After Due Consideration
The Madrid radio decided that there was something sinister about Eleanor Roosevelt (see PRESS). Spluttered Madrid: What about the great influence of the "personal whims of the famous lady? . . . Is it a case of feminine dictatorship? . . . Is she the tool of a mysterious international power that gives orders and looks out for its own interests? . . . Is Mrs. Roosevelt a sort of Stalin in petticoats?
Italian Movie Director Roberto Rossellini (Paisan, Open City), separated from his wife and son since 1942, told his lawyers to file divorce papers. He is still on the island of Stromboli in the Tyrrhenian, where he is directing a movie about life among the fishermen, featuring an amateur cast and starring Ingrid Bergman.
Rumors that Washington Hostess Perle Mesta would be the next U.S. Ambassador to Denmark were getting a cool reception in some Copenhagen circles. "Nowadays in diplomacy," the conservative Berlingske Tidende delicately pointed out, "you do not ask questions about sex, but about qualifications."
Cinemoppet Margaret O'Brien, 12, who managed last February to troupe gamely through a few forced smiles when mother Gladys married Bandleader Don Sylvio, now graciously ceded center stage to mother. "It was all wrong from the beginning," declared Gladys, announcing plans for annulment. She was "angry and disturbed" over stories that Margaret had talked her into anything. Said Don: "Some people have an aversion to child actresses, but I haven't. Nor do I have a personal aversion to Margaret, except when she interferes with my marriage . . . I'm the middleman all the way through in this case. I can't do battle with a little child. But there's just so much a man can take."
New York City, where he spent a harrowing fortnight five months ago, seemed like a nightmare in retrospect to Jean Cocteau, France's birdlike little Jack-of-all-arts. "New York is not a city that sits down," he said. "It is not a town that sleeps . . . I am talking about a town that stands up because if it sat down it would rest, and it would think, and if it went to bed it would fall asleep and dream, and it wants neither to think nor to dream, but to divide its time upright, between the two breasts of its mother, one of which gives it alcohol and the other milk. It wants to remain standing up, to forget, forget itself, wear itself out, and to escape by fatigue . . . from that internal questioning that one dares not indulge in, and to which one continually subjects others."
Kid Sister
(See Cover)
In Paris, Princess Margaret, fun-loving, 18-year-old younger daughter of Britain's King George VI, did the galleries, appeared circumspectly at a nightclub, danced until 2:30 a.m. at an embassy ball, and slipped through a garden gate to escape a carload of photographers determined to pursue her on a drive into the country. Frenchmen said of her: "Qu'elle est belle!" Reporters noted with approval that in nine public appearances she had worn nine different costumes. At the airport last week, when it was all over, Margaret murmured politely to her hosts: "I've had such a wonderful time."