Word: rowboats
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Less obvious to the average U. S. citizen is the award of Dr. Soderblom. Newsgatherers recalled that their last story about him was when he dropped a key out of a rowboat after the funeral of the last of Sweden's famed Brahe family (TIME, June 30). There was no surprise, however, among theologians. Churchmen know Archbishop Soderblom as a scholar, linguist-he speaks ten languages, has written books in German, French, English, Swedish, Dutch-and an incessant worker for Church Unity and World Peace. In 1925 in an attempt to unite at least the Protestant sects of Christianity...
...spoiled and jilted young novelist of intellectual pretensions who is freshened up and made marketable and happy again by design of his sporting publisher. Jarnal Harvey, disappointed by sophisticated Frances, retires to his publisher's houseboat in Manhasset Bay. On the way he upsets his rowboat and is salvaged by beauteous Margot. They form a friendship which prospers. Puttering about the Bay, he meets eccentric Faulkner, gains mental health which he loses by returning to New York and encountering Frances, herself jilted and now hunting him. Faulkner appears, frightens off Frances with threat of scandal, kidnaps Harvey...
Many a Swede mourned last week the passing of Magnus, last of the Counts of Brahe. To honor properly the total extinction of a great name three Swedish dignitaries in funeral frock coats and toppers climbed into a teetering rowboat and rowed out to the middle of a lake...
Then came the most important part of the ceremony. Clutching the ancient key in his black-cotton-gloved hand, Archbishop Söderblom walked to the edge of the nearby lake, stepped gingerly in the stern-sheets of the very small rowboat and sat down next to Count Magnus' nephew, Baron Friedrich von Essen (no Brahe, but heir to the Brahe estates). The silk-hatted, saturnine Majordomo of Castle Skokloster took the oars. While Sweden's King watched from the shore, Bishop, Baron and Majordomo rowed to the middle of the lake and plop went...
...serenity, and wordless sympathy. His man and woman stand incoherently together against a shattered, dissolving world. They express their feelings by such superficially trivial things as a joke, a gesture in the night, an endearment as trite as "darling." And as they make their escape from Italy in a rowboat, survey the Alps from their hillside lodgings, move on to Lausanne where there are hospitals, gaze at each other in torment by the deathbed of Catharine, their tiny shapes on the vast landscape are expressive of the pity, beauty and doom of mankind...