Image result for richard ii the old globe
Richard II (Robert Sean Leonard) and Henry IV (Tory Kittles) in The Old Globe’s 2017 production of King Richard II.

I am incredibly lucky to have been able to attend tonight’s production of Richard II at the Old Globe’s Lowell Davies Festival Theatre in San Diego’s Balboa Park. This was my first visit to the Old Globe, and although the actual Globe in London will always have my heart, I can see myself becoming a regular patron of the Old Globe – especially once I move to San Diego come August.

A few years ago, I would have bought the cheapest seats in the house. But I’ve come to learn that theatre is worth splurging on. That is how I found myself sitting in the second row, right in the middle of the open air Lowell Davies Festival Theatre. A perfect seat for an almost perfect production.

You’ll recall that I don’t like Richard II – the character, not the play. But Robert Sean Leonard’s portrayal even managed to pull at my heartstrings. Goodness knows how everybody else in the theatre felt. I can only compare Robert Sean Leonard to Ben Whishaw, because I’ve only ever seen the BBC’s adaptation of Richard II. To be clear, both portrayals impressed me beyond belief. Ben Whishaw’s Richard was all trembling hands, shaky voice – that Richard was weak, and we could see that. Robert Sean Leonard’s Richard was wry, prone to dramatics, but also had the ability to be self-aware every now and again. He played him as almost indifferent to the things going on around him, but cracks began to form in the facade soon enough and Richard began to crumble. When I read Richard II in April, I was more or less untouched by pity. But I felt pity, even sadness when Richard’s demanding tone dissolved as the line, “I wasted time, and now time doth waste me,” was breathed out into the chilly San Diego night. Was I cold, or was I finally beginning to feel for Richard? Guess we’ll never know!

The Duke of York, played by Patrick Kerr, was a surprising favorite of mine in this production. The role was played with the perfect amount of exasperation and helplessness. York was still too by-the-book, as he should be. His interactions with the Duchess of York (Lizbeth Mackay) made the crowd laugh, but I couldn’t help but think how disappointed the Duchess must have been in York for wanting to turn Aumerle in to Henry IV. Lizbeth Mackay floored me with her raw display of a mother’s grief, of her desperation to save her only son. She played a minor role, but it was a stand out one nonetheless.

Henry IV, played by Tory Kittles, was incredibly regal and well put together. Richard slaps him across the face during the deposition scene, and Henry IV raises his shaking hands as if to choke his cousin…but instead pulls him into a hug. Richard is unresponsive to this gesture, as he keeps his hands by his side. The hug is drawn out, and when they part, Richard’s face is streaked with tears. I loved this so, so much. This was the Henry IV they were trying to sell, and I was buying it without shame.

Hotspur doesn’t play a huge role in this play (his time to shine comes in Henry IV, Part One), but I must comment on his costume. His doublet was constantly unbuttoned, and he had a disheveled look about him that was so uniquely Hotspur. What a lovely touch, something for those of us that know what Hotspur is about.

I suppose I can’t mention Hotspur without talking about Hal. I know, I know, Hal isn’t in this play. But Henry IV mentions him in passing, asking where his son has been. Lines were cut from this, much to my disappointment. I suppose it doesn’t matter because they aren’t putting on the entirety of the Henriad, but I view Henry IV mostly through the lens of his turbulent relationship with his son. His moment of clarity about his son’s potential really touched me when I read Richard II, but it apparently did not have a place in this production. But, hey, if you were wondering, Hal was messing around in a tavern the entire time. Shocker!

Nora Carroll played Queen Isabel, and she breathed so much life into this small role. She was absolutely gorgeous, almost angelic in her white gown. I stayed after the play for the post-show forum, and Ms Carroll mentioned that although Isabel is regal, she is also human. Through her, we are given scraps of another side of Richard – a side we never see. I love this interpretation so much. Who hasn’t been mystified by Isabel’s unwavering love and dedication to her sub-par husband? But he must have been treating her well, must have shown her love. We don’t know that Richard, but he must exist.

I have a very minor criticism that I want to throw in here. When Richard and Isabel were being separated, trash was thrown on them from up above. I knew that, but I’m not sure if it was well communicated, because it just seemed like leaves were being tossed out of buckets and onto their heads. The Duke and Duchess of York discuss it later, but still.

I was also incredibly shocked at who killed Richard. Brace yourselves, because it wasn’t Exton. It was Aumerle. It was a very “Et tu, Brute?” moment, because the production made a big show of the love between Richard and Aumerle. I suppose it was to increase the impact of Richard’s death. Also, it might have been because this play has more than enough characters.

During the post-show forum, someone wondered if Henry IV’s grief over Richard was genuine, because they didn’t think so. Luckily, Charles Janasz, who played a magnificent John of Gaunt, answered by saying he did believe that Henry IV’s grief was genuine because it is something that eats away at him during the rest of the Henriad. I loved that the actors knew so much about the Henriad – I mean, why wouldn’t they? – but it just spoke to me because I love the Henriad so much.

Overall, the Old Globe’s production of Richard II was incredibly enjoyable. I gasped, I laughed, and I even felt a twinge of pity for poor old Richard. I am so glad I was able to attend. There is nothing like seeing Shakespeare live.

I’m making slow progress with Much Ado About Nothing – not because I’m not enjoying it, but because I’m on a two week break. Here’s hoping that I’ll be able to finish it before the month is over. Until then, you can probably catch me at your local Shakespeare festival, because there’s no other place for me to be.





When I was in the 12th grade, I was taught Henry IV, Part One in my English class. I was a bit disinterested by it at first. After all, it was only my second play ever, and what could possibly top Richard III? But my first taste of the Henriad quickly bloomed into an intense love that I carry around with me even today. Absolutely nothing can change the way I feel about it – not bad theater productions, not poorly written analyses, nothing. I feel so incredibly privileged to have been able to read the Henriad. I feel privileged to have had a fantastic English teacher in high school, and to have been taught Henry V in London in 2012 with a professor who let me gush about it nonstop.

So, as you can imagine, I was just giddy with excitement when I picked up Henry IV, Part Two. I am going to try to be as coherent as possible. It may help if you go back and read my post about Prince Hal, because I have a very specific idea of who he is that I will be carrying into this post. So let’s get started!

Rumors around England have been painting the rebels as the winners of the intense battle that occurred at the end of Henry IV, Part One. But, as we know, this isn’t true. Hotspur is dead, and Hal dealt the final blow.

I do love Hotspur dearly – I think he is a wonderful character, and although I was technically rooting for Henry IV, I was sad that things ended the way they did. But nothing made me sadder than reading Northumberland’s reaction to his son’s death:

Yet, for all this, say not that Percy’s dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye.
Thou shak’st thy head and hold’st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so.
The tongue offends not that reports his death;
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell
Remembered tolling a departing friend.

If there’s one thing Shakespeare knows how to do well, it’s how to write grief. Losing Hotspur shatters Northumberland’s heart to pieces. Morton recounts how badly the loss affected the rebels as well:

MORTON [to Northumberland]
[…] In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best-tempered courage in his troops;
For from his mettle was his party steeled,
Which, once in him abated, all the rest
Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.

I absolutely believe this happened. Hotspur, despite his temper and occasional attitude problems, was a very passionate and ferocious man. I can see why his death would cause things to spiral downward. In Henry V, we see how Hal’s words and presence help morale – and although Hal and Hotspur are two very different people, they are both equipped to inspire and lead people.

The tone of this play changes suddenly as we cut to Falstaff, who is in trouble with the law. A quick word on Falstaff: I like him, and there are times I pity him. I believe he loves Hal, no matter what he likes to say. He has been a father figure to the young Prince for so long now – a terrible father figure, but a father figure nonetheless. I do not, however, harbor the same obsession with Falstaff that a lot of Shakespeare’s fans do. As you all know by now, I don’t suffer fools gladly. Falstaff isn’t your typical Shakespearean fool, and I can see his appeal, but this blog post won’t be a love letter to him. Although, after all the gushing I’ve done about Hal, I don’t know why anybody would expect that of me.

In any case, as usual, Falstaff is in trouble.

[…] Call him back again.

Sir John Falstaff!

Boy, tell him I am deaf.

You must speak louder. My master is deaf.

I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything good. – Go pluck him by the elbow. I must speak with him.

The Chief Justice is annoyed that Falstaff hasn’t faced any consequences after the hilarious Gad’s Hill robbery. Fortunately, Falstaff’s service (if you can even call it that) at Shrewsbury is keeping the Chief Justice from tossing him in the clinker.

You have misled the youthful prince.

The young prince hath misled me. I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.

Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound. Your day’s service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night’s exploit on Gad’s Hill. You may thank th’ unquiet time for your quiet o’erposting that action.

It was rather interesting to me, hearing the Chief Justice make excuses for Hal. I’ll go into this a little later, but Hal is an incredibly complex character – but only if we want to see him that way. I don’t think that every irresponsible action has been a direct result of his hanging out with Falstaff. I think he has a very complicated and strained relationship with his father that results in a lot of acting out and rebellion, no matter what he or other characters like to say and think. Falstaff, of course, would never admit to leading the prince astray.

At York, rebels are talking through their chances of actually beating Henry IV’s forces in battle. If Northumberland doesn’t show up, their chances won’t look too good:

Yea, marry, there’s the point.
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgement is we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand.
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids incertain should not be admitted.

‘Tis very true, Lord Bardolph, for indeed
It was young Hotspur’s cause at Shrewsbury.

It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope,
Eating the air and promise of supply,
Flatt’ring himself in the project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts,
And so, with great imagination
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death
And, winking, leapt into destruction.

I understand their hesitation. In fact, it’s amazing that they are still willing to fight after Shrewsbury. They need Northumberland, but they don’t seem to trust him that much. Eventually, the fact that the King’s forces are split up will give them a sense of security.

We finally see the infamous Prince of Wales in Act 2. Post-Shrewsbury, and he is spending his time with Poins – old habits die hard, I suppose. But his father is sick!

Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick – albeit I could tell to thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too.

Very hardly, upon such a subject.

By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil’s book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.

The reason?

What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep?

I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

And here, my friends, is the root of the problem. The way we see Hal, the way we analyze him, is entirely up to us. We can see him as completely rebellious and irresponsible (the way Poins is implying people do), or we can see him as someone who is truly royal and kingly, playing commoner for his own purposes (which Warwick suggests to be the case later on). Or, we can see him as a mixture of both – as someone who is fully capable of being royal and well-behaved, but simultaneously has a streak of rascal in him.  I know it sounds like I’m complicating things just for the sake of it, but bear with me.

So if we see Hal as a human, someone who is multi-faceted, then this conversation is painful. Hal has the capacity to feel grief about his father. People around him refuse to see that – to them, he is a one dimensional disgrace of a prince. The things he’s done haunt him to the point where he finds himself unable to tell people how distraught he is. They’d see him as a hypocrite, and nothing else. Poor Hal.

But, as I said, Hal is multi-faceted. He feels grief for his father, and is dealing with some very complex emotions, but is still able to make the time to disguise himself as a waiter to spy on Falstaff. It’s like I said: old habits die hard. Hal can’t force himself to be one thing or another – instead, he’s going to have to figure out how to reconcile who he is and who people want him to be. But that’s a journey for Henry V, mostly.

Northumberland, meanwhile, is being encouraged to abandon the rebels by Hotspur’s wife.

O yet, for God’s sake, go not to these wars.
The time was, father, that you broke your word
When you were more endeared to it than now,
When your own Percy, when my heart’s dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honors lost, yours and your son’s.
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it.
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
In the gray vault of heaven, and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs that practiced not his gait;
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;
For those that could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse
To seem like him. So that in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humors of blood,
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashioned others. And him – O wondrous him!
O miracle of men! – him did you leave,
Second to none, unseconded by you,
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage, to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur’s name
Did seem defensible. So you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honor more precise and nice
With others than with him. Let them alone.
The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong.
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
Today might I, hanging on Hotspur’s neck,
Have talked of Monmouth’s grave.

I find Lady Percy to be remarkably brave in this scene. She lays all of Northumberland’s wrongs out in front of him, clearly unafraid of a bad reaction. And yet, she is being torn apart by grief. You can see how much she loved Hotspur, how passionate she was about him. She even thinks fondly on his manner of speaking (apparently a flaw of his) – I’ve always imaging Hotspur speaking very fiercely and passionately, no matter the subject. Poor Lady Percy – she’s been made a widow, and now stands bravely in Northumberland’s way so that she and Lady Northumberland do not suffer another loss.

Northumberland is quite moved by Lady Percy’s speech – he decides to hold off on leaving.

Meanwhile, at a filthy tavern in Eastcheap, Hal and Poins are spying on Falstaff, who is spending his time with Doll Tearsheet. She asks about Poins.

Why does the Prince love him so then?

Because their legs are both of a bigness, and he plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles’ ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and jumps upon joint stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears his boots very smooth like unto the sign of the Leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories, and such other gambol faculties he has that show a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits him; for the Prince himself is such another. The weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois.

PRINCE, [aside to Poins]
Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

There is something of a gap growing between Falstaff and Hal at this point, and it’s quite sad to see. I would say that Falstaff is a bit jealous of Poins, that he misses Hal. I think he does. I think he misses him very much.

But to Hal, all of this just sounds like he’s being spoken ill of. He makes himself known to confront Falstaff.

Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead?

A better than thou. I am a gentleman. Thou art a drawer.

Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears.

O, the Lord preserve thy good Grace! By my troth, welcome to London. Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine. O Jesu, are you come from Wales?

FALSTAFF, [to Prince]
Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

How? You fat fool, I scorn you.

My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn all to a merriment if you take not the heat.

I got a bit annoyed with Poins for that last line. It’s almost like he wants to make things worse – possibly because he feels the need to compete with Falstaff for Hal’s favor. And, to be honest, I find Poins to be a very poor replacement for Falstaff.

Peto enters, and new of the coming war brings Hal back to reality. He feels a bit guilty for messing around.

By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame
So idly to profane the precious time
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapor, doth begin to melt
Give me my sword and cloak. – Falstaff, good night.

There is such a sense of finality to Hal’s “good night” to Falstaff. There is something incredibly sad about it. Well – if you want to read it that way.

Henry IV, meanwhile, can’t sleep. There are so many things on his mind. And –

[…] Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Truer words have never been spoken. I am indifferent toward Henry IV as a character, but I do feel sorry for him here. He’s sick, he can’t sleep, and he’s worried. He almost reminds me of Hal in Henry V here, musing about all the suffering the crown brings. Henry IV feels the crushing weight of his responsibilities here – a quality that he and Hal will end up sharing.

While Falstaff gathers troops for the upcoming war, Prince John is dealing with the rebels in his own particular way. He sends Westmoreland to listen to the rebels’ grievances:

[…] When we are wronged and would unfold our griefs,
We are denied access unto his person
Even by those men that have most done us wrong.

They feel that Henry IV does not care to listen to their issues. But here’s John, willing to take all their grievances to heart and to make things right.

Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly
How far forth you do like their articles.

I like them all, and do allow them well,
And swear here by the honor of my blood
My father’s purposes have been mistook,
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.
[To the Archbishop.] My lord, these griefs shall be
with speed redressed;
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
As we will ours, and here, between the armies,
Let’s drink together friendly and embrace,
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
Of our restorèd love and amity.

I have to say, John really had me fooled there for a second. I was beginning to think that talking things through was his strong suit. Imagine my surprise when the rebels were charged with treason and taken to the block – and by then, all of their troops had dispersed. John is brutal, that’s for sure. What kind of king would he have been, if Hal hadn’t been the firstborn?

4.3 is the most important scene in this entire play to me. Henry IV is in a chair, surrounded by Warwick, and by his sons, Thomas and Humphrey.

Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, where is the
Prince your brother?

I think he’s gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.

And how accompanied?

I do not know, my lord.

Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him?

No, my good lord, he is in presence here.

THOMAS OF CLARENCE, [coming forward]
What would my lord and father?

I wonder if Humphrey knows where Hal is, and is simply trying to steer the conversation away from the truth. In fact, I am almost certain that Henry IV knows where Hal is. Look, we all know where Hal is, so Henry IV may as well hear it.

Henry IV is particularly skilled at letting everybody know just how he feels about his disgraceful son. But he sings a different tune here:

KING, [to Thomas]
How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.
Thou hast a better place in his affection
Than all thy brothers. Cherish it, my boy,
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren.
Therefore omit him not, blunt not his love,
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
By seeming cold or careless of his will.
For he is gracious if he be observed;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity;
Yet notwithstanding, being incensed he is flint,
As humorous as winter, as as sudden
As flaws congealèd in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore must be well observed.
Chide him for his faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth;
But, being moody, give him time and scope
Till that his passions, like a whale on the ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,
That the united vessel of their blood
Mingled with venom of suggestion
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum or rash gunpowder.

There are times when Henry IV’s clarity surprises me. What he says about Hal is completely and utterly true: he is willing to be kind if he’s humored and treated with respect, and he is compassionate and generous. But he also has a temper, and needs room to work through his own feelings before he is able to calm himself. Regardless of the accuracy of this assessment, Henry IV’s original question remains unanswered:

Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?

He is not there today; he dines in London.

And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that?

With Poins and other his continual followers.

Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds,
And he, the noble image of my youth,
Is overspread with them; therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.
The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, th’ unguided days
And rotten times that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors,
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall his affections fly
Towards fronting peril and opposed decay!

Ah, there’s the Henry IV that we all know and love. He voices his frustration with Hal for the umpteenth time, and worries what will happen when headstrong, wild Hal takes the throne.

If we look at Henry IV’s words, we have a somewhat complete picture of Hal: he has the capacity to be kind, compassionate and generous. But along with those qualities, he can be stubborn and unpredictably mischievous. Warwick doesn’t think so.

My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.
The Prince but studies his companions
Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language,
‘Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be looked upon and learned; which, once attained,
Your Highness knows, comes to no further use
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,
The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,
Cast off his followers, and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
By which his Grace must mete the lives of others,
Turning past evils into advantages.

You know I disagree with this. This is one of my least favorite interpretations of Hal. It makes him an awful character, impossible to root for. Hal is a complex, and rather conflicted creature. His father said it himself: he has good qualities in him (qualities fit for royalty), but he has a wild streak. He’s young, he’ll learn. And, oh Warwick. If only things were that simple. Hal will cast his friends away when he feels he needs to, but his past will haunt him well into his own reign.

When the good news about John’s success with the rebels comes, Henry IV collapses. And, speak of the devil, Hal shows up.

Who saw the Duke of Clarence?

I am here, brother, full of heaviness.

How now, rain within doors, and none abroad?
How doth the King?

Thomas is allegedly Hal’s favorite, and we can see that in the way he speaks to him. I thought the line “How now, rain within doors, and none abroad?” was quite sweet. Hal’s mood changes quickly once he realizes how grave the situation is. He is left alone with his father, who has the crown by his head. Henry IV appears rather dead, and Hal is overflowing with emotions. He takes the crown, the object that caused his father’s death, and leaves the room.

Henry IV is incredibly upset by this. He demands to know where Hal is, and is angry even though Warwick tells him that Hal is having an emotional breakdown in the next room.

I never thought to hear you speak again.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
I stay too long by thee; I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honors
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth,
Thou seek’st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind
That it will quickly drop. My day is dim.
Thou hast stol’n that which after some few hours
Were thine without offense, and at my death
Thou hast sealed up my expectation.
Thy life did manifest thou loved’st me not,
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid’st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Whom thou hast whetted on thy stony heart
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou art crownèd, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head;
Only compound me with forgotten dust.
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees,
For now a time is come to mock at form.
Henry the Fifth is crowned. Up, vanity,
Down, royal state, all your sage councillors, hence,
And to the English court assemble now,
From every region, apes of idleness.

He continues, but we get the idea. When this happened, I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. The tension between father and son had to reach its boiling point. Otherwise, reconciliation would have been impossible. How wrong Henry IV is, though. His son loves him and wants nothing more than his father’s approval. They have butted heads for so long that it may seem impossible, but Hal does love him.

God witness with me, when I here came in
And found no course of breath within your Majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O, let me in my present wildness die,
And never live to show th’ incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposèd.
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,
I spake unto this crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it: “The care on thee depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father;
Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold.
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,
Preserving life in med’cine potable;
But thou, most fine, most honored, most renowned
Hast eat thy bearer up.” Thus, my royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head
To try with it, as with an enemy
That had before my face murdered my father.

Oh, Hal. He talks of this noble change he’s been planning on, something that he once tried to explain to the audience in Henry IV, Part One. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve never bought a word Hal has said on the subject of his wildness, because it all sounds a little like he’s trying to justify his actions to himself. Inside of Hal, there is a deep-rooted hatred for himself and who he is. If he has truly been playing at being wild this entire time because he thinks that a sudden transformation will impress the nobles, then he’s an idiot. I’d like to give Hal more credit than that, and I like to think that Shakespeare intended for him to be an interesting character, so I’ll have none of that.

Hal also has a very interesting view of the crown – it’s an enemy, something that sucks the life out of everybody that wears it. There is such negativity tied to it, that it makes you wonder what sort of terror and dread he felt at his own coronation.

In any case, his words touch Henry IV, and they are finally able to reconcile. Henry IV counsels him (which Hal takes very seriously). All that mattered to me was that Henry IV was saying things like “O my son,” and “my Harry.” Finally. This is what Hal has needed his whole life. This, if anything, is what causes him to sober up enough to be be a good ruler in Henry V. His father having faith in him is so significant. None of this it-was-planned-all-along nonsense. Hal needed to come to peace with his father.

Henry IV dies – long live Henry V of England. The Chief Justice is shaking in his boots – after all, how many times had he gotten Henry IV’s unruly son into trouble? After comforting his brothers (good Lord, nobody has any faith in poor Hal), Hal turns to the Chief Justice.

You all look strangely on me. [To the Chief Justice.]
And you most.
You are, I think, assured I love you not.

I am assured, if I be measured rightly,
Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.

No? How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
Th’ immediate heir of England? Was this easy?
May this be washed in Lethe and forgotten?

The Chief Justice has a good explanation for all of this: he was acting on behalf of Henry IV. And what would Hal do if he had a son that made a mockery of the law? A good point, really, and I would loved to see Hal be a father instead of seeing Henry VI be crushed the way he was. But I digress.

I’ve said this a thousand times, but Hal knows exactly what people expect of him, and what they think a proper ruler should do. Those two things don’t exactly align: here, the Chief Justice expects to have his position stripped from him. But a proper ruler should find his past actions reasonable. Hal is a proper king now, so he lets the Chief Justice keep his position while speaking very highly of him.

Look, I don’t think for a second that Hal would have kicked the Chief Justice to the curb, no matter how often he was thrown in prison for being a nuisance. But I wanted to point out the pressure he feels because it follows him no matter what he does, now that the crown is on his head. And speaking of that exact pressure…

FALSTAFF, [to the King]
My king, my Jove, I speak to thee, my heart!

I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester.
I have long dreamt of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swelled, so old, and so profane;
But being awaked, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing. Know the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men.
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest.
Presume not to me that I am the thing I was.
For God doth know – so shall the world perceive –
That I have turned away my former self.
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots.
Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
For competence of life I will allow you,
That lack of means enforce you not to evils.
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, according to your strengths and qualities,
Give you advancement.

I know my love for Hal sometimes leaves me a little blind, but even I can see how incredibly harsh and hurtful this is. Hal is in a very difficult situation – he needs the nobles to see that he is worthy of the crown that is now sitting on his head. In Henry IV, Part One, the line “I do, I will,” can be spoken coldly – in which case, we’d be expecting this. But it should be said brokenly. Hal knows it had to come to this, that this was bound to happen at some point. In this moment, he reminds me of a boy in one of those depressing dog-centric movies. You know the type. There’s always a scene where the young protagonist tells his dog to leave, but the loyal dog stays. So the protagonist almost always shoos him away with violence or with harsh words – but only because it’s for the dog’s own good. I’m not calling Falstaff a dog, but you get my point. This has to be done, or Hal will never be able to win the respect of the others. If played convincingly, if the idea is to get the audience to still care for Hal after all of this, then we should get a sense of veiled sadness from the new king. Things have to change.

Henry IV, Part Two ends on that rather depressing note, and we get an epilogue that has Shakespeare begging us not to hate him too much. But how can I hate him? Henry V is one of my favorite plays!

A last word about Hal (but not really, because I’m sure I’ll find other ways to talk about him): in Richard II, Hotspur mentions having seen Hal. The newly crowned Henry IV finds out that his son has quite the disgraceful response to his father’s triumphs at Oxford. You see, Hal has always been a bit wild. And no, it’s not because he wants to impress the nobles by doing a complete 180 when he becomes king – how was he know his father would even succeed in taking the crown from Richard II? This has always been a part of who he is, and we see him grapple with every aspect of his personality in the final part of the Henriad.

Much Ado About Nothing is next – another play that I love dearly, but have never actually read. You’ll be hearing from me at the end of the month, because I’m going to be knee-deep in work until then. Actually, I am knee-deep in work now, but even my responsibilities as a student couldn’t stop me from writing 5,000 words about how complicated and fascinating Hal can be if we let him.

Have a good June! And if I don’t see you before June 24th, have a good midsummer! And for God’s sake, don’t wander into any woods.