Exeter and a herald return to report the total number
of casualties. Ten thousand French soldiers are dead, but somehow
the English have lost only twenty-nine men. Recognizing their extraordinary
good luck, the Englishmen give praise to God. Henry orders his men
to proceed to the captured village, but without any bragging.
Read a translation of
Act IV, scene viii →
Analysis: Act IV, scenes vi–viii
The touching story of the death of the Duke of York, which
Exeter relates to Henry at the beginning of Act IV, scene vi, presents
a very romanticized view of death in battle. Both Exeter and Henry
are deeply touched by the great love between York and his cousin
Suffolk, as well as by York’s selfless courage and love for his
king. The discrepancy between York and Suffolk’s devoted friendship
and King Henry’s ill-fated friendships—with Falstaff, Scrope, and
Bardolph, for instance—highlights again the pressure of monarchy, which
prevents Henry from enjoying such an uncomplicated, loving friendship
with anyone.
The problems inherent in loving Henry are raised again
in the following scene, in the conversation between Fluellen and
Gower. Fluellen’s comparison of King Henry to Alexander the Great
is evidently meant to be very flattering, but it does not exactly
come off that way. Fluellen begins by referring to “Alexander the
Pig” (IV.vii.12–13).
Of course, he means to say “Alexander the Big”—an error for “Alexander
the Great,” as Gower promptly corrects him—but Fluellen’s Welsh
accent turns the b into a p.
Moreover, the qualities Fluellen praises in Alexander
do not necessarily seem flattering when applied to Henry. The most
telling of these comes when Fluellen mentions that Alexander, “in
his rages and his furies … did in his ales and his angers … kill
his best friend Cleitus” (IV.vii.28–32).
The parallel Fluellen has in mind is that Henry, at the same age
(twenty-eight) Alexander was when he killed Cleitus, “turned away
the fat knight with the great-belly doublet” (IV.vii.40).
Gower supplies the knight’s name: Sir John Falstaff. This memory
does not seem to diminish Henry in Fluellen’s eyes, but it may not
sit as comfortably with the audience. Shakespeare continually reminds
us that the nature of kingship is such that being a good king may
keep one from being a likable man.
The discrepancy revealed in the numbers of the French
and the English dead (10,000 versus
twenty-nine) may seem almost impossible to believe. Nonetheless,
these seem to be the real numbers for the historical battle of Agincourt—at
least, they are the numbers recorded for the Battle of Agincourt
in Shakespeare’s historical source, the Chronicles of Raphael Holinshed.
One cause of the high French mortality rate is that the French army
lost its organization, and many of the French soldiers broke and
ran. In flight, they were easy targets and couldn’t fight back very
well. It had rained very heavily prior to the battle, putting the
French, with their heavy armor and horses, at a disadvantage. But
probably the most important cause of the lopsided victory was the
English use of the longbow, a weapon that had existed for hundreds
of years but whose use had been forgotten on the continent until
the English brought it to Agincourt. Shakespeare, however, does
not attribute the outcome of the battle to tactics, weather, or
technology, preferring to depict Henry’s victory as an act of God.
