Mr. Valentinowith Agnes

Ayers in "TheSheik"

With GloriaSwanson

"Beyond theRocks

Woman and LoveBv RUDOLPH VALENTINO

WHEN you ask me to write for you what I thinkabout woman, I feel that I must produce for yousomething that would look like the EncyclopediaBritannica. Yet when I should be through with

this great work, I shall still have said less than nothing aboutwoman.We cannot know woman because she does not know herself.

She is the unsolvable mystery, perhaps because there is nosolution. The Sphinx has never spokenperhaps because shehas nothing to say.

But since woman is the legitimate object of man's thoughts,and mine have been somewhat distilled in the alcohol of ex-perience, I may be able to give to you a little draft of truth.

English is not my own tongue as you know. In Italian,French, Spanish, I might express myself better, for there wehave such little words that have fire and understanding anddelicate shades of meaning towhich I know not yet the Eng-lish translations.My point of the view on

woman is Latinis continental.The American man I do notunderstand at all. I have livedmuch in Paris, in Rome, in NewYork, and from this traveling,which is of the finest to de-velop the mind and understand-ing soul, I have composed mylittle philosophy about woman.

For there is only one book inwhich you may read aboutWoman. That is the Book ofLife. And even that is writtenin cipher.

But those who refuse to readit are generally more deeplywounded than those who digestit thoroughly.What comes to my mind first

as I try to put into some ordermy ideas on this all-importantsubject, I will tell you.

It is this. Which of the

I do not like women who know too much.The modern woman in America tries todestroy romance. Either it must bemarriage or it must be ugly scandal.

No other woman can ever mean to aman what his children's mother meansto him.

A love affair with a stupid woman islike a cold cup of coffee.I would not care to kiss a woman whoselips were mine at our second or thirdmeeting.

One can always be kind to a woman onecares nothing about.

The greatest asset to a woman is dignity.

women I have known, have perhaps loved a little, do I remem-ber instantly, and which have I forgotten, so that I must thinkand think to recall them at all?The most difficult thing in the world is to make a man love

you when he sees you every day. The next is to make himremember that he has loved you when he no longer sees youat all.

Strangely enough, I remember the women who told me per-haps their little lonelinesses, who spoke in close moments trueand sweet and simple heart throbs.Even the highest peak of emotion is finished. It has flamed,

gone out, and told us very little about life. It was to enjoy,to drink deeply. But never is even that treasured in the heartas are those moments of simple, tender confidences, when agentle, loving sigh opened the treasure house of a woman'sheart and she spoke truly of those things within.

A man likes even the badwomen he knows to be good.To a woman who has revealed

her soul, who has given a briefglimpse of her heart, no manever pays the insult to forget;he pays her homage. I remem-ber a little Italian girl I onceknew. She was very beautifulso young. We used to sit ina tiny cafe we knew in Naples,and hold hands quite openly. Ido not think I ever kissed her.We talked little, for she was noteducated. It was not her mag-nificent eyes, nor the glory ofher hair that was like a black-bird's wing, nor the round whitecurves of her young body

I

remember her because of thoselittle intimate moments whenour thoughts were bound to-gether by her simple, tender,gentle words. We were intimates,and the soul is such a lonelything that it treasures thosemoments of companionship.

42 Photoplay MagazineAnd this, surrender to confidence, to real intimacy of the

soul and heart, speaks a much greater surrender to love, amuch deeper capacity to love, than all the passion of a Cleo-patra.

There was another woman in France, an older woman, thewife of a painter. I loved her because she was the only gravewoman I ever have known who did not depress. I neversaw her smile. But beneath that smooth, impartial beauty,that pearl-like, moon-likeloveliness of hers, flowed amoulten lava of shy, strong,sentimentalism, which hermind condemned. It hasremained with me like theperfume of a cathedral.

THERE was a littleartist's model, too, in

Paris. Oh, of such a saucy,impudent, swift little crea-ture you have not heard.She had eyes like blackcoals and round little cheekswhere hung the scarlet ban-ner of her youth and joie devivre. She was enchanting.She danced like a bacchante.Her red lips were alwayslaughing and singing andflinging teasing little motsat you. And she had alittle hat which she herselfmade over every day, sothat I thought she musthave at least a dozen hats,and I was madly jealous ofthe man who must makethis extravagance possible.Now it is not her coquetry,nor her vivid young beautynor her wild youth thatmakes her live in my mem-ory, but the sweet little in-congruity of that little hatthat her nimble fingerschanged each day.

Tenderness is absolutelythe strongest, most lasting,most trustworthy emotionthat a woman can arousein a man. It is a great force that modern woman disregards.

All women are divided into two classes in the mind of aman. Often they are so mixed up that you do not know whichis which until you go down very deep. Then it does not matter,for in an affair of amour a counterfeit is often better than thereal thing.

In my poor English, let me say that there are what I wouldcall joy-women and duty-women. Now understand, the joywoman may be very good and the duty woman might evenbe bad. That is just their relation to man. The first kind arethe kind that you want to take with you on your joyful care-free wanderings into life's highways and byways. The othersare the women who are possibilities to share the principalthings of lifehome, family, children.For a wife, a man should pick out a woman who is pretty,

has a good disposition, and is domestically inclined. They arevery rare, now, I admit. One is too apt to be deceived bytheir easy method of comradeship. Let her be your inferior,if possible. Then she will be happy with you. It is muchmore essential to marriage that a woman be happy in it thana man. I do not mean a butterfly that flits from beauty parlorto beauty parlor. But a good woman who has the old-fashionedvirtues.We Europeans do not expect too much of one woman.The difficulty with love and marriage in this country is that

the man has let the game get out of his hand. A woman cannever have a happy love affair with a man unless he is hersuperior. It just can't be done. The love affair where thewoman is the stronger in mind and knowledge is always atragedy or a farce.

I do not like women who know too much. Remember, it

Elinor Glynn, the famousRudolph Valentino is the

screen. She used to

was from the serpent that Eve was given that apple from theTree of Knowledge. Just so would I make the Tree ofKnowledge of Life todayforbidden to women. If they musteat of it, let them do so in secret and burn the core.Do not misunderstand this that I say. I do not mean this

in regard to intelligence, to education, even to position. Themore cultured and accomplished a woman is, the more ex-quisite she is to love, the more like gold that is soft to touch

and handle. With her, allis delicate and attractive,all is beautiful and fine, hermind is attuned to beautyand beauty is of itself areligion.

No, when I speak thus ofan inferiora superior

I

mean in experience of life,in power to do, in ways oflove. The man may be adigger in the ditch, and thewoman a teacher in theschool, but he is the masterof her if he knows more ofthe world than she does. Itis not becoming that awoman should know theworld. It is not properthat a lady should go toplaces or to things whereshe acquires this knowledge.

If she knows thesethings, she must be cleverenough to conceal herknowledge, like the girlwho can swim a mile, yetwith much grace and help-lessness she allows me toteach her swimming.How completely the

modern woman in Americatries to destroy romance.How ugly and cut-and-tlryit has become love.Either it must be marriageor it must be ugly scandal.The brilliant, absorbing, de-lightful, dangerous, inno-centsometimessport oflove, how it goes. Sheknows too much about life

and too little about emotion. She knows all of the bad andnone of the good about passion. She has seen everything,felt nothing. She arouses in me disgust.

Sometimes a man may feel that he would rather a womanhad done many, many bad thingsreal bad thingsand yetbeen delicate, and quiet and dignified, than to see her common.If the bloom has been rubbed from the peach, let her paintit back on with an artistic hand.

SHOULD I try again to find me a wife, I say, let me find onewho wishes to have children and who when she has had

them, wishes to take care of them. That is the proper test forthe good woman who is to share the side of your life. Noother woman can ever mean to a man what his children'smother means to himif she does not let herself get fat andugly and old. No man can love a woman who lets herselfget fat, and careless and unpleasant. He must then constantlymake comparisons of her with the beautiful young girls about.A wife's first duty is to keep her husband from making com-parisons.A man is always intrigued to see a woman with a child.

The Sistine Madonna is as famous and as beloved as MonaLisa.

Butfor a sweetheart. Ah, that is different. To me, Ihave been won always by the woman who has great abilityto feel. I have never yet seen a cold woman who interestedme. A reluctant woman, yes. But reluctant only as a floweris reluctant to bloom in winter. Place it in the hot-house ofproper wooingand it blossoms. She must have intelligence.A love affair with a stupid woman no matter how beautiful,

is like cold coffee for breakfast. (Continued on page 106)

English writer, believes"Great Lover" of theprefer Wally Reid

Photoplay MagazineAdvertising SectionWoman and Love

(Continued jrom page 42)

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It is coffee of coursebut one would almostrather do without. The ancient Greekstaught the art of love to their damsels.They understood the necessity of doing welland wisely the things that are importantto life. Today, every man is seeking thewoman who is intelligent about love, whounderstands instinctively those fine, sensitivecords that make up passion. Love is asdelicate as an orchid.

AWOMAN must have curiosity. I havebeen most captivated by the sight in awoman's eyes of that infinite curiosity aboutlife. Curiosity is not a fault. It is thecocktails of the emotions.

In one point do I disagree greatly withthe American man's philosophy of love.I believe that the most irresistible womanin the world is the woman who is madlyin love with you. I can resist any tempta-tion except the incense of adoration. Noth-ing is so flattering to a man as a woman'sadoration. More men are attracted and heldby a woman's passion for them than bytheirs for her. It is the emotion he is ableto arouse in a woman that thrills him most,not the emotion she is able to arouse inhim.The experienced man of the world returns'

again and again to the warm flame of awoman's passion for him. It is the oneform of romance of which a man nevertires. He may tire of the particular flameand see a new one, but difference in objectwill not change singleness of passion.The less experienced man, the man who

doesn't need to seek new sensations, isthrilled by the coquette who plays withhim. But he has not yet discovered thatthe most enthralling thing in the world isan influence over the emotions and actionsand heart beats of anotherwhen it isgenuine.The most dangerous woman in the world

is a pretty woman who has deep wells ofpassion in her nature but who has neverloved.Of all the women I have known, the

Frenchwomen are the most nearly perfect.No matter what their age or class may be,they have that touch of domesticity, thatsweet and gentle something that lends adelicacy even to the wildness of the senses.Thy know how to amuse, how to touchthe heart, they have the sixth sense ofpleasing a man with their perfection. Andthey are so very well dressed. All of them.American women are terribly pretty.

Even when they are quite ugly, they arepretty. They are always rather well dressed.And they always behave as though theywere beautiful. Which gives them greatpoise. But they lack softness, they lackfeminine charm and sweetness. You cannotimagine them doing their bits of sewing,washing, mending, and what not. Theydazzle but they do not warm. They aremagnificent when they are dressed up, butI never have seen one who was likewiseat ease and delicious and feminine in thekitchen or the nursery.They are so restless, too. Nothing inter-

feres with romance like restlessness. Itdestroys those subtle shadings that are thevery breath of its life.

I do not blame the women for all this. Iblame the American man. He cannot holda woman, dominate and rule her. Naturallythings have come to a pretty pass. He isimpossible as a lover. He cares nothing forpleasing the woman. He is not master inhis own house. He picks and nags aboutlittle things, and then falls down in big ones.He expects to feed a woman on the husk~

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left from business and golf and money, andsatisfy her. He has learned nothing aboutlove and yet he expects to bestow upon hereverything she should desire.

In his blindness therefore, he despises theyoung European who comes here. He laughsat him, makes fun of him, calls him insult-ing names. Why? Because this man, versedand trained in all that goes to make every-thing from the lightest philandering to thedeepest amour, exquisite and entertainingand delicate, this manwhat is it you sayshows him up? Yes.A woman will flirt with anybody in the

world so long as there are lots of otherpeople looking on. That is natural. But toflirt in private without boredom and withoutoffending her delicate sensibilities, she desiresa partner whose experience of these thingsis greater than her own.The caveman method I abhor, and I do

not believe that it is ever successful withthe woman who is worth having. Whocould desire a woman taken by force? Whowould gain any pleasure from loving orcaressing a woman who did not give inreturn? The giving of love to me is nothalf so wonderful as the receiving. It maybe more blessed but it is not nearly soexhilarating.The mental cavemanah, that is again

different. By cleverness, by diplomacy, bysuperior mental force, by skillthat is theway to win a woman. It is only a womanwho must be so won, but who after beingwon can give great ardor to a love affair,who proves attractive.Even a woman whose passions are never

returned has a better chance of keepingher illusions than the woman who has alove affair with a man who is brutal anduncouth. I have never known a woman inmy life who was not modest, who did nothave in her a certain feeling of delicacy anda regard for herself if allowed to express it.A man who is brutal and direct and un-

couth in his advances to a womanand youwould be surprised to learn how many mentoday push aside all the ordinary conven-tions when they see a woman who attractsthemlooks at that woman and his purposewith her is written in his eyes. It is plainand ugly and it offends her at once, eventhough the man himself attracts.The second or the third time he sees her,

heagain I am Americanhe gets fresh.Maybe he tries to kiss her. Then if she isa woman worth having, she slaps his faceand says to him, "How dare you?"

QUITE right. I would not care to kissthe woman whose lips were mine at our

second or third meeting.The preliminaries of a love affair are the

most enticing part of the game. Let awoman in them be sweet but cool, promisingbut never encouraging, never exhibiting braz-enly her familiarity with life.Now we come to the skilled loverthe

European lover. He veils his purpose.Back in his mind may be the same thought,the same desire to kiss that woman. Hedoes not let her see it. No, no. He isgentle, he is sweet. He is deferential. Heflatters her, because all woman love flattery,though not so much as men. He tells herthat she is beautiful, that she is good, thatshe is wonderful beyond all woman.He pets her, caresses her a little to let

her become accustomed to his touch. Helets her see that he enjoys her company,even when they sit the length of a roomapart. He lets her know that he likes tobe near her, to speak of books and musicand paintings. He reads poetry to her.

Photoplay MagazineAdvertising SectionWoman and Love

(Concluded)

Then when he kisses her, she gives himback his kiss. No caveman can ever knowthe sweetness of that returned kiss. Whatshe does, she does for love. So she ishappy in it, and makes neither herself norhim miserable with reproaches. Even if henever sees her again, she will cherish a fondmemory of him. She has not lost her self-respect. The affair may last a long time,and much happy companionship is possibleto them.A woman loves finesse. In Europe, we

are taught to be most polite, to be courteous,to entertain the ladies. When we go intoa drawing room, we talk of art, music,books, we tell a witty remark or two.Everyone is happy, and amused. One isnever rude but tries to show the greatestattentions and charms he possesses. Thenwhen he goes, the ladiesand maybe oneupon whom he has his eyes, says, "What acharming and amusing person."You see women love with their ears, men

with their eyes.Ah yes, in the small matters one is a

slave. But in the big thingshe is master.To argue about little things with a woman,to get angry, is one thing that no man versedin the arts of love ever does. After all, itis the woman who decides whether she findsyou charming. It is only after you havewon her love that you dare be master.One can always be kind to a woman one

cares nothing aboutand to a woman bywhom one is attracted. But only cruel toa woman one loves or has loved.

THERE are several kinds of women,several kind of methods of wooing on

their part that are irresistible to me.I love the dainty, little woman, who plays

seriously at being domestic. She fascinatesme. Everything womanly, distinctly femi-nine, in a woman, appeals to me. I adoreher bird-like ways, her sweet pretenses, herdelicious prettiness. I love her almost asone loves a cunning child, and when to thisis added the filipe of sex, she becomesperfect. I do not like in her flippant, cold-blooded little tricks, but those soft, lovableways of a little woman, those melting, help-less little ways of hersthat bring tears toyour eyes and fire to your lips.Then there is the silent, mysterious woman

who fences divinely. Who knows silentlyand secretly the secrets of the couquette

that last art of woman, in always leavingherself an opportunity to retreat. Who hasalways at hand that last weapon of womansurrender.The greatest asset to a woman is dignity.

It is her shield. With it, she may commitindiscretions that a vulgar puritan couldnever attempt. Dignity in a woman alwayspuzzles a man. He likes it. He admires it.He feels confidence in the woman who dis-plays it. He knows that she will nevermake a fool of herself or of him.Nothing so fascinates me as the ability of

a woman to get great pleasure from life.It is so short. The tragedy of age is notthat one grows old, but that one's heartstays young. Life that develops the soul,slowly disintegrates the body. Therefore,let us make merry while we can. I cannotstand a woman who is afflicted with ennui.My countrywomen possess the gorgeousquality of enjoying life, of loving it, ofgetting from it all that there is to get, morethan all other women. But they are neverhoydenish, nor restless. They have graceand poise and polish.Love is honey. It is a flower. It may

be fierce as a tiger lily, but it must bebeautiful, delicate, gentle too.

11m~mmm%tiSmim}

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JIX

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