You don't have to have written seven historical plays, as Shakespeare did when he began working on Henry V, to conclude that the story is often not very dramatic. Chronicles of the past have the subjectivity and subtlety of national anthems: they are about appropriating the truth, not getting closer to it. Noble causes and gigantic murders abound in these documents, often at the expense of facts and explanations. All of this adds up to an account of the past in which victors reign victorious before the battle even begins, while the natural unfairness of the losers contributes as much to their defeat as enemy swords and soldiers. Readers of the present may wonder whether their ancestors ever felt a thrill of suspense as events unfolded, for according to historians, the outcome of these clashes was, as King Henry would say, "as gross/As black on white" (2.2. 104). It is as predictable, the Elizabethans might have said, as a bad comedy. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay And yet there was suspense and anxiety in times past, just as political maneuvering in the present sows seeds of unrest. Shakespeare realized this and came to a surprising conclusion: there is a gap between the events of the past and the historical narrative. The historian's inclinations become the very form of history, filling the past with mighty deeds and epic heroes. But this form is warped, fashioned, as it is, in the likeness of famous men and dubious motives. Historians see the past as a straight, singular line; Shakespeare knew that his course could be neither so direct nor so simple. Henry V is his attempt to reinsert the complexities of the past into the direct narrative of history, to dramatize, so to speak, the historical drama. The Bard does this not because he thinks he will succeed, but because he knows he will fail, since the sensibility of story cannot accommodate that of drama (and vice versa). Henry V demonstrates that, according to Shakespeare's conception of history, "history drama" is an oxymoron. If the aim of Henry V is to achieve two objectives (history and drama), the presence of the choir is very useful in achieving this aim. He closes the entire play and each of the acts, nominally to apologize for the inadequacies of the story's staging and to remind the audience to use their imaginations to provide what the acting company cannot. “But pardon, gentlemen all,” the chorus implores in the epilogue, “The flat and unrelieved spirits who dared / Upon this unworthy scaffold bring to light / Such a great object” (1.0.8-11). If before these apologies the public had not considered the varied combination between the "unworthy scaffolding" of the theater and the "great object" of the story, now they are certainly attentive to it. The choir's apology only diminishes the illusion of reality that viewers can usually manage without instruction. But that was exactly Shakespeare's point. Through its ironic requests for forgiveness, the Chorus offers a "historical" counterpoint to the "dramatic" action of the opera. It is, like the historical drama itself, a paradox: a feature that belongs entirely to the drama but which represents the sensibility of history in an entertaining way. “We will force our game,” he promises at the beginning of the second act (2.0.32). And this is indeed what it does. His regular appearances before each act give this "story" a very "dramatic" shape, without providing any tension or interest. If the show followed the trajectory described by the Chorus, there would be no need to stage the intermediate scenes at all,as he provides a rather long-winded summary of everything that happens off-stage. As a dramatic figure, the Chorus is entirely counterproductive, just as the story is entirely counterproductive as dramatic material. Both are simply too one-dimensional in perspective, both suggest the end too soon. Fortunately, Shakespeare uses the action of the play to subvert what would otherwise sound like a monolithic narrative of the story. In the first act, for example, the Chorus promises "two mighty monarchs" (1.0.20). Shakespeare delivers two greedy clerics. There's a similar ploy in Act II, when talk of royalty in Southampton leads straight to a London tavern. In the fourth act, the Chorus reports a pep talk from the King with the whimsical comment: "behold, how can unworthiness be defined / A little touch from Harry in the night" (4.0.46-47). What follows is a morally sophisticated discussion of kingship and its responsibilities. The presence of the chorus is a constant reminder of how historical and dramatic techniques diverge, for Shakespeare, to the point of being ironically irreconcilable. It is not just the truths of the chorus and the dramatic action that are at odds in Henry V. Shakespeare also complicates matters by dividing the dramatic action into two (sometimes intersecting) plot lines. The story of the king, his nobles, and their military coup represents the "historical" plot: morally impregnable, unshakable in its ultimate goal of victory, and, of course, well known to anyone with a remedial knowledge of English history. To support the official perspective of the story, however, there is a comic plot, dramatically interesting but forced by a crude group of no historians. Their presence in the work is a constant reminder of history's "forgetfulness" when it comes to the common man, its tendency to simplify the cast of characters in historical actions to those with wealth and power. Shakespeare uses the comic plot to bring these non-nobles back onto the stage of history, for they demand things of it that their royal counterpoints happily gloss over. Shakespeare's first glimpse of this comic plot is at the beginning of the second act, when the scene suddenly shifts to a London tavern and a deathbed. The setting is familiar because it is the former haunt of Prince Hal, now King Henry. But the atmosphere could not be more different from that of the plays of Henry IV. There is no revelry, no drunkenness, no witty banter. The pall of the dying Falstaff looms over everything. “The king has killed his heart,” Mistress Quickly intones solemnly (2.1.87). Bardolph agrees, and Nym adds, "The King has treated the knight ill-humouredly, that is the point" (2.1.120-121). The fat knight was sufficient for the task of serving as Prince Hal's partying companion, but the historically dignified King Henry cannot bear such a ridiculous figure. She then excludes him from her life, just as history eliminates these men of “vile” quality from its annals. Although Falstaff has all the makings of him as the favorite dramatic figure of HIV comedies, the story, like Harry, cannot accommodate the complications he brings. He is poor, intemperate, morally dubious, ridiculous. These are not qualities that are recorded in history, but they make for interesting drama. By killing Falstaff at the beginning of HV, Shakespeare seems to accuse the story of hiding its more "common" participants and thus making itself tasteless, undramatic, and unreliable. Henry's denial of Falstaff later instigates a rather absurd but revealing discussion of the historical story. greatness between captains Fluellen and Gower. Fluellen asks Gower what the birthplace of "Alexander the Pig" wasso that a comparison can be drawn between the great conqueror of the story and their own King Harry (4.7.13). The joke, of course, is that the stammering Fluellen can't pronounce the letter B. "The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the enormous, or the magnanimous, they are all the same," he retorts when Gower corrects his sentence. (4.7.15-17). The jokes are funny, but like all comedic plot, Shakespeare uses them to say something very serious. The "great" characters in history, he slyly implies, often behave in the dirtiest ways. As Fluellen develops his In comparison, Shakespeare's criticism becomes more apparent. "As Alexander slew his friend Cleitus, while he drank ale and cups," explains the Welshman, "so also Henry Monmouth, being of sound mind and sense, drove away the fat knight in the big-bellied doublet.. .I forget his name" (4.7.44-49). Is it possible that Falstaff will be forgotten so soon? The answer is yes, since, as Shakespeare unhappily observes in this little dialogue, the protagonists of the story, the "little pigs", have a habit of excluding all their little friends when they assume power. Fluellen notes the parallel situations because he thinks the monarchs' rejection of personal ties was what allowed them to become great. Shakespeare would probably have said that this allowed them to become "pigs", but not great. In fact, upon ascending the throne, Henry obtains a crown, but loses personality and humanity. It has become official and morally simple as a historical document. If Falstaff's death was an indication that the historical Harry is not the dramatic Hal, the subsequent comic plot shows that the aristocratic king is not the same as the "man-of-the-people" Prince. Henry is rich, powerful and a figure who belongs in history. He demonstrates that he has an aristocratic historical consciousness when, speaking of all his troops, he hopes that the chronicles "with their mouths full will speak / Speak freely of our deeds, otherwise our grave / As a dumb Turk will have a mouth without a tongue" (1.2 .231-233). What the king doesn't understand is that history remembers monarchs and not the masses. His distance from the ethos of the everyman is further underlined by his masked encounter with soldiers Court, Bates and Williams. Bates complains that the dispute with France belongs only to the king, even if his soldiers are paying the price. “I wish he were here alone,” she says of Harry, “so he should be sure of being redeemed and saving the lives of many poor people” (4.1.119-120). The king's actions have historical ramifications, but those most profoundly affected are those that history forgets: the impoverished soldier, the destitute widow, the abandoned orphan, and all the other "poor men's lives" that go unrecorded. For Harry, however, these are not individuals, but "subjects" and "every subject's duty is the King's, but every subject's soul is his own" (4.1.174-175). On the battlefields of history there is no personal responsibility or moral surrender. Harry transfers his responsibility from his person to his office and encourages his subjects to do the same as they serve the King's office. Once again, Shakespeare contrasts Henry's historical sensibilities with the dramatic sensibilities of the comic commoners. While the king sees the war as a morally declared achievement, the soldiers raise more complicated questions about the moral authority of the ruler and the relationship between the "common cause" and the common man. These concerns, however, like story and drama, are mutually exclusive. For the historical events of war to occur, the dramatic complications of personal responsibility must not interfere. Likewise, in order for the moral complexities of the drama to be fully investigated, the simplejustifications of history must be self-denying. No true "historical" king can have the "dramatic" interests of the individual at heart. This is not a hasty conclusion, as Henry spends much time pondering the nature of kingship. Just as Shakespeare is concerned with the gap between historical and dramatic interpretations of truth, the King is concerned with the space between the sovereign as an individual and as a holder of office. King Henry is the historical figure of this couple, Harry the man the dramatic one. Therefore, quick and simple decisions for the king are often complicated and painful decisions for the man. For an effective ruler, as Shakespeare shows, it is almost impossible to be a fully "dramatic" man, interested in the personal and moral complexities that accompany the action. Likewise, such a man cannot be a truly “historical” figure, for the conclusion of these chronicles of the past requires heroes who think and act with an unshakable sense of absolute righteousness. Henry V testifies to Harry's full assumption of his "historical" role, as well as his rejection of his "dramatic" role. That he initially has difficulty choosing between the two is made clear in the second act, when the King exposes the treachery of Cambridge, Scroop and Grey. “We seek no vengeance where our persons are concerned,” he tells them, “but we must be so concerned for the safety of our kingdom, / whose ruin you have sought, that to its laws / we deliver you” (2.2.175-178 ). He punishes their subterfuge, he explains, not out of personal anger at his would-be assassins, but out of royal concern for national well-being. Yet Harry isn't quite King Henry at this point, because as much as he tries to banish personal feelings from his royal rhetoric, he can't. He says to the traitors:...My lord of Cambridge here, you know how fitted our love was to furnish him with all the appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man lightly conspired for a few light crowns to kill us here in Hampton. By which this knight, no less bound to us by generosity than is Cambridge, has likewise sworn. - But oh, what must I tell you, Lord Scroop, you cruel, ungrateful, savage, inhuman creature, did you know the key to all my advice? You knew the depths of my soul (2.2.84-97) It is clear that Harry's person is actually "touched" by this perfidy, despite claims to the contrary. He shifts from the real “we” – his historical voice – to the self-referential “I” – his dramatic voice – despite strained efforts to maintain the dignity of his office. The pain caused by Scroop's betrayal triggers some of the most emotional words spoken by Henry in the entire play. "Ungrateful, savage, inhuman creature" calls the conspirator Lord. However, as Harry gradually gains mastery of his rhetoric, he comes to relinquish all such personal investments in state politics. Abandon the complicated credibility of man for the simple battle cry of the ruler. "No king of England, but king of France!" he declares at the end of the scene. Shakespeare makes it clear in this scene that as long as he allows his dramatic sensibilities to flare, Harry will never truly be a viable historical king. By suppressing the complex and embracing the absolute, however, a fully formed King Henry emerges, ready to pursue his short-sighted quest to the ends of the earth. When Henry comes to embrace history, however, Shakespeare avoids it by showing how he creates a ruler who is, as William Hazlitt observes, "a very amiable monster, a very splendid sight." fades away, allowing Henry to move with the rapid absolutism that the story demands. Shakespeare's hero now belongs to history and not to drama. At the gates of Harfleurwar-ravaged, for example, Henry coldly warns the governor that if the city does not surrender, the English will have "their most reverent heads cast against the walls, / [their] naked children spat upon pikes" (3.3.37- 38). Following this dire threat, he offers the city two options possible only in the morally reductive pages of the story: "What do you say? Will you give in and avoid this? / Or, guilty in defense, will you be thus destroyed?" (3.3.41-42). Henry refuses to admit the possibility of any action that is not entirely right (i.e. English) or entirely wrong (i.e. French), despite indicting the Harfleurians for the very crime from which he absolves his own soldiers: serving the wishes of their king . Furthermore, the King fails to see the parallel between the English attack on France and the Scottish weasel's invasion of England (1.2.170). If a dramatic hero should eventually realize his folly and his compromise, the hero of the story must be absolutely unyielding. Defender or offender, all Harry knows is that England is always right. He brings this attitude to the post-war negotiating table with France, where he tells his defeated colleagues "you must buy that peace/ In full accord with all our just demands" (5.2.70-71). Victory and peace always bring the curtain down on history, but for the playwright this is a very unsatisfactory ending. Because the drama is not about winning or losing, but about learning. The effectiveness of the ending depends on some knowledge acquired and revealed during the work. But history, as the cliché goes, repeats itself, and so does Harry. The king consistently fails to address the dramatic issues that arise - his right to the French throne, his threats to Harfleur, his losing attack at Agincourt - and, indeed, Henry seems to unlearn some of the humanity he left emerge. out while chastising Scroop at the start of the game. In this way, Shakespeare suggests that the historical hero is the very antithesis of the dramatic hero. Indeed, while the dramatic hero comes to know himself and his world in the final act, the historical hero ends up alienated from himself, a chameleon whose color corresponds to whatever task he is performing. It may seem absurd to say that someone who fills many non-dramatic roles, but Henry is an actor on the stage of the story, and for Shakespeare this is obviously an important distinction. The actors in the drama represent the people; actors in history always play caricatures. A dramatic role requires a nuanced performance that represents the multifaceted nature of human existence; all of Henry's roles relate to the individual needs of his kingship. Whether playing Harry Le Roi, the brave captain, or the merciful conqueror, Henry dedicates his performance to his crown. There is nothing in his histrionics to suggest that he has anything other than a Machiavelli-like interest in creating a character of reasonable verisimilitude. Harry's great coup as a historical actor coincides with the final scene of the play, in which he courts the French princess Katharine. “She is our capital demand,” Henry announces to the King and Queen, and the room empties so that he can make the appropriate overtures to his would-be bride (5.2.96). He briefly tries to plead with her with poetry, but switches to a blunt prose style when he realizes that this approach better suits her needs. Playing the sincere lover, Henry wins the French princess with the same resolve with which he won the French crown. Although marriage is supposed to be a union based on personal affection, Shakespeare implies that this is yet another of Harry's political maneuvers. While kissing a formal Kate.