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巴黎圣母院|Notre-Dame de Paris

Book 7 Chapter 7 The Mysterious Monk

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 维克多-雨果] 阅读：[34192]
Book 7 Chapter 7 The Mysterious Monk
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出名的夏娃苹果酒家在大学区柳条筐街和首席律师街的拐角上，那是在底层的一间房，相当大，可是很矮，一根漆成黄色的大木柱支着拱顶正中，房里摆满了桌子，靠墙放着些闪亮的锡瓶，桌上经常坐满很多酒徒和放荡的女人。临街有一扇窗户，门边有一架葡萄，门顶上有一方块轧轧响的洋铁皮，用彩色画着一只苹果和一个女人。这块洋铁皮被雨水浇湿生了锈，在一根钉子上迎风转动，这种朝着街面的风信旗就是酒店的标记。

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夜降临了，街上一片漆黑。那个灯烛辉煌的酒店，远远看去就象是一座黑暗中的铁工场。听得到碰杯的声音，宴饮的声音，咒骂的声音和吵架的声音从破了的玻璃窗里透出来。房里的热气在铺面玻璃窗上形成薄雾，透过这层薄雾望得见上百张模糊不清的脸，时时传出一阵阵大笑。有事在身的人经过这些喧闹的窗户时连望都不望一眼，只有几个破衣烂衫的小男孩踮起脚够到酒店铺面的窗台上朝里面张望，并且喊出当时用来嘲笑醉汉的老调：“见鬼去吧，酒鬼呀，酒鬼呀，酒鬼呀！”

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这时有一个男人在这闹嚷嚷的酒店门前不断走来走去地张望，而且绝不肯离得稍远一点，就象哨兵不肯离开岗哨似的。他穿着一件遮住鼻子的斗篷，那是他刚刚从酒家附近一个商店里买来的，多半是为了防御三月的寒风，或许也是为了遮住他自己的衣服。他时时在那铅丝网挡住的玻璃窗前停下来倾听着，察看着，还轻轻地踏着步。

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酒店的门终于打开了，他所等候的好象就是这回事。两个酒徒走了出来，门里射出的亮光有一会把他们快活的脸孔照得通红。那穿斗篷的人便走去站在街对过的一个门廊里监视着他们。

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“喇叭和雷霆呀！”两个酒徒中的一个说道，“就快敲七点钟了，我约会的时间到了。”

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“我告诉你，”他的同伴用含糊不清的声音回答道，“我并不是住在恶言街上，我是住在若望·潘·莫雷街上，要是你说颠倒了，你就比独角兽荒谬啦。谁都知道，爬到大熊背上去过一次的人是永远不会害怕的，可是你有一个善于嗅出好气味的鼻子，就象医院的圣雅克说的。”

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“若望我的朋友，你醉了。”那一个说道。

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这一位却摇摇晃晃地答道：“你愿意这么说罢了，可是柏拉图的侧面象只猎狗却是千真万确的。”

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读者一定已经认出了这一对好朋友：队长和学生。在暗中监视他们的那个男人显然也认出了他们。那个学生拖着那个队长走过的每条曲折的路，他都放慢脚步跟着走，队长的酒量比他的同伴大些，因此他还保持着清醒的头脑。那穿斗篷的男子留心听他们说话，在全部有趣的对话里他抓住了下面几句：“酒神的信徒啊！好好笔直向前走吧，高中毕业生先生！你知道我得离开你了，现在已经七点啦，我同一个女人有约会呢。”

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“那你就别管我呀！我看见了星星同火花，你就象丹浦马尔丹的城堡一样笑开了花啦！”

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“凭我祖母的瘤子作证，若望，你讲的傻话太可笑了。不过，若望，你没剩下钱吗？”

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“校长先生，一点不错，它是个小小的钱包呀。”

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“若望，我的朋友若望，你知道我同那小姑娘约会的地点是在圣米歇尔桥头上，我只能把她带到法洛代尔家去，要付房钱呀。那个长着白胡子的老娼妇是不许赊欠的。若望，行行好吧！难道我们把一包钱都喝光了吗？你手边连一个小钱都不剩了吗。”

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“我们的良心在那桌上的美味菜肴里很好地消磨了几个钟头呢。”

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“见鬼！发疯！告诉我呀，若望，你还剩下多少钱？给我吧，看在上帝面上！要不然我可要搜你的口袋啦！你会象约伯一样害麻风，象凯撒一样生疥疮！”

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“先生，加里雅谢街的一头有玻璃厂街，另一头有蒂克塞昂德里街。”

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“对极了，我亲爱的朋友若望，我可怜的伙伴，加里雅谢街，对呀，好极了，可是看在老天面上，醒醒吧，我只要一个钱，而现在已经七点了。”

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“静些，别响！听听这回旋曲的迭句吧：到了老鼠吃猫的时刻呀，国王就要统治阿哈；当那辽阔温暖的海在夏至节结起冰来，人们就会看到阿哈城的人从冰上逃开。”

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“好啦，异教徒，你怎么不用你母亲的肠子把自己勒死！”弗比斯喊道，同时鲁莽地把那醉了的学生用劲往墙上一推，他便颓然地跌倒在菲立浦·奥古斯特的石板路上了。心里还有一点酒徒的同情心的弗比斯，用脚把若望踢到上帝在每个街角上给穷人预备的枕头上，有钱人却瞧不起那种枕头，称之为垃圾堆。队长把若望的脑袋安置在一棵白菜根上，学生立刻低声打起鼾来。

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但是队长心头的怨恨还没有消失，他向睡着的学生说道：“这样，魔鬼的车子经过时正好把你带了去！”说完便自顾自走了。

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那穿斗篷的男人并没有跟踪他，却在那熟睡的学生跟前站了一会，好象不知如何是好，随后深深地叹了一口气，依旧跟上了那个队长。

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我们也象他一样让若望在星光的好意看护下睡他的觉吧，假若读者高兴，我们也来跟踪那两个人吧。

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到了圣安德烈·代·阿克街，弗比斯队长发现有人跟在后面。他偶然回头，看见一个人影沿着墙跟过来，他站住，它也站住，他走，它也走。对于这个发现，他并不觉得有什么不安。“啊，呸！”他自言自语道，“我是一个钱也没有的。”

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他在俄当学院门前停下来歇一歇，他就是在这个学校开始他的所谓学业的。按照这个顽皮学生的习惯，他每次经过这所学校门前，总要去侮辱大门道右边的红衣主教比埃尔·倍尔特昂的塑像，这是一种无赖行为，正如勃里雅伯在引用贺拉斯的讽刺诗句时感叹地说的：“我曾经是无花果树的树干”。

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他的冒犯是很严重的，所以塑像的题词都几乎看不清了。这回他照例在雕像前站住，街上寂无行人，他迎风懒懒地扣衣服时，看见一个人影向他移过来，脚步那么慢，使他有足够的时间看清楚那个人影是披着斗篷戴着帽子的。那人影来到他跟前便停住了，跟倍尔特昂的塑像一般纹丝不动。他看着弗比斯，瞳孔象夜间的猫一样闪闪发亮。

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队长是有胆量的，他并不在乎一个手持短棍的强盗的突然袭击，可是这个走动的塑像，这个盯住他看的可怕的男子，使他模模糊糊地想起了当时流传的话，说有个妖僧夜间出没在巴黎街头。他吓得呆呆地站了几分钟，最后勉强打破沉默笑起来。

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“先生，假若你是个强盗，象我希望的那样，”他说道，“那你可真象是一只啄核桃壳的鹭鸶啦，我是一个破落户的儿子，亲爱的，去打别的主意吧。这个学校的小礼拜堂里倒有些真正的做十字架的木料，藏在仓库里。”

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那个人影从斗篷里伸出手来，老鹰似的猛一下抓住弗比斯的胳膊，并且说起话来：“弗比斯·德·沙多倍尔队长！”

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“见什么鬼！你居然知道我的姓名！”弗比斯说。

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“我不但知道你的姓名，”披斗篷的人用一种好象墓中人的声音说，“我还知道你今天晚上有个约会。”

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“是呀！”弗比斯惊呆了。

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“在七点钟。”

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“就在一刻钟以后。”

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“在法洛代尔家里。”

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“对极了！”

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“那个圣米歇尔桥头的荡妇。”

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“那个圣米歇尔大天使，就象祷告文里所说的那样。”

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“邪恶的东西！”那影子吼道，“是同一个女人吧？”

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“你说对了。”

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“她名叫……”

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“拉·爱斯梅拉达，”弗比斯愉快地说道，他又逐渐恢复了那种不在乎的神情。

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听到这个名字，那人影便使劲摇晃弗比斯的胳膊。

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“弗比斯·德·沙多倍尔队长，你撒谎！”

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谁要是在那个时刻看见队长涨红的脸孔，看见他往后一跳，使劲抽回被抓住的胳膊而且骄傲地按着剑柄的样子，一定会吓坏了。那个情景很象唐·璜与石像之间的角斗。

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“耶稣和撒旦啊！”队长喊道，“姓沙多倍尔的人是不习惯听到这种字眼的！我料你不敢再说一遍！”

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“你撒谎！”那人影冷冷地说道。

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队长气得磨牙。妖僧、幽灵、迷信的传说……他此刻通通忘掉了，只看见一个男人和一种侮辱。

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“啊，那好得很！”他用被愤怒堵塞住的声音结结巴巴地说着，哆嗦着拔出宝剑（因为愤怒也象恐怖一般使人发抖），“就在这里！马上！比剑吧！

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比剑吧！把血滴在石板路上！”

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那一位却动也不动，看见对方有了戒备，他就打算自卫了。“弗比斯队长，”他用发抖的声音说，“你忘记你有约会了。”

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象弗比斯这种感情容易冲动的人，很象煮沸了的奶油汤，只要洒上一滴冷水就能使它平静下来。这句简单的话使队长手中亮闪闪的剑垂下了。

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“弗比斯，”陌生人接着说道，“明天，后天，一个月或者十年之后，无论何时吧，你总能看见我是准备好要砍掉你的脑袋的。但是先去赴你的约会吧。”

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“真的呢，”弗比斯说，就象是对自己让步了，“同一位姑娘，或是同一把剑约会，都是挺有意思的。可是我不明白当我两样都能得到的时候，为什么为了前一个就要丢掉后一个。”

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他把剑插回了剑鞘。

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“赴你的约会去吧。”陌生人又说。

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“先生，”弗比斯有点不好意思地说道，“非常感谢你的好意。的确，明天还有时间在亚当神父的汗衫上戳几个洞洞呢。谢谢你允许我再度过可爱的一刻钟。我的确希望你躺在血泊里，然后我赶到我的美人那里去，在这种情况下让女人们等一等是很有风度的。但你倒象是个热心的人，最好还是把我们的决斗留到明天吧。那么我要赴约会去了。约定的时间是七点，你知道。”

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说到这里，弗比斯搔了一下耳朵，“啊，天哪！我忘了！我没有钱去付那讨厌的阁楼的租金呢，何况那老妇人还要人家先付钱。她是不会让我赊欠的！”

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“把这钱拿去付吧。”

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弗比斯感到那只冰冷的手塞给他一个大银币，他禁不住收了这钱，并且紧握那人的手。

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“天呀！你真是个好人！”

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“但是有一个条件，”陌生人说，“为了证明你是对的而我是弄错了，你必须把我藏在一个角落里，好让我看看她是不是你告诉我的叫那个名字的姑娘。”

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“啊，”弗比斯答道，“这对我倒是一样的。我们要在名叫圣玛尔泰的那个房间里约会，你可以躲在隔壁那间小屋里随便看。”

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“那就走吧。”影子说道。

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“听你吩咐，”队长说，“依我看，不知你是不是魔鬼本人。但是今天晚上我们交个朋友吧，明天我要还你的债——钱的债和剑的债。”

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他们开始急匆匆地赶路，几分钟后，河水的声音告知他们已经到了当时挤满了房屋的圣米歇尔桥。“我先把你领进屋去，然后去找我的美人，她准是在小沙特雷门附近等我。”

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那个同伴一句话也不回答。自从他俩并肩而行，他就一声不响。弗比斯在一家门前停住，使劲地敲门。一线亮光从门缝里透了出来。“谁呀？”一个含糊不清的声音问道。“上帝的身子！上帝的脑袋！上帝的肚皮！”弗比斯回答道。门马上打开了，看见一个抖抖索索的老妇人拿着一盏抖抖索索的灯。老妇人弯腰曲背，衣服破破烂烂，脑袋摇摇晃晃，眼睛眯得很细，头上顶着一块抹布，手上脸上和脖子上都布满皱纹，因为已经没有牙齿，嘴巴瘪了进去，白头发一直披到嘴边，象嘴上长着胡须的猫脸。她的住所内部的景象也同她一般破烂。墙上盖满灰尘，天花板上是黑黑的椽子，一个每个角上都有蜘蛛网的破炉灶，屋子当中有几张缺腿的桌凳，一个肮脏的小孩在玩炉灰。较远的一头有一道楼梯通到天花板上面的楼门口，钻进这个象贼窝似的房间时，弗比斯那位同伴就把斗篷拉起来遮住眼睛。队长却象撒拉逊人一般咒骂着，急忙炫耀着一枚象可敬的雷尼埃所谓的“太阳般闪亮的银币”，而且还说“要圣玛尔泰的房间”。

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老妇人象接待贵人似地接待他，把银币放进抽屉，这就是披黑斗篷的人刚才给弗比斯的那一枚。当她转过身子，那个穿着破衣烂衫长发的男孩，刚才还在玩炉灰的，就很灵巧地走近抽屉，拿走了银币，并在那里放下一片他从柴火上摘下来的枯叶。

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老妇人向那两位她称为绅士的人打了手势，叫他们跟着她，她自己先爬上楼梯，上了楼，她便把那盏灯放在一只箱上，对这所房子很熟悉的弗比斯便打开一扇通到一个黑暗小间的门。“进去吧，亲爱的，”他向他的同伴说道。那个穿斗篷的人一句话也没讲就听从吩咐走进了那个陋室。他刚一进去，门就重新关上了。他听见弗比斯把门上了闩就马上同老妇人一道下楼去了，灯光也随着消失不见。

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The illustrious wine shop of "Eve’s Apple" was situated in the University, at the corner of the Rue de la Rondelle and the Rue de la Batonnier. It was a very spacious and very low hail on the ground floor, with a vaulted ceiling whose central spring rested upon a huge pillar of wood painted yellow; tables everywhere, shining pewter jugs hanging on the walls, always a large number of drinkers, a plenty of wenches, a window on the street, a vine at the door, and over the door a flaring piece of sheet-iron, painted with an apple and a woman, rusted by the rain and turning with the wind on an iron pin. This species of weather-vane which looked upon the pavement was the signboard.

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Night was falling; the square was dark; the wine-shop, full of candles, flamed afar like a forge in the gloom; the noise of glasses and feasting, of oaths and quarrels, which escaped through the broken panes, was audible. Through the mist which the warmth of the room spread over the window in front, a hundred confused figures could be seen swarming, and from time to time a burst of noisy laughter broke forth from it. The passers-by who were going about their business, slipped past this tumultuous window without glancing at it. Only at intervals did some little ragged boy raise himself on tiptoe as far as the ledge, and hurl into the drinking-shop, that ancient, jeering hoot, with which drunken men were then pursued: "Aux Houls, saouls, saouls, saouls!"

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Nevertheless, one man paced imperturbably back and forth in front of the tavern, gazing at it incessantly, and going no further from it than a pikernan from his sentry-box. He was enveloped in a mantle to his very nose. This mantle he had just purchased of the old-clothes man, in the vicinity of the "Eve’s Apple," no doubt to protect himself from the cold of the March evening, possibly also, to conceal his costume. From time to time he paused in front of the dim window with its leaden lattice, listened, looked, and stamped his foot.

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At length the door of the dram-shop opened. This was what he appeared to be waiting for. Two boon companions came forth. The ray of light which escaped from the door crimsoned for a moment their jovial faces.

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The man in the mantle went and stationed himself on the watch under a porch on the other side of the street.

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"~Corne et tonnerre~!" said one of the comrades. "Seven o’clock is on the point of striking. ’Tis the hour of my appointed meeting."

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"I tell you," repeated his companion, with a thick tongue, "that I don’t live in the Rue des Mauvaises Paroles, ~indignus qui inter mala verba habitat~. I have a lodging in the Rue Jean-Pain-Mollet, ~in vico Johannis Pain-Mollet~. You are more horned than a unicorn if you assert the contrary. Every one knows that he who once mounts astride a bear is never after afraid; but you have a nose turned to dainties like Saint-Jacques of the hospital."

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"Jehan, my friend, you are drunk," said the other.

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The other replied staggering, "It pleases you to say so, Phoebus; but it hath been proved that Plato had the profile of a hound."

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The reader has, no doubt, already recognized our two brave friends, the captain and the scholar. It appears that the man who was lying in wait for them had also recognized them, for he slowly followed all the zigzags that the scholar caused the captain to make, who being a more hardened drinker had retained all his self-possession. By listening to them attentively, the man in the mantle could catch in its entirety the following interesting conversation,--

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"~Corbacque~! Do try to walk straight, master bachelor; you know that I must leave you. Here it is seven o’clock. I have an appointment with a woman."

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"Leave me then! I see stars and lances of fire. You are like the Chateau de Dampmartin, which is bursting with laughter."

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"By the warts of my grandmother, Jehan, you are raving with too much rabidness. By the way, Jehan, have you any money left?"

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"Monsieur Rector, there is no mistake; the little butcher’s shop, ~parva boucheria~."

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"Jehau! my friend Jehan! You know that I made an appointment with that little girl at the end of the Pont Saint- Michel, and I can only take her to the Falourdel’s, the old crone of the bridge, and that I must pay for a chamber. The old witch with a white moustache would not trust me. Jehan! for pity’s sake! Have we drunk up the whole of the curé’s purse? Have you not a single parisis left?"

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"The consciousness of having spent the other hours well is a just and savory condiment for the table."

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"Belly and guts! a truce to your whimsical nonsense! Tell me, Jehan of the devil! have you any money left? Give it to me, ~bédieu~!" or I will search you, were you as leprous as Job, and as scabby as Caesar!"

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"Monsieur, the Rue Galiache is a street which hath at one end the Rue de la Verrerie, and at the other the Rue de la Tixeranderie."

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"Well, yes! my good friend Jehan, my poor comrade, the Rue Galiache is good, very good. But in the name of heaven collect your wits. I must have a sou parisis, and the appointment is for seven o’clock."

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"Silence for the rondo, and attention to the refrain,--

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"~Quand les rats mangeront les cas, Le roi sera seigneur d’Arras; Quand la mer, qui est grande et le(e Sera a la Saint-Jean gele(e, On verra, par-dessus la glace, Sortir ceux d’Arras de leur place~*."

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* When the rats eat the cats, the king will be lord of Arras; when the sea which is great and wide, is frozen over at St. John’s tide, men will see across the ice, those who dwell in Arras quit their place.

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"Well, scholar of Antichrist, may you be strangled with the entrails of your mother!" exclaimed Phoebus, and he gave the drunken scholar a rough push; the latter slipped against the wall, and slid flabbily to the pavement of Philip Augustus. A remnant of fraternal pity, which never abandons the heart of a drinker, prompted Phoebus to roll Jehan with his foot upon one of those pillows of the poor, which Providence keeps in readiness at the corner of all the street posts of Paris, and which the rich blight with the name of "a rubbish- heap." The captain adjusted Jehan’s head upon an inclined plane of cabbage-stumps, and on the very instant, the scholar fell to snoring in a magnificent bass. Meanwhile, all malice was not extinguished in the captain’s heart. "So much the worse if the devil’s cart picks you up on its passage!" he said to the poor, sleeping clerk; and he strode off.

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The man in the mantle, who had not ceased to follow him, halted for a moment before the prostrate scholar, as though agitated by indecision; then, uttering a profound sigh, he also strode off in pursuit of the captain.

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We, like them, will leave Jehan to slumber beneath the open sky, and will follow them also, if it pleases the reader.

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On emerging into the Rue Saint-André-des-Arcs, Captain Phoebus perceived that some one was following him. On glancing sideways by chance, he perceived a sort of shadow crawling after him along the walls. He halted, it halted; he resumed his march, it resumed its march. This disturbed him not overmuch. "Ah, bah!" he said to himself, "I have not a sou."

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He paused in front of the College d’Autun. It was at this college that he had sketched out what he called his studies, and, through a scholar’s teasing habit which still lingered in him, he never passed the fa?ade without inflicting on the statue of Cardinal Pierre Bertrand, sculptured to the right of the portal, the affront of which Priapus complains so bitterly in the satire of Horace, ~Olim truncus eram ficulnus~. He had done this with so much unrelenting animosity that the inscription, ~Eduensis episcopus~, had become almost effaced. Therefore, he halted before the statue according to his wont. The street was utterly deserted. At the moment when he was coolly retying his shoulder knots, with his nose in the air, he saw the shadow approaching him with slow steps, so slow that he had ample time to observe that this shadow wore a cloak and a hat. On arriving near him, it halted and remained more motionless than the statue of Cardinal Bertrand. Meanwhile, it riveted upon Phoebus two intent eyes, full of that vague light which issues in the night time from the pupils of a cat.

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The captain was brave, and would have cared very little for a highwayman, with a rapier in his hand. But this walking statue, this petrified man, froze his blood. There were then in circulation, strange stories of a surly monk, a nocturnal prowler about the streets of Paris, and they recurred confusedly to his memory. He remained for several minutes in stupefaction, and finally broke the silence with a forced laugh.

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"Monsieur, if you are a robber, as I hope you are, you produce upon me the effect of a heron attacking a nutshell. I am the son of a ruined family, my dear fellow. Try your hand near by here. In the chapel of this college there is some wood of the true cross set in silver."

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The hand of the shadow emerged from beneath its mantle and descended upon the arm of Phoebus with the grip of an eagle’s talon; at the same time the shadow spoke,--

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"Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers!"

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What, the devil!" said Phoebus, "you know my name!"

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"I know not your name alone," continued the man in the mantle, with his sepulchral voice. "You have a rendezvous this evening."

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"Yes," replied Phoebus in amazement.

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"At seven o’clock."

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"In a quarter of an hour."

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"At la Falourdel’s."

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"Precisely."

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"The lewd hag of the Pont Saint-Michel."

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"Of Saint Michel the archangel, as the Pater Noster saith."

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Please sign in to unlock the rest

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"La Smeralda," said Phoebus, gayly. All his heedlessness had gradually returned.

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At this name, the shadow’s grasp shook the arm of Phoebus in a fury.

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