A Beleaguered City

by Mrs. Oliphant

of the morning were already spent. And never shall I forgetthe aspect of day when it came. It was like a ghost or pale shadow ofthe glorious days of July with which we are usually blessed. Thebarometer did not go down, nor was there any rain, but an unusualgreyness wrapped earth and sky. I heard people say in the streets, and Iam aware that the same words came to my own lips: 'If it were not fullsummer, I should say it was going to snow.' We have much snow in theHaute Bourgogne, and we are well acquainted with this aspect of theskies. Of the depressing effect which this greyness exercised uponmyself personally, greyness exercised upon myself personally, I will notspeak. I have always been noted as a man of fine perceptions, and I wasaware instinctively that such a state of the atmosphere must meansomething more than was apparent on the surface. But, as the danger wasof an entirely unprecedented character, it is not to be wondered at thatI should be completely at a loss to divine what its meaning was. It wasa blight some people said; and many were of opinion that it was causedby clouds of animalculae coming, as is described in ancient writings, todestroy the crops, and even to affect the health of the population. Thedoctors scoffed at this; but they talked about malaria, which, as far asI could understand, was likely to produce exactly the same effect. Thenight closed in early as the day had dawned late; the lamps were lightedbefore six o'clock, and daylight had only begun about ten! Figure toyourself, a July day! There ought to have been a moon almost at thefull; but no moon was visible, no stars--nothing but a grey veil ofclouds, growing darker and darker as the moments went on; such I haveheard are the days and the nights in England, where the seafogs so oftenblot out the sky. But we are unacquainted with anything of the kind inour _plaisant pays de France_. There was nothing else talked of in Semurall that night, as may well be imagined. My own mind was extremelyuneasy. Do what I would, I could not deliver myself from a sense ofsomething 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 darknesswas such that we almost lost our way, though we were both born in thetown and had known every turning from our boyhood. It cannot be deniedthat Semur is very badly lighted. We retain still the lanterns slung bycords across the streets which once were general 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 toSemur. But the expense would have been great, and there were a hundredobjections. In summer generally, the lanterns were of little consequencebecause of the brightness of the sky; but to see them now, twinklingdimly here and there, making us conscious how dark it was, was strangeindeed. It was in the interests of order that we took our round, with afear, in my mind at least, of I knew not what. M. l'Adjoint saidnothing, but no doubt he thought as I did.

  While we were thus patrolling the city with a special eye to theprevention of all seditious assemblages, such as are too apt to takeadvantage of any circumstances that may disturb the ordinary life of acity, or throw discredit on its magistrates, we were accosted by PaulLecamus, a man whom I have always considered as something of avisionary, though his conduct is irreproachable, and his lifehonourable and industrious. He entertains religious convictions of acurious kind; but, as the man is quite free from revolutionarysentiments, I have never considered it to be my duty to interfere withhim, or to investigate his creed. Indeed, he has been treated generallyin Semur as a dreamer of dreams--one who holds a great manyimpracticable and foolish opinions--though the respect which I alwaysexact for those whose lives are respectable and worthy has been aprotection to hire. He was, I think, aware that he owed something to mygood offices, and it was to me accordingly that he addressed himself.

  'Good evening, M. le Maire,' he said; 'you are groping about, likemyself, in this strange night.'

  'Good evening M. Paul,' I replied. 'It is, indeed, a strange night. Itindicates, I fear, that a storm is coming.'

  M. Paul shook his head. There is a solemnity about even his ordinaryappearance. He has a long face, pale, and adorned with a heavy, droopingmoustache, which adds much to the solemn impression made by hiscountenance. He looked at me with great gravity as he stood in theshadow of the lamp, and slowly shook his head.

  'You do not agree with me? Well! the opinion of a man like M. PaulLecamus is always worthy to be heard.'

  'Oh!' he said, 'I am called visionary. I am not supposed to be atrustworthy witness. Nevertheless, if M. Le Maire will come with me, Iwill show him something that is very strange--something that is almostmore wonderful than the darkness--more strange,' he went on with greatearnestness, 'than any storm that ever ravaged Burgundy.'

  'That is much to say. A tempest now when the vines are in fullbearing--'

  'Would be nothing, nothing to what I can show you. Only come with me tothe Porte St. Lambert.'

  'If M. le Maire will excuse me,' said M. Barbou, 'I think I will gohome. It is a little cold, and you are aware that I am always afraid ofthe damp.' In fact, our coats were beaded with a cold dew as inNovember, and I could not but acknowledge that my respectable colleaguehad reason. Besides, we were close to his house, and he had, no doubt,the sustaining consciousness of having done everything that was reallyincumbent 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. Afterwe had walked with him to his door, we proceeded to the Porte St.Lambert. By this time almost everybody had re-entered their houses. Thestreets were very dark, and they were also very still. When we reachedthe gates, at that hour of the night, we found them shut as a matter ofcourse. The officers of the _octroi_ were standing close together at thedoor of their office, in which the lamp was burning. The very lampseemed oppressed by the heavy air; it burnt dully, surrounded with ayellow 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 weatherhas changed in the most extraordinary way. I have no doubt thescientific gentlemen at the Musee will be able to tell us all aboutit--M. de Clairon--'

  'Not to interrupt M. le Maire,' said Riou, of the _octroi_, 'I thinkthere 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 theclosed gates, a breath of air so cold that I could not restrain ashiver. They looked at each other. It was not a smile that passedbetween them--they were too pale, too cold, to smile but a look ofintelligence. 'M. le Maire,' said one of them, 'perceives it too;' butthey did not shiver as I did. They were like men turned into ice whocould feel no more.

  'It is, without doubt, the most extraordinary weather,' I said. My teethchattered like Barbou's. It was all I could do to keep myself steady. Noone made any reply; but Lecamus said, 'Have the goodness to open thelittle postern for foot-passengers: M. le Maire wishes to make aninspection outside.'

  Upon these words, Riou, who knew me well, caught me by the arm. 'Athousand 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 verystrange on the other side of the gates. If M. le Maire would listen tome, he would keep them shut night and day till _that_ is gone, he wouldnot go out into the midst of it. _Mon Dieu!_ a man may be brave. I knowthe courage of M. le Maire; but to march without necessity into thejaws 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 churchdoor--one does so out of respect; but to use that ceremony for one's ownadvantage, before other men, is rare--except in the case of members of avery decided party. Riou was not one of these. He signed himself insight of us all, and not one of us smiled.

  The other was less familiar--he knew me only in my public capacity--hewas one Gallais of the Quartier St. Medon. He
said, taking off his hat:'If I were M. le Maire, saving your respect, I would not go out into anunknown danger with this man here, a man who is known as a pietist, as aclerical, as one who sees visions--'

  'He is not a clerical, he is a good citizen,' I said; 'come, lend usyour lantern. Shall I shrink from my duty wherever it leads me? Nay, mygood friends, the Maire of a French commune fears neither man nor devilin 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 himselfagain. This time I could not but smile. 'My little Riou,' I said, 'doyou know that you are a little imbecile with your piety? There is a timefor everything.'

  'Except religion, M. le Maire; that is never out of place,' saidGallais.

  I could not believe my senses. 'Is it a conversion?' I said. 'Some ofour Carmes dechausses must have passed this way.'

  'M. le Maire will soon see other teachers more wonderful than the Carmesdechausses,' said Lecamus. He went and took down the lantern from itsnail, and opened the little door. When it opened, I was once morepenetrated by the same icy breath; once, twice, thrice, I cannot tellhow many times this crossed me, as if some one passed. I looked roundupon the others--I gave way a step. I could not help it. In spite of me,the hair seemed to rise erect on my head. The two officers stood closetogether, and Riou, collecting his courage, made an attempt to laugh.'M. le Maire perceives,' he said, his lips trembling almost too much toform the words, 'that the winds are walking about.' 'Hush, for God'ssake!' said the other, grasping him by the arm.

  This recalled me to myself; and I followed Lecamus, who stood waitingfor me holding the door a little ajar. He went on strangely, like--I canuse no other words to express it--a man making his way in the face of acrowd, a thing very surprising to me. I followed him close; but themoment I emerged from the doorway something caught my breath. The samefeeling seized me also. I gasped; a sense of suffocation came upon me; Iput out my hand to lay hold upon my guide. The solid grasp I got of hisarm re-assured me a little, and he did not hesitate, but pushed his wayon. We got out clear of the gate and the shadow of the wall, keepingclose 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 before us. Therewas nothing there. The darkness was great, yet through the gloom of thenight I could see the division of the road from the broken ground oneither side; there was nothing there. I gasped, and drew myself up closeagainst the wall, as Lecamus had also done. There was in the air, in thenight, a sensation the most strange I have ever experienced. I have feltthe same thing indeed at other times, in face of a great crowd, whenthousands of people were moving, rustling, struggling, breathing aroundme, thronging all the vacant space, filling up every spot. This was thesensation that overwhelmed me here--a crowd: yet nothing to be seen butthe darkness, the indistinct line of the road. We could not move forthem, so close were they round us. What do I say? There wasnobody--nothing--not a form to be seen, not a face but his and mine. Iam obliged to confess that the moment was to me an awful moment. Icould not speak. My heart beat wildly as if trying to escape from mybreast--every breath I drew was with an effort. I clung to Lecamus withdeadly and helpless terror, and forced myself back upon the wall,crouching against it; I did not turn and fly, as would have beennatural. 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 wasnobody near me--not a shadow even upon the road.

  Lecamus would have gone farther on; he would have pressed his way boldlyinto the midst; but my courage was not equal to this. I clutched andclung to him, dragging myself along against the wall, my whole mindintent upon getting back. I was stronger than he, and he had no power toresist me. I turned back, stumbling blindly, keeping my face to thatcrowd (there was no one), but struggling back again, tearing the skinoff my hands as I groped my way along the wall. Oh, the agony of seeingthe door closed! I have buffeted my way through a crowd before now, butI may say that I never before knew what terror was. When I fell upon thedoor, dragging Lecamus with me, it opened, thank God! I stumbled in,clutching at Riou with my disengaged hand, and fell upon the floor ofthe _octroi_, where they thought I had fainted. But this was not thecase. A man of resolution may give way to the overpowering sensations ofthe moment. His bodily faculties may fail him; but his mind will notfail. As in every really superior intelligence, my forces collected forthe emergency. While the officers ran to bring me water, to search forthe eau-de vie which they had in a cupboard, I astonished them all byrising up, pale, but with full command of myself. 'It is enough,' Isaid, raising my hand. 'I thank you, Messieurs, but nothing more isnecessary;' and I would not take any of their restoratives. They wereimpressed, as was only natural, by the sight of my perfectself-possession: it helped them to acquire for themselves a demeanourbefitting the occasion; and I felt, though still in great physicalweakness and agitation, the consoling consciousness of having fulfilledmy 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 whichwere hungering with eagerness--if, indeed, it is permitted to use suchwords.

  'I have seen--nothing, Riou,' I said.

  They looked at me with the utmost wonder. 'M. le Maire hasseen--nothing?' said Riou. 'Ah, I see! you say so to spare us. We haveproved ourselves cowards; but if you will pardon me, M. le Maire, you,too, re-entered precipitately--you too! There are facts which may appalthe bravest--but I implore you to tell us what you have seen.'

  'I have seen nothing,' I said. As I spoke, my natural calm composurereturned, my heart resumed its usual tranquil beating. 'There is nothingto be seen--it is dark, and one can perceive the line of the road forbut a little way--that is all. There is nothing to be seen----'

  They looked at me, startled and incredulous. They did not know what tothink. How could they refuse to believe me, sitting there calmly raisingmy eyes to them, making my statement with what they felt to be an air ofperfect truth? But, then, how account for the precipitate return whichthey had already noted, the supposed faint, the pallor of my looks? Theydid not know what to think.

  And here, let me remark, as in my conduct throughout these remarkableevents, may be seen the benefit, the high advantage, of truth. Had notthis been the truth, I could not have borne the searching of theirlooks. But it was true. There was nothing--nothing to be seen; in onesense, this was the thing of all others which overwhelmed my mind. Butwhy insist upon these matters of detail to unenlightened men? There wasnothing, and I had seen nothing. What I said was the truth.

  All this time Lecamus had said nothing. As I raised myself from theground, I had vaguely perceived him hanging up the lantern where it hadbeen before; now he became distinct to me as I recovered the fullpossession of my faculties. He had seated himself upon a bench by thewall. There was no agitation about him; no sign of the thrill ofdeparting excitement, which I felt going through my veins as through thestrings of a harp. He was sitting against the wall, with his headdrooping, his eyes cast down, an air of disappointment and despondencyabout him--nothing more. I got up as soon as I felt that I could go awaywith perfect propriety; but, before I left the place, called him. He gotup when he heard his name, but he did it with reluctance. He came withme because I asked him to do so, not from any wish of his own. Verydifferent were the feelings of Riou and Gallais. They did their utmostto engage me in conversation, to consult me about a hundred trifles, toask me with the greatest deference what they ought to do in such andsuch cases, pressing close to me, trying every expedient to delay mydeparture. When we went away they stood at the door of their littleoffice close together, looking after us with looks which I found itdifficult to forget; they would not abandon their post; but their faceswere pale and contracted, their eyes wild with anxiety and distress.

  It was only as I walked away, hearing my own steps and those of Lecamusringing upon the pavement, that I began to realise what had happened.The effort of recovering my composure, the reli
ef from the extremeexcitement of terror (which, dreadful as the idea is, I am obliged toconfess I had actually felt), the sudden influx of life and strength tomy brain, had pushed away for the moment the recollection of what layoutside. When I thought of it again, the blood began once more to coursein my veins. Lecamus went on by my side with his head down, the eyelidsdrooping over his eyes, not saying a word. He followed me when I calledhim: 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) unworthyof me. Only when we had left at some distance behind us that door intothe unseen, did my senses come fully back to me, and I ventured to askmyself what it meant. 'Lecamus,' I said--I could scarcely put myquestion into words--'what do you think? what is your idea?--how do youexplain--' Even then I am glad to think I had sufficient power ofcontrol not to betray all that I felt.

  'One does not try to explain,' he said slowly; 'one longs to know--thatis all. If M. le Maire had not been--in such haste--had he been willingto go farther--to investigate----'

  'God forbid!' I said; and the impulse to quicken my steps, to get homeand put myself in safety, was almost more than I could restrain. But Iforced myself to go quietly, to measure my steps by his, which were slowand reluctant, as if he dragged himself away with difficulty from thatwhich 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,