But the play was done for；not one of these many beauties was heard or understood.It seemed as if，with the entrance of the Cardinal，an invisible and magic thread had suddenly drawn all eyes from the marble table to the platform，from the southern to the western side of the Hall.Nothing could break the spell，all eyes were tenaciously fixed in that direction，and each fresh arrival，his detestable name，his appearance his dress，made a new diversion.Excepting Gisquette and Liènarde，who turned from time to time if Gringoire plucked them by the sleeve，and the big，patient man，not a soul was listening，not one face was turned towards the poor，deserted Morality.Gringoire looked upon an unbroken vista of profiles.
With what bitterness did he watch his fair palace of fame and poetry crumble away bit by bit！And to think that these same people had been on the point of rioting from impatience to hear his piece！And now that they had got it，they cared not a jot for it—the very same performance which had commenced amid such unanimous applause.Eternal flow and ebb of popular favour！And to think they had nearly hanged the sergeants of the Provost！What would he not have given to go back to that honey-sweet moment！
However，at last all the guests had arrived and the usher's brutal monologue perforce came to an end.Gringoire heaved a sigh of relief.The actors spouted away bravely.Then，what must Master Coppenole the hosier do but start up suddenly，and in the midst of undivided attention deliver himself of the following abominable harangue：
'Messires the burghers and squires of Paris，hang me if I know what we're all doing here.To be sure，I do perceive over in that corner on a sort of stage some people who look as if they were going to fight.I do not know if this is what you call a Mystery，but I am quite certain it is not very amusing.They wrestle only with their tongues.For the last quarter of an hour I have been waiting to see the first blow struck，but nothing happens.They are poltroons，and maul one another only with foul words.You should have had some fighters over from London or Rotterdam，then there would have been some pretty fisticuffing if you like—blows that could have been heard out on the Place.But these are sorry folk.They should at least give us a Morris-dance or some such mummery.This is not what I had been given to expect.I had been promised a Feast of Fools and the election of a Pope.We too have our pope of fools at Ghent，in that we are behind nobody.Croix-Dieu！This is how we manage it.We get a crowd together as here；then everybody in turn thrusts his head through a hole and pulls a face at the others.The one who by universal consent makes the ugliest face is chosen Pope.That's our way.It's most diverting.Shall we choose your Pope after the same fashion？It would at any rate be less tedious than listening to these babblers.If they like to take their turn at grimacing they're welcome.What say you，my masters？We have here sufficiently queer samples of both sexes to give us a good Flemish laugh，and enough ugly faces to justify our hopes of a beautiful grimace.'
Gringoire would fain have replied，but stupefaction，wrath，and indignation rendered him speechless.Besides，the proposal of the popular hosier was received with such enthusiasm by these townsfolk，so flattered by being addressed as squires，that further resistance was useless.There was nothing for it but to go with the stream.Gringoire buried his face in his hands，not being fortunate enough to possess a mantle wherewith to veil his countenance like the Agamemnon of Timanthes.
1 A pun on the word gant（glove）and Gand，the French name for the city of Ghent.
2 The arms of the city of Paris show a ship on heaving billows and the motto'Fluctuat nec mergitur.'
Chapter 5-Quasimodo
In a twinkling burghers，students，and Basochians had set to work，and all was ready to carry out Coppenole's suggestion.The little chapel facing the marble table was chosen as the mise en scéne of the grimaces.A pane of glass was broken out of the charming rose-window above the door，leaving an empty ring of stone，through which the competitors were to thrust their heads，while two barrels，procured from goodness knows where，and balanced precariously on the top of one another，enabled them to mount up to it.It was then agreed that，in order that the impression of the grimace might reach the beholder in full unbroken purity，each candidate，whether male or female（for there could be a female pope），was to cover his face and remain concealed in the chapel till the moment of his appearance.
In an instant the chapel was filled with competitors，and the doors closed upon them.
From his place on the platform Coppenole ordered everything，directed everything，arranged everything.During the hubbub，and pretexting vespers and other affairs of importance，the Cardinal，no less disconcerted than Gringoire，retired with his whole suite，and the crowd，which had evinced so lively an interest in his arrival，was wholly unmoved by his departure.Guillaume Rym alone noticed the rout of his Eminence.
Popular attention，like the sun，pursued its even course.Starting at one end of the Hall，it remained stationary for a time in the middle，and was now at the other end.The marble table，the brocade-covered platform，had had their day；now it was the turn of the Chapel of Louis XI.The field was clear for every sort of folly；the Flemings and the rabble were masters of the situation.
The pulling of faces began.The first to appear in the opening—eye-lids turned inside out，the gaping mouth of a ravening beast，the brow creased and wrinkled like the hussar boots of the Empire period—was greeted with such a roar of inextinguishable laughter that Homer would have taken all these ragamuffins for gods.
