Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

“And at the Fountain of the Holy Innocents, that huntsman pursuing a hind with great barking of dogs
and blowing of horns.”
“And near the slaughter-house of Paris, that wooden erection representing the fortress of Dieppe.”
“And you remember, Gisquette, just as the legate passed they sounded the assault, and all the English
had their throats cut.”
“And near the Châtelet Gate were some very fine figures.”
“And on the Pont-au-Change, too, which was all hung with draperies.”
“And when the legate passed over it they let fly more than two hundred dozen birds of all kinds. That
was beautiful, Liénarde!”
“It will be far finer to-day,” broke in their interlocutor at last, who had listened to them with evident
impatience.
“You can promise us that this Mystery will be a fine one?” said Gisquette.
“Most assuredly I can,” he replied; then added with a certain solemnity, “Mesdemoiselles, I am myself
the author of it.”
“Truly?” exclaimed the girls in amazement.
“Yes, truly,” asserted the poet with conscious pride. “That is to say, there are two of us—Jehan
Marchand, who sawed the planks and put up the wooden structure of the theatre, and I, who wrote the
piece. My name is Pierre Gringoire.”
Not with greater pride could the author of the Cid have said, “I am Pierre Corneille.”
Our readers cannot have failed to note that some time had elapsed between the moment at which Jupiter
withdrew behind the curtain, and that at which the author thus abruptly revealed himself to the
unsophisticated admiration of Gisquette and Liénarde. Strange to say, all this crowd, so tumultuous but a
few minutes ago, were now waiting patiently with implicit faith in the player’s word. A proof of the
everlasting truth still demonstrated in our theatres, that the best means of making the public wait
patiently is to assure them that the performance is about to begin.
However, the scholar Joannes was not so easily lulled. “Holà!” he shouted suddenly into the midst of
the peaceful expectation which had succeeded the uproar, “Jupiter! Madame the Virgin! Ye devil’s
mountebanks! would you mock us? The piece! the piece. Do you begin this moment, or we will——”
This was enough. Immediately a sound of music from high-and low-pitched instruments was heard
underneath the structure, the curtain was raised, four party-coloured and painted figures issued from it,
and clambering up the steep ladder on to the upper platform, ranged themselves in a row fronting the
audience, whom they greeted with a profound obeisance. The symphony then ceased. The Mystery
began.
After receiving ample meed of applause in return for their bows, the four characters proceeded, amid
profound silence, to deliver a prologue which we willingly spare the reader. Besides, just as in our own
day, the public was far more interested in the costumes the actors wore than the parts they enacted—and