Photoplay Magazine, January 1921 (anuary 1921)

Allied Cheney Johnston She looked very much like one of her own heroines. She has red hair, slanting eyes, and a red mouth. YOU have read it. Everybody has read it. You may not know your Shakespeare or your Psalms, your Louys or your Longfellow, but— You most assuredly know your "Three Weeks."' 1 read it when I was not supposed to read anything stronger than the Elsie books. I read it again when nobody cared much what I read. It is safe to say it has been smuggled behind more Histories of the United States and more Plane Geometries than any other book in the world. And now I have met her. The lady who wrote "Three Weeks*' in six. Elinor Glyn. I have not had such a thrill since I went to see Theda Dara. And "Miss Glyn—or it should be Mrs. Glyn— out-Baras Miss Bara. Because Miss Glyn is really Miss Glyn while Theda is Theodosia Goodman, if you get what I mean. I went into her apartment at the St. Regis Hotel in Man- hattan and was immediately intrigued by two things: a tiger- skin and a scent. The tiger-skin, I learned later, came from India; while the scent can trace its beginnings far, far back into the lore of ancient Egypt. On the tiger-skin sat Elinor Glyn. She looked very much like one of her own heroines. She has red hair, slanting eyes, and a red. red mouth. She wore black satin and emeralds. She is a sister of Lucile—Lady Duff Gordon. So you might expect her to be well dressed. She was. She believes she was a tiger, once. She believes everybody was once an animal. She likes to tell, in a large gathering of people, which one was once a lion, which a bear, and so forth, in a previous incarnation. Sometimes her observations must be embarrassing, to say the least. 70 Tiger Skins and Temperament Both are mere backgrounds for Elinor Glyn, now of the films. By DELIGHT EVANS There were pictures on the wall of Queen Marie of Rumania, Queen Ena of Spain, King Alfonso, and others. There were, also, numer- ous Duchesses and Lords and Ladies, but I didn't have time for them. She visits the Royal family in Spain every once in a while; she spent some time at the Court of Russia when there was a Court of Russia: she lives in London and Versailles. It was while she was the guest of the commanding genenl in Egypt that she discovered the per- funu she now uses. Do you want to hear the story? She went into a perfume shop and a young man came up to her—an Egyptian young man, I believe. He said. "Are vou Madame Elinor ■■I Glyn"-" "I am," said Miss'Glyn. -but how did you know?"' "I felt that you were," said the young man very simply. And he went on to say that his father—or was it his uncle?—anyway, the elder- ly and invalid proprietor of the perfumery, had long cherished a copy of "Three Weeks." It was, in fact, his favorite book. Miss Glyn sent upstairs for the old man's copy of her novel and autographed it. The perfumer returned the compliment by concocting the very special scent she now uses—Persian Attar of Roses, it is called —one drop of which lingers for days, and days. Miss Glyn is in America, you know, to study the films. She is going to write stories for Paramount—Gloria Swanson will enact the first. She has seen only fourteen films in her life. "How much I have to learn!" she says, "but I am so humble— so very humble. I volunteered for war work in England, you know, and was assigned to wash dishes in the canteen. I knew nothing about dishwashing when I started but before I finished I was the best dishwasher they had. I know nothing about films now—" The inference is obvious. She wants to find the representative American man for her film stories. Not an actor, but a model for her new screen heroes. She visited Harvard and many other places—even Kansas City—in her quest. Perhaps her first film will show us the result of her quest. Or perhaps there are no Pauls in America. She studied and read twenty years before she wrote a line. Her first book, "Elizabeth," sold well. "Three Weeks" sold better—in fact, it was a "best seller." It caught on in America chiefly because America was not used to that sort of thing. It was read, much discussed, and finally filmed. She hopes someday to supervise a new version of it. "Mark Twain," she said, "asked me how long it took me to write 'Three Weeks.' When I told him it was completed in about six weeks, he nodded sympathetically. 'I know,' he said, 'I wrote my "Joan" in a few months.' " There's no doubt that she has sufficient funds for a hundred screen stories. She has travelled (Continued on page 120)