the hunchback of notre dame-第77部分

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〃Never　have　I　seen　my　ugliness　as　at　the　present　moment。　When　I　compare　myself　to　you；　I　feel　a　very　great　pity　for　myself；　poor　unhappy　monster　that　I　am！　　Tell　me；　I　must　look　to　you　like　a　beast。　　You；　you　are　a　ray　of　sunshine；　a　drop　of　dew；　the　song　of　a　bird！　　I　am　something　frightful；　neither　man　nor　animal；　I　know　not　what；　harder；　more　trampled　under　foot；　and　more　unshapely　than　a　pebble　stone！〃

Then　he　began　to　laugh；　and　that　laugh　was　the　most　heartbreaking　thing　in　the　world。　　He　continued；

〃Yes；　I　am　deaf；　but　you　shall　talk　to　me　by　gestures；　by　signs。　　I　have　a　master　who　talks　with　me　in　that　way。　And　then；　I　shall　very　soon　know　your　wish　from　the　movement　of　your　lips；　from　your　look。〃

〃Well！〃　she　interposed　with　a　smile；　〃tell　me　why　you　saved　me。〃

He　watched　her　attentively　while　she　was　speaking。

〃I　understand；〃　he　replied。　　〃You　ask　me　why　I　saved　you。　　You　have　forgotten　a　wretch　who　tried　to　abduct　you　one　night；　a　wretch　to　whom　you　rendered　succor　on　the　following　day　on　their　infamous　pillory。　　A　drop　of　water　and　a　little　pity；that　is　more　than　I　can　repay　with　my　life。　You　have　forgotten　that　wretch；　but　he　remembers　it。〃

She　listened　to　him　with　profound　tenderness。　　A　tear　swam　in　the　eye　of　the　bellringer；　but　did　not　fall。　　He　seemed　to　make　it　a　sort　of　point　of　honor　to　retain　it。

〃Listen；〃　he　resumed；　when　he　was　no　longer　afraid　that　the　tear　would　escape；　〃our　towers　here　are　very　high；　a　man　who　should　fall　from　them　would　be　dead　before　touching　the　pavement；　when　it　shall　please　you　to　have　me　fall；　you　will　not　have　to　utter　even　a　word；　a　glance　will　suffice。〃

Then　he　rose。　　Unhappy　as　was　the　Bohemian；　this　eccentric　being　still　aroused　some　compassion　in　her。　　She　made　him　a　sign　to　remain。

〃No；　no；〃　said　he；　〃I　must　not　remain　too　long。　　I　am　not　at　my　ease。　　It　is　out　of　pity　that　you　do　not　turn　away　your　eyes。　　I　shall　go　to　some　place　where　I　can　see　you　without　your　seeing　me：　it　will　be　better　so。〃

He　drew　from　his　pocket　a　little　metal　whistle。

〃Here；〃　said　he；　〃when　you　have　need　of　me；　when　you　wish　me　to　come；　when　you　will　not　feel　too　ranch　horror　at　the　sight　of　me；　use　this　whistle。　　I　can　hear　this　sound。〃

He　laid　the　whistle　on　the　floor　and　fled。




CHAPTER　IV。

EARTHENWARE　AND　CRYSTAL。



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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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。

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；

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

She　gazed　at　him　in　amazement。

He　replied　to　the　glance；

〃Oh！　　I　well　know　why；〃　and　he　went　away。

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。

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；

〃Oh！　why　am　not　I　of　stone；　like　you！〃

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　ge