World Literature Quiz - "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" by Ernest Hemingway PDF

## World Literature ENG 485 ### 3- "A Clean,” by Ernest Hemingway—USA (1926) ### Brief Biography of Ernest Hemingway - Hemingway grew up outside a suburb of Chicago, spending summers with his family in rural Michigan. - After high school, he got a job writing for *The Kansas City Star* but left a...

## World Literature ENG 485 ### 3- "A Clean,” by Ernest Hemingway—USA (1926) ### Brief Biography of Ernest Hemingway - Hemingway grew up outside a suburb of Chicago, spending summers with his family in rural Michigan. - After high school, he got a job writing for *The Kansas City Star* but left after only six months to join the Red Cross Ambulance Corps during World War I, where he was injured and awarded the Silver Medal of Military Valor. - Afterward, he lived in Ontario and Chicago, where he met his first wife, Hadley Richardson. - In 1921 they moved to Paris, where he worked on his writing (including writing "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" and also developed a long friendship with F. Scott Fitzgerald and other ex-patriot American writers of the "lost generation." - After the 1926 publication of his first novel, *The Sun Also Rises*, he divorced Hadley and married Arkansas native Pauline Pfeiffer. - The couple moved to Florida, where Hemingway wrote *A Farewell to Arms* (1929), which became a bestseller. - Hemingway finally moved to Spain to serve as a war correspondent in the Spanish Civil War, a job that inspired his famous 1939 novel *For Whom the Bell Tolls*. - After its publication, he met his third wife, Martha Gellhorn. - Hemingway married his fourth and final wife, Mary Hemingway, in 1946, and the couple spent the next fourteen years living in Cuba. - After a final move to Idaho, Hemingway took his own life in 1961, following in the footsteps of his father who had committed suicide in 1928. - Hemingway left behind his wife and three sons. ### Historical Context - After Friedrich Nietzsche's proclamation that “God is dead” in *The Gay Science* (1882), the Christian value system that had supported western ethics and values left a vacuum of meaning. - Where once God's commands established human purpose, nothing remained to tell people how to conscientiously and happily live life. - The despairing nature of *A Clean, Well-Lighted Place* (1933) stems partly from this void in western consciousness. - By misquoting the Lord's Prayer, a prayer that brought meaning to millions in the West for centuries, Hemingway contributes his own answer to and criticism of Christianity. - The despairing nature of the story also stems, in part, from Hemingway's exposure to WWI, where he not only witnessed the death of a group of female workers at a factory, but he also suffered shrapnel wounds in both of his legs. - Additionally, it's important to remember that he published “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" during the Great Depression (1929-1939), a time when many Americans faced extreme economic poverty after the collapse of the stock market on what is now called Black Tuesday. ### Related Literary Works - How to live in the face of despair—the central question of “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" is a common question throughout literary history. - Homer's *Iliad* (800 B.C.) suggests that people stave off despair by seeking immortality through glory in battle. - Nietzsche's *The Birth of Tragedy* (1872) suggests that people treat life as a kind of aesthetic endeavor. - Albert Camus's *The Myth of Sisyphus* (1942) published only ten years after "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place," asks whether suicide is the preferable option to living with the knowledge that life is without meaning. - William Faulkner, the most prominent fiction writing contemporary of Hemingway, grapples with despair in *The Sound and the Fury* (1929), where his most despairing character, Quentin, commits suicide. - Hemingway's fascination with one's approach to death also appears in some of his other works. - *Death in the Afternoon* (1932) and *The Sun Also Rises* (1926) both reveal Hemingway's fascination with bullfighting in Spain. - Through both books, Hemingway admires the Spanish people's sport-like posture toward death. ### Key Facts - **Full Title:** "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place." - **When Written:** 1926 - **When Published:** 1933 - **Literary Period:** Modernism - **Genre:** Short story - **Setting:** A clean, well-lighted cafe - **Climax:** The older waiter recites his take on the Lord's prayer - **Antagonist:** The young waiter - **Point of View:** Third person omniscient ### Point of View - The point of view in the short story is third-person omniscient. - In other words, none of the characters is used as a point of view. - There is a narrator who knows everything. - This approach allows Hemingway to create an impartial report of events and conversations. - It also gives the reader a feeling of presence: we perceive reality without anyone commenting on it. - When the story reaches its climax and the younger waiter leaves, the older waiter takes the point of view. - The narrative is still third-person, but the protagonist merges with the narrator. - We hear his thoughts and feel his anguish. ### Setting - The short story is set in a Spanish café late at night. - The time is somewhere before 3 AM, and the season is unknown. - Hemingway didn't specify the year, but we know that he published it in 1933 when the Great Depression was in full swing. - The importance of the setting consists in the tone it creates. ### Tone - The story is unhurried, subtle, and matter of fact. - The author's opinion on the events is hidden as if he told the story with a straight face and even voice. - This technique prevents the readers from superficial reading. - After all, the plot is really dull. - But if the reader digs into the meaning, it opens up a whole new world of symbolism and philosophical questions. ### Literary Devices - **Irony:** It is a literary device or event in which how things seem to be is in fact very different from how they actually are. - **Imagery:** Imagery, in any sort of writing, refers to descriptive language that engages the human sense. - **Paradox:** It is a figure of speech that seems to contradict itself, but which, upon further examination, contains some kernel of truth or reason. ### Irony - There is little to laugh at in the short story. - But we can distinguish some ironic moments. - **The first** is when the older waiter says that his colleague has everything in life. - The younger replies, “You have everything I have.” - The dramatic irony is that he is wrong, and the reader knows it. - **Then, the older waiter comes to the bar and, when asked, says he wants "nada."** - It is verbal irony meaning that cannot order "nothing." - **The most prominent example of situational irony is the Lord's Prayer in the old waiter's edition.** - He is going through a depressive episode and should have prayed to God to help him, as a true Christian would do. - But he replaces most of the prayer's text with "nada." - The reader's expectations fall apart. - **Finally, each person has to find or create a clean, well-lighted place of their own.** - The ironic paradox is that meaning in this search can be found after one realizes its absence. ### THE CAFÉ - The café symbolizes the small pleasures that, in spite of life's meaninglessness, make living feel dignified and comfortable. - The old waiter and the old drunk both love to sit and drink at the café because it is quiet, and the shadow of its electric lights provides a nice haven under which to relax. - In contrast, the young waiter cannot wait to leave the café and head home to his wife; he finds his meaning not in enjoying the present, but rather from external sources of validation, such as his wife. - The waiter cannot appreciate the atmosphere of the café—he suggests that the old drunk could leave the café for a dirty bar or bodega, since he could also get drunk in those places, but this misunderstands the pleasure and dignity of the café itself. - The young waiter's goal-oriented outlook is shown to be out of step with the way of life that the café symbolizes, a worldview that recognizes that everything is meaningless except dignity and comfort. ### Key Themes and Messages - The key themes and messages conveyed in "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" by Ernest Hemingway revolve around despair, existentialism, and the search for meaning in a seemingly indifferent world. - The story uses symbolism and irony to convey the complexities of human experiences and emotions. - The café symbolizes the small pleasures that make life feel dignified and comfortable, despite its inherent meaninglessness. - The contrast between the old and young waiters reflects the different perspectives on life, with the older waiter finding solace in the quiet and well-lighted café, while the younger waiter seeks validation from external sources. - The story also delves into the despairing nature of the post-World War I era and the Great Depression, reflecting the uncertainties and void in Western consciousness. - The central question of how to live in the face of despair is a common theme throughout literary history, and Hemingway's work contributes to this ongoing exploration of the human condition. ### In dialogue, what is 'subtext'? - Subtext is the meaning beneath the dialogue; what the speaker really means, even though he's not saying it directly. - As humans, we often don't articulate our thoughts exactly. - We're thinking on our feet as we talk, processing other stimuli, like body language, and struggling with our own concerns and emotions as well as those of the listener. - In fiction, this kind of miscommunication can add authenticity, create dramatic tension, and even reveal deeper truths. ### The Actual Words You Write - **Themes** - **Societal Issues** - **Profound Questions** - **Character Fears** - **Character Desires** - **Character Motivations** - **Character Emotions** - **Character Trauma** - **Just Loads of Character Baggage** ### What is a 'Cryptic Moment [Remark, Message, Statement OR subtext] in a Story? - A cryptic remark or message contains a hidden or mysterious meaning, or is difficult to understand. - Cryptic implies a purposely concealed meaning. - He has issued a short, cryptic statement denying the spying charges. ### What is a 'Dialogue tag' in a story? - Dialogue tags are those short little phrases in dialogue that identify the speaker. - Here's an example: - “I'm so excited about this subject!” Amy said. - "I'm so"-Amy inhaled— “excited about this subject.” - Amy exclaimed, “I'm so excited about this subject." ### SEARCH FOR MEANING - "A Clean and Well-Lighted Place" is a short story by Ernest Hemingway that delves into themes of existential despair, loneliness, and the search for meaning in a seemingly indifferent universe. - The story revolves around three characters—a young waiter, an older waiter, and an old man—who are all grappling with their own sense of emptiness and isolation. ### LIGHT vs. DARKNESS - One of the key elements of the story is the contrast between light and darkness. - The well-lighted café represents a temporary respite from the darkness and despair that the characters face in their lives. - The older waiter, in particular, finds solace in the clean, well-lighted space as a refuge from the emptiness and nothingness that he feels lurking outside. ### STYLE - Hemingway's minimalist style is evident in this story, with sparse dialogue and simple, direct language that conveys deep emotional complexity. - The dialogue between the characters is also notable for what is left unsaid, highlighting the theme of isolation and miscommunication. ### STRUCTURE - The story's structure is also worth examining, as it unfolds through a series of vignettes that gradually reveal the inner lives of the characters. - Hemingway's use of repetition, such as the phrase "a clean, well-lighted place," serves to underscore the characters' craving for order and meaning in a chaotic world. ---------- ### CRITICAL VIEW - From a critical perspective, "A Clean and Well-Lighted Place" has been praised for its powerful depiction of the human condition and the struggle to find meaning in a world that can often seem indifferent and cruel. - Critics have also noted the story's existential themes and its exploration of the emptiness that can pervade modern life. - Overall, Hemingway's "A Clean and Well-Lighted Place" is a rich and complex work that offers students a compelling exploration of existential themes and the human experience. - By delving into the story's narrative techniques, themes, and character dynamics, students can gain a deeper understanding of Hemingway's craft and the timeless relevance of his work. ### EXISTENTIALISM - In the short story "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" by Ernest Hemingway, the existential themes revolve around the characters' struggles with the meaninglessness and emptiness of existence. - Existentialism is a philosophical movement that emphasizes individual existence, freedom, and choice. - In the story, this is illustrated through the characters' contemplation of life's purpose and the existential void that plagues them. - The older waiter, in particular, embodies existential themes as he grapples with the darkness and emptiness that pervade his life. - His need for a clean, well-lighted place reflects his search for solace and meaning in a seemingly indifferent world. - The concept of nada (nothing), repeated throughout the story, underscores the characters' existential despair and the realization that life ultimately lacks inherent meaning. - The younger waiter, on the other hand, represents a more superficial and indifferent perspective, dismissive of the older man's struggles and focused on more immediate concerns. - This contrast highlights different responses to existential questions and the varying ways individuals confront the inherent uncertainties and sorrows of life. - Hemingway's exploration of existential themes in "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" invites readers to ponder the essential human condition: the struggle to find purpose and significance in a world that can feel chaotic, meaningless, and isolating. - Through the characters' interactions and introspections, the story confronts the existential dread that accompanies the realization of life's inherent lack of inherent meaning and the challenge of creating one's own sense of purpose in the face of this existential void. ---------- ## (3) A CLEAN, WELL-LIGHTED PLACE BY Ernest Hemingway U.S.A., 1926 IT WAS late and every one had left the café except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the café knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him. "Last week he tried to commit suicide," one waiter said. "Why?" "He was in despair." "What about?" "Nothing." "How do you know it was nothing?" "He has plenty of money." They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the café and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and hurried beside him. "The guard will pick him up," one waiter said. "What does it matter if he gets what he's after?” "He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes ago." The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over to him. "What do you want?" The old man looked at him. “Another brandy,” he said. "You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away. "He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now. I never get into bed before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week." The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the café and marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy. "You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deaf man. The old man motioned with his finger. "A little more," he said. The waiter poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile. "Thank you," the old man said. The waiter took the bottle back inside the café. He sat down at the table with his colleague again. "He's drunk now," he said. "He's drunk every night." "What did he want to kill himself for?" "How should I know." "How did he do it?" "He hung himself with a rope." "Who cut him down?" "His niece." "Why did they do it?" "Fear for his soul." "How much money has he got?" "He's got plenty." "He must be eighty years old." "Anyway I should say he was eighty." "I wish he would go home. I never go to bed before three o'clock. What kind of hour is that to go to bed?" "He stays up because he likes it." "He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me." "He had a wife once too." "A wife would be no good to him now." "You can't tell. He might be better with a wife." "His niece looks after him. You said she cut him down." "I know." "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing." “Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him." "I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who must work." The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters. "Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over. "Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. “No more tonight. Close now." "Another," said the old man. "No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head. The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity. "Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutters. “It is not half-past two." "I want to go home to bed." “ What is an hour?" "More to me than to him." "An hour is the same." "You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home." "It's not the same." "No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry. "And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?" "Are you trying to insult me?" "No, hombre, only to make a joke." “No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the metal shutters. "I have confidence. I am all confidence." "You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said. "You have everything." "And what do you lack?" "Everything but work." "You have everything I have." "No. I have never had confidence and I am not young." "Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up." “I am of those who like to stay late at the café," the older waiter said. "With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night." "I want to go home and into bed." "We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. "It is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the café." "Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long." "You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant café. It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves.” "Good night," said the younger waiter. "Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself. It is the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine. “What’s yours?” asked the barman. “Nada.” “Otro loco más,” said the barman and turned away. "A little cup," said the waiter. The barman poured it for him. "The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished," the waiter said. The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation. “You want another copita?” the barman asked. “No, thank you,” said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it. ### THE END ---------- ## (5) Araby BY James Joyce, Ireland, 1914 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. It 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 had 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 girdled at half its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater part of the hall was in darkness. I recognised 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. ### THE END ---------- ### Stream of Consciousness Stream of consciousness is a narrative technique used in literature to depict the flow of thoughts, feelings, and perceptions of a character in a continuous and unbroken stream. This technique aims to replicate the inner workings of the human mind, offering readers a direct insight into a character's thoughts and emotions as they occur in real time. Key characteristics of stream of consciousness writing include: 1. **Nonlinear Structure:** Stream of consciousness narratives often lack a traditional linear structure, instead mirroring the spontaneous and often fragmented nature of human thought. This can involve jumps in time, shifting perspectives, and a lack of clear organization. 2. **Internal Dialogue:** The technique allows readers to access the inner monologue of the character, providing a raw and unfiltered glimpse into their thoughts, doubts, memories, and associations. These internal dialogues may be disjointed, repetitive, or digressive, reflecting the complexities of human consciousness. 3. **Symbolism and Imagery:** Stream of consciousness writing frequently relies on symbolic language and vivid imagery to evoke the sensory experiences and emotional landscapes of the character's mind. This can create a rich tapestry of associations and meanings that deepen the reader's understanding of the character's inner world. 4. **Fluid Transition:**