The Mirror of All Christian Kings
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King Henry the Fifth

Henry V focuses on a series of episodes during the Hundred Years’ War, which lasted from 1337 to 1453 and involved England and France in a struggle over control of the French monarchy. England had been a major presence in France for several centuries prior to the war. King Henry II (1154-1189) was Count of Anjou, duke of Aquitaine, and also claimed Normandy. During his lifetime he controlled half of what we know as France, and at his death he was buried there. England’s claim to the French throne was initiated in earnest by Edward III (1327-1377). Isabella, the daughter of Phillip IV (the Fair) of France, had married Edward II of England, and their son was Edward III of England. Edward III thus laid claim to the French throne through his mother and undertook a military action to made good his claim. During his war with France, Edward won famous victories at Crecy (1346) and Poitiers (1356).

After the death of Edward III, England faced not only war with France but also dynastic disputes at home. You may recall that Henry VIII’s break with the Roman Church began because his first wife could not give him a son and he worried what would happen if he died without a male heir to the throne. Edward III had the opposite problem, leaving behind a troubled land because he had too many sons. The rules of succession were fairly fluid in Edward’s time. Normally, the crown passed to the oldest son, and, if he died, to the next oldest, and so on. Ambitious younger sons frequently sought, however, to push past their older brothers. Edward III’s oldest son, and the heir to the throne, Edward the Black Prince, was killed fighting in France the year before his father died. Richard, son of the Black Prince, succeeded Edward III, but other parts of the family were ambitious to gain the throne.

Richard II (1377-1399) was only ten years old when Edward III died. For the first part of his reign, he was ruled by his relatives. As he came to maturity, he tried to free himself from the control of his family, and allied himself with certain favorites that gained power at court. Not surprisingly, this made his relatives angry, as they saw their own influence waning. Five Lords of the realm, among them Henry Bolingbroke, brought charges of treason against the favorites. In the event, the Lords Appellant, as they were called, won the case and were able to secure their influence at court. By 1397, however, Richard had regained enough power to move against three of the Lords Appellant. To protect himself, Henry Bolingbroke lodged charges of treason against his former ally, Mowbray. The conflict between these former allies nearly ended in trial by combat but Richard intervened and exiled both men. (This is the situation at the beginning of Shakespeare’s Richard II.)

Two years later, in 1399, John of Gaunt, Henry Bolingbroke’s father, died, and Richard seized his lands. Henry invaded England on the pretext of regaining control of his ancestral lands but in truth he intended to assert his claim to the crown. Later that same year, he was crowned as Henry IV, and Richard II died early the following year under suspicious circumstances. Henry IV’s reign had supported battles against the nobles who has supported him in his effort to dethrone Richard. The Mortimers were a special problem. They were descended from Edward III’s second son, Lionel, and believed their claim to the monarchy was greater than Henry IV’s, whose father, John of Gaunt, was Edward’s third son. The Percies, a powerful noble family, also revolted in 1403. Shakespeare’s play 1 Henry IV ends with the battle of Shrewsbury, where Henry Percy (Hotspur) was killed and the Percy rebellion squashed. This is important background to Henry V, for Henry V’s crown was passed to him by a usurper who was also probably a murderer. At moments, Henry is aware that his claim on the throne of England is defiled with the blood of Richard II (4.1.310-323).

By the time Henry V came to the throne, there were no more serious challenges from rival families. (Edmund Mortimer, in fact, was still alive, but imprisoned throughout Henry V’s reign, and his death is portrayed in Shakespeare’s 1 Henry VI.) In the two parts of Henry IV, Shakespeare presents the young “Hal” (who would become Henry V) as an idle young man loitering in taverns with drunkards and thieves and showing precious little interest in politics, war or the serious business of ruling. Contrary to Shakespeare’s presentation, the real Henry V was highly experienced and ready to assume the throne: he fought with Henry IV against the noble rebels; he sat on the king’s council from 1406-11; and he governed Wales and put down a Welsh rebellion. In the opinion of some historians, Henry V came to the throne as one of the best-trained kings in English history. Moreover, because his power was relatively secure at home, Henry V could turn his attention to renewing the English claim to the French crown, and this is what Shakespeare’s play is about. Shakespeare compresses events that actually took place over a number of years: The wars described in Henry V are those of Henry’s first French campaign of 1415, but the play ends with Henry’s engagement to the French queen Catherine (spelled Katharine in the play), though this did not take place until 1420, when the Treaty of Troyes was concluded.

After Henry V died prematurely, his son, Henry VI (1422-1461/1470-1471) ascended the throne as king of England and France. Though a pious and good man, his inability to control his nobles led to disaster. During his lifetime, England lost the French crown, due in large part to the heroics of Joan of Arc, and the Wars of the Roses began between two branches of Edward III’s family, known as the houses of Lancaster and York. The civil wars finally ended when Henry Tudor, who had ancestors from both of the warring families, defeated King Richard III at Bosworth Field. Henry Tudor became Henry VII (1485-1509), and inaugurated the dynasty that included Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I.

Shakespeare wrote a cycle of eight plays about this period of English history. The plays were written in something of a reverse order, beginning with three plays about Henry VI, followed by Richard III, whose reign began some years after Henry VI died. These plays cover the beginning and end of the Wars of the Roses. Having depicted the civil wars in the first “tetralogy” (set of four plays), Shakespeare went back to examine the events that led up to the Wars of the Roses. This background was presented in the second tetralogy: Richard II, the two parts of Henry IV, and Henry V (produced around 1598-99). Another English history play, King John, written shortly after Richard III, portrays an earlier period in English history. Though Shakespeare also wrote at least part of a later play on this period, Henry VIII, the play examined here is really the last and most mature of Shakespeare’s investigations of English history.

Henry V is the main character not only of this play, but also, as Prince Hal, of the two parts of Henry IV. In one common interpretation of these plays, Henry V is the model of the true Christian prince, against whom the other royal characters of the plays are to be measured. Taken together, the second tetralogy depicts the education of the ideal prince. Prince Hal matures into the mean or balance between foolhardy bravery and cowardice; he combines the fun of the tavern with the exertions of the battlefield. This is brought out by his similarities and differences with other characters. On one extreme, Hal is contrasted with Henry Percy, called “Hotspur,” and in fact 1 Henry IV leads up to a duel between Hotspur and Hal. Like Hotspur, Hal is a courageous soldier who displays his mettle in the battle of Shrewsbury. Hotspur, however, represents the foolhardy extreme; as his name implies, Hotspur is a man who throws caution to the wind, much like Laertes in Hamlet. Hotspur is also unbalanced because he hates both music and poetry and cares for nothing but war. He is impatient and he talks too much and too boldly. The Dauphin (Prince of France) in Henry V is a comic version of Hotspur, with all the bluster but none of the skill.

At the other extreme is Sir John Falstaff. An old soldier, Falstaff is one of Hal’s tavern buddies, with whom he spends countless idle hours. While Hal shares with Falstaff a love of prankish fun, Falstaff is self-serving and cowardly and fights no longer than he sees reason to fight. Falstaff, for instance, pretends to be dead on the battlefield at Shrewsbury. When Hal leaves the scene, Falstaff gets up, finds the body of Hotspur lying on the field (where Hal left him), stabs him, and later claims to have killed Hotspur. By the time Henry V begins, Falstaff has fallen out of favor. Immediately after he was crowned, Henry said to Falstaff: “I know thee not, old man” and warned him “not to come near our person by ten mile.” Henry’s rejection of Falstaff may seem cruel, but, on this interpretation, it is essential if Hal is to grow up into Henry V. To be an effective king, Hal must overcome youthful brashness (represented by Hotspur) and also put aside childish pranks (represented by Falstaff). He must take a stand in the middle ground between cowardice and foolishness, the ground in which true courage is rooted.

Henry V provides evidence that Henry is to be taken as the ideal prince. Much of the evidence comes from the chorus, who calls Henry “The Mirror of all Christian kings” (Prologue 2.1.6). As Henry makes the rounds of the camp on the night before the battle of Agincourt, the chorus describes him as a sun bringing cheer and encouragement to every soldier (Prologue 4.1.28-47). As the play closes, the chorus laments the “small time” of Henry’s life, adding “but in that small most greatly liv’d this star of England” (Epilogue 5.2.5-6). Beyond that, Henry’s meditations on the burdens of kingship (4.1.248-302) and his rousing speech before the battle (4.3.18-67) display a man with both courage and sensitivity to the pitfalls and dangers of his position.

It is even possible to see in Henry something of a Christ figure. He is rightful king of France but has been denied the throne. So, he invades alien territory, conquers it, claims the throne, and marries the bride to seal the compact. So also Christ invaded “enemy territory” to bind Satan, to triumph over the principalities and powers, and to win His bride. From this viewpoint, the violence of Henry’s language begins to sound like the words of biblical prophets announcing the doom of ungodly kingdoms, or the psalms in which God’s victory over the wicked is celebrated: The righteous will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked (Psalm 58:10). Henry becomes not merely a mirror of all Christian kings but virtually becomes Christ himself.

If Henry is the ideal prince, his exploits are material for English nationalist celebration. The climax of the play is the battle of Agincourt, in which Henry’s English army, though greatly outnumbered, won an almost miraculous victory. Henry is pious in triumph: “be it death proclaimed through our host to boast of this or take that praise from God which is His only” (4.8.121-123). The chorus reiterates this impression:

You may imagine him upon Blackheath,

Where that his lords desire to have him borne

His bruised helmet and his bended sword

Before him through the city. He forbids it,

Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride.

Giving full trophy, signal and ostent

Quite from himself to God. (Prologue 5.1.16-22)

Interpreters have often taken passages such as these at face value and understood Henry V as the most “flag-waving” of Shakespeare’s historical plays.

Perhaps, though, this is all too easy. Parallels there may be between Henry and Christ, but Henry is not Christ. And if the play may be compared to a dramatic rendition of the English national anthem, there are a more than a few wrong notes and dissonant chords. Even the words of the chorus, who is from head to toe a patriotic Englishman, raise some questions about Henry’s character. In his first description of Henry, the chorus invites the audience to watch Henry “assume the port of Mars” (Prologue 1.1.6). Mars! Not the Christian God but the pagan god of war. This makes us wonder to whom Henry is praying when later he calls upon the “God of battles” (4.1.307). The God of the Bible is no pacifist, but neither is He the bloodthirsty Mars of Greek mythology, who delights in sheer mayhem.

According to Harold Goddard’s insightful discussion, the chorus in the main expresses the popular view of Henry, of the French invasion, of Agincourt; his descriptions present the Henry V of English mythology. There is no reason, however, to believe that Shakespeare accepted the mythology, and in fact, as Goddard points out, the chorus explicitly distinguishes himself from “our bending author” (Epilogue 5.2.2). Far from joining wholeheartedly in the chorus’s praise of Henry, Shakespeare wrote a play that continually raises doubts about Henry’s character and the justice of his cause.

So, is Henry the “mirror of all Christian kings” or is he not? Instead of directly answering that question, let us take a moment to think about mirrors. What do you see when you look in the mirror? Your first answer is likely to be, “I see myself” or “I see an image of myself.” If we take Shakespeare’s image in this way, Henry is being presented as the model Christian king; Christian kings may look at Henry to discover what they are supposed to look like. If we think more about it, however, we realize that what we see in the mirror is precisely the opposite of ourselves. My right hand is the mirror-image’s left, my left eye its right, and so on. Besides, it is possible to play tricks with mirrors. Mirrors can make things appear that are not really there. I am not suggesting that Shakespeare meant to use the “mirror” image in this double-edged way, but thinking about the double nature of “mirrors” will help us to keep in mind the tensions in the play’s presentation of Henry. Shakespeare does not explicitly resolve the tensions that are thus raised but leaves both views before the reader or audience. The greatest interest of the play will be found in the area where the two pictures interact and conflict. And it is there that we shall find the play most profound in the questions it raises about national pride, military aggression, and the true nature of Christian politics.

Lesson One: Act 1.

The chorus’s prologue that opens Henry V provides some insights into Shakespeare’s conception of his dramatic art. The chorus asks his audience to “pardon . . . the flat unraised spirits that have dar’d on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object” (Prologue 1.1.8-11). He knows that the “cockpit” or “wooden O” of a stage cannot “hold the vasty fields of France.” How, then, can a play become believable to the audience? According to the chorus, a play requires not only actors on a stage but an audience of sufficient imagination to accept that the few actors on stage are really millions of soldiers and that the “cockpit” is really Agincourt. The gaps between the real events and what appears on stage must be filled in by the minds of the audience: “Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts” (Prologue 1.1.23).

Even at this level, the Prologue is worth several attentive readings and a few moments of thought. The chorus provides some of the most beautiful poetry in the play. But the Prologue was not written as a separate poem about the nature of drama. It introduces an historical play, and it is worth pondering why Shakespeare chose to include it. Shakespeare is, after all, quite capable of getting along without a chorus. In most plays, he simply plunges into the middle of the action without introduction, leaving it to the characters themselves to provide whatever introductions are needed. Suggesting that Shakespeare needed a chorus to remind his readers of the history is not convincing, since for his original audience the exploits of Henry V were neither ancient nor unfamiliar. To understand why Shakespeare used a chorus, we need to look at what the chorus actually says. And when we look, we find that the chorus does not say much of anything, at least nothing that we could not have figured out without his help. Let’s look at a larger portion of the prologue to Act 1:

But pardon, gentles all,

The flat unraised spirits that have dar’d

On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth

So great an object. Can this cockpit hold

The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram

Within this wooden O the very casques

That did affright the air at Agincourt? . . .

Suppose within the girdle of these walls

Are now confin’d two mighty monarchies,

Whose high upreared and abutting fronts

The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder.

Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;

Into a thousand parts divide one man,

And make imaginary puissance.

Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them,

Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth.

(Prologue 1.1.8-27)

In short, “Since we can’t fit a whole army into the theater, you’re going to have to use your imagination.” Nothing really profound here.

The chorus has much the same message at the beginning of Act 2:

. . . the scene

Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton.

There is the playhouse now; there must you sit.

And thence to France shall we convey you safe

And bring you back, charming the narrow seas

To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,

We’ll not offend one stomach with our play.

(Prologue 2.1.34-40)

“Through the miracle of theater,” the chorus is saying, “we will take you across the English Channel, and not one will become seasick.” Cute, but neither original nor necessary.

The chorus keeps popping up to tell us, “It’s just a play! It’s just a play!” But we know that, and Shakespeare knew it, and Shakespeare knew we would know it. So, why does he insist on repeating such a trivial point? The reason, I suspect, is related to the tensions that we noted above. On the surface, Henry is being portrayed as the “mirror of all Christian kings” in the sense of being a model of Christian kingship. He is a king who prays at the beginning of battles and gives glory to God alone at the end. But then there is the chorus telling us over and over that it is, after all, only a play. We know that what we see on stage is an actor playing Henry V; the chorus’s insistence on the point suggests we should understand “It’s only a play” in another sense. The chorus protests too much, and we end up asking ourselves, Are Henry’s piety and sense of justice likewise only an act? Is he perhaps a mirror image of a Christian king in the second sense—in the sense that he portrays the opposite of a Christian king, everything a Christian king should not be? Perhaps what we are watching is not only an actor pretending to be Henry V. Perhaps we are watching an actor playing a Henry V who is in turn pretending to be a model for all Christian kings. Perhaps Shakespeare is pretending too, pretending to wave his flag and play the national anthem while exposing with all his warts the complex man beneath the thrice-gorgeous ceremony.

That Henry’s piety is at least partly pretense is suggested by the two scenes of Act 1. The play proper begins with a secretive conversation between the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely. The Archbishop wants the church to support Henry’s invasion of France and his claim to the French crown, but the Archbishop’s motives are far from purely religious. As he explains to Ely, there is a bill before the House of Commons that would strip all “temporal lands” from the church, that is, lands that are not used for church purposes directly but which provide income. Taking away these lands would remove half of the church’s possessions; it would “drink deep” of the church’s finances, indeed, as the Archbishop says, “‘Twould drink the cup and all” (1.1.20). The two churchmen want Henry on their side in opposition to the bill. In itself, this is a good thing; the church should be protected from seizures by political authorities. Canterbury and Ely, however, protect the church not by righteous protest and opposition, but by playing a political game. In order to encourage Henry to be favorable to their position, they promise to give significant financial support for his French campaign, on the assumption that they stand to lose much more by not getting Henry’s help. In short, the church leaders intend to buy Henry’s favor by giving him money to invade France. The church’s support for Henry’s French invasion amounts to little more than a bribe.

In reflecting on Henry’s character, Canterbury makes both classical and biblical allusions. He says that Henry can unloose the “Gordian knot” of even the most difficult political issue (1.1.45-47). The reference is to Gordius, king of Phrygia, who tied a knot and prophesied that whoever was able to untie it would be master of Asia. Alexander of Macedon untied it, and, as Gordius had predicted, conquered Asia. Canterbury evidently hopes Henry will be another conqueror like Alexander the Great. (Remember the comparison with Alexander, for it will come up again.) Henry is not only an Alexander, but he is also, in Canterbury’s opinion, a new Adam. When he became king, the old Adam was kicked out of him and became a new man (1.1.29). Medieval political thought viewed the king as an image of Christ. Just as Christ is divine and human, so the king was believed to be a man with something like a divine nature. Since the king was anointed with sacred oil, he became in effect a clergyman, a representative of Christ; the man who was king (with a small “k”) became linked to the eternal King. It was even possible, on this theory, for the king as man to be considered a traitor to the King as divine and immortal. As King, he combined the whole realm in his person; the nation was the body of the king as the church is the body of Christ. As man, it was recognized that the king was weak and mortal. This duality will come up again in Henry’s meditations on ceremony and kingship during the night before Agincourt.

As often in Shakespeare, a character is described by other characters before appearing himself. The chorus has compared Henry to Mars, and Canterbury has compared him to Alexander and, implicitly, to Christ. The audience therefore has certain expectations when Henry appears in person for the first time in scene 2. What we learn there gives some evidence that he is the ideal king of Canterbury’s description. Henry consults the church before going to war because he knows that any war brings bloodshed, and that this blood would be a “sore complaint” against the one who initiates an unjust war. Blood cries out for vengeance, and kings are accountable to prevent the shedding of innocent blood (1.2.9-32). It is thus morally imperative that a king know his cause is right. Otherwise, he will put himself in grave moral danger. Henry seems sincere in asking for the church’s opinion about his invasion of France (1.2.96).

Still, beneath the melody on the surface of the scene there is a contrary theme. A more careful reading suggests that in fact Henry is shifting responsibility onto the Archbishop. He tells Canterbury that God knows how many healthy men will die because of “what your reverence shall incite us to” (1.2.20); it is the Archbishop, Henry implies, who “impawns” or pledges Henry to war, and the Archbishop who “awakes our sleeping sword of war” (1.2.21-22). The deaths of soldiers will be the responsibility of “him whose wrongs give edge unto the swords that make such waste in brief mortality” (1.2.26-28), and Henry implies that it is Canterbury who has given edge to his sword. Canterbury takes the hint and accepts the responsibility: “The sin upon my head, dread sovereign” (1.2.97).

There is another false note in Henry’s instructions to the Archbishop. He claims to believe that the Archbishop will speak sincerely, that what Canterbury will speak “is in your conscience wash’d as pure as sin with baptism” (1.2.31-32). Perhaps Henry is still too young to the throne to suspect that Canterbury has an ulterior motive but this is hard to accept. Canterbury implies in scene 1 that he raised the possibility of a French invasion in the context of discussing the Commons bill with Henry; at least Henry is fully aware of the bill and of the church’s opposition to it (1.1.72-81). He should be aware that Canterbury’s support for his plans comes with strings attached. Maybe he is aware of it, and only pretending to believe that Canterbury’s motives are holy and pure. Sin, moreover, is not, as Henry says, washed pure with baptism; sin is washed away with baptism! Henry makes it sound as if baptism makes sin clean and pure, even though it remains sin. If this is a slip of the tongue, it is an appropriate slip, for what Canterbury will proceed to do is precisely to wash sin, to make an ambitious, unnecessary, and bloody invasion seem pure as snow and clear as the summer’s sun.

Though these various hints could be interpreted in a way more favorable to Henry, the same cannot be said of Henry’s reaction to the message of the Dauphin, the crown Prince of France. Shakespeare clearly and deliberately sets up the scene to raise questions about Henry’s piety. When the messengers ask permission to speak freely, Henry answers, “We are no tyrant, but a Christian king, unto whose grace our passion is as subject as are our wretches fetter’d in our prisons” (1.2.241-243). The Dauphin, however, mocks Henry by sending tennis balls, implying that Henry is so childish that he should occupy his time playing games rather than going to war. Henry understands that the Dauphin “comes o’er us with our wilder days, not measuring what use we made of them” (1.2.266-267). Then Henry’s passions, which moments ago he claimed to be subject to God’s grace, erupt in a rant that can hardly be equaled for violence:

But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,

Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness

When I do rouse me in my throne of France. . . .

And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his

Hath turn’d his balls to gun-stones, and his soul

Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance

That shall fly with them. For many a thousand widows

Shall this mock mock out of their dear husbands,

Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down,

And some are yet ungotten and unborn

That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin’s scorn.

(1.2.273-275, 281-288)

This seems, to put it mildly, an overreaction. To be sure, Henry is, according to the political theory of his day, a representative of God. Any mockery of the King is mockery of the God whom he represents. Perhaps this is the way we should take all of Henry’s violent speech throughout the play: As the mirror of all Christian kings, he deeply senses that he is an instrument of God’s vengeance. But it must be asked whether Shakespeare really wants us to excuse or approve a man who threatens to kill thousands in revenge for what is really a mild diplomatic joke, and who, having made his threat, places blame on the Dauphin for the coming reign of terror. If a Christian king is one whose passion is subject to grace, Henry is as far from acting like a Christian king as can be.

His reference to the “use” he made of his “wilder days” is chilling. It recalls a speech that Prince Hal makes early in 1 Henry IV:

. . . herein I imitate the sun,

Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

To smother up his beauty from the world,

That, when he please again to be himself,

Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at

By breaking through the foul and ugly mists

Of vapors that did seem to strangle him. . . .

So, when this loose behavior I throw off

And pay the debt I never promised,

By how much better than my word I am,

By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes;

And like bright metal on a sullen ground,

My reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault,

Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes

Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

(1 Henry IV 1.2.212-232)

We have all heard about beautiful fashion models who were picked on for their ugliness while in grade school, or professional football players who were too small to make their high school teams. Their beauty or skill when they grow to adulthood is all the more remarkable by contrast with they were as young people. This is what Hal is speaking about in this passage, except that he has a deliberate plan. Hal has determined to play the role of a rascal in his youth, so that when it comes time for him to assume the throne, his wisdom and good behavior will seem more extraordinary by contrast. Though he is talking about the reformation of his own character, and his plan to put off his “loose behavior,” we get the sense that he is also already planning to put off the friends and companions of his youth. It seems that he is thinking not only of his own faults but also of Falstaff and the others when he refers to the “foul and ugly mists” that will evaporate when the sun king chooses to reveal himself. At the very least, this speech reveals Hal as a very calculating young man, a young man who plays roles and makes friends in order to further his own ends, a young man perfectly suited to take on the role of the mirror of all Christian kings.

Is Henry’s decision to go to war an act of a Christian king? Even assuming that Henry has a clear and just claim to the throne of France (on which, see below), is it necessary that he press that claim? France was, like England, a Christian nation, governed by a Christian king. Is it just for the “mirror of all Christian kings” to lay waste another Christian country simply for the sake of asserting a claim to the throne? If we cannot attribute Henry’s decision to piety, why then does he go to war? The best answer is probably to cite his father’s deathbed advice, in which he told Hal to “busy giddy minds with foreign quarrels” (2 Henry IV 4.3.342-343). Henry IV had spent his entire reign fighting against disgruntled nobility, and as he died he advised his son how to protect himself from similar rebellions by uniting the nobility in wars against foreign enemies. If the nobles can be occupied with fighting in another country, they will not have the time or energy to fight against the king, and they will eventually forget their grievances against him. There is an enduring pattern of politics here, one that modern politicians continue to follow. When a modern politician is having trouble at home, he will often find a relatively painless foreign war to get involved in, and everyone forgets he is such a bad ruler and supports the cause for the sake of the troops. If you’ve broken your campaign pledge by raising taxes, you can always send troops to Iraq and hope people get so caught up in the fervor of war that they forget about the IRS for a while. If the press is uncovering evidence that your administration is deeply corrupt, you can always send troops into Bosnia. Henry’s motives for war in France are as suspect as Canterbury’s and Ely’s, and have as little to do with justice and right as theirs.

Canterbury offers a convoluted argument to legitimize Henry’s claim to the French throne, an argument that is anything but “as clear as is the summer’s sun” (1.2.86). When he finally ends his speech, Henry asks the same question all over again: “May I with right and conscience make this claim?” (1.2.96). Not one of the peers, not even Henry himself, asks Canterbury to repeat or clarify his analysis, and it is not because they understood it the first time. None of the lords understands Canterbury’s justification for the invasion—and they don’t care! Even if the case were clear, Shakespeare has already given us ample reason to distrust Canterbury. His conversation with Ely in scene 1 places a question mark over the entire discussion in the King’s Council. Henry has asked the clergy for a moral judgment about his claim to the French throne. The clergymen give their wholehearted support to the expedition, but having been privy to their earlier conversation, we know that they do not support it for moral or theological reasons. Canterbury, churchman though he is, is willing to plunge England into a war and to shed rivers of French blood to protect his own turf. Canterbury works on the advice of Henry IV as much as Henry V does; he too wishes to busy giddy minds with foreign quarrels.

Review Questions.

1. Why was England in so much turmoil after the reign of Edward III?

2. How did Henry IV become king?

3. In the two parts of Henry IV, Shakespeare developed Prince Hal’s character by comparison and contrast with Hotspur and Falstaff. How is Henry V like and unlike each of these?

4. According to the Prologue, what is the work of the audience in a dramatic production?

5. Why does Shakespeare have the chorus keep reminding the audience that they are watching a play?

6. Why do Ely and Canterbury support Henry’s invasion of France?

7. How does Canterbury describe the change that has overtaken Henry since becoming king? What is the significance of these descriptions?

8. Why does Henry plan to invade France? Why did his father advise him to get involved in foreign wars?

9. What does the Dauphin send to Henry? Why?

10. How does Henry react to the Dauphin’s gift? Is his an appropriate response?

Thought Questions.

1. Some have said that television and movies weaken imagination. If you read a book, you have to “piece out the imperfections with your thoughts,” since much is left to our imagination. When we watch a television program everything is shown to us. Do you agree with this? What would Shakespeare say?

2. Genesis 6 says that “the imagination of the thoughts of man’s heart are only evil continually.” Does this mean that there is no place for imagination in the Christian life? What place does imagination have in Christianity? Is Shakespeare’s view of imagination a Christian one?

3. Ely says, “The strawberry grows underneath the nettle” (1.1.60). What does he mean by this? How does this apply to King Henry? Compare this to Henry’s talk about the “use” he made of his wilder days.

4. According to “Salique law,” no woman is allowed to succeed to the throne (1.2.38-39). What is Canterbury’s argument in support of Henry’s claim to the French throne through a female ancestor?

5. What is the significance of Canterbury’s mention of Pepin and Hugh Capet (1.2.64-77). How are their circumstances similar to Henry’s?

6. What does Henry fear will happen if he invades France? (1.2.136-154). How does Westmoreland support Henry’s concern? (1.2.166-173). How does Canterbury finally resolve this concern? (1.2.213-220).

7. How is a kingdom like music? (1.2.180-182). How is a kingdom like a beehive? (1.2.187-204).

8. Edmund Mortimer had a claim to the English throne through a female but had been defeated and imprisoned by Henry IV. How does this fact illumine what is going on in the council? How does this fact affect Henry’s claim to the throne of England?

9. What does Henry see as the two possible outcomes of his invasion? (1.2.221-233).

10. The Dauphin sends Henry tennis balls, and Henry responds by comparing tennis with warfare (1.2.261-266). Explain the comparison.