Falstaff attempts to defuse the tension: “If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damn’d” (II, iv, 470–472). The appeal ends sadly: “. . . banish plump Jack, and banish all the world” (II, iv, 479–480). But Hal‘s famous reply should unsettle all his listeners, including us: “I do, I will” (II, iv, 481).
The most intriguing question about this section involves which aspect of Hal articulates his last lines. Are they spoken in the spirit of the King, the role Hal temporarily assumes? Do they represent Hal’s own feelings and therefore his expectation of the inevitable fissure between himself and Falstaff? Or do they emerge from some deeper portion of Hal that he has never acknowledged? The answer may well be a combination of all three, for the words befit the calculating voice we heard earlier, that one that uttered “I know you all . . .” at the end of Act I, scene ii. Thus:
. . . it is clear that Hal values the tavern world because it affords him a kind of theatrical space in which he can try out different roles and project different kinds of identities in a way that the restrained world of the court would never countenance. (Grady 164)
That Hal is aware he has crossed a line is apparent from his dramatic response to the Sheriff, who arrives in search of Falstaff, then accuses him of stealing. Hal disclaims any knowledge of his associate:
The man I do assure you is not here,
For I myself at this time have employ’d him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will by to-morrow dinner-time
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he may be charg’d withal,
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
(II, iv, 512–518)
Hal’s denial does not permit questioning, as if he wishes to reassure his comrades that he has not lost fondness for Falstaff. Moreover, the last line, though phrased like a request, becomes an ultimatum when uttered by someone of Hal’s stature, and therefore the Sheriff has no alternative but to curtail his mission. Hal has thus temporarily dispensed with role-playing, reverted to his political self, and again started to measure his words.
Before he leaves, however, he entices Peto into combat: “We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honorable” (II, iv, 544–545). Even if the Prince is not consciously parodying Hotspur, we feel his irony, as if he knows that military ventures, which may inspire valor from individuals, are inherently barbaric. This theme recurs throughout Shakespeare, but resonates with special force in the Henriad. Hal also ensures that the victims of Falstaff’s crime receive compensation: “This money shall be paid back again with advantage” (II, iv, 547–548). Steadily the Prince comes to stand for law and order.
The next scene offers insight into the frame of mind that possesses the rebels against King Henry. The dominant personality among the group is Hotspur, who seems unable to prevent himself from raging against myriad targets. Worcester points out the dangers of this tendency:
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage
Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain,
The least of which haunting a nobleman
Loseth men’s hearts and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
Beguiling them of commendation.
(III, i, 181–187)
As charismatic as Hotspur is, and as much as we enjoy his presence, Worcester understands that something about him is faintly ridiculous: “The very qualities make him attractive are political liabilities and destroy him . . . ” (Moseley 88). As we mentioned earlier, part of what audiences of the Henriad do is weigh the essential attributes of a leader, and the structure of this play guarantees that when considering the matter, we set Hal and Hotspur against each other. We like Hotspur, but recognize that he lacks the maturity and self-discipline to rule. After all, someone who cannot control himself cannot control others. On the other hand, we may never cherish Hal, but the more we see of him, the more we realize that his capacity for restraint is essential for anyone who seeks to command effectively.
Act III, scene ii is clearly the product of Shakespeare’s imagination, for although Holinshed mentions a reconciliation between King Henry and the Prince after the upcoming battle of Shrewsbury, no one could have been present during a private meeting between the men. Part of what gives the encounter such power is that the characters meet on two levels: King to Prince, and father to son, for as the scene unfolds, we grasp that Henry IV has no one else with whom he may speak openly. His position provides seemingly limitless authority, but that same power isolates him. He can trust no one, nor can he confide in anyone. Instead he must withhold his private thoughts, and we sense that certain pressures of his office remain unexpressed, eating at him like a cancer. Indeed, Henry will eventually suffer as much physically as he does spiritually, and one implication of these plays is that the toll of kingship takes many forms, not all of them visible.
The one person able to break through this solitude is his son, the man who will succeed him, and as such the one who may be able to feel even remotely what the King does, as Henry IV overflows with fear and doubt:
I know not whether God will have it so
For some displeasing service I have done.
That in his secret doom out of my blood
He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me . . .
(III, ii, 4–7)
Here Henry is disingenuous, for he knows exactly how he has acted against God: by removing God’s representative, Richard, from the throne. His use of “blood,” however, is curious. Throughout these plays, the word usually refers to lives that have been shed in battle, but here Henry reminds us that “blood” also refers to family, as well as the internal conflict for power rampaging through England.
Henry next speaks of Hal himself as punishment inflicted because of Henry’s own sins:
Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match’d withal and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with the princely heart?
(III, ii, 11–17)
Henry takes Hal’s dereliction personally. The young man is not merely scorning kingship, but also, as “grafted” and “blood” suggest, humiliating his father. The throne, then, is not just a sacred political entity. Even if Henry’s right to it is questionable, as a family legacy it must not be tarnished.
Hal’s response is appropriate, but hardly effusive:
Yet such extenuation let me beg
As in reproof of many tales devis’d,
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear
By smiling pick-thanks and base mewsmongers,
I may for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wand’red and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
(III, ii, 22–28)
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