Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda Read online

  My poor limbs have suffered another accident. Jumping off a sandbank tall as the moon—nearly—and landing in a pile of rocks almost makes me wish them amputated. Little boys are almost too strenuous for my old age. Darling Sweetheart, I’ll be so glad to see you again—

  Are you coming on the 20th, or had you rather wait till early June when I’ll be going to Georgia Tech commencement and can go as far as Atlanta with you on your way back? The family threatens to depart for Asheville, N.C.37 in July—Wouldn’t it be nice if you needed a rest about then and spent a week or two in the mountains with me? However, I cordially loathe consumptives and babies with heat, which constitu[t]e one’s circle of acquaintances there—

  Zelda in her costume for the “Folly Ball”—photo she sent to Scott. Courtesy of Princeton University Library

  I’ve tried so many times to think of a new way to say it—and its still I love you—love you—love you—my Sweetheart—

  25. TO SCOTT

  [May 1919]

  AL, 9 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  A beautiful golden kitty would be nice—but I wouldn’t swap my cat for two of ’em, and he would probably kill the new one—Besides, I lost my brush and mirror at Cobb’s Ford, and I’d love to have one with pink flowers around the edge. Just so you come, Darling—

  Mrs. Francesca—who never heard of you—got a message from Ouija38 for me. Nobody’s hands were on it but her’s—and it told us to be married—that we were soul mates. Theosophists think that two souls are incarnated to-gether—not necessarily at the same time, but are mated—since the time when people were bi-sexual, so you see “soul-mate” isn’t exactly Snappy-Storyish,39 after all. I can’t get messages, but it really moved for me last night—only it couldn’t say anything but “dead, dead”—so, of cource, I got scared and quit. It’s really most remarkable, even if you do scoff. I wish you wouldn’t, it’s so easy, and believing is much more intelligent.

  We are going to Asheville in July—definitely—but we’ll have some trouble over the “thirty moonlights”—I’m afraid some of the nights may be lacking the moon—But, Sweetheart, we’ll be to-gether a whole month,—and moons dont really matter, anyway. I think I’m going to bob my hair, and that may evoke a furor. I wish you’d tell me if you’ll like it—Everybody’s so discouraging—but think how good it’d feel in the water! I’ll probably look like Hell.

  “Red” said last night that I was the pinkest-whitest person he ever saw, so I went to sleep in his lap. Of cource, you dont mind because it was really very fraternal, and we were chaperoned by three girls—

  Darling Scott—please come—I love you with all of me—and I’ll be so very, very glad to see you—We’re going to repeat the Vaudeville on the 20th—maybe you’d like to see it—but we’re in the midst of terrible upheaval—The cast is being revised—and I dont think they’re going to let me sing—It’s funny, but I really do think I sing well—

  Look at this fist—It’s grown rusty and dreadfully spasmodic— Just translate it into what I’m always thinking—Sweetheart—

  26. TO SCOTT

  [Late May 1919]

  ALS, 8 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  One more afternoon as strenuous as this, and I’ll be [a] fit inmate for the morgue—Having seen the Vaudeville last night, Livye and I went again to-day to see the dance in the last act so we could put it on for the League show—We were discussing the costumes—very calmly and not one bit drunk or disorderly, when a howling hussy over the foot-lights stopped the orchestra, and demanded in her loudest voice whether “she was going to talk, or we were”—Of cource, the audience went into an uproar instantly, and pandemonium broke loose—After glaring at us for five minutes, she continued the song—to the best of her ability above the noise. The first three rows are already bought for to-morrow’s matinée— the boys are indignant, and I am expecting no less than a ten-round bout—Here’s the point to the joke: We really weren’t annoying a soul. May was back of us, and even she says she couldn’t hear us talking.

  She asked me to say she’d be in New York the end of this week, and that she’d call you up. All her beautiful hair came out when she had Flu, and she’s coming up to have it treated. It makes me sorter sick at heart to see her head. It used to be so pretty and curly.

  Joel Massie, too, is sending his utmost. He makes a desperate effort at ragging me—as if I could be teased—you’d probably like this now—lots of boys like Jo are back, and things seem more dignified.

  Toots is packing her truck—nearly—Cincinnati the first week in May—then New York—Please hurry—I want so much to come— and if that man feels that he must bust loose, for Lawd’s sake shield our timidity from his generosity—He evidently isn’t acquainted with my habits, or he’d realize that meals by lamp-light aren’t exactly breakfasts—

  I love you, Darling—and I’m waiting—

   Zelda

  Please—please—aren’t you ever going to learn that boys never appreciate things other men tell them on their girls? At least five men have suffered a bout behind the Baptist Church for no other offense than you are about to committ, only I was the lady concerned—in the dim past—Anyway, if she is good-looking, and you want to one bit—I know you could and love me just the same—

  27. TO ZELDA

  Wire. Scrapbook

  Newyork May 14–19

  Miss Lelda Sayre

    6 Pleasant Ave MONTGY ALA

  Arrive Montgomery eight thirty thursday night love

    Scott

  28. TO SCOTT

  [May 1919]

  AL, 8 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  Darling Scott, you don’t know how I miss your letters—This morning, I thought you’d written me such a nice fat one, and it was your story—I haven’t heard but once since you left—But I like the little tale40—“Clayton” has just been here with Keith’s and even the stage-setting was identical. He suffered a broken head and a hasty departure from here by shrieking, in answer to Mrs. Byar’s question “Is my daughter all right” that her daughter was three months all wrong. The town has been in a dreadful uproar. I think he’s fine, tho, cause he said I’d be in New York before October—It seems so far away, and I love you so—

  The sweater is perfectly delicious—and I’m going to save it till you come in June so you can tell me how nice I look. It’s funny, but I like being “pink and helpless”—When I know I seem that way, I feel terribly competent—and superior. I keep thinking, “Now those men think I’m purely decorative, and they’re just fools for not knowing better”— and I love being rather unfathomable. You are the only person on earth, Lover, who has ever known and loved all of me—Men love me cause I’m pretty—and they’re always afraid of mental wickedness—and men love me cause I’m clever, and they’re always afraid of my prettiness— One or two have even loved me cause I’m lovable, and then, of cource, I was acting. But you just do, darling—and I do—so very, very much—

  I think I’m beginning to realize the seriousness of us—Little things, like41 and small familiarities—I used to do them thoughtlessly—and now I can’t, because I love you, so I’ve quit Chummying. I’ll never learn the combination.42 Maybe I’m getting tired—I can’t think of anything but nights with you—I want them warm and silvery—when we can be to-gether all our lives—Which will probably be long, as I’ve recovered from the cough, much to my disgust. I don’t want you to see me growing old and ugly—I know you’ll be a beautiful old man—romantic and dreamy—and I’ll probably be most prosaic and wrinkled. We will just have to die when we’re thirty. I wish your name were Paul—or Jacquelyn. I’m going to name all our children that—and Peter—yours and mine—because we love each other—

  29. TO SCOTT

  [June 1919]

  AL, 4 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  No wonder I never hear from you—The New York post-office has been communicating wildly regarding two letters wit
h no postage. Circumstantial evidence against you—looks like wild nights and headachy mornings—I was scared you had forgotten me—It’s been so long since I had a letter. I’ve been seeking consolation in a perfectly delightful golf-tournament—Perry Adair and all the Atlanta celebrities were over, so of cource, I wouldn’t miss Tech commencement for a million. I’ll be in Atlanta till Wednesday, and I hope—I want you to so much—you’ll come down soon as I get back. Darling heart, I love you—It’s been so long since you left me—much more than the three weeks you promised—and sometimes I feel like I’ll die without you—But you’re coming—and please take me with you.

  Your pictures are ready—but I haven’t got any money, as usual, so I wish you’d send for ’em.

  I do—hope I get a letter to-morrow—and

  I do—love you with all my heart.

  30. TO SCOTT

  [June 1919]

  ALS, 6 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  Dearest Ole Dear—

  I’m back home again—and, as usual, had the most fun I ever had. God, Scott, if you waited till I got tired we’d certainly both be bachelors—Every time, it improves, and I’ll never feel grown. I absolutely despair of it. But if I wait much more I’d have to go in a wheel-chair and return in a hearse. This time the casualty list was unusually long—both eyes and a leg, a couple of tonsils and a suit-case full of clothes: all lost in action. And still I’m so mighty happy—It’s just sort of a “thankful” feeling—that I’m alive and that people are glad I am.

  There’s nothing to say—you know everything about me, and that’s mostly what I think about. I seem always curiously interested in myself, and it’s so much fun to stand off and look at me—

  But this:

  I know you’ve worried—and enjoyed doing it thoroughly—and I didn’t want you to because something always makes things the way they ought to be—Even this time—and its all right—Somehow, I rather hate to tell you that—I know its depriving you of an idea that horrifies and fascinates—you’re so morbidly exaggerative—Your mind dwells on things that don’t make people happy—I can’t explain, but its rather kin to the way kids 13 feel when everybody goes off and leaves them at home—if they aren’t scary, of cource. Sort of deliberately experimental and wiggly—

  In Tuscaloosa I saw Katherine Ellesberry’s baby. It’s darling and it’s gotten round. I’m so glad—I hate long children. I felt like I’d sorter like to have it.

  Scott, dear boy, I love you—and, thank Heavens, events can take a natural cource—

  Write me, please—

   Zelda

  31. TO SCOTT

  [June 1919]

  ALS, 5 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  Dearest Scott—

  I certainly appreciated your last letter. It must have been a desperate struggle to write it, but your efforts were not wasted on an unreceptive audience. Just the same, the only thing that carried me thru a muddy, rainy, boring Auburn commencement was the knowledge that I’d have a note, at least, from you when I got home—but I didn’t. I was so sure—because I left Wed. and you hadn’t written in a week—Not that letters make so much difference, and if you don’t want to write we’ll stop, but I love you so—and I hate being disappointed day after day.

  I’m glad you’re coming. Make it any time except the week of June 13. I’m going to Georgia Tech to try my hand in new fields—You might come on the 20th and stay till we go to North Carolina—or come before I go to Atlanta, only I’ll be mighty tired, and they always dance till breakfast.

  The picture in the hat is an awful bother—Tresslar won’t make less than three, and won’t send a fifteen-dollar bill to New York, so please remit, and I’ll send my beaming likeness when I get it—next week.

   Zelda—

  32. TO SCOTT

  [June 1919]

  ALS, 2 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  You asked me not to write—but I do want to explain—That note belonged with Perry Adair’s fraternity pin which I was returning. Hence, the sentimental tone. He has very thoughtfully contributed a letter to you to the general mix-up. It went to him, with his pin.43

  I’m so sorry, Scott, and if you want the pictures, I’ll mail them to you.

   Zelda

  33. TO SCOTT

  [October 1919]

  ALS, 8 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  Dearest Scott—

  Nov. 1—Columbus—sponsor Auburn-Ga. game THANKSGIVING—ATLANTA ditto AUBURN-TECH—

  So, you see, you’ll be down just about the right time. It’s awfully hard to do everything by a foot-ball schedule, but I’ve been making a frantic effort at it for the last month. Between the games and my piano-lessons I’ll probably be a mere shadow of the girl I once was by the time you come, but I guess you’ll recognize me. Anyway, in case of emergency, you can notify my parents at the same old Six Pleasant.

  I’m mighty glad you’re coming—I’ve been wanting to see you (which you probably knew) but I couldn’t ask you—and besides Mrs. McKinney has run me positively crazy planning weddings in her atrocious magnolia hall until I was almost wishing you’d never come anymore. It’s fine, and I’m tickled to death.

  And another thing:

  I’m just recovering from a wholesome amour with Auburn’s “starting quarter-back” so my disposition is excellent as well as my health. Mentally, you’ll find me dreadfully detiorated—but you never seemed to know when I was stupid and when I wasn’t, anyway—

  Please bring me a quart of gin—I haven’t had a drink all summer, and you’re already ruined along alcoholic lines with Mrs. Sayre. After you left, every corner the nigger started cleaning was occupied by a bottle (or bottles). Tootsie, of cource, is largely responsible—but it was just one of those incidents that cant be explained. She thought you drank at least 12 qts. in two days.

  ‘S funny, Scott, I don’t feel a bit shaky and “do-don’t” ish like I used to when you came. I really want to see you—that’s all—

   Zelda

  Beautiful color scheme—n’est-ce pas? [I’m a madamoiselle]44

  34. TO SCOTT

  [Fall 1919]

  AL, 8 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  I am very proud of you—I hate to say this, but I, don’t think I had much confidence in you at first—I was just coming anyway—It’s so nice to know that you really can do things—anything—and I love to feel that maybe I can help just a little—I want to so much—Don’t ask Mr. Hooker about me—I might try and be dreadful and then you’d be so ashamed of me—Why don’t you write the things? Lyrics sound easy—but you know best, of cource. I’m so damn glad I love you—I wouldn’t love any other man on earth—I b’lieve if I had deliberately decided on a sweetheart, he’d have been you—I thought that at first when we couldn’t find each other—Years ago, when you wouldn’t pretend, and I called you Don Juan—and you thought I was Eleanor—and discovered that I really wasn’t a thing on earth but your own true sweetheart—

  Don’t—please—accumulate a lot of furniture. Really, Scott, I’d just as soon live anywhere—and can’t we find a bed ready-made? Someday, you know we’ll want rugs and wicker furniture and a home—I’m terribly afraid it’ll just be in the way now. I wish New York were a little tiny town—so I could imagine how it’d be. I haven’t the remotest idea of what it’s like, so I am afraid to make any suggestions—What became of the apartment the men decorated? I liked that—I was picturing walls covered with huge orange and black fruit—and yellow ceilings—

  Mrs Hayden is bringing her daughter, Edwine, down Easter— Tilde and Tootsie have both visited them, and, of cource, we’re obligated—Toots is threatening to go with Mrs. DeFuniac to Michigan—She leaves Friday—If she does, I’ll have to stay and entertain Edwine—Then, when they leave, I could come North with them— That’s why I wanted you to write Mamma. You see, I can’t tell them why Tootsie just can’t go to Michigan—What must I do?

>   Craighead telegraphed he was coming from Gordon for the weekend. I’ll be glad to see him—There’re absolutely no males in this vicinity and, besides, I can tell him about you. I love talking of you— Darling—you’re all—everything in the world—I love you so—

  In case of, emergency—

   Here’s Tilde—

   520 W 124th St Apt. 51

  Lover—lover—I want you—always—

  35. TO SCOTT

  [Fall 1919]

  ALS, 9 pp.

  [Montgomery, Alabama]

  I’m writing on this beautiful paper which everybody thinks is so awful and which I hate to use for fear it’ll use up to thank you—so you know how much I like the “two little junks”—But I’m so distressed over not finding a place to put the picture in the case that I’m going to glue it somewhere even if it’s on the outside. Please don’t look so horrified. It’s a company case, anyway—The chain is just like a hat on a lady, shrieking “take me somewhere—take me somewhere,” and I do love to take it—You know how I like things that nobody around’s ever had, and the tassel on the other thing has elevated me to a most superior position.

  Yesterday I almost wrote a book or story, I hadn’t decided which, but after two pages on my heroine I discovered that I hadn’t even started her, and, since I couldn’t just write forever about a charmingly impossible creature, I began to despair. “Vamping Romeo” was the name, and I guess a man would have had to appear somewhere before the end. But there wasn’t any plot, so I thought I’d ask you how to decide what they’re going to do. Mamma answered my S.O.S. with one of O. Henry’s, verbatum, which I discarded because he never created people—just things to happen to the same old kind of folks and unexpected ends, and I like stories with all the ladies like Constance Talmadge and the men just sorter strong, silent characters or college boys—but I know I’m going to be rather fond of Margery See45 and maybe she’ll fire me with enough ambition to carry Romeo thru two more pages—And so you see, Scott, I’ll never be able to do anything because I’m much too lazy to care whether it’s done or not—and I don’t want to be famous and fêted—all I want is to be very young always and very irresponsible and to feel that my life is my own—to live and be happy and die in my own way—to please myself.