page_86 24 - vigji/cainjb GitHub Wiki

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• cues: Gianaclis, Nestor cigarette

• cues: victim of attempted poisoning

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Annotated text: Next day I let Caroline Jasmine---what a name!---do her very damnedest for my guest. But I was doubtful of her influence all the while. Gelsemium sempervirens, poison

What a man! Henry, I supposed, was about his business and concern, such as it was. What is removed drops horribly in a pail. Why should that stick in my head? Just because a tool I have used, and shall use again, turned, as it were, under my hand last week and said it?

And what more had he said? Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it. That should be, I thought, a consolation for my patient.

Surely such a confirmed old tub-thumper would not have had the wit to think out the Mithradates inoculation for himself, and put it into practice? Perish the thought, and the fellow.

Also my ravishing correspondent would have told me. I found myself thinking with a strange told me. I found myself thinking with a strange weakness of the poets lines:

But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.

Next day I saw that my suspicions of Caroline had been well-founded. This was an infernal nuisance; a Chinese confrre of mine might even have called it a hellebore.It was annoying to share the house with someone who reacted to wild jasmine much as he reacted to roses. -> failed poisoning

He throve on my roses. To that extent I was satisfied with him. Puffing at Gianaclis and blowing at myself for a fool, I tried to consider my competence, or lack of it. -> Gianaclis, Nestor cigarette

I had always thought that to carry the name of fourteen popes and two anti-popes meant nothing to me either way. To share it with Giulio de Medici might sound more sinister to the uninstructed. At least the quality of mercy was little exerted, much less strained, in me. -> Clement

Roses automatically reminded me of my aunt Cynthia who had, before there was any constraint between them, asked the poor old Ahkoond of Swat to share a dream next with her heart among these decorative but vestigial flowers. Ahkoond of Swat: poem

Original page: page_86.pdf page_24.pdf

Original text:

Next day I let Caroline Jasmine---what a 
name!---do her very damnedest for my guest. 
But I was doubtful of her influence all the 
while. What a man! Henry, I supposed, was 
about his business and concern, such as it was. 
What is removed drops horribly in a pail. Why 
should that stick in my head? Just because a 
tool I have used, and shall use again, turned, as 
it were, under my hand last week and said it? 
And what more had he said? Has anyone 
supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to 
inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and 
I know it. That should be, I thought, a 
consolation for my patient. Surely such a 
confirmed old tub-thumper would not have 
had the wit to think out the Mithradates 
inoculation for himself, and put it into 
practice? Perish the thought, and the fellow. 
Also my ravishing correspondent would have 
told me. I found myself thinking with a strange 
weakness of the poets lines : 

But we have all bent low and low and kissed the 
quiet feet 
Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan. 

Next day I saw that my suspicions of Caroline 
had been well-founded. This was an infernal 
nuisance ; a Chinese confrre of mine might 
even have called it a hellebore. It was annoying 
to share the house with someone who reacted 
to wild jasmine much as he reacted to roses. He 
throve on my roses. To that extent I was 
satisfied with him. Puffing at Gianaclis and 
blowing at myself for a fool, I tried to consider 
my competence, or lack of it. I had always 
thought that to carry the name of fourteen 
popes and two anti-popes meant nothing to me 
either way. To share it with Giulio de Medici 
might sound more sinister to the uninstructed. 
At least the quality of mercy was little exerted, 
much less strained, in me. Roses automatically 
reminded me of my aunt Cynthia who had, 
before there was any constraint between them, 
asked the poor old Ahkoond of Swat to share a 
dream next with her heart among these 
decorative but vestigial flowers.

Italian text:

Il giorno seguente lasciai che il signor Gelsomino della Carolina - che nome! - facesse del suo peggio per il mio ospite. Ma per tutto il tempo dubitai della sua influenza. Che uomo! Henry, immaginai, si dedicava ai fatti suoi e alle sue preoccupazioni, quali che fossero. Ciò che viene rimosso cade orribilmente in un secchio. Perché non riuscivo a togliermelo dalla testa? Solo perché uno strumento che ho usato, e userò ancora, si è per così dire trasformato sotto la mia mano la scorsa settimana e ha parlato? E che altro ha detto? Qualcuno credeva che il nascere fosse evento fausto? Mi affretto a informare costui o costei che è altrettanto fausto morire, e io lo so per certo. Pensai che potesse essere una consolazione per il mio paziente. Ma un vecchio e confermato oratore da strapazzo non avrebbe avuto l'ingegno di escogitare per se stesso l'inoculazione di Mitridate e metterla in pratica? Che muoia il pensiero, e pure quel tizio. Me lo avrebbe detto anche la mia incantevole corrispondente. Mi ritrovai a pensare con una strana debolezza ai versi del poeta : Ma ci siamo chinati tutti, chinati, e abbiamo baciato il silente piede Di Cathleen, la figlia di Houlihan. Il giorno seguente scoprii che i miei sospetti sul signor Carolina erano ben fondati. Era una seccatura infernale; un mio confrère cinese avrebbe persino potuto chiamarla una seccante rosa di Natale. Era fastidioso condividere la casa con qualcuno che reagiva al gelsomino selvatico come fossero rose. Lui prosperava sulle mie rose. In quel senso lui mi soddisfaceva. Fumando una Gianaclis e sbuffandomi scioccamente addosso, cercai di valutare la mia competenza, o Clemen la sua assenza. Avevo sempre creduto che portare il nome di quattordici papi e due antipapi non avesse alcun significato per me. Condividerlo con Giulio de' Medici potrebbe suonare più sinistro a chi è privo di istruzione, Almeno in me, la qualità della misericordia veniva un poco applicata, ed era molto meno innatu-rale. Le rose, in maniera automatica, mi rammentavano mia zia Cynthia che, prima che ci fosse tra di loro qualche imbarazzo, aveva chiesto al povero, vecchio Ahkoond di Swat di condividere un nido da sogno con il suo cuore tra quei fiori decorativi, ma vestigiali.