too many hobbies

The Tragedy of King Richard the Second

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground / And tell sad stories of the death of kings

- Richard II, the emo king

The plot of this play is pretty easy to summarize: Richard II is a bad king who is squeezing nobles and commoners alike for cash and squandering it on easy living for himself and his favorites, and who can't command his way out of a paper bag.  He exiles Bolingbroke and Mowbray instead of letting them duel out a charge of treason (which verdict might implicate Richard in the death of his uncle).  He villanously tents his fingers at the death of John of Gaunt (Bolingbroke's father, and Richard's other uncle), then strips John's estate of cash with which he scarpers off to war in Ireland.  When Bolingbroke returns prematurely to retrieve what's left of his father's lands and goods, he easily sways both the nobles and the commoners to his cause, and when Richard returns from his little wars he finds he doesn't have much of a country left to come home to.  Richard resigns his crown to Bolingbroke (now Henry IV) and is first imprisoned and then murdered.

It's hard to sympathize with anyone in this play.  There's no fool, or clown, or bastard to make you laugh or to feel sorry for.  Bolingbroke is a politician, and he's good at what he does, but he's not particularly interesting.  Richard is interesting, but he's also self-centered, venal, and incompetent.  As he loses his position and his freedom, he becomes more poetic and considered, but it's always all about him.  His final soliloquy isn't about what it means to be human, but what it means to be Richard.

So, while his fall from king to man is interesting to watch, it's not especially moving.  He and the older generation of characters believe that the king is annointed by God (and, can I just say, while we're on the subject, that the word 'chrism' really squicks me out?), and Bolingbroke and his realpolitik cohort school them otherwise.  This would be a good place to note that Richard II was the play that Essex paid Shakespeare's company to perform on the eve of his (failed) rebellion, prompting Queen Elizabeth to remark, "I am Richard the Second, know ye not that?"  It probably wasn't the play's fault that the rebellion failed, but since the forced resignation of Richard II eventually led to years terrible, bloody civil war, maybe it wasn't the best choice.

I'll be honest with you, this play left me a bit cold.  Apart from noting how some of the language and some of Richard's meditations pave the way from Hamlet, I didn't really get much out of it, but, although I've read the play a couple of times I've never yet seen it performed.  I can imagine that a good actor might make me see Richard in a different, more sympathetic, light, but until then I don't have much more to say.

Washcloths

I am in the middle of three knitting projects right now and getting nowhere on any of them because we're in the process of moving.  So.  If there's even less posting than usual around here (is that even possible?), you'll know why.

I made these washcloths on a lark, because I saw them in a book (Yarnplay by Lisa Shobhana Mason) and they looked easy/cute, and I had some leftover cotton yarn hanging around anyway (hers are made of hemp, but cotton works just as well).  They are easy, and I'm entertaining the idea of keeping some cotton yarn on hand from now on in case of last-minute gifts.

The top one is garter knit, which is k1p1 on one side and k across on the other, and the bottom one is broken rib, which is k2p2 across for six rows, then p2k2 across for the next six.  The textures are interesting to look at, they make knitting the washcloths less boring, and they are a little bumpy, so the washcloths are a bit exfoliating.

Lensbaby Test Run

For Valentine's Day, my husband gave me a Lensbaby 2.0 lens.  The Lensbaby is a dream come true for photographers like me who can't afford expensive, arty equipment or vintage bellows cameras.  The lens gives you a graduated blur which you can bend and distort on the fly.  It's pretty intuitive to use, but, as my first roll of film shows, it does take a little practice.  I got a few shots that came out looking just plain out of focus, but a few came out pretty well, and I'm excited to try some color shots of spring, once spring, y'know, happens.

I didn't photoshop these beyond cropping them to correct for crooked scanning.  Speaking of scanning, I definitely need to play with the settings of our scanner next time, since these didn't come out nearly as well as I thought they should have compared to the actual photos.  But you get the idea, anyway.

These were both taken in Harvard Square sort of randomly.

This is my daughter opening birthday presents.

That's my son, in the wreckage after his sister's birthday party.

This one is my favorite, I think.  She's making banana pancakes.

Let's Review

Yesterday I finished writing up King John, which sort of signals the end of the early plays.  The next one on my list is Richard II, and up ahead are about twenty or so plays that represent Shakespeare in his prime.  Since all but one of the early plays were actually written up on my livejournal, I thought I'd post a list here so anyone who missed them over there could go take a look:

Henry VI Part 1
Henry VI Part 2
Henry VI Part 3
Richard III
The Comedy of Errors
The Rape of Lucrece/Titus Andronicus
The Taming of the Shrew
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Love's Labour's Lost
King John

And, on the Sonnets, I've done the Dedication, and Sonnet 1.

The Life and Death of King John

I don't know about you, but when I think of King John, I think of him:

but Shakespeare managed to write a play about King John without bringing up either Robin Hood or the Magna Carta.  Since he's the genius playwright I don't suppose we can fault him too much, but it does seem to me that he wasted an awful good opportunity, there.

Shakespeare's King John is a lot more like him:

and fans of The Lion in Winter will also recognize Queen Elinor and King Philip.  Fans of cinema in general will note that King John has the distinction of being the first Shakespeare play ever filmed.

The Life and Death of King John shares much of its plot with the earlier, anonymous The Troublesome Reign of John, King of England, but nobody's certain if it's an earlier draft, also written by Shakespeare, or whether there's another, even earlier play that they both are sourced from, or if Shakespeare was just a big ol' copycat.  In any case, what is certain is that the King John of the play has a lot in common with Queen Elizabeth: at odds with another, possibly more legitimate claimant to the throne, at odds with the Pope, there's even an incredible sinking armada.

Elizabeth, however, made much better choices.  The play begins with Elinor and John receiving word that King Philip of France is acknowledging Arthur (Geoffrey (John's older brother)'s son) the true King of England and about to wage war on his behalf.  After promising to do likewise to defend his throne, John hears the case of Philip and Robert Faulconbridge.  Philip, the older of the two brothers, has been disinherited by his father, and Robert is claiming all his land, on account of everyone thinks he (Philip) is a bastard.  And, in fact, he is, but it soon becomes clear that he's the bastard of one Richard.  You know, the Lionhearted?  So, while Robert gets the land, Philip gets a promotion, and a new name (Richard Plantagenet). 

Faulconbridge (who is, by the way, henceforth refered to in the script at Bast.), is pretty much everyone's favorite character.  He's funny, he's loyal, he's a good man in a fight, and he's more or less the most honorable person in the play.

Anyway, off they go to France, where they encounter King Philip, Arthur, Constance (Arthur's mother), and the Duke of Austria (the guy who killed King Richard) at the gates of Angiers.  After some wrangling between Elinor and Constance, the assorted nobles ask the men of Angiers to say who they think is the rightful king, to which the smartypants townsfolk reply, "We'll tell you when you're done fighting."  So the two armies fight for a while, but then Faulconbridge suggests that the two armies should join forces to sack Angiers, on account of their indecisiveness, and then continue on with their present conflict.  To which the Angiersfolk reply, "Oh, you mean this gate key?"  Okay, not really, but they immediately come up with the idea of marrying Blanche of Spain (John's niece) to the Dauphin of France, in order to come to some kind of accord that doesn't end with their town being burnt to the ground.  Fortunately, for them, everyone (except Constance and Arthur) goes for it, and the wedding's on.

Unfortunately, just then Cardinal Pandulph shows up to ruin everyone's fun by reminding them that John has been thwarting the Pope's will and is due to be excommunicated with extreme predjudice.  He convinces Phillip to make war once more on England, which gives Faulconbridge the opportunity to kill the Duke of Austria, who he's been almost constantly (and entertainingly) baiting this whole time.  John says, "Screw this, we're outta here," and heads back to England, but not before taking Arthur captive.  At which point this exchange happens, and I'm quoting it here so you can refer back to it later.

K. John: He is a very serpent in my way,
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me.  Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.
Hub.: And I'll keep him so,
That he shall not offend your Majesty.
K. John: Death.
Hub.: My lord?
K. John.: A grave.
Hub. He shall not live.

Arthur's capture gives Constance a chance to chew the scenery, which she especially loves to do, but, of course, Shakespeare being the genius playwright, manages to still give her her humanity.  Just about when you've gotten sick of her handwringing, hair-tearing histrionics (and so, by the way, has everyone on stage), she demonstrates that her melodramatic tendencies don't entirely preclude actual depth of feeling:

K. Phi.: You are as fond of grief as of your child.
Const.: Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?

And, it seems she has reason to fear, because the next we see of Arthur, old Hubert's fixing to put out his eyes with a hot poker.  In a harrowing scene, Arthur manages to convince Hubert not to blind or kill him.

Which is a good thing, because King John is having trouble with some of his nobles, who think that not only should Arthur not be killed, but that he shouldn't be imprisoned, either (eye-gouging is right out).  At which point Hubert helpfully shows up to inform the King that he's discharged his duty and killed Arthur.  Oops. 

K. John: Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murd'red him.  I had a mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
Hub.: No had, my lord?  Why, did you not provoke me?
K. John: It is the curse of kings to be attended
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant

Fortunately for the King, Hubert goes on to confess that he didn't actually kill Arthur after all.  John sends him running after the nobles to tell them the good news.

Meanwhile, back at Hubert's house, Arthur throws himself off the walls and dies.   The nobles come across his body in the streets, and, soon after, Hubert catches up to tell them he didn't actually kill Arthur after all.  Hilarity ensues.

The nobles go join the Dauphin's invading armies.  In order to stem the invasion/rebellion, John makes up to the Pope, and Pandulph tries to convince France to back off, but to no avail.  Just when things are looking bleak, the French armada sinks somewhere in the Channel, and the fickle English nobles, upon hearing that the Dauphin plans to kill them once he's conquered England, defect again, leaving Louis to run home to Paris.

Unfortunately, John has been poisoned by a disgruntled monk, and can't savor the victory.  His description of dying is painfully poetic: "I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen/Upon a parchment, and against this fire/Do I shrink up."  His son Henry arrives to pick up the pieces, and the Bastard Faulconbridge is loyal to the last lines of the play, which are all about how England will never be conquered from without as long as it manages not to be undone from within.

Chicken Pot Pie

As you may have guessed, I'm not a huge fan of convenience food.  Even so, my family enjoys a frozen pot pie on occasion, and they're reasonably good.  A pot pie made from scratch, however, is a joy for ever, or at least until dinner's over.  Not only are they one of nature's perfect comfort foods, they're also a great way to use up leftover chicken and/or veggies.  They're a little more work than the frozen kind, but they take about the same amount of time to make, since they don't bake near as long.

What follows is a quick and dirty recipe, the kind that allows for a lot of improvisation depending on what you've got (you can even leave out the onions, if you must).   Try it and let me know how it comes out.