Type of Work and Year of Publication

.......James Joyce's Araby is a short story centering on an Irish adolescent

emerging from boyhood fantasies into the harsh realities of everyday life in
his country. Joyce based this coming-of-age tale, which he wrote in 1905,
on his own experiences while growing up in Dublin in the late nineteenth
century. The London firm of Grant Richards Ltd. published the story in 1914
in Dubliners, a collection of fifteen of Joyce's stories.

Background and Setting

.......James Joyce based "Araby" on his own experiences as an adolescent
resident of Dublin in 1894, when Ireland was chafing under British rule. Like
the fictional narrator of "Araby," Joyce lived on North Richmond Street (No.
17) in the central part of the city. And like the narrator, he was undergoing a
period of self-discovery. However, unlike the narrator of "Araby," Joyce was
not an orphan........In "Araby" and other stories in Dubliners, Joyce
presents Dublin as a bleak city struggling against oppressive forces. Winter
scenes of boys at play take place near the dead end of North Richmond
Street and in nearby lanes, as indicated in the first and third paragraphs.
The climactic scene takes place in South Dublin, across the River Liffey
from central Dublin, at a bazaar in a large building. Such a bazaarbilled
as Araby: a Grand Oriental Fte (or as A Grand Oriental Fte: Araby in
Dublin) was actually held in Dublin between May 14 and May 19, 1894, to
benefit a local hospital.

Point of View
.......An adolescent boy narrates the story in first-person point of view. He
does not identify himself. But to readers familiar with the life and works of
Joyce, it becomes clear that he represents the author. Joyce based
characters, places, and events in the story on recollections from his
boyhood, although he altered reality from time to time. For example, Joyce
was not an orphan, as is the narrator.

Characters
Narrator: Boy of about twelve who becomes infatuated with the sister of his
friend, Mangan. Although she hardly notices him and converses with him
only once, he fantasizes about her and tells her he will buy her a gift if he

attends a bazaar called Araby. He seems to regard her as noble and pure of
heart, like a maiden in a tale of chivalry. His trip to the bazaar to find her the
gift then becomes something of a knight's quest on behalf of his lady fair.

Mangan: Boy about the same age as the narrator. He is a companion and
neighbor of the narrator. Other Neighbor Boys: Companions of the
narrator.Mangan's Sister: Girl to whom the narrator is attracted.
Narrator's Uncle, Aunt: Relatives who are rearing the narrator. The uncle,
a drinker, addresses the narrator as "boy" (paragraph 14), suggesting that
he is not close to his nephew.Mrs. Mercer: Widow of a pawnbroker. She
visits the narrator's home to collect used stamps to support what the
narrator terms "a pious cause."Schoolmaster: Narrator's teacher.Stall
Attendant: Young Englishwoman who sells vases, tea sets, and similar
wares at the Araby bazaar. To the narrator, the fact that she is English
diminishes the Middle Eastern atmosphere of the Araby bazaar. Two
Englishmen: Young men with whom the stall attendant flirts. Dubliners:
Pedestrians, shop boys, laborers, drunks.Porters at Train Station
Attendant at Bazaar Turnstile

Plot Summary

By Michael J. Cummings... 2010

.......The year is 1894. The place is North Richmond Street in Ireland's

largest city, Dublin. The street dead-ends at an empty house of two stories,
says the unidentified narrator, a boy of about twelve who lives on the street
with his uncle and aunt. A priest was once a tenant in the house they
occupy. After he died, the narrator explored his quarters. He reports that
Air, musty from having been long enclosed, hung in all the rooms, and the
waste room behind the kitchen was littered with old useless papers. Among
these I found a few paper-covered books, the pages of which were curled
and damp: The Abbot, by Walter Scott, The Devout Communicant, and The
Memoirs of Vidocq. I liked the last best because its leaves were yellow.
.......The narrator says the priest was a good man, for he bequeathed his
money to institutions and his furniture to his sister.
.......In winter, the narrator and his friends, including a boy named Mangan,
play in the street and in the muddy lanes along and behind the houses. If
the narrator's uncle turns into the street, everyone hides until he enters his

house. If Mangan's sister comes out and calls her brother to tea, everyone
keeps in the shadows. If she stands there and waits, the boys reveal
themselves and Mangan answers her call. The narrator always observes
her closely, for he is strongly attracted to her even though he hardly knows
her.
.......On school mornings, he waits for her to come out, then grabs his
school books and follows her until their paths diverge. She is constantly in
his thoughts even though they had never had a conversation. One rainy
evening in the kitchen of the priest's empty quarters, he presses his hands
together as if to pray and says, O love! O love!
.......Finally, a day comes when she speaks to him. She asks whether he is
going to the Araby bazaar Saturday evening, noting that she herself wants
to go but cannot because she must attend a retreat scheduled at her
convent. He tells her that if he goes to the bazaar, he will bring back
something for her.
.......During the next several days, having received permission from his aunt
to attend the event, all he can think about is the bazaar and Mangan's
sister. On Saturday morning, he reminds his uncle that he will be attending
the bazaar that evening. The uncle, who is in the hallway looking for a hat
brush, curtly replies, "Yes, boy, I know."
.......After the narrator returns from school, he sits downstairs staring at a
clock, waiting for his uncle to come home and give him money for the
bazaar. Irritated by the ticking of the clock, he goes to the highest part of the
dwelling and looks out at the Mangan girl's house while neighbor boys are
playing in the street. For fully an hour, he stands there thinking of her,
imagining he sees her in front of her househer curved neck, her dress,
her hand on the railing.
.......When he returns downstairs, his uncle has still not returned home. But
Mrs. Mercer is there sitting at the fire. She is a pawnbroker's widow who
collects used stamps for a charitable cause. She is also waiting for the
narrator's uncle, but the narrator does not say why. It may be that the uncle
owes her money or has promised to give her stamps. While dinner awaits
his return, Mrs. Mercer gossips with the narrator's aunt over tea. Just after
eight o'clock, Mrs. Mercer says she can wait no longer and leaves.
.......I'm afraid you may put off your bazaar for this night of Our Lord, the
narrator's aunt says.
.......At nine, the narrator hears his uncle come through the door. He is
talking to himself, which means he has been drinking. When the narrator
asks him for money for the bazaar, the uncle says people are going to bed
by this time. But the aunt presses him on behalf of the boy. The uncle then
gives the boy a florin and asks him whether he has heard of "The Arab's

Farewell to His Steed." In a hurry, the boy leaves while the uncle prepares
to recite the first few lines of the poem to his wife.
.......The narrator takes an empty third-class train across the river to the site
of the bazaar. When he walks down the street to the bazaar building, it is
nearing ten o'clock. He pays his way and walks through a turnstile only to
discover that most of the stalls are already closed. In front of a curtain at
one stall, Cafe Chantant, two men are counting money. When the narrator
finds a stall that is still open, he goes inside and looks over a display of tea
sets and porcelain vases.
.......A young lady is talking with two gentlemen. All have English accents.
She comes over and asks the narrator whether he wishes to make a
purchase. Her tone is perfunctory; she exhibits little enthusiasm. No, thank
you, he says. He lingers a moment, then walks away. The lights of the
gallery in the upper part of the building go out. Of this moment, the narrator
tells the reader:
.......Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and
derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.

..

Shakespeare: a Guide to the Complete Works

By the Author of This Web Site .Plot Summaries of All the Plays and Narrative
Poems | Themes | Imagery | Historical Background | GlossariesShakespeare's
Theatre | Drama Terms | Essays | Analysis of the Sonnets | and Much More .
Now Available

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Joyce, Religion, and "Araby"

.......James Joyce grew up a Catholic and attended Clongowes boarding
school, operated by priests of the Society of Jesus, or Jesuits. But his
father's heavy drinking and incompetence in home finances plunged the
family into debt. Consequently, Joyce had to withdraw from school and
return home, where he kept up his studies with the help of his mother. Two
years later, Jesuits at Belvedere school admitted Joyce free of charge. He
flourished academically, rising to the top of his class. .......At University
College in Dublin, also run by the Jesuits, he received an excellent
education in languages and participated in literary activities. By this time,
however, Joyce had renounced Catholicism, mainly because of its

unbending rules and strict enforcement of them. In his stories, he

repeatedly accuses the Catholic Church of oppressing and debilitating
Ireland. He also frequently mocks the church, its clergy, and its rituals even
though Jesuit priests generously provided him an education at a crucial time
in his life. .......In Araby, Joyce presents the church from two perspectives:
that of the young narratorwho is a practicing Catholic, as Joyce was in his
youthand that of the irreligious adult author. The following sentences from
the second paragraph exhibit this double perspective.
The former tenant of our house, a priest, had died in the back drawingroom. Air, musty from having been long enclosed, hung in all the rooms,
and the waste room behind the kitchen was littered with old useless
papers . . . He had been a very charitable priest; in his will he had left all his
money to institutions and the furniture of his house to his sister.
Here, the boy attaches no special meaning to the condition of the room or
the useless papers. Nor does he look down on the priest, for he notes that
he had been a charitable man. However, it appears that the author himself
in looking back on his adolescenceintended the musty air and the
useless papers to suggest that the church was an outdated institution with
effete rules and doctrines. Like the priest, it would die. As to the generosity
of the priest, Joyce seems to be raising the question of why he had money
and property in the first place.
.......One may argue that Joyce felt conscience-bound to criticize the
Catholic Church in "Araby" and other short stories, as well as in novels such
as Ulysses. But his unfair generalizations about the church and the mean
spirit in which he delivers his criticism bring into question the reliability and
objectivity of his criticism.

Conflicts
.......The narrator contends with environmental forces that inhibit and
oppress him and other Dubliners. These forces include adverse economic,
social, and cultural conditions arising from British dominance of Ireland. He
also struggles against lustful feelings toward the Mangan girl, feelings that
his religion tells him he must control. These feelings are most obvious in the
following sentence at the end of the sixth paragraph: "All my senses
seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip
from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled,
murmuring: `O love! O love!' many times."..

Theme
Awakening to the Humdrum Life of Dublin
.......The working-class street on which the narrator resides is a dead end,
suggesting that he and his friends are going nowhere. They will grow up to
live in the same dreary Dublin, with its dreary weather, dreary people, and
dreary houses. In the third paragraph, the narrator describes the depressing
atmosphere:
.......When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of
sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the
lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we
played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The
career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the
houses, where we ran the gantlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to
the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the
ashpits, to the dark odorous stables . . . .
.......Nevertheless, the narrator bears up. He has friends, keeps active, and
nurtures a dream: to win the attentions of the Mangan girl. After she speaks
to him one day about the Araby bazaar, his spirits soar; he can think of
nothing but her and of the gift he will buy her at the bazaar. For him, she is
an exotic, lovely creature, foreign to Dublin. And the bazaarAraby, as it is
calledrepresents a distant, mystical land to which he will travel on behalf
of his beloved to obtain for her a splendid keepsake. He is like a knight
planning a quest.
.......But when he goes to the bazaar late one Saturday evening, the thirdclass train he rides to the site of the bazaar, the nearly empty bazaar hall,
the English accents of the saleswoman and her men friends all disillusion
him. In this moment, he suddenly awakens to the bleakness of the
humdrum life around him.

Foresahdowing
.......As a young adult Joyce turned hostile toward Roman Catholicism and
its clergy, believing that they had been a negative influence on Ireland over
the years. Consequently, he makes the priest (paragraph 2) part of the
dreary, decaying Dublin environment. .......One may interpret his depiction
of the priest as a foreshadowing of what will happen to the youthful narrator.

Consider, for example, that the priest in his youth was probably hopeful and
optimistic, like the narrator. After he was ordained, he may have attempted
to maintain the ebullience of his youth and reaffirm the importance of
religion by reading the books mentioned in the second paragraph of
"Araby." However, he eventually awakened to the bleakness of life around
him and to the barrenness of religion, as Joyce would have the reader
believe. His backyard gardena sort of Eden, complete with an apple tree
then began decomposing, reflecting the destruction of the priest's
idealism. There is a rusty bicycle pump in the garden, suggesting the
deflation of his vicarious travels........The priest's experience thus
foreshadows the awakening of the narrator from his dreamy adolescent
idealism to the harsh reality of Dublin life. .

Glossary of Allusions, Symbols, and Terms

The Abbot: Novel by Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832). Its central character is
Roland Graeme, a young man reared by relatives (like the Araby narrator).
Graeme becomes involved in romance and adventure, as the narrator of
"Araby" dreams of doing after meeting Mangan's sister and then going on a
knightly "quest" to the bazaar. "The Arab's Farewell to His Steed": Alternate
title for "An Arab's Farewell to His Horse," a popular poem by the English
writer and social reformer Caroline Norton (1808-1877), granddaughter of
the famed Irish-born British playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan. "In
Araby," the narrator's uncle is about to recite the opening lines of the poem
when the boy leaves for the Araby bazaar. Here is the first stanza of the
poem:
My beautiful! that standest meekly by,
With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye,
Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed;
I may not mount on thee again,thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!
Fret not with that impatient hoof,snuff not the breezy wind,
The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind:
The stranger hath thy bridle-rein,thy master hath his gold,
Fleet-limb'd and beautiful, farewell; thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold.
At the end of the poem, the former owner returns the money and reclaims
the horse.
Araby: Name of a bazaar (Araby: a Grand Oriental Fte) held in Dublin
May 14-19, 1894, to benefit a local hospital. In Joyce's short story, the
young narrator views Araby as a symbol of the mystique and allure of the

Middle East. When he crosses the river to attend the bazaar and purchase
a gift for the Mangan girl, it is as if he is crossing into a foreign land, like a
knight-errant, on a mission on behalf of his lady fair. But his trip to the
bazaar disappoints and disillusions him, awakening him to the harsh reality
of life around him.
Ashpits: Perhaps symbols of the hellish life of many Dubliners.
Blind Street: Street that dead-ends. In the story and in real life, Dublin's
North Richmond Street is a dead end, as Joyce points out in the first four
words of "Araby"perhaps to suggest that the boys playing on it are going
nowhere. They will grow up to live in the same dreary Dublin, with its dreary
weather, dreary people, and dreary houses. In the third paragraph, the
narrator describes the depressing atmosphere:
When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky
above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of
the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till
our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The career of our
play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses, where we
ran the gantlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of
the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark
odorous stables . . . .
Brown: Color that Joyce uses in "Araby" to draw attention to the plainness
and dreariness of Dublin. (See the first paragraph.) He also uses it to
describe the figure of the Mangan girl, for she conjured up for him images of
the Middle East, in particular the people of Arabia. But after he attends the
bazaar, he no doubt begins to associate the brownness of her figure with
the dreary brownness of Dublin.
Caf Chantant: In Europe, a caf in which singers, dancers, and other
entertainers performed for patrons. Sometimes bawdy performances were
featured. In "Araby," the presence of a caf chantant at the Grand Oriental
Fte suggests that the bazaar is actually less than grand.
Devout Communicant: Abbreviation of a book title. The full title is The
Devout Communicant, or Pious Meditations and Aspirations for the Three
Days Before and Three Days After Receiving the Holy Eucharist. The
author was Pacificus Baker (1695-1774), an English Franciscan priest.
Joyce mentions the book in "Araby" perhaps as a hint that the narrator
equates his attraction to the Mangan girl to a religious experience. Mention
of the book also obliquely foreshadows the narrator's trip to the bazaar to
obtain a gift for the girla trip that to him is a like a quest for the Holy Grail.
Empty House: Two-story dwelling at the end of North Richmond Street.
Joyce mentions it perhaps to suggest an empty future awaiting the boys
playing on the street.

Gantlet: Military punishment in which an offender was forced to run between

two lines of men who beat him with clubs when he passed.
Garden of the Priest: Garden of Eden, from which the priest and his religion
emerged to labor in a less-than-perfect world.
Mangan: James Mangan (1803-1849), whom Joyce read and wrote about.
Mangan adopted a middle name, Clarence, when he was a teenager.
Mangan wrote poetry on romantic and patriotic themes, notably poems
supporting Irish nationalism. He also translated poetry from German and
other languages, including Ireland's Celtic language (sometimes referred to
as Irish Gaelic). Some of his translations include his own original writing,
and some of his original poems are presented as translations from Oriental
languages. By giving the name Mangan to the girl with whom the young
"Araby" narrator is infatuated, Joyce links her with an author who
sometimes wrote about exotic eastern localesin other words Araby.
O'Donovan Rossa: Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa (1831-1915), a
revolutionary who worked to overthrow British rule in Ireland.
Florin: British coin worth two shillings. Circulation of it began in 1849 and
continued until 1971. In the late nineteenth century, the coin bore the image
of Queen Victoria on one side. The florin was a bitter reminder to the Irish
that they were under British rule.
Retreat: In Roman Catholicism, a period of seclusion for praying,
meditating, receiving advice, and discovering ways to improve one's moral
life.
Salver: Tray.
Spike: Perhaps a phallic symbol. Joyce uses the word in the ninth
paragraph. Here is the paragraph:
.......While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist.
She could not go, she said, because there would be a retreat that week in
her convent. Her brother and two other boys were fighting for their caps,
and I was alone at the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her head
towards me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white
curve of her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand
upon the railing. At fell over one side of her dress and caught the white
border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease.
Westland Row Station: Train station in South Dublin. Today it is known as
Pearse Station.
Vidocq, Eugne Franois: Celebrated French adventurer. Between his
adolescence and age twenty, he was a thief, traveling entertainer, duelist,
prison inmate, prison escapee, soldier, and forger. After later being
imprisoned again, he spied on inmates for the police. When he was thirtysix, he founded a police unit in Paris that later became the national security

police, or Sret Nationale. He left police work in 1827 to operate a paper

mill, but the business failed. He went back to work for the police as a
detective but in 1832 was accused of theft and fired. He then founded a
detective agency. He was an acquaintance of great writers, including Balzac
and Victor Hugo, and served as a model for many fictional characters. He
wrote his memoirs with the assistance of other writers. Entitled Mmoires
de Vidocq, chef de la police de Sret, jusqu'en 1827, it became a best
seller. The reference to Vidocq in "Araby" appears to suggest that the dead
priest had escaped from the austerity of his clerical life and the drabness of
Dublin by reading about the adventuresome Vidocq. The reference also
foreshadows the young narrator's "escape" across the river to the Araby
bazaar.

..

Climax
.......The climax occurs when the narrator, disillusioned by what he finds at
the bazaar, realizes that life in Dublin is humdrum and that the Mangan girl
probably has no romantic interest in him. Belief that she was attracted to
him was a result of his vanity, he believes.

Figures of Speech
.......Following are examples of figures of speech in "Araby."
Alliteration
Paragraph 3: the back doors of the dark dripping gardens
Paragraph 5: Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers
and praises which I myself did not understand.
Paragraph 25: girded at half its height by a gallery.
Irony
When the Araby bazaar darkens, the narrator "sees the light," realizing that
his perception of reality has been distorted.
Metaphor
Paragraph 3: shook music from the buckled harness (comparison of music
to an object that can be shaken from something)
Paragraph 5: the shrill litanies of shop-boys (comparison of the cries of the
shop boys to a repetitive prayer)
Personification
Paragraph 1: The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives

within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces

(comparison of houses to persons)
Paragraph 6: All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves
(comparison of senses to persons)
Simile
Paragraph 5: But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures
were like fingers running upon the wires. (Comparison of body to a harp and
of words and gestures to fingers)

Study Questions and Essay Topics

1...Write an essay that speculates on what the narrator's life will be like
when he is in his early thirties.
2...Write a short psychological profile of the narrator. Support your views
with passages from the story and quotations from scholarly works that
analyze the story..
3...In what ways did British rule of Ireland affect the everyday life of the Irish
people?
4...Are the coachman and horse (paragraph 3) symbols of Britain and
Ireland, respectively?
5...What are "the troubles in our native land"? (Paragraph 5).

Araby

By James Joyce
Complete Text

.......North Richmond Street, being blind, was a quiet street except at

the hour when the Christian Brothers' School set the boys free. An
uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end, detached from
its neighbours in a square ground. The other houses of the street,
conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown
imperturbable faces........The former tenant of our house, a priest, had
died in the back drawing-room. Air, musty from having been long
enclosed, hung in all the rooms, and the waste room behind the kitchen
was littered with old useless papers. Among these I found a few papercovered books, the pages of which were curled and damp: The Abbot,
by Walter Scott, The Devout Communicant, and The Memoirs of
Vidocq. I liked the last best because its leaves were yellow. The wild
garden behind the house contained a central apple-tree and a few
straggling bushes, under one of which I found the late tenant's rusty
bicycle-pump. He had been a very charitable priest; in his will he had
left all his money to institutions and the furniture of his house to his
sister. .......When the short days of winter came, dusk fell before we
had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the street the houses had
grown sombre. The space of sky above us was the colour of everchanging violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble
lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed.
Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The career of our play brought

us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses, where we ran the
gantlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of the
dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark
odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse
or shook music from the buckled harness. When we returned to the
street, light from the kitchen windows had filled the areas. If my uncle
was seen turning the corner, we hid in the shadow until we had seen
him safely housed. Or if Mangan's sister came out on the doorstep to
call her brother in to his tea, we watched her from our shadow peer up
and down the street. We waited to see whether she would remain or go
in and, if she remained, we left our shadow and walked up to Mangan's
steps resignedly. She was waiting for us, her figure defined by the light
from the half-opened door. Her brother always teased her before he
obeyed, and I stood by the railings looking at her. Her dress swung as
she moved her body, and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to
side........Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching
her door. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so
that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep my heart
leaped. I ran to the hall, seized my books and followed her. I kept her
brown figure always in my eye and, when we came near the point at
which our ways diverged, I quickened my pace and passed her. This
happened morning after morning. I had never spoken to her, except for
a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my
foolish blood. .......Her image accompanied me even in places the
most hostile to romance. On Saturday evenings when my aunt went
marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through
the flaring streets, jostled by drunken men and bargaining women,
amid the curses of labourers, the shrill litanies of shop-boys who stood
on guard by the barrels of pigs' cheeks, the nasal chanting of streetsingers, who sang a come-all-you about O'Donovan Rossa, or a ballad
about the troubles in our native land. These noises converged in a
single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely
through a throng of foes. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in
strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My
eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood

from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little
of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or,
if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my
body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers
running upon the wires.

.......One evening I went into the back drawing-room in which the priest
had died. It was a dark rainy evening and there was no sound in the
house. Through one of the broken panes I heard the rain impinge upon
the earth, the fine incessant needles of water playing in the sodden
beds. Some distant lamp or lighted window gleamed below me. I was
thankful that I could see so little. All my senses seemed to desire to veil
themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed
the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: `O
love! O love!' many times........At last she spoke to me. When she
addressed the first words to me I was so confused that I did not know
what to answer. She asked me was I going to Araby. I forgot whether I
answered yes or no. It would be a splendid bazaar; she said she would
love to go. ......."And why can't you?" I asked........While she spoke
she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could not
go, she said, because there would be a retreat that week in her
convent. Her brother and two other boys were fighting for their caps,
and I was alone at the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her
head towards me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the
white curve of her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit
up the hand upon the railing. At fell over one side of her dress and
caught the white border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease.
......."It's well for you," she said........"If I go," I said, "I will bring you
something.".......What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and
sleeping thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious
intervening days. I chafed against the work of school. At night in my
bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came between me
and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the word Araby were

called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast

an Eastern enchantment over me. I asked for leave to go to the bazaar
on Saturday night. My aunt was surprised, and hoped it was not some
Freemason affair. I answered few questions in class. I watched my
master's face pass from amiability to sternness; he hoped I was not
beginning to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had
hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it
stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly
monotonous child's play........On Saturday morning I reminded my
uncle that I wished to go to the bazaar in the evening. He was fussing
at the hallstand, looking for the hat-brush, and answered me curtly:
......."Yes, boy, I know.".......As he was in the hall I could not go into the
front parlour and lie at the window. I left the house in bad humour and
walked slowly towards the school. The air was pitilessly raw and
already my heart misgave me........When I came home to dinner my
uncle had not yet been home. Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock
for some time and, when its ticking began to irritate me, I left the room.
I mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house. The
high, cold, empty, gloomy rooms liberated me and I went from room to
room singing. From the front window I saw my companions playing
below in the street. Their cries reached me weakened and indistinct
and, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I looked over at the
dark house where she lived. I may have stood there for an hour, seeing
nothing but the brown-clad figure cast by my imagination, touched
discreetly by the lamplight at the curved neck, at the hand upon the
railings and at the border below the dress........When I came
downstairs again I found Mrs Mercer sitting at the fire. She was an old,
garrulous woman, a pawnbroker's widow, who collected used stamps
for some pious purpose. I had to endure the gossip of the tea-table.
The meal was prolonged beyond an hour and still my uncle did not
come. Mrs Mercer stood up to go: she was sorry she couldn't wait any
longer, but it was after eight o'clock and she did not like to be out late,
as the night air was bad for her. When she had gone I began to walk up
and down the room, clenching my fists. My aunt said:......."I'm afraid

you may put off your bazaar for this night of Our Lord.".......At nine
o'clock I heard my uncle's latchkey in the hall door. I heard him talking
to himself and heard the hallstand rocking when it had received the
weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he was
midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money to go to
the bazaar. He had forgotten. ......."The people are in bed and after
their first sleep now," he said........I did not smile. My aunt said to him
energetically:......."Can't you give him the money and let him go?
You've kept him late enough as it is.".......My uncle said he was very
sorry he had forgotten. He said he believed in the old saying: All work
and no play makes Jack a dull boy. He asked me where I was going
and, when I told him a second time, he asked me did I know "The
Arab's Farewell to his Steed." When I left the kitchen he was about to
recite the opening lines of the piece to my aunt........I held a florin
tightly in my hand as I strode down Buckingham Street towards the
station. The sight of the streets thronged with buyers and glaring with
gas recalled to me the purpose of my journey. I took my seat in a thirdclass carriage of a deserted train. After an intolerable delay the train
moved out of the station slowly. It crept onward among ruinous houses
and over the twinkling river. At Westland Row Station a crowd of people
pressed to the carriage doors; but the porters moved them back,
saying that it was a special train for the bazaar. I remained alone in the
bare carriage. In a few minutes the train drew up beside an improvised
wooden platform. I passed out on to the road and saw by the lighted
dial of a clock that it was ten minutes to ten. In front of me was a large
building which displayed the magical name........I could not find any
sixpenny entrance and, fearing that the bazaar would be closed, I
passed in quickly through a turnstile, handing a shilling to a wearylooking man. I found myself in a big hall girded at half its height by a
gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater part of the hall
was in darkness. I recognized a silence like that which pervades a
church after a service. I walked into the centre of the bazaar timidly. A
few people were gathered about the stalls which were still open. Before

a curtain, over which the words Caf Chantant were written in coloured
lamps, two men were counting money on a salver. I listened to the fall
of the coins........Remembering with difficulty why I had come, I went
over to one of the stalls and examined porcelain vases and flowered
tea-sets. At the door of the stall a young lady was talking and laughing
with two young gentlemen. I remarked their English accents and
listened vaguely to their conversation........"O, I never said such a
thing!"......."O, but you did!"......."O, but I didn't!"......."Didn't she say
that?"......."Yes. I heard her."......."O, there's a... fib!".......Observing
me, the young lady came over and asked me did I wish to buy
anything. The tone of her voice was not encouraging; she seemed to
have spoken to me out of a sense of duty. I looked humbly at the great
jars that stood like eastern guards at either side of the dark entrance to
the stall and murmured:......."No, thank you.".......The young lady
changed the position of one of the vases and went back to the two
young men. They began to talk of the same subject. Once or twice the
young lady glanced at me over her shoulder........I lingered before her
stall, though I knew my stay was useless, to make my interest in her
wares seem the more real. Then I turned away slowly and walked
down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two pennies to fall against
the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of the
gallery that the light was out. The upper part of the hall was now
completely dark........Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a
creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with
anguish and anger.

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