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sly concealed his soul in his straw pallet。
CHAPTER VI。
THE BROKEN JUG。
After having run for some time at the top of his speed; without knowing whither; knocking his head against many a street corner; leaping many a gutter; traversing many an alley; many a court; many a square; seeking flight and passage through all the meanderings of the ancient passages of the Halles; exploring in his panic terror what the fine Latin of the maps calls ~tota via; cheminum et viaria~; our poet suddenly halted for lack of breath in the first place; and in the second; because he had been collared; after a fashion; by a dilemma which had just occurred to his mind。 〃It strikes me; Master Pierre Gringoire;〃 he said to himself; placing his finger to his brow; 〃that you are running like a madman。 The little scamps are no less afraid of you than you are of them。 It strikes me; I say; that you heard the clatter of their wooden shoes fleeing southward; while you were fleeing northward。 Now; one of two things; either they have taken flight; and the pallet; which they must have forgotten in their terror; is precisely that hospitable bed in search of which you have been running ever since morning; and which madame the Virgin miraculously sends you; in order to recompense you for having made a morality in her honor; accompanied by triumphs and mummeries; or the children have not taken flight; and in that case they have put the brand to the pallet; and that is precisely the good fire which you need to cheer; dry; and warm you。 In either case; good fire or good bed; that straw pallet is a gift from heaven。 The blessed Virgin Marie who stands at the corner of the Rue Mauconseil; could only have made Eustache Moubon die for that express purpose; and it is folly on your part to flee thus zigzag; like a Picard before a Frenchman; leaving behind you what you seek before you; and you are a fool!〃
Then he retraced his steps; and feeling his way and searching; with his nose to the wind and his ears on the alert; he tried to find the blessed pallet again; but in vain。 There was nothing to be found but intersections of houses; closed courts; and crossings of streets; in the midst of which he hesitated and doubted incessantly; being more perplexed and entangled in this medley of streets than he would have been even in the labyrinth of the H?tel des Tournelles。 At length he lost patience; and exclaimed solemnly: 〃Cursed be cross roads! 'tis the devil who has made them in the shape of his pitchfork!〃
This exclamation afforded him a little solace; and a sort of reddish reflection which he caught sight of at that moment; at the extremity of a long and narrow lane; completed the elevation of his moral tone。 〃God be praised!〃 said he; 〃There it is yonder! There is my pallet burning。〃 And comparing himself to the pilot who suffers shipwreck by night; 〃~Salve~;〃 he added piously; 〃~salve; maris stella~!〃
Did he address this fragment of litany to the Holy Virgin; or to the pallet? We are utterly unable to say。
He had taken but a few steps in the long street; which sloped downwards; was unpaved; and more and more muddy and steep; when he noticed a very singular thing。 It was not deserted; here and there along its extent crawled certain vague and formless masses; all directing their course towards the light which flickered at the end of the street; like those heavy insects which drag along by night; from blade to blade of grass; towards the shepherd's fire。
Nothing renders one so adventurous as not being able to feel the place where one's pocket is situated。 Gringoire continued to advance; and had soon joined that one of the forms which dragged along most indolently; behind the others。 On drawing near; he perceived that it was nothing else than a wretched legless cripple in a bowl; who was hopping along on his two hands like a wounded field…spider which has but two legs left。 At the moment when he passed close to this species of spider with a human countenance; it raised towards him a lamentable voice: 〃~La buona mancia; signor! la buona mancia~!〃*
* Alms。
〃Deuce take you;〃 said Gringoire; 〃and me with you; if I know what you mean!〃
And he passed on。
He overtook another of these itinerant masses; and examined it。 It was an impotent man; both halt and crippled; and halt and crippled to such a degree that the complicated system of crutches and wooden legs which sustained him; gave him the air of a mason's scaffolding on the march。 Gringoire; who liked noble and classical comparisons; compared him in thought to the living tripod of Vulcan。
This living tripod saluted him as he passed; but stopping his hat on a level with Gringoire's chin; like a shaving dish; while he shouted in the latter's ears: 〃~Senor cabellero; para comprar un pedaso de pan~!〃*
* Give me the means to buy a bit of bread; sir。
〃It appears;〃 said Gringoire; 〃that this one can also talk; but 'tis a rude language; and he is more fortunate than I if he understands it。〃 Then; smiting his brow; in a sudden transition of ideas: 〃By the way; what the deuce did they mean this morning with their Esmeralda?〃
He was minded to augment his pace; but for the third time something barred his way。 This something or; rather; some one was a blind man; a little blind fellow with a bearded; Jewish face; who; rowing away in the space about him with a stick; and towed by a large dog; droned through his nose with a Hungarian accent: 〃~Facitote caritatem~!〃
〃Well; now;〃 said Gringoire; 〃here's one at last who speaks a Christian tongue。 I must have a very charitable aspect; since they ask alms of me in the present lean condition of my purse。 My friend;〃 and he turned towards the blind man; 〃I sold my last shirt last week; that is to say; since you understand only the language of Cicero: ~Vendidi hebdomade nuper transita meam ultimam chemisan~。〃
That said; he turned his back upon the blind man; and pursued his way。 But the blind man began to increase his stride at the same time; and; behold! the cripple and the legless man; in his bowl; came up on their side in great haste; and with great clamor of bowl and crutches; upon the pavement。 Then all three; jostling each other at poor Gringoire's heels; began to sing their song to him;
〃~Caritatem~!〃 chanted the blind man。
〃~La buona mancia~!〃 chanted the cripple in the bowl。
And the lame man took up the musical phrase by repeating: 〃~Un pedaso de pan~!〃
Gringoire stopped up his ears。 〃Oh; tower of Babel!〃 he exclaimed。
He set out to run。 The blind man ran! The lame man ran! The cripple in the bowl ran!
And then; in proportion as he plunged deeper into the street; cripples in bowls; blind men and lame men; swarmed about him; and men with one arm; and with one eye; and the leprous with their sores; some emerging from little streets adjacent; some from the air…holes of cellars; howling; bellowing; yelping; all limping and halting; all flinging themselves towards the light; and humped up in the mire; like snails after a shower。
Gringoire; still followed by his three persecutors; and not knowing very well what was to become of him; marched along in terror among them; turning out for the