Time was when the proceedings of anything calling itself the World Congress of Intellectuals would have been dignified and deadly dull. Last week, however, when such a congress met in Poland's Wroclaw (formerly Germany's Breslau), the spectators could not decide which ring of the circus to watch.
Over there, for instance, was the usually gentle Pablo Picasso, who got so steamed up at a formal dinner that he removed coat and shirt, or, as a lady intellectual said: "My dear, he stripped to his navel." And over there was Mrs. Julian Huxley, wife...
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