Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

Quasimodo made no answer to this question either, but the judge, fancying he had done so, went on:
“Now, your calling?”
Continued silence. The bystanders, however, began to whisper and look at each other.
“That will do,” returned the imperturbable magistrate when he concluded that the accused had finished
his third answer. “You stand charged before us, primo, with nocturnal disturbance; secundo, with
unjustifiable violence to the person of a light woman, in prejudicium meretricis; tertio, of rebellion and
contempt against the archers of our Lord the King. Explain yourself on these points.—Clerk, have you
written down what the accused has said so far?”
At this unlucky question there was an explosion of laughter, beginning with the clerk and spreading to
the crowd—so violent, so uncontrollable, so contagious, so universal, that neither of the deaf men could
help perceiving it. Quasimodo turned round and shrugged his high shoulders disdainfully, while Maître
Florian, as surprised as he, and supposing that the laughter of the spectators had been provoked by some
unseemly reply from the accused, rendered visible to him by that shrug, addressed him indignantly:
“Fellow, that last answer of yours deserves the halter. Do you know to whom you are speaking?”
This sally was hardly calculated to extinguish the outburst of general hilarity. The thing was so utterly
absurd and topsy-turvy, that the wild laughter seized even the sergeants of the Common Hall, a sort of
pikemen whose stolidity was part of their uniform. Quasimodo alone preserved his gravity, for the very
good reason that he had no idea what was occurring round him. The judge, growing more and more
irritated, thought it proper to continue in the same tone, hoping thereby to strike such terror to the heart
of the prisoner as would react on the audience and recall them to a sense of due respect.
“It would seem, then, headstrong and riotous knave that you are, that you would dare to flout the auditor
of the Châtelet; the magistrate entrusted with the charge of the public safety of Paris; whose duty it is to
search into all crimes, delinquencies, and evil courses; to control all trades and forbid monopolies; to
repair the pavements; to prevent the retail hawking of poultry and game, both feathered and furred; to
superintend the measuring of firewood and all other kinds of wood; to purge the city of filth, and the air
of all contagious distemper—in a word, to slave continually for the public welfare without fee or
recompense, or hope of any. Know you that my name is Florian Barbedienne, deputy to Monsieur the
Provost himself, and, moreover, commissioner, investigator, controller, and examiner, with equal power
in provostry, bailiwick, registration, and presidial court——”
There is no earthly reason why a deaf man talking to a deaf man should ever stop. God alone knows
where and when Maître Florian would have come to anchor, once launched in full sail on the ocean of his
eloquence, had not the low door at the back of the hall suddenly opened, and given passage to Monsieur
the Provost in person.
At his entrance Maître Florian did not stop, but wheeling half round, and suddenly aiming at the Provost
the thunderbolts which up to now he had launched at Quasimodo:
“Monseigneur,” he said, “I demand such penalty as shall seem fitting to you against the accused here
present for flagrant and unprecedented contempt of court.”
He seated himself breathless, wiping away the great drops that fell from his forehead and splashed like
tears upon the documents spread out before him. Messire Robert d’Estouteville knit his brows and signed