Awful moment, Cruel fright!
Heaven! He loves me, Fearful night.
CLAUDE FROLLO (_aside_).
She shudders, quivers in my arms; The priest has won his chance at last!
By night I bore her, once, away; Now, in the day, I"ll hold her fast!
Death, which follows in my train, Will give her back to love again!
ESMERALDA.
Pity--pity, let me go!
Phoebus is dead; he waits above.
Alas! I tremble, I"m afraid, I shiver at your frightful love, E"en as the bird which, tortured, dies Beneath the vulture"s cruel eyes!
CLAUDE FROLLO.
Accept me, I love you! Refuse me no more!
Have pity for me, for yourself, I implore!
ESMERALDA.
Your prayer is an insult.
CLAUDE FROLLO.
Would you rather die?
ESMERALDA.
The body dies--the soul lives!
CLAUDE FROLLO.
To die is terrible!
ESMERALDA.
Hush! your impious words!
Your love makes death beautiful!
CLAUDE FROLLO.
Choose! choose! Or Claude or death!
[_Claude falls at Esmeralda"s feet in supplication. She repels him._
ESMERALDA.
No, murderer, I will not! Hush!
A crime is this foul love you"ve nursed.
Better the tomb to which I fly-- Be cursed amid the most accursed!
CLAUDE FROLLO.
Tremble, for the scaffold claims you!
You know not what awful schemes This breast of fury has engendered; And h.e.l.l abets me in my dreams.
How I love thee!
Thy hand give, And to-morrow Thou shalt live!
Night benumbed With terror"s breath!
Tears for me, For thee death!
Say, "I love thee!"
Cease thy scorning; Thy last day Is dawning!
Ah! since in vain I supplicate, In vain thy hate I fight, Farewell forever! One day more, Then comes eternal night.
ESMERALDA.
Inhuman priest.
Go! I abhor thee!
His dear blood yet Seems dripping o"er thee, Oh, night of horror, Night of shame!
Enough of tears; Death I claim!
In prison I brave thee, In chains defy!
Be thou accursed Eternally!
Thy pa.s.sion be thy punishment!
To G.o.d my love leads me: The gates of heaven he"ll open, But h.e.l.l shall close o"er thee!
[_A jailer appears. Claude Frollo signs to him to lead out Esmeralda. He exits while they drag forth the gypsy._
SCENE II
_The area before Notre Dame; the front of the church. The sound of bells is heard_
QUASIMODO.
My G.o.d! I love, Except myself, All that"s here-- The air which pa.s.ses, And which chases Away care; And the swallow Who is faithful To the old roof; The chapels high O"ershadowed by The Holy Cross; Every rose That grows; Every sight Of delight!
Sad creature, I-- Uncouth, ill-made!
None envies me!
This is life As it is!
Darkest night, Bluest sky, What matters it?
Every door Leads to G.o.d.
Ign.o.ble scabbard, n.o.ble blade; Fair my soul G.o.d has made.
Ring, bells small and great-- Ring on, ring on!
Mix well your voices, Gruff and sweet!
In the turrets, In the tower, Sing your song!
How they ring!