Political Animal. Victor L. Cahn
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Political Animal
An Essay on the Character of Shakespeare’s Henry V
Victor L. Cahn
Political Animal
An Essay on the Character of Shakespeare’s Henry V
Copyright © 2011 Victor L. Cahn. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
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ISBN 13: 978-1-61097-578-0
EISBN 13: 978-1-63087-548-0
Manufactured in the U.S.A.
To the memory of my mother,Evelyn Baum Cahn,and her brothers,Lester Baum Morton Baum
Politician: n
1. one versed in the art or science of government;
esp: one actively engaged in conducting the business of a government.
2 a : one engaged in party politics as a profession
b : one primarily interested in political offices from
selfish or other narrow usu. short-run interests.
Webster’s Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary
Introduction
Of all the dramatis personae who populate Shakespeare’s theatrical universe, two who appear before us most extensively are Henry IV and his oldest son, whom we know first as Henry, Prince of Wales (alternately called “Hal” or “Harry Monmouth”), then as King Henry V. Other characters speak more lines in individual plays; these monarchs, however, dominate three separate works. True, in this respect they are not unique. But the Falstaff of The Merry Wives of Windsor is a feeble echo of the glorious Sir John who looms over Henry IV, Parts 1 &2, and while Henry VI is onstage through much of the early, unpolished trilogy that bears his name, he is rarely a striking figure. Queen Margaret is a daunting presence in the three plays about her husband, Henry VI, as well as in Richard III, yet she often flourishes outside the main action. Both Henry IV and Henry V, on the other hand, command the center of three masterpieces.
This book is devoted to Hal/Henry V, who fascinates us for a variety of reasons. But although he utters thousands of lines and undergoes a series of compelling and transformational experiences, a substantial part of him remains remote, even inaccessible.
Contrast him, for instance, with Hamlet, who through soliloquy, monologue, dialogue, and action exposes so many of his thoughts and emotions that we struggle to decide which beset him most acutely: resentment toward Claudius; jealousy over Gertrude; love for Ophelia; respect for his dead father; desire for the throne, fear of damnation; concern for his kingdom; anger toward Polonius, Laertes, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern; or affection for Horatio. Ultimately Hamlet divulges much more than we can assimilate. Still, whatever quandaries he presents, he touches us. We may not completely understand him (in fact, we almost certainly do not), but we do feel that we know him.
Or consider Iago. From the opening lines of Othello, this character reveals how tormented he is and what plots he will unleash to assuage that torment. The specific cause of his pain may be anger at the Moor (motivated by rank or race); resentment over Cassio’s promotion; lust for Desdemona (the springboard in the original novel from which Shakespeare borrowed the plot); desire for Othello himself; some other sexual or social wound; or, in Coleridge’s words, “motiveless malignity.” Yet whatever quality a particular production emphasizes, Iago bares his soul. He does not withhold anything from either himself or us. Whatever he thinks and feels, or perhaps what he believes he thinks and feels, he articulates.
The same applies to King Lear, Macbeth, Cleopatra, Romeo, Shylock, Rosalind, Richard III, even Henry IV.
But not Hal.
His manner exudes an ingratiating liberality of spirit, but he keeps himself on a tight rein. He speaks at length, but reveals little. He acts boldly, but his motives are often murky. As a result, this monumental figure, historically regarded as England’s greatest king, remains a cipher that simultaneously invites and resists both our admiration and our affection. Or perhaps he should be regarded as a chameleon, whose personality alters according to circumstance. Hence the clashing interpretations of him.
Some have been kind: “the copy-book paragon of kingly virtue” (Tillyard 365); “a synthesizing Elizabethan genius” (Weiss 296). Others have been less charitable: “an amiable monster” (Hazlitt 206); “a dead man walking” (Ellis-Fermer 47); “a murderer” (Hobday 109).
Crucial events from Hal/Henry V’s life, some historical, others the product of Shakespeare’s imagination, are dramatized in the last three plays of the tetralogy often called the “Henriad” (comprised of Richard II; Henry IV, Part I; Henry IV, Part 2; and Henry V). Whether Shakespeare anticipated all four works when he started Richard II is open to speculation, but given the countless thematic and linguistic links between them, we may assume that early in their creation he realized the inescapable nature of the project. Several questions dominate this series, as well as the rest of Shakespeare’s plays about English history in the fifteenth century. What relationship exists between a king and the populace? What obligations does a king have to his country? What price do public figures pay in their private lives? What values should a monarch uphold? What strategies should a ruler invoke to exercise and maintain power? Perhaps most important, what relationship exists between power and morality?
One factor that informed the creation of these plays was the political climate of Shakespeare’s day. As the long reign of Elizabeth I (1558–1603) approached its inevitable end, a successor for the childless queen was not apparent. Thus the public consciousness was permeated by trepidation over an uncertain transfer of authority that many feared might lead to anarchy. The works also reflect the growing tension between the medieval view of the state and the newly emerging Renaissance view. We must remember that underlying Shakespeare’s texts is the conviction that a monarch rules by divine sanction, and as such stands as the linchpin of the universe, the bond between the microcosm and the macrocosm. Moreover, the security of the surrounding society reflects the condition of the throne. At the same time, the Renaissance sense of political reality, manifested most notoriously in The Prince (1513) and other writings of Machiavelli, articulated politics as a struggle waged by human beings who function independent of divine influence. Thus although these plays are buttressed by traditional religious doctrine, they are at heart secular. They also proceed according to the belief that a universal order exists, and therefore any conflicts are the product of individual will. These conflicts form the crux of Shakespeare’s drama.
With these matters in mind, I offer a response to his portrait of Prince Hal/Henry V. Underlying the discussion is my judgment of perhaps the most controversial aspect of the Henriad: Shakespeare’s interpretation of the overthrow of Richard II (1400) and the usurpation of the throne by his cousin Bullingbrook, who became Henry IV. E.M. Tillyard famously concluded that Shakespeare’s political doctrine was “entirely orthodox. [He] knows that Richard’s crimes never amounted to tyranny and hence that outright rebellion against him was a crime” (Tillyard 261). Furthermore, according to Tillyard, the subsequent decades of internecine violence, including the “War of the Roses” (1455-1485) between the families of Lancaster and York to possess the English crown, were regarded by Shakespeare as punishment that ended only with the uniting of the two families through the reign of Henry VII. My view of Richard II (one shared by many) is that although Bullingbrook’s actions are indeed depicted as a crime against God, the play also insinuates that Richard’s malfeasances warrant such