Disclaimer: I do not own Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame nor do I own the Disney version.
This story serves as a prequel, midquel and sequel to the Disney film.
Prologue: Part One
May 1467
A king should not have to beg. Yet there he was, Clopin Trouillefou, king of the gypsies, standing on the threshold of a country home, prepared to beg just so that he and his tribe could stay on this property. It was a place that, at one time, must have been a modest countryside retreat, likely the vacation spot for some well-to-do family, but it was obvious that the house had been left to rot. The roof buckled and the cracked windows looked like splintered blocks of ice. Clopin doubted if the inhabitants knew how blessed they were. To sleep underneath a roof! But never mind that. Clopin gritted his teeth together as his fist pounded on the door, his scowl softening into a syrupy smile when a woman answered.
"Good evening, my lady," he began courteously, sweeping of his festooned hat and clutching it desperately in his hands, his eyes dropping to the ground like some groveling peasant. "May I speak to whomever owns this property?"
"That would be my brother," the woman answered curtly, "but he does not reside at this residence."
"Ah, well, you see, my lady, my band and I are traveling and wish to stay on this property… We noticed that there is a well here and we are in need of water. It has been a weary journey and there are children, many of them, within the caravan. Please, I beg you. Let us stay. Just for tonight, of course," he added hastily. Clopin excelled in this piteous routine. Now was the time to raise his head- not a whole lot, just a little- to meet the eyes of the dupe whose sympathies he had stirred. He did so, and gazed at the face of a young woman. She was somewhat pretty, but he had seen women, lots of women, who were far more prettier. Nothing too remarkable about this one, Clopin thought, though he managed not to smirk. He instead gazed upon her like a religious pilgrim gazing upon the Holy Virgin.
"Just for tonight? And then you will all leave?"
Her eagerness at their departure was should have been insulting, but Clopin could not help but be almost amused by it. "You have my word."
"Then you may stay," she said.
She started to close the door, but Clopin, attempting to push his luck even further, quickly spoke up. "My lady?"
"Yes?"
"A few coins for your future to be foretold?"
The woman raised her eyebrows, looking down at her palm. "Can you… do that?"
Clopin involuntarily dropped the facade. The soppy smile now became a genuine grin. "Indeed!"
"Truly?"
"Truly." And before he could stop himself, Clopin took hold of her hand, tracing the lines of her palm with a single finger.
The sudden flicker of warmth in her eyes vanquished faster then a snuffed out candle.
"There will be many palms to read in the city," she said as she removed her hand. "I suggest that you don't trifle with your patrons, otherwise you will loose a lot of business. Good day to you, and have a good journey!" She slammed the door. It was then occurred to him that she had been prudent enough to see through the dramatics and that his desperate attempt to earn money had failed. It was deliberate, the way she had feigned excitement and the fact that he, a talented charlatan, fell for it, was infuriating. It an insult to his theatrical skills.
"By the devil's claws!" He roared in frustration and this was followed by a series of other curses, far from the soft-spoken peasant he was moments ago. It was futile to carry on with his sickening facade. Why she had given her permission, Clopin did not know, but this did not lessen his annoyance. He stormed back to the caravan where he busied himself by grabbing twigs from off the ground so that he could build a campfire later that night.
It was true that she had no desire to have her future foretold, but the idea was intriguing. Truthfully, she was curious about the future of her daughter. She told herself that it was dangerous to become involved with such things, but curiosity overcame her. To think that her Agnes might possibly became a queen, or an empress! The woman wondered what miracles were written in her child's palm. She brought forth her young daughter that night, quietly slipping into the gypsy camp and sitting before an ancient gypsy woman whose pipe was clutched in-between her yellowish teeth. The child sat gravely as the gypsy woman studied the small hand.
"I see a lantern filled with dull, greenish light. The light dims and almost dies. It then burns again, bright as a star, now with a radiant light filled with warmth."
She did not understand this cryptic message, but assumed that the it had something to do with Agnes's eyes, which were as green as willow. Perhaps her daughter's vision would weaken to almost blindness before being strong again.
Intrigued she asked, "And what else?"
"A knife. A voiceless nightingale. A crystal cherished as though it is the rarest of treasures."
"But who will my Agnes marry? Will she marry?"
"That is all I see. I can tell you no more. Now, my payment, if you please."
"Fine." She dug into her pocket and placed a single coin in the gypsy's withered hand. Disgruntled, she herded her daughter away from the campsite.
Clopin was there, having overheard the fortune telling, and could not resist the idea of giving her some good-natured banter. He slipped from out of the shadows and into the moonlight, blocking the lady's path. The gypsy king swept off his outlandish hat, a ridiculous-looking accessory that, he hoped, would increase the lady's annoyance. He bowed like a courtly gentleman. "What is wrong, Madame? Disappointed that the child's future is not as glorious as you had hoped it to be?"
He expected her to storm past him wordlessly. Instead, the woman shook her head. "I didn't understand a word of it! Nightingales and crystals! What the devil was that all about?"
The gypsy king shrugged. "Who knows? I can comprehend that madwoman's ramblings no better than you can."
He was surprised when she burst out laughing and was even more shocked by how lovelier her face was when animated. The sound of jingling saved him from that awkward moment, and, looking down, saw the woman's daughter prodding the bells that adorned the hat that was still clutched in his hand. "Well, well, well! Look's like someone has taken a fancy to my hat! What is your name, little one?"
"Agnes."
"Well, Miss Agnes, since you like my hat so much, it's yours!" He placed the ornamented cap on the child's head. "Wear that hat with pride, little one, for you are wearing the hat of the gypsy king!" He winked at the child's mother. "Bout time I got a new hat anyway." The gypsy king extended a gloved hand towards the woman. "We have not been properly introduced," he said in a genuine attempt at friendship. "I am Clopin."
"Bernice Corday." She gave him an evaluating glance and shook his hand after a moment's hesitation. And Clopin, judging by the smile she gave, knew that his tribe could stay on this property longer than they had originally intended.
Author's Note: Agnes is NOT Esmeralda. Yes, I know that in the original novel Esmeralda's given name is Agnes and I am aware that there are similarities between Bernice Corday and Sister Gudule. Originally, this story was going to be about Esmeralda, but Agnes somehow evolved into an entirely new, original character and Esmeralda will be appearing shortly. I did not change her name because it will be an important element in a future chapter. Anyway, I apologize for any confusion.
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