The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo [227]
“Three hundred and seventeen pounds five pence and seven farthings!” repeated Louis XI.
The piteous voice which issued from the cage had chilled the blood of all present, even that of Master Olivier himself. The king alone appeared as if he had not heard it. At his command Master Olivier resumed his reading, and his Majesty calmly continued his inspection of the cage.
“Moreover, there has been paid to a mason who made the holes to receive the window-bars, and the floor of the room in which the cage stands, forasmuch as the floor could not have borne this cage by reason of its weight, twenty-seven pounds and fourteen Paris pence—”
The voice again began its moan:—
“Mercy, Sire! I swear that it was my lord Cardinal of Angers, and not I, who plotted the treason.”
“The mason charges well!” said the king. “Go on, Olivier!”
Olivier continued:—
“To a joiner, for window-frames, bedstead, close stool, and other items, twenty pounds two Paris pence—”
The voice continued likewise:—
“Alas! Sire! will you not hear me? I protest that it was not I who wrote that thing to my lord of Guyenne, but his highness Cardinal Balue!”
“The joiner is dear,” observed the king. “Is that all?”
“No, Sire. To a glazier, for the window-panes in said chamber, forty-six pence eight Paris farthings.”
“Have mercy, Sire! Is it not enough that all my worldly goods were given to my judges, my silver plate to M. de Torcy, my books to Master Pierre Doriolle, my tapestries to the Governor of Roussil lon? I am innocent. For fourteen years I have shivered in an iron cage. Have mercy, Sire! You will find your reward in heaven.”
“Master Olivier,” said the king, “what is the sum total?”
“Three hundred and sixty-seven pounds eight pence three Paris farthings.”
“By‘r Lady!” cried the king. “What an extravagant cage!”
He snatched the scroll from Master Olivier’s hands, and began to reckon up the items himself upon his fingers, looking by turns at the paper and the cage. Meantime, the prisoner’s sobs were plainly to be heard. It was a doleful sound in the darkness, and the by-standers paled as they gazed into one another’s faces.
“Fourteen years, Sire! full fourteen years! ever since the month of April, 1469. In the name of the Blessed Mother of God, Sire, hear me! You have enjoyed the warmth of the sun all these years. Shall I, poor wretch, never again behold the light of day? Pity me, Sire! Be merciful. Clemency is a goodly and a royal virtue, which turns aside the stream of wrath. Does your Majesty believe that it will greatly content a king in the hour of his death, to reflect that he has never let any offence go unpunished? Moreover, Sire, I never did betray your Majesty; it was my lord of Angers. And I wear about my leg a very heavy chain, and a great ball of iron at the end of it, far heavier than is reasonable. Ah, Sire, have pity upon me!”
“Olivier,” said the king, shaking his head, “I observe that these fellows charge me twenty pence the hogshead for plaster, which is worth only twelve. Have this account corrected.”
He turned his back on the cage, and prepared to leave the room. The miserable prisoner guessed by the receding torches and noise that the king was departing.
“Sire! Sire!” he cried in tones of despair.
The door closed. He saw nothing more, he heard nothing save the harsh voice of the jailor singing in his ears the song:—
“Master Jean Balue,
Has quite lost view
Of his bishoprics cherished.
My lord of Verdun
Has not a single one;
Every one hath perished.”
The king silently reascended to his retreat, and his train followed him, terrified by the prisoner’s last groans. All at once his Majesty turned to the governor of the Bastille.
“By the way,” said he, “was there not some one in that cage?”
“Zounds, Sire, yes!” replied the governor, lost in amaze at such a question.
“Who, then?”
“The Bishop of Verdun.