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Updated: May 16, 2025
The man on the tower of Saint-Gervais has just cried half-past one o'clock in the morning." "Oh," retorted Gringoire, "'tis no fault of mine, but of the watch and the king. I have just had a narrow escape. I always just miss being hung. 'Tis my predestination." "You lack everything," said the other. "But come quickly. Have you the password?" "Fancy, master, I have seen the king. I come from him.
What Hungarian Jew patter are you jabbering at us? I don't know Hebrew. One isn't a Jew because one is a bandit. I don't even steal any longer. I'm above that; I kill. Cut-throat, yes; cutpurse, no." Gringoire tried to slip in some excuse between these curt words, which wrath rendered more and more jerky. "I ask your pardon, monseigneur. It is not Hebrew; 'tis Latin."
All search had proved fruitless. Some tormenting bootblacks had told Gringoire about meeting her that same evening near the Pont Saint-Michel, going off with an officer; but this husband, after the fashion of Bohemia, was an incredulous philosopher, and besides, he, better than any one else, knew to what a point his wife was virginal.
"Do you know why he followed you?" began Gringoire again, seeking to return to his question by a circuitous route. "I don't know," said the young girl, and she added hastily, "but you were following me also, why were you following me?" "In good faith," responded Gringoire, "I don't know either." Silence ensued. Gringoire slashed the table with his knife.
Ponsin as Nicole, and Coquelin, at that time still young and fresh, as Gringoire, I felt that I had enjoyed one of the greatest and most elevating pleasures the world had to offer. I went home, enraptured and enthusiastic, as much edified as the believer returning from his church. I could see Gringoire a dozen times in succession and find only one expression for what I felt: "This is holy."
There was then neither hatred for the cardinal, nor disdain for his presence, in the disagreeable impression produced upon Pierre Gringoire.
A large figure of Christ might be vaguely descried above the judges, and everywhere there were pikes and halberds, upon whose points the reflection of the candles placed tips of fire. "Monsieur," Gringoire inquired of one of his neighbors, "who are all those persons ranged yonder, like prelates in council?"
'Tis a proud wasp, I can tell you!" The archdeacon pressed Gringoire with questions.
Meanwhile the procurator had exclaimed: "If the demon which possesses this goat, and which has resisted all exorcisms, persists in its deeds of witchcraft, if it alarms the court with them, we warn it that we shall be forced to put in requisition against it the gallows or the stake. Gringoire broke out into a cold perspiration.
He thanked Providence for having sent this happy idea to him; but, as he was preparing to cross the Place, in order to reach the tortuous labyrinth of the city, where meander all those old sister streets, the Rues de la Barillerie, de la Vielle-Draperie, de la Savaterie, de la Juiverie, etc., still extant to-day, with their nine-story houses, he saw the procession of the Pope of the Fools, which was also emerging from the court house, and rushing across the courtyard, with great cries, a great flashing of torches, and the music which belonged to him, Gringoire.
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