Documente Academic
Documente Profesional
Documente Cultură
by
JamesJoyce
NorthRichmondStreet,beingblind,wasaquietstreetexceptatthehourwhentheChristian
Brothers'Schoolsettheboysfree.Anuninhabitedhouseoftwostoreysstoodattheblindend,
detachedfromitsneighboursinasquareground.Theotherhousesofthestreet,consciousof
decentliveswithinthem,gazedatoneanotherwithbrownimperturbablefaces.
Theformertenantofourhouse,apriest,haddiedinthebackdrawingroom.Air,mustyfrom
havingbeenlongenclosed,hunginalltherooms,andthewasteroombehindthekitchenwas
litteredwitholduselesspapers.AmongtheseIfoundafewpapercoveredbooks,thepagesof
whichwerecurledanddamp:
TheAbbot,
byWalterScott,
TheDevoutCommunicant,
and
The
MemoirsofVidocq
.Ilikedthelastbestbecauseitsleaveswereyellow.Thewildgardenbehind
thehousecontainedacentralappletreeandafewstragglingbushes,underoneofwhichI
foundthelatetenant'srustybicyclepump.Hehadbeenaverycharitablepriestinhiswillhe
hadleftallhismoneytoinstitutionsandthefurnitureofhishousetohissister.
Whentheshortdaysofwintercame,duskfellbeforewehadwelleatenourdinners.Whenwe
metinthestreetthehouseshadgrownsombre.Thespaceofskyaboveuswasthecolourof
everchangingvioletandtowardsitthelampsofthestreetliftedtheirfeeblelanterns.Thecold
airstungusandweplayedtillourbodiesglowed.Ourshoutsechoedinthesilentstreet.The
careerofourplaybroughtusthroughthedarkmuddylanesbehindthehouses,whereweran
thegauntletoftheroughtribesfromthecottages,tothebackdoorsofthedarkdrippinggardens
whereodoursarosefromtheashpits,tothedarkodorousstableswhereacoachmansmoothed
andcombedthehorseorshookmusicfromthebuckledharness.Whenwereturnedtothe
street,lightfromthekitchenwindowshadfilledtheareas.Ifmyunclewasseenturningthe
corner,wehidintheshadowuntilwehadseenhimsafelyhoused.OrifMangan'ssistercame
outonthedoorsteptocallherbrotherintohistea,wewatchedherfromourshadowpeerup
anddownthestreet.Wewaitedtoseewhethershewouldremainorgoinand,ifsheremained,
weleftourshadowandwalkeduptoMangan'sstepsresignedly.Shewaswaitingforus,her
figuredefinedbythelightfromthehalfopeneddoor.Herbrotheralwaysteasedherbeforehe
obeyed,andIstoodbytherailingslookingather.Herdressswungasshemovedherbody,and
thesoftropeofherhairtossedfromsidetoside.
EverymorningIlayonthefloorinthefrontparlourwatchingherdoor.Theblindwaspulled
downtowithinaninchofthesashsothatIcouldnotbeseen.Whenshecameoutonthe
doorstepmyheartleaped.Irantothehall,seizedmybooksandfollowedher.Ikeptherbrown
figurealwaysinmyeyeand,whenwecamenearthepointatwhichourwaysdiverged,I
quickenedmypaceandpassedher.Thishappenedmorningaftermorning.Ihadneverspoken
toher,exceptforafewcasualwords,andyethernamewaslikeasummonstoallmyfoolish
blood.
Herimageaccompaniedmeeveninplacesthemosthostiletoromance.OnSaturdayevenings
whenmyauntwentmarketingIhadtogotocarrysomeoftheparcels.Wewalkedthroughthe
flaringstreets,jostledbydrunkenmenandbargainingwomen,amidthecursesoflabourers,the
shrilllitaniesofshopboyswhostoodonguardbythebarrelsofpigs'cheeks,thenasalchanting
ofstreetsingers,whosangacomeallyouaboutO'DonovanRossa,oraballadaboutthe
troublesinournativeland.Thesenoisesconvergedinasinglesensationoflifeforme:I
imaginedthatIboremychalicesafelythroughathrongoffoes.Hernamesprangtomylipsat
momentsinstrangeprayersandpraiseswhichImyselfdidnotunderstand.Myeyeswereoften
fulloftears(Icouldnottellwhy)andattimesafloodfrommyheartseemedtopouritselfout
intomybosom.Ithoughtlittleofthefuture.IdidnotknowwhetherIwouldeverspeaktoheror
notor,ifIspoketoher,howIcouldtellherofmyconfusedadoration.Butmybodywaslikea
harpandherwordsandgestureswerelikefingersrunninguponthewires.
OneeveningIwentintothebackdrawingroominwhichthepriesthaddied.Itwasadarkrainy
eveningandtherewasnosoundinthehouse.ThroughoneofthebrokenpanesIheardtherain
impingeupontheearth,thefineincessantneedlesofwaterplayinginthesoddenbeds.Some
distantlamporlightedwindowgleamedbelowme.IwasthankfulthatIcouldseesolittle.Allmy
sensesseemedtodesiretoveilthemselvesand,feelingthatIwasabouttoslipfromthem,I
pressedthepalmsofmyhandstogetheruntiltheytrembled,murmuring:`Olove!Olove!'many
times.
Atlastshespoketome.WhensheaddressedthefirstwordstomeIwassoconfusedthatIdid
notknowwhattoanswer.SheaskedmewasIgoingtoAraby.IforgotwhetherIansweredyes
orno.Itwouldbeasplendidbazaarshesaidshewouldlovetogo.
`Andwhycan'tyou?'Iasked.
Whileshespokesheturnedasilverbraceletroundandroundherwrist.Shecouldnotgo,she
said,becausetherewouldbearetreatthatweekinherconvent.Herbrotherandtwootherboys
werefightingfortheircaps,andIwasaloneattherailings.Sheheldoneofthespikes,bowing
herheadtowardsme.Thelightfromthelampoppositeourdoorcaughtthewhitecurveofher
neck,litupherhairthatrestedthereand,falling,litupthehandupontherailing.Itfelloverone
sideofherdressandcaughtthewhiteborderofapetticoat,justvisibleasshestoodatease.
`It'swellforyou,'shesaid.
`IfIgo,'Isaid,`Iwillbringyousomething.'
Whatinnumerablefollieslaidwastemywakingandsleepingthoughtsafterthatevening!I
wishedtoannihilatethetediousinterveningdays.Ichafedagainsttheworkofschool.Atnightin
mybedroomandbydayintheclassroomherimagecamebetweenmeandthepageIstroveto
read.ThesyllablesofthewordArabywerecalledtomethroughthesilenceinwhichmysoul
luxuriatedandcastanEasternenchantmentoverme.Iaskedforleavetogotothebazaaron
Saturdaynight.Myauntwassurprised,andhopeditwasnotsomeFreemasonaffair.I
answeredfewquestionsinclass.Iwatchedmymaster'sfacepassfromamiabilitytosternness
hehopedIwasnotbeginningtoidle.Icouldnotcallmywanderingthoughtstogether.Ihad
hardlyanypatiencewiththeseriousworkoflifewhich,nowthatitstoodbetweenmeandmy
desire,seemedtomechild'splay,uglymonotonouschild'splay.
OnSaturdaymorningIremindedmyunclethatIwishedtogotothebazaarintheevening.He
wasfussingatthehallstand,lookingforthehatbrush,andansweredmecurtly:
`Yes,boy,Iknow.'
AshewasinthehallIcouldnotgointothefrontparlourandlieatthewindow.Ileftthehousein
badhumourandwalkedslowlytowardstheschool.Theairwaspitilesslyrawandalreadymy
heartmisgaveme.
WhenIcamehometodinnermyunclehadnotyetbeenhome.Stillitwasearly.Isatstaringat
theclockforsometimeand,whenitstickingbegantoirritateme,Ilefttheroom.Imountedthe
staircaseandgainedtheupperpartofthehouse.Thehigh,cold,empty,gloomyrooms
liberatedmeandIwentfromroomtoroomsinging.FromthefrontwindowIsawmy
companionsplayingbelowinthestreet.Theircriesreachedmeweakenedandindistinctand,
leaningmyforeheadagainstthecoolglass,Ilookedoveratthedarkhousewhereshelived.I
mayhavestoodthereforanhour,seeingnothingbutthebrowncladfigurecastbymy
imagination,toucheddiscreetlybythelamplightatthecurvedneck,atthehanduponthe
railingsandattheborderbelowthedress.
WhenIcamedownstairsagainIfoundMrsMercersittingatthefire.Shewasanold,garrulous
woman,apawnbroker'swidow,whocollectedusedstampsforsomepiouspurpose.Ihadto
endurethegossipoftheteatable.Themealwasprolongedbeyondanhourandstillmyuncle
didnotcome.MrsMercerstooduptogo:shewassorryshecouldn'twaitanylonger,butitwas
aftereighto'clockandshedidnotliketobeoutlate,asthenightairwasbadforher.Whenshe
hadgoneIbegantowalkupanddowntheroom,clenchingmyfists.Myauntsaid:
`I'mafraidyoumayputoffyourbazaarforthisnightofOurLord.'
Atnineo'clockIheardmyuncle'slatchkeyinthehalldoor.Iheardhimtalkingtohimselfand
heardthehallstandrockingwhenithadreceivedtheweightofhisovercoat.Icouldinterpret
thesesigns.WhenhewasmidwaythroughhisdinnerIaskedhimtogivemethemoneytogoto
thebazaar.Hehadforgotten.
`Thepeopleareinbedandaftertheirfirstsleepnow,'hesaid.
Ididnotsmile.Myauntsaidtohimenergetically:
`Can'tyougivehimthemoneyandlethimgo?You'vekepthimlateenoughasitis.'
Myunclesaidhewasverysorryhehadforgotten.Hesaidhebelievedintheoldsaying:`All
workandnoplaymakesJackadullboy.'HeaskedmewhereIwasgoingand,whenItoldhim
asecondtime,heaskedmedidIknow
"TheArab'sFarewelltohisSteed".
WhenIleftthe
kitchenhewasabouttorecitetheopeninglinesofthepiecetomyaunt.
IheldaflorintightlyinmyhandasIstrodedownBuckinghamStreettowardsthestation.The
sightofthestreetsthrongedwithbuyersandglaringwithgasrecalledtomethepurposeofmy
journey.Itookmyseatinathirdclasscarriageofadesertedtrain.Afteranintolerabledelaythe
trainmovedoutofthestationslowly.Itcreptonwardamongruinoushousesandoverthe
twinklingriver.AtWestlandRowStationacrowdofpeoplepressedtothecarriagedoorsbut
theportersmovedthemback,sayingthatitwasaspecialtrainforthebazaar.Iremainedalone
inthebarecarriage.Inafewminutesthetraindrewupbesideanimprovisedwoodenplatform.I
passedoutontotheroadandsawbythelighteddialofaclockthatitwastenminutestoten.In
frontofmewasalargebuildingwhichdisplayedthemagicalname.
Icouldnotfindanysixpennyentranceand,fearingthatthebazaarwouldbeclosed,Ipassedin
quicklythroughaturnstile,handingashillingtoawearylookingman.Ifoundmyselfinabighall
girdedathalfitsheightbyagallery.Nearlyallthestallswereclosedandthegreaterpartofthe
hallwasindarkness.Irecognizedasilencelikethatwhichpervadesachurchafteraservice.I
walkedintothecentreofthebazaartimidly.Afewpeopleweregatheredaboutthestallswhich
werestillopen.Beforeacurtain,overwhichthewordsCafChantantwerewrittenincoloured
lamps,twomenwerecountingmoneyonasalver.Ilistenedtothefallofthecoins.
RememberingwithdifficultywhyIhadcome,Iwentovertooneofthestallsandexamined
porcelainvasesandfloweredteasets.Atthedoorofthestallayoungladywastalkingand
laughingwithtwoyounggentlemen.IremarkedtheirEnglishaccentsandlistenedvaguelyto
theirconversation.
`O,Ineversaidsuchathing!'
`O,butyoudid!'
`O,butIdidn't!'
`Didn'tshesaythat?'
`Yes.Iheardher.'
`O,there'sa...fib!'
Observingme,theyoungladycameoverandaskedmedidIwishtobuyanything.Thetoneof
hervoicewasnotencouragingsheseemedtohavespokentomeoutofasenseofduty.I
lookedhumblyatthegreatjarsthatstoodlikeeasternguardsateithersideofthedarkentrance
tothestallandmurmured:
`No,thankyou.'
Theyoungladychangedthepositionofoneofthevasesandwentbacktothetwoyoungmen.
Theybegantotalkofthesamesubject.Onceortwicetheyoungladyglancedatmeoverher
shoulder.
Ilingeredbeforeherstall,thoughIknewmystaywasuseless,tomakemyinterestinherwares
seemthemorereal.ThenIturnedawayslowlyandwalkeddownthemiddleofthebazaar.I
allowedthetwopenniestofallagainstthesixpenceinmypocket.Iheardavoicecallfromone
endofthegallerythatthelightwasout.Theupperpartofthehallwasnowcompletelydark.
GazingupintothedarknessIsawmyselfasacreaturedrivenandderidedbyvanityandmy
eyesburnedwithanguishandanger.