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sabbath to the dram-shop.

The Cour des Miracles was, in fact, merely a dram-shop; but a brigand's dram-shop, reddened quite as much with blood as with wine.

The spectacle which presented itself to his eyes, when his ragged escort finally deposited him at the end of his trip, was not fitted to bear him back to poetry, even to the poetry of hell. It was more than ever the prosaic and brutal reality of the tavern. Were we not in the fifteenth century, we would say that Gringoire had descended from Michael Angelo to Callot.

Around a great fire which burned on a large, circular flagstone, the flames of which had heated red-hot the legs of a tripod, which was empty for the moment, some wormeaten tables were placed, here and there, haphazard, no lackey of a geometrical turn having deigned to adjust their parallelism, or to see to it that they did not make too unusual angles. Upon these tables gleamed several dripping pots of wine and beer, and round these pots were grouped many bacchic visages, purple with the fire and the wine. There was a man with a huge belly and a jovial face, noisily kissing a woman of the town, thickset and brawny. There was a sort of sham soldier, a " naquois, " as the slang expression runs, who was whistling as he undid the bandages from his fictitious wound, and removing the numbness from his sound and vigorous knee, which had been swathed since morning in a thousand ligatures. On the other hand, there was a wretched fellow, preparing with celandine and beef's blood, his " leg of God, " for the next day. Two tables further on, a palmer, with his CHAPTER VI.

pilgrim's costume complete, was practising the lament of the Holy Queen, not forgetting the drone and the nasal drawl. Further on, a young scamp was taking a lesson in epilepsy from an old pretender, who was instructing him in the art of foaming at the mouth, by chewing a morsel of soap. Beside him, a man with the dropsy was getting rid of his swelling, and making four or five female thieves, who were disputing at the same table, over a child who had been stolen that evening, hold their noses. All circumstances which, two centuries later, " seemed so ridiculous to the court, " as Sauval says, " that they served as a pastime to the king, and as an introduction to the royal ballet of Night, divided into four parts and danced on the theatre of the Petit-Bourbon. " " Never, " adds an eye witness of 1653, " have the sudden metamorphoses of the Court of Miracles been more happily presented. Benserade prepared us for it by some very gallant verses. "

Loud laughter everywhere, and obscene songs. Each one held his own course, carping and swearing, without listening to his neighbor. Pots clinked, and quarrels sprang up at the shock of the pots, and the broken pots made rents in the rags.

A big dog, seated on his tail, gazed at the fire. Some children were mingled in this orgy. The stolen child wept and cried. Another, a big boy four years of age, seated with legs dangling, upon a bench that was too high for him, before a table that reached to his chin, and uttering not a word. A third, gravely spreading out upon the table with his finger, the melted tallow which dripped from a candle. Last of all, a little fellow crouching in the mud, almost lost in a cauldron, which he was scraping with a tile, and from which he was evoking a sound that would have made Stradivarius swoon.

Near the fire was a hogshead, and on the hogshead a beggar. This was the king on his throne.

The three who had Gringoire in their clutches led him in front of this hogshead, and the entire bacchanal rout fell silent for a moment, with the exception of the cauldron inhabited by the child.

Gringoire dared neither breathe nor raise his eyes.

" ~Hombre, quita tu sombrero~! " said one of the three knaves, in whose grasp he was, and, before he had comprehended the meaning, the other had snatched his hat--a wretched headgear, it is true, but still good on a sunny day or when there was but little rain. Gringoire sighed.

Meanwhile the king addressed him, from the summit of his cask, --

" Who is this rogue? "

Gringoire shuddered. That voice, although accentuated by menace, recalled to him another voice, which, that very morning, had dealt the deathblow to his mystery, by drawling, nasally, in the midst of the audience,

" Charity, please! " He raised his head. It was indeed Clopin Trouillefou.

Clopin Trouillefou, arrayed in his royal insignia, wore neither one rag more nor one rag less. The sore upon his arm had already disappeared. He held in his hand one of those whips made of thongs of white leather, which police sergeants then used to repress the crowd, and which were called ~boullayes~. On his head he wore a sort of headgear, bound round and closed at the top. But it was difficult to make out whether it was a child's cap or a king's crown, the two things bore so strong a resemblance to each other.

Meanwhile Gringoire, without knowing why, had regained some hope, on recognizing in the King of the Cour des Miracles his accursed mendicant of the Grand Hall.

" Master, " stammered he; " monseigneur--sire--how ought I to address you? " he said at length, having reached the culminating point of his crescendo, and knowing neither how to mount higher, nor to descend again.

CHAPTER VI.

" Monseigneur, his majesty, or comrade, call me what you please. But make haste. What have you to say in your own defence? "

" In your own defence? " thought Gringoire, " that displeases me. " He resumed, stuttering, " I am he, who this morning--"

" By the devil's claws! " interrupted Clopin, " your name, knave, and nothing more. Listen. You are in the presence of three powerful sovereigns: myself, Clopin Trouillefou, King of Thunes, successor to the Grand Coë sre, supreme suzerain of the Realm of Argot; Mathias Hunyadi Spicali, Duke of Egypt and of Bohemia, the old yellow fellow whom you see yonder, with a dish clout round his head; Guillaume Rousseau, Emperor of Galilee, that fat fellow who is not listening to us but caressing a wench. We are your judges. You have entered the Kingdom of Argot, without being an ~argotier~; you have violated the privileges of our city. You must be punished unless you are a ~capon~, a ~franc-mitou~ or a ~rifodé ~; that is to say, in the slang of honest folks, --a thief, a beggar, or a vagabond. Are you anything of that sort? Justify yourself; announce your titles. "

" Alas! " said Gringoire, " I have not that honor. I am the author--"

" That is sufficient, " resumed Trouillefou, without permitting him to finish. " You are going to be hanged. 'Tis a very simple matter, gentlemen and honest bourgeois! as you treat our people in your abode, so we treat you in ours! The law which you apply to vagabonds, vagabonds apply to you. 'Tis your fault if it is harsh. One really must behold the grimace of an honest man above the hempen collar now and then; that renders the thing honorable. Come, friend, divide your rags gayly among these damsels. I am going to have you hanged to amuse the vagabonds, and you are to give them your purse to drink your health. If you have any mummery to go through with, there's a very good God the Father in that mortar yonder, in stone, which we stole from Saint-Pierre aux Boeufs. You have four minutes in which to fling your soul at his head. "

The harangue was formidable.

" Well said, upon my soul! Clopin Trouillefou preaches like the Holy Father the Pope! " exclaimed the Emperor of Galilee, smashing his pot in order to prop up his table.

" Messeigneurs, emperors, and kings, " said Gringoire coolly (for I know not how, firmness had returned to him, and he spoke with resolution), " don't think of such a thing; my name is Pierre Gringoire. I am the poet whose morality was presented this morning in the grand hall of the Courts. "

" Ah! so it was you, master! " said Clopin. " I was there, ~xê te Dieu~! Well! comrade, is that any reason, because you bored us to death this morning, that you should not be hung this evening? "

" I shall find difficulty in getting out of it, " said Gringoire to himself. Nevertheless, he made one more effort:

" I don't see why poets are not classed with vagabonds, " said he. " Vagabond, Aesopus certainly was; Homerus was a beggar; Mercurius was a thief--"

Clopin interrupted him: " I believe that you are trying to blarney us with your jargon. Zounds! let yourself be hung, and don't kick up such a row over it! "

" Pardon me, monseigneur, the King of Thunes, " replied Gringoire, disputing the ground foot by foot. " It is worth trouble--One moment! --Listen to me--You are not going to condemn me without having heard me" --

His unlucky voice was, in fact, drowned in the uproar which rose around him. The little boy scraped away at his cauldron with more spirit than ever; and, to crown all, an old woman had just placed on the tripod a frying-pan of grease, which hissed away on the fire with a noise similar to the cry of a troop of children in CHAPTER VI.

pursuit of a masker.

In the meantime, Clopin Trouillefou appeared to hold a momentary conference with the Duke of Egypt, and the Emperor of Galilee, who was completely drunk. Then he shouted shrilly: " Silence! " and, as the cauldron and the frying-pan did not heed him, and continued their duet, he jumped down from his hogshead, gave a kick to the boiler, which rolled ten paces away bearing the child with it, a kick to the frying-pan, which upset in the fire with all its grease, and gravely remounted his throne, without troubling himself about the stifled tears of the child, or the grumbling of the old woman, whose supper was wasting away in a fine white flame.

Trouillefou made a sign, and the duke, the emperor, and the passed masters of pickpockets, and the isolated robbers, came and ranged themselves around him in a horseshoe, of which Gringoire, still roughly held by the body, formed the centre. It was a semicircle of rags, tatters, tinsel, pitchforks, axes, legs staggering with intoxication, huge, bare arms, faces sordid, dull, and stupid. In the midst of this Round Table of beggary, Clopin Trouillefou, --as the doge of this senate, as the king of this peerage, as the pope of this conclave, --

dominated; first by virtue of the height of his hogshead, and next by virtue of an indescribable, haughty, fierce, and formidable air, which caused his eyes to flash, and corrected in his savage profile the bestial type of the race of vagabonds. One would have pronounced him a boar amid a herd of swine.

" Listen, " said he to Gringoire, fondling his misshapen chin with his horny hand; " I don't see why you should not be hung. It is true that it appears to be repugnant to you; and it is very natural, for you bourgeois are not accustomed to it. You form for yourselves a great idea of the thing. After all, we don't wish you any harm.

Here is a means of extricating yourself from your predicament for the moment. Will you become one of us? "

The reader can judge of the effect which this proposition produced upon Gringoire, who beheld life slipping away from him, and who was beginning to lose his hold upon it. He clutched at it again with energy.

" Certainly I will, and right heartily, " said he.

" Do you consent, " resumed Clopin, " to enroll yourself among the people of the knife? "

" Of the knife, precisely, " responded Gringoire.

" You recognize yourself as a member of the free bourgeoisie? " * added the King of Thunes.

* A high-toned sharper.

" Of the free bourgeoisie. "

" Subject of the Kingdom of Argot? "

" Of the Kingdom of Argot*. "

* Thieves.

" A vagabond? "

" A vagabond. "

" In your soul? "

" In my soul. "

CHAPTER VI.

" I must call your attention to the fact, " continued the king, " that you will be hung all the same. "

" The devil! " said the poet.

" Only, " continued Clopin imperturbably, " you will be hung later on, with more ceremony, at the expense of the good city of Paris, on a handsome stone gibbet, and by honest men. That is a consolation. "

" Just so, " responded Gringoire.

" There are other advantages. In your quality of a high-toned sharper, you will not have to pay the taxes on mud, or the poor, or lanterns, to which the bourgeois of Paris are subject. "

" So be it, " said the poet. " I agree. I am a vagabond, a thief, a sharper, a man of the knife, anything you please; and I am all that already, monsieur, King of Thunes, for I am a philosopher; ~et omnia in philosophia, omnes in philosopho continentur~, --all things are contained in philosophy, all men in the philosopher, as you know. "

The King of Thunes scowled.

" What do you take me for, my friend? 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. "

" I tell you, " resumed Clopin angrily, " that I'm not a Jew, and that I'll have you hung, belly of the synagogue, like that little shopkeeper of Judea, who is by your side, and whom I entertain strong hopes of seeing nailed to a counter one of these days, like the counterfeit coin that he is! "

So saying, he pointed his finger at the little, bearded Hungarian Jew who had accosted Gringoire with his

~facitote caritatem~, and who, understanding no other language beheld with surprise the King of Thunes's ill-humor overflow upon him.

At length Monsieur Clopin calmed down.

" So you will be a vagabond, you knave? " he said to our poet.

" Of course, " replied the poet.

" Willing is not all, " said the surly Clopin; " good will doesn't put one onion the more into the soup, and 'tis good for nothing except to go to Paradise with; now, Paradise and the thieves' band are two different things. In order to be received among the thieves, * you must prove that you are good for something, and for that purpose, you must search the manikin. "

* L'argot.

" I'll search anything you like, " said Gringoire.

Clopin made a sign. Several thieves detached themselves from the circle, and returned a moment later. They brought two thick posts, terminated at their lower extremities in spreading timber supports, which made them stand readily upon the ground; to the upper extremity of the two posts they fitted a cross-beam, and the whole CHAPTER VI.

constituted a very pretty portable gibbet, which Gringoire had the satisfaction of beholding rise before him, in a twinkling. Nothing was lacking, not even the rope, which swung gracefully over the cross-beam.

" What are they going to do? " Gringoire asked himself with some uneasiness. A sound of bells, which he heard at that moment, put an end to his anxiety; it was a stuffed manikin, which the vagabonds were suspending by the neck from the rope, a sort of scarecrow dressed in red, and so hung with mule-bells and larger bells, that one might have tricked out thirty Castilian mules with them. These thousand tiny bells quivered for some time with the vibration of the rope, then gradually died away, and finally became silent when the manikin had been brought into a state of immobility by that law of the pendulum which has dethroned the water clock and the hour-glass. Then Clopin, pointing out to Gringoire a rickety old stool placed beneath the manikin, -- " Climb up there. "

" Death of the devil! " objected Gringoire; " I shall break my neck. Your stool limps like one of Martial's distiches; it has one hexameter leg and one pentameter leg. "

" Climb! " repeated Clopin.

Gringoire mounted the stool, and succeeded, not without some oscillations of head and arms, in regaining his centre of gravity.

" Now, " went on the King of Thunes, " twist your right foot round your left leg, and rise on the tip of your left foot. "

" Monseigneur, " said Gringoire, " so you absolutely insist on my breaking some one of my limbs? "

Clopin tossed his head.

" Hark ye, my friend, you talk too much. Here's the gist of the matter in two words: you are to rise on tiptoe, as I tell you; in that way you will be able to reach the pocket of the manikin, you will rummage it, you will pull out the purse that is there, --and if you do all this without our hearing the sound of a bell, all is well: you shall be a vagabond. All we shall then have to do, will be to thrash you soundly for the space of a week. "

" ~Ventre-Dieu~! I will be careful, " said Gringoire. " And suppose I do make the bells sound? "

" Then you will be hanged. Do you understand? "

" I don't understand at all, " replied Gringoire.

" Listen, once more. You are to search the manikin, and take away its purse; if a single bell stirs during the operation, you will be hung. Do you understand that? "

" Good, " said Gringoire; " I understand that. And then? "

" If you succeed in removing the purse without our hearing the bells, you are a vagabond, and you will be thrashed for eight consecutive days. You understand now, no doubt? "

" No, monseigneur; I no longer understand. Where is the advantage to me? hanged in one case, cudgelled in the other? "

" And a vagabond, " resumed Clopin, " and a vagabond; is that nothing? It is for your interest that we should beat you, in order to harden you to blows. "

CHAPTER VI.

" Many thanks, " replied the poet.

" Come, make haste, " said the king, stamping upon his cask, which resounded like a huge drum! Search the manikin, and let there be an end to this! I warn you for the last time, that if I hear a single bell, you will take the place of the manikin. "

The band of thieves applauded Clopin's words, and arranged themselves in a circle round the gibbet, with a laugh so pitiless that Gringoire perceived that he amused them too much not to have everything to fear from them. No hope was left for him, accordingly, unless it were the slight chance of succeeding in the formidable operation which was imposed upon him; he decided to risk it, but it was not without first having addressed a fervent prayer to the manikin he was about to plunder, and who would have been easier to move to pity than the vagabonds. These myriad bells, with their little copper tongues, seemed to him like the mouths of so many asps, open and ready to sting and to hiss.

" Oh! " he said, in a very low voice, " is it possible that my life depends on the slightest vibration of the least of these bells? Oh! " he added, with clasped hands, " bells, do not ring, hand-bells do not clang, mule-bells do not quiver! "

He made one more attempt upon Trouillefou.

" And if there should come a gust of wind? "

" You will be hanged, " replied the other, without hesitation.

Perceiving that no respite, nor reprieve, nor subterfuge was possible, he bravely decided upon his course of action; he wound his right foot round his left leg, raised himself on his left foot, and stretched out his arm: but at the moment when his hand touched the manikin, his body, which was now supported upon one leg only, wavered on the stool which had but three; he made an involuntary effort to support himself by the manikin, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the ground, deafened by the fatal vibration of the thousand bells of the manikin, which, yielding to the impulse imparted by his hand, described first a rotary motion, and then swayed majestically between the two posts.

" Malediction! " he cried as he fell, and remained as though dead, with his face to the earth.

Meanwhile, he heard the dreadful peal above his head, the diabolical laughter of the vagabonds, and the voice of Trouillefou saying, --

" Pick me up that knave, and hang him without ceremony. " He rose. They had already detached the manikin to make room for him.

The thieves made him mount the stool, Clopin came to him, passed the rope about his neck, and, tapping him on the shoulder, --

" Adieu, my friend. You can't escape now, even if you digested with the pope's guts. "

The word " Mercy! " died away upon Gringoire's lips. He cast his eyes about him; but there was no hope: all were laughing.

" Bellevigne de l'Etoile, " said the King of Thunes to an enormous vagabond, who stepped out from the ranks,

" climb upon the cross beam. "

Bellevigne de l'Etoile nimbly mounted the transverse beam, and in another minute, Gringoire, on raising his CHAPTER VI.

eyes, beheld him, with terror, seated upon the beam above his head.

" Now, " resumed Clopin Trouillefou, " as soon as I clap my hands, you, Andry the Red, will fling the stool to the ground with a blow of your knee; you, Franç ois Chante-Prune, will cling to the feet of the rascal; and you, Bellevigne, will fling yourself on his shoulders; and all three at once, do you hear? "

Gringoire shuddered.

" Are you ready? " said Clopin Trouillefou to the three thieves, who held themselves in readiness to fall upon Gringoire. A moment of horrible suspense ensued for the poor victim, during which Clopin tranquilly thrust into the fire with the tip of his foot, some bits of vine shoots which the flame had not caught. " Are you ready? " he repeated, and opened his hands to clap. One second more and all would have been over.

But he paused, as though struck by a sudden thought.

" One moment! " said he; " I forgot! It is our custom not to hang a man without inquiring whether there is any woman who wants him. Comrade, this is your last resource. You must wed either a female vagabond or the noose. "

This law of the vagabonds, singular as it may strike the reader, remains to-day written out at length, in ancient English legislation. (See Burington's Observations. ) Gringoire breathed again. This was the second time that he had returned to life within an hour. So he did not dare to trust to it too implicitly.

" Holà! " cried Clopin, mounted once more upon his cask, " holà! women, females, is there among you, from the sorceress to her cat, a wench who wants this rascal? Holà, Colette la Charonne! Elisabeth Trouvain!

Simone Jodouyne! Marie Pié debou! Thonne la Longue! Bé rarde Fanouel! Michelle Genaille! Claude Ronge-oreille! Mathurine Girorou! --Holà! Isabeau-la-Thierrye! Come and see! A man for nothing! Who wants him? "

Gringoire, no doubt, was not very appetizing in this miserable condition. The female vagabonds did not seem to be much affected by the proposition. The unhappy wretch heard them answer: " No! no! hang him; there'll be the more fun for us all! "

Nevertheless, three emerged from the throng and came to smell of him. The first was a big wench, with a square face. She examined the philosopher's deplorable doublet attentively. His garment was worn, and more full of holes than a stove for roasting chestnuts. The girl made a wry face. " Old rag! " she muttered, and addressing Gringoire, " Let's see your cloak! " " I have lost it, " replied Gringoire. " Your hat? " " They took it away from me. " " Your shoes? " " They have hardly any soles left. " " Your purse? " " Alas! " stammered Gringoire, " I have not even a sou. " " Let them hang you, then, and say 'Thank you! '" retorted the vagabond wench, turning her back on him.

The second, --old, black, wrinkled, hideous, with an ugliness conspicuous even in the Cour des Miracles, trotted round Gringoire. He almost trembled lest she should want him. But she mumbled between her teeth,

" He's too thin, " and went off.

The third was a young girl, quite fresh, and not too ugly. " Save me! " said the poor fellow to her, in a low tone.

She gazed at him for a moment with an air of pity, then dropped her eyes, made a plait in her petticoat, and remained in indecision. He followed all these movements with his eyes; it was the last gleam of hope. " No, "

said the young girl, at length, " no! Guillaume Longuejoue would beat me. " She retreated into the crowd.

CHAPTER VI.

" You are unlucky, comrade, " said Clopin.

Then rising to his feet, upon his hogshead. " No one wants him, " he exclaimed, imitating the accent of an auctioneer, to the great delight of all; " no one wants him? once, twice, three times! " and, turning towards the gibbet with a sign of his hand, " Gone! "

Bellevigne de l'Etoile, Andry the Red, Franç ois Chante-Prune, stepped up to Gringoire.

At that moment a cry arose among the thieves: " La Esmeralda! La Esmeralda! "

Gringoire shuddered, and turned towards the side whence the clamor proceeded.

The crowd opened, and gave passage to a pure and dazzling form.

It was the gypsy.

" La Esmeralda! " said Gringoire, stupefied in the midst of his emotions, by the abrupt manner in which that magic word knotted together all his reminiscences of the day.

This rare creature seemed, even in the Cour des Miracles, to exercise her sway of charm and beauty. The vagabonds, male and female, ranged themselves gently along her path, and their brutal faces beamed beneath her glance.

She approached the victim with her light step. Her pretty Djali followed her. Gringoire was more dead than alive. She examined him for a moment in silence.

" You are going to hang this man? " she said gravely, to Clopin.

" Yes, sister, " replied the King of Thunes, " unless you will take him for your husband. "

She made her pretty little pout with her under lip. " I'll take him, " said she.

Gringoire firmly believed that he had been in a dream ever since morning, and that this was the continuation of it.

The change was, in fact, violent, though a gratifying one. They undid the noose, and made the poet step down from the stool. His emotion was so lively that he was obliged to sit down.

The Duke of Egypt brought an earthenware crock, without uttering a word. The gypsy offered it to Gringoire:

" Fling it on the ground, " said she.

The crock broke into four pieces.

" Brother, " then said the Duke of Egypt, laying his hands upon their foreheads, " she is your wife; sister, he is your husband for four years. Go. "

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VII.

A BRIDAL NIGHT.

A few moments later our poet found himself in a tiny arched chamber, very cosy, very warm, seated at a table which appeared to ask nothing better than to make some loans from a larder hanging near by, having a good bed in prospect, and alone with a pretty girl. The adventure smacked of enchantment. He began seriously to take himself for a personage in a fairy tale; he cast his eyes about him from time to time to time, as though to see if the chariot of fire, harnessed to two-winged chimeras, which alone could have so rapidly transported him from Tartarus to Paradise, were still there. At times, also, he fixed his eyes obstinately upon the holes in his doublet, in order to cling to reality, and not lose the ground from under his feet completely. His reason, tossed about in imaginary space, now hung only by this thread.