the hunchback of notre dame-第15章

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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　lame；　stepping　over　the　cripples　in　bowls；　with　his　feet　imbedded　in　that　ant…hill　of　lame　men；　like　the　English　captain　who　got　caught　in　the　quicksand　of　a　swarm　of　crabs。

The　idea　occurred　to　him　of　making　an　effort　to　retrace　his　steps。　　But　it　was　too　late。　　This　whole　legion　had　closed　in　behind　him；　and　his　three　beggars　held　him　fast。　　So　he　proceeded；　impelled　both　by　this　irresistible　flood；　by　fear；　and　by　a　vertigo　which　converted　all　this　into　a　sort　of　horrible　dream。

At　last　he　reached　the　end　of　the　street。　　It　opened　upon　an　immense　place；　where　a　thousand　scattered　lights　flickered　in　the　confused　mists　of　night。　　Gringoire　flew　thither；　hoping　to　escape；　by　the　swiftness　of　his　legs；　from　the　three　infirm　spectres　who　had　clutched　him。

〃~Onde　vas；　hombre~？〃　（Where　are　you　going；　my　man？）　cried　the　cripple；　flinging　away　his　crutches；　and　running　after　him　with　the　best　legs　that　ever　traced　a　geometrical　step　upon　the　pavements　of　Paris。

In　the　meantime　the　legless　man；　erect　upon　his　feet；　crowned　Gringoire　with　his　heavy　iron　bowl；　and　the　blind　man　glared　in　his　face　with　flaming　eyes！

〃Where　am　I？〃　said　the　terrified　poet。

〃In　the　Court　of　Miracles；〃　replied　a　fourth　spectre；　who　had　accosted　them。

〃Upon　my　soul；〃　resumed　Gringoire；　〃I　certainly　do　behold　the　blind　who　see；　and　the　lame　who　walk；　but　where　is　the　Saviour？〃

They　replied　by　a　burst　of　sinister　laughter。

The　poor　poet　cast　his　eyes　about　him。　　It　was；　in　truth；　that　redoubtable　Cour　des　Miracles；　whither　an　honest　man　had　never　penetrated　at　such　an　hour；　the　magic　circle　where　the　officers　of　the　Chatelet　and　the　sergeants　of　the　provostship；　who　ventured　thither；　disappeared　in　morsels；　a　city　of　thieves；　a　hideous　wart　on　the　face　of　Paris；　a　sewer；　from　which　escaped　every　morning；　and　whither　returned　every　night　to　crouch；　that　stream　of　vices；　of　mendicancy　and　vagabondage　which　always　overflows　in　the　streets　of　capitals；　a　monstrous　hive；　to　which　returned　at　nightfall；　with　their　booty；　all　the　drones　of　the　social　order；　a　lying　hospital　where　the　bohemian；　the　disfrocked　monk；　the　ruined　scholar；　the　ne'er…do…wells　of　all　nations；　Spaniards；　Italians；　Germans；of　all　religions；　Jews；　Christians；　Mahometans；　idolaters；　covered　with　painted　sores；　beggars　by　day；　were　transformed　by　night　into　brigands；　an　immense　dressing…room；　in　a　word；　where；　at　that　epoch；　the　actors　of　that　eternal　comedy；　which　theft；　prostitution；　and　murder　play　upon　the　pavements　of　Paris；　dressed　and　undressed。

It　was　a　vast　place；　irregular　and　badly　paved；　like　all　the　squares　of　Paris　at　that　date。　　Fires；　around　which　swarmed　strange　groups；　blazed　here　and　there。　　Every　one　was　going；　coming；　and　shouting。　　Shrill　laughter　was　to　be　heard；　the　wailing　of　children；　the　voices　of　women。　　The　hands　and　heads　of　this　throng；　black　against　the　luminous　background；　outlined　against　it　a　thousand　eccentric　gestures。　　At　times；　upon　the　ground；　where　trembled　the　light　of　the　fires；　mingled　with　large；　indefinite　shadows；　one　could　behold　a　dog　passing；　which　resembled　a　man；　a　man　who　resembled　a　dog。　The　limits　of　races　and　species　seemed　effaced　in　this　city；　as　in　a　pandemonium。　　Men；　women；　beasts；　age；　sex；　health；　maladies；　all　seemed　to　be　in　common　among　these　people；　all　went　together；　they　mingled；　confounded；　superposed；　each　one　there　participated　in　all。

The　poor　and　flickering　flames　of　the　fire　permitted　Gringoire　to　distinguish；　amid　his　trouble；　all　around　the　immense　place；　a　hideous　frame　of　ancient　houses；　whose　wormeaten；　shrivelled；　stunted　fa？ades；　each　pierced　with　one　or　two　lighted　attic　windows；　seemed　to　him；　in　the　darkness；　like　enormous　heads　of　old　women；　ranged　in　a　circle；　monstrous　and　crabbed；　winking　as　they　looked　on　at　the　Witches'　Sabbath。

It　was　like　a　new　world；　unknown；　unheard　of；　misshapen；　creeping；　swarming；　fantastic。

Gringoire；　more　and　more　terrified；　clutched　by　the　three　beggars　as　by　three　pairs　of　tongs；　dazed　by　a　throng　of　other　faces　which　frothed　and　yelped　around　him；　unhappy　Gringoire　endeavored　to　summon　his　presence　of　mind；　in　order　to　recall　whether　it　was　a　Saturday。　　But　his　efforts　were　vain；　the　thread　of　his　memory　and　of　his　thought　was　broken；　and；　doubting　everything；　wavering　between　what　he　saw　and　what　he　felt；　he　put　to　himself　this　unanswerable　question；

〃If　I　exist；　does　this　exist？　if　this　exists；　do　I　exist？〃

At　that　moment；　a　distinct　cry　arose　in　the　buzzing　throng　which　surrounded　him；　〃Let's　take　him　to　the　king！　let's　take　him　to　the　king！〃

〃Holy　Virgin！〃　murmured　Gringoire；　〃the　king　here　must　be　a　ram。〃

〃To　the　king！　to　the　king！〃　repeated　all　voices。

They　dragged　him　off。　　Each　vied　with　the　other　in　laying　his　claws　upon　him。　　But　the　three　beggars　did　not　loose　their　hold　and　tore　him　from　the　rest；　howling；　〃He　belongs　to　us！〃

The　poet's　already　sickly　doublet　yielded　its　last　sigh　in　this　struggle。

While　traversing　the　horrible　place；　his　vertigo　vanished。　After　taking　a　few　steps；　the　sentiment　of　reality　returned　to　him。　　He　began　to　become　accustomed　to　the　atmosphere　of　the　place。　　At　the　first　moment　there　had　arisen　from　his　poet's　head；　or；　simply　and　prosaically；　from　his　empty　stomach；　a　mist；　a　vapor；　so　to　speak；　which；　spreading　between　objects　and　himself；　permitted　him　to　catch　a　glimpse　of　them　only　in　the　incoherent　fog　of　nightmare；in　those　shadows　of　dreams　which　distort　every　outline；　agglomerating　objects　into　unwieldy　groups；　dilating　things　into　chimeras；　and　men　into　phantoms。　　Little　by　little；　this　hallucination　was　succeeded　by　a　less　bewildered　and　exaggerating　view。　Reality　made　its　way　to　the　light　around　him；　struck　his　eyes；　struck　his　feet；　and　demolished；　bit　by　bit；　all　that　frightful　poetry　with　which　he　had；　at　first；　believed　himself　to　be　surrounded。　　He　was　forced　to　perceive　that　he　was　not　walking　in　the　Styx；　but　in　mud；　that　he　was　elbowed　not　by　demons；　but　by　thieves；　that　it　was　not　his　soul　which　was　in　question；　but　his　life　（since　he　lacked　that　precious　conciliator；　which　places　itself　so　effectually　between　the　bandit　and　the　honest　mana　purse）。　　In　short；　on　examining　the　orgy　more　closely；　and　with　more　coolness；　he　fell　from　the　witches'　sabbath　to　the　dram…shop。

The　Cour　des　Miracles　was；　in　fact；　merely　a　dram…shop；　but　a　brigand's　dram…shop；　reddened　quite　as　much　with　blood　as　with　wine。

The　spectacle　which　presented　itself　to　his　eyes；　when　his　ragged　escort　finally　deposited　him　at　the　end　of　his　trip；　was　not　fitted　to　bear　him　back　to　poetry；　even　to　the　poetry　of　hell。　　It　was　more　than　ever　the　prosaic　and　brutal　reality　of　the　tavern。　　Were　we　not　in　the　fifteenth　century；　we　would　say　that　Gringoire　had　descended　from　Michael　Angelo　to　Callot。

Around　a　great　fire　which　burned　on　a　large；　circular　flagstone；　the　flames　of　which　had　heated　red…hot　the　legs　of　a　tripod；　which　was　empty　for　the　moment；　some　wormeaten　tables　were　placed；　here　and　there；　haphazard；　no　lackey　of　a　geometrical　turn　having　deigned　to　adjust　their　parallelism；　or　to　see　to　it　that　they　did　not　make　too　unusual　angles。　Upon　these　tables　gleamed　several　dripping　pots　of　wine　and　beer；　and　round　these　pots　were　grouped　many　bacchic　visages；　purple　with　the　fire　and　the　wine。　　There　was　a　man　with　a　huge　belly　and　a　jovial　face；　noisily　kissing　a　woman　of　the　town；　thickset　and　brawny。　　There　was　a　sort　of　sham　soldier；　a　〃naquois；〃　as　the　slang　expression　runs；　who　was　whistling　as　he　undid　the　bandages　from　his　fictitious　wound；　and　removing　the　numbness　from　his　sound　and　vigorous　knee；　which　had　been　swathed　since　morning　in　a　thousand　ligatures。　　On　the　other　hand；　there　was　a　wretched　fellow；　preparing　with　celandine　and　beef's　blood；　his　〃leg　of　God；〃　for　the　next　day。　　Two　tables　further　on；　a　palmer；　with　his　pilgrim's　costume　complete；　was　practising　the　lament　of　the　Holy　Queen；　not　forgetting　the　drone　and　the　nasal　drawl。　Further　on；　a　young　scamp　was　taking　a　lesson　in　epilepsy　from　an　old　pretender；　who　was　instructing　him　in　the　art　of　foaming　at　the　mouth；　by　chewing　a　morsel　of　soap。　　Beside　him；　a　man　with　the　dropsy　was　getting　rid　of　his　swelling；　and　making　four　or　five　female　thieves；　who　were　disputing　at　the　same　table；　over　a　child　who　had　been　stolen　that　evening；　hold　their　noses。　　All　circumstances　which；　two　centuries　later；　〃seemed　so　ridiculous　to　the　court；〃　as　Sauval　says；　〃that　they　served　as　a　pastime　to　the　king；　and　as　an　introduction　to　the　royal　ballet　of　Night；　divided　into　four　parts　and　danced　on　the　theatre　of　the　Petit…Bourbon。〃　　〃Never；〃　adds　an　eye　witness　of　1653；　〃have　the　sudden　metamorphoses　of　the　Court　of　Miracles　been　more　happily　presented。　Benserade　prepared　us　for　it　by　some　very　gallant　verses。〃

Loud　laughter　everywhere；　and　obscene　songs。　　Each　one　held　his　own　course；　carping　and　swearing；　without　listening　to　his　neighbor。　　Pots　clinked；　and　quarrels　sprang　up　at　the　shock　of　the　pots；　and　the　broken　pots　made　rents　in　the　rags。

A　big　dog；　seated　on　his　tail；　gazed　at　the　fire。　　Some　children　were　mingled　in　this　orgy。　　The　stolen　child　wept　and　cried。　　Another；　a　big　boy　four　years　of　age；　seated　with　legs　dangling；　upon　a　bench　that　was　too　high　for　him；　before　a　table　that　reached　to　his　chin；　and　uttering　not　a　word。　　A　third；　gravely　spreading　out　upon　the　table　with　his　finger；　the　melted　tallow　which　dripped　from　a　candle。　　Last　of　all；　a　little　fellow　crouching　in　the　mud；　almost　lost　in　a　cauldron；　which　he　was　scraping　with　a　tile；　and　from　which　he　was　evoking　a　sound　that　would　have　made　Stradivarius　swoon。

Near　the　fire　was　a　hogshead；　and　on　the　hogshead　a　beggar。　This　was　the　king　on　his　throne。

The　three　who　had　Gringoire　in　their　clutches　led　him　in　front　of　this　hogshead；　and　the　entire　bacchanal　rout　fell　silent　for　a　moment；　with　the　exception　of　the　cauldron　inhabited　by　the　child。

Gringoire　dared　neither　breathe　nor　raise　his　eyes。

〃~Hombre；　quita　tu　sombrero~！〃　said　one　of　the　three　knaves；　in　whose　grasp　he　was；　and；　before　he　had　comprehended　the　meaning；　the　other　had　snatched　his　hata　wretched　headgear；　it　is　true；　but　still　good　on　a　sunny　day　or　when　there　was　but　little　rain。　　Gringoire　sighed。

Meanwhile　the　king　addressed　him；　from　the　summit　of　his　cask；

〃Who　is　this　rogue？〃

Gringoire　shuddered。　　That　voice；　although　accentuated　by　menace；　recalled　to　him　another　voice；　which；　that　very　morning；　had　dealt　the　deathblow　to　his　mystery；　by　drawling；　nasally；　in　the　midst　of　the　audience；　〃Charity；　please！〃　He　raised　his　head。　　It　was　indeed　Clopin　Trouillefou。

Clopin　Trouillefou；　arrayed　in　his　royal　insignia；　wore　neither　one　rag　more　nor　one　rag　less。　　The　sore　upon　his　arm　had　already　disappeared。　　He　held　in　his　hand　one　of　those　whips　made　of　thongs　of　white　leather；　which　police　sergeants　then　used　to　repress　the　crowd；　and　which　were　called　~boullayes~。　　On　his　head　he　wore　a　sort　of　headgear；　bound　round　and　closed　at　the　top。　　But　it　was　difficult　to　make　out　whether　it　was　a　child's　cap　or　a　kin