by Tove Jansson
Tove.
Enroth: The artist Erik Enroth, presumably also a resident of Lallukka.
Koroma: The artist Kaarlo Koroma.
Maija Karma: Illustrator and lithographic artist.
Aune Mikkonen: Lithographic artist.
Misan: Per Olov and Saga Jansson’s adopted daughter.
FRIDAY, BEFORE CHRISTMAS [1958, Stockholm]
Mrs Tossavainen!!
Here we’re having a long lazy morning, padding about and talking quietly, the sleeping arrangements are a bit haphazard with people on the floor, and we’re trying to be considerate and not rush anyone.
I get up at ½ past 9 in a sleeping house and make coffee, sweep up the most obvious balls of fluff, add a few indecisive lines to my strip cartoons and make a little porridge for breakfast.
Outside there’s a vaguely suburban landscape with a mixture of shabby old mansions, elegant Coop stores and bumpy hillocks, mist and melting snow. Inside it’s hot, with a mood of fatigue and goodwill.
Ham collapsed as soon as we got over here, a reaction I’d been expecting. She did nothing but sleep and retch, and had a sore throat. She’s rather better now.
Einar is much the same. A week before we came he’d had the results of seven years’ work, decomposition of nucleic acids (if I’ve got that right …) and in the relief of it all he fell ill. So we’re taking things nice and quietly.
Lasse is tapping away at his book, Ulla is pottering amiably around and sometimes they play canasta. The time-honoured visits to all parts of the family. And a few Christmas presents from Nk.
Einar insists on cooking dinner, and does so with scientific speed and intensity. The most complicated dishes, in a sort of casual excess and with a sublime nonchalance that would make a frugal housewife blanch. Ulla does the washing up, in similar fashion.
They are living together in a new and very charming way and seem to have solved their family problems.
This whole atmosphere ought to be a complete rest cure, just what one needs after all the complications of the autumn. Yet oddly enough I find I can’t slip into it but feel restless and troubled in some indefinable way.
I’d very much like to be at home and working, dug into my usual old rut. It’s a reaction that makes me feel ungrateful, and I’m doing all I can to help it pass.
I expect it’s more or less how Uca felt when she’d gone to such efforts to gather all the family for a peaceful and enjoyable Christmas and then the whole of Christmas Eve was as black as night. I’m not as black as night, of course. But feeling tense and anxious all the time – as if on the wrong train.
Now, though, I’m off into town to buy Christmas tree decorations, so perhaps it will pass.
The others want to go to Ängsmarn, the first stretch by car and then by horse-drawn sledge across the ice, but I’m worried it will be too much for Einar and Ham. They, however, insist on showing how hale and hearty they are, so my cautious attempts to deflect them from the rigours of settler life have gone unheeded.
By now you’ll have told everything to Mamu Pietilä in her rocking chair, she’ll have noted your successes with satisfaction but also observed that you’re as thin as a rake and cooked you lots of Christmas fare.
Did you get there all right with all your things? Were the last days very hard going? You know what, Anu’s pills were marvellous. There was a brisk wind, but we were fine – though they did make us feel a bit odd.
I shall write again and let you know how our touring production is progressing.
Look after yourself. A big hug from
Your Tooosla.
… yes, yes!
– and I was rooting through my bag when what should I find but something exclusive, filled with the sweet scent of violet – and I sent such grateful thoughts to Tooti who is so fond of me, she said presumptuously! Thank you!!
“Troll in the Wings”, directed by Vivica Bandler, had its premiere in 1958 at Lilla Teatern (Little Theatre) in Helsinki. In the spring of 1959 the production went on tour, first to Åbo (Turku) – where it proved a hit – and then to Stockholm, where it was staged at the Casino Theatre. The dress rehearsal failed to come alive and the opening night was initially chaotic, but the play had brilliant reviews, except in Dagens Nyheter.
TUESDAY MORNING [Postmark 12.5.1959. Stockholm]
Darling Tooti,
If you knew how many letters I’ve written to you in my head – and only now, at eight in the morning on our opening night, am I starting a real one.
What’s more, I’m currently in such a total state of terror that this won’t be remotely like the letter I would have sent on any of those other days.
I think about you all the time.
Alas and alack, Tooti, they don’t seem to have understood our play here in Stockholm. Åbo was a clear and emphatic success, you see, a long and exhausting merry-go-round, but enchanting – whereas here I’m starting to wonder if everything hinges on the different mentalities on the two sides of the Gulf of Bothnia. We had the dress rehearsal last night with the management of the Casino and various actors in the audience – and everything just sort of froze. I don’t know what went wrong: the acting was perfect, the scenery didn’t collapse, the special effects worked and nobody had hysterics – but there was this wave of polite incomprehension from the auditorium. And the actors’ mood sank into their boots, of course – they’d got used to sailing on the wave of success in Åbo and had been so cheerful and confident. We’ll have to see how it goes this evening.
I shall go over there again shortly with a drop of cognac and a couple of tranquillisers in my stomach, and then we’ll spend the whole day trying to make some kind of mainland-Swedish connection.
If I’m suddenly summoned by phone and have to dash straight there, you’ll get the letter as it is – but I shall go on writing for as long as they leave me in peace.
The trip to Åbo was a delight – Packis entertained us the whole way, so safe and secure in his ingenuity, though I did succumb to the H:fors tummy bug at one point and felt terribly queasy. It had eased a bit by the time we’d installed ourselves and charged straight off to the theatre.
They hadn’t done a single thing there and the scene shifters were hanging about in that nonchalant way only scene shifters (and sometimes waitresses) can. I rang Wolle and got some good advice: lots of coffee and buns and jallu.
I wasted no time getting hold of some three-star and two full baskets of refreshments from Aschan. After that, work was soon underway – and an hour later we realised we wouldn’t have to ring Uca with a tale of disaster – but that things would sort themselves out eventually.
I was soon so popular behind the scenes that all I had to do was dart a look of concern in some direction and the lads would come rushing over to ask what they could shift for me. They really were terribly sweet, and by the time Uca turned up the next morning most things were in place.
I only managed to see Wolle for an hour at a café. But we spent quite a long time with Mamu and Papu – and I could tell it was a really successful visit. Ham found your parents absolutely delightful – and the feeling seemed to be mutual. You’ve no idea how exquisitely they’d arranged it all, with herring and soured milk and fish salad, fruit and mead and coffee with loads of cakes and stuff. We spoke a funny mixture of three languages – but with pace and conviction, and the contact was always there. Your parents really are quite lovely, you know! And this time I got a much more rounded picture of Papu Pietilä – he has such irresistible charm!
The next day the scenery rigmarole continued. Thanks to the vast space where the stage could lose itself in magical shadows against the curved backcloth, we were able to put together wonderful sets for Acts 1 and 2. The theatre was chock-full, and what an audience!!!
The ensemble acted better than ever, it all flowed along with a sweeping rhythm that was irresistible – especially in the later performance.
And they seemed almost happy to be working.
Afterwards there
was a little party at the Swedish Club, all in the same easy-going spirit, though they wouldn’t let us meet the theatre folk themselves, only the management and bigwigs.
The morning after, Uca, Packis, Ham and I flew back to Sweden with the scenery. The Helsingfors bug made its presence felt again and I was in such a wretched state I could hardly walk straight when I got off the plane and couldn’t even carry my flowers! (+ being on my period didn’t help of course).
At the Aero terminal, three enthusiastic women rushed up and launched themselves at us. It was Lisbeth, Sewe and Edna, who’d come down to meet us. The whole party went to our hotel (and it was the Örnsköld in Nybrogatan) where I treated us all to cognac. (To Uca’s mild disapproval). Then we went gadding off to the Casino where we had to wait three hours for anyone to turn up and set the whole thing in motion. (the result of a misunderstanding – that crucial theatre word!) Packis had a terrible asthma attack because they’d mixed the paint with casein or ammonia or some other infernal additive. I wasn’t feeling well, and we had none of what we needed – the theatre, by the way, is utterly charming in its colour, proportions and atmosphere. It was only when we found a wonderful curtain – a silken “patchwork quilt” in glorious colours (unused for the past ten years) that we started feeling hopeful again.
We toiled all day to get the set and the technical side sorted out, and in the evening it was finally time to eat. Uca, Ham, Packis, Lisbeth and I walked to Catteline – where we had several hours of complete peace and hopeful relaxation.
The next morning the actors came thronging in, and all day we had the same sort of muddle as I try to describe in the play. And then, as I told you, came the disastrous dress rehearsal …
Now I’m going to walk over there again with God and the muse in my thoughts – and you, too!
If I come home covered in shame, I hope you’ll still like me just as much, nonetheless.
Take me in your arms – and look after yourself, darling. I’ll write as soon as I’ve seen how things are going. Ham sends her regards! Let me have a few short words on how things are going on your merry-go-round.
Mrs! Tooslan
Packis: Harry Packalén, Lilla Teatern’s expert in technical matters.
jallu: Full name jaloviina, a brandy with a certain percentage of cognac, indicated by a star rating.
Aschan: A large café and cake shop in Åbo.
Lisbeth: The actress Lisbeth Bodin, from Sweden.
Catteline: Restaurant Cattelin in the Old Town.
13.5.59. [Stockholm]
Darling Tooti –
We did it! Excellent reviews across the board – except in Dagens Nyheter where that waspish Ebbe Linde was full of complaints.
The last twenty-four hours, after the dress rehearsal, were spent in deep dejection on all sides, spats and more rehearsals and, actually, most of what I attempt to depict in the play.
Uca and Lisbeth had some miserable spats, I had stomach cramps and my usual curtain of silence, you know, Packis had his asthma and the head of lighting was in fits of despair. We entirely rebuilt the set and even the cleaning lady was in tears.
So everything was just as it should be! We barely had time to get to the hotel to wash off the worst of the grime we’d accumulated since 8 in the morning and get changed.
When the audience flooded in, almost my entire extended family turned out to have bought tickets – even Torsten came hobbling along on his stick!
To begin with, absolutely everything went wrong and I felt the queasiness rising in my throat. The train record that Emma was supposed to try out behind the curtain just wouldn’t play. It was Bisse who saved the situation with a clever improvisation – the play started, but right away a scenery flat painted with roses fell over with a crash. Soon after that, Lasse tripped over a bucket and almost fell down into the auditorium. He took quite a knock and found it really hard to recover his concentration.
Or so he said later – I thought he was as brilliant as usual. But after that they got underway, thank goodness – and I assume the audience thought all the mishaps were part of the play.
I prowled around aimlessly as usual, feeling churned up – but gradually realised the audience was really enjoying the performance, which calmed me down a bit. After the final curtain there was lots of hugging and kissing on stage and the whole lot of us went off to the bar at the Royal Dramatic Theatre for the customary steak with schnapps and wine. And in due course back to the theatre to read the reviews. Between 4 and 5 we all went our separate ways and the Pöystis, Ham and I walked home to the hotel. En route we bumped into a couple of young hooligans who wanted to make trouble, ruining Lasse’s flowers and waving knives around. It was pretty unpleasant and they stayed hot on our heels all the way back, jeering that if Lasse’s “white-haired ma” hadn’t been at his side there wouldn’t have been much left of him. Lasse said afterwards, slightly apologetically: I’m sure you understand I couldn’t get into a fight because I hadn’t got a knife …
And today, there were various odd types milling about in search of interviews and all those other things people suddenly want, or can make money from … you know, the inevitable chaff that blows in from all directions after an event. Uca is helping me deal with the many things that reduce me to panic, so I think we’ll acquit ourselves decently. There are so many details to tell you – but very little opportunity to do it. But we’ll have time, soon, to talk about everything that has happened to us while we’ve been apart.
At any rate, Mrs Tossavainen won’t be returning home covered in shame, which is very nice indeed!
A big, big cuddle from your Toooosla!
Bisse: The actress Birgitta Ulfsson.
Lasse: The actor Lasse Pöysti.
STOCKHOLM, 20.5.59.
Darling Tooti,
Thank you for your latest letter, letting me know about the new turn of events.
It really is uncanny that every time you have to make important decisions and are finding it hard – I’m away on a trip.
Perhaps it was meant that way, and the part of your life that affects you most closely – your work – is something you have to make your own decisions about, not be influenced by anyone else. But I feel sad not to be with you when you’re finding things so tough.
I’ve read your letters very carefully – and can detect that you stuck to the same strict line throughout. And a sensible one. If today, in spite of everything they’ve done to you, you decide not to abandon your students yet – I still think you can claim to have stayed on the path of self-respect. My own darling, you know I follow you in everything that happens as closely as if it applied to my own life, for you are a part of me.
We’ll soon be with each other again and can go and celebrate at Salme’s in the old familiar setting. I’m not feeling as homesick as I did last time, because this is a work trip.
Most of the people I have to meet, I’m seeing because of the theatre. Thanks to my play, which has proved a real success (can it really be possible …) with almost full houses and a captivated audience, both Vivica and the ensemble have been able to make important new contacts here in Sweden. (But – “my play” depends at least as much, if not more, on brilliant directing, good music and actors who are getting better with every day that passes)
Anyway, I’m sharing the responsibility by willingly having meetings with everyone of potential use to the theatre. So I won’t be coming home until the end of this week – on a Monday flight at the latest. I don’t quite know yet.
Bredskär – you and Bredskär are within reach and the thought makes me happy – if the manager of the Casino, Järrel, and Marianne Höök had arranged their parties for the start of the week I’d be leaving right away. Ham is dealing with the relations and generally taking care of herself, glad to be with Einar and walking her own streets.
Nita was here for a few days, so Lisbeth had to move from Uca’s room to Huddinge. We had major ghost dramatics that I’ll tell you about sometime when we’re lying on a su
nny rock looking out over glittering blue water. Ah Tooti, do we really appreciate how lucky we are …?
Then Uca’s mother came over – and today it’s Irja. They can’t leave Vivica in peace. But she receives them all with a brusque kind of affection that Lisbeth can’t comprehend.
There was a ghost party at Huddinge – I’ll tell you about that later, too.
Inger, who is still sick in bed, sent flowers for the opening night. I sent a letter of thanks, and will try to make time to visit her. I don’t stay up all night any more, I can’t cope with as much partying as the rest of them.
Opportunities are crowding in on all sides, it’s too much, and in the end one just stops, and sits in the hotel thinking, not calling anybody at all. I met up with Börje, and rang Jürgen who hasn’t found time to see me yet. Bought spark plugs. Publishing house breakfast and journalists. The play has been shown on TV. Haven’t bought any presents for myself except the bluest necklace you’ve ever seen. I’m being made a great fuss of, and it’s fun, but not important. I often think about packing for Bredskär and wonder how the lettuce is coming on. And I’m longing to chop some wood.
A huge embrace from your Tove.
Salme: Salme Sevelius, a good friend of TJ and Tuulikki Pietilä.
Järrel: Theatre manager and actor Sven Järrel.
Jürgen: Jürgen von Konow was an artist, a friend of TJ’s, and they had attended the Technical School together in the early 1930s.
Tove Jansson and Tuulikki Pietilä, 1960.
1ST MAY 62. THE ISLAND.
Dear Doj!
Here I am now in my supreme springtime solitude – it is rather lovely, but a bit odd without you!
There are great white icebergs bobbing out at the points, looking strange, and I threw snowballs at Psipsu and my aim was really good. She took possession of the island with natural delight, clearly recognised every part of it and headed straight for the chopping block to sharpen her claws. It’s very hard to get her to come in and her tail is constantly in a quiver. But at nights she snuggles up close as usual. And there’s much rolling on the blue rock …
