Henry VIII, the first of two surviving collaborative plays written by Shakespeare and John Fletcher (the third, Cardenio, is lost to us), is an ironic celebration and a historically complicated pageant. It suggests a progressive view of history that moves to a glorious end, and yet that dynamic is undercut by a cyclical rise-and-fall pattern of human history. Buckingham and Wolsey and Katherine fall, while Anne and More and Cranmer rise. Yet, as we know from history, Anne, More, and Cranmer, would fall after the end of the play — the first two by the hand of Henry VIII, and the last by the hand of his daughter Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary herself would fall by the hand of Queen Elizabeth I, whom this play celebrates in a retrospective prophecy.
Though such irony does not inherently make a play better than "simplicity," knowing, as Shakespeare and Fletcher and their audience would have known, of the fates of the characters in history does enrich my reception of Henry VIII. Though I am inclined to think that a Henry VIII written completely by Shakespeare would have be greater, I am pleased to say that the play as it is has a unity to it, such that I can treat it as “a Shakespeare play”, and that it functions as a kind of historical romance play that prefigures and foreshadows the romance of Queen Elizabeth I and her “golden age.” It resembles Henry V in showing a kind of happy ending that is undercut in happiness by the future ironies and sad events, and it recalls Richard III in its Tudor ending. It also resembles The Tempest in its display of poetry and pageantry, while it resembles Antony and Cleopatra in its mixture of poetic and linguistic extravagance with a kind of ambiguity about the movement of history and power. William Hazlitt is right to find the play of “considerable interest of a more mild and thoughtful cast, and [with] some of the most striking passages in the author's works,” while Harold Bloom, a descendant of the Hazlitt school of Shakespeare criticism, admired it as “a better dramatic poem than a play” and said the play “deserves more aesthetic esteem than it has been accorded” as it has “a new and original style, one that transcends the stage images who chant it.” As I read it, I could not help but admire the beauty of the poetry, the complexity of Shakespeare’s late language, Shakespeare’s and Fletcher’s bestowing of grand speech on their characters, and the pageantry of this play.
The prologue is noteworthy for what it sets up for the play’s audience. “I come no more to make you laugh” could be a signal that Shakespeare has ended his funny plays for good, though there will be humor at moments. “A weighty and a serious brow,/Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe” signals what I imagine the gestures of many of its anxious historical characters such as Henry VIII, Wolsey, and Cranmer to be, while “pity” and “truth” highlight major themes and concerns. All is True, the play’s other title, is suggestive of a kind of ambiguity around truth and honesty. For example, Katherine is “true” in her fidelity to a husband and king that rejects her for matters of state and for personal reasons, while Henry VIII is “true” to the State and to his desires in his choice of Anne Boelyn. In addition, the side that stands for a kind of Catholicism has its truth, perhaps best represented by a fallen and mostly repentant Wolsey (the main villain of the piece for some time), while the Protestantism is also true. All is True highlight for us the play’s thematic and verbal interest in truth and honesty, which the other title of Henry VIII might not immediately bring to mind.
The opening of the play sets up the grandeur of language and spectacle and the concerns of honesty and honor that set up. See Norfolk’s speech:
Men might say
Till this time pomp was single, but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day’s master, till the last
Made former wonders its. Today the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English, and tomorrow they
Made Britain India: every man that stood
Showed like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all gilt. The madams too,
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labor
Was to them as a painting. Now this masque
Was cried incomparable; and th’ ensuing night
Made it a fool and beggar.
Just as Norfolk describes a pageant, so his verse becomes a kind of verbal pageant of imagery, equivalent to Enobarbus’ grand barge speech in Antony and Cleopatra. Pomp is married, and becomes more. The days master one another. French and English are grand together. Pages and madams are gilded and painted. Shakespeare’s multiplication of imagery, so common in the energy of his dramatic verse, gains a kind of stately flow.
In addition, that poetic power is evoked in the introduction of honesty into the play’s scheme:
As I belong to worship, and affect
In honor honesty, the tract of everything
Would by a good discourser lose some life
Which action’s self was tongue to. All was royal;
To the disposing of it naught rebelled.
Order gave each thing view. The office did
Distinctly his full function.
The general sense goes something like this: As I am an aristocrat and honorably love truth, the event would [even] by a good speaker lose some of the life which the action itself spoke of. All of it was so splendid, and it was so orderly.
Yet attending to the lines closely, something happens. “Honor” and “honesty, linked together,” bring to the forefront and together what will be depicted, challenged, debunked in some and vindicated in others. Wolsey will be shown to have had neither true honor nor honesty, while Katherine and Cranmer are opposites who ultimately are shown to have honor and honesty in them. The case of Henry VIII himself, as I will explain further, shows much ambiguity. How much “honour” does Henry have in divorcing his wife and in affecting another woman? How much “honesty” does he show in the way he deals with his conscience and scruples? The play is ambiguous about Henry VIII’s own character, and that ambiguity depends on the audience’s awareness of history as it does on the playwrights’ creativity. In addition, “all was royal” and orderly signals something of the orderliness that appears in this work in my mind and imagination as I read it.
I should add also that “honesty” and “truth,” like “brave” in The Tempest, “honest” in Othello, and “nothing” in King Lear, functions as a repeated motif that causes us to reflect on what is true about history, what is true about religion, and what is true about the human face of political action and ambition. That repetition becomes part of the beauty, I feel, of Shakespeare’s (and Fletcher’s) language.
How do we approach the King as Shakespeare and Fletcher depict him? Henry VIII’s later career as a wife-killer calls into doubt the way he appears in the play. Yet does it necessarily detract from the not-unsympathetic portrait of the play? Not necessarily, if one keeps in mind the attitude of a providential viewpoint that views all of this as part of the drama that leads to the splendor of Elizabeth I and her successor King James I. Henry is depicted, so it seems, as a loving husband who divorces his wife as much for reasons of state and conscience as for an interest in a new wife. Henry is also depicted as the vindicator of the righteous Cranmer and the punisher of the venial and ambitious Wolsey. These things make him somewhat sympathetic, and at times he resembles Shakespeare’s Henry IV, another problematic figure not unsympathetically portrayed. Some readers might think that this portrait is not negative enough on him.
But William Hazlitt, interestingly, thought that Shakespeare does depict the negative in the play. “The character of Henry VIII is drawn with great truth and spirit. It is like a very disagreeable portrait, sketched by the hand of a master. His gross appearance, his blustering demeanour, his vulgarity, his arrogance, his sensuality, his cruelty, his hypocrisy, his want of common decency and common humanity, are marked in strong lines. His traditional peculiarities of expression complete the reality of the picture.” Though one might find the play more sympathetic than Hazlitt saw it, it is noteworthy how the play also sets up and qualifies Henry’s stings of conscience. Henry’s meeting of Anne, which resembles the first meeting of Romeo and Juliet in their play, is both economic and full of portentous and weighty (and sad) meaning. In addition, noble commentary undercuts Henry’s “scruple and prick” of conscience:
CHAMBERLAIN
It seems the marriage with his brother’s wife
Has crept too near his conscience.
SUFFOLK
No, his conscience
Has crept too near another lady.
The viewer sometimes cannot help but feel that such was indeed the case, and in many ways this is how I tended to have understood Henry VIII’s situation. But I am also inclined to believe that Henry’s decisions were as motivated by genuine religious and political reasons as they were by amorous inclinations, and Shakespeare and Fletcher brilliantly register some of this complexity as they show his taking back of a power that he once did not fully exercise.
The play also treats with ambiguity the fates of the fallen ones in the play. The falls of Buckingham, Wolsey, and Katherine are “necessary” so as to make way for Elizabeth I and her age. But Shakespeare and Fletcher depict their ends with sympathy and poetry. Buckingham gives his great speech, sharing with his father the fate of political execution while dying more nobly than him. Wolsey, hitherto scheming and ambitious, is made to reflect on the state of man in lines of beautiful poetry. Katherine is vouchsafed a vision worthy of The Tempest. Thus, through their falls, Shakespeare and Fletcher can have their cake of Tudor celebration and eat with it the whipped cream of sympathy for the fallen.
In addition to the glory of the play’s pageantry, I was also struck by how effective Henry VIII could work as a drama and how it vividly evoked the Shakespeare plays that led up to this point. As I alluded to earlier, the scene where Henry and Anne first meet is brilliant. The Blackfriars “trial” resembles The Winter’s Tale while giving Katherine and Wolsey a kind of eloquent back-and-forth, with King Henry VIII to reflect on his conscience. The final conversation of Wolsey and Henry VIII, followed by his great speech, resembles the Southampton scene in Henry V while also being full of irony. The palace yard scene in Act 5 resembles the “side” view of a reunion in The Winter’s Tale while also signalling the popularity of Elizabeth’s coronation, which alludes to her later popularity as the great queen of England.
The speech by Wolsey deserves quotation for its beauty, grandeur, and closure:
WOLSEY
Farewell? A long farewell to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: today he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; tomorrow blossoms
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride
At length broke under me and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must forever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you.
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favors!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Much has been written on this, so I cannot hope to reflect further, except that it has a rich flow, and signals a kind of transformation. And yet the poetry is grander than the man. It is ironic in that this speech is followed by a conversation between the fallen Wolsey and the rising Cromwell (who is later to fall). And yet this granting of a great speech to a small man shows the imaginative sympathy and generosity of Shakespeare and Fletcher in their depiction of character and history.
The final scene has that grand prophecy which I will quote in full to close with:
CRANMER Let me speak, sir,
For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they’ll find ’em truth.
This royal infant—heaven still move about her!—
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be—
But few now living can behold that goodness—
A pattern to all princes living with her
And all that shall succeed. Saba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces
That mold up such a mighty piece as this is,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her;
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her.
She shall be loved and feared. Her own shall bless her;
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn
And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with
her.
In her days every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine what he plants and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors.
God shall be truly known, and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honor
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but, as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir
As great in admiration as herself,
So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,
Who from the sacred ashes of her honor
Shall starlike rise as great in fame as she was
And so stand fixed. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him.
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honor and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations. He shall flourish,
And like a mountain cedar reach his branches
To all the plains about him. Our children’s children
Shall see this and bless heaven.
KING Thou speakest wonders.
CRANMER
She shall be to the happiness of England
An agèd princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more! But she must die,
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily, shall she pass
To th’ ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
As with so much of the play, this grand prophecy is fraught with irony.
And yet one cannot help but feel that this speech and prophecy is good, true, beautiful, and eloquent. So one must, with reservations, accept this, and the rest of the play. As do I.