ald the Welshman, the friend of his youth, at the end can only pronounce him the worst of history's tyrants. John's whole career offers the most convincing evidence of the futility of talent when divorced from character, by which is here meant, not so much private virtue, — for John's private vices were shared with others of his family and his time, — but merely common honor, trustworthiness, and steadfastness. Even in his wickedness John was shifty and false, and his loss of his empire was due, not to any single blunder or series of blunders, but to the supreme sin of lack of character.
It is thus possible to see how largely the collapse of the Norman empire was bound up with the family history of Henry II — the foolish indulgence of the father, the ambitions and intrigues of the mother, the jealousies, treachery, and political incapacity of the sons. A personal creation, the Plantagenet state fell in large measure for personal reasons. If it was Henry's misfortune to have such sons, one may say it was also his misfortune to have more than one son of any sort, since each became the nucleus of a separatist movement in some particular territory. The kings of France, it has often been pointed out, had for generations the great advantage of having a son to succeed, but only a single son. The crowning of the French heir in his father's lifetime assured an undisputed succession; the crowning of the Young King left him dissatisfied and stirred up the rivalry of his younger brothers.
