QUASIMODO.
In the of an eye, all was to Coppenole’s idea. Bourgeois, and law all set to work. The little opposite the marble table was for the of the match. A in the rose window above the door, left free a circle of through which it was that the should their heads. In order to it, it was only necessary to upon a of hogsheads, which had been produced from I know not where, and one upon the other, after a fashion. It was settled that each candidate, man or woman (for it was possible to choose a female pope), should, for the of the of his fresh and complete, his and in the until the moment of his appearance. In less than an instant, the was with competitors, upon the door was then closed.
Coppenole, from his post, ordered all, all, all. During the uproar, the cardinal, no less than Gringoire, had retired with all his suite, under the of and vespers, without the which his had so being in the least moved by his departure. Guillaume Rym was the only one who noticed his eminence’s discomfiture. The attention of the populace, like the sun, its revolution; having set out from one end of the hall, and for a space in the middle, it had now the other end. The marble table, the had each had their day; it was now the turn of the of Louis XI. Henceforth, the was open to all folly. There was no one there now, but the Flemings and the rabble.
The began. The which appeared at the aperture, with up to the reds, a mouth open like a maw, and a like our of the Empire, such an of that Homer would have taken all these for gods. Nevertheless, the was anything but Olympus, and Gringoire’s Jupiter it than any one else. A second and third followed, then another and another; and the and transports of on increasing. There was in this spectacle, a power of and fascination, of which it would be difficult to to the reader of our day and our any idea.
Let the reader picture to himself a series of all forms, from the triangle to the trapezium, from the to the polyhedron; all expressions, from to lewdness; all ages, from the of the new-born to the of the and dying; all religious phantasmagories, from Faun to Beelzebub; all animal profiles, from the to the beak, from the to the muzzle. Let the reader all these of the Pont Neuf, those the hand of Germain Pilon, life and breath, and in turn to you in the with eyes; all the of the Carnival of Venice in your glass,—in a word, a kaleidoscope.
The more and more Flemish. Teniers have but a very idea of it. Let the reader picture to himself in form, Salvator Rosa’s battle. There were no longer either or or or men or women; there was no longer any Clopin Trouillefou, Gilles Lecornu, Marie Quatrelivres, Robin Poussepain. All was license. The was no longer anything but a of and joviality, where every mouth was a cry, every a posture; and howled. The which came, in turn, to their teeth in the rose window, were like so many into the brazier; and from the whole of this crowd, there escaped, as from a furnace, a sharp, piercing, noise, like the of a gnat.
“Ho hé! it!”
“Just look at that face!”
“It’s not good for anything.”
“Guillemette Maugerepuis, just look at that bull’s muzzle; it only the horns. It can’t be your husband.”
“Another!”
“Belly of the pope! what of a is that?”
“Holà hé! that’s cheating. One must only one’s face.”
“That Perrette Callebotte! she’s of that!”
“Good! Good!”
“I’m stifling!”
“There’s a ears won’t go through!” Etc., etc.
But we must do to our friend Jehan. In the of this witches’ sabbath, he was still to be on the top of his pillar, like the cabin-boy on the topmast. He about with fury. His mouth was wide open, and from it there a which no one heard, not that it was by the clamor, great as that was but it attained, no doubt, the limit of sounds, the thousand of Sauveur, or the eight thousand of Biot.
As for Gringoire, the moment of having passed, he had his composure. He had himself against adversity.—“Continue!” he had said for the third time, to his comedians, speaking machines; then as he was with great in of the marble table, a him to go and appear in his turn at the of the chapel, were it only for the of making a at that populace.—“But no, that would not be of us; no, vengeance! let us until the end,” he to himself; “the power of over people is great; I will them back. We shall see which will the day, or literature.”
Alas! he had been left the of his piece. It was than it had been a little while before. He no longer anything but backs.
I am mistaken. The big, patient man, he had already in a moment, had with his the stage. As for Gisquette and Liénarde, they had him long ago.
Gringoire was touched to the by the of his only spectator. He approached him and him, his arm slightly; for the good man was on the and a little.
“Monsieur,” said Gringoire, “I thank you!”
“Monsieur,” the big man with a yawn, “for what?”
“I see what you,” the poet; “’tis all this noise which your comfortably. But be at ease! your name shall to posterity! Your name, if you please?”
“Renauld Chateau, of the of the Châtelet of Paris, at your service.”
“Monsieur, you are the only of the here,” said Gringoire.
“You are too kind, sir,” said the of the at the Châtelet.
“You are the only one,” Gringoire, “who has to the piece decorously. What do you think of it?”
“He! he!” the magistrate, aroused, “it’s jolly, that’s a fact.”
Gringoire was to himself with this eulogy; for a of applause, with a acclamation, cut their short. The Pope of the Fools had been elected.
“Noël! Noël! Noël!”[6] the people on all sides. That was, in fact, a which was at that moment through the in the rose window. After all the pentagonal, hexagonal, and faces, which had succeeded each other at that without the of the which their imaginations, by the orgy, had constructed, nothing less was needed to win their than the which had just the assembly. Master Coppenole himself applauded, and Clopin Trouillefou, who had been among the (and God what of his attain), himself conquered: We will do the same. We shall not try to give the reader an idea of that nose, that mouth; that little left with a red, bushy, eyebrow, while the right an wart; of those teeth in disarray, here and there, like the of a fortress; of that lip, upon which one of these teeth encroached, like the of an elephant; of that chin; and above all, of the spread over the whole; of that mixture of malice, amazement, and sadness. Let the reader of this whole, if he can.
The was unanimous; people the chapel. They the lucky Pope of the Fools come in triumph. But it was then that and their pitch; the was his face.
Or rather, his whole person was a grimace. A head, with red hair; his an hump, a in front; a of and so that they touch each other only at the knees, and, viewed from the front, the of two joined by the handles; large feet, hands; and, with all this deformity, an and air of vigor, agility, and courage,—strange to the which that as well as shall be the result of harmony. Such was the the had just for themselves.
One would have him a who had been and put together again.
When this of appeared on the of the chapel, motionless, squat, and almost as as he was tall; on the base, as a great man says; with his red, violet, with bells, and, above all, in the perfection of his ugliness, the him on the instant, and with one voice,—
“’Tis Quasimodo, the bellringer! ’tis Quasimodo, the of Notre-Dame! Quasimodo, the one-eyed! Quasimodo, the bandy-legged! Noël! Noël!”
It will be that the had a choice of surnames.
“Let the with child beware!” the scholars.
“Or those who wish to be,” Joannes.
The did, in fact, their faces.
“Oh! the monkey!” said one of them.
“As as he is ugly,” another.
“He’s the devil,” added a third.
“I have the to live near Notre-Dame; I him the by night.”
“With the cats.”
“He’s always on our roofs.”
“He our chimneys.”
“The other evening, he came and a at me through my window. I that it was a man. Such a as I had!”
“I’m sure that he goes to the witches’ sabbath. Once he left a on my leads.”
“Oh! what a hunchback’s face!”
“Oh! what an ill-favored soul!”
“Whew!”
The men, on the contrary, were and applauded. Quasimodo, the object of the tumult, still on the of the chapel, and grave, and allowed them to him.
One (Robin Poussepain, I think), came and laughed in his face, and too close. Quasimodo himself with taking him by the girdle, and him ten off the crowd; all without a word.
Master Coppenole, in amazement, approached him.
“Cross of God! Holy Father! you the that I have in my life. You would to be at Rome, as well as at Paris.”
So saying, he his hand on his shoulder. Quasimodo did not stir. Coppenole on,—
“You are a with I have a for carousing, were it to cost me a new dozen of twelve of Tours. How it you?”
Quasimodo no reply.
“Cross of God!” said the hosier, “are you deaf?”
He was, in truth, deaf.
Nevertheless, he to with Coppenole’s behavior, and him with so a of teeth, that the Flemish recoiled, like a bull-dog a cat.
Then there was around that personage, a circle of terror and respect, was at least fifteen feet. An old woman to Coppenole that Quasimodo was deaf.
“Deaf!” said the hosier, with his great Flemish laugh. “Cross of God! He’s a perfect pope!”
“Hé! I him,” Jehan, who had, at last, from his capital, in order to see Quasimodo at closer quarters, “he’s the of my brother, the archdeacon. Good-day, Quasimodo!”
“What a of a man!” said Robin Poussepain still all with his fall. “He himself; he’s a hunchback. He walks; he’s bandy-legged. He looks at you; he’s one-eyed. You speak to him; he’s deaf. And what this Polyphemus do with his tongue?”
“He speaks when he chooses,” said the old woman; “he through the bells. He is not dumb.”
“That he lacks,” Jehan.
“And he has one too many,” added Robin Poussepain.
“Not at all,” said Jehan wisely. “A one-eyed man is less complete than a man. He what he lacks.”
In the meantime, all the beggars, all the lackeys, all the cutpurses, joined with the scholars, had gone in to seek, in the of the law clerks’ company, the tiara, and the of the Pope of the Fools. Quasimodo allowed them to him in them without wincing, and with a of proud docility. Then they him seat himself on a litter. Twelve officers of the of him on their shoulders; and a of and up the of the cyclops, when he his all those of handsome, straight, well-made men. Then the and set out on its march, according to custom, around the of the Courts, making the of the and squares.
