October 25, 1415—In one of the most lopsided victories in the history of warfare, King Henry V of England triumphed over a French foe that vastly outnumbered him at the Battle of Agincourt, near Calais. The win would be celebrated in William Shakespeare’s Henry V, featuring the rousing “St. Crispin’s Day” speech.
Agincourt has become a synonym for a momentous encounter—indeed, when The New Yorker’s great baseball writer Roger Angell wrote of the epic 1975 World Series between the Cincinnati Reds and the Boston Red Sox (the one featuring Carlton Fisk’s walkoff homer in the sixth game), he entitled his essay “Agincourt and After.” In the Hundred Years War between England and France, however, the battle solved nothing. Seven years after his stunning victory, Henry died of a sudden illness, only age 35, and France eventually drove the British kings with their dynastic land claims out of the country.
The decisive nature of this battle is the only misconception of this fight. In English lore, the English archers played the leading role in the French defeat. That role has been somewhat exaggerated, however.
The archers did not, by the mere accuracy of their weapons, turn the tide of battle. Fired from a distance, their arrows were not all that effective against the French men at arms in plate armor. Where the archers did prove important was in freezing the French in place. At the peak of the English attack, 5,000 arrows were coming at the French every 10 seconds. The latter paid attention to their leaders, who advised them to stick together in good order, but they dared not uncover their head armor or even look up.
You try to move under those conditions. Now what happened was a proverbial “perfect storm.” The French had hoped to catch King Henry in a vise as he headed toward the port of Calais, but the terrain actually worked against them now: They were standing on a relatively narrow strip of land between two dense thickets on either side. Movement on that ground, which would not have been a cakewalk in any case, proved to be impossible for the French, who now could not advance any further.
Agincourt has become a synonym for a momentous encounter—indeed, when The New Yorker’s great baseball writer Roger Angell wrote of the epic 1975 World Series between the Cincinnati Reds and the Boston Red Sox (the one featuring Carlton Fisk’s walkoff homer in the sixth game), he entitled his essay “Agincourt and After.” In the Hundred Years War between England and France, however, the battle solved nothing. Seven years after his stunning victory, Henry died of a sudden illness, only age 35, and France eventually drove the British kings with their dynastic land claims out of the country.
The decisive nature of this battle is the only misconception of this fight. In English lore, the English archers played the leading role in the French defeat. That role has been somewhat exaggerated, however.
The archers did not, by the mere accuracy of their weapons, turn the tide of battle. Fired from a distance, their arrows were not all that effective against the French men at arms in plate armor. Where the archers did prove important was in freezing the French in place. At the peak of the English attack, 5,000 arrows were coming at the French every 10 seconds. The latter paid attention to their leaders, who advised them to stick together in good order, but they dared not uncover their head armor or even look up.
You try to move under those conditions. Now what happened was a proverbial “perfect storm.” The French had hoped to catch King Henry in a vise as he headed toward the port of Calais, but the terrain actually worked against them now: They were standing on a relatively narrow strip of land between two dense thickets on either side. Movement on that ground, which would not have been a cakewalk in any case, proved to be impossible for the French, who now could not advance any further.
Jehan de Wavrin, whose father and older brother were killed fighting for the French that day, noticed that they were “so closely pressed one against another that none of them could lift their arms to strike their enemies, except some that were in front.”
The French were standing in a quagmire caused by heavy overnight rain, and, despite a manpower advantage of at least five to one, suddenly, because of hunger and exhaustion, began to look vulnerable on the crowded field. The English archers, noticing this, rushed toward them in bare feet not with arrows but with anything else at hand, including cudgels and knives.
When it was over, the English had a huge victory (six to ten thousand French dead soldiers versus a hundred English ones, mostly consisting of the wounded)—and, given the ultimate outlook of the Hundred Years War, little else.
The French were standing in a quagmire caused by heavy overnight rain, and, despite a manpower advantage of at least five to one, suddenly, because of hunger and exhaustion, began to look vulnerable on the crowded field. The English archers, noticing this, rushed toward them in bare feet not with arrows but with anything else at hand, including cudgels and knives.
When it was over, the English had a huge victory (six to ten thousand French dead soldiers versus a hundred English ones, mostly consisting of the wounded)—and, given the ultimate outlook of the Hundred Years War, little else.
Oh, yes--there is Mr. Shakespeare's consideration of the battle. I was not overly impressed reading Henry V in college. Even Laurence Olivier's cinematic version--generally accounted the first great attempt to translate Shakespeare to the screen--left me cold.
But seeing the drama unfold onstage, as I did at the Stratford Theatre Festival in Canada some years ago, showed me how the Bard's "muse of fire" really did set off his powers of invention. Better yet even was Kenneth Branagh's sterling 1989 film adaptation.
Two aspects of the latter are especially noteworthy: 1) the historically accurate filming of the rain-soaked, mud-drenched battle (seen in the image accompanying this post), depicting how even a lopsided military encounter can be marked by confusion and terror; and 2) the rousing "St. Crispin's Day" speech. (I had forgotten how rousing it was until I saw it replayed as part of a commercial during a Super Bowl several years ago. I can't imagine any coach firing up his men better than Henry--and Branagh, in his Oscar-nominated performance--did with this speech.)
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