Pierre Gringoire

Character Analysis

Pierre Gringoire is a playwright with a very high opinion of himself. He's pretty central to the major events in the story—he's technically Esmeralda's husband, and he helps arrange the attack on Notre-Dame—but his main job is to provide some comic relief.

A Poet and He Knows It

Gringoire takes pride in himself as a man of letters, but he's also the only one who doesn't realize how incredibly bad he is at it. On the occasions when we're treated to Gringoire's talents, the review is always a resounding thumbs down—like when the narrator tells us that "[t]he prologue [of Gringoire's play] was long-winded and empty of meaning, which is to say that it obeyed the rules of drama" (I.II.89).

Gringoire's speech, in keeping with his writing, tends to be long-winded and empty of meaning. He's totally that person who thinks he's way smarter than he really is, or that person who knows some big words but doesn't actually know how to use them. Take his explanation of his new profession to Frollo:

"It is a sad thing, I admit, to let the gentlemen of the watch run the risk of belaboring under this sorry disguise the shoulders of a Pythagorean philosopher. But how can I help it, my reverend master? The blame rests with my old coat, which basely abandoned me in the depth of winter, on the pretext that it was falling to tatters. What could I do? Civilization is not yet so far advanced that one may go stark naked, as Diogenes of old wished to do." (VII.II.20)

What the heck? Gringoire's just saying that he needs a new coat. He's just going on and on, trying to be all poetic, taking a whole paragraph to say what he could get across in a single sentence. He's not a man of few words, that Gringoire. Not even the King of France can shut him up:

"Sire, Your Majesty will deign to hear me. Ah, sire! Let not your wrath fall upon so humble an object as I am! The thunderbolts of God are not hurled against a lettuce. You, sire, are an august and most powerful monarch. Have pity on a poor but honest man who would be more helpless in kindling an uprising than an icicle could strike a spark. Most gracious sovereign, clemency is a virtue of lions and kings; severity only drives the minds of men more indomitable. The fierce wind cannot make the traveler throw off his cloak […]" (X.V.168)

So when you're powering through Gringoire's page-long speeches, don't worry if you can't figure out what the heck he's saying. He's really not saying anything.

Gets His Goat

Esmeralda's accidental husband is just about the only character in the novel who isn't head over heels for her. Instead, he really cares about her pet goat, Djali. If you're confused and weirded out, that's because you should be. Gringoire's attachment to Djali is a bit, shall we say, unnatural. Maybe we're reading too much into this, and Gringoire really just loves his pet like anybody else would, but we should be a little leery when Gringoire actually compares the figures of Esmeralda and Djali:

Luckily, however, he soon recovered and quickly rediscovered it, thanks to the gypsy girl and her Djali, who were still walking before him—two elegant, delicate, charming creatures, whose small feet, handsome shapes, and graceful manners he admired, almost confusing them in is imagination. He regarded them both as young girls for intelligence and their fondness for each other, and thought of them both as young goats for their agility and lightness of step. (II.IV.16)

Wow. We've seen some pretty goats in our time, but this takes the cake. So yes, when Gringoire runs of with Djali at the end of the novel, we're supposed to have that "Wait, really?" reaction. Call it funny, call it gross, call it another form of love, but it's definitely more than a little odd. Maybe the point is that Gringoire is so removed from reality with all his excess language that the best love he can muster is love for a goat.