THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



for the oratory, fashioned out of stones and mud in 

 what is called rag-work, and most probably roofed 

 with turf. 



After the work of building he began to make his 

 garden. It is evident that his clearing was not near 

 the river as the fountain or well from which he drew 

 his water is still to be seen and it is a considerable 

 distance away. 



Imagine the solitary life of this priest gardener, whose 

 food depended entirely on the produce of the ground. 

 To any man the silence of the woods holds a mysterious 

 calm, a weird, haunting uneasiness. To dwellers in 

 woods, after a time, the silence becomes full of friendly 

 voices ; the fall of Acorns ; the crackling of twigs as a 

 wild animal forces a passage through the undergrowth ; 

 the snap of trees in the frost ; the shuffling of birds 

 getting ready for the night. But here, in the wild 

 woods of Meaux in those early times, wolves, bears, 

 wild boars lived. 



It is possible to imagine the Saint on his knees at 

 night, the trees, dark masses round his garden, a heaven 

 above him pitted with stars, the smoke of his breath as 

 he prays rising like incense. And, as has been known 

 to be the case, all wild animals fearless of him, and 

 friendly to him in whom they see, by instinct, one who 

 will do them no harm. As Saint Jerome laid down with 

 the lions, as Saint Francis spoke with Brother Wolf, 

 and Sister Lark, so Saint Fiacre must have spoken with 

 his friends, the beasts. In the heart of a gardener lies 

 something to which all wild nature responds. 



But consider a man of that time alone in the wood, 

 at that time when men knew so little and whose lives 

 were full of superstitious guesses at scientific facts. 

 And think how much more full of dread Fiacre must 

 have been than an ordinary man, since he was one of a 



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