Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 144 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

— aN v soaked, the sea may pass over it without introducing into it one additional drop. Now, the sponge being filled by the death of La Es- moralda, Dom de could not experience keener suf- tering inthis world. But to know that she was living, and Phiebus, too, was to be exposed anew to the vicis- situdes, 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 confer- ences of the chapter nor the usual offices. He closed his door against all, not ota ae the bishop; and con- tinued to seclude himself in this manner for several wer It was reported that he was ill. So he really What was the — while thus shut up? Under what 6 wretched archdeacon strug: ling? Was he engage edin a last conflict with. his in- ny passion? Was he combining 4 final plun of death for her and perdition for himself? His Jehan, his beloved brother, his spoiled child, came to his door, knocked, swore, e mentioned his name ten times over—Claude would bot 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 cl isters, he could see the cell of La Esmeralda; he perceived the girl herself with her goat, sometimes with Quasimodo. He remarked the ttle attentions of the scurvy hunchback, his respectful manners and his submissive demeanor toward the Egyptian. He recollected—for he had a good memo- ry, and memory is the tormentor of the jealous—he reccmnenees the Pete | look of the bell-ringer at the dan cular evening. He asked himself wt moti we coun ave instigated “Qnasimode to rescue a pmne a thousand little scenes between the Bohem and the hunchback, the F sea mime of which, nee at a distance, and ‘com ented on by his ion, appeared to him exceedingly tender: Het vaguely felt awakening within him a jealousy such as he had no conception of, a jeal which mads him blush for shame’ and indignation. For the cap- tain—it was not surprising: but for such an object as that! The idea distracted him. His nights were terrible. Since he knew that the Evyptian was alive, the cold ideas of specter and tomb which haunted him for @ whole day were dispelled, and passion regained its dominion over him. 6 writhed upon his bed, when he reflected that the lovely! bru- nette was so near a neighbor to him. Every night his frenzied imagination pictured to him La Esmeralda in all those attitudes which had made the blood boil most vehemently in his’veins. He saw her stretched upon the wounded — her eyes closed, her beautiful bosom covered with his etme at the moment of transport, when the archdeacon had im- printed 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 Aree xpose her finely shaped leg, and her white sup pple knee, While they en- cased 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, ww Rae ow ag out of bed, he drew @ surplice over me tted his cell, with his lamp in his hand € laring like fire. md, wild, and bis oa the ke 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 semashitiate to the towers. CHAPTER VI. SEQUEL TO THE KEY OF THE PORTE ROUGE. On that night Ot Ip Esmeralda had fallen asleep in her lodge, for ee t; and full ofhope and pleas- ing thon ane ka h slept for some time, dreaming, asshe w eet. of Phebus, when she seemed to a pe) kind of Phote about her. Her sleep was always light | and unquiet—a bird's sleep; the least thing awoke her. She opened her eyes. e night was very dark. She nevertheless saw at the window a face looking at her; there was a lamp which threw alight upon this apparition. Atthe moment when the figure saw that it was perceived by La Esmeralda, it blew out the lamp. The girl, however, had had time to get a glimpse of it. her eyelids closed with affright. ‘‘Ob!” she cried, ina faint voice—“ the delest tad All her past miseries flashed upon her again like lightning. She fell back on her bed frozen with hor- ror. Amoment afterward, she felt something touch her, which made her shudder. She raised herself furiously into a sitting posture. The priest cl ed her in both his arms. She would have shrieked, 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. “Tf thou didst but know what my love for thee is! It is fire ; my heart!” And he held her two arms with super- luman force. “Loose me!” cried she, distractedly, ‘‘ or I will spit in thy face!” He loosed his hold. “Strike me; heap indignities won me; do what thou wilt! but, for mercy’s sake, ove me!” it is molten lead; it is a thousand daggers in | NOTRE-DAME. THE HUNCHBACK OF 41 She then struck him with childish rage. demon !”’ said she, while her taper fingers bentin order | to scratch his face. .**Love me: for pity love me!" eried the wretched | priest, grabbing her, agd returning her blows with ses She soon found that he was too strong for. her. **’Tis time to put an end tothis!”’’ said he, gnashing his teeth. Palpitating, exhausted, vanquished, she made a last | effort, and. ‘began to cry, “ Help | help—a vampire !—a vainpire :. be one came. with affright. * Be silent,” said the panting priest. All at once, having fallen on the floor in the struggle, 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 foree she had left. The whistle gave out a clear, shrill, piercing sound. ‘What is that?’’ inquired 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 gnash- ing with rage, and there was just sufficient light scat- tered amid the darkness to enable him to see the broad blade ofa cutlass glistening above his head. ‘he priest imagined that he perceived the figure of Quasimodo. He supposed thatit could be no other. He recollected 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, ‘Quasimodo !’’—forgetful, in this moment of distress, that Quasimodo was deaf. In the twinkling of an eye, the priest was stretched on the floor, and felta leaden knee pressing upon his upon his breast. From the angular pressure of that knee he recognized Quasimodo; but what could he do? how was he to make himself known to the assailant ? night rendered the deaf monster blind. e gaye himself upfor lost. The girl, with as little ity as an enraged tigress, interposed not to save him. 6 cutlass was descending upon his head, The mo- ment was critica?. All at once his adversary epee to hesitate. ‘‘ No,”’ said a muttering voice, ‘ blood upon her!” It was actually the voice of Quasimodo. The priest then felt a huge hand dragging him by the leg out of thecell; it was ol 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 ets was erat See with a trembling, relaxed his grasp, and start . The Egyptian, who had advanced to the threshold of the cell, saw with surprise the actors suddenly ex- changing characters. It was now the priest’s turn to threaten, Quasimodo’s to supplicate. The priest, having furiously assailed the hunchback with gestures of anger and reproach, at length motioned to retire. Quasimodo stood for a’ moment with bowed ae then, falling on his knees eétors thé door of the Egyptian, “ Monseigneur," said he, in a tone of gravity’ - cere % kill m6 first, and do what you please Djal! alone was awakened, and bleated aneie As he thus spoke, he offered his cutlass to the priest. Beside himself with raye, the priest clutched at the weapon: but La Emeralda was too quick for him. Snatching the cutlass from the hand of. Quasimodo, and bursting ~ A an hysteric laugh, ‘*Come on!’ said she to the 4 pn She held the blade uplifted. The priest wavered. She would certainly have struck. - “Thou darest not approach now, coward,’ she cried Then, with un- pitying look, and well aware that she should pierce the heart of the priest as with a thousand red-hot irons pr yas “Ah! I know that Phebus is not The priest, with a violent kick, overthrew Quasi- ‘modo, and = ushed quivering with rage to the vaulted staircase, hen he was gone, Quasimodo picked up the whistle which had been the meansof saving the an. “It was getting rusty,” said he, handing it toher. He then left her to herself. The damsel, vehemently agitated by this violent scene, sank exhausted upon her bed, and sobbed aloud, Her horizon had again become overcast. The priest, on bis part, groped his way back to his cell. The thing was conclusive. Dom Claude was jealous of Quasimodo | with pensive look he repeated the tatal purase, ‘ Nobody shall have her !’’ . Se . BOOK IX. CHAPTER I. GRINGOIRE HAS SEVERAL CAPITAL IDEAS ONE AFTER ANOTHER IN THE RUE DES BERNARDINS. As soon as Gringoire perceived the turn. which this whole affair was taking, and that decidedly halter, gibbet, and other unpleasant things about — ne the lot of the principal characters of this com mote felt no sortof inclination to interfere in it. bonds, with whom he had remained,- en that after all they were the best company in Paris, had continued to interest themselves for the Egyptian. hé thought aha natural .in people, who, like her, had noother prospeet that Charmolue and Torterue, and who never soared like ge into the re- gions of imagination between the two wings of Pega- sus. 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 littie goat. and that was all. In the day time he performed mountebank tricks for a liveli- hood, and at night he lucubrated a memorial against the Bishop of Puris, for he. remembered the drenching “ Begone ! | he had got from his mills, and bore him a grudge for it. He was alsoe dina commentary upon the ad- mired work of Baudry-le-Rouge, Bishop of ospe and Tournay, De Petrarum, which had awakened in him a violent passion for architecture—a on which had superseded in his heart the passion for her metics ; the one indeed was but a natural corollary to the other, since there is an intimate connection between hermetics and masonry. Gringoire had from the love of an idea to the love of the form of an idea. One day,.he had stopped near St. Germain |’Anxer- rols, at the corner of a building called the For-l’Eveque which faced another named the For-le-Bel. At this For-l'Fveque there was a beautiful ch of the four- teentb century, the choir of which looked toward the street. Gringoire was intently examining the sculp- tures on the outside. It was one of those moments of absorbing, exclusive, supreme enjoyment, when the artist sees nothinz in the world but his art, and sees the worldin bis art. All at once he felt a hand fall heavily upon his shoulder. He turned about. It was his old friend, his master, the archdeacon. He was stupefied. It wasa long time since he had seen the archdeacon, and Dom (iaude was one of those solemn and impassioned personages, the mect- ing with whom always derapyes the equilibrium of the skeptical philoern er. The archdeacon k silence for a few moments, during which Gringo had Jeisure toobserve him. He found Don Claude greatly altered—pale as a win- ter morning, his eyes su his hair almost white. The priest at last broke is silence, a8 , but in a grave, freezing tone, ‘‘ How goes it with you, Master Pierre ?” “As to my health,” said G oire. “ Why, I may say, 80-80. Uponthe whole, go I take everything in moderation, You know, master, the secret of health recommended by Hippocrates—cili potus, somni, omnia moderata sint.’ “Then you have no troubles, Master Pierre?’ re- oined the archdeacon, looking steadfastly at Grin- goire. ‘No, i’ faith, not I.” ‘‘And what are you doing now ?” “You see, master, I am examinin stones, and the way in which chisell 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 ?” “Tis paradise |" exclaimed Gringoire. And “‘turn- ing to the sculptures, with the dazzled look of a dem- onstrator of living phenomena, “Don’t you think,” said he, “that this metamorphosis in ef, fur example, is executed with great skill, ‘patience, ‘and delicacy? Look at this little pillar. About what capi- tal did you ever see foliage more elegant and miro highly Bnished ? Look at those three medallions br Jean Maillevin, They are not first-rate works of ha: great genius; nevertheless, the truth to nature, an | the sweetness of the faces, the gayety of the attitu..s and draperies, and that inexplicable charm wich is blended with all the defects, render the miniature the cut of these at basso-relievo is figures exceedingly lively and exceedingly delicate— perhaps too much so. Do you think’ that wy is amusing ?” “Yes, I do,”’ said the priest. 7 ‘‘And if you Were to see the interior of the chapel !’’ resumed the poet with his garrulous enthu . “sculptures all over; tufted like a cauliflower. The choir is in a right good rye and 80 peciiliar® that I never saw anything like i ane aude interrupted him, “ You’ are _ happy en sf “Yes, upon my honor,” replied Gringotre with warmth. “At first I was fond of women, then of They are quite as amusing as women and 8, and much less treacherous.” » beasts, now of stones. The priest raised his hand te his brew. It was his: habitual gesture. ‘‘ Indeed !” “Stay,”’ said Gringoire, “you shall see that a man need not want pleasure.” He took the arm of the priest, who made no > ee ma and drew him into the staircase turret, of the For-l'Eveque. “There is a staircase for you whenever I look at it I-am ‘happy. It is the simplest of its kind, and yet, the most ex- quisite in Paris. Every step is rounded off under- neath. Its beauty and simplicity consist in the over- lapping parts, which for a foot or thereabout are let in, mortised, imbedded, enchained, inchased, dove- tailed one into another, and bite in such @ way as to be not less solid than goodly.”’ ae you wish tor nothing ?”’ “No sd “ And regret nothing ?”’ : ‘ Neither wishes nor regrets. fe. a “Man atranges,’’ said Olaude; =. I have arranged my “circumstances de- am a Pyrrhonian philosopher,”’ replied Grin- goire, “and I keep everything in equilibrium.” ‘*And how do you earn a livelihood ?”’ ‘I still make epics and tragedies now and then: but what brings in most money is the trade you have seer me follow—carrying pyramids of chairs and so forth between my teeth.” ‘A scurvy trade for a philosopher.” ‘Tt has to do with the equilibrium,” gaid Grin- | goire. “When you take an idea into your head, you find itin every thing.’ he “Tknow it,” replied the archdeacon. After a pause the priest resumed: “You are never- theless as poor as ever?’ “Poor enough, I grant you, but not unha ppy.” At this moment the dialogue was interru ted by th» trampling of horses, and a company of archers of th. king's ordnance, with raised lances,;and an Officer their head, passed the end of the street. The caval 0)(0)(0)