The Complete Novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Unabridged). Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд

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СКАЧАТЬ gray eyes and an unimpeachable skin with two spots of vanishing color. She was slender and athletic, without underdevelopment, and it was a delight to watch her move about a room, walk along a street, swing a golf club, or turn a “cartwheel.”

      A last qualification—her vivid, instant personality escaped that conscious, theatrical quality that Amory had found in Isabelle. Monsignor Darcy would have been quite up a tree whether to call her a personality or a personage. She was perhaps the delicious, inexpressible, once-in-a-century blend.

      On the night of her début she is, for all her strange, stray wisdom, quite like a happy little girl. Her mother’s maid has just done her hair, but she has decided impatiently that she can do a better job herself. She is too nervous just now to stay in one place. To that we owe her presence in this littered room. She is going to speak. Isabelle’s alto tones had been like a violin, but if you could hear Rosalind, you would say her voice was musical as a waterfall.

      Rosalind: Honestly, there are only two costumes in the world that I really enjoy being in—(Combing her hair at the dressing-table.) One’s a hoop skirt with pantaloons; the other’s a one-piece bathing-suit. I’m quite charming in both of them.

      Cecelia: Glad you’re coming out?

      Rosalind: Yes; aren’t you?

      Cecelia: (Cynically) You’re glad so you can get married and live on Long Island with the fast younger married set. You want life to be a chain of flirtation with a man for every link.

      Rosalind: Want it to be one! You mean I’ve found it one.

      Cecelia: Ha!

      Rosalind: Cecelia, darling, you don’t know what a trial it is to be—like me. I’ve got to keep my face like steel in the street to keep men from winking at me. If I laugh hard from a front row in the theatre, the comedian plays to me for the rest of the evening. If I drop my voice, my eyes, my handkerchief at a dance, my partner calls me up on the ‘phone every day for a week.

      Cecelia: It must be an awful strain.

      Rosalind: The unfortunate part is that the only men who interest me at all are the totally ineligible ones. Now—if I were poor I’d go on the stage.

      Cecelia: Yes, you might as well get paid for the amount of acting you do.

      Rosalind: Sometimes when I’ve felt particularly radiant I’ve thought, why should this be wasted on one man?

      Cecelia: Often when you’re particularly sulky, I’ve wondered why it should all be wasted on just one family. (Getting up.) I think I’ll go down and meet Mr. Amory Blaine. I like temperamental men.

      Rosalind: There aren’t any. Men don’t know how to be really angry or really happy—and the ones that do, go to pieces.

      Cecelia: Well, I’m glad I don’t have all your worries. I’m engaged.

      Rosalind: (With a scornful smile) Engaged? Why, you little lunatic! If mother heard you talking like that she’d send you off to boarding-school, where you belong.

      Cecelia: You won’t tell her, though, because I know things I could tell—and you’re too selfish!

      Rosalind: (A little annoyed) Run along, little girl! Who are you engaged to, the iceman? the man that keeps the candy-store?

      Cecelia: Cheap wit—good-by, darling, I’ll see you later.

      Rosalind: Oh, be sure and do that—you’re such a help.

      (Exit Cecelia. Rosalind finished her hair and rises, humming. She goes up to the mirror and starts to dance in front of it on the soft carpet. She watches not her feet, but her eyes—never casually but always intently, even when she smiles. The door suddenly opens and then slams behind Amory, very cool and handsome as usual. He melts into instant confusion.) He: Oh, I’m sorry. I thought—— She: (Smiling radiantly) Oh, you’re Amory Blaine, aren’t you?

      He: (Regarding her closely) And you’re Rosalind?

      She: I’m going to call you Amory—oh, come in—it’s all right—mother’ll be right in—(under her breath) unfortunately.

      He: (Gazing around) This is sort of a new wrinkle for me.

      She: This is No Man’s Land.

      He: This is where you—you—(pause)

      She: Yes—all those things. (She crosses to the bureau.) See, here’s my rouge—eye pencils.

      He: I didn’t know you were that way.

      She: What did you expect?

      He: I thought you’d be sort of—sort of—sexless, you know, swim and play golf.

      She: Oh, I do—but not in business hours.

      He: Business?

      She: Six to two—strictly.

      He: I’d like to have some stock in the corporation.

      She: Oh, it’s not a corporation—it’s just “Rosalind, Unlimited.” Fifty-one shares, name, good-will, and everything goes at $25,000 a year.

      He: (Disapprovingly) Sort of a chilly proposition.

      She: Well, Amory, you don’t mind—do you? When I meet a man that doesn’t bore me to death after two weeks, perhaps it’ll be different.

      He: Odd, you have the same point of view on men that I have on women.

      She: I’m not really feminine, you know—in my mind.

      He: (Interested) Go on.

      She: No, you—you go on—you’ve made me talk about myself. That’s against the rules.

      He: Rules?

      She: My own rules—but you—Oh, Amory, I hear you’re brilliant. The family expects so much of you.

      He: How encouraging!

      She: Alec said you’d taught him to think. Did you? I didn’t believe any one could.

      He: No. I’m really quite dull.

      (He evidently doesn’t intend this to be taken seriously.)

      She: Liar.

      He: I’m—I’m religious—I’m literary. I’ve—I’ve even written poems.

      She: Vers libre—splendid! (She declaims.)

      “The СКАЧАТЬ