THE GRAND HALL.
Three hundred and forty-eight years, six months, and days ago to-day, the Parisians to the of all the in the of the city, the university, and the town a full peal.
The of January, 1482, is not, however, a day of which history has the memory. There was nothing in the event which thus set the and the of Paris in a from early morning. It was neither an by the Picards the Burgundians, a along in procession, a of in the town of Laas, an entry of “our much lord, the king,” a of male and female by the of Paris. Neither was it the arrival, so in the century, of some and embassy. It was two days since the last of that nature, that of the Flemish with the marriage the and Marguerite of Flanders, had its entry into Paris, to the great of M. le Cardinal de Bourbon, who, for the of the king, had been to assume an this whole of Flemish burgomasters, and to them at his Hôtel de Bourbon, with a very “pretty morality, satire, and farce,” while a rain the at his door.
What put the “whole population of Paris in commotion,” as Jehan de Troyes it, on the of January, was the solemnity, from time immemorial, of the Epiphany and the Feast of Fools.
On that day, there was to be a on the Place de Grève, a at the Chapelle de Braque, and a at the Palais de Justice. It had been cried, to the of the trumpet, the at all the roads, by the provost’s men, in handsome, short, of camelot, with large white upon their breasts.
So the of citizens, male and female, having closed their houses and shops, from every direction, at early morn, some one of the three designated.
Each had his choice; one, the bonfire; another, the maypole; another, the play. It must be stated, in of the good of the of Paris, that the part of this their steps the bonfire, which was in season, or the play, which was to be presented in the of the Palais de Justice (the of law), which was well and walled; and that the left the poor, to all alone the sky of January, in the of the Chapel of Braque.
The the of the law in particular, they that the Flemish ambassadors, who had two days previously, to be present at the of the mystery, and at the election of the Pope of the Fools, which was also to take place in the hall.
It was no easy on that day, to one’s way into that hall, although it was then to be the largest in the world (it is true that Sauval had not yet the of the Château of Montargis). The place, with people, offered to the at the the of a sea; into which five or six streets, like so many mouths of rivers, every moment fresh of heads. The of this crowd, incessantly, against the of the houses which here and there, like so many promontories, into the of the place. In the centre of the Gothic[1] façade of the palace, the staircase, and by a current, which, after on the landing-place, in along its slopes,—the staircase, I say, into the place, like a into a lake. The cries, the laughter, the of those thousands of feet, produced a great noise and a great clamor. From time to time, this noise and redoubled; the which the the backwards, troubled, whirlpools. This was produced by the of an archer, or the of one of the provost’s sergeants, which to order; an which the has to the constablery, the to the maréchaussée, the maréchaussée to our of Paris.
Thousands of good, calm, the windows, the doors, the windows, the roofs, at the palace, at the populace, and nothing more; for many Parisians themselves with the of the spectators, and a which something is going on at once, for us, a very thing indeed.
If it be to us, the men of 1830, to in with those Parisians of the century, and to enter with them, jostled, elbowed, about, into that of the palace, which was so on that of January, 1482, the would not be of either or charm, and we should have about us only that were so old that they would new.
With the reader’s consent, we will to in thought, the which he would have in company with us on the of that hall, in the of that in surcoats, short, jackets, and doublets.
And, of all, there is a in the ears, a in the eyes. Above our is a vault, with carving, painted azure, and with fleurs-de-lis; our a of black and white marble, alternating. A distant, an pillar, then another, then another; seven in all, the length of the hall, the of the of the vault, in the centre of its width. Around four of the pillars, of merchants, all with and tinsel; around the last three, benches of oak, and by the of the litigants, and the of the attorneys. Around the hall, along the wall, the doors, the windows, the pillars, the of all the kings of France, from Pharamond down: the lazy kings, with arms and eyes; the and kings, with and arms heavenward. Then in the long, pointed windows, of a thousand hues; at the wide to the hall, rich doors, sculptured; and all, the vaults, pillars, walls, jambs, panelling, doors, statues, from top to with a and gold illumination, which, a at the when we it, had almost and in the year of grace, 1549, when du Breul still it from tradition.
Let the reader picture to himself now, this immense, hall, by the light of a January day, by a and noisy which along the walls, and the seven pillars, and he will have a idea of the whole of the picture, we shall make an to with more precision.
It is certain, that if Ravaillac had not Henri IV., there would have been no documents in the trial of Ravaillac deposited in the clerk’s office of the Palais de Justice, no in the said documents to disappear; hence, no obliged, for of means, to the clerk’s office in order to the documents, and to the Palais de Justice in order to the clerk’s office; consequently, in short, no in 1618. The old Palais would be still, with its hall; I should be able to say to the reader, “Go and look at it,” and we should thus the necessity,—I of making, and he of reading, a of it, such as it is. Which a new truth: that great events have results.
It is true that it may be possible, in the place, that Ravaillac had no accomplices; and in the second, that if he had any, they were in no way with the fire of 1618. Two other very exist: First, the great star, a broad, and a high, which from heaven, as every one knows, upon the law courts, after midnight on the seventh of March; second, Théophile’s quatrain,—
“Sure, ’twas but a sorry game
When at Paris, Dame Justice,
Through having too much spice,
Set the all aflame.”
Whatever may be of this explanation, political, physical, and poetical, of the of the law in 1618, the of the fire is certain. Very little to-day remains, thanks to this catastrophe,—thanks, above all, to the which have what it spared,—very little of that of the kings of France,—of that of the Louvre, already so old in the time of Philip the Handsome, that they there for the of the by King Robert and by Helgaldus. Nearly has disappeared. What has of the of the chancellery, where Saint Louis his marriage? the garden where he justice, “clad in a of camelot, a of linsey-woolsey, without sleeves, and a sur-mantle of black sandal, as he upon the with Joinville?” Where is the of the Emperor Sigismond? and that of Charles IV.? that of Jean the Landless? Where is the staircase, from which Charles VI. his of pardon? the where Marcel cut the of Robert de Clermont and the Marshal of Champagne, in the presence of the dauphin? the where the of Pope Benedict were torn, and those who had them out, in derision, in and mitres, and making an through all Paris? and the hall, with its gilding, its azure, its statues, its pointed arches, its pillars, its vault, all with carvings? and the chamber? and the lion, which at the door, with and his legs, like the lions on the of Solomon, in the which in the presence of justice? and the doors? and the glass? and the ironwork, which Biscornette to despair? and the of Hancy? What has time, what have men done with these marvels? What have they us in return for all this Gallic history, for all this Gothic art? The of M. de Brosse, that of the Saint-Gervais portal. So much for art; and, as for history, we have the of the great pillar, still with the of the Patru.
It is not much. Let us return to the of the old palace. The two of this were occupied, the one by the famous marble table, so long, so broad, and so thick that, as the land rolls—in a that would have Gargantua an appetite—say, “such a slice of marble as was in the world”; the other by the where Louis XI. had himself on his the Virgin, and he to be brought, without the two thus in the of statues, the of Charlemagne and of Saint Louis, two he to be great in in heaven, as kings of France. This chapel, new, having been only six years, was in that taste of architecture, of sculpture, of and chasing, which marks with us the end of the Gothic era, and which is to about the middle of the sixteenth century in the of the Renaissance. The little open-work rose window, above the portal, was, in particular, a of and grace; one would have it a star of lace.
In the middle of the hall, opposite the great door, a of gold brocade, against the wall, a special entrance to which had been through a window in the of the gold chamber, had been for the Flemish and the other great to the presentation of the play.
It was upon the marble table that the was to be enacted, as usual. It had been for the purpose, early in the morning; its rich of marble, all by the of law clerks, supported a of carpenter’s work of height, the upper surface of which, view of the whole hall, was to as the theatre, and interior, by tapestries, was to take the place of dressing-rooms for the of the piece. A ladder, on the outside, was to as means of the dressing-room and the stage, and its to as well as to exits. There was no personage, unexpected, no change, no effect, which was not to that ladder. Innocent and of art and contrivances!
Four of the of the palace’s sergeants, of all the of the people, on days of as well as on days of execution, at the four of the marble table.
The piece was only to with the of the great clock midday. It was very late, no doubt, for a representation, but they had been to the hour to the of the ambassadors.
Now, this whole had been waiting since morning. A number of curious, good people had been since the of the palace; some that they had passed the night across the of the great door, in order to make sure that they should be the to pass in. The more every moment, and, like water, which above its normal level, to along the walls, to around the pillars, to spread out on the entablatures, on the cornices, on the window-sills, on all the points of the architecture, on all the of the sculpture. Hence, discomfort, impatience, weariness, the of a day of and folly, the which for all of causes—a pointed elbow, an iron-shod shoe, the of long waiting—had already, long the hour for the of the ambassadors, a and to the of these people who were in, into each other, pressed, upon, stifled. Nothing was to be but on the Flemish, the of the merchants, the Cardinal de Bourbon, the of the courts, Madame Marguerite of Austria, the with their rods, the cold, the heat, the weather, the Bishop of Paris, the Pope of the Fools, the pillars, the statues, that closed door, that open window; all to the of a of and through the mass, who with all this their remarks, and their suggestions, and the with a pin, so to speak.
Among the there was a group of those imps, who, after the in a window, had seated themselves on the entablature, and from that point their and their and without, upon the in the hall, and the upon the Place. It was easy to see, from their gestures, their laughter, the which they with their comrades, from one end of the to the other, that these did not the and of the of the spectators, and that they very well the art of extracting, for their own private from that which they had under their eyes, a which them the other with patience.
“Upon my soul, so it’s you, ‘Joannes Frollo de Molendino!’” one of them, to a of little, light-haired imp, with a well-favored and countenance, to the of a capital; “you are well named John of the Mill, for your two arms and your two have the air of four on the breeze. How long have you been here?”
“By the of the devil,” Joannes Frollo, “these four hours and more; and I that they will be to my in purgatory. I the eight singers of the King of Sicily the of seven o’clock in the Sainte-Chapelle.”
“Fine singers!” the other, “with voices more pointed than their caps! Before a for Monsieur Saint John, the king should have Monsieur Saint John Latin out in a Provençal accent.”
“He did it for the of those singers of the King of Sicily!” an old woman from among the the window. “I just put it to you! A thousand for a mass! and out of the tax on sea fish in the markets of Paris, to boot!”
“Peace, old crone,” said a tall, person, stopping up his nose on the the fishwife; “a had to be founded. Would you wish the king to again?”
“Bravely spoken, Sire Gilles Lecornu, master of king’s robes!” the little student, to the capital.
A of from all the students the unlucky name of the of the king’s robes.
“Lecornu! Gilles Lecornu!” said some.
“Cornutus et hirsutus, and hairy,” another on.
“He! of course,” the small on the capital, “What are they laughing at? An man is Gilles Lecornu, of Master Jehan Lecornu, of the king’s house, son of Master Mahiet Lecornu, of the Bois de Vincennes,—all of Paris, all married, from father to son.”
The redoubled. The big furrier, without a word in reply, to all the upon him from all sides; but he and in vain; like a entering the wood, his only to still more in the of his neighbors, his large, face, with and rage.
At length one of these, as fat, short, and as himself, came to his rescue.
“Abomination! a in that fashion in my day would have been with a fagot, which would have been used to them.”
The whole into laughter.
“Holà hé! who is so? Who is that of fortune?”
“Hold, I know him” said one of them; “’tis Master Andry Musnier.”
“Because he is one of the four of the university!” said the other.
“Everything goes by in that shop,” a third; “the four nations, the four faculties, the four feasts, the four procurators, the four electors, the four booksellers.”
“Well,” Jean Frollo once more, “we must play the with them.”[2]
“Musnier, we’ll your books.”
“Musnier, we’ll your lackeys.”
“Musnier, we’ll your wife.”
“That fine, big Mademoiselle Oudarde.”
“Who is as fresh and as as though she were a widow.”
“Devil take you!” Master Andry Musnier.
“Master Andry,” Jean Jehan, still to his capital, “hold your tongue, or I’ll on your head!”
Master Andry his eyes, to measure in an the of the pillar, the weight of the scamp, that weight by the square of the and silent.
Jehan, master of the of battle, triumphantly:
“That’s what I’ll do, if I am the of an archdeacon!”
“Fine are our people of the university, not to have our to be on such a day as this! However, there is a and a in the town; a mystery, Pope of the Fools, and Flemish in the city; and, at the university, nothing!”
“Nevertheless, the Place Maubert is large!” one of the on the window-sill.
“Down with the rector, the electors, and the procurators!” Joannes.
“We must have a this in the Champ-Gaillard,” on the other, “made of Master Andry’s books.”
“And the of the scribes!” added his neighbor.
“And the beadles’ wands!”
“And the of the deans!”
“And the of the procurators!”
“And the of the electors!”
“And the of the rector!”
“Down with them!” put in little Jehan, as counterpoint; “down with Master Andry, the and the scribes; the theologians, the doctors and the decretists; the procurators, the and the rector!”
“The end of the world has come!” Master Andry, stopping up his ears.
“By the way, there’s the rector! see, he is through the Place,” one of those in the window.
Each his neighbor in his to turn the Place.
“Is it our rector, Master Thibaut?” Jehan Frollo du Moulin, who, as he was to one of the pillars, not see what was going on outside.
“Yes, yes,” all the others, “it is he, Master Thibaut, the rector.”
It was, in fact, the and all the of the university, who were in in of the embassy, and at that moment the Place. The students into the window, them as they passed with and applause. The rector, who was walking at the of his company, had to support the broadside; it was severe.
“Good day, le recteur! Holà hé! good day there!”
“How he manage to be here, the old gambler? Has he his dice?”
“How he along on his mule! her ears are not so long as his!”
“Holà hé! good day, le Thibaut! Tybalde aleator! Old fool! old gambler!”
“God you! Did you six often last night?”
“Oh! what a face, and and with the love of and of dice!”
“Where are you for in that fashion, Thibaut, Tybalde ad dados, with your to the university, and the town?”
“He is on his way, no doubt, to a in the Rue Thibautodé?”[3] Jehan du M. Moulin.
The entire this in a voice of thunder, their hands furiously.
“You are going to a in the Rue Thibautodé, are you not, le recteur, on the of the devil?”
Then came the of the other dignitaries.
“Down with the beadles! with the mace-bearers!”
“Tell me, Robin Pouissepain, who is that yonder?”
“He is Gilbert de Suilly, Gilbertus de Soliaco, the of the College of Autun.”
“Hold on, here’s my shoe; you are than I, it in his face.”
“Saturnalitias nuces.”
“Down with the six theologians, with their white surplices!”
“Are those the theologians? I they were the white by Sainte-Geneviève to the city, for the of Roogny.”
“Down with the doctors!”
“Down with the disputations, and quibblers!”
“My cap to you, Chancellor of Sainte-Geneviève! You have done me a wrong. ’Tis true; he gave my place in the nation of Normandy to little Ascanio Falzapada, who comes from the of Bourges, since he is an Italian.”
“That is an injustice,” said all the scholars. “Down with the Chancellor of Sainte-Geneviève!”
“Ho hé! Master Joachim de Ladehors! Ho hé! Louis Dahuille! Ho hé Lambert Hoctement!”
“May the the of the German nation!”
“And the of the Sainte-Chapelle, with their amices; grisis!”
“Seu de fourratis!”
“Holà hé! Masters of Arts! All the black copes! all the red copes!”
“They make a for the rector.”
“One would say that he was a Doge of Venice on his way to his with the sea.”
“Say, Jehan! here are the of Sainte-Geneviève!”
“To the with the whole set of canons!”
“Abbé Claude Choart! Doctor Claude Choart! Are you in search of Marie la Giffarde?”
“She is in the Rue de Glatigny.”
“She is making the of the king of the debauchees.”
“She is paying her four deniers[4] denarios.”
“Aut bombum.”
“Would you like to have her pay you in the face?”
“Comrades! Master Simon Sanguin, the Elector of Picardy, with his wife on the crupper!”
“Post cura—behind the black care.”
“Courage, Master Simon!”
“Good day, Mister Elector!”
“Good night, Madame Electress!”
“How happy they are to see all that!” Joannes de Molendino, still in the of his capital.
Meanwhile, the of the university, Master Andry Musnier, was his ear to the of the king’s robes, Master Gilles Lecornu.
“I tell you, sir, that the end of the world has come. No one has such among the students! It is the of this century that are everything,—artilleries, bombards, and, above all, printing, that other German pest. No more manuscripts, no more books! will kill bookselling. It is the end of the world that is nigh.”
“I see that plainly, from the progress of stuffs,” said the fur-merchant.
At this moment, sounded.
“Ha!” the entire crowd, in one voice.
The their peace. Then a great hurly-burly ensued; a movement of feet, hands, and heads; a of and handkerchiefs; each one himself, his post, himself up, and himself. Then came a great silence; all necks outstretched, all mouths open, all were the marble table. Nothing its there. The bailiff’s four were still there, stiff, motionless, as painted statues. All to the for the Flemish envoys. The door closed, the empty. This had been waiting since for three things: noonday, the from Flanders, the play. Noonday alone had on time.
On this occasion, it was too much.
They waited one, two, three, five minutes, a of an hour; nothing came. The empty, the theatre dumb. In the meantime, had succeeded to impatience. Irritated in a low tone, still, it is true. “The mystery! the mystery!” they murmured, in voices. Heads to ferment. A tempest, which was only in the as yet, was on the surface of this crowd. It was Jehan du Moulin who the from it.
“The mystery, and to the with the Flemings!” he at the full of his lungs, like a around his pillar.
The their hands.
“The mystery!” it repeated, “and may all the take Flanders!”
“We must have the instantly,” the student; “or else, my is that we should the of the courts, by way of a and a comedy.”
“Well said,” the people, “and let us the with his sergeants.”
A followed. The four to turn pale, and to glances. The itself them, and they already the railing, which them from it, way and the pressure of the throng.
It was a moment.
“To the sack, to the sack!” rose the on all sides.
At that moment, the of the dressing-room, which we have above, was raised, and passage to a personage, the of stopped the crowd, and its into as by enchantment.
“Silence! silence!”
The personage, but little reassured, and in every limb, to the of the marble table with a amount of bows, which, in as he nearer, more and more genuflections.
In the meanwhile, had been restored. All that was that which always above the of a crowd.
“Messieurs the bourgeois,” said he, “and the bourgeoises, we shall have the of and representing, his eminence, the cardinal, a very which has for its title, ‘The Good Judgment of Madame the Virgin Mary.’ I am to play Jupiter. His is, at this moment, the very of the Duke of Austria; which is detained, at present, to the of the of the university, at the gate Baudets. As soon as his eminence, the cardinal, arrives, we will begin.”
It is certain, that nothing less than the of Jupiter was to save the four of the of the courts. If we had the of having this very tale, and of being, in consequence, for it our Lady Criticism, it is not against us that the precept, Nec intersit, be invoked. Moreover, the of Seigneur Jupiter, was very handsome, and not a little the crowd, by all its attention. Jupiter was in a of mail, with black velvet, with nails; and had it not been for the rouge, and the red beard, each of which one-half of his face,—had it not been for the roll of cardboard, spangled, and all with of tinsel, which he in his hand, and in which the of the easily thunderbolts,—had not his been flesh-colored, and with in Greek fashion, he might have comparison, so as the of his was concerned, with a Breton from the of Monsieur de Berry.
