"Is that Ferdain Collioure?" A young gypsy calls out as soon as we are in
the Parisian Court, the Court of Miracles as it's called. My brother runs
off. This happens nearly everywhere. At least one gypsy in every city knows
my brother, a result of his travels with our father. One would expect this
to make Ferdain a helpful companion in traveling, but it has taken us until
dusk to finally locate this encampment.
This Court is underground, in the deep catacombs of Paris. Most gypsy hideaways are in underground or remote places; caves or abandoned churches and the like. This one is exceptionally large. Everyone has a tent, and every tent looks like its own little home. Clearly this is a Court of resident gypsies. I simply walk in alone, clutching my fiddle, my only possession, close to me. Several glance up at me. A newcomer is always interesting, even to people as interesting in themselves as the gypsies.
"And who are you, young one? Did I see you enter with that lazy devil Ferdain Collioure?" One woman asks me. I smile.
"Sadly I am his companion. Sadder yet, I am his sister. Evalyne Collioure, to my great shame." This causes a laugh among the women, and I sit down among a few of them.
"Welcome. I hope you find a place among us, and perhaps prod that brother of yours into bringing home a few coins. I am Antessa." The woman who greeted me says, and I instantly like her, with her dark looks and her bright eyes, despite the age in her face.
"I doubt we will be staying for long. I may have gotten myself into trouble already."
"You mean Ferdain has not done it for you?" I laugh.
"This time the fault lies with me. I may have stolen a few coins from some arrogant acrobat who believes himself your King." Antessa pokes herself with the needle she is sewing with and looks up in astonishment.
"Not Clopin?"
"Is that what he's called?" I answer back. Antessa laughs.
"Dear girl, you've a lot to learn if you are to stay with us for any amount of time. That 'arrogant acrobat' surely is the King of the Gypsies, and a just and fair one if I do say so myself. I doubt anyone could steal coins from that one, for he'd charm them right back out of you and steal more besides." I could not picture being charmed out of anything by that spry man. Perhaps dizzied by his constant motion.
"I doubt I shall run into him again, in any case. I've learned my lesson about distracting his audience."
"Well! I see you've now begun to steal my subjects as well!" I hear that bright, loud voice behind me, and can instantly recognize it although I've only heard it once before. His is a voice you cannot mistake. I turn around. Clopin, the King of the Gypsies as he supposedly is, stands over me, grinning and pulling at the goatee on his chin.
"I am glad to see you no longer need your Puppet friend to speak for you as a King." I reply with an equal smile.
"Still sharp, even to a King in his own Court!" He muses aloud to himself. He seats himself among us, sneaking a piece of bread from the basket of one of the other women.
"Where do you come from, then, Cherie? The sharp little fiddler with the lazy brother must be from somewhere quite interesting, no?" I raise my eyebrows. He is King, but a nosy king as well. I almost laugh when I notice his long large nose, not horribly ugly, but the feature that the rest of his face is built off.
"You know quite a bit about me already, Clopin."
"You apparently have learned my name, but I have yet to learn yours." I realize he is flirting. I don't care. He will get nowhere. I may encourage him, but in the end he'll be refused and I'll laugh.
"Evalyne."
"A lovely name, no? So well conceals that sharp little bite." Clopin says, poking me in the cheek with his long fingers.
Men such as this always think there is no woman who can resist them. I always think there are no such men I can resist more.
"That's a fine instrument you have." He says, running his fingers over the lines of the scroll.
"It is my only love." He raises an eyebrow at me.
"And yet you have broken it. You treat those you love in a strange manner, no?"
"I have not broken it- You have caused it to break." Clopin puts his hand over his heart in mock shock.
"I, Cherie? I welcome you into my kingdom, even allow you to steal a few coins from me, and yet I would break your fiddle?"
This King has thus far shown no signs of being one. Only another gypsy rogue.
"Clopin!" Clopin springs up to meet two gypsy men.
"Yes?"
"There are some guards poking about the catacombs. They may not be looking for anything, but then again they might." Clopin's long dark face takes on an entirely different look than the playful sort he has been giving to me. Somehow that broad smile turns into a straight mull of concern; the black eyes grow narrower in thought.
It's a swift transformation and maybe even a little frightening that such a golden, happy creature can suddenly become one of responsibility and strength.
"Excuse me, fair ladies!" He says with a flourish, and as he turns around his face is instantly the smile it was a moment ago, as if he had never talked to the men.
"I must go. Antessa, see that this little fiddler doesn't get into any trouble. She looks as though she is good at finding it." He bows, tickling my nose with the feather on his hat before bounding off with the other two men.
Gypsy Kings. At the very least they are amusing, either for their energy or for their dullness.
I make my way among the tents and gypsies to find Ferdain.
My brother has already gotten himself quite drunk, and he stands up to greet me, wavering and barely looking at me.
"Evalyne.I think I shall enjoy Paris." He slurs.
"I've no doubt you will." I reply dryly.
This Court is underground, in the deep catacombs of Paris. Most gypsy hideaways are in underground or remote places; caves or abandoned churches and the like. This one is exceptionally large. Everyone has a tent, and every tent looks like its own little home. Clearly this is a Court of resident gypsies. I simply walk in alone, clutching my fiddle, my only possession, close to me. Several glance up at me. A newcomer is always interesting, even to people as interesting in themselves as the gypsies.
"And who are you, young one? Did I see you enter with that lazy devil Ferdain Collioure?" One woman asks me. I smile.
"Sadly I am his companion. Sadder yet, I am his sister. Evalyne Collioure, to my great shame." This causes a laugh among the women, and I sit down among a few of them.
"Welcome. I hope you find a place among us, and perhaps prod that brother of yours into bringing home a few coins. I am Antessa." The woman who greeted me says, and I instantly like her, with her dark looks and her bright eyes, despite the age in her face.
"I doubt we will be staying for long. I may have gotten myself into trouble already."
"You mean Ferdain has not done it for you?" I laugh.
"This time the fault lies with me. I may have stolen a few coins from some arrogant acrobat who believes himself your King." Antessa pokes herself with the needle she is sewing with and looks up in astonishment.
"Not Clopin?"
"Is that what he's called?" I answer back. Antessa laughs.
"Dear girl, you've a lot to learn if you are to stay with us for any amount of time. That 'arrogant acrobat' surely is the King of the Gypsies, and a just and fair one if I do say so myself. I doubt anyone could steal coins from that one, for he'd charm them right back out of you and steal more besides." I could not picture being charmed out of anything by that spry man. Perhaps dizzied by his constant motion.
"I doubt I shall run into him again, in any case. I've learned my lesson about distracting his audience."
"Well! I see you've now begun to steal my subjects as well!" I hear that bright, loud voice behind me, and can instantly recognize it although I've only heard it once before. His is a voice you cannot mistake. I turn around. Clopin, the King of the Gypsies as he supposedly is, stands over me, grinning and pulling at the goatee on his chin.
"I am glad to see you no longer need your Puppet friend to speak for you as a King." I reply with an equal smile.
"Still sharp, even to a King in his own Court!" He muses aloud to himself. He seats himself among us, sneaking a piece of bread from the basket of one of the other women.
"Where do you come from, then, Cherie? The sharp little fiddler with the lazy brother must be from somewhere quite interesting, no?" I raise my eyebrows. He is King, but a nosy king as well. I almost laugh when I notice his long large nose, not horribly ugly, but the feature that the rest of his face is built off.
"You know quite a bit about me already, Clopin."
"You apparently have learned my name, but I have yet to learn yours." I realize he is flirting. I don't care. He will get nowhere. I may encourage him, but in the end he'll be refused and I'll laugh.
"Evalyne."
"A lovely name, no? So well conceals that sharp little bite." Clopin says, poking me in the cheek with his long fingers.
Men such as this always think there is no woman who can resist them. I always think there are no such men I can resist more.
"That's a fine instrument you have." He says, running his fingers over the lines of the scroll.
"It is my only love." He raises an eyebrow at me.
"And yet you have broken it. You treat those you love in a strange manner, no?"
"I have not broken it- You have caused it to break." Clopin puts his hand over his heart in mock shock.
"I, Cherie? I welcome you into my kingdom, even allow you to steal a few coins from me, and yet I would break your fiddle?"
This King has thus far shown no signs of being one. Only another gypsy rogue.
"Clopin!" Clopin springs up to meet two gypsy men.
"Yes?"
"There are some guards poking about the catacombs. They may not be looking for anything, but then again they might." Clopin's long dark face takes on an entirely different look than the playful sort he has been giving to me. Somehow that broad smile turns into a straight mull of concern; the black eyes grow narrower in thought.
It's a swift transformation and maybe even a little frightening that such a golden, happy creature can suddenly become one of responsibility and strength.
"Excuse me, fair ladies!" He says with a flourish, and as he turns around his face is instantly the smile it was a moment ago, as if he had never talked to the men.
"I must go. Antessa, see that this little fiddler doesn't get into any trouble. She looks as though she is good at finding it." He bows, tickling my nose with the feather on his hat before bounding off with the other two men.
Gypsy Kings. At the very least they are amusing, either for their energy or for their dullness.
I make my way among the tents and gypsies to find Ferdain.
My brother has already gotten himself quite drunk, and he stands up to greet me, wavering and barely looking at me.
"Evalyne.I think I shall enjoy Paris." He slurs.
"I've no doubt you will." I reply dryly.