Thinkest thou the _fiery fever will go out_ With _t.i.tles blown from adulation_?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Interesting physiological questions! And though the author, for reasons of his own, has seen fit to put them in blank verse here, it is not because he does not understand, as we shall see elsewhere, that they are questions of a truly scientific character, which require to be put in prose in his time--questions of vital consequence to all men. The effect of "poisoned flattery," and "t.i.tles blown from adulation" on the minds, of those to whose single will and caprice the whole welfare of the state, and all the gravest questions for this life and the next, were then entrusted, naturally appeared to the philosophical mind, perseveringly addicted to inquiries, in which the practical interests of men were involved, a question of gravest moment.
But here it is the physical difference which accompanies this so immense human distinction, which he appears to be in quest of; it is the control over nature with which these "_farcical t.i.tles_" invest their possessor, that he appears to be now pertinaciously bent upon ascertaining. For we shall find, as we pursue the subject, that this is not an accidental point here, a casual incident of the character, or of the plot, a thing which belongs to the play, and not to the author; but that this is a poet who is somehow perpetually haunted with the impression that those who a.s.sume a divine right to control, and dispose of their fellow-men, ought to exhibit some sign of their authority; some superior abilities; some magical control; some light and power that other men have not. How he came by any such notions, the critic of his works is, of course, not bound to show; but that which meets him at the first reading is the fact, the incontestable fact, that the Poet of Shakspere"s stage, be he who he may, is a poet whose mind is in some way deeply occupied with this question; that it is a poet who is infected, and, indeed, perfectly possessed, with the idea, that the true human leadership ought to consist in the ability to extend the empire of man over nature,--in the ability to unite and control men, and lead them in battalions against those common evils which infest the human conditions,--not fevers only but "worser"
evils, and harder to be cured, and to the conquest of those supernal blessings which the human race have always been vainly crying for. "I am a king that find thee," he says.
And having this inveterate notion of a true human regality to begin with, he is naturally the more curious and prying in regard to the claims of the one which he finds in possession; and when by the mystery of his profession and art, he contrives to get the cloak of that fact.i.tious royalty about him, he asks questions under its cover which another man would not think of putting.
"Canst thou," he continues, walking up and down the stage in King Hal"s mantle, inquiring narrowly into its virtues and taking advantage of that occasion to ascertain the limits of the prerogative--that very dubious question then,--
"Canst thou when thou command"st the beggar"s knee, _Command the health_ of it?"--
_No_? what mockery of power is it then? But, this in connection with the preceding inquiry in regard to the effect of t.i.tles on the progress of a fever, or the amenability of its paroxysm, to flexure and low bending, might have seemed perhaps in the mouth of a subject to savour somewhat of irony; it might have sounded too much like a taunt upon the royal helplessness under cover of a serious philosophical inquiry, or it might have betrayed in such an one a disposition to pursue scientific inquiries farther than was perhaps expedient. But thus it is, that THE KING can dare to pursue the subject, answering his own questions.
"No, thou proud dream That _playst so subtly with a king"s repose_; _I_ am a king _that find thee_; and I know "Tis not the THE BALM, THE SCEPTRE, and THE BALL, THE SWORD, THE MACE, THE CROWN IMPERIAL, _The inter-tissued_ ROBE of _gold and pearl_, The FARCED t.i.tLE--
What is that?--Mark it:--the _farced_ t.i.tLE!--A bold word, one would say, even with _a king_ to authorise it.
"The farced t.i.tLE running "fore the king, THE THRONE he sits on, nor _the tide_ of POMP That beats upon the high sh.o.r.e of this world, No, not all these, thrice gorgeous CEREMONY, Not all these laid in BED MAJESTICAL, Can _sleep so soundly_ as the wretched slave Who, with a body filled, and vacant mind, Gets him to rest crammed with distressful bread, Never sees horrid night, the child of h.e.l.l, But like a lackey from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Phoebus; and all night Sleeps in Elysium.
Yes, there we have him, at last. There he is exactly. That is the scientific picture of him, "poor man," as this poet calls him elsewhere. What malice could a philosophic poet bear him? That is the monarchy that men were "sanctifying themselves with," and "turning up the white of the eye to," then. That is the figure that it makes when it comes to be laid in its state-bed, upon the scientific table of review, not in the formal manner of "the second part" of this philosophy, but in that other manner which the author of the _Novum Organum_, speaks of so frequently, as the one to be used in applying it to subjects of this nature. That is the anatomy of him, which "_our_ method of inquiry and investigation," brings out without much trouble "when we come to particulars." "Truly we were in good hands,"
as the other one says, who finds it more convenient, for his part, to discourse on these points, from a distance.
That is the figure the usurping monarch"s pretensions make at the first blush, in the collections from which "_the vintage_" of the true sovereignty, and the scientific principles of governments are to be expressed, when the true _monarchy_, the legitimate, "one only man power," is the thing inquired for. This one goes to "the negative"
side apparently. A wretched fellow that cannot so much as "sleep o"
nights," that lies there on the stage in the play of Henry the Fourth, in the sight of all the people, with THE CROWN on his very pillow, by way "facilitating the demonstration," pining for the "Elysium" at his meanest subject,--that the poor slave, "crammed with distressful bread," commands; crying for the luxury that the wet seaboy, on his high and giddy couch enjoys;--and from whose note-book came that image, dashed with the ocean spray,--who saw that seaboy sleeping in _that_ storm?
But, as for this KING, it is the king which the scientific history brings out; whereas, in the other sort of history that was in use then, lie is hardly distinguishable at all from those Mexican kings who undertook to keep the heavenly bodies in their places, and, at the same time, to cause all things to be borne by the earth which were requisite for the comfort and convenience of man; a peculiarity of those sovereigns, of which the Man on the Mountains, whose study is so well situated for observations of that sort, makes such a pleasant note.
But whatever other view we may take of it, this, it must be conceded, is a tolerably comprehensive exhibition, in the general, of the mere pageant of royalty, and a pretty free mode of handling it; but it is at the same time a privileged and entirely safe one. For the liberty of this great Prince to repeat to himself, in the course of a solitary stroll through his own camp at midnight, when n.o.body is supposed to be within hearing, certain philosophical conclusions which he was understood to have arrived at in the course of his own regal experience, could hardly be called in question. And as to that most extraordinary conversation in which, by means of his disguise on this occasion, he becomes a partic.i.p.ator, if the Prince himself were too generous to avail himself of it to the harm of the speakers, it would ill become any one else to take exceptions at it.
And yet it is a conversation in which a party of common soldiers are permitted to "speak their minds freely" for once, though "the blank verse has to halt for it," on questions which would be considered at present questions of "gravity." It is a dialogue in which these men are allowed to discuss one of the most important inst.i.tutions of their time from an ethical point of view, in a tone as free as the president of a Peace Society could use to-day in discussing the same topic, intermingling their remarks with criticisms on the government, and personal allusions to the king himself, which would seem to be more in accordance with the manners of the nineteenth century, than with those of the Poet"s time.
But then these wicked and treasonous grumblings being fortunately encountered on the spot, and corrected by the king himself in his own august person, would only serve for edification in the end; if, indeed, that appeal to the national pride which would conclude the matter, and the glory of that great day which was even then breaking in the East, should leave room for any reflections upon it. For it was none other than the field of _Agincourt_ that was subjected to this philosophic inquiry. It was the l.u.s.tre of that immortal victory which was to England then, what Waterloo and the victories of Nelson are now, that was thus chemically treated beforehand. Under the cover of that renowned triumph, it was, that these soldiers could venture to search so deeply the question of war in general; it was in the person of its imperial hero, that the statesman could venture to touch so boldly, an inst.i.tution which gave to one man, by his own confession no better or wiser than his neighbours, the power to involve nations in such horrors.
But let us join the king in his stroll, and hear for ourselves, what it is that these soldiers are discussing, by the camp-fires of _Agincourt_;--what it is that this first voice from the ranks has to say for itself. The king has just encountered by the way a poetical sentinel, who, not satisfied with the watchword--"_a friend_,"-- requests the disguised prince "to discuss to him, and answer, whether he is an _officer_, or _base, common_, and _popular_," when the king lights on this little group, and the discussion which Pistol had solicited, apparently on his own behalf, actually takes place, for the benefit of the Poet"s audience, and the answer to these inquiries comes out in due order.
_Court_. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?
_Bates_. I think it be, _but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day_.
_Will_. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?
_King Henry_. A friend.
_Will_. Under what captain serve you?
_King_. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
_Will_. A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate?
_King._ Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide.
_Bates_. _He hath not told his thought to the king_?
_King_. No; nor it is not meet that he should; for though _I speak it to you_, I think the king is but a man as I am.
And it is here that he proceeds to make that important disclosure above quoted, that all his senses have but human conditions, and that all his _affections_, though _higher mounted, stoop with the like wing_; and therefore no man should in reason possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, "should dishearten his army."
_Bates_. He may show what outward courage he will; but, _I_ believe, as cold a night as "tis, he could wish himself in the Thames, up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.
_King_. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king. I think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is.
_Bates_. Then would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men"s lives saved.
_King_. I dare say you love him not so ill as to wish him here alone; _howsoever you speak this to feel other men"s minds_; Methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the king"s company; _his cause being just, and his quarrel honorable_.
_Will. That"s more than we know._
_Bates_. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know we are the king"s subjects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the _king_ wipes the crime of it out of us.
_Will_. But _if the cause be not good_, the _king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make_; when all those legs and arms and heads chopped off in a battle shall join together at the latter day, and cry all--We died at such a place; some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them; some upon the debts they owe; some upon their children rawly left. I am afeared that few die well, that die in battle; for how can they _charitably_ dispose of anything _when blood is their argument_?
Now if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey were _against all proportion of subjection_.
_King_. So, if a son that is by his father sent about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, under his master"s command, transporting a sum of money, be a.s.sailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant"s d.a.m.nation.--But this is not so.... There is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrament of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers.
But the king pursues this question of the royal responsibility until he arrives at the conclusion that _every subject"s_ DUTY is THE KING"S, BUT EVERY SUBJECT"S SOUL IS HIS OWN, until he shows, indeed, that there is but one ultimate sovereignty; one to which the king and his subjects are alike amenable, which pursues them everywhere, with its demands and reckonings,--from whose violated laws there is no escape.
_Will_. "Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head--[no unimportant point in the theology or ethics of that time]--THE KING is not to answer for it.
_Bates_. I do not desire the king should answer for me, and yet I determine to fight l.u.s.tily for him.
_King_. I, myself, heard the king say, he would not be ransomed.
_Will_. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed and we ne"er the wiser.
_King_. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.
_Will_. _Ma.s.s, you"ll pay him then!_ That"s a perilous shot out of an _elder gun_, that a poor and _private_ displeasure can do against a monarch. _You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice_, with fanning in his face with a peac.o.c.k"s feather.
And, indeed, thus and not any less absurd and monstrous, appeared the idea of subjecting the king to any effect from the subject"s displeasure, or the idea of calling him to account--this one, helpless, frail, private man, as he has just been conceded by the king himself to be, for any amount of fraud or dishonesty to the nation, for any breach of trust or honour. For his relation to the _ma.s.s_ and the source of this fearful irresponsible power was not understood then. The soldier states it well. One might, indeed, as well go about to turn the sun to ice, _with fanning in his face_ with a peac.o.c.k"s feather.
"You"ll never trust his word after," the soldier continues.
"Come, "tis a foolish saying."
"Your reproof is something _too round_," is the king"s reply. It is indeed round. It is one of those round replies that this poet is so fond of, and the king himself becomes "the private" of it, when once the centre of this play is found, and the sweep of its circ.u.mference is taken. For the sovereignty of law, the kingship of the universal law _in whomsoever it speaks_, awful with G.o.d"s power, armed with _his_ pains and penalties is the scientific sovereignty; and in the scientific diagrams the pa.s.sions, "the poor and private pa.s.sions," and the arbitrary will, in whomsoever they speak, no matter what symbols of sovereignty they have contrived to usurp, make no better figure in their struggles with that law, than that same which the poet"s vivid imagination and intense perception of incompatibilities, has seized on here. The king struggles vainly against the might of the universal nature. It is but the shot out of an "_elder gun_;" he might as well "go about to _turn the sun to ice_ with fanning in his face with a _peac.o.c.k"s_ feather." "I should be angry with you," continues the king, after noticing the roundness of that reply, "I should be angry with you, if _the time_ were convenient."
But as to the poet who composes these dialogues, of course he does not know whether the time is convenient or not;--he has never reflected upon any of those grave questions which are here so seriously discussed. They are not questions in which he can be supposed to have taken any interest. Of course he does not know or care what it is that these men are talking about. It is only for the sake of an artistic effect, to pa.s.s away the night, and to deepen for his hero the gloom which was to serve as the foil and sullen ground of his great victory, that his interlocutors are permitted to go on in this manner.