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Part Five
Clopin turned to look over his shoulder toward the door. René was coming across the room toward him, but, when their eyes met, he faltered, averted his gaze, and sat down at a table where he was. Clopin got up and went to join him.
"How are you?" Clopin asked, taking a chair.
"If you want to bully me, Clopin, all right, you're my big brother, I guess you're entitled to. But, leave Nerine alone. You made her cry," he accused, with a wounded look. "What's wrong with you? Why do you have to do this?"
Clopin sighed, and sat back in his chair. Because he had been in his brother's shoes before, because he had been young and in love and convinced it would never end or go wrong and it had, and because he could still remember how sharp the pain had been... As he tried to give a voice to these thoughts, René's words came back to him and Clopin answered, "I suppose it's because of my messy love life, and all the women who hurt me, and all of my romances that ended in tears-- "
"I'm sorry!" René blurted, cutting him off. "I never should have said that to you; it's none of my business. If that's why you're angry, I'm sorry-- "
"I'm not angry," Clopin reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "You were right, I have had a messy love life. But, better that than none at all, eh?"
René answered, "Exactly." Clopin could not mistake his meaning, but René nodded thoughtfully and repeated, "Exactly. I love Nerine, and I honestly believe she loves me. If I'm wrong, and she breaks my heart, then you can say 'I told you so,' but you have to let me take the chance." Then he softened his voice and ventured, "And maybe you'll see I'm right."
Clopin traced a gouge in the table with his finger and remarked, "I was just having a chat with Madame Darbois. She is a woman with a good level head on her shoulders."
René took the hint and obediently asked, "So, what does she say about this?"
"She says you're far more than old enough to chart your own course in life, and I should stop treating you like a child. It's a bitter morsel to swallow, but I think I can choke it down."
René digested this turn of events for a moment before he cautiously asked, "Does this mean Nerine and I have your blessing?"
"You don't need my blessing," Clopin dismissed this. "You're free to do as you like. If you're so convinced you're in love, how can I talk you out of it?" With a sigh, and a little smile, he reached across the table and laid his hand on René's. "You're my brother, and you always will be. I'm not such a fool as to let anything change that. All I want for you is happiness, and if this is what you want, I won't interfere. Just remember, when you need me, I'll be here."
René nodded, with a little smile of his own, and said, "Even when Nerine and I come back with a whole flock of children and ask you to babysit?"
Clopin rolled his eyes and bared his teeth in a painful grin. "Don't press your luck."
René saw through him and laughed at this, and the two brothers clasped hands across the table.
The Sixth of Januervy dawned crisp and fair. The square in front of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame swarmed with people. Festival-goers in grotesque masks and outlandish costumes circulated among the stilt-walkers and aerialists, the gypsy dancers and illusionists, the beer-sellers and food-vendors. In a side-street, Clopin conferred with the cortege of jolly "monks" who would escort him into the square. Someone called his name and, when he turned to see who it was, he was astounded at the sight that met his eyes.
René Trouillefou came striding into the lane, resplendent in his performing costume. Over his high-necked black tunic, he wore a jacket of vivid red, edged with green and gold braid, and fastened down the front with elaborate knots of gold cord. He wore no gloves, but the crown of his head was covered by a small, red cap embroidered in green and gold, and subtle threads of red, green and gold ran the length of his black hose. Clopin stepped back and let out an appreciative whistle at this display, and René beamed with delight at the compliment.
"We're going to perform on the main stage. Introduce us as La Compagnie de Musique Bohémien, all right?"
"What? Not the Singing Trouillefous?" Clopin teased.
"Well, I'm the only Trouillefou," René reminded him, then grinned, "at least, for now."
"All right, all right," Clopin would have clapped him on the shoulder but he was afraid of damaging him. "Go on, we're almost ready to begin!"
The procession of monks entered the square, shoulder to shoulder, treading at a solemn, measured pace, chanting their invitation to "Come one, come all." They halted and raised their colorful banners high, then, from within their circle, a brightly-dressed figure was launched into the air, turned a sequence of acrobatic flips, and landed on his feet in front of the monks, sweeping his broad, purple hat off his head and welcoming the crowd with open arms.
"Ha-HAA!" Clopin's sharp voice soared above the cheers of the crowd. "Mesdames et Messieurs, once again the sun has dawned on the great Feast of Fools, our Topsy-Turvy day, when the ugly become beautiful, the master serves the servant, and Paris crowns her King of Fools! Let the Festivities begin!" With an explosion of sulphur and confetti, the monks threw off their somber robes and revealed their vivid, patchwork costumes. Hoisting Clopin in the air, they carried him to the stage that had been erected facing the cathedral, on the opposite side of the square. From this platform, he introduced the amusements of the morning, while the miniature puppet Clopin, who appeared in his own puff of smoke and confetti, heckled the revelers on the ground below.
A gypsy woman with a mob of tiny performing dogs had just cleared the stage, when Clopin stepped up and addressed the Puppet. "Tell me, my friend, do you know why so many people attend our Feast of Fools every year?"
"The beer," said the Puppet, to a roar of approval.
"Aside from the beer," Clopin hinted.
"The wine?"
"No, silly boy, they can drink their fill of beer and wine every day."
"And most of them do," remarked the Puppet.
"But it is not every day," proclaimed Clopin, "that the fine citizens of Paris have the privelege to see and hear such entertainments as we have assembled for them today. Do you know," he asked the Puppet, "what awaits us behind the curtain?"
"Ummmm," the Puppet edged away from Clopin, "let me think." His head popped out of sight through a gap in the curtain, but Clopin dragged him back out by his nose.
"No peeking!" he gave the Puppet's nose a twist, and the little rascal squealed, "Ouch!"
"Ladies and gentleman, it is my pleasure to present to you, for the first time in Paris, a troupe of performers the likes of which you have never seen before! Mesdames et Messieurs, please extend a warm welcome to René Trouillefou and La Compagnie de Musique Bohémien!"
"Yaaaaaay!" the Puppet cheered wildly and the crowd followed his lead, as Clopin backed down the steps off the stage.
He had not noticed, until he had merged into the edge of the crowd, the plump little woman and the one-eyed girl standing together near the front of the audience. Clopin laced his way through the mob to them and startled the woman with a kiss from the Puppet.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Madame Darbois.
"I couldn't miss this, could I? Besides, Anne's never been to one of these before, can you believe it?" she squeezed the girl's shoulders.
"But, what of the tavern? You never close for the Feast of Fools."
"Jeannette volunteered to mind things while we're gone. I left some of the other girls to mind her, so hopefully the place will still be standing when we get back. Shhhh!" she silenced Clopin's next remark, pointing up at the stage. The music-play was about to begin.
René Trouillefou, in his grand costume of red and black, took command of the stage and motioned the crowd to silence. Gazing up at him, Clopin was struck by how tall he appeared, and how confidently he carried himself, with his broad shoulders thrown back and his head held high. "Ladies and Gentlemen," René raised his voice, "La Compagnie de Musique Bohémien presents for your approval, the tale of a Topsy-Turvy Romance."
The curtains were parted, and young Lilias Nicolet emerged, beating a tambourine. Her mother, Marie-Elise, followed her, bearing her lute in one hand, and René's treasured Zoppicare grand viol in the other. The two musicians seated themselves to one side of the stage and played a lively overture while Lilias kept time and danced to the tambourine. At the end of the tune, Lilias ducked behind the curtain.
Her place was taken by Constantin Nicolet. The upper half of his face covered in a mask not unlike those worn by many in the audience, he came onto the stage, bearing on his shoulders a long pole from which swung several masked, puppet festival-goers, who bobbed and swayed as he did. René and Marie-Elise sang as well as played his accompaniment as Constantin, his voice imitating the various tones of men, women, and children, told in song of the happiness of the peasants, who were celebrating their annual festival as well as the impending marriage, to take place that evening, between their beloved Princess and the Prince of a neighboring country. Constantin danced with the rack of puppets, to the delight of the audience, then disappeared behind the curtain.
When it opened again, there was Nerine, as the Princess, seated on her small, gilt "throne," wrapped in a gold-sequined cloak, with a tinsel crown on her head. Lilias, with her hair braided down her back, was dressed in a black tunic and tights, over which she now wore a frilled apron and cap, denoting her as the Princess's servant. Nerine and the girl sang a little duet. The poor Princess had heard such terrible tales of the Prince, whom she had never seen before, that she wasn't at all sure she wanted to marry him. The maid's comical efforts to reassure her only made the Prince sound worse than before, and the Princess sent her servant out of the room. Once she was alone, the Princess began to hatch a plan, in song, by which she would disguise herself and mingle with the peasants to catch a glimpse of the Prince. Then she would decide whether or not to marry him. At the end of her song, Nerine threw off her sequined robes to reveal a charming and elaborate costume. Her full, bell-shaped skirts, ripe with overblown roses, came down only to mid-calf, leaving her shapely ankles and dainty feet visible in their delicate white stockings and red slippers. Her cherry red bodice was laced up with gold cord, the white blouse underneath it dripping with lace and red ribbons. The Princess took off her crown and tied back her long hair with a narrow red scarf. "There!" she exclaimed proudly. "Now I look just like a peasant!" And the audience laughed and applauded her.
Of course, the Princess, in disguise, went to the Festival (represented by the rack of puppets, who were now voiced by Marie-Elise and René, and controlled by Mme. Nicolet's tapping foot). There she met a handsome Minstrel (played by Constantin), who, the audience caught on pretty quickly, was her Prince in disguise. He had heard such terrible things of the Princess that he, too, had hatched a scheme to get a glimpse of her before he decided whether or not to go through with the marriage. Of course, the Minstrel and the Peasant girl fell at once in love, all the while comically striving to hide their true identities while they remained oblivious to each other's ridiculous disguises, until at last the misunderstandings were resolved in time for a happy ending. Constantin and Nerine were both in splendid voice, and played their roles charmingly, but the show was nearly stolen out from under them by Lilias, who displayed her talent for mimickry by playing all the other roles in the story, with just the change of a cap or a doublet. The audience cheered the whole company at the conclusion of their performance, and René stepped forward again.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the members of La Compagnie." And, one at a time, he presented Marie-Elise, and Lilias, and Constantin, who took their bows and received the adulation of the crowd. During this, Clopin finally realized why René had not presented his actors at the beginning of the play, and he positioned himself where he could observe the face of Claude Frollo, who was sitting in state some distance from the stage. Constantin stepped back, and René took the hand of Nerine and drew her to center stage. "And, as our lovely Princess, the great Gypsy Nightingale, herself, Mademoiselle Nerine L'Oiseau!" Clopin saw the look of surprise flash across Frollo's pallid face as the singer was introduced, but he displayed no anger, and raised no objection. Instead, he simply deigned to clap his hands together in mild applause -- which, from Frollo, Clopin smiled, was the equivalent of the squeals of Anne, who was bouncing up and down and applauding frantically in a rare and charming display of childish excitement.
Nerine took her bows, then seized René by the arm and waved down the volume of the crowd again. "Save your applause!" she cried over the noise. "Because it doesn't belong to us. It belongs to the man who created the work you just saw, the brilliant musician and composer, René Trouillefou!" Laughing, she pushed him forward, and Clopin, grinning madly, caught himself blinking back a tear of pride. Turning to face the crowd, Clopin shouted, "Three cheers for René Trouillefou!" and the crowd gladly obliged him. Up on the stage, René dragged the rest of the company forward again and made them all take another round of bows together. He kissed Nerine's hand, then she kissed his cheek, then unable to contain himself, René laid hold of her and planted a fervent kiss on her lips in front of the whole population of Paris. And Clopin had to admit, it didn't bother him quite so much this time.
That evening, after the festivities, after the King of Fools had been crowned and paraded through Paris, after the sated revelers had straggled off in search of new entertainments, after the tents and stages had been torn down and cleared away, Clopin looked around the empty square, drew a deep breath of chilly air, and headed off to a well deserved supper at the Goose and Grapes.
The tavern was packed, again, tonight, but the atmosphere was more relaxed. No one was in a hurry to go anywhere, they only wanted a comfortable place to sit and socialize and stretch the festival day as far as they could before the sun came up on the drudgery of tomorrow.
On a bench against the wall, just inside the door, two pretty young heads, one dark, one fair, were bent over opposite sides of a pile of cards. The girls looked up when Clopin came in, and he paused to see what they were doing. "Lilias is teaching me a game," said Anne. "And she's already beaten me twice," added Lilias, and the two girls giggled together.
Constantin Nicolet was standing near the fire, a mug in his hand, leading the mob clustered around him in a jolly drinking song. Marie-Elise with her lute, and Miguel with his Spanish guitar (and Jeannette hanging over his shoulder) played his accompaniment. Clopin was amused to see Madame Darbois, her dimples in full bloom, swaying and singing right along with them. When she saw him, she broke off and made her way over to him.
"I was wondering when you'd turn up!" Madame truly was in an exceptionally good humor, accepting a hug and a kiss on the cheek from him without calling him a name or shoving him away. He suspected she had been indulging in a bit of her own best stock. "You've missed half the fun! The Bohémien-whatevers put on most of their play again for us, then they did some other things, and now Constantin's got this little singalong going."
"I saw Anne when I came in," he remarked. "It was good of you to give her the evening off."
"Well, Lilias looked as if she could use some company," Therese dismissed this, but he saw past her excuse.
"Where's René?" he asked, casting his eyes around the tavern. "I don't see him."
"Try looking harder," Therese nodded toward a dark nook tucked away on the opposite side of the room.
Sure enough, there were René and Nerine, nestled together in the corner, drowsily nuzzling each other, with the remains of a grand dinner piled on the table before them. Clopin sidled up to them, then suddenly exclaimed, "Well, well, what have we here?"
The two sweethearts jumped with surprise and scrambled apart, rattling the dishes on the table as they did so. Clopin burst out laughing at them. "Don't let me interrupt anything!"
René replied by snatching a half-eaten bread roll from his plate and bouncing it off his brother's head.
Clopin took his punishment gamely, and said, "I only wanted to congratulate you on your performance today. I had no idea you'd grown into such a talent," he told René. "And you, Mademoiselle," he bowed to Nerine, "were a delight."
"Thank you, sir," she smiled back at him graciously.
"I must say I like the friends you keep here, Clopin," René confided. "Madame Darbois stuffed us all to the gills, and wouldn't take a sou for it. And you can tell her from me, she really is the best cook in Paris."
"She'll be delighted to hear it. So," he asked them, "what are your plans from here?"
René and Nerine glanced at each other, and he said, "I suppose that depends on you. We've been talking about going to Josette's, to get married. She'd never forgive me if we did it anywhere else. But Nerine still wants your blessing first."
She shook her head. "It doesn't have to be a blessing," she assured Clopin. "I only want to know it's all right with you."
He raised his hands in surrender and groaned, "If the two of you are truly bent on shackling yourselves to each other, you'll do it with or without my blessing. So," he could no longer keep his face twisted into the frown he had assumed, and let off one of his sharp laughs as he said, "I suppose you'd might as well have it."
The lovebirds shared a squeeze, then Nerine held out her hand to her new brother. "Thank you, Clopin. I promise I'll take good care of him."
Clopin accepted the hand of his new sister, and smiled. "Oh, I'm not worried about that. I think my little brother can take care of himself."
The End