not recollect. But I thought of it many times while wemade our way like a procession of ghosts, round and round, straining ourears to hear what those voices were which sounded above us, in tonesthat were familiar, yet so strange. This story got so much into my head(and after a time all our heads seemed to get confused and full of wildand bewildering expedients) that I found myself suggesting--I, a manknown for sense and reason--that we should blow trumpets at some time tobe fixed, which was a thing the ancients had done in the strange talewhich had taken possession of me. M. le Cure looked at me withdisapproval. He said, 'I did not expect from M. le Maire anything thatwas disrespectful to religion.' Heaven forbid that I should bedisrespectful to religion at any time of life, but then it wasimpossible to me. I remembered after that the tale of which I speak,which had so seized upon me, was in the sacred writings; but those whoknow me will understand that no sneer at these writings or intention ofwounding the feelings of M. le Cure was in my mind.
I was seated one day upon a little inequality of the ground, leaning myback against a half-withered hawthorn, and dozing with my head in myhands, when a soothing, which always diffuses itself from her presence,shed itself over me, and opening my eyes, I saw my Agnes sitting by me.She had come with some food and a little linen, fresh and soft like herown touch. My wife was not gaunt and worn like me, but she was pale andas thin as a shadow. I woke with a start, and seeing her there, theresuddenly came a dread over me that she would pass away before my eyes,and go over to Those who were within Semur. I cried '_Non, mon Agnes;non, mon Agnes:_ before you ask, No!' seizing her and holding her fastin this dream, which was not altogether a dream. She looked at me with asmile, that smile that has always been to me as the rising of the sunover the earth.
'_Mon ami_,' she said surprised, 'I ask nothing, except that you shouldtake a little rest and spare thyself.' Then she added, with haste, whatI knew she would say, 'Unless it were this, _mon ami_. If I werepermitted, I would go into the city--I would ask those who are therewhat is their meaning: and if no way can be found--no act ofpenitence.--Oh! do not answer in haste! I have no fear; and it would beto save thee.'
A strong throb of anger came into my throat. Figure to yourself that Ilooked at my wife with anger, with the same feeling which had moved mewhen the deserters left us; but far more hot and sharp. I seized hersoft hands and crushed them in mine. 'You would leave me!' I said. 'Youwould desert your husband. You would go over to our enemies!'
'O Martin, say not so,' she cried, with tears. 'Not enemies. There isour little Marie, and my mother, who died when I was born.'
'You love these dead tyrants. Yes,' I said, 'you love them best. Youwill go to--the majority, to the strongest. Do not speak to me! Becauseyour God is on their side, you will forsake us too.'
Then she threw herself upon me and encircled me with her arms. The touchof them stilled my passion; but yet I held her, clutching her gown, soterrible a fear came over me that she would go and come back no more.
'Forsake thee!' she breathed out over me with a moan. Then, putting hercool cheek to mine, which burned, 'But I would die for thee, Martin.'
'Silence, my wife: that is what you shall not do,' I cried, besidemyself. I rose up; I put her away from me. That is, I know it, what hasbeen done. Their God does this, they do not hesitate to say--takes fromyou what you love best, to make you better--_you!_ and they ask you tolove Him when He has thus despoiled you! 'Go home, Agnes,' I said,hoarse with terror. 'Let us face them as we may; you shall not go amongthem, or put thyself in peril. Die for me! _Mon Dieu!_ and what then,what should I do then? Turn your face from them; turn from them; go! go!and let me not see thee here again.'
My wife did not understand the terror that seized me. She obeyed me, asshe always does, but, with the tears falling from her white cheeks,fixed upon me the most piteous look. '_Mon ami_,' she said, 'you aredisturbed, you are not in possession of yourself; this cannot be whatyou mean.'
'Let me not see thee here again!' I cried. 'Would you make me mad inthe midst of my trouble? No! I will not have you look that way. Go home!go home!' Then I took her into my arms and wept, though I am not a mangiven to tears. 'Oh! my Agnes,' I said, 'give me thy counsel. What youtell me I will do; but rather than risk thee, I would live thus forever, and defy them.'
She put her hand upon my lips. 'I will not ask this again,' she said,bowing her head; 'but defy them--why should you defy them? Have theycome for nothing? Was Semur a city of the saints? They have come toconvert our people, Martin--thee too, and the rest. If you will submityour hearts, they will open the gates, they will go back to their sacredhomes and we to ours. This has been borne in upon me sleeping andwaking; and it seemed to me that if I could but go, and say, "Oh! myfathers, oh! my brothers, they submit," all would be well. For I do notfear them, Martin. Would they harm me that love us? I would but giveour Marie one kiss----'
'You are a traitor!' I said. 'You would steal yourself from me, and dome the worst wrong of all----'
But I recovered my calm. What she said reached my understanding at last.'Submit!' I said, 'but to what? To come and turn us from our homes, towrap our town in darkness, to banish our wives and our children, toleave us here to be scorched by the sun and drenched by the rain,--thisis not to convince us, my Agnes. And to what then do you bid ussubmit----?'
'It is to convince you, _mon ami_, of the love of God, who has permittedthis great tribulation to be, that we might be saved,' said Agnes. Herface was sublime with faith. It is possible to these dear women; but forme the words she spoke were but words without meaning. I shook my head.Now that my horror and alarm were passed, I could well remember often tohave heard words like these before.
'My angel!' I said, 'all this I admire, I adore in thee; but how is itthe love of God?--and how shall we be saved by it? Submit! I will doanything that is reasonable; but of what truth have we here theproof----?'
Some one had come up behind as we were talking. When I heard his voice Ismiled, notwithstanding my despair. It was natural that the Churchshould come to the woman's aid. But I would not refuse to give ear to M.le Cure, who had proved himself a man, had he been ten times a priest.
'I have not heard what Madame has been saying, M. le Maire, neitherwould I interpose but for your question. You ask of what truth have wethe proof here? It is the Unseen that has revealed itself. Do we seeanything, you and I? Nothing, nothing, but a cloud. But that which wecannot see, that which we know not, that which we dread--look! it isthere.'
I turned unconsciously as he pointed with his hand. Oh, heaven, whatdid I see! Above the cloud that wrapped Semur there was a separation, arent in the darkness, and in mid heaven the Cathedral towers, pointingto the sky. I paid no more attention to M. le Cure. I sent forth a shoutthat roused all, even the weary line of the patrol that was marchingslowly with bowed heads round the walls; and there went up such a cry ofjoy as shook the earth. 'The towers, the towers!' I cried. These werethe towers that could be seen leagues off, the first sign of Semur; ourtowers, which we had been born to love like our father's name. I havehad joys in my life, deep and great. I have loved, I have won honours, Ihave conquered difficulty; but never had I felt as now. It was as if onehad been born again.
When we had gazed upon them, blessing them and thanking God, I gaveorders that all our company should be called to the tent, that we mightconsider whether any new step could now be taken: Agnes with the otherwomen sitting apart on one side and waiting. I recognised even in theexcitement of such a time that theirs was no easy part. To sit theresilent, to wait till we had spoken, to be bound by what we decided, andto have no voice--yes, that was hard. They thought they knew better thanwe did: but they were silent, devouring us with their eager eyes. I loveone woman more than all the world; I count her the best thing that Godhas made; yet would I not be as Agnes for all that life could give me.It was her part to be silent, and she was so, like the angel she is,while even Jacques Richard had the right to speak. _Mon Dieu!_ but it ishard, I allow it; they have need to be angels. This thought passe
dthrough my mind even at the crisis which had now arrived. For at suchmoments one sees everything, one thinks of everything, though it is onlyafter that one remembers what one has seen and thought. When myfellow-citizens gathered together (we were now less than a hundred innumber, so many had gone from us), I took it upon myself to speak. Wewere a haggard, worn-eyed company, having had neither shelter nor sleepnor even food, save in hasty snatches. I stood at the door of the tentand they below, for the ground sloped a little. Beside me were M. leCure, M. de Bois-Sombre, and one or two others of the chief citizens.'My friends,' I said, 'you have seen that a new circumstance hasoccurred. It is not within our power to tell what its meaning