page_41 93 - vigji/cainjb GitHub Wiki
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Annotated text:
And then with horrid clearness I had seen a
woman---not actually, if I could trust myself,
there ; but aiming, directing, inspiring : slim,
tawny, petulant, self-willed : wanton, but too
calculated to be more than mistress of herself ;
the kind that had made England terribly at sea.
I looked back on my own youth ; I had been
about a bit, as they say ; sometimes, to catch a
whale, I had cast a sprat over the windmill. But
it was not till my marriage with Henry that old
Charles Goodfellow dared to hint that I was
going gay. Poor lonely little Bat. But it was still
the first dog, I couldnt help realising that, after
my husbands training. Just as I could not help
realising that, had I a mind to go there, I could
now get moled and isled on the Selfridget side,
though by no means in Bond Street. When I
said means, I meant of course lawful ones. Then
I remembered Henrys favourite quotation :
But MCulloughe wanted cabins with marble
and maple and all
And Brussels an Utrecht velvet, and bath and a
Social Hall
And pipes for closets all over, and cutting the frames
too light,
But MCullough he died in the sixties, and---well,
Im dying to-night. . . .
Had not the author of Wails of a Tayside Inn
said of them that they were the living poems
and that all the rest were dead? Had not the
winger of Wimpole Street said that they were
binding up their hearts away from breaking
with a cerement of the grave? Anyway their
hour had come and was now over ; just but
emphatically over, and I could not be sorry. I
knew, after arguing it out from one side of my
aching head to another---those little Bunny and
Perry, Pro and Con, had been at it hammer and
tongs on the centre court between the two
lobes of my brain---that if I had no tangible
proof against the erstwhile cleanser of my old
headgear, I had merely a thistledown of
semi-conviction against the other. That his
thought process, when I tapped its wire, had
been calling her a Cambridge week, helped me,
surely, not at all.
Original page: page_41.pdf page_93.pdf
Original text:
And then with horrid clearness I had seen a
woman---not actually, if I could trust myself,
there ; but aiming, directing, inspiring : slim,
tawny, petulant, self-willed : wanton, but too
calculated to be more than mistress of herself ;
the kind that had made England terribly at sea.
I looked back on my own youth ; I had been
about a bit, as they say ; sometimes, to catch a
whale, I had cast a sprat over the windmill. But
it was not till my marriage with Henry that old
Charles Goodfellow dared to hint that I was
going gay. Poor lonely little Bat. But it was still
the first dog, I couldnt help realising that, after
my husbands training. Just as I could not help
realising that, had I a mind to go there, I could
now get moled and isled on the Selfridget side,
though by no means in Bond Street. When I
said means, I meant of course lawful ones. Then
I remembered Henrys favourite quotation :
But MCulloughe wanted cabins with marble
and maple and all
And Brussels an Utrecht velvet, and bath and a
Social Hall
And pipes for closets all over, and cutting the frames
too light,
But MCullough he died in the sixties, and---well,
Im dying to-night. . . .
Had not the author of Wails of a Tayside Inn
said of them that they were the living poems
and that all the rest were dead? Had not the
winger of Wimpole Street said that they were
binding up their hearts away from breaking
with a cerement of the grave? Anyway their
hour had come and was now over ; just but
emphatically over, and I could not be sorry. I
knew, after arguing it out from one side of my
aching head to another---those little Bunny and
Perry, Pro and Con, had been at it hammer and
tongs on the centre court between the two
lobes of my brain---that if I had no tangible
proof against the erstwhile cleanser of my old
headgear, I had merely a thistledown of
semi-conviction against the other. That his
thought process, when I tapped its wire, had
been calling her a Cambridge week, helped me,
surely, not at all.
Italian text:
Poi, con orribile chiarezza, avevo visto una donna - non esattamente là, se potevo fidarmi di me; ma che mirava, dirigeva, ispirava : snella, fulva, imbronciata, ostinata : frivola, ma troppo calcolata per essere più che padrona di sé; del genere che aveva reso l'Inghilterra terribile in mare. Guardai di nuovo la mia giovinezza; avevo girato abbastanza, come si dice; a volte, per avere una gallina, avevo dovuto dare un uovo. Ma fu solo al mio matrimonio con Henry che il vecchio Charles Goodfellow accennò al mio divenire una Gay. Povero, piccolo, solitario Bat. Ma era ancora il primo cane, non potei non nota-re, dopo l'addestramento di mio marito. Proprio come non potei non notare che, se avessi avuto idea di andare là, avrei potuto alzare il gomito sul lato di Selfridge, ma non avrei avuto i mezzi per farlo in Bond Street. Quando parlavo di mezzi, intendevo naturalmente mezzi legali. Poi rammentai la citazione preferita di Henry :
Ma M'Cullough voleva cabine con marmo e acero e tutto E velluti di Bruxelles e Utrecht, e il bagno e un Salone E tubazioni in tutti i bagni e tagli agli infissi troppo leggeri, Ma M'Cullough è morto negli anni Sessanta e - bene, io sto morendo stanotte...
L'autore dei Lamenti di una locanda sul Tay non aveva forse detto che quelle erano le poesie viventi e tutto il resto era morto? La poetessa di Wimpole Street non aveva forse detto che fasciano i loro cuori affinché non si rompano con bende provenienti dalla tomba? In ogni caso, la loro ora era giunta e ormai finita ; appena finita, ma in maniera enfatica, e non mi poteva dispiacere. Dopo averne discusso nei dettagli da una parte all'altra della mia testa dolente - quei piccoli Bunny e Perry, a favore e contro, si erano attaccati senza esclusione di colpi sul campo centrale dei due lobi del mio cervello - sapevo che, se non avevo alcuna prova tangibile contro colui che un tempo puliva i miei vecchi cappelli, avevo semplicemente una parvenza di condanna contro l'altro. E di certo non mi aiutò affatto, quando controllai il suo telegramma, che il suo processo mentale la definisse una Cambridge Week.