preceded the play of "Henry V." There the Prince appears as a youth of untamable spirits, a lover of wild frolic and low company, addicted to riots, banquets, sports, and rough practical joking. But the close observer perceives even in the picture of his boisterous days the seeds of moral and mental strength and nobility. Even then he promises, when he is "wanted," to cast off his profligacy—his "coat of folly." Even then he shows signs of remorse for idly profaning precious time. Even then he can fight gallantly, can display real kindness of heart, can appreciate the value of justice, can betray on occasion a determination of flint. The death of his father and his consequent call to the highest position in the state rouses to active and abiding life the sense of responsibility which, beneath all his giddy humours and vanities, only awaited fit occasion to assert sway over more superficial and less reputable characteristics. Under the stress of his change of fortune Consideration like an angel came And whipped the offending Adam out of him. Simplicity and humility of mind lie at the root of his nature. Though fully sensible of the heavy burden of his new office, he sets no undue value on his rank. He knows that, as a king, "he is a man as I am, the violet smells to him as it does to me; all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man." In a simple, manly way he is strongly religious: he feels that whether suffering good or evil fortune he is under the protection of God. But his native geniality and homeliness of temperament give him at the same time the power of thoroughly enjoying life. The high spirits of his younger years are never completely tamed. He can still perpetrate on the impulse an innocent practical joke. In the dark hour preceding the dawn of the most momentous day in his career, on the very eve of the engagement of Agincourt, he can, disguised in a soldier's cloak, set on foot a jest to embroil two comparatively humble followers, and, as soon as the victory is won, he can turn from more solemn pre-occupations to contrive the due fruition of his merry plot. He lacks in the palace the polish usually identified with courts. His rough-and-ready wooing of the French princess, though without offence, savours of uncouthness. But if it lack refinement or delicate courtesy, it abounds in hearty sincerity and the jollity of good-fellowship. Yet one hardly pleasing trait must be alleged against Henry. Like most typical Englishmen in positions of authority, who in normal circumstances show a natural and easy-going heartiness, he can on occasion develop an almost freezing austerity, he can assume a frigid and terrifying sternness towards those who offend not merely against law and order, but against his sense of dignity or propriety. It is doubtful if he would make a truly sympathetic friend. There may be good warrant for his remorseless condemnation to death of old acquaintances who play with treason, but his harsh and intolerant treatment of the veteran sinner Falstaff, the companion of his roaring youth, cannot easily win pardon. It is as a soldier and an officer that Henry's character rises to its full height. He is not merely brave in fight and prudent in strategy, he is always cheery and frank in speech to friend and foe, and possesses a rare gift "to encourage" his men in seasons of danger and difficulty by virtue of his power of eloquent and stirring utterance. His nerve never fails him in the field, yet he is so "free from vainness and self-glorious pride," that he declines to allow his bruised helmet and his bended sword to be paraded before him on his triumphal entry into London after the victory. Similarly, he is fully conscious of the horrors of war and the duty of rulers to aim at the preservation of the peace. The sword, which must always spill guiltless blood, ought never to leave its sheath except at the bidding of "right and conscience." Mindful of "the widows' tears, the orphans' cries," he conducts war with such humanity as is practicable. He forbids looting, he forbids the use of insulting language to the enemy. One of his own soldiers who robs a church on the march is promptly hanged. "When lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester," he says, "is the soonest winner." Nevertheless the sternness that lurks in his nature can render him "terrible in resolution." There must be no luke-warmness, no weakness, no vacillation in the practical handling of a campaign. When the time comes for striking blows, they must be struck with all the force and fury of which the strikers are capable. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man But when the blast of war blows in our ears, With desperate severity he retaliates on the enemy as soon as they infringe the fair rules of war. He gives no quarter when his antagonist declines to face the fact of irretrievable defeat. What is it then to me if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Humanity demands, at every hazard, a prompt closing of a conflict when its issue is no longer in doubt. Broadly speaking, Shakespeare has in no other play cast a man so entirely in the heroic mould as King Henry. Such failings as are indicated are kept in the background. On his virtues alone a full blaze of light is shed. Flawless heroines Shakespeare has depicted in plenty, but Henry is his only male character who, when drawn at full length, betrays no crucial or invincible defect of will, or mind, or temper. The Bastard in King John approaches him most closely in heroic stature, but the Bastard is not drawn at full length. Certainly no other of Shakespeare's monarchs is comparable with Henry V. In the rest of his English historical plays he tells sad stories of the deaths of the kings, who are ruined mainly by moral flaws in their character. "Richard II.," "Richard III.," King John," even 66 66 66 Henry IV.," illustrate the unworthiness of those who thirst for kingly glory, the brittleness rather than the brilliance of the royal estate. Only Henry V. proves himself deserving of truly royal prosperity, of which the last scene of the play seems to guarantee him lasting enjoyment. Alone in Shakespeare's gallery of English monarchs does Henry's portrait evoke at once a joyous sense of satisfaction in the high potentialities of human character and a sense of pride among Englishmen that a man of his mettle is of English race. The princes and noblemen who are Henry's companions in arms are lightly sketched. They are credited with courage resembling his own, but are without his resolute nerve, his initiative, or his cheerfulness. His French foes are not distinctly individualised. The King of France feebly vacillates; the Dauphin overflows with the vivacity and boastfulness of impetuous youth; the Constable evinces more fitting sense of responsibility; the French Princess is innocently coquettish; but no French man or woman is a very substantial creation. Apart from the English King, it is among the English characters of comparatively low military rank that Shakespeare's sure power of characterisation is discernible. Especially has he bestowed care on the Welsh captain, Fluellen. A first-rate officer, he is at the same time an amusing pedant, who is invariably anxious to air his reading in the military history of the ancients, and to correct his companions' errors on that and other subjects. Shakespeare never permits us to forget his nationality. His very name is a jesting misspelling of the Welsh |