The line also recalls Henry’s earlier statement to his counselors: “I will henceforth rather be myself . . . ” (I, iii, 5). Despite Hal’s aberrant behavior, father and son think alike.
Henry adds one more detail. Speaking of Hotspur, he notes: “Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,/ He hath more worthy interest to the state/ Than thou the shadow of succession” (III, ii, 97–99). The King implies that Hotspur’s fervor may outweigh, at least momentarily, Hal’s formal right to the crown. Accordingly, the lines justify Henry’s own actions against Richard, who ruled because of lineage, but who did not act to warrant such power. The King thereby raises a profound question: who deserves to sit on the throne? The one who inherits that honor? Or the one who earns it?
Henry then explains the military challenges ahead, focusing on Hotspur:
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my nearest and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
To fight against me under Percy’s pay,
To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate.
(III, ii, 122–128)
Henry has yet to hear from his son a statement of fealty. Now, by impugning Hal’s integrity, the King hopes to spark the fury that will assure him of Hal’s loyalty and courage. Almost at once the tactic succeeds, as Hal responds:
Do not think so, you shall not find it so,
And God forgive them that so much have sway’d
Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy’s head,
And in the closing of some glorious day
Be bold to tell you that I am your son.
(III, ii, 129–134)
For the first time, his emotions flare. Here is one slander he cannot abide, and almost instantly he becomes determined to prove his father and everyone else wrong. The surest way to do so is through violence.
At the risk of diminishing both the moment and the play, I must mention that this exchange suggests one from another study of power, albeit more contemporary and in a different medium. The work is The Godfather, and the scene takes place when Michael Corleone returns home from the hospital. He has just re-imposed protection around his wounded father, and for such decisive action has been beaten by a vengeful police captain. Now, sitting in his father’s study, he and his allies must choose a course of action. The others are leery of renewed violence, but Michael does not hesitate, and as the camera slowly draws near him, he sits motionless and speaks deliberately, in language that obviously lacks Shakespeare’s elevation, but which nonetheless communicates a determination similar to Hal’s:
Let’s set the meeting. Get our informants to find out
where it’s gonna be held. Now we insist it’s a public
place—a bar, a restaurant—some place where there’s
people so I feel safe. So I can’t have a weapon on me
then. But if Clemenza can figure a way to have a
weapon planted there for me. Then I’ll kill ‘em both. (Jones 112)
Even though Michael is a war hero, until this moment his relations and their confederates have assumed him to be unsuited for “the family business.” Now, as the camera lingers on his unflinching expression, we realize what the rest of the world learns later: that he has the capacity to kill. In III, ii of Henry IV, Part 1, Hal confirms that he has the same attribute.
He also knows enough not to make the revelation obvious:
This in the name of God I promise here,
The which if he be pleas’d I shall perform,
I do beseech your Majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance.
(III, ii, 153–156)
Here is the first of numerous instances when Hal defers authority to God. He instinctively recognizes that audiences, whether composed of one individual or many, prefer a leader who exudes humility, so he avoids taking credit for any triumphs, even potential ones.
Also notable is one element absent from this speech: words of affection or loyalty to his father. After the last line quoted above, Hal clarifies that he has responsibilities, and that he will fulfill them for God, country, and his own reputation, as well as in service to the King. But Hal treats Henry almost as a separate being from Hal’s father. The distance between them persists, while Hal’s emotions remain in check. He has a job, he explains, and he intends to do it with all necessary force. He is as determined to prove that his father’s earlier harangue was misplaced as he is to affirm his own royal prerogatives.
Back at the tavern, we are reminded of the world the Prince must escape, as Bardolph taunts Falstaff: “Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John” (III, iii, 21–23). Despite the accuracy of Bardolph’s judgment, as well as the sharpness of Falstaff’s replies, something in the scene is ineffably sad. After all, here is the first time we have seen Falstaff carousing outside the Prince’s company. When the two were together, Falstaff’s jibes were aimed at his superior, and therefore their impudence was inspiring. But when he lounges alone in this setting, his gargantuan mind and manners seem wasted on figures unworthy of him. Such a feeling will recur with increasing poignancy in this play and in Part 2.
When the Prince returns here, so does a comforting tone, as he and Falstaff resume bawdy jokes about Mistress Quickly. The Prince then defuses Falstaff’s accusation against the Hostess by confessing that Hal himself stole, then repaid, the money in question, and we are reminded how terms of finance suffuse Hal’s language (Garber 330). In his first soliloquy, he prepared to “pay the debt I never promised” (I, ii, 209). Later he returned the money stolen at Gad’s Hill, and in the previous scene he promised his father to “redeem all this on Percy’s head” (III, ii, 132). Here he commands Falstaff to meet him in the Temple Hall:
There shalt thou know thy charge, and there receive
Money and order over their furniture.
The land is burning, Percy stands on high,
And either we or they must lower lie.
(III, iii, 201–204)
Why is Hal preoccupied with payment? Is he assuming responsibility for his father’s debt to England over the conflict caused by the usurpation of the throne? As usual, we cannot be certain of the Prince’s motivations, but these last lines suggest that he is seized by exigency. In other words, his public role has begun to supersede his private pleasure. Falstaff, however, is unimpressed: “Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come!/ O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!” (III, iii, 205–206). He never will understand either Hal’s passion or sense of responsibility, and that deficiency becomes
