Victor Hugo
Dedicated to my favorite novel, Notre-Dame de Paris (aka, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame) by Victor Hugo
The birds lay upon the street in a motionless comatose. Feathers stripped, beaks ruined and broken by the cruelties of automobiles as Hugo Cabret walked down the Parisian street towards the cathedral of Notre-Dame.
The boy took delight in examining the detailed portals. The northern most was the Virgin. Her beauty, Hugo thought, matched Isabelle's. He moved down towards the saints and the martyrs that filled up the wall space. A bit disturbed by Denis but comforted by his angels, Hugo walked inside.
Taken aback by the sheer size of it, Hugo walked across the nave and noticed the intricate ribs above him, the clear story above the gallery, the stain glass which depicted Christ and his chosen, the cross near the altar and the large, Gothic ceiling, which stretched to heights unfathomable to him. Sitting in one of the pews, was a man by the name of Claude, he was the archbishop. A man of respect, honor, and dignity, he was a kindly man who carried a love in his heart for a woman known as Agnes but Claude called her Esmeralda, because only something so beautiful as her deserves a beautiful name such as that.
Claude, noticing someone had entered, turned around, smiled and said: "Ah, welcome young man to Notre-Dame de Paris. Is there something I can assist you with?"
Hugo shook his head, he was still looking at the place.
Hugo's eyes however, looked at one of the back walls that stood in shadow. Very faintly, Hugo could make out a word, but he could not read it.
"Mousier," Hugo said, "what's that?" He said pointing to the word on the wall.
Claude turned and with a sigh said: "That dear boy is a word that you should not have seen."
"Why is that?" Hugo asked.
Claude smiled and stood, "Curious are we? Alright, you want to know what that word means, I want you to read a book."
"A book?"
Claude nodded, "Yes, a book, it's called Notre-Dame de Paris, by Victor Hugo, named after this very church, it explains the meaning of that word written there."
"But I can't read sir," Hugo replied.
"What?" Claude said, "You can't read?"
"Well, I can a little, but not any book."
"I see," Claude said, "no matter," he said placing his hands on Hugo and ushering him to his office. "we'll just have to work on that."
"You're going to help me learn how to read?" Hugo asked a bit surprised that a complete stranger, the archbishop of the church no less, would help him in a matter that seemed so trivial to him.
"Why of course!" Claude cried with enthusiasm, "we'll start to-day if you wish, we'll work for two hours for six months and go from there. Then afterwards, you can read that book I was talking about."
"What's the book about?" Hugo asked, as he entered Claude's office.
"Oh, it's a book of vagabonds, bellringers, archbishops, and gypsies." Claude answered.
"Sounds interesting." Hugo replied.
"It is most indeed interesting, my favorite novel of Hugo's. What is your name boy, I completely forgot to ask it, my apologizes."
"Oh, it's Hugo, Hugo Cabret." The boy answered.
Claude smiled as he sat at his desk and Hugo a chair. "Hugo Cabret," he said, "very fittingly, my name happens to be Claude, Claude Frollo."
"Why is that fitting Monsieur Frollo?" Hugo asked.
"You can call me Claude, Hugo, and to answer your question, well, it's best not to answer that question because it would ruin the story."
"What story?"
Claude didn't answer this, he simply smiled, grabbed a basic literature book and began teaching.