Chapter 11 Notre Dame de Paris (1) Vol. 2 Dangerous and Dangerous (3)

All kinds of troubles of stalking Qiannv on the street four nights Gringoire followed the gypsy girl desperately.He saw her leading the goat up Knife and Scissor Street, and followed her. "Why not?" he thought. Gringoire, the practical philosopher of the streets of Paris, had long noticed that there is nothing more fascinating than following a pretty woman and not knowing where she is going.It is the willingness to give up autonomy, to subordinate one's whims to those of another, without the other even thinking of them; there is a curious mixture of independence and blind obedience in it. , is an inexplicable compromise between slavishness and freedom that Gringoire likes.

Gringoire himself is basically such a mixture, he is both indecisive and complex in thinking, he is very good at dealing with all kinds of extremes, and he is always hanging between the various tendencies of human nature to neutralize them.He is often happy to compare himself to the mausoleum of Muhammad, attracted by two magnets in opposite directions, forever hesitating between high and low, between the sky and the ground, between falling and rising, between the zenith and the nadir . If Gringoire were alive today, he would stand impartially in the middle of the classical school and the romantic school!

However, he is not as strong and strong as the primitive man, and he can live to be three hundred years old. What a pity!His death, to this day, leaves even more of a void. However, following people (especially women) in the street like this is exactly what Gringoire is willing to do, and since he doesn't know where to stay, there is no better arrangement than this. So he pondered and walked behind the girl.Seeing the citizens going home one after another, and seeing that the only small hotels that should be open all night during this festival are also closed, she quickened her pace and started trotting behind the beautiful kid.

"She's got to live somewhere anyway; and gypsy women are always good-hearted—who knows? . . . " he was almost pondering. In this hesitant omission, of course, he was planning some kind of rather elegant but difficult idea in his heart. He passed the last closed doors of the townspeople, and heard fragments of their conversation now and then, interrupting his train of thoughtful calculations. Suddenly two old men were chatting. "Master Thibaut Fenickle, it's cold, do you know?" (Gringoire has already known it since the beginning of winter.) "Yes—yes, Monsieur Boniface Duzom! Will this winter be like it was three years ago, that is, eighty years ago, when a bundle of firewood sold for eight sols?"

"Well! That's nothing, Monsieur Thibault, if compared with the winter of 1407, when St. Frozen until Candlemas!So cold, the clerk of the Ministry of Officials sat in the hall, and every time he wrote three characters, the quill would freeze once!I can't even write the interrogation record! " A little farther away, two neighbor women stood at the window, holding candles; the flames of the candles crackled because of the mist. "Mrs. Brodrack, did your husband tell you about the mishap?" "No. What's the matter, Mrs. Tilkan?" "Monsieur Gilles Godin, the notary of the Château, on his horse, was startled by the sight of the Flanders and their procession, and knocked down Monsieur Filippo Afrio, a Celestine friar."

① St. Martin's Day is November 11 every year. ② The sect founded by Pope Celestin (1215-1296). "real?" "It's absolutely true." "A citizen's horse! That's too much! If it's a knight's horse, it's dead!" Having said that, the window is closed.Gringoire's thoughts were also broken. Happily, he found it soon enough, and connected without difficulty; it was all thanks to the gypsy girl, and to Belle, who had been walking in front of him.Both of them were equally handsome, elegant, and charming. Gringoire admired their petite feet, beautiful figure, and graceful figure. Looking at them, they almost merged them into one: just In terms of cleverness and friendliness, he thinks both are young girls; in terms of lightness, quickness, and light walking, he thinks both are she-goats.

The streets are getting darker and deserted.The curfew bell has already struck, and occasionally you can meet a few pedestrians on the street, and you can see a ray of light in the window of a house.Gringoire followed the Egyptian girl into the tangled labyrinth, and came to the countless side streets, forks and dead ends around the former Tomb of the Holy Child. Wire. "Look at these chaotic streets, which are not reasonable at all!" said Gringoire.He was dizzy among the hundreds of winding compass roads, but the girl walked down a seemingly familiar road without even thinking about it, and her pace was getting faster and faster.As for Gringoire, if he had not caught a glimpse at the corner of a street, the silhouette of the hollowed-out spire of the octagonal column of shame in the vegetable market was prominently reflected in the still lighted windows of a house in the Rue Wedeley. , he really didn't know where he was.

For a moment he attracted the attention of the gipsy girl; several times she turned to look at him in a disturbed state, and once even stopped to look him up and down.After this glance, Gringoire saw her pout again as before, and then ignored him. Her pouting caused Gringoire to think deeply.There is no doubt that there is contempt and irony in this coquettish gesture.Thinking of this, he lowered his head, slowed down his pace, and moved a little further away from the girl.Just then, she turned a corner, and he had just lost sight of her when he heard her scream. He hurried to catch up. The street was pitch black.However, there was an iron cage under the statue of the Virgin Mary at the corner, which was burning with oil. Through the light, Gringoire saw two men hugging the gypsy girl and trying to stop her from screaming. struggling.The poor little goat was frightened out of his wits, pulling his horns and bleating.

"Come and save us, gentlemen of the patrol!" cried Gringoire, rushing forward bravely.One of the two men who were holding the girl turned around, and it was the terrible face of Quasimodo. Gringoire did not run away, nor did he take a step forward. Quasimodo rushed at him, pushed him back, and threw him four paces away, where he fell; The veil suddenly disappeared into the darkness.Another of his companions followed suit.The poor goat ran after them, bleating sadly. "Help! Help!" cried the unfortunate gypsy girl. "Stop, scoundrel! Put the slut down!" shouted suddenly, like a thunderbolt, and a knight rushed from the adjacent side road.

This is the archer captain of the imperial guard, wearing a helmet and armor, holding a huge sword. Quasimodo was stunned by Ye, the knight snatched the gypsy girl from his arms and put it on the saddle.When the terrible hunchback came to his senses and rushed to retake his prey, fifteen or sixteen archers followed the captain, holding long swords.It was a small detachment of the Royal Guards, who had come to check the curfew by order of Monsieur Robert de Estouil, Prefect of the House of Paris Guards.Quasimodo was suddenly surrounded, arrested, and tied up.He growled like a beast, foamed at the mouth, and bit.In broad daylight no one would have doubted that his face, made uglier by rage alone, would have been enough to send the little party into flight.Yet the night stripped him of his most fearsome weapon:

His grim face. In the struggle, his companion had already fled. The gypsy girl sat up delicately on the officer's saddle, put her hands on the young officer's shoulders, and stared at him for a while, as if fascinated by his rosy complexion and his rescue just now.Then, breaking the silence first, her sweet voice became even sweeter, and said: "Mr. Police Officer, may I have your name?" "At your service, Captain Phoebus de Châtopelle, my beauty!" replied the officer, drawing himself up. "Thank you!" she said. As soon as the words fell, taking advantage of Captain Phoebus's twirling of his burgundy mustache, she fell to the ground like an arrow, slipped off the horse and fled away. Not even lightning could have disappeared so quickly. "The pope's navel!" said the captain, tightening the straps that bound Quasimodo. "I'd rather detain that slut!" "What can we do, Captain?" said one of the guards. "The oriole flew away, but the bat stayed behind!"