The title is enough to enable the general reader to identify the subject as one firmly ensconced within an academic field of critical enquiry. The impetus for embarking upon this particular consideration of Shakespeare’s dramatic oeuvre has arisen from my having recently completed Anselm Haverkamp’s Shakespearean Genealogies of Power. Haverkamp’s work is inextricably grounded in just such a specialist technical language. The title of my own latest book, The Power Template – Shakespeare’s Political Plays, a recognisable parallelism appears in the subject matter that is indicated in both works. One significant difference (apart from my not writing in the technical and complex specificity of language that is employed by Haverkamp) is his stronger emphasis on the legal implications that are latent within Shakespeare’s plays. Nevertheless, within The Power Template the legal dimensions of both royal prerogative, as explored in the History Plays, and constitutional law, as explored in the Roman Plays, are by no means absent. Haverkamp, on the other hand, develops this aspect even further by his indicating that verdicts in nearly all cases within the context of the plays remain “unresolved”, and subsequently requires the litigants to return to the stage. Clearly, this goes some way towards explaining the longevity of the plays and how they continue to contemporise both Shakespeare and his dramatic works.
In Richard II, the very first play that is explored in The Power Template, the sequestration of John of Gaunt’s wealth by the King is presented as just much as a matter of law as it is as a manifestation of naked power. Gaunt’s famous deathbed rebuke to his nephew and sovereign, begins with a reference to, “this royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle” and how Richard has failed to uphold the law, a duty which belongs indivisibly to the role of kingship. As a dying man Sir John freely speaks his mind, and moreover, that which he is duty bound by code of honour as a royal knight in service to his sovereign liege, to extend as sound council, regardless of Richard wanting to hear it or not.
In Henry V, the law once again takes an important role, this time in Henry’s surprising transformation (especially so to the two incredulous prelates in his service who were previously only aware of the “wastrel prince” as depicted in Henry IV, parts I and II) into a king with an astute political acumen and a keen interest in the legality of a move he was intending to make in regards to recovering lost English territories within the borders of France that had been conquered by his great-grandfather, Edward III, whose wife was of French royalty. France’s Salic law forbade succession through the female line, and would, therefore, pose a legal impediment to Harry’s claim.
The two learned bishops were quick to confirm that the law Salique pertained only to a very specific region of Germany that had previously been annexed by France. The purpose of the law was to ensure that in subsequent generations the French crown would not, or could not, devolve into German hands through the maternal line. The bishops, far more concerned with their purses than their prayers, were eager to divert Harry from a previous intention to impose more stringent taxes on an excessively rich Roman Church. They were most convincing in their legal argument, closing with a summation that if the law was applicable across the board then the reigning French Monarch’s own claim would likewise be invalid. The English King, whose father had illegally usurped the throne from Richard II, is as concerned about acting within the law as he is about England’s military capacity to execute his plan to invade France. Interestingly, Haverkamp’s immensely scholarly work skips over this particular instance and its far-reaching legal implications, which point towards the manoeuvrings we have come to expect from modern democratically elected heads of state, whose ready recourse to ‘the rule of exception’ has enabled them to step adroitly around the law without liability by declaring a state of emergency, as the historical evidence shows.
Nevertheless, there are numerous other examples cited by Haverkamp, all in extremely precise detail, that are found in Macbeth, The Merchant of Venice and The Winter’s Tale, all of which fall outside of scope of The Power Template, that limits itself to the History Plays, Roman Plays and the political dimensions of Hamlet. Furthermore, whereas I have opted for an accessible, narrative style of writing, Haverkamp (as already indicated) has set his exposition within a highly technical register of specialist academic discourse. Nonetheless, both works present a similar aspect of Shakespeare’s plays in which clear corollaries persist. Haverkamp’s exploration of “Shakespeare’s involvement with the legal sphere: as a visible space between the spheres of politics and law” is exemplary and moreover goes more deeply into the law per se, as a fundament of power that is expressed within the zone of politics, than does my work, which emphasises the legal imperatives that presage political action.
What is inherent within my study is the identification of the legal expedient required to precipitate an executive action that would otherwise be deemed ultra vires. This is most clearly recognised in the importance given to Cicero’s adjudicating in the matter of the necessity to remove (assassinate) Caesar. If Brutus, the high minded defender of the principles of the Roman Republic, provides an ideological justification (exemplified in his famous: “it’s not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more”) it is Cicero’s in-back juridical ruling that allows the plan to make the transition from the sphere of law into the arena of politics as a pre-emptive strike.
Haverkamp’s book, Shakespearean Genealogies of Power, is an accomplished dissertation that may not necessarily be easy reading, but unequivocally stands as a serious contribution to Shakespearean studies.
