The Gardeners’ Battle
Fallen Crown. 2020. Pen and watercolor stamped by fallen maple leaves, 4.5 x 3.25 inches.
Shakespeare’s King Richard II is rich with garden imagery, and the constant images of plants, growth, and gardens directly reflect the state of England. When characters refer to the landscape, in their eyes it appears to wither or grow in direct relation to how well they think England is being governed.
Gaunt is the first man to point out the correlation between Richard’s rule and England’s greenery. To Gaunt, England is akin to Eden, a “demi-paradise, / This fortress built by Nature for herself” (2.1.42-43), but Richard’s rule has “leased” out the land by not taking proper care of it (2.1.59). As a weak king, Richard not only has abysmal timing and takes what he wants, whether in the form of hefty taxes or inheritances, but as the divinely-ordained king, he considers himself infallible for much of the play. This illusion of infallibility is what ultimately causes his garden-kingdom to wither, far more than the “caterpillar” pests of Bushy, Bagot, and Green (2.3.165). In act three, the queen tells the gardener that he is a “little better thing than earth” (3.4.78), but this proximity to the base earth and the ground is necessary to building a successful garden. Earth is constantly compared to graves in Richard II, and every man, regardless of social status, is mortal. It is perhaps this grasp of reality and mortality that a king needs to rule. Richard, however, denies his body natural, thinking he is infallible, but when he sits upon the earth in act three, he is simultaneously brought down to earth when he realizes, perhaps for the first time, that “I live with bread like you, feel want, / Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus, / How can you say to me I am a king?” (3.2.175-176). Even with this realization, however, Richard still has trouble reconciling the difference between his body politic and his body natural.
Richard’s gradual loss of power triggers an identity crisis that continues through the greater part of the last half of the play, and in addition to Gaunt’s garden comparison, the plants of England always stand at the ready to mirror the ruler’s competence. Similar to Richard’s own meager defense, all that stands between Bullingbrook and his new potential allies is a mere “tuft of trees” (2.3.53). The Welsh captain and his men decide that Richard must have died early based on supernatural phenomena like falling stars and withered bay trees (2.4.8-9). Richard imagines the “eastern pines” to come to his aid in blinding his foes like Bullingbrook (3.2.42), but when Scroope explains how even the commoners have turned against Richard, so too the “double-fatal yew” has been transformed from a tree into a lethal weapon (3.2.117), as if the very earth that Richard thought so lowly has physically risen up to take him down. Depressed by this onslaught of his prior subjects, Richard declares he can no longer “hope to grow” the land (3.2.212-213). The metaphors begin to change: Instead of Richard being a gardener who is not taking care of his garden, indicative of his loss of power, Richard becomes his queen’s withered “fair rose” (5.1.8), which interestingly, Gaunt recognized on his deathbed by condemning Richard “to crop at once a too long withered flower” (2.1.134). He is “planted many years” (4.1.127), while Bullingbrook instead takes command by weeding the garden. The gardener’s assistant makes a similar comparison to Gaunt’s by remarking how England “is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up…and her wholesome herbs / Swarming with caterpillars” (3.4.44-47). (Richard, on the other hand, tries to call upon pests of the earth to stop his enemies in act three, scene two.) The gardener expands upon the allegory, explaining how the flatterers that acted as weeds leeching off of Richard were in fact weakening the state (3.4.50-52), and just as Bullingbrook promised to “weed and pluck away” (2.4.166), so Bushy and Green are killed.
It is difficult to say whether or not Bullingbrook is better at being the gardener of Gaunt’s “other Eden,” however. The duchess of York (and most likely most of England’s people) looks forward to this “new-come spring,” this new age of expected growth under a newer, stronger king (5.2.47). Indeed, Bullingbrook’s “fortune ripens” (2.3.48), but as Richard confidently observed once, “The ripest fruit falls first” (2.1.153). Bullingbrook sees faults in the political system and eradicates them, for better or for worse. Bushy and Green, for instance, are accused of (among other things) chopping down Bullingbrook’s forest woods (3.1.23) before being executed. It is possible he appreciates the forest and what it implies. Yet just as John of Gaunt toys with his own name as “gaunt,” Bushy and Green are likewise garden-associated words, and killing them only further distances Bullingbrook’s garden of England from Richard’s garden. Bullingbrook is often associated with water, and he promises to “rain”--or perhaps “reign”--his waters on earth (3.3.59), but gentle rain is not the only thing that will fall upon Bullingbrook’s gardens. While Richard declares that “our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled / With that dear blood which it hath fostered” (1.3.125-126), Bullingbrook threatens to cast down “showers of blood / Rained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen” onto Richard’s “fresh green” land (3.3.43-47). While the threat is not carried out, Bullingbrook’s garden imagery is constantly swarming with blood imagery. The bishop of Carlisle warns that “the blood of English shall manure the ground” (4.1.137), and just as he feared, Richard’s own blood stains the land that bore him (5.5.110). Finally, Bullingbrook laments that “blood should sprinkle me to make me grow” (5.6.46). All of this morbid blood-garden imagery seems to bode badly for England’s future, and if the previous plant imagery has been any sort of barometer, it also seems that another prophesy or curse in the play will eventually come true. The queen, in a fit of anger and despondency, curses the gardener’s plants by hoping “the plants thou graft’st may never grow” (3.4.101). It is then worth noting that grafting is an unnatural way of combining two trees, just as some might call the deposing of Richard and crowning of Bullingbrook in his place unnatural.
Following the play’s imagery of plants, earth, and gardeners reveals hidden truths of Richard’s and Bullingbrook’s rules. Because he lacked an earthy humility and a true sense of himself and his limitations, Richard did not protect, water, or trim his garden of England and instead allowed it to wither and be choked by unsavory weeds. Bullingbrook, however, in ruling with such power over his subjects, may inflict his own kind of damage on his garden by the bloody violence that ensues under his command. In this world of the play, where nature is so indicative of political power, it is no small wonder why the Welsh army abandoned Richard, thinking him dead after seeing only dying trees and falling stars. In order to properly maintain a people’s confidence, it seems necessary to take care of those people in the state--in the garden that you rule.
Gaunt is the first man to point out the correlation between Richard’s rule and England’s greenery. To Gaunt, England is akin to Eden, a “demi-paradise, / This fortress built by Nature for herself” (2.1.42-43), but Richard’s rule has “leased” out the land by not taking proper care of it (2.1.59). As a weak king, Richard not only has abysmal timing and takes what he wants, whether in the form of hefty taxes or inheritances, but as the divinely-ordained king, he considers himself infallible for much of the play. This illusion of infallibility is what ultimately causes his garden-kingdom to wither, far more than the “caterpillar” pests of Bushy, Bagot, and Green (2.3.165). In act three, the queen tells the gardener that he is a “little better thing than earth” (3.4.78), but this proximity to the base earth and the ground is necessary to building a successful garden. Earth is constantly compared to graves in Richard II, and every man, regardless of social status, is mortal. It is perhaps this grasp of reality and mortality that a king needs to rule. Richard, however, denies his body natural, thinking he is infallible, but when he sits upon the earth in act three, he is simultaneously brought down to earth when he realizes, perhaps for the first time, that “I live with bread like you, feel want, / Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus, / How can you say to me I am a king?” (3.2.175-176). Even with this realization, however, Richard still has trouble reconciling the difference between his body politic and his body natural.
Richard’s gradual loss of power triggers an identity crisis that continues through the greater part of the last half of the play, and in addition to Gaunt’s garden comparison, the plants of England always stand at the ready to mirror the ruler’s competence. Similar to Richard’s own meager defense, all that stands between Bullingbrook and his new potential allies is a mere “tuft of trees” (2.3.53). The Welsh captain and his men decide that Richard must have died early based on supernatural phenomena like falling stars and withered bay trees (2.4.8-9). Richard imagines the “eastern pines” to come to his aid in blinding his foes like Bullingbrook (3.2.42), but when Scroope explains how even the commoners have turned against Richard, so too the “double-fatal yew” has been transformed from a tree into a lethal weapon (3.2.117), as if the very earth that Richard thought so lowly has physically risen up to take him down. Depressed by this onslaught of his prior subjects, Richard declares he can no longer “hope to grow” the land (3.2.212-213). The metaphors begin to change: Instead of Richard being a gardener who is not taking care of his garden, indicative of his loss of power, Richard becomes his queen’s withered “fair rose” (5.1.8), which interestingly, Gaunt recognized on his deathbed by condemning Richard “to crop at once a too long withered flower” (2.1.134). He is “planted many years” (4.1.127), while Bullingbrook instead takes command by weeding the garden. The gardener’s assistant makes a similar comparison to Gaunt’s by remarking how England “is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up…and her wholesome herbs / Swarming with caterpillars” (3.4.44-47). (Richard, on the other hand, tries to call upon pests of the earth to stop his enemies in act three, scene two.) The gardener expands upon the allegory, explaining how the flatterers that acted as weeds leeching off of Richard were in fact weakening the state (3.4.50-52), and just as Bullingbrook promised to “weed and pluck away” (2.4.166), so Bushy and Green are killed.
It is difficult to say whether or not Bullingbrook is better at being the gardener of Gaunt’s “other Eden,” however. The duchess of York (and most likely most of England’s people) looks forward to this “new-come spring,” this new age of expected growth under a newer, stronger king (5.2.47). Indeed, Bullingbrook’s “fortune ripens” (2.3.48), but as Richard confidently observed once, “The ripest fruit falls first” (2.1.153). Bullingbrook sees faults in the political system and eradicates them, for better or for worse. Bushy and Green, for instance, are accused of (among other things) chopping down Bullingbrook’s forest woods (3.1.23) before being executed. It is possible he appreciates the forest and what it implies. Yet just as John of Gaunt toys with his own name as “gaunt,” Bushy and Green are likewise garden-associated words, and killing them only further distances Bullingbrook’s garden of England from Richard’s garden. Bullingbrook is often associated with water, and he promises to “rain”--or perhaps “reign”--his waters on earth (3.3.59), but gentle rain is not the only thing that will fall upon Bullingbrook’s gardens. While Richard declares that “our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled / With that dear blood which it hath fostered” (1.3.125-126), Bullingbrook threatens to cast down “showers of blood / Rained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen” onto Richard’s “fresh green” land (3.3.43-47). While the threat is not carried out, Bullingbrook’s garden imagery is constantly swarming with blood imagery. The bishop of Carlisle warns that “the blood of English shall manure the ground” (4.1.137), and just as he feared, Richard’s own blood stains the land that bore him (5.5.110). Finally, Bullingbrook laments that “blood should sprinkle me to make me grow” (5.6.46). All of this morbid blood-garden imagery seems to bode badly for England’s future, and if the previous plant imagery has been any sort of barometer, it also seems that another prophesy or curse in the play will eventually come true. The queen, in a fit of anger and despondency, curses the gardener’s plants by hoping “the plants thou graft’st may never grow” (3.4.101). It is then worth noting that grafting is an unnatural way of combining two trees, just as some might call the deposing of Richard and crowning of Bullingbrook in his place unnatural.
Following the play’s imagery of plants, earth, and gardeners reveals hidden truths of Richard’s and Bullingbrook’s rules. Because he lacked an earthy humility and a true sense of himself and his limitations, Richard did not protect, water, or trim his garden of England and instead allowed it to wither and be choked by unsavory weeds. Bullingbrook, however, in ruling with such power over his subjects, may inflict his own kind of damage on his garden by the bloody violence that ensues under his command. In this world of the play, where nature is so indicative of political power, it is no small wonder why the Welsh army abandoned Richard, thinking him dead after seeing only dying trees and falling stars. In order to properly maintain a people’s confidence, it seems necessary to take care of those people in the state--in the garden that you rule.
Written in 2011