Читать книгу Political Animal - Victor L. Cahn - Страница 5

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 action. After all, his most blatant transgression, the confiscation of Bullingbrook’s private inheritance after the death of his father, John of Gaunt, violates the fundamental law of primogeniture. Thus by acting against the King, Bullingbrook invites retribution; yet even as he does, he leads England into the modern age. Therefore a paradoxical vision emerges: although the deposition of Richard was an outrage that caused grievous suffering to both Henry IV personally and the nation at large, the action was politically and socially necessary.

Henry IV, Parts 1&2 have enjoyed a rich stage history, although for generations after Shakespeare’s death, most productions focused on the more flamboyant characters: Falstaff and Hotspur. During the twentieth century, however, as Scott McMillen explains, and especially after the 1951 presentation of the entire sequence at Stratford, focus shifted to the maturation of Prince Hal/Henry V (McMillen 1, 3). In recent years, Henry V and its title character have become especially controversial because of our sensibilities about the wisdom and morality of all military campaigns, especially those in the latter portion of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first. As a result, any new presentations of this play must set Henry’s aggression against his determination and charisma, while simultaneously weighing his ruthlessness and religious faith. Whatever the final judgment, however, grappling with the complicated progression of his character has become essential.

Shakespeare’s first mention of this young man occurs near the end of Richard II, when Henry IV, newly crowned, bemoans the antics of his wayward heir:

Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?

‘Tis full three months since I did see him last.

If any plague hang over us, ‘tis he.

I would to God, my lords, he might be found.

Inquire at London, ‘mongst the taverns there,

For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,

With unrestrained loose companions,

Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes

And beat our watch and rob our passengers,

Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,

Take on the point of honor to support

So dissolute a crew.

(Richard II, V, iii, 1–12)

The word “effeminate” implies that Hal has become too weak or dissipated to assume the royal responsibilities which will eventually be thrust upon him. Henry Percy adds to this picture of debauchery by noting that Hal intends to wear a whore’s glove at the jousts to be held in honor of his father’s coronation (Richard II, V, iii, 16–19).

Nevertheless, the King has not lost all faith: “As dissolute as desperate, yet through both/ I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years/ May happily bring forth” (Richard II, V, iii, 20-22). Our first reaction to these lines may be to imagine the smiles that must have crossed the faces of Shakespeare’s original audience, who knew what future glories awaited this apparent reprobate. We should also keep in mind that the King’s speech incorporates unflattering aspects of the Prince’s life that were popularly accepted, as well as recorded in Shakespeare’s primary historical source, Holinshed’s Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland. These flaws include Hal’s habitual absence from court, his excessive drinking, and his indulgence in more illegal behavior.

Yet we also wonder what kind of fellow the Prince is. Does he idle away his life among thieves and prostitutes because he is content to be a wastrel? Do the King’s words indicate that Hal has rejected his father’s values? Or does the Prince temporarily prefer the company of individuals less exalted than those we have met in this play? Certainly the characters in Richard II who usurp the throne are a grim lot. Although they claim that they seek to depose the abusive King for the good of the country, we sense that they also intend to exert their own authority. Does Hal’s current alienation suggest that when he assumes power, he will conduct himself more compassionately? With what methods, and according to what principles, will he achieve the eminence that awaits him?

No doubt Shakespeare’s audiences would have deliberated over these and other questions. Of course, attendees at his plays knew what events had unfolded two centuries earlier, and thus where any plot about Hal had to lead, but they could not be certain how the playwright would present this titanic ruler. He would surely be great, but in what way? What traits would Shakespeare emphasize? How would he reveal the man beyond the historical record?

From our own perspective, we wonder how Shakespeare’s Hal relates to political figures from recent times. Do his attitudes and strategies have contemporary parallels? What themes presented here resound today?

Such concerns are endemic to all historical drama. Whether the subject is the founding of the American republic, World War I, scientific discoveries, or political assassination; when events are generally known, a playwright is both limited and liberated. The challenge is to offer an enlightening dramatization of the matters in question.

In this volume I shall focus on this single character who looms so large in both English and world history, as well as in Shakespeare’s canon. My goal is to establish for Hal/Henry what in theatrical circles is often called a “through line”: a set of consistent psychological precepts that encompass a character’s language and action. Over the course of my effort, I also hope to reconcile many of the critical judgments that have been directed toward him.

My text is The Riverside Shakespeare (Houghton Mifflin), and all quotations from the plays are taken from that edition.