“The English having lost Normandy, the vassalage ceased.”

“Yes, so far as regards Normandy; but, in the meantime, Louis le Jeune, King of France, unfortunately divorced his wife, Elenor of Aquitaine, who afterwards married an English prince, and added Guienne, another French dukedom to the English crown.”

“So another vassalage sprung up.”

“Exactly.  All the French King insisted upon was the homage; but Edward III. of England, instead of bending his knee to Philip of Valois, argued with himself in this way:  ’If I were King of England and France as well, the claim of homage for the dukedom of Guienne would be extinguished.’”

“Rather cool that,” said Jack, laughing.

“‘We shall then,’ Edward said to himself, ’be our own sovereign, and do homage to ourself, which would save a deal of bother.’”

“Well, he was right there, at least,” remarked the Pilot.

“The King of France, however, entertained a different view of the subject.  Hence arose an endless succession of sieges, battles, conquests, defeats, exterminations, and hatreds, which, no doubt, gave rise to the ill-feeling that exists at present between England and France.  It is curious, at the same time, to observe what mischief individual acts may occasion.  If William of Normandy had remained contented with his dukedom, and Louis le Jeune had not divorced his wife, France would not have lost the disastrous battles of Agincourt and Poitiers.”

“Nor gained the brilliant victory of Bovines,” suggested Jack.

“Certainly not; but she would have been spared the indignity of having one of her kings marched through the streets of London as a prisoner.”

“True; but, on the other hand, the captured monarch would not have had an opportunity of illustrating the laws of honor in his own person.  He returned loyally to England and resumed his chains, when he found that the enormous sum demanded by England for his ransom would impoverish his people:  otherwise he could not have given birth to the maxim, ’That though good faith be banished from all the world beside, it ought still to be found in the hearts of kings.’”

“One of the kings of Scotland,” remarked Willis, “was placed in a similar position.  The Scottish army had been cut to pieces at the battle of Flodden, the king was captured in his harness, conveyed to London, and the people had to pay a great deal more to obtain his freedom than he was worth.  But, before that, the Scotch nearly caught one of the Edwards.  This time the English army had been cut to pieces; but the king did not wait to be captured, he took to his heels, or rather to his horse’s hoofs.  He was beautifully mounted, and followed by half a dozen Scottish troopers; away he went, over hill and dale, ditch and river.  Dick Turpin’s ride from London to York was nothing to it.  The king proved himself to be a first-rate horseman, for, after being chased this way over half the country, he succeeded in baffling his pursuers.  All these escapades between England and Scotland are, however, forgotten now, or at least ought to be; there are, doubtless, a few thick-headed persons in both sections of the empire who delight in keeping alive old prejudices, but they will die out in time.”