The Nobel Prize has celebrated its one-hundredth anniversary, but first of all we ought to talk about the man who conceived it and founded it. Alfred Bernhard Nobel, who was born in Stockholm in 1833 and died in San Remo in 1896, was a Swedish chemist and industrialist who, ever since he was young, developed an interest for explosives. He experimented with nitroglycerine with the purpose of exploiting its proprieties. After a number of unsuccessful attempts, during one of which his brother Emil was killed, Alfred Nobel achieved his aim, by blending nitroglycerine with fossil flour, an inert substance. This is how he invented dynamite, a compound that, whilst maintaining highly explosive properties, unlike pure nitroglycerine is resistant to shock and is not affected by temperature changes. Thanks to the commercial success of dynamite and of a subsequent invention, balistite, Nobel founded an industrial empire.

Nobel, who was a highly educated man with a great interest in science and literature, set aside a considerable part of his fortune for the foundation of five annual prizes in Chemistry, Physics, Medicine, Literature and activities aimed at promoting Peace among nations.
As from 1969, these prizes have become six, and now also include one for Economics. We are listing here the names of the winners for the first edition, held in 1901.
For Physics, the German Wilhelm Conrad Rontgen, who discovered X-rays; for Chemistry, the Dutch Jacoubus Van’t Hoff, the founder of stereochemistry; for Medicine, the German Emil von Behring, who discovered the antidiphtheric serum; for Peace the prize was awarded jointly to the Swiss Jean-Henry Dunant, who promoted the foundation of the Red Cross, and to the French Frédéric Passy, who founded the International Peace Association and the Society for Arbitration among Nations.
All big names, as you can see. Yet, a scandal was caused (and it was the first of many scandals that were to follow in future) by the award of the Nobel Prize in Literature to the French Sully-Prudhomme, a very mediocre poet. Giants such as the Russians Tolstoj and Cechov, the great writer Henry James, the genial dramatist August Strindberg and the bellicose Emile Zola were still alive at that time. In the list of omissions concerning literature, the most sensational was probably the one relating to the Argentinian Jorge Luis Borges, whose fault was to have praised the Francoist regime in Spain.
But, among those who would have deserved the Nobel Prize but were ignored by the Stockholm judges, we should also recall the poet and essayist Paul Valéry, the absolutely excellent poet Rainer Maria Rilke, the magnificent writer Hermann Broch, our superb Gabriele D’Annunzio, the revolutionary James Joyce and, why not?, the greatest atmosphere creator, “Monsieur Atmosphère” par excellence, the father of Maigret: Georges Simenon.

I once had the honour of assisting to the Nobel Prize award ceremony. It was on the 10th of December 1975, when the greatest prize for literature was awarded to Eugenio Montale. The strict ritual allowed for a variant in the case of our poet. The Swedish King Carl Gustav took a few more steps than prescribed. He rose from his gilt chair and walked up to the point were Montale stood waiting for him. The variant had been scheduled ever since that morning’s rehearsal. Montale was not able to move without giving his arm to somebody.
The Nobel ceremony had its odd sides: it could exceptionally allow for the king to walk towards the prizewinner, but not for the prizewinner to be accompanied. That year the Nobel Prize celebrated its 75th anniversary, the number of guests had been doubled and the ceremony took place in an enormous pavilion that usually hosts, in September, the St. Henry Fair. Admitted together with other journalist also to that morning’s dress rehearsal, I saw that the prize-winners (among whom, for Medicine, was Renato Dulbecco) were forced to repeat the short entrance parade for three times. They walked out of an underpass, headed by two valets. Montale leaned on the arm of Anders Osterling, the ninety-year-old Italianist who more than anybody else had supported our poet’s nomination.
Each gesture of the rehearsal was directed Mr Stig Ramell, President of the Nobel Foundation. Mr Ramell played the king, he also had a medal and a diploma to ensure the rehearsal accurately respected the ceremony to be held in the afternoon: he shook hands, he played at congratulating and he applauded. One of the prizewinners, the chemist Vladimir Prelog, got flustered and dropped his medal. ‘Thank God this is only a rehearsal’ was Mr. Ramell’s harsh comment. In the meantime, the attendants arranged the carnations that had arrived from San Remo and removed the heavy covers that enveloped the royal seats. Montale’s magic moment, that afternoon, lasted fourteen minutes altogether.
The Stockholm philharmonic orchestra played a piece from Respighi’s “Ancient Airs and Dances”, the music selected for the Italian winner. The tics in Montale’s pale and hollow face suddenly became convulsive. The poet was deeply moved. He appeared as a tired and even a bit bewildered creature. Anders Osterling made his speech. The old Italianist said “Montale’s lyric style perfectly harmonises with the stark outline of the Ligurian coast, with the stormy sea breaking on ramparts of steep rock”.
The enchantment was brief but very intense. It seemed as if the Cinque Terre sea, the sea that reigns supreme in the “Ossi di seppia” poems, had reached Stockholm, where another sea, colder and gloomier, flows before the city buildings and avenues. It was ten to six in the afternoon, when Osterling ended his speech with these words, pronounced in Italian: “Caro Signor Montale…” The king took the diploma and gold medal bearing the effigy of Alfred Nobel up to the armchair before which the poet had got to his feet, supporting himself on the arm rests with trembling hands. The king spoke a few words and then gave the signal for applause.
The magic moment was over. The sky was incredibly blue on the Noble prize day. Only the cold wind recalled the North. In the evening, there was a banquet with one thousand eighty-six guests. The menu included: turbot mousse, roast snow pullet with truffled sauce, new potatoes and salad, ice-cream with biscuits, 1970 Château Lacaussade wine, champagne, cognac, tangerine liqueur and coffee. On the next day, December the 11th, Montale was given the cheque in Swedish kronas, equivalent to 97 million lira. On Friday the 12th Montale held the conference scheduled for the winners, at the Accademy of Sweden.
The conference title was: “Is poetry still possible?”. “For me” said Montale, “poetry is an invitation to hope”. (trad.Interpres-Giussano)