carved perpendicular of its Palace of Justice, and its splendid facades of the French Renaissance; historic also in those unbuilt spots which mark the landing of the Northmen and the burning of Joan of Arc.
Lower Normandy shows greater variety, comprising the hilly country of the Bocage,—the so-called Norman Switzerland,—the plain of Caen and the pasture-lands of the Bessin, and the wide sweep of the Atlantic coast-line, from the promontory of La Hague to the shifting sands of the bay of Mont-Saint-Michel. It is a country of green fields and orchards and sunken lanes, of dank parks and mouldering châteaux, of deserted mills and ancient parish churches, of quaint timbered houses and long village streets, of silent streams, small ports, and pebbly beaches, the whole merging ultimately in the neighboring lands of Brittany and Maine. Its typical places are Falaise, Vire, and Argentan, with their ancient castles of the Norman dukes; Bayeux and Coutances, the foundations of whose soaring cathedrals carry us back to the princely prelates of the Conquest; provincial capitals of the Old Régime, like Valognes, or the new, like Saint-Lô; and best of all, the crowning glories of the marvel of Mont-Saint-Michel. Its chief town is Caen, stern and grey, the heart of Normandy as Rouen is its head, an old poet tells us; no ancient Roman capital, but the creation of the mediæval dukes, who reared its great abbey-churches to commemorate the marriage and the piety of William the Conqueror
