Character Analysis
Queen Margaret is strong, controlling, and passionate. She knows what she wants, and she goes after it, no matter who's in her way. When Henry is almost bumped off the throne by York's family so that Edward IV can be crowned king, she doesn't take it lying down. She does everything in her power to control—er, help her husband. Henry thinks he can just make a deal to get rid of the bickering York family, but that doesn't sit well with Margaret.
Did you notice how when the deal is made, Clifford says, "let us tell the Queen these news" (1.1.186)? We're thinking everyone knows she is domineering, powerful, and never afraid to speak her mind. She's also, by default, pretty much in charge of the country.
Warrior Woman
When Margaret speaks, armies listen. She calls Henry "gentle-hearted" (1.4.182) and mocks at Northumberland for being "weeping ripe"—translation: crying too much (1.1.178). She stabs York right along with Clifford and then decides to hang the dude's head on the city gates. And it's Margaret who taunts York by asking him where his son is and then flashing a handkerchief covered in the kid's blood right in front of his face. Yikes.
Margaret is constantly under attack for being a woman and a warrior. York thinks it's unnatural that a woman could go along with killing a child, and Oxford is surprised that a woman has so much courage in battle. What gives? Well, women were considered the weaker, milder sex in Shakespeare's day. Leading armies and chopping off heads certainly weren't activities in any ladies' guides.
Perhaps what is so interesting about Margaret—since so many people point it out to us all the time—is that she's a wife and mother... and also a warrior. She doesn't seem to care what anyone thinks of her. Her motto is: deal with it.
Sure, she supports Henry, but that seems to be mostly because she's power hungry. As long as she's married to Henry and he stays king, she's got as much power as she could want, and for that reason, she's ready to get rid of anyone stepping on her toes.
To be fair, we're pretty sure Margaret hasn't forgotten that she's from a lower class than a queen should be, so she knows that she has to play tough in order to keep her position. As a woman, she would have been extra vulnerable to political attack, so in some way, it's no surprise that she chooses to meet the opposition head-on.
She meets York's (and Edward's) ruthless strategizing with ruthless strategizing of her own, and when they're nasty to her, she's nasty right back, even if that means killing kids. Look, we can understand where she's coming from, but that doesn't mean she doesn't cross some serious lines in this play. Even Shakespeare can't turn two wrongs into a right.
Mommy Dearest
Margaret gives Henry a good tongue-lashing for robbing their son out of his inheritance (the throne). But she doesn't stop there: she raises an army and goes knocking on York's door... right before she pretty much bulldozes it down.
In the first two parts of the trilogy, Margaret seemed to be acting mostly for herself. In Part 3, though, she's also looking out for her son. Folks: do not get between this mama bear and her cub. Margaret's anger is forthright and overwhelming. She even puts her husband, the King of England, in his place when he threatens the future of her son.
Now, Margaret is not to be messed with, but she's no cardboard Disney villain, either. She genuinely cares about Prince Edward, and she wants him to be able to take over the kingdom and have a legacy of his own. Power is what she understands best, so when she wants her son to have it, we know she wants (what she thinks is) best for him.
When Prince Edward is stabbed in front of her very eyes, she loses it. She says to Edward and George, "I will speak, that so my heart may burst. / Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals" (5.5.60-61).
We can't help but feel sorry for her. We're not saying she's right all the time, or even that she doesn't deserve some harsh punishment for what she's done to York's family. But we also recognize that she's a mother, and she's mourning the loss of her child.
This is a big moment for Margaret: we see that she's human underneath all of that swagger, and she can be broken. Sure, she's brought it on herself; she certainly didn't think twice before she killed York's son and stuffed that bloody handkerchief in his face.
But we get the sense here that maybe she didn't quite understand what she was doing; it's not until something truly terrible happens to her that the horror of these wars becomes real to her. That sets her apart from someone like Richard, who doesn't seem to care what happens to anybody but himself.
We're not done with Margaret yet, by the way. She might end on a depressing note in this play, but by the time we catch up with her in Richard III, she's wandering around castles putting mean curses on people, Bellatrix Lestrange-style.
Timeline