Watch the throne. Henry IV, Parts 1 and 2 by William Shakespeare
Out of all of Shakespeare plays, I feel like the Henry plays are the most intimidating if only for the sole reason that I don’t know which Henry is which because there’s so many of them. Henry IV is the first Henry in line in Shakespeare’s plays, though this is known as a sequel for Richard II, the previous monarch who fell victim to Henry IV’s wrath when he seized power. There’s also Henry V, who features prominently in both parts of Henry IV, and followed by Henry VIII. I don’t know wtf happened with Henry VII. Don’t even get confused with all the Henries in bloody France. Oh yeah, somehow Henry VI came first out of all the Henries. I dun geddit.
So I don’t really know why the name Henry is popular and regal. The only Henries I know seem to be douchebags, which to be fair, isn’t too far off from the Henries we know from Shakespeare’s plays. But in the quest to read all of Shakespeare’s works, I need to touch all the Henries (not in that way you woke pervos) and to pick them apart as I had done when I was in year 11 studying Macbeth.
My experience with Shakespeare in high school was fine. I thought he was alright. He may be difficult to understand, but much of Shakespeare’s words can be discerned by its essence. Admittedly, with further study, the reader would enjoy the plays more. And in the case of Henry IV (and perhaps all the other historical plays), it is advisable to read about the monarch’s history before jumping into Shakespeare’s play. Here’s a Wikipedia article about Henry IV and the Battle of Shrewsbury, which was the centrepiece of part 1.
The tumultuous times of Henry IV, and his tumultuous son
After condemning Richard II to die of starvation, Henry IV has little peace of mind as he fights rebellions popping up all over England. The squashing of the Welsh rebellion of Owen Glendower does not promise any fruit and another plague is pestering when the butthurt Henry Percy of Northumberland (better known as Hotspur) decided to remove the sovereign with his father and a couple of other hotheads.
In the meantime, Harry, the crown successor is plotting theft from his friends to teach them a lesson, while being bawdy and up to no good in cheap hostels drinking sacks (that’s wine for you in them old days). His long time friend, the fat Sir John Falstaff is an abrasive but endearing company as they get up to mischief.
The rebellion would peter out when Glendower turned on Hotspur, MIA on the hour of need and Lord Northumberland, Hotspur’s father called in sick on his own son. Obviously, this dude did not win any father of the year award. However, Harry the prodigal son of the king made good when he returned to his father in remorse, collected his forces and became a pivotal part to squash the rebellion, in a historically inaccurate act, defeating Hotspur mano a mano.
And that’s the gist of Part I. Part II continues where we left off, with victory secured at Shrewsbury, the traitors beheaded and the prodigal son away again, to who knows where. There remains cells of rebellion coming in from the Archbishop of York and Hotspur’s still alive and kicking father, Lord Northumberland. Sir John Falstaff is still up to no good, seemingly taking in two women and way beyond his nose in debt to the hostess of Eastcheap, with whom he constantly have crude innuendos (though I’m not sure if she had minded at all with her docile husband on the side).
Yet, the king is not well, and he still has doubts whether Henry was really ready to take the suffix of “the fifth”. Henry himself has significant doubts. Thankfully, in an act of grace, the king’s other more useful son, Prince John Lancaster was able to snag the rebels by feigning agreement to their terms, dispersing the rebel troops and arresting the head honchos in act lacking mercy.
The burden of the crown
Henry IV came before the greater Shakespearean tragedies that we know now: Macbeth, Hamlet, Othello, etc. But it was a precursor to them, and imperfect and inconsistent as these early plays are, it prepared the bard for what’s to come later in his career. But these regal plays are really no recipe for throne management. Machiavelli wrote his damnest for that. Shakespeare, instead wrote the fickleness and dynamic nature of power, ever-changing with its false allegiances and superficial diplomacies.
But we know, as we have observed every day in our lives, that violence is the constant throughout the reign of a sovereign, that conflict is inevitable. The manner in which Henry IV deposed of Richard II was brutal, in history and in the play. As mentioned, John Lancaster used dubious means to capture the rebels, going as far as offering them drinks. The only constant in throne management is deception and the nauseous worry that comes with the gravitas of the throne.
In a poetic and poignant meditation, the king compares himself with a ship-boy being rocked by a tempest, and wonders who would had the better sleep:
“Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose / To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And in the calmest and the most stillest night, / With all appliances and means to boot / Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! / Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”
My goodness that passage stunned the shit outta me.
And in this storm of mind-forged manacles, the weary king concerns himself of passing this burden to his son, that he may not manage the country well, that it will much reduce the years of his heir’s life. But Harry has his own reflections as he test-drove the crown on his head, and felt the apprehensions that come with it, knowing full well that it had claim his father victim:
“I spake unto this crown as having sense, / And thus upbraided it: ‘The care on thee depending / Hath fed upon the body of my father; Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold. / Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, / Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, / Preserving life in med’cine potable; / But thou, most fine, most honour’d, most renown’d, / Hast eat thy bearer up.’”
There is one word in this passage (aside from gold), that is often mentioned by quite a few of the characters in the play, that is as elusive and intangible as the concept of power, but complements it. The word ‘honour’ is something essential and inherent to the crown, and to the deeds of the king, just as it is applicable to the deeds of men.
In Henry IV, honour is ever present, a word flung for something supposively respected or revered, but a word that often used to justify an action of characters. But in a passage of genius, it is John Falstaff that unveils the superficial nature of honour (and some probable innuendos):
“Well, ‘ tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word? Honour. What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. ’Tis insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon.”
Which makes one wonder why the crown and the deeds of men should be revered at all. In a world where allegiances shift like the winds, men’s actions are defined by the number of scalps they claim and where the loftiest of men act more base than their subjects, what use is honour? But it is a word used frequently by these lords and sovereigns.
At the core of it, Henry IV is a drama between the father and the son. Harry is the prodigal son, who made good at the time of need. On the other side of the coin, Henry IV is the concerned father, whose lifeblood was sucked by the crown and doubted his son’s ability to withstand its toxic pressures. Its most touching and significant moments are embedded in the dynamics between the father and the son and their meditations on the nature of their own powers.
Though most critics would opt for Part I instead of Part II, opting the inconsistencies and the glut of Part II, I personally thought that the meat is in Part II. Though there are no big climactic battles ending the play, it is in Part II that we have the more affecting passages, where the relationship between the father and the son comes to fruition. But Henry IV will always be remembered for one of Shakespeare’s most marvellous creations in John Falstaff: on surface a mindless jester, but on reflection someone who’s doing his best to squeeze the juice out of life, a prototype Henry Miller.
