《了不起的盖茨比》The Great Gatsby中英文双语对照4

投稿:dahai作者:佚名 [我的文集]来源: 时间:2018-05-02 09:50:59 阅读:97

  On Sunday morning while church bells rang in the villages along shorethe world and its mistress returned to Gatsby's house and twinkledhilariously on his lawn.

"He's a bootlegger," said the young ladies, moving somewhere betweenhis cocktails and his flowers. "One time he killed a man who had found outthat he was nephew to von Hindenburg and second cousin to the devil.Reach me a rose, honey, and pour me a last drop into that there crystalglass."

Once I wrote down on the empty spaces of a time-table the namesof those who came to Gatsby's house that summer. It is an old time-tablenow, disintegrating at its folds and headed "This schedule in effectJuly 5th, 1922." But I can still read the grey names and they will giveyou a better impression than my generalities of those who acceptedGatsby's hospitality and paid him the subtle tribute of knowing nothingwhatever about him.

From East Egg, then, came the Chester Beckers and the Leeches and aman named Bunsen whom I knew at Yale and Doctor Webster Civet whowas drowned last summer up in Maine. And the Hornbeams and the WillieVoltaires and a whole clan named Blackbuck who always gathered in acorner and flipped up their noses like goats at whosoever came near.And the Ismays and the Chrysties (or rather Hubert Auerbach and Mr.Chrystie's wife) and Edgar Beaver, whose hair they say turnedcotton-white one winter afternoon for no good reason at all.

Clarence Endive was from East Egg, as I remember. He came onlyonce, in white knickerbockers, and had a fight with a bum namedEtty in the garden. From farther out on the Island came the Cheadlesand the O. R. P. Schraeders and the Stonewall Jackson Abrams ofGeorgia and the Fishguards and the Ripley Snells. Snell was therethree days before he went to the penitentiary, so drunk out on thegravel drive that Mrs. Ulysses Swett's automobile ran over his righthand. The Dancies came too and S. B. Whitebait, who was well oversixty, and Maurice A. Flink and the Hammerheads and Beluga thetobacco importer and Beluga's girls.

From West Egg came the Poles and the Mulreadys and Cecil Roebuck andCecil Schoen and Gulick the state senator and Newton Orchid whocontrolled Films Par Excellence and Eckhaust and Clyde Cohen and DonS. Schwartze (the son) and Arthur McCarty, all connected with themovies in one way or another. And the Catlips and the Bembergs and G.Earl Muldoon, brother to that Muldoon who afterward strangled his wife.Da Fontano the promoter came there, and Ed Legros and James B.("Rot-Gut") Ferret and the De Jongs and Ernest Lilly--they came togamble and when Ferret wandered into the garden it meant he wascleaned out and Associated Traction would have to fluctuate profitablynext day.

A man named Klipspringer was there so often and so long that he becameknown as "the boarder"--I doubt if he had any other home. Of theatricalpeople there were Gus Waize and Horace O'Donavan and Lester Meyer andGeorge Duckweed and Francis Bull. Also from New York were the Chromesand the Backhyssons and the Dennickers and Russel Betty and theCorrigans and the Kellehers and the Dewars and the Scullys and S. W.Belcher and the Smirkes and the young Quinns, divorced now, and HenryL. Palmetto who killed himself by jumping in front of a subway trainin Times Square.

Benny McClenahan arrived always with four girls. They were never quitethe same ones in physical person but they were so identical one withanother that it inevitably seemed they had been there before. I haveforgotten their names--Jaqueline, I think, or else Consuela or Gloriaor Judy or June, and their last names were either the melodious namesof flowers and months or the sterner ones of the great Americancapitalists whose cousins, if pressed, they would confess themselves tobe.

In addition to all these I can remember that Faustina O'Brien camethere at least once and the Baedeker girls and young Brewer who hadhis nose shot off in the war and Mr. Albrucksburger and Miss Haag, hisfiancée, and Ardita Fitz-Peters, and Mr. P. Jewett, once head of theAmerican Legion, and Miss Claudia Hip with a man reputed to be herchauffeur, and a prince of something whom we called Duke and whose name,if I ever knew it, I have forgotten.

All these people came to Gatsby's house in the summer.

At nine o'clock, one morning late in July Gatsby's gorgeous carlurched up the rocky drive to my door and gave out a burst of melodyfrom its three noted horn. It was the first time he had called on methough I had gone to two of his parties, mounted in his hydroplane,and, at his urgent invitation, made frequent use of his beach.

"Good morning, old sport. You're having lunch with me today and Ithought we'd ride up together."

He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with thatresourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American--that comes,I suppose, with the absence of lifting work or rigid sitting in youthand, even more, with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games.This quality was continually breaking through his punctilious manner inthe shape of restlessness. He was never quite still; there was always atapping foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of a hand.

He saw me looking with admiration at his car.

"It's pretty, isn't it, old sport." He jumped off to give me a betterview. "Haven't you ever seen it before?"

I'd seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was a rich cream color, brightwith nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length withtriumphant hatboxes and supper-boxes and tool-boxes, and terraced with alabyrinth of windshields that mirrored a dozen suns. Sitting down behindmany layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory we startedto town.

I had talked with him perhaps half a dozen times in the past month andfound, to my disappointment, that he had little to say. So my firstimpression, that he was a person of some undefined consequence, hadgradually faded and he had become simply the proprietor of an elaborateroadhouse next door.

And then came that disconcerting ride. We hadn't reached West Eggvillage before Gatsby began leaving his elegant sentences unfinishedand slapping himself indecisively on the knee of his caramel-coloredsuit.

"Look here, old sport," he broke out surprisingly. "What's your opinionof me, anyhow?"

A little overwhelmed, I began the generalized evasions whichthat question deserves.

"Well, I'm going to tell you something about my life," he interrupted."I don't want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories youhear."

So he was aware of the bizarre accusations that flavored conversation inhis halls.

"I'll tell you God's truth." His right hand suddenly ordered divineretribution to stand by. "I am the son of some wealthy people in themiddle-west--all dead now. I was brought up in America but educated atOxford because all my ancestors have been educated there for many years.It is a family tradition."

He looked at me sideways--and I knew why Jordan Baker had believed he waslying. He hurried the phrase "educated at Oxford," or swallowed it orchoked on it as though it had bothered him before. And with this doubthis whole statement fell to pieces and I wondered if there wasn'tsomething a little sinister about him after all.

"What part of the middle-west?" I inquired casually.

"San Francisco."

"I see."

"My family all died and I came into a good deal of money."

His voice was solemn as if the memory of that sudden extinction of a clanstill haunted him. For a moment I suspected that he was pulling my legbut a glance at him convinced me otherwise.

"After that I lived like a young rajah in all the capitals ofEurope--Paris, Venice, Rome--collecting jewels, chiefly rubies, huntingbig game, painting a little, things for myself only, and trying toforget something very sad that had happened to me long ago."

With an effort I managed to restrain my incredulous laughter. The veryphrases were worn so threadbare that they evoked no image except that of aturbaned "character" leaking sawdust at every pore as he pursued atiger through the Bois de Boulogne.

"Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief and I tried veryhard to die but I seemed to bear an enchanted life. I accepted acommission as first lieutenant when it began. In the Argonne Forest Itook two machine-gun detachments so far forward that there was a halfmile gap on either side of us where the infantry couldn't advance. Westayed there two days and two nights, a hundred and thirty men withsixteen Lewis guns, and when the infantry came up at last they foundthe insignia of three German divisions among the piles of dead. I waspromoted to be a major and every Allied government gave me adecoration--even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the AdriaticSea!"

Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them--withhis smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro's troubled history andsympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. Itappreciated fully the chain of national circumstances which hadelicited this tribute from Montenegro's warm little heart. Myincredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimminghastily through a dozen magazines.

He reached in his pocket and a piece of metal, slung on a ribbon, fellinto my palm.

"That's the one from Montenegro."

To my astonishment, the thing had an authentic look.

_Orderi di Danilo_, ran the circular legend, _Montenegro, Nicolas Rex_.

"Turn it."

_Major Jay Gatsby_, I read, _For Valour Extraordinary_.

"Here's another thing I always carry. A souvenir of Oxford days. It wastaken in Trinity Quad--the man on my left is now the Earl of Dorcaster."

It was a photograph of half a dozen young men in blazers loafing in anarchway through which were visible a host of spires. There was Gatsby,looking a little, not much, younger--with a cricket bat in his hand.

Then it was all true. I saw the skins of tigers flaming in his palaceon the Grand Canal; I saw him opening a chest of rubies to ease, withtheir crimson-lighted depths, the gnawings of his broken heart.

"I'm going to make a big request of you today," he said, pocketing hissouvenirs with satisfaction, "so I thought you ought to know somethingabout me. I didn't want you to think I was just some nobody. You see,I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and theretrying to forget the sad thing that happened to me." He hesitated."You'll hear about it this afternoon."