[No surviving envelope]

INobel Prize for Literatureceremonials recounted by TSE;a4 got back safely from Stockholm. As for the events there, it seemed simplest – indeed the only possible way – to write one letter which would do for everybody I wanted to tell: I have addressed it to Marion, and I enclose a copy.1 IThorp, Willardresembles Sweden's Crown Prince;c8 enclose also a newspaper photograph, but the Crown Prince does not look quite so much like Willard Thorp as that.2 IMcKnight Kauffer, Edward;a6 DID receive your letter c/o Kauffer, and I thought that I indicated as much in my brief note, but perhaps not. I shall write a letter at Christmas time; meanwhile I thank you for both letters, IHale, Emilyas director ('producer');v9Dulcy;b9 am happy to know that ‘Dulcie’ had the success I expected, and proud of your personal triumph over difficulties.

PleasePerkinses, the;n2 tell the Perkins’s, atBrocklebank, Charlotte Carissima ('Cara')news of her death;b2 some suitable time, that Mrs. Brocklebank has died. IWavell, General Archibaldrelays Cara Brocklebank's death;b5 do not know just when: I heard of it only by a reference in a letter from Wavell, and on my enquiring from him he replied:

‘Poor Cara Brocklebank had a nervous breakdown and died in a nursing home, I gather from an overdose of a sleeping draught. … IBrocklebank, Lt.-Col. Richard Hugh Roydsin mourning for wife;a3 have not written to Hugh, as I was told that he was in a nervous condition, and Cara’s obituary notice in The Times particularly said, no letters.’3

[Enclosure addressed to Marion Eliot]

I got back from Stockholm on Monday evening, had three rather busy days, and have just taken a day and a half in bed, sleeping nearly all the time. So I feel a little refreshed, and will put down some notes of the visit while I still remember the course of events. WillFurness, Laura;a9 youLamb, Annie Lawrence (TSE's cousin);a8 circulate this letter amongst the immediate family, and to Cousin Laura and Cousin Annie?

I was made aware of being a person in the public eye, at La Guardia Field, where a young woman called the Public Relations Officer took charge. My bags went through without any charge for overweight, but this may have been because the plane was only half filled. There were several reporters (it is an exceptional reporter who knows what questions to ask) and two photographers – I had to be taken waving farewell from the steps of the plane; theMcKnight Kauffers, thesee TSE off at La Guardia;b8 KauffersGiroux, Robert ('Bob')sees TSE off at La Guardia;a3 and Robert Giroux, who were seeing me off, were allowed as a great favour to come to the plane and look inside it; and I was presented to the Captain. AtWoolf, Virginiaair-stewardess asks TSE about;e1n Gander the stewardess (Miss Sullivan, of Chicago) engaged me in conversation during the halt: it seemed that she was very interested to know about Virginia Woolf. I had two seats to myself, so was able to lie down flat, though tightly curled up; and in the middle of the night the captain invited me up to sit beside him in his cabin at the controls; explained the various dials and levers; the navigator and the radio operator showed me what they were doing, and I listened to conversations with weather ships. This helped to pass the time, and I was grateful for the distraction, as one gets very little sleep – I think I really slept, however, for a couple of hours. And at London Airport I was shot through the examinations ahead of everyone else (which is a little embarrassing to one who is not used to it) and sent home in a private car by myself. Thus, that part of the journey was less tiring than it might have been.

I had three days in London to pick up my ticket and pack my dress clothes. HereEnglandEnglish traditions;c4Order of Merit;a2 there was some question as to what to do about the Order of Merit. The ribbon is very long, so that it hung down to the waist: I was sure that was wrong, and it would swing out dangerously when one bowed. I had always seen it worn close to the collar. JohnHayward, Johnhelps with adjustment of TSE's OM medal;n1 rang up a firm which knows all about medals, and they said, cut it to the right length. I sent it round by my secretary to the jewellers who made it, and they said it was against the King’s wishes to cut it. Finally, I rang up the Master of Trinity, in Cambridge, who said, Put a safety pin in it. Then I had an inspiration and got our housekeeper to take a couple of tucks in it, and that worked beautifully.

TheNobel Prize for Literatureceremonials recounted by TSE;a4 publicity on the air journey to Sweden was shared with the Harringay Rangers [sc. Racers], a hockey team from London, composed almost entirely of Canadians, chewing very highly scented mint gum. Everything went well until we came down at Gothenburg airport, where I learned from a couple of reporters (who were accompanied of course by two photographers) that on account of fog in Stockholm we should have to go on by train. So I hung about the waiting room with these reporters (who were interviewing me most of the time, and every few minutes a photograph would be taken) until it was announced that we should be given dinner at a local hotel, and then sent to Stockholm by sleeping car (it is a full night’s journey). So I dined at a long table with the Rangers, while the photographers circled about, waiting for good poses; and then I was called to the telephone to speak to the Consul General (whom I had met in Stockholm six years ago) who said he would come and take me home with him for a drink, and then deposit me in the train, which was to leave at 10.45. I accepted his invitation with joy, as it enabled me to get away from the Rangers and the reporters.

A rather sleepless night in a very tight and warm compartment, which I shared with a very agreeable Swede (I have no idea who he was, but I saw him next evening at the City Hall, covered with medals). The train arrived at 6.30 in the morning: I took a taxi to the Grand Hotel and went to bed. Had I arrived by plane the previous evening, as was expected, I should have been met by a delegation (all of whom were suffering from colds); but those who were going to get up to meet the train only arrived after I had gone to the hotel. I was given a large room with a bath and the best outlook: it was made further welcoming by a large bunch of flowers from my Stockholm publishers. I was just dropping off to sleep when the telephone rang, to announce that Mr. Bo Alander, a young man from the Swedish Foreign Office, was on his way to see me, so I got up again. Mr. Alander proved to be a very amiable and efficient official, who had been appointed to take care of me throughout the ceremonies. He produced a long memorandum or aidememoire of the procedure for the next two days. After he left, the telephone rang pretty often, so there was no more sleep. There was some telephoning with him over a press conference, which was finally fixed for two o’clock; but it proved that this was too late for the evening papers, whom I had to see at eleven o’clock. The moment I came down stairs, and indeed almost every time one came down, there were more photographers in waiting. (The Swedes seem to have an insatiable appetite for three things: photographs, autographs, and speeches. One had only to hesitate for a moment at a street corner and some man, woman or child would rush up with a notebook and a fountain pen). I will pass over the press conferences, except to repeat that the reporter of any country is exceptional, when he can ask an intelligent question; but they were extremely civil, and did not ask any awkward or political questions. I had to bring my afternoon conference (which took place round a long table in a private room) abruptly to an end at three o’clock to go to dress, as Mr. Alander was to call for me at four. I had just got ready, and my medals adjusted and my top hat moderately smooth, when he arrived. TheMüller, Paul Hermannin TSE's Nobel Prize cohort;a1 otherTilesius, Arnein TSE's Nobel Prize cohort;a1 “laureatesBlackett, Patrick M. S.in TSE's Nobel Prize cohort;a1” Professor Muller of Switzerland (a dull worthy man he seems, wife ditto) Professor Tiselius the Swede, a very charming young man with an agreeable wife) and Professor Blackett of Manchester (to whom I took a strong and definable dislike) were also waiting, and we moved off in separate cars, each with his appointed escort.4 We were taken into the usual anteroom; we waited for the fanfare of trumpets to announce the arrival of Royalty; and we then proceeded to take our places on a stage. Imagine a very large Sanders Theatre, with three tiers of galleries, and a powerful band occupying the topmost; magnesium lamps of the photographers snapping away the whole time; then the National anthem: and from one’s place on the platform one faced the Royal Family, the Court, the Cabinet, and several thousand citizens of Stockholm.

The King, owing to age and increasing infirmity, was absent, for the first time since the Nobel Prizes were founded. I was told that he was fairly well, and the day before had been “hunting”: which meant that he sat in a chair in the park, and shot any rabbit that was driven near enough; but he can no longer support all the standing that these ceremonies entail. He was replaced by the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess. There was a good deal of music from the band. A long discourse in Swedish, about the affairs of the Nobel Foundation, opened the ceremonies. Then each candidate was presented by his appropriate sponsor: a long speech about him in Swedish, followed by a shorter one in one’s own language. I was the fourth. One rose, advanced, descended some steps, and was handed the diploma and the medal by the Crown Prince, with a few words, and then remounted the platform.

We were then slowly reassembled in our motor cars, with our attendants, and taken from the Concert House to the City Hall. Here Mr. Alander handed me over to the Councillor of the British Embassy, who presented me to the Crown Prince and the members of the Royal Family. I was presented to Princess Ingeborg, whom I was to take in to dinner: with instructions (from Mr. Alander) that I was to keep close by her, so as to be ready for the march in. I was very fortunate in having her – she is about 70 or more, and very jolly – and when the procession was formed, we filed in, between rows of people in full dress and decorations, all bowing and curtsying as we went past. I had on my left the Crown Princess, who is English anyway, and was very agreeable. This took place in an immense hall of golden mosaics; between six and seven hundred people dining. At the beginning of the repast Hellstrom, the President of the Swedish Academy, got up onto a kind of pulpit and made a long speech (read from a paper) about the laureates: we were told that at the end we should have to reply, and for this purpose I should come first. I was somewhat worried to know whether I should stand up in my place to speak, or whether I should walk round to the pulpit: I referred the problem to the Crown Princess, who referred it to the Lord Chamberlain on her left, who said that after a fanfare of trumpets my name would be announced, and I should walk round to the pulpit. So, when the coffee had been served, there came the fanfare of trumpets, and I heard my name from a loudspeaker. The distance to walk was considerable: I have never in my life sat at so long a table. I should think it took me three or four minutes to get to the pulpit, being delayed on the way by people wanting to shake hands with me, especiallyAulén, Gustafat Nobel Prize ceremony;a2 my old friends Bishop and Mrs. Aulen of Strangness. Fortunately'Banquet Speech'in amongst Nobel proceedings;a1, I not only had my speech written out, but had cut it to the right length – it will be published in the proceedings of the Nobel Foundation: it seemed to suit the occasion.5 After that I took the same course back, and listened peacefully to the other speakers – and to tell the truth, none of them seemed to me to do as well as I did, except for Tiselius, who spoke in Swedish, so that I could not judge. Then we rose from dinner, and deposited the Royal Family on a balcony overlooking the vast lower hall, and took our places on the steps. We were then regaled by a performance by a choir of students; and one of the students then made a speech, in English, in our honour. To this speech I had been chosen, by the other laureates who had made the decision in my absence, to reply: so I descended to the microphone. After I had spoken, they sang a few more songs, and then marched out, with banners flying. After that the Royal Family retired, the guests scrambled up for supper, the young people danced; and one had only to hang about, sign autograph books, and talk to numerous American students who all came up to me, until midnight. For the Nobel Family give a small party, of not more than a hundred or two guests, to the laureates, which begins at midnight. I was taken there by the Councillor: and there it was necessary to stand about for another couple of hours, in a great din occasioned by too many people in too small a flat, talking every language at once. A Mr. Nobel, a nephew of the founder, made a speech in our honour. Later, somebody hinted to me that our host would probably be pleased if I made a speech in his honour. But by that time I was too far gone; I had made two speeches; I thought that if any more speeches were to be made, somebody else should make them; and I said I couldn’t. So nobody did. I was finally taken away, kindly, by the Naval Attaché of our Embassy; and got to bed at three o’clock.

I had to get up the next morning in order to receive my cheque. This meant going to the Nobel Office; then proceeding with the Secretary of the Foundation to the Enskilda Bank, where we were received by the Chairman and several Directors, and immediately put against the portrait of the founder of the bank and photographed: it seems that they have always done this to every prize recipient. Eventually, the business of the cheque (for £11,016:8:5d.) was transacted; and I went off to a lunch party at the Councillor’s. I was able to rest a bit in the afternoon, before dressing for dinner at the Palace: a small dinner of about 100 persons – chiefly the Royal Family again, the Court, and the Government. It was less formal, but grander: dinner off superb plate, in a room surrounded by Gobelin tapestries: and very much better food! I sat between a Lady in Waiting (very charming old lady, but I never got her name) and some courtier – but it didn’t matter much, because the orchestra played so loud that conversation was fitful. After dinner, we moved about in the drawing room: I had some conversation with Prince Wilhelm (the poet of the family, whom I had met during my visit six years ago) and then with the Crown Prince, who questioned me about the political situation in Britain and America. The Royal Family withdrew at 10 o’clock precisely, which was the signal to everyone to depart: the laureates, and their wives went to the café of the Grand Hotel and drank beer till midnight – ILear, EdwardTSE bangs on about;a7 explained to Professor Tiselius the importance of Edward Lear and promised to send him Lear’s Complete Poetical works.

Between everything that is recorded, you may understand that there were photographers and people wanting autographs.

Sunday morning, I admit, I spent in sleep; and lunched by myself in the hotel. IFamily Reunion, TheSwedish National Theatre production;i8 was fetched at 2.30 by Professor Ragnar Jacobsen, Director of the National Theatre, to attend a performance of The Family Reunion (or Släktmötet). Almost impossible to get up the steps of the theatre, because of people wanting their programmes signed. Jacobsen stood by complacently, while I was hoping that he would rescue me, but all he said was “the King has to do this all the time”. We finally got in. It was a good production, which somehow made the play seem very Swedish and gloomy and emotional; the house was full, but whether because the play was successful or merely because people knew I was coming I don’t know; and I had to take the curtain with my actresses, and then make a speech, and then be photographed, and then hurry away to dress for a small dinner party of not more than 20 people at the house of my publisher, Kaj Bonnier. This was pleasant and, after the previous two evenings, comparatively cosy. To bed at one, and up in the morning at 6.30 to dress, as my plane left the airport at 9. That was the 13th – St. Lucy’s Day, which is celebrated in Sweden with peculiar ceremonies. While I was shaving, at 6.45, I heard a chorus of young female voices piping a carol in the corridor; it came closer; my door burst open; and six comely young chambermaids, clad in what appeared to be white nightdresses and white stocking feet, with cardboard crowns on their heads with lighted candles in them – looking like walking birthday cakes – marched in singing. I hastily wiped the suds from my face, put on my overcoat over my underclothes, and bowed to them. They continued to sing throughout, so there was nothing to be said; but one of them held a tray with a cup of coffee and a few sweet biscuits which she held towards me, so I drank the coffee and ate the biscuit. And just at that moment there was a loud flash: a photographer had been concealed behind the door. Then they marched solemnly out again and I went on with my toilette.

And I caught the plane, thanks to Mr. Alander, who turned up for the last time and drove me to the airport. There was more photography there, of course: I had to be photographed with my arms round two small boys who had been given a prize of some kind which entitled them to a visit to England. But it was a relief to reach Northolt Airport and find that nobody there took the slightest notice of me. And I hope that nobody will for some time to come.