the hunchback of notre dame-第20章

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y；　what　the　deuce　did　they　mean　this　morning　with　their　Esmeralda？〃

He　was　minded　to　augment　his　pace；　but　for　the　third　time　something　barred　his　way。　　This　something　or；　rather；　some　one　was　a　blind　man；　a　little　blind　fellow　with　a　bearded；　Jewish　face；　who；　rowing　away　in　the　space　about　him　with　a　stick；　and　towed　by　a　large　dog；　droned　through　his　nose　with　a　Hungarian　accent：　〃~Facitote　caritatem~！〃

〃Well；　now；〃　said　Gringoire；　〃here's　one　at　last　who　speaks　a　Christian　tongue。　　I　must　have　a　very　charitable　aspect；　since　they　ask　alms　of　me　in　the　present　lean　condition　of　my　purse。　　My　friend；〃　and　he　turned　towards　the　blind　man；　〃I　sold　my　last　shirt　last　week；　that　is　to　say；　since　you　understand　only　the　language　of　Cicero：　~Vendidi　hebdomade　nuper　transita　meam　ultimam　chemisan~。〃

That　said；　he　turned　his　back　upon　the　blind　man；　and　pursued　his　way。　　But　the　blind　man　began　to　increase　his　stride　at　the　same　time；　and；　behold！　the　cripple　and　the　legless　man；　in　his　bowl；　came　up　on　their　side　in　great　haste；　and　with　great　clamor　of　bowl　and　crutches；　upon　the　pavement。　Then　all　three；　jostling　each　other　at　poor　Gringoire's　heels；　began　to　sing　their　song　to　him；

〃~Caritatem~！〃　chanted　the　blind　man。

〃~La　buona　mancia~！〃　chanted　the　cripple　in　the　bowl。

And　the　lame　man　took　up　the　musical　phrase　by　repeating：　〃~Un　pedaso　de　pan~！〃

Gringoire　stopped　up　his　ears。　　〃Oh；　tower　of　Babel！〃　he　exclaimed。

He　set　out　to　run。　　The　blind　man　ran！　　The　lame　man　ran！　　The　cripple　in　the　bowl　ran！

And　then；　in　proportion　as　he　plunged　deeper　into　the　street；　cripples　in　bowls；　blind　men　and　lame　men；　swarmed　about　him；　and　men　with　one　arm；　and　with　one　eye；　and　the　leprous　with　their　sores；　some　emerging　from　little　streets　adjacent；　some　from　the　air…holes　of　cellars；　howling；　bellowing；　yelping；　all　limping　and　halting；　all　flinging　themselves　towards　the　light；　and　humped　up　in　the　mire；　like　snails　after　a　shower。

Gringoire；　still　followed　by　his　three　persecutors；　and　not　knowing　very　well　what　was　to　become　of　him；　marched　along　in　terror　among　them；　turning　out　for　the　lame；　stepping　over　the　cripples　in　bowls；　with　his　feet　imbedded　in　that　ant…hill　of　lame　men；　like　the　English　captain　who　got　caught　in　the　quicksand　of　a　swarm　of　crabs。

The　idea　occurred　to　him　of　making　an　effort　to　retrace　his　steps。　　But　it　was　too　late。　　This　whole　legion　had　closed　in　behind　him；　and　his　three　beggars　held　him　fast。　　So　he　proceeded；　impelled　both　by　this　irresistible　flood；　by　fear；　and　by　a　vertigo　which　converted　all　this　into　a　sort　of　horrible　dream。

At　last　he　reached　the　end　of　the　street。　　It　opened　upon　an　immense　place；　where　a　thousand　scattered　lights　flickered　in　the　confused　mists　of　night。　　Gringoire　flew　thither；　hoping　to　escape；　by　the　swiftness　of　his　legs；　from　the　three　infirm　spectres　who　had　clutched　him。

〃~Onde　vas；　hombre~？〃　（Where　are　you　going；　my　man？）　cried　the　cripple；　flinging　away　his　crutches；　and　running　after　him　with　the　best　legs　that　ever　traced　a　geometrical　step　upon　the　pavements　of　Paris。

In　the　meantime　the　legless　man；　erect　upon　his　feet；　crowned　Gringoire　with　his　heavy　iron　bowl；　and　the　blind　man　glared　in　his　face　with　flaming　eyes！

〃Where　am　I？〃　said　the　terrified　poet。

〃In　the　Court　of　Miracles；〃　replied　a　fourth　spectre；　who　had　accosted　them。

〃Upon　my　soul；〃　resumed　Gringoire；　〃I　certainly　do　behold　the　blind　who　see；　and　the　lame　who　walk；　but　where　is　the　Saviour？〃

They　replied　by　a　burst　of　sinister　laughter。

The　poor　poet　cast　his　eyes　about　him。　　It　was；　in　truth；　that　redoubtable　Cour　des　Miracles；　whither　an　honest　man　had　never　penetrated　at　such　an　hour；　the　magic　circle　where　the　officers　of　the　Chatelet　and　the　sergeants　of　the　provostship；　who　ventured　thither；　disappeared　in　morsels；　a　city　of　thieves；　a　hideous　wart　on　the　face　of　Paris；　a　sewer；　from　which　escaped　every　morning；　and　whither　returned　every　night　to　crouch；　that　stream　of　vices；　of　mendicancy　and　vagabondage　which　always　overflows　in　the　streets　of　capitals；　a　monstrous　hive；　to　which　returned　at　nightfall；　with　their　booty；　all　the　drones　of　the　social　order；　a　lying　hospital　where　the　bohemian；　the　disfrocked　monk；　the　ruined　scholar；　the　ne'er…do…wells　of　all　nations；　Spaniards；　Italians；　Germans；of　all　religions；　Jews；　Christians；　Mahometans；　idolaters；　covered　with　painted　sores；　beggars　by　day；　were　transformed　by　night　into　brigands；　an　immense　dressing…room；　in　a　word；　where；　at　that　epoch；　the　actors　of　that　eternal　comedy；　which　theft；　prostitution；　and　murder　play　upon　the　pavements　of　Paris；　dressed　and　undressed。

It　was　a　vast　place；　irregular　and　badly　paved；　like　all　the　squares　of　Paris　at　that　date。　　Fires；　around　which　swarmed　strange　groups；　blazed　here　and　there。　　Every　one　was　going；　coming；　and　shouting。　　Shrill　laughter　was　to　be　heard；　the　wailing　of　children；　the　voices　of　women。　　The　hands　and　heads　of　this　throng；　black　against　the　luminous　background；　outlined　against　it　a　thousand　eccentric　gestures。　　At　times；　upon　the　ground；　where　trembled　the　light　of　the　fires；　mingled　with　large；　indefinite　shadows；　one　could　behold　a　dog　passing；　which　resembled　a　man；　a　man　who　resembled　a　dog。　The　limits　of　races　and　species　seemed　effaced　in　this　city；　as　in　a　pandemonium。　　Men；　women；　beasts；　age；　sex；　health；　maladies；　all　seemed　to　be　in　common　among　these　people；　all　went　together；　they　mingled；　confounded；　superposed；　each　one　there　participated　in　all。

The　poor　and　flickering　flames　of　the　fire　permitted　Gringoire　to　distinguish；　amid　his　trouble；　all　around　the　immense　place；　a　hideous　frame　of　ancient　houses；　whose　wormeaten；　shrivelled；　stunted　fa？ades；　each　pierced　with　one　or　two　lighted　attic　windows；　seemed　to　him；　in　the　darkness；　like　enormous　heads　of　old　women；　ranged　in　a　circle；　monstrous　and　crabbed；　winking　as　they　looked　on　at　the　Witches'　Sabbath。

It　was　like　a　new　world；　unknown；　unheard　of；　misshapen；　creeping；　swarming；　fantastic。

Gringoire；　more　and　more　terrified；　clutched　by　the　three　beggars　as　by　three　pairs　of　tongs；　dazed　by　a　throng　of　other　faces　which　frothed　and　yelped　around　him；　unhappy　Gringoire　endeavored　to　summon　his　presence　of　mind；　in　order　to　recall　whether　it　was　a　Saturday。　　But　his　efforts　were　vain；　the　thread　of　his　memory　and　of　his　thought　was　broken；　and；　doubting　everything；　wavering　between　what　he　saw　and　what　he　felt；　he　put　to　himself　this　unanswerable　question；

〃If　I　exist；　does　this　exist？　if　this　exists；　do　I　exist？〃

At　that　moment；　a　distinct　cry　arose　in　the　buzzing　throng　which　surrounded　him；　〃Let's　take　him　to　the　king！　let's　take　him　to　the　king！〃

〃Holy　Virgin！〃　murmured　Gringoire；　〃the　king　here　must　be　a　ram。〃

〃To　the　king！　to　the　king！〃　repeated　all　voices。

They　dragged　him　off。　　Each　vied　with　the　other　in　laying　his　claws　upon　him。　　But　the　three　beggars　did　not　loose　their　hold　and　tore　him　from　the　rest；　howling；　〃He　belongs　to　us！〃

The　poet's　already　sickly　doublet　yielded　its　last　sigh　in　this　struggle。

While　traversing　the　horrible　place；　his　vertigo　vanished。　After　taking　a　few　steps；　the　sentiment　of　reality　returned　to　him。　　He　began　to　become　accustomed　to　the　atmosphere　of　the　place。　　At　the　first　moment　there　had　arisen　from　his　poet's　head；　or；　simply　and　prosaically；　from　his　empty　stomach；　a　mist；　a　vapor；　so　to　speak；　which；　spreading　between　objects　and　himself；　permitted　him　to　catch　a　glimpse　of　them　only　in　the　incoherent　fog　of　nightmare；in　those　shadows　of　dreams　which　distort　every　outline；　agglomerating　objects　into　unwieldy　groups；　dilating　things　into　chimeras；　and　men　into　phantoms。　　Little　by　little；　this　hallucination　was　succeeded　by　a　less　bewildered　and　exaggerating　view。　Reality　made　its　way　to　the　light　around　him；　struck　his　eyes；　struck　his　feet；　and　demolished；　bit　by　bit；　all　that　frightful　poetry　with　which　he　had；　at　first；　believed　himself　to　be　surrounded。　　He　was　forced　to　perceive　that　he　was　not　walking　in　the　Styx；　but　in　mud；　that　he　was　elbowed　not　by　demons；　but　by　thieves；　that　it　was　not　his　soul　which　was　in　question；　but　his　life　（since　he　lacked　that　precious　concil