The reader has probably not forgotten that a part of the Cour deMiracles was enclosed by the ancient wall which surrounded the city, agoodly number of whose towers had begun, even at that epoch, to fall toruin. One of these towers had been converted into a pleasure resort bythe vagabonds. There was a drain-shop in the underground story, and therest in the upper stories. This was the most lively, and consequentlythe most hideous, point of the whole outcast den. It was a sort ofmonstrous hive, which buzzed there night and day. At night, when theremainder of the beggar horde slept, when there was no longer a windowlighted in the dingy facades of the Place, when not a cry was any longerto be heard proceeding from those innumerable families, those ant-hillsof thieves, of wenches, and stolen or bastard children, the merry towerwas still recognizable by the noise which it made, by the scarlet lightwhich, flashing simultaneously from the air-holes, the windows, thefissures in the cracked walls, escaped, so to speak, from its everypore.
The cellar then, was the dram-shop. The descent to it was through alow door and by a staircase as steep as a classic Alexandrine. Over thedoor, by way of a sign there hung a marvellous daub, representing newsons and dead chickens,* with this, pun below: _Aux sonneurs pour lestrepasses_,--The wringers for the dead.
* _Sols neufs: poulets tues_.
One evening when the curfew was sounding from all the belfries in Paris,the sergeants of the watch might have observed, had it been granted tothem to enter the formidable Court of Miracles, that more tumult thanusual was in progress in the vagabonds' tavern, that more drinking wasbeing done, and louder swearing. Outside in the Place, there, were manygroups conversing in low tones, as when some great plan is being framed,and here and there a knave crouching down engaged in sharpening avillanous iron blade on a paving-stone.
Meanwhile, in the tavern itself, wine and gaming offered such a powerfuldiversion 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 thanwas their wont, and some weapon could be seen glittering between thelegs of each of them,--a sickle, an axe, a big two-edged sword or thehook of an old hackbut.
The room, circular in form, was very spacious; but the tables wereso thickly set and the drinkers so numerous, that all that the taverncontained, men, women, benches, beer-jugs, all that were drinking, allthat were sleeping, all that were playing, the well, the lame, seemedpiled up pell-mell, with as much order and harmony as a heap of oystershells. There were a few tallow dips lighted on the tables; but the realluminary of this tavern, that which played the part in this dram-shop ofthe chandelier of an opera house, was the fire. This cellar was so dampthat the fire was never allowed to go out, even in midsummer; an immensechimney with a sculptured mantel, all bristling with heavy iron andironsand cooking utensils, with one of those huge fires of mixed wood andpeat which at night, in village streets make the reflection of forgewindows stand out so red on the opposite walls. A big dog gravely seatedin the ashes was turning a spit loaded with meat before the coals.
Great as was the confusion, after the first glance one could distinguishin that multitude, three principal groups which thronged around threepersonages already known to the reader. One of these personages,fantastically accoutred in many an oriental rag, was Mathias HungadiSpicali, Duke of Egypt and Bohemia. The knave was seated on a table withhis legs crossed, and in a loud voice was bestowing his knowledge ofmagic, both black and white, on many a gaping face which surrounded him.Another rabble pressed close around our old friend, the valiant King ofThunes, armed to the teeth. Clopin Trouillefou, with a very serious airand in a low voice, was regulating the distribution of an enormous caskof arms, which stood wide open in front of him and from whence pouredout in profusion, axes, swords, bassinets, coats of mail, broadswords,lance-heads, arrows, and viretons,* like apples and grapes from a hornof plenty. Every one took something from the cask, one a morion, anothera long, straight sword, another a dagger with a cross--shaped hilt. Thevery children were arming themselves, and there were even cripples inbowls who, in armor and cuirass, made their way between the legs of thedrinkers, like great beetles.
* An arrow with a pyramidal head of iron and copper spiralwings, by which a rotatory motion was communicated.
Finally, a third audience, the most noisy, the most jovial, and the mostnumerous, encumbered benches and tables, in the midst of which haranguedand swore a flute-like voice, which escaped from beneath a heavy armor,complete from casque to spurs. The individual who had thus screwed awhole outfit upon his body, was so hidden by his warlike accoutrementsthat nothing was to be seen of his person save an impertinent, red,snub nose, a rosy mouth, and bold eyes. His belt was full of daggers andponiards, a huge sword on his hip, a rusted cross-bow at his left, and avast jug of wine in front of him, without reckoning on his right, a fatwench with her bosom uncovered. All mouths around him were laughing,cursing, and drinking.
Add twenty secondary groups, the waiters, male and female, running withjugs on their heads, gamblers squatting over taws, merelles,* dice,vachettes, the ardent game of tringlet, quarrels in one corner, kissesin another, and the reader will have some idea of this whole picture,over which flickered the light of a great, flaming fire, which made athousand huge and grotesque shadows dance over the walls of the drinkingshop.
* A game played on a checker-board containing three concentricsets of squares, with small stones. The game consisted in getting threestones in a row.
As for the noise, it was like the inside of a bell at full peal.
The dripping-pan, where crackled a rain of grease, filled with itscontinual sputtering the intervals of these thousand dialogues, whichintermingled from one end of the apartment to the other.
In the midst of this uproar, at the extremity of the tavern, on thebench inside the chimney, sat a philosopher meditating with his feet inthe ashes and his eyes on the brands. It was Pierre Gringoire.
"Be quick! make haste, arm yourselves! we set out on the march in anhour!" said Clopin Trouillefou to his thieves.
A wench was humming,--
"_Bonsoir mon pere et ma mere, Les derniers couvrent le feu_."*
* Good night, father and mother, the last cover up the fire.
Two card players were disputing,--
"Knave!" cried the reddest faced of the two, shaking his fist at theother; "I'll mark you with the club. You can take the place of Mistigriin the pack of cards of monseigneur the king."
"Ugh!" roared a Norman, recognizable by his nasal accent; "we are packedin here like the saints of Caillouville!"
"My sons," the Duke of Egypt was saying to his audience, in a falsettovoice, "sorceresses in France go to the witches' sabbath withoutbroomsticks, or grease, or steed, merely by means of some magic words.The witches of Italy always have a buck waiting for them at their door.All are bound to go out through the chimney."
The voice of the young scamp armed from head to foot, dominated theuproar.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" he was shouting. "My first day in armor! Outcast! Iam an outcast. Give me something to drink. My friends, my name is JehanFrollo du Moulin, 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 ona fine expedition. Lay siege to the church, burst in the doors, drag outthe beautiful girl, save her from the judges, save her from the priests,dismantle the cloister, burn the bishop in his palace--all this we willdo in less time than it takes for a burgomaster to eat a spoonful ofsoup. Our cause is just, we will plunder Notre-Dame and that will be theend of it. We will hang Quasimodo. Do you know Quasimodo, ladies?Have you seen him make himself breathless on the big bell on a grandPentecost festival! _Corne du Pere_! 'tis very fine! One would say hewas 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 inmy soul, I was born an independent thief. I have been rich, and I havedevoured all my property. My mothe
r wanted to make an officer of me; myfather, a sub-deacon; my aunt, a councillor of inquests; my grandmother,prothonotary to the king; my great aunt, a treasurer of the shortrobe,--and I have made myself an outcast. I said this to my father,who spit his curse in my face; to my mother, who set to weeping andchattering, poor old lady, like yonder fagot on the and-irons. Long livemirth! I am a real Bicetre. Waitress, my dear, more wine. I have stillthe wherewithal to pay. I want no more Surene wine. It distresses mythroat. I'd as lief, _corboeuf_! gargle my throat with a basket."
Meanwhile, the rabble applauded with shouts of laughter; and seeing thatthe 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 in ecstasy, in the tone of acanon intoning vespers, _Quae cantica! quae organa! quae cantilenoe!quae meloclioe hic sine fine decantantur! Sonant melliflua hymnorumorgana, suavissima angelorum melodia, cantica canticorum mira_! He brokeoff: "Tavern-keeper of the devil, give me some supper!"
There was a moment of partial silence, during which the sharp voice ofthe Duke of Egypt rose, as he gave instructions to his Bohemians.
"The weasel is called Adrune; the fox, Blue-foot, or the Racer of theWoods; the wolf, Gray-foot, or Gold-foot; the bear the Old Man, orGrandfather. The cap of a gnome confers invisibility, and causes one tobehold invisible things. Every toad that is baptized must be clad in redor black velvet, a bell on its neck, a bell on its feet. The godfatherholds its head, the godmother its hinder parts. 'Tis the demonSidragasum who hath the power to make wenches dance stark naked."
"By the mass!" interrupted Jehan, "I should like to be the demonSidragasum."
Meanwhile, the vagabonds continued to arm themselves and whisper at theother end of the dram-shop.
"That poor Esmeralda!" said a Bohemian. "She is our sister. She must betaken away from there."
"Is she still at Notre-Dame?" went on a merchant with the appearance ofa Jew.
"Yes, pardieu!"
"Well! comrades!" exclaimed the merchant, "to Notre-Dame! So much thebetter, since there are in the chapel of Saints Fereol and Ferrutiontwo statues, the one of John the Baptist, the other of Saint-Antoine, ofsolid gold, weighing together seven marks of gold and fifteen estellins;and the pedestals are of silver-gilt, of seventeen marks, five ounces. Iknow that; I am a goldsmith."
Here they served Jehan with his supper. As he threw himself back on thebosom of the wench beside him, he exclaimed,--
"By Saint Voult-de-Lucques, whom people call Saint Goguelu, I amperfectly happy. I have before me a fool who gazes at me with the smoothface of an archduke. Here is one on my left whose teeth are so long thatthey hide his chin. And then, I am like the Marshal de Gie at the siegeof Pontoise, I have my right resting on a hillock. _Ventre-Mahom_!Comrade! you have the air of a merchant of tennis-balls; and you comeand sit yourself beside me! I am a nobleman, my friend! Trade isincompatible with nobility. Get out of that! Hola he! You others, don'tfight! What, Baptiste Croque-Oison, you who have such a fine nose aregoing to risk it against the big fists of that lout! Fool! _Non cuiquamdatum est habere nasum_--not every one is favored with a nose. You arereally divine, Jacqueline Ronge-Oreille! 'tis a pity that you have nohair! Hola! my name is Jehan Frollo, and my brother is an archdeacon.May the devil fly off with him! All that I tell you is the truth. Inturning vagabond, I have gladly renounced the half of a house situatedin paradise, which my brother had promised me. _Dimidiam domum inparadiso_. 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 anexcellent goldsmith, and that the five trades of the good city ofParis are the tanners, the tawers, the makers of cross-belts, thepurse-makers, and the sweaters, and that Saint Laurent was burntwith 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 honeyed wine for a year,if I am lying now.
"'Tis moonlight, my charmer; see yonder through the window how thewind is tearing the clouds to tatters! Even thus will I do toyour gorget.--Wenches, wipe the children's noses and snuff thecandles.--Christ and Mahom! What am I eating here, Jupiter? Ohe!innkeeper! the hair which is not on the heads of your hussies one findsin your omelettes. Old woman! I like bald omelettes. May the devilconfound you!--A fine hostelry of Beelzebub, where the hussies combtheir 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 neither faith nor law, nor fire nor dwelling-place, nor king nor God.