Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 144 — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

——_— THE HUNCHBACK OF ‘NOTRE-DAME. QL Roland it has seldom. been for any length of time with- out a tenant. Many a woman had come thither to mourn, some their indiscretions, and others the.loss of parents or lovers. Parisian scandal, which interferes in everything, even in such things as least concern it, pre- tended that very few widows had been seen among the number, }06 all this must haye cost! And then the beautiful pages | that were upon them.” “ Heyday |” cried Oudarde, ‘‘ what is there to do yonder? See what acrowd is collected at the foot of | the bridge! There seems to be something in the midst them that they are looking at.” ‘Surely I hear the sound of a tambourine,’ said According to the fashion of the age, aLatin legend in- | Gervaise. “I dare say it is young Esmeralda playing scribed upon the wall indicated to the lettered passen- ger the pious destination of this cell. Down to the— middle of the .sixteenth century, it was customary to explain the object of a building by a short motto placed over the door. be read over the postern of the seignorial house of Tourville, Srmero ET srERA; in Ireland, beneath the coat of arms over the grand entrance to Fortescue | Thus in France there may still | her antics with her goat. Quick, Mahiette, and pull your boy along. -You are come to see the curiosities of Paris. Yesterday you saw the Flemings; to-day you must see the Egyptian.’’. “The Egyptian!’ exclaimed Mahiette, back, and foreibly grasping the arm ot her son. “ God | forbid, she might steal my boy. Come, Eustache !” With these words she began to run along the quay starting Castle, Forte scuTuM SALUs DucUM; In England, over | toward the Greve, till she bad left the bridge ata con- the principal door of the hospitable mansion of Earl Coper, Tuum Est. In those days every building was a thought. As there was no other door tothe cell of Roland’s derneath the window, these two words: | TU ORA. Hence the looks for profound meanings in things, and who scruple not to attach to Ludovico Magno the signification of Porte SM. Denis, gave to this dark, damp, loathsome hole the name of Trou aux Rats, an interpretation less sublime perhaps, than the other, but certainly more picturesque. CHAPTER III. SISTER GUDULE. riod of which we were treating, the cell of ower was occupied, If the reader is desirous of knowing by whom, he has only to listen to the conver- gation of three ones’. goeeine. who, at the moment at which we have directed his attention to the Trou aux Rats, were going to the very apet, BEBIOPS from the Chatelet along the riverside tow the Greve. Two of them were dressed like wives of respectable citizens of Paris. Their fine white neckerchiefs; their Linsey-woolsey petticoat, striped red and blue; their white worsted stockings, with colored clocks, pulled up tight upon the leg; their square-toed shoes of tawny Jeather with black soles; and above al! their head- dress, a sort of high cap of tinsel loaded with ribbons and lace, still worn by the women of Champagne, and also by the grenadiers of the Russian im g indicated that they belonged to that class of wealthy tradesfolk, which comes tween what. lackies call a woman and what they style a/ They wore neither At the Roland's ’ gold rings nor gold crosses; evideutly not on account of poverty, but simply for fear of fine. Their compan- ion’ was attired nearly in the same fashion, but in her dress and manner there was something which betrayed thecountrywoman. The height of her belt above the hips, told that she had not been longin Paris. Add to this a plaited neckerchief, bows of ribbons at her shoes, the stripes of her petticoat running breadthwise in- atead of lengthwise, and various other enormities ually abhorrent to goed taste. e first two walked with the step peculiar to the women of Paris who are showing the lions to their rovincial friends. The third held a big boy by one d, while he carried a large cake in the other. ‘The boy did not care to keep up with her, but suffered himself to be dragged along, and stumbled every mo- ment, to the no small alarm of his mother. It is true that he paid much greater attention to the cake than to the pavement. Some weighty reason no doubt pre- vented his ta a bite, for he did no more than look wistfully at it. was cruel to make a Tantalus of the jolt-headed cub. Meanwhile the three damoiselles—for the term dames was then reserved for noble females—were talking all -at once. “Let us make haste, dameiselle Mahiette,” said the Lot mg who was also the lustiest of the three to her oountry friend. “I am afraid we shall be too late. We were told at the Chatelet that he was to be put in ‘the ory forthwith.” ae ! pooh! What are you talking of, damoiselle Oudarde Musnier ?’’ replied the other Parisian. ‘ He is Senter awe Bouse in the pillory. We as a have plenty 2. ve you ever seen any one in t ory my dear Mahiette ?’’ 7 pies ig * Yos,"’ answered Mahiette, “at Reims.’’ “Your pillory at Reims! why, ‘tis not worth men- tioning. A wretched cage, where they turn nothing but clodpoles !”’ , “Ol les, forsooth!”’ rejoined Mahiette, “in the pote = a Nee 2 We a had some ewes c ere, ho e who had murdere ‘both father and mother. Clodpoles, indeed! what do you take us for, Gervaise ?’’ It is certain that the provincial lady felt somewhat mottled at the attack on the honor of her pillory. Luckily the discreet damoiselle, Oudarde gave a sea- sonable turn to the conversation. “What say you, Mahiette,” she asked, “ to our Flem- — ip trae ? Have you ever had any like them at ms ’” ‘I confess,” replied Mahiette, “that Paris is the only place for seers | emings such as they.” “And their horses, what beautiful animals, dressed out as they are in the fashion of their country!” _Gervaise overtook her. ‘Tower, there had been engravyen in Roman capitals, un- | ple, whose plain common sense never | siderable distance behind her. Presently, the boy, whom she drew after her, tripped and fell wpon his ‘knees; she stopped te recover breath, and Oudarde and ~_ “That Egyptian steal your boy!” said Gervaise; ‘‘besshrew meif this be not a pensive fancy !” | Mahiette shook her head with a strange look. “Ah, what is still more strange,’ observed Ou- | darde, “ Sister Gudule has the same notion of the Egyptians.”’ “ Who is Sister Gudule ?” inquired Mahiette. | “You must be vastly ignorant at your Reims not to. know that;’’ replied Oudarde. ‘‘ Why, the recluse o! | the Trou aux Rats.”’ ‘‘ What | the poor woman to whom we are carrying | the cake?” Oudarde nodded affirmatively. “ Just so. You will see her presently at her window on the Greve. She) holds just the same opinion of yon as those Egyptian one who go about drumming on tamborines and telling fortunes. Nobody knows why she has such a horror of the Zingariand Egyptians. But you, Mahiette, wherefore should you take to your heels thus at the mere sight of them ?’”’ “Oh !"’ suid: Mahiette, clasping her boy's head in both her hands, ‘‘ l would not for the world that the same thing shonld happen to.me as betell Paquette la | Chantefluerie.”’ “Ah ! you must tell us that story, good Mahiette,’’ said Gervaise, taking hér by the arm. “1 will,” answered Mahiette; “ but how ignorant you must be in your’ Paris not to know that! But we need not stop while Itell you the story. You must. know then, that Paquette la Chantefleufie was a hand... some = of eighteen just when I was so myself, that is, eighteen years ago, and itis herown fault that she is not at this day, meddle with that cake ? forlorn condition it seemed to her that she shonld b less degraded, and less forlorn, if she had anything or anyone in the world that she could love, and that conld love her. She felt that this must needs be a child be- cause nothing but a child could be innocent enouy) for that. Women of her class must have eithera love. orachild to engage their affections; or they are very unhappy. Now as Paquette could not find a lover.sl« set her whole heart upon achild, and prayed to Gud night and day for one. And He took compassion on ber, and gave her a little girl. Her joy is not to described. How she did hug and fondle her infant ! It was quite a tempest of tears and kisses. Sho suckled it herself, made its clothes out of her own, and thenceforward felt neither cold nor hunger. Her beauty returned. An old miaid makes a young mother. In a short time she again betook herself to her former courses, and she laid eut all the mouvcy that she received on frocks and caps, and lace, and littfe satin bonnets, and all sorts ef finery for her child—Monsieur Eustache, haven’t I told yon nt to It is certain that little A, nes —that was the name given to the child at her christen- ing—was more bedizened with ribbons and embroidery than aprincess. Among other things she had a pair of little shoes, such as I'll be bound Louis XT. never had. Her mother had made and é¢mbroidered them herself with the utmost artand skill of her needle. A prettier pair of little rose-colored shoes was never seen. They were not longer than my thumb, and you must heve seen the child's tiny feet come out or you would never bélieve they could go imtothem. But then those feet were so small, so pretty, so rosy—more 80 than the satin of the shoes. When you have children, Oudarde, you will know that nothing is so pretty as those deli- cate little feet and hands.’’ “T desire nothing better,” said Oudarde, with asigh; “but I must wait till it is the good pleasure of Mon- sieur Andry Musnier.’’ “Paquette’s baby,” resumed Mahiette, “ had “not merely handsome feet. I saw it when but four months old. Oh! it was alove! Her eyes were larger than her mouth, and she had the most beautiful, dark hair, which already began to curl. What a superb briinette she would have made at sixteen! Her mother became every day more and more dotingly fond of her. She hugged her, she kissed her, she tickled her, she washed her, she pranked her up—she was ready toeat her. In the wildness of her joy she thanked God for the gift. But it was her tiny rosy feet above all that she was never tired of admiring. She would pass whole hours in putting on them the little shoes, and taking them off again, gazing at them, and pressing them to’her ke me, ahearty comely mother of} lips.’ six-and-thirty, with a husband and a boy. She was | "The story is well enough,’ said Gervaise, in an the daughter of Guybertaut, miristrel of Reims, the | undertone ; “‘ but where are the Eyyptians ?” same that played before King Charles VII. at his coronation, when hewent down our river Vesie from Sillery to Muison, and the Maidof Orleans was in the barge with him. Paquette’s father died while she was quite an infant; so she had only her mother, who ‘was-the sister of Monsieur Matthieu Pradon, master- brazier here at Paris, in the Rue Parin-Garlin, who died only last year. You see she came of a good fam- ily. The mother was unluckily a kind, easy woman, and taught Paquette nothing but to do a little needle- work and make herself finery, which helped to keep them very poor. They lived at Reims, in the Rue Folle Peiné. In ’61, the year of the coronation of our King Louis XL, whom God preserve ! Paquette was 80 lively and se handsome that everybody called her La Chantefleurie. Poor girl ! what beautiful teeth she had! and how she would laugh thut she might show them! Now a girlthat laughs a great deal is im the way to cry; fine teeth and fine eyes. Chantefleurie and her mother had great difficulty to earn a liveli- hood; since the death of the old minstrel their cir- cumstances had been getting worse and worse; their needlework produced no more thans ix deniers aweek. How different from the time when old Guy- bertaut received twelve sols Parisis forasingle song, as he did at the nation ! One Winter—it was that of the same y ‘6l—when the poor creatures bad neither cord-wood nor fagots, the weather was very cold, which gave Chanteflenrie such a beautiful color that she was admired by all the men, and this led to her ruin—Enustache, don’t meddle with the cake! We all knew what had happened as soon as we saw her come to church one Sunday with a gold cross at her breast: And look you, she was not fifteen at the time. Her first lover was the young Viscount de Cormon- treuil, whose castle is about three-quartera of league from Reims; and when she was deserted by him, she took up first with one and then with another, till at Jast all men became alike to her. Poor Chante- fleurie |" sighed Mahiette, brushing away a tear that started from her eye. . “There is nothing very extraordinary in this his- tory,’ said Gervaise; “nor, as far as I can see, has it anything to do with Egyptians or children.”’ ‘Have patience,"’ replied Mahiette; “you will soon see that it has. In "66, it will be sixteen years this very month, on St. Paul’s Day, nette was brought tu bed of a little girl. How delighted she was, poor thing! She had long been wishing for a child. Her mother, good soul, who had always winked at her faults, was now dead, so that Paquette bad nothing in the world to love, and none to love her. For five years, ever since her fall, she had been a miserable crea- ture, r Chantefleurie! She was alone—alone in this ‘‘Ah, my dear!’’ exclaimed Mahiette, assuming in | life, pointed at and hooted in the streets, cuffed by the her turn an air of superiority, “what would you say | beadles, teased by little ragged urchins. had you been at Reims at the coronation in the year | she was twenty, an age, at which it is said, such women 61,.and seen the horses of the princes and of the | begin to be old. Her way of life scarcely brought her pp hy retinue! There were housings and trappings | in more than her needlework had formerly done; the of sorts; some of damask cloth and fine cloth of winter had set in sharp, and wood was again rare on her gold garnished with sable; others of velvet furred hearth, and bread in her cupboard. She was, of course, with ermine; others all covered with jewelry, and | very sorrowful , Very miserable, and her tears wore targe gold and silver bells. Think of the money that | deep channels in her cheeks, But in her degraded and By this time | “Why, here,’" replied Mahiette. “One day a party of very strange-looking people on horseback arrived at | Reims. They were beggars and vagabonds, who roved /about the country, headed by their duke and their counts. Their visage was tawny ; they had curly hair, and wore silver rings in) their ears. The women were | uglier than the men. Their complexion wds darker. ey went bareheaded ; a shabby mantle covered the body, an old piece of sackcloth was tied about the shoulders, and their hair was like a horsé’s tail. The children, who were tumbling about their laps, | were enough to frightenan ape. These hideous people | had come—so it was said—straightway from pt to Reims through Poland; the Pope had co ed them, /and ordered them by way of penance ‘to wander for seven years together through the world without | in a bed; and they claim ten livres tourneis of archbishops, bishops, and crosiered and mitred abbots, by virtue of a bull of the Pope. They came to Reims to tell fortunes in the name of fhe King of Algiers and the Emperor of Germany. This was quite enough, as yon may suppose, to cause them to be forbi to enter the city. The whole band then encan i. out more ado on the mill-hill, by the ola ¢] -pi ' and all Reims went to see them. ey looked at your palm and foretold wonderful things. At the same time there were various reports about their stéaling chil- dren, cutting purses, and eating human flésh. Prudent persons said to the simple, ‘Go not near them,’and yet went themselves in secret. It was quite the rage. The | fact is, they told things which would have astonished a Cardinal. Mothers were not 4 little proud of théir children after the Egyptians had read all sorta of marvels written in their hands ina Pagan gibberizh. One had an emperor, another a pope, athird a great captain. Poor Chantefleurie was seizéd with curi- osity; she was anxious to know her luck, and whether little Agnes should one day be Empress of Armwvnia or st of that sort. She carried her to the encampment of the Egyptians; the women admired the infant, they fondled her, they kis#e@ her with their dark lips, they were astonished at her timy hand, to the no small delight of her poormother. But above all ey extolled her delicate feet and pretty shoes. The child was not quite a year old. She had begun to lisp a word or two, laughed at her mother like a little madcap, and was plump and fat, and played a thoueagnd engaging antics. But she was trightened at the Egyp- tians and fell a-crying. Her mother kissed and eud- died her, and away she went, oietoved at the good luck which the fortune-tellers had promised her Ag- nes. She was to be a beauty, a virtue,a queen. She returned to her garret in the Rue. Folle eine quite proud of her burden. Next day she softly sli out fora moment while the infant lay asleep on the bed, leaving the door ajar, and ran to tell an acquaintance in the Rue Sechesserie how that. there would cone a time when her dear little Agnes would have the King ot England anf the Archduke of Ethiopia to wait upon her at table, and a hundred other marvelous things. On her return, not hearing the child cry as she went upstairs, she said to herself, ‘That's lucky! baby is asleep yet.’ She found the door wider open than she GOmilicooo (Elo)