For You to Read
属于您的小说阅读网站
巴黎圣母院英文版 - BOOK SEVENTH CHAPTER I.THE DANGER OF CONFIDING ONE'S SECRET
繁体
恢复默认
返回目录【键盘操作】左右光标键:上下章节;回车键:目录;双击鼠标:停止/启动自动滚动;滚动时上下光标键调节滚动速度。
  Fleur-de-Lys replied to the captain with a bland affectation of disdain;--"Not bad."The others whispered.At length, Madame Aloise, who was not the less jealous because she was so for her daughter, addressed the dancer,--"Approach, little one.""Approach, little one!" repeated, with comical dignity, little Bérangère, who would have reached about as high as her hips.The gypsy advanced towards the noble dame."Fair child," said phoebus, with emphasis, taking several steps towards her, "I do not know whether I have the supreme honor of being recognized by you."She interrupted him, with a smile and a look full of infinite sweetness,--"Oh! yes," said she."She has a good memory," remarked Fleur-de-Lys."Come, now," resumed phoebus, "you escaped nimbly the other evening.Did I frighten you!""Oh! no," said the gypsy.There was in the intonation of that "Oh! no," uttered after that "Oh! yes," an ineffable something which wounded Fleur-de-Lys."You left me in your stead, my beauty," pursued the captain, whose tongue was unloosed when speaking to a girl out of the street, "a crabbed knave, one-eyed and hunchbacked, the bishop's bellringer, I believe.I have been told that by birth he is the bastard of an archdeacon and a devil. He has a pleasant name: he is called ~Quatre-Temps~ (Ember Days), ~paques-Fleuries~ (palm Sunday), Mardi-Gras (Shrove Tuesday), I know not what!The name of some festival when the bells are pealed!So he took the liberty of carrying you off, as though you were made for beadles!'Tis too much. What the devil did that screech-owl want with you? Hey, tell me!""I do not know," she replied."The inconceivable impudence!A bellringer carrying off a wench, like a vicomte! a lout poaching on the game of gentlemen! that is a rare piece of assurance.However, he paid dearly for it.Master pierrat Torterue is the harshest groom that ever curried a knave; and I can tell you, if it will be agreeable to you, that your bellringer's hide got a thorough dressing at his hands.""poor man!" said the gypsy, in whom these words revived the memory of the pillory.The captain burst out laughing."Corne-de-boeuf! here's pity as well placed as a feather in a pig's tail!May I have as big a belly as a pope, if--"He stopped short."pardon me, ladies; I believe that I was on the point of saying something foolish.""Fie, sir" said la Gaillefontaine."He talks to that creature in her own tongue!" added Fleur-de-Lys, in a low tone, her irritation increasing every moment.This irritation was not diminished when she beheld the captain, enchanted with the gypsy, and, most of all, with himself, execute a pirouette on his heel, repeating with coarse, na?ve, and soldierly gallantry,--"A handsome wench, upon my soul!""Rather savagely dressed," said Diane de Christeuil, laughing to show her fine teeth.This remark was a flash of light to the others.Not being able to impugn her beauty, they attacked her costume."That is true," said la Montmichel; "what makes you run about the streets thus, without guimpe or ruff?""That petticoat is so short that it makes one tremble," added la Gaillefontaine."My dear," continued Fleur-de-Lys, with decided sharpness, "You will get yourself taken up by the sumptuary police for your gilded girdle.""Little one, little one;" resumed la Christeuil, with an implacable smile, "if you were to put respectable sleeves upon your arms they would get less sunburned."It was, in truth, a spectacle worthy of a more intelligent spectator than phoebus, to see how these beautiful maidens, with their envenomed and angry tongues, wound, serpent-like, and glided and writhed around the street dancer.They were cruel and graceful; they searched and rummaged maliciously in her poor and silly toilet of spangles and tinsel.There was no end to their laughter, irony, and humiliation.Sarcasms rained down upon the gypsy, and haughty condescension and malevolent looks.One would have thought they were young Roman dames thrusting golden pins into the breast of a beautiful slave.One would have pronounced them elegant grayhounds, circling, with inflated nostrils, round a poor woodland fawn, whom the glance of their master forbade them to devour.After all, what was a miserable dancer on the public squares in the presence of these high-born maidens?They seemed to take no heed of her presence, and talked of her aloud, to her face, as of something unclean, abject, and yet, at the same time, passably pretty.The gypsy was not insensible to these pin-pricks.From time to time a flush of shame, a flash of anger inflamed her eyes or her cheeks; with disdain she made that little grimace with which the reader is already familiar, but she remained motionless; she fixed on phoebus a sad, sweet, resigned look. There was also happiness and tenderness in that gaze.One would have said that she endured for fear of being expelled.phoebus laughed, and took the gypsy's part with a mixture of impertinence and pity."Let them talk, little one!" he repeated, jingling his golden spurs."No doubt your toilet is a little extravagant and wild, but what difference does that make with such a charming damsel as yourself?""Good gracious!" exclaimed the blonde Gaillefontaine, drawing up her swan-like throat, with a bitter smile."I see that messieurs the archers of the king's police easily take fire at the handsome eyes of gypsies!""Why not?" said phoebus.At this reply uttered carelessly by the captain, like a stray stone, whose fall one does not even watch, Colombe began to laugh, as well as Diane, Amelotte, and Fleur-de-Lys, into whose eyes at the same time a tear started.The gypsy, who had dropped her eyes on the floor at the words of Colombe de Gaillefontaine, raised them beaming with joy and pride and fixed them once more on phoebus.She was very beautiful at that moment.The old dame, who was watching this scene, felt offended, without understanding why."Holy Virgin!" she suddenly exclaimed, "what is it moving about my legs?Ah! the villanous beast!"It was the goat, who had just arrived, in search of his mistress, and who, in dashing towards the latter, had begun by entangling his horns in the pile of stuffs which the noble dame's garments heaped up on her feet when she was seated.This created a diversion.The gypsy disentangled his horns without uttering a word."Oh! here's the little goat with golden hoofs!" exclaimed Bérangère, dancing with joy.The gypsy crouched down on her knees and leaned her cheek against the fondling head of the goat.One would have said that she was asking pardon for having quitted it thus.Meanwhile, Diane had bent down to Colombe's ear."Ah! good heavens! why did not I think of that sooner? 'Tis the gypsy with the goat.They say she is a sorceress, and that her goat executes very miraculous tricks.""Well!" said Colombe, "the goat must now amuse us in its turn, and perform a miracle for us."Diane and Colombe eagerly addressed the gypsy."Little one, make your goat perform a miracle.""I do not know what you mean," replied the dancer."A miracle, a piece of magic, a bit of sorcery, in short.""I do not understand."And she fell to caressing the pretty animal, repeating, "Djali!Djali!"At that moment Fleur-de-Lys noticed a little bag of embroidered leather suspended from the neck of the goat,-- "What is that?" she asked of the gypsy.The gypsy raised her large eyes upon her and replied gravely,-- "That is my secret.""I should really like to know what your secret is," thought Fleur-de-Lys.Meanwhile, the good dame had risen angrily,--" Come now, gypsy, if neither you nor your goat can dance for us, what are you doing here?"The gypsy walked slowly towards the door, without making any reply.But the nearer she approached it, the more her pace slackened.An irresistible magnet seemed to hold her.Suddenly she turned her eyes, wet with tears, towards phoebus, and halted."True God!" exclaimed the captain, "that's not the way to depart.Come back and dance something for us.By the way, my sweet love, what is your name?""La Esmeralda," said the dancer, never taking her eyes from him.At this strange name, a burst of wild laughter broke from the young girls."Here's a terrible name for a young lady," said Diane."You see well enough," retorted Amelotte, "that she is an enchantress.""My dear," exclaimed Dame Aloise solemnly, "your parents did not commit the sin of giving you that name at the baptismal font."In the meantime, several minutes previously, Bérangère had coaxed the goat into a corner of the room with a marchpane cake, without any one having noticed her.In an instant they had become good friends.The curious child had detached the bag from the goat's neck, had opened it, and had emptied out its contents on the rush matting; it was an alphabet, each letter of which was separately inscribed on a tiny block of boxwood.Hardly had these playthings been spread out on the matting, when the child, with surprise, beheld the goat (one of whose "miracles" this was no doubt), draw out certain letters with its golden hoof, and arrange them, with gentle pushes, in a certain order.In a moment they constituted a word, which the goat seemed to have been trained to write, so little hesitation did it show in forming it, and Bérangère suddenly exclaimed, clasping her hands in admiration,--"Godmother Fleur-de-Lys, see what the goat has just done!"Fleur-de-Lys ran up and trembled.The letters arranged upon the floor formed this word,--pHOEBUS."Was it the goat who wrote that?" she inquired in a changed voice."Yes, godmother," replied Bérangêre.It was impossible to doubt it; the child did not know how to write."This is the secret!" thought Fleur-de-Lys.Meanwhile, at the child's exclamation, all had hastened up, the mother, the young girls, the gypsy, and the officer.The gypsy beheld the piece of folly which the goat had committed.She turned red, then pale, and began to tremble like a culprit before the captain, who gazed at her with a smile of satisfaction and amazement."phoebus!" whispered the young girls, stupefied: "'tis the captain's name!""You have a marvellous memory!" said Fleur-de-Lys, to the petrified gypsy.Then, bursting into sobs: "Oh!" she stammered mournfully, hiding her face in both her beautiful hands, "she is a magician!"And she heard another and a still more bitter voice at the bottom of her heart, saying,-- "She is a rival!"She fell fainting."My daughter! my daughter!" cried the terrified mother. "Begone, you gypsy of hell!"In a twinkling, La Esmeralda gathered up the unlucky letters, made a sign to Djali, and went out through one door, while Fleur-de-Lys was being carried out through the other.Captain phoebus, on being left alone, hesitated for a moment between the two doors, then he followed the gypsy.
或许您还会喜欢:
物种起源
作者:佚名
章节:23 人气:2
摘要:有关物种起源的见解的发展史略关于物种起源的见解的发展情况,我将在这里进行扼要叙述。直到最近,大多数博物学者仍然相信物种(species)是不变的产物,并且是分别创造出来的。许多作者巧妙地支持了这一观点。另一方面,有些少数博物学者已相信物种经历着变异,而且相信现存生物类型都是既往生存类型所真正传下来的后裔。 [点击阅读]
犯罪团伙
作者:佚名
章节:17 人气:2
摘要:托马斯·贝雷斯福德夫人在长沙发上挪动了一下身子,百无聊赖地朝窗外看去。窗外视野并不深远,被街对面的一小排房子所遮挡。贝雷斯福德夫人长叹一口气,继而又哈欠连天。“我真希望,”她说道,“出点什么事。”她丈夫抬头瞪了她一眼。塔彭丝又叹了一口气,迷茫地闭上了眼睛。“汤米和塔彭丝还是结了婚,”她诵诗般地说道,“婚后还能幸福地生活在一起。六年之后,他们竞能仍然和睦相处。这简直让人不可思议。 [点击阅读]
猫知道
作者:佚名
章节:8 人气:2
摘要:第一章“再把地图拿来给我看一看,悦子。”站在拐角处向左右两侧张望的哥哥说。我从提包皮中取出一张已经被翻看得满是皱纹的纸片。“说得倒轻巧,很不容易!牧村这家伙画的地图,怎么这么差劲!”哥哥一边嘟嚷着,一边用手背抹去额头顶的汗。就在这时,右边路程走过来一个人。这是一个穿着淡青色衬衫。夹着一半公文包皮的青年男子。 [点击阅读]
玻璃球游戏
作者:佚名
章节:23 人气:2
摘要:引言——试释玻璃球游戏及其历史一般而言,对于浅薄者来说,对不存在的事物也许较之于具体事物容易叙述,因为他可以不负责任地付诸语言,然而,对于虔诚而严谨的历史学家来说,情况恰恰相反。但是,向人们叙述某些既无法证实其存在,又无法推测其未来的事物,尽管难如登天,但却更为必要。虔诚而严谨的人们在一定程度上把它们作为业已存在的事物予以探讨,这恰恰使他们向着存在的和有可能新诞生的事物走近了一步。 [点击阅读]
理想国
作者:佚名
章节:18 人气:2
摘要:柏拉图(公元前427年-347年)是古希腊的大哲学家,苏格拉底(公元前469年-399年)①的学生,亚里士多德(公元前384年-322年)的老师。他一生大部分时间居住在古希腊民族文化中心的雅典。他热爱祖国,热爱哲学。他的最高理想,哲学家应为政治家,政治家应为哲学家。哲学家不是躲在象牙塔里的书呆,应该学以致用,求诸实践。有哲学头脑的人,要有政权,有政权的人,要有哲学头脑。 [点击阅读]
琥珀望远镜
作者:佚名
章节:38 人气:2
摘要:猛兽们从深邃的山谷走来看着熟睡中的少女——威廉?布莱克紧挨着雪线有一个杜鹃花遮蔽的山谷,山谷里哗啦啦地流淌着一条乳白色的雪水融化而成的小溪,鸽子和红雀在巨大的松树间飞翔,在岩石和其下簇拥着的又直又硬的树叶间半遮半掩着一个洞。 [点击阅读]
畸形屋
作者:佚名
章节:26 人气:2
摘要:大战末期,我在埃及认识了苏菲亚-里奥奈兹。她在当地领事馆某部门担任一个相当高的管理职位。第一次见到她是在一个正式场会里,不久我便了解到她那令她登上那个职位的办事效率,尽管她还很年轻(当时她才二十二岁)。除了外貌让人看来极为顺眼之外,她还拥有清晰的头脑和令我觉得非常愉快的一本正经的幽默感。她是一个令人觉得特别容易交谈的对象,我们在一起吃过几次饭,偶尔跳跳舞,过得非常愉快。 [点击阅读]
癌症楼
作者:佚名
章节:69 人气:2
摘要:肖韦宏瑞典皇家学院将1970年度的诺贝尔文学奖授予苏联作家索尔仁尼琴,从而使前苏联与西方之间继“帕斯捷尔纳克事件”之后又一次出现了冷战的局面。从那时以来,索尔仁尼琴也由一个“持不同政见者”变为“流亡作家”,其创作活动变得更为复杂,更为引人注目。索尔仁尼琴于1918年12月11日生于北高加索的基斯洛沃茨克市。父亲曾在沙俄军队中供职,战死在德国;母亲系中学教员。 [点击阅读]
白牙
作者:佚名
章节:25 人气:2
摘要:黑鸦鸦的丛林,肃立在冰河的两岸。不久前的一阵大风,已经将树体上的冰雪一掠而去。现在,它们依偎在沉沉暮霭之中,抑郁寡欢。无垠的原野死一般沉寂,除了寒冷和荒凉,没有任何生命和运动的含义。但这一切绝不仅仅意味着悲哀,而是蕴含着比悲哀更可怕的、远超过冰雪之冷冽的残酷。那是永恒用他的专横和难以言传的智慧,嘲笑着生命和生命的奋斗。那是“荒原”,是充满了野蛮,寒冷彻骨的“北国的荒原”。 [点击阅读]
白衣怪圈
作者:佚名
章节:16 人气:2
摘要:1月4日星期一上午7时5分马萨诸塞州波士顿的冬夜一片漆黑。海伦·卡伯特在拂晓时醒了过来。她躺在路易斯伯格广场她父母的家中,一缕缕暗淡的晨曦刺破了笼罩这间三楼卧室的黑暗。她睡在一张有顶篷装饰的床上,懒得睁开眼睛,依然沉浸在鸭绒被赐予的舒适温暖之中。她称心如意,全然不知她的脑组织已出了大毛病。这次假期海伦并不很愉快。她是普林斯顿大学3年级学生,为了不影响功课,她预约了在圣诞和新年假期中做刮子宫手术。 [点击阅读]