Victor Hugo Cathedral Parisian brief summary. Notre Dame Cathedral, Victor Hugo

What educated person doesn't know Victor Hugo's Notre Dame Cathedral? After all, this book is present in any list of compulsory literature recommended for schoolchildren to read at the time. However, even those who did not bother to get acquainted with this chic work have at least some idea of ​​​​the novel, thanks to the French musical, which has made a sensation all over the world. But time flies forward, our memory filters out what it does not need. Therefore, for those who have forgotten what Hugo's novel Notre Dame is about, we give an amazing opportunity to remember how events unfolded during the time of King Louis XI. Friends, get ready! We are going to medieval France!

The story told by the author takes place in France in the 15th century. Here the author creates a certain historical background, against which a whole love drama unfolds between two people - a beauty and a freak, in a rather bright colors shown to us by Victor Hugo. "Notre Dame Cathedral" is, first of all, the love story of a freak-hunchback for a charming gypsy.

The main character of the novel is a beautiful and young gypsy named Esmeralda. It so happened that three men were inflamed with passion at once: the archdeacon of the Cathedral - his pupil - the humpbacked and deaf bell-ringer Quasimodo, as well as the captain of the riflemen of the royal regiment - the young handsome Phoebe de Chateauper. However, each of them has their own idea of ​​passion, love and honor!

Despite his mission to serve God, Archdeacon Frollo can hardly be called a pious person. At one time, it was he who picked up a little ugly boy abandoned by negligent parents from the well, sheltered and raised him. But that doesn't justify it. Yes, he serves the Lord, but he does not truly serve, but simply because it is necessary! Frollo is endowed with executive power: he commands an entire royal regiment (whose captain is our other hero, officer Phoebus), and also administers justice to people. But this is not enough for him. One day, noticing a beautiful young girl, the archdeacon succumbed to voluptuousness. He also experiences lust for the young Esmeralda. Now Frollo cannot sleep at night: he locks himself in his cell and in the presence of a gypsy.

Having received a refusal from Esmeralda, the false priest begins to take revenge on the young girl. He accuses her of being a witch! Claude says that the Inquisition is crying for her, and by hanging! Frollo orders his pupil - the deaf and crooked ringer Quasimodo to catch the gypsy! The hunchback fails to do this, because a young officer Phoebus rips her out of his hands, accidentally patrolling the territory in that place.

Captain Phoebus belongs to the number of noble persons who served at the court. He has a fiancee - a charming blond girl named Fleur-de-lis. However, Phoebe does not stop this. While saving Esmeralda from a hunchbacked freak, the officer becomes infatuated with her. Now he is ready to do anything to get a love night with a young gypsy, and he does not even care about the fact that she is a virgin. She loves him back! A poor young girl falls in love with a lustful officer, mistaking a simple "glass" for a "diamond"!

Phoebus and Esmeralda agree on an evening meeting at a cabaret called "Shelter of Love". However, their night was not destined to come true. When the officer and the gypsy are alone, the desperate archdeacon who tracked down Phoebus stabs him in the back! This blow turns out to be non-fatal, but for the trial of the gypsy and the subsequent punishment (by hanging), this attempt on the captain of the shooters is quite enough.

The beauty and the Beast"

For the fact that Quasimodo could not steal the gypsy, Frollo ordered him to be whipped in the square. And so it happened. When the hunchback asked for a drink, the only person who responded to his request was Esmeralda. She went up to the chained freak and gave him a drink from a mug. This made a fatal impression on Quasimodo.

The hunchback, who always and in everything listened to his master (Archdeacon Frollo), finally went against his will. And love is to blame for everything ... The love of the "monster" for the beauty ... He saved her from prosecution by hiding in the Cathedral. According to the laws of medieval France, which were taken into account by Victor Hugo, Notre Dame Cathedral and any other temple of God was a refuge and shelter for every person persecuted by the authorities for this or that offense.

For several days spent within the walls of Notre Dame de Paris, Esmeralda became friends with a hunchback. She fell in love with those terrible stone chimeras that sat above the Cathedral and the whole Place de Greve. Unfortunately, Quasimodo did not wait for mutual feelings from the gypsy. Of course, it cannot be said that she did not pay attention to him. He became for her the most best friend. The girl saw behind the external ugliness a lonely and kind soul.

real and eternal love erased the outward ugliness of Quasimodo. The hunchback was finally able to find the courage in himself to save his beloved from the death that threatens her from Claude Frollo - the gallows. He went against his mentor.

Eternal love...

Hugo's Notre Dame Cathedral is a book with a very dramatic denouement. The finale of the novel can leave few people indifferent. The terrible Frollo nevertheless sets in motion his plan of revenge - young Esmeralda finds herself in a loop. But her death will be avenged! The love of a hunchback for a gypsy pushes him to kill his own mentor! Quasimodo pushes him against Notre Dame. The poor hunchback is very fond of the gypsy. He takes her to the Cathedral, hugs her and... dies. Now they are together forever.

Cathedral of Notre Dame
Summary of the novel
In the back streets of one of the towers of the great cathedral, someone's long-decayed hand inscribed the word "rock" in Greek. Then the word itself disappeared. But out of it was born a book about a gypsy, a hunchback and a priest.
On January 6, 1482, on the occasion of the feast of baptism in the Palace of Justice, the mystery “The Righteous Judgment of the Blessed Virgin Mary” is given. A huge crowd gathers in the morning. Ambassadors from Flanders and the Cardinal of Bourbon should be invited to the spectacle. Gradually, the audience begins to grumble, and the schoolchildren rage the most: among them stands out the sixteen-year-old blond demon Jean, the brother of the learned archdeacon Claude Frollo. Nervous author of the mystery Pierre Gringoire orders to begin. But the unfortunate poet is unlucky; as soon as the actors uttered the prologue, the cardinal appears, and then the ambassadors. The townspeople from the Flemish city of Ghent are so colorful that the Parisians stare only at them. General admiration is evoked by the hosiery Maitre Copinol, who, without defiance, converses in a friendly way with the disgusting beggar Clopin Trouillefou. To Gringoire's horror, the accursed Fleming honors his mystery with the last words and offers to do a much more fun thing - to elect a buffoon's pope. They will be the one who makes the most terrible grimace. Applicants for this lofty title stick their physiognomy out of the window of the chapel. The winner is Quasimodo, the bell ringer of Notre Dame Cathedral, who does not even need to grimace, he is so ugly. The monstrous hunchback is dressed in an absurd robe and carried on his shoulders in order to pass, according to custom, through the streets of the city. Gringoire is already hoping for a continuation of the ill-fated play, but then someone shouts that Esmeralda is dancing in the square - and blows away all the remaining spectators. Gringoire, in anguish, wanders to the Place de Greve to look at this Esmeralda, and an inexpressibly lovely girl appears before his eyes - either a fairy, or an angel, who, however, turned out to be a gypsy. Gringoire, like all the spectators, is completely fascinated by the dancer, but the gloomy face of a not yet old, but already bald man stands out in the crowd: he viciously accuses the girl of witchcraft - after all, her white goat beats a tambourine with a hoof six times in response to the question of what day it is today. number. When Esmeralda begins to sing, a woman's voice full of frenzied hatred is heard - the recluse of the Roland Tower curses the gypsy offspring. At this moment, a procession enters the Place Greve, in the center of which Quasimodo flaunts. A bald man rushes towards him, frightening the gypsy, and Gringoire recognizes his teacher of sealants - father Claude Frollo. He tears off the tiara from the hunchback, tears the mantle to shreds, breaks the staff - the terrible Quasimodo falls to his knees before him. The day, rich in spectacle, comes to an end, and Gringoire, without much hope, wanders after the gypsy. Suddenly, he hears a piercing scream: two men are trying to cover Esmeralda's mouth. Pierre calls the guards, and a dazzling officer appears - the head of the royal shooters. One of the kidnappers is captured - this is Quasimodo. The gypsy does not take her enthusiastic eyes off her savior, Captain Phoebe de Chateauper.
Fate brings the ill-fated poet to the Court of Wonders - the kingdom of beggars and thieves. The stranger is seized and taken to the Altyn King, in whom Pierre, to his surprise, recognizes Clopin Trouillefou. Local morals are severe: you need to pull out the wallet from the scarecrow with bells, so that they do not ring - a noose awaits the loser. Gringoire, who made a real chime, is dragged to the gallows, and only a woman can save him - if there is one that she wants to take as her husband. No one coveted the poet, and he would have been swinging on the crossbar if Esmeralda had not released him out of the kindness of her soul. The emboldened Gringoire tries to claim marital rights, but the fragile songstress has a small dagger for this case - in front of the astonished Pierre, the dragonfly turns into a wasp. The ill-fated poet lies down on a skinny bedding, for he has nowhere to go.
The next day, Esmeralda's kidnapper is put on trial. In 1482 the disgusting hunchback was twenty years old, and his benefactor Claude Frollo was thirty-six. Sixteen years ago, a little freak was placed on the porch of the cathedral, and only one person took pity on him. Having lost his parents during a terrible plague, Claude was left with the baby Jean in his arms and fell in love with him with a passionate, devoted love. Perhaps the thought of his brother made him pick up the orphan, whom he named Quasimodo. Claude fed him, taught him to write and read, put him on the bells, so Quasimodo, who hated all people, was dog-like devoted to the archdeacon. Perhaps more he loved only the Cathedral - his home, his homeland, his universe. That is why he unquestioningly carried out the order of his savior - and now he had to answer for this. The deaf Quasimodo gets to the deaf judge, and it ends in tears - he is sentenced to whips and a pillory. The hunchback does not understand what is happening until they start flogging him to the hooting of the crowd. The torment does not end there: after the scourging, the good townspeople throw stones and ridicule at him. He hoarsely asks for a drink, but is answered with bursts of laughter. Suddenly, Esmeralda appears in the square. Seeing the culprit of his misfortunes, Quasimodo is ready to incinerate her with his eyes, and she fearlessly climbs the stairs and brings a flask of water to his lips. Then a tear rolls down the ugly physiognomy - the fickle crowd applauds "the majestic spectacle of beauty, youth and innocence, which came to the aid of the embodiment of ugliness and malice." Only the recluse of the Roland Tower, barely noticing Esmeralda, bursts into curses.
A few weeks later, at the beginning of March, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupere is courting his fiancee Fleur-de-Lys and her bridesmaids. For fun, for the sake of the girl, they decide to invite a pretty gypsy girl who dances on Cathedral Square into the house. They quickly repent of their intention, for Esmeralda overshadows them all with grace and beauty. She herself gazes intently at the captain, puffed up with complacency. When the goat puts together the word "Phoebus" from the letters - apparently well known to her, Fleur-de-Lys faints, and Esmeralda is immediately expelled. She also attracts the eye: Quasimodo looks at her with admiration from one window of the cathedral, Claude Frollo gloomily contemplates her from the other. Next to the gypsy, he spotted a man in a yellow-and-red tights - before she always performed alone. Going downstairs, the archdeacon recognizes his disciple Pierre Gringoire, who disappeared two months ago. Claude eagerly asks about Esmeralda: the poet says that this girl is a charming and harmless creature, a true child of nature. She is chaste because she wants to find her parents through the amulet, which supposedly helps only virgins. Everyone loves her for her cheerful disposition and kindness. She herself believes that in the whole city she has only two enemies - the recluse of the Roland Tower, who for some reason hates the gypsies, and some priest who constantly pursues her. With the help of a tambourine, Esmeralda teaches her goat tricks, and there is no witchcraft in them - it took only two months to teach her how to add the word “Phoebus”. The archdeacon becomes extremely excited - and on the same day he hears how his brother Jean friendly calls out to the captain of the royal shooters by name. He follows the young rake to the tavern. Phoebus gets drunk a little less than the schoolboy, because he has an appointment with Esmeralda. The girl is so in love that she is ready to sacrifice even an amulet - since she has Phoebus, why does she need a father and mother? The captain begins to kiss the gypsy, and at that moment she sees a dagger raised above him. Before Esmeralda, the face of the hated priest appears: she loses consciousness - waking up, she hears from all sides that the sorceress stabbed the captain.
A month passes. Gringoire and the Court of Miracles are in terrible anxiety - Esmeralda has disappeared. One day, Pierre sees a crowd at the Palace of Justice - they tell him that they are trying a she-devil who killed a military man. The gypsy stubbornly denies everything, despite the evidence - a demonic goat and a demon in a priest's cassock, which was seen by many witnesses. But she cannot stand the torture with a Spanish boot - she confesses to witchcraft, prostitution and the murder of Phoebus de Chateaure. According to the totality of these crimes, she is sentenced to repentance at the portal of Notre Dame Cathedral, and then to hanging. The goat must be subjected to the same punishment. Claude Frollo comes to the casemate, where Esmeralda is looking forward to death. On his knees, he begs her to run away with him: she turned his life upside down, before meeting her he was happy - innocent and pure, lived only by science and fell, seeing the wondrous beauty that was not created for human eyes. Esmeralda rejects both the hated priest's love and his proposed salvation. In response, he angrily shouts that Phoebus is dead. However, Phoebus survived, and the fair-haired Fleur-de-Lys again settled in his heart. On the day of the execution, lovers coo gently, looking out the window with curiosity - the jealous bride will be the first to recognize Esmeralda. The gypsy, seeing the beautiful Phoebus, falls unconscious: at that moment, Quasimodo picks her up in her arms and rushes to the Cathedral with a cry of “shelter”. The crowd greets the hunchback with enthusiastic cries - this roar reaches the Greve Square and the Roland Tower, where the recluse does not take her eyes off the gallows. The victim slipped away, hiding in the church.
Esmeralda lives in the Cathedral, but cannot get used to the terrible hunchback. Not wanting to annoy her with his ugliness, the deaf man gives her a whistle - he is able to hear this sound. And when the archdeacon pounces on the gypsy, Quasimodo almost kills him in the dark - only the ray of the moon saves Claude, who begins to be jealous of Esmeralda for the ugly ringer. At his instigation, Gringoire raises the Court of Miracles - beggars and thieves storm the Cathedral, wanting to save the gypsy. Quasimodo desperately defends his treasure - young Jean Frollo dies from his hand. Meanwhile, Gringoire'taik takes Esmeralda out of the Cathedral and involuntarily hands her over to Claude, who takes her to the Place de Grève, where he offers his love for the last time. There is no salvation: the king himself, having learned about the rebellion, ordered to find and hang the sorceress. The gypsy recoils in horror from Claude, and then he drags her to the Roland Tower - the recluse, sticking her hand out from behind the bars, tightly grabs the unfortunate girl, and the priest runs after the guards. Esmeralda begs to let her go, but Paquette Chantefleurie only laughs angrily in response - the gypsies stole her daughter from her, now let their offspring die too. She shows the girl her daughter's embroidered slipper - Esmeralda has exactly the same one in her amulet. The recluse almost loses her mind with joy - she has found her child, although she has already lost all hope. Too late, mother and daughter remember the danger: Paquette tries to hide Esmeralda in her cell, but in vain - the girl is dragged to the gallows, In the last desperate impulse, the mother sinks her teeth into the executioner's hand - she is thrown away, and she falls dead. From the height of the Cathedral, the archdeacon looks at the Greve Square. Quasimodo, who has already suspected Claude of kidnapping Esmeralda, sneaks after him and recognizes the gypsy - a noose is put on her neck. When the executioner jumps on the girl's shoulders, and the body of the executed woman begins to beat in terrible convulsions, the priest's face is distorted with laughter - Quasimodo does not hear him, but sees a satanic grin, in which there is nothing human anymore. And he pushes Claude into the abyss. Esmeralda on the gallows, and the archdeacon prostrate at the foot of the tower—that was all the poor hunchback loved.

(No Ratings Yet)

Year of publication of the book: 1831

Victor Hugo's Notre Dame Cathedral was first published in 1831. The work is the first French historical novel. Many performances, musicals and ballets have been staged based on Hugo's Notre Dame Cathedral, as well as several feature films. The last French adaptation of the novel was released in 1999 under the title Quasimodo.

Novel "Notre Dame Cathedral" summary

At the beginning of January 1482, the Parisians celebrated the feast of baptism. In honor of this, they decided to stage a well-known mystery play in the palace, which gathered a huge number of people around it from the very morning. It is expected that the Cardinal of Bourbon will come to the city for the holiday along with the Flemish ambassadors. After some time, the people begin to worry, and the beginning of the performance is delayed for indefinite term. Most of all, a noisy blond youth named Jean stands out from the crowd. He is the brother of the city archdeacon Claude.

"Notre Dame Cathedral" novel tells that the most nervous of all is none other than the author of the production Gringoire, who does not understand what caused the delay in the start of the performance. As soon as all the actors were ready to make their speeches, the cardinal entered the city along with the ambassadors. This greatly distracted the Parisians and again delayed the demonstration of the mystery. The people froze in one place and looked at the visitors in surprise, not paying attention to anything. A guest from Flanders invites the crowd to choose a buffoon's pope. They were supposed to be a man who could make the ugliest face. Every now and then, funny facial expressions begin to appear from all the windows and streets. However, the ringer of Notre Dame Cathedral, a hunchback named Quasimodo, unanimously becomes the clownish pope. He is dressed in a luxurious robe and carried on his hands throughout Paris.

Gringoire still hopes that he will be able to continue the performance. Suddenly, one of the Parisians shouted that a beautiful sixteen-year-old gypsy Esmeralda was dancing nearby in the square. Frustrated with his idea, Pierre Gringoire goes to see the girl dance. He is fascinated by the beauty of the young gypsy. Watching her every move main character, the poet compares the girl with an angel. After the dance, the stranger approached the goat and placed a tambourine near her. The girl began to ask her various questions, and the animal tapped out the correct answer. Because of this, there were even accusations from the crowd that Esmeralda was actually a witch. Not paying attention to the exclamation, the gypsy begins to sing. Suddenly she hears an insult from the face of the recluse of the tower. The desperate woman curses all the gypsies, which greatly upsets Esmeralda.

Notre Dame Cathedral, the book tells that in the meantime a crowd approaches the square with Quasimodo in their arms. The hunchback is approached by his teacher, Claude Frollo, who rips off his robe and tiara and drags Quasimodo back to the Cathedral. Gradually, the people begin to disperse, and Pierre goes after Esmeralda. He sees how they are trying to attack the girl, and calls the guards. The shooters manage to catch one of the intruders, who turns out to be Quasimodo. Esmeralda looks up, notices her savior Phoebus and falls in love with him.

Walking around the city, Gringoire finds himself in the Court of Miracles. This is the place where the most dangerous villains and beggars of Paris live. Pierre is about to be executed, but Esmeralda appears and saves the man. Fulfilling the conditions of the villains, she undertakes to become his wife. A few hours later, the poet gets used to the role of the spouse of a gypsy. However, the girl admits that she agreed to the marriage only in order to save Gringoire from the gallows. For the whole evening, Pierre tells his newly-made wife about his hard life. However, Esmeralda did not hear a single word - she was still thinking about Phoebe.

The next morning, a trial is scheduled for Quasimodo, who kidnapped Esmeralda. In Hugo's novel Notre Dame Cathedral, the summary tells that the hunchback got into the Cathedral sixteen years ago. Then a four-year-old boy was thrown up, not wanting to raise a freak. Claude Frollo, who at that time was orphaned and had to raise his little brother Jean, picked up the hunchback and taught him everything he knows. A little later, he appointed Quasimodo as bell ringer. It was this work that led to the fact that the freak was completely deaf. However, despite this, he loved the Cathedral and Claude Frollo more than anything. To put it mildly, the ringer disliked all other people.

Since Quasimodo was deaf and could not understand what the judge was asking him about, the court session was rather difficult. However, this did not stop Esmeralda's kidnapper from being sentenced to lashes. The ringer did not understand what awaited him until the freak was brought to the pillory. During the execution of the sentence, the gathered crowd throws stones at the hunchback and mocks him. He asks for a drink, but no one hears the freak. At this moment, Esmeralda comes up the stairs, bringing water to Quasimodo. In the work "Notre Dame Cathedral" we can read that from an unexpected manifestation of kindness, tears begin to flow from the bell ringer. The gypsy hears the curse of the recluse again coming from Roland's tower. However, the rest of the crowd applauds the girl and calls her a model of beauty, youth and virtue.

Spring comes and Phoebus spends time with his fiancee Fleur-de-Lys. The girl's friends decide to invite that charming gypsy who conquered everyone by dancing in the square. Entering the house, Esmeralda amazes everyone with her beauty. Even Phoebus cannot resist the girl's grace. Esmeralda's little goat makes a word out of letters. After reading "Phoebus" there, Fleur-de-Lys loses consciousness, and the gypsy is quickly driven away. Quasimodo is watching a girl walking down the street from the window of the Cathedral.

A floor below, Claude Frollo looks at her, who notices that the girl has recently been walking in the company of the same man. He decides to get to know him, but it turns out that Pierre Gringoire, who was Esmeralda's husband by chance, was an old acquaintance and student of Claude Frollo. The archdeacon begins to ask about the gypsy, and the poet tells the story of her life. Until this time, Claude believed Esmeralda to be a witch and watched her closely. However, Pierre claims that the girl is absolutely pure and innocent. In addition, she has no time to practice witchcraft, because she wants to find her parents. The goat, which, with the help of a tambourine, answers the questions of the people, is nothing more than the result of training.

In the novel Notre Dame Cathedral, the summary tells that Phoebus and his friends decide to go to a bar. However, due to the fact that he has a date with a gypsy in a few hours, the man drinks the least. But the archdeacon's brother Jean, who was followed that evening by Claude Frollo, does not miss a single glass. Phoebus notices Esmeralda and comes closer to kiss the girl. Then she sees that someone's hand holding a dagger hangs over her lover. It was none other than the priest Claude Frollo. Suddenly, the gypsy faints, and, waking up a few hours later, finds out that she is accused of killing Phoebus.

If you read Hugo's novel "Notre Dame Cathedral" briefly, then we learn that several days have passed since the last events, during which Gringoire cannot find a place for himself, because Esmeralda has disappeared without a trace. One day, walking through the square, he notices that a large number of people have gathered at the Palace of Justice. Someone from the crowd tells the poet that a trial will now take place on a woman who plunged a dagger into a military man. Esmeralda tried to deny all the allegations, despite the fact that there was a large amount of evidence against her. However, when the torture with the Spanish boot begins, the gypsy breaks down and confesses in tears to everything she is accused of. As a murderer, witch, and prostitute, Esmeralda, like the protagonist of the novel, is sentenced to be hanged. Previously, she had to repent before all honest people under the walls of Notre Dame Cathedral. The girl is locked in the basement, where Claude Frollo comes to her. He confesses his love for Esmeralda, stating that before meeting her, his only interest was science. However, he cannot resist the beauty of the gypsy and wants to run away with her. Esmeralda rejects the archdeacon and does not want to be saved in this way.

The day of the execution comes, and Esmeralda notices Phoebus in the distance, who is talking with his bride Fleur-de-Lys. The gypsy faints, realizing that her lover is still alive. In Hugo's novel Notre Dame Cathedral, we can read that in the meantime Quasimodo runs up to her and takes the girl to the Cathedral. For a long time, Esmeralda arrives at the Cathedral, hiding from the court. It is difficult for her to communicate with the evil ringer, so Quasimodo decides to give her his whistle. It is the only sound he is still able to hear. Suddenly, a priest bursts into the girl and attacks her. Esmeralda calls Quasimodo, who pushes Claude Frollo out. The archdeacon persuades Gringoire and the beggars from the Court of Miracles to storm Notre Dame Cathedral and save Esmeralda. Quasimodo is trying his best to protect the girl. He even kills Jean. In all this fuss, Gringoire still manages to lead Esmeralda to freedom. He brings her to Claude, who once again offers the girl to run away with him for her life. He warns that the king of France found out about the revolt of the Parisians and ordered to find and execute the witch at all costs. The gypsy again refuses the priest, to which he takes her to the Roland Tower. The recluse, who constantly cursed Esmeralda, stretches out her hands to the girl and insults her. Paquette (that was the name of the recluse) says that once upon a time the gypsies took away her only daughter. She shows the girl the slipper of her child, and Esmeralda realizes that her mother is in front of her. Paquette manages to hide the gypsy at home, but after a while the king's guards find her and take her to the gallows. A woman, trying to save her daughter, sinks her teeth into the executioner, but he pushes her away. From a strong blow to the head Paketta dies.

The story told in the musical is pretty close to the original. storyline novel by Hugo.

Gypsy Esmeralda has been under the care of the Gypsy Duke Clopin since the death of her mother. After a band of gypsies try to sneak into Paris and take refuge in Notre Dame Cathedral, they are chased away by royal soldiers. The captain of the riflemen, Phoebe de Chateaupe, is interested in Esmeralda. But he is already engaged to fourteen-year-old Fleur-de-Lys.

At the festival of jesters, the hunchbacked, crooked and lame bell-ringer of the Quasimodo Cathedral comes to look at Esmeralda, with whom he is in love. For his ugliness, he is elected King of Jesters. His guardian and mentor, the archdeacon of Notre Dame Cathedral Frollo, runs up to him. He rips off his crown and tells him not to even look in the direction of Esmeralda and accuses her of witchcraft. He shares with Quasimodo a plan to kidnap Esmeralda, with whom he is secretly in love. He wants to lock her in the tower of the Cathedral.

At night, the poet Gringoire wanders after Esmeralda, and becomes a witness to an attempt to kidnap her. But a detachment of Phoebus guarded nearby, and he protects the gypsy. Frollo manages to escape unnoticed - no one assumes that he also participated in this. Quasimodo is arrested. Phoebus appoints Esmeralda a date in the tavern "Valley of Love". Frollo hears all this.

Gringoire finds himself in the Court of Miracles - the abode of vagabonds, thieves and other outcasts. Clopin decides to hang him because he, not being a criminal, went there. He was to be hanged unless any of the girls living there wanted to marry him. Esmeralda, after an offer from Clopin, agrees to save him. He promises to make her his muse, but Esmeralda is consumed by thoughts of Phoebe. She asks about the meaning of his name of her lover.

For attempting to kidnap Esmeralda, Quasimodo was sentenced to be broken on the wheel. Frollo is watching this. When Quasimodo asks for a drink, Esmeralda gives him water. In gratitude, Quasimodo shows her the Cathedral and the bell tower, inviting her to come in whenever she wants.

Frollo pursues Phoebus and enters the "Valley of Love" with him. Seeing Esmeralda in the same bed with Phoebus, he stabs him with Esmeralda's dagger, which she carried with her all the time, and runs away, leaving Phoebus to die. Esmeralda is accused of this crime. Phoebus is cured and returns to Fleur-de-Lys.

Frollo judges and tortures Esmeralda. He accuses her of witchcraft, prostitution and an attempt on Phoebus. Esmeralda states that she has nothing to do with this. She is sentenced to death by hanging.

An hour before the execution, Frollo descends into the dungeon of the La Sante prison, where Esmeralda is imprisoned. He sets a condition - he will let Esmeralda go if she accepts his love and is with him. Esmeralda refuses. Frollo tries to take her by force.

Clopin and Quasimodo enter the dungeon. Clopin stuns the priest and frees his stepdaughter. Esmeralda hides in Notre Dame Cathedral. The inhabitants of the "Court of Miracles" come there to take Esmeralda. Royal soldiers under the command of Phoebus enter into battle with them. Clopin is killed. The vagabonds are expelled. Frollo gives Esmeralda to Phoebe and the executioner. Quasimodo searches for Esmeralda and instead finds Frollo. He confesses to him that he gave Esmeralda to the executioner because she refused him. Quasimodo throws Frollo off the cathedral and dies himself with the body of Esmeralda in his arms.

Book one

V. Quasimodo

The mug, which at that moment flaunted in the opening of the rosette, was really worthy of surprise. After all the five-pointed, hexagonal and all sorts of other bizarre faces, one after another appeared in this window, not reaching that ideal of grotesqueness that the crowd created for itself in an inflamed orgy imagination, only such a uniquely ugly grimace could strike this gathering and cause stormy delight.<...>We will not even try to recreate in the reader's imagination a four-sided nose, that horseshoe-shaped mouth, a small, almost covered with a red bristly eyebrow, the left eye, while the right one completely disappeared under a huge wart, crooked, here and there swaying teeth, similar to the battlements of a fortress, chapped lip, on which hung like an elephant's tusk, a tooth, this cleft chin. And it's even harder to recreate the expression on that face, a mixture of anger, surprise, and sadness. Now imagine, if you can, this image.

Recognition was unanimous. Everyone rushed to the chapel. From there, triumphantly, they brought out a happy chosen one - the pope of jesters. And only now the surprise and admiration reached their peak. The grimace was his real face.

Rather, he was all a grimace. A huge head covered with red bristles; between the shoulders - a hefty hump, and the second, the same, on the chest; the amazing structure of the hips and legs, so curved that they converged only at the knees and looked like two sickles connected by handles; wide feet, ugly hands. And with all this ugliness - some kind of formidable expression of strength, dexterity and courage - a strange exception to the original rule, according to which both strength and beauty are the result of harmony. This is the kind of father the jesters have chosen for themselves.

It seemed that it was a broken and unsuccessfully soldered giant.

When this semblance of a cyclops appeared on the threshold of the chapel, motionless, stocky and almost the same in width and length, "square in its basis," in the words of one great man, then by her intoxicating, intoxicating purple clothes, flecked with silver bells, and above all by her unsurpassed The ugliness of the crowd immediately recognized who it was, and shouted with one voice:

It's Quasimodo, the ringer! It's Quasimodo, the hunchback from Notre Dame Cathedral! Quasimodo is one-eyed! Quasimodo is bow-legged! Glory! Glory!...

As you can see, the poor fellow had a rich set of nicknames.

Beware pregnant women! the schoolchildren shouted.

Women really covered their faces with their hands.

Oh! Disgusting monkey! - said one.

As evil as it is nasty, - added a friend.

It's the devil, - threw the third.

Unfortunately, I live near the cathedral and all night I hear him wandering on the roof.

Along with cats.

He is always on our rooftops.

And bore us through the chimneys.

One evening this crooked face looked into my window. I thought it was some kind of man. Well, I got scared!

Quasimodo was silent.

True cross! - exclaimed the panchishnik. - Are you deaf?

The bell ringer was indeed deaf.

In the meantime, Coppenol's behavior seemed to annoy Quasimodo; he suddenly turned to him and so terribly, gnashed his teeth, the Flemish giant backed away like a bulldog in front of a cat ...

And then around this amazing figure formed a circle of fear and respect with a radius of at least fifteen steps. Some old woman explained to Master Koppenol that Quasimodo was deaf.

Wait! I know him! Jean exclaimed, descending at last from his capital in order to get a better look at Quasimodo. This is the ringer of my brother the archdeacon. Hello Quasimodo!

Damn, not human! - said the schoolboy, still not recovering from his fall. - Look at him - a hunchback. Starts to walk - lame. Look at you - one-eyed. You speak to him - deaf. And does this Polyphemus even have a language?

He speaks when he wants to, said the old woman. He is deaf from the bells. He is not dumb.

Only this is still not enough for him, - Jean remarked.

No, no, Jean said judiciously. - A one-eyed man is much more crippled than a blind man. Therefore, the one-eyed sees what he is deprived of.

In the meantime, all the beggars, all the servants, all the thieves, together with the schoolchildren, together went to the cabinets of the court clerks, each with a cardboard tiara and the Pope's robe of Blaze. Quasimodo silently, even with some arrogant humility, allowed himself to be dressed. Then they put him on a colorfully decorated stretcher. Twelve members of the brotherhood of jesters lifted him on their shoulders; some kind of bitter and proud joy bloomed on the gloomy face of the Cyclops when he saw at his twisted legs the heads of all these handsome, slender men. Then, according to established custom, the whole procession of noisy thugs, before moving through the streets and crossroads of Paris, began to walk around the inner galleries of the Palace of Justice.

Book Four

I. Good souls

Sixteen years before the event we are describing, one serene Sunday morning on the leading week, after mass in Notre Dame Cathedral, a living creature was placed on a wooden flooring on the left side of the porch. On this wooden bed it was customary to place foundlings, appealing to human mercy. From here, whoever wanted to take them. In front of the flooring stood a copper plate for donations.

And the likeness of a living creature, which lay on the morning of the funeral Sunday of 1467 on these boards, obviously aroused great interest in a fairly large group of spectators crowding near the flooring. The group consisted predominantly of the fair sex, mostly old women...

Indeed, this "little monster" (it would be difficult for us to call it otherwise) was not a newborn baby. It was some kind of small block, very clumsy and very mobile, stuffed into a linen bag marked with the initials of M. Guillaume Chartier, then Bishop of Paris. An ugly head protruded from the bag. All that was visible was a mop of red hair, eyes, mouth, and teeth. The eye was crying, the mouth was screaming, the teeth, it seemed, were just waiting to bite - all together they struggled in the bag, arousing surprise and the fear of the crowd was growing ...

Some young priest had already been listening to the thoughts of the nuns and the maxims of the protonotary for several minutes. He had a stern face high forehead, deep gaze. He silently pushed away with his hand the people standing near the flooring, looked at the "little sorcerer" and extended his hand over him. It was very timely, because all the saints were already licking their lips at the very mention of "fire on a good bundle of brushwood" ...

I adopt this child,” said the priest.

He wrapped her in his cassock and carried her. Those present followed him with puzzled looks. A minute later he disappeared behind the Red Gate, which then led from the cathedral to the monastery.

When the pause had passed, Jeanne de la Tarme whispered in Henriette la Gauthier's ear:

I told you a long time ago, sister, that this young priest Claude Frollo is a warlock...

II. Claude Frollo

Indeed, Claude Frollo was an extraordinary man. He belonged to one of the middle families, which, in a not very revered language of the last century, were called eminent citizens or petty nobles. This family inherited from the Pakle brothers the Lena possession of Tirshap, which was subject to the Bishop of Paris. The twenty-one houses of this property were in the thirteenth century the subject of endless lawsuits in the Consistory Court. As the owner of this property, Claude Frollo was one of the one hundred and forty-one feudal lords who had the right to collect rent in Paris and its suburbs.

Since childhood, Claude Frollo's parents have determined a spiritual career. He was taught to read Latin books, to cast his eyes down, and to speak in a hushed voice. His father sent him when he was very young to Torshi College in the university part of the city. There he grew up, sitting over the breviary and the lexicon.

She was a dull, calm, serious child who studied with ardor and quickly acquired knowledge. Claude did not make noise during breaks, almost did not take part in student parties on the Rue Foire, did not know what dare alapas et capillos ianiare1 was, and was not involved in the revolt of 1463, which the chroniclers entered into the chronicles under the loud name "Sixth university rebellion" . Rarely did he have to mock the poor schoolboys of Montagu College for their long cassocks, through which they got their nickname, or the fellows of Dorman College for their tonsure and cloth clothes of blue and brown - azurini colons et bruni, as the charter of the Cardinal of the Four Crowns says.

Having digested the history of church positions, he pounced on medicine and the liberal arts - he studied the science of medicinal herbs and healing ointments, acquired knowledge in the treatment of fevers, wounds and abscesses. Jacques d "Epard would have recognized him as a doctor, and Richard Ellen as a surgeon. With the same success, he received all the degrees of licentiate, master and doctor. He mastered Latin, Greek and Hebrew, a triple wisdom, little known in those days. Where was the real fever of obtaining and accumulating the treasures of science.At the age of eighteen, he graduated from all four faculties.It seemed to the young man that life had only one goal - knowledge.

It was at that time, as a result of the extremely hot summer of 1466, that an epidemic of a terrible plague broke out, which mowed down more than forty thousand people in the Parisian county, including, as Jean de Troyes says, "Metre Arnoux, the royal astrologer, a respectable person, wise and cordial". A rumor spread in the University that Tirshap Street had suffered the most devastation. It was there that Claude's parents lived on their fief estate. Extremely excited, the young scientist ran to his parents' house. When he arrived, his mother and father were already dead - they had died the day before. Only his brother remained alive - the baby, who lay in the cradle and cried. It was all that was left of his family. The young man took the child in his arms and went out in deep thought. Until now, he lived only in science, but now he is faced with real life.

This catastrophe was a revolution in Claude's life. At the age of nineteen, having become an orphan and at the same time the head of the family, he suddenly felt that life, tearing him away from school dreams, confronted him with harsh reality. And then, imbued with regret, he kindled with passionate and self-sacrificing love for the child, for his brother. For him, Claude, who had hitherto only loved books, this human feeling was strange and sweet.

At the age of twenty he became, by special permission of the papal curia, a priest and, as the youngest of the chaplains of Notre Dame Cathedral, led the service in the aisle, so that after the late hour of the service he was called altare pigrorum2.

And just then, when on Fomino Sunday, having sent mass in the altar of "lazy people" near the doors, to the choir stalls, hanging over the right nave near the statue of the Mother of God, he was returning home, his attention was attracted by a heather group of old women that stood around the flooring for foundlings.

When he pulled the baby out of the bag, he saw that it really was terribly ugly. The poor fellow had a wart on his left eye, the chairman sat deep in his shoulders, his spine was arched, rib cage protruding, legs twisted; but the baby seemed tenacious, and although one could guess in what language he babbled, his cry testified to health and strength. The sight of this ugliness further increased the feeling of pity in Claude, out of love for his brother, he made a vow in his soul to raise this child so that this act of mercy, performed in the name of his little brother, would be credited to Zheanov in all his future sins. It was like a reliable contribution of the capital of good deeds that his Claude contributed to the account of his younger brother, so to speak, a stock of noble deeds, which he wanted to prepare in advance for Jean in case this coin, a single one, that opens the gates to paradise, was not enough for the little deserter. .

He christened his priymak and named him "Quasimodo", either in memory of the day on which he found him, or to express how imperfect and unfinished this unfortunate creature was. Therefore, indeed, Quasimodo, one-eyed, hunchbacked, clubfoot, was only "as if" like a man.

III. Immanis pectoris custos, immanor bononiae (The February shepherd of the flock himself is even more furious (lat.)).

Therefore, in 1482, Quasimodo was already an adult. A few years ago, he became the bell ringer of Notre Dame Cathedral by the grace of his named father Claude Frollo, who at that time was already Archdeacon Jozasky by the grace of his overlord, their grace, Louis de Beaumont, who became in 1472, after the death of Guillaume Chartier, Bishop of Paris by by the grace of his patron Olivier de Denes, by the grace of God the barber Louis XI.

So, Quasimodo was the bell ringer of Notre Dame Cathedral.

Over time, a kind of elusive close connection arose between the bell-ringer and the Cathedral. Cut off forever from the world by a double misfortune: by his unknown origin and his physical ugliness, closed from childhood in this double irresistible vicious circle, the poor fellow was used to not noticing anything that lay beyond the walls of the Cathedral. As he grew and developed, the Cathedral was for him gradually: an egg, a nest, a home, a homeland, a universe.

There was so much deep instinctive understanding between him and the old temple, so much physical kinship, that Quasimodo was rooted to the Cathedral like a tortoise to its shield. Rough walls temples became his armor...

Quasimodo familiarized himself and got used to the whole Cathedral. This place was like it was made for him. There were no depths that he would not penetrate, no heights that he would not climb.

It seemed that under the influence of the Cathedral, not only his body, but also his soul was being formed. In what state was she, in what direction did she develop under this clumsy shell, in the conditions of this wild unsociable life? It's hard to say, Quasimodo was born one-eyed, hunchbacked, lame. Only as a result of great efforts and great patience did Claude Frollo manage to teach him to speak. But fate weighed heavily on the unfortunate foundling. When at the age of fourteen he became the bell ringer of the Cathedral, another misfortune completed his injury: the bells burst his eardrums: he became deaf. The only doors to the world, nature left wide open before him, suddenly slammed shut forever. Closing themselves, they extinguished the only ray of light and joy that penetrated the soul of Quasimodo. This soul was plunged into deep darkness.

It is indisputable that in a wretched body the spirit also becomes impoverished. Quasimodo only vaguely felt in himself the blind impulse of the soul, created in the image and likeness of his body. External impressions on the way to his consciousness were subjected to significant deformation. His brain was some kind of special environment: thoughts, passing through it, came out completely distorted. As a result, naturally, his concepts became contradictory and distorted.

The first consequence of such a mindset was Quasimodo's distorted view of the surrounding reality. Quasimodo was almost completely deprived of the opportunity to perceive it directly. The outside world seemed much more distant to him than to us.

The second consequence of his misfortune was his spitefulness. He was really angry because he was wild; he was wild because he was ugly. His nature had its own logic, like ours...

But what he loved most in his native Cathedral, what aroused his soul and helped to unfold the weak, always folded wings, the only thing that sometimes made him happy were the bells. He loved them, caressed them, spoke to them, understood their language. For each of them he was full of tenderness, starting from the smallest bells of the openwork spire to the large bell of the portal. The central lancet bell tower and two towers were like three large cages for him, in which the birds sang for him only for him...

The presence of such an unusual creature as Quasimodo seemed to fill the entire temple with an elusive breath of life. It seemed (at least such an exaggerated fame went among superstitious people) that he radiated some kind of mysterious power that revives all the stones of the Cathedral and awakens the deepest bowels of the old building. It was enough to know that he was somewhere close, so that you could imagine that thousands of statues on galleries and portals were breathing and moving. Indeed, the Cathedral gave the impression of what an obedient and submissive creature to the power of Quasimodo; he waited for his order to raise his mighty voice, Quasimodo owned it, filling her with himself, like some brownie. The huge building breathed his breath.

IV. Dog and his owner

And yet there was a human being in the world, whom Quasimodo excluded from the circle of his malice and hatred, whom he loved just as much, and perhaps more than the Cathedral; it was Claude Frollo. It is quite understandable. Claude Frollo gave him shelter, adopted him, fed him, raised him. As a small child, Quasimodo, nestling at the feet of Claude Frollo, sought protection when he was pursued by dogs and children. Claude Frollo taught him to speak, read and write. Claude Frollo finally made him a bell ringer, and marrying a big bell with Quasimodo is like giving Juliet to Romeo...

V. Continuation of the section on Claude Frollo

In 1482 Quasimodo was about twenty years old, Claude Frollo about thirty-six; the first matured, the second aged.

Claude Frollo was no longer an exemplary schoolboy at Torchi College, a gentle guardian of his little brother, a young and dreamy philosopher who knew a lot, but still did not know a lot. Now he was a stern, venerable, gloomy priest, a shepherd of souls.

Meanwhile, Claude Frollo left neither his science nor the upbringing of his younger brother, the two main occupations of his life. But over time, a drop of bitterness was mixed in these sweet activities to his heart. Over time, says Paul Diacre, it is better for lard to become bitter. Small Jean Frollo, nicknamed the Miller in honor of the place where he was vigaduvano, did not develop in the direction that Claude determined for him. The older brother hoped that Jehan would be a pious, obedient, diligent and respectable student. Meanwhile, like those trees that do not justify the efforts of the gardener and stubbornly return to the sun and air, the younger brother put out lush and luxuriant shoots only in the direction of idleness, ignorance and revelry. He was a real imp, always irrepressible and at the same time extremely flattering and witty, which often made Claude frown, but sometimes made him smile.

Claude sent him to the College of Torchi, where he himself, amidst labor and reflection, spent his childhood years, and it hurt him that this shrine of science, which had once been proud of the Frollo family, was now outraged with him. On this occasion, Claude sometimes read Jeanov very long and harsh lectures, which he courageously listened to...

A strange fate, we note in passing, fell at that time to Notre Dame Cathedral, the fate of being loved with the same strength, albeit in very different ways, by two such dissimilar creatures as Claude and Quasimodo. One of them, like a half-man, wild, controlled only by instinct, loved the Cathedral for its beauty, for its stature, for the harmony that flowed from this majestic whole. And the second - a man with a stick enriched with knowledge of imagination, loved the inner content in it, the hidden essence in it, its legend, its symbolism, which lies behind the sculptural decorations of the facade, like the ancient writings of ancient parchment, hidden under a later text, - in a word, loved that riddle that the Notre Dame Cathedral always remains for the human mind.

And, finally, it is also indisputable that the archdeacon chose in that tower of the Cathedral, which faces the Grevsky Maidan, a tiny secret cell, directly adjacent to the dzvinichny cell and where no one, as the rumor went, even the bishop himself, did not dare to penetrate without his permission . This cell, almost at the very top of the tower, among the crows' nests, was once built by Bishop Hugh of Besancon4, who at one time was engaged in wicked deeds there. What was concealed in this cell - no one knew. And often at night from the Terrensky coast they saw how in a small ceiling window of the tower an uneven, crimson, strange light appeared, disappeared and reappeared at short and regular intervals, as if from the intermittent breaths of a blacksmith's mich. It looked more like the glow of a fire than a lamp. In the dark, on such a hill, this fire made a terrible impression, and the gossips said, "The archdeacon is blowing - hellish fire is flickering in the window" ...

All these signs of violent inner unrest reached a special strength at the very time when the events we are describing began to unfold. It happened more than once that some kind of child chanter, having met eye to eye with the archdeacon in the cathedral, ran away in horror, his look was so strange and fiery ...

In the meantime, Claude became even more severe and impeccable than ever. He had always shunned women, both because of his fortune and his temperament, and now he seemed to hate them more than ever. At the mere rustle of a silk skirt, the archdeacon lowered his hood over his eyes.

By the way, for some time now they began to notice that the archdeacon's aversion to gypsies and street dancers intensified. He petitioned the bishop to issue a special decree, according to which gypsies would be strictly forbidden to dance and beat the tambourine on Cathedral Square. At the same time, he delved into the decayed archives, the consistory, choosing from them those court cases where, by order of the church court, sorcerers and witches were sentenced to be burned at the stake or to the gallows for the evil eye of people with the help of goats, pigs and goats.

VI. Unpopularity

As we have already said, the archdeacon and the bell ringer did not enjoy special love either among the nobles or among the common people who lived near Notre Dame Cathedral.

On another occasion, a group of untidy old women, who had settled down on the steps of the porch, grumbled when they saw the archdeacon and the bell-ringer, and with abuse sent such an encouraging greeting after them: "Hm! This soul has the same as that body." Or else the gang of schoolchildren and pranksters that played cauldron, gathered together and greeted them with a mocking Latin exclamation: "Eia! Eia! Claudius cum claudo!"5

But most often all these images did not reach either the priest or the ringer. To hear such pleasantries, Quasimodo was too deaf, and Claude was too deep in his thoughts.

Book Six

III. Tale of corn cake

It's obvious you're from Reims when you don't know it! Udarda said. - It's the recluse from the Rat Hole.

How, - asked Mayette, - this poor woman, to whom we are carrying a cake?

Udarda nodded her head in the affirmative.

Yes. You will now see her at the window on the Grevsky Maidan. She thinks the same way you do about those gypsy tramps who play the tambourine and foretell the fate of people. It is not known where she got this fear of gypsies. And you, Majetto, why do you run away without even seeing them?

O! said Maillette, clasping the blond head of her child with both hands. - I don't want what happened to me with Paquette Chantefleur.

Ah, here is the story you must tell us, my dear Mayetto, said Gervaise, taking her by the hand.

Willingly, - answered Majette. - It is evident that you are a Parisian when you do not know about it! I must tell you ... But, by the way, you can talk about this on the go ... Well, Paquette Chantefleur was a pretty eighteen-year-old girl when I was like that, that is, already eighteen years ago, and it is her own fault when today she is not the same as I am - a virtuous, plump, fresh thirty-six woman who has a husband and a child.

A poor girl! She had pretty teeth and liked to laugh to show them off. And when a girl loves to laugh, she is on her way to crying. Beautiful teeth ruin beautiful eyes; such was Chantefleur. She and her mother barely made a living.

Once in the winter, this same sixty-first year, when they did not have a log of firewood or an armful of brushwood, - a big frost hit Chantefleur's cheeks so hard that the men stopped her, shouting - alone: ​​"Paquetto!", and others: "Packettochko!". This ruined her! .. Yestache! I see you nibbling the cake again! .. We immediately realized that the girl was finished when one Sunday she came to church with a gold cross around her neck. At fourteen years! Just think! First it was the young Vicomte de Cormontreuil, owner of an estate three-quarters of a league from Reims; then, sir Henri de Triancourt, the royal postillion; lower and finally passed to Gary Aubergon, the royal tailor; then to Mace where Frépyu, the barber of the Dauphin, then to Thévenin le Moine, the royal cook, and then, moving on to more and more elderly and less noble, she finally came to Guillaume Racine, minstrel that played on the "єli", and Thierry de Maire - a lamplighter . Then poor Chantefleur went from hand to hand. She exhausted her gold to the last solder. Yes, what to say! During the coronation celebrations, the same sixty-first year, she warmed the bed for the overseer of the houses of debauchery. And all this within one year!

Maillette sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

Well, what's wrong with that, the usual story, - said Gervaise. - I don't understand what the gypsies and children are here for.

Wait! Mayette replied. - You will hear about the child now. In the sixty-sixth year - this very month, on the feast of Paul, will be sixteen years old - Paketta gave birth to a girl. Unhappy! She was very happy. She dreamed of a child for a long time, her mother, a kind woman who always turned a blind eye to everything, had already died at that time. Paquette had no one else to love, and no one loved her either. In the five years that have passed since her fall, she has become a miserable creature, this Chantefleur. She was alone in the world. They pointed the finger at her, laughed at her in the streets, she was beaten by the city guards, little ragamuffins laughed with her, besides, she was twenty years old, and twenty years is already old age for priestesses of love,

Mayette said:

It means that she was very pitiful, unhappy, her cheeks drooped, she withered, withered, wept her eyes. But in her shame, in her folly and loneliness, she believed that she would be less glorified and less alone when she had someone she loved and who loved her. It had to be a child, because only a child could be harmless enough to love her. And the merciful master took pity on her and sent her a daughter. I can't even begin to talk about her joy. There was no shower of tears, caresses and kisses. She nursed her child herself, made her a diaper from her blanket, the only thing she had on the bed, and no longer felt cold or hungry. She became beautiful again. The old girl became a young mother. Men began to visit Chantefleur again, she again found buyers for her goods, and for all this abomination she took money for diapers, bibs, lace undershirts and silk bonnets, without even thinking about buying herself at least a new blanket. In little Agnes, in this baby, there were more ribbons and laces than the princess of France! Among other things, she had tiny shoes, so beautiful, which, perhaps, even King Louis XI did not have! Mother sewed and drew them herself, she put into them all her skill as a gold seam. They were two little pink slippers, the best you could find in the world. They were as long as my thumb, and to believe that they could be put on the legs of a child, one had to see how they were thrown off those legs. True, those little feet were so tiny, so pretty, so rosy, rosier than the silk on the shoes! When you have your children, Udardo, you will understand that there is nothing better in the world of these tiny legs and arms!

A real angel! Her eyes were bigger than her mouth. And the most magical thing is thin black hairs that were already curly. At sixteen, she would have been a black-haired beauty. Her mother never ceased to admire her. She caressed her, tickled, bathed, courted, kissed her without counting. She did not hear the soul in her, she thanked God for her. Her daughter's pretty pink legs aroused in her a special, boundless admiration, violent joy. She did not tear her lips from them, could not stop admiring them. She tied them into little shoes, called them out, admired them, looked through them at the light, roared when she saw how they were trying to walk on the bed, and would willingly have stood on her knees all her life just to put on and take off these legs, as if they were feet of the Christ child

And here's what, - said Mayette. - It so happened that one day before Reims some strange riders arrived. They were beggars and vagabonds, led by their dukes, princes, counts, they were all swarthy, with curly hair and silver rings in their ears. The women seemed even more accommodating than the men. Their faces were still black and always open, their bodies were covered with miserable clothes - an old blanket made of burlap, tied around their shoulders, their hair looked like a ponytail. The children who fumbled at their feet might have frightened the monkeys as well. A flock of wicked. All of them came to Reims from Lower Tsigania through Polonia.

They looked at people's hands and foreshadowed incredible miracles. Poor Chantefleur was also filled with curiosity. She wanted to know who she was to have, whether her little Agnes would someday be Empress of Armenia or some other country. And so she carried her to the gypsies, and the gypsies began to admire the child, caress, kiss her with their black lips and marvel at her tiny hand. And all this, I must say, to the delight of the mother! They especially praised her pretty legs and magic shoes. The child was not yet a year old. She was already laughing, twittering to her mother like a little bird, she was plump, round, making magical faces, she was a real angel. The child was very frightened of the gypsies and began to cry, and the mother kissed her tightly and left delighted with the fate that the fortune-tellers told her baby. Agnes was supposed to become the embodiment of beauty and virtue, moreover, a queen. Chantefleury returned to her hut in the Rue Fol Pins. proud to carry the queen there.

On the second day, she took advantage of the moment when the child was sleeping in her bed, because she always put her to sleep with her, quietly went out, leaving the door half open, and ran to tell her neighbor from Drying Street that the day would come when her daughter Agnes would serve English at the table the king and archduke of Ethiopia, and many other amazing things. Returning and not hearing the child's crying, she, going up the stairs, said to herself: "All right, the child is still sleeping." And suddenly she saw that the doors were open wider than she had left them on her way out. The unfortunate mother still found the strength to enter, and rushed to the bed. The child was gone, the bed was empty. Only one of her little wonderful shoes remained for the child. The mother rushed out of the room, ran down the stairs, began to beat her head against the wall and shouted: "My child! Who has my child? Who took my child from me?" The street was deserted, the house was remote from the others, no one could tell her anything. She ran all over the city, all the streets, running back and forth all day, half-mad, frantic, terrible, sniffing at doors and windows like a wild animal that has lost its babies. Zadikhana, disheveled, terrible, with a flame in her eyes that dried her tears, she stopped passers-by and shouted: "My daughter! My girl! My pretty, little girl! Whoever returns my daughter to me, I will be a servant, I will be a servant his dogs, and let him eat my heart if he wants to." Having met the curate of the church of Saint-Remy, she said to him: "Monsieur curate, I will tear the earth with my nails, just give me back my child!" It was a terrible sight, Udardo; I saw a man with a hard heart, Maître Pons Lacabra, a public prosecutor, who wept. Oh! Unhappy mother! In the evening she returned to her room. When she was not there, the neighbor saw how two gypsies stealthily went up to Paketti with a small bundle in their hands, then they closed the door and hurriedly disappeared. After they left, what sounded like a baby crying could be heard in Paquetty's room. Mother laughed joyfully, as if flying up the stairs on wings, pushed the door... and entered... Fear to think, Udardo! Instead of her fragile little Agnes, so ruddy, so fresh, this gift of a merciful God, some kind of ugly creature crawled across the floor, disgusting, one-eyed, lame. She closed her eyes in horror. "Oh," she said, "did the sorceresses have turned my daughter onto this terrible animal?" People hurried to take away this little monster, because it could deprive her of her mind. It was a terrifying child of some of the gypsies that gave herself to the devil. In appearance, this creature was four years old, belkotal some inhuman language; these were completely incomprehensible words. Chantefleur fell to the floor, seizing her little slipper, which was all she had left of what she loved. For a long time she lay petrified, silent, breathless - so long that she seemed dead. Suddenly she shuddered all over, covering her shrine with frantic kisses, burst into tears as if her heart was breaking. I assure you that we all wept too. She said, "Oh my little daughter! My pretty little daughter! Where are you?" Our hearts were breaking. Chantefleur suddenly got up and rushed to Reims, shouting: "To the camp of the gypsies! To the camp of the gypsies! Call the guards to burn the sorceresses!" And the gypsies have already disappeared. It was a dead night. There was no question of chasing them.

Yes, a really terrible story, said Udarda, it can make even a Burgundian cry.

Did no one really know what happened to Chantefleur?

Mayette did not answer. Gervaise repeated her question, sharpening her hand and calling her by name. Maillette seemed to wake up from her thoughts.

What happened to Chantefleur? she asked mechanically and, making an effort to understand the meaning of these words, she said quickly: “No one ever found out about this. - After a pause she added: - Some said that they saw her when she left Reims at dusk through the Flechambeau gate; others - as if it were at dawn, and she went out through the old gates of Base. Some beggar found her gold cross, she hung it on an iron cross in the field where the fair is going to. And so, when we learned about this discovery, everyone assumed that she had died. However, there are people from the Cabaret Le Vaut who claim to have seen her when she walked barefoot, walking over stones, to Paris. But then she would have to go through the Velska Gate. All this somehow does not fit one with one. Or, I think, she really came out through the Velsk Gate, but dead.

I don't understand you," said Gervaise.

Vel, - Majette answered with a sad smile, - is a river.

Poor Chantefleur," said Oudard, shuddering, "she's drowned!

And the little shoe? asked Gervaise.

Disappeared with his mother, - answered Mayette.

Poor little shoe,” said Udarda.

Udarda, a portly and sensitive woman, would have been quite satisfied if she had taken a nap with Maillette, but the inquisitive Gervaise did not stop asking questions.

And the monster? she suddenly asked Mayette.

What bogeyman? she asked. - A little gypsy monster that the witches left Chantefleur instead of her daughter. What did you do with it? I hope you drowned him too?

No, replied Mayette.

How! Then burned? That would be fair witchspawn.

Neither one nor the other, Gervezo. The monsignor archbishop became interested in that gypsy child, drove the demon out of him, baptized the child and sent her to Paris to be laid on a wooden floor in the Cathedral of Our Lady, like a foundling.

So talking, three respected citizens came to the Grevsky Maidan. Very occupied with conversation, they walked without stopping past the public breviary of Roland's tower and mechanically headed for the pillory, around which the crowd increased every minute.

The three women turned back. When they approached Roland's tower, Udarda turned to her companions:

There is no need for everyone to look into the holes together, so as not to frighten off the recluse ... You pretend to read Dominus6 from the breviary, and in the meantime I will look into her window, the recluse knows me a little. I'll give you a sign when to come.

Udarda herself went to the window. And as soon as her gaze penetrated the cell, deep regret was reflected on her features, and, of course, the cheerful, open face of the woman so quickly changed its expression and colors, as if after bright sunlight a cold ray of the moon suddenly illuminated her; her eyes filled with tears, her mouth twisted as if she was about to cry. A minute later, placing her finger on her lips, she signaled Mayette to come over. Maillette approached, agitated, silent, on tiptoe, as one approaches the bed of a dying man.

A truly sad sight met the eyes of both women as they gazed, motionless and breathless, through the bars of the small window of the Rat Hole.

The closet was cramped, wider than deeper, sepulchral, ​​its internal appearance resembled the top of a large episcopal mitre. On a bare slab that ruled the floor, in the corner sat a rather shivering woman, her chin resting on her knees, she pressed her folded arms tightly to her chest. So twisted, she sat, dressed in a brown bag, which wrapped her whole in wide folds; her long White hair, covering the face, fell down along the legs to the very feet.

One might think that she was petrified, like her closet, turned as cold as winter, her arms were crossed, her eyes were fixed on one point. At first glance, it seemed like a ghost, but if you look closely - a statue.

And yet, from time to time, with a sigh, her lips turned blue, they curled up and trembled, but just as deadly and limply as leaves tremble from the wind.

However, her deadly eyelids from time to time were flattened, she fixed her deep, mournful, concentrated gaze into a corner of the cell invisible from the outside, a gaze that seemed to connect all the dull thoughts of this mournful soul with some mysterious object.

Such was the creature who, because of her miserable habitation, was called the "recluse," and for her clothes, the "Lakhmitnitsa."

The three women, therefore, Gervaise, joined Mayetti and Oudardi, looked out of the window, their heads obscured by the faint daylight of the dungeon, but the unfortunate woman, whom they thus left in the dark, paid no attention to them.

Let's not disturb her, - Udarda said in a whisper, - she, in ecstasy, she prays.

Meantime Maillette looked with great emotion at that emaciated, faded, disheveled head, and her eyes filled with tears.

But that would be very strange,” she muttered.

When she stuck her head through the grate of the vent, she managed to look with one eye into the corner to which the eyes of the unfortunate woman were invariably riveted.

When Maillette turned her head away from the vent, her face was wet with tears.

What do you call her, this woman? she asked at Oudardi.

Strike replied:

We call her Sister Gudula.

And I, - said Mayette, - and I will call her Paquette Chantefleur.

And putting her finger to her lips, she motioned for Udarda to put her head through the window and look inside. Udarda looked in and saw in the corner where the downcast, furious gaze of the recluse was directed, a small slipper of pink silk, twined with thousands of gold and silver sequins.

After Udarda, Gervaise looked in, and then all three women, looking at the unfortunate mother, burst into tears ... However, neither their glances nor their tears attracted the attention of the recluse. Her hands remained crossed, her lips were silent, her eyes were staring into one point, and for those who knew her story, this little shoe, from which she did not take her eyes off, edged her heart.

Sister! Sister Gudulo!

Sister Gudulo! repeated Udarda.

My God! She doesn't move, said Gervaise. - Is she dead? Gudulo! Gudulo!

Maillette, who until now had been so agitated that she could not speak, made an effort and said:

Wait. - Then, leaning towards the window, she shouted: - Packetto! Packet Chantefleur!

The child who carelessly blows on a badly lit firecracker wick and causes an explosion that warms her eyes is not as frightened as Majette was when she saw the impression that name had suddenly thrown into Sister Gudula's closet.

The recluse trembled all over, stood up on her bare feet and jumped to the window; her eyes burned with such fire that Gervaise, Oudard and Maillette with the child went back to the parapet of the embankment.

The ominous face of a recluse is closely clinging to the window bars.

Oh! Oh! Laughing furiously, she screamed. - That gypsy is calling me!

At that moment, the scene at the pillory caught her wandering eye. Horror distorted her face, she stretched out her scrawny hands through the bars and screamed in a voice that was more like a death rattle:

It's you again, you gypsy brat! It is you who are calling me, little children! Then be damned! Damned! Damned!

IV. Tear for a drop of water

Translation:

Seeing the young Esmeralda and falling in love with her, Quasimodo pursues the girl. For attempting to attack Esmeralda, Quasimodo is sentenced to execution at the pillory - beating with a whip.

Following the first blow, a second fell, followed by a third, and then another and another - without end. The wheel continued to turn, and the blows rained down. Here blood spattered, it was seen how it flowed in thousands of streams over the swarthy shoulders of the hunchback, and thin straps, spinning and tearing the air, splashed it in drops into the crowd.

Finally, dressed in black, riding a black horse, the bailiff Châtelet, who had been standing near the stairs since the beginning of the execution, extended his ebony staff to the hourglass. The executioner stopped the torture. The wheel has stopped. Quasimodo's eye slowly popped open.

As time went. Quasimodo had been standing at the stake for at least an hour and a half, wounded, exhausted, ridiculed and stoned.

Suddenly he began to wallow again in his chains with an effort redoubled by desperation; from this, the whole building on which he stood staggered. Breaking his stubborn silence, Quasimodo in a hoarse, furious voice, which rather resembled the barking of a dog; than a human voice, shouted, blocking the noise and whooping of the crowd:

Come on, drink! exclaimed Robin Puspin, throwing a rag that was lying in a puddle in his face. “Here you are, poor capercaillie, I am your debtor!”

A woman threw a stone at his head.

Drink! gasped Quasimodo for the third time.

At that moment he saw the crowd parting. An amazingly dressed girl came out of it, she was accompanied by a white goat with gilded horns. The girl had a tambourine in her hands.

Quasimodo's eye brightened. It was the gypsy he tried to steal last night. He vaguely felt that this was what he was being punished for. And yet, he was punished only because, to his misfortune, he was deaf and that he was also deaf who judged him. Quasimodo had no doubt that the gypsy had come to take revenge and hurt him like everyone else.

Indeed, he saw her quickly climb the stairs. Anger and annoyance choked him, he wanted to break the pillory, and if the lightning that had thrown her eye had the power to kill, the girl would have warmed up before she reached the platform.

She silently approached the condemned man, who writhed in vain to get away from her, and, unfastening the flask from her belt, carefully brought it to the parched lips of the unfortunate man.

Then on that eye, still so dry and inflamed, a large tear glistened and slowly rolled down his ugly face, distorted by despair. Maybe it was the first tear that the unfortunate hunchback shed in his life.

Quasimodo seemed to have forgotten his thirst. The gypsy impatiently made her usual grimace and, smiling, put the neck of the flask to Quasimodo's toothy mouth.

He drank in large sips, his thirst burning.

Having drunk, the unfortunate wanted to kiss with his black lips beautiful hand gave him help. But the girl still felt distrust of him, apparently remembering the brutal attack of the previous night, like a frightened child who is afraid that she will be bitten by an animal, withdrew her hand.

Then the unfortunate man stared at her with a look full of reproach and inexpressible sadness.

Who would not be touched by this sight: a magnificent, fresh, pure, charming and fragile girl mercifully came to the aid of the embodiment of misfortune, ugliness and malice! At the pillory, such a sight was majestic!

Even the crowd was moved and started clapping their hands, shouting "Glory! Glory!"

It was at that moment from the window of her hole that the recluse saw a gypsy at the pillory and shouted her ominous to her:

Damn you, gypsy brat! Damn! Damn!

Book Eight

III. Three male hearts that are created differently

Translation:

Esmeralda, as guilty of an attempt on the life of Captain Phoebus, whom she loved, as a seductress and a witch, is sentenced to death. In the square near the Cathedral, the crowd is waiting for the execution of the sentence.

In the gallery, among the statues of kings carved above the most lancet arch of the portal, no one has yet noticed the strange spectator, who until that moment had been watching everything intently. He stood so motionless, his neck was stretched forward, and his face was so ugly that if it were not for the red-violet clothes, he could be mistaken for one of those stone fears through whose mouths water has been flowing from the long troughs of the Cathedral for six hundred years. This viewer did not miss anything from what was happening in front of the portal of the Cathedral of Our Lady. In the first minutes, unbeknownst to everyone, he firmly tied a thick knotted rope to one of the columns of the gallery, the end of which hung down onto the porch. Having done this, he began to calmly look at the Maidan, from time to time whistling when a thrush flew past him.

Suddenly, at the moment when the assistants of the executioner were about to carry out the indifferent order of Charmol, this man jumped over the balustrade of the gallery, grabbed the rope with his feet and knees, legs and arms, and everyone saw how he rolled down the facade of the Cathedral, like a raindrop that flows down the glass . He, with the speed of a cat that falls from the roof, ran up to the executioners and knocked them to the ground with the blows of his huge fists, grabbed the gypsy with his hand, like a child with a doll, reached the church with one jump, lifting the girl above his head and roaring in a thunderous voice:

Shelter!

Everything happened so quickly that if it were at night, everything could be seen by the light of one flash of lightning!

Shelter! Shelter! the crowd repeated. And the applause of ten thousand people lit up Quasimodo's single eye with joy and pride.

This shock forced the convict to wake up. She flattened her eyelids, looked at Quasimodo and immediately closed them again, as if frightened of her savior.

Charmolue, the executioners and the entire escort were dumbfounded on the spot. Indeed, within the walls of the Cathedral of Our Lady, the condemned was inviolable. The cathedral was a safe haven. All human justice ended at his doorstep.

The patronage of a creature so ugly, a creature so unfortunate, to whom Esmeralda was condemned to death, was touching. These two, rejected by nature and society, met to help each other.

Shelter! Shelter! Shelter!

Glory! Glory! - the people shouted in response to him, and this mighty call struck on the other side of the crowd on the Grevsky Maidan and the recluse, who kept listening and did not take her eyes off the gallows.

Book Nine

II. Hunchback, crooked, lame

When the disheveled and breathless ringer brought her to the cell that served as a refuge, when she felt him carefully untie the rope with his huge paws, reaching out for her hands, she felt a tremor, similar to that which suddenly wakes the passengers of the ship in the middle of the night, hit the shore, her thoughts awoke too, and the memories came back to her one by one. She realized that she was in the Cathedral of Our Lady, she remembered that she had been torn from the hands of the executioner, that her Phoebus was alive, that Phoebus no longer loved her. When these two thoughts, one of which poisoned the other with its sadness, simultaneously appeared before the unfortunate woman, she turned to the terrible Quasimodo, who stood before her, and asked him:

Why did you save me?

He looked at her intensely, as if trying to figure out what she was trying to say. She repeated the question. Then he looked at her with deep sadness and ran away.

This surprised her.

Soon he returned, carrying a package in his hands, which he placed at her feet. It was a garment left for her on the threshold of the church by the merciful women. Then she looked at herself, saw that she was almost naked, and blushed. Life returned to her.

Quasimodo apparently felt this shame. He covered his eyes with a broad palm and left again, but with a slow step.

She hurried to get dressed. It was White dress and a white veil - the clothes of the novices of God's refuge.

She had scarcely had time to get dressed when Quasimodo returned. In one hand he carried a basket, in the other - a hayloft. The basket contained a bottle, bread, and some other food. He put the basket on the ground and said:

Then he spread the hayloft on the stone floor and said:

It was his own dinner and his own bed. The gypsy looked up at him, wanting to thank him, but could not utter a word. The poor fellow was really extremely ugly. She lowered her head, shuddering in horror. Then he said:

Am I scaring you? I'm very ugly, right? You don't look at me. Just listen. Stay here during the day; at night you can walk around the temple. But do not leave the Cathedral day or night. You will perish. You will be killed and I will die!

Moved, she lifted her head to answer him. But he disappeared. She was left alone, thinking about the strange words of this ugly creature, struck by the sound of his voice, rough, hoarse and at the same time so gentle ...

Just at the time when she felt her loneliness especially sharply, some shaggy and bearded head pressed against her hands and knees. She shuddered (everything frightened her now), looked - it was her poor goat, the dexterous Jali, who ran after her when Quasimodo dispersed the guards of Charmola, and for an hour they had been fawning over her, vainly seeking the attention of their mistress. The gypsy covered her with kisses.

Oh Jali! she said. How could I forget about you! And you still remember me! Oh, you can't be ungrateful!

It was as if some invisible hand slightly lifted a weight that was pressing on her heart, and long held back tears poured from her eyes. The longer she cried, the more she felt the burning bitterness of her suffering disappear with her tears.

When it got dark, the night seemed so beautiful to her, the glow of the moon so gentle, that she went out to the upper gallery that circled the Cathedral. This brought her some relief: the earth seemed so calm from this height.

III. Deaf

When she woke up the next morning, she noticed that she had slept all night. This surprised her. She had long since forgotten about the dream. A merry ray of the sun that descended looked through the window and illuminated her face. At the same time, something appeared in the window that frightened her; it was the ugly face of Quasimodo. Involuntarily she closed her eyes again, but in vain! Even through her pink eyelids, she remembered that mask of a freak, one-eyed and classy. Without opening her eyes, she heard a rough voice, affectionately saying to her:

Don't be afraid, I am your friend. I came to see how you sleep. Does it harm you if I come to see you while you sleep? What do you care that I am with you when your eyes are closed? Now I will go. So I hid behind the wall. You can open your eyes.

Tell me, she asked smiling, why did you save me?

He looked at her carefully as she spoke.

I understand, he replied. - You ask why I saved you? You have forgotten the unfortunate one who tried to kidnap you one night, the unfortunate one to whom you came to the aid of the second day, when he stood at the vile pillory. For that drop of water, for that drop of pity, I can only pay with my whole life. You have forgotten that poor fellow, but he remembers you!...

Take it, he said. - When you need me, when you want me to come, when you don't mind looking at me, whistle. I hear this sound.

He put the whistle on the floor and disappeared.

IV. Clay and crystal

Days turned into days, calm gradually returned to Esmeralda's soul. Excessive suffering, like excessive happiness, causes intense feelings that do not last. The human heart cannot endure any extremes for long. The gypsy suffered so much that only a feeling of surprise remained in her mind.

Along with safety, hope returned to her. The girl was out of society, out of life, but she vaguely felt that her return to him was still not excluded, like a dead woman who has with her the key to her crypt.

True, Esmeralda remembered the captain not without bitterness. She was horrified that he allowed himself to be deceived, believed that she, a thousand times would give her life for him, could hit him with a dagger. And yet one should not accuse him too harshly, for she confessed to her "crime"! After all, she could not stand the torture! She was to blame for this. It would be better if she let her nails be pulled out than to force such a confession. If only to see Phoebus once, if only for a minute! A word, a look will be enough to assure him of the groundlessness of suspicions in order to bring him back again. Of this she had no doubt. She tried to drown out the memories of many strange facts that she could not explain, about the accidental presence of Phoebus on the day of her public repentance, about the young girl next to whom he stood. No doubt it was his sister. Such an interpretation was obviously reckless, but she contented herself. Because she needed to believe that Phoebus still loved her and only her. Hadn't he sworn it to her? What else does she need? Weren't all the external circumstances in this case against her? So she waited. She hoped...

With each dawn she became calmer, she breathed more freely, she seemed less pale. As her spiritual wounds began to cry out, her face again blossomed with charm, beauty, but this beauty was pensive, calmer than before. The former features of her character returned to him, even something of her cheerfulness: her charming grimace, her love of goats, her desire to sing, her shyness. Dressing in the morning, she hid in the corner of her closet, afraid that one of the residents of neighboring attics would not see her.

In those moments when she did not dream of Phoebe, she sometimes thought of Quasimodo. He was the only link, the only link that remained with her, the only means of communication with people, with all living things. Unhappy! She, even more than Quasimodo, felt that the world had abandoned her. She did not understand the strange friend that a bizarre fate had given her. She often reproached herself for not feeling that gratitude for him that would make her not notice his brilliance, but still she could not get used to the poor ringer. He was too ugly.

She never picked up the whistle he gave her from the floor. This did not prevent Quasimodo from visiting her from time to time. She made every effort not to show her disgust too much when he brought her a basket of food or a mug of water, but he always noticed the slightest manifestation of this self-loathing and sadly walked away.

Once he came at the moment when she caressed Jali. He gazed thoughtfully at this charming group for some time. Finally, shaking his heavy, angular head, he said:

My whole misfortune is that I am too much like a man. I would like to be just an animal, like this goat.

She looked at him in surprise. At this glance, he replied:

Oh, I know why! - and left.

On another occasion, he appeared on the threshold of her room (he never went inside) at the moment when Esmeralda sang an old Spanish ballad, the words of which she did not understand, but which remained in her memory, because the gypsies lulled her to sleep with this song when she was a baby. The young girl, seeing this ugly floor, so unexpectedly appeared before him while singing, stopped, involuntarily making a frightened movement. The unfortunate bell-ringer fell on his knees at the threshold, and, folding his huge, lurid hands, mournfully said:

Oh, I beg you, sing, don't chase me away!

One morning, Esmeralda, going to the edge of the roof, looked at the Maidan floor of the pointed roof of Saint-Jean-le-Rhone. Quasimodo stood behind her. Of his own free will, he always became so as to deprive, as far as possible, the young girl of the trouble of seeing him. Suddenly the gypsy shuddered. Tears and sparks of joy shone in her eyes at the same time. She knelt at the very edge of the roof and drearily, holding out her hands to the Maidan, exclaimed:

Phoebe! Phoebe! Come! Come! One word, one word only, in the name of heaven! Phoebe! Phoebe!

Esmeralda sees Phoebe from the Cathedral. Quasimodo, in order to help Esmeralda meet her beloved, finds Phoebus and tells him that he will lead him to his beloved gypsy, but he roughly kicks Quasimodo away with his foot.

Quasimodo, feeling sorry for Esmeralda, tells her that he could not find Phoebus...

I'll try to find it next time," he said, hanging his head.

Leave! - she said.

Quasimodo is gone. The girl was unhappy with him. But he preferred to endure insults from her than to hurt her. He left all the sorrow for himself.

From that day on, the gypsy did not see him again. He stopped coming to her cell. Only sometimes she saw a bell ringer on top of one of the towers, looking down at her dejectedly. And as soon as she saw him, he disappeared.

We must say that she was little distressed by this voluntary absence of the poor hunchback. In the depths of her soul, she was even grateful to him. And yet, Quasimodo was not mistaken about this.

She did not see him again, but she felt the presence of a good genius near her. An invisible hand brought her fresh food during her sleep. One morning she found a bird cage on her window. There was a sculpture over her cell that frightened her. She showed her fear more than once in the presence of Quasimodo. One morning (for all this was done at night) this image was gone, someone broke the sculpture. Anyone who climbed up to her had to risk his life.

Sometimes in the evenings someone's voice reached her from the canopy of the bell tower, sang, as if lulling her, a strange and sad song. These were poems without rhymes, which only a deaf person could compose.

Don't look at the face

Girl, look into your heart.

The heart of a beautiful youth is often ugly.

There are hearts in which love does not live.

Girl, Scots pine

Not as beautiful as poplar

But the pine turns green even in winter.

And bah! Why would you sing about it?

That which is ugly, let it perish.

Beauty loves only beauty.

And April does not look at January.

Beauty is perfect, beauty is almighty,

Only beauty lives to the fullest.

Only during the day the raven flies

Owls flying out at night.

A swan flies day and night.

Book Eleven

I. Slipper

Translation:

Homeless poet Pierre Gringoire takes Esmeralda out of a dangerous place where they are looking for a gypsy.

The stranger did not answer a word. But suddenly he stopped rowing, his arms hung as if broken, his head fell on his chest, and Esmeralda heard a convulsive sigh. She trembled. This sigh was familiar to her.

The boat, launched by itself, floated with the current for several minutes. But the man in black straightened up and started paddling against the current again. They rounded the cape of the island of Our Lady and headed for the Hay pier.

The fuss around the Cathedral increased. The fugitives listened. They clearly heard shouts of victory. Suddenly, hundreds of torches, in the light of which the helmets of warriors flashed, flashed across all the tiers of the Cathedral, on the towers, on the galleries, under the stubborn arches. Obviously, they were looking for someone, and soon the fugitives distinctly heard distant exclamations: "Gypsy! Witch! Death to gypsy!"

The unfortunate woman covered her face with her hands, and the stranger, with furious zeal, began to row towards the shore. Meanwhile, the philosopher was thinking. He pressed the kіzka to himself and carefully moved away from the gypsy, who pressed closer and closer to him, as if to his only and last defense.

Undoubtedly, Gringoire was in a very difficult position. He thought that, according to existing laws, the little goat, when she was seized, would also be hanged, and she, poor Jali, would be very sorry; that the two doomed who clung to him are too much for his strength, his companion finally wants nothing more than to take the gypsy under his wing. He experienced a fierce struggle and, like Jupiter in the Iliad, he weighed the fate of the gypsy and the goat in turn, looked first at one and then at the other with eyes wet with tears, muttering through his teeth: “Yes, I can’t save you both.”

A sharp jolt made them feel that the boat had finally landed on the shore. The ominous roar still hung over the Sieve. The stranger got up, approached the gypsy and was about to take her hand to help her get out of the boat, but she pushed him away and grabbed Gringoire's sleeve, who, preoccupied with the goat, pushed her away in turn. Then the girl jumped out of the boat without assistance. She was so excited that she did not understand at all what she was doing or where she was going. So she stood for a moment, perplexedly looking at the waters of the river. When she came to her senses a little, she saw that she was left alone on the shore with a stranger, Gringoire, apparently, took advantage from the moment of landing on the shore and disappeared with the goat among the houses of the coastal Attic Street, closely clinging to each other.

The poor gypsy trembled as she saw herself alone with this man. She wanted to speak, to scream, to call Gringoire, but her tongue would not obey her, and not a single sound escaped her lips. Suddenly she felt the hand of a stranger on her arm. It was strong and cold hand. The girl's teeth chattered, her face became pale in the moonlight that fell on him. The man didn't say a word. With a quick gait, he went to the Grevskogo Maidan, holding her hand. She vaguely felt that the will of fate was irresistible. Lacking strength, she no longer resisted and ran beside him, barely keeping up with his quick steps. At this point, the embankment went up. However, it seemed to her that she was descending a steep slope.

She looked around. Not a single passerby. The embankment was completely deserted. Movement and noise came only from the stormy and glowing Cité, from which she was separated only by an arm of the Seine and from which her name was heard interspersed with threats of death. The rest of Paris surrounded her with huge blocks of darkness.

The stranger just as silently and just as quickly dragged her forward. She didn't recognize any of the places they were walking through. Passing by a lighted window, she recoiled from the stranger with great effort and shouted:

Save!

A townsman in just a shirt opened the window, looked out of it, holding a lamp in his hands, looked blankly at the embankment, uttered a few words that she did not catch, and again closed the shutters. It was the last ray of hope, and it went out.

The man in black made no sound and, holding her hand tightly, walked even faster. Exhausted, she no longer resisted and meekly followed him.

From time to time she gathered her last strength and in a voice that was interrupted by a quick run along uneven paving stones, gasping for breath, asked:

Who you are? Who you are?

He didn't answer.

So they walked all the time along the embankment, until they ended up on some rather spacious Maidan. He was filled with moonlight. That was the Grevsky Maidan. In the middle of the square stood something like a black crucifix! It was the gallows. The girl recognized him and understood where she was.

The man stopped, turned to her, and lifted his hood.

Oh, - she stammered, petrified on the spot, - I knew it was him again!

That was the priest. He seemed to be his own shadow. It was a game of moonlight.

In this light, all objects appear as shadows.

Listen, - he said, and she flinched at the sound of that ominous voice, which she had not heard for a long time. He spoke abruptly and breathlessly, which testified to his deep inner excitement. - Listen. We came. I want to talk to you. This is the Grevsky Maidan. There is no further way! Fate gave us to each other.

Your life is in my hands, my soul is in yours. Here is the Maidan and the night, behind them - emptiness. Then listen to me. I want to tell you... But just don't think about your Phoebe! (Saying this, he rushed about like a man who cannot stand still, and dragged the girl behind him.) Don't mention him! Do you hear? If you say that name, I don't know what I'll do, but it will be terrible!

Having said this, he, like a body that found the center of gravity, became motionless again, but his speech was still the same excited. The voice grew fainter.

Don't turn your back on me. Listen! This is a very serious thing. First, here's what happened... It's not a joke at all, I swear to you... What was I talking about? Help me remember! Yep, yes. There is a decision of the highest court of justice, which once again condemns you to the gallows. I just snatched you from their clutches. But they are after you! Look!

He extended his hand towards Sita. Indeed, the search continued. The noise was getting closer. The tower of the house of the deputy chief judge, located opposite the Grevsky Maidan, was full of noise and light. On the opposite bank, warriors with torches could be seen running, and they could be heard shouting: "Gypsy! Where is the gypsy? Death to her! Death!"

You can see for yourself that they are looking for you and that I am not lying. And I, I love you. Be quiet! Better don't talk to me if you want to say you hate me. I don't want to hear this anymore!.. I just saved you... Wait, let me finish speaking first... I can save you completely. I've got everything ready. Everything depends on you. If you want, I can...

Here he cut short his speech:

No, no, that's not what I'm saying!

Without releasing her hand, he ran to the gallows and pointed his finger at her.

Choose between us! he said coldly.

She escaped from his hands and fell to the foot of the gallows, having this ominous support. Then, turning her beautiful head, she looked over her shoulder at the priest. At that moment she reminded mother of God at the foot of the cross. The priest stood motionless, pointing at the gallows, petrified like a statue.

Finally the gypsy spoke:

And yet I fear her less than you!

He covered his face with his hands. The young girl heard his sobs. It was the first time. Standing before her, trembling with weeping, he was more miserable and miserable than he would have been on his knees before her. So he cried for a while..

No, he said again, calming down a bit. - I can't find the right words. However, I thought about what I had to say to you. And now I'm trembling, I'm weak, at the decisive moment I hear something fatal enveloping us, and my tongue becomes stiff. O! I will fall to the ground now, if you do not have mercy on me, do not have mercy on yourself! Don't threaten both of us! If only you knew how much I love you! What heart I give you! O! Which is the renunciation of all! What hopeless self-disdain! Scientist - I laugh from science; nobleman - I cover my name with shame; clergyman - I turn the breviary into a pillow for lustful desires; I spit in the face of my god! All for you, enchantress! To be worthy of your hell! And you repulse the sinner! Oh, let me tell you everything! Even more... Even worse! Oh yes, even worse...

At these words, his face took on a completely insane expression. He was silent for a moment and spoke again in a loud voice, as if speaking to himself:

Kaine, what did you do with your brother?

He paused again, then continued:

What did I do to him, Lord? I hugged him, I raised him, fed him, I loved him, idolized him, and I killed him! So, Lord, just now, in front of my eyes, his head was smashed on the slabs of your house, and this is not my fault, the fault of this woman, because of her ...

Behind her... Behind her...

Then his tongue could no longer utter a single intelligible word, but his lips were still moving. Suddenly his legs gave way, he fell to the ground and remained motionless, burying his head in his knees.

A slight movement, with which the girl tried to free her leg from under him, made him come to his senses. He slowly passed his hand over his sunken cheeks and for some time looked at his wet fingers with boundless surprise.

What's this? he whispered. - I cried!

And suddenly, returning to the girl, he said with inexpressible anguish:

Oh grief! And you looked indifferently at my tears? Child! Do you know that these tears are boiling lava? Is that really true? When you hate a man, nothing causes pity for him. If I were dying in front of your eyes, you would laugh. Oh, but I don't want to see you escort! One word! Just one word of forgiveness! Don't tell me that you love me, just say that you agree; and that will be enough. And I will save you. If not!.. Oh! Time is running out. To all the saints, I beg you, do not wait for me to turn to stone, like this gallows that is also calling you! Think that our destinies are in my hands, that I'm crazy - it's terrible - that I can ruin everything! Below us is only an abyss, where I will fall, unfortunate; and my fall will haunt you forever. One single kind word! Say a word, just one word!

She opened her mouth to answer him. He fell on his knees before her, to reverently accept the word of sympathy, which, perhaps, will finally escape her lips.

You are a killer! she said.

The priest violently grabbed her in his arms and burst into disgusting laughter.

OK then! So! Killer! he replied. But you, you will belong to me. You did not want me to be your slave, so I will be your master. You'll be Mine! I have a lair where I will drag you. You will follow me! You'll have to follow me or I'll show you! You must either die, beauty, or belong to me! Belong to a priest! Belong to a virovidist! Belong to a killer! And starting tonight! Do you hear? Come on! More fun! Come on! Kiss me, silly! Grave or my bed.

I ask you for the last time: do you agree to be mine?

She answered firmly:

Then he shouted loudly:

Gudulo! Gudulo! Here's a gypsy! Revenge yourself!

She felt someone grab her by the elbow quickly and roughly.

She turned around. A bony hand poked out of a window in the wall, holding her like iron tongs.

Hold her tight! - said the priest. - This is a runaway gypsy. Don't let her out. I'll go watch. You will see how it will be hung.

A guttural laugh rang out from behind the wall in response to these cruel words:

Ha-ha-ha!

The gypsy saw that the priest rushed headlong to the bridge of Our Lady. It was from there that the stomping of horses came ...

Translation:

Suddenly, Gudula recognizes her daughter, who had been kidnapped by gypsies, by a small cherevichkov, like an amulet hanging around Esmeralda's neck.

My daughter!

The gypsy woman took out a slipper from her amulet, exactly the same as the first one. A piece of parchment was tied to the shoe, on which was written the following couplet:

How else do you have one

Mom will wrap her arms around.

The recluse compared the two shoes with lightning speed, read the inscription on the parchment, and, leaning against the window bars with her face, which shone with heavenly joy, exclaimed:

My daughter! My daughter!

Mother! replied the gypsy

The horse thud was heard again.

The recluse jumped to her feet with a desperate cry.

Run! Run! My baby! I remembered everything! Your truth. It's death coming! Horror! Curse! Save yourself!

She put her head through the window and quickly recoiled back.

Stop! - abruptly, gloomily she said, convulsively squeezing the hands of a gypsy, half dead with horror. - Stop! Don't breathe! Soldiers are everywhere. You can't run away. It's already quite light.

Translation:

Guduly decides to hide Esmeralda in a cell. At first, the archers suspect Gudula of deceit, but then they believe that the gypsy escaped from him and ran.

Well, touch; he said through his teeth. - Forward! We must continue the search. I won't sleep until the gypsy is hanged. However, before jumping on his horse, he lingered a little longer. Guduly, neither dead nor alive, watched him uneasily survey the square, like a hunting dog that hears game and does not want to leave. Finally he shook his head and jumped into the saddle. Horrified, Gudula's heart began to beat again, and she whispered, turning to her daughter, whom until that time she had never dared to look at:

Saved!

The poor girl sat all this time in her corner, afraid to breathe, afraid to move, with only the thought of death that stood before her.

She did not miss a single word of the whole conversation between her mother and Tristan, and all the mother's torment echoed in her heart. She felt the thread that held her above the abyss break little by little, twenty times it seemed to her that this thread was about to break, and only now she breathed more freely, finally feeling solid ground under her feet. At that moment, a voice reached her that said Tristana.

Devil horns! Mr. Chief, I am a military man, and it is not my business to hang witches. We have done away with the rabble, but as for the rest, take care of yourself. If you allow, I will return to my detachment, which was left without a captain.

It was the voice of Phoebe de Chateaupe. It is difficult to describe what happened in the soul of a gypsy. It turns out that he is here, her friend, her protector, her support, her refuge, her Phoebus! She jumped up and, before her mother could restrain her, rushed to the window, crying out:

Phoebe! To me, my Phoebe!

But Phoebe was gone. He galloped around the corner of Nozhivnikov Street. But Tristan was still here.

She nodded her head, exclaiming:

There is no one here! There is no one! There is no one!

There is! - the executioner objected to her. - You know it well. Let me take the young one. I don't want to cause you any harm.

She spoke with a strange smile.

There it is! You don't want to do me any harm!

Give me only that second one, ma'am, monsignor orders so.

She repeated with a mad look:

There is no one here!

And I say there is! - answered the executioner. - We all saw that there were two of you.

Well, look for yourself! said the recluse. - Put your head in the window.

The executioner looked at her claws and did not dare.

Hell! Tristan shouted. "Why don't you want us to hang this sorceress, as the king wishes?"

The unfortunate woman burst into wild laughter.

Why don't I want to? She is my daughter!

The expression with which she uttered these words made even Henri Cousin himself shudder.

I'm sorry, - answered Tristan, - but such is the will of the king.

The recluse burst into her terrible laughter even louder and exclaimed:

What do I care about your king! I tell you that this is my daughter!

Break the wall, - ordered Tristan.

In order to expand the hole, it was enough to take out one row of masonry under the window. When the mother heard the blows of pickles and crowbars, breaking through her fortress, she screamed terribly and began to spin around her hole at breakneck speed - she acquired this habit of a wild animal during her long life in a cage. She was silent, but her eyes glowed. The archers' hearts went cold.

And turning to Tristana, with foam on her lips, with a wild look, standing on all fours, like a panther ready to jump, she spoke:

Come on, come try and take my daughter from me! Don't you understand - the mother tells you that this is her daughter! Do you know what a daughter is? Hey you wolf! Haven't you ever slept with your wolf? Haven't you ever had wolf cubs? And if you have kids, doesn't your soul hurt when they howl?

Remove the stones, - ordered Tristan, - it barely holds.

Caught between two fires - the mother and the boss - the archers, after some hesitation, decided to enter the Rat Hole.

Seeing this, the recluse knelt down, straightened up, brushed her hair from her forehead and helplessly lowered her thin, scratched hands. Big tears welled up in her eyes and ran one after the other down her wrinkled face, like a stream that carved its own course. She spoke in such an imploring, meek, humble, heart-piercing voice that around Tristan, more than one old man with the heart of an ogre, the jailer wiped his tears.

Monsignor! Just one word! I must tell you something. This is my daughter, you know, my dear baby, the daughter I once lost! Listen, it's a whole story.

Guduly tells his ill-fated story.

I was born in Reims, monsignor, I have a piece of land there that I got from my uncle Maya Proudhon. I am not a beggar. I need nothing. Only my child! O! I want to keep my child! The Lord, our sovereign, returned it to me not without reason! King! You say - the king! Is it such a pleasure for him when my baby is killed? And besides, the king is good! This is my daughter! My, my daughter. Not the king, not yours. I want to leave. We want to leave. Here are two women, of which one is a mother, and the second is a daughter, and no one stops them. Let us go! We are both from Reims. O! You are all very kind, monsignori sergeants, I love you all very much! .. You will not take my dear little one from me! It's impossible. Is it really impossible? My child! My child!

This is the will of the king!

Then, leaning towards Henri Cousin, he whispered: "Stop it soon!" Perhaps the formidable Tristan felt that his heart could not stand it either.

The executioner and the watchman entered the cell. The mother offered no resistance to them. She only crawled up to her daughter and, in desperation, clasping her, covered her with her body.

The gypsy saw the soldiers approaching her. The horror of death brought her back to life.

Mother! she exclaimed with an expression of inexpressible despair. - Mother! They are coming! Protect me!

Yes, my dear, yes, I protect you, - the mother answered in an extinct voice, and, tightly squeezing her daughter in her arms, she covered her with kisses. Both mother and daughter, sprawled on the ground, were a sight to be pitied.

Henri Cousin seized the young girl across the state. Feeling the touch of his hand, she only screamed weakly and lost consciousness. The executioner, from whose eyes large tears fell drop by drop, wanted to take the girl in his arms. He tried to push his mother away, but she tightened her arms around her daughter's legs like a knot and clung to her so tightly that it was impossible to tear her away. Then Henry Cousin dragged the young girl out of the cell, and with her the mother. The mother, like the daughter, had her eyes closed.

The sun was already rising, and a rather large crowd of people had gathered on the Maidan, who watched from afar as something was being dragged along the street to the gallows. Such was the custom of Tristan during executions. He did not like to let the curious near. There was not a soul in the windows. Only from afar, on the top of that tower of the Cathedral of Our Lady, from which the Grevsky Maidan is visible, in the clear morning sky, black silhouettes of two men loomed, which seemed to be looking down on the square.

Henri Cousin stopped with his burden at the foot of the fatal stairs and, barely taking a breath - he was so excited - threw a noose around the young girl's charming neck. The unfortunate woman felt the terrible touch of the hemp rope. She closed her eyelids and above her head she saw the outstretched koscha hand to the stone gallows. Then the girl trembled and cried out in a loud, heart-rending voice:

Not! Not! I don't want!

The mother, whose chairman was hiding in her daughter's clothes, did not utter a word, only it could be seen how she trembled all over and began to kiss her daughter even more awkwardly. The executioner took advantage of this to quickly open her hands, with which she squeezed the condemned woman. Then exhausted, desperate, she did not resist. The executioner threw the young girl over his shoulder, and the body of the magical creature, leaning gracefully, hung from its large head. Then he placed his foot on the step of the ladder, ready to climb.

At that moment the mother, lying crouched on the pavement, opened her eyes wide. Silently, with a terrible expression on her face, she straightened up, rushed at the executioner, like a beast on prey, and seized his hand with her teeth. It happened with lightning speed. The executioner roared in pain. The soldiers ran up. With difficulty, they pulled his bloody hand from his mother's teeth. She was silent, she was rudely pushed away. His head fell heavily on the pavement, they let her down, she fell again. The mother was dead.

The executioner, who had not let go of the girl all the time, began to climb the stairs again.

Slapping and plucking hair (Medieval Latin).

Altar of lazy people (lat.).

"Quazimodo" (lat.) - sort of, almost. So the Catholics call the first Sunday after Easter - Forgiveness Sunday.

Hugo II with Bizunsio, 1326-1332 (author's note).

Wordplay. Literally: "Hey! Hey! Claude with the lame!" (lat).

Lord (lat.) - the beginning of prayer.

Translation by P. Terniuk