music!
After that there was a great change in the city. The choirs came backfrom the walls marching more slowly, and with a sighing through all theair. A sigh, nay, something like a sob breathed through the streets.'They cannot hear us, or they will not hear us.' Wherever I turned, thiswas what I heard: 'They cannot hear us.' The whole town, and all thehouses that were teeming with souls, and all the street, where so manywere coming and going was full of wonder and dismay. (If you will takemy opinion, they know pain as well as joy, M. le Maire, Those who arein Semur. They are not as gods, perfect and sufficing to themselves, norare 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 amno more than other men, that you should accept it without support; but Ihave lived among them, and this is what I think.) They were taken bysurprise; they did not understand it any more than we understand when wehave put forth all our strength and fail. They were confounded, if Icould judge rightly. Then there arose cries from one to another: 'Do youforget 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 voicesare not as their voices; they cannot see us. We have taken their homesfrom them, and they know not the reason.' My heart was wrung for theirdisappointment. I longed to tell them that neither had I heard at once;but it was only after a time that I ventured upon this. And whether Ispoke, 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, andthen, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, a face suddenly turnedand looked into my face.
M. le Maire, it was the face of your father, Martin Dupin, whom Iremember as well as I remember my own father. He was the best man I everknew. It appeared to me for a moment, that face alone, looking at mewith questioning eyes.
There seemed to be agitation and doubt for a time after this; some wentout (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 thatyou might hear and know; but neither could you understand the bells. Iwandered from one place to another, listening and watching--till theunseen became to me as the seen, and I thought of the wonder no more.Sometimes there came to me vaguely a desire to question them, to askwhence they came and what was the secret of their living, and why theywere here? But if I had asked who would have heard me? and desire hadgrown faint in my heart; all I wished for was that you should hear, thatyou should understand; with this wish Semur was full. They thought butof this. They went to the walls in bands, each in their order, and asthey came all the others rushed to meet them, to ask, 'What news?' Ifollowing, now with one, now with another, breathless and footsore asthey glided along. It is terrible when flesh and blood live with thosewho are spirits. I toiled after them. I sat on the Cathedral steps, andslept and waked, and heard the voices still in my dream. I prayed, butit was hard to pray. Once following a crowd I entered your house, M. leMaire, and went up, though I scarcely could drag myself along. Theremany were assembled 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 sawhim, and in the light of his face an assembly such as I have seen inpictures. One moment it glimmered before me and then it was gone. Therewere the captains of all the bands waiting to speak, men and women. Iheard them repeating from one to another the same tale. One voice wassmall and soft like a child's; it spoke of you. 'We went to him,' itsaid; and your father, M. le Maire, he too joined in, and said: 'We wentto him--but he could not hear us.' And some said it was enough--thatthey had no commission from on high, that they were but permitted--thatit 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. Thisgave 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 neighbours, adreamer, one whom many despise, that I should come to their aid? Yet Icould not listen and take no part. I cried out: 'Send me. I will tellthem in words they understand.' The sound of my voice was like a roar inthat atmosphere. It sent a tremble into the air. It seemed to rend me asit came forth from me, and made me giddy, so that I would have fallenhad not there been a support afforded me. As the light was going out ofmy eyes I saw again the faces looking at each other, questioning,benign, beautiful heads one over another, eyes that were clear as theheavens, but sad. I trembled while I gazed: there was the bliss ofheaven in their faces, yet they were sad. Then everything faded. I wasled away, I know not how, and brought to the door and put forth. I wasnot worthy to see the blessed grieve. That is a sight upon which theangels look with awe, and which brings those tears which are salvationinto the eyes of God.
I went back to my house, weary yet calm. There were many in my house;but because my heart was full of one who was not there, I knew not thosewho were there. I sat me down where she had been. I was weary, moreweary than ever before, but calm. Then I bethought me that I knew nomore than at the first, that I had lived among the unseen as if theywere my neighbours, neither fearing them, nor hearing those wonderswhich they have to tell. As I sat with my head in my hands, two talkedto each other close by: 'Is it true that we have failed?' said one; andthe 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 mymother. I listened as out of a faint, in a dream.
While I sat thus, with these voices in my ears, which a little whilebefore would have seemed to me more worthy of note than anything onearth, but which now lulled me and comforted me, as a child is comfortedby the voices of its guardians in the night, there occurred a new thingin the city like nothing I had heard before. It roused menotwithstanding my exhaustion and stupor. It was the sound as of someone passing through the city suddenly and swiftly, whether in somewonderful chariot, whether on some sweeping mighty wind, I cannot tell.The voices stopped that were conversing beside me, and I stood up, andwith an impulse I could not resist went out, as if a king were passingthat way. Straight, without turning to the right or left, through thecity, from one gate to another, this passenger seemed going; and as hewent there was the sound as of a proclamation, as if it were a heralddenouncing war or ratifying peace. Whosoever he was, the sweep of hisgoing moved my hair like a wind. At first the proclamation was but as agreat shout, and I could not understand it; but as he came nearer thewords became distinct. 'Neither will they believe--though one rose fromthe dead.' As it passed a murmur went up from the city, like the voiceof a great multitude. Then there came sudden silence.
At this moment, for a time--M. le Maire will take my statement for whatit is worth--I became unconscious of what passed further. Whetherweariness overpowered me and I slept, as at the most terrible momentnature will demand to do, or if I fainted I cannot tell; but for a timeI knew no more. When I came to myself, I was seated on the Cathedralsteps with everything silent around me. From thence I rose up, moved bya will which was not mine, and was led softly across the Grande Rue,through the great square, with my face towards the Porte St. Lambert. Iwent steadily on without hesitation, never doubting that the gates wouldopen to me, doubting nothing, though I had never attempted to withdrawfrom the city before. When I came to the gate I said not a word, nor anyone to me; but the door rolled slowly open before me, and I was putforth into the morning light, into the shining of the sun. I have nowsaid everything I had to say. The message I delivered was said throughme, I can tell no more. Let me rest a little; figure to yourselves, Ihave known no night of rest, nor eaten a morsel of bread for--did yousay it was but three days?
M. LE MAIRE RESUMES HIS NARRATIVE.
We re-entered by the door for foot-passengers which is by the side ofthe great Porte St. Lambert.
I will not deny that my heart was, as one may say, in my throat. A mandoes what is his duty, what his fellow-citizens expect of him; but thatis not to say that he renders himself callous to natural emotion. Myveins were swollen, the blood coursing through them like a high-f
lowingriver; my tongue was parched and dry. I am not ashamed to admit thatfrom head to foot my body quivered and trembled. I was afraid--but Iwent 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 iswith the ghostly and spiritual. To see men die, to accompany them tothe verge of the grave, to create for them during the time of theirsuffering after death (if it is true that they suffer), an interest inheaven, this his profession must necessarily give him courage. Myposition is very different. I have not made up my mind upon thesesubjects. When one can believe frankly in all the Church says, manythings become simple, which otherwise cause great difficulty in themind. The mysterious and wonderful then find their natural place in thecourse of affairs; but when a man thinks for himself, and has to takeeverything on his own responsibility, and