Public and college libraries and bookstores could not keep enough copies on hand. Judges, lawyers, and physicians read it and wrote her the most flattering letters, and psychiatrists found it particularly interesting. Dr. John Favill, president of the Central Neuropsychiatric Association of Minneapolis, in a speech to his colleagues at a professional meeting, discussed the section where Scarlett is talking to Rhett about her guilt feelings over Frank Kennedy’s death. In this passage, Rhett makes Scarlett see that she is not really feeling guilty about Frank’s death, and he points out: “And if he wasn’t dead, you’d still be mean. As I understand it, you are not really sorry for marrying Frank and bullying him and inadvertently causing his death. You are only sorry because you are afraid of going to hell.”62 Dr. Favill used this insight of Rhett’s in his discussion of guilt as displacement of selfishness.
Many other psychiatrists wrote Peggy praising her for so clearly delineating psychopathic personalities, particularly in Scarlett O’Hara. Dr. Charles E. Wells, a psychiatrist at Vanderbilt University School of Medicine, wrote a fascinating essay using Scarlett as a model example of the hysterical personality. Dr. Wells states that “Scarlett O’Hara fulfills almost exactly the criteria for the hysterical personality offered by Chadoff and Lyons,” who published the classic description of that disorder.63 Perhaps it was all the attention psychiatrists gave to Scarlett’s psychopathic characteristics that made Peggy so angry whenever anyone said that she resembled Scarlett. As time went on, Peggy became very protective of her heroine, as if she never came to grips with Scarlett’s iniquities, and she defended her as she does in this letter:
Personally, I cannot help feeling that Scarlett had good traits. Surely courage is commendable, and she had it. The sense of responsibility for the weak and helpless is a rare trait, and she had this, for she took care of her own even at great cost to herself. She was able to appreciate what was beautiful in her mother, even if she could not emulate her. She loved her Negroes and looked after them. She had perseverance in the face of defeat. Of course those qualities are balanced by her bad qualities.64
When an Illinois physician, Dr. Charles E. Mayos, wrote her a letter of warm praise, Peggy replied:
Nothing could have pleased me more than to have a psychiatrist praise the pattern of Scarlett O’Hara’s emotional life. I am one of those people who are disliked by all real psychiatrists. I am a layman who knows just a little about abnormal psychology. I started out to be a psychiatrist, but, unfortunately, was forced to leave college when my mother died. . . . I realize that I know all the tops of abnormal psychology—and have none of the basic and rudimentary knowledge. It’s like knowing geometry and never having known the multiplication tables. Perhaps you can understand, after this explanation, why your words of praise about “The accurate description of human emotions” pleased me so much.65
As time passed, Peggy got increasingly defensive about her “poah Scarlett,”66 whom some called “a first class bitch.”67 When letters came chiding her for making a bad woman the heroine and thus casting a bad light on all southern ladies of days long gone, Peggy pointed out all of Scarlett’s good qualities.68 She also defended Ashley after frequently reading descriptions of him portrayed as a weak, idealistic dreamer and coward. “Ashley was the greatest realist in the book because his eyes, like those of Rhett, were always open,” she explained. “He saw things with a cruel clarity, but unlike Rhett, he was not able to do anything about them.”69
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Not only did the psychiatrists take a professional interest in the characters but ministers and Catholic priests did also. Some actually spoke homilies from their pulpits about the novel. When a minister from the Peachtree Christian Church in Atlanta preached his sermon on Gone With the Wind and sent the author a copy, Peggy told him how much she appreciated his speaking out in defense of Ashley’s sense of honor. She thought it was strange that so few people liked Ashley or gave him credit for having a sense of honor and for trying to be true to it. “It has amused me,” she wrote, “that generally the very nicest ladies have been most outstanding in their criticism of him.”70 Raymond J. O’Flaherty, a Catholic priest, denounced Gone With the Wind in his letter to the editor of the Catholic magazine America. The priest wrote that he thought the novel ought to be withheld from young people and that he was surprised that any high-school English teacher would assign the novel to students. Another priest on the staff of the magazine suggested that the novel not be banned but maybe rated “objectionable in parts.” In this same January 23 issue of America, the Very Reverend Monsignor James H. Murphy from Ellicottville, New York, expressed a different viewpoint. In a letter to the editor, he praised the novel, saying that it was “true to life. It may be sordid in spots; so is life.” The monsignor pointed out that “the most beautiful character in the book is Ellen O’Hara,” whom he described as an “embodiment of the valiant woman of scripture, a woman whose Catholic life and ideas spread the good odor of sanctity about her and who dies a martyr to charity. After her, for eminence of character,” wrote the monsignor, “stands Mammy, that black diamond in the rough, who imbibed her standards of fidelity and learned her rigid code of conduct from her long years with Catholic Ellen O’Hara.”
Peggy was absolutely ecstatic when she received a copy of the monsignor’s letter to the editor and his letter to her. She answered him immediately, admitting that she often felt so “downhearted” when people criticized her for portraying such a bad woman as Scarlett.
I had striven to show that Ellen O’Hara was indeed a woman whose children rose up and called her blessed, a woman whose ideals prodded the hardening conscience of Scarlett, even though Scarlett did not obey the prods. I tried to show Melanie as a Christian character so honorable that she could not conceive of dishonor in others. Mammy was as uncompromising about right and wrong as was possible. The stout-hearted matrons who knew about right and wrong refused to tolerate Scarlett. I naturally felt a sense of disappointment that the eyes of many of my readers focused entirely upon the bad woman and paid no heed to the many good women. That is why I thank you.71
Other readers, like Robert W. Bingham, publisher of the Courier-Journal in Louisville, Kentucky, wrote of Melanie’s goodness and beauty, placing Melanie in the same class with his mother. On one of her visits to Saint Joseph’s Infirmary, Peggy was told by Sister Mary Loyola, who was in charge of the hospital, that she thought the novel was a moral one because it demonstrated clearly that people have to pay for the wrong they do and that there was nothing in Scarlett’s character that would make any young girl want to imitate her.72
Neither John nor Peggy could figure out how so many different kinds of people—from all walks of life—saw so many different kinds of meanings in her book. When reviews and articles came out commending her on things that had never entered her mind, she was astonished. When one critic announced that Gone With the Wind was a pacifist’s novel, a powerful document against war, she wrote:
Lord! I think. I never intended that! Reviews speak of the symbolism of the characters, placing Melanie as the Old South and Scarlett the New. Lord! I never intended that either. Psychiatrists speak of the “carefully done emotional patterns” and disregard all the history part. “Emotional patterns?” Good Heavens! Can this be I? People talk and write of the “high moral lesson.” I don’t see anything very moral in it. I murmur feebly that “it’s just a story” and my words are swallowed up while the storm goes over my head about “intangible values,” “right and wrong” etc. Well, I still say feebly that it’s just a simple story of some people who went up and some who went down, those who could take it and those who couldn’t. And when people come along and say that I’ve done more for the South than anyone since Henry Grady I feel very proud and very humble and wish to God I could take cover like a rabbit.73
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The Marshes celebrated Peggy’s thirty-sixth birthday by slipping away for a weekend to Sea Island, their favorite resort on the Georgia coast. John registered the
m as “Mr. and Mrs. John Munnerlyn,” a pseudonym they started using whenever they traveled.74 The hotel was beautiful and heavenly quiet, and about Sea Island, she wrote, “There is no place in the world so still.”75 They slept late each morning and had hearty breakfasts of hot coffee and fresh fruit, eggs, buttered grits, and bacon served in their room every day. In the afternoons they took leisurely drives “through long avenues of enormous trees with yards of Spanish moss hanging down.”76 John wished that they could stay in that isolated spot for two or three months so that she could get the rest and relaxation she needed. But that was not possible. Just a few hours before they were ready to leave, someone recognized Peggy and shouted to her. She waved back, and then she and John scurried off in the opposite direction, giggling as they made a secret exit from the hotel. Complaining about having to talk to so many people she did not want to talk to, she asked, “Why is it that the attractive people you want to catch are so elusive and the time stealers are with us always?”77
Something that truly delighted Peggy around this time was learning that her novel had been put into Braille. When the Atlanta Library for the Blind telephoned her saying the book had arrived, she felt genuinely flattered.78 And a month later, Lois informed her that a man in California wanted permission to translate the novel into the international language Esperanto.79
A couple of weeks after their vacation to Sea Island, John wrote his mother:
I felt downright encouraged when the NY Herald Tribune best-seller box score last Sunday showed that five stores had dropped out on the GWTW list—the largest number since July. I thought it might be the beginning of the end. But next week, Macmillan is breaking forth with a full page ad on the book in the Saturday Evening Post, and that may prolong the excitement and the sales.
The present week has been one of the most strenuous since the book went on sale . . . and all the while Steve Mitchell, Peggy’s brother and attorney, stands on the sidelines gritting his teeth at me trying to get an interview with me, postponed from night to night for the past three weeks, at which we hope to figure out some way to keep the government from taking all of Peggy’s money in income tax.80
He told his mother that the Selznick film scouts intended to look for unknown actors in the South, among little theater groups, college dramatic clubs, and junior leagues. Within the next two weeks, director George Cukor and screenwriter Sidney Howard would be in Atlanta.
You can imagine the furor the announcement has created. Everybody who ever wanted to get to Hollywood, and that apparently includes 99% of the total population, is ramping and stamping to get to meet the Selznicks and get auditioned. And in addition to Atlanta, they are planning to carry the search for talent into all the principal Southern cities. My guess is that they will stir up more commotion in the South than at any time since the Civil War. . . .
Selznick really has an honest desire to find new talent for the roles, having become convinced that large numbers of people will refuse to see the movie if Clark Gable does not play “Rhett” and that equally large numbers will stay away if he does (and ditto on the other leading characters). Personally I am doubtful that he will actually find any unknown actors for the parts, but I hand it to him for having designed one of the choicest publicity stunts anybody ever heard of.
It’s the toughest situation I have ever been up against but, as Renny says, “It has to bared.” Some day we will sail out of this storm and into peaceful waters again. In the meantime I hope you will bear with us and pull for us as hard as you can. We need it.81
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The British edition produced such excellent reviews that Peggy said they “took her breath away.”82 The Marshes had every reason to believe that the foreign reviews would be just as good. At that time, they were relieved to know that they would soon have the help of Marion Saunders, the literary agent skilled in handling foreign rights whom they had contacted earlier, although they had no idea of the magnitude of problems that would later emerge from her and her services.
As more and more requests for speeches came in, John showed that his sense of humor was still intact when he suggested that Peggy have one of Nathan Bedford Forrest’s statements printed on cards to hand out. He was referring to an incident involving an officer to whom General For-rest had refused to grant a furlough on two occasions. When the officer applied the third time, Forrest silently took his pen in hand and wrote, “I tole you twicst godamet know.”83 Peggy explained to Brickell: “So many people want me to make speeches and I refuse as nicely as I know how. Undeterred they write back and insist that I make speeches or ‘just come and let us have look at you.’ (Oh, nauseous thought! Have I become a freak like the quintuplets or Jo-Jo, the Dogfaced Boy?)”84
On the first of December, the Marshes entered into an agreement with Marion Saunders. John wrote Putnam telling him to forward all inquires that Macmillam received from foreign publishers directly to Saunders, and he requested that Putnam send him carbon copies of the letters so that he could keep up with the developments. “Never having had any dealings with a situation of this kind before, I find it interesting to note which countries are inquiring about the book and how many inquiries are coming in from one country or another.”85
As Christmas approached, many people were buying copies of Gone With the Wind to give as presents and an avalanche of requests came for autographs. Wishing for a deus ex machina to whisk them away for a rest, John decided to take more control of their lives and eliminate all unnecessary activities.86 Autographing was the thing first to go. After looking at Peggy’s engagement calendar, he figured out that from nine in the morning until nine at night, every weekday and some weekends, she averaged an appointment every forty minutes. She averaged writing a hundred letters a week and thus far had autographed about thirty-five hundred copies of the book. With a million books in circulation now, he insisted that she refuse to autograph anymore.87 There was simply no way she could meet the demand for autographs and lead any kind of enjoyable life. He told Peggy and Margaret Baugh that there would be no more unwrapping, autographing, rewrapping, and mailing—at their own expense or at anyone else’s—any more books sent to her. He instructed Margaret Baugh to inform the post office not to deliver any more books to the apartment and to tell Macmillan not to send any more books, that Margaret Mitchell would not sign any more autographs—for anyone, ever.
Thinking of the Christmas sales, Lois was horrified when she heard about this decision and asked if “rubber stamp” autographs would be all right. Just as horrified, Peggy yelled back, “No! Never!” She explained:
One of the incredible rumors that I’ve been fighting for months is the one that I have never yet autographed a single book—The Macmillan Company or I have merely used a rubber stamp. . . . People who had autographed copies got into frenzies when the rumor reached them and rushed to me to know the truth (though why in God’s name it should matter, I can’t understand). People who were dickering for autographed copies threw up the trade at the news and wrote or wired me to know the truth. Second hand book shops wanted my word of honor that I had honest to God autographed the volume they were trying to sell. I’ve had to say so often, with what patience I could muster, that I had never used a rubber stamp or a facsimile signature. . . . Yes, I know all of this sounds incredible but then this last year has been so full of incredibilities. . . .88
She told Lois, “When a stranger asks me for an autograph I feel just as if he (or she) had asked me for a pair of my step-ins and it makes me just as sore.” Yet, she expressed a concern for the public: “I realize that other people do not feel this way and they do not intend to be insulting and are just being as nice as they know how but my feeling only grows stronger. And this feeling is one of the reasons I never go anywhere except to my office or to the Library. I do not want to hurt people’s feelings but, on the other hand, I do not want to get furious forty times a day.”89
When they could not find Peggy, many people hounded John, her father, Stephens and his wife C
arrie Lou, and even Bessie, in attempts to get Peggy’s autograph. Peggy complained, “When I make a business appointment with someone they usually turn up staggering under a dozen copies which their friends have wished upon them, in the frank hope that the caller can ‘embarrass’ me into signing them. And oh, my God the pressure that’s brought to bear by charitable organizations wanting an autographed copy for raffling purposes!”90
Peggy, most likely, would have made some exceptions to this rule, but not John; he was steadfast enough for both of them. No better example of his determination to stand by his decision to refuse autographs can be found than the Wendell Willkie incident. As the president of the Commonwealth and Southern Corporation and an outspoken opponent of President Roosevelt’s New Deal, Willkie scheduled a staff meeting with the presidents of the southern power companies comprising the C & S Corporation. Among those who were to attend that meeting in Charleston, South Carolina, was P. S. Arkwright, president of the Georgia Power Company. Before the meeting, Willkie wrote Arkwright saying how much he enjoyed reading Gone With the Wind and requesting that he ask John to get Peggy to autograph his copy, which he had enclosed. Arkwright was to bring the autographed book to the meeting in Charleston. Astonished when John invoked his inviolable rule of no more autographs—for any one, no matter how prominent—Arkwright returned the book to Willkie in its pristine state, and what he and Willkie thought about that is not known.91
The last book Peggy autographed may have been the one sent to Mary Louise Nute, John’s cousin, in Kentucky. Shortly before Christmas 1936, John wrote her:
The book has been autographed and is being mailed along with this letter. And where did you get the notion that it wouldn’t be a pleasure to autograph your book? Peggy is glad to do it for the family and for good friends. It’s the great wide world which is about to run her raggetty.
Margaret Mitchell & John Marsh Page 46