39-41)

Clearly the Yorkists have sufficient military power to enforce their will on any Parliament bold enough to be recalcitrant. Warwick supplies a new principle, however, in referring to “bashful Henry,” “whose cowardice / Hath made us by-words to our enemies” (41-42). The necessity of heroic virtù in kingship is indicated; this is the first of many references to Henry's lack of military disposition and to the loss of territory and prestige in France. Nearly everybody in the play agrees on at least one point, that York exhibits this form of kingly merit and King Henry does not. Applied to the Crown in general terms this becomes the principle that a King who fails to maintain the country's military success fails to maintain his right to the throne. While Warwick never presses this idea to its logical conclusion, he enlists it as a good supporting reason justifying what he says should be done about York's hereditary right. Shakespeare pursued the point about kingly virtù in King John and Richard II. The institution of kingship rests not merely on its divinely sanctioned dignity but also on its efficacy in society. As Ernest W. Talbert asserts about Richard II, “The sacred name of ‘king’ was not only inherited but also merited, and the problem of order became intense and perilous when those two attributes were not united in one person.”³

The Yorkists actually argue that Henry has neither an inherited nor a merited right; thus York declares his determination to take possession of his right. Interestingly, Warwick thereupon takes the credit for establishing York (ll. 45-49) in a personal vaunt, an indulgence of his power to gratify his private will. From this point of view, the King is hardly a public figure with publicly verifiable rights and duties. He is a figure Warwick creates by virtue of his armed might and the strength of his will. There is obviously no public principle in this; Warwick makes no claim to be the voice of the nation, the agent of a consensus among the noblemen, or the spokesman of any cause other than his own pleasure. He is simply doing what his power makes possible about the occupancy of the throne, a basis of action potentially threatening to any person placed on the throne.

When he enters, King Henry at once labels York a rebel, then reminds his retainers of their fathers' deaths at Yorkist hands and their vows of revenge. York had declared he would use words or blows as necessary against his enemies, but Henry limits himself to “frowns, words and threats” (l. 72). Henry thus initiates the contention in words that first approaches a Marlovian slanging match before it becomes rational argument. It does then, however, become a comprehensive debate. York introduces the principle of hereditary legitimacy; when Westmoreland offers to maintain Henry's title (presumably in chivalric combat), Warwick reminds him that the Yorkists have just defeated his party in battle (presumably a greater and thus more decisive chivalric combat). York asserts his title, though the audience is not given York's exposition of his ancestry—there had been enough of that, perhaps, in II Henry VI. Instead, King Henry, invoking the principle of hereditary legitimacy for himself, supplies a brief analysis covering three generations:

What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:
I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop. …

(ll. 104-8)

The Yorkists, of course, pounce on this open opportunity to denounce Henry's own failure in France, and Henry, thus put on the defensive, moves back a generation to his grandfather's title: “Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown” (l. 132). This also proves unfortunate, for the assumption that hereditary legitimacy may derive from Henry IV's action is exactly what York disputes. York avoids committing himself on what rights may derive from conquest—indeed it could well be to his advantage, having the upper hand militarily, to declare that right may accrue therefrom. What he does, however, is to deny that Henry IV's action is properly a conquest: “’Twas by rebellion against his king” (l. 133; italics added). The challenge defeats this line of defense for Henry's title, and Henry shifts ground to offer a new argument about the succession: “Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?” (l. 135). York cautiously wants to know where this argument would lead, and Henry obligingly puts together all the deductive steps of his hypothetical syllogism:

An if he may, then am I lawful king;
For Richard, in the view of many lords,
Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

(ll. 137-40)

But nothing is so simple to the Yorkists. The allegation of rebellion is repeated, and a new allegation is made that Richard II resigned under compulsion and thus did not freely adopt an heir. A third argument then appears, that even a voluntary renunciation of the crown could not prejudice the rights of the next heir. When Exeter admits the justice of York's argument, Henry fears mass defection. The other Lancastrian loyalists, however, refuse to settle for this, and shift the ground of argument from right back to power. Clifford simply declares his personal loyalty to King Henry and his absolute refusal to acknowledge York whatever the arguments:

King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defense. …

(ll. 159-69)

Clifford sanctifies this assertion of will by making it a vow, but his bald statement of personal commitment seems an anachronistic, Anglo-Saxon declaration of faithfulness to a war-lord. There is no public principle in it, for it means that personal will and force are the final arbiters of conflicting claims.

Warwick breaks the impasse by asserting York's right and summoning troops. In this crisis Henry suddenly sends the situation in a new direction with a new application of the adopted heir argument. He proposes to entail the crown to York on the conditions of remaining King for life and receiving York's loyalty. York accepts the arrangement with alacrity, but obviously he does not reflect on the positions implicitly admitted. If York can become Henry VI's heir by “adoptive” process (and with Henry under military duress), then Henry IV was Richard II's legal heir, and his descendant Henry VI has the superior right. Further, the mere acceptance of the position of heir presupposes the validity of Henry's title, since no man can bequeath to an heir what he does not possess. The abuse Henry instantly receives from the Lancastrian lords is ironic, for Henry's compromise is what keeps him King when their power to maintain him has become clearly deficient. The alternative to Henry's solution would seem to be assassination of the Lancastrian party. Yet the Lancastrians desert Henry with ill grace, the erstwhile arch-loyalist Clifford uttering these intriguing maledictions:

In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,
Or live in peace abandon'd and despis'd!

(ll. 187-88)

Henceforth their official cause is with Queen Margaret, fighting for the principle of hereditary legitimacy in Henry's son's right to inherit the kingdom, though it seems an embarrassment that they must logically maintain Henry's legitimacy as well. Ironically, the Lancastrian Prince Edward shortly appears, declaring the previously Yorkist argument that the succession is inalienable and the immediate heir cannot be displaced (ll. 226-7; cf. ll. 143-6).

The historical situation differed considerably from Shakespeare's presentation. When York claimed the throne in October, 1460, Henry VI was his prisoner. “Public opinion was outraged by York's treatment of the gentle king, and the compromise was forced on him by the Lords,” Geoffrey Bullough summarizes.⁴ Edward Hall's account of the events even suggests a principle of kingship based on “received opinion,” Henry having reigned so long already:

After long argumentes made, & deliberate consultacion had emong the peeres, prelates, and commons of the realme: upon the vigile of all sainctes, it was condescended and agreed by the three estates, for so much as Kyng Henry had been taken as kyng by the space of xxxviii. yeres and more, that he should injoye the name and title of Kyng, and have possession of the realme, duryng his life naturall. … and that the duke [of York] from thensefurth, should be Protector and Regent of the lande.

… These articles with many other, were not onely written, sealed, and sworne by the twoo parties: but also wer enacted, in the high court of Parliament.⁵

Parliament's role in imposing the compromise is omitted by Shakespeare and it becomes instead a personal arrangement of the two contending leaders.

What is satisfactory to them, however, is not acceptable to their followers. In I.ii. Edward urges York simply to violate his oath, while Richard subtly argues the oath is invalid, not having been sworn before “a true and lawful magistrate” (I.ii.23). Again a public principle, the sacredness of an oath, is denied as the validity of York's oath is made dependent upon the validity of Henry's title. Such a sophisticated route to oath-breaking is followed later by sheer wilful refusals to be found by oath. Warwick angrily renounces his oath of allegiance to King Edward, Edward perjures himself in swearing he comes to York only to claim his dukedom, and Clarence violates an oath sworn on the sacrament, changing sides for the second time to support Edward at Tewkesbury. Even King Henry feels caught up in this oath-breaking when he sees York's impaled head and declares he has not knowingly infringed his vow (II.ii.6-8). In response Clifford lectures the King about such conscientiousness, appealing to self-defense and a father's obligation to his son (II.ii.19-25), treating such motives as justifying oath-breaking.

King Henry considers more deeply than Clifford the heritage he should leave:

                                        didst thou never hear
That things ill-got had ever bad success?
And happy always was it for that son
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And would my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.

(II. ii. 45-53)

By introducing these reflections Shakespeare enhances the drier arguments over lawful inheritance. Another theme has begun to run across that of the King's official right—the King's personal feelings about his office—as one is reminded that the King is a private person as well as a public figure. To those who do not possess the crown, as Richard of Gloucester manifests, it seems a supremely desirable possession. But to King Henry it is a burden and a sorrow, the occasion for lament rather than celebration of power. The sense of the burden of kingship partly explains Henry's mild acceptance of both vicissitude and victory. The Yorkist King Edward, a younger and more vigorous man, also dislikes the responsibility of kingship. He seems to regard his public duties as a nuisance and even before his coronation virtually gives over the government to Warwick (II.vi.99-102). He sees kingship simply as the opportunity for unchecked self-indulgence, for he regards the King as the man whose will shall prevail and whose pleasure constitutes his policy. Thus the very man who lectured Henry about how unsuitable for the kingdom was his choice of Margaret as a bride (II.ii.144-62) ignores governmental and political considerations altogether in marrying Lady Grey. Neither the conscientious King Henry nor the irresponsible King Edward finds personal fulfillment in kingship itself or any satisfaction in the exercise of the King's public responsibilities.

The characters' lack of agreement on public principles, their wilful shifts of principle to indulge private feelings, loyalties, or advantages, and the personal attitudes which lead Henry VI and Edward IV to incapacity or neglect in asserting control of the kingdom and its government all demonstrate the impossibility of resolving the conflicts within a framework of public principles grounded in society's values, even those values not undermined or denied. There is no faithfulness to oath, title, right, or justice, but an aggressive assertion of private wills that accept no discipline from public principle or order. It is this England which the historian J. W. Allen succinctly described:

It is not true that [the Tudor monarchy] superseded an ancient and established constitution. What it superseded was anarchy. The constitution of the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century had broken down long before [the battle of] Tewkesbury.⁶

It is also this England that Shakespeare saw in III Henry VI. The victories go first to one side, then the other, and no stability is achieved in the kingdom. The Yorkist victory at Tewkesbury at the end of the play is accompanied by wilful atrocities answering similar ones at the beginning, and Prince Edward is murdered not as a threat to the Yorkist dynasty nor even in revenge, but in a sudden angry expression of personal resentment and annoyance. In such a fashion Shakespeare dramatized a social world falling into a chaos where no public principle has any meaning.

Notes

1. A Kingdom for a Stage: The Achievement of Shakespeare's History Plays (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972), p. 53.

2. Citations are from The Complete Works of Shakespeare, rev. ed., ed. Hardin Craig and David Bevington (Glenview, Ill.: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1974).

3. The Problem of Order: Elizabethan Political Commonplaces and an Example of Shakespeare's Art (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 1962), p. 199.

4. Narrative and Dramatic Sources of Shakespeare (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1960), III, 159.

5. Union of the Two Noble Houses of Lancaster and York, as quoted in Bullough, III, 175-6.

6. English Political Thought, 1603-1644 (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books; first pub. 1938), p. 15.