The archdeacon shook his head with a bitter smile:
“Master Jacques, read Michel Psellus,
‘Dialogues de Energia et Operatione Dæmonum.’
cu
Our work is not altogether innocent.”
“Not so loud, master! I fear you are right,” said Charmolue. “But I must needs dabble a little in hermetics, being only the king’s proxy to the Ecclesiastical Court, at a salary of thirty Tours crowns a year. But speak lower.”
At this moment the sound of champing and chewing proceeding from under the stove, attracted Charmolue’s anxious ear.
“What was that?” he asked.
It was the student, who, greatly cramped and much bored in his hiding-place, had contrived to find an old crust of bread and a bit of mouldy cheese, and had set to work to devour them without more ado, by the way of consolation and of breakfast. As he was ravenously hungry, he made a great deal of noise, and smacked his lips loudly over every mouthful as to give the alarm to the lawyer.
“It is my cat,” said the archdeacon, hastily, “feasting under there upon some mouse.”
This explanation satisfied Charmolue.
“Indeed, master,” he replied with a respectful smile, “every philosopher has had his familiar animal. You know what Servius says:
‘Nullus enim locus sine genio est.’”
cv
But Dom Claude, who feared some fresh outbreak from Jehan, reminded his worthy disciple that they had certain figures on the porch to study together; and the two left the cell, to the great relief of the student, who began seriously to fear that his knees would leave their permanent mark upon his chin.
CHAPTER VI
The Effect Produced by Seven Oaths in the Public Square
T
he Deum laudamus!” cried Master Jehan, as he stepped from his hiding-place; ”the two screech-owls have gone.
Och! och! Hax! pax! max!
the fleas! the mad dogs! the devil! I’ve had enough of their talk! My head rings like a belfry. Mouldy cheese into the bargain! Now, then! let us be off; let us take our big brother’s purse, and convert all these coins into bottles!”
He cast a look of tenderness and admiration into the interior of the precious purse, adjusted his dress, wiped his boots, dusted his poor shoulder-pads all grey with ashes, whistled a tune, frisked about, looked to see if there was nothing left in the cell which he might carry off, scraped up a few glass charms and trinkets from the top of the stove, thinking he might pass them off upon Isabeau la Thierrye for jewels, then gave a push to the door, which his brother had left ajar as a final favor, and which he left open in his turn as a final piece of mischief, and hopped down the winding stairs as nimbly as a bird.
In the midst of the shadows of the spiral staircase he elbowed something which moved aside with a growl; he took it for granted that it was Quasimodo, and this struck him as so droll that he held his sides with laughter all the rest of the way down. As he came out into the public square, he was still laughing.
He stamped his foot when he found himself on solid ground once more. “Oh,” said he, “good and honorable pavement of Paris! Cursed stairs, which would put all the angels of Jacob’s ladder out of breath! What was I thinking of when I poked myself into that stone gimlet which pierces the sky; and all to eat musty cheese, and to see the steeples of Paris through a garret window!”
He walked on a few paces, and saw the two screech-owls—that is to say, Dom Claude and Master Jacques Charmolue—lost in contemplation of a bit of carving on the porch. He approached them on tiptoe, and heard the archdeacon say in a very low voice to Charmolue, “It was Guillaume de Paris who had a Job graven on that lapis-lazuli colored stone, gilded at the edges. Job represents the philosopher’s stone, which must also be tried and tortured before it can become perfect, as Raymond Lulle says:
‘Sub conservatione formæ specifice salva anima.”’
cw
“That’s all one to me,” said Jehan. “‘Tis I who hold the purse.”
At this instant he heard a loud ringing voice pronounce a terrible string of oaths just behind him.
“Zounds! Odds bodikins! By the Rood! By Cock and pye! Damme! ‘Sdeath! Thunder and Mars!”
“By my soul,” exclaimed Jehan, “that can be no other than my friend Captain Phœbus!”
The name of Phœbus reached the archdeacon’s ears, just as he was explaining to the king’s proxy the dragon hiding his tail in a bath from which rise smoke and a king’s head. Dom Claude shuddered, stopped short, to the great surprise of Charmolue, turned, and saw his brother Jehan talking to a tall officer at the door of the Gondelaurier house.
It was indeed Captain Phœbus de Châteaupers. He was leaning against the corner of his lady-love’s house, and swearing like a pirate.
“My word! Captain Phœbus,” said Jehan, taking him by the hand, “you swear with admirable spirit!”
“Thunder and Mars!” replied the captain.
“Thunder and Mars, yourself!” responded the student. “Now, then, my fine captain, what has caused such an outburst of elegant epithets?”
“Your pardon, good comrade Jehan,” cried Phœbus, shaking him by the hand; “but a horse running at full speed cannot stop short. Now, I was swearing at full gallop. I have just come from those prudes; and when I leave them, I always have my mouth full of oaths; I must needs spit them out, or I should choke. Thunder and guns!”
“Will you take a drink?” asked the student. This proposition calmed the captain.
“With pleasure; but I’ve no money.”
“But I have!”
“Pshaw! let me see!”
Jehan displayed the purse to the captain’s eyes, with dignity and simplicity. Meanwhile the archdeacon, having left the amazed Charmolue, had approached them, and stood some paces distant, watching them both unobserved by them, so absorbed were they in looking at the purse.
Phœbus exclaimed, “A purse in your pocket, Jehan! That’s like the moon in a pail of water. I see it, but it is not really there. It’s only a shadow. By Heaven! I wager there’s nothing but pebbles in it!”
Jehan answered coldly, “I’ll show you the kind of pebbles that I pave my pocket with.”
And without another word he emptied the purse upon a neighboring post, with the air of a Roman saving his country.
“Good God!” muttered Phoebus; “gold pieces, big silver pieces, little silver pieces, crowns, shillings, and pence! It is dazzling!”
Jehan remained dignified and unmoved. A few pennies had rolled into the mud; the captain, in his enthusiasm, stooped to pick them up. Jehan restrained him, saying,—
“Fie, Captain Phoebus de Châteaupers!”
Phoebus counted the money, and turning solemnly to Jehan, asked, “Do you know, Jehan, that you have here twenty-three crowns? Whom did you rob last night in the Rue Coupe-Gueule?”
Jehan threw back his fair curly head, and said, half closing his eyes in scorn,—
“I have a brother who is an archdeacon and a fool.”
“Confound it!” cried Phœbus; “so you have, the worthy fellow!”
“Let us take a drink,” said Jehan.
“Where shall we go?” said Phoebus; “to the Pomme d‘Eve!”
“No, Captain; let us go to the Vieille Science.”
“No, the wine is better at the Pomme d‘Eve; and besides, at the door is a vine in the sun, which cheers me as I drink.”
“So be it,” said the student; and taking Phoebus by the arm, the two friends set out for that tavern. It is needless to say that they first picked up the money, and that the archdeacon followed them.
The archdeacon followed them, sad and worn. Was this the Phœbus whose accursed name, since his interview with Gringoire, had mingled with all his thoughts? He knew not; but at any rate it was a Phoebus, and that magic name was enough to make the archdeacon follow the two heedless comrades with stealthy tread, listening to their every word and noting their least gesture with eager attention. Moreover, nothing was easier than to hear everything they said; for they spoke very loud, utterly regardless of the fact that they were taking the passers-by into their confidence. They talked of duels, women, drinking, and riots.
At the corner of a street the sound of a tambourine was heard from a neighboring cross-way. Dom Claude overheard the officer say to the student,—
“Thunder! We must hasten.”
“Why, Phœbus?”
“I’m afraid the gipsy girl will see me.”
“What gipsy girl?”
“That little thing with the goat.”
“Smeralda?”
“Just so, Jehan. I always forget her devil of a name. Make haste; she would be sure to recognize me. I don’t wish to have that girl accost me in the street.”
“Do you know her, Phœbus?”
Here the archdeacon saw Phoebus chuckle, put his mouth to Jehan’s ear, and whisper a few words to him; then he burst out laughing, and shook his head with a triumphant air.
“Really?” said Jehan.
“Upon my soul!” said Phoebus.
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“Are you sure she will come?”
“Are you mad, Jehan? How can there be any doubt in such matters?”
“Captain Phoebus, you are a lucky soldier!”
The archdeacon heard every word of this conversation. His teeth chattered; he shook from head to foot. He stood still a moment, leaned against a post like a drunken man, then followed in the track of the two jolly scamps.
When he rejoined them they had changed the subject. He heard them singing at the top of their voices the old refrain:—
“The lads of Petty-Tiles, they say,
Like calves are butchered every day.”
CHAPTER VII
The Spectre Monk
T
he famous tavern known as the Pomme d‘Eve was situated in the University, at the corner of the Rue de la Rondelle and the Rue du Batonnier. It was a large, low room on the ground-floor, with an arched roof, the central spring of which rested on a huge wooden pillar painted yellow; there were tables in every direction, shining pewter jugs hung on the wall; there were always plenty of topers, lots of girls, a window looking on the street, a vine at the door, and over the door a creaking piece of sheet iron, on which were painted a woman and an apple, rusted by the rain and swinging in the wind on an iron rod. This kind of weathercock, which overlooked the pavement, was the sign.
Night was falling; the streets were dark. The tavern full of candles, flared from a distance like a forge in the gloom; a noise of glasses, of feasting, of oaths, and of quarrels escaped from the broken window-panes. Through the mist with which the heat of the room covered the glazed casement in front of the inn swarmed a myriad confused figures, and from time to time a ringing burst of laughter was heard. People passing, intent on their own affairs, hastened by that noisy window without a glance; but now and then some little ragged boy would raise himself on tiptoe to the window-sill, and scream into the tavern the old mocking cry with which drunkards were often greeted at this period:—
“Back to your glasses,
Ye drunken, drunken asses.”
One man, however, marched imperturbably up and down in front of the noisy tavern, looking continually, and never stirring farther away from it than a pikeman from his sentry-box. His cloak was pulled up to his very nose. This cloak he had just bought from the old-clothes man who lived hard by the Pomme d‘Eve, doubtless to shield himself from the chill of the March evening, perhaps to hide his dress. From time to time he paused before the dim panes set in lead, listened, looked, and stamped his feet impatiently.
At last the tavern door opened. This seemed to be what he was waiting for. Two tipplers came out. The ray of light which escaped through the door, for a moment reddened their jovial faces. The man with the cloak took up his position under a porch on the other side of the street.
“Thunder and guns!” said one of the two drinkers. “It will strike seven directly. It is the hour for my appointment.”
“I tell you,” resumed his companion, with a thick utterance, “that I do not live in the Rue des Mauvaises-Paroles,
indignus qui inter mala verba habitat.
cx
My lodgings are in the Rue Jean-Pain-Mollet,
in vico Johannis-Pain-Mollet.
You are more unreasonable than a unicorn, if you say to the contrary. Everybody knows that he who has once climbed upon a bear’s back is never afraid; but you’ve a fine nose for scenting out dainty bits like Saint-Jacques de l‘Hôpital.”
“Jehan, my friend, you are drunk,” said the other.
He replied, staggering, “So it pleases you to say, Phœbus; but it is well proven that Plato had the profile of a hunting-dog.”
The reader has undoubtedly recognized our two worthy friends, the captain and the student. It seems that the man lurking in the shadow had also recognized them; for he followed with slow steps all the zig-zags which the student forced the captain to describe, the latter, a more hardened drinker, having preserved entire self-possession. By listening carefully, the man with the cloak was able to catch the whole of the following interesting conversation:—
“Body of Bacchus! do try to walk straight, Master Bachelor. You know that I shall have to leave you. Here it is seven o‘clock. I have an appointment with a woman.”
“Leave me then, do. I see fiery stars and spears. You are like the Château-de-Dampmartin, which burst with laughter.”
“By my grandmother’s warts, Jehan! your nonsense is rather too desperate. By-the-bye, Jehan, haven’t you any money left?”
“Mr. Rector, there’s no mistake: the little butcher’s shop,
parva boucheria.”
“Jehan, friend Jehan! you know that I made an appointment to meet that little girl at the end of the Pont Saint-Michel; that I can’t take her anywhere but to La Falourdel.—the old hag on the bridge; and that I must pay for the room; the white-whiskered old jade gives no credit. Jehan, for pity’s sake, have we drunk up the priest’s whole purse? Haven’t you a penny left?”