The advocate's trade taketh all the grain, and leaveth only straw to the
other scientific professions. There are forty very excellent proverbs
anent the hole-ridden cloak of the philosopher. Oh, sire! clemency is
the only light which can enlighten the interior of so great a soul.
Clemency beareth the torch before all the other virtues. Without it they
are but blind men groping after God in the dark. Compassion, which is
the same thing as clemency, causeth the love of subjects, which is the
most powerful bodyguard to a prince. What matters it to your majesty,
who dazzles all faces, if there is one poor man more on earth, a poor
innocent philosopher spluttering amid the shadows of calamity, with an
empty pocket which resounds against his hollow belly? Moreover, sire,
I am a man of letters. Great kings make a pearl for their crowns by
protecting letters. Hercules did not disdain the title of Musagetes.
Mathias Corvin favored Jean de Monroyal, the ornament of mathematics.
Now, 'tis an ill way to protect letters to hang men of letters. What a
stain on Alexander if he had hung Aristoteles! This act would not be a
little patch on the face of his reputation to embellish it, but a very
malignant ulcer to disfigure it. Sire! I made a very proper epithalamium
for Mademoiselle of Flanders and Monseigneur the very august Dauphin.
That is not a firebrand of rebellion. Your majesty sees that I am not
a scribbler of no reputation, that I have studied excellently well, and
that I possess much natural eloquence. Have mercy upon me, sire! In so
doing you will perform a gallant deed to our Lady, and I swear to you
that I am greatly terrified at the idea of being hanged!"

So saying, the unhappy Gringoire kissed the king's slippers, and
Guillaume Rym said to Coppenole in a low tone: "He doth well to drag
himself on the earth. Kings are like the Jupiter of Crete, they have
ears only in their feet." And without troubling himself about the
Jupiter of Crete, the hosier replied with a heavy smile, and his eyes
fixed on Gringoire: "Oh! that's it exactly! I seem to hear Chancellor
Hugonet craving mercy of me."

When Gringoire paused at last, quite out of breath, he raised his head
tremblingly towards the king, who was engaged in scratching a spot on
the knee of his breeches with his finger-nail; then his majesty began
to drink from the goblet of ptisan. But he uttered not a word, and this
silence tortured Gringoire. At last the king looked at him.