All of the attention that she was receiving seemed incredible to her and John when her book, except for the advance editions, had not even been published yet. She was getting swamped with requests for appearances, interviews, and for magazine and newspaper articles. A year later, she wrote a friend that the amount of money editors offered her to write was astonishing, “and they don’t even want literature of permanent worth. I don’t believe if Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John offered to write some more Gospels, they’d be worth the prices that have been offered me.”33 Some people had the nerve to burst into her apartment with manuscripts that they wanted her to proofread. One of the strangest requests came from the editor of a magazine called The American Hebrew, who wrote asking her to help combat the secretive forces breeding racial and religious hostility between Christians and Jews. Her standard answer to these kinds of requests was always: “I do not want to ever write anything again, as I dislike writing above all things in the world.”34
On May 21, Peggy signed the British contract and returned it to Latham, saying that she was most grateful to him for making such a generous contract possible. “I’d feel even happier about it if I knew you were getting the ten percent!” She went on to tell him that she had read the draft of the story about her that was to appear soon in the Book-of-the-Month Club Bulletin, and that she had wired requests for corrections to the editor. Feeling the need to explain her corrections to Latham, she proceeded to do so.35 First of all, she wanted it clarified exactly when she wrote the novel.
About striking out “While I was laid up.” True I did begin the book while on crutches but unfortunately the idea that I wrote it all “while I was laid up” has spread about and most people, having forgotten that I couldnt walk for several years, have gotten the notion that the book is “some little something I dashed off during a week-end convalescence.” This gripes me no little.
Another item that “griped” her even more had to do with the story making her appear as if she were a Civil War survivor. In this regard, she wrote that the lines, “‘Even after many years the scars of war. . . .’” had to be eliminated.
Because she had written so realistically about the Civil War, many readers thought that she had actually lived through it and was of great age. That idea always brought out a cloudburst of anger from her, and she felt she needed to set the record straight every chance she got. However, she herself had given the wrong impression about her age when, in her speech to the Macon Writers’ Club, she told the story about her mother taking her for a drive on the Jonesboro Road and talking to her about how the world of the people who had lived in the fine plantation homes on that road had blown up under their feet unexpectedly. “In that [Macon] speech I made it plain that it was about 1913 that I made that trip through the Georgia back country with Mother,” she explained to Latham. (In telling this story, Peggy always said she was six when it happened. But, if the incident really occurred in 1913, as she claimed, she would have been thirteen.)
That was in the days before Georgia had good roads—or hardly any roads for that matter. Some of “Sherman’s sentinels” were still standing then and also the old foundations of some burned houses. They have long since disappeared with the coming of decent roads and the rebuilding of that section. The Macon reporters who covered the story did not make this plain. The result was that many people who did not know me got the idea that I took that little buggy jaunt in about the year 1867 and wrote me letters under this impression.
Another item she wanted corrected had to do with the manner in which Bessie had been identified. Having southern readers in mind, she wanted Bessie to be identified as her “colored maid” instead of a “colored lady” because the expression in the South had a connotation that she did not wish conveyed. She explained, “As far as I am concerned our Bessie is a lady if there ever was one and I want to go on record as saying so. I know you think this picayunish, but I know Southern reactions.”36 Her concern for the southern reaction dominated her thinking about everything now.
Badgered by such issues as the misstatements in the article in the Book-of-the-Month Club Bulletin, Peggy was in a breathless state most of the time. She remained so excited about one thing or another that she could not sleep or even relax. Although she was now plagued with questions about the movie rights, it was the thought of the forthcoming reviews that terrified her. She began complaining about her eyes, about her vision being blurry sometimes. At night, unable to sleep for thinking about what was happening to her, she told John it was all a dream.37
6
On May 18, Latham received a memo from Jim Hale regarding the motion picture rights to Gone With the Wind. Hale reported that Mr. Costain of Twentieth-Century Fox Films was anxious to make an offer now and wanted to know who was handling the movie rights. Hale wrote: “The plum is ready to be picked, the melon to be sliced, whenever we decide to let it fall in our collective lap.” He had spoken with Annie Laurie, who had said that “the figure is going up!” Suggesting that they did not have to accept any offers now, he pointed out that they did need to let the movie people know with whom they should deal. “I repeat,” he stated, “that we ought to take the gravy ourselves. The movie people will deal with us as readily as with an agent.”38
After thinking about it carefully, Latham decided it would be a mistake for them to attempt to sell the motion pictures rights to Gone With the Wind themselves. He believed that Annie Laurie might create trouble by claiming that part of the returns were hers because she had talked the book up so much with all of the movie producers. And, too, Latham pointed out to Hale, perhaps she had introduced the book to the very producer who finally took it. He suggested that Hale negotiate the contract through Williams with the understanding that her 10 percent commission would be equally divided between them. He thought this would be a wise arrangement in the end for other considerations as well: it would put the time-consuming responsibility of the contract and all that rather difficult business on her, not them. Latham wanted Hale’s decision on this matter immediately: “As this business is getting rather hot. . . . Miss Williams told me yesterday that offers had been made to her now of $20,000 and $25,000 and that she was sure the ultimate offers would go up to $40,000, $50,000 and she was inclined to think we might even get $60,000.”39
Right after he wrote that letter to Hale, Latham wrote to Annie Laurie, confidentially explaining what he planned to do and describing how they would divide the commission, but telling her that he had first to persuade Mr. Brett to allow him to represent Peggy in this matter. In the meanwhile, Annie Laurie was—on no authority except Latham’s knowledge of her actions—doing everything she could to pave the way for the sale of this book, for which she said her enthusiasm was unlimited.40
On May 21, before Gone With the Wind’s official publication date, Macmillan sent Peggy a check for five thousand dollars; on receipt of that check, the reality of the recent events all began to settle in with the Marshes. On that same day, after he had received Brett’s approval, Latham wrote to Peggy that he thought the time had come for them to make some move on the possible motion picture rights. He never mentioned his wanting to engage Annie Laurie to handle the contract. Instead, his letter left the Marshes to infer that Macmillan would handle the motion picture rights and that Peggy would have the final word before any offer was accepted or rejected, although he said Macmillan intended to advise her as to what course was best. In the event of a sale that met with her entire approval, Macmillan would turn over to her whatever sum might be received less a commission of 10 percent. He asked that she sign his letter and return it as a signal of her approval of his arrangements.41
Putting the matter to rest, she signed the letter giving Macmillan the right to try to sell the book to the movies and said to Latham, “I feel very relieved about having it in your hands instead of an agents. Thats not disparaging agents but then, I dont know agents and I do know you. Further more I am so impressed with what you did about the English publication that
I know you can do far more about movie people than any agent could.”42
However, she insisted on the movie people giving her some say in approving the final scenario, though she promised not to be “tough-mouthed” about other changes:
I know that too many things are easy in a novel and difficult, even impossible, to reproduce on the screen. . . . But there are a few changes I wouldn’t put up with. I wouldn’t put it beyond Hollywood to have General Hood win the Battle of Jonesboro, Scarlett seduce General Sherman and a set of negroes with Harlem accents play the back woods darkies.43
Meanwhile, even before he received the signed letter, Latham wrote Annie Laurie on May 26 reminding her that their arrangement was to be a confidential one between her and Macmillan and that all negotiations with the author would be conducted from Macmillan’s office.44 The Marshes had no idea that Latham would, in a sense, go behind their backs in this manner. This incident was the source of the first serious break in the relationship between Macmillan and the Marshes.
To Latham’s request that she do some publicity work, Peggy responded that she did not want to do a lecture series as a lecture firm headed by a Mr. Leigh had asked her to do. “What would I lecture about? He [Leigh] suggested the ‘Urge to Write,’ at which I fell on the sofa and bellowed because I have no urge to write and never had, loathing writing above all things, except perhaps, Wagnerian opera and tap dancing.”45 The only reasons she had agreed to speak to the Librarians Club were because her secretary and friend Margaret Baugh had asked her to do this some months earlier and because she appreciated all the help librarians had given her in doing her research. “And then I had forgot about the matter till I saw it announced in yesterday’s paper,” she wrote Latham. “Now I am covered with clammy sweat for I can think of no way out at this late date, nor can I think of anything to talk about to librarians except reference books and that seems the dullest of dull subjects. And, librarians, being librarians, I will not even be able to indulge in witticisms of a slightly indelicate nature without having it bruited abroad that I am a trollop.”46
7
While Macmillan was having its annual sale conference in the last week of May, Lois wrote Peggy that “everyone is atwit about your book. They all say they enjoy selling it more than any other novel we have had and that means a lot. When you buy your Rolls Royce do come North to see us.”47
When Macmillan sent Peggy several copies to give to her family and friends, she gave Rhoda a copy in which she penned a special autograph: “To Rhoda, the right hand of my right arm, With Love, Margaret Mitchell—July 2, 1936.”48 She gave her father and brother each a copy and sent John’s mother and each of his brothers and sisters a copy. Within a few days of receiving their books, all of the Marshes, beaming with pride, wrote their warm congratulations. John’s youngest brother Gordon and his wife Francesca wrote that the bookstores in Lexington had posters in their showcases that read, “Local man married to author of Gone With the Wind!” Francesca also wrote them about an amusing incident involving her mother, Mrs. Renick, an avid reader who adored Peggy and who had-snatched the book from her daughter’s hand the moment it arrived in the mail. Recalling the incident years later, Francesca smiled and said: “We were all so proud of Peggy and John and of Gone With the Wind, and no one was any prouder than my own mother.” She went on to explain:
One morning, as she and I were riding the train from Lexington to Richmond, we overheard these two short-haired young women sitting in front of us say how they were “just dying” to get their hands on a copy of Gone With the Wind. Mother, a very small woman, perked up when she heard that remark and looked wide-eyed straight at me. Then, much to my surprise, Mother sat up real straight, leaned forward, tapped one of the girls on the shoulder, announcing so loudly that everyone in the train could hear: “I’ve already read Gone With the Wind, and it’s marvelllllous!” The two young women turned around and stared at mother skeptically and asked: “YOU? How could YOU have read it? The bookstores don’t have copies yet!”
Francesca said that her mother, who was not even close to being five feet tall, “sat up even taller, squared her shoulders, pointed her nose at the ceiling, and said in an even louder voice, ‘I have an advance copy.’ With an incredulous stare, the girls said, ‘YOU?’ Mother answer proudly, ‘I am the mother-in-law of the brother-in-law of the author!’”
After learning about this incident, John and Peggy sent Francesca an extra copy to give to her mother. In thanking them for the book, Mrs. Renick wrote a note telling them how Gordon, whom she called Ben, had personally autographed it for her: “To the mother-in-law-of-the-brother-in-law-of-the-author-from-the-son-in-law-Ben-with-love.”49
With her degree from the University of Pennsylvania School of Social Work and her marriage to a professor of sociology, Frances tended to see sociological aspects in everything, including her sister-in-law’s book. She asked Peggy if she were “using Rhett and Scarlett to put over pacifistic propaganda,” but an astonished Peggy responded: “I had no notion I was doing it. If it sounds that way, I guess it just happened.”50 She also gave some idea of what two very early reviews were like.
I am very glad that you like Rhett. I liked him but recently my tail feathers have been dragging about him for a man who reviewed the book for the Journal, here, did not like him at all, in fact found him as repellant as Rhett’s fellow Atlantans did. And the reviewer called me in person to tell me so. He could look over everything except him deserting Melanie in the wagon, he said. Also, he thought Rhett the only unconvincing character in the book. Well, I should be grateful for small favors—and large ones—that he didnt find all the characters unconvincing.
A Macon reviewer arrived the other day to inform me in no uncertain words that he thought Scarlett was a bitch. To my spirited defense that she was only a normal southern lassie just trying to get along, he said, “Bah!” Then we had a bad wrangle which ended by me saying that it was obvious that he had never realized what normal girls thought, anyway.51
Never wanting to appear the least bit “big-headed,” she did not mention a word to Frances about all the excitement that was going on around her and the praise that the book had received thus far, not just in the Georgia newspapers but also in those as far away as San Francisco. One of the earliest reviews appeared on May 13 and 14 in the San Francisco Chronicle, and the reviewer, Joseph Henry Jackson, was very complimentary, telling his readers, “You won’t be far along in the book before you realize that this frank, honest story-telling is impressing you far more than all the fine writing that the more consciously artistic novelists sometimes attempt.” Having expected “brickbats,” Peggy was thrilled. She wrote Jackson, “It is my first book and I am so new and green at the business of authoring that I don’t even know if it is good form for an author to write to a critic. But your column gave me so much pleasure and happiness that I have to write you and say thank you. . . . God knows I’m not like my characters, given to vapors and swooning and ‘states’ but I was certainly in a ‘state.’ I have always been able to bear up nobly under bad news but your good news floored me. I suppose because it was so unexpected.”52
When the Macon News, the Constitution, and the Journal published announcements sparkling with superlatives about the novel, Peggy sighed with relief. She and John had always believed that pleasing the hometown folks was the hardest thing to do, and they had said all along that they were not going to care what the world outside the southern states thought. But as evidence from the outside world began to emerge and to point to the novel’s success, they got more and more anxious about seeing the big reviews. They would not feel completely at ease until the New York critics came through in the first week of July.
In thinking about Brett’s invitation to go to New York around the publication date, the first of July, Peggy decided she would rather wait until the fall, after she had had a chance to see everyone’s reaction to the book. In declining the invitation, she wrote Latham about her inability to withstand the
summer heat of New York. “Another draw back is that I’m pretty tired at present . . . for I’ve been going out too much recently. . . . And I’d have hated to land in N.Y. looking like a hag and with my eyes hanging out so far you could wipe them off with a broom stick.”53
But to Frances, she wrote confidentially, “I hate traveling worse than a cat!” She also said that she did not want to be pressed into spending hours autographing in New York bookstores. She had agreed to do it for Davison’s book department in Atlanta because she couldn’t refuse without looking “very ill mannered and snooty,” but the prospect of autographing had taken all of the pleasure and pride out of the publication date for her. She confessed:
I feel so damned cheap about it that I could bawl. I lie awake at nights trying to figure out polite ways to get out of it. I never would read the book of any author who autographed in book stores. And I never had any respect for an author who’d lend himself to such a cheap scheme. And here I am sucked in, against my will. I’m afraid if I go to N.Y. I’ll find myself in a position where I can’t refuse, in all courtesy to my hosts or my publishers. So I think I’d better stay at home.54
Near the end of May, Lois and Latham were delighted to report to the Marshes that Macmillan was returning to the original contract terms and would pay a royalty of 10 percent on the first twenty-five thousand and 15 percent on all copies sold beyond twenty-five thousand.55
Peggy cabled: “Hurrah for Macmillan! Hurrah for Macmillan! Please thank all concerned for kindness and generosity. If you don’t stop sending me good news my nervous system will be completely wrecked.”56
To Brett, she expressed her appreciation and added: “I am continually meeting strangers who tell me in hushed tones that they have it on Gospel authority that my book is so much better than War and Peace, Vanity Fair, yes, better than all the Forsythe Saga. When I track down these rumors I find that they emanate from the Spring Street office [Macmillan’s Atlanta office] and from those fine, bare faced liars who work there. Trouble is, how can I live up to their advance publicity?”57
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