Heads flung
back in ecstasy--the morning sleep among the vines, when the fatigue of
the night was over--dew-drenched garments--the serf lying at his ease
at last: the artists, then so [62] numerous at the place, caught what
they could, something, at least, of the richness, the flexibility of
the visible aspects of life, from all this. With them the life of
seeming idleness, to which Denys was conducting the youth of Auxerre so
pleasantly, counted but as the cultivation, for their due service to
man, of delightful natural things. And the powers of nature concurred.
It seemed there would be winter no more. The planet Mars drew nearer
to the earth than usual, hanging in the low sky like a fiery red lamp.
A massive but well-nigh lifeless vine on the wall of the cloister,
allowed to remain there only as a curiosity on account of its immense
age, in that great season, as it was long after called, clothed itself
with fruit once more. The culture of the grape greatly increased. The
sunlight fell for the first time on many a spot of deep woodland
cleared for vine-growing; though Denys, a lover of trees, was careful
to leave a stately specimen of forest growth here and there.

When his troubles came, one characteristic that had seemed most amiable
in his prosperity was turned against him--a fondness for oddly grown or
even misshapen, yet potentially happy, children; for odd animals also:
he sympathised with them all, was skilful in healing their maladies,
saved the hare in the chase, and sold his mantle to redeem a lamb from
the butcher: He taught the people not to be [63] afraid of the strange,
ugly creatures which the light of the moving torches drew from their
hiding-places, nor think it a bad omen that they approached. He tamed
a veritable wolf to keep him company like a dog. It was the first of
many ambiguous circumstances about him, from which, in the minds of an
increasing number of people, a deep suspicion and hatred began to
define itself. The rich bestiary, then compiling in the library of the
great church, became, through his assistance, nothing less than a
garden of Eden--the garden of Eden grown wild. The owl alone he
abhorred. A little later, almost as if in revenge, alone of all
animals it clung to him, haunting him persistently among the dusky
stone towers, when grown gentler than ever he dared not kill it. He
moved unhurt in the famous menagerie of the castle, of which the common
people were so much