True，theirs were the only voices he could still hear.For this reason the great bell was his best beloved.She was his chosen one among that family of boisterous sisters who gambolled round him in high-days and holidays.This great bell was called Marie.She was alone in the southern tower with her sister Jacqueline，a bell of smaller calibre，hanging in a cage beside hers.This Jacqueline had been christened after the wife of Jean Montagu，who had given it to the church—a donation which had not prevented him from figuring at Montfaucon without his head.In the northern tower were six other bells，and six smaller ones shared the transept belfry with the wooden bell，which was only rung from the afternoon of Maundy Thursday till the morning of Easter eve.Quasimodo had thus fifteen bells in his seraglio，but big Marie was the favourite.What words shall describe his delight on the days when the full peal was rung？The moment the Archdeacon gave the word，he was up the spiral stair-case of the steeple quicker than any one else would have come down.He entered breathless into the aerial chamber of the great bell，gazed at her for a moment with doting fondness，then spoke softly to her and patted her as you would a good steed before starting on a long journey；sympathizing with her in the heavy task that lay before her.These preliminary caresses over，he called out to his assistants，waiting ready in the lower floor of the tower，to begin.These hung themselves to the ropes，the windlass creaked，and the huge metal dome set itself slowly in motion.Quasimodo，quivering with excitement，followed it with his eye.The first stroke of the clapper against its brazen wall shook the wood-work on which he was standing.Quasimodo vibrated with the bell.'Vah！'he shouted with a burst of insane laughter.Meanwhile the motion of the bell quickened，and in the same measure as it took a wider sweep，so the eye of Quasimodo opened more and more and blazed with a phosphorescent light.
At length the full peal began；the whole lower wood-work and blocks of stone trembled and groaned together from the piles of the foundation to the trefoils on its summit.Quasimodo，foaming at the mouth，ran to and fro，quivering with the tower from head to foot.The bell，now in full and furious swing，presented alternately to each wall of the tower its brazen maw，from which poured forth that tempestuous breath which could be heard four leagues distant.Quasimodo placed himself in front of this gaping throat，crouched down and rose again at each return of the bell，inhaled its furious breath，gazed in turn at the teeming square two hundred feet below and at the enormous brazen tongue which came at measured intervals to bellow in his ear.It was the only speech he understood，the only sound that broke for him the universal silence.He revelled in it like a bird in the sunshine.
Then，at a certain point，the frenzy of the bell would catch him；his expression grew strange and weird；waiting for the bell on its passage as a spider watches for the fly，he would fling himself headlong upon it.Then，suspended over the abyss，borne to and fro by the tremendous rush of the bell，he seized the brazen monster by its ears，pressed it between his two knees，dug his heels into it，and increased by the shock and the whole weight of his body the fury of the peal，till the tower rocked again.Meanwhile Quasimodo，shouting and gnashing his teeth，his red hair bristling，his chest heaving like a blacksmith's bellows，his eye darting flames，his monstrous steed neighing and panting under him—it was no longer the great bell of Notre-Dame or Quasimodo，it was a nightmare，a whirlwind，a tempest；Vertigo astride of Clamour；a spirit clinging to a flying saddle；a strange centaur，half man，half bell；a sort of horrible Astolpho carried off by a prodigious living hippogriff of bronze.