The Frustrated Hero

Hal’s predicament in Henry IV, Parts 1 and 2 provides a thematic parallel to the dramatic necessities of Stephen’s presentation in Ulysses. From the opening speech of Henry IV until his death, nothing fundamentally changes for Hal. At the start of Henry IV, Part 1, the King gives a rousing call to a new crusade that he has carefully calculated to be negated by Westmoreland’s news of unrest in the kingdom (Black, 1990, pp. 28-29). The constant putting off in the plays highlights the difficulties Hal faces as the heir apparent. In the play Hamlet, the prince faces a course of action that he must find the means to realize. In contrast to this, Prince Hal, who will prove to be Shakespeare’s quintessential man of action in Henry V, cannot, and must not, take any action to "redeem time" lest he inherit not only his father’s crown but also the taint of illegitimacy that lies upon it:

Thus the plays are filled up by repeated actions that never move the plot forward. It is widely noted that at the start of Part 2 Hal’s situation is little different than at the start of Part 1. The King or the nobles parley with the rebels, and the rebellion continues. The rebellion is crushed and there is another rebellion. Falstaff repeatedly vows to repent, and, of course, he does not. He borrows, steals, or cozens more money and is still "fubbing off" paying his creditors at the end of the play. Falstaff’s indictment for the Gadshill Robbery follows him through the plays, and no one is ever quite able to arrest him. Hal tries to buy an early redemption by slaying Hotspur, but Falstaff robs him of his prize. Hal makes up with his father, and a few scenes later his father has bred new suspicions about his son. Even to the last moments before Hal comes into his own, his father will not die on his deathbed:

Stephen’s situation presents a similar dramatic difficulty for Joyce. Stephen is the one character moving centrifugally away from world of dear dirty Dublin. Whether as Daedalus or Icarus, the reader knows that Stephen is destined to move beyond the mundane daily cycles of Dublin’s middle classes. The sheer quantity of perfectly good timber still sacrificed to scholars taking sides about Stephen’s potential argues mainly for the conclusion that his future is not finally fixed at the end of Ulysses. Such discussions are really a demonstration that, more than sixty years after we became "modern," the nostalgia for closure is still a potent force in all of us. An especially whimsical variation on these arguments would be to pose that Stephen is autobiography; what possible deus ex machina could have foretold the tumultuous fortune of Joyce’s early literary career?

Shakespeare was "modern" enough in the Henry IV plays to avoid such a foreshadowing of Hal’s fate. The evidence given to the audience for Hal’s redemption remains equivocal until the dénouement. Shakespeare creates Hotspur to keep the audience from growing too enamored with Hal’s soliloquies. After Hal’s brave words and brave deeds, he is back in the stews with Falstaff. One of Falstaff’s practical dramatic functions in the Henry IV plays is to keep the audience entertained while Shakespeare belabors the simple point that, with Hal, appearances can be deceiving. Both Stephen and Joyce had read Brandes’ (1899) opinion on this dramatic issue:

Harris (1909) took a similar tack of reading Hal as personally appealing to Shakespeare’s wish for recognition in spite of his circumstances:

Harris paints a picture of Hal as Shakespeare’s means of absolving his own youthful iniquities. Both Brandes and Harris emphasize Hal’s struggle against the prejudices of appearance. If Act V of Henry IV, Part 2, and the whole of Henry V were wiped from our history, we would no more know what kind of king Hal will make than we can predict what Stephen will drink on Friday. Even granting the "redeeming time" speech, Hal may be either toadying up to his father in order to keep his head, or using Falstaff to bide his time and sharpen his wits.

Prince Hal, especially as constructed by the "biographical" approaches of Brandes and Harris, is an apt dramatic metaphor for the impossible problem of impossible Stephen Dedalus. Every attribute of his character points toward his future, but the reader encounters him in a novel firmly planted in the present. This is, in a way, an argument for the autobiographical potential of Ulysses, but autobiography conditioned by Stephen’s own question of potentialities:

To whatever extent Stephen might follow a Joyce-like path, his success, like Hal’s, can only occur in time. As with Hal, any actions that Stephen might take to fulfill his potential in the present would taint his ability to pursue his ultimate calling. As a priest, scholar, doctor, journalist, or artist of the Revival he will become complicit in the power structures that maintain Ireland’s servitude. It is likely that the only reason Stephen has taken his job as a teacher is because the work provides so little to tempt him towards collaboration.

Stephen’s one major attempt to do something during the day will be in the National Library. In like manner, Hal attempts to win some early honor from Hotspur at the battle of Shrewsbury only to find it stolen from him by Falstaff. Stephen similarly finds that any redemptive credit he may hope to win in his battle with the librarians will be stolen away by Mulligan. Like Hal, Stephen is equanimical about the theft. If he has not won honor, he has learned a bit more, and will carry away that victory. The reason for Hal’s return to his former life–and remarkably low rate of soliloquies–at the start of Henry IV, Part 2, is that he has learned to bide his time and learn all that he can. Thus in Henry V, he chides the Dauphin for presuming upon the appearances of his youth: "And we understand him well,/How he comes o’er us with our wilder days,/Not measuring what use we made of them" (Henry V, I.ii.266-268). Likewise at the end of "Scylla and Charybdis" Stephen has determined to "Cease to strive" (U.9.1221), while still taking from the present all that he can: "What have I learned? Of them? Of me?" (U.9.1113). His solace, like Hal’s, awaits the redemption of time: "Life is many days. This will end" (U.9.1097).