Henry and Henry

Henry V; Patrick Doyle, composer; City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra; Simon Rattle, conducting

The first time that I visited K. out in Montana, I took the train. I had to wait until three o’clock in the morning for the westbound departure of The Empire Builder from the Amtrak station in Fargo. I remember awakening in my chair some time around ten o’clock and enjoying the scenery in western North Dakota. The elderly woman across the aisle from me held my attention. She sat so relaxed in her seat, watching the prairie go by and knitting a beautiful sweater. At noon, a voice over the intercom announced the time and invited all interested parties to approach the dining car where the chefs had prepared Philly cheesesteaks. But the woman across the aisle laid down her knitting, pulled down the tray in front of her, reached for her carry-on bag and took out a homemade ham sandwich, a tiny carton of coleslaw and a little bag of apple slices, raisins and cashews. And a can of beer. I love it when a person can tell a silent punchline when the observers are unaware that they are in the presence of a joke.

K. met me in Whitefish in her pickup, then drove us along the west side of Flathead Lake toward Missoula. Many events highlighted my five day visit: a hike, several bowls of white chili, another hike, a visit to the local CD store called Rockin’ Rudy’s, another hike, an article in “The Missoulian” about a man who built homemade coffins, - yes, coffins – a hike to the top of the “M”, a visit to “The Pickle Barrel”, and one more hike for good luck.

On Sunday morning, we went to the local Lutheran church where I met Pastor O. He had a beautiful singing voice and, during the offertory, he sang in the choir. While he pontificated, he rocked back and forth, left to right, during the entire width and breadth of his sermon. I must have started to subconsciously list to either side in time to his pitching and preaching because I got an elbow in the ribs on my starboard side from K.

When she dropped me off at the depot on Monday morning, there stood Pastor O. and his wife. Well, what a coincidence! Where are you two going? “We both have family around the Rochester area in Minnesota and we love to take the train. When we get to St. Paul, we will rent a car for a week.” We visited for a couple of hours while the eastbound Empire Builder wound its way through the south side of Glacier National Park. The foliage wore its fall colors like an elegant fashion accessory, flashing its Fiestaware colors in the cool, September morning sun. But as soon as we reached the plains, I had a mission. And, here I have to administer an apology.

Mrs. K., I would guess that the subject matter pushed me away from any measure of entertainment pertaining to our study of Mr. Shakespeare in Senior English. Even today, The Tragedy of Macbeth doesn’t hold my interest. I concluded my secondary education conjecturing that you had failed and that I would never care for the works of William Shakespeare. That made me sad. But, guess what! I LOVE Hamlet, all of the Henry’s, The Tempest and Much Ado About Nothing. That makes me glad. I don’t know what kind of apology to extend to you, but I think you deserve one. If only because you tried so hard. How ‘bout if I grant you both an apology and a “Thank You”? Then you can take each or either.

Throughout the remainder of “Big Sky” country, after Glacier National Park, and across the entire stretch of North Dakota, I poured over Henry IV, parts one and two, with a dictionary at my side, in an effort to grasp the background of Prince Hal, marveling at the transformation from rascal and rogue to monarch and military hero. I couldn’t imagine anyone having a more beautiful window to read by than what I had. Flatness to hill country. Hill country to riverbed. Riverbed to cornfield. Cornfield to wheatfield. Blue skies to wispy clouds. Tiny towns to dead barns. Transformations.

I eventually read Henry V. And I marveled at the journey. What a character, what a story, what handsome language. But it didn’t match the suffusion of overwhelming idealism in Henry IV. In and outside the book. In and outside the train. His royal majesty does indeed penetrate the character throughout both books. So when I listen to the marvelous work of composer Patrick Doyle in Kenneth Branagh’s “Henry V” from 1989, it extends, in my mind, to the character in Mr. Shakespeare’s Henry IV.

After the release of the soundtrack to M. Branagh’s film, the classical music host on South Dakota Public Radio would be compelled, for many months on their weekly request day, to bring Mr. Doyle’s “Non Nobis”, to his South Dakota classical music audience. Shakespeare used this short Latin hymn as a prayer of thanksgiving and an expression of humility, and with the Te Deum pervades the very air following the victory at Agincourt.

Psalm 115:1

Non nobis, non nobis, Domine

Sed nomini tuo da gloriam

Not to us, not to us, O Lord,

But to your name give glory.

Credits: To the owner and staff of Rockin’ Rudy’s, for making, not only available, but prominent, a vast swath of musical styles in their sweeping CD racks. It’s a long way, in any direction, to another CD store.