A few moments later our poet found himself in a tiny arched chamber1, very cosy2, very warm, seated at a table which appeared to ask nothing better than to make some loans from a larder3 hanging near by, having a good bed in prospect4, and alone with a pretty girl. The adventure smacked5 of enchantment6. He began seriously to take himself for a personage in a fairy tale; he cast his eyes about him from time to time to time, as though to see if the chariot of fire, harnessed to two-winged chimeras8, which alone could have so rapidly transported him from Tartarus to Paradise, were still there. At times, also, he fixed9 his eyes obstinately10 upon the holes in his doublet, in order to cling to reality, and not lose the ground from under his feet completely. His reason, tossed about in imaginary space, now hung only by this thread.
The young girl did not appear to pay any attention to him; she went and came, displaced a stool, talked to her goat, and indulged in a pout11 now and then. At last she came and seated herself near the table, and Gringoire was able to scrutinize12 her at his ease.
You have been a child, reader, and you would, perhaps, be very happy to be one still. It is quite certain that you have not, more than once (and for my part, I have passed whole days, the best employed of my life, at it) followed from thicket13 to thicket, by the side of running water, on a sunny day, a beautiful green or blue dragon-fly, breaking its flight in abrupt14 angles, and kissing the tips of all the branches. You recollect15 with what amorous16 curiosity your thought and your gaze were riveted17 upon this little whirlwind, hissing18 and humming with wings of purple and azure19, in the midst of which floated an imperceptible body, veiled by the very rapidity of its movement. The aerial being which was dimly outlined amid this quivering of wings, appeared to you chimerical20, imaginary, impossible to touch, impossible to see. But when, at length, the dragon-fly alighted on the tip of a reed, and, holding your breath the while, you were able to examine the long, gauze wings, the long enamel21 robe, the two globes of crystal, what astonishment22 you felt, and what fear lest you should again behold23 the form disappear into a shade, and the creature into a chimera7! Recall these impressions, and you will readily appreciate what Gringoire felt on contemplating24, beneath her visible and palpable form, that Esmeralda of whom, up to that time, he had only caught a glimpse, amidst a whirlwind of dance, song, and tumult25.
Sinking deeper and deeper into his revery: "So this," he said to himself, following her vaguely26 with his eyes, "is la Esmeralda! a celestial27 creature! a street dancer! so much, and so little! 'Twas she who dealt the death-blow to my mystery this morning, 'tis she who saves my life this evening! My evil genius! My good angel! A pretty woman, on my word! and who must needs love me madly to have taken me in that fashion. By the way," said he, rising suddenly, with that sentiment of the true which formed the foundation of his character and his philosophy, "I don't know very well how it happens, but I am her husband!"
With this idea in his head and in his eyes, he stepped up to the young girl in a manner so military and so gallant28 that she drew back.
"What do you want of me?" said she.
"Can you ask me, adorable Esmeralda?" replied Gringoire, with so passionate29 an accent that he was himself astonished at it on hearing himself speak.
The gypsy opened her great eyes. "I don't know what you mean."
"What!" resumed Gringoire, growing warmer and warmer, and supposing that, after all, he had to deal merely with a virtue30 of the Cour des Miracles; "am I not thine, sweet friend, art thou not mine?"
And, quite ingenuously31, he clasped her waist.
The gypsy's corsage slipped through his hands like the skin of an eel32. She bounded from one end of the tiny room to the other, stooped down, and raised herself again, with a little poniard in her hand, before Gringoire had even had time to see whence the poniard came; proud and angry, with swelling33 lips and inflated34 nostrils35, her cheeks as red as an api apple,* and her eyes darting36 lightnings. At the same time, the white goat placed itself in front of her, and presented to Gringoire a hostile front, bristling37 with two pretty horns, gilded38 and very sharp. All this took place in the twinkling of an eye.
* A small dessert apple, bright red on one side and greenish- white on the other.
The dragon-fly had turned into a wasp39, and asked nothing better than to sting.
Our philosopher was speechless, and turned his astonished eyes from the goat to the young girl. "Holy Virgin40!" he said at last, when surprise permitted him to speak, "here are two hearty41 dames42!"
The gypsy broke the silence on her side.
"You must be a very bold knave43!"
"Pardon, mademoiselle," said Gringoire, with a smile. "But why did you take me for your husband?"
"Should I have allowed you to be hanged?"
"So," said the poet, somewhat disappointed in his amorous hopes. "You had no other idea in marrying me than to save me from the gibbet?"
"And what other idea did you suppose that I had?"
Gringoire bit his lips. "Come," said he, "I am not yet so triumphant44 in Cupido, as I thought. But then, what was the good of breaking that poor jug45?"
Meanwhile Esmeralda's dagger46 and the goat's horns were still upon the defensive47.
"Mademoiselle Esmeralda," said the poet, "let us come to terms. I am not a clerk of the court, and I shall not go to law with you for thus carrying a dagger in Paris, in the teeth of the ordinances48 and prohibitions49 of M. the Provost. Nevertheless, you are not ignorant of the fact that Noel Lescrivain was condemned50, a week ago, to pay ten Parisian sous, for having carried a cutlass. But this is no affair of mine, and I will come to the point. I swear to you, upon my share of Paradise, not to approach you without your leave and permission, but do give me some supper."
The truth is, Gringoire was, like M. Despreaux, "not very voluptuous51." He did not belong to that chevalier and musketeer species, who take young girls by assault. In the matter of love, as in all other affairs, he willingly assented52 to temporizing53 and adjusting terms; and a good supper, and an amiable54 tête-a-tête appeared to him, especially when he was hungry, an excellent interlude between the prologue55 and the catastrophe56 of a love adventure.
The gypsy did not reply. She made her disdainful little grimace57, drew up her head like a bird, then burst out laughing, and the tiny poniard disappeared as it had come, without Gringoire being able to see where the wasp concealed58 its sting.
A moment later, there stood upon the table a loaf of rye bread, a slice of bacon, some wrinkled apples and a jug of beer. Gringoire began to eat eagerly. One would have said, to hear the furious clashing of his iron fork and his earthenware59 plate, that all his love had turned to appetite.
The young girl seated opposite him, watched him in silence, visibly preoccupied60 with another thought, at which she smiled from time to time, while her soft hand caressed62 the intelligent head of the goat, gently pressed between her knees.
A candle of yellow wax illuminated63 this scene of voracity64 and revery.
Meanwhile, the first cravings of his stomach having been stilled, Gringoire felt some false shame at perceiving that nothing remained but one apple.
"You do not eat, Mademoiselle Esmeralda?"
She replied by a negative sign of the head, and her pensive65 glance fixed itself upon the vault66 of the ceiling.
"What the deuce is she thinking of?" thought Gringoire, staring at what she was gazing at; "'tis impossible that it can be that stone dwarf67 carved in the keystone of that arch, which thus absorbs her attention. What the deuce! I can bear the comparison!"
He raised his voice, "Mademoiselle!"
She seemed not to hear him.
He repeated, still more loudly, "Mademoiselle Esmeralda!"
Trouble wasted. The young girl's mind was elsewhere, and Gringoire's voice had not the power to recall it. Fortunately, the goat interfered68. She began to pull her mistress gently by the sleeve.
"What dost thou want, Djali?" said the gypsy, hastily, as though suddenly awakened69.
"She is hungry," said Gringoire, charmed to enter into conversation. Esmeralda began to crumble70 some bread, which Djali ate gracefully71 from the hollow of her hand.
Moreover, Gringoire did not give her time to resume her revery. He hazarded a delicate question.
"So you don't want me for your husband?"
The young girl looked at him intently, and said, "No."
"For your lover?" went on Gringoire.
She pouted72, and replied, "No."
"For your friend?" pursued Gringoire.
She gazed fixedly73 at him again, and said, after a momentary74 reflection, "Perhaps."
This "perhaps," so dear to philosophers, emboldened75 Gringoire.
"Do you know what friendship is?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the gypsy; "it is to be brother and sister; two souls which touch without mingling76, two fingers on one hand."
"And love?" pursued Gringoire.
"Oh! love!" said she, and her voice trembled, and her eye beamed. "That is to be two and to be but one. A man and a woman mingled77 into one angel. It is heaven."
The street dancer had a beauty as she spoke78 thus, that struck Gringoire singularly, and seemed to him in perfect keeping with the almost oriental exaltation of her words. Her pure, red lips half smiled; her serene79 and candid80 brow became troubled, at intervals81, under her thoughts, like a mirror under the breath; and from beneath her long, drooping83, black eyelashes, there escaped a sort of ineffable84 light, which gave to her profile that ideal serenity85 which Raphael found at the mystic point of intersection86 of virginity, maternity87, and divinity.
Nevertheless, Gringoire continued,--
"What must one be then, in order to please you?"
"A man."
"And I--" said he, "what, then, am I?"
"A man has a hemlet on his head, a sword in his hand, and golden spurs on his heels."
"Good," said Gringoire, "without a horse, no man. Do you love any one?"
"As a lover?--"
"Yes."
She remained thoughtful for a moment, then said with a peculiar88 expression: "That I shall know soon."
"Why not this evening?" resumed the poet tenderly. "Why not me?"
She cast a grave glance upon him and said,--
"I can never love a man who cannot protect me."
Gringoire colored, and took the hint. It was evident that the young girl was alluding89 to the slight assistance which he had rendered her in the critical situation in which she had found herself two hours previously90. This memory, effaced91 by his own adventures of the evening, now recurred92 to him. He smote93 his brow.
"By the way, mademoiselle, I ought to have begun there. Pardon my foolish absence of mind. How did you contrive94 to escape from the claws of Quasimodo?"
This question made the gypsy shudder95.
"Oh! the horrible hunchback," said she, hiding her face in her hands. And she shuddered96 as though with violent cold.
"Horrible, in truth," said Gringoire, who clung to his idea; "but how did you manage to escape him?"
La Esmeralda smiled, sighed, and remained silent.
"Do you know why he followed you?" began Gringoire again, seeking to return to his question by a circuitous97 route.
"I don't know," said the young girl, and she added hastily, "but you were following me also, why were you following me?"
"In good faith," responded Gringoire, "I don't know either."
Silence ensued. Gringoire slashed98 the table with his knife. The young girl smiled and seemed to be gazing through the wall at something. All at once she began to sing in a barely articulate voice,--
~Quando las pintadas aves, Mudas estan, y la tierra~--*
* When the gay-plumaged birds grow weary, and the earth--
She broke off abruptly99, and began to caress61 Djali.
"That's a pretty animal of yours," said Gringoire.
"She is my sister," she answered.
"Why are you called 'la Esmeralda?'" asked the poet.
"I do not know."
"But why?"
She drew from her bosom100 a sort of little oblong bag, suspended from her neck by a string of adrézarach beads101. This bag exhaled102 a strong odor of camphor. It was covered with green silk, and bore in its centre a large piece of green glass, in imitation of an emerald.
"Perhaps it is because of this," said she.
Gringoire was on the point of taking the bag in his hand. She drew back.
"Don't touch it! It is an amulet103. You would injure the charm or the charm would injure you."
The poet's curiosity was more and more aroused.
"Who gave it to you?"
She laid one finger on her mouth and concealed the amulet in her bosom. He tried a few more questions, but she hardly replied.
"What is the meaning of the words, 'la Esmeralda?'"
"I don't know," said she.
"To what language do they belong?"
"They are Egyptian, I think."
"I suspected as much," said Gringoire, "you are not a native of France?"
"I don't know."
"Are your parents alive?"
She began to sing, to an ancient air,-- ~Mon père est oiseau, Ma mère est oiselle. B Je passe l'eau sans nacelle, Je passe l'eau sans bateau, Ma mère est oiselle, Mon père est oiseau~.*
* My father is a bird, my mother is a bird. I cross the water without a barque, I cross the water without a boat. My mother is a bird, my father is a bird.
"Good," said Gringoire. "At what age did you come to France?"
"When I was very young."
"And when to Paris?"
"Last year. At the moment when we were entering the papal gate I saw a reed warbler flit through the air, that was at the end of August; I said, it will be a hard winter."
"So it was," said Gringoire, delighted at this beginning of a conversation. "I passed it in blowing my fingers. So you have the gift of prophecy?"
She retired104 into her laconics again.
"Is that man whom you call the Duke of Egypt, the chief of your tribe?"
"Yes."
"But it was he who married us," remarked the poet timidly.
She made her customary pretty grimace.
"I don't even know your name."
"My name? If you want it, here it is,--Pierre Gringoire."
"I know a prettier one," said she.
"Naughty girl!" retorted the poet. "Never mind, you shall not provoke me. Wait, perhaps you will love me more when you know me better; and then, you have told me your story with so much confidence, that I owe you a little of mine. You must know, then, that my name is Pierre Gringoire, and that I am a son of the farmer of the notary's office of Gonesse. My father was hung by the Burgundians, and my mother disembowelled by the Picards, at the siege of Paris, twenty years ago. At six years of age, therefore, I was an orphan105, without a sole to my foot except the pavements of Paris. I do not know how I passed the interval82 from six to sixteen. A fruit dealer106 gave me a plum here, a baker107 flung me a crust there; in the evening I got myself taken up by the watch, who threw me into prison, and there I found a bundle of straw. All this did not prevent my growing up and growing thin, as you see. In the winter I warmed myself in the sun, under the porch of the H?tel de Sens, and I thought it very ridiculous that the fire on Saint John's Day was reserved for the dog days. At sixteen, I wished to choose a calling. I tried all in succession. I became a soldier; but I was not brave enough. I became a monk108; but I was not sufficiently109 devout110; and then I'm a bad hand at drinking. In despair, I became an apprentice111 of the woodcutters, but I was not strong enough; I had more of an inclination112 to become a schoolmaster; 'tis true that I did not know how to read, but that's no reason. I perceived at the end of a certain time, that I lacked something in every direction; and seeing that I was good for nothing, of my own free will I became a poet and rhymester. That is a trade which one can always adopt when one is a vagabond, and it's better than stealing, as some young brigands113 of my acquaintance advised me to do. One day I met by luck, Dom Claude Frollo, the reverend archdeacon of Notre-Dame. He took an interest in me, and it is to him that I to-day owe it that I am a veritable man of letters, who knows Latin from the ~de Officiis~ of Cicero to the mortuology of the Celestine Fathers, and a barbarian114 neither in scholastics, nor in politics, nor in rhythmics, that sophism115 of sophisms. I am the author of the Mystery which was presented to-day with great triumph and a great concourse of populace, in the grand hall of the Palais de Justice. I have also made a book which will contain six hundred pages, on the wonderful comet of 1465, which sent one man mad. I have enjoyed still other successes. Being somewhat of an artillery116 carpenter, I lent a hand to Jean Mangue's great bombard, which burst, as you know, on the day when it was tested, on the Pont de Charenton, and killed four and twenty curious spectators. You see that I am not a bad match in marriage. I know a great many sorts of very engaging tricks, which I will teach your goat; for example, to mimic117 the Bishop118 of Paris, that cursed Pharisee whose mill wheels splash passers-by the whole length of the Pont aux Meuniers. And then my mystery will bring me in a great deal of coined money, if they will only pay me. And finally, I am at your orders, I and my wits, and my science and my letters, ready to live with you, damsel, as it shall please you, chastely119 or joyously120; husband and wife, if you see fit; brother and sister, if you think that better."
Gringoire ceased, awaiting the effect of his harangue121 on the young girl. Her eyes were fixed on the ground.
"'Phoebus,'" she said in a low voice. Then, turning towards the poet, "'Phoebus',--what does that mean?"
Gringoire, without exactly understanding what the connection could be between his address and this question, was not sorry to display his erudition. Assuming an air of importance, he replied,--
"It is a Latin word which means 'sun.'"
"Sun!" she repeated.
"It is the name of a handsome archer122, who was a god," added Gringoire.
"A god!" repeated the gypsy, and there was something pensive and passionate in her tone.
At that moment, one of her bracelets123 became unfastened and fell. Gringoire stooped quickly to pick it up; when he straightened up, the young girl and the goat had disappeared. He heard the sound of a bolt. It was a little door, communicating, no doubt, with a neighboring cell, which was being fastened on the outside.
"Has she left me a bed, at least?" said our philosopher.
He made the tour of his cell. There was no piece of furniture adapted to sleeping purposes, except a tolerably long wooden coffer; and its cover was carved, to boot; which afforded Gringoire, when he stretched himself out upon it, a sensation somewhat similar to that which Micromégas would feel if he were to lie down on the Alps.
"Come!" said he, adjusting himself as well as possible, "I must resign myself. But here's a strange nuptial124 night. 'Tis a pity. There was something innocent and antediluvian125 about that broken crock, which quite pleased me."
过了不多一会，我们的诗人就进入一间相当严密、温暖的尖拱顶房间，坐在一张便于从旁边的高食橱里拿东西的桌子跟前了，预计还会有一张好床，还可以同一位漂亮的姑娘亲密地谈心。这桩奇遇具有相当迷人的成分，他开始把自己当成神话中的人物了，他的眼睛向周围东看西看，好象是要弄清楚那两头怪兽架着的火炉还在不在那里，刚才使他一下子从地狱升到天堂的好象就是那只火炉吧。有时他又盯着看他那上衣上所有的破洞，以便抓住现实，不至于完全神志不清。他那在幻想上飘来飘去的理智，只能攀附在这样一条线索上了。
那个少女似乎丝毫不注意他，她走来走去，或者挪动一下凳子，或者向山羊说几句话，或者向这里那里扁一扁嘴。她终于坐到桌子跟前来，甘果瓦可以仔细端详她了。
读者啊，你也曾经是个孩子，也许你很幸运，现在还是个孩子。你一定曾经不止一次地（至于我，我往往是整天如此，那是我消磨时间最好的方法）
在晴朗的日子沿着一座又一座丛林，在小溪边追踪一只蓝色的或绿色的蜻蜓，它常常改变飞行方向，并且轻擦着树梢飞过。请回想一下，你抱着多么迷恋的好奇心，全神贯注地看着那嗡嗡叫着的旋风似的小东西，那一对紫色或蓝色的翅膀，中间浮动着它那由于迅速的运动而显得难以捉摸的形体。那个会飞的生物，对于你它显得多么虚幻和难以想象，无法捕捉，无法辨明。
可是当那蜻蜓终于在一茎花枝上停下来时，你能屏息细看它那一对薄薄的长翅膀，一身珐琅般光滑的长袍和两只水晶样透明的眼睛，那时你是多么惊异，多么担心它会重新躲进阴影或是遁入虚空。回想起这些，你就容易体会到甘果瓦仔细端详爱斯梅拉达那看得见也摸得着的形体时的感受了，那个形体他只是当她在人群里歌舞时看见过一眼。
他愈来愈沉迷在自己的梦中。“难道这就是——”他睡眼矇眬地望着她，自言自语地说，“这就是所谓‘拉·爱斯梅拉达’吗？一个高级生物！一位大街上的女舞蹈家！一点不错！今天早上使我的戏剧遭受打击的就是她！今天晚上救了我性命的也是她。我可怜的天才！我可爱的天使！依我看，她是一个漂亮的女人！她既然救了我，也会热烈地爱我吧！然而，”他忽然带着来自他性格和哲学深处的真实感说道，“我不大弄得清到底是怎么回事，我成了她的丈夫！”
他心里和眼睛里装着这个念头，用十分庄严优美的姿态向那少女走过去，使她倒退了一步。
“你要我做什么吗？”
“你能这样问我吗，令人敬爱的拉·爱斯梅拉达？”甘果瓦用充满感情的声音说，连他自己听起来也觉得诧异。
那波希米亚姑娘睁大着眼睛说：“我不懂你的话是什么意思。”
“怎么啦！”甘果瓦说，想到最后只需实现圣迹区的一项规定了，他就变得更加热情起来。“难道我不是属于你的吗？温柔的朋友，难道你不是属于我的吗？”
他一面说，一面天真地抱住她的腰。
波希米亚姑娘的短上衣象鳗鱼的皮似的从他手里滑过，她从小房间的这一头跳到了那一头，先弯下腰去又马上挺直身子，手里握着一把尖刀。甘果瓦还没来得及看清那尖刀是从哪儿拔出来的，她神态又激动又高傲，撅着嘴，闪动着鼻翼，两颊红得象杏子，两眼闪出电一样的光芒，那白山羊不时跑到她跟前，耸起两只尖尖的漂亮的金色犄角，向甘果瓦做出挑战的姿势。这都发生在一转眼之间。
那蜻蜓变成了黄蜂，她不想别的，只想螫人。
我们的哲学家困惑地呆立不动，用迟钝的目光来回看那山羊和那姑娘。
“圣母啊！”他惊骇了一阵之后，说得出话了，终于说道，“原来是两个泼妇呀！”
波希米亚姑娘开口说话了。
“你应该是个比较勇敢的人！”
“请原谅，小姐，”甘果瓦微笑着说，“可是你为什么又要我当你的丈夫呢？”
“难道应该让你给绞死吗？”
“这样说来，”诗人补充道，他对爱情的希望受到挫折了，“你同我结婚就只是为了打救我，再没别的想法吗？”
“你还希望我会有什么别的想法？”
甘果瓦咬着嘴唇。“好吧，”他说，“我并不是象我自己以为的那样，是一个胜利的爱神。但是，摔破那可怜的瓦罐又有什么好处？”
这当儿爱斯梅拉达的尖刀和小山羊的犄角依然保持着防卫姿势。
“拉·爱斯梅拉达小姐，”诗人说，“咱们和解吧。我不会同你争辩说，你不应该这样不顾总督大人的禁令，私下怀着一把尖刀。你不会不知道，诺爱勒·莱斯克里万就是因为带着一把剑，在一个星期以前被判了五个或十个索尔的罚金。不过这事和我不相干，还是说说我们自己的事吧。我用我进天堂的希望向你保证，不得到你的同意和允许，我决不挨近你。可是给我晚饭吃吧。”
事实上，甘果瓦就象代斯普奥先生一样，是“并不怎么多情”的。他不是那种用突然袭击的方法去抢夺少女的骑士和军官。他对恋爱也象对别的事情一样，总是情愿等待时机和保持一定界限。况且，当他正在饥饿的时候，一顿伴着亲密谈话的晚餐，对于他正象是爱情奇遇的开场和结尾之间的一段美妙的插曲。
不多一会，桌上就摆出了一块裸麦面包、一片醃猪肉、几个干皱的苹果和一瓶啤酒。甘果瓦狼吞虎咽地吃起来。听见铁刀叉和陶瓷碟子碰得叮 直响，你会认为他的全部爱情都变成食欲了。
那个姑娘坐在他前面，静静地看着他吃饭。她显然在想别的念头，时时露出笑容，一面用可爱的手抚摸那温柔地伏在她膝头上的小山羊。
一支带着黄色光晕的蜡烛照着这幅健啖和梦幻的景象。
最初的食欲满足后，甘果瓦看见桌上只剩下了一个苹果，有点不好意思。
“你不吃吗，爱斯梅拉达小姐？”
她摇摇头代替回答，若有所思的眼睛盯着房间的拱顶。
“她在想什么鬼事情呀？”甘果瓦想着，也向她望的地方望去，“拱顶石上那个石刻的丑脑袋不可能这样吸引她的注意吧。什么鬼东西！我可要同它较量较量！”
他提高声音喊道：“小姐！”
她仿佛没有听见似的。
他用更大的声音喊道：“拉·爱斯梅拉达小姐！”
白费力气。那少女的心思在别的地方，甘果瓦的声音无力把它唤回。幸好那只白山羊插了进来，轻轻地拽它主人的衣袖。
“你要什么呀，加里？”爱斯梅拉达好象忽然从梦中惊醒，热情地问道。
“它饿了，”甘果瓦说，很得意又理开了话头。
爱斯梅拉达撕了一点面包，加里高兴地在她的掌心里吃起来。
甘果瓦不再给她时间去做梦了，他提出了一个巧妙的问题。
“那么你并不愿意要我当你的丈夫了？”
少女牢牢地盯着他说：“不愿意。”
“当你的情人呢？”
她扁了扁嘴答道：“不愿意。”
“当你的朋友呢？”甘果瓦接着问。
她依旧牢牢地盯着他，想了想说：“也许。”
在哲学家们听起来非常亲切的这个“也许”，给了甘果瓦一点勇气。
“你知道友谊是怎么回事吗？”他问道。
“知道的，”波希米亚姑娘回答，“那是象兄妹一般，两个相碰的但并不结合在一起的灵魂，就象手上的两根指头。”
“爱情呢？”
“啊，爱情么！”她说，声音颤抖起来，眼睛光采焕发。“那是两个人合成一个。那是一个男人和一个女人合成一个天使。那是天堂。”
这个街头舞女讲这些话的时候，神态美得出奇，使甘果瓦大大地受到感动，他觉得那种美和她那东方色彩的激昂慷慨的语言很相称。她那玫瑰色的纯洁的嘴角略带微笑，她的心思使她端庄纯洁的额头时而显得暗淡无光，就象谁吹了一口气在一面镜子上似的。她低垂的又长又黑的睫毛下闪出一种难以描绘的光芒，使她的容貌带着内心的柔和，就象拉斐尔一向在童贞、母性和神性的神秘交点上所追求的那样。
甘果瓦继续盘问。
“要怎样一个人才能使你喜欢呢？”
“应该是个男子汉。”
“我呢，”他问道，“那么我是个什么人呢？”
“应该是个头上戴着盔，手里握着剑，靴跟上有金马刺的男子汉。”
“这样说来，”甘果瓦说，“没有马就不是男子汉了。你爱着什么人吧？”
“爱情的爱吗？”
“爱情的爱。”
她沉思了一会，带着奇特的表情说：“我很快就会弄明白的。”
“为什么不在今天晚上弄明白？”诗人柔声问道，“为什么那个男子汉不是我呢？”
“我只能爱一个能保护我的男子汉。”
甘果瓦脸红了一会，知道那是在责怪他，显然那姑娘指的是两个钟头以前在那危急情况下他没有给她什么帮助。被当天晚上许多别的险遇抹去了的这桩记忆，此刻重新回到他的心里。他拍拍自己的额头。
“提起这事呀，小姐，我本应该从这件事说起。请原谅我的疏忽大意，你是怎样逃出了伽西莫多的爪子的呢？”
这个问题使波希米亚姑娘战栗起来。
“啊，可怕的驼背！”她用手捂着脸惊呼道，同时好象冷极了似的哆嗦起来。
“真是可怕！”仍然没放弃刚才的想法的甘果瓦说，“可是你怎样从他那里逃脱的呢？”
爱斯梅拉达叹了一口气，笑了一笑，可还是不作声地瞧着他。
“你知道他为什么要跟踪你吗？”甘果瓦又说，试着绕个弯子重新提出他的问题。
“我不知道。”少女回答。她又马上追问道：“可是你也跟踪我来着，你为什么跟踪我呢？”
“说老实话，”甘果瓦回答道，“我也不知道呀。”
两人好一会没讲话。甘果瓦用晚餐的刀轻轻敲桌子玩。少女微笑着，好象透过墙壁注视着什么东西。忽然她用几乎听不清的声音唱起歌来：“当色彩鲜艳的鸟儿沉默无声，当大地……”
她忽然停下来，抚摸着加里。
“你有个美丽的小动物呢。”甘果瓦说。
“这是我的妹妹呀。”她答道。
“大伙为什么管你叫‘拉·爱斯梅拉达’呢？”诗人问道。
“我一点也不明白。”
“不过总还有点什么道理吧？”
她从胸前取出一个椭圆形的小荷包，那是用一串阿德雷扎拉的念珠挂在她的脖子上的。荷包里发出一股强烈的樟脑味。它外面是一层绿绸子，中间嵌着一大块宝石似的绿色玻璃。
“也许是因为这件东西。”她说。
甘果瓦想去拿那只小荷包，她便缩回手去。
“别碰它，这是一个护身符。你会破坏它的法力的，要不它会使你着魔。”
诗人的好奇心更加被激动起来。
“那是谁给你的呀？”
她把一根手指头放在嘴上，把护身符藏在胸前。他又试着提出别的问题，可是她不怎么理睬。
“‘拉·爱斯梅拉达’这个字是什么意思？”
“我不知道。”她说。
“它是属于哪种语言？”
“是埃及话吧，我想。”
“我也这样想，”甘果瓦说，“你不是法国人吧？”
“我一点也不知道。”
“你有父母吗？”
她唱起一支古老的歌曲：“父兮鸟中雄，母兮堪匹俦；我渡沧浪水，何需艇与舟；父兮鸟中雄，母兮堪匹俦。”
“这支歌很好，”甘果瓦说，“你是几岁到法国来的？”
“一点点大的时候。”
“到巴黎呢？”
“去年。我们从巴巴尔门进城的时候，看见一只黄莺从芦苇里飞向天空，那时正是八月底，我就说：‘今年冬天一定很冷’。”
“去年冬天的确很冷，”甘果瓦说，很高兴又接上了话头，“我每天都朝手指头呵气过日子。那么你是天生就会预言的吗？”
她又做出爱理不理的样子。
“不是。”
“你们叫做埃及公爵的那个人，是你们地区的头头吗？”
“是呀。”
“给咱俩主持婚礼的就是他呢。”诗人怯生生地说。
她又习惯地扁了扁嘴说：“我连你的姓名都不知道。”
“我的姓名吗？要是你想知道的话，我叫比埃尔·甘果瓦。”
“我知道一个更漂亮的名字。”她说。
“狠心的人！”诗人说，“没关系，你不会让我发脾气的。同我熟悉之后你也许就会爱我的。既然你这样坦白地把你的身世告诉了我，我也要把我的告诉你。你知道我叫比埃尔·甘果瓦，我是戈内斯地方一个书记官的佃农的儿子。二十年前，在巴黎围城期间，我父亲被勃艮第人绞死了，我母亲被庇卡底人剖腹杀死了。因此我六岁就成了孤儿，脚底下没有鞋袜，只有巴黎的石板路。我不明白从六岁到十六岁那十年我是怎么活下来的。当时，这里那里，偶尔有个卖水果的妇女给我一个青梅，偶尔有个面包师傅扔给我一块面包。晚上我就被那二百二十人的夜巡队捉进监牢，我发现那儿倒是有一捆稻草当床铺呢。所有这一切都没有阻挡我长大和变瘦，就象你现在所看到的这样。冬天，我在精神病院的大门道里晒太阳取暖，我觉得圣若望的篝火要在三伏天才烧起来真是滑稽。十六岁上我想找个职业，我不断尝试去做各种事情。我当过兵，可是不够勇敢；我做过修士，可是不够虔诚；于是我吃了苦头啦。失望之下，我去给拿大斧头的木匠当学徒，可是我又不够健壮有力。
我很想去当教师，说真的我又目不识丁，但那还不是理由。过了一个时期，我发现自己缺少干任何事情的才干，看到自己做什么都不行，我就决定去当一个诗人，一个韵文作者。既然是个流浪汉，总是可以从事这种职业的，何况这种职业比我的几个小偷朋友们劝我干的偷盗之类总要好些。一个晴朗的日子，我遇上了巴黎圣母院可敬的副主教堂·克洛德·孚罗洛，他对我发生了兴趣。我就是靠了他，这才变成了象今天这样的一个真正的学者，懂得了从西塞罗的祈祷词到赛勒斯丹教派神甫念亡灵书用的拉丁文。我对于教育学、诗学、音韵学，甚至炼金术这门诡辩学中的诡辩学，也都不算外行。我就是今天早上在司法宫大厅演出并且博得很多掌声的那个圣迹剧的作者。我还写了一部差不多有六百页的著作，讲的是一四六五年出现的一颗巨大的彗星使一个男人发了疯的故事。我还做成功了另外一些事情。我当过工人，我参与了若望·莫格制造大炮的工作。你知道，今天在夏昂东桥试放这种大炮，它爆炸时炸死了二十四个看热闹的人。你看，我并不是个坏配偶。我懂得许多别的奇妙的技艺，这些我以后都可以教给你的母山羊，例如模仿巴黎主教的神态举动——就是让自己的水车把风磨桥上的行人全都喷湿的那个该死的伪君子。并且我的圣迹剧会给我赚一笔钱的，要是人们肯付给我的话。最后，我听任你的吩咐，我本人准备和你一道生活，连同我的灵魂、我的学识、我的文章。小姐，随你的便吧，或者是纯洁地或者是快活地生活，要是你认为可以，咱们就做夫妻；要是你认为做兄妹更好些，就做兄妹。”
甘果瓦不作声了，等待着他的表白在那少女身上引起的效果。她的眼睛盯在地上。
“‘弗比斯’，”她低声说道，接着就掉头问诗人：“‘弗比斯’这个词是什么意思呀？”
甘果瓦弄不清他刚才的一番话同这个问题有什么关系，但他也乐意炫耀一下自己的博学。他自命不凡地回答道：“这是拉丁文，意思是‘太阳’。”
“太阳！”她重复道。
“这是一位非常漂亮的弓箭手——一位天神的名字。”
“一位天神！”那埃及姑娘重复着这个词，她的声调里带有某种若有所思和热情冲动的成分。
正当这时候，她的一根别针松开了，掉到了地上。甘果瓦敏捷地俯身去拾，他再抬起头来的时候，少女和山羊都已经不见了，他听到锁门的声音。
无疑是同隔壁一间小房间相连的那道门给反锁起来了。
“至少她给我留下了一张床铺吧？”我们的哲学家说。
他在小房间里走了一圈，房间里除了一个四面雕花的大木箱之外，没有什么可以当床的家具。甘果瓦躺在上面时，觉得真有点象米克俄梅加全身躺在阿尔卑斯山上一样。
“得了吧，”他说道，一面尽可能躺得舒服些，“应该忍耐。不过这可真是一个奇特的新婚之夜。真可惜！不过这个碎罐缔姻的方法倒真有点洪荒时代的那种朴实，它挺合我的口味。”
收听单词发音 |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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chimera
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| n.神话怪物；梦幻 | |
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chimeras
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| n.（由几种动物的各部分构成的）假想的怪兽( chimera的名词复数 )；不可能实现的想法；幻想；妄想 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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chimerical
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| adj.荒诞不经的，梦幻的 | |
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enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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ingenuously
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| adv.率直地，正直地 | |
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eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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47
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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48
ordinances
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| n.条例，法令( ordinance的名词复数 ) | |
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49
prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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50
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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51
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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52
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
temporizing
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| v.敷衍( temporize的现在分词 )；拖延；顺应时势；暂时同意 | |
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54
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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55
prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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56
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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57
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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58
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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59
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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60
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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61
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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62
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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64
voracity
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| n.贪食，贪婪 | |
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65
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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66
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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67
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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68
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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69
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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70
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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71
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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72
pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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74
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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75
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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77
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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78
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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79
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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80
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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81
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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82
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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83
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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84
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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85
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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86
intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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87
maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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88
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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89
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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90
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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91
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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93
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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94
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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95
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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96
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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97
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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98
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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99
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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100
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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101
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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102
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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103
amulet
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| n.护身符 | |
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104
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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105
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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106
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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107
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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108
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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109
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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110
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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111
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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112
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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113
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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114
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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115
sophism
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| n.诡辩 | |
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116
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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117
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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118
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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119
chastely
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| adv.贞洁地，清高地，纯正地 | |
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120
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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121
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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122
archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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123
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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124
nuptial
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| adj.婚姻的，婚礼的 | |
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125
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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