Film Star's Romance.






     No film scenario writer has ever invented a more dramatic climax to a love affair than the which brought Max Linder, the famous French film star, and the girl child of his youth together again after many years' interval, as they tumbled over and over in the Chamonix snows clasped in each other's arms, neither knowing who the other was.

   Mutual recognition had not come till the couple's long fall ended with a jerk. Then there were two astonished voices: „Max!“ „Ninette!“

   The next chapter was the pealing of marriage bells. Ninette Peters, was nine years old when Max Linder first met her. This was ten years ago.

   Max was then fast approaching the thirty mark, and had no intention whatever to ask her hand in marriage. In the first place he did not believe in marriage outside the kinema studio. And then he was more than three times as old as Ninette.

   But the time came, when Max was only twice the age of Ninette, and looking not more than thirty, both on and off the screen, and that was when his real romance began.


   Max had just finished a picture called „The Girl I Married,“ and was recuperating from his screen adventure when the amazing thing happened. The place was Chamonix, the resort justly celebrated for its winter sports and jazz music.

   It was a perfect day. The snowclad mountains formed the desired setting, and the toboggan trails were perfect.

   Max of course, was in the foreground of the picture. His make-up was the last cry in fashionable sporting clothes – white cap, white sweater, grey knickers, green stockings with tassels on the sides and a pair of imitation brogues. Max was toying with a cigarette before taking his seat on the sled. His eyes scanned the bottom of the snowy hillside.

   Max had shaved his little Chaplin moustache and was winter-sporting incognito.

   But time was passing. The moment had arrived when Max must take his seat on the rear end of the sled. Another uneasy look into the white abyss before him, and Max suddenly found himself desperately holding on to a young lady in front of him, and flying through space at an unearthly speed.

   Down he shot, hanging on for life, on and on in the whirlwinds of snow and ice, and every second bringing him nearer to what he thought would be a chilly grave.

   And then it happened. There was a jerk and a bend in the trail, a sudden leaning to port, and the whole shrieking outfit went bumping from bump to bump until a soft snow bank generously stopped the human avalanche.

   Max had his eyes shut; but was holding on to the girl when the tumble started. He held on because one does not care to die alone, not even in the snows of Chamonix.

   When one falls, the natural instinct of self-preservation prompts one to hold on to something or other. So why not a girl?

   But in the process of bumping over the merry snow-banks the girl in this particular case had turned for support and flung her arms round Max's neck. The result was that when they landed on their final bump they were so closely welded together that they could not at once make up their minds to extricate themselves.


    Max still had his eyes shut. He had a hazy sensation that he was not dead. As a matter of record, he felt a sweet but halting breath upon his face. Then he knew he was not dead.

   Slowly he half opened one eye, and then the other. The first thing he saw was a perfectly modeled chin; then came a pair of delicately curved lips, flanked by the most bewildering twin dimples in the world, a fine aristocratic nose and a pair of eyes, light brown and soft as velvet, that were gazing into his as if transfixed with ecstasy.

   „Monsieur Max“ said the heavenly lips, „don't you remember little Ninette?“

   Max did not remember at that moment. But he did soon afterwards. And three months later he married Ninette Peters, one of the most beautiful Society girls in Paris. (Nambour Chronicle and North Coast Advertiser, 16.11.1923)