(They grab Gringoire, put the rope around his neck and force him to stand on the stool.)
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Now, on the count of three, when I clap my hands, Red Audry, you will push the stool to the ground. Chanteprune, you will hang on the legs of the rogue. Bellevigne, you will throw yourself on his shoulders. All three at once. Are you ready?
GRINGOIRE: Mercy!
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Are you ready?
ALL THREE: Yes, Sire!
(He claps twice, then stops.)
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Ah, one moment, I was forgetting–there’s a custom that we don’t hang a man without first asking if there’s a woman who wants him. Comrade, it’s your last chance. You must marry one of our girls or it’s the rope.
GRINGOIRE: Everything considered, I would prefer the girl.
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Hola, ladies! Is there a strumpet among you who will have this good-for-nothing poet? Colette-la-Charonne! Elisabeth Trouvain! Simone Jodouyne! Marie Piédebou! Thonne la Longue! Bérarde Fanouel! Michelle Genaille! Claude Ronge-oreille! Mathurine Girorou! Hola! Come and have a look! A man for nothing! Who wants one?
(Three women emerge from the throng and come to look at Gringoire. The first is a big wench, with a square face.)
A FAT GIRL (examining Gringoire’s clothes): Let’s see your cloak.
GRINGOIRE: I lost it.
FAT GIRL: Your hat.
GRINGOIRE: They took it from me.
FAT GIRL: Your shoes.
GRINGOIRE: They hardly have any soles left.
FAT GIRL: Then let yourself be hanged and say thanks.
(The next, a hideous old crone, walks around Gringoire.)
GRINGOIRE (looking alternatively at the crone and the gibbet): The horrible witch! I believe I’m hesitating.
OLD CRONE: Nah. He’s too skinny.
(The third, a younger girl with a sympathetic air, approaches.)
GRINGOIRE: Please, save me!
YOUNG GIRL (after a moment’s hesitation): I can’t! Guillaume Longuejoue would beat me.
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Friend, you’re mighty unlucky. No one wants him. Going once! Twice! Three Times! Gone!
SHOUTS AMONG THE VAGABONDS: Esmeralda! Esmeralda!
(Esmeralda comes in with her goat.)
GRINGOIRE: Esmeralda!
ESMERALDA (considering Gringoire in silence for a moment): You’re going to hang this man?
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Yes, sister. Unless you take him for your husband.
ESMERALDA: I take him.
(The crowd is stupefied.)
GRINGOIRE (as he is released): This is a dream.
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Bring me a jug. (a jug is brought)
ESMERALDA (presenting it to Gringoire): Smash it to the ground. (the jug breaks in four pieces)
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Brother, she’s your wife. Sister, he’s your husband. For four years. Go. We leave you now to your wedding night. Vagabonds, let them be escorted, and don’t forget tomorrow at the break of day we must go congratulate the newlyweds–except the bride.
CURTAIN
Scene IV
A Wedding Night
Esmeralda’s room. Gothic vaults. There is a door on the left and a door in the back, a table, a trunk and a long chest of drawers. Also a few stools.
(Gringoire enters followed by Esmeralda, lamp in hand, and her goat.)
GRINGOIRE: This is your room?
ESMERALDA: It’s my room.
GRINGOIRE: I ask your permission to sit down.
ESMERALDA (indifferently): As you like.
(She leads the goat to the room on the left, puts down her drum, lights a candle and arranges the stools.)
GRINGOIRE (seated, following her with his eyes, aside): So that’s Esmeralda! A celestial creature! A street dancer! So much and so little. It was she who dealt the deathblow to my Mystery this morning and she who saved me tonight. My evil genius, my good angel! On my word, what a ravishing girl! And who must love me madly to have taken me that way.
ESMERALDA (sitting, day-dreaming): Phoebus!
GRINGOIRE (aside): By the way, I don’t know much about how this sort of thing is done, but I am her husband. (rising and going to her; aloud) Adorable Esmeralda...
ESMERALDA: What do you want from me, then?
GRINGOIRE: Can you ask me that?
ESMERALDA: I don’t know what you mean! (rising)
GRINGOIRE (aside): She doesn’t know? Bah! After all, I have no business with a virtuous maid. From the Court of Miracles! (aloud) Am I not your sweet friend; aren’t you mine?
(He goes to her and takes her by the waist. She slips out of his hands and turns, a small dagger in her hand.)
GRINGOIRE: Aie!
ESMERALDA: You must be a very bold clown!
GRINGOIRE (speechless): Oh, excuse me, Mademoiselle! But why did you take me for your husband?
ESMERALDA: Should have I allowed you to be hanged?
GRINGOIRE: So you had no other thought in marrying me than to save me from the gibbet?
ESMERALDA: And what other thought could I possibly have had?
GRINGOIRE (aside): I see! I’m not yet so triumphant in love as I thought. But then, what was the good of breaking that poor jug? (aloud) Let’s compromise, then. I swear by my share of Heaven to not approach you without your leave and permission. But give me something to eat.
ESMERALDA (bursting out in laughter): Oh, as to that, willingly.
(She goes to the trunk and brings forth bread and cheese, apples and an earthenware jug of beer which she places on the table.)
GRINGOIRE (aside): I’m going to eat! Indeed, my stomach is suffering more than my heart. (sitting at the table and eating avidly) Aren’t you eating?
(She makes a negative hand gesture, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She remains in that pose, day-dreaming.)
GRINGOIRE (aside): What the Devil is she so preoccupied with? It can’t be that grinning stone gargoyle carved in the ceiling. Damn! I could bear that comparison! (coughs) Hum! hum! (aloud) So you didn’t want me for your husband?
ESMERALDA: No.
GRINGOIRE: For your lover?
ESMERALDA: No.
GRINGOIRE: For your friend?
ESMERALDA: Perhaps.
GRINGOIRE: Do you know what friendship is?
ESMERALDA: Yes. That’s being brother and sister. Two souls who touch each other without mingling. Two fingers on one hand.
GRINGOIRE: And love?
ESMERALDA: Oh! Love. That’s being two and yet only being one. A man and woman who blend into an angel. That’s Heaven.
GRINGOIRE: What must one be then, to please you?
ESMERALDA: One must be a man.
GRINGOIRE: What about me then? What am I?
ESMERALDA: A man has a helmet on his head, a sword in his hand and golden spurs on his heels.
GRINGOIRE: I see! A man is not a man without a horse. Are you in love with someone perhaps?
ESMERALDA: Love?
GRINGOIRE: Love.
ESMERALDA: I will know that soon.
GRINGOIRE: And why not tonight? Why not with me?
ESMERALDA: I can only love a man who can protect me.
GRINGOIRE: I see. Pardon my foolish absence of mind. By the way, how did you escape from the clutches of Quasimodo?
ESMERALDA (hiding her face in her hands): Oh, the horrible monster.
GRINGOIRE: Horrible indeed. But how were you able to escape him? (Esmeralda smiles without responding) Do you know why he was following you?
ESMERALDA: No, I don’t. But you, too, were following me. Why were you?
GRINGOIRE (embarrassed): Hum! I no longer recall. Why do they call you Esmeralda?
(She pulls from her bosom a little oblong bag, suspended
from her neck by a string of beads. It is covered with green silk and bears in its center a large piece of green glass, in imitation of an emerald.)
ESMERALDA: I’m not sure why. Perhaps because of this little bag.
(Gringoire extends
his hand toward it.)
ESMERALDA: Don’t touch it. It’s an amulet. You can harm the charm, or the charm may injure you.
GRINGOIRE: Who gave it to you? (Esmeralda puts a finger over her lips) That suffices. You’re not French?
ESMERALDA: I don’t know.
GRINGOIRE: Do you know at least how old you were when you came to France?
ESMERALDA: Quite small.
GRINGOIRE: And to Paris?
ESMERALDA: Last year.
GRINGOIRE: Do you have parents?
ESMERALDA (humming, head back, eyes to Heaven singing): My father is a gull. My mother is a gannet. I crossed the water without a skiff. I crossed the water without a boat. My mother is a gannet. My father is a gull.
GRINGOIRE: I see. Anyway, your name matters little now that you have the right to bear mine.
ESMERALDA: Yours! I don’t even know what it is!
GRINGOIRE: If you want it, here it is: Pierre Gringoire, at your service.
ESMERALDA: I know a prettier one.
GRINGOIRE: Wicked girl! But perhaps you’ll love me when you get to know me better. Learn first of all of my birth. I am the son of a scrivener of Gonesse. Only, my father was hanged by the Burgundians and my mother was disembowelled by the Picards. Orphan, with no soles for my feet except the paving stones of Paris, what was I to do? What condition to take? Soldier? I wasn’t brave enough. Monk? I wasn’t devout enough. And also, I don’t like to drink. I had no inclination to be a teacher. True, I can’t read, but that’s not a reason. In short, seeing that I was good for nothing, I set myself up as a poet and composer of rhymes. It’s a job one can always take when one is a vagabond, and it’s better than stealing as some young brigands, friends of mine, advised me. You’re listening to me, right? One day, at last, I had the good fortune to meet the Reverend Archdeacon of Notre-Dame, Dom Claude Frollo.
ESMERALDA (awakening from her reverie, terrified): Claude Frollo! Oh! I know him! I know him!
GRINGOIRE: He took an interest in me. And it’s to him that I owe my being a truly learned man today. I was the author of a Mystery that was played lately with great triumph at the Great Hall. It’ll make me lots of money–if they pay me for it. I also wrote a 600-page book on the comet of 1465–the one that made a man insane. You see, I am not a bad catch for marriage. So I am at your service, Mademoiselle–myself, my wit, my science and my letters. Ready to live with you as you please. Chastely or happily, husband and wife if you find it good; brother and sister if you find it better.
ESMERALDA (falling back into her revery): Phoebus. Phoebus. What does that mean?
GRINGOIRE: It’s a Latin word which means “sun.”
ESMERALDA (rising): Sun!
GRINGOIRE: It was the name of a handsome archer who was also the Sun God.
ESMERALDA (repeating passionately): The Sun God.
(She leaves slowly; at first, Gringoire does not notice he is alone.)
GRINGOIRE: And under another name, Phoebus is Apollo, the God of Poets, the God of Harmony, the God that I–Heavens! She’s no longer here! (hearing the noise of a bolt) She’s locked herself in. (with a grimace) Chastity! But at least, has she left me a bed? This chest, perhaps? Bah! I’m falling asleep (stretching out on the chest) Ah! How hard it is! Come on! Resign yourself to it. But that sure was a strange wedding night. (he closes his eyes).
(Suddenly, he leaps up. A terrible charivari can be heard outside. Clopin enters with five or six vagabonds.)
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: Brother, it’s day. They’re giving you a serenade outside to celebrate your conjugal bliss.
GRINGOIRE: Ah–what a good idea!
CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU: I have to inform you of one thing. If, in a year, you haven’t brought your tribute to our Court in the form of a strong and clever son, or a daughter of dazzling beauty, or even a two-headed child, you will be hanged.
GRINGOIRE: Again!
(The Charivari starts up again.)
CURTAIN
Act II
Scene V
The Danger of Confiding One’s Secrets to a Goat
The house of Madame Gondelaurier, hung in Flemish tapestry, fawn-colored leather with gold foliage. The beams of the ceiling are painted in gold. To the left is a tall fireplace with hanging coats of arms and shields. To the opposite right is a window, with a balcony giving on the Square of Notre-Dame. In the back, there is a large door with a tapestry curtain. All around are armoires with porcelain, faience, stained glass, etc.
Madame de Gondelaurier is sitting in a great oak armchair. Phoebus stands near her, with a bored and irritated look, polishing the pummel of his sword with his deerskin leather glove. Three of Madame’s daughters, Fleur-de-Lys and the younger Colombe and Diane, are seated on low stools and working on their needlepoint. The fourth, Berangere, stands on the balcony, looking on the Square.
MADAME DE GONDELAURIER (looking at Fleur-de-Lys adoringly): Captain Phoebus, have you ever seen a face more lovely and more cheerful than your betrothed’s? Isn’t she more light-skinned and more blond than any other girl in Paris? Doesn’t she have accomplished hands? And that neck, isn’t it ravishing to the point of being shaped just like a swan’s?
PHOEBUS (distracted): That, it is.
MADAME DE GONDELAURIER: Isn’t my darling Fleur-de-Lys beautiful to the point of adoration?
PHOEBUS: That, she is.
MADAME DE GONDELAURIER: Why, stop polishing your sword and go say something to her. You’ve become quite timid lately.
PHOEBUS: Timidity is neither my virtue nor my fault.
MADAME DE GONDELAURIER: Then get going.
(Phoebus goes to Fleur-de-Lys.)
PHOEBUS (aside): What am I going to say to her? I’ve got to find something gallant to say. (aloud) Beautiful cousin, what’s the subject of your needlepoint?
FLEUR-DE-LYS: Handsome cousin, I already told you three times. It’s Neptune’s grotto.
PHOEBUS: Ah. And who is this gendarme who’s blowing a trumpet with all his cheeks?
FLEUR-DE-LYS (annoyed): That’s Triton.
PHOEBUS: Why does your mother always wear an armorial coat like our grandmothers in the time of Charles VII? Her brocaded laurel makes her look like a walking mantelpiece.
FLEUR-DE-LYS: Is that all you have to tell to me?
MADAME DE GONDELAURIER (watching them, aside): A touching picture of love!
BERANGERE (on the balcony): Ah, look, mother! There’s the pretty dancing girl who danced on the Square of Notre-Dame the other day. She’s playing her drums for the bourgeois and the peasants.
FLEUR-DE-LYS: Pah! Some Gypsy from Bohemia!
COLOMBE AND DIANE (rising): Let’s see! Let’s see.
PHOEBUS (aside, motionless in the middle of the room): I can hear her Basque drum... But I don’t dare go near the window. Ah! A pox on all these obnoxious manners.
FLEUR-DE-LYS (aside): Perhaps I’ve made him angry? (aloud) Handsome cousin! Didn’t you tell us of a Bohemian girl whom you rescued last night from a dozen creatures?
PHOEBUS: Oh, there was only one creature, cousin. A horrifying hunchback, the bell-ringer of the Cathedral, from what they told me. Imagine the insolence! He was carrying off the girl like a ragdoll, this monster. But he’ll pay dear for it. The scoundrel will spend today on the Place de Greve at the tender mercies of the Paris Executioner.
FLEUR-DE-LYS: She was lucky that you were there to save her. Why, perhaps it’s she who’s dancing there. Come see if you recognize her.
(She takes his arm and leads him to the window.)
PHOEBUS (excitedly): Yes, it’s her! I recognize her!
FLEUR-DE-LYS: So you took a careful look at her last night?
PHOEBUS: Er, I recognize her by her goat.
DIANE: Oh, the pretty little goat, really!
BERANGERE: Are its horns made of real gold?
FLEUR-DE-LYS: Phoebus, since you know this Bohemian girl, signal her to come up. That will amuse Berangere.
ALL THREE YOUNG GIRLS (clapping their hand
s): Oh, yes! Yes! Please!
PHOEBUS: Why, that’s ridiculous. She’s undoubtedly forgotten me already.
FLEUR-DE-LYS: No one forgets you that way, handsome cousin.
PHOEBUS: Well, if you insist, I’ll give it a try. (leaning over the balcony and calling) Girl! Girl!
BERANGERE: Oh, she has heard you! She’s coming! She’s coming here.
FLEUR-DE-LYS (aside): She was quick enough to obey a sign from Phoebus.
DIANE: Who’s that man all in black standing in the gallery of the Tower of Notre-Dame?
PHOEBUS: That’s the Archdeacon, Dom Claude Frollo.
DIANE: See how he follows the girl with his eyes.
PHOEBUS: Like a hawk looking at a sparrow.
FLEUR-DE-LYS: Let the Gypsy take care of herself for the Archdeacon doesn’t love Gypsies.
BERANGERE: Ah! Here she is! Here she is!
(Esmeralda enters, then stops, intimidated, at the threshold.)
DIANE: Ah! She’s very pretty.
FLEUR-DE-LYS: Yes, in a rather common sort of way.
ESMERALDA (glancing at Phoebus, aside): He’s not looking at me.
MADAME DE GONDELAURIER (in her armchair): They tell me you’re the girl my nephew rescued the other night. Do you recognize Captain Phoebus?
ESMERALDA: Oh, yes!
MADAME DE GONDELAURIER: Come closer, little one.
(Esmeralda, staring at Phoebus, doesn’t hear.)
BERANGERE: Come, Mademoiselle.
(Esmeralda finally comes closer.)
Frankenstein vs The Hunchback of Notre-Dame Page 9
