The Life Of King Henry The Fifth — Acts I, II, III
Hey cootie pies! There’s a prologue! And in it, words happen! Let’s read them…
Act I
Prologue
Sung by the chorus, the prologue goes a little something like this:
Guy comes out and tells us that what we are about to see is a great play about the greatest Henry who ever Henreyed. There will be energetic battles covering sweeping countrysides. But keep your expectations in check, son. This is still just a small stage in a theater. So we can’t actually reproduce all of England.
You think?
Scene i
London. An ante chamber of the king’s palace.
The Archbishop delivers a brief recap of what we’ve missed since Henry IV passed away. He tells Bishop Ely that the new king has hung up his wild spirit and drinking hat and taken to be a rather pious man. From the moment his father spent his last breath, Prince Harry took his new role as England’s new king super serious. Good on him.
What’s more vital in this opening scene is that these clergymen are preoccupied by a bill that is about to cross the king’s desk. Said bill will take funds from the church and they can’t have that. So Canterbury devises a plan to help the king invade France, something Henry has wanted to do for some time as he believes he should rule there, too.
Oh yeah! Intrigue, deception, politics, and war! Bring it.
Scene ii
Canterbury goes to meet the king and his counsel. The king preempts the archbishop by saying he knows why he’s come, but to be careful how he proceeds, for war cannot be entered lightly. Blood will be spilled from these conversations, Henry warns. So know your why.
Holy shit, Canterbury. Nobody asked for a history lesson. Yet that is what you have given us, a boring ass shopping list of names that go back for centuries. And they all circle around this ambiguous Salique clause. What is this? Is there a woman on the French throne? Are you trying to tell Henry that she is not worthy of it and he, by his right, can take it from her?
Exeter and Westmoreland concur. Maybe not on the woman thing, but that King Henry has every right to France’s throne, as it was detailed in Canterbury’s doddering lineage snooze fest.
Henry says that if they do make war with France, they will also have to keep up their battlements at home, as Scotland will surely try to take advantage of them while they’re minds are elsewhere.
Smart king, this guy!
For you shall read that my great-grandfather
Never went with his forces into France
But that the Scot on his unfurnished kingdom
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach,
With ample and brim fullness of force,
Galling the gleaned land with hot assays,
Girding with grievous siege castles and towns;
That England, being empty of defence,
Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood.
Canterbury suggests they send one quarter of their army to attack France and keep the rest at home to deal with inevitable Scottish invasion.
Henry neither approves nor denies this suggestion. Instead, he calls in the ambassadors of Dauphin. Who sounds pretty dang French to me.
So whoa.
The messengers tell Henry that Dauphin (who I think is the French king’s son) has sent word that he wants English troops out of France. But he doesn’t want to insult Henry so he’s brought him a treasure to make up for his request, if his request seems unseemly.
Aye? What treasure?
Why, tennis balls, of course!
Ppbbtthh. OK, Agassi. Henry has a good laugh at this and then decides, mid-speech I think, to send a message back to the Dauphin that he, Henry, is going to lay claim to the French throne. “Thank you very much for the gift. We will enjoy setting them to our racquets. And then we are coming to own you. Soon. Good day, sirs.”
What balls!
Act II
Prologue
I must admit, I don’t like these intros. I think the Chorus character is shoddy and maybe even a bit of an over-explainer. I’m kidding! Am I? It’s fine.
Here, the Chorus sings a song of budding war. Men are getting amped and getting armored to do battle. There are many moving pieces, important players, and sprawling battlefields that will come into play. Punny! Including some English traders who are being sent to betray and possibly murder the king at the behest of France. Aye, the plot, she thickens.
Scene i
London. A street. Is this London street also Southampton? I know nothing of England.
Corporal Nym (not a nymph) and Bardolph have a chat in a tavern that quickly turns into an argument. Isn’t that always the way? They draw swords but little comes of it as a boy comes in to deliver some harrowing news. The man many in the place know as Falstaff (because that’s his bloody name) is very old and ill. The melee breaks up to attend to the rogue we know and love so well from previous Henrys (and possibly a Richard III, but I have yet to read that one).
Scene ii
Southampton. A council chamber.
King Henry really shines in this scene. He’s rooted out the three traders to the crown. You know the ones — they were spoken of in the Act Two prologue. I didn’t name them there but here we know them as this Earl of Cambridge dude, a guy named Scrope, and Masham. Henry’s found them all out and gives them a wicked tongue lashing before sentencing them to death. He then proceeds to give the order to sail for France. For war. Yay war.
Sidenote: You should never yay war.
I’m afraid I’ve glossed over this scene a little more than perhaps I should have. The bulk and raw power of it comes from Henry’s lips. His long, cutting speeches would be ill-served with excerpts here. Rest assured, his words are well worth their punch and worth a read. Go to it.
Scene iii
London. Before a tavern.
Falstaff? Is it Falstaff? Could it be?
Oh no! Within the first three lines, Piston tells us that Falstaff is dead! Alas, I was very much looking forward to your antics again, sir. Rest in peace, fair fool. Until we meet again, then.
Bardolph questions whether Falstaff has gone to “Heaven or to Hell.” He was just one of those guys.
The hostess speaks well of Falstaff, or at least gives him credit for being a dead man, and in that, we should show respect. Then the lot of the bunch piss off to France because… I dunno, maybe they think it’s safe there?
Scene iv
France. The king’s palace. Enter everybody and their mothers.
The king of France is just called the King of France. I wonder if he was born with that name. Probably.
Mr. France, his royal highness, addresses his besties. He wants to know whether England will stomp them or nay? Of course they will. They’re bloody England!
The king’s son Dauphin, begs to differ. He’s a hot, spunky lad with fire in his belly for sure.
A messenger from England arrives bringing Henry’s ultimatum: give up your crown or I will come take it. His actual decree is rather damning…
EXETER
Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he take for it:
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,
That, if requiring fail, he will compel;
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head
Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans cries
The dead man’s blood, the pining maidens groans,
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallowed in this controversy.
This is his claim, his threatening and my message
Damning.
The king of France does not blink in the face of such dire threats. Instead, he tells Exeter that he shall sleep on it and give him his answer in the morning. Exeter reveals that King Henry is already on French soil and ready to party. So Frenchy best not twiddle his thumbs too long.
Agreed.
Act III
Prologue
The Chorus cheapens the theater’s scenery budget by telling the audience to “Picture Henry’s armada sailing into France. Can you see it? Isn’t it marvelous? Because yeah, you can’t do this kinda shit on stage so just dazzle yourself with your own imaginings.”
It’s fine. The Chorus is fine.
He also makes mention that the King of France offered his only daughter, Katherine, to Harry. But I don’t think the king appreciates that deal. He wanted complete and total surrender. Not some girl. But let’s see…
Scene i
France. Before Harfleur. I should know what that is. I think it was mentioned in the last scene. Probably a battleground.
Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester, and Soldiers with scaling ladders. Ooh! Action!
KING HENRY
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more…
Everyone shut up for a minute! This is the money shot!
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow overwhelm it…
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, Show us here
The mettle of your pasture…
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’
Gosh I hate having to cut that up with ellipses. Go read the whole speech. It’s more stirring than John Braveheart’s (or whatever Mel Gibson’s name was) in that sexy Scottish war film.
Scene ii
The same.
Oh the balls on this Shakespeare fella! He stays right there in the same scene but knows he just wrote the crap outta Henry’s speech and gives it its own scene to breathe. Love it! What’s next?
The sense of urgency to rush the breach is uber-apparent as the men push forward and talk about pushing forward as they do. I mean… it’s a lot cooler than I just made it sound.
Then some Boy (who’s character name is “Boy”) interrupts the glorious charging scene with his own, personal thoughts about three men: Pistol, Nym, and Bardolph. I’m pretty sure Bardolph charged the breach but Nym and Pistol hang back. They’re basically cowards here and the Boy uses the moment to call them out on their cowardice. He does so to himself, though. It’s an odd placement of character insight in an otherwise intense scene. In the end, the Boy decides to leave their service and find other men more worthy of him.
Then it gets even weirder. A cat called Captain MacMorris comes in and he’s gotta be here for comedic levity, right? As is Captain Fleullen? I’m sure I’m spelling his name wrong. Anyway, it’s odd timing again for such a thing as humor here so maybe I misread it. But MacMorris, who is Irish, talks with an odd lisp. Or maybe it’s just supposed to be a dialect thing? I dunno but he says “ish” a lot and it’s weird.
MacMorris, Gower, and Fleullen are arguing over tunnels they think the English have dug. So I guess there’s war strategy going on here. I always miss this stuff. Sigh.
Scene iii
The same. Where were we? Before the gates. Ah.
King Henry addresses the governor of the town of Harfleur. He demands they be let in, else his army will advance and have no mercy on every inhabitant.
The governor folds. He says the town is indefensible and Prince Dauphin himself has turned tail and disappeared. So come on in, I guess. Might as well.
King Henry tells Exeter, as they enter, to fortify the gate against other French adversaries. But to use mercy on all the townspeople.
Scene iv
The French King’s palace.
Katherine and Alice (two characters I don’t recall being introduced to previously) speak French. They speak a lot of French. Like pages and pages of French. So much French. Is this how the play is always produced? I doubt it. I’m sure there are translated versions out there. But not here. Not in my Kindle book. I’ll check on this in the reveal at the end. But for now, eh, I don’t speak French.
And yeah, it’s the entire scene.
Oui.
Scene v
The same. Enter the King of France, Dauphin, the Duke of Bourbon, the constable of France, and others. All who speak English well. So yay.
The king of France rallies his men to march to some field to meet the English. Dauphin is eager to go but the King holds his son back. But by all means, the rest of you can go ahead and bring me back news of England’s fall. Boo yah.
Scene vi
The English camp in Picardy.
Pistol asks for mercy for his friend Bardolph who has stolen some tablet or something. I’m almost positive it’s not an iPad. Bardolph is going to be hanged for his crime but Fleullen is not moved by Pistol’s plea. During wartime, it’s tough to get anyone to save you. Pistol curses Fleullen and storms off, just before King Henry arrives.
The king is told of the Bardolph news but is also unmoved. The king and Bardolph were friends in their youth but I guess that doesn’t count for much now, either. Sorry Bardolph. Good luck to you, sir. He hangs. R.I.P.
King Henry learns about how his army has just taken some bridge. And that is good news. A messenger from France comes, delivering a saucy ultimatum from King Charles of France. Rather than spit back vile threats, he tells the messenger to deliver the news that yes, Henry’s army is tired and weaker than it once was but he still intends to kick the living crap out of France if it comes to that. He’d rather not, but he will. Because he believes he is the rightful king of not just England, but anywhere he chooses. So there’s that.
Scene vii
The French camp near Agincourt.
The Prince (Dauphin) is in love with his horse and proclaims him to be the bestest horse in the entire land, you guys! Really and for true!
DAUPHIN
Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the
rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary
deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as
fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent
tongues, and my horse is an argument for them all…I once writ a sonnet in his praise and begun thus:
“Wonder of nature,” —ORLEANS
I have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress.
Ha! Yeah! Give your prince the business, Orleans!
DAUPHIN
Then did they imitate that which I composed to my
courser, for my horse is my mistress.
Ehhhhhh.
Hello? Equus, table for two?
I’ve a feeling these Frenchmen are all just having a laugh at each other’s expense here. It is levity in war, bully for them.
When a messenger arrives to report that the English army has made camp nearby, these same Frenchmen who were just joking with each other now make ridicule the bloody English.
They seem unafraid of inevitable battle and probable death. For now, we leave them this way. For tomorrow, I believe we may war.
Can’t wait for your next fix?
Eager for more amateur analysis of the Bard’s greatest works?
Head on over to my Shakespeare page to wet your Willie!
