[Also a late acquisition to the Falstaff forces, to be noticed more
particularly in his fitting place.]
The knight-errant had the privilege of putting up, with his retinue, at
the most hospitable mansion he found in his way.
_He never paid rent._
Formerly this billet system was applied to the mansions of powerful
barons. A succession of anti-chivalric monarchs had weakened the
hospitable resources of these establishments. Taverns were their modern
substitutes. Our hero, even as the commercial traveller in the present
day (latest type of the knight-errant) is fain to put up with Railway
carriages, where he once enjoyed his own gig,--accommodated himself
to the change. But, whatever alteration had taken place around him,
he himself was still true to the traditions of his order. Yes! John
Falstaff could lay his hand on his heart and say,--that he never entered
the meanest hostelry without treating the host and hostess exactly as,
two hundred years earlier, he would have treated a baron and his lady.
The favoured mansion at present enjoying his high consideration in this
respect, was the renowned Boar’s Head Tavern in Eastcheap--of which more
anon.
The knight-errant of old occasionally acted as the tributary vassal to a
powerful prince. Herein is the vast superiority of Falstaff manifest.
He made the most powerful prince of his time act as tributary vassal to
him.
Yes; it is not the smallest laurel in the Falstaffian crown, that our
hero alone, of all men that ever lived, could boast of having conquered
the Conqueror of Agincourt. That he did so is unquestionable. The prince
himself, like a true Englishman, who never knows when he is beaten, was
not aware of the fact himself. Those who may be inclined to doubt it,
are requested to study the lives of the two men, and to decide calmly
whether, in the long run, Sir John Falstaff had or had not decidedly the
best of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, afterwards Henry the
Fifth.
This young prince was a very great prince indeed; and has been justly
held up as an example to the youth of succeeding generations. His claims
to admiration are indeed somewhat remarkable, being founded apparently
less upon the fact of his having proved a respectable character in later
life, which might be questioned by detractors, than upon that of his
having been an intolerable reprobate at the outset of his career--as to
which there can be no doubt whatever. I cannot too highly commend the
conduct of schoolmasters and writers in encouraging young people to the
adoption of this effective principle of, what may be termed, Rembrandt
Respectability,--a little streak of pure light looking so excessively
brilliant when touched on to a background of utter darkness. Oh! my
young friends, declaimers of Pinnock and readers of Goldsmith! adopt the
Henry the Fifth philosophy as you hope to rise and be honoured. Would
you aspire to a reputation for excessive humanity? In that case, kick
your grandmother daily for ten years; then suddenly leave off and
present the old lady with a new bonnet in a neat speech on gentleness.
Is sobriety your ambition? Get intoxicated two or three times a day
up to the age of, let us say thirty. By that time you will have
sufficiently disgusted your neighbours with your life and conduct to
make your sudden appearance in the character of a healthful, temperate,
and well-ordered citizen (which, of course, it will be the easiest thing
in the world for you to assume at a moment’s notice, throwing off your
old habits like a harlequin’s cloak), matter of startling commentary.
Would you shine by the light of your honesty? Then begin with robbing
orchards, and proceed in due order to shop-tills, culminating with
bank-safes and plate-baskets. Having thus attracted the public
attention, you need only send your five pounds to the Chancellor of the
Exchequer for unpaid Income Tax, and take your place amongst the honest
folk, who will be delighted to receive you.
It is true, that for the modern commoner the same advantages do not
exist for the safe pursuit of this line of conduct as were enjoyed by
the crown prince of the fifteenth century. But, for the last time,
let it he stated that greatness is to be measured by its besetting
obstacles. Above all, there can be no harm in trying.
The Prince of Wales acted on this principle of contrast through life.
Being a slim, well-built young gentleman, he liked to be seen walking
with a stout overgrown elderly gentleman like our hero. Knowing he would
be a king some day, when he would find it as advantageous to be thought
an honest man as it would be easy to hang anybody who might say he
wasn’t, he considered that his future would shine all the brighter from
present companionship with rogues--such as a prejudiced society agreed
to consider Falstaff and his followers. So Prince Henry studied the
first crude principles of taxation by plundering his father’s subjects
on the public roads in company with Sir John Falstaff. And Sir John
Falstaff, like a sagacious treasurer, had usually the first pickings of
the revenues thus acquired.
Prince Henry, in his princely heart, had a great contempt for Sir John
Falstaff, whom he looked upon as a mere tool to be thrown aside when no
longer needed. It is to be feared that he had not properly calculated
the sharpness of the implement, nor its probable effect upon his own
fingers. It would have been gall and wormwood to his Royal Highness to
know that, in the estimation of our philosopher, he ranked no higher
than a second edition--more neatly got up, and with gilt edges--of
Master Robert Shallow, formerly of Gray’s Inn, and now of His Majesty’s
Commission, in the county of Gloucester.
Sir John was willing to be led wherever His Royal Highness pleased,
and to dance to any tunes of the Prince’s dictation. Only it invariably
happened that His Royal Highness had to pay the piper!
And now we have carefully reviewed our hero’s position; we have
ascertained the site of his head-quarters, the number of his forces,
the strength and disposition of his allies. Pegasus, bestridden by the
historic muse, snorts impatiently for his first feed of warlike beans.
Let us cling to the tail of the noble animal, and suffer him to drag us
(with no more than necessary interruptions) to the field of Gadshill. At
any rate, let us close the chapter; for we shall not come across such a
splendid classical peroration again in a hurry.