the hunchback of notre dame-第23节

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〃Don't　touch　it！　　It　is　an　amulet。　　You　would　injure　the　charm　or　the　charm　would　injure　you。〃

The　poet's　curiosity　was　more　and　more　aroused。

〃Who　gave　it　to　you？〃

She　laid　one　finger　on　her　mouth　and　concealed　the　amulet　in　her　bosom。　　He　tried　a　few　more　questions；　but　she　hardly　replied。

〃What　is　the　meaning　of　the　words；　'la　Esmeralda？'〃

〃I　don't　know；〃　said　she。

〃To　what　language　do　they　belong？〃

〃They　are　Egyptian；　I　think。〃

〃I　suspected　as　much；〃　said　Gringoire；　〃you　are　not　a　native　of　France？〃

〃I　don't　know。〃

〃Are　your　parents　alive？〃

She　began　to　sing；　to　an　ancient　air；　　　~Mon　père　est　oiseau；　　　Ma　mère　est　oiselle。　B　　　Je　passe　l'eau　sans　nacelle；　　　Je　passe　l'eau　sans　bateau；　　　Ma　mère　est　oiselle；　　Mon　père　est　oiseau~。*


*　　My　father　is　a　bird；　my　mother　is　a　bird。　　I　cross　the　water　without　a　barque；　I　cross　the　water　without　a　boat。　My　mother　is　a　bird；　my　father　is　a　bird。


〃Good；〃　said　Gringoire。　　〃At　what　age　did　you　come　to　France？〃

〃When　I　was　very　young。〃

〃And　when　to　Paris？〃

〃Last　year。　　At　the　moment　when　we　were　entering　the　papal　gate　I　saw　a　reed　warbler　flit　through　the　air；　that　was　at　the　end　of　August；　I　said；　it　will　be　a　hard　winter。〃

〃So　it　was；〃　said　Gringoire；　delighted　at　this　beginning　of　a　conversation。　　〃I　passed　it　in　blowing　my　fingers。　　So　you　have　the　gift　of　prophecy？〃

She　retired　into　her　laconics　again。

〃Is　that　man　whom　you　call　the　Duke　of　Egypt；　the　chief　of　your　tribe？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃But　it　was　he　who　married　us；〃　remarked　the　poet　timidly。

She　made　her　customary　pretty　grimace。

〃I　don't　even　know　your　name。〃

〃My　name？　　If　you　want　it；　here　it　is；Pierre　Gringoire。〃

〃I　know　a　prettier　one；〃　said　she。

〃Naughty　girl！〃　retorted　the　poet。　　〃Never　mind；　you　shall　not　provoke　me。　　Wait；　perhaps　you　will　love　me　more　when　you　know　me　better；　and　then；　you　have　told　me　your　story　with　so　much　confidence；　that　I　owe　you　a　little　of　mine。　　You　must　know；　then；　that　my　name　is　Pierre　Gringoire；　and　that　I　am　a　son　of　the　farmer　of　the　notary's　office　of　Gonesse。　My　father　was　hung　by　the　Burgundians；　and　my　mother　disembowelled　by　the　Picards；　at　the　siege　of　Paris；　twenty　years　ago。　　At　six　years　of　age；　therefore；　I　was　an　orphan；　without　a　sole　to　my　foot　except　the　pavements　of　Paris。　　I　do　not　know　how　I　passed　the　interval　from　six　to　sixteen。　　A　fruit　dealer　gave　me　a　plum　here；　a　baker　flung　me　a　crust　there；　in　the　evening　I　got　myself　taken　up　by　the　watch；　who　threw　me　into　prison；　and　there　I　found　a　bundle　of　straw。　　All　this　did　not　prevent　my　growing　up　and　growing　thin；　as　you　see。　In　the　winter　I　warmed　myself　in　the　sun；　under　the　porch　of　the　H？tel　de　Sens；　and　I　thought　it　very　ridiculous　that　the　fire　on　Saint　John's　Day　was　reserved　for　the　dog　days。　　At　sixteen；　I　wished　to　choose　a　calling。　　I　tried　all　in　succession。　I　became　a　soldier；　but　I　was　not　brave　enough。　　I　became　a　monk；　but　I　was　not　sufficiently　devout；　and　then　I'm　a　bad　hand　at　drinking。　　In　despair；　I　became　an　apprentice　of　the　woodcutters；　but　I　was　not　strong　enough；　I　had　more　of　an　inclination　to　become　a　schoolmaster；　'tis　true　that　I　did　not　know　how　to　read；　but　that's　no　reason。　　I　perceived　at　the　end　of　a　certain　time；　that　I　lacked　something　in　every　direction；　and　seeing　that　I　was　good　for　nothing；　of　my　own　free　will　I　became　a　poet　and　rhymester。　　That　is　a　trade　which　one　can　always　adopt　when　one　is　a　vagabond；　and　it's　better　than　stealing；　as　some　young　brigands　of　my　acquaintance　advised　me　to　do。　　One　day　I　met　by　luck；　Dom　Claude　Frollo；　the　reverend　archdeacon　of　Notre…Dame。　　He　took　an　interest　in　me；　and　it　is　to　him　that　I　to…day　owe　it　that　I　am　a　veritable　man　of　letters；　who　knows　Latin　from　the　~de　Officiis~　of　Cicero　to　the　mortuology　of　the　Celestine　Fathers；　and　a　barbarian　neither　in　scholastics；　nor　in　politics；　nor　in　rhythmics；　that　sophism　of　sophisms。　　I　am　the　author　of　the　Mystery　which　was　presented　to…day　with　great　triumph　and　a　great　concourse　of　populace；　in　the　grand　hall　of　the　Palais　de　Justice。　I　have　also　made　a　book　which　will　contain　six　hundred　pages；　on　the　wonderful　comet　of　1465；　which　sent　one　man　mad。　　I　have　enjoyed　still　other　successes。　　Being　somewhat　of　an　artillery　carpenter；　I　lent　a　hand　to　Jean　Mangue's　great　bombard；　which　burst；　as　you　know；　on　the　day　when　it　was　tested；　on　the　Pont　de　Charenton；　and　killed　four　and　twenty　curious　spectators。　　You　see　that　I　am　not　a　bad　match　in　marriage。　　I　know　a　great　many　sorts　of　very　engaging　tricks；　which　I　will　teach　your　goat；　for　example；　to　mimic　the　Bishop　of　Paris；　that　cursed　Pharisee　whose　mill　wheels　splash　passers…by　the　whole　length　of　the　Pont　aux　Meuniers。　And　then　my　mystery　will　bring　me　in　a　great　deal　of　coined　money；　if　they　will　only　pay　me。　　And　finally；　I　am　at　your　orders；　I　and　my　wits；　and　my　science　and　my　letters；　ready　to　live　with　you；　damsel；　as　it　shall　please　you；　chastely　or　joyously；　husband　and　wife；　if　you　see　fit；　brother　and　sister；　if　you　think　that　better。〃

Gringoire　ceased；　awaiting　the　effect　of　his　harangue　on　the　young　girl。　　Her　eyes　were　fixed　on　the　ground。

〃'Phoebus；'〃　she　said　in　a　low　voice。　　Then；　turning　towards　the　poet；　〃'Phoebus'；what　does　that　mean？〃

Gringoire；　without　exactly　understanding　what　the　connection　could　be　between　his　address　and　this　question；　was　not　sorry　to　display　his　erudition。　　Assuming　an　air　of　importance；　he　replied；

〃It　is　a　Latin　word　which　means　'sun。'〃

〃Sun！〃　she　repeated。

〃It　is　the　name　of　a　handsome　archer；　who　was　a　god；〃　added　Gringoire。

〃A　god！〃　repeated　the　gypsy；　and　there　was　something　pensive　and　passionate　in　her　tone。

At　that　moment；　one　of　her　bracelets　became　unfastened　and　fell。　　Gringoire　stooped　quickly　to　pick　it　up；　when　he　straightened　up；　the　young　girl　and　the　goat　had　disappeared。　He　heard　the　sound　of　a　bolt。　　It　was　a　little　door；　communicating；　no　doubt；　with　a　neighboring　cell；　which　was　being　fastened　on　the　outside。

〃Has　she　left　me　a　bed；　at　least？〃　said　our　philosopher。

He　made　the　tour　of　his　cell。　　There　was　no　piece　of　furniture　adapted　to　sleeping　purposes；　except　a　tolerably　long　wooden　coffer；　and　its　cover　was　carved；　to　boot；　which　afforded　Gringoire；　when　he　stretched　himself　out　upon　it；　a　sensation　somewhat　similar　to　that　which　Micromégas　would　feel　if　he　were　to　lie　down　on　the　Alps。

〃Come！〃　said　he；　adjusting　himself　as　well　as　possible；　〃I　must　resign　myself。　　But　here's　a　strange　nuptial　night。　　'Tis　a　pity。　　There　was　something　innocent　and　antediluvian　about　that　broken　crock；　which　quite　pleased　me。〃





BOOK　THIRD。






CHAPTER　I。

NOTRE…DAME。



The　church　of　Notre…Dame　de　Paris　is　still　no　doubt；　a　majestic　and　sublime　edifice。　　But；　beautiful　as　it　has　been　preserved　in　growing　old；　it　is　difficult　not　to　sigh；　not　to　wax　indignant；　before　the　numberless　degradations　and　mutilations　which　time　and　men　have　both　caused　the　venerable　monument　to　suffer；　without　respect　for　Charlemagne；　who　laid　its　first　stone；　or　for　Philip　Augustus；　who　laid　the　last。

On　the　face　of　this　aged　queen　of　our　cathedrals；　by　the　side　of　a　wrinkle；　one　always　finds　a　scar。　　~Tempus　edax；　homo　edacior*~；　which　I　should　be　glad　to　translate　thus：　time　is　blind；　man　is　stupid。


*　　Time　is　a　devourer；　man；　more　so。


If　we　had　leisure　to　examine　with　the　reader；　one　by　one；　the　diverse　traces　of　destruction　imprinted　upon　the　old　church；　time's　share　would　be　the　least；　the　share　of　men　the　most；　especially　the　men　of　art；　since　there　have　been　individuals　who　assumed　the　title　of　architects　during　the　last　two　centuries。

And；　in　the　first　place；　to　cite　only　a　few　leading　examples；　there　certainly　are　few　finer　architectural　pages　than　this　fa？ade；　where；　successively　and　at　once；　the　three　portals　hollowed　out　in　an　arch；　the　broidered　and　dentated　cordon　of　the　eight　and　twenty　royal　niches；　the　immense　central　rose　window；　flanked　by　its　two　lateral　windows；　like　a　priest　by　his　deacon　and　subdeacon；　the　frail　and　lofty　gallery　of　trefoil　arcades；　which　supports　a　heavy　platform　above　its　fine；　slender　columns；　and　lastly；　the　two　black　and　massive　towers　with　their　slate　penthouses；　harmonious　parts　of　a　magnificent　whole；　superposed　in　five　gigantic　stories；develop　themselves　before　the　eye；　in　a　mass　and　without　confusion；　with　their　innumerable　details　of　statuary；　carving；　and　sculpture；　joined　powerfully　to　the　tranquil　grandeur　of　the　whole；　a　vast　symphony　in　stone；　so　to　speak；　the　colossal　work　of　one　man　and　one　people；　all　together　one　and　complex；　like　the　Iliads　and　the　Romanceros；　whose　sister　it　is；　prodigious　product　of　the　grouping　together　of　all　the　forces　of　an　epoch；　where；　upon　each　stone；　one　sees　the　fancy　of　the　workman　disciplined　by　the　genius　of　the　artist　start　forth　in　a　hundred　fashions；　a　sort　of　human　creation；　in　a　word；　powerful　and　fecund　as　the　divine　creation　of　which　it　seems　to　have　stolen　the　double　character；variety；　eternity。

And　what　we　here　say　of　the　fa？ade　must　be　said　of　the　entire　church；　and　what　we　say　of　the　cathedral　church　of　Paris；　must　be　said　of　all　the　churches　of　Christendom　in