Hunchback of Notre Dame (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) by Victor Hugo Page B

scribes,” said his neighbor.
    “And the beadles’ wands!”
    “And the deans’ spittoons!”
    “And the proctors’ cupboards!”
    “And the electors’ bread-bins!”
    “And the rector’s footstools!”
    “Down with them!” went on little Jehan, mimicking a droning psalm-tune; “down with Master Andry, the beadles, and the scribes; down with theologians, doctors, and decretists; proctors, electors, and rector!”
    “Is the world coming to an end?” muttered Master Andry, stopping his ears as he spoke.
    “Speaking of the rector, there he goes through the square!” shouted one of those in the window.
    Every one turned towards the square.
    “Is it really our respectable rector, Master Thibaut?” asked Jehan Frollo du Moulin, who, clinging to one of the inner columns, could see nothing of what was going on outside.
    “Yes, yes,” replied the rest with one accord, “it is really he, Master Thibaut, the rector.”
    It was indeed the rector and all the dignitaries of the University going in procession to meet the ambassadors, and just at this moment crossing the Palace yard. The scholars, crowding in the window, greeted them, as they passed, with sarcasms and mock applause. The rector, who walked at the head of his company, received the first volley, which was severe:—
    “Good-morning, Sir Rector! Hello there! Good-morning, I say!”
    “How does he happen to be here, the old gambler? Has he forsaken his dice?”
    “How he ambles along on his mule! The animal’s ears are not as long as his own.”
    “Hello there! Good-day to you, Master Rector Thibaut! Tybalde aleator! f old fool! old gambler!”
    “God keep you! did you throw many double sixes last night?”
    “Oh, look at his lead-colored old face, wrinkled and worn with love of cards and dice!”
    “Whither away so fast, Thibaut, Tybalde ad dados , g turning your back on the University and trotting straight towards town?”
    “He’s probably going to look for a lodging in Tybaldice Street,” shouted Jehan du Moulin.
    The entire band repeated the silly joke in a shout like thunder, and with frantic clapping of hands.
    “You’re going to look for a lodging in Tybaldice Street, are you not, Sir Rector, you devil’s advocate?”
    Then came the turn of the other officials.
    “Down with the beadles! down with the mace-bearers!”
    “Say, you Robin Poussepain, who’s that fellow yonder?”
    “That’s Gilbert de Suilly, Gilbertus de Soliaco, Chancellor of the College of Autun.”
    “Here’s my shoe; you’ve got a better place than I; fling it in his face.”
    “ Saturnalitias mittimus ecce nuces .” h
    “Down with the six theologians in the white surplices!”
    “Are those theologians? I thought they were six white geese given to the city by Saint Geneviève for the fief of Roogny.”
    “Down with the doctors!”
    “Down with all the pompous and jocose disputations.”
    “Take my cap, Chancellor of St. Geneviève! You did me an injustice,—and that’s the truth; he gave my place in the nation of Normandy to little Ascanio Falzaspada, who belongs to the province of Bourges, being an Italian.”
    “Rank injustice,” exclaimed all the students. “Down with the Chancellor of St. Geneviève.”
    “Ho there, Master Joachim de Ladehors! Ho there, Louis Dahuille! Hollo, Lambert Hoctement!”
    “May the devil smother the proctor of the German nation!”
    “And the chaplains of the Holy Chapel, with their grey amices, cum tunicis grisis! ”
    “Seu de pellibus grisis fourratis!” i
    “Ho there! you Masters of Arts! See all the fine black copes! See all the fine red copes!”
    “That makes a fine tail for the rector!”
    “You would think it was a Venetian doge on his way to wed the sea.”
    “I say, Jehan! look at the Canons of St. Geneviève!”
    “To the devil with all Canons!”
    “Abbot Claude Choart! Doctor Claude Choart! Are you looking for Marie la Giffarde?”
    “She lives in Glatigny Street.”
    “She’s bedmaker to