The character of Richard II himself is fascinating, and I'll be writing about him (and his play) for the next few posts at least. One of his most compelling features is his poetic nature, and Shakespeare shows it to us in some daring ways, including this moment from the deposition scene (4.1) which could almost be considered meta-theatrical in quality (I'm using it to mean that the characters are aware of themselves as dramatic creations, as well as forcing the audience to consider them that way). At the point in question, Richard's request for a mirror with which to see the results of sadness on his face has been fulfilled, but then he suddenly dashes it to the ground and makes the following sardonic comment: "For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers./ Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, /How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face." Bolingbroke's reply is initially puzzling ("The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face"), but then Richard, like an English major, interprets it:
Say that again.
The shadow of my sorrow! ha! let's see:
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of laments
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only givest
Me cause to wail but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause.
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