The justification of monarchy in Greenblatt's Shakespeare and Heartbreak House

According to Greenblatt, Shakespeare’s Henry IV and Henry V describe power as necessarily corrupt—that is, even those things that are most repulsive in a government are necessary tools by which the State gains strength, and therefore necessary tools by which the State becomes great. Of 2 Henry IV Greenblatt writes:

[. . .] actions that should have the effect of radically undermining authority turn out to be the props of that authority. In this play, even more cruelly than in 1 Henry IV, moral values—justice, order, civility—are secured paradoxically through the apparent generation of their subversive contraries. Out of the squalid betrayals that preserve the State emerges the ‘formal majesty’ into which Hal at the close, through a final, definitive betrayal—the rejection of Falstaff—merges himself. (Greenblatt 39-40)

This is reminiscent of John Stuart Mill’s image of monarchical rule. Of the monarchy, he argues:

their power was regarded as necessary, but also as highly dangerous; as a weapon which they would attempt to use against their subjects, no less than against external enemies. To prevent the weaker members of the community from being preyed upon by innumerable vultures, it was needful that there should be an animal of prey stronger than the rest, commissioned to keep them down. (John Stuart Mill, On Liberty)

In each of these images of power, the ruler is a kind of monster, in constant struggle with those over whom he exercises power, and yet this struggle is known and accepted as the inevitable workings of an ultimately desirable force. Greenblatt sees this most vividly in Henry V, which:

deftly registers every nuance of royal hypocrisy, ruthlessness, and bad faith, but it does so in the context of a celebration, a collective panegyric to ‘This star of England’, the charismatic leader who purges the commonwealth of its incorrigibles and forges the martial national State. (Greenblatt 42)

George Bernard Shaw’s Heartbreak House also begins with an image of power that is built on both violence and corruption.  This is most obvious in the character of Mangan. At the beginning of the play, Mangan is understood to be a rich and powerful businessman with a political appointment, and the enemy of the idealistic Captain Shotover. We see a suggestion of his power when Hector and Shotover have the following exchange:

            HECTOR. What is the dynamite for?

            CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. To kill fellows like Mangan.

HECTOR. No use. They will always be able to buy more dynamite than you. (Shaw 61)

Mangan’s corruption is also evident, as he reveals to Ellie early on that he “ruined [her father] on purpose” (67). He continues, “not out of ill-nature, you know. And youll admit that I kept a job for him when I had finished with him. But business is business; and I ruined him as a matter of business” (67). And yet, as the play continues, it becomes clear that Mangan is in fact no more powerful than the rest. He is dependent upon those whom he exploits, he is easily manipulated by other members of the party, and even the immensity of his wealth is a fiction. Indeed, when he announces that he is to become “the dictator of a great public department,” the others “burst out laughing,” and exclaim:

            ELLIE. You! who have to get my father to do everything for you!

            MRS. HUSHABYE. You! who are afraid of your own workmen!

HECTOR. You! with whom three women have been playing cat and mouse all evening! (105)

This same erosion occurs each time an image of power appears in Heartbreak House. The power that seemed to belong to first one character and then another is revealed to be an illusion. We are left with the same violence and corruption that Greenblatt describes in Shakespeare, but without their glorifying justifications. In Shaw, these forces exist without purpose, as does each of the characters. Each is, in fact, static. We see several characters fall asleep or be put to bed, one character hypnotized, and many courses of action proposed and then abandoned for no other reason than a lack of energy.

The only moment of the play that seems to inspire characters is the final moment of destruction, when the house comes under attack—and is partially destroyed—by German bombers. Hector, upon being informed of the threat, flings himself into the house and begins turning on every light, intentionally turning the house a target. Having done this, he returns with the complaint, “there is not half enough light. We should be blazing to the skies” (115). That most of the characters survive is apparently a disappointment:

ELLIE (disappointedly) Safe!

HECTOR (disgustedly) Yes, safe. And how damnably dull the world has become again suddenly!

[. . .]

MRS HUSHABYE. But what a glorious experience! I hope they’ll come again tomorrow night.

ELLIE (radiant at the prospect) Oh, I hope so.

The glory, here, is in the destruction of the existing structure. The only answer, it seems, is to start over. And the new beginning that the play seems to argue for most is in the creation of a monarchy.

[I would like to prove this and say more, but I have very much run out of space! I’m sorry, everyone . . .]