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obtained for the press, fraudulently, after it had been superseded on the stage by the enlarged and finished copy.

Historic Matter of the Play.

In this play, as in King Henry the Fourth, the historical matter was taken from Holinshed, both the substance and the order of the events being much the same as they are given by the historian. The King came to the throne in March, 1413, being then twenty-six years old. The Parliament with which the play opens was held in the Spring of 1414, and the King's marriage with Catharine took place in the Spring of 1420; so that the time of the action is measured by that interval.

The civil troubles which so much harassed the preceding reign naturally started the young King upon the policy of busying his subjects in foreign quarrels; "that action, hence borne out, might waste the memory of the former days." At the Parliament just mentioned a proposition was made, and met with great favour, to convert a large amount of Church property to the uses of the State; which put the Clergy upon adding the weighty arguments of their means and counsel in furtherance of the same policy; inasmuch as they judged that the best way to prevent a spoiling of the Church was by engaging all minds in a transport of patriotic fervour. King Henry derived his claim to the throne of France from Isabella, Queen of Edward the Second, and daughter of Philip the Fair; he being the fourth in a direct line of descent from that celebrated woman. This Philip had left two sons, both of whom died without male issue ; whereupon the crown passed to Charles the Fair, the youngest brother of Philip. In effect, the English King was easily

persuaded that the Salique law had no right to bar him from the throne of France; and ambassadors were sent over to demand the French crown and all its dependencies; the King offering withal to take the Princess Catharine in marriage, and endow her with a part of the possessions claimed ; at the same time threatening that, if this were not done, “he would recover his right and inheritance with mortal war and dint of sword." An embassy being soon after received from France, the demand was renewed, and peremptorily insisted on. The French King being then incapable of rule, the government was in the hands of the Dauphin, who saw fit to play off some merry taunts on the English monarch, referring to his former pranks; whereupon the latter dismissed the ambassadors, bidding them tell their master that within three months he would enter France as his own true and lawful patrimony, “meaning to acquire the same, not with big words, but with the deeds of men.”

This took place in June, 1415. Before the end of July the King's preparations were complete, and his army landed at Harfleur on the 15th of August. By the 22d of September the town was brought to an unconditional surrender, and put in the keeping of an English garrison. The English army was now reduced to about half its original numbers ; nevertheless the King, having first challenged the Dauphin to single combat, and getting no answer, took the bold resolution of marching through several provinces to Calais. After a slow and toilsome march, during which they suffered much from famine and hostile attacks, the army came within sight of Agincourt, where the French were strongly posted, so that Henry must either surrender or cut his way through them. The French army spent the following night in revelry and debate, and in fixing the ransom of King Henry and his

nobles. The night being cold, dark, and rainy, many fires were kindled in both camps; and the English, worn out with labour, want, and sickness, passed the hours in anxious preparation, making their wills and saying their prayers, and hearing every now and then peals of laughter and merriment from the French lines. During most of the night the King was moving about among his men, scattering words of comfort and hope in their ears, and arranging the order of battle; and before sunrise he had them called to matins, and from prayers led them into the field. From the confident bearing of the French it was supposed they would hasten to begin the fight, but when it was found that they kept within their lines, the King gave order to advance upon them. The battle continued with the utmost fury for three hours, and resulted in the death of ten thousand Frenchmen, five hundred of whom had been knighted the day before. Some report that not above twenty-five of the English were slain; others affirm the number to have been not less than five or six hundred.

The news of this victory caused infinite rejoicing in England, and the King soon hastened over to receive the congratulations of his people. When he arrived at Dover, the crowd plunged into the waves to meet him, and carried him in their arms from the vessel to the beach all the way to London was one triumphal procession: Lords, Commons, Clergy, Mayor, Aldermen, and citizens flocked forth to welcome him pageants were set up in the streets, wine ran in conduits, bands of children sang his praise; and, in short, the whole population were in a perfect ecstasy of joy.

During his stay in England, the King was visited by several great personages, the Emperor Sigismund being one of them, who came to mediate a peace between him and

France. The Emperor was entertained with great magnificence, but his mission accomplished nothing to the purpose. After divers attempts at a settlement by negotiation, the King renewed the war in 1417, and in August landed in Normandy with an army. From that time he had an almost uninterrupted career of conquest till the Spring of 1420, when all his demands were granted, and himself publicly affianced to the Princess Catharine.

From this sketch it may well be judged that the matter was not altogether fitted for dramatic use, as it gave too little scope for those developments of character and passion wherein the interest of the serious drama mainly consists. For, as Schlegel remarks, "war is an epic rather than a dramatic subject: to yield the right interest for the stage, it must be the means whereby something else is accomplished, and not the last aim and substance of the whole." And perhaps it was a sense of this unfitness of the matter for dramatic use that led the Poet, upon the revisal, to pour through the work so large a measure of the lyrical element, thus penetrating and filling it with the efficacy of a grand national song of triumph. Hence comes it that the play is so thoroughly charged with the spirit and poetry of a sort of- jubilant patriotism, of which the King himself is probably the most eloquent impersonation ever delineated. Viewed in this light, the piece, however inferior to others in dramatic effect, is as perfect in its way as any thing the Poet has given us. And it has a peculiar value as indicating what Shakespeare might have done in other forms of poetry, had he been so minded; the Choruses in general, and especially that to the fourth Act, being unrivalled in spirit, clearness, and force. — Of course the play has its unity in the hero; who is never for a moment out of our feelings: even when

he is most absent or unseen, the thought and expression still relish of him; and the most prosaic parts are touched with a certain grace and effluence from him.

Why Falstaff is not Introduced.

For some cause or other, the promise, already quoted, touching the continuation of Sir John was not made good. Falstaff does not once appear in the play. I suspect that, when the author went to planning the drama, he saw the impracticability of making any thing more out of him; while there was at least some danger lest the part should degenerate into clap-trap. And indeed the very fact of such a promise being made might well infer a purpose rather too theatrical for the just rights of truth and art. At all events, Sir John's dramatic office and mission were clearly at an end when his connection with Prince Henry was broken off; the design of the character being to explain the Prince's wild and riotous courses. Besides, Falstaff must have had so much of manhood in him as to love the Prince, else he were too bad a man for the Prince to be with; and when he was so sternly cast off, the grief of this wound must in all reason have sadly palsied his sportmaking powers. To have continued him with his wits shattered or crippled, had been flagrant injustice to him; to have continued him with his wits sound and in good trim, had been something unjust to the Prince.

To be sure, Falstaff repenting and reforming might be a much better man; but in that capacity he was not for us. In such a man as he has been, the process of repentance must be secret, else it would not be edifying; and to set it forth upon the stage as matter of public amusement, were

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