The Marriage Book (55 page)

MARGARET MITCHELL

GONE WITH THE WIND
, 1936

A million copies of
Gone With the Wind
sold within the first six months of its publication, and author Margaret Mitchell (1900–1949) won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction the following year. Whether through the novel or the 1939 film starring Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable, audiences were enthralled by the coquettishness and resilience of Scarlett O’Hara and the brashness and charm of her suitor, Rhett Butler.

Scarlett, having married her first husband, Charles, for spite and her second husband, Frank, for money, is still officially in mourning when Rhett comes to pay her a visit.

He was actually asking her to marry him; he was committing the incredible. Once she had planned how she would torment him should he ever propose. Once she had thought that if he ever spoke those words she would humble him and make him feel her power and take a malicious pleasure in doing it. Now, he had spoken and the plans did not even occur to her, for he was no more in her power than he had ever been. In fact, he held the whip hand of the situation so completely that she was as flustered as a girl at her first proposal and she could only blush and stammer.

“I—I shall never marry again.”

“Oh, yes, you will. You were born to be married. Why not me?”

“But Rhett, I—I don’t love you.”

“That should be no drawback. I don’t recall that love was prominent in your other two ventures.”

“Oh, how can you? You know I was fond of Frank!”

He said nothing.

“I was! I was!”

“Well, we won’t argue that. Will you think over my proposition while I’m gone?”

“Rhett, I don’t like for things to drag on. I’d rather tell you now. I’m going home to Tara soon and India Wilkes will stay with Aunt Pittypat. I want to go home for a long spell and—I—I don’t ever want to get married again.”

“Nonsense. Why?”

“Oh, well—never mind why. I just don’t like being married.”

“But, my poor child, you’ve never really been married. How can you know? I’ll admit you’ve had back luck—once for spite and once for money. Did you ever think of marrying—just for the fun of it?”

“Fun! Don’t talk like a fool. There’s no fun being married.”

“No? Why not?”

A measure of calm had returned and with it all the natural bluntness which brandy brought to the surface.

“It’s fun for men—though God knows why. I never could understand it. But all a woman gets out of it is something to eat and a lot of work and having to put up with a man’s foolishness—and a baby every year.”

He laughed so loudly that the sound echoed in the stillness and Scarlett heard the kitchen door open.

“Hush! Mammy has ears like a lynx and it isn’t decent to laugh so soon after—hush laughing. You know it’s true. Fun! Fiddle-dee-dee!”

“I said you’d had bad luck and what you’ve just said proves it. You’ve been married to a boy and to an old man. And into the bargain I’ll bet your mother told you that women must bear ‘these things’ because of the compensating joys of motherhood. Well, that’s all wrong. Why not try marrying a fine young man who has a bad reputation and a way with women? It’ll be fun.”

“You are coarse and conceited and I think this conversation has gone far enough. It’s—it’s quite vulgar.”

“And quite enjoyable too, isn’t it? I’ll wager you never discussed the marital relation with a man before, even Charles or Frank.”

She scowled at him. Rhett knew too much. She wondered where he had learned all he knew about women. It wasn’t decent.

“Don’t frown. Name the day, Scarlett. I’m not urging instant matrimony because of your reputation. We’ll wait the decent interval. By the way, just how long is a ‘decent interval’?”

“I haven’t said I’d marry you. It isn’t decent to even talk of such things at such a time.”

“I’ve told you why I’m talking of them. I’m going away tomorrow and I’m too ardent a lover to restrain my passion any longer. But perhaps I’ve been too precipitate in my wooing.”

With a suddenness that startled her, he slid off the sofa onto his knees and with one hand placed delicately over his heart, he recited rapidly: “Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Scarlett—I mean, my dear Mrs. Kennedy. It cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship I have had in my heart for you has ripened into a deeper feeling, a feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred. Dare I name it you? Ah! It is love which makes me so bold!”

“Do get up,” she entreated. “You look such a fool and suppose Mammy should come in and see you?”

EVELYN WAUGH

LETTER TO LAURA HERBERT, 1936

With novels such as
Decline and Fall
and
Scoop
, British author Evelyn Waugh (1903–1966) established himself in the 1930s as a journalist, satirical novelist, and trenchant social commentator. The longer work
Brideshead Revisited
, which he published in 1945, was more solemn and earned him even greater respect, fame, and, eventually, pay. Having converted to Catholicism, he was still awaiting the grant of an annulment of his first marriage when he wrote this wonderful letter of proposal. Laura Herbert was nineteen at the time, and Waugh was thirty-two. They remained married until his death.

Waugh’s marriage to Laura’s cousin, Evelyn Gardner (yes, Evelyn and Evelyn), had ended with the revelation that she had been having an affair. The annulment was necessary (and eventually granted) under the rules of the Catholic Church. “Wop” is a derogatory term for an Italian.

Tell you what you might do while you are alone at Pixton. You might think about me a bit & whether, if those wop priests ever come to a decent decision, you could bear the idea of marrying me. Of course you haven’t got to decide, but think about it. I can’t advise you in my favour because I think it would be beastly for you, but think how nice it would be for me. I am restless & moody and misanthropic & lazy & have no money except what I earn and if I got ill you would starve. In fact it’s a lousy proposition. On the other hand I think I could reform & become quite strict about not getting drunk and I am pretty sure I should be faithful. Also there is always a fair chance that there will be another bigger economic crash in which case if you had married a nobleman with a great house you might find yourself starving, while I am very clever and could probably earn a living of some sort somewhere. Also though you would be taking on an elderly buffer, I am one without fixed habits. You wouldn’t find yourself confined to any particular place or group. Also I have practically no living relatives except one brother whom I scarcely know. You would not find yourself involved in a large family & all their rows & you would not be patronized & interfered with by odious sisters-in-law & aunts as often happens. All these are very small advantages compared with the awfulness of my character. I have always tried to be nice to you and you may have got it into your head that I am nice really, but that is all rot. It is only to you & for you. I am jealous & impatient—but there is no point in going into a whole list of my vices. You are a critical girl and I’ve no doubt that you know them all and a great many I don’t know myself. But the point I wanted to make is that if you marry most people, you are marrying a great number of objects & other people as well, well if you marry me there is nothing else involved, and that is an advantage as well as a disadvantage. My only tie
of any kind is my work. That means that for several months each year we shall have to separate or you would have to share some very lonely place with me. But apart from that we could do what we liked and go where we liked—and if you married a soldier or stockbroker or member of parliament or master of hounds you would be more tied. When I tell my friends that I am in love with a girl of 19 they look shocked and say “wretched child” but I don’t look on you as very young even in your beauty and I don’t think there is any sense in the line that you cannot possibly commit yourself to a decision that affects your whole life for years yet. But anyway there is no point in your deciding or even answering. I may never get free of your cousin Evelyn. Above all things, darling, don’t fret at all. But just turn the matter over in your dear head.

BILLY WILDER AND I. A. L. DIAMOND

SOME LIKE IT HOT
, 1959

One of the best filmmakers of the twentieth century, Billy Wilder (1906–2002) had already collaborated with I. A. L. Diamond (1920–1988) on
Love in the Afternoon
when they teamed up again—as cowriters, with Wilder as director—for
Some Like It Hot
. In addition to showcasing a transcendent Marilyn Monroe, the film offered the bonus of Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon dressing in drag to join an all-girl band and escape Prohibition-era mobsters. In the scene below, Jerry (played by Lemmon) has just returned from a night with millionaire Osgood Fielding III (Joe E. Brown) and has been improbably but unforgettably swept away.

Some Like It Hot
was loosely adapted from a French film called
Fanfare d’Amour
. Wilder and Diamond remained screenwriting partners for thirty years, until Diamond’s death. As writer/director, especially early in his career, Wilder had many hits, including
Double Indemnity
,
The Lost Weekend
,
Sunset Boulevard
, and
Sabrina.
Beinstock is the manager of the band that Joe and Jerry have joined.

(Jerry, still in his evening gown, is stretched out on his bed, gaily singing LA CUMPARSITA and accompanying himself with a pair of maracas. Joe appears over the railing of the balcony, steps through the window into the room.)