《BOOK NINTH CHAPTER I.DELIRIUM.》
Claude Frollo was no longer in Notre-Dame when his adopted son so abruptly cut the fatal web in which the archdeacon and the gypsy were entangled.On returning to the sacristy he had torn off his alb, cope, and stole, had flung all into the hands of the stupefied beadle, had made his escape through the private door of the cloister, had ordered a boatman of the Terrain to transport him to the left bank of the Seine, and had plunged into the hilly streets of the University, not knowing whither he was going, encountering at every step groups of men and women who were hurrying joyously towards the pont Saint-Michel, in the hope of still arriving in time to see the witch hung there,--pale, wild, more troubled, more blind and more fierce than a night bird let loose and pursued by a troop of children in broad daylight.He no longer knew where he was, what he thought, or whether he were dreaming.He went forward, walking, running, taking any street at haphazard, making no choice, only urged ever onward away from the Grève, the horrible Grève, which he felt confusedly, to be behind him.
In this manner he skirted Mount Sainte-Geneviève, and finally emerged from the town by the porte Saint-Victor. He continued his flight as long as he could see, when he turned round, the turreted enclosure of the University, and the rare houses of the suburb; but, when, at length, a rise of ground had completely concealed from him that odious paris, when he could believe himself to be a hundred leagues distant from it, in the fields, in the desert, he halted, and it seemed to him that he breathed more freely.
Then frightful ideas thronged his mind.Once more he could see clearly into his soul, and he shuddered.He thought of that unhappy girl who had destroyed him, and whom he had destroyed.He cast a haggard eye over the double, tortuous way which fate had caused their two destinies to pursue up to their point of intersection, where it had dashed them against each other without mercy.He meditated on the folly of eternal vows, on the vanity of chastity, of science, of religion, of virtue, on the uselessness of God. He plunged to his heart's content in evil thoughts, and in proportion as he sank deeper, he felt a Satanic laugh burst forth within him.
And as he thus sifted his soul to the bottom, when he perceived how large a space nature had prepared there for the passions, he sneered still more bitterly.He stirred up in the depths of his heart all his hatred, all his malevolence; and, with the cold glance of a physician who examines a patient, he recognized the fact that this malevolence was nothing but vitiated love; that love, that source of every virtue in man, turned to horrible things in the heart of a priest, and that a man constituted like himself, in making himself a priest, made himself a demon.Then he laughed frightfully, and suddenly became pale again, when he considered the most sinister side of his fatal passion, of that corrosive, venomous malignant, implacable love, which had ended only in the gibbet for one of them and in hell for the other; condemnation for her, damnation for him.
And then his laughter came again, when he reflected that phoebus was alive; that after all, the captain lived, was gay and happy, had handsomer doublets than ever, and a new mistress whom he was conducting to see the old one hanged. His sneer redoubled its bitterness when he reflected that out of the living beings whose death he had desired, the gypsy, the only creature whom he did not hate, was the only one who had not escaped him.
Then from the captain, his thought passed to the people, and there came to him a jealousy of an unprecedented sort. He reflected that the people also, the entire populace, had had before their eyes the woman whom he loved exposed almost naked.He writhed his arms with agony as he thought that the woman whose form, caught by him alone in the darkness would have been supreme happiness, had been delivered up in broad daylight at full noonday, to a whole people, clad as for a night of voluptuousness.He wept with rage over all these mysteries of love, profaned, soiled, laid bare, withered forever.He wept with rage as he pictured to himself how many impure looks had been gratified at the sight of that badly fastened shift, and that this beautiful girl, this virgin lily, this cup of modesty and delight, to which he would have dared to place his lips only trembling, had just been transformed into a sort of public bowl, whereat the vilest populace of paris, thieves, beggars, lackeys, had come to quaff in common an audacious, impure, and depraved pleasure.
And when he sought to picture to himself the happiness which he might have found upon earth, if she had not been a gypsy, and if he had not been a priest, if phoebus had not existed and if she had loved him; when he pictured to himself that a life of serenity and love would have been possible to him also, even to him; that there were at that very moment, here and there upon the earth, happy couples spending the hours in sweet converse beneath orange trees, on the banks of brooks, in the presence of a setting sun, of a starry night; and that if God had so willed, he might have formed with her one of those blessed couples,--his heart melted in tenderness and despair.
Oh! she! still she!It was this fixed idea which returned incessantly, which tortured him, which ate into his brain, and rent his vitals.He did not regret, he did not repent; all that he had done he was ready to do again; he preferred to behold her in the hands of the executioner rather than in the arms of the captain.But he suffered; he suffered so that at intervals he tore out handfuls of his hair to see whether it were not turning white.
Among other moments there came one, when it occurred to him that it was perhaps the very minute when the hideous chain which he had seen that morning, was pressing its iron noose closer about that frail and graceful neck.This thought caused the perspiration to start from every pore.
There was another moment when, while laughing diabolically at himself, he represented to himself la Esmeralda as he had seen her on that first day, lively, careless, joyous, gayly attired, dancing, winged, harmonious, and la Esmeralda of the last day, in her scanty shift, with a rope about her neck, mounting slowly with her bare feet, the angular ladder of the gallows; he figured to himself this double picture in such a manner .that he gave vent to a terrible cry.
While this hurricane of despair overturned, broke, tore up, bent, uprooted everything in his soul, he gazed at nature around him.At his feet, some chickens were searching the thickets and pecking, enamelled beetles ran about in the sun; overhead, some groups of dappled gray clouds were floating across the blue sky; on the horizon, the spire of the Abbey Saint-Victor pierced the ridge of the hill with its slate obelisk; and the miller of the Copeaue hillock was whistling as he watched the laborious wings of his mill turning.All this active, organized, tranquil life, recurring around him under a thousand forms, hurt him.He resumed his flight.
He sped thus across the fields until evening.This flight from nature, life, himself, man, God, everything, lasted all day long.Sometimes he flung himself face downward on the, earth, and tore up the young blades of wheat with his nails. Sometimes he halted in the deserted street of a village, and his thoughts were so intolerable that he grasped his head in both hands and tried to tear it from his shoulders in order to dash it upon the pavement.
Towards the hour of sunset, he examined himself again, and found himself nearly mad.The tempest which had raged within him ever since the instant when he had lost the hope and the will to save the gypsy,--that tempest had not left in his conscience a single healthy idea, a single thought which maintained its upright position.His reason lay there almost entirely destroyed.There remained but two distinct images in his mind, la Esmeralda and the gallows; all the rest was blank.Those two images united, presented to him a frightful group; and the more he concentrated what attention and thought was left to him, the more he beheld them grow, in accordance with a fantastic progression, the one in grace, in charm, in beauty, in light, the other in deformity and horror; so that at last la Esmeralda appeared to him like a star, the gibbet like an enormous, fleshless arm.
One remarkable fact is, that during the whole of this torture, the idea of dying did not seriously occur to him.The wretch was made so.He clung to life.perhaps he really saw hell beyond it.
Meanwhile, the day continued to decline.The living being which still existed in him reflected vaguely on retracing its steps.He believed himself to be far away from paris; on taking his bearings, he perceived that he had only circled the enclosure of the University.The spire of Saint-Sulpice, and the three lofty needles of Saint Germain-des-prés, rose above the horizon on his right.He turned his steps in that direction.When he heard the brisk challenge of the men-at-arms of the abbey, around the crenelated, circumscribing wall of Saint-Germain, he turned aside, took a path which presented itself between the abbey and the lazar-house of the bourg, and at the expiration of a few minutes found himself on the verge of the pré-aux-Clercs.This meadow was celebrated by reason of the brawls which went on there night and day; it was the hydra of the poor monks of Saint-Germain: ~quod mouachis Sancti-Germaini pratensis hydra fuit, clericis nova semper dissidiorum capita suscitantibus~.The archdeacon was afraid of meeting some one there; he feared every human countenance; he had just avoided the University and the Bourg Saint-Germain; he wished to re-enter the streets as late as possible.He skirted the pré-aux-Clercs, took the deserted path which separated it from the Dieu-Neuf, and at last reached the water's edge.There Dom Claude found a boatman, who, for a few farthings in parisian coinage, rowed him up the Seine as far as the point of the city, and landed him on that tongue of abandoned land where the reader has already beheld Gringoire dreaming, and which was prolonged beyond the king's gardens, parallel to the Ile du passeur-aux-Vaches.
The monotonous rocking of the boat and the ripple of the water had, in some sort, quieted the unhappy Claude.When the boatman had taken his departure, he remained standing stupidly on the strand, staring straight before him and perceiving objects only through magnifying oscillations which rendered everything a sort of phantasmagoria to him.The fatigue of a great grief not infrequently produces this effect on the mind.
The sun had set behind the lofty Tour-de-Nesle.It was the twilight hour.The sky was white, the water of the river was white.Between these two white expanses, the left bank of the Seine, on which his eyes were fixed, projected its gloomy mass and, rendered ever thinner and thinner by perspective, it plunged into the gloom of the horizon like a black spire.It was loaded with houses, of which only the obscure outline could be distinguished, sharply brought out in shadows against the light background of the sky and the water.Here and there windows began to gleam, like the holes in a brazier. That immense black obelisk thus isolated between the two white expanses of the sky and the river, which was very broad at this point, produced upon Dom Claude a singular effect, comparable to that which would be experienced by a man who, reclining on his back at the foot of the tower of Strasburg, should gaze at the enormous spire plunging into the shadows of the twilight above his head.Only, in this case, it was Claude who was erect and the obelisk which was lying down; but, as the river, reflecting the sky, prolonged the abyss below him, the immense promontory seemed to be as boldly launched into space as any cathedral spire; and the impression was the same.This impression had even one stronger and more profound point about it, that it was indeed the tower of Strasbourg, but the tower of Strasbourg two leagues in height; something unheard of, gigantic, immeasurable; an edifice such as no human eye has ever seen; a tower of Babel. The chimneys of the houses, the battlements of the walls, the faceted gables of the roofs, the spire of the Augustines, the tower of Nesle, all these projections which broke the profile of the colossal obelisk added to the illusion by displaying in eccentric fashion to the eye the indentations of a luxuriant and fantastic sculpture.
Claude, in the state of hallucination in which he found himself, believed that he saw, that he saw with his actual eyes, the bell tower of hell; the thousand lights scattered over the whole height of the terrible tower seemed to him so many porches of the immense interior furnace; the voices and noises which escaped from it seemed so many shrieks, so many death groans.Then he became alarmed, he put his hands on his ears that he might no longer hear, turned his back that he might no longer see, and fled from the frightful vision with hasty strides.
But the vision was in himself.
When he re-entered the streets, the passers-by elbowing each other by the light of the shop-fronts, produced upon him the effect of a constant going and coming of spectres about him. There were strange noises in his ears; extraordinary fancies disturbed his brain.He saw neither houses, nor pavements, nor chariots, nor men and women, but a chaos of indeterminate objects whose edges melted into each other.At the corner of the Rue de la Barillerie, there was a grocer's shop whose porch was garnished all about, according to immemorial custom, with hoops of tin from which hung a circle of wooden candles, which came in contact with each other in the wind, and rattled like castanets.He thought he heard a cluster of skeletons at Montfau?on clashing together in the gloom.
"Oh!" he muttered, "the night breeze dashes them against each other, and mingles the noise of their chains with the rattle of their bones!perhaps she is there among them!"
In his state of frenzy, he knew not whither he was going. After a few strides he found himself on the pont Saint- Michel.There was a light in the window of a ground-floor room; he approached.Through a cracked window he beheld a mean chamber which recalled some confused memory to his mind.In that room, badly lighted by a meagre lamp, there was a fresh, light-haired young man, with a merry face, who amid loud bursts of laughter was embracing a very audaciously attired young girl; and near the lamp sat an old crone spinning and singing in a quavering voice.As the young man did not laugh constantly, fragments of the old woman's ditty reached the priest; it was something unintelligible yet frightful,--
"~Grève, aboie, Grève, grouille! File, file, ma quenouille, File sa corde au bourreau, Qui siffle dans le pre(au, Grève, aboie, Grève, grouille~!
"~La belle corde de chanvre! Semez d'Issy jusqu'á Vanvre Du chanvre et non pas du ble(. Le voleur n'a pas vole( La belle corde de chanvre~.
"~Grève, grouille, Grève, aboie! pour voir la fille de joie, prendre au gibet chassieux, Les fenêtres sont des yeux. Grève, grouille, Grève, aboie!"*
*Bark, Grève, grumble, Grève!Spin, spin, my distaff, spin her rope for the hangman, who is whistling in the meadow.What a beautiful hempen rope!Sow hemp, not wheat, from Issy to Vanvre.The thief hath not stolen the beautiful hempen rope. Grumble, Grève, bark, Grève!To see the dissolute wench hang on the blear-eyed gibbet, windows are eyes.
Thereupon the young man laughed and caressed the wench. The crone was la Falourdel; the girl was a courtesan; the young man was his brother Jehan.
He continued to gaze.That spectacle was as good as any other.
He saw Jehan go to a window at the end of the room, open it, cast a glance on the quay, where in the distance blazed a thousand lighted casements, and he heard him say as he closed the sash,--
"'pon my soul!How dark it is; the people are lighting their candles, and the good God his stars."
Then Jehan came back to the hag, smashed a bottle standing on the table, exclaiming,--
"Already empty, ~cor-boeuf~! and I have no more money! Isabeau, my dear, I shall not be satisfied with Jupiter until he has changed your two white nipples into two black bottles, where I may suck wine of Beaune day and night."
This fine pleasantry made the courtesan laugh, and Jehan left the room.
Dom Claude had barely time to fling himself on the ground in order that he might not be met, stared in the face and recognized by his brother.Luckily, the street was dark, and the scholar was tipsy.Nevertheless, he caught sight of the archdeacon prone upon the earth in the mud.
"Oh!oh!" said he; "here's a fellow who has been leading a jolly life, to-day."
He stirred up Dom Claude with his foot, and the latter held his breath.
"Dead drunk," resumed Jehan."Come, he's full.A regular leech detached from a hogshead.He's bald," he added, bending down, "'tis an old man!~Fortunate senex~!"
Then Dom Claude heard him retreat, saying,--
"'Tis all the same, reason is a fine thing, and my brother the archdeacon is very happy in that he is wise and has money."
Then the archdeacon rose to his feet, and ran without halting, towards Notre-Dame, whose enormous towers he beheld rising above the houses through the gloom.
At the instant when he arrived, panting, on the place du parvis, he shrank back and dared not raise his eyes to the fatal edifice.
"Oh!" he said, in a low voice, "is it really true that such a thing took place here, to-day, this very morning?"
Still, he ventured to glance at the church.The front was sombre; the sky behind was glittering with stars.The crescent of the moon, in her flight upward from the horizon, had paused at the moment, on the summit of the light hand tower, and seemed to have perched itself, like a luminous bird, on the edge of the balustrade, cut out in black trefoils.
The cloister door was shut; but the archdeacon always carried with him the key of the tower in which his laboratory was situated.He made use of it to enter the church.
In the church he found the gloom and silence of a cavern. By the deep shadows which fell in broad sheets from all directions, he recognized the fact that the hangings for the ceremony of the morning had not yet been removed.The great silver cross shone from the depths of the gloom, powdered with some sparkling points, like the milky way of that sepulchral night.The long windows of the choir showed the upper extremities of their arches above the black draperies, and their painted panes, traversed by a ray of moonlight had no longer any hues but the doubtful colors of night, a sort of violet, white and blue, whose tint is found only on the faces of the dead.The archdeacon, on perceiving these wan spots all around the choir, thought he beheld the mitres of damned bishops.He shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, he thought they were a circle of pale visages gazing at him.
He started to flee across the church.Then it seemed to him that the church also was shaking, moving, becoming endued with animation, that it was alive; that each of the great columns was turning into an enormous paw, which was beating the earth with its big stone spatula, and that the gigantic cathedral was no longer anything but a sort of prodigious elephant, which was breathing and marching with its pillars for feet, its two towers for trunks and the immense black cloth for its housings.
This fever or madness had reached such a degree of intensity that the external world was no longer anything more for the unhappy man than a sort of Apocalypse,- visible, palpable, terrible.
For one moment, he was relieved.As he plunged into the side aisles, he perceived a reddish light behind a cluster of pillars.He ran towards it as to a star.It was the poor lamp which lighted the public breviary of Notre-Dame night and day, beneath its iron grating.He flung himself eagerly upon the holy book in the hope of finding some consolation, or some encouragement there.The hook lay open at this passage of Job, over which his staring eye glanced,--
"And a spirit passed before my face, and I heard a small voice, and the hair of my flesh stood up."
On reading these gloomy words, he felt that which a blind man feels when he feels himself pricked by the staff which he has picked up.His knees gave way beneath him, and he sank upon the pavement, thinking of her who had died that day. He felt so many monstrous vapors pass and discharge themselves in his brain, that it seemed to him that his head had become one of the chimneys of hell.
It would appear that he remained a long time in this attitude, no longer thinking, overwhelmed and passive beneath the hand of the demon.At length some strength returned to him; it occurred to him to take refuge in his tower beside his faithful Quasimodo.He rose; and, as he was afraid, he took the lamp from the breviary to light his way.It was a sacrilege; but he had got beyond heeding such a trifle now.
He slowly climbed the stairs of the towers, filled with a secret fright which must have been communicated to the rare passers-by in the place du parvis by the mysterious light of his lamp, mounting so late from loophole to loophole of the bell tower.
All at once, he felt a freshness on his face, and found himself at the door of the highest gallery.The air was cold; the sky was filled with hurrying clouds, whose large, white flakes drifted one upon another like the breaking up of river ice after the winter.The crescent of the moon, stranded in the midst of the clouds, seemed a celestial vessel caught in the ice-cakes of the air.
He lowered his gaze, and contemplated for a moment, through the railing of slender columns which unites the two towers, far away, through a gauze of mists and smoke, the silent throng of the roofs of paris, pointed, innumerable, crowded and small like the waves of a tranquil sea on a sum- mer night.
The moon cast a feeble ray, which imparted to earth and heaven an ashy hue.
At that moment the clock raised its shrill, cracked voice. Midnight rang out.The priest thought of midday; twelve o'clock had come back again.
"Oh!" he said in a very low tone, "she must be cold now."
All at once, a gust of wind extinguished his lamp, and almost at the same instant, he beheld a shade, a whiteness, a form, a woman, appear from the opposite angle of the tower. He started.Beside this woman was a little goat, which mingled its bleat with the last bleat of the clock.
He had strength enough to look.It was she.
She was pale, she was gloomy.Her hair fell over her shoulders as in the morning; but there was no longer a rope on her neck, her hands were no longer bound; she was free, she was dead.
She was dressed in white and had a white veil on her head.
She came towards him, slowly, with her gaze fixed on the sky.The supernatural goat followed her.He felt as though made of stone and too heavy to flee.At every step which she took in advance, he took one backwards, and that was all. In this way he retreated once more beneath the gloomy arch of the stairway.He was chilled by the thought that she might enter there also; had she done so, he would have died of terror.
She did arrive, in fact, in front of the door to the stairway, and paused there for several minutes, stared intently into the darkness, but without appearing to see the priest, and passed on.She seemed taller to him than when she had been alive; he saw the moon through her white robe; he heard her breath.
When she had passed on, he began to descend the staircase again, with the slowness which he had observed in the spectre, believing himself to be a spectre too, haggard, with hair on end, his extinguished lamp still in his hand; and as he descended the spiral steps, he distinctly heard in his ear a voice laughing and repeating,--
"A spirit passed before my face, and I heard a small voice, and the hair of my flesh stood up."

《第九卷 一　热狂》
就在克洛德.弗罗洛的义子那样猛烈地把不幸的副主教用来束缚埃及姑娘,同时也束缚自己命运的死结斩断时,这位副主教已离开圣母院了.一回到圣器室,他就扯掉罩衣,法袍和襟带,把它们统统扔到惊呆了的教堂执事手上,便从隐修院的偏门溜走,吩咐"滩地"的一个船工渡他到塞纳河的左岸,钻进了大学城高高低低的街道上,他不知道该往哪儿走,每走一步就能遇到三五成群的男女.他们迈着大步向圣米歇尔桥跑去,巴望还赶得上观看绞死女巫.他魂不附体,脸无血色,比大白天被顽皮的孩子放掉后又追赶的夜鸟更慌乱,更盲目,更害怕.他不知道自己在何处,在想些什么,是否在做梦.他往前走,忽而快跑,忽而慢步,见路就走,根本不加选择,只不过老是觉得被河滩广场追赶着,隐隐约约地感到那可怕的广场就在他身后.
他就这样沿着圣日芮维埃芙山往前走,末了从圣维克多门逃出了城.只要他回头还能看到大学城塔楼的墙垣和城郊稀疏的房屋,他就一直往前奔跑;但当一道山坡把可憎的巴黎彻底挡住时,他相信已走了百把法里,来到荒郊野岭,才停住,觉得又可以呼吸了.
这时,一些可怕的念头纷纷涌上他的心头,他又看清了自己的灵魂,惊惧不已.他想到那个毁了他,又被他毁掉的不幸姑娘.他用惊慌的目光环顾命运让他们二人走过的崎岖的双重道路,直到它们无情地相互撞击而粉碎的交点.他想到自己发誓永远出家的荒唐,想到了贞洁.科学.宗教.德行的虚荣,想到了上帝的无能.他心花怒放,陷入这些邪念里,陷得愈深,就愈觉得心中爆发出一种魔鬼的狞笑.
他这样审视自己灵魂的时候,发现大自然在他的灵魂里为情欲准备了一个多么广阔的天地,便愈发苦涩地冷笑了.他在心灵深处玩弄他的全部仇恨及邪恶.以一个医生检查病人的冷静目光,诊断这种仇恨.这种邪恶无非是被玷污的爱情,这种爱,在男人身上可以说是一切德行的源泉,而在一个教士的心中则成了可恶的坟墓;而且,一个像他这样气质的人一旦做了教士就成了恶魔.于是他可怕地大笑.在观察自己那致命的情欲,观察那具有毒的.腐蚀性的.可恨的.难以控制的爱情中最险恶的方面时,他突然又变得脸色煞白,因为这种爱导致一个人上了绞刑架,另一个人下了地狱:她被判绞刑,而他堕入地狱.
随后,他想到弗比斯还活着,又笑了;心想队长毕竟还活着,活得轻松愉快,他的军服比以前更华美,还有一个新情妇,他竟然带着新情妇去看绞死旧情人.他狞笑得更厉害了,因为他思忖,在那些他恨不得他们早死的活人当中,那个埃及少女是他唯一不恨的人,是他唯一没有欺骗过的.
于是,他从队长又想到民众,他感到一种从未有过的嫉妒.平民,所有平民,都看过他所爱的这个女人身穿内衣,几乎赤裸.他想,他一个人在暗影中隐约看这个女人的形体时,可以说是至高无上的幸福,竟然却在中午.光天化日之下,穿得像仿佛要去度不健康之夜似的,交给全体大众去玩赏,一想到此,他痛苦得扭曲了脸.他愤怒地痛哭,痛恨爱情的一切奥秘竟受到这样辱没,玷污,象鲜花永远凋残了.他悲愤地痛哭,想像着有多少淫恶的目光在那件没有扣好的内衣上揩油沾光.这个漂亮的姑娘,这百合花般纯洁的处女,这个装满贞洁和极乐的酒杯,他只敢战战兢兢地将嘴唇挨近,现在竟成了公共饭锅,巴黎最卑鄙的小偷.贱民.乞丐.仆役们都蜂涌而来从中消受无耻.污秽.荒淫的乐趣.
他挖空心思想像着他在世上能获得的幸福,设想她不是吉卜赛人,他也不是教士,弗比斯也不存在,她也爱他;一种充满安宁和爱情的生活对他自己也是可能的,就在同一时刻,世上到处都有幸福的伴侣在桔树下,在夕阳中,在小溪边,在星光灿烂的夜晚倾诉绵绵情话;假若上帝愿意,他会和她成为这些幸福伴侣中的一对.想到这些,他的心软了,化作一腔柔情,满腹悲伤.
啊!是她!就是她!这个顽固的念头一直萦绕在他的心头,吸吮他的脑汁,折磨着他,撕裂他的肺腑.他并不遗憾,也不感到后悔;他做过的一切,还准备再去做;宁可看到她落在刽子手的手中,也不愿看见她在队长的怀抱里,不过他悲痛欲绝,不时揪一把头发,看看是不是变白了.
这中间有一会儿,他突然想起,也许正是早上看到的那条可憎的锁链正收紧链结,死死勒住她那十分柔弱优美的脖子.这个念头使他的每一个毛孔都渗出汗来.
又有一会儿,他一边像魔鬼一样嘲笑自己,一边回想头一次所看见的爱斯梅拉达,那个天真活泼.喜笑颜开.穿着盛装.舞姿翩翩.无忧无虑.象只百灵鸟,同时又想像最后一次所看到的爱斯梅拉达,身穿内衣,脖子上套着绳索,光着脚,缓缓地走上绞刑架的梯子;他这样想着前后两种景象,忍不住发出一声凄厉的喊声.
这阵欲死不能的飓风把他心灵里的一切扰乱了,压弯了,打碎了,扯断了,连根拔除了.他望了望周围自然界的景象,附近有几只母鸡在灌木丛中啄食,色彩斑斓的金龟子在阳光下飞舞,头顶上空有几片灰白的云朵在蓝天上飘浮着.水天相接处的是维克多修道院的钟楼,它那石板方塔在山坡上矗立着.而戈波山岗的磨坊主则打着唿哨,望着磨坊转动着的风翼.这整个生机盎然.井然有序.安静祥和的生活,在他四周千姿百态地呈现出来,让他看了难受得不行,他随即又奔跑起来.
他就这样在田野里狂奔着,一直跑到日落时分.这种逃避生活.逃避自然.逃避自己.逃避人类.逃避上帝.逃避一切的奔跑,持续了整整一天.有几次他扑倒在地,面孔朝下,用五指拔起麦苗.有好几次他在荒村的某条小街上停下来,痛苦得难以忍受,竟用双手紧抱着脑袋,想把它从肩膀上拔出来,在地上摔个稀巴烂.
太阳快要落山的时候,他重新审视自己,发现自己差不多快疯了.自从丧失对拯救埃及姑娘的希冀和愿望,风暴就在他的心里刮个不止.这一场风暴并没有在他心中留下任何完整的想法,任何站得住的思想.他的理智在这风暴中几乎完全被摧毁,不如枯槁,心里只剩下两个清晰的形象:爱斯梅拉达和绞刑架.其余全是漆黑一片.这两个紧密相联的形象合在一起,呈现了一种可怕的群像,而且他越是紧盯着他的注意力和思想中残存的形象,越看它们以变幻莫测的进度在发展变化,一个变得丰姿妖娆,妩媚.迷人.光辉灿烂,而另一个变得面目可憎;最后,他甚至觉得爱斯梅拉达好象是一颗星星;绞刑架仿佛是一只枯瘦的巨臂.
在他遭受着极大痛苦期间,他竟然没有想到去寻短见,这真是一件咄咄怪事.不幸的人往往如此.他珍惜生命.也许他真的看见身后是地狱.
这时天色越来越昏暗了,他内心尚存的性灵隐隐约约想要回去.他自以为已经远远逃离了巴黎,可是仔细辨认一下方向之后,才发现自己只不过是沿着大学城的城墙绕了一圈.圣絮尔皮斯教堂的尖塔和圣日耳曼—德—普瑞修道院的三个高高的尖顶,在他的右边直指云霄.他奔向这个方向.听见修道院的武装人员在圣日耳曼雉堞壕沟周围哟喝口令,他就绕了过去,走上修道院的磨坊与镇上麻疯病院之间的一条小路,过一阵子就来到了教士草场的边上.这个草场是因为神学堂学子们日夜吵闹不休而著名的,它是圣日耳曼修道院僧侣们的七头蛇,"它对圣日耳曼—德—普瑞的僧侣们来说是一头七头蛇,因为神甫总是一次又一次地借此挑起教会纷争."副主教担心在那里碰见什么人,他害怕见任何人的脸.他刚刚避开大学城和圣日耳曼镇,打算设法晚一些再回到大路上去.他沿着教士草场往前走,走上了一条把草场和新医院分开的荒芜的小径,终于到了塞纳河边.在那里,堂.克洛德找到一个船工,给了几个巴黎德尼埃,船工就带着他逆流而上,直到城岛的沙嘴,让他在格兰古瓦在那里做过梦的那荒凉的狭长半岛上了岸,这个半岛一直伸展到同牛渡小洲平行的王家花园外.
渡船单调的晃荡和汩汩的水声使不幸的克洛德心灵有点麻木了.船工远去了之后,他仍然呆呆地伫立在沙滩上,朝前望去,什么也看不见,只见一切都在摇曳,膨胀,觉得一切全像幻影一般.一种深沉的痛苦引起的疲乏,在精神上产生这样的结果,这倒是屡见不鲜的.
太阳已经落到纳勒高塔背后去了.正是暮霭苍茫的时分,天空是白的,河水也是白的.在这两片白色之间,他盯着塞纳河的左岸,它投射出黑压压一大片黑影,看起来越远越稀薄,象一支黑箭直插入天边的云雾.岸上到处都是房舍,只看得见它们阴暗的轮廓,被明亮的天光水色一映衬,显得格外黝黑.窗户亮起了***,疏疏落落,仿佛是些燃烧着炭火的炉口.在天空与河水两幅白幔之间,那黑黝黝的巨大方尖塔孑然而立,在那个地方显得硕大无比,给堂.克洛德留下了一种奇特的印象,好象一个人仰面躺在斯特拉斯堡大教堂的钟楼下,一动不动地望着巨大的尖顶在他的头顶上方钻进了灰白的暮霭之中.不过,在这里克洛德是站着的,方尖塔是躺着的.河水倒映着天空,他显得脚下的深渊更加深不可测.巨大的岬角,仿佛也像教堂的任何尖顶一般,大胆地刺入空间,给人的印象也完全一样.这种印象同样奇特但更加深刻,仿佛那就是斯特拉斯堡钟楼,不过斯特拉斯堡钟楼有两法里高,巨大无比,高不可测,人类的眼睛从未见过,俨然又是一座巴别塔.房屋上的烟囱,房顶的人字墙,奥古斯都修道院的尖塔,墙头的雉堞,所有那些把巨大方尖塔的轮廓切成许多缺口的突出部分,那些古怪地出现在眼前的杂乱而令人幻想的齿形边缘,都使人产生了幻觉.克洛德身处于幻觉之中,用他活生生的眼睛,看见了地狱里的钟楼;他觉得那可怕的高塔上闪耀着千百道亮光,好像是地狱的千百扇门户;高塔上人声嘈杂,喧闹不止,好似地狱里传出的垂死的喘息鬼泣神嚎.他害怕了,用双手捂住耳朵不再去听,转过身子不再去看,并且迈着大步远远地逃离了那骇人的幻景.
然而幻景就在他的心里.
他回到大街上,看见店铺门前灯光照耀下熙熙攘攘的行人,觉得那是一群永远在他周围来来往往的幽灵.他耳朵里老有古怪的轰鸣声.有些奇特的幻象总是搅乱他的心绪.他看不见房屋和道路,也看不见车辆和过路的人,只看到一连串模糊不清的事物互相缠绕在一起.桶坊街的拐角处有一家杂货店,房檐周围按远古的习俗挂着许多白铁环,铁环上系着一圈圈木制的假蜡烛,迎风相互碰击,发出响响的声音.他以为听到了鹰山刑场的骷髅在黑暗里碰撞的响声.
"啊,"他低声说道,"夜风吹得它们相互碰撞,铁链的响声和尸骨的响声混在了一起!也许她就在那里,在他们当中!"
他魂不守舍,不知道该往何处去.又走了一段路,发现自己来到圣米歇尔桥上,看见一所房子底层的窗口射出一道亮光.他走过去,透过一方破碎的玻璃窗,看见一间肮脏的客厅,这在他心里唤起了一种模模糊糊的回忆.客厅里,在昏暗的灯光下,有个红润的金发青年,手舞足蹈,大声笑着,正搂着一个袒胸露背.寡廉鲜耻的姑娘,还有一个老妇人,坐在灯旁纺纱,一面用颤微微的声音唱着一首歌.在那个年轻人笑笑停停的空间,歌词有几段传进了教士的耳朵.这些歌词不易听懂,却令人毛骨悚然.河滩,哼哟,河滩,晃哟!我的纺缍,纺哟,纺哟,给刽子手纺出绞索,他在监狱庭院里打着口哨.河滩,哼哟,河滩,晃哟.漂亮的大麻绞索!从伊西到凡弗勒种上大麻,而非小麦.窃贼不会去偷盗漂亮的大麻绞索.河滩,哼哟,河滩,晃哟!想看一看那风流娘门吊在肮脏刑架上被绞,那些窗户就是双眼.河滩,哼哟,河滩,晃哟!
听到这歌声,年轻人笑着,抚摸着那个女人.那个老婆子就是法露黛尔,而那个女人则是一个娼妓;那个年轻人,正是他的兄弟约翰.
他继续看着,这幕景象同另一幕简直完全一样.
他看见约翰走到房间尽头的窗前,把窗户打开,朝远处那个有着许多明亮窗户的码头看了一眼,他听见他在关上窗户的时候说:"用我的灵魂担保!天色已经晚,人们已经点上了蜡烛,慈悲的上帝亮起了星星."
随后,约翰又回到那淫妓身边,砸碎桌上的一个酒瓶,大声地嚷道:
"已经空了,***!我身无分文了!伊莎博,亲爱的,我是不喜欢朱庇特的,只要他把你这一对白乳房变成两个黑酒瓶,让我整日整夜从里面吮吸波纳葡萄酒!"
一听这个漂亮的玩笑,那妓女哈哈大笑,约翰从那道便走了出来.
堂.克洛德刚刚来得及扑倒在地,免得被他的弟弟撞上,当面认出来.幸好街道幽暗,那家伙醉醺醺的,他看到副主教正躺在泥泞的道路中间.
"喂!喂!"说道."这儿有个家伙今天过得蛮快活呀."
他用脚踢了踢堂.克洛德,他正摒息着气呢.
"醉得像个死猪,"约翰说,"哈,他可喝足了,活像一条从酒桶上拽下来的蚂蟥.他还是个秃子呢."他弯下腰看了看,又说."原来是个老头!幸运的老头!"
随后,堂.克洛德就听见他边走开,边说:"看来,理性是个好东西,我的副主教哥哥真走运,又有学问又有钱."
这时副主教爬了起来,一口气朝圣母院跑去,他看见圣母院的两座巨大钟楼在众多房屋之间暗影里高高地耸立着.
他一口气跑到教堂前面的广场,这时反而犹疑不定了,不敢望那阴森森的建筑物,"啊!"他低声地自言自语道."今天,就在上午,这里真的发生过那样一件事吗?"
这时他才壮起胆子向教堂望去.教堂的正面是漆黑一片,后面的天空繁星闪烁.刚刚从天边升起的一弯新月,此时此刻正贮留在靠右边那座钟楼的顶上,宛如一只发光的小鸟栖息在像被剪成的黑梅花状的栏杆上.
修道院的大门紧闭着.但是副主教身边常常带着他那间密室所在的钟楼的钥匙,于是拿出钥匙把门打开,一头钻进了教堂.
他发现教堂里好似洞穴一般黑暗沉寂.他看见了从四面八方投下来的大块阴影,还发现早上举行忏悔仪式时挂的帏幔还没有撤掉.巨大的银十字架在黑暗中幽幽发光,上面点缀着一些光点,好像是那坟墓般阴森夜空的银河.唱诗班后面的长玻璃窗在帏幔顶上露出了它们尖拱的顶端,窗上的彩绘玻璃在月光下呈现出朦胧的色调,似蓝非蓝,似紫非紫,那是只有死人脸上才有的一种色调.副主教看到唱诗班周围的这些苍白的尖拱顶,以为看见了堕入地狱的主教们的帽子.他合上眼睛,等再睁开来之时,觉得那是一副苍白的面孔在盯着他看.
于是他拔腿就跑,穿过教堂逃开了.他觉得教堂好像在摇晃,动弹,充满生机,活起来了.每根巨大的柱子都好象变成了又粗又长的腿,用巨大的石脚踩着地.巨人般的教堂却变成了一头硕大无比的大象,以那些柱子为脚,在那里晃晃悠悠地走动,那两座巨大钟楼就是它的犄角,大黑幔就是它的装饰.
他的昏热或热狂竟然如此强烈,在这个不幸的人看来,整个外部世界不过是上帝的启示,让人看得见,摸得着,令人惊骇.
有一会儿,他松了口气.在走进过道时,他看见从一排柱子后面射出一道红光.他飞快地朝它奔去,仿佛奔向星星似的.原来那是日夜照着铁栏下圣母院公用祈祷书的那盏可怜的灯.他急切地跑到祈祷书跟前,希望从中找到一点慰藉.祈祷书正翻到《约伯》那一段,他就目不转睛地看了起来,"有灵从我面前经过.我听见他轻微的鼻息,我身上的汗毛直立."
读着这阴森森的句子,他感觉就像一个瞎子被自己捡来的棍子戳了一样.他两腿发软,瘫倒在石板地上,想着白天死去的那个女人.他觉得脑子里象是在冒出一股股极为可怕的烟,好像他的头变成了地狱的一个烟囱.
有好一阵子,他就这样久久地躺在那里,无思无想,没有办法,像是堕入了地狱,落到了魔鬼的手里.最后,他恢复了一点力气,便想躲到钟楼里去,靠近他忠实的卡齐莫多.他站起来,由于害怕,便把照亮祈祷书的灯拿走.这本是一种渎神的行为,他已顾不得这种小事儿了.
他慢慢地爬上钟楼的楼梯,心惊胆颤,他牵着手里神秘的灯,在这样深夜里,从一个楼梯到另一个楼梯,直登上钟楼的顶上,如果让广场上稀少的行人看了,也会吓得魂飞魄散.
忽然,他感到脸上有一阵凉意,发现自己已经爬到了最顶层的长廊门口.那里空气清冷,天空中朵朵云朵,大片的白云互相掩映,云角破碎不堪,仿佛冬天河里解冻的冰块一般.一弯新月镶嵌在云层中,宛如一艘被空中的冰块环绕着的天舰.
他低下头,从连接两座钟楼的一排廊柱的栅栏当中向远处眺望了一会,透过一片轻烟薄雾,只看见巴黎成堆静悄悄的屋顶,尖尖的,数也数不清,又挤又小,宛若夏夜海面上荡漾的水波.
月亮撒下微弱的光,把天空和大地蒙上了一片灰色.
这时教堂的大钟响起了细微.嘶哑的声音,子夜钟声响了.教士想到了当天中午,也是一样的十二下钟声.他低声自言自语道:"啊!她现在大概僵硬了!"
突然,一阵风把他的灯吹灭了,差不多就在同时,他看见钟楼对面拐角处出现了一个影子,一团白色,女人形体,不由得打了个寒噤.那女人身边有一只小山羊,跟着最后几个钟声在咩咩地叫着.
他斗胆看过去,果真是她.
她面色苍白,神情十分忧郁.她的头发和上午一样披在肩头上,可是脖子上没有绳子,手也不再被绑着了.她自由了,但她已经死了.
她穿着一身白衣服,头上盖着一块白头巾.
她仰望天空,慢慢朝他走来.那只通灵的山羊跟着她.他觉得自己已经变成了僵石,沉重得要逃也逃不开.她向前走一步,他就往后退一步,如此而已.他就这样一直退到楼梯口黑暗的拱顶下面.一想到她或许也会走过来,吓得浑身都凉了;假若她真的过来了,他准会吓死的.
她确实来到了楼梯口,停留了片刻,凝目向黑暗里望了一望,但他好像并没有看见教士,便走过去了.他仿佛觉得她比活着时更高些,透过她的白衣裙,他看见了月亮,还听见了她的呼吸.
待她走过去,他就起步下楼,脚步慢得与他见过的幽灵一样,他觉得自己仿佛也就是一个幽灵.他魂飞魄散,汗毛倒竖,手中依然提着那盏灭掉的灯.就在他走下弯弯曲曲的楼梯时,他清清楚楚地听见一个声音一边笑,一边重复地念道:"有灵从我面前经过,我听见轻微的鼻息,我身上的汗毛直立."

《BOOK NINTH CHAPTER II.HUNCHBACKED, ONE EYED, LAME.》
Every city during the Middle Ages, and every city in France down to the time of Louis XII. had its places of asylum. These sanctuaries, in the midst of the deluge of penal and barbarous jurisdictions which inundated the city, were a species of islands which rose above the level of human justice. Every criminal who landed there was safe.There were in every suburb almost as many places of asylum as gallows. It was the abuse of impunity by the side of the abuse of punishment; two bad things which strove to correct each other.The palaces of the king, the hotels of the princes, and especially churches, possessed the right of asylum.Sometimes a whole city which stood in need of being repeopled was temporarily created a place of refuge.Louis XI. made all paris a refuge in 1467.
His foot once within the asylum, the criminal was sacred; but he must beware of leaving it; one step outside the sanctuary, and he fell back into the flood.The wheel, the gibbet, the strappado, kept good guard around the place of refuge, and lay in watch incessantly for their prey, like sharks around a vessel.Hence, condemned men were to be seen whose hair had grown white in a cloister, on the steps of a palace, in the enclosure of an abbey, beneath the porch of a church; in this manner the asylum was a prison as much as any other.It sometimes happened that a solemn decree of parliament violated the asylum and restored the condemned man to the executioner; but this was of rare occurrence.parliaments were afraid of the bishops, and when there was friction between these two robes, the gown had but a poor chance against the cassock.Sometimes, however, as in the affair of the assassins of petit-Jean, the headsman of paris, and in that of Emery Rousseau, the murderer of Jean Valleret, justice overleaped the church and passed on to the execution of its sentences; but unless by virtue of a decree of parliament, woe to him who violated a place of asylum with armed force! The reader knows the manner of death of Robert de Clermont, Marshal of France, and of Jean de Chalons, Marshal of Champagne; and yet the question was only of a certain perrin Marc, the clerk of a money-changer, a miserable assassin; but the two marshals had broken the doors of St. Méry. Therein lay the enormity.
Such respect was cherished for places of refuge that, according to tradition, animals even felt it at times.Aymoire relates that a stag, being chased by Dagobert, having taken refuge near the tomb of Saint-Denis, the pack of hounds stopped short and barked.
Churches generally had a small apartment prepared for the reception of supplicants.In 1407, Nicolas Flamel caused to be built on the vaults of Saint-Jacques de la Boucherie, a chamber which cost him four livres six sous, sixteen farthings, parisis.
At Notre-Dame it was a tiny cell situated on the roof of the side aisle, beneath the flying buttresses, precisely at the spot where the wife of the present janitor of the towers has made for herself a garden, which is to the hanging gardens of Babylon what a lettuce is to a palm-tree, what a porter's wife is to a Semiramis.
It was here that Quasimodo had deposited la Esmeralda, after his wild and triumphant course.As long as that course lasted, the young girl had been unable to recover her senses, half unconscious, half awake, no longer feeling anything, except that she was mounting through the air, floating in it, flying in it, that something was raising her above the earth. From time to time she heard the loud laughter, the noisy voice of Quasimodo in her ear; she half opened her eyes; then below her she confusedly beheld paris checkered with its thousand roofs of slate and tiles, like a red and blue mosaic, above her head the frightful and joyous face of Quasimodo. Then her eyelids drooped again; she thought that all was over, that they had executed her during her swoon, and that the misshapen spirit which had presided over her destiny, had laid hold of her and was bearing her away.She dared not look at him, and she surrendered herself to her fate. But when the bellringer, dishevelled and panting, had deposited her in the cell of refuge, when she felt his huge hands gently detaching the cord which bruised her arms, she felt that sort of shock which awakens with a start the passengers of a vessel which runs aground in the middle of a dark night.Her thoughts awoke also, and returned to her one by one.She saw that she was in Notre-Dame; she remembered having been torn from the hands of the executioner; that phoebus was alive, that phoebus loved her no longer; and as these two ideas, one of which shed so much bitterness over the other, presented themselves simultaneously to the poor condemned girl; she turned to Quasimodo, who was standing in front of her, and who terrified her; she said to him,--"Why have you saved me?"
He gazed at her with anxiety, as though seeking to divine what she was saying to him.She repeated her question. Then he gave her a profoundly sorrowful glance and fled. She was astonished.
A few moments later he returned, bearing a package which he cast at her feet.It was clothing which some charitable women had left on the threshold of the church for her.
Then she dropped her eyes upon herself and saw that she was almost naked, and blushed.Life had returned.
Quasimodo appeared to experience something of this modesty. He covered his eyes with his large hand and retired once more, but slowly.
She made haste to dress herself.The robe was a white one with a white veil,--the garb of a novice of the H?tel-Dien.
She had barely finished when she beheld Quasimodo returning. He carried a basket under one arm and a mattress under the other.In the basket there was a bottle, bread, and some provisions.He set the basket on the floor and said, "Eat!" He spread the mattress on the flagging and said, "Sleep."
It was his own repast, it was his own bed, which the bellringer had gone in search of.
The gypsy raised her eyes to thank him, but she could not articulate a word.She dropped her head with a quiver of terror.
Then he said to her. -
"I frighten you.I am very ugly, am I not?Do not look at me; only listen to me.During the day you will remain here; at night you can walk all over the church.But do not leave the church either by day or by night.You would be lost.They would kill you, and I should die."
She was touched and raised her head to answer him.He had disappeared.She found herself alone once more, meditating upon the singular words of this almost monstrous being, and struck by the sound of his voice, which was so hoarse yet so gentle.
Then she examined her cell.It was a chamber about six feet square, with a small window and a door on the slightly sloping plane of the roof formed of flat stones.Many gutters with the figures of animals seemed to be bending down around her, and stretching their necks in order to stare at her through the window.Over the edge of her roof she perceived the tops of thousands of chimneys which caused the smoke of all the fires in paris to rise beneath her eyes.A sad sight for the poor gypsy, a foundling, condemned to death, an unhappy creature, without country, without family, without a hearthstone.
At the moment when the thought of her isolation thus appeared to her more poignant than ever, she felt a bearded and hairy head glide between her hands, upon her knees.She started (everything alarmed her now) and looked.It was the poor goat, the agile Djali, which had made its escape after her, at the moment when Quasimodo had put to flight Charmolue's brigade, and which had been lavishing caresses on her feet for nearly an hour past, without being able to win a glance.The gypsy covered him with kisses.
"Oh!Djali!" she said, "how I have forgotten thee!And so thou still thinkest of me!Oh! thou art not an ingrate!"
At the same time, as though an invisible hand had lifted the weight which had repressed her tears in her heart for so long, she began to weep, and, in proportion as her tears flowed, she felt all that was most acrid and bitter in her grief depart with them.
Evening came, she thought the night so beautiful that she made the circuit of the elevated gallery which surrounds the church.It afforded her some relief, so calm did the earth appear when viewed from that height.

《第九卷 二　驼背.独眼.跛脚》
从中世纪到路易十二时代,法国每一个城市都有避难所.这些避难所好比是在淹没城市的野蛮刑法和司法的汪洋大海中耸立在人类司法之上的岛屿.任何罪犯一踏进这避难所就得救了.在城郊,避难所与刑场一样多.这是在滥用苦刑的同时滥用赦免,是竭力互相纠正的两种坏东西.王室宫廷.王公府邸,尤其教堂,都拥有提供庇护的权利.有时需要增加人口,整个城市也暂时被充当避难所.1467年路易十一就将巴黎变成了避难所.
一旦跨进避难所,罪犯就神圣不可侵犯了,不过,他得千万小心不要再出去.只要迈出圣地一步,他就会重新落入洪水之中.绞架.转轮.吊刑杆在庇护所四周虎视眈眈,不停地窥视着他们的猎物,像鲨鱼围着船只团团转.常常看见一些犯人在隐修院里,在宫殿楼梯上,在修道院的田园里,在教堂的门廊下,就这样一直待到白头,这个意义上,避难所同样是一个监狱.有时大理院不得不作出严正判决,强行进入庇护所,把犯人重新抓走,交给刽子手,不过,这种事情并不常见.大理院畏惧主教,所以,当这两种身穿长袍的人发生冲突时,穿法袍的总斗不过穿袈裟的,不过,有时候,比如在巴黎的刽子手小约翰的被谋杀案中,在谋害让.瓦莱的杀人犯埃梅里.卢梭的案子中,司法机关就越过教会,直接执行判决;可是,除非大理院作出判决,要不用武力强行侵入避难地就得遭殃!大家知道,法国元帅罗贝尔.德.克莱蒙和香帕尼的都统让.德.夏隆的下场;虽然仅仅涉及一个可怜的杀人犯,即叫做佩林.马克的货币兑换商的伙计,但是,两个元帅打碎了圣梅里的大门.那就罪恶滔天了.
当时,避难所备受推崇,据传闻说,它有时甚至推及动物.艾莫安讲起一只被达戈贝尔追赶的鹿,躲藏在圣德尼的坟墓旁,猎犬群立刻停了下来,在一旁狂吠不已.
每座教堂通常有一个准备接纳请求避难者的小屋.1407年,尼古拉.弗拉梅尔准备在屠宰场圣雅各教堂的拱顶上给他们建了一个房间,花费四利弗尔六索尔十六巴黎德尼埃.
在巴黎圣母院,有一间小屋,这间小屋建在拱扶垛下侧的顶楼上,正对着隐修院,在塔楼现今看门人的妻子开辟花园的地方,将它与巴比伦空中花园相比,就如同将莴苣比作棕榈树,将一个女门房比作为塞密拉米斯.
卡齐莫多在塔楼和柱廊上狂乱而又得意地乱跑了一阵以后,将爱斯梅拉达放在了这间小屋里.当他这样不停奔跑的时候,姑娘至始至终没有恢复知觉,半睡半醒,什么也感觉不到,只觉得象是升上了天空,在天上浮游飞翔,有什么东西将她带离了大地.她不时听到卡齐莫多的大笑声和吵嚷声在她耳边回响着.她半睁着眼睛,隐隐约约只见下面巴黎城密密麻麻的一片石板地和瓦片的屋顶,如同一幅红蓝相间的镶嵌画,头顶上是卡齐莫多可怕而快活的脸.于是她的眼皮又闭上了,她以为自己已经完了,认为人们在她昏迷时已将她处死,以为主宰她命运的那畸形鬼魂重新抓住了她,将她带走.她没有勇气看他,只好听天由命.
可是,当蓬头垢面.气喘吁吁的敲钟人把她安顿在那间避难的小屋里,当她感到他粗大的手轻轻解掉那擦伤她双臂的绳索时,她当时心灵上所受到的震憾,就好比在黑夜里抵岸的船,一下子惊醒了旅客似的.随即她的思绪也被唤醒了,往事一幕幕地浮现在眼前.她发现自己在圣母院,想起自己被人从刽子手的掌握中抢救出来;发现弗比斯还活着,却不爱她了.但这两个念头,一个比另一个带来更多的痛苦,一齐涌现在可怜女囚的脑海中,她转身朝着站在她面前并使她害怕的卡齐莫多,对他说:"你为救我?"
他惶恐不安地看着她,好像努力猜测着她说些什么.她重新问了一遍.于是,他无限忧伤地看了她一眼,随即跑开了.
她待在那里没有动,惊讶不已.
过了一会,他带着一个包袱回来,将其扔到她的脚下.这是一些好心的妇女放在教堂门口给她穿的衣服.这时,她低头看了看自己,发现自己几乎一丝不挂.顿时羞得满脸通红.生命又复苏了.
卡齐莫多几乎也受到这种羞怯的感染,立刻用大手遮住眼睛,重新走了出去,不过,这一次是慢吞吞的.
她连忙穿上衣服.这是一件白色衣裙,带有一块白面纱,是主宫医院见习护士的衣服.
她刚穿好衣服,就看见卡齐莫多走了回来.他一只胳膊挽着一只篮子,一只胳膊夹着一块床垫.篮子装着一瓶酒.面包和一些食品.他将篮子放在地上,说道:"吃吧."他在石板上铺开床垫,说:"睡吧."原来敲钟人拿来的是他自己的饭菜和被褥.
埃及姑娘抬头看他,想向他表示感谢,可是说不出一句话.这可怜的魔鬼确实可怕,她吓得瑟瑟发抖,只好低下了头.
这时,他对她说:"我把您吓着了.我很丑,是吗?别看我,光听我说话就行.白天您就待在这里;夜里您可以在整个教堂里到处走.不过,无论白天或夜晚,你都别走出教堂.不然的话,你就完啦.人家会杀了你,而我,也会死去."
她深受感动,抬起头来想回答他的话.他却已经走了.她发现只有自己独自一人,思量着这个近乎妖怪的人这番奇特的话语,他的声音是那么沙哑却又那么温和,她的心被打他动了.
随后,她细看了一下这间小屋.它差不多六尺见方,有一个小天窗和一扇门,开向平滑石板屋顶微倾的坡面.屋檐上装饰着一些动物头像,似乎在她周围探头探脑,伸长脖子想透过天窗偷看一看她.在她那间小屋的屋顶边上,她看见无数壁炉的顶端,全巴黎城家家户户的炉烟,在她眼前袅袅上升.这个捡来的孩子,被处以了死刑,惨遭不幸,没有祖国,没有住所,没有家庭,对像这样一个可怜的埃及姑娘来说,眼前的景观是多么凄凉啊!
她想到自己孑然一身,无依无靠,心如刀割.就在此刻,她感到有一个毛茸茸的,长满胡须的脑袋悄悄钻到她手里,爬上膝盖,她不由得打了个哆嗦(此刻一切使她感到恐惧),低头一看,原来是可怜的山羊,那机灵的佳丽,在卡齐莫多驱散夏尔莫吕的刑警队时跟着逃出来的,在她脚下蹭来蹭去已近一个小时,却没能得到主人的一眼顾盼.埃及姑娘连连吻它.她说:"啊!佳丽,我竟把你忘了!你却一直在想我啦!啊!你没有负心啊!"就在这时,好像有一只看不见的手把长期以来将眼泪堵在她心窝中的石头拿掉了,她嚎啕大哭,随着眼泪的流淌,她感到心中最辛酸.最悲切的苦楚随着眼泪一道流走了.
夜幕降临,她发现夜是多么美丽,月亮是多么温柔,她沿着教堂周围高高的柱廊上走了一圈.她感到心情舒坦了一些,因为从这高处往下望去,大地显得是多么宁静安祥啊!

《BOOK NINTH CHAPTER III.DEAF.》
On the following morning, she perceived on awaking, that she had been asleep.This singular thing astonished her. She had been so long unaccustomed to sleep!A joyous ray of the rising sun entered through her window and touched her face.At the same time with the sun, she beheld at that window an object which frightened her, the unfortunate face of Quasimodo.She involuntarily closed her eyes again, but in vain; she fancied that she still saw through the rosy lids that gnome's mask, one-eyed and gap-toothed.Then, while she still kept her eyes closed, she heard a rough voice saying, very gently,--
"Be not afraid.I am your friend.I came to watch you sleep.It does not hurt you if I come to see you sleep, does it?What difference does it make to you if I am here when your eyes are closed!Now I am going.Stay, I have placed myself behind the wall.You can open your eyes again."
There was something more plaintive than these words, and that was the accent in which they were uttered.The gypsy, much touched, opened her eyes.He was, in fact, no longer at the window.She approached the opening, and beheld the poor hunchback crouching in an angle of the wall, in a sad and resigned attitude.She made an effort to surmount the repugnance with which he inspired her."Come," she said to him gently.From the movement of the gypsy's lips, Quasimodo thought that she was driving him away; then he rose and retired limping, slowly, with drooping head, without even daring to raise to the young girl his gaze full of despair. "Do come," she cried, but he continued to retreat.Then she darted from her cell, ran to him, and grasped his arm. On feeling her touch him, Quasimodo trembled in every limb. He raised his suppliant eye, and seeing that she was leading him back to her quarters, his whole face beamed with joy and tenderness.She tried to make him enter the cell; but he persisted in remaining on the threshold."No, no," said he; "the owl enters not the nest of the lark."
Then she crouched down gracefully on her couch, with her goat asleep at her feet.Both remained motionless for several moments, considering in silence, she so much grace, he so much ugliness.Every moment she discovered some fresh deformity in Quasimodo.Her glance travelled from his knock knees to his humped back, from his humped back to his only eye.She could not comprehend the existence of a being so awkwardly fashioned.Yet there was so much sadness and so much gentleness spread over all this, that she began to become reconciled to it.
He was the first to break the silence."So you were telling me to return?"
She made an affirmative sign of the head, and said, "Yes."
He understood the motion of the head."Alas!" he said, as though hesitating whether to finish, "I am--I am deaf."
"poor man!" exclaimed the Bohemian, with an expression of kindly pity.
He began to smile sadly.
"You think that that was all that I lacked, do you not? Yes, I am deaf, that is the way I am made.'Tis horrible, is it not?You are so beautiful!"
There lay in the accents of the wretched man so profound a consciousness of his misery, that she had not the strength to say a word.Besides, he would not have heard her.He went on,--
"Never have I seen my ugliness as at the present moment. When I compare myself to you, I feel a very great pity for myself, poor unhappy monster that I am!Tell me, I must look to you like a beast.You, you are a ray of sunshine, a drop of dew, the song of a bird!I am something frightful, neither man nor animal, I know not what, harder, more trampled under foot, and more unshapely than a pebble stone!"
Then he began to laugh, and that laugh was the most heartbreaking thing in the world.He continued,--
"Yes, I am deaf; but you shall talk to me by gestures, by signs.I have a master who talks with me in that way. And then, I shall very soon know your wish from the movement of your lips, from your look."
"Well!" she interposed with a smile, "tell me why you saved me."
He watched her attentively while she was speaking.
"I understand," he replied."You ask me why I saved you.You have forgotten a wretch who tried to abduct you one night, a wretch to whom you rendered succor on the following day on their infamous pillory.A drop of water and a little pity,--that is more than I can repay with my life. You have forgotten that wretch; but he remembers it."
She listened to him with profound tenderness.A tear swam in the eye of the bellringer, but did not fall.He seemed to make it a sort of point of honor to retain it.
"Listen," he resumed, when he was no longer afraid that the tear would escape; "our towers here are very high, a man who should fall from them would be dead before touching the pavement; when it shall please you to have me fall, you will not have to utter even a word, a glance will suffice."
Then he rose.Unhappy as was the Bohemian, this eccentric being still aroused some compassion in her.She made him a sign to remain.
"No, no," said he; "I must not remain too long.I am not at my ease.It is out of pity that you do not turn away your eyes.I shall go to some place where I can see you without your seeing me: it will be better so."
He drew from his pocket a little metal whistle.
"Here," said he, "when you have need of me, when you wish me to come, when you will not feel too ranch horror at the sight of me, use this whistle.I can hear this sound."
He laid the whistle on the floor and fled.

《第九卷 三　耳聋》
第二天早上,她醒来后发现夜里睡了个好觉.这使她惊讶万分,她已很久未睡过一次好觉了.一缕明媚的朝晖透过窗洞射进来,照到了她的脸上.在看见阳光的同时,她发现窗洞口有个东西吓了她一跳,那是卡齐莫多的那张丑脸.她不情愿地闭上了眼睛,不过没有用;透过她的玫瑰色眼睑,那个独眼.侏儒.缺牙的丑面孔,似乎一直浮现在她眼前.于是,她索性一直把眼睛闭着,她听到一个粗嗓门极其温和地说,"别怕,我是您的人.我是来看您睡觉的.这不妨碍您吧,对吗?您闭着眼睛,我在这儿看,这对您不会有影响吧?现在我要走了.你瞧,我在墙后头,您可以睁开眼睛啦."
还有比这些话更惨痛的,那就是说这话的声调.埃及姑娘深受感动,睁眼一看,其实他已不在窗口了.她走向窗口,看见那可怜的驼背在墙角处缩成一团,姿态十分痛苦而顺从.她拼命克制住对他的厌恶."过来吧."她轻轻地对他说.看到埃及姑娘嘴唇在动,卡齐莫多以为她在撵他走,于是站起来,跛着脚,低着头慢慢地踱出去,甚至不敢向姑娘抬起充满失望的目光.她喊道:"过来嘛!"他却继续往前走,于是她扑到小屋外,朝他跑去,一把抓住他的胳膊.卡齐莫多感到被她轻轻地一碰,不由得四肢直打颤.他重又抬起头来,用恳求的目光看着她,看见她要把他拉到她身边,整张脸孔顿时露出快乐和深情的光芒.她想让他进屋去,可是他坚持不往里走,说:"不,不.猫头鹰不进云雀的巢."
此时此刻,她姿态优雅地蹲在她的床垫上,小山羊睡在她脚旁.两人好一会儿一动不动,默默地对视着,他觉得她是那么优美,她觉得他是那么丑陋,她每时每刻在卡齐莫多身上发现更多丑陋之处.目光从罗圈腿慢慢移到驼背,从驼背慢慢移到了独眼,她弄不懂一个如此丑陋不堪的人怎能生存于世.然而在这一切中间又包含着无穷悲伤和无比温柔,她慢慢开始适应了.
他首先打破了沉默."您是喊我回来?"
她点点头,说道:"是的."
他懂了她点头的意思,"咳!"他说,好像要说又有些犹豫不决."可是......我耳聋呀."
"可怜的人!"吉卜赛姑娘以一种善意的怜悯表情大声说道.
他痛苦地笑了笑,"您没发现我是聋子,是吗?对,我耳聋.可我生来就是这样.很可怕.不是吗?而您呀,这么漂亮!"
在这个不幸的人的声调中,发现他自己不幸的感受是如此的深切,她听了连一句话也说不出来,更何况他也听不见.他接着说下去:
"我从来没有发现自己像现在这样丑陋.我拿自己与您相比,我很可怜我自己,我是一个多么不幸的怪物呀!我大概像头牲畜,您说对吗?您是一滴露珠,一道阳光,一首鸟儿的歌!我呢,我是一种可怕的东西,不是人,也不是兽,一个比石子更坚硬.更遭人践踏.更难看的丑八怪!"
说着,他笑了起来,这是世上最撕裂人心的笑声.他继续说:"是的,我是聋子.不过,您可以用动作和手势跟我说话.我有一个主人就用这种方法跟我谈话.还有,我从您的嘴唇翕动和您的眼神会就会很快知道您的意思."
"那好!"她笑着说,"告诉我您为什么要救我."
她说话的时候,他目不转睛地盯着她.
"我明白了."他回答道,"您问我为什么要救您.您忘了有天夜里,有一个人想把您抢走,就在第二天,您却在他们可耻的耻辱柱上帮了他.一滴水.一点怜悯,我就是献出生命也报答不了啊!您把这个不幸的人忘了;而他,他可记得呢."
她听着,心里深受感动.眼泪在敲钟人的眼里滚动,不过没有让它掉下来,好像吞下眼泪是一件荣誉攸关的事.
"听我说,"他深怕这眼泪流出来,继续说道,"我们那边有很高的塔楼,一个人要是从那里掉下去,还没落到地上就完蛋了;只要您乐意我从上面跳下去,您一句话也不必说,丢个眼色就够了."
这时,他站起来.虽然吉卜赛姑娘自己是那样不幸,这个古怪的人仍引起了她几分同情.她打个手势叫他留下来.
"不,不."他说."我不该待太久.您看着我,我一点都不自在.您不肯转过头去,那是出于怜悯.我去待在某个看得见您,而您看不见我的地方,那样我会觉得更好些."
他从口袋里掏出一只金属小口哨,说:"给,您需要我,要我来,不太害怕看到我时,您吹这个,我会听到它的声音."
他把口哨往地上一放,就立即避开了.

《BOOK NINTH CHAPTER IV.EARTHENWARE AND CRYSTAL.》
Day followed day.Calm gradually returned to the soul of la Esmeralda.Excess of grief, like excess of joy is a violent thing which lasts but a short time.The heart of man cannot remain long in one extremity.The gypsy had suffered so much, that nothing was left her but astonishment.With security, hope had returned to her.She was outside the pale of society, outside the pale of life, but she had a vague feeling that it might not be impossible to return to it.She was like a dead person, who should hold in reserve the key to her tomb.
She felt the terrible images which had so long persecuted her, gradually departing.All the hideous phantoms, pierrat Torterue, Jacques Charmolue, were effaced from her mind, all, even the priest.
And then, phoebus was alive; she was sure of it, she had seen him.To her the fact of phoebus being alive was everything. After the series of fatal shocks which had overturned everything within her, she had found but one thing intact in her soul, one sentiment,--her love for the captain.Love is like a tree; it sprouts forth of itself, sends its roots out deeply through our whole being, and often continues to flourish greenly over a heart in ruins.
And the inexplicable point about it is that the more blind is this passion, the more tenacious it is.It is never more solid than when it has no reason in it.
La Esmeralda did not think of the captain without bitterness, no doubt.No doubt it was terrible that he also should have been deceived; that he should have believed that impossible thing, that he could have conceived of a stab dealt by her who would have given a thousand lives for him.But, after all, she must not be too angry with him for it; had she not confessed her crime? had she not yielded, weak woman that she was, to torture?The fault was entirely hers.She should have allowed her finger nails to be torn out rather than such a word to be wrenched from her.In short, if she could but see phoebus once more, for a single minute, only one word would be required, one look, in order to undeceive him, to bring him back.She did not doubt it.She was astonished also at many singular things, at the accident of phoebus's presence on the day of the penance, at the young girl with whom he had been.She was his sister, no doubt. An unreasonable explanation, but she contented herself with it, because she needed to believe that phoebus still loved her, and loved her alone.Had he not sworn it to her?What more was needed, simple and credulous as she was?And then, in this matter, were not appearances much more against her than against him?Accordingly, she waited.She hoped.
Let us add that the church, that vast church, which surrounded her on every side, which guarded her, which saved her, was itself a sovereign tranquillizer.The solemn lines of that architecture, the religious attitude of all the objects which surrounded the young girl, the serene and pious thoughts which emanated, so to speak, from all the pores of that stone, acted upon her without her being aware of it. The edifice had also sounds fraught with such benediction and such majesty, that they soothed this ailing soul.The monotonous chanting of the celebrants, the responses of the people to the priest, sometimes inarticulate, sometimes thunderous, the harmonious trembling of the painted windows, the organ, bursting forth like a hundred trumpets, the three belfries, humming like hives of huge bees, that whole orchestra on which bounded a gigantic scale, ascending, descending incessantly from the voice of a throng to that of one bell, dulled her memory, her imagination, her grief.The bells, in particular, lulled her.It was something like a powerful magnetism which those vast instruments shed over her in great waves.
Thus every sunrise found her more calm, breathing better, less pale.In proportion as her inward wounds closed, her grace and beauty blossomed once more on her countenance, but more thoughtful, more reposeful.Her former character also returned to her, somewhat even of her gayety, her pretty pout, her love for her goat, her love for singing, her modesty. She took care to dress herself in the morning in the corner of her cell for fear some inhabitants of the neighboring attics might see her through the window.
When the thought of phoebus left her time, the gypsy sometimes thought of Quasimodo.He was the sole bond, the sole connection, the sole communication which remained to her with men, with the living.Unfortunate girl! she was more outside the world than Quasimodo.She understood not in the least the strange friend whom chance had given her. She often reproached herself for not feeling a gratitude which should close her eyes, but decidedly, she could not accustom herself to the poor bellringer.He was too ugly.
She had left the whistle which he had given her lying on the ground.This did not prevent Quasimodo from making his appearance from time to time during the first few days.She did her best not to turn aside with too much repugnance when he came to bring her her basket of provisions or her jug of water, but he always perceived the slightest movement of this sort, and then he withdrew sadly.
Once he came at the moment when she was caressing Djali.He stood pensively for several minutes before this graceful group of the goat and the gypsy; at last he said, shaking his heavy and ill-formed head,--
"My misfortune is that I still resemble a man too much.I should like to be wholly a beast like that goat."
She gazed at him in amazement.
He replied to the glance,--
"Oh!I well know why," and he went away.
On another occasion he presented himself at the door of the cell (which he never entered) at the moment when la Esmeralda was singing an old Spanish ballad, the words of which she did not understand, but which had lingered in her ear because the gypsy women had lulled her to sleep with it when she was a little child.At the sight of that villanous form which made its appearance so abruptly in the middle of her song, the young girl paused with an involuntary gesture of alarm.The unhappy bellringer fell upon his knees on the threshold, and clasped his large, misshapen hands with a suppliant air."Oh!" he said, sorrowfully, "continue, I implore you, and do not drive me away."She did not wish to pain him, and resumed her lay, trembling all over.By degrees, however, her terror disappeared, and she yielded herself wholly to the slow and melancholy air which she was singing. He remained on his knees with hands clasped, as in prayer, attentive, hardly breathing, his gaze riveted upon the gypsy's brilliant eyes.
On another occasion, he came to her with an awkward and timid air."Listen," he said, with an effort; "I have something to say to you."She made him a sign that she was listening.Then he began to sigh, half opened his lips, appeared for a moment to be on the point of speaking, then he looked at her again, shook his head, and withdrew slowly, with his brow in his hand, leaving the gypsy stupefied. Among the grotesque personages sculptured on the wall, there was one to whom he was particularly attached, and with which he often seemed to exchange fraternal glances. Once the gypsy heard him saying to it,--
"Oh! why am not I of stone, like you!"
At last, one morning, la Esmeralda had advanced to the edge of the roof, and was looking into the place over the pointed roof of Saint-Jean le Rond.Quasimodo was standing behind her.He had placed himself in that position in order to spare the young girl, as far as possible, the displeasure of seeing him.All at once the gypsy started, a tear and a flash of joy gleamed simultaneously in her eyes, she knelt on the brink of the roof and extended her arms towards the place with anguish, exclaiming: "phoebus! come! come! a word, a single word in the name of heaven!phoebus! phoebus!"Her voice, her face, her gesture, her whole person bore the heartrending expression of a shipwrecked man who is making a signal of distress to the joyous vessel which is passing afar off in a ray of sunlight on the horizon.
Quasimodo leaned over the place, and saw that the object of this tender and agonizing prayer was a young man, a captain, a handsome cavalier all glittering with arms and decorations, prancing across the end of the place, and saluting with his plume a beautiful lady who was smiling at him from her balcony.However, the officer did not hear the unhappy girl calling him; he was too far away.
But the poor deaf man heard.A profound sigh heaved his breast; he turned round; his heart was swollen with all the tears which he was swallowing; his convulsively-clenched fists struck against his head, and when he withdrew them there was a bunch of red hair in each hand.
The gypsy paid no heed to him.He said in a low voice as he gnashed his teeth,--
"Damnation!That is what one should be like!'Tis only necessary to be handsome on the outside!"
Meanwhile, she remained kneeling, and cried with extraor- dinary agitation,-- "Oh! there he is alighting from his horse!He is about to enter that house!--phoebus!--He does not hear me!phoebus!--How wicked that woman is to speak to him at the same time with me!phoebus!phoebus!"
The deaf man gazed at her.He understood this pantomime. The poor bellringer's eye filled with tears, but he let none fall.All at once he pulled her gently by the border of her sleeve.She turned round.He had assumed a tranquil air; he said to her,--
"Would you like to have me bring him to you?"
She uttered a cry of joy.
"Oh! go! hasten! run! quick! that captain! that captain! bring him to me!I will love you for it!"
She clasped his knees.He could not refrain from shaking his head sadly.
"I will bring him to you," he said, in a weak voice.Then he turned his head and plunged down the staircase with great strides, stifling with sobs.
When he reached the place, he no longer saw anything except the handsome horse hitched at the door of the Gondelaurier house; the captain had just entered there.
He raised his eyes to the roof of the church.La Esmeralda was there in the same spot, in the same attitude.He made her a sad sign with his head; then he planted his back against one of the stone posts of the Gondelaurier porch, determined to wait until the captain should come forth.
In the Gondelaurier house it was one of those gala days which precede a wedding.Quasimodo beheld many people enter, but no one come out.He cast a glance towards the roof from time to time; the gypsy did not stir any more than himself.A groom came and unhitched the horse and led it to the stable of the house.
The entire day passed thus, Quasimodo at his post, la Esmeralda on the roof, phoebus, no doubt, at the feet of Fleur-de-Lys.
At length night came, a moonless night, a dark night. Quasimodo fixed his gaze in vain upon la Esmeralda; soon she was no more than a whiteness amid the twilight; then nothing.All was effaced, all was black.
Quasimodo beheld the front windows from top to bottom of the Gondelaurier mansion illuminated; he saw the other casements in the place lighted one by one, he also saw them extinguished to the very last, for he remained the whole evening at his post.The officer did not come forth.When the last passers-by had returned home, when the windows of all the other houses were extinguished, Quasimodo was left entirely alone, entirely in the dark.There were at that time no lamps in the square before Notre-Dame.
Meanwhile, the windows of the Gondelaurier mansion remained lighted, even after midnight.Quasimodo, motionless and attentive, beheld a throng of lively, dancing shadows pass athwart the many-colored painted panes.Had he not been deaf, he would have heard more and more distinctly, in proportion as the noise of sleeping paris died away, a sound of feasting, laughter, and music in the Gondelaurier mansion.
Towards one o'clock in the morning, the guests began to take their leave.Quasimodo, shrouded in darkness watched them all pass out through the porch illuminated with torches. None of them was the captain.
He was filled with sad thoughts; at times he looked upwards into the air, like a person who is weary of waiting.Great black clouds, heavy, torn, split, hung like crape hammocks beneath the starry dome of night.One would have pronounced them spiders' webs of the vault of heaven.
In one of these moments he suddenly beheld the long window on the balcony, whose stone balustrade projected above his head, open mysteriously.The frail glass door gave passage to two persons, and closed noiselessly behind them; it was a man and a woman.
It was not without difficulty that Quasimodo succeeded in recognizing in the man the handsome captain, in the woman the young lady whom he had seen welcome the officer in the morning from that very balcony.The place was perfectly dark, and a double crimson curtain which had fallen across the door the very moment it closed again, allowed no light to reach the balcony from the apartment.
The young man and the young girl, so far as our deaf man could judge, without hearing a single one of their words, appeared to abandon themselves to a very tender tête-a-tête. The young girl seemed to have allowed the officer to make a girdle for her of his arm, and gently repulsed a kiss.
Quasimodo looked on from below at this scene which was all the more pleasing to witness because it was not meant to be seen.He contemplated with bitterness that beauty, that happiness.After all, nature was not dumb in the poor fellow, and his human sensibility, all maliciously contorted as it was, quivered no less than any other.He thought of the miserable portion which providence had allotted to him; that woman and the pleasure of love, would pass forever before his eyes, and that he should never do anything but behold the felicity of others.But that which rent his heart most in this sight, that which mingled indignation with his anger, was the thought of what the gypsy would suffer could she behold it. It is true that the night was very dark, that la Esmeralda, if she had remained at her post (and he had no doubt of this), was very far away, and that it was all that he himself could do to distinguish the lovers on the balcony.This consoled him.
Meanwhile, their conversation grew more and more animated. The young lady appeared to be entreating the officer to ask nothing more of her.Of all this Quasimodo could distinguish only the beautiful clasped hands, the smiles mingled with tears, the young girl's glances directed to the stars, the eyes of the captain lowered ardently upon her.
Fortunately, for the young girl was beginning to resist but feebly, the door of the balcony suddenly opened once more and an old dame appeared; the beauty seemed confused, the officer assumed an air of displeasure, and all three withdrew.
A moment later, a horse was champing his bit under the porch, and the brilliant officer, enveloped in his night cloak, passed rapidly before Quasimodo.
The bellringer allowed him to turn the corner of the street, then he ran after him with his ape-like agility, shouting: "Hey there!captain!"
The captain halted.
"What wants this knave with me?" he said, catching sight through the gloom of that hipshot form which ran limping after him.
Meanwhile, Quasimodo had caught up with him, and had boldly grasped his horse's bridle: "Follow me, captain; there is one here who desires to speak with you!
"~Cornemahom~!" grumbled phoebus, "here's a villanous; ruffled bird which I fancy I have seen somewhere.Holà master, will you let my horse's bridle alone?"
"Captain," replied the deaf man, "do you not ask me who it is?"
"I tell you to release my horse," retorted phoebus, impatiently. "What means the knave by clinging to the bridle of my steed? Do you take my horse for a gallows?"
Quasimodo, far from releasing the bridle, prepared to force him to retrace his steps.Unable to comprehend the captain's resistance, he hastened to say to him,--
"Come, captain, 'tis a woman who is waiting for you." He added with an effort: "A woman who loves you."
"A rare rascal!" said the captain, "who thinks me obliged to go to all the women who love me! or who say they do. And what if, by chance, she should resemble you, you face of a screech-owl?Tell the woman who has sent you that I am about to marry, and that she may go to the devil!"
"Listen," exclaimed Quasimodo, thinking to overcome his hesitation with a word, "come, monseigneur! 'tis the gypsy whom you know!"
This word did, indeed, produce a great effect on phoebus, but not of the kind which the deaf man expected.It will be remembered that our gallant officer had retired with Fleur- de-Lys several moments before Quasimodo had rescued the condemned girl from the hands of Charmolue.Afterwards, in all his visits to the Gondelaurier mansion he had taken care not to mention that woman, the memory of whom was, after all, painful to him; and on her side, Fleur-de-Lys had not deemed it politic to tell him that the gypsy was alive. Hence phoebus believed poor "Similar" to be dead, and that a month or two had elapsed since her death.Let us add that for the last few moments the captain had been reflecting on the profound darkness of the night, the supernatural ugliness, the sepulchral voice of the strange messenger; that it was past midnight; that the street was deserted, as on the evening when the surly monk had accosted him; and that his horse snorted as it looked at Quasimodo.
"The gypsy!" he exclaimed, almost frightened."Look here, do you come from the other world?"
And he laid his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
"Quick, quick," said the deaf man, endeavoring to drag the horse along; "this way!"
phoebus dealt him a vigorous kick in the breast.
Quasimodo's eye flashed.He made a motion to fling himself on the captain.Then he drew himself up stiffly and said,--
"Oh! how happy you are to have some one who loves you!"
He emphasized the words "some one," and loosing the horse's bridle,--
"Begone!"
phoebus spurred on in all haste, swearing.Quasimodo watched him disappear in the shades of the street.
"Oh!" said the poor deaf man, in a very low voice; "to refuse that!"
He re-entered Notre-Dame, lighted his lamp and climbed to the tower again.The gypsy was still in the same place, as he had supposed.
She flew to meet him as far off as she could see him. "Alone!" she cried, clasping her beautiful hands sorrowfully.
"I could not find him," said Quasimodo coldly.
"You should have waited all night," she said angrily.
He saw her gesture of wrath, and understood the reproach.
"I will lie in wait for him better another time," he said, dropping his head.
"Begone!" she said to him.
He left her.She was displeased with him.He preferred to have her abuse him rather than to have afflicted her.He had kept all the pain to himself.
From that day forth, the gypsy no longer saw him.He ceased to come to her cell.At the most she occasionally caught a glimpse at the summit of the towers, of the bellringer's face turned sadly to her.But as soon as she perceived him, he disappeared.
We must admit that she was not much grieved by this voluntary absence on the part of the poor hunchback.At the bottom of her heart she was grateful to him for it. Moreover, Quasimodo did not deceive himself on this point.
She no longer saw him, but she felt the presence of a good genius about her.Her provisions were replenished by an invisible hand during her slumbers.One morning she found a cage of birds on her window.There was a piece of sculpture above her window which frightened her.She had shown this more than once in Quasimodo's presence.One morning, for all these things happened at night, she no longer saw it, it had been broken.The person who had climbed up to that carving must have risked his life.
Sometimes, in the evening, she heard a voice, concealed beneath the wind screen of the bell tower, singing a sad, strange song, as though to lull her to sleep.The lines were unrhymed, such as a deaf person can make.
~Ne regarde pas la figure, Jeune fille, regarde le coeur. Le coeur d'un beau jeune homme est souvent difforme. Il y a des coeurs ou l'amour ne se conserve pas~.
~Jeune fille, le sapin n'est pas beau, N'est pas beau comme le peuplier, Mais il garde son feuillage l'hiver~.
~Hélas! a quoi bon dire cela? Ce qui n'est pas beau a tort d'être; La beauté n'aime que la beauté, Avril tourne le dos a Janvier~.
~La beauté est parfaite, La beauté peut tout, La beauté est la seule chose qui n'existe pàs a demi~.
~Le corbeau ne vole que le jour, Le hibou ne vole que la nuit, Le cygne vole la nuit et le jour~.*
*Look not at the face, young girl, look at the heart.The heart of a handsome young man is often deformed.There are hearts in which love does not keep.Young girl, the pine is not beautiful; it is not beautiful like the poplar, but it keeps its foliage in winter.Alas!What is the use of saying that? That which is not beautiful has no right to exist; beauty loves only beauty; April turns her back on January.Beauty is perfect, beauty can do all things, beauty is the only thing which does not exist by halves.The raven flies only by day, the owl flies only by night, the swan flies by day and by night.
One morning, on awaking, she saw on her window two vases filled with flowers.One was a very beautiful and very brilliant but cracked vase of glass.It had allowed the water with which it had been filled to escape, and the flowers which it contained were withered.The other was an earthenware pot, coarse and common, but which had preserved all its water, and its flowers remained fresh and crimson.
I know not whether it was done intentionally, but La Esmeralda took the faded nosegay and wore it all day long upon her breast.
That day she did not hear the voice singing in the tower.
She troubled herself very little about it.She passed her days in caressing Djali, in watching the door of the Gondelaurier house, in talking to herself about phoebus, and in crumbling up her bread for the swallows.
She had entirely ceased to see or hear Quasimodo.The poor bellringer seemed to have disappeared from the church. One night, nevertheless, when she was not asleep, but was thinking of her handsome captain, she heard something breathing near her cell.She rose in alarm, and saw by the light of the moon, a shapeless mass lying across her door on the outside.It was Quasimodo asleep there upon the stones.

《第九卷 四　陶土和水晶》
日子就这样一天天过去了.
爱斯梅拉达的心灵渐渐地恢复了平静.极度的痛苦就像极度的欢乐一样,来势猛烈但却不持久.人心不会长时间地停留在一个极端上.那个吉卜赛姑娘受的苦太多,剩下的就只有惊骇了.
安全有了保障,她的心中又产生了希望.她置身在社会之外,生活之外,她又隐隐约约地感到,再返回社会.返回生活,也许并非不可能的.她就像一个死人手里保留着坟墓的钥匙.
她觉得那些长期纠缠着她的可怕景象慢慢离她而去.所有可怕的幽灵,皮埃拉.托特吕和雅克.夏尔莫吕,所有的人,甚至教士本人,都从她的脑海中渐渐淡去了.
再则,弗比斯还活着,她深信不疑,因为她亲眼看见过他.弗比斯的生命就是一切.一连串致命的打击,使她形如槁木心如死灰,但她在心灵中却发现还有一样东西.一种感情依然屹立着,那就是她对卫队长的爱.爱就象一棵树,自行生长,深深扎根于我们整个内心,常常给一颗荒芜的心披上绿装.
无法解释的是,这种激情愈盲目,则愈顽固.它自身毫无道理时,最为牢固了.
爱斯梅拉达想到卫队长,心中不无苦涩.毫无疑问,可怕的是他也会受骗,相信那件绝不可能的事,认为那个宁愿为他舍弃上千次生命的姑娘真的捅了他一刀.说到底,不应该过分责怪他:她岂不是承认她的罪行吗?懦弱的女人,她岂不是在酷刑之下屈服了吗?全部错误在于她自己.她就是让人拔去手指也不该像那样说话呀.总之如果能再见到弗比斯一面,哪怕只一分钟,只说一句话,只丢一个眼神,就可以使他醒悟,使他回心转意.她对此毫不怀疑.然而许多奇怪的事情是,当众请罪那天意想不到弗比斯在场,同他在一起的还有那个姑娘,这一切把她搅得个糊里糊涂.那姑娘大概是他的姐妹吧.这种解释不合情理,她却非常满意,因为她需要相信弗比斯一直爱她,只爱她一个人.他不是向她发过那么多山盟海誓吗?她那么天真.没有心眼,难道还要别的什么东西吗?再说在这个事件中,种种假象与其说不利于他倒不如说是不利于她自己,难道不是这样吗?于是,她等待着,而且希望着.
让我们再来看一看教堂,这个从四面八方包围着她的大教堂,本身就是最灵验的镇静剂.这座建筑的庄严轮廓,姑娘周围各种事物的宗教仪态,可以这么说,从这座巨石的每个毛孔中渗透出来的虔诚和宁静的思绪毫无知觉地在她身上发挥着作用.建筑物也发出各种声音,那么慈祥.那样庄严,慰藉着这个病弱的灵魂.主祭教士的单调歌声,众信徒给教士时而含含混混.时而响亮的应和,彩色玻璃窗和谐共鸣的颤动,就象是百只小号回响的管风琴声,又仿佛大蜂房般嗡嗡直响的三座钟楼,所有这一切宛如一个乐队,其气势磅礴的音阶活蹦乱跳,从人群到钟楼,再从钟楼到人群,不断上上下下,麻痹了她的记忆,她的痛苦,她的想象.大钟尤其使她感到陶醉痴迷.这些巨大的乐器好像往她身上大量注射了一种磁波.
因此,每天早晨的朝阳发现她一天比一天呼吸更均匀,情绪更平静,脸色也微有红润.随着内心的创伤逐渐愈合,脸上重新焕发出优雅和俊美的神态,不过更为沉静,更为安祥.她又恢复了过去的性情,甚至多少像她原先那样的欢乐,噘着小嘴的娇态,以及对小山羊的疼爱,那种她对唱歌的爱好,对贞洁的珍重.清早,她小心翼翼地在她住处的角落里穿好衣服,担心隔壁阁楼的什么住户会在窗口看到.
在思念弗比斯之余,埃及姑娘偶尔想到了卡齐莫多.这是她与人类.与活人之间的唯一联系纽带.唯一联系.唯一交往.可怜的姑娘啊!她比卡齐莫多更和世界隔绝!对命运送给她的这位古怪朋友,她一点儿也不理解,常常埋怨自己不能感恩戴德到了视而不见的地步,但是她无论如何也看不惯这可怜的敲钟人,他太丑了!
他扔在地上给她的那只口哨,她未曾捡起来.这并不妨碍卡齐莫多开头几天不时地重新出现在她面前.他给她送来食物篮子或水时,她尽可能克制自己,不至于因为过分的厌恶而背过身去,可是只要稍微流露出一点点这种厌恶的情绪,但总逃不过他的眼睛,他便垂头丧气地离开了.
有一回,就在她抚摸着佳丽的时候,他突然出现了.看到小山羊和埃及姑娘那样亲密无间融洽和睦,他待在那里思索了片刻.最后他晃着又大又丑的脑袋说:"我的不幸,为我还太像人了.我情愿完全是头畜牲,就像这山羊一样."
她朝他抬起诧异的大眼睛.
他看了看她的目光,道:"啊!我很清楚为什么."说着,就走开了.
又有一次,他出现在小屋门前(他从未进去过).这时爱斯梅拉达正在哼一支古老的西班牙谣曲.她不懂歌词的意思,但歌的旋律仍在她的耳边回响,在她很小的时候,吉卜赛女人总哼这曲子哄她睡觉.她在哼这支歌的当儿,突然看到那张突然出现的丑陋的脸孔,不由自主地做出一种惊恐的动作,陡然停住不唱了.不幸的敲钟人一下子跪在门槛上,带着恳求的神态合着他那粗糙的大手,十分痛苦地说:"啊!我恳求您,接着唱下去,不要赶我走."她不愿伤他的心,战战兢兢地继续哼她的谣曲.这时,她的恐惧慢慢消失了,随着她哼的忧伤而缓慢的曲调,她晕晕乎乎的,完全沉睡了.他呢,仍跪着,双手合十,象是在祈祷,全神贯注,屏住呼吸,仍目不转睛地盯着吉卜赛姑娘的明眸皓齿.他好像从她的眼睛里在听着她唱的歌.
还有一回,他来到她跟前,神情又笨拙又羞愧,费劲地说出."我有话想要跟您说."她打手势告诉他自己在听着.于是,他叹息起来,嘴唇微开,霎那间似乎要说话了,紧接着却看了看她,摇了摇头,退出去了,用手捂住脑门,使埃及姑娘如坠入云雾.
墙上刻着许多古怪的人像,他特别喜欢其中的一个.他好像经常跟他交换兄弟般友爱的目光.有一回,埃及姑娘听到他对它说:"啊!为什么我就不跟你一样是块石头呢!"
终于有一天清晨,爱斯梅拉达径直走到屋顶边上,从圆形圣约翰教堂的尖顶上方俯视广场.卡齐莫多也在那里,在她身后.他就主动地这样站在那里,以便尽可能给那姑娘减轻看见他的惊吓.突然,吉卜赛姑娘打了个寒噤,一滴泪珠和一丝快乐的光芒同时在她眼中闪烁,她跪在屋顶边缘,焦急地朝广场伸出双手喊道:"弗比斯!快来吧!来吧!看在上帝的份上!跟我说句话,只说一句话!弗比斯!弗比斯!"她的脸孔,她的声音,她的姿势,整个人的表情叫人看了万箭穿心,就像海上遇难的人,看见远方驶过一只大船,焦急地向它发出求救的信号.
卡齐莫多探头朝广场一看,发现她这样深情而狂乱所祈求的对象原来是个年轻人,一个全身闪亮着盔甲.饰物的英俊骑士,他正从广场尽头经过,勒马转了半圈,举起羽冠向一个在阳台上微笑着的美貌女子致敬.但是,骑士并没有听到不幸的姑娘的呼喊,他离得太远了.
可是,可怜的聋子他却听见了.他深深叹息了一声,连胸膛都气鼓鼓的.他转过身去.他把所有的眼泪都强咽下去,心胸都快被填满了;他用两只痉挛的拳头狠击脑袋.当他缩回手时,发现每只手掌里都有一把红棕色的头发.
埃及少女压根儿没有注意到他,他咬牙切齿地低声说:"该死!那个无赖!只要外表漂亮就行了!"
这时她依然跪着,非常激动地大声叫道:"啊!瞧他下马了!他快到那房子里去!弗比斯!他听不见我的喊声!弗比斯!那个女人坏死了,与我同时跟他说话!弗比斯!弗比斯!"
聋子望着她,他是看懂了这场哑剧的.可怜的敲钟人眼里充满了伤心至极的眼泪,不过一滴也没有淌下来.他突然轻轻拉她的袖边.她转过身,他装出心平气和的样子,对她说:"您要我帮您去找他吗?"
她高兴得立刻叫了起来:"啊!行!去吧!跑吧!快!就他!就他!把他给我带来!我会爱你的!"她抱着他的膝盖,他禁不住痛苦地摇了摇头,低声说道:"我马上去把他带到您这儿来."随后,他转身大步走向楼梯,已经泣不成声.
到了广场,他只看到拴在贡德洛里埃府宅大门上的骏马,卫队长刚走进屋里.
他抬头望了望教堂的屋顶.爱斯梅拉达一直待在原地,保持着原来的姿势.他痛苦地朝她摇了几下摇头.然后,他往贡德洛里埃家大门口的一块界碑上一靠,横下心来准备等候卫队长出来.
这一天在贡德洛里埃府上,正是婚礼前大宴宾客的日子.卡齐莫多看到许多人进去,却不见有人走出来.他不时望望教堂顶上.埃及少女和他一样,一动也不动.一个马夫走了出来,解开马绳,拉到府邸的马厩里去了.
整整一天就这样白白地过去了,卡齐莫多倚靠在石桩上,爱斯梅拉达待在屋顶上,弗比斯大概就在百合花的脚边.
夜幕终于降临;没有月光的夜晚,一个黑暗的夜晚.卡齐莫多凝望着爱斯梅拉达,但是夜太黑看不见.不一会儿,暮霭中只剩下一丝白色;随后,什么也没有了.一切都消失了,天地一片漆黑.
卡齐莫多看到贡德洛里埃府宅正面的窗户从上到下都亮了,然后又看到广场上另外的窗子一个接一个也亮了;后来他看到这些窗户一个个全灭了.他整个晚上都坚守在岗位上.卫队长没有出来.最后一些过往行人也都回家了,别的房屋所有窗户的灯光都已经熄灭了,卡齐莫多独自一人,在漆黑中待着.当时圣母院前面广场上是没有灯照明的.
但是,贡德洛里埃府仍然***通明,虽然已是午夜.卡齐莫多却纹丝不动,目不转睛地盯着五光十色的玻璃窗,只见窗上人影绰绰,舞影翩翩.他若是耳朵不聋,随着沉睡的巴黎喧闹声渐渐平息下来,他就会越来越清楚听到贡德洛里埃府上阵阵喜庆的喧闹声.笑声和音乐声.
约摸凌晨一点钟,宾客开始告辞了,被黑暗包围着的卡齐莫多看着他们一个个地从***辉煌的门廊里经过,却没有那个卫队长.
他满腹忧伤,不时仰望苍空,仿佛那些烦闷的人一样.大片沉重的乌云,残破而皲裂,悬吊在空中,就象从星空的天拱上垂下来皱纱的吊床,又象挂在天穹下的蛛网.
就在这时候,他突然发现阳台上的落地窗神秘地打了开来,阳台的石头栏杆正好在他头上.从易碎的玻璃窗门走出来两个人,随即窗门又悄然无声地合上了.那是一男一女,卡齐莫多仔细辨认,费了九牛二虎之力才认出那个男人就是漂亮的卫队长,那女人就是他早上看见在这个阳台上向军官表示欢迎的千金小姐.广场完全黑了,窗门再关上时,门后的猩红色双层布帘重新落下,屋里的灯光一点儿也照不到阳台上.
那青年和那小姐,他俩的话,我们的聋子一个字也听不见.但是,如同他所能想象的那样,他们好像含情脉脉地在窃窃私语.看上去小姐只允许军官用胳膊揽住她的腰,却轻轻地拒绝他的亲吻.
卡齐莫多从下面看到了这一幕,这情景本来就不是给外看的,于是越发显得优美动人.他凝视着这幸福,美妙的情景,心里不免酸溜溜的.说到底,在这个可怜的魔鬼身上,人的本性并没有完全泯灭,他的背脊尽管歪歪斜斜,但其动情的程度去不亚于常人.他想着上苍实在太不公平,只赋予他最坏的一份,女人.爱情.淫欲永远呈现在他眼皮底下,他却只能长看别人享乐.可是在这一情景中最使他心碎的,使他愤恨交加的,就是想到,一旦埃及姑娘看见了,该会怎样的痛苦万分.的确,夜已很深了,爱斯梅拉达,肯定还待在原地(他不怀疑),也确实太远了,最多只有他自己能看清阳台上那对情侣.想到这,他心里稍微放心些.
这时,那对情侣的交谈似乎更加激动了.千金小姐好像恳求军官别再向她提任何要求.卡齐莫多能看清的,仍只是见她合着秀手,笑容中含着热泪,抬头望着星星,而卫队长的眼睛则火辣辣地俯望着她.
幸好,就在小姐有气无力地挣扎的时候,阳台的门突然开了,一个老妈子突然出现了,小姐似乎很难为情,军官一副恼怒的神情,紧接着,三个人都回到屋里去了.
过了一会,只见一匹马在门廊下踏着碎步轻轻地走过来,那神采飞扬的军官,裹着夜间穿的斗篷,急速从卡齐莫多面前走过.
敲钟人让他绕过街角,随后在他后面跑了起来,敏捷得像猴子一般,叫道:"喂!卫队长!"
卫队长闻声勒住马绳.
"这个无赖,叫我做什么?"他在暗影中望着一个人影一颠一拐地向他跑来说.
卡齐莫多这时已跑到他面前,大胆地一把拉住那马缰绳:"请你跟我走,队长,这儿有个人要跟您说几句话."
"***!"弗比斯嘀咕道."真是个丑八怪,我好像在哪儿见过.混蛋,快把马缰放下."
"队长,"聋子回答,"难道您不想问一问我是谁?"
"我叫你放手."弗比斯不耐烦地又说"你这个坏蛋头吊在马笼头下想干什么?是不是把我的马当成绞刑架?"
卡齐莫多非但没有松开马缰绳,反而设法让那匹马掉头往回走.他始终不能理解为什么队长要拒绝,连忙对他说:"来吧,队长,是一个女人在等您."他使劲又加上一句:"一个爱您的女人."
"罕见的无赖!"卫队长道,"他以为我非得到每个爱我或者自称爱我的女人那儿去!要是万一她跟你一样,长着一副猫头鹰般的嘴脸呢?快去告诉派你来的那个女人说我快要结婚了,让她见鬼去吧!"
"听我说,"卡齐莫多以为用一句话就能打消他的疑虑,大声地喊道."来吧,大人,是您认识的那个埃及姑娘!"
这句话的确给弗比斯留下深刻印象,但并不是聋子所期望的那样.大家应该还记得,我们的风流军官在卡齐莫多从夏尔莫吕手中救下女囚之前,就和百合花退到阳台窗门后面去了.自从那以后,他每次到贡德洛里埃府上做客,都小心谨慎地避免重提这个女人,想起她来毕竟还是痛苦的.从百合花那方面来说,认为对他说埃及姑娘还活着一点都不聪明.弗比斯还以为可怜的埃及姑娘死了,已有一二个月了.加之卫队长好一阵子思绪极乱,想到这漆黑的夜晚,想到这非人般的奇丑,想到这古怪送信人阴惨惨的声音,想到此时已过半夜,街上空无一人,就跟碰到野僧的那天晚上一样,还想到他的马看着卡齐莫多直打鼻响.
"埃及女人!"卫队长近于恐惧地嚷道,"什么,难道你是从阴间里来的?"
话音一落,他马上将手搁在短剑的手柄上.
"快,快,"聋子用力拖马,说道,"从这儿走!"
弗比斯朝他的胸口猛踢了一脚.
卡齐莫多眼冒金星.他往前跳了一下,想冲向卫队长.但他却挺直身子对弗比斯说:"啊,有人爱着您,您多么幸运!"
他把"有人"这个字眼说得很重,然后松开马缰,"您去吧!"
弗比斯咒骂着策马离去,卡齐莫多眼睁睁见他消失大街的夜雾中."啊!"可怜的聋子低声道."竟然拒绝这等好事!"
他回到圣母院,点上灯,又登上塔楼.和他原来想的一模一样,吉卜赛姑娘一直待在原处.
她老远就瞥见他,马上朝他跑过来."就你一个人?"她痛苦地合起漂亮的双手,大声说.
"我没有找到他."卡齐莫多冷冷地说.
"你该等他天亮才对呀!"她生气地说.
他看见她愤怒的手势,知道了她在斥责他."我下次盯紧点."他低下头嚅道.
"滚开!"她喊.
他走了.她对他不满意.可他宁愿受她冷待也不愿让她伤心.他宁愿自己承受全部痛苦.
自从这天起,埃及少女再没有见到他.他不到她的小屋里来了.至多她有时瞥见了敲钟人在一座钟楼顶上忧伤地注视着她.可是,她一看见他,他就马上无影无踪了.
可知道,可怜的驼背有意不来,她并不怎么伤心.她心底里倒很感激他不来.不过,在这方面,卡齐莫多并不抱有什么幻想.
虽然她没有再看见他,但是她感到有个善良的精灵就在她身边.有一只看不见的手每天在她睡觉时送来新的食物.一天清晨,她发现窗口有放着一只鸟笼.她的小屋上面有一尊雕像,叫她看了害怕.她在卡齐莫多面前不止一次地说过此事.一天清晨(因为所有这些事都是在夜间做的),她看不到这雕像了.有人将它打碎了.这个一直爬到雕像上的人一定是冒了生命危险啊!
有时,晚上,她听到钟楼屋檐下有个声音,好像给她催眠似地唱着一支忧伤的古怪歌曲.那是一支没有韵律的诗句,正如一个聋子所能写出来的那样.不要光看脸蛋是否漂亮,姑娘啊,要看人的心灵.英俊少年的心常常丑陋.有的人的爱情留不住.姑娘啊,松柏不好看,没有白杨那么漂亮,可冬天它却枝叶翠绿.唉!说这个有何用!不漂亮生来就不该;美貌只爱美貌,四月背对着一月.美是完整无瑕,美可以无所不能,美是唯一不会只有一半的东西.乌鸦只在白天飞,猫头鹰只在夜里飞,天鹅白天黑夜飞.
有一天早上,她醒来时发现窗口有两只插满花的花瓶.一只是水晶瓶,非常漂亮,鲜艳夺目,可是有裂痕.灌满的水都漏掉了,里面的花也凋谢了.另一只是陶土壶,粗制劣造,普通平凡,但存满了水,花朵依然鲜丽红艳.
不知道这是否有人故意所为,但见爱斯梅拉达拿起凋谢的花束,整天把它捧在胸前.
那天,她没有听到钟楼下面的歌声.
她对此不太介意.她一天到晚抚爱佳丽,注视贡德洛里埃府的大门,低声念叨着弗比斯,把面包撕成碎片喂燕子.
从那以后,她再也看不见卡齐莫多,再也听不到他的声音了.可怜的敲钟人好象从教堂消失了.然而有一天夜里,她没有睡着,想着她那英俊的卫队长,她听到小屋旁边有人在叹息.她惊恐万分,连忙起身,借着月光瞥见一个丑陋的人影横躺在门前.看见卡齐莫多正睡在那边一块石头上.

《BOOK NINTH CHAPTER V.THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.》
In the meantime, public minor had informed the archdeacon of the miraculous manner in which the gypsy had been saved.When he learned it, he knew not what his sensations were.He had reconciled himself to la Esmeralda's death. In that matter he was tranquil; he had reached the bottom of personal suffering.The human heart (Dora Claude had meditated upon these matters) can contain only a certain quantity of despair.When the sponge is saturated, the sea may pass over it without causing a single drop more to enter it.
Now, with la Esmeralda dead, the sponge was soaked, all was at an end on this earth for Dom Claude.But to feel that she was alive, and phoebus also, meant that tortures, shocks, alternatives, life, were beginning again.And Claude was weary of all this.
When he heard this news, he shut himself in his cell in the cloister.He appeared neither at the meetings of the chapter nor at the services.He closed his door against all, even against the bishop.He remained thus immured for several weeks.He was believed to be ill.And so he was, in fact.
What did he do while thus shut up?With what thoughts was the unfortunate man contending?Was he giving final battle to his formidable passion?Was he concocting a final plan of death for her and of perdition for himself?
His Jehan, his cherished brother, his spoiled child, came once to his door, knocked, swore, entreated, gave his name half a score of times.Claude did not open.
He passed whole days with his face close to the panes of his window.From that window, situated in the cloister, he could see la Esmeralda's chamber.He often saw herself with her goat, sometimes with Quasimodo.He remarked the little attentions of the ugly deaf man, his obedience, his delicate and submissive ways with the gypsy.He recalled, for he had a good memory, and memory is the tormentor of the jealous, he recalled the singular look of the bellringer, bent on the dancer upon a certain evening.He asked himself what motive could have impelled Quasimodo to save her. He was the witness of a thousand little scenes between the gypsy and the deaf man, the pantomime of which, viewed from afar and commented on by his passion, appeared very tender to him.He distrusted the capriciousness of women. Then he felt a jealousy which be could never have believed possible awakening within him, a jealousy which made him redden with shame and indignation: "One might condone the captain, but this one!" This thought upset him.
His nights were frightful.As soon as he learned that the gypsy was alive, the cold ideas of spectre and tomb which had persecuted him for a whole day vanished, and the flesh returned to goad him.He turned and twisted on his couch at the thought that the dark-skinned maiden was so near him.
Every night his delirious imagination represented la Esmeralda to him in all the attitudes which had caused his blood to boil most.He beheld her outstretched upon the poniarded captain, her eyes closed, her beautiful bare throat covered with phoebus's blood, at that moment of bliss when the archdeacon had imprinted on her pale lips that kiss whose burn the unhappy girl, though half dead, had felt.He beheld her, again, stripped by the savage hands of the torturers, allowing them to bare and to enclose in the boot with its iron screw, her tiny foot, her delicate rounded leg, her white and supple knee. Again he beheld that ivory knee which alone remained outside of Torterue's horrible apparatus.Lastly, he pictured the young girl in her shift, with the rope about her neck, shoulders bare, feet bare, almost nude, as he had seen her on that last day.These images of voluptuousness made him clench his fists, and a shiver run along his spine.
One night, among others, they heated so cruelly his virgin and priestly blood, that he bit his pillow, leaped from his bed, flung on a surplice over his shirt, and left his cell, lamp in hand, half naked, wild, his eyes aflame.
He knew where to find the key to the red door, which connected the cloister with the church, and he always had about him, as the reader knows, the key of the staircase leading to the towers.

《第九卷 五　红门的钥匙》
但是,埃及姑娘究竟以何种神奇方式获救的,公共舆论使副主教明白了.当他得知这事时,他心中的酸甜苦辣什么滋味都有,他自己也道不清说不明.他本来已经接受了爱斯梅拉达死了这一说法.这样他倒也清静下来了,因为他已经痛苦到极顶了.人类心灵(堂.克洛德曾思考过这些问题)能够包容失望的痛苦是有一定限度的,海绵浸满了水,海水尽可以从上面流过,但无法再渗进一滴水了.
爱斯梅拉达死了,就象海绵已吸满了水,对堂.克洛德来说,世上的一切都已经成定局了.可是如今却知道她还活着,弗比斯也活着,于是各种折磨,各种打击,何去何从的抉择,生不如死的痛苦,全又都死灰复燃了.而克洛德对这一切已经厌倦疲乏了.
得知这个消息,他把自己关在隐修院的密室里.他既不出席教士会议,也不参加宗教祭礼.他对所有人,甚至对主教也都闭门不开.他就这样把自己囚禁了几个星期.人们都认为他病了.他也果真病了.
他这样为什么把自己关在屋里?这个不幸的人是在怎么样的思想情况下进行挣扎呢?他是否为抗拒可怕的情欲而进行最后的挣扎吗?是否在筹划把她毁灭,也同时毁灭自己的计划吗?
他的约翰,那亲爱的弟弟,那娇惯的孩子,有一回又来到他门口,敲门.咒骂.恳求,不断地自报名字,克洛德就是不肯开门.
整整几天以来,他每天从早到晚都把脸贴在窗玻璃上往外看.从隐修院的这扇窗子,能看到爱斯梅拉达的住处,他常常看到她和她的山羊在一起,有时也和卡齐莫多在一起.他注意到这个可恶的聋子对埃及姑娘百依百顺,关怀备至,无微不至,俯首贴耳.他回忆起-因为他记性很好,而记忆却是折磨嫉妒汉的-他想起某一天晚上敲钟人瞅看跳舞女郎的那种奇特目光.他反复想,到底是什么动机驱使卡齐莫多去救了她.他目睹了吉卜赛姑娘和聋子之间千百次接触的小场面,从远处看去,用他情欲的眼光加以品评,他觉的那一幕幕哑剧无不充满深情.他对女人奇特的天性是很信不过的.于是,他隐隐约约感到,发现自己萌发出一种万万没有想到的嫉妒心理,叫他自己都要羞愧和愤慨得面红耳赤."那个队长还说得过去,可这一位呀!"这种念头叫他心慌意乱.
每天夜晚,他受尽可怕的煎熬.自从他知道埃及姑娘还活着,曾经阴魂不散地种种鬼魂和坟墓的冰冷念头消失了,可是肉欲又回来刺激着他.想到那棕褐皮肤的少女离他是那么近,不由得在床上扭动不已.
每天夜晚,凭借他那疯狂的想象力,爱斯梅拉达的千姿百态又历历在目,更加使他全身的血都在沸腾.他看见她直挺挺地倒在被捅了一刀的弗比斯身上,双眼紧闭,裸露着的漂亮胸脯溅满了弗比斯的血,就在那销魂荡魄的时刻,副主教在她苍白的嘴唇上印了一个吻.不幸的姑娘即使半死不活,却仍感到那灼热的亲吻.他又看到刽子手粗蛮的大手把她的衣服剥掉,露出她的小脚.优雅而嫩白柔软的膝盖,浑圆的小腿,并将她的脚装进用螺丝绞紧的铁鞋.他又看见那比象牙还白的腿孤零零地伸在托特吕的可怕刑具之外.最后他想象着那少女穿着内衣,脖子上套着绞索,双肩赤裸,双脚赤裸,几乎赤身裸体,就像他最后一天看见她时那样.这些不健康的形象都使他攥紧拳头,一阵战栗顺着脊椎骨遍及全身.
有天夜里,这些形象是那样残酷地折磨着他,他血管里流动着的血一下子发热起来,欲火中烧,只得咬紧枕头,蓦地跳下床,往衬衣上一披罩衫,提着灯,半裸身子,魂不守舍,眼冒欲火,冲出了小室.
他知道哪儿可以找到从隐修院通往教堂的那扇红门的钥匙.大家都知道,他总是随身带着一把钟楼楼梯的钥匙的.

《BOOK NINTH CHAPTER VI.CONTINUATION OF THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.》
That night, la Esmeralda had fallen asleep in her cell, full of oblivion, of hope, and of sweet thoughts.She had already been asleep for some time, dreaming as always, of phoebus, when it seemed to her that she heard a noise near her.She slept lightly and uneasily, the sleep of a bird; a mere nothing waked her.She opened her eyes.The night was very dark. Nevertheless, she saw a figure gazing at her through the window; a lamp lighted up this apparition.The moment that the figure saw that la Esmeralda had perceived it, it blew out the lamp.But the young girl had had time to catch a glimpse of it; her eyes closed again with terror.
"Oh!" she said in a faint voice, "the priest!"
All her past unhappiness came back to her like a flash of lightning.She fell back on her bed, chilled.
A moment later she felt a touch along her body which made her shudder so that she straightened herself up in a sitting posture, wide awake and furious.
The priest had just slipped in beside her.He encircled her with both arms.
She tried to scream and could not.
"Begone, monster! begone assassin!" she said, in a voice which was low and trembling with wrath and terror.
"Mercy!mercy!" murmured the priest, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
She seized his bald head by its remnant of hair and tried to thrust aside his kisses as though they had been bites.
"Mercy!" repeated the unfortunate man."If you but knew what my love for you is!'Tis fire, melted lead, a thousand daggers in my heart."
She stopped his two arms with superhuman force.
"Let me go," she said, "or I will spit in your face!"
He released her."Vilify me, strike me, be malicious!Do what you will!But have mercy! love me!"
Then she struck him with the fury of a child.She made her beautiful hands stiff to bruise his face."Begone, demon!"
"Love me! love mepity!" cried the poor priest returning her blows with caresses.
All at once she felt him stronger than herself.
"There must be an end to this!" he said, gnashing his teeth.
She was conquered, palpitating in his arms, and in his power.She felt a wanton hand straying over her.She made a last effort, and began to cry: "Help!Help!A vampire! a vampire!"
Nothing came.Djali alone was awake and bleating with anguish.
"Hush!" said the panting priest.
All at once, as she struggled and crawled on the floor, the gypsy's hand came in contact with something cold and metal- lic-it was Quasimodo's whistle.She seized it with a convulsive hope, raised it to her lips and blew with all the strength that she had left.The whistle gave a clear, piercing sound.
"What is that?" said the priest.
Almost at the same instant he felt himself raised by a vigorous arm.The cell was dark; he could not distinguish clearly who it was that held him thus; but he heard teeth chattering with rage, and there was just sufficient light scattered among the gloom to allow him to see above his head the blade of a large knife.
The priest fancied that he perceived the form of Quasimodo. He assumed that it could be no one but he.He remembered to have stumbled, as he entered, over a bundle which was stretched across the door on the outside.But, as the newcomer did not utter a word, he knew not what to think.He flung himself on the arm which held the knife, crying: "Quasimodo!"He forgot, at that moment of distress, that Quasimodo was deaf.
In a twinkling, the priest was overthrown and a leaden knee rested on his breast.
From the angular imprint of that knee he recognized Quasimodo; but what was to be done? how could he make the other recognize him? the darkness rendered the deaf man blind.
He was lost.The young girl, pitiless as an enraged tigress, did not intervene to save him.The knife was approaching his head; the moment was critical.All at once, his adversary seemed stricken with hesitation.
"No blood on her!" he said in a dull voice.
It was, in fact, Quasimodo's voice.
Then the priest felt a large hand dragging him feet first out of the cell; it was there that he was to die.Fortunately for him, the moon had risen a few moments before.
When they had passed through the door of the cell, its pale rays fell upon the priest's countenance.Quasimodo looked him full in the face, a trembling seized him, and he released the priest and shrank back.
The gypsy, who had advanced to the threshold of her cell, beheld with surprise their roles abruptly changed.It was now the priest who menaced, Quasimodo who was the suppliant.
The priest, who was overwhelming the deaf man with gestures of wrath and reproach, made the latter a violent sign to retire.
The deaf man dropped his head, then he came and knelt at the gypsy's door,--"Monseigneur," he said, in a grave and resigned voice, "you shall do all that you please afterwards, but kill me first."
So saying, he presented his knife to the priest.The priest, beside himself, was about to seize it.But the young girl was quicker than be; she wrenched the knife from Quasimodo's hands and burst into a frantic laugh,--"Approach," she said to the priest.
She held the blade high.The priest remained undecided.
She would certainly have struck him.
Then she added with a pitiless expression, well aware that she was about to pierce the priest's heart with thousands of red-hot irons,--
"Ah!I know that phoebus is not dead!
The priest overturned Quasimodo on the floor with a kick, and, quivering with rage, darted back under the vault of the staircase.
When he was gone, Quasimodo picked up the whistle which had just saved the gypsy.
"It was getting rusty," he said, as he handed it back to her; then he left her alone.
The young girl, deeply agitated by this violent scene, fell back exhausted on her bed, and began to sob and weep.Her horizon was becoming gloomy once more.
The priest had groped his way back to his cell.
It was settled.Dom Claude was jealous of Quasimodo!
He repeated with a thoughtful air his fatal words: "No one shall have her."

《第九卷 六　红门的钥匙(续)》
那一天晚上,爱斯梅拉达抛开一切痛苦,带着希望和温馨的心情,在小屋里睡着了.她已睡了一会儿,像往常一样,老梦见弗比斯.忽然,似乎听到周围有什么东西在响.她向来睡眠十分警觉,睡得不稳,像大鸟儿一般,一有动静就惊醒了.她睁开眼睛,屋里一团漆黑,可是,她看到窗口有一张面孔在瞅她,因为有一盏灯照着这个人影.这人影一发现被爱斯梅拉达察觉,便吹灭了灯.不过姑娘还是瞥见他了.她恐惧地闭上眼睛,用微弱的声音喊道,"啊!是那个教士?"
她经受过的一切不幸,一下子像闪电似地又浮现在她脑际.顿时浑身冰凉,立即又瘫倒在床上.
过了一会,她觉得自己的身子碰着另一个人,不由一阵战栗,猛烈惊醒了,怒冲冲地坐了起来.
那教士刚才偷偷摸摸溜到了她身边,用双臂抱住她.
她想叫喊,却叫不出声来.
"滚开,杀人犯!滚开,魔鬼!"她又愤怒又惊恐,却只能用颤抖而低弱的嗓音说道.
"行行好!行行好!"教士一边喃喃说道,一边将嘴唇印在她裸露的肩膀上.
她双手扯住他秃头上仅有的一点头发,竭力避开他的吻,仿佛那是蝎螫蛇咬.
"行行好!"不幸的人反复说道."要是你知道我对你的爱情有多深,那该有多好!我对你的爱,是烈火,是融化的铅,是插在我心头的千把刀啊!"
话音一落,他以超人的力量抓住她的双臂.她吓得魂飞魄散,喊道:"放开我,否则,我要啐你的脸!"
他松开手,说:"骂吧,打吧,撒泼吧!你要怎么样都行!可是可怜可怜我吧!爱我吧!"
她马上像小孩子生气似地揍他.她伸出美丽的手去捶他的脸:"滚蛋,魔鬼!"
"爱我吧!爱我吧!可怜可怜我!"可怜的教士大声叫道,同时滚倒在她身上,用不安份抚摸来回答她的捶打.
霍然间,她感到他的力大无比,只听见他咬牙切齿地说:"该完结啦!"
她在他的拥抱下被制服了,悸动着,浑身无力,任他摆布.她感到有一只不健康的手在她的身上乱摸.她奋力挣扎,大喊起来:"救命!快来救我!有个吸血鬼!吸血鬼!"
没人赶来.只有佳丽醒了,焦急地咩咩直叫.
"闭嘴!"教士气喘吁吁地说.
埃及少女挣扎着在地上爬着,她的手触到了一个冰凉的,金属的东西.原来是卡齐莫多留下的口哨.她顿生希望,激动得痉挛起来,抓住口哨,拿到嘴边,用使劲全身力气猛劲吹了一下,口哨便发出清晰.刺耳.尖锐的声音.
"这是什么玩艺?"教士道.
刹那间,他觉得被一只有力的胳膊提了起来,象抓小鸡似的;小屋里一片昏暗,他看不清楚是这样谁抓住他;但听到来人愤怒得把牙齿咬得咯咯响,在黑暗中刚好有稀疏的微光,可见一把短刀在他的脑袋上闪闪发亮.
教士认为自己瞥见了卡齐莫多的身影.他猜想那只可能是他.他想起刚才进来时,在门外被横卧着的一包东西绊了一下.何况这人一声不吭,他更确定无疑了.他抓住那只手持短刀的胳膊喊道:"卡齐莫多!"在这生死攸关的瞬间,他竟忘记了卡齐莫多是聋子.
说时迟那时快,教士被打翻在地,感到有一只沉重的膝盖顶在他的胸口上.从这嶙峋的膝盖形状,他认出了卡齐莫多.这可怎么办呢?怎能设法让卡齐莫多认出自己呢?黑夜使聋子变成了瞎子.
他完蛋了.姑娘好似一只愤怒的母老虎,毫不怜悯,绝不来救他.短刀越来越逼近了他的头.此刻真是千钧一发.突然间,他的对手似乎一阵犹豫,以低哑的声音说道:"别把脏血溅到她身上!"
果真是卡齐莫多的声音.
这时,教士感到有只粗大的手拽住他的脚,拖他出了小屋.他大概就要死在那里.算他走运,月亮已升起一会儿了.
他们刚跨出小屋的门,惨白的月光正好落在教士的脸上.卡齐莫多正面看了他一眼后,不由得直打哆嗦,于是放开教士,向后倒退了几岁.
埃及少女跨过了小屋的门槛,发现这两个人突然调换了角色,惊讶不已.此刻是教士咄咄逼人,卡齐莫多却苦苦哀求.
教士用愤怒和斥责的动作来吓唬聋子,粗暴地挥手要他立刻滚回去.
聋子低下头,随后,他跪在埃及少女的门前,声音低沉,无可奈何地说道:"大人,您先杀了我吧,以后您爱怎么干随您的便!"
他这样说着,把短刀递给教士.教士怒不可逼,一下子扑了上去,但姑娘比他更快,一把抢过卡齐莫多手上的刀,疯狂地纵声大笑,对教士说:"过来吧!魔鬼."
她将刀举得高高的.教士犹豫不决,心想她真的会砍下来.她怒吼道:"您不敢靠近不是,你这胆小鬼!"随后,她以毫不怜悯的神情又添上一句,深知这比用千百块铬铁穿透教士的心还要厉害:"啊!我知道弗比斯没有死!"
教士一脚把卡齐莫多踢翻在地,狂怒地颤抖着,又重新钻入楼梯的拱顶下.
他走后,卡齐莫多捡起刚才救了埃及姑娘的那只口哨.把口哨交给她,说道,"它锈了."随后,留下她一个人,走掉了.
刚才这一猛烈的情景,使姑娘惊魂未定,筋疲力尽,一下子瘫倒在床上,大声地呜咽起来.她的前景又变得阴惨惨的.
教士呢,则摸索着回到了他的小室.
事情就这样了结了.堂.克洛德嫉妒卡齐莫多!
他若有所思,重复着那句致命的话:"谁也休想得到她!"

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER I.GRINGOIRE HAS MANY GOOD IDEAS IN SUCCESSION.--RUE DES BERNARDINS.》
As soon as pierre Gringoire had seen how this whole affair was turning, and that there would decidedly be the rope, hanging, and other disagreeable things for the principal personages in this comedy, he had not cared to identify himself with the matter further.The outcasts with whom he had remained, reflecting that, after all, it was the best company in paris,--the outcasts had continued to interest themselves in behalf of the gypsy.He had thought it very simple on the part of people who had, like herself, nothing else in prospect but Charmolue and Torterue, and who, unlike himself, did not gallop through the regions of imagination between the wings of pegasus.From their remarks, he had learned that his wife of the broken crock had taken refuge in Notre-Dame, and he was very glad of it.But he felt no temptation to go and see her there.He meditated occasionally on the little goat, and that was all.Moreover, he was busy executing feats of strength during the day for his living, and at night he was engaged in composing a memorial against the Bishop of paris, for he remembered having been drenched by the wheels of his mills, and he cherished a grudge against him for it.He also occupied himself with annotating the fine work of Baudry-le- Rouge, Bishop of Noyon and Tournay, _De Cupa petrarum_, which had given him a violent passion for architecture, an inclination which had replaced in his heart his passion for hermeticism, of which it was, moreover, only a natural corollary, since there is an intimate relation between hermeticism and masonry.Gringoire had passed from the love of an idea to the love of the form of that idea.
One day he had halted near Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois, at the corner of a mansion called "For-l'Evêque " (the Bishop's Tribunal), which stood opposite another called "For-le-Roi" (the King's Tribunal).At this For-l'Evêque, there was a charming chapel of the fourteenth century, whose apse was on the street.Gringoire was devoutly examining its exterior sculptures.He was in one of those moments of egotistical, exclusive, supreme, enjoyment when the artist beholds nothing in the world but art, and the world in art.All at once he feels a hand laid gravely on his shoulder.He turns round. It was his old friend, his former master, monsieur the archdeacon.
He was stupefied.It was a long time since he had seen the archdeacon, and Dom Claude was one of those solemn and impassioned men, a meeting with whom always upsets the equilibrium of a sceptical philosopher.
The archdeacon maintained silence for several minutes, during which Gringoire had time to observe him.He found Dom Claude greatly changed; pale as a winter's morning, with hollow eyes, and hair almost white.The priest broke the silence at length, by saying, in a tranquil but glacial tone,--
"How do you do, Master pierre?"
"My health?" replied Gringoire."Eh! eh! one can say both one thing and another on that score.Still, it is good, on the whole.I take not too much of anything.You know, master, that the secret of keeping well, according to Hippocrates; ~id est: cibi, potus, somni, venus, omnia moderata sint~."
"So you have no care, Master pierre?" resumed the archdeacon, gazing intently at Gringoire.
"None, i' faith!"
"And what are you doing now?"
"You see, master.I am examining the chiselling of these stones, and the manner in which yonder bas-relief is thrown out."
The priest began to smile with that bitter smile which raises only one corner of the mouth.
"And that amuses you?"
"'Tis paradise!" exclaimed Gringoire.And leaning over the sculptures with the fascinated air of a demonstrator of living phenomena: "Do you not think, for instance, that yon metamorphosis in bas-relief is executed with much adroitness, delicacy and patience?Observe that slender column.Around what capital have you seen foliage more tender and better caressed by the chisel.Here are three raised bosses of Jean Maillevin.They are not the finest works of this great master. Nevertheless, the naivete, the sweetness of the faces, the gayety of the attitudes and draperies, and that inexplicable charm which is mingled with all the defects, render the little figures very diverting and delicate, perchance, even too much so.You think that it is not diverting?"
"Yes, certainly!" said the priest.
"And if you were to see the interior of the chapel!" resumed the poet, with his garrulous enthusiasm."Carvings everywhere. 'Tis as thickly clustered as the head of a cabbage! The apse is of a very devout, and so peculiar a fashion that I have never beheld anything like it elsewhere!"
Dom Claude interrupted him,--
"You are happy, then?"
Gringoire replied warmly;--
"On my honor, yes!First I loved women, then animals. Now I love stones.They are quite as amusing as women and animals, and less treacherous."
The priest laid his hand on his brow.It was his habitual gesture.
"Really?"
"Stay!" said Gringoire, "one has one's pleasures!" He took the arm of the priest, who let him have his way, and made him enter the staircase turret of For-l'Evêque."Here is a staircase! every time that I see it I am happy.It is of the simplest and rarest manner of steps in paris.All the steps are bevelled underneath.Its beauty and simplicity consist in the interspacing of both, being a foot or more wide, which are interlaced, interlocked, fitted together, enchained enchased, interlined one upon another, and bite into each other in a manner that is truly firm and graceful."
"And you desire nothing?"
"No."
"And you regret nothing?"
"Neither regret nor desire.I have arranged my mode of life."
"What men arrange," said Claude, "things disarrange."
"I am a pyrrhonian philosopher," replied Gringoire, "and I hold all things in equilibrium."
"And how do you earn your living?"
"I still make epics and tragedies now and then; but that which brings me in most is the industry with which you are acquainted, master; carrying pyramids of chairs in my teeth."
"The trade is but a rough one for a philosopher."
"'Tis still equilibrium," said Gringoire."When one has an idea, one encounters it in everything."
"I know that," replied the archdeacon.
After a silence, the priest resumed,--
"You are, nevertheless, tolerably poor?"
"poor, yes; unhappy, no."
At that moment, a trampling of horses was heard, and our two interlocutors beheld defiling at the end of the street, a company of the king's unattached archers, their lances borne high, an officer at their head.The cavalcade was brilliant, and its march resounded on the pavement.
"How you gaze at that officer!" said Gringoire, to the archdeacon.
"Because I think I recognize him."
"What do you call him?"
"I think," said Claude, "that his name is phoebus de Chateaupers."
"phoebus!A curious name!There is also a phoebus, Comte de Foix.I remember having known a wench who swore only by the name of phoebus."
"Come away from here," said the priest."I have something to say to you."
From the moment of that troop's passing, some agitation had pierced through the archdeacon's glacial envelope.He walked on.Gringoire followed him, being accustomed to obey him, like all who had once approached that man so full of ascendency.They reached in silence the Rue des Bernardins, which was nearly deserted.Here Dom Claude paused.
"What have you to say to me, master?" Gringoire asked him.
"Do you not think that the dress of those cavaliers whom we have just seen is far handsomer than yours and mine?"
Gringoire tossed his head.
"I' faith!I love better my red and yellow jerkin, than those scales of iron and steel.A fine pleasure to produce, when you walk, the same noise as the Quay of Old Iron, in an earthquake!"
"So, Gringoire, you have never cherished envy for those handsome fellows in their military doublets?"
"Envy for what, monsieur the archdeacon? their strength, their armor, their discipline?Better philosophy and independence in rags.I prefer to be the head of a fly rather than the tail of a lion."
"That is singular," said the priest dreamily."Yet a handsome uniform is a beautiful thing."
Gringoire, perceiving that he was in a pensive mood, quitted him to go and admire the porch of a neighboring house.He came back clapping his hands.
"If you were less engrossed with the fine clothes of men of war, monsieur the archdeacon, I would entreat you to come and see this door.I have always said that the house of the Sieur Aubry had the most superb entrance in the world."
"pierre Gringoire," said the archdeacon, "What have you done with that little gypsy dancer?"
"La Esmeralda?You change the conversation very abruptly."
"Was she not your wife?"
"Yes, by virtue of a broken crock.We were to have four years of it.By the way," added Gringoire, looking at the archdeacon in a half bantering way, "are you still thinking of her?"
"And you think of her no longer?"
"Very little.I have so many things.Good heavens, how pretty that little goat was!"
"Had she not saved your life?"
"'Tis true, pardieu!"
"Well, what has become of her?What have you done with her?"
"I cannot tell you.I believe that they have hanged her."
"You believe so?"
"I am not sure.When I saw that they wanted to hang people, I retired from the game."
"That is all you know of it?"
"Wait a bit.I was told that she had taken refuge in Notre-Dame, and that she was safe there, and I am delighted to hear it, and I have not been able to discover whether the goat was saved with her, and that is all I know."
"I will tell you more," cried Dom Claude; and his voice, hitherto low, slow, and almost indistinct, turned to thunder. "She has in fact, taken refuge in Notre-Dame.But in three days justice will reclaim her, and she will be hanged on the Grève.There is a decree of parliament."
"That's annoying," said Gringoire.
The priest, in an instant, became cold and calm again.
"And who the devil," resumed the poet, "has amused himself with soliciting a decree of reintegration?Why couldn't they leave parliament in peace?What harm does it do if a poor girl takes shelter under the flying buttresses of Notre- Dame, beside the swallows' nests?"
"There are satans in this world," remarked the archdeacon.
"'Tis devilish badly done," observed Gringoire.
The archdeacon resumed after a silence,--
"So, she saved your life?"
"Among my good friends the outcasts.A little more or a little less and I should have been hanged.They would have been sorry for it to-day."
"Would not you like to do something for her?"
"I ask nothing better, Dom Claude; but what if I entangle myself in some villanous affair?"
"What matters it?"
"Bah!what matters it?You are good, master, that you are!I have two great works already begun."
The priest smote his brow.In spite of the calm which he affected, a violent gesture betrayed his internal convulsions from time to time.
"How is she to be saved?"
Gringoire said to him; "Master, I will reply to you; ~Il padelt~, which means in Turkish, 'God is our hope.'"
"How is she to be saved?" repeated Claude dreamily.
Gringoire smote his brow in his turn.
"Listen, master.I have imagination; I will devise expedients for you.What if one were to ask her pardon from the king?"
"Of Louis XI.!A pardon!"
"Why not?"
"To take the tiger's bone from him!"
Gringoire began to seek fresh expedients.
"Well, stay!Shall I address to the midwives a request accompanied by the declaration that the girl is with child!"
This made the priest's hollow eye flash.
"With child!knave! do you know anything of this?"
Gringoire was alarmed by his air.He hastened to say, "Oh, no, not I!Our marriage was a real ~forismaritagium~.I stayed outside.But one might obtain a respite, all the same."
"Madness!Infamy!Hold your tongue!"
"You do wrong to get angry," muttered Gringoire."One obtains a respite; that does no harm to any one, and allows the midwives, who are poor women, to earn forty deniers parisis."
The priest was not listening to him!
"But she must leave that place, nevertheless!" he murmured, "the decree is to be executed within three days.Moreover, there will be no decree; that Quasimodo!Women have very depraved tastes!" He raised his voice: "Master pierre, I have reflected well; there is but one means of safety for her."
"What?I see none myself."
"Listen, Master pierre, remember that you owe your life to her.I will tell you my idea frankly.The church is watched night and day; only those are allowed to come out, who have been seen to enter.Hence you can enter.You will come.I will lead you to her.You will change clothes with her.She will take your doublet; you will take her petticoat."
"So far, it goes well," remarked the philosopher, "and then?"
"And then? she will go forth in your garments; you will remain with hers.You will be hanged, perhaps, but she will be saved."
Gringoire scratched his ear, with a very serious air. "Stay!" said he, "that is an idea which would never have occurred to me unaided."
At Dom Claude's proposition, the open and benign face of the poet had abruptly clouded over, like a smiling Italian landscape, when an unlucky squall comes up and dashes a cloud across the sun.
"Well!Gringoire, what say you to the means?"
"I say, master, that I shall not be hanged, perchance, but that I shall be hanged indubitably.
"That concerns us not."
"The deuce!" said Gringoire.
"She has saved your life.'Tis a debt that you are discharging."
"There are a great many others which I do not discharge."
"Master pierre, it is absolutely necessary."
The archdeacon spoke imperiously."
"Listen, Dom Claude," replied the poet in utter consternation. You cling to that idea, and you are wrong.I do not see why I should get myself hanged in some one else's place."
"What have you, then, which attaches you so strongly to life?"
"Oh! a thousand reasons!"
"What reasons, if you please?"
"What?The air, the sky, the morning, the evening, the moonlight, my good friends the thieves, our jeers with the old hags of go-betweens, the fine architecture of paris to study, three great books to make, one of them being against the bishops and his mills; and how can I tell all?Anaxagoras said that he was in the world to admire the sun.And then, from morning till night, I have the happiness of passing all my days with a man of genius, who is myself, which is very agreeable."
"A head fit for a mule bell!" muttered the archdeacon. "Oh! tell me who preserved for you that life which you render so charming to yourself?To whom do you owe it that you breathe that air, behold that sky, and can still amuse your lark's mind with your whimsical nonsense and madness?Where would you be, had it not been for her? Do you then desire that she through whom you are alive, should die? that she should die, that beautiful, sweet, adorable creature, who is necessary to the light of the world and more divine than God, while you, half wise, and half fool, a vain sketch of something, a sort of vegetable, which thinks that it walks, and thinks that it thinks, you will continue to live with the life which you have stolen from her, as useless as a candle in broad daylight?Come, have a little pity, Gringoire; be generous in your turn; it was she who set the example."
The priest was vehement.Gringoire listened to him at first with an undecided air, then he became touched, and wound up with a grimace which made his pallid face resemble that of a new-born infant with an attack of the colic.
"You are pathetic!" said he, wiping away a tear."Well! I will think about it.That's a queer idea of yours.--After all," he continued after a pause, "who knows? perhaps they will not hang me.He who becomes betrothed does not always marry.When they find me in that little lodging so grotesquely muffled in petticoat and coif, perchance they will burst with laughter.And then, if they do hang me,--well! the halter is as good a death as any.'Tis a death worthy of a sage who has wavered all his life; a death which is neither flesh nor fish, like the mind of a veritable sceptic; a death all stamped with pyrrhonism and hesitation, which holds the middle station betwixt heaven and earth, which leaves you in suspense.'Tis a philosopher's death, and I was destined thereto, perchance.It is magnificent to die as one has lived."
The priest interrupted him: "Is it agreed."
"What is death, after all?" pursued Gringoire with exaltation. "A disagreeable moment, a toll-gate, the passage of little to nothingness.Some one having asked Cercidas, the Megalopolitan, if he were willing to die: 'Why not?' he replied; 'for after my death I shall see those great men, pythagoras among the philosophers, Hecataeus among historians, Homer among poets, Olympus among musicians.'"
The archdeacon gave him his hand: "It is settled, then? You will come to-morrow?"
This gesture recalled Gringoire to reality.
"Ah! i' faith no!" he said in the tone of a man just waking up."Be hanged! 'tis too absurd.I will not."
"Farewell, then!" and the archdeacon added between his teeth: "I'll find you again!"
"I do not want that devil of a man to find me," thought Gringoire; and he ran after Dom Claude."Stay, monsieur the archdeacon, no ill-feeling between old friends!You take an interest in that girl, my wife, I mean, and 'tis well.You have devised a scheme to get her out of Notre-Dame, but your way is extremely disagreeable to me, Gringoire.If I had only another one myself!I beg to say that a luminous inspiration has just occurred to me.If I possessed an expedient for extricating her from a dilemma, without compromising my own neck to the extent of a single running knot, what would you say to it?Will not that suffice you?Is it absolutely necessary that I should be hanged, in order that you may be content?"
The priest tore out the buttons of his cassock with impatience: "Stream of words!What is your plan?"
"Yes," resumed Gringoire, talking to himself and touching his nose with his forefinger in sign of meditation,--"that's it!--The thieves are brave fellows!--The tribe of Egypt love her!--They will rise at the first word!--Nothing easier!--A sudden stroke.--Under cover of the disorder, they will easily carry her off!--Beginning to-morrow evening. They will ask nothing better.
"The plan! speak," cried the archdeacon shaking him.
Gringoire turned majestically towards him: "Leave me! You see that I am composing." He meditated for a few moments more, then began to clap his hands over his thought, crying: "Admirable!success is sure!"
"The plan!" repeated Claude in wrath.
Gringoire was radiant.
"Come, that I may tell you that very softly.'Tis a truly gallant counter-plot, which will extricate us all from the matter. pardieu, it must be admitted that I am no fool."
He broke off.
"Oh, by the way!is the little goat with the wench?"
"Yes.The devil take you!"
"They would have hanged it also, would they not?"
"What is that to me?"
"Yes, they would have hanged it.They hanged a sow last month.The headsman loveth that; he eats the beast afterwards. Take my pretty Djali!poor little lamb!"
"Malediction!" exclaimed Dom Claude."You are the executioner.What means of safety have you found, knave? Must your idea be extracted with the forceps?"
"Very fine, master, this is it."
Gringoire bent his head to the archdeacon's head and spoke to him in a very low voice, casting an uneasy glance the while from one end to the other of the street, though no one was passing.When he had finished, Dom Claude took his hand and said coldly : "'Tis well.Farewell until to-morrow."
"Until to-morrow," repeated Gringoire.And, while the archdeacon was disappearing in one direction, he set off in the other, saying to himself in a low voice: "Here's a grand affair, Monsieur pierre Gringoire.Never mind!'Tis not written that because one is of small account one should take fright at a great enterprise.Bitou carried a great bull on his shoulders; the water-wagtails, the warblers, and the buntings traverse the ocean."

《第十卷 一　格兰古瓦妙计连生贝纳尔丹街》
自从皮埃尔.格兰古瓦目睹了整个事件怎样急转直下,这出喜剧的两个主角将会如何遭到绳索.绞刑和其他麻烦,他就不再想插手此事了.他坚持认为,说到底,那些流浪汉是巴黎最好的伙伴,所以他依然留在他们之中,流浪汉们倒是一直关注埃及少女的命运.他觉得这是简单不过的事情了,因为这帮流浪汉都像她一样,前景无非是落入夏尔莫吕和托特吕的手里,而不像他那样能天马行空乘着缪斯的双翼飞马佩加索斯,遨游于想象之邦.从他们的谈话中得知,自己的那位以摔罐成亲的妻子躲进了巴黎圣母院,他也就自由自在了.可他甚至连想去看她也不想.他偶尔想起小山羊,如此而已.再说,白天他必须耍些卖力气的把戏挣口饭吃,夜里还得刻苦撰写控告巴黎主教的诉状,由于他牢牢记住主教的磨房的轮子曾溅了他一身水,他为此耿耿于怀.他也致力于评论诺瓦永和图尔内尔的主教波德里.勒.鲁热的杰作《论石头雕琢》,这使他对建筑艺术产生了十分浓厚地的兴趣;这种倾向在他心中替代了对炼金术神秘学说的热情,再说,那只是一种自然而然的结果,因为在炼金术和营造术之间有一种内在的联系.格兰古瓦无非从热衷于一种观念转为热衷于这种观念的形式罢了.
有一天,他停在圣日耳曼—奥克塞鲁瓦教堂附近.这教堂座落在一座称为主教法庭的府邸的拐角处,这府邸正与另一座叫做国王法庭的府邸相对.主教法庭里面有14世纪一座别致的小礼拜堂,正殿前部面临街道.格兰古瓦满怀着虔诚的心情,仔细观看着其外部的雕刻.此时,他像艺术家那样,眼中世界就是艺术,艺术包含着世界,尽情独自享受着莫大的乐趣,不容他人分享一二.突然间,他觉得有只手沉甸甸地落在他肩上,扭头一看,原来是他的老朋友,也就是昔日的老师,副主教大人.
他一下子不知所措了.他很久没有见到副主教了,而堂.克洛德是那种既严肃又热情的人,碰见他总会叫一个怀疑派哲学家感到心理不平衡的.
副主教沉默了好一阵子,格兰古瓦恰好可以趁着这空隙对他打量一下.他发现堂.克洛德与以前相比判若两人,脸色如同冬天的阳光那样苍白,双眼深凹,头发几乎都白了.还是教士最终打破沉默,声调平静而冷冷地说道:"皮埃尔君,身体可好?"
"问我的身体嘛?"格兰古瓦应道,"嘿嘿!马马虎虎,可以说还过得去吧.总的说是好的.我做什么都不过度.您知道吗,老师?健康的奥秘,用希波克拉特的话来说,也就是:饮食.睡眠.爱情.一切都须节制."
"那么,您是无忧无虑啦,皮埃尔君?"副主教盯着格兰古瓦又说.
"确实,我无忧无虑."
"那您现在做什么事?"
"这您是看见的,我的老师.刚才我正在察看这些石头的雕琢的这幅浮雕的刻法."
教士微微一笑,那是一种苦涩的笑,只是有一边嘴角往上翘起."您觉得那好玩吗?"
"那真是天堂啊!"格兰古瓦喊道.话音一落,随即俯身细看雕刻,不禁喜形于色,俨如一个讲解员,津津有味地解说一些活生生的现象:"嘿,比方说,这浮雕刻得如何灵巧.细腻和耐心,难道您不觉得其有味吗?您再看看这小圆柱,哪里能见比它柱头上叶饰的刀法更柔和.更含情的吗?瞧,这儿是让.马伊文的三个圆浮雕.虽然称不上是这个伟大天才的最佳作品,但个个人物面部天真.那温和的表情,姿态和衣褶的欢畅明快,以及连所有瑕疵都带有难以言传的那种快感,这一切使得小雕像个个神采飞扬,栩栩如生,或许犹有过之.难道您认为这还不够令人赏心悦目吗?"
"当然是的."教士道.
"要是您再看看小教堂的内部,那该有多好!"诗人带着热情的饶舌口气接着往下说."里面到处都是雕像,就跟白菜心那样重重叠叠!半圆形后殿异常肃穆,独具一格,我可是在别处从未见过!"
堂.克洛德打断话头:"这么说,您肯定过得很顺心啦?"
格兰古瓦兴奋地应道:
"倒也不假!我最初爱女人,后来爱动物.现在,我爱石头.石头跟小动物和女人一样十分认人开心,而且不那么负心."
教士把手放在额头上,这是他平常惯有的动作,说道:"确实如此!"
"唷,"格兰古瓦说道,"各人各有其享乐的方法!"他挽起教士的胳膊,教士也任由他挽着.他把教士带到主教法庭楼梯的小塔下面."这才称得上是座楼梯!我每次一看,就感到衷心的喜悦.这是全巴黎最简单.最罕见的阶梯.每一梯级的底面都是斜凿的.它的优美和简洁就在于一个个石级都宽一尺左右,彼此交错.镶嵌.套入.契合.交切,彼此咬合得严严实实的,真是美不胜收!"
"那您无所企求啦?"
"是的."
"那您也无所懊悔吗?"
"既不懊悔,也不企求.我的生活已全部安排好了."
"人所安排的,世事常会把它打乱."克洛德说道.
"我是一个怀疑派哲学家,因此我能保持一切平衡."格兰古瓦应道.
"那您如何谋生呢?"
"依然随时写些史诗和悲剧;不过收入最多的,还是老师您知道的那种功夫,牙齿上摞椅子叠的金字塔."
"这种职业对一个哲学家来说真是太粗俗了."
"这也是一种平衡,"格兰古瓦说."一个人一旦有了一种思想,在任何事情当中都可以发现这种思想的存在."
"我知道."副主教答道.
一阵沉默之后,教士接着说,"可是,您还相当穷苦吧?"
"穷,倒不假;苦,却并不苦."
正在这时,传来了一阵马蹄声,我们这两位正在交谈的人看见街尽头出现一队御前弓手,高举长矛,由一个军官率领着,浩浩荡荡,策马而来.这支马队灿烂夺目,马蹄声在石板街街上震响.
"瞧您老盯着那个军官看."格兰古瓦对副主教说道.
"我认识那个人."
"他叫什么名字?"
"我想,他叫弗比斯.德.夏托佩尔."克洛德说道.
"弗比斯!好一个怪名字!有个叫弗比斯的,是伏瓦的伯爵.我记得我认识一个迷上弗比斯的姑娘."
"你过来一下,我有话要对你说."教士道.
自从这支队伍经过以后,副主教冰冷的外表流露出几分烦躁.他拔腿就往前走.格兰古瓦一贯对他言听计从,于是跟着他往前走.任何人一旦接触了这个具有影响力的人物,也都会这样做的.他们默默走到人烟稀少的贝纳尔丹街,堂.克洛德才停下来.
"您有什么话对我说,老师?"格兰古瓦问他.
"难道您没有发现,"副主教答道,显出一副思索的模样."我们刚才看见的那些骑兵的服装比您我的漂亮得多."
格兰古瓦摇了摇头:"真的!与那些钢铁鳞片相比,我反倒更喜欢这一身半黄半红的罩衣.真是妙不可言,一边走一边发出响声,就跟地震时废铁沿河街的声响一样!"
"如此说来,格兰古瓦,难道您从未羡慕过那些身穿战袍的英俊小伙子?"
"有什么可羡慕的,副主教大人?是羡慕他们的力气,还是他们的甲胄,或是他们的纪律?身穿破衣烂衫,专攻哲学又能独立自主,岂不更好?我宁可做苍蝇脑袋,也不愿意做狮子尾巴."
"这想法倒是很奇特."教士沉思道,"漂亮的军服毕竟是漂亮."
格兰古瓦看到他若有所思,于是走开径自去欣赏旁边一幢宅第的门廊.他高兴地拍着手回来."副主教大人,假如您不那么一心只想着武士的漂亮服装,我想请您去观赏那道门廊.我一直认为,奥布里大人宅第的大门是世上最华丽的."
"皮埃尔.格兰古瓦,您把那个埃及小舞女怎么啦?"副主教说.
"是爱斯梅拉达吗?您的话题转得挺突然的."
"她不曾经是您的妻子吗?"
"是的,是摔罐成亲的.婚期四年."格兰古瓦说到这里,注视着副主教,带着半嘲讽的神情又加上一句."对啦,这么说来,这件事您老是挂在心上啦?"
"那您呢,您不再想啦?"
"很少去想了,我事情多着呢!......我的上帝啊,那只小山羊可真漂亮!"
"那个吉卜赛女人不是救了您命吗?"
"的确如此."
"那好,她现在怎么啦?您把她怎么办啦?"
"说不来.我想他们将她绞死了."
"您真的相信?"
"我不能肯定.那天我看见他们要把人绞死,我就从这个把戏中抽身出来了."
"这就是您知道的所有全部情况?"
"等一等.听说她躲进圣母院避难去了,她在那里很安全,我很高兴,可我没能打听到小山羊是否也跟她一起逃脱了.我知道的只有这些."
"让我来告诉您更多的情况吧."堂.克洛德嚷道.他的嗓门,在此之前一直低沉缓慢,几乎有些沙哑,这时变得响亮起来."她的确躲进了圣母院.可是再过三天,司法机关就要去那人重新逮捕她,她就要在河滩广场被绞死.大理院它作出了判决."
"这可真是倒霉."格兰古瓦说.
教士转瞬间又变得冷漠和平静了.
诗人接着说,"是哪个坏家伙为寻开心,居然重新去请求逮捕令?难道就不能让大理院清静清静吗?一个可怜的姑娘躲在圣母院拱扶垛下,在燕巢旁藏身,这碍他什么事?"
"世上总有些魔鬼吧."副主教说.
"活见鬼,这事真是阴差阳错,糟透了."格兰古瓦提醒一句.
副主教停了一会儿,接着说,"说到底,她不是救了你一命吗?"
"那是在我那帮流浪汉好朋友的住处.我差点被吊死.如果被吊死了,他们今天会后悔莫及的."
"您就不想替她做点什么?"
"我正求之不得呢,堂.克洛德.可是那样做,如果万一把一件讨厌的事情揽上身,该怎样办?"
"那有何相干!"
"唔!有何相干!您说得倒轻巧,您,老师!我以有两部巨著开了头呐."
教士拍拍额头.尽管他故作镇静,可是不时做出某种剧烈动作,这说明他内心的骚动,"怎样救她呢?"
格兰古瓦对他说道:"我的老师,我要回答你:Ｉｌｐａｄｅｌｔ,这在土耳其语中意思是说:上帝就是我们的希望."
"怎样搭救她呢?"克洛德寻思着又说了一遍.
格兰古瓦也拍拍额头.
"听我说,老师.我想象力不错,我给您出谋划策......可不可请求国王开恩?"
"请求路易十一,开恩?"
"干嘛不?"
"那无异于在老虎身上取骨头!"
格兰古瓦开始寻思新的解决办法.
"啊!有了!您看可以不可以向接生婆提个请求,说姑娘怀孕了."
教士一听,深陷的眼睛闪闪发光.
"怀孕了!坏家伙!你是不是知道些什么东西?"
格兰古瓦看他那副神情,吓了一跳,连忙解释道:"呃!不是我干的!我们的婚姻纯粹是有名无实的门外婚.我始终待在门外.可是,说到底也许可以获得缓刑."
"无耻!荒唐!闭嘴!"
"您发火就不对了."格兰古瓦嘟哝着,"获得缓刑,这对谁都有也处,还可以让接生婆子挣得四十巴黎德尼埃,她们可都是些穷人呀."
教士并没有听他的话,喃喃自语:"总得设法救她出来.大理院的决定三天内就将执行!本来是不会有什么决定的,都怪这个卡齐莫多!女人都是不行!"他提高嗓门:"皮埃尔君,我认真思考过了,也只有一种办法能救她."
"哪一种办法?我看不见得."
"听我说,皮埃尔君,您可记住,您的命是她救的,我要坦率地说出我的看法.教堂日日夜夜都有人监视.只有被看到进去的人才能出来.所以,您可以进去.您去了以后,我带您去找她.您同她换穿一下衣服,她穿您的短上衣,您穿她的裙子."
"这办法说到这里还行,然后呢?"哲学家提醒他说道.
"然后?她穿着您的衣服出来;您穿上她的衣服留在里面.人们或许会将您绞死,但是她却得救了."
格兰古瓦搔搔耳朵,神情极为严肃.
"嗨!"他说,"这个主意我是无论如何也想不出来的."
听了堂.克洛德这莫名其妙的建议,诗人那张开朗.和善的面孔猛然阴沉了下来,好像意大利明媚的风光,突然刮起一阵逆时的狂风,把一块乌云摔碎在太阳上.
"喂,格兰古瓦,这个办法您认为怎样?"
"我说,老师,我也许能逃过绞死的命运,可她一旦被抓住必是被绞死无疑."
"这不关我们的事."
"该死!"格兰古瓦说道.
"她救过您的命,这可是一笔你要偿还的债呀."
"有许多别的债,我也是不还的!"
"皮埃尔君,这笔债务必须还清."
副主教的语气不容置疑.
"听我说,堂.克洛德,"诗人懊丧地说,"您坚持这个意见可就错了.我不明白,我凭什么要代替另一个人去被绞死."
"这么说,一定有许多事使您留恋生命罗?"
"不错!有千百种理由!"
"哪些呢,可以说说的吗?"
"哪些?天空啦.空气啦.清晨啦.夜晚啦.月光啦,我那些流浪汉好朋友啦,我们和娘儿的调情啦,巴黎的漂亮建筑有待研究啦,三大部书要写啦,其中一部将是控告主教及其磨坊的,我说也说不清!阿纳克萨哥拉斯说过,他生在世上就是为了赞颂太阳.再说,我很有福份,从早到晚跟一个天才人物共度时日,这个天才就是我自己,这可真是愉快极了."
"真是可以当响铃摇的脑袋瓜!"副主教嘟哝着,"那好吧!你说,你今天为什么有这样美妙的生活,是谁给你保留下来的呢?你能呼吸这样的空气,看见这样的天空,还能让你那云雀般的简单脑袋瓜有心尽说废话,尽干蠢事,这些应归功于谁呢?如果不是她,你如今会呆在什么地方呢?由于她的搭救你才活着,可你却要她死?这个尤物,温柔,漂亮,令人爱慕,世界光明所需要她,比上帝还神圣,你却要她去死!而你呢,半聪明半疯癫,什么也算不上的废物坯子,某种自以为会行走.会思考的草木,将继续从她那里窃取来的生命活下去,这生命不就同中午的烛光一样毫无用处吗?得啦,发点善心吧,格兰古瓦!该你表示慷慨大方的时候了.是她先开始这样做的."
教士情绪激烈.格兰古瓦听着,先是犹疑不定,继而被感动了,最后做了一个怪相,表情悲怆,灰白色的脸孔顿时像一个患了腹绞痛的婴儿.
"您真的话是感人肺腑."他揩去一滴眼泪说道,"好吧!我考虑考虑.......您想出这个主意真是太可笑了.......说到底,"他停顿了一下,又说,"谁知道呢?或许他们不会绞死我.定了婚的人不一定都要成亲的.等到他们发现我在这间小屋里打扮得那么滑稽可笑,穿着袍子而又戴着假发,也许会哈哈大笑.......再说,要是他们把我绞死,那又怎样!绞死,也一种死法,与别的死法相同,或者,更确切地说,它不同于别的死法.这样的死是与终生游移不定的智者很相称的;这种死,非肉非鱼,正像真正怀疑派的思想,这样的死打上怀疑和犹豫的烙印,介乎天地之间,让您悬挂着.这是哲学家的死法,也许我的命中注定如此.如同生时就那样死去,那该是多么壮丽呀."
教士打断了他的话,问道:"那么你同意了?"
"归根到底,死是什么?"格兰古瓦继续激动地说道,"无非是一个恶劣的时刻,是一道通行关卡,是从些微到虚无的过渡.有人曾问过梅加洛博利斯的塞尔西达斯,他是否情愿死去,他应道:'干嘛不呢?因为我死后,可看到那些伟人,如哲学家中的毕达哥拉斯,历史学家中的赫卡特乌斯,音乐家中的奥林普,诗人中的荷马.’"
副主教向他伸出手去,说:"那就说定了,您明天来."
看到这个动作,格兰古瓦顿时回到现实中来了.
"啊!肯定不!"他说道,那口气如大梦方醒,"被绞死!这简直太荒唐了.我不干."
"那么再见吧!"话音一落,副主教又低声加上一句,"我还会来找你的!"
"我才不要这个鬼头鬼脑的讨厌家伙再来找我哩."格兰古瓦心里想着;随即跑去追赶堂.克洛德."喂,副主教大人,老朋友,别生气么!您关心这个姑娘,我是说关心我的妻子,这本来是个好主意.您想出一个妙计,让她安然无恙从圣母院出来,可您这办法对我格兰古瓦来说,极为不利.......我要是另有良策就好了.我可以告诉您,刚才我突然灵机一动,计上心来.......如果我有个妙计,既能让她摆脱险境,又不至于用小小的活结连累我的脖子,您说怎么样?难道这对您还不够吗?非得让我被绞死,你才称心如意吗?"
教士不耐烦地扯着身上道袍的钮扣,说道:"废话真多!你有什么方法呢?"
"是的,"格兰古瓦自言自语接着说,并用食指碰了碰鼻子,表示在思考,"有了!......流浪汉都是勇敢的小子.......全埃及部落都喜欢她.......只要一声令下,他们就会奋然而起.......再容易不过了.......发动快攻......趁着混乱,轻而易举把她拯救出来.......就明天晚上......他们才求之不得呢."
"办法!快说."教士摇晃着他,说.
格兰古瓦威严地朝他转过身去,说道:"放开我!您不是看见我正在出谋划策吗!"他又沉思了半天.随后对自己的计谋大加赞赏,拍着手喊:"妙极了!肯定成功!"
"快说说办法!"克洛德愤怒地又说.
格兰古瓦立即容光焕发.
"过来,我小声说给您听.这是一个反阴谋,非常巧妙,它可以使我们大家全都脱身.啊!这下您得同意我不是傻瓜吧."
他停顿了一下,又说:"哎呀!小山羊跟她在一起吗?"
"是的.快见鬼去吧!"
"就是说他们也要绞死它,是吗?"
"这关我什么事情?"
"不错,他们会把它也绞死.上个月他们就绞死一头母猪.刽子手喜欢这样.随后他们可以吃肉,要绞死我漂亮的佳丽!可怜的小羊!"
"该死!"堂.克洛德大嚷道,"刽子手就是你.你究竟想出了什么拯救办法,混蛋?难道要用产钳方能叫你生出主意来."
"太妙了,老师!我马上讲给你听."
格兰古瓦欠身凑近副主教耳边,悄悄地对他说着,一边提心吊胆地巡视着街道的两头,其实并没有人走过.他一说完,堂.克洛德抓住他的手,冷漠地说道:"那好,明天见."
"明天见,"格兰古瓦重复一遍.副主教从一边走开,他则从另一边走开,低声自言自语:"这可是一桩值得自豪的事情,皮埃尔.格兰古瓦先生.管它呢.不能因为人渺小,就害怕大事业.比顿肩上就扛着一头大公牛;白鹤.黄莺.石头还能飞过海洋哩.

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER II.TURN VAGABOND.》
On re-entering the cloister, the archdeacon found at the door of his cell his brother Jehan du Moulin, who was waiting for him, and who had beguiled the tedium of waiting by drawing on the wall with a bit of charcoal, a profile of his elder brother, enriched with a monstrous nose.
Dom Claude hardly looked at his brother; his thoughts were elsewhere.That merry scamp's face whose beaming had so often restored serenity to the priest's sombre physiognomy, was now powerless to melt the gloom which grew more dense every day over that corrupted, mephitic, and stagnant soul.
"Brother," said Jehan timidly, "I am come to see you."
The archdeacon did not even raise his eyes.
"What then?"
"Brother," resumed the hypocrite, "you are so good to me, and you give me such wise counsels that I always return to you."
"What next?"
"Alas!brother, you were perfectly right when you said to me,--"Jehan!Jehan! ~cessat doctorum doctrina, discipulorum disciplina~.Jehan, be wise, Jehan, be learned, Jehan, pass not the night outside of the college without lawful occasion and due leave of the master.Cudgel not the picards: ~noli, Joannes, verberare picardos~.Rot not like an unlettered ass, ~quasi asinus illitteratus~, on the straw seats of the school. Jehan, allow yourself to be punished at the discretion of the master.Jehan go every evening to chapel, and sing there an anthem with verse and orison to Madame the glorious Virgin Mary.--Alas! what excellent advice was that!"
"And then?"
"Brother, you behold a culprit, a criminal, a wretch, a libertine, a man of enormities!My dear brother, Jehan hath made of your counsels straw and dung to trample under foot. I have been well chastised for it, and God is extraordinarily just.As long as I had money, I feasted, I lead a mad and joyous life.Oh! how ugly and crabbed behind is debauch which is so charming in front!Now I have no longer a blank; I have sold my napery, my shirt and my towels; no more merry life! The beautiful candle is extinguished and I have henceforth, only a wretched tallow dip which smokes in my nose.The wenches jeer at me.I drink water.--I am overwhelmed with remorse and with creditors.
"The rest?" said the archdeacon.
"Alas! my very dear brother, I should like to settle down to a better life.I come to you full of contrition, I am penitent.I make my confession.I beat my breast violently. You are quite right in wishing that I should some day become a licentiate and sub-monitor in the college of Torchi.At the present moment I feel a magnificent vocation for that profession.But I have no more ink and I must buy some; I have no more paper, I have no more books, and I must buy some. For this purpose, I am greatly in need of a little money, and I come to you, brother, with my heart full of contrition."
"Is that all?"
"Yes," said the scholar."A little money."
"I have none."
Then the scholar said, with an air which was both grave and resolute: "Well, brother, I am sorry to be obliged to tell you that very fine offers and propositions are being made to me in another quarter.You will not give me any money?No.In that case I shall become a professional vagabond."
As he uttered these monstrous words, he assumed the mien of Ajax, expecting to see the lightnings descend upon his head.
The archdeacon said coldly to him,-
"Become a vagabond."
Jehan made him a deep bow, and descended the cloister stairs, whistling.
At the moment when he was passing through the courtyard of the cloister, beneath his brother's window, he heard that window open, raised his eyes and beheld the archdeacon's severe head emerge.
"Go to the devil!" said Dom Claude; "here is the last money which you will get from me?"
At the same time, the priest flung Jehan a purse, which gave the scholar a big bump on the forehead, and with which Jehan retreated, both vexed and content, like a dog who had been stoned with marrow bones.

《第十卷 二　您当流浪汉去吧》
副主教回到隐修院,发现他的弟弟约翰站在小室门口等着他,为了解解闷,用一块炭在墙上画了他哥哥的侧面像,还特地加上一个硕大无比的大鼻子.
堂.克洛德几乎瞅都不瞅他弟弟一眼.他正在想在着别的心事.这张喜笑颜开的小坏蛋脸孔,他的容光焕发往常曾多少次使教士阴沉的面容开朗起来,此刻却怎么也无力驱散这个恶臭.堕落.呆滞的灵魂上日益浓重的云雾.
"哥哥,"约翰胆怯地叫道,"我看您来了."
副主教连眼皮都没有抬一下,应声道:"还有什么事?"
"哥哥,"虚情假意的弟弟又说,"您对我那么好,给我的劝导真是金玉良言,因此我一直想着您."
"还有什么吗?"
"唉!哥呀,您确实说得道理,您曾对我这样说:约翰呀!约翰!师惰教,生之过.约翰,你要学乖点;约翰,你要努力多学点;约翰,没有合法机会,不经老师批准,千万别到校外过夜.别打皮卡迪人,别像目不识丁的驴赖在教室地上的稻草上;约翰,你须听从老师的处罚;约翰,你每天晚上要去礼拜堂,唱首赞美歌,用经文和祷告赞颂光荣的圣母玛丽亚.唉!这一切可全是至理名言啊!"
"还有什么吗?"
"哥哥呀,现在站在您面前的是一个罪人,一个罪犯,一个可怜虫,一个浪荡鬼,一个穷凶极恶的人!亲爱的哥哥,约翰把您的忠告当作稻草和粪土踏在脚下.我就真的受到了惩罚,仁慈的上帝是极非常公正的.我一有钱,就大吃大喝,放荡不羁,寻欢作乐.唉!放荡的生活,从正面看挺迷人的,从背后看却又令人生厌又丑恶!现在我一分钱也没有了,连桌布.内衣.擦手毛巾都卖掉了,快乐的生活不复存在了!灿烂的蜡烛熄灭了,只剩下可恶的油脂烛芯直薰我的鼻子.婊子都嘲笑我.我只能靠喝水度日了.悔恨和债主正一起折磨着我."
"还有什么吗?"副主教说.
"咳!最最亲爱的哥呀,我真想过一种正常的生活.我来看您,心中充满了悔恨.我悔悟了.我忏悔.我狠狠捶打胸膛.您希望我能成为学士,当上托尔希学堂的副训导员,您这种想法的确很有道理.现在我感到充当这个职务是一种崇高的天职;可我没有墨水了,也得去再买;没有羽毛笔了,得去再买;没有纸,没有书,全得去再买.要买,我得有点钱才行.为此,哥哥啊,我来见您,心中充满了悔恨的心情."
"讲完了吗?"
"讲完了,"学子说,"给我点钱吧."
"没有."
学子顿时神色一变,既庄重又果断地说道:"那好,哥哥,我只得对您说实话了,但有人向我提出非常好的建议.您不愿给,是不是?......不给?......这样的话,我就去当流浪汉."
这可怕的话儿说出口,他就摆出一副阿雅克斯的神情,猜想他哥哥准会大发雷霆,急风骤雨就要劈头盖脑打下来.
可是没想到副主教却冷冷地说:"那就当您的流浪汉去吧."
约翰向他深深地鞠了一躬,打着唿哨就重新走下隐修院的楼梯去了.
正当他从庭院里他哥哥的居室窗下走过时,忽然听到窗子打开了,抬头一看,只见副主教严峻的面孔从窗口探了出来."滚远点!"堂.克洛德喊道,"拿去,这是你能从我这里得到的最后一笔钱啦."
教士边说边向约翰扔出一个钱袋,在学子额头上砸了个大肿块.约翰捡起来就跑,既愤怒又高兴,像一只狗被人用带着骨髓的骨头穷追猛打一样.

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER III.LONG LIVE MIRTH.》
The reader has probably not forgotten that a part of the Cour de Miracles was enclosed by the ancient wall which surrounded the city, a goodly number of whose towers had begun, even at that epoch, to fall to ruin.One of these towers had been converted into a pleasure resort by the vagabonds.There was a drain-shop in the underground story, and the rest in the upper stories.This was the most lively, and consequently the most hideous, point of the whole outcast den.It was a sort of monstrous hive, which buzzed there night and day. At night, when the remainder of the beggar horde slept, when there was no longer a window lighted in the dingy fa?ades of the place, when not a cry was any longer to be heard proceeding from those innumerable families, those ant-hills of thieves, of wenches, and stolen or bastard children, the merry tower was still recognizable by the noise which it made, by the scarlet light which, flashing simultaneously from the air-holes, the windows, the fissures in the cracked walls, escaped, so to speak, from its every pore.
The cellar then, was the dram-shop.The descent to it was through a low door and by a staircase as steep as a classic Alexandrine.Over the door, by way of a sign there hung a marvellous daub, representing new sons and dead chickens,* with this, pun below: ~Aux sonneurs pour les trépassés~,--The wringers for the dead.
*~Sols neufs: poulets tués~.
One evening when the curfew was sounding from all the belfries in paris, the sergeants of the watch might have observed, had it been granted to them to enter the formidable Court of Miracles, that more tumult than usual was in progress in the vagabonds' tavern, that more drinking was being done, and louder swearing.Outside in the place, there, were many groups conversing in low tones, as when some great plan is being framed, and here and there a knave crouching down engaged in sharpening a villanous iron blade on a paving-stone.
Meanwhile, in the tavern itself, wine and gaming offered such a powerful diversion to the ideas which occupied the vagabonds' lair that evening, that it would have been difficult to divine from the remarks of the drinkers, what was the matter in hand.They merely wore a gayer air than was their wont, and some weapon could be seen glittering between the legs of each of them,--a sickle, an axe, a big two-edged sword or the hook of an old hackbut.
The room, circular in form, was very spacious; but the tables were so thickly set and the drinkers so numerous, that all that the tavern contained, men, women, benches, beer-jugs, all that were drinking, all that were sleeping, all that were playing, the well, the lame, seemed piled up pell-mell, with as much order and harmony as a heap of oyster shells.There were a few tallow dips lighted on the tables; but the real luminary of this tavern, that which played the part in this dram-shop of the chandelier of an opera house, was the fire. This cellar was so damp that the fire was never allowed to go out, even in midsummer; an immense chimney with a sculptured mantel, all bristling with heavy iron andirons and cooking utensils, with one of those huge fires of mixed wood and peat which at night, in village streets make the reflection of forge windows stand out so red on the opposite walls.A big dog gravely seated in the ashes was turning a spit loaded with meat before the coals.
Great as was the confusion, after the first glance one could distinguish in that multitude, three principal groups which thronged around three personages already known to the reader. One of these personages, fantastically accoutred in many an oriental rag, was Mathias Hungadi Spicali, Duke of Egypt and Bohemia.The knave was seated on a table with his legs crossed, and in a loud voice was bestowing his knowledge of magic, both black and white, on many a gaping face which surrounded him.Another rabble pressed close around our old friend, the valiant King of Thunes, armed to the teeth. Clopin Trouillefou, with a very serious air and in a low voice, was regulating the distribution of an enormous cask of arms, which stood wide open in front of him and from whence poured out in profusion, axes, swords, bassinets, coats of mail, broadswords, lance-heads, arrows, and viretons,* like apples and grapes from a horn of plenty.Every one took something from the cask, one a morion, another a long, straight sword, another a dagger with a cross--shaped hilt.The very children were arming themselves, and there were even cripples in bowls who, in armor and cuirass, made their way between the legs of the drinkers, like great beetles.
*An arrow with a pyramidal head of iron and copper spiral wings, by which a rotatory motion was communicated.
Finally, a third audience, the most noisy, the most jovial, and the most numerous, encumbered benches and tables, in the midst of which harangued and swore a flute-like voice, which escaped from beneath a heavy armor, complete from casque to spurs.The individual who had thus screwed a whole outfit upon his body, was so hidden by his warlike accoutrements that nothing was to be seen of his person save an impertinent, red, snub nose, a rosy mouth, and bold eyes.His belt was full of daggers and poniards, a huge sword on his hip, a rusted cross-bow at his left, and a vast jug of wine in front of him, without reckoning on his right, a fat wench with her bosom uncovered.All mouths around him were laughing, cursing, and drinking.
Add twenty secondary groups, the waiters, male and female, running with jugs on their heads, gamblers squatting over taws, merelles,* dice, vachettes, the ardent game of tringlet, quarrels in one corner, kisses in another, and the reader will have some idea of this whole picture, over which flickered the light of a great, flaming fire, which made a thousand huge and grotesque shadows dance over the walls of the drinking shop.
*A game played on a checker-board containing three concentric sets of squares, with small stones.The game consisted in getting three stones in a row.
As for the noise, it was like the inside of a bell at full peal.
The dripping-pan, where crackled a rain of grease, filled with its continual sputtering the intervals of these thousand dialogues, which intermingled from one end of the apartment to the other.
In the midst of this uproar, at the extremity of the tavern, on the bench inside the chimney, sat a philosopher meditating with his feet in the ashes and his eyes on the brands.It was pierre Gringoire.
"Be quick!make haste, arm yourselves! we set out on the march in an hour!" said Clopin Trouillefou to his thieves.
A wench was humming,--
"~Bonsoir mon père et ma mere, Les derniers couvrent le feu~."*
* Good night, father and mother, the last cover up the fire.
Two card players were disputing,--
"Knave!" cried the reddest faced of the two, shaking his fist at the other; "I'll mark you with the club.You can take the place of Mistigri in the pack of cards of monseigneur the king."
"Ugh!" roared a Norman, recognizable by his nasal accent; "we are packed in here like the saints of Caillouville!"
"My sons," the Duke of Egypt was saying to his audience, in a falsetto voice, "sorceresses in France go to the witches' sabbath without broomsticks, or grease, or steed, merely by means of some magic words.The witches of Italy always have a buck waiting for them at their door.All are bound to go out through the chimney."
The voice of the young scamp armed from head to foot, dominated the uproar.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" he was shouting."My first day in armor!Outcast!I am an outcast.Give me something to drink.My friends, my name is Jehan Frollo du Moulin, and I am a gentleman.My opinion is that if God were a ~gendarme~, he would turn robber.Brothers, we are about to set out on a fine expedition.Lay siege to the church, burst in the doors, drag out the beautiful girl, save her from the judges, save her from the priests, dismantle the cloister, burn the bishop in his palace--all this we will do in less time than it takes for a burgomaster to eat a spoonful of soup.Our cause is just, we will plunder Notre-Dame and that will be the end of it.We will hang Quasimodo.Do you know Quasimodo, ladies?Have you seen him make himself breathless on the big bell on a grand pentecost festival!~Corne du père~!'tis very fine!One would say he was a devil mounted on a man.Listen to me, my friends; I am a vagabond to the bottom of my heart, I am a member of the slang thief gang in my soul, I was born an independent thief.I have been rich, and I have devoured all my property.My mother wanted to make an officer of me; my father, a sub-deacon; my aunt, a councillor of inquests; my grandmother, prothonotary to the king; my great aunt, a treasurer of the short robe,--and I have made myself an outcast.I said this to my father, who spit his curse in my face; to my mother, who set to weeping and chattering, poor old lady, like yonder fagot on the and-irons.Long live mirth!I am a real Bicêtre.Waitress, my dear, more wine.I have still the wherewithal to pay.I want no more Surène wine.It distresses my throat.I'd as lief, ~corboeuf~!gargle my throat with a basket."
Meanwhile, the rabble applauded with shouts of laughter; and seeing that the tumult was increasing around him, the scholar cried,--.
"Oh!what a fine noise!~populi debacchantis populosa debacchatio~!" Then he began to sing, his eye swimming in ecstasy, in the tone of a canon intoning vespers, ~Quoe cantica! quoe organa! quoe cantilenoe! quoe meloclioe hic sine fine decantantur!Sonant melliflua hymnorum organa, suavissima angelorum melodia, cantica canticorum mira~! He broke off: "Tavern-keeper of the devil, give me some supper!"
There was a moment of partial silence, during which the sharp voice of the Duke of Egypt rose, as he gave instructions to his Bohemians.
"The weasel is called Adrune; the fox, Blue-foot, or the Racer of the Woods; the wolf, Gray-foot, or Gold-foot; the bear the Old Man, or Grandfather.The cap of a gnome confers invisibility, and causes one to behold invisible things. Every toad that is baptized must be clad in red or black velvet, a bell on its neck, a bell on its feet.The godfather holds its head, the godmother its hinder parts.'Tis the demon Sidragasum who hath the power to make wenches dance stark naked."
"By the mass!" interrupted Jehan, "I should like to be the demon Sidragasum."
Meanwhile, the vagabonds continued to arm themselves and whisper at the other end of the dram-shop.
"That poor Esmeralda!" said a Bohemian."She is our sister.She must be taken away from there."
"Is she still at Notre-Dame?" went on a merchant with the appearance of a Jew.
"Yes, pardieu!"
"Well! comrades!" exclaimed the merchant, "to Notre-Dame! So much the better, since there are in the chapel of Saints Féréol and Ferrution two statues, the one of John the Baptist, the other of Saint-Antoine, of solid gold, weighing together seven marks of gold and fifteen estellins; and the pedestals are of silver-gilt, of seventeen marks, five ounces. I know that; I am a goldsmith."
Here they served Jehan with his supper.As he threw himself back on the bosom of the wench beside him, he exclaimed,--
"By Saint Voult-de-Lucques, whom people call Saint Goguelu, I am perfectly happy.I have before me a fool who gazes at me with the smooth face of an archduke.Here is one on my left whose teeth are so long that they hide his
chin.And then, I am like the Marshal de Gié at the siege of pontoise, I have my right resting on a hillock.~Ventre- Mahom~!Comrade! you have the air of a merchant of tennis- balls; and you come and sit yourself beside me!I am a nobleman, my friend!Trade is incompatible with nobility. Get out of that!Hola hé!You others, don't fight!What, Baptiste Croque-Oison, you who have such a fine nose are going to risk it against the big fists of that lout!Fool! ~Non cuiquam datum est habere nasum~--not every one is favored with a nose.You are really divine, Jacqueline Ronge-Oreille! 'tis a pity that you have no hair!Holà! my name is Jehan Frollo, and my brother is an archdeacon. May the devil fly off with him!All that I tell you is the truth.In turning vagabond, I have gladly renounced the half of a house situated in paradise, which my brother had promised me.~Dimidiam domum in paradiso~.I quote the text.I have a fief in the Rue Tirechappe, and all the women are in love with me, as true as Saint Eloy was an excellent goldsmith, and that the five trades of the good city of paris are the tanners, the tawers, the makers of cross-belts, the purse-makers, and the sweaters, and that Saint Laurent was burnt with eggshells.I swear to you, comrades.
"~Que je ne beuvrai de piment, Devant un an, si je cy ment~.*
*That I will drink no spiced and honeyed wine for a year, if I am lying now.
"'Tis moonlight, my charmer; see yonder through the window how the wind is tearing the clouds to tatters!Even thus will I do to your gorget.--Wenches, wipe the children's noses and snuff the candles.--Christ and Mahom!What am I eating here, Jupiter?Ohé! innkeeper! the hair which is not on the heads of your hussies one finds in your omelettes.Old woman!I like bald omelettes.May the devil confound you!--A fine hostelry of Beelzebub, where the hussies comb their heads with the forks!
"~Et je n'ai moi, par la sang-Dieu! Ni foi, ni loi, Ni feu, ni lieu, Ni roi, Ni Dieu."*
*And by the blood of God, I have neither faith nor law, nor fire nor dwelling-place, nor king nor God.
In the meantime, Clopin Trouillefou had finished the distribution of arms.He approached Gringoire, who appeared to be plunged in a profound revery, with his feet on an andiron.
"Friend pierre," said the King of Thunes, "what the devil are you thinking about?"
Gringoire turned to him with a melancholy smile.
"I love the fire, my dear lord.Not for the trivial reason that fire warms the feet or cooks our soup, but because it has sparks.Sometimes I pass whole hours in watching the sparks. I discover a thousand things in those stars which are sprinkled over the black background of the hearth.Those stars are also worlds."
"Thunder, if I understand you!" said the outcast."Do you know what o'clock it is?"
"I do not know," replied Gringoire.
Clopin approached the Duke of Egypt.
"Comrade Mathias, the time we have chosen is not a good one.King Louis XI. is said to be in paris."
"Another reason for snatching our sister from his claws," replied the old Bohemian.
"You speak like a man, Mathias," said the King of Thunes. "Moreover, we will act promptly.No resistance is to be feared in the church.The canons are hares, and we are in force.The people of the parliament will be well balked to-morrow when they come to seek her!Guts of the pope I don't want them to hang the pretty girl!"
Chopin quitted the dram-shop.
Meanwhile, Jehan was shouting in a hoarse voice:
"I eat, I drink, I am drunk, I am Jupiter!Eh!pierre, the Slaughterer, if you look at me like that again, I'll fillip the dust off your nose for you."
Gringoire, torn from his meditations, began to watch the wild and noisy scene which surrounded him, muttering between his teeth: "~Luxuriosa res vinum et tumultuosa ebrietas~. Alas!what good reason I have not to drink, and how excellently spoke Saint-Benoit: '~Vinum apostatare facit etiam sapientes!'"
At that moment, Clopin returned and shouted in a voice of thunder: "Midnight!"
At this word, which produced the effect of the call to boot and saddle on a regiment at a halt, all the outcasts, men, women, children, rushed in a mass from the tavern, with great noise of arms and old iron implements.
The moon was obscured.
The Cour des Miracles was entirely dark.There was not a single light.One could make out there a throng of men and women conversing in low tones.They could be heard buzzing, and a gleam of all sorts of weapons was visible in the darkness.Clopin mounted a large stone.
"To your ranks, Argot!"* he cried."Fall into line, Egypt! Form ranks, Galilee!"
*Men of the brotherhood of slang: thieves.
A movement began in the darkness.The immense multitude appeared to form in a column.After a few minutes, the King of Thunes raised his voice once more,--
"Now, silence to march through paris!The password is, 'Little sword in pocket!' The torches will not be lighted till we reach Notre-Dame!Forward, march!"
Ten minutes later, the cavaliers of the watch fled in terror before a long procession of black and silent men which was descending towards the pont an Change, through the tortuous streets which pierce the close-built neighborhood of the markets in every direction.

《第十卷 三　欢乐万岁》
读者或许没有忘记,奇迹宫廷有一部分是被城廓的旧墙包围着的,城市墙上的许多塔楼早在这个时期就开始沦为废墟了.其中的一座被流浪汉改成了娱乐场所.底层的大厅被作为酒馆,其余的都在上面几层.这座塔楼是丐帮最为热闹.因而也是最为污秽的聚合点.它像可怕的蜂窝,日夜嗡嗡作响.每天夜间,当丐帮其他所有多余的人都沉睡了,广场四周各个屋面土墙上的窗户不再有灯光了,那居住着盗贼.娼妓.以及偷来的孩儿或私生子的蚁窝般的房屋不再发出喊叫声,这时候,只要听到塔楼发出的喧闹声,完全只要看见从塔楼的通风孔.窗子.墙壁的裂缝,可以这么说,从他所有的毛孔透出来的猩红色灯光,就可以认出这个花天酒地的塔楼来.
其实地下室就是小酒馆.要到下面去,得先经过一道矮门,再顺着一道像古典亚历山大诗体一样古板的楼梯走下去,门上有幅奇妙的涂鸦充当招牌,上面画着几枚新铸的钱币索尔和一只杀死的小鸡,下面写着一句谐音双关语:欢迎死者的敲钟人.
有天晚上,巴黎所有钟楼正敲响***管制的钟声,这时候,巡逻队的巡捕,要是被允许进入那可怕的奇迹宫廷,是会发现,流浪汉小酒馆比往常更加嘈杂.大家酒喝得更多,咒骂也更凶了.外面空地上,许多人三五成群地低声交谈,仿佛在密谋一个重大计划,这里那里,都有流浪汉蹲着,在街石上磨着十分凶恶的刀刃.
可是,就在小酒馆里面,饮酒赌博却大大分散了流浪汉们对今晚所关注事情的注意.因此想要从饮酒的人话中去猜测将发生什么事,那可太难了.只见他们比往常更加快乐,个个双腿之间夹着闪亮的武器,斧头.镰刀.双刃大刀或是一把旧火熗的熗托.
大厅呈圆形,非常宽大,可是桌子紧挨着桌子,喝酒的人又那么多,因此小酒馆所容纳的一切,女人啦,男人啦,长凳啦.啤酒罐啦,睡着的,喝着的,赌着的,身强力壮的,断腿缺臂的,看上去全乱七八糟堆地集在一起,如有什么秩序与和谐可言,可以说那就像一堆牡蛎壳一般.大厅里的桌子上点了几支蜡烛,其实小酒馆里真正照明的,起着歌剧院大厅分枝吊灯作用的,却是那炉火.这个地下室因非常潮湿,哪怕是盛夏酷暑,炉火也从不熄灭,这是一座带有雕刻炉台的巨大壁炉,上面横七竖八地搁着铁制的柴架和炊事用具,炉里燃着木头和泥炭,熊熊烈火,这样的火好似夜间在村庄街道上,把铁匠炉口那光怪陆离的魔影,映照在对面的墙壁上面,显得格外通红.炉灰里蹲坐着一条大狗,装模作样地在炭火前转动着一根串满肉片的烤肉铁扦.
不管里面多么混乱,只看过第一眼,就可以在这群人中区分出三大堆人,紧紧围着读者已经认识的三个人物.其中一个打扮得十分奇怪,装饰着许多充金东方的铜片,那是埃及和波希米亚公爵,马西亚.恩加迪.斯皮卡利,这个无赖坐在桌子上,跷着二郎腿,伸出一只手指弹向空中,滔滔不绝地高声讲述他那黑白魔法的学问,周围的人每个人都听得目瞪口呆.另一堆嘈杂的人群围着我们的老朋友.勇敢的狄纳王.这个克洛德.特鲁伊甫全身披挂,神情十分严肃,嗓音低沉,正在处理面前抢来的一大桶武器,大桶已被劈开,从里面倒出大量的长剑.铁盔.斧头.锁子甲.铁甲.梭标.弩弓和旋转箭,象征丰收的牛角,还有源源不断的苹果和葡萄.人人从成堆的武器中随意自取,有的拿剑,有的拿高顶盔,有的拿十字形刀柄砍刀.孩子们也自行武装,甚至有的断腿人身披甲胄,穿护胸甲,从喝酒的人的大腿中间穿过去,活像大金龟子.
最后是第三堆听众,人数最多,吵得最凶,也最快活,把桌凳全都占满了.当中有个人声音如笛子那么尖,正在高谈阔论,同时又破口大骂;这个人全副武装,从头盔直至马刺,穿戴着整套沉甸甸的甲胄,全身都隐没在戎装里,只露出一只不知羞耻.向上翘起的辣椒鼻子,一头棕色的卷发,一双充满胆大包天的眼睛,一张淡红的嘴巴.他的腰带插满匕首和短刀,腰侧佩着一把长剑,左手执着一张生锈的大弩,面前摆着一只大酒罐,右手搂着一个袒胸露乳的胖墩墩的妓女.他周围所有的人都咧着嘴在笑,在哭,在骂在喝.
还有二十来个次要的团伙;头顶着酒罐,来回奔跑,给人斟酒的许多姑娘和小伙子;蹲着赌博的人;有玩跳珠子的,有玩弹子的,有掷骰子的,有玩小母牛的,有玩投***热烈把戏的;这个角落有人吵架,那个角落有人亲吻.加上所有的这一切,你大体上对这整体有某种印象,而在这整体上摇曳着一堆的熊熊火焰,酒馆的墙上也就欢跳着许许多多巨大无比和奇形怪状的人影在晃动.
至于声音,那就像置身于一口震天价响的大钟里面.
还有只盛油锅,烧烤滴下的油脂有如雨点滴,噼啪直响,这响声正好填补了大厅两头东呼西应和无数交叉对话的空隙.
在酒馆的深处,在这片喧嚣声中,在壁炉内侧的凳上坐着一个哲学家,他双脚埋在炉灰里,眼睛盯着没有燃尽的柴火,聚精会神地正在沉思.此人就是皮埃尔.格兰古瓦.
"加油,赶紧,快,快武装好!一个钟头后就要出发!"克洛潘.特鲁伊甫向黑帮的人吩咐道.
有个姑娘哼唱着:晚安,我的父亲我的母亲!最后走的人要把火熄灭掉.
那两个玩牌的人争执不休."奴才!"其中吵得脸红耳赤的一个朝另一个伸出拳头大声嚷嚷道,"我要在你身上打出梅花印子来,那你就可以在国王陛下的牌局中代替梅花Ｊ了."
"哎呀!"一个诺曼底人吼叫着,这从他那重鼻音中可以听得出来."这里挤得像卡约维尔的圣像一样."
"孩子们,"埃及公爵假声假气地对他的听众说道:"赶法国女巫去赴群魔会,既不骑扫帚,也不乘座骑,不涂油脂,只不过念几句咒语.意大利女巫总有一只公山羊在门口等着她们.她们都不得不从烟囱里出去."
有个从头到脚全身武装的小伙子高喊着,他的声音盖过了全场的喧哗声."绝了!真是绝了!今天是我头一次全身武装!流浪汉!我是流浪汉,基督的肚子呀!给我倒酒喝!......朋友们,我是磨坊的约翰.弗罗洛!出身贵族.在我认为,假若上帝是禁卫骑兵,他也一定会当强盗的.弟兄们,我们就要去进行一次壮丽的远征了.我们都是英勇的战士.我们将围攻教堂,攻进大门,救出那个漂亮的姑娘,从法官的虎口中救出她来,把她从教士手中救出来;拆毁隐修院,把主教烧死在主教府内,我们倾刻间就能大功告成,连一个镇长喝一匙汤的工夫都不要.我们的事业是正义的,我们要把圣母院一抢而空,那就把一切都.我们要吊死卡齐莫多.你们认识卡齐莫多吗,小姐们?圣灵降临节的一天,你们见过他吊在大钟上直喘气吗?圣父的角!真是妙不可言!活像一个魔鬼骑在兽嘴上.......朋友们,听我说,我心底里是流浪汉,灵魂中是黑帮,生来就是乞丐命.我曾经一度很有钱,财产都给我吃喝光了.我母亲本来要我当军官,父亲要我当副祭司,姑妈要我当审讯评议官,姑奶奶要我当穿短袍的司库,祖母要我当王上身边的红衣主教.我呀,却成了流浪汉.我把这事告诉父亲,他朝我劈头盖脸就是一顿臭骂;告诉了母亲,老太太放声痛哭,一把鼻涕一把眼泪,就像壁炉上这根木柴似的.欢乐万岁!我是个真正的祸星!酒店老板娘,给我换另一种酒来!我还付得起帐.不要再喝苏雷斯纳酒了,呛得我的喉咙难受.***!还不如吮只蓝子润喉咙来得过瘾呢!"
此时,嘈杂的人群哈哈大笑,鼓掌喝采.学子看到身边的喧闹声有增无减,随即大叫起来:"嗬!多么动听的声音!群群情激奋!"他于是唱起歌来,目光好象迷离恍惚,声调活像议事司铎唱晚祷:"多么美妙的颂歌!多么动听的乐器!多么好听的歌声!多么悦耳的旋律!管风琴奏着颂歌,歌声如蜜一般甜,旋律像天使般柔和,真是令人赞叹的圣歌中的圣歌"他停顿了一下转口叫道:"女掌柜的,给我把吃的弄点来."
有一阵子近乎沉默,只听到埃及公爵的尖嗓门正在教导吉卜赛人"......鼬叫阿杜伊纳,狐狸叫蓝脚或林中奔跑者,熊叫老头或祖父,狼叫灰脚或金脚.......地鬼的帽子可以隐形,却可以看见隐形的东西.......你要给蛤蟆洗礼的话,必须给它穿上红色或黑色天鹅绒衣服,脖子上挂个铃铛,脚上也系一个铃铛.教母提着它的后部,教父抓住它的脑袋.......魔鬼西德拉加苏姆有魔力叫姑娘们一丝不挂地跳舞."
"以弥撒的名义!"约翰插嘴说,"我发誓我愿意做魔鬼西德拉加苏姆."
同时,流浪汉们在酒馆的另一头继续武装,低声地交头接耳.
"这个可怜的爱斯梅拉达!"一个吉卜赛人说道,"她是我们的姐妹.......我们务必要把她从那里救出来."
"她真的一直呆在圣母院吗?"一个像犹太人面容的卖假货的问.
"当然,错不了!"
"那好!伙伴们,"卖假货的叫道,"到圣母院去!尤其是在圣徒弗吕西翁和弗雷奥尔的小礼拜堂里有两座雕像,一座是圣让.巴蒂斯特,另一座是圣安东尼,两座全是黄金的,总共重17金马克16埃斯特林,镀金的银底座重17马克5盎司.我很清楚,因为我是金银匠."
这时有人给约翰端来晚饭.他往后一仰,全身倚在旁边一个姑娘的胸前,大声嚷嚷道:
"以圣弗尔特.德.吕克,就是民众称作圣高格吕的名义起誓,我真是太高兴了.我面前有一个傻瓜蛋,光溜溜的脸蛋活像个屁股蛋,正盯着我看.左边又有个笨蛋.牙齿长得把下巴也遮住了.还有,我就像围攻蓬杜瓦兹的吉埃元帅,右边靠在一个女人的奶头上.穆罕默德的肚子呀!伙伴们!你看上去像个卖蛋的商贩,你竟过来坐在我身旁!我是贵族,朋友,商人和贵族是不能相提并论的.给我滚开去.......嗬啦嘿!你们这班人!别打啦!如何,你这专啄呆鹅的巴蒂斯特,你的鼻子可真漂亮,竟拿它去跟那莽撞汉的大拳头硬拼!笨猪!并不是人人都有鼻子的.......你真神,啃耳朵雅克琳娜!你没有头发真是遗憾.嗬啦!我叫约翰.弗罗洛.我哥哥是副主教.让他见鬼去吧!我跟你说的全是实话.当了流浪汉,我心甘情愿地放弃了我哥哥许诺给我的天堂府邸的一半所有权,天堂的半边房子.我引用的是原话,我在蒂尔夏普街有一采邑,所有女人都爱上我,这是千真万确的,正如巴黎这个华都的五大行业是制革,正如圣埃洛瓦是一个出色的金银匠,鞣革,绶带制作,钱袋制作和苦力,正如圣洛朗是用蛋壳烧的火烧死的.伙伴们,我向你们发誓:假如我在此说谎,一年内不喝黄汤!
迷人的姑娘,月光正是明亮,你就从通风孔看一看那边,风儿如何弄皱云彩!就像我这样搓揉你的胸衣.......姑娘们!擤掉孩子的鼻涕吧,剪掉烛花吧.基督和穆罕默德呀,我这吃的是什么!朱庇特!哎呀!老婆子!这里骚娘们头上看不到头发,头发全***跑到你的煎鸡蛋里来了.老婆子!我喜欢秃头的炒鸡蛋.让魔鬼把你变成塌鼻子!......你这漂亮的客栈真是魔鬼别西卜开的,骚娘们在这里正用餐叉梳头哩!"
话音刚落,他将盘子摔在地上,声嘶力竭地唱起来:我没有,我将以上帝的血起誓没有信仰,没有法律没有炉火,没有住宅没有国王没有上帝.
这时,克洛潘.特鲁伊甫已经发完武器,向那个看上去正想入非非,脚踩在柴架上的格兰古瓦走去."皮埃尔君,"狄纳王道,"你在想什么鬼点子?"
格兰古瓦朝他转过身,忧郁地笑了笑:"我喜欢火,亲爱的大人.这倒不是因为火可以暖我们的脚或煮我们的汤这一平庸的道理,而是因为它能发出火星.有时候,我一连几个小时观看着那些火星.我从漆黑的炉膛里闪耀着的那些火花中发现了许许多多的事物.每一个火花就是一个世界."
"我要是能懂得你在说些什么,那就让我雷打电劈!"流浪汉说,"可你知道现在几点?"
"不知道."格兰古瓦应声道.
克洛潘走近埃及公爵.
"马西亚伙计,时辰可不好.听说国王路易十一正在巴黎呢."
"那就更有道理把我们的妹妹从他的魔掌中解救出来."老吉卜赛人答道.
"你这话真是男子汉说的,马西亚."狄纳王说,"再说,我们会干得干脆利落.教堂里,没有什么抵抗可担心的.那班议事司铎都是些兔崽子,而我们人多势众.大理院明天会派人来抓她.就会束手待擒!教皇的肚肠!我可不愿让人把那漂亮的小妞绞死."
刚把适说完,克洛潘就走出了小酒馆.
这时,约翰用嘶哑的嗓门叫道:"我喝,我吃,我醉了,我是朱庇特!......啊!屠夫皮埃尔,你再这样看着我,我不教你吃几个响栗子,弹掉你鼻子上的灰才怪呢!"
格兰古瓦从沉思中已醒过来,开始观察周围这狂热嘶叫的场面,低声咕噜道:"酒乱性,醉狂嚣.咳!我不喝酒真有道理,圣勃鲁瓦说得真好:酒甚至可以叫智者迷住心窍."
这时,克洛潘走了回来,张开雷鸣般的大嗓门嚷道:"午夜十二点啦!"
这句话就像给正在休息的部队下令备鞍上马一般,所有流浪汉,女人.男人.孩子,闻声成群集队,冲到小酒馆外面,武器和铁器的碰撞声响成一片.
月光早就暗淡下去了.
奇迹宫廷里一团漆黑,没有一丝亮光,但绝不是荒无人烟.能分辨得出里面一群男女在低声说话.听得见他们嗡嗡营营,看得见他们的各种武器在黑暗中闪闪发光.克洛潘登上了一块大石头,大声喊道:"入列,黑帮!入列,埃及!入列,加利列!"黑暗中一阵骚乱.大队人马看起来在排成纵队.二分钟后狄纳王又提高嗓门说:"现在,悄悄穿过巴黎!口令是:小刀在闲荡!到了圣母院才许点火把!出发!"
十分钟后,长长的一队黑衣人,哑然无声穿过弯弯曲曲的大街小巷从各个方向潜入菜市场巨大的街区,朝兑换所桥走下去,把巡逻队骑兵吓得四处逃窜.

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER IV.AN AWKWARD FRIEND. Page 1》
That night, Quasimodo did not sleep.He had just made his last round of the church.He had not noticed, that at the moment when he was closing the doors, the archdeacon had passed close to him and betrayed some displeasure on seeing him bolting and barring with care the enormous iron locks which gave to their large leaves the solidity of a wall.Dom Claude's air was even more preoccupied than usual.Moreover, since the nocturnal adventure in the cell, he had constantly abused Quasimodo, but in vain did he ill treat, and even beat him occasionally, nothing disturbed the submission, patience, the devoted resignation of the faithful bellringer.He endured everything on the part of the archdeacon, insults, threats, blows, without murmuring a complaint.At the most, he gazed uneasily after Dom Claude when the latter ascended the staircase of the tower; but the archdeacon had abstained from presenting himself again before the gypsy's eyes.
On that night, accordingly, Quasimodo, after having cast a glance at his poor bells which he so neglected now, Jacqueline, Marie, and Thibauld, mounted to the summit of the Northern tower, and there setting his dark lanturn, well closed, upon the leads, he began to gaze at paris.The night, as we have already said, was very dark.paris which, so to speak was not lighted at that epoch, presented to the eye a confused collection of black masses, cut here and there by the whitish curve of the Seine.Quasimodo no longer saw any light with the exception of one window in a distant edifice, whose vague and sombre profile was outlined well above the roofs, in the direction of the porte Sainte-Antoine. There also, there was some one awake.
As the only eye of the bellringer peered into that horizon of mist and night, he felt within him an inexpressible uneasiness.For several days he had been upon his guard.He had perceived men of sinister mien, who never took their eyes from the young girl's asylum, prowling constantly about the church.He fancied that some plot might be in process of formation against the unhappy refugee.He imagined that there existed a popular hatred against her, as against himself, and that it was very possible that something might happen soon.Hence he remained upon his tower on the watch, "dreaming in his dream-place," as Rabelais says, with his eye directed alternately on the cell and on paris, keeping faithful guard, like a good dog, with a thousand suspicions in his mind.
All at once, while he was scrutinizing the great city with that eye which nature, by a sort of compensation, had made so piercing that it could almost supply the other organs which Quasimodo lacked, it seemed to him that there was something singular about the Quay de la Vieille-pelleterie, that there was a movement at that point, that the line of the parapet, standing out blackly against the whiteness of the water was not straight and tranquil, like that of the other quays, but that it undulated to the eye, like the waves of a river, or like the heads of a crowd in motion.
This struck him as strange.He redoubled his attention. The movement seemed to be advancing towards the City. There was no light.It lasted for some time on the quay; then it gradually ceased, as though that which was passing were entering the interior of the island; then it stopped altogether, and the line of the quay became straight and motionless again.
At the moment when Quasimodo was lost in conjectures, it seemed to him that the movement had re-appeared in the Rue du parvis, which is prolonged into the city perpendicularly to the fa?ade of Notre-Dame.At length, dense as was the darkness, he beheld the head of a column debouch from that street, and in an instant a crowd--of which nothing could be distinguished in the gloom except that it was a crowd--spread over the place.
This spectacle had a terror of its own.It is probable that this singular procession, which seemed so desirous of concealing itself under profound darkness, maintained a silence no less profound.Nevertheless, some noise must have escaped it, were it only a trampling.But this noise did not even reach our deaf man, and this great multitude, of which he saw hardly anything, and of which he heard nothing, though it was marching and moving so near him, produced upon him the effect of a rabble of dead men, mute, impalpable, lost in a smoke.It seemed to him, that he beheld advancing towards him a fog of men, and that he saw shadows moving in the shadow.
Then his fears returned to him, the idea of an attempt against the gypsy presented itself once more to his mind. He was conscious, in a confused way, that a violent crisis was approaching.At that critical moment he took counsel with himself, with better and prompter reasoning than one would have expected from so badly organized a brain.Ought he to awaken the gypsy? to make her escape?Whither?The streets were invested, the church backed on the river.No boat, no issue!--There was but one thing to be done; to allow himself to be killed on the threshold of Notre-Dame, to resist at least until succor arrived, if it should arrive, and not to trouble la Esmeralda's sleep.This resolution once taken, he set to examining the enemy with more tranquillity.
The throng seemed to increase every moment in the church square.Only, he presumed that it must be making very little noise, since the windows on the place remained closed. All at once, a flame flashed up, and in an instant seven or eight lighted torches passed over the heads of the crowd, shaking their tufts of flame in the deep shade.Quasimodo then beheld distinctly surging in the parvis a frightful herd of men and women in rags, armed with scythes, pikes, billhooks and partisans, whose thousand points glittered.Here and there black pitchforks formed horns to the hideous faces. He vaguely recalled this populace, and thought that he recognized all the heads who had saluted him as pope of the Fools some months previously.One man who held a torch in one hand and a club in the other, mounted a stone post and seemed to be haranguing them.At the same time the strange army executed several evolutions, as though it were taking up its post around the church.Quasimodo picked up his lantern and descended to the platform between the towers, in order to get a nearer view, and to spy out a means of defence.
Clopin Trouillefou, on arriving in front of the lofty portal of Notre-Dame had, in fact, ranged his troops in order of battle.Although he expected no resistance, he wished, like a prudent general, to preserve an order which would permit him to face, at need, a sudden attack of the watch or the police.He had accordingly stationed his brigade in such a manner that, viewed from above and from a distance, one would have pronounced it the Roman triangle of the battle of Ecnomus, the boar's head of Alexander or the famous wedge of Gustavus Adolphus.The base of this triangle rested on the back of the place in such a manner as to bar the entrance of the Rue du parvis; one of its sides faced H?tel-Dieu, the other the Rue Saint-pierre-aux-Boeufs.Clopin Trouillefou had placed himself at the apex with the Duke of Egypt, our friend Jehan, and the most daring of the scavengers.
An enterprise like that which the vagabonds were now undertaking against Notre-Dame was not a very rare thing in the cities of the Middle Ages.What we now call the "police" did not exist then.In populous cities, especially in capitals, there existed no single, central, regulating power.Feudalism had constructed these great communities in a singular manner.A city was an assembly of a thousand seigneuries, which divided it into compartments of all shapes and sizes.Hence, a thousand conflicting establishments of police; that is to say, no police at all.In paris, for example, independently of the hundred and forty-one lords who laid claim to a manor, there were five and twenty who laid claim to a manor and to administering justice, from the Bishop of paris, who had five hundred streets, to the prior of Notre- Dame des Champs, who had four.All these feudal justices recognized the suzerain authority of the king only in name. All possessed the right of control over the roads.All were at home.Louis XI., that indefatigable worker, who so largely began the demolition of the feudal edifice, continued by Richelieu and Louis XIV.for the profit of royalty, and finished by Mirabeau for the benefit of the people,--Louis XI. had certainly made an effort to break this network of seignories which covered paris, by throwing violently across them all two or three troops of general police.Thus, in 1465, an order to the inhabitants to light candles in their windows at nightfall, and to shut up their dogs under penalty of death; in the same year, an order to close the streets in the evening with iron chains, and a prohibition to wear daggers or weapons of offence in the streets at night.But in a very short time, all these efforts at communal legislation fell into abeyance. The bourgeois permitted the wind to blow out their candles in the windows, and their dogs to stray; the iron chains were stretched only in a state of siege; the prohibition to wear daggers wrought no other changes than from the name of the Rue Coupe-Gueule to the name of the Rue-Coupe-Gorge* which is an evident progress.The old scaffolding of feudal jurisdictions remained standing; an immense aggregation of bailiwicks and seignories crossing each other all over the city, interfering with each other, entangled in one another, enmeshing each other, trespassing on each other; a useless thicket of watches, sub-watches and counter-watches, over which, with armed force, passed brigandage, rapine, and sedition.Hence, in this disorder, deeds of violence on the part of the populace directed against a palace, a hotel, or house in the most thickly populated quarters, were not unheard-of occurrences.In the majority of such cases, the neighbors did not meddle with the matter unless the pillaging extended to themselves. They stopped up their ears to the musket shots, closed their shutters, barricaded their doors, allowed the matter to be concluded with or without the watch, and the next day it was said in paris, "Etienne Barbette was broken open last night. The Marshal de Clermont was seized last night, etc."Hence, not only the royal habitations, the Louvre, the palace, the Bastille, the Tournelles, but simply seignorial residences, the petit-Bourbon, the H?tel de Sens, the H?tel d' Angoulême, etc., had battlements on their walls, and machicolations over their doors.Churches were guarded by their sanctity.Some, among the number Notre-Dame, were fortified.The Abbey of Saint-German-des-pres was castellated like a baronial mansion, and more brass expended about it in bombards than in bells.Its fortress was still to be seen in 1610.To-day, barely its church remains.
*Cut-throat.Coupe-gueule being the vulgar word for cut-weazand.
Let us return to Notre-Dame.
When the first arrangements were completed, and we must say, to the honor of vagabond discipline, that Clopin's orders were executed in silence, and with admirable precision, the worthy chief of the band, mounted on the parapet of the church square, and raised his hoarse and surly voice, turning towards Notre-Dame, and brandishing his torch whose light, tossed by the wind, and veiled every moment by its own smoke, made the reddish fa?ade of the church appear and disappear before the eye.
"To you, Louis de Beaumont, bishop of paris, counsellor in the Court of parliament, I, Clopin Trouillefou, king of Thunes, grand Co?sre, prince of Argot, bishop of fools, I say: Our sister, falsely condemned for magic, hath taken refuge in your church, you owe her asylum and safety.Now the Court of parliament wishes to seize her once more there, and you consent to it; so that she would be hanged to-morrow in the Grève, if God and the outcasts were not here.If your church is sacred, so is our sister; if our sister is not sacred, neither is your church.That is why we call upon you to return the girl if you wish to save your church, or we will take possession of the girl again and pillage the church, which will be a good thing.In token of which I here plant my banner, and may God preserve you, bishop of paris,"
Quasimodo could not, unfortunately, hear these words uttered with a sort of sombre and savage majesty.A vagabond presented his banner to Clopin, who planted it solemnly between two paving-stones.It was a pitchfork from whose points hung a bleeding quarter of carrion meat.
That done, the King of Thunes turned round and cast his eyes over his army, a fierce multitude whose glances flashed almost equally with their pikes.After a momentary pause,--"Forward, my Sons!" he cried; "to work, locksmiths!"
Thirty bold men, square shouldered, and with pick-lock faces, stepped from the ranks, with hammers, pincers, and bars of iron on their shoulders.They betook themselves to the principal door of the church, ascended the steps, and were soon to be seen squatting under the arch, working at the door with pincers and levers; a throng of vagabonds followed them to help or look on.The eleven steps before the portal were covered with them.
But the door stood firm."The devil! 'tis hard and obstinate!" said one."It is old, and its gristles have become bony," said another."Courage, comrades!" resumed Clopin. "I wager my head against a dipper that you will have opened the door, rescued the girl, and despoiled the chief altar before a single beadle is awake.Stay!I think I hear the lock breaking up."
Clopin was interrupted by a frightful uproar which re- sounded behind him at that moment.He wheeled round. An enormous beam had just fallen from above; it had crushed a dozen vagabonds on the pavement with the sound of a cannon, breaking in addition, legs here and there in the crowd of beggars, who sprang aside with cries of terror.In a twinkling, the narrow precincts of the church parvis were cleared.The locksmiths, although protected by the deep vaults of the portal, abandoned the door and Clopin himself retired to a respectful distance from the church.
"I had a narrow escape!" cried Jehan."I felt the wind, of it, ~tête-de-boeuf~! but pierre the Slaughterer is slaughtered!"
It is impossible to describe the astonishment mingled with fright which fell upon the ruffians in company with this beam.
They remained for several minutes with their eyes in the air, more dismayed by that piece of wood than by the king's twenty thousand archers.
"Satan!" muttered the Duke of Egypt, "this smacks of magic!"
"'Tis the moon which threw this log at us," said Andry the Red.
"Call the moon the friend of the Virgin, after that!" went on Francois Chanteprune.
"A thousand popes!" exclaimed Clopin, "you are all fools!"But he did not know how to explain the fall of the beam.
Meanwhile, nothing could be distinguished on the fa?ade, to whose summit the light of the torches did not reach.The heavy beam lay in the middle of the enclosure, and groans were heard from the poor wretches who had received its first shock, and who had been almost cut in twain, on the angle of the stone steps.
The King of Thunes, his first amazement passed, finally found an explanation which appeared plausible to his companions.
"Throat of God! are the canons defending themselves? To the sack, then! to the sack!"
"To the sack!" repeated the rabble, with a furious hurrah. A discharge of crossbows and hackbuts against the front of the church followed.
At this detonation, the peaceable inhabitants of the surrounding houses woke up; many windows were seen to open, and nightcaps and hands holding candles appeared at the casements.
"Fire at the windows," shouted Clopin.The windows were immediately closed, and the poor bourgeois, who had hardly had time to cast a frightened glance on this scene of gleams and tumult, returned, perspiring with fear to their wives, asking themselves whether the witches' sabbath was now being held in the parvis of Notre-Dame, or whether there was an assault of Burgundians, as in '64.Then the husbands thought of theft; the wives, of rape; and all trembled.
"To the sack!" repeated the thieves' crew; but they dared not approach.They stared at the beam, they stared at the church.The beam did not stir, the edifice preserved its calm and deserted air; but something chilled the outcasts.
"To work, locksmiths!" shouted Trouillefou."Let the door be forced!"
No one took a step.
"Beard and belly!" said Clopin, "here be men afraid of a beam."
An old locksmith addressed him--
"Captain, 'tis not the beam which bothers us, 'tis the door, which is all covered with iron bars.Our pincers are powerless against it."
"What more do you want to break it in?" demanded Clopin.
"Ah! we ought to have a battering ram."
The King of Thunes ran boldly to the formidable beam, and placed his foot upon it: "Here is one!" he exclaimed; "'tis the canons who send it to you."And, making a mocking salute in the direction of the church, "Thanks, canons!"
This piece of bravado produced its effects,--the spell of the beam was broken.The vagabonds recovered their courage; soon the heavy joist, raised like a feather by two hundred vigorous arms, was flung with fury against the great door which they had tried to batter down.At the sight of that long beam, in the half-light which the infrequent torches of the brigands spread over the place, thus borne by that crowd of men who dashed it at a run against the church, one would have thought that he beheld a monstrous beast with a thousand feet attacking with lowered head the giant of stone.
At the shock of the beam, the half metallic door sounded like an immense drum; it was not burst in, but the whole cathedral trembled, and the deepest cavities of the edifice were heard to echo.
At the same moment, a shower of large stones began to fall from the top of the fa?ade on the assailants.
"The devil!" cried Jehan, "are the towers shaking their balustrades down on our heads?"
But the impulse had been given, the King of Thunes had set the example.Evidently, the bishop was defending himself, and they only battered the door with the more rage, in spite of the stones which cracked skulls right and left.
It was remarkable that all these stones fell one by one; but they followed each other closely.The thieves always felt two at a time, one on their legs and one on their heads.There were few which did not deal their blow, and a large layer of dead and wounded lay bleeding and panting beneath the feet of the assailants who, now grown furious, replaced each other without intermission.The long beam continued to belabor the door, at regular intervals, like the clapper of a bell, the stones to rain down, the door to groan.
The reader has no doubt divined that this unexpected resistance which had exasperated the outcasts came from Quasimodo.
Chance had, unfortunately, favored the brave deaf man.
When he had descended to the platform between the towers, his ideas were all in confusion.He had run up and down along the gallery for several minutes like a madman, surveying from above, the compact mass of vagabonds ready to hurl itself on the church, demanding the safety of the gypsy from the devil or from God.The thought had occurred to him of ascending to the southern belfry and sounding the alarm, but before he could have set the bell in motion, before Marie's voice could have uttered a single clamor, was there not time to burst in the door of the church ten times over? It was precisely the moment when the locksmiths were advancing upon it with their tools.What was to be done?

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER IV.AN AWKWARD FRIEND. Page 2》
All at once, he remembered that some masons had been at work all day repairing the wall, the timber-work, and the roof of the south tower.This was a flash of light.The wall was of stone, the roof of lead, the timber-work of wood.(That prodigious timber-work, so dense that it was called "the forest.")
Quasimodo hastened to that tower.The lower chambers were, in fact, full of materials.There were piles of rough blocks of stone, sheets of lead in rolls, bundles of laths, heavy beams already notched with the saw, heaps of plaster.
Time was pressing, The pikes and hammers were at work below.With a strength which the sense of danger increased tenfold, he seized one of the beams--the longest and heaviest; he pushed it out through a loophole, then, grasping it again outside of the tower, he made it slide along the angle of the balustrade which surrounds the platform, and let it fly into the abyss.The enormous timber, during that fall of a hundred and sixty feet, scraping the wall, breaking the carvings, turned many times on its centre, like the arm of a windmill flying off alone through space.At last it reached the ground, the horrible cry arose, and the black beam, as it rebounded from the pavement, resembled a serpent leaping.
Quasimodo beheld the outcasts scatter at the fall of the beam, like ashes at the breath of a child.He took advantage of their fright, and while they were fixing a superstitious glance on the club which had fallen from heaven, and while they were putting out the eyes of the stone saints on the front with a discharge of arrows and buckshot, Quasimodo was silently piling up plaster, stones, and rough blocks of stone, even the sacks of tools belonging to the masons, on the edge of the balustrade from which the beam had already been hurled.
Thus, as soon as they began to batter the grand door, the shower of rough blocks of stone began to fall, and it seemed to them that the church itself was being demolished over their heads.
Any one who could have beheld Quasimodo at that moment would have been frightened.Independently of the projectiles which he had piled upon the balustrade, he had collected a heap of stones on the platform itself.As fast as the blocks on the exterior edge were exhausted, he drew on the heap. Then he stooped and rose, stooped and rose again with incredible activity.His huge gnome's head bent over the balustrade, then an enormous stone fell, then another, then another. From time to time, he followed a fine stone with his eye, and when it did good execution, he said, "Hum!"
Meanwhile, the beggars did not grow discouraged.The thick door on which they were venting their fury had already trembled more than twenty times beneath the weight of their oaken battering-ram, multiplied by the strength of a hundred men.The panels cracked, the carved work flew into splinters, the hinges, at every blow, leaped from their pins, the planks yawned, the wood crumbled to powder, ground between the iron sheathing.Fortunately for Quasimodo, there was more iron than wood.
Nevertheless, he felt that the great door was yielding. Although he did not hear it, every blow of the ram reverberated simultaneously in the vaults of the church and within it. From above he beheld the vagabonds, filled with triumph and rage, shaking their fists at the gloomy fa?ade; and both on the gypsy's account and his own he envied the wings of the owls which flitted away above his head in flocks.
His shower of stone blocks was not sufficient to repel the assailants.
At this moment of anguish, he noticed, a little lower down than the balustrade whence he was crushing the thieves, two long stone gutters which discharged immediately over the great door; the internal orifice of these gutters terminated on the pavement of the platform.An idea occurred to him; he ran in search of a fagot in his bellringer's den, placed on this fagot a great many bundles of laths, and many rolls of lead, munitions which he had not employed so far, and having arranged this pile in front of the hole to the two gutters, he set it on fire with his lantern.
During this time, since the stones no longer fell, the outcasts ceased to gaze into the air.The bandits, panting like a pack of hounds who are forcing a boar into his lair, pressed tumultuously round the great door, all disfigured by the battering ram, but still standing.They were waiting with a quiver for the great blow which should split it open.They vied with each other in pressing as close as possible, in order to dash among the first, when it should open, into that opulent cathedral, a vast reservoir where the wealth of three centuries had been piled up.They reminded each other with roars of exultation and greedy lust, of the beautiful silver crosses, the fine copes of brocade, the beautiful tombs of silver gilt, the great magnificences of the choir, the dazzling festivals, the Christmasses sparkling with torches, the Easters sparkling with sunshine,--all those splendid solemneties wherein chandeliers, ciboriums, tabernacles, and reliquaries, studded the altars with a crust of gold and diamonds.Certainly, at that fine moment, thieves and pseudo sufferers, doctors in stealing, and vagabonds, were thinking much less of delivering the gypsy than of pillaging Notre-Dame.We could even easily believe that for a goodly number among them la Esmeralda was only a pretext, if thieves needed pretexts.
All at once, at the moment when they were grouping themselves round the ram for a last effort, each one holding his breath and stiffening his muscles in order to communicate all his force to the decisive blow, a howl more frightful still than that which had burst forth and expired beneath the beam, rose among them.Those who did not cry out, those who were still alive, looked.Two streams of melted lead were falling from the summit of the edifice into the thickest of the rabble. That sea of men had just sunk down beneath the boiling metal, which had made, at the two points where it fell, two black and smoking holes in the crowd, such as hot water would make in snow.Dying men, half consumed and groaning with anguish, could be seen writhing there.Around these two principal streams there were drops of that horrible rain, which scattered over the assailants and entered their skulls like gimlets of fire.It was a heavy fire which overwhelmed these wretches with a thousand hailstones.
The outcry was heartrending.They fled pell-mell, hurling the beam upon the bodies, the boldest as well as the most timid, and the parvis was cleared a second time.
All eyes were raised to the top of the church.They beheld there an extraordinary sight.On the crest of the highest gallery, higher than the central rose window, there was a great flame rising between the two towers with whirlwinds of sparks, a vast, disordered, and furious flame, a tongue of which was borne into the smoke by the wind, from time to time.Below that fire, below the gloomy balustrade with its trefoils showing darkly against its glare, two spouts with monster throats were vomiting forth unceasingly that burning rain, whose silvery stream stood out against the shadows of the lower fa?ade.As they approached the earth, these two jets of liquid lead spread out in sheaves, like water springing from the thousand holes of a watering-pot.Above the flame, the enormous towers, two sides of each of which were visible in sharp outline, the one wholly black, the other wholly red, seemed still more vast with all the immensity of the shadow which they cast even to the sky.
Their innumerable sculptures of demons and dragons assumed a lugubrious aspect.The restless light of the flame made them move to the eye.There were griffins which had the air of laughing, gargoyles which one fancied one heard yelping, salamanders which puffed at the fire, tarasques* which sneezed in the smoke.And among the monsters thus roused from their sleep of stone by this flame, by this noise, there was one who walked about, and who was seen, from time to time, to pass across the glowing face of the pile, like a bat in front of a candle.
*The representation of a monstrous animal solemnly drawn about in Tarascon and other French towns.
Without doubt, this strange beacon light would awaken far away, the woodcutter of the hills of Bicêtre, terrified to behold the gigantic shadow of the towers of Notre-Dame quivering over his heaths.
A terrified silence ensued among the outcasts, during which nothing was heard, but the cries of alarm of the canons shut up in their cloister, and more uneasy than horses in a burning stable, the furtive sound of windows hastily opened and still more hastily closed, the internal hurly-burly of the houses and of the H?tel-Dieu, the wind in the flame, the last death-rattle of the dying, and the continued crackling of the rain of lead upon the pavement.
In the meanwhile, the principal vagabonds had retired beneath the porch of the Gondelaurier mansion, and were holding a council of war.
The Duke of Egypt, seated on a stone post, contemplated the phantasmagorical bonfire, glowing at a height of two hundred feet in the air, with religious terror.Clopin Trouillefou bit his huge fists with rage.
"Impossible to get in!" he muttered between his teeth.
"An old, enchanted church!" grumbled the aged Bohemian, Mathias Hungadi Spicali.
"By the pope's whiskers!" went on a sham soldier, who had once been in service, "here are church gutters spitting melted lead at you better than the machicolations of Lectoure."
"Do you see that demon passing and repassing in front of the fire?" exclaimed the Duke of Egypt.
"pardieu, 'tis that damned bellringer, 'tis Quasimodo," said Clopin.
The Bohemian tossed his head."I tell you, that 'tis the spirit Sabnac, the grand marquis, the demon of fortifications. He has the form of an armed soldier, the head of a lion. Sometimes he rides a hideous horse.He changes men into stones, of which he builds towers.He commands fifty legions 'Tis he indeed; I recognize him.Sometimes he is clad in a handsome golden robe, figured after the Turkish fashion."
"Where is Bellevigne de l'Etoile?" demanded Clopin.
"He is dead."
Andry the Red laughed in an idiotic way: "Notre-Dame is making work for the hospital," said he.
"Is there, then, no way of forcing this door," exclaimed the King of Thunes, stamping his foot.
The Duke of Egypt pointed sadly to the two streams of boiling lead which did not cease to streak the black facade, like two long distaffs of phosphorus.
"Churches have been known to defend themselves thus all by themselves," he remarked with a sigh."Saint-Sophia at Constantinople, forty years ago, hurled to the earth three times in succession, the crescent of Mahom, by shaking her domes, which are her heads.Guillaume de paris, who built this one was a magician."
"Must we then retreat in pitiful fashion, like highwaymen?" said Clopin."Must we leave our sister here, whom those hooded wolves will hang to-morrow."
"And the sacristy, where there are wagon-loads of gold!" added a vagabond, whose name, we regret to say, we do not know.
"Beard of Mahom!" cried Trouillefou.
"Let us make another trial," resumed the vagabond.
Mathias Hungadi shook his head.
"We shall never get in by the door.We must find the defect in the armor of the old fairy; a hole, a false postern, some joint or other."
"Who will go with me?" said Clopin."I shall go at it again.By the way, where is the little scholar Jehan, who is so encased in iron?"
"He is dead, no doubt," some one replied; "we no longer hear his laugh."
The King of Thunes frowned: "So much the worse.There was a brave heart under that ironmongery.And Master pierre Gringoire?"
"Captain Clopin," said Andry the Red, "he slipped away before we reached the pont-aux-Changeurs,"
Clopin stamped his foot."Gueule-Dieu! 'twas he who pushed us on hither, and he has deserted us in the very middle of the job!Cowardly chatterer, with a slipper for a helmet!"
"Captain Clopin," said Andry the Red, who was gazing down Rue du parvis, "yonder is the little scholar."
"praised be pluto!" said Clopin."But what the devil is he dragging after him?"
It was, in fact, Jehan, who was running as fast as his heavy outfit of a paladin, and a long ladder which trailed on the pavement, would permit, more breathless than an ant harnessed to a blade of grass twenty times longer than itself.
"Victory!~Te Deum~!" cried the scholar."Here is the ladder of the longshoremen of port Saint-Landry."
Clopin approached him.
"Child, what do you mean to do, ~corne-dieu~!with this ladder?"
"I have it," replied Jehan, panting."I knew where it was under the shed of the lieutenant's house.There's a wench there whom I know, who thinks me as handsome as Cupido. I made use of her to get the ladder, and I have the ladder, ~pasque-Mahom~!The poor girl came to open the door to me in her shift."
"Yes," said Clopin, "but what are you going to do with that ladder?"
Jehan gazed at him with a malicious, knowing look, and cracked his fingers like castanets.At that moment he was sublime.On his head he wore one of those overloaded helmets of the fifteenth century, which frightened the enemy with their fanciful crests.His bristled with ten iron beaks, so that Jehan could have disputed with Nestor's Homeric vessel the redoubtable title of ~dexeubolos~.
"What do I mean to do with it, august king of Thunes? Do you see that row of statues which have such idiotic expressions, yonder, above the three portals?"
"Yes.Well?"
"'Tis the gallery of the kings of France."
"What is that to me?" said Clopin.
"Wait!At the end of that gallery there is a door which is never fastened otherwise than with a latch, and with this ladder I ascend, and I am in the church."
"Child let me be the first to ascend."
"No, comrade, the ladder is mine.Come, you shall be the second."
"May Beelzebub strangle you!" said surly Clopin, "I won't be second to anybody."
"Then find a ladder, Clopin!"
Jehan set out on a run across the place, dragging his ladder and shouting: "Follow me, lads!"
In an instant the ladder was raised, and propped against the balustrade of the lower gallery, above one of the lateral doors.The throng of vagabonds, uttering loud acclamations, crowded to its foot to ascend.But Jehan maintained his right, and was the first to set foot on the rungs.The passage was tolerably long.The gallery of the kings of France is to-day about sixty feet above the pavement.The eleven steps of the flight before the door, made it still higher. Jehan mounted slowly, a good deal incommoded by his heavy armor, holding his crossbow in one hand, and clinging to a rung with the other.When he reached the middle of the ladder, he cast a melancholy glance at the poor dead outcasts, with which the steps were strewn."Alas!" said he, "here is a heap of bodies worthy of the fifth book of the Iliad!"Then he continued his ascent.The vagabonds followed him.There was one on every rung.At the sight of this line of cuirassed backs, undulating as they rose through the gloom, one would have pronounced it a serpent with steel scales, which was raising itself erect in front of the church. Jehan who formed the head, and who was whistling, completed the illusion.
The scholar finally reached the balcony of the gallery, and climbed over it nimbly, to the applause of the whole vagabond tribe.Thus master of the citadel, he uttered a shout of joy, and suddenly halted, petrified.He had just caught sight of Quasimodo concealed in the dark, with flashing eye, behind one of the statues of the kings.
Before a second assailant could gain a foothold on the gallery, the formidable hunchback leaped to the head of the ladder, without uttering a word, seized the ends of the two uprights with his powerful hands, raised them, pushed them out from the wall, balanced the long and pliant ladder, loaded with vagabonds from top to bottom for a moment, in the midst of shrieks of anguish, then suddenly, with superhuman force, hurled this cluster of men backward into the place. There was a moment when even the most resolute trembled. The ladder, launched backwards, remained erect and standing for an instant, and seemed to hesitate, then wavered, then suddenly, describing a frightful arc of a circle eighty feet in radius, crashed upon the pavement with its load of ruffians, more rapidly than a drawbridge when its chains break. There arose an immense imprecation, then all was still, and a few mutilated wretches were seen, crawling over the heap of dead.
A sound of wrath and grief followed the first cries of triumph among the besiegers.Quasimodo, impassive, with both elbows propped on the balustrade, looked on.He had the air of an old, bushy-headed king at his window.
As for Jehan Frollo, he was in a critical position.He found himself in the gallery with the formidable bellringer, alone, separated from his companions by a vertical wall eighty feet high.While Quasimodo was dealing with the ladder, the scholar had run to the postern which he believed to be open.It was not.The deaf man had closed it behind him when he entered the gallery.Jehan had then concealed himself behind a stone king, not daring to breathe, and fixing upon the monstrous hunchback a frightened gaze, like the man, who, when courting the wife of the guardian of a menagerie, went one evening to a love rendezvous, mistook the wall which he was to climb, and suddenly found himself face to face with a white bear.
For the first few moments, the deaf man paid no heed to him; but at last he turned his head, and suddenly straightened up.He had just caught sight of the scholar.
Jehan prepared himself for a rough shock, but the deaf man remained motionless; only he had turned towards the scholar and was looking at him.
"Ho ho!" said Jehan, "what do you mean by staring at me with that solitary and melancholy eye?"
As he spoke thus, the young scamp stealthily adjusted his crossbow.
"Quasimodo!" he cried, "I am going to change your surname: you shall be called the blind man."
The shot sped.The feathered vireton* whizzed and entered the hunchback's left arm.Quasimodo appeared no more moved by it than by a scratch to King pharamond.He laid his hand on the arrow, tore it from his arm, and tranquilly broke it across his big knee; then he let the two pieces drop on the floor, rather than threw them down.But Jehan had no opportunity to fire a second time.The arrow broken, Quasimodo breathing heavily, bounded like a grasshopper, and he fell upon the scholar, whose armor was flattened against the wall by the blow.
*An arrow with a pyramidal head of iron and copper spiral wings by which a rotatory motion was communicated,
Then in that gloom, wherein wavered the light of the torches, a terrible thing was seen.
Quasimodo had grasped with his left hand the two arms of Jehan, who did not offer any resistance, so thoroughly did he feel that he was lost.With his right hand, the deaf man detached one by one, in silence, with sinister slowness, all the pieces of his armor, the sword, the daggers, the helmet, the cuirass, the leg pieces.One would have said that it was a monkey taking the shell from a nut.Quasimodo flung the scholar's iron shell at his feet, piece by piece. When the scholar beheld himself disarmed, stripped, weak, and naked in those terrible hands, he made no attempt to speak to the deaf man, but began to laugh audaciously in his face, and to sing with his intrepid heedlessness of a child of sixteen, the then popular ditty:-
"~Elle est bien habillée, La ville de Cambrai; Marafin l'a pillée~..."*
* The city of Cambrai is well dressed.Marafin plundered it.
He did not finish.Quasimodo was seen on the parapet of the gallery, holding the scholar by the feet with one hand and whirling him over the abyss like a sling; then a sound like that of a bony structure in contact with a wall was heard, and something was seen to fall which halted a third of the way down in its fall, on a projection in the architecture.It was a dead body which remained hanging there, bent double, its loins broken, its skull empty.
A cry of horror rose among the vagabonds.
"Vengeance!" shouted Clopin."To the sack!" replied the multitude."Assault! assault!"
There came a tremendous howl, in which were mingled all tongues, all dialects, all accents.The death of the poor scholar imparted a furious ardor to that crowd.It was seized with shame, and the wrath of having been held so long in check before a church by a hunchback.Rage found ladders, multiplied the torches, and, at the expiration of a few minutes, Quasimodo, in despair, beheld that terrible ant heap mount on all sides to the assault of Notre-Dame.Those who had no ladders had knotted ropes; those who had no ropes climbed by the projections of the carvings.They hung from each other's rags.There were no means of resisting that rising tide of frightful faces; rage made these fierce countenances ruddy; their clayey brows were dripping with sweat; their eyes darted lightnings; all these grimaces, all these horrors laid siege to Quasimodo.One would have said that some other church had despatched to the assault of Notre-Dame its gorgons, its dogs, its drées, its demons, its most fantastic sculptures.It was like a layer of living monsters on the stone monsters of the fa?ade.
Meanwhile, the place was studded with a thousand torches. This scene of confusion, till now hid in darkness, was suddenly flooded with light.The parvis was resplendent, and cast a radiance on the sky; the bonfire lighted on the lofty platform was still burning, and illuminated the city far away. The enormous silhouette of the two towers, projected afar on the roofs of paris, and formed a large notch of black in this light.The city seemed to be aroused.Alarm bells wailed in the distance.The vagabonds howled, panted, swore, climbed; and Quasimodo, powerless against so many enemies, shuddering for the gypsy, beholding the furious faces approaching ever nearer and nearer to his gallery, entreated heaven for a miracle, and wrung his arms in despair.

《第十卷 四　一个帮倒忙的朋友》
这天夜里,卡齐莫多没有睡.他刚刚在教堂里巡视了最后一圈.然后就在他关上教堂各道大门的时候,没有注意到副主教看见他小心翼翼地插上巨大铁杠门栓,锁上挂锁,几扇大门好似铜墙铁壁般坚固,脸上所流露出来的一丝不快神情.堂.克洛德看起来比平常更加心事重重.再说,自从那天夜间摸进爱斯梅拉达的小屋经受那场遭遇一后,他时常拿卡齐莫多出气,但不管怎样粗暴对待他,甚至好几次动手揍他,丝毫也改变不了这忠心耿耿的敲钟人那种百般忍耐.俯首贴耳和逆来顺受的脾性.侮辱也罢.威胁也罢.拳打脚踢也罢,凡是来自副主教的一切他都忍受了,没有一声责难,也没有半句怨言.顶多是看见副主教爬上钟楼楼梯时,心神不定地密切注视着他的举动.不过,副主教倒是主动不再在埃及少女眼前露面.
且说到这天夜里,卡齐莫多朝玛丽亚.雅克琳.蒂博德这些被遗弃的可怜大钟瞅上一眼,随后一直登上北边钟楼的顶上,把密不通风的手提灯搁在檐边水溜口上,眺望起巴黎城来.那天夜晚,我们上文已经交代过,天黑得伸手不见五指.在那些的里,巴黎可以说是还没有路灯照明的.呈现在眼前的是一大堆模糊的黑影,这里那里,被塞纳河那微白色的弧线形河道把这黑影割裂开来.卡齐莫多在楼顶只看见圣安东桥那边,远处有座建筑物阴暗模糊的侧影高踞在所有的屋顶之上,那座建筑物有扇窗户发出光亮.那里也有个人彻夜不眠.
敲钟人任凭自己的独眼随意扫视这雾茫茫和夜沉沉的天际,内心里却感到有一种难以言传的不安.几天来他一直警惕着.他不断看见教堂周围有一些面目可憎的人在游荡着,目不转睛地注视着那少女避难的小屋.心里想到,多半是在策划什么阴谋以危害那避难的不幸姑娘.他想,民众都仇恨她,如同憎恨他一样,很可能马上就要发生什么事.所以,他坚守在钟楼上,虎视眈眈,如拉伯雷所说,在梦中左顾右盼,一会儿看看姑娘的小屋,一会儿望望巴黎,像一只忠实的狗,疑心重重,以保万无一失.
他那只独眼,大自然仿佛要对他的丑陋作为一种报偿,使之能洞察秋毫,几乎可以代替卡齐莫多所缺的其他一切器官.正当他用这只独眼仔细察看巴黎这座大都市,忽然看见老皮货沿河街的侧影有些异常,似乎有什么动静.堤岸栏杆衬映在泛白的河水上的乌黑剪影的线条,而不像别处的堤岸那么笔直而平静,看起来像在波动,犹如河水的起伏波涛,又像一群一群的人走动时脑袋的攒动.
他觉得这有些蹊跷,于是倍加注意.那运动的方向似乎是朝老城走来.不过没有一点亮光.移动在堤岸持续了一阵,随即像流水似地渐渐流过去,好像那流经过去的什么东西进了城岛里面,随后完全停止了,堤岸的轮廓又恢复笔直静止了.
在卡齐莫多绞尽脑汁百思不得其解的时候,他觉得那动着的东西又在教堂前庭街上出现了,这条街在老城垂直地一直延伸到圣母院的正面.最后,尽管夜色浓重,他还是看见有一支纵队的前列从这条街涌出,只一转眼的功夫,一群人在广场上四处散开,当然在黑暗中什么也分不清,只见黑压压的一群.
这一场景真是惊心动魄.这支奇特的行列似乎最关注的是躲藏在最阴暗的地方,并尽可能保持肃静.但是,总会弄出一点声响来,纵然只是轻微的脚步声.不过,这种声响甚至还未传到我们这个聋子耳中就消失了.这一大群人,他几乎看不见,压根儿也听不见,却在他鼻子底下攒动行进,他觉得那仿佛是一群人,无声无息,不可触摸,消失在雾霭之中.他仿佛看见一阵浓雾朝他扑来.浓雾中人影憧憧,又似乎看见一群鬼影在黑暗中移动.
他顿时心里又害怕起来,心里于是又想起有人善意要谋害埃及姑娘.他隐约地感到一场风暴迫在眉睫.在这危急关头,他自己打着主意,其推理又快又准,人们根本不会想到这个如此不健全的脑袋瓜所能想得出来的一切.该不该叫醒埃及姑娘呢!该不该叫她逃跑呢?从哪里逃呢?街道被堵住,教堂陷于背水的绝境.没有渡船!没有出路!......只有一种办法,就是死守圣母院大门,至少抵抗一阵,直到救兵到来,如果真有救兵来的话,就不要去打扰爱斯梅拉达的睡眠.不幸的姑娘非死不可的话,什么时候醒来也不会迟的.这个主意一定,他便更加冷静地观察起敌军来了.
教堂广场的人群似乎时时刻刻都在增多.只不过卡齐莫多推测,他们一是只发出他轻微的声响,因为街上和广场四周人家的窗户仍然紧闭着.突然,一道亮光闪耀,转瞬之间,七八支点燃的火炬在众人头顶上晃动,在暗影中团团火焰摇曳不定.卡齐莫多这下子明明白白地看见教堂广场上宛如波浪起伏,一大群可怕的男男女女,全是衣衫褴褛,手执长镰.梭标.柴刀.槊,其千百个尖头闪闪发光.这里那里,高举着乌黑的钢叉,远望过去,他们一张张丑恶的脸上都仿佛长了角一般.他隐约想起这群乌合之众,相信认出了几个月前拥护他为狂人教皇的所有那些面孔.有个男人一手执火把,一手执砍刀,爬上一块界碑,好像在发表什么演说.与此同时,这支奇怪的大军进行了几次调动,仿佛在占领教堂周围的阵地.卡齐莫多捡起灯往下走,来到两座钟塔之间的平台上,就近进行观察,并琢磨防御的办法.
克洛潘.特鲁伊甫已经部署手下的部队做好了战斗准备,他来到圣母院的高轩大门前.尽管他预料不会遭到任何抵抗,但作为谨慎的将领,他还是想保持队伍的秩序,以便一旦急需,随时可以抵抗巡逻队或220个弓弩手的突然袭击.他于是把部队排列成梯队.如此一来,从高处和远处看,您会说是埃克诺姆战役的罗马人三角阵,亚历山大大帝的猪头阵或居斯塔夫—阿道尔夫的著名楔形阵.这个三角形的底边正是广场的尽头,正好堵住教堂前庭街;一个斜边朝着主宫医院,另一斜边对着牛市圣彼得街.克洛潘.特鲁伊甫和埃及公爵.我们的朋友约翰以及那些最胆大的乞丐恰好站在这三角形的顶点.
类似流浪汉们此刻试图攻打圣母院这样的举动,在中世纪的城市里,并不是什么罕见的事儿.今日所称的警察当时还没有.在人口众多的城市,尤其在各国京都,并不存在着一个起控制作用的中央政权.封建制度把这些大市镇建造得离奇古怪.一个城市就是千百个领主政权的集合体,把城市分割成形形色色.大小不一的格子般的藩地.由此出现了千百个互相有矛盾中突的治安机构,也就没有治安可言了.譬如,在巴黎,除了141个领主声称有权收贡税之外,还有25个自称做拥有司法权和征收贡税的领主,其中大至拥有105条街的巴黎主教,小至拥有4条街的田园圣母院的住持.所有这些拥有司法权的封建领主,仅仅在名义上承认国王的君主权.这些领主人人都有权征收路捐,个个各行其是.对这座封建制度的大厦,路易十一恰是个不知疲倦的工匠,广泛着手地加以拆除,继而黎希留和路易十一为了王权的利益又进一步加以拆毁,最后米拉波才加以彻底完成以便利于人民的利益.路易十一煞费苦心,试图撕破覆盖巴黎的这张封建领主网,曾采取激烈的措施,下了二三道谕旨,推行全面的治安,比如1465年,命令居民入夜之后要用蜡烛照亮窗户,并把狗关起来,违者处以绞刑;就在这一年,又下令晚上用铁链封锁街道,并禁止夜间携带匕首或攻击性武器上街.可是不知什么时候,所有这些市镇立法的尝试都行不通了,市民们听任夜风吹灭窗台上的蜡烛,听任他们的狗四处游荡;铁链只在戒严时才拉起来的;禁止携带凶器也没有带来什么变化,只不过将割嘴街改名为割喉街,这倒是一个明显的进步.封建司法机构这一古老的脚手架依然屹立;典吏裁判权和领主裁判权庞大的堆积,在城市形成相互交叉,互相妨碍,相互纠缠,相互嵌套,相互遮掩;巡逻队.巡逻分队.巡逻检查队如丛林密布,却毫无用处,明火执仗进行抢劫.掠夺和骚乱,依然横行无阻.在这种混乱之中,一部分贱民在人口最稠密的街区抢劫宫殿.住宅.府邸,并不是什么稀罕的事件.在大多数情况下,邻居是不管这种事情的,除非抢劫殃及他们家里,他们对火熗声充耳不闻,关闭自家的百页窗,堵住自家的门户,听凭打劫自行了结,管它有没有巡逻队干预.第二天,巴黎人互相传告说:"昨天夜里,埃蒂安纳.巴贝特被抢劫了","克莱蒙元帅被捉走了",等等.这样一来,不仅诸如司法宫.卢浮宫.巴士底宫.小塔宫这类王室的府邸,就是小波旁宫.桑斯公馆.昂古莱姆府邸等等领主住宅,围墙上都筑有雉堞,大门上都设有门垛子.教堂于是神圣,是幸免于劫的,不过其中也有一些教堂是设防的,圣母院不在此列.圣日耳曼—德—普瑞修道院如同男爵府邸也筑有雉堞,用于造臼炮的铜比用于铸钟的还要多,1610年还可以看见这座要塞,今天差不多只剩下教堂本身了.
言归正传,再说一说巴黎圣母院吧.
克洛潘的命令丝毫不爽,挨个悄悄得到了执行,这帮流浪汉纪律之严明,真应表彰.当初步部署一完毕,这个名不虚传的丐帮首领就登上前庭广场的矮墙,面向圣母院,提高沙哑的粗嗓门,挥着火把,只能看光焰被风吹得摇曳不定,时刻隐没在烟柱里,圣母院被映红的正面也随之时显时隐.克洛潘提高嗓门说道:
"告诉你,巴黎主教,大理院法庭的推事路易.德.波蒙,我,狄纳王,克洛潘.特鲁伊甫,丐帮大王,狂人的主教,黑帮亲王,我告诉你:我们的姐妹,因莫须有的行妖罪名而受到判决,躲进了你的教堂,你必须给予庇护;然而,大理院法庭要从你的教堂里把她重新逮捕,你居然同意,致使她明天就会在河滩广场被绞死,要是上帝和流浪汉不在那里的话.所以我们特来找你,主教.假如你的教堂是神圣的,那么我们的姐妹也是神圣的;如果我们的姐妹不神圣,那么你的教堂也不神圣.所以责令你把那姑娘还给我们,如果你想拯救教堂的话;否则,我们要把姑娘抢走,并洗劫你的教堂.那就太好了.为了这件事,我在这里立旗为誓.愿上帝保佑你吧,巴黎主教!"
这些话带有某种隐沉.粗犷的威严口吻,可惜卡齐莫多听不见.一个流浪汉于是把手中的旗帜献给克洛潘,克洛潘立即庄严地将它插在两块铺路的石板中间,其实这就是在一杆长柄叉齿上吊着的一块滴着血的腐肉.
插好旗帜,狄纳王转身环视他的军队.这一群人凶神恶煞,个个目光炯炯,几乎和长矛一样光芒四射.他停顿了片刻,随又大声嚷道:"前进,孩子们!干吧,好汉们!"
30个壮汉,膀大臂粗,一付锁匠的长相,应声出列,肩扛铁钳和撬杠.大锤.只见他们奔向教堂的正门,爬上石阶,随即在尖形穹窿下蹲下来.用铁钳和杠子撬那道大门.一群流浪汉也跟着过去,有的观望,有的帮忙.大门前11级台阶挤得水泄不通.
但是,大门巍然不动.一个说:"活见鬼!还挺坚实而顽固的!"另个说:"它老了,骨头也变硬了.""伙计们,加油!我敢拿我的脑袋赌一只拖鞋:还没等到教堂执事醒过来,你们早就打开大门,抢出姑娘,把主坛洗劫一空.干吧!我相信,大锁撬开啦."
正在这时,他身后突然发出一声可怕的巨响,打断了他的话.他回头一看,原来是一根巨大的屋梁从空中坠下来,砸烂了教堂台阶上十来个流浪汉,并在地面石板上滚跳着,发出炮弹般的轰响,还把乞丐群中一些人的腿压断了.叫花子们惊恐万状,呼天抢地,四处逃散.转瞬间,前庭围墙之内空无一人.撬锁的硬汉们虽然有大门的拱护住,还是放弃大门逃走了,克洛潘本人也立刻退到离教堂很远的地方.
"我差一点送了命!"约翰大声说道,"我感到有阵风刮下来,牛的头!可是酒馆老板皮埃尔被砸死了!"
这根大梁落在这帮强盗的身上所引起的惊恐,现在真是难以言表.他们直愣愣地傻站在那里,目光定定地望着天空,足有好几分钟之久,这根木头,比二万王家弓手更叫他们胆战心惊.埃及公爵嘟哝着:"撒旦!这里头一定有妖法!"红脸安德里说:"是月亮朝我们扔下这根柴火棍的."弗朗索瓦.香特勃吕纳接过话头道:"这么说来,月亮是圣母的知交啦!"克洛潘大声吼道:"胡说八道!你们个个都是大傻瓜!"但是,他也无法解释这根巨梁坠落的缘由.
这时,教堂的里面什么也看不清,火把的亮光照不到它的顶部.那一根沉重的厚梁横在前庭中间,只听见最先被击中,腹部在石阶角上被拦腰截为两段的那些不幸者的呻吟声.
狄纳王惊慌初定,终于找到一种解释,听起来倒十分有道理:"上帝的鸟嘴!难道是议事司铎们在抵抗不成?那就放手洗劫吧!洗劫!"
"洗劫!洗劫!"嘈杂的人群发出愤怒的欢呼声,叫道.弓弩.火炮随即全部同时向教堂正面发射.
这阵爆炸声,把邻近住宅的居民都惊醒过来了.好些窗户打开了,窗口上出现了戴睡帽的头和持蜡烛的手."朝窗子射击!"克洛潘叫道.窗子立刻又被关上了,可怜的市民还没来得及朝这个火光闪烁.喧闹震天的场面投去恐惧的一瞥,就连忙缩了回去,吓了一身冷汗回到妻子的身旁,寻思着此刻圣母院广场上是不是在举行巫魔夜会,或像64年那样勃艮第人又打进来了.于是,做丈夫的想着会遭抢劫,做妻子的想着会遭强奸,个个都被吓得直发抖.
"洗劫!"黑帮一再喊道.可是谁也不敢靠近.他们望望教堂,望望木梁.木梁一动不动.建筑物看起来依然十分宁静,没有一个人影,却有什么东西使流浪汉们手脚冰凉.
"动手吧,硬汉们!"特鲁伊甫叫道:"强行攻门!"
但谁也不敢朝前走一步.
"酒囊饭袋!"克洛潘嚷着."瞧这些家伙,连一根椽子也害怕!"
一个老硬汉对他发话了:"头领,叫我们棘手的不是木椽,而是大门,全被铁条封得死死的,铁钳根本不顶用."
"那你需要什么才能攻破大门呢?"克洛潘问.
"嗯!要一根攻城锤."
狄纳王真是好样的,跑到那根可怕的木梁跟前,一只脚踩在上面,喊道:"这里正好有一根.是议事司铎给你们送来的."说着朝教堂那边怪模怪样地鞠了一躬,说:"多谢了,议事司铎!"
这种胆大包天的行为即刻立竿见影,大梁的魔力解除了.流浪汉们重新鼓起勇气;刚过一阵子,200只粗壮有力的臂膀把那根沉重的大梁像托羽毛一样抬起来,猛烈地对着人们曾经试图撼动而未能奏效的教堂大门撞去.流浪汉手中疏疏落落的火把把广场照得半暗半明,这群汉子抬着这根长大梁飞奔,迅速向教堂撞去,见此情景,还以为是一头千足怪兽埋着头向那石头巨人发起攻击.
在木梁的撞击下,那道半金属的教堂大门犹如巨鼓发出巨响.可是大门一点也没有裂开,整座教堂却抖动了,只听得建筑物幽深的内部轰隆直响.就在这时,许多大石头从教堂正面的高处像雨点般向攻击者身纷纷上落下来.约翰叫道:"活见鬼!一定得钟楼摇晃得连栏杆都倒塌了,石头才砸在我们头上不成."可是,此时士气方兴,气可鼓而不可泄,狄纳王以身作则,说有定是主教在抵抗,遂更加凶猛地攻打大门,顾不得左右两边落下的石头,砸得脑袋开花.
这些石头尽管是一个一个落下来,却又十分紧密,这可真是了不得.黑帮几乎个个同时挨二块石头,一块落在腿上,一块砸在头上.很少有人没有挨砸的,被砸死的和砸伤的已倒了一大片,在攻击者的脚下流着血,喘着气.进攻者现在怒不可遏,前仆后继.长长的大梁仍然撞门不止,一下下均匀的撞击,好似钟锤撞钟一般.石如雨下,大门怒吼不已.
读者大概万万没有料到,这激起流浪汉们怒不可遏的意料不到的抵抗竟来自卡齐莫多!
说来也真是晦气,由于偶然的原因,倒帮了这个正直聋子的大忙.
且说卡齐莫多刚才来到两座钟楼中间的平台,脑子里乱成一团乱麻,不知该怎么办.从平台上看到下面成群的流浪汉密密麻麻,正准备向教堂猛冲过来,急得他发疯似地沿着柱廊来回狂奔了一阵子,祈求魔鬼或上帝能拯救埃及姑娘的性命.他先是想爬上南面钟楼去敲响警钟,可是他转念一想,等他摇动大钟,等那口玛丽大钟的洪亮的大嗓门发出一声怒吼,教堂的大门恐怕早被攻破十次都不止呢?因为那时正是硬汉们带着撬锁的器械向大门冲过来的时刻.他如何是好呢?
突然,他想起,泥水匠白天忙了一整天,修葺南面钟楼的墙壁.屋架和屋顶.这可是一线光明.墙壁是石头的,屋顶是皮铅的,屋架是木头的.那奇异的屋架,木头那么密集,故被人称作森林.
卡齐莫多于是向这座塔楼跑去.塔楼下面的那些房间里果然堆满了建筑材料:有成堆的砾石.成筒的铅皮.成捆的板条.已锯好的粗大桁条,一堆堆瓦砾.真是一个应有尽有的武器库.
刻不容缓.下面流浪汉用铁钳和锤子正在撬门.卡齐莫多感到危在旦夕,陡然间力气猛增十倍,抱起一根最重最长的木梁,从一个老虎窗伸出去,随后从钟楼外抓住,搁在平台栏杆的角上让它往下滑,猛然一松手由它坠下深渊去.这根巨大的屋梁,从160尺高空往下坠落,不仅撞坏了墙壁,打碎了雕像,在空中翻转了几个来回,犹如风车的一翼,自由自在穿空而降.最后,它撞到地面,一阵可怕的尖叫随之而起,而这根乌黑的木梁在石板地上蹦跳着,宛若一条蟒蛇在游动.
卡齐莫多看到流浪汉在巨梁坠落时,向四处散开来,活像小孩子吹灰一般到处都是.当他们惊魂未定,用迷信的目光盯着这自天而降的大棒,当他们乱箭齐发,乱扔霰弹,毁坏门廊上诸圣石像的眼睛的时候,卡齐莫多乘机在掷下大梁的栏杆边上,悄悄堆积碎石.瓦砾.石头,甚至瓦工一袋袋的工具.
所以,他们一开始攻打大门,石头就像冰雹般纷纷落下.仿佛觉得教堂自行崩溃而砸在他们头顶上.
谁要是此时看见卡齐莫多,谁都会被吓坏的.他除了在栏杆上堆积投掷物,在平台上也堆了一大堆石头.栏杆外缘上的石头一用完,随即从平台上去取.他不断弯腰.直起.再弯腰.再直起,其行动之敏捷简直不可思议.他那侏儒的大脑袋从栏杆上一伸,一块大石头立即落下,随后又是一块,紧接着又是一块.他不时用那只独眼目送着一块巨石落下,每当击中了,嘴里就哼一声.
但是,乞丐们并没有灰心丧气.他们继续奋力攻击那道厚厚的大门.百把来人齐心协力,增强了橡木羊角铜锤的冲力,大门已经被震憾了20多次了.门上的镶板破裂了,镂刻炸成碎片四处飞溅,每震动一次,户枢就在羊角螺钉上跳动一次.门板摇晃了,铁筋之间的木头也被撞成碎末纷纷掉落下来.对卡齐莫多来说,幸运的是大门的构造铁筋比木头还多得多.
然而,他还是感到大门在摇晃.尽管他耳聋听不见,但撞锤每撞击一次,教堂的腔孔和五脏六腑都一齐发出强烈的回响.他从高处往俯视,看见流浪汉们得意洋洋,怒气冲天,对着教堂昏暗的正面挥舞着拳头,他真是恨不得为了埃及姑娘和自己,也能像从他头顶上空飞走的猫头鹰那样长出两支翅膀来.
尽管石如雨下,但并不能击退流浪汉的进攻.
正在这万分焦急的关头,他突然发现就在他扔下石头砸黑话帮的栏杆下一点点,就立即会有两道石头雨溜,槽口直泻教堂大门的上方,内孔通向石板的平台上面.他不由灵机一动,计上心来,于是跑到他那敲钟人的窝里去找来一个柴禾,又在柴禾上放上他从没使用过的大量"弹药",即许许多多捆板条和许许多多卷铅皮,把这样一大堆柴火在两道雨溜的入口放好以后,便就着灯笼把火点燃了.
在这段时间内,石头不再落下了,流浪汉们也不再仰天张望了.那班盗贼气喘吁吁,好似一群猎犬逼近野猪藏身的洞穴,乱哄哄紧紧围着教堂的大门,大门虽然被撞得完全走了形,却仍然不动.盗贼们兴奋得直颤抖,正等待着最后一次重撞,等待着大门被开膛破腹.他们个个争先恐后挨近大门,都想等大门一旦打开,抢先冲进这座富足的大教堂,冲进这个聚积三个世纪财富的巨大宝库.他们欣喜若狂,馋涎欲滴,狼嚎虎啸,鬼哭狼嚎相互提醒教堂里有精美的银十字架,有华丽的锦锻道袍,有漂亮的镀金墓碑,还有唱诗班各种贵重的璀灿物品,以及各个使人眼花缭乱的节日,诸如烛台高照的圣诞节,阳光灿烂的复活节,所有这些辉煌的盛大庆典上堆满祭坛上各种各样圣物盒,烛台.圣礼盒.圣体盒.圣柜,形成一层黄金和钻石的表面.诚然,在这样美好的时刻,叫花子和假伤残者也好,穷凶极恶的坏蛋和假装烧伤者也好,心里盘算的是如何洗劫圣母院而不是如何搭救那位埃及少女.我们甚而至于宁愿认为,他们当中许多人来搭救爱斯梅拉达只不过是一个借口,如果盗贼打家劫舍也需要什么借口的话.
他们聚集起来,围着攻城槌,个个屏住呼吸,绷紧肌肉,使出浑身力气,正要对教堂大门进行决定性的一次撞击.就在这时候,猛然听见了他们当中的一些人发出一片嚎叫声,比原先木梁砸下时脑袋开花.灵魂出窍的那种惨叫声还更凄厉可怖.没喊叫的人,还活命的人,睁眼一看,只见两道熔化的铅水从教堂高处倾泻下来,落在这帮乌合之众最稠密的人堆里.沸腾的金属直泻而下,这片汹涌的人海顿时像潮水般退下,两道铅水落下之处,在人群中造成两个黑洞,直冒浓烟,宛如滚烫的开水泼在雪地上一般.那几乎被烧焦的垂死的人蠕动着,痛苦万分,惨叫不迭.在这两道喷泉般的溶液四周,可怕的雨滴飞溅着洒落在进攻者的头上,火焰就像锐利的钻子,锥进他们的头壳.正是这沉重的地燃之火,洒落无数的霰粒,在这些苦难者身上打千百个窟窿.
吼叫声撕心裂肺.不论是最胆大的还是最胆小的,都纷纷逃散,把那根巨梁扔在了尸体上,教堂前庭再次空无一人了.
所有的眼睛都望着教堂的高处,呈现在大家眼前的是一片十分奇异的景象.只见在最高柱廊的顶上,在中央玫瑰花形的圆窗上端,熊熊烈火从两座钟楼中间腾起来,火星飞溅.这狂乱的烈火被风一刮,不时有一团火焰化成浓烟,随风飘散.在这烈焰下面,在那被烧得乌黑的梅花形的石栏杆下面,两道承溜形如妖怪巨口,不断地喷出炽烈的铅水,银白色的铅液衬托着教堂下方十分昏暗正面墙壁,显得格外分明.两道铅液越是接近地面,越是扩展开来,形成一条条束状的细流,俨若从喷壶的千百个细孔中喷射出来.两座巨大钟楼的正面,一座红彤彤,一座黑黝黝,反差生硬而分明.在烈焰的上方,这两座钟楼庞大的阴影直投向天空,显得更加巍峨.钟楼上那无数鬼怪和巨龙的雕刻,面目狰狞,映着闪烁不定的火光看上去全活动起来了.吞婴蛇怪好象正在哈哈大笑,檐槽口的鬼怪好象在汪汪吠叫,蝾螈好象在吹火,怪龙好象在浓烟中打喷嚏.冲天的烈焰,鼎沸的喧嚣,把这些妖魔鬼怪从沉睡石头中全惊醒了.而在这些鬼怪当中,有一个在不停地走动,只见其身影不时从柴堆烈焰前闪过,就好像一只蝙蝠从烛台前掠过一般.
这座离奇古怪的灯塔,可能连远处比塞特山岗的樵夫也会被惊醒的,当他睁眼看见圣母院两座钟楼的巨大影子在山岭的灌木丛上面晃动,准会吓得魂飞魄散.
流浪汉全都惊呆了,顿时一片死寂.在这寂静中只听见各种响声;也有被关在修道院里,比马厩里着了火的马还更惊慌的司铎们呼天唤地的惊叫声;有附近窗户*息声;还有那铅液落在石板上持续不断的劈啪声.
此时,流浪汉的头目已经退到贡德洛里埃府邸的门廊下,共商对策.埃及公爵坐在一块界石上,诚惶诚恐地仰望着二百尺高空中那火光闪耀的幻景般的柴堆;克洛潘.特鲁伊甫怒发冲冠,咬着自己粗大的拳头,低声嘟哝道:"我们冲不过去!"
"简直是一座具有魔法的老教堂!"老吉卜赛人马西亚.恩加迪.斯皮卡里嘟哝着.
"教皇的胡子!"一个曾经服过兵役.头发花白的老滑头接过话头说道:"瞧这些教堂沟檐铅水直喷,真比莱克图尔的城墙突堞的弹雨还要厉害得多."
"那个在火堆前走来走去的魔鬼,你们看见了吗?"埃及公爵大吼.
"天啊,是那个该死的敲钟人,是卡齐莫多."克洛潘说道.
那个吉卜赛人摇了摇头,说:"我可要告诉你们,那是塞纳克的阴魂.大侯爵.主管城堡要塞的恶魔.他的形体像全副武装的士兵,长着狮子的脑袋.有时候他骑上一匹丑马.他会将人变成建造钟楼的石头.他统帅50个军团.那正是他.我一看就认出来了.有时候他身着一件华丽的饰金袍子,花纹是土耳其式样的."
"星星贝尔维尼在什么地方?"克洛潘问道.
"他死了."一个女乞丐应道.
红脸安德里傻笑地说:"这下子可叫主宫医院有得忙啦."
"真的没有办法攻破这道门啦?"狄纳王跺着脚直嚷道.
埃及公爵伤心地向他指着两道滚滚铅水,就好像两只长纺锤,纺出磷来,把教堂黑黝黝的正面划满横七竖八的线条.
"这样自我保护的教堂倒是见过啦."他叹气说道,"40年前君士坦丁堡的圣索非亚教堂,摇晃着其圆顶脑袋,曾连续三次把穆罕默德的新月旗打倒在地.这座教堂是巴黎的纪约姆建造的,他可是个魔法师呀."
"难道真该象大路上的仆役那样,可怜巴巴地四处逃命?难道就这样把我们的妹子丢在这儿一点儿不管,让那些披着人皮的恶狼抓去明天绞死吗?"克洛德说道.
"圣器室还有几大车黄金呢!"一个流浪汉插嘴说道,可惜我们不知其名字.
"穆罕默德的胡子呀!"特鲁伊甫嚷道.
"再试一试吧."那个流浪汉接着说.
马西亚.恩加迪摇了摇头,说:"从大门是进去不了的.必须找到教堂这妖婆中的防卫弱点,比如一个洞,一条暗道,一个随便什么接合处都行."
"谁去找呢?"克洛潘说."还是我去摸一下底细吧.......对啦,那个浑身披挂的小个学子约翰到什么地方去了."
"大概死了."有人应道."不再听到他笑了."
狄纳王皱了皱他的眉头.
"那就算了吧.在他那副披挂下面却是一颗勇敢的心呀.......皮埃尔.格兰古瓦君呢?"
"克洛潘队长,我们刚走到兑换所桥,他就溜走了."红脸安德里说道.
克洛潘跺脚道:"上帝的鸟嘴!是他唆使我们来到这里的,而他半道上就扔开我们不管啦!......专讲大话的胆小鬼!用拖鞋当头盔的可怜虫!"
"克洛潘队长,"红脸安德里叫道,他正望着教堂前庭街,"瞧,那个小个学子在那儿."
"赞美冥王普鲁托!"克洛潘说道,"可是他身后拖着什么鬼东西?"
果真是约翰,一身游侠的沉甸行头,好样地在石板地上拖着一架长梯,尽力奔跑,气喘吁吁,就是一只蚂蚁拖着一株比它长20倍的草儿,也不像他那样子会喘吁吁.
"胜利!赞美神恩!"学子嚷道,"看,圣朗德里码头卸货工的梯子."
克洛潘朝他走过去.
"孩子!用这个梯子,你想干啥,上帝的角!"
"我弄到了梯子,"约翰上气不接下气地应道,"我知道它放在哪儿.......就在司法长官府邸的库棚下面.......那儿有个我认识的姑娘,她觉得我像朱庇特一样俊美.......为了弄到梯子,我利用了她一下,梯子就到手了.天啊!......可怜的姑娘只穿内衣就过来给我开了门."
"干得好."克洛潘道,"可你拿这梯子有什么用呢?"
约翰流露出一副顽皮而又精明的神情,望了望他,手指弹得像响板一样叭嗒直响.他此刻真是气吞万世.只见他头戴15世纪那种装饰过度的头盔.盔顶各种稀奇古怪的饰物就足以吓敌人得魂飞魄散.他这顶头盔还竖起十个铁尖角,这样一来,约翰完全可以跟荷马笔下的内斯托尔战舰争夺十个冲角这一可怕的称号了.
"你问我要做什么事情,显赫的狄纳王?你没有看见那边三道大门上方,那一排傻瓜似的雕像吗?"
"看见的,那又怎的?"
"那是法兰西列王的柱廊."
"这跟我有何相干?"克洛潘说道.
"且慢!这长廊的尽头有一道门,从来只插着门闩,用这个梯子我就能爬上去,进到教堂里去了."
"孩子,让我先上."
"不,好伙计,梯子是我的.来,您上第二个."
"让鬼王别西卜把你掐死才好!"性情粗暴的克洛潘道,"我绝不在任何人后面."
"那好,克洛潘,你自己去找个梯子吧!"
约翰拖着梯子,拔腿跑过广场,一边叫道:"小的们,跟我来!"
倾刻之间,梯子竖了起来,靠在一道侧门上端的下层长廊的栏杆上.那群流浪汉欢声雷动,纷纷挤到梯子下面准备登梯.但是约翰不让,第一个将脚踩上梯档.从下往上爬,距离相当长.法国列王长廊如今距离地面约莫60尺.当时还有11级台阶,高度更增加了.约翰穿着沉重的盔甲,一手持弩,一手扶梯,相当难爬,上得很慢.爬到梯子中间,他悲伤地朝遍布石阶上的那些可怜巴巴的黑话帮死者瞥了一眼,说:"唉!这一大堆尸体真值得载入《伊利亚特》第五篇章呀!"话音一落,接着向上攀登.流浪汉紧跟其后.每一梯级上都有一个人.看到这一行披肩戴甲的背影在阴暗中涌动着往上升,仿佛是一条钢鳞的蟒蛇贴着教堂昂首竖立.约翰排在最前头,打着唿哨,使得这种幻象更加逼真了.
学子终于触到了柱廊的阳台,在全体流浪汉的喝采声中颇为麻利地一步跨了上去.就这样他成了这要塞的主人,高兴得喊叫起来,可是突然又停住,呆若木鸡.原来他发现了在一座国王雕像后面,卡齐莫多躲在黑暗中,那只独眼中闪闪发光.
还没等第二位围攻者能踩上长廊,那令人生畏的驼背一下子跳到梯顶上端,一声不吭,忽然伸出那双有力的大手,一把抓住两根梯梃的一头,把梯子掀离墙壁,在一阵焦虑的喊叫声中,从高到低,把上上下下爬满流浪汉的无可依傍的长梯摇晃了一阵子,猛然,他用一种超凡的力量一推,把这串人扔下广场去.有片刻功夫,即使最果敢的人,也心怦怦直跳.梯子被往后一推,直挺挺地竖立一会儿,似乎犹豫不绝,随后晃了晃,紧接着突然画了一个半径为80尺的可怕圆弧,满载着那班强盗向地面倒下去,比铁索断了的吊桥还更急速.只听见一阵震天价响的咒骂声,随后一切无声无息了,只有几个断臂残腿的可怜虫爬出了死人堆.
围攻者中间先是一阵胜利的欢呼,接踵而至的却是一阵痛苦和愤怒的叫骂声.卡齐莫多却无动于衷,两肘撑在栏杆上,注视着下面.那副神态就像一个长发的老国王在凭窗眺望.
约翰.弗罗洛,他正处在千钧一发的情势之中.他孑然一身,在长廊里正面对着那凶神恶煞的敲钟人,脚下是一堵80尺高的陡墙,将他和他的同伴们隔绝开来.就在卡齐莫多拿梯子作耍时,学子冲向那道他以为开着的暗门.其实不然.聋子走进柱廊时把身后的门关死了.约翰于是躲藏在一座国王石像的后面,大气都不敢出,盯着那魔鬼似的驼背,吓得魂不附体,仿佛有个人向动物园看守人的妻子求爱,有天晚上去赴幽会,爬错了墙,突然发现正与一只白熊撞了个正着.
一开头,聋子并没有注意到他.可是末了,一回头,猛然挺起身子.原来他瞅见了那学子.
约翰准备遭受到猛烈的打击,可是聋子却纹丝不动,不过转身盯着学子.
"嗬!嗬!"约翰说道,"你干吗用这种忧伤的独眼看着我呢?"
这样说着,小滑头暗中准备着他的弩.
"卡齐莫多!"他嚷道,"我要给你改个浑名,以后你就叫瞎子吧."
箭射了出去.羽箭呼啸,直射驼子的左臂.卡齐莫多无动于衷,就好像法拉蒙国王石像被蹭破了点皮.他伸手抓住箭杆,把箭从手臂上拔出来,不动声色地往那粗壮的膝盖上磕,折成了两断丢下,确切地说,是把两段扔到地上.可是,约翰来不及射第二次箭了.箭一折断,卡齐莫多喘了口粗气,蚱蜢般一蹦,一下子扑到学子身上,学子被一拳去中,护胸甲碰到墙上撞扁了.
于是,在火炬光飘忽不定.若明若暗的映照下,隐约可以看见一件可怕的事情发生了.
卡齐莫多用左手一把揪住约翰的两只手臂.约翰觉得已经完蛋了,不再作挣扎.聋子又伸出右手,不声不响,慢悠悠,凶狠狠,把学子的全身披挂,剑啦,匕首啦,头盔啦,护胸甲啦,臂铠啦,一件一件剥了下来,俨如猴子剥核桃那般.卡齐莫多把学子的铁外壳,一块一块地扔在脚下.
学子看到自己落在这双可怕的手掌中,被解除武装,剥去衣服,自己软弱无力,赤身裸体,便不想与这个聋子说什么,只是厚着脸皮冲着聋子的脸孔大笑起来,并且以他16岁少年那种百折不挠和无忧无虑的精神,唱起当时广为流传的一支歌曲.康布雷城市她穿戴整齐马拉分将她劫洗......
他未唱完.只见卡齐莫多站在长廊的栏杆上,用一只手抓住学子的双脚,把他向投石那样,在深渊上凌空旋转.随后传来一种声响,就象一只骨制的盒子碰在墙上爆裂一般,看到有什么东西坠落下来,在中途下坠三分之一时,被建筑物一个凸角挂住了.原来是一具死尸挂在那个地方,身子折成两截,腰部摔断,脑袋开花.
流浪汉群中响起一阵恐惧的喊叫.克洛潘叫道:"要报仇!"群应众声答道:"抢呀!冲啊!冲啊!"于是人群中爆发出一阵奇妙的咆哮,其中交织着各种语言,各种口音,各种方言.可怜学子的死在这人群中激起一阵愤怒的狂热.一驼子竟把他们阻挡在教堂门前这么久,束手无策,他们不由感到又羞耻又恼怒.狂怒的人群找来一架架梯子,增加一支支火把,不一会儿,疯狂的卡齐莫多看见这可怕人群,蚂蚁般从四面八方一齐涌上,向圣母院发起猛攻.没有梯子的人就用打结的绳索,没有绳索的人就攀附在雕像的突出部分往上爬.他们前后彼此攥着破衣裳.这一张张十分可怕的脸孔,有如上涨的潮水,汹涌而上,势不可挡.由于愤怒,这些狂野的脸膛红光焕发,泥污的脑门汗如雨注,眼睛闪耀着光芒.所有这些丑类,所有这些鬼脸,都一起围攻卡齐莫多,好像某一其他的教堂把它的蛇发女妖.山怪.猛犬.最荒堂古怪的雕像,一股脑儿都派来攻打圣母院了.这真是在教堂正面那些石雕的鬼怪上面又加上了一层活生生的鬼怪.
这时广场上千盏火把星罗棋布.这一混乱的场景在此之前一直隐没于黑暗中,突然间被火光照得通亮,仿佛着了火一般.教堂广场火光闪耀,一道光辉直射天空.高高的平台上点燃的柴堆一直熊熊燃烧,远远地照亮了城市.两座塔楼的巨大剪影,远远地投射到巴黎屋顶上,在这片亮光上打开了一个庞大的阴影缺口.城市似乎骚动起来了.远方的警钟悲鸣.流浪汉们吼叫着,喘息着,攀登着,咒骂着,而卡齐莫多无力对付这么多敌人,只是为埃及姑娘担惊受怕,眼见那一张张狂怒的脸孔越来越靠近他所在的长廊,不由得祈求上天显现一个奇迹,他绝望地扭着双臂.

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER V.THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS PRAYERS. Page 1》
The reader has not, perhaps, forgotten that one moment before catching sight of the nocturnal band of vagabonds, Quasimodo, as he inspected paris from the heights of his bell tower, perceived only one light burning, which gleamed like a star from a window on the topmost story of a lofty edifice beside the porte Saint-Antoine.This edifice was the Bastille. That star was the candle of Louis XI.
King Louis XI. had, in fact, been two days in paris.He was to take his departure on the next day but one for his citadel of Montilz-les-Tours.He made but seldom and brief appearance in his good city of paris, since there he did not feel about him enough pitfalls, gibbets, and Scotch archers.
He had come, that day, to sleep at the Bastille.The great chamber five toises* square, which he had at the Louvre, with its huge chimney-piece loaded with twelve great beasts and thirteen great prophets, and his grand bed, eleven feet by twelve, pleased him but little.He felt himself lost amid all this grandeur.This good bourgeois king preferred the Bastille with a tiny chamber and couch.And then, the Bastille was stronger than the Louvre.
*An ancient long measure in France, containing six feet and nearly five inches English measure.
This little chamber, which the king reserved for himself in the famous state prison, was also tolerably spacious and occupied the topmost story of a turret rising from the donjon keep.It was circular in form, carpeted with mats of shining straw, ceiled with beams, enriched with fleurs-de-lis of gilded metal with interjoists in color; wainscoated with rich woods sown with rosettes of white metal, and with others painted a fine, bright green, made of orpiment and fine indigo.
There was only one window, a long pointed casement, latticed with brass wire and bars of iron, further darkened by fine colored panes with the arms of the king and of the queen, each pane being worth two and twenty sols.
There was but one entrance, a modern door, with a fiat arch, garnished with a piece of tapestry on the inside, and on the outside by one of those porches of Irish wood, frail edifices of cabinet-work curiously wrought, numbers of which were still to be seen in old houses a hundred and fifty years ago."Although they disfigure and embarrass the places," says Sauvel in despair, "our old people are still unwilling to get rid of them, and keep them in spite of everybody."
In this chamber, nothing was to be found of what furnishes ordinary apartments, neither benches, nor trestles, nor forms, nor common stools in the form of a chest, nor fine stools sustained by pillars and counter-pillars, at four sols a piece. Only one easy arm-chair, very magnificent, was to be seen; the wood was painted with roses on a red ground, the seat was of ruby Cordovan leather, ornamented with long silken fringes, and studded with a thousand golden nails.The loneliness of this chair made it apparent that only one person had a right to sit down in this apartment.Beside the chair, and quite close to the window, there was a table covered with a cloth with a pattern of birds.On this table stood an inkhorn spotted with ink, some parchments, several pens, and a large goblet of chased silver.A little further on was a brazier, a praying stool in crimson velvet, relieved with small bosses of gold.Finally, at the extreme end of the room, a simple bed of scarlet and yellow damask, without either tinsel or lace; having only an ordinary fringe.This bed, famous for having borne the sleep or the sleeplessness of Louis XI., was still to be seen two hundred years ago, at the house of a councillor of state, where it was seen by old Madame pilou, celebrated in _Cyrus_ under the name "Arricidie" and of "la Morale Vivante".
Such was the chamber which was called "the retreat where Monsieur Louis de France says his prayers."
At the moment when we have introduced the reader into it, this retreat was very dark.The curfew bell had sounded an hour before; night was come, and there was only one flickering wax candle set on the table to light five persons variously grouped in the chamber.
The first on which the light fell was a seigneur superbly clad in breeches and jerkin of scarlet striped with silver, and a loose coat with half sleeves of cloth of gold with black figures.This splendid costume, on which the light played, seemed glazed with flame on every fold.The man who wore it had his armorial bearings embroidered on his breast in vivid colors; a chevron accompanied by a deer passant.The shield was flanked, on the right by an olive branch, on the left by a deer's antlers.This man wore in his girdle a rich dagger whose hilt, of silver gilt, was chased in the form of a helmet, and surmounted by a count's coronet.He had a forbidding air, a proud mien, and a head held high.At the first glance one read arrogance on his visage; at the second, craft.
He was standing bareheaded, a long roll of parchment in his hand, behind the arm-chair in which was seated, his body ungracefully doubled up, his knees crossed, his elbow on the table, a very badly accoutred personage.Let the reader imagine in fact, on the rich seat of Cordova leather, two crooked knees, two thin thighs, poorly clad in black worsted tricot, a body enveloped in a cloak of fustian, with fur trimming of which more leather than hair was visible; lastly, to crown all, a greasy old hat of the worst sort of black cloth, bordered with a circular string of leaden figures.This, in company with a dirty skull-cap, which hardly allowed a hair to escape, was all that distinguished the seated personage.He held his head so bent upon his breast, that nothing was to be seen of his face thus thrown into shadow, except the tip of his nose, upon which fell a ray of light, and which must have been long. From the thinness of his wrinkled hand, one divined that he was an old man.It was Louis XI.
At some distance behind them, two men dressed in garments of Flemish style were conversing, who were not sufficiently lost in the shadow to prevent any one who had been present at the performance of Gringoire's mystery from recognizing in them two of the principal Flemish envoys, Guillaume Rym, the sagacious pensioner of Ghent, and Jacques Coppenole, the popular hosier.The reader will remember that these men were mixed up in the secret politics of Louis XI.
Finally, quite at the end of the room, near the door, in the dark, stood, motionless as a statue, a vigorous man with thickset limbs, a military harness, with a surcoat of armorial bearings, whose square face pierced with staring eyes, slit with an immense mouth, his ears concealed by two large screens of flat hair, had something about it both of the dog and the tiger.
All were uncovered except the king.
The gentleman who stood near the king was reading him a sort of long memorial to which his majesty seemed to be listening attentively.The two Flemings were whispering together.
"Cross of God!" grumbled Coppenole, "I am tired of standing; is there no chair here?"
Rym replied by a negative gesture, accompanied by a discreet smile.
"Croix-Dieu!" resumed Coppenole, thoroughly unhappy at being obliged to lower his voice thus, "I should like to sit down on the floor, with my legs crossed, like a hosier, as I do in my shop."
"Take good care that you do not, Master Jacques."
"Ouais!Master Guillaume! can one only remain here on his feet?"
"Or on his knees," said Rym.
At that moment the king's voice was uplifted.They held their peace.
"Fifty sols for the robes of our valets, and twelve livres for the mantles of the clerks of our crown!That's it!pour out gold by the ton!Are you mad, Olivier?"
As he spoke thus, the old man raised his head.The golden shells of the collar of Saint-Michael could be seen gleaming on his neck.The candle fully illuminated his gaunt and morose profile.He tore the papers from the other's hand.
"You are ruining us!" he cried, casting his hollow eyes over the scroll."What is all this?What need have we of so prodigious a household?Two chaplains at ten livres a month each, and, a chapel clerk at one hundred sols!A valet-de- chambre at ninety livres a year.Four head cooks at six score livres a year each!A spit-cook, an herb-cook, a sauce-cook, a butler, two sumpter-horse lackeys, at ten livres a month each!Two scullions at eight livres!A groom of the stables and his two aids at four and twenty livres a month!A porter, a pastry-cook, a baker, two carters, each sixty livres a year! And the farrier six score livres!And the master of the chamber of our funds, twelve hundred livres!And the comptroller five hundred.And how do I know what else? 'Tis ruinous.The wages of our servants are putting France to the pillage!All the ingots of the Louvre will melt before such a fire of expenses!We shall have to sell our plate! And next year, if God and our Lady (here he raised his hat) lend us life, we shall drink our potions from a pewter pot!"
So saying, he cast a glance at the silver goblet which gleamed upon the table.He coughed and continued,--
"Master Olivier, the princes who reign over great lordships, like kings and emperors, should not allow sumptuousness in their houses; for the fire spreads thence through the province. Hence, Master Olivier, consider this said once for all.Our expenditure increases every year.The thing displease us. How, ~pasque-Dieu~! when in '79 it did not exceed six and thirty thousand livres, did it attain in '80, forty-three thousand six hundred and nineteen livres?I have the figures in my head.In '81, sixty-six thousand six hundred and eighty livres, and this year, by the faith of my body, it will reach eighty thousand livres!Doubled in four years!Monstrous!"
He paused breathless, then resumed energetically,--
"I behold around me only people who fatten on my leanness! you suck crowns from me at every pore."
All remained silent.This was one of those fits of wrath which are allowed to take their course.He continued,--
"'Tis like that request in Latin from the gentlemen of France, that we should re-establish what they call the grand charges of the Crown!Charges in very deed!Charges which crush!Ah! gentlemen! you say that we are not a king to reign ~dapifero nullo, buticulario nullo~!We will let you see, ~pasque-Dieu~! whether we are not a king!"
Here he smiled, in the consciousness of his power; this softened his bad humor, and he turned towards the Flemings,--
"Do you see, Gossip Guillaume? the grand warden of the keys, the grand butler, the grand chamberlain, the grand seneschal are not worth the smallest valet.Remember this, Gossip Coppenole.They serve no purpose, as they stand thus useless round the king; they produce upon me the effect of the four Evangelists who surround the face of the big clock of the palace, and which philippe Brille has just set in order afresh. They are gilt, but they do not indicate the hour; and the hands can get on without them."
He remained in thought for a moment, then added, shaking his aged head,--
"Ho!ho!by our Lady, I am not philippe Brille, and I shall not gild the great vassals anew.Continue, Olivier."
The person whom he designated by this name, took the papers into his hands again, and began to read aloud,--
"To Adam Tenon, clerk of the warden of the seals of the provostship of paris; for the silver, making, and engraving of said seals, which have been made new because the others preceding, by reason of their antiquity and their worn condition, could no longer be successfully used, twelve livres parisis.
"To Guillaume Frère, the sum of four livres, four sols parisis, for his trouble and salary, for having nourished and fed the doves in the two dove-cots of the H?tel des Tournelles, during the months of January, February, and March of this year; and for this he hath given seven sextiers of barley.
"To a gray friar for confessing a criminal, four sols parisis."
The king listened in silence.From time to time be coughed; then he raised the goblet to his lips and drank a draught with a grimace.
"During this year there have been made by the ordinance of justice, to the sound of the trumpet, through the squares of paris, fifty-six proclamations.Account to be regulated.
"For having searched and ransacked in certain places, in paris as well as elsewhere, for money said to be there concealed; but nothing hath been found: forty-five livres parisis."
"Bury a crown to unearth a sou!" said the king.
"For having set in the H?tel des Tournelles six panes of white glass in the place where the iron cage is, thirteen sols; for having made and delivered by command of the king, on the day of the musters, four shields with the escutcheons of the said seigneur, encircled with garlands of roses all about, six livres; for two new sleeves to the king's old doublet, twenty sols; for a box of grease to grease the boots of the king, fifteen deniers; a stable newly made to lodge the king's black pigs, thirty livres parisis; many partitions, planks, and trap-doors, for the safekeeping of the lions at Saint-paul, twenty-two livres."
"These be dear beasts," said Louis XI."It matters not; it is a fine magnificence in a king.There is a great red lion whom I love for his pleasant ways.Have you seen him, Master Guillaume?princes must have these terrific animals; for we kings must have lions for our dogs and tigers for our cats. The great befits a crown.In the days of the pagans of Jupiter, when the people offered the temples a hundred oxen and a hundred sheep, the emperors gave a hundred lions and a hundred eagles.This was wild and very fine.The kings of France have always had roarings round their throne.Nevertheless, people must do me this justice, that I spend still less money on it than they did, and that I possess a greater modesty of lions, bears, elephants, and leopards.--Go on, Master Olivier.We wished to say thus much to our Flemish friends."
Guillaume Rym bowed low, while Coppenole, with his surly mien, had the air of one of the bears of which his majesty was speaking.The king paid no heed.He had just dipped his lips into the goblet, and he spat out the beverage, saying: "Foh! what a disagreeable potion!" The man who was reading continued:--
"For feeding a rascally footpad, locked up these six months in the little cell of the flayer, until it should be determined what to do with him, six livres, four sols."
"What's that?" interrupted the king; "feed what ought to be hanged!~pasque-Dieu~!I will give not a sou more for that nourishment.Olivier, come to an understanding about the matter with Monsieur d'Estouteville, and prepare me this very evening the wedding of the gallant and the gallows.Resume."
Olivier made a mark with his thumb against the article of the "rascally foot soldier," and passed on.
"To Henriet Cousin, master executor of the high works of justice in paris, the sum of sixty sols parisis, to him assessed and ordained by monseigneur the provost of paris, for having bought, by order of the said sieur the provost, a great broad sword, serving to execute and decapitate persons who are by justice condemned for their demerits, and he hath caused the same to be garnished with a sheath and with all things thereto appertaining; and hath likewise caused to be repointed and set in order the old sword, which had become broken and notched in executing justice on Messire Louis de Luxembourg, as will more fully appear .
The king interrupted: "That suffices.I allow the sum with great good will.Those are expenses which I do not begrudge.I have never regretted that money.Continue."
"For having made over a great cage..."
"Ah!" said the king, grasping the arms of his chair in both hands, "I knew well that I came hither to this Bastille for some purpose.Hold, Master Olivier; I desire to see that cage myself.You shall read me the cost while I am examining it.Messieurs Flemings, come and see this; 'tis curious."
Then he rose, leaned on the arm of his interlocutor, made a sign to the sort of mute who stood before the door to precede him, to the two Flemings to follow him, and quitted the room.
The royal company was recruited, at the door of the retreat, by men of arms, all loaded down with iron, and by slender pages bearing flambeaux.It marched for some time through the interior of the gloomy donjon, pierced with staircases and corridors even in the very thickness of the walls.The captain of the Bastille marched at their head, and caused the wickets to be opened before the bent and aged king, who coughed as he walked.
At each wicket, all heads were obliged to stoop, except that of the old man bent double with age."Hum," said he between his gums, for he had no longer any teeth, "we are already quite prepared for the door of the sepulchre.For a low door, a bent passer."
At length, after having passed a final wicket, so loaded with locks that a quarter of an hour was required to open it, they entered a vast and lofty vaulted hall, in the centre of which they could distinguish by the light of the torches, a huge cubic mass of masonry, iron, and wood.The interior was hollow.It was one of those famous cages of prisoners of state, which were called "the little daughters of the king." In its walls there were two or three little windows so closely trellised with stout iron bars; that the glass was not visible. The door was a large flat slab of stone, as on tombs; the sort of door which serves for entrance only.Only here, the occupant was alive.
The king began to walk slowly round the little edifice, examining it carefully, while Master Olivier, who followed him, read aloud the note.
"For having made a great cage of wood of solid beams, timbers and wall-plates, measuring nine feet in length by eight in breadth, and of the height of seven feet between the partitions, smoothed and clamped with great bolts of iron, which has been placed in a chamber situated in one of the towers of the Bastille Saint-Antoine, in which cage is placed and detained, by command of the king our lord, a prisoner who formerly inhabited an old, decrepit, and ruined cage. There have been employed in making the said new cage, ninety-six horizontal beams, and fifty-two upright joists, ten wall plates three toises long; there have been occupied nineteen carpenters to hew, work, and fit all the said wood in the courtyard of the Bastille during twenty days."
"Very fine heart of oak," said the king, striking the woodwork with his fist.
"There have been used in this cage," continued the other, "two hundred and twenty great bolts of iron, of nine feet, and of eight, the rest of medium length, with the rowels, caps and counterbands appertaining to the said bolts; weighing, the said iron in all, three thousand, seven hundred and thirty-five pounds; beside eight great squares of iron, serving to attach the said cage in place with clamps and nails weighing in all two hundred and eighteen pounds, not reckoning the iron of the trellises for the windows of the chamber wherein the cage hath been placed, the bars of iron for the door of the cage and other things."

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER V.THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS PRAYERS. Page 2》
"'Tis a great deal of iron," said the king, "to contain the light of a spirit."
"The whole amounts to three hundred and seventeen livres, five sols, seven deniers."
"~pasque-Dieu~!" exclaimed the king.
At this oath, which was the favorite of Louis XI., some one seemed to awaken in the interior of the cage; the sound of chains was heard, grating on the floor, and a feeble voice, which seemed to issue from the tomb was uplifted."Sire! sire! mercy!" The one who spoke thus could not be seen.
"Three hundred and seventeen livres, five sols, seven deniers," repeated Louis XI.
The lamentable voice which had proceeded from the cage had frozen all present, even Master Olivier himself.The king alone wore the air of not having heard.At his order, Master Olivier resumed his reading, and his majesty coldly continued his inspection of the cage.
"In addition to this there hath been paid to a mason who hath made the holes wherein to place the gratings of the windows, and the floor of the chamber where the cage is, because that floor could not support this cage by reason of its weight, twenty-seven livres fourteen sols parisis."
The voice began to moan again.
"Mercy, sire!I swear to you that 'twas Monsieur the Cardinal d'Angers and not I, who was guilty of treason."
"The mason is bold!" said the king."Continue, Olivier." Olivier continued,--
"To a joiner for window frames, bedstead, hollow stool, and other things, twenty livres, two sols parisis."
The voice also continued.
"Alas, sire!will you not listen to me?I protest to you that 'twas not I who wrote the matter to Monseigneur do Guyenne, but Monsieur le Cardinal Balue."
"The joiner is dear," quoth the king."Is that all?"
"No, sire.To a glazier, for the windows of the said chamber, forty-six sols, eight deniers parisis."
"Have mercy, sire!Is it not enough to have given all my goods to my judges, my plate to Monsieur de Torcy, my library to Master pierre Doriolle, my tapestry to the governor of the Roussillon?I am innocent.I have been shivering in an iron cage for fourteen years.Have mercy, sire! You will find your reward in heaven."
"Master Olivier," said the king, "the total?"
"Three hundred sixty-seven livres, eight sols, three deniers parisis.
"Notre-Dame!" cried the king."This is an outrageous cage!"
He tore the book from Master Olivier's hands, and set to reckoning it himself upon his fingers, examining the paper and the cage alternately.Meanwhile, the prisoner could be heard sobbing.This was lugubrious in the darkness, and their faces turned pale as they looked at each other.
"Fourteen years, sire!Fourteen years now! since the month of April, 1469.In the name of the Holy Mother of God, sire, listen to me!During all this time you have enjoyed the heat of the sun.Shall I, frail creature, never more behold the day?Mercy, sire!Be pitiful!Clemency is a fine, royal virtue, which turns aside the currents of wrath. Does your majesty believe that in the hour of death it will be a great cause of content for a king never to have left any offence unpunished?Besides, sire, I did not betray your majesty, 'twas Monsieur d'Angers; and I have on my foot a very heavy chain, and a great ball of iron at the end, much heavier than it should be in reason.Eh! sire!Have pity on me!"
"Olivier," cried the king, throwing back his head, "I observe that they charge me twenty sols a hogshead for plaster, while it is worth but twelve.You will refer back this account."
He turned his back on the cage, and set out to leave the room.The miserable prisoner divined from the removal of the torches and the noise, that the king was taking his departure.
"Sire!sire!" be cried in despair.
The door closed again.He no longer saw anything, and heard only the hoarse voice of the turnkey, singing in his ears this ditty,--
"~Ma?tre Jean Balue, A perdu la vue De ses évêchés. Monsieur de Verdun. N'en a plus pas un; Tous sont dépêchés~."*
* Master Jean Balue has lost sight of his bishoprics. Monsieur of Verdun has no longer one; all have been killed off.
The king reascended in silence to his retreat, and his suite followed him, terrified by the last groans of the condemned man.All at once his majesty turned to the Governor of the Bastille,--
"By the way," said he, "was there not some one in that cage?"
"pardieu, yes sire!" replied the governor, astounded by the question.
"And who was it?"
"Monsieur the Bishop of Verdun."
The king knew this better than any one else.But it was a mania of his.
"Ah!" said he, with the innocent air of thinking of it for the first time, "Guillaume de Harancourt, the friend of Monsieur the Cardinal Balue.A good devil of a bishop!"
At the expiration of a few moments, the door of the retreat had opened again, then closed upon the five personages whom the reader has seen at the beginning of this chapter, and who resumed their places, their whispered conversations, and their attitudes.
During the king's absence, several despatches had been placed on his table, and he broke the seals himself.Then he began to read them promptly, one after the other, made a sign to Master Olivier who appeared to exercise the office of minister, to take a pen, and without communicating to him the contents of the despatches, he began to dictate in a low voice, the replies which the latter wrote, on his knees, in an inconvenient attitude before the table.
Guillaume Rym was on the watch.
The king spoke so low that the Flemings heard nothing of his dictation, except some isolated and rather unintelligible scraps, such as,--
"To maintain the fertile places by commerce, and the sterile by manufactures....--To show the English lords our four bombards, London, Brabant, Bourg-en-Bresse, Saint- Omer....--Artillery is the cause of war being made more judiciously now....--To Monsieur de Bressuire, our friend....--Armies cannot be maintained without tribute, etc.
Once he raised his voice,--
"~pasque Dieu~!Monsieur the King of Sicily seals his letters with yellow wax, like a king of France.perhaps we are in the wrong to permit him so to do.My fair cousin of Burgundy granted no armorial bearings with a field of gules. The grandeur of houses is assured by the integrity of prerogatives.Note this, friend Olivier."
Again,--
"Oh!oh!" said he, "What a long message!What doth our brother the emperor claim?"And running his eye over the missive and breaking his reading with interjection: "Surely! the Germans are so great and powerful, that it is hardly credible--But let us not forget the old proverb: 'The finest county is Flanders; the finest duchy, Milan; the finest kingdom, France.' Is it not so, Messieurs Flemings?"
This time Coppenole bowed in company with Guillaume Rym.The hosier's patriotism was tickled.
The last despatch made Louis XI. frown.
"What is this?" be said, "Complaints and fault finding against our garrisons in picardy!Olivier, write with diligence to M. the Marshal de Rouault:--That discipline is relaxed. That the gendarmes of the unattached troops, the feudal nobles, the free archers, and the Swiss inflict infinite evils on the rustics.--That the military, not content with what they find in the houses of the rustics, constrain them with violent blows of cudgel or of lash to go and get wine, spices, and other unreasonable things in the town.--That monsieur the king knows this.That we undertake to guard our people against inconveniences, larcenies and pillage.--That such is our will, by our Lady!--That in addition, it suits us not that any fiddler, barber, or any soldier varlet should be clad like a prince, in velvet, cloth of silk, and rings of gold.--That these vanities are hateful to God.--That we, who are gentlemen, content ourselves with a doublet of cloth at sixteen sols the ell, of paris.--That messieurs the camp-followers can very well come down to that, also.--Command and ordain.--To Monsieur de Rouault, our friend.--Good."
He dictated this letter aloud, in a firm tone, and in jerks. At the moment when he finished it, the door opened and gave passage to a new personage, who precipitated himself into the chamber, crying in affright,--
"Sire!sire!there is a sedition of the populace in paris!" Louis XI.'s grave face contracted; but all that was visible of his emotion passed away like a flash of lightning.He controlled himself and said with tranquil severity,--
"Gossip Jacques, you enter very abruptly!"
"Sire! sire! there is a revolt!" repeated Gossip Jacques breathlessly.
The king, who had risen, grasped him roughly by the arm, and said in his ear, in such a manner as to be heard by him alone, with concentrated rage and a sidelong glance at the Flemings,--
"Hold your tongue!or speak low!"
The new comer understood, and began in a low tone to give a very terrified account, to which the king listened calmly, while Guillaume Rym called Coppenole's attention to the face and dress of the new arrival, to his furred cowl, (~caputia fourrata~), his short cape, (~epitogia curta~), his robe of black velvet, which bespoke a president of the court of accounts.
Hardly had this personage given the king some explanations, when Louis XI.exclaimed, bursting into a laugh,--
"In truth?Speak aloud, Gossip Coictier!What call is there for you to talk so low?Our Lady knoweth that we conceal nothing from our good friends the Flemings."
"But sire..."
"Speak loud!"
Gossip Coictier was struck dumb with surprise.
"So," resumed the king,--"speak sir,--there is a commotion among the louts in our good city of paris?"
"Yes, sire."
"And which is moving you say, against monsieur the bailiff of the palais-de-Justice?"
"So it appears," said the gossip, who still stammered, utterly astounded by the abrupt and inexplicable change which had just taken place in the king's thoughts.
Louis XI. continued: "Where did the watch meet the rabble?"
"Marching from the Grand Truanderie, towards the pont-aux- Changeurs.I met it myself as I was on my way hither to obey your majesty's commands.I heard some of them shouting: 'Down with the bailiff of the palace!'"
"And what complaints have they against the bailiff?"
"Ah!" said Gossip Jacques, "because he is their lord."
"Really?"
"Yes, sire.They are knaves from the Cour-des-Miracles. They have been complaining this long while, of the bailiff, whose vassals they are.They do not wish to recognize him either as judge or as voyer?"*
* One in charge of the highways.
"Yes, certainly!" retorted the king with a smile of satis- faction which he strove in vain to disguise.
"In all their petitions to the parliament, they claim to have but two masters.Your majesty and their God, who is the devil, I believe."
"Eh! eh!" said the king.
He rubbed his hands, he laughed with that inward mirth which makes the countenance beam; he was unable to dissimulate his joy, although he endeavored at moments to compose himself.No one understood it in the least, not even Master Olivier.He remained silent for a moment, with a thoughtful but contented air.
"Are they in force?" he suddenly inquired.
"Yes, assuredly, sire," replied Gossip Jacques.
"How many?"
"Six thousand at the least."
The king could not refrain from saying: "Good!" he went on,--
"Are they armed?"
"With scythes, pikes, hackbuts, pickaxes.All sorts of very violent weapons."
The king did not appear in the least disturbed by this list. Jacques considered it his duty to add,--
"If your majesty does not send prompt succor to the bailiff, he is lost."
"We will send," said the king with an air of false seriousness. "It is well.Assuredly we will send.Monsieur the bailiff is our friend.Six thousand!They are desperate scamps! Their audacity is marvellous, and we are greatly enraged at it. But we have only a few people about us to-night.To-morrow morning will be time enough."
Gossip Jacques exclaimed, "Instantly, sire! there will be time to sack the bailiwick a score of times, to violate the seignory, to hang the bailiff.For God's sake, sire! send before to-morrow morning."
The king looked him full in the face."I have told you to-morrow morning."
It was one Of those looks to which one does not reply. After a silence, Louis XI. raised his voice once more,--
"You should know that, Gossip Jacques.What was--"
He corrected himself."What is the bailiff's feudal jurisdiction?"
"Sire, the bailiff of the palace has the Rue Calendre as far as the Rue de l'Herberie, the place Saint-Michel, and the localities vulgarly known as the Mureaux, situated near the church of Notre-Dame des Champs (here Louis XI. raised the brim of his hat), which hotels number thirteen, plus the Cour des Miracles, plus the Maladerie, called the Banlieue, plus the whole highway which begins at that Maladerie and ends at the porte Sainte-Jacques.Of these divers places he is voyer, high, middle, and low, justiciary, full seigneur."
"Bless me!" said the king, scratching his left ear with his right hand, "that makes a goodly bit of my city!Ah! monsieur the bailiff was king of all that."
This time he did not correct himself.He continued dreamily, and as though speaking to himself,--
"Very fine, monsieur the bailiff!You had there between your teeth a pretty slice of our paris."
All at once he broke out explosively, "~pasque-Dieu~!" What people are those who claim to be voyers, justiciaries, lords and masters in our domains? who have their tollgates at the end of every field? their gallows and their hangman at every cross-road among our people?So that as the Greek believed that he had as many gods as there were fountains, and the persian as many as he beheld stars, the Frenchman counts as many kings as he sees gibbets!pardieu! 'tis an evil thing, and the confusion of it displeases me.I should greatly like to know whether it be the mercy of God that there should be in paris any other lord than the king, any other judge than our parliament, any other emperor than ourselves in this empire!By the faith of my soul! the day must certainly come when there shall exist in France but one king, one lord, one judge, one headsman, as there is in paradise but one God!"
He lifted his cap again, and continued, still dreamily, with the air and accent of a hunter who is cheering on his pack of hounds: "Good, my people!bravely done!break these false lords! do your duty! at them! have at them! pillage them! take them! sack them!....Ah!you want to be kings, messeigneurs? On, my people on!"
Here he interrupted himself abruptly, bit his lips as though to take back his thought which had already half escaped, bent his piercing eyes in turn on each of the five persons who surrounded him, and suddenly grasping his hat with both hands and staring full at it, he said to it: "Oh!I would burn you if you knew what there was in my head."
Then casting about him once more the cautious and uneasy glance of the fox re-entering his hole,--
"No matter! we will succor monsieur the bailiff. Unfortunately, we have but few troops here at the present moment, against so great a populace.We must wait until to-morrow. The order will be transmitted to the City and every one who is caught will be immediately hung."
"By the way, sire," said Gossip Coictier, "I had forgotten that in the first agitation, the watch have seized two laggards of the band.If your majesty desires to see these men, they are here."
"If I desire to see them!" cried the king."What!~pasque- Dieu~!You forget a thing like that!Run quick, you, Olivier! Go, seek them!"
Master Olivier quitted the room and returned a moment later with the two prisoners, surrounded by archers of the guard.The first had a coarse, idiotic, drunken and astonished face.He was clothed in rags, and walked with one knee bent and dragging his leg.The second had a pallid and smiling countenance, with which the reader is already acquainted.
The king surveyed them for a moment without uttering a word, then addressing the first one abruptly,--
"What's your name?"
"Gieffroy pincebourde."
"Your trade."
"Outcast."
"What were you going to do in this damnable sedition?" The outcast stared at the king, and swung his arms with a stupid air.
He had one of those awkwardly shaped heads where intelligence is about as much at its ease as a light beneath an extinguisher.
"I know not," said he."They went, I went."
"Were you not going to outrageously attack and pillage your lord, the bailiff of the palace?"
"I know that they were going to take something from some one. That is all."
A soldier pointed out to the king a billhook which he had seized on the person of the vagabond.
"Do you recognize this weapon?" demanded the king.
"Yes; 'tis my billhook; I am a vine-dresser."
"And do you recognize this man as your companion?" added Louis XI., pointing to the other prisoner.
"No, I do not know him."
"That will do," said the king, making a sign with his finger to the silent personage who stood motionless beside the door, to whom we have already called the reader's attention.
"Gossip Tristan, here is a man for you."
Tristan l'Hermite bowed.He gave an order in a low voice to two archers, who led away the poor vagabond.
In the meantime, the king had approached the second prisoner, who was perspiring in great drops: "Your name?"
"Sire, pierre Gringoire."
"Your trade?"
"philosopher, sire."
"How do you permit yourself, knave, to go and besiege our friend, monsieur the bailiff of the palace, and what have you to say concerning this popular agitation?"
"Sire, I had nothing to do with it."
"Come, now!you wanton wretch, were not you apprehended by the watch in that bad company?"
"No, sire, there is a mistake.'Tis a fatality.I make tragedies.Sire, I entreat your majesty to listen to me.I am a poet.'Tis the melancholy way of men of my profession to roam the streets by night.I was passing there.It was mere chance.I was unjustly arrested; I am innocent of this civil tempest.Your majesty sees that the vagabond did not recognize me.I conjure your majesty--"
"Hold your tongue!" said the king, between two swallows of his ptisan."You split our head!"
Tristan l'Hermite advanced and pointing to Gringoire,--
"Sire, can this one be hanged also?"
This was the first word that he had uttered.
"phew!" replied the king, "I see no objection."
"I see a great many!" said Gringoire.
At that moment, our philosopher was greener than an olive. He perceived from the king's cold and indifferent mien that there was no other resource than something very pathetic, and he flung himself at the feet of Louis XI., exclaiming, with gestures of despair:--
"Sire! will your majesty deign to hear me.Sire! break not in thunder over so small a thing as myself.God's great lightning doth not bombard a lettuce.Sire, you are an august and, very puissant monarch; have pity on a poor man who is honest, and who would find it more difficult to stir up a revolt than a cake of ice would to give out a spark!Very gracious sire, kindness is the virtue of a lion and a king. Alas! rigor only frightens minds; the impetuous gusts of the north wind do not make the traveller lay aside his cloak; the sun, bestowing his rays little by little, warms him in such ways that it will make him strip to his shirt.Sire, you are the sun.I protest to you, my sovereign lord and master, that I am not an outcast, thief, and disorderly fellow.Revolt and brigandage belong not to the outfit of Apollo.I am not the man to fling myself into those clouds which break out into seditious clamor.I am your majesty's faithful vassal.That same jealousy which a husband cherisheth for the honor of his wife, the resentment which the son hath for the love of his father, a good vassal should feel for the glory of his king; he should pine away for the zeal of this house, for the aggrandizement of his service.Every other passion which should transport him would be but madness.These, sire, are my maxims of state: then do not judge me to be a seditious and thieving rascal because my garment is worn at the elbows.If you will grant me mercy, sire, I will wear it out on the knees in praying to God for you night and morning!Alas!I am not extremely rich, 'tis true.I am even rather poor.But not vicious on that account.It is not my fault.Every one knoweth that great wealth is not to be drawn from literature, and that those who are best posted in good books do not always have a great fire in winter.The advocate's trade taketh all the grain, and leaveth only straw to the other scientific professions.There are forty very excellent proverbs anent the hole-ridden cloak of the philosopher.Oh, sire! clemency is the only light which can enlighten the interior of so great a soul.Clemency beareth the torch before all the other virtues.Without it they are but blind men groping after God in the dark.Compassion, which is the same thing as clemency, causeth the love of subjects, which is the most powerful bodyguard to a prince.What matters it to your majesty, who dazzles all faces, if there is one poor man more on earth, a poor innocent philosopher spluttering amid the shadows of calamity, with an empty pocket which resounds against his hollow belly?Moreover, sire, I am a man of letters.Great kings make a pearl for their crowns by protecting letters.Hercules did not disdain the title of Musagetes. Mathias Corvin favored Jean de Monroyal, the ornament of mathematics.Now, 'tis an ill way to protect letters to hang men of letters.What a stain on Alexander if he had hung Aristoteles!This act would not be a little patch on the face of his reputation to embellish it, but a very malignant ulcer to disfigure it.Sire!I made a very proper epithalamium for Mademoiselle of Flanders and Monseigneur the very august Dauphin.That is not a firebrand of rebellion.Your majesty sees that I am not a scribbler of no reputation, that I have studied excellently well, and that I possess much natural eloquence.Have mercy upon me, sire!In so doing you will perform a gallant deed to our Lady, and I swear to you that I am greatly terrified at the idea of being hanged!"

《BOOK TENTH CHAPTER V.THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS PRAYERS. Page 3》
So saying, the unhappy Gringoire kissed the king's slippers, and Guillaume Rym said to Coppenole in a low tone: "He doth well to drag himself on the earth.Kings are like the Jupiter of Crete, they have ears only in their feet."And without troubling himself about the Jupiter of Crete, the hosier replied with a heavy smile, and his eyes fixed on Gringoire: "Oh! that's it exactly!I seem to hear Chancellor Hugonet craving mercy of me."
When Gringoire paused at last, quite out of breath, he raised his head tremblingly towards the king, who was engaged in scratching a spot on the knee of his breeches with his finger- nail; then his majesty began to drink from the goblet of ptisan.But he uttered not a word, and this silence tortured Gringoire.At last the king looked at him."Here is a terrible bawler!" said, he.Then, turning to Tristan l'Hermite, "Bali! let him go!"
Gringoire fell backwards, quite thunderstruck with joy.
"At liberty!" growled Tristan "Doth not your majesty wish to have him detained a little while in a cage?"
"Gossip," retorted Louis XI., "think you that 'tis for birds of this feather that we cause to be made cages at three hundred and sixty-seven livres, eight sous, three deniers apiece? Release him at once, the wanton (Louis XI. was fond of this word which formed, with ~pasque-Dieu~, the foundation of his joviality), and put him out with a buffet."
"Ugh!" cried Gringoire, "what a great king is here!"
And for fear of a counter order, he rushed towards the door, which Tristan opened for him with a very bad grace.The soldiers left the room with him, pushing him before them with stout thwacks, which Gringoire bore like a true stoical philosopher.
The king's good humor since the revolt against the bailiff had been announced to him, made itself apparent in every way.This unwonted clemency was no small sign of it.Tristan l'Hermite in his corner wore the surly look of a dog who has had a bone snatched away from him.
Meanwhile, the king thrummed gayly with his fingers on the arm of his chair, the March of pont-Audemer.He was a dissembling prince, but one who understood far better how to hide his troubles than his joys.These external manifestations of joy at any good news sometimes proceeded to very great lengths thus, on the death, of Charles the Bold, to the point of vowing silver balustrades to Saint Martin of Tours; on his advent to the throne, so far as forgetting to order his father's obsequies.
"Hé! sire!" suddenly exclaimed Jacques Coictier, "what has become of the acute attack of illness for which your majesty had me summoned?"
"Oh!" said the king, "I really suffer greatly, my gossip. There is a hissing in my ear and fiery rakes rack my chest."
Coictier took the king's hand, and begun to feel of his pulse with a knowing air.
"Look, Coppenole," said Rym, in a low voice."Behold him between Coictier and Tristan.They are his whole court. A physician for himself, a headsman for others."
As he felt the king's pulse, Coictier assumed an air of greater and greater alarm.Louis XI. watched him with some anxiety.Coictier grew visibly more gloomy.The brave man had no other farm than the king's bad health.He speculated on it to the best of his ability.
"Oh! oh!" he murmured at length, "this is serious indeed."
"Is it not?" said the king, uneasily.
"~pulsus creber, anhelans, crepitans, irregularis~," continued the leech.
"~pasque-Dieu~!"
"This may carry off its man in less than three days."
"Our Lady!" exclaimed the king."And the remedy, gossip?"
"I am meditating upon that, sire."
He made Louis XI. put out his tongue, shook his head, made a grimace, and in the very midst of these affectations,--
"pardieu, sire," he suddenly said, "I must tell you that there is a receivership of the royal prerogatives vacant, and that I have a nephew."
"I give the receivership to your nephew, Gossip Jacques," replied the king; "but draw this fire from my breast."
"Since your majesty is so clement," replied the leech, "you will not refuse to aid me a little in building my house, Rue Saint-André-des-Arcs."
"Heugh!" said the king.
"I am at the end of my finances," pursued the doctor; and it would really be a pity that the house should not have a roof; not on account of the house, which is simple and thoroughly bourgeois, but because of the paintings of Jehan Fourbault, which adorn its wainscoating.There is a Diana flying in the air, but so excellent, so tender, so delicate, of so ingenuous an action, her hair so well coiffed and adorned with a crescent, her flesh so white, that she leads into temptation those who regard her too curiously.There is also a Ceres. She is another very fair divinity.She is seated on sheaves of wheat and crowned with a gallant garland of wheat ears interlaced with salsify and other flowers.Never were seen more amorous eyes, more rounded limbs, a nobler air, or a more gracefully flowing skirt.She is one of the most innocent and most perfect beauties whom the brush has ever produced."
"Executioner!" grumbled Louis XI., "what are you driving at?"
"I must have a roof for these paintings, sire, and, although 'tis but a small matter, I have no more money."
"How much doth your roof cost?"
"Why a roof of copper, embellished and gilt, two thousand livres at the most."
"Ah, assassin!" cried the king, "He never draws out one of my teeth which is not a diamond."
"Am I to have my roof?" said Coictier.
"Yes; and go to the devil, but cure me."
Jacques Coictier bowed low and said,--
"Sire, it is a repellent which will save you.We will apply to your loins the great defensive composed of cerate, Armenian bole, white of egg, oil, and vinegar.You will continue your ptisan and we will answer for your majesty."
A burning candle does not attract one gnat alone.Master Olivier, perceiving the king to be in a liberal mood, and judging the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn.
"Sire--"
"What is it now?" said Louis XI.
"Sire, your majesty knoweth that Simon Radin is dead?"
"Well?"
"He was councillor to the king in the matter of the courts of the treasury."
"Well?"
"Sire, his place is vacant."
As he spoke thus, Master Olivier's haughty face quitted its arrogant expression for a lowly one.It is the only change which ever takes place in a courtier's visage.The king looked him well in the face and said in a dry tone,--"I understand."
He resumed,
"Master Olivier, the Marshal de Boucicaut was wont to say, 'There's no master save the king, there are no fishes save in the sea.' I see that you agree with Monsieur de Boucicaut. Now listen to this; we have a good memory.In '68 we made you valet of our chamber: in '69, guardian of the fortress of the bridge of Saint-Cloud, at a hundred livres of Tournay in wages (you wanted them of paris).In November, '73, by letters given to Gergeole, we instituted you keeper of the Wood of Vincennes, in the place of Gilbert Acle, equerry; in '75, gruyer* of the forest of Rouvray-lez- Saint-Cloud, in the place of Jacques le Maire; in '78, we graciously settled on you, by letters patent sealed doubly with green wax, an income of ten livres parisis, for you and your wife, on the place of the Merchants, situated at the School Saint-Germain; in '79, we made you gruyer of the forest of Senart, in place of that poor Jehan Daiz; then captain of the Chateau of Loches; then governor of Saint- Quentin; then captain of the bridge of Meulan, of which you cause yourself to be called comte.Out of the five sols fine paid by every barber who shaves on a festival day, there are three sols for you and we have the rest.We have been good enough to change your name of Le Mauvais (The Evil), which resembled your face too closely.In '76, we granted you, to the great displeasure of our nobility, armorial bearings of a thousand colors, which give you the breast of a peacock.~pasque-Dieu~!Are not you surfeited?Is not the draught of fishes sufficiently fine and miraculous?Are you not afraid that one salmon more will make your boat sink? pride will be your ruin, gossip.Ruin and disgrace always press hard on the heels of pride.Consider this and hold your tongue."
*A lord having a right on the woods of his vassals.
These words, uttered with severity, made Master Olivier's face revert to its insolence.
"Good!" he muttered, almost aloud, "'tis easy to see that the king is ill to-day; he giveth all to the leech."
Louis XI. far from being irritated by this petulant insult, resumed with some gentleness, "Stay, I was forgetting that I made you my ambassador to Madame Marie, at Ghent.Yes, gentlemen," added the king turning to the Flemings, "this man hath been an ambassador.There, my gossip," he pursued, addressing Master Olivier, "let us not get angry; we are old friends.'Tis very late.We have terminated our labors.Shave me."
Our readers have not, without doubt, waited until the present moment to recognize in Master Olivier that terrible Figaro whom providence, the great maker of dramas, mingled so artistically in the long and bloody comedy of the reign of Louis XI.We will not here undertake to develop that singular figure.This barber of the king had three names.At court he was politely called Olivier le Daim (the Deer); among the people Olivier the Devil.His real name was Olivier le Mauvais.
Accordingly, Olivier le Mauvais remained motionless, sulking at the king, and glancing askance at Jacques Coictier.
"Yes, yes, the physician!" he said between his teeth.
"Ah, yes, the physician!" retorted Louis XI., with singular good humor; "the physician has more credit than you. 'Tis very simple; he has taken hold upon us by the whole body, and you hold us only by the chin.Come, my poor barber, all will come right.What would you say and what would become of your office if I were a king like Chilperic, whose gesture consisted in holding his beard in one hand? Come, gossip mine, fulfil your office, shave me.Go get what you need therefor."
Olivier perceiving that the king had made up his mind to laugh, and that there was no way of even annoying him, went off grumbling to execute his orders.
The king rose, approached the window, and suddenly opening it with extraordinary agitation,--
"Oh! yes!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands, "yonder is a redness in the sky over the City.'Tis the bailiff burning. It can be nothing else but that.Ah! my good people! here you are aiding me at last in tearing down the rights of lordship!"
Then turning towards the Flemings: "Come, look at this, gentlemen.Is it not a fire which gloweth yonder?"
The two men of Ghent drew near.
"A great fire," said Guillaume Rym.
"Oh!" exclaimed Coppenole, whose eyes suddenly flashed, "that reminds me of the burning of the house of the Seigneur d'Hymbercourt.There must be a goodly revolt yonder."
"You think so, Master Coppenole?"And Louis XI.'s glance was almost as joyous as that of the hosier."Will it not be difficult to resist?"
"Cross of God!Sire!Your majesty will damage many companies of men of war thereon."
"Ah!I! 'tis different," returned the king."If I willed." The hosier replied hardily,--
"If this revolt be what I suppose, sire, you might will in vain."
"Gossip," said Louis XI., "with the two companies of my unattached troops and one discharge of a serpentine, short work is made of a populace of louts."
The hosier, in spite of the signs made to him by Guillaume Rym, appeared determined to hold his own against the king.
"Sire, the Swiss were also louts.Monsieur the Duke of Burgundy was a great gentleman, and he turned up his nose at that rabble rout.At the battle of Grandson, sire, he cried: 'Men of the cannon!Fire on the villains!' and he swore by Saint-George.But Advoyer Scharnachtal hurled himself on the handsome duke with his battle-club and his people, and when the glittering Burgundian army came in contact with these peasants in bull hides, it flew in pieces like a pane of glass at the blow of a pebble.Many lords were then slain by low-born knaves; and Monsieur de Chateau-Guyon, the greatest seigneur in Burgundy, was found dead, with his gray horse, in a little marsh meadow."
"Friend," returned the king, "you are speaking of a battle. The question here is of a mutiny.And I will gain the upper hand of it as soon as it shall please me to frown."
The other replied indifferently,--
"That may be, sire; in that case, 'tis because the people's hour hath not yet come."
Guillaume Rym considered it incumbent on him to intervene,--
"Master Coppenole, you are speaking to a puissant king."
"I know it," replied the hosier, gravely.
"Let him speak, Monsieur Rym, my friend," said the king; "I love this frankness of speech.My father, Charles the Seventh, was accustomed to say that the truth was ailing; I thought her dead, and that she had found no confessor.Master Coppenole undeceiveth me."
Then, laying his hand familiarly on Coppenole's shoulder,--
"You were saying, Master Jacques?"
"I say, sire, that you may possibly be in the right, that the hour of the people may not yet have come with you."
Louis XI.gazed at him with his penetrating eye,--
"And when will that hour come, master?"
"You will hear it strike."
"On what clock, if you please?"
Coppenole, with his tranquil and rustic countenance, made the king approach the window.
"Listen, sire!There is here a donjon keep, a belfry, cannons, bourgeois, soldiers; when the belfry shall hum, when the cannons shall roar, when the donjon shall fall in ruins amid great noise, when bourgeois and soldiers shall howl and slay each other, the hour will strike."
Louis's face grew sombre and dreamy.He remained silent for a moment, then he gently patted with his hand the thick wall of the donjon, as one strokes the haunches of a steed.
"Oh! no!" said he."You will not crumble so easily, will you, my good Bastille?"
And turning with an abrupt gesture towards the sturdy Fleming,--
"Have you never seen a revolt, Master Jacques?"
"I have made them," said the hosier.
"How do you set to work to make a revolt?" said the king.
"Ah!" replied Coppenole, "'tis not very difficult.There are a hundred ways.In the first place, there must be discontent in the city.The thing is not uncommon.And then, the character of the inhabitants.Those of Ghent are easy to stir into revolt.They always love the prince's son; the prince, never.Well!One morning, I will suppose, some one enters my shop, and says to me: 'Father Coppenole, there is this and there is that, the Demoiselle of Flanders wishes to save her ministers, the grand bailiff is doubling the impost on shagreen, or something else,'--what you will.I leave my work as it stands, I come out of my hosier's stall, and I shout: 'To the sack?' There is always some smashed cask at hand. I mount it, and I say aloud, in the first words that occur to me, what I have on my heart; and when one is of the people, sire, one always has something on the heart: Then people troop up, they shout, they ring the alarm bell, they arm the louts with what they take from the soldiers, the market people join in, and they set out.And it will always be thus, so long as there are lords in the seignories, bourgeois in the bourgs, and peasants in the country."
"And against whom do you thus rebel?" inquired the king; "against your bailiffs?against your lords?"
"Sometimes; that depends.Against the duke, also, sometimes."
Louis XI.returned and seated himself, saying, with a smile,--
"Ah!here they have only got as far as the bailiffs."
At that instant Olivier le Daim returned.He was followed by two pages, who bore the king's toilet articles; but what struck Louis XI. was that he was also accompanied by the provost of paris and the chevalier of the watch, who appeared to be in consternation.The spiteful barber also wore an air of consternation, which was one of contentment beneath, however. It was he who spoke first.
"Sire, I ask your majesty's pardon for the calamitous news which I bring."
The king turned quickly and grazed the mat on the floor with the feet of his chair,--
"What does this mean?"
"Sire," resumed Olivier le Daim, with the malicious air of a man who rejoices that he is about to deal a violent blow, "'tis not against the bailiff of the courts that this popular sedition is directed."
"Against whom, then?"
"Against you, sire?'
The aged king rose erect and straight as a young man,--
"Explain yourself, Olivier!And guard your head well, gossip; for I swear to you by the cross of Saint-L? that, if you lie to us at this hour, the sword which severed the head of Monsieur de Luxembourg is not so notched that it cannot yet sever yours!"
The oath was formidable; Louis XI. had only sworn twice in the course of his life by the cross of Saint-L?.
Olivier opened his mouth to reply.
"Sire--"
"On your knees!" interrupted the king violently."Tristan, have an eye to this man."
Olivier knelt down and said coldly,--
"Sire, a sorceress was condemned to death by your court of parliament.She took refuge in Notre-Dame.The people are trying to take her from thence by main force.Monsieur the provost and monsieur the chevalier of the watch, who have just come from the riot, are here to give me the lie if this is not the truth.The populace is besieging Notre-Dame."
"Yes, indeed!" said the king in a low voice, all pale and trembling with wrath."Notre-Dame!They lay siege to our Lady, my good mistress in her cathedral!--Rise, Olivier. You are right.I give you Simon Radin's charge.You are right.'Tis I whom they are attacking.The witch is under the protection of this church, the church is under my protection. And I thought that they were acting against the bailiff! 'Tis against myself!"
Then, rendered young by fury, he began to walk up and down with long strides.He no longer laughed, he was terrible, he went and came; the fox was changed into a hyaena. He seemed suffocated to such a degree that he could not speak; his lips moved, and his fleshless fists were clenched. All at once he raised his head, his hollow eye appeared full of light, and his voice burst forth like a clarion: "Down with them, Tristan!A heavy hand for these rascals!Go, Tristan, my friend! slay! slay!"
This eruption having passed, he returned to his seat, and said with cold and concentrated wrath,--
"Here, Tristan!There are here with us in the Bastille the fifty lances of the Vicomte de Gif, which makes three hundred horse: you will take them.There is also the company of our unattached archers of Monsieur de Chateaupers: you will take it.You are provost of the marshals; you have the men of your provostship: you will take them.At the H?tel Saint-pol you will find forty archers of monsieur the dauphin's new guard: you will take them.And, with all these, you will hasten to Notre-Dame.Ah! messieurs, louts of paris, do you fling yourselves thus against the crown of France, the sanctity of Notre-Dame, and the peace of this commonwealth!Exterminate, Tristan! exterminate! and let not a single one escape, except it be for Montfau?on."
Tristan bowed."'Tis well, sire."
He added, after a silence, "And what shall I do with the sorceress?"
This question caused the king to meditate.
"Ah!" said he, "the sorceress!Monsieur d'Estouteville, what did the people wish to do with her?"
"Sire," replied the provost of paris, "I imagine that since the populace has come to tear her from her asylum in Notre- Dame, 'tis because that impunity wounds them, and they desire to hang her."
The king appeared to reflect deeply: then, addressing Tristan l'Hermite, "Well! gossip, exterminate the people and hang the sorceress."
"That's it," said Rym in a low tone to Coppenole, "punish the people for willing a thing, and then do what they wish."
"Enough, sire," replied Tristan."If the sorceress is still in Notre-Dame, must she be seized in spite of the sanctuary?"
"~pasque-Dieu~! the sanctuary!" said the king, scratching his ear."But the woman must be hung, nevertheless."
Here, as though seized with a sudden idea, he flung himself on his knees before his chair, took off his hat, placed it on the seat, and gazing devoutly at one of the leaden amulets which loaded it down, "Oh!" said he, with clasped hands, "our Lady of paris, my gracious patroness, pardon me.I will only do it this once.This criminal must be punished.I assure you, madame the virgin, my good mistress, that she is a sorceress who is not worthy of your amiable protection. You know, madame, that many very pious princes have overstepped the privileges of the churches for the glory of God and the necessities of the State.Saint Hugues, bishop of England, permitted King Edward to hang a witch in his church.Saint-Louis of France, my master, transgressed, with the same object, the church of Monsieur Saint-paul; and Monsieur Alphonse, son of the king of Jerusalem, the very church of the Holy Sepulchre.pardon me, then, for this once.Our Lady of paris, I will never do so again, and I will give you a fine statue of silver, like the one which I gave last year to Our Lady of Ecouys.So be it."
Hemade the sign of the cross, rose, donned his hat once more, and said to Tristan,--
"Be diligent, gossip.Take Monsieur Chateaupers with you.You will cause the tocsin to be sounded.You will crush the populace.You will seize the witch.'Tis said. And I mean the business of the execution to be done by you. You will render me an account of it.Come, Olivier, I shall not go to bed this night.Shave me."
Tristan l'Hermite bowed and departed.Then the king, dismissing Rym and Coppenole with a gesture,--
"God guard you, messieurs, my good friends the Flemings. Go, take a little repose.The night advances, and we are nearer the morning than the evening."
Both retired and gained their apartments under the guidance of the captain of the Bastille.Coppenole said to Guillaume Rym,--
"Hum!I have had enough of that coughing king!I have seen Charles of Burgundy drunk, and he was less malignant than Louis XI. when ailing."
"Master Jacques," replied Rym, "'tis because wine renders kings less cruel than does barley water."

《第十卷 五　法兰西路易大人的祈祷室》
读者或许没有忘记,卡齐莫多在瞥见那帮夜行的流浪汉之前不久,从钟楼顶上眺望巴黎,看到的只是一道灯光在闪亮,像星星一样在圣安东门旁边一座高大.阴暗建筑物的最顶层的一扇玻璃窗上闪烁,这建筑物便是巴士底.这星光就是路易十一的烛光.
其实,路易十一国王到巴黎已两天了.第三天他该启程返回蒙蒂兹.莱.图尔的城堡.他在惬意的巴黎城一向难得露几次面,而且时间极其短暂,总觉得住在巴黎,身边的绞架.陷阱和苏格兰弓手都不够多.
那天晚上,他来到巴士底下榻.他在卢浮宫那间五图瓦兹见方的大卧室,那只刻着12只巨兽和13个高大先知的大壁炉,还有那张12尺长.11尺宽的大床,都感到索然无味.在这种种宏大气派之中,他觉得不知所措.这个有着市民习性的国王,倒更喜欢巴士底的小房间和小床.再说,巴士底比起卢浮宫来也坚固多了.
国王在这座有名的国家监狱里为自己保留的这个小房间,还是非常宽敞的,占据着嵌入城堡主塔的一座塔楼的最高层.这是一间圆形的小室,四面张挂着发亮的麦秸席,天花板横梁上饰有镀金的锡制百合花,梁距之间色彩纷呈,镶着华丽的细木护壁板的墙壁,板面点缀着白锡的小玫瑰花图案,用雄黄和靛青混和而成的一种颜料漆成明快的鲜绿色.
房间只有一扇带着铜丝网和铁栅条的长拱形的窗户.除此之外,还有华丽的彩色玻璃窗(每一块玻璃就值22索尔),绘着国王和王后的纹章,因而房间里显得很幽暗.
只有一个入口,是一道当时很时髦的门,呈扁圆拱形,门后装饰着壁毯,外面是爱尔兰式的木门廊,由精雕细刻的细木构成的,玲珑剔透,这种门廊150年前在许多老式房屋中还屡见不鲜.索瓦尔曾哀叹说:"虽然这类门廊有碍瞻观,妨碍进出,我们的先辈却不肯弃掉,不顾任何人干涉,依然保存下来."
在这个房间里,凡是布置一般住宅的家俱都见不到,没有长凳,没有搁凳,没有垫凳,没有箱状的普通矮凳,也没有每只值四索尔的柱脚交叉的漂亮短凳.只有一只可折叠的扶手椅,非常华丽,木头漆成红底,画着玫瑰花案,椅座是朱红色羊皮面,坠着长丝流苏,钉着许许多多金钉子.这张孤零零的座椅表明,只有一个人有权坐在这房间里.椅子旁边,紧靠窗户,有张桌子,铺着绣有各种飞禽的桌毯.桌上有只沾了墨迹的黑水瓶.几支羽毛笔.几张羊皮纸,还有一只玲珑剔透的高脚银酒杯.再过去一点,是一只猩红丝绒的跪凳,一只炭盆,装饰着小圆头金钉.最后,在最里面,是一张简朴的床,铺着黄色和肉色的锦缎,没有金属饰片,也没有金银线的饰边,只有随随便便的流苏.这张床因为路易十一曾在上面睡眠或者度过不眠之夜而著称,200年前人们还可以在一个国事咨议官家中观瞻.在《希鲁斯》中以阿里齐迪和道德化身的名字出现的老妪皮鲁就曾在咨议官家里见过.
这便是人们称为"法兰西路易大人的祈祷室".当在我们把读者带进这间祈祷室的时候,小室里漆黑一团.夜禁的钟声已敲过一个钟头,天已经黑了,只有放在桌子上的一支摇曳的蜡烛,照着分散在房间里的五个人物.
烛光照到的第一个人是个老爷,衣著华丽,穿着短裤和有银色条纹的猩红半长上衣,罩着绘有黑色图案的金线呢绒的半截袖.这套华服,映着闪耀的烛光,似乎所有褶痕均闪着火焰的光泽.穿这套服装的人胸襟上用鲜艳色彩绣着他的纹章:一个人字形图案,尖顶上有只奔走的梅花鹿.盾形纹章右边有支橄榄枝,左边有支鹿角.此人腰间佩一把华丽的短剑,镀金的刀柄镂刻成鸡冠状,柄端是一顶伯爵冠冕.他一付凶相,神态傲慢,趾高气扬.第一眼望去,他的表情是目空一切,再看,是诡计多端.
他光着头,手执一卷文书,站在那张扶手椅后面.椅子上坐着一个穿得邋里邋遢的人,身子佝偻成两截,不堪入眼,翘着二郎腿,手肘撑在桌子上.人们不妨想象一下,在那张富丽堂皇的羊皮椅上面,有两只弯曲的膝盖,两条可怜巴巴穿着黑色羊毛裤的瘦腿,上半身裹一件里子是毛皮的丝棉混织的大氅,看得见毛皮里子的毛不及皮板多.这样还嫌不够,还来一顶油污破旧的低劣黑呢帽,帽子四周还加上一圈小铅人.再加上一顶不露毫发的肮脏圆帽,这就是从坐着的那人身上所看到的一切.他的脑袋耷拉到胸口,他那被阴影盖着的脸根本看不见,只看得见他的鼻尖,一缕光线正好落在上面,想必是一只长鼻子.从他那只满是皱纹的瘦手来判断,可猜想得到这是个老人.这就是路易十一.
在他们身后稍远的地方,有两个穿着弗朗德勒服装式样的人正低声交谈,他们没有完全隐没在阴影中,因而去看过参加格兰古瓦奇迹剧演出的人自会认出,他们是弗朗德勒御使团的两个使臣:一个是足智多谋的根特的领养老金者纪约姆.里姆,而另一个是声望极高的袜商雅克.科珀诺尔.看官记得,这两个人都染指了路易十一的政治密谋.
来了,屋子尽头,房门边,有个壮汉站在黑暗中,纹丝不动,俨若一尊雕像,四肢粗短,全副盔甲,穿着绣有徽章的外套,四方脸膛,暴眼睛,大阔嘴,平直的头发像挡风板似的从两边压下来,遮住了耳朵,遮住脑门,看上去像狗又像虎.
大家都脱掉帽子,国王例外.
紧挨着国王的那位大人正在念一长篇帐单之类的东西,国王好像很注意听着.两个弗朗德勒人在纷纷地交头接耳.
"***!"科珀诺尔咕噜道,"我站累了,难道这里没有椅子?"
里姆摇了摇头,谨慎地微微一笑.
"***!"科珀诺尔又说,他被迫这样压低嗓门,确实感到不幸,"身为袜商,我真想屁股往地上一坐,盘起腿来,卖袜子似的,像在我店里坐着那样."
"千万不要这样,雅克大人!"
"哎哟!纪约姆大人!这里难道就只能站着吗?"
"跪着也行."里姆应和着.
这时国王开了口.他们便立刻不作声了.
"仆人的衣袍50索尔,王室教士的大氅12利弗尔!这么多!把金子成吨往外运!难道你疯了,奥利维埃!"
这样说着,老人抬起了头.只看见他脖子上圣米歇尔项饰贝壳状的金片闪闪发光,蜡烛正好照着他那瘦骨嶙峋和闷闷不乐的侧面,他一把把卷宗从另一个人手中了抢过去.
"您是要叫朕倾家荡产!"他大声叫道,枯涩的目光扫视着卷宗,"这一切是怎么回事?难道朕用得着这样一座豪华的住宅吗?礼拜堂的两个神甫,每人每月10利弗尔,还有礼拜堂的一个僧侣100索尔!一个侍从,每年90利弗尔!4个司膳,每人每年120利弗尔!以及一个烧烤师,一个汤羹师,一个腊肠师,一个厨子,一个卸甲师,两个驼马侍从,这些人都是每月10利弗尔!厨房两个小厮每人8利弗尔!还有马夫和他的两个助手,每个月80利弗尔!搬运夫一个,糕点师一个,面包师一个,赶大车的二个,每人每年60利弗尔!马蹄铁匠120利弗尔!还有帐房总管,1200利弗尔;帐房审核,500利弗尔!......还有什么名堂,我怎会知道?这简直是疯狂,我们仆人的工钱,简直要把法国抢劫一空!卢浮宫的所有金银财宝,也将在这样一种耗费的烈火中融化殆尽!朕就只好变卖餐具度日啦!翌年,倘若上帝和圣母(说到这里,他抬了抬帽子)还允许朕活着,朕就只能用锡罐子喝汤药了."
说这话时,他朝桌上闪光的银盏投去一瞥,咳嗽一声,继续说道:
"奥利维埃君,身为国王和皇帝,统辖广褒国土的君主,在不该在其府第里滋生这种骄奢淫逸之风的;因为这种火焰会蔓延到外省.......所以,奥利维埃君,务必记住这话.我们的花费逐年增加,这可不好.怎么那,帕斯克—上帝!直到79年,还不超过36000利弗尔;80年,达到43619利弗尔;......数字都在我的脑子里;80年,竟达到66680利弗尔;而今年,我敢打赌!会达到80000利弗尔呢!4年中竟翻了一番!简直是咄咄怪事!"
他气喘吁吁地停住,随后又气呼呼地说:
"我的周围尽是靠国库养肥他们自己的人,难怪我消瘦!你们从我每个毛孔里吮吸的是都金币!"
大家默不作声,这样的怒气只好任其发泄.他继续说道:
"正如法国全体领主用拉丁文写的这份奏章所说的,我们必须重新确定一下他们所说的王室的沉重负担!确实是负担!不堪忍受的负担!啊!大人们!你们说朕算不上国王,当政既无司肉官,又无司酒官!朕要叫你看一看,帕斯克—上帝!朕到底是不是国王!"
刚说到这里,他意识到自己的权势,不由露出笑容,火气也就消了,于是转向两个弗朗德勒人说:
"纪约姆伙伴,您看见了吧?宫廷面包总管.司酒总管.侍寝总管.御膳总管,都顶不上小小的奴仆.......请记住这一点,科珀诺尔伙伴;......他们毫无用处.他们这样在国王身边毫无用处,觉得就像王宫大钟钟面周围的四个福音传道者,刚才菲利浦.布里伊还得去把钟拨到9点呢.这四个雕像全是镀金的,可并不指时;时针根在可以用不着它们."
他凝神沉思了一会,摇着苍老的脸孔,加上一句:"嗬!嗬!以圣母的名义起誓,我不是菲利浦.布里伊,我可不会再给那些大侍臣镀金的.我赞成爱德华国王的观点:救救百姓,宰掉领主.......接着念吧,奥利维埃."
他指名道姓的那个人双手接过卷宗,又大声地念起来:
"......巴黎司法衙门的印章年久破损,不能再使用,需铸刻翻新,交给印章掌管人亚当.特农为支付新印章的镌刻费12巴黎利弗尔."
"付给纪约姆.弗莱尔的款项4利弗尔4索尔巴黎币,作为他在今年一月.二月和三月哺育.喂养小塔公馆两鸽巢的鸽子所费辛劳和工钱,又为此供给7塞斯提大麦."
"付方济各会一个修士,为一个罪犯举行忏悔,4个巴黎索尔."
国王默默地听着,不时咳嗽几声.随即又把酒杯送到嘴边,做个怪相喝了一口.
"今年一年内,奉司法之命,在巴黎街头吹喇叭,共举行56次通谕.......账目仍待结算."
"在巴黎和其他地方搜寻据传埋藏在某些地点的金钱,却一无所获;-45巴黎利弗尔."
"为了挖出一个铜子,埋进一个金币!"国王说道.
"......为了在小塔公馆放铁笼的地方安装6块白玻璃板,付13索尔.......奉谕在鬼怪节制作并呈交王上四个周围饰有玫瑰花冠的王徽,6利弗尔.......王上的旧紧身上衣换两个新袖子,20索尔.......为王上的靴子置办的鞋油一盒,15德尼埃.......为了国王那群黑猪新建猪舍一座,30巴黎利弗尔.......为了关养狮子在圣彼得教堂附近,支付若干隔板.木板和盖板,22利弗尔."
"可真是金贵的野兽!"路易十一说道,"没关系,这是王者的豪华气派.有一头红棕色的雄狮,优雅可爱,最中我意.......您见过了吗,纪约姆君?......君主应当养这类奇妙的野兽.我们这些为君王者,以老虎代替猫,应该以雄狮代替狗.强者为王.在信奉朱庇特的异教徒时代,民众献给教堂百头牛和百只羊,帝王就赐给百只狮子和百只老鹰.这说起来很凶蛮,却十分美妙.法国历代君王宝座周围都有猛兽的这种吼叫声.只不过,后人会给我公正的评价.我在这上面比他们花费少,用于豹.狮.熊.象等的费用,我节省得多.......往下念吧!奥利维埃君.我们只不过说给我们的弗朗德勒朋友听一听."
纪约姆.里姆深鞠一躬,而科珀诺尔,满脸愠色,恰似陛下谈到的狗熊.国王却没有放在心上;嘴唇刚伸进杯里呷了一口,随即又赶紧吐出来,说道:"呸!这草药汤真讨厌!"正在朗读卷宗的那一位继续念道:
"有个拦路抢劫犯在剥皮场牢房里关压了6个月,等候着发落,其伙食,6利弗尔四索尔."
"什么?"国王打断话头."喂养该绞死的东西!天啦!休想我会再给一文钱供这种饭食的.......奥利维埃,此事您去跟埃斯杜特维尔大人商量一下,今晚就替我做好准备,叫那个风流鬼与绞刑架结婚吧.念下去."
奥利维埃在念到拦路抢劫者那条时,用大拇指做了个记号,然后跳了过去.
"付给巴黎司法极刑执行官亨利埃.库赞60巴黎索尔,该款项是奉巴黎司法长官大人之命,偿付奉上述司法长官大人之命购买一把宽叶大刀,供因违法而被司法判处死刑者斩首之用,具备有刀鞘及一件附件;同时已将处斩路易.德.卢森堡大人时开裂并损缺的那把旧刀修复和整新,今后可以充分表明......"
国王插嘴说:"得了.我心甘情愿降旨花这笔钱.这样的开销我不在乎,花这种钱我从不心疼.......接着往下念吧."
"新造了一只大囚笼......."
"啊!"国王双手按住椅子的扶手,说道,"我就知道,我来这座巴士底会有什么玩意儿的.......等一等,奥利维埃君.我现在要亲自去看一看囚笼.我一边看,您一边给我念好啦.弗朗德勒先生们,你们也来看看.挺新奇的."
话音刚落,他就站起身来,倚在奥利维埃胳膊上,示意那个站在门口像哑巴一样的人在前面带路,又示意两个弗朗德勒人跟在后面,于是走出了房间.
在小室门口,御驾又增加了披盔带甲的武士和手擎火炬的瘦小侍从.在主塔内部的楼梯和走廊都是从后墙开凿而成的,王上在黑暗的主塔里面走了一阵子.巴士底的总监走在前头,下令给年老多病.边走边咳嗽.弯腰曲背的老国王打开各个小门.
每过一道小门,所有人都不得不低下脑袋,除开那个由于年老而佝偻的老头,他的牙齿全掉光了,透过牙龈说道:"哼!我们都准备好进坟墓的大门了.过矮门,就得弯腰而过."
最后,最后一道小门锁上加锁,重重叠叠,花了一刻钟才打开.走过这小门,里面是一间又高又宽的拱形大厅,借着火把的亮光,可以分辨出正中有个铁木结构的厚实的大立方体,里面是空心的.这就是用来关禁国家要犯的有名囚笼之一,被称为国王的小姑娘.有两三个小窗子笼子侧壁上,窗上的粗大铁栅密密麻麻,连玻璃也看不见了.门是一块平滑的大石板,就像墓门那样.这种门只能进不能出.只要是里面的死者是个活人.
国王围着这个小建筑物缓步走起来,一边仔细地察看,跟在他后面的奥利维埃却大声地念着帐单.
"新造一个巨大的笼子,承梁.梁木.方材均用粗壮的木料,笼长9尺,宽8尺,顶板与底板高7尺,榫接并用粗大的铁螺栓铆合,该笼子置于圣安东城堡作为塔楼之一的房间里,笼内奉旨监禁原先关在残旧囚笼里的一个犯人.......这个新囚笼用了52根竖梁,96根横梁,10根各为三图瓦兹长的承梁;17个木匠在巴士底庭院内劳作了12天,砍削.加工.刨光这些木料.
"相当好的橡树心."国王边说边用拳头敲了敲囚笼构架.
"......这个囚笼,"奥利维埃继续念道,"用去220根粗大的铁螺栓,每根89尺长,其余的中等长度,还有用于固定螺栓的盖帽,垫片和压衬,上述各项共用铁3700斤重;外加8根大铆钉用来固定上述笼子,连同铁抓和铁钉,共重218斤,还不包括囚笼所在房间的窗户铁栅,房门上的铁杠而其他等等......"
"为了关一个没几斤重的人竟用了那么多的铁呀!"国王说道.
"......总共317利弗尔5索尔7德尼埃."
"帕斯克—上帝!"国王喊叫起来.
听到路易十一这句粗鲁的口头禅,仿佛囚笼里有个人醒了过来,只听得铁链丁丁当当撞着底板的响声,有个好似从坟墓里发出来的微弱声音响起来:"陛下!陛下!求你开恩吧!......"只听见说这话的声音,却看不见其人.
"317利弗尔5索尔7德尼埃!"路易十一接着往下说.
听到囚笼里发出来的哀鸣,所有在场的人不由得直打寒噤,连奥利维埃亦不例外.只有国王一个人好像没有听见.奥利维埃奉命继续往下念,王上冷漠地继续察看囚笼.
"......除此的外,一个泥瓦工凿洞安放窗栅,并因为囚笼太重,其所在房间的地板难以支撑而得加固,共付27利弗尔14巴黎索尔......"
囚笼里又呻吟了起来:
"开恩吧!王上!我向您发誓,谋反的是昂热的红衣主教大人,而不是我."
"这个泥瓦匠够狠的!"国王说道,"接着念,奥利维埃."
"一个木工制作床铺.窗子.马桶打洞等等,付20利弗尔2巴黎索尔......"
那声音继续在呻吟:"唉!王上!您不听我说的话么?我向您保证,给德.纪延大人写告密信的并不是我,而是拉.巴律红衣主教大人."
"木工也够贵的!"国王说道,"念完了吗?"
"没有,陛下.......一个玻璃工安装上述房间的玻璃,付予46索尔8巴黎德尼埃."
"开开恩吧,陛下!餐具给了托尔西大人,我的全部财产都给了审判我的法官们,藏书给了皮埃尔.多里奥尔老爷,挂毯交给了卢西永的总管,难道这还不够吗?我是冤枉的.我在铁笼子里已经哆哆嗦嗦已14年了.开开恩吧,陛下!您会在天国得到报答的."
"奥利维埃君,"国王说道,"总共多少?"
"367利弗尔8索尔3巴黎德尼埃!"
"圣母啊!"国王嚷道."这真是贵得吓人的囚笼啊!"
他从奥利维埃手中一把夺过卷宗,扳着手指自己计算起来,忽而又查看文书,忽而仔细察看囚笼.正在这个时候,从囚笼里传出囚犯的呜咽声.这声音在黑暗中是那么凄惨,大家的脸孔变得煞白,面面相觑.
"14年了!陛下!已经14年了!从1469年4月算起.看在上帝的圣母面上,陛下,就听我诉一诉衷肠!在这整个时期里,您一直享受太阳的温暖.我呢,体弱多病,难道我再见不到天日吗?开恩吧,陛下!发发慈悲吧.宽容是君王的一种美德,因为宽宏大量可平息怒气.陛下,难道您认为,到了临终时,一个君王由于对任何冒犯都从不放过难道会感到是一种巨大的快乐吗?况且,陛下,我并没有背叛陛下;背叛的是昂热的红衣主教大人.我脚上带着沉重的铁链,链头还拖着个大铁球,重得有悖常理.唉!陛下,求你可怜可怜我吧!"
"奥利维埃,"国王摇了摇头说道,"我发现有人向我报价每桶灰泥20索尔,其实只值12索尔.您把这份帐单重新改一下."
刚一说完,随即从囚笼转过身去步出那个房间.可怜的囚犯眼见火把耳听人声远去,肯定国王走了."陛下!陛下!"他绝望地喊道.房门又关上了,他再也看不见什么,再也听不见什么了,就只有狱卒吵哑的歌声,在他耳边回荡.让.巴律老公再看不见了他的主教区;凡尔登大人一个主教区也没有了;两个一起完.
国王默不作声,又上楼回到他的小室去,他的随从跟随其后面,全都被犯人最后的呻吟吓得魂不附体.冷不防陛下转身问巴士底的总管道:"喂,那囚笼里曾有个人是吗?"
"没错!陛下!"总管听到这问话,顿时目瞪口呆,应答道.
"那是谁?"
"是凡尔登的主教大人."
国王比任何人都心中有数.但是,明知故问是一种癖好.
"啊!"他说,故作天真状,好像是头一回想起来似的."纪约姆.德.哈朗库,红衣主教拉.巴律大人的朋友.一个非常不错的的主教!"
过了片刻,小室的门又开了,看官在本章开头见过的那五个人走进去之后,随即又关上.他们各自回到原来的位置,保持原来的姿态,低声继续谈话.
国王刚才不在的时候,有人在他桌上放了几封紧急信.他亲自一一拆封,立刻一一批阅,示意奥利维埃君-好像在王上身边充当文牍大臣-拿起羽毛笔,并不告诉他信函的内容,就开始低声口授回复,奥利维埃跪在桌前,十分地不舒服,忙着笔录.
纪约姆.里姆注意观察着.
国王说得很低,两位弗朗德勒人一点儿也听不见他口授什么,只有断断续续地听到让人难以理解的片言只语,诸如"......以商业维持富饶地区,以工场维持贫瘠地区......""让英国贵族看我们四门臼炮:伦敦号.布莱斯镇号.勃拉汉特号.圣奥美尔号......""大炮是目前战争更合理的根由......""致我们朋友布莱随尔大人......""没有贡赋军队是无法维持的......"等等.
有一次,他提高了嗓门:"帕斯克—上帝!西西里国王大人竟跟法国国王一样用黄火漆密封信件,我们允许他这么做,也许是错了.连我那勃艮第的表弟当年的纹章都不是直纹红底子的.要保证名门世家的威严,只有维护其特权的完整性.马上记下这句话,奥利维埃伙伴."
又有一回,他说道:"噢!这封信口气真大!我们的皇兄向我们提出什么要求呀?"他一边浏览书信,一边不断发出感叹:"当然,意志如此强盛.伟大,简直叫人难以置信.可别忘了这句老谚语:最美的伯爵领地是弗朗德勒;最美的公爵领地是米兰;最美的王国是法兰西.对不对,弗朗德勒先生们?"
这一次,科珀诺尔同纪约姆.里姆一起鞠了一躬.袜商的爱国心受到了奉承.
看到最后一件信函,路易十一不由直皱眉头,喊叫道:"这是怎么一回事?控告我们在庇卡底的驻军,还请了愿!奥利维埃,急速函告鲁奥特元帅大人.......就说军纪松弛;近卫骑兵一被放逐的贵族,自由弓手,侍卫对平民胡作非为.......军士从农夫家里掠夺其财富还嫌不够,或用棍打鞭抽,迫使他们到城里去乞讨酒.香料.鱼及其他许许多多东西.......国王知道这一切.......朕要保护其庶民,让他们免遭骚扰.偷窃和抢劫.......以圣母的名义起誓,这是朕的意志!......另外,就说朕不喜欢任何理发师乡村乐师或军队侍役,像王侯一样穿什么天鹅绒和绸缎,戴什么金戒指.......这种虚荣浮华是上帝所怨恨的.......吾人身为贵族,也满足于每1巴黎码16巴黎索尔的粗呢上衣.......那些随军侍役先生们,也完全可以屈尊嘛.就照这样颁诏下旨.......致我们的朋友鲁奥特大人.......行."
他高声口授这封信,语气铿锵有力,说得时紧时慢.口授正要结束,房门一下子打开了,又来了一个人,慌慌张张冲进来喊道:"陛下!陛下!巴黎发生民众暴乱."
路易十一的严肃面孔一下子紧缩起来;不过,他不安中所流露出来的某是种明显表情,俨如闪电转瞬即逝.他克制了自己,冷静而严肃地说道:"雅克伙伴,您来得太唐突了!"
"陛下!陛下!叛乱了!"雅克伙伴上气不接下气地又说道.
国王站了起来,猛然抓住他的胳膊,抑住怒火,目光瞟着两位弗朗德勒人,咬着雅克耳朵,只让他一个人听见,说道:"住口,要不然就给我小声点!"
新来的人心领神会,战战兢兢地低声叙说起来,国王冷静地听着.正在这时候,纪约姆.里姆叫科珀诺尔注意看了看新来者的面容和衣着:毛皮风帽,黑绒袍子,短披风,这表明他是审计院的院长.
此人刚把事情的来龙去脉向国王作了些解释,路易十一便哈哈大笑起来,大声说道:"真的!库瓦提埃伙伴,大声说吧!您为什么要这样小声?圣母知道的,我们没有什么可向我们弗朗德勒好朋友隐瞒的?"
"可是,陛下."
"大声一点说!"
这位"库瓦提埃伙伴"依然惊诧得说不出话来.
"到底怎么样,"国王继续说,"说呀,先生,我们心爱的巴黎城发生了平民骚动."
"是的,陛下."
"您说,这骚动是针对司法官典吏大人的吗?"
"看样子是的,"这位伙伴结结巴巴地应道,他对王上刚才突如其来的莫名其妙的思想变化,依然摸不着头脑.
路易十一继续又说:"巡逻队在哪儿遇到乱民的?"
"从大丐帮街走向兑换所桥的路上.我本人也遇见,是我奉召来这里的途中.我听见其中有几个人连声喊道:'打倒司法宫典吏!’"
"他们对典吏有过什么怨恨?"
"啊!"雅克伙伴说,"典史是他们的领主."
"真的!"
"是的,陛下.那是奇迹宫廷的一帮无赖.他们是典吏管辖下的子民,对他不满由来已久.他们拒不承认他有审判权和有路政权."
"得啦!"国王说道,情不自禁地露出满意的笑容,尽管他竭力掩饰.
"在他们对大理院提出的诉状中,"雅克伙伴继续说,"他们声称只有两个老爷,即陛下和上帝.我想,他们所说的上帝,其实是魔鬼."
"嘿!嘿!"国王说.
他擦着双手,暗自发笑,脸上容光焕发.他掩饰不住内心的喜悦,尽管他不时竭力地装出神情自若的样子.谁也搞不清楚是怎么回事,连"奥利维埃君"也弄不明白.国王半晌一声也没有吭,看上去若有所思,却又喜形于色.
"他们人多势众吗?"他忽然问道.
"是的,当然,陛下."雅克伙伴回答.
"共有多少人?"
"至少6000人."
国王情不自禁说了声:"妙!"随即又加上一句:"他们都有武器吗?"
"有长镰.火熗.十字镐长矛.各种很厉害的武器."
对于这种大肆渲染,国王好像一点儿也不放在心上.雅克伙伴认为应该添上一句,于是说道:"若是陛下不立即派人救援典吏,可就完蛋了."
"要派的."国王装出严肃的样子说:"好.一定要派.典吏大人是我们的人.6000人!都是些亡命之徒.大胆固然值得赞叹,但我们感到气恼.可是今夜朕身边没有任何人.......明早还来得及."
雅克伙伴又叫道:"立即就派,陛下!明早派的话,典吏府早遭抢劫无数次了,领主庄园早遭蹂躏,典吏也早被绞死了.看在上帝的份上,陛下!请在明天早上之前派兵吧."
国王正面瞅了他一眼,说:"朕对你说了,就是明天早上."
他那种目光是叫人回嘴不得的.
沉默了一会,路易十一再次提高了嗓门."雅克我的伙伴,你应该明白这件事了吧.往昔......"他改口说:"现在典吏的封建裁判管辖区如何."
"陛下,司法宫典吏拥有压布街,一直到草市街,拥有圣米歇尔广场和俗称之为'炉风口隔墙’的地方,座落在田园圣母院教堂旁(这时路易十一抬了抬帽沿).那里府邸共13座,加上奇迹宫廷,再加上称为郊区的麻疯病院,还再加上从麻疯病院到圣雅各门的整条大路.在这很多地方,他既是路政官,又是高级.中级.初级司法官,全权领主."
"哎唷!"国王用右手搔搔左耳说道."这可占了我城市的好一块地盘呀!啊!典吏大人过去就是这一整个地盘的太上皇了."
这一次他没有再改口.他一副沉思默想的模样,继续说道,仿佛在自言自语:"妙哉!典吏先生!您嘴里可咬着我们巴黎的好一大块呵!"
突然间,他暴跳如雷:"帕斯克—上帝!在我们国家里,这些自称路政官的人.司法官.主宰者,动辄到处收买路钱,在百姓当中到处滥施司法权,各个十字路口都有他们的刽子手,到底是些什么样的人?他们倒行逆施,结果使得法国人看见有多少绞刑架,就以为有多少国王,就像希腊人认为有多少泉水就有多少神明,就像波斯人看见有多少星星就以为有多少神.够了!这真是太糟透了,我讨厌因而造成的混乱.我倒要弄个明白:是不是上帝恩典,在巴黎除了国王之外还有另一个路政官?!除了大理院还有另一个司法衙门?!在这个帝国除了朕居然还有另一个皇帝?!天理良心!法兰西只有一个国王,只有一个领主,一个法官,一个斩刑的人,正如天堂里只有一个上帝,我确信这一天终会到来!"
他又举了举帽子,一直沉思着往下说,其神情和语气就像一个猎手因激怒放纵其猎犬一般,"好!我的民众!勇敢些!砸烂这班假领主!动手干吧!快呀!快呀!抢劫他们,绞死他们,把他们打得落花流水!......啊!你们想当国王吗,大人们?干吧!百姓们!干吧!"
说到这儿,他突然打住,咬咬嘴唇,仿佛要捕捉已溜走了一半的思想,犀利的目光轮流注视着身边的五个人,忽然用两手抓紧帽子,盯着帽子说:"噢!你要是知道我脑子里想些什么,我就把你烧掉."
随后,他活像偷偷回到巢穴的狐狸那样,用惶恐不安的目光仔细环视四周:"让它去吧!我们还是要援救典吏先生.可惜这时候我们这里兵马太少了,对抗不了那么多民众,非得等到明天不可.明天要在老城恢复秩序,凡只要是捕获者统统绞死."
"对啦,陛下!"库瓦提埃伙伴说."我开头一阵慌乱,倒把这事忘了:巡逻队抓住那帮人中两个掉队的.陛下要是想见这两个人,他们就在那儿."
"我想见他们!"国王大叫,"怎么!帕斯克—上帝!这样的事你都忘了!快快,你,奥利维埃!去把他们找来."
奥利维埃君走了出去,过了一会,带进来两个犯人,由禁卫弓手押解着.头一个长着一张大脸,呆头呆脑,醉醺醺的,惊慌失措.他衣衫褴褛,走起路来,屈着膝盖,步态蹒跚.第二个面孔苍白,笑眯眯的,读者已认识.
国王打量了他们一会儿,一声不吭,随后冷不防地问第一个人:
"你叫什么名字?"
"日夫罗瓦.潘斯布德."
"职业呢?"
"流浪汉."
"你参加那十恶不赦的暴乱,用意何在?"
流浪汉望了望国王,摇晃着双臂,一付傻头傻脑的模样.这是畸形怪状的脑袋,其智力受到的压抑,俨如熄烛罩下之烛光.
"不知道."他应道,"人家去我也去."
"你们不是要去悍然攻打和抢劫你们的领主司法宫典吏大人的吗?"
"我只明白,他们要到某人家里去拿什么东西.别的就不知道了."
一个兵卒把从流浪汉身上搜到的截枝刀递交王上审视.
"你可认得这件武器?"国王问道.
"认得,是我的截枝刀,我是种葡萄园的."
"那你认得这个人是你的同伙?"路易十一加上一句,一面指着另一个囚犯说.
"不,我不认识他."
"行啦."国王道.随即用手指头示意我们已提醒读者注意的那个站在门边一动不动.默不作声的人,又说:
"特里斯丹伙伴,这个人就交给您处置了."
隐修士特里斯丹鞠了一躬,低声命令两个弓手把那可怜的流浪汉带走.
此时,国王已经走到第二个犯人跟前,此人满头大汗.
"你的名字?"
"陛下,我叫皮埃尔.格兰古瓦."
"职业?"
"哲学家,陛下."
"坏家伙,那你怎么竟敢去围攻我们的明友司法宫典吏先生,你对这次民众骚乱,有什么事情要交待的?""陛下,我并没有去围攻."
"喂喂!淫棍,难道不是在那一伙坏蛋当中被巡逻队逮住你的吗?"
"不是,陛下,是误会,也是在劫难逃.我是写悲剧的.陛下,我恳求陛下听我禀告.我是诗人,夜里爱在大街上行走,那真是从事我这行职业的人的悲哀.今晚我正好经过那里,这纯属偶然,人们却不问清楚就把我抓起来了.我在这场民众风暴中是清白无辜的.乞求陛下明察,那个流浪汉并不认识我,我恳求陛下......"
"闭嘴!"国王饮了一口煎草汤,说道,"我都被你说晕了."
隐修士特里斯丹走上前去,指着格兰古瓦道:"陛下,把这一个也绞死吗?"
这是他大声说的第一句话.
"呸!"国王漫不经心地应道,"我看没有什么不可."
"我看,万万不可."格兰古瓦道.
这时,我们这位哲学家的脸色比橄榄还要绿.看到王上那冷淡.漠然的神色,深知别无他法逃生,除非用感人肺腑的什么言词来打动圣上的心,于是一骨碌便扑倒在路易十一跟前,顿首捶胸,呼天抢地:
"陛下!万望圣上垂怜容禀,陛下啊!请勿对我这微不足道的小人天威震怒.上帝的神威霹雳,是不会落在一颗莴苣上的.圣上是无比强大.威震四海的君主,请可怜可怜一个老实人吧,要他这样的人去煽动暴乱,那比要冰块发出火花还难!无比仁爱的圣上,温厚宽容是雄狮和国君的美德.严厉只会吓跑有才智之士;北风呼啸,只能使行人将身上的大衣裹得更紧;太阳发出光芒,逐渐温暖行人的体肤,才能使其脱下外套.圣上呀,您就是太阳!我至高无上的主宰者,我向您保证,我不是流浪汉,不是小偷,不是放荡之徒.叛乱和抢劫绝非阿波罗的随从.去投入那爆发为骚乱的乌合之众的,绝不会是我.在下是圣上忠实的子民.丈夫为了维护妻子的荣誉而怀有的嫉妒心,儿子为了孝敬父亲而怀有的嫉恶如仇之情,作为一个善良的子民,为了圣上的光荣,应该兼而有之;他必须呕心沥血,满腔热情维护王上的宗室,竭尽所能报效圣上.如有其他任何热情使他不能自持的,那只能是疯狂.陛下,这就是我的最高座右铭.因此,请千万别根据在下的衣服肘部磨破了就判定在下是暴徒和抢劫犯.如蒙圣上开恩,陛下,我将早晚为陛下祈求上帝保佑,磨破双膝也在所不辞.咳!在下不是腰缠万贯的富翁,这是千真万确,甚至还有点穷困.然而并不因此就作恶多端.贫穷不是在下的过错.人人都明白:巨大财富并不是从纯文学中就可取得,满腹经纶之士并不总是冬天有取暖之火.唯有使用狡狯的手段能攫取全部的收获,而只把稻草留给其他科学职业.有关哲学家们身穿破洞的外套,就至少有四十句绝妙的谚语.啊!陛下!宽容是唯一可以照耀一颗伟大灵魂深处的光辉.宽容擎着火炬,在前面指引着其他一切德行.如果没有宽容,人们就成了摸索着寻找上帝的瞎子.仁慈和宽容是同一的,仁慈博得庶民的爱戴,也就成了君王本人举世无双的卫队.陛下如日照中天,光芒四射,万民不敢仰视.在地上多留一个穷人,这对圣上又有何妨?一个可怜无辜的哲学家,囊空如洗,饥肠辘辘,在灾难深渊中苟延残喘,留着他又有何碍?况且,圣上呀!在下是个文人.伟大的君王无一不把保护文人作为他们皇冠上的一颗明珠.赫尔库斯没有轻视缪萨盖特斯这个头衔.马西亚.科尔文宠爱数学桂冠让.德.蒙特罗瓦亚尔.但是话说回来,绞死文人,这是保护学术的一种恶劣方式.亚历山大若是下令绞死亚里士多德,那是何等的污点呀!这一行为不会是颗美人痣,增添点什么光彩给他美丽的脸上,而会是一个恶瘤,将毁掉他美丽的容颜.陛下!我写了一部非常得体的祝婚诗,献给弗朗德勒公主和威严盖世的王太子殿下.这不会是出自一个唯恐天下不乱的煽风点火者之手.请陛下明察,在下并非一个弊脚作家,以往学业优异,天生能言善辩.乞求圣上饶恕吧!陛下这样做,就是为圣母做了一件善举.在下向您发誓,在下想到要被绞死,就被吓得魂不附体."
如此说着,悲痛万分的格兰古瓦不停吻着国王的拖鞋,纪约姆.里姆低声对科珀诺尔说道:"他在地上爬,这一招真绝.凡是国王都像克莱特的朱庇特,耳朵只长在脚上."袜商可不管什么克莱特的朱庇特,他脸上带着憨笑,眼睛盯着格兰古瓦,说道:"呃!千真万确!我以为听见掌玺官寸雨戈奈向我求饶哩."
格兰古瓦住口了,气喘吁吁,战战兢兢抬头望着国王.国王正用指甲刮着紧身长裤膝部的一个污斑.随后他端起高脚杯喝起煎草汤来.而且,他一声不吭,这种沉默叫格兰古瓦大气不敢出.国王终于瞥了他一眼,说道:"这家伙真是吵死人!"随后又转向隐修士特里斯丹说:"唔!放掉他!"
格兰古瓦一屁股跌坐在地上,乐得惊呆了.
"放掉!"特里斯丹小声嘀咕道."陛下不要叫他在笼子里蹲一蹲?"
"伙伴,"路易十一接过话头说:"你以为我们花费三百六十七利弗尔八索尔三德尼埃造的笼子是为了这样的鸟人吗?立即放掉这个淫棍."(路易十一偏爱这个词,连同帕斯克—上帝,是表示他快活的基本词儿),"你们用拳头把他轰出去!"
"喔唷!"格兰古瓦大声嚷嚷道:"真是一个伟大的国君!"话音刚落,唯恐王上撤消原旨,急忙转身向门口冲去,特里斯丹相当不情愿地给他开了门.兵士同他一起出去,在后面用拳头狠狠捶他,撵着他走,这一切格兰古瓦俨然作为名符其实的斯多噶派哲学家全都忍受了.
自从听说反对典吏的叛乱以后,国王的情绪一直很好,这从各个方面都流露出来.这种异乎寻常的宽容,并不是无足轻重的一种迹象.隐修士特里斯丹呆在他原来的角落里,脸色不快,就好像一只看门狗,看得见人走过却咬不着.
这时,国王兴奋地用手指头在座椅扶手上敲打奥德梅尔桥进行曲的节奏.这是一位不露声色的君王,不过他掩饰痛苦的本领,远远胜过掩饰喜悦.不论听到任何好消息,那种喜形于色的表现,有时实在太过份了,例如:获知鲁莽汉查理的死讯,他甚至许愿给图尔的圣马丁教堂捐造银栏杆;获悉自己登上王位,甚至把传谕安葬亡文也忘了.
"喂!陛下!"雅克.库瓦提埃突然大叫起来."陛下传谕要我来看那种疾病,现在怎么样了?"
"啊!"国王说道."我确实非常难受,我的朋友,我耳鸣,就象老有笛音叫;胸口痛,老是像火耙在刮."
库瓦提埃捏住国王的一只手,以行家的神态给他把脉.
"科珀诺尔,您看呀!"里姆悄声道."它一边是库瓦提埃,另一边是特里斯丹.这就是他的整个朝廷.一个医生是给他自己的,一个刽子手是给其他人的."
库瓦提埃给国王把脉,按着按着,脸上流露出惊慌的神色.路易十一有点不安地盯着他.库瓦提埃的脸色很明显地阴沉下来了.这个正直的人没有别的生财之道,唯一的办法就是王上龙体欠安了,他便使出全身解数大捞一把.
"啊!啊!确实很严重."他终于喃喃自语道.
"当真?"国王不安地问道.
"脉跳急速.间歇.有噪音.不规则."医生接着说道.
"帕斯克—上帝!"
"不出三天,这就会要他的命."
"圣母啊!"国王叫了起来."那怎么治呢,朋友?"
"我正在考虑,陛下."
他让路易十一伸出舌头来瞧了瞧,摇摇头,做了个鬼脸.就在这让人心急火燎的当儿,他突然说道,"真的,陛下!我得禀告圣上,有个主教空缺,其教区收益权由王上代管,我正好有个侄儿."
"我把我的收益职权交给你的侄子就是了,雅克朋友."国王应道."可你得赶紧把我的心火治好才行."
"既然圣上如此宽宏大量,"医生接上一句,"想必对在下在圣安德烈－德－阿尔克街建造住宅,不会不愿帮助一点."
"嗯!"国王道.
"在下财力有限."医生接着说."要是住宅没有屋顶,那可真是太遗憾了.倒不是为了那栋房子,它很简单,完全是平民住宅的式样,而是为了布置约翰.富尔博的那些画,因为这些画可以使护壁板赏心悦目.其中有一幅画的是狄安娜在空中飞翔,可真是精美绝伦,神态那么含情脉脉,那么优雅动人,动作那么天真纯朴,头发梳得那么整齐,头上环绕月牙儿,胴体细嫩白皙,谁要是过份好奇观看,都会受到诱惑.还有一个塞莱斯,也是一个绝色女神,坐在秸垛上,头戴麦穗花冠,点缀着婆罗门参和其他花儿.没有什么能比她的眼神更充满爱意,比她的腿更圆润,比她的神态更高雅,比她的裙子更多褶裥的了.这是画笔所能画出来的最纯朴.最完美的美人之一."
"刽子手!"路易十一嘟哝着."你还有个完没有?"
"在下得盖个屋顶把这些油画盖起来,陛下,可是,虽说是鸡毛蒜皮的小事,我却没有钱了."
"盖你的屋顶,要多少钱?"
"......一个铜屋顶,饰有铜像,镀金,顶多不过二千利弗尔."
"啊!这杀人犯!"国王叫道."要是我的牙是钻石的,他不拔我的牙才怪呢!"
"我可以盖屋顶吗?"库瓦提埃继续问道.
"行!见鬼去吧,可你得把我的病治好!"
雅克.库瓦提埃深深鞠了一躬,说道:"陛下,一帖消散剂就能使龙体大安.我们要在圣上腰部敷上用蜡膏.亚美尼亚粘土.蛋白.油和醋制成的大药膏.陛下继续喝您的煎草汤.陛下的康安包在在下的身上."
一支发光的蜡烛会招引来的不仅仅是一只小飞虫.奥利维埃君,看到国王正在慷慨的时候,觉得机不可失,时不再来,于是也凑上前去,说:"陛下......"
"又有什么?"路易十一说道.
"陛下,圣上知道,西蒙.拉丹大人死了吗?"
"那又如何呢?"
"他在世时是王上的御库司法长官."
"那如何?"
"陛下,他的职位空缺着."
这样说着,奥利维埃的高傲面容顿时由傲慢换成低三下四的神情.这是朝臣面部表情独一无二的变换了.国王紧盯着他瞅了一眼,生硬地回答说:"知道."
国王接着说道:
"奥利维埃君,布西科提督曾经说过:'赏赐只来自国王,大鱼只在大海.’朕看您跟布西科先生一脉相承.现在好好听着.朕记性可不坏.68年,朕让您当了内侍;69年,当了圣克鲁桥行宫的主管,禄俸一百利弗尔图尔币(您想要巴黎利弗尔);73年11月,颁诏热若尔,封您为樊尚林苑的主管,替换了马厩总管吉尔贝.阿克尔;75年,封您为当鲁弗莱－雷－圣－克鲁森林的领主,代替了雅克.勒梅尔;78年,颁发双重绿漆密封诏书,恩赐您和您的妻子坐收圣日耳曼学堂附近的商人广场的年利十巴黎利邦尔;79年,封您为富纳尔森林的领主,取代了那个可怜的约翰.戴兹;然后,罗舍城堡的总管;然后,圣康丁的总督;然后,默朗桥的总管,您就此要人称您为伯爵.理发匠给人刮胡子所交的五索尔罚金,其中有三索尔归您,剩下的二索尔才归朕.您原来姓'莫维’,朕慨然应允把它改了,因为它太像您的尊容了;74年,朕不顾贵族们极大的不满,授给您五颜六色的各种纹章,让您挂满胸,像孔雀那般骄傲.帕斯克—上帝呀,难道您还不知足?难道您捞的鱼还不够美妙不够神奇的吗?难道不怕再多捞一条鲑鱼,您的船就会被他击沉吗?朋友,是骄傲把您毁掉的?跟随着骄傲接踵而来的,总是毁灭和耻辱.好好掂量掂量吧,闭上您的嘴."
国王说这番话,声色俱厉,奥利维埃满脸不高兴的表情马上又恢复了傲慢的神色.他几乎高声嘟哝道:"那好,王上今天是病了,这是明摆着的;什么好处都赏给了医生."
路易十一听到这冒犯的话儿,非但没有气恼,反而露出几分和颜悦色,接着说:"噢,朕倒忘了,还曾派您出使根特,作为驻玛格丽特皇后宫廷的御使."接着转向两位弗朗德勒人添了一句:"一点不假,大人们,此人当过御使."随后又对着奥利维埃继续说道:"喂,朋友!别生气啦,我们都是老交情了.天色已晚,公事也办完了.快给朕修面吧."
读者大概必须等到现在才恍然大悟,认出奥利维埃君就是那个理发匠,由于上天这个编剧高手的绝妙安排,使他在路易十一那漫长而血淋淋的喜剧中,扮演了那位可怕的费加罗角色.我们无意在这里就这个稀奇古怪的角色进行一番描述.国王的这个理发师有三个名字:宫中人们客气地称他为"公鹿奥利维埃",民众称他为"魔鬼奥利维埃",而他真正的姓名是"坏人奥利维埃".
"坏人奥利维埃"就在那里纹丝不动,正对国王生闷气,而且斜着眼睛瞄着雅克.雅瓦提埃,低声嘀咕道:"行!行!医生!"
"呃!是的,医生."路易十一接着说,脾气好得出奇,"医生比你更有声望吧.说来很简单.朕的整个身家性命都掌握在他手里,而你只有把朕的下巴挑住而已.行啦,我可怜的理发师,机会今后有的是.希佩立克国王经常一只手捋着胡须,假如我像他那样是个了不起的国王,那么你还有什么戏唱?你那份饭碗还能混得下去吗?算了,朋友,干你的正事儿吧,快给我刮胡子,去拿你必需的工具吧."
奥利维埃看见王上决意想要开心,甚至连惹他生气的法子也没有,只好嘟嘟哝哝出去奉旨寻工具了.
国王站起来,走到窗前,突然激动起来,猛然推开窗户,拍手叫道:"噢!真的!老城上空一片红光!真是典吏府在熊熊燃烧.只能如此.啊!我的好人民!你们果然终于帮我来摧毁领主制度!"
话音一落,随即转向弗朗特勒人说:"诸位,过来看看,难道那不是一片红色火光吗?"
两个根特人走近前去.
"是一片大火."纪约姆.里姆说.
"啊!"科珀诺尔接上去说,两眼突然闪亮."这使我想起了焚烧亨贝库尔领主府邸的情景,那边一定发生了一场大骚乱."
"您这样认为吗,科珀诺尔君?"路易十一似乎与袜商同样流露出兴奋的目光.
"真是势不可挡,难道不是吗?"
"***!陛下!陛下的兵马碰上去,恐怕也得损失许多人马!"
"啊!我那是另一码事,"国王又说道."只要我愿意!......"
袜商大胆应道:
"这次暴动要是像是我设想的那样,就是陛下愿意也不顶用,陛下!"
"朋友,"路易十一说道,"只要我的御林军去两支人马,加上一阵蛇形炮同时轰炸,那帮乱民根本就不在话下."
袜商不顾纪约姆.里姆以眼色向他示意,看样子横下一条心要与国王顶撞到底.
"陛下,御前侍卫也是贱民出身.勃艮第公爵大人是一个了不起的贵族,他压根儿不把这帮贱民放在眼里.在格朗松战役中,陛下,他高喊:'炮手们!向这班下流坯开火!’他还以圣乔治名义破口大骂.可是司法宫夏尔纳奇塔尔,手执大棒,带领他的民众,向英俊的公爵猛冲过去;同皮厚得像水牛般的乡下人一交手,亮闪闪的勃艮第军队就像玻璃被石头猛烈一砸,立刻爆裂成碎片,当场有许多骑士被贱民杀死了.人们发现勃艮第最大的领主,夏多—居旺大人在一小片沼泽草地上同他的大灰马一起被打死了."
"朋友,"国王又说道."您谈的是一个战役.现在这里是一场叛乱.我什么时候高兴皱一皱眉头,就可以战而胜之."
科珀诺尔冷冷地反驳道:
"这是可能的,陛下.要是这样,那是因为人民的时代尚未到来."
纪约姆.里姆认为自己不得不开口了,说道:"科珀诺尔君,您可要知道,跟您说话的是一个强大的国王."
"我明白,"袜商严肃地回答.
"让他说吧,我的朋友里姆大人,"国王说道."我非常喜欢这种直言不讳.我的父亲查理七世常说,忠言病了,我自己以为,忠言死了,根本没有找到忏悔师.科珀诺尔君却使我看清自己想错了."
说到这里,路易十一亲切地将手搭在科珀诺尔的肩上.
"您说,雅克君?......"
"我说,陛下,您或许是有道理的;贵邦人民的时代还没有到来."
路易十一目光锐利地看了他一眼.
"那么这一时代何时到来呢?"
"您终会听到这一时刻的钟声的."
"是哪个钟声,请问?"
科珀诺尔始终态度冷静而憨厚,请国王靠近窗口.他说:"陛下您听我说!这里有一座主塔,一只警钟,一些大炮,还有市民和兵卒.一旦警钟鸣响,炮声隆隆,主塔轰隆倒塌,市民和士兵吼叫着互相杀戮,那个时辰就敲响了."
路易十一脸色阴暗下来,若有所思.他沉默了一会,随后轻轻地用手拍打着主塔的厚墙,仿佛抚摸战马的臀部似的.他说道:"啊!不!你是不会如此容易倒塌的,是不是,我心爱的巴士底?"
他又猛然地转身朝向那个大胆的弗朗德勒人说:"您曾见过叛乱吗,雅克君?"
"何止见过,我亲自搞过."袜商回应道.
"搞叛乱,您是怎么干的?"国王问道.
"啊!"科珀诺尔应道,"这并不很难.方法是很多的.首先需要城市人心怀不满.这是常有的事.其次是居民的性格.根特的居民生性容易起来叛乱.他们总是喜欢君王的儿子,而从来不喜欢君王本人.那好吧!如果某天早上,有人到我店里来对我说:科珀诺尔老爹,如此......这般......,弗朗德勒的公主要想保全她的那班宠臣,大典吏要把盐捐增加一倍,诸如此类.你要怎么说都行.我一听,把手头的活计一扔,走出袜店,到街上大喊大叫:抢劫!随时随地都找得到破木桶的,我跳上去,想到什么就大声说什么,全讲出压在心里话;只要你是人民的一份子,陛下,心头总压着什么的.于是大家聚集在一起,高声喊叫,把警钟敲得震天价响,解除士兵们的武装拿来武装平民,市场上的人也参加进来,于是就干起来了!而且,只要领地上还有领主,市镇上还有市民,乡下还有农民,就会永远是这样的."
"那你们这样造谁的反?"国王问道,"造你们典吏的反?造你们领主的反?"
"有时候是这样的.看情况.有时也造一下公爵的反."
路易十一走过去重新坐下,微笑着说道,"啊!在这儿,他们还只是造典吏的反!"
正在这时,公鹿奥利维埃回来了.后面跟着两个拿着国王梳洗用具的侍从;可是使路易十一震惊的是,另外还跟着巴黎司法长官和巡逻队骑士,这两个人看上去都神色慌张.满腹牢骚的理发师脸上也同样惊慌失措,不过心里却有点幸灾乐祸.他先发话:"圣上,请陛下原谅在下带来不幸的消息."
国王在座位上急忙转身,椅脚把地板的垫席刮破了,问道:"什么意思?"
"陛下,这次民众暴乱不是冲着司法宫典吏而来的."公鹿奥利维埃应声道.他说这话时阴阳怪气,就像将出拳猛击而暗自高兴那种模样.
"那么冲着谁呢?"
"冲着陛下."
老国王一听,从椅子上一跃而起,身体挺得笔直:"你给说说清楚,奥利维埃!你得给我讲明白!当心你的脑袋,我的朋友,因为我以圣洛的十字架发誓,要是你在这种时刻撒谎,那么砍断卢森堡大人脖子的刀并没有残缺得连你的脑袋也锯不断!"
这一誓言令人毛骨悚然,路易十一以圣洛的十字架起誓,一生中恐怕只有二次.
奥利维埃张开嘴巴想要辩解:"陛下......"
"给我跪下!"国王粗暴地打断了他的话头."特里斯丹,看住这个家伙!"
奥利维埃跪下来,冷静地说道:"陛下,一个女巫被圣上的大理院法庭判了死刑.她躲进了巴黎圣母院,民众想强行用武力把她劫走.要是在下说的不是实话,司法长官大人和巡逻骑士大人刚从暴乱的地方来,可以揭穿我的谎言.民众围攻的是圣母院."
"真的!"气得浑身哆嗦,国王面色煞白,低声说道."圣母啊!他们到圣母的大教堂围攻圣母-我慈悲的女主人!......起来吧,奥利维埃.你说得对.我把西蒙.拉丹的职位赏赐给你.你是对的.......人们袭击我,女巫在教堂庇护下,而教堂在我的庇护下.可我原来一直以为是反对典吏!现在才明白是反对我来的!"
于是,由于怒不可遏他显得年轻了,开始踱起步来.他不笑了,神情可怕极了,走过来走过去,狐狸变成了豺狼,似乎透不过气,连话都说不出来.只见他双唇在抽动,消瘦的拳头紧攥.他猛然一抬头,深凹的眼睛好似充满光芒,嗓门像号角般洪亮,说道:"下手吧,特里斯丹!狠狠收拾这帮坏蛋!去吧,我的朋友特里斯丹!杀!杀!"
这阵暴怒发作之后,他又坐了下来,勉强抑住怒气,冷冷地说道:
"过来,特里斯丹!......在这巴士底,我们身边有吉夫子爵的五十名长矛手,这抵得上三百匹马,您带去.还有夏托佩尔大人率领的御前弓手队,您带去.您是巡检,您把您有的您手下的人马,您带去.在圣波尔行宫有太子新卫队的四十名弓手,您也带去;您带上全部这些人马,马上前往圣母院.......啊!巴黎的平民老爷们,你们居然这样作乱,竟敢与法兰西王室较量,与圣洁的圣母较量,与这个公众社会的安宁较量!......斩尽杀绝,特里斯丹!统统斩尽杀绝!休要漏掉一个人,除非送到鹰山去处决."
特里斯丹鞠了一躬,应道:"领旨,圣上!"
停了一下,又说道,"那个女巫,如何处置?"
国王对此思索了一下,应声答道:
"啊!女巫!......埃斯杜特维尔大人,民众要拿她怎么处置呢?"
"陛下,"巴黎司法长官答道:"在下设想,既然民众来把她从圣母院庇护所揪出去,那是因为他们对她免受惩处感到不满,要把她抓去绞死."
国王略一思忖,随后对隐修士特里斯丹说:"那好吧!伙伴,杀绝民众,绞死女巫."
里姆悄声对科珀诺尔说:"这办法可真绝妙:民众因表达意愿而得受惩罚,却又按民众的意愿行事."
"行,陛下!"特里斯丹应道,"不过,女巫还躲在圣母院里,是不是该不顾避难所,进去抓她呢?"
"帕斯克—上帝!避难所!"国王搔了搔耳朵说道,"这个女人必须绞死."
说到这里,仿佛灵机一动,计上心来,他冲过去跪在椅子跟前,摘下帽子放在座位上,虔诚地望着帽子上一个铅护身符,合掌说道:"啊!巴黎的圣母呀,我的仁慈的主保女圣人,请你宽恕我吧,我只干这一回.必须惩办这个女罪犯.我向您保证,仁慈的女圣人圣母啊,是这个女巫,不值得您仁爱的保护.您知道,圣母,为了上帝的荣誉和国家的需要多少十分虔敬的君王,擅越了教堂的特权.英国的主教圣胡格,允许爱德华国王进入教堂去捉一个魔法师.我的先辈法国的圣路易,为了同样目的,侵犯了圣保罗大人的教堂;耶路撒冷国王之子阿尔封斯殿下,甚而至于侵犯过圣墓教堂.所以就请原谅我这一回吧,巴黎的圣母.我永远不会再这样做了,我要为您塑造一尊美丽的银像,同我去年献给圣埃库伊斯圣母院的那尊像从一个模子里画出来的.阿门."
他划了个十字,站起来,戴上帽子,对特里斯丹说道:"急速前往,我的伙伴.把夏托佩尔大人带去.叫人敲警钟.快把民众镇压下去.绞死女巫.就这么说定了.我要您亲自动手,做好行刑前的一切准备.您要亲自向我报告.......来吧,奥利维埃,今天夜里我不睡了.快替我刮胡子."
隐修士特里斯丹鞠了一躬,告退了.然后,国王挥手向里姆和科珀诺尔道别:"上帝保佑你们,我的好友弗朗德勒先生们.去休息一下.夜深了,天快要亮了."
两人退出去,由巴士底的队长领路,到他们各自的卧室去.科珀诺尔对纪约姆说:"哼!这个国王老是咳嗽,真叫我厌烦!我见过勃艮第的查理醉醺醺的,可他也不像身染重病的路易十一这样坏呀."
"雅克君,"里姆应道,"那是因为国王喝的酒不像喝药汤那么厉害么!"