the hunchback of notre dame- 第53部分

Quasimodo　had　resumed；　to　all　appearance；　his　first　imperturbability。　　He　had　at　first　tried；　in　a　quiet　way　and　without　much　outward　movement；　to　break　his　bonds。　　His　eye　had　been　seen　to　light　up；　his　muscles　to　stiffen；　his　members　to　concentrate　their　force；　and　the　straps　to　stretch。　　The　effort　was　powerful；　prodigious；　desperate；　but　the　provost's　seasoned　bonds　resisted。　　They　cracked；　and　that　was　all。　　Quasimodo　fell　back　exhausted。　　Amazement　gave　way；　on　his　features；　to　a　sentiment　of　profound　and　bitter　discouragement。　　He　closed　his　single　eye；　allowed　his　head　to　droop　upon　his　breast；　and　feigned　death。

From　that　moment　forth；　he　stirred　no　more。　　Nothing　could　force　a　movement　from　him。　　Neither　his　blood；　which　did　not　cease　to　flow；　nor　the　blows　which　redoubled　in　fury；　nor　the　wrath　of　the　torturer；　who　grew　excited　himself　and　intoxicated　with　the　execution；　nor　the　sound　of　the　horrible　thongs；　more　sharp　and　whistling　than　the　claws　of　scorpions。

At　length　a　bailiff　from　the　Chatelet　clad　in　black；　mounted　on　a　black　horse；　who　had　been　stationed　beside　the　ladder　since　the　beginning　of　the　execution；　extended　his　ebony　wand　towards　the　hour…glass。　　The　torturer　stopped。　　The　wheel　stopped。　　Quasimodo's　eye　opened　slowly。

The　scourging　was　finished。　　Two　lackeys　of　the　official　torturer　bathed　the　bleeding　shoulders　of　the　patient；　anointed　them　with　some　unguent　which　immediately　closed　all　the　wounds；　and　threw　upon　his　back　a　sort　of　yellow　vestment；　in　cut　like　a　chasuble。　　In　the　meanwhile；　Pierrat　Torterue　allowed　the　thongs；　red　and　gorged　with　blood；　to　drip　upon　the　pavement。

All　was　not　over　for　Quasimodo。　　He　had　still　to　undergo　that　hour　of　pillory　which　Master　Florian　Barbedienne　had　so　judiciously　added　to　the　sentence　of　Messire　Robert　d'Estouteville；　all　to　the　greater　glory　of　the　old　physiological　and　psychological　play　upon　words　of　Jean　de　Cumène；　~Surdus　absurdus~：　a　deaf　man　is　absurd。

So　the　hour…glass　was　turned　over　once　more；　and　they　left　the　hunchback　fastened　to　the　plank；　in　order　that　justice　might　be　accomplished　to　the　very　end。

The　populace；　especially　in　the　Middle　Ages；　is　in　society　what　the　child　is　in　the　family。　　As　long　as　it　remains　in　its　state　of　primitive　ignorance；　of　moral　and　intellectual　minority；　it　can　be　said　of　it　as　of　the　child；


　　　'Tis　the　pitiless　age。


We　have　already　shown　that　Quasimodo　was　generally　hated；　for　more　than　one　good　reason；　it　is　true。　　There　was　hardly　a　spectator　in　that　crowd　who　had　not　or　who　did　not　believe　that　he　had　reason　to　complain　of　the　malevolent　hunchback　of　Notre…Dame。　　The　joy　at　seeing　him　appear　thus　in　the　pillory　had　been　universal；　and　the　harsh　punishment　which　he　had　just　suffered；　and　the　pitiful　condition　in　which　it　had　left　him；　far　from　softening　the　populace　had　rendered　its　hatred　more　malicious　by　arming　it　with　a　touch　of　mirth。

Hence；　the　〃public　prosecution〃　satisfied；　as　the　bigwigs　of　the　law　still　express　it　in　their　jargon；　the　turn　came　of　a　thousand　private　vengeances。　　Here；　as　in　the　Grand　Hall；　the　women　rendered　themselves　particularly　prominent。　　All　cherished　some　rancor　against　him；　some　for　his　malice；　others　for　his　ugliness。　　The　latter　were　the　most　furious。

〃Oh！　mask　of　Antichrist！〃　said　one。

〃Rider　on　a　broom　handle！〃　cried　another。

〃What　a　fine　tragic　grimace；〃　howled　a　third；　〃and　who　would　make　him　Pope　of　the　Fools　if　to…day　were　yesterday？〃

〃'Tis　well；〃　struck　in　an　old　woman。　　〃This　is　the　grimace　of　the　pillory。　　When　shall　we　have　that　of　the　gibbet？〃

〃When　will　you　be　coiffed　with　your　big　bell　a　hundred　feet　under　ground；　cursed　bellringer？〃

〃But　'tis　the　devil　who　rings　the　Angelus！〃

〃Oh！　the　deaf　man！　the　one…eyed　creature！　the　hunch…　back！　the　monster！〃

〃A　face　to　make　a　woman　miscarry　better　than　all　the　drugs　and　medicines！〃

And　the　two　scholars；　Jehan　du　Moulin；　and　Robin　Poussepain；　sang　at　the　top　of　their　lungs；　the　ancient　refrain；


　　　〃~Une　hart　　　　Pour　le　pendard！　　　　Un　fagot　　　　Pour　le　magot~！〃*


*　　A　rope　for　the　gallows　bird！　　A　fagot　for　the　ape。


A　thousand　other　insults　rained　down　upon　him；　and　hoots　and　imprecations；　and　laughter；　and　now　and　then；　stones。

Quasimodo　was　deaf　but　his　sight　was　clear；　and　the　public　fury　was　no　less　energetically　depicted　on　their　visages　than　in　their　words。　　Moreover；　the　blows　from　the　stones　explained　the　bursts　of　laughter。

At　first　he　held　his　ground。　　But　little　by　little　that　patience　which　had　borne　up　under　the　lash　of　the　torturer；　yielded　and　gave　way　before　all　these　stings　of　insects。　　The　bull　of　the　Asturias　who　has　been　but　little　moved　by　the　attacks　of　the　picador　grows　irritated　with　the　dogs　and　banderilleras。

He　first　cast　around　a　slow　glance　of　hatred　upon　the　crowd。　But　bound　as　he　was；　his　glance　was　powerless　to　drive　away　those　flies　which　were　stinging　his　wound。　　Then　he　moved　in　his　bonds；　and　his　furious　exertions　made　the　ancient　wheel　of　the　pillory　shriek　on　its　axle。　　All　this　only　increased　the　derision　and　hooting。

Then　the　wretched　man；　unable　to　break　his　collar；　like　that　of　a　chained　wild　beast；　became　tranquil　once　more；　only　at　intervals　a　sigh　of　rage　heaved　the　hollows　of　his　chest。　There　was　neither　shame　nor　redness　on　his　face。　　He　was　too　far　from　the　state　of　society；　and　too　near　the　state　of　nature　to　know　what　shame　was。　　Moreover；　with　such　a　degree　of　deformity；　is　infamy　a　thing　that　can　be　felt？　　But　wrath；　hatred；　despair；　slowly　lowered　over　that　hideous　visage　a　cloud　which　grew　ever　more　and　more　sombre；　ever　more　and　more　charged　with　electricity；　which　burst　forth　in　a　thousand　lightning　flashes　from　the　eye　of　the　cyclops。

Nevertheless；　that　cloud　cleared　away　for　a　moment；　at　the　passage　of　a　mule　which　traversed　the　crowd；　bearing　a　priest。　As　far　away　as　he　could　see　that　mule　and　that　priest；　the　poor　victim's　visage　grew　gentler。　　The　fury　which　had　contracted　it　was　followed　by　a　strange　smile　full　of　ineffable　sweetness；　gentleness；　and　tenderness。　　In　proportion　as　the　priest　approached；　that　smile　became　more　clear；　more　distinct；　more　radiant。　　It　was　like　the　arrival　of　a　Saviour；　which　the　unhappy　man　was　greeting。　　But　as　soon　as　the　mule　was　near　enough　to　the　pillory　to　allow　of　its　rider　recognizing　the　victim；　the　priest　dropped　his　eyes；　beat　a　hasty　retreat；　spurred　on　rigorously；　as　though　in　haste　to　rid　himself　of　humiliating　appeals；　and　not　at　all　desirous　of　being　saluted　and　recognized　by　a　poor　fellow　in　such　a　predicament。

This　priest　was　Archdeacon　Dom　Claude　Frollo。

The　cloud　descended　more　blackly　than　ever　upon　Quasimodo's　brow。　The　smile　was　still　mingled　with　it　for　a　time；　but　was　bitter；　discouraged；　profoundly　sad。

Time　passed　on。　　He　had　been　there　at　least　an　hour　and　a　half；　lacerated；　maltreated；　mocked　incessantly；　and　almost　stoned。

All　at　once　he　moved　again　in　his　chains　with　redoubled　despair；　which　made　the　whole　framework　that　bore　him　tremble；　and；　breaking　the　silence　which　he　had　obstinately　preserved　hitherto；　he　cried　in　a　hoarse　and　furious　voice；　which　resembled　a　bark　rather　than　a　human　cry；　and　which　was　drowned　in　the　noise　of　the　hoots〃Drink！〃

This　exclamation　of　distress；　far　from　exciting　compassion；　only　added　amusement　to　the　good　Parisian　populace　who　surrounded　the　ladder；　and　who；　it　must　be　confessed；　taken　in　the　mass　and　as　a　multitude；　was　then　no　less　cruel　and　brutal　than　that　horrible　tribe　of　robbers　among　whom　we　have　already　conducted　the　reader；　and　which　was　simply　the　lower　stratum　of　the　populace。　　Not　a　voice　was　raised　around　the　unhappy　victim；　except　to　jeer　at　his　thirst。　　It　is　certain　that　at　that　moment　he　was　more　grotesque　and　repulsive　than　pitiable；　with　his　face　purple　and　dripping；　his　eye　wild；　his　mouth　foaming　with　rage　and　pain；　and　his　tongue　lolling　half　out。　　It　must　also　be　stated　that　if　a　charitable　soul　of　a　bourgeois　or　~bourgeoise~；　in　the　rabble；　had　attempted　to　carry　a　glass　of　water　to　that　wretched　creature　in　torment；　there　reigned　around　the　infamous　steps　of　the　pillory　such　a　prejudice　of　shame　and　ignominy；　that　it　would　have　sufficed　to　repulse　the　good　Samaritan。

At　the　expiration　of　a　few　moments；　Quasimodo　cast　a　desperate　glance　upon　the　crowd；　and　repeated　in　a　voice　still　more　heartrending：　〃Drink！〃

And　all　began　to　laugh。

〃Drink　this！〃　cried　Robin　Poussepain；　throwing　in　his　face　a　sponge　which　had　been　soaked　in　the　gutter。　　〃There；　you　deaf　villain；　I'm　your　debtor。〃

A　woman　hurled　a　stone　at　his　head；

〃That　will　teach　you　to　wake　us　up　at　night　with　your　peal　of　a　dammed　soul。〃

〃He；　good；　my　son！〃　howled　a　cripple；　making　an　effort　to　reach　him　with　his　crutch；　〃will　you　cast　any　more　spells　on　us　from　the　top　of　the　towers　of　Notre…Dame？〃

〃Here's　a　drinking　cup！〃　chimed　in　a　man；　flinging　a　broken　jug　at　his　breast。　　〃'Twas　you　that　made　my　wife；　simply　because　she　passed　near　you；　give　birth　to　a　child　with　two　heads！〃

〃And　my　cat　bring　forth　a　kitten　with　six　paws！〃　yelped　an　old　crone；　launching　a　brick　at　him。

〃Drink！〃　repeated　Quasimodo　panting；　and　for　the　third　time。

At　that　moment　he　beheld　the　c