BOOK FIRST.
CHAPTER 4. MASTER JACQUES COPPENOLE.
(continued)
We have all forgotten him completely.
This is precisely what he feared.
From the moment of the cardinal's entrance, Gringoire had
never ceased to tremble for the safety of his prologue. At
first he had enjoined the actors, who had stopped in suspense,
to continue, and to raise their voices; then, perceiving that
no one was listening, he had stopped them; and, during the
entire quarter of an hour that the interruption lasted, he had
not ceased to stamp, to flounce about, to appeal to Gisquette
and Liénarde, and to urge his neighbors to the continuance
of the prologue; all in vain. No one quitted the cardinal,
the embassy, and the gallery--sole centre of this vast circle
of visual rays. We must also believe, and we say it with
regret, that the prologue had begun slightly to weary the
audience at the moment when his eminence had arrived,
and created a diversion in so terrible a fashion. After all,
on the gallery as well as on the marble table, the spectacle
was the same: the conflict of Labor and Clergy, of Nobility
and Merchandise. And many people preferred to see them
alive, breathing, moving, elbowing each other in flesh and
blood, in this Flemish embassy, in this Episcopal court,
under the cardinal's robe, under Coppenole's jerkin, than
painted, decked out, talking in verse, and, so to speak, stuffed
beneath the yellow amid white tunics in which Gringoire had
so ridiculously clothed them.
Nevertheless, when our poet beheld quiet reestablished
to some extent, he devised a stratagem which might have
redeemed all.
"Monsieur," he said, turning towards one of his neighbors,
a fine, big man, with a patient face, "suppose we begin
again."
"What?" said his neighbor.
"Hé! the Mystery," said Gringoire.
"As you like," returned his neighbor.
This semi-approbation sufficed for Gringoire, and, conducting
his own affairs, he began to shout, confounding himself
with the crowd as much as possible: "Begin the mystery
again! begin again!"
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