ngs of delight. But the performer on and author of
the instrument was forgotten in his work, and there was no
re-instatement of the former favourite. The religious ceremony was
followed by a civic festival, in which Auxerre welcomed its future
lord. The festival was to end at nightfall with a somewhat rude
popular pageant, in which the person of Winter would be hunted
blindfold through the streets. It was the sequel [76] to that earlier
stage-play of the Return from the East in which Denys had been the
central figure. The old forgotten player saw his part before him, and,
as if mechanically, fell again into the chief place, monk's dress and
all. It might restore his popularity: who could tell? Hastily he
donned the ashen-grey mantle, the rough haircloth about the throat, and
went through the preliminary matter. And it happened that a point of
the haircloth scratched his lip deeply, with a long trickling of blood
upon the chin. It was as if the sight of blood transported the
spectators with a kind of mad rage, and suddenly revealed to them the
truth. The pretended hunting of the unholy creature became a real one,
which brought out, in rapid increase, men's evil passions. The soul of
Denys was already at rest, as his body, now borne along in front of the
crowd, was tossed hither and thither, torn at last limb from limb. The
men stuck little shreds of his flesh, or, failing that, of his torn
raiment, into their caps; the women lending their long hairpins for the
purpose. The monk Hermes sought in vain next day for any remains of
the body of his friend. Only, at nightfall, the heart of Denys was
brought to him by a stranger, still entire. It must long since have
mouldered into dust under the stone, marked with a cross, where he
buried it in a dark corner of the cathedral aisle.

So the figure in the stained glass explained [77] itself. To me, Denys
seemed to have been a real resident at Auxerre. On days of a certain
atmosphere, when the trace of the Middle Age comes out, like old marks
in the stones in rainy weather, I seemed actually to have seen the
tortured figure there--to have met Denys l'Auxerrois in the streets.

III. SEBASTIAN VAN STORCK

[81] It was a winter-scene, by Adrian van de Velde, or by Isaac van
Ostade. All the delicate poetry together with all the delicate comfort
of the frosty season was in the leafless branches turned to silver, the
furred dresses of the skaters, the warmth