Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 144 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

~ ' thing was lifting her above hearken to me. OF NOTRE-DAME, THE HUNCHBACK 39 time on a whole city which needed repeopling. Louis XT. made Paris a sanctuary in 1467. When he had once set foot in the sanctuary, the criminal was saered, but he was obliged to beware of leaving it ; one step out of the island-asylum plunged him again into the sea. The wheel, the gallows, thé rack, kept strict guard around his retreat, and watched their prey incessantly as sharks prowl around a ship. | Condemned persons thus rescued have been known to srow gray in a cloister, on the staircase of a palace, in| he garden of an abbey, fn the porch of a church ; in | this way the ‘sanctuary was a prison as well as any | place that bore the name. It sometimes happened that | a solemn ordinance’ of the Parliament violated -the sanctuary, and gave up the condemned to the execu- | tioner; but the case was rare. The parliaments were | be of the bishops, and, when the gowns of the two professions chanced to come into collision, that of the | Church generally had the worst of it. At times, how- ever, as in the affair of the assassins of Petit-Jean, the | executioner of Paris, and in that of Emery Rousseau, | the murderer of Jean Valleret, Justice ovérleaped the | Church. and passed on to the execution of its sentences; | but, unless authorixed by an ordinance of the Parlia- | ment, woe to him who forcibly violated a sanctuary. Everybody knows what was the fate of Robert de Cler- mont, Marslral of France, and Jean de Chalons, Marshal of Champagne; and ‘yet the party, in whose case they had interfered, one Perrin Marc, was but a money- changer’s man and a scurvy assassin; but then the two marshals had broken open the doors of St. Mery. | There was the enormity! — Such was the respect with which sanctuaries were invested, that, Sootting to tradition, it occasionally extended to brute animals. Aymoin relates that a atag, hunted by Dagobert, having taken refuge near the tomb of St. Denis, the dogs stopped short, merely | bayein at him. 8 e nurches had in general acell appropriated to Ye i ga of fugitives.’ In 1407, Nicolas Flamel had ilt for such persons, in the obey of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, a chamber which cost him four livres six sous six deniers a: ™ - At Notre-Damo it was a small cell on the top of the aisle, under the fi buttresses, facing the cloisters, on the very spot where the wife of the present keeper of the towers. has made herself a garden, whichis to the hanging gardens of Babylon what a lettuce is to a palm , or a portress to Semiramis. 7 it Wie that, yoo = a and ey toe ane through towers and galleries, Quasimodo d La Esme i So long as this race lasted, the | el had not recovered her senses; half stupefted, half awake, she was sensible of nothing but that she was mounting into the air, that she was cating, flying in it, that some- : he éarth. From time to and the harsh voice of time she heard the loud lau, c $5 , ened her eyes, and then Quasimodo at her ear; she o beneath her she confusedly saw Paris speckted with its endud nd roofs of slate tile, like red and blue mosaicwork, and above her head the hideous but joyful tace of Quasimodo. Again her eyes closed; she imag- ined hat all was o of task she had been executed aoe ing her swoon, and that the deformed spirit who had governed her destiny, had seized and borne her away. ‘But when e panting bell-ringer had laid her down in the cell m # poe when she felt the huge hands y loosing the cord that galled her arms, she ex- that kind of. shock which abruptly wakens on board a ship that runs aground in the middle a dark night. Her ideas awoke also and returned to her ae aly 9 She saw that she was in the church; 8 a be atched out of the hand @ executioner; Pheebus was alive, and that he no r loved her;,and these two ideas, one of which imparted such bitterness to the other, presentin themselves at once to the poor girl, she turned re | Quasimodo, who remained standing beside her, and whose aspect frightened her, saying, y did you save me ? ; He looked anxiously at her,as if striving to guess he repeated the question, He then what she said. cast. on her a lvok deeply sorrowful, and withdrew. She was lost in astonishment. ye few moments rward he returned bringing a bundle which he laid at her feet. It contained ap- arel which charitable women had left for her at the oor of the church. She then cast down her eyes at herself, saw that she was almost naked, and blushed. Life had tully re ed. Quasimodo seemed to par- ticipate in this feeling of modesty. Covering his tace with his large hand, he again retired, but with slow 8 o- fe . ; , “ae iss toned to dress herself. It was a “ere robe ith a white va—the habit of anovice of the Hotel su. She had scarcely finished before Quasimodo returned. He brought a basket under onearm and a under the other. The basket contained a tae bread, and some other provisions. He set down the basket, and said, “ Eat!" He spfead the mattress on the _" and said, “Sleep !’’ It was his. own din- his own that the bell-ringer had brought. her. mere igyptian d her eyes to his face to thank him; but.she could not utter ¢ word. The poor fellow was absolutely hideous. She dropped her head with a thrill of horror. ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘I frighten you, I ace. Iam ugly enough, God wot. Do not look at, but In the daytime you shall stay here ; at night you can walk about all overthechurch. But stir nota step out of it either by night or by day, or they will. catch you and kill you, and it wil} be the f me. ’ “Mo ed at his gddress, she raised her head to reply, but he was gone, Once more she was alone, pondering ° words of this almost monstrous bein ata by the tone of his voice, at once so hars | li, Tt - RPh eens Ss 'on her mistress, without obtaining.a sing window, and a door opening upon the slightly inclined plane of the roof, composed of flat stones. Several utters, terminating in heads of animals, seemed to end down over it, and to stretch out their necks to look at the hole. Ona level with its roof she’per- ceived a thousand chimney-tops, disgorging the smoke of all the fires of Paris. Melancholy prospect for the poor Egyptian, a foundling, rescued from the gallows ; an unfortunate young creature, who had neither coun- try, nor family, nor home! , At the moment when the idea of her forlorn situa- tion wrung her heart more keenly than ever, she felt a hairy shaggy head rubbing against her hands and | knees. She shuddered—everything now alarmed her—and looked. It was the poor goat,the nimble Djali, which had escaped dlong with herat the moment when Quasimodo dispersed Charmolue’s brigade, and had been at her feet nearly an hour, ae caresses e glance. The Egyptian covered the fond animal with kisses. “Oh, Djalil’’ said she, “how I have forgotten .thee.”’ And yet thou thinkest of me, Thou, for thy part, at least, art not ungrateful.’’ At the same time, as if an invisible hand had removed the obstruction which had so long repressed her tears, she began to weep, and, as the big drops trickled down her. chéeks, she felt the keenest and bitterest portion of her sorrows leaving her along with them. ne Evening came on. The night was so beautiful, the moonlight so soft, that she ventured to take a turn in the high gallery which runs, round the church. She felt somewhat refreshed by her walk, so calm did the earth appéar to her, beheld from that elevation. ei CHAPTER Iil. A HUMAN HEART IN A FORM SCARCELY HUMAN. Next morning, .she perceived on awaking that. she hadglept. This singular circumstance surprised her— The sun, peeping in at her window, threw his cheering rays upon her face. But besides the sun she saw at this aperture an object that affrighted her—the un- lucky face of Quasimodo. She yoluntarily closed her eyes, but in. vain; she still fancied that she saw through her rosy lids that visage so like an ugly mask. She kept her eyes shut. Presently she heard a hoarse voice saying very kindly, ‘Don't be afraid. I am your friend. Icame tosee you sleep. What harm can it do you, if I come to look at you shut? Well,. well, I am going. There, now I am behind the wall. Now you can open your eyes ”’ There was something still more plaintive than these words in the accent with which they were uttered. The Egyptian, affected by theni, opened hereyes. He was actually no longer at the window. She went to it, looked out‘and saw the poor hunchback cowering under the wall, in an attitude of grief and amoal gates. She made an effort to overcome the aversion h he ‘ex- cited. “Come!’’ said she kindly to him. Observing the motion of her lips, Quasimodo imagined that she was bidding him to*go away. He then rose and re- tired, with slow and halting step and drooping ~head, without so much as daring to raise his eyes, filled with despair to the damsel. ‘Come then!" she cried; but he continued to move off. She then darted out of the cell, ran to him, and took hold of hisarm. On feeling her touch, Quasimodo trembled in every limb. He lifted his supplicating eye, and, finding that she drew him toward her, his whole face shone with. joy and tenderness. She made him go into her-cell, bunt he in- sisted on staying at her threshold. ‘No, no,’’ said he, “the owl never enters the nest of the lark,” She then seated herself gracefully on her bed, with her goat at her feet. Both remained forsome minutes motionless contemplating in silence, he so much beauty, she so much ugliness, Every moment she dis- | covered in Quasimodo some. new deformity. Her look wandered from his knock-knees to his hunchback, from. his huftchback te his only eye.. She could not conceive how a creature so awkwardly put together could exist. At the same time an air of such sadness and aentlonens pervaded his whole figure that she began to recon- ciled with it. : ‘He was the first to break silence. me back?’’ said he. “Yes l’’ replied she, with a nod of affirmation. He understood the sign. .‘‘Alas!’’ said he, as if pry to finish, “ you must know Fam deaf,” ‘‘ Poor fellow |”’ exclaimed the Bohemian, with an ex- pression of Pity, He smiled sadly, ‘ You think potting else was want- ing, don’t you? Yes, am*deaf. That is the way in which Iam served. It is terrible, is it mot—twhile you —you are so beautiful!” , -The tone of the poor fellow conveyed such a'profound feeling of his wretchedness that she had not the heart to utter a word. Besides, he would not have heard her. He then resumed: “ Never till now was I aware how hideousIlam. When [ compare myself with -you, I cannot help pitying myself, poor unhappy monster that lam! I must appear to you like a beast. You, you are asunbeam, adrop of dew, a bird’s song. I, I am something frightful, neither man nor brute, something harder, more shapeless, and more trampled upon than a flint.” He then laughed and scarcely could there be aught in the world more cutting than ‘this laugh. He con- tinued: ‘‘ Yes, lam deaf; but you will speak to me by gestures, by signs. I have a master who talks to me in that way. Andthen, I shall soon know your mean- ing from the motion of your lips, from your look.” . Well then,” replied she, smiling, ‘‘ tell me why you have saved me?’ > He looked steadfastly at her while she spoke. “T understand,” rejoined he; “you ask me why I gaved you. You have forgotten a wretch who attempted one night to carry you off, a wretch to-whom, the very next day, you brought relief on the ignominions pil- lory. A draught 0! water and alook of pity are more “Did you not call your eyes are ' than I could repay with my life. You have forgotten that wretch—but he has not forgotten.” She listened to him with deep emotion. A tear started into the eye of the bell-ringer, but it did not fall. He appeared to-make a peint of repressing it. | « Look you,’’ he again began, when he no longer feared lest that tear'should escape him—‘ we have very high towers here; a man falling from one of them would dead almost before he reached the pavement. When you wish to be rid of me, tell me to throw myself from the top—you have but to say the word; nay,a look | will be sufficient.”’ - _ He then rose. Unhappy as was the Bohemian, this grotesque being awakened compassion eyen in her. | She made him a sign to stay... d | “No, no,” said he, “I must not stay too long. I do | not feel comfortable. I will seek some place where I - look at you without your seeing me; that will be tter.”’ He drew from his pocket a small metal whistle. “Take this,’’ said he; ‘‘when you wunt me, when you wish me to come, when you have the ,courage to see me, whistle with this. I shall hear that sound,” He laid the whistle on the floor, and retired. OHAPTER VI. .. EARTHENWARE AND CRYSTAL. True passed on. Tranquillity returned to the soul of La Esmeralda. Excessive like ex- cessive joy, is too violent to last. The human heart cannot continue long in either extremity. The Bo- hemian, had suffered so much, that, of the bey a pA had lately experienced, astonishment alone as eft. af) a ; ‘ee Along with security, hope began to révive within her, She was out of society, out of life, but ref a vague feeling that it might not be impossible for her to return tothem. She was like one dead, k eping in Te- serve a key to her tomb. 4 | The terrible images which had so oe ae her were leaving her by degrees. All the hideous phan- toms, Pierrat Torterne, Jacques Charmolue, had faded from her mind—all of them, even the priest himself. And then, Phoebus was yet living; she was sure of it: she hal seen him. To her the life of Phebus was everything. After the ret: A fatal shocks which had laid waste all her affections, she had found but one sen- , > n+ degrees timent in hersoul which they b ¥ ove her love i the captain. Love # like 6; it shoots of itself; it strikes its roots d into the whole being, and frequently continues to be green over @ heart inruins. And there is this unacountable cir- cumstance attending it, that the blinder that 8 sion the more tenacious itis. Never is it stronger | o doubt L e , think of thé | without pain. No doubt it wae tePeivie-ttlapeueton should have made such a mistake, that he, too, should have thought the thing possible, that he, too, should have believed the wont to be inflicted by one Who would have given a thousand lives for his saké. Still thére was no great reason’ to be angry with him; had she not co ed the crime; had she mot, frail creature as 8 ‘was, yielded to the torture? All the fault hers. She ought to have suffered them to tear her in pie rather than make such an admission. After all, could she see Phebus but once more, but fora single minute; a word, a look, would suffice to undeceive him and to bring back the truant. This she had not the least doubt of: Thére were at the same time, several singti- lar circumstances about which she puszled herse)f— the accident of Pheebus’s presence at the penance; the young female in whose company he was.” She was, fo doubt, his sister. An improbable explanation, but sho was satisfied, because she must needs believe Phiebus still loved her, and loved buther. Had he not sworn it? What more could she require, simple and lous as She was? And then,in this affair, were not appearances much more against her than agai him? She waited, therefore—shehoped. nara We may add, too, that the church, that vast church, which saved her, which enveloped her on: all-sides, which guarded her, was itself & sovereign anodyne. The solemn lines of that architecture, the religious at- titude of all the objects round her, the serene and pious thoughts which transpired, as it were, through all the pores of that pile, acted upon her unknown to Herself. Tho edifice, moreover, had sounds of such: majesty and such blessing, that they soothed her broken spirit. The monotonous. chant of © the ciating priests; fhe responses of the tion, sometimes inarticulate, sometimes thun thé harmonious shiver of the windows;, the orgam bursting forth like a hundred a three belfries buzzing like hives ofimmense bees; all thator- chestra with its gigantic gamut incessantly ascending and descending from @ crowd below “to @ bell-tower a7 above, lulled her memory, her i on, her sore rows. The bells more especially this et- fect. It was like a mighty magnetism which those vast engines poured over herin broad waves. Accordingly each successive sunrise found her more mora comfortable,'and Iess pale. In provortion as her in- ward wounds healed, her face recovered its grace and beauty but chastened with more sedateness, more re- pose. ‘Her former character returned also—even some- what of her cheerfulness, her pretty pout, : herself, lest any inmate of the should ro aunts fhe mney. Yi When ) ce re Egyptian would ery i. oe was the only bond, the nk, the cation that was left her with r ing. The unfortunate was com (E| OOO) her fondness conga cneear hoger wat gate