Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

56 Photoplay Magazine subtle intrigue of her tread that adds to her stature. Her fellow players adore her. Good nature enfolds her when she is at work. She is a hail fellow to brother artists and cordiality itself to those whom she meets even for a moment. "Come and see me anytime"' urges the actress — and the visitor relying upon that graciousness arrives at the studio only to be met with disappointment at the door. "Madame never permits visitors on the stage when she works" is the firm message of the studio executives. Impelled by unusual determination one may force a way through to the stage there to see only high walls blank save for the repeated admonition "No one permitted on this set except members of Nazimova's company." "Why, I never gave such an order," declares the star later when her friends jestingly allude to her isolation, "that must be some idea of the management." Verily old Mother Goose' httle "Mary Mary Quite Contrary" had nothing whatever on her. Here's another oblique light on the whimsicalities which make her life just "one thing after another." She recently declared herself "at rest." She would go into seclusion, see no one, hear no one, speak to no one. And then she took apartments at the Hollywood Hotel, the social center of the screen colony. Have you heard how she learned English? That is a typical instance of her methods of procedure. When she first came to New York she spoke her native Russian, French, and other languages of the continent but no English. Impelled by the necessities of her art she began the study of our tongue on Hoover I'hoto A tigerish head of the Russian lady who also appears in ou a-way up in the front of the book. June 2 1 St and on the eighth day of the following September commenced rehearsals of Ibsen's "Hedda Gabler" in EngUsh, directing her own company without an interpreter. "How did I learn? Well, not from books. Grammar was a sealed language to me and rules a dead letter. My first teacher incidentally was the mother of young Richard Barthelmess, the actor to whom success is coming so rapidly. She brought her English books and I studied them but we got onj but poorly. Finally I decided that we would learn by conversation. And with gossip about the affairs of the world, chat of I the dramatic situation in America and the kind of tea tablel talk which women know I learned to speak Enghsh. I also! learned much about American life which was equally valuablej to me," added the actress significantly. Madame Nazimova takes color and mood from her environment both mental and physical. She wears bright garments I and carries this desire even to her physical surroundings and] recently purchased a home in Hollywood that she might havej the walls and wood-work done to suit this demand. "The walls were gloomy," she exclaimed, "I couldn't standi it. I must have bright light, windows wide open, curtainsi pushed back. Mystery and shadows do not appeal to me. ll want sunshine and the wind of the mountains and ocean." This! from the heroine of "The Red Lantern," that mystery shrouded! creature of the orient, from the woman who has added in-j scrutabiHty to Ibsen's heroines until Hedda and Dora excel] even the Mona Lisa in their mystic smiling silences. With all her activity and suppleness of body Nazimova ab-j hors physical exertion. "I don'tl know how I maintain myj strength," she laughs, "except by] conserving it. I never golf or J play tennis and I only dance on! rare occasions. Swimming is tooj strenuous for me and horses are] less than the dust. I was thrown from a saddle horse once and have never been able to forgive the] equine race since. My idea ofj perfect outdoor exercise is ridingj comfortably in a motor car with] some one else at the wheel. "My garden — oh, I love it.] But I never work there. I watch the others arrange the plants, trim the roses and twine vines in the] trelhses." For relaxation Madame Nazim-l ova says reading and playing the piano are her favorites. Once a I violinist of great promise, she has] abandoned the tyrannical instrument. "My fingers are too stiff] now to get a good tone," shej laments. "After all I haven't suchj a love for the violin. My father! used to beat me when I was al child, to make me practice, ij walked five miles to the villagej for my lesson and five miles home! again, and then I practiced for! hours with the parental chastise-J ment always awaiting the slightest neglect of this routine." No wonder Russia has produced great violinists if fathers take such a vivid responsibility in the matter of juvenile preparation. Intimates of Nazimova, and one may count them almost on the fingers of one hand, say that in her moments of ease she loves to nestle on the floor, luxurious in downy cushions, and read Ibsen. She often reads the lines of the great playwright aloud, and even in solitude finds keen enjoyment in this vocal reahzation of his skill as a master builder of plays. Incidentally it is the (Continued on page 128) r art section —