My Life

My Life - Oswald Mosleylargely or even entirely imaginary. Invention came readily to the rich fecundity of herimagination.Not to be outdone, Dora Labouchere described her marriage with Prince Rudini, whohad regaled her as a young girl on her honeymoon with an extended tour of theseamier side of Paris night-life; the detail was profuse. The marriage ended in anannulment which cost her at least considerable trouble and time. Finally, in thedramatic recitation came the morning of the successful severance with the annulmentcomplete, adorned by an enormous bunch of flowers and a note from Prince Rudinisaying that he would have committed suicide by the time she received it; and he had.Dora Labouchere concluded her startling rhapsody delivered in a quaintly attractivevoice which strangely blended the affectations of English and Italian society with thepoignant phrase, 'I still treasure the damask stained with the peaches which Rudinithrew at me'. The tale was so good in the telling that truth became an irrelevance. Aswe went downstairs Monty Woolley, goggling the relative innocence of contemporaryAmerican university life, whispered in my ear: 'Say what they will, that Rudini was aswell guy'.This Roman life was not only great fun, but in the unique beauty of the houses and thewhole mise-en-scene and in the good looks and distinguished manners of thecompany it also gave at least the impression of a fine society. It was a university ofcharm, where a young man could encounter a refinement of sophistication whoseacquisition could be some permanent passport in a varied and variable world. If hecould stand up to the salon of Princess Jane, he could face much. In Rome herAmerican sallies blended with the running commentary of a French barrack-roomargot supplied by her long-lived parrot, which was believed to have belonged toMarshal Ney. From Venice emerged on to that classic strand a widow of statuesquedignity whose hand even in her old age Lord Byron would have dismounted to kiss onhis morning ride along that same beach, because her conversation would have furtherenlivened—perhaps even have rendered unprintable—the stanzas of Don Juan.Very different was life in Paris during this period in the company of the leadingAmerican hostess, because, particularly after her belated marriage, in her circle theworld of action encountered the world of amusement. Elsie de Wolfe had herselfmade a considerable fortune in New York as an interior decorator, and much ofAmerican business life could be met in her house at Versailles, to which was addedlater a flat in the Avenue d'lena in Paris. Decorations in both houses were in herhighly individual style and included immense golden panels by Drian of herselfperched on the sweep of steps facing the piece d'eau des Suisses at Versailles. Sundaythere was usually lively with twenty or thirty people of all nationalities andprofessions to luncheon or dinner, in a setting which varied from a swimming-pool toa flood-lit garden; innovations in those days. This society presented a striking contrastwith my other life in Paris at that time among French people. I was entranced by thevaried company of the French in diverse situations, always entertained and ofteninstructed by their conversation, which was and is perhaps the best in the world.Miss de Wolfe's conversation was distinguished by immense vivacity rather thanintellectual content. In fact, vitality was the keynote of her whole character. Whennearly ninety she was still doing what she called her morning exercises, whichconsisted of being slung around by two powerful men of ballet-dancer physique. Her71 of 424