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Updated: May 31, 2025
Quasimodo did not stir. Coppenole went on, "You are a rogue with whom I have a fancy for carousing, were it to cost me a new dozen of twelve livres of Tours. How does it strike you?" Quasimodo made no reply. "Cross of God!" said the hosier, "are you deaf?" He was, in truth, deaf.
"Usher," interposed the cardinal, aloud, "announce Master Jacques Coppenole, clerk of the aldermen of the illustrious city of Ghent." This was a mistake. Guillaume Rym alone might have conjured away the difficulty, but Coppenole had heard the cardinal. "No, cross of God?" he exclaimed, in his voice of thunder, "Jacques Coppenole, hosier. Do you hear, usher? Nothing more, nothing less.
Presuming that he was some groom who had stolen in, the usher stopped him. "Hold, my friend, you cannot pass!" The man in the leather jerkin shouldered him aside. "What does this knave want with me?" said he, in stentorian tones, which rendered the entire hall attentive to this strange colloquy. "Don't you see that I am one of them?" "Your name?" demanded the usher. "Jacques Coppenole."
There must be a goodly revolt yonder." "You think so, Master Coppenole?" And Louis XI.'s glance was almost as joyous as that of the hosier. "Will it not be difficult to resist?" "Cross of God! Sire! Your majesty will damage many companies of men of war thereon." "Ah! I! 'tis different," returned the king. "If I willed." The hosier replied hardily,
Some busy passers-by come and go. The merchants converse and call to each other from the thresholds of their shops. The festival, the ambassadors, Coppenole, the Pope of the Fools, are in all mouths; they vie with each other, each trying to criticise it best and laugh the most.
Nevertheless, people must do me this justice, that I spend still less money on it than they did, and that I possess a greater modesty of lions, bears, elephants, and leopards. Go on, Master Olivier. We wished to say thus much to our Flemish friends." Guillaume Rym bowed low, while Coppenole, with his surly mien, had the air of one of the bears of which his majesty was speaking.
"He! sire!" suddenly exclaimed Jacques Coictier, "what has become of the acute attack of illness for which your majesty had me summoned?" "Oh!" said the king, "I really suffer greatly, my gossip. There is a hissing in my ear and fiery rakes rack my chest." Coictier took the king's hand, and begun to feel of his pulse with a knowing air. "Look, Coppenole," said Rym, in a low voice.
And, assuredly, he was, out of all those present, the only one who had not deigned to turn his head at the altercation between Coppenole and the usher.
"Do you see, Gossip Guillaume? the grand warden of the keys, the grand butler, the grand chamberlain, the grand seneschal are not worth the smallest valet. Remember this, Gossip Coppenole.
Louis XI. gazed at him with his penetrating eye, "And when will that hour come, master?" "You will hear it strike." "On what clock, if you please?" Coppenole, with his tranquil and rustic countenance, made the king approach the window. "Listen, sire!
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