On a Sunday night in 1462, a foundling lay on the steps of Notre-Dame, hungry and abandoned. Forsaken by his parents who were too ashamed to have produced a monster, rejected by society which would've gladly preferred to slaughter him on the square, or hand him over to the gypsies who were notorious for consuming children. In such a circumstance, Monseigneur Claude Frollo had taken him in. As the infant grew into a child and later into a young man, it was Frollo who stood by his guard, he who had protected him from the outside world, appointed him as bell-ringer and taught him to read and write. But he hadn't taught the wastrel how to read his master's true feelings.
Quasimodo paced about the tower, dithering, his mind conflicted. The scene that repeatedly flashed was of Esmeralda, his Esmeralda, standing shattered, voice breaking, arms hugging herself. The way she jerked away at his touch. That look in her eyes when they opened... disturbingly devoid of the innocence and contagious joy she once had while dancing. The question plagued him- what on earth could've made her so frightened? He didn't know what. But he did know who. And he wished the answer was anyone except who it was.
At his worst, his master used to humiliate, slap or thrash him. Simply imagining him doing it to Esmeralda made him instantaneously want to forget the image. No, Frollo would never do that. Not to her. It must be something else.
'You must remember that she is like a mother to you. You must think of her as such...The sin of lechery is a grave one. And I doubt if you are even capable of touching her without giving her some disease.'
Frollo had always warned him against having impure thoughts and had likely figured out the nature of his feelings for Esmeralda. To accuse Quasimodo of that was understandable, even...correct. But to accuse him of lechery was too much. He hadn't met her for months at that time. Why then was his master so afraid of him touching her?
The next memory was that night at the sanctuary cell. It had been too dark for his one eye to see properly, but it was time for her to sleep. Frollo had broken into her room, and she was screaming. Resolved to protect her, Quasimodo hadn't thought twice before pulling her assailant from the bed. Pulling her assailant from the bed. Pulling her half-naked assailant from her bed.
His palm smeared over his face. His master may not have taught him much on the subject of copulation, but the religious books he had made him read, had. He could remember them speaking about the heinous act of forcing one's licentious intentions on somebody, the accounts of women scarred for life after such an ordeal, and of hefty repercussions to be given to the criminal.
With urgency he replayed all the conversations he had with Frollo in the past months. Did his routinely unreadable visage ever display signs of malice? Could his master, forever so dutiful to God and religion, be capable of something so ugly, so far from holy? His heart said a firm no.
But then Quasimodo realized, and it crushed him to do so, that even if there had been clues, he wouldn't have seen them. For there was nothing to compare them to. Esmeralda had been surprised at things about his life that he considered normal. The two people who were compassionate towards him were totally different in their compassion, and he couldn't say which was right.
Dusk arrived but there was no sign of her. Forlorn and wearied, the bell-ringer neared the staircase leading to the church. Out of an impulse he walked down. It was pointless and unreasonable; surely, she wouldn't be there. But like we said, love is seldom as strong as it is when unreasonable.
And by some miracle of the Holy Mother, a honeylike voice chanted in intervals.
'...While meditating on these mysteries, of the most holy rosary of the blessed Mary, we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise, through the same Christ our lord.'
--
The air was cool and light in the evening when the mother led her reluctant daughter through the gates of the cathedral. Fortunately it was mostly empty, and the locum priest didn't mind them coming to the altar. She knelt down and looked at her child. 'Darling, kneel beside me. I'll teach you to pray.'
Esmeralda fingered the rosary around her neck. Leaving the one time prior to her execution when she was forced to repent on the square, she had seldom prayed in a Catholic setting. The last time she could remember even addressing god was making desperate invocations during the battle of Notre-Dame. After that she had determined it of being no use.
'I don't know. It feels so bizarre.'
A doting smile appeared on Gudule's face. 'Don't be doubtful. The almighty is ever merciful, no matter what one has been in the past. Come, I shall explain,' she said, then broke into a coughing fit.
'Mother, are you fine? Should I get water?' Esmeralda worried.
'No. It's...ahem, just a cold.'
'You should've told me earlier. I would've called for a physician,' Esmeralda said disapprovingly.
'There is no need for that,' said Gudule. 'We shall talk about this later. Now, do you know about Jesus Christ and how he was crucified?'
She rolled her eyes. 'A little.'
'By sacrificing his son's life,' Gudule narrated, 'God gave us the gift of unmerited mercy. As believers, we should have confidence that whatever happens to us happens for our well-being. If things do not turn out how we hoped, we should not criticize or lose faith in him. How things will end may not be in our hands, but keeping hope in his boundless grace will ensure that they end for our good.' She paused to look at Esmeralda, but instead of the conviction that she hoped to see, there was lethargy in her face. Sensing this disappointment, the girl said, 'I am sorry. But I don't see how what happened to me would be for my good in any way.'
Gudule took out her rosary and told her to hold her own. 'It's alright, you don't need to understand now. You will, eventually.'
The gate opened to disrupt their session. Fleur-Dy-Lys walked inside, accompanied by no one but Madame Gondelaurier. Esmeralda was about to stand, but Gudule held her back. 'Don't be scared. We're all here to pray.' She proceeded like nothing had happened. 'First you sign the cross. In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.'
As always, the dame passed a contemptuous glance their way. But Fleur's eyes turned at her for a second before drawing down.
'Repeat me, darling,' Gudule instructed.
She did. She repeated all that her mother did, but she wasn't thinking about god while doing so. Her mind was trapped in a conundrum. She didn't know how to feel about this subtle change of attitude from Phoebus's wife. The greater issue she was caught up on was her friend from the bell-tower. She knew she was late. What if he didn't want to see her?
Gudule was reaching conclusion. '...imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise, through the same Christ our lord. Amen.'
Esmeralda recited the same, then by chance looked upwards. What she saw made her eyes bulge and brighten. 'Quasimodo!' she yelped aloud.
Everyone- Gudule, Fleur, Madame Gondelaurier and the priest looked at her, then at the staircase. Quasimodo was stupefied. He was going to sprint back to where he had come from, but the girl ran after him. 'No, stay!'
Stay. Like she had asked him to do after he rescued her. At the time he had thought that she wanted him to go away, and he did this time too, especially considering his foolishness in the morning. But then he spun around and saw Esmeralda, her face reeking of joy and sadness and excitement and guilt, but also a desperation, a hopeful, longing heat in her eyes. Over her shoulder, the spectators were gaping. Even the Gondelauriers were too invested to comment. But she wasn't paying heed to that. She was paying heed to him. It was indisputable.
'Forgive me...I'm sorry...' she panted.
He reared back, 'No! I am sorry.'
Her eyes shut in relief. She turned to Gudule, who had her hand stuck in the middle of signing the cross. 'Quasimodo, this is my mother,' she said, pulling him with her. Wholly staggered, he gave his best smile. The old lady stared at them, slack-jawed.
She let go of him. 'Mother, this is the bell-ringer, Quasimodo.' Slowly, the recluse took a thorough look at his face. He uttered, 'Oh no, you need not look at me.'
She gave a weak smile. 'It's alright. My daughter told me about you.'
'Mother, don't say it!' Esmeralda cried out. Quasimodo looked at her in disbelief. 'She did?'
They did not have much time to discuss this, as Madame Gondelaurier said to Fleur in a volume that rang through the altar. 'I expected nothing better from that hunchback, but Sister Gudule! Even people who hated her kind with a passion are falling into her spell. This gypsy prostitute has spared nobody.'
Like a bolt of lightning, Gudule shot up at her. In a most menacing way, she thundered, 'Dare you speak one more word against my daughter, Aloise.'
Madame Gondelaurier almost lost her balance. 'P-Paquette, do you mean that...this witch is your daughter?'
Her chestnut eyes glowered. 'You can be certain. And if you ask me, you seem more like a witch, with your vanity and insolence.'
The younger people opened their mouths in shock. Caught off guard, the dame stood unmoving. 'Don't. We're one of the most well-bred families in Paris.'
'Indeed,' said Gudule sarcastically. 'The well-bred family that grants their daughter to a seducer who chases every skirt his eye catches.'
Esmeralda tugged at her sleeve. 'Let it be. Let's not bother ourselves with them.' Fleur did the same with her mother.
But the lioness that Gudule's untidy mane warned of had been unleashed. Unaccustomed to confrontation, Madame Gondelaurier's face became clamped with sweat, but it didn't lose resolve. 'Sister, I respect you because you're a nun. Don't make me reconsider.'
'Respect?' Gudule broke away from Esmeralda's grip. 'I've lived in front of your house for fifteen years. I very well know how much your family speaks of honor and how much honor they possess. Your daughter was unmarried at twenty-three, so you set her up with that captain by promising him money. You don't care about your or her honor, only your reputation. Your daughter's friends spend whole days with her just to have a word with her husband. And her husband has no qualm in satisfying their hunger, too.'
'Mother,' Esmeralda pleaded.
'Paquette,' the aristocrat warned, and jabbed a finger at Esmeralda. 'You're talking as if you're unaware of this wench's deeds who you say is your daughter. She- '
Gudule was in no mood to listen. 'You made my daughter a scapegoat for the problems your daughter faced due to you and the match you chose for her. Just because she was young, poor, naïve, and too sweet to go against anyone. But she has a mother too, and I assure you; I'm not sweet like her.'
This was too much for Madame Gondelaurier. Her feet traced back in defence. 'I shall not stay here!' she announced in a final attempt to save face. As she stormed out of the church, Gudule called out, 'If you and your girl don't mind your business from now, Aloise, I shall personally avenge every tear you gave my Agnes. This is not a threat,' she said in a voice that made the departing dame pale.
After this, she again started coughing. Esmeralda patted her back. Quasimodo questioned, 'Should I bring water- '
Gudule gestured a refusal, but the locum priest handed out a jug to her anyway. 'You have a fever, sister,' he declared, touching her forehead.
'Didn't some people catch the flu near your street? You must come to the Palace,' said Esmeralda.
'She's right,' the priest told Gudule. You should rest.' The recluse gave a small nod, then sat down on the floor from exhaustion.
'But how will you get her out of here?' the priest asked Esmeralda. Fleur-Dy-Lys, who was still present and watching all of this, hesitantly stepped towards them. 'If you want, I can take her with me in my carriage.'
Esmeralda raised her brows and skeptically turned at her. Fleur stumbled, 'It was just a suggestion.'
She glanced at her mother, who was clearly in no state to walk. 'We need to take her to the Palace of Justice, not the cell.' Fleur said, 'I will do it. The Palace isn't far from our home, as Phoebus has to go there often.' Esmeralda squinted from suspicion of another jibe.
'B-but I shall drop her there myself,' Fleur clarified, nodding vigorously. 'It isn't safe to trust Phoebus with responsibilities anyway. He will likely be out for the night. The guards recognise her, don't they?'
'They do,' said Esmeralda. 'But won't it damage your morality to help a sorceress who deserves to be hanged?'
The noblewoman awkwardly laughed, though she was aware that it wasn't a joke. 'Sister Gudule and my mother have always been on good terms. Until now, at least. Either way, it's my duty to help her.' Her eyes still didn't meet Esmeralda's.
Since there was no better option, Esmeralda approved. Quasimodo was more than happy to lift the recluse. The priest opened the gate while Fleur led them to the carriage. After sitting down, Gudule passed a glance toward Fleur instructing her coachman with directions. 'Looks like my dressing down worked well,' she whispered to Esmeralda.
'Thank you,' she replied gratefully.
The mother stroked her cheek. 'If anyone troubles you now, don't be afraid. Did you see how cowardly Aloise Gondelaurier became once I started speaking her tongue? They do this because they know that you won't say anything. Don't give them that pleasure. You even have status now. Never bear someone intimidating you, my dear.' Esmeralda nodded understandingly.
'And if they badger too much, come to me. When I said that no one can hurt you while I'm here, I mean it.'
'Take care.'
'Don't worry about me. I shall get better.' She then smiled and signaled towards the cathedral. 'Talk to your friend. He looks like he's dying to see you.' Esmeralda looked back to see the bell-ringer uneasily standing at the entrance, watching a passerby who also stared at him. In the setting sun, he seemed to be one of the gargoyle statues of the building.
After waving farewell to the carriage, she walked towards the cathedral and raised the basket. When he saw her coming his chin lowered.
'I forgot to take back my headdress.'
His mouth quirked. 'Why, I forgot it too! Come inside.'
'And thank you for helping my mother,' she added as they made their way back to the church.
'Oh, that was nothing.'
The sound of her steps stopped. Confused, he looked back and found her leaning against a pillar, her eyes sparkling and arms swinging the basket. For a few seconds, she wordlessly watched the bewildered boy, then grinned. 'That's why I said that your strength is impressive.'
He felt a sudden urge to go there, throw that basket on the ground and devour those pink lips teasing him. Of course in reality he merely chuckled before continuing walking to the bell-tower.
There were many reasons why Quasimodo and Esmeralda were happy at that moment. But what made them the happiest was seeing each other happy with them.
And for that time, they forgot that this conversation wouldn't be remotely as frivolous as this brief journey.
A/N- Well, Happy Diwali my friends. If you liked this chapter don't forget to leave a vote. Helps the algorithm.
A question that I've spent far too much time thinking about is whether Quasimodo would've known about sexual assault. Safe to assume that Frollo wouldn't have taught him anything, but I got to know that the religious texts of the time (including the Bible) do refer to it. And it's unlikely that Frollo wouldn't have made him read religious texts.
The book also speaks about him having sexual feelings, but then he doesn't realise what Frollo was trying to do with Esmeralda until the end. Complicated stuff. Let me know what you think.
Anyway, have a nice day :)