The Diamond As Big as the Ritz, by F. Scott Fitzgerald: Ep. 3

Tonight on Southern Slumber, we continue our journey into F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story, The Diamond as Big as the Ritz.

Read slowly and softly, this timeless tale becomes the perfect companion for a peaceful evening. So settle beneath the warm covers, let your thoughts drift, and follow the story wherever it may lead.  

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:01

Welcome to Southern Slumber Bedtime Stories for Sleep. I'm glad you're here tonight. I'm Holly, and each week we visit a corner of the American South, where the air is warm, the aroma of gardeni linger from the garden, and everything moves in slow motion. You can simply drift in and out tonight, letting the sound of my voice carry you away. And if sleep comes, you can let it. I'll be right here as you rest. So close your eyes if you haven't already, take a slow breath in and let it fall away. Tonight we continue with episode three of F Scott Fitzgerald's strange and dreamlike tale The Diamond as Big as the Ritz. In our past two episodes, John Unger arrived at Percy Washington's mysterious chateau in the Montana Mountains and learned part of the astonishing secret behind the family's unimaginable wealth. And he encountered Kisman Washington, Percy's sister. John was simply mesmerized by her beauty. As the layers of the mystery unfold, she seems as much a part of the landscape as the flowers, the fountains, and the mountain itself. There are more secrets ahead. Let them whisper to you as you drift off to a lovely deep sleep tonight. Take a deep breath in and exhale as you feel your shoulders relax. Let your mind release any worries of the day because you are going to sleep to a world where a diamond is as big as the ritz.

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John stood facing Mr Braddock Washington in the full sunlight.

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The elder man was about forty, with a proud, vacuous face, intelligent eyes and a robust figure. In the mornings he smelt of horses the best horses. He carried a plain walking stick of grey birch with a single large opal for a grip. He and Percy were showing John around. The slaves' quarters were over there. His walking stick indicated a cloister of marble on their left that ran in graceful gothic along the side of the mountain. In my youth I was distracted for a while from the business of life by a period of absurd idealism. During that time they lived in luxury. For instance, I equipped every one of their rooms with a tile bath. I suppose, ventured John, with an ingratiating laugh, that they used the bathtubs to keep coal in. Mr Schnitzel Murphy told me that once the opinions of mister Schnitzel Murphy are of little importance, I should imagine, interrupted Raddock Washington coldly. My servants did not keep coal in their bathtubs. They had orders to bathe every day, and they did. If they hadn't, I might have ordered a sulfuric acid shampoo. I discontinued the baths for quite another reason. Several of them caught coal and died. Water is not good for certain races, except as a beverage. John laughed and then decided to nod his head in sober agreement. Braddock Washington made him uncomfortable. All these servants are descendants of the ones my father brought north with him. There are almost two hundred and fifty now. You notice that they've lived so long apart from the world that their original dialect has become an almost indistinguishable patos. We bring a few of them up to speak English, my secretary and two or three of the house servants. This is the golf course, he continued, as they strolled along the velvet winter grass.

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It's all a green, you see. No fairway, no rough, no hazards.

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He smiled pleasantly at John. Many men in the cage, father? asked Percy suddenly. Raddock Washington stumbled and let forth an involuntary curse. One less than there should be, he ejaculated darkly, and then added after a moment. We've had difficulties. Mother was telling me, exclaimed Percy, that Italian teacher. Oh a ghastly error, said Braddock Washington angrily. But of course there's a good chance that we may have got him. Perhaps he fell somewhere in the woods or stumbled over a cliff. And then there's always the probability that if he did get away, his story wouldn't be believed. Nevertheless, I've had two dozen men looking for him in different towns around here. And no luck? Some fourteen of them reported to my agents. They'd killed a man answering to that description. But of course it was probably only the reward they were after. He broke off. They had come to a large cavity in the earth, about the circumference of a merry go round, and covered by a strong iron grating. Raddock Washington beckoned to John and pointed his cane down through the grating. John stepped to the edge and gazed. Immediately his ears were assailed by a wild clamor from below. Come on down to hell. Hello, kiddo. What's what's the air up there? Hey, throw us a rope. Got an old donut buddy or a couple of second hand sandwiches? Say fella. If you'll push down that guy you're with, we'll show you a quick disappearance scene. Taste him one for me, will ya? It was too dark to see clearly into the pit below, but John could tell from the coarse optimism and rugged vitality of the remarks and voices that they proceeded from middle class Americans of the more spirited type. Then Mr Washington put out his cane and touched a button in the grass, and the scene below sprang into light. These are some adventurous mariners who had the misfortune to discover Eldorado, he remarked. Below them there had appeared a large hollow in the earth, shaped like the interior of a bowl. The sides were steep and apparently of polished glass, and on its slightly concave surface stood about two dozen men clad in the half costume, half uniform of aviators. Their upturned faces lit with wrath, with malice, with despair, with cynical humor, were covered by long growths of beard, but with the exception of a few who had pined perceptibly away, they seemed to be a well fed, healthy lot. Raddock Washington drew a garden chair to the edge of the pit and sat down. Well, how are you, boys? he inquired genially. A chorus of execration, in which all joined except a few too dispirited to cry out, rose up into the sunny air, but Braddock Washington heard it with unruffled composure. When its last echo had died away, he spoke again. Have you thought up a way out of your difficulty? From here and there among them a remark floated up. We decided to stay here for love. Ring us up there and we'll find us a way. Raddock Washington waited until they were again quiet. Then he said I've told you the situation. I don't want you here. I wish to heaven I'd never seen you. Your own curiosity got you here, and any time that you can think of a way out which protects me and my interest, I'll be glad to consider it. But so long as you confine your efforts to digging tunnels, yes, I know about the new one you started. You won't get very far. This isn't as hard on you as you make it out, with all your howling for the loved ones at home. If you were the type who worried much about the loved ones at home, you'd never have taken up aviation. The tall man moved apart from the others and held up his hand to call his captor's attention to what he was about to say. Let me ask you a few questions, he cried. You pretend to be a fair minded man. How absurd. How could a man of my position be fair minded toward you? You might as well speak of a Spaniard being fair minded toward a piece of steak. At this harsh observation the faces of the two dozen fell, but the tall man continued. All right, he cried. We've argued this out before. You're not a humanitarian, and you're not fair minded, but you're human at least you say you are, and you ought to be able to put yourself in our place for long enough to think how what? demanded Washington coldly. How unnecessary not to me. Well, how cruel We've covered that. Cruelty doesn't exist where self preservation is involved. You've been soldiers, you know that. Try another. Well then how stupid. There, admitted Washington, I grant you that. But try to think of an alternative. I've offered to have all or any of you painlessly executed if you wish. I've offered to have your wives, sweethearts, children, mothers kidnapped and brought out here. I'll enlarge your place down there and feed and clothe you for the rest of your lives. If there were some method of producing permanent amnesia, I'd have all of you operated on and released immediately, somewhere outside of my preserves. But that's as far as my ideas go. How about trusting us not to peach on you? cried someone. You don't proffer that suggestion seriously, said Washington, with an expression of scorn. I did take out one man to teach my daughter Italian. Last week he got away. A wild yell of jubilation went up, suddenly from two dozen throats, and a pandemonium of joy ensued. The prisoners clog danced and cheered and yodled and wrestled with one another in a sudden uprush of animal spirits. They even ran up the glass sides of the bowl as far as they could, and slid back to the bottom upon the natural cushions of their body. The tall man started a song in which they all joined. Oh we'll hang the Kaiser on a sour apple tree. Raddock Washington sat in inscrutable silence until the song was over. You see, he remarked, when he could gain the modicum of attention, I bear you no ill will. I like to see you enjoying yourselves. That's why I didn't tell you the whole story at once. The man what was his name? I dunno, Criticellia. He was shot by some of my agents in fourteen different places. Not guessing that the places referred to were cities. The tumult of rejoicing subsided immediately. Nevertheless, cried Washington with a touch of anger, he tried to run away. Do you expect me to take chances with any of you after an experience like that? Again a series of ejaculations went up. Sure. Would your daughter like to learn Chinese? Hey, I can speak Italian. My mother was a walk. Maybe she'd like to learn to speak New York. If she's the little one with the big blue eyes, I can teach her a lot of things better than Italian. I know some Irish songs and I could hammer brass ones. mister Washington reached forward suddenly with his cane and pushed the button in the grass so that the picture below went out instantly, and there remained only that great dark mouth, hovered dismally with the black teeth of the grating. Okay, called a single voice from below, you ain't going away without giving us your blessing. But mister Washington, followed by the two boys, was already strolling on toward the ninth hole of the golf course, as though the pit and its contents were no more than a hazard over which his facile iron had triumphed with ease. July under the lee of the Diamond Mountain was a month of blanket nights and of warm glowing days. John and Kissming were in love. He did not know that the little gold football, inscribed with a lead with the legend, which he had given her, rested on a platinum chain next to her bosom, but it did, and she, for her part, was not aware that a large sapphire which had dropped one day from her simple hair was stowed away tenderly in John's jewel box. Late one afternoon, when the ruby and ermine music room was quiet, they spent an hour there together. He held her hand, and she gave him such a look that he whispered her name aloud. She bent toward him and hesitated. Did you say kiss me? she asked softly, or she had wanted to be sure. She thought she might have misunderstood that neither of them had ever kissed before, but in the course of an hour it seemed to make little difference. The afternoon drifted away. That night, when a last breath of music drifted down the highest tower, they each lay awake, happily dreaming over the separate minutes of the day. They had decided to be married as soon as possible. Every day Mr Washington and the two young men went hunting or fishing in the deep forest, or played golf around the somnolent course, games which John diplomatically allowed his host to win, or swam in the mountain coolness of the lake. John found Mr Washington a somewhat exacting personality, utterly uninterested in any ideas or opinions except his own. Mr Washington was aloof and reserved at all times. She was apparently indifferent to her two daughters, and entirely absorbed in her love of Percy, with whom she held interminable conversations in rapid Spanish at dinner. Jasmine, the eldest daughter, resembled Kisman in appearance, except that she was somewhat bow legged and terminated in large hands and feet, but was utterly unlike her in temperament. Her favorite books had to do with poor girls who kept house for widowed fathers. John learned from Kisman that Jasmine had never recovered from the shock and disappointment caused her by the termination of the World War just as she was about to start for Europe as a canteen expert. She had even pined away for a time when Braddock Washington had taken steps to promote a new war in the Balkans, but she had seen a photograph of some wounded Serbian soldiers and lost interest in the whole proceedings. But Percy and Kisman seemed to have inherited the arrogant attitude in all its harsh magnificence from their father. A chaste and consistent selfishness ran like a pattern through their every idea. John was enchanted by the wonders of the chateau and the valley. Raddock Washington, so Percy told him, had caused to be kidnapped a landscape gardener, an architect, a designer of state settings, and a French decadent poet left over from the last century. He had put his entire force of servants at their disposal, guaranteed to supply them with any materials that the world could offer, and left them to work out some ideas of their own. But one by one they had shown their uselessness. The decadent poet had at once begun bewailing his separation from the boulevards in spring. He made some vague remarks about spices, apes and ivories, but said nothing that was of any practical value. The stage designer on his part wanted to make the whole valley a series of tricks and sensational effects. State of things that the Washingtons would soon have grown tired of. And as for the architect and the landscape gardener, they thought only in terms of convention, they must make this like this and like that. But they had at least solved the problem of what was to be done with them. They all went mad early one morning after spending the night in a single room trying to agree upon the location of a fountain, and were now confined comfortably in an insane asylum at Westport, Connecticut. But inquired John curiously, who did plan all your wonderful reception rooms and halls and approaches and bathrooms? Well, answered Percy, I blush to tell you, but he was a moving picture fella. He was the only man we found who was used to playing with an unlimited amount of money, though he did tuck his napkin in his collar and couldn't read or write. As August drew to a close, John began to regret that he must soon go back to school. He and Kissman had decided to elope the following June. It would be nicer to be married here, Kissman confessed. But of course I could never get father's permission to marry you at all. Next to that, I'd rather elope. It's terrible for wealthy people to be married in America at present. They always have to send out bulletins to the press saying that they're going to be married in remnants. When what they mean is just a peck of old second hand pearls and some used lace worn once by the Empress Eugenia. I know, agreed John fervently. When I was visiting the Schnitzer Murphy's eldest daughter, Gwendolen, married a man whose father owns half of West Virginia. She wrote home saying what a tough struggle she was carrying on and on a salary as a bank clerk. And then she ended up by saying that thank God I have four good maids anyhow. And that helps a little. Oh it's absurd, commented Kissman. Think of the millions and millions of people in the world, laborers and all, who get along with only two maids. One afternoon, late in August, a chance remark of Kisman's changed the face of the entire situation and threw John into a state of terror. They were in their favorite grove, and between kisses John was indulging in some romantic forebodings, which he fancied added poignancy to their relations. Sometimes I think we'll never marry, he said sadly. You're too wealthy, too magnificent. No one as rich as you can be like other girls. I should marry the daughter of some well to do wholesale hardware man from Omaha to Sioux City. Be content with her half million. I knew the daughter of a wholesale hardware man once, remarked Kisman. I don't think you'd have been contented with her. She was a friend of my sister's. She visited here. Oh then you've had other guests? exclaimed John in surprise. Kisman seemed to regret her words.

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Oh yes, she said hurriedly. We've had a few.

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But aren't you wasn't your father afraid they'd talk outside? Oh to some extent, to some extent, she answered. Let's talk about something pleasanter. But John's curiosity was aroused. Something pleasanter? he demanded. What's unpleasant about that? Weren't they nice girls? To his surprise, Kisman began to weep. Yes, yes, that's the whole trouble. I grew quite attached to some of them. So did Jasmine, but she kept inviting them anyway. I couldn't understand it. A dark suspicion was born in John's heart. Do you mean that they told and your father had them removed? Worse than that, she muttered brokenly. Father took no chances and Jasmine kept writing them to come and they had such a good time. She was overcome by a paroxysm of grief. Stunned with the horror of this revelation, John sat there open mouthed, feeling the nerves of his body twitter like so many sparrows perched upon his spinal column. Now I've told you and I shouldn't have, she said, calming suddenly and drying her dark blue eyes. Do you mean to say that your father had them murdered before they left? She nodded. In August usually, or early September, it's only natural for us to get all the pleasure out of them when we can first. How abominable How why I must be going crazy. Did you really admit that? I did, interrupted Kisman, shrugging her shoulders. We can't very well imprison them like aviators, where they'd be a continual reproach to us every day. And it's always made easier for Jasmine and me because father had it done sooner than we expected. In that way we avoided any farewell sing. So you murdered them, cried John. Well, it was done very nicely. They were drugged while they were asleep, and their families were always told that they died of scarlet fever in Butte. But I failed to understand why you kept on inviting them. I didn't, burst out Kisman. I never invited one. Jasmine dead. And they always had a very good time. She'd give them the nicest presents toward the last. I shall probably have visitors too. I'll harden up to it. We can't let such an inevitable thing as death stand in the way of enjoying life while we have it. Think of how lonesome it'd be out here if we never had anyone. Why, father and mother have sacrificed some of their best friends just as we have. And so cried John accusingly, and so you were letting me make love to you and pretending to return it, and talking about marriage all the time, knowing perfectly well that I'd never get out of here alive. No, she protested passionately. Not anymore. Well I did at first, but you were here. I couldn't help that, and I thought your last days might as well be pleasant for both of us, but then I fell in love with you and I'm honestly sorry you're going to well, going to be put away. Though I'd rather you be put away than ever kiss another girl. Oh you would, would you? cried John ferociously. Much rather. Besides, I've always heard that a girl can have more fun with a man whom she knows she can never marry. Oh why did I tell you? I've probably spoiled your whole good time now, and we were really enjoying things when you didn't know it. I knew it would make things sort of depressing for you. Oh you did, did you? John's voice trembled with anger. I've heard about enough of this. If you haven't any more pride and decency than to have an affair with a fella that you know isn't much better than a corpse, I don't know what to have any more to do with you. You're not a corpse, she protested in horror. You're not a corpse. I won't have you saying that I kissed a corpse. I said nothing of the sort. You did. You said I kissed a corpse. I didn't. Their voices had risen, but upon a sudden interruption, they both subsided into immediate silence. Footsteps were coming along the path in their direction, and a moment later the rose bushes were parted, displaying Braddock Washington, whose intelligent eyes set in his good looking, vacuous face, were peering in at them. Who kissed a corpse? He demanded an obvious disapproval. Nobody, answered Kisman quickly. We were just joking. What are you two doing here anyway? he demanded gruffly. Kisman, you ought to be well to be reading or playing golf with your sister. Go read. Go play golf. Don't let me find you here when I come back. Then he bowed at John and went up the path. See, said Chris, said Kisman crossly, when he was out of hearing, you spoiled it all. We can never meet anymore. He won't let me meet you. He'd have poisoned you if he thought we were in love. Well we're not anymore, cried John fiercely, so he can set his mind at rest upon that. Moreover, don't fool yourself that I'm gonna stay around here. Inside of six hours, I'll be over those mountains if I have to gnaw a passage through them and on my way east. They had both got to their feet, and at this remark, Kisman came close and put her arm through his I'm I'm going to. You must be crazy. Of course I'm going, she interrupted impatiently. You most certainly are not. You very well, she said quietly. We'll catch up with father and talk it over with him. Defeated, John mustered a sickly smile. Very well, dearest, he agreed with pale and unconvincing affection. We'll we'll go together. His love for her returned and settled placidly on his heart. She was his. She would go with him to share his dangers. He put his arms about her and kissed her fervently. After all, she loved him. She had saved him, in fact. Discussing the matter, they walked slowly back toward the chateau. They decided that since Braddock Washington had seen them together, they had best depart that night. Nevertheless, John's lips were unusually dry at dinner, and he nervously emptied a great spoonful of peacock soup into his left lung. He had to be carried into the turquoise and sable card room and pounded on the back by one of the underbutlers, which Percy considered a great joke.

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And that ends episode three.

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As you drift towards sleep, imagine the mountain resting beneath the big stars, the fountains murmuring softly in the darkness, in the valley wrapped in silver moonlight. Thank you for spending part of your evening with me here at Southern Slumber where the air is warm, the gardenias linger, and everything moves in slow motion.

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Good night for now.