Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 144 — page 2: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THR HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE-DAME. obliged, for want of better means, to burn the Rolls Office in order to burn the documents, and to burn the Palace of Justice in order to burn the Rolls Officé; of course there would have been no fire in 1618. The old palace would still be standing with its old great hall; and I might then say tothe reader: Go, look at {t—and thus we should both be spared trouble, myself the trouble of writing, and him that of perusing, an {indifferent deseription. This demonstrates the novel truth—that great events have incalculable conse- quences. It is, indeed, possible that the accomplices of Ravail- fac had no hand in tho fire of 1618. There are two other plausible ways of accounting for it; first, the at ‘star of fire, a foot broad, and a foot and a half igh,’’ which fell, as everybody knows, from the sky upon the ace on the 7th of March, after midnight; secoudly, this stanza of Theophile : Certes co fut um triste jeu, Quand a Paris dame Justice, Pour avoir mange trop d’epice, Se mit tout le palais en feu. Whatever may be thought of this three-fold combina- tion, political, physical, and poctical, of the burning of the Palace of Justice, in 1618, the fact of the fire is un- fortunately most certain. Owing to this catastrophe, and, above all, to the successive restorations which have swept away what it spared, very little is now left of this elder Palace of the Louvre, already so ancient in the time of Philip the Fair, that the traces of the niagnificent buildings erected by King Robert, and de- scribed by aldus, had then to besought for. What has become of the Chancery Chamber, where St. Louis consummate his marriage? the garden wherehe admin- istered justice, habited in a camlet coat, a surcoat of linsey-woolsey without sleeves, and a mantle over all, of black serge, reclining upon carpets with Joinville’ Where is the chamber of the Emperor Sigismond—that of Charles IV.—that of John Lackland? Where is the flight of steps from which Charles VI. promulgated his edict of amnesty—the slab whereon Marcel murdered, in the presence of the dauphin, Robert de Clermont and the Marechal de Champagne—the wicket where the bulls of the anti-pope Benedict were torn in pieces, and whence those who had brought them were taken, coped aud mitred in derision, and carried in procession through all Paris—thoe great hall, with its gilding, its ezure, its pointed arches, its statues, its pillars, its im- mense vaulted roof, cut and carved all over—and the gilded chamber—and the stone lion at the gate, kneel- ng, with head couched and tail between his legs, like the lions of King Solomon's throne, in the roverential altitude which befits strength in the presence of justice —and the beautiful doors—and the painted windows— and the chased ironwork which discouraged Biscorn- ette—and the delicate carvings of Du >? What haa time, what have men done with these wonders? What has been given to us for ail these—for all this aucient French: history, for all this Gothic art—the heavy elliptic arches of M. de Brosse, the clumsy architect of the porch of St. Gervais—so much for art; and, as for history, we have the traditions of .the great vee which still reverberates the p of the atrus. Thisis no great matter. Lot us return to tho voritable hall of the veritable old palace. One of the extremities of this prodigious parallelo- gram was occupied by the famous marble table, of a single piece, Bo long, 80 broad, and so thick,’ that, as ‘the aucient terriers say, ina style that might have given an appvtite to Gargantua, “ never was there seen in the world slice ot marble to match it;” and the other by the chapel where Louis XI. placed his own éffigy kneeling before the Virgin, and to which, reckless of leaving two vacant niches in the file of royal statutes, he removed those of Charlemagne and Bt. Louis, saints whom he conceived to ss great influence with Heaven ass kings of ce. his chapel, still new, haying been built scarcely six years, was in that charming style of delicate architecture, wonderful sculpture, and sharp, deep carving, which vharks with us the conclusion of the Gothic ers, and — till about the middle ot the sixteenth century n the fairy fantasies of the revival of the art. The #mall rose mullion over the porch was in particulars masterpiece of lightness and delicacy; you would have taken it for a star of lacework. In the middle of the hall, opposite to the great door an enclosed platform lined with gold brocade, baclad against the wall, and to which there had been made a private entrance by means of a window from the pas save to the gilded chamber, was erected expressly for the Flemish envoys, and the other distinguished per- sonages invited to the representation of the mystery. On this marble table, a¢eording to established usage, the mystery was to be performed. Arrangements for this purpose had been niade early in the morning. The rich marble floor, scratched over by the heels ot the clerks of the Bazoche, supported a cage of wood- work of considerable height, the upper floor of which, exposed to view from every part of the hall, was to acryeé for the stage, while the lower, masked by hang- ins of tapestry, formed a sort of dressing-room for the actors. A ladder, undisguisedly a ae | outside, was to be the channel of communication between the ¢wo, and ifs rude steps were to furnish the only medi- um as well for entrances as for exits, There was no ‘movement, however abrupt and unexpected, no piece of stage-effect s0 sudden but hed to be executed by the intervention of this ladder. Innocent and venerable infaucy of the art of machinery | Four sergeants of the Bailiff of Paris, whose duty it was to superintend all the amusements of the people, as well on festivals as on days of execution, were ata- tioned gne at each corner of the marble table. ft w88 not till the great clock of the palace had struck the hour of twelve that the performance was to begin—at a late hour, to be sure, for a theatrical repre- fore he founded a mass to sentation, but it had been found necessary to suit it to the convenience of the ambassadors. Now, the whole assembled multitude had been — wait- ing ever since the morning. Many of these honest Sight-loving folks had, indeed, been shivering from daybreak before the steps of the @; hay, some de- clared that they had passed the night under the great porch, to make sure of getting Aa; The crowd in- ereased every moment, and like water that rises. above its level, began to mount along the walls, to aswell about the pillars, to cover the entablatures, the ages all the salient points of the architecture, all e relievos of the sculpture. Accordingly, the weari- ness, the impatience, the freedom of a day of license, the quarrels occasioned every moment bya sharp elbow or a hob-nailed shoe, and the tediousness of long waiting, gave, long before the hour at which the am- bassadors were to arrive. 4 sharp, sour tone to the clamor of the populace, kicked, cuffed, jostled, squeezed, and wedged together almost to suffocation. Nothing. was to be heard but-complaints and imprecations wainst the Flemings, the provost of the merchants, the Cardinal of Bourbon, the bailiff of the palace, Madame Margaret of Austria, the sergeant-vergers, the cold, the heat, the bad weather, the Bishop of Paris, the Pope of Fools, the pillars, the statues, this closed door, that open window—all to the’ great amusement of the groups of scholars and serving-men distributed through the crowd, who mingled with all this discon- tent their sarcasms and mischievous sallies, which, like pins thrust into a wound, produced no small aggrayva- tion of the general ill-humor. There was among others a knot of these merry | wights, who, after knocking the glass out of one of the windows, had boldly seated themselves on the entab- lature, and thence-cast their eyes and their jokes alternately within and without, among the crowd in the hall and the crowd in the Place. From their mimicries, their peals of laughter; and the jeers which | they exchanged from one end of the hall to the other | with their comrades, it was.evident that these youn clerka felt none of the weariness and ennui which over- | powered the rest of theassembly, and that they weil | knew how to extract from the scene before them suffi- | cient amusement to enable them to wait patiently for the promised spectacle. “Why, "pon my soul, ‘tis you, Joannes Frollo de- Molendino!"’ criedone of them, a youth with a fair complexion, handsome face, and arch look, perched on the acanthi of acapital; “you are rightly named, Jehan du Moulin, for your arms and legs are exactly like the four sails of a wind-mill, How long have you been here ?”’ ‘TH “By the devil’s mercy,” i es Joannes Frollo, ‘‘more than four hours, and I hope they will be counted into my time of puryatory. heard the King of Sicily’s eight chauters strike = the first verse of high mass at seven o’clock in the Holy Chapel.’ ‘Rare chanters, forsooth !’’ rejoined the other, “ with voices sharper than their pointed caps! The king, be- onsieur St. John, ought to have ascertained whether Monsieur St. John is fond of Latin chanted with a provincial twang.” “ And it was to employ those cursed singers of the King of Sicily that he did it!’ cried an old. woman among the crowd at the foot of the window. ‘Only think!.a thousand livrés .Parisie for one mass, and | granted out of the farm-rent of the sea-fjsh sold insthe market of Paris, into the bargain !"’ é; “Silence !’’ ejaculated a lusty, portly onage, who was holding his nose by the side of the fish-woman; “how could the king help founding s mass? Would you have him fall ili again ?”’ ; * Admirably spoken, Sire Gilles Lecornu, master-fur- rier of the king’s robes!” shouted the little scholar | clinging to the capital. . A geteral peal of laughter from his comrades, greeted the unlucky name of thé poor master-furrier of the king's robes. *Lecornu | Gilles Lecornu!”’ cried some of them. “ Cornutus et hirsutus,’’ said another. “Ah, no doubt,” replied the litte demon of the cap- ital, “‘ What is there to laugh at? Anhonorable man, Gilles Leeornu, brother of Master Jehan Lecornu, pro- vost of the king’s household, son of Master Mahbiet Lecornu, first porter of the wood of Vincennes, all citi- zens of Paris, all marrfed from father to.son {” A fresh explosion of mirth succeeded: all pyes were fixed on the fat master-furrier, who, withont uttering a word in reply; strove to withdraw himself from the ublic gaze; but in» vain he puffed and struggled till , - was covered with perspiration ; the efforts which he made sefved only to wedge in his bloated apoplectic face, purple with rage and vexation, the more firmly bet ween the shoulders of his neighbors. . At length one of these, short, pussy and venerable as himself, had the courage to take his part. - } **What abomination! Scholars dare to talk thus to a citizen! Jn my. time they would have been scourged witb rods and burned with them afterward.”’ . The whole band burst out, ‘Soho! who sings that tune! What screech-owl of ill omen is that?” » “Stay ; [know him,” said one: *‘’tis. Master Andry Musnier.” _ ns ° “One of the four sworn booksellers to the -univer- sity,”’ said another. AS Sale *‘ Everything goes by fours at. that shop,” cried a third; ‘‘the four nations, the four faculties, the four festivals, the four proctors, the four electors, the four booksellers.” “Musnier, we will burn thy books [”” ‘*Musnier, we will beat thy edie Fogg a “ Musnier, we will tear thy wife’s rags off her back !”’ “The good fat Mademoiselle Oudarde.” “ Whois as fresh and buxom as though she were a widow.” “The devil fetch you all!” muttered Master Andry Musnier. _inquired Jehan Frollo du Moulin, who, from his.voasi- meee to the by oe A “Master Andry,’ rejoined Jehan, still perched on his capital, *‘ hold thy tonge, man, or I will drop upon thy head.”*. .4 Master Andry lifted his eyes, appeared to be meaaur- ing fora momenrt the height of the pillar, estimating | the weight of the wag, mentalJy multiplying this weight by thesquare of the velocity, and he held his tongue. Jehan, master of the fleld of battle, triumphantly continued, ‘‘I would doit, too, though Iam the brother of an archheacon.” | “ Pretty gentry those belonging to our universities | ®& not even to enforce respect for our privileges on such a day as this!” “Down with the rector,.the electors; and the pro- tectors |’ cried Joahnes. . “Let us makea bonfire, to-night, with Master An- > pr books in the Champ Gaillard!” exclaimed an- other. “ And the desks of the scribes |’’ said hisneighbor. “And the wands of the bedels |’’ ‘*And the chair of the rector!” - | ‘*Down,” responded Jehan, ‘down with Master An- dry, the bedels and the scribes! down with the theolo- gians, the physicians, and the decretists! down with the proctors, the electors, and the rector!" “It must surely be the end of the world !” murmured § Master Andry, clapping his hands to his ears. “The rector! there goes the rector!’’. cried one of those at the window. All eyes were instantly turned toward the Place. “Is it really our venerable rector, Master Thibaut ?"' tion on the pillar within, could not see what was pass- ing without. , “Yes, yes,”’ raplied the others, “tis he! ’tis Master Thibaut, the rector !”’ It was,in fact, the rector and all the dignitaries of the university, going in procession to meet the embas sy, and at that moment crossing the palace yard. The scholars who had taken post at the window greeted thom as they passed with sarcasms and fronical plaudits. Tha rector, who was at the head of his company, received the first volley, which was a sharp one. ae o_o Mr. Rector! Soho! good-morrow, en {" “How has he managed to get hither—the old gam. bler? how could he leave his dice ?’”” ‘‘Ho, there! Mr. Rector Thibaut, how often did you throw double-six last night ?” . ‘How he trots along on his mule! Ideclare the beast’s ears are not so long as his master’s |” “Oh, the cadaverous face — haggard, wrinkled, and wizened, with the love of gaming and dicing !’’ Presently it came to the turn of the other dignita- ries. — “ “ with the bedels! down with the mace-bear. rs - “ Robin Poussepain, who is that yonder ?” _ “‘Itis Girbert le Suilly, chancellor of the College « Autun.”’ ‘Here, take my shoe; you are in a better place thar Iam ; throw it at hfs head.’”’ “ Sattirnalitias mittimus ecce nuces.”! ** Down with the six theologians in their white sur plices !"". | ‘* Are they the theologians? why, I took them for th: six white geese giyen by St. Genevieve to the city for the flef of Roogny.”’ * Down with the physicians?” “ May the devil strangle the Proctor of the German nation!’ ~ ** And the Chaplains of the Holy Chapel, with their gray amices {”” | “Ho, there, mastera of arta! you in smart black copes and you in smarter red ones !”’ “What a rare tail they make to the rector !” * You would suppose it was a doge of Venice going tc marry the sea.”’ - Meanwhile, Master Andry Musnier, sworn book inclining his Hps toward th cornu, master-furrier of th ou, sir,” he whispered, “it is th ever were knQwn such excesses o} the scholars; it is the cursed inventions of the age that ruin everything—artillery, serpentifies, bombards, and! above all, printing, that other pestiles;e from Ger many. No more manuscaipts! no more hooks! Print- ing is cutting up the bookselling trade, The end of the world is certainly at hand.” : “LT perceive so,” said the master-furr.er, “ becaus velyets have become so common. At this moment the clock struck twelve. *Ahal’ said the whole assembled multitude with one voice. The scholars were mute; and there ensued | & prodigious bustle, a general movement of feet and heads, a grand detonation of coughing and handker- chiefs; each individual took hia station, and set him- self. to rights. Profound silence succeeded; every neck was outstretched, every mouth open,every ey? fixed on the marble table; but nothing was to be seen, save the four sergeants of the bailiff, who still stoo'! there, stiff and motionless as four painted statues. Every face then turned toward the piatiorm reserved for the Flemish embassadors; the door remained shut. and the platform empty. The crowd had been waitinx ever since morning for three things; noon, the Flan- ders" embessy, and the mystery. Noon alone had been punetmal to its time. This was rather too bad. They waited one, two, three, five minutes, a quar’ of an hour; nothing came. Not a creature appe* either on the platform or on the stage. Meanwh impatience grew into irritation. Angry words ** circulated, at first; it is trne, in a low tone. wi mystery! the mystery:” was faintly muftered. storm, which as yet orily rnmbled, beyan to gat over the crowd. It was Jehan du Moatin whe c from it the first spark. “The mystery, and let the Flemings go to . ae. I tell 3 Ps “i pone ‘the world. —— EO) JOO (E <eom