Chapter 54 Notre Dame de Paris (3) Volume 8 Gold Coins Turn into Dry Leaves (5)

five mothers When a mother sees her child's little shoes, the longing in her heart arises spontaneously. I don't believe there is anything in the world that makes people smile more than this kind of longing. Especially if these are shoes for festivals, Sundays, and baptisms, with flowers embroidered on the soles, and the child has not yet walked a step in them, let alone.These shoes are so elegant and pleasing, so small and exquisite that they can't walk in them at all, and the mother sees them as if she saw her own child.She smiled at it, kissed her, talked to it.She wondered if there was such a small foot in reality, and even if the child was not in front of her, as long as she had beautiful shoes, a weak little person would reappear in front of her eyes.She thought she saw her, and she did see her, her whole body, lively and cheerful, with her delicate hands, her round head, her pure lips, her bright eyes with blue whites.If it was winter, the little man would be there, crawling on the carpet and struggling to climb a stool, while the mother was afraid that it would come near the fire.If it was summer, she would crawl into the yard and garden, pull the grass from the cracks in the stone slabs, look at the big dogs and horses innocently, without fear at all, play with shells and flowers, and spread sand to the flower beds If you throw mud on the path, you will inevitably be scolded by the gardener.Everything around her was laughing, shining, and playing like herself, even the wind and the sun were playing among the thin hair rings at the nape of her neck.The shoe presented all this to the mother, and melted her heart as fire melts a candle.

But the child is lost, and all the joyful, charming, affectionate images gathered around the little shoe are suddenly transformed into a thousand horrors.The beautiful embroidered shoes became only a kind of instrument of torture, forever and endlessly crushing the mother's heart.It was still the same heartstring that was vibrating, the deepest and most sensitive heartstring, but it was no longer the angel gently stroking, but the devil plucking vigorously. One morning in May, the sun was rising in the deep blue sky--Garofalo ① liked to paint the scene of Jesus untied from the cross on this background--The nuns in the Laurent tower heard the rumors of the beach square. There is the sound of squeaking wheels, the neighing of horses and the tinkling of iron tools.She was awakened in a daze, brushed her hair to her ear to ignore it, then knelt down to stare at the lifeless little thing she had worshiped for fifteen years.This little shoe, as we have already said, was to her the whole universe.Her thoughts had been shut up inside, and she would come out only when she died, and when it came to that lovely pink satin shoe that was like a toy, how many bitter curses, heartfelt grievances, prayers and sobs she had poured out to the heavens, only Roland Only in the dark hole in the tower.No one has ever expressed such intense disappointment even before a more elegant and refined object.

① Garofalo (1481-1559): Italian painter. Her pain seemed stronger than usual that morning, and her monotonous, high-pitched moans could be heard from outside, heartbreaking. "Oh, my daughter!" she said. "My daughter! My poor, dear child! I shall never see you again. It is all over! I keep thinking it was only yesterday! My God, my God, since You took her so soon, you might as well not have given it to me in the first place, the baby is what falls from us Wow, a mother who loses her child doesn't believe in God anymore, don't you know? Ah! I'm so unlucky Oh, I went out on that day! Lord! Lord! When I hugged her happily and warmed by the fire, when she smiled at me while breastfeeding, when I let her little feet touch my chest Haven't you ever seen me with her till my lips have you taken her away from me like this? Oh! If you see all this, my God, you will have mercy on me Joy, you will not deprive me of the only love that remains in my heart! Am I so bad, Lord, that you cannot see me until it is time to punish me? Oh! Oh! Look, there are the shoes; Well, where is it? Where is the rest? Where is the child? My daughter, my daughter! What have they done to you? Lord, give her back to me. I have been begging you on my knees for fifteen years , a worn knee, God, isn't that enough? Give her back to me, if only for a day, an hour, a minute, just a minute, Lord! Then throw me to the devil forever! Ah! If I know where the hem of your gown drags, I'll hold it with both hands, but give me back my child! Don't you have any pity for her pretty little shoes, Lord, how can you condemn a poor mother to fifteen years of such torture? Mother of Mercy! Mother of Mercy in heaven! My child, my Son of Jesus, she has been taken from me, from me stole, ate her in a bush, drank her blood, chewed her bones! Mother of Mercy, have mercy on me! My daughter! I cannot live without my daughter! Even if she is in Paradise , what use is it to me? I don't want your angel, I want my child! I am a lioness and I need my cub. Oh Lord! If you don't give me back the child, I will I will trample myself on the ground, I will break stones with my forehead, I will be punished, and I will curse you! You can see clearly that my arms are completely damaged, Lord! Does the merciful God have no mercy! Ah, if only I could find my daughter, if only she would warm me like the sun, I would give you nothing but salt and black bread! Alas! God, my lord, I am but a lowly sinner, but with me Daughter, I too am devout. Out of love for her I am devoted to religion, and through her smile I see you as though through the gates of heaven. Ah! If I could put this shoe on that pretty pink one On little feet, just once, once, only once, O Mother of Mercy, I would die praising you! Ah! Fifteen years! Now she must grow up! Poor child! What, this is Really, I'll never see her again, not even in heaven! Because, I, can't go to heaven. Oh, how miserable! It can only be said that they are her shoes, so and soalready! "

The wretched woman flung herself at the shoe, the shoe that had comforted her and made her despair for so many years, and her entrails were torn apart with sobbing noises as on the first day.Because for a mother who has lost a child, it's always the first day, and the pain never gets old.Although the mourning clothes are old and faded, my heart is still dark. At this time, the children burst into laughter from the front of the hut.Whenever she saw the children, or heard their voices, the poor mother always hastened to the darkest corner of the tomb, as if she wished to put her ear into the stone, so as not to hear the voices.This time, on the contrary, she seemed to wake up suddenly, stood up suddenly, and listened attentively. A little boy said something like this: "Today the Egyptian girl will be hanged."

We have seen spiders suddenly jump at flies in the quivering of their webs. The nun just jumped like this and ran to the window opening. The judge knew that the window faced the river beach square.There was indeed a ladder standing against the perennial gallows, and the hangman was adjusting the chains, which had been embroidered by the wind and rain.A group of people stood around. The group of laughing children has gone far.The sackclothed woman looked for passers-by whom she could interrogate.She noticed a priest just next to her lodgings who seemed to be reading from the communal prayer-book, but he was far less interested in the prayer-book on the wire fence than he was in the gallows, at which he cast a dark, frightening glance now and then.She recognized the archdeacon, a holy man.

"My priest," she asked. "Who's going to be hanged over there?" The priest looked at her, but made no reply; she repeated the question.He just said: "I have no idea." "Just now some children said it was an Egyptian woman," the nun continued. "I suppose so," said the priest. At this moment, Flowers Paquette let out a menacing laugh. "Mother," said the archdeacon, "you must then hate Egyptian women?" "How can I not hate them?" cried the nun. "They are half-dog, half-human vampires, child-stealing thieves! They devoured my little girl, my child, my only daughter! My heart is gone, they ate my heart !"

She looked terrible.The priest looked at her icily. "There was one I hated in particular, I cursed it," she added. "This is a young woman, about my daughter's age if her mother hadn't eaten her. My blood boils every time this little viper passes my house!" "Come now, you are happy, Mammy," said the priest, as indifferent as a cemetery statue. "You saw right away that it was the woman who was hanged." With his head drooping on his chest, he walked away slowly. The nun cried out, writhing her arms joyfully: "I told her long ago that she would go to the gallows! Thank you, priest!"

Her hair was disheveled, her eyes were fiery, her shoulders hit the wall, and she strode forward in front of the window grille, like a she-wolf in a cage who has been hungry for a long time and feels that the meal time is approaching.