After the morning in the pillory, the neighbors of Notre-Dame thoughtthey noticed that Quasimodo's ardor for ringing had grown cool.Formerly, there had been peals for every occasion, long morningserenades, which lasted from prime to compline; peals from the belfryfor 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 allsorts of charming sounds. The old church, all vibrating and sonorous,was in a perpetual joy of bells. One was constantly conscious of thepresence of a spirit of noise and caprice, who sang through all thosemouths of brass. Now that spirit seemed to have departed; the cathedralseemed gloomy, and gladly remained silent; festivals and funerals hadthe simple peal, dry and bare, demanded by the ritual, nothing more. Ofthe double noise which constitutes a church, the organ within, the bellwithout, the organ alone remained. One would have said that there wasno longer a musician in the belfry. Quasimodo was always there,nevertheless; what, then, had happened to him? Was it that the shame anddespair of the pillory still lingered in the bottom of his heart, thatthe lashes of his tormentor's whip reverberated unendingly in his soul,and that the sadness of such treatment had wholly extinguished in himeven his passion for the bells? or was it that Marie had a rival in theheart of the bellringer of Notre-Dame, and that the great bell and herfourteen sisters were neglected for something more amiable and morebeautiful?
It chanced that, in the year of grace 1482, Annunciation Day fell onTuesday, the twenty-fifth of March. That day the air was so pure andlight that Quasimodo felt some returning affection for his bells. Hetherefore ascended the northern tower while the beadle below was openingwide the doors of the church, which were then enormous panels of stoutwood, covered with leather, bordered with nails of gilded iron, andframed in carvings "very artistically elaborated."
On arriving in the lofty bell chamber, Quasimodo gazed for some timeat the six bells and shook his head sadly, as though groaning over someforeign element which had interposed itself in his heart between themand him. But when he had set them to swinging, when he felt that clusterof bells moving under his hand, when he saw, for he did not hear it, thepalpitating octave ascend and descend that sonorous scale, like a birdhopping from branch to branch; when the demon Music, that demon whoshakes a sparkling bundle of strette, trills and arpeggios, had takenpossession of the poor deaf man, he became happy once more, he forgoteverything, and his heart expanding, made his face beam.
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 ofan orchestra who is urging on intelligent musicians.
"Go on," said he, "go on, go on, Gabrielle, pour out all thy noiseinto the Place, 'tis a festival to-day. No laziness, Thibauld; thou artrelaxing; go on, go on, then, art thou rusted, thou sluggard? That iswell! quick! quick! let not thy clapper be seen! Make them all deaf likeme. That's it, Thibauld, bravely done! Guillaume! Guillaume! thou artthe largest, and Pasquier is the smallest, and Pasquier does best. Letus wager that those who hear him will understand him better than theyunderstand thee. Good! good! my Gabrielle, stoutly, more stoutly! Eli!what are you doing up aloft there, you two Moineaux (sparrows)? I do notsee you making the least little shred of noise. What is the meaning ofthose 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, thechime must be fine also. Poor Guillaume! thou art all out of breath, mybig fellow!"
He was wholly absorbed in spurring on his bells, all six of which viedwith each other in leaping and shaking their shining haunches, likea noisy team of Spanish mules, pricked on here and there by theapostrophes of the muleteer.
All at once, on letting his glance fall between the large slate scaleswhich cover the perpendicular wall of the bell tower at a certainheight, he beheld on the square a young girl, fantastically dressed,stop, spread out on the ground a carpet, on which a small goat tookup its post, and a group of spectators collect around her. This sightsuddenly changed the course of his ideas, and congealed his enthusiasmas a breath of air congeals melted rosin. He halted, turned his back tothe bells, and crouched down behind the projecting roof of slate, fixingupon the dancer that dreamy, sweet, and tender look which had alreadyastonished the archdeacon on one occasion. Meanwhile, the forgottenbells died away abruptly and all together, to the great disappointmentof the lovers of bell ringing, who were listening in good faith to thepeal from above the Pont du Change, and who went away dumbfounded, likea dog who has been offered a bone and given a stone.