Language, Lies and Truths
in
Henry IV Part One
Shakespeare is known for his language.
Among other things of course, but ask anybody what they know about
him and the answer will probably include his linguistic brilliance.
What is maybe less obvious, but
clearly there if you look for it, is how Shakespeare, through the
characters themselves, reflects upon the question of language. In
Henry IV Part One that's one
of the aspects (along with the juvenile delinquency of the future
Henry V, in this play known as Hal or the Prince of Wales) that I
find most fascinating.
I'm
going to explore three examples here. First, a scene in which the
characters don't understand each other's language at all, realize
it and don't care.
Second, a scene in which the character claims to understand but
doesn't. And third, a scene in which the character reinterprets an
overused word and turns the play upside down. So to speak. I am
referring to Mortimer and his nameless Welsh wife, to Prince Hal, and
to Sir John Falstaff.
To
begin with the first:
in the unusual Act 3.1 we see an odd little group, the Welsh leader
Owain Glyndwr, his daughter Lady Mortimer, her husband Mortimer,
Henry Percy (known as Hotspur) and his wife, Lady Kate. The scene is
unusual because all five partake freely in the discourse, odd because
in spite of the language situation they all seem to understand each
other. Furthermore, within the play as a whole, the conversation
itself is significant in that the two wives play an active part. In
her introduction to the Norton edition, Jean E. Howard points out
that there are no wives or girlfriends in Henry's court and thus Act
3.1 gives us more insight into the rebels' world than we get into the
king's (p. 1181-82). Welsh women were earlier mentioned in the play
in the report of the rebellion attacks on English soldiers upon whom
Welsh women were claimed to have committed atrocities ( Act 1.1) but
in Act 3.1 we are given another picture. Yes, Lady Mortimer would
rather go to war with her husband than stay home weeping - “She'll
be a soldier; she'll to the wars,” says her father but for love,
not viciousness. She openly shows her love for her husband, and this
brings us to the question of language. She speaks no English, her
husband no Welsh. And yet a tenderer love scene can hardly be found
in all of Shakespeare.
While
Hotspur makes nasty comments about how awful Welsh sounds – Howard
tells us that to English ears of the time the language was considered
barbarous and the Welsh were seen as rebellious (page 1179) (which
they were) – Shakespeare, for reasons that would be very
interesting to explore, elevates the language to poetry. He writes
not a single word of Welsh but gives very clear directions – most
unusual for him – not once but six times: “The lady
speaks/sings Welsh”. Though
her father translates everything for Mortimer and for us it is almost
unnecessary. Mortimer understands:
I understand thy looks. That pretty
Welsh
Which thou down pourest from these swelling heavens
I am
too perfect in, and, but for shame
In such a parley should I
answer thee. The lady kisses him and speaks again in Welsh
I
understand thy kisses and thou mine,
And that's a feeling
disputation...;
Furthermore he promises to learn
Welsh:
But I will never be a truant,
love,
Till I have learned thy language, for thy tongue
Makes
Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penned,
Sung by a fair queen in a
summer's bower,
With ravishing division, to her lute...
And when he doesn't understand, he
expresses frustration: “O, I am ignorance itself in this!” His
father-in-law explains that she wishes Mortimer to lay with his head
in her lap while she sings to him and he replies, “With all my
heart, I'll sit and hear her sing.” In spite of the annoying
Hotspur, she sings and Mortimer listens until Glyndwr is compelled to
interrupt:
Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as
slow
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go (all
quotes Act 3.1).
Neither Lord nor Lady Mortimer appear
again in this play but this scene of love in the face of great odds
contrasts sharply with the petty but violent rivalry of the English
lords in the rest of the play.
And these two very minor but unusually
likeable characters, with their language problems, contrast sharply
with one of these violent men, the Prince of Wales (how ironic is
that!), Hal, who is not likeable at all and who claims to understand
languages not his own but who probably doesn't.
Prince Hal, to his father's dismay and
the amusement of the rebels, is a carousing wastrel. He hangs out
with drunken thieves. His character has often been analyzed and it as
often been shown how Hal is simply preparing for his takeover of the
crown when his father Henry IV dies. No arguments there. Hal is a
calculating and manipulative rogue. He runs around with the workers
and with petty criminals not because he likes them but because he can
make use of them in the future. And he makes no bones about one of
the ways in which he is building up power: language.
We see this in another odd scene
(which is, in fact, cut from the BBC version, unfortunately), Act 2.5
in which Hal brags that, “I am so good a proficient in one quarter
of an hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language
during my life.” This to further his claim that, “When I am the
King of England I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap.”
What follows is an unpleasant display of power. In a jocular tone,
Prince Hal teases the hapless apprentice Francis by first exclaiming
how oppressive apprenticeship is: “Five year! By'n Lady, a long
lease for the clinking of pewter”. With these words he is also
belittling the skill demanded of a tinker and he goes on to prod
Francis to rebellion: “But Francis, darest thou be so valiant as
to play the coward with thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of
hells and run from it?” Knowing full well that this isn't an option
for Francis, Prince Hal continues to tease him for awhile but finally
tires of it and dismisses him with, “Away, you rogue. Dost thou not
hear them call?” and exits. Poor Francis, Shakespeare tells us
explicitly in his stage directions, “stands amazed, not knowing
which way to go” (all quotes
from Act 2.5).
Stephen
Greenblatt places this small exchange into a much large picture of
language and power in his chapter “Invisible Bullets” from his
book Shakespearean Negotiations.
Unfortunately the scope of this essay is too limited to further
connect to Greenblatt's analysis of language and power within the
historical context of the emerging colonialism of the Renaissance
world, but relevant here is how Hal claims to master his future
subjects' vernacular only in order to exploit it, and them.
A figure who is
not so easy to exploit and who hopes to benefit by Prince Hal's
slumming is Sir John Falstaff. There is much to be said about the fat
knight, and much has indeed been said, written, analyzed, ridiculed
and loved about the bigger-than-life rambunctious, obnoxious and
loveable character. His friendship with and betrayal by Prince Hal is
one of the masterpieces of literature. Even within the confines of
the subject of language much could be written about Falstaff. Harold
Bloom idolizes him and goes to such lengths to convince us of
Falstaff's superiority as a character that one has the inclination to
disagree (which I did frequently when Bloom scoffed, as usual, at
other Shakespeare scholars) but I must agree with his assessment
that, “If you love language, you love Falstaff” (p. 289).
In this essay
however I will limit myself to one monolog, Falstaff's famous
reflection when Hal tells him that he owes God a death then leaves
him alone on stage:
'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to
pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls
not on me? 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: and so ends my
catechism. (Act 5.1)
This is spoken on the battlefield.
Noblemen are killing each other and common foot soldiers for no good
reason. Prince Hal has more or less just told Falstaff to go and get
himself killed. And suddenly Falstaff isn't a buffoon anymore. He's
the speaker of a profound truth. Honor – that word that so many
have killed and died for – is just that, only a word. It cannot
mend, it cannot be enjoyed by the dead, it can easily be lost by the
living. It is worse than useless. It is harmful. Falstaff decides
wisely to “have none of it”.
Thus in one of the shortest and most
brilliant monologs in all of Shakespeare, one of the most loaded and
misused words in any language, is revealed to be ridiculous. Still,
it is deadly. Hotspur is soon killed by it and Prince Hal takes a
great stride towards the power he has had his eye on all along
Falstaff, as we will see in Part Two, ends
up the loser.
But he has uttered
a profound truth and for the time being, decidedly chooses life over
honor. In the words of the Polish scholar Jan Kott, Falstaff “will
not not let history take him in. He scoffs at it” (p. 49).
Love,
power, honor. Understanding, lies and truth. In this play with the
less than eloquent title Henry IV Part One,
the language plays its own part and with great eloquence, subtlety
and sometimes startling clarity it weaves in and out among the
contrasts between peace and war, amiability and aggression, death and
life itself.
Works cited:
- The Norton Shakespeare, based on the
Oxford Edition. Ed. Greenblatt,
Stephen et al. Second edition. 2008.
- Bloom,
Harold. Shakespeare, the Invention of the Human. 1998.
- Greenblatt,
Stephen. Shakespearean Negotiations.1988.
- Howard,
Jean E. Introduction in The Norton Shakespeare, see above.
- Kott,
Jan. Shakespeare Our Contemporary.
1964.
Films seen:
- BBC, 1979. Director: David
Giles. Cast: Prince Hal – David Gwillim; King Henry – Jon Finch;
Falstaff – Anthony Quayle; Hotspur – Tim Pigott-Smith; Mortimer –
Robert Morris; Lady Mortimer – Sharon Morgan; Owain Glyndwr –
Richard Owens. This is a well-done production. Jon Finch is very
good as Henry, Quayle is a convincing Falstaff and the others are
generally very good too. The only question mark is Gwillim as Hal,
probably because I saw Branagh as Henry V first. Gwillim was better
the second time (or was it the third) that we watched the play, but
for me Hal will always be Branagh.
Seen
on stage: No.
