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巴黎圣母院|Notre-Dame de Paris

Book 7 Chapter 8 The Utility Of Windows Which Open On The Riv

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 维克多-雨果] 阅读：[34139]
Book 7 Chapter 8 The Utility Of Windows Which Open On The Riv
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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克洛德·孚罗洛（因为我们的读者不象弗比斯那么笨，一定会看出妖僧不是别人，正是副主教）在队长把他关进去的那个黑暗的小间里摸索了一会。

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这是一间建筑师有时在顶楼和拦墙间留下角落盖成的小阁楼。这间被弗比斯称为陋室的小房间是三角形的，既没有窗户也没有通风口。

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屋顶从两边往上斜，使人在屋里无法站直，克洛德只好缩在他脚底下沙沙作响的石灰和尘土之中，他的头在发烧。在地上摸到一片玻璃后他便拿来贴在额头上，玻璃的凉意稍稍给了他一点安慰。

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副主教阴暗的灵魂中此刻有些什么念头掠过？那只有上帝和他自己知道了。

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究竟是何种命运的安排使他思想里出现了所有这些形象和所有这些怪事，如拉·爱斯梅拉达、弗比斯、雅克·沙尔莫吕、他听其躺在泥泞中掉头不顾的小兄弟若望、他的副主教袍子，或许还有他的名誉（它此刻正在法洛代尔的屋子里受折磨），我可说不清楚，但是这些念头在他头脑里搅成了可怕的一团却是事实。

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他等了一刻钟，好象觉得已经过了一个世纪似的，忽然他听见木板楼梯响，有人上楼来了。这时楼上的活门开了，又透进来了一道亮光。那陋室朽坏的门上有个相当大的小洞，他便把脸贴上去，这样他便看清楚隔壁房间里的情景了。脸孔象猫的老妇人首先从那道活门上了楼，手里拿着灯，接着上来的是弗比斯，一面捋着小胡髭，接着又来了第三个，是拉·爱斯梅拉达，那个又漂亮又可爱的人儿，神甫看见她好象一个光辉的幻象一样从地上升起。克洛德战栗起来，眼前展开了一片云雾，脉搏剧烈地跳动，四周的一切好象都在轰鸣和旋转，他再也看不见也听不见什么了。

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他神志清醒些时，弗比斯和拉·爱斯梅拉达已经单独相对，他俩坐在那只木箱上，身边就是那盏灯，灯光把两张年轻的脸和那陋室尽头的一张简陋的床铺呈现在副主教的眼中。

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床边有一个窗户，窗上的玻璃就象被暴雨打坏了的蜘蛛网一般满是洞眼，透过那些洞眼可以望见一角天空和远远地卧在象绒毛一样的云堆上的月亮。

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那个姑娘脸孔羞红，神色慌乱，胸口起伏着，低垂的长睫毛的影子罩住了她绯红的双颊。而那个她不敢抬头望一望的青年军官，脸上却是一片欢欣。

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她用孩子般的天真可爱的动作，用指尖在凳子上画了许多断续的线条，眼睛望着自己的手指。看不见她的脚，因为那只山羊蜷伏在她的脚前。

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队长穿得很漂亮，领口和袖口都有金线的镶边，那在当时是十分时髦的。

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堂·克洛德要相当留神才能听得见他们的谈话，因为他自己的血液正在沸腾。

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（情话总是那样，永远是那句“我爱你”，那句优美动听的话对毫不相干的旁听者来说是十分平淡无味的，假若不加点花哨的修饰的话。可是克洛德并不是作为一个毫不相干的人在那儿倾听的。）

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“啊，”姑娘说，依旧没有抬起眼睛，“不要看不起我吧，亲爱的大人，我觉得我做得不对呢。”

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“看不起你，漂亮的孩子！”军官用特别温存的口气回答道，“天哪，怎么会看不起你呢？”

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“因为我跟着你来了。”

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“说到这个呀，我的美人，我们还没有互相了解呢。我是不会看不起你的，我只会恨你。”

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姑娘惊骇地看着他问道：“恨我！我做了什么使你恨我呀？”

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“因为你让人求你多次。”

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“哎！”她答道，“要不然我就会破坏一个誓言……我就会再也找不到我的父母啦……符咒就会失去效验啦。不过那又有什么关系？我现在还要父母做什么？！”

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这样说着，她把两只闪着欢乐和柔情的泪汪汪的大黑眼睛盯住了队长。

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“魔鬼才懂得你的话是什么意思！”

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拉·爱斯梅拉达沉默了片刻，随后眼中滚下一颗泪珠，嘴里吐出一声叹息：“啊，大人，我爱你。”

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那姑娘浑身发散出一种纯真的芳香，一种贞洁的妩媚，使弗比斯在她跟前不敢过于随便，可是这句话却使他壮了胆。“你爱我呀！”他狂热地说着，突然伸出胳膊抱住姑娘的腰身，他等待的就是这么个机会。

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神甫看见了这个情景，便用手指试了试他藏在胸前的一把尖刀的刀尖。

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“弗比斯，”流浪姑娘推开牢牢围在她腰上的双手说，“你是善良的，和气的，漂亮的，你救了我。我，我不过是一个落到波希米亚人中的可怜的孩子，好久以前我就梦见过一位军官来救我。我认识你之前就梦见过你呢，我的弗比斯。我梦中的你也穿着漂亮的军服，也有一副高雅的容貌和一柄剑。

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你名叫弗比斯，这是个漂亮的名字，我爱你的名字，我爱你的剑。把你的剑拔出来，让我瞧瞧。”

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“孩子气！”弗比斯说，笑着把剑拔出来。埃及姑娘看看剑柄又看看剑身，用赞美好奇的眼光看着剑柄上的符号，并且吻着剑向它说：“你是一把勇士的剑。我爱我的队长呢。”

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弗比斯趁她低下头的当儿，在她美丽的脖子上深深地吻了一下，姑娘猛地抬起头，双颊羞红得象樱桃似的。神甫在暗中磨着牙齿。

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“弗比斯，”那波希米亚姑娘说道，“你听我说。你往前走几步，让我看看你高大的身子，听听你的马刺的响声。你多么漂亮呀！”

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为了讨好她，队长站起身来，满意地笑着并且轻声抱怨道：“不过你是多么孩子气呀！说起来，可爱的人，你还没有看见过我穿着礼服吧？”

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“哎，还没有。”她回答道。

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“那才漂亮呢！”

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弗比斯又坐到她身边来，比先前更加靠拢她。

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“听我说，亲爱的……”

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埃及姑娘用美丽的手轻轻在他的嘴上拍了几下，带着小孩般的疯癫、快活、欢悦的神气。“不，不，我不想听你说话。你爱我吗？我愿意听你说说你爱我不爱。”

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“我爱你不爱！我生命的天使啊！”他半跪着喊道，“我的身体，我的血液，我的灵魂，完全是属于你的，完全是为着你的。我爱你，除了你我谁也没爱过。”

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这些话是队长在许多相似的场合下讲过多少遍的了，他准确无误地一口气和盘托出。听到这种富于感情的告白，埃及姑娘抬起象天使一样善良的眼光，望着代替天空的肮脏的天花板。

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“啊，”她柔声地喃喃说道，“人真应该在这种时候死去的呀！”弗比斯却趁这个好机会又在她脖子上吻了一下，使得躲在暗室里的副主教又苦恼了一阵。

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“死去！”多情的队长说，“你说的什么话呀？好天使，这正是应该好好生活的时候呢！要不然大神朱比特准是个骗子啦！这样甜蜜的事情刚开始便死去么？牛角尖！简直是开玩笑！不是这么回事。听我说，我亲爱的西米娜……爱斯梅拉达……请原谅，但你有一个十分奇特的沙拉逊人的名字，我怎么也记不住，这真是个拦路虎呀。”

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“天哪，”那可怜的姑娘说道，“我认为这个名字漂亮就是由于它别致呢！既然你不喜欢，我就改名叫葛东吧。”

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“啊，别为这么点小事难过了，我的好人！我不过是说那是一个要习惯了才记得住的名字，我只要一次把它牢牢记在心里就好办啦。听我说，亲爱的西米娜，我热烈地崇拜你，我真是特别爱你呀。我知道有个姑娘听见了会生气的……”

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妒嫉的姑娘打断他的话问道：“那是谁？”

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“那同我们有什么关系呀？”弗比斯说，“你爱我吗？”“啊！……”

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她说道。

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“好啦，这不得了么！你也看得出我是多么爱你。要是我不能使你成为世界上最快乐的女子，但愿大魔鬼海神奈普顿用大铁叉叉我。我们要在什么地方弄个小巧快乐的住所，我要让我的弓箭手们排列在你的窗前。他们都是骑兵，他们可瞧不起米农队长的士兵们。他们手里都拿着戈矛弓箭和枪炮。

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我要带你到茹利的仓库去看巴黎的那些怪东西。那可好看啦。八万种兵器，三万套护心镜和带锁子甲的白铠，六十七种行业的旗子，大理院、审计院、将军库、造币厂的旗标，总之是成车的鬼玩意！我要带你到王宫大厦去看那些狮子，那些凶猛的野兽。所有的女人都喜欢这些。”

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姑娘已经好一会沉浸在迷人的思想里，在他声音的抚慰下梦想着，却没去听他的话是什么意思。

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“啊，你会幸福的！”队长说，同时轻轻地动手去解姑娘的衣带。

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“你这是干什么呀？”她机警地问道。事实把她从梦中拽回来了。

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“没什么，”弗比斯答道，“我不过是说你同我一起的时候，必须把这种奇怪的街头装束通通扔掉。”

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“当我同你在一起的时候呀，我的弗比斯！”姑娘温柔地说。

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她又若有所思地不出声了。

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被她的柔情鼓起了勇气的队长搂住了她的腰，她也没有拒绝，随后他便轻悄悄地解她的上衣，猛一下把她的颈饰扯开了。那个神甫呼吸变急促了，看见流浪姑娘赤裸的浑圆的浅褐色肩膀从薄纱里袒露出来，好象沐浴在天边云雾中的月亮。

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姑娘听他自便，仿佛没有觉察似的。大胆的队长的眼睛闪闪发光。

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她忽然转身朝着他，“弗比斯，”她用无限依恋的声音说道，“介绍我加入你的宗教吧！”

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“我的宗教！”队长大笑起来，“我，我介绍你加入我的宗教呀！喇叭和雷霆啊！你为什么要我的宗教呢？”

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“为了咱俩能够结婚，”她回答道。

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队长的脸上现出一种掺杂着惊异、轻蔑、不在乎和放肆的表情。“啊，呸！”他说，“难道一定要结婚吗？”

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那流浪姑娘的脸苍白起来，悲哀地把头低垂在胸前。

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“漂亮的情人，”弗比斯温存地说，“那些傻事有什么意思呀？结婚有什么了不起！难道不在神甫的店铺里念几句拉丁文，就会相爱得差些吗？”

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用最轻柔的声音这样说着，他便紧紧靠近着埃及姑娘，重新用抚爱的手抱住她那么细弱那么柔软的腰身，眼睛越来越火辣辣的，这一切说明弗比斯显然是接近了那种时刻，那种时刻连朱比特本人都会发呆，使好心的荷马不得不叫一片云彩来帮忙。

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堂·克洛德这时把一切都看在眼里，门板上全是裂缝，他那鹰隼般的眼睛可以看得挺清楚。这位皮肤棕黑、两肩宽阔的神甫，以前一向守着修道院的严肃和贞洁，此刻却在这爱情、黑夜和逸乐的景象之前战栗起来。任凭那青年男子调戏着的美女，好象在朝他的脉管里浇灌着铅的溶液。他的眼睛带着淫荡的妒嫉，钻到了那些松开的别针底下，谁要是看见此刻贴在门缝前的那个倒霉人的脸孔，一定会以为他是在笼子里望着狼吞吃羚羊的一只老虎呢。他的瞳孔象烛光一般穿过门缝闪亮着。

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突然之间，弗比斯猛一下扯开了埃及姑娘的护胸。依旧面色苍白的可怜的孩子好象忽然从梦中惊醒了，连忙从色胆包天的军官身边走开去，朝裸露的脖子和肩膀上瞟了一眼，羞得脸发红，不知所措地把两只胳膊交叉起来遮住胸脯。要是没有那照在她脸上的灯光，那么，看见她那么静立不动的样子，真会把她当成一座羞怯的塑像。她的眼睛依旧低垂着。

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弗比斯的举动使她戴在脖子上的那个神秘的符咒露了出来。“这是什么东西？”他利用这个借口去重新靠拢刚才被他吓跑了的美人儿。

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“别碰！”她赶忙说道，“这是我的护身符。就是它，能使我将来找到我的亲人，只要我还配得上。啊，放开我吧，弗比斯大人！我的母亲，我可怜的母亲啊！我的母亲，你在哪儿？快来救救我！行行好吧，弗比斯大人！

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把我的护胸还给我！”

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弗比斯退缩了一下，用冷冷的声音说：“啊，小姐！我很明白您并不爱我！”

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“我不爱你！”可怜的不幸的孩子喊道，同时抓住那个队长，让他坐在自己的身边。“我不爱你，我的弗比斯！你为什么这样说呢，可恶的人？为什么这样来伤我的心？啊，来吧！把我拿去吧！整个儿拿去吧！随你爱怎么办就怎么办吧，我是属于你的。护身符在我算得了什么！我的母亲在我算得了什么！你就是我的母亲，因为我爱你！弗比斯，我最爱的弗比斯，你看见我吗？是我呀，看着我，这就是你不愿意抛弃的小姑娘，她来啦，她自己来找你啦。我的灵魂，我的生命，我的身体，我整个的人，都是属于你的呀，我的队长。哎，不！我们不必结婚，既然你讨厌结婚。而且，我算什么人呢？

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我，一个阴沟里的可怜的姑娘，可是你呢，我的弗比斯，你是上等人。真想得好呀，一个跳舞姑娘同一位军官结婚！我发疯啦。不，弗比斯，不，我要做你的情妇，你的玩物，一个供你寻欢作乐的人，只要你愿意，我就是一个属于你的姑娘，我是专门为了这样才出生的。被人轻贱蔑视又有什么关系？

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只要你爱我，我就会成为最骄傲最快活的女人。到我老了丑了的时候，到我已经不配爱你的时候，大人，请允许我侍候你吧。让别人去给你绣绶带吧。

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我是一个仆人，我得照料你。你要让我给你擦亮马刺，刷净铠甲，擦净马靴。

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不是吗，弗比斯，你会给我这种慈悲吧？等一会，把我拿去吧！呀，弗比斯，我完全属于你，只爱我一个人吧！我们这些波希米亚姑娘就只要这个，只要空气和爱情！”

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这样说着，她便用两只胳膊抱住军官的脖子，带着含泪的微笑仰头望着他，漂亮的胸脯擦着他的呢子上衣和粗糙的刺绣，她把半裸的身子俯向他的膝头。队长如痴如醉，把火热的嘴唇去吻那漂亮的非洲人的肩膀。姑娘的眼睛迷迷忽忽，向后仰着，在这个亲吻下激动得全身战栗起来。

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忽然，她看见弗比斯的头顶上伸出了另一个脑袋，一张发青的痉挛的脸孔和一副恶魔般的眼光，在那张脸孔旁边有一只手举着一把尖刀。这是那个神甫的脸和手。他捣开门到这儿来了，弗比斯看不见他。那个姑娘在这个可怕的景象前惊呆了，动弹不得也说不出话，好象一只鸽子偶然抬起头来，发现老鹰正圆睁双眼往它的窠里窥探。

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她连喊都喊不出来，她看见尖刀插进了弗比斯的身子，拔出来时布满了鲜血。“真倒霉！”弗比斯说着便倒下去了。

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她昏了过去。

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她一合眼便昏昏沉沉，只觉得自己的嘴唇象被火烧了一下似的，那是一个比刽子手烧红的铁器更烫的亲吻。

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她恢复知觉的当儿，正被一群巡夜的军警围着，人们抬走了血泊里的队长，神甫已经不见了，房间尽头临河的窗子大开着，人们捡到了一件斗篷，以为它是那个军官的东西。她听到周围的人都在说：“她是一个女巫，她把一个军官刺死了。”

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Claude Frollo (for we presume that the reader, more intelligent than Phoebus, has seen in this whole adventure no other surly monk than the archdeacon), Claude Frollo groped about for several moments in the dark lair into which the captain had bolted him. It was one of those nooks which architects sometimes reserve at the point of junction between the roof and the supporting wall. A vertical section of this kennel, as Phoebus had so justly styled it, would have made a triangle. Moreover, there was neither window nor air-hole, and the slope of the roof prevented one from standing upright. Accordingly, Claude crouched down in the dust, and the plaster which cracked beneath him; his head was on fire; rummaging around him with his hands, be found on the floor a bit of broken glass, which he pressed to his brow, and whose cool- ness afforded him some relief.

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What was taking place at that moment in the gloomy soul of the archdeacon? God and himself could alone know.

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In what order was he arranging in his mind la Esmeralda, Phoebus, Jacques Charmolue, his young brother so beloved, yet abandoned by him in the mire, his archdeacon’s cassock, his reputation perhaps dragged to la Falourdel’s, all these adventures, all these images? I cannot say. But it is certain that these ideas formed in his mind a horrible group.

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He had been waiting a quarter of an hour; it seemed to him that he had grown a century older. All at once be heard the creaking of the boards of the stairway; some one was ascending. The trapdoor opened once more; a light reappeared. There was a tolerably large crack in the worm-eaten door of his den; he put his face to it. In this manner he could see all that went on in the adjoining room. The cat-faced old crone was the first to emerge from the trap-door, lamp in hand; then Phoebus, twirling his moustache, then a third person, that beautiful and graceful figure, la Esmeralda. The priest beheld her rise from below like a dazzling apparition. Claude trembled, a cloud spread over his eyes, his pulses beat violently, everything rustled and whirled around him; he no longer saw nor heard anything.

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When he recovered himself, Phoebus and Esmeralda were alone seated on the wooden coffer beside the lamp which made these two youthful figures and a miserable pallet at the end of the attic stand out plainly before the archdeacon’s eyes.

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Beside the pallet was a window, whose panes broken like a spider’s web upon which rain has fallen, allowed a view, through its rent meshes, of a corner of the sky, and the moon lying far away on an eiderdown bed of soft clouds.

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The young girl was blushing, confused, palpitating. Her long, drooping lashes shaded her crimson cheeks. The officer, to whom she dared not lift her eyes, was radiant. Mechanically, and with a charmingly unconscious gesture, she traced with the tip of her finger incoherent lines on the bench, and watched her finger. Her foot was not visible. The little goat was nestling upon it.

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The captain was very gallantly clad; he had tufts of embroidery at his neck and wrists; a great elegance at that day.

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It was not without difficulty that Dom Claude managed to hear what they were saying, through the humming of the blood, which was boiling in his temples.

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(A conversation between lovers is a very commonplace affair. It is a perpetual "I love you." A musical phrase which is very insipid and very bald for indifferent listeners, when it is not ornamented with some ~fioriture~; but Claude was not an indifferent listener.)

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"Oh!" said the young girl, without raising her eyes, "do not despise me, monseigneur Phoebus. I feel that what I am doing is not right."

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"despise you, my pretty child!" replied the officer with an air of superior and distinguished gallantry, "despise you, ~tête-Dieu~! and why?"

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"For having followed you!"

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"On that point, my beauty, we don’t agree. I ought not to despise you, but to hate you."

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The young girl looked at him in affright: "Hate me! what have I done?"

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"For having required so much urging."

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"Alas!" said she, "’tis because I am breaking a vow. I shall not find my parents! The amulet will lose its virtue. But what matters it? What need have I of father or mother now?"

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So saying, she fixed upon the captain her great black eyes, moist with joy and tenderness.

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"Devil take me if I understand you!" exclaimed Phoebus. La Esmeralda remained silent for a moment, then a tear dropped from her eyes, a sigh from her lips, and she said,-- "Oh! monseigneur, I love you."

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Such a perfume of chastity, such a charm of virtue surrounded the young girl, that Phoebus did not feel completely at his ease beside her. But this remark emboldened him: "You love me!" he said with rapture, and he threw his arm round the gypsy’s waist. He had only been waiting for this opportunity.

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The priest saw it, and tested with the tip of his finger the point of a poniard which he wore concealed in his breast.

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"Phoebus," continued the Bohemian, gently releasing her waist from the captain’s tenacious hands, "You are good, you are generous, you are handsome; you saved me, me who am only a poor child lost in Bohemia. I had long been dreaming of an officer who should save my life. ’Twas of you that I was dreaming, before I knew you, my Phoebus; the officer of my dream had a beautiful uniform like yours, a grand look, a sword; your name is Phoebus; ’tis a beautiful name. I love your name; I love your sword. Draw your sword, Phoebus, that I may see it."

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"Child!" said the captain, and he unsheathed his sword with a smile.

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The gypsy looked at the hilt, the blade; examined the cipher on the guard with adorable curiosity, and kissed the sword, saying,--

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You are the sword of a brave man. I love my captain." Phoebus again profited by the opportunity to impress upon her beautiful bent neck a kiss which made the young girl straighten herself up as scarlet as a poppy. The priest gnashed his teeth over it in the dark.

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"Phoebus," resumed the gypsy, "let me talk to you. Pray walk a little, that I may see you at full height, and that I may hear your spurs jingle. How handsome you are!"

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The captain rose to please her, chiding her with a smile of satisfaction,--

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"What a child you are! By the way, my charmer, have you seen me in my archer’s ceremonial doublet?"

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"Alas! no," she replied.

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"It is very handsome!"

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Phoebus returned and seated himself beside her, but much closer than before.

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"Listen, my dear--"

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The gypsy gave him several little taps with her pretty hand on his mouth, with a childish mirth and grace and gayety.

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"No, no, I will not listen to you. Do you love me? I want you to tell me whether you love me."

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"Do I love thee, angel of my life!" exclaimed the captain, half kneeling. "My body, my blood, my soul, all are thine; all are for thee. I love thee, and I have never loved any one but thee."

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The captain had repeated this phrase so many times, in many similar conjunctures, that he delivered it all in one breath, without committing a single mistake. At this passionate declaration, the gypsy raised to the dirty ceiling which served for the skies a glance full of angelic happiness.

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"Oh!" she murmured, "this is the moment when one should die!"

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Phoebus found "the moment" favorable for robbing her of another kiss, which went to torture the unhappy archdeacon in his nook. "Die!" exclaimed the amorous captain, "What are you saying, my lovely angel? ’Tis a time for living, or Jupiter is only a scamp! Die at the beginning of so sweet a thing! ~Corne-de-boeuf~, what a jest! It is not that. Listen, my dear Similar, Esmenarda--Pardon! you have so prodigiously Saracen a name that I never can get it straight. ’Tis a thicket which stops me short."

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"Good heavens!" said the poor girl, "and I thought my name pretty because of its singularity! But since it displeases you, I would that I were called Goton."

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"Ah! do not weep for such a trifle, my graceful maid! ’tis a name to which one must get accustomed, that is all. When I once know it by heart, all will go smoothly. Listen then, my dear Similar; I adore you passionately. I love you so that ’tis simply miraculous. I know a girl who is bursting with rage over it--"

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"Well! that is all. You shall see how I love you also. May the great devil Neptunus spear me if I do not make you the happiest woman in the world. We will have a pretty little house somewhere. I will make my archers parade before your windows. They are all mounted, and set at defiance those of Captain Mignon. There are ~voulgiers, cranequiniers~ and hand ~couleveiniers~*. I will take you to the great sights of the Parisians at the storehouse of Rully. Eighty thousand armed men, thirty thousand white harnesses, short coats or coats of mail; the sixty-seven banners of the trades; the standards of the parliaments, of the chamber of accounts, of the treasury of the generals, of the aides of the mint; a devilish fine array, in short! I will conduct you to see the lions of the H?tel du Roi, which are wild beasts. All women love that."

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* Varieties of the crossbow.

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