Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com
Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com
Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com
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happened—’tis no laughing matter, I warrant! What was I saying? Remind me! Ah—there is a <strong>de</strong>cree of<br />
Parliament <strong>de</strong>livering thee over to execution again. I have but now succee<strong>de</strong>d in rescuing thee out of<br />
their hands. But they are on thy track. Behold!”<br />
He stretched his arm towards the city, where, in truth, the search seemed to be eagerly prosecuted. The<br />
noise of it drew nearer. The tower of the lieutenant’s house opposite the Grève was full of lights and<br />
bustle, and they could see soldiers running about the opposite quay with torches in their hands, shouting,<br />
“The gipsy! Where is the gipsy? Death to her! <strong>de</strong>ath!”<br />
“Thou seest plainly,” resumed the priest, “that they are in pursuit of thee and that I lie not. Oh, I love<br />
thee. Nay, speak not, open not thy lips, if it be to tell me that thou hatest me. I am resolved not to hear<br />
that again. I have just saved thee. Let me finish what I have to say. I can save thee altogether; I have<br />
prepared everything. It remains for thee to <strong>de</strong>sire it. As thou wilt, so I can do.”<br />
He interrupted himself vehemently. “No, that is not what I should have said!”<br />
With a hurried step, and making her hasten too, for he had retained his grasp of her arm, he walked<br />
straight to the gibbet, and pointing to it:<br />
“Choose between us,” he said coldly.<br />
She wrenched herself from his grasp and fell at the foot of the gibbet, clasping her arms round that grim<br />
pillar; and, half turning her beautiful head, gazed at the priest over her shoul<strong>de</strong>r. It might have been a<br />
Madonna at the foot of the Cross. The priest had remained transfixed, his finger pointing to the gibbet,<br />
motionless as a statue.<br />
At last the gipsy spoke: “This is less abhorrent to me than you are.”<br />
He let his arm drop slowly, and bent his eyes upon the ground in <strong>de</strong>epest <strong>de</strong>jection. “If these stones<br />
could speak,” he murmured, “they would say, ‘Here is, in<strong>de</strong>ed, a most unhappy man!”’<br />
“I love you,” he resumed, and the girl still kneeling at the gibbet, her long hair falling around her, let<br />
him speak without interrupting him. His tones were plaintive now and gentle, contrasting sadly with the<br />
harsh disdain stamped upon his features. “Yes, in spite of all, ’tis perfectly true. Is there then nothing to<br />
show for this fire that consumes my heart! Alas! night and day—yes, girl, night and day—does that<br />
<strong>de</strong>serve no pity? ’Tis a love of the night and the day, I tell you—’tis torture! Oh! my torment is too great,<br />
my poor child. ’Tis a thing worthy of <strong>com</strong>passion, I do protest to you. You see, I speak in all gentleness. I<br />
would fain have you cease to abhor me. Look you, when a man loves a woman, it is not his fault! Oh, my<br />
God! What! will you then never forgive me? will you hate me ever thus? And is this the end? That is what<br />
makes me wicked, look you, and horrible to myself. You will not even look at me. You are, may-be,<br />
thinking of something else while I stand here talking to you, and we both are trembling on the brink of<br />
eternity! But above all things, speak not to me of that soldier! What! I might fling myself at your knees, I<br />
might kiss, not your feet—for that you will not have, but the ground un<strong>de</strong>r your feet! I might sob like a<br />
child, might tear from my breast, not words, but my very heart, to tell you that I love you—and all would<br />
be in vain—all! And yet, there is nothing in your soul but what is ten<strong>de</strong>r and merciful. Loving kindness<br />
beams from you; you are all goodness and sweetness, full of pity and grace. Alas! your harshness is for<br />
me alone. Oh, bitter fate!”<br />
He buried his face in his hands. The girl could hear him weeping; it was the first time. Standing thus,