ofimportance who could put themselves at the head of affairs. And therewere women who remained with us, but these not of the best. To see ourwives 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 seethem go. For me, who had the charge of all on my hands, the relief wasbeyond description--yet was it strange; I cannot describe it. Then Icalled upon M. Barbou, who was trembling like a leaf, and gathered thechief of the citizens about me, including M. le Cure, that we shouldconsult together what we should do.
I know no words that can describe our state in the strange circumstanceswe were now placed in. The women and the children were safe: that wasmuch. But we--we were like an army suddenly formed, but without arms,without any knowledge of how to fight, without being able to see ourenemy. We Frenchmen have not been without knowledge of such perils. Wehave seen the invader enter our doors; we have been obliged to spreadour table for him, and give him of our best. But to be put forth byforces no man could resist--to be left outside, with the doors of ourown houses closed upon us--to be confronted by nothing--by a mist, asilence, a darkness,--this was enough to paralyse the heart of any man.And it did so, more or less, according to the nature of those who wereexposed to the trial. Some altogether failed us, and fled, carrying thenews into the country, where most people laughed at there, as weunderstood afterwards. Some could do nothing but sit and gaze, huddledtogether in crowds, at the cloud over Semur, from which they expected tosee fire burst and consume the city altogether. And a few, I grieve tosay, took possession of the little _cabaret_, which stands at about halfa kilometre from the St. Lambert gate, and established themselves there,in hideous riot, which was the worst thing of all for serious men tobehold. Those upon whom I could rely I formed into patrols to go roundthe city, that no opening of a gate, or movement of those who werewithin, should take place without our knowledge. Such an emergency showswhat men are. M. Barbou, though in ordinary times he discharges hisduties 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. Hecould not forget how he had been spun round and tossed forth from thecity gates. When I proposed to put him at the head of a patrol, he hadan attack of the nerves. Before nightfall he deserted me altogether,going off to his country-house, and taking a number of his neighbourswith him. 'How can we tell when we may be permitted to return to thetown?' he said, with his teeth chattering. 'M. le Maire, I adjure you toput yourself in a place of safety.'
'Sir,' I said to him, sternly, 'for one who deserts his post there is noplace of safety.'
But I do not think he was capable of understanding me. Fortunately, Ifound in M. le Cure a much more trustworthy coadjutor. He wasindefatigable; he had the habit of sitting up to all hours, of beingcalled at all hours, in which our _bourgeoisie_, I cannot butacknowledge, is wanting. The expression I have before described ofastonishment--but of astonishment which he wished to conceal--never lefthis face. He did not understand how such a thing could have beenpermitted to happen while he had no share in it; and, indeed, I will notdeny that this was a matter of great wonder to myself too.
The arrangements I have described gave us occupation; and this had ahappy 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 weshould soon have gone mad, as some did. In our ceaseless patrols andattempts to find a way of entrance, we distracted ourselves from theenquiry, Who would dare to go in if the entrance were found? In themeantime not a gate was opened, not a figure was visible. We sawnothing, no more than if Semur had been a picture painted upon a canvas.Strange sights indeed met our eyes--sights which made even the bravestquail. The strangest of them was the boats that would go down and up theriver, shooting forth from under the fortified bridge, which is one ofthe chief features of our town, sometimes with sails perfectly wellmanaged, sometimes impelled by oars, but with no one visible in them--noone 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 bymy side, murmured something about a magnetic current; but when I askedhim 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 usthe passage of those boats. He smiled when it was proposed by some oneto fire upon them. He read his Hours as he went round at the head ofhis 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 Unseenamong us, till the moment when the Unseen was thus, as it were, broughtwithin our reach; but with the revelation he had nothing to do; and itfilled him with pain and wonder. It made him silent; he said littleabout 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. Itwas bright moonlight where we were, and Semur lay like a blot betweenthe earth and the sky, all dark: even the Cathedral towers were lost init; nothing visible but the line of the ramparts, whitened outside bythe moon. One knows what black and strange shadows are cast by themoonlight; and it seemed to all of us that we did not know what might belurking behind every tree. The shadows of the branches looked liketerrible faces. I sent all my people out on the patrols, though theywere dropping with fatigue. Rather that than to be mad with terror. Formyself, I took up my post as near the bank of the river as we couldapproach; for there was a limit beyond which we might not pass. I madethe 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 momentperceived that we were at a certain distance, say twenty metres orthereabout. I placed myself there very often, wrapping a cloak about meto preserve me from the dew. (I may say that food had been sent us, andwine from La Clairiere and many other houses in the neighbourhood, wherethe women had gone for this among other reasons, that we might benourished by them.) And I must here relate a personal incident, though Ihave endeavoured not to be egotistical. While I sat watching, Idistinctly saw a boat, a boat which belonged to myself, lying on thevery edge of the shadow. The prow, indeed, touched the moonlight whereit was cut clean across by the darkness; and this was how I discoveredthat it was the Marie, a pretty pleasure-boat which had been made for mywife. The sight of it made my heart beat; for what could it mean butthat 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 getnearer; but my feet were as lead, and would not move; and there came asinging 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 havecourage, who can lead the people, _I was afraid!_ I sat down again andwept 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 howmean is man! though we are so proud. They came near to me who were myown, and it was borne in upon my spirit that my good father was withthe child; but because they had died I was afraid. I covered my facewith my hands. Then it seemed to me that I heard a long quiver of asigh; a long, long breath, such as sometimes relieves a sorrow that isbeyond words. Trembling, I uncovered my eyes. There was nothing on theedge of the moonlight; all was dark, and all was still, the whiteradiance making a clear line across the river, but nothing more.
If my Agnes had been with me she would have seen our child, she wouldhave heard that voice! The great cold drops of moisture were on myforehead. My limbs trembled, my heart fluttered in my bosom. I couldneither listen nor yet speak. And those who would have spoken to me,those who loved me, sighing, went away. It is not possible that suchwretchedness should be credible to noble minds; and if it had not beenfor pride and for shame, I should have fled away straight to LaClairiere, to Put myself under shelter, to have some one near me whowas less a coward than I. I, upon whom all the others relied, the Maireof 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 wouldhave driven me wild. I was altogether demoralised. 'Monsieur le Maire,it is but I,' said some one quite humble and frightened.
'_Tiens!_--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 andbreathing, and I shall never forget the ease that came to my heart. Itsbeating calmed. I was restored to myself.
'M. le Maire,' he said, 'I wish to ask you something. Is it true allthat is said about these people, I would say, these Messieurs? I do notwish to speak with disrespect, M. le Maire.'
'What is it, Jacques, that is said?' I had called him 'thou' not out ofcontempt, but because, for the moment, he seemed to me as a brother, asone 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 Iknow.'
'Yes, M. le Maire, it is so, sure enough. I do not doubt it. If it werethe Prussians, a man could fight. But _ces Messieurs la!_ What I want toknow is: is it because of what you did to those little Sisters, thosegood little ladies of St. Jean?'
'What I did? You were yourself one of the complainants. You were ofthose who said, when a man is ill, when he is suffering, they tormenthim with their mass; it is quiet he wants, not their mass. These werethy 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 nottake what he says for gospel. It would be strange if one had a newillness just when one is getting well of the old; and one feels now isthe time to enjoy one's self, to kick up one's heels a little, while atleast there is not likely to be much of a watch kept _up there_--thesaints forgive me,' cried Jacques, trembling and crossing himself, 'if Ispeak with levity at such a moment! And the little ladies were verykind. It was wrong to close their chapel, M. le Maire. From that comesall our trouble.'
'You good-for-nothing!' I cried, 'it is you and such as you that are thebeginning of our trouble. You thought there was no watch kept _upthere_; you thought God would not take the trouble to punish you; youwent about the streets of Semur tossing a _grosse piece_ of a hundredsous, and calling out, "There is no God--this is my god; _l'argent,c'est le bon Dieu_."'
'M. le Maire, M. le Maire, be silent, I implore you! It is enough tobring down a judgment upon us.'
'It has brought down a judgment upon 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 domuch better to promise a large candle for the next festival, and thatthe 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 goodwomen, not like this good-for-nothing fellow. And to think that thisman, whom I despise, was more pleasant to me than the dear souls wholoved me! Shame came upon me at the thought. I too, then, was like theothers, fearing the Unseen--capable of understanding only that which waspalpable. When Jacques slunk away, which he did for a few steps, notlosing sight of me, I turned my face towards the river and the town. Themoonlight fell upon the water, white as silver where that line ofdarkness lay, shining, as if it tried, and tried in vain, to penetrateSemur; and between that and the blue sky overhead lay the city out ofwhich 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 childand less than a child? Do not abandon me in this darkness. Would Iabandon him were he ever so disobedient? And God, if thou art God, Thouart a better father than I.' When I had said this, my heart was a littlerelieved. It seemed to me that I had spoken to some one who knew all ofus, whether we were dead or whether we were living. That is a wonderfulthing to think of, when it appears to one not as a thing to believe, butas something that is real. It gave me courage. I got up and went to meetthe patrol which was coming in, and found that great good-for-nothingJacques running close after me, holding my cloak. 'Do not send me away,M. le Maire,' he said, 'I dare not stay by myself with _them_ so near.'Instead of his money, in which he had trusted, it was I who had becomehis god now.
OUTSIDE THE WALLS.
There are few who have not heard something of the sufferings of a siege.Whether within or without, it is the most terrible of all theexperiences of war. I am old enough to recollect the trenches beforeSebastopol, and all that my countrymen and the English endured there.Sometimes I endeavoured to think of this to distract me from what weourselves endured. But how different was it! We had neither shelter norsupport. We had no weapons, nor any against whom to wield them. We werecast out of our homes in the midst of our lives, in the midst of ouroccupations, and left there helpless, to gaze at each other, to blindour eyes trying to penetrate the darkness before us. Could we have doneanything, the oppression might have been less terrible--but what wasthere that we could do? Fortunately (though I do not deny that I felteach desertion) our band grew less and less every day. Hour by hour someone stole away--first one, then another, dispersing themselves among thevillages near, in which many had friends. The accounts which these mengave were, I afterwards learnt, of the most vague description. Sometalked of wonders they had seen, and were laughed at--and some spreadreports of internal division among us. Not till long after did I knowall the reports that went abroad. It was said that there had beenfighting in Semur, and that we were divided into two factions, one ofwhich had gained the mastery, and driven the other out. This was thestory current in La Rochette, where they are always glad to hearanything to the discredit of the people of Semur; but no credence couldhave been given to it by those in authority, otherwise M. le Prefet,however indifferent to our interests, must necessarily have taken somesteps for our relief. Our entire separation from the world was indeedone of the strangest details of this terrible period. Generally thediligence, though conveying on the whole few passengers, returned withtwo or three, at least, visitors or commercial persons, daily-and thelatter class frequently arrived in carriages of their own; but duringthis period no stranger came to see our miserable plight. We madeshelter for ourselves under the branches of the few trees that grew inthe uncultivated ground on either side of the road--and a hastyerection, half tent half shed, was put up for a place to assemble in, orfor those who were unable to bear the heat of the day or the occasionalchills of the night. But the most of us were too restless to seekrepose, and could not bear to be out of sight of the city. At any momentit seemed to us the gates might open, or some loophole be visible bywhich we might throw ourselves upon the darkness and vanquish it. Thiswas what we said to ourselves, forgetting how we shook and trembledwhenever any contact had been possible with those who were within. Butone thing was certain, that though we feared, we could not turn our eyesfrom the place. We slept leaning against a tree, or with our heads onour 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, notsleeping, when want or weariness overwhelmed us. There was scarcely anhour 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 hourssitting by the way weeping, starting at every breath of wind.
Meanwhile all was not silent within Semur. The Cathedral bells rangoften, at first filling us with hope, for how familiar was that sound!The first time, we all gathered together and listened, and many wept.It was as if we heard our mother's voice. M. de Bois-Sombre burst intotears. I have never seen him within the doors of the Cathedral since hismarriage; but he burst into tears. '_Mon Dieu!_ if I were but there!' hesaid. We stood and listened, our hearts melting, some falling on theirknees. M. le Cure stood up in the midst of us and began to intone thepsalm: [He has a beautiful voice. It is sympathetic, it goes to theheart.] 'I was glad when
they said to me, Let us go up--' And thoughthere were few of us who could have supposed themselves capable oflistening to that sentiment a little while before with any sympathy, yeta vague hope rose up within us while we heard him, while we listened tothe 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 allhis life; it is the first sound of home in the distance when he comesback--the last that follows him like a long farewell when he goes away.While we listened, we forgot our fears. They were as we were, they werealso our brethren, who rang those bells. We seemed to see them troopinginto our beautiful Cathedral. All! only to see it again, to be withinits shelter, cool and calm as in our mother's arms! It seemed to us thatwe should wish for nothing more.
When the sound ceased we looked into each other's faces, and each mansaw that his neighbour was pale. Hope died in us when the sound diedaway, vibrating sadly through the air. Some men threw themselves on theground in their despair.
And from this time forward many voices were heard, calls and shoutswithin the walls, and sometimes a sound like a trumpet, and otherinstruments of music. We thought, indeed, that noises as of bandspatrolling along the ramparts were audible as our patrols worked theirway round and round. This was a duty which I never allowed to beneglected, not because I put very much faith in it, but because it gaveus a sort of employment. There is a story somewhere which I recollectdimly of an ancient city which its assailants did not touch, but onlymarched round and round till the walls fell, and they could enter.Whether this was a story of classic times or out of our own remotehistory, I could
A Beleaguered City Page 8