Chapter 25: The Change
After returning to the palace, Frollo hung up his robe and announced that he was going out.
"Where are you going?" Esmeralda inquired.
"Out of town and into the woods." The judge answered. "I will be back for dinner."
Esmeralda assumed that her husband simply needed some time to himself. But why? What dramatic thing had happened to put him in such a mood?
"What did the archdeacon say to you?" Esmeralda asked.
That question was not simple to answer, so Frollo answered it ambiguously.
"He said a good many things. Things which I need to think about. I will see you later."
He started on his way out before suddenly stopping. Frollo turned around and strode up to his wife. To Esmeralda's surprise, her husband kissed her cheek. It was strange. They looked at each other in wonder for a moment, then Frollo went on his way.
Esmeralda stroked the spot on her face where her husband had kissed her. He had never done anything like this before. Frollo was not in the business of showing affection, and he seemed to be just as confused about this as Esmeralda was.
Something had definitely changed in him.
Frollo eagerly saddled up his horse, Geoffrey.
"I'll take you for a nice ride, Geoffrey." The judge promised, petting the stallion's mane. "No chasing criminals today. We'll spend the rest of the afternoon somewhere pleasant. By the river, perhaps. You like that, don't you? There will be plenty of grass."
He mounted the horse readily.
"I hope you don't mind me taking you out on such short notice." Frollo jested. "Your master needs to go somewhere to rethink his life."
Geoffrey soon galloped through the streets and out of the city. Frollo took his stallion into the woods, stopping by a bright river. He went to stand by the river while Geoffrey chewed on some grass.
Frollo tossed some rocks into the river while he thought about everything. His conversation with the archdeacon had been truly overwhelming. For ages, Frollo had been sure of himself. Sure that he was a good man and that everyone else was a sinner. Sure that the people he'd called gypsies were evil and that he was fair in persecuting them. Sure that his parents had raised him well and that their harshness toward him was deserved... Everything was different now. For once, Frollo questioned his past decisions and didn't know what to do.
The last time he'd felt that way had been twenty years ago, after he'd killed Quasimodo's mother. At the time he'd convinced himself he was guiltless, up until the archdeacon spoke. Jean had made him realize then that lying to himself would not absolve him of his sins. Now Frollo realized something far worse. He hadn't only lied to himself at that moment. He'd lied to himself constantly, for a horribly long time. He'd told himself whatever it would take for him to believe that he was righteous, even if it drove him further away from righteousness...
Frollo saw such different things in himself now.
He saw prejudice, the reason he'd assumed that woman was carrying stolen goods, and the reason he'd had such a hard time acknowledging the fact that Esmeralda was good to him. He'd stupidly believed what his father had taught him about "gypsies", directing his hatred of the one girl toward all of her kind.
He saw selfishness. His need to feel righteous had come before any thought of being good to others. He'd always strived to see corruption in people where there was none, all to make himself feel better. Even when the people he'd judged were truly guilty, he'd punished them for his own ego, not for the sake of justice.
Most pathetically, he saw ignorance. Purposeful ignorance. He had really refused to see his errors all this time. He'd resorted to any necessary means of thinking in order to believe he was right, to think that people deserved his brutality. People like Quasimodo and Esmeralda, who had taken so much mistreatment from him for no reason...
Frollo looked at his reflection in the water. He realized he resembled his father. Perhaps the resemblance was not only in his face...
He turned away from the water and went up to his horse, stroking the calm creature's hair.
"I don't want to think about it, Geoffrey." He confided. "But I have to. Were my parents really so bad?"
There was one thing that he agonized over. Was he unlovable or not? If it was the former, then Frollo would have to believe that his parents had done nothing wrong. But if the latter was the case, if he wasn't impossible to love, then he'd have to accept that his parents were cruel people.
The idea of anyone loving him seemed impossible, but Frollo remembered Jean's words: "The only reason others don't show more love to you is because you make it so hard for them..."
There were people who had treated him well. Jean, Esmeralda, Quasimodo... He wondered what might have been possible if he'd been better to them.
"Perhaps I could be loved." Frollo said sorrowfully. "Perhaps my father was wrong when he disfigured me. Perhaps he truly was a cruel man... And perhaps I have become just like him..."
Many memories ran through his head. Memories of those who had hurt him and those who had cared for him. Esmeralda was the strongest of his thoughts. He remembered how he had forced her to choose between him and her death, and how he had later held her against a wall, ready to abuse her... He would have done unspeakable things to her if he hadn't happened to have a moment of panic! The wrong kind of panic. He'd been afraid of being punished for his sexual desires, but he should have been more afraid of the harm he'd been about to do to her.
And yet, just a few days later, that same woman had comforted him when he'd broken down after a nightmare.
"Oh, Geoffrey..." Frollo said with dread. "She has cared for me at my most unbearable moments. She has held me while I've cried... Even my own mother never did that."
At the cathedral, just before their wedding, Frollo had stepped away from Esmeralda momentarily to pray.
He vividly remembered what he had prayed that day: "My God, tonight I will finally marry. What I do with the gypsy henceforth shall be pure. Forgive me for what I did to gain her. She caused me to sin. But I will sin no longer, so please bless my marriage. Make this experience excellent."
Frollo now realized that his marriage had been the most excellent experience possible, though not in the way he'd wanted. What he'd wanted with Esmeralda was to freely use her. What he'd gotten instead was her caring nature and refusal to take abuse from him. She had broken the barriers around his heart. Frollo had never wanted that, but he was thankful for it now.
"Jean was right about everything." Frollo decided. "Come, Geoffrey. We must be going. Your master needs to right his wrongs."
Frollo would have started his apologies as soon as he returned, but Esmeralda had other plans. She ushered him to dinner straightaway. Afterwards, she decided it was time to remove her husband's bandages. Frollo reluctantly agreed, afraid of what he would see when his wounds were undressed.
In the bedroom, he removed his tunic and sat on the edge of the bed. Esmeralda carefully unwrapped his bandages, revealing scars that were developing from each cut he had suffered. The burns, however, left no remaining mark. Frollo was able to look at his hands and see well healed skin, in contrast to the disfigurement he saw when he looked down at his torso.
Esmeralda caught him staring at the mark.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
Frollo couldn't look at her. Not while he talked about this day.
"I know you asked the archdeacon to talk to me." He said calmly, keeping his eyes on the scar.
Esmeralda frowned.
"Are you mad at me?" She asked.
"No." Frollo replied honestly. "I'm actually glad you did it."
"What was the conversation like?" Esmeralda inquired.
"I told him what I told you." Frollo shared. "He felt much the same as you did."
"And did that... Change anything?" Esmeralda questioned.
Frollo nodded.
"Do you believe it then?" Esmeralda asked hopefully. "That what your father did was wrong?"
Frollo only wished he could give a simple answer. But his feelings on this were anything but simple.
"I'm trying to." He replied.
Esmeralda's heart broke. She sat down next to her husband, taking his hand in hers.
"Claude-" She started, cutting herself off. "...I'm sorry. Do you want me to call you Claude?"
The judge had few good memories of the sound of his name, but he started to think of it differently. It felt good to have a first name, to not simply be known as the infamous Minister of Justice. He'd felt cared for when Jean had used his given name earlier. To be addressed that way was to be known on a cordial level. He wanted Esmeralda to know him that way, to talk to him like a friend. Perhaps that was all he needed to make him feel better about the name, to hear it in a context in which he was cared for.
"Yes." He replied.
Esmeralda continued.
"Claude, nothing could possibly justify what he did to you."
"I can make sense of that, but..."
Claude barely touched his chest.
"...My parents taught me many things for many years, and scared me into remembering it all. To call them wrong is to discount everything I've ever believed. That is an unbelievably difficult thing to do. I don't know how to stop blaming myself when I have done it all my life."
He paused. Acknowledging these things was so strange.
"...But I am trying to." Claude finished.
"Can I help?" Esmeralda asked. "Is there anything I can do to help you believe that it isn't your fault?"
Claude finally looked at her.
"You're already doing that." He assured. "The simple feeling of your touch makes a difference. You show such care... To this flesh that I am so ashamed of..."
"You shouldn't be ashamed of it." Esmeralda insisted.
"I've always seen it as a sign of guilt." Claude shared. "And as a hideous disfigurement. I only chose to be celibate because I was afraid of being rejected for it."
"I've never seen it that way..." Esmeralda said sympathetically.
"And I so appreciate that." Claude said gratefully. "But perhaps there is one other reason for my shame."
He looked back down at the site of the burn.
"You feel weak," Esmeralda suggested. "Don't you?"
Claude nodded.
The last few weeks had been full of some of the most embarrassing moments of his life. It was hard for Claude to accept both the fact that he had been hurt and that he'd been so unable to control what the abuse had done to him. He hated the humiliation he'd felt when Esmeralda had seen him panic after nightmares and break down in tears. Even though he appreciated her comfort, the embarrassment of being seen in those emotional states was something Claude couldn't get over.
"I never thought you were weak." Esmeralda said truthfully.
"Not at any point?" Claude asked. "Not when I said my father burned me? Not when I woke you up with all those nightmares? Not when I cried in your arms?"
"Never." Esmeralda repeated. "Who am I to judge? It's not like I've never been hurt. Or had nightmares. Or cried..."
She trailed off, starting to think of awful things.
"I told you how I got my scar." Esmeralda brought up. "But not the whole story."
Claude looked at his wife curiously. There was some kind of stress in her expression. It was concerning.
"It's the only mark I still have from that day." Esmeralda went on. "But they hurt me so much more than that. After that first soldier went and cut me... Well, I fought back of course. Then he got angry and called some others over. There were four of them altogether. They threw me on the ground and started kicking me..."
Claude was at a loss for words. His wife had never confided in him before.
"They beat me until I couldn't move." Esmeralda continued. "Thankfully, my friends showed up. They managed to scare the soldiers away. I don't know if I would have lived otherwise."
The story was upsetting to Claude. He was horrified by the image. His caring wife, brutalized by his men...
"Esmeralda..." He muttered, unsure of what to say.
"You don't need to say anything." Esmeralda assured. "I just want you to know that I've been through a lot of stress. Since that attack there have been so many times where I was upset, or scared, or unable to sleep. After everything that incident put me through, I would never judge your feelings. I hope that does something to make you feel less ashamed."
Esmeralda looked away from her husband. She could hardly believe what she'd said to him. He was the last person whom she had ever wanted to know about her suffering, but she was willing to share that information if it did anything to make him feel better around her.
Claude didn't take his eyes off her at first. But as it became apparent that she didn't want to look at him, he turned his gaze back to his chest. Perhaps that mark didn't mean what he thought it meant.
"Thank you..." Claude whispered.
Esmeralda turned her eyes toward him, but not her face.
"I find it hard not to feel that way." Claude confessed. "Weak. Guilty. Ugly."
Esmeralda frowned.
"But maybe that could change." Claude said with a shred of hope. "Maybe..."
Esmeralda looked at her husband more closely. She saw tears developing in his eyes while he looked down at himself. This was not the face of a man who was giving up. He was trying, desperately, to see himself the way she did. But of course, it wasn't easy.
Esmeralda got his attention by putting her hands on his shoulders. She gently pushed him, which he didn't resist.
Claude didn't know what Esmeralda was doing, but he allowed his back to fall to the surface of the bed. Just as soon, Esmeralda started to touch his damaged skin. She gently brushed over the scarred area. Then, to Claude's surprise, she began to softly kiss his disfigured flesh. Her kisses travelled up his body from the lower part of the scar to the top of it. There, she paused when her face was above her husband's.
She pulled down her collar slightly, revealing the scar on her chest. She then took her husband's hand and raised it to her skin.
Claude moved his fingers over his wife's scar, which now made him feel far less alone. The tears started to roll out of his eyes, and he saw that Esmeralda was beginning to cry too.
Esmeralda lowered her face to her husband's and placed a few kisses on his cheek, then finally kissed his lips gently. He kissed her back in the same manner.
This kiss stood out from all of the others, including the last one from that morning. It was sad, yet powerful. They felt each other's tears, but also an incredible warmth and peace that seemed to bounce between them.
Claude now fully understood what he had. He had a wonderful wife whom he did not deserve, and who deserved a husband far greater than him.
He made a decision at that moment: He would do everything in his power to make up for the wrong he had done to Esmeralda.