Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 144 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

_—s z= Sr = = - oo = = — —$———— — . i == = : > =zz a — sr 7 ¥ . Oe OF OR ES On = * ’ —— =. = = - ee oe ~ See ee > ss —— ——- — ————= ss Ce A “st e- — ee => — & -~.~¢o << ee Se ee es tt _ a a ~~ ee - . ~~ = - il — o* - % —~, Mae en tn ye Bs 7] THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME. —_e---- — a —— ——- —_——— - — -— - —— —— TT ‘What, listen. I hada child, seeat thou? a little child, | arms and drew her into the cell. “ Come!" murmured | breath! The Place is full of soldiers. Thou canst ao’. she ; “let me drag thee from the abyss!” an infant, I tell thee—a pretty little girl. My es,”" 18 3 She sat down gently upon the floor, then caught her she resumed, kissing something in the dark. “ Well, tuey stole my child; they took my child away; they ute my child. That ig the harm thou hast done me.”’ Tie damsel ied, like the lamb in the table: “* Most probably I was not even born then.” : “Oh, yes!’ rejoined the recluse, “thou. must have once and with vehemence, “been . Thou wert one of them. She would be, ‘“ My child! my dear child!’’ cried she. about thy ago. Just! ‘Tis fifteen years that I have | gotmy child! here she is! The gracious God has | been here; fifteen years have I suffered; fifteen restored her tome. Come, all of you, and see that I | years havel prayed; fifteen years have I dashed my | have got my daughter again! Lord Jesus, how beauti- | load against these four walls. I tell thee it was; fulsheis. The almighty niade me wait fifteen years Egyptians who stoie my babe, and ate her after-! but it was to zive her back to me ih beauty. After all . Hast thou s heart? then fancy to thyself what then the Eyyptians did not eat thee! Who could at is to have a child that sucks, that sleeps, that | have said so? My child, my dear little child, Kiss | piare! 'Tis so innocent! Well, it wassuch aninfant | me! Ob, those good Faypsions } How I love the) ‘that they stole from mo and killed, God wot. Now it | Egyptians! And itis thou thyself? And this was the ‘Is my turn; I will feast on the Egyptian. Oh, howI/| reason why my heart always leaped within mie when- ever'thou wert passing. For that I was to take this ifI could get my head between the nk—while the poor little thing was | for hatred! Forgive me, my es, forgive me! Thou must have thought me very spiteful, didst thou not? Ah! howl] love thee! And the pretty mark on ne neck ! hast thou it still? Let ussee. Yea, thereit is! Ob ! how handsome thou art grown. It was trom thy mother thou hadst those e bright eyes! Kiss me darling! Ido love thee! at care I whether other mo have children? Ican laugh at them now. Let them come. Hereis mine. Here is—her her infant Agnes, she paced her narrow cell, intoxica Only ec" And if they had even wakened her when they took her up, her crying would have been to no pur- ‘pose; I wag not there. Ah, ye Egyptian mothera! ye até my child! Come and se6 how I will serve yeurs.”’ She then to laugh or to gnash her teeth—for ‘both had nearly the same expression on that furious face. The day began to ; A. gray lHyht faintly illumined this scene, and the gib the middie of the Place become more and more distinct. On the | neck, hereyes, her hair, her hand. Stow me anything -other toward the bridge, of Notre-Dame, the poor more charming than this! Yes, yes, she will have condemned one imagined that she heard the tramp of | plenty of lovers, I will answer forit. Ihave sorrowed ho approaching, ' | for fifteen years, All my beauty has left me and gone os tress!" cried she, clasping her hands and sink- | to her. Kiss me, love !' ing on her knees, disheveled, ovorwhelmed, distracted Tn this strain she ran on, uttering a thousand ex- with terror, “take pity on me. ‘They are cominy. I | travagant thinys, the accent of which constituted all | never harmed _ ould you have me die that hor- | their ity—deranging the poor girl's drvss so as to | rid death you face? You are compassionat:, [| make her blush, stroking her silken hair with her | am sure. “Tis too frightful 1 Loose me—ict me try to | hand, kissing her foot, her knee, her eyes, and extolling | ape, Have merey’ I should not like to die thus!” | every feature. The damsel suffered her to do as she “‘Givé me back my child,” said the recluse. pleased, repeating at intervale, in alow and infinitely “Mercy! Mercy ’’ sweet tone: ‘My dear mother!” “Give me my child.” “Ah, my darling,” the recluse again began, inter- rupting herselt at every word with kisses, “ how [ shall love thee! We will leave this place. How happy we | The poor girl sank down, overcome, exhausted, with | shall be! I have some property at Reims, in our own | ‘the glazed eye of one who is already in the grave. | country, “Dost thou remember Reims? Ab no! how “Alas!” stammered she.“ you seek your child, and 1 | shouldst thou! thou wert then quite an infant. If week my parents !" thou didst but know how pretty thou wert at four ~@ive me my little Agnes,’’* continued Gadule. | months old! Tiny feet which people came of curiosity “Thou knowest not where she is? then die! I tell | to see all the way from Epernay, which is fifteen miles thee, I had a chill, a sweet little child; they took it | off! We shall have # house,a field. Thou shalt sleep /away accursed Egyptians! ‘Tis plain, then, in my bed. My God! my God! who would have be- thou must die. When thy Exyptian mother comes to | lievedit! Ihave got my daughter again!” ‘ask for thes, 1] will say to her, ‘Mother, look at that *“O mother!"’ said the girl, at length recovering gibbet!” Or, give me back my child—knowest thou | power to speak amidst her emotion, “ the tian where slie is, where my little daughter is? Stay, I; woman told me this. There was a good woman of our will show thee. There is her shoe, and all that is | tribe who died last year, and who always took care of ‘yt mo of her. ‘Knowest thou where is its fellow? If| mo like anurse, It was she who fastened this little 11 me, and if it is atthe end ot the world, | bag about my neck, She always said, ‘ My dear, never thon dost, 4 Will fetch it, if I crawl thither on hands and knees.”’| part with this trinket, It isa treasure. It will enable Thou carsiest thy As she thus spoke, putting her other hand out at the | theé to find thy mother again. oe Sage showed the little embroidered shoe tothe | mother about thy neck.’ Thé Egyptian foretold it, Exy an. It was already light enough for her to dis- | you see." 7 ‘tinguish its form and colors. ; The recluse again clasped her daughter in her afms. aad m6 look at that shoe,” said the girl, shudder- | ‘‘Come, let me kiss thee! how sweetly thou saidst . “Gracious God!’ At the same time, h the | that! When we go into the country we will give those hand that was at liberty, she tore opén the little bay | little shoesto an infant Jesus inthe church, We cer- “ Let me go, for Heaven's sake !"’ “Give me my ehild.”’ Lee away. up again, and, carrying her inher arma, as if she had | and down her cell, stopping now and t ee tearing , frantic with joy, shouting, singing, kissing | : the girl, talking to her, laughing, weeping, all at. “T have | oa which from time to time ore a adorned with green beads which she wore about her /| tainlyowe so much as that to the kind Holy Virgin. “Go tot goto!” muttered Gudule; “fumble away in oy om ernal amulet!’ Then stopping short and ng in every joint, she cried, with a voice issu- ag Doss er very bowels, “My child! My child!” Cs) tian hi = out of the bag a little sh that w 6 precise fellow to the other. To this littl shoe was attached a piece of parchment, upon which was written this legend: - " « Wien the fellow thou shalt find, f Thy mother is not far behind.’’ In the twinkling of an eye the recluse had compared ‘the two shoes, the inscription upon the parchment, and, thrusting her face, beaming with celestial joy, : the bars of the window, shouted; “My daugh- ter! my daughter !’’ “My mother! my mother!’ responded the Egyp- ‘tian. ° Here we stop short in our delineation. The wall and the iron bars were between them. “Oh! this wall!” cried the recluse. “To see her, yet not to be able to clasp her to my heart ! Thy hand! give me nu hand!” The gir put her hand through the window; the “recluse seized it, fastened her lips to it, and stood ab- sorbed in that kiss, giving no other signs of life but a tig i 7 we while tears gus m her eyes, in silence, and in the dusk, like a shower at night. The pen mother poured forth upon that adered hand the k, deep te vty mer) of tears which was within her, and from which her sorrows had been oozing drop by drop for fifteen years. All at once she raised her head, threw back the lon cray hair from her , and, without saying a word, began to pull and thrust atthe bars of her window more furiously than a lioness. The bars defied her | A distant voice was heard calling out, utmost strength. She then went to a corner of her cell, fetched a large paving-stone which served her for a pillow, and dashed it againstthem with such violence as to shiver them oo sevéral pieces. A second blow drove ontthe old iron cross which barricaded the window. With both hands she then pulled out the | Thou art right. rusty fragments of the bars. There are moments when the hands of a woman possess superhuman force. The'passage being cleared—and this was accomplished iin less than a minute—she clasped her daughter in her But, what a charming voice thou hast! When thon wert speaki I have found my child again! lieve the story! Surely nothing can kill one, since I to me just now, it was like music. Ah! And yet who would be- have not died of joy.” She then began to clap her hands, laughing, and ex- claiming, ‘How happy we shall be |’ At that moment the cell rang with the clank of arms and the —— ot sees which seemed to be advancing from the bridge of Notre-Dame along the quay. The Egyptian threw herself in unutterable anyuish into the arms of the recluse. “Save me!’ she shrieked ; “save me, mother! they are coming |" The recluse turned pale. “O heavens! what say'’st thon! I had forgotten! they are searching for thee! What hast thou done, then ? ‘*I know not,” answered the unfortunate girl. “ But Iam condemned to die.” “Diel’ cried Gudule, reeling as if stricken by a thunderbolt. ‘“‘ Die!’ she slowly repeated, fixing her glazed eyes upon her daughter. “Yes, mother,” replied the affrighted girl, “ they mean to put me to death. They are coming to take me. That gibbetis forme. Save me! save me! They are coming! Save me!’’ For some moments the recluse remained motionless ag a statue; she then shook ber head eg OE and suddenly burstinto a loud laugh, her old terrific “¥ “No, no, thou must be dreaming. It cannot be. To lose her for fifteen years, and then to find her for a single minute! And they would take her from me again, now that she is grown up and handsome, and talks to me and loves me! They would now come to_ devour her before my face—mine, who am her mother! Oh, no! such things are not possible. God Almighty would not permit such doings.” By this time the cavaleade had apparently halted. | “This way, Messire Tristan! The priest says that we shall find her at the Trou-aux-Rats.” The tramp of the horses | sae again. e recluse started up with a shriek of despair. “Away! begone, my child! I now recollect it all. | "Tis for thy death. Ourses on them | | Away!" | She pnt her head out the window aud quickly drew) it back again. “Stay !" said she, in a low, doleful | long is it, say you, since this affairof the voice, convulsively ing | tian, who was more dea the hand of the Egyp- thanalive. “Stay! hold thy It is too Her eyes were remained silent; b ht.” and inflamed, For a moment she with hurried s 8 ad up out handfuls of her gray hair, which she hed upon the floor. “They are wo, she exclaimed all at once. “I willtalktothem. Hide thyselfin this corner. They will not see thee. I will tell them Ilet thee go; that thou hast run away—that I will ?”’ Catching upthe girl in herarms, she carried her to a corner of the cell which could not be seen from with- out. Hereshe ‘made her crouch down, ta care that neither foot nor hand should protrude beyond the dark shadow, loosed her black hair, which she spread over her white] robe’ to conceal it and placed -before her the water-jug and pa -stone, the only movables that she possessed, fondly im: ng that they would help to hide her, This done, she was more calm, knelt down, and pe had not yet 80 far broken but that dim obscurity still porvaded the Trou-aux-Rats, : At that moment, the voice of the priest, that infernal voice, passed very close to the cell, crying, “This way, Captain Phebus de Chateaupers ! At that name, at that voles, La Esmeralda made a ~—— movement. “Stir not!” said Gudule. had scarcely uttered the words when a tu t of horses and men was heard outside the cell. mother hastily rose had posted herself before the window to intercept the view of the interior. She be- held a numerous body of armed men, foot and horse, dtawn up in the Greve. Their commander alighted, and advanced toward her. He was a man of truou- lent aspect. ‘Old woman,” said he, “we are secking . sorceress to hang her; we were told that thou hadat er.”’ ' , The poor mother, assuming s look of as much in- difference as she could, answered, “I know not what you mean.”’ “ Tele-Dieu !"’ cried the other, “ what kind ot story did that archdeacon tellus. Whereis he?” - ' * Monsvigueur,” said one ef the soldiers, “he has slipped away.” **Come, come, old crone,’’ resumed the command. ant, “‘letus have thetruth. Asorceress was given tc thee to hold. What hast thou done with her?’ The recluse, apprehensive lest by denying every she might awaken suspicion, replied in atone of at- tected sincerity and surliness, “if you mean a yo girl that I was desired to hold just now, all I can t you is that she bit me, and I let her go. Leave me alone, I pray you.”’ ‘ The countenance of the commandant: betrayed a feeling of di intment. “Tell me vo lies, old scarcecrow,” rejoined he. “I am Tristan, the Hermit, the ~s e of the king. Tris- tan, the Hermit, dost thou hear? ‘Tis & name, he ad ded, looking around at the Place de Greve, ‘which has an echo here.” © ‘If you were Satan, the Hermit,’’ Gudule, else to tell gaining some hope, “ I should have you, neither should I be afraid of you.’’ “ Tete-Dieu!"' cried Tristan, there’s a hag for you! So the young sorceress escaped! And which way is she gone ?”’ ‘‘Down the Rue du Mouton, I believe,” answered Gudule, in a careless tone. ’ . Tristan turned his head, and motioned to his troop to prepare to start. The recluse began to breathe again. “ Monseigneur,” said one of the archers, all at once, ‘‘ask the old witch why the bars of her window are broken in this fashion.”’ That quegtion once more overwhelmed the heart of the wretched mother with anguish, She nevertheless retained some presence of mind. “They were always 80,”’ stammered she. “Pooh !”' replied the archer, “they formed but yes- terday a fair, black cross, fit to remind a man of his ra rera,”” ‘ Tristan cast a sidelong glance at the recluse. “ By my fay," said he,“ the hag does begin look con- fused {"* ' The wrétched woman felt that all depended on kee ing up @ bold face, and, while her soul racked wi mortal anguish, she fell to lau . Mothers have this kind of force. “ Pshaw !"’ said she, “ that fellow is drunk. It is more than a year since the tail of a cart laden with stones was backed against my window, and broke the grating. How I did abuse the driver 1’’ “Tis true enough,” said another archer. I waa present.” Wherever you may be you are sure to mest with people who have seen everything. This unexpected testimony somewhat revived the recluse, who felt, during this interroyatory, like one forced to cross an abyss on the edge of a knife ; but she was doomed to a continual alternation of hope and alarm, “If it was a cart that did this,”’ replied the first sol- dier,”’ the stumps of the bars would be driven inward, whereas these are bent ontward,’’ ‘* Aha!" said Tristan to the archer, “ thou hast a nose like au inquisitor to the Chatelet. What hast thou to say to that, woman ?’’ “ Good God !"" she exclaimed, driven to extremity, and ina voice in spite of herself akin to that of weeping. ‘‘T assure you, Monseigneur, that it was acart which broke those bars. That man saw it, you hear. Besides, what has this to do with your Egyptian ?’’ “Hum !"’ grumbled Tristan. “ The devil !’ resumed the first soldier, flattered by the commendation of the provost; ‘the fractures of the iron are quite fresh.” Tristan shook his head. She turned ae rt ? “A month—a fortnight, perhapse—Monseigneur. I[ cannot recollect exactly.’ ‘*How Gboo €om - " - : / :