Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Aug 1919)

The Parisian Wife This Story Was . Fictionized from the Paramount Photoplay of Eve Unsell By DOROTHY DONNELL The Wesley Place stood starkly on the wind-bitten hilltop, gazing disapprovingly out on the world beneath thru lowered shutters, like half-closed eyelids, its rigid porch columns showing a chill white in the brassy sunlight of the March afternoon. On the north a windbreak of dark fir-trees kept up a continuous sighing monotone which had never ceased from the moment the first Wesley planted them beside his homestead two hundred years ago. Since then eight generations of Wesleys had lived their orthodox, colorless lives here, loved their pale loves. Out of these dark portals their coffins had been carried at last to the tiny family cemetery on the hillside, where their dust need not mingle with any less dignified. In all that time the breath of scandal had never touched their rooftree — until now. In the gray light of the shrouded parlor the members of the family, hastily summoned to conference, gazed at each other obliquely, not quite meeting one another’s eyes. “I suppose.” Lincoln Wesley, the lawyer, polished his eyeglasses delicately with his silk handkerchief, ‘‘Martin did not — hm — enter into any description of the — hm — party of the second part ?” His sister, Ellen, snilifed as she took the letter from her mother's finger's, ‘‘Listen to this,” she laughed, unpleasantly. *' ‘She has hair that is what vii'gin gold would be if gold were alive — heavy — clingy — and her skin is a wonderful warm ivory. Her figure ” Ellen folded the paper jerkily, an «.i‘igry I'ed flecking her sharp cheekbones. ‘‘If my advice had been taken, Martin would never have gone to Paris. It’s what was to be expected, that’s all.” Old Thompson Wesley, Martin’s grandfather, unlocked his di'y, purple lips with a senile cackle. "A dancing woman — a THE P.^RISIAN WIFE Scenario written by Eve Unsell. Produced by Paramount. Directed by Emile Cliautard. The cast ; Fauvette Elsie Fergu.son Martin W'esley David Powell Tony Ray Courtenay Foote Thompson Wesley Frank Losee Mrs. Wesley Cora Williams painted daughter of Babylon,” he mumbled, ‘‘whose lips are as the ante-chamber of hell.” His wife, Myra, drew the lavender knit shawl closer about her bloodless shoulders with a nervous glance at the clock ‘‘They’ll be here in less than an hour,’’ she fretted. ‘‘Whatet er will people say when they hear a Wesley has brought a wife home from Paris? And her name, too — scandalous! What respectable woman ever had a name like Fauvette?” In Ellen's pale-blue eyes gleamed the unforgiving malice of an old, unlovely woman for a young, beautiful one. ‘‘She shall regret what she has done,” she said implacably. ‘‘We must oi)en poor Martin’s eyes. Mark my words, there are things in her past that he does not know.’’ It was into this atmosphere of frigid suspicion and disapprobation that Martin Wesley’s Parisian bride stepped, when,' an hour later, the station hack deposited them at the painted iron gate. A sullen sunset smoul-i dered thru the crannies of the fir barrier and, altho the even-i ing was windless, the continuous low plaint rose from their branches. The shadow of the house lay sharp and distinct at her feet. Martin, turning from paying the hackman, saw that her gray eyes were upon it with a look of fear and dread. “See,” she told him, in her careful English, “the shadow — if we step into it, what of our happiness?” He frowned away her fancy. "Dont be silly, Fauvette.” His voice grew tender on the name and, suddenly catching her to him, he “She has hair that is kist her with a sort of fierce awk 'what virgin gold would wardness and swept her up the path and across the threshold of his an “■* cestors. skin is a wonderful warm ivorv, (Fifty-six)