by Hugo, Victor
The archdeacon, seeing that all his violent efforts served only to weaken the one fragile support left to him, had decided not to move any more. There he was, clasping the spout, hardly breathing, no longer stirring, left with no other movement than that contraction of the belly we experience in dreams when we think we are falling. His staring eyes were open, with a look in them of sickly amazement. Gradually, though, he was losing ground, his fingers were slipping on the spout, he felt more and more how weak his arms were and how heavy his body, how the curved lead pipe holding him up was bending all the time a notch closer to the abyss. He saw beneath him a terrifying sight: the roof of Saint-Jean-le-Rond no bigger than a playing card folded in half. He looked successively at the impassive sculptures of the tower, like him suspended over the precipice, but feeling no terror for themselves nor pity for him. All around him was stone; before his eyes the gaping monsters; below, at the very bottom, in the square, the pavement; above his head Quasimodo weeping.
In the Parvis there were a few groups of honest bystanders, calmly trying to guess who the madman might be who was amusing himself in such a peculiar way. The priest heard them say—for their voices reached up to him, loud and shrill: ‘But he’ll break his neck!’
Quasimodo wept on.
At length the archdeacon, foaming with rage and terror, realized that it was all to no purpose. However, he gathered up all the strength remaining to him for one last effort. He stiffened up on the spout, pushed away from the wall with both knees, clung by his hands to a crack between the stones, and managed to climb up a foot, perhaps; but this commotion caused the lead spout supporting him suddenly to bend over. At the same time the cassock ripped apart. At that, feeling everything give way beneath him, with only his stiff and weakening hands still holding on to anything, the unfortunate man closed his eyes and let go of the spout. He fell.
Quasimodo watched him fall.
A fall from such a height is seldom perpendicular. As he was launched into the void, the archdeacon at first fell with head down and both hands extended, then turned over several times. The wind drove him on to the roof of a house where the unfortunate man’s body was first smashed. However, he was not dead when he reached it. The bell-ringer saw him still trying to cling to the gable with his fingernails. But the slope was too steep, and he had no strength left. He slid rapidly over the roof like a tile coming off, and rebounded on the pavement. There he did not move again.
Quasimodo then looked up at the gypsy, whose body he could see in the distance, hanging from the gibbet, shuddering in her white dress in the last twitches of the death agony, then he looked down again at the archdeacon stretched out at the foot of the tower, no longer in human shape, and said with a sob that made his deep chest heave: ‘Oh! all I have loved!’
III
PHOEBUS’ MARRIAGE
TOWARDS evening on that day, when the bishop’s judicial officers came to collect from the pavement of the Parvis the archdeacon’s dislocated corpse, Quasimodo had disappeared from Notre-Dame.
Many rumours went round concerning this incident. There was no doubt in people’s minds that the day had come when, in accordance with their pact, Quasimodo, that is the devil, was to carry off Claude Frollo, that is the sorcerer. It was supposed that he had shattered the body as he took the soul, as monkeys break the shell to eat the nut.
That is why the archdeacon was not interred in consecrated ground.
Louis XI died the following year, in August 1483.
As for Pierre Gringoire, he managed to save the goat and had some success as a writer of tragedy. It seems that after trying a taste of astrology, philosophy, architecture, hermetics, all sorts of follies, he came back to tragedy, the greatest folly of all. That is what he called ‘coming to a tragic end’. On the subject of his dramatic triumphs, this is what we read under 1483* in the accounts of the ordinary: ‘To Jehan Marchand and Pierre Gringoire, carpenter and composer, who made and composed the mystery performed at the Chêtelet in Paris at the entry of Monsieur the Legate, ordering the characters, these being dressed and attired as was requisite for the said mystery, and likewise constructed the scaffolding which was necessary thereto; and for doing this, 100 livres.’
Phoebus de Châteaupers also came to a tragic end: he got married.
IV
QUASIMODO’S MARRIAGE
WE have just said that Quasimodo disappeared from Notre-Dame on the day of the gypsy’s and the archdeacon’s deaths. He was in fact never seen again, and no one knew what had become of him.
During the night following la Esmeralda’s execution, the executioner’s men had taken down her body from the gibbet and carried it, according to custom, into the cellar at Montfaucon.
Montfaucon was, as Sauval says, ‘the most ancient and superb gibbet in the kingdom’. Between the suburbs of the Temple and Saint-Martin, about 160 toises* from the walls of Paris, a few crossbow shots from la Courtille, could be seen on the top of a gentle, imperceptible eminence, high enough to be visible for several leagues around, a strangely shaped structure, somewhat resembling a Celtic cromlech, and where human sacrifices were also made.
Imagine, then, crowning a mound of plaster, a huge parallelepiped of masonry, 15 feet high, 30 feet wide, 40 feet long, with a door, an outside ramp and a platform: on this platform stand sixteen enormous pillars of rough stone, 30 feet high, arranged in a colonnade round three of the four sides of the massive structure supporting them, connected at the top by stout beams from which chains hang at intervals; on all these chains, skeletons; nearby on the plain, a stone cross and two secondary gibbets, which seem to be growing like shoots around the central fork; above it all, in the sky, crows perpetually circle. That is Montfaucon.
At the end of the fifteenth century the formidable gibbet, which dated from 1328, was already very dilapidated. The beams were worm-eaten, the chains rusty, the pillars green with mould. The courses of dressed stone were all cracked at their joins, and grass grew on the platform where feet never trod. This monument presented a horrible profile, standing out against the sky, especially at night, when a little moonlight fell upon the white skulls, or when the chill evening wind rattled the chains and skeletons and set everything moving in the dark. The presence of that gibbet was enough to impart to all its surroundings the most sinister air.
The block of stone which formed the base of this repulsive structure was hollow. A huge cellar had been excavated within, closed by an old, broken-down iron grating, and into it were thrown not only the human remains which came off the chains at Montfaucon, but the bodies of all the wretches executed at the other permanent gibbets in Paris. In this deep charnel house where the dust of so many human beings and so many crimes rotted away together, many of the great of this world, many of the innocent too, came in turn to add their bones, from Enguerrand de Marigni, who inaugurated Montfaucon as victim, and was a just man, down to Admiral de Coligny,* who closed it, and was a just man.
As for Quasimodo’s mysterious disappearance, all we have been able to discover is this.
About two years, or eighteen months, after the events which conclude this history, when they came to the cellar to look for the corpse of Olivier le Daim, who had been hanged two days before,* and to whom Charles VIII granted the favour of being buried at Saint-Laurent in better company, they found among all these hideous carcasses two skeletons, one clasping the other in a strange embrace. One of these two skeletons, that of a woman, still wore some tatters of a dress of a material which had once been white, and round the neck they saw a necklace of adrezarach seeds with a little silken bag, decorated with green glass beads, which was open and empty. These objects were of so little value that the hangman had no doubt not wanted them. The other skeleton, which held the first in close embrace, was that of a man. They noticed that the spinal column was curved, the head down between the shoulder blades, and one leg shorter than the other. Moreover, there was no fracture of the vertebrae of the neck, and it was obvious that he had not been hanged. The
man to whom the skeleton belonged had therefore come there himself, and died there. When they tried to remove it from the skeleton it embraced, it fell to dust.
NOTE ON MONEY
REFERENCES in the book to money and coins are so frequent that a general explanation may be found more helpful than piecemeal notes. Especially, but not exclusively, in depicting the character of the notoriously avaricious Louis XI, Hugo quotes exact details of the cost of such items as buildings, repairs, even executions, as well as of emoluments, rents, tolls, dues of various kinds. Many of these details come from fifteenth-century account books, particularly that published by Sauval, and are all expressed in livres, sous (or sols), deniers, the familiar pre-metric £. s. d. system ultimately going back to Latin libra, sestertii, denarii. This money of account, with 12d. = 1s., and 20s. 1l. (£), originally represented relative weights of silver, but the value of actual coins struck, expressed in l. s. d., was subject to frequent change, in France effected by royal decree. By the end of the Hundred Years War two principal moneys of account coexisted within the boundaries of the kingdom (and other regional ones of dwindling importance): the livre tournois (from Tours), the more common, and the livre parisis, the more valuable, because it was associated with central government and the monarchy. By 1482 the livre parisis had for some time been fixed at 25 per cent more than the tournois (e.g. 16 parisis = 20 tournois). This distinction explains, for instance, why at the beginning of Book Five, Ch. I, Coictier parries Frollo’s recital of his supposed wealth by complaining that his tolls bring in only a modest sum in livres, ‘and not even parisis’.
As it happens, immediately following that remark of Coictier’s there comes a reference to gold écus, a coin which plays a vital role in the story. This large coin, whose value had been first fixed by an ordinance of Charles VII (quoted by Jehan at the beginning of Book Seven, Ch. IV) and whose value then varied according to its design—the most recent in 1482 bearing a sun, following issues bearing a crown or a crescent—was worth from 36s. in 1487 and constantly appreciated. It is the transformation of such a coin into a dry leaf that motivates the charge of witchcraft against Esmeralda.
Other humbler coins are mentioned when referring to the takings from street performances, or the contents of the purse begged by Jehan Frollo from his brother. Blanc (white) indicates substantial silver content, noir (black) copper or brass; a maille was half a denier, a Hard 3 deniers, or a quarter of a sou, a grand blanc or gros a whole sou, a petit blanc half that, or 6 deniers, an unzain was n deniers, ll douzain 12 deniers. Lists of coins are often quoted verbatim from such sources as Sauval.
EXPLANATORY NOTES
ANÁΓKH: the word means rather more than the ‘fatality’ by which Hugo translates it in the novel; ‘force’, ‘constraint’, ‘necessity’ are the basic meanings, but it could also be used for actual torture.
Currit rota …: what Horace actually wrote in the Ars poetica was: currente rota, cur urceus exit? [as the wheel turns, why does a pot emerge?]
archbishop’s palace: throughout the Middle Ages the diocese of Paris was ruled by a bishop under the Archbishop of Sens, but in 1622 a new province was created under its own arch-bishop. His palace dated from the late seventeenth century.
Daumesnil: governor, and successful defender under Napoleon, of the fortress of Vincennes, where the chapel in question was located.
Palais Bourbon: built in the eighteenth century as a royal residence. Since the Revolution of 1789 it has been used for the National Assembly.
Saint-Jacques-de-la-Boucherie: the church was destroyed in 1797, but the tower still survives, despite Hugo’s gloomy prediction.
Saint-Germain-des-Prés: in the course of restoration the church lost two of its three steeples in 1822.
Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois: across the street from the Louvre. Badly damaged in riots in 1831, there was indeed talk of demolition, but it was eventually restored.
green coats: the distinctive uniform of Academicians.
Philibert Delorme: a major architect (died 1570), who designed the Palace of the Tuileries, eventually destroyed by the Commune in 1871. The nineteenth-century link between the Louvre and the Tuileries survives.
three hundred and forty-eight years … ago today: 25 July 1830, the date when Hugo began this novel.
Picards… Burgundians: as in 1465.
Laas: a vineyard on the left bank, extending towards Saint-Germain-des-Prés, inevitably a scene of student disturbances.
Jean de Troyes: in fact Jean de Roye, author of a history of Louis XI, commonly known as Chronique scandaleuse.
Epiphany … Feast of Fools: 6 January is indeed Twelfth Night, or Epiphany, but it is Hugo who combines it with the Feast of Fools.
Braque: a person, not a place, founder of the chapel which was next to the rue des Haudriettes (who play an important role in the story) and near the present Hôtel des Archives.
camlet: a rough, woollen material, originally derived from camel hair.
Pharamond: legendary ancestor of the Merovingians (AD 420–8); the do-nothing, or fainéant, kings were the Merovingians after Dagobert, from 639.
Du Breul: Father Jacques Du Breul (1528–1614), author of Théâtre des antiquités de Paris, one of Hugo’s main sources.
Ravaillac: assassinated Henri IV in 1610.
Théophile: the libertine poet Théophile de Viau (1590–1626); the ‘épices’ were originally presents in kind, spices, to judges, and then came to mean simply ‘bribes’, while the word ‘palais’ meant both palace and palate.
Philippe le Bel: Philippe IV (the Fair: died 1314).
Benedict: Pierre de Luna, anti-pope 1394–1423.
Biscornette: responsible for the ironwork on the doors of Notre-Dame.
Du Hancy: a carpenter, of the sixteenth century.
de Brosse: Salomon de Brosse, died 1627.
Patrus: Olivier Patrus, a lawyer and Academician, died 1681.
King of Sicily: René of Anjou, died 1480; he was King of Sicily only in name, and also comte de Provence, whither he retired.
rue Thibautodé: or Thibaut-Odet; pun on ‘dé’, dice.
Saturnalitias …: the quotation is from Martial.
disputations, the regular ones and the occasional ones: the normal test for a student; ‘occasional’ or ‘quodlibetales’ were originally displays of virtuoso skill improvised on any subject by masters, but by the fifteenth century formed part of student testing.
Sainte-Geneviève: the great abbey of canons regular stood where the Panthéon and the Lycée Henri IV are today, on the mount of the same name.
Post equitem …: Horace, Odes, iii. 1.
Ne deus …: Horace, Ars poetica, 21–2.
charivari: a serenade of pots and pans.
Corneille: quotation from his comedy Le Menteur, II. v.
Legate: the papal legate had made a solemn entry in 1480.
bergerettes: pastorals; the
wild men and women: belong to the same convention.
hippocras: a medicated wine, a popular cordial of the time.
Dieppe: Louis XI had captured Dieppe from the English in 1443, before becoming king.
Pierre Gringoire: for the full text of which this is a résumé, see penultimate chapter of the novel.
cramignole: see p. 43.
Father Du Breul … no mean feat’: he had dedicated his book on Paris in 1612 to the Prince de Conti, a member of the Bourbon family. The supposed derivation of the name Paris from the quite authentic Greek word was widely put forward by Renaissance humanists.
The Florentine: the author of the play (1685) was in fact Charles de Champmeslé, friend of La Fontaine.
Nemours… Saint-Pol: Jacques d’Armagnac, due de Nemours and Louis de Luxembourg, Constable, comte de Saint-Pol, were executed for treachery against Louis XI in 1476 and 1475 respectively.
Saint Louis: Saint Louis IX, reigned 1226–70, had enacted the most severe measures against blasphemers.
… would last: the marriage never took
place; Marguerite eventually married Don John of Austria in 1497, and on his death the Duke of Savoy; the Dauphin Charles, soon to be Charles VIII, married Duchess Anne of Brittany in 1491.
Edward IV: died in April 1483; there is no foundation for the story that Louis XI (died August 1483) was in any way responsible.
… parchons: the dialect word for ‘portions’ or the court responsible for fair distribution of estates. The list comes straight from Commines, himself a Fleming, and Hugo exploits it for its outlandish sound to a French ear.