Read Online The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo - Free Book Online

tunicis grisis! ”
    “Seu de pellibus grisis fourratis!” i
    “Ho there! you Masters of Arts! See all the fine black copes! See all the fine red copes!”
    “That makes a fine tail for the rector!”
    “You would think it was a Venetian doge on his way to wed the sea.”
    “I say, Jehan! look at the Canons of St. Geneviève!”
    “To the devil with all Canons!”
    “Abbot Claude Choart! Doctor Claude Choart! Are you looking for Marie la Giffarde?”
    “She lives in Glatigny Street.”
    “She’s bedmaker to the king of scamps.”
    “She’s paying her four farthings, quatuor denarios .”
    “Aut unum bombum.” j
    “Would you like her to pay you in the nose?”
    “Comrades! there goes Master Simon Sanguin the Elector from Picardy, with his wife behind him!”
    “Post equitem sedet atra cura. ” k
    “Cheer up, Master Simon!”
    “Good-day to you, Sir Elector!”
    “Good-night to you, Madame Electress!”
    “How lucky they are to see so much!” sighed Joannes de Molendino, still perched among the foliage of his column.
    Meanwhile, the licensed copyist to the University, Master Andry Musnier, leaned towards the ear of the furrier of the king’s robes, Master Gilles Lecornu.
    “I tell you, sir, this is the end of the world. The students never were so riotous before; it’s the cursed inventions of the age that are ruining us all,—artillery, bombards, serpentines, and particularly printing, that other German pestilence. No more manuscripts, no more books! Printing is death to bookselling. The end of the world is at hand.”
    “So I see by the rage for velvet stuffs,” said the furrier.
    At this instant the clock struck twelve.
    “Ha!” cried the entire throng with but a single voice.
    The students were silent. Then began a great stir; a great moving of feet and heads; a general outbreak of coughing and handkerchiefs; everybody shook himself, arranged himself, raised himself on tiptoe, placed himself to the best advantage. Then came deep silence; every neck was stretched, every mouth was opened wide, every eye was turned towards the marble table. Nothing was to be seen there. The four officers still stood stiff and motionless as four coloured statues. Every eye turned towards the dais reserved for the Flemish ambassadors. The door was still shut and the dais empty. The throng has been waiting since dawn for three things: noon, the Flemish ambassadors, and the mystery. Noon alone arrived punctually.
    Really it was too bad.
    They waited one, two, three, five minutes, a quarter of an hour; nothing happened. The dais was still deserted, the theater mute. Rage followed in the footsteps of impatience. Angry words passed from mouth to mouth, though still in undertones, to be sure. “The mystery! the mystery!” was the low cry.
    Every head was in a ferment. A tempest, as yet but threatening, hung over the multitude. Jehan du Moulin drew forth the first flash.
    “The mystery! and to the devil with the Flemish!” he shouted at the top of his voice, writhing and twisting around his capital like a serpent.
    The crowd applauded.
    “The mystery!” repeated the mob; “and to the devil with all Flanders!”
    “We insist on the mystery at once,” continued the student; “or else it’s my advice to hang the Palace bailiff by way of a comedy and morality.”
    “Well said,” cried the people; “and let us begin the hanging with his men.”
    Loud cheers followed. The four poor devils began to turn pale and to exchange glances. The mob surged towards them, and the frail wooden railing parting them from the multitude bent and swayed beneath the pressure.
    It was a critical moment.
    “Down with them! Down with them!” was the cry from every side.
    At that instant the hangings of the dressing-room, which we have already described, were raised, giving passage to a personage the mere sight of whom suddenly arrested the mob, changing rage to curiosity as if by magic.
    “Silence! Silence!”
    This person, but