Shakespeare's Complete Works Reading Challenge: More of Henry VI

WHAT IS THIS ABOUT? I have a hankering to read all of Shakespeare's plays (again)... starting in chronological order with Henry VI, Part 1: written by Shakespeare (b. 1564) in 1591. I'm using an old Complete Works of Shakespeare edition from the Clarendon Press. I'm half-liveblogging, half just writing traditional posts.

See also: Previous Henry VI blog post, Act I Scene 1.

***

Charles VII of France, 20 years older than in Act I. (1444)
Painting by Jean Fouquet,
from the Louvre.
Source: Wikipedia

ACT I. Scene II.

We are now in France.

The Dauphin, known in modern French historiography as Charles VII the Victorious, is addressing his army and his allies. Maybe he originally wanted to tell them, 'You win some, you lose some,' but we will never truly know! Instead he chooses this wording:

Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
So in the earth, to this day is not known.
Late did he shine upon the English side;
Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.

In Scene I an English duke had accused the French rather flatteringly of 'subtle wit' and, less flatteringly, of sorcery. Now, the French call the English 1. pale, and 2. obsessed with porridge and beef. (I think that attempting to insult a British person with porridge references might still work in 2024, whereas the pallor stereotype wouldn't as it is now used for the Irish?)

Insults aside, the Dauphin is cautiously optimistic. The Earl of Salisbury's weakened troops are the main remnant of England's military, and he is confident about defeating them.

But France's army has a rough awakening.

The stage directions say Exeunt. The Dauphin and his allies walk out, prepared to fight and defeat the Earl.

But shortly everyone is back on stage:

It turns out that the Earl of Salisbury made up in determination, for what he lacked in manpower.

As the French leaders lament their military defeat, the 'Bastard of Orleans' joins them.

"Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us," exclaims the Dauphin. It is a greeting that would, I think, seem rude in most other contexts.

The Bastard of Orleans tells His Majesty that he has found Joan of Arc. He wants the Dauphin to meet her because she might be the solution to all their problems.

The Dauphin is fine with the meeting. But to test Joan of Arc, he asks the Duke of Anjou to impersonate the king.

Joan La Pucelle ('Joan The Maid') enters, spots the trick, and turns to the real Dauphin instead, demanding to speak with him alone.

Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.

she begins. Then she literally tells the Dauphin her life story, including how she was visited by the Virgin Mary. After that heavenly vision, Joan of Arc says immodestly, explaining why she isn't tanned like anyone living and working outdoors would otherwise be, "That beauty am I bless'd with which you see."

She asks the Dauphin to test her in single combat.

In a striking contrast to modern heads of government, the Dauphin is happy to interact with an armed stranger. (Perhaps it was reassuring that Joan of Arc had accessorized her sword with "five flower-de-luces on each side.")

But he is overconfident: Joan of Arc overpowers him.

He doesn't dislike her for it, but praises her as an Amazon. It's the same odd mixture of Greek and Roman mythology with Christian theology that we see elsewhere in the play. She quickly disclaims any great skill, and attributes her victory to the Virgin Mary.

The Dauphin is lovestruck. [In the TV adaptations that the BBC produced in the 1960s, however, he is portrayed as less lovestruck than as a handsy lecher, which is also plausible.] Joan of Arc tells him that there's plenty of time for that ... after the war.

Persuaded, he only asks,

Meanwhile look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

Meanwhile, the Dukes are not very impressed.

But Joan promises to repel the English for them:

Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.

Tragically she doesn't leave that metaphor to stand for itself. She adds: "Now I am like that proud insulting ship / Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once." ... I think that a shepherd's daughter steeped in medieval Catholicism and warfare would probably not be mentioning thousand-year-old Roman history. The phrase "insulting ship" sounds even sillier; but perhaps the choice of adjective and noun is better than the alternatives ... let's say, like 'foul-mouthed dinghy'.

Charles, mangling both the Roman and Christian religions (wouldn't at least a few medieval and classical authorities have murdered him 'to encourage the others'?), replies

Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
How may I reverently worship thee enough?

The Duke of Alençon, perhaps wishing to spare the audience, interrupts:

Leave off delays and let us raise the siege.

***

7:30 p.m.
ACT I. Scene III.

We are now at the Tower of London. Within its walls somewhere, Henry VI is probably napping in his medieval crib. The Duke of Gloucester has arrived at the door, eager to begin serving Henry VI as his Lord Protector. But the Tower's guards (like the bouncers of Berghain) refuse to let him in.

The Tower of London in the Middle Ages
Longbows were used throughout the Hundred Years' War, and crossbows were already popular in the 12th century, so it's hard to date this picture as a layperson.
Source: Wikimedia Commons

Duke of Gloucester

Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

A lieutenant, Woodvile, arrives behind the door. Apologetically, because he knows the Duke personally, he explains through the barrier that the Bishop of Winchester has instructed the guards to block Gloucester's entry.

The corrupt Bishop himself arrives to gloat. But perhaps only a Latin grammarian (proditor is Latin for 'traitor,' but it's not the greatest pun) could love his insults, as he falsely accuses the Duke of treachery:

thou most usurping proditor,

And not protector, of the king or realm.

After a heated argument, Gloucester and his men attack, hurling lurid threats:

In spite of pope or dignities of church,

Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

The Duke does not fulfill the vow. But he and his men do drive back the Bishop.

The Mayor of London enters with city officers, scolds both parties, and eventually subdues the fighting when one of his men shouts out the order to disband:

All manner of men, assembled here in arms this day, against God's peace and the king's we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death.

Eager to have the last word, the Bishop shouts that the Duke should watch his back, or rather his head: "For I intend to have it ere long."

***

9 p.m.

ACT I. Scene IV.

We are back in France.

In the fortifications of Orleans, a French master gunner is speaking to his son. Although the English siege is successful, the gunner explains that he is planning to put a spanner in their works by firing at a tower that the English are secretly using to see the layout of the battlefield and generally gather reconnaissance.

The English, amongst them the Lords Salisbury and Talbot, enter the stage and walk around the reconnaissance turret.

In blissful ignorance, they discuss how happy they are that Talbot has been set free from a French prison. The Duke of Bedford's intervention in the war had given them leverage to organize a high-level prisoner exchange.

But the gunner's son fires, and Lord Salisbury and Sir Thomas Gargrave are fatally wounded.

Talbot looks at the dying Salisbury. He gorily exclaims, for the benefit of the audience (and probably for the benefit of the actors, who are no longer under pressure to create fake carnage that even the back rows of a theatre can see and enjoy),

One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!

He is frankly a bit of a Job's comforter, for he adds,

One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace

Then Shakespeare's stage direction: [It thunders and lightens. An alarum. For the forces of France, the Dauphin and Joan of Arc at their head, are arriving.

Just before the bodies of Salisbury and Gargrave are hefted away, and the English exit the stage, Talbot vows bloody vengeance:

Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels

And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.