It is not necessary to have written seven historical dramas, as Shakespeare did when he began working on Henry V, to conclude that the story is often not very dramatic. The chronicles of the past have the subjectivity and subtlety of national anthems: it is a question of appropriating the truth, not of approaching it. Noble causes and giant massacres abound in these documents, often to the detriment of facts and explanations. All of this adds up to a narrative of the past in which the victors reign victorious before the battle even begins, while the natural iniquity of the losers contributes as much to their defeat as the enemy's swords and soldiers. Readers today may wonder if their ancestors ever felt a sense of suspense as events unfolded, for according to historians the outcome of these clashes was, as King Henry would say, "as crude/ as black on white” (2.2. 104). It is as predictable, the Elizabethans might have said, as a bad play. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay And yet there was suspense and anxiety in the past, as surely as today's political maneuvering sows the seeds of trouble. Shakespeare realized this and came to a surprising conclusion: there is a gap between the events of the past and the historical record. The historian's inclinations become the very form of history, filling the past with mighty deeds and epic heroes. But this form is distorted, shaped as it is in the image of famous men and for dubious motives. Historians see the past as a straight, singular line; Shakespeare knew that his unfolding could neither be so direct nor so simple. Henry V is his attempt to reinsert the complexities of the past into the simple telling of history, to dramatize, as it were, the historical drama. The bard does this not because he thinks he will succeed, but because he knows he will fail, because the sensibilities of the story cannot accommodate those of the drama (and vice versa). Henry V demonstrates that, in Shakespeare's understanding of history, "historical drama" is an oxymoron. If the aim of Henry V is ostensibly to fail to achieve two objectives (history and drama), the presence of the Chorus goes a long way towards achieving this end. He ends 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 begs in the epilogue, “The flat and unraised minds who dared / On this unworthy scaffold to produce / So great an object” (1.0.8-11). If the public had not considered before this apology the heterogeneous couple between the “unworthy scaffold” of the theater and the “great object” of history, it is certainly attentive to it now. The Choir's excuses only diminish the illusion of reality that spectators usually manage without instruction. Yet this was precisely Shakespeare's point of view. Through its ironic requests for forgiveness, the Chorus offers a “historical” counterpoint to the “dramatic” action of the play. It is, like historical drama itself, a paradox: a trait belonging entirely to drama but representing in a funny way the sensibilities of history. “We’re going to force our game,” he promises at the start of the second act (2.0.32). And that is indeed what he does. His regular appearances before each act give this “story” a very “dramatic” form, without bringing any of the tension orinterests arising therefrom. If the play followed the trajectory described by the Chorus, there would be no need to perform the intervening scenes at all, as it provides a rather verbose summary of everything that happens offstage. As a dramatic character, the Chorus is utterly doomed to failure, just as the story is utterly doomed to failure as dramatic material. Both simply have too one-dimensional a perspective, both hint at the ending too soon. Fortunately, Shakespeare uses the action of the play to subvert what would otherwise seem like a monolithic telling of history. In the first act, for example, the Chorus promises “two mighty monarchs” (1.0.20). Shakespeare delivers two greedy clerks. There is a similar ruse in Act II, when discussions of royalty in Southampton lead directly to a London tavern. In the fourth act, the Chorus reports a pep talk from the king with the whimsical comment: "behold, as can define indignity/A little touch of 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 only the truths of the Chorus and the dramatic action that are in contradiction in Henry V. Shakespeare further complicates matters by dividing the dramatic action into two (sometimes intersecting) plots. The story of the king, his nobles and their military coup represents the "historical" plot - morally impregnable, unwavering from its final goal of victory, and of course, well known to anyone with a curative knowledge of English history. However, the official perspective of the story relies on a comic plot, dramatically interesting but imposed by a crude group of historical figures. Their presence in the play is a constant reminder of the "forgetfulness" of history when it comes to the common man, of its tendency to simplify the distribution of characters from historical actions to those who possess wealth and power. Shakespeare uses comic intrigue to bring these non-nobles back onto the stage of history, as they demand things from them 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 as it is the former lair of Prince Hal, now King Henry. But the mood couldn't be more different from that of Henry IV's plays. There is no revelry, no drunkenness, no witty jokes. The veil of the dying Falstaff hangs over everything. “The king has killed her heart,” Mistress Quickly solemnly intones (2.1.87). Bardolph agrees and Nym adds: “The king has cast ill humor on the knight, that is all” (2.1.120-121). The fat knight was enough to serve as a party companion for Prince Hal, but the historically dignified King Henry cannot stand such a ridiculous character. He therefore excludes him from his life, just as history excludes from its annals these men of “low” quality. While Falstaff has all the characteristics to make him the favorite dramatic character in plays about HIV, the story, like Harry, cannot accommodate the complications he brings with him. He is poor, immoderate, morally doubtful, ridiculous. These are not qualities recorded in history, but they make for interesting drama. By killing Falstaff at the beginning of HV, Shakespeare seems to accuse the story of having hidden its more "common" participants and ofthus making itself tasteless, undramatic and unreliable. Henry's denial of Falstaff later prompts a rather absurd but historically revealing discussion. greatness between Captains Fluellen and Gower. Fluellen asks Gower where "Alexander the Pig" was born so that he can make a comparison between history's great conqueror and their own King Harry (4.7.13). The joke, of course, is that the lisping Fluellen can't pronounce the letter B. "The pig, or the big one, or the mighty one, or the enormous one, or the magnanimous one, are all counts," he retorts. he says when Gower corrects his wording. (4.7.15-17). The joke is funny, but like all comic plots, Shakespeare uses it to say something very serious. The “great” figures of history, he slyly implies here, often behave in the dirtiest ways. As Fluellen develops his comparison, Shakespeare's criticism becomes more apparent. “As Alexander slew his friend Clytus, being in his biers and cups,” explains the Welshman, “so Henry Monmouth, being in his right mind and good judgment, repelled the fat knight in the coarse doublet- belly. I forgot his name” (4.7.44-49). Can Falstaff be so quickly forgotten? The answer is yes, because as Shakespeare unfortunately observes in this little dialogue, the "dirty" actors in history have a way of ousting all their cronies when they gain power. Fluellen notes parallel situations because he believes that the monarchs' rejection of personal ties is what allowed them to become great. Shakespeare would probably have said that this allowed them to become “pigs,” but not great. Because by acceding to the throne, Henry gains a crown, but loses his personality and his humanity. It has become as 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 comic plot subsequently shows that the aristocratic king is not the same as "the man of the people." Prince Henry is rich, powerful and a figure belonging to history. He shows that he has an aristocrat's conscientious sense of history when, speaking of all his troops, he hopes that the chronicles will "speak in full." mouth/ Will speak freely of our deeds, otherwise our grave/ Like a mute Turk will have a mouth without a tongue" (1.2.231-233). What the king does not understand is that history remembers monarchs and not from the masses. His distance from the ethos of the common man is further underlined by his disguised meeting with the soldiers Court, Bates and Williams complains that the quarrel with France belongs only to the king, even if his soldiers pay the price “I wish he was here alone,” he said of Harry, “so he should be sure to be redeemed and save the lives of many poor people. men" (4.1. 119-120). The king's actions have historical ramifications, but those who are most deeply affected are those whom history forgets: the impoverished soldier, the destitute widow, the abandoned orphan, and all the other "poor men's lives" who do not are not recorded. For Harry, however, it is not about individuals, but "subjects" and "the duty of every subject is the king's, but the soul of each subject is his" (4.1.174-175). On the battlefields of history, personal responsibility or moral judgment does not exist. Harry shifts his own responsibility from his person to his office and encourages his subjects to do the same since they serve the king's office. Once again, Shakespeare contrasts the historical sensibilities of Henry with the dramatic sensibilities of the comic commoners. While the king considers the war a morally recognized conquest, the soldiers raise more questionscomplex on the moral authority of the sovereign and the relationship between the “common cause” and the ordinary man. However, these concerns, much like story and drama, are mutually exclusive. For the historic events of war to occur, the dramatic complications of personal responsibility must not interfere. Likewise, for the moral subtleties of the drama to be fully explored, the simple justifications of the story must be renounced. No true “historical” king can have the “dramatic” interests of the individual at heart. This is not a hasty conclusion, as Henry spends a lot of time meditating on the nature of kingship. Just as Shakespeare worries about the gap between historical and dramatic interpretations of truth, the king worries about the space between the sovereign as an individual and as a holder of office. King Henry is the historical character of this couple, Harry the dramatic man. Thus, quick and simple decisions for the king are often complicated and distressing decisions for man. For an effective leader, as Shakespeare shows, it is almost impossible to be a fully "dramatic" man, concerned with the personal and moral subtleties that accompany action. By the same token, such a man cannot be a truly “historical” figure, for the coda to these chronicles of the past requires heroes who think and act with an unwavering sense of absolute righteousness. Henry V testifies to Harry's full appropriation of his "historical" role, as well as his rejection of his "dramatic" role. That he initially struggles to choose between the two becomes clear in the second act, when the king exposes the treachery of Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey. “By touching our person, we do not seek revenge,” he said to them, “But we owe so tenderly to the security of our kingdom,/ Whose ruin you have sought, that to its laws/ We deliver to 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 the national well-being. And yet Harry is not fully King Henry at this point, for despite his best efforts to banish personal feelings from his royal rhetoric, he cannot do so. He said to the traitors: ... My lord of Cambridge here, you know to what extent our love was able to grant him all the elements belonging to his honor; and this man has, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired to kill us here at Hampton. To which this knight, no less for the generosity connected with us than that of Cambridge, has also sworn. - But oh, what shall I tell you, Lord Scroop, you cruel, ungrateful, savage and inhuman creature, you knew the key to all my advice which knew the depths of my soul (2.2.84-97) It's obvious there that Harry's person is indeed "touched" by this perfidy, despite assertions to the contrary. He shifts from the royal “we” – his historical voice – to the self-referential “I” – his dramatic voice – despite efforts to maintain the dignity of his office. The pain caused by Scroop's betrayal triggers some of the most moving words spoken by Henry in the entire play. “Ungrateful, savage and inhuman creature,” he calls the conspiratorial Lord. As Harry gradually comes to grips with his rhetoric, he comes to renounce all these personal investments in state politics. He abandons the man's complex credibility for the simple battle cry of the leader. “No king of England, except a king of France!” he declares at the end of the scene. Shakespeare makes it clear in this scene that as long as he indulges his dramatic sensibilities, Harry will never truly be a viable historical king.However, by removing the complex and embracing the absolute, a fully formed King Henry emerges, ready to continue his myopic quest to the ends of the earth. While Henry comes to embrace history, Shakespeare avoids it by showing how it creates a ruler who is, as William Hazlitt observes, "a very lovable monster, a very splendid spectacle." After this scene, all personal attachment to his royal actions disappears, allowing Henry to move forward with the rapid absolutism that the story demands. Shakespeare's hero now belongs to history and not to drama. At the war-ravaged gates of Harfleur, for example, Henry coldly warns the governor that if the town does not surrender, the English will see “their most respectful heads crushed against the walls, / [their] naked children spat on pikes” (3.3.37-38). Following this atrocious threat, he offers the city two possible options only in the morally reductive pages of the story: "What do you say? Will you give in and avoid this?/Or, guilty in defense, be thus destroyed?" " (3.3.41-42). Henry refuses to admit the possibility of any action that is neither entirely good (i.e. English) nor entirely bad (i.e. French), despite the fact that he indicts the Harfleurians for the very crime from which he absolves his own soldiers - serving the wishes of their king. Furthermore, the king fails to draw a parallel between the English attack on France and the invasion of England by the “Scottish weasel” (1.2.170). If a dramatic hero eventually realizes his folly and his compromise, the hero of the story must be absolutely inflexible. Defender or offender, all Harry knows is that England is always right. He brings this attitude to the postwar negotiating table with France, where he tells his defeated colleagues "you must buy this peace/in full accord with all our just demands" (5.2.70-71). Victory and peace always bring down the curtain on history, but for the playwright it is a most unsatisfying ending. Because theater is not about winning or losing, but about learning. The effectiveness of the ending depends on certain knowledge acquired and revealed during the play. But history, as the cliché goes, repeats itself, and so does Harry. The king never manages to deal with the dramatic problems that present themselves - his right to the French throne, his threats against Harfleur, his outsider attack on Azincourt - and, in fact, Henry seems to unlearn a part of humanity that he let it speak. while berating Scroop at the beginning of the play. Shakespeare thus suggests that the historical hero is the very antithesis of the dramatic hero. For while the dramatic hero learns to know himself and his world through the final act, the historical hero ends up distancing himself from himself, a chameleon whose color corresponds to the duty he performs. It may seem absurd to claim that someone who occupies many roles is not dramatic, but Henry is an actor on the stage of history, and for Shakespeare this is obviously an important distinction. Dramatic actors represent people; the actors in history always play caricatures. A dramatic role demands a nuanced performance representing the multifaceted nature of human existence; all of Henry's roles relate to the unique needs of his royalty. Whether playing Harry The King, the courageous captain or the merciful conqueror, Henry dedicates his performance to his crown. Nothing in his histrionics suggests that he has anything other than a Machiavellian interest in creating a reasonably plausible character. Harry's big break as a historical actor coincides with the play's final scene, in which he courts the.