Now let a tableau lend variety to our pageant. On the dais of a royal pavilion outside the walls of Calais you see a warrior king, his noble countenance transfigured with wrath. Around him are his nobles, and before him kneel six notable citizens of the town, gaunt with long fasting and worn with strife and anxiety. Their heads and feet are bare, and the rope of shame is round their necks. The foremost citizen proffers the keys of the fortress. You are witnessing the surrender of Calais, “the open doorway to France.” The actual scene which is being re-enacted before you took place more than five and a half centuries ago, and thirty-three years after the battle of Bannockburn. In the interval the English king who fled from that fatal field had been deposed in favour of his young son, who grew up to be one of the most remarkable men of his time. The spirit of the first Edward lived again in Edward the Third, and like a new Alexander he was ever seeking fresh worlds to conquer. He positively thirsted for martial glory, and above all things he coveted the fair land of France. Through his mother he put forth a claim to the French throne; and though it was scouted by the French lawyers, he meant to see what English bills and bows could do to enforce it. In the year 1345 he shot his bolt, and at Crécy his archers won for him one of the most brilliant victories that ever graced English arms. Then he moved on Calais, and laid close siege to it. Outside the walls he reared a temporary village, which he called Newtown the Bold. It had houses and lodgings roofed with reed and broom, streets, and a market-place where flesh and fish, mercery, cloth, bread, and wine were sold. Eleven long months the siege endured, and many a time and oft the gallant defenders beheld the approach of French armies coming, as they thought, to their succour. But never did the Frenchmen dare to attack King Edward. They came, they saw, they retreated. Lamentable indeed was the state of the besieged; food failed them, starvation gnawed them, and pestilence swept them away. Then came the hour when all hope departed, and they hauled down the standard which had so long floated above their highest tower. Shortly afterwards news was brought to the king that the governor was on the battlements, and desired a parley with him. Sir Walter de Mauny and Ralph Lord Bisset were sent to confer with the governor. “Sirs,” said he, “ye be right valiant knights in deeds of arms, and ye know well how the king, my master, hath sent me to keep this town in his behoof. We have done all that lieth in our power. Now our succours have failed us, and we be sore strained; we must all die, or else go mad with famine. I therefore entreat that you will beg your king to have compassion on us, and to have the goodness to let us depart in the state we are in; and that he will be satisfied with having possession of the town and castle, with all that is within them.”