The Great Hall

On January 6, 1482, Paris woke to the sound of all its bells.

That day, the city was celebrating two feasts at once: the Feast of Kings and the Festival of Fools. Double feast, double crowd, double uproar.

From early morning, the streets poured toward the Palace of Justice. A great show had been promised: a play — a "mystery," as people said back then — and, when evening came, the election of the Pope of Fools, the maddest contest of the year.

The Great Hall of the Palace was said to be the largest in the world. That morning, it suddenly seemed too small.

Thousands of people were crushed inside. They climbed on the benches. They sat on the shoulders of statues. They hung from window ledges to see something — anything.

At the far end of the hall, on a wooden stage, a great marble table waited for the actors.

And near that stage, a thin man in a black coat worn down to the thread was chewing on his worry.

His name was Pierre Gringoire.

Poet. Author. Unknown.

The play about to be performed was his. He had put months of work into it, all his nights, and his last hopes of a better life.

— Today, he murmured, Paris will finally hear my work.

But Paris, for the moment, was listening to nothing.

The crowd found fun in everything: a ridiculous hat, a jostled merchant, a student shouting insolent jokes from the ledge of a pillar. Every minute of waiting made the hall louder, more mocking, more dangerous.

Because other guests were expected too.

A cardinal, people said. And ambassadors from Flanders, far in the north, come to negotiate a great marriage. Important people. Late people.

— The play! shouted some.

— The Flemings! shouted others.

— The Pope of Fools! howled the rest.

Gringoire watched that human tide and felt his heart tighten.

He had imagined an attentive audience, hanging on his verses.

He was discovering a storm.

At last, noon rang. The crowd growled louder than ever: nothing had begun.

Then Gringoire made the greatest decision of his day — he signalled to the actors.

Too bad for the distinguished guests.

The show was about to begin.

He did not know it yet, but this sixth of January would not merely decide the fate of his play.

It was going to change his entire life.