Screenland (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

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84 SCREENLAND Be Beautiful! "YOUTHENIZE" Like Hollywood Screen Stars * SKIN-YOUTH * • AMERICA'S FINEST BEAUTY AIDS • Learn for yourself why Skin-Youth is the favorite of American Women who pride Iheuwlvrs in intelligent Cosmetic selection. Try these 5 fundamental favorites today! IQty. e Skin-Youth Tissue Cream (3 oz. Night Cream) | « Skin-Youth Cleansing Cream (4 oz. Day Cream) kin-Youth "Lipstik" (Automatic, Indelible) I ikin-Youth "Face Powda" (Cream Base) | ikinYouth "Rooj" (Dry Rouge) ! «' Vm, Skin-Youth Itraulv Foundation Check Complexion Type: □ Light □Medium □ Dark Enclose 65c for each item vou order, or $3.00 for all 5 Add lOr per item toward, postage. FREE postage on $3. no orders. Mail Coupon and Remittance to Skin-Vouth Beauty Foundation, P. 0. Box 34, Chicago, 111. Name Address City State '"Rembrandt": The Life and Loves of a Great Artist Continued from page 27 chuckled. "Don't you hear his laughter ringing down the centuries?" There in that room it was almost as if they heard it. There in that room and through all the years down to that day in the seventeenth century and to another auction when Rembrandt had stood in that room too, and his great laughter had come as he reached for the necklace his bid had taken. "You're a fool, Rembrandt," a friend patted his shoulder affectionately. "It's worth four thousand, not a florin more. Why were you so set on having it at any price ?" Rembrandt held up the jewel and it was almost as if his strong painter's hands were caressing it. "I want to paint Saskia wearing it," he said simply. Such a great lady, Saskia, to marry a miller's son. A painter who had had a measure of success to be sure, but nothing to offer this woman with the proud name, this woman whose beauty he had immortalized on his canvas. For she had posed for him as willingly as any of his models, and he had been happiest in painting her. Even now when fame and wealth had come to him and he was hailed as the greatest artist in Holland, Saskia mounted the model stand as happily as ever and tried to conceal from him that she was ill and that it took all of her fragile strength to stand there smiling. And it was of Saskia he was thinking when he sat with Banning Cocq and his officers planning the painting he was to make of them and so it came with less of a shock to hear her name mentioned by one of them. "How can a man want to paint his wife after seven years?" The young officer had been drinking so much he did not know his voice carried to his commander and to Rembrandt "If I were an artist, I'd have my studio full of naked girls." Cocq laughed banteringly as he saw the swift flush mount to Rembrandt's cheek bones. "There was a man in the land of Uz," he said lightly, "and the Lord gave him everything the human heart could desire. But beyond all this man was in love with his wife." "He must have had a secret," shouted one of the officers, already sure of the laugh that followed. "He had," Rembrandt said quietly. "He had a vision once, a creature, half-child, half-woman, half-angel, half-lover crossed lii s path and . . . and of a sudden he knew what you others do not know, he knew that when one woman gives herself to you, you possess all women. "Women of every age and race and clime and more than that. The moon, the stars, all miracles and legends are yours. The brown-skinned girls who inflame your senses with their play, the cool, yellowhaired women who entice and escape you, the gentle ones who serve you, the slender ones who torment you, the mothers who bore and suckled you, all women whom God created out of the teeming fullness of the earth are yours in the love of one woman !" They were not listening to him, but it was not to them he was talking. He felt no need to tell anyone of Saskia. There was always himself to talk and himself to listen when he spoke of her. There was a room in the great house Rembrandt's success had brought him different from any other room. For there it was as if the warmth and tenderness that was Saskia had permeated every corner of her room. There on a chair was spread the stiff brocade gown and the bright petticoat she would soon put on. In a little while, when she had rested a little, when she felt just a little stronger. Lying there in the huge four-poster bed that made her seem even smaller and more fragile, her hair a halo of light against the white pillow, she lay and tried to summon the strength back into her tired body. In such a little while she must rise and put on the festive dress, the gay petticoat; swirl back the heavy hair with the jewelled comb, and smile so that he would not know she was ill. For if he knew he could not work, and she could not stand in the way of that. Even though every outflung gesture of her hands was a torture, every minute of standing an hour of pain and uncertainty, he must not know. She must laugh and be gay for him. REMBRANDT A London Film Production Released Through United Artists CAST Rembrandt van Rijn. .Charles Laughton Hendrickje Stoffcls Elsa Lanchester Geertje Dirx Gertrude Lawrence Titus van Rijn John Bryning Titus (as a child) Richard Gofe Ornia Meinhart Maur Banning Cocq Walter Hudd Govacrt Flink John Clements Jan Six Henry Hewitt Church Warden George Merritt Minister John Turnbull Auctioneer Sam Livesey Directed by Alexander Korda But when the maid came to dress her she found she could not rise after all, could only lie there, her head sinking deeper into the pillow, and for the first time it did not seem so important that she should laugh and be gay. Only to lie there, that was all she asked. To lie there forever and rest. She did not move even when Geertje Dirx, the housekeeper, stood by the bedside frowning down at her. Always before Geertje's terrible hatred of her that had been so illy concealed since her illness had frightened her. Now even that did not disturb her. Somehow she could almost smile knowing that nothing, not even Geertje, could frighten or disturb her again. There was still that smile on her lips when they had summoned Rembrandt and he stood looking down on her. The smile and the terrible stillness behind that smile and the closed eyelids that could no longer conceal their weariness. After that brief moment alone with her he shut himself in his studio and locked the door against all but his small son Titus. He worked in a frenzy he had never known before and Titus sat there, his great eyes fastened on him and trying not to mind that he was hungry. Rembrandt worked on even as they carried Saskia to her grave, and he was not