Claude listened attentively as the priests incanted old Latin liturgy from the words of Matthew or Mark as he kneeled in prayer, hands piously clasped together. His family, along with the rest of the Parisian nobility, were always seated closest to the altar during Mass. The rest of the city attending Sunday service sat or stood back behind the elite.
As the words of the Gospel writers droned on, Claude studied the shimmering stained glass windows high above the cathedral's altar. Still, nothing could compare to the west side's magnificent rose window of Mary and Child. The Virgin had always been held high in reverence, particularly by Claude's mother, who directed her prayers to the Blessed Mother. The strongest woman God ever set on His earth, by her words.
The Lord blessed her with a gift, she told her son, teaching him his prayers years ago. Her purity was rewarded by being chosen to be the mother of Christ. The Lord protected her and the Holy Family during their flight into Egypt. She followed Him in all His teachings and miracles, His Crucifixion, and when He rose from the dead. You see, Claude, the Lord will protect you and give you strength if your heart is pure…
Glancing to his side, his father's gaze was blank as he obliviously stared at the altar. Opposite the Minister, Claude's mother clasped her prayer beads in her folded white hands, devoutly mouthing her prayers along.
Claude, trying to be discreet, slowly craned his neck back to examine the rest of the parishioners gathered in the rest of the cathedral. His gray eyes flickered throughout the great hall, over the dozens of heads bowed in prayer and listening the Lord's word. Suddenly he noticed something for the first time in all his young life attending Notre Dame: Not one gypsy…
Nobles in their best attire of jewels, fur, and bright dyed fabrics; peasants in their least dirtied-by-field-work clothes. But no gypsies...
Without warning, Claude hissed in pain as he felt an aggressive tug at his ear. Looking up, he saw his father's eyes dart from the boy and back up to service, silently ordering him to pay attention. Folding his hands together again, Claude mechanically obeyed.
When Mass had finally concluded, the citizens swarmed for the door, many eager to relax for the rest of their Sunday. Outside, Claude continued to look for any trace of church-going gypsies, ultimately finding none.
The boy finally noticed some nearby in the square, sprightfully performing before the people, despite the late autumn chill. He seemed to have hovered too long when he felt his father quickly push him into the dark coach that waited for the family. Inside, Claude looked back out the small window, studying those dancing gypsies disappearing as the vehicle rolled away from the square.,
Inside the coach, Claude sat across from his rigid father, Jeanne-Marie taking a seat beside her son and brushing back his dark locks. His father stared out the window as the coach moved, Claude noticing a scornful sneer adorning his countenance.
Though these rides to and from the cathedral were usually spent in silence, Claude felt the urge to ask the question that still lingered in his mind. "Father?" he asked shyly, his eyes nervously glancing from his folded hands in his lap to the Minister. Nicolas Frollo turned to face his son, only raising an eyebrow as a response.
Maybe you shouldn't ask, the boy hesitantly considered. However, he felt that he needed some clarity on the subject.
"I…I wanted to know," Claude began. "Why are there no gypsies at Mass?"
Jeanne-Marie stayed silent, hoping that her husband would not lash out at Claude for a simple question. After all, the man was not known for sparing even his son from his fierce temper.
Unexpectedly the Minister laughed, stroking his beard as he looked back out the window. Claude was somewhat unnerved by this, gripping his hands tighter in slight anxiety as the man's voice thundered inside the confined space.
"Because," the large judge began. "They are not worthy of our God."
Claude stared blankly at his father, unable to speak (and afraid to, as well). Seeing the confusion on the boy's face, Nicolas continued, "They are pagans, my boy—creatures that don't follow our God. They probably worship something with two hooves for feet and the head of a goat! They thrive on black magic and witchcraft…haven't you seen them in the square? Those little "magic tricks" of theirs are nothing but sorcery. That is why they refuse to accept our beliefs. And I have told you already to steer clear of their kind, did I not?"
"Yes, sir," Claude obediently muttered, barely looking at the man.
"And don't you forget that," Nicolas said, pointing a finger at him.
The rest of the ride back to Rue Tirechappe resumed its regular silence. Inside the household, it was only when the Minister retreated to his study upstairs did Claude feel he could speak again freely. Following his mother into their parlor, Claude suddenly asked, "Do gypsies really not believe in God?"
Jeanne-Marie took a seat, retrieving the unfinished tapestry beside her favorite chair. "Claude, I am sure that they believe in God, but they are probably not very inclined to attend Mass."
"What does that mean?" the boy asked, crossing his arms. Did that mean they were afraid of attending?
Sighing, the pale young woman answered, "I would assume that they do not feel welcome. You have seen the treatment of their kind in the streets. To attend Mass would mean for them to enter a place where the majority is quite hostile towards them."
Claude chewed on the information for a moment, his mother resuming her delicate sewing-work. "So then, it's a matter of life or death?" he asked, hoping that that wasn't her implication. Perhaps he was merely overthinking it, or getting ahead of himself.
"In the grand scheme of things, yes," she demurely answered. "They must consider their own safety."
X
"So after he changed her back to a human, the emperor took off his crown and put it on the man," Celeste merrily narrated. She had shared with Claude various gypsy tales; today's story centered on a hen who laid diamond eggs.
As usual, Claude nodded as he listened along before his gaze was drawn to the Notre Dame cathedral. He had always been fascinated with its imposing majesty, being a safe haven for him his whole life as he walked behind his parents through the doors every Sunday. His question from Mass had drifted in his mind as he recalled those faces filling the church.
Impulsively, he asked, "Celeste, why do I never see gypsies going to church?"
"What?" she said, obviously taken aback.
Hoping not to offend her, Claude chose his words carefully. "My father tell me that gypsies don't deserve God, but I don't believe it. So why don't they attend Mass like everyone else?"
Celeste looked away, searching for an answer. She then evenly replied, "Because we don't need to."
Bewildered at this statement he asked, "You 'don't need to'? What do you mean?"
"Gypsies don't have to go church or pray to be good people. It's just something a person should do no matter what. That's what my family believes," she explained. During their time together, Celeste learned how attached Claude was to his religion: he taught her some of his regular prayers, recounted the stories of some of his favorite saints, and described a few Catholic rituals.
Claude looked back at the church. "I've always been taught that everybody needed God to be a good person. My mother says that the smallest things we do wrong can be sins, and people will go to Hell as punishment. That's why we have to pray—so we can go to Heaven. You don't believe in that?"
"Well…it's more than just that," she said matter-of-factly, taking a sharp turn away from a fish cart being pushed by a bored-looking peddler.
"Then what is it?" The boy blocked her path, crossing his arms, and looking doubtful. Whatever it was that prevented the gypsies from going to church, he just had to know whether or not his parents' words were true.
Celeste found that her friend was unwavering, not going to move until he received an answer. "You want to know? People have always told us that our kind isn't welcome in Notre Dame," the gypsy girl elaborated. "My parents told me that we don't put our faith in a God that turned His back on us."
Claude was stunned by this revelation. His mother was right: safety was their main concern. He thought, But God is all-forgiving, all-loving, isn't He? They need to see that.
"But it's the house of God—how can you not be allowed?" he questioned curiously.
"People don't like us because we're different, so we've been banned. That's why we don't go to church," Celeste answered, wearing an almost saddened expression.
"That's awful," Claude pitifully expressed, feeling a sadness well in his stomach. Christianity being the cornerstone of his life, it was staggering to imagine life without his faith. "Everybody should have the right to God. Has anyone in your family ever read the Bible?"
Celeste's hazel eyes averted his inquisitive gaze as the two continued to walk through the throngs of people bartering in the square. "We can't read," she answered bluntly. "They say it's only for merchants and nobles."
Claude pondered this information for a moment. Being from a family of high esteem granted both his parents to be excellent readers, himself learning at about four, by his mother's recount. "Well that doesn't seem very fair," he commented, sympathetic that Celeste, like so many of society, was illiterate.
"I wish more people felt that way." She turned away, continuing on their stroll past peasants arguing over prices.
"Wait," he said, grabbing Celeste by the arm. "There's something I want to do first." Taking her by the hand, Claude led her towards Notre Dame. Climbing its steps and opening one heavy door, he motioned for her to enter. After a brief look of hesitation, Celeste shrugged and entered the cathedral at his eager insistence.
Inside, Celeste looked in awe at the endless marvels that Notre Dame had to offer. Claude noticed her instant fascination over its grand architecture, taking in every arch and column in sight. Just like her friend, she was drawn to the rose window at the far end of the church, studying its two subjects surrounded by kings and prophets. The high vaulted ceilings could reach to the supposed Heaven itself, in her mind.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Claude asked from behind her, closing the door gently to prevent their loud resonance from echoing throughout the place.
"I'll say," she answered, still amazed by her surroundings. Claude was captivated by the sight of his friend covered in the colorful light pouring in from the endless spectrum provided by the numerous stained glass scenes.
He couldn't help but smile at his friend. "I can't imagine why anyone would not be allowed this." Claude led her to an empty pew near the rose window and motioned for her to sit down. There were a handful of other parishioners kneeling and sitting with their hands folding in prayer, one or two casting disapproving grimaces at the young boy and his companion.
"So why did you bring me here?" she quietly asked, taking a seat. There's was obvious discomfort on her face from the few scowls shot in their direction.
"First of all, I wanted you to see the inside of the church. Second: because I told you, Celeste, I have to do something. Wait just a moment."
Claude kneeled down and crossed himself before clasping his hands together and bowing his head. He began to go through his usual cycle of prayers:
Dear Lord, thank you for my health, my family, my home, and my education. Thank you for giving me the strength to defeat my enemy, but forgive me for my use of a Deadly Sin, Wrath. But most of all…
Claude turned his head a little and glanced over at Celeste, who was still taking in all the sights of the cathedral.
Thank you for sending me my dear friend, Celeste. Please keep her safe, happy, and healthy. Amen.
He crossed himself again before rising up. "Ready to go?" he asked, snapping his friend out of her hypnotic state by the cathedral.
"Ready when you are," she replied, following him as he exited the pew.
Claude smiled as he looked back again at the magnificent stained glass before leading her back towards the entrance of the church. Before they could open the doors, the pair was stopped by a voice calling, "Young Master Frollo!" It was the church's newly-ordained Archdeacon.
"Hello, Father Augustin," Claude greeted politely, knowing to be extra-respectable towards a man of the cloth.
"My boy, I know you take Mass very seriously, but evening service doesn't begin for another hour," he said, pristine white garments standing out against the darkness of Notre Dame not bathed in dimming sunlight.
"Yes, I know, Father. I just stopped by for a moment," he quickly explained. "Oh, this is my friend, Celeste." He pulled her close to him, trying to break her obvious shyness. "I was just showing her the inside of the church."
"I see." Father Augustin studied the gypsy girl, not with harsh eyes like others had. "It's very nice to meet you, young lady," he greeted her cordially, smiling warmly at her.
Easing up a little, she automatically answered, "You too." Never having been inside the church, let alone spoken to a clergyman, she was not quick to let her guard down.
"So, am I to understand this is your first time visiting the cathedral?" Augustin inquired.
Nervously, she answered, "Yes, it is."
Augustin's curiosity stirred. "May I ask, why have you never ventured in here before, my child?"
Celeste quickly glanced at Claude before saying, "Because...my kind isn't allowed here."
Augustin was shocked at such a grim answer from one so young. "That's absurd!" he retorted, trying to keep the air light. "Everyone is permitted to turn to God and to enter His house."
"I told her that!" Claude interjected, trying not to sound too smug, "Even gypsies should be allowed." Celeste quickly rolled her eyes at him, still not completely convinced of his and the Archdeacon's optimism regarding her presence here.
"That's very noble of you, Claude. Well then, Celeste, remember that you are always welcome here," the Archdeacon assured her. "Do not let the fears of others prevent you from entering Notre Dame."
"Thank you, sir," she said kindly. "That's kind of you."
"After all, the Good Book says to be kind and tender-hearted to others," Augustin responded, folding his hands before him, his ring and his gold cross pendant catching the light. "And who are we not to follow such brotherly advice? Now you two should run along since we must finish preparing for Mass."
"Thank you, Father," Claude said, pushing the door open and holding it for Celeste to exit.
"And Claude," the Archdeacon spoke up, the boy spinning around. "Don't get your friend into any trouble!"
"I wouldn't dream of it!" Claude replied confidently, closing the door behind him. When do I ever go looking for trouble? he thought to himself.
As the two walked down the steps, Celeste turned to him. "Thanks for showing me the church; it was nice. But why did you have to pray all of sudden?"
Giving her a enigmatic smile, he said, "There was something really important that I needed to tell God."
"Oh, and what was that?" Celeste asked, Claude following her.
He smirked and merely answered, "Never mind." He felt light-hearted, even as they passed numerous merchants cursing and bellowing out obscenities. He noticed a stray cat weaving its way under people's legs eager to snatch any dropped goods.
As a mercer walked by with his cart of cloths, Celeste then asked, "Claude, why do you care so much about gypsies going to Mass?"
"Well," he began. "All my life I've heard that gypsies shouldn't be allowed to go, but never explained why until now. And now that I have a gypsy friend, I wanted to share with you something I love, Celeste, which is the church."
"That's sweet of you." She patted him on the shoulder. "You're probably the only one who wants us to."
"Does this mean you'll go to Mass now?" he asked hopefully, his thin lips turning upward in a smile.
Looking back up at the building, she simply said, "Maybe. But here's something you should know about gypsies: we don't do well inside stone walls."
"Why not?"
"Gypsies have to be free and can't be trapped or we go crazy," she explained, her hand on his shoulder. "That's one reason we move from place to place."
"That explains a lot," he commented. "No matter what my father says, I still pray that more of you will be able to go to church someday."
"You have a lot of problems with your father, don't you?" she remarked, a dry sense of humor that could easily match his own sarcasm.
"That's why I hope I never become like him!" he declared as they shouldered through citizens chatting away.
"That reminds me!" the gypsy girl piped up, stopping and reaching for the pouch dangling at her side. "I brought something for you!"
Claude's eyebrows rose as her small hand dug into the pouch, hiding the contents closely. Opening her hand, Claude puzzledly examined the object: a cord woven together into a homemade necklace, which held a small, smooth rock through a perfect hole in its center. "What is it?" the boy bluntly asked, still staring at it before collecting it into his hands.
"This is a gypsy amulet," Celeste explained, pointing to the accessory. "This rock here is called a witch stone."
Flinching, Claude pushed the amulet back towards her, as if it had burned his fingertips. "Witch stone?" he haltingly repeated, looking apprehensively at the charm.
"That's just a name, Claude. Besides, we find these rocks in the river. Look, this amulet will protect you when you wear it."
Hesitantly, the boy took the necklace from her, inspecting it in his hand. "Protect me from what?" he asked.
"Bad spirits and evil," she answered. "You know, any prikaza."
Claude's eyes looked skyward, trying to remember what that meant. "Bad luck?"
"You're learning gypsy language!" Celeste jovially exclaimed, lightly pushing him in the shoulder.
Twirling the stone between his fingers, Claude smirked at the notion. "As long as my father doesn't hear me," he remarked. "So when I wear this, it will protect me?"
"Do have a coin purse with you?" she asked, Claude nodding in response. "You carry it in a pouch—a putsi—and it'll keep you safe."
As Claude turned the small rock around in inspection, he couldn't help but feel honored to receive a gift from his friend. He thanked the gypsy girl kindly before stowing the amulet away in the coin purse.
*A/n: Thanks for reading and reviewing, it means a lot! Part of reworking this thing means looking up Roma terms and customs. Plus I had to elaborate more on Claude's religiosity. And I need to get this done so "To Live" & "Love You to Death" can go forward.
The story of the hen that laid diamonds I got off of sacred-texts. The witch stone thing is also called a hag stone or adder stone. Oh, there's also a new Frollo backstory up: "Youth" by WingedPens. Check it out!