construction maison moderne haute savoie

-book tenth.chapter i. gringoire has many good ideas insuccession.--rue des bernardins. as soon as pierre gringoire had seen howthis whole affair was turning, and that there would decidedly be the rope, hanging,and other disagreeable things for the principal personages in this comedy, he had not cared to identify himself with thematter further. the outcasts with whom he had remained,reflecting that, after all, it was the best company in paris,--the outcasts hadcontinued to interest themselves in behalf of the gypsy.

he had thought it very simple on the partof people who had, like herself, nothing else in prospect but charmolue andtorterue, and who, unlike himself, did not gallop through the regions of imaginationbetween the wings of pegasus. from their remarks, he had learned that hiswife of the broken crock had taken refuge in notre-dame, and he was very glad of it. but he felt no temptation to go and see herthere. he meditated occasionally on the littlegoat, and that was all. moreover, he was busy executing feats ofstrength during the day for his living, and at night he was engaged in composing amemorial against the bishop of paris, for

he remembered having been drenched by the wheels of his mills, and he cherished agrudge against him for it. he also occupied himself with annotatingthe fine work of baudry-le-rouge, bishop of noyon and tournay, de cupa petrarum, whichhad given him a violent passion for architecture, an inclination which had replaced in his heart his passion forhermeticism, of which it was, moreover, only a natural corollary, since there is anintimate relation between hermeticism and masonry. gringoire had passed from the love of anidea to the love of the form of that idea.

one day he had halted near saint germain-l'auxerrois, at the corner of a mansion called "for-l'eveque" (the bishop'stribunal), which stood opposite another called "for-le-roi" (the king's tribunal). at this for-l'eveque, there was a charmingchapel of the fourteenth century, whose apse was on the street.gringoire was devoutly examining its exterior sculptures. he was in one of those moments ofegotistical, exclusive, supreme, enjoyment when the artist beholds nothing in theworld but art, and the world in art. all at once he feels a hand laid gravely onhis shoulder.

he turns round.it was his old friend, his former master, monsieur the archdeacon. he was stupefied. it was a long time since he had seen thearchdeacon, and dom claude was one of those solemn and impassioned men, a meeting withwhom always upsets the equilibrium of a sceptical philosopher. the archdeacon maintained silence forseveral minutes, during which gringoire had time to observe him. he found dom claude greatly changed; paleas a winter's morning, with hollow eyes,

and hair almost white.the priest broke the silence at length, by saying, in a tranquil but glacial tone,-- "how do you do, master pierre?""my health?" replied gringoire. "eh! eh! one can say both one thing andanother on that score. still, it is good, on the whole. i take not too much of anything.you know, master, that the secret of keeping well, according to hippocrates; idest: cibi, potus, somni, venus, omnia moderata sint." "so you have no care, master pierre?"resumed the archdeacon, gazing intently at

gringoire."none, i' faith!" "and what are you doing now?" "you see, master.i am examining the chiselling of these stones, and the manner in which yonder bas-relief is thrown out." the priest began to smile with that bittersmile which raises only one corner of the mouth."and that amuses you?" "'tis paradise!" exclaimed gringoire. and leaning over the sculptures with thefascinated air of a demonstrator of living phenomena: "do you not think, for instance,that yon metamorphosis in bas-relief is

executed with much adroitness, delicacy andpatience? observe that slender column. around what capital have you seen foliagemore tender and better caressed by the chisel.here are three raised bosses of jean maillevin. they are not the finest works of this greatmaster. nevertheless, the naivete, the sweetness ofthe faces, the gayety of the attitudes and draperies, and that inexplicable charmwhich is mingled with all the defects, render the little figures very divertingand delicate, perchance, even too much so.

you think that it is not diverting?""yes, certainly!" said the priest. "and if you were to see the interior of thechapel!" resumed the poet, with his garrulous enthusiasm."carvings everywhere. 'tis as thickly clustered as the head of acabbage! the apse is of a very devout, and sopeculiar a fashion that i have never beheld anything like it elsewhere!" dom claude interrupted him,--"you are happy, then?" gringoire replied warmly;--"on my honor, yes! first i loved women, then animals.

now i love stones.they are quite as amusing as women and animals, and less treacherous."the priest laid his hand on his brow. it was his habitual gesture. "really?""stay!" said gringoire, "one has one's pleasures!" he took the arm of the priest, who let himhave his way, and made him enter the staircase turret of for-l'eveque."here is a staircase! every time that i see it i am happy. it is of the simplest and rarest manner ofsteps in paris.

all the steps are bevelled underneath. its beauty and simplicity consist in theinterspacing of both, being a foot or more wide, which are interlaced, interlocked,fitted together, enchained enchased, interlined one upon another, and bite into each other in a manner that is truly firmand graceful." "and you desire nothing?""no." "and you regret nothing?" "neither regret nor desire.i have arranged my mode of life." "what men arrange," said claude, "thingsdisarrange."

"i am a pyrrhonian philosopher," repliedgringoire, "and i hold all things in equilibrium.""and how do you earn your living?" "i still make epics and tragedies now andthen; but that which brings me in most is the industry with which you are acquainted,master; carrying pyramids of chairs in my teeth." "the trade is but a rough one for aphilosopher." "'tis still equilibrium," said gringoire."when one has an idea, one encounters it in everything." "i know that," replied the archdeacon.after a silence, the priest resumed,--

"you are, nevertheless, tolerably poor?""poor, yes; unhappy, no." at that moment, a trampling of horses washeard, and our two interlocutors beheld defiling at the end of the street, acompany of the king's unattached archers, their lances borne high, an officer attheir head. the cavalcade was brilliant, and its marchresounded on the pavement. "how you gaze at that officer!" saidgringoire, to the archdeacon. "because i think i recognize him.""what do you call him?" "i think," said claude, "that his name isphoebus de chateaupers." "phoebus!a curious name!

there is also a phoebus, comte de foix. i remember having known a wench who sworeonly by the name of phoebus." "come away from here," said the priest."i have something to say to you." from the moment of that troop's passing,some agitation had pierced through the archdeacon's glacial envelope.he walked on. gringoire followed him, being accustomed toobey him, like all who had once approached that man so full of ascendency.they reached in silence the rue des bernardins, which was nearly deserted. here dom claude paused."what have you to say to me, master?"

gringoire asked him. "do you not think that the dress of thosecavaliers whom we have just seen is far handsomer than yours and mine?"gringoire tossed his head. "i' faith! i love better my red and yellow jerkin,than those scales of iron and steel. a fine pleasure to produce, when you walk,the same noise as the quay of old iron, in an earthquake!" "so, gringoire, you have never cherishedenvy for those handsome fellows in their military doublets?"

"envy for what, monsieur the archdeacon?their strength, their armor, their discipline?better philosophy and independence in rags. i prefer to be the head of a fly ratherthan the tail of a lion." "that is singular," said the priestdreamily. "yet a handsome uniform is a beautifulthing." gringoire, perceiving that he was in apensive mood, quitted him to go and admire the porch of a neighboring house. he came back clapping his hands."if you were less engrossed with the fine clothes of men of war, monsieur thearchdeacon, i would entreat you to come and

see this door. i have always said that the house of thesieur aubry had the most superb entrance in the world." "pierre gringoire," said the archdeacon,"what have you done with that little gypsy dancer?""la esmeralda? you change the conversation very abruptly." "was she not your wife?""yes, by virtue of a broken crock. we were to have four years of it. by the way," added gringoire, looking atthe archdeacon in a half bantering way,

"are you still thinking of her?""and you think of her no longer?" "very little. i have so many things.good heavens, how pretty that little goat was!""had she not saved your life?" "'tis true, pardieu!" "well, what has become of her?what have you done with her?" "i cannot tell you.i believe that they have hanged her." "you believe so?" "i am not sure.when i saw that they wanted to hang people,

i retired from the game.""that is all you know of it?" "wait a bit. i was told that she had taken refuge innotre-dame, and that she was safe there, and i am delighted to hear it, and i havenot been able to discover whether the goat was saved with her, and that is all iknow." "i will tell you more," cried dom claude;and his voice, hitherto low, slow, and almost indistinct, turned to thunder. "she has in fact, taken refuge in notre-dame. but in three days justice will reclaim her,and she will be hanged on the greve.

there is a decree of parliament." "that's annoying," said gringoire.the priest, in an instant, became cold and calm again. "and who the devil," resumed the poet, "hasamused himself with soliciting a decree of reintegration?why couldn't they leave parliament in peace? what harm does it do if a poor girl takesshelter under the flying buttresses of notre-dame, beside the swallows' nests?""there are satans in this world," remarked the archdeacon.

"'tis devilish badly done," observedgringoire. the archdeacon resumed after a silence,--"so, she saved your life?" "among my good friends the outcasts. a little more or a little less and i shouldhave been hanged. they would have been sorry for it to-day.""would not you like to do something for her?" "i ask nothing better, dom claude; but whatif i entangle myself in some villanous affair?""what matters it?" "bah! what matters it?

you are good, master, that you are!i have two great works already begun." the priest smote his brow. in spite of the calm which he affected, aviolent gesture betrayed his internal convulsions from time to time."how is she to be saved?" gringoire said to him; "master, i willreply to you; il padelt, which means in turkish, 'god is our hope.'""how is she to be saved?" repeated claude dreamily. gringoire smote his brow in his turn."listen, master. i have imagination; i will deviseexpedients for you.

what if one were to ask her pardon from theking?" "of louis xi.!a pardon!" "why not?" "to take the tiger's bone from him!"gringoire began to seek fresh expedients. "well, stay! shall i address to the midwives a requestaccompanied by the declaration that the girl is with child!"this made the priest's hollow eye flash. "with child! knave! do you know anything ofthis?" gringoire was alarmed by his air.he hastened to say, "oh, no, not i!

our marriage was a real forismaritagium. i stayed outside.but one might obtain a respite, all the same.""madness! infamy! hold your tongue!""you do wrong to get angry," muttered gringoire. "one obtains a respite; that does no harmto any one, and allows the midwives, who are poor women, to earn forty deniersparisis." the priest was not listening to him!

"but she must leave that place,nevertheless!" he murmured, "the decree is to be executed within three days.moreover, there will be no decree; that quasimodo! women have very depraved tastes!"he raised his voice: "master pierre, i have reflected well; there is but one means ofsafety for her." "what? i see none myself.""listen, master pierre, remember that you owe your life to her.i will tell you my idea frankly. the church is watched night and day; onlythose are allowed to come out, who have

been seen to enter.hence you can enter. you will come. i will lead you to her.you will change clothes with her. she will take your doublet; you will takeher petticoat." "so far, it goes well," remarked thephilosopher, "and then?" "and then? she will go forth in yourgarments; you will remain with hers. you will be hanged, perhaps, but she willbe saved." gringoire scratched his ear, with a veryserious air. "stay!" said he, "that is an idea whichwould never have occurred to me unaided."

at dom claude's proposition, the open andbenign face of the poet had abruptly clouded over, like a smiling italianlandscape, when an unlucky squall comes up and dashes a cloud across the sun. "well!gringoire, what say you to the means?" "i say, master, that i shall not be hanged,perchance, but that i shall be hanged indubitably. "that concerns us not.""the deuce!" said gringoire. "she has saved your life.'tis a debt that you are discharging." "there are a great many others which i donot discharge."

"master pierre, it is absolutelynecessary." the archdeacon spoke imperiously. "listen, dom claude," replied the poet inutter consternation. "you cling to that idea, and you are wrong.i do not see why i should get myself hanged in some one else's place." "what have you, then, which attaches you sostrongly to life?" "oh! a thousand reasons!""what reasons, if you please?" the air, the sky, the morning, the evening,the moonlight, my good friends the thieves, our jeers with the old hags of go-betweens,the fine architecture of paris to study,

three great books to make, one of them being against the bishops and his mills;and how can i tell all? anaxagoras said that he was in the world toadmire the sun. and then, from morning till night, i havethe happiness of passing all my days with a man of genius, who is myself, which is veryagreeable." "a head fit for a mule bell!" muttered thearchdeacon. "oh! tell me who preserved for you thatlife which you render so charming to yourself? to whom do you owe it that you breathe thatair, behold that sky, and can still amuse

your lark's mind with your whimsicalnonsense and madness? where would you be, had it not been forher? do you then desire that she through whomyou are alive, should die? that she should die, that beautiful, sweet, adorablecreature, who is necessary to the light of the world and more divine than god, while you, half wise, and half fool, a vainsketch of something, a sort of vegetable, which thinks that it walks, and thinks thatit thinks, you will continue to live with the life which you have stolen from her, asuseless as a candle in broad daylight? come, have a little pity, gringoire; begenerous in your turn; it was she who set

the example." the priest was vehement. gringoire listened to him at first with anundecided air, then he became touched, and wound up with a grimace which made hispallid face resemble that of a new-born infant with an attack of the colic. "you are pathetic!" said he, wiping away atear. "well!i will think about it. that's a queer idea of yours.--after all,"he continued after a pause, "who knows? perhaps they will not hang me.he who becomes betrothed does not always

marry. when they find me in that little lodging sogrotesquely muffled in petticoat and coif, perchance they will burst with laughter.and then, if they do hang me,--well! the halter is as good a death as any. 'tis a death worthy of a sage who haswavered all his life; a death which is neither flesh nor fish, like the mind of averitable sceptic; a death all stamped with pyrrhonism and hesitation, which holds the middle station betwixt heaven and earth,which leaves you in suspense. 'tis a philosopher's death, and i wasdestined thereto, perchance.

it is magnificent to die as one has lived." the priest interrupted him: "is it agreed.""what is death, after all?" pursued gringoire with exaltation."a disagreeable moment, a toll-gate, the passage of little to nothingness. some one having asked cercidas, themegalopolitan, if he were willing to die: 'why not?' he replied; 'for after my deathi shall see those great men, pythagoras among the philosophers, hecataeus among historians, homer among poets, olympusamong musicians.'" the archdeacon gave him his hand: "it issettled, then?

you will come to-morrow?" this gesture recalled gringoire to reality."ah! i' faith no!" he said in the tone of a man just waking up."be hanged! 'tis too absurd. i will not.""farewell, then!" and the archdeacon added between his teeth: "i'll find you again!" "i do not want that devil of a man to findme," thought gringoire; and he ran after dom claude."stay, monsieur the archdeacon, no ill- feeling between old friends!

you take an interest in that girl, my wife,i mean, and 'tis well. you have devised a scheme to get her out ofnotre-dame, but your way is extremely disagreeable to me, gringoire. if i had only another one myself!i beg to say that a luminous inspiration has just occurred to me. if i possessed an expedient for extricatingher from a dilemma, without compromising my own neck to the extent of a single runningknot, what would you say to it? will not that suffice you? is it absolutely necessary that i should behanged, in order that you may be content?"

the priest tore out the buttons of hiscassock with impatience: "stream of words! what is your plan?" "yes," resumed gringoire, talking tohimself and touching his nose with his forefinger in sign of meditation,--"that'sit!--the thieves are brave fellows!--the tribe of egypt love her!--they will rise at the first word!--nothing easier!--a suddenstroke.--under cover of the disorder, they will easily carry her off!--beginning to-morrow evening. they will ask nothing better. "the plan! speak," cried the archdeaconshaking him.

gringoire turned majestically towards him:"leave me! you see that i am composing." he meditated for a few moments more, thenbegan to clap his hands over his thought, crying: "admirable! success is sure!""the plan!" repeated claude in wrath. gringoire was radiant. "come, that i may tell you that verysoftly. 'tis a truly gallant counter-plot, whichwill extricate us all from the matter. pardieu, it must be admitted that i am nofool." he broke off."oh, by the way! is the little goat with

the wench?" "yes.the devil take you!" "they would have hanged it also, would theynot?" "what is that to me?" "yes, they would have hanged it.they hanged a sow last month. the headsman loveth that; he eats the beastafterwards. take my pretty djali! poor little lamb!""malediction!" exclaimed dom claude. "you are the executioner.what means of safety have you found, knave?

must your idea be extracted with theforceps?" "very fine, master, this is it." gringoire bent his head to the archdeacon'shead and spoke to him in a very low voice, casting an uneasy glance the while from oneend to the other of the street, though no one was passing. when he had finished, dom claude took hishand and said coldly: "'tis well. farewell until to-morrow.""until to-morrow," repeated gringoire. and, while the archdeacon was disappearingin one direction, he set off in the other, saying to himself in a low voice: "here's agrand affair, monsieur pierre gringoire.

never mind! 'tis not written that because one is ofsmall account one should take fright at a great enterprise. bitou carried a great bull on hisshoulders; the water-wagtails, the warblers, and the buntings traverse theocean." -book tenth.chapter ii. turn vagabond. on re-entering the cloister, the archdeaconfound at the door of his cell his brother jehan du moulin, who was waiting for him,and who had beguiled the tedium of waiting

by drawing on the wall with a bit of charcoal, a profile of his elder brother,enriched with a monstrous nose. dom claude hardly looked at his brother;his thoughts were elsewhere. that merry scamp's face whose beaming hadso often restored serenity to the priest's sombre physiognomy, was now powerless tomelt the gloom which grew more dense every day over that corrupted, mephitic, andstagnant soul. "brother," said jehan timidly, "i am cometo see you." the archdeacon did not even raise his eyes. "what then?""brother," resumed the hypocrite, "you are

so good to me, and you give me such wisecounsels that i always return to you." "what next?" "alas! brother, you were perfectly rightwhen you said to me,--"jehan! jehan! cessat doctorum doctrina,discipulorum disciplina. jehan, be wise, jehan, be learned, jehan,pass not the night outside of the college without lawful occasion and due leave ofthe master. cudgel not the picards: noli, joannes,verberare picardos. rot not like an unlettered ass, quasiasinus illitteratus, on the straw seats of the school.

jehan, allow yourself to be punished at thediscretion of the master. jehan go every evening to chapel, and singthere an anthem with verse and orison to madame the glorious virgin mary."--alas!what excellent advice was that!" "and then?" "brother, you behold a culprit, a criminal,a wretch, a libertine, a man of enormities! my dear brother, jehan hath made of yourcounsels straw and dung to trample under foot. i have been well chastised for it, and godis extraordinarily just. as long as i had money, i feasted, i lead amad and joyous life.

oh! how ugly and crabbed behind is debauchwhich is so charming in front! now i have no longer a blank; i have soldmy napery, my shirt and my towels; no more merry life! the beautiful candle is extinguished and ihave henceforth, only a wretched tallow dip which smokes in my nose.the wenches jeer at me. i drink water.--i am overwhelmed withremorse and with creditors. "the rest?" said the archdeacon."alas! my very dear brother, i should like to settle down to a better life. i come to you full of contrition, i ampenitent.

i make my confession.i beat my breast violently. you are quite right in wishing that ishould some day become a licentiate and sub-monitor in the college of torchi.at the present moment i feel a magnificent vocation for that profession. but i have no more ink and i must buy some;i have no more paper, i have no more books, and i must buy some. for this purpose, i am greatly in need of alittle money, and i come to you, brother, with my heart full of contrition.""is that all?" "yes," said the scholar.

"a little money.""i have none." then the scholar said, with an air whichwas both grave and resolute: "well, brother, i am sorry to be obliged to tellyou that very fine offers and propositions are being made to me in another quarter. you will not give me any money?no. in that case i shall become a professional vagabond." as he uttered these monstrous words, heassumed the mien of ajax, expecting to see the lightnings descend upon his head.the archdeacon said coldly to him,--"become a vagabond."

jehan made him a deep bow, and descendedthe cloister stairs, whistling. at the moment when he was passing throughthe courtyard of the cloister, beneath his brother's window, he heard that windowopen, raised his eyes and beheld the archdeacon's severe head emerge. "go to the devil!" said dom claude; "hereis the last money which you will get from me?" at the same time, the priest flung jehan apurse, which gave the scholar a big bump on the forehead, and with which jehanretreated, both vexed and content, like a dog who had been stoned with marrow bones.

-book tenth.chapter iv. an awkward friend. that night, quasimodo did not sleep.he had just made his last round of the church. he had not noticed, that at the moment whenhe was closing the doors, the archdeacon had passed close to him and betrayed somedispleasure on seeing him bolting and barring with care the enormous iron locks which gave to their large leaves thesolidity of a wall. dom claude's air was even more preoccupiedthan usual.

moreover, since the nocturnal adventure inthe cell, he had constantly abused quasimodo, but in vain did he ill treat,and even beat him occasionally, nothing disturbed the submission, patience, the devoted resignation of the faithfulbellringer. he endured everything on the part of thearchdeacon, insults, threats, blows, without murmuring a complaint. at the most, he gazed uneasily after domclaude when the latter ascended the staircase of the tower; but the archdeaconhad abstained from presenting himself again before the gypsy's eyes.

on that night, accordingly, quasimodo,after having cast a glance at his poor bells which he so neglected now,jacqueline, marie, and thibauld, mounted to the summit of the northern tower, and there setting his dark lanturn, well closed, uponthe leads, he began to gaze at paris. the night, as we have already said, wasvery dark. paris which, so to speak was not lighted atthat epoch, presented to the eye a confused collection of black masses, cut here andthere by the whitish curve of the seine. quasimodo no longer saw any light with theexception of one window in a distant edifice, whose vague and sombre profile wasoutlined well above the roofs, in the

direction of the porte sainte-antoine. there also, there was some one awake.as the only eye of the bellringer peered into that horizon of mist and night, hefelt within him an inexpressible uneasiness. for several days he had been upon hisguard. he had perceived men of sinister mien, whonever took their eyes from the young girl's asylum, prowling constantly about thechurch. he fancied that some plot might be inprocess of formation against the unhappy refugee.

he imagined that there existed a popularhatred against her, as against himself, and that it was very possible that somethingmight happen soon. hence he remained upon his tower on thewatch, "dreaming in his dream-place," as rabelais says, with his eye directedalternately on the cell and on paris, keeping faithful guard, like a good dog,with a thousand suspicions in his mind. all at once, while he was scrutinizing thegreat city with that eye which nature, by a sort of compensation, had made so piercingthat it could almost supply the other organs which quasimodo lacked, it seemed to him that there was something singular aboutthe quay de la vieille-pelleterie, that

there was a movement at that point, thatthe line of the parapet, standing out blackly against the whiteness of the water was not straight and tranquil, like that ofthe other quays, but that it undulated to the eye, like the waves of a river, or likethe heads of a crowd in motion. this struck him as strange. he redoubled his attention.the movement seemed to be advancing towards the city.there was no light. it lasted for some time on the quay; thenit gradually ceased, as though that which was passing were entering the interior ofthe island; then it stopped altogether, and

the line of the quay became straight andmotionless again. at the moment when quasimodo was lost inconjectures, it seemed to him that the movement had re-appeared in the rue duparvis, which is prolonged into the city perpendicularly to the facade of notre-dame. at length, dense as was the darkness, hebeheld the head of a column debouch from that street, and in an instant a crowd--ofwhich nothing could be distinguished in the gloom except that it was a crowd--spreadover the place. this spectacle had a terror of its own. it is probable that this singularprocession, which seemed so desirous of

concealing itself under profound darkness,maintained a silence no less profound. nevertheless, some noise must have escapedit, were it only a trampling. but this noise did not even reach our deafman, and this great multitude, of which he saw hardly anything, and of which he heardnothing, though it was marching and moving so near him, produced upon him the effect of a rabble of dead men, mute, impalpable,lost in a smoke. it seemed to him, that he beheld advancingtowards him a fog of men, and that he saw shadows moving in the shadow. then his fears returned to him, the idea ofan attempt against the gypsy presented

itself once more to his mind.he was conscious, in a confused way, that a violent crisis was approaching. at that critical moment he took counselwith himself, with better and prompter reasoning than one would have expected fromso badly organized a brain. ought he to awaken the gypsy? to make herescape? whither?the streets were invested, the church backed on the river. no boat, no issue!--there was but one thingto be done; to allow himself to be killed on the threshold of notre-dame, to resistat least until succor arrived, if it should

arrive, and not to trouble la esmeralda'ssleep. this resolution once taken, he set toexamining the enemy with more tranquillity. the throng seemed to increase every momentin the church square. only, he presumed that it must be makingvery little noise, since the windows on the place remained closed. all at once, a flame flashed up, and in aninstant seven or eight lighted torches passed over the heads of the crowd, shakingtheir tufts of flame in the deep shade. quasimodo then beheld distinctly surging inthe parvis a frightful herd of men and women in rags, armed with scythes, pikes,billhooks and partisans, whose thousand

points glittered. here and there black pitchforks formedhorns to the hideous faces. he vaguely recalled this populace, andthought that he recognized all the heads who had saluted him as pope of the foolssome months previously. one man who held a torch in one hand and aclub in the other, mounted a stone post and seemed to be haranguing them. at the same time the strange army executedseveral evolutions, as though it were taking up its post around the church. quasimodo picked up his lantern anddescended to the platform between the

towers, in order to get a nearer view, andto spy out a means of defence. clopin trouillefou, on arriving in front ofthe lofty portal of notre-dame had, in fact, ranged his troops in order of battle. although he expected no resistance, hewished, like a prudent general, to preserve an order which would permit him to face, atneed, a sudden attack of the watch or the police. he had accordingly stationed his brigade insuch a manner that, viewed from above and from a distance, one would have pronouncedit the roman triangle of the battle of ecnomus, the boar's head of alexander orthe famous wedge of gustavus adolphus.

the base of this triangle rested on theback of the place in such a manner as to bar the entrance of the rue du parvis; oneof its sides faced hotel-dieu, the other the rue saint-pierre-aux-boeufs. clopin trouillefou had placed himself atthe apex with the duke of egypt, our friend jehan, and the most daring of thescavengers. an enterprise like that which the vagabondswere now undertaking against notre-dame was not a very rare thing in the cities of themiddle ages. what we now call the "police" did not existthen. in populous cities, especially in capitals,there existed no single, central,

regulating power. feudalism had constructed these greatcommunities in a singular manner. a city was an assembly of a thousandseigneuries, which divided it into compartments of all shapes and sizes. hence, a thousand conflictingestablishments of police; that is to say, no police at all. in paris, for example, independently of thehundred and forty-one lords who laid claim to a manor, there were five and twenty wholaid claim to a manor and to administering justice, from the bishop of paris, who had

five hundred streets, to the prior ofnotre-dame des champs, who had four. all these feudal justices recognized thesuzerain authority of the king only in name. all possessed the right of control over theroads. all were at home. louis xi., that indefatigable worker, whoso largely began the demolition of the feudal edifice, continued by richelieu andlouis xiv. for the profit of royalty, and finished by mirabeau for the benefit of the people,--louis xi. had certainly made aneffort to break this network of seignories

which covered paris, by throwing violentlyacross them all two or three troops of general police. thus, in 1465, an order to the inhabitantsto light candles in their windows at nightfall, and to shut up their dogs underpenalty of death; in the same year, an order to close the streets in the evening with iron chains, and a prohibition to weardaggers or weapons of offence in the streets at night.but in a very short time, all these efforts at communal legislation fell into abeyance. the bourgeois permitted the wind to blowout their candles in the windows, and their

dogs to stray; the iron chains werestretched only in a state of siege; the prohibition to wear daggers wrought no other changes than from the name of the ruecoupe-gueule to the name of the rue-coupe- gorge which is an evident progress. the old scaffolding of feudal jurisdictionsremained standing; an immense aggregation of bailiwicks and seignories crossing eachother all over the city, interfering with each other, entangled in one another, enmeshing each other, trespassing on eachother; a useless thicket of watches, sub- watches and counter-watches, over which,with armed force, passed brigandage,

rapine, and sedition. hence, in this disorder, deeds of violenceon the part of the populace directed against a palace, a hotel, or house in themost thickly populated quarters, were not unheard-of occurrences. in the majority of such cases, theneighbors did not meddle with the matter unless the pillaging extended tothemselves. they stopped up their ears to the musketshots, closed their shutters, barricaded their doors, allowed the matter to beconcluded with or without the watch, and the next day it was said in paris, "etiennebarbette was broken open last night.

the marshal de clermont was seized lastnight, etc." hence, not only the royal habitations, thelouvre, the palace, the bastille, the tournelles, but simply seignorialresidences, the petit-bourbon, the hotel de sens, the hotel d' angouleme, etc., had battlements on their walls, andmachicolations over their doors. churches were guarded by their sanctity.some, among the number notre-dame, were fortified. the abbey of saint-german-des-pres wascastellated like a baronial mansion, and more brass expended about it in bombardsthan in bells.

its fortress was still to be seen in 1610. to-day, barely its church remains.let us return to notre-dame. when the first arrangements were completed,and we must say, to the honor of vagabond discipline, that clopin's orders wereexecuted in silence, and with admirable precision, the worthy chief of the band, mounted on the parapet of the churchsquare, and raised his hoarse and surly voice, turning towards notre-dame, andbrandishing his torch whose light, tossed by the wind, and veiled every moment by its own smoke, made the reddish facade of thechurch appear and disappear before the eye.

"to you, louis de beaumont, bishop ofparis, counsellor in the court of parliament, i, clopin trouillefou, king ofthunes, grand coesre, prince of argot, bishop of fools, i say: our sister, falsely condemned for magic, hath taken refuge inyour church, you owe her asylum and safety. now the court of parliament wishes to seizeher once more there, and you consent to it; so that she would be hanged to-morrow inthe greve, if god and the outcasts were not here. if your church is sacred, so is our sister;if our sister is not sacred, neither is your church.

that is why we call upon you to return thegirl if you wish to save your church, or we will take possession of the girl again andpillage the church, which will be a good thing. in token of which i here plant my banner,and may god preserve you, bishop of paris." quasimodo could not, unfortunately, hearthese words uttered with a sort of sombre and savage majesty. a vagabond presented his banner to clopin,who planted it solemnly between two paving- stones.it was a pitchfork from whose points hung a bleeding quarter of carrion meat.

that done, the king of thunes turned roundand cast his eyes over his army, a fierce multitude whose glances flashed almostequally with their pikes. after a momentary pause,--"forward, mysons!" he cried; "to work, locksmiths!" thirty bold men, square shouldered, andwith pick-lock faces, stepped from the ranks, with hammers, pincers, and bars ofiron on their shoulders. they betook themselves to the principaldoor of the church, ascended the steps, and were soon to be seen squatting under thearch, working at the door with pincers and levers; a throng of vagabonds followed themto help or look on. the eleven steps before the portal werecovered with them.

but the door stood firm. "the devil!'tis hard and obstinate!" said one. "it is old, and its gristles have becomebony," said another. "courage, comrades!" resumed clopin. "i wager my head against a dipper that youwill have opened the door, rescued the girl, and despoiled the chief altar beforea single beadle is awake. stay! i think i hear the lock breaking up."clopin was interrupted by a frightful uproar which re-sounded behind him at thatmoment.

he wheeled round. an enormous beam had just fallen fromabove; it had crushed a dozen vagabonds on the pavement with the sound of a cannon,breaking in addition, legs here and there in the crowd of beggars, who sprang asidewith cries of terror. in a twinkling, the narrow precincts of thechurch parvis were cleared. the locksmiths, although protected by thedeep vaults of the portal, abandoned the door and clopin himself retired to arespectful distance from the church. "i had a narrow escape!" cried jehan. "i felt the wind, of it, tete-de-boeuf! butpierre the slaughterer is slaughtered!"

it is impossible to describe theastonishment mingled with fright which fell upon the ruffians in company with thisbeam. they remained for several minutes withtheir eyes in the air, more dismayed by that piece of wood than by the king'stwenty thousand archers. "satan!" muttered the duke of egypt, "thissmacks of magic!" "'tis the moon which threw this log at us,"said andry the red. "call the moon the friend of the virgin,after that!" went on francois chanteprune. "a thousand popes!" exclaimed clopin, "youare all fools!" but he did not know how to explain the fallof the beam.

meanwhile, nothing could be distinguishedon the facade, to whose summit the light of the torches did not reach. the heavy beam lay in the middle of theenclosure, and groans were heard from the poor wretches who had received its firstshock, and who had been almost cut in twain, on the angle of the stone steps. the king of thunes, his first amazementpassed, finally found an explanation which appeared plausible to his companions."throat of god! are the canons defending themselves? to the sack, then! to the sack!""to the sack!" repeated the rabble, with a

furious hurrah.a discharge of crossbows and hackbuts against the front of the church followed. at this detonation, the peaceableinhabitants of the surrounding houses woke up; many windows were seen to open, andnightcaps and hands holding candles appeared at the casements. "fire at the windows," shouted clopin. the windows were immediately closed, andthe poor bourgeois, who had hardly had time to cast a frightened glance on this sceneof gleams and tumult, returned, perspiring with fear to their wives, asking themselves

whether the witches' sabbath was now beingheld in the parvis of notre-dame, or whether there was an assault ofburgundians, as in '64. then the husbands thought of theft; thewives, of rape; and all trembled. "to the sack!" repeated the thieves' crew;but they dared not approach. they stared at the beam, they stared at thechurch. the beam did not stir, the edificepreserved its calm and deserted air; but something chilled the outcasts. "to work, locksmiths!" shouted trouillefou."let the door be forced!" no one took a step."beard and belly!" said clopin, "here be

men afraid of a beam." an old locksmith addressed him--"captain, 'tis not the beam which bothers us, 'tis the door, which is all coveredwith iron bars. our pincers are powerless against it." "what more do you want to break it in?"demanded clopin. "ah! we ought to have a battering ram." the king of thunes ran boldly to theformidable beam, and placed his foot upon it: "here is one!" he exclaimed; "'tis thecanons who send it to you." and, making a mocking salute in thedirection of the church, "thanks, canons!"

this piece of bravado produced itseffects,--the spell of the beam was broken. the vagabonds recovered their courage; soonthe heavy joist, raised like a feather by two hundred vigorous arms, was flung withfury against the great door which they had tried to batter down. at the sight of that long beam, in thehalf-light which the infrequent torches of the brigands spread over the place, thusborne by that crowd of men who dashed it at a run against the church, one would have thought that he beheld a monstrous beastwith a thousand feet attacking with lowered head the giant of stone.

at the shock of the beam, the half metallicdoor sounded like an immense drum; it was not burst in, but the whole cathedraltrembled, and the deepest cavities of the edifice were heard to echo. at the same moment, a shower of largestones began to fall from the top of the facade on the assailants. "the devil!" cried jehan, "are the towersshaking their balustrades down on our heads?"but the impulse had been given, the king of thunes had set the example. evidently, the bishop was defendinghimself, and they only battered the door

with the more rage, in spite of the stoneswhich cracked skulls right and left. it was remarkable that all these stonesfell one by one; but they followed each other closely.the thieves always felt two at a time, one on their legs and one on their heads. there were few which did not deal theirblow, and a large layer of dead and wounded lay bleeding and panting beneath the feetof the assailants who, now grown furious, replaced each other without intermission. the long beam continued to belabor thedoor, at regular intervals, like the clapper of a bell, the stones to rain down,the door to groan.

the reader has no doubt divined that thisunexpected resistance which had exasperated the outcasts came from quasimodo.chance had, unfortunately, favored the brave deaf man. when he had descended to the platformbetween the towers, his ideas were all in confusion. he had run up and down along the galleryfor several minutes like a madman, surveying from above, the compact mass ofvagabonds ready to hurl itself on the church, demanding the safety of the gypsyfrom the devil or from god. the thought had occurred to him ofascending to the southern belfry and

sounding the alarm, but before he couldhave set the bell in motion, before marie's voice could have uttered a single clamor, was there not time to burst in the door ofthe church ten times over? it was precisely the moment when thelocksmiths were advancing upon it with their tools. what was to be done?all at once, he remembered that some masons had been at work all day repairing thewall, the timber-work, and the roof of the south tower. this was a flash of light.the wall was of stone, the roof of lead,

the timber-work of wood.(that prodigious timber-work, so dense that it was called "the forest.") quasimodo hastened to that tower.the lower chambers were, in fact, full of materials. there were piles of rough blocks of stone,sheets of lead in rolls, bundles of laths, heavy beams already notched with the saw,heaps of plaster. time was pressing, the pikes and hammerswere at work below. with a strength which the sense of dangerincreased tenfold, he seized one of the beams--the longest and heaviest; he pushedit out through a loophole, then, grasping

it again outside of the tower, he made it slide along the angle of the balustradewhich surrounds the platform, and let it fly into the abyss. the enormous timber, during that fall of ahundred and sixty feet, scraping the wall, breaking the carvings, turned many times onits centre, like the arm of a windmill flying off alone through space. at last it reached the ground, the horriblecry arose, and the black beam, as it rebounded from the pavement, resembled aserpent leaping. quasimodo beheld the outcasts scatter atthe fall of the beam, like ashes at the

breath of a child. he took advantage of their fright, andwhile they were fixing a superstitious glance on the club which had fallen fromheaven, and while they were putting out the eyes of the stone saints on the front with a discharge of arrows and buckshot,quasimodo was silently piling up plaster, stones, and rough blocks of stone, even thesacks of tools belonging to the masons, on the edge of the balustrade from which thebeam had already been hurled. thus, as soon as they began to batter thegrand door, the shower of rough blocks of stone began to fall, and it seemed to themthat the church itself was being demolished

over their heads. any one who could have beheld quasimodo atthat moment would have been frightened. independently of the projectiles which hehad piled upon the balustrade, he had collected a heap of stones on the platformitself. as fast as the blocks on the exterior edgewere exhausted, he drew on the heap. then he stooped and rose, stooped and roseagain with incredible activity. his huge gnome's head bent over thebalustrade, then an enormous stone fell, then another, then another. from time to time, he followed a fine stonewith his eye, and when it did good

execution, he said, "hum!"meanwhile, the beggars did not grow discouraged. the thick door on which they were ventingtheir fury had already trembled more than twenty times beneath the weight of theiroaken battering-ram, multiplied by the strength of a hundred men. the panels cracked, the carved work flewinto splinters, the hinges, at every blow, leaped from their pins, the planks yawned,the wood crumbled to powder, ground between the iron sheathing. fortunately for quasimodo, there was moreiron than wood.

nevertheless, he felt that the great doorwas yielding. although he did not hear it, every blow ofthe ram reverberated simultaneously in the vaults of the church and within it. from above he beheld the vagabonds, filledwith triumph and rage, shaking their fists at the gloomy facade; and both on thegypsy's account and his own he envied the wings of the owls which flitted away abovehis head in flocks. his shower of stone blocks was notsufficient to repel the assailants. at this moment of anguish, he noticed, alittle lower down than the balustrade whence he was crushing the thieves, twolong stone gutters which discharged

immediately over the great door; the internal orifice of these guttersterminated on the pavement of the platform. an idea occurred to him; he ran in searchof a fagot in his bellringer's den, placed on this fagot a great many bundles oflaths, and many rolls of lead, munitions which he had not employed so far, and having arranged this pile in front of thehole to the two gutters, he set it on fire with his lantern. during this time, since the stones nolonger fell, the outcasts ceased to gaze into the air.

the bandits, panting like a pack of houndswho are forcing a boar into his lair, pressed tumultuously round the great door,all disfigured by the battering ram, but still standing. they were waiting with a quiver for thegreat blow which should split it open. they vied with each other in pressing asclose as possible, in order to dash among the first, when it should open, into thatopulent cathedral, a vast reservoir where the wealth of three centuries had beenpiled up. they reminded each other with roars ofexultation and greedy lust, of the beautiful silver crosses, the fine copes ofbrocade, the beautiful tombs of silver

gilt, the great magnificences of the choir, the dazzling festivals, the christmassessparkling with torches, the easters sparkling with sunshine,--all thosesplendid solemneties wherein chandeliers, ciboriums, tabernacles, and reliquaries, studded the altars with a crust of gold anddiamonds. certainly, at that fine moment, thieves andpseudo sufferers, doctors in stealing, and vagabonds, were thinking much less ofdelivering the gypsy than of pillaging notre-dame. we could even easily believe that for agoodly number among them la esmeralda was

only a pretext, if thieves needed pretexts. all at once, at the moment when they weregrouping themselves round the ram for a last effort, each one holding his breathand stiffening his muscles in order to communicate all his force to the decisive blow, a howl more frightful still than thatwhich had burst forth and expired beneath the beam, rose among them.those who did not cry out, those who were still alive, looked. two streams of melted lead were fallingfrom the summit of the edifice into the thickest of the rabble.

that sea of men had just sunk down beneaththe boiling metal, which had made, at the two points where it fell, two black andsmoking holes in the crowd, such as hot water would make in snow. dying men, half consumed and groaning withanguish, could be seen writhing there. around these two principal streams therewere drops of that horrible rain, which scattered over the assailants and enteredtheir skulls like gimlets of fire. it was a heavy fire which overwhelmed thesewretches with a thousand hailstones. the outcry was heartrending. they fled pell-mell, hurling the beam uponthe bodies, the boldest as well as the most

timid, and the parvis was cleared a secondtime. all eyes were raised to the top of thechurch. they beheld there an extraordinary sight. on the crest of the highest gallery, higherthan the central rose window, there was a great flame rising between the two towerswith whirlwinds of sparks, a vast, disordered, and furious flame, a tongue of which was borne into the smoke by the wind,from time to time. below that fire, below the gloomybalustrade with its trefoils showing darkly against its glare, two spouts with monsterthroats were vomiting forth unceasingly

that burning rain, whose silvery stream stood out against the shadows of the lowerfacade. as they approached the earth, these twojets of liquid lead spread out in sheaves, like water springing from the thousandholes of a watering-pot. above the flame, the enormous towers, twosides of each of which were visible in sharp outline, the one wholly black, theother wholly red, seemed still more vast with all the immensity of the shadow whichthey cast even to the sky. their innumerable sculptures of demons anddragons assumed a lugubrious aspect. the restless light of the flame made themmove to the eye.

there were griffins which had the air oflaughing, gargoyles which one fancied one heard yelping, salamanders which puffed atthe fire, tarasques which sneezed in the smoke. and among the monsters thus roused fromtheir sleep of stone by this flame, by this noise, there was one who walked about, andwho was seen, from time to time, to pass across the glowing face of the pile, like abat in front of a candle. without doubt, this strange beacon lightwould awaken far away, the woodcutter of the hills of bicetre, terrified to beholdthe gigantic shadow of the towers of notre- dame quivering over his heaths.

a terrified silence ensued among theoutcasts, during which nothing was heard, but the cries of alarm of the canons shutup in their cloister, and more uneasy than horses in a burning stable, the furtive sound of windows hastily opened and stillmore hastily closed, the internal hurly- burly of the houses and of the hotel-dieu,the wind in the flame, the last death- rattle of the dying, and the continued crackling of the rain of lead upon thepavement. in the meanwhile, the principal vagabondshad retired beneath the porch of the gondelaurier mansion, and were holding acouncil of war.

the duke of egypt, seated on a stone post,contemplated the phantasmagorical bonfire, glowing at a height of two hundred feet inthe air, with religious terror. clopin trouillefou bit his huge fists withrage. "impossible to get in!" he muttered betweenhis teeth. "an old, enchanted church!" grumbled theaged bohemian, mathias hungadi spicali. "by the pope's whiskers!" went on a shamsoldier, who had once been in service, "here are church gutters spitting meltedlead at you better than the machicolations of lectoure." "do you see that demon passing andrepassing in front of the fire?" exclaimed

the duke of egypt."pardieu, 'tis that damned bellringer, 'tis quasimodo," said clopin. the bohemian tossed his head."i tell you, that 'tis the spirit sabnac, the grand marquis, the demon offortifications. he has the form of an armed soldier, thehead of a lion. sometimes he rides a hideous horse.he changes men into stones, of which he builds towers. he commands fifty legions 'tis he indeed;i recognize him. sometimes he is clad in a handsome goldenrobe, figured after the turkish fashion."

"where is bellevigne de l'etoile?" demandedclopin. "he is dead." andry the red laughed in an idiotic way:"notre-dame is making work for the hospital," said he. "is there, then, no way of forcing thisdoor," exclaimed the king of thunes, stamping his foot. the duke of egypt pointed sadly to the twostreams of boiling lead which did not cease to streak the black facade, like two longdistaffs of phosphorus. "churches have been known to defendthemselves thus all by themselves," he

remarked with a sigh. "saint-sophia at constantinople, fortyyears ago, hurled to the earth three times in succession, the crescent of mahom, byshaking her domes, which are her heads. guillaume de paris, who built this one wasa magician." "must we then retreat in pitiful fashion,like highwaymen?" said clopin. "must we leave our sister here, whom thosehooded wolves will hang to-morrow." "and the sacristy, where there are wagon-loads of gold!" added a vagabond, whose name, we regret to say, we do not know. "beard of mahom!" cried trouillefou."let us make another trial," resumed the

vagabond.mathias hungadi shook his head. "we shall never get in by the door. we must find the defect in the armor of theold fairy; a hole, a false postern, some joint or other.""who will go with me?" said clopin. "i shall go at it again. by the way, where is the little scholarjehan, who is so encased in iron?" "he is dead, no doubt," some one replied;"we no longer hear his laugh." the king of thunes frowned: "so much theworse. there was a brave heart under thatironmongery.

and master pierre gringoire?" "captain clopin," said andry the red, "heslipped away before we reached the pont- aux-changeurs."clopin stamped his foot. "gueule-dieu! 'twas he who pushed us on hither, and hehas deserted us in the very middle of the job!cowardly chatterer, with a slipper for a helmet!" "captain clopin," said andry the red, whowas gazing down rue du parvis, "yonder is the little scholar.""praised be pluto!" said clopin.

"but what the devil is he dragging afterhim?" it was, in fact, jehan, who was running asfast as his heavy outfit of a paladin, and a long ladder which trailed on thepavement, would permit, more breathless than an ant harnessed to a blade of grasstwenty times longer than itself. "victory!te deum!" cried the scholar. "here is the ladder of the longshoremen ofport saint-landry." clopin approached him."child, what do you mean to do, corne-dieu! with this ladder?" "i have it," replied jehan, panting."i knew where it was under the shed of the

lieutenant's house.there's a wench there whom i know, who thinks me as handsome as cupido. i made use of her to get the ladder, and ihave the ladder, pasque-mahom! the poor girl came to open the door to mein her shift." "yes," said clopin, "but what are you goingto do with that ladder?" jehan gazed at him with a malicious,knowing look, and cracked his fingers like castanets. at that moment he was sublime.on his head he wore one of those overloaded helmets of the fifteenth century, whichfrightened the enemy with their fanciful

crests. his bristled with ten iron beaks, so thatjehan could have disputed with nestor's homeric vessel the redoubtable title ofdexeubolos. "what do i mean to do with it, august kingof thunes? do you see that row of statues which havesuch idiotic expressions, yonder, above the three portals?" "yes. well?""'tis the gallery of the kings of france." "what is that to me?" said clopin."wait! at the end of that gallery there is a doorwhich is never fastened otherwise than with

a latch, and with this ladder i ascend, andi am in the church." "child let me be the first to ascend." "no, comrade, the ladder is mine.come, you shall be the second." "may beelzebub strangle you!" said surlyclopin, "i won't be second to anybody." "then find a ladder, clopin!" jehan set out on a run across the place,dragging his ladder and shouting: "follow me, lads!" in an instant the ladder was raised, andpropped against the balustrade of the lower gallery, above one of the lateral doors.

the throng of vagabonds, uttering loudacclamations, crowded to its foot to ascend.but jehan maintained his right, and was the first to set foot on the rungs. the passage was tolerably long.the gallery of the kings of france is to- day about sixty feet above the pavement.the eleven steps of the flight before the door, made it still higher. jehan mounted slowly, a good dealincommoded by his heavy armor, holding his crossbow in one hand, and clinging to arung with the other. when he reached the middle of the ladder,he cast a melancholy glance at the poor

dead outcasts, with which the steps werestrewn. "alas!" said he, "here is a heap of bodiesworthy of the fifth book of the iliad!" then he continued his ascent.the vagabonds followed him. there was one on every rung. at the sight of this line of cuirassedbacks, undulating as they rose through the gloom, one would have pronounced it aserpent with steel scales, which was raising itself erect in front of thechurch. jehan who formed the head, and who waswhistling, completed the illusion. the scholar finally reached the balcony ofthe gallery, and climbed over it nimbly, to

the applause of the whole vagabond tribe. thus master of the citadel, he uttered ashout of joy, and suddenly halted, petrified. he had just caught sight of quasimodoconcealed in the dark, with flashing eye, behind one of the statues of the kings. before a second assailant could gain afoothold on the gallery, the formidable hunchback leaped to the head of the ladder,without uttering a word, seized the ends of the two uprights with his powerful hands, raised them, pushed them out from the wall,balanced the long and pliant ladder, loaded

with vagabonds from top to bottom for amoment, in the midst of shrieks of anguish, then suddenly, with superhuman force, hurled this cluster of men backward intothe place. there was a moment when even the mostresolute trembled. the ladder, launched backwards, remainederect and standing for an instant, and seemed to hesitate, then wavered, thensuddenly, describing a frightful arc of a circle eighty feet in radius, crashed upon the pavement with its load of ruffians,more rapidly than a drawbridge when its chains break.

there arose an immense imprecation, thenall was still, and a few mutilated wretches were seen, crawling over the heap of dead.a sound of wrath and grief followed the first cries of triumph among the besiegers. quasimodo, impassive, with both elbowspropped on the balustrade, looked on. he had the air of an old, bushy-headed kingat his window. as for jehan frollo, he was in a criticalposition. he found himself in the gallery with theformidable bellringer, alone, separated from his companions by a vertical walleighty feet high. while quasimodo was dealing with theladder, the scholar had run to the postern

which he believed to be open.it was not. the deaf man had closed it behind him whenhe entered the gallery. jehan had then concealed himself behind astone king, not daring to breathe, and fixing upon the monstrous hunchback afrightened gaze, like the man, who, when courting the wife of the guardian of a menagerie, went one evening to a loverendezvous, mistook the wall which he was to climb, and suddenly found himself faceto face with a white bear. for the first few moments, the deaf manpaid no heed to him; but at last he turned his head, and suddenly straightened up.he had just caught sight of the scholar.

jehan prepared himself for a rough shock,but the deaf man remained motionless; only he had turned towards the scholar and waslooking at him. "ho ho!" said jehan, "what do you mean bystaring at me with that solitary and melancholy eye?"as he spoke thus, the young scamp stealthily adjusted his crossbow. "quasimodo!" he cried, "i am going tochange your surname: you shall be called the blind man."the shot sped. the feathered vireton whizzed and enteredthe hunchback's left arm. quasimodo appeared no more moved by it thanby a scratch to king pharamond.

he laid his hand on the arrow, tore it fromhis arm, and tranquilly broke it across his big knee; then he let the two pieces dropon the floor, rather than threw them down. but jehan had no opportunity to fire asecond time. the arrow broken, quasimodo breathingheavily, bounded like a grasshopper, and he fell upon the scholar, whose armor wasflattened against the wall by the blow. then in that gloom, wherein wavered thelight of the torches, a terrible thing was seen. quasimodo had grasped with his left handthe two arms of jehan, who did not offer any resistance, so thoroughly did he feelthat he was lost.

with his right hand, the deaf man detachedone by one, in silence, with sinister slowness, all the pieces of his armor, thesword, the daggers, the helmet, the cuirass, the leg pieces. one would have said that it was a monkeytaking the shell from a nut. quasimodo flung the scholar's iron shell athis feet, piece by piece. when the scholar beheld himself disarmed,stripped, weak, and naked in those terrible hands, he made no attempt to speak to thedeaf man, but began to laugh audaciously in his face, and to sing with his intrepid heedlessness of a child of sixteen, thethen popular ditty:--

"elle est bien habillee, la ville decambrai; marafin l'a pillee..."* * the city of cambrai is well dressed. marafin plundered it.he did not finish. quasimodo was seen on the parapet of thegallery, holding the scholar by the feet with one hand and whirling him over theabyss like a sling; then a sound like that of a bony structure in contact with a wall was heard, and something was seen to fallwhich halted a third of the way down in its fall, on a projection in the architecture. it was a dead body which remained hangingthere, bent double, its loins broken, its

skull empty.a cry of horror rose among the vagabonds. "vengeance!" shouted clopin. "to the sack!" replied the multitude."assault! assault!" there came a tremendous howl, in which weremingled all tongues, all dialects, all accents. the death of the poor scholar imparted afurious ardor to that crowd. it was seized with shame, and the wrath ofhaving been held so long in check before a church by a hunchback. rage found ladders, multiplied the torches,and, at the expiration of a few minutes,

quasimodo, in despair, beheld that terribleant heap mount on all sides to the assault of notre-dame. those who had no ladders had knotted ropes;those who had no ropes climbed by the projections of the carvings.they hung from each other's rags. there were no means of resisting thatrising tide of frightful faces; rage made these fierce countenances ruddy; theirclayey brows were dripping with sweat; their eyes darted lightnings; all these grimaces, all these horrors laid siege toquasimodo. one would have said that some other churchhad despatched to the assault of notre-dame

its gorgons, its dogs, its drees, itsdemons, its most fantastic sculptures. it was like a layer of living monsters onthe stone monsters of the facade. meanwhile, the place was studded with athousand torches. this scene of confusion, till now hid indarkness, was suddenly flooded with light. the parvis was resplendent, and cast aradiance on the sky; the bonfire lighted on the lofty platform was still burning, andilluminated the city far away. the enormous silhouette of the two towers,projected afar on the roofs of paris, and formed a large notch of black in thislight. the city seemed to be aroused.

alarm bells wailed in the distance. the vagabonds howled, panted, swore,climbed; and quasimodo, powerless against so many enemies, shuddering for the gypsy,beholding the furious faces approaching ever nearer and nearer to his gallery, entreated heaven for a miracle, and wrunghis arms in despair. -book tenth.chapter iii. long live mirth. the reader has probably not forgotten thata part of the cour de miracles was enclosed by the ancient wall which surrounded thecity, a goodly number of whose towers had

begun, even at that epoch, to fall to ruin. one of these towers had been converted intoa pleasure resort by the vagabonds. there was a drain-shop in the undergroundstory, and the rest in the upper stories. this was the most lively, and consequentlythe most hideous, point of the whole outcast den.it was a sort of monstrous hive, which buzzed there night and day. at night, when the remainder of the beggarhorde slept, when there was no longer a window lighted in the dingy facades of theplace, when not a cry was any longer to be heard proceeding from those innumerable

families, those ant-hills of thieves, ofwenches, and stolen or bastard children, the merry tower was still recognizable bythe noise which it made, by the scarlet light which, flashing simultaneously from the air-holes, the windows, the fissures inthe cracked walls, escaped, so to speak, from its every pore.the cellar then, was the dram-shop. the descent to it was through a low doorand by a staircase as steep as a classic alexandrine. over the door, by way of a sign there hunga marvellous daub, representing new sons and dead chickens, with this, pun below:aux sonneurs pour les trepasses,--the

wringers for the dead. one evening when the curfew was soundingfrom all the belfries in paris, the sergeants of the watch might have observed,had it been granted to them to enter the formidable court of miracles, that more tumult than usual was in progress in thevagabonds' tavern, that more drinking was being done, and louder swearing. outside in the place, there, were manygroups conversing in low tones, as when some great plan is being framed, and hereand there a knave crouching down engaged in sharpening a villanous iron blade on apaving-stone.

meanwhile, in the tavern itself, wine andgaming offered such a powerful diversion to the ideas which occupied the vagabonds'lair that evening, that it would have been difficult to divine from the remarks of thedrinkers, what was the matter in hand. they merely wore a gayer air than was theirwont, and some weapon could be seen glittering between the legs of each ofthem,--a sickle, an axe, a big two-edged sword or the hook of an old hackbut. the room, circular in form, was veryspacious; but the tables were so thickly set and the drinkers so numerous, that allthat the tavern contained, men, women, benches, beer-jugs, all that were drinking,

all that were sleeping, all that wereplaying, the well, the lame, seemed piled up pell-mell, with as much order andharmony as a heap of oyster shells. there were a few tallow dips lighted on thetables; but the real luminary of this tavern, that which played the part in thisdram-shop of the chandelier of an opera house, was the fire. this cellar was so damp that the fire wasnever allowed to go out, even in midsummer; an immense chimney with a sculpturedmantel, all bristling with heavy iron andirons and cooking utensils, with one of those huge fires of mixed wood and peatwhich at night, in village streets make the

reflection of forge windows stand out sored on the opposite walls. a big dog gravely seated in the ashes wasturning a spit loaded with meat before the coals. great as was the confusion, after the firstglance one could distinguish in that multitude, three principal groups whichthronged around three personages already known to the reader. one of these personages, fantasticallyaccoutred in many an oriental rag, was mathias hungadi spicali, duke of egypt andbohemia. the knave was seated on a table with hislegs crossed, and in a loud voice was

bestowing his knowledge of magic, bothblack and white, on many a gaping face which surrounded him. another rabble pressed close around our oldfriend, the valiant king of thunes, armed to the teeth. clopin trouillefou, with a very serious airand in a low voice, was regulating the distribution of an enormous cask of arms,which stood wide open in front of him and from whence poured out in profusion, axes, swords, bassinets, coats of mail,broadswords, lance-heads, arrows, and viretons, like apples and grapes from ahorn of plenty.

every one took something from the cask, onea morion, another a long, straight sword, another a dagger with a cross--shaped hilt. the very children were arming themselves,and there were even cripples in bowls who, in armor and cuirass, made their waybetween the legs of the drinkers, like great beetles. finally, a third audience, the most noisy,the most jovial, and the most numerous, encumbered benches and tables, in the midstof which harangued and swore a flute-like voice, which escaped from beneath a heavyarmor, complete from casque to spurs. the individual who had thus screwed a wholeoutfit upon his body, was so hidden by his

warlike accoutrements that nothing was tobe seen of his person save an impertinent, red, snub nose, a rosy mouth, and boldeyes. his belt was full of daggers and poniards,a huge sword on his hip, a rusted cross-bow at his left, and a vast jug of wine infront of him, without reckoning on his right, a fat wench with her bosomuncovered. all mouths around him were laughing,cursing, and drinking. add twenty secondary groups, the waiters,male and female, running with jugs on their heads, gamblers squatting over taws,merelles, dice, vachettes, the ardent game of tringlet, quarrels in one corner, kisses

in another, and the reader will have someidea of this whole picture, over which flickered the light of a great, flamingfire, which made a thousand huge and grotesque shadows dance over the walls ofthe drinking shop. as for the noise, it was like the inside ofa bell at full peal. the dripping-pan, where crackled a rain ofgrease, filled with its continual sputtering the intervals of these thousanddialogues, which intermingled from one end of the apartment to the other. in the midst of this uproar, at theextremity of the tavern, on the bench inside the chimney, sat a philosophermeditating with his feet in the ashes and

his eyes on the brands. it was pierre gringoire."be quick! make haste, arm yourselves! we set out on the march in an hour!" saidclopin trouillefou to his thieves. a wench was humming,-- "bonsoir mon pere et ma mere, les dernierscouvrent le feu."* * good night, father and mother, the lastcover up the fire. two card players were disputing,-- "knave!" cried the reddest faced of thetwo, shaking his fist at the other; "i'll mark you with the club.you can take the place of mistigri in the

pack of cards of monseigneur the king." "ugh!" roared a norman, recognizable by hisnasal accent; "we are packed in here like the saints of caillouville!" "my sons," the duke of egypt was saying tohis audience, in a falsetto voice, "sorceresses in france go to the witches'sabbath without broomsticks, or grease, or steed, merely by means of some magic words. the witches of italy always have a buckwaiting for them at their door. all are bound to go out through thechimney." the voice of the young scamp armed fromhead to foot, dominated the uproar.

"hurrah! hurrah!" he was shouting."my first day in armor! outcast! i am an outcast.give me something to drink. my friends, my name is jehan frollo dumoulin, and i am a gentleman. my opinion is that if god were a gendarme,he would turn robber. brothers, we are about to set out on a fineexpedition. lay siege to the church, burst in thedoors, drag out the beautiful girl, save her from the judges, save her from thepriests, dismantle the cloister, burn the bishop in his palace--all this we will do

in less time than it takes for aburgomaster to eat a spoonful of soup. our cause is just, we will plunder notre-dame and that will be the end of it. we will hang quasimodo. do you know quasimodo, ladies?have you seen him make himself breathless on the big bell on a grand pentecostfestival! corne du pere! 'tis very fine!one would say he was a devil mounted on a man. listen to me, my friends; i am a vagabondto the bottom of my heart, i am a member of

the slang thief gang in my soul, i was bornan independent thief. i have been rich, and i have devoured allmy property. my mother wanted to make an officer of me;my father, a sub-deacon; my aunt, a councillor of inquests; my grandmother,prothonotary to the king; my great aunt, a treasurer of the short robe,--and i havemade myself an outcast. i said this to my father, who spit hiscurse in my face; to my mother, who set to weeping and chattering, poor old lady, likeyonder fagot on the and-irons. long live mirth! i am a real bicetre.waitress, my dear, more wine.

i have still the wherewithal to pay.i want no more surene wine. it distresses my throat. i'd as lief, corboeuf! gargle my throatwith a basket." meanwhile, the rabble applauded with shoutsof laughter; and seeing that the tumult was increasing around him, the scholar cried,--. "oh! what a fine noise! populi debacchantis populosa debacchatio!" then he began to sing, his eye swimming inecstasy, in the tone of a canon intoning vespers, quoe cantica! quoe organa! quoecantilenoe! quoe meloclioe hic sine fine

decantantur! sonant melliflua hymnorum organa,suavissima angelorum melodia, cantica canticorum mira!he broke off: "tavern-keeper of the devil, give me some supper!" there was a moment of partial silence,during which the sharp voice of the duke of egypt rose, as he gave instructions to hisbohemians. "the weasel is called adrune; the fox,blue-foot, or the racer of the woods; the wolf, gray-foot, or gold-foot; the bear theold man, or grandfather. the cap of a gnome confers invisibility,and causes one to behold invisible things.

every toad that is baptized must be clad inred or black velvet, a bell on its neck, a bell on its feet. the godfather holds its head, the godmotherits hinder parts. 'tis the demon sidragasum who hath thepower to make wenches dance stark naked." "by the mass!" interrupted jehan, "i shouldlike to be the demon sidragasum." meanwhile, the vagabonds continued to armthemselves and whisper at the other end of the dram-shop. "that poor esmeralda!" said a bohemian."she is our sister. she must be taken away from there.""is she still at notre-dame?" went on a

merchant with the appearance of a jew. "yes, pardieu!""well! comrades!" exclaimed the merchant, "to notre-dame! so much the better, since there are in thechapel of saints fereol and ferrution two statues, the one of john the baptist, theother of saint-antoine, of solid gold, weighing together seven marks of gold and fifteen estellins; and the pedestals are ofsilver-gilt, of seventeen marks, five ounces.i know that; i am a goldsmith." here they served jehan with his supper.

as he threw himself back on the bosom ofthe wench beside him, he exclaimed,-- "by saint voult-de-lucques, whom peoplecall saint goguelu, i am perfectly happy. i have before me a fool who gazes at mewith the smooth face of an archduke. here is one on my left whose teeth are solong that they hide his chin. and then, i am like the marshal de gie atthe siege of pontoise, i have my right resting on a hillock.ventre-mahom! comrade! you have the air of a merchant oftennis-balls; and you come and sit yourself beside me!i am a nobleman, my friend! trade is incompatible with nobility.

get out of that!hola he! you others, don't fight! what, baptiste croque-oison, you who havesuch a fine nose are going to risk it against the big fists of that lout!fool! non cuiquam datum est habere nasum--notevery one is favored with a nose. you are really divine, jacqueline ronge-oreille! 'tis a pity that you have no hair! hola! my name is jehan frollo, and mybrother is an archdeacon. may the devil fly off with him!all that i tell you is the truth.

in turning vagabond, i have gladlyrenounced the half of a house situated in paradise, which my brother had promised me.dimidiam domum in paradiso. i quote the text. i have a fief in the rue tirechappe, andall the women are in love with me, as true as saint eloy was an excellent goldsmith,and that the five trades of the good city of paris are the tanners, the tawers, the makers of cross-belts, the purse-makers,and the sweaters, and that saint laurent was burnt with eggshells.i swear to you, comrades. "que je ne beuvrai de piment,devant un an, si je cy ment.*

* that i will drink no spiced and honeyedwine for a year, if i am lying now. "'tis moonlight, my charmer; see yonderthrough the window how the wind is tearing the clouds to tatters! even thus will i do to your gorget.--wenches, wipe the children's noses and snuff the candles.--christ and mahom!what am i eating here, jupiter? ohe! innkeeper! the hair which is not onthe heads of your hussies one finds in your omelettes.old woman! i like bald omelettes. may the devil confound you!--a finehostelry of beelzebub, where the hussies

comb their heads with the forks! "et je n'ai moi, par la sang-dieu!ni foi, ni loi, ni feu, ni lieu, ni roi, ni dieu."* * and by the blood of god, i have neitherfaith nor law, nor fire nor dwelling- place, nor king nor god. in the meantime, clopin trouillefou hadfinished the distribution of arms. he approached gringoire, who appeared to beplunged in a profound revery, with his feet on an andiron. "friend pierre," said the king of thunes,"what the devil are you thinking about?"

gringoire turned to him with a melancholysmile. "i love the fire, my dear lord. not for the trivial reason that fire warmsthe feet or cooks our soup, but because it has sparks.sometimes i pass whole hours in watching the sparks. i discover a thousand things in those starswhich are sprinkled over the black background of the hearth.those stars are also worlds." "thunder, if i understand you!" said theoutcast. "do you know what o'clock it is?""i do not know," replied gringoire.

clopin approached the duke of egypt. "comrade mathias, the time we have chosenis not a good one. king louis xi. is said to be in paris.""another reason for snatching our sister from his claws," replied the old bohemian. "you speak like a man, mathias," said theking of thunes. "moreover, we will act promptly.no resistance is to be feared in the the canons are hares, and we are in force.the people of the parliament will be well balked to-morrow when they come to seekher! guts of the pope i don't want them to hangthe pretty girl!"

chopin quitted the dram-shop.meanwhile, jehan was shouting in a hoarse voice: "i eat, i drink, i am drunk, i am jupiter!eh! pierre, the slaughterer, if you look at me like that again, i'll fillip the dustoff your nose for you." gringoire, torn from his meditations, beganto watch the wild and noisy scene which surrounded him, muttering between histeeth: "luxuriosa res vinum et tumultuosa ebrietas. alas! what good reason i have not to drink,and how excellently spoke saint-benoit: 'vinum apostatare facit etiam sapientes!'"at that moment, clopin returned and shouted

in a voice of thunder: "midnight!" at this word, which produced the effect ofthe call to boot and saddle on a regiment at a halt, all the outcasts, men, women,children, rushed in a mass from the tavern, with great noise of arms and old ironimplements. the moon was obscured.the cour des miracles was entirely dark. there was not a single light. one could make out there a throng of menand women conversing in low tones. they could be heard buzzing, and a gleam ofall sorts of weapons was visible in the darkness.

clopin mounted a large stone."to your ranks, argot!" he cried. "fall into line, egypt!form ranks, galilee!" a movement began in the darkness. the immense multitude appeared to form in acolumn. after a few minutes, the king of thunesraised his voice once more,-- "now, silence to march through paris! the password is, 'little sword in pocket!'the torches will not be lighted till we reach notre-dame!forward, march!" ten minutes later, the cavaliers of thewatch fled in terror before a long

procession of black and silent men whichwas descending towards the pont an change, through the tortuous streets which pierce the close-built neighborhood of the marketsin every direction. -book tenth.chapter v - part 1. the retreat in which monsieur louisof france says his prayers. the reader has not, perhaps, forgotten thatone moment before catching sight of the nocturnal band of vagabonds, quasimodo, ashe inspected paris from the heights of his bell tower, perceived only one light burning, which gleamed like a star from awindow on the topmost story of a lofty

edifice beside the porte saint-antoine.this edifice was the bastille. that star was the candle of louis xi. king louis xi. had, in fact, been two daysin paris. he was to take his departure on the nextday but one for his citadel of montilz-les- tours. he made but seldom and brief appearance inhis good city of paris, since there he did not feel about him enough pitfalls,gibbets, and scotch archers. he had come, that day, to sleep at thebastille. the great chamber five toises square, whichhe had at the louvre, with its huge

chimney-piece loaded with twelve greatbeasts and thirteen great prophets, and his grand bed, eleven feet by twelve, pleasedhim but little. he felt himself lost amid all thisgrandeur. this good bourgeois king preferred thebastille with a tiny chamber and couch. and then, the bastille was stronger thanthe louvre. this little chamber, which the kingreserved for himself in the famous state prison, was also tolerably spacious andoccupied the topmost story of a turret rising from the donjon keep. it was circular in form, carpeted with matsof shining straw, ceiled with beams,

enriched with fleurs-de-lis of gilded metalwith interjoists in color; wainscoated with rich woods sown with rosettes of white metal, and with others painted a fine,bright green, made of orpiment and fine indigo. there was only one window, a long pointedcasement, latticed with brass wire and bars of iron, further darkened by fine coloredpanes with the arms of the king and of the queen, each pane being worth two and twentysols. there was but one entrance, a modern door,with a fiat arch, garnished with a piece of tapestry on the inside, and on the outsideby one of those porches of irish wood,

frail edifices of cabinet-work curiously wrought, numbers of which were still to beseen in old houses a hundred and fifty years ago. "although they disfigure and embarrass theplaces," says sauvel in despair, "our old people are still unwilling to get rid ofthem, and keep them in spite of everybody." in this chamber, nothing was to be found ofwhat furnishes ordinary apartments, neither benches, nor trestles, nor forms, norcommon stools in the form of a chest, nor fine stools sustained by pillars andcounter-pillars, at four sols a piece. only one easy arm-chair, very magnificent,was to be seen; the wood was painted with

roses on a red ground, the seat was of rubycordovan leather, ornamented with long silken fringes, and studded with a thousandgolden nails. the loneliness of this chair made itapparent that only one person had a right to sit down in this apartment. beside the chair, and quite close to thewindow, there was a table covered with a cloth with a pattern of birds. on this table stood an inkhorn spotted withink, some parchments, several pens, and a large goblet of chased silver. a little further on was a brazier, apraying stool in crimson velvet, relieved

with small bosses of gold. finally, at the extreme end of the room, asimple bed of scarlet and yellow damask, without either tinsel or lace; having onlyan ordinary fringe. this bed, famous for having borne the sleepor the sleeplessness of louis xi., was still to be seen two hundred years ago, atthe house of a councillor of state, where it was seen by old madame pilou, celebrated in cyrus under the name "arricidie" and of"la morale vivante". such was the chamber which was called "theretreat where monsieur louis de france says his prayers."

at the moment when we have introduced thereader into it, this retreat was very dark. the curfew bell had sounded an hour before;night was come, and there was only one flickering wax candle set on the table tolight five persons variously grouped in the chamber. the first on which the light fell was aseigneur superbly clad in breeches and jerkin of scarlet striped with silver, anda loose coat with half sleeves of cloth of gold with black figures. this splendid costume, on which the lightplayed, seemed glazed with flame on every fold.

the man who wore it had his armorialbearings embroidered on his breast in vivid colors; a chevron accompanied by a deerpassant. the shield was flanked, on the right by anolive branch, on the left by a deer's antlers. this man wore in his girdle a rich daggerwhose hilt, of silver gilt, was chased in the form of a helmet, and surmounted by acount's coronet. he had a forbidding air, a proud mien, anda head held high. at the first glance one read arrogance onhis visage; at the second, craft. he was standing bareheaded, a long roll ofparchment in his hand, behind the arm-chair

in which was seated, his body ungracefullydoubled up, his knees crossed, his elbow on the table, a very badly accoutredpersonage. let the reader imagine in fact, on the richseat of cordova leather, two crooked knees, two thin thighs, poorly clad in blackworsted tricot, a body enveloped in a cloak of fustian, with fur trimming of which more leather than hair was visible; lastly, tocrown all, a greasy old hat of the worst sort of black cloth, bordered with acircular string of leaden figures. this, in company with a dirty skull-cap,which hardly allowed a hair to escape, was all that distinguished the seatedpersonage.

he held his head so bent upon his breast,that nothing was to be seen of his face thus thrown into shadow, except the tip ofhis nose, upon which fell a ray of light, and which must have been long. from the thinness of his wrinkled hand, onedivined that he was an old man. it was louis xi. at some distance behind them, two mendressed in garments of flemish style were conversing, who were not sufficiently lostin the shadow to prevent any one who had been present at the performance of gringoire's mystery from recognizing inthem two of the principal flemish envoys,

guillaume rym, the sagacious pensioner ofghent, and jacques coppenole, the popular hosier. the reader will remember that these menwere mixed up in the secret politics of louis xi. finally, quite at the end of the room, nearthe door, in the dark, stood, motionless as a statue, a vigorous man with thicksetlimbs, a military harness, with a surcoat of armorial bearings, whose square face pierced with staring eyes, slit with animmense mouth, his ears concealed by two large screens of flat hair, had somethingabout it both of the dog and the tiger.

all were uncovered except the king. the gentleman who stood near the king wasreading him a sort of long memorial to which his majesty seemed to be listeningattentively. the two flemings were whispering together. "cross of god!" grumbled coppenole, "i amtired of standing; is there no chair here?" rym replied by a negative gesture,accompanied by a discreet smile. "croix-dieu!" resumed coppenole, thoroughlyunhappy at being obliged to lower his voice thus, "i should like to sit down on thefloor, with my legs crossed, like a hosier, as i do in my shop."

"take good care that you do not, masterjacques." "ouais!master guillaume! can one only remain here on his feet?" "or on his knees," said rym.at that moment the king's voice was uplifted.they held their peace. "fifty sols for the robes of our valets,and twelve livres for the mantles of the clerks of our crown!that's it! pour out gold by the ton! are you mad, olivier?"as he spoke thus, the old man raised his

head.the golden shells of the collar of saint- michael could be seen gleaming on his neck. the candle fully illuminated his gaunt andmorose profile. he tore the papers from the other's hand."you are ruining us!" he cried, casting his hollow eyes over the scroll. "what is all this?what need have we of so prodigious a household?two chaplains at ten livres a month each, and, a chapel clerk at one hundred sols! a valet-de-chambre at ninety livres a year.four head cooks at six score livres a year

each! a spit-cook, an herb-cook, a sauce-cook, abutler, two sumpter-horse lackeys, at ten livres a month each!two scullions at eight livres! a groom of the stables and his two aids atfour and twenty livres a month! a porter, a pastry-cook, a baker, twocarters, each sixty livres a year! and the farrier six score livres! and the master of the chamber of our funds,twelve hundred livres! and the comptroller five hundred.and how do i know what else? 'tis ruinous.

the wages of our servants are puttingfrance to the pillage! all the ingots of the louvre will meltbefore such a fire of expenses! we shall have to sell our plate! and next year, if god and our lady (here heraised his hat) lend us life, we shall drink our potions from a pewter pot!"so saying, he cast a glance at the silver goblet which gleamed upon the table. he coughed and continued,-- "master olivier, the princes who reign overgreat lordships, like kings and emperors, should not allow sumptuousness in theirhouses; for the fire spreads thence through

the province. hence, master olivier, consider this saidonce for all. our expenditure increases every year.the thing displease us. how, pasque-dieu! when in '79 it did notexceed six and thirty thousand livres, did it attain in '80, forty-three thousand sixhundred and nineteen livres? i have the figures in my head. in '81, sixty-six thousand six hundred andeighty livres, and this year, by the faith of my body, it will reach eighty thousandlivres! doubled in four years!

monstrous!"he paused breathless, then resumed energetically,-- "i behold around me only people who fattenon my leanness! you suck crowns from me at every pore."all remained silent. this was one of those fits of wrath whichare allowed to take their course. he continued,-- "'tis like that request in latin from thegentlemen of france, that we should re- establish what they call the grand chargesof the crown! charges in very deed!

charges which crush!ah! gentlemen! you say that we are not a king to reign dapifero nullo, buticularionullo! we will let you see, pasque-dieu! whetherwe are not a king!" here he smiled, in the consciousness of hispower; this softened his bad humor, and he turned towards the flemings,-- "do you see, gossip guillaume? the grandwarden of the keys, the grand butler, the grand chamberlain, the grand seneschal arenot worth the smallest valet. remember this, gossip coppenole. they serve no purpose, as they stand thususeless round the king; they produce upon

me the effect of the four evangelists whosurround the face of the big clock of the palace, and which philippe brille has justset in order afresh. they are gilt, but they do not indicate thehour; and the hands can get on without them." he remained in thought for a moment, thenadded, shaking his aged head,-- "ho! ho! by our lady, i am not philippebrille, and i shall not gild the great vassals anew. continue, olivier."the person whom he designated by this name, took the papers into his hands again, andbegan to read aloud,--

"to adam tenon, clerk of the warden of theseals of the provostship of paris; for the silver, making, and engraving of saidseals, which have been made new because the others preceding, by reason of their antiquity and their worn condition, couldno longer be successfully used, twelve livres parisis. "to guillaume frere, the sum of fourlivres, four sols parisis, for his trouble and salary, for having nourished and fedthe doves in the two dove-cots of the hotel des tournelles, during the months of january, february, and march of this year;and for this he hath given seven sextiers

of barley."to a gray friar for confessing a criminal, four sols parisis." the king listened in silence.from time to time he coughed; then he raised the goblet to his lips and drank adraught with a grimace. "during this year there have been made bythe ordinance of justice, to the sound of the trumpet, through the squares of paris,fifty-six proclamations. account to be regulated. "for having searched and ransacked incertain places, in paris as well as elsewhere, for money said to be thereconcealed; but nothing hath been found:

forty-five livres parisis." "bury a crown to unearth a sou!" said theking. "for having set in the hotel des tournellessix panes of white glass in the place where the iron cage is, thirteen sols; for havingmade and delivered by command of the king, on the day of the musters, four shields with the escutcheons of the said seigneur,encircled with garlands of roses all about, six livres; for two new sleeves to theking's old doublet, twenty sols; for a box of grease to grease the boots of the king, fifteen deniers; a stable newly made tolodge the king's black pigs, thirty livres

parisis; many partitions, planks, and trap-doors, for the safekeeping of the lions at saint-paul, twenty-two livres." "these be dear beasts," said louis xi."it matters not; it is a fine magnificence in a king.there is a great red lion whom i love for his pleasant ways. have you seen him, master guillaume?princes must have these terrific animals; for we kings must have lions for our dogsand tigers for our cats. the great befits a crown. in the days of the pagans of jupiter, whenthe people offered the temples a hundred

oxen and a hundred sheep, the emperors gavea hundred lions and a hundred eagles. this was wild and very fine. the kings of france have always hadroarings round their throne. nevertheless, people must do me thisjustice, that i spend still less money on it than they did, and that i possess agreater modesty of lions, bears, elephants, and leopards.--go on, master olivier. we wished to say thus much to our flemishfriends." guillaume rym bowed low, while coppenole,with his surly mien, had the air of one of the bears of which his majesty wasspeaking.

the king paid no heed. he had just dipped his lips into thegoblet, and he spat out the beverage, saying: "foh! what a disagreeable potion!"the man who was reading continued:-- "for feeding a rascally footpad, locked upthese six months in the little cell of the flayer, until it should be determined whatto do with him, six livres, four sols." "what's that?" interrupted the king; "feedwhat ought to be hanged! pasque-dieu!i will give not a sou more for that nourishment. olivier, come to an understanding about thematter with monsieur d'estouteville, and

prepare me this very evening the wedding ofthe gallant and the gallows. resume." olivier made a mark with his thumb againstthe article of the "rascally foot soldier," and passed on. "to henriet cousin, master executor of thehigh works of justice in paris, the sum of sixty sols parisis, to him assessed andordained by monseigneur the provost of paris, for having bought, by order of the said sieur the provost, a great broadsword, serving to execute and decapitate persons who are by justice condemned fortheir demerits, and he hath caused the same

to be garnished with a sheath and with all things thereto appertaining; and hathlikewise caused to be repointed and set in order the old sword, which had becomebroken and notched in executing justice on messire louis de luxembourg, as will morefully appear." the king interrupted: "that suffices.i allow the sum with great good will. those are expenses which i do not begrudge. i have never regretted that money.continue." "for having made over a great cage..." "ah!" said the king, grasping the arms ofhis chair in both hands, "i knew well that

i came hither to this bastille for somepurpose. hold, master olivier; i desire to see thatcage myself. you shall read me the cost while i amexamining it. messieurs flemings, come and see this; 'tiscurious." then he rose, leaned on the arm of hisinterlocutor, made a sign to the sort of mute who stood before the door to precedehim, to the two flemings to follow him, and quitted the room. the royal company was recruited, at thedoor of the retreat, by men of arms, all loaded down with iron, and by slender pagesbearing flambeaux.

it marched for some time through theinterior of the gloomy donjon, pierced with staircases and corridors even in the verythickness of the walls. the captain of the bastille marched attheir head, and caused the wickets to be opened before the bent and aged king, whocoughed as he walked. at each wicket, all heads were obliged tostoop, except that of the old man bent double with age. "hum," said he between his gums, for he hadno longer any teeth, "we are already quite prepared for the door of the sepulchre.for a low door, a bent passer." at length, after having passed a finalwicket, so loaded with locks that a quarter

of an hour was required to open it, theyentered a vast and lofty vaulted hall, in the centre of which they could distinguish by the light of the torches, a huge cubicmass of masonry, iron, and wood. the interior was hollow. it was one of those famous cages ofprisoners of state, which were called "the little daughters of the king." in its walls there were two or three littlewindows so closely trellised with stout iron bars; that the glass was not visible. the door was a large flat slab of stone, ason tombs; the sort of door which serves for

entrance only.only here, the occupant was alive. the king began to walk slowly round thelittle edifice, examining it carefully, while master olivier, who followed him,read aloud the note. "for having made a great cage of wood ofsolid beams, timbers and wall-plates, measuring nine feet in length by eight inbreadth, and of the height of seven feet between the partitions, smoothed and clamped with great bolts of iron, which hasbeen placed in a chamber situated in one of the towers of the bastille saint-antoine,in which cage is placed and detained, by command of the king our lord, a prisoner

who formerly inhabited an old, decrepit,and ruined cage. there have been employed in making the saidnew cage, ninety-six horizontal beams, and fifty-two upright joists, ten wall platesthree toises long; there have been occupied nineteen carpenters to hew, work, and fit all the said wood in the courtyard of thebastille during twenty days." "very fine heart of oak," said the king,striking the woodwork with his fist. "there have been used in this cage,"continued the other, "two hundred and twenty great bolts of iron, of nine feet,and of eight, the rest of medium length, with the rowels, caps and counterbands

appertaining to the said bolts; weighing,the said iron in all, three thousand, seven hundred and thirty-five pounds; besideeight great squares of iron, serving to attach the said cage in place with clamps and nails weighing in all two hundred andeighteen pounds, not reckoning the iron of the trellises for the windows of thechamber wherein the cage hath been placed, the bars of iron for the door of the cageand other things." "'tis a great deal of iron," said the king,"to contain the light of a spirit." "the whole amounts to three hundred andseventeen livres, five sols, seven deniers.""pasque-dieu!" exclaimed the king.

at this oath, which was the favorite oflouis xi., some one seemed to awaken in the interior of the cage; the sound of chainswas heard, grating on the floor, and a feeble voice, which seemed to issue fromthe tomb was uplifted. "sire! sire! mercy!"the one who spoke thus could not be seen. "three hundred and seventeen livres, fivesols, seven deniers," repeated louis xi. the lamentable voice which had proceededfrom the cage had frozen all present, even master olivier himself. the king alone wore the air of not havingheard. at his order, master olivier resumed hisreading, and his majesty coldly continued

his inspection of the cage. "in addition to this there hath been paidto a mason who hath made the holes wherein to place the gratings of the windows, andthe floor of the chamber where the cage is, because that floor could not support this cage by reason of its weight, twenty-sevenlivres fourteen sols parisis." the voice began to moan again."mercy, sire! i swear to you that 'twas monsieur thecardinal d'angers and not i, who was guilty of treason.""the mason is bold!" said the king. "continue, olivier."

olivier continued,--"to a joiner for window frames, bedstead, hollow stool, and other things, twentylivres, two sols parisis." the voice also continued. "alas, sire! will you not listen to me?i protest to you that 'twas not i who wrote the matter to monseigneur do guyenne, butmonsieur le cardinal balue." "the joiner is dear," quoth the king. "is that all?""no, sire. to a glazier, for the windows of the saidchamber, forty-six sols, eight deniers parisis."

"have mercy, sire! is it not enough to have given all my goodsto my judges, my plate to monsieur de torcy, my library to master pierredoriolle, my tapestry to the governor of the roussillon? i am innocent.i have been shivering in an iron cage for fourteen years.have mercy, sire! you will find your reward in heaven." "master olivier," said the king, "thetotal?" "three hundred sixty-seven livres, eightsols, three deniers parisis.

"notre-dame!" cried the king. "this is an outrageous cage!"he tore the book from master olivier's hands, and set to reckoning it himself uponhis fingers, examining the paper and the cage alternately. meanwhile, the prisoner could be heardsobbing. this was lugubrious in the darkness, andtheir faces turned pale as they looked at each other. "fourteen years, sire!fourteen years now! since the month of april, 1469.in the name of the holy mother of god,

sire, listen to me! during all this time you have enjoyed theheat of the sun. shall i, frail creature, never more beholdthe day? mercy, sire! be pitiful!clemency is a fine, royal virtue, which turns aside the currents of wrath. does your majesty believe that in the hourof death it will be a great cause of content for a king never to have left anyoffence unpunished? besides, sire, i did not betray yourmajesty, 'twas monsieur d'angers; and i

have on my foot a very heavy chain, and agreat ball of iron at the end, much heavier than it should be in reason. eh! sire!have pity on me!" "olivier," cried the king, throwing backhis head, "i observe that they charge me twenty sols a hogshead for plaster, whileit is worth but twelve. you will refer back this account." he turned his back on the cage, and set outto leave the room. the miserable prisoner divined from theremoval of the torches and the noise, that the king was taking his departure.

"sire! sire!" he cried in despair.the door closed again. he no longer saw anything, and heard onlythe hoarse voice of the turnkey, singing in his ears this ditty,-- "maitre jean balue,a perdu la vue de ses eveches.monsieur de verdun. n'en a plus pas un;tous sont depeches."* * master jean balue has lost sight of hisbishoprics. monsieur of verdun has no longer one; all have been killedoff.

the king reascended in silence to hisretreat, and his suite followed him, terrified by the last groans of thecondemned man. all at once his majesty turned to thegovernor of the bastille,-- "by the way," said he, "was there not someone in that cage?" "pardieu, yes sire!" replied the governor,astounded by the question. "and who was it?""monsieur the bishop of verdun." the king knew this better than any oneelse. but it was a mania of his. "ah!" said he, with the innocent air ofthinking of it for the first time,

"guillaume de harancourt, the friend ofmonsieur the cardinal balue. a good devil of a bishop!" at the expiration of a few moments, thedoor of the retreat had opened again, then closed upon the five personages whom thereader has seen at the beginning of this chapter, and who resumed their places, their whispered conversations, and theirattitudes. during the king's absence, severaldespatches had been placed on his table, and he broke the seals himself. then he began to read them promptly, oneafter the other, made a sign to master

olivier who appeared to exercise the officeof minister, to take a pen, and without communicating to him the contents of the despatches, he began to dictate in a lowvoice, the replies which the latter wrote, on his knees, in an inconvenient attitudebefore the table. guillaume rym was on the watch. the king spoke so low that the flemingsheard nothing of his dictation, except some isolated and rather unintelligible scraps,such as,-- "to maintain the fertile places bycommerce, and the sterile by manufactures....--to show the english lordsour four bombards, london, brabant, bourg-

en-bresse, saint-omer....--artillery is the cause of war being made more judiciouslynow....--to monsieur de bressuire, our friend....--armies cannot be maintainedwithout tribute, etc." once he raised his voice,-- "pasque dieu!monsieur the king of sicily seals his letters with yellow wax, like a king offrance. perhaps we are in the wrong to permit himso to do. my fair cousin of burgundy granted noarmorial bearings with a field of gules. the grandeur of houses is assured by theintegrity of prerogatives.

note this, friend olivier."again,-- "oh! oh!" said he, "what a long message! what doth our brother the emperor claim?" and running his eye over the missive andbreaking his reading with interjection: "surely! the germans are so great andpowerful, that it is hardly credible--but let us not forget the old proverb: 'the finest county is flanders; the finestduchy, milan; the finest kingdom, france.' is it not so, messieurs flemings?"this time coppenole bowed in company with guillaume rym.

the hosier's patriotism was tickled.the last despatch made louis xi. frown. "what is this?" he said, "complaints andfault finding against our garrisons in picardy! olivier, write with diligence to m. themarshal de rouault:--that discipline is relaxed. that the gendarmes of the unattachedtroops, the feudal nobles, the free archers, and the swiss inflict infiniteevils on the rustics.--that the military, not content with what they find in the houses of the rustics, constrain them withviolent blows of cudgel or of lash to go

and get wine, spices, and otherunreasonable things in the town.--that monsieur the king knows this. that we undertake to guard our peopleagainst inconveniences, larcenies and pillage.--that such is our will, by ourlady!--that in addition, it suits us not that any fiddler, barber, or any soldier varlet should be clad like a prince, invelvet, cloth of silk, and rings of gold.-- that these vanities are hateful to god.--that we, who are gentlemen, content ourselves with a doublet of cloth at sixteen sols the ell, of paris.--thatmessieurs the camp-followers can very well

come down to that, also.--command andordain.--to monsieur de rouault, our friend.--good." he dictated this letter aloud, in a firmtone, and in jerks. at the moment when he finished it, the dooropened and gave passage to a new personage, who precipitated himself into the chamber,crying in affright,-- "sire! sire! there is a sedition of thepopulace in paris!" louis xi.'s grave face contracted; but allthat was visible of his emotion passed away like a flash of lightning. he controlled himself and said withtranquil severity,--

"gossip jacques, you enter very abruptly!""sire! sire! there is a revolt!" repeated gossip jacques breathlessly. the king, who had risen, grasped himroughly by the arm, and said in his ear, in such a manner as to be heard by him alone,with concentrated rage and a sidelong glance at the flemings,-- "hold your tongue! or speak low!" the new comer understood, and began in alow tone to give a very terrified account, to which the king listened calmly, whileguillaume rym called coppenole's attention to the face and dress of the new arrival,

to his furred cowl, (caputia fourrata), hisshort cape, (epitogia curta), his robe of black velvet, which bespoke a president ofthe court of accounts. hardly had this personage given the kingsome explanations, when louis xi. exclaimed, bursting into a laugh,--"in truth? speak aloud, gossip coictier! what call is there for you to talk so low?our lady knoweth that we conceal nothing from our good friends the flemings.""but sire..." "speak loud!" gossip coictier was struck dumb withsurprise.

"so," resumed the king,--"speak sir,--thereis a commotion among the louts in our good city of paris?" "yes, sire.""and which is moving you say, against monsieur the bailiff of the palais-de-justice?" "so it appears," said the gossip, who stillstammered, utterly astounded by the abrupt and inexplicable change which had justtaken place in the king's thoughts. louis xi. continued: "where did the watchmeet the rabble?" "marching from the grand truanderie,towards the pont-aux-changeurs. i met it myself as i was on my way hitherto obey your majesty's commands.

i heard some of them shouting: 'down withthe bailiff of the palace!'" "and what complaints have they against thebailiff?" "ah!" said gossip jacques, "because he istheir lord." "really?" "yes, sire.they are knaves from the cour-des-miracles. they have been complaining this long while,of the bailiff, whose vassals they are. they do not wish to recognize him either asjudge or as voyer?" "yes, certainly!" retorted the king with asmile of satis-faction which he strove in vain to disguise.

"in all their petitions to the parliament,they claim to have but two masters. your majesty and their god, who is thedevil, i believe." "eh! eh!" said the king. he rubbed his hands, he laughed with thatinward mirth which makes the countenance beam; he was unable to dissimulate his joy,although he endeavored at moments to compose himself. no one understood it in the least, not evenmaster olivier. he remained silent for a moment, with athoughtful but contented air. "are they in force?" he suddenly inquired.

"yes, assuredly, sire," replied gossipjacques. "how many?""six thousand at the least." the king could not refrain from saying:"good!" he went on,-- "are they armed?""with scythes, pikes, hackbuts, pickaxes. all sorts of very violent weapons." the king did not appear in the leastdisturbed by this list. jacques considered it his duty to add,--"if your majesty does not send prompt succor to the bailiff, he is lost." "we will send," said the king with an airof false seriousness.

"it is well.assuredly we will send. monsieur the bailiff is our friend. six thousand!they are desperate scamps! their audacity is marvellous, and we aregreatly enraged at it. but we have only a few people about us to-night. to-morrow morning will be time enough." gossip jacques exclaimed, "instantly, sire!there will be time to sack the bailiwick a score of times, to violate the seignory, tohang the bailiff. for god's sake, sire! send before to-morrowmorning."

the king looked him full in the face."i have told you to-morrow morning." it was one of those looks to which one doesnot reply. after a silence, louis xi. raised his voiceonce more,-- "you should know that, gossip jacques. what was--"he corrected himself. "what is the bailiff's feudaljurisdiction?" "sire, the bailiff of the palace has therue calendre as far as the rue de l'herberie, the place saint-michel, and thelocalities vulgarly known as the mureaux, situated near the church of notre-dame des

champs (here louis xi. raised the brim ofhis hat), which hotels number thirteen, plus the cour des miracles, plus themaladerie, called the banlieue, plus the whole highway which begins at that maladerie and ends at the porte sainte-jacques. of these divers places he is voyer, high,middle, and low, justiciary, full seigneur." "bless me!" said the king, scratching hisleft ear with his right hand, "that makes a goodly bit of my city!ah! monsieur the bailiff was king of all that."

this time he did not correct himself.he continued dreamily, and as though speaking to himself,--"very fine, monsieur the bailiff! you had there between your teeth a prettyslice of our paris." all at once he broke out explosively,"pasque-dieu! what people are those who claim to bevoyers, justiciaries, lords and masters in our domains? who have their tollgates atthe end of every field? their gallows and their hangman at every cross-road among ourpeople? so that as the greek believed that he hadas many gods as there were fountains, and the persian as many as he beheld stars, thefrenchman counts as many kings as he sees

gibbets! pardieu!'tis an evil thing, and the confusion of it displeases me. i should greatly like to know whether it bethe mercy of god that there should be in paris any other lord than the king, anyother judge than our parliament, any other emperor than ourselves in this empire! by the faith of my soul! the day mustcertainly come when there shall exist in france but one king, one lord, one judge,one headsman, as there is in paradise but one god!"

he lifted his cap again, and continued,still dreamily, with the air and accent of a hunter who is cheering on his pack ofhounds: "good, my people! bravely done! break these false lords! do your duty! at them! have at them! pillage them! takethem! sack them!... ah! you want to be kings, messeigneurs?on, my people on!" here he interrupted himself abruptly, bithis lips as though to take back his thought which had already half escaped, bent hispiercing eyes in turn on each of the five persons who surrounded him, and suddenly grasping his hat with both hands andstaring full at it, he said to it: "oh!

i would burn you if you knew what there wasin my head." then casting about him once more thecautious and uneasy glance of the fox re- entering his hole,--"no matter! we will succor monsieur the bailiff. unfortunately, we have but few troops hereat the present moment, against so great a populace.we must wait until to-morrow. the order will be transmitted to the cityand every one who is caught will be immediately hung." "by the way, sire," said gossip coictier,"i had forgotten that in the first

agitation, the watch have seized twolaggards of the band. if your majesty desires to see these men,they are here." "if i desire to see them!" cried the king."what! pasque-dieu! you forget a thing like that!run quick, you, olivier! go, seek them!" master olivier quitted the room andreturned a moment later with the two prisoners, surrounded by archers of theguard. the first had a coarse, idiotic, drunkenand astonished face.

he was clothed in rags, and walked with oneknee bent and dragging his leg. the second had a pallid and smilingcountenance, with which the reader is already acquainted. the king surveyed them for a moment withoututtering a word, then addressing the first one abruptly,--"what's your name?" "gieffroy pincebourde." "your trade.""outcast." "what were you going to do in this damnablesedition?" the outcast stared at the king, and swunghis arms with a stupid air.

he had one of those awkwardly shaped headswhere intelligence is about as much at its ease as a light beneath an extinguisher. "i know not," said he."they went, i went." "were you not going to outrageously attackand pillage your lord, the bailiff of the palace?" "i know that they were going to takesomething from some one. that is all." a soldier pointed out to the king abillhook which he had seized on the person of the vagabond."do you recognize this weapon?" demanded

the king. "yes; 'tis my billhook; i am a vine-dresser." "and do you recognize this man as yourcompanion?" added louis xi., pointing to the other prisoner. "no, i do not know him." "that will do," said the king, making asign with his finger to the silent personage who stood motionless beside thedoor, to whom we have already called the reader's attention. "gossip tristan, here is a man for you."tristan l'hermite bowed.

he gave an order in a low voice to twoarchers, who led away the poor vagabond. in the meantime, the king had approachedthe second prisoner, who was perspiring in great drops: "your name?""sire, pierre gringoire." "your trade?" "philosopher, sire.""how do you permit yourself, knave, to go and besiege our friend, monsieur thebailiff of the palace, and what have you to say concerning this popular agitation?" "sire, i had nothing to do with it.""come, now! you wanton wretch, were not you apprehended by the watch in that badcompany?"

"no, sire, there is a mistake. 'tis a fatality.i make tragedies. sire, i entreat your majesty to listen tome. i am a poet. 'tis the melancholy way of men of myprofession to roam the streets by night. i was passing there.it was mere chance. i was unjustly arrested; i am innocent ofthis civil tempest. your majesty sees that the vagabond did notrecognize me. i conjure your majesty--"

"hold your tongue!" said the king, betweentwo swallows of his ptisan. "you split our head!"tristan l'hermite advanced and pointing to gringoire,-- "sire, can this one be hanged also?"this was the first word that he had uttered."phew!" replied the king, "i see no objection." "i see a great many!" said gringoire.at that moment, our philosopher was greener than an olive. he perceived from the king's cold andindifferent mien that there was no other

resource than something very pathetic, andhe flung himself at the feet of louis xi., exclaiming, with gestures of despair:-- "sire! will your majesty deign to hear me.sire! break not in thunder over so small a thing as myself.god's great lightning doth not bombard a lettuce. sire, you are an august and, very puissantmonarch; have pity on a poor man who is honest, and who would find it moredifficult to stir up a revolt than a cake of ice would to give out a spark! very gracious sire, kindness is the virtueof a lion and a king.

alas! rigor only frightens minds; theimpetuous gusts of the north wind do not make the traveller lay aside his cloak; thesun, bestowing his rays little by little, warms him in such ways that it will makehim strip to his shirt. sire, you are the sun. i protest to you, my sovereign lord andmaster, that i am not an outcast, thief, and disorderly fellow.revolt and brigandage belong not to the outfit of apollo. i am not the man to fling myself into thoseclouds which break out into seditious clamor.i am your majesty's faithful vassal.

that same jealousy which a husbandcherisheth for the honor of his wife, the resentment which the son hath for the loveof his father, a good vassal should feel for the glory of his king; he should pine away for the zeal of this house, for theaggrandizement of his service. every other passion which should transporthim would be but madness. these, sire, are my maxims of state: thendo not judge me to be a seditious and thieving rascal because my garment is wornat the elbows. if you will grant me mercy, sire, i willwear it out on the knees in praying to god for you night and morning!alas!

i am not extremely rich, 'tis true. i am even rather poor.but not vicious on that account. it is not my fault. every one knoweth that great wealth is notto be drawn from literature, and that those who are best posted in good books do notalways have a great fire in winter. the advocate's trade taketh all the grain,and leaveth only straw to the other scientific professions. there are forty very excellent proverbsanent the hole-ridden cloak of the philosopher.

oh, sire! clemency is the only light whichcan enlighten the interior of so great a soul.clemency beareth the torch before all the other virtues. without it they are but blind men gropingafter god in the dark. compassion, which is the same thing asclemency, causeth the love of subjects, which is the most powerful bodyguard to aprince. what matters it to your majesty, whodazzles all faces, if there is one poor man more on earth, a poor innocent philosopherspluttering amid the shadows of calamity, with an empty pocket which resounds againsthis hollow belly?

moreover, sire, i am a man of letters.great kings make a pearl for their crowns by protecting letters. hercules did not disdain the title ofmusagetes. mathias corvin favored jean de monroyal,the ornament of mathematics. now, 'tis an ill way to protect letters tohang men of letters. what a stain on alexander if he had hungaristoteles! this act would not be a little patch on theface of his reputation to embellish it, but a very malignant ulcer to disfigure it.sire! i made a very proper epithalamium formademoiselle of flanders and monseigneur

the very august dauphin.that is not a firebrand of rebellion. your majesty sees that i am not a scribblerof no reputation, that i have studied excellently well, and that i possess muchnatural eloquence. have mercy upon me, sire! in so doing you will perform a gallant deedto our lady, and i swear to you that i am greatly terrified at the idea of beinghanged!" so saying, the unhappy gringoire kissed theking's slippers, and guillaume rym said to coppenole in a low tone: "he doth well todrag himself on the earth. kings are like the jupiter of crete, theyhave ears only in their feet."

and without troubling himself about thejupiter of crete, the hosier replied with a heavy smile, and his eyes fixed ongringoire: "oh! that's it exactly! i seem to hear chancellor hugonet cravingmercy of me." when gringoire paused at last, quite out ofbreath, he raised his head tremblingly towards the king, who was engaged inscratching a spot on the knee of his breeches with his finger-nail; then his majesty began to drink from the goblet ofptisan. but he uttered not a word, and this silencetortured gringoire. at last the king looked at him.

"here is a terrible bawler!" said, he.then, turning to tristan l'hermite, "bali! let him go!"gringoire fell backwards, quite thunderstruck with joy. "at liberty!" growled tristan "doth notyour majesty wish to have him detained a little while in a cage?" "gossip," retorted louis xi., "think youthat 'tis for birds of this feather that we cause to be made cages at three hundred andsixty-seven livres, eight sous, three deniers apiece? release him at once, the wanton (louis xi.was fond of this word which formed, with

pasque-dieu, the foundation of hisjoviality), and put him out with a buffet." "ugh!" cried gringoire, "what a great kingis here!" and for fear of a counter order, he rushedtowards the door, which tristan opened for him with a very bad grace. the soldiers left the room with him,pushing him before them with stout thwacks, which gringoire bore like a true stoicalphilosopher. the king's good humor since the revoltagainst the bailiff had been announced to him, made itself apparent in every way.this unwonted clemency was no small sign of it.

tristan l'hermite in his corner wore thesurly look of a dog who has had a bone snatched away from him. -book tenth.chapter v - part 2. the retreat in which monsieur louis offrance says his prayers. meanwhile, the king thrummed gayly with hisfingers on the arm of his chair, the march of pont-audemer. he was a dissembling prince, but one whounderstood far better how to hide his troubles than his joys. these external manifestations of joy at anygood news sometimes proceeded to very great

lengths thus, on the death, of charles thebold, to the point of vowing silver balustrades to saint martin of tours; on his advent to the throne, so far asforgetting to order his father's obsequies. "he! sire!" suddenly exclaimed jacquescoictier, "what has become of the acute attack of illness for which your majestyhad me summoned?" "oh!" said the king, "i really suffergreatly, my gossip. there is a hissing in my ear and fieryrakes rack my chest." coictier took the king's hand, and begun tofeel of his pulse with a knowing air. "look, coppenole," said rym, in a lowvoice.

"behold him between coictier and tristan. they are his whole court.a physician for himself, a headsman for others." as he felt the king's pulse, coictierassumed an air of greater and greater alarm.louis xi. watched him with some anxiety. coictier grew visibly more gloomy. the brave man had no other farm than theking's bad health. he speculated on it to the best of hisability. "oh! oh!" he murmured at length, "this isserious indeed."

"is it not?" said the king, uneasily."pulsus creber, anhelans, crepitans, irregularis," continued the leech. "pasque-dieu!""this may carry off its man in less than three days.""our lady!" exclaimed the king. "and the remedy, gossip?" "i am meditating upon that, sire."he made louis xi. put out his tongue, shook his head, made a grimace, and in the verymidst of these affectations,-- "pardieu, sire," he suddenly said, "i musttell you that there is a receivership of the royal prerogatives vacant, and that ihave a nephew."

"i give the receivership to your nephew,gossip jacques," replied the king; "but draw this fire from my breast." "since your majesty is so clement," repliedthe leech, "you will not refuse to aid me a little in building my house, rue saint-andre-des-arcs." "heugh!" said the king. "i am at the end of my finances," pursuedthe doctor; "and it would really be a pity that the house should not have a roof; noton account of the house, which is simple and thoroughly bourgeois, but because of the paintings of jehan fourbault, whichadorn its wainscoating.

there is a diana flying in the air, but soexcellent, so tender, so delicate, of so ingenuous an action, her hair so wellcoiffed and adorned with a crescent, her flesh so white, that she leads into temptation those who regard her toocuriously. there is also a ceres.she is another very fair divinity. she is seated on sheaves of wheat andcrowned with a gallant garland of wheat ears interlaced with salsify and otherflowers. never were seen more amorous eyes, morerounded limbs, a nobler air, or a more gracefully flowing skirt.

she is one of the most innocent and mostperfect beauties whom the brush has ever produced.""executioner!" grumbled louis xi., "what are you driving at?" "i must have a roof for these paintings,sire, and, although 'tis but a small matter, i have no more money.""how much doth your roof cost?" "why a roof of copper, embellished andgilt, two thousand livres at the most." "ah, assassin!" cried the king, "he neverdraws out one of my teeth which is not a diamond." "am i to have my roof?" said coictier."yes; and go to the devil, but cure me."

jacques coictier bowed low and said,--"sire, it is a repellent which will save you. we will apply to your loins the greatdefensive composed of cerate, armenian bole, white of egg, oil, and vinegar.you will continue your ptisan and we will answer for your majesty." a burning candle does not attract one gnatalone. master olivier, perceiving the king to bein a liberal mood, and judging the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn. "sire--""what is it now?" said louis xi.

"sire, your majesty knoweth that simonradin is dead?" "well?" "he was councillor to the king in thematter of the courts of the treasury." "well?""sire, his place is vacant." as he spoke thus, master olivier's haughtyface quitted its arrogant expression for a lowly one.it is the only change which ever takes place in a courtier's visage. the king looked him well in the face andsaid in a dry tone,--"i understand." he resumed,

"master olivier, the marshal de boucicautwas wont to say, 'there's no master save the king, there are no fishes save in thesea.' i see that you agree with monsieur deboucicaut. now listen to this; we have a good memory. in '68 we made you valet of our chamber: in'69, guardian of the fortress of the bridge of saint-cloud, at a hundred livres oftournay in wages (you wanted them of paris). in november, '73, by letters given togergeole, we instituted you keeper of the wood of vincennes, in the place of gilbertacle, equerry; in '75, gruyer of the forest

of rouvray-lez-saint-cloud, in the place of jacques le maire; in '78, we graciouslysettled on you, by letters patent sealed doubly with green wax, an income of tenlivres parisis, for you and your wife, on the place of the merchants, situated at the school saint-germain; in '79, we made yougruyer of the forest of senart, in place of that poor jehan daiz; then captain of thechateau of loches; then governor of saint- quentin; then captain of the bridge of meulan, of which you cause yourself to becalled comte. out of the five sols fine paid by everybarber who shaves on a festival day, there

are three sols for you and we have therest. we have been good enough to change yourname of le mauvais (the evil), which resembled your face too closely. in '76, we granted you, to the greatdispleasure of our nobility, armorial bearings of a thousand colors, which giveyou the breast of a peacock. are not you surfeited?is not the draught of fishes sufficiently fine and miraculous?are you not afraid that one salmon more will make your boat sink? pride will be your ruin, gossip.ruin and disgrace always press hard on the

heels of pride.consider this and hold your tongue." these words, uttered with severity, mademaster olivier's face revert to its insolence. "good!" he muttered, almost aloud, "'tiseasy to see that the king is ill to-day; he giveth all to the leech." louis xi. far from being irritated by thispetulant insult, resumed with some gentleness, "stay, i was forgetting that imade you my ambassador to madame marie, at ghent. yes, gentlemen," added the king turning tothe flemings, "this man hath been an

ambassador. there, my gossip," he pursued, addressingmaster olivier, "let us not get angry; we are old friends.'tis very late. we have terminated our labors. shave me." our readers have not, without doubt, waiteduntil the present moment to recognize in master olivier that terrible figaro whomprovidence, the great maker of dramas, mingled so artistically in the long andbloody comedy of the reign of louis xi. we will not here undertake to develop thatsingular figure.

this barber of the king had three names. at court he was politely called olivier ledaim (the deer); among the people olivier the devil.his real name was olivier le mauvais. accordingly, olivier le mauvais remainedmotionless, sulking at the king, and glancing askance at jacques coictier."yes, yes, the physician!" he said between his teeth. "ah, yes, the physician!" retorted louisxi., with singular good humor; "the physician has more credit than you. 'tis very simple; he has taken hold upon usby the whole body, and you hold us only by

the chin.come, my poor barber, all will come right. what would you say and what would become ofyour office if i were a king like chilperic, whose gesture consisted inholding his beard in one hand? come, gossip mine, fulfil your office,shave me. go get what you need therefor." olivier perceiving that the king had madeup his mind to laugh, and that there was no way of even annoying him, went offgrumbling to execute his orders. the king rose, approached the window, andsuddenly opening it with extraordinary agitation,--

"oh! yes!" he exclaimed, clapping hishands, "yonder is a redness in the sky over the city.'tis the bailiff burning. it can be nothing else but that. ah! my good people! here you are aiding meat last in tearing down the rights of lordship!"then turning towards the flemings: "come, look at this, gentlemen. is it not a fire which gloweth yonder?"the two men of ghent drew near. "a great fire," said guillaume rym. "oh!" exclaimed coppenole, whose eyessuddenly flashed, "that reminds me of the

burning of the house of the seigneurd'hymbercourt. there must be a goodly revolt yonder." "you think so, master coppenole?"and louis xi.'s glance was almost as joyous as that of the hosier."will it not be difficult to resist?" "cross of god! sire!your majesty will damage many companies of men of war thereon.""ah! i! 'tis different," returned the king. "if i willed."the hosier replied hardily,--

"if this revolt be what i suppose, sire,you might will in vain." "gossip," said louis xi., "with the twocompanies of my unattached troops and one discharge of a serpentine, short work ismade of a populace of louts." the hosier, in spite of the signs made tohim by guillaume rym, appeared determined to hold his own against the king."sire, the swiss were also louts. monsieur the duke of burgundy was a greatgentleman, and he turned up his nose at that rabble rout.at the battle of grandson, sire, he cried: 'men of the cannon! fire on the villains!' and he swore bysaint-george.

but advoyer scharnachtal hurled himself onthe handsome duke with his battle-club and his people, and when the glitteringburgundian army came in contact with these peasants in bull hides, it flew in pieces like a pane of glass at the blow of apebble. many lords were then slain by low-bornknaves; and monsieur de chateau-guyon, the greatest seigneur in burgundy, was founddead, with his gray horse, in a little marsh meadow." "friend," returned the king, "you arespeaking of a battle. the question here is of a mutiny.and i will gain the upper hand of it as

soon as it shall please me to frown." the other replied indifferently,--"that may be, sire; in that case, 'tis because the people's hour hath not yetcome." guillaume rym considered it incumbent onhim to intervene,-- "master coppenole, you are speaking to apuissant king." "i know it," replied the hosier, gravely. "let him speak, monsieur rym, my friend,"said the king; "i love this frankness of speech. my father, charles the seventh, wasaccustomed to say that the truth was

ailing; i thought her dead, and that shehad found no confessor. master coppenole undeceiveth me." then, laying his hand familiarly oncoppenole's shoulder,-- "you were saying, master jacques?" "i say, sire, that you may possibly be inthe right, that the hour of the people may not yet have come with you."louis xi. gazed at him with his penetrating eye,-- "and when will that hour come, master?""you will hear it strike." "on what clock, if you please?"

coppenole, with his tranquil and rusticcountenance, made the king approach the window."listen, sire! there is here a donjon keep, a belfry,cannons, bourgeois, soldiers; when the belfry shall hum, when the cannons shallroar, when the donjon shall fall in ruins amid great noise, when bourgeois and soldiers shall howl and slay each other,the hour will strike." louis's face grew sombre and dreamy. he remained silent for a moment, then hegently patted with his hand the thick wall of the donjon, as one strokes the haunchesof a steed.

"oh! no!" said he. "you will not crumble so easily, will you,my good bastille?" and turning with an abrupt gesture towardsthe sturdy fleming,-- "have you never seen a revolt, masterjacques?" "i have made them," said the hosier."how do you set to work to make a revolt?" said the king. "ah!" replied coppenole, "'tis not verydifficult. there are a hundred ways.in the first place, there must be discontent in the city.

the thing is not uncommon.and then, the character of the inhabitants. those of ghent are easy to stir intorevolt. they always love the prince's son; theprince, never. well! one morning, i will suppose, some oneenters my shop, and says to me: 'father coppenole, there is this and there is that,the demoiselle of flanders wishes to save her ministers, the grand bailiff is doubling the impost on shagreen, orsomething else,'--what you will. i leave my work as it stands, i come out ofmy hosier's stall, and i shout: 'to the

sack?' there is always some smashed cask at hand. i mount it, and i say aloud, in the firstwords that occur to me, what i have on my heart; and when one is of the people, sire,one always has something on the heart: then people troop up, they shout, they ring the alarm bell, they arm the louts with whatthey take from the soldiers, the market people join in, and they set out. and it will always be thus, so long asthere are lords in the seignories, bourgeois in the bourgs, and peasants inthe country."

"and against whom do you thus rebel?"inquired the king; "against your bailiffs? against your lords?""sometimes; that depends. against the duke, also, sometimes." louis xi. returned and seated himself,saying, with a smile,-- "ah! here they have only got as far as thebailiffs." at that instant olivier le daim returned. he was followed by two pages, who bore theking's toilet articles; but what struck louis xi. was that he was also accompaniedby the provost of paris and the chevalier of the watch, who appeared to be inconsternation.

the spiteful barber also wore an air ofconsternation, which was one of contentment beneath, however. it was he who spoke first."sire, i ask your majesty's pardon for the calamitous news which i bring."the king turned quickly and grazed the mat on the floor with the feet of his chair,-- "what does this mean?" "sire," resumed olivier le daim, with themalicious air of a man who rejoices that he is about to deal a violent blow, "'tis notagainst the bailiff of the courts that this popular sedition is directed."

"against whom, then?""against you, sire?' the aged king rose erect and straight as ayoung man,-- "explain yourself, olivier! and guard your head well, gossip; for iswear to you by the cross of saint-lo that, if you lie to us at this hour, the swordwhich severed the head of monsieur de luxembourg is not so notched that it cannotyet sever yours!" the oath was formidable; louis xi. had onlysworn twice in the course of his life by the cross of saint-lo. olivier opened hismouth to reply. "sire--"

"on your knees!" interrupted the kingviolently. "tristan, have an eye to this man."olivier knelt down and said coldly,-- "sire, a sorceress was condemned to deathby your court of parliament. she took refuge in notre-dame.the people are trying to take her from thence by main force. monsieur the provost and monsieur thechevalier of the watch, who have just come from the riot, are here to give me the lieif this is not the truth. the populace is besieging notre-dame." "yes, indeed!" said the king in a lowvoice, all pale and trembling with wrath.

"notre-dame!they lay siege to our lady, my good mistress in her cathedral!--rise, olivier. you are right.i give you simon radin's charge. you are right.'tis i whom they are attacking. the witch is under the protection of thischurch, the church is under my protection. and i thought that they were acting againstthe bailiff! 'tis against myself!" then, rendered young by fury, he began towalk up and down with long strides. he no longer laughed, he was terrible, hewent and came; the fox was changed into a

hyaena. he seemed suffocated to such a degree thathe could not speak; his lips moved, and his fleshless fists were clenched. all at once he raised his head, his holloweye appeared full of light, and his voice burst forth like a clarion: "down withthem, tristan! a heavy hand for these rascals! go, tristan, my friend! slay! slay!"this eruption having passed, he returned to his seat, and said with cold andconcentrated wrath,-- "here, tristan!

there are here with us in the bastille thefifty lances of the vicomte de gif, which makes three hundred horse: you will takethem. there is also the company of our unattachedarchers of monsieur de chateaupers: you will take it. you are provost of the marshals; you havethe men of your provostship: you will take them. at the hotel saint-pol you will find fortyarchers of monsieur the dauphin's new guard: you will take them.and, with all these, you will hasten to ah! messieurs, louts of paris, do you flingyourselves thus against the crown of

france, the sanctity of notre-dame, and thepeace of this commonwealth! exterminate, tristan! exterminate! and letnot a single one escape, except it be for montfaucon."tristan bowed. "'tis well, sire." he added, after a silence, "and what shalli do with the sorceress?" this question caused the king to meditate."ah!" said he, "the sorceress! monsieur d'estouteville, what did thepeople wish to do with her?" "sire," replied the provost of paris, "iimagine that since the populace has come to tear her from her asylum in notre-dame,'tis because that impunity wounds them, and

they desire to hang her." the king appeared to reflect deeply: then,addressing tristan l'hermite, "well! gossip, exterminate the people and hang thesorceress." "that's it," said rym in a low tone tocoppenole, "punish the people for willing a thing, and then do what they wish.""enough, sire," replied tristan. "if the sorceress is still in notre-dame,must she be seized in spite of the sanctuary?""pasque-dieu! the sanctuary!" said the king, scratching his ear. "but the woman must be hung, nevertheless."

here, as though seized with a sudden idea,he flung himself on his knees before his chair, took off his hat, placed it on theseat, and gazing devoutly at one of the leaden amulets which loaded it down, "oh!" said he, with clasped hands, "our lady ofparis, my gracious patroness, pardon me. i will only do it this once.this criminal must be punished. i assure you, madame the virgin, my goodmistress, that she is a sorceress who is not worthy of your amiable protection. you know, madame, that many very piousprinces have overstepped the privileges of the churches for the glory of god and thenecessities of the state.

saint hugues, bishop of england, permittedking edward to hang a witch in his church. saint-louis of france, my master,transgressed, with the same object, the church of monsieur saint-paul; and monsieuralphonse, son of the king of jerusalem, the very church of the holy sepulchre. pardon me, then, for this once.our lady of paris, i will never do so again, and i will give you a fine statue ofsilver, like the one which i gave last year to our lady of ecouys. so be it."he made the sign of the cross, rose, donned his hat once more, and said to tristan,--"be diligent, gossip.

take monsieur chateaupers with you. you will cause the tocsin to be sounded.you will crush the populace. you will seize the witch.'tis said. and i mean the business of the execution tobe done by you. you will render me an account of it.come, olivier, i shall not go to bed this night. shave me."tristan l'hermite bowed and departed. then the king, dismissing rym and coppenolewith a gesture,-- "god guard you, messieurs, my good friendsthe flemings.

go, take a little repose.the night advances, and we are nearer the morning than the evening." both retired and gained their apartmentsunder the guidance of the captain of the bastille.coppenole said to guillaume rym,-- "hum! i have had enough of that coughing king!i have seen charles of burgundy drunk, and he was less malignant than louis xi. whenailing." "master jacques," replied rym, "'tisbecause wine renders kings less cruel than does barley water."

-book tenth.chapter vi. little sword in pocket. on emerging from the bastille, gringoiredescended the rue saint-antoine with the swiftness of a runaway horse. on arriving at the baudoyer gate, he walkedstraight to the stone cross which rose in the middle of that place, as though he wereable to distinguish in the darkness the figure of a man clad and cloaked in black,who was seated on the steps of the cross. "is it you, master?" said gringoire.the personage in black rose. "death and passion!

you make me boil, gringoire.the man on the tower of saint-gervais has just cried half-past one o'clock in themorning." "oh," retorted gringoire, "'tis no fault ofmine, but of the watch and the king. i have just had a narrow escape.i always just miss being hung. 'tis my predestination." "you lack everything," said the other."but come quickly. have you the password?""fancy, master, i have seen the king. i come from him. he wears fustian breeches.'tis an adventure."

"oh! distaff of words! what is youradventure to me! have you the password of the outcasts?" "i have it.be at ease. 'little sword in pocket.'""good. otherwise, we could not make our way as faras the church. the outcasts bar the streets.fortunately, it appears that they have encountered resistance. we may still arrive in time.""yes, master, but how are we to get into notre-dame?""i have the key to the tower."

"and how are we to get out again?" "behind the cloister there is a little doorwhich opens on the terrain and the water. i have taken the key to it, and i moored aboat there this morning." "i have had a beautiful escape from beinghung!" gringoire repeated."eh, quick! come!" said the other. both descended towards the city with longstrides. -book tenth.chapter vii. chateaupers to the rescue. the reader will, perhaps, recall thecritical situation in which we left

quasimodo. the brave deaf man, assailed on all sides,had lost, if not all courage, at least all hope of saving, not himself (he was notthinking of himself), but the gypsy. he ran distractedly along the gallery. notre-dame was on the point of being takenby storm by the outcasts. all at once, a great galloping of horsesfilled the neighboring streets, and, with a long file of torches and a thick column ofcavaliers, with free reins and lances in rest, these furious sounds debouched on theplace like a hurricane,-- "france!france! cut down the louts!

chateaupers to the rescue! provostship!provostship!" the frightened vagabonds wheeled round. quasimodo who did not hear, saw the nakedswords, the torches, the irons of the pikes, all that cavalry, at the head ofwhich he recognized captain phoebus; he beheld the confusion of the outcasts, the terror of some, the disturbance among thebravest of them, and from this unexpected succor he recovered so much strength, thathe hurled from the church the first assailants who were already climbing intothe gallery.

it was, in fact, the king's troops who hadarrived. the vagabonds behaved bravely. they defended themselves like desperatemen. caught on the flank, by the rue saint-pierre-aux-boeufs, and in the rear through the rue du parvis, driven to bay againstnotre-dame, which they still assailed and quasimodo defended, at the same time besiegers and besieged, they were in thesingular situation in which comte henri harcourt, taurinum obsessor idem etobsessus, as his epitaph says, found himself later on, at the famous siege of

turin, in 1640, between prince thomas ofsavoy, whom he was besieging, and the marquis de leganez, who was blockading him.the battle was frightful. there was a dog's tooth for wolf's flesh,as p. mathieu says. the king's cavaliers, in whose midstphoebus de chateaupers bore himself valiantly, gave no quarter, and the slashof the sword disposed of those who escaped the thrust of the lance. the outcasts, badly armed foamed and bitwith rage. men, women, children, hurled themselves onthe cruppers and the breasts of the horses, and hung there like cats, with teeth,finger nails and toe nails.

others struck the archers' in the face withtheir torches. others thrust iron hooks into the necks ofthe cavaliers and dragged them down. they slashed in pieces those who fell. one was noticed who had a large, glitteringscythe, and who, for a long time, mowed the legs of the horses.he was frightful. he was singing a ditty, with a nasalintonation, he swung and drew back his scythe incessantly.at every blow he traced around him a great circle of severed limbs. he advanced thus into the very thickest ofthe cavalry, with the tranquil slowness,

the lolling of the head and the regularbreathing of a harvester attacking a field of wheat. it was chopin trouillefou.a shot from an arquebus laid him low. in the meantime, windows had been openedagain. the neighbors hearing the war cries of theking's troops, had mingled in the affray, and bullets rained upon the outcasts fromevery story. the parvis was filled with a thick smoke,which the musketry streaked with flame. through it one could confusedly distinguishthe front of notre-dame, and the decrepit hotel-dieu with some wan invalids gazingdown from the heights of its roof all

checkered with dormer windows. at length the vagabonds gave way.weariness, the lack of good weapons, the fright of this surprise, the musketry fromthe windows, the valiant attack of the king's troops, all overwhelmed them. they forced the line of assailants, andfled in every direction, leaving the parvis encumbered with dead. when quasimodo, who had not ceased to fightfor a moment, beheld this rout, he fell on his knees and raised his hands to heaven;then, intoxicated with joy, he ran, he ascended with the swiftness of a bird to

that cell, the approaches to which he hadso intrepidly defended. he had but one thought now; it was to kneelbefore her whom he had just saved for the second time. when he entered the cell, he found itempty.