SCARLETT sat in the window of her bedroom that midsummer morning and disconsolatelywatched the wagons3 and carriages full of girls, soldiers and chaperons ride gaily4 out Peachtreeroad in search of woodland decorations for the bazaar5 which was to be held that evening for thebenefit of the hospitals. The red road lay checkered6 in shade and sun glare beneath the over-arching trees and the many hooves kicked up little red clouds of dust. One wagon2, ahead of theothers, bore four stout7 negroes with axes to cut evergreens8 and drag down the vines, and the backof this wagon was piled high with napkin-covered hampers9, split-oak baskets of lunch and a dozenwatermelons. Two of the black bucks10 were equipped with banjo and harmonica and they wererendering a spirited version of “If You Want to Have a Good Time, Jine the Cavalry11.” Behind themstreamed the merry cavalcade12, girls cool in flowered cotton dresses, with light shawls, bonnets13 andmitts to protect their skins and little parasols held over their heads; elderly ladies placid14 andsmiling amid the laughter and carriage-to-carriage calls and jokes; convalescents from thehospitals wedged in between stout chaperons and slender girls who made great fuss and to-do overthem; officers on horseback idling at snail’s pace beside the carriages—wheels creaking, spursjingling, gold braid gleaming, parasols bobbing, fans swishing, negroes singing. Everybody wasriding out Peachtree road to gather greenery and have a picnic and melon cutting. Everybody,thought Scarlett, morosely17, except me.
They all waved and called to her as they went by and she tried to respond with a good grace, butit was difficult. A hard little pain had started in her heart and was traveling slowly up toward herthroat where it would become a lump and the lump would soon become tears. Everybody wasgoing to the picnic except her. And everybody was going to the bazaar and the ball tonight excepther. That is everybody except her and Pittypat and Melly and the other unfortunates in town whowere in mourning. But Melly and Pittypat did not seem to mind. It had not even occurred to themto want to go. It had occurred to Scarlett. And she did want to go, tremendously.
It simply wasn’t fair. She had worked twice as hard as any girl in town, getting things ready forthe bazaar. She had knitted socks and baby caps and afghans and mufflers and tatted yards of laceand painted china hair receivers and mustache cups. And she had embroidered18 half a dozen sofa-pillow cases with the Confederate flag on them. (The stars were a bit lopsided, to be sure, some ofthem being almost round and others having six or even seven points, but the effect was good.)Yesterday she had worked until she was worn out in the dusty old bam of an Armory19 drapingyellow and pink and green cheesecloth on the booths that lined the walls. Under the supervision20 ofthe Ladies’ Hospital Committee, this was plain hard work and no fun at all. It was never fun to bearound Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing and Mrs. Whiting and have them boss you like you wereone of the darkies. And have to listen to them brag21 about how popular their daughters were. And,worst of all, she had burned two blisters22 on her fingers helping23 Pittypat and Cookie make layercakes for raffling24.
And now, having worked like a field hand, she had to retire decorously when the fun was justbeginning. Oh, it wasn’t fair that she should have a dead husband and a baby yelling in the nextroom and be out of everything that was pleasant. Just a little over a year ago, she was dancing andwearing bright clothes instead of this dark mourning and was practically engaged to three boys.
She was only seventeen now and there was still a lot of dancing left in her feet. Oh, it wasn’t fair!
Life was going past her, down a hot shady summer road, life with gray uniforms and jingling15 spurs and flowered organdie dresses and banjos playing. She tried not to smile and wave too enthusiasticallyto the men she knew best, the ones she’d nursed in the hospital, but it was hard tosubdue her dimples, hard to look as though her heart were in the grave—when it wasn’t.
Her bowing and waving were abruptly25 halted when Pittypat entered the room, panting as usualfrom climbing the stairs, and jerked her away from the window unceremoniously.
“Have you lost your mind, honey, waving at men out of your bedroom window? I declare,Scarlett, I’m shocked! What would your mother say?”
“Well, they didn’t know it was my bedroom.”
“But they’d suspect it was your bedroom and that’s just as bad. Honey, you mustn’t do thingslike that Everybody will be talking about you and saying you are fast—and anyway, Mrs.
Merriwether knew it was your bedroom.”
“And I suppose she’ll tell all the boys, the old cat.”
“Honey, hush26! Dolly Merriwether’s my best friend.”
“Well, she’s a cat just the same—oh, I’m sorry, Auntie, don’t cry! I forgot it was my bedroomwindow. I won’t do it again—I—I just wanted to see them go by. I wish I was going.”
“Honey!”
“Well, I do. I’m so tired of sitting at home.”
“Scarlett, promise me you won’t say things like that. People would talk so. They’d say youdidn’t have the proper respect for poor Charlie—”
“Oh, Auntie, don’t cry!”
“Oh, now I’ve made you cry, too,” sobbed27 Pittypat, in a pleased way, fumbling28 in her skirtpocket for her handkerchief.
The hard little pain had at last reached Scarlett’s throat and she wailed29 out loud—not, as Pittypatthought, for poor Charlie but because the last sounds of the wheels and the laughter were dyingaway. Melanie rustled30 in from her room, a worried frown puckering31 her forehead, a brush in herhands, her usually tidy black hair, freed of its net, fluffing about her face in a mass of tiny curlsand waves.
“Darlings! What is the matter?”
“Charlie!” sobbed Pittypat, surrendering utterly32 to the pleasure of her grief and burying her headon Melly’s shoulder.
“Oh,” said Melly, her lip quivering at the mention of her brother’s name. “Be brave, dear. Don’tcry. Oh, Scarlett!”
Scarlett had thrown herself on the bed and was sobbing33 at the top of her voice, sobbing for herlost youth and the pleasures of youth that were denied her, sobbing with the indignation anddespair of a child who once could get anything she wanted by sobbing and now knows thatsobbing can no longer help her. She burrowed34 her head in the pillow and cried and kicked her feetat the tufted counterpane.
“I might as well be dead!” she sobbed passionately35. Before such an exhibition of grief, Pittypat’seasy tears ceased and Melly flew to the bedside to comfort her sister-in-law.
“Dear, don’t cry! Try to think how much Charlie loved you and let that comfort you! Try tothink of your darling baby.”
Indignation at being misunderstood mingled36 with Scarlett’s forlorn feeling of being out ofeverything and strangled all utterance37. That was fortunate, for if she could have spoken she wouldhave cried out truths coached in Gerald’s forthright39 words. Melanie patted her shoulder andPittypat tiptoed heavily about the room pulling down the shades.
“Don’t do that!” shouted Scarlett, raising a red and swollen40 face from the pillow. I’m not deadenough for you to pull down the shades—though I might as well be. Oh, do go away and leave mealone!”
She sank her face into the pillow again and, after a whispered conference, the two standing41 overher tiptoed out. She heard Melanie say to Pittypat in a low voice as they went down the stairs:
“Aunt Pitty, I wish you wouldn’t speak of Charles to her. You know how it always affects her.
Poor thing, she gets that queer look and I know she’s trying not to cry. We mustn’t make it harderfor her.”
Scarlett kicked the coverlet in impotent rage, trying to think of something bad enough to say.
“God’s nightgown!” she cried at last, and felt somewhat relieved. How could Melanie be contentto stay at home and never have any fun and wear crêpe for her brother when she was only eighteenyears old? Melanie did not seem to know, or care, that life was riding by with jingling spurs.
“But she’s such a stick,” thought Scarlett, pounding the pillow. “And she never was popular likeme, so she doesn’t miss the things I miss. And—and besides she’s got Ashley and I—I haven’t gotanybody!” And at this fresh woe42, she broke into renewed outcries.
She remained gloomily in her room until afternoon and then the sight of the returning picnickerswith wagons piled high with pine boughs43, vines and ferns did not cheer her. Everyone looked‘happily tired as they waved to her again and she returned their greetings drearily44. Life was ahopeless affair and certainly not worth living.
Deliverance came in the form she least expected when, during the after-dinner-nap period, Mrs.
Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing drove up. Startled at having callers at such an hour, Melanie, Scarlettand Aunt Pittypat roused themselves, hastily hooked their basques, smoothed their hair anddescended to the parlor45.
“Mrs. Bonnell’s children have the measles,” said Mrs. Merriwether abruptly, showing plainlythat she held Mrs. Bonnell personally responsible for permitting such a thing to happen.
“And the McLure girls have been called to Virginia,” said Mrs. Elsing in her die-away voice,fanning herself languidly as if neither this nor anything else mattered very much. “Dallas McLureis wounded.”
“How dreadful! chorused their hostesses. “Is poor Dallas—”
“No. Just through the shoulder,” said Mrs. Merriwether briskly. “But it couldn’t possibly have happened at a worse time. The girls are going North to bring him home. But, skies above, wehaven’t time to sit here talking. We must hurry back to the Armory and get the decorating done.
Pitty, we need you and Melly tonight to take Mrs. Bonnell’s and the McLure girls’ places.”
“Oh, but, Dolly, we can’t go.”
“Don’t say ‘can’t’ to me, Pittypat Hamilton,” said Mrs. Merriwether vigorously. “We need youto watch the darkies with the refreshments47. That was what Mrs. Bonnell was to do. And Melly, youmust take the McLure girls’ booth.”
“Oh, we just couldn’t—with poor Charlie dead only a—”
“I know how you feel but there isn’t any sacrifice too great for the Cause,” broke in Mrs. Elsingin a soft voice that settled matters.
“Oh, we’d love to help but—why can’t you get some sweet pretty girls to take the booths?”
Mrs. Merriwether snorted a trumpeting48 snort.
“I don’t know what’s the young people these days. They have sense of responsibility.Allthegirlswho(come) haven(over) ’talreadytakenboothshavemoreexcusesthan(no) you couldshake a stick at. Oh, they don’t fool me! They just don’t want to be hampered49 in making up to theofficers, that’s all. And they’re afraid their new dresses won’t show off behind booth counters. Iwish to goodness that blockade runner—what’s his name?”
“Captain Butler,” supplied Mrs. Elsing.
“I wish he’d bring in more hospital supplies and less hoop50 skirts and lace. If I’ve had to look atone51 dress today I’ve had to look at twenty dresses that he ran in. Captain Butler—I’m sick of thename. Now, Pitty, I haven’t time to argue. You must come. Everybody will understand. Nobodywill see you in the back room anyway, and Melly won’t be conspicuous52. The poor McLure girls’
booth is way down at the end and not very pretty so nobody will notice you.”
“I think we should go,” said Scarlett, trying to curb53 her eagerness and to keep her face earnestand simple. “It is the least we can do for the hospital.”
Neither of the visiting ladies had even mentioned her name, and they turned and looked sharplyat her. Even in their extremity54, they had not considered asking a widow of scarcely a year to appearat a social function. Scarlett bore their gaze with a wide-eyed childlike expression.
“I think we should go and help to make it a success, all of us. I think I should go in the boothwith Melly because—well, I think it would look better for us both to be there instead of just one.
Don’t you think so, Melly?”
“Well,” began Melly helplessly. The idea of appearing publicly at a social gathering55 while inmourning was so unheard of she was bewildered.
“Scarlett’s right,” said Mrs. Merriwether, observing signs of weakening. She rose and jerked herhoops into place. “Both of you—all of you must come. Now, Pitty, don’t start your excuses again.
Just think how much the hospital needs money for new beds and drugs. And I know Charlie wouldlike you to help the Cause he died for.”
“Well,” said Pittypat, helpless as always in the presence of a stronger personality, “if you think people will understand.”
“Too good to be true! Too good to be true!” said Scarlett’s joyful57 heart as she slippedunobtrusively into the pink-and yellow-draped booth that was to have been the McLure girls’.
Actually she was at a party! After a year’s seclusion58, after crêpe and hushed voices and nearlygoing crazy with boredom59, she was actually at a party, the biggest party Atlanta had ever seen. Andshe could see people and many lights and hear music and view for herself the lovely laces andfrocks and frills that the famous Captain Butler had run through the blockade on his last trip.
She sank down on one of the little stools behind the counter of the booth and looked up anddown the long hall which, until this afternoon, had been a bare and ugly drill room. How the ladiesmust have worked today to bring it to its present beauty. It looked lovely. Every candle andcandlestick in Atlanta must be in this hall tonight, she thought, silver ones with a dozen spranglingarms, china ones with charming figurines clustering their bases, old brass60 stands, erect61 anddignified, laden62 with candles of all sizes and colors, smelling fragrantly64 of bayberries, standing onthe gun racks that ran the length of the hall, on the long flower-decked tables, on booth counters,even on the sills of the open windows where, the draughts65 of warm summer air were just strongenough to make them flare66.
In the center of the hall the huge ugly lamp, hanging from the ceiling by rusty67 chains, wascompletely transformed by twining ivy68 and wild grapevines that were already withering69 from theheat. The walls were banked with pine branches that gave out a spicy70 smell, making the corners ofthe room into pretty bowers72 where the chaperons and old ladies would sit. Long graceful73 ropes ofivy and grapevine and smilax were hung everywhere, in looping festoons on the walls, drapedabove the windows, twined in scallops all over the brightly colored cheesecloth booths. Andeverywhere amid the greenery, on flags and bunting, blazed the bright stars of the Confederacy ontheir background of red and blue.
The raised platform for the musicians was especially artistic74. It was completely hidden fromview by the banked greenery and starry75 bunting and Scarlett knew that every potted and tubbedplant in town was there, coleus, geranium, hydrangea, oleander, elephant ear—even Mrs. Elsing’sfour treasured rubber plants, which were given posts of honor at the four corners.
At the other end of the hall from the platform, the ladies had eclipsed themselves. On this wallhung large pictures of President Davis and Georgia’s own “Little Alec” Stephens, Vice-Presidentof the Confederacy. Above them was an enormous flag and, beneath, on long tables was the loot ofthe gardens of the town, ferns, banks of roses, crimson76 and yellow and white, proud sheaths ofgolden gladioli, masses of varicolored nasturtiums, tall stiff hollyhocks rearing deep maroon77 andcreamy heads above the other flowers. Among them, candles burned serenely78 like altar fires. Thetwo faces looked down on the scene, two faces as different as could be possible in two men at thehelm of so momentous79 an undertaking80: Davis with the flat cheeks and cold eyes of an ascetic81, histhin proud lips set firmly; Stephens with dark burning eyes deep socketed82 in a face that had knownnothing but sickness and pain and had triumphed over them with humor and with fire—two facesthat were greatly loved.
The elderly ladies of the committee in whose hands rested the responsibility for the whole bazaar rustled in as importantly as full-rigged ships, hurried the belated young matrons andgiggling girls into their booths, and then swept through the doors into the back rooms where therefreshments were being laid out. Aunt Pitty panted out after them.
The musicians clambered upon their platform, black, grinning, their fat cheeks already shiningwith perspiration85, and began tuning86 their fiddles87 and sawing and whanging with their bows inanticipatory importance. Old Levi, Mrs. Merriwether’s coachman, who had led the orchestras forevery bazaar, ball and wedding since Atlanta was named Marthasville, rapped with his bow forattention. Few except the ladies who were conducting the bazaar had arrived yet, but all eyesturned toward him. Then the fiddles, bull fiddles, accordions88, banjos and knuckle-bones broke intoa slow rendition of “Lorena”—too slow for dancing, the dancing would come later when thebooths were emptied of their wares89. Scarlett felt her heart beat faster as the sweet melancholy90 ofthe waltz came to her:
“Theyearscreepslowlyby,Lorena!
Thesnow isonthegrassagain.
Thesun’sfardownthesky,Lorena .
...”
One-two-three, one-two-three, dip-sway—three, turn— two-three. What a beautiful waltz! Sheextended her hands slightly, closed her eyes and swayed with the sad haunting rhythm. There wassomething about the tragic91 melody and Lorena’s lost love that mingled with her own excitementand brought a lump into her throat.
Then, as if brought into being by the waltz music, sounds floated in from the shadowy moonlitstreet below, the trample92 of horses’ hooves and the sound of carriage wheels, laughter on the warmsweet air and the soft acrimony of negro voices raised in argument over hitching93 places for thehorses. There was confusion on the stairs and light-hearted merriment, the mingling94 of girls’ freshvoices with the bass95 notes of their escorts, airy cries of greeting and squeals96 of joy as girlsrecognized friends from whom they had parted only that afternoon.
Suddenly the hall burst into life. It was full of girls, girls who floated in butterfly bright dresses,hooped out enormously, lace pantalets peeping from beneath; round little white shoulders bare, andfaintest traces of soft little bosoms97 showing above lace flounces; lace shawls carelessly hangingfrom arms; fans spangled and painted, fans of swan’s-down and peacock feathers, dangling99 atwrists by tiny velvet100 ribbons; girls with masses of golden curls about their necks and fringed goldearbobs that tossed and danced with their dancing curls. Laces and silks and braid and ribbons, allblockade run, all the more precious and more proudly worn because of it, finery flaunted101 with anadded pride as an extra affront102 to the Yankees.
Not all the Sowers of the town were standing in tribute to the leaders of the Confederacy. Thesmallest, the most fragrant63 blossoms bedecked the girls. Tea roses tucked behind pink ears, capejessamine and bud roses in round little garlands over cascades103 of side curls, blossoms thrustdemurely into satin sashes, flowers that before the night was over would find their way into thebreast pockets of gray uniforms as treasured souvenirs.
There were so many uniforms in the crowd—so many uniforms on so many men whom Scarlettknew, men she had met on hospital cots, on the streets, at the drill ground. They were suchresplendent uniforms, brave with shining buttons and dazzling with twined gold braid on cuffs104 andcollars, the red and yellow and blue stripes on the trousers, for the different branches of the service,setting off the gray to perfection. Scarlet1 and gold sashes swung to and fro, sabers glittered andbanged against shining boots, spurs rattled105 and jingled106.
Such handsome men, thought Scarlett, with a swell107 of pride in her heart, as the men calledgreetings, waved to friends, bent108 low over the hands of elderly ladies. All of them were so younglooking, even with their sweeping109 yellow mustaches and full black and brown beards, so handsome,so reckless, with their arms in slings111, with head bandages startlingly white across sun-browned faces. Some of them were on crutches112 and how proud were the girls who solicitouslyslowed their steps to their escorts’ hopping114 pace! There was one gaudy115 splash of color among theuniforms that put the girls’ bright finery to shame and stood out in the crowd like a tropical bird—aLouisiana Zouave, with baggy116 blue and white striped pants, cream gaiters and tight little redjacket, a dark, grinning little monkey of a man, with his arm in a black silk sling110. He was MaybelleMerriwether’s especial beau, René Picard. The whole hospital must have turned out, at leasteverybody who could walk, and all the men on furlough and sick leave and all the railroad andmail service and hospital and commissary departments between here and Macon. How pleased theladies would be! The hospital should make a mint of money tonight.
There was a ruffle117 of drums from the street below, the tramp of feet, the admiring cries ofcoachmen. A bugle118 blared and a bass voice shouted the command to break ranks. In a moment, theHome Guard and the militia119 unit in their bright uniforms shook the narrow stairs and crowded intothe room, bowing, saluting120, shaking hands. There were boys in the Home Guard, proud to beplaying at war, promising121 themselves they would be in Virginia this time next year, if the warwould just last that long; old men with white beards, wishing they were younger, proud to march inuniform in the reflected glory of sons at the front In the militia, there were many middle-aged122 menand some older men but there was a fair sprinkling of men of military age who did not carrythemselves quite so jauntily123 as their elders or their juniors. Already people were beginning towhisper, asking why they were not with Lee.
How would they all get into the hall! It had seemed such a large place a few minutes before, andnow it was packed, warm with summer-night odors of sachet and cologne water and hair pomadeand burning bayberry candles, fragrant with flowers, faintly dusty as many feet trod the old drillfloors. The din16 and hubbub124 of voices made it almost impossible to hear anything and, as if feelingthe joy and excitement of the occasion, old Levi choked off “Lorena” in mid-bar, rapped sharplywith his bow and, sawing away for dear life, the orchestra burst into “Bonnie Blue Flag.”
A hundred voices took it up, sang it shouted it like a cheer. The Home Guard bugler125, climbingonto the platform, caught up with the music just as the chorus began, and the high silver notessoared out thrillingly above the massed singing, causing goose bumps to break out on bare armsand cold chills of deeply felt emotion to fly down spines126:
“Hurrah127!Hurrah!FortheSouthernRights,hurrah!
HurrahfortheBonnieBlueFlag Thatbearsasinglestar!”
They crashed into the second verse and Scarlett, singing with the rest, heard the high sweetsoprano of Melanie mounting behind her, clear and true and thrilling as the bugle notes. Turning,she saw that Melly was standing with her hands clasped to her breast her eyes closed, and tinytears oozing128 from the corners. She smiled at Scarlett, whimsically, as the music ended, making alittle moue of apology as she dabbed129 with her handkerchief.
“I’m so happy,” she whispered, “and so proud of the soldiers that I just can’t help crying aboutit.”
There was a deep, almost fanatic130 glow in her eyes that for a moment lit up her plain little faceand made it beautiful.
The same look was on the faces of all the women as the song ended, tears of pride on cheeks,pink or wrinkled, smiles on lips, a deep hot glow in eyes, as they turned to their men, sweetheart tolover, mother to son, wife to husband. They were all beautiful with the blinding beauty thattransfigures even the plainest woman when she is utterly protected and utterly loved and is givingback that love a thousandfold.
They loved their men, they believed in them, they trusted them to the last breaths of their bodies.
How could disaster ever come to women such as they when their stalwart gray line stood betweenthem and the Yankees? Had there ever been such men as these since the first dawn of the world, soheroic, so reckless, so gallant131, so tender? How could anything but overwhelming victory come to aCause as just and right as theirs? A Cause they loved as much as they loved their men, a Causethey served with their hands and their hearts, a Cause they talked about, thought about, dreamedabout—a Cause to which they would sacrifice these men if need be, and bear their loss as proudlyas the men bore their battle flags.
It was high tide of devotion and pride in their hearts, high tide of the Confederacy, for finalvictory was at hand. Stonewall Jackson’s triumphs in the Valley and the defeat of the Yankees inthe Seven Days’ Battle around Richmond showed that clearly. How could it be otherwise with suchleaders as Lee and Jackson? One more victory and the Yankees would be on their knees yelling forpeace and the men would be riding home and there would be kissing and laughter. One morevictory and the war was over!
Of course, there were empty chairs and babies who would never see their fathers’ faces andunmarked graves by lonely Virginia creeks132 and in the still mountains of Tennessee, but was thattoo great a price to pay for such a Cause? Silks for the ladies and tea and sugar were hard to get;but that was something to joke about. Besides, the dashing blockade runners were bringing in thesevery things under the Yankees’ disgruntled noses, and that made the possession of them manytimes more thrilling. Soon Raphael Semmes and the Confederate Navy would tend to those Yankeegunboats and the ports would be wide open. And England was coming in to help the Confederacywin the war, because the English mills were standing idle for want of Southern cotton. Andnaturally the British aristocracy sympathized with the Confederacy, as one aristocrat133 with another,against a race of dollar lovers like the Yankees.
So the women swished their silks and laughed and, looking on their men with hearts bursting with pride, they knew that love snatched in the face of danger and death was doubly sweet for thestrange excitement that went with it.
When first she looked at the crowd, Scarlett’s heart had thump-thumped with the unaccustomedexcitement of being at a party, but as she half-comprehendingly saw the high-hearted look on thefaces about her, her joy began to evaporate. Every woman present was blazing with an emotion shedid not feel. It bewildered and depressed134 her. Somehow, the hall did not seem so pretty nor thegirls so dashing, and the white heat of devotion to the Cause that was still shining on every faceseemed—why, it just seemed silly!
In a sudden flash of self-knowledge that made her mouth pop open with astonishment135, sherealized that she did not share with these women their fierce pride, their desire to sacrificethemselves and everything they had for the Cause. Before horror made her think: “No—no! Imustn’t think such things! They’re wrong—sinful,” she knew the Cause meant nothing at all to herand that she was bored with heating other people talk about it with that fanatic look in their eyes.
The Cause didn’t seem sacred to her. The war didn’t seem to be a holy affair, but a nuisance thatkilled men senselessly and cost money and made luxuries hard to get. She saw that she was tired ofthe endless knitting and the endless bandage rolling and lint136 picking that roughened the cuticle137 ofher nails. And oh, she was so tired of the hospital! Tired and bored and nauseated138 with thesickening gangrene smells and the endless moaning, frightened by the look that coming death gaveto sunken faces.
She looked furtively139 around her, as the treacherous140, blasphemous141 thoughts rushed through hermind, fearful that someone might find them written clearly upon her face. Oh, why couldn’t shefeel like those other women! They were whole hearted and sincere in their devotion to the Cause.
They really meant everything they said and did. And if anyone should ever suspect that she— No,no one must ever know! She must go on making a pretense142 of enthusiasm and pride in the Causewhich she could not feel, acting143 out her part of the widow of a Confederate officer who bears hergrief bravely, whose heart is in the grave, who feels that her husband’s death meant nothing if itaided the Cause to triumph.
Oh, why was she different, apart from these loving women? She could never love anything oranyone so selflessly as they did. What a lonely feeling it was—and she had never been lonelyeither in body or spirit before. At first she tried to stifle144 the thoughts, but the hard self-honesty thatlay at the base of her nature would not permit it And so, while the bazaar went on, while she andMelanie waited on the customers who came to their booth, her mind was busily working, trying tojustify herself to herself—a task which she seldom found difficult.
The other women were simply silly and hysterical145 with their talk of patriotism146 and the Cause,and the men were almost as bad with their talk of vital issues and States’ Rights. She, ScarlettO’Hara Hamilton, alone had good hard-headed Irish sense. She wasn’t going to make a fool out ofherself about the Cause, but neither was she going to make a fool out of herself by admitting hertrue feelings. She was hard-headed enough to be practical about the situation, and no one wouldever know how she felt How surprised the bazaar would be if they knew what she really wasthinking! How shocked if she suddenly climbed on the bandstand and declared that she thought thewar ought to stop, so everybody could go home and tend to their cotton and there could be partiesand beaux again and plenty of pale green dresses.
For a moment, her self-justification buoyed147 her up but still she looked about the hall withdistaste. The McLure girls’ booth was inconspicuous, as Mrs. Merriwether had said, and there werelong intervals148 when no one came to their corner and Scarlett had nothing to do but look enviouslyon the happy throng149. Melanie sensed her moodiness150 but, crediting it to longing151 for Charlie, did nottry to engage her in conversation. She busied herself arranging the articles in the booth in moreattractive display, while Scarlett sat and looked glumly152 around the room. Even the banked flowersbelow the pictures of Mr. Davis and Mr. Stephens displeased153 her.
“It looks like an altar,” she sniffed154. “And the way they all carry on about those two, they mightas well be the Father and the Son!” Then smitten155 with sudden fright at her irreverence156 she beganhastily to cross herself by way of apology but caught herself in time.
“Well, it’s true,” she argued with her conscience. “Everybody carries on like they were holy andthey aren’t anything but men, and mighty157 unattractive looking ones at that.”
Of course, Mr. Stephens couldn’t help how he looked for he had been an invalid158 all his life, butMr. Davis— She looked up at the cameo clean, proud face. It was his goatee that annoyed her themost. Men should either be clean shaven, mustached or wear full beards.
“That little wisp looks like it was just the best he could do,” she thought, not seeing in his facethe cold hard intelligence that was carrying the weight of a new nation.
No, she was not happy now, and at first she had been radiant with the pleasure of being in acrowd. Now just being present was not enough. She was at the bazaar but not a part of it. No onepaid her any attention and she was the only young unmarried woman present who did not have abeau. And all her life she had enjoyed the center of the stage. It wasn’t fair! She was seventeenyears old and her feet were patting the floor, wanting to skip and dance. She was seventeen yearsold and she had a husband lying at Oakland Cemetery159 and a baby in his cradle at Aunt Pittypat’sand everyone thought she should be content with her lot. She had a whiter bosom98 and a smallerwaist and a tinier foot than any girl present, but for all they mattered she might just as well be lyingbeside Charles with “Beloved Wife of” carved over her.
She wasn’t a girl who could dance and flirt160 and she wasn’t a wife who could sit with other wivesand criticize the dancing and flirting161 girls. And she wasn’t old enough to be a widow. Widowsshould be old—so terribly old they didn’t want to dance and flirt and be admired. Oh, it wasn’t fairthat she should have to sit here primly162 and be the acme163 of widowed dignity and propriety164 when shewas only seventeen. It wasn’t fair that she must keep her voice low and her eyes cast modestlydown, when men, attractive ones, too, came to their booth.
Every girl in Atlanta was three deep in men. Even the plainest girls were carrying on like belles—and, oh, worst of all, they were carrying on in such lovely, lovely dresses!
Here she sat like a crow with hot black taffeta to her wrists and buttoned up to her chin, with noteven a hint of lace or braid, not a jewel except Ellen’s onyx mourning brooch, watching tacky-looking girls hanging on the arms of good-looking men. All because Charles Hamilton had had themeasles. He didn’t even die in a fine glow of gallantry in battle, so she could brag about him.
Rebelliously she leaned her elbows on the counter and looked at the crowd, flouting166 Mammy’soft-repeated admonition against leaning on elbows and making them ugly and wrinkled. What did it matter if they did get ugly? She’d probably never get a chance to show them again. She lookedhungrily at the frocks floating by, butter-yellow watered silks with garlands of rosebuds167; pinksatins with eighteen flounces edged with tiny black velvet ribbons; baby blue taffeta, ten yards inthe skirt and foamy168 with cascading169 lace; exposed bosoms; seductive flowers. MaybelleMerriwether went toward the next booth on the arm of the Zouave, in an apple-green tarlatan sowide that it reduced her waist to nothingness. It Was showered and flounced with cream-coloredChantilly lace that had come from Charleston on the last blockader, and Maybelle was flaunting170 itas saucily171 as if she and not the famous Captain Butler had run the blockade.
“How sweet I’d look in that dress,” thought Scarlett, a savage172 envy in her heart. “Her waist is asbig as a cow’s. That green is just my color and it would make my eyes look— Why will blondestry to wear that color? Her skin looks as green as an old cheese. And to think I’ll never wear thatcolor again, not even when I do get out of mourning. No, not even if I do manage to get marriedagain. Then I’ll have to wear tacky old grays and tans and lilacs.”
For a brief moment she considered the unfairness of it all. How short was the time for fun, forpretty clothes, for dancing, for coquetting! Only a few, too few years! Then you married and woredull-colored dresses and had babies that ruined your waist line and sat in corners at dances withother sober matrons and only emerged to dance with your husband or with old gentlemen whostepped on your feet. If you didn’t do these things, the other matrons talked about you and thenyour reputation was ruined and your family disgraced. It seemed such a terrible waste to spend allyour little girlhood learning how to be attractive and how to catch men and then only use theknowledge for a year or two. When she considered her training at the hands of Ellen and Mammy,she knew it had been thorough and good because it had always reaped results. There were set rulesto be followed, and if you followed them success crowned your efforts.
With old ladies you were sweet and guileless and appeared as simple minded as possible, for oldladies were sharp and they watched girls as jealously as cats, ready to pounce173 on any indiscretionof tongue or eye. With old gentlemen, a girl was pert and saucy174 and almost, but not quite,flirtatious, so that the old fools’ vanities would be tickled175. It made them feel devilish and youngand they pinched your cheek and declared you Were a minx. And, of course, you always blushedon such occasions, otherwise they would pinch you with more pleasure than was proper and thentell their sons that you were fast.
With young girls and young married women, you slopped over with sugar and kissed them everytime you met them, even if it was ten times a day. And you put your arms about their waists andsuffered them to do the same to you, no matter how much you disliked it You admired their frocksor their babies indiscriminately and teased about beaux and complimented husbands and giggledmodestly and denied that you had any charms at all compared with theirs. And, above all, younever said what you really thought about anything, any more than they said what they reallythought.
Other women’s husbands you let severely177 alone, even if they were your own discarded beaux,and no matter how temptingly attractive they were. If you were too nice to young husbands, theirwives said you were fast and you got a bad reputation and never caught any beaux of your own.
But with young bachelors—ah, that was a different matter! You could laugh softly at them and when they came flying to see why you laughed, you could refuse to tell them and laugh harder andkeep them around indefinitely trying to find out. You could promise, with your eyes, any numberof exciting things that would make a man maneuver178 to get you alone. And, having gotten youalone, you could be very, very hurt or very, very angry when he tried to kiss you. You could makehim apologize for being a cur and forgive him so sweetly that he would hang around trying to kissyou a second time. Sometimes, but not often, you did let him kiss you. (Ellen and Mammy had nottaught her that but she learned it was effective.) Then you cried and declared you didn’t know whathad come over you and that he couldn’t ever respect you again. Then he had to dry your eyes andusually he proposed, to show just how much he did respect you. And then there were— Oh, therewere so many things to do to bachelors and she knew them all, the nuance179 of the sidelong glance,the half-smile behind the fan, the swaying of the hips83 so that skirts swung like a bell, the tears, thelaughter, the flattery, the sweet sympathy. Oh, all the tricks that never failed to work—except withAshley.
No, it didn’t seem right to learn all these smart tricks, use them so briefly180 and then put themaway forever. How wonderful it would be never to marry but to go on being lovely in pale greendresses and forever courted by handsome men. But, if you went on too long, you got to be an oldmaid like India Wilkes and everyone said “poor thing” in that smug hateful way. No, after all itwas better to marry and keep your self-respect even if you never had any more fun.
Oh, what a mess life was! Why had she been such an idiot as to marry Charles of all people andhave her life end at sixteen?
Her indignant and hopeless reverie was broken when the crowd began pushing back against thewalls, the ladies carefully holding their hoops56 so that no careless contact should turn them upagainst their bodies and show more pantalets than was proper. Scarlett tiptoed above the crowd andsaw the captain of the militia mounting the orchestra platform. He shouted orders and half of theCompany fell into line. For a few minutes they went through a brisk drill that brought perspirationto their foreheads and cheers and applause from the audience. Scarlett clapped her hands dutifullywith the rest and, as the soldiers pushed forward toward the punch and lemonade booths after theywere dismissed, she turned to Melanie, feeling that she had better begin her deception181 about theCause as soon as possible.
“They looked fine, didn’t they?” she said.
Melanie was fussing about with the knitted things on the counter.
“Most of them would look a lot finer in gray uniforms and in Virginia,” she said, and she did nottrouble to lower her voice.
Several of the proud mothers of members of the militia were standing close by and overheardthe remark. Mrs. Guinan turned scarlet and then white, for her twenty-five-year-old Willie was inthe company.
Scarlett was aghast at such words coming from Melly of all people.
“Why, Melly!”
“You know it’s true, Scarlet. I don’t mean the little boys and the old gentlemen. But a lot of themilitia are perfectly182 able to tote a rifle and that’s what they ought to be doing this minute.”
“But—but—” began Scarlett, who had never considered the matter before. “Somebody’s got tostay home to—” What was it Willie Guinan had told her by way of excusing his presence inAtlanta? “Somebody’s got to stay home to protect the state from invasion.”
“Nobody’s invading us and nobody’s going to,” said Melly coolly, looking toward a group of themilitia. “And the best way to keep out invaders183 is to go to Virginia and beat the Yankees there. Andas for all this talk about the militia staying here to keep the darkies from rising—why, it’s thesilliest thing I ever heard of. Why should our people rise? It’s just a good excuse for cowards. I’llbet we could lick the Yankees in a month if all the militia of all the states went to Virginia. Sothere!”
“Why, Melly!” cried Scarlett again, staring.
Melly’s soft dark eyes were flashing angrily. “My husband wasn’t afraid to go and neither wasyours. And I’d rather they’d both be dead than here at home— Oh, darling, I’m sorry. Howthoughtless and cruel of me!”
She stroked Scarlett’s arm appealingly and Scarlett stared at her. But it was not of dead Charlesshe was thinking. It was of Ashley. Suppose he too were to die? She turned quickly and smiledautomatically as Dr. Meade walked up to their booth.
“Well, girls,” he greeted them, “it was nice of you to come. I know what a sacrifice it must havebeen for you to come out tonight. But it’s all for the Cause. And I’m going to tell you a secret. I’vea surprise way for making some more money tonight for the hospital, but I’m afraid some of theladies are going to be shocked about it.”
He stopped and chuckled184 as he tugged185 at his gray goatee.
“Oh, what? Do tell!”
“On second thought I believe I’ll keep you guessing, too. But you girls must stand up for me ifthe church members want to run me out of town for doing it. However, it’s for the hospital You’llsee. Nothing like this has ever been done before.”
He went off pompously186 toward a group of chaperons in one corner, and just as the two girls hadturned to each other to discuss the possibilities of the secret, two old gentlemen bore down on thebooth, declaring in loud voices that they wanted ten miles of tatting. Well, after all, old gentlemenwere better than no gentlemen at all, thought Scarlett, measuring out the tatting and submittingdemurely to being chucked under the chin. The old blades charged off toward the lemonade boothand others took their places at the counter. Their booth did not have so many customers as did theother booths where the tootling laugh of Maybelle Merriwether sounded and Fanny Elsing’sgiggles and the Whiting girls’ repartee187 made merriment. Melly sold useless stuff to men who couldhave no possible use for it as quietly and serenely as a shopkeeper, and Scarlett patterned herconduct on Melly’s.
There were crowds in front of every other counter but theirs, girls chattering188, men buying. Thefew who came to them talked about how they went to the university with Ashley and what a finesoldier he was or spoke38 in respectful tones of Charles and how great a loss to Atlanta his death hadbeen.
Then the music broke into the rollicking strains of “Johnny Booker, he’p dis Nigger!” andScarlett thought she would scream. She wanted to dance. She wanted to dance. She looked acrossthe floor and tapped her foot to the music and her green eyes blazed so eagerly that they fairlysnapped. All the way across the floor, a man, newly come and standing in the doorway189, saw them,started in recognition and watched closely the slanting190 eyes in the sulky, rebellious165 face. Then hegrinned to himself as he recognized the invitation that any male could read.
He was dressed in black broadcloth, a tall man, towering over the officers who stood near him,bulky in the shoulders but tapering191 to a small waist and absurdly small feet in varnished192 boots. Hissevere black suit, with fine ruffled193 shirt and trousers smartly strapped194 beneath high insteps, wasoddly at variance195 with his physique and face, for he was foppishly groomed196, the clothes of a dandyon a body that was powerful and latently dangerous in its lazy grace. His hair was jet black, and hisblack mustache was small and closely clipped, almost foreign looking compared with the dashing,swooping mustaches of the cavalrymen by. He looked, and was, man of lusty and unashamedappetites.Hehadanairofutteras(near) surance,ofdispleasinginsole(a) nce about him, andthere was a twinkle of malice197 in his bold eyes as he stared at Scarlett, until finally, feeling his gaze,she looked toward him.
Somewhere in her mind, the bell of recognition rang, but for the moment she could not recallwho he was. But he was the first man in months who had displayed an interest in her, and shethrew him a gay smile. She made a little curtsy as he bowed, and then, as he straightened andstarted toward her with a peculiarly lithe198 Indian-like gait, her hand went to her mouth in horror, forshe knew who he was.
Thunderstruck, she stood as if paralyzed while he made his way through the crowd. Then sheturned blindly, bent on flight into the refreshment46 rooms, but her skirt caught on a nail of thebooth. She jerked furiously at it, tearing it and, in an instant, he was beside her.
“Permit me,” he Said bending over and disentangling the flounce. “I hardly hoped that youwould recall me, Miss O’Hara.”
His voice was oddly pleasant to the ear, the well-modulated voice of a gentleman, resonant199 andoverlaid with the flat slow drawl of the Charlestonian.
She looked up at him imploringly200, her face crimson with the shame of their last meeting, andmet two of the blackest eyes she had ever seen, dancing in merciless merriment. Of all the peoplein the world to turn up here, this terrible person who had witnessed that scene with Ashley whichstill gave her nightmares; this odious201 wretch202 who ruined girls and was not received by nice people;this despicable man who had said, and with good cause, that she was not a lady.
At the sound of his voice, Melanie turned and for the first time in her life Scarlett thanked Godfor the existence of her sister-in-law.
“Why—it’s—it’s Mr. Rhett Butler, isn’t it?” said Melanie with a little smile, putting out herhand. I met you—”
“On the happy occasion of the announcement of your betrothal,” he finished, bending over herhand. “It is kind of you to recall me.”
“And what are you doing so far from Charleston, Mr. Butler?”
“A boring matter of business, Mrs. Wilkes. I will be in and out of your town from now on. I findI must not only bring in goods but see to the disposal of them.”
“Bring in—” began Melly, her brow wrinkling, and then she broke into a delighted smile. “Why,you—you must be the famous Captain Butler we’ve been hearing so much about—the blockaderunner. Why, every girl here is wearing dresses you brought in. Scarlett, aren’t you thrilled—what’s the matter, dear? Are you faint? Do sit down.”
Scarlett sank to the stool, her breath coming so rapidly she feared the lacings of her stays wouldburst. Oh, what a terrible thing to happen! She had never thought to meet this man again. Hepicked up her black fan from the counter and began fanning her solicitously113, too solicitously, hisface grave but his eyes still dancing.
“It is quite warm in here,” he said. “No wonder Miss O’Hara is faint. May I lead you to awindow?”
“No,” said Scarlett, so rudely that Melly stared.
“She is not Miss O’Hara any longer,” said Melly. “She is Mrs. Hamilton. She is my sister now,”
and Melly bestowed203 one of her fond little glances on her. Scarlett felt that she would strangle at theexpression on Captain Butler’s swarthy piratical face.
“I am sure that is a great gain to two charming ladies,” said he, making a slight bow. That wasthe kind of remark all men made, but when he said it it seemed to her that he meant just theopposite.
“Your husbands are here tonight, I trust, on this happy occasion? It would be a pleasure to renewacquaintances.”
“My husband is in Virginia,” said Melly with a proud lift of her head. “But Charles—” Hervoice broke.
“He died in camp,” said Scarlett flatly. She almost snapped the words. Would this creature nevergo away? Melly looked at her, startled, and the Captain made a gesture of self-reproach.
“My dear ladies—how could I! You must forgive me. But permit a stranger to offer the comfortof saying that to die for one’s country is to live forever.”
Melanie smiled at him through sparkling tears while Scarlett felt the fox of wrath204 and impotenthate gnaw205 at her vitals. Again he had made a graceful remark, the kind of compliment anygentleman would pay under such circumstances, but he did not mean a word of it. He was jeeringat her. He knew she hadn’t loved Charles. And Melly was just a big enough fool not to see throughhim. Oh, please God, don’t let anybody else see through him, she thought with a start of terror.
Would he tell what he knew? Of course he wasn’t a gentleman and there was no telling what menwould do when they weren’t gentlemen. There was no standard to judge them by. She looked up athim and saw that his mouth was pulled down at the corners in mock sympathy, even while heswished the fan. Something in his look challenged her spirit and brought her strength back in asurge of dislike. Abruptly she snatched the fan from his hand.
“I’m quite all right,” she said tartly206. “There’s no need to blow my hair out of place.”
“Scarlett, darling! Captain Butler, you must forgive her. She—she isn’t herself when she hears poor Charlie’s name spoken—and perhaps, after all, we shouldn’t have come here tonight. We’restill in mourning, you see, and it’s quite a strain on her—all this gaiety and music, poor child.”
“I quite understand,” he said with elaborate gravity, but as he turned and gave Melanie asearching look that went to the bottom of her sweet worried eyes, his expression changed, reluctantrespect and gentleness coming over his dark face. “I think you’re a courageous208 little lady, Mrs.
Wilkes.”
“Not a word about me!” thought Scarlett indignantly, as Melly smiled in confusion andanswered,“Dear me, no, Captain Butler! The hospital committee just had to have us for this booth becauseat the last minute— A pillow case? Here’s a lovely one with a flag on it.”
She turned to three cavalrymen who appeared at her counter. For a moment, Melanie thoughthow nice Captain Butler was. Then she wished that something more substantial than cheeseclothwas between her skirt and the spittoon that stood just outside the booth, for the aim of thehorsemen with amber84 streams of tobacco juice was not so unerring as with their long horse pistols.
Then she forgot about the Captain, Scarlett and the spittoons as more customers crowded to her.
Scarlett sat quietly on the stool fanning herself, not daring to look up, wishing Captain Butlerback on the deck of his ship where he belonged.
“Your husband has been dead long?”
“Oh, yes, a long time. Almost a year.”
Scarlett was not sure what an aeon was, but there was no mistaking the baiting quality of hisvoice, so she said nothing.
“Had you been married long? Forgive my questions but I have been away from this section forso long.”
“Two months,” said Scarlett, unwillingly210.
“A tragedy, no less,” his easy voice continued.
Oh, damn him, she thought violently. If he was any other man in the world I could simply freezeup and order’ him off. But he knows about Ashley and he knows I didn’t love Charlie. And myhands are tied. She said nothing, still looking down at her fan.
“And this is your first social appearance?”
“I know it looks quite odd,” she explained rapidly. “But the McLure girls who were to take thisbooth were called away and there was no one else, so Melanie and I—”
“No sacrifice is too great for the Cause.”
Why, that was what Mrs. Elsing had said, but when she said it it didn’t sound the same way. Hotwords started to her lips but she choked them back. After all, she was here, not for the Cause, butbecause she was tired of sitting home.
“I have always thought,” he said reflectively, “that the system of mourning, of immuring211 women in crêpe for the rest of their lives and forbidding them normal enjoyment212 is just as barbarous as theHindu suttee.”
“Settee?”
He laughed and she blushed for her ignorance. She hated people who used words unknown toher.
“In India, when a man dies he is burned, instead of buried, and his wife always climbs on thefuneral pyre and is burned with him.”
“How dreadful! Why do they do it? Don’t the police do anything about it?”
“Of course not. A wife who didn’t burn herself would be a social outcast. All the worthy213 Hindumatrons would talk about her for not behaving as a well-bred lady should—precisely as thoseworthy matrons in the corner would talk about you, should you appear tonight in a red dress andlead a reel. Personally, I think suttee much more merciful than our charming Southern custom ofburying widows alive!”
“How dare you say I’m buried alive!”
“How closely women clutch the very chains that bind214 them! You think the Hindu custombarbarous—but would you have had the courage to appear here tonight if the Confederacy hadn’tneeded you?”
Arguments of this character were always confusing to Scarlett. His were doubly confusingbecause she had a vague idea there was truth in them. But now was the time to squelch215 him.
“Of course, I wouldn’t have come. It would have been—well, disrespectful to—it would haveseemed as if I hadn’t lov—”
His eyes waited on her words, cynical216 amusement in them, and she could not go on. He knewshe hadn’t loved Charlie and he wouldn’t let her pretend to the nice polite sentiments that sheshould express. What a terrible, terrible thing it was to have to do with a man who wasn’t agentleman. A gentleman always appeared to believe a lady even when he knew she was lying. Thatwas Southern chivalry217. A gentleman always obeyed the rules and said the correct things and madelife easier for a lady. But this man seemed not to care for rules and evidently enjoyed talking ofthings no one ever talked about.
“I am waiting breathlessly.”
“I think you are horrid,” she said, helplessly, dropping her eyes.
He leaned down across the counter until his mouth was near her ear and hissed218, in a verycreditable imitation of the stage villains219 who appeared infrequently at the Athenaeum Hall: “Fearnot, fair lady! Your guilty secret is safe with me!”
“Oh,” she whispered, feverishly220, “how can you say such things!”
“I only thought to ease your mind. What would you have me say? ‘Be mine, beautiful female, orI will reveal all?’ ”
She met his eyes unwillingly and saw they were as teasing as a small boy’s. Suddenly she laughed. It was such a silly situation, after all. He laughed too, and so loudly that several of thechaperons in the corner looked their way. Observing how good a time Charles Hamilton’s widowappeared to be having with a perfect stranger, they put their heads together disapprovingly221.
There was a roll of drums and many voices cried “Sh!” as Dr. Meade mounted the platform andspread out his arms for quiet.
“We must all give grateful thanks to the charming ladies whose indefatigable222 and patrioticefforts have made this bazaar not only a pecuniary223 success,” he began, “but have transformed thisrough hall into a bower71 of loveliness, a fit garden for the charming rosebuds I see about me.”
Everyone clapped approvingly.
“The ladies have given their best, not only of their time but of the labor207 of their hands, and thesebeautiful objects in the booths are doubly beautiful, made as they are by the fair hands of ourcharming Southern women.”
There were more shouts of approval, and Rhett Butler who had been lounging negligentlyagainst the counter at Scarlett’s side whispered: “Pompous goat, isn’t he?”
Startled, at first horrified224, at this lese majesty225 toward Atlanta’s most beloved citizen, she staredreprovingly at him. But the doctor did look like a goat with his gray chin whiskers wagging awayat a great rate, and with difficulty she stifled226 a giggle176.
“But these things are not enough. The good ladies of the hospital committee, whose cool handshave soothed227 many a suffering brow and brought back from the jaws228 of death our brave menwounded in the bravest of all Causes, know our needs. I will not enumerate229 them. We must havemore money to buy medical supplies from England, and we have with us tonight the intrepidcaptain who has so successfully run the blockade for a year and who will run it again to bring usthe drugs we need. Captain Rhett Butler!”
Though caught unawares, the blockader made a graceful bow—too graceful, thought Scarlett,trying to analyze230 it. It was almost as if he overdid231 his courtesy because his contempt for everybodypresent was so great. There was a loud burst of applause as he bowed and a craning of necks fromthe ladies in the corner. So that was who poor Charles Hamilton’s widow was carrying on with!
And Charlie hardly dead a year!
“We need more gold and I am asking you. for it” the doctor continued. “I am asking a sacrificebut a sacrifice so small compared with the sacrifices our gallant men in gray are making that it willseem laughably small. Ladies, I want your jewelry232. I want your jewelry? No, the Confederacywants your jewelry, the Confederacy calls for it and I know no one will hold back. How fair a gemgleams on a lovely wrist! How beautifully gold brooches glitter on the bosoms of our patrioticwomen! But how much more beautiful is sacrifice than all the gold and gems233 of the Ind. The goldwill be melted and the stones sold and the money used to buy drugs and other medical supplies.
Ladies, there will pass among you two of our gallant wounded, with baskets and—” But the rest ofhis speech was lost in the storm and tumult234 of clapping hands and cheering voices.
Scarlett’s first thought was one of deep thankfulness that mourning forbade her wearing her precious earbobs arid235 the heavy gold chain that had been Grandma Robillard’s and the gold andblack enameled236 bracelets237 and the garnet brooch. She saw the little Zouave, a split-oak basket overhis unwounded arm, making the rounds of the crowd on her side of the hall and saw women, oldand young, laughing, eager, tugging238 at bracelets, squealing239 in pretended pain as earrings240 camefrom pierced flesh, helping each other undo241 stiff necklace clasps, unpinning brooches frombosoms. There was a steady little dink-clink of metal on metal and cries of “Wait—wait! I’ve got itunfastened now. There!” Maybelle Merriwether was pulling off her lovely twin bracelets fromabove and below her elbows. Fanny Elsing, crying “Mamma, may I?” was tearing from her curlsthe seed-pearl ornament242 set in heavy gold which had been in the family for generations. As eachoffering went into the basket, there was applause and cheering.
The grinning little man was coming to their booth now, his basket heavy on his arm, and as hepassed Rhett Butler a handsome gold cigar case was thrown carelessly into the basket. When hecame to Scarlett and rested his basket upon the counter, she shook her head throwing wide herhands to show that she had nothing to give. It was embarrassing to
收听单词发音 |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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checkered
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| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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hampers
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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18
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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19
armory
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| n.纹章，兵工厂，军械库 | |
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20
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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21
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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22
blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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23
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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24
raffling
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| v.以抽彩方式售（物）( raffle的现在分词 ) | |
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25
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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26
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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27
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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28
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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29
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
puckering
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的现在分词 )；小褶纹；小褶皱 | |
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32
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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33
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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34
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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35
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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36
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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37
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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38
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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39
forthright
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| adj.直率的，直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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40
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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41
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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42
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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43
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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44
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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45
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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46
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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47
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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48
trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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49
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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51
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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52
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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53
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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54
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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55
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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56
hoops
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| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
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57
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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58
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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59
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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60
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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61
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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62
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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63
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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64
fragrantly
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| adv.芬芳地；愉快地 | |
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65
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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66
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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67
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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68
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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69
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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70
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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71
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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72
bowers
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| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
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73
graceful
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|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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74
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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75
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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76
crimson
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|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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77
maroon
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|
| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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78
serenely
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|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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79
momentous
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|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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80
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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81
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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82
socketed
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| v.把…装入托座（或插座），给…装上托座（或插座）( socket的过去分词 )；[高尔夫球]用棒头承口部位击（球） | |
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83
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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84
amber
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|
| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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85
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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86
tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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87
fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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88
accordions
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|
| n.手风琴( accordion的名词复数 ) | |
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89
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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90
melancholy
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|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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91
tragic
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|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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92
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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93
hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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94
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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95
bass
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|
| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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96
squeals
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|
| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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97
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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98
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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99
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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100
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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101
flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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102
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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103
cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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104
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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105
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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106
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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107
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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108
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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109
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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110
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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111
slings
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| 抛( sling的第三人称单数 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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112
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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113
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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114
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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115
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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116
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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117
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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118
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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119
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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120
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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121
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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122
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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123
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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124
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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125
bugler
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| 喇叭手； 号兵； 吹鼓手； 司号员 | |
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126
spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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127
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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128
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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129
dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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130
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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131
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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132
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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133
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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134
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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135
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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136
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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137
cuticle
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| n.表皮 | |
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138
nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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140
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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141
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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142
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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143
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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144
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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145
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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146
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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147
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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148
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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149
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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150
moodiness
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| n.喜怒无常；喜怒无常，闷闷不乐；情绪 | |
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151
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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152
glumly
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| adv.忧郁地，闷闷不乐地；阴郁地 | |
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153
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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154
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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155
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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156
irreverence
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| n.不尊敬 | |
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157
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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158
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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159
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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160
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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161
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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162
primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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163
acme
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| n.顶点，极点 | |
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164
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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165
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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166
flouting
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的现在分词 ) | |
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167
rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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168
foamy
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| adj.全是泡沫的，泡沫的，起泡沫的 | |
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169
cascading
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| 流注( cascade的现在分词 )； 大量落下； 大量垂悬； 梯流 | |
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170
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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171
saucily
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| adv.傲慢地，莽撞地 | |
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172
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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173
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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174
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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175
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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176
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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177
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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178
maneuver
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| n.策略[pl.]演习；v.(巧妙)控制；用策略 | |
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179
nuance
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| n.(意义、意见、颜色)细微差别 | |
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180
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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181
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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182
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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183
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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184
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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185
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186
pompously
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| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
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187
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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188
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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189
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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190
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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191
tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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192
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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193
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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194
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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195
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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196
groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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197
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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198
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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199
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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200
imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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201
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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202
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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203
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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204
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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205
gnaw
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| v.不断地啃、咬；使苦恼，折磨 | |
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206
tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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207
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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208
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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209
aeon
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| n.极长的时间；永久 | |
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210
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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211
immuring
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的现在分词 ) | |
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212
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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213
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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214
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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215
squelch
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| v.压制，镇压；发吧唧声 | |
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216
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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217
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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218
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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219
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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220
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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221
disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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222
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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223
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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224
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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225
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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226
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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227
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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228
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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229
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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230
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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231
overdid
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去式 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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232
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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233
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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234
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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235
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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236
enameled
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| 涂瓷釉于，给…上瓷漆，给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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237
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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238
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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239
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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240
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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241
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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242
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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