(23) Henry IV, Part II

For me, Falstaff was the focal point in this play, of these two plays actually (Henry IV, I and Henry IV, II), and Shakespeare uses him so well as a foil and a frontman for all sorts of cool wit, argument, and philosophical meandering. He’s quite a character, and his rise and fall is well done by our favorite bard. As is the general consensus, Henry IV, I is a little better than Henry IV, II, and I agree with this, especially in regards to Falstaff, who just seems a little sharper in the first part. However, his final disgrace at the end of part two works about as well as anything I have yet read. Basically, his old party buddy Prince Hal dumps Falstaff in a very public and humiliating way. The reason: he is now king and cannot hang out with a lowlife such as Falstaff. Harshness indeed, and a less-than-honorable move on the King’s part, throwing his oldest and dearest friend under the bus once he is made king…but it’s never that simple, right?

The main take away for me from these two plays is the idea of loyalty and honor and our service (or lack of service) to these ideals. What does it mean to honor yourself and your family, your friends and your God, your country and your king? And, more intriguingly, when is this service worth forsaking? Is it ever? Or, again more intriguingly, is it never? Shakespeare plays with this idea all over the place in these two plays, from Prince Hal’s betrayal of his noble birth early in the first play, to his brother’s less-than-honorable defeat of the rebel army, to the aforementioned betrayal of Falstaff, at the very end of the second play. Good stuff really (and there are many more examples), this thematic exploration, and Shakespeare does it well, making complex, layered arguments on both sides, as any good explorer must.

Take for example Act IV, Scene II, where Prince John (the king’s youngest son) tricks the rebel noblemen on the field of battle to avoid war. To do this, he makes them believe that their grievances against the king will be heard (and they are legitimate grievances, by the way) and thus their lives, property, honor, and nobility will be preserved. Spurred on by John’s promises, the rebels are overjoyed and disband their armies. Bad move. Seconds after their armies leave the field, John has them all arrested for treason and slated for immediate execution. John explains away this unscrupulous treachery with the assertion that listening to their complaints has nothing to do with protecting their lives; the king will hear their grievances after they are all dead. On the face of it, the use of this technicality as an excuse for murder seems at best weak and at worst totally amoral, lying to these guys to win the war and end their lives. And they call him on it (Mowbray is a rebel and Westmorland is on the King’s side):

MOWBRAY: Is this proceeding just and honorable?
WESTMORELAND: Is your assembly so?

Mowbray’s got a point…and so does Westmorland. It’s a conundrum: can dishonorable behavior be justified, especially when the cause of it is dishonorable (taking up arms against a divinely appointed king)? Or are they all just making excuses to justify their own selfish ends? To further muddy the waters, Falstaff shows up in the next scene and also questions Prince John’s character through a great, weird, and witty speech about how John, because he doesn’t drink wine, cannot be any good. This is of course farce and I think Falstaff knows it. But what he doesn’t know (and what Shakespeare does) is how odd it is for this corpulent and corrupt rouge of a man to pass such judgment on anyone, much less a prince. It’s a puzzle, like the skin of a peeled-away onion or the reflected reflection in a funhouse mirror-maze. Here’s the puzzle, he seems to be saying; now you figure it out.