Paths of Glory

Field Marshal Viscount Montgomery of Alamein, a warhorse with energy to burn, nominated himself to pull the world out of its mess. He and Marshal Stalin could do it together, Monty felt sure. "Stalin has no time for politicians," he explained to an Australian politician. "He has faith only in generals." Cracked London's Sunday Pictorial: "Monty's slipping. We thought he could handle a little matter like that all on his own."

Marshal Henri Petain of Verdun and Vichy, now serving a life term for collaborating with the Nazis, was reported looking poorly. But when a Chamber of Deputies committee tried to question the old soldier about his War II activities, he got his back up. "I know nothing," he gruffed. "I am 92 years old. If you want to question me on the war of 1914-18, I can answer you. I won that one."

General of the Army Dwight D. Eisenhower hoped for a more modest memorial. Said he: "I would like to be remembered as the chief of staff who did something about the Army's cooking. Food is part of a soldier's pay and . . . none of his pay is going to be counterfeit."

Mind over Matter

At a Washington wedding reception, James F. Byrnes, retired U.S. Secretary of State, found an epigram, in his bourbon: "There are no new differences between Russia and the rest of the world. It is just that the same old differences have been perfected."

Britain's Attorney General Sir Hartley Shawcross, strolling to a political meeting beside Britain's River Crouch, saw a little girl fall from a jetty. He ripped off his Savile Row jacket and plunged in after her. But a dinghy got there first. Sir Hartley rose from the waters, a study in frustration and soggy drawers. He addressed the meeting in borrowed pants and an old sweater, to which hecklers were especially attentive.

Pope Pius XII was televised. At a Vatican demonstration, the Pope amused himself with the apparatus for more than an hour, posing in front of the camera and watching himself on the screen. From now on, the Vatican announced, the Pope will have his own set.

Fever Chart

In his snazzy Swiss hotel suite, the Ago Khan, 69, spiritual panjandrum of millions of Moslems, fell seriously ill with an internal hemorrhage, had a transfusion, at week's end showed some improvement.

Princess Ibrahim Hassan, 73, aunt-by-marriage of Egypt's King Farouk, was on relief in Manhattan. She told all, after breaking her shoulder in a fall. It seems that in 1907, as Actress Ola Jane Humphries, she had married Farouk's uncle, retired to live "on a rose-tinted cloud." The cloud burst in 1918, when the Prince died. The Egyptian Government grabbed her husband's $14 million estate and all her jewels. In 14 years of suits, the Princess had acquired nothing but a viewpoint: "I think anyone makes a great mistake in giving up a successful career."

Tetsu Katayama, Japan's overworked Premier, was ordered by his doctors to see if rest wouldn't help that "nervous lump" on his head.

The Winged Word

Some illustrious literary figures were up & about.

William Shakespeare won a poll. Asked what plays they would most like to see revived, Broadway audiences elected eight Shakespearean plays among the first twelve.

William Congreve lost something in Boston. When John Gielgud brought the Restoration playwright's Love for Love to town, two censors eliminated "lines of questionable taste."

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would have enjoyed the trimmings. In his old age the author-spiritualist had deposited in the vaults of a little bank in the village of Crowborough, Sussex an old cardboard hatbox. For 25 years it gathered dust as Sir Arthur and his Sherlock Holmes gathered legend. Finally Sir Arthur's son, Adrian, went poking about and last week the secret was out. The hatbox, announced Adrian, contained unpublished writings by Sir Arthur, including The Crown Diamond, a "hitherto unknown" one-act play about Holmes, and a mysterious manuscript entitled Some Personalia About Mr. Sherlock Holmes. This "unique document," said Adrian cryptically, would "explode the old myths" about Sir Arthur and his great gumshoe.

The Beautiful People

Sir Laurence Olivier was knighted by King George VI in Buckingham Palace. Darkly handsome Actor Olivier, who is currently filming Hamlet, appeared for the knighting ceremony with hair dyed blond. Said he: "I was nervous. . . . There wasn't any rehearsal."

Clarence Day Sr., impersonated by 16 actors while attracting 3,263,630 theatergoers, finally ran out of breath; Life with Father closed after a world's record run of 3,213 consecutive Broadway performances. At the final curtain the audience and cast reverently sang Auld Lang Syne. Actors wept in their dressing rooms (only one had another job lined up). An ex-member of the cast failed to spread much cheer with a telegram: "HEAR THE STATUE OF LIBERTY GOES NEXT."

Eddie Cantor brooded for Variety. "The public deserves . . . new talent . . . that is not so completely in the groove. Remember, it isn't too far from the groove to the grave. . .. There, I've had my say."

Dolores Costello, 41, blonde screen belle of the '20s and early '30s, was haled into a Los Angeles court by her brother-in-law, Lee LeBlanc. The court had given Dolores custody of his six-year-old daughter; now he wanted the right to see her on weekends.

Jimmy Stewart, starting his Broadway spell in Harvey, produced a thought for Columnist Dorothy Kilgallen. "Long dresses," he said, "are going to interfere with a very fine hobby."

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