Wodehouse was in hot water later over comments he made during an interview with German radio. Asked what he thought of the state of German tennis he said, ‘Yes, very good. Can’t see what all the fuss is about. I’m a great admirer of German tennis and of your Teuton generally.’
Albert Einstein made short work of his match with John Steinbeck this afternoon, clearing the decks with his service game and cleaning up where necessary from the net. Steinbeck likes to have a real swing at the ball and several times he saw the return pass him before he completed his shot. ‘This guy’s the business,’ he said. ‘There wasn’t much I could do today.’
The Russian Anna Akhmatova might have wilted in the heat against Josephine Baker but was resolute and said afterwards, ‘I am opposed to everything that is going on in Russia at the moment except its Russianness.’
Keynes’ fitness was always going to be a concern in his tussle with Kafka. A demanding five-setter in the first round and a huge second-round win over Paderewski had taken a heavy toll, especially for a man with a history of shin-splints. These were problems compounded by the angular Czech, who even ran to where balls would have landed if they hadn’t gone into the net.
‘There is no need to get to those,’ called Keynes.
‘How do we know that?’ said Kafka. He won the first two sets to love and as the players changed ends Keynes proposed that, since he hadn’t won a game and his position was ‘frankly hopeless’, the tournament ‘lend’ him a set, to get him going. Kafka had no objection and the scoreboard was altered to read: F. Kafka (Czech) two sets, J. M. Keynes (Eng) one set.
This changed the Englishman’s approach. With a set up his sleeve he had a real go at his first serve and Kafka stood so far back to receive he became distracted by the attention of a young woman sitting in front of him and seemed to lose concentration. Keynes won 6–4 and set sail in the fifth (fourth) before Kafka, sensing a disaster, began to regain his composure. From this point Kafka didn’t do much wrong and, although Keynes’ revolutionary suggestion helped make a match of it, the little Czech won it in five (four). The full score was F. Kafka d. J. M. Keynes 6–0, 6–0, (6–7*), 4–6, 6–4.
* Set advanced to Keynes and carried as a debit against the fourth, which becomes 2–1 to Kafka with an interest related debt of one (1) set secured over Keynes’ holdings in the fifth. Kafka wins four sets to minus one.
Signed:
Witnessed:
Dated:
Day 22
Chekhov v. Muir • Magritte v. Hecht • Beckett v. Munch • Russell v. Spock • Proust v. Puccini • Bierce v. van Gogh • Dali v. Jung
Tony Chekhov cruised into the fourth round today, though his opponent, the Orkney-born qualifier Edwin Muir, put together ‘the best set and a half of tennis I think I’ve ever played’. When Muir took the second set to a tie-break Chekhov applauded him and then simply got on with the job. He said afterwards that he could not comment on his play. ‘I was not in the audience. I did not see my play. I have reports that it went well. That is good. I must go to Moscow.’
René Magritte had all the answers against the American Ben Hecht in a virtually error-free exhibition. In the second set, in particular, he played complete games facing the other way, hitting the ball back through his legs while looking at Hecht’s image reflected in the sunglasses of a service lineswoman. It was a visual treat and a hint of what was to come.
Samuel Beckett prefers playing on an outside court and took some time adjusting to the main arena this morning. There were other complications beforehand, said friends. His mother was present and he required some treatment for boils, Peggy Guggenheim was present, his wife Suzanne was present, Joyce’s daughter was present, someone called the Smeraldina was present and a very nice woman from the BBC was present.
He toyed with the idea of not going on. ‘I can’t go on,’ he said. But, realising Eddie Munch’s problems were worse than his own, he changed his mind. ‘I’ll go on,’ he said.
The self-absorbed Munch, who couldn’t even get a wildcard into the Norwegian Open, exhausted by two tough matches and a skein of family bereavements, makes Beckett look like Bing Crosby. During the warm-up Munch could barely hold his head up and when play started he dragged himself to the baseline and waited like a condemned man.
If the first set had any bright moments the crowd couldn’t find them. Munch, paler than ever, played with little interest and Beckett spent the set looking at the ground in case he caught sight of anyone. Neither player deserved to win it and neither did, although after a very long time Munch did at least lose it. It was the only set he did lose.
Beckett predicted that the Norwegian would go well. ‘He won’t win the tournament, doesn’t want to win it and doesn’t care who does. And yet he is here, playing his best, knowing things can only get worse.’
Little Bertie Russell was looking good against the Spockster until his family turned up. One of the Russell children made a noise during a rally and at the conclusion of the point Little Bertie walked over to the players’ box, where they were sitting, and yelled, ‘Will you be quiet! Can’t you see I’m playing?’ At
