"% # 
 
 \ .# 
 
 rB^ 
 
A 
 
 BELEAGUERED CITY 
 
 A Narrative of Certain Recent Events in the 
 
 City of Semur, in the Department 
 
 of the Haute Bourgogne 
 
 Si ^torp of tje &tzn anti tje Winmn 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. OLIPHANT 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' CURATE IN CHARGE,' 'YOUNG MUSGRAVE,' 
 ETC. 
 
 Hontion 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1880 
 
 [The right of translation and reproduction is reserved.] 
 

 The Author inscribes this little 
 Book, with tender and grateful greetings, 
 to those whose sympathy has supported 
 her Iffirough many and long years, the 
 kind audience of her Unknown Friends. 
 
 047 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Narrative of M. le Maire : the con- 
 dition OF THE City .... i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Narrative of M. le Maire continued : 
 beginning of the late remarkable 
 Events i8 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Expulsion of the Inhabitants . . . 62 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Outside the Walls 98 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Narrative of Paul Lecamus . . 130 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 M. LE Maire resumes his Narrative . 155 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 Supplement by M. de Bois-Sombre . . 173 
 
 CHAPTER Vm. 
 
 Extract from the Narrative of Madame 
 DupiN DE LA Clairi^re {nk DE Champ- 
 fleurie .187 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Narrative of Madame Veuve Dupin 
 
 {nee Lepelletier) . . . . 204 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 M. LE Maire concludes his Record . . 241 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE NARRATIVE OF M. LE MAIRE : 
 THE CONDITION OF THE CITY. 
 
 I, Martin Dupin (de la Clairiere), had the 
 honour of holding the office of Maire in the 
 town of Semur, in the Haute Bourgogne, 
 at the time when the following events 
 occurred. It will be perceived, therefore, 
 that no one could have more complete 
 knowledge of the facts — at once from my 
 official position, and from the place of 
 eminence in the affairs of the district 
 generally which my family has held for 
 many generations — by what citizen -like 
 virtues and unblemished integrity I will 
 not be vain enough to specify. Nor is it 
 necessary ; for no one who knows Semur 
 can be ignorant of the position held by 
 
 S> B 
 
2 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the Dupins, from father to son. The 
 estate La Clairiere has been so long in the 
 family that we might very well, were we 
 disposed, add its name to our own, as so 
 many families in France do ; and, indeed, 
 I do not prevent my wife (whose prejudices 
 I respect) from making this use of it upon 
 her cards. But, for myself, bourgeois I was 
 bom and bourgeois I mean to die. My 
 residence, like that of my father and grand- 
 father, is at No. 29 in the Grande Rue, 
 opposite the Cathedral, and not far from 
 the Hospital of St. Jean. We inhabit the 
 first floor, along with the rez-de-chaussie, 
 which has been turned into domestic offices 
 suitable for the needs of the family. My 
 mother, holding a respected place in my 
 household, lives with us in the most perfect 
 family union. My wife {nSe de Champ- 
 fleurie) is everything that is calculated 
 to render a household happy ; but, alas* ! 
 one only of our two children survives to 
 bless us. I have thought these details of my 
 private circumstances necessary, to explain 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 3 
 
 the following narrative ; to which I will 
 also add, by way of introduction, a simple 
 sketch of the town itself and its genefral 
 conditions before these remarkable events 
 occurred. 
 
 It was on a summer evening about sun- 
 set, the middle of the month of June, that 
 my attention was attracted by an incident 
 of no importance which occurred in the 
 street, .when I was making my way home, 
 after an inspection of the young vines in 
 my new vineyard to the left of La Clairiere. 
 All were in perfectly good condition, and 
 none of the many signs which point to the 
 arrival of the insect were apparent. I had 
 come back in good spirits, thinking of the 
 prosperity which I was happy to believe I 
 had merited by a conscientious performance 
 of all my duties. I had little with which 
 to blame myself: not only my wife and 
 relations, but my dependants and neigh- 
 bours, approved my conduct as a man ; and 
 even my fellow-citizens, exacting as they 
 are, had confirmed in my favour the good 
 
4 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 opinion which my family had been fortu- 
 nate enough to secure from father to son. 
 These thoughts were in my mind as I 
 turned the corner of the Grande Rue and 
 approached my own house. At this 
 moment the tinkle of a little bell warned 
 all the bystanders of the procession which 
 was about to pass, carrying the rites of the 
 Church to some dying person. Some of 
 the women, always devout, fell on their 
 knees. I did not go so far as this, for I 
 do not pretend, in these days of progress, 
 to have retained the same attitude of mind 
 as that which it is no doubt becoming to 
 behold in the more devout sex ; but I stood 
 respectfully out of the way, and took off 
 my hat, as good breeding alone, if nothing 
 else, demanded of me. Just in front of 
 me, however, was Jacques Richard, always a 
 troublesome individual, standing doggedly, 
 with his hat upon his head and his hands 
 in his pockets, straight in the path of M. le 
 Cure. There is not in all France a more 
 obstinate fellow. He stood there, notwith- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 5 
 
 Standing the efforts of a good woman to 
 draw him away, and though I myself called 
 to him. M. le Cure is not the man to 
 flinch ; and as he passed, walking as usual 
 very quickly and straight, his soutane 
 brushed against the blouse of Jacques. 
 He gave one quick glance from beneath 
 his eyebrows at the profane interruption, 
 but he would not distract himself from his 
 sacred errand at such a moment. It w a 
 sacred errand when any one, be he priest 
 or layman, carries the best he can give to 
 the bedside of the dying. I said this to 
 Jacques when M. le Cure had passed and 
 the bell went tinkling on along the street. 
 ' Jacques,' said I, * I do not call it impious, 
 like this good woman, but I call it inhuman. 
 What ! a man goes to carry help to the 
 dying, and you show him no respect ! ' 
 
 This brought the colour to his face ; and 
 I think, perhaps, that he might have be- 
 come ashamed of the part he had played ; 
 but the women pushed in again, as they are 
 so fond of doing. ' Oh, M. le Maire, he 
 
6 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 does not deserve that you should lose your 
 words upon him !' they cried ; ' and, besides, 
 is it likely he will pay any attention to you 
 when he tries to stop even the bo7i Dieu ? ' 
 
 ' The bon Dieu /' cried Jacques. * Why 
 doesn't He clear the way for himself ? Look 
 here. I do not care one farthing for your 
 bon Dieu. Here is mine ; I carry him 
 about with me.' And he took a piece of a 
 hundred sous out of his pocket (how had it 
 got there ?) * Vive I' argent F he said. ' You 
 know it yourself, though you will not say 
 so. There is no bon Dieu but money. 
 With money you can do anything. D argent 
 cest le bon Dieu! 
 
 'Be silent,' I cried, 'thou profane one!' 
 And the women were still more indignant 
 than I. ' We shall see, we shall see ; when 
 he is ill and would give his soul for some- 
 thing to wet his lips, his bon Dieu will not 
 do much for him,' cried one ; and another 
 said, clasping her hands with a shrill cry, 
 ' It is enough to make the dead rise out of 
 their graves !' 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 7 
 
 * The dead rise out of their graves ! * 
 These words, though one has heard them 
 before, took possession of my imagination. 
 I saw the rude fellow go along the street 
 as I went on, tossing the coin in his 
 hand. One time It fell to the ground and 
 rang upon the pavement, and he laughed 
 more loudly as he picked it up. He was 
 walking towards the sunset, and I too, at a 
 distance after. The sky was full of rose- 
 tinted clouds floating across the blue, float- 
 ing high over the grey pinnacles of the 
 Cathedral, and filling the long open line of 
 the Rue St. Etienne down which he was 
 going. As I crossed to my own house I 
 caught him full against the light, in his blue 
 blouse, tossing the big silver piece in the 
 air, and heard him laugh and shout * Vive 
 r argent! This is the only bon Dieu! 
 Though there are many people who live as 
 if this were their sentiment, there are few 
 who give it such brutal expression ; but 
 some of the people at the corner of the 
 street laughed too. ' Bravo, Jacques !' they 
 
8 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 cried ; and one said, ' You are right, mon 
 ami, the only god to trust in nowadays.' 
 * It is a short credo, M. le Maire,' said 
 another, who caught my eye. He saw I 
 was displeased, this one, and his counten- 
 ance changed at once. 
 
 * Yes, Jean Pierre,' I said, * it is worse 
 than short — it is brutal. I hope no man 
 who respects himself will ever countenance 
 it. It is against the dignity of human 
 nature, if nothing more.' 
 
 * Ah, M. le Maire !' cried a poor woman, 
 one of the good ladies of the market, with 
 entrenchments of baskets all round her, who 
 had been walking my way ; ' ah, M. le 
 Maire ! did not I say true ? it is enough to 
 bring the dead out of their graves.' 
 
 * That would be something to see,' said 
 Jean Pierre, with a laugh ; * and I hope, 
 ma bonne femme, that if you have any 
 interest with them, you will entreat these 
 gentlemen to appear before I go away.' 
 
 * I do not like such jesting,' said I. *The 
 dead are very dead and will not disturb 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 9 
 
 anybody, but even the prejudices of respect- 
 able persons ought to be respected. A 
 ribald like Jacques counts for nothing, but 
 I did not expect this from you.' 
 
 * What would you, M. le Maire ?' he said, 
 with a shrug of his shoulders. ' We are 
 made like that. I respect prejudices as you 
 say. My wife is a good woman, she prays 
 for two — but me ! How can I tell that 
 Jacques is not right after all ? A grosse 
 piece of a hundred sous, one sees that, one 
 knows what it can do — but for the other!' 
 He thrust up one shoulder to his ear, and 
 turned up the palms of his hands. 
 
 * It is our duty at all times to respect the 
 convictions of others,' I said, severely ; 
 and passed on to my own house, having no 
 desire to encourage discussions at the street 
 corner. A man in my position is obliged 
 to be always mindful of the example he 
 ought to set. But I had not yet done with 
 this phrase, which had, as I have said, 
 caught my ear and my imagination. My 
 mother was in the great salle of the rez-de- 
 
lO A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 chausSe, as I passed, in altercation with a 
 peasant who had just brought us in some 
 loads of wood. There is often, it seems to 
 me, a sort of refrain in conversation, which 
 one catches everywhere as one comes and 
 goes. ^Figure my astonishment when I 
 heard from the lips of my good mother the 
 same words with which that good-for- 
 nothing Jacques Richard had made the 
 profession of his brutal faith. ' Go !' she 
 cried, in anger ; ' you are all the same. 
 Money is your god, De grosses pieces, 
 that is all you think of in these days.' 
 
 * Eh, bien, madame,* said the peasant ; 
 ' and if so, what then .^ Don't you others, 
 gentlemen and ladies, do just the same ? 
 What is there in the world but money to 
 think of? If it is a question of marriage, 
 you demand what is the dot ; if it is a 
 question of office, you ask. Monsieur Untel, 
 is he rich ? And it is perfectly just. We 
 know what money can do ; but as for le 
 bon Dieu, whom our grandmothers used 
 to talk about ' 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. II 
 
 And lo ! our gros paysan made exactly 
 the same gesture as Jean Pierre. He put 
 up his shoulders to his ears, and spread out 
 the palms of his hands, as who should say, 
 There is nothing further to be said. 
 
 Then there occurred a still more remark- 
 able repetition. My mother, as may be 
 supposed, being a very respectable person, 
 and more or less divotey grew red with 
 indignation and horror. 
 
 * Oh, these poor grandmothers ! ' she 
 cried ; ' God give them rest ! It is enough 
 to make the dead rise out of their graves.' 
 
 * Oh, I will answer for les morts ! they 
 will give nobody any trouble,' he said with 
 a laugh. I went in and reproved the man 
 severely, finding that, as I supposed, he 
 had attempted to cheat my good mother in 
 the price of the wood. Fortunately she 
 had been quite as clever as he was. She 
 went upstairs shaking her head, while I 
 gave the man to understand that no one 
 should speak to her but with the pro- 
 foundest respect in my house. * She has 
 
12 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 her opinions, like all respectable ladies,' I 
 said, 'but under this roof these opinions 
 shall always be sacred.' And, to do him 
 justice, I will add that when it was put to 
 him in this way Gros-Jean was ashamed of 
 himself. 
 
 When I talked over these incidents with 
 my wife, as we gave each other the 
 narrative of our day's experiences, she was 
 greatly distressed, as may be supposed. 
 * I try to hope they are not so bad as 
 Bonne Maman thinks. But oh, mon ami! ' 
 she said, 'what will the world come to if 
 this is what they really believe ? ' 
 
 ' Take courage,' I said ; ' the world will 
 never come to anything much different 
 from what it is. So long as there are des 
 anges like thee to pray for us, the scale will 
 not go down to the wrong side.' 
 
 I said this, of course, to please my 
 Agnes, who is the best of wives ; but on 
 thinking it over after, I could not but be 
 struck with the extreme justice (not to 
 speak of the beauty of the sentiment) of 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 3 
 
 this thought. The bon Dieit — if, indeed, 
 that great Being is as represented to us by 
 the Church — must naturally care as much 
 for one-half of His creatures as for the 
 other, though they have not the same 
 weight in the world ; and consequently the 
 faith of the women must hold the balance 
 straight, especially if, as is said, they ex- 
 ceed us in point of numbers. This leaves 
 a little margin for those of them who pro- 
 fess the same freedom of thought as is 
 generally accorded to men — a class, I must 
 add, which I abominate from the bottom of 
 my heart. 
 
 I need not dwell upon other little scenes 
 which impressed the same idea still more 
 upon my mind. Semur, I need not say, is 
 not the centre of the world, and might, 
 therefore, be supposed likely to escape the 
 full current of worldliness. We amuse 
 ourselves little, and we have not any 
 opportunity of rising to the heights of am- 
 bition ; for our town is not even the chef- 
 lieu of the department, — though this is 
 
14 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 a subject upon which I cannot trust myself 
 to speak. Figure to yourself that La 
 Rochette — a place of yesterday, without 
 either the beauty or the antiquity of Semur 
 — has been chosen as the centre of affairs, 
 the residence of M. le Prefet ! But I will 
 not enter upon this question. What I was 
 saying was, that, notwithstanding the fact 
 that we amuse ourselves but little, that 
 there is no theatre to speak of, little society, 
 few distractions, and none of those induce- 
 ments to strive for gain and to indulge the 
 senses, which exist, for instance, in Paris — 
 that capital of the world — yet, nevertheless, 
 the thirst for money and for pleasure has 
 increased among us to an extent which I 
 cannot but consider alarming. Gros-Jean, 
 our peasant, toils for money, and hoards ; 
 Jacques, who is a cooper and maker of 
 wine casks, gains and drinks ; Jean Pierre 
 snatches at every sous that comes in his 
 way, and spends it in yet worse dissipations. 
 He is one who quails when he meets my 
 eye; he sins en cachette ; but Jacques is 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 5 
 
 bold, and defies opinion ; and Gros-Jean 
 is firm in the belief that to hoard money is 
 the highest of mortal occupations. These 
 three are types of what the population is at 
 Semur. The men would all sell their souls 
 for 2. grosse piece of fifty sous — indeed, they 
 would laugh, and express their delight that 
 any one should believe them to have souls, 
 if they could but have a chance of selling 
 them ; and the devil, who was once sup- 
 posed to deal In that commodity, would be 
 very welcome among us. And as for the 
 bon Dieu — -pouff ! that was an affair of the 
 grandmothers — le bon Dieu cest I argent. 
 This is their creed. I was very near the 
 beginning of my official year as Maire when 
 my attention was called to these matters 
 as I have described above. A man may 
 go on for years keeping quiet himself — 
 keeping out of tumult, religious or political 
 — and make no discovery of the general 
 current of feeling ; but when you are forced 
 to serve your country in any official capacity, 
 and when your eyes are opened to the state 
 
1 6 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 of affairs around you, then I allow that an 
 inexperienced observer might well cry out, 
 as my wife did, ' What will become of the 
 world ?' I am not prejudiced myself — un- 
 necessary to say that the foolish scruples 
 of the women do not move me. But the 
 devotion of the community at large to this 
 pursuit of gain — money without any gran- 
 deur, and pleasure without any refinement 
 — that is a thing which cannot fail to wound 
 all who believe in human nature. To be a 
 millionaire — that, I grant, would be pleasant. 
 A man as rich as Monte Christo, able to do 
 whatever he would, with the equipage of an 
 English duke, the palace of an Italian prince, 
 the retinue of a Russian noble — he, indeed, 
 might be excused if his money seemed to 
 him a kind of god. But Gros-Jean, who 
 lays up two sous at a time, and lives on 
 black bread and an onion ; and Jacques, 
 whose grosse piece but secures him the head- 
 ache of a drunkard next morning — what to 
 them could be this miserable deity ? As 
 for myself, however, it was my business, as 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I 7 
 
 Maire of the commune, to take as little 
 notice as possible of the follies these people 
 might say, and to hold the middle course 
 between the prejudices of the respectable 
 and the levities of th'e foolish. With this, 
 without more, to think of, I had enough to 
 keep all my faculties employed. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE NARRATIVE OF M. LE MAIRE CONTINUED : 
 BEGINNING OF THE LATE REMARKABLE 
 EVENTS. 
 
 I DO not attempt to make out any distinct 
 connection between the simple incidents 
 above recorded, and the extraordinary 
 events that followed. I have related them 
 as they happened ; chiefly by way of show- 
 ing the state of feeling in the city, and the 
 sentiment which pervaded the community 
 — a sentiment, I fear, too common in my 
 country. I need not say that to encourage 
 superstition is far from my wish. I am a 
 man of my century, and proud of being so ; 
 very little disposed to yield to the domi- 
 nation of the clerical party, though desirous 
 of showing all just tolerance for conscien- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 9 
 
 tlous faith, and every respect for the 
 prejudices of the ladies of my family. I 
 am, moreover, all the more inclined to be 
 careful of giving in my adhesion to any 
 prodigy, in consequence of a consciousness 
 that the faculty of imagination has always 
 been one of my characteristics. It usually 
 is so, I am aware, in superior minds, and 
 it has procured me many pleasures un- 
 known to the common herd. Had it been 
 possible for me to believe that I had been 
 misled by this faculty, I should have care- 
 fully refrained from putting upon record 
 any account of my individual impressions ; 
 but my attitude here is not that of a man 
 recording his personal experiences only, 
 but of one who is the official mouthpiece 
 and representative of the commune, and 
 whose duty it is to render to government 
 and to the human race a true narrative of 
 the very wonderful facts to which every 
 citizen of Semur can bear witness. In this 
 capacity it has become my duty so to ar- 
 range and edit the different accounts of 
 
20 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the mystery, as to present one coherent 
 and trustworthy chronicle to the world. 
 
 To proceed, however, with my narrative. 
 It is not necessary for me to describe 
 what summer is in the Haute Bourgogne. 
 Our generous wines, our glorious fruits, are 
 sufficient proof, without any assertion on 
 my part. The summer with us is as a 
 perpetual fete — at least, before the insect 
 appeared it was so, though now anxiety 
 about the condition of our vines may cloud 
 our enjoyment of the glorious sunshine 
 which ripens them hourly before our eyes. 
 Judge, then, of the astonishment of the 
 world when there suddenly came upon us 
 a darkness as in the depth of winter, falling, 
 without warning, into the midst of the bril- 
 liant weather to which we are accustomed, 
 and which had never failed us before in the 
 memory of man ! It was the month of 
 July, when, in ordinary seasons, a cloud is 
 so rare that it is a joy to see one, merely 
 as a variety upon the brightness. Suddenly, 
 in the midst of our summer delights, this 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 2 1 
 
 darkness came. Its first appearance took 
 us so entirely by surprise that life seemed 
 to stop short, and the business of the whole 
 town was delayed by an hour or two ; no- 
 body being able to believe that at six o'clock 
 in the morning the sun had not risen. I do 
 not assert that the sun did not rise ; all I 
 mean to say is that at Semur it was still 
 dark, as in a morning of winter, and when 
 it gradually and slowly became day many 
 hours of the morning were already spent. 
 And never shall I forget the aspect of day 
 when it came. It was like a ghost or pale 
 shadow of the glorious days of July with 
 which we are usually blessed. The barometer 
 did not go down, nor was there any rain, but 
 an unusual greyness wrapped earth and sky. 
 I heard people say in the streets, and I am 
 aware that the same words came to my own 
 lips : * If it were not full summer, I should 
 say it was going to snow.' We have much 
 snow in the Haute Bourgogne, and we are 
 well acquainted with this aspect of the 
 skies. Of the depressing effect which this 
 
2 2 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 greyness exercised upon myself personally, 
 I will not speak. I have always been 
 noted as a man of fine perceptions, and I 
 was aware instinctively that such a state of 
 the atmosphere must mean something more 
 than was apparent on the surface. But, as 
 the danger was of an entirely unprecedented 
 character, it is not to be wondered at that 
 I should be completely at a loss to divine 
 what its meaning was. It was a blight 
 some people said ; and many were of 
 opinion that it was caused by clouds of 
 animalculae coming, as Is described in 
 ancient writings, to destroy the crops, 
 and even to affect the health of the 
 population. The doctors scoffed at this ; 
 but they talked about malaria, which, 
 as far as I could understand, was likely to 
 produce exactly the same effect. The 
 night closed in early as the day had dawned 
 late ; the lamps were lighted before six 
 o'clock, and daylight had only begun about 
 ten ! Figure to yourself, a July day ! 
 There ought to have been a moon almost 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 23 
 
 at the full ; but no moon was visible, no 
 stars — nothing but a grey veil of clouds, 
 growing darker and darker as the moments 
 went on ; such I have heard are the days 
 and the nights in England, where the sea- 
 fogs so often blot out the sky. But we are 
 unacquainted with anything of the kind in 
 our plaisant pays de France. There was 
 nothing else talked of in Semur all that 
 night, as may well be imagined. My own 
 mind was extremely uneasy. Do what I 
 would, I could not deliver myself from a 
 sense of something dreadful in the air 
 which was neither malaria nor animalculae. 
 I took a promenade through the streets 
 that evening, accompanied by M. Barbou, 
 my adjoint, to make sure that all was safe ; 
 and the darkness was such that we almost 
 lost our way, though we were both born in 
 the town and had known every turning 
 from our boyhood. It cannot be denied 
 that Semur is very badly lighted. We 
 retain still the lanterns slung by cords 
 across the streets which once were general 
 
24 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 in France, but which, in most places, have 
 been superseded by the modern institution 
 of gas. Gladly would I have distinguished 
 my term of office by bringing gas to Semur. 
 But the expense would have been great, 
 and there were a hundred objections. In 
 summer generally, the lanterns were of 
 little consequence because of the brightness 
 of the sky ; but to see them now, twinkling 
 dimly here and there, making us conscious 
 how dark it was, was strange indeed. It 
 was in the interests of order that we took 
 our round, with a fear, in my mind at least, 
 of I knew not what. M. 1' Adjoint said 
 nothing, but no doubt he thought as I did. 
 While we were thus patrolling the city 
 with a special eye to the prevention of all 
 seditious assemblages, such as are too apt 
 to take advantage of any circumstances 
 that may disturb the ordinary life of a city, 
 or throw discredit on its magistrates, we 
 were accosted by Paul Lecamus, a man 
 whom I have always considered as some- 
 thing of a visionary, though his conduct is 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 25 
 
 irreproachable, and his life honourable and 
 industrious. He entertains religious con- 
 victions of a curious kind ; but, as the man 
 is quite free from revolutionary sentiments, 
 I have never considered it to be my duty 
 to interfere with him, or to investigate his 
 creed. Indeed, he has been treated gener- 
 ally in Semur as a dreamer of dreams — 
 one who holds a great many impracticable 
 and foolish opinions — though the respect 
 which I always exact for those whose lives 
 are respectable and worthy has been a pro- 
 tection to him. He was, I think, aware 
 that he owed something to my good offices, 
 and it was to me accordingly that he 
 addressed himself. 
 
 * Good evening, M. le Maire,' he said ; 
 ' you are groping about, like myself, in this 
 strange night.' 
 
 ' Good evening M. Paul,' I replied. ' It 
 is, indeed, a strange night. It indicates, I 
 fear, that a storm is coming.' 
 
 M. Paul shook his head. There is a 
 solemnity about even his ordinary appear- 
 
26 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 ance. He has a long face, pale, and 
 adorned with a heavy, drooping moustache, 
 which adds much to the solemn impression 
 made by his countenance. He looked at me 
 with great gravity as he stood in the shadow 
 of the lamp, and slowly shook his head. 
 
 * You do not agree with me ? Well ! the 
 opinion of a man like M. Paul Lecamus is 
 always worthy to be heard.' 
 
 ' Oh !' he said, * I am called visionary. 
 I am not supposed to be a trustworthy 
 witness. Nevertheless, if M. Le Maire will 
 come with me, I will show him something 
 that is very strange — something that is 
 almost more wonderful than the darkness 
 — more strange,' he went on with great 
 earnestness, ' than any storm that ever 
 ravaged Burgundy.' 
 
 * That is much to say. A tempest now 
 when the vines are in full bearing ' 
 
 'Would be nothing, nothing to what I 
 can show you. Only come with me to the 
 Porte St. Lambert.' 
 
 * If M. le Maire will excuse me,* said M. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 2^ 
 
 Barbou, * I think I will go home. It is a 
 little cold, and you are aware that I am 
 always afraid of the damp.' In fact, our 
 coats were beaded with a cold dew as in 
 November, and I could not but acknow- 
 ledge that my respectable colleague had 
 reason. Besides, we were close to his 
 house, and he had, no doubt, the sustaining 
 consciousness of having done everything 
 that was really incumbent upon him. ' Our 
 ways lie together as far as my house,' he 
 said, with a slight chattering of his teeth. 
 No doubt it was the cold. After we had 
 walked with him to his door, we proceeded 
 to the Porte St. Lambert. By this time 
 almost everybody had re-entered their 
 houses. The streets were very dark, and 
 they were also very still. When we 
 reached the gates, at that hour of the 
 night, we found them shut as a matter of 
 course. The officers of the octroi were 
 standing close together at the door of their 
 office, in which the lamp was burning. The 
 very lamp seemed oppressed by the heavy 
 
28 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 air ; It burnt dully, surrounded with a yellow 
 haze. The men had the appearance of 
 suffering greatly from cold. They received 
 me with a satisfaction which was very 
 gratifying to me. ' At length here is M. 
 le Maire himself/ they said. 
 
 'My good friends,' said I, 'you have a 
 cold post to-night. The weather has 
 changed in the most extraordinary way. I 
 have no doubt the scientific gentlemen at 
 the Musee will be able to tell us all about 
 it — M. de Clairon ' 
 
 'Not to interrupt M. le Maire,' said RIou, 
 of the octroi, ' I think there is more in it 
 than any scientific gentleman can explain.' 
 
 ' Ah ! You think so. But they explain 
 everything,' I said, with a smile. ' They 
 tell us how the wind is going to blow.' 
 
 As I said this, there seemed to pass us, 
 from the direction of the closed gates, a 
 breath of air so cold that I could not restrain 
 a shiver. They looked at each other. It 
 was not a smile that passed between them 
 — they were too pale, too cold, to smile : 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 29 
 
 but a look of intelligence. * M. le Maire,' 
 said one of them, * perceives it too ;' but 
 they did not shiver as I did. They were 
 like men turned into ice who could feel no 
 more. 
 
 'It is, without doubt, the most extra- 
 ordinary weather,' I said. My teeth 
 chattered like Barbou's. It was all I 
 could do to keep myself steady. No one 
 made any reply ; but Lecamus said, ' Have 
 the goodness to open the little postern for 
 foot-passengers : M. le Maire wishes to 
 make an inspection outside.' 
 
 Upon these words, Riou, who knew me 
 well, caught me by the arm. ' A thousand 
 pardons,' he said, ' M. le Maire ; but I 
 entreat you, do not go. Who can tell what 
 is outside ? Since this morning there is 
 something very strange on the other side 
 of the gates. If M. le Maire would listen 
 to me, he would keep them shut night and 
 day till that is gone, he would not go out 
 into the midst of it. Mon Dieu ! a man 
 may be brave. I know the courage of M. 
 
30 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 le Maire ; but to march without necessity 
 Into the jaws of hell : mon Dieu /' cried the 
 poor man again. He crossed himself, and 
 none of us smiled. Now a man may sign 
 himself at the church door — one does so 
 out of respect ; but to use that ceremony 
 for one's own advantage, before other men, 
 Is rare — except In the case of members of 
 a very decided party. RIou was not one 
 of these. He signed himself In sight of us 
 all, and not one of us smiled. 
 
 The other was less familiar — he knew 
 me only In my public capacity — he was one 
 Gallals of the Quartler St. Medon. He 
 said, taking off his hat : * If I were M. le 
 MaIre, saving your respect, I would not go 
 out Into an unknown danger with this man 
 here, a man who is known as a pietist, as a 
 clerical, as one who sees visions ' 
 
 * He is not a clerical, he Is a good citizen,' 
 I said ; ' come, lend us your lantern. Shall 
 I shrink from my duty wherever It leads 
 me ? Nay, my good friends, the MaIre of 
 a French commune fears neither man nor 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 3 I 
 
 devil In the exercise of his duty. M. Paul, 
 lead on.* When I said the word ' devil ' a 
 spasm of alarm passed over RIou's face. 
 He crossed himself again. This time I 
 could not but smile. ' My little RIou/ I 
 said, 'do you know that you are a little 
 imbecile with your piety ? There is a time 
 for everything.* 
 
 ' Except religion, M. le Maire ; that is 
 never out of place,' said Gallais. 
 
 I could not believe my senses. * Is it a 
 conversion .f** I said. * Some of our Carmes 
 dechausses must have passed this way.' 
 
 * M. le Maire will soon see other teachers 
 more wonderful than the Carmes de- 
 chausses,' said Lecamus. He went and 
 took down the lantern from its nail, and 
 opened the little door. When it opened, I 
 was once more penetrated by the same icy 
 breath ; once, twice, thrice, I cannot tell 
 how many times this crossed me, as If some 
 one passed. I looked round upon the 
 others — I gave way a step. I could not 
 help it. In spite of me, the hair seemed to 
 
32 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 rise erect on my head. The two officers 
 stood close together, and Riou, collecting 
 his courage, made an attempt to laugh. 
 ' M. le Maire perceives,' he said, his lips 
 trembling almost too much to form the 
 words, ' that the winds are walking about.' 
 'Hush, for God's sake!' said the other, 
 grasping him by the arm. 
 
 This recalled me to myself; and I followed 
 Lecamus, who stood waiting for me hold- 
 ing the door a little ajar. He went on 
 strangely, like — I can use no other words 
 to express it — a man making his way in 
 the face of a crowd, a thing very surprising 
 to me. I followed him close ; but the 
 moment I emerged from the doorway 
 something caught my breath. The same 
 feeling seized me also. I gasped ; a sense 
 of suffocation came upon me ; I put out my 
 hand to lay hold upon my guide. The 
 solid grasp I got of his arm re-assured me a 
 little, and he did not hesitate, but pushed 
 his way on. We got out clear of the gate 
 and the shadow of the wall, keeping close 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 33 
 
 to the little watch-tower on the west side. 
 Then he made a pause, and so did I. We 
 stood against the tower and looked out be- 
 fore us. There was nothing there. The 
 darkness was great, yet through the gloom 
 of the night I could see the division of the 
 road from the broken ground on either side ; 
 there was nothing there. I gasped, and 
 drew myself up close against the wall, as 
 Lecamus had also done. There was in the 
 air, in the night, a sensation the most strange 
 I have ever experienced. I have felt the 
 same thing indeed at other times, in face 
 of a great crowd, when thousands of people 
 were moving, rustling, struggling, breathing 
 around me, thronging all the vacant space, 
 filling up every spot. This was the sen- 
 sation that overwhelmed me here — a crowd : 
 yet nothing to be seen but the darkness, 
 the indistinct line of the road. We could 
 not move for them, so close were they 
 round us. What do I say ? There was 
 nobody — nothing — not a form to be seen, 
 not a face but his and mine. I am obliged 
 
34 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 to confess that the moment was to me an 
 awful moment. I could not speak. My 
 heart beat wildly as if trying to escape from 
 my breast — every breath I drew was with 
 an effort. I clung to Lecamus with deadly 
 and helpless terror, and forced myself back 
 upon the wall, crouching against it ; I did 
 not turn and fly, as would have been natural. 
 What say I ? did not ! I could not ! they 
 pressed round us so. Ah! you would think 
 I must be mad to use such words, for there 
 was nobody near me — not a shadow even 
 upon the road. 
 
 Lecamus would have gone farther on ; 
 he would have pressed his way boldly into 
 the midst ; but my courage was not equal 
 to this. I clutched and clung to him, 
 dragging myself along against the wall, my 
 whole mind intent upon getting back. I 
 was stronger than he, and he had no power 
 to resist me. I turned back, stumbling 
 blindly, keeping my face to that crowd 
 (there was no one), but struggling back 
 again, tearing the skin off my hands as I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 35 
 
 groped my way along the wall. Oh, the 
 agony of seeing the door closed ! I have 
 buffeted my way through a crowd before 
 now, but I may say that I never before knew 
 what terror was. When I fell upon the 
 door, dragging Lecamus with me, it opened, 
 thank God ! I stumbled in, clutching at Riou 
 with my disengaged hand, and fell upon 
 the floor of the octroi^ where they thought 
 I had fainted. But this was not the case. 
 A man of resolution may give way to the 
 overpowering sensations of the moment. 
 His bodily faculties may fail him; but his 
 mind will not fail. As in every really 
 superior intelligence, my forces collected 
 for the emergency. While the officers ran 
 to bring me water, to search for the eau-de 
 vie which they had in a cupboard, I aston- 
 ished them all by rising up, pale, but with 
 full command of myself. ' It is enough,' I 
 said, raising my hand. * I thank you, 
 Messieurs, but nothing more is necessary;' 
 and I would not take any of their restora- 
 tives. They were impressed, as was only 
 
2,6 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 natural, by the sight of my perfect self-pos- 
 session : it helped them to acquire for them- 
 selves a demeanour befitting the occasion ; 
 and I felt, though still in great physical 
 weakness and agitation, the consoling con- 
 sciousness of having fulfilled my functions 
 as head of the community. 
 
 * M. le Maire has seen a what there 
 
 is outside ? ' Riou cried, stammering in his 
 excitement ; and the other fixed upon me 
 eyes which were hungering with eagerness 
 — if, indeed, it is permitted to use such 
 words. 
 
 * I have seen — nothing, Riou,' I said. 
 They looked at me with the utmost 
 
 wonder. ' M. le Maire has seen — nothing?' 
 said Riou. * Ah, I see ! you say so to 
 spare us. We have proved ourselves 
 cowards ; but if you will pardon me, M. le 
 Maire, you, too, re-entered precipitately — 
 you too ! There are facts which may appal 
 the bravest — but I implore you to tell us 
 what you have seen.' 
 
 ' I have seen nothing,' I said. As I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 37 
 
 Spoke, my natural calm composure returned, 
 my heart resumed its usual tranquil beating. 
 * There is nothing to be seen — it is dark, 
 and one can perceive the line of the road 
 for but a little way — that is all. There is 
 nothing to be seen ' 
 
 They looked at me, startled and incredu- 
 lous. They did not know what to think. 
 How could they refuse to believe me, sit- 
 ting there calmly raising my eyes to them, 
 making my statement with what they felt 
 to be an air of perfect truth ? But, then, 
 how account for the precipitate return which 
 they had already noted, the supposed faint, 
 the pallor of my looks ? They did not 
 know what to think. 
 
 And here, let me remark, as in my con- 
 duct throughout these remarkable events, 
 may be seen the benefit, the high advan- 
 tage, of truth. Had not this been the truth, 
 I could not have borne the searching of 
 their looks. But it was true. There was 
 nothing — nothing to be seen ; in one sense, 
 this was the thing of all others which over- 
 
38 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 whelmed my mind. But why insist upon 
 these matters of detail to unenlightened 
 men ? There was nothing, and I had 
 seen nothing. What I said was the 
 truth. 
 
 All this time Lecamus had said nothing. 
 As I raised myself from the ground, I had 
 vaguely perceived him hanging up the 
 lantern where It had been before ; now he 
 became distinct to me as I recovered the 
 full possession of my faculties. He had 
 seated himself upon a bench by the wall. 
 There was no agitation about him ; no sign 
 of the thrill of departing excitement, which 
 I felt going through my veins as through 
 the strings of a harp. He was sitting 
 against the wall, with his head drooping, 
 his eyes cast down, an air of disappointment 
 and despondency about him — nothing more. 
 I got up as soon as I felt that I could go 
 away with perfect propriety ; but, before I 
 left the place, called him. He got up 
 when he heard his name, but he did it 
 with reluctance. He came with me be- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 39 
 
 cause I asked him to do so, not from any 
 wish of his own. Very different were the 
 feelings of Riou and Gallais. They did 
 their utmost to engage me in conversation, 
 to consult ,me about a hundred trifles, to 
 ask me with the greatest deference what 
 they ought to do in such and such cases, 
 pressing close to me, trying every ex- 
 pedient to delay my departure. When we 
 went away they stood at the door of their 
 little office close together, looking after us 
 with looks which I found it difficult to 
 forget ; they would not abandon their 
 post ; but their faces were pale and con- 
 tracted, their eyes wild with anxiety and 
 distress. 
 
 It was only as I walked away, hearing 
 my own steps and those of Lecamus ring- 
 ing upon the pavement, that I began to 
 realise what had happened. The effort 
 of recovering my composure, the relief 
 from the extreme excitement of terror 
 (which, dreadful as the idea is, I am obliged 
 to confess I had actually felt), the sudden 
 
40 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 influx of life and strength to my brain, had 
 pushed away for the moment the recollec- 
 tion of what lay outside. When I thought 
 of it again, the blood began once more to 
 course in my veins. Lecamus went on by 
 my side with his head down, the eyelids 
 drooping over his eyes, not saying a word. 
 He followed me when I called him : but 
 cast a regretful look at the postern by which 
 we had gone out, through which I had 
 dragged him back in a panic (I confess it) 
 unw^orthy of me. Only when we had left 
 at some distance behind us that door into 
 the unseen, did my senses come fully back 
 to me, and I ventured to ask myself what it 
 meant. 'Lecamus,' I said — I could scarcely 
 put my question into words — * what do you 
 think ? what is your idea ? — how do you 
 
 explain ' Even then I am glad to 
 
 think I had sufficient power of control not 
 to betray all that I felt. 
 
 * One does not try to explain,' he said 
 slowly ; * one longs to know — that is all. 
 If M. le Maire had not been — in such 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 4 1 
 
 haste — had he been willing to go farther — 
 to investigate ' 
 
 * God forbid !' I said ; and the impulse to 
 quicken my steps, to get home and put my- 
 self in safety, was almost more than I could 
 restrain. But I forced myself to go quietly, to 
 measure my steps by his, which were slow 
 and reluctant, as if he dragged himself away 
 with difficulty from that which was behind. 
 
 What was it ? ' Do not ask, do not 
 ask !' Nature seemed to say in my heart. 
 Thoughts came into my mind in such a 
 dizzy crowd, that the multitude of them 
 seemed to take away my senses. I put up 
 my hands to my ears, in which they seemed 
 to be buzzing and rustling like bees, to stop 
 the sound. When I did so, Lecamus 
 turned and looked at me — grave and 
 wondering. This recalled me to a sense of 
 my weakness. But how I got home I 
 can scarcely say. My mother and wife 
 met me with anxiety. They were greatly 
 disturbed about the Hospital of St. Jean, 
 in respect to which it had been recently 
 
42 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 decided that certain changes should be 
 made. The great ward of the hospital, 
 which was the chief establishment for the 
 sick in the town, had hitherto been so 
 placed in communication with the chapel 
 that mass was heard daily by all the 
 patients — a thing which some had com- 
 plained of as an annoyance disturbing their 
 rest. So many, indeed, had been the com- 
 plaints received, that we had come to the 
 conclusion either that the opening should 
 be built up, or the office suspended. 
 Against this decision, it is needless to say, 
 the Sisters of St. Jean were moving heaven 
 and earth. Equally unnecessary for me to 
 add, that having so decided in my public 
 capacity, as at once the representative of 
 popular opinion and its guide, the covert 
 reproaches which were breathed in my pre- 
 sence, and even the personal appeals made 
 to me, had failed of any result. I respect 
 the Sisters of St. Jean. They are good 
 women and excellent nurses, and the com- 
 mune owes them much. Still, justice must 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 43 
 
 be impartial ; and so long as I retain my 
 position at the head of the community, it is 
 my duty to see that all have their due. 
 My opinions as a private individual, were 
 I allowed to return to that humble position, 
 are entirely a different matter ; but this is a 
 thing which ladies, however excellent, are 
 slow to allow or to understand. 
 
 I will not pretend that this was to me a 
 night of rest. In the darkness, when all is 
 still, any anxiety which may afflict the soul 
 is apt to gain complete possession and 
 mastery, as all who have had true experience 
 of life will understand. The night was very 
 dark and very still, the clocks striking out 
 the hours which went so slowly, and not 
 another sound audible. The streets of 
 Semur are always quiet, but they were more 
 still than usual that night. Now and then, 
 in a pause of my thoughts, I could hear the 
 soft breathing of my Agnes in the adjoining 
 room, which gave me a little comfort. But 
 this was only by intervals, when I was able 
 to escape from the grasp of the recollections 
 
44 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 that held me fast. Again I seemed to see 
 under my closed eyelids the faint line of the 
 high road which led from the Porte St. 
 Lambert, the broken ground with its ragged 
 bushes on either side, and no one — no one 
 there — not a soul, not a shadow : yet a 
 multitude ! When I allowed myself to 
 think of this, my heart leaped into my 
 throat again, my blood ran in my veins like 
 a river in flood. I need not say that I 
 resisted this transport of the nerves with 
 all my might. As the night grew slowly 
 into morning my power of resistance in- 
 creased ; I turned my back, so to speak, 
 upon my recollections, and said to myself, 
 with growing firmness, that all sensations of 
 the body must have their origin in the body. 
 Some derangement of the system — easily 
 explainable, no doubt, if one but held the 
 clue — must have produced the impression 
 which otherwise it would be impossible to 
 explain. As I turned this over and over 
 in my mind, carefully avoiding all tempta- 
 tions to excitement — which is the only 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 45 
 
 wise course in the case of a strong Impres- 
 sion on the nerves — I gradually became 
 able to believe that this was the cause. 
 It is one of the penalties, I said to myself, 
 which one has to pay for an organisation 
 more finely tempered than that of the 
 crowd. 
 
 This long struggle with myself made 
 the night less tedious, though, perhaps, 
 more terrible ; and when at length I was 
 overpowered by sleep, the short inter- 
 val of unconsciousness restored me like a 
 cordial. I woke in the early morning, 
 feeling almost able to smile at the terrors of 
 the night. When one can assure oneself 
 that the day has really begun, even while it 
 is yet dark, there is a change of sensation, 
 an increase of strength and courage. One 
 by one the dark hours went on. I heard 
 them pealing from the Cathedral clock — 
 four, five, six, seven — all dark, dark. I had 
 got up and dressed before the last, but 
 found no one else awake when I went out 
 — no one stirring in the house, — no one 
 
46 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 moving in the street. The Cathedral doors 
 were shut fast, a thing I have never seen 
 before since I remember. Get up early 
 who will, Pere Laserques the sacristan is 
 always up still earlier. He is a good old 
 man, and I have often heard him say God's 
 house should be open first of all houses, In 
 case there might be any miserable ones 
 about who had found no shelter in the 
 dwellings of men. But the darkness had 
 cheated even Pere Laserques. To see 
 those great doors closed which stood always 
 open gave me a shiver, I cannot well tell 
 why. Had they been open, there was an 
 inclination in my mind to have gone In, 
 though I cannot tell why ; for I am not in 
 the habit of attending mass, save on Sunday 
 to set an example. There were no shops 
 open, not a sound about. I went out 
 upon the ramparts to the Mont St. Lam- 
 bert, where the band plays on Sundays. 
 In all the trees there was not so much as 
 the twitter of a bird. I could hear the 
 river flowing swiftly below the wall, but I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 47 
 
 could not see it, except as something dark, 
 a ravine of gloom below, and beyond the 
 walls I did not venture to look. Why- 
 should I look ? There was nothing, no- 
 thing, as I knew. But fancy is so uncon- 
 trollable, and one's nerves so little to be 
 trusted, that it was a wise precaution to 
 refrain. The gloom itself was oppressive 
 enough ; the air seemed to creep with 
 apprehensions, and from time to time my 
 heart fluttered with a sick movement, as if 
 it would escape from my control. But 
 everything was still, still as the dead who 
 had been so often in recent days called 
 out of their graves by one or another. 
 ' Enough to bring the dead out of their 
 graves.' What strange words to make 
 use of! It was rather now as if the world 
 had become a grave in which we, though 
 living, were held fast. 
 
 Soon after this the dark world began to 
 lighten faintly, and with the rising of a little 
 white mist, like a veil rolling upwards, I at 
 last saw the river and the fields beyond. 
 
48 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 To see anything at all lightened my heart 
 a little, and I turned homeward when this 
 faint daylight appeared. When I got back 
 into the street, I found that the people at 
 last were stirring. They had all a look of 
 half panic, half shame upon their faces. 
 Many were yawning and stretching them- 
 selves. ' Good morning, M. le Maire,' 
 said one and another ; ' you are early astir.' 
 'Not so early either,' I said ; and then 
 they added, almost every individual, with a 
 look of shame, ' We were so late this morn- 
 ing ; we overslept ourselves — like yesterday. 
 The weather is extraordinary.' This was 
 repeated to me by all kinds of people. 
 They were half frightened, and they were 
 ashamed. Pere Laserques was sitting 
 moaning on the Cathedral steps. Such a 
 thing had never happened before. He 
 had not rung the bell for early mass ; he 
 had not opened the Cathedral ; he had 
 not called M. le Cur6. ' I think I must 
 be going out of my senses,' he said ; * but 
 then, M. le Maire, the weather ! Did any- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 49 
 
 one ever see such weather ? I think there 
 must be some evil brewing. It is not for 
 nothing that the seasons change — that 
 winter comes in the midst of summer.* 
 
 After this I went home. My mother came 
 running to one door when I entered, and 
 my wife to another. * O mon fils /' and * O 
 mon ami!' they said, rushing upon me. 
 They wept, these dear women. I could 
 not at first prevail upon them to tell me 
 what was the matter. At last they con- 
 fessed that they believed something to 
 have happened to me, in punishment for 
 the wrong done to the Sisters at the 
 hospital. ' Make haste, my son, to amend 
 this error,' my mother cried, ' lest a worse 
 thing befall us ! ' And then I discovered 
 that among the women, and among many 
 of the poor people, it had come to be 
 believed that the darkness was a curse 
 upon us for what we had done in respect 
 to the hospital. This roused me to in- 
 dignation. *If they think I am to be 
 driven from my duty by their magic,' I 
 
50 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 cried ; * It is no better than witchcraft !' not 
 that I believed for a moment that it was 
 they who had done it. My wife wept, and 
 my mother became angry with me ; but 
 when a thing is duty, it is neither wife nor 
 mother who will move me out of my way. 
 
 It was a miserable day. There was not 
 light enough to see anything — scarcely to 
 see each other's faces ; and to add to our 
 alarm, some travellers arriving by the 
 diligence (we are still three leagues from 
 a railway, while that miserable little place. 
 La Rochette, being the chef-lieu, has a 
 terminus) informed me that the darkness 
 only existed in Semur and the neighbour- 
 hood, and that within a distance of three 
 miles the sun was shining. The sun was 
 shining ! was it possible ? it seemed so 
 long since we had seen the sunshine ; but 
 this made our calamity more mysterious 
 and more terrible. The people began to 
 gather into little knots in the streets to 
 talk of the strange thing that was happen- 
 ing. In the course of the day M. Barbou 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 5 1 
 
 came to ask whether I did not think it 
 would be well to appease the popular feel- 
 ing by conceding what they wished to the 
 Sisters of the hospital. I would not hear 
 of it. ' Shall we own that we are in the 
 wrong ? I do not think we are in the 
 wrong,' I said, and I would not yield. 
 * Do you think the good Sisters have it in 
 their power to darken the sky with their 
 incantations ?' M. 1' Adjoint shook his 
 head. He went away with a troubled 
 countenance ; but then he was not like 
 myself, a man of natural firmness. All 
 the efforts that were employed to influence 
 him were also employed with me ; but to 
 yield to the women was not in my thoughts. 
 We are now approaching, however, the 
 first important incident in this narrative. 
 The darkness increased as the afternoon 
 came on ; and it became a kind of thick 
 twilight, no lighter than many a night. It 
 was between five and six o'clock, just the 
 time when our streets are the most crowded, 
 when, sitting at my window, from which I 
 
52 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 kept a watch upon the Grande Rue, not 
 knowing what might happen — I saw that 
 some fresh incident had taken place. Very 
 dimly through the darkness I perceived 
 a crowd, which increased every moment, in 
 front of the Cathedral. After watching it 
 for a few minutes, I got my hat and went 
 out. The people whom I saw — so many 
 that they covered the whole middle of the 
 Place, reaching almost to the pavement on 
 the other side — had their heads all turned 
 towards the Cathedral. 'What are you 
 gazing at, my friend ?' I said to one by 
 whom I stood. He looked up at me with 
 a face which looked ghastly in the gloom. 
 *Look, M. le Maire !' he said; 'cannot 
 you see it on the great door ?' 
 
 ' I see nothing,' said I ; but as I uttered 
 these words I did indeed see something 
 which was very startling. Looking towards 
 the great door of the Cathedral, as they all 
 were doing, it suddenly seemed to me that 
 I saw an illuminated placard attached to 
 it, headed with the word ' Sommation in 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 53 
 
 gigantic letters. * Tiens !' I cried ; but 
 when I looked again there was nothing. 
 'What is this .f* it is some witchcraft!' I 
 said, in spite of myself ' Do you see any- 
 thing, Jean Pierre ?' 
 
 ' M. le Maire,' he said, * one moment 
 one sees something — the next, one sees 
 nothing. Look ! it comes again.' I have 
 always considered myself a man of courage, 
 but when I saw this extraordinary appear- 
 ance the panic which had seized upon me 
 the former night returned, though in 
 another form. Fly I could not, but I will 
 not deny that my knees smote together. I 
 stood for some minutes without being able 
 to articulate a word — which, indeed, seemed 
 the case with most of those before me. 
 Never have I seen a more quiet crowd. 
 They were all gazing, as if it was life or 
 death that was set before them — while I, 
 too, gazed with a shiver going over me. 
 It was as I have seen an illumination of 
 lamps in a stormy night ; one moment the 
 whole seems black as the wind sweeps over 
 
54 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 it, the next it springs into life again ; and 
 thus you go on, by turns losing and 
 discovering the device formed by the 
 lights. Thus from moment to moment 
 there appeared before us, in letters that 
 seemed to blaze and flicker, something that 
 looked like a great official placard. ' Som- 
 mation P — this was how it was headed. I 
 read a few words at a time, as it came and 
 went ; and who can describe the chill that 
 ran through my veins as I made it out ? 
 It was a summons to the people of Semur 
 by name — myself at the head as Maire 
 (and I heard afterwards that every man 
 who saw it saw his own name, though the 
 whole facade of the Cathedral would not 
 have held a full list of all the people of 
 Semur) — to yield their places, which they 
 had not filled aright, to those who knew the 
 meaning of life, being dead. Nous autres 
 MoRTS — these were the words which blazed 
 out oftenest of all, so that every one saw 
 them. And * Go ! ' this terrible placard 
 said — ' Go ! leave this place to us who 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 55 
 
 know the true signification of life.' These 
 words I remember, but not the rest ; and 
 even at this moment It struck me that there 
 was no explanation, nothing but this v^^aie 
 signification de la vie, I felt like one In a 
 dream : the light coming and going before 
 me ; one word, then another, appearing — 
 sometimes a phrase like that I have quoted, 
 blazing out, then dropping Into darkness. 
 For the moment I was struck dumb ; but 
 then It came back to my mind that I had 
 an example to give, and that for me, emi- 
 nently a man of my century, to yield cred- 
 ence to a miracle was something not to be 
 thought of. Also I knew the necessity of 
 doing something to break the impression 
 of awe and terror on the mind of the people. 
 * This Is a trick,' I cried loudly, that all might 
 hear. * Let some one go and fetch M. de 
 Clairon from the Musee. He will tell us 
 how It has been done.' This, boldly uttered, 
 broke the spell. A number of pale faces 
 gathered round me. ' Here Is M. le Maire 
 — he will clear it up,' they cried, making 
 
56 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 room for me that I might approach nearer. 
 ' M. le Maire is a man of courage — he has 
 judgment. Listen to M. le Maire.' It 
 was a relief to everybody that I had spoken. 
 And soon I found myself by the side of M. 
 le Cure, who was standing among the rest, 
 saying nothing, and with the air of one as 
 much bewildered as any of us. He gave me 
 one quick look from under his eyebrows to 
 see who it was that approached him, as was 
 his way, and made room for me, but said 
 nothing. I was in too much emotion myself 
 to keep silence — indeed, I was in that con- 
 dition of wonder, alarm, and nervous excite- 
 ment, that I had to speak or die ; and there 
 seemed an escape from something too ter- 
 rible for flesh and blood to contemplate in 
 the idea that there was trickery here. *M. 
 le Cur6,' I said, ' this is a strange ornament 
 that you have placed on the front of your 
 church. You are standing here to enjoy 
 the effect. Now that you have seen how 
 successful it has been, will not you tell me 
 in confidence how it is done ?' 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 57 
 
 I am conscious that there was a sneer in 
 my voice, but I was too much excited to 
 think of politeness. He gave me another 
 of his rapid, keen looks. 
 
 * M. le Maire,' he said, ' you are injurious 
 to a man who is as little fond of tricks as 
 yourself.' 
 
 His tone, his glance, gave me a certain 
 sense of shame, but I could not stop myself. 
 ' One knows,' I said, ' that there are many 
 things which an ecclesiastic may do without 
 harm, which are not permitted to an ordi- 
 nary layman — one who is an honest man, 
 and no more.' 
 
 M. le Cure made no reply. He gave 
 me another of his quick glances, with an 
 impatient turn of his head. Why should I 
 have suspected him ? for no harm was 
 known of him. He was the Cure, that was 
 all ; and perhaps we men of the world have 
 our prejudices too. Afterwards, however, 
 as we waited for M. de Clairon — for the 
 crisis was too exciting for personal resent- 
 ment — M. le Cure himself let drop some- 
 
58 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 thing which made it apparent that it was 
 the ladles of the hospital upon whom his 
 suspicions fell. ' It is never well to offend 
 women, M. le Maire/ he said. 'Women 
 do not discriminate the lawful from the 
 unlawful : so long as they produce an effect, 
 it does not matter to them.' This gave me 
 a strange impression, for it seemed to me 
 that M. le Cure was abandoning his own 
 side. However, all other sentiments were, 
 as may be imagined, but as shadows com- 
 pared with the overwhelming power that 
 held all our eyes and our thoughts to the 
 wonder before us. Every moment seemed 
 an hour till M. de Clairon appeared. He 
 was pushed forward through the crcwd as by 
 magic, all making room for him ; and many 
 of us thought that when science thus came 
 forward capable of finding out everything, 
 the miracle would disappear. But Instead 
 of this it seemed to glow brighter than ever. 
 That great word ' Sommation ' blazed out, 
 so that we saw his figure waver against the 
 light as if giving way before the flames that 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 59 
 
 scorched him. He was so near that his 
 outline was marked out dark against the 
 glare they gave. It was as though his 
 close approach rekindled every light. 
 Then, with a flicker and trembling, word 
 by word and letter by letter went slowly 
 out before our eyes. 
 
 M. de Clairon came down very pale, but 
 with a sort of smile on his face. * No, M. 
 le Maire,' he said, * I cannot see how it is 
 done. It is clever. I will examine the 
 door further, and try the panels. Yes, I 
 have left some one to watch that nothing 
 is touched in the meantime, with the per- 
 mission of M. le Cur6 ' 
 
 'You have my full permission,' M. le 
 Curd said ; and M. de Clairon laughed, 
 though he was still very pale. * You saw 
 my name there,' he said. * I am amused 
 — I who am not one of your worthy citizens, 
 M. le Maire. What can Messieurs les 
 Morts of Semur want with a poor man of 
 science like me ? But you shall have my 
 report before the evening is out.' 
 
6o A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 With this I had to be content. The 
 darkness which succeeded to that strange 
 Hght seemed more terrible than ever. We 
 all stumbled as we turned to go away, 
 dazzled by it, and stricken dumb, though 
 some kept saying that it was a trick, and 
 some murmured exclamations with voices 
 full of terror. The sound of the crowd 
 breaking up was like a regiment marching 
 — all the world had been there. I was 
 thankful, however, that neither my mother 
 nor. my wife had seen anything; and though 
 they were anxious to know why I was so 
 serious, I succeeded fortunately in keeping 
 the secret from them. 
 
 M. de Clairon did not appear till late, 
 and then he confessed to me he could 
 make nothing of it. 'If it is a trick (as of 
 course it must be), it has been most cleverly 
 done,' he said ; and admitted that he was 
 baffled altogether. For my part, I was 
 not surprised. Had it been the Sisters 
 of the hospital, as M. le Cure thought, 
 would they have let the opportunity pass of 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 6 1 
 
 preaching a sermon to us, and recommend- 
 ing their doctrines ? Not so ; here there 
 were no doctrines, nothing but that pregnant 
 phrase, la vraie signification de la vie. This 
 made a more deep impression upon me 
 than anything else. The Holy Mother 
 herself (whom I wish to speak of with pro- 
 found respect), and the saints, and the for- 
 giveness of sins, would have all been there 
 had it been the Sisters, or even M. le Cure. 
 This, though I had myself suggested an 
 imposture, made it very unlikely to -my 
 quiet thoughts. But if not an imposture, 
 what could it be supposed to be ? 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 EXPULSION OF THE INHABITANTS. 
 
 I WILL not attempt to gfive any detailed 
 account of the state of the town during this 
 evening. For myself I was utterly worn 
 out, and went to rest as soon as M. de 
 Clairon left me, having satisfied, as well as 
 I could, the questions of the women. Even 
 in the intensest excitement weary nature 
 will claim her dues. I slept. I can even 
 remember the grateful sense of being able 
 to put all anxieties and perplexities aside 
 for the moment, as I went to sleep. I felt 
 the drowsiness gain upon me, and I was 
 glad. To forget was of itself a happiness. 
 I woke up, however, intensely awake, 
 and in perfect possession of all my faculties, 
 while it was yet dark ; and at once got up 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 63 
 
 and began to dress. The moment of 
 hesitation which generally follows waking 
 — the little interval of thought in which one 
 turns over perhaps that which is past, per- 
 haps that which is to come — found no place 
 within me. I got up without a moment's 
 pause, like one who has been called to go 
 on a journey ; nor did it surprise me at all 
 to see my wife moving about, taking a 
 cloak from her wardrobe, and putting up 
 linen in a bag. She was already fully 
 dressed ; but she asked no questions of me 
 any more than I did of her. We were in 
 haste, though we said nothing. When I 
 had dressed, I looked round me to see if I 
 had forgotten anything, as one does when 
 one leaves a place. I saw my watch sus- 
 pended to its usual hook, and my pocket- 
 book, which I had taken from my pocket 
 on the previous night. I took up also the 
 light overcoat which I had worn when I 
 made my rounds through the city on the 
 first night of the darkness. 'Now,' I said, 
 * Agnes, I am ready.' I did not speak to 
 
64 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 her of where we were going, nor she to me. 
 Little Jean and my mother met us at the 
 door. Nor did she say anything, contrary 
 to her custom ; and the child was quite 
 quiet. We went downstairs together with- 
 out saying a word. The servants, who 
 were all astir, followed us. I cannot give 
 any description of the feelings that were in 
 my mind. I had not any feelings. I was 
 only hurried out, hastened by something 
 which I could not define — a sense that I 
 must go ; and perhaps I was too much 
 astonished to do anything but yield. It 
 seemed, however, to be no force or fear that 
 was moving me, but a desire of my own; 
 though I could not tell how it was, or why I 
 should be so anxious to get away. All the 
 servants, trooping after me, had the same 
 look in their faces ; they were anxious to 
 be gone — it seemed their business to go — 
 there was no question, no consultation. 
 And when we came out into the street, we 
 encountered a stream of processions similar 
 to our own. The children went quite 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 65 
 
 Steadily by the side of their parents. Little 
 Jean, for example, on an ordinary occasion 
 would have broken away — would have run 
 to his comrades of the Bois-Sombre family, 
 and they to him. But no ; the little ones, 
 like ourselves, walked along quite gravely. 
 They asked no questions, neither did we ask 
 any questions of each other, as, 'Where are 
 you going? 'or, 'What is the meaning of a so- 
 early promenade ?' Nothing of the kind : 
 my mother took my arm, and my wife, lead- 
 ing little Jean by the hand, came to the 
 other side. The servants followed. The 
 street was quite full of people ; but there 
 was no noise except the sound of their 
 footsteps. All of us turned the same 
 way — turned towards the gates — and 
 though I was not conscious of any feeling 
 except the wish to go on, there were one 
 or two things which took a place in my 
 memory. The first was, that my wife 
 suddenly turned round as we were coming 
 out of the porte-cochere, her face lighting 
 up. I need not say to any one who knows 
 
66 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 Madame Dupin de la Clairiere, that she is 
 a beautiful woman. Without any partiality 
 on my part, it would be impossible for me 
 to ignore this fact : for it is perfectly well 
 known and acknowledged by all. She was 
 pale this morning — a little paler than usual; 
 and her blue eyes enlarged, with a serious 
 look, which they always retain more or less. 
 But suddenly, as we went out of the door, 
 her face lighted up, her eyes were suffused 
 with tears — with light — how can I tell what 
 it was ? — they became like the eyes of angels. 
 A little cry came from her parted lips — she 
 lingered a moment, stooping down as if 
 talking to some one less tall than herself, 
 then came after us, with that light still in 
 her face. At the moment I was too much 
 occupied to enquire what it was ; but I 
 noted it, even in the gravity of the occasion. 
 The next thing I observed was M. le Cur6, 
 who, as I have already indicated, is a man 
 of great composure of manner and presence 
 of mind, coming out of the door of the 
 Presbytery. There was a strange look on 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 6/ 
 
 his face of astonishment and reluctance. 
 He walked very slowly, not as we did, but 
 with a visible desire to turn back, folding 
 his arms across his breast, and holding 
 himself as if against the wind, resisting 
 some gale which blew behind him, and 
 forced him on. We felt no gale ; but there 
 seemed to be a strange wind blowing along 
 the side of the street on which M. le Cur6 
 was. And there was an air of concealed 
 surprise in his face — great astonishment, 
 but a determination not to let any one see 
 that he was astonished, or that the situation 
 was strange to him. And I cannot tell how 
 it was, but I, too, though pre-occupied, was 
 surprised to perceive that M. le Cure was 
 going with the rest of us, though I could 
 not have told why. 
 
 Behind M. le Cure there was another 
 whom I remarked. This was Jacques 
 Richard, he of whom I have already 
 spoken. He was like a figure I have seen 
 somewhere in sculpture. No one was near 
 him, nobody touching him, and yet it was 
 
68 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 only necessary to look at the man to per- 
 ceive that he was being forced along against 
 his will. Every limb was in resistance ; 
 his feet were planted widely yet firmly upon 
 the pavement ; one of his arms was stretched 
 out as if to lay hold on anything that should 
 come within reach. M. le Cure resisted 
 passively ; but Jacques resisted with passion, 
 laying his back to the wind, and struggling 
 not to be carried away. Notwithstanding 
 his resistance, however, this rough figure 
 was driven along slowly, struggling at every 
 step. He did not make one movement 
 that was not against his will, but still he 
 was driven on. On our side of the street 
 all went, like ourselves, calmly. My 
 mother uttered now and then a low moan, 
 but said nothing. She clung to my arm, 
 and walked on, hurrying a little, sometimes 
 going quicker than I intended to go. As 
 for my wife, she accompanied us with her 
 light step, which scarcely seemed to touch 
 the ground, little Jean pattering by her 
 side. Our neighbours were all round us. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 69 
 
 We Streamed down, as in a long procession, 
 to the Porte St. Lambert. It was only 
 when we got there that the strange cha- 
 racter of the step we were all taking sud- 
 denly occurred to me. It was still a kind 
 of grey twilight, not yet day. The bells 
 of the Cathedral had begun to toll, which 
 was very startling — not ringing in their 
 cheerful way, but tolling as if for a funeral ; 
 and no other sound was audible but the 
 noise of footsteps, like an army making a 
 silent march into an enemy's country. We 
 had reached the gate when a sudden 
 wondering came over me. Why were we 
 all going out of our houses in the wintry 
 dusk to which our July days had turned ? 
 I stopped, and turning round, was about to 
 say something to the others, when I became 
 suddenly aware that here I was not my 
 own master. My tongue clave to the roof 
 of my mouth ; I could not say a word. 
 Then I myself was turned round, and softly, 
 firmly, irresistibly pushed out of the gate. 
 My mother, who clung to me, added a 
 
yO A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 little, no doubt, to the force against me, 
 whatever it was, for she was frightened, 
 and opposed herself to any endeavour on 
 my part to regain freedom of movement ; 
 but all that her feeble force could do against 
 mine must have been little. Several other 
 men around me seemed to be moved as I 
 was. M. Barbou, for one, made a still 
 more decided effort to turn back, for, being 
 a bachelor, he had no one to restrain him. 
 Him I saw turned round as you would turn 
 a roulette. He was thrown against my 
 wife in his tempestuous course, and but 
 that she was so light and elastic in her 
 tread, gliding out straight and softly like 
 one of the saints, I think he must have 
 thrown her down. And at that moment, 
 silent as we all were, his * Pardon, Madame^ 
 milk pardons, Madame, and his tone of 
 horror at his own indiscretion, seemed to 
 come to me like a voice out of another life. 
 Partially roused before by the sudden im- 
 pulse of resistance I have described, I was 
 yet more roused now. I turned round, 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 7 1 
 
 disengaging myself from my mother. 
 * Where are we going ? why are we thus 
 cast forth? My friends, help!' I cried. 
 I looked round upon the others, who, as I 
 have said, had also awakened to a possi- 
 bility of resistance. M. de Bois-Sombre, 
 without a word, came and placed himself 
 by my side ; others started from the crowd. 
 We turned to resist this mysterious impulse 
 which had sent us forth. The crowd surged 
 round us in the uncertain light. 
 
 Just then there was a dull soft sound, 
 once, twice, thrice repeated. We rushed 
 forward, but too late. The gates were 
 closed upon us. The two folds of the 
 great Porte St. Lambert, and the little 
 postern for foot-passengers, all at once, not 
 hurriedly, as from any fear of us, but slowly, 
 softly, rolled on their hinges and shut — in 
 our faces. I rushed forward with all my 
 force and flung myself upon the gate. To 
 what use ? it was so closed as no mortal 
 could open it. They told me after, for I 
 was not aware at the moment, that I burst 
 
72 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 forth with cries and exclamations, bidding 
 them ' Open, open in the name of God !' I 
 was not aware of what I said, but it seemed 
 to me that I heard a voice of which nobody 
 said anything to me, so that it would seem 
 to have been unheard by the others, saying 
 with a faint sound as of a trumpet, ' Closed 
 — in the name of God.' It might be only 
 an echo, faintly brought back to me, of the 
 words I had myself said. 
 
 There was another change, however, of 
 which no one could have any doubt. When 
 I turned round from these closed doors, 
 though the moment before the darkness 
 was such that we could not see the gates 
 closing, I found the sun shining gloriously 
 round us, and all my fellow-citizens turning 
 with one impulse, with a sudden cry of joy, 
 to hail the full day. 
 
 Le grand jour I Never in my life did I 
 feel the full happiness of it, the full sense 
 of the words before. The sun burst out 
 into shining, the birds into singing. The 
 sky stretched over us — deep and unfathom- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 73 
 
 able and blue, — the grass grew under our 
 feet, a soft air of morning blew upon us, 
 waving the curls of the children, the veils 
 of the women, whose faces were lit up by 
 the beautiful day. After three days of 
 darkness what a resurrection ! It seemed 
 to make up to us for the misery of being 
 thus expelled from our homes. It was early, 
 and all the freshness of the morning was 
 upon the road and the fields, where the sun 
 had just dried the dew. The river ran 
 softly, reflecting the blue sky. How black 
 it had been, deep and dark as a stream of 
 ink, when I had looked down upon it from 
 the Mont St. Lambert ! and now it ran as 
 clear and free as the voice of a little child. 
 We all shared this moment of joy — for to 
 us of the South the sunshine is as the 
 breath of life, and to be deprived of it had 
 been terrible. But when that first pleasure 
 was over, the evidence of our strange posi- 
 tion forced itself upon us with overpower- 
 ing reality and force, made stronger by the 
 very light. In the dimness it had not 
 
74 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 seemed so certain ; now, gazing at each 
 other in the clear light of the natural 
 morning, we saw what had happened to us. 
 No more delusion was possible. We could 
 not flatter ourselves now that it was a trick 
 or a deception. M. de Clairon stood there 
 like the rest of us, staring at the closed 
 gates which science could not open. And 
 there stood M. le Cure, which was more 
 remarkable still. The Church herself had 
 not been able to do anything. We stood, 
 a crowd of houseless exiles, looking at each 
 other, our children clinging to us, our hearts 
 failing us, expelled from our homes. As 
 we looked in each other's faces we saw our 
 own trouble. Many of the women sat 
 down and wept ; some upon the stones in 
 the road, some on the grass. The children 
 took fright from them, and began to cry 
 too. What was to become of us ? I looked 
 round upon this crowed with despair in my 
 heart. It was I to whom every one would 
 look — for lodging, for direction — every- 
 thing that human creatures want. It was 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 75 
 
 my business to forget myself, though I also 
 had been driven from my home and my 
 city. Happily there was one thing I had 
 left. In the pocket of my overcoat was my 
 scarf of office. I stepped aside behind a 
 tree, and took it out, and tied it upon me. 
 That was something. There was thus a 
 representative of order and law in the midst 
 of the exiles, whatever might happen. 
 This action, which a great number of the 
 crowd saw, restored confidence. Many of 
 the poor people gathered round me, and 
 placed themselves near me, especially those 
 women who had no natural support. When 
 M. le Cur6 saw this, it seemed to make a 
 great impression upon him. He changed 
 colour, he who was usually so calm. 
 Hitherto he had appeared bewildered, 
 amazed to find himself as others. This, I 
 must add, though you may perhaps think 
 it superstitious, surprised me very much 
 too. But now he regained his self-posses- 
 sion. He stepped upon a piece of wood 
 that lay in front of the gate. ' My child- 
 
76 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 ren ' — he said. But just then the Cathedral 
 bells, which had gone on tolling, suddenly- 
 burst into a wild peal. I do not know 
 what it sounded like. It was a clamour of 
 notes all run together, tone upon tone, 
 without time or measure, as though a 
 multitude had seized upon the bells and 
 pulled all the ropes at once. If it was joy, 
 what strange and terrible joy ! It froze 
 the very blood in our veins. M. le Cure 
 became quite pale. He stepped down 
 hurriedly from the piece of wood. We all 
 made a hurried movement farther off from 
 the gate. 
 
 It was now that I perceived the necessity 
 of doing something, of getting this crowd 
 disposed of, especially the women and the 
 children. I am not ashamed to own that 
 I trembled like the others ; and nothing 
 less than the consciousness that all eyes 
 were upon me, and that my scarf of office 
 marked me out among all who stood around, 
 could have kept me from moving with pre- 
 cipitation as they did. I was enabled, 
 
78 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 * I will go,' she said. ' God bless thee, my 
 son ! There will no harm happen ; for if 
 this be true which we are told, thy father is 
 in Semur.' 
 
 There then occurred one of those inci- 
 dents for which calculation never will 
 prepare us. My mother's words seemed, 
 as it were to open the flood-gates ; my wife 
 came up to me with the light in her face 
 which I had seen when we left our own 
 door. ' It was our little Marie — our angel,' 
 she said. And then there arose a great 
 cry and clamour of others, both men 
 and women pressing round. ' I saw my 
 mother,' said one, ' who is dead twenty 
 years come the St. Jean.' ' And I my 
 little Rene,' said another. ' And I my 
 Camille, who was killed in Africa.' And 
 lo, what did they do, but rush towards the 
 gate in a crowd — that gate from which 
 they had but this moment fled in terror — 
 beating upon it, and crying out, ' Open to 
 us, open to us, our most dear ! Do you 
 think we have forgotten you } We have 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 79 
 
 never forgotten you ! ' What could we do 
 with them, weeping thus, smiling, holding 
 out their arms to — we knew not what ? Even 
 my Agnes was beyond my reach. Marie 
 was our little girl who was dead. Those 
 who were thus transported by a knowledge 
 beyond ours were the weakest among us ; 
 most of them were women, the men old or 
 feeble, and some children. I can recollect 
 that I looked for Paul Lecamus among 
 them, with wonder not to see him there. 
 But though they were weak, they were 
 beyond our strength to guide. What could 
 we do with them ? How could we force 
 them away while they held to the fancy 
 that those they loved were there ? As it 
 happens in times of emotion, it was those 
 who were most impassioned who took the 
 first place. We were at our wits' end. 
 
 But while we stood waiting, not knowing 
 what to do, another sound suddenly came 
 from the walls, which made them all silent 
 in a moment. The most of us ran to this 
 point and that (some taking flight alto- 
 
8o A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 gether ; but with the greater part anxious 
 curiosity and anxiety had for the moment 
 extinguished fear), in a wild eagerness to 
 see who or what it was. But there was 
 nothing to be seen, though the sound came 
 from the wall close to the Mont St. Lam- 
 bert, which I have already described. It 
 was to me like the sound of a trumpet, and 
 so I heard others say ; and along with the 
 trumpet were sounds as of words, though 
 I could not make them out. But those 
 others seemed to understand — they grew 
 calmer — they ceased to weep. They raised 
 their faces, all with that light upon them — 
 that light I had seen in my Agnes. Some 
 of them fell upon their knees. Imagine to 
 yourself what a sight it was, all of us stand- 
 ing round, pale, stupefied, without a word 
 to say ! Then the women suddenly burst 
 forth into replies — * Oui, ma cMrie ! Ouiy 
 mon ange ! ' they cried. And while we 
 looked they rose up ; they came back, 
 calling the children around them. My 
 Agnes took that place which I had bidden 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 8 1 
 
 her take. She had not hearkened to me, 
 to leave me — but she hearkened now ; and 
 though I had bidden her to do this, yet to 
 see her do it bewildered me, made my heart 
 stand still. ' Mon ami,' she said, ' I must 
 leave thee ; it is commanded : they will not 
 have the children suffer.' What could we 
 do ? We stood pale and looked on, while 
 all the little ones, all the feeble, were 
 gathered in a little army. My mother 
 stood like me — to her nothing had been 
 revealed. She was very pale, and there 
 was a quiver of pain in her lips. She was 
 the one who had been ready to do my 
 bidding : but there was a rebellion in her 
 heart now. When the procession was 
 formed (for It was my care to see that 
 everything was done in order), she followed, 
 but among the last. Thus they went away, 
 many of them weeping, looking back, wav- 
 ing their hands to us. My Agnes covered 
 her face, she could not look at me ; but 
 she obeyed. They went some to this side, 
 some to that, leaving us gazing. For a 
 
S2 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 long time we did nothing but watch them, 
 going along the roads. What had their 
 angels said to them ? Nay, but God 
 knows. I heard the sound ; it was like the 
 sound of the silver trumpets that travellers 
 talk of ; it was like music from heaven. I 
 turned to M. le Cur6, who was standing by. 
 ' What is it ? ' I cried, ' you are their 
 director' — you are an ecclesiastic — you 
 know what belongs to the unseen. What 
 is this that has been said to them ? ' I 
 have always thought well of M. le Cure. 
 There were tears running down his cheeks. 
 * I know not,' he said. * I am a miserable 
 like the rest. What they know is between 
 God and them. Me ! I have been of the 
 world, like the rest.' 
 
 This is how we were left alone — the men 
 of the city — to take what means were best 
 to get back to our homes. There were 
 several left among us who had shared the 
 enlightenment of the women, but these 
 were not persons of importance who could 
 put themselves at the head of affairs. And 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 83 
 
 there were women who remained with us, 
 but these not of the best. To see our 
 wives go was very strange to us ; it was 
 the thing we wished most to see, the 
 women and children in safety ; yet it was 
 a strange sensation to see them go. For 
 me, who had the charge of all on my hands, 
 the relief was beyond description — yet was 
 it strange ; I cannot describe it. Then 
 I called upon M. Barbou, who was trem- 
 bling like a leaf, and gathered the chief pf 
 the citizens about me, including M. le Cure, 
 that we should consult together what we 
 should do. 
 
 I know no words that can describe our 
 state in the strange circumstances we were 
 now placed in. The women and the 
 children were safe : that was much. But 
 we — we were like an army suddenly formed, 
 but without arms, without any knowledge of 
 how to fight, without being able to see our 
 enemy. We Frenchmen have not been 
 without knowledge of such perils. We 
 have seen the invader enter our doors : we 
 
84 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 have been obliged to spread our table for 
 him, and give him of our best. But to be 
 put forth by forces no man could resist — to 
 be left outside, with the doors of our own 
 houses closed upon us — to be confronted 
 by nothing — by a mist, a silence, a dark- 
 ness, — this was enough to paralyse the 
 heart of any man. And it did so, more or 
 less, according to the nature of those who 
 were exposed to the trial. Some altogether 
 failed us, and fled, carrying the news into 
 the country, where most people laughed at 
 them, as we understood afterwards. Some 
 could do nothing but sit and gaze, huddled 
 together in crowds, at the cloud over 
 Semur, from which they expected to see 
 fire burst and consume the city altogether. 
 And a few, I grieve to say, took possession 
 of the little cabaret, which stands at about 
 half a kilometre from the St. Lambert gate, 
 and established themselves there, in hideous 
 riot, which was the worst thing of all for 
 serious men to behold. Those upon whom 
 I could rely I formed into patrols to go 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 85 
 
 round the city, that no opening of a gate, 
 or movement of those who were within, 
 should take place without our knowledge. 
 Such an emergency shows what men are. 
 M. Barbou, though in ordinary times he 
 discharges his duties as adjoint satisfactorily 
 enough (though, it need not be added, a 
 good Maire who is acquainted with his 
 duties, makes the office of adjoint of but 
 little importance), was now found entirely 
 useless. He could not forget how he had 
 been spun round and tossed forth from the 
 city gates. When I proposed to put him 
 at the head of a patrol, he had an attack of 
 the nerves. Before nightfall he deserted 
 me altogether, going off to his country- 
 house, and taking a number of his neigh- 
 bours with him. ' How can we tell when 
 we may be permitted to return to the 
 town ?' he said, with his teeth chattering. 
 * M. le Maire, I adjure you to put your- 
 self in a place of safety.' 
 
 * Sir,' I said to him, sternly, ' for one who 
 deserts his post there is no place of safety.' 
 
86 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 But I do not think he was capable of 
 understanding me. Fortunately, I found 
 in M. le Cure a much more trustworthy 
 coadjutor. He was indefatigable ; he had 
 the habit of sitting up to all hours, of being 
 called at all hours, in which our bourgeoisie^ 
 I cannot but acknowledge, is wanting. 
 The expression I have before described of 
 astonishment — but of astonishment which 
 he wished to conceal — never left his face. 
 He did not understand how such a thing 
 could have been permitted to happen while 
 he had no share in it ; and, indeed, I will 
 not deny that this was a matter of great 
 wonder to myself too. 
 
 The arrangements I have described gave 
 us occupation ; and this had a happy effect 
 upon us in distracting our minds from what 
 had happened ; for I think that if we had 
 sat still and gazed at the dark city we should 
 soon have gone mad, as some did. In 
 our ceaseless patrols and attempts to find a 
 way of entrance, we distracted ourselves 
 from the enquiry. Who would dare to go in 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 2>J 
 
 if the entrance were found ? In the mean- 
 time not a gate was opened, not a figure 
 was visible. We saw nothing, no more 
 than if Semur had been a picture painted 
 upon a canvas. Strange sights Indeed met 
 our eyes — sights which made even the 
 bravest quail. The strangest of them was 
 the boats that would go down and up the 
 river, shooting forth from under the fortified 
 bridge, which Is one of the chief features of 
 our town, sometimes with sails perfectly- 
 well managed, sometimes impelled by oars, 
 but with no one visible in them — no one 
 conducting them. To see one of these 
 boats Impelled up the stream, with no rower 
 visible, was a wonderful sight. M. de 
 Clairon, who was by my side, murmured 
 something about a magnetic current ; but 
 when I asked him sternly by what set in 
 motion, his voice died away In his moustache. 
 M. le Cure said very little : one saw his 
 lips move as he watched with us the passage 
 of those boats. He smiled when It was 
 proposed by some one to fire upon them. 
 
88 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 He read his Hours as he went round at the 
 head of his patrol. My fellow townsmen 
 and I conceived a great respect for him ; 
 and he inspired pity in me also. He had 
 been the teacher of the Unseen among us, 
 till the moment when the Unseen was thus, 
 as it were, brought within our reach ; but 
 with the revelation he had nothing to do ; 
 and it filled him with pain and wonder. It 
 made him silent ; he said little about his 
 religion, but signed himself, and his lips 
 moved. He thought (I imagine) that he 
 had displeased Those who are over all. 
 
 When night came the bravest of us were 
 afraid. I speak for myself. It was bright 
 moonlight where we were, and Semur lay 
 like a blot between the earth and the sky, 
 all dark : even the Cathedral towers were 
 lost in it ; nothing visible but the line of the 
 ramparts, whitened outside by the moon. 
 One knows what black and strange shadows 
 are cast by the moonlight ; and it seemed 
 to all of us that we did not know what 
 might be lurking behind every tree. The 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 89 
 
 shadows of the branches looked like terrible 
 faces. I sent all my people out on the 
 patrols, though they were dropping with 
 fatigue. Rather that than to be mad with 
 terror. For myself, I took up my post as 
 near the bank of the river as we could 
 approach ; for there was a limit beyond 
 which we might not pass. . I made the 
 experiment often ; and It seemed to me, and 
 to all that attempted it, that we did reach 
 the very edge of the stream ; but the next 
 moment perceived that we were at a certain 
 distance, say twenty metres or thereabout. 
 I placed myself there very often, wrapping 
 a cloak about me to preserve me from the 
 dew. (I may say that food had been sent 
 us, and wine from La Clairlere and many 
 other houses in the neighbourhood, where 
 the women had gone for this among other 
 reasons, that we might be nourished by 
 them.) And I must here relate a personal 
 incident, though I have endeavoured not to 
 be egotistical. While I sat watching, I 
 distinctly saw a boat, a boat which belonged 
 
90 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 to myself, lying on the very edge of the 
 shadow. The prow, indeed, touched the 
 moonlight where it was cut clean across by 
 the darkness ; and this was how I dis- 
 covered that it was the Marie, a pretty 
 pleasure-boat which had been made for my 
 wife. The sight of it made my heart beat ; 
 for what could it mean but that some one 
 who was dear to me, some one in whom I 
 took an interest, was there ? I sprang up 
 from where I sat to make another effort to 
 get nearer ; but my feet were as lead, and 
 would not move ; and there came a singing 
 in my ears, and my blood coursed through 
 my veins as in a fever. Ah ! was it possible ? 
 I, who am a man, who have resolution, who 
 have courage, who can lead the people, / 
 was afraid ! I sat down again and wept 
 like a child. Perhaps it was my little Marie 
 that was in the boat. God, He knows if I 
 loved thee, my little angel ! but I was afraid. 
 O how mean is man ! though we are so 
 proud. They came near to me who were 
 my own, and it was borne in upon my 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 9 1 
 
 spirit that my good father was with the 
 child ; but because they had died I was 
 afraid. I covered my face with my hands. 
 Then it seemed to me that I heard a long 
 quiver of a sigh ; a long, long breath, such 
 as sometimes relieves a sorrow that is be- 
 yond words. Trembling, I uncovered my 
 eyes. There was nothing on the edge of 
 the moonlight ; all was dark, and all was 
 still, the white radiance making a clear line 
 across the river, but nothing more. 
 
 If my Agnes had been with me she 
 would have seen our child, she would have 
 heard that voice ! The great cold drops of 
 moisture were on my forehead. My limbs 
 trembled, my heart fluttered in my bosom. 
 I could neither listen nor yet speak. And 
 those who would] have spoken to me, those 
 who loved me, sighing, went away. It is 
 not possible that such wretchedness should 
 be credible to noble minds ; and if it had 
 not been for pride and for shame, I should 
 have fled away straight to La Clairiere, to 
 put myself under shelter, to have some one 
 
92 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 near me who was less a coward than I. I, 
 upon whom all the others relied, the Maire 
 of the Commune ! I make my confession. 
 I was of no more force than this. 
 
 A voice behind me made me spring to 
 my feet — the leap of a mouse would have 
 driven me wild. I was altogether demora- 
 lised. * Monsieur le Maire, it is but I,' 
 said some one quite humble and frightened. 
 ' Tie7is ! — It is thou, Jacques ! ' I said. I 
 could have embraced him, though it Is well 
 known how little I approve of him. But he 
 was living, he was a man like myself. I 
 put out my hand, and felt him warm and 
 breathing, and I shall never forget the ease 
 that came to my heart. Its beating calmed. 
 I was restored to myself. 
 
 * M. le Maire,' he said, ' I wish to ask 
 you something. Is It true all that Is said 
 about these people, I would say, these 
 Messieurs ? I do not wish to speak with 
 disrespect, M. le Maire.' 
 
 ' What is It, Jacques, that Is said ?' I 
 had called him * thou ' not out of contempt, 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 93 
 
 but because, for the moment, he seemed to 
 me as a brother, as one of my friends. 
 
 ' M. le Maire, is it indeed les morts that 
 are in Semur ?' 
 
 He trembled, and so did I. 'Jacques,' I 
 said, * you know all that I know.' 
 
 ' Yes, M. le Maire, it is so, sure enough. 
 I do not doubt it. If it were the Prussians, 
 a man could fight. But ces Messieurs la ! 
 What I want to know is : is it because of 
 what you did to those little Sisters, those 
 good little ladies of St. Jean ?' 
 
 * What I did ? You were yourself one of 
 the complainants. You were of those who 
 said, when a man is ill, when he is suffer- 
 ing, they torment him with their mass ; it 
 is quiet he wants, not their mass. These 
 were thy words, vaurien. And now you 
 say it was I !' 
 
 ' True, M. le Maire,' said Jacques ; ' but 
 look you, when a man is better, when he 
 has just got well, when he feels he is safe, 
 then you should not take what he says for 
 gospel. It would be strange if one had a 
 
94 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 new illness just when one is getting well 
 of the old ; and one feels now is the time 
 to enjoy one's self, to kick up one's heels 
 a little, while at least there is not likely 
 to be much of a watch kept tip there — the 
 saints forgive me,' cried Jacques, trembling 
 and crossing himself, ' if I speak with levity 
 at such a moment ! And the little ladies 
 were very kind. It was wrong to close 
 their chapel, M. le Maire. From that 
 comes all our trouble.' 
 
 ' You good-for-nothing ! ' I cried, ' it is 
 you and such as you that are the beginning 
 of our trouble. You thought there was no 
 watch kept up there; you thought God 
 would not take the trouble to punish you ; 
 you went about the streets of Semur tossing 
 a grosse piece of a hundred sous, and calling 
 out, " There is no God — this is my god ; 
 r argent, cest le bon Dieu!' ' 
 
 ' M. le Maire, M. le Maire, be sflent, I 
 implore you ! It is enough to bring down 
 a judgment upon us.' 
 
 * It has brought down a judgment upon 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 95 
 
 US. Go thou and try what thy grosse piece 
 will do for thee now — worship thy god. 
 Go, I tell you, and get help from your 
 money.' 
 
 ' I have no money, M. le Maire, and 
 what could money do here ? We would do 
 much better to promise a large candle for 
 the next festival, and that the ladies of St. 
 Jean ' 
 
 ' Get away with thee to the end of the 
 world, thou and thy ladies of St. Jean ! ' I 
 cried ; which was wrong, I do not deny it, 
 for they are good women, not like this 
 good-for-nothing fellow. And to think 
 that this man, whom I despise, was more 
 pleasant to me than the dear souls who 
 loved me ! Shame came upon me at the 
 thought. I too, then, was like the others, 
 fearing the Unseen — capable of understand- 
 ing only that which was palpable. When 
 Jacques slunk away, which he did for a 
 few steps, not losing sight of me, I turned 
 my face towards the river and the town. 
 The moonlight fell upon the water, white 
 
96 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 as silver where that line of darkness lay, 
 shining, as if it tried, and tried in vain, 
 to penetrate Semur ; and between that 
 and the blue sky overhead lay the city out 
 of which we had been driven forth — the 
 city of the dead. * O God,' I cried, * whom 
 I know not, am not I to Thee as my little 
 Jean is to me, a child and less than a child ? 
 Do not abandon me in this darkness. 
 Would I abandon him were he ever so 
 disobedient ? And God, if thou art God, 
 Thou art a better father than I.' When I 
 had said this, my heart was a little relieved. 
 It seemed to me that I had spoken to some 
 one who knew all of us, whether we were 
 dead or whether we were living. That is 
 a wonderful thing to think of, when it 
 appears to one not as a thing to believe, 
 but as something that is real. It gave me 
 courage. I got up and went to meet the 
 patrol which was coming in, and found 
 that great good-for-nothing Jacques running 
 close after me, holding my cloak. * Do not 
 send me away, M. le Maire,' he said, * I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 97 
 
 dare not stay by myself with them so near.' 
 Instead of his money, in which he had 
 trusted, it was I who had become his god 
 now. 
 
 H 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OUTSIDE THE WALLS. 
 
 There are few who have not heard some- 
 thing of the sufferings of a siege. Whether 
 within or without, it is the most terrible of 
 all the experiences of war. I am old 
 enough to recollect the trenches before 
 Sebastopol, and all that my countrymen 
 and the English endured there. Some- 
 times I endeavoured to think of this to dis- 
 tract me from what we ourselves endured. 
 But how different was it ! We had neither 
 shelter nor support. We had no weapons, 
 nor any against whom to wield them. We 
 were cast out of our homes in the midst of 
 our lives, in the midst of our occupations, 
 and left there helpless, to gaze at each 
 other, to blind our eyes trying to penetrate 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 99 
 
 the darkness before us. Could we have 
 done anything, the oppression might have 
 been less terrible — but what was there that 
 we could do ? Fortunately (though I do 
 not deny that I felt each desertion) our 
 band grew less and less every day. Hour 
 by hour some one stole away — first one, 
 then another, dispersing themselves among 
 the villages near, in which many had 
 friends. The accounts which these men 
 gave were, I afterwards learnt, of the most 
 vague description. Some talked of wonders 
 they had seen, and were laughed at — and 
 some spread reports of internal division 
 among us. Not till long after did I know 
 all the reports that went abroad. It was 
 said that there had been fighting in Semur, 
 and that we were divided into two factions, 
 one of which had gained the mastery, and 
 driven the other out. This was the story 
 current in La Rochette, where they are 
 always glad to hear anything to the dis- 
 credit of the people of Semur ; but no 
 credence could have been given to it by 
 
lOO A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 those in authority, otherwise M. le Prefet, 
 however indifferent to our interests, must 
 necessarily have taken some steps for our 
 relief. Our entire separation from the 
 world was indeed one of the strangest 
 details of this terrible period. Generally 
 the diligence, though conveying on the 
 whole few passengers, returned with two 
 or three, at least, visitors or commercial 
 persons, daily — and the latter class fre- 
 quently arrived in carriages of their own ; 
 but during this period no stranger came to 
 see our miserable plight. We made shelter 
 for ourselves under the branches of the few 
 trees that grew In the uncultivated ground 
 on either side of the road — and a hasty 
 erection, half tent half shed, was put up for 
 a place to assemble In, or for those who 
 were unable to bear the heat of the day or 
 the occasional chills of the night. But the 
 most of us were too restless to seek repose, 
 and could not bear to be out of sight of the 
 city. At any moment It seemed to us the 
 gates might open, or some loophole be 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. lOI 
 
 visible by which we might throw ourselves 
 upon the darkness and vanquish it. This 
 was what we said to ourselves, forgetting 
 how we shook and trembled whenever any 
 contact had been possible with those who 
 were within. But one thing was certain, 
 that though we feared, we could not turn 
 our eyes from the place. We slept leaning 
 against a tree, or with our heads on our 
 hands, and our faces toward Semur. We 
 took no count of day or night, but ate 
 the morsel the women brought to us, and 
 slept thus, not sleeping, when want or 
 weariness overwhelmed us. There was 
 scarcely an hour in the day that some of 
 the women did not come to ask what news. 
 They crept along the roads in twos and 
 threes, and lingered for hours sitting by the 
 way weeping, starting at every breath of 
 wind. 
 
 Meanwhile all was not silent within 
 Semur. The Cathedral bells rang often, 
 at first filling us with hope, for how familiar 
 was that sound ! The first time, we all 
 
I02 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 gathered together and listened, and many 
 wept. It was as if we heard our mother's 
 voice. M. de Bols-Sombre burst Into tears. 
 I have never seen him within the doors of 
 the Cathedral since his marriage ; but he 
 burst into tears. ' Mon Dieu ! If I were 
 but there!' he said. We stood and 
 listened, our hearts melting, some falling 
 on their knees. M. le Cure stood up in 
 the midst of us and began to intone the 
 psalm : [He has a beautiful voice. It is 
 sympathetic. It goes to the heart.] ' I was 
 glad when they said to me. Let us go up 
 
 ' And though there were few of us 
 
 who could have supposed themselves 
 capable of listening to that sentiment a 
 little while before with any sympathy, yet 
 a vague hope rose up within us while we 
 heard him, while we listened to the bells. 
 What man Is there to whom the bells of 
 his village, the carillon of his city, is not 
 most dear ? It rings for him through all 
 his life ; It Is the first sound of home in the 
 distance when he comes back — the last that 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. IO3 
 
 follows him like a long farewell when he 
 goes away. While we listened, we forgot 
 our fears. They were as we were, they were 
 also our brethren, who rang those bells. 
 We seemed to see them trooping into our 
 beautiful Cathedral. Ah ! only to see it 
 again, to be within its shelter, cool and 
 calm as in our mother's arms ! It seemed 
 to us that we should wish for nothing more. 
 
 When the sound ceased we looked into 
 each other's faces, and each man saw that 
 his neighbour was pale. Hope died in us 
 when the sound died away, vibrating sadly 
 through the air. Some men threw them- 
 selves on the ground in their despair. 
 
 And from this time forward many voices 
 were heard, calls and shouts within the 
 walls, and sometimes a sound like a 
 trumpet, and other instruments of music. 
 We thought, indeed, that noises as of bands 
 patrolling along the ramparts were audible 
 as our patrols worked their way round and 
 round. This was a duty which I never 
 allowed to be neglected, not because I put 
 
I04 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 very much faith in it, but because it gave 
 us a sort of employment. There is a story 
 somewhere which I recollect dimly of an 
 ancient city which its assailants did not 
 touch, but only marched round and round 
 till the walls fell, and they could enter. 
 Whether this was a story of classic times 
 or out of our own remote history, I could 
 not recollect. But I thought of it many 
 times while we made our way like a pro- 
 cession of ghosts, round and round, strain- 
 ing our ears to hear what those voices were 
 which sounded above us, in tones that were 
 familiar, yet so strange. This story got so 
 much into my head (and after a time all 
 our heads seemed to get confused and full 
 of wild and bewildering expedients) that I 
 found myself suggesting — I, a man known 
 for sense and reason — that we should 
 blow trumpets at some time to be fixed, 
 which was a thing the ancients had done 
 in the strange tale which had taken posses- 
 sion of me. M. le Cure looked at me with 
 disapproval. He said, * I did not expect 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. IO5 
 
 from M. le Maire anything that was dis- 
 respectful to religion.' Heaven forbid that 
 I should be disrespectful to religion at any- 
 time of life, but then it was impossible 
 to me. I remembered after that the tale 
 of which I speak, which had so seized 
 upon me, was in the sacred writings ; but 
 those who know me will understand that 
 no sneer at these writings or intention of 
 wounding the feelings of M. le Cure was 
 in my mind. 
 
 I was seated one day upon a little 
 inequality of the ground, leaning my back 
 against a half-withered hawthorn, and doz- 
 ing with my head in my hands, when a 
 soothing, which always diffuses itself from 
 her presence, shed itself over me, and 
 opening my eyes, I saw my Agnes sitting 
 by me. She had come with some food 
 and a little linen, fresh and soft like her 
 own touch. My wife was not gaunt and 
 worn like me, but she was pale and as thin 
 as a shadow. I woke with a start, and 
 seeing her there, there suddenly came a 
 
I06 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 dread over me that she would pass away 
 before my eyes, and go over to Those who 
 were within Semur. I cried ' Non, mon 
 Agnes ; non, mon Agnes : before you ask, 
 No !' seizing her and holding her fast in 
 this dream, which was not altogether a 
 dream. She looked at me with a smile, 
 that smile that has always been to me as the 
 rising of the sun over the earth. 
 
 * Mon ami' she said surprised, * I ask 
 nothing, except that you should take a 
 little rest and spare thyself.' Then she 
 added, with haste, what I knew she would 
 say, * Unless it were this, mon ami. If I 
 were permitted, I would go into the city — 
 I would ask those who are there what is 
 their meaning : and if no way can be found 
 — no act of penitence. — Oh ! do not answer 
 in haste ! I have no fear ; and it would be 
 to save thee.' 
 
 A strong throb of anger came into my 
 throat. Figure to yourself that I looked 
 at my wife with anger, with the same feel- 
 ing which had moved me when the deserters 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. lO/ 
 
 left US ; but far more hot and sharp. I 
 seized her soft hands and crushed them in 
 mine. 'You would leave me!' I said. 
 *You would desert your husband. You 
 would go over to our enemies !' 
 
 'O Martin, say not so,' she cried, with 
 tears. ' Not enemies. There is our little 
 Marie, and my mother, who died when I 
 was born.' 
 
 'You love these dead tyrants. Yes,' I 
 said, ' you love them best. You will go to 
 — the majority, to the strongest. Do not 
 speak to me ! Because your God is on 
 their side, you will forsake us too.' 
 
 Then she threw herself upon me and en- 
 circled me with her arms. The touch of 
 them stilled my passion; but yet I held 
 her, clutching her gown, so terrible a fear 
 came over me that she would go and come 
 back no more. 
 
 ' Forsake thee ! ' she breathed out over 
 me with a moan. Then, putting her cool 
 cheek to mine, which burned, ' But I would 
 die for thee, Martin.' 
 
I08 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 ' Silence, my wife : that is what you 
 shall not do/ I cried, beside myself. I rose 
 up ; I put her away from me. That is, I 
 know it, what has been done. Their God 
 does this, they do not hesitate to say — 
 takes from you what you love best, to make 
 you better — you ! and they ask you to love 
 Him when He has thus despoiled you ! 'Go 
 home, Agnes,' I said, hoarse with terror. 
 * Let us face them as we may ; you shall 
 not go among them, or put thyself in peril. 
 Die for me ! Mon Dieu ! and what then, 
 what should I do then ? Turn your face 
 from them ; turn from them ; go ! go ! and 
 let me not see thee here again.' 
 
 My wife did not understand the terror 
 that seized me. She obeyed me, as she 
 always does, but, with the tears falling 
 from her white cheeks, fixed upon me the 
 most piteous look. 'Mon mniy she said, 
 ' you are disturbed, you are not in posses- 
 sion of yourself; this cannot be what you 
 mean.' 
 
 ' Let me not see thee here again ! ' I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. IO9 
 
 cried. * Would you make me mad in the 
 midst of my trouble ? No ! I will not 
 have you look that way. Go home ! go 
 home ! ' Then I took her into my arms 
 and wept, though I am not a man given to 
 tears. ' Oh ! my Agnes,' I said, ' give me 
 thy counsel. What you tell me I will do ; 
 but rather than risk thee, I would live thus 
 for ever, and defy them.' 
 
 She put her hand upon my lips. ' I will 
 not ask this again,' she said, bowing her 
 head ; ' but defy them — why should you 
 defy them ? Have they come for nothing ? 
 Was Semur a city of the saints ? They 
 have come to convert our people, Martin 
 — thee too, and the rest. If you will sub- 
 mit your hearts, they will open the gates, 
 they will go back to their sacred homes : 
 and we to ours. This has been borne in 
 upon me sleeping and waking ; and it 
 seemed to me that if I could but go, and 
 say, *' Oh ! my fathers, oh ! my brothers, 
 they submit," all would be well. For I do 
 not fear them, Martin. Would they harm 
 
no A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 me that love us ? I would but give our 
 Marie one kiss ' 
 
 ' You are a traitor !' I said. 'You would 
 steal yourself from me, and do me the worst 
 wrong of all ' 
 
 But I recovered my calm. What she 
 said reached my understanding at last. 
 ' Submit !' I said, ' but to what ? To come 
 and turn us from our homes, to wrap our 
 town in darkness, to banish our wives and 
 our children, to leave us here to be scorched 
 by the sun and drenched by the rain, — this 
 is not to convince us, my Agnes. And to 
 what then do you bid us submit ?' 
 
 * It is to convince you, mon ami, of the 
 love of God, who has permitted this great 
 tribulation to be, that we might be saved,' 
 said Agnes. Her face was sublime with 
 faith. It Is possible to these dear women ; 
 but for me the words she spoke were but 
 words without meaning. I shook my head. 
 Now that my horror and alarm were passed, 
 I could well remember often to have heard 
 words like these before. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I 1 1 
 
 ' My angel ! ' I said, ' all this I admire, I 
 adore in thee ; but how is it the love of 
 God ? — and how shall we be saved by it ? 
 Submit ! I will do anything that is reason- 
 able ; but of what truth have we here the 
 proof ? ' 
 
 Some one had come up behind as we 
 were talking. When I heard his voice 
 I smiled, notwithstanding my despair. It 
 was natural that the Church should come 
 to the woman's aid. But I would not re- 
 fuse to give ear to M. le Cure, who had 
 proved himself a man, had he been ten 
 times a priest. 
 
 ' I have not heard what Madame h^s 
 been saying, M. le Maire, neither would I 
 interpose but for your question. You ask 
 of what truth have we the proof here ? It 
 is the Unseen that has revealed itself. Do 
 we see anything, you and I ? Nothing, 
 nothing, but a cloud. But that which we 
 cannot see, that which we know not, that 
 which we dread — look ! it is there.' 
 
 I turned unconsciously as he pointed 
 
112 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 with his hand. Oh, heaven, what did I 
 see ! Above the cloud that wrapped Semur 
 there was a separation, a rent in the dark- 
 ness, and In mid heaven the Cathedral 
 towers, pointing to the sky. I paid no 
 more attention to M. le Cure. I sent forth 
 a shout that roused all, even the weary llne^ 
 of the patrol that was marching slowly 
 with bowed heads round the walls ; and 
 there went up such a cry of joy as shook 
 the earth. ' The towers, the towers ! ' I 
 cried. These were the towers that could 
 be seen leagues off, the first sign of Semur; 
 our towers, which we had been born to love 
 like our father's name. I have had joys In 
 my life, deep and great. I have loved, 
 I have won honours, I have conquered 
 difficulty ; but never had I felt as now. 
 It was as if one had been born again. 
 
 When we had gazed upon them, blessing 
 them and thanking God, I gave orders that 
 all our company should be called to the 
 tent, that we might consider whether any 
 new step could now be taken : Agnes with 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. II3 
 
 the Other women sitting apart on one side 
 and waiting. I recognised even in the 
 excitement of such a time that theirs was 
 no easy part. To sit there silent, to wait 
 till we had spoken, to be bound by what 
 we decided, and to have no voice — yes, 
 that was hard. They thought they knew 
 better than we did : but they were silent, 
 devouring us with their eager eyes. I love 
 one woman more than all the world ; I 
 count her the best thing that God has 
 made ; yet would I not be as Agnes for all 
 that life could give me. It was her part to 
 be silent, and she was so, like the angel she 
 is, while even Jacques Richard had the 
 right to speak. Mon Dieu ! but it is hard, 
 I allow it ; they have need to be angels. 
 This thought passed through my mind 
 even at the crisis which had now arrived. 
 For at such moments one sees everything, 
 one thinks of everything, though it is only 
 after that one remembers what one has 
 seen and thought. When my fellow-citi- 
 zens gathered together (we were now less 
 I 
 
114 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 than a hundred in number, so many had 
 gone from us), I took it upon myself to 
 speak. We were a haggard, worn-eyed 
 company, having had neither shelter nor 
 sleep nor even food, save in hasty snatches. 
 I stood at the door of the tent and they 
 below, for the ground sloped a little. Be- 
 side me were M. le Cure, M. de Bois- 
 Sombre, and one or two others of the chief 
 citizens. * My friends,' I said, * you have 
 seen that a new circumstance has occurred. 
 It is not within our power to tell what its 
 meaning is, yet it must be a symptom of 
 good. For my own part, to see these 
 towers makes the air lighter. Let us think 
 of the Church as we may, no one can deny 
 that the towers of Semur are dear to our 
 hearts.' 
 
 * M. le Maire,' said M. de Bois-Sombre, 
 interrupting, * I speak I am sure the senti- 
 ments of my fellow-citizens when I say 
 that there is no longer any question among 
 us concerning the Church ; it is an admirable 
 institution, a universal advantage ^ 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. II5 
 
 * Yes, yes/ said the crowd, 'yes, certainly ! 
 and some added, * It is the only safeguard, 
 it is our protection,' and some signed them- 
 selves. In the crowd I saw Riou, who had 
 done this at the octroi. But the sign did not 
 surprise me now. 
 
 M. le Cur6 stood by my side, but he did 
 not smile. His countenance was dark, al- 
 most angry. He stood quite silent, with 
 his eyes on the ground. It gave him no 
 pleasure, this profession of faith. 
 
 * It is well, my friends,' said I, * we are all 
 in accord ; and the good God has permitted 
 us again to see these towers. I have 
 called you together to collect your ideas. 
 This change must have a meaning. It has 
 been suggested to me that we might send 
 an ambassador — a messenger, if that is 
 possible, into the city ' 
 
 Here I stopped short ; and a shiver ran 
 through me — a shiver which went over the 
 whole company. We were all pale as we 
 looked in each other's faces; and for a 
 moment no one ventured to speak. After 
 
I 1 6 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 this pause it was perhaps natural that he 
 who first found his voice should be the last 
 who had any right to give an opinion. 
 Who should it be but Jacques Richard? 
 ' M. le Maire/ cried the fellow, ' speaks at 
 his ease — but who will thus risk himself ? ' 
 Probably he did not mean that his grum- 
 bling should be heard, but in the silence 
 every sound was audible ; there was a gasp, 
 a catching of the breath, and all turned their 
 eyes again upon me. I did not pause to 
 think what answer I should give. ' I ! ' I 
 cried. ' Here stands one who will risk 
 himself, who will perish if need be ' 
 
 Something stirred behind me. It was 
 Agnes who had risen to her feet, who stood 
 with her lips parted and quivering, with 
 her hands clasped, as if about to speak. 
 But she did not speak. Well ! she had 
 proposed to do it. Then why not I ? 
 
 ' Let me make . the observation,' said 
 another of our fellow -citizens. Bordereau 
 the banker, ' that this would not be just. 
 Without M. le Maire we should be a mob 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 1 7 
 
 without a head. If a messenger is to be 
 sent, let it be some one not so indispen- 
 sable ' 
 
 ' Why send a messenger ? ' said another, 
 Philip Leclerc. ' Do we know that these 
 Messieurs will admit any one ? and how 
 can you speak, how can you parley with 
 those — ' and he too, was seized with a 
 shiver — * whom you cannot see ?' 
 
 Then there came another voice out of 
 the crowd. It was one who would not 
 show himself, who was conscious of the 
 mockery in his tone. * If there is any one 
 sent, let it be M. le Cure/ it said. 
 
 M. le Cur6 stepped forward. His pale 
 countenance flushed red. * Here am I,' he 
 said, * I am ready ; but he who spoke 
 speaks to mock me. Is it befitting in this 
 presence ? ' 
 
 There was a struggle among the men. 
 Whoever it was who had spoken (I did 
 not wish to know), I had no need to 
 condemn the mocker ; they themselves 
 silenced him ; then Jacques Richard (still 
 
Il8 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 less worthy of credit) cried out again with 
 a voice that was husky. What are men 
 made of? Notwithstanding everything, 
 it was from the cabaret, from the wine- 
 shop, that he had come. He said, * Though 
 M. le Maire will not take my opinion, yet 
 it is this. Let them reopen the chapel in 
 the hospital. The ladies of St. Jean ' 
 
 * Hold thy peace,' I said, * miserable!' 
 But a murmur rose. * Though it is not his 
 part to speak, I agree,' said one. 'And I.' 
 *And I.' There was well-nigh a tumult 
 of consent ; and this made me angry. 
 Words were on my lips which it might 
 have been foolish to utter, when M. de 
 Bois-Sombre, who is a man of judgment, 
 interfered. 
 
 * M. le Maire,' he said, ' as there are none 
 of us here who would show disrespect to 
 the Church and holy things — that is under- 
 stood — it is not necessary to enter into 
 details. Every restriction that would 
 wound the most susceptible is withdrawn ; 
 not one more than another, but all. We 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. IIQ 
 
 have been indifferent in the past, but for 
 the future you will agree with me that 
 everything shall be changed. The ambas- 
 sador — whoever he may be — ' he added 
 with a catching of his breath, 'must be 
 empowered to promise — everything — sub- 
 mission to all that may be required.' 
 
 Here the women could not restrain them- 
 selves ; they all rose up with a cry, and many 
 of them began to weep. * Ah ! ' said one with 
 a hysterical sound of laughter in her tears. 
 ' Sainte Mere! it will be heaven upon earth.' 
 
 M. le Cur6 said nothing ; a keen glance 
 of wonder, yet of subdued triumph, shot 
 from under his eyelids. As for me, I 
 wrung my hands : * What you say will be 
 superstition ; it will be hypocrisy,' I cried. 
 
 But at that moment a further incident 
 occurred. Suddenly, while we deliberated, 
 a long loud peal of a trumpet sounded into 
 the air. I have already said that many 
 sounds had been heard before ; but this was 
 different ; there was not one of us that did 
 not feel that this was addressed to himself. 
 
I20 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 The agitation was extreme ; it was a 
 summons, the beginning of some distinct 
 communication. The crowd scattered ; but 
 for myself, after a momentary struggle, I 
 went forward resolutely. I did not even 
 look back at my wife. I was no longer 
 Martin Dupin, but the Maire of Semur, the 
 saviour of the community. Even Bois- 
 Sombre quailed : but I felt that it was in me 
 to hold head against death itself ; and before 
 I had gone two steps I felt rather than saw 
 that M. le Curd had come to my side. We 
 went on without a word ; gradually the 
 others collected behind us, following yet 
 straggling here and there upon the inequal- 
 ities of the ground. 
 
 Before us lay the cloud that was Semur, 
 a darkness defined by the shining of the 
 summer day around, the river escaping 
 from that gloom as from a cavern, the 
 towers piercing through, but the sunshine 
 thrown back on every side from that dark- 
 ness. I have spoken of the walls as if we 
 saw them, but there were no walls visible. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 121 
 
 nor any gate, though we all turned like 
 blind men to where the Porte St. Lambert 
 was. There was the broad vacant road 
 leading up to it, leading into the gloom. 
 We stood there at a little distance. 
 Whether it was human weakness or an 
 invisible barrier, . how can I tell ? We 
 stood thus immovable, with the trumpet 
 pealing out over us, out of the cloud. It 
 summoned every man as by his name. 
 To me it was not wonderful that this im- 
 pression should come, but afterwards it 
 was elicited from all that this was the feel- 
 ing of each. Though no words were said, 
 it was as the calling of our names. We 
 all waited in such a supreme agitation as I 
 cannot describe for some communication 
 that was to come. 
 
 When suddenly, in a moment, the trumpet 
 ceased ; there was an interval of dead and 
 terrible silence ; then, each with a leap of 
 his heart as if it would burst from his bosom, 
 we saw a single figure slowly detach itself 
 out of the gloom. 'My God!' I cried. 
 
122 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 My senses went from me ; I felt my head 
 go round like a straw tossed on the winds. 
 
 To know them so near, those mysterious 
 visitors — to feel them, to hear them, was 
 not that enough ? But, to see ! who could 
 bear it ? Our voices rang like broken 
 chords, like a tearing and rending of sound. 
 Some covered their faces with their hands ; 
 for our very eyes seemed to be drawn out 
 of their sockets, fluttering like things with 
 a separate life. 
 
 Then there fell upon us a strange and 
 wonderful calm. The figure advanced 
 slowly ; there was weakness in it. The 
 step, though solemn, was feeble ; and if you 
 can figure to yourself our consternation, the 
 pause, the cry — our hearts dropping back 
 as it might be into their places — the sudden 
 stop of the wild panting in our breasts : when 
 there became visible to us a human face well 
 known, a man as we were. * Lecamus !' 
 I cried ; and all the men round took it up, 
 crowding nearer, trembling yet delivered 
 from their terror; some even laughed 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 23 
 
 in the relief. There was but one who had 
 an air of discontent, and that was M. le 
 Cure. As he said ' Lecamus !' Hke the 
 rest, there was impatience, disappointment, 
 anger in his tone. 
 
 And I, who had wondered where Le- 
 camus had gone ; thinking sometimes that 
 he was one of the deserters who had left us ! 
 But when he came nearer his face was as 
 the face of a dead man, and a cold chill 
 came over us. His eyes, w^hich were cast 
 down, flickered under the thin eyelids in 
 which all the veins were visible. His face 
 was gray like that of the dying. * Is he 
 dead ?' I said. But, except M. le Cur6, 
 no one knew that I spoke. 
 
 ' Not even so,' said M. le Cur6, with a 
 mortification in his voice, which I have 
 never forgotten. *Not even so. That 
 might be something. They teach us not 
 by angels — by the fools and offscourings of 
 the earth.' 
 
 And he would have turned away. It 
 was a humiliation. Was not he the 
 
124 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 representative of the Unseen, the vice- 
 gerent, with power over heaven and hell ? 
 but something was here more strong than 
 he. He stood by my side in spite of him- 
 self to listen to the ambassador. I will 
 not deny that such a choice was strange, 
 strange beyond measure, to me also. 
 
 * Lecamus,' I said, my voice trembling in 
 my throat, * have you been among the dead, 
 and do you live ?* 
 
 ' I live,* he said ; then looked around 
 with tears upon the crowd. * Good neigh- 
 bours, good friends,* he said, and put out 
 his hand and touched them ; he was as 
 much agitated as they. 
 
 'M. Lecamus,* said I, 'we are here in 
 very strange circumstances, as you know ; 
 do not trifle with us. If you have indeed 
 been with those who have taken the 
 control of our city, do not keep us in 
 suspense. You will see by the emblems 
 of my office that it is to me you must 
 address yourself; if you have a mission, 
 speak.* 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 25 
 
 * It IS just/ he said, ' it is just — but bear 
 with me one moment. It is good to be- 
 hold those who draw breath ; if I have not 
 loved you enough, my good neighbours, 
 forgive me now !' 
 
 * Rouse yourself, Lecamus,* said I with 
 some anxiety. * Three days we have been 
 suffering here ; we are distracted with the 
 suspense. Tell us your message — if you 
 have anything to tell.* 
 
 'Three days!' he said, wondering; 'I 
 should have said years. Time is long 
 when there is neither night nor day.' Then, 
 uncovering himself, he turned towards the 
 city. *They who have sent me would 
 have you know that they come, not in 
 anger but in friendship : for the love they 
 bear you, and because it has been per- 
 ijiitted ' 
 
 As he spoke his feebleness disappeared. 
 He held his head high ; and we clustered 
 closer and closer round him, not losing a 
 half word, not a tone, not a breath. 
 
 * They are not the dead. They are the 
 
126 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 immortal. They are those who dwell — 
 elsewhere. They have other work, which 
 has been interrupted because of this trial. 
 They ask, ** Do you know now — do you 
 know now ?" this is what I am bidden to 
 say.' 
 
 *What' — I said (I tried to say it, but 
 my lips were dry), ' What would they have 
 us to know ?' 
 
 But a clamour interrupted me. ' Ah ! 
 yes, yes, yes !' the people cried, men and 
 women ; some wept aloud, some signed 
 themselves, some held up their hands to the 
 skies. * Never more will we deny religion,' 
 they cried, 'never more fail in our duties. 
 They shall see how we will follow every 
 office, how the churches shall be full, how 
 we will observe the feasts and the days of 
 the saints! M. Lecamus,* cried two or 
 three together ; * go, tell these Messieurs 
 that we will have masses said for them, 
 that we will obey in everything. We have 
 seen what comes of it when a city is with- 
 out piety. Never more will we neglect the 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 27 
 
 holy functions ; we will vow ourselves to 
 the holy Mother and the saints ' 
 
 'And if those ladies wish it/ cried 
 Jacques Richard, * there shall be as many 
 masses as there are priests to say them in 
 the Hospital of St. Jean.' 
 
 * Silence, fellow!' I cried; *is it for you 
 to promise in the name of the Commune ?' 
 I was almost beside myself. * M. Lecamus. 
 is it for this that they have come ?' 
 
 His head had begun to droop again, and 
 a dimness came over his face. ' Do I 
 know ?' he said. * It was them I longed 
 for, not to know their errand ; but I have 
 not yet said all. You are to send two — 
 two whom you esteem the highest — to 
 speak with them face to face.' 
 
 Then at once there rose a tumult among 
 the people — an eagerness which nothing 
 could subdue. There was a cry that the 
 ambassadors were already elected, and we 
 were pushed forward, M. le Cure and my- 
 self, towards the gate. They would not 
 hear us speak. *We promise,' they cried. 
 
128 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 *we promise everything; let us but get 
 back/ Had it been to sacrifice us they 
 would have done the same ; they would 
 have killed us in their passion, in order 
 to return to their city — and afterwards 
 mourned us and honoured us as martyrs. 
 But for the moment they had neither ruth 
 nor fear. Had it been they who were 
 going to reason not with flesh and blood, 
 it would have been different ; but it was 
 we, not they ; and they hurried us on as 
 not willing that a moment should be lost. 
 I had to struggle, almost to fight, in order 
 to provide them with a leader, which was 
 indispensable, before I myself went away. 
 For who could tell if we should ever come 
 back ? For a moment I hesitated, thinking 
 that it might be well to invest M. de Bois- 
 Sombre as my deputy with my scarf of 
 office ; but then I reflected that when a 
 man goes to battle, when he goes to risk 
 his life, perhaps to lose it, for his people, it 
 is his right to bear those signs which dis- 
 tinguish him from common men, which 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 129 
 
 show in what office, for what cause, he Is 
 ready to die. 
 
 Accordingly I paused, struggling against 
 the pressure of the people, and said In a 
 loud voice, ' In the absence of M. Barbou, 
 who has forsaken us, I constitute the excel- 
 lent M. Felix de Bols-Sombre my repre- 
 sentative. In my absence my fellow-cltlzens 
 will respect and obey him as myself* There 
 was a cry of assent. They would have 
 given their assent to anything that we might 
 but go on. What was It to them ? They 
 took no thought of the heaving of my bosom, 
 the beating of my heart. They left us on 
 the edge of the darkness with our faces 
 towards the gate. There we stood one 
 breathless moment. Then the little postern 
 slowly opened before us, and once more we 
 stood within Semur. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE NARRATIVE OF PAUL LECAMUS. 
 
 M. LE Maire having requested me, on his 
 entrance into Semur, to lose no time in 
 drawing up an account of my residence in 
 the town, to be placed with his own narrative, 
 I have promised to do so to the best of my 
 ability, feeling that my condition is a very 
 precarious one, and my time for explana- 
 tion may be short. Many things, needless 
 to enumerate, press this upon my mind. 
 It was a pleasure to me to see my neigh- 
 bours when I first came out of the city ; 
 but their voices, their touch, their vehe- 
 mence and eagerness wear me out. From 
 my childhood up I have shrunk from close 
 contact with my fellow -men. My mind 
 has been busy with other thoughts ; I have 
 desired to investigate the mysterious and 
 unseen. When I have walked abroad I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I3I 
 
 have heard whispers In the air ; I have felt 
 the movement of wings, the gliding of un- 
 seen feet. To my comrades these have 
 been a source of alarm and disquiet, but 
 not to me ; is not God in the unseen with 
 all His angels ? and not only so, but the 
 best and wisest of men. There was a' time 
 indeed, when life acquired for me a charm. 
 There was a smile which filled me with 
 blessedness, and made the sunshine more 
 sweet. But when she died my earthly joys 
 died with her. Since then I have thought 
 of little but the depths profound, into which 
 she has disappeared like the rest. 
 
 I was in the garden of my house on that 
 night when all the others left Semur. , I 
 was restless, my mind was disturbed. It 
 seemed to me that I approached the crisis 
 of my life. Since the time when I led M. 
 le Maire beyond the walls, and we felt both 
 of us the rush and pressure of that crowd, 
 a feeling of expectation had been in my 
 mind. I knew not what I looked for — but 
 something I looked for that should change 
 
132 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the world. The * Sommation ' on the 
 Cathedral doors did not surprise me. Why- 
 should it be a matter of wonder that the 
 dead should come back ? the wonder is that 
 they do not. Ah ! that is the wonder. 
 How one can go away who loves you, and 
 never return, nor speak, nor send any 
 message — that is the miracle : not that the 
 heavens should bend down and the gates 
 of Paradise roll back, and those who have 
 left us return. All my life it has been a 
 marvel to me how they could be kept away. 
 I could not stay in-doors on this strange 
 night. My mind was full of agitation. I 
 came out into the garden though it was 
 dark. I sat down upon the bench under 
 the trellis — she loved it. Often had I 
 spent half the night there thinking of her. 
 
 It was very dark that night : the sky all 
 veiled, no light anywhere — a night like 
 November. One would have said there 
 was snow in the air. I think I must have 
 slept toward morning (I have observed 
 throughout that the preliminaries of these 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 33 
 
 occurrences have always been veiled in 
 sleep), and when I woke suddenly it was 
 to find myself, if I may so speak, the sub- 
 ject of a struggle. The struggle was with- 
 in me, yet it was not I. In my mind there 
 was a desire to rise from where I sat and 
 go away, I could not tell where or why ; 
 but something in me said stay, and my 
 limbs were as heavy as lead. I could not 
 move ; I sat still against my will ; against 
 one part of my will — but the other was 
 obstinate and would not let me go. Thus 
 a combat took place within me of which I 
 knew not the meaning. While it went on 
 I began to hear the sound of many feet, 
 the opening of doors, the people pouring 
 out into the streets. This gave me no 
 surprise ; it seemed to me that I understood 
 why it was ; only in my own case, I knew 
 nothing. I listened to the steps pouring 
 past, going on and on, faintly dying away 
 in the distance, and there was a great still- 
 ness. I then became convinced, though I 
 cannot tell how, that I was the only living 
 
134 ^ BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 man left In Semur ; but neither did this 
 trouble me. The struggle within me came 
 to an end, and I experienced a great calm. 
 I cannot tell how long It was till I per- 
 ceived a change In the air, In the darkness 
 round me. It was like the movement of 
 some one unseen. I have felt such a sen- 
 sation In the night, when all was still, 
 before now. I saw nothing. I heard 
 nothing. Yet I was aware, I cannot tell 
 how, that there was a great coming and 
 going, and the sensation as of a multitude 
 In the air. I then rose and went Into my 
 house, where Leocadie, my old house- 
 keeper, had shut all the doors so carefully 
 when she went to bed. They were now 
 all open, even the door of my wife's room 
 of which I kept always the key, and where 
 no one entered but myself; the windows 
 also were open. I looked out upon the 
 Grande Rue, and all the other houses were 
 like mine. Everything was open, doors 
 and windows, and the streets were full. 
 There was In them a flow and movement 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 35 
 
 of the unseen, without a sound, sensible 
 only to the soul. I cannot describe it, for 
 I neither heard nor saw, but felt. I have 
 often been in crowds ; I have lived in 
 Paris, and once passed into England, and 
 walked about the London streets. But 
 never, it seemed to me, never was I aware 
 of so many, of so great a multitude. I 
 stood at my open window, and watched as 
 in a dream. M. le Maire is aware that his 
 house is visible from mine. Towards that 
 a stream seemed to be always going, and 
 at the windows and in the doorways was a 
 sensation of multitudes like that which I 
 have already described. Gazing out thus 
 upon the revolution which was happening 
 before my eyes, I did not think of my own 
 house or what was passing there, till sud- 
 denly, in a moment, I was aware that some 
 one had come in to me. Not a crowd as 
 elsewhere ; one. My heart leaped up like 
 a bird let loose ; it grew faint within me 
 with joy and fear. I was giddy so that I 
 could not stand. I called out her name, 
 
136 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 but low, for I was too happy, I had no 
 voice. Besides was it needed, when heart 
 already spoke to heart ? 
 
 I had no answer, but I needed none. I 
 laid myself down on the floor where her 
 feet would be. Her presence wrapped me 
 round and round. It was beyond speech. 
 Neither did I need to see her face, nor to 
 touch her hand. She was more near to 
 me, more near, than when I held her in my 
 arms. How long it was so, I cannot tell ; 
 it was long as love, yet short as the draw- 
 ing of a breath. I knew^ nothing, felt 
 nothing but Her, alone ; all my wonder 
 and desire to know departed from me. 
 We said to each other everything without 
 words — heart overflowing into heart. It 
 was beyond knowledge or speech. 
 
 But this is not of public signification that 
 I should occupy with it the time of M. le 
 Maire. 
 
 After a while my happiness came to an 
 end. I can no more tell how, than I can 
 tell how it came. One moment, I was 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 37 
 
 warm' In her presence; the next, I was 
 alone. I rose up staggering with bHndness 
 and woe — could it be that already, already 
 it was over ? I went out blindly following 
 after her. My God, I shall follow, I shall 
 follow, till life is over. She loved me ; but 
 she was gone. 
 
 Thus, despair came to me at the very 
 moment when the longing of my soul was 
 satisfied and I found myself among the 
 unseen ; but I cared for knowledge no 
 longer, I sought only her. I lost a portion 
 of my time so. I regret to have to confess 
 it to M. le Maire. Much that I might 
 have learned will thus remain lost to my 
 fellow -citizens and the world. We are 
 made so. What we desire eludes us at the 
 moment of grasping it — or those affections 
 which are the foundation of our lives pre- 
 occupy us, and blind the soul. Instead of 
 endeavouring to establish my faith and 
 enlighten my judgment as to those 
 mysteries which have been my life-long 
 study, all higher purpose departed from me ; 
 
138 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 and I did nothing but rush through the 
 city, groping among those crowds, seeing 
 nothing, thinking of nothing — save of One. 
 
 From this also I awakened as out of a 
 dream. What roused me was the pealing 
 of the Cathedral bells. I was made to 
 pause and stand still, and return to myself. 
 Then I perceived, but dimly, that the 
 thing which had happened to me was that 
 which I had desired all my life. I leave 
 this explanation of my failure^ in public 
 duty to the charity of M. le Maire. 
 
 The bells of the Cathedral brought me 
 back to myself — to that which we call 
 reality in our language ; but of all that was 
 around me when I regained consciousness, 
 it now appeared to me that I only was a 
 dream. I was in the midst of a world 
 where all was in movement. What the 
 current was which flowed around me I 
 
 ^ The reader will remember that the ringing of the 
 Cathedral bells happened in fact very soon after the 
 exodus of the citizens ; so that the self-reproaches of M. 
 Lecamus had less foundation than he thought. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 39 
 
 know not ; if it was thought which becomes 
 sensible among spirits, if it was action, I 
 cannot tell. But the energy, the force, the 
 living that was in them, that could no one 
 misunderstand. I stood in the streets, 
 lagging and feeble, scarcely able to wish, 
 much less to think. They pushed against 
 me, put me aside, took no note of me. In 
 the unseen world described by a poet whom 
 M. le Maire has probably heard of, the 
 man who traverses Purgatory (to speak of 
 no other place) is seen by all, and is a 
 wonder to all he meets — his shadow, 
 his breath separate him from those around 
 him. But whether the unseen life has 
 changed, or if it is I who am not worthy 
 their attention, this I know that I stood in 
 our city like a ghost, and no one took any 
 heed of me. When there came back upon 
 me slowly my old desire to inquire, to 
 understand, I was met with this difficulty 
 at the first — that no ore heeded me. I 
 went through and through the streets, 
 sometimes I paused to look round, to 
 
140 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 implore that which swept by me to make 
 itself known. But the stream went along 
 like soft air, like the flowing of a river, 
 setting me aside from time to time, as the 
 air will displace a straw, or the water a 
 stone, but no more. There was neither 
 languor nor lingering. I was the only- 
 passive thing, the being without occupation. 
 Would you have paused in your labours to 
 tell an idle traveller the meaning of our 
 lives, before the day when you left Semur ? 
 Nor would they : I was driven hither and 
 thither by the current of that life, but no 
 one stepped forth out of the unseen to hear 
 my questions or to answer me how this 
 might be. 
 
 You have been made to believe that all 
 was darkness in Semur. M. le Maire, it 
 was not 'so. The darkness wrapped the 
 walls as in a winding sheet ; but within, 
 soon after you were gone, there arose a 
 sweet and wonderful light — a light that 
 was neither of the sun nor of the moon ; 
 and presently, after the ringing of the bells, 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I4I 
 
 the silence departed as the darkness had 
 departed. I began to hear, first a murmur, 
 then the sound of the going which I had 
 felt without hearing it — then a faint tinkle 
 of voices — and at the last, as my mind 
 grew attuned to these wonders, the very- 
 words they said. If they spoke in our 
 language or in another, I cannot tell ; but 
 I understood. How long it was before 
 the sensation of their presence was aided 
 by the happiness of hearing I know not, 
 nor do I know how the time has passed, or 
 how long it is, whether years or days, that 
 I have been in Semur with those who are 
 now there ; for the light did not vary — 
 there was no night or day. All I know is 
 that suddenly, on awakening from a sleep 
 (for the wonder was that I could sleep, 
 sometimes sitting on the Cathedral steps, 
 sometimes in my own house ; where some- 
 times also I lingered and searched about 
 for the crusts that Leocadie had left), I 
 found the whole world full of sound. They 
 sang going in bands about the streets; 
 
142 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 they talked to each other as they went 
 along every way. From the houses, all 
 open, where everyone could go who would, 
 there came the soft chiming of those voices. 
 And at first every sound was full of gladness 
 and hope. The song they sang first was 
 like this : * Send us, send us to our father's 
 house. Many are our brethren, many and 
 dear. They have forgotten, forgotten, 
 forgotten ! But when we speak, then will 
 they hear.' And the others answered : 
 * We have come, we have come to the 
 house of our fathers. Sweet are the homes, 
 the homes we were born in. As we remem- 
 ber, so will they remember. When we 
 speak, when we speak, they will hear.' 
 Do not think that these were the words 
 they sang ; but it was like this. And as 
 they sang there was joy and expectation 
 everywhere. It was more beautiful than 
 any of our music, for it was full of desire 
 and longing, yet hope and gladness ; where- 
 as among us, where there is longing, it is 
 always sad. Later a great singer, I know 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 43 
 
 not who he was, one going past as on a 
 majestic soft wind, sang another song, of 
 which I shall tell you by and by. I do 
 not think he was one of them. They came 
 out to the windows, to the doors, into all 
 the streets and byways to hear him as he 
 went past. 
 
 M. le Maire will, however, be good 
 enough to remark that I did not under- 
 stand all that I heard. In the middle of a 
 phrase, in a word half breathed, a sudden 
 barrier would rise. For a time I laboured 
 after their meaning, trying hard and vainly 
 to understand ; but afterwards I perceived 
 that only when they spoke of Semur, of 
 you who were gone forth, and of what was 
 being done, could I make it out. At first 
 this made me only more eager to hear ; 
 but when thought came, then I perceived 
 that of all my longing nothing was satisfied. 
 Though I was alone with the unseen, I 
 comprehended it not ; only when it touched 
 upon w hat I knew, then I understood. 
 
 At first all went well. Those who were 
 
144 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 in the streets, and at the doors and win- 
 dows of the houses, and on the Cathedral 
 steps, where they seemed to throng, Hsten- 
 ing to the sounding of the bells, spoke 
 only of this that they had come to do. Of 
 you and you only I heard. They said to 
 each other, with great joy, that the women 
 had been instructed, that they had listened, 
 and were safe. There was pleasure in all 
 the city. The singers were called forth, 
 those who were best instructed (so I judged 
 from what I heard), to take the place of 
 the warders on the walls ; and all, as they 
 went along, sang that song : * Our brothers 
 have forgotten ; but when we speak, they 
 will hear.' How was it, how was it that 
 you did not hear ? One time I was by the 
 river porte in a boat ; and this song came 
 to me from the walls as sweet as Heaven. 
 Never have I heard such a song. The 
 music was beseeching, it moved the very 
 heart. ' We have come out of the unseen,* 
 they sang ; * for love of you ; believe us, 
 believe us ! Love brings us back to earth ; 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 45 
 
 believe us, believe us ! ' H ow was it that you 
 did not hear ? When I heard those singers 
 sing, I wept ; they beguiled the heart out of 
 my bosom. They sang, they shouted, the 
 music swept about all the walls : ' Love 
 brings us back to earth, believe us !' M. le 
 Maire, I saw you from the river gate ; there 
 was a look of perplexity upon your face ; 
 and one put his curved hand to his ear as 
 if to listen to some thin far-off sound, when 
 it was like a storm, like a tempest of music ! 
 After that there was a great change in 
 the city. The choirs came back from the 
 walls marching more slowly, and with a 
 sighing through all the air. A sigh, nay, 
 something like a sob breathed through the 
 streets. 'They cannot hear us, or they 
 will not hear us.* Wherever I turned, this 
 was what I heard : ' They cannot hear us.' 
 The whole town, and all the houses that 
 were teeming with souls, and all the street, 
 where so many were coming and going, 
 was full of wonder and dismay. (If you 
 will take my opinion, they know pain as 
 
146 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 well as joy, M. le Maire, Those who are in 
 Semur. They are not as gods, perfect and 
 sufficing to themselves, nor are they all- 
 knowing and all-wise, like the good God. 
 They hope like us, and desire, and are 
 mistaken ; but do no wrong. This is my 
 opinion. I am no more than other men, 
 that you should accept it without support ; 
 but I have lived among them, and this is 
 what I think.) They were taken by sur- 
 prise ; they did not understand it any more 
 than we understand when we have put 
 forth all our strength and fail. They were 
 confounded, if I could judge rightly. Then 
 there arose cries from one to another : ' Do 
 you forget what was said to us?' and, 
 * We were warned, we were warned.' There 
 went a sighing over all the city : ' They 
 cannot hear us, our voices are not as their 
 voices ; they cannot see us. We have 
 taken their homes from them, and they 
 know not the reason.' My heart was wrung 
 for their disappointment. I longed to tell 
 them that neither had I heard at once ; but 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 47 
 
 it was only after a time that I ventured 
 upon this. And whether I spoke, and was 
 heard ; or if it was read in my heart, I 
 cannot tell. There was a pause made 
 round me as if of wondering and listening, 
 and then, in a moment, in the twinkling of 
 an eye, a face suddenly turned and looked 
 into my face. 
 
 M. le Maire, it was the face of your 
 father, Martin Dupin, whom I remember 
 as well as I remember my own father. He 
 was the best man I ever knew. It appeared 
 to me for a moment, that face alone, look- 
 ing at me with questioning eyes. 
 
 There seemed to be agitation and doubt 
 for a time after this ; some went out (so I 
 understood) on embassies among you, but 
 could get no hearing ; some through the 
 gates, some by the river. And the bells 
 were rung that you might hear and know ; 
 but neither could you understand the bells. 
 I wandered from one place to another, 
 listening and watching — till the unseen 
 became to me as the seen, and I thought 
 
148 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 of the wonder no more. Sometimes there 
 came to me vaguely a desire to question 
 them, to ask whence they came and what 
 was the secret of their Hving, and why they 
 were here ? But if I had asked who would 
 have heard me ? and desire had grown 
 faint in my heart ; all I wished for was 
 that you should hear, that you should 
 understand ; with this wish Semur was 
 full. They thought but of this. They 
 went to the walls in bands, each in their 
 order, and as they came all the others 
 rushed to meet them, to ask, ' What news ? ' 
 I following, now with one, now with an- 
 other, breathless and footsore as they 
 glided along. It is terrible when flesh and 
 blood live with those who are spirits. I 
 toiled after them. I sat on the Cathedral 
 steps, and slept and waked, and heard the 
 voices still in my dream. I prayed, but it 
 was hard to pray. Once following a crowd 
 I entered your house, M. le Maire, and 
 went up, though I scarcely could drag 
 myself along. There many were assembled 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 49 
 
 as in council. Your father was at the head 
 of all. He was the one, he only, who 
 knew me. Again he looked at me and I 
 saw him, and in the light of his face an 
 assembly such as I have seen in pictures. 
 One moment it glimmered before me and 
 then it was gone. There were the captains 
 of all the bands waiting to speak, men and 
 women. I heard them repeating from one 
 to another the same tale. One voice was 
 small and soft like a child's ; it spoke of 
 you. ' We went to him,' it said ; and your 
 father, M. le Maire, he too joined in, and 
 said : ' We went to him — but he could not 
 hear us.' And some said it was enough — 
 that they had no commission from on high, 
 that they were but permitted — that it was 
 their own will to do it — and that the time 
 had come to forbear. 
 
 Now, while I listened, my heart was 
 grieved that they should fail. This gave 
 me a wound for myself who had trusted in 
 them, and also for them. But I, who am 
 I, a poor man without credit among my 
 
150 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 neighbours, a dreamer, one whom many 
 despise, that I should come to their aid ? 
 Yet I could not listen and take no part. I 
 cried out : ' Send me. I will tell them in 
 words they understand.' The sound of my 
 voice was like a roar in that atmosphere. 
 It sent a tremble into the air. It seemed 
 to rend me as it came forth from me, and 
 made me giddy, so that I would have 
 fallen had not there been a support afforded 
 me. As the light was going out of my 
 eyes I saw again the faces looking at each 
 other, questioning, benign, beautiful heads 
 one over another, eyes that were clear as the 
 heavens, but sad. I trembled while I 
 gazed : there was the bliss of heaven in 
 their faces, yet they were sad. Then every- 
 thing faded. I was led away, I know not 
 how, and brought to the door and put forth. 
 I was not worthy to see the blessed grieve. 
 That is a sight upon which the angels look 
 with awe, and which brings those tears 
 which are salvation into the eyes of God. 
 I went back to my house, weary yet calm. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I5I 
 
 There were many in my house ; but be- 
 cause my heart was full of one who was 
 not there, I knew not those who were there. 
 I sat me down where she had been. I was 
 weary, more weary than ever before, but 
 calm. Then I bethought me that I knew 
 no more than at the first, that I had lived 
 among the unseen as if they were my 
 neighbours, neither fearing them, nor hear- 
 ing those wonders which they have to tell. 
 As I sat with my head in my hands, two 
 talked to each other close by : * Is it true 
 that we have failed ?' said one ; and the 
 other answered, ' Must not all fail that is 
 not sent of the Father ?' I was silent ; 
 but I knew them, they were the voices of 
 my father and my mother. I listened as 
 out of a faint, in a dream. 
 
 While I sat thus, with these voices in my 
 ears, which a little while before would have 
 seemed to me more worthy of note than 
 anything on earth, but which now lulled me 
 and comforted me, as a child is comforted 
 by the voices of its guardians in the night, 
 
152 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 there occurred a new thing in the city like 
 nothing I had heard before. It roused me 
 notwithstanding my exhaustion and stupor. 
 It was the sound as of some one passing 
 through the city suddenly and swiftly, 
 whether in some wonderful chariot, whether 
 on some sweeping mighty wind, I cannot 
 tell. The voices stopped that were con- 
 versing beside me, and I stood up, and 
 with an impulse I could not resist went 
 out, as if a king were passing that way. 
 Straight, without turning to the right or 
 left, through the city, from one gate to 
 another, this passenger seemed going ; and 
 as he went there was the sound as of a 
 proclamation, as if it were a herald de- 
 nouncing war or ratifying peace. Whoso- 
 ever he was, the sweep of his going moved 
 my hair like a wind. At first the procla- 
 mation was but as a great shout, and I 
 could not understand it ; but as he came 
 nearer the words became distinct. * Neither 
 will they believe — though one rose from 
 the dead.' As it passed a murmur went 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 53 
 
 up from the city, like the voice of a great 
 multitude. Then there came sudden 
 silence. 
 
 At this moment, for a time — M. le Maire 
 will take my statement for what it is worth 
 — I became unconscious of what passed 
 further. Whether weariness overpowered 
 me and I slept, as at the most terrible 
 moment nature will demand to do, or if I 
 fainted I cannot tell ; but for a time I knew 
 no more. When I came to myself, I was 
 seated on the Cathedral steps with every- 
 thing silent around me. From thence 
 I rose up, moved by a will which was 
 not mine, and was led softly across the 
 Grande Rue, through the great square, 
 wath my face towards the Porte St. 
 Lambert. I went steadily on without 
 hesitation, never doubting that the gates 
 would open to me, doubting nothing, 
 though I had never attempted to withdraw 
 from the city before. When I came to the 
 gate I said not a word, nor any one to me ; 
 but the door rolled slowly open before me. 
 
154 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 and I was put forth into the morning light, 
 into the shining of the sun. I have now 
 said everything I had to say. The mes- 
 sage I dehvered was said through me ; 
 I can tell no more. Let me rest a little ; 
 figure to yourselves, I have known no night 
 of rest, nor eaten a morsel of bread for — 
 did you say it was but three days ? 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 M. LE MAIRE RESUMES HIS NARRATIVE. 
 
 We re-entered by the door for foot-passen- 
 gers which is by the side of the great Porte 
 St. Lambert. 
 
 I will not deny that my heart was, as one 
 may say, in my throat. A man does what 
 is his duty, what his fellow-citizens expect 
 of him ; but that is not to say that he 
 renders himself callous to natural emotion. 
 My veins were swollen, the blood coursing 
 through them • like a high-flowing river ; 
 my tongue was parched and dry. I am not 
 ashamed to admit that from head to foot 
 my body quivered and trembled. I was 
 afraid — but I went forward ; no man can do 
 more. As for M. le Cure he said not a 
 word. If he had any fears he concealed 
 them as I did. But his occupation is with 
 
156 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the ghostly and spiritual. To see men die, 
 to accompany them to the verge of the 
 grave, to create for them during the time 
 of their suffering after death (if it is true 
 that they suffer), an interest in heaven, 
 this his profession must necessarily give 
 him courage. My position is very different. 
 I have not made up my mind upon these 
 subjects. When one can believe frankly 
 in all the Church says, many things become 
 simple, which otherwise cause great diffi- 
 culty in the mind. The mysterious and 
 wonderful then find their natural place in 
 the course of affairs ; but when a man 
 thinks for himself, and has to take every- 
 thing on his own responsibility, and make 
 airthe necessary explanatioris, there is often 
 great difficulty. So many things will not 
 fit into their places, they straggle like 
 weary men on a march. One cannot put 
 them together, or satisfy one's self. 
 
 The sun was shining outside the walls 
 when we re-entered Semur ; but the first 
 step we took was into a gloom as black as 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 57 
 
 night, which did not re-assure us, it is un- 
 necessary to say. A chill was in the air, 
 of night and mist. We shivered, not with 
 the nerves only but with the cold. And as 
 all was dark, so all was still. I had ex- 
 pected to feel the presence of those who 
 were there, as I had felt the crowd of the 
 invisible before they entered the city. But 
 the air was vacant, there was nothing but 
 darkness and cold. We went on for a 
 little way with a strange fervour of expect- 
 ation. At each moment, at each step, it 
 seemed to me that some great call must be 
 made upon my self-possession and courage, 
 some event happen ; but there was nothing. 
 All was calm, the houses on either side of 
 the way were open, all but the office of the 
 octroi which was black as night with its 
 closed door. M. le Cure has told me since 
 that he believed Them to be there, though 
 unseen. This idea, however, was not in 
 my mind. I had felt the unseen multitude; 
 but here the air was free, there was no one 
 interposing between us, who breathed as 
 
158 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 men, and the walls that surrounded us. 
 Just within the gate a lamp was burning, 
 hanging to its rope over our heads ; and 
 the lights were in the houses as if some one 
 had left them there ; they threw a strange 
 glimmer into the darkness, flickering in the 
 wind. By and by as we went on the 
 gloom lessened, and by the time we had 
 reached the Grande Rue, there was a clear 
 steady pale twilight by which we saw every- 
 thing, as by the light of day. 
 
 We stood at the corner of the square 
 and looked round. Although still I heard 
 the beating of my own pulses loudly work- 
 ing in my ears, yet it was less terrible than 
 at first. A city when asleep is wonderful 
 to look on, but in all the closed doors and 
 windows one feels the safety and repose 
 sheltered there which no man can disturb ; 
 and the air has in it a sense of life, subdued, 
 yet warm. But here all was open, and all 
 deserted. The house of the miser Gros- 
 gain was exposed from the highest to the 
 lowest, but nobody was there to search for 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 59 
 
 what was hidden. The hotel de Bois- 
 Sombre, with its ^x^-dX porte-cochere, always 
 so jealously closed ; and my own house, 
 which my mother and wife have always 
 guarded so carefully, that no damp nor 
 breath of night might enter, had every 
 door and window wide open. Desolation 
 seemed seated in all these empty places. 
 I feared to go into my own dwelling. It 
 seemed to me as if the dead must be lying 
 within. Bon Dieu ! Not a soul, not a 
 shadow ; all vacant in this soft twilight ; 
 nothing moving, nothing visible. The 
 great doors of the Cathedral were wide 
 open, and every little entry. How spacious 
 the city looked, how silent, how wonder- 
 ful ! There was room for a squadron to 
 wheel in the great square, but not so 
 much as a bird, not a dog ; all pale and 
 empty. We stood for a long time (or it 
 seemed a long time) at the corner, look- 
 ing right and left. We were afraid to 
 make a step farther. We knew not what 
 to do. Nor could I speak ; there was 
 
l6o A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 much I wished to say, but something 
 stopped my voice. 
 
 At last M. le Cure found utterance. His 
 voice so moved the silence, that at first my 
 heart was faint with fear ; it was hoarse, 
 and the sound rolled round the great square 
 like muffled thunder. One did not seem to 
 know what strange faces might rise at the 
 open windows, what terrors might appear. 
 But all he said was, ' We are ambassadors 
 in vain.' 
 
 What was it that followed ? My teeth 
 chattered. I could not hear. It was as if 
 ' in vain ! * in vain ! ' came back in echoes, 
 more and more distant from every opening. 
 They breathed all around us, then were 
 still, then returned louder from beyond the 
 river. M. le Cure, though he is a spiritual 
 person, was no more courageous than I. 
 With one impulse, we put out our hands and 
 grasped each other. We retreated back 
 to back, like men hemmed in by foes, and 
 I felt his heart beating wildly, and he mine. 
 Then silence, silence settled all around. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. l6l 
 
 It was now my turn to speak. I would 
 not be behind, come what might, though 
 my Hps were parched with mental trouble. 
 
 I said, ' Are we indeed too late ? Le- 
 camus must have deceived himself.' 
 
 To this there came no echo and no 
 reply, which would be a relief, you may 
 suppose ; but it was not so. It was well- 
 nigh more appalling, more terrible than the 
 sound ; for though we spoke thus, we did 
 not believe the place was empty. Those 
 whom we approached seemed to be wrap- 
 ping themselves in silence, invisible, wait- 
 ing to speak with some awful purpose 
 when their time came. 
 
 There we stood for some minutes, like 
 two children, holding each other s hands, 
 leaning against each other at the corner of 
 the square — as helpless as children, waiting 
 for what should come next. I say it frankly, 
 my brain and my heart w^ere one throb. 
 They plunged and beat so wildly that I 
 could scarcely have heard any other sound. 
 In this respect I think he was more calm. 
 
 M 
 
1 62 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 There was on his face that look of intense 
 listening which strains the very soul. But 
 neither he nor I heard anything, not so 
 much as a whisper. At last, * Let us go 
 on,' I said. We stumbled as we went, with 
 agitation and fear. We were afraid to turn 
 our backs to those empty houses, which 
 seemed to gaze at us with all their empty 
 windows pale and glaring. Mechanically, 
 scarce knowing what I was doing, I made 
 towards my own house. 
 
 There was no one there. The rooms 
 were all open and empty. I went from 
 one to another, with a sense of expectation 
 which made my heart faint ; but no one was 
 there, nor anything changed. Yet I do 
 wrong to say that nothing was changed. In 
 my library, where I keep my books, where 
 my father and grandfather conducted their 
 affairs, like me, one little difference struck 
 me suddenly, as if some one had dealt me 
 a blow. The old bureau which my grand- 
 father had used, at which I remember 
 standing by his knee, had been drawn from 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 63 
 
 the corner where I had placed it out of the 
 way (to make room for the furniture I pre- 
 ferred) , and replaced, as in old times, in the 
 middle of the room. It was nothing ; yet 
 how much was in this ! though only myself 
 could have perceived it. Some of the old 
 drawers were open, full of old papers. I 
 glanced over them in my agitation, to see if 
 there might be any writing, any message 
 addressed to me ; but there was nothing, 
 nothing but this silent sign of those who 
 had been here. Naturally M. le Cure, 
 who kept watch at the door, was unac- 
 quainted with the cause of my emotion. 
 The last room I entered was my wife's. 
 Her veil was lying on the white bed, as if 
 she had gone out that moment, and some 
 of her ornaments were on the table. It 
 seemed to me that the atmosphere of 
 mystery which filled the rest of the house 
 was not here. A ribbon, a little ring, what 
 nothings are these ? Yet they make even 
 emptiness sweet. In my Agnes's room 
 there is a little shrine, more sacred to us 
 
164 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 than any altar. There is the picture of our 
 little Marie. It is covered with a veil, em- 
 broidered with needlework which it is a 
 wonder to see. Not always can even 
 Agnes bear to look upon the face of this 
 angel, whom God has taken from her. She 
 has worked the little curtain with lilies, with 
 white and virginal flowers ; and no hand, 
 not even mine, ever draws it aside. What 
 did I see ? The veil was boldly folded 
 away ; the face of the child looked at me 
 across her mother's bed, and upon the frame 
 of the picture was laid a branch of olive, 
 with silvery leaves. I know no more but 
 that I uttered a great cry, and flung myself 
 upon my knees before this angel-gift. 
 What stranger could know what was in my 
 heart ? M. le Cur6, my friend, my brother, 
 came hastily to me, with a pale counte- 
 nance ; but when he looked at me, he drew 
 back and turned away his face, and a sob 
 came from his breast. Never child had 
 called him father, were it in heaven, were 
 it on earth. Well I knew whose tender 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 65 
 
 fingers had placed the branch of olive 
 there. 
 
 I went out of the rpom and locked the 
 door. It was just that my wife should find 
 it where it had been laid. 
 
 I put my arm into his as we went 
 out once more into the street. That 
 moment had made us brother and brother. 
 And this union made us more strong. 
 Besides, the silence and the emptiness 
 began to grow less terrible to us. We 
 spoke in our natural voices as we came 
 out, scarcely knowing how great was the 
 difference between them and the whispers 
 which had been all we dared at first to 
 employ. Yet the sound of these louder 
 tones scared us when we heard them, for 
 w^e were still trembling, not assured of de- 
 liverance. It was he who showed himself 
 a man, not I ; for my heart was over- 
 whelmed, the tears stood in my eyes, I had 
 no strength to resist my impressions. 
 
 ' Martin Dupin,' he said suddenly, ' it is 
 enough. We are frightening ourselves 
 
l66 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 with shadows. We are afraid even of our 
 own voices. This must not be. Enough ! 
 Whosoever they were who have been in 
 Semur, their visitation is over, and they are 
 gone.' 
 
 * I think so,' I said faintly ; ' but God 
 knows.' Just then something passed me 
 as sure as ever man passed me. I started 
 back out of the way and dropped my friend s 
 arm, and covered my eyes with my hands. 
 It was nothing that could be seen ; it was 
 an air, a breath. M. le Cure looked at me 
 wildly ; he was as a man beside himself. 
 He struck his foot upon the pavement and 
 gave a loud and bitter cry. 
 
 ' Is it delusion ?' he said, * O my God ! 
 or shall not even this, not even so much as 
 this be revealed to me ?' 
 
 To see a man who had so ruled himself, 
 who had resisted every disturbance and 
 stood fast when all gave way, moved thus 
 at the very last to cry out with passion 
 against that which had been denied to him, 
 brought me back to myself. How often 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. id"] 
 
 had I read it in his eyes before ! He — 
 the priest — the servant of the unseen — yet 
 to all of us lay persons had that been re- 
 vealed which was hid from him. A great 
 pity was within me, and gave me strength. 
 * Brother,' I said, 'we are weak. If we 
 saw heaven opened, could we trust to our 
 vision now ? Our imaginations are masters 
 of us. So far as mortal eye can see, we 
 are alone in Semur. Have you forgotten 
 your psalm, and how you sustained us at 
 the first ? And now, your Cathedral is 
 open to you, my brother. Lcetatus sum,' I 
 said. It was an inspiration from above, 
 and no thought of mine ; for it is well 
 known, that though deeply respectful, I 
 have never professed religion. With one 
 impulse we turned, we went together, as in 
 a procession, across the silent place, and 
 up the great steps. We said not a word 
 to each other of what we meant to do. 
 All was fair and silent in the holy place ; 
 a breath of incense still in the air ; a mur- 
 mur of psalms (as one could imagine) far 
 
1 68 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 up in the high roof. There I served, while 
 he said his mass. It was for my friend 
 that this impulse came to my mind ; but I 
 was rewarded. The days of my childhood 
 seemed to come back to me. All trouble, 
 and care, and mystery, and pain, seemed 
 left behind. All I could see was the 
 glimmer on the altar of the great candle- 
 sticks, the sacred pyx in its shrine, the 
 chalice, and the book. I was again an 
 enfant de chceur robed in white, like the 
 angels, no doubt, no disquiet in my soul — 
 and my father kneeling behind among the 
 faithful, bowing his head, with a sweetness 
 which I too knew, being a father, because 
 it was his child that tinkled the bell and 
 swung the censer. Never since those days 
 have I served the mass. My heart grew 
 soft within me as the heart of a little child. 
 The voice of M. le Cure was full of tears 
 — it swelled out into the air and filled the 
 vacant place. I knelt behind him on the 
 steps of the altar and wept. 
 
 Then there came a sound that made our 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 69 
 
 hearts leap in our bosoms. His voice 
 wavered as if it had been struck by a strong 
 wind ; but he was a brave man, and he 
 went on. It was the bells of the Cathedral 
 that pealed out over our heads. In the 
 midst of the office, while we knelt all alone, 
 they began to ring as at Easter or some 
 great festival. At first softly, almost sadly, 
 like choirs of distant singers, that died 
 away and were echoed and died again ; 
 then taking up another strain, they rang 
 out into the sky with hurrying notes and 
 clang of joy. The effect upon myself was 
 wonderful. I no longer felt any fear. The 
 illusion was complete. I was a child again, 
 serving the mass in my little surplice — 
 aware that all who loved me were kneeling 
 behind, that the good God was smiling, 
 and the Cathedral bells ringing out their 
 majestic Amen. 
 
 M. le Cure came down the altar steps 
 when his mass was ended. Together we 
 put away the vestments and the holy 
 vessels. Our hearts were soft ; the weight 
 
170' A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 was taken from them. As we came out 
 the bells were dying away in long and low 
 echoes, now faint, now louder, like mingled 
 voices of gladness and regret. And whereas 
 It had been a pale twilight when we entered, 
 the clearness of the day had rolled sweetly 
 In, and now It was fair morning in all the 
 streets. We did not say a word to each 
 other, but arm and arm took our way to 
 the gates, to open to our neighbours, to call 
 all our fellow-citizens back to Semur. 
 
 If I record here an incident of another 
 kind. It is because of the sequel that 
 followed. As we passed by the hospital 
 of St. Jean, we heard distinctly, coming 
 from within, the accents of a feeble yet 
 impatient voice. The sound revived for 
 a moment the troubles that were stilled 
 within us — but only for a moment. This 
 was no visionary voice. It brought a smile 
 to the grave face of M. le Cure and tempted 
 me well nigh to laughter, so strangely did 
 this sensation of the actual, break and dis- 
 perse the visionary atmosphere. We went 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I7I 
 
 in without any timidity, with a conscious 
 relaxation of the great strain upon us. In 
 a little nook, curtained off from the great 
 ward, lay a sick man upon his bed. * Is 
 it M. le Maire ?' he said ; ' a la bonne 
 heure ! I have a complaint to make of the 
 nurses for the night. They have gone out 
 to amuse themselves ; they take no notice 
 of poor sick people. They have known 
 for a week that I could not sleep ; but 
 neither have they given me a sleeping 
 draught, nor endeavoured to distract me 
 with cheerful conversation. And to-day, 
 look you, M. le Maire, not one of the sisters 
 has come near me ! ' 
 
 ' Have you suffered, my poor fellow ?' 
 I said ; but he would not go so far as 
 this. 
 
 ' I don't want to make complaints, M. le 
 Maire ; but the sisters do not come them- 
 selves as they used to do. One does not 
 care to have a strange nurse, when one 
 
 knows that if the sisters did their duty 
 
 But if it does not occur any more I do not 
 
 # 
 
172 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 wish it to be thought that I am the one to 
 complain.' 
 
 'Do not fear, mon ami,' I said. * I will 
 say to the Reverend Mother that you have 
 been left too long alone.' 
 
 * And listen, M. le Maire,' cried the man ; 
 ' those bells, will they never be done ? My 
 head aches with the din they make. How 
 can one go to sleep with all that riot in 
 one's ears ?' 
 
 We looked at each other, we could not 
 but smile. So that which is joy and de- 
 liverance to one is vexation to another. 
 As we went out again into the street the 
 lingering music of the bells died out, and 
 (for the first time for all these terrible days 
 and nights) the great clock struck the hour. 
 And as the clock struck, the last cloud 
 rose like a mist and disappeared in flying 
 vapours, and the full sunshine of noon 
 burst on Semur. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SUPPLEMENT BY M. DE BOIS-SOMBRE. 
 
 When M. le Maire disappeared within the 
 mist, we all remained behind with troubled 
 hearts. For my own part I was alarmed for 
 my friend. M. Martin Dupin Is not noble. 
 He belongs, indeed, to the haute bourgeoisie, 
 and all his antecedents are most respect- 
 able ; but it is his personal character and 
 admirable qualities which justify me in 
 calling him my friend. The manner in 
 which he has performed his duties to his 
 fellow-citizens during this time of distress 
 has been sublime. It is not my habit to 
 take any share in public life ; the unhappy 
 circumstances of France have made this 
 impossible for years. Nevertheless, I put 
 aside my scruples when It became necessary, 
 to leave him free for his mission. I gave 
 
174 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 no opinion upon that mission itself, or how 
 far he was right in obeying the advice of 
 a hare-brained enthusiast like Lecamus. 
 Nevertheless the moment had come at 
 which our banishment had become intoler- 
 able. Another day, and I should have 
 proposed an assault upon the place. Our 
 dead forefathers, though I would speak of 
 them with every respect, should not presume 
 upon their privilege. I do not pretend to 
 be braver than other men, nor have I shown 
 myself more equal than others to cope with 
 the present emergency. But I have the 
 impatience of my countrymen, and rather 
 than rot here outside the gates, parted 
 from Madame de Bois-Sombre and my 
 children, who, I am happy to state, are in 
 safety at the country house of the brave 
 Dupin, I should have dared any hazard. 
 This being the case, a new step of any kind 
 called for my approbation, and I could not 
 refuse under the circumstances — -especially 
 as no ceremony of installation was required 
 or profession of loyalty to one government 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I 75 
 
 or another — to take upon me the office of 
 coadjutor and act as deputy for my friend 
 Martin outside the walls of Semur. 
 
 The moment at which I assumed the 
 authority was one of great discouragement 
 and depression. The men were tired to 
 death. Their minds were worn out as 
 well as their bodies. The excitement and 
 fatigue had been more than they could 
 bear. Some were for giving up the con- 
 test and seeking new homes for themselves. 
 These were they, I need not remark, who 
 had but little to lose ; some seemed to care 
 for nothing but to lie down and rest. 
 Though it produced a great movement 
 among us when Lecamus suddenly appeared 
 coming out of the city ; and the undertaking 
 of Dupin and the excellent Cure was viewed 
 with great interest, yet there could not but 
 be signs apparent that the situation had 
 lasted too long. It was tendit in the 
 strongest degree, and when that is the case 
 a reaction must come. It is impossible 
 to say, for one thing, how great was our 
 
176 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 personal discomfort. We were as soldiers 
 campaigning without a commissariat, or 
 any precautions taken for our welfare ; no 
 food save what was sent to us from La 
 Clairiere and other places ; no means of 
 caring for our personal appearance, in 
 which lies so much of the materials of self- 
 respect. I say nothing of the chief features 
 of all — the occupation of our homes by 
 others — the forcible expulsion of which we 
 had been the objects. No one could have 
 been more deeply impressed than myself at 
 the moment of these extraordinary pro- 
 ceedings ; but we cannot go on with one 
 monotonous impression, however serious, 
 we other Frenchmen. Three days is a very 
 long time to dwell in one thought ; I my- 
 self had become impatient, I do not deny. 
 To go away, which would have been very 
 natural, and which Agathe proposed, was 
 contrary to my instincts and interests both. 
 I trust I can obey the logic of circum- 
 stances as well as another ; but to yield is 
 not easy, and to leave my hotel at Semur 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 77 
 
 — now the chief residence, alas ! of the 
 Bois-Sombres — probably to the licence of 
 a mob — for one can never tell at what 
 moment Republican institutions may break 
 down and sink back into the chaos from 
 which they arose — was impossible. Nor 
 would I forsake the brave Dupin without 
 the strongest motive ; but that the situation 
 was extremely tendu, and a reaction close 
 at hand, was beyond dispute. 
 
 I resisted the movement which my ex- 
 cellent friend made to take off and transfer 
 to me his scarf of office. These things are 
 much thought of among the bourgeoisie. 
 ' Mon ami,' I said, 'you cannot tell what 
 use you may have for it ; whereas our 
 townsmen know me, and that I am not one 
 to take up an unwarrantable position.' We 
 then accompanied him to the neighbour- 
 hood of the Porte St. Lambert. It was at 
 that time invisible ; we could but judge 
 approximately. My men were unwilling 
 to approach too near, neither did I myself 
 think it necessary. We parted, after giving 
 
 N 
 
178 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the two envoys an honourable escort, 
 leaving a clear space between us and the 
 darkness. To see them disappear gave us 
 all a startling sensation. Up to the last 
 moment I had doubted whether they would 
 obtain admittance. When they disappeared 
 from our eyes, there came upon all of us an 
 impulse of alarm. I myself was so far 
 moved by it, that I called out after them 
 in a sudden panic. For if any catastrophe 
 had happened, how could I ever have for- 
 given myself, especially as Madame Dupin 
 de la Clairiere, a person entirely comme il 
 faut, and of the most distinguished char- 
 acter, went after her husband, with a touch- 
 ing devotion, following him to the very 
 edge of the darkness ? I do not think, so 
 deeply possessed was he by his mission, 
 that he saw her. Dupin is very determined 
 in his way ; but he is imaginative and 
 thoughtful, and it is very possible that, as 
 he required all his powers to brace him for 
 this enterprise, he made it a principle 
 neither to look to the right hand nor the 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 79 
 
 left. When we paused, and following after 
 our two representatives, Madame Dupin 
 stepped forth, a thrill ran through us all. 
 Some would have called to her, for I heard 
 many broken exclamations ; but most of us 
 were too much startled to speak. We 
 thought nothing less than that she was 
 about to risk herself by going after them 
 into the city. If that was her intention — 
 and nothing is more probable ; for women 
 are very daring, though they are timid — 
 she was stopped, it is most likely, by that 
 curious inability to move a step farther 
 which we have all experienced. We saw 
 her pause, clasp her hands in despair (or 
 it might be in token of farewell to her 
 husband), then, instead of returning, seat 
 herself on the road on the edge of the 
 darkness. It was a relief to all who were 
 looking on to see her there. 
 
 In the reaction after that excitement I 
 found myself in face of a great difficulty — 
 what to do with my men, to keep them 
 from demoralisation. They were greatly 
 
l80 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 excited ; and yet there was nothing to be 
 done for them, for myself, for any of us, 
 but to wait. To organise the patrol again, 
 under the circumstances, would have been 
 impossible. Dupin, perhaps, might have 
 tried it with that bourgeois determination 
 which so often carries its point in spite of 
 all higher intelligence ; but to me, who 
 have not this commonplace way of looking 
 at things, It was Impossible. The worthy 
 soul did not think in what a difficulty he 
 left us. That intolerable, good-for-nothing 
 Jacques Richard (whom Dupin protects 
 unwisely, I cannot tell why), and who was 
 already half-seas-over, had drawn several 
 of his comrades with him towards the 
 cabaret, which was always a danger to us. 
 We will drink success to M. le Maire,' he 
 said, ' mes bons amis ! That can do no 
 one any harm ; and as we have spoken up, 
 as we have empowered him to offer hand- 
 some terms to Messieurs les Morts ' 
 
 It was intolerable. Precisely at the 
 moment when our fortune hung in the 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. l8l 
 
 balance, and when, perhaps, an indiscreet 
 
 word ' Arrest that fellow,' I said. 
 
 ' Riou, you are an official ; you under- 
 stand your duty. Arrest him on the spot, 
 and confine him in the tent out of the 
 way of mischief Two of you mount 
 guard over him. And let a party be told 
 off, of which you will take the command, 
 Louis Bertin, to go at once to La Clairiere 
 and beg the Reverend Mothers of the 
 hospital to favour us with their presence. 
 It will be well to have those excellent 
 ladies in our front whatever happens ; and 
 you may communicate to them the un- 
 animous decision about their chapel. You, 
 Robert Lemaire, with an escort, will pro- 
 ceed to the campagne of M. Barbou, and 
 put him in possession of the circumstances. 
 Those of you who have a natural wish to 
 seek a little repose will consider yourselves 
 as discharged from duty and permitted to 
 do so. Your Maire having confided to me 
 his authority — not without your consent — 
 (this I avow I added with some difficulty. 
 
1 82 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 for who cared for their assent ? but a Re- 
 publican Government offers a premium to 
 every insincerity), I wait with confidence 
 to see these dispositions carried out/ 
 
 This, I am happy to say, produced the 
 best effect. They obeyed me without 
 hesitation ; and, fortunately for me, slumber 
 seized upon the majority. Had it not been 
 for this, I can scarcely tell how I should 
 have got out of it. I felt drowsy myself, 
 having been with the patrol the greater 
 part of the night; but to yield to such weak- 
 ness was, in my position, of course impos- 
 sible. 
 
 This, then, was our attitude during the 
 last hours of suspense, which were perhaps 
 the most trying of all. In the distance 
 might be seen the little bands marching 
 towards La Clairiere, on one side, and M. 
 Barbou's country-house (* La Corbeille des 
 Raisins') on the other. It goes without 
 saying that I did not want M. Barbou, but 
 it was the first errand I could think of. 
 Towards the city, just where the darkness 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 83 
 
 began that enveloped it, sat Madame Dupln. 
 That sainte-femme was praying for her hus- 
 band, who could doubt ? And under the 
 trees, wherever they could find a favourable 
 spot, my men lay down on the grass, and 
 most of them fell asleep. My eyes were 
 heavy enough, but responsibility drives 
 away rest. I had but one nap of five 
 minutes' duration, leaning against a tree, 
 when it occurred to me that Jacques 
 Richard, whom I sent under escort half- 
 drunk to the tent, was not the most admir- 
 able companion for that poor visionary 
 Lecamus, who had been accommodated 
 there. I roused myself, therefore, though 
 unwillingly, to see whether these two, so 
 discordant, could agree. 
 
 I met Lecamus at the tent-door. He 
 was coming out, very feeble and tottering, 
 with that dazed look which (according to 
 me) has always been characteristic of him. 
 He had a bundle of papers in his hand. 
 He had been setting in order his report of 
 what had happened to him, to be submitted 
 
184 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 to the Maire. ' Monsieur/ he said, with 
 some irritation (which I forgave him), 'you 
 have always been unfavourable to me. I 
 owe it to you that this unhappy drunkard 
 has been sent to disturb me in my feeble- 
 ness and the discharge of a public duty.' 
 
 * My good Monsieur Lecamus,' said I, 
 ' you do my recollection too much honour. 
 The fact is, I had forgotten all about you 
 and your public duty. Accept my excuses. 
 Though indeed your supposition that I 
 should have taken the trouble to annoy 
 you, and your description of that good-for- 
 nothing as an unhappy drunkard, are signs 
 of intolerance which I should not have 
 expected in a man so favoured.' 
 
 This speech, though too long, pleased 
 me, for a man of this species, a revolu- 
 tionary (are not all visionaries revolution- 
 aries ?) is always, when occasion offers, to 
 be put down. He disarmed me, however, 
 by his humility. He gave a look round. 
 ' Where can I go ? ' he said, and there was 
 pathos in his voice. At length he per- 
 
. A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 85 
 
 celved Madame Dupin sitting almost 
 motionless on the road. * Ah ! ' he said, 
 
 * there is my place.' The man, I could 
 not but perceive, was very weak. His 
 eyes were twice their natural size, his face 
 was the colour of ashes ; through his whole 
 frame there was a trembling; the papers 
 shook in his hand. A compunction seized 
 my mind : I regretted to have sent that 
 piece of noise and folly to disturb a poor 
 man so suffering and weak. ' Monsieur 
 Lecamus,' I said, 'forgive me. I acknow- 
 ledge that it was inconsiderate. Remain 
 here in comfort, and I will find for this 
 unruly fellow another place of confinement.' 
 
 * Nay,' he said, 'there is my place,' point- 
 ing to where Madame Dupin sat. I felt 
 disposed for a moment to indulge in a 
 pleasantry, to say that I approved his taste ; 
 but on second thoughts I forebore. He 
 went tottering slowly across the broken 
 ground, hardly able to drag himself along. 
 
 * Has he had any refreshment ? ' I asked 
 of one of the women who were about. 
 
1 86 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 They told me yes, and this restored my 
 composure ; for after all I had not meant 
 to annoy him, I had forgotten he was there 
 — a trivial fault in circumstances so excit- 
 ing. I was more easy in my mind, how- 
 ever, I confess it, when I saw that he had 
 reached his chosen position safely. The 
 man looked so weak. It seemed to me that 
 he might have died on the road. 
 
 I thought I could almost perceive the 
 gate, with Madame Dupin seated under 
 the battlements, her charming figure re- 
 lieved against the gloom, and that poor 
 Lecamus lying, with his papers fluttering 
 at her feet. This was the last thing I was 
 conscious of. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE NARRATIVE OF 
 
 MADAME DUPIN DE LA CLAIRIERE 
 
 (^k DE CHAMPFLEURIe). 
 
 I WENT with my husband to the city gate. 
 
 I did not wish to distract his mind from 
 what he had undertaken, therefore I took 
 care he should not see me ; but to follow 
 close, giving the sympathy of your whole 
 heart, must not that be a support ? If I 
 am asked whether I was content to let him 
 go, I cannot answer yes ; but had another 
 than Martin been chosen, I could not have 
 borne it. What I desired, was to go my- 
 self. I was not afraid : and if it had 
 proved dangerous, if I had been broken 
 and crushed to pieces between the seen 
 and the unseen, one could not have had a 
 
155 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 more beautiful fate. It would have made 
 me happy to go. But perhaps it was 
 better that the messenger should not be a 
 woman ; they might have said it was delu- 
 sion, an attack of the nerves. We are not 
 trusted in these respects, though I find it 
 hard to tell why. 
 
 But I went with Martin to the gate. 
 To go as far as was possible, to be as near 
 as possible, that was something. If there 
 had been room for me to pass, I should 
 have gone, and with such gladness ! for 
 God He knows that to help to thrust my 
 husband into danger, and not to share it, 
 was terrible to me. But no ; the invisible 
 line was still drawn, beyond which I could 
 not stir. The door opened before him, 
 and closed upon me. But though to see 
 him disappear into the gloom was anguish, 
 yet to know that he was the man by whom 
 the city should be saved was sweet. I sat 
 down on the spot where my steps were 
 stayed. It was close to the wall, where 
 there is a ledge of stonework round the 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 89 
 
 basement of the tower. There I sat down 
 to wait till he should come again. 
 
 If any one thinks, however, that we, who 
 were under the shelter of the roof of La 
 Clairiere were less tried than our hus- 
 bands, it is a mistake ; our chief grief 
 was that we were parted from them, not 
 knowing what suffering, what exposure they 
 might have to bear, and knowing that they 
 would not accept, as most of us were will- 
 ing to accept, the interpretation of the 
 mystery ; but there was a certain comfort 
 in the fact that we had to be very busy, 
 preparing a little food to take to them, and 
 feeding the others. La Clairiere is a little 
 country house, not a great chateau, and it 
 was taxed to the utmost to afford some 
 covert to the people. The children were 
 all sheltered and cared for ; but as for the 
 rest of us we did as we could. And how 
 gay they were, all the little ones ! What 
 was it to them all that had happened ? It 
 was a fete for them to be in the country, 
 to be so many together, to run in the fields 
 
190 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 and the gardens. Sometimes their laughter 
 and their happiness were more than we 
 could bear. Agathe de Bois-Sombre, who 
 takes life hardly, who is more easily de- 
 ranged than I, was one who was much dis- 
 turbed by this. But was it not to preserve 
 the children that we were commanded to 
 go to La Clairiere ? Some of the women 
 also were not easy to bear with. When 
 they were put into our rooms they too 
 found it a fete, and sat down among the 
 children, and ate and drank, and forgot 
 what it was ; what awful reason had driven 
 us out of our homes. These were not, oh 
 let no one think so ! the majority ; but 
 there were some, it cannot be denied ; and 
 it was difficult for me to calm down Bonne 
 Maman, and keep her from sending them 
 away with their babes. ' But they are 
 mis^rablesl she said. * If they were to 
 wander and be lost, if they were to suffer 
 as thou sayest, where would be the harm ? 
 I have no patience with the idle, with those 
 who impose upon thee.' It is possible that 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. I9I 
 
 Bonne Maman was right — but what then ? 
 * Preserve the children and the sick,' was 
 the mission that had been given to me. 
 My own room was made the hospital. 
 Nor did this please Bonne Maman. She 
 bid me if I did not stay in it myself to give 
 it to the Bois-Sombres, to some who de- 
 served it. But is it not they who need 
 most who deserve most ? Bonne Maman 
 cannot bear that the poor and wretched 
 should live in her Martin's chamber. He is 
 my Martin no less. But to give it up to our 
 Lord is not that to sanctify it ? There are 
 who have put Him into their own bed 
 when they imagined they were but shelter- 
 ing a sick beggar there ; that He should 
 have the best was sweet to me : and could 
 not I pray all the better that our Martin 
 should be enlightened, should come to the 
 true sanctuary ? When I said this Bonne 
 Maman wept. It was the grief of her 
 heart that Martin thought otherwise than 
 as we do. Nevertheless she said, ' He is 
 so good ; the bon Dieu knows how good 
 
192 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 he is;' as if even his mother could know- 
 that so well as I ! 
 
 But with the women and the children 
 crowding everywhere, the sick in my 
 chamber, the helpless in every corner, it 
 will be seen that we, too, had much to do. 
 And our hearts were elsewhere, with those 
 who were watching the city, who were face 
 to face with those in whom they had not 
 believed. We were going and coming all 
 day long with food for them, and there 
 never was a time of the night or day that 
 there were not many of us watching on 
 the brow of the hill to see if any change 
 came in Semur. Agathe and I, and our 
 children, were all together in one little 
 room. She believed in God, but it w^as 
 not any comfort to her ; sometimes she 
 would weep and pray all day long ; some- 
 times entreat her husband to abandon the 
 city, to go elsewhere and live, and fly from 
 this strange fate. She is one who cannot 
 endure to be unhappy — not to have what 
 she wishes. As for me, I was brought up 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 93 
 
 in poverty, and it is no wonder if I can more 
 easily submit. She was not willing that 
 I should come this morning to Semur. In 
 the night the Mere Julie had roused us, 
 saying she had seen a procession of angels 
 coming to restore us to the city. Ah ! to 
 those who have no knowledge it is easy to 
 speak of processions of angels. But to 
 those who have seen what an angel is — 
 how they flock upon us unawares in the 
 darkness, so that one is confused, and scarce 
 can tell if it is reality or a dream ; to those 
 who have heard a little voice soft as the 
 dew coming out of heaven ! I said to them 
 — for all were in a great tumult — that the 
 angels do not come in processions, they 
 steal upon us unaware, they reveal them- 
 selves in the soul. But they did not 
 listen to me ; even Agathe took pleasure in 
 hearing of the revelation. As for me, I had 
 denied myself, I had not seen Martin for a 
 night and a day. I took one of the great 
 baskets, and I went with the women who 
 were the messengers for the day. A pur- 
 o 
 
194 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 pose formed itself in my heart, it was to 
 make my way into the city, I know not 
 how, and implore them to have pity upon 
 us before the people w^ere distraught. 
 Perhaps, had I been able to refrain from 
 speaking to Martin, I might have found 
 the occasion I wished ; but how could I 
 conceal my desire from my husband ? And 
 now all is changed, I am rejected and he is 
 gone. He was more worthy. Bonne 
 Maman is right. Our good God, who is 
 our father, does He require that one should 
 make profession of faith, that all should 
 be alike ? He sees the heart ; and to 
 choose my Martin, does not that prove 
 that He loves best that which is best, not 
 I, or a priest, or one who makes profes- 
 sions ? Thus, I sat down at the gate with 
 a great confidence, though also a trembling 
 in my heart. He who had known how to 
 choose him among all the others, would 
 not He guard him ? It was a proof to me 
 once again that heaven is true, that the 
 good God loves and comprehends us all, 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 95 
 
 to see how His wisdom, which is unerr- 
 ing, had chosen the best man in Semur. 
 
 And M. le Cur6, that goes without say- 
 ing, he is a priest of priests, a true servant 
 of God. 
 
 I saw my husband go : perhaps, God 
 knows, into danger, perhaps to some en- 
 counter such as might fill the world with 
 awe — to meet those who read the thought 
 in your mind before it comes to your lips. 
 Well ! there is no thought irr Martin that is 
 not noble and true. Me, I have follies in 
 my heart, every kind of folly ; but he ! — the 
 tears came in a flood to my eyes, but I 
 would not shed them, as if I were weeping 
 for fear and sorrow — no — but for happiness 
 to know that falsehood was not in him. 
 My little Marie, a holy virgin, may look 
 into her father's heart — I do not fear the 
 test. 
 
 The sun came warm to my feet as I sat 
 on the foundation of our city, but the pro- 
 jection of the tower gave me a little shade. 
 All about was a great peace. I thought of 
 
196 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the psalm which says, * He will give it to 
 His beloved sleeping' — that is true; but 
 always there are some who are used as 
 instruments, who are not permitted to sleep. 
 The sounds that came from the people 
 gradually ceased ; they were all very quiet. 
 M. de Bois-Sombre I saw at a distance 
 making his dispositions. Then M. Paul 
 Lecamus, whom I had long known, came 
 up across the field, and seated himself close 
 to me upon the road. I have always had a 
 great sympathy with him since the death of 
 his wife ; ever since there has been an ab- 
 straction in his eyes, a look of desolation. 
 He has no children or any one to bring him 
 back to life. Now, it seemed to me that 
 he had the air of a man who was dying. 
 He had been in the city while all of us had 
 been outside. 
 
 ' Monsieur Lecamus,' I said, ' you look 
 very ill, and this is not a place for you. 
 Could not I take you somewhere, where 
 you might be more at your ease ? ' 
 
 ' It is true, Madame,' he said, 'the road 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 97 
 
 is hard, but the sunshine is sweet ; and 
 when I have finished what I am writing 
 for M. le Maire, it will be over. There 
 will be no more need ' 
 
 I did not understand what he meant. 
 I asked him to let me help him, but he 
 shook his head. His eyes were very 
 hollow, in great caves, and his face was the 
 colour of ashes. Still he smiled. ' I thank 
 you, Madame,' he said, * infinitely ; every- 
 one knows that Madame Dupin is kind ; 
 but when it is done, I shall be free.' 
 
 ' I am sure, M. Lecamus, that my hus- 
 band — that M. le Maire — would not wish 
 you to trouble yourself, to be hurried ' 
 
 ' No,' he said, ' not he, but I. Who else 
 could write what I have to write ? It must 
 be done while it is day.' 
 
 ' Then there is plenty of time, M. Leca- 
 mus. All the best of the day is yet to 
 come ; it is still morning. If you could 
 but get as far as La Clairiere. There we 
 would nurse you — restore you.' 
 
 He shook his head. ' You have enough 
 
198 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 on your hands at La Clalriere,' he said ; 
 and then, leaning upon the stones, he began 
 to write again with his pencil. After a 
 time, when he stopped, I ventured to ask 
 — 'Monsieur Lecamus, is it, indeed, Those 
 — — whom we have known, who are in 
 Semur ? ' 
 
 He turned his dim eyes upon me. ' Does 
 Madame Dupin,' he said, ' require to 
 
 ask r 
 
 ' No, no. It is true. I have seen and 
 heard. But yet, when a little time passes, 
 you know ? one wonders ; one asks one's 
 self, was it a dream V 
 
 ' That is what I fear,' he said. ' I, too, 
 if life went on, might ask, notwithstanding 
 all that has occurred to me, Was it a 
 dream ?' 
 
 ' M. Lecamus, you will forgive me if I 
 hurt you. You saw — her f 
 
 'No. Seeing — what is seeing .^^ It is 
 but a vulgar sense, it is not all ; but I sat 
 at her feet. She was with me. We were 
 one, as of old .' A gleam of strange 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 1 99 
 
 light came into his dim eyes. * Seeing is 
 not everything, Madame.' 
 
 'No, M. Lecamus. I heard the dear 
 voice of my little Marie.' 
 
 * Nor is hearing everything,' he said 
 hastily. ' Neither did she speak ; but she 
 was there. We were one ; we had no need 
 to speak. What is speaking or hearing 
 when heart wells into heart ? For a very 
 little moment, only for a moment, Madame 
 Dupin.' 
 
 I put out my hand to him ; I could not 
 say a word. How was it possible that she 
 could go away again, and leave him so 
 feeble, so worn, alone ? 
 
 'Only a very little moment,' he said, 
 slowly. ' There were other voices — but 
 not hers. I think I am glad it was in the 
 spirit we met, she and I — I prefer not to 
 see her till — after ' 
 
 ' Oh, M. Lecamus, I am too much of 
 the world ! To see them, to hear them — 
 it is for this I long.' 
 
 ' No, dear Madame. I would not have 
 
200 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 it till — after . But I must make haste, 
 
 I must write, I hear the hum approaching 
 
 I could not tell what he meant ; but I 
 asked no more. How still everything was ! 
 The people lay asleep on the grass, and I, 
 too, was overwhelmed by the great quiet. 
 I do not know if I slept, but I dreamed. 
 I saw a child very fair and tall always near 
 me, but hiding her face. It appeared to 
 me in my dream that all I wished for was 
 to see this hidden countenance, to know 
 her name ; and that I followed and watched 
 her, but for a long time in vain. All at 
 once she turned full upon me, held out her 
 arms to me. Do I need to say who it was ? 
 I cried out in my dream to the good God, 
 that He had done well to take her from 
 me — that this was worth it all. Was it a 
 dream ? I would not give that dream for 
 years of waking life. Then I started and 
 came back, in a moment, to the still morn- 
 ing sunshine, the sight of the men asleep, 
 the roughness of the wall against which I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 20I 
 
 leant. Some one laid a hand on mine. I 
 opened my eyes, not knowing what it was 
 — if it might be my husband coming back, 
 or her whom I had seen in my dream. It 
 was M. Lecamus. He had risen up upon 
 his knees — his papers were all laid aside. 
 His eyes in those hollow caves were opened 
 wide, and quivering with a strange light. 
 He had caught my wrist with his worn 
 hand. ' Listen !' he said ; his voice fell to 
 a whisper ; a light broke over his face. 
 * Listen!' he cried; 'they are coming.' 
 While he thus grasped my wrist, holding 
 up his weak and wavering body in that 
 strained attitude, the moments passed very 
 slowly. I was afraid of him, of his worn 
 face and thin hands, and the wild eagerness 
 about him. I am ashamed to say it, but so 
 it was. And for this reason it seemed long 
 to me, though I think not more than a min- 
 ute, till suddenly the bells rang out, sweet 
 and glad as they ring at Easter for the 
 resurrection. There had been ringing of 
 bells before, but not like this. With a start 
 
202 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 and universal movement the sleeping men 
 got up from where they lay — not one but 
 every one, coming out of the little hollows 
 and from under the trees as If from graves. 
 They all sprang up to listen, with one im- 
 pulse ; and as for me, knowing that Martin 
 was in the city, can it be wondered at if 
 my heart beat so loud that I was incapable 
 of thought of others ! What brought me 
 to myself was the strange weight of M. 
 Lecamus on my arm. He put his other 
 hand upon me, all cold in the brightness, 
 all trembling. He raised himself thus 
 slowly to his feet. When I looked at him 
 I shrieked aloud. I forgot all else. His 
 face was transformed — a smile came upon 
 it that was ineffable — the light blazed up, 
 and then quivered and flickered In his eyes 
 like a dying flame. All this time he was 
 leaning his weight upon my arm. Then 
 suddenly he loosed his hold of me, stretched 
 out his hands, stood up, and — died. My 
 God ! shall I ever forget him as he stood 
 — his head raised, his hands held out, his 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 203 
 
 lips moving, the eyelids opened wide with 
 a quiver, the light flickering and dying ! 
 He died first, standing up, saying something 
 with his pale lips — then fell. And it seemed 
 to me all at once, and for a moment, that I 
 heard a sound of many people marching 
 past, the murmur and hum of a great 
 multitude ; and softly, softly I was put out 
 of the way, and a voice said, ^ Adieu, ma 
 soeur! ^ Ma sceur T who called me ^ Ma 
 sceur' f I have no sister. I cried out, 
 saying I know not what. They told me 
 after that I wept and wrung my hands, and 
 said, ' Not thee, not thee, Marie !' But 
 after that I knew no more. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE NARRATIVE OF MADAME VEUVE DUPIN 
 
 (nSe lepelletier). 
 
 To complete the procSs verbal, my son 
 wishes me to give my account of the things 
 which happened out of Semur during its 
 miraculous occupation, as it is his desire, 
 in the interests of truth, that nothing 
 should be left out. In this I find a great 
 difficulty for many reasons ; in the first 
 place, because I have not the aptitude of 
 expressing myself in writing, and it may 
 well be that the phrases I employ may 
 fail in the correctness which good French 
 requires ; and again, because it is my mis- 
 fortune not to agree in all points with my 
 Martin, though I am proud to think that 
 he is, in every relation of life, so good a 
 man, that the women of his family need not 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 2O5 
 
 hesitate to follow his advice — but neces- 
 sarily there are some points which one 
 reserves ; and I cannot but feel the close- 
 ness of the connection between the late 
 remarkable exhibition of the power of 
 Heaven and the outrage done upon the 
 good Sisters of St. Jean by the administra- 
 tion, of which unfortunately my son is at 
 the head. I say unfortunately, since it is 
 the spirit of independence and pride in him 
 which has resisted all the warnings offered 
 by Divine Providence, and which refuses 
 even now to right the wrongs of the Sisters 
 of St. Jean ; though, if it may be permitted 
 to me to say it, as his mother, it was very 
 fortunate in the late troubles that Martin 
 Dupin found himself at the head of the 
 Commune of Semur — since who else could 
 have kept his self-control as he did? — caring 
 for all things and forgetting nothing ; who 
 else would, with so much courage, have 
 entered the city ? and what other man, being 
 a person of the world and secular in all his 
 thoughts, as, alas ! it is so common for men 
 
206 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 to be, would have so nobly acknowledged 
 his obligations to the good God when our 
 misfortunes were over ? My constant 
 prayers for his conversion do not make me 
 incapable of perceiving the nobility of his 
 conduct. When the evidence has been 
 incontestible he has not hesitated to make 
 a public profession of his gratitude, which 
 all will acknowledge to be the sign of a 
 truly noble mind and a heart of gold. 
 
 I have long felt that the times were ripe 
 for some exhibition of the power of God. 
 Things have been going very badly 
 among us. Not only have the powers of 
 darkness triumphed over our holy church, 
 in a manner ever to be wept and mourned 
 by all the faithful, and which might have 
 been expected to bring down fire from 
 Heaven upon our heads, but the corruption 
 of popular manners (as might also have been 
 expected) has been daily arising to a pitch 
 unprecedented. The f^tes may indeed be 
 said to be observed, but in what manner ? 
 In the cabarets rather than in the churches ; 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 207 
 
 and as for the fasts and vigils, who thinks of 
 them? who attends to those sacred moments 
 of penitence ? Scarcely even a few ladies 
 are found to do so, instead of the whole 
 population, as in duty bound. I have even 
 seen it happen that my daughter-in-law and 
 myself, and her friend Madame de Bois- 
 Sombre, and old Mere Julie from the 
 market, have formed the whole congrega- 
 tion. Figure to yourself the bon Dieu and 
 all the blessed saints looking down from 
 heaven to hear — four persons only in our 
 great Cathedral ! I trust that I know that 
 the good God does not despise even two or 
 three ; but if any one will think of it — the 
 great bells rung, and the candles lighted, 
 and the cure in his beautiful robes, and all 
 the companies of heaven looking on — and 
 only us four ! This shows the neglect of 
 all sacred ordinances that was in Semur. 
 While, on the other hand, what grasping 
 there was for money; what fraud and deceit; 
 what foolishness and dissipation ! Even the 
 Mere Julie herself, though a devout person. 
 
208 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the pears she sold to us on the last market 
 day before these events, were far, very far, 
 as she must have known, from being 
 satisfactory. In the same way Gros-Jean, 
 though a peasant from our own village near 
 La Clairiere, and a man for whom we have 
 often done little services, attempted to 
 impose upon me about the wood for the 
 winter's use, the very night before these 
 occurrences. ' It is enough,' I cried out, 
 'to bring the dead out of their graves.' I 
 did not know — the holy saints forgive me! — 
 how near it was to the moment when this 
 should come true. 
 
 And perhaps it is well that I should 
 admit without concealment that I am not 
 one of the women to whom it has been 
 given to see those who came back. There 
 are moments when I will not deny I have 
 asked myself why those others should 
 have been so privileged and never I. Not 
 even in a dream do I see those whom I 
 have lost ; yet I think that I too have loved 
 them as well as any have been loved. I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 209 
 
 have stood by their beds to the last ; I 
 have closed their beloved eyes. Mon 
 Dieu ! mon Dieu I have not I drunk of 
 that cup to the dregs ? But never to me, 
 never to me, has it been permitted either 
 to see or to hear. Bien ! it has been so 
 ordered. Agnes, my daughter-in-law, is a 
 good woman. I have not a word to say 
 against her ; and if there are moments 
 when my heart rebels, when I ask myself 
 why she should have her eyes opened and 
 not I, the good God knows that I do not 
 complain against His will — it is in His 
 hand to do as He pleases. And if I 
 receive no privileges, yet have I the 
 privilege which is best, which is, as M. le 
 Cur6 justly observes, the highest of all — 
 that of doing my duty. In this I thank the 
 good Lord our Seigneur that my Martin 
 has never needed to be ashamed of his 
 mother. 
 
 I will also admit that when it was first 
 made apparent to me — not by the sounds 
 of voices which the others heard, but by 
 
2IO A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the use of my reason which I humbly 
 beHeve is also a gift of God — that the way 
 in which I could best serve both those of 
 the city and my son Martin, who is over 
 them, was to lead the way with the children 
 and all the helpless to La Clairiere, thus 
 relieving the watchers, there was for a 
 time a great struggle in my bosom. What 
 were they all to me, that I should desert 
 my Martin, my only son, the child of my 
 old age ; he who is as his father, as dear, 
 and yet more dear, because he is his father s 
 son? ' What! (I said in my heart) abandon 
 thee, my child ? nay, rather abandon life 
 and every consolation ; for what is life to 
 me but thee ?' But while my heart swelled 
 with this cry, suddenly it became apparent 
 to me how many there were holding up 
 their hands helplessly to him, clinging to 
 him so that he could not move. To whom 
 else could they turn ? He was the one 
 among all who preserved his courage, who 
 neither feared nor failed. When those 
 voices rang out from the walls — which some 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 211 
 
 understood, but which I did not understand, 
 and many more with me — though my 
 heart was wrung with straining my ears to 
 Hsten if there was not a voice for me too, 
 yet at the same time this thought was 
 working In my heart. There was a poor 
 woman close to me with little children 
 clinging to her ; neither did she know 
 what those voices said. Her eyes turned 
 from Semur, all lost In the darkness, to 
 the sky above us and to me beside her, all 
 confused and bewildered ; and the children 
 clung to her, all In tears, crying with that 
 wall which is endless — the trouble of 
 childhood which does not know why it is 
 troubled. * Maman ! Maman !' they cried, 
 ' let us go home.' * Oh! be silent, my little 
 ones,* said the poor woman ; * be silent ; 
 we will go to M. le Maire — he will not 
 leave us without a friend.' It was then 
 that I saw what my duty was. But it was 
 with a pang — bon Dieu ! — when I turned 
 my back upon my Martin, when I went 
 away to shelter, to peace, leaving my son 
 
212 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 thus in face of an offended Heaven and all 
 the invisible powers, do you suppose it 
 was a whole heart I carried in my breast ? 
 But no ! it was nothing save a great ache 
 — a struggle as of death. But what of 
 that ? I had my duty to do, as he had — 
 and as he did not flinch, so did not I ; 
 otherwise he would have been ashamed of 
 his mother — and I ? I should have felt 
 that the blood was not mine which ran in 
 his veins. 
 
 No one can tell what it was, that march 
 to La Clairiere. Agnes at first was like an 
 angel. I hope I always do Madame Martin 
 justice. She is a saint. She is good to the 
 bottom of her heart. Nevertheless, with 
 those natures which are enthusiast — which 
 are upborne by excitement — there is also a 
 weakness. Though she was brave as the 
 holy Pucelle when we set out, after a while 
 she flagged like another. The colour went 
 out of her face, and though she smiled 
 still, yet the tears came to her eyes, and 
 she would have wept with the other women. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 213 
 
 and with the wail of the weary children, 
 and all the agitation, and the weariness, 
 and the length of the way, had not I 
 recalled her to herself. * Courage ! ' I said 
 to her. * Courage, ma fille ! We will 
 throw open all the chambers. I will give 
 up even that one in which my Martin 
 Dupin, the father of thy husband, died.* 
 * Ma mere', she said, holding my hand to 
 her bosom, * he is not dead — he is in 
 Semur.' Forgive me, dear Lord ! It gave 
 me a pang that she could see him and not 
 I. *For me,' I cried, * it is enough to 
 know that my good man is in heaven : his 
 room, which I have kept sacred, shall be 
 given up to the poor.' But oh ! the con- 
 fusion of the stumbling, weary feet ; the 
 little children that dropped by the way^ 
 and caught at our skirts, and wailed and 
 sobbed ; the poor mothers with babes upon 
 each arm, with sick hearts and failing limbs. 
 One cry seemed to rise round us as we 
 went, each infant moving the others to 
 sympathy, till it rose like one breath, a wail 
 
214 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 of * Maman ! Maman!' a cry that had no 
 meaning, through having so much meaning. 
 It was difficult not to cry out too in the 
 excitement, in the labouring of the long, 
 long, confused, and tedious way. * Maman ! 
 Maman !' The Holy Mother could not but 
 hear it. It is not possible but that she 
 must have looked out upon us, and heard 
 us, so helpless as we were, where she sits 
 in heaven. 
 
 When we got to La Clairiere we were 
 ready to sink down with fatigue like all the 
 rest — nay, even more than the rest, for we 
 were not used to it, and for my part I had 
 altogether lost the habitude of long walks. 
 But then you could see what Madame 
 Martin was. She is slight and fragile 
 and pale, not strong, as any one can per- 
 ceive ; but she rose above the needs of the 
 body. She was the one among us who 
 rested not. We threw open all the rooms, 
 and the poor people thronged in. Old 
 Ldontine, who is the garde of the house, 
 gazed upon us and the crowd whom we 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 215 
 
 brought with us with great eyes full of fear 
 and trouble. ' But, Madame/ she cried, 
 * Madame ! ' following me as I went above 
 to the better rooms. She pulled me by my 
 robe. She pushed the poor women with 
 their children awav. ' Allez done, allez I — 
 rest outside till these ladies have time to 
 speak to you,' she said ; and pulled me by my 
 sleeve. Then ' Madame Martin is putting 
 all this canaille into our very chambers,* 
 she cried. She had always distrusted 
 Madame Martin, who was taken by the 
 peasants for a clerical and a devote, because 
 she was noble. ' The bon Dieu be praised 
 that Madame also is here, who has sense 
 and will regulate everything.' * These are 
 no canaille' I said : ' be silent, ma bonne 
 L6ontine, here is something which you 
 cannot understand. This is Semur which 
 has come out to us for lodging.' She let 
 the keys drop out of her hands. It was 
 not wonderful if she was amazed. All 
 day long she followed me about, her very 
 mouthopen with wonder. ' Madame Martin, 
 
2l6 A BELEAGUERED CITY.' 
 
 that understands itself/ she would say. 
 * She is romanesque — she has imagination 
 — but Madame, Madame has bon sens — who 
 would have believed it of Madame ?* Leon- 
 tine had been my femme de mSnage long 
 before there was a Madame Martin, when 
 my son was young; and naturally it was 
 of me she still thought. But I cannot 
 put down all the trouble we had ere we 
 found shelter for every one. We filled 
 the stables and the great barn, and all the 
 cottages near ; and to get them food, and 
 to have something provided for those who 
 were watching before the city, and who 
 had no one but us to think of them, was a 
 task which was almost beyond our powers. 
 Truly it was beyond our powers — but the 
 Holy Mother of heaven and the good angels 
 helped us. I cannot tell to any one how 
 it was accomplished, yet it was accom- 
 plished. The wail of the little ones ceased. 
 They slept that first night as if they had 
 been in heaven. As for us, when the night 
 came, and the dews and the darkness, it 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 21 7 
 
 seemed to us as if we were out of our 
 bodies, so weary were we, so weary that 
 we could not rest. From La Clalriere on 
 ordinary occasions it is a beautiful sight to 
 see the lights of Semur shining in all the 
 high windows, and the streets throwing up 
 a faint whiteness upon the sky ; but how 
 strange it was now to look down and see 
 nothing but a darkness — a cloud, which was 
 the city ! The lights of the watchers in their 
 camp were invisible to us, — they were so 
 small and low upon the broken ground 
 that we could not see them. Our Agnes 
 crept close to me ; we went with one 
 accord to the seat before the door. We 
 did not say * I will go,' but went by one 
 impulse, for our hearts were there ; and we 
 were glad to taste the freshness of the 
 night and be silent after all our labours. 
 We leant upon each other in our weariness. 
 * Ma mere,' she said, ' where is he now, our 
 Martin ? * and wept. * He is where there 
 is the most to do, be thou sure of that/ 
 I cried, but wept not. For what did I 
 
2l8 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 bring him Into the world but for this 
 end ? 
 
 Were I to go day by day and hour by 
 hour over that time of trouble, the story 
 would not please any one. Many were 
 brave and forgot their own sorrows to 
 occupy themselves with those of others, 
 but many also were not brave. There 
 were those among us who murmured and 
 complained. Some would contend with us 
 to let them go and call their husbands, and 
 leave the miserable country where such 
 things could happen. Some would rave 
 against the priests and the government, 
 and some against those who neglected and 
 offended the Holy Church. Among them 
 there were those who did not hesitate to 
 say it was our fault, though how we were 
 answerable they could not tell. We were 
 never at any time of the day or night with- 
 out a sound of some one weeping or be- 
 wailing herself, as if she were the only 
 sufferer, or crying out against those who 
 had brought her here, far from all her 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 219 
 
 friends. By times it seemed to me that I 
 could bear it no longer, that it was but 
 justice to turn those murmurers {pleureuses) 
 away, and let them try what better they 
 could do for themselves. But in this 
 point Madame Martin surpassed me. I do 
 not grudge to say it. She was better than 
 I was, for she was more patient. She wept 
 with the weeping women, then dried her 
 eyes and smiled upon them without a 
 thought of anger — whereas I could have 
 turned them to the door. One thing, how- 
 ever, which I could not away with, was that 
 Agnes filled her own chamber with the 
 poorest of the poor. ' How,' I cried, ' thy- 
 self and thy friend Madame de Bois-Sombre, 
 were you not enough to fill it, that you 
 should throw open that chamber to good- 
 for-nothings, to va-nti-pieds, to the very 
 rabble ? ' * Ma merel said Madame Martin, 
 'our good Lord died for them.' 'And 
 surely for thee too, thou saint-imbdcile !' I 
 cried out in my indignation. What, my 
 Martin's chamber which he had adorned 
 
220 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 for his bride ! I was beside myself. And 
 they have an obstinacy these enthusiasts ! 
 But for that matter her friend Madame 
 de Bois- Sombre thought the same. She 
 would have been one of the pleureuses her- 
 self had it not been for shame. 'Agnes 
 wishes to aid the bon Dieu, Madame,' she 
 said, ' to make us suffer still a little more.* 
 The tone in which she spoke, and the 
 contraction in her forehead, as if our 
 hospitality was not enough for her, turned 
 my heart again to my daughter-in-law. 
 
 * You have reason, Madame,' I cried ; 
 
 * there are indeed many ways in which 
 Agnes does the work of the good God.' 
 The Bois-Sombres are poor, 'they have 
 not a roof to shelter them save that 
 of the old hotel in Semur, from whence 
 they were sent forth like the rest of us. 
 And she and her children owed all to Agnes. 
 Figure to yourself then my resentment 
 when this lady directed her scorn at my 
 daughter-in-law. I am not myself noble, 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 221 
 
 though of the haute bourgeoisie^ which some 
 people think a purer race. 
 
 Long and terrible were the days we 
 spent in this suspense. For ourselves it 
 was well that there was so much to do — 
 the food to provide for all this multitude, 
 the little children to care for, and to pre- 
 pare the provisions for our men who were 
 before Semur. I was in the Ardennes dur- 
 ing the war, and I saw some of its perils — 
 but these were nothing to what we encoun- 
 tered now. It is true that my son Martin 
 was not in the war, which made it very 
 different to me ; but here the dangers were 
 such as we could not understand, and 
 they weighed upon our spirits. The seat 
 at the door, and that point where the road 
 turned, where there was always so beautiful 
 a view of the valley and of the town of 
 Semur — were constantly occupied by groups 
 of poor people gazing at the darkness in 
 which their homes lay. It was strange to 
 see them, some kneeling and praying with 
 moving lips ; some taking but one look, 
 
222 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 not able to endure the sight. I was of 
 these last. From time to time, whenever 
 I had a moment, I came out, I know not 
 why, to see if there was any change. But 
 to gaze upon that altered prospect for hours, 
 as some did, would have been intolerable to 
 me. I could not linger nor try to imagine 
 what might be passing there, either among 
 those who were within (as was believed), 
 or those who were without the walls. 
 Neither could I pray as many did. My 
 devotions of every day I will never, I trust, 
 forsake or forget, and that my Martin was 
 always in my mind is it needful to say ? 
 But to go over and over all the vague fears 
 that were in me, and all those thoughts 
 which would have broken my heart had 
 they been put into words, I could not do 
 this even to the good Lord Himself. When 
 I suffered myself to think, my heart grew 
 sick, my head swam round, the light went 
 from my eyes. They are happy who can. 
 do so, who can take the bon Dieu into their 
 confidence, and say all to Him ; but me, I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 223 
 
 could not do it. I could not dwell upon 
 that which was so terrible, upon my home 
 abandoned, my son — Ah! now that it is 
 past, it is still terrible to think of. And 
 then it was all I was capable of, to trust 
 my God and do what was set before me. 
 God, He knows what it is we can do and 
 what we cannot. I could not tell even to 
 Him all the terror and the misery and the 
 darkness there was in me ; but I put my 
 faith in Him. It was all of which I was 
 capable. We are not made alike, neither 
 in the body nor in the soul. 
 
 And there were many women like me at 
 La Clairiere. When we had done each 
 piece of work we would look out with a 
 kind of hope, then go back to find some- 
 thing else to do — not looking at each other, 
 not saying a word. Happily there was a 
 great deal to do. And to see how some of 
 the women, and those the most anxious, 
 would work, never resting, going on 
 from one thing to another, as if they were 
 hungry for more and more ! Some did it 
 
224 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 with their mouths shut close, with their 
 countenances fixed, not daring to pause or 
 meet another's eyes ; but some, who were 
 more patient, worked with a soft word, 
 and sometimes a smile, and sometimes a 
 tear ; but ever working on. Some of them 
 were an example to us all. In the morn- 
 ing, when we got up, some from beds, 
 some from the floor, — I insisted that all 
 should lie down, by turns at least, for we 
 could not make room for every one at the 
 same hours, — the very first thought of all 
 was to hasten to the window, or, better, to 
 the door. Who could tell what might have 
 happened while we slept ? For the first 
 moment no one would speak, — it was the 
 moment of hope — and then there would be 
 a cry, a clasping of the hands, which told — 
 what we all knew. The one of the women 
 who touched my heart most was the wife 
 of Riou of the octroi. She had been almost 
 rich for her condition in life, with a good 
 house and a little servant whom she 
 trained admirably, as I have had occasion 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 225 
 
 to know. Her husband and her son were 
 both among those whom we had left 
 under the walls of Semur ; but she had 
 three children with her at La Clairiere. 
 Madame Riou slept lightly, and so did I. 
 Sometimes I heard her stir in the middle of 
 the night, though so softly that no one woke. 
 We were in the same room, for it may be 
 supposed that to keep a room to one's self 
 was not possible. I did not stir, but lay 
 and watched her as she went to the window, 
 her figure visible against the pale dawning 
 of the light, with an eager quick movement 
 as of expectation — then turning back with 
 slower step and a sigh. She was always 
 full of hope. As the days went on, there 
 came to be a kind of communication be- 
 tween us. We understood each other. 
 When one was occupied and the other 
 free, that one of us who went out to the 
 door to look across the valley where Semur 
 was would look at the other as if to say, 
 * I go.' When it was Madame Riou who 
 did this, I shook my head, and she gave 
 Q 
 
2 26 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 me a smile which awoke at every repeti- 
 tion (though I knew it was vain) a faint 
 expectation, a little hope. When she came 
 back, it was she who would shake her 
 head, with her eyes full of tears. ' Did I 
 not tell thee ? ' I said, speaking to her as if 
 she were my daughter. ' It will be for 
 next time, Madame,' she would say, and 
 smile, yet put her apron to her eyes. 
 There were many who were like her, and 
 there were those of whom I have spoken 
 who w^repleureuses, never hoping anything, 
 doing little, bewailing themselves and their 
 hard fate. Some of them we employed to 
 carry the provisions to Semur, and this 
 amused them, though the heaviness of the 
 baskets made again a complaint. 
 
 As for the children, thank God ! they 
 were not disturbed as we were — to them it 
 was a beautiful holiday — it was like Heaven. 
 There is no place on earth that I love like 
 Semur, yet it is true that the streets are 
 narrow, and there is not much room for 
 the children. Here they were happy as 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 22 7 
 
 the day ; they strayed over all our gardens 
 and the meadows, which were full of 
 flowers ; they sat in companies upon the 
 green grass, as thick as the daisies them- 
 selves, which they loved. Old Sister 
 Mariette, who is called Marie de la Consol- 
 ation, sat out in the meadow under an 
 acacia-tree and watched over them. She 
 was the one among us who was happy. 
 She had no son, no husband, among the 
 watchers, and though, no doubt, she loved 
 her convent and her hospital, yet she sat 
 all day long in the shade and in the full 
 air, and smiled, and never looked towards 
 Semur. 'The good Lord will do as He 
 wills,' she said, 'and that will be well.' It 
 was true — we all knew it was true ; but it 
 might be — who could tell ? — that it was His 
 will to destroy our town, and take away 
 our bread, and perhaps the lives of those 
 who were dear to us ; and something came 
 in our throats which prevented a reply. 
 ' Ma sceur' I said, ' we are of the world, we 
 tremble for those we love ; we are not as 
 
2 28 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 you are/ Sister Mariette did nothing but 
 smile upon us. ' I have known my Lord 
 these sixty years,' she said, 'and He has 
 taken everything from me.' To see her 
 smile as she said this was more than I 
 could bear. From me He had taken 
 something, but not all. Must we be 
 prepared to give up all if we would be 
 perfected ? There were many of the 
 others also who trembled at these words. 
 * And now He gives me my consolation,' 
 she said, and called the little ones round 
 her, and told them a tale of the Good 
 Shepherd, which is out of the holy Gospel. 
 To see all the little ones round her knees 
 in a crowd, and the peaceful face with 
 which she smiled upon them, and the 
 meadows all full of flowers, and the sun- 
 shine coming and going through the 
 branches : and to hear that tale of Him 
 who went forth to seek the lamb that was 
 lost, was like a tale out of a holy book, 
 where all was peace and goodness and joy. 
 But on the other side, not twenty steps off. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 229 
 
 was the house full of those who wept, and 
 at all the doors and windows anxious faces 
 gazing down upon that cloud in the valley 
 where Semur was. A procession of our 
 women was coming back, many with 
 lingering steps, carrying the baskets which 
 were empty. ' Is there any news ?' we 
 asked, reading their faces before they could 
 answer. And some shook their heads, and 
 some wept. There was no other reply. 
 
 On the last night before our deliverance, 
 suddenly, in the middle of the night, there 
 was a great commotion in the house. We 
 all rose out of our beds at the sound of the 
 cry, almost believing that some one at the 
 window had seen the lifting of the cloud, 
 and rushed together, frightened, yet all in 
 an eager expectation to hear what it was. 
 It was in the room where the old Mere 
 Julie slept that the disturbance was. Mere 
 Julie was one of the market-women of 
 Semur, the one I have mentioned who was 
 devout, who never missed the Salut in the 
 afternoon, besides all masses which are 
 
230 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 obligatory. But there were other matters 
 in which she had not satisfied my mind, as 
 I have before said. She was the mother 
 of Jacques Richard, who was a good-for- 
 nothing, as is well known. At La Clairiere 
 Mere Julie had enacted a strange part. 
 She had taken no part in anything that 
 was done, but had established herself in 
 the chamber allotted to her, and taken the 
 best bed in it, where she kept her place 
 night and day, making the others wait upon 
 her. She had always expressed a great 
 devotion for St. Jean ; and the Sisters of 
 the Hospital had been very kind to her, and 
 also to her vau7'ien of a son, who was 
 indeed, in some manner, the occasion of all 
 our troubles — being the first who complained 
 of the opening of the chapel into the chief 
 ward, which was closed up by the adminis- 
 tration, and thus became, as I and many 
 others think, the cause of all the calamities 
 that have come upon us. It was her bed 
 that was the centre of the great commotion 
 we had heard, and a dozen voices immedi- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 23 1 
 
 ately began to explain to us as we entered. 
 ' Mere Julie has had a dream. She has 
 seen a vision,' they said. It was a vision 
 of angels in the most beautiful robes, all 
 shining with gold and whiteness. 
 
 'The dress of the Holy Mother which she 
 wears on the greaty^/^i"was nothing to them,' 
 Mere Julie told us, when she had composed 
 herself. For all had run here and there at 
 her first cry, and procured for her a tisane, 
 and a cup of bouillon, and all that was good 
 for an attack of the nerves, which was what 
 it was at first supposed to be. * Their 
 wings were like the wings of the great 
 peacock on the terrace, but also like those 
 of eagles. And each one had a collar of 
 beautiful jewels about his neck, and robes 
 whiter than those of any bride.' This was 
 the description she gave : and to see the 
 women how they listened, head above head, 
 a cloud of eager faces, all full of awe 
 and attention ! The angels had promised 
 her that they would come again, when we 
 had bound ourselves to observe all the 
 
2 32 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 functions of the Church, and when all these 
 Messieurs had been converted, and made 
 their submission — to lead us back gloriously 
 to Semur. There was a great tumult In 
 the chamber, and all cried out that they 
 were convinced, that they were ready to 
 promise. All except Madame Martin, who 
 stood and looked at them with a look which 
 surprised me, which was of pity rather than 
 sympathy. As there was no one else to 
 speak, I took the word, being the mother 
 of the present Maire, and wife of the last, 
 and in part mistress of the house. Had 
 Agnes spoken I would have yielded to 
 her, but as she was silent I took my 
 right. ' Mere Julie,' I said, ' and mes 
 bonnes femmes, my friends, know you that 
 it Is the middle of the night, the hour 
 at which we must rest if we are to be 
 able to do the work that Is needful, which 
 the bon Dieu has laid upon us ? It is not 
 from us — my daughter and myself — who, 
 It is well known, have followed all the 
 functions of the Church, that you will meet 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 233 
 
 with an opposition to your promise. But 
 what I desire is that you should calm your- 
 selves, that you should retire and rest till 
 the time of work, husbanding your strength, 
 since we know not what claim may be 
 made upon it. The holy angels,' I said, 
 * will comprehend, or if not they, then the 
 bon Dieu, who understands everything.' 
 
 But it was with difficulty that I could in- 
 duce them to listen to me, to do that which 
 was reasonable. When, however, we had 
 quieted the agitation, and persuaded the 
 good women to repose themselves, it was 
 no longer possible for me to rest. I pro- 
 mised to myself a little moment of quiet, for 
 my heart longed to be alone. I stole out 
 as quietly as I might, not to disturb any 
 one, and sat down upon the bench outside 
 the door. It was still a kind of half-dark, 
 nothing visible, so that if any one should 
 gaze and gaze down the valley, it was not 
 possible to see what was there : and I was 
 glad that it was not possible, for my very 
 soul was tired. I sat down and leant my 
 
2 34 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 back upon the wall of our house, and opened 
 my lips to draw in the air of the morning. 
 How still it was ! the very birds not yet 
 begun to rustle and stir in the bushes ; the 
 night air hushed, and scarcely the first faint 
 tint of blue beginning to steal into the 
 darkness. When I had sat there a little, 
 closing my eyes, lo, tears began to steal 
 into them like rain when there has been a 
 fever of heat. I have wept in my time 
 many tears, but the time of weeping is over 
 with me, and through all these miseries I 
 had shed none. Now they came without 
 asking, like a benediction refreshing my 
 eyes. Just then I felt a soft pressure upon 
 my shoulder, and there was Agnes coming 
 close, putting her shoulder to mine, as was 
 her way, that we might support each other. 
 
 * You weep, ma mere,' she said. 
 
 ' I think it is one of the angels Mere 
 Julie has seen,' said I. * It is a refresh- 
 ment — a blessing ; my eyes were dry with 
 weariness.' 
 
 ' Mother,' said Madame Martin, ' do you 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 235 
 
 think it is angels with wings like peacocks 
 and jewelled collars that our Father sends 
 to us ? Ah, not so — one of those whom we 
 love has touched your dear eyes,' and with 
 that she kissed me upon my eyes, taking me 
 in her arms. My heart is sometimes hard 
 to my son s wife, but not always — not with 
 my will, God knows ! Her kiss was soft as 
 the touch of any angel could be. 
 
 * God bless thee, my child,' I said. 
 
 * Thanks, thanks, ma mere ! ' she cried. 
 ' Now I am resolved ; now will I go and 
 speak to Martin — of something in my 
 heart.' 
 
 * What will you do, my child ?' I said, for 
 as the light increased I could see the 
 meaning in her face, and that it was 
 wrought up for some great thing. ' Be- 
 ware, Agnes ; risk not my son's happiness 
 by risking thyself; thou art more to Martin 
 than all the world beside.' 
 
 * He loves thee dearly, mother,' she said. 
 My heart was comforted. I was able to 
 remember that I too had had my day. 
 
236 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 ' He loves his mother, thank God, but not 
 as he loves thee. Beware, mafille. If you 
 risk my son's happiness, neither will I for- 
 give you.' She smiled upon me, and kissed 
 my hands. 
 
 ' I will go and take him his food and 
 some linen, and carry him your love and 
 mine.' 
 
 ' You will go, and carry one of those 
 heavy baskets with the others !' 
 
 ' Mother,' cried Agnes, ' now you shame 
 me that I have never done it before.' 
 
 What could I say ? Those whose turn 
 it was were preparing their burdens to set 
 out. She had her little packet made up, 
 besides, of our cool white linen, which I 
 knew would be so grateful to my son. I 
 went with her to the turn of the road, help- 
 ing her with her basket ; but my limbs 
 trembled, what with the long continuance 
 of the trial, what with the agitation of the 
 night. It was but just daylight when they 
 went away, disappearing down the long 
 slope of the road that led to Semur. I 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 237 
 
 went back to the bench at the door, and 
 there I sat down and thought. Assuredly 
 it was wrong to close up the chapel, to de- 
 prive the sick of the benefit of the holy- 
 mass. But yet I could not but reflect that 
 the bon Dieit had suffered still more great 
 scandals to take place without such a 
 punishment. When, however, I reflected 
 on all that has been . done by those who 
 have no cares of this world as we have, 
 but are brides of Christ, and upon all they 
 resign by their dedication, and the claim 
 they have to be furthered, not hindered, in 
 their holy work : and when I bethought 
 myself how many and great are the powers 
 of evil, and that, save in us poor women 
 who can do so little, the Church has few 
 friends : then it came back to me how 
 heinous was the offence that had been 
 committed, and that it might well be that 
 the saints out of heaven should return to 
 earth to take the part and avenge the cause 
 of the weak. My husband would have 
 been the first to do it, had he seen with 
 
238 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 my eyes ; but though in the flesh he did 
 not do so, is it to be doubted that in heaven 
 their eyes are enlightened — those who have 
 been subjected to the cleansing fires and 
 have ascended into final bliss ? This all 
 became clear to me as I sat and pondered, 
 while the morning light grew around me, 
 and the sun rose and shed his first rays, 
 which are as precious gold, on the summits 
 of the mountains — for at La Clairiere we are 
 nearer the mountains than at Semur. 
 
 The house was more still than usual, and 
 all slept to a later hour because of the agita- 
 tion of the past night. I had been seated, 
 like old sister Mariette, with my eyes turned 
 rather towards the hills than to the valley, 
 being so deep in my thoughts that I did 
 not look, as it was our constant wont to 
 look, if any change had happened over Se- 
 mur. Thus blessings come unawares when 
 we are not looking for them. Suddenly 
 I lifted my eyes — but not with expectation 
 — languidly, as one looks without thought. 
 Then it was that I gave that great cry 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 239 
 
 which brought all crowding to the windows, 
 to the gardens, to every spot from whence 
 that blessed sight was visible ; for there 
 before us, piercing through the clouds, 
 were the beautiful towers of Semur, the 
 Cathedral with all Its pinnacles, that are as 
 if they were carved out of foam, and the 
 solid tower of St. Lambert, and the others, 
 every one. They told me after that I flew, 
 though I am past running, to the farmyard 
 to call all the labourers and servants of the 
 farm, bidding them prepare every carriage 
 and waggon, and even the ckarrettes, to 
 carry back the children, and those who 
 could not walk to the city. 
 
 * The men will be wild with privation 
 and trouble,' I said to myself ; ' they will 
 want the sight of their little children, the 
 comfort of their wives.' 
 
 I did not wait to reason nor to ask my- 
 self if I did well ; and my son has told me 
 since that he scarcely was more thank- 
 ful for our great deliverance than, just 
 when the crowd of gaunt and weary men 
 
240 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 returned into Semur, and there was a 
 moment when excitement and joy were at 
 their highest, and danger possible, to hear 
 the roll of the heavy farm waggons, and to 
 see me arrive, with all the little ones and 
 their mothers, like a new army, to take 
 possession of their homes once more. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 M. LE MAIRE CONCLUDES HIS RECORD. 
 
 The narratives which I have collected from 
 the different eye-witnesses during the time 
 of my own absence, will show how every- 
 thing passed while I, with M. le Cure, was 
 recovering possession of our city. Many 
 have reported to me verbally the occur- 
 rences of the last half-hour before my return; 
 and in their accounts there are naturally dis- 
 crepancies, owing to their different points 
 of view and different ways of regarding the 
 subject. But all are agreed that a strange 
 and universal slumber had seized upon all. 
 M. de Bois-Sombre even admits that he, 
 too, was overcome by this influence. They 
 slept while we were performing our danger- 
 ous and solemn duty in Semur. But when 
 the Cathedral bells began to ring, with one 
 
 R 
 
242 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 impulse all awoke, and starting from the 
 places where they lay, from the shade of the 
 trees and bushes and sheltering hollows, 
 saw the cloud and the mist and the darkness 
 which had enveloped Semur suddenly rise 
 from the walls. It floated up into the 
 higher air before their eyes, then was caught 
 and carried away, and flung about into 
 shreds upon the sky by a strong wind, of 
 which down below no influence was felt. 
 They all gazed, not able to get their breath, 
 speechless, beside themselves with joy, and 
 saw the walls reappear, and the roofs 
 of the houses, and our glorious Cathedral 
 against the blue sky. They stood for a 
 moment spell-bound. M. de Bois-Sombre 
 informs me that he was afraid of a wild rush 
 into the city, and himself hastened to the 
 front to lead and restrain it ; when suddenly 
 a great cry rang through the air, and some 
 one was seen to fall across the high road, 
 straight in front of the Porte St. Lambert. 
 M. de Bois-Sombre was at once aware who 
 it was, for he himself had watched Lecamus 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 243 
 
 taking his place at the feet of my wife, who 
 awaited my return there. This checked 
 the people in their first rush towards their 
 homes; and when it was seen that Madame 
 Dupin had also sunk down fainting on the 
 ground after her more than human exertions 
 for the comfort of all, there was but one 
 impulse of tenderness and pity. When I 
 reached the gate on my return, I found my 
 wife lying there in all the pallor of death, 
 and for a moment my heart stood still 
 with sudden terror. What mattered Se- 
 mur to me, if it had cost me my Agnes ? 
 or how could I think of Lecamus or any 
 other, while she lay between life and death ? 
 I had her carried back to our own house. 
 She was the first to re-enter Semur ; and 
 after a time, thanks be to God, she came 
 back to herself. But Paul Lecamus was 
 a dead man. No need to carry him in, to 
 attempt unavailing cares. ' He has gone, 
 that one ; he has marched with the others,' 
 said the old doctor, who had served in his 
 day, and sometimes would use the language 
 
244 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 of the camp. He cast but one glance at 
 him, and laid his hand upon his heart in 
 passing. * Cover his face,' was all he said. 
 It is possible that this check was good 
 for the restraint of the crowd. It moder- 
 ated the rush with which they returned to 
 their homes. The sight of the motionless 
 figures stretched out by the side of the way 
 overawed them. Perhaps it may seem 
 strange, to any one who has known what 
 had occurred, that the state of the city 
 should have given me great anxiety the 
 first night of our return. The withdrawal 
 of the oppression and awe which had been 
 on the men, the return of everything to its 
 natural state, the sight of their houses 
 unchanged, so that the brain turned round 
 of these common people, who seldom 
 reflect upon anything, and they already 
 began to ask themselves was it all a delu- 
 sion — added to the exhaustion of their 
 physical condition, and the natural desire 
 for ease and pleasure after the long strain 
 upon all their faculties — produced an excite- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 245 
 
 ment which might have led to very dis- 
 astrous consequences. Fortunately I had 
 foreseen this. I have always been con- 
 sidered to possess great knowledge of 
 human nature, and this has been matured 
 by recent events. I sent off messengers 
 instantly to bring home the women and 
 children, and called around me the men in 
 whom I could most trust. Though I need 
 not say that the excitement and suffering 
 of the past three days had told not less 
 upon myself than upon others, I abandoned 
 all idea of rest. The first thing that I did, 
 aided by my respectable fellow-townsmen, 
 was to take possession of all cabarets and 
 wine-shops, allowing indeed the proprietors 
 to return, but preventing all assemblages 
 within them. We then established a 
 patrol of respectable citizens throughout 
 the city, to preserve the public peace. I 
 calculated, with great anxiety, how many 
 hours it would be before my messengers 
 could reach La Clairiere, to bring back the 
 women — for in such a case the wives are 
 
246 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 the best guardians, and can exercise an 
 influence more general and less suspected 
 than that of the magistrates ; but this was 
 not to be hoped for for three or four hours 
 at least. Judge, then, what was my joy and 
 satisfaction when the sound of wheels (in 
 itself a pleasant sound, for no wheels had 
 been audible on the high-road since these 
 events began) came briskly to us from the 
 distance ; and looking out from the watch- 
 tower over the Porte St. Lambert, I saw 
 the strangest procession. The wine-carts 
 and all the farm vehicles of La Clairiere, 
 and every kind of country waggon, were 
 jolting along the road, all in a tumult and 
 babble of delicious voices ; and from under 
 the rude canopies and awnings and roofs 
 of vine branches, made up to shield them 
 from the sun, lo ! there were the children 
 like birds in a nest, one little head peeping 
 over the other. And the cries and songs, 
 the laughter, and the shoutings ! As they 
 came along the air grew sweet, the world 
 was made new. Many of us, who had 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 247 
 
 borne all the terrors and sufferings of 
 the past without fainting, now felt their 
 strength fail them. Some broke out into 
 tears, interrupted with laughter. Some 
 called out aloud the names of their little 
 ones. We went out to meet them, every 
 man there present, myself at the head. 
 And I will not deny that a sensation of 
 pride came over me when I saw my 
 mother stand up in the first waggon, 
 with all those happy ones fluttering 
 around her. * My son,' she said, ' I have 
 discharged the trust that was given me. 
 I bring thee back the blessing of God.* 
 * And God bless thee, my mother ! * I 
 cried. The other men, who were fathers, 
 like me, came round me, crowding to kiss 
 her hand. It is not among the women 
 of my family that you will find those 
 who abandon their duties. 
 
 And then to lift them down in armfuls, 
 those flowers of paradise, all fresh with the 
 air of the fields, all joyous like the birds ! 
 We put them down by twos and threes, 
 
248 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 some of us sobbing with joy. And to see 
 them dispersing hand in hand, running 
 here and there, each to its home, carrying 
 peace, and love, and gladness, through the 
 streets — that was enough to make the most 
 serious smile. No fear was In them, or 
 care. Every haggard man they met — 
 some of them feverish, restless, beginning 
 to think of riot and pleasure after forced 
 abstinence — there was a new shout, a rush 
 of little feet, a shower of soft kisses. The 
 women were following after, some packed 
 into the carts and waggons, pale and worn, 
 yet happy; some walking behind in groups; 
 the more strong, or the more eager, in 
 advance, and a long line of stragglers 
 behind. There was anxiety In their faces, 
 mingled with their joy. How did they 
 know what they might find In the houses 
 from which they had been shut out ? And 
 many felt, like me, that In the very return, 
 In the relief, there was danger. But the 
 children feared nothing ; they filled the 
 streets with their dear voices, and happi- 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 249 
 
 ness came back with them. When I felt 
 my little Jean*s cheek against mine, then 
 for the first time did I know how much 
 anguish I had suffered — how terrible was 
 parting, and how sweet was life. But 
 strength and prudence melt away when 
 one indulges one's self, even in one's dear- 
 est affections. I had to call my guardians 
 together, to put mastery upon myself, that 
 a just vigilance might not be relaxed. 
 M. de Bois-Sombre, though less anxious 
 than myself, and disposed to believe (being 
 a soldier) that a little license would do 
 no harm, yet stood by me ; and, thanks to 
 our precautions, all went well. 
 
 Before night three parts of the population 
 had returned to Semur, and the houses 
 were all lighted up as for a great festival. 
 The Cathedral stood open — even the great 
 west doors, which are only opened on great 
 occasions — with a glow of tapers gleaming 
 out on every side. As I stood in the 
 twilight watching, and glad at heart to 
 think that all was going well, my mother 
 
250 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 and my wife — still pale, but now recovered 
 from her fainting and weakness — came out 
 into the great square, leading my little 
 Jean. They were on their way to the 
 Cathedral, to thank God for their return. 
 They looked at me, but did not ask me to 
 go with them, those dear women ; they 
 respected my opinions, as I had always 
 respected theirs. But this silence moved 
 me more than words ; there came into my 
 heart a sudden inspiration. I was still in 
 my scarf of office, which had been, I say it 
 without vanity, the standard of authority 
 and protection during all our trouble ; and 
 thus marked out as representative of all, 
 I uncovered myself, after the ladies of my 
 family had passed, and, without joining 
 them, silently followed with a slow and 
 solemn step. A suggestion, a look, is 
 enough for my countrymen ; those who 
 were in the Place with me perceived in a 
 moment what I meant. One by one they 
 uncovered, they put themselves behind me. 
 Thus we made such a procession as had 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 25 1 
 
 never been seen in Semur. We were 
 gaunt and worn with watching and anxiety, 
 which only added to the solemn effect. 
 Those who were already in the Cathedral, 
 and especially M. le Cure, informed me 
 afterwards that the tramp of our male feet 
 as we came up the great steps gave to all 
 a thrill of expectation and awe. It was at 
 the moment of the exposition of the 
 Sacrament that we entered. Instinctively, 
 in a moment, all understood — a thing which 
 could happen nowhere but in France, 
 where intelligence is swift as the breath on 
 our lips. Those who were already there 
 yielded their places to us, most of the 
 women rising up, making as it were a ring 
 round us, the tears running down their 
 faces. When the Sacrament was replaced 
 upon the altar, M. le Cure, perceiving our 
 meaning, began at once in his noble voice 
 to intone the Te Deum, Rejecting all 
 other music, he adopted the plain song in 
 which all could join, and with one voice, 
 every man in unison with his brother, we 
 
252 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 sang with him. The great Cathedral walls 
 seemed to throb with the sound that rolled 
 upward, male and deep, as no song has 
 ever risen from Semur in the memory of 
 man. The women stood up around us, 
 and wept and sobbed with pride and joy. 
 
 When this wonderful moment was over, 
 and all the people poured forth out of the 
 Cathedral walls into the soft evening, with 
 stars shining above, and all the friendly 
 lights below, there was such a tumult of 
 emotion and gladness as I have never seen 
 before. Many of the poor women sur- 
 rounded me, kissed my hand notwithstand- 
 ing my resistance, and called upon God to 
 bless me ; while some of the older persons 
 made remarks full of justice and feeling. 
 
 ' The bon Dieu is not used to such 
 singing,' one of them cried, her old eyes 
 streaming with tears. ' It must have sur- 
 prised the saints up in heaven !' 
 
 * It will bring a blessing,* cried another. 
 * It is not like our little voices, that perhaps 
 only reach half-way.' 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 253 
 
 This was figurative language, yet it was 
 impossible to doubt there was much truth in 
 it. Such a submission of our Intellects, as 
 I felt in determining to make it, must have 
 been pleasing to heaven. The women, 
 they are always praying; but when we thus 
 presented ourselves to give thanks, it meant 
 something, a real homage ; and with a 
 feeling of solemnity we separated, aware 
 that we had contented both earth and 
 heaven. 
 
 Next morning there was a great function 
 in the Cathedral, at which the whole city 
 assisted. Those who could not get admit- 
 tance crowded upon the steps, and knelt half- 
 way across the Place. It was an occasion 
 long remembered in Semur, though I have 
 heard many say not in itself so impressive 
 as the Te Deunt on the evening of our 
 return. After this we returned to our 
 occupations, and life was resumed under its 
 former conditions in our city. 
 
 It might be supposed, however, that the 
 place In which events so extraordinary had 
 
2 54 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 happened would never again be as It was 
 before. Had I not been myself so closely 
 involved, It would have appeared to me 
 certain, that the streets, trod once by such 
 inhabitants as those who for three nights 
 and days abode within Semur, would have 
 always retained some trace of their pre- 
 sence ; that life there would have been 
 more solemn than in other places ; and 
 that those families for whose advantage the 
 dead had risen out of their graves, would 
 have henceforward carried about with them 
 some sign of that Interposition. It will 
 seem almost incredible when I now add 
 that nothing of this kind has happened 
 at Semur. The wonderful manifestation 
 which interrupted our existence has passed 
 absolutely as if it had never been. We 
 had not been twelve hours in our houses 
 ere we had forgotten, or practically for- 
 gotten, our expulsion from them. Even 
 myself, to whom everything was so vividly 
 brought home, I have to enter my wife's 
 room, to put aside the curtain from little 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 255 
 
 Marie's picture, and to see and touch the 
 olive branch which is there, before I can 
 recall to myself anything that resembles 
 the feeling with which I re-entered that 
 sanctuary. My grandfather's bureau still 
 stands in the middle of my library, where 
 I found it on my return ; but I have got 
 used to it, and it no longer affects me. 
 Everything is as it was; and I cannot 
 persuade myself that, for a time, I and 
 mine were shut out, and our places taken 
 by those who neither eat nor drink, and 
 whose life is invisible to our eyes. Every- 
 thing, I say, is as it was — everything goes 
 on as if it would endure for ever. We 
 know this cannot be, yet it does not move 
 us. Why, then, should the other move us ? 
 A little time, we are aware, and we, too, 
 shall be as they are — as shadows, and un- 
 seen. But neither has the one changed 
 us, and neither does the other. There 
 was, for some time, a greater respect 
 shown to religion in Semur, and a more 
 devout attendance at the sacred functions ; 
 
256 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 but I regret to say this did not continue. 
 Even in my own case — I say it with sorrow 
 — it did not continue. M. le Cure is an 
 admirable person. I know no more excel- 
 lent ecclesiastic. He is indefatigable in 
 the performance of his spiritual duties ; 
 and he has, besides, a noble and upright 
 soul. Since the days when we suffered 
 and laboured together, he has been to me 
 as a brother. Still, it is undeniable that 
 he makes calls upon our credulity, which a 
 man obeys with reluctance. There are 
 ways of surmounting this ; as I see in 
 Agnes for one, and in M. de Bois-Sombre 
 for another. My wife does not question, 
 she believes much ; and in respect to that 
 which she cannot acquiesce in, she is silent. 
 ' There are many things I hear you talk of, 
 Martin, which are strange to me,' she says; 
 * of myself I cannot believe in them ; but I 
 do not oppose, since it is possible you 
 may have reason to know better than I ; 
 and so with some things that we hear from 
 M. le Cur^.' This is how she explains 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 257 
 
 herself — but she is a woman. It Is a 
 matter of grace to yield to our better judg- 
 ment. M. de Bois-Sombre has another 
 way. ' Ma foil he says, * I have not the 
 time for all your delicacies, my good people ; 
 I have come to see that these things are for 
 the advantage of the world, and It is not 
 my business to explain them. If M. le 
 Cur6 attempted to criticise me in military 
 matters, or thee, my excellent Martin, in 
 affairs of business, or In the culture of your 
 vines, I should think him not a wise man ; 
 and In like manner, faith and religion, these 
 are his concern.* Felix de Bois Sombre 
 is an excellent fellow ; but he smells a little 
 of the mousquetaire. I, who am neither a 
 soldier nor a woman, I have hesitations. 
 Nevertheless, so long as I am Maire of 
 Semur, nothing less than the most absolute 
 respect shall ever be shown to all truly 
 religious persons, with whom It Is my 
 earnest desire to remain In sympathy and 
 fraternity, so far as that may be. 
 
 It seemed, however, a little while ago as 
 
258 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 if my tenure of this office would not be 
 long, notwithstanding the services which 
 I am acknowledged, on every hand, to 
 have done to my fellow-townsmen. It will 
 be remembered that when M. le Cure and 
 myself found Semur empty, we heard a 
 voice of complaining from the hospital of 
 St. Jean, and found a sick man who had 
 been left there, and who grumbled against 
 the Sisters, and accused them of neglecting 
 him, but remained altogether unaware, in 
 the meantime, of what had happened in 
 the city. Will it be believed that after a 
 time this fellow was put faith in as a seer, 
 who had heard and beheld many things of 
 which we were all ignorant ? It must be 
 said that, in the meantime, there had been 
 a little excitement in the town on the subject 
 of the chapel in the hospital, to which re- 
 peated reference has already been made. 
 It was insisted on behalf of these ladies that 
 a promise had been given, taking, indeed, 
 the form of a vow, that, as soon as we were 
 again in possession of Semur, their full 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 259 
 
 privileges should be restored to them. 
 Their advocates even went so far as to 
 send to me a deputation of those who had 
 been nursed in the hospital, the leader of 
 which was Jacques Richard, who since he 
 has been, as he says, * converted,' thrusts 
 himself to the front of every movement. 
 
 * Permit me to speak, M. le Maire,* he 
 said; *me, who was one of those so mis- 
 guided as to complain, before the great 
 lesson we have all received. The mass 
 did not disturb any sick person who was 
 of right dispositions. I was then a very 
 bad subject, indeed — as, alas ! M. le Maire 
 too well knows. It annoyed me only as 
 all pious observances annoyed me. I am 
 now, thank heaven, of a very different way 
 of thinking ' 
 
 But I would not listen to the fellow. 
 When he was a mauvais sujet he was less 
 abhorrent to me than now. 
 
 The men were aware that when I pro- 
 nounced myself so distinctly on any subject, 
 there was nothing more to be said, for, 
 
26o A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 though gentle as a lamb and open to all 
 reasonable arguments, I am capable of mak- 
 ing the most obstinate stand for principle ; 
 and to yield to popular superstition, Is that 
 worthy of a man who has been instructed ? 
 At the same time it raised a great anger 
 In my mind that all that should be thought 
 of was a thing so trivial. That they should 
 have given themselves, soul and body, for 
 a little money ; that they should have 
 scoffed at all that was noble and generous, 
 both in religion and in earthly things ; all 
 that was nothing to them. And now they 
 would insult the great God Himself by 
 believing that all He cared for was a little 
 mass in a convent chapel. What desecra- 
 tion ! What debasement ! When I went 
 to M. le Cur4 he smiled at my vehemence. 
 There was pain in his smile, and it might 
 be Indignation ; but he was not furious 
 like me. 
 
 * They will conquer you, my friend,' he 
 said. 
 
 ' Never,' I cried. * Before I might have 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 26 1 
 
 yielded. But to tell 'me the gates of death 
 have been rolled back, and Heaven re- 
 vealed, and the great God stooped down 
 from Heaven, in order that mass should 
 be said according to the wishes of the com- 
 munity in the midst of the sick wards ! 
 They will never make me believe this, if I 
 were to die for it.* 
 
 * Nevertheless, they will conquer,' M. le 
 Cur6 said. 
 
 It angered me that he should say so. 
 My heart was sore as if my friend had for- 
 saken me. And then it was that the worst 
 step was taken in this crusade of false 
 religion. It was from my mother that I 
 heard of it first. One day she came home 
 in great excitement, saying that now In- 
 deed a real light was to be shed upon 
 all that had happened to us. 
 
 *It appears,'she said, 'that Pierre Plastron 
 was In the hospital all the time, and heard 
 and saw many wonderful things. Sister 
 Genevieve has just told me. It is wonder- 
 ful beyond anything you could believe. 
 
262 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 He has spoken with our holy patron him- 
 self, St. Lambert, and has received instruc- 
 tions for a pilgrimage ' 
 
 * Pierre Plastron ! * I cried ; * Pierre Plas- 
 tron saw nothing, ma mere. He was not 
 even aware that anything remarkable had 
 occurred. He complained to us of the 
 Sisters that they neglected him ; he knew 
 nothing more.' 
 
 ' My son,' she said, looking upon me 
 with reproving eyes, * what have the good 
 Sisters done to thee ? Why is it that you 
 look so unfavourably upon everything that 
 comes from the community of St. Jean ?' 
 
 *What have I to do with the com- 
 munity ? ' I cried — ' when I tell thee, 
 Maman, that this Pierre Plastron knows 
 nothing ! I heard it from the fellow's own 
 lips, and M. le Cure was present and heard 
 him too. He had seen nothing, he knew 
 nothing. I nquire of M. le Cur 6, if you have 
 doubts of me.' 
 
 * I do not doubt you, Martin,* said my 
 mother, with severity, 'when you are not 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 263 
 
 biassed by prejudice. And, as for M. le 
 Cur4 it is well known that the clergy are 
 often jealous of the good Sisters, when they 
 are not under their own control.' 
 
 Such was the injustice with which we 
 were treated. And next day nothing was 
 talked of but the revelation of Pierre 
 Plastron. What he had seen and what he 
 had heard was wonderful. All the saints 
 had come and talked with him, and told 
 him what he was to say to his townsmen. 
 They told him exactly how everything 
 had happened : how St. Jean himself had 
 interfered on behalf of the Sisters, and how, 
 if we were not more attentive to the duties 
 of religion, certain among us would be 
 bound hand and foot and cast into the jaws 
 of hell. That I was one, nay the chief, of 
 these denounced persons, no one could 
 have any doubt. This exasperated me ; 
 and as soon as I knew that this folly had 
 been printed and was in every house, I 
 hastened to M. le Cure, and entreated him 
 in his next Sunday's sermon to tell the true 
 
264 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 Story of Pierre Plastron, and reveal the 
 imposture. But M. le Cur6 shook his 
 head. ' It will do no good,' he said. 
 
 'But how no good?' said I. 'What 
 good are we looking for ? These are lies, 
 nothing but lies. Either he has deceived 
 the poor ladies basely, or they themselves 
 — but this is what I cannot believe.' 
 
 * Dear friend,' he said, ' compose thyself. 
 Have you never discovered yet how strong 
 is self-delusion ? There will be no lying 
 of which they are aware. Figure to your- 
 self what a stimulus to the imagination to 
 know that he was here, actually here. 
 Even I — it suggests a hundred things to 
 me. The Sisters will have said to him 
 (meaning no evil, nay meaning the edifica- 
 tion of the people), ** But, Pierre, reflect ! 
 You must have seen this and that. Re- 
 call thy recollections a little." And by 
 degrees Pierre will have found out that 
 he remembered — more than could have 
 been hoped.' 
 
 * Mon Dieu ! ' I cried, out of patience. 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 265 
 
 'and you know all this, yet you will not 
 tell them the truth — the very truth/ 
 
 'To what good?' he said. Perhaps 
 M. le Cure was right : but, for my part, 
 had I stood up in that pulpit, I should 
 have contradicted their lies and given 
 no quarter. This, indeed, was what I did 
 both in my private and public capacity; 
 but the people, though they loved me, did 
 not believe me. They said, * The best 
 men have their prejudices. M. le Maire 
 is an excellent man ; but what will you ? 
 He is but human after all.* 
 
 M. le Cur6 and I said no more to each 
 other on this subject. He was a brave 
 man, yet here perhaps he was not quite 
 brave. And the effect of Pierre Plastron s 
 revelations in other quarters was to turn 
 the awe that had been in many minds into 
 mockery and laughter. 'Ma foij said 
 Felix de Bois-Sombre, ' Monseigneur St. 
 Lambert has bad taste, mon ami Martin, to 
 choose Pierre Plastron for his confidant 
 when he might have had thee.' * M. de 
 
266 A BELEAGUERED CITY. 
 
 Bois-Sombre does ill to laugh/ said my 
 mother (even my mother ! she was not on 
 my side), ' when it is known that the foolish 
 are often chosen to confound the wise.' 
 But Agnes, my wife, it was she who gave 
 me the best consolation. She turned to 
 me with the tears in her beautiful eyes. 
 
 ' Mon ami,' she said, ' let Monseigneur 
 St. Lambert say what he will. He is 
 not God that we should put him above 
 all. There were other saints with other 
 thoughts that came for thee and for me ! ' 
 
 All this contradiction was over when 
 Agnes and I together took our flowers on 
 the jour des morts to the graves we love. 
 Glimmering among the rest was a new 
 cross which I had not seen before. This 
 was the inscription upon it : — 
 
 A PAUL LECAMUS 
 
 PARTI 
 LE 20 JUILLET, 1875 
 
 AVEC LES BIEN-AIMES 
 
 On it was wrought in the marble a little 
 
A BELEAGUERED CITY. 267 
 
 branch of olive. I turned to look at my 
 wife as she laid underneath this cross a 
 handful of violets. She gave me her hand 
 still fragrant with the flowers. There was 
 none of his family left to put up for him 
 any token of human remembrance. Who 
 but she should have done it, who had 
 helped him to join that company and army 
 of the beloved ? * This was our brother/ 
 she said ; ' he will tell my Marie what use 
 I made of her olive leaves.* 
 
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BELLES LETTRES, 
 
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lo BELLES LETTRES. 
 
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BELLES LETTRES. ii 
 
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12 BELLES LETTRES, 
 
 Kingsley {Z.)-^continued. 
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BELLES LETT RES, 13 
 
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14 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
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BELLES LETTRES. 15 
 
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 GRANDMOTHER DEAR. Illustrated by Walter Crane. 
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i6 BELLES LETT RES. 
 
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• BELLES LETTRES. 17 
 
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 B 
 
1 8 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
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 LYRICAL POEMS. Extra fcap. Svo. 6j. 
 
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BELLES LETT RES, _^ 
 
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 " Mr. Pater's Studies in the history of the Renaissance, constitute 
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BELLES LETTRES, 21 
 
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22 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
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^ BELLES LETTRES. 23 
 
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24 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
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 DRAMATIC STUDIES. Extra fcap. 8vo. 5j. 
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BELLES LETTRES. 25 
 
 Webster (Augusta) — continued, 
 
 A WOMAN SOLD, AND OTHER POEMS. Crown 8vo. 7j. 6^. 
 
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 " Closeness and simplicity combined with literary skill.'" — ATHE- 
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 MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. Literally translated into English 
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26 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 White.— RHYMES BY WALTER WHITE. 8vo. yjs, ed. 
 
 Whittier.— JOHN greenleaf whittier's poetical 
 
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 Mr. Whittier has all the smooth melody and the pathos of the author 
 
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 Willoughby.— FAIRY GUARDIANS. A Book for the Young. 
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 Wolf.— THE LIFE AND HABITS OF WILD ANIMALS. 
 
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 on India Paper. [Shortly. 
 
BELLES LETTRES, 27 
 
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28 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Yonge (C. M.,)— continued. 
 
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GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES. 29 
 
 MACMILLAN'S GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES. 
 
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 The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 Selected and arranged, with Notes, by Francis Turner 
 
 Palgrave. 
 
 ** This delightful little volume, the Golden Treasury, which contains 
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 The Children's Garland from the best Poets. 
 
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 ** All previous compilations of this kind must undeniably for the 
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30 GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES. 
 
 The Fairy Book ; the Best Popular Fairy Stories. Selected 
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 *^ A delightful selection, in a delightful external form ; full of the 
 
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 Spectator. 
 The Ballad Book, a Selection of the Choicest British Ballads. 
 Edited by William Allingham. 
 *' His taste as a Judge of old poetry will be found, by all acquainted with 
 
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 his undertaking so critical a /a^/^."— Saturday Review. 
 
 The Jest Book. The Choicest Anecdotes and Sayings. Selected 
 
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 " The fullest and best jest book that has vet appear edy—^A.THSiDA.-v 
 Review. 
 Bacon's Essays and Colours of Good and Evil. 
 
 With Notes and Glossarial Index. By W. Aldis Wright, 
 
 M.A. 
 
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 The Pilgrim's Progress from this World to that which is to 
 come. By John Bun van. 
 ** A beautiful and scholarly reprint." — Spectator. 
 
 The Sunday Book of Poetry for the Young. 
 
 Selected and arranged by C. F. Alexander. 
 
 " ^ well-selected volume of Sacred Poetry." — Spectator. 
 
 A Book of Golden Deeds ot All Times and All Countries 
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 Redclyffe." 
 
 **. . . To the young, for whom it is especially intended, as a most 
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 The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Edited from 
 
 the Original Edition by J. W. Clark, M.A. Fellow of Tiinity 
 
 College, Cambridge. 
 
 ** Mutilated and modified editions of this English classic are so much 
 the rule, that a cheap and pretty copy of it, rigidly exact to the 
 original, will be a prize to many book-buyers'' — Examiner. 
 
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