A Beleaguered City

by Mrs. Oliphant

said, and put out his hand and touchedthem; he was as much agitated as they.

  'M. Lecamus,' said I, 'we are here in very strange circumstances, as youknow; do not trifle with us. If you have indeed been with those who havetaken the control of our city, do not keep us in suspense. You will seeby the emblems of my office that it is to me you must address yourself;if you have a mission, speak.'

  'It is just,' he said, 'it is just--but bear with me one moment. It isgood to behold those who draw breath; if I have not loved you enough, mygood neighbours, forgive me now!'

  'Rouse yourself, Lecamus,' said I with some anxiety. 'Three days we havebeen suffering here; we are distracted with the suspense. Tell us yourmessage--if you have anything to tell.'

  'Three days!' he said, wondering; 'I should have said years. Time islong when there is neither night nor day.' Then, uncovering himself, heturned towards the city. 'They who have sent me would have you know thatthey come, not in anger but in friendship: for the love they bear you,and because it has been permitted----'

  As he spoke his feebleness disappeared. He held his head high; and weclustered closer and closer round him, not losing a half word, not atone, not a breath.

  'They are not the dead. They are the immortal. They are those whodwell--elsewhere. They have other work, which has been interruptedbecause 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 wouldthey have us to know?'

  But a clamour interrupted me. 'Ah! yes, yes, yes!' the people cried, menand women; some wept aloud, some signed themselves, some held up theirhands to the skies. 'Nevermore will we deny religion,' they cried,'never more fail in our duties. They shall see how we will follow everyoffice, how the churches shall be full, how we will observe the feastsand the days of the saints! M. Lecamus,' cried two or three together;'go, tell these Messieurs that we will have masses said for them, thatwe will obey in everything. We have seen what comes of it when a city iswithout piety. Never more will we neglect the holy functions; we willvow ourselves to the holy Mother and the saints--'

  'And if those ladies wish it,' cried Jacques Richard, 'there shall be asmany 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 theCommune?' I was almost beside myself. 'M. Lecamus. is it for this thatthey have come?'

  His head had begun to droop again, and a dimness came over his face. 'DoI 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 esteemthe highest--to speak with them face to face.'

  Then at once there rose a tumult among the people--an eagerness whichnothing could subdue. There was a cry that the ambassadors were alreadyelected, and we were pushed forward, M. le Cure and myself, towards thegate. They would not hear us speak. 'We promise,' they cried, 'wepromise everything; let us but get back.' Had it been to sacrifice usthey would have done the same; they would have killed us in theirpassion, in order to return to their city--and afterwards mourned us andhonoured us as martyrs. But for the moment they had neither ruth norfear. Had it been they who were going to reason not with flesh andblood, it would have been different; but it was we, not they; and theyhurried us on as not willing that a moment should be lost. I had tostruggle, almost to fight, in order to provide them with a leader, whichwas indispensable, before I myself went away. For who could tell if weshould ever come back? For a moment I hesitated, thinking that it mightbe well to invest M. de Bois-Sombre as my deputy with my scarf ofoffice; but then I reflected that when a man goes to battle, when hegoes to risk his life, perhaps to lose it, for his people, it is hisright to bear those signs which distinguish him from common men, whichshow in what office, for what cause, he is ready to die.

  Accordingly I paused, struggling against the pressure of the people, andsaid in a loud voice, 'In the absence of M. Barbou, who has forsaken us,I constitute the excellent M. Felix de Bois-Sombre my representative. Inmy absence my fellow-citizens will respect and obey him as myself.'There was a cry of assent. They would have given their assent toanything that we might but go on. What was it to them? They took nothought of the heaving of my bosom, the beating of my heart. They leftus on the edge of the darkness with our faces towards the gate. There westood one breathless moment. Then the little postern slowly openedbefore us, and once more we stood within Semur.

  THE NARRATIVE OF PAUL LECAMUS.

  M. le Maire having requested me, on his entrance into Semur, to lose notime in drawing up an account of my residence in the town, to be placedwith his own narrative, I have promised to do so to the best of myability, feeling that my condition is a very precarious one, and my timefor explanation may be short. Many things, needless to enumerate, pressthis upon my mind. It was a pleasure to me to see my neighbours when Ifirst came out of the city; but their voices, their touch, theirvehemence and eagerness wear me out. From my childhood up I have shrunkfrom close contact with my fellow-men. My mind has been busy with otherthoughts; I have desired to investigate the mysterious and unseen. WhenI have walked abroad I have heard whispers in the air; I have felt themovement of wings, the gliding of unseen feet. To my comrades these havebeen a source of alarm and disquiet, but not to me; is not God in theunseen with all His angels? and not only so, but the best and wisest ofmen. There was a time indeed, when life acquired for me a charm. Therewas a smile which filled me with blessedness, and made the sunshine moresweet. But when she died my earthly joys died with her. Since then Ihave thought of little but the depths profound, into which she hasdisappeared like the rest.

  I was in the garden of my house on that night when all the others leftSemur. I was restless, my mind was disturbed. It seemed to me that Iapproached the crisis of my life. Since the time when I led M. le Mairebeyond the walls, and we felt both of us the rush and pressure of thatcrowd, a feeling of expectation had been in my mind. I knew not what Ilooked for--but something I looked for that should change the world.The 'Sommation' on the Cathedral doors did not surprise me. Why shouldit be a matter of wonder that the dead should come back? the wonder isthat they do not. Ah! that is the wonder. How one can go away who lovesyou, and never return, nor speak, nor send any message--that is themiracle: not that the heavens should bend down and the gates of Paradiseroll back, and those who have left us return. All my life it has been amarvel to me how they could be kept away. I could not stay in-doors onthis strange night. My mind was full of agitation. I came out into thegarden though it was dark. I sat down upon the bench under thetrellis--she loved it. Often had I spent half the night there thinkingof her.

  It was very dark that night: the sky all veiled, no light anywhere anight like November. One would have said there was snow in the air. Ithink I must have slept toward morning (I have observed throughout thatthe preliminaries of these occurrences have always been veiled insleep), and when I woke suddenly it was to find myself, if I may sospeak, the subject of a struggle. The struggle was within me, yet it wasnot I. In my mind there was a desire to rise from where I sat and goaway, I could not tell where or why; but something in me said stay, andmy limbs were as heavy as lead. I could not move; I sat still against mywill; against one part of my will--but the other was obstinate and wouldnot let me go. Thus a combat took place within me of which I knew notthe 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 gaveme no surprise; it seemed to me that I understood why it was; only in myown case, I knew nothing. I listened to the steps pouring past, going onand on, faintly dying away in the distance, and there was a greatstillness. I then became convinced, though I cannot tell how, that I wasthe only living man left in Semur; but neither did this trouble me. Thestruggle within me came to an end, and I experienced a great calm.

  I cannot tell how long it was till I perceived a change in the air, inthe darkness round me. It was like the movement of some one unseen. Iha
ve felt such a sensation in the night, when all was still, before now.I saw nothing. I heard nothing. Yet I was aware, I cannot tell how, thatthere was a great coming and going, and the sensation as of a multitudein the air. I then rose and went into my house, where Leocadie, my oldhousekeeper, 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 keptalways the key, and where no one entered but myself; the windows alsowere open. I looked out upon the Grande Rue, and all the other houseswere like mine. Everything was open, doors and windows, and the streetswere full. There was in them a flow and movement of the unseen, withouta sound, sensible only to the soul. I cannot describe it, for I neitherheard nor saw, but felt. I have often been in