King John – A. J. Drake's Shakespeare Site

Commentaries on
Shakespeare’s History Plays

Shakespeare, William. The Life and Death of King John. (The Norton Shakespeare: Histories, 3rd ed. 558-616.)

Introduction: Historical Reflections on King John

KingJohn’s reign from 1199-1216 is significant not only for his forced signing of the Magna Carta in 1215 (whereby angry feudal nobles limited some of his arbitrary powers), but also because his loss of most of England’s French territories helped to set the stage for Europe’s Hundred Years War from 1337-1453. [1] This was mainly a struggle between the French kings of the House of Valois [2] and England’s Plantagenet rulers (also of French stock), [3] who claimed the right to France after the death of Charles IV (1294-1328), the last direct ruler in the French Capetian line. [4] Both countries suffered terribly from the effects of the war, while the fighting also set the stage for the early modern era’s English and French politics and history.

What King John lost in France, subsequent English kings, such as Edward III and Henry V, tried with some success to get back. Still, the whole process ended in the loss of nearly every English possession in France, [5] most notably by Henry V’s son, Henry VI, whose reign saw the beginning of the English Wars of the Roses that lasted from 1455-87. [6] This phase of the English struggle, then, dovetails with the Hundred Years War. Henry VI’s failures contributed to the English nobility’s dissatisfaction and determination to replace him with someone more capable and of their own faction.

In Shakespearean terms, the heroic Henry V partly reversed the misfortunes of John, only to have his son and successor (see Henry VI, Parts 1-3) throwing it all away. From thence it’s a short step to the territory covered by Richard III, in which the Yorkist King Edward IV has already taken out his Lancastrian predecessor and is succeeded by his devious younger brother Richard of Gloucester, who as King Richard III is soon toppled by Henry Tudor. This new king, Henry VII (aka Henry Tudor), founds the line culminating in the long, illustrious reign of Shakespeare’s own Queen Elizabeth I (1558-1603).

ACT 1

Act 1, Scene 1 (558-65; the French King tells England’s King John that his French lands belong to his nephew, Arthur, and threatens war; John warns the French king in return; John adjudicates an inheritance quarrel between Robert and Philip “the Bastard” Falconbridge; with Eleanor of Aquitaine’s encouragement, Philip comes to embrace his status as the illegitimate son of King Richard I (“the Lionheart”); knighted as Sir Richard Plantagenet, Philip will accompany John’s forces to France; Lady Falconbridge admits to Philip that King Richard I was his father.)

*Note: the character that the text refers to as “Bastard” and who is knighted as Sir Richard Plantagenet will generally be called simply “Philip” or “Philip the Bastard.” To avoid any confusion, the French king Philip will be called “Philip II” or “the French king,”

The French King Philip II’s [7] ambassador, Chatillon, opens the play by bluntly accusing the newly crowned King John of usurping all he now holds from Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, [8] who is John’s 12-year-old nephew by his now-deceased older brother Geoffrey II Plantagenet. There has already been much maneuvering by John and Arthur and their supporters to get hold of the crown, but John has outpaced his nephew, seizing the recently deceased Richard I’s treasury and getting his military strength up to speed so he can keep what he has taken, whether we think of it as being won fairly or taken by “force or fraud.” [9]

When John dares to ask what the consequences will be if, with respect to the French King’s demand through his ambassador, he should “disallow of this,” Chatillon tells him matters will come to “The proud control of fierce and bloody war” (559, 1.1.16-17). If it’s “controlment” that the French want, says John, they shall have it, and the ambassador is tendered a safe conduct back home to tell the French king exactly that.

Next, we hear from Eleanor of Aquitaine, the English King Henry II’s widow. [10] Eleanor is a supporter of John’s right to the English throne, but after blaming Arthur’s mother Constance and wistfully invoking the power of diplomacy, she offers him some tough-love advice about the true quality of his alleged right to the crown. To understand his position without flattering himself or being flattered by others, she tells John, he must accept that the issue is not so much who is “right” but who is in “strong possession” of the crown (559, 1.1.40). This kind of proto-Machiavellian logic is not for the masses, Eleanor admits—it’s just between the two of them.

Well, Eleanor should have mentioned all those supporters with medieval weapons of war, too. John’s “strong possession” is the main thing keeping young Arthur and his mother Constance from succeeding (Constance, Duchess of Brittainy is the widow of Geoffrey II, Duke of Brittany – this man was John’s elder brother, as was King Richard I, “the Lionheart”). Like quite a number of Shakespeare’s kings, queens, and princes, Eleanor understands that mere morality and sentiment, though sometimes forces to respect, must be kept subordinate to immediately practical concerns. [11]

Into this field of compromised motivations, strong interests, impure intentions, and fierce hatreds that is the succession struggle between John and Arthur, in marches Philip the Bastard. This character is mentioned only briefly in Holinshed’s Chronicles, [12] but Shakespeare, most likely following the plot and thematic disposition of a prior anonymous play The troublesome raigne of John, King of England [13] decides to make him a major character in King John. [14]

Philip is perhaps meant to be the kind of character that King John ought to be but really isn’t, and the kind of character that Arthur would be but can’t because, at the age of twelve, he’s too young to pull it off. In other words, Philip the Bastard’s almost comical inheritance tiff with his younger and weaker (but legitimate) brother Robert Falconbridge serves as a contrast to the sordid but deadly fight for the crown that John is waging against his nephew Arthur.

The younger Falconbridge, then, lays claim to what should logically be Philip’s inheritance from Robert Falconbridge, and Philip’s manner of defending his patrimony rises to comedy. He compares his own personal appearance to that of his unattractive younger brother, and rather unenthusiastically claims that he himself is also the son of Robert Falconbridge the Elder. The attitudinal form of that admission is priceless: addressing John, he calls himself “eldest son, / As I suppose, to Robert Falconbridge …” (560, 1.1.51-52). King John, however, can see, as he puts it, “perfect Richard” (561, 1.1.89) in this young fellow’s face, and Eleanor finds traces of the iconic Richard the Lionheart in his voice and manner. [15]

King John soon delivers the saucy legal last word on patrimony. As he tells the hapless younger son, “Your father’s wife did after wedlock bear him, / And if she did play false the fault was hers …” (561, 1.1.117-18). All that matters to John, then, is that Philip the Bastard was born to his mother while she was married to the elder Falconbridge, so the land and title belong to Philip.

So far, Philip has won himself some pricey real estate and a mellifluous surname, both of which are fine things. But not so fine as what Eleanor of Aquitaine, no doubt with a glimmer in her eye, offers next. This offer comes in the appropriate form of a gamble, a high-stakes wager: would Philip, asks Eleanor, prefer to remain a Falconbridge, or, tossing that purported heritage to the winds, would he rather proclaim himself to be “the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion” and “Lord of thy presence and no land beside?” (561, 1.1.137-38)

Philip immediately responds in what we may take as Eleanor’s regally impish attitude in offering him such a bold choice. He again mocks his brother’s appearance, suggesting that he wouldn’t choose to be that time-serving, ill-favored fellow for all the dirt in England. Eleanor, delighted with this plucky rejoinder, then speaks with the declarative force almost of Christ schooling the rich man in the Gospels: she asks, “Wilt thou forsake thy fortune, / Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?” (562, 1.1.148-49) [16]

Philip understands that this great, worldly woman wants him, a young man who stands to gain something remarkable (or lose if he fails to live up to the Lionheart standard), will take this opportunity, this risk, when it presents itself.The answer is yes, without hesitation. Philip says, “Brother, take you my land; I’ll take my chance” (562, 1.1.151). This said, King John knights him “Sir Richard Plantagenet” after the father whose paternity he embraces.

As for his mother, “Sir Richard Plantagenet” (aka Philip) says, he has no problems with her, whether his begetting involved a man coming, as the proverb goes, “In at the window or else o’er the hatch” (562, 1.1.171; the Norton editor identifies this phrase as proverbial). What of that? “Near or far off, well won is still well shot, / And I am I, howe’er I was begot” (562, 1.1.174-75). Howe’er he was begot, the newly dubbed Sir Richard Plantagenet will soon be off to France with King John, his grandmother Queen Eleanor, and the English army.

They do not depart, however, before Philip makes a number of witty observations on the transformation he has just undergone. He now has the power to transform others, he tells us – he can make an ordinary Joan a lady, and join in the flattering and deception that suits what he calls “worshipful society” that “fits the mounting spirit like myself; / For he is but a bastard to the time / That doth not smack of observation …” (563, 1.1.184, 205-08).

Philip’s exact phrasing when it comes to the practice and detection of deceit is a little ambiguous, perhaps deliberately so. He says he will learn to follow his impulse and “deliver / Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age’s tooth,” but at the same time, he implies, at least, that he means to learn the ways of flattery and deceit so as to avoid being taken in by them himself (563, 1.1.212-13, see 210-16). That sounds like a difficult path to keep to without falling down, doesn’t it? In any event, our man of risk and opportunity is up for the challenge.

Philip may have come into the world as “illegitimate,” but he is not, as he points out, “a bastard to the time” (207). There is a big difference between Philip and someone like Paroles in All’s Well That Ends Well. [17] The latter character understands nothing but flattery and fashion; they are practically his god. Philip, however, is savvy, and he knows that these aspects of life are merely instruments in the pursuit of something higher, or at least personally advantageous: they are means to an end, and the clothes, in this case, do not make the person.

In his essay “Of Great Place,” Sir Francis Bacon writes the following: “All rising to great place is by a winding stair; and if there be factions, it is good to side a man’s self whilst he is in the rising, and to balance himself when he is placed.” [18] Philip doesn’t need to be told this. He already knows it.

Philip’s remaining task in Act 1 is to square things with his mother, which involves getting her to admit to him that she bore a child by a man who was not her husband. Since the man in question was a king or future king, this proves not to be too difficult a task. Philip makes his mother’s admission a chivalric cause: “If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin. / Who says it was, he lies: I say ‘twas not” (565, 1.1.275-76).

In Oscar Wilde’s comedy An Ideal Husband, Sir Robert Chiltern protests to Lord Goring, “there are terrible temptations that it requires strength, strength and courage, to yield to. To stake all one’s life on a single moment, to risk everything on one throw … there is no weakness in that.” [19] It seems that both Philip and his mother, Lady Falconbridge, agree. We might add that Eleanor of Aquitaine would also agree—thus her gambit to see if her grandson Philip, “natural” son of Richard the Lionheart, would measure up to the standard of his royal father in that regard.

One thing worth noting about Act 1 is that very little of it centers on King John himself. At times, he does not even seem like one of the play’s most important characters. This is not necessarily a flaw in Shakespeare’s art. It may instead be a statement about the turgid nature of John’s historical era. The monarchy was by no means as centralized in feudal times as it would later become during the early modern era, but because of his position as king, John “Lackland” [20] is the focal point of powerful nobles’ attention: he has the privilege and power they want to share, or even take.

ACT 2

Act 2, Scene 1 (565-80; on Arthur’s behalf, King Philip II of France and the Duke of Austria prepare to besiege Angers; John and King Philip II insist that Anger’s citizens must admit the “King of England,” but the citizens demand military victory as proof; when the two kings unite to take the city, the Citizen suggests that the French Dauphin, Louis, should marry King John’s niece Blanche of Castile; John will create Arthur Duke of Bretagne and Earl of Richmond and promise some of his French possessions as a dowry for Blanche, and King Philip II will stop pushing Arthur’s cause.)

The beginning of Act 2, Scene 1 is taken up with the French party’s set-piece rhetoric. King Philip II and Austria make bold claims about how they’re going to help Constance and her young son Arthur, and it is announced that King John, the queen mother Eleanor, her granddaughter Blanche and “all th’unsettled humors of the land” (566, 2.1.66) are on the way to Angers. In fact, the French ambassador Chatillon tells Philip II that John’s legions have already landed nearby, so there’s no time to waste. Says Chatillon, “They are at hand / To parley or to fight; therefore prepare!” (566, 2.1.77-78).

First comes what sounds like a brief parley. King John and King Philip II trade contentious claims, with Philip II describing Arthur’s face as if it were a text in which is read the ruin of King John. The upshot of the French king’s argument is, “England was Geoffrey’s right, / And this is Geoffrey’s [i.e., his heir, Arthur]. In the name of God, / How comes it then that thou art called a king …?” (567, 2.1.105-07) The kingdom of England ought, King Philip II is insisting, to have gone to the son of John’s eldest living brother, but of course that is not what happened.

Queen Eleanor and Arthur’s mother, Constance, snipe at each other over sexual fidelity, and then Philip the Bastard menaces Austria, who in Shakespeare’s telling was responsible for the death of his father, King Richard I, the Lionheart. [21] Philip calls Austria “the hare of whom the proverb goes, / Whose valor plucks dead lions by the beard” (568, 2.1.137-38). Austria (historically, Leopold V, Duke of Austria) is at a loss to respond effectively.

King John tries to win over Arthur to his side, but Constance mocks the gesture, sneering, “Give grandam kingdom and it grandam will / Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig” (569, 2.1.161-62, a “fig,” as the Norton editor points out, is—aside from being a fruit—an obscene gesture rather like the modern “middle finger”).

Constance’s sharp words and gestures aside, we can easily see the problem with the gambit to make Arthur king: while John’s temperament and ethics leave heaps to be desired, Arthur is, in Shakespeare’s imaginative recasting, an amiable lad who would rather be doing anything but gaining a crown. At the beginning of John’s reign, which began on April 6, 1199, Arthur was just past his twelfth birthday. [22] In only his second utterance of the play, this boy says to his fierce parent, “Good my mother, peace. / I would that I were low laid in my grave: / I am not worth this coil that’s made for me” (569, 2.1.163-65).

More wrangling follows between Constance and the queen mother Eleanor, and then we hear the respective pitches of the French King, Philip II (also called Philip Augustus) and the English King John. Both consist of reciprocal blame and aspersions, mixed with the standard, yet still terrifying, reminders of what happens to the most vulnerable inhabitants of a city or town that tries to resist its embittered besiegers. King Philip II’s question to Angers is, “shall your city call us lord / In that behalf which we have challenged it, / Or shall we give the signal to our rage / And stalk in blood to our possession?” (571, 2.1.263-66) [23]

The citizen spokesman of Angers protests that the town is loyal, but says it will prove loyal only to the man who demonstrates the greater military capacity, promising, “He that proves the king, / To him will we prove loyal. Till that time / Have we rammed up our gates against the world” (571, 2.1.270-71). The leadership of Angers values what at 1.1.40 Eleanor of Aquitaine called “strong possession,” and they take no interest in, or consolation from, the finer points of either John’s or Philip II’s arguments.

In this play, as (most often) elsewhere in Shakespeare, political rule de facto trumps rule de jure any day. Shakespeare seems always to have had a keen understanding of this basic fact of European history. He didn’t need Chairman Mao to tell him that “political power grows from the barrel of a gun” (or a spear, a cannon, or whatever). [24] A battle duly follows, and the only clear outcome is that it still isn’t clear who won. King Philip II’s rhetoric in the intermission between fighting attests to his martial spirit (573, 2.1.343-49), but it does nothing to change things for the people of Angers. Both kings desperately want the matter settled.

Into the impasse steps Philip the Bastard, wielding clever advice. What would either king do without this clever fellow? He suggests the following anciently derived stratagem: “Do like the mutines of Jerusalem: / Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend / Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town” (573, 2.1.378-80). [25] King John and King Philip II rather like this plan, and it seems as if they might adopt it.

However, as we could have predicted, Angers’s leadership immediately undercuts the Bastard by proposing a match between Eleanor’s granddaughter Blanche and Louis the Dauphin. Marriage is a time-tested and even a key solution for deflecting and diverting hostilities between rulers and nations in medieval Europe, so why not pursue that diplomatic “fix” in the present sticky situation?

Even Philip seems impressed with the Citizen’s forthrightness in swearing that Angers will defend itself valiantly if the two kings insist on a joint attack. As this civic leader puts it, if his marriage plan isn’t adopted, even Death is not “In mortal fury half so peremptory, / As we to keep this city” (575, 2.1.453-55). Philip declares in an aside, “Zounds! I was never so bethumped with words / Since I first called my brother’s father dad” (575, 2.1.466-67).

Eleanor sees the plan as a good way to buy time, and the Citizen’s offer strikes both King John and King Philip II as excellent. Blanche and the Dauphin are on board as well, so the necessary promise is made. But wait! What about Arthur and his mother, Constance? King Philip II asks urgently, “Brother of England, how may we content / This widow lady? In her right we came, / Which we, God knows, have turned another way, / To our own vantage” (577, 2.1.547-50).

Not to worry, even though the competing purposes of their military rumble seem to have gone quite out of the heads of two powerful kings. King John has a plan to make it all better: “we’ll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne / And Earl of Richmond, and this rich fair town / We make him lord of” (577, 2.1.551-53). This ought to satisfy Constance—more or less—thinks John.

Philip is bemused by it all, seeing how easily these great men turn to wrangling over the price of some object: “Mad world, mad kings, mad composition! / John, to stop Arthur’s title in the whole, / Hath willingly departed with a part…” (562). As for the king of France, says Philip, he has been turned in his course by “Commodity, the bias of the world” (578, 2.1.574). The Norton editor explains that Philip’s figure is drawn from ninepins or bowls: the ball includes an off-centered weight that makes it hook towards its trajectory’s end rather than roll straight. As so often, a matter of conscience has been transformed into a thing of grubby self-interest.

“And why rail I on this commodity?” asks Philip with the insouciance of a Richard III (578, 2.1.587). [26] His only reason for being scandalized, he admits, is that his turn to benefit has not yet come. Situational ethics is all the rage, but at the moment, he lacks the power to pull in the benefits that flow from such slippery ethics. But good things will come. As Philip puts it, “whiles I am a beggar, I will rail / And say there is no sin but to be rich, / And being rich, my virtue then shall be / To say there is no vice but beggary” (578, 2.1.593-96).

Up to this point, the character of Philip the Bastard is consistent: it is that of an ambitious sometime joker but also that of a man of genuine strategic audacity. He livens up a play that is heavy with conventional dialogue and light on action. The most interesting character isn’t King John, then, but the conniving, semi-fictional Philip, who evidences in his person and actions something of that capacity to overflow or overrun the boundaries of the play he inhabits as, say, Sir John Falstaff or Hamlet. [27]

Act 2, Scene 2 (578-80; at the French camp in Angers, Constance is both fearful and angry when the Earl of Salisbury, acting as King John’s messenger, tells her about the agreed-upon marriage of Louis the Dauphin and Eleanor’s granddaughter Blanche of Castile; Salisbury leaves with Arthur, but Constance stays put.)

In the brief second scene, [28] Constance can hardly believe the deal that has just been struck, and as so many of Shakespeare’s royal characters do, she blames the messenger, in this instance the Earl of Salisbury. She sounds like Shakespeare’s poet king, Richard II, whose plan when everything falls apart is to “sit upon the ground / And tell sad stories of the death of kings ….” [29] For her part, Constance declares, “Here I and sorrows sit: / Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it” (580, 2.2.73-74). Aside from praising Arthur as fair and destined for greatness, and calling England’s present king “that usurping John” (579, 2.2.61), there is nothing she can do.

ACT 3

Act 3, Scene 1 (580-86; the union between King John and King Philip II is savaged first by Arthur’s mother, Constance, as an obvious betrayal and then by the papal legate Pandulph, who excommunicates John for refusing to obey Pope Innocent III in the matter of appointing Stephen Langton Archbishop of Canterbury; when the legate successfully forces King Philip II of France to obey the Pope, John prepares for war against Philip II.)

In the first scene, Constance gets in a few good digs at both King Philip II of France and the Duke of Austria, seconded by Philip, who jumps in several times to add his hearty approval of Constance’s insult to Austria by repeating it or a variation thereof. The original language is, “Thou wear a lion’s hide! Doff it for shame, / And hang a calf’s-skin on those recreant limbs” (581, 3.1.54-55). King John is not amused by this foolery, but Shakespeare’s audience surely would be.

But it is with Pandulph that the real troubles begin since he comes as a legate from Pope Innocent III [30] demanding that King John install Stephen Langton as Archbishop of Canterbury. [31] John responds as if he doesn’t know the English Reformation of the early 1530s hasn’t yet happened (Martin Luther’s European Protestant Reformation began in 1517), insisting that no earthly force can “task the free breath of a sacred king” (582, 3.1.74), and other words to that effect. He tells the legate to deliver to the Pope the message, in part, that “no Italian priest / Shall tithe or toll in our dominions …” (582, 3.1.79-80).

John refuses to back down even when threatened with excommunication. [32] King Philip II of France, however, will after some struggle bow to the power of the Pope and give over his new alliance with England. The Dauphin is for caving to the Pope, while his new wife, Blanche, is for hewing to England. Constance supports the Pope for her own personal dynastic reasons, and when Blanche insists that Constance “speaks not from her faith, / But only from her need” (583, 3.1.136-37), the latter woman argues from her seemingly transactional view of faith: “tread down my need and faith mounts up; / Keep my need up and faith is trodden down” (583, 3.1.141-42).

Most poignant is the position of Blanche of Castile, for as she says, she is caught in the middle: “I am with both. Each army hath a hand, / And in their rage, I having hold of both, / They whirl asunder and dismember me” (586, 3.1.254-56). For her, as she explains, no matter who comes out on top, for her it’s a losing proposition.

What decides the matter of alliance for King Philip II? Pandulph claims to the perplexed French king that “All form is formless, order orderless, / Save what is opposite to England’s love” and threatens to “denounce a curse upon his head” (584, 3.1., 179-80 and 245). Once again, Constance can hardly believe what happens, but this time the development is one she welcomes since it places the question of Arthur at center stage again. With Louis, Blanche, and Constance arguing among themselves and at him, the French king gives in, saying, “England, I will fall from thee” (585, 3.1.246).

King John is understandably infuriated with King Philip II for this breaking away so soon after a bargain has been struck. As Norton editor Walter Cohen suggests in his introduction to King John, the undermining of almost every determination, purpose, and action is a recurrent theme of this play. [33] High words are spoken, arms are taken up, and deals are made, only to be annulled by the next character who walks onto the stage. We are not exactly being treated to a providential representation of the historical process.

Act 3, Scenes 2-3 (586-88; in the second scene, Philip the Bastard has finally slain the Duke of Austria; he also tells King John that he has rescued Eleanor of Aquitaine, the Queen Mother; John has captured Arthur, and he turns the boy over to his confidant Hubert; in the third scene, John prepares to return to England with his army; he orders Hubert to kill Arthur, and Hubert assents; John reassures Arthur that Hubert will take good care of him back in England.)

In Act 3, Scene 2, Philip the Bastard informs us that he has killed the Duke of Austria. He has also, he tells King John, rescued Eleanor.

In Act 3, Scene 3, King John responds with blandishments to gentle Arthur, who seems worried about his treatment when he returns to England and solicitous for his mother’s wellbeing. He also announces that it’s time for Philip to return to England and wring some money out of the stingy Church officials there. He tells Philip, “see thou shake the bags / Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels [coins] / Set at liberty. The fat ribs of peace / Must by the hungry now be fed upon” (587, 3.3.7-10).

King John has the power to tax, and we can see that he means to use it through his proxy, Philip. The king’s lusty determination to do so is among the key reasons why his Barons would, in 1215, force him to sign the Magna Carta at Runnymede. [34] It’s also clear that Philip is delighted at the prospect of serving the king in such a high capacity. He is becoming John’s loyal lieutenant, his right-hand man—not bad for a fellow who scarcely figures in the historical record!

Now comes John’s pitch to “gentle Hubert” (587, 3.3.19). [35] John coyly prepares the ground for Hubert’s reception of what will turn out to be a shocking assignment, saying, “I had a thing to say, but let it go. / The sun is in the heaven …” (587, 3.3.33-34). Surely, he pretends to think, it’s such a lovely day that Hubert will scarcely bother attending to John about a certain matter.

John’s father, Henry II, is famous for supposedly having muttered in his anguish over Thomas Becket, “Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?” But King John takes an almost equally stunning approach. He tells Hubert that as regards little Arthur, “He is a very serpent in my way, / And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread / He lies before me” (588, 3.3.61-63). The king makes his meaning almost comically clearer to Hubert when he intones, “Death” and “A grave” across Act 3, Scene 3, line 66. “He shall not live,” says Hubert (588, 3.3.66).

It’s chilling to hear John then reassure Arthur, “Hubert shall be your man, attend on you / With all true duty” (589, 3.3.72-73).

Act 3, Scene 4 (588-92; King John has soundly defeated King Philip II and the Dauphin’s forces; even as they lament, Constance grieves for what she is sure is the death of Arthur; Pandulph, believing that John will murder of Arthur and thus destroy his own standing, advises the Dauphin to invade England and leverage Blanche’s claim to the throne.)

In the fourth scene, King Philip II and the Dauphin face the news that the French have lost their fight with King John, though as the Norton editor points out, this English victory is not based on historical precedent, except perhaps the recent, happy memory of England’s victory over the Spanish Armada in 1588.

Constance, too, is grieving over what she believes is Arthur’s demise at the hands of King John. She embraces death with high rhetoric and passion, until King Philip II tells her, “You are as fond of grief as of your child” (590, 3.4.92). But this remark, so similar to other Shakespearean charges of indulging oneself in excessive grief, [36] only causes Constance to unbind her tresses for a second time, saying, “I will not keep this form upon my head, / When there is such disorder in my wit” (590, 3.4.101-02) and, thus disheveled, makes a hasty exit from Philip and Pandulph’s company. Philip II, fearing that Constance might harm herself, runs after her.

This passionate scene is followed by the worldly-religious legate Pandulph’s lesson on realpolitik for the benefit of Louis the Dauphin, who seems a bit slow in such matters. So long as Arthur lives, explains Pandulph, King John will get not “one quiet breath of rest” (591, 3.4.134). And when the murderous deed is done and Arthur is safely out of the way, explains Pandulph, the Dauphin will be free to seek the English crown: “You, in the right of Lady Blanche your wife, / May then make all the claim that Arthur did” (591, 3.4.143). [37]

The public, explains Pandulf, will hate King John: their belief that he has done away with Arthur will condemn him in their eyes. Pandulph’s simple point is that as soon as the French march upon England, John will have no choice but to rid himself of his nephew Arthur, and it’s all downhill for him from that point: “the hearts / Of all his people shall revolt from him, / And kiss the lips of unacquainted change, / And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath / Out of the bloody fingers’ ends of John” (592, 3.4.164-68).

What’s more, says Pandulph, Philip is infuriating the Church and further alienating them from the king, what with his rapacious taxation campaign against the abbots. Pandulph’s peroration is effective: “’Tis wonderful / What may be wrought out of their discontent, / Now that their souls are topful of offense” (592, 3.4.178-80).

ACT 4

Act 4, Scene 1 (592-95; King John’s assistant Hubert is set to carry out his orders to blind Arthur with hot irons, but when Arthur pleads with him, he decides to spare Arthur and lie to the king and his spies instead.)

In Act 4, Scene 1, we are treated to an idyllic portrait of young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne or Brittany, one that melts the heart of Hubert, who tries without success to be the stony agent of King John’s desires. Arthur is as disarming as can be, and in no way ambitious for a crown: he confesses to Hubert, “By my Christendom, / So I were out of prison and kept sheep / I should be as merry as the day is long …” (593, 4.1.16-18).

The lad—who would be around 16 by now, if the play’s action has advanced much nearer to Arthur’s alleged time of death in April 1203—knows enough to be distrustful of his uncle King John, but Hubert he trusts as his protector. Hubert knows that if he keeps listening to this sort of “innocent prate” or prattle, Arthur will, he says, “awake my mercy which lies dead …” (593, 4.1.25-26).

Hubert works up the strength to disabuse the boy of any illusions he may hold about him, and finally says he must carry out John’s orders, which (in their most up-to-date iteration) [38] are to put out Arthur’s eyes with heated pokers: Hubert declares, “I have sworn to do it, / And with hot irons must I burn them out” (594, 4.1.58-59). [39] Arthur replies, “Ah, none but in this iron age would do it”—a reference, as the Norton editor points out in footnote 5 on pg. 594, to the classical name for the rock-bottom period of depravity in human history.

The whole scene between Arthur and Hubert is interesting for its representation of Hubert’s conscience. Camille Wells Slights writes in her essay “The conscience of the King: Henry V and the reformed conscience” (Philological Quarterly, Winter 2001) [40] that with regard to Shakespeare’s histories, conscience serves as “the nexus where internal self-awareness and external political action, the obligations of obedience and the authority of personal judgment converge.”

Here in King John, Arthur’s words awaken Hubert’s “mercy,” which up to now has supposedly been dead inside of him. The Elizabethans may not have as fully developed a language for the internal operations of the self as we do today, but some interior awareness on Hubert’s part seems to awaken his emotions and lead him to disregard the political duty he had sworn to King John.

Hubert keeps trying to treat the proposed act of mutilation in a mechanical way, referring to the instrument he must use, but his cold resolution is no match for the boy’s piteous language, which even bestows a Macbeth-like weirdness upon the heated poker that Hubert means to use: Arthur notes to Hubert as the poker cools down, “All things that you should use to do me wrong / Deny their office” (595, 4.1.117-18).

In the end, Hubert decides to let Arthur live and disguise his act of mercy from the king—which would have been an even better thing if anything ever went as planned in this play. Just as Lysander says in A Midsummer Night’s Dream that “The course of true love never did run smooth …,” [41] so the best-laid plans of the characters in King John seem always to go off in some unpredictable, unfortunate direction.

Act 4, Scene 2 (595-601; John’s nobles voice their annoyance with his second coronation, and press him to liberate Arthur; Hubert lies to the king, telling him that Arthur is dead, which leads the barons to spurn John and set out to search for Arthur’s body; the French Dauphin has invaded England, and Eleanor and Constance have died; John rails at Hubert, but is relieved when Hubert finally tells him the truth about Arthur; the king sends the news to the barons who have been threatening to rebel.)

This is a momentous scene, and a tragic setup for the fortunes and spirits of King John. At its beginning, we find him being re-crowned, much to the displeasure of great lords such as Salisbury and Pembroke, who consider it an excessive gesture, especially since they suspect that he has ordered the murder of Arthur. No doubt, they also understand that a second ceremony allows John to pressure them to reconfirm their loyalty to him. The Norton editor’s footnote 1 to pg. 595 tells us that according to Shakespeare’s source material, this was indeed John’s purpose.

Next, when Hubert enters the scene, it becomes an occasion for Pembroke and Salisbury to trap John about the matter of Arthur’s whereabouts. Hubert, taken aside by the king, informs him falsely that Arthur is dead. At the moment, what can John do but admit what he believes to be the truth? He tells the lords that according to Hubert, “Arthur is deceased tonight” (597, 4.2.85). Salisbury puts this down to “apparent foul play …” (597, 4.2.93).

King John takes the measure of this situation and, alone for a moment, utters a medieval sententia: His lords, he says, “burn in indignation. I repent. / There is no sure foundation set on blood, / No certain life achieved by others’ death” (597, 4.2.103-05). Just when he has realized this, the news comes that both Queen Eleanor and Constance are dead. [42]

From this point forwards, John will seem adrift, hardly knowing what to do. Philip gets the king to pull himself together for a moment, if only to hear further bad news, saying, “But if you be afeard to hear the worst, / Then let the worst unheard fall on your head” (598, 4.2.135-36). It seems that the common people are “Possessed with rumors, full of idle dreams, / Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear” (598, 4.2.145-46).

By way of a testimonial to the symbolically charged unrest in the land, Philip has even brought with him one Peter of Pomfret, a prophet followed by many, who claims that “ere the next Ascension Day at noon” (598, 4.2.151), King John will be forced to part with his crown. John’s immediate answer to this gesture is to tell Hubert to imprison this supposed prophet, and hang him at noontime, Ascension Day.

King John is still optimistic about the noblemen, at least, as he says to Philip, “I have a way to win their loves again. / Bring them before me” (599, 4.2.168-69). The young man at once sets out to find the angry barons.

Meantime, portents are bandied about, like the “five moons” (599, 4.2.182) supposedly witnessed this very evening. The king and Hubert speak again, and the latter affirms Philip’s account of the disorder in the land, prodigies and portents abounding, mixed in with talk of Arthur’s death.

John is at first angry with Hubert over what he supposes is Arthur’s taking-off, and his conscience troubles him. He assails Hubert, and disparages his looks. In brief, the king finds what he did impossible to own up to. Like Henry IV after he ordered the death of the former king Richard II, or like Henry II after a couple of henchmen murdered Thomas Becket, John places the blame on vassals who took his orders too literally. [43] Well, that’s what subordinates are for, isn’t it? At least, if you’re a high-status individual in a Shakespeare play.

John’s reaction, then, is not unusual among the powerful. When Hubert is finally able to get a word in and inform John that he has not, in fact, killed Arthur, the king is overjoyed, if not with warm regard for Arthur, then at least with excitement about the political relief this news may bring when the nobles hear it.

Act 4, Scene 3 (601-05; Arthur makes a fateful decision to jump down from the wall surrounding his prison, and dies; Philip catches up with the barons, who are headed to a meeting with Louis the Dauphin; the barons find Arthur’s broken body and vow to take revenge on John; Hubert arrives and is blamed, but Philip defends him and the barons head to their meeting; Hubert convinces Philip that he did not kill Arthur; Philip, fearing the worst, sets out to inform King John.)

A disguised Arthur bestrides a wall outside his prison quarters, and decides to make his escape or die. Alas, he crashes down onto the stony pavement and dies. His last words are, “O me! My uncle’s spirit is in these stones. / Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!” (601, 4.3.9-10) No one knows if anything of this sort really happened, but it certainly gives Arthur a properly dramatic sendoff from this saucy world. [44]

Salisbury, Pembroke, and other lords are making their way towards a meeting with Louis the Dauphin at Saint Edmundsbury in Suffolk, when Philipjoins them on his mission from King John. They practically stumble into finding Arthur’s body on the pavement outside his prison, and all express their grief. Philip is as stunned as any of them: “It is a damnèd and a bloody work, / The graceless action of a heavy hand— / If that it be the work of any hand” (602, 57-59).

Hubert soon arrives, on his mission from King John, and is promptly accused of murdering Arthur, though he vehemently denies it. Philip still suspects him for a time, saying “If thou didst but consent / To this most cruel act, do but despair …” (604, 4.3.125-26). Hubert’s response apparently convinces Philip that he is in fact innocent, and he is allowed to bear Arthur’s body on the trip back to John.

Philip now says something we might not have expected him to say, given his general comportment for the first three acts or so: “I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way / Among the thorns and dangers of this world” (582, 141-42). Gone is the flippant and courtly adventurer: Philip is genuinely shocked to have seen the broken body of Arthur lying upon the ground, and feels the profoundly unsettled quality of the kingdom as it now stands: “Now powers from home and discontents at home / Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits, / As doth a raven on a sick-fall’n beast …” (604, 4.3.151-53).

It is worth noting that much of what Philip says here is oddly recognizant of King John’s inferiority as a claimant to the English throne, and affirmative of Arthur’s superior legitimacy. Surely he refers to Arthur when he says, “The life, the right, and truth of all this realm / Is fled to heaven, and England now is left / To tug and scamble and to part by th’ teeth / The unowed interest of proud swelling state” (604, 4.3.144-47). The point against John is probably fair game, but it’s John, after all, along with Eleanor of Aquitaine, who recognized Philip’s superiority to his brother Robert, and to his patrimony as a mere Falconbridge.

ACT 5

Act 5, Scene 1 (605-06; King John submits to Pope Innocent III on the promise of Pandulph’s help against the French; Philip informs John of France’s military victories and Arthur’s death, along with rebellion by the barons; Philip presses John to attack the French instead of relying on Pandulph’s diplomacy, and a weary King John invests Philip with the right to handle the situation.)

Just as the unfortunate Peter Pomfret had predicted, King John finds himself removing his crown, which he calls “The circle of my glory” (605, 5.1.2), and giving it to another man. The twist is that the man is not a French conqueror or a representative from the English barons but the pope’s legate Pandulph, who returns it to him, saying soon thereafter, “since you are a gentle convertite, / My tongue shall hush again this storm of war / And make fair weather in your blustering land” (605, 5.1.19-21). Pope Innocent is satisfied, so through his legate he will pressure the French to cease the military operations he himself had encouraged.

Philip quickly steps in after Pandulph exits, advising King John to fight the French. First, he tells the king not to despair over the news that Arthur is, in fact, now dead, saying that the barons “found him dead and cast into the streets …” (605, 5.1.39). But what of that? Above all, says Philip to the English monarch, “Let not the world see fear and sad distrust / Govern the motion of a kingly eye” (606, 5.2.46-47).

When John lets him know what has just transpired between himself and Pandulph, Philip is aghast, asking if the Dauphin will be allowed to “flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, / Mocking the air with colors idly spread, / And find no check?” (606, 5.1.71-73) In response, an exhausted King John says only, “Have thou the ordering of this present time” (606, 5.1.77).

Act 5, Scene 2 (606-10; in what history calls “the First Barons’ War,” John’s rebellious lords pledge to take the side of the Dauphin; Pandulph’s demand that the Dauphin remove his forces back to France falls on deaf ears; Philip is delighted that the Dauphin, like him, prefers to settle matters by fighting, not diplomacy; Philip announces that King John is coming on with his English forces.)

Salisbury laments, sincerely or otherwise, that he must draw his sword against his own country, that he and his compatriots “cannot deal but with the very hand / Of stern injustice and confusèd wrong” (607, 5.2.22-23). [45] After a good deal of rhetoric passes between these barons and the Dauphin, the latter is amazed to hear Pandulph, upon his arrival, declare that it’s time to cease operations because a peace has been forged with King John. The Dauphin thinks he has the best hand, so why fold now? He says to Pandulph, “Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back …” (608, 5.2.78).

Philip, who is obviously spoiling for a fight, can’t hide his delight when the Dauphin refuses Pandulph’s orders from the pope, saying, “By all the blood that ever fury breathed, / The youth says well” (609, 5.2.127-28). He goes on to serve up a saucy bit of effrontery against the French. The Dauphin is out of patience, too, and by the end of this scene, battle is imminent.

Act 5, Scene 3 (610-11; King John is suffering from a fever, and on Philip’s advice leaves the field of battle; one piece of good luck is that the French supply ships have been wrecked in the shallows at Goodwin Sands; John is carried towards Swinsted Abbey.)

King John is sick with what will be his final illness, saying to Hubert, “This fever that hath troubled me so long / Lies heavy on me. Oh, my heart is sick” (610, 5.3.3-4). On Philip’s advice, he leaves the battlefield, cheered hardly at all, so sick is he, by the good news that the shoals at Goodwin Sands have wrecked the Dauphin’s reinforcement ships. The king has himself carried by litter to Swinsted Abbey.

Act 5, Scene 4 (611-12; Philip guides the English army well, and when the rebellious English barons learn from the injured French Count Melun that the Dauphin means to slaughter them if his French troops carry the day, they decide to support John after all.)

The English forces are doing well under Philip’s leadership, and just when the rebel English barons who oppose him are scheming to recover, the mortally wounded French commander Melun arrives to tell them not to trust Louis the Dauphin. That treacherous leader, he says, has sworn to execute his rebel allies if he wins. “Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold” (611, 5.4.10) is the sum of Melun’s advice. Upon hearing this news, Salisbury speaks for all the rebels, saying, “Away, my friends! New flight, / And happy newness, that intends old right!” (612, 5.4.60-61)

Act 5, Scene 5 (612-13; Louis the Dauphin is pleased that his forces are at last so close to beating the English, but he soon learns of Count Melun’s death, the return of the English rebels to King John, and the loss of his supply ships at Goodwin Sands; still, Louis keeps his composure, and is ready to keep fighting.)

Louis the Dauphin is exultant over the successes of his French forces, and thinks it’s all but certain that he and they will finally whip the English. But bad news comes, as Claudius says in Hamlet, “not single spies / But in battalions. [46] Louis learns that “The Count Melun is slain, the English lords / By his persuasion are again fall’n off, / And your supply, which you have wished so long, / Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands” (612, 5.2.10-13).

Louis is downcast for a moment, but he is a plucky fellow, and after not much delay, he exclaims, “The day shall not be up so soon as I” (613, 5.5.21).

Act 5, Scene 6 (613-14; Hubert informs Philip that a monk has poisoned King John and that Prince Henry has prevailed upon the king to pardon the English rebels; Philip, who has lost many of his soldiers as they tried to cross treacherous shallows, hurries back to Swinsted Abbey to see his dying sovereign.)

Hubert and Philip meet as both men near Swinsted Abbey, where the king lies gravely ill. Hubert tells Philip, “The King, I fear, is poisoned by a monk” (613, 5.6.23). This is probably not historically true, but it’s dramatic. [47] At least until a little while ago, John was still able to speak, and upon Prince Henry’s advice, he apparently pardoned his rebellious barons. Philip mentions to Hubert that he lost many of his soldiers as they tried to cross through the “Lincoln Washes”(which the Norton editor’s footnote 6 for pg. 614 calls “tidal flatlands south of Lincolnshire”), and asks to be led to the stricken king.

Act 5, Scene 7 (614-16; King John is dying, with Prince Henry and his barons by his side; Philip brings word of French military gains, but himself learns that the papal legate Pandulph has relayed a peace offer from Louis the Dauphin; after John dies, Philip and the former rebels tender their loyalty to the new king, Henry III.)

In the orchard at Swinsted Abbey, Prince Henry is informed that the king, though he has been suffering terribly, recently broke into song. This surprises Henry, who says poetically, “I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, / Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, / And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings / His soul and body to their lasting rest” (614, 5.7.21-24). This is a tribute to the dying king, as swans have long been symbols of royalty in English lore. [48]

King John himself speaks eloquently as he passes away, seeming to envision the icy winter and its waters flowing through his burning body—he, too, believes he has been poisoned—and reproaches those around him with strange utterances: “none of you will bid the winter come / To thrust his icy fingers in my maw, / Nor let my kingdom’s rivers take their course / Through my burned bosom …” (615, 5.7.36-39).

John may also have fearful intimations of the life to come, as he says, “Within me is a hell, and there the poison / Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize / On unreprievable condemnèd blood” (615, 5.7.46-48). This description could be merely physical, but it could also be the effect of the medieval king’s many grievous sins in the years of his “troublesome” reign, as Shakespeare’s anonymous probable source play describes it.

At last, the king dies. Philip still believes the main part of the fighting lies ahead, but he is quickly informed that such thoughts are unnecessary since the Dauphin has put the whole matter of war and peace in the legate Pandulph’s hands, and now the battle is ended. Philip must feel a little like a thirteenth-century “superfluous man” [49] at this point since his martial spirit is out of step with the present moment. He’s in danger of becoming, dare we say, “a bastard to the time.” [50]

The king’s body is to be buried at Worcester. Philip now turns his considerable loyalty to John’s young son, Prince Henry, soon to be King Henry III, and pronounces the play’s final judgment on the events that have passed: “This England never did, nor never shall, / Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror / But when it first did help to wound itself” (594, 112-14). And finally, he predicts that “Naught shall make us rue / If England to itself do rest but true!” (616, 5.7.117-18)

Philip’s judgment doesn’t have the ring of jingoism because it can hardly be taken as predicting a spotless future. The obvious admonition is to the play’s present barons, men who took the foreign Dauphin’s side against King John, so it won’t do to say, “It can’t happen here.” To be fair, John himself bears much of the blame for alienating his barons thanks to his plot against Arthur, his rapacious taxation policies, and so forth.

One of Shakespeare’s main sources for this play may have been an anonymous work entitled The troublesome raigne of John, King of England. [51] The title is instructive: John’s reign was indeed a “troublesome” one in difficult, contentious times, at least if we believe his chroniclers. He is not the hero of this play, and in fact there are few if any heroes to be found—not the admittedly strong women Eleanor of Aquitaine the queen mother; or Arthur’s mother, Constance; not John: not the French royals; nor Arthur, who is noble but suffers a pitiable fate.

Philip might qualify, if we are willing to confirm that he stands for strength and the willingness to take big risks when occasion arises. Not for the faint of heart is Philip’s advice—as a counselor, he’s another one of Shakespeare’s Machiavellians before Machiavelli. In truth, Philip might make a much stronger king than John. But in the end, there is no “elbow room” (to borrow a phrase from John at 5.7.28) for a truly heroic character in this play. In it, all potentially heroic actions and persons come to nothing, and even the “great” end up settling for outcomes they neither wanted nor foresaw.

Norton editor Walter Cohen is probably correct in his introduction (see pp. 549-55) to suggest that if some of Shakespeare’s other plays nudge us towards belief in a Tudor Providence, with history pointing towards the accession of the all-important Elizabeth of Shakespeare’s own time, The Life and Death of King John does not include itself in that providential dynastic order. Instead, it gives us a disturbing look at a historical process that seems at best structured by ever-compounding frustrations and anguish unto death, and at worst utterly random in its movement from one royal event and intention to the next.

King John himself is not a man possessed by great or even good ideas—like most monarchs and lesser politicians, he is dedicated more to maintaining his power than to anything else, though his preservation as king can hardly be said to stem from his own genius or skill. Whatever nascent proto-Machiavellian craft John has comes to naught, and we are left with the feeling that nothing has been settled or set up right for future times, other than continued bad relations with France and dissension among some of Britain’s most powerful political groups.

Edition. Greenblatt, Stephen et al., editors. The Norton Shakespeare: Histories + Digital Edition. 3rd ed. W. W. Norton, 2016. ISBN-13: 978-0-393-93859-3.

Document Timestamp: 12/25/2025 2:55 PM

ENDNOTES

*To return to exact part of the text referenced by the endnotes below, left-click on the endnote’s numbered link. By contrast, the blue scroll-up button at the bottom right of the page returns to the top of the document.

[1] See the Britannica entry “Hundred Years’ War.” See also the World History Encyclopedia’s “Hundred Years’ War” and “The Hundred Years’ War: Consequences and Effects.” All accessed 12/23/2025. In print, there’s Jonathan Sumption’s detailed 5-volume account; Desmond Seward’s compact The Hundred Years’ War: The English in France 1337-1453. Penguin, 1999. ISBN-13: 978-0140283617; and David Green’s The Hundred Years War: A People’s History. Yale UP, 2015. ISBN-13: 978-0300216103. See also Barbara W. Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14^th Century. Random House, 2014/1978. ISBN-13: 978-0345349576.

[2] For the origins of the House of Valois (1328-1589), a cadet branch of the Capetian dynasty (987-1328), see “Birth of Charles, Count of Valois.” EuropeanRoyalHistory.wordpress.com. See also Britannica’s “Valois Dynasty” and “Capetian Dynasty.” In video presentations, see also “The Entire History of the House of Capet, “The Entire History of the House of Valois,” and “The Entire History of the House of Bourbon.” Dynast’s Saga on YouTube. All accessed 12/23/2025.

[3] On the origin of the name “Plantagenet,” see Britannica’s entry “House of Plantagenet.” The name traces back to Henry II’s father, Geoffrey IV, Count of Anjou (1113-51). Geoffrey married King Henry I of England’s daughter, Matila, and supposedly made use of the “broom” plant (Latin: planta genista) either as a dashing sprig to wear in his hat or to maintain hunting cover. See Britannica’s entry “Geoffrey IV.” Accessed 12/24/2025.

[4] On the last Capetian ruler, see “Death of King Charles IV.” Europeanroyalhistory.wordpress.com. Accessed 12/24/2025.

[5] Henry VIII and Elizabeth I held on to the French port city of Calais, but this, too, was finally lost by Queen Mary in January 1558. The siege of Calais occurred in January 1558 and was led by François, Duke of Guise. For the broader context, see Heritage-history.com’s entry “Italian Wars,” the section on the “Hapsburg-Valois War: 1551-59.” There was an earlier siege of Calais during the Hundred Years’ War, for which see Britannica’s entry “Siege of Calais 1346-47” and britishbattles.com’s “Siege of Calais.” Finally, the same port city was besieged by Hitler’s Nazi forces in late May 1940, which delayed those forces long enough to facilitate the British evacuation from Dunkirk to the UK.

[6] The fierce struggle known as “the Wars of the Roses” from 1455-87 involved major figures from the two Plantagenet cadet branches of York and Lancaster. Representing York were King Edward IV and King Richard III, while the ultimately victorious Lancastrian line was led by Henry VI and Henry VII (Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond). See, for example, “Wars of the Roses.” Warsoftheroses.com. Accessed 12/23/2025.

[7] Philip II of France, or Philippe II Auguste (b. 1165, r. 1180-1223). “Philippe was given the epithet ‘Augustus’ by the chronicler Rigord for having greatly extended the crown lands of France. Philippe II’s predecessors had been known as Kings of the Franks, but from 1190 onward, Philippe II became the first French monarch to style himself ‘King of France’.” Philippe II was successful in breaking apart the English Angevin Empire in France, and his victory at Bouvines in 1214 was transformative. King John was pressured by his barons into signing the Magna Carta in 1215, while the power of France was greatly augmented going forwards. In 1216, the last year of John’s life and reign, Louis the Dauphin (later King Louis VIII of France from 1223-26) briefly invaded England in support of the barons who had rebelled against him, and for a short time styled himself King Louis I of England. See “Accession of Philippe II of France.” Europeanroyalhistory.wordpress.com. Accessed 12/23/2025.

[8] The Norton editor states that Arthur, Duke of Bretagne was “in his late teens,” presumably as the play opens since that is near where the note is placed. However, Arthur was born in late May 1187, which would make him 12 years of age when John snapped up the throne before Arthur’s supporters (including the French King Philip II) could secure it for him. Arthur would have been a few days into his sixteenth year when he disappeared in early April 1203, so he never lived to see his “late teens.”

[9] With regard to the succession struggle between John and his nephew Arthur, see Marc Morris’s biography King John: Treachery and Tyranny in Medieval England. (New York: Pegasus, 2015, ISBN-13: 978-1681772622), 102-06. The entire struggle was a mess, with some observers insisting that King Richard I (the Lionheart) had made a deathbed change to his younger brother John from his nephew Arthur. Morris suggests that the historical record does not verify that claim. Aside from Morris’s analysis, we might add that the alleged change of heart on Richard’s part seems awfully convenient for John.

[10] Eleanor. This reimagining of Queen Eleanor may strike us as accurate in spirit: she was a martial character, a strong woman and a capable politician who was always up to something regarding her husband King Henry II, even encouraging her sons to rebel against him and ending up in custody because Henry did not trust her. (She died in 1204, though Shakespeare’s compression technique in King John makes it seem as if she passed away shortly before her son John died in 1216.) See the entry “Eleanor of Aquitaine.” World History Encyclopedia, and “May 18, 1152: the future King Henry II of the English marries Eleanor of Aquitaine.” Europeanroyalhistory.wordpress.com. All accessed 12/24/2025.

[11] See Marc Morris, ibid. 104.A key tranche of John’s supporters, says Morris, were those Anglo-Norman barons who had possessions both in England and in France, while supporters of Arthur wanted to toss out the Plantagenet rulers from Brittany. Sharing this latter goal was, of course, King Philip II of France.

[12] Boswell-Stone, Walter G. Shakespeare’s Holinshed: The Chronicle and the Historical Plays Compared. Wentworth Press, 2019 [repr. of London: Chatto & Windus 1907 ed.]. ISBN-13: 978-0530892863. The author cites Holinshed as follows: “Philip, bastard sonne to king Richard, to whome his father had giuen the castell and honor of Coinacke [Cognac], killed the vicount of Limoges [Aimar V], in reuenge of his fathers death, who was slaine (as yee haue heard) in besieging the castell of Chalus Cheuerell” (48).

[13] The Troublesome Reign of John, King of England, we are informed in Shakespearedocumented’s section on King John, “was first published anonymously in 1591, but the second quarto of 1611 includes the attribution ‘Written by W.Sh.’

Moreover, “in 1622, a third quarto expanded this to ‘W. Shakespeare.’” Even so, the text is not generally given the status of an actual Shakespeare text, but is instead viewed as a source play or “variant text.” Shakespearedocumented’s Peter Kirwan writes in “The first and second part of the troublesome raigne of Iohn King of England” that noted textual scholar Brian Vickers makes a good case for George Peele’s authorship of The Troublesome Reign. Charles R. Forker has edited and annotated the original play for the Revels Plays Series. Manchester UP, 2016. ISBN-13: 978-1784993450.

[14] As A. R. Braunmuller points out in his essay “King John and Historiography” (ELH 55, 1988: 309-32), this semi-fictive character steps out boldly, but then moderates in significance when it suits Shakespeare’s need.

[15] Shakespeare did not make up the character “Philip the Bastard.” He is already a strong presence in The Troublesome Reign of John, King of England. Here’s a snippet from the supposed precursor play’s Scene 1: “Base to a King addes title of more State, / Than Knights begotten, though legittimate. / Please it your Grace, I am King Richards Sonne.” See The troublesome raigne of John, King of England, Pts. 1-2 (First Quarto, 1591/HathiTrust).

[16] See Matthew 19:21: “If thou wilt be perfect, go, sell that thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come, and follow me.” Geneva Bible 1599, BibleGateway.com. Accessed 12/25/2025.

[17] Shakespeare, William. All’s Well That Ends Well. In The Norton Shakespeare: Comedies, 3rd ed. 971-1033.

[18] Bacon, Sir Francis. “Of Great Place” in Bacon’s Essays and Wisdom of the Ancients. Gutenberg e-text. Accessed 12/21/2025.

[19] Wilde, Oscar. An Ideal Husband. Gutenberg e-text. Accessed 12/21/2025.

[20] Henry II didn’t immediately have land to give to his youngest son John, so he got the nickname “Lackland.” Victorious over his rebellious Queen Eleanor and his own sons, King Henry was finally able to bestow some real estate upon John. See Morris, Marc. King John: Treachery and Tyranny …. 24.

[21] Leopold V of Austria (r. 1177-94) didn’t kill Richard, but he caught and imprisoned him for some time, which indirectly created the circumstances in which Richard was shot while inspecting a French castle and died of gangrene. See Europeanroyalhistory.com’s entry “Leopold V of Austria.” The other figure who may be incorporated into the portrayal of “Austria” is the Vicomte Aimar V of Limoges (c. 1135-1199), a sometime ward of King Henry II who clashed with Richard the Lionheart. See “More on Philip of Cognac.” Plantagenesta. Both accessed 12/25/2025.

[22] Since Arthur was born on March 29, 1187.

[23] Shakespeare, William. The Life of Henry the Fifth. Folio. In The Norton Shakespeare: Histories, 3rd ed. 790-857. Philip II’s war-rhetoric is a somewhat pale matchup with similar threats in Henry V. See, for example: “Therefore, you men of Harfleur, / Take pity of your town and of your people, / Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command …” (795, 3.3.104-06).

[24] Mao’s statement from 1927 was published in Problems of War and Strategy in 1938.

[25] The factions who united to keep the revolt of Jerusalem in Judea against the Romans viable did not, however, ultimately succeed in their efforts. Rome destroyed the Temple in Jerusalem, and huge numbers of Jews died. According to Jared W. Ludlow, “The Zealots spread terror throughout the city as the moderates made efforts to stem their tide. The Zealots then invited the Jews of Idumea to join them. Butchery among the populace, including moderate leaders and the high priest, ensued.” See Ludlow’s “The First Jewish Revolt against Rome.” Baylor U Religious Studies Center. Accessed 12/22/2025.

[26] See Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of King Richard the Third. Quarto. In The Norton Shakespeare: Histories, 3rd ed. 384-465. One thinks of Richard of Gloucester’s wicked glee after his promising interview with Anne Neville, whereupon he exclaims, “I’ll be at charges for a looking glass, / And entertain some score or two of tailors / To study fashions to adorn my body.” (394, 1.2.241-43).

[27] Bloom, Harold. Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human. Riverhead Books, 1999. ISBN-13: 978-1573227513. For Bloom’s thoughts on Falstaff, see 271-314.

[28] Norton editor Dermot Cavanagh explains in his “Textual Introduction” that in the 1623 First Folio edition of Shakespeare’s plays, King John has Lewis’s words “Before Angiers well met brave Austria, / Arthur that great fore-runner of thy bloud …” as the beginning of Act 1, Scene 2 (Actus Primus, Scaena Secunda). However, in the Norton text these words mark the beginning of “Act 2, Scene 1.” Oddly, in the Folio, Constance’s disconsolate speech beginning, “Gone to be married? Gone to sweare a peace?” constitutes the opening line of Actus Secondus, i.e. Act 2. But at 74 lines in length, it’s far too short to make a proper second act! Norton’s editors have taken the logical step of treating this short scene as “Act 2, Scene 2.”

[29] See Shakespeare, William. The Life and Death of King Richard the Second. Folio. In The Norton Shakespeare: Histories, 3rd ed. 488-548. “For heaven’s sake let us sit upon the ground / And tell sad stories of the death of kings …” (520, 3.2.150-51).

[30] See Britannica’s entry “Innocent III.” The future pope’s birth name was Lotario de’ Conti di Segni (b. 1161, r. 1198-1216). Accessed 25/12/2025.

[31] See Britannica’s entry “Stephen Langton.” Accessed 12/25/2025. Pope Innocent III preferred Langton among several candidates for Archbishop of Canterbury, but John refused to allow him to take up his office in England. However, due to his plans to recover lost French territory, John finally gave in by 1213. The Archbishop favored and assisted the king’s dissatisfied barons, and was instrumental in driving him towards signing the Magna Carta in 1215.

[32] Historically, in 1207 Pope Innocent III placed England under an “interdict,” meaning in part that he wanted King John deposed, or stripped of his crown. The king was excommunicated in 1209. See Britannica’s entry “John’s Quarrel with the Church.” Accessed 12/25/2025.

[33] See current Norton edition of King John, 554-55. Walter Cohen ends his introduction by referring to the play’s “disabused view of power, its refusal to find reassurance in the interconnected, yet uncertain, sequence of historical events.”

[34] The Magna Carta deals substantially with the economic viability and wellbeing of the nobility, not the common people. At issue were, in part, the crown’s rapacious use of taxation and various fees pertaining to inheritances, dowries, and the like. See Marc Morris’s King John: Treachery and Tyranny … 253-60.

[35] Historically, that would be Hubert de Burgh (c. 1170-1243), who served in an impressive array of offices over the years of John’s and then Henry III’s reigns, including chamberlain of John’s household and chief justiciar of England from 1215-1232.

[36] See, for example, Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Second Quarto with additions from the Folio. In The Norton Shakespeare: Tragedies, 3rd ed. Combined text 358-447. Prince Hamlet is schooled for his supposedly excessive, morbid grief over his departed father. The new king, Claudius, politely chides his nephew: Hamlet’s long-continuing sorrow is, says his uncle, “a course / Of impious stubbornness …” (365, 1.2.93-94).

[37] See the entry “Blanche of Castile, Queen of France.” Epistolae. Accessed 12/25/2025. On Shakespeare’s treatment of John’s legitimacy, see Cantonlittle’s entry “On the Legitimacy and Historicity of King John.” Of interest, too, is “Historical Notes on the Reign of King John.” Internet Shakespeare Editions (ISE). All accessed 12/25/2025.

[38] A. R. Braunmuller’s article “King John and Historiography” may be found in ELH 55, 1988: 309-32. Accessed 12/25/2025. A JSTOR account (personal or through school access) is needed to read the entire article. Braunmuller suggests that the confusion involved in this representation—namely that the punishment is to put out Arthur’s eyes, whereas initially, John’s order in Act 3, Scene 3 was that he should be killed outright—may be a deliberate repetition of the multiplicity of causes found in Shakespeare’s chronicle-based source material. Overall, Braunmuller’s point is that Holinshed and other chroniclers were themselves treating their historical personages and events in a similarly dramatic way as Shakespeare and his fellow playwrights treat the chroniclers’ accounts.

[39] For the account that Shakespeare is thought to have drawn upon for this scene, see Selection translated from Chronicon Anglicanum (Ralph Coggeshall). Internet Shakespeare Editions (ISE). Accessed 12/23/2025.

[40] Slights, Camille Wells. “The conscience of the King: Henry V and the reformed conscience.” Philological Quarterly, vol. 80, no. 1. winter 2001.

[41] Shakespeare, William. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Quarto. In The Norton Shakespeare: Comedies, 3rd ed. 406-53. See 409, 1.1.134.

[42] Historically, Eleanor of Aquitaine died in 1204, though the mention of Louis the Dauphin’s invasion of England would seem to place the current year in the text as 1216. On this invasion, see “The Forgotten Invasion of England 1216.” HistoricUK. Accessed 12/23/2025. Constance died circa 1201.

[43] The words of Henry Bolingbroke, the future Henry IV, can stand in for the others’ reactions: he says to Sir Piers Exton, who has killed Richard II after hearing Bolingbroke’s wish, “They love not poison that do poison need, / Nor do I thee.” Shakespeare, William. The Life and Death of King Richard the Second. Folio. In The Norton Shakespeare: Histories, 3rd ed. 488-548. 548, 5.6.38.

[44] Arthur disappeared in early April 1203.

[45] The so-called “First Barons’ War” lasted from 1215-17, and saw English lords led by Robert Fitzwalter (d. 1235) joining up with Louis the Dauphin, who invaded England in 1216, and did so well that he was even briefly declared “king of England” by the barons. After John’s death, his son Henry III defeated Louis and forced him to seek peace via the Treaty of Lambeth. See EBSCO’s “Research Starters” page for some leads on this struggle. See also HistoryMedieval.com’s entry “King John’s Rebellion: The First Barons’ War.” While the play never directly mentions John’s signing of the famous Magna Carta document at Runnymede in 1215 (the linked page contains an image and translation), it was his reneging on the promises made to the barons in that document that most strongly incited the First Barons’ War. See National Archives UK. See also the RSC’s article King John & Magna Carta and Deborah T. Curren-Aquino’s article for the Folger Shakespeare website “A Modern Perspective: King John.”

[46] See Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Second Quarto with additions from the Folio. In The Norton Shakespeare: Tragedies, 3rd ed. Combined text 358-447. 422, 4.2.77-78.

[47] Morris, ibid. 282-84. The author suggests the best evidence indicates that King John died of fatigue, from “a body wracked with exhaustion” (283), not that he was poisoned by a monk.

[48] On the symbolic significance of swans in English royal history, see “The Fascinating, Regal History Behind Britain’s Swans” by Emily Cleaver for the Smithsonian Magazine. July 31, 2017. Accessed 12/24/2025.

[49] The term “superfluous man” refers to a number of nineteenth-century characters in Russian literature who seem not to have a place in their society in spite of being intelligent and capable. See Britannica’s entry “The Superfluous Man.” Accessed 12/24/2025.

[50] King John. 563, 1.1.205-08.

[51] The Troublesome Reign of John, King of England. See earlier endnote.