Chapter 8 Notre Dame Cathedral (1) Volume 1 Hall (7)

As soon as such a cyclops appeared on the threshold of the chapel, motionless, solid, his body was as wide as he was tall, with a square base, as some great man said, and he wore the half-red, half-purple cloak, Covered with silver bell-shaped patterns, especially his perfect ugly face, the people recognized him at a glance, and shouted in unison: "Quasimodo, the great bell-ringer! Quasimodo, the great hunchback of Notre-Dame! Quasimodo the one-eyed! Quasimodo the cripple! Execute! Execute!" It can be seen that the poor guy has a plethora of nicknames, just pick at will. "Pregnant women must be careful!" the students shouted.

"Whoever wants to be pregnant has to be careful!" John shouted. The women really hid their faces. "Ouch! What an ugly orangutan!" said a woman. "Ugly and fierce!" Another woman said. "What a devil." The third added. "It's my misfortune that I live near Notre-Dame, and all night long I hear him turning up and down the gutters." "With packs of cats." "He's always on people's roofs." "He casts spells on us from the chimney." "The night before yesterday, he went to the skylight of my house and made faces at me. I thought it was a man, and he almost scared me to death!"

"I believe he was going to the Poon. Once he left a broom on the eaves of my house." "Oh! The ugly face of the hunchback!" "Ouch! Despicable soul!" "Pooh!" The men were all ecstatic and applauded desperately. Quasimodo, who had been the object of the uproar, remained standing on the threshold of the chapel with a somber and solemn expression, in spite of his admiration. One of the students - Robin Puspin, I think - came up to him and laughed in his face, getting too close.Quasimodo simply picked him up by the waist, and with a slight toss, threw him ten paces away from the crowd.He did it without saying a word.

Mr. Coppenol, amazed, also approached. "Damn it! Holy Father! You're the most beautiful ugliness I've ever seen in my life. You are worthy to be pope not only in Paris, but also in Rome. " As he was talking, he cheerfully put his hand on his shoulder, and seeing that Quasimo did not move, he continued: "You're a queer fellow, and I'm itching to eat and drink with you, even if it costs me a dozen new twelve tures. What do you think?" Quasimodo made no reply. "Damn it! Are you deaf?" said the stocker. He is indeed deaf. Impatient with Coppenall's affection, however, he turned abruptly, gnashing his teeth so that the big Flemish man backed away in fright, like a dog that cannot resist a cat.

So Coppenol circled the monster in a circle of fear and respect, with a radius of at least fifteen paces.An old woman explained to Mr. Coppenol that Quasimodo was deaf. "Deaf!" said the hosier, with that rough Flemish laugh. "Damn it! What a perfect pope." "Hey! I know him," John exclaimed.In order to get a closer look at Quasimodo, he finally slid down from the top of the column. "He is my brother's archdeacon's bell-ringer.—How do you do, Quasimodo!" "Ghost!" said Robin Puspin.I was thrown by him just now, and my whole body is still sore. "He appears, a hunchback; he walks, a lame man; he sees, a one-eyed man; speaks to him, a deaf man. -- Alas! where is his tongue, this Polyphemus?"

"He still talks when he wants to," said the old woman. "He's bell-deaf. He's not dumb." "That's all he needs," John remarked. "Also, there is an extra eye." Robin Pushpan added. "No. The one-eyed man is more imperfect than the blind man, and he knows what he lacks." John said wisely. At this time, all the beggars, all the footmen, all the pickpockets gathered together with the students, went to the clerk's office in a procession, rummaged through the box, and got the cardboard triple crown and the ridiculous priest's robe of the mad pope.Quasimodo allowed himself to be dressed, without blinking, with an air of obedience and haughtiness.Then they put him on a stretcher of various colors, and the twelve leaders of the Madmen's Gang carried him up.Looking around, the Cyclops saw that there were human heads under the deformed feet, all of them had clear features, their heads held high and straight, and their facial features were correct. His melancholy face suddenly smiled, revealing a painful and contemptuous expression of joy.Then this ragged and roaring procession began to march. According to the usual practice, it first turned around the promenades of the Palace of Justice, and then wandered outside in the streets and alleys.

Six Esmeraldas We are pleased to report that Gringoire and his script have held up throughout the above scenario.Under his urging, the actors recited without end, and he himself listened with relish.The uproar, being unstoppable, had to be endured, but he was determined to see it through without losing heart, hoping that the crowd would turn their attention back.When he saw Quasimodo, Coppenol, and the deafening procession of the Mad Pope clattering out of the hall, the spark of hope in him was rekindled.The crowd ran away impatiently.He thought, "Okay, all the troublemakers are gone!" Unfortunately, all the troublemakers are the people.In an instant, the hall became empty.

To be honest, there were still some spectators in the hall, some scattered, some in twos and threes around the pillars, all of them were old and young, women and children, and they stayed because of the noise and chaos.A few students were still riding on the top of the window, looking out to the square. "Well," thought Gringoire. "Finally, there are still some people who can finish listening to my Holy Miracle drama. Although there are not many of them, they are all excellent audiences, audiences with literary accomplishment." A little later, when the Madonna came on stage, a symphony that should have been played for the grandest dramatic effect got stuck.Only then did Gringoire discover that the band had been taken away by the Mad Pope's guard of honor.He had no choice but to accept his fate and said, "Then let it go!"

A small group of townspeople appeared to be discussing his play, and he drew near. Here are snippets of what he heard: "Mr. Schnato, do you know the Navarre house of Monsieur de Namours?" "Of course I know, it's just opposite the Chapel of Braque." "Well, the Tax Office has recently leased it to the Saint-Painter Guillaume-Alexandre at six livres and eight sou Paris a year." "The rent is going up so much again!" "Forget it! If they don't listen, the others will," thought Gringoire with a sigh. "Students!" suddenly shouted a young troublemaker at the window. "Esmeralda! Esmeralda is in the square!"

As soon as this sentence was uttered, it produced a magical effect.All the people left in the hall rushed to the windows, climbed up the wall to see, and kept shouting: "Esmeralda! Esmeralda!" At the same time, there was a roar of applause outside. "Esmeralda, what do you mean?" Gringoire clasped his hands sadly and chattered. "Ah! My goodness! Seems like it's time for the windows to show up." He turned to look at the marble table and saw that the show had stopped.Just at this time it was Jupiter's turn to take the thunderbolt, but Jupiter stood under the stage dumbfounded.

"Michel Gibbon!" cried the poet angrily. "What's going on? Is this the role you play? Go up!" "Cough! The ladder was just taken away by a student." Jupiter replied.Gringoire saw that it was absolutely true.Any connection between the crux of his masterpiece and its conclusion is severed. "That bastard boy!" he murmured. "Why did he take the ladder?" "Go and see Esmeralda." Jupiter replied pitifully. "He said: 'Look, here's a ladder that's just idle!' And he moved away." This was the worst of it, and Gringoire had to bear it. "To hell with it all!" he shouted to the actors. "If I've got the bounty, you'll have it too." So, hanging his head, he retreated, but he was the last to leave, like a general who retreats after a heroic battle. As he descended the winding staircase of the Palais de Justice, he muttered: "These Parisians, they're asses, pigs, a mob! They're here to hear the miracle drama, and they don't listen to anything!" They pay attention to everyone, Clopin Trouille, the Cardinal, Coppenol, Quasimodo, the Devil! But they don't care about the Madonna, not at all! These rascals, I knew this before, and I gave you a bunch of virgin Marys! And I, who came to observe the audience, only saw their backs! As a poet, if there is any achievement It can be said that it is only worth a seller of dog skin plaster! No wonder Homer traveled from village to town in Greece, begging for a living! No wonder Nassun went into exile and died in Moscow! Da, what is the trick? If I can figure it out, I am willing to let the devil skin me! What kind of word is this? It must be an ancient Egyptian spell!"