Eep. This is so awesome.
From Cary's History of Edward II -- Dr. V read this bit for us in class today, and I find it hugely fascinating. On the murder of the King:
The historians of these times differ both in the time, place, and manner of his death; yet all agree that he was foully and inhumanely murdered, yet so, that there was no visible or apparent sign which way 'twas acted. A small tract of time discovers the actors, and shows evidently that it was done by an extremity of violence: they long escape not: though Mortimer's greatness for the present time keep them both from question and punishment, yet by the divine justice they all meet with a miserable and unpitied death; and the master workman himself in a few years suffered an ignominious execution.
The Queen, who was guilty but in circumstance, and but an accessory to the intention, not the fact, tasted with a bitter time of repentance what it was but to be quoted in the margent of such a story; the several relations so variously expressed of their confessions that were the actors and consenters to this deed, differ so mainly, that it may be better passed over in silence, than so much as touched; especially since if it were in that cruel manner, as is by the major part agreed on, it was one of the most inhumane and barbarous acts that ever fell within the expression of all our English stories, fitter rather to be passed over in silence, than to be discoursed, since it both dishonoureth our nation, and is in the example so dangerous.
Isn't that something? I'm not sure which is more compelling: the constant refusals to say outright how Edward was murdered, or the final little twist, that even to talk about it would set a bad precedent. Yet the repetition of the statement that it can't be talked about merely calls more attention to the horror of the event (and I think the best-known version of Edward's death, that he was impaled through the anus with a hot poker, would have been fairly well known to a contemporary reader of the text). And I'm sort of reminded, though not through direct parallel, to Marlowe's version: he's very decorous, textually, but then, he shows it. Or at least we assume he did; the notes to my edition (ed. David Bevington) say: "Whether such a horrible method of murder was simulated by the Elizabethan acting company is not certain, but the act is easily simulated in the theatre..." And, of course, Lightborn calls for a red-hot spit at one point, which seems a pretty clear indication of the staging. (I sorta wonder how the recent Globe production staged it, if anyone out there saw it?)
Given Cary's emphatic reluctance to discuss the method of Edward's death, it's rather striking the way she begins describing the rise to prominence of Hugh le Despencer:
Edward could not but know that a new president over his royal actions must make his subjects but at a second hand; yet he is resolved of a new choice, of such a favourite as might supply and make good the room of his lost beloved Gaveston; hence sprung that fatal fire which scorched the kingdom with intestine ruin.
Guess the body of the king really is the body of England, huh?
The historians of these times differ both in the time, place, and manner of his death; yet all agree that he was foully and inhumanely murdered, yet so, that there was no visible or apparent sign which way 'twas acted. A small tract of time discovers the actors, and shows evidently that it was done by an extremity of violence: they long escape not: though Mortimer's greatness for the present time keep them both from question and punishment, yet by the divine justice they all meet with a miserable and unpitied death; and the master workman himself in a few years suffered an ignominious execution.
The Queen, who was guilty but in circumstance, and but an accessory to the intention, not the fact, tasted with a bitter time of repentance what it was but to be quoted in the margent of such a story; the several relations so variously expressed of their confessions that were the actors and consenters to this deed, differ so mainly, that it may be better passed over in silence, than so much as touched; especially since if it were in that cruel manner, as is by the major part agreed on, it was one of the most inhumane and barbarous acts that ever fell within the expression of all our English stories, fitter rather to be passed over in silence, than to be discoursed, since it both dishonoureth our nation, and is in the example so dangerous.
Isn't that something? I'm not sure which is more compelling: the constant refusals to say outright how Edward was murdered, or the final little twist, that even to talk about it would set a bad precedent. Yet the repetition of the statement that it can't be talked about merely calls more attention to the horror of the event (and I think the best-known version of Edward's death, that he was impaled through the anus with a hot poker, would have been fairly well known to a contemporary reader of the text). And I'm sort of reminded, though not through direct parallel, to Marlowe's version: he's very decorous, textually, but then, he shows it. Or at least we assume he did; the notes to my edition (ed. David Bevington) say: "Whether such a horrible method of murder was simulated by the Elizabethan acting company is not certain, but the act is easily simulated in the theatre..." And, of course, Lightborn calls for a red-hot spit at one point, which seems a pretty clear indication of the staging. (I sorta wonder how the recent Globe production staged it, if anyone out there saw it?)
Given Cary's emphatic reluctance to discuss the method of Edward's death, it's rather striking the way she begins describing the rise to prominence of Hugh le Despencer:
Edward could not but know that a new president over his royal actions must make his subjects but at a second hand; yet he is resolved of a new choice, of such a favourite as might supply and make good the room of his lost beloved Gaveston; hence sprung that fatal fire which scorched the kingdom with intestine ruin.
Guess the body of the king really is the body of England, huh?