Notes accord with the text in Greenblatt, Stephen et al., eds. The Norton Shakespeare. 2nd edition. Four-Volume Genre Paperback Set. Histories. Norton, 2008. ISBN-13: 978-0-393-93152-5. Document timestamp: 11/12/2011 7:47 PM
House of Plantagenet’s “Angevin” line
The line is so named in modern times due to the following lineage: Geoffrey Plantagenet, Fifth Count of Anjou, France married Matilda, daughter of English King Henry I (this king was one of William the Conquerors’ sons). Matilda’s son by Geoffrey Plantagenet became English King Henry II.
Henry II (1154-89; his queen was Eleanor of Aquitaine; see the film The Lion in Winter)
Richard I (1189-99; Berengaria of Navarre; Timeline of Richard I’s Reign)
John (1199-1216; Isabel of Gloucester; Isabella of Angoulême; Timeline of John’s Reign)
Henry III (1216-72; Eleanor of Provence)
Edward I (1272-1307; Eleanor of Castile; Margaret of France)
Edward II (1307-27; Isabella of France, who deposed him with the aid of Roger Mortimer)
Edward III (1327-77; Philippa of Hainault)
Richard II (1377-99; Anne of Bohemia; Isabella of Valois)
After this line comes the Plantagenet branch called Lancaster
The line was descended from John of Gaunt, Edward III’s third son; Gaunt married Blanche of Lancaster, daughter of Henry of Grosmont, First Duke of Lancaster. Their son became Henry IV (who was born in Bolingbroke Castle, Lincolnshire, thus “Bolingbroke”).
Henry IV (Bolingbroke, 1399-1413; Mary de Bohun; Joan of Navarre)
Henry V (victor over the French at Agincourt in 1415; ruled 1413-22; Catherine de Valois)
Henry VI’s two interspersed reigns (1422-61, 1470-71, murdered; Margaret of Anjou)
Then follows the Plantagenet branch called York:
The line was descended paternally from Edmund of Langley, First Duke of York, who was the fourth son of Edward III; maternally descended from Edward III’s second son Lionel, Duke of Clarence–this latter descent constituted their claim to the throne.
Edward IV (1461-70 [Henry VI captive], 1471-83 after Henry VI’s murder; Elizabeth Woodville)
Edward V (briefly in 1483, perhaps killed)
Richard III (1483-85, killed at Bosworth Field by Henry Tudor’s forces; Anne Neville, widow of Edward Prince of Wales and daughter of the Earl of Warwick) The action at Bosworth largely ended the struggle between Yorkists and Lancastrians from 1455-85 known as the Wars of the Roses because the Yorkist emblem was a white rose and the Lancastrian a red rose.
The Tudor line begun by Henry Tudor runs as follows:
Henry Tudor’s grandfather was the Welshman Owen Tudor (who fought for Henry V at Agincourt in 1415 and lived until 1461, when he was executed by Yorkists led by the future King Edward IV). Henry’s father was Edmund Tudor, First Earl of Richmond (Edmund’s mother was apparently Henry V’s widow Catherine de Valois, whom Owen Tudor is said to have secretly married). Henry Tudor’s mother was Lady Margaret Beaufort, and it is from her that he claimed his right to the throne since she was the great-granddaughter of John of Gaunt by his third wife Katherine Swynford.
Henry VII (i.e. Henry Tudor; 1485-1509; Elizabeth of York, Edward IV’s daughter)
Henry VIII (1509-47), Edward VI (1547-53; Catherine of Aragon through 1533; Anne Boleyn; Jane Seymour; Anne of Cleves; Catherine Howard; Catherine Parr)
Mary I (1553-58, co-ruler Philip of Spain)
Elizabeth I (1558-1603; never married)
Then come the Stuarts
The Stuarts’ claim to the English throne was initiated when in 1503, Scottish King James IV married English King Henry VII’s daughter Margaret Tudor, and they had a son who became Scottish King James V. His daughter Mary became Queen of Scots; Mary’s son by Lord Darnley (Henry Stuart) became English King James I.
James I, (1603-25; Anne, daughter of Frederick II of Denmark and Norway)
Charles I (1625-49; Henrietta Maria, daughter of Henri IV of France), beheaded by Oliver Cromwell’s Puritan forces during the English Civil War (1642-51).
After 1660, we have the Restoration of the Stuart monarchy in the person of
Charles II (1660-85, the Restoration; Catherine of Braganza).
Historical Gloss Regarding King John:
John's reign is significant not only for his forced signing of the
Magna Carta in 1215 (whereby angry feudal nobles wanted to check 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 – mainly a struggle between the French kings of the
House of Valois and England's Plantagenet rulers, who claimed the right
to France after the death of the last direct ruler in the French
Capetian line. What John lost, subsequent English kings, such as Edward
III and Henry V, tried to get back, culminating in the loss of nearly
everything in France by Henry V's son, the hapless Henry VI, whose reign
saw the English Wars of the Roses that ran for a few decades beginning
in the mid-1450s. This English struggle, then, dovetails with the
Hundred Years War: Henry VI's incompetence, it's reasonable to infer,
contributed to the English nobility's dissatisfaction and determination
to replace him with someone more capable (and of course of their own
faction). In Shakespearean terms, the heroic Henry V successfully
reversed the misfortunes of John, only to find his son (of I, II, and
III Henry VI) throwing it all away; from thence it's a short step to the territory covered by Richard III, in
which play the Yorkist King Edward IV has already taken out his
Lancastrian predecessor and is to be succeeded by his younger brother
Richard of Gloucester, who as Richard III is soon toppled by Henry
Tudor. This Henry VII (Tudor) founds the line culminating in the long,
illustrious reign of Shakespeare's own Queen Elizabeth. In a sense, the
French victory in the Hundred Years War proved hollow – the conflict
was fought mainly on French soil and devastated the population, while
England prospered in spite of all the violence, giving it an advantage
as the early modern period in Europe began.
Act 1, Scene 1
538.
At the outset of the play we find Queen Eleanor (i.e. Eleanor of
Aquitaine, Henry II's widowed queen) immediately undercutting King
John's claim to the throne he already holds. It is not that she wants
him to give up the crown, but rather that she is trying to shape his
understanding of his position. It is not about "right" but rather about
"strong possession" (40). That is the only 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 Richard the Lionheart). Queen Eleanor is a
Machiavellian before Machiavelli.
539.
Enter Philip the Bastard, who is mentioned only once or twice in the
Holinshed Chronicles but who Shakespeare decides to make a major
character in his own play, one that as A. R. Braunmuller points out in
his essay "King John and Historiography" (ELH 55, 1988: 309-32),
is invented almost whole cloth and steps out boldly but then fades into
near irrelevance to suit Shakespeare's interests. The younger
Falconbridge lays claim to what should logically be Philip's inheritance
from Robert Falconbridge, and Philip's manner of defending his
patrimony rises to genuine comedy. Philip simply compares his own
personal appearance to that of his unattractive younger brother, and
insinuates and then states outright that he is indeed the illegitimate
offspring of King Richard I. Queen Eleanor and King John can see
"perfect Richard" (89) in the face of this saucy man, and they hear the
departed King in his voice and manner. King John goes along with Philip
rather than his younger brother: it does not matter whether or not
Philip is legitimate, it only matters that he was born while his mother
was married to Robert Falconbridge.
540-41.
But that isn't what Queen Eleanor is interested in, and neither is it
Philip's real concern: she asks him point blank whether he would rather
inherit his Falconbridge patrimony or be considered "the reputed son of
Coeur-de-lion, / Lord of thy presence, and no land beside" (136).
Philip is invited to follow Queen Eleanor since she is "a soldier and
now bound to France" (150). The play is not very historical, although
as Braunmuller says, it should be noted that the original Chronicles
themselves are re-imaginings of earlier historical records and serve the
needs of the present, like a work of drama. But this reimagining of
Queen Eleanor strikes me as accurate in spirit: she was a martial
character, a strong woman and capable politician who was always up to
something regarding her husband King Henry II, at one point even
encouraging her sons to rebel against him and ending up in custody
because Henry did not trust her. (She died in 1204, though the play
makes it seem as if she passed away shortly before her son King John
falls mortally sick in 1216.) Well, Philip makes the stronger choice
and is told by John, "Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet" (162). It is
better to be the grandson of Eleanor of Aquitaine than to be the
legitimate son of a nobleman. It's clear that he and Eleanor agree in
political matters: "have is have, however men do catch" (173). And with
this observation they are off for France.
542.
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 he calls
"worshipful society" (205). He may be 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.
The latter character understands nothing but flattery and fashion, but
Philip is savvy, and he knows these things are merely tools: though you
use them, you must not be taken in by them yourself. That's the sort of
advice Machiavelli gives the Medici: know the difference between your
public and private qualities and behavior. We can see this when he
says, "though I will not practice to deceive, / Yet to avoid deceit I
mean to learn; / For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising"
(214ff). 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." Philip doesn't need to be told this since he already knows it.
543-44.
Philip's next task is to square things with his mother, which involves
getting her to admit she bore a child by a man not her husband. Since
the man in question was a 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" (275). Oscar Wilde has a character in one of his plays
insist that there are some temptations one must give in to or risk being
diminished, and it seems that both Philip and his mother agree.
One
thing worth noting about the entire first act is that not very much of
it is about King John. At times, he does not even seem like the most
important character in the play. This is not necessarily a flaw in
Shakespeare's dramatic art, but may rather be a statement about the
turgid nature of the historical era Shakespeare is covering. The
Chronicles from which he borrows often give confusing, difficult reasons
for historical events, and the monarchy was by no means as centralized
in feudal times as it would become later on in the Early Modern Age.
King John "Lackland" (so-called as the youngest of Henry II's sons) set
the stage for a few centuries of English history thanks to his losses in
France, losses that subsequent kings of England would try to erase.
Act 2, Scene 1
544.
The beginning of the first scene is taken up with the stale set-piece
rhetoric of the French party. King Philip 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, Queen Eleanor and her granddaughter
Blanche and "all the unsettled humours of the land" (545, 66) are on the
way to Angers.
546.
King John and King Philip trade contentious claims, King Philip
describing Arthur's face as if it were a text in which is read the ruin
of King John. Queen Eleanor rails away at Constance, and Philip the
Bastard mocks Austria, whom he will later kill during a battle. Poor
Arthur understands what the fuss is about, but the boy is modest and
just wishes he were back home and not the pawn in an argument between
two mighty kings.
548.
The Citizen spokesman of Angers insists that the town is loyal, but it
will prove loyal only to the man who demonstrates the greater military
capacity (550, 270ff). In other words, Angers values what Queen Eleanor
called "strong possession," not necessarily legitimate right. In this
play, de facto trumps de jure any day. Without wanting to
run afoul of the censors over at the Revels Office, 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, or cannon, or whatever).
550.
A battle follows, and the only clear thing is that it isn't clear who
won. Philip's high rhetoric at the bottom of 551 does nothing to change
this. He revels in battle, but the two kings desperately want the
matter clarified. It seems at first as if they are going to accept his
advice: "Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend / Your sharpest
deeds of malice on this town" (379). However, the Citizen promptly
undercuts Philip by proposing a match between Queen Eleanor's
granddaughter Blanche and the Dauphin. They do not seem particularly
impressed with all the high rhetoric that has passed from the kings'
lips to their battlements, and in fact Philip is impressed with the
Citizen (554, 467-68). So much for King Philip's statements such as,
"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?" (549, 263ff) This in itself is a pale matchup with
similar threats in Henry V. I am thinking of Act 3, Scene 3, lines 104-20 of that play (page 795 in Norton Histories);
the passage begins, "Therefore, you men of Harfleur, / Take pity of
your town and of your people, / Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command
..." (3.3.104-07).
556. The Citizen's plan strikes both King John and King Philip as excellent, and the promise is made. Philip the Bastard is bemused by it all, how easily these great men turn to something very like 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). He puts it all down to "Commodity, the bias of the world" (575). His only reason for being scandalized, he admits, is simply that his turn has not yet come to turn a buck. Situational ethics is all the rage. 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" (594ff). Up to this point, Philip's character is consistent; it is that of an ambitious joker but also a man of considerable bravery. He livens up a play that is after all heavy with conventional dialogue and light on action. The most interesting character isn't John but Philip, and indeed his supposed father Richard the Lionheart (famous for his participation in the Third Crusade with King Philip of France against Saladin) may have had some illegitimate offspring, but there's no evidence Philip existed aside from a few passing mentions in the Holinshed Chronicles.
Act 2, Scene 2
557.
In the brief second scene, Constance can hardly believe the deal that
has just been struck at her expense, and as so many royal characters do,
she blames the messenger, who in this case is Salisbury. She sounds to
me a bit like Richard II, Shakespeare's poet king who likes to "sit
upon the ground, / And tell sad stories of the death of kings" (499,
3.2.151ff). Constance complains, "Here I and sorrows sit; / Here is my
throne; bid kings come bow to it" (558, 73-74).
Act 3, Scene 1
559-60.
In the first scene, Constance gets in a few good digs at Austria,
seconded by Philip the Bastard at line 55. But it is with Pandolf that
the real troubles begin since he comes from Pope Innocent III demanding
that King John install Stephen Langton as Archbishop of Canterbury.
John responds as if he doesn't know the English Reformation of the early
1530s hasn't happened yet (Martin Luther's European Protestant
Reformation began in 1517), insisting that no earthly force can "task
the free breath of a sacred king" (74), and other words to that effect.
John refuses to back down even when threatened with excommunication,
but King Philip will bow to the power of the Pope. Pandolf claims to
the perplexed French king that "All form is formless, order orderless, /
Save what is opposite to England's love" (562, 179ff). 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. In essence, Constance is supporting the Pope for her own
personal dynastic reasons. King John, of course, is infuriated with
King Philip for this falling away so soon after a bargain has been
struck. Just as the Norton editors have written, the undermining of
almost every determination and action is the recurrent theme of this
play. 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
564-66.
In the second scene, Philip the Bastard informs us that he has killed
Austria. He has also, he tells King John, rescued his grandmother Queen
Eleanor. Then in the third scene, King John announces that it's time
for Philip to return to England and shake some money out of the stingy
Church. It's clear that the young man is delighted at the prospect. He
is becoming John's loyal lieutenant and right-hand man – not bad for a
fellow who probably didn't even exist! Now comes John's pitch to
"gentle Hubert" (565, 19), whom of course he takes to be anything but
gentle. John's father Henry II is famous for supposedly having muttered
in his anguish over resistance from Thomas à Becket, "Will no one rid
me of this meddlesome priest?" But King John takes a more direct
approach: he tells Hubert that Arthur is "a very serpent in my way"
(566, 61), and then makes it even more plain by intoning the word
"Death" at line 66. He sounds more like Richard III informing
Buckingham that he wants the sons of Edward IV done away with than Henry
II. It's chilling to hear him then say to Arthur, "Hubert shall be
your man, attend on you / With all true duty" (566, 73).
Act 3, Scene 4
567-68.
In the fourth scene, King Philip is facing the news that the French
have lost, though this is not based on historical precedent. Anyway,
Arthur has been taken prisoner, and Constance embraces death with high
rhetoric, trying to fire up King Philip. She unbinds, binds and then
undoes her hair again, almost like a madwoman, and King Philip utters
the common Shakespearean charge that she is indulging herself in
excessive grief. But Constance insists that the form of her body should
mirror the state of her mind: "I will not keep this form upon my head /
When there is such disorder in my wit" (569 101ff), and Philip worries
that she might do herself violence.
569-70.
Also in the fourth scene, the Dauphin gets a lesson in realpolitik from
Pandolf, the legate of Pope Innocent III. With Arthur out of the way,
the Dauphin will be free along with Blanche to make the same claim that
Arthur would have made. Again, this is not historical but rather
something Shakespeare adds for dramatic purposes. The public, explains
Pandolf, begins to hate King John, and their belief that he has done
away with Arthur will condemn him in their eyes. Pandolf is making the
point that as soon as the French march upon England, John will have to
get rid of Arthur. Furthermore, Pandolf says, Philip the Bastard is
infuriating the Church and further alienating them from the king.
Act 4, Scene 1
570-73. What we get is an idyllic portrait of young Arthur, Duke of Brittany, one that melts the heart of Hubert, who tries without success to be the stony agent of King John's desires. I have read (in A.R. Braunmiller's article mentioned above) that the sheer confusion involved in this representation – namely the idea that the punishment is to put out Arthur's eyes, whereas we had thought he was to be killed outright – may in fact be a deliberate repetition of the confusion or multiplicity of causes found in Shakespeare's source material. This kind of confusion, runs the idea, may have been one way to keep ahead of the Master of the Revels (the Elizabethan/Jacobean censor's office). I don't know if that's the case, but it's possible.
In any case, this scene is interesting for its representation of Hubert's conscience. Camille Wells Slights writes well in her essay The conscience of the King: Henry V and the reformed conscience (Philological Quarterly, Winter 2001) that "Conscience was usually defined as the part of practical understanding that applies inherent knowledge of the basic principles of good and evil to particular actions, judging past actions and legislating future ones" and again that with regard to Shakespeare's histories, "conscience is the nexus where internal self-awareness and external political action, the obligations of obedience and the authority of personal judgment converge." These remarks are very appropriate for the scene we are now reading: Arthur's words awaken Hubert's "mercy," which up to now has supposedly been dead inside of him. The Elizabethans do not have a fully developed language for the internal operations of the self, but what seems to be happening here is that some interior awareness on Hubert's part awakens his emotions and leads him to disregard the political duty he had sworn to King John. He keeps trying to treat the action in a mechanical way, referring to the instrument he needs to use, but his cold resolution is no match for the boy's piteous language, which even bestows a Macbeth-like weirdness to the heated poker that Hubert means to use: "All things that you should use to do me wrong / Deny their office…" (573, 117-18). In the end, Hubert decides to let Arthur live and disguise his act of mercy from the king – which of course would have been a good thing, if anything ever went as planned in this play. Just as Lysander of A Midsummer Night's Dream says about erotic pursuits that "the course of true love never did run smooth," so the best-laid plans of the characters in King John seem always to go running off in some direction those characters never would have guessed.
Act 4, Scene 2
573-75.
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.
576-79. King John takes the measure of this situation and utters a medieval sententia:
"they burn in indignation. I repent. / There is no sure foundation set
on blood, / No certain life achieved by others' death" (103-05). Just
when he has realized this, the news comes that both Queen Eleanor and
Constance are dead. Historically, this is not accurate since Eleanor of
Aquitaine died in 1204, which is nowhere near the end of John's reign.
But no matter, the scene is dramatic, not historical. From this point
forwards, John will seem adrift, hardly knowing what to do, even though
Philip gets him to pull himself together for the moment, if only to hear
further bad news. It seems that the common people are "Possessed with
rumors, full of idle dreams, / Not knowing what they fear, but full of
fear" (145-46). John's answer to this is to order one of their prophets
hanged. The king is still optimistic about the noblemen, at least: "I
have a way to win their loves again" (577, 168).
King
John is at first angry with Hubert and his conscience troubles him
terribly (578-79, 246-49); he believes, of course, that he has carried
out his task, but Hubert soon disabuses him of this belief. In brief,
John finds what he did impossible to face; like Macbeth, he is
frightened to think of what he has done, and dares not look upon it.
No, John must blame his subordinate instead. This is not an unusual
reaction amongst the powerful – Queen Elizabeth I, for example,
basically denied issuing the death warrant that sealed the fate of Mary
Queen of Scots (the later James I's mother), even though there is no
doubt that she signed the order because Mary was considered a threat to
her continued reign. Anyway, John is overjoyed to hear that Hubert is
not as bad a fellow as he looks and did not do the bloody deed.
Act 4, Scene 3
579-82.
Arthur decides to make an escape attempt, but falls upon the hard
pavement and dies. Salisbury discovers the body, and Philip is as
stunned as anyone else: "It is a damned and a bloody work, / The
graceless action of a heavy hand – / If that it be the work of any hand"
(580, 57-59). Hubert then shows up and is promptly accused of
murdering Arthur, but he vehemently denies it. The Bastard still
suspects him and now says something we might not have expected him to
say, given his character 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 see the broken body of little Arthur lying upon the
ground.
Act 5, Scene 1
583-84.
Pandolf makes peace with King John in the Pope's name, ceremonially
giving him back his crown. Now John is confronted with the horrible
news that Arthur is in fact dead. Philip tries to buck up his spirits
and urge him to fight the French here on English soil, but John renders
that advice irrelevant by pointing out that he has just made peace with
the Pope. The Dauphin no longer presents a threat. Philip's response
to this is incredulous: "O inglorious league!" (584, 65) John seems to
put the affairs of state into Philip's hands.
Act 5, Scene 2
584-88.
Salisbury laments that he must draw his sword against his own country
(585). The Dauphin is amazed to hear Pandolf declare that it's time to
pack up and go home because peace has been made with John. He thinks he
is playing with the best hand – why fold now? On 587, Philip the
Bastard is delighted that the young man isn't listening to Pandolf;
Philip is spoiling for a fight, and a fight he will have. A battle
takes place at the end of this scene.
Act 5, Scenes 3-5
588-90.
King John is in no state to manage affairs on the battlefield because
he has come down with a fever, and even the news that the enemy's ships
were wrecked does nothing to cheer him up. The rebellious English lords
hear from the dying Count Melun that the Dauphin plans to cut off their
heads if he wins, so they desert him and go back to King John. The
Dauphin remains optimistic in spite of his troubles.
Act 5, Scenes 6-7
591-94.
Now we are told on 591 that King John has been poisoned by a monk who
was no doubt angry over the virtual ransacking of the Church by Philip.
The Lords have returned with John's young son Henry, and by the
beginning of Scene 7, John is near death: "all my bowels crumble up to
dust; / I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen / Upon a parchment, and
against this fire / Do I shrink up" (592, 31-34). There is perhaps
something in this of guilt and visions of hellfire, as when John says,
"Within me is a hell, and there the poison / Is, as a fiend, confined to
tyrannize…" (593, 65-66). But it's also possible that the references
to writing are a glance in the direction of the confusing historical
record itself, as if the truth of King John's thoughts and his reign
burned along with his feverish body. Philip still believes the main
part of the fighting lies ahead after John's death, but he is quickly
informed that such thoughts are unnecessary since the Dauphin is willing
to put the whole matter in Pandolf's hands; the battle is ended.
Philip looks a little like the Superfluous Man at this point since his
loyalty to John need no longer take such a martial form as previously.
But now he turns that loyalty to John's young son, 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).
That judgment doesn't have the ring of jingoism, even though the
obvious primary reference is to the lords who temporarily took the side
of the Dauphin against John; as it seems to me Philip indicated earlier,
King John himself bore some of the blame for turning those lords away
from him thanks to his plot against Arthur, amongst other things.
Shakespeare's source for this play seems to have been in part an anonymous work entitled The Troublesome Reign of King John, and
that title says much: John's reign was indeed a troublesome one in
difficult, contentious times. He is not at the end, nor was he ever,
anything like the hero of this play, and in fact it makes sense to say
that there really are no heroes to be found – not the admittedly strong
women Queen Eleanor or Constance, mother of Arthur, not John, not the
French royals, not Philip the Bastard, nor Arthur, who suffers such a
pitiable fate. I believe the Norton editors are correct to suggest that
if some of Shakespeare's other plays suggest something like 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 Providence, but rather gives us a disturbing
look at a process that seems at best structured by compounding
frustrations and anguish unto death, and at worst random in its movement
from one royal event and desire to the next. John's nascent
Machiavellian craft comes to naught, and we are left with a strange
feeling that nothing much has been settled or set up for future times,
other than continued bad relations with France.
