From the moment we approach the
precincts of the castle, we are pounced upon by the inevitable spider
(in this instance, in the shape of a very rough and ignorant custodian)
who is in hiding to receive his prey. Before we have time for
remonstrance, we have paid our money, we have ascended the smooth round
tower (one hundred feet high, with walls fifteen feet thick) by a
winding staircase, we have been taken out on to the modern zinc-covered
roof, and shown the view therefrom; and the spots where the various
sieges and battles took place, including the breach made by Henry IV.
after seven days' cannonade, a breach that two or three shots from an
Armstrong gun would have effected in these days.
We are shewn, of course, 'the room where William the Conqueror was
born,' and from the windows of the castle keep we have just time to make
a sketch of the beautiful Val d'Ante,[38] and of the women, with their
curiously-shaped baskets, washing in the stream; and to listen to the
thrice-told tale of the tanner's daughter, and to the deeds of valour
wrought on these heights--when the performance is declared to be over,
and we find ourselves once more on the ramparts outside the castle.
We are so full of historical associations at Falaise--every nook and
corner of the castle telling of its nine sieges--that we are glad to be
able to examine the building thoroughly from without, and to remind
ourselves of the method of defensive warfare in the fifteenth century.
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