“My Twenty-Two Fascinating Wives”

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 672, 25 May 1929, Page 18

“My Twenty-Two Fascinating Wives”

Confessions of the World's Most Married Man... Blondes, Brunettes and Red-Haired Beauties from Many Lands ...

VER since I was IS years /vW w °men have held a L WCjJ-J raj peculiar fascination for IrflJ.l me — an< * apparently I have had the same effect on them. I never could resist the appeal of women, mostly those with red hair, but they all divorced me. I know all about the red-heads, or any other type of woman, for I have had 22 wives of 11 nationalities (writes Jean Pierre Pierard in the Sydney "Sun”). I was born in Brussels, Belgium, and have lived all over Europe and America. I am now settled down in Hollywood, where I earn my living in motion pictures whenever a man is needed who can toss ordinary men around by the neck. I am quite adept at tills, for a large part of my life has been spent as a wrestler. At first glance, anyone may be pardoned for thinking me a modern "Bluebeard.” I stand slightly over 6ft. When I sport my tremendous beard, which I allow to grow for at least three months of the year, 1 am said to be a forbidding personage. But I won the most beautiful and fascinating woman when I had the beard. Marriage—perhaps I should say many marriages—helps a man to retain his youth. I don't look a day over 45. And I feel like 35. When I see a red headed woman I feel still younger. From the very first, the red-heads have had an unexplainable charm for me. I shall never forget the first one I met and fell in love with. She was a Belgian named Leona Phillipps. She had a mass of flaming hair that sparkled in the sunlight like burning gold. Her laughter was like chiming bells, and her teeth looked like two rows of gleaming pearls. She was beautiful. She was graceful as a swan- -and I loved her the moment I saw her. It was mutual, for Leona’s eyes immediately flashed that something which tells a man that he has won. We were married. Then I had to go to Petrograd for a wrestling tournament. I was gone much longer than 1 had expected. But always there was the thought of my Leona before me. What happiness was mine when I finally took the train and started back to Brussels and Leona. I dashed to

my house! Up the stairs I rushed and burst into my apartment with a shout and with arms outstretched, expecting Leona to throw herself into them. But, instead, I found my Leona sitting at the dinner table. At the head of the table —in my chair—sat a strange man. I stopped—stunned—then I smiled. I thought maybe it was a relative or a good friend. But the next moment the man jumped up and asked, “What are you doing here—get out of this house!”

Leona looked terrified, but was ; speechless—maybe with fright or shame. I said: “I am this woman’s husband—what right have you to be here?” And he just smiled at me and said: “You poor fool —set out!” That was too much for my hot blood to stand. I gave a maddened roar, and grabbing the man by the neck I picked him up and threw him out of the window. My wife screamed, ran to the window and, looking out, exclaimed: "You have killed him.” And with that she plunged out of the window. They were both killed. I was arrested, tried and acquitted. My first wife was a German girl named Louise Schmidt. I was just 18. She was such a wonderful creature! But she died in childbirth. I was broken-hearted for a time. Later, when an extremely attractive young German boarding-house mistress refused to accept money from me lor my board, and signified that it was love she wanted instead —why I just naturally married her. One day, in a burst of confidence, she told me that she already had a husband. My love died then and there. I just walked out and never heard from her again. A Russian dancer was my next wife. I watched her dancing one night. I sat in a box at the theatre. As she came on the stage and her lithe body swayed before me, she suddenly looked my way. Her eyes met mine, and I leaned quickly forward and threw her a kiss. She glided to my side of the stage, and I knew she was dancing for me. I waited for her at the stage entrance after the performance. And she was expecting me. The next day we were married. That is the way people should do. Love is spontaneous. It flames like burning ] oil, and carries you to the very peak of j happiness. If it doesn’t, it is better j that we should have joy to remember

than perhaps years of unhappiness. With the passing of this wife I wandered into new. fields. I met another Belgian, Marie Myen. Marie was a different type. More the home type. She was the only wife I divorced out of the entire lot. Irma Zaniboni, an Italian dancer, was one of the next. I met her through a friend. We had a glass of wine. The next morning we were married. She fascinated me. She was so dark, so graceful. She divorced me before I had a chance to find out whether X was going to like her or not. I had only one adventure with Royalty. But I guess I was not cut out for Royalty, for it did not last. She was the Princess Sominoff —only a courtesy title, of course—a Bulgarian. She was fascinated with me, and I decided that I would like to see just how it felt to be a prince. But I guess I didn’t make a very good one, for the Princess and I parted in three months and she divorced me.

In Italy I chanced to meet a beautiful Spanish woman. That was a meeting to be remembered! We were married the next day. But she had a terrible temper. I could not stand it. We parted in a terrible scene. She divorced me a little later. At last along came Julia Jaeovsky, a Russian. We both knew that marriage was inevitable. That was 20 years ago. To-day I am still married, and my wife is still Julia Jaeovsky’. And I love her more to-day than I ever did. She is the perfect wife. But she ruled me—and made me like it. She made me stop drinking. If she only had red hair—well, perhaps if she had we would not be together now. I shall never look for another wife. Out of my many marriages came a considerable family’. I know not where most of my children are. I do know that I had 14 sons in the war. They fought under the French, German, Russian and Belgian flags. Seven of my wives were red-headed, four were blondes, and the remainder were brunettes. Two were Belgians, five were Russians, two were English, three were German, two were Norwegians, two were French, two were Bulgarians, one Italian, one Spanish, one was Austrian and one was Rumanian.