indeed he had, at the stables at the 'hotel of the beautiful Star,'
where there were at least fifty standing for sale; and once, by a small
boy, who carries a tray full of little yellow books called '_La Lanterne
de Falaise_,' with a picture on the cover of the castle tower, and a
huge lantern slung from the battlements! We purchase a copy, to get rid
of the last intruder, and find it to be a '_Revue, satirique et
humouristique_,' treating of divers matters, including '_faits atroces
et chiens perdus_'!

Now without being accused of misanthropy, we may remark that there are
times and places when an Englishman would rather be 'let alone,' and
that the precincts of Falaise are certainly of them. These century-wide
contrasts and concussions, jar so terribly sometimes, that we are
half-inclined to ask with M. de Tocqueville, whether we do not seem to
be on the eve of a new Byzantine era, in which 'little men shall discuss
and ape the deeds which great men did in their forefathers' days.'[39]
The refrain in this nineteenth century is, 'still the showman, still the
spectator,' until we become almost tired of the song. 'Here some noble
act was achieved--there some valiant man perished.' Every nook and
corner of the place tells the same story; until we are tempted to
enquire 'What are _we_ doing (or are fit and capable of doing
personally, on an emergency, in the matter of fighting,) to compare with
the achievements of these Norman men of all ranks of life?'

But not only in Normandy, it is the same wherever we go: as far as our
own personal part in heroic actions is concerned, we live in an
atmosphere of unreality; we read of great deeds rather than achieve
them, we make shows of the works of our ancestors, we take pence
(readily) over the graves of our kinsmen, and live, as it seems to us,
rather unworthily, in the past.