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But this is worshipful society,
And fits the mounting spirit like myself,
For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smack of observation.
And so am I, whether I smack or no,
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement,
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age’s tooth,
Which, though I will not practice to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. (1.1.205–216)
In the play’s opening scene, Philip the Bastard and his half-brother Robert Faulconbridge go before the king, asking him to adjudicate the matter of their inheritance. The issue is whether Philip, who is both the elder brother and the product of their shared mother’s adultery, should be allowed to inherit land from a man who wasn’t his biological father. During the discussion of the case, it’s revealed that Philip’s real father was England’s late king and John’s older brother, Richard the Lionhearted. This information piques the interest of John’s mother, Eleanor, such that when the king rules in the Bastard’s favor, Eleanor intervenes. She suggests that, because the Bastard has royal blood, perhaps he’d prefer to forgo the life of the landed squire and instead become a knight. Eager to pursue the social advancement a knighthood would entail, the Bastard agrees, and John dubs him Sir Richard Plantagenet. In the direct aftermath of these events, the Bastard delivers the soliloquy from which the lines quoted here are taken.
In this speech, the Bastard meditates on his own upward mobility. He has now left behind the life of a commoner and belongs to a “worshipful society” that he believes is more suitable for a “mounting spirit like [him]self.” He plans to maintain his upward trajectory by observing his fellow nobles and learning from them. Through close attention, the Bastard, though illegitimate by birth, will avoid being “a bastard of the time”—that is, he’ll be fully plugged into his own age. As the speech continues, however, the Bastard’s language takes a mildly disquieting turn. He insists that he will acquire the outward trappings of the nobility, but also that he will cultivate the inner disposition required of this social class. The latter goal will require him to ingratiate himself to other nobles with flattery, which he calls “sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age’s tooth”—a phrase that subtly foreshadows King John’s toxin-induced death in act 5. Though he says he won’t deceive anyone intentionally, he implies that some deception will nonetheless be required to secure his “rising.” The slightly unsettling quality of the Bastard’s new ambition connects him to the mischievous Vice figure of medieval morality plays.
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith,
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who having no external thing to lose
But the word “maid,” cheats the poor maid of that,
That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity,
Commodity, the bias of the world;
The world, who of itself is peisèd well,
Made to run even upon even ground,
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent. (2.1.568–80)
In the long scene that makes up the entirety of act 2, King John and key members of his court arrive in France to contest King Philip’s support of Arthur’s claim to the English throne. Initially, the fight centers on the English-held town of Angiers, whose citizens the two kings address directly, each attempting to convince them of the legitimacy of his cause. When the citizens pledge to recognize whichever power claims victory in battle, the French and English forces fight it out, only to arrive at an impasse: they are evenly matched. Yet still, the citizens of Angiers refuse to recognize a king. At this point, the newly knighted Bastard suggests a temporary alliance between the French and the English. They can join their armies and bring Angiers to heel, then resume their fight. To the Bastard’s delight, his idea gains traction. But then an alternative solution arises involving a marriage that will forge a more politically advantageous peace between the two kingdoms, and John and Philip both readily agree to it.
As this long scene comes to an end, the Bastard begins his second major soliloquy, in which he reflects on everything he’s just seen. In the lines quoted above, the Bastard is processing his first major lesson about how the nobility operates. That lesson relates to what he refers to as “commodity,” which in this context means self-interest. He is frustrated that his suggestion didn’t get put into action, especially since he was advocating for war, and he assumes that war, when fought for righteous reasons, is an honorable act of chivalry. So, when John and Philip quickly agree to a solution that’s more advantageous for them personally, the Bastard is dismayed. Evidently, political matters aren’t decided through acts of honor but rather are brokered by the “daily break-vow” that lures commoner and nobleman alike: “That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity.” Aside from his personal disappointment, the major implication the Bastard draws from this observation is that history has no larger coherence. He describes self-interest as a “bias” that throws the world out of balance and gives a few powerful men the capacity to dictate the “direction, purpose, course, [and] intent” of events.
It is religion that doth make vows kept,
But thou hast sworn against religion,
By what thou swear’st, against the thing thou swear’st,
And mak’st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure
To swear swears only not to be forsworn;
Else what a mockery should it be to swear!
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear. (3.1.279–87)
In the first scene of the third act, Cardinal Pandolf arrives in France to speak with King John. Pandolf is an emissary from Rome, who has come on behalf of the pope to ask why John has refused to install the newly appointed archbishop of Canterbury. John rebukes Pandolf for implying that the Catholic Church has any authority over him, since he is the sovereign ruler of England and has his appointment by the grace of God. Pandolf responds by excommunicating John. Then, as if to prove the Church’s political influence, Pandolf sets about pressuring King Philip to dissolve his newly established alliance with John and resume France’s war against England. Philip is reluctant to do as Pandolf asks and wants to know if there is any alternative, since dissolving the alliance would be tantamount to breaking a vow. It is in answer to this concern that Pandolf speaks the lines quoted above.
Pandolf asserts that Philip is well within his rights to go back on his oath of allegiance, for the Catholic Church authorizes him to do so. In fact, by failing to “forswear” his oath to John, Philip will have “forsworn” his prior and far more binding oath to the Church. The choice is therefore clear: either break with John and preserve the original oath, or preserve the oath with John and break with the Church. Since Philip is fully aware of Pandolf’s power, he chooses to reaffirm his commitment to Rome. This passage is partly important for the way it introduces religion as an influential political power that further complicates the crisis of succession. It’s also significant for its rhetorical sophistication. Pandolf’s phrasing is tightly constructed and features numerous repetitions and syntactical inversions that may initially be quite confusing. Consider the last four lines quoted here, where the word “swear” appears five times in different registers, and “forsworn” appears three times. The recursive, involuted logic may be intentionally confusing, with Pandolf showing off his intellectual refinement to intimidate the king. In this way, Pandolf proves a canny—and, indeed, self-interested—political manipulator.
And, Father Cardinal, I have heard you say
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven.
If that be true, I shall see my boy again,
For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
As dim and meager as an ague’s fit,
And so he’ll die; and rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him. Therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. (3.4.76–89)
Though she plays a minor role in the plot of King John, there is no doubt that Constance is the play’s most memorable character. Her larger-than-life emotions and boldly assertive language mark her as a diva who is, on some level, always performing. The lines quoted here are some of her most famous and frequently quoted, and they come from one of the many emotional speeches she delivers during her final appearance in the play. At this point, her beloved son Arthur has been captured by the English forces. Believing that John will likely execute his chief rival for the throne, Constance suspects that she will never see Arthur again. She therefore succumbs to a grief so intense that those around her believe she’s gone mad. Constance insists that she hasn’t lost her mind, and that this is in fact why she suffers so much. She retains her capacity for reason, which keeps her acutely aware of all that has led to her suffering.
The passage reproduced here demonstrates a curious interplay between reason and madness, as Constance follows a logical train of thought that spirals her into another fit of grief. She begins with the assumption that, even if Arthur is fated to die, she will, as the Church proclaims, see him again. She asserts that “such a gracious creature” as Arthur will surely gain admittance to “the court of heaven.” But even though Arthur will arrive there unchanged, Constance reasons that her perception of him will forever be clouded by the intense grief she now feels at his passing. What she calls “canker sorrow” will cause her to misremember him, so that he no longer appears to her as “pretty Arthur.” Rather, “he will look as hollow as a ghost, / As dim and meager as an ague’s fit.” In this way, he will die a second death, this time in her imagination. Constance concludes by reasoning that Arthur’s second death will take him away from her for all eternity; even if she sees him again in heaven, she “shall not know him.” Constance generates enormous pathos with this speech, where she follows a seemingly logical chain that nonetheless spirals her toward madness.
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven, and England now is left
To tug and scramble and to part by th’ teeth
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-picked bone of majesty
Doth doggèd war bristle his angry crest
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace. (4.3.142–50)
The events of act 4 swirl around the fate of the captive Arthur, whom King John has secretly ordered Hubert to execute. Hubert ultimately doesn’t kill the boy, but he lies to the king and says that Arthur is indeed dead. Initially pleased by this news, John announces it to his court, only to find that his lords suspect foul play and seem inclined to turn against him. Furious at this outcome, John accuses Hubert of pressuring him to order Arthur’s death, at which point Hubert reveals that Arthur is, in fact, alive. This news restores John’s happy mood. In a tragic twist, though, the very next scene opens with Arthur falling to his death while trying to escape by jumping from the castle walls. With all these twists and turns, and particularly with the emotional fickleness of the king, the English court seems to be coming undone. Indeed, as act 4 comes to a close, several lords gather to mourn the untimely death of Arthur and, in their disgust, make off to join the enemy forces.
Perhaps surprisingly given the loyalty he’s shown to his cousin John, it is the Bastard who commemorates the grave occasion of Arthur’s death with the speech quoted here. As Hubert lifts Arthur’s broken body, the Bastard grandiosely associates the boy with “all England”—a phrase that seems less about his claim to the throne and more about his widely beloved status. The Bastard’s point is that Arthur’s death marks a crisis point for England as a whole, which is now on the eve of war and “left / To tug and scramble and to part by th’ teeth / The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.” In a way, the Bastard’s paean to Arthur and his unflattering reference to the Crown as the “proud-swelling state” seems to contradict his loyalty to John. Indeed, we might say that he’s getting carried away by the nobility of his own rhetoric. But even though his striving for gravitas may be a self-conscious affect, it also points to the reality that the Bastard is quickly—and unexpectedly—becoming the play’s moral center. From here on out, he plays an increasingly important role as the king’s supporter, leading his army and, when the king dies, facilitating new vows of allegiance to his son and heir, Henry.
