Clopin

Chapter One: Pity the Rats

6 January 1482

The city is dead.

It is a place where King Louis reigns as god, and the nobility celestial angels. The cathedral, the proud lady of peace, the House of God, who is merciful, mourns with Saint Denis and Marcel. When it rains, like it did this morning, there is no sympathy for us. For people like me, who raid the streets for scraps and live and bathe in the cesspool of the city.

The city is dead.

It is a place where the rats are cleaner than the feet that walk above them. Pity the rats. Always pity the rats.

At the base of the world amidst the cold stands a maypole, a bonfire, and the lonely boards. These three attractions were the basis for the Feast of Fools. A maypole, a bonfire, and lonely boards. You, if attending, could have the option of choosing one: a bonfire with a host of entertainers, a play with the comic style of minstrels, or the freezing maypole which was only for the people who wished to end their life quickly or be ghosts of winter. Also at the base of the world stood a man dressed in rags. These rags were the bare minimum accessory and appeared as if they had only just been repaired moments ago. The stitching undone, the smell of feces, urine, and tarnish resided on the rags as if the person were born, raised, and bathed in it.

This person appeared to have no care for appearances for blemishes and dirt covered his face, and his hair, which was long and unkempt, was onyx, which matched fairly well with his olive skin. He was from Arabia, and if one did not know any better would've guessed that this man was from there. He is known by the people of the city as Clopin.

A rat scurried across the way over towards Clopin who was standing underneath the protection of the Virgin Mary and her portal. Clopin eyed the rodent scammer into a small hole which it had created in a crevasse.

"Pity the rats," he said, "always pity the rats."

A commotion could be heard from inside the place, a roar of disapproval from a familiar thunder. Clopin laughed to himself:

So, the dragon of the church woke up indignant as usual. I bet it's-"

"You brother that make me so angry!" The dragon replied whose name was Claude Frollo who, at the present time, was walking towards the Virgin Portal door with his brother, Jehan in tow.

"But brother," Jehan said, "I just need two-hundred francs for my studies."

"For your studies Jehan!" Claude exclaimed, "I refuse to pay for your wine and women."

"But brother," Jehan said, pleading with him to reconsider.

"What?" Claude said, stopping as he reached the door.

"Wine and women are my studies." Jehan smiled. Claude rolled his eyes and opened the door.

Clopin moved out of the way and held the door open in a mocking sort of way for Claude and Jehan. Claude looked at Clopin and Clopin looked back, with a wolf grin on his face. Claude replied in a reluctant sort of way, "Thank you."

Clopin, continuing his mocking manner of an aristocrat, bowed his head slowly, and eyed Jehan as he passed through the door.

"Ah Monsieur Jehan," Clopin said with a smile as he pinned Jehan up against the feet of Saint Denis, "how are you doing today hmm?" He said cocking his head to one side.

"I-I-I don't know what you mean." Jehan said rather nervously.

"What do you mean, you don't know? It's the Feast of Fools after all!" Clopin cried, "The merriment, the excitement, the grand gesture of women's breasts just calling your cocky little self over. Why aren't you running around like a young wolf pup?"

"Because I have my studies." Jehan answered. Clopin smiled as he let Jehan go, watching him rather closely as he walked down the steps he said, "What studies would that be Jehan?"

"History, Mathematics, Astrology, and Alchemy." Jehan replied as he quickly caught up with his brother who was walking across the square.

"I thought wine and women were your studies." Clopin called.

Jehan stopped in his tracks and blushed a bit. "How did you know about-"

"Thin walls Monsieur Frollo," Clopin said, "thin walls."

Jehan walked away.

Clopin waved slyly as he pulled out Jehan's remaining funds from his brother, fifty-seven francs, in a small burlap sack. Clopin smiled as he threw the sack lightly up in the air, catching it nimbly with his palm, hearing the sound of beautiful coin:

"And thin pocket materials. You could contact a tailor Monsieur Jehan."

Clopin then walked across the square, gold in hand, grin on his face, and a sense of pride. As he entered the other side of the street, he passed a small window near the street level. This small window was the home of Sister Gudule. A woman of a past, she was old, feeble, and stuck inside a cold stone prison in the basement of a lowly building. The door was sealed off, she was forbidden to leave. Dressed in a ragged tunic, feces on the floor and soiled hay, this woman lived in the corner of this single windowed abyss which brought nothing but misery and sadness to the already bleak and sad world. Gudule saw Clopin pass by her window.

"Satan!" She cried. "Satan!" She stood, reached out her hand as if wanting to crush the living out of him. Clopin stopped, bent down to the level of the window and said:

"I'm sorry," he said, "but were you talking to me?"

"Devil!" She said in a raspy voice. "You killed my daughter, you ate her! You filthy, demonic, sadistic gypsy."

Clopin looked into this woman's eyes, and remembered the face, imagining her roughly twenty years younger and having the quintessence of beauty upon her. "Your daughter," Clopin said, "is safe with me. Would you like to see her?"

"I don't believe you!" Gudule cried. She then huddled back into her corner, caressing a small child's shoe. It was once made of blue fabric and ribbon, and shone in the sun like a pool of spring rain in the street, but now, it was withered and faded. The blue fabric had turned to white, the ribbon had fallen off and decayed with the feces on the floor. The woman cried herself to sleep.

Clopin sighed and in good sympathy removed a coin from Jehan's burlap sack and threw it inside the cell. He then stood up, tied the sack up, placed it in his pocket, and returned to his residence and place of business. As he walked and gumshoed the alleyways and unmarked routes of the city, all Clopin could think about was pity.

Pity the rats. Always pity the rats.

Sidenote: I am currently attempting to write a screenplay adaptation of the novel (by Victor Hugo). I am NOT doing this for money. I do NOT own any copyright privileges, I'm just doing this for fun because it is a difficult process to do write an adaptation of a novel this complex. I'm trying to steer clear of the normal conventions with this story: Quasimodo falling in love with Esmeralda, Phoebus being the "good guy", Claude Frollo being the "bad guy". My goal is to try and stay true to the novel as humanly possible.

Any advice, suggestions, etc. for this story would be helpful as I am using it to base Clopin.

Please review, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and look forward to more.

Have a good one.

-Nothing Really Specific