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巴黎圣母院|Notre-Dame de Paris

Book 6 Chapter 4 A Tear For A Drop Of Water

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 维克多-雨果] 阅读：[34149]
Book 6 Chapter 4 A Tear For A Drop Of Water
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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这几句话可以说是当时在它们各自的特别舞台上同时并行地展开的两幕戏之间的关联，一幕是你们刚才读到的，发生在老鼠洞里的，一幕是我们就要说起的，发生在刑台上的。第一幕的见证人只有读者已经认识的那三位妇女，第二幕的观众却是我们不多会儿以前在格雷沃广场看见的拥挤在刑台和绞刑架四周的群众。

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这些观众看见四名军警从早上九点钟就站在刑台的四角，就预料到将要执行什么样的刑罚，即使不是绞刑，也会是笞刑、割耳或别种苦刑。人群很快聚拢来，最后那四个军警被挤得太厉害，便只好不止一次地用马屁股和鞭子把他们“赶开”，这是当时人们的说法。

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群众有等候观赏公开行刑的习惯，所以并没有表现出十分不耐烦的样子，他们用观看刑台——一个十呎高的中空的水泥台子——来消磨时间。从一个被人称作“梯子”的粗糙的石级，可以走到顶上的平台，台上有一个平放着的橡木轮盘，人们把双手反绑的犯人绑在那个轮盘上，一个木头的轮轴藏在轮盘中心，轮轴转动时，轮盘也跟着转动，这样便把犯人的脸连续不断地向四面八方呈露着，这就是所谓给犯人“示众”。

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象人们看到的那样，格雷沃广场的刑台远不如菜市场的刑台那样好看。

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它没有什么建筑艺术的意趣，也算不得怎么宏伟，没有铁十字顶，没有八角灯，没有那些突出在屋顶边上的有饰花和叶板的精致的柱子，没有神秘古怪的水槽，没有空花镂刻，没有深深凹进石头的雕刻。

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只好看看那碎石砌成的四个桩子和两根支柱，以及旁边那可恶的绞刑架，又细又秃。

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对于爱好哥特式艺术的人们，这种款待也许太菲薄了吧？可是对于中世纪那些傻瓜们，什么建筑都是有趣的，他们并不怎么关心一个刑台是否美观。

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犯人终于给绑在一辆车子后面带来了。当他给拖到刑台顶上的时候，当人们能够从各方面看见他被人用绳子和皮条绑在刑台的轮盘上的时候，场内爆发了一阵笑声和喊声，人们认出他就是伽西莫多。

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那的确是他，就在他昨天被埃及公爵、土恩王和加利利皇帝伴送，被人崇拜，被人称为愚人王的同一个地方，他竟被绑在刑台上了，这个变化太奇怪哪。有一点可以肯定，就是人群中没有一个人，包括一会儿是胜利者一会儿又是受刑者的伽西莫多本人在内，弄得清这两种处境之间有什么连系，甘果瓦同他的哲学也没见过这一场面。

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我们国王陛下的司号员米歇尔·卢瓦尔马上打了一个手势叫人们肃静，在宣读了根据总督的命令草拟的判决书之后，他便带领他那些穿制服的随员们绕到车子后面去了。

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对当时司法部所谓的“又紧又牢的捆绑”，伽西莫多连眉毛都没有抬一下，他认为一切反抗都是徒然的，这就是说，绳子和皮条一直陷进他的肉里去了，何况监狱和囚犯这种传统还没有丢失，脚镣手铐（还有徒刑和断头台）

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至今依旧宝贵地在我们这些文明的温和的有人性的人中间传下去。

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他任人又拖又推又抬，绑了又绑，人们从他的脸上只能看到一个野人或笨人受惊后的表情，人们知道他是个哑巴，还可能把他当成瞎子。

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人家叫他跪在那块圆形底座上，他照着做了。人家脱掉了他的上衣和衬衣，直到露出胸膛，他也听之任之。人家又用许多皮条把他绑在轮盘上，他听任人家捆绑，只不过时时粗声地喘气，就象一条牛垂头耷脑地给绑在屠夫的车沿上。

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“这笨蛋！”磨房的若望·孚罗洛向他的朋友罗班·普斯潘说道，（这两个学生当然随着犯人到这儿来了，）“他还没有一只关在盒子里的金龟子明白呢。”

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群众看见了伽西莫多赤裸的驼背，突起的胸脯，长着许多硬皮和汗毛的肩膀，便爆发出一阵哄笑。正当大家笑闹的时候，一个穿着官府制服的结实的矮个子男人爬上了平台，到了犯人身边。他的姓名立即在群众当中传遍了，他就是比埃拉·多尔得许，沙特雷法庭施笞刑的大头目。

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他先把一只黑色的钟漏放在刑台的一角，那钟漏的上一层装满了红色的沙子，不断向下面一层漏去。随后他便脱掉他那两色的外衣，人们看见他右胳膊上挂着一条用许多长长的、闪光的、紧扎的、尖端包着金属的白皮条扎成的鞭子。他用左手随便地把衬衣的右边那只袖子卷起来，一直卷到腋下。

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这时，若望·孚罗洛抬起他那棕发的小巧的头，在众人的头顶上喊道（他就是为了叫喊才爬到罗班·普斯潘的肩上去的）：“来看呀，先生们，太太们！他可要狠狠地鞭打我哥哥若札斯副主教先生的敲钟人伽西莫多了。他是一个好象东方建筑似的怪物，脊背象圆拱顶，两腿象弯曲的柱子！”

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群众大笑起来，小孩们和姑娘们笑得格外厉害。

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最后刽子手用脚去踏轮盘，轮盘转动起来，伽西莫多在他的绳绑中发抖，他奇丑的脸上忽然显出的蠢笨表情更加引起了群众一阵哄笑。

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转动的轮盘忽然把伽西莫多高耸的驼背送到了比埃拉面前，比埃拉抬起胳膊，那精致的皮鞭就挥起在半空中，发出水蛇般的嘶嘶声，一鞭又一鞭疯狂地落到那可怜人的肩膀上。

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伽西莫多好象忽然惊醒似的蹦了一下，他这才明白是怎么回事了。他蜷缩在绳绑里，一阵惊惶和痛苦的抽搐散布到他脸上每一根筋络，但是他没有叹一口气，只是把头向后转转，向右转转，又向左转转，并且把头摇得象腰上被牛虻叮过的公牛。

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一鞭接一鞭，接着是第三鞭，第四鞭，没完没了。轮盘不停地转动，皮鞭不断象雨点般落在身上，很快就打出血来了。人们看见成千条血水在那驼子的黝黑的肩膀上流淌，皮鞭在空中挥动时就把一些血珠溅到观众的身上。

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看起来伽西莫多至少又恢复了先前的冷静沉着，他默默地好象不十分费劲地在挣脱绳绑。人们看见他眼睛冒火，筋脉鼓起，四肢蜷曲，一下子就把皮条和链子都挣开了。他的力气那么大，那么不可思议，出人意外。但是总督府的旧镣铐依然在他身上，只是轧轧地响了几声就算了。伽西莫多又显出筋疲力尽的样子，他脸上的呆笨表情变成了痛苦和懊丧，他闭上独眼，把头垂到胸前，仿佛死去了似的。

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从这时起他就不再动弹一下了，再没有什么能引起他轻微的动作，无论是他身上不停地流出的血，加倍疯狂地落到他身上的皮鞭，沉醉在行刑里的施刑人发作出来的怒气以及那可怕的皮鞭挥动时的嘶嘶的响声。

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最后，从行刑开始时就站在石级旁边的一个穿黑衣骑黑马的沙特雷法庭守门人把一根乌木杖向钟漏伸去，轮盘停止了转动，施刑人停止了鞭打。伽西莫多慢慢地张开眼睛。

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笞刑算是执行完了，那该诅咒的施刑人的两个下手给犯人冲洗了肩膀，涂上某种立刻治愈一切创伤的药膏，扔了一件好象神甫穿的披风似的黄衣服到他身上。这时比埃拉·多尔得许才把被血染红了的皮鞭上的血滴抖落在石板地上。

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可是对于伽西莫多，这还不算全部完事，他还要在刑台上挨完孚罗韩·巴尔倍第昂十分准确地加添在罗贝尔·代斯杜特维尔的判决书上的那一个钟头。若望·德·居门的那句关于生理学和心理学的古老戏言“聋即愚蠢”

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真该大加赞赏呢。

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于是又把钟漏拨转，又把那驼背绑在台上，以便把刑罚执行到底。

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人民，尤其是中世纪的人民，在社会上就象孩子们在家庭里一样，他们长久停留在原始的无知状态里，停留在道德与智力的幼稚阶段，可以用形容儿童的话来形容他们：在这种年纪是没有怜悯心的。

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我们已经让读者知道，伽西莫多的确是被大家借种种理由厌恨着，人群里没有谁有理由或者觉得有理由去怜悯圣母院的可恶的驼子，人们看见他出现在刑台上都觉得非常高兴，他刚才所受的酷刑的悲惨景象，不但没有使他们心肠变软，反倒给他们提供了一桩乐趣，使他们的厌恶情绪表现得更为恶毒。

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当“公诉”（按照法官们至今沿用的行话）执行完毕，就轮到千万种私人的报复了。在这里就象在大厅里一样，妇女们特别起劲，她们全都对他怀着某种憎恨，有的恨他奸诈，有的恨他丑陋，而以后一种人的憎恨最为厉害。

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“邪教的怪物！”一个说。

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“骑扫帚把的家伙！”另一个嚷道。

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“做个凄惨的怪笑吧，”第三个说，“那样你就能当上愚人王了，要是今天变成了昨天！”

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“得哪！”一个老妇人说，“那就是刑台上的怪笑了。什么时候他才在绞刑架上做怪笑呢？”

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“你什么时候才会在百尺黄泉下把你的大钟顶在头上呢，可恶的敲钟人？”

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“敲晚祷钟的就是这个魔鬼呀！”

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“啊，聋子！独眼！驼背！怪物！”

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“这个丑像比所有的医药还能使孕妇流产呢！”

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那两个学生——磨房的若望和罗班·普斯潘——尖着嗓子哼起那段民间古老的回旋曲的迭句来了：一根藤条子，对付一个恶汉子！

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一条木棍儿，对付一只老猴儿！

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别的成千种侮辱性的语句象雨点般落在他身上，场上处处都有人诅咒他，嘲笑他，向他叫骂，向他投石子。

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伽西莫多虽然耳聋，但他看得很清楚，群众的狂怒表现在脸上的并不比表现在话语里的少，向他投来的石子也能说明群众是在哄笑。

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他起先一直默不作声，但那在施刑人的鞭打下已达到极限的忍耐力，在这些残酷的虫豸的刺激下却渐渐减弱甚至丧失，对西班牙斗牛士的打击向来不在意的阿斯杜里公牛，却被狗和枪刺激怒了。

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他先是慢慢地对群众投去恫吓的眼光，但因为他是被绑着的，光是看一眼并不能赶开那些叮在他伤口上的苍蝇，于是他在绳绑中挣扎，他狂怒地扭动，把那老旧的轮盘弄得轧轧响。这情况使嘲骂和叫喊更加厉害起来。

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于是那可怜人象无法挣脱锁链的野兽一般，只好又不动弹了，他胸膛里间或迸出一声粗重的叹息，他既不羞愧也不脸红，他太远离社会生活，太接近自然状态，不可能知道什么是羞耻。而且在那十分丑陋的脸上，还能表现出什么羞耻呢？但是愤怒、憎恨、失望，逐渐在那可怕的脸上增多，成了一片厚厚的阴云，逐渐蓄满了电流，变成了千万道电光，在那怪人的独眼里闪闪发亮。

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当一头骡子载着一位神甫经过那里的时候，他脸上的阴云化开了一会。

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他远远望见那头骡子和那个神甫，这可怜人的脸色就温和起来，一直控制着他的那种愤怒变成了奇特的充满了难以形容的甜蜜宽厚而温和的微笑。那神甫愈走近他，他的笑容就愈加明显，愈加清晰，愈加光辉灿烂，简直象是不幸的人所崇敬的救主降临了似的。可是当那头骡子靠近了刑台，使骑在它背上的神甫看清了犯人是谁的时候，那神甫却低下眼睛，用两只踢马刺踢着骡子急忙转身走开了，好象在逃避一声耻辱的呼唤似的，他很不愿意在那种场合被一个不幸的人认出来并且向他致敬呢。

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那个神甫正是副主教堂·克洛德·孚罗洛。

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伽西莫多的脸色又黯淡起来了。微笑还在一片阴云间停留了一会，但那是痛苦的、无力的、带着深深悲哀的微笑。

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时间一点点过去，他在那儿至少待了一个半钟头，被人不停地折磨，虐待，嘲笑，甚至被人投石子。

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突然他又带着加倍的失望在锁链里挣扎，把他身子底下的木板都震动了，他打破了一直固执地保持着的缄默，用又嘶哑又愤怒的声音吼叫，这声音不象人的声音倒很象动物的咆哮声：“给水喝！”这个声音把人们叫骂的声音都盖没了。

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这声悲惨的呼唤，并没有引起同情，反而使刑台四周的巴黎善良市民更加笑得厉害。应该说明，他们的残忍和狠心并不亚于我们给读者介绍过的那个可怕的乞丐集团里的人，那都是群众当中最下层的人物。除了嘲笑那不幸的犯人的口渴之外，四周没有人出声。的确，那当儿他的样子不止显得可怜，而更是显得古怪和难以接近。他那涨得紫红的脸上淌着汗，眼睛闪着狂野的光，嘴里冒着愤怒和痛苦的泡沫，舌头一半吐出在嘴唇外面。还得说明，在那当儿，人群中找不出哪个好心的男人或女人敢于送给那受苦受难的人一杯水，那刑台的可恶的石级被当做十分可耻和丑恶的东西，善人们是不愿意上去的。

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几分钟后，伽西莫多用失望的眼睛扫视了人们一遍，又用更加令人心碎的声音喊道：“给水喝！”

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仍然只引起一阵哄笑。

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“喝这个吧！”罗班·普斯潘叫喊着，把一块在阴沟里泡过的海绵扔到他脸上，“拿去吧，恶汉！算我欠你的情哪！”

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有个妇人把一块石子向他头上扔去：“这是给你在黑夜里用那些倒霉的钟惊醒我们的教训！”

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“喂，小子！”一个跛脚使劲拄着拐杖走到他跟前喊道，“你还在圣母院塔顶上咒骂我们不？”

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“这只碗给你去喝水！”一个男人把一个破瓦罐向他的胸脯扔去，“我老婆就是因为看见你从她面前走过，才生下了一个两个脑袋的娃娃！”

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“我的母猫生下了一只六只脚的小猫！”一个老妇把一块瓦片向他头上扔去，尖声嚷道。

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“给水喝！”伽西莫多喘息着喊了第三遍。

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这时他看见人群里闪开一条路，走出了一位装束奇特的姑娘，身边带着一只金色犄角的雪白的小山羊，手里拿着一面小鼓。

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伽西莫多的独眼闪了一下，原来就是他昨晚曾经想抢走的那个波希米亚姑娘呀。他模糊地意识到正是因为那件事他此刻才在这里受惩罚的呢。何况这种事在这个世界上并不算稀罕，他不是由于不幸耳聋，又由于被一个聋法官审问，才受到了惩处的么？他十分相信她也是来向他报复的，也是象别人一样来打他的。

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看见她真的迅速走上了石级，愤怒和轻视使他透不过气，他真想把刑台打个粉碎，假若他的独眼能够发出雷电，那波希米亚姑娘一定会给雷电击毙，上不了刑台哪。

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她一言不发地走近那扭着身子枉自躲避她的犯人，从胸前取出一只葫芦，温柔地举到那可怜人干裂的嘴边。

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这时，人们看见他那一直干燥如焚的独眼里，滚出了一大颗眼泪，沿着那长时间被失望弄皱了的难看的脸颊慢慢流下来。这也许是那不幸的人生平第一次流出的眼泪。

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这时他竟忘记要喝水了，那埃及姑娘不耐烦地扁了扁小嘴，微笑着把水倒在伽西莫多张着的嘴里，他一口气喝着，他显然是渴到极点了。

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喝完水，那可怜人便伸出黑黑的嘴，无疑是想吻一吻那帮助了他的美丽的小手。但那姑娘有些疑惑，想起了前一晚那件未遂的暴行，便象小孩害怕被野兽咬着似的，惊恐地把手缩回去了。

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于是那可怜的聋子把充满责怪和无限悲哀的眼光望着她。

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那漂亮、鲜艳、纯洁、迷人而又那么娇弱的姑娘，竟会那样好心肠地跑去救助一个如此可怜丑恶的家伙，那情景无论如何是很动人的，而这件事又发生在一个刑台上，那就更为动人了。

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观众也都被感动了，大家拍着手喊道：“好极了，好极了！”

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隐修女正是在这个当儿从她那洞穴的小窗口望见埃及姑娘在刑台上，于是她狠狠地咒骂道：“该死的埃及女人！该死！该死！”

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These words were, so to speak, the point of union of two scenes, which had, up to that time, been developed in parallel lines at the same moment, each on its particular theatre; one, that which the reader has just perused, in the Rat-Hole; the other, which he is about to read, on the ladder of the pillory. The first had for witnesses only the three women with whom the reader has just made acquaintance; the second had for spectators all the public which we have seen above, collecting on the Place de Grève, around the pillory and the gibbet.

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That crowd which the four sergeants posted at nine o’clock in the morning at the four corners of the pillory had inspired with the hope of some sort of an execution, no doubt, not a hanging, but a whipping, a cropping of ears, something, in short,--that crowd had increased so rapidly that the four policemen, too closely besieged, had had occasion to "press" it, as the expression then ran, more than once, by sound blows of their whips, and the haunches of their horses.

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This populace, disciplined to waiting for public executions, did not manifest very much impatience. It amused itself with watching the pillory, a very simple sort of monument, composed of a cube of masonry about six feet high and hollow in the interior. A very steep staircase, of unhewn stone, which was called by distinction "the ladder," led to the upper platform, upon which was visible a horizontal wheel of solid oak. The victim was bound upon this wheel, on his knees, with his hands behind his back. A wooden shaft, which set in motion a capstan concealed in the interior of the little edifice, imparted a rotatory motion to the wheel, which always maintained its horizontal position, and in this manner presented the face of the condemned man to all quarters of the square in succession. This was what was called "turning" a criminal.

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As the reader perceives, the pillory of the Grève was far from presenting all the recreations of the pillory of the Halles. Nothing architectural, nothing monumental. No roof to the iron cross, no octagonal lantern, no frail, slender columns spreading out on the edge of the roof into capitals of acanthus leaves and flowers, no waterspouts of chimeras and monsters, on carved woodwork, no fine sculpture, deeply sunk in the stone.

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They were forced to content themselves with those four stretches of rubble work, backed with sandstone, and a wretched stone gibbet, meagre and bare, on one side.

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The entertainment would have been but a poor one for lovers of Gothic architecture. It is true that nothing was ever less curious on the score of architecture than the worthy gapers of the Middle Ages, and that they cared very little for the beauty of a pillory.

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The victim finally arrived, bound to the tail of a cart, and when he had been hoisted upon the platform, where he could be seen from all points of the Place, bound with cords and straps upon the wheel of the pillory, a prodigious hoot, mingled with laughter and acclamations, burst forth upon the Place. They had recognized Quasimodo.

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It was he, in fact. The change was singular. Pilloried on the very place where, on the day before, he had been saluted, acclaimed, and proclaimed Pope and Prince of Fools, in the cortege of the Duke of Egypt, the King of Thunes, and the Emperor of Galilee! One thing is certain, and that is, that there was not a soul in the crowd, not even himself, though in turn triumphant and the sufferer, who set forth this combination clearly in his thought. Gringoire and his philosophy were missing at this spectacle.

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Soon Michel Noiret, sworn trumpeter to the king, our lord, imposed silence on the louts, and proclaimed the sentence, in accordance with the order and command of monsieur the provost. Then he withdrew behind the cart, with his men in livery surcoats.

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Quasimodo, impassible, did not wince. All resistance had been rendered impossible to him by what was then called, in the style of the criminal chancellery, "the vehemence and firmness of the bonds" which means that the thongs and chains probably cut into his flesh; moreover, it is a tradition of jail and wardens, which has not been lost, and which the handcuffs still preciously preserve among us, a civilized, gentle, humane people (the galleys and the guillotine in parentheses).

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He had allowed himself to be led, pushed, carried, lifted, bound, and bound again. Nothing was to be seen upon his countenance but the astonishment of a savage or an idiot. He was known to be deaf; one might have pronounced him to be blind.

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They placed him on his knees on the circular plank; he made no resistance. They removed his shirt and doublet as far as his girdle; he allowed them to have their way. They entangled him under a fresh system of thongs and buckles; he allowed them to bind and buckle him. Only from time to time he snorted noisily, like a calf whose head is hanging and bumping over the edge of a butcher’s cart.

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"The dolt," said Jehan Frollo of the Mill, to his friend Robin Poussepain (for the two students had followed the culprit, as was to have been expected), "he understands no more than a cockchafer shut up in a box!"

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There was wild laughter among the crowd when they beheld Quasimodo’s hump, his camel’s breast, his callous and hairy shoulders laid bare. During this gayety, a man in the livery of the city, short of stature and robust of mien, mounted the platform and placed himself near the victim. His name speedily circulated among the spectators. It was Master Pierrat Torterue, official torturer to the Chatelet.

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He began by depositing on an angle of the pillory a black hour-glass, the upper lobe of which was filled with red sand, which it allowed to glide into the lower receptacle; then he removed his parti-colored surtout, and there became visible, suspended from his right hand, a thin and tapering whip of long, white, shining, knotted, plaited thongs, armed with metal nails. With his left hand, he negligently folded back his shirt around his right arm, to the very armpit.

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In the meantime, Jehan Frollo, elevating his curly blonde head above the crowd (he had mounted upon the shoulders of Robin Poussepain for the purpose), shouted: "Come and look, gentle ladies and men! they are going to peremptorily flagellate Master Quasimodo, the bellringer of my brother, monsieur the archdeacon of Josas, a knave of oriental architecture, who has a back like a dome, and legs like twisted columns!"

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And the crowd burst into a laugh, especially the boys and young girls.

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At length the torturer stamped his foot. The wheel began to turn. Quasimodo wavered beneath his bonds. The amazement which was suddenly depicted upon his deformed face caused the bursts of laughter to redouble around him.

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All at once, at the moment when the wheel in its revolution presented to Master Pierrat, the humped back of Quasimodo, Master Pierrat raised his arm; the fine thongs whistled sharply through the air, like a handful of adders, and fell with fury upon the wretch’s shoulders.

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Quasimodo leaped as though awakened with a start. He began to understand. He writhed in his bonds; a violent contraction of surprise and pain distorted the muscles of his face, but he uttered not a single sigh. He merely turned his head backward, to the right, then to the left, balancing it as a bull does who has been stung in the flanks by a gadfly.

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A second blow followed the first, then a third, and another and another, and still others. The wheel did not cease to turn, nor the blows to rain down.

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Soon the blood burst forth, and could be seen trickling in a thousand threads down the hunchback’s black shoulders; and the slender thongs, in their rotatory motion which rent the air, sprinkled drops of it upon the crowd.

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Quasimodo had resumed, to all appearance, his first imperturbability. He had at first tried, in a quiet way and without much outward movement, to break his bonds. His eye had been seen to light up, his muscles to stiffen, his members to concentrate their force, and the straps to stretch. The effort was powerful, prodigious, desperate; but the provost’s seasoned bonds resisted. They cracked, and that was all. Quasimodo fell back exhausted. Amazement gave way, on his features, to a sentiment of profound and bitter discouragement. He closed his single eye, allowed his head to droop upon his breast, and feigned death.

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From that moment forth, he stirred no more. Nothing could force a movement from him. Neither his blood, which did not cease to flow, nor the blows which redoubled in fury, nor the wrath of the torturer, who grew excited himself and intoxicated with the execution, nor the sound of the horrible thongs, more sharp and whistling than the claws of scorpions.

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At length a bailiff from the Chatelet clad in black, mounted on a black horse, who had been stationed beside the ladder since the beginning of the execution, extended his ebony wand towards the hour-glass. The torturer stopped. The wheel stopped. Quasimodo’s eye opened slowly.

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The scourging was finished. Two lackeys of the official torturer bathed the bleeding shoulders of the patient, anointed them with some unguent which immediately closed all the wounds, and threw upon his back a sort of yellow vestment, in cut like a chasuble. In the meanwhile, Pierrat Torterue allowed the thongs, red and gorged with blood, to drip upon the pavement.

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All was not over for Quasimodo. He had still to undergo that hour of pillory which Master Florian Barbedienne had so judiciously added to the sentence of Messire Robert d’Estouteville; all to the greater glory of the old physiological and psychological play upon words of Jean de Cumène, ~Surdus absurdus~: a deaf man is absurd.

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So the hour-glass was turned over once more, and they left the hunchback fastened to the plank, in order that justice might be accomplished to the very end.

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The populace, especially in the Middle Ages, is in society what the child is in the family. As long as it remains in its state of primitive ignorance, of moral and intellectual minority, it can be said of it as of the child,--

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’Tis the pitiless age.

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We have already shown that Quasimodo was generally hated, for more than one good reason, it is true. There was hardly a spectator in that crowd who had not or who did not believe that he had reason to complain of the malevolent hunchback of Notre-Dame. The joy at seeing him appear thus in the pillory had been universal; and the harsh punishment which he had just suffered, and the pitiful condition in which it had left him, far from softening the populace had rendered its hatred more malicious by arming it with a touch of mirth.

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Hence, the "public prosecution" satisfied, as the bigwigs of the law still express it in their jargon, the turn came of a thousand private vengeances. Here, as in the Grand Hall, the women rendered themselves particularly prominent. All cherished some rancor against him, some for his malice, others for his ugliness. The latter were the most furious.

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"Oh! mask of Antichrist!" said one.

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"Rider on a broom handle!" cried another.

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"What a fine tragic grimace," howled a third, "and who would make him Pope of the Fools if to-day were yesterday?"

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"’Tis well," struck in an old woman. "This is the grimace of the pillory. When shall we have that of the gibbet?"

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"When will you be coiffed with your big bell a hundred feet under ground, cursed bellringer?"

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"But ’tis the devil who rings the Angelus!"

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"Oh! the deaf man! the one-eyed creature! the hunch- back! the monster!"

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"A face to make a woman miscarry better than all the drugs and medicines!"

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41

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42

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43

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A thousand other insults rained down upon him, and hoots and imprecations, and laughter, and now and then, stones.

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Quasimodo was deaf but his sight was clear, and the public fury was no less energetically depicted on their visages than in their words. Moreover, the blows from the stones explained the bursts of laughter.

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