Father, I Have Sinned

When no sound remained but the howl of the wind, Frollo rose from the stone floor. The clanging of the bells had ceased, and the deep rumbling chants no longer rang in his ears. Sure enough, the robed figures no longer surrounded him, and the fire had gone out. Picking himself up, he turned his head this way and that to ensure that he was alone. As his eyes drifted upward to the massive cross hanging above the fireplace, he remembered that he would never be alone. He gritted his teeth at thought of the archdeacon reminding him that heavenly eyes were always upon him, no matter how hidden away he felt. Always meddling, thought Frollo, annoyed by the memory. If it weren't for the miserable archdeacon, my soul would be completely pure. I could have dealt with that hideous demon properly. Grudgingly, Frollo peered out the window at Notre Dame. And today's frightful performance could have been easily sidestepped. Looking longer at the church, Frollo was furious knowing that his carefully captured prize, the fiery gypsy girl, had already escaped his perfect prison.

Esmeralda. Her name conjured up a flurry of thoughts and memories. All this, and he had only been aware of her for a day! The fireplace had gone dark, but mentally Frollo could still envision her there, bending and twisting, provoking him for a reaction. The sorceress must have cast a spell on me. Only once had I seen her, and she was all I could think of! It must have been her attempt to lure me from my path.

A scrap of her scarf had gone unburned and lay in the embers remaining. It was as conspicuous as its original owner was, a flash of colour and beauty among the dark and deadness of everything around it. Frollo turned to leave, but stopped and glanced over his shoulder into the fireplace. The remains of Esmeralda's scarf, an uneven scrap of material bearing two golden stars and half a sun, shivered as the wind blew in through the open window. Wrinkling his nose, Frollo picked up the scarf and stuffed it into his robe before turning and casually ascending the stairs to his chambers.

Atop the stairs was Frollo's magnificent room, which would be the envy of anyone in Paris. It was at its best bathed in candlelight. A long black cross, a miniature of the one downstairs, hung on the wall next to a grand bookshelf. The bed stood near the centre, surrounded by curtains. Frollo approached the window to see Notre Dame once more. Esmeralda was no longer there, but somewhere in city. He tried to push the thought from his mind, and drew the curtain.

Once he had reached the serenity of his exquisite chamber, he assured himself that finally, he was safe from any prying eye, at least a human one. Removing the scarf from his robe again, he turned it over and over in his hands. Suddenly, his heart began to race, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Mopping his brow, he came to a conclusion that terrified him. It didn't burn. She would not allow the flames to devour it, so it is protected by her curse. Even the fires of Hell could not swallow Esmeralda. She is of the same fire. He wanted to put the scarf down, but somehow could not make his hand release it. Turning it over and over in his hands, he watched the gold embroidery catch the flickers of candlelight. It was just like the sun dancing on it as Esmeralda danced onstage…

The day was still imprinted in his mind, as he ran through it every chance he had. It had turned out to be the only Festival of Fools worth going to. Or had it been? Of course he had not been bored and infuriated, as he had spent innumerable past years. Watching townsfolk drink themselves silly and parade about in masks never interested him in the least. Frollo took great pride in focusing his mind on higher things. Sitting shaded in his seat off to the side, he would observe the festivities. Although alone, he used to opportunity to remind himself that he was there because of his duty; he alone was moral enough to oversee the festivities, and he alone was holy enough to abstain from them.

But this year's festival was a topsy-turvy day indeed. He had arrived prepared for an unmemorable day that would pass by in a whirl of colours and shapes. His expectations went up in smoke when the beautiful gypsy danced her way out of the fumes. Remembering the shock of her sudden appearance, Frollo shuddered, feeling his knees go weak beneath him. Frollo sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his forehead. She must have had a pact with the devil, he thought, shaking his head and trying to make sense of it. The witch came up from below in a cloud of brimstone. And wearing blood red… No doubt she was casting a spell on me. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Frollo held the scarf up to his face and brushed it along his bony cheeks, across his chin, and to his lips. He inhaled deeply, hoping that it still carried some of her scent. No, only smoke from the fire. Frollo sighed, and reclined on his bed to pursue his forbidden reverie. Her smell was intoxicating. That was one reason he had clung to her in the church when he trapped her there; he didn't want to pull away. Although he held a deep-seated fear that breathing in could cause him to become infected with Esmeralda, it was not enough to dissuade him. Her thick hair caressed his face, and to a man who had never felt a woman's touch, it created the sensation of heaven on earth. He had imagined a rope around her neck, but not that of a noose. He wanted to tie her down, allowing him his turn to dominate her, so she would never be able to escape him again. A rope… around that beautiful neck… Beautiful and gypsy were two words he felt were repellent of each other and could never stand together. In the gypsies he saw rotting flesh, festering with sin. He could imagine no other side of the gypsies than what he had seen at the festival, shameless crystal gazers.

She's a gypsy! He quickly reminded himself, sitting upright, face tightening into a grimace. Put on this earth to distract me from God. Looking again at the scarf, his expression softened. He considered the situation. Or perhaps, ironic as it seems, is she an instrument of God? Placed here for me to bring to salvation? I might commit a small sin, but actually I am saving a heathen's soul! I would still receive a heavenly reward. Having found a more pleasant rationale for his experience, Frollo again relaxed. He absorbed himself in the lovely memory of Esmeralda dancing and leaping, waving her scarf; meanwhile he wove the remaining shred through his fingers.

During the festival, he was forced to keep his emotions very much under control. Such was the duty of the Minister of Justice, not participating in improper activities and instead setting a good example. He was not about to grin and toss coins onstage like the commoners, and unfortunately his Captain of the Guard as well. Now, knowing that he was likely the only waking soul in the whole city and would be unseen and undisturbed, Frollo's face finally softened into the smile he had held back as he watched Esmeralda twirling madly for the cheering crowd.

At last he felt at ease, and prepared for bed. He removed his cassock as he did every night, although he did so tonight somewhat more impatiently than usual. Putting away the black garment, Frollo wondered what it was that made Esmeralda single him out during her performance. Robed in black, Frollo liked to think of himself as a shadow, omnipresent but apart and uninvolved. She must have been under orders to target me. Unless… she herself was drawn to me. Imagine, a heathen so intrigued by one of God's servants.

Frollo realized that this idea was unlikely, and let the idea go, attractive though it was. He looked at himself in the mirror and quickly turned away. All these years he had instructed Quasimodo that the boy was a hideous monster, not fit to be seen by ordinary eyes. Frollo made a habit of avoiding mirrors, for now he was reminded of the sharpness of his facial features, his thinning silver hair, and his body painfully skeletal. While not ugly, Frollo had certainly felt shamed sitting near the golden lion that was Phoebus. No, she did not choose me. For my sake and hers, I would have wished it. No. I was chosen for her because of my virtue.

Leaving the mirror, Frollo got into bed. It was logical that a demon would single him out for his purity. Frollo had not held a woman in his arms until he caught Esmeralda from behind in the church. He had never experienced the touch of a woman's lips against his own, although the Festival of Fools had almost allowed him this. He took himself back to that bright afternoon, and remembered Esmeralda bringing her face so close to his that their noses were almost touching, their lips only a breath apart. She was so close, but still far from him.

Sex was repulsive to him, and very much foreign. He was proud of his virginity, but watching Esmeralda dance, he felt he needed sex the way he needed air. It was the most primitive impulse, and the most difficult to resist. Shutting his eyes, he could picture her, dashing across the stage toward him, kicking a leg high enough to send Frollo's imagination racing. He grinned and purred, holding the scarf to his neck as Esmeralda had when she came to him. His other hand traveled down to his most private place, one that Esmeralda ignored, although it definitely paid attention to her. He remembered being simultaneously embarrassed and praying no one would see, and wanting her, wanting her to touch him.

While she did not actively participate in corrupting him, he almost wished she had. She was teasing him, and he knew it. As she crouched over him, nearly in his waiting lap, she smiled tantalizingly at him when it was all he could do to gape at her. He knew his innocence was made obvious to her in his expression of fear mixed with longing excitement. It made him wonder how many men she had had. Lots, he assumed, snorting. He suddenly went silent, apprehensive. Supposing he had a chance with Esmeralda, he could imagine her taking control of the situation due to his inexperience. Still, there was something very attractive to him about the idea of losing his virginity to such a sensual and sexual woman served to arouse him further.

Touching himself now was allowing himself a forbidden pleasure, which was even more intense with his lack of experience. He had never given thought to how he liked to be touched. He rubbed himself slowly first, cautiously experimenting. Moving more quickly sent chills throughout his body. Now fully erect, he caressed his entire body with the remnant of Esmeralda's scarf. He started with his face, then down his neck and across his chest, down his stomach and over each rib. Reaching his inner thighs, he slowed down to take in the feeling. He imagined her hands fondling him.

Frollo threw his head back, thrusting his hips. He remembered standing with her in the church, everyone else having left the room. Holding her arm behind her back was wonderful; her flesh was dark and soft. Though he enjoyed the memory, what he really desired was the feeling of her flesh against his once again. And run his hands through her thick black hair. And oh, her scent! Her hair was a palette of wild herbal perfumes. The exotic gypsy dancer was tame and in his arms. And now it was his turn to tease her!

Sighing heavily, Frollo turned his face to the pillow, rubbing against it the way he nuzzled her neck in the church. Only he played with the memory. This time, she pushed back against him, allowing him to kiss her neck. She moaned to him, "Claude... I've never seen you like this." She took his hand and placed it on her breast. His hand slipped down the front of her dress and cupped it. She reached back and pulled him closer to her, pushing against his groin. He whispered in her ear, "You're mine." He pulled her closer to him, his hard penis pressing against her, wanting so desperately to go inside her.

And that was what he hoped for. Frollo bucked his hips fiercely, imagining himself penetrating her. The thought of her squirming in his arms, begging him to be gentle, feeling the fire in his heart…

Spent, Frollo panted. Sweat poured down his face, his cheeks were flushed, but his body was relaxed. He raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but something else glided against his face. Confused, he drew his hand back. The fragment of Esmeralda's scarf. Now defiled, it still clung to his hand. Suddenly, realizing what he had done, he sat bolt upright. His eyes met with the cross hung on the wall. He sees everything. He knows what I've done! Quickly cleaning up, Frollo dressed. He threw the scarf, and it drifted in the air for a moment before falling to the floor and sliding under his bed. Kneeling before the cross, Frollo lowered his head and crossed himself. When he raised his head again, his eyes brimmed with tears. A proud man, Frollo was ashamed to cry in front of anyone. To him it was a sign of weakness, even if only God was witness. Clasping his hands in prayer, he said in a wavering voice, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…" Then he buried his face in his hands and wept.