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At length a bailiff from the Chatelet clad in black； mounted on a black horse； who had been stationed beside the ladder since the beginning of the execution； extended his ebony wand towards the hour…glass。 The torturer stopped。 The wheel stopped。 Quasimodo's eye opened slowly。
The scourging was finished。 Two lackeys of the official torturer bathed the bleeding shoulders of the patient； anointed them with some unguent which immediately closed all the wounds； and threw upon his back a sort of yellow vestment； in cut like a chasuble。 In the meanwhile； Pierrat Torterue allowed the thongs； red and gorged with blood； to drip upon the pavement。
All was not over for Quasimodo。 He had still to undergo that hour of pillory which Master Florian Barbedienne had so judiciously added to the sentence of Messire Robert d'Estouteville； all to the greater glory of the old physiological and psychological play upon words of Jean de Cumène； ~Surdus absurdus~： a deaf man is absurd。
So the hour…glass was turned over once more； and they left the hunchback fastened to the plank； in order that justice might be accomplished to the very end。
The populace； especially in the Middle Ages； is in society what the child is in the family。 As long as it remains in its state of primitive ignorance； of moral and intellectual minority； it can be said of it as of the child；
'Tis the pitiless age。
We have already shown that Quasimodo was generally hated； for more than one good reason； it is true。 There was hardly a spectator in that crowd who had not or who did not believe that he had reason to complain of the malevolent hunchback of Notre…Dame。 The joy at seeing him appear thus in the pillory had been universal； and the harsh punishment which he had just suffered； and the pitiful condition in which it had left him； far from softening the populace had rendered its hatred more malicious by arming it with a touch of mirth。
Hence； the 〃public prosecution〃 satisfied； as the bigwigs of the law still express it in their jargon； the turn came of a thousand private vengeances。 Here； as in the Grand Hall； the women rendered themselves particularly prominent。 All cherished some rancor against him； some for his malice； others for his ugliness。 The latter were the most furious。
〃Oh！ mask of Antichrist！〃 said one。
〃Rider on a broom handle！〃 cried another。
〃What a fine tragic grimace；〃 howled a third； 〃and who would make him Pope of the Fools if to…day were yesterday？〃
〃'Tis well；〃 struck in an old woman。 〃This is the grimace of the pillory。 When shall we have that of the gibbet？〃
〃When will you be coiffed with your big bell a hundred feet under ground； cursed bellringer？〃
〃But 'tis the devil who rings the Angelus！〃
〃Oh！ the deaf man！ the one…eyed creature！ the hunch… back！ the monster！〃
〃A face to make a woman miscarry better than all the drugs and medicines！〃
And the two scholars； Jehan du Moulin； and Robin Poussepain； sang at the top of their lungs； the ancient refrain；
〃~Une hart Pour le pendard！ Un fagot Pour le magot~！〃*
* A rope for the gallows bird！ A fagot for the ape。
A thousand other insults rained down upon him； and hoots and imprecations； and laughter； and now and then； stones。
Quasimodo was deaf but his sight was clear； and the public fury was no less energetically depicted on their visages than in their words。 Moreover； the blows from the stones explained the bursts of laughter。
At first he held his ground。 But little by little that patience which had borne up under the lash of the torturer； yielded and gave way before all these stings of insects。 The bull of the Asturias who has been but little moved by the attacks of the picador grows irritated with the dogs and banderilleras。
He first cast around a slow glance of hatred upon the crowd。 But bound as he was； his glance was powerless to drive away those flies which were stinging his wound。 Then he moved in his bonds； and his furious exertions made the ancient wheel of the pillory shriek on its axle。 All this only increased the derision and hooting。
Then the wretched man； unable to break his collar； like that of a chained wild beast； became tranquil once more； only at intervals a sigh of rage heaved the hollows of his chest。 There was neither shame nor redness on his face。 He was too far from the state of society； and too near the state of nature to know what shame was。 Moreover； with such a degree of deformity； is infamy a thing that can be felt？ But wrath； hatred； despair； slowly lowered over that hideous visage a cloud which grew ever more and more sombre； ever more and more charged with electricity； which burst forth in a thousand lightning flashes from the eye of the cyclops。
Nevertheless； that cloud cleared away for a moment； at the passage of a mule which traversed the crowd； bearing a priest。 As far away as he could see that mule and that priest； the poor victim's visage grew gentler。 The fury which had contracted it was followed by a strange smile full of ineffable sweetness； gentleness； and tenderness。 In proportion as the priest approached； that smile became more clear； more distinct； more radiant。 It was like the arrival of a Saviour； which the unhappy man was greeting。 But as soon as the mule was near enough to the pillory to allow of its rider recognizing the victim； the priest dropped his eyes； beat a hasty retreat； spurred on rigorously； as though in haste to rid himself of humiliating appeals； and not at all desirous of being saluted and recognized by a poor fellow in such a predicament。
This priest was Archdeacon Dom Claude Frollo。
The cloud descended more blackly than ever upon Quasimodo's brow。 The smile was still mingled with it for a time； but was bitter； discouraged； profoundly sad。
Time passed on。 He had been there at least an hour and a half； lacerated； maltreated； mocked incessantly； and almost stoned。
All at once he moved again in his chains with redoubled despair； which made the whole framework that bore him tremble； and； breaking the silence which he had obstinately preserved hitherto； he cried in a hoarse and furious voice； which resembled a bark rather than a human cry； and which was drowned in the noise of the hoots〃Drink！〃
This exclamation of distress； far from exciting compassion； only added amusement to the good Parisian populace who surrounded the ladder； and who； it must be confessed； taken in the mass and as a multitude； was then no less cruel and brutal than that horrible tribe of robbers among whom we have already conducted the reader； and which was simply the lower stratum of the populace。 Not a voice was raised around the unhappy victim； except to jeer at his thirst。 It is certain that at that moment he was more grotesque and repulsive than pitiable； with his face purple and dripping； his eye wild； his mouth foaming with rage and pain； and his tongue lolling half out。 It must also be stated that if a charitable soul of a bourgeois or ~bourgeoise~； in the rabble； had attempted to carry a glass of water to that wretched creature in torment； there reigned around the infamous steps of the pillory such a prejudice of shame and ignominy； tha