Originally posted on Friday, February 10th, 2012
“But–I owe it to the Cause–I–I–couldn’t think of myself when you were offering so much in gold.”
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to propose a surprise–an innovation that may shock some of you, but I ask you to remember that all this is done for the hospital and for the benefit of our boys lying there.”
Everyone edged forward, in anticipation, trying to imagine what the sedate doctor could propose that would be shocking.
The dancing is about to begin, and the first number will, of course, be a reel, followed by a waltz. … Gentlemen, if you wish to lead a reel with the lady of your choice, you must bargain for her. I will be auctioneer and the proceeds will go to the hospital.
Fans stopped in mid-swish and a ripple of excited murmuring ran through the hall. The chaperons’ corner was in tumult…. The young girls clapped their hands and jumped excitedly.
“Don’t you think it’s–it’s just–just a little like a slave auction?” whispered Melanie, staring uncertainly at the embattled doctor who heretofore had been perfect in her eyes.
Scarlett said nothing but her eyes glittered and her heart contracted with a little pain. If only she were not a widow. If only she were Scarlett O’Hara again, out there on the floor in an apple-green dress with dark green velvet ribbons dangling from her bosom and tuberoses in her black hair–she’d lead that reel. Yes, indeed! There would be a dozen men battling for her and paying over money to the doctor. Oh, to have to sit here, a wallflower against her will and see Fanny or Maybelle lead the first reel as the belle of Atlanta!
Above the tumult sounded the voice of little Zouave, his Creole accent very obvious. “Eef I may–twenty dollars for Mees Maybelle Merriwether.”
Maybelle collapsed with blushes against Fanny’s shoulder and the two girls hid their faces in each other’s necks and giggled, as other voices began calling other names, other amounts of money. Dr. Meade had begun to smile again, ignoring completely the indignant whispers that came from the Ladies’ Hospital Committee in the corner.
At first, Mrs. Merriwether had stated flatly and loudly that her Maybelle would never take part in such a proceeding; but as Maybelle’s name was called most often and the amount went up to seventy-five dollars, her protests began to dwindle. Scarlett leaned her elbows on the counter and almost glared at the excited laughing crowd surging about the platform, their hands full of Confederate paper money.
Now, they would all dance–except her and the old ladies. Now everyone would have a good time, except her. She saw Rhett Butler standing just below the doctor and before she could change the expression of her face, he saw her and one corner of his mouth went down and one eye-brow went up. She jerked her chin up and turned away from him and suddenly she heard her own name called — called in an unmistakable Charleston voice that rang out above the hubbub of other names.
“Mrs. Charles Hamilton — one hundred and fifty dollars — in gold.”
A sudden hush fell on the crowd both at the mention of the sum and at the name. Scarlett was so startled that she could not even move. She remained sitting with her chin in her hands, her eyes wide with astonishment. Everybody turned to look at her. She saw the doctor lean down from the platform and whisper something to Rhett Butler. Probably telling him she was in mourning and it was impossible for her to appear on the floor. She saw Rhett’s shoulders shrug lazily.
“Another one of our belles, perhaps?” questioned the doctor.
“No,” said Rhett clearly, his eyes sweeping the crowd carelessly, “Mrs. Hamilton.”
“I tell you it is impossible,” said the doctor testily. “Mrs. Hamilton will not–”
Scarlett heard a voice which, at first, she did not recognize as her own.
“Yes I will!”
“She leaped to her feet, her heart hammering so wildly she feared she could not stand, hammering with the thrill of being the center of attention again, of being the most highly desired girl present and oh, best of all, at the prospect of dancing again.
“How dare you make me so conspicuous, Captain Butler?”
“But, my dear Mrs. Hamilton, you so obviously wanted to be conspicuous!”
“How could you call my name out in front of everybody?”
“You could have refused.”
“But–I owe it to the Cause–I–I–couldn’t think of myself when you were offering so much in gold. Stop laughing, everyone is looking at us.”
— Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell, The Macmillan Company, New York, 1936, pp. 130-131.
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