Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

But unfortunately the disturbing element comprised the entire public. In a twinkling the Hall was
empty.
To be exact, a sprinkling of spectators still remained, scattered about singly or grouped round the
pillars—women, old men, and children who had had enough of the noise and the tumult. A few scholars
sat astride the windows looking down into the Place.
“Well,” thought Grainier, “here we have at least enough to listen to the end of my Mystery. They are
few, but select—a lettered audience.”
A moment afterward it was discovered that a band of music, which should have been immensely
effective at the entry of the Blessed Virgin, was missing. Grainier found that his musicians had been
pressed into the service of the Pope of Fools. “Go on without it,” he said stoically.
Approaching a group of townsfolk who appeared to be discussing his play, he caught the following
scraps of conversation:
“Maitre Cheneteau, you know the Hôtel de Navarre, which used to belong to M. de Nemours?”
“Opposite the Chapelle de Braque—yes.”
“Well, the fiscal authorities have just let it to Guillaume Alisandre, the historical painter, for six livres
eight sols parisis a year.”
“How rents are rising!”
“Come,” thought Grainier with a sigh, “at least the others are listening.”
“Comrades!” suddenly cried one of the young rascals at the window, “Esmeralda—Esmeralda down in
the Place!”
The name acted like a charm. Every soul in the Hall rushed to the window, clambering up the walls to
see, and repeating “Esmeralda! Esmeralda!” while from the outside came a great burst of applause.
“Now what do they mean with their ‘Esmeralda’?” Grainier inquired, clasping his hands in despair.
“Ah, mon Dieu! it appears that the windows are the attraction now.”
He turned towards the marble table and discovered that the play had suffered an interruption. It was the
moment at which Jupiter was to appear on the scene with his thunder. But Jupiter was standing stock-still
below the stage.
“Michel Giborne, what are you doing there?” cried the exasperated poet. “Is that playing your part? Get
up on the stage at once.”
“Alas!” said Jupiter, “one of the scholars has just taken away the ladder.”
Grainier looked. It was but too true; the connection between the knot of his play and the untying had
been cut.
“Rascal,” he muttered, “what did he want with the ladder?”
“To help him to see Esmeralda,” answered Jupiter, in an injured tone. “He said, ‘Hallo, here’s a ladder