Notre-Dame De Paris

Victor Hugo

• Publisher: Youcanprint
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9788827801604
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Altertumswissenschaften

In the vaulted Gothic towers of Notre-Dame lives Quasimodo, the hunchbacked bellringer. Mocked and shunned for his appearance, he is pitied only by Esmerelda, a beautiful gypsy dancer to whom he becomes completely devoted. Esmerelda, however, has also attracted the attention of the sinister archdeacon Claude Frollo, and when she rejects his lecherous approaches, Frollo hatches a plot to destoy her that only Quasimodo can prevent. Victor Hugo's sensational, evocative novel brings life to the medieval Paris he loved, and mourns its passing in one of the greatest historical romances of the nineteenth century.

VOLUME I.

 

BOOK FIRST.

 

CHAPTER I. THE GRAND HALL.

Three hundred and forty-eight years, six months, and nineteendays ago to-day, the Parisians awoke to the sound of all the bellsin the triple circuit of the city, the university, and the townringing a full peal.

The sixth of January, 1482, is not, however, a day of whichhistory has preserved the memory. There was nothing notable in theevent which thus set the bells and the bourgeois of Paris in aferment from early morning. It was neither an assault by thePicards nor the Burgundians, nor a hunt led along in procession,nor a revolt of scholars in the town of Laas, nor an entry of“our much dread lord, monsieur the king,” nor even apretty hanging of male and female thieves by the courts of Paris.Neither was it the arrival, so frequent in the fifteenth century,of some plumed and bedizened embassy. It was barely two days sincethe last cavalcade of that nature, that of the Flemish ambassadorscharged with concluding the marriage between the dauphin andMarguerite of Flanders, had made its entry into Paris, to the greatannoyance of M. le Cardinal de Bourbon, who, for the sake ofpleasing the king, had been obliged to assume an amiable mientowards this whole rusticrabble of Flemish burgomasters, and toregale them at his Hôtel de Bourbon, with a very “prettymorality, allegorical satire, and farce,” while a drivingrain drenched the magnificent tapestries at his door.

What put the “whole population of Paris incommotion,” as Jehan de Troyes expresses it, on the sixth ofJanuary, was the double solemnity, united from time immemorial, ofthe Epiphany and the Feast of Fools.

On that day, there was to be a bonfire on the Place deGrève, a maypole at the Chapelle deBraque, and a mystery atthe Palais de Justice. It had been cried, to the sound of thetrumpet, the preceding evening at all the cross roads, by theprovost’s men, clad in handsome, short, sleeveless coats ofviolet camelot, with large white crosses upon their breasts.

So the crowd of citizens, male and female, having closed theirhouses and shops, thronged from every direction, at early morn,towards some one of the three spots designated.

Each had made his choice; one, the bonfire; another, themaypole; another, the mystery play. It must be stated, in honor ofthe good sense of the loungers of Paris, that the greater part ofthis crowd directed their steps towards the bonfire, which wasquite in season, or towards the mystery play, which was to bepresented in the grand hall of the Palais de Justice (the courts oflaw), which was well roofed and walled; and that the curious leftthe poor, scantily flowered maypole to shiver all alone beneath thesky of January, in the cemetery of the Chapel of Braque.

The populace thronged the avenues of the law courts inparticular, because they knew that the Flemish ambassadors, who hadarrived two days previously, intended to be present at therepresentation of the mystery, and at the election of the Pope ofthe Fools, which was also to take place in the grand hall.

It was no easy matter on that day, to force one’s way intothat grand hall, although it was then reputed to be the largestcovered enclosure in the world (it is true that Sauval had not yetmeasured the grand hall of the Château of Montargis). Thepalace place, encumbered with people, offered to the curious gazersat the windows the aspect of a sea; into which five or six streets,like so many mouths of rivers, discharged every moment fresh floodsof heads. Thewaves of this crowd, augmented incessantly, dashedagainst the angles of the houses which projected here and there,like so many promontories, into the irregular basin of the place.In the centre of the lofty Gothic* façade of the palace, thegrand staircase, incessantly ascended and descended by a doublecurrent, which, after parting on the intermediate landing-place,flowed in broad waves along its lateral slopes,—the grandstaircase, I say, trickled incessantly into the place, like acascade into a lake.The cries, the laughter, the trampling of thosethousands of feet, produced a great noise and a great clamor. Fromtime to time, this noise and clamor redoubled; the current whichdrove the crowd towards the grand staircase flowed backwards,became troubled, formed whirlpools. This was produced by the buffetof an archer, or the horse of one of the provost’s sergeants,which kicked to restore order; an admirable tradition which theprovostship has bequeathed to the constablery, the constablery tothemaréchaussée, themaréchausséetoourgendarmeriof Paris.

* The word Gothic, in the sense in which it is generallyemployed,is wholly unsuitable, but wholly consecrated. Hence weaccept it andwe adopt it, like all the rest of the world, tocharacterize thearchitecture of the second half of the Middle Ages,where the ogive isthe principle which succeeds the architecture ofthe first period, ofwhich the semi-circle is the father.

Thousands of good, calm, bourgeois faces thronged the windows,the doors, thedormer windows, the roofs, gazing at the palace,gazing at the populace, and asking nothing more; for many Parisianscontent themselves with the spectacle of the spectators, and a wallbehind which something is going on becomes at once, for us, a verycurious thing indeed.

If it could be granted to us, the men of 1830, to mingle inthought with those Parisians of the fifteenth century, and to enterwith them, jostled, elbowed, pulled about, into that immense hallof the palace, which was so cramped on thatsixth of January, 1482,the spectacle would not be devoid of either interest or charm, andwe should have about us only things that were so old that theywould seem new.

With the reader’s consent, we will endeavor to retrace inthought, the impression which he would have experienced in companywith us on crossing the threshold of that grand hall, in the midstof that tumultuous crowd in surcoats, short, sleeveless jackets,and doublets.

And, first of all, there is a buzzing in the ears, a dazzlementin theeyes. Above our heads is a double ogive vault, panelled withwood carving, painted azure, and sown with golden fleurs-de-lis;beneath our feet a pavement of black and white marble, alternating.A few paces distant, an enormous pillar, then another, thenanother; seven pillars in all, down the length of the hall,sustaining the spring of the arches of the double vault, in thecentre of its width. Around four of the pillars, stalls ofmerchants, all sparkling with glass and tinsel; around the lastthree, benches of oak, worn and polished by the trunk hose of thelitigants,and the robes of the attorneys. Around the hall, alongthe lofty wall, between the doors, between the windows, between thepillars, the interminable row of all the kings of France, fromPharamond down: the lazy kings, with pendent arms and downcasteyes; the valiant and combative kings, with heads and arms raisedboldly heavenward. Then in the long, pointed windows, glass of athousand hues; at the wide entrances to the hall, rich doors,finely sculptured; and all, the vaults, pillars, walls, jambs,panelling, doors, statues, covered from top to bottom with asplendid blue and gold illumination, which, a trifle tarnished atthe epoch when we behold it, had almost entirely disappearedbeneath dust and spiders in the year of grace, 1549, when du Breulstill admired it from tradition.

Let the reader picture to himself now, this immense, oblonghall, illuminated by the pallid light of a January day, invaded bya motley and noisy throng which driftsalong the walls, and eddiesround the seven pillars, and he will have a confused idea of thewhole effect of the picture, whose curious details we shall make aneffort to indicate with more precision.

It is certain, that if Ravaillac had not assassinatedHenri IV.,there would have been no documents in the trial of Ravaillacdeposited in the clerk’s office of the Palais de Justice, noaccomplices interested in causing the said documents to disappear;hence, no incendiaries obliged, for lack of better means, to burnthe clerk’s office in order to burn the documents, and toburn the Palais de Justice in order to burn the clerk’soffice; consequently, in short, no conflagration in 1618. The oldPalais would be standing still, with its ancient grand hall; Ishould be able to say to the reader, “Go and look atit,” and we should thus both escape the necessity,—I ofmaking, and he of reading, a description of it, such as it is.Which demonstrates a new truth: that great events have incalculableresults.

It is truethat it may be quite possible, in the first place,that Ravaillac had no accomplices; and in the second, that if hehad any, they were in no way connected with the fire of 1618. Twoother very plausible explanations exist: First, the great flamingstar, afoot broad, and a cubit high, which fell from heaven, asevery one knows, upon the law courts, after midnight on the seventhof March; second, Théophile’s quatrain,—

“Sure, ‘twas but a sorry game Whenat Paris, Dame Justice, Through having eaten toomuch spice, Set the palace all aflame.”

Whatever may be thought of this triple explanation, political,physical, and poetical, of the burning of the law courts in 1618,the unfortunate fact of the fire is certain. Very little to-dayremains, thanks to this catastrophe,—thanks, above all, tothe successive restorations which have completed what itspared,—very little remains of that first dwelling of thekings of France,—of that elder palace of the Louvre, alreadyso old in the time of Philip the Handsome, that they sought therefor the traces of the magnificent buildings erected by King Robertand described by Helgaldus. Nearly everything has disappeared. Whathas become of the chamber of the chancellery, where Saint Louisconsummated his marriage?the garden where he administered justice,“clad in a coat of camelot, a surcoat of linsey-woolsey,without sleeves, and a sur-mantle of black sandal, ashe lay uponthe carpet with Joinville?” Where is the chamber of theEmperor Sigismond? and that of Charles IV.? that of Jean theLandless? Where is the staircase, from which Charles VI.promulgated his edict of pardon? the slab where Marcel cut thethroats of Robert de Clermont and the Marshal of Champagne, in thepresence of the dauphin? the wicket where the bulls of PopeBenedict were torn, and whence those who had brought them departeddecked out, in derision, in copes and mitres, and making an apologythrough all Paris? and the grand hall, with its gilding, its azure,its statues, its pointed arches, itspillars, its immense vault, allfretted with carvings? and the gilded chamber? and the stone lion,which stood at the door, with lowered head and tail between hislegs, like the lions on the throne of Solomon, in the humiliatedattitude which befits forcein the presence of justice? and thebeautiful doors? and the stained glass? and the chased ironwork,which drove Biscornette to despair? and the delicate woodwork ofHancy? What has time, what have men done with these marvels? Whathave they given us in return for all this Gallic history, for allthis Gothic art? The heavy flattened arches of M. de Brosse, thatawkward architect of the Saint-Gervais portal. So much for art;and, as for history, we have the gossiping reminiscences of thegreat pillar, stillringing with the tattle of the Patru.

It is not much. Let us return to the veritable grand hall of theveritable old palace. The two extremities of this giganticparallelogram were occupied, the one by the famous marble table, solong, so broad, and so thick that, as the ancient landrolls—in a style that would have given Gargantua anappetite—say, “such a slice of marble as was neverbeheld in the world”; the other by the chapel where Louis XI.had himself sculptured on his knees before the Virgin, and whitherhe caused to be brought, without heeding the two gaps thus made inthe row of royal statues, the statues of Charlemagne and of SaintLouis, two saints whom he supposed to be great in favor in heaven,as kings of France. This chapel, quite new, havingbeen built onlysix years, was entirely in that charming taste of delicatearchitecture, of marvellous sculpture, of fine and deep chasing,which marks with us the end of the Gothic era, and which isperpetuated to about the middle of the sixteenth century in thefairylike fancies of the Renaissance. The little open-work rosewindow, pierced above the portal, was, in particular, a masterpieceof lightness and grace; one would have pronounced it a star oflace.

In the middle of the hall, opposite the greatdoor, a platform ofgold brocade, placed against the wall, a special entrance to whichhad been effected through a window in the corridor of the goldchamber, had been erected for the Flemish emissaries and the othergreat personages invited to the presentation of the mysteryplay.

It was upon the marble table that the mystery was to be enacted,as usual. It had been arranged for the purpose, early in themorning; its rich slabs of marble, all scratched by the heels oflaw clerks, supported a cage of carpenter’s work ofconsiderable height, the upper surface of which, within view of thewhole hall, was to serve as the theatre, and whose interior, maskedby tapestries, was to take the place of dressing-rooms for thepersonages of the piece. A ladder, naivelyplaced on the outside,was to serve as means of communication between the dressing-roomand the stage, and lend its rude rungs to entrances as well as toexits. There was no personage, however unexpected, no suddenchange, no theatrical effect, which was not obliged to mount thatladder. Innocent and venerable infancy of art and contrivances!

Four of the bailiff of the palace’s sergeants, perfunctoryguardians of all the pleasures of the people, on days of festivalas well as on days of execution, stood atthe four corners of themarble table.

The piece was only to begin with the twelfth stroke of the greatpalace clock sounding midday. It was very late, no doubt, for atheatrical representation, but they had been obliged to fix thehour to suit the convenience of the ambassadors.

Now, this whole multitude had been waiting since morning. Agoodly number of curious, good people had been shivering sincedaybreak before the grand staircase of the palace; some evenaffirmed that they had passed the night across the threshold of thegreat door, in order to make sure that they should be the first topass in. The crowd grew more dense every moment, and, like water,which rises above its normal level, began to mount along the walls,to swell around the pillars, to spread out on the entablatures, onthe cornices, on the window-sills, on all the salient points of thearchitecture, on all the reliefs of the sculpture. Hence,discomfort, impatience, weariness, the liberty of a day of cynicismand folly, the quarrels whichbreak forth for all sorts ofcauses—a pointed elbow, an iron-sh...

Table of contents

• PREFACE.
• VOLUME I.
• BOOK FIRST.
• CHAPTER I. THE GRAND HALL.
• CHAPTER II. PIERRE GRINGOIRE.
• CHAPTER III. MONSIEUR THE CARDINAL.
• CHAPTER IV. MASTER JACQUES COPPENOLE.
• CHAPTER V. QUASIMODO.
• CHAPTER VI. ESMERALDA.
• BOOK SECOND.
• CHAPTER I. FROM CHARYBDIS TO SCYLLA.
• CHAPTER II. THE PLACE DE GREVE.
• CHAPTER III. KISSES FOR BLOWS.
• CHAPTER IV. THE INCONVENIENCES OF FOLLOWING A PRETTY WOMAN THROUGH THE
• CHAPTER V. RESULT OF THE DANGERS.
• CHAPTER VI. THE BROKEN JUG.
• CHAPTER VII. A BRIDAL NIGHT.
• BOOK THIRD.
• CHAPTER I. NOTRE-DAME.
• CHAPTER II. A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF PARIS.
• BOOK FOURTH.
• CHAPTER I. GOOD SOULS.
• CHAPTER II. CLAUDE FROLLO.
• CHAPTER IV. THE DOG AND HIS MASTER.
• CHAPTER V. MORE ABOUT CLAUDE FROLLO.
• CHAPTER VI. UNPOPULARITY.
• BOOK FIFTH.
• CHAPTER II. THIS WILL KILL THAT.
• BOOK SIXTH.
• CHAPTER I. AN IMPARTIAL GLANCE AT THE ANCIENT MAGISTRACY.
• CHAPTER II. THE RAT-HOLE.
• CHAPTER III. HISTORY OF A LEAVENED CAKE OF MAIZE.
• CHAPTER IV. A TEAR FOR A DROP OF WATER.
• CHAPTER V. END OF THE STORY OF THE CAKE.
• VOLUME II.
• CHAPTER I. THE DANGER OF CONFIDING ONE’S SECRET TO A GOAT.
• CHAPTER II. A PRIEST AND A PHILOSOPHER ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS.
• CHAPTER III. THE BELLS.
• CHAPTER IV.ANANKE.
• CHAPTER V. THE TWO MEN CLOTHED IN BLACK.
• CHAPTER VI. THE EFFECT WHICH SEVEN OATHS IN THE OPEN AIR CAN PRODUCE.
• CHAPTER VII. THE MYSTERIOUS MONK.
• CHAPTER VIII. THE UTILITY OF WINDOWS WHICH OPEN ON THE RIVER.
• BOOK EIGHTH.
• CHAPTER I. THE CROWN CHANGED INTO A DRY LEAF.
• CHAPTER II. CONTINUATION OF THE CROWN WHICH WAS CHANGED INTO A DRY LEAF.
• CHAPTER III. END OF THE CROWN WHICH WAS TURNED INTO A DRY LEAF.
• CHAPTER IV.LASCIATE OGNI SPERANZA—LEAVE ALL HOPE BEHIND, YE WHO
• CHAPTER V. THE MOTHER.
• CHAPTER VI. THREE HUMANHEARTS DIFFERENTLY CONSTRUCTED.
• BOOK NINTH.
• CHAPTER I. DELIRIUM.
• CHAPTER II. HUNCHBACKED, ONE EYED, LAME.
• CHAPTER III. DEAF.
• CHAPTER IV. EARTHENWARE AND CRYSTAL.
• CHAPTER V. THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.
• CHAPTER VI. CONTINUATION OF THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.
• BOOK TENTH.
• CHAPTER I. GRINGOIRE HAS MANY GOOD IDEAS IN SUCCESSION.—RUE DES
• CHAPTER II. TURN VAGABOND.
• CHAPTER III. LONG LIVE MIRTH.
• CHAPTER IV. AN AWKWARD FRIEND.
• CHAPTER V. THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS
• CHAPTER VI. LITTLE SWORD IN POCKET.
• CHAPTER VII. CHATEAUPERS TO THE RESCUE.
• BOOK ELEVENTH.
• CHAPTER I. THE LITTLE SHOE.
• CHAPTER II. THE BEAUTIFUL CREATURE CLAD IN WHITE. (Dante.)
• CHAPTER III. THE MARRIAGE OF PHOEBUS.
• CHAPTER IV. THE MARRIAGE OF QUASIMODO.
• NOTE