"~Te Deum Laudamus~!" exclaimed Master Jehan, creeping
out from his hole, "the screech-owls have departed. Och!
och! Hax! pax! max! fleas! mad dogs! the devil! I have
had enough of their conversation! My head is humming like
a bell tower. And mouldy cheese to boot! Come on! Let us
descend, take the big brother's purse and convert all these
coins into bottles!"
He cast a glance of tenderness and admiration into the
interior of the precious pouch, readjusted his toilet, rubbed
up his boots, dusted his poor half sleeves, all gray with ashes,
whistled an air, indulged in a sportive pirouette, looked about
to see whether there were not something more in the cell to
take, gathered up here and there on the furnace some amulet
in glass which might serve to bestow, in the guise of a trinket,
on Isabeau la Thierrye, finally pushed open the door which his
brother had left unfastened, as a last indulgence, and which
he, in his turn, left open as a last piece of malice, and
descended the circular staircase, skipping like a bird.
In the midst of the gloom of the spiral staircase, he elbowed
something which drew aside with a growl; he took it for
granted that it was Quasimodo, and it struck him as so droll
that he descended the remainder of the staircase holding his
sides with laughter. On emerging upon the Place, he laughed
yet more heartily.
He stamped his foot when he found himself on the ground
once again. "Oh!" said he, "good and honorable pavement
of Paris, cursed staircase, fit to put the angels of Jacob's
ladder out of breath! What was I thinking of to thrust
myself into that stone gimlet which pierces the sky; all for
the sake of eating bearded cheese, and looking at the bell-
towers of Paris through a hole in the wall!"
He advanced a few paces, and caught sight of the two
screech owls, that is to say, Dom Claude and Master Jacques
Charmolue, absorbed in contemplation before a carving on the
fa?ade. He approached them on tiptoe, and heard the
archdeacon say in a low tone to Charmolue: "'Twas Guillaume
de Paris who caused a Job to be carved upon this stone of the
hue of lapis-lazuli, gilded on the edges. Job represents the
philosopher's stone, which must also be tried and martyrized
in order to become perfect, as saith Raymond Lulle: ~Sub
conservatione formoe speciftoe salva anima~."
"That makes no difference to me," said Jehan, "'tis I who
have the purse."
At that moment he heard a powerful and sonorous voice
articulate behind him a formidable series of oaths. "~Sang
Dieu! Ventre-.Dieu! B¨¦dieu! Corps de Dieu! Nombril de
Belzebuth! Nom d'un pape! Come et tonnerre~."
"Upon my soul!" exclaimed Jehan, "that can only be my
friend, Captain Phoebus!"
This name of Phoebus reached the ears of the archdeacon at
the moment when he was explaining to the king's procurator
the dragon which is hiding its tail in a bath, from which issue
smoke and the head of a king. Dom Claude started, interrupted
himself and, to the great amazement of Charmolue, turned round
and beheld his brother Jehan accosting a tall officer at the
door of the Gondelaurier mansion.
It was, in fact, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers. He was
backed up against a corner of the house of his betrothed and
swearing like a heathen.
"By my faith! Captain Phoebus," said Jehan, taking him
by the hand, "you are cursing with admirable vigor."
"Horns and thunder!" replied the captain.
"Horns and thunder yourself!" replied the student. "Come
now, fair captain, whence comes this overflow of fine words?"
"Pardon me, good comrade Jehan," exclaimed Phoebus,
shaking his hand, "a horse going at a gallop cannot halt
short. Now, I was swearing at a hard gallop. I have just
been with those prudes, and when I come forth, I always find
my throat full of curses, I must spit them out or strangle,
~ventre et tonnerre~!"
"Will you come and drink?" asked the scholar.
This proposition calmed the captain.
"I'm willing, but I have no money."
"But I have!"
"Bah! let's see it!"
Jehan spread out the purse before the captain's eyes, with
dignity and simplicity. Meanwhile, the archdeacon, who had
abandoned the dumbfounded Charmolue where he stood, had
approached them and halted a few paces distant, watching
them without their noticing him, so deeply were they absorbed
in contemplation of the purse.
Phoebus exclaimed: "A purse in your pocket, Jehan!
'tis the moon in a bucket of water, one sees it there but 'tis
not there. There is nothing but its shadow. Pardieu! let us
wager that these are pebbles!"
Jehan replied coldly: "Here are the pebbles wherewith
I pave my fob!"
And without adding another word, he emptied the purse on a
neighboring post, with the air of a Roman saving his country.
"True God!" muttered Phoebus, "targes, big-blanks, little
blanks, mailles,* every two worth one of Tournay, farthings
of Paris, real eagle liards! 'Tis dazzling!"
* An ancient copper coin, the forty-fourth part of a sou or
the twelfth part of a farthing.
Jehan remained dignified and immovable. Several liards
had rolled into the mud; the captain in his enthusiasm
stooped to pick them up. Jehan restrained him.
"Fye, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers!"
Phoebus counted the coins, and turning towards Jehan with
solemnity, "Do you know, Jehan, that there are three and
twenty sous parisis! whom have you plundered to-night, in
the Street Cut-Weazand?"
Jehan flung back his blonde and curly head, and said, half-
closing his eyes disdainfully,--
"We have a brother who is an archdeacon and a fool."
"~Corne de Dieu~!" exclaimed Phoebus, "the worthy man!"
"Let us go and drink," said Jehan.
"Where shall we go?" said Phoebus; "'To Eve's Apple.'"
"No, captain, to 'Ancient Science.' An old woman sawing
a basket handle*; 'tis a rebus, and I like that."
* ~Une vielle qui scie une anse~.
"A plague on rebuses, Jehan! the wine is better at 'Eve's
Apple'; and then, beside the door there is a vine in the sun
which cheers me while I am drinking."
"Well! here goes for Eve and her apple," said the student,
and taking Phoebus's arm. "By the way, my dear captain,
you just mentioned the Rue Coupe-Gueule* That is a very
bad form of speech; people are no longer so barbarous. They
say, Coupe-Gorge**."
* Cut-Weazand Street.
** Cut-Throat Street.
The two friends set out towards "Eve's Apple." It is
unnecessary to mention that they had first gathered up the
money, and that the archdeacon followed them.
The archdeacon followed them, gloomy and haggard. Was
this the Phoebus whose accursed name had been mingled with
all his thoughts ever since his interview with Gringoire? He
did not know it, but it was at least a Phoebus, and that magic
name sufficed to make the archdeacon follow the two heedless
comrades with the stealthy tread of a wolf, listening to their
words and observing their slightest gestures with anxious
attention. Moreover, nothing was easier than to hear everything
they said, as they talked loudly, not in the least concerned
that the passers-by were taken into their confidence. They
talked of duels, wenches, wine pots, and folly.
At the turning of a street, the sound of a tambourine
reached them from a neighboring square. Dom Claude heard
the officer say to the scholar,--
"Thunder! Let us hasten our steps!"
"Why, Phoebus?"
"I'm afraid lest the Bohemian should see me."
"What Bohemian?"
"The little girl with the goat."
"La Smeralda?"
"That's it, Jehan. I always forget her devil of a name.
Let us make haste, she will recognize me. I don't want to
have that girl accost me in the street."
"Do you know her, Phoebus?"
Here the archdeacon saw Phoebus sneer, bend down to
Jehan's ear, and say a few words to him in a low voice;
then Phoebus burst into a laugh, and shook his head with a
triumphant air.
"Truly?" said Jehan.
"Upon my soul!" said Phoebus.
"This evening?"
"This evening."
"Are you sure that she will come?"
"Are you a fool, Jehan? Does one doubt such things?"
"Captain Phoebus, you are a happy gendarme!"
The archdeacon heard the whole of this conversation. His
teeth chattered; a visible shiver ran through his whole body.
He halted for a moment, leaned against a post like a drunken
man, then followed the two merry knaves.
At the moment when he overtook them once more, they
had changed their conversation. He heard them singing at
the top of their lungs the ancient refrain,--
~Les enfants des Petits-Carreaux
Se font pendre cornme des veaux~*.
* The children of the Petits Carreaux let themselves be hung
like calves.
CHAPTER VII.