Those who seize power often must rewrite history, to bury their crimes, legitimise their rule and throw mud on their opponents. We ought to be used to it by now, but it is frightening when what is so essential to our self-knowledge is handled so carelessly. No subject can be studied in the absence of history — all our arts and sciences are founded on the truthful transmission of knowledge from one age to the next. Politics, on the other hand, depends in every age on selective remembering and forgetting.
Since history repeats itself, it’s not surprising that Shakespeare’s history plays repeat themselves. Is there a single monarch of the dynasties of England who hasn’t asked a crowd of courtiers, “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest/brother/nephew?” And then in Act IV feigned shock that some toady killed the poor fellow?
I studied King John , Richard II , and Henry IV Parts 1 and 2 this month and, with each play, I felt I had seen it before. I may have actually read them long ago, or I may be getting them muddled, for obvious reasons. Richard II , Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, and Henry V are usually read as a set, with Prince Hal only mentioned as a prodigal son of Henry IV in the first play and ruling as king by the last.
Repetitions aside, England does evolve from one play to the next. While Richard II is certain of his divine right to rule, Henry IV knows he keeps his seat only because he got there first — half his lords claim a right to the throne. In his regime, everyone — not just the winner — is rewriting the past. The rebel lords and the king argue over who betrayed whom over the years. The masses — who once cheered Henry because he restored the national fortunes squandered by Richard — now have buyer’s remorse. Or so say the rebel lords. In Henry IV Part 2, every character openly reflects on revision as a political act.
Even anecdotes are dressed up for profit. In the taverns, Prince Hal’s riotous friend Falstaff lies outrageously about a fight that happened just 10 minutes ago. As in many of the “low” scenes in the Henry IV plays, Falstaff and other rough characters parody the lords and royals who commit the same self-glorifying lies and betrayals in polished verse. Prince Hal is too notorious to erase his wild past on his way from the tavern to the throne, so he owns it instead. As he is about to be crowned, he boldly admits his old faults, forswears his earlier companions, and reinvents himself as a responsible leader and protector of England. It seems he has a gift for reconciling, strategising and uniting.
A hint of the new king’s steel appears when he throws Falstaff over. Falstaff has rushed to court for the coronation, not even changing his sweaty clothes because “This doth infer the zeal I had to see him.” Having bragged to his friends of his coming influence, Falstaff thrusts himself in front of Hal, only to be put in his place. “I know thee not, old man,” are Hal’s first chilling words. But he does not deny their past together, and he even offers to promote Falstaff if he earns it by good behaviour. He doesn’t promise friendship, and perhaps friendship is not what Falstaff looks for.
We’ll see how it all works out in Henry V . I don’t know if I’ve read that play before and, like anyone who doesn’t remember the past, I’m condemned to repeat it.
Latha is the author of Three Seasons (Writers Workshop). Her published work can be seen at lathaanantharaman.blogspot.in
