MINOR DE INGLÉS Dra.

María COLOM JIMÉNEZ

James Joyce (1882-1941)

From Dubliners, Eveline (1914)
situation
Day to day
·

·
Private She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her
espace head was leaned against the window curtains and in her nostrils was
(nome the odour of dusty cretonne. She was tired. look at the end)
·
One lee
Few people passed. The man out of the last house passed on his
protagonistway home; she heard his footsteps clacking along the concrete
· she is pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder path before the
remembering new red houses. One time there used to be a field there in which they
her chifehood
used to play every evening with other people's children. Then a man
↓
not from Belfast bought the field and built houses in it—not like their little
happs
brown houses but bright brick houses with shining roofs. The children
·

female of the avenue used to play together in that field—the Devines, the
point of
view. Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cripple, she and her brothers and
of her o sisters. Ernest, however, never played: he was too grown up. Her
reality .
father used often to hunt them in out of the field with his blackthorn
·
para explora stick; but usually little Keogh used to keep nix and call out when he
futuro, saw her father coming. Still they seemed to have been rather happy
su

solo usa su

punto de viste then. Her father was not so bad then; and besides, her mother was
.

Nos tenemos que

lo alive. That was a long time ago; she and her brothers and sisters were
fier de que
dice
nos .
all grown up her mother was dead. Tizzie Dunn was dead, too, and the
· Historical Waters had gone back to England. Everything changes. Now she was
time - day
going to go away like the others, to leave her home.
one

#adecade .

·
have uner
Home! She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar
projeccion objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years,
-

[Link] where on earth all the dust came from. Perhaps she would
· tiene never see again those familiar objects from which she had never
a

su padre dreamed of being divided. And yet during all those years she had
capurivo, pero
never found out the name of the priest whose yellowing photograph
tiew que
estar
al) hung on the wall above the broken harmonium beside the coloured
·
the traditionar
print of the promises made to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque. He

responsabilit enditriduals Conficto con su madre

se compara de eso.
difícil deslizarse
:

she is poor so social class.

,
1
,
·

has less options of a good future abuse class,

Loss af her mother ,

oppressed by diferent things

,
.

She is
geure
·
.
 · criticism of poverty ,
social (Ireland
·

feel -n
trappresent
to past.
·
holding on

MINOR DE INGLÉS Dra. María COLOM JIMÉNEZ

· trip had been a school friend of her father. Whenever he showed the
Irland photograph to a visitor her father used to pass it with a casual word:
to Buenos Aire) ,

“He is in Melbourne now.”

She had consented to go away, to leave her home. Was that wise? She
tried to weigh each side of the question. In her home anyway she had
shelter and food; she had those whom she had known all her life about
her. Of course she had to work hard, both in the house and at business.
What would they say of her in the Stores when they found out that she
had run away with a fellow? Say she was a fool, perhaps; and her place
would be filled up by advertisement. Miss Gavan would be glad. She
had always had an edge on her, especially whenever there were people
listening.
“Miss Hill, don't you see these ladies are waiting?”
“Look lively, Miss Hill, please.”
She would not cry many tears at leaving the Stores.
But in her new home, in a distant unknown country, it would
not be like that. Then she would be married—she, Eveline. People
would treat her with respect then. She would not be treated as her
mother had been. Even now, though she was over nineteen, she
sometimes felt herself in danger of her father's violence. She knew it
was that that had given her the palpitations. When they were growing
up he had never gone for her like he used to go for Harry and Ernest,
because she was a girl; but latterly he had begun to threaten her and
say what he would do to her only for her dead mother's sake. And now
she had nobody to protect her. Ernest was dead and Harry, who was
in the church decorating business, was nearly always down
somewhere in the country. Besides, the invariable squabble for money
on Saturday nights had begun to weary her unspeakably. She always
gave her entire wages— seven shillings—and Harry always sent up
what he could but the trouble was to get any money from her father.
He said she used to squander the money, that she had no head, that
he wasn't going to give her his hard-earned money to throw about the
streets, and much more, for he was usually fairly bad on Saturday
night. In the end he would give her the money and ask her had she
2
MINOR DE INGLÉS Dra. María COLOM JIMÉNEZ

any intention of buying Sunday's dinner. Then she had to rush out as
quickly as she could and do her marketing, holding her black leather
purse tightly in her hand as she elbowed her way through the crowds
and returning home late under her load of provisions. She had hard
work to keep the house together and to see that the two young
children who had been left to her charge went to school regularly and
got their meals regularly. It was hard work—a hard life—but now that
she was about to leave it she did not find it a wholly undesirable life.
She was about to explore another life with Frank. Frank was
very kind, manly, openhearted. She was to go away with him by the
night-boat to be his wife and to live with him in Buenos Ayres where
he had a home waiting for her. How well she remembered the first
time she had seen him; he was lodging in a house on the main road
where she used to visit. It seemed a few weeks ago. He was standing
at the gate, his peaked cap pushed back on his head and his hair
tumbled forward over a face of bronze. Then they had come to know
each other. He used to meet her outside the Stores every evening and
see her home. He took her to see The Bohemian Girl and she felt
elated as she sat in an unaccustomed part of the theatre with him. He
was awfully fond of music and sang a little. People knew that they
were courting and, when he sang about the lass that loves a sailor, she
always felt pleasantly confused. He used to call her Poppens out of
fun. First of all it had been an excitement for her to have a fellow and
then she had begun to like him. He had tales of distant countries. He
had started as a deck boy at a pound a month on a ship of the Allan
Line going out to Canada. He told her the names of the ships he had
been on and the names of the different services. He had sailed through
the Straits of Magellan and he told her stories of the terrible
Patagonians. He had fallen on his feet in Buenos Ayres, he said, and
had come over to the old country just for a holiday. Of course, her
father had found out the affair and had forbidden her to have anything
to say to him.

3
MINOR DE INGLÉS Dra. María COLOM JIMÉNEZ

“I know these sailor chaps,” he said.

One day he had quarrelled with Frank and after that she had to meet
her lover
secretly.
The evening deepened in the avenue. The white of two letters in
her lap grew indistinct. One was to Harry; the other was to her father.
Ernest had been her favorite but she liked Harry too. Her father was
becoming old lately, she noticed; he would miss her. Sometimes he
could be very nice. Not long before, when she had been laid up for a
day, he had read her out a ghost story and made toast for her at the
fire. Another day, when their mother was alive, they had all gone for
a picnic to the Hill of Howth. She remembered her father putting on
her mother’s bonnet to make the children laugh.
Her time was running out but she continued to sit by the
window, leaning her head against the window curtain, inhaling the
odour of dusty cretonne. Down far in the avenue she could hear a
street organ playing. She knew the air. Strange that it should come
that very night to remind her of the promise to her mother, her
promise to keep the home together as long as she could. She
remembered the last night of her mother's illness; she was again in
the close dark room at the other side of the hall and outside she heard
a melancholy air of Italy. The organ-player had been ordered to go
away and given sixpence. She remembered her father strutting back
into the sickroom saying:
“Damned Italians! coming over here!”
As she mused the pitiful vision of her mother's life laid its spell
on the very quick of her being—that life of commonplace sacrifices
closing in final craziness. She trembled as she heard again her
mother's voice saying constantly with foolish insistence:
“Derevaun Seraun! Derevaun Seraun!”

4
 feeling of but she not alive According to her
expectatives
living
·
is .

MINOR DE INGLÉS Dra. María COLOM JIMÉNEZ

familiar place-phome
boat by the sea
unkown place--
She stood up in a sudden impulse of terror. Escape! She must escape!
·

Frank would save her. He would give her life, perhaps love, too. But
she wanted to live. Why should she be unhappy? She had a right to
happiness. Frank would take her in his arms, fold her in his arms. He
would save her.
She stood among the swaying crowd in the station at the North
Wall. He held her hand and she knew that he was speaking to her,
saying something about the passage over and over again. The station
was full of soldiers with brown baggages. Through the wide doors of
the sheds she caught a glimpse of the black mass of the boat, lying in
beside the quay wall, with illumined portholes. She answered nothing.
She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a maze of distress, she
prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her duty. The boat
blew a long mournful whistle into the mist. If she went, tomorrow she
would be on the sea with Frank, steaming towards Buenos Ayres.
Their passage had been booked. Could she still draw back after all he
had done for her? Her distress awoke a nausea in her body and she
kept moving her lips in silent fervent prayer.
· Role of A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand:
women
“Come!”
who take care

ag others All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her
into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the
&

No solo cuida

sino es iron railing.

que ·
the problematic
a
figuras “Come!” of human existance
masculinas ,
No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. *
Auty with Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish. algunos hubiert ido al
her situation mos
vieje
“Eveline! Evvy!” Otros no ....

economical He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was
dependence
·

shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to
him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love
or farewell or recognition. She was pasive She is tired.
.

El
final igual que el principio
5

Open ending explica algo que debería

Te de ocurrir ,
pero no
Típico modernista - nos hacemos
preguntas iparque !
¿ ocure?
que
MINOR DE INGLÉS Dra. María COLOM JIMÉNEZ

She stood up in a sudden impulse of terror. Escape! She must escape!

Frank would save her. He would give her life, perhaps love, too. But
she wanted to live. Why should she be unhappy? She had a right to
happiness. Frank would take her in his arms, fold her in his arms. He
would save her.
She stood among the swaying crowd in the station at the North
Wall. He held her hand and she knew that he was speaking to her,
saying something about the passage over and over again. The station
was full of soldiers with brown baggages. Through the wide doors of
the sheds she caught a glimpse of the black mass of the boat, lying in
beside the quay wall, with illumined portholes. She answered nothing.
She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a maze of distress, she
prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her duty. The boat
blew a long mournful whistle into the mist. If she went, tomorrow she
would be on the sea with Frank, steaming towards Buenos Ayres.
Their passage had been booked. Could she still draw back after all he
had done for her? Her distress awoke a nausea in her body and she
kept moving her lips in silent fervent prayer.
A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand:
“Come!”
All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her
into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the
iron railing.
“Come!”
No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy.
Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish.
“Eveline! Evvy!”
He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was
shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to
him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love
or farewell or recognition.

5
MINOR DE INGLÉS Dra. María COLOM JIMÉNEZ

She stood up in a sudden impulse of terror. Escape! She must escape!

Frank would save her. He would give her life, perhaps love, too. But
she wanted to live. Why should she be unhappy? She had a right to
happiness. Frank would take her in his arms, fold her in his arms. He
would save her.
She stood among the swaying crowd in the station at the North
Wall. He held her hand and she knew that he was speaking to her,
saying something about the passage over and over again. The station
was full of soldiers with brown baggages. Through the wide doors of
the sheds she caught a glimpse of the black mass of the boat, lying in
beside the quay wall, with illumined portholes. She answered nothing.
She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a maze of distress, she
prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her duty. The boat
blew a long mournful whistle into the mist. If she went, tomorrow she
would be on the sea with Frank, steaming towards Buenos Ayres.
Their passage had been booked. Could she still draw back after all he
had done for her? Her distress awoke a nausea in her body and she
kept moving her lips in silent fervent prayer.
A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand:
“Come!”
All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her
into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the
iron railing.
“Come!”
No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy.
Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish.
“Eveline! Evvy!”
He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was
shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to
him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love
or farewell or recognition.