Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1928-Jan 1929)

fJhe Right Way to remove cold cream WHERE beauty means money— on the stage and screen — famous stars have found a new way of insuring lovely complexions. No more harsh towels and no more high laundry bills! No more germ-covered cloths, that rub dirt back into the skin. Now, beautiful women of the theatre use Kleenex to remove cold cream. Its surface is made to absorb every trace of dirt and grime, grease and make-up. It does what no towel or old non-absorbent cloth can do. And it leaves the skin radiantly lovely. Kleenex tissues are generous in size. They're soft, pure white, perfectly fresh. After using, you dispose of them just like paper. Absolutely hygienic! And so inexpensive that high laundry bills are extravagant. Send for a special sample on the attached coupon, if you don't already know Kleenex. You, too, will find there's nothing can compare! Kleenex Kleenex Company, Lake-Michigan Building, Chicago, 111. Please send sample of Kleenex to M-10 Name Address City State. Ranger's pride in his first family is mingled with a degree of sadness at finding that every member is, even at the age of a few weeks, addicted to the bottle Nijinska Dances Alone (Continued from page 40) her grandfather a great patriot — a familiar of the mighty Garibaldi and Kossuth. At sixteen she spoke seven languages, had been to school in Paris and London, and was a favored pupil of the far-famed Madame Rejane. She made her theatrical debut in Paris. The play was "The Secret," by Pierre Wolff. It was a success at the Gymnase. Then followed a repertoire of Ibsen — ■ and a call home from her mother so that the two might play together. In Budapest she attended the Russian Ballet. For her it was a gala night. The world and all its capitals had acclaimed the Slavic artists headed by the wondrous Nijinsky, darling alike of kings and commoners. Like a million others, Romola was enthralled. That night she determined that she would dance. And when Director Diaghilev took his Ballet to ancient St. Petersburg, she went with it. Her success was instant. And as the world-tour progressed, she danced her way to the top opposite Vaslav Nijinsky, friend and favorite of the Czar of All the Russias. With the romance of her career, another blossomed. And in Buenos Aires, Romola became a Russian, and a bride. Triumph followed triumph. There was never failure. Nor any variance in the degree of success. The lovers danced their way beneath a bower of roses that covered the world, along paths of gold studded with rarest rubies. TOO MANY KINGS IT WAS magical," she says, and her eyes sparkle a second as they must have done when Grand Duke Dimitri welcomed her as one of the Czar's household — when the Marchioness of Ripon, social arbiter of the English Court, named her a protegee — ■ when she and her husband danced by royal command before the rulers of the world, and were acclaimed their friends. "Kings meant little to me," she smiles, "there were so many of them. But there was real delight in the circles of great artists which we attracted in every city. Our salons were always the rendezvous of genius — master musicians, sculptors, painters, writers— there was really little room for kings." But while these children danced upon the greensward of the earth, the fires of fury smoldered under the caldrons of Mars, god of war. And one day the flame leaped to life and the caldrons bubbled and boiled with blood. Of a sudden these radiant sprites found themselves imprisoned like gossamer butterflies beneath a glass. They were Russians— alien enemies — and even Romola's uncle, the Austrian Minister of Foreign Affairs, could make no exception to the stern decree of internment. King Alfonso, monarch of a neutral land, added his plea for their freedom to a host of others. But when release finally came, it was through the intervention of America and Otto Kahn and Secretary Lansing. And that is how Vaslav and Romola Nijinsky came to tour a hundred cities in the United States and Canada on what was to prove the last great round of victory. The New World followed the Continent in its vociferous approval. Headed by the harassed President Wilson, himself, the nation added its loud huzzahs to the cheers of Britain's greatest colony. But Nijinsky, artist and aesthete, steeped besides in the doctrines of Tolstoi, was tortured in his soul to see the bright world to which he danced steeped in sorrow, its sun obscured by clouds of gory hue. He pondered and brooded. There was a journey to South America, and thence to Switzerland. And there the soulsick artist collapsed. His fine intellect was filmed over with a haze, his perfect body warped with insidious illnesses. THE FLAME OF HIS ART SNUFFED WITH the passing of the old regime, passed the triumphs of Nijinsky. Holy Russia was raped by the Red rabble. The Czar, his more than father, lay with a bayonet in his autocratic heart. Franz Josef, last of the Csesarc, his friend and admirer, had joined the rest of his unhappy house in death. The world he had known crumbled beneath his feet. The feet that danced no more. And Nijinsky's career was ended. And so, it seemed, was that of Nijinska— Romola — his wife. There was never a doubt of duty in her heart. The glamourous days were gone forever. Her life was Con {Continued on page 95)