{"id":100657,"date":"2016-07-21T16:50:05","date_gmt":"2016-07-21T20:50:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=100657"},"modified":"2016-07-25T10:15:29","modified_gmt":"2016-07-25T14:15:29","slug":"zelda-a-worksheet","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/07\/21\/zelda-a-worksheet\/","title":{"rendered":"Zelda: A Worksheet"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"CoIdWGEW8AA0mwR\"<\/a><\/p>\n

In our Fall 1983 issue<\/a>,\u00a0<\/em>The Paris Review published twenty years\u2019 worth of Zelda Fitzgerald\u2019s letters to her husband, Scott. This selection comprises her correspondence between\u00a0the spring of 1919 and Easter Sunday, 1920, the day Zelda and Scott married. Zelda Fitzgerald was born this month in 1900. Note: Zelda was known for her quirks in punctuation (she was a particularly fond of the em dash), and these are retained in the text. As in the original printing,\u00a0asterisks denote substantial editorial deletions and ellipses are used to indicate minor omissions. Each letter is addressed to Scott Fitzgerald. \u2014C.L.<\/em><\/p>\n

Montgomery, 1919<\/b>
<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

Mrs. Francesca\u2014who never heard of you\u2014got a message from Ouija for me. Nobody\u2019s hands were on it\u2014but hers\u2014and it told us to be married\u2014that we were soul-mates. Theosophists think that two souls are incarnated together\u2014not necessarily at the same time, but are mated\u2014since the time when people were bisexual; so you see \u201csoul-mate\u201d isn\u2019t exactly snappy-stylish; after all: I can\u2019t get messages but it really worked for me last night\u2014only it couldn\u2019t say anything, but \u201cdead,\u201d\u2014so, of course I got scared and quit. It\u2019s really most remarkable, even if you do scoff. I wish you wouldn\u2019t, it\u2019s so easy, and believing is much more intelligent.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

There\u2019s no Christmas in the air\u2014and I\u2019m so distressed because I have a tremendous fondness for streets lined with fireworks and holly strands\u2014and loads of candles and big bundles. Nobody seems to care whether it\u2019s Christmas or Lincoln\u2019s birthday down here ***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

I hope I\u2019ll never get ambitious enough to try anything. It\u2019s so much<\/i> nicer to be damned sure I could<\/i> 6.0 it better than other people\u2014and I might not if I tried. That of course would break my heart\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** \u00a0To-day seems like Easter and I wish we were together walking slow thru the sunshine and the crowds from Church. Everything smells so good and warm and your ring shines so white in the sun\u2014like one of the church lilies with a little yellow dust on it. We ought to be together this Spring. It seems made for us to love in. You can\u2019t imagine what havoc the ting wrought\u2014a whole dance was completely upset last night. Everybody thinks it\u2019s lovely\u2014and I am so proud to be your girl\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

The Ohio troops have started a wild and heated correspondence with Montgomery damsels. From all I can gather, the whole 37th<\/span>\u00a0<\/sup><\/span>Division will be down in May. Then I guess the butterflies will flitter a trifle more. It seems dreadfully peculiar not to be worried over the prospects of the return of at least three or four fianc\u00e9es. ***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-
<\/span><\/p>\n

Our fairy tale is almost ended, and we\u2019re going to marry and live happily ever after just like the princess in her tower who worried you so much\u2014and made me so very cross by her constant recurrence. I\u2019m so sorry for all the times I\u2019ve been mean and hateful\u2014for all the miserable moments I\u2019ve caused you when we could have been so happy. You deserve so much\u2014so very much\u2014 \u2026 And I do<\/i> want to marry you\u2014even if you do think I \u201cdread\u201d it. I wish you hadn\u2019t said that\u2014I\u2019m not afraid of anything. To be afraid a person has either to be a coward or very great and big. I am neither. Besides, I know you can take much better care of me than I can, and I\u2019ll always be very, very happy with you\u2014except sometimes when we engage in our weekly debates\u2014and even then I rather enjoy myself. I like being very calm and masterful, while you become emotional and sulky. I don\u2019t care whether you think so or not\u2014I do.<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

Darling, I nearly sat it off in the Strand today and all because T.E. Lawrence of the Movies is your physical counter-part. So I was informed by half a dozen girls before I could slam on a hat and see for myself. He made me so homesick. I thought at first waiting would grow easier later\u2014but every day I need you more. All these soft, warm nights going to waste when I ought to be lying in your arms under the moon\u2014the dearest arms in all the world\u2014darling arms that I love so to feel around me. How much longer\u2014before they\u2019ll be there to stay? ***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** It\u2019s funny but I like being \u201cpink and helpless.\u201d When I know I seem that way, I feel terribly competent\u2014and superior. I keep thinking, \u201chow those men think I\u2019m purely decorative and they\u2019re just fools for not knowing better\u201d\u2014and 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\u2019m pretty\u2014and they\u2019re always afraid of mental wickedness\u2014and men love me cause I\u2019m clever and they\u2019re always afraid of my prettiness. One or two have even loved me cause I\u2019m loveable, and then, of course, I was acting. But you just do<\/i>, darling\u2014and I do<\/i>\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** I don\u2019t want you to see me growing old and ugly\u2014I know you\u2019ll be a beautiful old man-romantic and dreamy\u2014and I\u2019ll probably be most prosaic and wrinkled. We will just have<\/i> to die when we\u2019re thirty. ***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** It\u2019s awfully hard to do everything by a foot-ball schedule, but I\u2019ve been making a frantic effort at it for the last month. Between the games<\/i> and my piano lessons<\/i>, I\u2019ll probably be a mere shadow of the girl I once was by the time you come\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m just recovering from a wholesome amour with Auburn\u2019s \u201cstarting quarter-back\u201d so my disposition is excellent as well as my health. Mentally, you\u2019ll find me dreadfully deteriorated. But you never seem to know when I was stupid or when I wasn\u2019t anyway.<\/span><\/p>\n

Please bring me a quart of gin\u2014I haven\u2019t had a drink all summer and you\u2019re already ruined along alcoholic lines with Mrs. Sayre. After you left, every comer the nigger started cleaning was occupied by a bottle (or bottles). Tootsie<\/span>1<\/sup><\/span> of course, is largely responsible but it was just one of those incidents that just can\u2019t be explained. She thought you drank at least 12 qts. in two days\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** I\u2019m expending all my energy on gum\u2014I\u2019ve started a continuous chew again\u2014your disapproval used to put me on the wagon, but now I\u2019ve got the habit again\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** Don\u2019t please accumulate a lot of furniture. Really. Scott, I\u2019d just as soon live anywhere<\/i>. Can\u2019t we find a bed ready-made? Someday, you know we\u2019ll want rugs and wicker furniture and a home\u2014I\u2019m terribly afraid I\u2019ll just be in the way now\u2014I wish New York were a little tiny town. I haven\u2019t the remotest idea of what it\u2019s like\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

*** \u00a0 The map of New York might just as well be \u2026\u00a0China\u2014All I saw was the dot where we could live\u2014I couldn\u2019t help wondering over the fact that two rooms and bath took up the same space as Washington Square and Statue of Liberty\u2014Thank God I\u2019m marrying you and not New York\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve spent to-day in the grave-yard \u2026 It\u2019s all washed and covered with weepy, watery blue flowers that might have grown from dead eyes\u2014sticky to touch with a sickening odor. The boys wanted to get in to test my nerve to-night\u2014I wanted to\u00a0feel<\/i> \u201cWilliam Wreford, 1864.\u201d Why shouid graves make people feel in vain? \u2026 Somehow I can\u2019t find anything hopeless in having lived\u2014 \u2026 and in an hundred years I think I shall like having young people speculate on whether my eyes were brown or blue\u2014 \u2026 Isn\u2019t it funny how, out of a row of confederate soldiers two or three will make you think of dead lovers and dead loves\u2014 \u2026 Old death is so beautiful\u2014so very beautiful\u2014we will die together\u2014I know\u2014Sweetheart\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** How can you think deliberately of life without me. If you should die-oh. Darling darling Scott\u2014it\u2019d be like going blind \u2026 I\u2019d have no purpose in life\u2014just a pretty decoration. Don\u2019t you think I was made for you? I feel like you had me ordered, and I was delivered to you to be worn. I want you to wear me like a watch charm or a button hole bouquet. And then, when we\u2019re alone, I want to help-to know that you can\u2019t do anything without me\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

———-<\/span><\/p>\n

*** Look at this communication from Mamma\u2014all on account of a wine-stained dress\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

Zelda;
\u00a0 \u00a0 If you have added whiskey to your tobacco you can subtract your mother \u2026 If you prefer the habits of a prostitute don\u2019t try to mix them with gentility. OJ and water do not mix. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\u2014Darhng heart-I won\u2019t drink any<\/i> if you object. Sometimes I get so bored and sick for you. It helps then\u2014and afterwards, I\u2019m just more bored and sicker for you\u2014and ashamed\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n

*** I don\u2019t see how you can carry around as much love as I\u2019ve given you\u2014***<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In our Fall 1983 issue,\u00a0The Paris Review published twenty years\u2019 worth of Zelda Fitzgerald\u2019s letters to her husband, Scott. This selection comprises her correspondence between\u00a0the spring of 1919 and Easter Sunday, 1920, the day Zelda and Scott married. Zelda Fitzgerald was born this month in 1900. Note: Zelda was known for her quirks in punctuation […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1024,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1188],"tags":[10056,23436,3551,199,1442,5733,689,13385,1514,19907,2861,5374,182,2111,657,23437,124,112,13729,10057,5372,232,659,157,23438,75,23439,3290,23435],"class_list":["post-100657","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-from-the-archive","tag-1920s","tag-affection","tag-alabama","tag-biography","tag-christmas","tag-correspondence-2","tag-craft","tag-easter","tag-fairy-tale","tag-from-the-archive","tag-history","tag-jazz-age","tag-letters","tag-love","tag-marriage","tag-montgomery","tag-new-york","tag-novel","tag-novelists","tag-roaring-twenties","tag-scott-fitzgerald","tag-style","tag-the-great-gatsby","tag-writers","tag-writers-in-love","tag-writing","tag-writings","tag-zelda-fitzgerald","tag-zelda-fitzgerald-letters"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nZelda: A Worksheet<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"The letters of Zelda Fitzgerald.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/07\/21\/zelda-a-worksheet\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Zelda: A Worksheet by Zelda Fitzgerald\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"July 21, 2016 \u2013 In our Fall 1983 issue,\u00a0The Paris Review published twenty years\u2019 worth of Zelda Fitzgerald\u2019s letters to her husband, Scott. 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