It’s perplexing why Edward would name Richard as Lord Protector. True, Richard has turned him against Clarence with calculated venom, but Edward’s choice still reveals a striking lack of insight compared to others in his family and court. Elizabeth, for one, sees through Richard with chilling precision, painting him in poetic yet savage terms—though she stops short of the crudest labels, like “foul bunch-backed toad” or “bottled spider,” flung by others.
One interpretation of the text suggests Edward secretly desires Richard to unravel everything. Perhaps he takes a grim satisfaction in Richard’s sadistic nature, believing the people deserve the chaos that will follow. After all, why did they ever accept Edward as king? He knows he’s a shadow of his father—a man of towering ambition who seized the crown through sheer will, charisma, and the loyalty he commanded. Edward, by contrast, feels his reign has been a hollow march of violence. “What have I done?” he might muse. “Nothing worth remembering—just killing, just fighting. No legacy, only a fractured realm poised to collapse, entrusted to a child too young to face the storm ahead.”
In Edward’s mind, Richard emerges as a brutal necessity. “Maybe he can hold it together,” he reasons. “People fear him. They obey him, even if they don’t trust him. I don’t trust him either. But he’s a killer—he grasps power’s raw edge. He’ll force them into line. And he won’t live forever. He’ll never have heirs. That buys my little prince time—time to learn, to grow into his role, if he gets the chance. What chance would he have with anyone else as Lord Protector? No, it must be Richard. It’s a risk, yes, but every path is perilous.”
Even as death closes in, Edward wrestles with his choices. “Listen to me,” he chides himself, “clinging to power while I slip into the grave. God knows what I am—what I’ve done. All for this sickening power.” These self-torments gnaw at him, a king haunted by his failures, until sickness finally drags him under.
No comments:
Post a Comment