Clopin Trouillefou

Clopin Trouillefou gnawed his great fists with rage.

IV. An Awkward Friend. Book X 1917

Hark ye! thou standest before three puissant sovereigns—myself, Clopin Trouillefou, King of Tunis, successor of the Grand Coësre, Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom of Argot; Mathias Hungadi Spicali, Duke of Egypt and Bohemia, the yellow-vised old fellow over there with a clout round his head; Guillaume Rousseau, Emperor of Galilee, that fat fellow who’s hugging a wench instead of attending to us.

VI. The Broken Pitcher. Book II 1917

Master Coppenole himself applauded, and Clopin Trouillefou, who had competed—and Lord knows to what heights his ugliness could attain—had to own himself defeated.

V. Quasimodo. Book I 1917

Meanwhile, Clopin Trouillefou, after conferring a moment with his brothers of Egypt and of Galilee, the latter of whom was quite drunk, cried sharply, “Silence!

VI. The Broken Pitcher. Book II 1917

Clopin Trouillefou, invested with the regal insignia, had not one rag the more or the less upon him.

VI. The Broken Pitcher. Book II 1917

In the midst of this Round Table of the riffraff, Clopin Trouillefou, as Doge of this Senate, as head of this peerage, as Pope of this Conclave, dominated the heterogeneous mass; in the first place by the whole height of his barrel, and then by virtue of a lofty, fierce, and formidable air which made his eye flash and rectified in his savage countenance the bestial type of the vagabond race.

VI. The Broken Pitcher. Book II 1917

They’ve been taken up with all the world—with Clopin Trouillefou, with the Cardinal, with Coppenole, with Quasimodo, with the devil; but with Madame the Virgin Mary not a bit.

VI. Esmeralda. Book I 1917

There were no longer scholars, ambassadors, burghers, men or women; neither Clopin Trouillefou nor Gilles Lecornu nor Marie Quatrelivres nor Robin Poussepain.

V. Quasimodo. Book I 1917

“Now, ” resumed Clopin Trouillefou, “when I clap my hands, do you, Andry le Rouge, knock over the stool with your knee; François Chante-Prune will hang on to the rascal’s legs, and you, Bellevigne, jump on to his shoulders—but all three at the same time, do you hear?

VI. The Broken Pitcher. Book II 1917

” cried Clopin Trouillefou to the three Argotiers waiting to fall on Gringoire like spiders on a fly.

VI. The Broken Pitcher. Book II 1917