This Side of Paradise F. Scott Fitzgerald (mini ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald
Book online «This Side of Paradise F. Scott Fitzgerald (mini ebook reader .txt) đ». Author F. Scott Fitzgerald
âOh, surely.â A faint chord was struck in Amoryâs memory. âWasnât the comic opera, Patience, written about him?â
âYes, thatâs the fella. Iâve just finished a book of his, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I certainly wish youâd read it. Youâd like it. You can borrow it if you want to.â
âWhy, Iâd like it a lotâ âthanks.â
âDonât you want to come up to the room? Iâve got a few other books.â
Amory hesitated, glanced at the St. Paulâs groupâ âone of them was the magnificent, exquisite Humbirdâ âand he considered how determinate the addition of this friend would be. He never got to the stage of making them and getting rid of themâ âhe was not hard enough for thatâ âso he measured Thomas Parke DâInvilliersâ undoubted attractions and value against the menace of cold eyes behind tortoise-rimmed spectacles that he fancied glared from the next table.
âYes, Iâll go.â
So he found Dorian Gray and the Mystic and Somber Dolores and the Belle Dame sans Merci; for a month was keen on naught else. The world became pale and interesting, and he tried hard to look at Princeton through the satiated eyes of Oscar Wilde and Swinburneâ âor âFingal OâFlahertyâ and âAlgernon Charles,â as he called them in prĂ©cieuse jest. He read enormously every nightâ âShaw, Chesterton, Barrie, Pinero, Yeats, Synge, Ernest Dowson, Arthur Symons, Keats, Sudermann, Robert Hugh Benson, the Savoy Operasâ âjust a heterogeneous mixture, for he suddenly discovered that he had read nothing for years.
Tom DâInvilliers became at first an occasion rather than a friend. Amory saw him about once a week, and together they gilded the ceiling of Tomâs room and decorated the walls with imitation tapestry, bought at an auction, tall candlesticks and figured curtains. Amory liked him for being clever and literary without effeminacy or affectation. In fact, Amory did most of the strutting and tried painfully to make every remark an epigram, than which, if one is content with ostensible epigrams, there are many feats harder. 12 Univee was amused. Kerry read Dorian Gray and simulated Lord Henry, following Amory about, addressing him as âDorianâ and pretending to encourage in him wicked fancies and attenuated tendencies to ennui. When he carried it into Commons, to the amazement of the others at table, Amory became furiously embarrassed, and after that made epigrams only before DâInvilliers or a convenient mirror.
One day Tom and Amory tried reciting their own and Lord Dunsanyâs poems to the music of Kerryâs graphophone.
âChant!â cried Tom. âDonât recite! Chant!â
Amory, who was performing, looked annoyed, and claimed that he needed a record with less piano in it. Kerry thereupon rolled on the floor in stifled laughter.
âPut on âHearts and Flowersâ!â he howled. âOh, my Lord, Iâm going to cast a kitten.â
âShut off the damn graphophone,â Amory cried, rather red in the face. âIâm not giving an exhibition.â
In the meanwhile Amory delicately kept trying to awaken a sense of the social system in DâInvilliers, for he knew that this poet was really more conventional than he, and needed merely watered hair, a smaller range of conversation, and a darker brown hat to become quite regular. But the liturgy of Livingstone collars and dark ties fell on heedless ears; in fact DâInvilliers faintly resented his efforts; so Amory confined himself to calls once a week, and brought him occasionally to 12 Univee. This caused mild titters among the other freshmen, who called them âDoctor Johnson and Boswell.â
Alec Connage, another frequent visitor, liked him in a vague way, but was afraid of him as a highbrow. Kerry, who saw through his poetic patter to the solid, almost respectable depths within, was immensely amused and would have him recite poetry by the hour, while he lay with closed eyes on Amoryâs sofa and listened:
âAsleep or waking is it? for her neck
Kissed over close, wears yet a purple speck
Wherein the pained blood falters and goes out;
Soft and stung softlyâ âfairer for a fleckâ ââ âŠâ
âThatâs good,â Kerry would say softly. âIt pleases the elder Holiday. Thatâs a great poet, I guess.â Tom, delighted at an audience, would ramble through the Poems and Ballades until Kerry and Amory knew them almost as well as he.
Amory took to writing poetry on spring afternoons, in the gardens of the big estates near Princeton, while swans made effective atmosphere in the artificial pools, and slow clouds sailed harmoniously above the willows. May came too soon, and suddenly unable to bear walls, he wandered the campus at all hours through starlight and rain.
A Damp Symbolic Interlude
The night mist fell. From the moon it rolled, clustered about the spires and towers, and then settled below them, so that the dreaming peaks were still in lofty aspiration toward the sky. Figures that dotted the day like ants now brushed along as shadowy ghosts, in and out of the foreground. The Gothic halls and cloisters were infinitely more mysterious as they loomed suddenly out of the darkness, outlined each by myriad faint squares of yellow light. Indefinitely from somewhere a bell boomed the quarter-hour, and Amory, pausing by the sundial, stretched himself out full length on the damp grass. The cool bathed his eyes and slowed the flight of timeâ âtime that had crept so insidiously through the lazy April afternoons, seemed so intangible in the long spring twilights. Evening after evening the senior singing had drifted over the campus in melancholy beauty, and through the shell of his undergraduate consciousness had broken a deep and reverent devotion to the gray walls and Gothic peaks and all they symbolized as warehouses of dead ages.
The tower that in view of his window sprang upward, grew into a spire, yearning higher until its uppermost tip was half invisible against the morning skies, gave him the first sense of the transiency and unimportance of the campus figures except as holders of the apostolic succession. He liked knowing that Gothic architecture, with its upward trend, was peculiarly appropriate to universities, and the idea became personal to him. The silent
Comments (0)