As soon as Pierre Gringoire had seen how this whole affair was turning, and that there would decidedly be the rope, hanging, and other disagreeable things for the principal personages in this comedy, he had not cared to identify himself with the matter further. The outcasts with whom he had remained, reflecting that, after all, it was the best company in Paris,--the outcasts had continued to interest themselves in behalf of the gypsy. He had thought it very simple on the part of people who had, like herself, nothing else in prospect1 but Charmolue and Torterue, and who, unlike himself, did not gallop3 through the regions of imagination between the wings of Pegasus. From their remarks, he had learned that his wife of the broken crock had taken refuge in Notre-Dame4, and he was very glad of it. But he felt no temptation to go and see her there. He meditated5 occasionally on the little goat, and that was all. Moreover, he was busy executing feats6 of strength during the day for his living, and at night he was engaged in composing a memorial against the Bishop7 of Paris, for he remembered having been drenched8 by the wheels of his mills, and he cherished a grudge9 against him for it. He also occupied himself with annotating10 the fine work of Baudry-le- Rouge11, Bishop of Noyon and Tournay, _De Cupa Petrarum_, which had given him a violent passion for architecture, an inclination12 which had replaced in his heart his passion for hermeticism, of which it was, moreover, only a natural corollary, since there is an intimate relation between hermeticism and masonry13. Gringoire had passed from the love of an idea to the love of the form of that idea.
One day he had halted near Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois, at the corner of a mansion14 called "For-l'Evêque " (the Bishop's Tribunal), which stood opposite another called "For-le-Roi" (the King's Tribunal). At this For-l'Evêque, there was a charming chapel15 of the fourteenth century, whose apse was on the street. Gringoire was devoutly17 examining its exterior18 sculptures. He was in one of those moments of egotistical, exclusive, supreme19, enjoyment20 when the artist beholds22 nothing in the world but art, and the world in art. All at once he feels a hand laid gravely on his shoulder. He turns round. It was his old friend, his former master, monsieur the archdeacon.
He was stupefied. It was a long time since he had seen the archdeacon, and Dom Claude was one of those solemn and impassioned men, a meeting with whom always upsets the equilibrium23 of a sceptical philosopher.
The archdeacon maintained silence for several minutes, during which Gringoire had time to observe him. He found Dom Claude greatly changed; pale as a winter's morning, with hollow eyes, and hair almost white. The priest broke the silence at length, by saying, in a tranquil24 but glacial tone,--
"How do you do, Master Pierre?"
"My health?" replied Gringoire. "Eh! eh! one can say both one thing and another on that score. Still, it is good, on the whole. I take not too much of anything. You know, master, that the secret of keeping well, according to Hippocrates; ~id est: cibi, potus, somni, venus, omnia moderata sint~."
"So you have no care, Master Pierre?" resumed the archdeacon, gazing intently at Gringoire.
"None, i' faith!"
"And what are you doing now?"
"You see, master. I am examining the chiselling26 of these stones, and the manner in which yonder bas-relief is thrown out."
The priest began to smile with that bitter smile which raises only one corner of the mouth.
"And that amuses you?"
"'Tis paradise!" exclaimed Gringoire. And leaning over the sculptures with the fascinated air of a demonstrator of living phenomena27: "Do you not think, for instance, that yon metamorphosis in bas-relief is executed with much adroitness28, delicacy29 and patience? Observe that slender column. Around what capital have you seen foliage30 more tender and better caressed31 by the chisel25. Here are three raised bosses of Jean Maillevin. They are not the finest works of this great master. Nevertheless, the naivete, the sweetness of the faces, the gayety of the attitudes and draperies, and that inexplicable32 charm which is mingled33 with all the defects, render the little figures very diverting and delicate, perchance, even too much so. You think that it is not diverting?"
"Yes, certainly!" said the priest.
"And if you were to see the interior of the chapel!" resumed the poet, with his garrulous34 enthusiasm. "Carvings35 everywhere. 'Tis as thickly clustered as the head of a cabbage! The apse is of a very devout16, and so peculiar36 a fashion that I have never beheld37 anything like it elsewhere!"
Dom Claude interrupted him,--
"You are happy, then?"
Gringoire replied warmly;--
"On my honor, yes! First I loved women, then animals. Now I love stones. They are quite as amusing as women and animals, and less treacherous38."
The priest laid his hand on his brow. It was his habitual39 gesture.
"Really?"
"Stay!" said Gringoire, "one has one's pleasures!" He took the arm of the priest, who let him have his way, and made him enter the staircase turret40 of For-l'Evêque. "Here is a staircase! every time that I see it I am happy. It is of the simplest and rarest manner of steps in Paris. All the steps are bevelled underneath41. Its beauty and simplicity42 consist in the interspacing of both, being a foot or more wide, which are interlaced, interlocked, fitted together, enchained enchased, interlined one upon another, and bite into each other in a manner that is truly firm and graceful43."
"And you desire nothing?"
"No."
"And you regret nothing?"
"Neither regret nor desire. I have arranged my mode of life."
"What men arrange," said Claude, "things disarrange."
"I am a Pyrrhonian philosopher," replied Gringoire, "and I hold all things in equilibrium."
"And how do you earn your living?"
"I still make epics44 and tragedies now and then; but that which brings me in most is the industry with which you are acquainted, master; carrying pyramids of chairs in my teeth."
"The trade is but a rough one for a philosopher."
"'Tis still equilibrium," said Gringoire. "When one has an idea, one encounters it in everything."
"I know that," replied the archdeacon.
After a silence, the priest resumed,--
"You are, nevertheless, tolerably poor?"
"Poor, yes; unhappy, no."
At that moment, a trampling45 of horses was heard, and our two interlocutors beheld defiling46 at the end of the street, a company of the king's unattached archers47, their lances borne high, an officer at their head. The cavalcade48 was brilliant, and its march resounded49 on the pavement.
"How you gaze at that officer!" said Gringoire, to the archdeacon.
"Because I think I recognize him."
"What do you call him?"
"I think," said Claude, "that his name is Phoebus de Chateaupers."
"Phoebus! A curious name! There is also a Phoebus, Comte de Foix. I remember having known a wench who swore only by the name of Phoebus."
"Come away from here," said the priest. "I have something to say to you."
From the moment of that troop's passing, some agitation50 had pierced through the archdeacon's glacial envelope. He walked on. Gringoire followed him, being accustomed to obey him, like all who had once approached that man so full of ascendency. They reached in silence the Rue2 des Bernardins, which was nearly deserted51. Here Dom Claude paused.
"What have you to say to me, master?" Gringoire asked him.
"Do you not think that the dress of those cavaliers whom we have just seen is far handsomer than yours and mine?"
Gringoire tossed his head.
"I' faith! I love better my red and yellow jerkin, than those scales of iron and steel. A fine pleasure to produce, when you walk, the same noise as the Quay52 of Old Iron, in an earthquake!"
"So, Gringoire, you have never cherished envy for those handsome fellows in their military doublets?"
"Envy for what, monsieur the archdeacon? their strength, their armor, their discipline? Better philosophy and independence in rags. I prefer to be the head of a fly rather than the tail of a lion."
"That is singular," said the priest dreamily. "Yet a handsome uniform is a beautiful thing."
Gringoire, perceiving that he was in a pensive53 mood, quitted him to go and admire the porch of a neighboring house. He came back clapping his hands.
"If you were less engrossed54 with the fine clothes of men of war, monsieur the archdeacon, I would entreat55 you to come and see this door. I have always said that the house of the Sieur Aubry had the most superb entrance in the world."
"Pierre Gringoire," said the archdeacon, "What have you done with that little gypsy dancer?"
"La Esmeralda? You change the conversation very abruptly56."
"Was she not your wife?"
"Yes, by virtue57 of a broken crock. We were to have four years of it. By the way," added Gringoire, looking at the archdeacon in a half bantering58 way, "are you still thinking of her?"
"And you think of her no longer?"
"Very little. I have so many things. Good heavens, how pretty that little goat was!"
"Had she not saved your life?"
"'Tis true, pardieu!"
"Well, what has become of her? What have you done with her?"
"I cannot tell you. I believe that they have hanged her."
"You believe so?"
"I am not sure. When I saw that they wanted to hang people, I retired59 from the game."
"That is all you know of it?"
"Wait a bit. I was told that she had taken refuge in Notre-Dame, and that she was safe there, and I am delighted to hear it, and I have not been able to discover whether the goat was saved with her, and that is all I know."
"I will tell you more," cried Dom Claude; and his voice, hitherto low, slow, and almost indistinct, turned to thunder. "She has in fact, taken refuge in Notre-Dame. But in three days justice will reclaim60 her, and she will be hanged on the Grève. There is a decree of parliament."
"That's annoying," said Gringoire.
The priest, in an instant, became cold and calm again.
"And who the devil," resumed the poet, "has amused himself with soliciting61 a decree of reintegration? Why couldn't they leave parliament in peace? What harm does it do if a poor girl takes shelter under the flying buttresses62 of Notre- Dame, beside the swallows' nests?"
"There are satans in this world," remarked the archdeacon.
"'Tis devilish badly done," observed Gringoire.
The archdeacon resumed after a silence,--
"So, she saved your life?"
"Among my good friends the outcasts. A little more or a little less and I should have been hanged. They would have been sorry for it to-day."
"Would not you like to do something for her?"
"I ask nothing better, Dom Claude; but what if I entangle63 myself in some villanous affair?"
"What matters it?"
"Bah! what matters it? You are good, master, that you are! I have two great works already begun."
The priest smote64 his brow. In spite of the calm which he affected65, a violent gesture betrayed his internal convulsions from time to time.
"How is she to be saved?"
Gringoire said to him; "Master, I will reply to you; ~Il padelt~, which means in Turkish, 'God is our hope.'"
"How is she to be saved?" repeated Claude dreamily.
Gringoire smote his brow in his turn.
"Listen, master. I have imagination; I will devise expedients66 for you. What if one were to ask her pardon from the king?"
"Of Louis XI.! A pardon!"
"Why not?"
"To take the tiger's bone from him!"
Gringoire began to seek fresh expedients.
"Well, stay! Shall I address to the midwives a request accompanied by the declaration that the girl is with child!"
This made the priest's hollow eye flash.
"With child! knave68! do you know anything of this?"
Gringoire was alarmed by his air. He hastened to say, "Oh, no, not I! Our marriage was a real ~forismaritagium~. I stayed outside. But one might obtain a respite69, all the same."
"Madness! Infamy70! Hold your tongue!"
"You do wrong to get angry," muttered Gringoire. "One obtains a respite; that does no harm to any one, and allows the midwives, who are poor women, to earn forty deniers parisis."
The priest was not listening to him!
"But she must leave that place, nevertheless!" he murmured, "the decree is to be executed within three days. Moreover, there will be no decree; that Quasimodo! Women have very depraved tastes!" He raised his voice: "Master Pierre, I have reflected well; there is but one means of safety for her."
"What? I see none myself."
"Listen, Master Pierre, remember that you owe your life to her. I will tell you my idea frankly71. The church is watched night and day; only those are allowed to come out, who have been seen to enter. Hence you can enter. You will come. I will lead you to her. You will change clothes with her. She will take your doublet; you will take her petticoat."
"So far, it goes well," remarked the philosopher, "and then?"
"And then? she will go forth72 in your garments; you will remain with hers. You will be hanged, perhaps, but she will be saved."
Gringoire scratched his ear, with a very serious air. "Stay!" said he, "that is an idea which would never have occurred to me unaided."
At Dom Claude's proposition, the open and benign73 face of the poet had abruptly clouded over, like a smiling Italian landscape, when an unlucky squall comes up and dashes a cloud across the sun.
"Well! Gringoire, what say you to the means?"
"I say, master, that I shall not be hanged, perchance, but that I shall be hanged indubitably.
"That concerns us not."
"The deuce!" said Gringoire.
"She has saved your life. 'Tis a debt that you are discharging."
"There are a great many others which I do not discharge."
"Master Pierre, it is absolutely necessary."
The archdeacon spoke74 imperiously."
"Listen, Dom Claude," replied the poet in utter consternation75. You cling to that idea, and you are wrong. I do not see why I should get myself hanged in some one else's place."
"What have you, then, which attaches you so strongly to life?"
"Oh! a thousand reasons!"
"What reasons, if you please?"
"What? The air, the sky, the morning, the evening, the moonlight, my good friends the thieves, our jeers76 with the old hags of go-betweens, the fine architecture of Paris to study, three great books to make, one of them being against the bishops77 and his mills; and how can I tell all? Anaxagoras said that he was in the world to admire the sun. And then, from morning till night, I have the happiness of passing all my days with a man of genius, who is myself, which is very agreeable."
"A head fit for a mule78 bell!" muttered the archdeacon. "Oh! tell me who preserved for you that life which you render so charming to yourself? To whom do you owe it that you breathe that air, behold21 that sky, and can still amuse your lark's mind with your whimsical nonsense and madness? Where would you be, had it not been for her? Do you then desire that she through whom you are alive, should die? that she should die, that beautiful, sweet, adorable creature, who is necessary to the light of the world and more divine than God, while you, half wise, and half fool, a vain sketch79 of something, a sort of vegetable, which thinks that it walks, and thinks that it thinks, you will continue to live with the life which you have stolen from her, as useless as a candle in broad daylight? Come, have a little pity, Gringoire; be generous in your turn; it was she who set the example."
The priest was vehement80. Gringoire listened to him at first with an undecided air, then he became touched, and wound up with a grimace81 which made his pallid82 face resemble that of a new-born infant with an attack of the colic.
"You are pathetic!" said he, wiping away a tear. "Well! I will think about it. That's a queer idea of yours.--After all," he continued after a pause, "who knows? perhaps they will not hang me. He who becomes betrothed83 does not always marry. When they find me in that little lodging84 so grotesquely85 muffled86 in petticoat and coif, perchance they will burst with laughter. And then, if they do hang me,--well! the halter is as good a death as any. 'Tis a death worthy87 of a sage88 who has wavered all his life; a death which is neither flesh nor fish, like the mind of a veritable sceptic; a death all stamped with Pyrrhonism and hesitation89, which holds the middle station betwixt heaven and earth, which leaves you in suspense90. 'Tis a philosopher's death, and I was destined91 thereto, perchance. It is magnificent to die as one has lived."
The priest interrupted him: "Is it agreed."
"What is death, after all?" pursued Gringoire with exaltation. "A disagreeable moment, a toll-gate, the passage of little to nothingness. Some one having asked Cercidas, the Megalopolitan, if he were willing to die: 'Why not?' he replied; 'for after my death I shall see those great men, Pythagoras among the philosophers, Hecataeus among historians, Homer among poets, Olympus among musicians.'"
The archdeacon gave him his hand: "It is settled, then? You will come to-morrow?"
This gesture recalled Gringoire to reality.
"Ah! i' faith no!" he said in the tone of a man just waking up. "Be hanged! 'tis too absurd. I will not."
"Farewell, then!" and the archdeacon added between his teeth: "I'll find you again!"
"I do not want that devil of a man to find me," thought Gringoire; and he ran after Dom Claude. "Stay, monsieur the archdeacon, no ill-feeling between old friends! You take an interest in that girl, my wife, I mean, and 'tis well. You have devised a scheme to get her out of Notre-Dame, but your way is extremely disagreeable to me, Gringoire. If I had only another one myself! I beg to say that a luminous92 inspiration has just occurred to me. If I possessed93 an expedient67 for extricating94 her from a dilemma95, without compromising my own neck to the extent of a single running knot, what would you say to it? Will not that suffice you? Is it absolutely necessary that I should be hanged, in order that you may be content?"
The priest tore out the buttons of his cassock with impatience96: "Stream of words! What is your plan?"
"Yes," resumed Gringoire, talking to himself and touching97 his nose with his forefinger98 in sign of meditation,--"that's it!--The thieves are brave fellows!--The tribe of Egypt love her!--They will rise at the first word!--Nothing easier!--A sudden stroke.--Under cover of the disorder99, they will easily carry her off!--Beginning to-morrow evening. They will ask nothing better.
"The plan! speak," cried the archdeacon shaking him.
Gringoire turned majestically100 towards him: "Leave me! You see that I am composing." He meditated for a few moments more, then began to clap his hands over his thought, crying: "Admirable! success is sure!"
"The plan!" repeated Claude in wrath101.
Gringoire was radiant.
"Come, that I may tell you that very softly. 'Tis a truly gallant102 counter-plot, which will extricate103 us all from the matter. Pardieu, it must be admitted that I am no fool."
He broke off.
"Oh, by the way! is the little goat with the wench?"
"Yes. The devil take you!"
"They would have hanged it also, would they not?"
"What is that to me?"
"Yes, they would have hanged it. They hanged a sow last month. The headsman loveth that; he eats the beast afterwards. Take my pretty Djali! Poor little lamb!"
"Malediction104!" exclaimed Dom Claude. "You are the executioner. What means of safety have you found, knave? Must your idea be extracted with the forceps?"
"Very fine, master, this is it."
Gringoire bent105 his head to the archdeacon's head and spoke to him in a very low voice, casting an uneasy glance the while from one end to the other of the street, though no one was passing. When he had finished, Dom Claude took his hand and said coldly : "'Tis well. Farewell until to-morrow."
"Until to-morrow," repeated Gringoire. And, while the archdeacon was disappearing in one direction, he set off in the other, saying to himself in a low voice: "Here's a grand affair, Monsieur Pierre Gringoire. Never mind! 'Tis not written that because one is of small account one should take fright at a great enterprise. Bitou carried a great bull on his shoulders; the water-wagtails, the warblers, and the buntings traverse the ocean."
自从看到那整个案件怎样改变，并且断定总是绳索绞刑架和其他不愉快的结局在等待那一出喜剧的主要角色，甘果瓦就不怎么打算牵连进去。他曾在当中混过的那些乞丐，却认为那埃及姑娘始终是他们在巴黎最好的一个伙伴，便继续干预她的案件。他觉得那在他们方面是十分自然的，他们也象那个姑娘一样，除了沙尔莫吕和刽子手之外再也指望不到什么，他们不可能象他那样，去展开波戈斯的双翅在幻想的领域里飞翔。从他们的谈话中，他得知他那碎罐缔婚的伴侣躲藏在圣母院里，因此也就十分心安理得了。但他连到那里去看看她的打算都没有，只有几次想起了那只小山羊罢了。何况他白天得忙于生计，晚上要苦苦思索对付巴黎主教的办法，他还记得主教的风磨曾经泼了他一身水，因而怀恨在心。他又要忙着给鲁阿雍和杜奈伊的主教波德里·勒呼日的佳作《论磨光石头》作注解，这部书在他心里唤起了对于建筑艺术的强烈兴趣。这种兴趣替代了他对炼金术的兴趣，前者不过是后者的自然结果，因为炼金术同砖石工程之间是有紧密联系的。甘果瓦从爱好一种观念进而爱好起那种观念的形式来了。
有一天，他站在圣日尔曼·多克塞尔教堂附近一座名叫主教法庭的府邸的角上，这座建筑和国王法庭正好相对，里面有一座可爱的十四世纪的小礼拜堂，它的唱诗室面临大街。热心观赏着它外部雕刻的甘果瓦，正处于艺术家在世界上只看到艺术，并且只在艺术中看到世界时那种自私、专注、崇高的享受的时刻，忽然他感到有一只手臂重重地搭在他的肩头，他回转身来，原来是他从前的朋友和老师副主教先生。
他非常惊讶，他已经很久没看见副主教了。堂·克洛德是属于那种又阴沉又热情的人，怀疑派哲学家在碰到那种人时往往会失去平静的心情。
副主教好一会没有说话，甘果瓦便乘机观察他。他发现堂·克洛德改变得相当厉害，象冬天的早晨那样苍白，眼睛凹陷，头发几乎白了。神甫终于打破沉默，用冷静而淡漠的声音问道：“你近来身体好吗，比埃尔先生？”
“我的身体吗？”甘果瓦答道，“哎，哎，可以说好也可以说不好，总的说来是好的。我对什么事都不求过分。你知道吗，老师？根据希波克拉特的意见，保持健康的秘密就是‘适当地节制食物、饮料、睡眠和爱情。’”
“那么你没有忧愁吗，比埃尔先生？”副主教牢牢地盯着甘果瓦问道。
“当然没有呀。”
“你这会儿在干什么？”
“你看见的呀，我的老师，我在观察这一堆石头，看这些浮雕是怎么刻法。”
神甫微笑起来，那是仅仅挂在嘴角上的痛苦的微笑：“你对它挺感兴趣吗？”
“这是个乐园！”甘果瓦大声说，他转身向着那些雕刻，象一个解释一种奇异现象的人那样，容光焕发，“例如这种变形的浅浮雕，你难道不认为是花了很多巧思和耐心制成的吗？请看这根小柱子，你见过哪根柱子周围有雕得这么柔和可爱的簇叶？这里是若望·马那凡刻的三个圆形装饰图案，它还不算是这位天才最好的杰作呢。可是，请看那面孔的真挚与柔和，那姿态的欢乐，还有那些帏幔，那搀混在一切连接之处的说不清楚的装饰物，使得那些造型非常生动，非常优美，也许过分生动过分优美啦。你不觉得这是很有意思的吗？”
“是这样！”神甫说。
“要是你看见小礼拜堂的内部，”诗人又热心地喋喋不休，“到处都有雕刻，象成堆的花椰菜心一般！唱诗室的式样很好，很别致，我在别处没见过同样的。”
堂·克洛德打断他的话问道：“那么你是挺幸福的吧？”
甘果瓦热烈地回答说：“是呀，凭我的荣誉担保！起先我爱过女人，后来我爱禽兽，现在我爱石头。它们也同女人和禽兽一样可爱，而且没有那么虚伪。”
神甫把手举到额前，那是他惯常的姿势。“真的！”他说。
“等一等！”甘果瓦说，“这也很有乐趣呢！”他挽着神甫的胳膊，神甫没有拒绝，他就把神甫领到主教法庭的角楼下。“这儿是一道楼梯，我每次看见它总是非常高兴。它挺简单，但却是巴黎最少见的，每一级的底下部分都是圆形，它的美丽和单纯并存于那些重叠处，它们每一级相隔三尺左右互相衔接着，联系着，嵌合着，用又牢固又美观的方式互相吻合。”
“你什么也不想望吗？”
“不。”
“你什么也不悔恨吗？”
“既不悔恨也不想望，我把我的生活安排好啦！”
“人们已经安排好了的，”克洛德说，“往往有些事情会把它打乱。”
“我是个怀疑派哲学家，”甘果瓦答道，“我凡事都只求保持平衡。”
“你怎样维持你的生活呢？”
“我仍然有时写写史诗和悲剧，但是挣钱最多的是你看见过的那种职业，就是用牙齿咬住椅子搭成的金字塔。”
“这种职业对于哲学家是低下的呀。”
“这也是为了平衡，”甘果瓦说，“当你头脑里有了一种观念的时候，你就会把它应用到每件事情上。”
“这我知道。”副主教回答。
过了一会神甫问道：“那么你仍然很穷吗？”
“穷是很穷，快乐倒也快乐。”
这时响起了一阵马蹄得得的声音，我们的两位对谈者看见街的尽头出现了一队王室近卫弓箭手，高举着戈矛，为首的是一个军官。整个骑兵队金碧辉煌，耀武扬威地在石板路上奔驰。
“你好象在注意看那个军官。”甘果瓦向克洛德说。
“因为我相信我认识他。”
“你说他叫什么名字？”
“我想，”克洛德说，“他的姓名是弗比斯·德·沙多倍尔。”
“弗比斯！多么奇怪的名字！还有一个弗比斯，他是法克斯的伯爵。我记得我认识的一位姑娘，她只有凭着弗比斯的名字才肯发誓。”
“跟我来，”神甫说，“我有话同你谈。”
打从这个骑兵队经过，副主教那冷冰冰的神色就变得很激动。他迈步走，甘果瓦也跟他走，他对那副主教是顺从惯了的，无论谁，只要接近过那卓越的人一次，也总是如此。他们默默地走到相当偏僻的倍尔那丹街。堂·克洛德在这里停步不走了。
“你有什么话对我讲呀，老师？”甘果瓦问他。
“难道你不认为刚才走过的那些骑士，”副主教深思地回答道，“衣服穿得比你我都漂亮吗？”
甘果瓦摇摇头：“什么！我倒挺喜欢我这半红半黄的上衣，它比那些钢铁做的衣服漂亮得多。他们每走一步，那些衣服就象铁工场似的发出地震般的响声，那才可笑呢。”
“那么，你从来不羡慕那些穿铠甲的好汉吗？”
“羡慕什么呀，副主教先生？难道羡慕他们的力量，他们的武器，他们的操练吗？还是哲学家和穿着破衣烂衫的无牵无挂的人有价值些。我宁愿做苍蝇的脑袋，不愿做狮子的尾巴。”
“这就奇怪哪，”象在做梦似的神甫说，“一身漂亮军装到底是漂亮的呀。”
甘果瓦看见他若有所思的样子，就走到旁边去观看一座房子的门廊，接着他又拍着手走回来。“要不是你那么一心在想战士们的漂亮服装，副主教先生，我就想请你去看看这个门廊。我常说俄伯里大人的房子有一个全世界最好的入口处。”
“比埃尔·甘果瓦，”副主教说，“你为那个跳舞的小姑娘做了些什么？”
“拉·爱斯梅拉达吗？你怎么突然改变了话题！”
“她不是你的妻子吗？”
“是呀，摔破一只瓦罐缔结的婚姻，我们可以做四年夫妻。那么，”甘果瓦望着副主教半带嘲讽地说，“你是常常想这件事的了？”
“你呢，你就不再想了吗？”
“很少想，我的事情这样多！……我的上帝，那只小山羊多么好看呀！”
“那个流浪姑娘不是救过你的命吗？”
“这是千真万确的。”
“得哪！她怎么样了？你为她做过什么？”
“我没什么话要对你说。我想她给人绞死啦。”
“你相信是那样吗？”
“我不敢断定。看见他们想绞死人，我就抽身走开了。”
“这就是你所知道的全部情况么？”
“等一下。有人告诉过我说她躲在圣母院里，她在那里挺安全，我听了非常高兴，可是我弄不清那只小山羊是不是同她一起得救了。这就是我知道的全部情况。”
“我还可以再告诉你一点，”克洛德那一直低沉缓慢近于嘶哑的声音忽然变得响亮起来，他嚷道：“她的确是躲在圣母院里。可是三天以后，法庭仍然要把她抓去绞死在格雷沃广场上，大理院已经下了一道命令。”
“那太可恶了！”甘果瓦说。
一眨眼，神甫又恢复了冷淡和平静的神情。
“是哪一个魔鬼，”甘果瓦问道，“偏有兴趣搞这种维持原判的命令呢？
他们不能叫大理院别管闲事吗？一个可怜的姑娘躲在圣母院屋檐下的燕子窝旁边，关他们什么事？”
“世界上是有撒旦的啊。”
“那是脾气顶坏的魔鬼。”
副主教沉默了一会说：“那么她是救过你性命的啦？”
“就在我那些乞丐朋友那里，差一点儿我就给绞死哪。他们现在想起来一定会难过的。”
“你一点都不打算替她出力吗？”
“我再愿意不过了，堂·克洛德。可是那样我的脖子就可能套上活结！”
“那有什么要紧！”
“什么！有什么要紧！你倒是好心人，我的老师！可是我已经着手在写两部伟大的作品呀！”
神甫拍拍自己的额头，他虽然外表故作镇静，但时时会有突然的举动泄露出他内心的痉挛。“怎样才能救她呢？”
甘果瓦说：“老师，我来回答你，有句土耳其话说‘上帝就是我们的希望。’”
“怎样才能救她呢？”神甫象在做梦似的说道。
这回轮到甘果瓦拍自己的额头了。
“听我说呀，我的老师，我有点想象力，我会给你想出点计策的。可不可以请求国王开恩？”
“向路易十一请求恩典吗？”
“为什么不行？”
“那是到饿虎嘴巴里去取骨头呀！”
甘果瓦又考虑另外一些计策。
“咳，有啦！你愿不愿意让我去请稳婆来检查一番，就说那姑娘怀孕了？”
这句话使那神甫深陷的眼睛里闪出怒火。
“怀孕了！恶棍！你是不是知道什么真象？”
甘果瓦被他的神色骇住了，连忙回答说：“啊，不是我呀，我们的婚姻是一种真正的‘假婚’。我总是被关在门外的。可是无论如何我们总可以要求缓刑吧。”
“笨蛋！无耻的东西！住口！”
“你发怒可不对！”甘果瓦抱怨道，“那样就能求得缓刑，对谁都没有什么坏处，还可以让稳婆们得到四十个巴黎德里埃的报酬，她们都是些穷苦女人。”
神甫没听他说话。“无论如何她得离开那个地方，”他心里嘀咕道，“命令三天后就要执行了。何况，哪怕没有那个命令，也还有个伽西莫多，女人都有堕落的兴趣。”于是他提高声音说：“比埃尔先生，我考虑好了，只有一个办法能够救她。”
“什么办法？我呢，我可看不出还有什么办法。”
“听着，比埃尔先生，可得记着你应该用生命来报答她。我坦白地把我的意见告诉你吧，教堂日夜都有人把守着，他们只许他们看见进去过的人出来。你是能够进去的，你来吧，我要把你领到她的身边，你要同她换穿衣服，她穿你这件红黄两色的上衣，你穿她的连衣裙。”
“到此为止一切都挺好，”哲学家说道，“可是以后呢？”
“以后吗？她就穿着你的衣服出来，你穿着她的衣服留在教堂里。你也许会被绞死，但她就能得救了。”
甘果瓦态度非常认真地抓抓耳朵。
“得啦，”他说，“这么个念头决不会自个儿跑进我的脑子！”
听到堂·克洛德这个出乎意料的提议，诗人开朗愉快的面容上忽然阴云密布，好象赏心悦目的意大利风景遭到了讨厌的风暴的袭击，给太阳盖上了一层乌云。
“咳，甘果瓦！你认为这个办法怎么样？”
“我说呀，我的老师，他们或许不会把我绞死，不过他们一定会把我绞死的。”
“那可同我们不相干。”
“真倒霉！”甘果瓦说。
“她救过你的命，你这是还一笔债呀。”
“有许多债我是根本不还的！”
“比埃尔先生，这笔债一定得还。”
副主教说话的语气斩钉截铁。
“听我说，堂·克洛德，”惊惶失措的诗人说道，“你坚持这个意见，可是你弄错了，我不明白我有什么必要代替别人去受绞刑。”
“是什么使你这样留恋生命呀？”
“啊，有一千个理由！”
“是哪些理由，可以告诉我吗？”
“哪些理由？空气、天空、早晨、黄昏和月光，还有我那些乞丐朋友，我们同好脾气的姑娘们的嬉戏，要研究巴黎的漂亮建筑，要写出三部伟大的作品，其中有一部是反对大主教和他那些风磨的……我怎能知道还有些什么！安纳克沙戈拉斯说他活在世界上是为了赞颂太阳的。何况我从早到晚同我自己这样一位天才一块儿生活，这是非常惬意的啊。”
“你的脑子简直可以做铃铛！”副主教埋怨道，“咳，说呀，你觉得这么可爱的生命，是谁替你保全的？谁使你能够呼吸空气，仰望天空，还能用荒谬和愚蠢来使你那云雀般的心灵高兴的？没有她，哪里还有你？你倒情愿让她死掉，让那使你留下了一条命的她死掉？让那个美丽温柔可爱的人，那个世界需要她正如需要太阳一样的人，那比上帝还神圣的人死掉！你这样一个半聪明半疯癫的家伙，你这毫无用处的象草一样的东西，你这种自以为会走路会思想的草木，你却要用你从她那里偷来的生命活下去，象大白天点的蜡烛一样毫无用处地活下去？得啦，发点善心吧，甘果瓦！轮到你来表现勇气了。她已经先开了头啦。”
神甫说得非常热心，甘果瓦起先是用犹豫不决的态度听着，随后心软起来，最后做出一副难受的怪样子，就象初生的婴孩肚子痛时那样。
“你的话很动听，”他抹掉一滴眼泪说，“好吧，我考虑一下，总之，你这个主意怪滑稽的。”他静默了一会之后接着说，“谁知道呢？也许他们不会绞死我。订了婚的人往往不能成婚。他们发现我在那个房间里，看见我穿着连衣裙，戴着女人帽子，他们或许会大笑一场。要是他们处我绞刑呢？
咳，被绳子绞死也不过同别的死法一样，或者，说得好听点，和别种死法不一样，那是一个终生犹豫不决的智者的死，一种象可敬的怀疑论者那样不明不白的死，一种深受怀疑和犹豫的影响，介乎天地之间的吊着的死。那是一位哲学家的死，我可能是注定要那样死啦，活过了才死倒是很了不起的呢。”
神甫打断他说：“咱们意见一致了吧？”
“说到终了，死又算得了什么？”甘果瓦激动地接着说道，“那是个不愉快的时刻，是从本来很少到完全没有的那条路的买路钱。有人问一个大城市的居民塞尔西达斯会不会甘心死去，他回答说：‘为什么不会？死后我就能看到那些伟大人物，象哲学家里面的毕达哥拉斯，史学家里面的埃加德斯，诗人里面的荷马，音乐家里面的奥兰普。’”
副主教抓住他的手：“那么说定了？你明天来。”
他的态度把甘果瓦带回了现实。
“啊，绝对不行！”他用从梦中惊醒的人的语气说道，“给人绞死！那太荒谬了。我不愿意。”
“那么告别了！”副主教咬牙切齿地说，“我还会找你的！”
“我可不愿意这个魔鬼般的人再来找我，”甘果瓦想。于是他追上了堂·克洛德说：“等一等呀，副主教先生！老朋友之间犯不上闹别扭呀！你对那位姑娘——也就是我的妻子——发生兴趣，我可以说，那挺好呀。你想出了一个把她救出圣母院的计划，可是你那个计划对我绝对不适用。我刚才想到了一个好主意。假若我有办法不让自己的脖子给活结套住也能把她救出来，你以为怎样？难道绝对不行吗？难道非得我被人绞死才能令你满意吗？”
神甫不耐烦地扯着衣服上的钮扣说：“真是口若悬河！你的办法到底是怎样的？”
“对了，”甘果瓦自言自语道，一面把一根食指按着鼻头表示在沉思默想，“就是这样！乞丐们都是些好汉，那些埃及人都疼爱她，一句话就能使他们挺身而出，再没有比这事更容易的了，突然一下子，趁着混乱的当儿，他们就很容易把她抢走。从明天傍晚……他们可再情愿不过了。”
“用什么办法，说呀！”神甫摇着他说道。
甘果瓦庄严地转身向着他：“别吵！你看见我正在想办法呀。”他又考虑了一会，随后他笑着拍手赞赏自己的想法：“妙极了！一定会成功！”
“用什么办法？”克洛德恼怒地问。
甘果瓦满面光辉。
“过来，让我悄悄告诉你，这是一条大胆的反攻计，它会使我们完全解除困难。老天作证！可得承认我并不是一个笨伯呢。”
他忽然停顿了一下：“啊！小山羊是同那姑娘在一起吧？”
“是呀。让魔鬼把它带去！”
“他们也要把它绞死，不是吗？”
“那跟我有什么关系？”
埃加德斯，公元前六世纪的希腊历史学家和地理学家。
“是呀，他们要绞死它。上个月他们就绞死了一头母猪，刽子手愿意那样呗，然后他就好吃猪肉啦。要绞死我那漂亮的加里，可怜的小羔羊呀！”
“该诅咒的家伙！”堂·克洛德嚷道，“你自己就是刽子手。你有什么好办法救她呀，恶棍？要用钳子才能把你的想法钳出来吗？”
“妙极了，老师，办法在这里。”
于是甘果瓦在副主教耳边用很低的声音告诉他，一面用不安的眼光从街道这一头望到那一头，虽然街上一个人也没有。他讲完后，堂·克洛德握着他的手冷淡地说道：“很好。明天见。”
“明天见。”甘果瓦说。副主教从街道的一边走远了以后，他就从另一边走去，一面低声地自言自语说：“这是一件值得骄傲的事，比埃尔·甘果瓦先生，没关系，人家不会说因为他渺小才被庞大的计划骇住了。比多曾经把一头大公牛扛在肩膀上，鹡、夜莺和燕子都能够飞过海洋。”
收听单词发音 |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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annotating
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| v.注解，注释( annotate的现在分词 ) | |
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rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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beholds
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| v.看，注视( behold的第三人称单数 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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chisel
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chiselling
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| n.錾v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的现在分词 ) | |
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phenomena
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adroitness
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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33
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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34
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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35
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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38
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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40
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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41
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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42
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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43
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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44
epics
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| n.叙事诗( epic的名词复数 )；壮举；惊人之举；史诗般的电影（或书籍） | |
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45
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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46
defiling
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| v.玷污( defile的现在分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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47
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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48
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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49
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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50
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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51
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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52
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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53
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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61
soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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63
entangle
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| vt.缠住，套住；卷入，连累 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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expedients
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| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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68
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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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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75
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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76
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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78
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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81
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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82
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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83
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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84
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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85
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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86
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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88
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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89
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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90
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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91
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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92
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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93
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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94
extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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96
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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97
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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98
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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99
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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100
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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101
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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102
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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103
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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104
malediction
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| n.诅咒 | |
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105
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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