Brecht didn’t seem too bothered by the loss. ‘I have no interest whatever in the rankings and I care nothing for money. It is a means of oppression and I’ve got plenty of it in America anyway.’
In the early afternoon Scotland’s voluble Mary Garden made an early exit against Simone de Beauvoir. An American friend of de Beauvoir, Mr Nelson Algren, was cautioned for comments he made from the players’ box.
‘You bitch,’ he said after she won the first set. ‘You heartless cow,’ he added after she broke Garden in the second.
‘Listen! Fuck you, Nelson!’ responded de Beauvoir.
She was penalised a point.
‘No!’ she protested. ‘Why should I have to put up with this shit?’
‘Because I have to,’ said Mr Algren, who then rose and removed himself from the box.
Facilities out at Court 13 simply couldn’t cope during Polish whiz-kid Vaslav Nijinsky’s match with the methodical German Ernst Lubitsch. Nijinsky is a joy to watch. He has the full sack of tools, astonishing leg strength and court coverage bordering on the supernatural. He is listed to play doubles with the Russian Serge Diaghilev although rumours of a split have been in currency all week and they have not trained together since Tuesday, Nijinsky instead spending time with his young wife and Diaghilev with the sort of Russians who speak French and the sort of French who put Dreyfus away.
In another highlight of the afternoon Fyodor Chaliapin, who is as strong around the baseline as anyone in the game today, took a set from animated Swiss number 1 Carl Jung, but could do little to delay the inevitable and lost in four.
‘I remember seeing a game of tennis as a child,’ said Jung. ‘I think it was on a beach. There were rocks and sand but otherwise it was very like this. It seems to be a kind of ritual. There are equivalents in other cultures, of course, although I doubt that any of them would avail us of the excellent prospect of spending a couple of hours under a westering sun with a fellow like Fyodor.’
And there was lively work on Court 16 where Hoagy Carmichael played intelligent tennis to hold out Fred Lorca, the gifted Spaniard who has had such trouble establishing himself in his own country. Carmichael plays down his all-round ability by saying he’s ‘not good at anything in particular’. He describes his serve as ‘ramshackle’ and his ground strokes as ‘an honest attempt’. Asked how he felt after the match, he said, ‘How do you think I feel? I used to be a lawyer in Indiana and here I am in Paris doing this. I feel marvellous.’
After two days of first-round matches, betting markets are wide open. The women’s looks like a Bernhardt–de Beauvoir benefit but support has come in for Sarojini Naidu, Lillian Hellman and Willa Cather after good early showings. Ladbrokes say Einstein has firmed but there is plenty of money about for Sartre and late this afternoon a plunge on Beiderbecke brought him in from 40s to 12s.
Van Gogh will have his odds slashed if he dispatches Constantine Cavafy. At 20s he was worth a nibble but the sports journalists have given it just short of a thrashing ever since. Wally Benjamin was shunted in from 200s to 12s, although these odds may flatter him. Anybody looking for an investment should consider Picasso at 30s, Maurice Ravel at 100s and the quiet American Cummings at 300–1. There is support for SuperTom Eliot but at 8–4 he is unbackable and will drift.
The shorteners tomorrow will be Vladimir Nabokov, if he can get past the obstreperous Henry Miller, and the insouciant Waller, who rear-windowed Hitchcock this morning.
Day 4
Melba v. Luce • Colette v. Kahlo • de Chirico v. Moore • Yeats v. Klimt • Chekhov v. Mahler • Tolstoy v. Kokoschka • Gropius v. Hasek • Léger v. Runyon • Gödel v. Spender • Mandelstam v. Reed • Hemingway v. Visconti
‘How do I think it’s going?’ asked Wilde. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it on a first day. And only very seldom on a first night.’ Mr Wilde is here as an observer. ‘It was either that or come here simply to watch,’ he says.
He and his friend Mr Whistler do not play tennis. ‘One should never perspire in white,’ opines Whistler, although Wilde once boxed for Ireland (‘as indeed who hasn’t’).
The pair gave a press conference which began at 5.30, broke for dinner at eight, recommenced at ten and is already regarded as having the best first act in the history of modern media.
‘Are you with the official party?’ Wilde was asked.
‘No,’ replied Wilde, ‘I’m with Whistler.’
Was Mr Whistler with the official party?
‘No,’ replied Whistler. ‘But I have a cousin in shipping.’
‘This really is a marvellous occasion,’ said Wilde. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d entered.’
‘You will, Oscar,’ said Whistler. ‘You will.’
There was action aplenty this morning. Rosa Luxemburg, the American Anna Strong and Latvia’s Lina Stern announced that they did not wish to play for their countries. ‘It’s a complete distortion,’ said Luxemburg. ‘And a trap.’
‘Has anyone noticed we’re run by the World Tennis Organisation?’ demanded Strong sternly. ‘This is an international body. And they make us compete for our separate nations?’
‘Who cares which country wins?’ agreed Stern strongly. ‘We’re being exploited.’
‘What we need,’ said Luxemburg, ‘is proper government of the game by a central authority elected by all the players, not a coven of pimps controlled by international corporations and media.’
‘What are any of us doing in this ridiculous competition?’ asked Strong. ‘I should be doing my work, back in China, coaching.’
‘Then why are you here?’ demanded Emmeline Pankhurst.
‘You, of all people, should know that, Emmeline,’ said Luxemburg. ‘Do you think we’d be having this press conference if we hadn’t come to Paris?’
‘Why did you chain yourself
