the hunchback of notre dame-第14章

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t。　　This　state　lasted　but　a　short　time。　　A　decidedly　vivid　sensation　of　cold　in　the　part　of　his　body　which　was　in　contact　with　the　pavement；　suddenly　aroused　him　and　caused　his　spirit　to　return　to　the　surface。

〃Whence　comes　this　chill？〃　he　said　abruptly；　to　himself。　He　then　perceived　that　he　was　lying　half　in　the　middle　of　the　gutter。

〃That　devil　of　a　hunchbacked　cyclops！〃　he　muttered　between　his　teeth；　and　he　tried　to　rise。　　But　he　was　too　much　dazed　and　bruised；　he　was　forced　to　remain　where　he　was。　Moreover；　his　hand　was　tolerably　free；　he　stopped　up　his　nose　and　resigned　himself。

〃The　mud　of　Paris；〃　he　said　to　himselffor　decidedly　he　thought　that　he　was　sure　that　the　gutter　would　prove　his　refuge　for　the　night；　and　what　can　one　do　in　a　refuge；　except　dream？〃the　mud　of　Paris　is　particularly　stinking；　it　must　contain　a　great　deal　of　volatile　and　nitric　salts。　　That；　moreover；　is　the　opinion　of　Master　Nicholas　Flamel；　and　of　the　alchemists〃

The　word　〃alchemists〃　suddenly　suggested　to　his　mind　the　idea　of　Archdeacon　Claude　Frollo。　　He　recalled　the　violent　scene　which　he　had　just　witnessed　in　part；　that　the　gypsy　was　struggling　with　two　men；　that　Quasimodo　had　a　companion；　and　the　morose　and　haughty　face　of　the　archdeacon　passed　confusedly　through　his　memory。　　〃That　would　be　strange！〃　he　said　to　himself。　　And　on　that　fact　and　that　basis　he　began　to　construct　a　fantastic　edifice　of　hypothesis；　that　card…castle　of　philosophers；　then；　suddenly　returning　once　more　to　reality；　〃Come！　　I'm　freezing！〃　he　ejaculated。

The　place　was；　in　fact；　becoming　less　and　less　tenable。　Each　molecule　of　the　gutter　bore　away　a　molecule　of　heat　radiating　from　Gringoire's　loins；　and　the　equilibrium　between　the　temperature　of　his　body　and　the　temperature　of　the　brook；　began　to　be　established　in　rough　fashion。

Quite　a　different　annoyance　suddenly　assailed　him。　　A　group　of　children；　those　little　bare…footed　savages　who　have　always　roamed　the　pavements　of　Paris　under　the　eternal　name　of　~gamins~；　and　who；　when　we　were　also　children　ourselves；　threw　stones　at　all　of　us　in　the　afternoon；　when　we　came　out　of　school；　because　our　trousers　were　not　torna　swarm　of　these　young　scamps　rushed　towards　the　square　where　Gringoire　lay；　with　shouts　and　laughter　which　seemed　to　pay　but　little　heed　to　the　sleep　of　the　neighbors。　　They　were　dragging　after　them　some　sort　of　hideous　sack；　and　the　noise　of　their　wooden　shoes　alone　would　have　roused　the　dead。　　Gringoire　who　was　not　quite　dead　yet；　half　raised　himself。

〃Ohé；　Hennequin　Dandéche！　　Ohè；　Jehan　Pincebourde！〃　they　shouted　in　deafening　tones；　〃old　Eustache　Moubon；　the　merchant　at　the　corner；　has　just　died。　　We've　got　his　straw　pallet；　we're　going　to　have　a　bonfire　out　of　it。　　It's　the　turn　of　the　Flemish　to…day！〃

And　behold；　they　flung　the　pallet　directly　upon　Gringoire；　beside　whom　they　had　arrived；　without　espying　him。　　At　the　same　time；　one　of　them　took　a　handful　of　straw　and　set　off　to　light　it　at　the　wick　of　the　good　Virgin。

〃S'death！〃　growled　Gringoire；　〃am　I　going　to　be　too　warm　now？〃

It　was　a　critical　moment。　　He　was　caught　between　fire　and　water；　he　made　a　superhuman　effort；　the　effort　of　a　counterfeiter　of　money　who　is　on　the　point　of　being　boiled；　and　who　seeks　to　escape。　　He　rose　to　his　feet；　flung　aside　the　straw　pallet　upon　the　street　urchins；　and　fled。

〃Holy　Virgin！〃　shrieked　the　children；　〃'tis　the　merchant's　ghost！〃

And　they　fled　in　their　turn。

The　straw　mattress　remained　master　of　the　field。　　Belleforet；　Father　Le　Juge；　and　Corrozet　affirm　that　it　was　picked　up　on　the　morrow；　with　great　pomp；　by　the　clergy　of　the　quarter；　and　borne　to　the　treasury　of　the　church　of　Saint　Opportune；　where　the　sacristan；　even　as　late　as　1789；　earned　a　tolerably　handsome　revenue　out　of　the　great　miracle　of　the　Statue　of　the　Virgin　at　the　corner　of　the　Rue　Mauconseil；　which　had；　by　its　mere　presence；　on　the　memorable　night　between　the　sixth　and　seventh　of　January；　1482；　exorcised　the　defunct　Eustache　Moubon；　who；　in　order　to　play　a　trick　on　the　devil；　had　at　his　death　maliciously　concealed　his　soul　in　his　straw　pallet。




CHAPTER　VI。

THE　BROKEN　JUG。



After　having　run　for　some　time　at　the　top　of　his　speed；　without　knowing　whither；　knocking　his　head　against　many　a　street　corner；　leaping　many　a　gutter；　traversing　many　an　alley；　many　a　court；　many　a　square；　seeking　flight　and　passage　through　all　the　meanderings　of　the　ancient　passages　of　the　Halles；　exploring　in　his　panic　terror　what　the　fine　Latin　of　the　maps　calls　~tota　via；　cheminum　et　viaria~；　our　poet　suddenly　halted　for　lack　of　breath　in　the　first　place；　and　in　the　second；　because　he　had　been　collared；　after　a　fashion；　by　a　dilemma　which　had　just　occurred　to　his　mind。　　〃It　strikes　me；　Master　Pierre　Gringoire；〃　he　said　to　himself；　placing　his　finger　to　his　brow；　〃that　you　are　running　like　a　madman。　　The　little　scamps　are　no　less　afraid　of　you　than　you　are　of　them。　　It　strikes　me；　I　say；　that　you　heard　the　clatter　of　their　wooden　shoes　fleeing　southward；　while　you　were　fleeing　northward。　　Now；　one　of　two　things；　either　they　have　taken　flight；　and　the　pallet；　which　they　must　have　forgotten　in　their　terror；　is　precisely　that　hospitable　bed　in　search　of　which　you　have　been　running　ever　since　morning；　and　which　madame　the　Virgin　miraculously　sends　you；　in　order　to　recompense　you　for　having　made　a　morality　in　her　honor；　accompanied　by　triumphs　and　mummeries；　or　the　children　have　not　taken　flight；　and　in　that　case　they　have　put　the　brand　to　the　pallet；　and　that　is　precisely　the　good　fire　which　you　need　to　cheer；　dry；　and　warm　you。　　In　either　case；　good　fire　or　good　bed；　that　straw　pallet　is　a　gift　from　heaven。　　The　blessed　Virgin　Marie　who　stands　at　the　corner　of　the　Rue　Mauconseil；　could　only　have　made　Eustache　Moubon　die　for　that　express　purpose；　and　it　is　folly　on　your　part　to　flee　thus　zigzag；　like　a　Picard　before　a　Frenchman；　leaving　behind　you　what　you　seek　before　you；　and　you　are　a　fool！〃

Then　he　retraced　his　steps；　and　feeling　his　way　and　searching；　with　his　nose　to　the　wind　and　his　ears　on　the　alert；　he　tried　to　find　the　blessed　pallet　again；　but　in　vain。　　There　was　nothing　to　be　found　but　intersections　of　houses；　closed　courts；　and　crossings　of　streets；　in　the　midst　of　which　he　hesitated　and　doubted　incessantly；　being　more　perplexed　and　entangled　in　this　medley　of　streets　than　he　would　have　been　even　in　the　labyrinth　of　the　H？tel　des　Tournelles。　　At　length　he　lost　patience；　and　exclaimed　solemnly：　〃Cursed　be　cross　roads！　'tis　the　devil　who　has　made　them　in　the　shape　of　his　pitchfork！〃

This　exclamation　afforded　him　a　little　solace；　and　a　sort　of　reddish　reflection　which　he　caught　sight　of　at　that　moment；　at　the　extremity　of　a　long　and　narrow　lane；　completed　the　elevation　of　his　moral　tone。　　〃God　be　praised！〃　said　he；　〃There　it　is　yonder！　　There　is　my　pallet　burning。〃　　And　comparing　himself　to　the　pilot　who　suffers　shipwreck　by　night；　〃~Salve~；〃　he　added　piously；　〃~salve；　maris　stella~！〃

Did　he　address　this　fragment　of　litany　to　the　Holy　Virgin；　or　to　the　pallet？　　We　are　utterly　unable　to　say。

He　had　taken　but　a　few　steps　in　the　long　street；　which　sloped　downwards；　was　unpaved；　and　more　and　more　muddy　and　steep；　when　he　noticed　a　very　singular　thing。　　It　was　not　deserted；　here　and　there　along　its　extent　crawled　certain　vague　and　formless　masses；　all　directing　their　course　towards　the　light　which　flickered　at　the　end　of　the　street；　like　those　heavy　insects　which　drag　along　by　night；　from　blade　to　blade　of　grass；　towards　the　shepherd's　fire。

Nothing　renders　one　so　adventurous　as　not　being　able　to　feel　the　place　where　one's　pocket　is　situated。　　Gringoire　continued　to　advance；　and　had　soon　joined　that　one　of　the　forms　which　dragged　along　most　indolently；　behind　the　others。　　On　drawing　near；　he　perceived　that　it　was　nothing　else　than　a　wretched　legless　cripple　in　a　bowl；　who　was　hopping　along　on　his　two　hands　like　a　wounded　field…spider　which　has　but　two　legs　left。　　At　the　moment　when　he　passed　close　to　this　species　of　spider　with　a　human　countenance；　it　raised　towards　him　a　lamentable　voice：　〃~La　buona　mancia；　signor！　la　buona　mancia~！〃*


*　　Alms。


〃Deuce　take　you；〃　said　Gringoire；　〃and　me　with　you；　if　I　know　what　you　mean！〃

And　he　passed　on。

He　overtook　another　of　these　itinerant　masses；　and　examined　it。　　It　was　an　impotent　man；　both　halt　and　crippled；　and　halt　and　crippled　to　such　a　degree　that　the　complicated　system　of　crutches　and　wooden　legs　which　sustained　him；　gave　him　the　air　of　a　mason's　scaffolding　on　the　march。　　Gringoire；　who　liked　noble　and　classical　comparisons；　compared　him　in　thought　to　the　living　tripod　of　Vulcan。

This　living　tripod　saluted　him　as　he　passed；　but　stopping　his　hat　on　a　level　with　Gringoire's　chin；　like　a　shaving　dish；　while　he　shouted　in　the　latter's　ears：　〃~Senor　cabellero；　para　comprar　un　pedaso　de　pan~！〃*


*　　Give　me　the　means　to　buy　a　bit　of　bread；　sir。


〃It　appears；〃　said　Gringoire；　〃that　this　one　can　also　talk；　but　'tis　a　rude　language；　and　he　is　more　fortunate　than　I　if　he　understands　it。〃　Then；　smiting　his　brow；　in　a　sudden　transition　of　ideas：　〃By　the　way；　what　the　deuce　did　they　mean　this　morning　with　their　Esmeralda？〃

He　was　minded　to　augment　his　pace；　but　for　the　third　time　something　barred　his　way。　　This　something　or；　rather；　some　one　was　a　blind　man；　a　little　blind　fellow　with　a　bearded；　Jewish　face；　who；　rowing　away　in　the　space　about　him　with　a　stick；　and　towed　by　a　large　dog；　droned　through　his　nose　with　a　Hungarian　accent：　〃~Facitote　caritatem~！〃

〃Well；　now；〃　said　Gringoire；　〃here's　one　at　last　who　speaks　a　Christian　tongue。　　I　must　have　a　very　charitable　aspect；　since　they　ask　alms　of　me　in　the　present　lean　condition　of　my　purse。　　My　friend；〃　and　he　turned　towards　the　blind　man；　〃I　sold　my　last　shirt　last　week；　that　is　to　say；　since　you　understand　only　the　language　of　Cicero：　~Vendidi　hebdomade　nuper　transita　meam　ultimam　chemisan~。〃

That　said；　he　turned　his　back　upon　the　blind　man；　and　pursued　his　way。　　But　the　blind　man　began　to　increase　his　stride　at　the　same　time；　and；　behold！　the　cripple　and　the　legless　man；　in　his　bowl；　came　up　on　their　side　in　great　haste；　and　with　great　clamor　of　bowl　and　crutches；　upon　the　pavement。　Then　all　three；　jostling　each　other　at　poor　Gringoire's　heels；　began　to　sing　their　song　to　him；

〃~Caritatem~！〃　chanted　the　blind　man。

〃~La　buona　mancia~！〃　chanted　the　cripple　in　the　bowl。

And　the　lame　man　took　up　the　musical　phrase　by　repeating：　〃~Un　pedaso　de　pan~！〃

Gringoire　stopped　up　his　ears。　　〃Oh；　tower　of　Babel！〃　he　exclaimed。

He　set　out　to　run。　　The　blind　man　ran！　　The　lame　man　ran！　　The　cripple　in　the　bowl　ran！

And　then；　in　proportion　as　he　plunged　deeper　into　the　street；　cripples　in　bowls；　blind　men　and　lame　men；　swarmed　about　him；　and　men　with　one　arm；　and　with　one　eye；　and　the　leprous　with　their　sores；　some　emerging　from　little　streets　adjacent；　some　from　the　air…holes　of　cellars；　howling；　bellowing；　yelping；　all　limping　and　halting；　all　flinging　themselves　towards　the　light；　and　humped　up　in　the　mire；　like　snails　after　a　shower。

Gringoire；　still　followed　by　his　three　persecutors；　and　not　knowing　very　well　what　was　to　become　of　him；　marched　along　in　terror　among　them；　turning　out　for　the