should thrust their heads in. In order to reach it, it was only necessary to mount upon a couple of hogsheads. It was settled so that each candidate should cover his face and remain concealed in the chapel until the moment of his appearance. In less than an instant, the chapel was crowded with competitors.
Coppenole directed all. During the uproar, the cardinal had retired to his suite, under the pretext of business.
The grimaces began. A second and third grimace followed, then another and another; and the laughter went on increasing.
“Just look at that face!”
“It’s not good for anything.”
“Another!”
“Good! Good!”
As for Gringoire, it was far worse than it had been a little while before. He no longer beheld anything but backs.
There was a thunder of applause. The Pope of the Fools had been elected.
“Noël! Noël! Noël![2]” shouted the people on all sides. A marvellous grimace was beaming at that moment through the aperture in the rose window. It had a tetrahedral nose, a horseshoe mouth; one little left eye obstructed with a red, bushy, bristling eyebrow, while the right eye disappearing entirely beneath an enormous wart. Teeth were in disarray, broken here and there. The whole expression was a mixture of malice, amazement, and sadness.
People rushed towards the chapel. They made the lucky Pope of the Fools come forth in triumph. But it was then that surprise and admiration attained their highest pitch; the grimace was his face.
Or rather, his whole person was a grimace. A huge head, bristling with red hair; between his shoulders was an enormous hump; crooked legs; large feet, monstrous hands; and, with all this deformity, an indescribable air of agility and courage.
When he appeared on the threshold of the chapel, the people recognized him on the instant, and shouted with one voice,—
“’Tis Quasimodo, the bellringer! ’tis Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre-Dame! Quasimodo, the one-eyed!”
“Oh! the horrible monkey!” said one of the women.
“As wicked as he is ugly,” retorted another.
“He’s the devil,” added a third.
The men, on the contrary[3], were delighted.
Master Coppenole, in amazement, approached him.
“Cross of God! Holy Father! you possess the handsomest ugliness that I have ever beheld in my life. You would deserve to be pope at Rome, as well as at Paris.”
So saying, he placed his hand gayly on his shoulder. Quasimodo did not stir. Coppenole went on,—
“You are a rogue with whom I have a fancy for carousing, were it to cost me a new dozen of twelve livres of Tours. What do you say?”
Quasimodo made no reply.
“Are you deaf?”
He was, in truth, deaf.
“Deaf!” said the hosier, with his great Flemish laugh. “Cross of God! He’s a perfect pope!”
“Ha! I recognize him,” exclaimed Jehan, “he’s the bellringer of my brother, the archdeacon. Good-day, Quasimodo!”
“He speaks when he chooses,” said the old woman; “he became deaf through ringing the bells. He is not dumb.”
Everyone koined together to seek the cardboard tiara and the derisive robe of the Pope of the Fools. Quasimodo allowed them to array him in them. Then they made him seat himself on a plank. Twelve people raised him on their shoulders; then the procession set out on its march around the inner galleries of the Courts, before making the circuit of the streets and squares.
Chapter VI
Esmeralda
Gringoire and his piece had stood firm. His actors, continued to spout his comedy, and he continued to listen to it.
To tell the truth, a few spectators still remained.
“Well,” thought Gringoire, “here are still as many as are required to hear the end of my mystery. They are few in number, but it is a choice audience.”
“Comrades,” suddenly shouted one of the kids from the window, “La Esmeralda! La Esmeralda in the Place!”
This word produced a magical effect. Every one who was left in the hall flew to the windows, repeating, “La Esmeralda! La Esmeralda?”
“What’s the meaning of this, of the Esmeralda?” said Gringoire. “Ah, good heavens! it seems to be the turn of the windows now.”
He returned towards the marble table, and saw that the representation had been interrupted. Jupiter should have appeared with his thunder. But Jupiter was standing motionless at the foot of the stage.
“Michel Giborne!” cried the irritated poet, “what are you doing there? Is that your part? Come up!”
“Alas!” said Jupiter, “a scholar has just seized the ladder.”
Gringoire looked. It was but too true.
“And why did he take that ladder?”
“In order to go and see the Esmeralda,” replied Jupiter. “He said, ‘Come, here’s a ladder that’s of no use!’ and he took it.”
This was the last blow.
“May the devil fly away with you!” he said to the comedian, “and if I get my pay, you shall receive yours.”
As he descended the winding stairs of the courts. he muttered: “These Parisians! They come to hear a mystery and don’t listen to it at all! And I! To come only to see faces and behold backs! May the devil flay me if I understand what they mean with their Esmeralda! What is that word, in the first place?”
Book Second
Chapter I
From Charybdis to Scylla
Night comes on early in January. The streets were already dark when Gringoire left the Courts. This gloom pleased him. After the brilliant failure of his first theatrical venture, he dared not return to the place he lived in, as he owned twelve sols for the rent. He remembered to seeing in the Rue de la Savaterie, at the door of a councillor of the parliament, a stepping stone for mounting a mule, which could serve as a very excellent pillow for a mendicant or a poet. He thanked Providence for having sent this happy idea to him; but then he saw the procession of the Pope of the Fools, which was also emerging from the court house. He fled.
Children were running about here and there with fire lances and rockets.
A street opened before him; he thought it so dark and deserted that he hoped to escape from all the rumors as well as from all the gleams of the festival. He reached the western point of the city and considered for some time the islet of the Passeur-aux-Vaches.
Французский эквивалент “Hurrah”.
on the contrary – наоборот
