|
|
by Therese
The Incident happened on a Monday.The day was bright and pleasant, almost spring-like. Esmeralda had found a well-traveled spot along the Rue de Cigognes, opposite Chez Therese and down a little way, and was having a profitable afternoon, dancing, and making Djali do tricks. Quasimodo was at work in the tavern, and he would peek out the window from time to time to watch her. Madame Darbois was not at home, but Anne was working in the kitchen. Maurice David, stouter of the two wine-selling brothers, and Madame's landlord, was lounging outside his house, enjoying the fresh air. And Sergeant Grosjean was plodding up the street on horseback.
He was in a bad humor. Captain Montblanc had changed his beat from the Place de Notre Dame to this out of the way precinct, and he didn't appreciate the demotion. Plus, he knew the Captain was keeping an eye on him, as was Montblanc's favorite, Lieutenant LeGault. He was a dried up, grizzled old man who should have been retired by now, Grosjean sulked, and the way he let the Gypsies swarm around the Cathedral was disgraceful. Why, just the other day, he'd heard, some common street musician had been playing on the steps of Notre Dame, and LeGault had just stood there and watched, instead of burning the beggar's instrument and throwing him in prison. What was Paris coming to, Sergeant Grosjean wondered. Sometimes, it seemed to him, there was no justice in the world any more.
For the most part, since the death of Claude Frollo, the gypsies, beggars and street performers who wandered Paris had had very little trouble from the guards. There were still a fair number of soldiers, Grosjean included, for whom old habits died hard, and they were always ready to harrass the truants, break a head or two, and threaten them with the dungeon and the rope. But, Paris had a problem that only a few privileged souls knew about. Minister Larrieux, the new Minister of Justice, had very little interest in his job. He liked the Palace, and the robes, and the importance of his position. He liked feasting with his aristocratic friends and entertaining his noble patrons. Oh, the courts and the dungeons were rather interesting, and he did mean to look into them some time, tomorrow, or next week, perhaps, but somehow or other, the days went by too quickly, and he never could find the opportunity to take care of things. The result of this was that the dungeons were filling up with people awaiting a justice, good or bad, that showed no sign of coming. Captain Montblanc, unable to get any answer from the Palace, had taken it upon himself to see that the only people incarcerated were those who posed an actual threat to the populace. He had not been joking when he had told the Sergeant that there weren't enough cells to lock up all the vagrants.
Sergeant Grosjean was ignorant of all this. He had tried to see the Minister of Justice, himself, and had been refused, but he had taken this as a personal insult instead of simply business-as-usual. As far as he was concerned, the new Captain and the new Minister were too soft, and, as much as he had despised Claude Frollo, for being a pompous, arrogant old snob, Grosjean found himself longing for the good old days.
It was while he was churning all this around in his mind that he chanced upon Esmeralda.
The mere sight of the surly guardsman was enough to make any unfortunate bystanders scatter. Esmeralda was kneeling on the ground while she and Djali counted the coins that had been tossed into her tambourine. The Sergeant swung down from his horse and strode up to her.
"Hand it over," he ordered.
Esmeralda looked up, her green eyes glaring at him, and with a snort, she turned away and resumed counting. Grosjean seized a fistful of her hair and hauled her to her feet. "Are you deaf, gypsy, or just stupid," he growled, knocking the money from her hands. "How many pockets have you picked today, eh?" he shook her. Djali made a run at him, but the soldier's boot caught the goat in the ribs and hurled the animal against the wall.
"Djali!" Esmeralda tried to wrench free, as Maurice David came from across the street, calling, "Here, unhand that woman!"
"Stand back, old man," Grosjean warned, "or I'll have you arrested, too."
Ignoring this warning, Maurice reached for his arm, but Grosjean drove an elbow into the man's portly stomach and sent him staggering back with a satisfying grunt. Esmeralda was still kicking and clawing at the soldier, cursing at him the whole time, and, with one movement, he lifted her off her feet and wrestled her to the ground. Holding her down by the neck, he reached for his club to break her jaw and shut her up.
Grosjean's first, instantaneous thought was that the hand of God, himself, must have swooped down and pulled him off the girl, so suddenly did he feel himself hauled into the air. The voice of this same God roared a mighty "NOOO! DON'T TOUCH HER!" and hurled him face first against the wall. The huge hands turned him around and pinned him against the wall, and, horrified, Grosjean found himself staring into the hideous face of Quasimodo, made all the more terrifying by the look of sheer rage the monster wore. "DON'T TOUCH HER!" Quasimodo shouted again, his hand around Grosjean's neck. The Sergeant's head was spinning, he was gasping for air, the gypsy strumpet and the fat old man were yammering, but he couldn't make out their words, all he knew was that the monstrous hunchback was squeezing all the air out of him…
"Let him go, you'll kill him," he finally made out another voice, and became dimly aware of another body that had come between his and the monster's. "No!" said Quasimodo, but the new voice said, "If you kill him, they'll arrest you, you'll hang, he's not worth that, Quasimodo, let him go. Esmeralda has his sword, he can't hurt her. Let go."
The monster released his grip, and Grosjean gulped for air. The huge hand still held him by the collar and kept his back against the wall, but he could breathe now, and assess the situation. The hunchback was glaring at him and fiercely observing every twitch of his features. The gypsy did, indeed, have his sword, and she was examining the goat, who was bleating pitifully. Another girl knelt over the animal, as well; her back was to him, and he could make out nothing more than that she was not another gypsy. He guessed, rightly, that she was the one who had convinced the hunchback to stop choking him.
"More soldiers," warned Maurice David, who was the first to see the two horsemen coming.
Esmeralda looked up anxiously, but her gaze stopped on the Sergeant's face. He had turned, as best he could, to hail the men coming to his aid, but she clearly saw his face pale, then flush with anger, when he saw who they were. Prompted by this unlikely reaction, Esmeralda took a chance. "Let them come," she said, standing up.
Captain Montblanc and Lieutenant LeGault advanced toward them at a stately pace. The Captain looked displeased. "What has happened here?" he asked, in a gruff voice.
"Sir," Maurice David, as the most respectable member of the company, stepped forward, "your Sergeant assaulted this woman in the street."
"What were you doing?" the Captain addressed Esmeralda.
"Nothing!" it was Quasimodo who answered him. "She did nothing! Look what he did to her!"
Esmeralda did look the worse for her encounter with the Sergeant, and Quasimodo, enraged anew, gave the fellow another good slam against the wall.
"You," the Captain drew his sword and pointed it at Quasimodo, "let him go."
"No!" he refused.
"Stand back." The Captain spoke calmly, and firmly, as if addressing a child, or dumb animal.
"No!" he repeated.
"Stand back, brute. Or I will kill you." The Captain's voice was still as before.
"Sir, don't harm him." Grosjean saw the girl who had saved him step forward and shield the hunchback from the Captain's sword. "He is not a brute. Your sergeant did attack Esmeralda; Quasimodo was only protecting her. Please, don't harm him."
All of them had their eyes on the Captain, who was staring at the girl as if she had materialized before him from thin air. He lowered his sword.
"What is your name?" The question was hardly more than a whisper.
"Anne, sir," she said.
"Anne what? Who is your family?"
"I'm only Anne, sir. I work in the tavern," she pointed across the street.
"That is my house, Captain," put in Maurice David. "I am a wine merchant…"
"Silence," the Captain snapped, and warned off the man with a flick of his sword. "Mademoiselle Anne," his voice was soft again, "tell me what happened here."
She looked around at the company and said, "I didn't see how it started. But I saw him," she indicated the Sergeant, "throw Esmeralda on the ground and hold her down. He was going to beat her. I don't know what else he meant to do." Her tone, innocent as it was, clearly implied a more sordid assault.
Grosjean, smelling the accusation, spat, "I wouldn't waste myself on that gypsy rubbish." All he got for this was another shake from Quasimodo. The Captain did nothing to stop it this time.
"Sir," ventured Anne, "the others saw more than I did."
"I was standing right there," Maurice pointed to the spot. The Captain was still fixed on Anne, but nodded for him to continue. "Esmeralda and her goat had been performing all afternoon. They were collecting their earnings when this man rode up. He tried to take her money, and when she refused, he dragged her by the hair, and threw her down, with the intention of beating her, just as this young lady says. He also kicked her goat," Maurice added, as an afterthought.
"He did," Anne confirmed this.
"This is madness!" railed Sergeant Grosjean. "Captain, you can't take the word of these people. Look at them!"
"Sergeant, did you or did you not assault this woman?" the Captain asked him.
Grosjean stood, appalled by the question. "For God's sake, she's a gypsy!"
"And you can prove no other crime against her? That's not good enough, anymore, Grosjean. Claude Frollo is dead."
"This monster nearly killed me!" the Sergeant ranted, furiously.
"He is not a monster!" snapped Anne, her temper getting the best of her.
"Shut up, you little-- " Grosjean snarled at her.
With a flash, Guy Montblanc's sword was against the soldier's throat. The lot of them fell into a stunned silence at the sudden fury of the gesture. No one said a word for a moment, then the Captain, in a chilling voice, spoke. "I would cut out your tongue, Grosjean, if I thought it would silence you." Addressing his Lieutenant, he ordered, "Take this man into custody. He will be confined to barracks, under guard, until I decide how he should be dealt with."
Lieutenant LeGault, every inch a professional soldier, carried out his orders without comment, but there was no question that he was enjoying every moment of it. He winked at Quasimodo and murmured a congratulatory, "Stout fellow," as he took custody of his man, and he even made a gallant bow to Esmeralda when he asked her for the miscreant's sword. Grosjean, finally beginning to comprehend that he had already cheated death twice and was not likely to be so lucky a third time, suffered himself to be led away.
Captain Montblanc did not depart, but remained in the street. Esmeralda had gathered up Djali in her arms, and she and Anne were both fussing over the goat, who clearly had at the very least a broken leg, but was still alert. Quasimodo bowed his head and said, "Captain, I'm sorry; I never meant to hurt anyone, but I couldn't stand by and -- "
"It's all right," Montblanc assured him, not without a hesitant touch of kindness in his voice.
"Esmeralda is my friend. She wasn't doing anything wrong."
"She is free to go. So are you. I'd be careful, though," he addressed Quasimodo with just the slightest tug of a smile on his lips, "about throttling any more soldiers you meet."
"Oh, yes, sir, absolutely," he agreed, backing away.
"Mademoiselle Anne," the Captain addressed the fair girl again. "You say this is your house?"
"I live here, sir, yes," she nodded, unsure of what he wanted.
"Your tavern has no custom?" he observed the empty windows.
"We're not open yet, sir. Next week, Madame thinks."
He nodded at this, and said, "Would you object to my coming in for a minute?"
"Sir, I've told you all I know…"
"I don't doubt it. Still, I wish to speak to you for a minute."
Esmeralda had begun to carry Djali away, with the intention of taking him to one of her fellow gypsies who could mend his wounds. Quasimodo had been going with her, but now he turned back and said, "Captain, sir, Anne is a good girl."
"I mean her no harm," Montblanc said. "I want only a word with her. You're free to go."
"Go on," Anne nodded. "Go help Esmeralda, I'm fine."
Quasimodo did as he was told, but not without a few backward glances.
"He's a loyal fellow," the Captain noted, dismounting.
"He's a good man," Anne agreed. "What do you want of me, sir?"
"May I come inside?"
"I don't think Madame would like it," she declined, as politely as she could. "She's not at home."
"Madame is your mistress?"
"Madame Darbois, this is her tavern. She's a good woman," Anne added, still wondering what he was trying to get out of her. "She's very respectable."
"I am glad to hear it. Have you any family, Anne?"
"No, sir."
"They are dead?"
"I think they must be. I don't really know."
The sudden spark in his eyes startled her. "Where did you come from? How did you come to be in this place?"
Anne backed away from him, unnerved by his intensity. "I- I was a foundling, sir. I've never had any family. Except for Madame."
This confused him for a moment. "She is related to you?"
"No, not by blood. But she took me in when I was eight, and she's always been kind to me; she's the closest thing to a family I've ever had. Sir, have I done something wrong? What have I done?"
"Nothing, nothing, Anne." He was fumbling for something that hung from his belt. "I want you to look at this. Do you see this?" He handed it to her, but kept his own grip on it.
Anne peered with her one good eye at the talisman he gave her. She could make out very little of the face that had been painted on it and worn away, only two blue eyes, and the faint trace of a smile, and a few tendrils of blonde hair.
"Do you see?" asked Captain Montblanc, bending just enough to look up into her face. "Can you see it?" Taking the portrait from her fingers, he examined it and softly said, "Her name was Juliette. She was my sister." When Anne turned her gaze up to him, his own blue eyes were soft with emotion, as he smiled, a smile that would have melted the heart of any other girl in Paris. "You are exactly like her."
Therese was surprised, upon returning home, to find a strange man sitting in the tavern, talking to Anne. In the space of a glance, she recognized him as a soldier, and an officer, and she was struck by a twinge of alarm. As she entered the room, she saw Anne leap to her feet and back away from the table where the two of them had been sitting. The officer rose as well, calmly, as a mark of respect for the ladies.
"Good day, Madame," he bowed his head to her ever so slightly.
"Good day. Is there some trouble here?" she asked warily.
"Not at all," he advanced toward her. "You are Madame Darbois?"
"Yes." She tried not to answer too curtly. His manner was pleasant enough, but she knew better than to trust his uniform.
"I am Captain Guy Montblanc, of the Paris Guard. Please forgive my intrusion--"
"There was some trouble," Anne blurted, interrupting him. "Out in the street, earlier. A soldier tried to arrest Esmeralda, and -- and there was a fight. But, everything's all right now."
"All right?" Therese examined first the Captain, then Anne, wondering exactly what their definition of "all right" was. There was something odd going on, and she didn't like being left in the dark. "What happened? Anne?" she looked at the girl, who was twisting her fingers and avoiding Madame's eyes.
The Captain said, "I assure you, Madame, it has been resolved. No one was arrested. The sergeant was out of line, and will be disciplined. It was a misunderstanding, that's all."
"Well," Therese folded her arms, "pardon me for being inquisitive, but I'd still like to know what has been going on here."
This time, Anne explained, "The soldier tried to take Esmeralda's money -- she'd been performing all afternoon. When she wouldn't give it up, he attacked her and knocked her down, and Quasimodo ran out to stop him. You know how he cares for her."
"It was Mademoiselle Anne who resolved the matter," the Captain smiled warmly at the girl, who burned an uncomfortable shade of red at the compliment. "It was her cool head that prevailed."
"I did nothing," Anne murmured.
"She is a fine young lady, Madame. You should be proud of her."
"Yes, I know it," Therese nodded, still convinced that there was something no one was telling her.
"I beg your pardon again for intruding," said the Captain. "I won't take any more of your time. I hope, Madame, that you won't object to my coming again when your tavern is open. I hear you're the finest cook in Paris."
Therese knew exactly how her best customers would feel about having a soldier lurking about the place, but she answered him courteously, "My establishment is open to everyone, sir."
"Anne," he extended a hand to the girl, which she touched with hesitation, "I hope I will see you again."
She met his eyes for an instant, but said nothing. With another au revoir to both of them, Captain Montblanc left the tavern.
Therese waited until he was safely away, then plunked her hands on her hips and exclaimed, "What was that all about?"
She had not directed the question specifically to Anne, but she noticed at once the distress in the girl's face as she backed away. In a much softer voice, Therese asked, "Anne, what's the matter?"
"Oh, Madame..." All she could do was shake her head.
It had been eight years since Madame Darbois had hired the ragged child to be her assistant in the tavern, taking her away from an abusive mistress and a life of wretchedness, but Therese had never forgotten the way that frightened little girl had looked at her those years ago, and she clearly saw the poor child's face as she now studied the fair young lady Anne had become.
"Come here," Therese gently took Anne by the shoulders and they sat down side by side on a bench. "Tell me what happened."
"I don't know if I can," Anne murmured. "I don't know what to think..."
Therese pursued the first assumption that popped into her head. "Did that Captain make advances toward you?"
"No."
She answered promptly enough, but Therese was not ready to believe her. She put an arm around the girl and felt her press closer in response. "Anne, you listen to me," she said gently. "It's only natural that the men are going to take notice of you. You're sixteen now, and you're a pretty girl. But they have to treat you with respect. You don't have to tolerate anything less. I don't care if he is a Captain, he has no business pressing his attentions on you..." A strange configuration of puzzle pieces suddenly fell together in her mind. "Is that what he meant, by saying that you had resolved the fight? Did he make you promise him something to let the others go? He can't do that-- " Therese fumed.
"No! No, it was nothing like that. What happened earlier -- when Quasimodo saw the soldier attacking Esmeralda, he ran out and pulled him off of her. He had the man pinned against the wall, I thought he was going to kill him. I convinced him not to, that's all I did. I can't believe he even listened to me, he was so upset. Then, the Captain came, and everyone tried to explain what had happened, and I was the one he believed. That's all. That's all."
"And he didn't arrest anyone?" Therese marvelled.
"It was that Sergeant Grosjean, the one Clopin talks about," Anne explained. "I think he was already in trouble, that's why Captain Montblanc believed us."
Therese rubbed Anne's shoulder thoughtfully as she digested this. "Well, I still can't see what he was doing in here. If he tries to bother you, if he gives you any trouble, you come to me. I'll take care of him."
Anne nodded vaguely in reply, and Therese gave her a squeeze. As Therese moved to get up, Anne suddenly reached for her and pulled her into an embrace. "Oh, Madame, you've been so good to me..."
"Shhh, you're all right," Therese soothed the girl, rocking her in her arms. "You just remember, there's nothing I can't fix."
Therese knew perfectly well that something was still troubling Anne, but there was little she could do about it. "She'll tell me if she feels like it. And, otherwise, it's really none of my business." It was about an hour before sunset when Anne came to her and said, "Madame, I'd like to go out for a walk, if it's all right."
"Where are you going?"
"To the cathedral," she answered. "I've been thinking -- I want to see if Quasimodo's all right. After what happened."
"Well, be careful. And don't be gone too long; I don't want you wandering around after dark."
"Yes, Madame."
Quasimodo was surprised to have company.
"Anne," he broke into a smile as she came up the steps into his loft. "What are you doing here? Oh, come in, sit down," he carefully brushed off a seat for her. Only when she came near did he see her distress.
"I hope you don't mind my coming up here," she began.
"Of course not, you're always welcome here," he offered her the stool and pulled up another one for himself. "Is something wrong?"
"I didn't want to bother you, but I have to talk to someone, and you're the first person I thought of."
This surprised him. "What about Madame Darbois?"
"I can't tell her, not yet. I don't know what to tell her. I don't know if I'm more afraid that she'll be upset, or that she won't be upset," Anne was almost breathless. "I need to talk to someone who can keep a clear head," she admitted, shaking her own.
Heaven knew why she had thought of him in this light, but he assured her, "I'll listen. You can tell me."
Her glance was everywhere but on his face. "This afternoon, the trouble with Esmeralda, and the soldiers -- oh!" she did meet his gaze long enough to ask, "How is Djali?"
"He'll be all right. Esmeralda has a friend who patched him up. He's going to be fine."
"That's good," she nodded, then turned her face downward again. "You left me in the street with Captain Montblanc, do you remember?"
"Yes," he answered, nervously.
"He wanted to go inside the tavern and talk -- I thought he wanted to talk about Esmeralda and the Sergeant -- " Anne's voice cracked.
Quasimodo felt a rush of protectiveness and, without thinking, he reached out to her. She clasped the hand he offered in both of hers. "Oh, Quasimodo, I don't know what to think!"
"Shh," he tried to calm her, "you're all right now, you're safe here. I knew I shouldn't have left you with him," he frowned. "Soldiers are all that way, they're all bad..."
It took her a moment, but Anne realized what he was thinking, and said, "No! It wasn't like that; why does everyone keep thinking it was that!? He was a perfect gentleman; that wasn't what he wanted!"
"Oh." Quasimodo was surprised at the gust of relief he felt at this. "What did he want?"
She sighed and rubbed his hand thoughtfully. "He showed me a picture of his sister. Her name was Juliette. She and the Captain were orphaned when they were very young, and were raised by their Grandfather, but when he died, Captain Montblanc joined the army, and his sister went to live with an Aunt. The Aunt was unkind to her, though, and Juliette was unhappy, so when this man came along and asked her to run off to Paris with him…" Anne looked up, to see if he was following her, and Quasimodo nodded sympathetically. "She was only 16," the girl said. "My age. She was pregnant when he abandoned her, and too ashamed to go home. A kind woman finally took her in, and gave her a place to have her baby, but the woman's family was very poor, and when Juliette died, they couldn't afford to keep her child. They left the baby on the Foundlings' Bed – they left her here," Anne remembered where she was. "Captain Montblanc was far away with the army when all of this happened, and he didn't hear of it until he came home. Once he knew, he went straight to Paris to find his sister, but she was already dead by then. It took him a long time to find this out, and to learn of the baby, and what had become of her. He asked about her at the cathedral, but this had all been three or four years before, and there were so many foundlings, no one could remember one little girl…"
Gently, Quasimodo laid his other hand on top of hers, to try to keep her from shaking so.
"It was me!" Anne blurted at last. "He thinks it was me."