I
InmyyoungerandmorevulnerableyearsmyfathergavemesomeadvicethatI’vebeenturningoverinmymindeversince.
“Wheneveryoufeellikecriticizinganyone,”hetoldme,“justrememberthatallthepeopleinthisworldhaven’thadtheadvantagesthatyou’vehad.”
Hedidn’tsayanymore,butwe’vealwaysbeenunusuallycommunicativeinareservedway,andIunderstoodthathemeantagreatdealmorethanthat.
Inconsequence,I’minclinedtoreservealljudgements,ahabitthathasopenedupmanycuriousnaturestomeandalsomademethe
slachtoffer
victimofnotafewveteranbores.Theabnormalmindisquicktodetectandattachitselftothisqualitywhenit
verschijnt
appearsinanormalperson,andsoitcameaboutthatincollegeIwasunjustlyaccusedofbeingapolitician,becauseIwasprivytothesecretgriefsofwild,onbekende
unknownmen.Mostoftheconfidenceswereunsought—frequentlyIhavefeignedsleep,preoccupation,orahostilelevitywhenIrealizedbysomeunmistakablesignthatanintimaterevelationwasquiveringonthehorizon;
fortheintimaterevelationsofyoungmen,oratleastthetermsinwhichthey
uitdrukken
expressthem,areusuallyplagiaristicandmarredbyobvioussuppressions.Reservingjudgementsisamatterofinfinitehope.
IamstillalittleafraidofmissingsomethingifIforgetthat,asmyfathersnobbishly
suggereerde
suggested,andIsnobbishlyrepeat,asenseofthefundamentaldecenciesisparcelledoutunequallyatgeboorte
birth.And,afterboastingthiswayofmytolerance,Icometotheadmissionthatithasalimit.
Conductmaybefoundedonthehardrockorthe
natte
wetmarshes,butafteracertainpointIdon’tcarewhatit’sfoundedon.WhenIcamebackfromtheEastlastautumnIfeltthatIwantedtheworldtobein
uniform
uniformandatasortofmoralattentionforever;Iwantednomoreriotousexcursionswithprivilegedglimpsesintothehumanheart.
OnlyGatsby,themanwhogiveshisnametothisbook,wasexemptfrommyreaction—Gatsby,whorepresentedeverythingforwhichIhaveanunaffectedscorn.
Ifpersonalityisanunbroken
reeks
seriesofsuccessfulgestures,thentherewassomethinggorgeousabouthim,someheightenedsensitivitytothepromisesoflife,asifhewereverwant
relatedtooneofthoseintricatemachinesthatregisterearthquakestenthousandmilesaway.Thisresponsivenesshadnothingtodowiththatflabbyimpressionabilitywhichisdignifiedunderthenameofthe“creativetemperament”—itwasanextraordinarygiftforhope,a
romantische
romanticreadinesssuchasIhaveneverfoundinanyotherpersonandwhichitisnotwaarschijnlijk
likelyIshalleverfindagain.No—Gatsbyturnedoutallrightattheend;
itiswhatpreyedonGatsby,whatfoul
stof
dustfloatedinthewakeofhisdreamsthattemporarilyclosedoutmyinterestintheabortivesorrowsandshort-windedelationsofmen.Myfamilyhavebeenprominent,well-to-dopeopleinthisMiddleWesterncityforthreegenerations.
TheCarrawaysaresomethingofaclan,andwehaveatraditionthatwe’redescendedfromtheDukesofBuccleuch,buttheactualfounderofmylinewasmygrandfather’sbrother,whocamehereinfifty-one,sentasubstitutetotheCivilWar,andstartedthewholesalehardwarebusinessthatmyfathercarriesontoday.
Ineversawthisgreat-uncle,butI’msupposedtolooklikehim—withspecialreferencetotheratherhard-boiledpaintingthathangsinfather’soffice.
IgraduatedfromNewHavenin1915,justa
kwart
quarterofacenturyaftermyfather,andalittlelaterIparticipatedinthatdelayedTeutonicmigrationknownastheGreatWar.Ienjoyedthecounter-raidsothoroughlythatIcamebackrestless.
Insteadofbeingthewarmcentreoftheworld,theMiddleWestnowseemedliketheragged
rand
edgeoftheuniverse—soIdecidedtogoEastandlearntheobligatie
bondbusiness.EverybodyIknewwasinthe
obligatie
bondbusiness,soIsupposeditcouldsupportonemoresingleman.Allmyauntsandunclestalkeditoverasiftheywerechoosingaprepschoolforme,andfinallysaid,“Why—ye-es,”withvery
ernstige
grave,hesitantfaces.Fatheragreedtofinancemeforayear,andaftervariousdelaysIcameEast,permanently,Ithought,inthe
lente
springoftwenty-two.Thepracticalthingwastofindroomsinthecity,butitwasawarm
seizoen
season,andIhadjustleftacountryofbrede
widelawnsandfriendlytrees,sowhenayoungmanattheofficesuggestedthatwetakeahousetogetherinacommutingtown,itsoundedlikeagreatidea.Hefoundthehouse,aweather-beatencardboardbungalowateightyamonth,butatthelastminutethe
bedrijf
firmorderedhimtoWashington,andIwentouttothecountryalone.Ihadadog—atleastIhadhimforafewdaysuntilheranaway—andanoldDodgeandaFinnishwoman,whomademybedandcookedbreakfastandmutteredFinnishwisdomtoherselfovertheelectricstove.
Itwas
eenzaam
lonelyforadayorsountilonemorningsomeman,morerecent
recentlyarrivedthanI,stoppedmeontheroad.“HowdoyougettoWestEggvillage?”
heaskedhelplessly.
Itoldhim.
AndasIwalkedonIwas
eenzaam
lonelynolonger.Iwasa
gids
guide,apathfinder,anoriginalsettler.Hehadcasuallyconferredonmethe
vrijheid
freedomoftheneighbourhood.Andsowiththesunshineandthegreatburstsofleavesgrowingonthetrees,justasthingsgrowinfastmovies,Ihadthatfamiliarconvictionthatlifewasbeginningoveragainwiththesummer.
Therewassomuchtoread,foronething,andsomuchfine
gezondheid
healthtobepulleddownoutoftheyoungbreath-givingair.Iboughtadozenvolumesonbankingand
krediet
creditandinvestmentsecurities,andtheystoodonmyshelfinredandgoldlikenewmoneyfromthemint,promisingtounfoldtheshiningsecretsthatonlyMidasandMorganandMaecenasknew.AndIhadthehighintentionofreadingmanyotherbooksbesides.
Iwasratherliteraryincollege—oneyearIwrotea
reeks
seriesofverysolemnandhand liggende
obviouseditorialsfortheYaleNews—andnowIwasgoingtobringbackallsuchthingsintomylifeandbecomeagainthatmostlimitedofallspecialists,the“well-roundedman.”Thisisn’tjustanepigram—lifeismuchmoresuccessfullylookedatfromasinglewindow,afterall.
ItwasamatterofchancethatIshouldhave
gehuurd
rentedahouseinoneofthestrangestcommunitiesinNorthAmerica.ItwasonthatslenderriotousislandwhichextendsitselfdueeastofNewYork—andwherethereare,amongother
natuurlijke
naturalcuriosities,twounusualformationsofland.Twentymilesfromthecitya
paar
pairofenormouseggs,identicalincontourandgescheiden
separatedonlybyacourtesybay,jutoutintothemostdomesticatedbodyofsaltwaterintheWesternhemisphere,thegreatnatte
wetbarnyardofLongIslandSound.Theyarenotperfectovals—likethe
ei
eggintheColumbusstory,theyarebothcrushedflatatthecontactend—buttheirfysieke
physicalresemblancemustbeabron
sourceofperpetualwondertothegullsthatflyoverhead.Tothewinglessamoreinterestingphenomenonistheirdissimilarityinevery
bijzonder
particularexceptshapeandsize.IlivedatWestEgg,the—well,thelessfashionableofthetwo,thoughthisisamostsuperficialtagto
uit
expressthebizarreandnotalittlesinistercontrastbetweenthem.Myhousewasattheverytipofthe
ei
egg,onlyfiftyyardsfromtheSound,andsqueezedbetweentwohugeplacesthatgehuurd
rentedfortwelveorfifteenthousandaseizoen
season.Theoneonmyrightwasacolossal
affaire
affairbyanystandard—itwasafactualimitationofsomeHôteldeVilleinNormandy,withatoren
towerononeside,spankingnewunderadunne
thinbeardofrawivy,andamarbleswimmingzwembad
pool,andmorethanfortyacresoflawnandtuin
garden.ItwasGatsby’smansion.
Or,rather,asIdidn’tknowMr.Gatsby,itwasamansioninhabitedbyagentlemanofthatname.
Myownhousewasaneyesore,butitwasasmalleyesore,andithadbeenoverlooked,soIhada
uitzicht
viewofthewater,apartialuitzicht
viewofmyneighbour’slawn,andtheconsolingproximityofmillionaires—allforeightydollarsamonth.AcrossthecourtesybaythewhitepalacesoffashionableEastEggglitteredalongthewater,andthehistoryofthesummerreallybeginsontheeveningIdroveovertheretohavedinnerwiththeTomBuchanans.
Daisywasmysecondcousinonceremoved,andI’dknownTomincollege.
AndjustafterthewarIspenttwodayswiththeminChicago.
Herhusband,amongvarious
fysieke
physicalaccomplishments,hadbeenoneofthemostpowerfulendsthateverplayedvoetbal
footballatNewHaven—anationalfigureinaway,oneofthosemenwhoreachsuchanacutelimitedexcellenceattwenty-onethateverythingafterwardsavoursofanticlimax.Hisfamilywereenormouslywealthy—evenincollegehis
vrijheid
freedomwithmoneywasamatterforreproach—butnowhe’dleftChicagoandcomeEastinamanier
fashionthatrathertookyouradem
breathaway:forinstance,he’dbroughtdownastringofpoloponiesfrom
Lake
LakeForest.Itwashardtorealizethatamaninmyown
generatie
generationwaswealthyenoughtodothat.WhytheycameEastIdon’tknow.
TheyhadspentayearinFrancefornoparticularreason,andthendriftedhereandthereunrestfullywhereverpeopleplayedpoloandwererichtogether.
Thiswasapermanentmove,saidDaisyoverthe
telefoon
telephone,butIdidn’tbelieveit—Ihadnozicht
sightintoDaisy’sheart,butIfeltthatTomwoulddriftonforeverzoek
seeking,alittlewistfully,forthedramaticturbulenceofsomeirrecoverablefootballgame.AndsoithappenedthatonawarmwindyeveningIdroveovertoEastEggtoseetwooldfriendswhomIscarcelyknewatall.
TheirhousewasevenmoreelaboratethanIexpected,acheerfulred-and-whiteGeorgianColonialmansion,overlookingthebay.
Thelawnstartedatthebeachandran
naar
towardsthefrontdoorforakwart
quarterofamile,jumpingoversundialsandbrickwalksandburninggardens—finallywhenitreachedthehousedriftingupthesideinheldere
brightvinesasthoughfromthemomentumofitsrun.ThefrontwasbrokenbyalineofFrenchwindows,glowingnowwithreflectedgoldand
wijd
wideopentothewarmwindyafternoon,andTomBuchananinridingclotheswasstandingwithhislegsapartonthefrontporch.HehadchangedsincehisNewHavenyears.
Nowhewasasturdystraw-hairedmanofthirty,witharatherhardmouthandasuperciliousmanner.
Twoshiningarroganteyeshadestablisheddominanceoverhisfaceandgavehimtheappearanceofalwaysleaningaggressivelyforward.
Noteventheeffeminateswankofhisridingclothescouldhidetheenormouspowerofthatbody—heseemedto
vullen
fillthoseglisteningbootsuntilhestrainedthetoplacing,andyoucouldseeagreatpackofmuscleverschuiven
shiftingwhenhisshouldermovedunderhisdunne
thincoat.Itwasabodycapableofenormousleverage—a
wreed
cruelbody.Hisspeakingvoice,agruffhuskytenor,addedtotheimpressionoffractiousnessheconveyed.
Therewasatouchofpaternalcontemptinit,eventowardpeopleheliked—andthereweremenatNewHavenwhohadhatedhisguts.
“Now,don’tthinkmyopiniononthesemattersisfinal,”heseemedtosay,“justbecauseI’m
sterker
strongerandmoreofamanthanyouare.”Wewereinthesameseniorsociety,andwhilewewereneverintimateIalwayshadtheimpressionthatheapprovedofmeandwantedmetolikehimwithsomeharsh,defiantwistfulnessofhisown.
Wetalkedforafewminutesonthesunnyporch.
“I’vegotaniceplacehere,”hesaid,hiseyesflashingaboutrestlessly.
Turningmearoundbyonearm,hemovedabroad
platte
flathandalongthefrontvista,waaronder
includinginitssweepasunkenItaliantuin
garden,ahalfacreofdeep,pungentroses,andasnub-nosedmotorboatthatbumpedthetideoffshore.“ItbelongedtoDemaine,theoilman.”
Heturnedmearoundagain,politelyandabruptly.
“We’llgoinside.”
Wewalkedthroughahighhallwayintoa
heldere
brightrosy-colouredspace,fragilelyboundintothehousebyFrenchwindowsateitherend.Thewindowswereajarandgleamingwhiteagainstthefresh
gras
grassoutsidethatseemedtogrowalittlewayintothehouse.Abreezeblewthroughtheroom,blewcurtainsinatoneendandouttheotherlikepaleflags,twistingthemuptowardthefrostedwedding-cakeoftheceiling,andthenrippledoverthewine-colouredrug,makinga
schaduw
shadowonitaswinddoesonthesea.Theonlycompletelystationary
voorwerp
objectintheroomwasanenormouscouchonwhichtwoyoungwomenwerebuoyedupasthoughuponananchoredballoon.Theywerebothinwhite,andtheirdresseswereripplingandflutteringasiftheyhadjustbeenblownbackinafterashortflightaroundthehouse.
Imusthavestoodforafewmomentslisteningtothewhipandsnapofthecurtainsandthegroanofapictureonthewall.
ThentherewasaboomasTomBuchananshuttherearwindowsandthecaughtwinddiedoutabouttheroom,andthecurtainsandtherugsandthetwoyoungwomenballooned
langzaam
slowlytothefloor.The
jongste
youngerofthetwowasavreemde
strangertome.Shewasextendedfulllengthatherendofthedivan,completelymotionless,andwithherchinraisedalittle,asifshewerebalancingsomethingonitwhichwasquite
waarschijnlijk
likelytofall.Ifshesawmeoutofthe
hoek
cornerofhereyesshegavenohintofit—indeed,Iwasalmostsurprisedintomurmuringanapologyforhavingdisturbedherbycomingin.Theothergirl,Daisy,madeanattempttorise—sheleanedslightlyforwardwithaconscientiousexpression—thenshelaughed,anabsurd,
charmante
charminglittlelaugh,andIlaughedtooandcameforwardintotheroom.“I’mp-paralysedwithhappiness.”
Shelaughedagain,asifshesaidsomethingverywitty,andheldmyhandforamoment,lookingupintomyface,promisingthattherewasnooneintheworldshesomuchwantedtosee.
Thatwasawayshehad.
ShehintedinamurmurthatthesurnameofthebalancinggirlwasBaker.
(I’vehearditsaidthatDaisy’smurmurwasonlytomakepeopleleantowardher;
anirrelevantcriticismthatmadeitnoless
charmant
charming.)Atanyrate,MissBaker’slipsfluttered,shenoddedatmealmostimperceptibly,andthenquicklytippedherheadbackagain—the
object
objectshewasbalancinghadobviouslytotteredalittleandgivenhersomethingofafright.Againasortofapologyarosetomylips.
Almostanyexhibitionofcompleteself-sufficiency
trekt
drawsastunnedtributefromme.Ilookedbackatmycousin,whobegantoaskmequestionsinherlow,thrillingvoice.
Itwasthekindofvoicethatthe
oor
earfollowsupanddown,asifeachtoespraak
speechisanarrangementofnotesthatwillneverbeplayedagain.Herfacewassadandlovelywith
heldere
brightthingsinit,brighteyesandaheldere
brightpassionatemouth,buttherewasanexcitementinhervoicethatmenwhohadcaredforherfounddifficulttoforget:asingingcompulsion,awhispered“Listen,”apromisethatshehaddonegay,
opwindende
excitingthingsjustawhilesinceandthatthereweregay,opwindende
excitingthingshoveringinthenexthour.ItoldherhowIhadstoppedoffinChicagoforadayonmywayEast,andhowadozenpeoplehadsenttheirlovethroughme.
“Dotheymissme?”
shecriedecstatically.
“Thewholetownisdesolate.
Allthecarshavetheleftrearwheel
geschilderd
paintedblackasamourningwreath,andthere’sapersistentwailallnightalongthenorthshore.”“How
prachtig
gorgeous!Let’sgoback,Tom.
Tomorrow!”
Thenshe
voegde
addedirrelevantly:“Yououghttoseethebaby.”
“I’dliketo.”
“She’sasleep.
She’sthreeyearsold.
Haven’tyoueverseenher?”
“Never.”
“Well,yououghttoseeher.
She’s—”.
TomBuchanan,whohadbeenhoveringrestlesslyabouttheroom,stoppedandrestedhishandonmy
schouder
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,forsheyawnedandwitha
reeks
seriesofrapid,deftmovementsstoodupintotheroom.“I’mstiff,”shecomplained,“I’vebeenlyingonthatsofaforaslongasIcanremember.”
“Don’tlookatme,”Daisyretorted,“I’vebeentryingtogetyoutoNewYorkallafternoon.”
“No,thanks,”saidMissBakertothefourcocktailsjustinfromthepantry.
“I’mabsolutelyintraining.”
Herhostlookedatherincredulously.
“Youare!”
Hetookdownhisdrinkasifitwereadropinthe
bodem
bottomofaglass.“Howyouevergetanythingdoneisbeyondme.”
IlookedatMissBaker,wonderingwhatitwasshe“gotdone.”
Ienjoyedlookingather.
Shewasaslender,small-breastedgirl,withanerectcarriage,whichsheaccentuatedbythrowingherbodybackwardattheshoulderslikeayoungcadet.
Hergreysun-strainedeyeslookedbackatmewithpolitereciprocalcuriosityoutofawan,
charmant
charming,discontentedface.ItoccurredtomenowthatIhadseenher,orapictureofher,somewherebefore.
“YouliveinWestEgg,”sheremarkedcontemptuously.
“Iknowsomebodythere.”
“Idon’tknowasingle—”.
“YoumustknowGatsby.”
“Gatsby?”
eiste
demandedDaisy.“WhatGatsby?”
BeforeIcouldreplythathewasmyneighbourdinnerwasannounced;
wedginghistensearmimperativelyundermine,TomBuchanancompelledmefromtheroomasthoughheweremovingacheckertoanother
vierkant
square.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?”
BeforeIcouldanswerhereyesfastenedwithanawedexpressiononherlittlefinger.
“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
verlangen
desire.Theywerehere,andtheyacceptedTomandme,makingonlyapolitepleasant
inspanning
efforttoentertainortobeentertained.Theyknewthatpresentlydinnerwouldbeoverandalittlelatertheeveningtoowouldbeoverandcasuallyputaway.
ItwassharplydifferentfromtheWest,whereaneveningwashurriedfromphasetophasetowardsitsclose,inacontinuallydisappointedanticipationorelseinsheernervousdreadofthemomentitself.
“Youmakemefeeluncivilized,Daisy,”Iconfessedonmysecondglassofcorkybutrather
indrukwekkende
impressiveclaret.“Can’tyoutalkaboutcropsorsomething?”
Imeantnothingin
bijzonder
particularbythisremark,butitwastakenupinanunexpectedway.“Civilization’sgoingtopieces,”brokeoutTomviolently.
“I’vegottentobeaterriblepessimistaboutthings.
HaveyoureadTheRiseoftheColouredEmpiresbythismanGoddard?”
“Why,no,”Ianswered,rathersurprisedbyhistone.
“Well,it’safinebook,andeverybodyoughttoreadit.
Theideaisifwedon’tlookoutthewhiteracewillbe—willbeutterlysubmerged.
It’sallscientificstuff;
it’sbeenproved.”