Literary Life

Edouard Herriot, corresponding with the publishers of a book he is working on, gave them a peek at a septuagenarian's psyche. "Now that I have grown old," wrote France's 73-year-old ex-Premier, "I have the feeling, when walking through a cemetery, that I am apartment-hunting."

Richard Wright, U.S. Negro writer (Native Son, Black Boy), arrived in Paris as a cultural guest of the French Government, was greeted at the station by functionaries and Gertrude Stein. Author Stein, no slouch as an original herself, let go with a tribute: "He writes the most interesting and original prose being written by an American writer today."

Rosamond Marshall, best-selling peeper into milady's chamber (Duchess Hotspur), explained why women were outdoing men in writing best-sellers about bedrooms. "Men are too inhibited,'' said she. "They cannot write a good book dealing with sex without getting themselves in it. They are, to put it bluntly, too muscle-bound."

High Life

Doris Duke ("Richest-Girl-in-the-World") Cromwell got a drop-in-the-bucket back on her 1944 income tax; she had paid $29,968 too much. And 80-c-.

Princess Elizabeth, a growing favorite for the imagination of matchmakers, went dancing at London's Dorchester Hotel, provided photographers with one of those faintly dreamy pictures (see cut) which look like stories in themselves. But the wanly handsome young partner was Lord Rupert Nevill, husband and father. Godmother of his son: the Princess.

Zog, new householder in the Zizinia district of Alexandria, had fair assurance that the neighborhood wouldn't get run down. Moving in as next-door neighbor this week was ex-King Vittorio Emanuele III of Italy--the old Adriatic neighbor who had had him evicted from his Albanian house & home.

Barbara Hutton, unseasonably and unaccountably, tripped out of the Paris Ritz in a pair of shorts, strolled in the Place Vendome, returned to find an assistant manager at the door. He suggested the back entrance. The President of France was expected shortly, and her skirtless aspect didn't fit in. The dime-store heiress ducked in anyway. The President missed her.

Consuelo Vanderbilt Warburton, daughter of the late William K. Vanderbilt and granddaughter of the late Mrs. Oliver H. P. Belmont, flew into Reno to have it done again. Her third ex-husband would be Commander William John Warburton of Manhattan's Racquet & Tennis Club.

Diana Barrymore, actress-daughter of the late, great profile, tripped to Las Vegas, Nev. for a divorce from Actor Bramwell Fletcher. First she had a send-off celebration in Los Angeles. It was almost as gay as the party last winter at which she slapped a man eight times (TIME, Jan. 28). Her escort, a tennis pro named John Howard, slapped Cinemactress Anne Sterling--"just one of those unfortunate things," he said. She had slapped him first, said Howard. Actress Sterling said no--"I'd be awfully silly to hit a big man like John." Tennist Howard and Actress Barrymore turned up at Las Vegas together. "I'm on the wagon," said she.

Peter Arno, heavyweight cartoonist, denied a gossip-column report that he had been beaten up at a party by another guest (junior-size) of Horsewoman Elizabeth Altemus Whitney's in Warrenton, Va. Actually, said Arno, the little fellow just hit him in the back of the head with a rock. Knocked him cold. (Arno's friends told him about it.) Then somebody else beat up the rock-slinger.

Sporting Life

Trygve Lie, idle-hour moose-hunter and tennist, improved a rare idle hour with a doubles match at Forest Hills, L.I. U.N.'s burly Secretary General made a stout try (see cut), but the opposition carried more weight. Score over Lie & partner: 6-3, 6-2.

Victor Moore, the theater's fatted Caspar Milquetoast, threw a stick in Manhattan's Central Park for his 2 1/2-lb. Pomeranian. The Pomeranian went after the stick, and Actor Moore got a summons for letting the beastie off its leash. In an old revue sketch Moore played the role of a man who spits in a subway, fights a $2 fine, and winds up in the shadow of the gallows. In real life Moore just paid his $2 fine in court and tripped away. "If they issue summonses for dogs of this type," he croaked, "they should muzzle the squirrels."

Kay Williams, curvilinear cinema pinup* sued by Argentine Playboy "Macoco" (Martin de Alzaga Unzue) for $35,000-odd (she took his gifts and then ditched him, he complained), made an interesting retort. She had married him once, and living with him was "too dangerous," she protested. She declared that he "used to beat himself up, scratch his face and bite my leg. There was a pretty bad time all around. He would beat his head against the wall. It was difficult to be married to a man like that." Said Senor Macoco, shocked: "I cannot imagine anything more ridiculous than biting a girl's leg. ... I have great admiration for legs, but not as victuals."

German Life

Max Schmeling had housing trouble in Hamburg. He kept building away at a house without permission, so the British Military Government stopped him: three months in jail and a 10,000-mark fine.

Henrich Focke, German planemaker (Focke-Wulf)* and helicopter pioneer, carried on as usual, but at a new stand. He was now working for the French, living in a small Paris hotel, pursuing his specialty in suburban Argenteuil for the thoroughly named Societe Nationale des Constructions Aeronautiques du Sud-Ouest.

Heinrich Himmler had token representation among U.S. dogs. A fancier of the rare Muensterlander bird dog, he left a kennelful; two of them were bought by a U.S. Army captain, and one of them was in a Manhattan pet hospital last week recovering from distemper.

That's Life

Miss America--the average, not the contest-winner--got sized up by a high-ranking U.S. anthropologist, and probably wished she hadn't. How she stacks, according to Dr. Wilton M. Krogman of the University of Chicago: 5 ft. 3 in., 135 lbs. (fattish), has "tires" just below the waist and stenographer's-spread standing up, oftener than not is knock-kneed and potbellied, waddles when she walks, and "only goes out two inches from the chest to the bust-line."

* Not to be confused with Polka-Dot-Girl Chili Williams.

*Partner Georg Wulf died in a crash in 1927

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