crowds; I have lived inParis, and once passed into England, and walked about the Londonstreets. But never, it seemed to me, never was I aware of so many, of sogreat 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 astream seemed to be always going, and at the windows and in the doorwayswas 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, tillsuddenly, in a moment, I was aware that some one had come in to me. Nota crowd as elsewhere; one. My heart leaped up like a bird let loose; itgrew faint within me with joy and fear. I was giddy so that I could notstand. I called out her name, but low, for I was too happy, I had novoice. Besides was it needed, when heart already spoke to heart?
I had no answer, but I needed none. I laid myself down on the floorwhere her feet would be. Her presence wrapped me round and round. It wasbeyond speech. Neither did I need to see her face, nor to touch herhand. She was more near to me, more near, than when I held her in myarms. How long it was so, I cannot tell; it was long as love, yet shortas the drawing 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 othereverything without words--heart overflowing into heart. It was beyondknowledge or speech.
But this is not of public signification that I should occupy with it thetime of M. le Maire.
After a while my happiness came to an end. I can no more tell how, thanI can tell how it came. One moment, I was warm in her presence; thenext, I was alone. I rose up staggering with blindness and woe--could itbe that already, already it was over? I went out blindly following afterher. My God, I shall follow, I shall follow, till life is over. Sheloved me; but she was gone.
Thus, despair came to me at the very moment when the longing of my soulwas satisfied and I found myself among the unseen; but I cared forknowledge 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 havelearned will thus remain lost to my fellow-citizens and the world. Weare made so. What we desire eludes us at the moment of grasping it--orthose affections which are the foundation of our lives preoccupy us, andblind the soul. Instead of endeavouring to establish my faith andenlighten my judgment as to those mysteries which have been my life-longstudy, all higher purpose departed from me; and I did nothing but rushthrough the city, groping among those crowds, seeing nothing, thinkingof nothing--save of One.
From this also I awakened as out of a dream. What roused me was thepealing of the Cathedral bells. I was made to pause and stand still, andreturn to myself. Then I perceived, but dimly, that the thing which hadhappened to me was that which I had desired all my life. I leave thisexplanation of my failure [Footnote: The reader will remember that theringing of the Cathedral bells happened in fact very soon after theexodus of the citizens; so that the self-reproaches of M. Lecamus hadless foundation than he thought.] in public duty to the charity of M. leMaire.
The bells of the Cathedral brought me back to myself--to that which wecall reality in our language; but of all that was around me when Iregained consciousness, it now appeared to me that I only was a dream. Iwas in the midst of a world where all was in movement. What the currentwas which flowed around me I know not; if it was thought which becomessensible 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, muchless 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 probablyheard 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 breathseparate him from those around him. But whether the unseen life haschanged, or if it is I who am not worthy their attention, this I knowthat 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, tounderstand, I was met with this difficulty at the first--that no oneheeded me. I went through and through the streets, sometimes I paused tolook round, to implore that which swept by me to make itself known. Butthe 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, orthe water a stone, but no more. There was neither languor nor lingering.I was the only passive thing, the being without occupation. Would youhave paused in your labours to tell an idle traveller the meaning of ourlives, before the day when you left Semur? Nor would they: I was drivenhither and thither by the current of that life, but no one stepped forthout of the unseen to hear my questions or to answer me how this mightbe.
You have been made to believe that all was darkness in Semur. M. leMaire, it was not so. The darkness wrapped the walls as in a windingsheet; but within, soon after you were gone, there arose a sweet andwonderful light--a light that was neither of the sun nor of the moon;and presently, after the ringing of the bells; the silence departed asthe darkness had departed. I began to hear, first a murmur, then thesound of the going which I had felt without hearing it--then a fainttinkle of voices--and at the last, as my mind grew attuned to thesewonders, the very words they said. If they spoke in our language or inanother, I cannot tell; but I understood. How long it was before thesensation of their presence was aided by the happiness of hearing I knownot, nor do I know how the time has passed, or how long it is, whetheryears 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 isthat suddenly, on awakening from a sleep (for the wonder was that Icould sleep, sometimes sitting on the Cathedral steps, sometimes in myown house; where sometimes also I lingered and searched about for thecrusts that Leocadie had left), I found the whole world full of sound.They sang going in bands about the streets; they talked to each otheras they went along every way. From the houses, all open, where everyonecould go who would, there came the soft chiming of those voices. And atfirst every sound was full of gladness and hope. The song they sangfirst was like this: 'Send us, send us to our father's house. Many areour brethren, many and dear. They have forgotten, forgotten, forgotten!But when we speak, then will they hear.' And the others answered: 'Wehave come, we have come to the house of our fathers. Sweet are thehomes, the homes we were born in. As we remember, so will they remember.When we speak, when we speak, they will hear.' Do not think that thesewere the words they sang; but it was like this. And as they sang therewas joy and expectation everywhere. It was more beautiful than any ofour music, for it was full of desire and longing, yet hope and gladness;whereas among us, where there is longing, it is always sad. Later agreat singer, I know not who he was, one going past as on a majesticsoft wind, sang another song, of which I shall tell you by and by. I donot think he was one of them. They came out to the windows, to thedoors, 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 notunderstand all that I heard. In the middle of a phrase, in a word halfbreathed, a sudden barrier would rise. For a time I laboured after theirmeaning, trying hard and vainly to understand; but afterwards Iperceived that only when they spoke of Semur, of you who were goneforth, and of what was being done, could I make it out. At first thismade me only more eager to hear; but when thought came, then I perceivedthat of all my longing nothing was satisfied. Though I was alone withthe unseen, I comprehended it not; only when it touched upon what Iknew, then I understood.
At first all went well. Those who were in the streets, and at the doorsand windows of the houses, and on the Cathedral steps, where they seemedto throng, listening to the sounding of the bells, spoke only of thisthat they had come to do. Of you and you only I heard. They said to eachother, with great joy, that the women had been instructed, that they hadlistened, and were safe. There was pleasure in all the city. The singerswere called forth, those who were best instructed (so
I judged from whatI heard), to take the place of the warders on the walls; and all, asthey went along, sang that song: 'Our brothers have forgotten; but whenwe 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 mefrom the walls as sweet as Heaven. Never have I heard such a song. Themusic was beseeching, it moved the very heart. 'We have come out of theunseen,' they sang; 'for love of you; believe us, believe us! Lovebrings us back to earth; believe us, believe us!' How was it that youdid not hear? When I heard those singers sing, I wept; they beguiled theheart out of my bosom. They sang, they shouted, the music swept aboutall 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 yourface; and one put his curved hand to his ear as if to listen to somethin far-off sound, when it was like a storm, like a tempest of
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