Shakespeare & The Penny Stinkards
"Fare thee well, great heart. Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk!"
“Fare thee well, great heart. Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk!” — Henry IV, Part 1, Act V, Scene 4, Lines 89-90.
The theater was not always the high brow affair that we think of today. In fact, in Elizabethan England, theater was not even allowed within the city walls of London. Theaters were seedy places located alongside bear-baiting rings and whorehouses. To reach the OG Globe, one had to either take a ferry across the Thames or walk beneath the bloated corpses hanging from London Bridge. It was so unseemly, women were not even permitted to perform. By 1642 (twenty-six years after Shakespeare’s death), the Puritans (yes, the pilgrims that founded the United States) decreed that all theaters were to be closed. Now you see why they were kicked out of England…
This idea persisted through the ages. In fact, a reason Shakespeare in the Park became a tradition in the United States was that “good Christian people” would not attend a theater, but they still held the works of Shakespeare in esteem. As a compromise, the plays were performed in fields in sight of God.
But I digress.
All this to say, that the people attending theater productions were not solely the upper echelon of society. There were some wealthy people or nobility that would go sit in the seats high above the rabble, but the people standing on the earthen floor (the groundlings) were the dregs of society. Around midday, these people would flock to bankside and find one of the actors milling about with a box around their neck, and place a penny in the slot for their admission. These patrons were lovingly referred to as ‘Penny Stinkards.’ As it neared showtime (about 3 o’clock because the sunlight was needed to light the outdoor stage), the boxes would be taken back stage to … the box office!
This rowdy (and likely smelly) crowd, would pile in like sardines on the floor, crowding up to the front of the stage. They’d shout things out at performers and the skilled clowns of the company (Armin, Kemp, etc. ) would banter with them. If they play was bad, they’d let you know. If the play was good, they’d let you know that too. As much as Shakespeare wrote us beautiful words to encapsulate the human experience, he wrote bawdy, base humor to shut this crowd up (or make them roar with laughter). These were the soap operas or Family Guy episodes of the day (a new play every other day).
My favorite of the history plays (reminder, they’re not about history at all), is Henry IV, Part 1. Prince Hal (soon to become Henry V) lives with one foot in the royal world and one foot in the common one. The scenes in Eastcheap give us a peek into life on the bankside. The lives of the people standing in the pit and watching Shakespeare’s worlds.
So let’s enter Shakespeare’s hall of mirrors and see what he can show us, shall we?
The Shake-Scene
The play opens by introducing us to two sets of foils — not the literal fencing sword kind, but the English class concept of mirrored characters. First up, we have Henry IV the newly anointed King of England, and Sir John Falstaff the king of the Pub. King Henry the IV (formerly Henry Bolingbroke) deposed his cousin the royally inept Richard II (who was subsequently murdered). Sir John Falstaff is an unrepentant knight who relishes all the world has to offer — food, booze, women, thievery, etc. Much is made of Falstaff being… rotund, but I agree with Dr. Emma Smith that this is not fat-shaming but rather highlighting Falstaff’s lust for life. While Henry IV wants to take a journey to the Holy Land, Falstaff fills himself with all the earthly delights he can stomach (literally). Both of these men are father figures for Prince Hal (who will go on to become Henry V).
Which brings us to the second set — Prince Henry (Hal) Bolingbroke and Sir Henry “Hotspur” Percy. Prince Hal is Henry IV’s heir apparent who avoids stuffy court life and revels in the life of the commoners. Hotspur is an impressive knight in northern England who’s won honor fighting the Scots, but his ambition goes from admirable to troublesome real quick.
And, over in ‘Shakespeare-isn’t-Subtle’ Corner, Shakespeare calls out this mirroring, first having Henry IV wish that his Harry (Prince Hal) had been switched at birth by faeries with Harry “Hotspur” Percy in some divine joke, and then having Falstaff jokingly pretend to be Henry IV and question Prince Hal in a later scene. So with that in mind, on with the show!
At Court, Henry IV learns that Hotspur — who he praises for his nobility and honor — has beaten back the Scots but refused to give the King the captives he’s taken. Meanwhile, Prince Hal is hanging with his slovenly bestie Falstaff in the slums of Eastcheap and plotting a prank against him. In direct address to the audience, Hal assures us that this turn to the dark side is merely an act, so that when he turns over a redeeming leaf, it’ll be more impressive. But the level of Hal’s dark side is a decision for actors and directors. Is he a cheeky Tom Hiddleston playing thief in the woods, or an anarchtic Toheeb Jimoh smashing cash registers with a baseball bat? Is he playing bad and merely complicit, or his he engaging in true criminal enterprise? And how much should we trust those closing lines — “I’ll so offend to make offense a skill, /Redeeming time when men think least I will.”
Hotspur comes to Court and tries to regain favor after the perceived slight, but that very honor that the King admires prevents him from bowing like a sycophant. He demands the King release “Mortimer” in exchange for the hostages, but the King refuses. It turns out that’s because “Mortimer”, the brother to Hotspur’s wife, has an equal claim to the throne as Henry IV. Humiliated by the King’s treatment of him, Hotspur leaves, plotting to band with the Scots and overthrow the King.
While this game of egos to define nations goes on in Court, Prince Hal and his cohort Poins enact their prank against Falstaff. The men all plan to rob a convoy bringing money to the King’s castle — yes, Hal has set these men up to rob his dad (can you say, “Daddy Issues”?). The prank is that, once Falstaff and his cohorts take the money from the people transporting it, Hal and Poins dress up in disguises and rob Falstaff and his friends who run away like cowards.
From the woods of Gadshill, we move northward to where Harry “Hotspur” Percy has returned home. He’s gathering forces to overthrow Henry IV and replace him with his brother-in-law Mortimer. He’s confronted by his wife Lady Percy, Kate. I’d argue they’re the healthiest marriage in Shakespeare (some claim its the Macbeths).1 She asks for answers even though she already knows what’s afoot. He teases and evades, because he loves her and doesn’t want to leave her. Finally, he capitulates and promises, “whither I go, thither shall you go too.” And thus contented, she lets him leave.
Back in Eastcheap, Hal and Poins wait at the tavern for Falstaff and his boys to arrive. Hal confesses he’s engaging in these pranks to blow off his jealousy over Hotspur. Falstaff arrives at the tavern and claims to have been robbed by a hundred huge men. He’s even hacked his sword with a dagger to make it seem as if he’d been in a hard-fought battle. Hal and Poins let his fish-tale grow into a fervor and then reveal their prank to humiliate him, but Falstaff will not be outwitted (you cannot humiliate someone without shame) — which is what makes it fun rather than cruel, I suppose. Falstaff claims he was in on the joke but couldn’t raise his sword against the crown prince, so played along. They all have a merry laugh until a messenger comes to summon Hal back to court because word has come of Hotspur’s coup.
Hal claims not to be afraid, but, as contentious as the relationship may seem, Falstaff cares for him. Falstaff asks him to prepare to be berated by the King at court and prepare his answers. Hal seizes this opportunity to propose another game. Falstaff will pretend to be Henry IV and question Hal about his poor life choices. Falstaff places a cushion on his head as a crown and agrees to do so. Falstaff jokingly lambastes Hal for the company he keeps (the very people currently packed in the tavern and looking on who are so similar to the crowd standing at the edge of the stage). Falstaff feigns horror at all the company Hal keeps, except for one “virtuous man” — meaning Falstaff himself.
And then they swap.
And Hal plays Henry IV and Falstaff plays Hal. Hal’s version of Henry IV says Falstaff is a “white bearded Satan.” Falstaff, playing Hal, defends himself, and, in what can be a very poignant speech, pleads Hal not to banish him from his company — “Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.” And Hal says he does and he will. The degree to which he means that is open for interpretation. But it is clear that Hal must decide between living in this world of jests and joy, or the world of court and violence.
The moment is interrupted when the sheriff comes to search for the stolen gold, and Hal makes his loyalties known. He could have Falstaff hauled away for thievery, but instead, he hides the man away and covers for him. Falstaff, his conscious ever clear, falls asleep as Hal lies to the law and sends him away. Personally, I wonder what the audience thinks of this exchange. Does this endear them to Hal who is to become the lauded Henry V, or do they think less of his ethics? For me, I like this Hal who is in community with his subjects rather than lording over them. He will not be this Hal forever, though. War is coming.
In the north, Hotspur meets with his cohorts including the blowhard leader of the Welsh rebels— Glendower. Glendower brags that the stars burned and Earth shook at his birth, proving him great. Hotspur drags the guy’s ego hilariously, making Glendower more and more outraged until finally Hotspur’s more levelheaded mentors cease the ridicule. Glendower then leaves and brings in the wives. It turns out Mortimer (the would-be-king) is married to the Welshman’s daughter. She speaks no English and he no Welsh. Her father translates that Mortimer is to lay his head in her lap and she will sing to him. Hotspur and Kate lay down as well, whispering jokes about Mortimer and his Welsh bride. It is clear they share a sense of humor and love for one another. But as I’ve said, war is coming. The men leave to make their way to battle.
But before the battle with the rebels, Henry IV and Hal must have their battle of wills. Henry IV berates Hal, accusing him of being too friendly with the common folk (i.e., the people standing at the edge of the stage— awkward!), and in Henry IV’s lecture we hear the fear. Richard II was deposed for the very sins Hal now embraces. Hal repents his prior ways (or at least says he does), and vows to regain his honor and kill Hotspur. Henry IV orders him into the field. His brother has already left with a contingent. Hal is to follow. Then Henry IV.
And now, to battle. Hal’s first order of business is to appoint Sir John Falstaff head of the infantry. He should know better, but his fondness for the man remains a blind spot… Meanwhile, Hotspur learns half of his forces aren’t going to show. Hotspur’s father is sick and cannot trust anyone to bring his men to the battle. Henry IV may hold Hal to a high standard, but at least he shows up.
Hal and his brother race their forces toward the battlefield, passing Falstaff. Falstaff tells the audience he has taken bribes from men to avoid being conscripted into the army, and instead brought the poor and imprisoned. Overtaking him, Hal and his brother urge Falstaff to the front, but he is in no hurry. Once alone, he jests to the audience about being late to the battle saying, “Well, to the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.”
Meanwhile, Hotspur is chomping at the bit. He wants to immediately attack, but his advisors want to give the men time to rest from their journey. The King sends a messenger to negotiate peace with the rebels. Hotspur reminds him that they’re the ones who fought alongside Henry IV for his crown, and all the ways the King has now betrayed them. Ultimately, Hotspur agrees to consider peace.
The next morning, Hotspur sends a messenger to the King to lay out their grievances. Prince Hal suggests that he and Hotspur should face in single combat rather than risk so many lives, but the King offers to pardon the rebels if they will yield. The messenger departs, as well as the King and Prince Hal. Falstaff remains to preach to the audience his sermon on the uselessness of “honor.” Honor cannot set a bone or heal a wound. Falstaff vows thus to have no honor.
Speaking of no honor, Hotspur’s messenger decides not to tell him of the King’s offer of pardons and instead urges him on to war. Eager for bloodshed, Hotspur urges his men on.
As the battle rages, Falstaff admits to leaving his men to die. It is dishonorable, or is it merely honest? Are they not all leading these men to death? In more mirroring, the King has numerous men wearing his clothes on the battlefield so they will be attacked instead of him. Douglas the Scotsman kill many of those men. Douglas eventually finds the King, nearly killing him, but Hal saves him. He’s a full believer in that honor so railed against by Falstaff. The King tells Hal that he “hast redeemed thy lost opinion” — awwww. The King goes for medical assistance, and Hotspur arrives to challenge Hal.
And so they finally meet. Harry against Harry. Honor by blood against honor by deed. A thrilla’ not in Manila but on the battlefield of Shrewsbury (much harder to rhyme). As they fight, Falstaff fights Douglas and “falls” — it’s up to directors how convincing this “death” is. Meanwhile, Hal is victorious. Hotspur dies, and Hal says kind words over him. He then spots Falstaff’s apparently dead body. He mourns his friend (with a few fat jokes, which probably says Shakespeare’s audience knew the man was alive and laughed at Hal’s sentiment).
Hal leaves and Falstaff pops up to reveal he was only pretending (an interesting bit of meta moment considering all the actors on the stage are merely pretending). He stabs Hotspur and decides to pretend that he has killed him — so much for not caring about honor. Hal and his brother come upon them, and Hal agrees to let Falstaff take the credit. And the trumpets sound that the battle is over and Henry IV’s forces have won the day. They will continue to march on to stop the other rebels, but thus ends part one.
Speak the Speech, I Pray You
Bring Shakespeare’s words into your own life by:
Lament that friend’s failed attempt to beat a food challenge;
Comfort the friend who’s had all their Libby holds come in at once; and
Claim defeat on those New Years’ Resolutions:
Additional Resources
Find a copy of the entire play here.
Check out The Hollow Crown adaptation (or at least Google Hiddleston as Hal. You won’t regret it.
Listen to the amazing Dr. Emma Smith discuss Falstaff and Hal in her lecture series here.
Thanks for listening!
-LL
Note: My opinion on this matter is heavily influenced by my love for the Hollow Crown adaptation of this play. The Percys in that production are #couplegoals.
This was a great listen! I love the Hollow Crown Henry IV plays.