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巴黎圣母院|Notre-Dame de Paris

Book 9 Chapter 4 Earthenware And Crystal

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 维克多-雨果] 阅读：[34151]
Book 9 Chapter 4 Earthenware And Crystal
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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日子一天天过去。

1
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宁静渐渐回到了拉·爱斯梅拉达的心里。极端的痛苦，象极端的欢乐一样不会经久，因为它过于猛烈。人的心不可能长久停留在任何一个极端，那个流浪姑娘经受了太多的悲痛，以致仅仅剩下惊骇的心情了。

2
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有了安宁，她便又有了希望。她离开了社会，离开了生活，但她模糊地觉得并不是不可能再回转去。她好象一个死人保留着打开自己的坟墓的钥匙。

3
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她觉得曾经长久盘据她心头的那些可怕的形象已逐渐远远离开了她，一切可怖的幽灵如比埃拉·多尔得许，雅克·沙尔莫吕，甚至连那个神甫，都从她心头消失了。

4
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何况弗比斯还活着，她确信他还活着，因为她看见过他。弗比斯的生命便是一切。在遭受了一连串摧毁了她的致命打击之后，她发现自己心中只有一样东西依旧屹立不动，那便是她对那个队长的爱情。因为爱情好象树木一样自行茁长，但把树根埋在我们体内，并且在荒芜的心坎里继续发绿。

5
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这种感情愈是盲目，就愈加顽强，这真是不可理解的事。在毫无道理的时候反倒是最最坚决。

6
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拉·爱斯梅拉达想起那个队长时，当然是不无苦楚的。连他也会弄错，也会相信那种不可能的事，也会以为宁肯为他牺牲一千次生命的人竟会用匕首刺杀他。这当然可怕呀。不过到底不能太责怪他，她不是自己承认了她的“罪名”吗？她这个软弱的姑娘不是对酷刑屈服了吗？一切错处都在她。她应该宁肯被削掉指甲也不要说那种话呀。总之，假若她能再看见弗比斯一次，哪怕一分钟，她只要一句话或一个眼色，就能使他醒悟，使他回心转意，她认为那是一定的。但也有几件怪事使她觉得糊涂：那天她忏悔的时候，弗比斯的突然出现，还有同他一起的那个姑娘。她猜想那当然是他的姐妹了。这是一种不合理的解释，但她对这种解释感到满意，因为她需要相信弗比斯依旧爱她，而且除了爱她之外不爱任何人。他不是这样向她发过誓的吗？象她那么天真那么轻信的人，还能想望别的什么呢？何况，那种事公开化对于他不是比对于她更不利吗？于是她等待着，她希望着。

7
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何况那座教堂，那隐藏她保护她救助她的教堂，它本身就是最好的止痛药。那座建筑庄严的线条，那姑娘周围的一切事物都散发着一种虔诚的气息，仿佛是从那座石头建筑的每个毛孔里渗透出来的纯洁安静的思想，不知不觉地对她发生了作用。这座建筑里还有一些如此幸福如此庄严的声音，使她病弱的灵魂得到安慰。值班教士单调的歌声和听众回答神甫的声音，有时听不清，有时很响亮，窗上玻璃的均匀的颤动，象上百只号角一般突然响起来的风琴声，象大蜂房似的嗡嗡响的三座钟楼，这个有着巨大音阶的乐队，它的音阶从底层的群众直达钟楼，不断上升下降，这些都使她的回忆、她的想象、她的痛苦平息下来了。那些钟尤其使她觉得安慰，那些巨大的机器向她倾出汹涌的波涛，犹如一股强大的磁力。

8
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每天，朝阳也发现她更为安静平和，呼吸得更好，更加有血色。她内在的创伤愈合以后，她又容光焕发起来，不过更为沉静，更为安详。她又恢复了从前的性情，甚至连同她的欢乐，她对那小羊的爱怜，她那好看的扁嘴的动作，她爱唱歌的习惯，她贞洁的羞怯。早上她小心地躲到房间角落里去穿衣服，唯恐旁边顶楼里有什么人从窗口上偷看。

9
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偶然不想弗比斯的时候，埃及姑娘就有几次想起了伽西莫多。这是她和人类、和活人们之间唯一的联系，唯一的来往。不幸的人啊！她比伽西莫多更加和世界隔绝！对于机缘偶然送给她的这位陌生朋友，她一点也不了解，她常常责备自己没有那种能使她对他的丑陋视而不见的感恩心情，她是无论如何也看不惯那个敲钟人的，他实在太丑了。

10
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她没有把他给她的口哨从地上拾起，但这并不能阻止伽西莫多在最初几天时时走来。她尽可能不在他送食物篮或水罐来的时候表现出太厌恶的样子，可是只要有一点点这类表情他都看得出来，于是悲哀地走开去。

11
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有一次，正当她抚爱加里的时候，他忽然来了。他若有所思地看着山羊和埃及姑娘亲切地在一起，看了好一会，最后他摇着蠢笨的脑袋说道：“我的不幸正因为我还是过分象人，我情愿完全是一头牲畜，象这只山羊一般。”

12
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她惊讶地看了他一眼。

13
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他回答她这一眼说：“啊，我知道是什么原因。”说完就走开了。

14
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另一次他出现在他从来没有跨进去过的小屋门口，拉·爱斯梅拉达正在唱一支古老的西班牙歌谣，她并不懂得歌词的意思，但是因为波希米亚女人曾经在她幼年时唱着这支歌哄她睡觉，所以她一直记得这支歌。看见那丑恶的脸孔突然在她唱到一半时出现，她便做了个不乐意的表情停住不唱了。不幸的敲钟人跪在门槛上，用哀求的姿势合着两只难看的大手痛苦地说道：“啊，我求你继续唱下去，不要赶走我吧！”她不愿意使他难堪，就颤声地继续唱她的歌。她的惊恐逐渐消失，让自己完全沉醉在歌声的忧郁气氛里了。

15
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他依旧跪在那里，象在祈祷似的合着双手，注意地屏息倾听，眼光盯牢在埃及姑娘的亮晶晶的眼瞳上，好象他是从她的眼睛里听到她的歌声的。

16
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还有一次，他又尴尬又胆怯地走到她跟前。“听我说，”他好容易说出话来，“我有些话对你讲。”她做了个愿意听的姿势。于是他叹息起来，半张着嘴，有那么一会儿好象准备讲话，随后却看了看她，摇了摇头，把脸埋在手里慢慢走开了，使那埃及姑娘惊讶不止。

17
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刻在墙上的许多人像里面，有一个他特别喜爱，他好象常常和他象兄弟般地交谈着。有一次埃及姑娘听见他向那个雕像说道：“啊，我为什么不是象你一样的石头人呢！”

18
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有一天早晨，拉·爱斯梅拉达终于走到屋顶边上，越过圣若望圆形教堂的尖顶望着广场。伽西莫多在她的背后，他这样安置自己，是想尽力躲避，免得那姑娘看见他会不高兴。忽然埃及姑娘哆嗦了一下，一颗泪珠和一道欢乐的光芒同时在她的眼中闪亮，她跪在屋顶边沿，痛苦地向广场伸出手臂喊道：“弗比斯！来吧！来吧！一句话，只要说一句话，凭上帝的名义！弗比斯！弗比斯！”她的声音，她脸上的神色，她的姿势，她整个的人，都好象覆舟者在向远处天际阳光里欢乐的船儿呼救似的。

19
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伽西莫多俯身向广场望去，发现引起这种温柔热烈的呼唤的对象，原来是一个队长，一个年轻漂亮的骑士，全身闪耀着兵器和装饰品，勒着马从广场的那一头驰过，装模作样地向一个在自家阳台上朝他微笑的夫人行礼。可是那军官并没有听见不幸的姑娘喊他，他离得太远了。

20
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然而可怜的聋子却听见啦，他胸膛里迸出深深的叹息，转身退了回来。

21
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他心中胀满了他吞下的眼泪，用痉挛的拳头使劲敲自己的脑袋，当他放下双手，每只手里都有一撮发红的头发。

22
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埃及姑娘丝毫没有注意他。他磨着牙齿低声说道：“见鬼！就得象那种样子！只要表面漂亮！”

23
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这时她依旧跪在那里，异常激动地喊着：“啊，他在那边下马了！他要到那座房子里去了！弗比斯！他听不见我的喊声！那个和我同时向他说话的女人真可恶！弗比斯！弗比斯！”

24
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聋子看着她，他是明白这种哑剧的。可怜的敲钟人眼睛里充满了泪水，但他一滴也不让它流下来。忽然他拽了拽她的衣袖，她回转身来，他装出若无其事的样子向她说道：“你愿意我替你去找他吗？”

25
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她快乐地喊了一声。“啊，去吧！跑去吧！快一点！那个队长！那个队长！把他给我带来！我会喜欢你的！”她抱住了他的膝盖。他不禁悲哀地摇摇头。“我会把他给你带来的。”他用微弱的声音说。随后他就掉过头忍住眼泪，连忙大踏步下楼去了。

26
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他到达广场的时候，再也看不见什么，只有那匹漂亮的马拴在贡德洛里耶府邸的大门上，那个队长刚刚走进府邸去了。

27
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他抬头望着教堂屋顶，拉·爱斯梅拉达还在那里，还是原来那个姿势。

28
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他向她悲哀地摇摇头，随后他就背靠着贡德洛里耶府邸门廊的一根柱子，决心等候队长出来。

29
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贡德洛里耶府邸里面正在举行婚礼前的庆祝。伽西莫多看见好些人进去，却没看见一个人出来。他随时向教堂顶上望一望，那埃及姑娘也象他似的纹丝不动。一个马夫来把那匹马解下，牵进府邸的马棚里去了。

30
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整个白天就这样过去，伽西莫多靠着柱子，拉·爱斯梅拉达待在屋顶上，弗比斯呢，当然是在孚勒尔·德·丽丝的脚边。

31
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夜晚终于到来了，一个没有月亮的夜，一个昏暗的夜。伽西莫多枉自把眼睛盯在拉·爱斯梅拉达身上，很快就只看得见一个白点在暮色里，随后就什么也看不见了，一切都消失了，只有一片黑暗。

32
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伽西莫多看见贡德洛里耶府邸的前墙上上下下的窗子全都亮起了灯火，他也看见广场上别人家的窗里也一个接一个地有了灯光，后来他又看见它们一个跟一个地熄灭了，因为他整个晚上都靠着那根柱子站着，不过那个军官并没有出来。等到最后的过路人回家了，别的房屋窗口最后一盏灯火也熄灭了，伽西莫多还独自在黑暗里站着。当时圣母院前面广场上是没有灯的。

33
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贡德洛里耶府邸的那些窗户却仍然非常明亮，虽然时间已经是半夜过后，凝神不动的伽西莫多仍然看见玻璃窗里穿着鲜艳服装的人在热烈地跳着舞。假若他耳朵不聋，在这熟睡的巴黎一切声浪都已静息的时刻，他会渐渐清楚地听出贡德洛里耶府邸内有一种节日的喧闹，一片笑声和音乐声。

34
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快到早晨一点钟的时候，宾客们才开始告退。躲在黑暗中的伽西莫多看着他们一一经过灯火辉煌的门廊，但没有一个人是那个队长。

35
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他心里充满了悲苦。有时他象疲倦了的人一样望望天空。大片乌云，沉重而凌乱，象黑纱吊床一般挂在缀满星星的夜幕下，仿佛是张在天顶的蜘蛛网。

36
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就在这时候，他看见阳台上的落地窗忽然神秘地打开了。那阳台的石头栏杆正好在他的头顶上，从两扇狭长的玻璃窗门里走出两个人来，窗门在他们身后无声地合上了，那是一个男人和一个女人。伽西莫多不无痛苦地认出男的正是那个漂亮的队长，女的就是早上他看见在那同一个阳台上向那军官表示欢迎的姑娘。广场上非常黑暗，玻璃窗门关上时垂下来的深红色双幅窗帘，使房间里的灯光一点也透不到阳台上。

37
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我们的聋子虽然听不见那个年轻人和那个姑娘的谈话，却猜到他们是沉醉在温柔的情话之中。那姑娘似乎允许那年轻人用手臂抱住她的腰，却婉转地拒绝了他的亲吻。

38
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伽西莫多从下面看到了那本来不准备让人看见因而特别出色的情景。他带着悲苦心情观察那种幸福，那种美。那可怜人的天性到底并不是缄默的，虽然他背驼得很难看，却也同别人一样会战栗起来。他想到上苍赋予他的悲惨的身世，想到女人、爱情和逸乐永远从他眼皮底下溜过，他永远只能观看别人的幸福。而且在那种情景下最使他痛心，最使他厌恶和愤怒的，还是想到假如那埃及姑娘看见那种场面将会多么伤心。夜确实相当黑，假若拉·爱斯梅拉达还在原先的地方（他断定她还在那里），不过那也太远了，能看得见阳台上那一对情侣的顶多只有他自己。这个想法使他觉得有了点安慰。

39
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这时那两人的谈话愈来愈亲密了，那个姑娘似乎在请求军官不要再向她要求什么。伽西莫多只能看见姑娘那双紧握着的美丽的手，含着眼泪的微笑，望着星空的眼睛以及那队长热情的俯视她的眼光。

40
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当那姑娘已经只能微微挣扎的时候，幸好阳台的窗门忽然打开了，出现了一位老太太，那漂亮的姑娘好象很为难，军官现出恼怒的神情，三个人一道进里面去了。

41
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过了一会，一匹马在门廊里蹦跳起来，那浑身亮闪闪的军官，披着夜间穿的斗篷从伽西莫多面前迅速走过。

42
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敲钟人让他走到了那条街的拐角，才用猴子般的敏捷在他身后一面跑一面喊道：“喂，队长！”

43
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“你这恶汉想对我怎么样？”他说，一面在黑暗里观察向他一拐一拐地跑来的粗笨的人。

44
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伽西莫多已经跑到他跟前，大胆地抓住他的马缰：“跟我走，队长，有一个人想同您谈谈。”

45
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“见你的鬼！”弗比斯咆哮起来，“我好象在哪里见过这只慌张的猫头鹰。喂，掌柜！你愿意放开我的马缰么？”

46
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“队长，”聋子回答道，“您是不是问我是谁呀？”

47
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“我叫你放开我的马，”队长不耐烦地说，“你这家伙这样吊在我的马缰上干什么？你是把我的马当成绞刑架了吧？”

48
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伽西莫多不但不放开马缰，还打算让那匹马掉转头往回走，他不明白那队长为什么要拒绝，只得赶紧对他说：“来吧，队长，有个女人在等您呢。”

49
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他又添上句，“是一位爱您的女人。”

50
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“少见的奴才！”队长说，“他以为我非要到每个爱我的女人那里去不可呢。要是她也跟你似的，一张脸活象猫头鹰呢？去告诉打发你来的人，说我快要结婚了，叫她见鬼去吧！”

51
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“听我说，”伽西莫多喊道，他以为只要一句话就能够使他不再犹豫了，“是您认识的那个埃及姑娘呀！”

52
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这句话的确对弗比斯产生了极大的影响，可是并不是那个聋子所期望的那种影响。读者也许记得，伽西莫多把囚犯从沙尔莫吕手中抢救出去以前不多一会，我们的漂亮军官就同孚勒尔·德·丽丝一起退到阳台窗门里面去了。

53
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从那以后，他每次拜访贡德洛里耶府邸的时候，就提防着不去谈论她，他想起她到底难免有点内疚。在孚勒尔·德·丽丝方面呢，她认为假若把埃及姑娘还活着的事告诉他，那就很不策略。于是弗比斯认为可怜的“西米娜”已经死去了，已经死去一两个月了。队长本来已经有好一阵在想着夜里深深的黑暗，想着这种非人的丑陋，想着这陌生送信人那阴惨的声音，想着那时已经过了半夜，想着那条街就跟碰到妖僧那个晚上一样没有行人，想着他的马看见伽西莫多就直喘气……

54
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“埃及姑娘！”他几乎惊呆了似的喊道，“那么，你是从阴司地府来的么？”

55
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他用手去抓佩剑的柄。

56
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“赶快！赶快！”聋子说着就去拉马，“从这边走。”

57
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弗比斯用马靴朝他的胸口狠狠地踢了一脚。

58
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伽西莫多眼睛里闪出怒火，他做了一个打算向队长扑过去的举动，随后又忍住了说：“啊！你是幸运的，有人爱你呢。”

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他在“有人”两个字音上加重了语气，一面放开马缰说道：“滚你的吧！”

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弗比斯咒骂着，用两个马刺踢那匹马，伽西莫多看着他钻进街上的雾里不见了。“啊，”可怜的聋子低声说道，“连这点事也要拒绝！”

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他回到圣母院，点灯爬上了钟塔，正象他猜想的那样，那流浪姑娘还在原来的地方。

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她远远地看见了他，就向他奔过去。

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“只有你一个人呀！”她悲伤地握着漂亮的双手说。

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“我没有找着他。”伽西莫多冷静地回答。

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“应该整夜等着他呀！”她生气地说道。

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他看见她气愤的样子，明白那是在责怪他。“我下次好好地他吧，”他低下头说。

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“走开！”她向他说道。

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他离开了她。她不满意他呢，他宁愿受她虐待也不愿使她难过，他自己承担了全部的痛苦。

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从那天起，埃及姑娘再也没看见过他，他不再到她的小屋跟前来了。她顶多只有几次看见那不幸的敲钟人在一座钟楼顶上悲哀地盯着自己。可是她一看到他，他就又躲开去了。

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我们应该指出，她对于可怜的驼子这样甘心回避并不觉得怎么不安，她心灵深处倒很同意他这样做呢。在这一点上伽西莫多并没有弄错。

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她再也看不见他，可是感觉到有一个精灵在她的周围，她的食物都在她睡着的时候由一只看不见的手给换成了新鲜的。有一天早上她在窗口发现了一只鸟笼。她的小屋顶上有一个雕像使她害怕，她在伽西莫多面前表示过几次。一天早晨（因为这一类事都是在夜里进行），她看不见那个雕像了，有人把它打破了。要爬到雕像那里可得冒着生命危险才成啊。

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有几个黄昏，她听见有人藏在钟楼斜檐底下唱着一支凄凉古怪的歌，好象在哄她睡觉。那是几句没有韵律的诗歌，正如一个聋子能够作出的那样：不要看脸孔，姑娘啊，要看那心灵，男人的心灵往往丑恶，有些心里并没有爱情。

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姑娘啊，枞树并不美丽，并不象白杨那么美丽，但它在寒冬里还保持绿叶浓荫。

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哎！提起这个有什么用？

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不美的人生来就错！

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美只爱美，四月对一月背过脸去。

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美就是完整，美就是全能，美是唯一的有生命力的东西。

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乌鸦只在白天飞翔，鸱枭只在黑夜飞翔。

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天鹅却不管白天黑夜都能够飞起。

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一天早晨，她醒来时看见窗口放着两只插满了花的瓶罐。一只是水晶瓶，很好看很光亮，可是有裂缝，瓶里装的水流出来了，插在瓶中的花枯萎了。

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另一只是个粗糙平凡的陶罐，但它贮存着满满的水，插在罐里的花依然新鲜红艳。

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不知拉·爱斯梅拉达是不是故意的，她拿起枯萎的花束，整天抱在胸前。

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那天她再没有听到钟楼里的歌声。

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她对于这一情况并不介意，白天她就抚爱加里，瞭望贡德洛里耶府邸，低声地同自个儿叨念弗比斯，或者拿面包喂给燕子吃，这样来消磨时间。

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她再也看不见伽西莫多，听不到他的歌声了，那可怜的敲钟人好象已不在教堂里面。可是有一天晚上，她正睡不着觉，想念着她那漂亮的弗比斯时，忽然听到房间近旁有人叹气。她害怕了，就起身来到窗口，在月光下看见一堆难看的东西横躺在房门外，原来是伽西莫多睡在石头上。

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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,--

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"My misfortune is that I still resemble a man too much. I should like to be wholly a beast like that goat."

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She gazed at him in amazement.

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He replied to the glance,--

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"Oh! I well know why," and he went away.

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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.

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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,--

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"Oh! why am not I of stone, like you!"

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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.

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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.

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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.

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The gypsy paid no heed to him. He said in a low voice as he gnashed his teeth,--

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"Damnation! That is what one should be like! ’Tis only necessary to be handsome on the outside!"

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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!"

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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,--

24

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"Would you like to have me bring him to you?"

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She uttered a cry of joy.

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"Oh! go! hasten! run! quick! that captain! that captain! bring him to me! I will love you for it!"

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She clasped his knees. He could not refrain from shaking his head sadly.

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"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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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The entire day passed thus, Quasimodo at his post, la Esmeralda on the roof, Phoebus, no doubt, at the feet of Fleur-de-Lys.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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