더블린 사람들 - 원문 텍스트 (3) Araby

“자매(The Sisters)”, “우연한 만남(An Encounter)”에 이은 3번째 단편으로 ‘어린 시절(childhood)’의 마지막이지만, 실제 완성 시기는 1905년 10월로 11번째이다. 이 세 편을 조이스는 ‘자신의 어린 시절(my childhood)’라고 했던만큼 자전적인 성격이 강한 작품들이다. ‘애러비(Araby)’는 ‘아라비아(Arabia)’의 시적 표현으로, 19세기 유럽인들이 꿈꾸는 낭만적이고 환상적인 일탈(逸脫)의 세계(보물, 관능적인 여자, 이국적인 풍물, 세련되었지만 살아있는 야수성)를 의미한다. 소년의 환상의 의미는 무엇이고 어떻게 깨어지는가에 주목해서 읽는다. 소설의 연대는 대략 1894년 부근으로 추정되는데, 바로 앞 단편인 “우연한 만남(An Encounter)”에 이어지는 것이다. 실제 조이스는 1894년(12세)에 더블린의 North Richmond Street에 살았고, 시간상 이 이전이기는 해도, 이 해 5월에 “동양의 대축제(Grand Oriental Fete)”란 이름의 바자회가, Jervis Street Hospital을 돕기 위해 카톨릭 수녀회(the Roman Catholic Sisters of Mercy) 주최로 열렸다고 한다.

Araby

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 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 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 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 gauntlet 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 street-singers, 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 felt 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 third-class 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 weary-looking 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 Café 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.

3. Araby
blind	골목/길이 막힌	cul de sac, dead-end
Christian Brothers' School	가난한 아이들을 위해 아일랜드 여러 곳에 카톨릭에서 설립한 학교	조이스 자신도 1893년 이 학교에 잠시 다닌 적이 있는데 이 사실을 그는 자신의 자서전적 소설들에서 빼버렸다.
drawing room	응접실, 접견실; 기차 전용 객실(compartment)
wasteroom	화장실
The Abbot by Walter Scott	“아이반호(Ivanhoe)"로 유명한 스코틀랜드 소설가 월터 스코트가 1820년에 쓴 소설	음란하다고 알려진 16세기 스코틀랜드 메리 여왕을 이상화하여 만든 공상적 소설
The Devout Communicant	이 이름으로 된 책은 여럿 있으며, 종교적인 열정에 관한 경건한 문장들로 이루어 짐	모두 18세기의 것들
The Memowoire of Vidocq	19세기 프랑스의 도둑이자 경찰인 비독에 관한 허구적인 전기소설로 1828년 작품	대중적인 스릴러. 몇 년 전에 필자는 이에 관련된 영화를 본 적이 있음
leaf  (pl. leaves)	잎사귀 → 책의 앞뒤 한 장 (2 pages)
straggle	흩어지다, 무질서하게 퍼지다; 산재하다	scatter, spread, disorganize, scramble, ramble
career	n. 경력, 이력, 직업; 출세, 발전, 진전(development), 경로(course); 질주, 쾌주,	v. 전속력으로 달리다, 질주하다
run the gantlet	비난이나 질책을 받다; 옛날 두 줄로 늘어선 사람들 사이를 죄인으로 하여금 달리게 하고 여러 사람이 매질하는 태형	gantlet은 gauntlet의 옛날 철자
shook music out of the buckled harness	마부가 마구를 다루다가 내는 소리를, 마술사가 모자 등을 흔들어 무언가를 빼내는 마술처럼, 음악에 비유한 표현
area	(BrE) 지하실(부엌) 출입구(채광, 통행을 위한 지하층 주위의 빈터). spaces providing light and air to the basements of houses	(AmE) areaway
Mangan's sister	소녀의 이름은 나오지 않지만, Mangan이라는 이름의 선택은 중요하다. 아일랜드말(Gaelic language)로 'Mangan'의 뜻은 '숱이 많은 머리(abundant hair)'이다. 바로 뒤의 'soft rope of her hair'를 보라.	아일랜드의 시인 James Clarence Mangan(1803-1849)은 아일랜드의 우울한 전통과, Arab으로 대표되는 이국적인 환상에 빠졌던 시인으로, 아랍어도 모르면서 자기 시가 아랍어에서 번역한 것이라고 주장
pigs' cheeks	돼지의 볼살 (from 돼지머리)
come-all-you	유명한 아일랜드  대중 가요(Come all you gallant Irishman and listen to my song)로 노래가사에 그때 그때 하고 싶은 이야기를 집어 넣는다.
O'Donovan Rosa	급진적인 피니언 혁명가로 무장 투쟁을 주장했다	Jeremiah O’Donovan (1831–1915), nicknamed Dynamite Rossa; an Irish revolutionary.
troubles	조국의 수난과 애국투사의 투쟁	a euphemism for Irish civil unrest
chalice	성배(the Holy Grail), 성찬배. goblet
impinge on	충돌하다; 침범하다
Araby	Arabia or Arabian
lay waste	황폐시키다	lie waste 땅이 경작되지 않고 놀고 있다; 황폐해져 있다
hallstand	홀 스탠드(거울, 외투걸이, 우산꽂이 등이 하나로 된 것)	현관장 비슷하지만 다르다.
misgive	worry. concern. 근심하게 하다, 신경 쓰이게 하다
garrulous	말 많은. talkative
gain	reach
this night of Our Lord	← in the year of Our Lord ~ (서기 ~ 년에)
The Arab's Farewell to his Steed	아일랜드 시인 Caroline Norton(1808-77)이 지은 시로 많은 사람이 암송	'Araby' 바자회와는 “아무 관계 없어!”
florin	영국의 2실링(24 pence) 은화
girdle	(허리)띠로/띠 모양으로 두르다, 빙 둘러싸다	encircle or surround with sth like a girdle/belt
porter	문지기, 수위(doorkeeper); 짐꾼, 잡역부; 흑맥주
Café Chantan	(F) coffeehouse with entertainment(singing)	실제 이름
salver	금속제 쟁반, 명함 그릇
fib	악의 없는 사소한 거짓말