The Hunchback of Notre Dame

(SINGING) Morning in Paris The city awakes

To the bells of Notre Dame

The fisherman fishes The baker man bakes

To the bells of Notre Dame

To the big bells as loud as the thunder

To the little bells soft as a psalm

And some say the soul of the city's the toll

Of the bells

The bells of Notre Dame

Listen. They're beautiful, no?

So many colors of sound, so many changing moods.

Because you know they don't ring all by themselves.

They don't? – No, you silly boy.

– Up there, – (BELL TOLLING)

high, high in the dark bell tower,

lives the mysterious bell ringer.

– Who is this creature? Who?

– What is he? What?

– How did he come to be there? How?

– Hush. Ow.

Clopin will tell you.

It is a tale, a tale of a man…

And a monster.

Dark was the night when our tale was begun

On the docks near Notre Dame

– Shut it up, will you? – We'll be spotted!

Hush, little one.

Four frightened gypsies slid silently under

The docks near Notre Dame

Four guilders for safe passage into Paris.

A trap had been laid for the gypsies

And they gazed up in fear and alarm

At a figure whose clutches

Were iron as much as the bells

Judge Claude Frollo!

The bells of Notre Dame

Kyrie eleison

Judge Claude Frollo longed to purge the world of vice and sin

Kyrie eleison

And he saw corruption

Everywhere except within

Bring these gypsy vermin to the palace of justice.

You there! What are you hiding?

Stolen goods, no doubt. Take them from her.

– (THUNDER CRACKING) – She ran.

Dies irae Dies irae

Dies illa Dies illa

Solvet saeclum in favilla

Quantus tremor est futurus

Quando judex est venturus

Sanctuary! Please, give us sanctuary!

Quantus tremor est futurus

Dies irae

A baby?

A monster!

Solvet saeclum in favilla

Dies irae Dies irae

"Stop!" cried the archdeacon.

This is an unholy demon.

I'm sending it back to hell, where it belongs.

See, there, the innocent blood you have spilt

On the steps of Notre Dame

I am guiltless. She ran. I pursued.

Now you would add this child's blood to your guilt

On the steps of Notre Dame

My conscience is clear.

You can lie to yourself and your minions

You can claim that you haven't a qualm

But you never can run from

Nor hide what you've done from the eyes

The very eyes

Of Notre Dame

Kyrie eleison

And for one time in his life

Of power and control

Kyrie eleison

Frollo felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul

What must I do?

Care for the child and raise it as your own.

What? I am to be saddled with this misshapen…

Very well.

But let him live with you in your church.

Live here? Where?

Anywhere.

Just so he's kept locked away

Where no one else can see

The bell tower, perhaps.

And who knows? Our Lord works in mysterious ways.

Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be

Of use to me

And Frollo gave the child a cruel name,

a name that means "half-formed."

Quasimodo.

Now here is a riddle to guess if you can

Sing the bells of Notre Dame

Who is the monster and who is the man

Sing the bells, bells Bells, bells

Bells, bells Bells, bells

Bells of Notre Dame

– Good morning. – (CHIRPING)

Will today be the day? Are you ready to fly?

– (CHIRPING SADLY) – You sure? Good day to try.

Why, if I picked a day to fly, oh, this would be it.

The Festival of Fools.

It will be fun with jugglers and music and dancing.

Go on. Nobody wants to be cooped up here forever.

Oh, man!

I thought he'd never leave. I'll be spittin' feathers for a week.

Well, that's what you get for sleeping with your mouth open.

Go scare a nun.

Hey, Quasi, what's goin' on out there?

– A fight? A flogging? – A festival.

– You mean a Feast of Fools? – Uh-huh.

All right, all right! Pour the wine and cut the cheese.

It is a treat to watch the colorful pageantry of the simple peasant folk.

Boy, nothin' like balcony seats for watching the ol' FOF.

Yeah, watchin'.

Oh, look. A mime.

Hey, hey, hey, hey. What gives?

Aren't you going to watch the festival with us?

– I don't get it. – Perhaps he's sick.

Impossible.

If 20 years of listenin' to you two hasn't made him sick by now, nothin' will.

Watching the Festival of Fools

has always been the highlight of the year for Quasimodo.

What good is watchin' the party if you never get to go?

Here, get away from me! Go on, ya bunch of buzzards!

He's not made of stone, like us.

Quasi, what's wrong? You want to tell ol' Laverne all about it?

I just don't feel like watching the festival, that's all.

Well, did ya ever think of goin' there instead?

Sure. But I'd never fit in out there.

I'm not normal.

Oh, Quasi, Quasi, Quasi.

Do ya mind?

I would like to have a moment with the boy, if it's all right with you!

Hey, quit beatin' around the bell tower.

What do we gotta do, paint ya a fresco?

As your friends and guardians, we insist you attend the festival.

– Me? – No, the pope. Of course, you!

It would be a veritable potpourri of educational experience.

Wine, women and song.

You can learn to identify various regional cheeses.

– Bobbin' for snails. – Study indigenous folk music.

Playin' dunk the monk!

Quasi, take it from an old spectator. Life's not a spectator sport.

If watchin' is all you're gonna do,

then you're gonna watch your life go by without ya.

Yeah, you're human, with the flesh and the hair and the navel lint.

We're just part of the architecture. Right, Victor?

Yet, if you kick us, will we not flake?

If you moisten us, do we not grow moss?

Quasi, just grab a fresh tunic and a clean pair of hose, and…

Thanks for the encouragement. But you're all forgetting one big thing.

What?

My master, Frollo.

Oh. Yeah. Oh, dear, yes.

Well, when he says you're forbidden from ever leaving the bell tower,

does he mean "ever," ever?

Never ever. And he hates the Feast of Fools.

– He'd be furious if I asked to go. – Who says ya gotta ask?

– Oh, no. – Ya sneak out.

– It's just one afternoon. – I couldn't.

And ya sneak back in.

– He'll never know you were gone. – And if I got caught?

Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

He might see me.

You could wear a disguise. Just this once.

What Frollo doesn't know can't hurt ya.

– Ignorance is bliss. – Look who's talkin'.

Nobody wants to stay cooped up here forever.

– You're right. I'll go. – (GARGOYLES CHEERING)

– I'll get cleaned up. – Yes, sir!

– I'll stroll down those stairs. – There ya go!

I'll march through the doors and…

Good morning, Quasimodo.

Oh, good morning, Master.

Dear boy, whomever are you talking to?

My friends.

I see. And what are your friends made of, Quasimodo?

Stone.

– Can stone talk? – No, it can't.

That's right. You're a smart lad.

Now, lunch.

Shall we review your alphabet today?