The Great Gatsby | Progressive Translation Books for French A2 Students

The Great Gatsby | Progressive Translation Books for French A2 Students

Experience the benefits of this forward-thinking translation strategy that tailors language learning to your specific needs. You have control over the difficulty, which ensures that the content is neither too easy nor overly challenging. This method enhances your ability to understand new words through context, reducing reliance on direct translations. While the translations are subtly obscured to foster learning, you can still look up unclear terms. This balanced approach makes language acquisition smoother and more enjoyable. Delve into these translated literary works and discover the satisfaction of mastering a language through reading.

I
InmyyoungerandmorevulnerableyearsmyfathergavemesomeadvicethatI’vebeenturningoverinmymindeversince.
“Wheneveryoufeellikecriticizinganyone,”hetoldme,“justrememberthatallthepeopleinthisworldhaven’thadtheadvantagesthatyou’vehad.”
Hedidn’tsayanymore,butwe’vealwaysbeenunusuallycommunicativeinareservedway,andIunderstoodthathemeantagreatdealmorethanthat.
Inconsequence,I’minclinedtoreservealljudgements,ahabitthathasopenedupmanycuriousnaturestomeandalsomademethevictimofnotafewveteranbores.
Theabnormalmindisquicktodetectandattachitselftothisqualitywhenitappearsinanormalperson,andsoitcameaboutthatincollegeIwasunjustlyaccusedofbeingapolitician,becauseIwasprivytothesecretgriefsofwild,unknownmen.
Mostoftheconfidenceswereunsought—frequentlyIhavefeignedsleep,preoccupation,orahostilelevitywhenI
réalisé
realized
bysomeunmistakablesignthatanintimaterevelationwasquiveringonthehorizon;
fortheintimaterevelationsofyoungmen,oratleastthetermsinwhichtheyexpressthem,are
généralement
usually
plagiaristicandmarredbyobvioussuppressions.
Reservingjudgementsisamatterofinfinitehope.
IamstillalittleafraidofmissingsomethingifIforgetthat,asmyfathersnobbishlysuggested,andIsnobbishlyrepeat,a
sens
sense
ofthefundamentaldecenciesisparcelledoutunequallyatbirth.
And,afterboastingthiswayofmytolerance,Icometotheadmissionthatithasalimit.
Conductmaybefoundedonthehard
roche
rock
orthewetmarshes,butafteracertainpointIdon’tcarewhatit’sfoundedon.
WhenIcamebackfromtheEastlastautumnIfeltthatIwantedtheworldtobeinuniformandatasortofmoralattentionforever;
Iwantednomoreriotousexcursionswithprivilegedglimpsesintothehumanheart.
OnlyGatsby,themanwhogiveshisnametothisbook,wasexemptfrommyreaction—Gatsby,whorepresentedeverythingforwhichIhaveanunaffectedscorn.
Ifpersonalityisanunbrokenseriesofsuccessfulgestures,thentherewassomethinggorgeousabouthim,someheightenedsensitivitytothepromisesoflife,asifhewererelatedtooneofthoseintricatemachinesthatregisterearthquakesten
mille
thousand
milesaway.
Thisresponsivenesshadnothingtodowiththatflabbyimpressionabilitywhichisdignifiedunderthenameofthe“creativetemperament”—itwasanextraordinary
don
gift
forhope,aromanticreadinesssuchasIhaveneverfoundinanyotherpersonandwhichitisnotlikelyIshalleverfindagain.
No—Gatsbyturnedoutallrightattheend;
itiswhatpreyedonGatsby,whatfouldustfloatedinthewakeofhisdreamsthattemporarilyclosedoutmy
intérêt
interest
intheabortivesorrowsandshort-windedelationsofmen.
Myfamilyhavebeenprominent,well-to-dopeopleinthis
Moyen
Middle
Westerncityforthreegenerations.
TheCarrawaysaresomethingofaclan,andwehaveatraditionthatwe’redescendedfromtheDukesofBuccleuch,buttheactualfounderofmylinewasmygrandfather’sbrother,whocamehereinfifty-one,sentasubstitutetotheCivilWar,andstartedthewholesalehardwarebusinessthatmyfathercarriesontoday.
Ineversawthisgreat-uncle,butI’msupposedtolooklikehim—withspecialreferencetothe
plutôt
rather
hard-boiledpaintingthathangsinfather’soffice.
IgraduatedfromNewHavenin1915,justaquarterofacenturyaftermyfather,andalittlelaterIparticipatedinthatdelayedTeutonicmigrationknownastheGreatWar.
I
apprécié
enjoyed
thecounter-raidsothoroughlythatIcamebackrestless.
Insteadofbeingthe
chaleureux
warm
centreoftheworld,the
Moyen
Middle
Westnowseemedliketheraggededgeoftheuniverse—soI
décidé
decided
togoEastandlearnthebondbusiness.
EverybodyIknewwasinthebondbusiness,soI
supposé
supposed
itcouldsupportonemore
célibataire
single
man.
Allmyauntsandunclestalkeditoverasiftheywere
choisissaient
choosing
aprepschoolforme,and
finalement
finally
said,“Why—ye-es,”withverygrave,hesitantfaces.
Father
accepté
agreed
tofinancemeforayear,andaftervariousdelaysIcameEast,permanently,Ithought,inthespringoftwenty-two.
Thepracticalthingwastofindroomsinthecity,butitwasawarmseason,andIhadjustleftacountryofwidelawnsandfriendlytrees,sowhenayoungmanattheofficesuggestedthatwetakeahousetogetherinacommutingtown,itsoundedlikeagreatidea.
Hefoundthehouse,aweather-beatencardboardbungalowateightya
mois
month
,butatthelastminutethefirmorderedhimtoWashington,andIwentouttothecountryalone.
Ihadadog—atleastIhadhimforafewdaysuntilheranaway—andanoldDodgeandaFinnishwoman,whomademybedandcooked
petit déjeuner
breakfast
andmutteredFinnishwisdomtoherselfovertheelectricstove.
Itwaslonelyforadayorsountilonemorningsomeman,morerecentlyarrivedthanI,stoppedmeonthe
route
road
.
“HowdoyougettoWestEggvillage?”
heaskedhelplessly.
Itoldhim.
AndasIwalkedonIwaslonelynolonger.
Iwasaguide,apathfinder,anoriginalsettler.
Hehadcasuallyconferredonmethefreedomoftheneighbourhood.
Andsowiththesunshineandthegreatburstsofleaves
poussent
growing
onthetrees,justasthings
poussent
grow
infastmovies,Ihadthatfamiliarconvictionthatlifewasbeginningoveragainwiththesummer.
Therewassomuchtoread,foronething,andsomuchfinehealthtobe
tirer
pulled
downoutoftheyoungbreath-givingair.
Iboughtadozenvolumesonbankingandcreditandinvestmentsecurities,andtheystoodonmyshelfinredand
or
gold
likenewmoneyfromthemint,promisingtounfoldtheshiningsecretsthatonlyMidasandMorganandMaecenasknew.
AndIhadthehighintentionofreadingmanyotherbooksbesides.
Iwas
plutôt
rather
literaryincollege—oneyearIwroteaseriesofverysolemnandobviouseditorialsfortheYaleNews—andnowIwasgoingtobringbackallsuchthingsintomylifeandbecomeagainthatmostlimitedofallspecialists,the“well-roundedman.”
Thisisn’tjustanepigram—lifeismuchmoresuccessfullylookedatfromasingle
fenêtre
window
,afterall.
ItwasamatterofchancethatIshouldhaverentedahouseinoneofthestrangestcommunitiesin
Nord
North
America.
Itwasonthatslenderriotous
île
island
whichextendsitselfdueeastofNewYork—andwherethereare,amongothernaturalcuriosities,twounusualformationsof
terre
land
.
Twentymilesfromthecityapairofenormouseggs,identicalincontourandseparatedonlybyacourtesybay,jutoutintothemostdomesticatedbodyofsaltwaterintheWesternhemisphere,thegreatwetbarnyardofLongIslandSound.
Theyarenotperfectovals—liketheeggintheColumbusstory,theyarebothcrushedflatatthe
contact
contact
end—buttheirphysicalresemblancemustbeasourceofperpetualwondertothegullsthat
volent
fly
overhead.
Tothewinglessamore
intéressant
interesting
phenomenonistheirdissimilarityineveryparticular
sauf
except
shapeandsize.
IlivedatWestEgg,the—well,the
moins
less
fashionableofthetwo,thoughthisisamostsuperficialtagtoexpressthebizarreandnotalittlesinistercontrastbetweenthem.
Myhousewasattheverytipoftheegg,onlyfiftyyardsfromtheSound,andsqueezedbetweentwohugeplacesthatrentedfortwelveorfifteen
mille
thousand
aseason.
Theoneonmyrightwasacolossalaffairbyanystandard—itwasafactualimitationofsomeHôteldeVilleinNormandy,withatowerononeside,spankingnewunderathinbeardofrawivy,andamarbleswimmingpool,andmorethanfortyacresoflawnandgarden.
ItwasGatsby’smansion.
Or,
plutôt
rather
,asIdidn’tknowMr.Gatsby,itwasamansioninhabitedbyagentlemanofthatname.
Myownhousewasaneyesore,butitwasasmalleyesore,andithadbeenoverlooked,soIhadaviewofthewater,apartialviewofmyneighbour’slawn,andtheconsolingproximityofmillionaires—allforeightydollarsa
mois
month
.
AcrossthecourtesybaythewhitepalacesoffashionableEastEggglitteredalongthewater,andthehistoryofthesummerreally
commence
begins
ontheeveningIdroveovertheretohavedinnerwiththeTomBuchanans.
Daisywasmysecondcousinonceremoved,andI’dknownTomincollege.
AndjustafterthewarI
passé
spent
twodayswiththeminChicago.
Herhusband,amongvariousphysicalaccomplishments,hadbeenoneofthemostpowerfulendsthateverplayedfootballatNewHaven—anational
figure
figure
inaway,oneofthosemenwho
atteignent
reach
suchanacutelimitedexcellenceattwenty-onethateverythingafterwardsavoursofanticlimax.
Hisfamilywereenormouslywealthy—evenincollegehisfreedomwithmoneywasamatterforreproach—butnowhe’dleftChicagoandcomeEastinafashionthatrathertookyourbreathaway:
forinstance,he’dbroughtdownastringofpoloponiesfromLakeForest.
Itwashardto
réaliser
realize
thatamaninmyowngenerationwaswealthyenoughtodothat.
WhytheycameEastIdon’tknow.
Theyhad
passé
spent
ayearinFrancefornoparticularreason,andthendriftedhereandthereunrestfullywhereverpeopleplayedpoloandwere
riches
rich
together.
Thiswasapermanentmove,saidDaisyoverthetelephone,butIdidn’tbelieveit—IhadnosightintoDaisy’sheart,butIfeltthatTomwoulddriftonforeverseeking,alittlewistfully,forthedramaticturbulenceofsomeirrecoverablefootballgame.
Andsoithappenedthatona
chaud
warm
windyeveningIdroveovertoEastEggtoseetwooldfriendswhomIscarcelyknewatall.
TheirhousewasevenmoreelaboratethanI
attendais
expected
,acheerfulred-and-whiteGeorgianColonialmansion,overlookingthebay.
Thelawnstartedatthe
plage
beach
andrantowardsthefrontdoorforaquarterofamile,
sautant
jumping
oversundialsandbrickwalksandburninggardens—finallywhenit
atteint
reached
thehousedriftingupthesideinbrightvinesasthoughfromthemomentumofitsrun.
ThefrontwasbrokenbyalineofFrenchwindows,glowingnowwithreflectedgoldandwideopentothe
chaud
warm
windyafternoon,andTomBuchananinriding
vêtements
clothes
wasstandingwithhislegsapartonthefrontporch.
HehadchangedsincehisNewHavenyears.
Nowhewasasturdystraw-hairedmanofthirty,witha
plutôt
rather
hardmouthandasuperciliousmanner.
Twoshiningarroganteyeshadestablisheddominanceoverhisfaceandgavehimtheappearanceofalwaysleaningaggressivelyforward.
Noteventheeffeminateswankofhisriding
vêtements
clothes
couldhidetheenormouspowerofthatbody—he
semblait
seemed
tofillthoseglisteningbootsuntilhestrainedthetoplacing,andyoucouldseeagreatpackofmuscleshiftingwhenhisshouldermovedunderhisthincoat.
Itwasabodycapableofenormousleverage—acruelbody.
Hisspeaking
voix
voice
,agruffhuskytenor,addedtotheimpressionoffractiousnessheconveyed.
Therewasatouchofpaternalcontemptinit,eventowardpeopleheliked—andthereweremenatNewHavenwhohadhatedhisguts.
“Now,don’tthinkmyopiniononthesemattersisfinal,”heseemedtosay,“justbecauseI’mstrongerandmoreofamanthanyouare.”
Wewereinthesameseniorsociety,andwhilewewereneverintimateIalwayshadtheimpressionthatheapprovedofmeandwantedmetolikehimwithsomeharsh,defiantwistfulnessofhisown.
Wetalkedforafewminutesonthesunnyporch.
“I’vegotaniceplacehere,”hesaid,hiseyesflashingaboutrestlessly.
Turningmearoundbyone
bras
arm
,hemovedabroadflathandalongthefrontvista,includinginitssweepasunkenItaliangarden,ahalfacreofdeep,pungentroses,andasnub-nosedmotorboatthatbumpedthetideoffshore.
“ItbelongedtoDemaine,theoilman.”
Heturnedmearoundagain,politelyandabruptly.
“We’llgoinside.”
Wewalkedthroughahighhallwayintoabrightrosy-coloured
espace
space
,fragilelyboundintothehousebyFrenchwindowsateitherend.
Thewindowswereajarandgleamingwhiteagainstthefreshgrassoutsidethat
semblait
seemed
togrowalittlewayintothehouse.
Abreezeblewthroughtheroom,blewcurtainsinatoneendandouttheotherlikepaleflags,twistingthemuptowardthefrostedwedding-cakeoftheceiling,andthenrippledoverthewine-colouredrug,makingashadowonitaswinddoesonthe
mer
sea
.
Theonlycompletelystationaryobjectintheroomwasanenormouscouchonwhichtwoyoungwomenwerebuoyedupasthoughuponananchoredballoon.
Theywerebothinwhite,andtheirdresseswereripplingandflutteringasiftheyhadjustbeenblownbackinaftera
court
short
flightaroundthehouse.
Imusthavestoodforafewmomentslisteningtothewhipandsnapofthecurtainsandthegroanofa
tableau
picture
onthewall.
ThentherewasaboomasTomBuchananshuttherearwindowsandthecaught
vent
wind
diedoutabouttheroom,andthecurtainsandtherugsandthetwoyoungwomenballoonedslowlytothe
sol
floor
.
Theyoungerofthetwowasastrangertome.
Shewasextendedfulllengthatherendofthedivan,
complètement
completely
motionless,andwithherchin
soulevé
raised
alittle,asifshewerebalancingsomethingonitwhichwasquitelikelytofall.
Ifshesawmeoutofthecornerofhereyesshegavenohintofit—indeed,Iwasalmost
surpris
surprised
intomurmuringanapologyforhavingdisturbedherbycomingin.
Theothergirl,Daisy,madeanattempttorise—sheleanedslightly
avant
forward
withaconscientiousexpression—thenshelaughed,anabsurd,charminglittle
rire
laugh
,andIlaughedtooandcame
avant
forward
intotheroom.
“I’mp-paralysedwithhappiness.”
Shelaughedagain,asifshesaidsomethingverywitty,andheldmyhandforamoment,lookingupintomyface,promisingthattherewasnooneintheworldshesomuchwantedtosee.
Thatwasawayshehad.
ShehintedinamurmurthatthesurnameofthebalancinggirlwasBaker.
(I’vehearditsaidthatDaisy’smurmurwasonlytomakepeopleleantowardher;
anirrelevantcriticismthatmadeitno
moins
less
charming.)
Atanyrate,MissBaker’slipsfluttered,shenoddedatmealmostimperceptibly,andthen
rapidement
quickly
tippedherheadbackagain—theobjectshewasbalancinghad
évidemment
obviously
totteredalittleandgivenhersomethingofafright.
Againasortofapologyarosetomylips.
Almostanyexhibitionof
complète
complete
self-sufficiencydrawsastunnedtributefromme.
Ilookedbackatmycousin,whobegantoaskmequestionsinherlow,thrilling
voix
voice
.
Itwasthekindof
voix
voice
thattheearfollowsupanddown,asifeachspeechisanarrangementofnotesthatwillneverbeplayedagain.
Herfacewas
triste
sad
andlovelywithbrightthingsinit,brighteyesandabrightpassionate
bouche
mouth
,buttherewasanexcitementinher
voix
voice
thatmenwhohadcaredforherfound
difficile
difficult
toforget:
asingingcompulsion,awhispered“Listen,”apromisethatshehaddonegay,excitingthingsjustawhilesinceandthatthereweregay,excitingthingshoveringinthenexthour.
ItoldherhowIhadstoppedoffinChicagoforadayonmywayEast,andhowadozenpeoplehadsenttheirlovethroughme.
“Dotheymissme?”
she
pleuré
cried
ecstatically.
“Thewholetownisdesolate.
Allthecarshavetheleftrearwheelpaintedblackasamourningwreath,andthere’sapersistentwailallnightalongthe
nord
north
shore.”
“Howgorgeous!
Let’sgoback,Tom.
Tomorrow!”
Thensheaddedirrelevantly:
“Yououghttoseethebaby.”
“I’dliketo.”
“She’sasleep.
She’sthreeyearsold.
Haven’tyoueverseenher?”
“Never.”
“Well,yououghttoseeher.
She’s—”.
TomBuchanan,whohadbeenhoveringrestlesslyabouttheroom,stoppedandrestedhishandonmyshoulder.
“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.
Evidentlyit
surpris
surprised
herasmuchasitdidme,forsheyawnedandwithaseriesofrapid,deftmovementsstoodupintotheroom.
“I’mstiff,”shecomplained,“I’vebeenlyingonthatsofaforaslongasIcanremember.”
“Don’tlookatme,”Daisyretorted,“I’vebeentryingtogetyoutoNewYorkallafternoon.”
“No,thanks,”saidMissBakertothefourcocktailsjustinfromthepantry.
“I’mabsolutelyintraining.”
Herhostlookedatherincredulously.
“Youare!”
Hetookdownhisdrinkasifitwerea
goutte
drop
inthebottomofaglass.
“Howyouevergetanythingdoneisbeyondme.”
IlookedatMissBaker,
demandant
wondering
whatitwasshe“gotdone.”
Ienjoyedlookingather.
Shewasaslender,small-breastedgirl,withanerectcarriage,whichsheaccentuatedby
jetant
throwing
herbodybackwardattheshoulderslikeayoungcadet.
Hergreysun-strainedeyeslookedbackatmewithpolitereciprocalcuriosityoutofawan,charming,discontentedface.
ItoccurredtomenowthatIhadseenher,ora
photo
picture
ofher,somewherebefore.
“YouliveinWestEgg,”sheremarkedcontemptuously.
“Iknowsomebodythere.”
“Idon’tknowasingle—”.
“YoumustknowGatsby.”
“Gatsby?”
demandedDaisy.
“WhatGatsby?”
BeforeIcouldreplythathewasmyneighbourdinnerwasannounced;
wedginghistense
bras
arm
imperativelyundermine,TomBuchanancompelledmefromtheroomasthoughheweremovingacheckertoanothersquare.
Slenderly,languidly,theirhandssetlightlyontheirhips,thetwoyoungwomenprecededusoutontoarosy-colouredporch,opentowardthesunset,wherefourcandlesflickeredonthe
table
table
inthediminishedwind.
“Whycandles?”
objectedDaisy,frowning.
Shesnappedthemoutwithherfingers.
“Intwoweeksit’llbethelongestdayintheyear.”
Shelookedatusallradiantly.
“Doyoualwayswatchforthelongestdayoftheyearandthenmissit?
Ialwayswatchforthelongestdayintheyearandthenmissit.”
“Weoughttoplansomething,”yawnedMissBaker,sittingdownatthe
table
table
asifsheweregettingintobed.
“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,thatwasascoolastheirwhitedressesandtheirimpersonaleyesintheabsenceofalldesire.
Theywerehere,andthey
accepté
accepted
Tomandme,makingonlyapolitepleasantefforttoentertainortobeentertained.
Theyknewthatpresentlydinnerwouldbeoverandalittlelatertheeveningtoowouldbeoverandcasuallyputaway.
ItwassharplydifferentfromtheWest,whereaneveningwashurriedfromphasetophasetowardsitsclose,inacontinuallydisappointedanticipationorelseinsheernervousdreadofthemomentitself.
“Youmakemefeeluncivilized,Daisy,”Iconfessedonmysecond
verre
glass
ofcorkybutratherimpressiveclaret.
“Can’tyoutalkaboutcropsorsomething?”
Imeantnothinginparticularbythisremark,butitwastakenupinanunexpectedway.
“Civilization’sgoingtopieces,”brokeoutTomviolently.
“I’vegottentobea
terrible
terrible
pessimistaboutthings.
HaveyoureadTheRiseoftheColouredEmpiresbythismanGoddard?”
“Why,no,”Ianswered,
plutôt
rather
surprisedbyhistone.
“Well,it’safinebook,andeverybodyoughttoreadit.
Theideaisifwedon’tlookoutthewhite
race
race
willbe—willbeutterlysubmerged.
It’sallscientificstuff;
it’sbeenproved.”