The Cathedral of Notre Dame

A tale of the Scarlet Pimpernel

"No!" I heard her scream as she ran fleetly down the cobblestones in an almost deserted part of Paris.  In truth, I don't blame her for acting as such, for I was dressed as a common soldier, and there was a price on her fair head – literally.

"Mademoiselle, wait!" I called after her as I ran after her.  My goodness but the lass was fast!  It took me almost two blocks to overtake her, and even then she kept running, although I could plainly see that she was nearly out of breath.  I took hold of her arm, and she struggled, in a wild frenzy, to get free.  "Mademoiselle, please understand, I mean no harm!" "I won't die without a fight!" she gasped, still struggling to pull her arm free.

"Miss, listen to me!" I said in English, and she stopped abruptly and stared incredulously at me at the sound of a language not commonly used by the Revolutionary soldiers.  "If I have anything to do with it, you shan't die at all," I said softly to her.

She faltered a moment, her bright green eyes still wide with genuine fear.  "But… you're a soldier…. Aren't you here to…?"

I put my index finger to my lips and smiled gently at her.  "I am not a soldier – I have come to bring you away from Paris.  Three friends of mine are waiting for you with a carriage about five blocks from here, and they will see you safely out of Paris, and out of France altogether, if you'll let them."
Relaxing her bare arms nearly all the way, she heaved a great sigh and looked up at me in wonder.

"Monsieur… are you…?"
I tipped my soldier's hat an performed an elegant bow before her, without even waiting for her to finish.  "Himself at your service, milady," I admitted freely.
Now it was she who held my hands tightly, as she drew her face closer to mine and said urgently, "Oh monsieur, you are an angel!  There are so many who owe their very lives to you, and now me as well!  I cannot—"

"All in good time, milady!"  I smiled down at her again and bade her to walk with me, so that we would not attract the attention of anyone who happened to pass us.  She did so quite willingly, and I began to lead her to where carriage waited, along with three of my friends: Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord Tony Dewhurst, and Lord Timmy Hastings.  "Now then," I said cheerfully to her, "I was wondering if you could possibly tell me why this demmed government wants your head?"
She looked sharply up at me and swallowed a lump in her throat.  "Well, the government wants pretty much everyone's head these days…."

I chuckled at this.  "So true, m'dear, so true!  But I never did manage to get everything clear concerning your case in particular.  Would you oblige me, m'dear, in telling your tale?"
Looking nervously about her as we walked slowly together, she assented.  She took a few moments first to rub her hands along the seams of her worn grey skirt and to catch her breath.  Her eyes, from obvious nights of sleeplessness, were red-rimmed and hollow, and her entire face reminded one of a hunted creature.  For that she was, the poor dear, a free citizen of this wretched country being pursued by those who had supposedly freed her.

"You see, sir," she began shakily as I listened with interest, "the Christian religion was abolished very recently here in France—"
"I know."
She glanced up at me again.  "I supposed you would.  But anyway, as you know, the great cathedral of Notre Dame has been seized by the government!  It is as simple as this: they found me inside it, and they thought me to be worshipping God, disobeying the law, and they began to chase after me, and I ran – oh, how I ran! – until I found that abandoned building, and I've been staying there for four days straight, praying to God that they wouldn't find me.  And so you see why I was so frightened when you came in dressed in that soldier's costume – oh monsieur, how can I ever thank you for this?"

I laughed lightheartedly – "No need for that, as I said!  The best thing you can do for me is to tell me your story."
Throwing me a confused look, she said softly, "But I just did…."
"I don't believe you've told me all of it, mademoiselle.  For one thing, I would like to know what you were doing in the cathedral if you knew that the government had seized it."
Deliberately slackening her pace, she cast her gaze to the cobblestones below, as if deep in thought.  Then all of a sudden, she looked up at me again with a new sort of fire in her deep green eyes.  "Oh, if only you could save him as well!"
"Save who, milady?"

With this and her newfound energy, she grasped my hand and pulled me over to a doorstep, where she sat down, gesturing that I should sit beside her.  "My Raoul!  My dear Raoul, monsieur!  Do you know him – Vicomte Raoul de Chagny?"
"I have heard the name before," I said as I saw a mental vision of a haughty aristocrat, the very kind of person that France was rebelling against.

She nodded fervently, a flame dancing in her lustrous eyes.  "He is a marked man as well, as you must know.  His brother, the Comte Philippe, was executed a week ago today.  My Raoul has been hiding in the cathedral ever since!  Oh, I thought he had been executed alongside his brother… but what a joy to find him hiding in that very same place where my Angel and I—"

Here she stopped abruptly, with a sudden look of terror upon her face, as if she had said too much.  I waited for another moment, then said to her, as gently as I could, "Your Angel, milady?"
She nodded, obviously choked up at the thought of… of whatever or whoever she was thinking about.  I held her hand tightly for a moment, trying to give her the courage to trust me with whatever secret she had.  "Do not worry about him," she said quietly after a little while, "for he is… dead… now…."

"Who is dead?" I said softly, still trying to sound as gentle as I possibly could.
"My Angel," she said slowly, then amidst a sudden fit of tears, she cried, "Oh, what does it matter now he's dead!  His name was Erik, Erik Dunuit, and he was…"  She trailed off as tears of hysteria flooded her skirt, and I put my arm consolingly around her shoulders.  She wept through her fingers for a short time, and then, wiping her eyes with her shawl, she forced a laugh.  "I do apologize for that.  I can get so…"  She trailed off, sighing.

"Erik Dunuit," she continued, attempting to keep her voice in check.  "He used to live in the catacombs of the cathedral, and I would always visit him there.  Always, even before the Revolution began!  He was… my Angel… you see, my Angel of Music!" – this last with a wistful smile – "He taught me to sing.  But for this past week, ever since I found Raoul at Notre Dame, I have seen nothing of him, and so I can only assume that he is dead…."

I stood and offered her my hand again, as we were only two blocks from where Andrew, Tony, and Timmy were waiting with the carriage.  Attempting to smile, she stood and took my hand, and we began to walk again.  When the carriage was in sight, I leaned over to her and whispered in her ear, "I'll do my best for your Raoul, milady."

As I said that, her face lit up and she dropped to her knees at my feet, planting a kiss on each of my hands.  "Oh how can I ever—"  I threw my head back and laughed, interrupting the flow of poetic words from her pretty lips.

"Don't you worry about thanking me, m'dear.  Sink me, but methinks you have quite enough on your mind!"  With that I pulled her to her feet and we covered the last few yards to the carriage.
"Percy," said my friend Andrew with a good-natured smile upon his face, "you certainly took your time with this.  I daresay if you'd been a moment longer, we would've left!"

"I daresay you wouldn't have, my dear fellow, for you haven't disobeyed me yet…."  As he chuckled, I helped Miss Daaé into the carriage.  "Now, you three take Mlle Daaé to the Day Dream and sail for England as quickly as you can.  From there, Andrew and Timmy, please escort her to my Richmond estate, and Tony, you sail aboard the Day Dream back to Calais to wait for me.  It may be that you'll have to wait a while for me, but I'll be there soon enough." The three nodded – Andrew even mock-saluted – and they took off, as I called "God speed!" after them.

Now, it was back to Notre-Dame with me.  I reached the ancient Gothic cathedral in a short while, and since I was already conveniently dressed in a soldier's uniform, I entered as if I owned the place.  A stupid move on my part, I had not thought to ask Miss Daaé where in the cathedral she met this Raoul de Chagny.

It was completely empty – or so it appeared to be – and my every footstep echoed back to me.  I had been in the place before, numerous times, and so I knew it fairly well.  But how the devil does one go about finding one man in a place like that?  I thought a moment and finally decided: the only way to find him was to let him find me.  "Viscount de Chagny!" I shouted in English, hoping that he would hear me and answer my call, since Englishmen were not soldiers and therefore somewhat trustworthy to the aristocracy.

My call was not answered though, and so I began to wander about the cathedral, looking in all the little nooks and crannies I could find in hopes of discovering M. de Chagny.  Eventually though, I came upon a little door which I opened to find a winding staircase leading downward.  My mind wandered back to what Mlle Daaé had said about this Dunuit hiding down in the catacombs… and I thought, if one of them did, why could the other not?

Without another thought, I began to descend the staircase.  There was nothing especially unusual about the musty old catacombs of Notre Dame, and after at least fifteen minutes of wandering around in vain, I began to think that my efforts were in vain.  I started to make my way back toward the staircase, but I stopped abruptly when I heard an odd voice echoing about me.  "Citizen soldier, whatever are you looking for?" the mysterious voice said sweetly to me.

Taken aback but determined not to show it, I took on my most British air despite my French garb.  "Well, sink me if there isn't a bloody ghost haunting this place!  I daresay this is quite an oddity…."  I let a long, loud laugh ring out through the catacombs, and when I heard nothing more, I took a few steps more toward the door.  The voice stopped me once again, though.

"I believe that the oddest thing about this particular situation would be the Englishman dressed in the ridiculous costume of a French gendarme in the underground of Paris," it said, losing none of its sugary sweetness.  I noted the unusual rich musical quality that this voice held, but I was too perplexed by the whereabouts of the owner of the voice to think about the voice itself.

"Indeed that is an oddity.  But let's not dwell on that, shall we, my friend?  What concerns me at this particular moment is the whereabouts of a certain Vicomte de Chagny—"
I said no more, for no sooner had I said that than a strange figure seemed to appear out of nowhere before me.  His clothing, all black, reminded me of a certain fellow by the name of Chauvelin with whom I was well acquainted, but what intrigued me was his face.  Beneath his hat (which was, I admit, a few months out of style) lay a bone-white mask which covered his face almost entirely, leaving only his lips and chin exposed.

The man himself was very tall, taller than me by a few inches even!  He had a very menacing air about him, and the flowing cloak which he wore on his shoulders only accentuated that air.  A faint suspicion flitted through my mind, but I said nothing of it.  Smiling my habitual good-natured smile, I tipped my hat to him.  "Good day to you, sir.  How splendid that we should at last be able to speak face-to-face… or face-to-mask, rather."

Moving slowly and majestically toward me, this strange man said softly, "The Vicomte de Chagny will not leave this place alive, I can assure you."
I let another laugh ring through the catacombs as I bowed deeply to this odd figure.  "Ah, but you see, sir, you are quite wrong about that!  Now, if you'll only do me the honor of telling me where the Vicomte is, I shall take him out of your hair.  Unless of course, you are—?"  I stopped, laughing gaily at the sudden tense air that this man suddenly had.
"I am most certainly not!" he said defensively.

"Then," I repeated, "you should be able to tell me where he is.  A lovely lady by the name of Mlle Daaé—"
"Christine?" he said hoarsely.  I nodded, still smiling.  "Where is she?  Where is she?"  He then began to tremble very slightly, and my smile faded slightly at this odd turn of events.  I had a feeling that my suspicions were being confirmed.
"Are you M. Erik Dunuit?" I said softly, and he started.
"Where is Christine?"
"She is perfectly safe, I assure you.  Now, are you M. Dunuit?"
"Yes, I am, in the name of God, now tell me, where is she?"

My eyes narrowed as I wished fervently for that mask to disappear so that I would be able to read this man's face.  "Christine Daaé thinks you are dead.  She is now on her way to England with the help of my friends."
"Then I must go too," he said decidedly as he swept past me.
"Wait!" I said, jogging a few yards to catch up with him.  "How on Earth do you plan to leave Paris?  You can't get past the gates without a passport."
He stopped and whirled around to face me.  "You're good at these things, Sir Percy Blakeney, so why don't you figure something out?" he spat almost contemptuously.

Stunned and momentarily speechless from this venomous show of sheer arrogance, my eyes widened and I stared at him.  He laughed and said, "Oh come now, did you honestly think I didn't know who you are?  On the contrary, my dear fellow, I know most everything about you.  Percival Blakeney, son of the late Sir Algernon, owner of a priceless estate in Britain… and more commonly known to us Frenchies as the Scarlet Pimpernel."  He snickered when I did not reply right away.
"Sink me, m'dear fellow, not much more to know, is there?" I said, forcing a laugh.
"Quite right."

"And you, sir: Erik Dunuit, more commonly known to some as the Angel of Music."
"She told you that much?" he said, stopping abruptly as his hand absently wandered up to the mask on his face.  I nodded.  "Did she… tell you anything else?"

"Afraid not, for she started weeping hysterically when she said that she thought you'd died."  I would have said more, but his eyes grew wide behind the mask, and he proceeded to run up the staircase, leaving me to trail behind him.  When I reached the top, he was on his knees in this middle of the floor, his hands clasped as he muttered incoherent words.
"Christine!" he shouted suddenly, and the sound echoed through the enormous place.  I rushed over to him with thoughts of trying to calm him, but when I was only a few feet away, another figure had entered the scene: that of a wild-eyed, disheveled young man in torn clothing (the latter of which must have been quite nice at some point in time) who was carrying a pistol.

"You," seethed the third figure as he pointed the pistol at Dunuit, who rose slowly to his feet.  "You've taken her!  Where is my Christine?"  I looked on in genuine surprise for a moment, before it dawned on me that this was the very man that Mlle Daaé had wanted me to save.  No sooner had I taken note of this than he noticed me as well.  "And who are you?  A French soldier – fine then!  Arrest me if you will, but not before I have taken her back and had my revenge upon this monster!"
"My dear boy!" I chuckled as I threw a friendly arm around his shoulders.  "Why on Earth should you want revenge upon my dear friend Dunuit?  He's not taken Christine from you—"

"Oho, you think that, do you, sir?" he said, shrugging me off.  "Well let me tell you this: I have waited for this moment for months.  He has indeed taken my Christine from me, multiple times, and I shall kill him for it, by God I shall!"  I threw a glance at Dunuit, who seemed just as stunned as I was.  This Chagny fellow seemed downright insane, and no wonder.  It was not an unusual condition to see these refugees in.

Paying no attention whatsoever to me, Chagny continued in a half-hysterical voice, "I've finally caught you, Angel of Music" – this last in unmistakable tones of mockery – "and now I shall see you dead for all that you've put Christine through, you monster!"  Seeing that he truly meant to fire that pistol, I made a wild effort to grab the thing from his hands at the last moment.  He tried with all his might to wrench it away from me, but eventually I got the better of him.

Cursing wildly, he contrived to spit in my face, but he only succeeded in hitting my sleeve.  Thought I made a violent attempt to hold him back, he then lunged at Erik Dunuit, succeeding in ripping the mask from his face.

Raoul de Chagny let out a hysterical shriek, and despite his violent fit of rage, I managed to hold him steady.  Dunuit had not moved as Chagny knocked the mask and hat from him.  Only when I was sure that Chagny was steady in my grasp did I afford myself a glimpse of the unmasked face of Erik Dunuit, who still had not moved.

Chagny, by now obviously mentally unbalanced, was shaking with hysterical sobs from the stress of this whole situation – and quite possibly from the sight of what he had just revealed.  Even I admit it, I was slightly shaken at the first glance I had of his face.  Poor fellow, he had been horribly deformed from some cause or other, and his face seemed almost inhuman.  But even so, my first thought was to keep these two men from doing each other serious injury.

"Christine, Christine," sobbed Chagny as he rocked back and forth under the gazes of Erik and myself.  It was at this moment that I realized what an utterly ridiculous love triangle I had gotten myself involved in!  Not ridiculous, I shouldn't say that really…. Though the story was missing a few negligible details, I had realized the entirety of what was going on.  Mlle Christine Daaé held affections for both of these rather odd men, and they had grown quite jealous of each other over her love.

It went much deeper than that though, I could tell.  Raoul de Chagny was a young, handsome lad, quite obviously used to getting his own way.  (One could easily tell this when one saw the supercilious expression he had on his face only moments before.)

Erik Dunuit, on the other hand, was a completely different case.  His calm attitude and cool arrogance reminded me of – well, it rather reminded me of myself!  That was certainly the case, for in Dunuit I could see a lot of me.  He was a strong-willed man… and his only fault seemed to be the intense passion he held for this Christine Daaé, which I could easily equate with my own deep love for my wife Marguerite.  The fellow's face bothered me but little, but I could see that, having been cursed with a visage like that, M. Dunuit was not likely to have been popular among the ladies.  And this very aspect of the situation revealed to me that Mlle Daaé was quite a gem indeed to have such an obvious affection for this poor man.

It took no deep thought; I knew what I had to do.  I tightened my grasp on Chagny's arm and made him look me in the eye.  "Raoul de Chagny, I have come here with a purpose, and I intend to fulfill that purpose before I leave."  Erik Dunuit remained silent, but Chagny let out a whimper and murmured something about guillotines.  "For heaven's sake, man, try to be somewhat reasonable!  I've been sent here to… to warn you.  The government knows where you are hiding, and you must leave.  Leave the country, I say, before they find you!  Flee to Spain, to anywhere, but for God's sake do it quickly!"

With a look of panic in his bloodshot eyes, he looked about him in a frightened manner.  "Spain," he muttered vaguely, and then, without another word to either of us, he wrenched away from me and fled the cathedral.  I never did see the poor boy again, but I have since heard that he reached the southeastern border of France safely.

Erik Dunuit picked up the mask, which had been dropped on the floor, and replaced it upon his face.  His eyes shifted warily and he seemed to grow extremely tense under my constant gaze.  "Monsieur Dunuit," I said softly and he looked sharply up at me.  "Would you like to see Christine Daaé again?"  He said nothing, but in truth he did not need to, for I knew at a glance that there was nothing in this world that he wanted more.  "If you'll only come with me, I'll take you to her at my estate in England."

He was silent a moment longer, then, as if confused, he glanced toward the door out of which Raoul de Chagny had gone.  "Worry not, m'dear fellow, she's not gone to Spain!" I laughed gaily as if reading his thoughts.

"Monsieur… whyever did you send that boy to Spain?" he asked quietly after a moment.
I laughed again.  "I didn't send him!  Zounds, I merely suggested that he go, and by Gad, he went!  How was I to know?"

The look that his eyes gave me from behind the mask told me that he didn't appreciate my jest.  "I thank you, monsieur," was all that he said, that in a very sincere tone.
"Don't you worry about thanking me, my friend!" I said cheerfully, throwing my arm about his shoulders as we made our way toward one of the smaller doors out of the cathedral.  "First we must get you out of Paris.  Then, when we're safely at Richmond and you're safely in the arms of your Christine, only then will I allow you to thank me."