Saints Crispin and Crispinian are French—the patron saints of cobblers, tanners, and leather workers. Or maybe they were English, after all—although still cobblers. In the French version, they are tortured, thrown into a river with millstones around their necks, and survive to be beheaded, all as punishment for preaching the Gospel to the Gauls. (Sounds like Rasputin, yes?) The English version doesn’t say much about their martyrdom.
So why do they figure so prominently in the English mind? Because of what is arguably the greatest monologue in the entire Shakespeare canon*: the speech that King Henry V gives to rouse the morale of his troops on the eve of the Battle of Agincourt, on this day in 1415. The English were hungry, exhausted, and outnumbered, but the battle was a rout, and a turning point in Henry’s campaign. Here, then, is the opening of Henry V, Act iv, Scene iii, in all its glory.
SCENE III. The English camp.
Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with all his host: SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND
GLOUCESTER
Where is the king?
BEDFORD
The king himself is rode to view their battle.
WESTMORELAND
Of fighting men they have full three score thousand.
EXETER
There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
SALISBURY
God’s arm strike with us! ’tis a fearful odds.
God be wi’ you, princes all; I’ll to my charge:
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!BEDFORD
Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!
EXETER
Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day:
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.Exit SALISBURY
BEDFORD
He is full of valour as of kindness;
Princely in both.Enter the KING
WESTMORELAND
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!KING HENRY V
What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
Oh, and the Battle of Agincourt also gave rise to a rather rude gesture, which I’m not going to talk about here. But ask me, or any of the staff, the next time you see one of us.
Cheers!
* This according to a poll of actors and directors by a local Washington, DC, theater web site.
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