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CHAPTER VII.

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" Here is the wherewithal to pay. "

Phoebus felt the stranger's cold hand slip into his a large piece of money. He could not refrain from taking the money and pressing the hand.

" ~Vrai Dieu~! " he exclaimed, " you are a good fellow! "

" One condition, " said the man. " Prove to me that I have been wrong and that you were speaking the truth.

Hide me in some corner whence I can see whether this woman is really the one whose name you uttered. "

" Oh! " replied Phoebus, " 'tis all one to me. We will take, the Sainte-Marthe chamber; you can look at your ease from the kennel hard by. "

" Come then, " said the shadow.

" At your service, " said the captain, " I know not whether you are Messer Diavolus in person; but let us be good friends for this evening; to-morrow I will repay you all my debts, both of purse and sword. "

They set out again at a rapid pace. At the expiration of a few minutes, the sound of the river announced to them that they were on the Pont Saint-Michel, then loaded with houses.

" I will first show you the way, " said Phoebus to his companion, " I will then go in search of the fair one who is awaiting me near the Petit-Châ telet. "

His companion made no reply; he had not uttered a word since they had been walking side by side. Phoebus halted before a low door, and knocked roughly; a light made its appearance through the cracks of the door.

" Who is there? " cried a toothless voice.

" ~Corps-Dieu! Tê te-Dieu! Ventre-Dieu~! " replied the captain.

The door opened instantly, and allowed the new-corners to see an old woman and an old lamp, both of which trembled. The old woman was bent double, clad in tatters, with a shaking head, pierced with two small eyes, and coiffed with a dish clout; wrinkled everywhere, on hands and face and neck; her lips retreated under her gums, and about her mouth she had tufts of white hairs which gave her the whiskered look of a cat.

The interior of the den was no less dilapitated than she; there were chalk walls, blackened beams in the ceiling, a dismantled chimney-piece, spiders' webs in all the corners, in the middle a staggering herd of tables and lame stools, a dirty child among the ashes, and at the back a staircase, or rather, a wooden ladder, which ended in a trap door in the ceiling.

On entering this lair, Phoebus's mysterious companion raised his mantle to his very eyes. Meanwhile, the captain, swearing like a Saracen, hastened to " make the sun shine in a crown" as saith our admirable Ré gnier.

" The Sainte-Marthe chamber, " said he.

The old woman addressed him as monseigneur, and shut up the crown in a drawer. It was the coin which the man in the black mantle had given to Phoebus. While her back was turned, the bushy-headed and ragged little boy who was playing in the ashes, adroitly approached the drawer, abstracted the crown, and put in its place a dry leaf which he had plucked from a fagot.

The old crone made a sign to the two gentlemen, as she called them, to follow her, and mounted the ladder in CHAPTER VII.

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advance of them. On arriving at the upper story, she set her lamp on a coffer, and, Phoebus, like a frequent visitor of the house, opened a door which opened on a dark hole. " Enter here, my dear fellow, " he said to his companion. The man in the mantle obeyed without a word in reply, the door closed upon him; he heard Phoebus bolt it, and a moment later descend the stairs again with the aged hag. The light had disappeared.

CHAPTER VIII.

191

CHAPTER VIII.

THE UTILITY OF WINDOWS WHICH OPEN ON THE RIVER.

Claude Frollo (for we presume that the reader, more intelligent than Phoebus, has seen in this whole adventure no other surly monk than the archdeacon), Claude Frollo groped about for several moments in the dark lair into which the captain had bolted him. It was one of those nooks which architects sometimes reserve at the point of junction between the roof and the supporting wall. A vertical section of this kennel, as Phoebus had so justly styled it, would have made a triangle. Moreover, there was neither window nor air-hole, and the slope of the roof prevented one from standing upright. Accordingly, Claude crouched down in the dust, and the plaster which cracked beneath him; his head was on fire; rummaging around him with his hands, be found on the floor a bit of broken glass, which he pressed to his brow, and whose cool- ness afforded him some relief.

What was taking place at that moment in the gloomy soul of the archdeacon? God and himself could alone know.

In what order was he arranging in his mind la Esmeralda, Phoebus, Jacques Charmolue, his young brother so beloved, yet abandoned by him in the mire, his archdeacon's cassock, his reputation perhaps dragged to la Falourdel's, all these adventures, all these images? I cannot say. But it is certain that these ideas formed in his mind a horrible group.

He had been waiting a quarter of an hour; it seemed to him that he had grown a century older. All at once be heard the creaking of the boards of the stairway; some one was ascending. The trapdoor opened once more; a light reappeared. There was a tolerably large crack in the worm-eaten door of his den; he put his face to it. In this manner he could see all that went on in the adjoining room. The cat-faced old crone was the first to emerge from the trap-door, lamp in hand; then Phoebus, twirling his moustache, then a third person, that beautiful and graceful figure, la Esmeralda. The priest beheld her rise from below like a dazzling apparition.

Claude trembled, a cloud spread over his eyes, his pulses beat violently, everything rustled and whirled around him; he no longer saw nor heard anything.

When he recovered himself, Phoebus and Esmeralda were alone seated on the wooden coffer beside the lamp which made these two youthful figures and a miserable pallet at the end of the attic stand out plainly before the archdeacon's eyes.

Beside the pallet was a window, whose panes broken like a spider's web upon which rain has fallen, allowed a view, through its rent meshes, of a corner of the sky, and the moon lying far away on an eiderdown bed of soft clouds.

The young girl was blushing, confused, palpitating. Her long, drooping lashes shaded her crimson cheeks. The officer, to whom she dared not lift her eyes, was radiant. Mechanically, and with a charmingly unconscious gesture, she traced with the tip of her finger incoherent lines on the bench, and watched her finger. Her foot was not visible. The little goat was nestling upon it.

The captain was very gallantly clad; he had tufts of embroidery at his neck and wrists; a great elegance at that day.

It was not without difficulty that Dom Claude managed to hear what they were saying, through the humming of the blood, which was boiling in his temples.

(A conversation between lovers is a very commonplace affair. It is a perpetual " I love you. " A musical phrase which is very insipid and very bald for indifferent listeners, when it is not ornamented with some ~fioriture~; CHAPTER VIII.

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but Claude was not an indifferent listener. )

" Oh! " said the young girl, without raising her eyes, " do not despise me, monseigneur Phoebus. I feel that what I am doing is not right. "

" Despise you, my pretty child! " replied the officer with an air of superior and distinguished gallantry, " despise you, ~tê te-Dieu~! and why? "

" For having followed you! "

" On that point, my beauty, we don't agree. I ought not to despise you, but to hate you. "

The young girl looked at him in affright: " Hate me! what have I done? "

" For having required so much urging. "

" Alas! " said she, " 'tis because I am breaking a vow. I shall not find my parents! The amulet will lose its virtue.

But what matters it? What need have I of father or mother now? "

So saying, she fixed upon the captain her great black eyes, moist with joy and tenderness.

" Devil take me if I understand you! " exclaimed Phoebus. La Esmeralda remained silent for a moment, then a tear dropped from her eyes, a sigh from her lips, and she said, -- " Oh! monseigneur, I love you. "

Such a perfume of chastity, such a charm of virtue surrounded the young girl, that Phoebus did not feel completely at his ease beside her. But this remark emboldened him: " You love me! " he said with rapture, and he threw his arm round the gypsy's waist. He had only been waiting for this opportunity.

The priest saw it, and tested with the tip of his finger the point of a poniard which he wore concealed in his breast.

" Phoebus, " continued the Bohemian, gently releasing her waist from the captain's tenacious hands, " You are good, you are generous, you are handsome; you saved me, me who am only a poor child lost in Bohemia. I had long been dreaming of an officer who should save my life. 'Twas of you that I was dreaming, before I knew you, my Phoebus; the officer of my dream had a beautiful uniform like yours, a grand look, a sword; your name is Phoebus; 'tis a beautiful name. I love your name; I love your sword. Draw your sword, Phoebus, that I may see it. "

" Child! " said the captain, and he unsheathed his sword with a smile.

The gypsy looked at the hilt, the blade; examined the cipher on the guard with adorable curiosity, and kissed the sword, saying, --

You are the sword of a brave man. I love my captain. " Phoebus again profited by the opportunity to impress upon her beautiful bent neck a kiss which made the young girl straighten herself up as scarlet as a poppy. The priest gnashed his teeth over it in the dark.

" Phoebus, " resumed the gypsy, " let me talk to you. Pray walk a little, that I may see you at full height, and that I may hear your spurs jingle. How handsome you are! "

The captain rose to please her, chiding her with a smile of satisfaction, --

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" What a child you are! By the way, my charmer, have you seen me in my archer's ceremonial doublet? "

" Alas! no, " she replied.

" It is very handsome! "

Phoebus returned and seated himself beside her, but much closer than before.

" Listen, my dear--"

The gypsy gave him several little taps with her pretty hand on his mouth, with a childish mirth and grace and gayety.

" No, no, I will not listen to you. Do you love me? I want you to tell me whether you love me. "

" Do I love thee, angel of my life! " exclaimed the captain, half kneeling. " My body, my blood, my soul, all are thine; all are for thee. I love thee, and I have never loved any one but thee. "

The captain had repeated this phrase so many times, in many similar conjunctures, that he delivered it all in one breath, without committing a single mistake. At this passionate declaration, the gypsy raised to the dirty ceiling which served for the skies a glance full of angelic happiness.

" Oh! " she murmured, " this is the moment when one should die! "

Phoebus found " the moment" favorable for robbing her of another kiss, which went to torture the unhappy archdeacon in his nook. " Die! " exclaimed the amorous captain, " What are you saying, my lovely angel? 'Tis a time for living, or Jupiter is only a scamp! Die at the beginning of so sweet a thing! ~Corne-de-boeuf~, what a jest! It is not that. Listen, my dear Similar, Esmenarda--Pardon! you have so prodigiously Saracen a name that I never can get it straight. 'Tis a thicket which stops me short. "

" Good heavens! " said the poor girl, " and I thought my name pretty because of its singularity! But since it displeases you, I would that I were called Goton. "

" Ah! do not weep for such a trifle, my graceful maid! 'tis a name to which one must get accustomed, that is all. When I once know it by heart, all will go smoothly. Listen then, my dear Similar; I adore you passionately. I love you so that 'tis simply miraculous. I know a girl who is bursting with rage over it--"

The jealous girl interrupted him: " Who? "

" What matters that to us? " said Phoebus; " do you love me? "

" Oh! " --said she.

" Well! that is all. You shall see how I love you also. May the great devil Neptunus spear me if I do not make you the happiest woman in the world. We will have a pretty little house somewhere. I will make my archers parade before your windows. They are all mounted, and set at defiance those of Captain Mignon. There are

~voulgiers, cranequiniers~ and hand ~couleveiniers~*. I will take you to the great sights of the Parisians at the storehouse of Rully. Eighty thousand armed men, thirty thousand white harnesses, short coats or coats of mail; the sixty-seven banners of the trades; the standards of the parliaments, of the chamber of accounts, of the treasury of the generals, of the aides of the mint; a devilish fine array, in short! I will conduct you to see the lions of the Hô tel du Roi, which are wild beasts. All women love that. "

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* Varieties of the crossbow.

For several moments the young girl, absorbed in her charming thoughts, was dreaming to the sound of his voice, without listening to the sense of his words.

" Oh! how happy you will be! " continued the captain, and at the same time he gently unbuckled the gypsy's girdle.

" What are you doing? " she said quickly. This " act of violence" had roused her from her revery.

" Nothing, " replied Phoebus, " I was only saying that you must abandon all this garb of folly, and the street corner when you are with me. "

" When I am with you, Phoebus! " said the young girl tenderly.

She became pensive and silent once more.

The captain, emboldened by her gentleness, clasped her waist without resistance; then began softly to unlace the poor child's corsage, and disarranged her tucker to such an extent that the panting priest beheld the gypsy's beautiful shoulder emerge from the gauze, as round and brown as the moon rising through the mists of the horizon.

The young girl allowed Phoebus to have his way. She did not appear to perceive it. The eye of the bold captain flashed.

Suddenly she turned towards him, --

" Phoebus, " she said, with an expression of infinite love, " instruct me in thy religion. "

" My religion! " exclaimed the captain, bursting with laughter, " I instruct you in my religion! ~Corne et tonnerre~! What do you want with my religion? "

" In order that we may be married, " she replied.

The captain's face assumed an expression of mingled surprise and disdain, of carelessness and libertine passion.

" Ah, bah! " said he, " do people marry? "

The Bohemian turned pale, and her head drooped sadly on her breast.

" My beautiful love, " resumed Phoebus, tenderly, " what nonsense is this? A great thing is marriage, truly! one is none the less loving for not having spit Latin into a priest's shop! "

While speaking thus in his softest voice, he approached extremely near the gypsy; his caressing hands resumed their place around her supple and delicate waist, his eye flashed more and more, and everything announced that Monsieur Phoebus was on the verge of one of those moments when Jupiter himself commits so many follies that Homer is obliged to summon a cloud to his rescue.

But Dom Claude saw everything. The door was made of thoroughly rotten cask staves, which left large apertures for the passage of his hawklike gaze. This brown-skinned, broad- shouldered priest, hitherto condemned to the austere virginity of the cloister, was quivering and boiling in the presence of this night CHAPTER VIII.

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scene of love and voluptuousness. This young and beautiful girl given over in disarray to the ardent young man, made melted lead flow in his-veins; his eyes darted with sensual jealousy beneath all those loosened pins. Any one who could, at that moment, have seen the face of the unhappy man glued to the wormeaten bars, would have thought that he beheld the face of a tiger glaring from the depths of a cage at some jackal devouring a gazelle. His eye shone like a candle through the cracks of the door.

All at once, Phoebus, with a rapid gesture, removed the gypsy's gorgerette. The poor child, who had remained pale and dreamy, awoke with a start; she recoiled hastily from the enterprising officer, and, casting a glance at her bare neck and shoulders, red, confused, mute with shame, she crossed her two beautiful arms on her breast to conceal it. Had it not been for the flame which burned in her cheeks, at the sight of her so silent and motionless, one would have. declared her a statue of Modesty. Her eyes were lowered.

But the captain's gesture had revealed the mysterious amulet which she wore about her neck.

" What is that? " he said, seizing this pretext to approach once more the beautiful creature whom he had just alarmed.

" Don't touch it! " she replied, quickly, " 'tis my guardian. It will make me find my family again, if I remain worthy to do so. Oh, leave me, monsieur le capitaine! My mother! My poor mother! My mother! Where art thou? Come to my rescue! Have pity, Monsieur Phoebus, give me back my gorgerette! "

Phoebus retreated amid said in a cold tone, --

" Oh, mademoiselle! I see plainly that you do not love me! "

" I do not love him! " exclaimed the unhappy child, and at the same time she clung to the captain, whom she drew to a seat beside her. " I do not love thee, my Phoebus? What art thou saying, wicked man, to break my heart? Oh, take me! take all! do what you will with me, I am thine. What matters to me the amulet! What matters to me my mother! 'Tis thou who art my mother since I love thee! Phoebus, my beloved Phoebus, dost thou see me? 'Tis I. Look at me; 'tis the little one whom thou wilt surely not repulse, who comes, who comes herself to seek thee. My soul, my life, my body, my person, all is one thing--which is thine, my captain. Well, no! We will not marry, since that displeases thee; and then, what am I? a miserable girl of the gutters; whilst thou, my Phoebus, art a gentleman. A fine thing, truly! A dancer wed an officer! I was mad. No, Phoebus, no; I will be thy mistress, thy amusement, thy pleasure, when thou wilt; a girl who shall belong to thee. I was only made for that, soiled, despised, dishonored, but what matters it? --beloved. I shall be the proudest and the most joyous of women. And when I grow old or ugly, Phoebus, when I am no longer good to love you, you will suffer me to serve you still. Others will embroider scarfs for you; 'tis I, the servant, who will care for them.

You will let me polish your spurs, brush your doublet, dust your riding-boots. You will have that pity, will you not, Phoebus? Meanwhile, take me! here, Phoebus, all this belongs to thee, only love me! We gypsies need only air and love. "

So saying, she threw her arms round the officer's neck; she looked up at him, supplicatingly, with a beautiful smile, and all in tears. Her delicate neck rubbed against his cloth doublet with its rough embroideries. She writhed on her knees, her beautiful body half naked. The intoxicated captain pressed his ardent lips to those lovely African shoulders. The young girl, her eyes bent on the ceiling, as she leaned backwards, quivered, all palpitating, beneath this kiss.

All at once, above Phoebus's head she beheld another head; a green, livid, convulsed face, with the look of a lost soul; near this face was a hand grasping a poniard. --It was the face and hand of the priest; he had broken the door and he was there. Phoebus could not see him. The young girl remained motionless, frozen with terror, dumb, beneath that terrible apparition, like a dove which should raise its head at the moment when the hawk is gazing into her nest with its round eyes.

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She could not even utter a cry. She saw the poniard descend upon Phoebus, and rise again, reeking.

" Maledictions! " said the captain, and fell.

She fainted.

At the moment when her eyes closed, when all feeling vanished in her, she thought that she felt a touch of fire imprinted upon her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner.

When she recovered her senses, she was surrounded by soldiers of the watch they were carrying away the captain, bathed in his blood the priest had disappeared; the window at the back of the room which opened on the river was wide open; they picked up a cloak which they supposed to belong to the officer and she heard them saying around her,

" 'Tis a sorceress who has stabbed a captain. "

BOOK EIGHTH.

CHAPTER I.

197

CHAPTER I.

THE CROWN CHANGED INTO A DRY LEAF.

Gringoire and the entire Court of Miracles were suffering mortal anxiety. For a whole month they had not known what had become of la Esmeralda, which greatly pained the Duke of Egypt and his friends the vagabonds, nor what had become of the goat, which redoubled Gringoire's grief. One evening the gypsy had disappeared, and since that time had given no signs of life. All search had proved fruitless. Some tormenting bootblacks had told Gringoire about meeting her that same evening near the Pont Saint-Michel, going off with an officer; but this husband, after the fashion of Bohemia, was an incredulous philosopher, and besides, he, better than any one else, knew to what a point his wife was virginal. He had been able to form a judgment as to the unconquerable modesty resulting from the combined virtues of the amulet and the gypsy, and he had mathematically calculated the resistance of that chastity to the second power. Accordingly, he was at ease on that score.

Still he could not understand this disappearance. It was a profound sorrow. He would have grown thin over it, had that been possible. He had forgotten everything, even his literary tastes, even his great work, ~De figuris regularibus et irregularibus~, which it was his intention to have printed with the first money which he should procure (for he had raved over printing, ever since he had seen the " Didascalon" of Hugues de Saint Victor, printed with the celebrated characters of Vindelin de Spire).

One day, as he was passing sadly before the criminal Tournelle, he perceived a considerable crowd at one of the gates of the Palais de Justice.

" What is this? " he inquired of a young man who was coming out.

" I know not, sir, " replied the young man. " 'Tis said that they are trying a woman who hath assassinated a gendarme. It appears that there is sorcery at the bottom of it, the archbishop and the official have intervened in the case, and my brother, who is the archdeacon of Josas, can think of nothing else. Now, I wished to speak with him, but I have not been able to reach him because of the throng, which vexes me greatly, as I stand in need of money. "

" Alas! sir, " said Gringoire, " I would that I could lend you some, but, my breeches are worn to holes, and 'tis not crowns which have done it. "

He dared not tell the young man that he was acquainted with his brother the archdeacon, to whom he had not returned after the scene in the church; a negligence which embarrassed him.

The scholar went his way, and Gringoire set out to follow the crowd which was mounting the staircase of the great chamber. In his opinion, there was nothing like the spectacle of a criminal process for dissipating melancholy, so exhilaratingly stupid are judges as a rule. The populace which he had joined walked and elbowed in silence. After a slow and tiresome march through a long, gloomy corridor, which wound through the court-house like the intestinal canal of the ancient edifice, he arrived near a low door, opening upon a hall which his lofty stature permitted him to survey with a glance over the waving heads of the rabble.

The hall was vast and gloomy, which latter fact made it appear still more spacious. The day was declining; the long, pointed windows permitted only a pale ray of light to enter, which was extinguished before it reached the vaulted ceiling, an enormous trellis-work of sculptured beams, whose thousand figures seemed to move confusedly in the shadows, many candles were already lighted here and there on tables, and beaming on the heads of clerks buried in masses of documents. The anterior portion of the ball was occupied by the crowd; on the right and left were magistrates and tables; at the end, upon a platform, a number of judges, whose rear rank sank into the shadows, sinister and motionless faces. The walls were sown with innumerable CHAPTER I.

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fleurs-de-lis. A large figure of Christ might be vaguely descried above the judges, and everywhere there were pikes and halberds, upon whose points the reflection of the candles placed tips of fire.

" Monsieur, " Gringoire inquired of one of his neighbors, " who are all those persons ranged yonder, like prelates in council? "

" Monsieur, " replied the neighbor, " those on the right are the counsellors of the grand chamber; those on the left, the councillors of inquiry; the masters in black gowns, the messires in red. "

" Who is that big red fellow, yonder above them, who is sweating? " pursued Gringoire.

" It is monsieur the president. "

" And those sheep behind him? " continued Gringoire, who as we have seen, did not love the magistracy, which arose, possibly, from the grudge which he cherished against the Palais de Justice since his dramatic misadventure.

" They are messieurs the masters of requests of the king's household. "

" And that boar in front of him? "

" He is monsieur the clerk of the Court of Parliament. "

" And that crocodile on the right? "

" Master Philippe Lheulier, advocate extraordinary of the king. "

" And that big, black tom-cat on the left? "

" Master Jacques Charmolue, procurator of the king in the Ecclesiastical Court, with the gentlemen of the officialty. "

" Come now, monsieur, said Gringoire, " pray what are all those fine fellows doing yonder? "

" They are judging. "

" Judging whom? I do not see the accused. "

" 'Tis a woman, sir. You cannot see her. She has her back turned to us, and she is hidden from us by the crowd.

Stay, yonder she is, where you see a group of partisans. "

" Who is the woman? " asked Gringoire. " Do you know her name? "

" No, monsieur, I have but just arrived. I merely assume that there is some sorcery about it, since the official is present at the trial. "

" Come! " said our philosopher, " we are going to see all these magistrates devour human flesh. 'Tis as good a spectacle as any other. "

" Monsieur, " remarked his neighbor, " think you not, that Master Jacques Charmolue has a very sweet air? "

" Hum! " replied Gringoire. " I distrust a sweetness which hath pinched nostrils and thin lips. "

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Here the bystanders imposed silence upon the two chatterers. They were listening to an important deposition.

" Messeigneurs, " said an old woman in the middle of the hall, whose form was so concealed beneath her garments that one would have pronounced her a walking heap of rags; " Messeigneurs, the thing is as true as that I am la Falourdel, established these forty years at the Pont Saint Michel, and paying regularly my rents, lord's dues, and quit rents; at the gate opposite the house of Tassin-Caillart, the dyer, which is on the side up the river--a poor old woman now, but a pretty maid in former days, my lords. Some one said to me lately, 'La Falourdel, don't use your spinning-wheel too much in the evening; the devil is fond of combing the distaffs of old women with his horns. 'Tis certain that the surly monk who was round about the temple last year, now prowls in the City. Take care, La Falourdel, that he doth not knock at your door. ' One evening I was spinning on my wheel, there comes a knock at my door; I ask who it is. They swear. I open. Two men enter. A man in black and a handsome officer. Of the black man nothing could be seen but his eyes, two coals of fire. All the rest was hat and cloak. They say to me, --'The Sainte-Marthe chamber. '--'Tis my upper chamber, my lords, my cleanest. They give me a crown. I put the crown in my drawer, and I say: 'This shall go to buy tripe at the slaughter-house of la Gloriette to-morrow. ' We go up stairs. On arriving at the upper chamber, and while my back is turned, the black man disappears. That dazed me a bit. The officer, who was as handsome as a great lord, goes down stairs again with me. He goes out. In about the time it takes to spin a quarter of a handful of flax, be returns with a beautiful young girl, a doll who would have shone like the sun had she been coiffed.