Ivory Castanets

chapter v. the key to the red door. in the meantime, public minor had informedthe archdeacon of the miraculous manner in which the gypsy had beensaved. when he learned it, he knew not what his sensations were. he hadreconciled himself to la esmeralda's death. in that matter he was tranquil;he had reached the bottom of personal suffering. the human heart(dora claude had meditated upon these matters) can contain only a certainquantity of despair. when the sponge is saturated, the sea maypass over it without causing a single drop more to enter it.

now, with la esmeralda dead, the sponge wassoaked, all was at an end on this earth for dom claude. but to feel thatshe was alive, and phoebus also, meant that tortures, shocks, alternatives,life, were beginning again. and claude was weary of all this. when he heard this news, he shut himself inhis cell in the cloister. he appeared neither at the meetings of the chapternor at the services. he closed his door against all, even againstthe bishop. he remained thus immured for several weeks. he was believedto be ill. and so he was, in fact.

what did he do while thus shut up? with whatthoughts was the unfortunate man contending? was he givingfinal battle to his formidable passion? was he concocting a final plan ofdeath for her and of perdition for himself? his jehan, his cherished brother, his spoiledchild, came once to his door, knocked, swore, entreated, gave hisname half a score of times. claude did not open. he passed whole days with his face close tothe panes of his window. from that window, situated in the cloister,he could see la esmeralda's

chamber. he often saw herself with her goat,sometimes with quasimodo. he remarked the little attentions of the uglydeaf man, his obedience, his delicate and submissive ways with thegypsy. he recalled, for he had a good memory, and memory is the tormentorof the jealous, he recalled the singular look of the bellringer, benton the dancer upon a certain evening. he asked himself what motive couldhave impelled quasimodo to save her. he was the witness of a thousandlittle scenes between the gypsy and the deaf man, the pantomime of which,viewed from afar and commented on by his passion, appeared verytender to him. he distrusted

the capriciousness of women. then he felta jealousy which he could never have believed possible awakening withinhim, a jealousy which made him redden with shame and indignation: "onemight condone the captain, but this one!" this thought upset him. his nights were frightful. as soon as he learnedthat the gypsy was alive, the cold ideas of spectre and tombwhich had persecuted him for a whole day vanished, and the flesh returnedto goad him. he turned and twisted on his couch at the thought that thedark-skinned maiden was so near him.

every night his delirious imagination representedla esmeralda to him in all the attitudes which had caused his bloodto boil most. he beheld her outstretched upon the poniarded captain, hereyes closed, her beautiful bare throat covered with phoebus's blood,at that moment of bliss when the archdeacon had imprinted on her pale lipsthat kiss whose burn the unhappy girl, though half dead, had felt.he beheld her, again, stripped by the savage hands of the torturers, allowingthem to bare and to enclose in the boot with its iron screw, hertiny foot, her delicate rounded leg, her white and supple knee. againhe beheld that ivory knee

which alone remained outside of torterue'shorrible apparatus. lastly, he pictured the young girl in her shift, withthe rope about her neck, shoulders bare, feet bare, almost nude, ashe had seen her on that last day. these images of voluptuousness made himclench his fists, and a shiver run along his spine. one night, among others, they heated so cruellyhis virgin and priestly blood, that he bit his pillow, leaped fromhis bed, flung on a surplice over his shirt, and left his cell, lamp inhand, half naked, wild, his eyes aflame.

he knew where to find the key to the red door,which connected the cloister with the church, and he always hadabout him, as the reader knows, the key of the staircase leading tothe towers. end of book 9, chapter vbook 9, chapter vi of the hunchback of notre dame by victor hugothis librivox recording is in the public domain. book 9, chapter vi.continuation of the key to the red door that night, la esmeralda had fallen asleepin her cell, full of oblivion, of hope, and of sweet thoughts. she had already been asleepfor some time, dreaming as always, of phoebus, when it seemed to her that she heard a noisenear her. she slept lightly and uneasily,

the sleep of a bird; a mere nothing wakedher. she opened her eyes. the night was very dark. nevertheless, she saw a figure gazingat her through the window; a lamp lighted up this apparition. the moment that the figuresaw that la esmeralda had perceived it, it blew out the lamp. but the young girl hadhad time to catch a glimpse of it; her eyes closed again with terror. "oh!" she said in a faint voice, "the priest!" all her past unhappiness came back to herlike a flash of lightning. she fell back on her bed, chilled. a moment later she felt a touch along herbody which made her shudder so that she straightened

herself up in a sitting posture, wide awakeand furious. the priest had just slipped in beside her.he encircled her with both arms. she tried to scream and could not. "begone, monster! begone assassin!" she said,in a voice which was low and trembling with wrath and terror. "mercy! mercy!" murmured the priest, pressinghis lips to her shoulder. she seized his bald head by its remnant ofhair and tried to thrust aside his kisses as though they had been bites. "mercy!" repeated the unfortunate man. "ifyou but knew what my love for you is! 'tis

fire, melted lead, a thousand daggers in myheart." she stopped his two arms with superhuman force. "let me go," she said, "or i will spit inyour face!" he released her. "vilify me, strike me, bemalicious! do what you will! but have mercy! love me!" then she struck him with the fury of a child.she made her beautiful hands stiff to bruise his face. "begone, demon!" "love me! love mepity!" cried the poor priestreturning her blows with caresses. all at once she felt him stronger than herself.

"there must be an end to this!" he said, gnashinghis teeth. she was conquered, palpitating in his arms,and in his power. she felt a wanton hand straying over her. she made a last effort, and beganto cry: "help! help! a vampire! a vampire!" nothing came. djali alone was awake and bleatingwith anguish. "hush!" said the panting priest. all at once, as she struggled and crawledon the floor, the gypsy's hand came in contact with something cold and metal- lic-it wasquasimodo's whistle. she seized it with a convulsive hope, raised it to her lips andblew with all the strength that she had left. the whistle gave a clear, piercing sound.

"what is that?" said the priest. almost at the same instant he felt himselfraised by a vigorous arm. the cell was dark; he could not distinguish clearly who it wasthat held him thus; but he heard teeth chattering with rage, and there was just sufficient lightscattered among the gloom to allow him to see above his head the blade of a large knife. the priest fancied that he perceived the formof quasimodo. he assumed that it could be no one but he. he remembered to have stumbled,as he entered, over a bundle which was stretched across the door on the outside. but, as thenewcomer did not utter a word, he knew not what to think. he flung himself on the armwhich held the knife, crying: "quasimodo!"

he forgot, at that moment of distress, thatquasimodo was deaf. in a twinkling, the priest was overthrownand a leaden knee rested on his breast. from the angular imprint of that knee he recognizedquasimodo; but what was to be done? how could he make the other recognize him? the darknessrendered the deaf man blind. he was lost. the young girl, pitiless as anenraged tigress, did not intervene to save him. the knife was approaching his head; themoment was critical. all at once, his adversary seemed stricken with hesitation. "no blood on her!" he said in a dull voice. it was, in fact, quasimodo's voice.

then the priest felt a large hand dragginghim feet first out of the cell; it was there that he was to die. fortunately for him, themoon had risen a few moments before. when they had passed through the door of thecell, its pale rays fell upon the priest's countenance. quasimodo looked him full inthe face, a trembling seized him, and he released the priest and shrank back. the gypsy, who had advanced to the thresholdof her cell, beheld with surprise their roles abruptly changed. it was now the priest whomenaced, quasimodo who was the suppliant. the priest, who was overwhelming the deafman with gestures of wrath and reproach, made the latter a violent sign to retire.

the deaf man dropped his head, then he cameand knelt at the gypsy's door,--"monseigneur," he said, in a grave and resigned voice, "youshall do all that you please afterwards, but kill me first." so saying, he presented his knife to the priest.the priest, beside himself, was about to seize it. but the young girl was quicker than be;she wrenched the knife from quasimodo's hands and burst into a frantic laugh,--"approach,"she said to the priest. she held the blade high. the priest remainedundecided. she would certainly have struck him. then she added with a pitiless expression,well aware that she was about to pierce the

priest's heart with thousands of red-hot irons,-- "ah! i know that phoebus is not dead! the priest overturned quasimodo on the floorwith a kick, and, quivering with rage, darted back under the vault of the staircase. when he was gone, quasimodo picked up thewhistle which had just saved the gypsy. "it was getting rusty," he said, as he handedit back to her; then he left her alone. the young girl, deeply agitated by this violentscene, fell back exhausted on her bed, and began to sob and weep. her horizon was becominggloomy once more. the priest had groped his way back to hiscell.

it was settled. dom claude was jealous ofquasimodo! he repeated with a thoughtful air his fatalwords: "no one shall have her." chapter vibook tenth. chapter i. gringoire has many good ideas insuccession.--rue des bernardins. as soon as pierre gringoire had seen how thiswhole affair was turning, and that there would decidedly bethe rope, hanging, and other disagreeable things for the principal personagesin this comedy, he had not cared to identify himself with the matterfurther. the outcasts

with whom he had remained, reflecting that,after all, it was the best company in paris,--the outcasts had continuedto interest themselves in behalf of the gypsy. he had thought it verysimple on the part of people who had, like herself, nothing elsein prospect but charmolue and torterue, and who, unlike himself, did notgallop through the regions of imagination between the wings of pegasus.from their remarks, he had learned that his wife of the broken crockhad taken refuge in notre-dame, and he was very glad of it. buthe felt no temptation to go and see her there. he meditated occasionallyon the little goat, and

that was all. moreover, he was busy executingfeats of strength during the day for his living, and at night he wasengaged in composing a memorial against the bishop of paris, forhe remembered having been drenched by the wheels of his mills, and hecherished a grudge against him for it. he also occupied himself withannotating the fine work of baudry-le-rouge, bishop of noyon and tournay,_de cupa petrarum_, which had given him a violent passion for architecture,an inclination which had replaced in his heart his passion forhermeticism, of which it was, moreover, only a natural corollary, sincethere is an intimate relation

between hermeticism and masonry. gringoirehad passed from the love of an idea to the love of the form of that idea. one day he had halted near saint germain-l'auxerrois,at the corner of a mansion called "for-l'evãªque" (the bishop'stribunal), which stood opposite another called "for-le-roi" (theking's tribunal). at this for-l'evãªque, there was a charming chapelof the fourteenth century, whose apse was on the street. gringoire wasdevoutly examining its exterior sculptures. he was in one of thosemoments of egotistical, exclusive, supreme, enjoyment when the artistbeholds nothing in the

world but art, and the world in art. all atonce he feels a hand laid gravely on his shoulder. he turns round. itwas his old friend, his former master, monsieur the archdeacon. he was stupefied. it was a long time sincehe had seen the archdeacon, and dom claude was one of those solemn andimpassioned men, a meeting with whom always upsets the equilibrium ofa sceptical philosopher. the archdeacon maintained silence for severalminutes, during which gringoire had time to observe him. he founddom claude greatly changed; pale as a winter's morning, with hollow eyes,and hair almost white. the

priest broke the silence at length, by saying,in a tranquil but glacial tone,-- "how do you do, master pierre?" "my health?" replied gringoire. "eh! eh! onecan say both one thing and another on that score. still, it is good,on the whole. i take not too much of anything. you know, master, that thesecret of keeping well, according to hippocrates; _id est: cibi, potus,somni, venus, omnia moderata sint_." "so you have no care, master pierre?" resumedthe archdeacon, gazing

intently at gringoire. "none, i' faith!" "and what are you doing now?" "you see, master. i am examining the chisellingof these stones, and the manner in which yonder bas-relief is thrownout." the priest began to smile with that bittersmile which raises only one corner of the mouth. "and that amuses you?" "'tis paradise!" exclaimed gringoire. andleaning over the sculptures

with the fascinated air of a demonstratorof living phenomena: "do you not think, for instance, that yon metamorphosisin bas-relief is executed with much adroitness, delicacy andpatience? observe that slender column. around what capital have youseen foliage more tender and better caressed by the chisel. here arethree raised bosses of jean maillevin. they are not the finest worksof this great master. nevertheless, the naivete, the sweetness ofthe faces, the gayety of the attitudes and draperies, and that inexplicablecharm which is mingled with all the defects, render the little figuresvery diverting and

delicate, perchance, even too much so. youthink that it is not diverting?" "yes, certainly!" said the priest. "and if you were to see the interior of thechapel!" resumed the poet, with his garrulous enthusiasm. "carvings everywhere.'tis as thickly clustered as the head of a cabbage! the apseis of a very devout, and so peculiar a fashion that i have never beheldanything like it elsewhere!" dom claude interrupted him,-- "you are happy, then?"

gringoire replied warmly;-- "on my honor, yes! first i loved women, thenanimals. now i love stones. they are quite as amusing as women and animals,and less treacherous." the priest laid his hand on his brow. it washis habitual gesture. "really?" "stay!" said gringoire, "one has one's pleasures!"he took the arm of the priest, who let him have his way, andmade him enter the staircase turret of for-l'evãªque. "here is a staircase!every time that i see it i am happy. it is of the simplest and rarestmanner of steps in paris. all

the steps are bevelled underneath. its beautyand simplicity consist in the interspacing of both, being a footor more wide, which are interlaced, interlocked, fitted together,enchained enchased, interlined one upon another, and bite into each otherin a manner that is truly firm and graceful." "and you desire nothing?" "no." "and you regret nothing?" "neither regret nor desire. i have arrangedmy mode of life."

"what men arrange," said claude, "things disarrange." "i am a pyrrhonian philosopher," replied gringoire,"and i hold all things in equilibrium." "and how do you earn your living?" "i still make epics and tragedies now andthen; but that which brings me in most is the industry with which you areacquainted, master; carrying pyramids of chairs in my teeth." "the trade is but a rough one for a philosopher." "'tis still equilibrium," said gringoire."when one has an idea, one

encounters it in everything." "i know that," replied the archdeacon. after a silence, the priest resumed,-- "you are, nevertheless, tolerably poor?" "poor, yes; unhappy, no." at that moment, a trampling of horses washeard, and our two interlocutors beheld defiling at the end ofthe street, a company of the king's unattached archers, their lances bornehigh, an officer at their head. the cavalcade was brilliant, andits march resounded on the

pavement. "how you gaze at that officer!" said gringoire,to the archdeacon. "because i think i recognize him." "what do you call him?" "i think," said claude, "that his name isphoebus de chã¢teaupers." "phoebus! a curious name! there is also aphoebus, comte de foix. i remember having known a wench who swore onlyby the name of phoebus." "come away from here," said the priest. "ihave something to say to you."

from the moment of that troop's passing, someagitation had pierced through the archdeacon's glacial envelope.he walked on. gringoire followed him, being accustomed to obey him,like all who had once approached that man so full of ascendency.they reached in silence the rue des bernardins, which was nearly deserted.here dom claude paused. "what have you to say to me, master?" gringoireasked him. "do you not think that the dress of thosecavaliers whom we have just seen is far handsomer than yours and mine?" gringoire tossed his head.

"i' faith! i love better my red and yellowjerkin, than those scales of iron and steel. a fine pleasure to produce,when you walk, the same noise as the quay of old iron, in an earthquake!" "so, gringoire, you have never cherished envyfor those handsome fellows in their military doublets?" "envy for what, monsieur the archdeacon? theirstrength, their armor, their discipline? better philosophy and independencein rags. i prefer to be the head of a fly rather than the tailof a lion." "that is singular," said the priest dreamily."yet a handsome uniform is

a beautiful thing." gringoire, perceiving that he was in a pensivemood, quitted him to go and admire the porch of a neighboring house.he came back clapping his hands. "if you were less engrossed with the fineclothes of men of war, monsieur the archdeacon, i would entreat youto come and see this door. i have always said that the house of the sieuraubry had the most superb entrance in the world." "pierre gringoire," said the archdeacon, "whathave you done with that

little gypsy dancer?" "la esmeralda? you change the conversationvery abruptly." "was she not your wife?" "yes, by virtue of a broken crock. we wereto have four years of it. by the way," added gringoire, looking at thearchdeacon in a half bantering way, "are you still thinking of her?" "and you think of her no longer?" "very little. i have so many things. goodheavens, how pretty that little goat was!"

"had she not saved your life?" "'tis true, pardieu!" "well, what has become of her? what have youdone with her?" "i cannot tell you. i believe that they havehanged her." "you believe so?" "i am not sure. when i saw that they wantedto hang people, i retired from the game." "that is all you know of it?" "wait a bit. i was told that she had takenrefuge in notre-dame, and

that she was safe there, and i am delightedto hear it, and i have not been able to discover whether the goat wassaved with her, and that is all i know." "i will tell you more," cried dom claude;and his voice, hitherto low, slow, and almost indistinct, turned to thunder."she has in fact, taken refuge in notre-dame. but in three days justicewill reclaim her, and she will be hanged on the grã¨ve. there isa decree of parliament." "that's annoying," said gringoire. the priest, in an instant, became cold andcalm again.

"and who the devil," resumed the poet, "hasamused himself with soliciting a decree of reintegration? whycouldn't they leave parliament in peace? what harm does it do if a poor girltakes shelter under the flying buttresses of notre-dame, beside theswallows' nests?" "there are satans in this world," remarkedthe archdeacon. "'tis devilish badly done," observed gringoire. the archdeacon resumed after a silence,-- "so, she saved your life?" "among my good friends the outcasts. a littlemore or a little less and

i should have been hanged. they would havebeen sorry for it to-day." "would not you like to do something for her?" "i ask nothing better, dom claude; but whatif i entangle myself in some villanous affair?" "what matters it?" "bah! what matters it? you are good, master,that you are! i have two great works already begun." the priest smote his brow. in spite of thecalm which he affected, a violent gesture betrayed his internal convulsionsfrom time to time.

"how is she to be saved?" gringoire said to him; "master, i will replyto you; _il padelt_, which means in turkish, 'god is our hope.'" "how is she to be saved?" repeated claudedreamily. gringoire smote his brow in his turn. "listen, master. i have imagination; i willdevise expedients for you. what if one were to ask her pardon from theking?" "of louis xi.! a pardon!" "why not?"

"to take the tiger's bone from him!" gringoire began to seek fresh expedients. "well, stay! shall i address to the midwivesa request accompanied by the declaration that the girl is with child!" this made the priest's hollow eye flash. "with child! knave! do you know anything ofthis?" gringoire was alarmed by his air. he hastenedto say, "oh, no, not i! our marriage was a real _forismaritagium_.i stayed outside. but one might obtain a respite, all the same."

"madness! infamy! hold your tongue!" "you do wrong to get angry," muttered gringoire."one obtains a respite; that does no harm to any one, and allows themidwives, who are poor women, to earn forty deniers parisis." the priest was not listening to him! "but she must leave that place, nevertheless!"he murmured, "the decree is to be executed within three days. moreover,there will be no decree; that quasimodo! women have very depraved tastes!"he raised his voice: "master pierre, i have reflected well; thereis but one means of safety

for her." "what? i see none myself." "listen, master pierre, remember that youowe your life to her. i will tell you my idea frankly. the church is watchednight and day; only those are allowed to come out, who have beenseen to enter. hence you can enter. you will come. i will leadyou to her. you will change clothes with her. she will take your doublet;you will take her petticoat." "so far, it goes well," remarked the philosopher,"and then?"

"and then? she will go forth in your garments;you will remain with hers. you will be hanged, perhaps, but shewill be saved." gringoire scratched his ear, with a very seriousair. "stay!" said he, "that is an idea which would never have occurredto me unaided." at dom claude's proposition, the open andbenign face of the poet had abruptly clouded over, like a smiling italianlandscape, when an unlucky squall comes up and dashes a cloud acrossthe sun. "well! gringoire, what say you to the means?" "i say, master, that i shall not be hanged,perchance, but that i shall

be hanged indubitably. "that concerns us not." "the deuce!" said gringoire. "she has saved your life. 'tis a debt thatyou are discharging." "there are a great many others which i donot discharge." "master pierre, it is absolutely necessary." the archdeacon spoke imperiously. "listen, dom claude," replied the poet inutter consternation. "you cling to that idea, and you are wrong. i do notsee why i should get myself

hanged in some one else's place." "what have you, then, which attaches you sostrongly to life?" "oh! a thousand reasons!" "what reasons, if you please?" "what? the air, the sky, the morning, theevening, the moonlight, my good friends the thieves, our jeers with theold hags of go-betweens, the fine architecture of paris to study, threegreat books to make, one of them being against the bishops and hismills; and how can i tell all? anaxagoras said that he was in the world toadmire the sun. and then,

from morning till night, i have the happinessof passing all my days with a man of genius, who is myself, whichis very agreeable." "a head fit for a mule bell!" muttered thearchdeacon. "oh! tell me who preserved for you that life which you renderso charming to yourself? to whom do you owe it that you breathe that air,behold that sky, and can still amuse your lark's mind with your whimsicalnonsense and madness? where would you be, had it not been for her?do you then desire that she through whom you are alive, should die?that she should die, that beautiful, sweet, adorable creature, who isnecessary to the light of

the world and more divine than god, whileyou, half wise, and half fool, a vain sketch of something, a sort of vegetable,which thinks that it walks, and thinks that it thinks, you willcontinue to live with the life which you have stolen from her, as uselessas a candle in broad daylight? come, have a little pity, gringoire;be generous in your turn; it was she who set the example." the priest was vehement. gringoire listenedto him at first with an undecided air, then he became touched, andwound up with a grimace which made his pallid face resemble that of a new-borninfant with an attack

of the colic. "you are pathetic!" said he, wiping away atear. "well! i will think about it. that's a queer idea of yours.--afterall," he continued after a pause, "who knows? perhaps they will nothang me. he who becomes betrothed does not always marry. when theyfind me in that little lodging so grotesquely muffled in petticoatand coif, perchance they will burst with laughter. and then, if theydo hang me,--well! the halter is as good a death as any. 'tis a deathworthy of a sage who has wavered all his life; a death which is neitherflesh nor fish, like the

mind of a veritable sceptic; a death all stampedwith pyrrhonism and hesitation, which holds the middle stationbetwixt heaven and earth, which leaves you in suspense. 'tis a philosopher'sdeath, and i was destined thereto, perchance. it is magnificentto die as one has lived." the priest interrupted him: "is it agreed." "what is death, after all?" pursued gringoirewith exaltation. "a disagreeable moment, a toll-gate, the passageof little to nothingness. some one having asked cercidas, the megalopolitan,if he were willing to die: 'why not?' he replied; 'for after mydeath i shall see those great

men, pythagoras among the philosophers, hecataeusamong historians, homer among poets, olympus among musicians.'" the archdeacon gave him his hand: "it is settled,then? you will come to-morrow?" this gesture recalled gringoire to reality. "ah! i' faith no!" he said in the tone ofa man just waking up. "be hanged! 'tis too absurd. i will not." "farewell, then!" and the archdeacon addedbetween his teeth: "i'll find you again!"

"i do not want that devil of a man to findme," thought gringoire; and he ran after dom claude. "stay, monsieur thearchdeacon, no ill-feeling between old friends! you take an interestin that girl, my wife, i mean, and 'tis well. you have devised a scheme toget her out of notre-dame, but your way is extremely disagreeable tome, gringoire. if i had only another one myself! i beg to say that a luminousinspiration has just occurred to me. if i possessed an expedientfor extricating her from a dilemma, without compromising my own neckto the extent of a single running knot, what would you say to it? willnot that suffice you? is it

absolutely necessary that i should be hanged,in order that you may be content?" the priest tore out the buttons of his cassockwith impatience: "stream of words! what is your plan?" "yes," resumed gringoire, talking to himselfand touching his nose with his forefinger in sign of meditation,--"that'sit!--the thieves are brave fellows!--the tribe of egypt love her!--theywill rise at the first word!--nothing easier!--a sudden stroke.--undercover of the disorder, they will easily carry her off!--beginningto-morrow evening.

they will ask nothing better. "the plan! speak," cried the archdeacon shakinghim. gringoire turned majestically towards him:"leave me! you see that i am composing." he meditated for a few momentsmore, then began to clap his hands over his thought, crying: "admirable!success is sure!" "the plan!" repeated claude in wrath. gringoire was radiant. "come, that i may tell you that very softly.'tis a truly gallant counter-plot, which will extricate us allfrom the matter. pardieu, it

must be admitted that i am no fool." he broke off. "oh, by the way! is the little goat with thewench?" "yes. the devil take you!" "they would have hanged it also, would theynot?" "what is that to me?" "yes, they would have hanged it. they hangeda sow last month. the headsman loveth that; he eats the beast afterwards.take my pretty djali! poor little lamb!"

"malediction!" exclaimed dom claude. "youare the executioner. what means of safety have you found, knave? mustyour idea be extracted with the forceps?" "very fine, master, this is it." gringoire bent his head to the archdeacon'shead and spoke to him in a very low voice, casting an uneasy glance thewhile from one end to the other of the street, though no one was passing.when he had finished, dom claude took his hand and said coldly:"'tis well. farewell until to-morrow."

"until to-morrow," repeated gringoire. and,while the archdeacon was disappearing in one direction, he set offin the other, saying to himself in a low voice: "here's a grand affair,monsieur pierre gringoire. never mind! 'tis not written thatbecause one is of small account one should take fright at a greatenterprise. bitou carried a great bull on his shoulders; the water-wagtails,the warblers, and the buntings traverse the ocean." chapter ii. turn vagabond. on re-entering the cloister, the archdeaconfound at the door of his

cell his brother jehan du moulin, who waswaiting for him, and who had beguiled the tedium of waiting by drawingon the wall with a bit of charcoal, a profile of his elder brother,enriched with a monstrous nose. dom claude hardly looked at his brother; histhoughts were elsewhere. that merry scamp's face whose beaming hadso often restored serenity to the priest's sombre physiognomy, was nowpowerless to melt the gloom which grew more dense every day over thatcorrupted, mephitic, and stagnant soul.

"brother," said jehan timidly, "i am cometo see you." the archdeacon did not even raise his eyes. "what then?" "brother," resumed the hypocrite, "you areso good to me, and you give me such wise counsels that i always returnto you." "what next?" "alas! brother, you were perfectly right whenyou said to me,--"jehan! jehan! _cessat doctorum doctrina, discipulorumdisciplina_. jehan, be wise, jehan, be learned, jehan, pass notthe night outside of the

college without lawful occasion and due leaveof the master. cudgel not the picards: _noli, joannes, verberarepicardos_. rot not like an unlettered ass, _quasi asinus illitteratus_,on the straw seats of the school. jehan, allow yourself to be punishedat the discretion of the master. jehan go every evening to chapel,and sing there an anthem with verse and orison to madame the gloriousvirgin mary."--alas! what excellent advice was that!" "and then?" "brother, you behold a culprit, a criminal,a wretch, a libertine, a man

of enormities! my dear brother, jehan hathmade of your counsels straw and dung to trample under foot. i have beenwell chastised for it, and god is extraordinarily just. as long as ihad money, i feasted, i lead a mad and joyous life. oh! how ugly and crabbedbehind is debauch which is so charming in front! now i have no longera blank; i have sold my napery, my shirt and my towels; no more merrylife! the beautiful candle is extinguished and i have henceforth, onlya wretched tallow dip which smokes in my nose. the wenches jeerat me. i drink water.--i am overwhelmed with remorse and with creditors.

"the rest?" said the archdeacon. "alas! my very dear brother, i should liketo settle down to a better life. i come to you full of contrition, iam penitent. i make my confession. i beat my breast violently. youare quite right in wishing that i should some day become a licentiateand sub-monitor in the college of torchi. at the present moment ifeel a magnificent vocation for that profession. but i have no more inkand i must buy some; i have no more paper, i have no more books,and i must buy some. for this purpose, i am greatly in need of a littlemoney, and i come to you,

brother, with my heart full of contrition." "is that all?" "yes," said the scholar. "a little money." "i have none." then the scholar said, with an air which wasboth grave and resolute: "well, brother, i am sorry to be obliged totell you that very fine offers and propositions are being made tome in another quarter. you will not give me any money? no. in thatcase i shall become a professional vagabond."

as he uttered these monstrous words, he assumedthe mien of ajax, expecting to see the lightnings descend uponhis head. the archdeacon said coldly to him,--"becomea vagabond." jehan made him a deep bow, and descended thecloister stairs, whistling. at the moment when he was passing throughthe courtyard of the cloister, beneath his brother's window, he heard thatwindow open, raised his eyes and beheld the archdeacon's severe head emerge. "go to the devil!" said dom claude; "hereis the last money which you will get from me?"

at the same time, the priest flung jehan apurse, which gave the scholar a big bump on the forehead, and with whichjehan retreated, both vexed and content, like a dog who had been stonedwith marrow bones. chapter iii. long live mirth. the reader has probably not forgotten thata part of the cour de miracles was enclosed by the ancient wallwhich surrounded the city, a goodly number of whose towers had begun, evenat that epoch, to fall to ruin. one of these towers had been convertedinto a pleasure resort by the vagabonds. there was a drain-shop in theunderground story, and the

rest in the upper stories. this was the mostlively, and consequently the most hideous, point of the whole outcastden. it was a sort of monstrous hive, which buzzed there night andday. at night, when the remainder of the beggar horde slept, whenthere was no longer a window lighted in the dingy faã§ades of the place,when not a cry was any longer to be heard proceeding from those innumerablefamilies, those ant-hills of thieves, of wenches, and stolen or bastardchildren, the merry tower was still recognizable by the noise whichit made, by the scarlet light which, flashing simultaneously from the air-holes,the windows, the

fissures in the cracked walls, escaped, soto speak, from its every pore. the cellar then, was the dram-shop. the descentto it was through a low door and by a staircase as steep as aclassic alexandrine. over the door, by way of a sign there hung a marvellousdaub, representing new sons and dead chickens,* with this, pun below:_aux sonneurs pour les trã©passã©s_,--the wringers for the dead. * _sols neufs: poulets tuã©s_. one evening when the curfew was sounding fromall the belfries in paris,

the sergeants of the watch might have observed,had it been granted to them to enter the formidable court of miracles,that more tumult than usual was in progress in the vagabonds' tavern,that more drinking was being done, and louder swearing. outside inthe place, there, were many groups conversing in low tones, as when somegreat plan is being framed, and here and there a knave crouching downengaged in sharpening a villanous iron blade on a paving-stone. meanwhile, in the tavern itself, wine andgaming offered such a powerful diversion to the ideas which occupied thevagabonds' lair that evening,

that it would have been difficult to divinefrom the remarks of the drinkers, what was the matter in hand. theymerely wore a gayer air than was their wont, and some weapon could be seenglittering between the legs of each of them,--a sickle, an axe, abig two-edged sword or the hook of an old hackbut. the room, circular in form, was very spacious;but the tables were so thickly set and the drinkers so numerous,that all that the tavern contained, men, women, benches, beer-jugs,all that were drinking, all that were sleeping, all that were playing,the well, the lame, seemed

piled up pell-mell, with as much order andharmony as a heap of oyster shells. there were a few tallow dips lightedon the tables; but the real luminary of this tavern, that which playedthe part in this dram-shop of the chandelier of an opera house, was thefire. this cellar was so damp that the fire was never allowed to go out,even in midsummer; an immense chimney with a sculptured mantel, all bristlingwith heavy iron andirons and cooking utensils, with one of those hugefires of mixed wood and peat which at night, in village streets makethe reflection of forge windows stand out so red on the opposite walls.a big dog gravely seated

in the ashes was turning a spit loaded withmeat before the coals. great as was the confusion, after the firstglance one could distinguish in that multitude, three principal groupswhich thronged around three personages already known to the reader. oneof these personages, fantastically accoutred in many an orientalrag, was mathias hungadi spicali, duke of egypt and bohemia. the knavewas seated on a table with his legs crossed, and in a loud voice wasbestowing his knowledge of magic, both black and white, on many a gapingface which surrounded him. another rabble pressed close around our oldfriend, the valiant king of

thunes, armed to the teeth. clopin trouillefou,with a very serious air and in a low voice, was regulating the distributionof an enormous cask of arms, which stood wide open in front ofhim and from whence poured out in profusion, axes, swords, bassinets,coats of mail, broadswords, lance-heads, arrows, and viretons,* like applesand grapes from a horn of plenty. every one took something from thecask, one a morion, another a long, straight sword, another a dagger witha cross--shaped hilt. the very children were arming themselves, andthere were even cripples in bowls who, in armor and cuirass, made theirway between the legs of the

drinkers, like great beetles. * an arrow with a pyramidal head of iron andcopper spiral wings, by which a rotatory motion was communicated. finally, a third audience, the most noisy,the most jovial, and the most numerous, encumbered benches and tables, inthe midst of which harangued and swore a flute-like voice, which escapedfrom beneath a heavy armor, complete from casque to spurs. the individualwho had thus screwed a whole outfit upon his body, was so hiddenby his warlike accoutrements that nothing was to be seen of his personsave an impertinent, red,

snub nose, a rosy mouth, and bold eyes. hisbelt was full of daggers and poniards, a huge sword on his hip, a rustedcross-bow at his left, and a vast jug of wine in front of him, withoutreckoning on his right, a fat wench with her bosom uncovered. all mouthsaround him were laughing, cursing, and drinking. add twenty secondary groups, the waiters,male and female, running with jugs on their heads, gamblers squatting overtaws, merelles,* dice, vachettes, the ardent game of tringlet, quarrelsin one corner, kisses in another, and the reader will have someidea of this whole picture,

over which flickered the light of a great,flaming fire, which made a thousand huge and grotesque shadows danceover the walls of the drinking shop. * a game played on a checker-board containingthree concentric sets of squares, with small stones. the gameconsisted in getting three stones in a row. as for the noise, it was like the inside ofa bell at full peal. the dripping-pan, where crackled a rain ofgrease, filled with its continual sputtering the intervals of thesethousand dialogues, which

intermingled from one end of the apartmentto the other. in the midst of this uproar, at the extremityof the tavern, on the bench inside the chimney, sat a philosophermeditating with his feet in the ashes and his eyes on the brands. it waspierre gringoire. "be quick! make haste, arm yourselves! weset out on the march in an hour!" said clopin trouillefou to his thieves. a wench was humming,-- "_bonsoir mon pã¨re et ma mere,les derniers couvrent le feu_."* * good night, father and mother, the lastcover up the fire.

two card players were disputing,-- "knave!" cried the reddest faced of the two,shaking his fist at the other; "i'll mark you with the club. you cantake the place of mistigri in the pack of cards of monseigneur the king." "ugh!" roared a norman, recognizable by hisnasal accent; "we are packed in here like the saints of caillouville!" "my sons," the duke of egypt was saying tohis audience, in a falsetto voice, "sorceresses in france go to the witches'sabbath without broomsticks, or grease, or steed, merely bymeans of some magic words.

the witches of italy always have a buck waitingfor them at their door. all are bound to go out through the chimney." the voice of the young scamp armed from headto foot, dominated the uproar. "hurrah! hurrah!" he was shouting. "my firstday in armor! outcast! i am an outcast. give me something to drink.my friends, my name is jehan frollo du moulin, and i am a gentleman. myopinion is that if god were a _gendarme_, he would turn robber. brothers,we are about to set out on a fine expedition. lay siege to the church,burst in the doors, drag out

the beautiful girl, save her from the judges,save her from the priests, dismantle the cloister, burn the bishop inhis palace--all this we will do in less time than it takes for a burgomasterto eat a spoonful of soup. our cause is just, we will plunder notre-dameand that will be the end of it. we will hang quasimodo. do youknow quasimodo, ladies? have you seen him make himself breathlesson the big bell on a grand pentecost festival! _corne du pã¨re_! 'tisvery fine! one would say he was a devil mounted on a man. listen to me,my friends; i am a vagabond to the bottom of my heart, i am a member ofthe slang thief gang in

my soul, i was born an independent thief.i have been rich, and i have devoured all my property. my mother wantedto make an officer of me; my father, a sub-deacon; my aunt, a councillorof inquests; my grandmother, prothonotary to the king; my great aunt, atreasurer of the short robe,--and i have made myself an outcast.i said this to my father, who spit his curse in my face; to my mother,who set to weeping and chattering, poor old lady, like yonder fagoton the and-irons. long live mirth! i am a real bicãªtre. waitress, mydear, more wine. i have still the wherewithal to pay. i want no more surã¨newine. it distresses my

throat. i'd as lief, _corboeuf_! gargle mythroat with a basket." meanwhile, the rabble applauded with shoutsof laughter; and seeing that the tumult was increasing around him, thescholar cried,--. "oh! what a fine noise! _populi debacchantispopulosa debacchatio_!" then he began to sing, his eye swimming inecstasy, in the tone of a canon intoning vespers, _qu㦠cantica! quã¦organa! qu㦠cantilenoe! qu㦠meloclioe hic sine fine decantantur!sonant melliflua hymnorum organa, suavissima angelorum melodia, canticacanticorum mira_! he broke off: "tavern-keeper of the devil, give mesome supper!"

there was a moment of partial silence, duringwhich the sharp voice of the duke of egypt rose, as he gave instructionsto his bohemians. "the weasel is called adrune; the fox, blue-foot,or the racer of the woods; the wolf, gray-foot, or gold-foot;the bear the old man, or grandfather. the cap of a gnome confers invisibility,and causes one to behold invisible things. every toad that isbaptized must be clad in red or black velvet, a bell on its neck, a bellon its feet. the godfather holds its head, the godmother its hinder parts.'tis the demon sidragasum who hath the power to make wenchesdance stark naked."

"by the mass!" interrupted jehan, "i shouldlike to be the demon sidragasum." meanwhile, the vagabonds continued to armthemselves and whisper at the other end of the dram-shop. "that poor esmeralda!" said a bohemian. "sheis our sister. she must be taken away from there." "is she still at notre-dame?" went on a merchantwith the appearance of a jew. "yes, pardieu!"

"well! comrades!" exclaimed the merchant,"to notre-dame! so much the better, since there are in the chapel of saintsfã©rã©ol and ferrution two statues, the one of john the baptist,the other of saint-antoine, of solid gold, weighing together seven marksof gold and fifteen estellins; and the pedestals are of silver-gilt, of seventeenmarks, five ounces. i know that; i am a goldsmith." here they served jehan with his supper. ashe threw himself back on the bosom of the wench beside him, he exclaimed,-- "by saint voult-de-lucques, whom people callsaint goguelu, i am

perfectly happy. i have before me a fool whogazes at me with the smooth face of an archduke. here is one on my leftwhose teeth are so long that they hide his chin. and then, i am like themarshal de giã© at the siege of pontoise, i have my right resting on ahillock. _ventre-mahom_! comrade! you have the air of a merchant oftennis-balls; and you come and sit yourself beside me! i am a nobleman,my friend! trade is incompatible with nobility. get out of that!hola hã©! you others, don't fight! what, baptiste croque-oison, you whohave such a fine nose are going to risk it against the big fists ofthat lout! fool! _non cuiquam

datum est habere nasum_--not every one isfavored with a nose. you are really divine, jacqueline ronge-oreille! 'tisa pity that you have no hair! holã ! my name is jehan frollo, andmy brother is an archdeacon. may the devil fly off with him! all that itell you is the truth. in turning vagabond, i have gladly renouncedthe half of a house situated in paradise, which my brother had promisedme. _dimidiam domum in paradiso_. i quote the text. i have a fiefin the rue tirechappe, and all the women are in love with me, as trueas saint eloy was an excellent goldsmith, and that the five tradesof the good city of

paris are the tanners, the tawers, the makersof cross-belts, the purse-makers, and the sweaters, and that saintlaurent was burnt with eggshells. i swear to you, comrades. "_que je ne beuvrai de piment,devant un an, si je cy ment_.* * that i will drink no spiced and honeyedwine for a year, if i am lying now. "'tis moonlight, my charmer; see yonder throughthe window how the wind is tearing the clouds to tatters! eventhus will i do to your gorget.--wenches, wipe the children'snoses and snuff the

candles.--christ and mahom! what am i eatinghere, jupiter? ohã©! innkeeper! the hair which is not on the headsof your hussies one finds in your omelettes. old woman! i like baldomelettes. may the devil confound you!--a fine hostelry of beelzebub,where the hussies comb their heads with the forks! "et je n'ai moi,par la sang-dieu! ni foi, ni loi,ni feu, ni lieu, ni roi,ni dieu."* * and by the blood of god, i have neitherfaith nor law, nor

fire nor dwelling-place, nor king nor god. in the meantime, clopin trouillefou had finishedthe distribution of arms. he approached gringoire, who appearedto be plunged in a profound revery, with his feet on an andiron. "friend pierre," said the king of thunes,"what the devil are you thinking about?" gringoire turned to him with a melancholysmile. "i love the fire, my dear lord. not for thetrivial reason that fire warms the feet or cooks our soup, but becauseit has sparks. sometimes i

pass whole hours in watching the sparks. idiscover a thousand things in those stars which are sprinkled over the blackbackground of the hearth. those stars are also worlds." "thunder, if i understand you!" said the outcast."do you know what o'clock it is?" "i do not know," replied gringoire. clopin approached the duke of egypt. "comrade mathias, the time we have chosenis not a good one. king louis xi. is said to be in paris."

"another reason for snatching our sister fromhis claws," replied the old bohemian. "you speak like a man, mathias," said theking of thunes. "moreover, we will act promptly. no resistance is tobe feared in the church. the canons are hares, and we are in force. thepeople of the parliament will be well balked to-morrow when they come toseek her! guts of the pope i don't want them to hang the pretty girl!" chopin quitted the dram-shop. meanwhile, jehan was shouting in a hoarsevoice:

"i eat, i drink, i am drunk, i am jupiter!eh! pierre, the slaughterer, if you look at me like that again, i'll fillipthe dust off your nose for you." gringoire, torn from his meditations, beganto watch the wild and noisy scene which surrounded him, muttering betweenhis teeth: "_luxuriosa res vinum et tumultuosa ebrietas_. alas! whatgood reason i have not to drink, and how excellently spoke saint-benoit:'_vinum apostatare facit etiam sapientes!_'" at that moment, clopin returned and shoutedin a voice of thunder:

"midnight!" at this word, which produced the effect ofthe call to boot and saddle on a regiment at a halt, all the outcasts,men, women, children, rushed in a mass from the tavern, with greatnoise of arms and old iron implements. the moon was obscured. the cour des miracles was entirely dark. therewas not a single light. one could make out there a throng of men andwomen conversing in low tones. they could be heard buzzing, and agleam of all sorts of weapons

was visible in the darkness. clopin mounteda large stone. "to your ranks, argot!"* he cried. "fall intoline, egypt! form ranks, galilee!" * men of the brotherhood of slang: thieves. a movement began in the darkness. the immensemultitude appeared to form in a column. after a few minutes, the kingof thunes raised his voice once more,-- "now, silence to march through paris! thepassword is, 'little sword in pocket!' the torches will not be lightedtill we reach notre-dame!

forward, march!" ten minutes later, the cavaliers of the watchfled in terror before a long procession of black and silent men whichwas descending towards the pont an change, through the tortuous streetswhich pierce the close-built neighborhood of the markets inevery direction. chapter iv. an awkward friend. that night, quasimodo did not sleep. he hadjust made his last round of the church. he had not noticed, that at themoment when he was closing the doors, the archdeacon had passed closeto him and betrayed some

displeasure on seeing him bolting and barringwith care the enormous iron locks which gave to their large leavesthe solidity of a wall. dom claude's air was even more preoccupied thanusual. moreover, since the nocturnal adventure in the cell, he had constantlyabused quasimodo, but in vain did he ill treat, and even beathim occasionally, nothing disturbed the submission, patience, the devotedresignation of the faithful bellringer. he endured everythingon the part of the archdeacon, insults, threats, blows, withoutmurmuring a complaint. at the most, he gazed uneasily after dom claudewhen the latter ascended

the staircase of the tower; but the archdeaconhad abstained from presenting himself again before the gypsy'seyes. on that night, accordingly, quasimodo, afterhaving cast a glance at his poor bells which he so neglected now, jacqueline,marie, and thibauld, mounted to the summit of the northern tower,and there setting his dark lanturn, well closed, upon the leads, he beganto gaze at paris. the night, as we have already said, was very dark.paris which, so to speak was not lighted at that epoch, presentedto the eye a confused collection of black masses, cut here and thereby the whitish curve of

the seine. quasimodo no longer saw any lightwith the exception of one window in a distant edifice, whose vague andsombre profile was outlined well above the roofs, in the direction ofthe porte sainte-antoine. there also, there was some one awake. as the only eye of the bellringer peered intothat horizon of mist and night, he felt within him an inexpressibleuneasiness. for several days he had been upon his guard. he had perceivedmen of sinister mien, who never took their eyes from the young girl'sasylum, prowling constantly about the church. he fancied that some plotmight be in process of

formation against the unhappy refugee. heimagined that there existed a popular hatred against her, as against himself,and that it was very possible that something might happen soon.hence he remained upon his tower on the watch, "dreaming in his dream-place,"as rabelais says, with his eye directed alternately on the celland on paris, keeping faithful guard, like a good dog, with a thousandsuspicions in his mind. all at once, while he was scrutinizing thegreat city with that eye which nature, by a sort of compensation, hadmade so piercing that it could almost supply the other organs whichquasimodo lacked, it

seemed to him that there was something singularabout the quay de la vieille-pelleterie, that there was a movementat that point, that the line of the parapet, standing out blacklyagainst the whiteness of the water was not straight and tranquil, likethat of the other quays, but that it undulated to the eye, like the wavesof a river, or like the heads of a crowd in motion. this struck him as strange. he redoubled hisattention. the movement seemed to be advancing towards the city. therewas no light. it lasted for some time on the quay; then it graduallyceased, as though that

which was passing were entering the interiorof the island; then it stopped altogether, and the line of thequay became straight and motionless again. at the moment when quasimodo was lost in conjectures,it seemed to him that the movement had re-appeared in therue du parvis, which is prolonged into the city perpendicularly tothe faã§ade of notre-dame. at length, dense as was the darkness, he beheldthe head of a column debouch from that street, and in an instanta crowd--of which nothing could be distinguished in the gloom exceptthat it was a crowd--spread

over the place. this spectacle had a terror of its own. itis probable that this singular procession, which seemed so desirousof concealing itself under profound darkness, maintained a silence noless profound. nevertheless, some noise must have escaped it, were it onlya trampling. but this noise did not even reach our deaf man, andthis great multitude, of which he saw hardly anything, and of whichhe heard nothing, though it was marching and moving so near him, producedupon him the effect of a rabble of dead men, mute, impalpable, lostin a smoke. it seemed to

him, that he beheld advancing towards hima fog of men, and that he saw shadows moving in the shadow. then his fears returned to him, the idea ofan attempt against the gypsy presented itself once more to his mind. hewas conscious, in a confused way, that a violent crisis was approaching.at that critical moment he took counsel with himself, with better andprompter reasoning than one would have expected from so badly organizeda brain. ought he to awaken the gypsy? to make her escape? whither? thestreets were invested, the church backed on the river. no boat, no issue!--therewas but one

thing to be done; to allow himself to be killedon the threshold of notre-dame, to resist at least until succorarrived, if it should arrive, and not to trouble la esmeralda'ssleep. this resolution once taken, he set to examining the enemy withmore tranquillity. the throng seemed to increase every momentin the church square. only, he presumed that it must be making very littlenoise, since the windows on the place remained closed. all at once,a flame flashed up, and in an instant seven or eight lighted torchespassed over the heads of the crowd, shaking their tufts of flame in thedeep shade. quasimodo then

beheld distinctly surging in the parvis afrightful herd of men and women in rags, armed with scythes, pikes,billhooks and partisans, whose thousand points glittered. here and thereblack pitchforks formed horns to the hideous faces. he vaguely recalledthis populace, and thought that he recognized all the heads who had salutedhim as pope of the fools some months previously. one man whoheld a torch in one hand and a club in the other, mounted a stone postand seemed to be haranguing them. at the same time the strange army executedseveral evolutions, as though it were taking up its post around thechurch. quasimodo picked up

his lantern and descended to the platformbetween the towers, in order to get a nearer view, and to spy out a meansof defence. clopin trouillefou, on arriving in front ofthe lofty portal of notre-dame had, in fact, ranged his troopsin order of battle. although he expected no resistance, he wished, likea prudent general, to preserve an order which would permit him toface, at need, a sudden attack of the watch or the police. he hadaccordingly stationed his brigade in such a manner that, viewed fromabove and from a distance, one would have pronounced it the roman triangleof the battle of

ecnomus, the boar's head of alexander or thefamous wedge of gustavus adolphus. the base of this triangle restedon the back of the place in such a manner as to bar the entrance of therue du parvis; one of its sides faced hã´tel-dieu, the other the ruesaint-pierre-aux-boeufs. clopin trouillefou had placed himself at theapex with the duke of egypt, our friend jehan, and the most daringof the scavengers. an enterprise like that which the vagabondswere now undertaking against notre-dame was not a very rare thing in thecities of the middle ages. what we now call the "police" did not existthen. in populous cities,

especially in capitals, there existed no single,central, regulating power. feudalism had constructed these greatcommunities in a singular manner. a city was an assembly of a thousandseigneuries, which divided it into compartments of all shapesand sizes. hence, a thousand conflicting establishments of police; thatis to say, no police at all. in paris, for example, independently of thehundred and forty-one lords who laid claim to a manor, there were fiveand twenty who laid claim to a manor and to administering justice, fromthe bishop of paris, who had five hundred streets, to the prior of notre-damedes champs, who had

four. all these feudal justices recognizedthe suzerain authority of the king only in name. all possessed the rightof control over the roads. all were at home. louis xi., that indefatigableworker, who so largely began the demolition of the feudal edifice,continued by richelieu and louis xiv. for the profit of royalty, andfinished by mirabeau for the benefit of the people,--louis xi. had certainlymade an effort to break this network of seignories which covered paris,by throwing violently across them all two or three troops of generalpolice. thus, in 1465, an order to the inhabitants to light candlesin their windows at nightfall,

and to shut up their dogs under penalty ofdeath; in the same year, an order to close the streets in the eveningwith iron chains, and a prohibition to wear daggers or weapons ofoffence in the streets at night. but in a very short time, all theseefforts at communal legislation fell into abeyance. the bourgeoispermitted the wind to blow out their candles in the windows, andtheir dogs to stray; the iron chains were stretched only in a state of siege;the prohibition to wear daggers wrought no other changes thanfrom the name of the rue coupe-gueule to the name of the rue-coupe-gorge*which is an evident

progress. the old scaffolding of feudal jurisdictionsremained standing; an immense aggregation of bailiwicks and seignoriescrossing each other all over the city, interfering witheach other, entangled in one another, enmeshing each other, trespassingon each other; a useless thicket of watches, sub-watches and counter-watches,over which, with armed force, passed brigandage, rapine, andsedition. hence, in this disorder, deeds of violence on the part ofthe populace directed against a palace, a hotel, or house in the most thicklypopulated quarters, were not unheard-of occurrences. in the majorityof such cases, the neighbors

did not meddle with the matter unless thepillaging extended to themselves. they stopped up their ears tothe musket shots, closed their shutters, barricaded their doors, allowedthe matter to be concluded with or without the watch, and the next dayit was said in paris, "etienne barbette was broken open last night.the marshal de clermont was seized last night, etc." hence, not onlythe royal habitations, the louvre, the palace, the bastille, the tournelles,but simply seignorial residences, the petit-bourbon, the hã´telde sens, the hã´tel d' angoulãªme, etc., had battlements on theirwalls, and machicolations over

their doors. churches were guarded by theirsanctity. some, among the number notre-dame, were fortified. the abbeyof saint-german-des-pres was castellated like a baronial mansion, andmore brass expended about it in bombards than in bells. its fortresswas still to be seen in 1610. to-day, barely its church remains. * cut-throat. coupe-gueule being the vulgarword for cut-weazand. let us return to notre-dame. when the first arrangements were completed,and we must say, to the honor of vagabond discipline, that clopin'sorders were executed in

silence, and with admirable precision, theworthy chief of the band, mounted on the parapet of the church square,and raised his hoarse and surly voice, turning towards notre-dame, andbrandishing his torch whose light, tossed by the wind, and veiled everymoment by its own smoke, made the reddish faã§ade of the church appearand disappear before the eye. "to you, louis de beaumont, bishop of paris,counsellor in the court of parliament, i, clopin trouillefou, king ofthunes, grand coã«sre, prince of argot, bishop of fools, i say: our sister,falsely condemned for

magic, hath taken refuge in your church, youowe her asylum and safety. now the court of parliament wishes to seizeher once more there, and you consent to it; so that she would be hangedto-morrow in the grã¨ve, if god and the outcasts were not here. if yourchurch is sacred, so is our sister; if our sister is not sacred, neitheris your church. that is why we call upon you to return the girl if youwish to save your church, or we will take possession of the girl againand pillage the church, which will be a good thing. in token of which ihere plant my banner, and may god preserve you, bishop of paris."

quasimodo could not, unfortunately, hear thesewords uttered with a sort of sombre and savage majesty. a vagabond presentedhis banner to clopin, who planted it solemnly between two paving-stones.it was a pitchfork from whose points hung a bleeding quarterof carrion meat. that done, the king of thunes turned roundand cast his eyes over his army, a fierce multitude whose glances flashedalmost equally with their pikes. after a momentary pause,--"forward,my sons!" he cried; "to work, locksmiths!" thirty bold men, square shouldered, and withpick-lock faces, stepped

from the ranks, with hammers, pincers, andbars of iron on their shoulders. they betook themselves to the principaldoor of the church, ascended the steps, and were soon to be seensquatting under the arch, working at the door with pincers and levers;a throng of vagabonds followed them to help or look on. the elevensteps before the portal were covered with them. but the door stood firm. "the devil! 'tishard and obstinate!" said one. "it is old, and its gristles have become bony,"said another. "courage, comrades!" resumed clopin. "i wager my headagainst a dipper that you

will have opened the door, rescued the girl,and despoiled the chief altar before a single beadle is awake. stay!i think i hear the lock breaking up." clopin was interrupted by a frightful uproarwhich re-sounded behind him at that moment. he wheeled round. an enormousbeam had just fallen from above; it had crushed a dozen vagabonds onthe pavement with the sound of a cannon, breaking in addition, legs hereand there in the crowd of beggars, who sprang aside with cries ofterror. in a twinkling, the narrow precincts of the church parvis werecleared. the locksmiths,

although protected by the deep vaults of theportal, abandoned the door and clopin himself retired to a respectfuldistance from the church. "i had a narrow escape!" cried jehan. "i feltthe wind, of it, _tãªte-de-boeuf_! but pierre the slaughtereris slaughtered!" it is impossible to describe the astonishmentmingled with fright which fell upon the ruffians in company with thisbeam. they remained for several minutes with theireyes in the air, more dismayed by that piece of wood than by theking's twenty thousand archers.

"satan!" muttered the duke of egypt, "thissmacks of magic!" "'tis the moon which threw this log at us,"said andry the red. "call the moon the friend of the virgin, afterthat!" went on francois chanteprune. "a thousand popes!" exclaimed clopin, "youare all fools!" but he did not know how to explain the fall of the beam. meanwhile, nothing could be distinguishedon the faã§ade, to whose summit the light of the torches did not reach. theheavy beam lay in the middle of the enclosure, and groans were heard fromthe poor wretches who had

received its first shock, and who had beenalmost cut in twain, on the angle of the stone steps. the king of thunes, his first amazement passed,finally found an explanation which appeared plausible to hiscompanions. "throat of god! are the canons defending themselves?to the sack, then! to the sack!" "to the sack!" repeated the rabble, with afurious hurrah. a discharge of crossbows and hackbuts against the frontof the church followed. at this detonation, the peaceable inhabitantsof the surrounding houses

woke up; many windows were seen to open, andnightcaps and hands holding candles appeared at the casements. "fire at the windows," shouted clopin. thewindows were immediately closed, and the poor bourgeois, who had hardlyhad time to cast a frightened glance on this scene of gleamsand tumult, returned, perspiring with fear to their wives, askingthemselves whether the witches' sabbath was now being held in theparvis of notre-dame, or whether there was an assault of burgundians,as in '64. then the husbands thought of theft; the wives, of rape;and all trembled.

"to the sack!" repeated the thieves' crew;but they dared not approach. they stared at the beam, they stared at thechurch. the beam did not stir, the edifice preserved its calm and desertedair; but something chilled the outcasts. "to work, locksmiths!" shouted trouillefou."let the door be forced!" no one took a step. "beard and belly!" said clopin, "here be menafraid of a beam." an old locksmith addressed him-- "captain, 'tis not the beam which bothersus, 'tis the door, which is

all covered with iron bars. our pincers arepowerless against it." "what more do you want to break it in?" demandedclopin. "ah! we ought to have a battering ram." the king of thunes ran boldly to the formidablebeam, and placed his foot upon it: "here is one!" he exclaimed;"'tis the canons who send it to you." and, making a mocking salute in thedirection of the church, "thanks, canons!" this piece of bravado produced its effects,--thespell of the beam was broken. the vagabonds recovered their courage;soon the heavy joist,

raised like a feather by two hundred vigorousarms, was flung with fury against the great door which they had triedto batter down. at the sight of that long beam, in the half-light whichthe infrequent torches of the brigands spread over the place, thus borneby that crowd of men who dashed it at a run against the church, onewould have thought that he beheld a monstrous beast with a thousand feetattacking with lowered head the giant of stone. at the shock of the beam, the half metallicdoor sounded like an immense drum; it was not burst in, but the whole cathedraltrembled, and the

deepest cavities of the edifice were heardto echo. at the same moment, a shower of large stonesbegan to fall from the top of the faã§ade on the assailants. "the devil!" cried jehan, "are the towersshaking their balustrades down on our heads?" but the impulse had been given, the king ofthunes had set the example. evidently, the bishop was defending himself,and they only battered the door with the more rage, in spite of the stoneswhich cracked skulls right and left.

it was remarkable that all these stones fellone by one; but they followed each other closely. the thieves alwaysfelt two at a time, one on their legs and one on their heads. therewere few which did not deal their blow, and a large layer of deadand wounded lay bleeding and panting beneath the feet of the assailantswho, now grown furious, replaced each other without intermission.the long beam continued to belabor the door, at regular intervals, likethe clapper of a bell, the stones to rain down, the door to groan. the reader has no doubt divined that thisunexpected resistance which

had exasperated the outcasts came from quasimodo. chance had, unfortunately, favored the bravedeaf man. when he had descended to the platform betweenthe towers, his ideas were all in confusion. he had run up and down alongthe gallery for several minutes like a madman, surveying from above,the compact mass of vagabonds ready to hurl itself on the church,demanding the safety of the gypsy from the devil or from god. thethought had occurred to him of ascending to the southern belfry and soundingthe alarm, but before he could have set the bell in motion, beforemarie's voice could have

uttered a single clamor, was there not timeto burst in the door of the church ten times over? it was precisely themoment when the locksmiths were advancing upon it with their tools. whatwas to be done? all at once, he remembered that some masonshad been at work all day repairing the wall, the timber-work, and theroof of the south tower. this was a flash of light. the wall was ofstone, the roof of lead, the timber-work of wood. (that prodigious timber-work,so dense that it was called "the forest.") quasimodo hastened to that tower. the lowerchambers were, in fact, full

of materials. there were piles of rough blocksof stone, sheets of lead in rolls, bundles of laths, heavy beams alreadynotched with the saw, heaps of plaster. time was pressing, the pikes and hammers wereat work below. with a strength which the sense of danger increasedtenfold, he seized one of the beams--the longest and heaviest; hepushed it out through a loophole, then, grasping it again outsideof the tower, he made it slide along the angle of the balustrade which surroundsthe platform, and let it fly into the abyss. the enormous timber,during that fall of a

hundred and sixty feet, scraping the wall,breaking the carvings, turned many times on its centre, like the arm ofa windmill flying off alone through space. at last it reached the ground,the horrible cry arose, and the black beam, as it rebounded from thepavement, resembled a serpent leaping. quasimodo beheld the outcasts scatter at thefall of the beam, like ashes at the breath of a child. he took advantageof their fright, and while they were fixing a superstitious glanceon the club which had fallen from heaven, and while they were puttingout the eyes of the

stone saints on the front with a dischargeof arrows and buckshot, quasimodo was silently piling up plaster,stones, and rough blocks of stone, even the sacks of tools belonging tothe masons, on the edge of the balustrade from which the beam had alreadybeen hurled. thus, as soon as they began to batter thegrand door, the shower of rough blocks of stone began to fall, and itseemed to them that the church itself was being demolished over theirheads. any one who could have beheld quasimodo atthat moment would have been frightened. independently of the projectileswhich he had piled upon the

balustrade, he had collected a heap of stoneson the platform itself. as fast as the blocks on the exterior edge wereexhausted, he drew on the heap. then he stooped and rose, stooped androse again with incredible activity. his huge gnome's head bent overthe balustrade, then an enormous stone fell, then another, then another.from time to time, he followed a fine stone with his eye, and whenit did good execution, he said, "hum!" meanwhile, the beggars did not grow discouraged.the thick door on which they were venting their fury had already trembledmore than twenty

times beneath the weight of their oaken battering-ram,multiplied by the strength of a hundred men. the panels cracked,the carved work flew into splinters, the hinges, at every blow, leapedfrom their pins, the planks yawned, the wood crumbled to powder, groundbetween the iron sheathing. fortunately for quasimodo, there was moreiron than wood. nevertheless, he felt that the great doorwas yielding. although he did not hear it, every blow of the ram reverberatedsimultaneously in the vaults of the church and within it. from abovehe beheld the vagabonds, filled with triumph and rage, shaking theirfists at the gloomy faã§ade;

and both on the gypsy's account and his ownhe envied the wings of the owls which flitted away above his head inflocks. his shower of stone blocks was not sufficientto repel the assailants. at this moment of anguish, he noticed, a littlelower down than the balustrade whence he was crushing the thieves,two long stone gutters which discharged immediately over the greatdoor; the internal orifice of these gutters terminated on the pavementof the platform. an idea occurred to him; he ran in search of a fagotin his bellringer's den, placed on this fagot a great many bundlesof laths, and many rolls of

lead, munitions which he had not employedso far, and having arranged this pile in front of the hole to the twogutters, he set it on fire with his lantern. during this time, since the stones no longerfell, the outcasts ceased to gaze into the air. the bandits, pantinglike a pack of hounds who are forcing a boar into his lair, pressed tumultuouslyround the great door, all disfigured by the battering ram,but still standing. they were waiting with a quiver for the great blow whichshould split it open. they vied with each other in pressing as closeas possible, in order to

dash among the first, when it should open,into that opulent cathedral, a vast reservoir where the wealth of threecenturies had been piled up. they reminded each other with roars of exultationand greedy lust, of the beautiful silver crosses, the fine copesof brocade, the beautiful tombs of silver gilt, the great magnificencesof the choir, the dazzling festivals, the christmasses sparklingwith torches, the easters sparkling with sunshine,--all thosesplendid solemneties wherein chandeliers, ciboriums, tabernacles, and reliquaries,studded the altars with a crust of gold and diamonds. certainly,at that fine moment,

thieves and pseudo sufferers, doctors in stealing,and vagabonds, were thinking much less of delivering the gypsythan of pillaging notre-dame. we could even easily believe that for a goodlynumber among them la esmeralda was only a pretext, if thieves neededpretexts. all at once, at the moment when they weregrouping themselves round the ram for a last effort, each one holding hisbreath and stiffening his muscles in order to communicate all his forceto the decisive blow, a howl more frightful still than that whichhad burst forth and expired beneath the beam, rose among them. those whodid not cry out, those who

were still alive, looked. two streams of meltedlead were falling from the summit of the edifice into the thickestof the rabble. that sea of men had just sunk down beneath the boilingmetal, which had made, at the two points where it fell, two black and smokingholes in the crowd, such as hot water would make in snow. dying men,half consumed and groaning with anguish, could be seen writhing there.around these two principal streams there were drops of that horriblerain, which scattered over the assailants and entered their skulls like gimletsof fire. it was a heavy fire which overwhelmed these wretches witha thousand hailstones.

the outcry was heartrending. they fled pell-mell,hurling the beam upon the bodies, the boldest as well as the mosttimid, and the parvis was cleared a second time. all eyes were raised to the top of the church.they beheld there an extraordinary sight. on the crest of the highestgallery, higher than the central rose window, there was a greatflame rising between the two towers with whirlwinds of sparks, a vast,disordered, and furious flame, a tongue of which was borne into the smokeby the wind, from time to time. below that fire, below the gloomy balustradewith its trefoils

showing darkly against its glare, two spoutswith monster throats were vomiting forth unceasingly that burning rain,whose silvery stream stood out against the shadows of the lower faã§ade.as they approached the earth, these two jets of liquid lead spreadout in sheaves, like water springing from the thousand holes of a watering-pot.above the flame, the enormous towers, two sides of each ofwhich were visible in sharp outline, the one wholly black, the other whollyred, seemed still more vast with all the immensity of the shadowwhich they cast even to the sky.

their innumerable sculptures of demons anddragons assumed a lugubrious aspect. the restless light of the flame madethem move to the eye. there were griffins which had the air of laughing,gargoyles which one fancied one heard yelping, salamanders which puffedat the fire, tarasques* which sneezed in the smoke. and among themonsters thus roused from their sleep of stone by this flame, by thisnoise, there was one who walked about, and who was seen, from timeto time, to pass across the glowing face of the pile, like a bat in frontof a candle. * the representation of a monstrous animalsolemnly drawn about

in tarascon and other french towns. without doubt, this strange beacon light wouldawaken far away, the woodcutter of the hills of bicãªtre, terrifiedto behold the gigantic shadow of the towers of notre-dame quiveringover his heaths. a terrified silence ensued among the outcasts,during which nothing was heard, but the cries of alarm of the canonsshut up in their cloister, and more uneasy than horses in a burning stable,the furtive sound of windows hastily opened and still more hastilyclosed, the internal hurly-burly of the houses and of the hã´tel-dieu,the wind in the flame,

the last death-rattle of the dying, and thecontinued crackling of the rain of lead upon the pavement. in the meanwhile, the principal vagabondshad retired beneath the porch of the gondelaurier mansion, and were holdinga council of war. the duke of egypt, seated on a stone post,contemplated the phantasmagorical bonfire, glowing at a heightof two hundred feet in the air, with religious terror. clopin trouillefoubit his huge fists with rage. "impossible to get in!" he muttered betweenhis teeth.

"an old, enchanted church!" grumbled the agedbohemian, mathias hungadi spicali. "by the pope's whiskers!" went on a sham soldier,who had once been in service, "here are church gutters spittingmelted lead at you better than the machicolations of lectoure." "do you see that demon passing and repassingin front of the fire?" exclaimed the duke of egypt. "pardieu, 'tis that damned bellringer, 'tisquasimodo," said clopin. the bohemian tossed his head. "i tell you,that 'tis the spirit sabnac,

the grand marquis, the demon of fortifications.he has the form of an armed soldier, the head of a lion. sometimeshe rides a hideous horse. he changes men into stones, of which he buildstowers. he commands fifty legions 'tis he indeed; i recognizehim. sometimes he is clad in a handsome golden robe, figured after the turkishfashion." "where is bellevigne de l'etoile?" demandedclopin. "he is dead." andry the red laughed in an idiotic way: "notre-dameis making work for the hospital," said he.

"is there, then, no way of forcing this door,"exclaimed the king of thunes, stamping his foot. the duke of egypt pointed sadly to the twostreams of boiling lead which did not cease to streak the black facade,like two long distaffs of phosphorus. "churches have been known to defend themselvesthus all by themselves," he remarked with a sigh. "saint-sophia atconstantinople, forty years ago, hurled to the earth three times in succession,the crescent of mahom, by shaking her domes, which are herheads. guillaume de paris,

who built this one was a magician." "must we then retreat in pitiful fashion,like highwaymen?" said clopin. "must we leave our sister here, whom thosehooded wolves will hang "and the sacristy, where there are wagon-loadsof gold!" added a vagabond, whose name, we regret to say, wedo not know. "beard of mahom!" cried trouillefou. "let us make another trial," resumed the vagabond. mathias hungadi shook his head. "we shall never get in by the door. we mustfind the defect in the armor

of the old fairy; a hole, a false postern,some joint or other." "who will go with me?" said clopin. "i shallgo at it again. by the way, where is the little scholar jehan, who isso encased in iron?" "he is dead, no doubt," some one replied;"we no longer hear his laugh." the king of thunes frowned: "so much the worse.there was a brave heart under that ironmongery. and master pierregringoire?" "captain clopin," said andry the red, "heslipped away before we reached the pont-aux-changeurs." clopin stamped his foot. "gueule-dieu! 'twashe who pushed us on

hither, and he has deserted us in the verymiddle of the job! cowardly chatterer, with a slipper for a helmet!" "captain clopin," said andry the red, whowas gazing down rue du parvis, "yonder is the little scholar." "praised be pluto!" said clopin. "but whatthe devil is he dragging after him?" it was, in fact, jehan, who was running asfast as his heavy outfit of a paladin, and a long ladder which trailed onthe pavement, would permit, more breathless than an ant harnessed to ablade of grass twenty times

longer than itself. "victory! _te deum_!" cried the scholar. "hereis the ladder of the longshoremen of port saint-landry." clopin approached him. "child, what do you mean to do, _corne-dieu_!with this ladder?" "i have it," replied jehan, panting. "i knewwhere it was under the shed of the lieutenant's house. there's a wenchthere whom i know, who thinks me as handsome as cupido. i made use of herto get the ladder, and i have the ladder, _pasque-mahom_! the poorgirl came to open the door to

me in her shift." "yes," said clopin, "but what are you goingto do with that ladder?" jehan gazed at him with a malicious, knowinglook, and cracked his fingers like castanets. at that moment hewas sublime. on his head he wore one of those overloaded helmets of thefifteenth century, which frightened the enemy with their fanciful crests.his bristled with ten iron beaks, so that jehan could have disputedwith nestor's homeric vessel the redoubtable title of _dexeubolos_. "what do i mean to do with it, august kingof thunes? do you see that

row of statues which have such idiotic expressions,yonder, above the three portals?" "yes. well?" "'tis the gallery of the kings of france." "what is that to me?" said clopin. "wait! at the end of that gallery there isa door which is never fastened otherwise than with a latch, andwith this ladder i ascend, and i am in the church." "child let me be the first to ascend."

"no, comrade, the ladder is mine. come, youshall be the second." "may beelzebub strangle you!" said surly clopin,"i won't be second to anybody." "then find a ladder, clopin!" jehan set out on a run across the place, dragginghis ladder and shouting: "follow me, lads!" in an instant the ladder was raised, and proppedagainst the balustrade of the lower gallery, above one of the lateraldoors. the throng of vagabonds, uttering loud acclamations, crowdedto its foot to ascend.

but jehan maintained his right, and was thefirst to set foot on the rungs. the passage was tolerably long. thegallery of the kings of france is to-day about sixty feet above thepavement. the eleven steps of the flight before the door, made it stillhigher. jehan mounted slowly, a good deal incommoded by his heavyarmor, holding his crossbow in one hand, and clinging to a rung with theother. when he reached the middle of the ladder, he cast a melancholyglance at the poor dead outcasts, with which the steps were strewn."alas!" said he, "here is a heap of bodies worthy of the fifth book ofthe iliad!" then he continued

his ascent. the vagabonds followed him. therewas one on every rung. at the sight of this line of cuirassed backs,undulating as they rose through the gloom, one would have pronouncedit a serpent with steel scales, which was raising itself erect infront of the church. jehan who formed the head, and who was whistling, completedthe illusion. the scholar finally reached the balcony ofthe gallery, and climbed over it nimbly, to the applause of the whole vagabondtribe. thus master of the citadel, he uttered a shout of joy, andsuddenly halted, petrified. he had just caught sight of quasimodo concealedin the dark, with

flashing eye, behind one of the statues ofthe kings. before a second assailant could gain a footholdon the gallery, the formidable hunchback leaped to the head ofthe ladder, without uttering a word, seized the ends of the two uprightswith his powerful hands, raised them, pushed them out from the wall,balanced the long and pliant ladder, loaded with vagabonds from top tobottom for a moment, in the midst of shrieks of anguish, then suddenly,with superhuman force, hurled this cluster of men backward into theplace. there was a moment when even the most resolute trembled. theladder, launched backwards,

remained erect and standing for an instant,and seemed to hesitate, then wavered, then suddenly, describing a frightfularc of a circle eighty feet in radius, crashed upon the pavementwith its load of ruffians, more rapidly than a drawbridge when its chainsbreak. there arose an immense imprecation, then all was still, anda few mutilated wretches were seen, crawling over the heap of dead. a sound of wrath and grief followed the firstcries of triumph among the besiegers. quasimodo, impassive, withboth elbows propped on the balustrade, looked on. he had the air of anold, bushy-headed king at

his window. as for jehan frollo, he was in a criticalposition. he found himself in the gallery with the formidable bellringer,alone, separated from his companions by a vertical wall eighty feethigh. while quasimodo was dealing with the ladder, the scholar had runto the postern which he believed to be open. it was not. the deafman had closed it behind him when he entered the gallery. jehan had thenconcealed himself behind a stone king, not daring to breathe, and fixingupon the monstrous hunchback a frightened gaze, like the man,who, when courting the wife

of the guardian of a menagerie, went one eveningto a love rendezvous, mistook the wall which he was to climb, andsuddenly found himself face to face with a white bear. for the first few moments, the deaf man paidno heed to him; but at last he turned his head, and suddenly straightenedup. he had just caught sight of the scholar. jehan prepared himself for a rough shock,but the deaf man remained motionless; only he had turned towards thescholar and was looking at him.

"ho ho!" said jehan, "what do you mean bystaring at me with that solitary and melancholy eye?" as he spoke thus, the young scamp stealthilyadjusted his crossbow. "quasimodo!" he cried, "i am going to changeyour surname: you shall be called the blind man." the shot sped. the feathered vireton* whizzedand entered the hunchback's left arm. quasimodo appeared nomore moved by it than by a scratch to king pharamond. he laid his handon the arrow, tore it from his arm, and tranquilly broke it across hisbig knee; then he let the

two pieces drop on the floor, rather thanthrew them down. but jehan had no opportunity to fire a second time.the arrow broken, quasimodo breathing heavily, bounded like a grasshopper,and he fell upon the scholar, whose armor was flattened againstthe wall by the blow. * an arrow with a pyramidal head of iron andcopper spiral wings by which a rotatory motion was communicated. then in that gloom, wherein wavered the lightof the torches, a terrible thing was seen. quasimodo had grasped with his left hand thetwo arms of jehan, who did

not offer any resistance, so thoroughly didhe feel that he was lost. with his right hand, the deaf man detachedone by one, in silence, with sinister slowness, all the pieces of his armor,the sword, the daggers, the helmet, the cuirass, the leg pieces. onewould have said that it was a monkey taking the shell from a nut. quasimodoflung the scholar's iron shell at his feet, piece by piece. whenthe scholar beheld himself disarmed, stripped, weak, and naked in thoseterrible hands, he made no attempt to speak to the deaf man, but beganto laugh audaciously in his face, and to sing with his intrepid heedlessnessof a child of sixteen,

the then popular ditty:-- "_elle est bien habillã©e,la ville de cambrai; marafin l'a pillã©e_..."* * the city of cambrai is well dressed. marafinplundered it. he did not finish. quasimodo was seen on theparapet of the gallery, holding the scholar by the feet with one handand whirling him over the abyss like a sling; then a sound likethat of a bony structure in contact with a wall was heard, and somethingwas seen to fall which halted a third of the way down in its fall,on a projection in the

architecture. it was a dead body which remainedhanging there, bent double, its loins broken, its skull empty. a cry of horror rose among the vagabonds. "vengeance!" shouted clopin. "to the sack!"replied the multitude. "assault! assault!" there came a tremendous howl, in which weremingled all tongues, all dialects, all accents. the death of the poorscholar imparted a furious ardor to that crowd. it was seized with shame,and the wrath of having been held so long in check before a churchby a hunchback. rage found

ladders, multiplied the torches, and, at theexpiration of a few minutes, quasimodo, in despair, beheld thatterrible ant heap mount on all sides to the assault of notre-dame. thosewho had no ladders had knotted ropes; those who had no ropes climbedby the projections of the carvings. they hung from each other'srags. there were no means of resisting that rising tide of frightful faces;rage made these fierce countenances ruddy; their clayey brows weredripping with sweat; their eyes darted lightnings; all these grimaces,all these horrors laid siege to quasimodo. one would have said that someother church had despatched

to the assault of notre-dame its gorgons,its dogs, its drã©es, its demons, its most fantastic sculptures. itwas like a layer of living monsters on the stone monsters of the faã§ade. meanwhile, the place was studded with a thousandtorches. this scene of confusion, till now hid in darkness, was suddenlyflooded with light. the parvis was resplendent, and cast a radianceon the sky; the bonfire lighted on the lofty platform was still burning,and illuminated the city far away. the enormous silhouette ofthe two towers, projected afar on the roofs of paris, and formed a largenotch of black in this light.

the city seemed to be aroused. alarm bellswailed in the distance. the vagabonds howled, panted, swore, climbed;and quasimodo, powerless against so many enemies, shuddering for thegypsy, beholding the furious faces approaching ever nearer and nearer tohis gallery, entreated heaven for a miracle, and wrung his arms in despair. chapter v. the retreat in which monsieur louisof france says his prayers. the reader has not, perhaps, forgotten thatone moment before catching

sight of the nocturnal band of vagabonds,quasimodo, as he inspected paris from the heights of his bell tower,perceived only one light burning, which gleamed like a star from awindow on the topmost story of a lofty edifice beside the porte saint-antoine.this edifice was the bastille. that star was the candle of louisxi. king louis xi. had, in fact, been two days in paris. he was to takehis departure on the next day but one for his citadel of montilz-les-tours.he made but seldom and brief appearance in his good city of paris,since there he did not feel about him enough pitfalls, gibbets, and scotcharchers.

he had come, that day, to sleep at the bastille.the great chamber five toises* square, which he had at the louvre,with its huge chimney-piece loaded with twelve great beasts and thirteengreat prophets, and his grand bed, eleven feet by twelve, pleasedhim but little. he felt himself lost amid all this grandeur. thisgood bourgeois king preferred the bastille with a tiny chamber and couch.and then, the bastille was stronger than the louvre. * an ancient long measure in france, containingsix feet and nearly five inches english measure.

this little chamber, which the king reservedfor himself in the famous state prison, was also tolerably spaciousand occupied the topmost story of a turret rising from the donjon keep.it was circular in form, carpeted with mats of shining straw, ceiledwith beams, enriched with fleurs-de-lis of gilded metal with interjoistsin color; wainscoated with rich woods sown with rosettes of whitemetal, and with others painted a fine, bright green, made of orpimentand fine indigo. there was only one window, a long pointedcasement, latticed with brass wire and bars of iron, further darkened byfine colored panes with the

arms of the king and of the queen, each panebeing worth two and twenty sols. there was but one entrance, a modern door,with a fiat arch, garnished with a piece of tapestry on the inside, andon the outside by one of those porches of irish wood, frail edificesof cabinet-work curiously wrought, numbers of which were still to beseen in old houses a hundred and fifty years ago. "although they disfigureand embarrass the places," says sauvel in despair, "our old people arestill unwilling to get rid of them, and keep them in spite of everybody."

in this chamber, nothing was to be found ofwhat furnishes ordinary apartments, neither benches, nor trestles,nor forms, nor common stools in the form of a chest, nor fine stoolssustained by pillars and counter-pillars, at four sols a piece. onlyone easy arm-chair, very magnificent, was to be seen; the wood waspainted with roses on a red ground, the seat was of ruby cordovan leather,ornamented with long silken fringes, and studded with a thousandgolden nails. the loneliness of this chair made it apparent that only oneperson had a right to sit down in this apartment. beside the chair,and quite close to the window,

there was a table covered with a cloth witha pattern of birds. on this table stood an inkhorn spotted with ink, someparchments, several pens, and a large goblet of chased silver. a littlefurther on was a brazier, a praying stool in crimson velvet, relievedwith small bosses of gold. finally, at the extreme end of the room, asimple bed of scarlet and yellow damask, without either tinsel or lace;having only an ordinary fringe. this bed, famous for having bornethe sleep or the sleeplessness of louis xi., was still to be seen two hundredyears ago, at the house of a councillor of state, where it wasseen by old madame pilou,

celebrated in _cyrus_ under the name "arricidie"and of "la morale vivante". such was the chamber which was called "theretreat where monsieur louis de france says his prayers." at the moment when we have introduced thereader into it, this retreat was very dark. the curfew bell had soundedan hour before; night was come, and there was only one flickering waxcandle set on the table to light five persons variously grouped in thechamber. the first on which the light fell was a seigneursuperbly clad in

breeches and jerkin of scarlet striped withsilver, and a loose coat with half sleeves of cloth of gold with blackfigures. this splendid costume, on which the light played, seemedglazed with flame on every fold. the man who wore it had his armorialbearings embroidered on his breast in vivid colors; a chevron accompaniedby a deer passant. the shield was flanked, on the right by an olivebranch, on the left by a deer's antlers. this man wore in his girdlea rich dagger whose hilt, of silver gilt, was chased in the form ofa helmet, and surmounted by a count's coronet. he had a forbidding air,a proud mien, and a head

held high. at the first glance one read arroganceon his visage; at the second, craft. he was standing bareheaded, a long roll ofparchment in his hand, behind the arm-chair in which was seated, his bodyungracefully doubled up, his knees crossed, his elbow on the table, a verybadly accoutred personage. let the reader imagine in fact, on the richseat of cordova leather, two crooked knees, two thin thighs, poorly cladin black worsted tricot, a body enveloped in a cloak of fustian, withfur trimming of which more leather than hair was visible; lastly, tocrown all, a greasy old hat of

the worst sort of black cloth, bordered witha circular string of leaden figures. this, in company with a dirty skull-cap,which hardly allowed a hair to escape, was all that distinguishedthe seated personage. he held his head so bent upon his breast, that nothingwas to be seen of his face thus thrown into shadow, except the tipof his nose, upon which fell a ray of light, and which must have beenlong. from the thinness of his wrinkled hand, one divined that he wasan old man. it was louis xi. at some distance behind them, two men dressedin garments of flemish style were conversing, who were not sufficientlylost in the shadow to

prevent any one who had been present at theperformance of gringoire's mystery from recognizing in them two of theprincipal flemish envoys, guillaume rym, the sagacious pensioner ofghent, and jacques coppenole, the popular hosier. the reader will rememberthat these men were mixed up in the secret politics of louis xi. finally,quite at the end of the room, near the door, in the dark, stood,motionless as a statue, a vigorous man with thickset limbs, a militaryharness, with a surcoat of armorial bearings, whose square face piercedwith staring eyes, slit with an immense mouth, his ears concealedby two large screens of flat

hair, had something about it both of the dogand the tiger. all were uncovered except the king. the gentleman who stood near the king wasreading him a sort of long memorial to which his majesty seemed to belistening attentively. the two flemings were whispering together. "cross of god!" grumbled coppenole, "i amtired of standing; is there no chair here?" rym replied by a negative gesture, accompaniedby a discreet smile. "croix-dieu!" resumed coppenole, thoroughlyunhappy at being obliged to

lower his voice thus, "i should like to sitdown on the floor, with my legs crossed, like a hosier, as i do in myshop." "take good care that you do not, master jacques." "ouais! master guillaume! can one only remainhere on his feet?" "or on his knees," said rym. at that moment the king's voice was uplifted.they held their peace. "fifty sols for the robes of our valets, andtwelve livres for the mantles of the clerks of our crown! that'sit! pour out gold by the ton! are you mad, olivier?"

as he spoke thus, the old man raised his head.the golden shells of the collar of saint-michael could be seen gleamingon his neck. the candle fully illuminated his gaunt and morose profile.he tore the papers from the other's hand. "you are ruining us!" he cried, casting hishollow eyes over the scroll. "what is all this? what need have we of soprodigious a household? two chaplains at ten livres a month each, and,a chapel clerk at one hundred sols! a valet-de-chambre at ninety livresa year. four head cooks at six score livres a year each! a spit-cook,an herb-cook, a sauce-cook,

a butler, two sumpter-horse lackeys, at tenlivres a month each! two scullions at eight livres! a groom of thestables and his two aids at four and twenty livres a month! a porter,a pastry-cook, a baker, two carters, each sixty livres a year! and thefarrier six score livres! and the master of the chamber of our funds, twelvehundred livres! and the comptroller five hundred. and how do i knowwhat else? 'tis ruinous. the wages of our servants are putting france tothe pillage! all the ingots of the louvre will melt before such a fireof expenses! we shall have to sell our plate! and next year, if god andour lady (here he raised his

hat) lend us life, we shall drink our potionsfrom a pewter pot!" so saying, he cast a glance at the silvergoblet which gleamed upon the table. he coughed and continued,-- "master olivier, the princes who reign overgreat lordships, like kings and emperors, should not allow sumptuousnessin their houses; for the fire spreads thence through the province.hence, master olivier, consider this said once for all. our expenditureincreases every year. the thing displease us. how, _pasque-dieu_!when in '79 it did not exceed six and thirty thousand livres, didit attain in '80, forty-three

thousand six hundred and nineteen livres?i have the figures in my head. in '81, sixty-six thousand six hundred andeighty livres, and this year, by the faith of my body, it will reach eightythousand livres! doubled in four years! monstrous!" he paused breathless, then resumed energetically,-- "i behold around me only people who fattenon my leanness! you suck crowns from me at every pore." all remained silent. this was one of thosefits of wrath which are allowed to take their course. he continued,--

"'tis like that request in latin from thegentlemen of france, that we should re-establish what they call thegrand charges of the crown! charges in very deed! charges which crush!ah! gentlemen! you say that we are not a king to reign _dapifero nullo,buticulario nullo_! we will let you see, _pasque-dieu_! whether we arenot a king!" here he smiled, in the consciousness of hispower; this softened his bad humor, and he turned towards the flemings,-- "do you see, gossip guillaume? the grand wardenof the keys, the grand butler, the grand chamberlain, the grand seneschalare not worth the

smallest valet. remember this, gossip coppenole.they serve no purpose, as they stand thus useless round the king;they produce upon me the effect of the four evangelists who surroundthe face of the big clock of the palace, and which philippe brille hasjust set in order afresh. they are gilt, but they do not indicate the hour;and the hands can get on without them." he remained in thought for a moment, thenadded, shaking his aged head,-- "ho! ho! by our lady, i am not philippe brille,and i shall not gild the

great vassals anew. continue, olivier." the person whom he designated by this name,took the papers into his hands again, and began to read aloud,-- "to adam tenon, clerk of the warden of theseals of the provostship of paris; for the silver, making, and engravingof said seals, which have been made new because the others preceding,by reason of their antiquity and their worn condition, could no longerbe successfully used, twelve livres parisis. "to guillaume frã¨re, the sum of four livres,four sols parisis, for his

trouble and salary, for having nourished andfed the doves in the two dove-cots of the hã´tel des tournelles, duringthe months of january, february, and march of this year; and forthis he hath given seven sextiers of barley. "to a gray friar for confessing a criminal,four sols parisis." the king listened in silence. from time totime he coughed; then he raised the goblet to his lips and drank adraught with a grimace. "during this year there have been made bythe ordinance of justice, to the sound of the trumpet, through the squaresof paris, fifty-six

proclamations. account to be regulated. "for having searched and ransacked in certainplaces, in paris as well as elsewhere, for money said to be there concealed;but nothing hath been found: forty-five livres parisis." "bury a crown to unearth a sou!" said theking. "for having set in the hã´tel des tournellessix panes of white glass in the place where the iron cage is, thirteensols; for having made and delivered by command of the king, on theday of the musters, four shields with the escutcheons of the said seigneur,encircled with

garlands of roses all about, six livres; fortwo new sleeves to the king's old doublet, twenty sols; for a boxof grease to grease the boots of the king, fifteen deniers; a stable newlymade to lodge the king's black pigs, thirty livres parisis; many partitions,planks, and trap-doors, for the safekeeping of the lionsat saint-paul, twenty-two livres." "these be dear beasts," said louis xi. "itmatters not; it is a fine magnificence in a king. there is a great redlion whom i love for his pleasant ways. have you seen him, master guillaume?princes must have

these terrific animals; for we kings musthave lions for our dogs and tigers for our cats. the great befits a crown.in the days of the pagans of jupiter, when the people offered the templesa hundred oxen and a hundred sheep, the emperors gave a hundredlions and a hundred eagles. this was wild and very fine. the kings offrance have always had roarings round their throne. nevertheless,people must do me this justice, that i spend still less money onit than they did, and that i possess a greater modesty of lions, bears,elephants, and leopards.--go on, master olivier. we wished to say thusmuch to our flemish friends."

guillaume rym bowed low, while coppenole,with his surly mien, had the air of one of the bears of which his majestywas speaking. the king paid no heed. he had just dipped his lips intothe goblet, and he spat out the beverage, saying: "foh! what a disagreeablepotion!" the man who was reading continued:-- "for feeding a rascally footpad, locked upthese six months in the little cell of the flayer, until it shouldbe determined what to do with him, six livres, four sols." "what's that?" interrupted the king; "feedwhat ought to be hanged!

_pasque-dieu_! i will give not a sou morefor that nourishment. olivier, come to an understanding about the matterwith monsieur d'estouteville, and prepare me this very evening the weddingof the gallant and the gallows. resume." olivier made a mark with his thumb againstthe article of the "rascally foot soldier," and passed on. "to henriet cousin, master executor of thehigh works of justice in paris, the sum of sixty sols parisis, to himassessed and ordained by monseigneur the provost of paris, for havingbought, by order of the

said sieur the provost, a great broad sword,serving to execute and decapitate persons who are by justice condemnedfor their demerits, and he hath caused the same to be garnishedwith a sheath and with all things thereto appertaining; and hath likewisecaused to be repointed and set in order the old sword, which hadbecome broken and notched in executing justice on messire louis de luxembourg,as will more fully appear." the king interrupted: "that suffices. i allowthe sum with great good will. those are expenses which i do not begrudge.i have never regretted

that money. continue." "for having made over a great cage..." "ah!" said the king, grasping the arms ofhis chair in both hands, "i knew well that i came hither to this bastillefor some purpose. hold, master olivier; i desire to see that cagemyself. you shall read me the cost while i am examining it. messieurs flemings,come and see this; 'tis curious." then he rose, leaned on the arm of his interlocutor,made a sign to the sort of mute who stood before the doorto precede him, to the two

flemings to follow him, and quitted the room. the royal company was recruited, at the doorof the retreat, by men of arms, all loaded down with iron, and by slenderpages bearing flambeaux. it marched for some time through the interiorof the gloomy donjon, pierced with staircases and corridors evenin the very thickness of the walls. the captain of the bastille marchedat their head, and caused the wickets to be opened before the bent and agedking, who coughed as he walked. at each wicket, all heads were obliged tostoop, except that of the old

man bent double with age. "hum," said he betweenhis gums, for he had no longer any teeth, "we are already quiteprepared for the door of the sepulchre. for a low door, a bent passer." at length, after having passed a final wicket,so loaded with locks that a quarter of an hour was required to openit, they entered a vast and lofty vaulted hall, in the centre of whichthey could distinguish by the light of the torches, a huge cubic mass ofmasonry, iron, and wood. the interior was hollow. it was one of those famouscages of prisoners of state, which were called "the little daughtersof the king." in its

walls there were two or three little windowsso closely trellised with stout iron bars; that the glass was not visible.the door was a large flat slab of stone, as on tombs; the sortof door which serves for entrance only. only here, the occupant wasalive. the king began to walk slowly round the littleedifice, examining it carefully, while master olivier, who followedhim, read aloud the note. "for having made a great cage of wood of solidbeams, timbers and wall-plates, measuring nine feet in lengthby eight in breadth, and of the height of seven feet between the partitions,smoothed and clamped

with great bolts of iron, which has been placedin a chamber situated in one of the towers of the bastille saint-antoine,in which cage is placed and detained, by command of the king our lord,a prisoner who formerly inhabited an old, decrepit, and ruined cage.there have been employed in making the said new cage, ninety-six horizontalbeams, and fifty-two upright joists, ten wall plates three toiseslong; there have been occupied nineteen carpenters to hew, work,and fit all the said wood in the courtyard of the bastille during twentydays." "very fine heart of oak," said the king, strikingthe woodwork with his

fist. "there have been used in this cage," continuedthe other, "two hundred and twenty great bolts of iron, of nine feet,and of eight, the rest of medium length, with the rowels, caps and counterbandsappertaining to the said bolts; weighing, the said iron inall, three thousand, seven hundred and thirty-five pounds; beside eightgreat squares of iron, serving to attach the said cage in place withclamps and nails weighing in all two hundred and eighteen pounds, notreckoning the iron of the trellises for the windows of the chamber whereinthe cage hath been

placed, the bars of iron for the door of thecage and other things." "'tis a great deal of iron," said the king,"to contain the light of a spirit." "the whole amounts to three hundred and seventeenlivres, five sols, seven deniers." "_pasque-dieu_!" exclaimed the king. at this oath, which was the favorite of louisxi., some one seemed to awaken in the interior of the cage; thesound of chains was heard, grating on the floor, and a feeble voice,which seemed to issue from the

tomb was uplifted. "sire! sire! mercy!" theone who spoke thus could not be seen. "three hundred and seventeen livres, fivesols, seven deniers," repeated louis xi. the lamentable voice which had proceededfrom the cage had frozen all present, even master olivier himself.the king alone wore the air of not having heard. at his order,master olivier resumed his reading, and his majesty coldly continuedhis inspection of the cage. "in addition to this there hath been paidto a mason who hath made the holes wherein to place the gratings of thewindows, and the floor of

the chamber where the cage is, because thatfloor could not support this cage by reason of its weight, twenty-sevenlivres fourteen sols parisis." the voice began to moan again. "mercy, sire! i swear to you that 'twas monsieurthe cardinal d'angers and not i, who was guilty of treason." "the mason is bold!" said the king. "continue,olivier." olivier continued,-- "to a joiner for window frames, bedstead,hollow stool, and other

things, twenty livres, two sols parisis." the voice also continued. "alas, sire! will you not listen to me? iprotest to you that 'twas not i who wrote the matter to monseigneurdo guyenne, but monsieur le cardinal balue." "the joiner is dear," quoth the king. "isthat all?" "no, sire. to a glazier, for the windows ofthe said chamber, forty-six sols, eight deniers parisis." "have mercy, sire! is it not enough to havegiven all my goods to my

judges, my plate to monsieur de torcy, mylibrary to master pierre doriolle, my tapestry to the governor of theroussillon? i am innocent. i have been shivering in an iron cage forfourteen years. have mercy, sire! you will find your reward in heaven." "master olivier," said the king, "the total?" "three hundred sixty-seven livres, eight sols,three deniers parisis. "notre-dame!" cried the king. "this is anoutrageous cage!" he tore the book from master olivier's hands,and set to reckoning it himself upon his fingers, examining the paperand the cage alternately.

meanwhile, the prisoner could be heard sobbing.this was lugubrious in the darkness, and their faces turned paleas they looked at each other. "fourteen years, sire! fourteen years now!since the month of april, 1469. in the name of the holy mother of god,sire, listen to me! during all this time you have enjoyed the heat ofthe sun. shall i, frail creature, never more behold the day? mercy,sire! be pitiful! clemency is a fine, royal virtue, which turns asidethe currents of wrath. does your majesty believe that in the hour of deathit will be a great cause of content for a king never to haveleft any offence unpunished?

besides, sire, i did not betray your majesty,'twas monsieur d'angers; and i have on my foot a very heavy chain,and a great ball of iron at the end, much heavier than it should be inreason. eh! sire! have pity on me!" "olivier," cried the king, throwing back hishead, "i observe that they charge me twenty sols a hogshead for plaster,while it is worth but twelve. you will refer back this account." he turned his back on the cage, and set outto leave the room. the miserable prisoner divined from the removalof the torches and the

noise, that the king was taking his departure. "sire! sire!" he cried in despair. the door closed again. he no longer saw anything,and heard only the hoarse voice of the turnkey, singing in hisears this ditty,-- "_maã®tre jean balue,a perdu la vue de ses ã©vãªchã©s.monsieur de verdun. n'en a plus pas un;tous sont dã©pãªchã©s_."* * master jean balue has lost sight of hisbishoprics. monsieur of verdun has no longer one; allhave been killed off.

the king reascended in silence to his retreat,and his suite followed him, terrified by the last groans of the condemnedman. all at once his majesty turned to the governor of the bastille,-- "by the way," said he, "was there not someone in that cage?" "pardieu, yes sire!" replied the governor,astounded by the question. "and who was it?" "monsieur the bishop of verdun." the king knew this better than any one else.but it was a mania of his. "ah!" said he, with the innocent air of thinkingof it for the first

time, "guillaume de harancourt, the friendof monsieur the cardinal balue. a good devil of a bishop!" at the expiration of a few moments, the doorof the retreat had opened again, then closed upon the five personageswhom the reader has seen at the beginning of this chapter, and whoresumed their places, their whispered conversations, and their attitudes. during the king's absence, several despatcheshad been placed on his table, and he broke the seals himself. thenhe began to read them promptly, one after the other, made a signto master olivier who

appeared to exercise the office of minister,to take a pen, and without communicating to him the contents of the despatches,he began to dictate in a low voice, the replies which the latterwrote, on his knees, in an inconvenient attitude before the table. guillaume rym was on the watch. the king spoke so low that the flemings heardnothing of his dictation, except some isolated and rather unintelligiblescraps, such as,-- "to maintain the fertile places by commerce,and the sterile by manufactures....--to show the english lordsour four bombards, london,

brabant, bourg-en-bresse, saint-omer....--artilleryis the cause of war being made more judiciously now....--tomonsieur de bressuire, our friend....--armies cannot be maintained withouttribute, etc." once he raised his voice,-- "_pasque dieu_! monsieur the king of sicilyseals his letters with yellow wax, like a king of france. perhapswe are in the wrong to permit him so to do. my fair cousin of burgundy grantedno armorial bearings with a field of gules. the grandeur of housesis assured by the integrity of prerogatives. note this, friendolivier."

again,-- "oh! oh!" said he, "what a long message! whatdoth our brother the emperor claim?" and running his eye over themissive and breaking his reading with interjection: "surely! thegermans are so great and powerful, that it is hardly credible--butlet us not forget the old proverb: 'the finest county is flanders; thefinest duchy, milan; the finest kingdom, france.' is it not so, messieursflemings?" this time coppenole bowed in company withguillaume rym. the hosier's patriotism was tickled.

the last despatch made louis xi. frown. "what is this?" he said, "complaints and faultfinding against our garrisons in picardy! olivier, write withdiligence to m. the marshal de rouault:--that discipline is relaxed. thatthe gendarmes of the unattached troops, the feudal nobles, thefree archers, and the swiss inflict infinite evils on the rustics.--thatthe military, not content with what they find in the houses of the rustics,constrain them with violent blows of cudgel or of lash to go andget wine, spices, and other unreasonable things in the town.--that monsieurthe king knows this.

that we undertake to guard our people againstinconveniences, larcenies and pillage.--that such is our will, by ourlady!--that in addition, it suits us not that any fiddler, barber, orany soldier varlet should be clad like a prince, in velvet, cloth of silk,and rings of gold.--that these vanities are hateful to god.--that we,who are gentlemen, content ourselves with a doublet of clothat sixteen sols the ell, of paris.--that messieurs the camp-followerscan very well come down to that, also.--command and ordain.--to monsieurde rouault, our friend.--good."

he dictated this letter aloud, in a firm tone,and in jerks. at the moment when he finished it, the door openedand gave passage to a new personage, who precipitated himself intothe chamber, crying in affright,-- "sire! sire! there is a sedition of the populacein paris!" louis xi.'s grave face contracted; but all that was visibleof his emotion passed away like a flash of lightning. he controlledhimself and said with tranquil severity,-- "gossip jacques, you enter very abruptly!"

"sire! sire! there is a revolt!" repeatedgossip jacques breathlessly. the king, who had risen, grasped him roughlyby the arm, and said in his ear, in such a manner as to be heard byhim alone, with concentrated rage and a sidelong glance at the flemings,-- "hold your tongue! or speak low!" the new comer understood, and began in a lowtone to give a very terrified account, to which the king listenedcalmly, while guillaume rym called coppenole's attention to the faceand dress of the new arrival, to his furred cowl, (_caputia fourrata_),his short cape,

(_epitogia curta_), his robe of black velvet,which bespoke a president of the court of accounts. hardly had this personage given the king someexplanations, when louis xi. exclaimed, bursting into a laugh,-- "in truth? speak aloud, gossip coictier! whatcall is there for you to talk so low? our lady knoweth that we concealnothing from our good friends the flemings." "but sire..." "speak loud!"

gossip coictier was struck dumb with surprise. "so," resumed the king,--"speak sir,--thereis a commotion among the louts in our good city of paris?" "yes, sire." "and which is moving you say, against monsieurthe bailiff of the palais-de-justice?" "so it appears," said the gossip, who stillstammered, utterly astounded by the abrupt and inexplicable change whichhad just taken place in the king's thoughts.

louis xi. continued: "where did the watchmeet the rabble?" "marching from the grand truanderie, towardsthe pont-aux-changeurs. i met it myself as i was on my way hither toobey your majesty's commands. i heard some of them shouting: 'down withthe bailiff of the palace!'" "and what complaints have they against thebailiff?" "ah!" said gossip jacques, "because he istheir lord." "yes, sire. they are knaves from the cour-des-miracles.they have been complaining this long while, of the bailiff,whose vassals they are. they do not wish to recognize him either asjudge or as voyer?"*

* one in charge of the highways. "yes, certainly!" retorted the king with asmile of satis-faction which he strove in vain to disguise. "in all their petitions to the parliament,they claim to have but two masters. your majesty and their god, who isthe devil, i believe." "eh! eh!" said the king. he rubbed his hands, he laughed with thatinward mirth which makes the countenance beam; he was unable to dissimulatehis joy, although he endeavored at moments to compose himself.no one understood it in the

least, not even master olivier. he remainedsilent for a moment, with a thoughtful but contented air. "are they in force?" he suddenly inquired. "yes, assuredly, sire," replied gossip jacques. "how many?" "six thousand at the least." the king could not refrain from saying: "good!"he went on,-- "are they armed?" "with scythes, pikes, hackbuts, pickaxes.all sorts of very violent

weapons." the king did not appear in the least disturbedby this list. jacques considered it his duty to add,-- "if your majesty does not send prompt succorto the bailiff, he is lost." "we will send," said the king with an airof false seriousness. "it is well. assuredly we will send. monsieur thebailiff is our friend. six thousand! they are desperate scamps! theiraudacity is marvellous, and we are greatly enraged at it. but we haveonly a few people about us

to-night. to-morrow morning will be time enough." gossip jacques exclaimed, "instantly, sire!there will be time to sack the bailiwick a score of times, to violatethe seignory, to hang the bailiff. for god's sake, sire! send beforeto-morrow morning." the king looked him full in the face. "i havetold you to-morrow morning." it was one of those looks to which one doesnot reply. after a silence, louis xi. raised his voice once more,-- "you should know that, gossip jacques. whatwas--"

he corrected himself. "what is the bailiff'sfeudal jurisdiction?" "sire, the bailiff of the palace has the ruecalendre as far as the rue de l'herberie, the place saint-michel, andthe localities vulgarly known as the mureaux, situated near the church ofnotre-dame des champs (here louis xi. raised the brim of his hat), whichhotels number thirteen, plus the cour des miracles, plus the maladerie,called the banlieue, plus the whole highway which begins at thatmaladerie and ends at the porte sainte-jacques. of these divers placeshe is voyer, high, middle, and low, justiciary, full seigneur."

"bless me!" said the king, scratching hisleft ear with his right hand, "that makes a goodly bit of my city! ah! monsieurthe bailiff was king of all that." this time he did not correct himself. he continueddreamily, and as though speaking to himself,-- "very fine, monsieur the bailiff! you hadthere between your teeth a pretty slice of our paris." all at once he broke out explosively, "_pasque-dieu_!what people are those who claim to be voyers, justiciaries,lords and masters in our

domains? who have their tollgates at the endof every field? their gallows and their hangman at every cross-roadamong our people? so that as the greek believed that he had as manygods as there were fountains, and the persian as many as he beheld stars,the frenchman counts as many kings as he sees gibbets! pardieu! 'tis anevil thing, and the confusion of it displeases me. i should greatly liketo know whether it be the mercy of god that there should be in parisany other lord than the king, any other judge than our parliament, any otheremperor than ourselves in this empire! by the faith of my soul! theday must certainly come when

there shall exist in france but one king,one lord, one judge, one headsman, as there is in paradise but onegod!" he lifted his cap again, and continued, stilldreamily, with the air and accent of a hunter who is cheering onhis pack of hounds: "good, my people! bravely done! break these false lords!do your duty! at them! have at them! pillage them! take them! sackthem!... ah! you want to be kings, messeigneurs? on, my people on!" here he interrupted himself abruptly, bithis lips as though to take back his thought which had already half escaped,bent his piercing eyes

in turn on each of the five persons who surroundedhim, and suddenly grasping his hat with both hands and staringfull at it, he said to it: "oh! i would burn you if you knew what therewas in my head." then casting about him once more the cautiousand uneasy glance of the fox re-entering his hole,-- "no matter! we will succor monsieur the bailiff.unfortunately, we have but few troops here at the present moment,against so great a populace. we must wait until to-morrow. the order willbe transmitted to the city and every one who is caught will be immediatelyhung."

"by the way, sire," said gossip coictier,"i had forgotten that in the first agitation, the watch have seized twolaggards of the band. if your majesty desires to see these men, they arehere." "if i desire to see them!" cried the king."what! _pasque-dieu_! you forget a thing like that! run quick, you,olivier! go, seek them!" master olivier quitted the room and returneda moment later with the two prisoners, surrounded by archers of the guard.the first had a coarse, idiotic, drunken and astonished face. he wasclothed in rags, and walked with one knee bent and dragging his leg. thesecond had a pallid and

smiling countenance, with which the readeris already acquainted. the king surveyed them for a moment withoututtering a word, then addressing the first one abruptly,-- "what's your name?" "gieffroy pincebourde." "your trade." "outcast." "what were you going to do in this damnablesedition?" the outcast stared at the king, and swung his arms witha stupid air.

he had one of those awkwardly shaped headswhere intelligence is about as much at its ease as a light beneath anextinguisher. "i know not," said he. "they went, i went." "were you not going to outrageously attackand pillage your lord, the bailiff of the palace?" "i know that they were going to take somethingfrom some one. that is all." a soldier pointed out to the king a billhookwhich he had seized on the person of the vagabond.

"do you recognize this weapon?" demanded theking. "yes; 'tis my billhook; i am a vine-dresser." "and do you recognize this man as your companion?"added louis xi., pointing to the other prisoner. "no, i do not know him." "that will do," said the king, making a signwith his finger to the silent personage who stood motionless besidethe door, to whom we have already called the reader's attention. "gossip tristan, here is a man for you."

tristan l'hermite bowed. he gave an orderin a low voice to two archers, who led away the poor vagabond. in the meantime, the king had approached thesecond prisoner, who was perspiring in great drops: "your name?" "sire, pierre gringoire." "your trade?" "philosopher, sire." "how do you permit yourself, knave, to goand besiege our friend, monsieur the bailiff of the palace, and whathave you to say concerning

this popular agitation?" "sire, i had nothing to do with it." "come, now! you wanton wretch, were not youapprehended by the watch in that bad company?" "no, sire, there is a mistake. 'tis a fatality.i make tragedies. sire, i entreat your majesty to listen to me. iam a poet. 'tis the melancholy way of men of my profession to roam the streetsby night. i was passing there. it was mere chance. i was unjustlyarrested; i am innocent of this civil tempest. your majesty sees thatthe vagabond did not

recognize me. i conjure your majesty--" "hold your tongue!" said the king, betweentwo swallows of his ptisan. "you split our head!" tristan l'hermite advanced and pointing togringoire,-- "sire, can this one be hanged also?" this was the first word that he had uttered. "phew!" replied the king, "i see no objection." "i see a great many!" said gringoire. at that moment, our philosopher was greenerthan an olive. he perceived

from the king's cold and indifferent mienthat there was no other resource than something very pathetic, andhe flung himself at the feet of louis xi., exclaiming, with gestures ofdespair:-- "sire! will your majesty deign to hear me.sire! break not in thunder over so small a thing as myself. god's greatlightning doth not bombard a lettuce. sire, you are an august and, verypuissant monarch; have pity on a poor man who is honest, and who wouldfind it more difficult to stir up a revolt than a cake of ice wouldto give out a spark! very gracious sire, kindness is the virtue of alion and a king. alas! rigor

only frightens minds; the impetuous gustsof the north wind do not make the traveller lay aside his cloak; the sun,bestowing his rays little by little, warms him in such ways that it willmake him strip to his shirt. sire, you are the sun. i protest to you, mysovereign lord and master, that i am not an outcast, thief, and disorderlyfellow. revolt and brigandage belong not to the outfit of apollo.i am not the man to fling myself into those clouds which break out intoseditious clamor. i am your majesty's faithful vassal. that samejealousy which a husband cherisheth for the honor of his wife, theresentment which the son hath

for the love of his father, a good vassalshould feel for the glory of his king; he should pine away for the zealof this house, for the aggrandizement of his service. every otherpassion which should transport him would be but madness. these,sire, are my maxims of state: then do not judge me to be a seditious andthieving rascal because my garment is worn at the elbows. if you willgrant me mercy, sire, i will wear it out on the knees in praying to godfor you night and morning! alas! i am not extremely rich, 'tis true.i am even rather poor. but not vicious on that account. it is not myfault. every one knoweth that

great wealth is not to be drawn from literature,and that those who are best posted in good books do not always havea great fire in winter. the advocate's trade taketh all the grain,and leaveth only straw to the other scientific professions. there are fortyvery excellent proverbs anent the hole-ridden cloak of the philosopher.oh, sire! clemency is the only light which can enlighten the interiorof so great a soul. clemency beareth the torch before all theother virtues. without it they are but blind men groping after god in thedark. compassion, which is the same thing as clemency, causeth the loveof subjects, which is the

most powerful bodyguard to a prince. whatmatters it to your majesty, who dazzles all faces, if there is one poorman more on earth, a poor innocent philosopher spluttering amid theshadows of calamity, with an empty pocket which resounds against his hollowbelly? moreover, sire, i am a man of letters. great kings make apearl for their crowns by protecting letters. hercules did not disdainthe title of musagetes. mathias corvin favored jean de monroyal, theornament of mathematics. now, 'tis an ill way to protect letters tohang men of letters. what a stain on alexander if he had hung aristoteles!this act would not be a

little patch on the face of his reputationto embellish it, but a very malignant ulcer to disfigure it. sire! i madea very proper epithalamium for mademoiselle of flanders and monseigneurthe very august dauphin. that is not a firebrand of rebellion. yourmajesty sees that i am not a scribbler of no reputation, that i havestudied excellently well, and that i possess much natural eloquence. havemercy upon me, sire! in so doing you will perform a gallant deed to ourlady, and i swear to you that i am greatly terrified at the idea ofbeing hanged!" so saying, the unhappy gringoire kissed theking's slippers, and

guillaume rym said to coppenole in a low tone:"he doth well to drag himself on the earth. kings are like the jupiterof crete, they have ears only in their feet." and without troublinghimself about the jupiter of crete, the hosier replied witha heavy smile, and his eyes fixed on gringoire: "oh! that's it exactly!i seem to hear chancellor hugonet craving mercy of me." when gringoire paused at last, quite out ofbreath, he raised his head tremblingly towards the king, who was engagedin scratching a spot on the knee of his breeches with his finger-nail;then his majesty began

to drink from the goblet of ptisan. but heuttered not a word, and this silence tortured gringoire. at last the kinglooked at him. "here is a terrible bawler!" said, he. then, turningto tristan l'hermite, "bali! let him go!" gringoire fell backwards, quite thunderstruckwith joy. "at liberty!" growled tristan "doth not yourmajesty wish to have him detained a little while in a cage?" "gossip," retorted louis xi., "think you that'tis for birds of this feather that we cause to be made cages atthree hundred and sixty-seven

livres, eight sous, three deniers apiece?release him at once, the wanton (louis xi. was fond of this wordwhich formed, with _pasque-dieu_, the foundation of his joviality),and put him out with a buffet." "ugh!" cried gringoire, "what a great kingis here!" and for fear of a counter order, he rushedtowards the door, which tristan opened for him with a very bad grace.the soldiers left the room with him, pushing him before them with stoutthwacks, which gringoire bore like a true stoical philosopher.

the king's good humor since the revolt againstthe bailiff had been announced to him, made itself apparent inevery way. this unwonted clemency was no small sign of it. tristanl'hermite in his corner wore the surly look of a dog who has had a bonesnatched away from him. meanwhile, the king thrummed gayly with hisfingers on the arm of his chair, the march of pont-audemer. he was adissembling prince, but one who understood far better how to hide histroubles than his joys. these external manifestations of joy at any goodnews sometimes proceeded to very great lengths thus, on the death, ofcharles the bold, to the point

of vowing silver balustrades to saint martinof tours; on his advent to the throne, so far as forgetting to orderhis father's obsequies. "hã©! sire!" suddenly exclaimed jacques coictier,"what has become of the acute attack of illness for which your majestyhad me summoned?" "oh!" said the king, "i really suffer greatly,my gossip. there is a hissing in my ear and fiery rakes rack mychest." coictier took the king's hand, and begun tofeel of his pulse with a knowing air. "look, coppenole," said rym, in a low voice."behold him between

coictier and tristan. they are his whole court.a physician for himself, a headsman for others." as he felt the king's pulse, coictier assumedan air of greater and greater alarm. louis xi. watched him withsome anxiety. coictier grew visibly more gloomy. the brave man had noother farm than the king's bad health. he speculated on it to the best ofhis ability. "oh! oh!" he murmured at length, "this isserious indeed." "is it not?" said the king, uneasily. "_pulsus creber, anhelans, crepitans, irregularis_,"continued the

leech. "_pasque-dieu_!" "this may carry off its man in less than threedays." "our lady!" exclaimed the king. "and the remedy,gossip?" "i am meditating upon that, sire." he made louis xi. put out his tongue, shookhis head, made a grimace, and in the very midst of these affectations,-- "pardieu, sire," he suddenly said, "i musttell you that there is a receivership of the royal prerogatives vacant,and that i have a

nephew." "i give the receivership to your nephew, gossipjacques," replied the king; "but draw this fire from my breast." "since your majesty is so clement," repliedthe leech, "you will not refuse to aid me a little in buildingmy house, rue saint-andrã©-des-arcs." "heugh!" said the king. "i am at the end of my finances," pursuedthe doctor; "and it would really be a pity that the house should nothave a roof; not on account

of the house, which is simple and thoroughlybourgeois, but because of the paintings of jehan fourbault, which adornits wainscoating. there is a diana flying in the air, but so excellent,so tender, so delicate, of so ingenuous an action, her hair so wellcoiffed and adorned with a crescent, her flesh so white, that she leadsinto temptation those who regard her too curiously. there is also aceres. she is another very fair divinity. she is seated on sheaves ofwheat and crowned with a gallant garland of wheat ears interlaced withsalsify and other flowers. never were seen more amorous eyes, more roundedlimbs, a nobler air,

or a more gracefully flowing skirt. she isone of the most innocent and most perfect beauties whom the brush has everproduced." "executioner!" grumbled louis xi., "what areyou driving at?" "i must have a roof for these paintings, sire,and, although 'tis but a small matter, i have no more money." "how much doth your roof cost?" "why a roof of copper, embellished and gilt,two thousand livres at the most." "ah, assassin!" cried the king, "he neverdraws out one of my teeth

which is not a diamond." "am i to have my roof?" said coictier. "yes; and go to the devil, but cure me." jacques coictier bowed low and said,-- "sire, it is a repellent which will save you.we will apply to your loins the great defensive composed of cerate,armenian bole, white of egg, oil, and vinegar. you will continue yourptisan and we will answer for your majesty." a burning candle does not attract one gnatalone. master olivier,

perceiving the king to be in a liberal mood,and judging the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn. "sire--" "what is it now?" said louis xi. "sire, yourmajesty knoweth that simon radin is dead?" "well?" "he was councillor to the king in the matterof the courts of the treasury." "sire, his place is vacant."

as he spoke thus, master olivier's haughtyface quitted its arrogant expression for a lowly one. it is the onlychange which ever takes place in a courtier's visage. the king looked himwell in the face and said in a dry tone,--"i understand." he resumed, "master olivier, the marshal de boucicautwas wont to say, 'there's no master save the king, there are no fishessave in the sea.' i see that you agree with monsieur de boucicaut. nowlisten to this; we have a good memory. in '68 we made you valet of our chamber:in '69, guardian of the

fortress of the bridge of saint-cloud, ata hundred livres of tournay in wages (you wanted them of paris). in november,'73, by letters given to gergeole, we instituted you keeper of thewood of vincennes, in the place of gilbert acle, equerry; in '75,gruyer* of the forest of rouvray-lez-saint-cloud, in the place of jacquesle maire; in '78, we graciously settled on you, by letters patentsealed doubly with green wax, an income of ten livres parisis, foryou and your wife, on the place of the merchants, situated at the schoolsaint-germain; in '79, we made you gruyer of the forest of senart,in place of that poor

jehan daiz; then captain of the chã¢teau ofloches; then governor of saint-quentin; then captain of the bridgeof meulan, of which you cause yourself to be called comte. out of the fivesols fine paid by every barber who shaves on a festival day, thereare three sols for you and we have the rest. we have been good enoughto change your name of le mauvais (the evil), which resembled your facetoo closely. in '76, we granted you, to the great displeasure of ournobility, armorial bearings of a thousand colors, which giveyou the breast of a peacock. _pasque-dieu_! are not you surfeited? is notthe draught of fishes

sufficiently fine and miraculous? are younot afraid that one salmon more will make your boat sink? pride willbe your ruin, gossip. ruin and disgrace always press hard on the heels ofpride. consider this and hold your tongue." * a lord having a right on the woods of hisvassals. these words, uttered with severity, made masterolivier's face revert to its insolence. "good!" he muttered, almost aloud, "'tis easyto see that the king is ill to-day; he giveth all to the leech."

louis xi. far from being irritated by thispetulant insult, resumed with some gentleness, "stay, i was forgetting thati made you my ambassador to madame marie, at ghent. yes, gentlemen,"added the king turning to the flemings, "this man hath been an ambassador.there, my gossip," he pursued, addressing master olivier, "let usnot get angry; we are old friends. 'tis very late. we have terminatedour labors. shave me." our readers have not, without doubt, waiteduntil the present moment to recognize in master olivier that terriblefigaro whom providence, the great maker of dramas, mingled so artisticallyin the long and bloody

comedy of the reign of louis xi. we will nothere undertake to develop that singular figure. this barber of the kinghad three names. at court he was politely called olivier le daim (thedeer); among the people olivier the devil. his real name was olivierle mauvais. accordingly, olivier le mauvais remained motionless,sulking at the king, and glancing askance at jacques coictier. "yes, yes, the physician!" he said betweenhis teeth. "ah, yes, the physician!" retorted louis xi.,with singular good humor; "the physician has more credit than you. 'tisvery simple; he has taken

hold upon us by the whole body, and you holdus only by the chin. come, my poor barber, all will come right. whatwould you say and what would become of your office if i were a king likechilperic, whose gesture consisted in holding his beard in one hand?come, gossip mine, fulfil your office, shave me. go get what you needtherefor." olivier perceiving that the king had madeup his mind to laugh, and that there was no way of even annoying him, wentoff grumbling to execute his orders. the king rose, approached the window, andsuddenly opening it with

extraordinary agitation,-- "oh! yes!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands,"yonder is a redness in the sky over the city. 'tis the bailiff burning.it can be nothing else but that. ah! my good people! here you are aidingme at last in tearing down the rights of lordship!" then turning towards the flemings: "come,look at this, gentlemen. is it not a fire which gloweth yonder?" the two men of ghent drew near. "a great fire," said guillaume rym.

"oh!" exclaimed coppenole, whose eyes suddenlyflashed, "that reminds me of the burning of the house of the seigneurd'hymbercourt. there must be a goodly revolt yonder." "you think so, master coppenole?" and louisxi.'s glance was almost as joyous as that of the hosier. "will it notbe difficult to resist?" "cross of god! sire! your majesty will damagemany companies of men of war thereon." "ah! i! 'tis different," returned the king."if i willed." the hosier replied hardily,--

"if this revolt be what i suppose, sire, youmight will in vain." "gossip," said louis xi., "with the two companiesof my unattached troops and one discharge of a serpentine,short work is made of a populace of louts." the hosier, in spite of the signs made tohim by guillaume rym, appeared determined to hold his own against the king. "sire, the swiss were also louts. monsieurthe duke of burgundy was a great gentleman, and he turned up his noseat that rabble rout. at the battle of grandson, sire, he cried: 'men ofthe cannon! fire on the

villains!' and he swore by saint-george. butadvoyer scharnachtal hurled himself on the handsome duke with his battle-cluband his people, and when the glittering burgundian army came incontact with these peasants in bull hides, it flew in pieces like a paneof glass at the blow of a pebble. many lords were then slain by low-bornknaves; and monsieur de chã¢teau-guyon, the greatest seigneur in burgundy,was found dead, with his gray horse, in a little marsh meadow." "friend," returned the king, "you are speakingof a battle. the question here is of a mutiny. and i will gain the upperhand of it as soon as it

shall please me to frown." the other replied indifferently,-- "that may be, sire; in that case, 'tis becausethe people's hour hath not yet come." guillaume rym considered it incumbent on himto intervene,-- "master coppenole, you are speaking to a puissantking." "i know it," replied the hosier, gravely. "let him speak, monsieur rym, my friend,"said the king; "i love this frankness of speech. my father, charles theseventh, was accustomed

to say that the truth was ailing; i thoughther dead, and that she had found no confessor. master coppenole undeceivethme." then, laying his hand familiarly on coppenole'sshoulder,-- "you were saying, master jacques?" "i say, sire, that you may possibly be inthe right, that the hour of the people may not yet have come with you." louis xi. gazed at him with his penetratingeye,-- "and when will that hour come, master?" "you will hear it strike."

"on what clock, if you please?" coppenole, with his tranquil and rustic countenance,made the king approach the window. "listen, sire! there is here a donjon keep,a belfry, cannons, bourgeois, soldiers; when the belfry shallhum, when the cannons shall roar, when the donjon shall fall inruins amid great noise, when bourgeois and soldiers shall howl and slayeach other, the hour will strike." louis's face grew sombre and dreamy. he remainedsilent for a moment,

then he gently patted with his hand the thickwall of the donjon, as one strokes the haunches of a steed. "oh! no!" said he. "you will not crumble soeasily, will you, my good bastille?" and turning with an abrupt gesture towardsthe sturdy fleming,-- "have you never seen a revolt, master jacques?" "i have made them," said the hosier. "how do you set to work to make a revolt?"said the king. "ah!" replied coppenole, "'tis not very difficult.there are a hundred

ways. in the first place, there must be discontentin the city. the thing is not uncommon. and then, the characterof the inhabitants. those of ghent are easy to stir into revolt. theyalways love the prince's son; the prince, never. well! one morning,i will suppose, some one enters my shop, and says to me: 'father coppenole,there is this and there is that, the demoiselle of flanderswishes to save her ministers, the grand bailiff is doubling the impost onshagreen, or something else,'--what you will. i leave my work asit stands, i come out of my hosier's stall, and i shout: 'to the sack?'there is always some smashed

cask at hand. i mount it, and i say aloud,in the first words that occur to me, what i have on my heart; and when oneis of the people, sire, one always has something on the heart: thenpeople troop up, they shout, they ring the alarm bell, they arm the loutswith what they take from the soldiers, the market people join in, andthey set out. and it will always be thus, so long as there are lordsin the seignories, bourgeois in the bourgs, and peasants in the country." "and against whom do you thus rebel?" inquiredthe king; "against your bailiffs? against your lords?"

"sometimes; that depends. against the duke,also, sometimes." louis xi. returned and seated himself, saying,with a smile,-- "ah! here they have only got as far as thebailiffs." at that instant olivier le daim returned.he was followed by two pages, who bore the king's toilet articles; but whatstruck louis xi. was that he was also accompanied by the provost ofparis and the chevalier of the watch, who appeared to be in consternation.the spiteful barber also wore an air of consternation, which wasone of contentment beneath, however. it was he who spoke first.

"sire, i ask your majesty's pardon for thecalamitous news which i bring." the king turned quickly and grazed the maton the floor with the feet of his chair,-- "what does this mean?" "sire," resumed olivier le daim, with themalicious air of a man who rejoices that he is about to deal a violentblow, "'tis not against the bailiff of the courts that this popular seditionis directed." "against whom, then?"

"against you, sire?' the aged king rose erect and straight as ayoung man,-- "explain yourself, olivier! and guard yourhead well, gossip; for i swear to you by the cross of saint-lã´ that,if you lie to us at this hour, the sword which severed the head ofmonsieur de luxembourg is not so notched that it cannot yet sever yours!" the oath was formidable; louis xi. had onlysworn twice in the course of his life by the cross of saint-lã´. olivier opened his mouth to reply.

"on your knees!" interrupted the king violently."tristan, have an eye to this man." olivier knelt down and said coldly,-- "sire, a sorceress was condemned to deathby your court of parliament. she took refuge in notre-dame. the peopleare trying to take her from thence by main force. monsieur the provostand monsieur the chevalier of the watch, who have just come from the riot,are here to give me the lie if this is not the truth. the populace isbesieging notre-dame." "yes, indeed!" said the king in a low voice,all pale and trembling with

wrath. "notre-dame! they lay siege to ourlady, my good mistress in her cathedral!--rise, olivier. you are right.i give you simon radin's charge. you are right. 'tis i whom they areattacking. the witch is under the protection of this church, the churchis under my protection. and i thought that they were acting againstthe bailiff! 'tis against myself!" then, rendered young by fury, he began towalk up and down with long strides. he no longer laughed, he was terrible,he went and came; the fox was changed into a hyaena. he seemed suffocatedto such a degree

that he could not speak; his lips moved, andhis fleshless fists were clenched. all at once he raised his head,his hollow eye appeared full of light, and his voice burst forth like aclarion: "down with them, tristan! a heavy hand for these rascals! go,tristan, my friend! slay! slay!" this eruption having passed, he returned tohis seat, and said with cold and concentrated wrath,-- "here, tristan! there are here with us inthe bastille the fifty lances of the vicomte de gif, which makes three hundredhorse: you will take

them. there is also the company of our unattachedarchers of monsieur de chã¢teaupers: you will take it. you are provostof the marshals; you have the men of your provostship: you will takethem. at the hã´tel saint-pol you will find forty archers of monsieur thedauphin's new guard: you will take them. and, with all these, you willhasten to notre-dame. ah! messieurs, louts of paris, do you flingyourselves thus against the crown of france, the sanctity of notre-dame,and the peace of this commonwealth! exterminate, tristan! exterminate!and let not a single one escape, except it be for montfauã§on."

tristan bowed. "'tis well, sire." he added, after a silence, "and what shalli do with the sorceress?" this question caused the king to meditate. "ah!" said he, "the sorceress! monsieur d'estouteville,what did the people wish to do with her?" "sire," replied the provost of paris, "i imaginethat since the populace has come to tear her from her asylum in notre-dame,'tis because that impunity wounds them, and they desire to hangher." the king appeared to reflect deeply: then,addressing tristan l'hermite,

"well! gossip, exterminate the people andhang the sorceress." "that's it," said rym in a low tone to coppenole,"punish the people for willing a thing, and then do what they wish." "enough, sire," replied tristan. "if the sorceressis still in notre-dame, must she be seized in spite ofthe sanctuary?" "_pasque-dieu_! the sanctuary!" said the king,scratching his ear. "but the woman must be hung, nevertheless." here, as though seized with a sudden idea,he flung himself on his knees before his chair, took off his hat, placedit on the seat, and gazing

devoutly at one of the leaden amulets whichloaded it down, "oh!" said he, with clasped hands, "our lady of paris,my gracious patroness, pardon me. i will only do it this once. thiscriminal must be punished. i assure you, madame the virgin, my good mistress,that she is a sorceress who is not worthy of your amiableprotection. you know, madame, that many very pious princes haveoverstepped the privileges of the churches for the glory of god and thenecessities of the state. saint hugues, bishop of england, permittedking edward to hang a witch in his church. saint-louis of france, my master,transgressed, with the

same object, the church of monsieur saint-paul;and monsieur alphonse, son of the king of jerusalem, the very churchof the holy sepulchre. pardon me, then, for this once. our lady ofparis, i will never do so again, and i will give you a fine statue ofsilver, like the one which i gave last year to our lady of ecouys. so beit." he made the sign of the cross, rose, donnedhis hat once more, and said to tristan,-- "be diligent, gossip. take monsieur chã¢teauperswith you. you will cause the tocsin to be sounded. you will crush thepopulace. you will seize

the witch. 'tis said. and i mean the businessof the execution to be done by you. you will render me an accountof it. come, olivier, i shall not go to bed this night. shave me." tristan l'hermite bowed and departed. thenthe king, dismissing rym and coppenole with a gesture,-- "god guard you, messieurs, my good friendsthe flemings. go, take a little repose. the night advances, and weare nearer the morning than the evening." both retired and gained their apartments underthe guidance of the

captain of the bastille. coppenole said toguillaume rym,-- "hum! i have had enough of that coughing king!i have seen charles of burgundy drunk, and he was less malignantthan louis xi. when ailing." "master jacques," replied rym, "'tis becausewine renders kings less cruel than does barley water."

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