King John Language and Communication Quotes

Have you ever heard the expression, "It isn't what you say; it's how you say it"? Well, the opening lines of King John kind of fit into that category. Or maybe they show that how you say something can actually affect what you say. When Châtillon says that the King of France has a message for the "borrowed majesty" of England, it's almost unnecessary for him to go on to the rest of his speech, in which he says King John's got no legal right to the throne; he's already said it, just from what he calls King John. All the same, King John politely insists on hearing Châtillon out. King John is big on manners and polite speech, even when he's threatening to go to war with France.

These lines show us how language is related to social conventions. When the Bastard initially introduces himself as the "eldest son" of Robert Falconbridge, King John automatically assumes that he is also Robert Falconbridge's heir. That's because in the society of King John's day, "eldest son" and "heir" were basically synonyms. (In Shakespeare's day, eldest sons automatically inherited all their dads' wealth, land, and titles, too.) Thus, when Robert Falconbridge, Jr. introduces himself as the "son and heir to that same Falconbridge," King John is momentarily confused, as if the gears in his brain are turning and spitting out the message: DOES NOT COMPUTE.

In these lines, the Bastard reflects on the conversation techniques of the rich and famous. In these conversations, it looks like sharing information and ideas is far from the point; instead, language is devoted to elaborate displays of politeness and familiarity with the world (hence the lists of geography). What does the Bastard's attention to the subtleties of language use tell us about his character?

In these lines, the Bastard shows us that he's pretty masterful at manipulating language. By this point, he's already confessed publicly that Sir Robert Falconbridge wasn't his true father—and that King Richard the Lionheart was. He then drives the point home by referring to his brother as "Sir Robert's son"—when, up until now, that description would have fit both of them. His mother picks up on the hint and is outraged—because it means that he thinks she was unfaithful to her husband. (Well, she was.)

Another subtle naming issue comes up at the end of this exchange, when James Gurney, a friend of Lady Falconbridge, addresses the Bastard by his birth name, Philip. But the Bastard has now officially been given the title "Sir Richard the Lionheart" (1.1.161-162); the Bastard responds with shock at his real name, which now sounds strange to him. Hearing it makes him say "sparrow!" because "Philip" was a popular name for pet sparrows in Shakespeare's day (yeah, they apparently had them), sort of like "Fido" is totally a name for dogs today. The Bastard ends by promising that he will fill Gurney in on all the big changes that have taken place recently—changes that are reflected in his new ways of using language and in his own name.

The Bastard speaks these words after being impressed by some tough talk from Hubert, who is at that time representing the citizens of Angers in their negotiations with King Philip and King John. Given his own love of playful language, it isn't surprising that the Bastard would admire this same quality in someone else. The end of his speech returns to the theme of naming, and to the social messages that names contain. Apparently, when the Bastard once called his brother's father "dad," old Sir Robert Falconbridge, Sr. erupted with a similar tirade of abusive language against his wife's illegitimate child.

In these lines, King John imagines a new way of communicating: not through words, but through "conceit alone." By the way, "conceit" here doesn't have anything to do with being vain, stuck-up, or "conceited." In Shakespeare's day, the word "conceit" meant something like our modern word "concept." King John is using the word that way here: he means something like "concept," "idea," or "thought." In other words, he's wishing that he and Hubert could communicate telepathically, directly from one mind to the other. But why does he wish he could do this? Keep reading for more on this...

These lines come from the same scene as those in the previous quotation. At the beginning, King John is still talking in a pretty sneaky, roundabout fashion. No matter how weirdly he's communicating, though, Hubert seems to understand him just fine when he says he will keep Arthur "so / That he shall not offend your majesty." It shouldn't take any nudge-nudge wink-winking to make clear that this means Hubert will kill Arthur. Still, John doesn't seem to trust that, and he has to come right out and say "Death," and then "A grave," prompting Hubert to just say flat out: "He shall not live." What does the fact that John shifts from one way of communicating to another say about his character? Could it be a sign of his indecisiveness and lack of confidence? Or is he just making absolutely sure he's been understood?

Incredibly, after that whole complicated attempt at communication with Hubert in Act III, Scene 2 (see the previous two quotations), King John now places the blame on Hubert's shoulders for carrying out the deed. (Of course, we in the audience know that young Arthur isn't really dead, but John doesn't know that.) Here, King John makes it seem as if he had spoken in that confusing, hinting way before because he would have been too ashamed of himself to say it out loud.

The problem is that, as we just saw in the previous quotation, they ended their talk by explicitly deciding that Arthur had to die. Not only that, but apparently, in a scene that isn't depicted in the play, King John gave Hubert a stamped warrant for the deed (4.2.215)—the same warrant that Hubert showed Arthur in Act IV, Scene 1. Sorry, John, you can't wriggle your way out of this one.

This exchange suggests that language is very powerful, but it isn't all-powerful. Yes, Pandolf's language (and the Pope's authority behind it) can inspire Louis to raise an army and march against England. But words won't lay siege to the English towns; Louis's army will. And, Louis seems to be saying, once that expedition is under way, it takes on a momentum of its own and can't be stopped by mere words. Maybe you could boil the lesson of this passage down to this: language is extremely powerful, but before it can take effect, you have to get somebody to listen.

These lines give the same impression as those in the previous passage. Here, once again, we see that the power of language has a major limitation: you can't influence anybody through language if you can't get them to listen. Here, Louis refuses to listen to either Pandolf or the Bastard, and so he can't be talked out of making war on King John.