The Birmingham age-herald., 1921-12-25
kfE HAVE ONLY MYSELF TO
 BLAME"


 BLAME"
 That is the title of a newly published book of short stories written by the Princess Bibesco, own daughter of Margot Asquith, of autobiography fame, and Herbert Asquith, former Brit ish Premier.
 q Have Only Myself to Blame"
 Before one finishes perusing the little volume with it's daring intimacies and frank discourses on sex motifs, one won ders if 1t is not more than title-if it is not a self-accusation. Or might it not more properly be entitled to the effect that the young writer had only her mother to blame, for in many quarters the same literary shell shock has been experienced from the writings of the one as of the other? As Mrs. Asquith's gossipy revelations scandalized Great Britain, her daughters book has com menced by sending out nipples of as- toundment from diplomatic / Washing ton. Similar ingredients in both books have fizzed up into a violent reaction.
 The princess is the wife of Prince Bibesco, Rumanian Minister to the United States, and in this titled 'hus- band is vested more interest than gen orally is attached to the spouse of sue cessful author. For, one might conclude on reading the book, the prince may pos sibly have been utilized as "copy"
 The best and most amusing parts of the princess's book may be compared to the bedroom comedy" which has been 80 prevalent on the American stage, with the proyiso the passages of the book are done with lighter touch, with deeper insight and with more fidelity.
 A subtitle for the book might well be What Every Wife (and Every Illus band) Knows but Generally Doesn't Tell.
 With her satire of the bed, the boudoir and the breakfast table, the former Elizabeth Asquith Is as frank as her mother, Margot, was with her spicy anec- dotes of nobles and notables. But the daughter names no names-it must have been noted with some relief by nany-she conducts her open analysis on the human soul and body. And in her dissection of matrimonial motives and the like she is without mercy.
 No better illustration of the style and tactics of the princess may be furnished than by quoting almost all of her brief but trenchant tale, "As It was in the Beginning the title carrying no small part of the satire. The swift mov- ing dialogue seems to echo Rabelais, Balzac and the mockery of the swift, sharp pens of France. The story:
 Docs it disturb you if I read?"
 "Not bit. But don't wake me up when you put the light out"
 sNo."
 Good night, my darling"
 Good night, my darling"
 "Bless you-say bless you"
 "Why? Because it means I am not going to say anything more?"
 "Ah, if 1t only meant that!"
 He was bantering her.
 DO you love mel"
 As she asked the questions she was conscious that it was serious, terribly serious. He wouldn't know that. He would simply think it was her usual ridiculous demand for verbal assurances.
 "God, how have loved you!"
 "But do you still love mel"
 "Of course, goose; good night"
 "Bless you--say bless you"
 "Bless you. Swear not to wake me up when you put the light out"
 'I swear"
 He turned over and was fast asleep.
 She watched him. Only a year ago he would have been tingling with awake ness at having her there beside him. Suddenly he turned and taking her in his arms he crushed her to him with an almost mad violence. Brutally he pressed her lips with his until they parted with the pain, and all the time he murmured strange appeals and strange demands. She was frightened and fas- cinated. Never before had she felt so helpless, so impotent, so dominated. Her will power, too, was boxing away. Gradu- ally his hold relaxed. He almost fell away from her. She was too dazed to speak. He turned around with deep sigh and then began the regular breathing of untrou- bled sleep. She lay awake thinking. So it wasn't dead, just suppressed. It had come back and she liked it. Thank God, she prayed exultantly, as she fell into a radiant sleep.
 "It was so strange" he said the next morning. q dreamt of woman who vas once my mistress. I haven't seen