Signed
Ernestine
Murphy.
Did you read in the N.Y Herald about—
“. . . Henry Carpenter, banker, and Willie Stevens, halfwit, . . . “
S
TO: Ernest Hemingway
Fall 1926
ALS, 2 pp. John F. Kennedy Library
Juan-les-Pins, France
We were in a back-house in Juan-les-Pins. Bill had lost controll of his splincter muscles. There were wet Matins in the rack beside the door. There were wet Eclairers de Nice in the rack over his head. When the King of Bulgaria came in Bill was just firing a burst that struck the old limeshit twenty feet down with a splat-tap. All the rest came just like that. The King of Bulgaria began to whirl round and round.
“The great thing in these affairs—” he said.
Soon he was whirling faster and faster. Then he was dead.
At this point in my letter my 30th birthday came and I got tight for a week in the company of such facinating gents as Mr. Theodore Rousseau + other ornaments of what is now a barren shore.
Ernest of little faith I hope the sale of The Killers1 will teach you to send every story either to Scribners or an agent. Can’t you get “Today is Friday” back? Your letter depressed and rather baffled me. Have you and Hadley permanently busted up, and was the nessessity of that what was on your soul this summer. Don’t answer this unless you feel like it. Anyhow I’m sorry everything’s such a mess and I do want to see you if you come to Marseitte in October.
We saw the Murphys before they left, got stewed with them (at their party)—that is we got stewed—and I believe there was some sort of mawkish reconciliation. However they’ve grown dim to me and I don’t like them much any more. Mclieshes too have grown shadowy—he’s so nice but she’s a club woman at heart and made a great lot of trouble in subtle ways this summer. We saw Marice the day she left + the huge Garoupe standing desolate, and her face, and the pathetic bales of chiclets for the Garoupe beach in her bedroom are the strongest impression I have left of a futile and petty summer. It might all have happened at Roslynn Long Island.
Swimmings almost over now. We have our tickets for America Dec. 10th on the Conte Biancamo—we’ll spend the winter in New York. Bishop was here with his unspeakably awful wife. He seems aenemic and washed out, a memory of the past so far as I’m concerned.
Im glad as hell about the story and I hope its the first of many. I feel too much at loose ends to write any more tonight. Remember—if I can give you any financial help let me know.
Always Your Friend
Scott—
I had a lot more to say but its 3.30 A.M. and Ive been working since 11 this morning and its very hazy. Have you read
Wonderful war books. Much better than Ford Maddox Ford. In fact the best thing I’ve read this summer. Met your cousin from Princeton!
TO: Ernest Hemingway
December 1926
ALS, 2 pp. John F. Kennedy Library
SS Conte Biancamano stationery—
mailed from Washington, D.C.
Dear Ernest =
Your letter depressed me—illogicly because I knew more or less what was coming. I wish I could have seen you + heard you, if you wished, give some sort of version of what happened to you. Anyhow I’m sorry for you and for Hadley + for Bumby1 and I hope some way you’ll all be content and things will not seem so hard and bad.
I can’t tell you how much your friendship has meant to me during this year and a half—it is the brightest thing in our trip to Europe for me. I will try to look out for your interests with Scribner in America, but I gather that the need of that is past now and that soon you’ll be financially more than on your feet.
I’m sorry you didn’t come to Marseille. I go back with my novel still unfinished and with less health + not much more money than when I came, but somehow content, for the moment, with motion and New York ahead and Zelda’s entire recovery—and happy about the amount of my book that I’ve already written.
I’m delighted with what press I’ve already seen of The Sun ect. Did not realize you had stolen it all from me but am prepared to believe that its true + shall tell everyone. By the way I liked it in print even better than in manuscript.
1st Printing was probably 5000. 2nd Printing may mean that they’ve sold 4,500 so have ordered up 3000 more. It may mean any sale from 2500 to 5000, tho.
College Humor pays fine. No movie in Sun Also unless book is big success of scandal. That’s just a guess.
We all enjoyed “la vie est beau avec Papa”. We agree with Bumby.
Always Yours Affectionately,
Scott
Write me care of Scribners.
TO: Harold Ober
January 2, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Montgomery, Alabama
I CAN FINISH NOVEL BY MAY FIRST BUT WOULD LIKE UNTIL JUNE FIRST IF POSSIBLE PLEASE CONSULT LIBERTY AND WIRE REPLY IMMEDIATELY CARE JUDGE SAYRE SIX PLEASANT AVENUE MONTGOMERY ALA HAPPY NEW YEAR.
SCOTT FITZGERALD
TO: Harold Ober
Received January 24, 1927
ALS, 1 p. Lilly Library
Ambassador Hotel stationery.
Los Angeles, California
Dear Ober:
Will see you in 3 weeks. Am here trying to write an original story for Constance Talmadge.1 Was only 12 hrs in New York. Expect to finish novel before April 1st.
As Ever
Scott Fitzg—
TO: Ernest Hemingway
April 18, 1927
ALS, 1 p. John F. Kennedy Library
“Ellerslie,” Edgemoor, Delaware
God! Those terrible Bromfields! I recognized the parsimonious dinner Dear Ernest:
Your stories were great (in April Scribner). But like me you must beware Conrad rythyms in direct quotation from characters especially if you’re pointing a single phrase + making a man live by it.
“In the fall the war was always there but we did not go to it any more”2 is one of the most beautiful prose sentences I’ve ever read.
So much has happened to me lately that I despair of ever assimilating it—or for forgetting it which is the same thing.
I hate to think of your being hard up. Please use this if it would help.3 The Atlantic will pay about $200, I suppose. I’ll get in touch with Perkins about it when he returns from vacation (1 wk.). Won’t they advance you all you need on the bk of stories? Your title is fine by the way. What chance of yr. crossing this summer?
TO: Harold Ober
September 1, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
ARTICLE ROTTEN WORKING ON A TWO PART SOPHISTICATED FOOTBALL STORY1 ASK POST IF IT IS FINISHED IN ONE WEEK WILL IT BE TOO LATE FOR SCHEDULE THIS FALL CAN YOU DEPOSIT FIVE HUNDRED.
SCOTT FITZGERALD.
TO: Harold Ober
September 9, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
STORY ALMOST FINISHED CALL YOU DEPOSIT FIVE HUNDRED.
FITZGERALD.
TO: Harold Ober
September 14, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
STORY FINISHED CAN YOU DEPOSIT FIVE HUNDRED MORE.
FITZGERALD
TO: Harold Ober
September 22, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
CAN YOU DEPOSIT 300 THIS MORNING SOMEWHAT URGENT WILL BE IN TO SEE YOU AT 215.
FITZGERALD.
TO: Harold Ober
September 30, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
WAS CALLED UNAVOIDABLE TO NEWYORK AND STOPPED OFF IN PRINCETON TWO DAYS TO WATCH FOOTBALL PRACTICE AND SEE IF I COULD GET A LITTLE LIFE INTO THAT WHICH IS THE WEAK PART OF MY STORY SO I JUST GOT YOUR TELEGRAM AND LETTER LAST NIGHT WORKING AS FAST AS I CAN BUT HATE IDEA OF SENDING PRT IS IT ESSENTIAL HOPE TO BE THROUGH MON OR TUES TERRIBLY SOR
RY
SCOTT FITZGERALD.
TO: Harold Ober
October 3, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
THE STORY IS JUST AN AWFUL MESS AND I CANT FINISH IT BY TOMMORROW FEEL TERRIBLY AT LETTING YOU AND POST DOWN ABOUT IT BUT ALSO FEEL THAT I HAVE DONE MY BEST PERHAPS I HAD BETTER TACKLE SOMETHING ELSE FOR IMMEDIATE PROFIT THAT IS DO A STORY THIS WEEK AND THEN RETURN TO THE FOOTBALL STORY WITH HOPES THAT THEY WILL BUY IT FOR PUBLICATION NEXT SEPTEMBER.
SCOTT FITZGERLA.
TO: Harold Ober
October 18, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
AM GOING TO TAKE ONE MORE DAY WILL BE UP TOMORROW INSTEAD CAN YOU STILL HAVE LUNCH WITH ME PLEASE FORGIVE ME.
SCOTT FITZGERALD.
TO: Harold Ober
October 27, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
CAN YOU DEPOSIT ONE HUNDRED EMERGENCY BRINGING NEW STORY MONDAY.
FITZGERALD.
TO: Ernest Hemingway
October 1927
ALS, 3 pp. John F. Kennedy Library
“Ellerslie”stationery. Edgemoor, Delaware
Dear Ernest:
Thousands will send you this clipping.1 I should think it would make you quite conscious of your public existence. Its well meant—he praised your book a few days before.
The book is fine. I like it quite as well as The Sun, which doesn’t begin to express my entheusiasm. In spite of all its geographical + emotional rambling its a unit, as much as Conrad’s books of Contes were. Zelda read it with facination, liking it better than anything you’ve written. Her favorite was Hills like White Elephants, mine, barring The Killers was Now I Lay Me. The one about the Indians was the only one that left me cold and I’m glad you left out Up in Michigan. They probably belong to an earlier + almost exhaused vein.
“In the fall the war was always there but we did not go to it anymore.” God, what a beautiful line. And the waking dreams in Now I Lay me and the whole mood of Hills Like.
Did you see the pre-review by that cocksucker Rascoe who obviously had read only three stories but wanted to be up to the minute?
Max says its almost exhausted 7500—however that was five days ago. I like your title—All the Sad Young Men Without Women—and I feel my influence is beginning to tell. Manuel Garcia is obviously Gatsby. What you havn’t learned from me you’ll get from Good Woman Bromfield and soon you’ll be Marching in the Van of the Younger Generation.
No work this summer but lots this fall. Hope to finish the novel by 1st December. Have got nervous as hell lately—purely physical but scared me somewhat—to the point of putting me on the wagon and smoking denicotinized cigarettes. Zelda is ballet dancing three times a week with the Phila symphony—painting also. I think you were wise not jumping at Hearsts offer. I had a contract with them that, as it turned out, did me unspeakable damage in one way or another. Long is a sentimental scavenger with no ghost of taste or individuality, not nearly so much as Lorimer for example. However, why not send your stories to Paul Reynolds? He’ll be glad to handle them + will get you good prices. The Post now pays me $3500.—this detail so you’ll be sure who’s writing this letter.
I can’t tell you how I miss you. May cross for 6 wks in March or April. The Grandmothers1 was respectable but undistinguished, and are you coming home. Best to Pauline.2 With good wishes + Affection Scott
TO: Harold Ober
November 9, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
CAN YOU DEPOSIT ONE HUNDRED STOP I WILL BE UP WITH THE STORY THURSDAY SURE AND PERHAPS WEDNESDAY.
SCOTT FITZGERALD.
TO: Harold Ober
November 12, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
CAN YOU DEPOSIT FOUR HUNDRED THIS MORNING THAT MAKES ALMOST TWO THOUSAND AND MY STORY HAS COLLAPSED BUT I HAVE ANOTHER ALMOST FINISHED AND WILL BRING IT UP MONDAY.
SCOTT FITZGERALD
TO: Harold Ober
November 18, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
CAN YOU DEPOSIT TWO HUNDRED TODAY COMING IN TOMORROW MORNING BUT WITHOUT STORY.
SCOTT FITZGERALD.
TO: Harold Ober
December 2, 1927
Wire. Lilly Library
Wilmington, Delaware
CAN YOU DEPOSIT TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY I WILL BE IN TOMORROW MORNING WITH FOOTBALL STORY WITHOUT FAIL.
FITZGERALD.
TO: Ring and Ellis Lardner
December 1927?
TL, 1 p. Scrapbook. Princeton University
“Ellerslie,” Edgemoor, Delaware
To the Ring Lardners1
You combed Third Avenue last year
For some small gift that was not too dear
—Like a candy cane or a worn out truss—
To give to a loving friend like us
You’d found gold eggs for such wealthy hicks
As the Edsell Fords and the Pittsburgh Fricks
The Andy Mellons, the Teddy Shonts
The Coleman T. and Pierre duPonts
But not one gift to brighten our hoem
—So I’m sending you back your God damn poem.
TO: Ernest Hemingway
December 1927
ALS, 4 pp. John F. Kennedy Library
Ellerslie
Edgemoor
Delaware
Dear Ernest:
Perkins send me the check for 800 bits (as we westerners say), indicating I hope, that you are now comfortably off in your own ascetic way. I am almost through my novel, got short and had to do three Post stories but as I am now their pet exhibit and go down on them to the tune of 32,000 bits per felony it didn’t take long to come to the surface.
(This tough talk is not really characteristic of me—its the influence of All the Sad Young Men Without Women in Love.) Louis Golding stepped off the boat + said you and I were the hope of American Letters (if you can find them) but aside from that things look black, “old pard”—Brommy1 is sweeping the west, Edna Ferber is sweeping the east and Paul Rosenfeld is sweeping what’s left into a large ornate wastebasket, a gift which any Real Man would like, to be published in November under the title: The Real Liesure Class, containing the work of one-story Balzacs and poets so thin-skinned as to be moved by everything to exactly the same degree of mild remarking.
Lately I’ve enjoyed Some People,2 Bismark (Ludwig’s), Him3 (in parts) and the Memoirs of Ludendorff. I have a new German war book, Die Krieg against Krieg, which shows men who mislaid their faces in Picardy and the Caucasus—you can imagine how I thumb it over, my mouth fairly slithering with facination.
If you write anything in the line of an “athletic” story please try the Post or let me try them for you, or Reynolds. You were wise not to tie up with Hearsts. They are absolute bitches who feed on contracts like vultures, if I may coin a neat simile.
I’ve tasted no alcohol for a month but Xmas is coming.
Please write me at length about your adventures—I hear you were seen running through Portugal in used B.V.Ds, chewing ground glass and collecting material for a story about Boule players; that you were publicity man for Lindberg; that you have finished a novel a hundred thousand words long consisting entirely of the word “balls” used in new groupings; that you have been naturalized a Spaniard, dress always in a wine-skin with “zipper” vent and are engaged in bootlegging Spanish Fly between St. Sebastian and Biaritz where your agents sprinkle it on the floor of the Casino. I hope I have been misformed but, alas! it all has too true a ring. For your own good I should be back there, with both of us trying to be good fellows at a terrible rate. Just before you pass out next time think of me.
This is a wowsy country but France is swehw and I hope to spend March and April, or April and May, there and elsewhere on the continent.
How are yo
u, physically and mentally? Do you sleep? Now I Lay Me was a fine story—you ought to write a companion piece, Now I Lay Her. Excuse my bawdiness but I’m oversexed and am having saltpetre put in my Pâté de Foie Gras au Truffles Provêncal.
Please write news. My best to Pauline—Zelda’s also to you both. God will forgive everybody—even Robert McAlmon and Burton Rascoe.
Always afftly
Scott
TO: Edmund Wilson
Early February 1928?
ALS, 2 pp. Yale University
“Ellerslie” stationery. Edgemoor, Delaware
Dear Bunny:
(Such a quaint nickname. It reminds me of a—oh, you know, a sort of a—oh, a rabbit, you know.)
All is prepared for February 25th. The stomach pumps are polished and set out in rows, stale old entheusiasms are being burnished with that zeal peculiar only to the Brittish Tommy. My God, how we felt when the long slaughter of Paschendale had begun. Why were the generals all so old? Why were The Fabian society discriminated against when positions on the general staff went to Dukes and sons of profiteers. Agitators were actually hooted at in Hyde Park and Anglican divines actually didn’t become humanitarian internationalists over night. What is Briton coming to—where is Milton, Cromwell, Oates, Monk? Where are Shaftsbury, Athelstane, Thomas a Becket, Margot Asquith, Iris March, Where are Blackstone, Touchstone, Clapham-Hopewellton, Stoke-Poges? Somewhere back at G.H.Q. handsome men with grey whiskers murmured “We will charge them with the cavalry” and meanwhile boys from Bovril and the black country sat shivering in the lagoons of Ypres writing memoirs for liberal novels about the war. What about the tanks? Why did not Douglas Haig or Sir John French (the big smarties) (Look what they did to General Mercer) invent tanks the day the war broke out, like Sir Phillip Gibbs the weeping baronet, did or would, had he thought of it.
This is just a sample of what you will get on the 25th of Feb. There will be small but select company, coals, blankets, “something for the inner man”.
Please don’t say you can’t come the 25th but would like to come the 29th. We never recieve people the 29th. It is the anniversary of the 2nd Council of Nicea when our Blessed Lord, our Blessed Lord, our Blessed Lord, our Blessed Lord——
A Life in Letters Page 17