Certain names wear a halter in history, and his was one. Richard I. was assassinated in the siege of Chalone Castle; Richard II. was murdered at Pomfret; Richard, Earl of Southampton, was executed for treason; Richard, Duke of York, was beheaded with insult; his son, Richard III., fell by the perfidy of his nobles; Richard, the last Duke of York, was probably murdered by his uncle, in the Tower.
At the decease of his brother Edward, the Duke of Gloucester was not only the first prince of the blood royal, but was also a consummate statesman, intrepid soldier, generous giver, and prompt executor, naturally compassionate, as is proved by his large pensions to the families of his enemies, to Lady Hastings, Lady Rivers, the Duchess of Buckingham, and the rest; peculiarly devout, too, according to a pattern then getting antiquated, as is shown by his endowing colleges of priests, and bestowing funds for masses in his own behalf and others. Shakspeare never loses an opportunity of painting Gloucester's piety as sheer hypocrisy, but it was not thought so then; for there was a growing Protestant party whom all these Romanist manifestations of the highest nobleman in England greatly offended, not to say alarmed.
Richard's change of virtual into actual sovereignty, in other words, the Lord Protector's usurpation of the crown, was not done by violence: in his first royal procession he was unattended by troops; a fickle, intriguing, ambitious, and warlike nobility approved the change; Buckingham, Catesby, and others, urged it. No doubt he himself saw that the crown was not a fit plaything for a twelve years' old boy, in such a time of frequent treason, ferocious crime, and general recklessness. There is no question but what, as Richard had more head than any man in England, he was best fitted to be at its head.
The great mystery requiring to be explained is, not that 'the Lancastrian partialities of Shakspeare have,' as Walter Scott said, 'turned history upside down,' and since the battle of Bosworth, no party have had any interest in vindicating an utterly ruined cause, but how such troops of nobles revolted against a monarch alike brave and resolute, wise in council and energetic in act, generous to reward, but fearful to punish.
The only solution I am ready to admit is, the imputed assassination of his young nephews; not only an unnatural crime, but sacrilege to that divinity which was believed to hedge a king. The cotemporary ballad of the 'Babes in the Wood,' was circulated by Buckingham to inflame the English heart against one to whom he had thrown down the gauntlet for a deadly wrestle. Except that the youngest babe is a girl, and that the uncle perishes in prison, the tragedy and the ballad wonderfully keep pace together. In one, the prince's youth is put under charge of an uncle 'whom wealth and riches did surround;' in the other, 'the uncle is a man of high estate.' The play soothes the deserted mother with, 'Sister, have comfort;' the ballad with, 'Sweet sister, do not fear.' The drama says that:
'Dighton and Forrest, though they were fleshed villains,
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.'
And the poem:
'He bargained with two ruffians strong,
Who were of furious mood.'
But
'That the pretty speech they had,
Made murderous hearts relent,
And they that took to do the deed.
Full sore did now repent.'