the hunchback of notre dame-第69部分

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The　young　girl　flung　herself　upon　him　like　a　raging　tigress；　and　pushed　him　upon　the　steps　of　the　staircase　with　supernatural　force。

〃Begone；　monster！　　Begone；　assassin！　　Leave　me　to　die！　May　the　blood　of　both　of　us　make　an　eternal　stain　upon　your　brow！　　Be　thine；　priest！　　Never！　never！　　Nothing　shall　unite　us！　not　hell　itself！　　Go；　accursed　man！　Never！〃

The　priest　had　stumbled　on　the　stairs。　　He　silently　disentangled　his　feet　from　the　folds　of　his　robe；　picked　up　his　lantern　again；　and　slowly　began　the　ascent　of　the　steps　which　led　to　the　door；　he　opened　the　door　and　passed　through　it。

All　at　once；　the　young　girl　beheld　his　head　reappear；　it　wore　a　frightful　expression；　and　he　cried；　hoarse　with　rage　and　despair；

〃I　tell　you　he　is　dead！〃

She　fell　face　downwards　upon　the　floor；　and　there　was　no　longer　any　sound　audible　in　the　cell　than　the　sob　of　the　drop　of　water　which　made　the　pool　palpitate　amid　the　darkness。




CHAPTER　V。

THE　MOTHER。



I　do　not　believe　that　there　is　anything　sweeter　in　the　world　than　the　ideas　which　awake　in　a　mother's　heart　at　the　sight　of　her　child's　tiny　shoe；　especially　if　it　is　a　shoe　for　festivals；　for　Sunday；　for　baptism；　the　shoe　embroidered　to　the　very　sole；　a　shoe　in　which　the　infant　has　not　yet　taken　a　step。　That　shoe　has　so　much　grace　and　daintiness；　it　is　so　impossible　for　it　to　walk；　that　it　seems　to　the　mother　as　though　she　saw　her　child。　　She　smiles　upon　it；　she　kisses　it；　she　talks　to　it；　she　asks　herself　whether　there　can　actually　be　a　foot　so　tiny；　and　if　the　child　be　absent；　the　pretty　shoe　suffices　to　place　the　sweet　and　fragile　creature　before　her　eyes。　　She　thinks　she　sees　it；　she　does　see　it；　complete；　living；　joyous；　with　its　delicate　hands；　its　round　head；　its　pure　lips；　its　serene　eyes　whose　white　is　blue。　　If　it　is　in　winter；　it　is　yonder；　crawling　on　the　carpet；　it　is　laboriously　climbing　upon　an　ottoman；　and　the　mother　trembles　lest　it　should　approach　the　fire。　　If　it　is　summer　time；　it　crawls　about　the　yard；　in　the　garden；　plucks　up　the　grass　between　the　paving…stones；　gazes　innocently　at　the　big　dogs；　the　big　horses；　without　fear；　plays　with　the　shells；　with　the　flowers；　and　makes　the　gardener　grumble　because　he　finds　sand　in　the　flower…beds　and　earth　in　the　paths。　　Everything　laughs；　and　shines　and　plays　around　it；　like　it；　even　the　breath　of　air　and　the　ray　of　sun　which　vie　with　each　other　in　disporting　among　the　silky　ringlets　of　its　hair。　　The　shoe　shows　all　this　to　the　mother；　and　makes　her　heart　melt　as　fire　melts　wax。

But　when　the　child　is　lost；　these　thousand　images　of　joy；　of　charms；　of　tenderness；　which　throng　around　the　little　shoe；　become　so　many　horrible　things。　　The　pretty　broidered　shoe　is　no　longer　anything　but　an　instrument　of　torture　which　eternally　crushes　the　heart　of　the　mother。　　It　is　always　the　same　fibre　which　vibrates；　the　tenderest　and　most　sensitive；　but　instead　of　an　angel　caressing　it；　it　is　a　demon　who　is　wrenching　at　it。

One　May　morning；　when　the　sun　was　rising　on　one　of　those　dark　blue　skies　against　which　Garofolo　loves　to　place　his　Descents　from　the　Cross；　the　recluse　of　the　Tour…Roland　heard　a　sound　of　wheels；　of　horses　and　irons　in　the　Place　de　Grève。　She　was　somewhat　aroused　by　it；　knotted　her　hair　upon　her　ears　in　order　to　deafen　herself；　and　resumed　her　contemplation；　on　her　knees；　of　the　inanimate　object　which　she　had　adored　for　fifteen　years。　　This　little　shoe　was　the　universe　to　her；　as　we　have　already　said。　　Her　thought　was　shut　up　in　it；　and　was　destined　never　more　to　quit　it　except　at　death。　The　sombre　cave　of　the　Tour…Roland　alone　knew　how　many　bitter　imprecations；　touching　complaints；　prayers　and　sobs　she　had　wafted　to　heaven　in　connection　with　that　charming　bauble　of　rose…colored　satin。　　Never　was　more　despair　bestowed　upon　a　prettier　and　more　graceful　thing。

It　seemed　as　though　her　grief　were　breaking　forth　more　violently　than　usual；　and　she　could　be　heard　outside　lamenting　in　a　loud　and　monotonous　voice　which　rent　the　heart。

〃Oh　my　daughter！〃　she　said；　〃my　daughter；　my　poor；　dear　little　child；　so　I　shall　never　see　thee　more！　　It　is　over！　It　always　seems　to　me　that　it　happened　yesterday！　　My　God！　my　God！　it　would　have　been　better　not　to　give　her　to　me　than　to　take　her　away　so　soon。　　Did　you　not　know　that　our　children　are　part　of　ourselves；　and　that　a　mother　who　has　lost　her　child　no　longer　believes　in　God？　　Ah！　　wretch　that　I　am　to　have　gone　out　that　day！　　Lord！　　Lord！　to　have　taken　her　from　me　thus；　you　could　never　have　looked　at　me　with　her；　when　I　was　joyously　warming　her　at　my　fire；　when　she　laughed　as　she　suckled；　when　I　made　her　tiny　feet　creep　up　my　breast　to　my　lips？　　Oh！　if　you　had　looked　at　that；　my　God；　you　would　have　taken　pity　on　my　joy；　you　would　not　have　taken　from　me　the　only　love　which　lingered；　in　my　heart！　Was　I　then；　Lord；　so　miserable　a　creature；　that　you　could　not　look　at　me　before　condemning　me？Alas！　　Alas！　here　is　the　shoe；　where　is　the　foot？　where　is　the　rest？　　Where　is　the　child？　　My　daughter！　my　daughter！　what　did　they　do　with　thee？　　Lord；　give　her　back　to　me。　　My　knees　have　been　worn　for　fifteen　years　in　praying　to　thee；　my　God！　　Is　not　that　enough？　　Give　her　back　to　me　one　day；　one　hour；　one　minute；　one　minute；　Lord！　　and　then　cast　me　to　the　demon　for　all　eternity！　　Oh！　if　I　only　knew　where　the　skirt　of　your　garment　trails；　I　would　cling　to　it　with　both　hands；　and　you　would　be　obliged　to　give　me　back　my　child！　　Have　you　no　pity　on　her　pretty　little　shoe？　　Could　you　condemn　a　poor　mother　to　this　torture　for　fifteen　years？　　Good　Virgin！　good　Virgin　of　heaven！　my　infant　Jesus　has　been　taken　from　me；　has　been　stolen　from　me；　they　devoured　her　on　a　heath；　they　drank　her　blood；　they　cracked　her　bones！　　Good　Virgin；　have　pity　upon　me。　　My　daughter；　I　want　my　daughter！　　What　is　it　to　me　that　she　is　in　paradise？　　I　do　not　want　your　angel；　I　want　my　child！　　I　am　a　lioness；　I　want　my　whelp。　　Oh！　　I　will　writhe　on　the　earth；　I　will　break　the　stones　with　my　forehead；　and　I　will　damn　myself；　and　I　will　curse　you；　Lord；　if　you　keep　my　child　from　me！　you　see　plainly　that　my　arms　are　all　bitten；　Lord！　　Has　the　good　God　no　mercy？Oh！　give　me　only　salt　and　black　bread；　only　let　me　have　my　daughter　to　warm　me　like　a　sun！　　Alas！　　Lord　my　God。　　Alas！　　Lord　my　God；　I　am　only　a　vile　sinner；　but　my　daughter　made　me　pious。　I　was　full　of　religion　for　the　love　of　her；　and　I　beheld　you　through　her　smile　as　through　an　opening　into　heaven。　　Oh！　if　I　could　only　once；　just　once　more；　a　single　time；　put　this　shoe　on　her　pretty　little　pink　foot；　I　would　die　blessing　you；　good　Virgin。　　Ah！　fifteen　years！　she　will　be　grown　up　now！　Unhappy　child！　what！　it　is　really　true　then　I　shall　never　see　her　more；　not　even　in　heaven；　for　I　shall　not　go　there　myself。　　Oh！　what　misery　to　think　that　here　is　her　shoe；　and　that　that　is　all！〃

The　unhappy　woman　flung　herself　upon　that　shoe；　her　consolation　and　her　despair　for　so　many　years；　and　her　vitals　were　rent　with　sobs　as　on　the　first　day；　because；　for　a　mother　who　has　lost　her　child；　it　is　always　the　first　day。　　That　grief　never　grows　old。　　The　mourning　garments　may　grow　white　and　threadbare；　the　heart　remains　dark。

At　that　moment；　the　fresh　and　joyous　cries　of　children　passed　in　front　of　the　cell。　　Every　time　that　children　crossed　her　vision　or　struck　her　ear；　the　poor　mother　flung　herself　into　the　darkest　corner　of　her　sepulchre；　and　one　would　have　said；　that　she　sought　to　plunge　her　head　into　the　stone　in　order　not　to　hear　them。　　This　time；　on　the　contrary；　she　drew　herself　upright　with　a　start；　and　listened　eagerly。　　One　of　the　little　boys　had　just　said；

〃They　are　going　to　hang　a　gypsy　to…day。〃

With　the　abrupt　leap　of　that　spider　which　we　have　seen　fling　itself　upon　a　fly　at　the　trembling　of　its　web；　she　rushed　to　her　air…hole；　which　opened　as　the　reader　knows；　on　the　Place　de　Grève。　　A　ladder　had；　in　fact；　been　raised　up　against　the　permanent　gibbet；　and　the　hangman's　assistant　was　busying　himself　with　adjusting　the　chains　which　had　been　rusted　by　the　rain。　　There　were　some　people　standing　about。

The　laughing　group　of　children　was　already　far　away。　　The　sacked　nun　sought　with　her　eyes　some　passer…by　whom　she　might　question。　　All　at　once；　beside　her　cell；　she　perceived　a　priest　making　a　pretext　of　reading　the　public　breviary；　but　who　was　much　less　occupied　with　the　〃lectern　of　latticed　iron；〃　than　with　the　gallows；　toward　which　he　cast　a　fierce　and　gloomy　glance　from　time　to　time。　　She　recognized　monsieur　the　archdeacon　of　Josas；　a　holy　man。

〃Father；〃　she　inquired；　〃whom　are　they　about　to　hang　yonder？〃

The　priest　looked　at　her　and　made　no　reply；　she　repeated　her　question。　　Then　he　said；

〃I　know　not。〃

〃Some　children　said　that　it　was　a　gypsy；〃　went　on　the　recluse。

〃I　believe　so；〃　said　the　priest。

Then　Paquette　la　Chantefleurie　burst　into　hyena…like　laughter。

〃Sister；〃　said　the　archdeacon；　〃do　you　then　hate　the　gypsies　heartily？〃

〃Do　I　hate　them！〃　exclaimed　the　recluse；　〃　they　are　vampires；　stealers　of　children！　　They　devoured　my　little　daughter；　my　child；　my　only　child！　　I　have　no　longer　any　heart；　they　devoured　it！〃

She　was　frightful。　　The　priest　looked　at　her　coldly。

〃There　is　one　in　particular　whom　I　hate；　and　whom　I　have　cursed；〃　she　resumed；　〃it　is　a　young　one；　of　the　age　which

my　daughter　would　be　if　her　mother　had　not　eaten　my　daughter。　Every　time　that　that　young　viper　passes　in　front　of　my　cell；　she　sets　my　blood　in　a　ferment。〃

〃Well；　sister；　rejoice；〃　said　the　priest；　icy　as　a　sepulchral　statue；　〃that　is　the　one　whom　you　are　about　to　see　die。〃

His　head　fell　upon　his　bosom　and　he　moved　slowly　away。

The　recluse　writhed　her　arms　with　joy。

〃I　predicted　it　for　her；　that　she　would　ascend　thither！　Thanks；　priest！〃　she　cried。

And　she　began　to　pace　up　and　down　with　long　strides　before　the　grating　of　her　window；　her　hair　dishevelled；　her　eyes　flashing；　with　her　shoulder　striking　against　the　wall；　with　the　wild　air　of　a　female　wolf　in　a　cage；　who　has　long　been　famished；　and　who　feels　the　hour　for　her　repast　drawing　near。




CHAPTER　VI。

THREE　HUMAN　HEARTS　DIFFERENTLY　CONSTRUCTED。



Phoebus　was　not　dead；　however。　　Men　of　that　stamp　die　hard。　　When　Master　Philippe　Lheulier；　advocate　extraordinary　o