himself, he said : ' ' Oh ! how happy you are since there is
somebody who loves you ! " laying particular emphasis on
the word somebody. " Get you gone I" added he, loosing
the bridle.

Phcebus clapped spurs to his horse, at the same time
swearing lustily. Quasimodo looked after him till he was
lost in the darkness. u Oh ! " said the poor fellow " to
refuse such a trifle as that ! "

He returned to Notre- Dame, lighted his lamp, and
ascended the tower. As he expected, the Bohemian was
still in the same place. The moment she saw him she ran
to meet him. " Alone 1" she exclaimed, sorrowfully
clasping her hands.

11 I could not meet with him/' said Quasimodo dryly.



340 THE HUNCHBACK OP NOTRE-DAME.

" You should have waited all night," she replied,
angrily.

He saw her look of displeasure, and comprehended the
reproach. * I will watch him better another time," said
he, drooping his head.

" Go thy way ! " cried she.

He left her. She was dissatisfied with him. He had
rather be ill-used by her than give her pain. He therefore
kept all the mortification to himself.

From that day he avoided the presence of the Egyptian.
He ceased to come to her cell. At most she sometimes
caught a glimpse of the bell-ringer on the top of a tower,
with his eye fixed in melancholy mood upon her : but the
moment he was aware that she saw him he was gone.

Truth obliges us to state that she grieved very little
about this voluntary absence of the poor hunchback. At
the bottom of her heart she was glad of it. Quasimodo
did not deceive himself on this point.

She saw him not, but she felt the presence of a good
genius around her. Her fresh supplies of provisions were
brought by an invisible hand while she was asleep. One
morning she found over her window a cage with birds.
Above her cell there was a sculptured figure which fright-
ened her, as she had more than once signified to Quasi-
modo. One morning for all these things were done at
night it was gone ; it had been broken off. Whoever
had clambered up to this piece of sculpture must have
risked his life.

Sometimes, in the evening, she heard the voice of some
unseen person beneath the penthouse of the belfry singing
a wild, sad, strain, as if to lull her to sleep. They were
verses without rhyme, such as a deaf man might make.

One morning, on opening her eyes, she saw two nose-
gays standing in her window. One was in a bright hand-
some crystal vase, but cracked. The water with which
it was filled had run out, and the flowers were faded. The
other was a pot of coarse common stone-ware, but which
retained all the water, and the flowers in it were fresh and
fragrant. I know not whether it was done intentionally,
but La Esmeralda took the faded nosegay, and carried it all



THE HUNCHBACK OP NOTRE-DAME. 341

day at her bosom. On that day she heard not the voice
singing from the tower a circumstance that gave her
very little concern. She passed whole days in fondling
Djali, in watching the door of the logis Gondalaurier, in
talking to herself of Phoebus, and in feeding the swallows
with crams of bread.

For some time she had neither seen nor heard Quasi-
modo. The poor bell-ringer seemed to have entirely for-
saken the church. One night, however, unable to sleep
for thinking of her handsome captain, she heard a sigh
near her cell. Somewhat alarmed, she rose, and by the
light of the moon she saw a shapeless mass lying outside
across the doorway. It was Quasimodo asleep upon the
stones.



CHAPTER V.

THE KEY OP THE PORTE ROUGE.

Meanwhile public rumour had communicated to the arch-
deacon the miraculous manner in which the Egyptian had
been saved. When apprised of this, he knew not how he
felt. He had made up his mind to the death of La Es-
meralda, and was therefore easy on that point : he had
drained the cup of misery to the dregs. The human
heart Dom Claude had deeply meditated on these mat-
ters cannot contain more than a certain quantity of
despair. When a sponge is thoroughly soaked, the sea
may pass over it without introducing into it one addi-
tional drop.

Now, the sponge being filled by the death of La Es-
meralda, Dom Claude could not experience keener suffer-
ing in this world. But to know that she was living, and
Phoebus, too, was to be exposed anew to the vicissitudes.,
the shocks, the torments of life ; and Claude was weary of
them all.

On hearing these tidings, he shut himself up in his cell
in the cloisters. He attended neither the conferences of
z 3



342 THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME.

the chapter nor the usual offices. He closed his door
against all, not excepting the bishop ; and continued to se-
clude himself in this manner for several weeks. It was
reported that he was ill. So he really was.

What was he doing while thus shut up ? Under what
thoughts was the wretched archdeacon struggling ? Was
he engaged in a last conflict with his indomitable passion ?
Was he combining a final plan of death for her and per-
dition for himself ?

His Jehan, his beloved brother, his spoiled child, came
to his door, knocked, swore, entreated, mentioned his name
ten times over Claude would not open to him.

He passed whole days with his face close to the panes
of his window. From that window, situated as we have
said in the cloisters, he could see the cell of La Esme-
ralda : he perceived the girl herself with her goat, some-
times with Quasimodo. He remarked the little attentions
of the scurvy hunchback, his respectful manners and his
submissive demeanour towards the Egyptian. He recol-
lected for he had a good memory, and memory is the
tormentor of the jealous he recollected the extraordinary
look of the bell-ringer at the dancing girl on a particular
evening. He asked himself what motive could have insti-
gated Quasimodo to rescue her. He witnessed a thousand
little scenes between the Bohemian and the hunchback,
the pantomime of which, beheld at a distance, and com-
mented on by his passion, appeared to him exceedingly
tender. He then vaguely felt awakening within him a
jealousy such as he had no conception of, a jealousy which
made him blush for shame and indignation. For the
captain it was not surprising ; but for such an object as
that ! The idea distracted him.

His nights were terrible. Since he knew that the Egyp-
tian was alive, the cold ideas of spectre and tomb which
haunted him for a whole day were dispelled, and passion
regained its dominion over him. He writhed upon his
bed, when he reflected that the lovely brunette was so
near a neighbour to h4m.

Every night his frenzied imagination pictured to him La
Esmeralda in all those attitudes which had made the



THE HUNCHBACK OP NOTRE-DAME. 343

blood boil most vehemently in his veins. He saw her
stretched upon the wounded captain, her eyes closed, her
beautiful bosom covered with his blood, at the moment of
transport, when the archdeacon had imprinted on her pale
lips that kiss which had felt to the unfortunate girl,
though half dead, like the touch of a burning coal. Again
he saw her stripped by the rough hands of the torturers ;
he saw them expose her finely shaped leg, and her white
supple knee, while they encased her delicate little foot
in the screw-buskin. He further saw that ivory knee
alone left uncovered by the horrible apparatus. Lastly, he
figured to himself the forlorn damsel, the rope about her
neck, with bare feet, bare shoulders, bare bosom, as he
had seen her on the day of penance. These images made
his blood boil, and a thrill run through his whole frame.

One night, among others, they inflamed him to such a
degree, that, leaping out of his bed, he threw a surplice
over him, and quitted his cell, with his lamp in his hand,
wild, and his eyes glaring like fire.

He knew where to find the key of the Porte Rouge, the
communication between the cloisters and the church ; and,
as the reader knows, he always carried about him a key
of the staircase to the towers.



CHAPTER VI.

SEQUEL TO THE KEY OP THE PORTE ROUGE.

On that night La Esmeralda had fallen asleep in her lodge,
forgetful of the past, and full of hope and pleasing thoughts.
She had slept for some time, dreaming, as she was wont,
of Phoebus, when she seemed to hear a kind of noise about
her. Her sleep was always light and unquiet a bird's
sleep ; the least thing awoke her. She opened her eyes.
The night was very dark. She nevertheless saw at the
window a face looking at her : there was a lamp which
z 4



344 -SIIE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME.

threw a light upon this apparition. At the moment when
the figure saw that it was perceived hy La Esmeralda, it
blew out the lamp. The girl, however, had had time to
get a glimpse of it: her eyelids closed with affright.
' Oh I she cried in a faint voice " the priest !"

All her past miseries flashed upon her again like light-
ning. She fell back on her bed frozen with horror. A
moment afterward, she felt something touch her, which
made her shudder. She raised herself furiously into a
sitting posture. The priest clasped her in both his arms.
She would have shrieked, but could not.

" Begone, murderer ! begone, monster !" said she, in a
voice faint and tremulous with rage and terror.

" Mercy ! mercy ! " muttered the priest, pressing his lips
to her shoulders.

Seizing with both hands the hair remaining on his bald
head, she strove to prevent his kisses.

'.' Mercy ! mercy ! " repeated the wretched priest. " If
thou didst but know what my love for thee is ! it is fire;
it is molten lead; it is a thousand daggers in my heart I"
And he held her two arms with superhuman force.

" Loose me ! " cried she, distractedly, ' ' or I will spit in
thy face ! "

He loosed his hold. " Strike me ; heap indignities upon
me ; do what thou wilt ! but, for mercy's sake, Jove me ! "

She then struck him with childish rage. ' * Begone !
demon I" said she, while her taper fingers bent in order to
scratch his face.

ie Love me ! for pity love me ! " cried the wretched
priest, grappling her, and returning her blows with kisses.

She soon found that he was too strong for her. " 'Tis
time to put an end to this ! " said he, gnashing his teeth.

Palpitating, exhausted, vanquished, she made a last
effort, and began to cry, " Help ! help ! a vampire ! a
vampire ! "

No one came. I)jali alone was awakened, and bleated
with affright.

" Be silent," said the panting priest.

All at once, having fallen on the floor in the struggle



THE HUNCHBACK OP NOTRE-DAME. 34>5

the hand of the Egyptian touched something cold, that felt
like metal. It was Quasimodo's whistle. She seized it
with a convulsion of hope, lifted it to her lips, and whistled
with all the force she had left. The whistle gave out a
clear, shrill, piercing sound.

f What is that?" enquired the priest.

Almost at the same moment he felt himself grasped by a
vigorous arm. The cell was dark : he could not discern
who held him thus ; but he heard teeth gnashing with rage,
and there was just sufficient light scattered amid the dark-
ness to enable him to see the broad blade of a cutlass glis-
tening above his head.

The priest imagined that he perceived the figure of Qua-
simodo. He supposed that it could be no other. He re-
collected having stumbled on entering against a bundle of
something lying across the doorway outside. Still, as the
new comer uttered not a word, he knew not what to believe.
He caught the arm which held the cutlass, crying, " Qua-
simodo!" forgetful, in this moment of distress, that
Quasimodo was deaf.

In the twinkling of an eye, the priest was stretched on
the floor, and felt a leaden knee pressing upon his breast.
From the angular pressure of that knee he recognised Qua-
simodo ; but what could he do ? how was he to make him-
self known to the assailant ? night rendered the deaf monster
blind.

He gave himself up for lost. The girl, with as little
pity as an enraged tigress, interposed not to save him. The
cutlass was descending upon his head. The moment was
critical. All at once his adversary appeared to hesitate.
" No," said a muttering voice " No blood upon her!"
It was actually the voice of Quasimodo.

The priest then felt a huge hand dragging him by the
leg out of the cell : it was there that he was to die. Luckily
for him, the moon had just burst forth. When they were
past the door, her pale beams fell upon the head of the
priest. Quasimodo looked at his face, was seized with a
trembling, relaxed his grasp, and started back.

The Egyptian, who had advanced to the threshold of
the cell, saw with surprise the actors suddenly exchanging



346 THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME.

characters. It was now the priest's turn to threaten, Qua-
simodo's to supplicate. The priest, having furiously as-
sailed the hunchback with gestures of anger and reproach,
at length motioned him to retire. Quasimodo stood for a
moment with bowed head, and then, falling on his knees
before the door of the Egyptian, " Monseigneur," said he,
in a tone of gravity and resignation, (c kill me first, and
do what you please afterwards."

As he thus spoke he offered his cutlass to the priest.
Beside himself with rage, the priest clutched at the weapon ;
but La Esmeralda was too quick for him. Snatching the
cutlass from the hand of Quasimodo, and bursting into an
hysteric laugh, (< Come on ! " said she to the priest.

She held the blade uplifted. The priest wavered. She
would certainly have struck. u Thou darest not approach
now, coward," she cried. Then, with unpitying look, and
well aware that she should pierce the heart of the priest as
with a thousand red-hot irons, she added, " Ah ! I know
that Phoebus is not dead !"

The priest, with a violent kick, overthrew Quasimodo,
and rushed quivering with rage to the vaulted staircase.
When he was gone, Quasimodo picked up the whistle
which had been the means of saving the Egyptian. " It
was getting rusty," said he, handing it to her. He then
left her to herself.

The damsel, vehemently agitated by this violent scene,
sank exhausted upon her bed, and sobhed aloud. Her
horizon had again become overcast.

The priest, on his part, groped his way back to his cell.
The thing was conclusive. Dom Claude was jealous of
Quasimodo ! with pensive look he repeated the fatal phrase,
" Nobody shall have her !"



END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.



THE HUNCHBACK OP NOTBE-DAME. 347



VOLUME THE FOURTH.



BOOK IX.



CHAPTER I.

GBINGOIBE HAS SEVEBAL CAPITAL IDEAS ONE AFTEB
ANOTHEB IN THE BUE DES BEBNABDINS.

As soon as Gringoire perceived the turn which this whole
affair was taking, and that decidedly halter, gibbet,, and
other unpleasant things would be the lot of the principal
characters of this comedy, he felt no sort of inclination to
interfere in it. The Vagabonds, with whom he had re-
mained, considering that after all they were the best com-
pany in Paris, had continued to interest themselves for
the Egyptian. This he thought perfectly natural in people
who, like her, had no other prospect than Charmolue and
Torterue, and who never soared like him into the regions
of imagination between the two wings of Pegasus. From
them he learned that she whom he had espoused over the
broken jug had taken sanctuary in Notre-Dame, and he
was very glad of it. He thought sometimes of the little
goat and that was all. In the daytime he performed
mountebank tricks for a livelihood, and at night he elucu-
brated a memorial against the bishop of Paris, for he re-
membered the drenching he had got from his mills, and
bore him a grudge for it. He was also engaged in a com-
mentary upon the admired work of Baudry-le-Rouge,
bishop of Noyon and Tournay, De Cupa Petrarum, which
had awakened in him a violent passion for architecture
a passion which had superseded in his heart the passion for
hermetics ; the one indeed was but a natural corollary to
the other, since there is an intimate connexion between



348 THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTBE-DAME.

hermetics and masonry. Gringoire had passed from the
love of an idea to the love of the form of an idea.

One day, he had stopped near St. Germain l'Auxerrois,
at the corner of a building called the For-1'Eveque, which
faced another named the For-le-Roi. At this For-1'Eveque
there was a beautiful chapel of the fourteenth century, the
choir of which looked towards the street. Gringoire was
intently examining the sculptures on the outside. It was
one of those moments of absorbing, exclusive, supreme
enjoyment, when the artist sees nothing in the world but
his art, and sees the world in his art. All at once he felt
a hand fall heavily upon his shoulder. He turned about.
It was his old friend, his old master, the archdeacon.

He was stupified. It was a long time since he had
seen the archdeacon, and Dom Claude was one of those
solemn and impassioned personages, the meeting with
whom always deranges the equilibrium of the sceptical
philosopher.

The archdeacon kept silence for a few moments, during
which Gringoire had leisure to observe him. He found
Dom Claude greatly altered pale as a winter morning,
his eyes sunk, his hair almost white. The priest at
length broke this silence, saying, but in a grave, freezing
tone, " How goes it with you, Master Pierre ? "

" As to my health ?" said Gringoire, " Why, I may
say, so so. Upon the whole good. I take every thing in
moderation. You know, master, the secret of health
recommended by Hippocrates cibi, potus, somni, omnia
moderata sint."

i( Then you have no troubles, Master Pierre ? " re-
joined the archdeacon, looking stedfastly at Gringoire.

" No, i' faith, not I."

ce And what are you doing now ?"

'* You see, master, I am examining the cut of these
stones, and the way in which that basso-rilievo is chi-
selled."

The priest smiled. It was one of those bitter smiles,
which lift up but one of the corners of the mouth. " And
that amuses you ? '*



THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME. &Q

" 'Tis paradise!" exclaimed Gringoire. And turning
to the sculptures, with the dazzled look of a demonstrator
of living phenomena, " Don't you think," said he, " that
this metamorphosis in low relief, for example, is executed
with great skill, patience, ' and delicacy ? Look at this
little pillar. About what capital did you ever see foliage
more elegant and more highly finished ? Look at those
three medallions by Jean Maillevin They are not first-
rate works of that great genius : nevertheless, the truth
to nature, and the sweetness of the faces, the gaiety of the
attitudes and draperies, and that inexplicable charm which
is blended with all the defects, render the miniature figures
exceedingly lively and exceedingly delicate perhaps too
much so. Do you not think that this is amusing ? "

" Yes, I do," said the priest.

" And if you- were to see the interior of the chapel \"
resumed the poet, with his garrulous enthusiasm, " sculp-
tures all over ; tufted like a cauliflower. The choir is in
a right godly style, and so peculiar that I never saw any
thing like it."

Dom Claude interrupted him. " You are happy,
then ? "

*' Yes, upon my honour," replied Gringoire with warmth.
' At first I was fond of women, then of beasts, now of
stones. They are quite as amusing as women and beasts,
and much less treacherous."

The priest raised his hand to his brow. It was his
habitual gesture. " Indeed ! "

4f Stay," said Gringoire, " you shall see that a man need
not want pleasure.'' He took the arm of the priest, who
made no resistance, and drew him into the staircase turret
of the For-1'Eveque. "There is a staircase for you! when-
ever I look at it I am happy. It is the simplest of its
kind, and yet the most exquisite in Paris. Every step is
rounded off underneath. Its beauty and simplicity consist
in the overlapping parts, which for a foot or thereabout are
let in, mortised, imbedded, enchained, inchased, dovetailed
one into another, and bite in such a way as to be not less
solid than goodly."



350 THE HUNCHBACK OF XOTRE-DAME.

tc And you wish for nothing ? "

"No."

" And regret nothing ? "

" Neither wishes nor regrets. I have arranged my
life."

<{ Man arranges," said Claude ; " circumstances de-
range."

"I am a Pyrrhonian philosopher/' replied Gringoire
" and I keep every thing in equilibrium."

' c And how do you earn* a livelihood ? "

t( I still make epics and tragedies now and then ; but
what brings in most money is the trade you have seen me
follow carrying pyramids of chairs and so forth between
my teeth."

" A scurvy trade for a philosopher."

" It has to do with the equilibrium," said Gringoire

" When you take an idea into your head, you find it in
every thing."

" I know it," replied the archdeacon.

After a pause the priest resumed : " You are neverthe-
less as poor as ever ? "

u Poor enough, I grant you, but not unhappy."

At this moment the dialogue was interrupted by the
trampling of horses, and a company of archers of the king's
ordnance, with raised lances, and an officer at their head,
passed the end of the street. The cavalcade was brilliant,
and the pavement rang beneath their tread.

* How you eye that officer ! " said Gringoire to the arch-
deacon.

Ci I rather think I know him."

" What is his name ? "

" I believe," said Claude, " his name is Phcebus de
Chateaupers."

" Phcebus, a curious name ! There is also a Phcebus
comte de Foix. I once knew a girl who never swore but
by Phoebus."

" Come this way ! " said the priest, ' ' I have something
to say to you."

Ever since the appearance of the archers, some agitation
was perceptible under the frozen exterior of the archdeacon.



THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME. 351

He walked on, followed by Gringoire, who was wont to
obey him, like all who had ever approached him, such was
the ascendancy which he exercised. They proceeded in
silence to the Rue des Bernardins, where a casual passenger
only was at times to be seen. Here Dom Claude stopped
short.

w What have you to say to me, master ? " enquired
Gringoire.

" Don't you think " said the archdeacon, with a look of
deep reflection, " that the dress of those archers, who have
just passed is finer than yours or mine?"

Gringoire shook his head. e By my fay ! I like my red
and yellow jacket better than those shells of iron and steel.
A sorry pleasure, to make at every step the same noise that
the Ironmongers' Quay would do in an earthquake ! "

" Then, Gringoire, you have never envied those comely
fellows in their habiliments of war ? "

" Envied them ! for what, Mr. Archdeacon ? for
their strength, their armour, their discipline ? Far pre-
ferable are philosophy and independence in rags. I had
rather be the head of a fly than the tail of a lion."

' ' That is singular ! " said the priest, thoughtfully. " A
goodly uniform is nevertheless goodly."

Gringoire, seeing him absorbed in thought, left him, and

went up to the porch of a neighbouring house. Presently

he returned, clapping his hands. " If you were not so

! deeply engaged with the goodly uniforms of the men-at-

: arms, Mr. Archdeacon, I would beg you to go and look at

I that door. I always said that the entrance to the Sieur

Aubrey's house is not to be matched all the world over."

ft Pierre Gringoire," said the archdeacon, " what have
you done with the young Egyptian dancing girl ? "

" La Esmeralda ? Why, how abruptly you change
the conversation ! "

11 Was she not your wife ?"

" Yes, after a fashion : by means of a broken jug we
were joined together for four years. By the by," added
Gringoire, with a half bantering tone and look, " you seem
to be always thinking of her."

ft And do you never think of her now ? "



352 THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME.

" Very little. I am so busy ! . . . But what a charming
little goat that was ! "

" Did not that Bohemian save your life ? "
M True enough, by'r Lady ! "

" Well, what is become of her ? what have you done
with her ? "

' ' I can't tell. I believe they hanged her ! "
" You believe ? "

" I am not sure. When I saw that they were deter-
mined to hang somebody, I got out of the way."
" Is that all you know about the matter ?"
* Stop a moment ! I was told that she had taken sanc-
tuary in Notre-Dame, and that she was safe there, which I
was very glad to hear : but I have not been able to ascer-
tain whether her goat was saved along with her and
that is all I know about the matter."

rt I can tell you more, then," cried Dom Claude, his
voice, hitherto low almost to a whisper, rising to the loud-
ness of thunder. "She has actually taken sanctuary in
Notre-Dame. But in three days Justice will again seize
her, and she will be hanged in the Greve. The parliament