Nevertheless, as be harangued them, the satisfaction and admirationunanimously excited by his costume were dissipated by his words; andwhen he reached that untoward conclusion: "As soon as his illustriouseminence, the cardinal, arrives, we will begin," his voice was drownedin a thunder of hooting.
"Begin instantly! The mystery! the mystery immediately!" shrieked thepeople. And above all the voices, that of Johannes de Molendinowas audible, piercing the uproar like the fife's derisive serenade:"Commence instantly!" yelped the scholar.
"Down with Jupiter and the Cardinal de Bourbon!" vociferated RobinPoussepain and the other clerks perched in the window.
"The morality this very instant!" repeated the crowd; "this veryinstant! the sack and the rope for the comedians, and the cardinal!"
Poor Jupiter, haggard, frightened, pale beneath his rouge, dropped histhunderbolt, took his cap in his hand; then he bowed and trembledand stammered: "His eminence--the ambassadors--Madame Marguerite ofFlanders--." He did not know what to say. In truth, he was afraid ofbeing hung.
Hung by the populace for waiting, hung by the cardinal for not havingwaited, he saw between the two dilemmas only an abyss; that is to say, agallows.
Luckily, some one came to rescue him from his embarrassment, and assumethe responsibility.
An individual who was standing beyond the railing, in the free spacearound the marble table, and whom no one had yet caught sight of, sincehis long, thin body was completely sheltered from every visual rayby the diameter of the pillar against which he was leaning; thisindividual, we say, tall, gaunt, pallid, blond, still young, althoughalready wrinkled about the brow and cheeks, with brilliant eyes and asmiling mouth, clad in garments of black serge, worn and shining withage, approached the marble table, and made a sign to the poor sufferer.But the other was so confused that he did not see him. The new comeradvanced another step.
"Jupiter," said he, "my dear Jupiter!"
The other did not hear.
At last, the tall blond, driven out of patience, shrieked almost in hisface,--
"Michel Giborne!"
"Who calls me?" said Jupiter, as though awakened with a start.
"I," replied the person clad in black.
"Ah!" said Jupiter.
"Begin at once," went on the other. "Satisfy the populace; I undertaketo appease the bailiff, who will appease monsieur the cardinal."
Jupiter breathed once more.
"Messeigneurs the bourgeois," he cried, at the top of his lungs to thecrowd, which continued to hoot him, "we are going to begin at once."
"_Evoe Jupiter! Plaudite cives_! All hail, Jupiter! Applaud, citizens!"shouted the scholars.
"Noel! Noel! good, good," shouted the people.
The hand clapping was deafening, and Jupiter had already withdrawn underhis tapestry, while the hall still trembled with acclamations.
In the meanwhile, the personage who had so magically turned the tempestinto dead calm, as our old and dear Corneille puts it, had modestlyretreated to the half-shadow of his pillar, and would, no doubt, haveremained invisible there, motionless, and mute as before, had he notbeen plucked by the sleeve by two young women, who, standing in thefront row of the spectators, had noticed his colloquy with MichelGiborne-Jupiter.
"Master," said one of them, making him a sign to approach. "Hold yourtongue, my dear Lienarde," said her neighbor, pretty, fresh, and verybrave, in consequence of being dressed up in her best attire. "He is nota clerk, he is a layman; you must not say master to him, but messire."
"Messire," said Lienarde.
The stranger approached the railing.
"What would you have of me, damsels?" he asked, with alacrity.
"Oh! nothing," replied Lienarde, in great confusion; "it is my neighbor,Gisquette la Gencienne, who wishes to speak with you."
"Not so," replied Gisquette, blushing; "it was Lienarde who called youmaster; I only told her to say messire."
The two young girls dropped their eyes. The man, who asked nothingbetter than to enter into conversation, looked at them with a smile.
"So you have nothing to say to me, damsels?"
"Oh! nothing at all," replied Gisquette.
"Nothing," said Lienarde.
The tall, light-haired young man retreated a step; but the two curiousmaidens had no mind to let slip their prize.
"Messire," said Gisquette, with the impetuosity of an open sluice, orof a woman who has made up her mind, "do you know that soldier who is toplay the part of Madame the Virgin in the mystery?"
"You mean the part of Jupiter?" replied the stranger.
"He! yes," said Lienarde, "isn't she stupid? So you know Jupiter?"
"Michel Giborne?" replied the unknown; "yes, madam."
"He has a fine beard!" said Lienarde.
"Will what they are about to say here be fine?" inquired Gisquette,timidly.
"Very fine, mademoiselle," replied the unknown, without the slightesthesitation.
"What is it to be?" said Lienarde.
"'The Good Judgment of Madame the Virgin,'--a morality, if you please,damsel."
"Ah! that makes a difference," responded Lienarde.
A brief silence ensued--broken by the stranger.
"It is a perfectly new morality, and one which has never yet beenplayed."
"Then it is not the same one," said Gisquette, "that was given two yearsago, on the day of the entrance of monsieur the legate, and where threehandsome maids played the parts--"
"Of sirens," said Lienarde.
"And all naked," added the young man.
Lienarde lowered her eyes modestly. Gisquette glanced at her and did thesame. He continued, with a smile,--
"It was a very pleasant thing to see. To-day it is a morality madeexpressly for Madame the Demoiselle of Flanders."
"Will they sing shepherd songs?" inquired Gisquette.
"Fie!" said the stranger, "in a morality? you must not confound styles.If it were a farce, well and good."
"That is a pity," resumed Gisquette. "That day, at the Ponceau Fountain,there were wild men and women, who fought and assumed many aspects, asthey sang little motets and bergerettes."
"That which is suitable for a legate," returned the stranger, with agood deal of dryness, "is not suitable for a princess."
"And beside them," resumed Lienarde, "played many brass instruments,making great melodies."
"And for the refreshment of the passers-by," continued Gisquette, "thefountain spouted through three mouths, wine, milk, and hippocrass, ofwhich every one drank who wished."
"And a little below the Ponceau, at the Trinity," pursued Lienarde,"there was a passion performed, and without any speaking."
"How well I remember that!" exclaimed Gisquette; "God on the cross,and the two thieves on the right and the left." Here the young gossips,growing warm at the memory of the entrance of monsieur the legate, bothbegan to talk at once.
"And, further on, at the Painters' Gate, there were other personages,very richly clad."
"And at the fountain of Saint-Innocent, that huntsman, who was chasing ahind with great clamor of dogs and hunting-horns."
"And, at the Paris slaughter-houses, stages, representing the fortressof Dieppe!"
"And when the legate passed, you remember, Gisquette? they made theassault, and the English all had their throats cut."
"And against the gate of the Chatelet, there were very fine personages!"
"And on the Port au Change, which was all draped above!"
"And when the legate passed, they let fly on the bridge more than twohundred sorts of birds; wasn't it beautiful, Lienarde?"
"It will be better to-day," finally resumed their interlocutor, whoseemed to listen to them with impatience.
"Do you promise us that this mystery will be fine?" said Gisquette.
"Without doubt," he replied; then he added, with a certain emphasis,--"Iam the author of it, damsels."
"Truly?" said the young girls, quite taken aback.
"Truly!" replied t
he poet, bridling a little; "that is, to say, thereare two of us; Jehan Marchand, who has sawed the planks and erectedthe framework of the theatre and the woodwork; and I, who have made thepiece. My name is Pierre Gringoire."
The author of the "Cid" could not have said "Pierre Corneille" with morepride.
Our readers have been able to observe, that a certain amount of timemust have already elapsed from the moment when Jupiter had retiredbeneath the tapestry to the instant when the author of the new moralityhad thus abruptly revealed himself to the innocent admiration ofGisquette and Lienarde. Remarkable fact: that whole crowd, so tumultuousbut a few moments before, now waited amiably on the word of thecomedian; which proves the eternal truth, still experienced every day inour theatres, that the best means of making the public wait patiently isto assure them that one is about to begin instantly.
However, scholar Johannes had not fallen asleep.
"Hola he!" he shouted suddenly, in the midst of the peaceable waitingwhich had followed the tumult. "Jupiter, Madame the Virgin, buffoons ofthe devil! are you jeering at us? The piece! the piece! commence or wewill commence again!"
This was all that was needed.
The music of high and low instruments immediately became audible fromthe interior of the stage; the tapestry was raised; four personages,in motley attire and painted faces, emerged from it, climbed the steepladder of the theatre, and, arrived upon the upper platform, arrangedthemselves in a line before the public, whom they saluted with profoundreverences; then the symphony ceased.
The mystery was about to begin.
The four personages, after having reaped a rich reward of applause fortheir reverences, began, in the midst of profound silence, a prologue,which we gladly spare the reader. Moreover, as happens in our own day,the public was more occupied with the costumes that the actors wore thanwith the roles that they were enacting; and, in truth, they were right.All four were dressed in parti-colored robes of yellow and white, whichwere distinguished from each other only by the nature of the stuff; thefirst was of gold and silver brocade; the second, of silk; the third, ofwool; the fourth, of linen. The first of these personages carried in hisright hand a sword; the second, two golden keys; the third, a pair ofscales; the fourth, a spade: and, in order to aid sluggish mindswhich would not have seen clearly through the transparency of theseattributes, there was to be read, in large, black letters, on the hem ofthe robe of brocade, MY NAME IS NOBILITY; on the hem of the silkenrobe, MY NAME IS CLERGY; on the hem of the woolen robe, MY NAME ISMERCHANDISE; on the hem of the linen robe, MY NAME IS LABOR. The sexof the two male characters was briefly indicated to every judiciousspectator, by their shorter robes, and by the cap which they wore ontheir heads; while the two female characters, less briefly clad, werecovered with hoods.
Much ill-will would also have been required, not to comprehend, throughthe medium of the poetry of the prologue, that Labor was wedded toMerchandise, and Clergy to Nobility, and that the two happy couplespossessed in common a magnificent golden dolphin, which they desiredto adjudge to the fairest only. So they were roaming about the worldseeking and searching for this beauty, and, after having successivelyrejected the Queen of Golconda, the Princess of Trebizonde, the daughterof the Grand Khan of Tartary, etc., Labor and Clergy, Nobility andMerchandise, had come to rest upon the marble table of the Palais deJustice, and to utter, in the presence of the honest audience, as manysentences and maxims as could then be dispensed at the Faculty of Arts,at examinations, sophisms, determinances, figures, and acts, where themasters took their degrees.
All this was, in fact, very fine.
Nevertheless, in that throng, upon which the four allegories vied witheach other in pouring out floods of metaphors, there was no ear moreattentive, no heart that palpitated more, not an eye was more haggard,no neck more outstretched, than the eye, the ear, the neck, and theheart of the author, of the poet, of that brave Pierre Gringoire, whohad not been able to resist, a moment before, the joy of telling hisname to two pretty girls. He had retreated a few paces from them, behindhis pillar, and there he listened, looked, enjoyed. The amiable applausewhich had greeted the beginning of his prologue was still echoing inhis bosom, and he was completely absorbed in that species of ecstaticcontemplation with which an author beholds his ideas fall, one by one,from the mouth of the actor into the vast silence of the audience.Worthy Pierre Gringoire!
It pains us to say it, but this first ecstasy was speedily disturbed.Hardly had Gringoire raised this intoxicating cup of joy and triumph tohis lips, when a drop of bitterness was mingled with it.
A tattered mendicant, who could not collect any coins, lost as he wasin the midst of the crowd, and who had not probably found sufficientindemnity in the pockets of his neighbors, had hit upon the idea ofperching himself upon some conspicuous point, in order to attract looksand alms. He had, accordingly, hoisted himself, during the first versesof the prologue, with the aid of the pillars of the reserve gallery, tothe cornice which ran round the balustrade at its lower edge; and therehe had seated himself, soliciting the attention and the pity of themultitude, with his rags and a hideous sore which covered his right arm.However, he uttered not a word.
The silence which he preserved allowed the prologue to proceed withouthindrance, and no perceptible disorder would have ensued, if ill-luckhad not willed that the scholar Joannes should catch sight, from theheights of his pillar, of the mendicant and his grimaces. A wild fit oflaughter took possession of the young scamp, who, without caring that hewas interrupting the spectacle, and disturbing the universal composure,shouted boldly,--
"Look! see that sickly creature asking alms!"
Any one who has thrown a stone into a frog pond, or fired a shot intoa covey of birds, can form an idea of the effect produced by theseincongruous words, in the midst of the general attention. It madeGringoire shudder as though it had been an electric shock. The prologuestopped short, and all heads turned tumultuously towards the beggar,who, far from being disconcerted by this, saw, in this incident, a goodopportunity for reaping his harvest, and who began to whine in a dolefulway, half closing his eyes the while,--"Charity, please!"
"Well--upon my soul," resumed Joannes, "it's Clopin Trouillefou! Holahe, my friend, did your sore bother you on the leg, that you havetransferred it to your arm?" So saying, with the dexterity of a monkey,he flung a bit of silver into the gray felt hat which the beggar heldin his ailing arm. The mendicant received both the alms and the sarcasmwithout wincing, and continued, in lamentable tones,--
"Charity, please!"
This episode considerably distracted the attention of the audience; anda goodly number of spectators, among them Robin Poussepain, and all theclerks at their head, gayly applauded this eccentric duet, which thescholar, with his shrill voice, and the mendicant had just improvised inthe middle of the prologue.
Gringoire was highly displeased. On recovering from his firststupefaction, he bestirred himself to shout, to the four personages onthe stage, "Go on! What the devil!--go on!"--without even deigning tocast a glance of disdain upon the two interrupters.
At that moment, he felt some one pluck at the hem of his surtout;he turned round, and not without ill-humor, and found considerabledifficulty in smiling; but he was obliged to do so, nevertheless. Itwas the pretty arm of Gisquette la Gencienne, which, passed through therailing, was soliciting his attention in this manner.
"Monsieur," said the young girl, "are they going to continue?"
"Of course," replied Gringoire, a good deal shocked by the question.
"In that case, messire," she resumed, "would you have the courtesy toexplain to me--"
"What they are about to say?" interrupted Gringoire. "Well, listen."
"No," said Gisquette, "but what they have said so far."
Gringoire started, like a man whose wound has been probed to the quick.
"A plague on the stupid and dull-witted little girl!" he muttered,between his teeth.
From that moment forth, Gisquette was nothing to him
.
In the meantime, the actors had obeyed his injunction, and the public,seeing that they were beginning to speak again, began once more tolisten, not without having lost many beauties in the sort of solderedjoint which was formed between the two portions of the piece thusabruptly cut short. Gringoire commented on it bitterly to himself.Nevertheless, tranquillity was gradually restored, the scholar held hispeace, the mendicant counted over some coins in his hat, and the pieceresumed the upper hand.
It was, in fact, a very fine work, and one which, as it seems to us,might be put to use to-day, by the aid of a little rearrangement. Theexposition, rather long and rather empty, that is to say, according tothe rules, was simple; and Gringoire, in the candid sanctuary of his ownconscience, admired its clearness. As the reader may surmise, the fourallegorical personages were somewhat weary with having traversed thethree sections of the world, without having found suitable opportunityfor getting rid of their golden dolphin. Thereupon a eulogy of themarvellous fish, with a thousand delicate allusions to the youngbetrothed of Marguerite of Flanders, then sadly cloistered in atAmboise, and without a suspicion that Labor and Clergy, Nobility andMerchandise had just made the circuit of the world in his behalf. Thesaid dauphin was then young, was handsome, was stout, and, above all(magnificent origin of all royal virtues), he was the son of the Lionof France. I declare that this bold metaphor is admirable, and that thenatural history of the theatre, on a day of allegory and royal marriagesongs, is not in the least startled by a dolphin who is the son of alion. It is precisely these rare and Pindaric mixtures which prove thepoet's enthusiasm. Nevertheless, in order to play the part of criticalso, the poet might have developed this beautiful idea in somethingless than two hundred lines. It is true that the mystery was to lastfrom noon until four o'clock, in accordance with the orders of monsieurthe provost, and that it was necessary to say something. Besides, thepeople listened patiently.
All at once, in the very middle of a quarrel between MademoiselleMerchandise and Madame Nobility, at the moment when Monsieur Labor wasgiving utterance to this wonderful line,--
In forest ne'er was seen a more triumphant beast;
the door of the reserved gallery which had hitherto remained soinopportunely closed, opened still more inopportunely; and the ringingvoice of the usher announced abruptly, "His eminence, Monseigneur theCardinal de Bourbon."
CHAPTER III. MONSIEUR THE CARDINAL.