by Tove Jansson
1 Dec.
Today I dragged myself up but feel so lousy that I’m not going to the theatre. I rang them, and Sauvola (the real scenery painter – Welche never touches wing flats) was off sick too. So Nicke will just have to explode when not everything’s finished by Friday. But I think we’ll get there, even so.
Yesterday the father of two Moomin-admiring children from Vasa came up to the studio. He wanted to show me a thick book of drawings and paintings they’d done. All copies, big ones, of my illustrations, painted with enormous affection and reverence. I was deeply moved, and equally so by the accompanying letter. I’ve always felt a bit silly, writing my stories – especially since the invitation to the Norwegian picture exhibition came – Moomin illustrations! But a visit like this helps one to see things the right way.
My dearest, I hope that today you’re not feeling as snowy-snotty-rotten as I am, but can, on the other hand, share in feeling the sevenfold strength of the wakening “in spite of everything” that’s starting to move somewhere in my feet.
This letter, which I’ll send off by normal post once I’m out and about again, will no doubt take weeks to get to America. So in case I can’t write again before then, I wish you as nice a Christmas as possible in the company of some person, or several, you enjoy being with. Lots of big hugs, and all my warmest wishes!
Tove.
with Elisabeth as his partner at dinner: Written above the name Elisabeth are the words “Not Erica?”
Amos: Businessman and newspaper proprietor Amos Andersson.
Putte Fock: Ulla Fock (née Stenman), wife of art dealer Eric Fock. TJ sometimes spells the name “Foch”.
Helo: Finland’s ambassador to Paris, Johan Helo.
Kenneth: The British portrait painter Kenneth Green borrowed TJ’s studio in the summer of 1949 and they had a short relationship.
Al Capp: Al Capp’s cartoon strip Li’l Abner included a character named “Schmoo”.
Nicken: Nicken Rönngren, head of the Swedish Theatre in Helsinki 1919–54.
Welche: Stefan Welche.
DEC. 49 [Helsingfors]
Dearest Eva!
I’m on the train to Grankulla to do Atos’s mother the honour of a 75th birthday visit. I dashed to get here after an exceptionally hectic day at the theatre. Tomorrow we’ve got a technical rehearsal, which means all the flats and props need to be ready. We open on the 28th. Since Sauvola died and Wenche washed his hands of the play I’ve had to toil away in the scenery workshop with an apprentice, who spends most of the time on theatre posters. So you’ll appreciate what a rush it’s been!
But anyway, I’m now so stimulated by the theatre atmosphere, in spite of all its nerviness and jealousy, that I don’t care if I have to run all sorts of messenger-boy errands as long as the play is ready – and good.
Vivica’s done great things with the direction since I last wrote, the costume workshop is at loggerheads with me – I really don’t know why – but I’m starting to go along quite well with the workshop and scene shifters. Even my old enemy Welche’s started calling me either “kid”, Tove or Moominmamma, which I take as some kind of peacemaking.
The students Vivica’s working with have turned out very well and are friendly and pleasant. Gerda Wrede is as sour as a lemon – she sits there watching rehearsals with her face all puckered up and then leaves without a word. Professional envy, maybe? I’m going to miss this colourful period when it’s all over – whether it’s a flop or a success.
I’m trying to find a bit of time for Christmas too, by the way – running home to bake some ginger snaps, wrapping presents and applying the sealing wax, queuing to post off parcels to Sweden. It gets quite expensive, of course, because the Stockholm relations, too many to count, have sent lots of food parcels, in spite of Ham’s polite request for everyone to be sensible this year and dispense with the presents. You see – it’s sad to receive without being able to give in return. Seeing as it’s them.
But now I’ve applied for a big scholarship – the first time for 10 years – so I’m pretty hopeful. And tomorrow I’ll get my advance on the play.
Kenneth is leaving in a few days’ time. I reckon I’m fairly much over him already, but I shall feel even more relaxed once I know he can’t pop up with his own key whenever he likes. I roared with laughter the other day when I came into the studio and found the epilogue in the middle of the floor. A huge pyramid of papers, discarded painting gear, clothes, letters, dead flowers, etc., crowned with his old shoes. The closing vignette of my Green period!
Unto, my fellow student from our time at the Ateneum, gave me a bigger present than he realised that night he suddenly turned up because he was so depressed about his advertising job. I can’t honestly remember if I mentioned that episode? He came back again, which I was surprised by. And even more so by the fact that he introduced something purely lyrical, and a great tenderness, into this for me non-emotional affair. I think the thing that touched me most was the fact that he made the bed the next morning. No one else has ever done that. He’s intensely Finnish, full of inferiority complex and diffidence + urge to assert himself. Often drunk. Slim, with an attractive figure. Consumed with longing to carry on painting – but without the courage to try again.
Now it’s the day after the day after Christmas Eve – a quiet evening before all the theatre business starts again. Heavenly Canaan, how glad I am that Christmas is over. Nice, of course, as always – but it’s been so hard to find time for everything and everyone I wanted to … and then feeling guilty because Ham had to clear up on her own.
These days off have finally given me a chance to clean the studio and decorate it for the first-night party with the actors. And I had a letter from you!
I still don’t know how you found your home and your friends on your return – or whether you got over your mental block about work – and whether, now that time and distance have put your Finnish months into perspective, you’ve been able to be reconciled to your innermost problem – so many, important things!
The description of the crossing itself gave me a powerful picture of your anxiety. How well I understood how you were feeling! Just like when a precious, much-anticipated long-distance call has come through and it’s only after the miserable three minutes are up that you realise what you ought to have said and the way you ought to have said it. Yet you’re so convinced you got it wrong.
I don’t think you have any idea what you gave us. If you gave the others a fraction of what I received, you gave them a lot. I often admired your self-control and your ability to listen and re-immerse yourself in a world that must have grown very alien to you.
Eva, if you’re feeling dissatisfied, think of everything you had to struggle with here. Your electric family atmosphere, your cheerless childhood and defiant, introverted youth, all the memories, a desolate room, unrealistically projected expectations, a new and tough working environment, everyone’s maliciously watchful eyes – and then you yourself! And much more besides – I imagine. Don’t be downhearted, my dearest friend; you came through it so very well – it’s just that you can’t see it all in a proper light yet. And later, when the mud settles to the bottom – how I wish you might then see what I believe: that the trip brought you something positive, after all, some kind of solution, or insight – or perhaps the realisation there no longer is anything that needs solving at any cost.
Rehearsing Mumintroll och kometen (Moomintroll and the Comet): the director with a sheaf of script pages, the author with a broom, and the mask-maker with a Moomin head. Drawing by Tove Jansson from Nya Pressen, 1949.
You belong to America now, I think, that’s where your air is, your work, your friends, your new memories. Which grow stronger with every passing year.
Today there was news by telephone from Stockholm; Kerstin and her brother Bengt and another cousin, Ulla (Einar’s) are intending to come over for the premiere. I was deeply touched and flattered, but at the same time my brain started working frantically: where a
re they to sleep, how will I find the time to spend with them if they arrive early … But it’s going to be all right, where there’s a will there’s a way. Delightful idea of theirs, wasn’t it? – We’ve now had the dress rehearsal, and it went so dreadfully that we’ve high hopes of the first night. So they say. Snufkin overslept after a party and didn’t turn up at all, the lighting went entirely to pot, props were missing, all the acting was poor. Nicken thundered. But – he laughed as well. (Blast – wish you could be here right now.)
By Christmas Eve I was absolutely shattered, I’ve been slaving away at the theatre twelve hours a day recently, often without proper meals. It’ll make a nice change to paint a peaceful old still life again – but how I shall miss the theatre!!!
Gebers in Stockholm sends me very encouraging letters about my next book (which I haven’t had time to touch) and wants the play to come to Sweden. Wouldn’t that be great? But Vivica would have to come along as director, I’d refuse otherwise.
On the painting front I’ve had little success – drew a blank on the scholarship. I suspect they think I’m rich – (or the truth is that they dislike my pictures!?)
Peo has collected your lamps and sends grateful thanks and best wishes. My lovely big one stopped working yesterday! Treacherous object. It’s the best lamp I’ve ever had. Lasse’s carrying on with Hannele’s classes and also giving lessons to Atos, who’s making amazing progress but doesn’t give a fig about the grammar. We meet regularly if not often, and there’s an easy-going warmth between us. Fock’s art shop has opened and Lasse’s there every day, and enjoys the work. His short-story collection “Jag är min egen oro” [I am my own unease] is finished now. Good, I reckon – a big step forward.
It’s late at night – must sleep because of work in the morning. Snowstorm outside. A heartfelt hug, wishing you all the good things imaginable. Eva, do write even if you’re feeling down and disappointed, fed up with everything. I know.
Love, Tove
Best wishes from Ham!
Unto: The artist Unto Virtanen.
Gebers: Hugo Gebers Förlags had published Trollkarlens hatt in 1949 and was the Moomin books’ publisher in Sweden thereafter.
23 FEB. 50. [Helsingfors]
Dearest Eva!
First and foremost, some good news.
I can keep the studio! I finally plucked up the courage to ring – and was told that they’re putting up a brand-new building for their school after all. They’ll give me a one-year contract, but wouldn’t go any further than that. I went straight from the phone to get out a dozen canvas stretchers and start nailing and preparing – a job I’d kept putting off. And cleaned the W.C. – had an urge to paint … You understand how it feels. I was no longer a guest in my own home.
You’ve had a long wait for this letter – and have sent me two in the meantime. Ham and I spent ten days at the Frenckells’ place, Saari Manor, at Vivica’s invitation, so Ham could rest her stomach. Three days at Pellinge, funeral. Albert’s (our landlord) brother died of cancer. No older than I am. Ham came too, enduring the dismal, freezing journey by bus, car, sledge, and finally on foot across the ice. Faffan and I stayed for two days because we realised Abbes wanted company.
I’ve done some more work for the theatre, two sketches for the authors’ revue. Stromboli, in wild lava colours, spewing out chiffon veils with the help of an electric fan, and Kontiki, a great deal of trouble, and by the time it was ready it reached right to the top of the proscenium arch. A tall, greenish-white wave, with a raft (three-dimensional) balanced on its crest, and an enormous amount of rigging. Plus a giant shell (3 m) in the background, from which a mermaid will emerge. Welche’s still cross with me, so I was obliged to work in a narrow, draughty corridor under the carpentry workshop.
And then – apart from various other drawing jobs – I illustrated the whole of Moominpappa’s memoirs, about 40 pictures. I thought about you all the time, “talked” to you, and really wanted to write – but hadn’t a moment. I’m starting to feel out of my depth with all this Moomin business. Thank God I don’t have to defend myself publicly in the papers any more – but there are constant interviews and book events, I make stupid mistakes in commercial agreements, which then have to be sorted out, and the whole thing gets out of hand. Moomin china, Moomin films in special viewers and what not. And then the Moomin opposition, good grief – all those aggressive types who pick quarrels with me over that poor troll. And caravans of children …
But now I shall try to be strictly factual and give you all the information you want – because even though I’m terribly fed up with the critter, I can’t think of anything nicer than him getting a foothold in America. His “mistress” definitely wouldn’t be too far behind him … You’re a marvellous friend, Eva, being prepared to do this for me. Kisses and hugs from me! May it all go well!
All right. Let’s see to the facts.
Jansson, Tove Marika, born 9.8.1914 in Helsingfors. Studied arts and crafts (decoration and graphic art) in Stockholm 1931–33. (The Technical School.) Studied painting in Helsingfors 1933–1936. (Ateneum.) Study trips to Paris 1938 and to Italy 1939 and 1948. First exhibited paintings in 1937. Besides painting, also a cartoonist and illustrator. Exhibited publicly in Helsingfors, Oslo, Göteborg and Stockholm. Awarded a travel grant in 1938, first prize in the “Ducat” competition 1939 and third prize in the State Art Exhibition 1939. Two solo exhibitions in H:fors.
Painted an al fresco mural (13 m in length) in the assembly room of Helsingfors City Hall and an al secco mural (c. 10m) in Kotka for a room where the workers leave their children on their way to the (paper?) factory.
Moomintroll was actually created by my maternal uncle, Prof. Einar Hammarsten. (who does Rockefeller-funded research on isotopes at the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm.) (professor of medical chemistry, has lectured in America) When I was very young and always hungry and stayed with him in Stockholm, I used to help myself to snacks from the larder at night. He did his best to convince me there were “moomintrolls” who would come and blow down the back of my neck – they lived behind the stove in the kitchen. I got the idea for how Moomin looked from a tree stump in the forest that was covered in snow, which was hanging down like a big round white nose. Started writing the first Moomin story in 1944 [44 crossed out, changed to 38] when I was feeling depressed and scared of the bombing and wanted to get away from my gloomy thoughts to something else entirely. (A sort of escapism, to the time when Ham used to tell me stories.) I crept into an unbelievable world where everything was natural and benign – and possible. Then I went on writing whenever I felt like it, for my own fun – generally only when I was feeling carefree and cheerful. The books have no particular purpose, neither educationally nor in any other way – and nor does the children’s Moomin play – which various irate letters to the newspapers have labelled tendentious, or to be precise, “demoralising” for children! (The one signing himself “Bewildered Father” mistook the metamorphosis mixture for whisky and “begroked” for a swearword along the lines of “bloody”. “Metamorphosis mixture” is a magic potion that turns everyone “opposite” – it’s given to mean and nasty people.)
The next book comes out this year and will (very likely) be called “My Stormy Youth”, Moominpapa’s Memoirs. Schildts publishing house (where I went when Söderströms backed out of “Trollkarlens hatt”) rang the other day. They asked if they could act as agents for all three of my children’s books with a company that was asking for Finnish children’s literature. Through this company the books will (perhaps!) be published in Norway and Denmark. A Dane wrote to me recently, asking to translate the books into Danish. The company’s going to get in touch with him. Jarno Pennanen has offered to translate one (or more, I’m not sure) into Finnish and get it published by Otava, through a lady with very good contacts there.
Elisabeth Porch’s translation of “Trollkarlens hatt” into English is now finished and will go off within the week to a publisher in London who saw the illust
rations and expressed an interest. That translation’s been a wretched nuisance. She started it to teach herself Swedish, and the idea of actually translating the book only came to her later. For that reason, the language in the early part is pretty stiff and literal – not “thought” in English. Kenneth said it needed brushing up. So (via Vivica) I got hold of the wife of the British Council here, Margaret Washbourn, and got her to go through the whole thing, and both she and Liz were fed up with Moomin and with each other by the end of the process. Margaret’s work turned out freer but more banal; she took all the personal expression out of it. Liz, on the other hand, was awkvard [in TJ’s English] and personal. So Lasse and I had to go through it all again – and next week we cooks will all meet again to make sure the broth’s in order. Would definitely have been better to let Warburton (who translated James Joyce’s Odysseus) take it – which was what he wanted. But by then Liz had already got it and I couldn’t go back on my word.
Sent Dramaten (at their request) a set of parts, some photos, programme, costume and stage design sketches, and heard no more from them. When I got your letter I phoned dir Hogland there and asked if they could send back the material (except the parts) because I needed it for another purpose. They replied that they liked the play and might possibly put it on next Christmas. But nothing’s at all definite. And it’s taken them until now to send back the photos.
So I’ll be able to send photographs of the play in three or four days’ time, by airmail. I’ll also put in the cartoon strips, which Peo will photograph. I wanted Lasse to translate the captions into English and photograph them too, overlaid on the originals, but he hasn’t had time what with his classes and the art shop. Lasse will have to translate them later, and I’ll send them on after the strips.
Same thing with the reviews – I’ll send them as soon as Lasse finds time to translate them. All the material might even reach you at the same time.