I
Inmyyoungerandmorevulnerableyearsmyfathergavemesome
radu
advicethatI’vebeenturningoverinmymindeversince.“Wheneveryoufeellikecriticizinganyone,”hetoldme,“justrememberthatallthepeopleinthisworldhaven’thadtheadvantagesthatyou’vehad.”
Hedidn’tsayanymore,butwe’vealwaysbeenunusuallycommunicativeinareservedway,andIunderstoodthathemeantagreatdealmorethanthat.
Inconsequence,I’minclinedtoreservealljudgements,ahabitthathasopenedupmanycuriousnaturestomeandalsomademethe
oběť
victimofnotafewveteranbores.Theabnormalmindisquicktodetectandattachitselftothisqualitywhenitappearsinanormalperson,andsoitcameaboutthatincollegeIwasunjustlyaccusedofbeingapolitician,becauseIwasprivytothesecretgriefsofwild,unknownmen.
Mostoftheconfidenceswereunsought—frequentlyIhavefeignedsleep,preoccupation,orahostilelevitywhenIrealizedbysomeunmistakablesignthatanintimaterevelationwasquiveringonthehorizon;
fortheintimaterevelationsofyoungmen,oratleastthetermsinwhichtheyexpressthem,areusuallyplagiaristicandmarredbyobvioussuppressions.
Reservingjudgementsisamatterofinfinitehope.
IamstillalittleafraidofmissingsomethingifIforgetthat,asmyfathersnobbishlysuggested,andIsnobbishly
opakuji
repeat,asenseofthefundamentaldecenciesisparcelledoutunequallyatnarození
birth.And,afterboastingthiswayofmytolerance,Icometotheadmissionthatithasalimit.
Conductmaybefoundedonthehardrockorthewetmarshes,butafteracertainpointIdon’tcarewhatit’sfoundedon.
WhenIcamebackfromtheEastlastautumnIfeltthatIwantedtheworldtobeinuniformandatasortofmoralattentionforever;
Iwantednomoreriotousexcursionswithprivilegedglimpsesintothehumanheart.
OnlyGatsby,themanwhogiveshisnametothisbook,wasexemptfrommyreaction—Gatsby,whorepresentedeverythingforwhichIhaveanunaffectedscorn.
Ifpersonalityisanunbrokenseriesofsuccessfulgestures,thentherewassomethinggorgeousabouthim,someheightenedsensitivitytothepromisesoflife,asifhewere
příbuzný
relatedtooneofthoseintricatemachinesthatregisterearthquakestenthousandmilesaway.Thisresponsivenesshadnothingtodowiththatflabbyimpressionabilitywhichisdignifiedunderthenameofthe“creativetemperament”—itwasanextraordinarygiftforhope,aromanticreadinesssuchasIhaveneverfoundinanyotherpersonandwhichitisnot
pravděpodobně
likelyIshalleverfindagain.No—Gatsbyturnedoutallrightattheend;
itiswhatpreyedonGatsby,whatfoul
prach
dustfloatedinthewakeofhisdreamsthattemporarilyclosedoutmyinterestintheabortivesorrowsandshort-windedelationsofmen.Myfamilyhavebeenprominent,well-to-dopeopleinthisMiddleWesterncityforthreegenerations.
TheCarrawaysaresomethingofaclan,andwehaveatraditionthatwe’redescendedfromtheDukesofBuccleuch,buttheactualfounderofmylinewasmygrandfather’sbrother,whocamehereinfifty-one,sentasubstitutetothe
Občanské
CivilWar,andstartedthewholesalehardwarebusinessthatmyfathercarriesontoday.Ineversawthisgreat-uncle,butI’msupposedtolooklikehim—withspecialreferencetotheratherhard-boiledpaintingthathangsinfather’soffice.
IgraduatedfromNewHavenin1915,justaquarterofa
století
centuryaftermyfather,andalittlelaterIparticipatedinthatdelayedTeutonicmigrationknownastheGreatWar.Ienjoyedthecounter-raidsothoroughlythatIcamebackrestless.
Insteadofbeingthewarmcentreoftheworld,theMiddleWestnowseemedliketheragged
okraj
edgeoftheuniverse—soIdecidedtogoEastandlearnthebondbusiness.EverybodyIknewwasinthebondbusiness,soIsupposeditcouldsupportonemoresingleman.
Allmyauntsandunclestalkeditoverasiftheywerechoosingaprepschoolforme,andfinallysaid,“Why—ye-es,”withverygrave,hesitantfaces.
Fatheragreedtofinancemeforayear,andaftervariousdelaysIcameEast,permanently,Ithought,inthe
jaře
springoftwenty-two.Thepracticalthingwastofindroomsinthecity,butitwasawarmseason,andIhadjustleftacountryofwidelawnsandfriendlytrees,sowhenayoungmanattheofficesuggestedthatwetakeahousetogetherinacommutingtown,itsoundedlikeagreatidea.
Hefoundthehouse,aweather-beatencardboardbungalowateightyamonth,butatthelastminutethe
firma
firmorderedhimtoWashington,andIwentouttothecountryalone.Ihadadog—atleastIhadhimforafewdaysuntilheranaway—andanoldDodgeandaFinnishwoman,whomademybedandcookedbreakfastandmutteredFinnishwisdomtoherselfovertheelectricstove.
Itwas
osamělý
lonelyforadayorsountilonemorningsomeman,morenedávno
recentlyarrivedthanI,stoppedmeontheroad.“HowdoyougettoWestEggvillage?”
heaskedhelplessly.
Itoldhim.
AndasIwalkedonIwas
osamělý
lonelynolonger.Iwasaguide,apathfinder,anoriginalsettler.
Hehadcasuallyconferredonmethefreedomoftheneighbourhood.
Andsowiththesunshineandthegreatburstsofleavesgrowingonthetrees,justasthingsgrowinfastmovies,Ihadthat
známé
familiarconvictionthatlifewasbeginningoveragainwiththesummer.Therewassomuchtoread,foronething,andsomuchfine
zdraví
healthtobepulleddownoutoftheyoungbreath-givingair.Iboughtadozenvolumesonbankingandcreditandinvestmentsecurities,andtheystoodonmyshelfinredandgoldlikenewmoneyfromthemint,promisingtounfoldtheshiningsecretsthatonlyMidasandMorganandMaecenasknew.
AndIhadthehighintentionofreadingmanyotherbooksbesides.
Iwasratherliteraryincollege—oneyearIwroteaseriesofverysolemnandobviouseditorialsfortheYaleNews—andnowIwasgoingtobringbackallsuchthingsintomylifeandbecomeagainthatmostlimitedofallspecialists,the“well-roundedman.”
Thisisn’tjustanepigram—lifeismuchmoresuccessfullylookedatfromasinglewindow,afterall.
ItwasamatterofchancethatIshouldhaverentedahouseinoneofthestrangestcommunitiesinNorthAmerica.
ItwasonthatslenderriotousislandwhichextendsitselfdueeastofNewYork—andwherethereare,amongother
přírodní
naturalcuriosities,twounusualformationsofland.Twentymilesfromthecitya
dvojice
pairofenormouseggs,identicalincontourandseparatedonlybyacourtesybay,jutoutintothemostdomesticatedbodyofslané
saltwaterintheWesternhemisphere,thegreatmokré
wetbarnyardofLongIslandSound.Theyarenotperfectovals—likethe
vejce
eggintheColumbusstory,theyarebothcrushedflatatthecontactend—buttheirphysicalresemblancemustbeasourceofperpetualwondertothegullsthatflyoverhead.Tothewinglessamoreinterestingphenomenonistheirdissimilarityineveryparticularexcept
tvaru
shapeandsize.IlivedatWestEgg,the—well,thelessfashionableofthetwo,thoughthisisamostsuperficialtagto
vyjádřit
expressthebizarreandnotalittlesinistercontrastbetweenthem.Myhousewasattheverytipoftheegg,onlyfiftyyardsfromtheSound,andsqueezedbetweentwohugeplacesthatrentedfortwelveorfifteenthousandaseason.
Theoneonmyrightwasacolossal
záležitost
affairbyanystandard—itwasafactualimitationofsomeHôteldeVilleinNormandy,withatowerononeside,spankingnewunderathinbeardofrawivy,andamarbleswimmingbazén
pool,andmorethanfortyacresoflawnandgarden.ItwasGatsby’smansion.
Or,rather,asIdidn’tknowMr.Gatsby,itwasamansioninhabitedbyagentlemanofthatname.
Myownhousewasaneyesore,butitwasasmalleyesore,andithadbeenoverlooked,soIhadaviewofthewater,apartialviewofmyneighbour’slawn,andtheconsolingproximityofmillionaires—allforeightydollarsamonth.
AcrossthecourtesybaythewhitepalacesoffashionableEastEggglitteredalongthewater,andthehistoryofthesummerreallybeginsontheeveningIdroveovertheretohavedinnerwiththeTomBuchanans.
Daisywasmysecondcousinonceremoved,andI’dknownTomincollege.
AndjustafterthewarIspenttwodayswiththeminChicago.
Herhusband,
mezi
amongvariousphysicalaccomplishments,hadbeenoneofthemostpowerfulendsthateverplayedfotbal
footballatNewHaven—anationalfigureinaway,oneofthosemenwhoreachsuchanacutelimitedexcellenceattwenty-onethateverythingafterwardsavoursofanticlimax.Hisfamilywereenormouslywealthy—evenincollegehisfreedomwithmoneywasamatterforreproach—butnowhe’dleftChicagoandcomeEastinafashionthatrathertookyour
dech
breathaway:forinstance,he’dbroughtdownastringofpoloponiesfromLakeForest.
Itwashardtorealizethatamaninmyown
generace
generationwaswealthyenoughtodothat.WhytheycameEastIdon’tknow.
TheyhadspentayearinFrancefornoparticularreason,andthendriftedhereandthereunrestfullywhereverpeopleplayedpoloandwererichtogether.
Thiswasapermanentmove,saidDaisyoverthetelephone,butIdidn’tbelieveit—Ihadno
pohled
sightintoDaisy’sheart,butIfeltthatTomwoulddriftonforeverseeking,alittlewistfully,forthedramaticturbulenceofsomeirrecoverablefootballgame.AndsoithappenedthatonawarmwindyeveningIdroveovertoEastEggtoseetwooldfriendswhomIscarcelyknewatall.
TheirhousewasevenmoreelaboratethanIexpected,acheerfulred-and-whiteGeorgianColonialmansion,overlookingthebay.
Thelawnstartedatthebeachandran
k
towardsthefrontdoorforaquarterofamíle
mile,jumpingoversundialsandbrickwalksandburninggardens—finallywhenitreachedthehousedriftingupthesideinbrightvinesasthoughfromthemomentumofitsrun.ThefrontwasbrokenbyalineofFrenchwindows,glowingnowwithreflectedgoldandwideopentothewarmwindyafternoon,andTomBuchananinridingclotheswasstandingwithhislegsapartonthefrontporch.
HehadchangedsincehisNewHavenyears.
Nowhewasasturdystraw-hairedmanofthirty,witharatherhardmouthandasuperciliousmanner.
Twoshiningarroganteyeshadestablisheddominanceoverhisfaceandgavehimtheappearanceofalwaysleaningaggressivelyforward.
Noteventheeffeminateswankofhisridingclothescouldhidetheenormouspowerofthatbody—heseemedtofillthoseglisteningbootsuntilhestrainedthetoplacing,andyoucouldseeagreatpackofmuscleshiftingwhenhis
rameno
shouldermovedunderhisthincoat.Itwasabodycapableofenormousleverage—a
kruté
cruelbody.Hisspeakingvoice,agruffhuskytenor,addedtotheimpressionoffractiousnessheconveyed.
Therewasatouchofpaternalcontemptinit,eventowardpeopleheliked—andthereweremenatNewHavenwhohadhatedhisguts.
“Now,don’tthinkmyopiniononthesemattersisfinal,”heseemedtosay,“justbecauseI’m
silnější
strongerandmoreofamanthanyouare.”Wewereinthesamesenior
společnosti
society,andwhilewewereneverintimateIalwayshadtheimpressionthatheapprovedofmeandwantedmetolikehimwithsomeharsh,defiantwistfulnessofhisown.Wetalkedforafewminutesonthesunnyporch.
“I’vegotaniceplacehere,”hesaid,hiseyesflashingaboutrestlessly.
Turningmearoundbyonearm,hemovedabroadflathandalongthefrontvista,
včetně
includinginitssweepasunkenItaliangarden,ahalfacreofdeep,pungentroses,andasnub-nosedmotorboatthatbumpedthetideoffshore.“ItbelongedtoDemaine,theoilman.”
Heturnedmearoundagain,politelyandabruptly.
“We’llgoinside.”
Wewalkedthroughahighhallwayintoabrightrosy-colouredspace,fragilelyboundintothehousebyFrenchwindowsateitherend.
Thewindowswereajarandgleamingwhiteagainstthefresh
trávě
grassoutsidethatseemedtogrowalittlewayintothehouse.Abreezeblewthroughtheroom,blewcurtainsinatoneendandouttheotherlikepaleflags,twistingthemuptowardthefrostedwedding-cakeoftheceiling,andthenrippledoverthewine-colouredrug,makinga
stín
shadowonitaswinddoesonthesea.Theonlycompletelystationaryobjectintheroomwasanenormouscouchonwhichtwoyoungwomenwerebuoyedupasthoughuponananchoredballoon.
Theywerebothinwhite,andtheirdresseswereripplingandflutteringasiftheyhadjustbeenblownbackinafterashortflightaroundthehouse.
Imusthavestoodforafewmomentslisteningtothewhipandsnapofthecurtainsandthegroanofapictureonthewall.
ThentherewasaboomasTomBuchananshuttherearwindowsandthecaughtwinddiedoutabouttheroom,andthecurtainsandtherugsandthetwoyoungwomenballooned
pomalu
slowlytothefloor.The
mladší
youngerofthetwowasacizinec
strangertome.Shewasextendedfulllengthatherendofthedivan,completelymotionless,andwithherchinraisedalittle,asifshewerebalancingsomethingonitwhichwasquitelikelytofall.
Ifshesawmeoutofthe
rohu
cornerofhereyesshegavenohintofit—indeed,Iwasalmostsurprisedintomurmuringanapologyforhavingdisturbedherbycomingin.Theothergirl,Daisy,madeanattempttorise—sheleanedslightlyforwardwithaconscientiousexpression—thenshelaughed,anabsurd,
okouzlující
charminglittlelaugh,andIlaughedtooandcameforwardintotheroom.“I’mp-paralysedwithhappiness.”
Shelaughedagain,asifshesaidsomethingverywitty,andheldmyhandforamoment,lookingupintomyface,promisingthattherewasnooneintheworldshesomuchwantedtosee.
Thatwasawayshehad.
ShehintedinamurmurthatthesurnameofthebalancinggirlwasBaker.
(I’vehearditsaidthatDaisy’smurmurwasonlytomakepeopleleantowardher;
anirrelevantcriticismthatmadeitnoless
okouzlující
charming.)Atanyrate,MissBaker’slipsfluttered,shenoddedatmealmostimperceptibly,andthenquicklytippedherheadbackagain—theobjectshewasbalancinghadobviouslytotteredalittleandgivenhersomethingofafright.
Againasortofapologyarosetomylips.
Almostanyexhibitionofcompleteself-sufficiencydrawsastunnedtributefromme.
Ilookedbackatmycousin,whobegantoaskmequestionsinherlow,thrillingvoice.
Itwasthekindofvoicethatthe
ucho
earfollowsupanddown,asifeachřeč
speechisanarrangementofnotesthatwillneverbeplayedagain.Herfacewassadandlovelywithbrightthingsinit,brighteyesandabrightpassionatemouth,buttherewasanexcitementinhervoicethatmenwhohadcaredforherfounddifficulttoforget:
asingingcompulsion,awhispered“Listen,”apromisethatshehaddonegay,
vzrušující
excitingthingsjustawhilesinceandthatthereweregay,vzrušující
excitingthingshoveringinthenexthour.ItoldherhowIhadstoppedoffinChicagoforadayonmywayEast,andhowadozenpeoplehadsenttheirlovethroughme.
“Dotheymissme?”
shecriedecstatically.
“Thewholetownisdesolate.
Allthecarshavetheleftrear
kolo
wheelpaintedblackasamourningwreath,andthere’sapersistentwailallnightalongthenorthshore.”“Howgorgeous!
Let’sgoback,Tom.
Tomorrow!”
Thensheaddedirrelevantly:
“Yououghttoseethebaby.”
“I’dliketo.”
“She’sasleep.
She’sthreeyearsold.
Haven’tyoueverseenher?”
“Never.”
“Well,yououghttoseeher.
She’s—”.
TomBuchanan,whohadbeenhoveringrestlesslyabouttheroom,stoppedandrestedhishandonmy
rameno
shoulder.“Whatyoudoing,Nick?”
“I’mabondman.”
“Whowith?”
Itoldhim.
“Neverheardofthem,”heremarkeddecisively.
Thisannoyedme.
“Youwill,”Iansweredshortly.
“YouwillifyoustayintheEast.”
“Oh,I’llstayintheEast,don’tyouworry,”hesaid,glancingatDaisyandthenbackatme,asifhewerealertforsomethingmore.
“I’dbeaGoddamnedfooltoliveanywhereelse.”
AtthispointMissBakersaid:
“Absolutely!”
withsuchsuddennessthatIstarted—itwasthefirstwordshehadutteredsinceIcameintotheroom.
Evidentlyitsurprisedherasmuchasitdidme,forsheyawnedandwithaseriesofrapid,deftmovementsstoodupintotheroom.
“I’mstiff,”shecomplained,“I’vebeenlyingonthatsofaforaslongasIcanremember.”
“Don’tlookatme,”Daisyretorted,“I’vebeentryingtogetyoutoNewYorkallafternoon.”
“No,thanks,”saidMissBakertothefourcocktailsjustinfromthepantry.
“I’mabsolutelyintraining.”
Herhostlookedatherincredulously.
“Youare!”
Hetookdownhisdrinkasifitwereadropinthe
dně
bottomofaglass.“Howyouevergetanythingdoneisbeyondme.”
IlookedatMissBaker,wonderingwhatitwasshe“gotdone.”
Ienjoyedlookingather.
Shewasaslender,small-breastedgirl,withanerectcarriage,whichsheaccentuatedbythrowingherbodybackwardattheshoulderslikeayoungcadet.
Hergreysun-strainedeyeslookedbackatmewithpolitereciprocalcuriosityoutofawan,
okouzlující
charming,discontentedface.ItoccurredtomenowthatIhadseenher,orapictureofher,somewherebefore.
“YouliveinWestEgg,”sheremarkedcontemptuously.
“Iknowsomebodythere.”
“Idon’tknowasingle—”.
“YoumustknowGatsby.”
“Gatsby?”
demandedDaisy.
“WhatGatsby?”
BeforeIcouldreplythathewasmyneighbourdinnerwasannounced;
wedginghistensearmimperativelyundermine,TomBuchanancompelledmefromtheroomasthoughheweremovingacheckertoanothersquare.
Slenderly,languidly,theirhandssetlightlyontheirhips,thetwoyoungwomenprecededusoutontoarosy-colouredporch,opentowardthesunset,wherefourcandlesflickeredonthetableinthediminishedwind.
“Whycandles?”
objectedDaisy,frowning.
Shesnappedthemoutwithherfingers.
“Intwoweeksit’llbethelongestdayintheyear.”
Shelookedatusallradiantly.
“Doyoualwayswatchforthelongestdayoftheyearandthenmissit?
Ialwayswatchforthelongestdayintheyearandthenmissit.”
“Weoughttoplansomething,”yawnedMissBaker,sittingdownatthetableasifsheweregettingintobed.
“Allright,”saidDaisy.
“What’llweplan?”
Sheturnedtomehelplessly:
“Whatdopeopleplan?”
BeforeIcouldanswerhereyesfastenedwithanawedexpressiononherlittle
prstu
finger.“Look!”
shecomplained;
“Ihurtit.”
Wealllooked—theknucklewasblackandblue.
“Youdidit,Tom,”shesaidaccusingly.
“Iknowyoudidn’tmeanto,butyoudiddoit.
That’swhatIgetformarryingabruteofaman,agreat,big,hulkingphysicalspecimenofa—”.
“Ihatethatword‘hulking,’ ”objectedTomcrossly,“eveninkidding.”
“Hulking,”insistedDaisy.
SometimessheandMissBakertalkedatonce,unobtrusivelyandwithabanteringinconsequencethatwasneverquitechatter,thatwasascoolastheirwhitedressesandtheirimpersonaleyesintheabsenceofall
touhy
desire.Theywerehere,andtheyacceptedTomandme,makingonlyapolitepleasant
úsilí
efforttoentertainortobeentertained.Theyknewthatpresentlydinnerwouldbeoverandalittlelatertheeveningtoowouldbeoverandcasuallyputaway.
ItwassharplydifferentfromtheWest,whereaneveningwashurriedfromphasetophasetowardsitsclose,inacontinuallydisappointedanticipationorelseinsheernervousdreadofthemomentitself.
“Youmakemefeeluncivilized,Daisy,”Iconfessedonmysecondglassofcorkybutratherimpressiveclaret.
“Can’tyoutalkaboutcropsorsomething?”
Imeantnothinginparticularbythisremark,butitwastakenupinanunexpectedway.
“Civilization’sgoingtopieces,”brokeoutTomviolently.
“I’vegottentobeaterriblepessimistaboutthings.
HaveyoureadTheRiseoftheColouredEmpiresbythismanGoddard?”
“Why,no,”Ianswered,rathersurprisedbyhis
tónem
tone.“Well,it’safinebook,andeverybodyoughttoreadit.
Theideaisifwedon’tlookoutthewhiteracewillbe—willbeutterlysubmerged.
It’sallscientificstuff;
it’sbeenproved.”