“‘Vice, Parasite Fool, Braggart, Soldier, Corrupt Glutton, Seducer of Youth. Cowardly Liar.’ Falstaff is, in fact, all of these and yet none in particular; he both defects and absorbs such labels” (64). While it has been some great while since I indulged Harold Bloom’s Shakespeare: Invention of the Human, one thing I do not miss is his Literary Litmus-Test Criticism and the broken record-esque charge that no character in the Shakespearean tradition comes close to possessing any transcendental capacities as Sir John Falstaff in Henry the Fourth (Hamlet, according to Bloom, comes close, as does Iago, and Cleopatra). Nevertheless, as I’ve reread this beautiful play in the second Tetrology of Shakespeare’s History plays, and perhaps without question the better of the two, I’ve forgotten how transcendent, how dynamic, how full of bravado, and how funny Falstaff really is. Yet, valorizing Falstaff in such a way does not serve much for my post, so I will limit my blank praise here. In light of the Bristol and Poole articles, I see a unified theme when regarding this ridiculously brilliant character: the individual plight to transcend amidst struggle. This struggle is obviously manifested in the political upheaval that guides the main-plot of the play between the Percy’s (Those who believe that Henry illegitimately usurped the throne from Richard, who was, after all, a king of Divine Right) and Henry—occupant of the throne. However, other struggles seemed to crystallize rather easily. Youth versus age. Nobility and gentry versus the plebian masses. And, as Bristol notes in his article, and as we saw in last class: Carnival and Lent engage in a struggle before, during, and after the “Lenten truce of God”, and is clearly applicable to this play (645). As Bristol notes, “The combat is a way of representing both the rivalry and struggle between two competing trades, and a compensatory mechanism for mediating that struggle” (645). In other words, taking turns between revelry and inescapable human tendencies toward vice, and an insatiable (though not always insatiably upheld) desire to do God’s will and live within the calculus of Christian righteousness. Conversely, there is Falstaff, and, as Poole cites, nobody references scripture in this play more than Sir John (26 out of 54 allusions). Moreover, Poole’s ambitious claim, that Falstaff does not run contrary, but rather “epitomizes the image of the grotesque puritan” (54) exhibits, perhaps, a new way of regarding this character that seems to embody both hero and anti-hero. I could not help but be reminded of Falstaff when Poole Cites Geoffrey Jones: “The priest, repenting his vow of abstinence, took of a specific meaning of go as ‘to move on one’s feet, to walk,’ and arranged to be carried to the alehouse on another man’s back—thus circumventing his oath” (56). I would like to juxtapose Poole’s text with Falstaff’s circumvention in H.IV. V.I. 133:
What is honor? A word. What is in that word honor? What is that honor? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died a’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No ‘Tis insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will[‘t] not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it, honor is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.”
Falstaff’s indulgence in revel, dishonor, guise, masquerade, and the grotesque body does not undermine his character, but empowers him through misrule, while remaining, before the other characters, as well as his spectators, undeniably human. “Like all clowns, he is on familiar terms with every other character. Equally important, hew is part of the contemporaneous space and time of the audience” (650). Yet, I cannot see Sir John as a mere clown, or a foil to the noble Prince Hal. Nor, can I take for face value that King Henry’s admonishment to his son motivates him to relinquish the revelries of his companions. There is something undoubtedly flimsy in the King’s comparisons of Hal to Richard. Richard sought flatterers and was economically and symbolically unsound in his leadership. For Hal, misrule is the only way he can learn how to rule, or in the words of Bristol: “Misrule replaces official ideology with improvisatory competence” (651). Citing Bristol again, “Equally important in the language of Carnival is the rhythm of struggle, mock combat, and succession” (644). This language of the carnival is purely exemplified in Falstaff. Things “are not as they seem”, and this “rhythm of struggle” is the score to Falstaff’s bravado:
“If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry is a sin, then many an old host that I know is damn’d. If to be fat be to be fate, then Pharoh’s [lean] kine are to be lov’d….banish not him thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy Harry’s company—banish plump Jack, and banich all the world.” (2.4.470-80)
If, “The language of Carnival discloses the hidden interconnectedness between living and dead matter” (644) then what we are dealing with here is the point of convergence where opposing forces of death and life, honor and failure, youth and age, and valiance and disgust, coexist: a liminal space inhabited in the brave mind of Sir John, filled with “Rare words!” and a “Brave world!”, that we also inhabit by way of the theater. I am venturing into the realm of small paper-length so I will end here. I look forward to your posts!
“We have Art in order that we may not perish from Truth.”- F.W. Nietzsche
While Falstaff comes across as very much a Rabelesian figure, Prince Hal strikes me as somewhat more Machievellian. He is not a drunkard though he attends the tavern and associates with drunks -- this seems more a role/persona that he adopts for the sake of his own self-education. In fact, as much as Falstaff, Poins, and others can be viewed as guiding or mentoring the Prince, he really does seem much more in control of his own learning, choosing when and how far things progress. In this respect the Prince is far more calculating than is generally assumed by Falstaff, King Henry, or Hotspur.
The Prince's forays into the common life of drinking, cursing, and knavery are a knowing transgression of a person of a higher class into the world of a lower. He remains confident of his control over the situation. This apparent errancy is merely a guise to be shed -- a calculated stunt to earn admiration for his reform:
"And like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; Redeeming time when men think least I will."
(his soliloquy at the end of Act I. Scene 2).
The Prince is clever and not blind to Falstaff's hypocrisy, schemes, and deceits. That Falstaff educates the Prince is almost accidental -- Falstaff seeming to be more motivated by self-perservation and the urge to bring the two them to equal footing for his own purposes. As we see in the robbery episode, Falstaff the trickster is the one who is tricked. In fact, the Prince throughout the play subverts Falstaff's efforts to create equality by reinforcing differences. Falstaff's cursing and insulting of the Prince tries to make them equal. The Prince's rebuttals and counters (both in word and action) serve to reinstate class differences between them.
It might also be interesting to look at how the four humors are referenced and invoked in the play. While Hotspur is clearly choleric (yellow bile) and easily driven to anger ("drunk with choler") (Act I, Scene 3), it is harder to see what humors govern the dispositions of the other characters.
Drunkenness as a loss of control, or as an out of control behavior seems most present in Falstaff who is not just drunk on alcohol, but drunk on his own deceiving and Hotspur who we see over and over again caught up in anger and indignity and ultimately losing his wife (she rejects him) and his life .
To begin, Trisha and I are leading the discussion this week and we’re looking forward to it. Henry IV pt. 1 is a dense work and I’m eager to see how much we’re able to unpack. I’m going to begin by focusing on the themes of Clowns and Carnival. Trisha will follow up by talking about the role of Acting and Actors. We look forward to hearing what you all have to say as well and, in the spirit of Carnival, we are ready and willing to be decrowned by the bunch of you clowns (in fact, Cody and Neil have beaten us to the punch). In particular, we look forward to hearing what you have to say about the Falstaff debate (*cough* Seth). Kristen Poole notes that the real Oldcastle is “torn apart” in this play. She writes that Oldcastle’s “qualities as a traitor and militant religious leader are dispersed among other characters in the play; the historical Oldcastle is dismembered (69). We are also curious as to what role you think alcoholic spirits play—for example, in 2.2 14-16 where Falstaff says that Hal must have given him some potion to make him love him, is he referring to alcohol? Or in 3.1 179-181 is Worchester somehow implying Hotspur is drunk (on will?) when he says: “Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage / Defects of manners, want of government, / Pride, haughtiness , opinion, and disdain.”
Carnival
In their introduction to the Bedford Shakespeare edition of the text, the editors note that Henry IV pt. 1 brought in some of the largest box office receipts on record for that time and was reprinted in 7 quarto editions between the years 1598-1622 (6). If nothing else, this signifies that the play was immensely popular. This might be, in part, because the play is a history or docudrama. However, in the introduction to Rabelias, Bakhtin notes that “carnival is not a spectacle seen by the people; they live in it, and everyone participates because its very idea embraces all people. While carnival lasts, there is no life outside it” (7). Michael Bristol seems to echo this sentiment in his essay on Elizabethan theater. I’m interested in trying to locate the carnival within Henry IV pt. 1. In doing so we might be able to determine if the carnival atmosphere over flows from the stage and infects the audience. Certainly Eastcheap’s tavern might be such a locale. It’s a place where people of all classes gather and where class boundaries are blurred. And this blurring seems to be celebrated. In 2.4, 7-12 Hal seems pleased that the waiters in Eastcheap treat him as a common person: “They (the waiters) take it already upon their salvation that, though I be but the Prince of Wales, yet I am king of courtesy, and tell me flatly that I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy—by Lord, so they call me!—and when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads of Eastcheap.” However, the carnival in this play seems anti-Bakhtinian. In Henry IV it’s the ruling class that’s partying, while the working class remains quite sober. And the joke that Hal and Ned play on the Drawer later on this in this act seems to indicate that it’s only those in the ruling class who are in on the joke (28-66) . So is Eastcheap’s a locus for the carnivalesque? Does Bakhtin’s definition of carnival hold in this play? Michael Bristol argues that carnival is a conservative process employed by the working class in order to “conserve the authority of the community to a set standards of behavior” and that it is “a channel into which popular energies may flow in order to resist any resented expropriation or arbitrary change imposed by constitutional authority” (646). Is the rebellion led by Hotspur a sort of carnival in this tradition? With whom are the common people watching this play supposed to empathize?
Also, I am interested in the idea that carnival and theater exist within some liminal space outside of place and time. Time is indeterminate in Eastcheap’s. We see this in 2.1 1-9 where Falstaff asks Hal the time, and later in 2.4 420-424 where the Sheriff is confused as to whether it is night or morning.
Clowns
Obviously Falstaff is a clown in this play. He seems aware of his role insomuch as the character exuberantly embraces it. But, by Bristol’s definition, a clown is also someone who “[brings] abstract categories down to earth, is...an equivocator, a ‘corruptor of words’” (650). Trisha and I noticed that Hal and Hotspur are also “corruptors of words.” Hal changes his diction depending on to whom or where he is speaking—we see this pretty clearly when comparing how he speaks to Falstaff and how he speaks to his father. Hotspur is very much an equivocator. For example, in 2.3 65-66 Lady Percy asks “What carries you away?” and Hotspur replies, “Why, my horse, my love, my horse.” If Hal and Hotspur are, in some sense, clowns, what role do they serve?
Hi, everyone. While Bryan and I initially decided to split up our Henry IV posts between the topics of Clowns and Carnival (him) and Acting/Actors and Theatre (me), there's a lot of overlap between the two subjects that I hope we will be able to tease out even further in class than we will be able to do on this message board.
I'd like to use a Bristol quote about Carnival to begin my discussion about Henry IV's treatment of the themes of theatricality and acting:
"The relationship between symbol and referent is incongruity, contradiction instead of similitude. The grotesque inappropriateness of Carnival masquerade reveals the arbitrariness and impermanence in the relationship between the biological individual and his claims and pretensions to a fixed social status and identity" (Bristol 642).
Henry IV is a play that self-consciously takes up the issue of mutable and sometimes incongruous identities. Through the characters of King Henry IV, Hal, and Hotspur, the play brings to the fore questions about the intersections between one's person, one's actions, one's social roles, and one's environment. King Henry starts us out in 1.3:1-7 by drawing attention to the fact that sometimes one's social role must take precedence over one's personality: "My blood hath been too cold and temperate,/ Unapt to stir at these indignities,/ And you have found me, for accordingly/ You tread upon my patience. But be sure/ I will from henceforth rather be myself,/ Mighty and to be feared, than my condition,/ Which has been smooth as oil, soft as young down." Though Henry's temperament is naturally phlegmatic and forgiving (as is proven not just by what he says here but by his offers of absolution to the traitors in 5.1), his social and political role as King demands that, at times, he must subordinate himself to the demands of his Kingship. Henry IV's ability to read other people and the environment in order to identify the crucial times that necessitate such a subordination, as well as his willingess and ability to fully inhabit his kingly role at such times, combine to make him both an effective and worthy leader.
Hal's failure to subordinate himself and his desires to his role as Prince constitutes the King's main complaint against his son. Of course, Hal's actions and even personality seem to undergo a profound change throughout the course of the play. As Bryan noted in his post, Hal changes his diction depending upon his company and context; he also does an unexpected (to me, at least) about-face after he meets with his father, suddenly abandoning his wanton ways and living up to his obligations as heir to the throne. In this, he proves himself a true son to his father in that he, like King Henry, is able to read the times and act appropriately, inhabiting his social and political role when necessary rather than acting according to his personal desires. To use another quote from Bristol: "The parodic discourse of Carnival is...a discourse of process and change rather than one of static and timeless categories" (Bristol 644). Is this play, like Carnival, emphasizing the importance of individual "process and change"? To answer that, one would have to decide whether or not Hal actually changes over the course of the play, or if his speech about his plan to "imitate the sun" by throwing off his debauchery at the appropriate moment (1.2:202-224) indicates that he is merely acting various roles rather than undergoing any real transformation. I am very interested to hear others' opinions on this.
Please forgive the long quote from Poole that I've posted below. It seems to argue that part of the tension (and perhaps pleasure) to be derived from the play lies in the possibility that Hal will not be able to cast aside his wicked ways when it is necessary for him to do so.
"This same play at and with social boundaries infuses the Henriad with much of its dramatic energy. Henry IV, Part I in particular is largely driven by Hal's flirtation precisely with the border between authority and subversion, orthodoxy and heresy. Like the anti-Martinists, Hal enters into the terms of carnival subversion, represented and embodied by Falstaff, while still maintaining his position of authority. The danger, however is that the tensions between these two positions might prove stronger than Hal's ability to control and define his own situation -- that the boundary distinguishing the role of the prince from that of the reveler could break before Hal can orchestrate his glorious return to orthodoxy and filial duty. It is just possible -- or at least we are invited to entertain the possibility -- that 'the base contagious clouds' Hal 'permit[s]...to smother up his beauty from the world' could prove too dense, that his plan to imitate the sun could be thwarted by elements beyond his control, and that 'the foul and ugly mists' could indeed strangle him (1HIV, 1.2:193-94 and 197-98). The force of carnival community might overcome his intention to step back into his role as king" (Poole 73-74).
Poole indicates that the corrupting influence of Falstaff and the tavern may be too much for Hal, even though the Prince is quite conscious of the "role" he is playing with his companions and indicates in 1.2 that it is only temporary. This argument by Poole brought Sedgewick to my mind. Is the peril that Poole identifies caused by Hal's acting or by his environment? Which is more powerful locus of inhabitation: role-playing (acting) itself or alcohol/the tavern? Does acting a role change who you are? Does drinking? Or do they merely temporarily affect what you dot? To bring up one of Sedgewick's main concerns, what's at stake here: identity or habitual action?
Finally, the perfect foil to Hal seems to be Hotspur. Here is a character who never changes who he is/how he acts to fit his context. Hotspur is consistently outspoken and choleric (i.e. 1.3 -- interacting with the King and Worcester -- and 3.1 -- interacting with Owen Glendower) which, as other characters point out, is a dangerous trait (Wocester has a great speech lamenting Hotspur's faults in 3.1:182-195). While Hal is a master at fitting into his environment, Hotspur makes his inability to be anything other than what he is a point of pride. He rails against others' false and flattering speech (1.3:259-265), against the diplomatic language of an unfaithful kinsman (2.3:1-36), and against the artful and ornamental language of poetry (3.1:132-139). Hotspur is a warrior, not a diplomat, and I can't help but wonder if he is a Duncan-like figure in this play. Admirable for all his bravery and honesty and faithfulness, he is nevertheless doomed because of his inability to lead as King Henry leads and, presumably, Hal will lead. He is insensitive to his environment and unwilling to adapt to it. Unlike the Boilngbrook Henrys, he refuses to mark the distinction between himself and his condition.
Those are some good, intricate posts, and I enjoyed them. To be brief, I'll post succinct replies to a few of the overlapping or irresistible points in each.
First, as a synthesis of Cody's quotation of Falstaff in V.i and Bryan on my pet motif of things "torn to pieces", I'd like to suggest the subversion of Falstaff's claim of "What is honor? A word" (V.i.132) to qualify as a forthrightly blasphemous, carnivalesque attempt to invert the entire socio-political hierarchy of England. In other words, the totality of English life and culture would be 'torn to pieces' were such a belief to be enacted by the populace and not merely uttered one of its funnier, lazier, more charismatic members.
In particular, the play is founded in rhetoric of honor, beginning with the opening scene's kingly appeal to his subjects' honor so as to incite them to "chase these pagans in those holy fields" (I.i.24). In other words, England, under the direction of a king ruling by divine right, is commencing a Christian crusade via the catalytic challenge by the king-god of his subjects' sense of Christian honor to defend the land "[a]s far as to the sepulcher of Christ", whose "blessed feet...fourteen hundred years ago were nailed / For our advantage on the bitter cross" (I.i.19, 25-7). Yet Falstaff's phenomenologically brave, idiosyncratic disembowelment of the meaning and use of honor undermines the divine right of the king ruling England.
Relatedly, in response to Neil on Prince Hal and Trisha on the "incongruity, contradiction" in the text (via Bristol), I'd like to add notions of thinking of Hal as a synechdoche for our course-long discussion of the will. In a sense, his character could be read as "elect", at least royally, which consequently then implies in England a status of divinity as head of the Church of England. Hence, he can "sin" by cunningly slumming, carousing, and thieving with his tavern pals as, beyond his will, he is heading inexorably for the godliness of a kingship. In fact, to push this and Neil's argument a bit further, one could even claim that Hal's recognition of his elect status permits the very deception allowing his insincerely "common" behavior as a political ruse to aggrandize the value of his strategically forthcoming "reform".
On the other hand, could Hal's character and behavior also offer us a locus for discussing the Catholic power of confession and redemption? After all, upon returning from the tavern to his father to fight at Shrewsbury, he not only performs with kingly valor in general, but he also both saves the life of his father (ie god incarnate, at least for the English), and defeats Hotspur. In other words, one could argue that Hal is redeemed by a righteous display of free will. Thus, Hal has been pardoned by God-Henry for rectifying his behavior (however insincere the sinning).
Likewise, even though Henry had previously chastised Hal as a lesser man for the throne than Hotspur due to the former's scandalous behavior and the latter's dignified valor, Hal chooses to fight in the battle at Shrewsbury ("the Shrewsburies taste like Shrewsburies!"), confront his supposed superior, and conquer him person-to-person through a reconstitution (or at least an Aitkenian reorientation) of his will.
Supporting notions of opposition to the divine right of kings of England might be the collusive clergy intending initially to support an insurrection against Henry. However, this, too, is ambiguous. First, the clergy revert from supporting to opposing the insurrection out of a fear of violating divine right themselves, thereby displaying a loyalty to the concept and its deified leader. Second, one should note Henry's angst over divine right in assuming the throne through his displacement of Richard II, himself a legitimate king ruling by divine right. That, too, can correspond to Henry's assumption of the throne as a sort of carnivalesque inversion of the political order via the disregard for the hierarchy and corporality/materiality of divine right, whereby heirs to the throne are a consequence of continuous regeneration and rebirth, but through the mask of kingship. Of course, in true carnivalesque fashion, the phallus can be disembodied and mobile, depending upon the needs of the state (as even exemplified by the aforementioned moment of Henry's consideration of Hotspur as a potential heir to the throne due to his superior mettle to Hal's). And, then, once installed, the king of course achieves his apotheosis through the royal mask, costumes, and rituals representing divine right (including the phallus-in-hand scepter, or the phallus-sword that redeems Hal by rendering Hotspur "for worms", V.iv.87).
Also, if the king of England represents god, and the king is unjustly debased, then perhaps the blaspheme is "tearing to bits" the socio-political infrastructure of England. Thus King Henry IV has torn himself to bits in violating Richard II's divine right. Or perhaps it's England herself being torn to bits (while, historically speaking, the country struggles with its understanding of its political leadership). Or perhaps I'm merely tearing this idea itself to bits.... In any case, I've enjoyed your posts, and I look forward to class.
I liked our brief discussion of Temperance last class (intertextuality!). An interesting difference emerges when we contrast how Spenser thought about Temperance in Book II and how the anti-drinking writers viewed it. For Guyon, temperance is something that one internalizes and acts out. During his series of encounters with intemperate characters, Guyon’s temperance is sometimes manifested as simple avoidance (e.g., Mammon offers him the opportunity for courtly advancement, Spanish gold, etc.—all of which Guyon rejects), and other times as an active repulsion (his duels with Pyrochles; Acrasia). So Temperance isn’t just a psychological state, but a way of life, a virtue is only a virtue after you pass the test, after you have performed it. Of course, trial and struggle are things we first examined in relation to the Erasmus/Luther debate on freewill.
In A Looking Glasse for Drunkards, the author cautions against drink, saying that wine: maketh the mind a harbour of lewd thoughts, and revealeth all secrets, as the old Provert hath it, In wine there is truth. In a word, it taken away understanding, it blindeth the judgement, the affections are overtaken, the desires intrapped, the thoughts suppressed and all inward parts and powers of the soul perverted and out of order. (5)
This passage seems to preclude the idea of struggle. The drunkard, as this author imagines it, is categorically beyond the threshold of deliberation and interpretation. Faustus, at least as he is dramatically represented, seemed to have genuine moments of choice; his struggle over morality and religion is the point of the play. Drunkards, in contrast, lack all possibility of will.
Given this model of drunkenness, it’s interesting to see how Shakespeare complicates the equivocations set forth in the pamphlets: drunkenness equals intemperance (lack of self-governance) and inversely, sobriety equals temperance (self-control, the ability to exert one’s will). In 1 Henry IV, the characters who are intemperate are not necessarily the drunkards. It is not Falstaff or the tavern people who are the most intemperate or who lack the most self-governance, but Hotspur. As his nickname suggests, Hotspur seems to have an excess of hot blood and choler. He has a manic quality which other characters observe when they interact with him. After his meeting with Henry IV, Hotspur rants for many hundreds of lines, until even his own kinsman Northumberland is exasperated: “why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool / Art thou to break into this woman’s mood, / Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!” (1.3.236-8). This is an ironic comment: Hotspur is called the best example of masculinity and chivalry by Hal, but by his own uncle, he is compared to a foolishly garrulous woman. Just as Hotspur’s linguistic loss of control is a symptom of his intemperance, so too his sleep talking. Kate reveals that Hotspur sleep talks (just like Lady Macbeth!!!) of “sallies and retires, of trenches, tents …” (2.3.51), and that “Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, / And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep” (2.3.56-7). Just as the drunkard’s intemperate consumption of alcohol “maketh the mind a harbour of lewd thoughts,” so Hotspur’s intemperance leads him to harbour treasonous and rebellious thoughts. It is as if Hotspur physically manifests the internal effects of “all inward parts and powers of the soul perverted and out of order”—he launches himself into a civil war thereby causing the land to be “perverted and out of order.”
Because Hotspur’s intemperance is highlighted again and again, I think he becomes a foil not only to Hal (he certainly acts in that function), but also Falstaff and the tavern crowd. Hotspur and Falstaff are excessive to the point of being grotesquely laughable in their own ways. I must leave off here, but I wonder if anyone else might venture to analyze the parallelism between Hotspur and Falstaff (if such a similarity exists, but I think it does).
I have only a few minutes to post, but I wanted to shout out my appreciation for one of the secondary readings—“Carnival and the Institutions of Theater in Elizabethan England.” Read it if you can! It’s quick and painless, an illuminating use of Bakhtin to read Shakespeare. The author, Michael Bristol, proposes that professional Elizabethan theater is grounded in plebeian culture and the Carnival spirit. Being rooted in these non-institutional folk traditions, Elizabethan theater is peculiarly given to critiquing and parodying the established social structures and imagining alternatives to the political order. As Bristol explains it, “the ordinary relationship between signifier and signified is disrupted and conventional meaning is parodied” (641). This would explain the frequent gender-bending in Shakespeare and the subtle—and sometimes not-so-subtle—questioning of authority that runs through much of Shakespeare’s drama.
In view of Bristol’s essay, I’m interested in the ways that Henry IV Part One and Macbeth both can be read as radical re-imaginings of authority. Macbeth, for example, is shown to be a usurper, illegitimate in his authority. Many 17th century viewers must have seen Macbeth—the play--as calling for the establishment and maintenance of legitimate authority. I’m wondering, though, if Macbeth be read instead as a critique of ALL kingly authority? Is it possible that Shakespeare is using the character of Macbeth as a representative of all kings? Is it possible, through a narrative that seemingly upholds the rule of law, that Shakespeare is imagining all monarchical authority as usurped and illegitmate?
I’m also wondering if Shakespeare’s rendering of Hal as a kind of plebeian royalty is a way of undermining the political hierarchy—of communicating the absence of difference between Hal and the rabble. Were narrative depictions in which royalty patronized alehouses and committed petty crime common at all? Of course, Hal does end up redeeming himself (as befits a future king), but not before leaving the audience with knowledge of his commonness.
Haven't gotten to the critical texts yet, but wanted to chime in anyway, as my schedule has me lagging behind this week. So much to read, even just here. The class outdid itself this week.
Responding to Penny:
I too was intrigued by the idea of connecting Hotspur and Falstaff and seeing where they connect and diverge. You say both are "grotesquely laughable" in their own ways. It seems a key thing to look at here is the question of honor. For Falstaff, it is just a word, a mere "scutcheon (5.1, 139), but for Hotspur, who is described as being "drunk with choler" after his audience with the king, honor is a matter of great importance, something that pushes him toward blood-plots and schemes of revenge. Shakespeare is far more psychologically astute, I suppose it's safe to say, than the authors of the drinking pamphlets we read last week. The bar isn't the danger; you can be an impostor in a geographical place, as the Prince of Slumming It shows. But you can't escape your internal spaces, your temperament, and for Hotspur that is a space that has too great a mixture of cholera -- he cannot control his anger, and that is shown to be worse than the ability to control your drink.
have been reading Henry IV with a particular interest in the way in which the concerns for the morality of the era in the literature we’ve read can perhaps be read as being ultimately contingent upon what might be headed up under the notion of a kind of temporal authenticity, or faithfulness to the processes of time’s passing. There are multiple instances in the play of temperance being likened to or described by the steady rhythms of nature, and in contrast, it’s as if that which is devilish is almost always attributed with qualities owing to “cozening” time. In particular, I think of the speech made by the Prince, detailing his plan to unleash his “new” character in time, or out of time, as it were. The King, on the other hand, makes his grandiloquent remarks on the kind of traits necessary in a good king by employing the same trope of time: “No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem/ Your banished honors and restore yourselves/ Into the good thoughts of the world again; / Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt/ Of this proud King, who studies day and night/ To answer all the debt he owes to you.” Ironically, however, I think there is a certain wisdom inherent in the rationale of the Prince, when he declares,”If all the year were playing holidays/ To sport`would be as tedious as work.” Furthermore, I think back to the the Sedgewick essay once again, specifically to her description of the tensions at work in the regulation of the will, and conclude that there must be something redemptive in maintaining fidelity to the vicissitudes of an unadulterated experience of temporal constraints.
10 comments:
“‘Vice, Parasite Fool, Braggart, Soldier, Corrupt Glutton, Seducer of Youth. Cowardly Liar.’ Falstaff is, in fact, all of these and yet none in particular; he both defects and absorbs such labels” (64). While it has been some great while since I indulged Harold Bloom’s Shakespeare: Invention of the Human, one thing I do not miss is his Literary Litmus-Test Criticism and the broken record-esque charge that no character in the Shakespearean tradition comes close to possessing any transcendental capacities as Sir John Falstaff in Henry the Fourth (Hamlet, according to Bloom, comes close, as does Iago, and Cleopatra).
Nevertheless, as I’ve reread this beautiful play in the second Tetrology of Shakespeare’s History plays, and perhaps without question the better of the two, I’ve forgotten how transcendent, how dynamic, how full of bravado, and how funny Falstaff really is. Yet, valorizing Falstaff in such a way does not serve much for my post, so I will limit my blank praise here. In light of the Bristol and Poole articles, I see a unified theme when regarding this ridiculously brilliant character: the individual plight to transcend amidst struggle. This struggle is obviously manifested in the political upheaval that guides the main-plot of the play between the Percy’s (Those who believe that Henry illegitimately usurped the throne from Richard, who was, after all, a king of Divine Right) and Henry—occupant of the throne. However, other struggles seemed to crystallize rather easily. Youth versus age. Nobility and gentry versus the plebian masses. And, as Bristol notes in his article, and as we saw in last class: Carnival and Lent engage in a struggle before, during, and after the “Lenten truce of God”, and is clearly applicable to this play (645). As Bristol notes, “The combat is a way of representing both the rivalry and struggle between two competing trades, and a compensatory mechanism for mediating that struggle” (645). In other words, taking turns between revelry and inescapable human tendencies toward vice, and an insatiable (though not always insatiably upheld) desire to do God’s will and live within the calculus of Christian righteousness.
Conversely, there is Falstaff, and, as Poole cites, nobody references scripture in this play more than Sir John (26 out of 54 allusions). Moreover, Poole’s ambitious claim, that Falstaff does not run contrary, but rather “epitomizes the image of the grotesque puritan” (54) exhibits, perhaps, a new way of regarding this character that seems to embody both hero and anti-hero. I could not help but be reminded of Falstaff when Poole
Cites Geoffrey Jones: “The priest, repenting his vow of abstinence, took of a specific meaning of go as ‘to move on one’s feet, to walk,’ and arranged to be carried to the alehouse on another man’s back—thus circumventing his oath” (56). I would like to juxtapose Poole’s text with Falstaff’s circumvention in H.IV. V.I. 133:
What is honor? A word. What is in that word honor? What is that honor? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died a’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No ‘Tis insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will[‘t] not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it, honor is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.”
Falstaff’s indulgence in revel, dishonor, guise, masquerade, and the grotesque body does not undermine his character, but empowers him through misrule, while remaining, before the other characters, as well as his spectators, undeniably human. “Like all clowns, he is on familiar terms with every other character. Equally important, hew is part of the contemporaneous space and time of the audience” (650). Yet, I cannot see Sir John as a mere clown, or a foil to the noble Prince Hal. Nor, can I take for face value that King Henry’s admonishment to his son motivates him to relinquish the revelries of his companions. There is something undoubtedly flimsy in the King’s comparisons of Hal to Richard. Richard sought flatterers and was economically and symbolically unsound in his leadership. For Hal, misrule is the only way he can learn how to rule, or in the words of Bristol: “Misrule replaces official ideology with improvisatory competence” (651). Citing Bristol again, “Equally important in the language of Carnival is the rhythm of struggle, mock combat, and succession” (644). This language of the carnival is purely exemplified in Falstaff. Things “are not as they seem”, and this “rhythm of struggle” is the score to Falstaff’s bravado:
“If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry is a sin, then many an old host that I know is damn’d. If to be fat be to be fate, then Pharoh’s [lean] kine are to be lov’d….banish not him thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy Harry’s company—banish plump Jack, and banich all the world.” (2.4.470-80)
If, “The language of Carnival discloses the hidden interconnectedness between living and dead matter” (644) then what we are dealing with here is the point of convergence where opposing forces of death and life, honor and failure, youth and age, and valiance and disgust, coexist: a liminal space inhabited in the brave mind of Sir John, filled with “Rare words!” and a “Brave world!”, that we also inhabit by way of the theater. I am venturing into the realm of small paper-length so I will end here. I look forward to your posts!
“We have Art in order that we may not perish from Truth.”- F.W. Nietzsche
While Falstaff comes across as very much a Rabelesian figure, Prince Hal strikes me as somewhat more Machievellian. He is not a drunkard though he attends the tavern and associates with drunks -- this seems more a role/persona that he adopts for the sake of his own self-education. In fact, as much as Falstaff, Poins, and others can be viewed as guiding or mentoring the Prince, he really does seem much more in control of his own learning, choosing when and how far things progress. In this respect the Prince is far more calculating than is generally assumed by Falstaff, King Henry, or Hotspur.
The Prince's forays into the common life of drinking, cursing, and knavery are a knowing transgression of a person of a higher class into the world of a lower. He remains confident of his control over the situation. This apparent errancy is merely a guise to be shed -- a calculated stunt to earn admiration for his reform:
"And like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time when men think least I will."
(his soliloquy at the end of Act I. Scene 2).
The Prince is clever and not blind to Falstaff's hypocrisy, schemes, and deceits. That Falstaff educates the Prince is almost accidental -- Falstaff seeming to be more motivated by self-perservation and the urge to bring the two them to equal footing for his own purposes. As we see in the robbery episode, Falstaff the trickster is the one who is tricked. In fact, the Prince throughout the play subverts Falstaff's efforts to create equality by reinforcing differences. Falstaff's cursing and insulting of the Prince tries to make them equal. The Prince's rebuttals and counters (both in word and action) serve to reinstate class differences between them.
It might also be interesting to look at how the four humors are referenced and invoked in the play. While Hotspur is clearly choleric (yellow bile) and easily driven to anger ("drunk with choler") (Act I, Scene 3), it is harder to see what humors govern the dispositions of the other characters.
Drunkenness as a loss of control, or as an out of control behavior seems most present in Falstaff who is not just drunk on alcohol, but drunk on his own deceiving and Hotspur who we see over and over again caught up in anger and indignity and ultimately losing his wife (she rejects him) and his life .
Hey Class,
To begin, Trisha and I are leading the discussion this week and we’re looking forward to it. Henry IV pt. 1 is a dense work and I’m eager to see how much we’re able to unpack. I’m going to begin by focusing on the themes of Clowns and Carnival. Trisha will follow up by talking about the role of Acting and Actors. We look forward to hearing what you all have to say as well and, in the spirit of Carnival, we are ready and willing to be decrowned by the bunch of you clowns (in fact, Cody and Neil have beaten us to the punch). In particular, we look forward to hearing what you have to say about the Falstaff debate (*cough* Seth). Kristen Poole notes that the real Oldcastle is “torn apart” in this play. She writes that Oldcastle’s “qualities as a traitor and militant religious leader are dispersed among other characters in the play; the historical Oldcastle is dismembered (69). We are also curious as to what role you think alcoholic spirits play—for example, in 2.2 14-16 where Falstaff says that Hal must have given him some potion to make him love him, is he referring to alcohol? Or in 3.1 179-181 is Worchester somehow implying Hotspur is drunk (on will?) when he says: “Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage / Defects of manners, want of government, / Pride, haughtiness , opinion, and disdain.”
Carnival
In their introduction to the Bedford Shakespeare edition of the text, the editors note that Henry IV pt. 1 brought in some of the largest box office receipts on record for that time and was reprinted in 7 quarto editions between the years 1598-1622 (6). If nothing else, this signifies that the play was immensely popular. This might be, in part, because the play is a history or docudrama. However, in the introduction to Rabelias, Bakhtin notes that “carnival is not a spectacle seen by the people; they live in it, and everyone participates because its very idea embraces all people. While carnival lasts, there is no life outside it” (7). Michael Bristol seems to echo this sentiment in his essay on Elizabethan theater. I’m interested in trying to locate the carnival within Henry IV pt. 1. In doing so we might be able to determine if the carnival atmosphere over flows from the stage and infects the audience. Certainly Eastcheap’s tavern might be such a locale. It’s a place where people of all classes gather and where class boundaries are blurred. And this blurring seems to be celebrated. In 2.4, 7-12 Hal seems pleased that the waiters in Eastcheap treat him as a common person: “They (the waiters) take it already upon their salvation that, though I be but the Prince of Wales, yet I am king of courtesy, and tell me flatly that I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy—by Lord, so they call me!—and when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads of Eastcheap.” However, the carnival in this play seems anti-Bakhtinian. In Henry IV it’s the ruling class that’s partying, while the working class remains quite sober. And the joke that Hal and Ned play on the Drawer later on this in this act seems to indicate that it’s only those in the ruling class who are in on the joke (28-66) . So is Eastcheap’s a locus for the carnivalesque? Does Bakhtin’s definition of carnival hold in this play? Michael Bristol argues that carnival is a conservative process employed by the working class in order to “conserve the authority of the community to a set standards of behavior” and that it is “a channel into which popular energies may flow in order to resist any resented expropriation or arbitrary change imposed by constitutional authority” (646). Is the rebellion led by Hotspur a sort of carnival in this tradition? With whom are the common people watching this play supposed to empathize?
Also, I am interested in the idea that carnival and theater exist within some liminal space outside of place and time. Time is indeterminate in Eastcheap’s. We see this in 2.1 1-9 where Falstaff asks Hal the time, and later in 2.4 420-424 where the Sheriff is confused as to whether it is night or morning.
Clowns
Obviously Falstaff is a clown in this play. He seems aware of his role insomuch as the character exuberantly embraces it. But, by Bristol’s definition, a clown is also someone who “[brings] abstract categories down to earth, is...an equivocator, a ‘corruptor of words’” (650). Trisha and I noticed that Hal and Hotspur are also “corruptors of words.” Hal changes his diction depending on to whom or where he is speaking—we see this pretty clearly when comparing how he speaks to Falstaff and how he speaks to his father. Hotspur is very much an equivocator. For example, in 2.3 65-66 Lady Percy asks “What carries you away?” and Hotspur replies, “Why, my horse, my love, my horse.” If Hal and Hotspur are, in some sense, clowns, what role do they serve?
Hi, everyone.
While Bryan and I initially decided to split up our Henry IV posts between the topics of Clowns and Carnival (him) and Acting/Actors and Theatre (me), there's a lot of overlap between the two subjects that I hope we will be able to tease out even further in class than we will be able to do on this message board.
I'd like to use a Bristol quote about Carnival to begin my discussion about Henry IV's treatment of the themes of theatricality and acting:
"The relationship between symbol and referent is incongruity, contradiction instead of similitude. The grotesque inappropriateness of Carnival masquerade reveals the arbitrariness and impermanence in the relationship between the biological individual and his claims and pretensions to a fixed social status and identity" (Bristol 642).
Henry IV is a play that self-consciously takes up the issue of mutable and sometimes incongruous identities. Through the characters of King Henry IV, Hal, and Hotspur, the play brings to the fore questions about the intersections between one's person, one's actions, one's social roles, and one's environment. King Henry starts us out in 1.3:1-7 by drawing attention to the fact that sometimes one's social role must take precedence over one's personality: "My blood hath been too cold and temperate,/ Unapt to stir at these indignities,/ And you have found me, for accordingly/ You tread upon my patience. But be sure/ I will from henceforth rather be myself,/ Mighty and to be feared, than my condition,/ Which has been smooth as oil, soft as young down." Though Henry's temperament is naturally phlegmatic and forgiving (as is proven not just by what he says here but by his offers of absolution to the traitors in 5.1), his social and political role as King demands that, at times, he must subordinate himself to the demands of his Kingship. Henry IV's ability to read other people and the environment in order to identify the crucial times that necessitate such a subordination, as well as his willingess and ability to fully inhabit his kingly role at such times, combine to make him both an effective and worthy leader.
Hal's failure to subordinate himself and his desires to his role as Prince constitutes the King's main complaint against his son. Of course, Hal's actions and even personality seem to undergo a profound change throughout the course of the play. As Bryan noted in his post, Hal changes his diction depending upon his company and context; he also does an unexpected (to me, at least) about-face after he meets with his father, suddenly abandoning his wanton ways and living up to his obligations as heir to the throne. In this, he proves himself a true son to his father in that he, like King Henry, is able to read the times and act appropriately, inhabiting his social and political role when necessary rather than acting according to his personal desires. To use another quote from Bristol: "The parodic discourse of Carnival is...a discourse of process and change rather than one of static and timeless categories" (Bristol 644). Is this play, like Carnival, emphasizing the importance of individual "process and change"? To answer that, one would have to decide whether or not Hal actually changes over the course of the play, or if his speech about his plan to "imitate the sun" by throwing off his debauchery at the appropriate moment (1.2:202-224) indicates that he is merely acting various roles rather than undergoing any real transformation. I am very interested to hear others' opinions on this.
Please forgive the long quote from Poole that I've posted below. It seems to argue that part of the tension (and perhaps pleasure) to be derived from the play lies in the possibility that Hal will not be able to cast aside his wicked ways when it is necessary for him to do so.
"This same play at and with social boundaries infuses the Henriad with much of its dramatic energy. Henry IV, Part I in particular is largely driven by Hal's flirtation precisely with the border between authority and subversion, orthodoxy and heresy. Like the anti-Martinists, Hal enters into the terms of carnival subversion, represented and embodied by Falstaff, while still maintaining his position of authority. The danger, however is that the tensions between these two positions might prove stronger than Hal's ability to control and define his own situation -- that the boundary distinguishing the role of the prince from that of the reveler could break before Hal can orchestrate his glorious return to orthodoxy and filial duty. It is just possible -- or at least we are invited to entertain the possibility -- that 'the base contagious clouds' Hal 'permit[s]...to smother up his beauty from the world' could prove too dense, that his plan to imitate the sun could be thwarted by elements beyond his control, and that 'the foul and ugly mists' could indeed strangle him (1HIV, 1.2:193-94 and 197-98). The force of carnival community might overcome his intention to step back into his role as king" (Poole 73-74).
Poole indicates that the corrupting influence of Falstaff and the tavern may be too much for Hal, even though the Prince is quite conscious of the "role" he is playing with his companions and indicates in 1.2 that it is only temporary. This argument by Poole brought Sedgewick to my mind. Is the peril that Poole identifies caused by Hal's acting or by his environment? Which is more powerful locus of inhabitation: role-playing (acting) itself or alcohol/the tavern? Does acting a role change who you are? Does drinking? Or do they merely temporarily affect what you dot? To bring up one of Sedgewick's main concerns, what's at stake here: identity or habitual action?
Finally, the perfect foil to Hal seems to be Hotspur. Here is a character who never changes who he is/how he acts to fit his context. Hotspur is consistently outspoken and choleric (i.e. 1.3 -- interacting with the King and Worcester -- and 3.1 -- interacting with Owen Glendower) which, as other characters point out, is a dangerous trait (Wocester has a great speech lamenting Hotspur's faults in 3.1:182-195). While Hal is a master at fitting into his environment, Hotspur makes his inability to be anything other than what he is a point of pride. He rails against others' false and flattering speech (1.3:259-265), against the diplomatic language of an unfaithful kinsman (2.3:1-36), and against the artful and ornamental language of poetry (3.1:132-139). Hotspur is a warrior, not a diplomat, and I can't help but wonder if he is a Duncan-like figure in this play. Admirable for all his bravery and honesty and faithfulness, he is nevertheless doomed because of his inability to lead as King Henry leads and, presumably, Hal will lead. He is insensitive to his environment and unwilling to adapt to it. Unlike the Boilngbrook Henrys, he refuses to mark the distinction between himself and his condition.
Hi, all.
Those are some good, intricate posts, and I enjoyed them. To be brief, I'll post succinct replies to a few of the overlapping or irresistible points in each.
First, as a synthesis of Cody's quotation of Falstaff in V.i and Bryan on my pet motif of things "torn to pieces", I'd like to suggest the subversion of Falstaff's claim of "What is honor? A word" (V.i.132) to qualify as a forthrightly blasphemous, carnivalesque attempt to invert the entire socio-political hierarchy of England. In other words, the totality of English life and culture would be 'torn to pieces' were such a belief to be enacted by the populace and not merely uttered one of its funnier, lazier, more charismatic members.
In particular, the play is founded in rhetoric of honor, beginning with the opening scene's kingly appeal to his subjects' honor so as to incite them to "chase these pagans in those holy fields" (I.i.24). In other words, England, under the direction of a king ruling by divine right, is commencing a Christian crusade via the catalytic challenge by the king-god of his subjects' sense of Christian honor to defend the land "[a]s far as to the sepulcher of Christ", whose "blessed feet...fourteen hundred years ago were nailed / For our advantage on the bitter cross" (I.i.19, 25-7). Yet Falstaff's phenomenologically brave, idiosyncratic disembowelment of the meaning and use of honor undermines the divine right of the king ruling England.
Relatedly, in response to Neil on Prince Hal and Trisha on the "incongruity, contradiction" in the text (via Bristol), I'd like to add notions of thinking of Hal as a synechdoche for our course-long discussion of the will. In a sense, his character could be read as "elect", at least royally, which consequently then implies in England a status of divinity as head of the Church of England. Hence, he can "sin" by cunningly slumming, carousing, and thieving with his tavern pals as, beyond his will, he is heading inexorably for the godliness of a kingship. In fact, to push this and Neil's argument a bit further, one could even claim that Hal's recognition of his elect status permits the very deception allowing his insincerely "common" behavior as a political ruse to aggrandize the value of his strategically forthcoming "reform".
On the other hand, could Hal's character and behavior also offer us a locus for discussing the Catholic power of confession and redemption? After all, upon returning from the tavern to his father to fight at Shrewsbury, he not only performs with kingly valor in general, but he also both saves the life of his father (ie god incarnate, at least for the English), and defeats Hotspur. In other words, one could argue that Hal is redeemed by a righteous display of free will. Thus, Hal has been pardoned by God-Henry for rectifying his behavior (however insincere the sinning).
Likewise, even though Henry had previously chastised Hal as a lesser man for the throne than Hotspur due to the former's scandalous behavior and the latter's dignified valor, Hal chooses to fight in the battle at Shrewsbury ("the Shrewsburies taste like Shrewsburies!"), confront his supposed superior, and conquer him person-to-person through a reconstitution (or at least an Aitkenian reorientation) of his will.
Supporting notions of opposition to the divine right of kings of England might be the collusive clergy intending initially to support an insurrection against Henry. However, this, too, is ambiguous. First, the clergy revert from supporting to opposing the insurrection out of a fear of violating divine right themselves, thereby displaying a loyalty to the concept and its deified leader. Second, one should note Henry's angst over divine right in assuming the throne through his displacement of Richard II, himself a legitimate king ruling by divine right. That, too, can correspond to Henry's assumption of the throne as a sort of carnivalesque inversion of the political order via the disregard for the hierarchy and corporality/materiality of divine right, whereby heirs to the throne are a consequence of continuous regeneration and rebirth, but through the mask of kingship. Of course, in true carnivalesque fashion, the phallus can be disembodied and mobile, depending upon the needs of the state (as even exemplified by the aforementioned moment of Henry's consideration of Hotspur as a potential heir to the throne due to his superior mettle to Hal's). And, then, once installed, the king of course achieves his apotheosis through the royal mask, costumes, and rituals representing divine right (including the phallus-in-hand scepter, or the phallus-sword that redeems Hal by rendering Hotspur "for worms", V.iv.87).
Also, if the king of England represents god, and the king is unjustly debased, then perhaps the blaspheme is "tearing to bits" the socio-political infrastructure of England. Thus King Henry IV has torn himself to bits in violating Richard II's divine right. Or perhaps it's England herself being torn to bits (while, historically speaking, the country struggles with its understanding of its political leadership). Or perhaps I'm merely tearing this idea itself to bits.... In any case, I've enjoyed your posts, and I look forward to class.
I liked our brief discussion of Temperance last class (intertextuality!). An interesting difference emerges when we contrast how Spenser thought about Temperance in Book II and how the anti-drinking writers viewed it. For Guyon, temperance is something that one internalizes and acts out. During his series of encounters with intemperate characters, Guyon’s temperance is sometimes manifested as simple avoidance (e.g., Mammon offers him the opportunity for courtly advancement, Spanish gold, etc.—all of which Guyon rejects), and other times as an active repulsion (his duels with Pyrochles; Acrasia). So Temperance isn’t just a psychological state, but a way of life, a virtue is only a virtue after you pass the test, after you have performed it. Of course, trial and struggle are things we first examined in relation to the Erasmus/Luther debate on freewill.
In A Looking Glasse for Drunkards, the author cautions against drink, saying that wine:
maketh the mind a harbour of lewd thoughts, and revealeth all secrets, as the old Provert hath it, In wine there is truth. In a word, it taken away understanding, it blindeth the judgement, the affections are overtaken, the desires intrapped, the thoughts suppressed and all inward parts and powers of the soul perverted and out of order. (5)
This passage seems to preclude the idea of struggle. The drunkard, as this author imagines it, is categorically beyond the threshold of deliberation and interpretation. Faustus, at least as he is dramatically represented, seemed to have genuine moments of choice; his struggle over morality and religion is the point of the play. Drunkards, in contrast, lack all possibility of will.
Given this model of drunkenness, it’s interesting to see how Shakespeare complicates the equivocations set forth in the pamphlets: drunkenness equals intemperance (lack of self-governance) and inversely, sobriety equals temperance (self-control, the ability to exert one’s will). In 1 Henry IV, the characters who are intemperate are not necessarily the drunkards. It is not Falstaff or the tavern people who are the most intemperate or who lack the most self-governance, but Hotspur. As his nickname suggests, Hotspur seems to have an excess of hot blood and choler. He has a manic quality which other characters observe when they interact with him. After his meeting with Henry IV, Hotspur rants for many hundreds of lines, until even his own kinsman Northumberland is exasperated: “why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool / Art thou to break into this woman’s mood, / Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!” (1.3.236-8). This is an ironic comment: Hotspur is called the best example of masculinity and chivalry by Hal, but by his own uncle, he is compared to a foolishly garrulous woman. Just as Hotspur’s linguistic loss of control is a symptom of his intemperance, so too his sleep talking. Kate reveals that Hotspur sleep talks (just like Lady Macbeth!!!) of “sallies and retires, of trenches, tents …” (2.3.51), and that “Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, / And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep” (2.3.56-7). Just as the drunkard’s intemperate consumption of alcohol “maketh the mind a harbour of lewd thoughts,” so Hotspur’s intemperance leads him to harbour treasonous and rebellious thoughts. It is as if Hotspur physically manifests the internal effects of “all inward parts and powers of the soul perverted and out of order”—he launches himself into a civil war thereby causing the land to be “perverted and out of order.”
Because Hotspur’s intemperance is highlighted again and again, I think he becomes a foil not only to Hal (he certainly acts in that function), but also Falstaff and the tavern crowd. Hotspur and Falstaff are excessive to the point of being grotesquely laughable in their own ways. I must leave off here, but I wonder if anyone else might venture to analyze the parallelism between Hotspur and Falstaff (if such a similarity exists, but I think it does).
I have only a few minutes to post, but I wanted to shout out my appreciation for one of the secondary readings—“Carnival and the Institutions of Theater in Elizabethan England.” Read it if you can! It’s quick and painless, an illuminating use of Bakhtin to read Shakespeare. The author, Michael Bristol, proposes that professional Elizabethan theater is grounded in plebeian culture and the Carnival spirit. Being rooted in these non-institutional folk traditions, Elizabethan theater is peculiarly given to critiquing and parodying the established social structures and imagining alternatives to the political order. As Bristol explains it, “the ordinary relationship between signifier and signified is disrupted and conventional meaning is parodied” (641). This would explain the frequent gender-bending in Shakespeare and the subtle—and sometimes not-so-subtle—questioning of authority that runs through much of Shakespeare’s drama.
In view of Bristol’s essay, I’m interested in the ways that Henry IV Part One and Macbeth both can be read as radical re-imaginings of authority. Macbeth, for example, is shown to be a usurper, illegitimate in his authority. Many 17th century viewers must have seen Macbeth—the play--as calling for the establishment and maintenance of legitimate authority. I’m wondering, though, if Macbeth be read instead as a critique of ALL kingly authority? Is it possible that Shakespeare is using the character of Macbeth as a representative of all kings? Is it possible, through a narrative that seemingly upholds the rule of law, that Shakespeare is imagining all monarchical authority as usurped and illegitmate?
I’m also wondering if Shakespeare’s rendering of Hal as a kind of plebeian royalty is a way of undermining the political hierarchy—of communicating the absence of difference between Hal and the rabble. Were narrative depictions in which royalty patronized alehouses and committed petty crime common at all? Of course, Hal does end up redeeming himself (as befits a future king), but not before leaving the audience with knowledge of his commonness.
Haven't gotten to the critical texts yet, but wanted to chime in anyway, as my schedule has me lagging behind this week. So much to read, even just here. The class outdid itself this week.
Responding to Penny:
I too was intrigued by the idea of connecting Hotspur and Falstaff and seeing where they connect and diverge. You say both are "grotesquely laughable" in their own ways. It seems a key thing to look at here is the question of honor. For Falstaff, it is just a word, a mere "scutcheon (5.1, 139), but for Hotspur, who is described as being "drunk with choler" after his audience with the king, honor is a matter of great importance, something that pushes him toward blood-plots and schemes of revenge. Shakespeare is far more psychologically astute, I suppose it's safe to say, than the authors of the drinking pamphlets we read last week. The bar isn't the danger; you can be an impostor in a geographical place, as the Prince of Slumming It shows. But you can't escape your internal spaces, your temperament, and for Hotspur that is a space that has too great a mixture of cholera -- he cannot control his anger, and that is shown to be worse than the ability to control your drink.
Will have more tomorrow.
have been reading Henry IV with a particular interest in the way in which the concerns for the morality of the era in the literature we’ve read can perhaps be read as being ultimately contingent upon what might be headed up under the notion of a kind of temporal authenticity, or faithfulness to the processes of time’s passing. There are multiple instances in the play of temperance being likened to or described by the steady rhythms of nature, and in contrast, it’s as if that which is devilish is almost always attributed with qualities owing to “cozening” time. In particular, I think of the speech made by the Prince, detailing his plan to unleash his “new” character in time, or out of time, as it were. The King, on the other hand, makes his grandiloquent remarks on the kind of traits necessary in a good king by employing the same trope of time: “No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem/ Your banished honors and restore yourselves/ Into the good thoughts of the world again; / Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt/ Of this proud King, who studies day and night/ To answer all the debt he owes to you.” Ironically, however, I think there is a certain wisdom inherent in the rationale of the Prince, when he declares,”If all the year were playing holidays/ To sport`would be as tedious as work.” Furthermore, I think back to the the Sedgewick essay once again, specifically to her description of the tensions at work in the regulation of the will, and conclude that there must be something redemptive in maintaining fidelity to the vicissitudes of an unadulterated experience of temporal constraints.
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