In the not too distant past, the home of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, in France’s much-sought-after cap d-Antibes, was on sale for 35 million Euros . . . and financing was available! I know that I’m a bit strange when it comes to my level of interest in history. I enjoy sitting for bits of time and scanning old photographs of any period, especially those pre-1940s. When it comes to this opulent house snuggled against the azure blue Mediterranean Sea (if given the opportunity to see it first hand), it would eventually require physical force to remove me from the grounds.
I can look at the picture of this living area in Villa Picolette and envision Scott Fitzgerald sipping his gin while Earnest Hemingway rants on and on about a Frenchman that pissed him off while he was in the market. Can you see it too? Two of the greatest American literary giants sitting around in this exact room, not to mention Gertrude Stein popping by just to say hello.
Now, I stare into the room where it is quite possible that some, most or all of the The Great Gatsby was written and the first few lines of Tender is the Night were plunked down. And I can clearly see Zelda swooshing in at the wrong time to tell Scott that she’s bored and wants to go into town. Damn it, woman! Can’t you see the man is writing what is arguably the best piece of American literature to have ever been penned! Sorry, kind of lost my head there for a second.
The view isn’t shabby either. The same view that eventually used for the dust jacket of Tender is the Night. Oh, I’m sure that this piece of history will come available again, and I with nothing but the change in my beggar’s cup will watch it pass by once more. But I can dream. Come on, lotto numbers.
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
(all pictures were provided by http://www.nydailynews.com)