[_The cannon sounds at the door of the tower; the black veil which concealed the opening in the wall, falls: the gigantic litter of The Cardinal appears, borne by twenty-four foot-guards, surrounded by twenty other guards bearing halberds and torches: the litter is scarlet and ornamented with the arms of the House of Richelieu. It crosses the back of the stage slowly. Great agitation among the crowd._ MARION (_dragging herself up to the litter on her knees and wringing her hands_). In your Christ's name! In name of all your race, Mercy for them, my lord! A VOICE (_from the litter_). No mercy! [_Marion falls to the ground. The litter passes and the procession of the condemned men follows it. The crowd rush madly after them._ MARION (_alone, lifts herself half way up, and drags herself along by her hands: looking around._) Ah! What did he say? Where are they gone? My love! My Didier! No one! Not a sound! Is it A dream--this place? the crowd?--or am I mad? [_The people rush back in disorder. The litter reappears in the background on the side where it went off. Marion rises and gives a terrible cry._ He's coming back! GUARDS (_pushing the people aside_). Make way! MARION (_erect and half-wild, pointing to the litter_). Look, all of you! It is the red man who goes by! [_She falls senseless._ ESMERALDA DRAMATIS PERSONÆ Esmeralda. Phoebus de Chateaupers. Claude Frollo. Quasimodo. Fleur-de-lys. Madame Aloise de Gondelaurier. Diana. Bérangère. Viscount de Gif. M. de Chevreuse. M. de Morlaix. Clopin Frouillefou. The Town-Crier. _Populace, Vagrants, Archers, etc._ ESMERALDA _ACT I_ SCENE.--_The Court of Miracles. It is night. A crowd of vagrants. Noisy dancing. Male and female beggars in different attitudes of their profession. The King of Thune on his cask. Fires, lights, torches. In the shadow a circle of wretched dwellings_ SCENE I _Claude Frollo, Clopin Frouillefou, then Esmeralda, then Quasimodo. The Vagrants_ CHORUS OF VAGRANTS. Long live Clopin! Long live the King of Thune! Long live the rogues of Paris. Let us strike our blows at dusk-- The hour when all the cats are drunk. Let us dance! Defy Pope and bull, And let us laugh in our skins, Whether April wets or June burns The feathers in our caps. Let us smell from afar The shot of the avenging archer, Or the bag of money which passes On the back of the traveler. In the light of the moon, We will go dance with the spirits. Long live Clopin, King of Thune! Long live the rogues of Paris! CLAUDE FROLLO (_apart behind a pillar in a corner of the stage. He is covered with a long cloak which hides his priestly garb_). In the midst of this infamous band What matters the sigh of a soul? I suffer! Oh, never did fiercer flame Burn in the bowels of a volcano. [_Esmeralda enters, dancing._ CHORUS.