I
InmyyoungerandmorevulnerableyearsmyfathergavemesomeadvicethatI’vebeenturningoverinmymindeversince.
“Wheneveryoufeellikecriticizinganyone,”hetoldme,“justrememberthatallthepeopleinthisworldhaven’thadtheadvantagesthatyou’vehad.”
Hedidn’tsayanymore,butwe’vealwaysbeenunusuallycommunicativeinareservedway,andIunderstoodthathemeantagreatdealmorethanthat.
Inconsequence,I’minclinedtoreservealljudgements,ahabitthathasopenedupmanycuriousnaturestomeandalsomademethevictimofnotafewveteranbores.
Theabnormalmindisquicktodetectandattachitselftothisqualitywhenitappearsina
normale
normalperson,andsoitcameaboutthatincollege
collegeIwasunjustlyaccusedofbeingapolitician,becauseIwasprivytothesecretgriefsofwild,unknownmen.Mostoftheconfidenceswereunsought—frequentlyIhavefeignedsleep,preoccupation,orahostilelevitywhenIrealizedbysomeunmistakablesignthatanintimaterevelationwasquiveringonthehorizon;
fortheintimaterevelationsofyoungmen,oratleastthetermsinwhichtheyexpressthem,areusuallyplagiaristicandmarredbyobvioussuppressions.
Reservingjudgementsisamatterofinfinitehope.
IamstillalittleafraidofmissingsomethingifIforgetthat,asmyfathersnobbishlysuggested,andIsnobbishlyrepeat,a
senso
senseofthefundamentaldecenciesisparcelledoutunequallyatbirth.And,afterboastingthiswayofmytolerance,Icometotheadmissionthatithasalimit.
Conductmaybefoundedonthehard
roccia
rockorthewetmarshes,butafteracerto
certainpointIdon’tcarewhatit’sfoundedon.WhenIcamebackfromtheEastlastautumnIfeltthatIwantedtheworldtobeinuniformandatasortofmoral
attenzione
attentionforever;Iwantednomoreriotousexcursionswithprivilegedglimpsesintothehumanheart.
OnlyGatsby,themanwhogiveshisnametothisbook,wasexemptfrommyreaction—Gatsby,whorepresentedeverythingforwhichIhaveanunaffectedscorn.
Ifpersonalityisanunbrokenseriesofsuccessfulgestures,thentherewassomethinggorgeousabouthim,someheightenedsensitivitytothepromisesoflife,asifhewererelatedtooneofthoseintricatemachinesthatregisterearthquakestenthousandmilesaway.
Thisresponsivenesshadnothingtodowiththatflabbyimpressionabilitywhichisdignifiedunderthenameofthe“creativetemperament”—itwasanextraordinary
dono
giftforhope,aromanticreadinesssuchasIhaveneverfoundinanyotherpersonandwhichitisnotlikelyIshalleverfindagain.No—Gatsbyturnedoutallrightattheend;
itiswhatpreyedonGatsby,whatfouldustfloatedinthewakeofhisdreamsthattemporarilyclosedoutmy
interesse
interestintheabortivesorrowsandshort-windedelationsofmen.Myfamilyhavebeenprominent,well-to-dopeopleinthisMiddleWesterncityforthreegenerations.
TheCarrawaysaresomethingofaclan,andwehaveatraditionthatwe’redescendedfromtheDukesofBuccleuch,buttheactualfounderofmylinewasmygrandfather’sbrother,whocamehereinfifty-one,sentasubstitutetotheCivilWar,andstartedthewholesalehardwarebusinessthatmyfathercarriesontoday.
Ineversawthisgreat-uncle,butI’msupposedtolooklikehim—withspecialreferencetothe
piuttosto
ratherhard-boiledpaintingthathangsinfather’soffice.IgraduatedfromNewHavenin1915,justaquarterofacenturyaftermyfather,andalittlelaterIparticipatedinthatdelayedTeutonicmigrationknownastheGreatWar.
I
goduto
enjoyedthecounter-raidsothoroughlythatIcamebackrestless.Invece
Insteadofbeingthewarmcentreoftheworld,theMiddleOvest
Westnowseemedliketheraggededgeoftheuniverse—soIdecisi
decidedtogoEastandimparare
learnthebondbusiness.EverybodyIknewwasinthebondbusiness,soIsupposeditcould
sostenere
supportonemoresingleman.Allmyauntsandunclestalkeditoverasiftheywere
scegliendo
choosingaprepschoolforme,andfinallysaid,“Why—ye-es,”withverygrave,hesitantfaces.Father
acconsentì
agreedtofinancemeforayear,andaftervariousdelaysIcameEast,permanently,Ithought,inthespringoftwenty-two.Thepracticalthingwastofindroomsinthecity,butitwasawarmseason,andIhadjustleftacountryofwidelawnsandfriendlytrees,sowhenayoungmanattheofficesuggestedthatwetakeahousetogetherinacommutingtown,itsoundedlikeagreatidea.
Hefoundthehouse,aweather-beatencardboardbungalowateightya
mese
month,butatthelastminutethefirmorderedhimtoWashington,andIwentouttothecountryalone.Ihadadog—atleastIhadhimforafewdaysuntilheranaway—andanoldDodgeandaFinnishwoman,whomademybedand
cucinato
cookedbreakfastandmutteredFinnishwisdomtoherselfovertheelectricstove.Itwaslonelyforadayorsountilonemorningsomeman,morerecentlyarrivedthanI,stoppedmeonthe
strada
road.“HowdoyougettoWestEggvillage?”
heaskedhelplessly.
Itoldhim.
AndasIwalkedonIwaslonelynolonger.
Iwasaguide,apathfinder,anoriginalsettler.
Hehadcasuallyconferredonmethefreedomoftheneighbourhood.
Andsowiththesunshineandthegreatburstsofleaves
crescono
growingonthetrees,justasthingscrescono
growinfastmovies,Ihadthatfamiliarconvictionthatlifewasbeginningoveragainwiththesummer.Therewassomuchtoread,foronething,andsomuchfinehealthtobe
tirato
pulleddownoutoftheyoungbreath-givingair.Iboughtadozenvolumesonbankingandcreditandinvestmentsecurities,andtheystoodonmyshelfinredand
oro
goldlikenewmoneyfromthemint,promisingtounfoldtheshiningsecretsthatonlyMidasandMorganandMaecenasknew.AndIhadthehighintentionofreadingmanyotherbooksbesides.
Iwas
piuttosto
ratherliteraryincollege—oneyearIwroteaseriesofverysolemnandobviouseditorialsfortheYaleNews—andnowIwasgoingtobringbackallsuchthingsintomylifeandbecomeagainthatmostlimitedofallspecialists,the“well-roundedman.”Thisisn’tjustanepigram—lifeismuchmoresuccessfullylookedatfromasingle
finestra
window,afterall.ItwasamatterofchancethatIshouldhaverentedahouseinoneofthestrangestcommunitiesin
Nord
NorthAmerica.Itwasonthatslenderriotous
isola
islandwhichextendsitselfdueest
eastofNewYork—andwherethereare,amongothernaturalcuriosities,twounusualformationsofterra
land.Twentymilesfromthecityapairofenormouseggs,identicalincontourandseparatedonlybyacourtesybay,jutoutintothemostdomesticatedbodyofsaltwaterintheWesternhemisphere,thegreatwetbarnyardofLongIslandSound.
Theyarenotperfectovals—liketheeggintheColumbusstory,theyarebothcrushedflatatthe
contatto
contactend—buttheirphysicalresemblancemustbeasourceofperpetualmeraviglia
wondertothegullsthatvolano
flyoverhead.Tothewinglessamore
interessante
interestingphenomenonistheirdissimilarityineveryparticulartranne
exceptshapeandsize.IlivedatWestEgg,the—well,the
meno
lessfashionableofthetwo,thoughthisisamostsuperficialtagtoexpressthebizarreandnotalittlesinistercontrastbetweenthem.Myhousewasattheverytipoftheegg,onlyfiftyyardsfromtheSound,andsqueezedbetweentwohugeplacesthatrentedfortwelveorfifteenthousandaseason.
Theoneonmyrightwasacolossalaffairbyanystandard—itwasafactualimitationofsomeHôteldeVilleinNormandy,withatowerononeside,spankingnewunderathinbeardofrawivy,andamarbleswimmingpool,andmorethanfortyacresoflawnandgarden.
ItwasGatsby’smansion.
Or,
piuttosto
rather,asIdidn’tknowMr.Gatsby,itwasamansioninhabitedbyagentlemanofthatname.Myownhousewasaneyesore,butitwasasmalleyesore,andithadbeenoverlooked,soIhadaviewofthewater,apartialviewofmyneighbour’slawn,andtheconsolingproximityofmillionaires—allforeightydollarsa
mese
month.AcrossthecourtesybaythewhitepalacesoffashionableEastEggglitteredalongthewater,andthe
storia
historyofthesummerreallyinizia
beginsontheeveningIdroveovertheretohavedinnerwiththeTomBuchanans.Daisywasmysecondcousinonceremoved,andI’dknownTomin
college
college.AndjustafterthewarI
trascorso
spenttwodayswiththeminChicago.Herhusband,amongvariousphysicalaccomplishments,hadbeenoneofthemostpowerfulendsthateverplayedfootballatNewHaven—anational
figura
figureinaway,oneofthosemenwhoraggiungono
reachsuchanacutelimitedexcellenceattwenty-onethateverythingafterwardsavoursofanticlimax.Hisfamilywereenormouslywealthy—evenin
college
collegehisfreedomwithmoneywasamatterforreproach—butnowhe’dleftChicagoandcomeEst
Eastinafashionthatrathertookyourbreathaway:forinstance,he’dbroughtdownastringofpoloponiesfromLakeForest.
Itwashardto
capire
realizethatamaninmyowngenerationwaswealthyenoughtodothat.Whytheycame
Est
EastIdon’tknow.Theyhad
trascorso
spentayearinFrancefornoparticularreason,andthendriftedhereandthereunrestfullywhereverpeopleplayedpoloandwererichtogether.Thiswasapermanentmove,saidDaisyoverthetelephone,butIdidn’tbelieveit—IhadnosightintoDaisy’sheart,butIfeltthatTomwoulddriftonforeverseeking,alittlewistfully,forthedramaticturbulenceofsomeirrecoverablefootballgame.
AndsoithappenedthatonawarmwindyeveningIdroveovertoEastEggtoseetwooldfriendswhomIscarcelyknewatall.
TheirhousewasevenmoreelaboratethanIexpected,acheerfulred-and-whiteGeorgianColonialmansion,overlookingthebay.
Thelawnstartedatthe
spiaggia
beachandrantowardsthefrontdoorforaquarterofamile,saltando
jumpingoversundialsandbrickwalksandburninggardens—finallywhenitraggiunse
reachedthehousedriftingupthesideinbrightvinesasthoughfromthemomentumofitsrun.ThefrontwasbrokenbyalineofFrenchwindows,glowingnowwithreflected
oro
goldandwideopentothecaldo
warmwindyafternoon,andTomBuchananinridingabiti
clotheswasstandingwithhislegsapartonthefrontporch.HehadchangedsincehisNewHavenyears.
Nowhewasasturdystraw-hairedmanofthirty,witha
piuttosto
ratherhardmouthandasuperciliousmanner.Twoshiningarroganteyeshadestablisheddominanceoverhisfaceandgavehimtheappearanceofalwaysleaningaggressivelyforward.
Noteventheeffeminateswankofhisriding
vestiti
clothescouldhidetheenormouspowerofthatbody—hesembrava
seemedtofillthoseglisteningbootsuntilhestrainedthetoplacing,andyoucouldseeagreatpackofmuscleshiftingwhenhisshouldermovedunderhisthincoat.Itwasabodycapableofenormousleverage—acruelbody.
Hisspeaking
voce
voice,agruffhuskytenor,addedtotheimpressionoffractiousnessheconveyed.Therewasatouchofpaternalcontemptinit,eventowardpeopleheliked—andthereweremenatNewHavenwhohadhatedhisguts.
“Now,don’tthinkmyopiniononthesemattersisfinal,”he
sembrava
seemedtosay,“justbecauseI’mstrongerandmoreofamanthanyouare.”Wewereinthesameseniorsociety,andwhilewewereneverintimateIalwayshadtheimpressionthatheapprovedofmeandwantedmetolikehimwithsomeharsh,defiantwistfulnessofhisown.
Wetalkedforafewminutesonthesunnyporch.
“I’vegotaniceplacehere,”hesaid,hiseyesflashingaboutrestlessly.
Turningmearoundbyone
braccio
arm,hemovedabroadflathandalongthefrontvista,includinginitssweepasunkenItaliangarden,ahalfacreofdeep,pungentroses,andasnub-nosedmotorboatthatbumpedthetideoffshore.“ItbelongedtoDemaine,theoilman.”
Heturnedmearoundagain,politelyandabruptly.
“We’llgoinside.”
Wewalkedthroughahighhallwayintoabrightrosy-coloured
spazio
space,fragilelyboundintothehousebyFrenchwindowsateitherend.Thewindowswereajarandgleamingwhiteagainstthefreshgrassoutsidethat
sembrava
seemedtogrowalittlewayintothehouse.Abreeze
soffiava
blewthroughtheroom,blewcurtainsinatoneendandouttheotherlikepaleflags,twistingthemuptowardthefrostedwedding-cakeoftheceiling,andthenrippledoverthewine-colouredrug,makingashadowonitasvento
winddoesonthesea.Theonly
completamente
completelystationaryobjectintheroomwasanenormouscouchonwhichtwoyoungwomenwerebuoyedupasthoughuponananchoredballoon.Theywerebothinwhite,andtheirdresseswereripplingandflutteringasiftheyhadjustbeenblownbackinaftera
breve
shortflightaroundthehouse.Imusthavestoodforafewmomentslisteningtothewhipandsnapofthecurtainsandthegroanofa
quadro
pictureonthewall.ThentherewasaboomasTomBuchananshuttherearwindowsandthecaught
vento
winddiedoutabouttheroom,andthecurtainsandtherugsandthetwoyoungwomenballoonedslowlytothepavimento
floor.Theyoungerofthetwowasastrangertome.
Shewasextendedfulllengthatherendofthedivan,
completamente
completelymotionless,andwithherchinraisedalittle,asifshewerebalancingsomethingonitwhichwasquitelikelytofall.Ifshesawmeoutofthecornerofhereyesshegavenohintofit—indeed,Iwasalmost
sorpreso
surprisedintomurmuringanapologyforhavingdisturbedherbycomingin.Theothergirl,Daisy,madeanattempttorise—sheleanedslightlyforwardwithaconscientiousexpression—thenshe
rise
laughed,anabsurd,charminglittlerisata
laugh,andIlaughedtooandcameforwardintotheroom.“I’mp-paralysedwithhappiness.”
She
rise
laughedagain,asifshesaidsomethingverywitty,andheldmyhandforamoment,lookingupintomyface,promisingthattherewasnooneintheworldshesomuchwantedtosee.Thatwasawayshehad.
ShehintedinamurmurthatthesurnameofthebalancinggirlwasBaker.
(I’vehearditsaidthatDaisy’smurmurwasonlytomakepeopleleantowardher;
anirrelevantcriticismthatmadeitno
meno
lesscharming.)Atanyrate,MissBaker’slipsfluttered,shenoddedatmealmostimperceptibly,andthen
rapidamente
quicklytippedherheadbackagain—theobjectshewasbalancinghadovviamente
obviouslytotteredalittleandgivenhersomethingofafright.Againasortofapologyarosetomylips.
Almostanyexhibitionof
completa
completeself-sufficiencydrawsastunnedtributefromme.Ilookedbackatmycousin,who
cominciò
begantoaskmequestionsinherlow,thrillingvoce
voice.Itwasthekindof
voce
voicethattheearfollowsupanddown,asifeachspeechisanarrangementofnotesthatwillneverbeplayedagain.Herfacewas
triste
sadandlovelywithbrightthingsinit,brighteyesandabrightpassionatebocca
mouth,buttherewasanexcitementinhervoce
voicethatmenwhohadcaredforherfounddifficile
difficulttoforget:asingingcompulsion,awhispered“Listen,”apromisethatshehaddone
gay
gay,excitingthingsjustawhilesinceandthatthereweregay
gay,excitingthingshoveringinthenexthour.ItoldherhowIhadstoppedoffinChicagoforadayonmyway
Est
East,andhowadozenpeoplehadsenttheirlovethroughme.“Dotheymissme?”
shecriedecstatically.
“Thewholetownisdesolate.
Allthecarshavetheleftrearwheelpaintedblackasamourningwreath,andthere’sapersistentwailallnightalongthe
nord
northshore.”“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’llstayinthe
Est
East,don’tyouworry,”hesaid,glancingatDaisyandthenbackatme,asifhewerealertforsomethingmore.“I’dbeaGoddamnedfooltoliveanywhereelse.”
AtthispointMissBakersaid:
“Absolutely!”
withsuchsuddennessthatIstarted—itwasthefirstwordshehadutteredsinceIcameintotheroom.
Evidentlyit
sorpreso
surprisedherasmuchasitdidme,forsheyawnedandwithaseriesofrapid,deftmovementsstoodupintotheroom.“I’mstiff,”shecomplained,“I’vebeenlyingonthatsofaforaslongasIcanremember.”
“Don’tlookatme,”Daisyretorted,“I’vebeentryingtogetyoutoNewYorkallafternoon.”
“No,thanks,”saidMissBakertothefourcocktailsjustinfromthepantry.
“I’m
assolutamente
absolutelyintraining.”Herhostlookedatherincredulously.
“Youare!”
Hetookdownhisdrinkasifitwerea
goccia
dropinthebottomofabicchiere
glass.“Howyouevergetanythingdoneisbeyondme.”
IlookedatMissBaker,wonderingwhatitwasshe“gotdone.”
Ienjoyedlookingather.
Shewasaslender,small-breastedgirl,withanerectcarriage,whichsheaccentuatedby
lanciando
throwingherbodybackwardattheshoulderslikeayoungcadet.Hergreysun-strainedeyeslookedbackatmewithpolitereciprocalcuriosityoutofawan,charming,discontentedface.
ItoccurredtomenowthatIhadseenher,ora
foto
pictureofher,somewherebefore.“YouliveinWestEgg,”sheremarkedcontemptuously.
“Iknowsomebodythere.”
“Idon’tknowasingle—”.
“YoumustknowGatsby.”
“Gatsby?”
demandedDaisy.
“WhatGatsby?”
BeforeIcouldreplythathewasmyneighbourdinnerwasannounced;
wedginghistense
braccio
armimperativelyundermine,TomBuchanancompelledmefromtheroomasthoughheweremovingacheckertoanothersquare.Slenderly,languidly,theirhandssetlightlyontheirhips,thetwoyoungwomenprecededusoutontoarosy-colouredporch,opentowardthesunset,wherefourcandlesflickeredonthe
tavolo
tableinthediminishedwind.“Whycandles?”
objectedDaisy,frowning.
Shesnappedthemoutwithherfingers.
“Intwoweeksit’llbethelongestdayintheyear.”
Shelookedatusallradiantly.
“Doyoualwayswatchforthelongestdayoftheyearandthenmissit?
Ialwayswatchforthelongestdayintheyearandthenmissit.”
“Weoughttoplansomething,”yawnedMissBaker,sittingdownatthe
tavolo
tableasifsheweregettingintobed.“Allright,”saidDaisy.
“What’llweplan?”
Sheturnedtomehelplessly:
“Whatdopeopleplan?”
BeforeIcouldanswerhereyesfastenedwithanawedexpressiononherlittlefinger.
“Look!”
shecomplained;
“Ihurtit.”
Wealllooked—theknucklewasblackand
blu
blue.“Youdidit,Tom,”shesaidaccusingly.
“Iknowyoudidn’tmeanto,butyoudiddoit.
That’swhatIgetfor
sposato
marryingabruteofaman,agreat,big,hulkingphysicalspecimenofa—”.“Ihatethatword‘hulking,’ ”objectedTomcrossly,“eveninkidding.”
“Hulking,”insistedDaisy.
SometimessheandMissBakertalkedatonce,unobtrusivelyandwithabanteringinconsequencethatwasneverquitechatter,thatwasascoolastheirwhitedressesandtheirimpersonaleyesintheabsenceofalldesire.
Theywerehere,andthey
accettato
acceptedTomandme,makingonlyapolitepleasantefforttoentertainortobeentertained.Theyknewthatpresentlydinnerwouldbeoverandalittlelatertheeveningtoowouldbeoverandcasuallyputaway.
ItwassharplydifferentfromtheWest,whereaneveningwashurriedfromphasetophasetowardsitsclose,inacontinuallydisappointedanticipationorelseinsheer
nervoso
nervousdreadofthemomentitself.“Youmakemefeeluncivilized,Daisy,”Iconfessedonmysecond
bicchiere
glassofcorkybutratherimpressiveclaret.“Can’tyoutalkaboutcropsorsomething?”
Imeantnothinginparticularbythisremark,butitwastakenupinanunexpectedway.
“Civilization’sgoingtopieces,”brokeoutTomviolently.
“I’vegottentobea
terribile
terriblepessimistaboutthings.HaveyoureadTheRiseoftheColouredEmpiresbythismanGoddard?”
“Why,no,”Ianswered,
piuttosto
rathersurprisedbyhistone.“Well,it’safinebook,andeverybodyoughttoreadit.
Theideaisifwedon’tlookoutthewhite
razza
racewillbe—willbeutterlysubmerged.It’sallscientificstuff;
it’sbeenproved.”