通译双语文库:巴黎圣母院Book 7 Chapter 3 The Bells

自从在刑台受刑的那个早晨之后，人们便发觉伽西莫多演奏钟乐的热情低落了。在那以前，遇到什么事都要敲钟，早祷钟，晚祷钟，高音弥撒钟，婚礼钟，洗礼钟，一长串的钟声弥漫在空气里，好象是各种钟声交织成的一幅织锦。那古老的教堂全身颤动着，震荡着，仿佛笼罩在永恒的欢乐里面。

人们觉得有一个喧闹的精灵不停地在那些铜嘴里歌唱。现在那个精灵好象离去了，那座大教堂仿佛死掉了似的悄无声息。不管是节日或举行丧礼的日子，都只有单调的钟声，又枯燥又无味，不过是表示仪式罢了。构成一座教堂的二重奏——内部的风琴声和外部的钟声——，现在就只剩下风琴声了。似乎音乐家已经不在那些钟塔里了，但伽西莫多还是生活在那里。有什么事在使他苦恼？是不是刑台上的耻辱与失望依旧盘据在他的心头？是不是施刑人的鞭打还在不断扰乱他的灵魂？那种悲惨的酷刑消灭了他全部的热情，甚至消灭了他对那些钟的热情。或者，是否在这圣母院敲钟人的心里玛丽有了一个情敌，使那口大钟同她的十四个姐妹由于另一个更美丽更可爱的人而遭到了冷淡？

公元一四八二年的御告节到来了，那天正当三月二十五日，礼拜二，空气非常纯洁轻柔。伽西莫多觉得自己对那些钟又有了一种爱恋心情。当教堂仆役把下面的每道大门打开来的时候，伽西莫多爬到了北边那座钟塔上。那些门是用橡木做成的，包着兽皮，钉着镀金的铁钉，装饰着“最精致”的雕刻。

到了钟塔的最高一层，伽西莫多悲哀地摇着头向那六口大钟望了一会，仿佛在感叹它们和他之间有什么奇怪的东西已经插了进来。可是当他把它们推动起来，当他感觉到那一群钟在他手底下摇晃，当他看到（因为他是听不到的）八度音程在那些发音器上象鸟儿在许多树枝中间跳来跳去的时候，当那音乐的精灵，那使节奏颤音和清音四处传播的精灵迷住了那不幸的聋子的时候，他又快乐起来了，他忘记了一切，他的心舒展了，脸上露出了笑容。

他走来走去，拍着手，从这根绳子跳到那根绳子，用声音和动作鼓励那六个音乐家，就象一位乐队指挥在激励天才的演奏者一般。

“奏鸣吧，”他说道，“奏鸣吧，加布西耶，把你的声音倾泻到广场上去。今天是节日呢。蒂波，你别偷懒，你太慢啦。动弹呀，动弹呀，难道你生锈了吗，懒东西！好了，快些！快些！要快得让人看不见你的摆动。让他们都象我一样给震聋吧。就是这样，就是这样，蒂波，好极了！居约姆，居约姆，你是最大的一口钟，巴斯居耶是最小的一口钟，可是它奏鸣得比你好，我可以保证大家都认为它比你还要响亮呢。好呀，好呀，我的加布西耶，再响些！哎呀，你俩在那上面干什么呀，你们这两只麻雀？我没听见你们响出一点声音。那两张在该唱歌的当儿却打着呵欠的铜嘴有什么用处？喏，干活呀！今天是御告节，阳光好极了，应该奏一阵很好的钟乐。可怜的居约姆，你气都透不过来啦，我的胖朋友！”

他全心全意地在调教那些钟，它们一个赛一个地起劲跳跃着，摇摆着漂亮的腰肢，好象一群被赶骡人吆喝着的西班牙骡子。

忽然，他从挡着钟塔的山墙的石板中间向下望去，望见广场上有一位装束古怪的姑娘，看见她停下来把一条毯子铺在地上，一只小羊走来站在毯子上，一群观众便在她的四周围拢来。这个景象忽然使他改变了主意，仿佛空气使溶化的树脂凝住似的，把他对音乐的热情冻结起来了。他再也不动了，转身背对着那些钟，蜷伏在石板的单斜檐后面，用那已经使副主教惊讶过一次的梦沉沉的温柔的眼光盯着跳舞姑娘。这时那些被遗忘的钟便一齐静下来了，使爱听这些钟声的人非常失望，他们本来正在欧项热桥上快乐地倾听着，这时只好怏怏地走开了，这正好象一条狗，在人家给它看过一块肉之后却扔给了它一块石头。

After the morning in the pillory, the neighbors of Notre- Dame thought they noticed that Quasimodo’s ardor for ringing had grown cool. Formerly, there had been peals for every occasion, long morning serenades, which lasted from prime to compline; peals from the belfry for a high mass, rich scales drawn over the smaller bells for a wedding, for a christening, and mingling in the air like a rich embroidery of all sorts of charming sounds. The old church, all vibrating and sonorous, was in a perpetual joy of bells. One was constantly conscious of the presence of a spirit of noise and caprice, who sang through all those mouths of brass. Now that spirit seemed to have departed; the cathedral seemed gloomy, and gladly remained silent; festivals and funerals had the simple peal, dry and bare, demanded by the ritual, nothing more. Of the double noise which constitutes a church, the organ within, the bell without, the organ alone remained. One would have said that there was no longer a musician in the belfry. Quasimodo was always there, nevertheless; what, then, had happened to him? Was it that the shame and despair of the pillory still lingered in the bottom of his heart, that the lashes of his tormentor’s whip reverberated unendingly in his soul, and that the sadness of such treatment had wholly extinguished in him even his passion for the bells? or was it that Marie had a rival in the heart of the bellringer of Notre-Dame, and that the great bell and her fourteen sisters were neglected for something more amiable and more beautiful?

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It chanced that, in the year of grace 1482, Annunciation Day fell on Tuesday, the twenty-fifth of March. That day the air was so pure and light that Quasimodo felt some returning affection for his bells. He therefore ascended the northern tower while the beadle below was opening wide the doors of the church, which were then enormous panels of stout wood, covered with leather, bordered with nails of gilded iron, and framed in carvings "very artistically elaborated."

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On arriving in the lofty bell chamber, Quasimodo gazed for some time at the six bells and shook his head sadly, as though groaning over some foreign element which had interposed itself in his heart between them and him. But when he had set them to swinging, when he felt that cluster of bells moving under his hand, when he saw, for he did not hear it, the palpitating octave ascend and descend that sonorous scale, like a bird hopping from branch to branch; when the demon Music, that demon who shakes a sparkling bundle of strette, trills and arpeggios, had taken possession of the poor deaf man, he became happy once more, he forgot everything, and his heart expanding, made his face beam.

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He went and came, he beat his hands together, he ran from rope to rope, he animated the six singers with voice and gesture, like the leader of an orchestra who is urging on intelligent musicians.

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"Go on," said he, "go on, go on, Gabrielle, pour out all thy noise into the Place, ’tis a festival to-day. No laziness, Thibauld; thou art relaxing; go on, go on, then, art thou rusted, thou sluggard? That is well! quick! quick! let not thy clapper be seen! Make them all deaf like me. That’s it, Thibauld, bravely done! Guillaume! Guillaume! thou art the largest, and Pasquier is the smallest, and Pasquier does best. Let us wager that those who hear him will understand him better than they understand thee. Good! good! my Gabrielle, stoutly, more stoutly! Eli! what are you doing up aloft there, you two Moineaux (sparrows)? I do not see you making the least little shred of noise. What is the meaning of those beaks of copper which seem to be gaping when they should sing? Come, work now, ’tis the Feast of the Annunciation. The sun is fine, the chime must be fine also. Poor Guillaume! thou art all out of breath, my big fellow!"

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He was wholly absorbed in spurring on his bells, all six of which vied with each other in leaping and shaking their shining haunches, like a noisy team of Spanish mules, pricked on here and there by the apostrophes of the muleteer.

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All at once, on letting his glance fall between the large slate scales which cover the perpendicular wall of the bell tower at a certain height, he beheld on the square a young girl, fantastically dressed, stop, spread out on the ground a carpet, on which a small goat took up its post, and a group of spectators collect around her. This sight suddenly changed the course of his ideas, and congealed his enthusiasm as a breath of air congeals melted rosin. He halted, turned his back to the bells, and crouched down behind the projecting roof of slate, fixing upon the dancer that dreamy, sweet, and tender look which had already astonished the archdeacon on one occasion. Meanwhile, the forgotten bells died away abruptly and all together, to the great disappointment of the lovers of bell ringing, who were listening in good faith to the peal from above the Pont du Change, and who went away dumbfounded, like a dog who has been offered a bone and given a stone.

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