between Falstaff and the Chief Justice: the former evinces contempt for law, the other advocates obedience to it.
The father-son aspect of the relationship between Hal and Falstaff becomes more poignant when the news that Sir John Bracy, the King’s representative, has summoned Hal to court to help ward off attacks by opposing forces. Hal answers the call casually, noting that the upcoming adventure will provide opportunity for the kind of profligacy that we have never really seen from him: “. . . we shall buy maidenheads as they by hobnails, by the hundreds (II, iv, 361–362). Falstaff’s solicitude, however, is apparent: “But tell me, Hal, art thou not horrible afeard”? (II, iv, 365–366). Here Hal’s response brings a new spirit to their jesting: “Not a whit, i’ faith, I lack some of thy instinct” (II, iv, 371–372), invoking a word that Falstaff used earlier to categorize his own avoidance of fighting. At this crucial moment, Hal seems eager to exert qualities that have lain dormant.
The transition from debauchery to royalty begins with a simple request from Hal to Falstaff: “Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my life” (II, iv, 376–377). What follows is one of Shakespeare’s greatest sequences, in which seemingly every line has multiple meanings. The principle upon which the scene rests is familiar from Oscar Wilde’s The Critic as Artist: “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell the truth” (Wilde 1211). Before Hal can perform his part, however, Falstaff must play his own, and he enthusiastically dons the accoutrements of kingship. What follows is an entertaining but meaningful plea that begins with a statement of affection: “That thou art my son I have partly thy mother’s word, partly my own opinion . . .” (II, iv, 402–403). As is often the case with humor, underneath the wit lies genuine concern, for Falstaff does have paternal feeling for Hal, so much so that he questions his own influence on the young man: “Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses”? (II, iv, 409–410). Falstaff implies that he knows that Hal has serious work ahead, and to carry out such responsibilities he must abandon the world of the tavern. But he must not, Falstaff clarifies, abandon what he has learned in that world, especially Falstaff’s own lessons:
If then the tree may be known by
the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I
speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep
with, the rest banish.
(II, iv, 428–431)
At the heart of Falstaff’s monologue lies a warning that Hal should not lose the common touch. What the Prince has gained from him is understanding of and perhaps affection for the people who live and work in his kingdom, and to be an effective King, Falstaff implies, Hal must maintain affinity with those people. He may leave Falstaff literally behind, but figuratively Falstaff’s influence must continue to provide that connection.
Hal, however, proves not so sentimental: “Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my father” (II, iv, 433–434). He does not merely suggest this switching of roles; he orders it. Hal then begins a litany of insults in a voice that we should imagine resembles his father’s, but the recital quickly turns mean-spirited:
Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink
it? wherein neatly and cleanly, but to carve a capon and
eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty,
but in villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things?
wherein worthy, but in nothing?
(II, iv, 455–459)
As listeners realize that Hal’s playful tone slowly vanishes, the laughter surrounding this performance ought to weaken, for like an actor who delves so deeply into a role that it overcomes him, Hal begins to embody his father. Thus we again understand that this young man knows what trespasses he has committed, as well as what steps he must follow to make amends. Yet something in this section ought to frighten us, because for the first time Hal may lose a measure of control, and we see the colder man behind the affable persona. That reality is not comforting.
Falstaff attempts to defuse the tension: “If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damn’d” (II, iv, 470–472). The appeal ends sadly: “. . . banish plump Jack, and banish all the world” (II, iv, 479–480). But Hal‘s famous reply should unsettle all his listeners, including us: “I do, I will” (II, iv, 481).
The most intriguing question about this section involves which aspect of Hal articulates his last lines. Are they spoken in the spirit of the King, the role Hal temporarily assumes? Do they represent Hal’s own feelings and therefore his expectation of the inevitable fissure between himself and Falstaff? Or do they emerge from some deeper portion of Hal that he has never acknowledged? The answer may well be a combination of all three, for the words befit the calculating voice we heard earlier, that one that uttered “I know you all . . .” at the end of Act I, scene ii. Thus:
. . . it is clear that Hal values the tavern world because it affords him a kind of theatrical space in which he can try out different roles and project different kinds of identities in a way that the restrained world of the court would never countenance. (Grady 164)
That Hal is aware he has crossed a line is apparent from his dramatic response to the Sheriff, who arrives in search of Falstaff, then accuses him of stealing. Hal disclaims any knowledge of his associate:
The man I do assure you is not here,
For I myself at this time have employ’d him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will by to-morrow dinner-time
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he may be charg’d withal,
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
(II, iv, 512–518)
Hal’s denial does not permit questioning, as if he wishes to reassure his comrades that he has not lost fondness for Falstaff. Moreover, the last line, though phrased like a request, becomes an ultimatum when uttered by someone of Hal’s stature, and therefore the Sheriff has no alternative but to curtail his mission. Hal has thus temporarily dispensed with role-playing, reverted to his political self, and again started to measure his words.
Before he leaves, however, he entices Peto into combat: “We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honorable” (II, iv, 544–545). Even if the Prince is not consciously parodying Hotspur, we feel his irony, as if he knows that military ventures, which may inspire valor from individuals, are inherently barbaric. This theme recurs throughout Shakespeare, but resonates with special force in the Henriad. Hal also ensures that the victims of Falstaff’s crime receive compensation: “This money shall be paid back again with advantage” (II, iv, 547–548). Steadily the Prince comes to stand for law and order.
The next scene offers insight into the frame of mind that possesses the rebels against King Henry. The dominant personality among the group is Hotspur, who seems unable to prevent himself from raging against myriad targets. Worcester points out the dangers of this tendency:
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage
Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain,
