14 THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME. "What are they about now ?" said Gringoire to himself, while his heart sunk within him. A tink- ling of email bells put an end to his anxiety. It was the figure of a man, a kind of scarecrow, in a red dress, so profusely bestudded with little bells that they would have sufficed for the caparison of thirty Castilian mules, which the Vagabonds were suspending by the neck from the rope. The chatter of these thousand bells, occasioned by the swinging of the rope, gradually subsided, and at length ceased entirely with the motion of the 6 cfopin pointed to a crazy stool placed under the figure. „ . " Get upon that," said he to Gringoire. "'Sdeath ! " rejoined the poet, "I shall break my neck. Your stool halts like a distich of Martial s ; it has one hexameter and one pentameter foot. " Get up, knave ! " repeated Clopin. Gringoire mounted the stool, and, after some oscillations of head and arms, recovered his center ° 'gNow,"'continued the King of Thunes, "cross thy right leg over thy left and stand on tip-toe. "Morbleu !" cried Gringoire, "then you ab- solutely insist on it that I shall break some of my limbs ?" .„ ,„ Clopin shook his head. "Hark ye, my friend, thou talkest too much for me. In two words this is what thou hast to do. Thou must stand on tip- toe as I tell thee, so as to reach the pocket of the figure. Thou must take out a purse that is m it, and if thou canst do this without making any of the bells speak, 'tis well; thou shalt be a Vaga- bond. We shall then have nothing to do but to baste thee soundly for a week or so." " Ventre Dieu! " exclaimed Gringoire. And if the bells shouid give mouth in spite of me ?" " Why, then thou shalt be hanged; dost thou comprehend me ?" " Not at all," answered Gringoire. " Well then I tell thee once more. Thou must pick the pocket of that figure of a purse and if a single bell stirs, while thou art about it, thou shalt be hanged. Dost thou understand that ? " " I do," said Gringoire. " And then ? " " If thou art clever enough to prig the purse without setting the bells a-chattering, thou art a Canter, and shalt be soundly thrashed every now and then for a week. Thou understandest that, no doubt?" „ " But what better shall 1 be ? Hanged in one case, beaten in the other?" " And a Canter ! " rejoined Clopin, "a Canter ! Is that nothing ? It is for thy own benefit that we shall beat thee, to inure thee to blows." " Many thanks to you ! " replied the poet. " Come, bear a hand ! " said the King, stamping upon his hogshead, which sounded like a big drum. "To thy task, knave! And recollect, if 1 hear but a single bell, thou shalt change places with that figure." raising his eyes, beheld him with terror crouching on the cross-beam over his head. " Now," resumed Clopin, " the moment I clap my hands, thou Andry the Bed, kick away the stool; thou Francois Clianteprune pull the varlet s legs, and thou, Bellevigne, spring upon his Bhoulders— all three at once, d'ye hear ? " Gringoire shuddered. "Are ye there ?" said Clopin Trouillefou to the three ruffians, ready to rush upon the unfortunate poet. The wretched man passed a moment of hor- rid suspense, while Clopin carelessly kicked into the fire a few twigs which the flame had not con- sumed. "Are ye there?" he repeated, opening his hands for the decisive clap. He stopped short, as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, " Wait a moment ! said he, I forgot ... It is customary with us not to hang a blade, till the women have been asked whether any of them will have him. Comrade, this is thy list chance " Gringoire breathed once more. It was the second time that he had come to life withm the last half hour. He durst not, therefore, place much reli- ance upon this reprieve. Clopin again mounted his hogshead. "This way, gentlewomen!" cried he. "Is there any among vou who will have this knave ? Come forward •_j'—i * v,,™,!™™/! fnr nothing ! Who wants The crew appiauded Clopin's words, and ranged joined the crowd. i _.l____I—___î__I. ......n.4 +l»n ™,]l«ma ».,il>> art " (VimrHIIA " RSll and see! one ? " Gringoire, in his wretched plight, looked far from tempting. The female mumpers showed no eagerness to accept the offer. The unhappy man heard them answer one after another. No, no hang him, and that will be a pleasure for us all. Three of them, however, stepped forward from among the crowd to take a look at him. The first was a strapping broad-faced wench. She closely examined the deplorable doublet and the thread- bare frock of the philosopher. She shrugged her shoulders. "Queer toggery!" grumbled she. Then turning to Gringoire: "Where is thy cloak?"—"1 have lost it," answered he. Thy hat?"—"They have taken it from me."—"Thy shoes?"—"They are nearly worn out." —"Thy purse?" — "Alas!" stammered Gringoire, "I have not a denier left." —"Hang then, and be thankful!" replied the wench, turning on her heel and striding away. The second, an old wrinkled hag, dark, and hideously ugly, walked round Gringoire. He al- most trembled lest she should take a fancy to him. At length she muttered to herself, " He is as lean as a carrion," and away she went. The third was young, fresh-looking, and r.ot ill- favored. " Save me ! " said the poor poet to her in a low tone. She surveyed him for a moment with a look of pity, cast down her eyes, twitched her petticoat, and stood for a moment undecided. He narrowly watched all her motions. It was the last glimmer of hope. " No," said she at last; " no; Guillaume Longjoue would beat me," and she re- desire nothing better than to draw a few loans from a cupboard suspended close by, having a prospect of a good bed, and a tete a-tete with a handsome girl. The adventure was like absolute enchantment. He began seriously to take him- self for the hero of some fairy tale ; and looked round from time to time to see whether the chariot of the tire drawn by griffins, which could alone have conveyed him with such rapidity from Tar- tarus to Paradise was still there. Now and then too, he would fix his eyes on the holes in his doub- let, as if to satisfy himself of his identity. His reason, tossed to and fro in imaginary space, had only this thread to hold by. The girl appeared to take no notice of him; she moved backward and forward, setting things to rights, talking to her goat, and now and then pouting her lip. At length she sat down near the table, and Gringoire had a good opportunity to scrutinize her. You have been a child, reader, and may perhaps have the good fortune to be so still. 1 dare say you have often (I know 1 have, for whole days to- gether, ay, and some of the best spent days of my Fife) followed from bush to bush on the bank of a stream, on a fine sunshiny day, some beautiful green and blue dragon-fly, darting off every mo- ment at acute angles, and brushing the ends of all the branches. You remember with what amorous curiosity your attention and your eyes were fixed on those fluttering wings of purple and azure, amid which floated a form rendered indistinct by the very rapidity of its motion. The aerial crea- ture, confusedly perceived through this flickering of wings, appeared to you chimerical, imaginary, ,a thing neither to be touched nor seen. But when at length it settled on the point of a rush, and, holding your breath the while, you could examine those delicate wings of gauze, that long robe of enamel, those two globes of crystal, what aston- ishment did you not feel, and what fear lest this beautiful figure should again vanish into an airy undefinable phantom. Becollect these impres- sions, and you will easily conceive what Gringoire felt on contemplating in a visible and palpable form that Esmeralda, of whom he had till then had but a glimpse amid the whirling dance and a crowd of spectators. He became more and more absorbed in his reve- This then—thought he, while his eye vaguely themselves in a circle round the gallows, with so pitiless a laugh that Gringoire saw he amused them too much not to have to fear the worst from them. The only hope he had left was the most precarious chance of succeeding in the ticklish task imposed upon him. Before he set about it, he addressed a fervent prayer to the effigy which he was going to rob, and which he would have soft- ened as easily as the Vagabonds. The myriad of bells with their little copper tongues, seemed to him so many gaping jaws of serpents, ready to bite and to hiss. " Oh ! " said he aside, " is it possible that my life depends on the slightest vibration of the smallest of these bells ? " He tried the effect of a last effort on Trouillefou. "And if there should come a gust of wind?" " Thou shalt be hanged," replied the King of Thunes without hesitation. Finding that there was neither respite, nor re- prieve, nor any possible evasion for him, he went resolutely to work. Crossing his right leg over the left, and raising himself on tiptoe, he stretched out his arm; but, at the moment when he touched the effigy, he found himself tottering upon tlie stool which had but three legs; he lost his balance, mechanically caught at the figure, and fell plump on the ground, stunned by the fatal jingle of the thousand bells of the figure, which, yielding to the impulsion of his hand, at first turned round upon itself, and then swung majestically between the two poles. " Saere ! " cried he as he fell, and he lay like one dead, with his face toward the ground. He heard, however, the horrid chime above his head, the diabolical laugh of the Canters, and the voice of Trouillefou, who said, "Pick up the varlet, and hang him out of hand." He rose. They had already taken down the effigy to make room for him. The Vagabonds made him once more mount the stool. Clopin stepped up to him, put the rope about his neck, and patting him on the shoulder: " Farewell, my friend ! " said he. " Thou canst not escape now, even with the devil's luck and thine own." The word Mercy ! died away on the lips of Gringoire. He glanced around him, but there was no hope; they were all laughing. " Bellevigne de l'Etoile," said the King of Thunes, to a porpoise of a fellow, who stepped forth from the ranks, " scramble up to that cross-bar." The monster mounted witli an agility for which no one would have given him credit, and Gringoire, Comrade," said Clopin, "thou art unlucky." Then standing up on his hogshead, "Will nobody bid ? " cried he, imitating the manner of an auc- tioneer, to the high diversion of the crew. " Will nobody bid ? once, twice, three times !" then turn- ing to the gallows, with a nod of the head, " Gone !" Bellevigne de l'Etoile, Andry the Bed, and Fran- cois Chanteprune again surrounded the gibbet. At that moment cries of " La Esmeralda ! La Es- meralda ! " arose among the Vagabonds. Grin- goire shuddered, and turned the way from which the clamor proceeded. The crowd opened and made way for a bright and dazzling figure. It was the gypsy-girl. "La Esmeralda!" ejaculated Gringoire, struck, amid his agitation at the sudden manner in which that magic name connected his scattered recollections of the events of the day. This extra- ordinary creature appeared by her fascination and beauty to exercise sovereign sway over the Cour des Miracles itself. Its inmates of both sexes re- spectfully drew back for her to pass, and at sight of her their brutal faces assumed a softer expres- With light step she approached the sufferer. She eyed Gringoire was more dead than alive, him for a moment in silence. "Are you going to hang this man?" said she gravely to Clopin. "Yes, sister," replied the King of Thunes, "un- less thou wilt take him for thy husband." Her lower lip was protruded into the pretty pout already described. " I will take him," said she. Gringoire was now thoroughly convinced that he had been in a dream ever since morning, and that this was but a continuation of it. The shock, though agreeable, was violent. The noose was re- moved, the poet was dismounted from the stool on which he was obliged to sit down so vehement was his agitation. The Duke of Egypt, without uttering a word, brought an earthenware jug. The gypsy-girl handed it to Gringoire. " Drop it on the ground," said she to him. The jug broke into four pieces. "Brother," said the Duke of Egypt, placing a hand upon the head of each, " she is thy wife. Sister, he is thy husband. For four years. Go." Chapter VIL—A Wedding Night. In a few moments our poet found himself in a small room, with covered ceiling, very snug and very warm, seated at a table, which appeared to followed her motions—is La Esmeralda ! a celestial creature !—a street-dancer ! So much and so lit- tle. It was she who gave the finishing stroke to my mystery this afternoon, and it is she who saves my life to-night. My evil genius ! my good angel ! A sweet girl, upon my word !—and who must love me to distraction, to have taken me in this man- ner. For, said he, rising all at once with that can- dor which formed the groundwork of his charac- ter and of his philosophy, I know not exactly how it has come to pass, but I am her husband. With this idea in his head and in bis eyes, he approached the girl with such ardent impetuosity that she drew back. "What do you want with me ? " inquired she. " Can you ask such a question, adorable Esme- ralda?" rejoined Gringoire in so impassioned a tone that he was astonished at it himself. The Egyptian opened her large eyes. "I know not what you mean," said she. " What ! " replied Gringoire, warming more and more, and thinking that after all it was but a virtue of the Cour des Miracles that he had to do with; "am I not thine, my sweet friend ? art thou not mine ? " Witli these words he fondly threw his arm round her waist. The drapery of the Bohemian glided through his hands like the skin of an eel. Bounding from one end of the cell to the. other, she stooped, and raised herself again, with a little dagger in her hand, before Gringoire could see whence it came, with swollen lip, distended nostril, cheeks as red as an apricot, and eyes flashing lightning. At tne same moment the little white goat placed itseir before her in the attitude of attack, presenting to Gringoire two very pretty but very sharp, gui horns. All this was done in a twinkling. Our philosopher stood petrified, alternately eyeing the goat and her mistress. "Holy Virgin. he at length ejaculated, when surprise allowea him to sp -ak, " what a couple of vixens ! " And you," said the Bohemian, breaking silence on her part, "must be a very impudent fellow. "Pardon me," replied Gringoire, smiling, uu. why did you take me for your husband t " Ought 1 to have let you be hanged 1 "Then," rejoined the poet, somewhat disap- pointed in his amorous hopes, "you had no ouier intention in marrying me but to save me from m» gal'And what other intention do you suppose I could have had?" , „ ., .„t. wm. Gringoire bit his lips. " Go to," said he to him self, "f am not so triumphant in love;* " I imagined. But then, of what use was it to Mean, the poor jug?" . , ,.„ nnrn9 Meanwhile Esmeralda's dagger and the nom» of her goat were still upon the defensive. t "Mademoiselle Esmeralda," said the Wh , us capitulate. I am not a clerk to the Cbateiei, and shall not provoke you thus to carry a dafeg in Paris, in the teeth of the Provost's ordinance „,„i v»^v,iivi«nT,