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弗朗西斯·斯科特·菲茨杰拉德（Francis Scott Fitzgerald，1896-1940），美国小说家，二十世纪美国杰出作家之一。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，使他成了“爵士时代”的发言人和“迷惘的一代”的代表作家之一。
由于家庭和职业的压力，菲茨杰拉德临终前的几年一直郁郁寡欢，书信中总是带有沮丧的腔调。写这封信时，受黯淡无光的生活的影响，字里行间都透露着心底的绝望，但是对唯一可慰藉心灵的女儿，他仍是谆谆教诲，给予人生建议。从信中我们可以读出一位父亲对女儿的真挚感情。
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation
Culver City, California
July 7, 1938
Dearest Scottie,
I don’t think I will be writing letters many more years and I wish you would read this letter twice—bitter as it may seem. You will reject it now, but at a later period some of it may come back to you as truth. When I’m talking to you, you think of me as an older person, an “authority”, and when I speak of my own youth what I say becomes unreal to you—for the young can’t believe in the youth of their fathers. But perhaps this little bit will be understandable if I put it in writing.
When I was your age I lived with a great dream. The dream grew and I learned how to speak of it and make people listen. Then the dream divided one day when I decided to marry your mother after all, even though I knew she was spoiled and meant no good to me. I was sorry immediately I had married her but, being patient in those days, made the best of it and got to love her in another way. You came along and for a long time we made quite a lot of happiness out of our lives. But I was a man divided—she wanted me to work too much for her and not enough for my dream. She realized too late that work was dignity, and the only dignity, and tried to atone for it by working herself, but it was too late and she broke and is broken forever.
It was too late also for me to recoup the damage—I had spent most of my resources, spirit and material, on her, but I struggled on for five years till my health collapsed , and all I cared about was drink and forgetting.
The mistake I made was marrying her. We belonged to different worlds—she might have been happy with a kind simple man in a southern garden. She didn’t have the strength for the big stage—sometimes she pretended, and pretended beautifully, but she didn’t have it. She was soft when she should have been hard, and hard when she should have been yielding . She never knew how to use her energy—she’s passed that failing on to you.
For a long time I hated her mother for giving her nothing in the line of good habit—nothing but “getting by” and conceit. I never wanted to see again in this world women who were brought up as idlers . And one of my chief desires in life was to keep you from being that kind of person, one who brings ruin to themselves and others. When you began to show disturbing signs at about fourteen, I comforted myself with the idea that you were too precocious socially and a strict school would fix things. But sometimes I think that idlers seem to be a special class for whom nothing can be planned, plead as one will with them—their only contribution to the human family is to warm a seat at the common table.
My reforming days are over, and if you are that way I don’t want to change you. But I don’t want to be upset by idlers inside my family or out. I want my energies and my earnings for people who talk my language.
I have begun to fear that you don’t. You don’t realize that what I am doing here is the last tired effort of a man who once did something finer and better. There is not enough energy, or call it money, to carry anyone who is dead weight and I am angry and resentful in my soul when I feel that I am doing this. People like your mother must be carried because their illness makes them useless. But it is a different story that you have spent two years doing no useful work at all, improving neither your body nor your mind, but only writing reams and reams of dreary letters to dreary people, with no possible object except obtaining invitations which you could not accept. Those letters go on, even in your sleep, so that I know your whole trip now is one long waiting for the post. It is like an old gossip who cannot still her tongue.
You have reached the age when one is of interest to an adult only insofar as one seems to have a future. The mind of a little child is fascinating, for it looks on old things with new eyes—but at about twelve this changes. The adolescent offers nothing, can do nothing, say nothing that the adult cannot do better. Living with you in Baltimore (and you have told Harold that I alternated between strictness and neglect, by which I suppose you mean the times I was so inconsiderate as to have T. B., or to retire into myself to write, for I had little social life apart from you) represented a rather too domestic duty forced on me by your mother’s illness. But I endured your Top Hats and Telephones until the day you snubbed me at dancing school, less willingly after that...
To sum up: What you have done to please me or make me proud is practically negligible since the time you made yourself a good diver at camp (and now you are softer than you have ever been). In your career as a “wild society girl”, vintage of 1925, I’m not interested. I don’t want any of it—it would bore me, like dining with the Ritz Brothers. When I do not feel you are “going somewhere”, your company tends to depress me for the silly waste and triviality involved. On the other hand, when occasionally I see signs of life and intention in you, there is no company in the world I prefer. For there is no doubt that you have something in your belly, some real gusto for life—a real dream of your own—and my idea was to do something solid before it was too late—as it was too late for your mother to learn anything when she got around to it. Once when you spoke French as a child it was enchanting with your odd bits of knowledge—now your conversation is as commonplace as if you’d spent the last two years in the Corn Hollow High School—what you saw in Life and read in Sexy Romances.
I shall come East in September to meet your boat—but this letter is a declaration that l am no longer interested in your promissory notes but only in what I see. I love you always but I am only interested by people who think and work as I do and it isn’t likely that I shall change at my age. Whether you will—or want to—remains to be seen.
Daddy
P.S.: If you keep the diary, please don’t let it be the dry stuff I could buy in a ten-franc guide book. I’m not interested in dates and places, even the Battle of New Orleans, unless you have some unusual reaction to them. Don’t try to be witty in the writing, unless it’s natural—just true and real.
P.P.S.: Will you please read this letter a second time? I wrote it over twice.
亲爱的斯科蒂：
我想我以后给你写信的时日不多了，所以我希望你把这封信看两遍，虽然这可能会令人不快。或许，你现在不同意这些话，但不久之后，你会把它奉为真理。我在跟你说这些时，你会认为我是个上了年纪的人，喜欢“权威说教”的人，当我谈起自己的青春年少时，我所说的一切你总认为不够真实——因为年轻人总是不相信父辈们的青春过往。但如果我把它们付诸予纸笔，你也许就会明白其中原委。
我在你这个年纪时，怀揣着一个伟大的梦想。梦想一天天在成长，我也学着如何来表述它，让别人来聆听。有一天，梦想破灭了，那是我最终决定与你母亲成婚时，尽管我知道她从小娇生惯养，无法成为我的贤内助。跟她结婚后，我立刻就后悔了，但是那时候我还是很耐心，竭力与她恩爱和睦，换别的方式去爱她。然后你出生了，在之后的很长一段时间里，我们的生活都充满了幸福。但我无法全力以赴追逐我的梦想——她想要我为她做更多的工作，使得我无法兼顾我的梦想。当她意识到写作是我的尊严，我的仅存的尊严时，一切都为时已晚，她试图通过自己努力工作来弥补，但是已经太迟了，她的身体垮了，彻底地垮了。
让我去弥补损失同样也已经晚了——为了她，我几乎付出了全部的资源、精力和财富，但是我依然苦苦挣扎了5年，直到我的身体也彻底垮了，现在，我所关心的事情只有烂醉和遗忘。
我所犯的错误就是和她结婚。我和她属于不同的世界——如果她跟一个南方庄园的善良单纯的男人结婚的话，她可能会过得很幸福。她缺少在大城市这个舞台生存的能力——有时她会装作有这个能力，而且伪装得很成功，但事实上她并没有。她总是在该强硬时表现得软弱，在该让步时又表现得强硬。她从来都不知道如何运用自己的力量——她已经把这些弱点都遗传给了你。
有很长一段时间，我恨她的母亲没有教给她任何好的习惯——除了“得过且过”和狂妄自负。在这个世界上，我永远不想再见到任何被养成懒散性格的女人了。我生命中最重要的一个心愿就是阻止你成为那种人，那种给自己和别人都带来毁灭的人。在你14岁时，那些令人忧心的迹象初露端倪，我自我安慰地说，你只是在人情上太过早熟而已，学校的严格教育将会解决这个问题。但是，有时我这样想，那些懒散的人似乎属于一个特殊的阶层，旁人无法为他们制定计划，或者不能对他们有所要求——在人类这个大家庭里，他们的唯一贡献仅仅是在一张普通桌子前占据一席之位罢了。
我想改变你的日子已经过去了，如果你选择那种生活方式，我不想改变你了。但是，不管是在家还是在外，我都不想被懒散的人所烦恼。我希望把自己的精力和收入付出给志同道合的人。
我担心你并没有意识到这些，没有意识到我在这里所做的一切，是一个曾经做出优秀业绩的人做出的最后一次疲惫的努力。我已经没有足够的精力，或者说足够的金钱来堪此重负了，而当我负重前行时，我心里就会愤恨交加。像你母亲那样的人必须要被照顾，因为他们的病痛使得他们本身无用武之地。但你却是另一番情形，两年来你一直碌碌无为，身体和头脑皆没有得到长进，你唯一做的是给那些沉闷的人一封接一封地写些沉闷的信，除了收到一些你并不接受的邀请之外，你做这件事毫无目的可言。你甚至在睡觉时都在写信，所以我知道你的整个行程都已经演变成了一场等待邮件的漫漫旅程。你停不下写信就像一个长舌妇停不下搬弄是非。
你已经到了这样的年龄：只有你看起来有前途，大人们才会对你感兴趣。小孩子的心灵是迷人的，因为他会用全新的视角看待旧的事物——但当他们到12岁左右，情形就变了。青少年的言行和贡献相比于成年人都没有优势。和你一起住在巴尔的摩时（你曾对哈罗德说我对你的态度时而严格，时而疏忽，我猜你所说的疏忽是指，我由于大意而感染了肺结核，或者是我一心扑在写作上的时候，因为除了跟你在一起之外，我几乎没有任何社交活动），由于你母亲的病情，我不得不负担起琐碎的家庭责任。但是，我对你戴男礼帽和不停打电话的行为，一直都在忍耐，直到那天在舞蹈学校你故意冷落我，从那以后，我才不愿意容忍你的我行我素……
总而言之，自从你在夏令营把自己训练成一名优秀的潜水员之后（你现在已经比以前退步了不少），你为取悦我或使我引以为豪所做的事几乎可以忽略不计。你在1925年作为“野蛮社会女孩”的经历，我毫无兴趣。我不想再听到这些消息——它们会让我心烦意乱，就像跟里兹兄弟共进晚餐一样。当我觉得你不会“有所成就”时，你的陪伴和照料只会让我失望，因为那是愚蠢的浪费和琐碎的烦扰。从另一面来说，当我看到你身上散发出生活的气息和向上的意志时，在这个世界上没有比你更让我喜欢的陪伴了。因为毫无疑问，你身上依然存在美好的品质，一种对于生活的真正激情——一种属于你自己的真正的梦想——我的想法就是抓住机会，让它变成你实实在在的品质——因为当你母亲下决心花些时间和精力去学些什么的时候，却为时已晚。当你还是个孩子时，你曾学说过法语，你对知识的零星掌握让人着迷——而你现在的谈话却非常平庸，似乎是在科恩·霍洛高级中学度过了两年——就像你在《生活》和《性传奇》中所看到的内容那样。
9月份，我将到东部去接你——但是，这封信是要向你声明：我将不再对你的承诺函感兴趣，只对自己亲眼看到的感兴趣。我会一直爱你，但让我感兴趣的只是那些与我志同道合的人，而且像我这样的年龄也不可能做出什么样的改变。无论你是否愿意——或者是想要——就让我看你的表现吧。
爸爸
1938年7月7日
于加利福尼亚州卡尔弗城米高梅影片公司
又及：如果你还坚持写日记的话，请不要让你的日记成为我用10法郎在旅行指南里就能买到的枯燥乏味的东西。我对日期、地名，甚至“新奥尔良大战”之类的不感兴趣，除非你对它们有些独特的体会。写作时不要力争措辞巧妙诙谐，除非是自然行文的需要——要实实在在。
再及：请你把这封信再看一遍好吗？这封信我写了两遍。
“作家每写一个人都多少有点自己的影子”，如贾宝玉之于曹雪芹，如简·爱之于夏洛蒂·勃朗特，更如盖茨比之于菲茨杰拉德。
盖茨比对自己落魄门户出身的羞于启齿、盖茨比刻意散发的绅士气度，以及盖茨比对黛西的执着迷恋和念念不忘都来源于菲茨杰拉德自身最真实的挣扎。因为他，当时寂寂无名的一个穷小子，恋上了富家千金泽尔达。再如盖茨比替黛西背上杀人黑锅，被仇家枪杀，同样，菲茨杰拉德的一生也被泽尔达折腾得千疮百孔。富贵出身的妻子在婚后依然挥霍无度，她带着菲茨杰拉德流连酒会，夜夜笙歌，盖茨比那豪华别墅里璀璨奢华、纸醉金迷的宴会就是菲茨杰拉德生活的真实写照。一掷千金的奢靡最终使得菲茨杰拉德债务缠身，后新书又遭冷遇，再加妻子病重，他的精神濒于崩溃，最终死于酗酒引起的心脏病，年仅44岁。机缘巧合的是，菲茨杰拉德的葬礼与盖茨比的葬礼如出一辙，同样是阴雨绵绵，出席者寥寥数人，他的好友——女诗人多罗茜·帕克痛哭着说出了盖茨比葬礼上的这句话：“This poor son of a bitch.（这家伙真他妈的可怜。）”
spoiled [spɔɪld]
a. 被宠坏的；娇生惯养的
atone [əˈtəʊn]
v. 赎罪；弥补
recoup [rɪˈkuːp]
v. 弥补
collapse [kəˈlæps]
v.（尤指因病重而）倒下，昏倒
yielding [ˈjiːldɪŋ]
a. 顺从的；柔软的
idler [ˈaɪdlə(r)]
n. 懒汉；游手好闲的人
precocious [prɪˈkəʊʃəs]
a. 早熟的
reams of
大量的
gossip [ˈɡɒsɪp]
n. 爱说长道短的人
still [stɪl]
v.（使）静止，平静
snub [snʌb]
v. 冷落；斥责
negligible [ˈneɡlɪdʒəbl]
a. 微不足道的，可以忽略的
vintage [ˈvɪntɪdʒ]
n. 特定的年份
triviality [ˌtrɪviˈæləti]
n. 琐事；琐碎
gusto [ˈɡʌstəʊ]
n. 爱好；热情
enchanting [ɪnˈtʃɑːntɪŋ]
a. 令人喜欢的
commonplace [ˈkɒmənpleɪs]
a. 平凡的；普通的
promissory [ˈprɒmɪsəri]
a. 约定的；允诺的