Dinan—the Fortifications have been Turned into Playgrounds.
It cannot be argued that the Conqueror was a popular king, but sinners, like saints, may be proven by their influence after death—the Conqueror’s was strong and manly. His spirit entered widely into mediæval legend. He is the Arthur, the ideal ruler, whom Malory commends for manly purity, justice and probity; also for “open manslaughter.” We may take Malory’s word for it, it was better than the savage treachery known even four hundred years later, when that old raconteur was mixing probabilities, improbabilities and impossibilities so picturesquely, and we have our old hero back. Although we must alter Malory’s ideal, we can add to it as well as subtract from it. We have the splendid barbarian who brought order out of chaos both in England and Normandy, who loved and trusted his wife, who loved nature and had an instinct for art, whose intelligent attitude toward religion and learning left the Dark Ages behind, and whose loyal leadership opened the romantic days of chivalry.
Near Caen is a lovelier town, “[Dinan, where the Conqueror slept].” Here history’s scroll seems to loosen, displaying an enchanting pastoral of the ages; there lies the simple, old hamlet by the river, just as it might have looked when William the Norman and Harold, son of Goodwin, camped there together, a little less than one thousand years ago. Then, back of the river on the bluff, later a securely walled town appeared, but now the old fortifications have turned into charming parks and playgrounds, girding the loveliest of French villages; and on a summer day in fair France one can feel sure that though much of life is at cross-purposes, all is not vanity: old moats may make the loveliest of gardens; old warriors, the gentlest of heroes.
Old Moats do make such Charming Gardens.