In the twinkling of an eye, all was ready to execute Coppenole's idea.Bourgeois, scholars and law clerks all set to work. The little chapelsituated opposite the marble table was selected for the scene of thegrinning match. A pane broken in the pretty rose window above thedoor, left free a circle of stone through which it was agreed that thecompetitors should thrust their heads. In order to reach it, it was onlynecessary to mount upon a couple of hogsheads, which had been producedfrom I know not where, and perched one upon the other, after a fashion.It was settled that each candidate, man or woman (for it was possible tochoose a female pope), should, for the sake of leaving the impression ofhis grimace fresh and complete, cover his face and remain concealed inthe chapel until the moment of his appearance. In less than an instant,the chapel was crowded with competitors, upon whom the door was thenclosed.
Coppenole, from his post, ordered all, directed all, arranged all.During the uproar, the cardinal, no less abashed than Gringoire, hadretired with all his suite, under the pretext of business and vespers,without the crowd which his arrival had so deeply stirred being in theleast moved by his departure. Guillaume Rym was the only one who noticedhis eminence's discomfiture. The attention of the populace, like thesun, pursued its revolution; having set out from one end of the hall,and halted for a space in the middle, it had now reached the other end.The marble table, the brocaded gallery had each had their day; it wasnow the turn of the chapel of Louis XI. Henceforth, the field was opento all folly. There was no one there now, but the Flemings and therabble.
The grimaces began. The first face which appeared at the aperture,with eyelids turned up to the reds, a mouth open like a maw, and abrow wrinkled like our hussar boots of the Empire, evoked such aninextinguishable peal of laughter that Homer would have taken all theselouts for gods. Nevertheless, the grand hall was anything but Olympus,and Gringoire's poor Jupiter knew it better than any one else. A secondand third grimace followed, then another and another; and the laughterand transports of delight went on increasing. There was in thisspectacle, a peculiar power of intoxication and fascination, of which itwould be difficult to convey to the reader of our day and our salons anyidea.
Let the reader picture to himself a series of visages presentingsuccessively all geometrical forms, from the triangle to the trapezium,from the cone to the polyhedron; all human expressions, from wrathto lewdness; all ages, from the wrinkles of the new-born babe to thewrinkles of the aged and dying; all religious phantasmagories, from Faunto Beelzebub; all animal profiles, from the maw to the beak, from thejowl to the muzzle. Let the reader imagine all these grotesque figuresof the Pont Neuf, those nightmares petrified beneath the hand of GermainPilon, assuming life and breath, and coming in turn to stare you in theface with burning eyes; all the masks of the Carnival of Venice passingin succession before your glass,--in a word, a human kaleidoscope.
The orgy grew more and more Flemish. Teniers could have given but a veryimperfect idea of it. Let the reader picture to himself in bacchanalform, Salvator Rosa's battle. There were no longer either scholars orambassadors or bourgeois or men or women; there was no longer any ClopinTrouillefou, nor Gilles Lecornu, nor Marie Quatrelivres, nor RobinPoussepain. All was universal license. The grand hall was no longeranything but a vast furnace of effrontry and joviality, where everymouth was a cry, every individual a posture; everything shouted andhowled. The strange visages which came, in turn, to gnash their teethin the rose window, were like so many brands cast into the brazier;and from the whole of this effervescing crowd, there escaped, as from afurnace, a sharp, piercing, stinging noise, hissing like the wings of agnat.
"Ho he! curse it!"
"Just look at that face!"
"It's not good for anything."
"Guillemette Maugerepuis, just look at that bull's muzzle; it only lacksthe horns. It can't be your husband."
"Another!"
"Belly of the pope! what sort of a grimace is that?"
"Hola he! that's cheating. One must show only one's face."
"That damned Perrette Callebotte! she's capable of that!"
"Good! Good!"
"I'm stifling!"
"There's a fellow whose ears won't go through!" Etc., etc.
But we must do justice to our friend Jehan. In the midst of thiswitches' sabbath, he was still to be seen on the top of his pillar, likethe cabin-boy on the topmast. He floundered about with incredible fury.His mouth was wide open, and from it there escaped a cry which no oneheard, not that it was covered by the general clamor, great as thatwas but because it attained, no doubt, the limit of perceptible sharpsounds, the thousand vibrations of Sauveur, or the eight thousand ofBiot.
As for Gringoire, the first moment of depression having passed, hehad regained his composure. He had hardened himself againstadversity.---"Continue!" he had said for the third time, to hiscomedians, speaking machines; then as he was marching with great stridesin front of the marble table, a fancy seized him to go and appear inhis turn at the aperture of the chapel, were it only for the pleasure ofmaking a grimace at that ungrateful populace.--"But no, that wouldnot be worthy of us; no, vengeance! let us combat until the end," herepeated to himself; "the power of poetry over people is great; I willbring them back. We shall see which will carry the day, grimaces orpolite literature."
Alas! he had been left the sole spectator of his piece. It was far worsethan it had been a little while before. He no longer beheld anything butbacks.
I am mistaken. The big, patient man, whom he had already consulted in acritical moment, had remained with his face turned towards the stage. Asfor Gisquette and Lienarde, they had deserted him long ago.
Gringoire was touched to the heart by the fidelity of his onlyspectator. He approached him and addressed him, shaking his armslightly; for the good man was leaning on the balustrade and dozing alittle.
"Monsieur," said Gringoire, "I thank you!"
"Monsieur," replied the big man with a yawn, "for what?"
"I see what wearies you," resumed the poet; "'tis all this noise whichprevents your hearing comfortably. But be at ease! your name shalldescend to posterity! Your name, if you please?"
"Renauld Chateau, guardian of the seals of the Chatelet of Paris, atyour service."
"Monsieur, you are the only representative of the muses here," saidGringoire.
"You are too kind, sir," said the guardian of the seals at the Chatelet.
"You are the only one," resumed Gringoire, "who has listened to thepiece decorously. What do you think of it?"
"He! he!" replied the fat magistrate, half aroused, "it's tolerablyjolly, that's a fact."
Gringoire was forced to content himself with this eulogy; for athunder of applause, mingled with a prodigious acclamation, cut theirconversation short. The Pope of the Fools had been elected.
"Noel! Noel! Noel!"* shouted the people on all sides. That was, infact, a marvellous grimace which was beaming at that moment through theaperture in the rose window. After all the pentagonal, hexagonal, andwhimsical faces, which had succeeded each other at that hole withoutrealizing the ideal of the grotesque which their imaginations, excitedby the orgy, had constructed, nothing less was needed to win theirsuffrages than the sublime grimace which had just dazzled the assembly.Master Coppenole himself applauded, and Clopin Trouillefou, who hadbeen among the competitors (and God knows what intensity of ugliness hisvisage could attain), confessed himself conquered: We will do the same.We shall not try to give the reader an idea of that tetrahedral nose,that horseshoe mouth; that little left eye obstructed with a red, bushy,bristling eyebrow, while the right eye disappeared entirely beneath anenormous wart; of those teeth in disarray, broken here and there, likethe embattled parapet of a fortress; of that callous lip, upon which oneof these teeth encroached, like the tusk of an elephant; of that forkedchin; and above all, of the expression spread over the whole; of thatmixture of malice, amazement, and sadness. Let the reader dream of thiswhole, if he can.
* The ancient French hurrah.
&nb
sp; The acclamation was unanimous; people rushed towards the chapel. Theymade the lucky Pope of the Fools come forth in triumph. But it was thenthat surprise and admiration attained their highest pitch; the grimacewas his face.
Or rather, his whole person was a grimace. A huge head, bristlingwith red hair; between his shoulders an enormous hump, a counterpartperceptible in front; a system of thighs and legs so strangely astraythat they could touch each other only at the knees, and, viewed fromthe front, resembled the crescents of two scythes joined by thehandles; large feet, monstrous hands; and, with all this deformity,an indescribable and redoubtable air of vigor, agility, andcourage,--strange exception to the eternal rule which wills that forceas well as beauty shall be the result of harmony. Such was the pope whomthe fools had just chosen for themselves.
One would have pronounced him a giant who had been broken and badly puttogether again.
When this species of cyclops appeared on the threshold of the chapel,motionless, squat, and almost as broad as he was tall; squared on thebase, as a great man says; with his doublet half red, half violet, sownwith silver bells, and, above all, in the perfection of his ugliness,the populace recognized him on the instant, and shouted with onevoice,--
"'Tis Quasimodo, the bellringer! 'tis Quasimodo, the hunchback ofNotre-Dame! Quasimodo, the one-eyed! Quasimodo, the bandy-legged! Noel!Noel!"
It will be seen that the poor fellow had a choice of surnames.
"Let the women with child beware!" shouted the scholars.
"Or those who wish to be," resumed Joannes.
The women did, in fact, hide their faces.
"Oh! the horrible monkey!" said one of them.
"As wicked as he is ugly," retorted another.
"He's the devil," added a third.
"I have the misfortune to live near Notre-Dame; I hear him prowlinground the eaves by night."
"With the cats."
"He's always on our roofs."
"He throws spells down our chimneys."
"The other evening, he came and made a grimace at me through my atticwindow. I thought that it was a man. Such a fright as I had!"
"I'm sure that he goes to the witches' sabbath. Once he left a broom onmy leads."
"Oh! what a displeasing hunchback's face!"
"Oh! what an ill-favored soul!"
"Whew!"
The men, on the contrary, were delighted and applauded. Quasimodo, theobject of the tumult, still stood on the threshold of the chapel, sombreand grave, and allowed them to admire him.
One scholar (Robin Poussepain, I think), came and laughed in his face,and too close. Quasimodo contented himself with taking him by thegirdle, and hurling him ten paces off amid the crowd; all withoututtering a word.
Master Coppenole, in amazement, approached him.
"Cross of God! Holy Father! you possess the handsomest ugliness that Ihave ever beheld in my life. You would deserve to be pope at Rome, aswell as at Paris."
So saying, he placed his hand gayly on his shoulder. Quasimodo did notstir. Coppenole went on,--
"You are a rogue with whom I have a fancy for carousing, were it to costme a new dozen of twelve livres of Tours. How does it strike you?"
Quasimodo made no reply.
"Cross of God!" said the hosier, "are you deaf?"
He was, in truth, deaf.
Nevertheless, he began to grow impatient with Coppenole's behavior, andsuddenly turned towards him with so formidable a gnashing of teeth, thatthe Flemish giant recoiled, like a bull-dog before a cat.
Then there was created around that strange personage, a circle of terrorand respect, whose radius was at least fifteen geometrical feet. An oldwoman explained to Coppenole that Quasimodo was deaf.
"Deaf!" said the hosier, with his great Flemish laugh. "Cross of God!He's a perfect pope!"
"He! I recognize him," exclaimed Jehan, who had, at last, descended fromhis capital, in order to see Quasimodo at closer quarters, "he's thebellringer of my brother, the archdeacon. Good-day, Quasimodo!"
"What a devil of a man!" said Robin Poussepain still all bruisedwith his fall. "He shows himself; he's a hunchback. He walks; he'sbandy-legged. He looks at you; he's one-eyed. You speak to him; he'sdeaf. And what does this Polyphemus do with his tongue?"
"He speaks when he chooses," said the old woman; "he became deaf throughringing the bells. He is not dumb."
"That he lacks," remarks Jehan.
"And he has one eye too many," added Robin Poussepain.
"Not at all," said Jehan wisely. "A one-eyed man is far less completethan a blind man. He knows what he lacks."
In the meantime, all the beggars, all the lackeys, all the cutpurses,joined with the scholars, had gone in procession to seek, in thecupboard of the law clerks' company, the cardboard tiara, and thederisive robe of the Pope of the Fools. Quasimodo allowed them to arrayhim in them without wincing, and with a sort of proud docility. Thenthey made him seat himself on a motley litter. Twelve officers of thefraternity of fools raised him on their shoulders; and a sort of bitterand disdainful joy lighted up the morose face of the cyclops, when hebeheld beneath his deformed feet all those heads of handsome, straight,well-made men. Then the ragged and howling procession set out on itsmarch, according to custom, around the inner galleries of the Courts,before making the circuit of the streets and squares.
CHAPTER VI. ESMERALDA.