(For information regarding my Shakespeare Lectures: georgewalllectures@gmail.com)
Showing posts with label 2 Henry IV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2 Henry IV. Show all posts

Friday, April 1, 2011

I'm in the middle of reading Stanley Fish's 2011 book, How to Write a Sentence, and enjoying it very much. When I finish, I'll write a post on some of the things I learned from it, but for today, I just want to show you an example of Shakespeare's ability in regard to sentence writing. (By the way, Fish uses a couple of examples from Shakespeare in his discussions, to good effect.) The following comes from 1.3 of Henry IV, Part Two, a scene in which various rebels are discussing how to go about removing the title character from the throne, a task that seems increasingly difficult given the reversals suffered by their side, particularly at Shrewsbury at the end of Henry IV, Part One. Lord Bardolph calls for tempered action based on information and careful planning, and to make his case he compares a military campaign with the planning and construction of a building. Depending on whether or not you consider the semi-colon a sentence-ending mark of punctuation, the passage could be construed as having as few as two sentences. It certainly has no more than four. But any way you look at it, the writing is as carefully put together as what it describes:

When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the erection;
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then but draw anew the model
In fewer offices, or at last desist
To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down
And set another up, should we survey
The plot of situation and the model,
Consent upon a sure foundation,
Question surveyors, know our own estate,
How able such a work to undergo,
To weigh against his opposite; or else
We fortify in paper and in figures,
Using the names of men instead of men:
Like one that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.


Sunday, March 27, 2011

I'm not sure that there is an artist in any field that can compare with Shakespeare in terms of the depiction and understanding of time. Technically, his plays are largely the result of his treatment of it, and to get to know them from the point of view of craft, it's a vital area of study. I've mentioned it before in another context, but one of the many changes that Shakespeare made to his source material for Romeo and Juliet, Arthur Brooke's The Tragicall History of Romeus and Juliet (1562), was to telescope a four-month period into one of four days, while still allowing breathing room for characters such as the Nurse and Mercutio, and maintaining the audience's belief throughout. In terms of theme, time is central to many, perhaps most, of the plays, but some, such as Macbeth, are almost entirely absorbed by it: The play is perhaps best approached as a dramatic example of how people can destroy the present by obsession with the future. And in Henry IV, part Two, the king (i.e. Bolingbroke), nearing the end of his life, which was filled with civil wars, rebellions, illness, has these lines, as powerful as any in Shakespeare, about the entangled natures of life and time:

O God! that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level, and the continent,
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the sea; and other times to see
The beachy girdle of the ocean
Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
Would shut the book and sit him down and die.

Friday, February 4, 2011

In response to the eloquent comment that my February 1 post received, I would posit the following in support of its position: Falstaff's self-interest grows relentlessly throughout the two plays, until there is virtually not a moral fiber left in him. It's all very funny, but equally disturbing. The trajectory finally reaches a crescendo in the Gloucerstershire scene in Shallow's orchard, when Pistol comes to tell the news of the death of Henry IV and the impending coronation of Prince Hal as Henry V. Falstaff, who has no other intention than to leverage his friendship with the young king toward all kinds of profiteering, reaches his apex of anarchy by saying: "I know the young king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses: the laws of England are at my commandment." Looking at the statement objectively, it seems clear that his thinking couldn't be allowed to continue. And it isn't.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Further to yesterday's post on the influence that Shakespeare's acting experience had on his writing, it occurred to me, while preparing for my upcoming lectures on the two parts of Henry IV (see January 5 post for dates, times and locations - or email the address above), that one of the challenges that he set for himself was to re-cast old ideas and material into a dramatic form that was both playable (i.e. good for the actor) and memorable (i.e. good for the audience member). My point is that as an actor, he would have had the opportunity of having performed some less than good works (such as The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth, a probable source for the plays in question), which may have then triggered in him the desire to improve on them. This, I believe, became one of his primary methods of working for the rest of his career. It would also partially explain why Shakespeare seemed to be equally as inspired by bad sources as good ones.
The scene that brought this to my mind was act four, scene five from Henry IV, Part Two that is clearly derived from the cliche of the heir apparent trying on the borrowed crown. In the hands of most writers (even now, I'm sorry to say), this scene would most probably remain contrived and dull, but Shakespeare used it as an opportunity to make explorations into all sorts of psychological and philosophical territories that are both very actable and very real. Here's a link to the scene: http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/play_view.php?WorkID=henry4p2&Act=4&Scene=5&Scope=scene.