Disclaimer: I do not own Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame nor do I own the Disney version.
December1479
Snowflakes were drifting from the darkening sky. Agnes trembled and glanced down. She normally went without shoes, but today she wore them. Unfortunately, the leather was now sodden and Agnes was sure that her feet were crimson underneath. It felt as if her toes were being pierced with needles. Her ears also ached from the cold; Agnes tied a scarf around her head in a hopeless attempt to shield them from the icy wind. Esmeralda, walking beside her, was shivering also. Their threadbare cloaks provided them with little warmth.
"I can't wait to get home," Esmeralda whispered and her breath rose up in smoke. "I just want to wrap myself in blankets and sit in front of a fire. What about you, Agnes? Agnes?"
But Agnes was not listening. Her light eyes scanned everyone in proximity, overlooking the men in work clothes and the women in peasant dresses, only to focus on two approaching ladies: wealthy woman bundled in warm furs. Because they were oblivious to the cold, they actually seemed to enjoy the snowfall. Agnes stepped forward imploringly. "Please, madams… A few pennies?" They regarded her unsympathetically. "Please… I am so hungry."
They did not drop a penny into her outstretched hand. Instead the women gave her something better: a single silver coin. Agnes sputtered her gratitude like a pitiable street urchin and smiled a cocky smile the moment the two woman departed. It was not exactly great acting, but this felt like some sort of achievement after all her failed attempts to earn money that day.
"Must you do that?" Esmeralda snapped. "Begging is so vulgar."
"How else am I earn money?" Agnes retorted. Her icy, pinched face now burned from Esmeralda's criticism. "I've given up on training Djali- That damn goat hates me. I can't train animals. I can't sing-"
"Or act. Or play an instrument. Or perform the simplest magic trick," Esmeralda said with exasperation. "You're not exactly the greatest pupil in the world."
"And you're not exactly the greatest teacher."
Agnes learned two things that day: First, she was an untalented street performer; second, she deeply resented Esmeralda's guidance. It was her foster sister's idea to venture out onto the streets that morning. Because of Esmeralda's prompting, Agnes first tried singing and was told by many that a crow sounded better. She attempted to make Djali carry out a few simple tricks, but the stubborn animal rammed her with its horns, much to the amusement of spectators. (The fact that Esmeralda found this comical didn't help matters.) So after a day of being booed, laughed at and forced to listen to Esmeralda's nonstop suggestions on how to do better next time, Agnes was in no mood for nitpicking. The hollowness of her belly only worsened her mood.
"You're not entirely hopeless," said Esmeralda. "You're… just a challenge." She then brightened. "What about juggling? Have you considered that?"
"I still drop whatever I'm trying to juggle." Agnes sighed as she tried to ignore the throbbing pangs of hunger that ripped across her belly. "I just might have to resort to feigning blindness if I don't find my niche soon. I hope I do find it soon. I need to make money. I am so tired of being hungry."
Esmeralda's hand dipped into her pocket, pulling out a piece of hard bread. "I was saving this, but if you want…"
"First you tell me not to beg, then you offer me your scraps? What am I? A dog?"
"Fine, don't eat it." Esmeralda's fist closed and then opened, releasing the crumbs onto the snow-covered ground. "At least the pigeons will have a good meal tonight."
"They are too," said Agnes and she pointed to a lit window.
The two gypsy girls paused to observe the happy scene inside a grand house. A well-to-do family, all of them possessing round, healthy faces, sat at the supper table. Food was laid out on the tablecloth: hot, buttered croissants, roasted goose, goblets of wine… The mother was slicing the goose with a knife, the tender meat practically falling off the bone. Agnes took a step forward. Then another. And another. Her face was almost pressed against the glass when the family noticed her. She saw the woman address her husband, who nodded at whatever she said. Agnes watched as they prepared a plate, piling it high with food. And then the door opened.
"Come and eat. We know that you are hungry." Agnes did not understand why these people were being so charitable. Perhaps it had something to do with the Christmas season. She took a tentative step forward, her hunger wrestling with her distrust, much like a hungry wolf approaching a rabbit being cooked over a flame . "That's right. Come and eat. Just leave the plate when you're…" The couple suddenly became aware of Esmeralda and their kind, benevolent faces turned hostile. "What do you want, gypsy?"
"Nothing," Esmeralda spat.
"If you're planning to rob this poor girl-"
"That's my sister. Why would I rob her?"
"Your what?" And the couple whirled on Agnes. "Tell us the gypsy girl is lying."
"No…" Agnes said slowly. "It's true."
"What are you playing at? We thought you were a beggar, not a gypsy! Who do you think you are, masquerading as someone above your station?" They could have just taken the plate away, but instead they knocked it from out of Agnes's hands, and, just to further show their contempt, stomped on the food they had offered before entering their house. Agnes did not care what Esmeralda thought of her, not when her insides were empty from continuous hunger. She dropped down on her knees so that she could greedily consume the trampled remnants.
"Agnes, stop it!" Agnes ignored her and continued to devour the fallen food with crazed determination; Esmeralda wrenched her arm. "For God's sake, show some restraint!"
Agnes got up unwillingly. "I don't understand." Tears of frustration and bitterness pooled in her eyes. "Why would they show me food and then do- do this!" She gestured to the remains of the flattened meal.
"I understand," Esmeralda said resentfully. "They didn't know you were a gypsy until I said something. The cloak was covering up your gypsy garments." She again tugged on Agnes's arm. "Come on. Let's go. Clopin's waiting."
"But I have money now. We can buy something to eat…"
"Look around you, Agnes. Everything's closed for the day."
They tugged off their wet cloaks and shoes immediately upon returning home. Clopin fussed over them like a mollycoddling mother and, at the same time, scolded them for wandering around in the cold snow.
"I know it was foolish," Esmeralda admitted. "But I thought it was important for Agnes to find a way to make a living. We just lost track of time."
"Any luck?"
"None," Agnes spat. "Well, just this…" And she gave the silver coin to Clopin.
"But we're going to try again tomorrow, aren't we?" Esmeralda said firmly and she ignored her younger sister's look of annoyance. "Is there anything to eat, Clopin?"
"This is it," he said and he held a chunk of bread. Clopin withdrew his knife and cut the loaf in thirds, handing each of his foster children a slice. It so stale that it almost hurt to swallow. The gypsy king watched the two girls, still shivering from the cold, as they devoured the meager dinner. He took his own portion, sliced it in half, and gave them each a second helping.
"Clopin-" Agnes began to protest, but the gypsy king held up a single hand to silence her.
"Eat."
She did, the hard bread almost tearing at her throat.
"Clopin?" she said again, only more tentatively.
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow, I promise you, I will do better. I will bring home some money. You see, tonight Esmeralda gave me an idea. Look at my face. I don't have gypsy features. Look at my skin. It's not that white skin highborn ladies prize, but it's lighter than yours, Clopin, and considerably lighter than Esmeralda's. I don't look like a gypsy. Of course I don't look like a gypsy. Why would I? I'm the daughter of a gadji and God only knows who my father is-"
"All I know about your bastard birthfather was that he was Portuguese," Clopin said through clenched teeth. "At least that's what Bernice told me-"
"I don't care about him," Agnes interrupted. "And besides, that's not my point. People- people outside the Court of Miracles, I mean- are easily fooled. They see the dark hair and the colorful attire and automatically assume that I am one. But if I dressed in a simple peasant's gown and removed the earring… No one would know about my upbringing. Do you know what that means? It means I can work for a living. I can be a servant for some rich family. I can work in the kitchens. I can do their laundry-"
"NO!" Clopin bellowed. "No daughter of mine is going to work like a drudge!"
"But-"
"I would rather stave than see my child toil!"
The family sat around the hearth that night. Clopin, leisurely leaning back against some pillows, sewing a new puppet that bore a distinct resemblance to King Louis. Esmeralda, meanwhile, was teaching Djali to dance on its hind legs. Agnes watched the little goat with resentfulness. Even Djali could dance better than she could. Agnes glanced down at the wooden spheres she juggled with and back again at the goat. Dancing would earn far more money. And Agnes realized what she had to do. Later that night, when Esmeralda was not around and Clopin was snoring on his side of the hearth, Agnes approached a group of middle-aged gypsy women whose performing days were over.
"Teach me how to dance," said Agnes to them. "I've got to learn."
"Why are you asking us?" said one. "Why aren't you asking La Esmeralda?"
"Because she just spent the entire day trying to help me find my performing niche," Agnes replied, "and I'm still as untalented as ever."
"So you're seeking help from those who's been around the block. Very well. Can you do a cartwheel?"
"A cartwheel?" Agnes echoed. "No…"
"Can you stand on your toes? Do back flips? Handsprings?"
"No, I can't do any of that…"
The woman with the most gray hair waved her hand dismissively. "Neither could we, not even when we were young."
"So you can't teach me to dance like Esmeralda?"
"Child, we are not miracle workers."
Still, the gypsy women agreed to teach Agnes. They instructed her daily, commenting on her progress and sneering whenever she made mistakes. Agnes hated it, hated the idea of dancing publicly. But Clopin earned money by entertaining the crowds with his puppet shows and Esmeralda earned money by dancing. And still there were several hungry nights. The fact that Agnes contributed nothing prompted her to carry on with the lessons.
Agnes appeared one morning in the city streets, alone, with golden bracelets on her arms and her hair braided and coiled around her head, revealing the hooped earring. She was dressed in traditional gypsy attire. Agnes slowly lifted her arms and jangled the tambourine she held as she began to dance. A crowd gathered round. Agnes wanted to flee, but she forced herself to smile sweetly at the audience. Her audience. She cavorted about, twirling and spinning, giving glimpses of her legs. On the outside, she appeared lighthearted and joyous; inside, Agnes was writhing in mortification. The coins came, as did the hooting from the male spectators.
"Isn't she delightful? A regular gypsy strumpet!"
"Nobody dances like a heathen!"
"Dance for us, little Egyptian! Dance!"
It was not young, handsome eligible young men who said these things. Rather they were middle-aged and potbellied, men who possessed doughy features and teasing smirks. There were poor people in this crowd as well as rich. But they all shared the same blatant attitude towards the dancing gypsy girl. Pretty words were reserved for proper young ladies; lewd, vulgar comments were meant for lowly street performers.
There were also the whispered warnings.
"Don't stand to close. She'll rob us blind."
"Thieving skills must be mediocre if she's got to dance for a living."
"I just hope this little alley cat doesn't cut my purse."
And still she danced. Pieces of silver and copper, even a few small gold pieces, were thrown. When the routine was done, Agnes scrambled about, collecting the money, her face bent low so that she could hide her blushes. The ridiculing remarks did not end.
Agnes quickly escaped into an empty alleyway once her earnings were gathered. She leaned her back against a stone wall, sliding to the ground when her knees buckled. Agnes began to cry. Dancing like that made her feel degraded and she wondered how Esmeralda could endure doing that every day. A mortified Agnes wanted nothing more than to hide in the alley forever. She closed her eyes. God, give me strength. Let me be as brave as Esmeralda. She then grimaced. She could be brave too, if she wanted. Hadn't she once snuck out at night, slithering over mud and grime, just to search for Clopin when she was just a small child? Wasn't she willing to publicly humiliate herself just to ensure that her family would have enough to eat? And if Esmeralda could dance on the streets like that, then so could she. Agnes lifted her head with grim acceptance. She determinedly left the alley, brushing back the last tear, and moved to a different sector of Paris. Again she danced.
When Agnes returned to the Court of Miracles with her arms laden with food, the older gypsy women smiled approvingly. "So! Unless that was stolen, we'd say your first day of dancing was a success! With time, you might be chosen to dance at the Feast of Fools."
Author's Note: Okay, the prequel portion is finished!
