THE CROWD (clapping their hands): Hurrah! Hurrah!
SACHETTE (rushing to the window): The Gypsy! Cursed be you, child stealer! Cursed! Cursed!
CURTAIN
Act III
Scene VII
The Archdeacon’s Cell
There is a garret window to the right and a door to the left. On a table are various instruments used for alchemy. Quasimodo is on his elbows, looking through the garret window onto the Square.
JEHAN FROLLO (half-opening the door, discreetly): It’s I, brother... No one! His cell is empty. No, I was wrong, there is someone–Quasimodo! But no danger of that deaf man having heard me. What’s he looking at so intently? Why, it’s Esmeralda, dancing in the square. Oh! I hear footsteps. It must be the Archdeacon! Will he be inclined to let me have some money? I won’t know right away.
(He hides behind a curtain as Claude Frollo enters.)
CLAUDE FROLLO: Why has she come back to dance on that very square? Is she trying to defy me? And that Gringoire who been with her since yesterday... What does it mean? I will find out. (calling) Quasimodo! Quasimodo! Hm, he seems completely lost in contemplation. His beastly eye bears a singular expression. Could he be looking at her, too? (touching Quasimodo’s hand) Quasimodo!
QUASIMODO: Master!
CLAUDE FROLLO: You see that man down there, dressed in a yellow and red cassock, holding a goat near that dancing girl? Go down and tell him that Dom Claude Frollo would like him to come at once and speak to him.
QUASIMODO: I obey.
(He heads towards the door.)
CLAUDE FROLLO (stopping him): Quasimodo.
QUASIMODO: Master?
CLAUDE FROLLO: Yesterday, you called on me, Place de Gereve, but it wasn’t in my power to save you. I couldn’t spare you a moment of torture. I would have compromised my dignity. That’s why I pretended to ignore you.
QUASIMODO (somberly): I understand. You did well.
(He leaves.)
CLAUDE FROLLO (to himself): I shall no longer look at her! Let’s return to my books. (sits at his table then pushes his books away) Ah, for some time now, my mind has been unable to concentrate. I’m frustrated in all my experiments. A fixed idea possesses me and has withered my brain like a fiery trefoil. All it takes is one single wretched thought to render a man weak and mad. (rising and taking some steps to the window) Here, at this window, a poor heedless fly has just thrown itself into a spider’s web. (extending his hand) Should I save it? No, let’s leave it to its fate. Oh, this must be an omen. It flies and is happy, it searches for Spring, open air, liberty. But then, it crashes into the deadly web, facing the spider hanging from its hideous lair. Poor dancing girl. Poor predestined fly. Alas, Claude, you’re the spider, but you’re also the fly. You were flying towards science, towards the Sun, towards eternal truth, but like the blind fly, senseless doctor, you didn’t see this subtle spider’s web hung by destiny between you and your goal. You’re caught now, you wretched madman. And now you struggle, your head broken and your wings torn off, between the iron prongs of Fate. Let’s leave, let the spider work its will!
(He takes a compass from the table and gravely scratches letters on the wall. Jehan comes out of his hiding place.)
JEHAN FROLLO (to himself): What’s he scratching on the wall? It looks like a Greek word: ANANKE.
CLAUDE FROLLO (turning upon hearing a noise): Come in, Master Pierre.
JEHAN FROLLO: My dear brother–
CLAUDE FROLLO (abruptly): Ah, it’s you, Jehan! What did you come here for?
JEHAN FROLLO: I came to ask you–
CLAUDE FROLLO: What?
JEHAN FROLLO: For a little moral support of which I am in need. (aside) And a little financial support which I need even more.
CLAUDE FROLLO: I’m very dissatisfied with you, Jehan.
JEHAN FROLLO: Alas!
CLAUDE FROLLO: Where are you in the Decretales of Gratien?
JEHAN FROLLO: I lost my notebook.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Where are you in the Latin Humanists?
JEHAN FROLLO: Someone stole my copy of Horace.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Where are you in Aristotle? Do you even know how to spell Greek properly?
JEHAN FROLLO: My reverend brother, would it please you if I were to translate in good French that Greek word written on the wall?
CLAUDE FROLLO: What word?
JEHAN FROLLO: ANANKE!
CLAUDE FROLLO (strained): Well Jehan, what does that word mean?
JEHAN FROLLO: Fatality! ANANKE, written in the same hand as that other word, AKATHARSIA, which means Impurity. You see that I know my Greek after all! (a silence) My reverend brother.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Look here! What is it you want?
JEHAN FROLLO: Well, it’s this. I need money.
CLAUDE FROLLO: What for?
JEHAN FROLLO: Oh. I’m not coming to you with any bad intentions. It’s not a question of playing the beau in the taverns with your cash. No, my brother, it’s for a good work.
CLAUDE FROLLO: What good work?
JEHAN FROLLO (trying to find a good work): It’s, er, for two of my friends, who would like to purchase an outfit for the child of a poorhouse widow. It will cost three sous and I want to contribute my share.
CLAUDE FROLLO: What are the names of your two friends?
JEHAN FROLLO: Pierre l’Assommeur and Baptiste Croque-Oison.5
CLAUDE FROLLO: Singular names for charitable souls! And since when do poorhouse widows have brats to swaddle?
JEHAN FROLLO (with effrontery): Well, I also need money to buy a bracelet for the fetching Isabeau-la-Thierry.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Impure wretch.
JEHAN FROLLO (pointing to the inscription on the wall): AKATHARSIA indeed
CLAUDE FROLLO: Get out! I’m expecting someone.
JEHAN FROLLO: Brother Claude, at least, give me a little something to eat.
CLAUDE FROLLO: He who does not work shall not eat.
JEHAN FROLLO: OROROROROROI–
CLAUDE FROLLO: What does that mean?
JEHAN FROLLO: Why, it’s Greek again. It’s an anapest from Aeschylus, which perfectly expresses sorrow. Ah, I see that you’re smiling! Good brother Claude, look at the holes in my socks.
CLAUDE FROLLO: I’ll send you new socks but no money.
JEHAN FROLLO: Not even a poor little sou?
CLAUDE FROLLO: He who does not work–
JEHAN FROLLO (with dignity): Very well, my brother. But in that case, I’m distressed to have to tell you that I’ve received several fine offers and propositions from the Other Side. You won’t give me any money? No? (standing, his fist proudly on his hip) Then, to the Devil it is and I’ll become a criminal.
CLAUDE FROLLO (after a moment of rage): Become a criminal?
JEHAN FROLLO (persisting): Yes! This very day! (going slowly to the door)
CLAUDE FROLLO: Jehan! Do you know where you’re going?
JEHAN FROLLO: Yes. To the tavern.
CLAUDE FROLLO: The tavern leads to the pillory.
JEHAN FROLLO: A lantern like any other.
CLAUDE FROLLO: The pillory leads to the gibbet.
JEHAN FROLLO: A scale which places a man on one side and the Earth on the other. It’s fine to be a man.
CLAUDE FROLLO: The gibbet leads to Hell!
JEHAN FROLLO: Only another big fire.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Jehan! Jehan! The end will be bad.
JEHAN FROLLO: But the beginning will have been very good.
(A knock at the door.)
CLAUDE FROLLO: Someone’s knocking. It’s someone I’m expecting. I wish to be alone.
JEHAN FROLLO: Marvelous! I’m staying.
CLAUDE FROLLO (aside, with a furious gesture): Gringoire won’t speak in front of him. (aloud) Hide yourself under this table and don’t breathe a word!
JEHAN FROLLO: A sou to hold my breath.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Yes, later.
JEHAN FROLLO: I will listen first.
(He hides under the table. Gringoire enters.
)
CLAUDE FROLLO: Come in, come in, Master Pierre. There you are, in a fine outfit. Half-yellow and red. like a ripe apple.
GRINGOIRE: It’s indeed a wonderful attire, Archdeacon, and you see me more abashed than a cat wearing a calabash. What can I tell you, Reverend Master, the fault lies entirely with my old jerkin, which cowardly abandoned me under the transparent pretext that it was falling to rags, and that it needed to go rest in a rag picker’s basket.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Ha! So, what did I see! You, a philosopher, doing the job of a mountebank?
GRINGOIRE: I concede, Archdeacon, that it is a sad employment for one with my intellectual faculties, and that a learned man such as I shouldn’t be made to spend his life playing the tambourine and carrying chairs in his teeth. But, alas, it’s not enough to live one’s life according to one’s qualitios, one must also earn a living.
JEHAN FROLLO (under the table): Ah! A cramp! (changing his position)
CLAUDE FROLLO: How is it that you now find yourself in the company of that Gypsy girl?
GRINGOIRE: It’s because she is my wife, Reverend Master, and I am her husband.
CLAUDE FROLLO (grasping Gringoire’s arms with fury): Wretch! Could you have become so lost as to take the hand of that girl?
GRINGOIRE (trembling): Upon my place in Heaven, Reverend Master, I swear to you that I’ve never touched her, if that is what makes you so uneasy.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Why then do you speak of being husband and wife?
GRINGOIRE: Ah! Indeed. Because in the Court of Miracles, she married me over a broken jug to save my life. But this marriage has had no consummation, and my wife tricks me out of my wedding night every night.
JEHAN FROLLO (under the table): Heavens! Some bread.
CLAUDE FROLLO: How do you explain that?
GRINGOIRE: With some difficulties. It’s all based upon some superstitious nonsense. My wife is a foundling, or a lost child, which is the same thing. She wears an amulet around her neck which–or so she believes!–will one day cause her to recognize her true parents, but which will lose its powers if the young girl loses her virtue. So it follows that we are both living very virtuously together.
JEHAN FROLLO: How hard this bread is!
GRINGOIRE: What’s that crunching sound I hear down there?
CLAUDE FROLLO: A housecat regaling itself with some mouse. Pay no attention to it.
GRINGOIRE: Yes. All great philosophers have their little familiars.
JEHAN FROLLO: Thanks! And this one is even part of the family!
CLAUDE FROLLO: So you think, Master Gringoire, that this creature never has loved or loves any man?
GRINGOIRE: Hum! I think! I think! To doubt is the first precept of philosophy–and the prudence of husbands.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Why do you say this? Are you suspicious of somone?
GRINGOIRE: Well, there is a word that my wife often repeats to herself. A word that her goat is trained to write with moving letters. And this word might indeed be a name...
CLAUDE FROLLO: A name! What name?
GRINGOIRE: Phoebus.
JEHAN FROLLO: Heaven! Could it be my good friend the Captain?
CLAUDE FROLLO: And under this name, you suspect a man?
GRINGOIRE: Well, yes. Yesterday, toward dusk, we went to the Pont Saint-Michel, and there, a handsome Captain of the King’s Guards graciously accosted us. They then obligingly sent me off with the goat.
CLAUDE FROLLO: A rendezvous.
GRINGOIRE: The first, indeed. But, by getting closer, I was able to hear that there is a second rendezvous planned–for tonight.
CLAUDE FROLLO: And you will let her go?
GRINGOIRE: If it’s her wish, how do you expect me to prevent her?
CLAUDE FROLLO: What! Aren’t you her husband? Haven’t you every right over her?
GRINGOIRE: A few minutes ago, you didn’t recognize any of my rights! In fact, you forbade me to be her husband!
CLAUDE FROLLO: To save her from evil, you wretch! To snatch her from the claws of Satan. You have more than a right, you have a duty. Go, run! Don’t leave her for a moment. You will answer to me for her, on your life, on your very soul.
JEHAN FROLLO: Heavens! My brother’s gone mad.
GRINGOIRE: But, Reverend Master–
CLAUDE FROLLO (pushing him by the shoulders towards the door): Don’t question me! Go on! Go now, wretch! Perhaps it’s already too late!
(Gringoire leaves.)
CLAUDE FROLLO: She loves another! Never! Ah! That idea overwhelms my whole being! That Gringoire is a pathetic fool, a coward. He won’t know how to stop her. He won’t dare face up that Captain. Ah, I’ll go there myself. (unhooking a long cloak from the wall.) At least, let’s hide under this Monk’s cloak.
(Jehan slides out from under the table, goes to the door, locks it and pockets the key. When Claude gets to the door after changing clothes, he finds Jehan standing in front of him.)
CLAUDE FROLLO: Jehan! I’d forgotten you. (reaching for the key) Where’s the key?
JEHAN FROLLO (sarcastically, showing it): Here it is.
(Claude reaches for it. Jehan puts his other hand out.)
JEHAN FROLLO: It’ll be two sous.
CLAUDE FROLLO: You dare!
JEHAN FROLLO: Ask for three sous? Indeed I do!
CLAUDE FROLLO: Wretch!
JEHAN FROLLO: Come on! Five sous, my good brother.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Will you give me that key?
JEHAN FROLLO: Not under ten sous.
CLAUDE FROLLO (tossing him a purse): There you are! And go to Hell!
(He leaves violently.)
JEHAN FROLLO: I’m already there, my sweet brother, at the first stop on the way, at the tavern. To the tavern!
(He, too, leaves joyfully.)
CURTAIN
Scene VIII
The Demon Monk
A rather dismal-looking room. There are doors to the right and left. In the back, there is a large, half-opened window through which we see a view of the Seine and Paris in the moonlight.
The woman Falourdel enters, a candle in her hand, leading Phoebus and Jehan Frollo in.
LA FALOURDEL: Here’s the room. But Monsieur knows it must be paid for in advance.
PHOEBUS: Yes, yes, my friend will pay you when he goes down. Leave us.
(Exit La Falourdel left.)
JEHAN FROLLO (drunk): Where are we, then? I have lodgings in the Rue Jean Pain Mollet–in vico Johannis Pain Mollet. You are hornier than a unicorn if you say otherwise.
PHOEBUS: Jehan, my friend, listen to me. I’m a little plastered, but you’re completely drunk.
JEHAN FROLLO: It pleases you to say that, but it’s been proven that Plato had the profile of a hound.
PHOEBUS: Try to listen to me, my good Jehan.
JEHAN FROLLO: Heavens! The Man in Black who followed us has vanished. I tell you, Phoebus, he was the Demon Monk!
PHOEBUS: So be it–it was the Demon Monk then. Listen to me, friend. I gave a rendezvous to the Gypsy girl at eight o’clock, and she’s going to come.
JEHAN FROLLO: Go then! You’re like the Castle of Dammartin, which laughs in all our faces.
PHOEBUS: Jehan, listen! She’s coming here! And I need some money. You heard La Falourdel. She won’t give me credit. Mercy, Jehan, haven’t we drunk together like brothers? Don’t you have any sous left?
JEHAN FROLLO (sententiously): The awareness of having spent our hours profitably is a true and savory condiment of life.
PHOEBUS (shaking him): Will you cut that nonsense! By the Devil, Jehan, do you have any money?
JEHAN FROLLO: Ah! Money! It’s money you want! Why didn’t you say so sooner? (fumbling in his pockets)
PHOEBUS: Ah! My good comrade, you save me! Give it to me, quick! Give it to me, by God, or I’m going to search you myself.
JEHAN FROLLO: For sure, I had ten sous a little earlier. But wait, Phoebus, didn’t we drink that last coin an hour ago?
PHOEBUS: What! Not a single coin left?
JEHAN FROLLO: None! In fact, I now recall we owe four sous at La Pomme d’Eve!
PHOEBUS: Then what the Hell am I wasting my time with you? Go to the Devil, you Student of the Antichrist!
JEHAN FROLLO: By God, yes, I’ll be on my way. I’m suffocating in here.
(He stumbles to the door and bumps into Claude Frollo, enveloped in a long, dark cloak.)
JEHAN FROLLO: Aie! The Demon Monk! Again! Phoebus, you no longer have your good sense, but I still have mine. Take care of yourself.
(He leaves, staggering along the way.)
PHOEBUS (considering Claude Frollo): There! Who are you, you grim specter?
CLAUDE FROLLO: A man who wishes to save you.
PHOEBUS: You are bold indeed.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, you are foolhardy.
PHOEBUS: What! You know my name?
CLAUDE FROLLO: I not only know your name, I know that you have a rendezvous here soon.
PHOEBUS: You know that, too?
CLAUDE FROLLO: Yes. And I know the name of the woman who’s going to come to this rendezvous...
PHOEBUS: By God! She’s the woman that I love, my my Gypsy girl, my dancing flame, my Esmeralda.
CLAUDE FROLLO: Your death.
PHOEBUS (bursting into peals of laughter): Ah! You exaggerate, specter! You think that little wisp of a girl is going to kill me?
CLAUDE FROLLO: She will deliver you to the bandits of her tribe.
PHOEBUS: Really! And by what means will she introduce her army? I know this place well. (pointing to the door to the right) The room on that side has no entrance but through this door and a garret window. This window gives on the river. Anyway, I fear nothing. I have my sword.
CLAUDE FROLLO: So, you won’t renounce this rendezvous?
Frankenstein vs The Hunchback of Notre-Dame Page 11