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英语原版有声读物:《了不起的盖茨比》Chapter8

2015-12-01    来源:普特英语听力    【      美国外教 在线口语培训

《The Great GATSBY》

《了不起的盖茨比》

简介:

《了不起的盖茨比》是美国作家弗·司各特·菲茨杰拉德1925年所写的一部以20世纪20年 代的纽约市及长岛为背景的中篇小说,小说的背景被设定在现代化的美国社会中上阶层的白人圈内,通过卡拉韦的叙述展开。《了不起的盖茨比》问世,奠定了弗· 司各特·菲茨杰拉德在现代美国文学史上的地位,成了20年代“爵士时代”的发言人和“迷惘的一代”的代表作家之一。20世纪末,美国学术界权威在百年英语 文学长河中选出一百部最优秀的小说,《了不起的盖茨比》高居第二位,傲然跻身当代经典行列。

作者简介:

F.S.菲茨杰拉德(Francis Scott Fitzgerald 1896~1940),美国小说家。1896年9月24日生于明尼苏达州圣保罗市。父亲是家具商。他年轻时试写过剧本。读完高中后考入普林斯顿大学。在校 时曾自组剧团,并为校内文学刊物写稿。后因身体欠佳,中途辍学。1917年入伍,终日忙于军训,未曾出国打仗。退伍后坚持业余写作。1920年出版了长篇 小说《人间天堂》,从此出了名,小说出版后他与吉姗尔达结婚。婚后携妻寄居巴黎,结识了安德逊、海明威等多位美国作家。1925年《了不起的盖茨比》问 世,奠定了他在现代美国文学史上的地位,成了20年代“爵士时代”的发言人和“迷惘的一代”的代表作家之一。菲兹杰拉德成名后继续勤奋笔耕,但婚后妻子讲 究排场,后来又精神失常,挥霍无度,给他带来极大痛苦。他经济上入不敷出,一度去好莱坞写剧本挣钱维持生计。1936年不幸染上肺病,妻子又一病不起,使 他几乎无法创作,精神濒于崩溃,终日酗酒。1940年12月21日迸发心脏病,死于洛杉矶,年仅44岁。菲兹杰拉德不仅写长篇小说,矩篇小说也频有特色。 除上述两部作品外,主要作品还有《夜色温柔》(1934)和《末代大亨的情缘》(1941)。他的小说生动地反映了20年代“美国梦”的破灭,展示了大萧 条时朗美国上层社会“荒原时代”的精神面貌。

Chapter 8:

I couldn't sleep all night; a fog-horn was groaning incessantly on theSound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savagefrightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby's driveand immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress--I felt that Ihad something to tell him, something to warn him about and morningwould be too late.

Crossing his lawn I saw that his front door was still open and he wasleaning against a table in the hall, heavy with dejection or sleep.

"Nothing happened," he said wanly. "I waited, and about four o'clock shecame to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned outthe light."

His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when wehunted through the great rooms for cigarettes. We pushed aside curtainsthat were like pavilions and felt over innumerable feet of dark wall forelectric light switches--once I tumbled with a sort of splash upon thekeys of a ghostly piano. There was an inexplicable amount of dusteverywhere and the rooms were musty as though they hadn't been aired formany days. I found the humidor on an unfamiliar table with two stale drycigarettes inside. Throwing open the French windows of thedrawing-room we sat smoking out into the darkness.

"You ought to go away," I said. "It's pretty certain they'll traceyour car."

"Go away NOW, old sport?"

"Go to Atlantic City for a week, or up to Montreal."

He wouldn't consider it. He couldn't possibly leave Daisy until he knewwhat she was going to do. He was clutching at some last hope and Icouldn't bear to shake him free.

It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth withDan Cody--told it to me because "Jay Gatsby" had broken up like glassagainst Tom's hard malice and the long secret extravaganza was playedout. I think that he would have acknowledged anything, now, withoutreserve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy.

She was the first "nice" girl he had ever known. In various unrevealedcapacities he had come in contact with such people but alwayswith indiscernible barbed wire between. He found her excitinglydesirable. He went to her house, at first with other officersfrom Camp Taylor, then alone. It amazed him--he had never beenin such a beautiful house before. But what gave it an air of breathlessintensity was that Daisy lived there--it was as casual a thing to heras his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it,a hint of bedrooms upstairs more beautiful and cool than otherbedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through itscorridors and of romances that were not musty and laid away already inlavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year's shiningmotor cars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely withered. Itexcited him too that many men had already loved Daisy--it increasedher value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house,pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.

But he knew that he was in Daisy's house by a colossal accident.However glorious might be his future as Jay Gatsby, he was at present apenniless young man without a past, and at any moment the invisiblecloak of his uniform might slip from his shoulders. So he madethe most of his time. He took what he could get, ravenously andunscrupulously--eventually he took Daisy one still October night,took her because he had no real right to touch her hand.

He might have despised himself, for he had certainly taken her underfalse pretenses. I don't mean that he had traded on his phantommillions, but he had deliberately given Daisy a sense of security; helet her believe that he was a person from much the same stratum asherself--that he was fully able to take care of her. As a matter offact he had no such facilities--he had no comfortable family standingbehind him and he was liable at the whim of an impersonal governmentto be blown anywhere about the world.

But he didn't despise himself and it didn't turn out as he hadimagined. He had intended, probably, to take what he could and go--butnow he found that he had committed himself to the following of a grail.He knew that Daisy was extraordinary but he didn't realize just howextraordinary a "nice" girl could be. She vanished into her richhouse, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby--nothing. He feltmarried to her, that was all.

When they met again two days later it was Gatsby who was breathless,who was somehow betrayed. Her porch was bright with the boughtluxury of star-shine; the wicker of the settee squeaked fashionablyas she turned toward him and he kissed her curious and lovely mouth.She had caught a cold and it made her voice huskier and more charmingthan ever and Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and mysterythat wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many clothesand of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the hotstruggles of the poor.

"I can't describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her,old sport. I even hoped for a while that she'd throw me over, but shedidn't, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lotbecause I knew different things from her. . . . Well, there I was,way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, andall of a sudden I didn't care. What was the use of doing greatthings if I could have a better time telling her what I was goingto do?"

On the last afternoon before he went abroad he sat with Daisy inhis arms for a long, silent time. It was a cold fall day with firein the room and her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and hechanged his arm a little and once he kissed her dark shining hair. Theafternoon had made them tranquil for a while as if to give them a deepmemory for the long parting the next day promised. They had never beencloser in their month of love nor communicated more profoundly onewith another than when she brushed silent lips against his coat'sshoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as thoughshe were asleep.

He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain before he wentto the front and following the Argonne battles he got his majority andthe command of the divisional machine guns. After the Armisticehe tried frantically to get home but some complication ormisunderstanding sent him to Oxford instead. He was worried now--therewas a quality of nervous despair in Daisy's letters. She didn't see whyhe couldn't come. She was feeling the pressure of the world outsideand she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her and bereassured that she was doing the right thing after all.
 



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