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Summary
Talbot and his son John stand on the battlefield near Bordeaux. Talbot says he sent for his son to teach him the strategies of war so that the name of Talbot might carry on. But John has arrived in a dangerous situation, and Talbot tells his son to escape. John refuses, explaining that to flee now would be to disgrace the family name. The two men continue to argue, with Talbot coming up with new reasons for his son to flee and John refuting each of his father’s arguments. Finally, Talbot relents and, with sadness, welcomes his son to fight—and most certainly die—by his side.
In the ensuing battle, John becomes surrounded by French soldiers, and Talbot rescues him. Talbot sees that his son has received his first wound in battle, struck by the Bastard of Orléans. He asks if John is tired, once again urging him to leave the battlefield. But John insists that he wouldn’t be worthy of the family name if he fled. Thus, Talbot and his son return to the battle.
Some time has elapsed, and Talbot now reappears led by a servant. He mourns his son, who he says repeatedly saved him on the battlefield, fighting valiantly. But he was eventually brought down by the French. John’s body is carried in, and Talbot weeps over it. He says his spirit cannot survive this blow, and he dies.
Charles and his entourage enter. Charles expresses gladness that York and Somerset’s troops never arrived, for the French would not have won had they come as planned. The lords then discuss how powerful a warrior John proved to be before he fell. Joan says that she encountered him in the field, but he refused to fight with her, believing a woman to be an unworthy opponent. Burgundy says he would have made a noble knight.
Lucy enters and recites a long list of names and titles, asking what has happened to each of these men. Joan makes fun of Lucy’s formal style of speech, saying, “Him that thou magnifi’st with all these titles / Stinking and flyblown lies here at our feet” (4.7.75–76). Lucy asks if Talbot is slain, and he asks to take the bodies of the dead to be buried in fitting honor. Joan, clearly bored with Lucy’s ceremonious demeanor, urges Charles to give him the bodies and send Lucy on his way.
Analysis
The scenes between Talbot and John focus on their argument about whether John should flee the battle. Talbot had previously upbraided Fastolf for having fled a battle, at which time he made his feelings about deserters quite clear. When it comes to his own son, however, he is quick to suggest flight—especially if his escape would mean carrying on the Talbot name or avenging his father’s death. Yet his son is obstinate. He has clearly learned something from Talbot about the nature of chivalry and valor: he refuses to leave the scene of the battle because such a cowardly act would render him unworthy of the Talbot name. Moreover, he points out, no army would welcome a man who fled from his first-ever battle. This, John insists, is the moment to test his mettle, and if he dies in the trial, then so be it. As we learn through dialogue, John does indeed fight valiantly, proving himself worthy of inheriting his father’s reputation. This makes his death that much more crushing for his father. In a tragic twist, though the great warrior Talbot does end up dying in battle, it isn’t from wounds of the flesh. Instead, he succumbs to his grief and dies with his son’s corpse cradled in his arms.
The scenes with Talbot and his son represent a tragic high point in the play, as the towering symbol of England’s military might now collapses. Yet it’s interesting to note how this dramatic apex is framed through a father–son relationship, with the son eager to prove worthy of his father, and the father wishing to spare his son’s life. On the one hand, this relationship elevates the dramatic effect of Talbot’s death. His son’s evident nobility of spirit makes both deaths all the more tragic, since together they symbolize the end of an ancient chivalric code. On the other hand, the close relationship between Talbot and John offers the kind of father–son relationship that is conspicuously missing for Henry. The young king has never known his father, and he has therefore blindly inherited a legacy that he is evidently too young to preserve. Whereas he is tragically unable to carry forward the greatness of Henry V, John proves himself a worthy successor. That the worthy successor should die before realizing his full potential mirrors the military and political decline England is currently facing.
The French leadership clearly understands the symbolism behind these deaths, and Charles reflects explicitly on how lucky they were that the squabbling English lords failed to deliver at the pivotal moment: “Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, / We should have found a bloody day of this” (4.7.33–34). Burgundy, who maintains some emotional attachment to the army he’s just betrayed, mourns the premature death of a young man who “doubtless . . . would have made a noble knight” (4.7.44). But Joan proves more coldblooded. She mocks Sir William Lucy’s formality as a war messenger, and in her eagerness to move along she dismisses the bodies of these heroic figures as mere rotting corpses. “For God’s sake [Lucy] have them,” she tells Charles impatiently: “To keep them here / They would but stink and putrefy the air” (4.7.89–90). Here again we see that Joan brings a more modern spirit of cold neutrality in her approach to war.
