the hunchback of notre dame-第115节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！




All　at　once　the　man　kicked　away　the　ladder　abruptly；　and　Quasimodo；　who　had　not　breathed　for　several　moments；　beheld　the　unhappy　child　dangling　at　the　end　of　the　rope　two　fathoms　above　the　pavement；　with　the　man　squatting　on　her　shoulders。　The　rope　made　several　gyrations　on　itself；　and　Quasimodo　beheld　horrible　convulsions　run　along　the　gypsy's　body。　　The　priest；　on　his　side；　with　outstretched　neck　and　eyes　starting　from　his　head；　contemplated　this　horrible　group　of　the　man　and　the　young　girl；the　spider　and　the　fly。

At　the　moment　when　it　was　most　horrible；　the　laugh　of　a　demon；　a　laugh　which　one　can　only　give　vent　to　when　one　is　no　longer　human；　burst　forth　on　the　priest's　livid　face。

Quasimodo　did　not　hear　that　laugh；　but　he　saw　it。

The　bellringer　retreated　several　paces　behind　the　archdeacon；　and　suddenly　hurling　himself　upon　him　with　fury；　with　his　huge　hands　he　pushed　him　by　the　back　over　into　the　abyss　over　which　Dom　Claude　was　leaning。

The　priest　shrieked：　〃Damnation！〃　and　fell。

The　spout；　above　which　he　had　stood；　arrested　him　in　his　fall。　　He　clung　to　it　with　desperate　hands；　and；　at　the　moment　when　he　opened　his　mouth　to　utter　a　second　cry；　he　beheld　the　formidable　and　avenging　face　of　Quasimodo　thrust　over　the　edge　of　the　balustrade　above　his　head。

Then　he　was　silent。

The　abyss　was　there　below　him。　　A　fall　of　more　than　two　hundred　feet　and　the　pavement。

In　this　terrible　situation；　the　archdeacon　said　not　a　word；　uttered　not　a　groan。　　He　merely　writhed　upon　the　spout；　with　incredible　efforts　to　climb　up　again；　but　his　hands　had　no　hold　on　the　granite；　his　feet　slid　along　the　blackened　wall　without　catching　fast。　　People　who　have　ascended　the　towers　of　Notre…Dame　know　that　there　is　a　swell　of　the　stone　immediately　beneath　the　balustrade。　　It　was　on　this　retreating　angle　that　miserable　archdeacon　exhausted　himself。　　He　had　not　to　deal　with　a　perpendicular　wall；　but　with　one　which　sloped　away　beneath　him。

Quasimodo　had　but　to　stretch　out　his　hand　in　order　to　draw　him　from　the　gulf；　but　he　did　not　even　look　at　him。　　He　was　looking　at　the　Grève。　　He　was　looking　at　the　gallows。　　He　was　looking　at　the　gypsy。

The　deaf　man　was　leaning；　with　his　elbows　on　the　balustrade；　at　the　spot　where　the　archdeacon　had　been　a　moment　before；　and　there；　never　detaching　his　gaze　from　the　only　object　which　existed　for　him　in　the　world　at　that　moment；　he　remained　motionless　and　mute；　like　a　man　struck　by　lightning；　and　a　long　stream　of　tears　flowed　in　silence　from　that　eye　which；　up　to　that　time；　had　never　shed　but　one　tear。

Meanwhile；　the　archdeacon　was　panting。　　His　bald　brow　was　dripping　with　perspiration；　his　nails　were　bleeding　against　the　stones；　his　knees　were　flayed　by　the　wall。

He　heard　his　cassock；　which　was　caught　on　the　spout；　crack　and　rip　at　every　jerk　that　he　gave　it。　　To　complete　his　misfortune；　this　spout　ended　in　a　leaden　pipe　which　bent　under　the　weight　of　his　body。　　The　archdeacon　felt　this　pipe　slowly

giving　way。　　The　miserable　man　said　to　himself　that；　when　his　hands　should　be　worn　out　with　fatigue；　when　his　cassock　should　tear　asunder；　when　the　lead　should　give　way；　he　would　be　obliged　to　fall；　and　terror　seized　upon　his　very　vitals。　Now　and　then　he　glanced　wildly　at　a　sort　of　narrow　shelf　formed；　ten　feet　lower　down；　by　projections　of　the　sculpture；　and　he　prayed　heaven；　from　the　depths　of　his　distressed　soul；　that　he　might　be　allowed　to　finish　his　life；　were　it　to　last　two　centuries；　on　that　space　two　feet　square。　　Once；　he　glanced　below　him　into　the　Place；　into　the　abyss；　the　head　which　he　raised　again　had　its　eyes　closed　and　its　hair　standing　erect。

There　was　something　frightful　in　the　silence　of　these　two　men。　　While　the　archdeacon　agonized　in　this　terrible　fashion　a　few　feet　below　him；　Quasimodo　wept　and　gazed　at　the　Grève。

The　archdeacon；　seeing　that　all　his　exertions　served　only　to　weaken　the　fragile　support　which　remained　to　him；　decided　to　remain　quiet。　　There　he　hung；　embracing　the　gutter；　hardly　breathing；　no　longer　stirring；　making　no　longer　any　other　movements　than　that　mechanical　convulsion　of　the　stomach；　which　one　experiences　in　dreams　when　one　fancies　himself　falling。　　His　fixed　eyes　were　wide　open　with　a　stare。　　He　lost　ground　little　by　little；　nevertheless；　his　fingers　slipped　along　the　spout；　he　became　more　and　more　conscious　of　the　feebleness　of　his　arms　and　the　weight　of　his　body。　　The　curve　of　the　lead　which　sustained　him　inclined　more　and　more　each　instant　towards　the　abyss。

He　beheld　below　him；　a　frightful　thing；　the　roof　of　Saint…　Jean　le　Rond；　as　small　as　a　card　folded　in　two。　　He　gazed　at　the　impressive　carvings；　one　by　one；　of　the　tower；　suspended　like　himself　over　the　precipice；　but　without　terror　for　themselves　or　pity　for　him。　　All　was　stone　around　him；　before　his　eyes；　gaping　monsters；　below；　quite　at　the　bottom；　in　the　Place；　the　pavement；　above　his　head；　Quasimodo　weeping。

In　the　Parvis　there　were　several　groups　of　curious　good　people；　who　were　tranquilly　seeking　to　divine　who　the　madman　could　be　who　was　amusing　himself　in　so　strange　a　manner。　The　priest　heard　them　saying；　for　their　voices　reached　him；　clear　and　shrill：　〃Why；　he　will　break　his　neck！〃

Quasimodo　wept。

At　last　the　archdeacon；　foaming　with　rage　and　despair；　understood　that　all　was　in　vain。　　Nevertheless；　he　collected　all　the　strength　which　remained　to　him　for　a　final　effort。　　He　stiffened　himself　upon　the　spout；　pushed　against　the　wall　with　both　his　knees；　clung　to　a　crevice　in　the　stones　with　his　hands；　and　succeeded　in　climbing　back　with　one　foot；　perhaps；　but　this　effort　made　the　leaden　beak　on　which　he　rested　bend　abruptly。　　His　cassock　burst　open　at　the　same　time。　　Then；　feeling　everything　give　way　beneath　him；　with　nothing　but　his　stiffened　and　failing　hands　to　support　him；　the　unfortunate　man　closed　his　eyes　and　let　go　of　the　spout。　He　fell。

Quasimodo　watched　him　fall。

A　fall　from　such　a　height　is　seldom　perpendicular。　　The　archdeacon；　launched　into　space；　fell　at　first　head　foremost；　with　outspread　hands；　then　he　whirled　over　and　over　many　times；　the　wind　blew　him　upon　the　roof　of　a　house；　where　the　unfortunate　man　began　to　break　up。　　Nevertheless；　he　was　not　dead　when　he　reached　there。　　The　bellringer　saw　him　still　endeavor　to　cling　to　a　gable　with　his　nails；　but　the　surface　sloped　too　much；　and　he　had　no　more　strength。　　He　slid　rapidly　along　the　roof　like　a　loosened　tile；　and　dashed　upon　the　pavement。　　There　he　no　longer　moved。

Then　Quasimodo　raised　his　eyes　to　the　gypsy；　whose　body　he　beheld　hanging　from　the　gibbet；　quivering　far　away　beneath　her　white　robe　with　the　last　shudderings　of　anguish；　then　he　dropped　them　on　the　archdeacon；　stretched　out　at　the　base　of　the　tower；　and　no　longer　retaining　the　human　form；　and　he　said；　with　a　sob　which　heaved　his　deep　chest；　〃Oh！　all　that　I　have　ever　loved！〃




CHAPTER　III。

THE　MARRIAGE　OF　PHOEBUS。



Towards　evening　on　that　day；　when　the　judiciary　officers　of　the　bishop　came　to　pick　up　from　the　pavement　of　the　Parvis　the　dislocated　corpse　of　the　archdeacon；　Quasimodo　had　disappeared。

A　great　many　rumors　were　in　circulation　with　regard　to　this　adventure。　　No　one　doubted　but　that　the　day　had　come　when；　in　accordance　with　their　compact；　Quasimodo；　that　is　to　say；　the　devil；　was　to　carry　off　Claude　Frollo；　that　is　to　say；　the　sorcerer。　　It　was　presumed　that　he　had　broken　the　body　when　taking　the　soul；　like　monkeys　who　break　the　shell　to　get　at　the　nut。

This　is　why　the　archdeacon　was　not　interred　in　consecrated　earth。

Louis　XI。　died　a　year　later；　in　the　month　of　August；　1483。

As　for　Pierre　Gringoire；　he　succeeded　in　saving　the　goat；　and　he　won　success　in　tragedy。　　It　appears　that；　after　having　tasted　astrology；　philosophy；　architecture；　hermetics；all　vanities；　he　returned　to　tragedy；　vainest　pursuit　of　all。　　This　is　what　he　called　〃coming　to　a　tragic　end。〃　　This　is　what　is　to　be　read；　on　the　subject　of　his　dramatic　triumphs；　in　1483；　in　the　accounts　of　the　〃Ordinary：〃　　〃To　Jehan　Marchand　and　Pierre　Gringoire；　carpenter　and　composer；　who　have　made　and　composed　the　mystery　made　at　the　Ch？telet　of　Paris；　at　the　entry　of　Monsieur　the　Legate；　and　have　ordered　the　personages；　clothed　and　dressed　the　same；　as　in　the　said　mystery　was　required；　and　likewise；　for　having　made　the　scaffoldings　thereto　necessary；　and　for　this　deed；one　hundred　livres。〃

Phoebus　de　Chateaupers　also　came　to　a　tragic　end。　　He　married。




CHAPTER　IV。

THE　MARRIAGE　OF　QUASIMODO。



We　have　just　said　that　Quasimodo　disappeared　from　Notre…　Dame　on　the　day　of　the　gypsy's　and　of　the　archdeacon's　death。　He　was　not　seen　again；　in　fact；　no　one　knew　what　had　become　of　him。

During　the　night　which　followed　the　execution　of　la　Esmeralda；　the　night　men　had　detached　her　body　from　the　gibbet；　and　had　carried　it；　according　to　custom；　to　the　cellar　of　Montfau？on。

Montfau？on　was；　as　Sauval　says；　〃the　most　ancient　and　the　most　superb　gibbet　in　the　kingdom。〃　　Between　the　faubourgs　of　the　Temple　and　Saint　Martin；　about　a　hundred　and　sixty　toises　from　the　walls　of　Paris；　a　few　bow　shots　from　La　Courtille；　there　was　to　be　seen　on　the　crest　of　a　gentle；　almost　imperceptible　eminence；　but　sufficiently　elevated　to　be　seen　for　several