MASTER JACQUES COPPENOLE.
While the pensioner of Ghent and his were very low and a in voices still lower, a man of stature, with a large and shoulders, presented himself, in order to enter with Guillaume Rym; one would have him a bull-dog by the of a fox. His and leather a spot on the and which him. Presuming that he was some who had in, the stopped him.
“Hold, my friend, you cannot pass!”
The man in the leather him aside.
“What this want with me?” said he, in tones, which the entire to this colloquy. “Don’t you see that I am one of them?”
“Your name?” the usher.
“Jacques Coppenole.”
“Your titles?”
“Hosier at the of the ‘Three Little Chains,’ of Ghent.”
The recoiled. One might one’s self to and burgomasters, but a was too much. The was on thorns. All the people were and listening. For two days his had been his to these Flemish into shape, and to them a little more to the public, and this was startling. But Guillaume Rym, with his smile, approached the usher.
“Announce Master Jacques Coppenole, of the of the city of Ghent,” he whispered, very low.
“Usher,” the cardinal, aloud, “announce Master Jacques Coppenole, of the of the city of Ghent.”
This was a mistake. Guillaume Rym alone might have away the difficulty, but Coppenole had the cardinal.
“No, of God?” he exclaimed, in his voice of thunder, “Jacques Coppenole, hosier. Do you hear, usher? Nothing more, nothing less. Cross of God! hosier; that’s enough. Monsieur the Archduke has more than once his gant[5] in my hose.”
Laughter and forth. A is always in Paris, and, consequently, always applauded.
Let us add that Coppenole was of the people, and that the which him were also of the people. Thus the him and them had been prompt, electric, and, so to speak, on a level. The air of the Flemish hosier, by the courtiers, had touched in all these that of still and in the century.
This was an equal, who had just his own the cardinal. A very sweet to to respect and the of the of the of Sainte-Geneviève, the cardinal’s train-bearer.
Coppenole proudly his eminence, who returned the of the all-powerful by Louis XI. Then, while Guillaume Rym, a “sage and man,” as Philippe de Comines puts it, them with a of and superiority, each his place, the and troubled, Coppenole and haughty, and thinking, no doubt, that his title of was as good as any other, after all, and that Marie of Burgundy, mother to that Marguerite Coppenole was to-day in marriage, would have been less of the than of the hosier; for it is not a who would have up a among the men of Ghent against the of the of Charles the Bold; it is not a who have the with a word against her and prayers, when the Maid of Flanders came to her people in their behalf, at the very of the scaffold; while the had only to his leather elbow, in order to to your two heads, most seigneurs, Guy d’Hymbercourt and Chancellor Guillaume Hugonet.
Nevertheless, all was over for the cardinal, and he was to to the the cup of being in such company.
The reader has, probably, not the who had been fast to the of the cardinal’s since the of the prologue. The of the guests had by no means him to his hold, and, while the and were packing themselves into the stalls—like Flemish herrings—he settled himself at his ease, and his on the architrave. The of this was extraordinary, yet no one noticed it at first, the attention of all being elsewhere. He, on his side, nothing that was going on in the hall; he his with the of a Neapolitan, from time to time, the clamor, as from a habit, “Charity, please!” And, assuredly, he was, out of all those present, the only one who had not to turn his at the Coppenole and the usher. Now, that the master of Ghent, with the people were already in sympathy, and upon all were riveted—should come and seat himself in the of the gallery, directly above the mendicant; and people were not a little to see the Flemish ambassador, on his of the thus his eyes, a on that shoulder. The round; there was surprise, recognition, a up of the two countenances, and so forth; then, without paying the in the world to the spectators, the and the being to in a low tone, each other’s hands, in the meantime, while the of Clopin Trouillefou, spread out upon the cloth of gold of the dais, produced the of a on an orange.
The of this such a of and in the hall, that the was not slow to it; he forward, and, as from the point where he was he catch only an view of Trouillerfou’s doublet, he very naturally that the was alms, and, with his audacity, he exclaimed: “Bailiff of the Courts, me that into the river!”
“Cross of God! the cardinal,” said Coppenole, without Clopin’s hand, “he’s a friend of mine.”
“Good! good!” the populace. From that moment, Master Coppenole in Paris as in Ghent, “great with the people; for men of that do it,” says Philippe de Comines, “when they are thus disorderly.” The his lips. He his neighbor, the Abbé of Sainte-Geneviève, and said to him in a low tone,—“Fine the sends here, to to us Madame Marguerite!”
“Your eminence,” the abbé, “wastes your on these Flemish swine. Margaritas porcos, pearls swine.”
“Say rather,” the cardinal, with a smile, “Porcos Margaritam, the pearl.”
The whole little in into over this play upon words. The a little relieved; he was with Coppenole, he also had had his applauded.
Now, will those of our readers who the power of an image or an idea, as the in the of to-day, permit us to ask them if they have a very clear of the presented at this moment, upon which we have their attention, by the of the of the palace.
In the middle of the hall, against the western wall, a large and with cloth of gold, into which enter in procession, through a small, door, personages, by the voice of an usher. On the benches were already a number of figures, in ermine, velvet, and scarlet. Around the dais—which and dignified—below, opposite, everywhere, a great and a great murmur. Thousands of by the people on each upon the dais, a thousand over each name. Certainly, the is curious, and well the attention of the spectators. But yonder, at the end, what is that of work with four upon it, and more below? Who is that man the trestle, with a black and a face? Alas! my dear reader, it is Pierre Gringoire and his prologue.
We have all him completely.
This is what he feared.
From the moment of the cardinal’s entrance, Gringoire had to for the safety of his prologue. At he had the actors, who had stopped in suspense, to continue, and to their voices; then, that no one was listening, he had stopped them; and, the entire of an hour that the lasted, he had not to stamp, to about, to to Gisquette and Liénarde, and to his neighbors to the of the prologue; all in vain. No one the cardinal, the embassy, and the gallery—sole centre of this circle of rays. We must also believe, and we say it with regret, that the had to the audience at the moment when his had arrived, and a in so terrible a fashion. After all, on the as well as on the marble table, the was the same: the of Labor and Clergy, of Nobility and Merchandise. And many people to see them alive, breathing, moving, each other in and blood, in this Flemish embassy, in this Episcopal court, under the cardinal’s robe, under Coppenole’s jerkin, than painted, out, talking in verse, and, so to speak, the yellow white in which Gringoire had so them.
Nevertheless, when our to some extent, he a which might have all.
“Monsieur,” he said, one of his neighbors, a fine, big man, with a patient face, “suppose we again.”
“What?” said his neighbor.
“Hé! the Mystery,” said Gringoire.
“As you like,” returned his neighbor.
This semi-approbation for Gringoire, and, his own affairs, he to shout, himself with the as much as possible: “Begin the again! again!”
“The devil!” said Joannes de Molendino, “what are they yonder, at the end of the hall?” (for Gringoire was making noise for four.) “Say, comrades, isn’t that finished? They want to it all over again. That’s not fair!”
“No, no!” all the scholars. “Down with the mystery! Down with it!”
But Gringoire had himself, and only the more vigorously: “Begin again! again!”
These the attention of the cardinal.
“Monsieur Bailiff of the Courts,” said he to a tall, black man, a from him, “are those in a holy-water vessel, that they make such a noise?”
The of the was a of magistrate, a of of the order, related to the and the bird, the judge and the soldier.
He approached his eminence, and not without a good of of the latter’s displeasure, he to him the of the audience: that had his eminence, and that the had been to without waiting for his eminence.
The into a laugh.
“On my faith, the of the ought to have done the same. What say you, Master Guillaume Rym?”
“Monseigneur,” Guillaume Rym, “let us be with having of the comedy. There is at least that much gained.”
“Can these continue their farce?” asked the bailiff.
“Continue, continue,” said the cardinal, “it’s all the same to me. I’ll read my in the meantime.”
The to the of the estrade, and cried, after having by a of the hand,—
“Bourgeois, rustics, and citizens, in order to satisfy those who wish the play to again, and those who wish it to end, his orders that it be continued.”
Both parties were to themselves. But the public and the author long a against the cardinal.
So the on the stage took up their parts, and Gringoire that the of his work, at least, would be to. This was like his other illusions; had indeed, been in the audience, after a fashion; but Gringoire had not that at the moment when the gave the order to continue, the was from full, and that after the Flemish there had new part of the cortège, names and ranks, out in the of his by the of the usher, produced in it. Let the reader the in the of a piece, of the of an usher, in two rhymes, and often in the middle of a line, like the following,—
“Master Jacques Charmolue, to the king in the Ecclesiastical Courts!”
“Jehan de Harlay, of the office of of the night watch of the city of Paris!”
“Messire Galiot de Genoilhac, chevalier, de Brussac, master of the king’s artillery!”
“Master Dreux-Raguier, of the and of the king our sovereign, in the land of France, Champagne and Brie!”
“Messire Louis de Graville, chevalier, councillor, and of the king, of France, of the Forest of Vincennes!”
“Master Denis le Mercier, of the house of the at Paris!” etc., etc., etc.
This was unbearable.
This accompaniment, which it difficult to the piece, Gringoire all the more he not from himself the that the was increasing, and that all his work was a of being heard.
It was, in fact, difficult to a more and more composition. The four of the were themselves in their embarrassment, when Venus in person, (vera dea) presented herself to them, in a the device of the ship of the city of Paris. She had come herself to the promised to the most beautiful. Jupiter, be in the dressing-room, supported her claim, and Venus was on the point of it off,—that is to say, without allegory, of marrying the dauphin, when a child in white damask, and in her hand a (a of Mademoiselle Marguerite of Flanders) came to it with Venus.
Theatrical and change.
After a dispute, Venus, Marguerite, and the to submit to the good of time Virgin. There was another good part, that of the king of Mesopotamia; but through so many interruptions, it was difficult to make out what end he served. All these had by the to the stage.
But all was over; none of these had been understood. On the entrance of the cardinal, one would have said that an magic had all from the marble table to the gallery, from the southern to the western of the hall. Nothing the audience; all there, and the new-comers and their names, and their faces, and their costumes, a diversion. This was very distressing. With the of Gisquette and Liénarde, who from time to time when Gringoire them by the sleeve; with the of the big, patient neighbor, no one listened, no one looked at the poor, full face. Gringoire saw only profiles.
With what did he his whole of and of away by bit! And to think that these people had been upon the point of a against the through to his work! now that they had it they did not for it. This same which had been so an acclamation! Eternal and of popular favor! To think that they had been on the point of the bailiff’s sergeant! What would he not have to be still at that hour of honey!
But the usher’s came to an end; every one had arrived, and Gringoire once more; the actors bravely. But Master Coppenole, the hosier, must needs of a sudden, and Gringoire was to to him deliver, attention, the harangue.
“Messieurs the and of Paris, I don’t know, of God! what we are doing here. I do see in the on that stage, some people who appear to be fighting. I don’t know that is what you call a “mystery,” but it is not amusing; they with their and nothing more. I have been waiting for the this of an hour; nothing comes; they are who only each other with insults. You ought to send for the of London or Rotterdam; and, I can tell you! you would have had of the that be in the Place; but these men our pity. They ought at least, to give us a dance, or some other mummer! That is not what was told me; I was promised a of fools, with the election of a pope. We have our of at Ghent also; we’re not in that, of God! But this is the way we manage it; we a like this one here, then each person in turn his through a hole, and makes a at the rest; time one who makes the ugliest, is elected by acclamation; that’s the way it is. It is very diverting. Would you like to make your after the fashion of my country? At all events, it will be less than to to chatterers. If they wish to come and make their through the hole, they can join the game. What say you, Messieurs bourgeois? You have here of sexes, to allow of laughing in Flemish fashion, and there are of us in to for a match.”
Gringoire would have liked to retort; stupefaction, rage, indignation, him of words. Moreover, the of the popular was with such by these who were at being called “squires,” that all was useless. There was nothing to be done but to allow one’s self to with the torrent. Gringoire his his two hands, not being so as to have a with which to his head, like Agamemnon of Timantis.
