It looked more like cowboys-and-Indians, or maybe whoop-it-up day at the rodeo. But there in U.S.-style blue jeans was Princess Anne, 12, all set to watch Daddy play in a polo tournament at Windsor. By contrast, Queen Elizabeth, 37, scorning matched mother-and-daughter garb, looked uncommonly chic, as crisply turned out as any young matron of the Virginia horsy set. Both appeared less concerned with fashion than with Prince Philip's chances. No problem, though. His team won a smashing victory.

Revolution-minded, some 40 faithful set out from the Soviet embassy in Washington to visit Early American landmarks, stopping at Fredericksburg, Va., for a look at the law office occupied in the late 1780s by President James Monroe. Unrest became apparent when Laurence G. Hoes, 63, great-great-grandson of Monroe, pressed a copy of the Monroe Doctrine on Russian Counselor Igor Kolosovski, 42. "Give this to Premier Khrushchev," suggested Hoes, "and tell him the Monroe Doctrine is very much alive." Nyet, snorted Kolosovski, "a dead document." Immediately followed a Cossack chorus of "dead document, dead document," until Hoes added: "It got you out of Cuba." At that, the argument palled, and his Soviet guests went off to gather some documentation of their own--taking pictures of each other atop Fredericksburg's pre-Civil War slave block.

Knock-knock. Who's there? The Queen of Greece. And much to the surprise of Singer Marti Stevens, 31, daughter of U.S. Movie Magnate Nicholas Schenck, that's just who it was--frightened Queen Frederika, 46, and daughter Princess Irene, 20, fleeing into residential Three Kings Yard from a mob of Greek leftist demonstrators outside Claridge's hotel in London. "I offered her cognac," Marti explained, "but she said she preferred Scotch and soda." A diplomatic choice, for British officials were red-faced with apologies for the apparent snafu of security measures. But Frederika swiftly regained composure, sent Marti an autographed photo "for your prompt help to two strangers in distress," then flew home. Awaiting her was news to delight even a beleaguered queen--an announcement from Madrid that Daughter Princess Sophie, married last spring to Prince Juan Carlos of Spain, will make Frederika a grandmother some time next December.

The occasion was one of those times when strong men are permitted to weep. "I thank all the people who have been so fine to me--all my friends," said Boston Celtics' Basketball Star Bob Cousy, 34, moved to tears by a crowd of 3,000 at a testimonial banquet in Worcester, Mass. Retiring for a coaching job at Boston College, the Cooze firmly numbered among his friends another athlete--Paul Hornung, 27, Green Bay halfback indefinitely suspended from the National Football League for betting on Packers games. Hornung--present at Cousy's insistence --shakily recalled his own furlough from sports. "Last week I had many long-distance calls. Some of them were not so nice. But one of the first was from Bob Cousy, and Bob said, 'Paul, I want you to be there.' I'll never forget it."

She adores Noel Coward, Princess Grace, and the Shah of Iran, but in her new book, The Celebrity Circus, Jet-Set Ringmaster Elsa Maxwell, 79, goes whip-cracking after party poopers and other peevish types: Author Cleveland Amory (''boring to look at, boring to listen to, boring to read"), ex-King Farouk ("surely one of the most repulsive creatures God ever made"), and Brigitte Bardot ("she's nude, she's horrible"). There are times, though, admits Elsa, when a girl's drop-dead list gets completely out of hand: "I've said so many nice things and so many mean things about so many famous people, I often have to read my book to find out who it is I don't like."

Bald, gross, and illiterate Emile a Tae, 64, half-caste Tahitian son of Painter Paul Gauguin, used to let tourists take his picture for a few francs, just enough to keep himself in beer. Now, at London's prestigious O'Hana Gallery, his own childlike oil-on-canvas pictures are bringing from $700 to $1,400 apiece, and he has learned to sign them Emile Gauguin. He has reformed too, says fortyish mentor, Madame Josette Giraud, a French writer who bailed him out of jail several times and put a paintbrush in his hand. When word gets back to the islands, the artist can be proud, for even the austere London Times called his 61 canvases "a life document of touching simplicity."

"I knew if I flew it right I couldn't miss," said durable Aviatrix Jacqueline Cochran, 57, looking at her Lockheed TF-104G Super Starfighter the way some women look at a gift-wrapped assortment of Cochran cosmetics. To take the women's 100-kilometer closed-course record away from her archrival, Jacqueline Auriol of France, the American Jackie whipped the knife-winged jet through its paces at 1,203.94 m.p.h., erasing Auriol's 1962 record of 1,149.65 m.p.h. And last month Jackie cracked her own mark in the 15-25-kilometer straightaway dash, boosting the Starfighter to 1,273.10 m.p.h., which, as every girl knows, is almost twice the speed of sound at 40,000 ft.

Star and starlet were shining up to each other: Maximilian Schell, 32, a highly touted Hamlet in Hamburg, and former Queen Soraya, 31, who adorned his opening night and who reportedly takes tips from Max about her new movie career. What's cosmically significant about that? Nothing, says Max. So why don't those lens-happy "reporters of the international scandal press" leave him alone? Soliloquizing in the West German daily Die Welt, onetime Journalist Schell added: "They squat like monkeys in trees, they hang like grape clusters from airliner stairways. Pitiless as wasps, they live off the blood of prominent personalities. In the private sphere, permission of the person photographed should be required."

At the Naval Air Station in Jacksonville, Fla., Patrol Squadron 16 was drawn up on parade to install a new C.O., Commander Lester H. Boutte, 42, the air-sea rescue expert who helped pinpoint Astronauts Glenn and Grissom. Then Boutte did a fast double take. There to cheer his promotion was Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, 72, the World War I ace who is now chairman of the board of Eastern Air Lines. Captain Eddie had not forgotten 1942. As a young radioman aboard an amphibious scouting plane, Boutte was the flyer who spotted Rickenbacker and two companions on a life raft in the Pacific, three weeks after the ditching of their plane on a flight from Hawaii to Canton Island. "If it weren't for his eagle eye," grinned Rickenbacker, "I wouldn't be here today."

Spring was icummen in a wee bit late upcountry, and off to Gibraltar from chilly Scotland flew honeymooning Princess Alexandra, 26, and Angus Ogilvy, 34. The newlyweds made their hush-hush getaway in a chartered turboprop, hired for $140 an hour from British United Airways, and boasting such extras as a bar, sofa and sideboard. Bonus feature: blonde Stewardess Joyce Ambler, 31, sister of Suspense Novelist Eric Ambler, and, a girl well calculated to add a certain dash to royal adventures abroad. Said she: "This flight was supposed to be deadly secret."

The Mississippi mud just keeps rolling toward Negro student James H. Meredith, 29. Now the Jackson Daily News has blamed integration for a sharp rise in the state's highway death toll, laying it to "the anxieties of Mississippians" in crisis, which naturally brought about "an unusual number of accidental highway deaths." Meredith said nothing. But when a homemade bomb went off near his campus dormitory during "Rebelee Week," he wrote an open letter to The Mississippian, the student daily. "My desire was greater educational opportunities. I do not want to join your fraternities. What's everybody so mad about?"

It was raining at Goodwood, the scene of his near-fatal crash just over a year ago. And at long last--following many operations and persistent rumors of a comeback--Britain's Ace Auto Driver Stirling Moss, 33, climbed into a Lotus sports car to face his moment of truth. After 15 laps in the wet, hitting a speed of 145 m.p.h. at one point, the champion hung up his goggles for keeps. "My reactions were down," said Moss. "My judgment and dexterity were just not good enough. It's not automatic. I have enough of my old self back to drive. I might even have a good day once in a while, but I shall never be No. 1 again. I couldn't bear that--so I shall never be No. 2 either. I am never going to race again."

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