"KING JOHN."

Otago Daily Times, Issue 9117, 16 May 1891, Page 5 (Supplement)

"KING JOHN."

(Bead before the Dunedin Shakespeare Olub by Mr i\ Oalvkht.) In many of his plays Shukespoare takes some master passion, and traces through the course of his story its efftiot on the characters actuated by it, aad tho results which will inevitably follow the submission to its influence. In " Othello," " A Wintor Talo," "Macbeth," "Antony and Cleopatra," "Ximon of Athens" for instance the master movement is ia each case some great human pa3aioo, swaying the lives and influencing all the actions of the chief characters. In some plays we have presented to us a character, otherwise noble, disfigured by an unworthy and overmastbriug passion, in others there is shown a predominating characteristic which, iv greater or less degree, i 3 common to all the chief parsonages. Iwch is a history of some phase of human nature and each has its lesson. la the play of " King John " it seems to me that the prevailing characteristic of the plot and of the chief actors is " Craft." Craft, the universal weapon of the unscrupulous, the usurper, the criminal; useless in the hand of an honest taau, for fair dealing knows nothing of it, but essential to the wrong-uoer, for he must make usb of it, first to commit his crimes, and afterwards to avoid discovery and punishment. A short sketch of the plot and chief characters in "King John" will, I think, exemplify how far this spirit of craft pervades the whole play. Wo must recollect, of course, that Shakespearo's King John U not the John of history, though I am inclined to think that we t»ke a good deal of what wo think ia history from the writings of our poet, in the same way as ho is responsible for a good deal that ia supposed to be Biblical. Ido not propose to devote any time to discussing the reasons why Shakespeare followed the earlier play, entitled "The Troublesome Hague of John, King of England," in most of its details in preference to history and omitted all reference to Magna Charta; nor do I propose to enter into a consideration of tho much debated question of the date King John was written. Both of these subjects have had a very great deal of learning and research beBtowed upon them. To what purpose I cannot say. The attempts to fix the chronological order of the plays by hidden references in them to supposed passing events seems to me on a par with Donnelly's late great crypotgram. The plot is too well known to require more than a very brief sketch, and that only to remind you of the various incidents in which it seems to me a true insight into the characters of the various actors is afforded. John has usurped the crown, and his whole energies are directed towards maintaining it. Pnilip of France has sent over an ambassador claiming the crown on behalf of Arthur. John sends back defiance, and forthwith embarks with an army for France. Philip and Austria, at the solicitation of Constance, have taken up arms on behalf of Arthur, and meet John and his forces before Angiers. Each side iv turn calls on the citizens to open their gates and let him and his forces in, and threatens the town with the most dreadful punishment if the order is not complied with. Finding that neither throats nor persuasion avail, the two armies are arrayed in order of battle. Then follow a few skirmishes, and victory with great slaughter of the enemy is in turn claimed by each. The town still refusing to acknowledge the right of either party, Falconbridge endeavours to arouse the resentment of the kings, and proposes that they should join forces and together annihilate the town and afterwards settlo their own quarrel. One would imagine a bloody bittle inevitable, but this is avoided by the artful suggestion of the first citizen that they should settle their differences and make a peace cemented by a marriage between Blanche, niece of John, and Lewis, sou of Philip. Such a diplomatic arrangement is so evidently to the advantage of John that the wily Elinor urges him to at once accept it, and offer a tempting dowry with Blanche. Philip cannot withstand the prospect of such an advautageous alliance for Lewis, and readily consents. The marriage takes place and s peace dishonourable to both is coon concluded. Constance, on learning of this compact, is overwhelmed with grief and filled with indignation at the treason oi her allies. She loudly denounces Philip and Austria, and taunts them with haviDg betrayed her.

The peace so cooeluded fa not, however, of loug duration. Pandulph, the Pope's legate, commands Philip to take up the cause of the Holy Church against the rebellions John. The priest, an able diplomatist, with admirable skill argues away Philip's scruples about breaking the vows so recently made with John, and by judiciously pointing out th 9 advantage of keeping friends with the church, and throwing out the awful threat of the curse of Rome, soon wins over that wavering monarch to the side of the church. War is again proclaimed, and in the first battle Arthur is taken prisoner by John. Then comes the scene between John aud Hubert, where the king first suggests the murder of Arthur. There are few scenes in Shakespeare's plays more dramatically powerful than this. The crafty king, with cunning skill, leads up to the final disclosure of his designs, taking care not to commit himself till he ia pretty well assured of Hubert's assistance; then, by sugges-

tion rather than direct proposal, makes his wishes understood. Hubert is ordered to pat oat Arthur's eyes, and prepares to execute this hellish order, but when he cornea to put it- into execution the prayers and entreaties of the innocent child turn him from hia cruel purpose. The fortune of war seems to favour John in his struggle with Philip, and Lewis the Dauphin is accordingly much dispirited at their numerous losses. Pandulph, the ptpal legate, however, shoe's him that Arthur's being a prisoner will, instead of injuring, materially help his cause. Ho foresees that John, having the possession of Arthur, willuotlosetheopportuoity to inakeaway with him, and he foresees also that the effect of this will be to estrange John's subjects. By placing before Lewis these conclusions he incites him to push on the war vigorously, and to at ouce set out for England. Arthur is found mysteriously killed, aud John is suspected of having had him puts death. This act so incenses his nobles that they desert him and join Lewis. John, hearing of the approach of the French under Lewis, makes his peace with Rome, and delivers up his crown to Pandulph, receiving it again as a vassal of the church. Pandulph thereupon promises to make the French lay down their arms and withdraw from the country. This, however, the ambassador of the Pope fails to do. Lewis positively refuses to withdraw, and an engagement takes place, in which the French gain a decided advantage. John retires to Swinstead Abbey, and is there poisoned by a monk. His death forms the last scene of the play.

In the character of King John we see an unicrupulou?, ruthless tyrant, and yet not quite such a despicable character as the King John of history. Shakespeare always deals gently with royalty—while he has laid bare the treachery of John, his cruelty and cowardice, yet there is never winting altogether a kingly dignity. His kings are never made to appear ridiculous. Kings are men, with the failings common to humanity, and Shakespeare does not represent them as being otherwise; but tha divine right of king 3is always preached by our poet, and he never fails to laud the virtue of loyalty and to condemn the vice of rebellion. John is first represented to us receiving Chatillon, the French Ambassador, to whom he delivers his defiince in right regal manner. His mother Elinor, wiser than John, deplores the reckless breach with France, and tells him that it might all have been prevented by very easy arguments of love. The natural hypocrisy of John is shown in his reply. " Our strong possession and onr right for us." Even to his mother the hjpocriticil usurper cannot refrain from using the language he so constantly employs. Having done a great wrong, he must needs attempt to hide his wrong—even from himself it may be—by aasuming on all occasions the sharacter and language of conscious rectitii.de. Elinor ia honest enough to admit that if 1 tlielr success depsnds upon John's right, their D -<i§pests »ro bad indesd. As a soldier and a a n p"<)i think only of the farce enacted before Aneiera and tbsfe is little d' 21011!'? ia correctly gauging h£ 'Vity.-or, rattier, incapacity. John is a 'traDge mizture of cowardice and obstinate hardihood. At the prospect of a determined resistance" to his claim to the throne by Philip and Austria ho readily gives up five provinces to secuto peace, but almost immediately after he brave 3 not only these same powers, but openly rebels sgainst tho church rather than give in to the Popo on the question of tho appointment of an archbishop. It is not till bis crown and kingdom is in imminent danger of being lost that hia obstinacy is conquered and he yields himself to Rome. Teen his submission is abject; nol; only abandoning the privileges he claimed, but giving up his crown and accepting it again from tha Pope. His conduct towards his nephew Arthur betrays cruelty and treachery almost unparalleled. The young prince, for whose welfare he expresses himself so solicitous, he secretly orders to be put to a cruel death; but ho surely reaches the lowest depths of baseness when he finds that by Arthur's murder he has estranged all his nobles and made himself hated. Then it is that he turns on Hubert—Hubert his faithful servant, his tool, who in the performance of John's will has brought upou himself likewise the hatred o F~H_and charges him as bEiug the cauaa of Arthur's death:-" Thy hand hath murdered him .. . I had a mighty cause to wish him dead, but'th'ou hadst none to kill him. . . . I faintly broke with thee of Arthur j» death, and t,hou, to be endeared to a king, made it no conscience to destroy a prince." That Hubert was not free from blame is not to be denied; but for John-John the instigator of the murder -his king, whu had promised him rich reward and called him friend-to thus charge him is the most despicable conduct that can be imagined. In the character of John.there is not one redeeming feature. Ho stands convicted or | barbarous cruelty and treachery. He never gives utterance to a single noble thought, never

speaks one word of Uindueßß, friendship, or love from beginning to end. He never docs one kind or generous act. Of a very different stamp is Philip of Franco. Weak, vacillating, fickle, a poor friend and a poorer soldier, there is yot about him nothing of tho meanness, tho cruelty, and the low cunning which characterise John. We despiao him, of course, for his treachery to tho cause of Arthur iv concluding the peace and allowing himself to be trapped with the bait offered by tho wily Johu; anr] wo find ourselves mentally echoing " Bravo !" " Hear, hear!" to the withering scorn and contempt heaped on him by Falconbridge:— And France, whoso armour conscience buckled on, Whom zeal aurt charity brought to the Held as Boa « own Boldior. This commodity 'olappeil' on the outward eye of fickle Franco Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, Krora a resolved and honourable war To a most bnae and vile oonoluded tience. But he certainly does show a little senso of shame for his falseness, and requires a good deal of pressure before ha will yield to the command of Pandulph and break the newly formed friendship with John. As a soldier, the first reverse of fortune plunges him into the lowest depth of despair. Shakespeare seems to havo taken special delight in holding up Austria to ridicule. It may have been in revenge for the cruelty practised on Richard Cceur de Lion, which Englishmen havo uover yet forgiven. At any rate Shakespeare unites the two great enemies of Richard —Lymoges, before whose castle Richard was mortally wounded, and Leopold of Austria, by whom he was imprisoned for bo long—in the one character of Austria, and makes him the butt of Falconbridge and an object of scorn. By making Falconbridge slay him too, Richard's death is in a manner revenged. Ho is represented as a braggart and a bully, great in words and little iv action. Elinor is a bold, crafty, unscrupulous woman. It is evident she is the leading spirit in all John's counsels. From the first soano where she shows her quick appreciation of tho value of such an adherent in her cause as Falconbridge, and by an artful tribute to bis ambition aud warlike pride secures his. service, she never once misse3 an opportunity that may be turned to account. Sb« it is that advises thfi acceptance of thn offer of the citizens of Anglers, gives colour to John's claim by pretending to have a will barring Arthur's title, insinuates that Constance is working to make herself a quean, that Arthur is a bastard, all with tho hope of sowing discord and weakening Arthur's cause. The acceptance of the proposed terms of peace was a masterpiece of diplomacy on her part, aud the reasons for accepting it she makes so clear to John that he cannot but comply. For by this knot thoa shalt so surely lie Thy now unnured assurance to the crown, That you green boy, Bhall have^no sun to ripe The bloom that promisetb a mighty fruls. Urge them while their souls are capable of this ambition; Lest zsal, now melted, by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity, and reniono, 000 l and congeal again to what it was. Does not the dispute between Philip and John seem to resolve itself into a contest for power and sovereignty between two women ? As Elinor is the directing spirit of the English forces, so is Pandulph of the Frenoh—this cold, calculating politician has seen a good deal of the woild, and shows a deep insight into human nature. He calculates the chances of Arthur's life, of the effect on John's adherents should he put him to death, and points out to Lewis bow all this will tend to his advantage. With what Bkill, too, he nppeases the conscience of Philip and by his sophistry makes the breaking of his vows to John appear a virtue. How the proneness of mankind to see in the phenomena of Nature judgments from Heaven is noted by the wily priest. That superstitious belief which centuries before had been rebuked by^One who said " Those eighteen upon whom the tower of Siloam fell aud Blew them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt in Jerusalem ?" is counted by him as a factor in causes which will work John's ruin. This act so evilly borne Bhall cool the hearts Of all his people and freeze up their zeal, That none ao small advantage shall seep forth To check his reign—bat they will cherish it, No natural tahaintion in the sky, No scope of Nature, no distempered day, No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John." A pleasant contrast to the worldly-wise plotting old cardinal is the fresb, manly, impetuous young soldier—Lewi3. Of a noble, unsuspicious nature," graen and fresh in this old world," he stands in broad contrast to those around him— those of faia own class, John, Philip, Pandulph, Elinor. How different from all this plotting and counter-plotting—this serpent-like policy, i$ the character of Constance. Indignant at the falsecess and treachery of her would-be allies, she scorns all caution, all concealment of feeling, and in the torrent of her righteous wrath roundly upbraids Philip and Austria, heaping welldeserved reproaches upon them. With what real pleasure do wo hear her biting sarcasms, flung regardless of consequences at the bully Austria. And don't we almost love that scamp Falconbridge for his prompt acceptance of Austria's challenge, in repeating to him ConBtancc'o taunting," And hang a calfskin on those recreant limbs." In a most interesting article in " Temple Bar " for February 1890 on " The Mother ia English Literature" attention is drawn to the scant justice that is done to " mothers " by the most prominent writersof fiction. Dickens, Thackeray, Scott, Geerge Eliot, and a number of other writers are all charged with never having drawn a mother (in any but the lower class of life) whom one could respect as possessing in any eminent degree the characteristics that we all associate with the loved name of "mother" and Shakespeare, too, ia included in this formidable indictment. Tha writer dismisses Constance as a " loud-mouthed dame." Now that that expression even from tho point of view that the writer of the article was discussing women, sums up at all fairly the character of Constance, lam nofc prepared to admit. At the Barae time I must acknowledge that in the scene with Elinor, Constance does degenerate into something very nearly approaching a virago. We must remember, however, that she was indignant at the wrongs inflicted on her bou, and her resentment was intensified by the feeling of helplessness to revenge those wrong?. One can scarcely wonder then, that, otung by the insults of Elinor, she should retaliate. Looking at this part of her hiafcory, one does feel rather inclined to think there was some truth in the charge of Elinor that Constance wished the throne far Arthur in order that she might be the Queen Regent, and thst her rage and epite against Elinor were what one would expect in an ambitious woman baffled in her selfish aim?. But, happily, there are other scenes which give us tha cue to her whole character. As we found in invective she was not easily overmatched, so, on hearing of the loss of all Arthur's prospects by the dishonourable treaty of Philip aud John, we fiad her launching into most extravagant expressions of rage, grief, and love. Under a deep sense of wrong she shows an unflinching spirit, speaks out her thoughts without fear, and directs all her energies to secure for her son assistance to enforce hi* rights. I should say she was a woman whose life has been cast in tho superlative degree. In emotions, actioi.s, and speech the positive or comparative are unknown. We may admire her for her fearlessness, we may pity her for her wrongs, but I cannot say I can see anything particularly loveable in Constance. But we can forgive her much for that exquisite exposition of maternal grief at the loss of her child, with which her name is always associated:—• Grief fills the room up of my absent child ; Lies in his bed, walks up aid down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his wordi, Jtemerubera mo of »1! his gracioua parts, Stuffs out. his vacant garments with hia form; Then have I reason to b^ fond of grief. In the scenes of strife and bloodshed, with which the play abounds, among the many rude unlovable characters that are presented, there is dopicted one of surpassing sweetness. Among the turmoil of war, in an atmosphere thick with plots and counter-plop, we gefca glimpse of an innocent lovely child—Arthur; a la<nb among the wolves. How solitary the poor lad seems— yearning for sympathy, for a love that is never his—"and I would to heaven I were your son: so you would love me, Hubert." His mother was raising heaven and earlh on his behalf, but this fight about him only frightens him. What is a crown to him that there should be all this fighting about ? Why can't he be allowed to live quiet and happy in some obicure corner ? Good, my my mother, peace, I would that I were laid low in my grave, I am not worth this coil that's made for me. So I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should ba as merry as the day is long. 'Che Bweetnc-ss of his disposition must have melted a more hardened mau than Hubert. He cannot beat to see any one suffer: — When your head did but ache I knit m? handknrchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it mo Ana I did never ask it you agnin) And »lUi ray hind, at midnight held your head. And then the thought strikes him with horror that he might bo ouspscted of playing a part, and he coutinues: Nay, you may think my love was crafty love and call it ouuuing. This disclaiming by Arthur of craft and cunning as being unutterably base stands out in dramatic contrast to the main fpirit of tho play. Salisbury is a nobleman of a geutifl and generous disposition. Ho sympathises wkh OoustSßce iv her sorrows, and feels deeply the position in which he fiad* himself—in tbe camp of the French, marching against his emintrymen. Pembroke is somewhat blunter in his manner. Both are typical English gentlemen. There remains one more character in this play that requires to be noticed. In Philip Falconbridge—bastard son of Richard Cceur De Lion—Shafet-pearo has given us one oE the finest characters ia his long list of heroe?. He io introduced in a characteristic manner where he eagerly accepts, the suggestion whicb will enable, him to derive descent from the warlike Richard, tho hero of Christian chivalry. He craves a soldier's renown, aud would ra'.her be the son of Richard and taka a soldier's blade aa his inheritance than be plain legitimate Philip Falconbridge, owner of broad acres und £500 a year. He h a born soldier, and his tho soldier's coatempt for civilians. He is a keen critic of

tho fashions of tho timos, and perceiving tho eaufc of "craffc" to be the court fashion, announces his intention of adopting it, and praoticeH his first lesson in the speech ho malios to his mother iv reforenoo to Richard. In the battle-field he is the must prominent figure. His fiery spirit can ill brook the delays and pretence of fighting that characterize tho nianceuvres of John and Philip, and ho is constantly trying to breatho some warlike enthusiasm into thorn— Why stand thete roynl fronta amiuM thu» ? Ory liavoo, Kingi I,back to the stained Held, You equal-potenti/flery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other'a peaoa; till then, blows, blood, and death. The moment he meets Austria he feels for him tho Antipathy that men of trne courage feel for a blustering bully. His diogust in moreover heightened by the hereditary enmity bo bears to the gaoler of Richard, and ho makes no attempt to restrain tho expression of his contempt, but insultß hioi on every possible ocoasiou, and tries his bast to provoke a quarrel. From his jeering " Boar the crier!" to ■' wilt not be—will nob a calf-skin stop that mouth of thine?" Austria never utters a word, but the jeering E/dconbridge flings Borne jibe at him. Through the whole play his warlike enthusiasm carries him like a tornado. H« organises and directs John's force?, and ultimately saves his cause by his resolute, bull dog courage, and determination never to acknowledge defeat. Ai Salisbury says—" That misbegotten devil Falconbridge in spiteof spite alone upholds the day." Although Falconbridge rails at the citizen's speech when he says, " Zouuda! I was never so bethumped with words since I first called my brother's father dad," he is by no meanß free from the same fault, He receives after one of his long and fiery speeches one of the neatest of snubs from Lewis—" There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; we grant thou canst outscold us." Fttlconbridge acts, as it were, a chorus to tho play, criticising the actions of the various actors and expressing what we mny consider the sentiments of Shakespeare concerning the subjects involved in the play, the worthlesßness of all human strife, the pomp and vanity of the world— the end of all scheming, and how the Divine Providence "mocks the counsels of the wine, and the valour of the brave." The better nature of Felconbridge rovolts against the hollowoess and want of good faith of Philip in consenting to the compromise with Johu, and he gives utterance to that fine soliloquy on " Commodity" (self-interest), bo full of worldly wisdom. Tho soliloquy is one of those many instances where Shakespeare, making use of some metaphor, sustains it with remarkable skill throughout the whole speech. Here commodity is compared to the bias on the ball used in bowls." And yet Falconbridge ends this soliloquy with repeating his former resolution as to pushing his fortunes, and declares, "Gain be my lord, for I will worship thee." I don't think he meant it. Ouly there is a strong vein of cynicism in the man. Ho is not going to be a hypocrite and hold himself up—even to himself—as better than others. He sees the faults in others, rails at them, and then mentally says, " I would do the same myself—we are all made much after one pattern." In Falconbridge we are presented with a character whose growth we are able to watcb. From the rollicking dare-devil, hot-headed soldier, we see him develop into the cool commander, gaining every day more the confidence and respect of bis peers. But the great change in his character takes place when he first bears of Arthur's death. Hitherto he has never suspected John of foul play. Having once taken service under him, his loyalty can only end with his life. Nothing could make a deserter of Falconbridge, but the news of John's treachery and baseness is a great shock to him. How nobly he tries to screen him from the indignation of the nobles, and tries not to believe the terrible crime laid to the charge of John. But the rash impetuosity which marked him vanishes from that instant, and is changed into a quiet dignity totally unlike his earlier speeches, and only once does he break out with something like the old fire. That is when Salisbury says, " Stand back, or I shall gall you, Falconbridge." Then he flares out with, "Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury. . . . Put up thy sword beticue, or I'Jl so maul you and your toasting iron that you shall think the devil is come from hell." The change in him is shown iv that fine ■peech: "I am amazed, m .thinks, and lose my way among the thorns and dangers of the world." The play of " King John " is the history of a struggle between two kings for the possession of the crown. Nearly all the scenes are of war and strife, and there is not a single touch of comedy in it. But it is rich in two characters —one of surpassing beauty and the other full of manly vigour, brave and loyal—an Englishman first and a faithful servant next—Arthur aod FalconI bridge.