Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind (50 page)

With Saunders out of the picture and the Marshes responsible for handling the foreign rights themselves, a new phase began in
Gone With the Wind
's international history. The couple revisited the idea of bringing in another agent and contacted Hervey Allen, author of
Anthony Adverse
, for his advice.
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They made inquiries to some of the leading agencies in New York and got as far as reviewing a draft contract from Leland Hayward, for whom Kay Brown now worked. Ultimately, they decided to continue handling the accounts themselves, with the assistance of the accountants at Peat, Marwick & Mitchell, which had a network of international affiliates.
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The author's father had died that summer after a lengthy illness, and his passing meant that Mitchell, who had been his primary caregiver for the last years of his life, would have more time to focus on her business affairs.

At first, they were mostly in a holding pattern waiting for the war to end. Mitchell did what she could to introduce herself to the publishers and subagents around the world with whom Saunders had been working. Knowing it was unusual for them to be dealing directly with an author, she did her best to forge positive relationships. As she wrote to Jenny Bradley, the subagent in France who had worked with Saunders on the Gallimard account, “At present we are little more than names to each other, but I promise that I will contribute whatever I can toward the advancement of our mutual understanding. I want your dealings with me to be both profitable and pleasant to you, and I will help in any way I can toward that end.” Mitchell needed to keep a careful eye on what was happening in the publishing world overseas and let the local agents know that she counted on them to be her eyes and ears. She encouraged Bradley to make suggestions and offer advice: “I am far away from France; I know little of French methods of doing business; I know nothing of the personality and character of my publisher.”
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In late 1944, Mitchell began seeing signs of life on the foreign accounts when a handful of publishers expressed interest in publishing new translations of
Gone With the Wind
. Suspicious of anyone managing to do business in those difficult days, she proceeded cautiously. A Swedish publisher asked permission to run a serialized English version of the book and offered to guide Mitchell through the foreign currency licensing process. According to the publisher's representative, Mitchell could avoid some of the complications if she took an oath that she was not doing business with any enemy or anyone in enemy-occupied territories. Knowing nothing about the publisher, Mitchell could not truthfully make such a statement so decided to wait until after the war to pursue the opportunity. She preferred to lose money rather than discover later that she had been “doing business with a Nazi even three times removed.”
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She also turned down an offer from a publisher in Argentina, feeling that the country's pro-German leanings made it an unattractive place to do business.
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One of the few new contracts she pursued during that period was with Mordecai Newman, a publisher in Palestine. Marsh considered the Hebrew translation a highlight of their collection.

Germany's surrender in May 1945 brought an immediate resurgence of activity on Mitchell's accounts around the world. Most of the publishers acknowledged their back royalties and indicated they were anxious to continue publishing
Gone With the Wind
. Steen Hasselbalch, her Danish publisher, reported he had been in hiding for much of the war but his firm had sold more than seventy-five thousand copies of Mitchell's book through 1944 and expected to reach one hundred thousand by the end of 1945. He assured the author that he had placed her royalties in a bank waiting the day when they could be transferred legally to the United States.
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The Bulgarian publisher had likewise survived the war and was enthusiastic to get back to work. In a note that reflects the types of logistical difficulties that existed after the war, he reported that, during the bombardment of Sofia, he had lost his copy of their contract and needed Mitchell to send him another one.

These were happy days indeed. Mitchell jumped into action, thrilled to do anything within her power to help her publishers get back on their feet. She sent care packages to them, her translators, and the local subagents representing her book. If they wrote asking for specific items, such as medicine or clothing, she complied enthusiastically. To Bradley, she sent underwear, soles for shoes, coffee, rice, tea, mending thread, a toothbrush, and a sweater. She even suggested that the agent trace her shoes on a piece of paper so Mitchell could get her a new pair in the right size. Macmillan, too, was in a celebratory mood. In December 1945, a few months shy of the book's ten-year anniversary, the publisher issued a press release proclaiming that 3,500,000 copies of
Gone With the Wind
had been printed in the English language. The book continued to breeze right along.
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As was often the case in Mitchell's post-
Wind
life, positive developments were followed by trouble. The Marshes looked forward to relaxing over the 1945 Christmas holidays at Sea Island, Georgia. Shortly after checking in to their room on Christmas Eve, Marsh suffered a massive heart attack. He survived but was forced to take an extended leave of absence from work—both from Georgia Power and as his wife's business manager. He would remain at home for the next two years, mostly bedridden. This left Mitchell in charge of all her business affairs, including the foreign accounts. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work with the able assistance of Stephens Mitchell, Baugh, and the accountants at Peat, Marwick & Mitchell.
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For the next several years, Margaret Mitchell would walk a tightrope trying to balance her time between caring for her husband and overseeing the affairs of
Gone With the Wind
.

It was a time of transition at Macmillan as well. Cole left the firm to try her hand at being a literary agent. The new profession did not suit her, so she eventually returned to publishing but at a different firm, Whittlesey House. She and Mitchell remained close and communicated regularly about the book and personal issues, including Cole's son and daughter Linda, who had been born in 1943. Richard Brett, who had butted heads with his brother George about the goals of the business, also left the company. During the war, the younger Brett had volunteered for the army air force; after his discharge, he became the business manager of the New York Public Library. And, to the great sadness of Mitchell and Macmillan, advertising manager Alec Blanton, who played such an important role in marketing
Gone With the Wind
and ensuring its success, died in July 1946. As George Brett relayed the events to Mitchell, Blanton had been at the office one evening in good spirits, joking with everyone, and looking forward to an important meeting scheduled for the following morning. Word came to the office the next day that Blanton had committed suicide. “It is just one of those damned things,” Brett said, shaken by the loss.
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Blanton's absence was felt all the more keenly because Latham was ill and away from the office for extended periods during the mid-1940s.

Mitchell confronted myriad difficulties reestablishing business operations after the war. Perhaps most daunting was the language barrier. Whereas Saunders had been fluent in several languages and had a city full of interpreters at her disposal in New York, Mitchell spoke only a smattering of French and had to hobble along with the assistance of her husband's limited knowledge of German and her brother's familiarity with Portuguese, Spanish, French, and Latin.
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When a publisher from Ukraine asked for rights to release a translation, Mitchell had to ask a friend what language Ukrainians spoke. She guessed it might be Ukrainian but, given her experiences so far, thought “that would be far, far too easy.”
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(The answer was Russian.) When she needed assistance translating documents, she turned for help to the international community in Atlanta, such as it was in those days. Bankers, businessmen, returning soldiers, missionaries, refugees, and war brides came to her rescue and helped her muddle through.

As for the publishers who survived the war and remained in business, Mitchell worked closely with her accountants to assess what money was due. She reviewed all the royalty statements to make sure every penny was accounted for and was not shy about standing up for what she thought was rightfully hers. She pointed out shortfalls and demanded all accounts be brought up to date as quickly as possible. But her scrupulousness was not born of greed; she just as readily corrected errors that would inure to a publisher's favor. What mattered to her was accuracy.

In countries where the publisher had died or gone out of business, she tried to make arrangements with new firms. She never heard from Wydawnictwo J. Przeworski, her original Polish publisher, and assumed he had perished. The replacement publisher Saunders found had not fared well either: his stock had been destroyed by German bombing, along with records of any sales. After the war, Mitchell contracted with a third Polish publisher to get the book back in print.
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The situation proved most complicated in countries where it was less obvious what had happened to the people involved, such as was the case in Germany. Right after the war ended, she had received a letter from Henry Goverts saying that he had fled to Liechtenstein, where his British mother lived. He acknowledged owing Mitchell back royalties and promised he would soon begin selling her book again. But then his correspondence abruptly ceased. Had he died? Had he lost interest in publishing? Had he been a Nazi after all? She might have been able to invalidate the contract given his failure to keep the book in print, but she was not eager to do so. Goverts had been fair in his dealings with her, so she decided to give him time to get his affairs in order, even if doing so meant losing out on potential sales.
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A similar problem loomed in France. Mitchell had not heard from Gaston Gallimard since 1940 and was troubled by rumors he had cooperated with the Nazis and gone into hiding after the liberation of Paris. If he had been a collaborator, did that void their contract? Was she free to negotiate a new contract with a different firm? Stories circulated in France that another publisher was close to releasing an edition of
Gone With the Wind
, and Mitchell fretted that the French government had confiscated the rights to her book from Gallimard and given them away. She also wanted to know where her overdue royalties were. Mitchell contacted Wallace McClure and Bradley to see if they could offer any insight. They both assured her that Gallimard had been absolved of any wrongdoing and remained in business. In fact, it was he who was planning to issue the rumored new edition of
Gone With the Wind
and would be doing so with a splash. To make up for the substandard edition released in 1939, Gallimard's new book would be a deluxe, two-volume hardcover set illustrated by Andre Dignimont, whom Bradley described as the best-known French illustrator of the day. Mitchell also learned that a considerable sum of her back royalties had been confiscated by the Germans and that Gallimard was working on getting the money to her. When the funds arrived in 1946, Mitchell expressed to Bradley “the greatest admiration and appreciation for the way [Gallimard] handled my royalty money during the war and the occupation and the honesty of his desire to get what was mine into my hands.”
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She apologized to Gallimard for having raised the issue of whether he had been a German collaborator. She hoped he held no anger or resentment against her and said she was sure he, as a good Frenchman, understood her reluctance to do business with a purported Nazi sympathizer.
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Not all of Mitchell's publishing relationships withstood the war so well. Such was the case with Alice Meden, her Swedish publisher. When the Swedish edition debuted in the fall of 1937, Mitchell had been pleased to read that the publisher had invested in an extensive advertising campaign and that the book had been received enthusiastically. Over the next several years, the author heard that the book sold well. Yet, the royalties Meden paid were paltry, and Mitchell heard almost nothing from the woman for lengthy periods of time. Although some of that could be attributed to the war and the problem with Saunders, the numbers still did not add up. Sweden was neutral during the hostilities, and its communications with the United States had been fairly open. And, even after the war ended, Mitchell heard nothing. She directed an accounting firm in England—whom she fondly referred to as “Britain's bulldog breed”—to track down Meden. When confronted, the publisher played dumb, claiming she had sold just a few copies of the book in 1944 and none in 1945. Mitchell was skeptical considering the Danish publisher had fared well during those years, as had the one in neighboring Norway, who had sold almost seventeen thousand books during the German occupation. “It seems very strange to me that in two small countries under oppressive occupation by the enemy, impoverished by systematic looting, such astounding sales can be reported, while next door in neutral Sweden, which has grown wealthy by wartime trade, the report is that no sales were made this year,” she wrote.
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The accountants performed a full audit of Meden's records and determined that the firm had been withholding royalties. Meden showed no remorse: Mitchell had made enough money, so what was the harm? Outraged, Mitchell considered filing criminal charges, but the accountants advised her against taking on the stress and expense of such a proceeding. Instead, they negotiated a settlement and an agreement severing the relationship.
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