the hunchback of notre dame-第76节
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tered that cry； I plunged it into my flesh； at a second cry； it would have entered my heart。 Look！ I believe that it still bleeds。〃
He opened his cassock。 His breast was in fact； mangled as by the claw of a tiger； and on his side he had a large and badly healed wound。
The prisoner recoiled with horror。
〃Oh！〃 said the priest； 〃young girl； have pity upon me！ You think yourself unhappy； alas！ alas！ you know not what unhappiness is。 Oh！ to love a woman！ to be a priest！ to be hated！ to love with all the fury of one's soul； to feel that one would give for the least of her smiles； one's blood； one's vitals； one's fame； one's salvation； one's immortality and eternity； this life and the other； to regret that one is not a king； emperor； archangel； God； in order that one might place a greater slave beneath her feet； to clasp her night and day in one's dreams and one's thoughts； and to behold her in love with the trappings of a soldier and to have nothing to offer her but a priest's dirty cassock； which will inspire her with fear and disgust！ To be present with one's jealousy and one's rage； while she lavishes on a miserable； blustering imbecile； treasures of love and beauty！ To behold that body whose form burns you； that bosom which possesses so much sweetness； that flesh palpitate and blush beneath the kisses of another！ Oh heaven！ to love her foot； her arm； her shoulder； to think of her blue veins； of her brown skin； until one writhes for whole nights together on the pavement of one's cell； and to behold all those caresses which one has dreamed of； end in torture！ To have succeeded only in stretching her upon the leather bed！ Oh！ these are the veritable pincers； reddened in the fires of hell。 Oh！ blessed is he who is sawn between two planks； or torn in pieces by four horses！ Do you know what that torture is； which is imposed upon you for long nights by your burning arteries； your bursting heart； your breaking head； your teeth…knawed hands； mad tormentors which turn you incessantly； as upon a red…hot gridiron； to a thought of love； of jealousy； and of despair！ Young girl； mercy！ a truce for a moment！ a few ashes on these live coals！ Wipe away； I beseech you； the perspiration which trickles in great drops from my brow！ Child！ torture me with one hand； but caress me with the other！ Have pity； young girl！ Have pity upon me！〃
The priest writhed on the wet pavement； beating his head against the corners of the stone steps。 The young girl gazed at him； and listened to him。
When he ceased； exhausted and panting； she repeated in a low voice；
〃Oh my Phoebus！〃
The priest dragged himself towards her on his knees。
〃I beseech you；〃 he cried； 〃if you have any heart； do not repulse me！ Oh！ I love you！ I am a wretch！ When you utter that name； unhappy girl； it is as though you crushed all the fibres of my heart between your teeth。 Mercy！ If you come from hell I will go thither with you。 I have done everything to that end。 The hell where you are； shall he paradise； the sight of you is more charming than that of God！ Oh！ speak！ you will have none of me？ I should have thought the mountains would be shaken in their foundations on the day when a woman would repulse such a love。 Oh！ if you only would！ Oh！ how happy we might be。 We would fleeI would help you to flee；we would go somewhere； we would seek that spot on earth； where the sun is brightest； the sky the bluest； where the trees are most luxuriant。 We would love each other； we would pour our two souls into each other； and we would have a thirst for ourselves which we would quench in common and incessantly at that fountain of inexhaustible love。〃
She interrupted with a terrible and thrilling laugh。
〃Look； father； you have blood on your fingers！〃
The priest remained for several moments as though petrified； with his eyes fixed upon his hand。
〃Well； yes！〃 he resumed at last； with strange gentleness； 〃insult me； scoff at me； overwhelm me with scorn！ but come； come。 Let us make haste。 It is to be to…morrow； I tell you。 The gibbet on the Grève； you know it？ it stands always ready。 It is horrible！ to see you ride in that tumbrel！ Oh mercy！ Until now I have never felt the power of my love for you。Oh！ follow me。 You shall take your time to love me after I have saved you。 You shall hate me as long as you will。 But come。 To…morrow！ to…morrow！ the gallows！ your execution！ Oh！ save yourself！ spare me！〃
He seized her arm； he was beside himself； he tried to drag her away。
She fixed her eye intently on him。
〃What has become of my Phoebus？〃
〃Ah！〃 said the priest； releasing her arm； 〃you are pitiless。〃
〃What has become of Phoebus？〃 she repeated coldly。
〃He is dead！〃 cried the priest。
〃Dead！〃 said she； still icy and motionless 〃then why do you talk to me of living？〃
He was not listening to her。
〃Oh！ yes；〃 said he； as though speaking to himself； 〃he certainly must be dead。 The blade pierced deeply。 I believe I touched his heart with the point。 Oh！ my very soul was at the end of the dagger！〃
The young girl flung herself upon him like a raging tigress； and pushed him upon the steps of the staircase with supernatural force。
〃Begone； monster！ Begone； assassin！ Leave me to die！ May the blood of both of us make an eternal stain upon your brow！ Be thine； priest！ Never！ never！ Nothing shall unite us！ not hell itself！ Go； accursed man！ Never！〃
The priest had stumbled on the stairs。 He silently disentangled his feet from the folds of his robe； picked up his lantern again； and slowly began the ascent of the steps which led to the door； he opened the door and passed through it。
All at once； the young girl beheld his head reappear； it wore a frightful expression； and he cried； hoarse with rage and despair；
〃I tell you he is dead！〃
She fell face downwards upon the floor； and there was no longer any sound audible in the cell than the sob of the drop of water which made the pool palpitate amid the darkness。
CHAPTER V。
THE MOTHER。
I do not believe that there is anything sweeter in the world than the ideas which awake in a mother's heart at the sight of her child's tiny shoe； especially if it is a shoe for festivals； for Sunday； for baptism； the shoe embroidered to the very sole； a shoe in which the infant has not yet taken a step。 That shoe has so much grace and daintiness； it is so impossible for it to walk； that it seems to the mother as though she saw her child。 She smiles upon it； she kisses it； she talks to it； she asks herself whether there can actually be a foot so tiny； and if the child be absent； the pretty shoe suffices to place the sweet and fragile creature before her eyes。 She thinks she sees it； she does see it； complete； living； joyous； with its delicate hands； its round head； its pure lips； its serene eyes whose white is blue。 If it is in winter； it is yonder； crawling on the carpet； it is laboriously climbing upon an ottoman； and the mother trembles lest it should approach the fire。 If it is summer time； it crawls about the yard； in the garden； plucks up the grass between the paving…stones； gazes innocently at the big dogs； the big horses； without fear； plays with the shells； with the flowers； and makes the gardener grumble because he finds sand in the flower…beds and earth in the paths。 Everything laughs； and shines and plays around it； like it； even the breath of air and the ray of sun which vie with each other in disporting among the silky ringlets of its hair。 The shoe shows all this to the mother； and makes her heart melt as fire melts wax。
But when the child is lost； these thousand images of joy； of charms； of tenderness； which throng around the little shoe； become so many horrible things。 The pretty broidered shoe is no longer anything but an instrument of torture which eternally crushes the heart of the mother。 It is always the same fibre which vibrates； the tenderest and most sensitive； but instead of an angel caressing it； it is a demon who is wrenching at it。
One May morning； when the sun was rising on one of those dark blue skies against which Garofolo loves to place his Descents from the Cross； the recluse of the Tour…Roland heard a sound of wheels； of horses and irons in the Place de Grève。 She was somewhat aroused by it； knotted her hair upon her ears in order to deafen herself； and resumed her contemplation； on her knees； of the inanimate object which she had adored for fifteen years。 This little shoe was the universe to her； as we have already said。 Her thought was shut up in it； and was destined never more to quit it except at death。 The sombre cave of the Tour…Roland alone knew how many bitter imprecations； touching complaints； prayers and sobs she had wafted to heaven in connection with that charming bauble of rose…colored satin。 Never was more despair bestowed upon a prettier and more graceful thing。
It seemed as though her grief were breaking forth more violently than usual； and she could be heard outside lamenting in a loud and monotonous voice which rent the heart。
〃Oh my daughter！〃 she said； 〃my daughter； my poor； dear little child； so I shall never see thee more！ It is over！ It always seems to me that it happened yesterday！ My God！ my Go
