Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1911-Jan 1912)

100 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE cruelty of our own, was utterly lacking in effect on the real criminal, the archdeacon, whilst he stood among the spectators. His mind seemed entirely centered on the girl who hadadded new charms to her beautiful character, those of generosity and courage — the nobility of her mercy inflamed him the more. He even glared jealously at the pilloried victim as if he would have forsworn priesthood to have received a moment of consideration at her hands. He watched her, with the flame of high passion in his eyes, until she left the scene, then he followed her, with no fixed purpose other than one entertained by a man completely fascinated. Night was falling when Esmeralda reached a wine-shop, known as "Eve's Apple/' and entered with a smile of anticipation on her face that foreshadowed an agreeable appointment. Frollo paced back and forth before the building, occasionally peering in, but always concealing his face in his black cape. What he saw gradually infuriated him, until he drew forth a long knife that had been concealed in his breast. He stood off and surveyed the old building, glanced up and down the deserted street, then climbed up to a window opening into a point of junction between the roof and supporting walls. Into this hole he crawled, knife in hand, and peered thru the cracks of a rickety door into a lighted chamber beyond. He watched and waited until an opportune moment arrived to open the door, and entered softly. There was Esmeralda, blushing and palpitating, in the arms of the man she had grown to love — Captain Phoebus, of the Archers. He was gallantly clad in the elegance of that day, and was pouring out protestations of eternal devotion, while the lovely girl listened with parted lips and crimson face, an ardent soul shining in her eyes. The priest used his thumb to test the point of his poniard. Esmeralda, completely enthralled by the old, old story, was encircled by the arms of her lover and was looking up into his face, when she saw a hand grasping a knife. She seemed to become frozen with horror when the weapon was plunged into the captain's body, and she fainted when his arms relaxed and he fell lifeless on the floor. When she recovered consciousness, she was surrounded by soldiers of the watch and was accused of murdering the man she loved. An impartial glance at the Ancient Magistracy might reveal conditions not unlike those obtaining today. When a helpless creature is accused of a crime, denial and protestation of innocence are usually followed by torture. Esmeralda dared assert that she did not kill the man found stabbed in her company, and the sitting of the trial court was suspended, the magistrate and procurator supping together, while the prisoner was taken to a chamber of horrors more primitive than those now in use. It was a vaulted and windowless room, lighted principally by the crimson glow of a furnace in which tongs and pincers were heated. In the center was a leather cot on which the terrorstricken girl was placed, while a clerk took a seat at a table in readiness to transcribe her confession, and Frollo, as priest of the officiality, stood looking on. The girl was partially disrobed after persisting in her denial of guilt, and her bare feet — those delicate members which had served to charm all who saw her in the dance — were encased in iron plates. Coarse hands fastened her slender waist to a strap that hung from the ceiling; a torturer turned the handle of the screw-jack; the iron boot contracted, and Esmeralda uttered a series of horrible cries interjected with shrieks for mercy. In her agony of mind and body, she satisfied the enlightened instruments of law and order, reversing her denial and admitting all they desired to effect a speedy execution of justice, and her legs were unbooted before her feet were destroyed. One of the officials, of gay turn of mind, remarked, by way of