The cheers of the gypsies are loud and raucous, clapping and demanding
more. Dozens are up, dancing and whirling about, their faces red with the
heat of it.
My fingers are numb, and I smile. This only means that I am truly beginning to play.
It is traditional for the newcomers to show what they can do. Only then can they be seen as gypsies who are traveling and need the companionship of their fellow gypsies, rather than lazy, homeless wanderers. As Ferdain has no talents to speak of, I am playing for the Court of Miracles.
And my playing is going quite well. There are no other fiddlers. A man with a lute, another with a horn, one more with a pair of sticks and a good sense of rhythm. We make a good group.
Once one gypsy begins to show off, the fever takes them all. All around us are dancers, singers, fantastic acrobats and tricksters having a wild party with each other.
And I am in the middle, providing the soundtrack. As soon as I finish one song they beg for another, possibly faster and better than the last.
I am happy to oblige them. The noise in here is so loud that it is surprising the entire Parisian guard doesn't find us on our volume alone. But I hear only my fiddle, see only my fingers moving at the end of it.
The crowd begins to cheer loudly. I glance up.
Clopin himself, arrogant King that he is, has decided to join in from wherever he was. He leaps about, flipping off of everything-and everyone- around him.
"Certainly you all must thank Ferdain!" He cries out, pulling the slightly more sober Ferdain to his feet. "We all thought this boy is lazy! Useless! Indolent and a tax on any gypsy's purse, no?" Ferdain opens his mouth to protest.
"But now!" Clopin continues, "We must all thank him for the one talent he has shown us: Bringing the best little fiddler in all of France to our court!" The crowd cheers.
I begin to see why Clopin the arrogant, confident, tricksy acrobat is a beloved leader of gypsies. He is consistently entertaining, cheerful, keeps them all on their toes. Gypsies live on their toes, but Clopin keeps them so without their actually having to use them.
And there is a golden, magical quality to his voice, much like that storyteller lilt that drew in the children in the square.
He pauses and steps in front of me, much taller and his lean form making him even more so. I do not halt my playing.
"Evalyne, would you care to show these fine ladies and gentlemen that you are capable of more than simply your fiddling?" Black eyes dare me to try and beat him in his own kingdom.
I won't refuse. I smile at him.
He bows.
I curtsy. I get applause to this simple feat of curtsying while I am playing. If they enjoy this, wait until they see what I can really do.
He takes a step to the left. I follow.
Right. I follow.
He does them in succession. I follow.
Come now, acrobat and King. Challenge me.
He begins a little two step dance and does not stop. I pick it up and follow.
The crowd ooh's and ahh's over the feat. If they knew how simple it is when the instrument is merely an extension of your hands, then they would not admire it so greatly.
As it is my unique talent, they do admire it.
Clopin whirls about in a circle. I follow, making only a slight jump in the music.
"Oh, so you can dance, little fiddler?" He laughs. "Join us then, if you can keep up!" He begins to jump and dance about the floor. I tighten my grip on my fiddle and follow.
Keep the speed even. Keep the notes correct. DO NOT break a string. DO NOT slow down. DO NOT give him an inch.
I feel the people around me become blurs once again, and I hear their cheers and laughter as I dance with Clopin within the circle.
At once I feel someone's warm hands about my waist.
"Can you do as well, Cherie, when you are not entirely in control?" Clopin laughs in my ear. I merely smile back at him. He pulls me away from my natural rhythm, into a movement entirely his own, wild and spontaneous. My music grows wild.
DO NOT lose, Evalyne. NOT to this gypsy King Clopin who has already beaten you today.
I have the sudden feeling that he's going to toss me off, spiraling into the crowd, laughing as I fall over, holding his sides in pain and tears rolling down his eyes at the horrible sour notes that will fly out of my fiddle.
Sure enough he twists me round so I nearly trip. I neatly end the song and plop onto a pile of pillows among the crowds.
"I can do as well, Clopin, because I am always in control." I reply. Clopin takes off his hat and runs a hand through his straight black hair as if haughty over my win.
"You will be the death of someone in this court, sharp little Evalyne." He says with a smile, wagging a finger at me. "Three cheers for the fiddler Evalyne!" The crowd happily responds.
Clopin leaves them to their own devices and falls onto the pillows near me.
"You seem determined not to be my friend, mademoiselle." He says mournfully.
"And to be your friend must one lose to you?"
"Clopin never loses!" It is the Puppet again. I smile at it.
"Oh doesn't he?" The Puppet shakes its head vigorously.
"No! He is the King! He can't lose!"
"Oh, but anyone can lose, little Puppet. Even Kings."
"He is too charming, too handsome!" I roll my eyes and get up.
"He is too confident." I walk off in no particular direction, since I have no where to retreat to. Ferdain has neglected to tell me where we are staying. But I will not let King Clopin know this, so I continue walking off.
In some direction, any direction.
"You do not like me very much, do you, Evalyne?" Clopin says, walking backwards in front of me, carefully stepping over everything in his path.
I smile. I may want to run from this charming man, but I cannot frown when plastered on his face is a bright, unflinching grin.
"I do not hate you very much either, Clopin, so don't despair."
"Despair? Moi? Never. I find you quite interesting, however, and-"
Interesting?
Not only is this King an arrogant trickster, he is also a ladies man trying to win his way with the new gypsy beauty.
I know them like the back of my hand.
"And what is so interesting, Clopin?" I say, stopping and waiting for what I know will come.
"Ah, Cherie, that face-"
And those eyes.
"Those enticing dark brown eyes-"
The hair.
"A lovely cascade of dark hair-"
The vivacity, which of course means how wild I might be in bed.
"The glow of energy and vitality!" He finishes, as if I've just been treated to a spectacular compliment that he has never given to any other.
Oh Clopin, how easy you are to read.
"What is it you want, Clopin? To find out how interesting I may be in other areas?" I jut my hip up against him suggestively.
Now is the part where he puts his arm around me, assents, and tries to kiss me. I wait, but Clopin merely frowns.
"Oh, little fiddler," He says, sighing. "I merely want to find out if there is anything more to you besides those bewitching tunes you play." He plucks a few strings on my fiddle. I pull it out of his reach.
"There is a lazy brother and a normal gypsy girl. Nothing more. Lavish your attentions on someone who desires them." He laughs.
"They may desire them, but do they deserve them? You on the other hand, Evalyne, seem to do neither, but that only makes you more interesting."
"And once you get me, you shall leave me in favor of another who does not favor you." He shrugs.
"In all likelihood, Cherie."
Well. At least he is honest.
"But that doesn't mean we cannot enjoy each other's company while you still hate me, yes?" He says, leaning in close to me.
For a moment I want to smile back at him. I could enjoy his company while I am here. God knows I'll be leaving soon enough.
Then I remember every other city we've stopped in. Friends I make and betray. Hearts I break and lovers I've left behind, sometimes callously.
You cannot build a life and then leave it. You must take it with you. To do that you must stop leaving pieces of yourself wherever you go.
I back away from Clopin and run off. It does not bother him. I can hear him laughing away to himself behind me.
My fingers are numb, and I smile. This only means that I am truly beginning to play.
It is traditional for the newcomers to show what they can do. Only then can they be seen as gypsies who are traveling and need the companionship of their fellow gypsies, rather than lazy, homeless wanderers. As Ferdain has no talents to speak of, I am playing for the Court of Miracles.
And my playing is going quite well. There are no other fiddlers. A man with a lute, another with a horn, one more with a pair of sticks and a good sense of rhythm. We make a good group.
Once one gypsy begins to show off, the fever takes them all. All around us are dancers, singers, fantastic acrobats and tricksters having a wild party with each other.
And I am in the middle, providing the soundtrack. As soon as I finish one song they beg for another, possibly faster and better than the last.
I am happy to oblige them. The noise in here is so loud that it is surprising the entire Parisian guard doesn't find us on our volume alone. But I hear only my fiddle, see only my fingers moving at the end of it.
The crowd begins to cheer loudly. I glance up.
Clopin himself, arrogant King that he is, has decided to join in from wherever he was. He leaps about, flipping off of everything-and everyone- around him.
"Certainly you all must thank Ferdain!" He cries out, pulling the slightly more sober Ferdain to his feet. "We all thought this boy is lazy! Useless! Indolent and a tax on any gypsy's purse, no?" Ferdain opens his mouth to protest.
"But now!" Clopin continues, "We must all thank him for the one talent he has shown us: Bringing the best little fiddler in all of France to our court!" The crowd cheers.
I begin to see why Clopin the arrogant, confident, tricksy acrobat is a beloved leader of gypsies. He is consistently entertaining, cheerful, keeps them all on their toes. Gypsies live on their toes, but Clopin keeps them so without their actually having to use them.
And there is a golden, magical quality to his voice, much like that storyteller lilt that drew in the children in the square.
He pauses and steps in front of me, much taller and his lean form making him even more so. I do not halt my playing.
"Evalyne, would you care to show these fine ladies and gentlemen that you are capable of more than simply your fiddling?" Black eyes dare me to try and beat him in his own kingdom.
I won't refuse. I smile at him.
He bows.
I curtsy. I get applause to this simple feat of curtsying while I am playing. If they enjoy this, wait until they see what I can really do.
He takes a step to the left. I follow.
Right. I follow.
He does them in succession. I follow.
Come now, acrobat and King. Challenge me.
He begins a little two step dance and does not stop. I pick it up and follow.
The crowd ooh's and ahh's over the feat. If they knew how simple it is when the instrument is merely an extension of your hands, then they would not admire it so greatly.
As it is my unique talent, they do admire it.
Clopin whirls about in a circle. I follow, making only a slight jump in the music.
"Oh, so you can dance, little fiddler?" He laughs. "Join us then, if you can keep up!" He begins to jump and dance about the floor. I tighten my grip on my fiddle and follow.
Keep the speed even. Keep the notes correct. DO NOT break a string. DO NOT slow down. DO NOT give him an inch.
I feel the people around me become blurs once again, and I hear their cheers and laughter as I dance with Clopin within the circle.
At once I feel someone's warm hands about my waist.
"Can you do as well, Cherie, when you are not entirely in control?" Clopin laughs in my ear. I merely smile back at him. He pulls me away from my natural rhythm, into a movement entirely his own, wild and spontaneous. My music grows wild.
DO NOT lose, Evalyne. NOT to this gypsy King Clopin who has already beaten you today.
I have the sudden feeling that he's going to toss me off, spiraling into the crowd, laughing as I fall over, holding his sides in pain and tears rolling down his eyes at the horrible sour notes that will fly out of my fiddle.
Sure enough he twists me round so I nearly trip. I neatly end the song and plop onto a pile of pillows among the crowds.
"I can do as well, Clopin, because I am always in control." I reply. Clopin takes off his hat and runs a hand through his straight black hair as if haughty over my win.
"You will be the death of someone in this court, sharp little Evalyne." He says with a smile, wagging a finger at me. "Three cheers for the fiddler Evalyne!" The crowd happily responds.
Clopin leaves them to their own devices and falls onto the pillows near me.
"You seem determined not to be my friend, mademoiselle." He says mournfully.
"And to be your friend must one lose to you?"
"Clopin never loses!" It is the Puppet again. I smile at it.
"Oh doesn't he?" The Puppet shakes its head vigorously.
"No! He is the King! He can't lose!"
"Oh, but anyone can lose, little Puppet. Even Kings."
"He is too charming, too handsome!" I roll my eyes and get up.
"He is too confident." I walk off in no particular direction, since I have no where to retreat to. Ferdain has neglected to tell me where we are staying. But I will not let King Clopin know this, so I continue walking off.
In some direction, any direction.
"You do not like me very much, do you, Evalyne?" Clopin says, walking backwards in front of me, carefully stepping over everything in his path.
I smile. I may want to run from this charming man, but I cannot frown when plastered on his face is a bright, unflinching grin.
"I do not hate you very much either, Clopin, so don't despair."
"Despair? Moi? Never. I find you quite interesting, however, and-"
Interesting?
Not only is this King an arrogant trickster, he is also a ladies man trying to win his way with the new gypsy beauty.
I know them like the back of my hand.
"And what is so interesting, Clopin?" I say, stopping and waiting for what I know will come.
"Ah, Cherie, that face-"
And those eyes.
"Those enticing dark brown eyes-"
The hair.
"A lovely cascade of dark hair-"
The vivacity, which of course means how wild I might be in bed.
"The glow of energy and vitality!" He finishes, as if I've just been treated to a spectacular compliment that he has never given to any other.
Oh Clopin, how easy you are to read.
"What is it you want, Clopin? To find out how interesting I may be in other areas?" I jut my hip up against him suggestively.
Now is the part where he puts his arm around me, assents, and tries to kiss me. I wait, but Clopin merely frowns.
"Oh, little fiddler," He says, sighing. "I merely want to find out if there is anything more to you besides those bewitching tunes you play." He plucks a few strings on my fiddle. I pull it out of his reach.
"There is a lazy brother and a normal gypsy girl. Nothing more. Lavish your attentions on someone who desires them." He laughs.
"They may desire them, but do they deserve them? You on the other hand, Evalyne, seem to do neither, but that only makes you more interesting."
"And once you get me, you shall leave me in favor of another who does not favor you." He shrugs.
"In all likelihood, Cherie."
Well. At least he is honest.
"But that doesn't mean we cannot enjoy each other's company while you still hate me, yes?" He says, leaning in close to me.
For a moment I want to smile back at him. I could enjoy his company while I am here. God knows I'll be leaving soon enough.
Then I remember every other city we've stopped in. Friends I make and betray. Hearts I break and lovers I've left behind, sometimes callously.
You cannot build a life and then leave it. You must take it with you. To do that you must stop leaving pieces of yourself wherever you go.
I back away from Clopin and run off. It does not bother him. I can hear him laughing away to himself behind me.