ERNEST HEMINGWAYTHE SUNALSO RISESBOOK ICHAPTER IROBERT COHN was oncemiddleweight boxingchampion of Princeton. Donot think that I am verymuch impressed by thatas a boxing title, but itmeant a lot to Cohn. Hecared nothing for boxing,in fact he disliked it, buthe learned it painfully andthoroughly to counteractthe feeling of inferiority
and shyness he had felt onbeing treated as a Jew atPrinceton. There was a cer-tain inner comfort inknowing he could knock downanybody who was snooty tohim, although, being veryshy and a thoroughlynice boy, he never foughtexcept in the gym. He wasSpider Kellys star pupil.Spider Kelly taught all hisyoung gentlemen to box likefeatherweights, no matterwhether they weighed onehundred and five or twohundred and five pounds.But it seemed to fit Cohn.He was really very fast. Hewas so good that Spiderpromptly overmatched himand got his nosepermanently flattened.
This increased Cohnsdistaste for boxing, but itgave him a certainsatisfaction of somestrange sort, and itcertainly improved hisnose. In his last year atPrinceton he read too muchand took tc wearingspectacles. I never met anyone of his class who remem-bered him. They did noteven remember that he wasmiddle-weight boxingchampion.I mistrust all frank andsimple people, especiallywhen their stories holdtogether, and I always hada suspicion that perhapsRobert Cohn had never beenmiddleweight boxing
champion, and that perhapsa horse had stepped on hisface, or that maybe hismother had been frightenedor seen something, or thathe had,maybe, bumped intosomething as a young child,but I finally had somebodyverify the story fromSpicier Kelly. Spider Kellynot only remembered Cohn.He had often wondered whathad become of him.Robert Cohn was a member,through his father, of oneof therichest Jewish families inNew York, and through hismother ofone of the oldest. At themilitary school where heprepped for
Princeton, and played avery good end on thefootball team, noone had made him race-conscious. No one had evermade him feelhe was a Jew, and hence anydifferent from anybodyelse, untilhe went to Princeton. Hewas a nice boy, a friendlyboy, and veryshy, and it made himbitter. He took it out inboxing, and hecame out of Princeton withpainful self-consciousnessand the flat-tened nose, and was marriedby the first girl who wasnice to him.
He was married five years,had three children, lostmost of thefifty thousand dollars hisfather left him, thebalance of the estatehaving gone to his mother,hardened into a ratherunattractivemould under domesticunhappiness with a richwife; and justwhen he had made up hismind to leave his wife sheleft himand went off with aminiature-painter. As hehad been thinkingfor months about leavinghis wife and had not doneit because it
would be too cruel todeprive her of himself, herdeparture was avery healthful shock.The divorce was arrangedand Robert Cohn went out totheCoast. In California hefell among literary peopleand, as he stillTHE SUN 7 ALSO RISES 5had a little of the fiftythousand left, in a shorttime he was back-ing a review of the Arts.The review commencedpublication in
Carmel, California, andfinished in Provincetown,Massachusetts.By that time Cohn, who hadbeen regarded purely as anangel,and whose name had appearedon the editorial pagemerely as amember of the advisoryboard, had become the soleeditor. It washis money and he discoveredhe liked the authority ofediting. Hewas sorry when the maga/inebecame too expensive and hehad togive it up*By that time, though, hehad other things to worryabout. He
had been taken in hand by alady who hoped to rise withthemagazine. She was veryforceful, and Cohn neverhad a chance ofnot being taken in hand.Also he was sure that heloved her.When this lady saw that themagazine was not going torise, shebecame a little disgustedwith Cohn and decided thatshe mightas well get what there wasto get while there wasstill somethingavailable, so she urgedthat they go to Europe,where Cohn could
write. They came to Europe,where the lady had beeneducated,and stayed three years.During these three years,the first spent intravel, the last two inParis, Robert Cohn had twofriends, Brad-docks and myself. Braddockswas his literary friend. Iwas histennis friend.The lady who had him, hername was Frances, foundtowardthe end of the second yearthat her looks were going,and herattitude toward Robertchanged from one ofcareless possession and
exploitation to theabsolute determination thathe should marryher. During this timeRoberts mother had settledan allowance onhim, about three hundreddollars a month. During twoyears anda half I do not believethat Robert Cohn looked atanother woman.He was fairly happy, exceptthat, like many peopleliving inEurope, he would ratherhave been in America, andhe had dis-covered writing. He wrote anovel, and it was notreally such a
6 THE SUN ALSO RISESbad novel as the criticslater called it, althoughit was a very poornovel. He read many books,played bridge, playedtennis, andboxed at a local gymnasium.I first became aware of hisladys attitude toward himone nightafter the three of us haddined together. We haddined at1Avenues and afterwardwent to the Cafe" deVersailles for coffee.We had several fines afterthe coffee, and I said Imust be going.
Cohn had been talking aboutthe two of us. going offsomewhereon a weekend trip. Hewanted to get out of townand get in agood walk. I suggested wefly to Strasbourg and walkup to SaintOdile, or somewhere orother in Alsace. "I know agirl in Stras-bourg who can show us thetown," I said.Somebody kicked me underthe table. I thought it wasacci-dental and went on : "Shesbeen there two years andknows every-
thing there is to knowabout the town. Shes aswell girl."I was kicked again underthe table and, looking, sawFrances,Roberts lady, her chinlifting and her facehardening."Hell," I said, "why go toStrasbourg? We could go upto Bruges,or to the Ardennes."Cohn looked relieved. I wasnot kicked again. I saidgood-nightand went out. Cohn said hewanted to buy a paper andwould walk
to the corner with me. "ForGods sake," he said, "whydid yousay that about that girl inStrasbourg for? Didnt yousee Frances?""No, why should I? If Iknow an American girl thatlives inStrasbourg what the hell isit to Frances?""It doesnt make anydifference. Any girl. Icouldnt go, thatwould be all.""Dont be silly.""You dont know Frances.Any girl at all. Didnt yousee the way
she looked?""Oh, well," I said, "letsgo to Senlis.""Dont get sore."THE SUN ALSO RISES 7"Im not sore. Senlis is agood place and we can stayat theGrand Cerf and take a hikein the woods and comehome.""Good, that will be fine.""Well, Ill see you to-morrow at the courts," Isaid.
"Good-night, Jake," hesaid, and started back tothe cafe"You forgot to get yourpaper," I said."Thats so." He walked withme up to the kiosque at thecor-ner. "You are not sore, areyou, Jake?" He turned withthe paperin his hand."No, why should I be?""Sec you at tennis," hesaid. 1 watched him walkback to the
cafe holding his paper. Irather liked him andevidently she ledhim quite a life.CHAPTER IITHAT winter Robert Cohnwent over to America withhis novel,and it was accepted by afairly good publisher. Hisgoing madean awful row I heard, and Ithink that was whereFrances losthim, because several womenwere nice to him in NewYork, and
when he came back he wasquite changed. He was moreenthu-siastic about America thanever, and he was not sosimple, and hewas not so nice. Thepublishers had praised hisnovel prettyhighly and it rather wentto his head. Then severalwomen hadput themselves out to benice to him, and hishorizons had allshifted. For four years hishorizon had been absolutelylimited tohis wife. For three years,or almost three years, hehad never seen
beyond Frances. I am surehe had never been in lovein his life.He had married on therebound from the rottentime he had incollege, and Frances tookhim on the rebound from hisdiscoverythat he had not beeneverything to his firstwife. He was not inlove yet but he realizedthat he was an attractivequantity towomen, and that the fact ofa woman caring for him andwantingto Jive with him was notsimply a divine miracle.This changed
8THE SUN ALSO RISES 9him so that he was not sopleasant to have around.Also, playingfor higher stakes than hecould afford in some rathersteep bridgegames with his New Yorkconnections, he had heldcards andwon several hundreddollars. It made him rathervain of his bridgegame, and he talked severaltimes of how a man couldalwaysmake a living at bridge ifhe were ever forced to.
Then there was anotherthing. He had been readingW. H.Hudson. That sounds like aninnocent occupation, butCohn hadread and reread "The PurpleLand." "The Purple Land" isa verysinister book if read toolate in life. It recountssplendid imaginaryamorous adventures of aperfect English gentlemanin an intenselyromantic land, the sceneryof which is very welldescribed. For aman to take it at thirty-four as a guide-book towhat life holds is
about as safe as it wouldbe for a man of the sameage to enterWall Street direct from aFrench convent, equippedwith a com-plete set of the morepractical Alger books.Cohn, I believe, tookevery word of "The PurpleLand" as literally asthough it hadbeen an R. G. Dun report.You understand me, he madesomereservations, but on thewhole the book to him wassound. It wasall that was needed to sethim off. I did not realizethe extent to
which it had set him offuntil one day he came intomy office."Hello, Robert," I said."Did you come in to cheerme up?""Would you like to go toSouth America, Jake?" heasked."Why not?""I dont know. I neverwanted to go. Tooexpensive. You can seeall the South Americans youwant in Paris anyway.""Theyre not the real SouthAmericans."
"They look awfully real tome."I had a boat train to catchwith a weeks mail stories,and onlyhalf of them written."Do you know any dirt?" Iasked."Nc."1O THE SUN ALSO RISES"None of your exaltedconnections gettingdivorces?"
"No; listen, Jake. If Ihandled both our expenses,would yougo to South America withme?""Why me?""You can talk Spanish. Andit would be more fun withtwo otus.""No," I said, "I like thistown and I go to Spain inthe summer-time.""All my life Ive wanted togo on a trip like that,"Cohn said.
He sat down. "Ill be tooold before I can ever doit.""Dont be a fool," I said."You can go anywhere youwant.Youve got plenty ofmoney.""I know. But I cant getstarted.""Cheer up," I said. "Allcountries look just likethe movingpictures."But I felt sorry for him.He had it badly.
"I cant stand it to thinkmy life is going so fastand Im notreally living it.""Nobody ever lives theirlife all the way up exceptbull-fighters.""Im not interested inbull-fighters. Thats anabnormal life. 1want to go back in thecountry in South America.We could havea great trip.""Did you ever think aboutgoing to British EastAfrica to shoot?""No, I wouldnt like that."
"Id go there with you.""No; that doesnt interestme.""Thats because you neverread a book about it. Go onand reada book all full of loveaffairs with the beautifulshiny blackprincesses.""I want to go to SouthAmerica."lie had a hard, Jewish,stubborn streak."Come on down-stairs andhave a drink."
THE SUN ALSO RISES 11"Arent you working?""No," I said. We went downthe stairs to the cafe onthe groundfloor. I had discoveredthat was the best way toget rid of friends.Once you had a drink allyou had to say was: "Well,Ive got toget back and get off somecables," and it was done.It is very im-portant to discovergraceful exits like that inthe newspaper busi-ness, where it is such animportant part of theethics that you
should never seem to beworking. Anyway, we wentdown-stairsto the bar and had awhiskey and soda. Cohnlooked at the bottlesin bins around the wall."This is a good place," hesaid."Theres a lot of liquor,"I agreed."Listen, Jake," he leanedforward on the bar. "Dontyou everget the feeling that allyour life is going by andyoure not takingadvantage of it? Do yourealize youve lived nearlyhalf the timeyou have to live already?"
"Yes, every once in awhile.""Do you know that in aboutthirty-five years morewell bedead?""What the hell, Robert," Isaid. "What the hell.""Im serious.""Its one thing I dontworry about," I said."You ought to.""Ive had plenty to worryabout one time or other.Im throughworrying."
"Well, I want to go toSouth America.""Listen, Robert, going toanother country doesntmake any dif-ference. Ive tried allthat. You cant get awayfrom yourself bymoving from one place toanother. Theres nothing tothat.""But youve never been toSouth America.""South America hell! If youwent there the way you feelnow itwould be exactly the same.This is a good town. Whydont you
start living your life inParis?"12 THE SUN ALSO RISESTm sick of Paris, and Imsick of the Quarter/"Stay away from theQuarter. Cruise around byyourself andsee what happens to you.""Nothing happens to me. Iwalked alone all one nightandnothing happened except abicycle cop stopped me andasked tosee my papers/
"Wasnt the town nice atnight?""I dont care for Paris/So there you were. I wassorry for him, but it wasnot a thingyou could do anythingabout, because right awayyou ran upagainst the twostubbornnesses: SouthAmerica could fix it andhe did not like Paris. Hegot the first idea out of abook, and Isuppose the second came outof a book too."Well," I said, "Ive gotto go up-stairs and get offsome cables."
"Do you really have to go?""Yes, Ive got to get thesecables off.""Do you mind if I come upand sit around the office?""No, come on up."He sat in the outer roomand read the papers, andthe Editorand Publisher and I workedhard for two hours. Then Isortedout the carbons, stamped ona by-line, put the stuff ina couple ofbig manila envelopes andrang for a boy to take themto the Gare
St. Lazare. I went out intothe other room and therewas RobertCohn asleep in the bigchair. He was asleep withhis head on hisarms. I did not like towake him up, but I wantedto lock theoffice and shove off. I putmy hand on his shoulder. Heshook hishead. "I cant do it," hesaid, and put his headdeeper into hisarms. "I cant do it.Nothing will make me doit.""Robert," I said, and shookhim by the shoulder. Helooked up.He smiled and blinked.
"Did I talk out loud justthen?""Something. But it wasntclear.""God, what a rotten dream!"THE SUN ALSO RISES 13"Did the typewriter put youto sleep?""Guess so. I didnt sleepall last night.""What was the matter?""Talking," he said.
I could picture it. I havea rotten habit of picturingthe bed-room scenes of my friends.We went out to the CafeNapolitain tohave an aperitif and watchthe evening crowd on theBoulevard.CHAPTER IIIIT was a warm spring nightand I sat at a table on theterrace ofthe Napolitain after Roberthad gone, watching it getdark and
the electric signs come on,and the red and green stop-and-gotraffic-signal, and thecrowd going by, and thehorse-cabs clippety-clopping along at the edgeof the solid taxi traffic,and the pouhsgoing by, singly and inpairs, looking for theevening meal. Iwatched a good-looking girlwalk past the table andwatched hergo up the street and lostsight of her, and watchedanother, andthen saw the first onecoming back again. She wentby once more
and I caught her eye, andshe came over and sat downat thetable. The waiter came up.Well, what will youdrink?" I asked."Pernod.""Thats not good for littlegirls.""Little girl yourself.Dites gar9on, un pernod.""A pernod for me, too.""Whats the matter?" sheasked. "Going on a party?"
THE SUN ALSO RISES 1$"Sure. Arent you?"*1 dont know. You neverknow in this town.""Dont you like Paris?""No.""Why dont you go somewhereelse?""Isnt anywhere else.""Youre happy, all right.""Happy, hell!"Pernod is greenishimitation absinthe. Whenyou add vratcr it
turns milky. It tastes likelicorice and it has a gooduplift, but itdrops you just as far. Wesat and drank it, and thegirl lookedsullen."Well," I said, "are yougoing to buy me a dinner?"She grinned and I saw whyshe made a point of notlaughing.With her mouth closed shewas a rather pretty girl. Ipaid for thesaucers and we walked outto the street. I hailed ahorse-cab andthe driver pulled up at thecurb. Settled back in theslow, smoothly
rolling fiacre we moved upthe Avenue de lOpra,passed thelocked doors of the shops,their windows lighted, theAvenuebroad and shiny and almostdeserted. The cab passedthe NewYork Herald bureau with thewindow full of clocks."What are all the clocksfor?" she asked."They show the hour allover America.""Dont kid me."We turned off the Avenue upthe Rue des Pyramides,through
the traffic of the Rue deRivoli, and through a darkgate into theTuileries. She cuddledagainst me and I put my armaround her.She looked up to be kissed.She touched me with onehand and Iput her hand away."Never mind.""Whats the matter? Yousick?""Yes. wl6 THE SUN ALSO RISES
"Everybodys sick. Imsick, too."We came out of theTuileries into the lightand crossed theSeine and then turned upthe Rue des Saints Peres."You oughtnt to drinkpcrnod if youre sick.""You neither.""It doesnt make anydifference with me. Itdoesnt make anydifference with a woman.""What are you called?""Georgette. How are youcalled?"
"Jacob.""Thats a Flemish name.""American too.""Youre not Flamand?""No, American.""Good, I detest Flamands."By this time we were at therestaurant. I called to thecocher tostop. We got out andGeorgette did not like thelooks of the place."This is no great thing ofa restaurant."
"No," I said. "Maybe youwould rather go to Foyots.Why dontyou keep the cab and goon?"I had picked her up becauseof a vague sentimental ideathatit would be nice to eatwith some one. It was along time since Ihad dined with a youle, andI had forgotten how dull itcould be.We went into therestaurant, passed MadameLavigne at thedesk and into a littleroom. Georgette cheered upa little underthe food.
"It isnt bad here," shesaid. "It isnt chic, butthe food is allright.""Better than you eat inLiege.""Brussels, you mean."We had another bottle ofwine and Georgette made ajoke. Shesmiled and showed all herbad teeth, and w ve touchedglasses.THE SUN ALSO RISES
"Youre not a bad type,"she said. "Its a shameyoure sick. We geton well. Whats the matterwith you, anyway?*"I got hurt in the war," Isaid."Oh, that dirty war."We would probably have goneon and discussed the warandagreed that it was inreality a calamity forcivilization, and per-haps would have been betteravoided. I was boredenough. Justthen from the other roomsome one called: "Barnes! Isay, Barnes!
Jacob Barnes!""Its a friend calling me,"I explained, and went out.There was Braddocks at abig table with a party:Cohn, FrancesClyne, Mrs. Braddocks,several people I did notknow."Youre coming to thedance, arent you?"Braddocks asked."What dance?""Why, the dancings. Dontyou know weve revivedthem?"Mrs. Braddocks put in.
"You must come, ^ake. Wereall going," Frances saidfrom theend of the table. She wastall and had a smile."Of course, hes coming,"Braddocks said. "Come inand havecoffee with us, Barnes.""Right.""And bring your friend,"said Mrs. Braddockslaughing. Shewas a Canadian and had alltheir easy social graces."Thanks, well be in," Isaid. I went back to thesmall room.
"Who are your friends?"Georgette asked."Writers and artists.""There are lots of those onthis side of the river.""Too many.""I think so. Still, some ofthem make money.""Oh, yes."We finished the meal andthe wine. "Come on," Isaid. "Weregoing to have coffee withthe others."
l8 THE SUN ALSO RISESGeorgette opened her bag,made a few passes at herface as shelooked in the littlemirror, re-defined her lipswith the lip-stick,and straightened her hat."Good," she said.We went into the room fullof people and Braddocks andthemen at his table stood up."I wish to present myfiancee, MademoiselleGeorgette Leblanc,"I said. Georgette smiledthat wonderful smile, andwe shook hands
all round."Are you related toGeorgette Leblanc, thesinger?" Mrs. Brad-docks asked."Connais pas," Georgetteanswered."But you have the samename," Mrs. Braddocksinsistedcordially."No," said Georgette. "Notat all. My name is Hobin.""But Mr. Barnes introducedyou as MademoiselleGeorgette
Leblanc. Surely he did,"insisted Mrs. Braddocks,who in the ex-citement of talking Frenchwas liable to have no ideawhat shewas saying."Hes a fool," Georgettesaid."Oh, it was a joke, then,"Mrs. Braddocks said.Tes," said Georgette. "Tolaugh at.""Did you hear that, Henry?"Mrs. Braddocks called downthetable to Braddocks. "Mr.Barnes introduced hisfiancee as Made-
moiselle Leblanc, and hername is actually Hobin.""Of course, darling.Mademoiselle Hobin, Iveknown her for avery long time.""Oh, Mademoiselle Hobin/ 1Frances Clyne called,speakingFrench very rapidly and notseeming so proud andastonished asMrs. Braddocks at itscoming out really French."Have you beenin Paris long? Do you likeit here? You love Paris, doyou not?"
"Whos she?" Georgetteturned to me. "Do I have totalk toher?"THE SUN ALSO RISESShe turned to Frances,sitting smiling, her handsfolded, herhead poised on her longneck, her lips pursed readyto start talk-ing again."No, I dont like Paris.Its expensive and dirty/"Really? I find it soextraordinarily clean. Oneof the cleanest
cities in all Europe/"I find it dirty.""How strange! But perhapsyou have not been here verylong."Tve been here longenough.""But it does have nicepeople in it. One mustgrant that."Georgette turned to me."You have nice friends."Frances was a little drunkand would have liked tohave kept
it up but the coffee came,and Lavigne with theliqueurs, andafter that we all went outand started for Braddockssdancing-club.The dancing-club was a balmusette in the Rue de laMontagneSainte Genevi&ve. Fivenights a week the workingpeople of thePantheon quarter dancedthere. One night a week itwas thedancing-club. On Mondaynights it was closed. Whenwe arrivedit was quite empty, exceptfor a policeman sittingnear the door,
the wife of the proprietorback of the zinc bar, andthe proprietorhimself. The daughter ofthe house came downstairsas we wentin. There were longbenches, and tables ranacross the room, andat the far end a dancing-floor."I wish people would comeearlier," Braddocks said.The daugh-ter came up and wanted toknow what we would drink.Theproprietor got up on a highstool beside the dancing-floor and
began to play theaccordion. He had a stringof bells around oneof his ankles and beat timewith his foot as he played.Every onedanced. It was hot and wecame off the floorperspiring."My God," Georgette said,"What a box to sweat in! 11"Its hot/"Hot, my God!"2O THE SUN ALSO RISES"Take off your hat/
"Thats a good idea."Some one asked Georgette todance, and I went over tothe bar.It was really very hot andthe accordion music waspleasant in thehot night. I drank a beer,standing in the doorway andgettingthe cool breath of windfrom the street. Two taxiswere comingdown the steep street. Theyboth stopped in front ofthe Bal. Acrowd of young men, some injerseys. and some in theirshirt-sleeves, got out. I couldsee their hands and newlywashed, wavy
hair in the light from thedoor. The policemanstanding by thedoor looked at me andsmiled. They came in. Asthey went in,under the light I saw whitehands, wavy hair, whitefaces, grimac-ing, gesturing, talking.With them was Brett. Shelooked verylovely and she was verymuch with them.One of them saw Georgetteand said: "I do declare.There isan actual harlot. Im goingto dance with her, Lett.You watch me/
The tall dark one, calledLett, said: "Dont you berash."The wavy blond oneanswered: "Dont you worry,dear." Andwith them was Brett.I was very angry. Somehowthey always made me angry.Iknow they are supposed tobe amusing, and you shouldbe tolerant,but I wanted to swing onone, any one, anything toshatter thatsuperior, simperingcomposure. Instead, Iwalked down the street
and had a beer at the barat the next Bal. The beerwas not goodand I had a worse cognac totake the taste out of mymouth. WhenI came back to the Balthere was a crowd on thefloor andGeorgette was dancing withthe tall blond youth, whodanced big-hippily, carrying his headon one side, his eyeslifted as he danced.As soon as the musicstopped another one of themasked her todance. She had been takenup by them. I knew thenthat theywould all dance with her.They are like that.
I sat down at a table. Cohnwas sitting there. Franceswasdancing. Mrs. Braddocksbrought up somebody andintroducedTHE SUN ALSO RISES 21him as Robert Prentiss. Hewas from New York by way ofChicago, and was a risingnew novelist. He had somesort of anEnglish accent. I asked himto have a drink."Thanks so much," he said,"Ive just had one/
"Have another.""Thanks, I will then."We got the daughter of thehouse over and each had afineIeau."Youre from Kansas City,they tell me," he said."Yes.""Do you find Parisamusing?""Yes.""Really?"
I was a little drunk. Notdrunk in any positive sensebut justenough to be careless."For Gods sake," I said,"yes. Dont you?""Oh, how charmingly you getangry," he said. "I wish Ihad thatfaculty."I got up and walked overtoward the dancing-floor.Mrs. Brad-docks followed me. "Dontbe cross with Robert," shesaid. "Hesstill only a child, youknow."
"I wasnt cross," I said."I just thought perhaps Iwas going tothrow up.""Your fiancee is having agreat success," Mrs.Braddocks lookedout on the floor whereGeorgette was dancing inthe arms of thetall, dark one, calledLett."Isnt she?" I said."Rather," said Mrs.Braddocks.Cohn came up. "Come on,Jake," he said, "have adrink." We
walked over to the bar."Whats the matter withyou? You seem allworked up over something?""Nothing. This whole showmakes me sick is all."Brett came up to the bar.22 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Hello, you chaps.""Hello, Brett," I said."Why arent you tight?""Never going to get tightany more. I say, give achap a brandyand soda."
She stood holding the glassand I saw Robert Cohnlooking ather. He looked a great dealas his compatriot must havelookedwhen he saw the promisedland. Cohn, of course, wasmuchyounger. But he had thatlook of eager, deservingexpectation.Brett was damned good-looking. She wore aslipover jerseysweater and a tweed skirt,and her hair was brushedback like aboys. She started allthat. She was built withcurves like the hull
of a racing yacht, and youmissed none of it with thatwool jersey."Its a fine crowd yourewith, Brett," I said."Arent they lovely? Andyou, my dear. Where did youget it?""At the Napolitain.""And have you had a lovelyevening?""Oh, priceless," I said.Brett laughed. "Its wrongof you, Jake. Its aninsult to all ofus. Look at Frances there,and Jo."
This for Cohns benefit."Its in restraint oftrade," Brett said. Shelaughed again."Youre wonderfully sober,"I said."Yes. Arent I? And whenones with the crowd Imwith, onecan drink in such safety,too."The music started andRobert Cohn said: "Will youdance thiswith me, Lady Brett?"
Brett smiled at him. "Ivepromised to dance this withJacob,"she laughed. "Youve a hellof a biblical name, Jake.""How about the next?" askedCohn."Were going," Brett said."Weve a date up atMontmartre."Dancing, I looked overBretts shoulder and sawCohn, stand-ing at the bar, stillwatching her."Youve made a new onethere," I said to her.
THE SUN ALSO RISES 23"Dont talk about it. Poorchap. I never knew it tilljust now.""Oh, well," I said. "Isuppose you like to addthem up.""Dont talk like a fool.""You do.""Oh, well. What if I do?""Nothing," I said. We weredancing to the accordionand someone was playing the banjo.It was hot and I felthappy. We passed
close to Georgette dancingwith another one of them."What possessed you tobring her?""I dont know, I justbrought her.""Youre getting damnedromantic.""No, bored.""Now?""No, not now.""Lets get out of here.Shes well taken care of.""Do you want to?"
"Would I ask you if Ididnt want to?"We left the floor and Itook my coat off a hangeron the walland put it on. Brett stoodby the bar. Cohn wastalking to her. Istopped at the bar andasked them for an envelope.The patronnefound one. I took a fifty-franc note from my pocket,put it in theenvelope, sealed it, andhanded it to the patronne."If the girl I came withasks for me, will you giveher this?" I
said. "If she goes out withone of those gentlemen,will you savethis for me?""Cest entendu, Monsieur,"the patronne said. "You gonow?So early?""Yes," I said.We started out the door.Cohn was still talking toBrett. Shesaid good night and took myarm. "Good night, Cohn," Isaid.Outside in the street welooked for a taxi."Youre going to lose yourfifty francs," Brett said.
"Oh, yes."24 THE SUN ALSO RISES"No taxis.""We could walk up to thePantheon and get one.""Come on and well get adrink in the pub next doorand sendfor one.""You wouldnt walk acrossthe street.""Not if I could help it."
We went into the next barand I sent a waiter for ataxi."Well," I said, "were outaway from them."We stood against the tallzinc bar and did not talkand lookedOat each other. The waitercame and said the taxi wasoutside. Brettpressed my hand hard. Igave the waiter a franc andwe went out."Where should I tell him?"I asked.
"Oh, tell him to drivearound."I told the driver to go tothe Pare Montsouris, andgot in, andslammed the door. Brett wasleaning back in the corner,her eyesclosed. I got in and satbeside her. The cab startedwith a jerk."Oh, darling, Ive been somiserable," Brett said.CHAPTER IV
THE taxi went up the hill,passed the lighted square,then on intothe dark, still climbing,then levelled out onto adark street behindSt. Etienne du Mont, wentsmoothly down the asphalt,passedthe trees and the standingbus at the Place de laContrescarpe,then turned onto thecobbles of the RueMouffetard. There werelighted bars and late openshops on each side of thestreet. Wewere sitting apart and wejolted close together goingdown the old
street. Bretts hat wasoff. Her head was back. Isaw her face in thelights from the opn shops,then it was dark, then Isaw her faceclearly as we came out onthe Avenue des Gobelins.The street wastorn up and men wereworking on the car-tracksby the light ofacetylene flares. Brettsface was white and the longline of herneck showed in the brightlight of the flares. Thestreet was darkagain and I kissed her. Ourlips were tight togetherand then she
turned away and pressedagainst the corner of theseat, as far awayas she could get. Her headwas down."Dont touch me," she said."Please dont touch me.""Whats the matter?"26 THE SUN ALSO RISES"I cant stand it.""Oh, Brett/"You mustnt. You mustknow. I cant stand it,thats all. Oh,
darling, pleaseunderstand!""Dont you love me?""Love you? I simply turnall to jelly when you touchme.""Isnt there anything wecan do about it?"She was sitting up now. Myarm was. around her and shewasleaning back against me,and we were quite calm. Shewas look-ing into my eyes with thatway she had of looking thatmade you
wonder whether she reallysaw out of her own eyes.They wouldlook on and on after everyone elses eyes in theworld would havestopped looking. She lookedas though there werenothing onearth she would not look atlike that, and really shewas afraid ofso many things."And theres not a damnthing we could do," I said."I dont know," she said."I dont want to go throughthat hellagain."
"Wed better keep away fromeach other.""But, darling, I have tosee you. It isnt all thatyou know.""No, but it always gets tobe.""Thats my fault. Dont wepay for all the things wedo,though?"She had been looking intomy eyes all the time. Hereyes haddifferent depths, sometimesthey seemed perfectly flat.Now youcould see all the way intothem.
"When I think of the hellIve put chaps through. Impayingfor it all now.""Dont talk like a fool," Isaid. "Besides, whathappened to meis supposed to be funny. Inever think about it.""Oh, no. Ill lay youdont""Well, lets shut up aboutit.""1 laughed about it too,myself, once." She wasntlooking at
THE SUN ALSO RISESme. "A friend of mybrothers came home thatway from Mons.It seemed like a hell of ajoke. Chaps never knowanything, dothey?""No," 1 said. "Nobody everknows anything."I was pretty well throughwith the subject. At onetime or an-other I had probablyconsidered it from most ofits various angles,including the one thatcertain injuries orimperfections are a sub-
ject of merriment whileremaining quite serious forthe personpossessing them."Its funny," I said. "Itsvery funny. And its a lotof fun, too,to be in love.""Do you think so?" her eyeslooked flat again."I dont mean fun that way.In a way its an enjoyablefeeling.""No," she said. "I thinkits hell on earth.""Its good to see eachother."
"No. I dont think it is.""Dont you want to?""I have to."We were sitting now liketwo strangers. On the rightwas thePare Montsouris. Therestaurant where they havethe pool of livetrout and where you can sitand look out over the parkwas closedand dark. The driver leanedhis head around."Where do you want to go?"I asked. Brett turned herheadaway.
"Oh, go to the Select""Caf6 Select," I told thedriver. "BoulevardMontparnasse."We drove straight down,turning around the Don deBelfort thatguards the passingMontrouge trams. Brettlooked straight ahead.On the Boulevard Raspail,with the lights ofMontparnasse insight, Brett said: "Wouldyou mind very much if Iasked you todo something?""Dont be silly.""Kiss me just once morebefore we get there."
28 THE SUN ALSO RISESWhen the taxi stopped I gotout and paid. Brett cameout put-ting on her hat. She gaveme her hand as she steppeddown. Herhand was shaky. "I say, doI look too much of a mess?"She pulledher mans felt hat down andstarted in for the bar.Inside, againstthe bar and at tables, weremost of the crowd who hadbeen atthe dance.
"Hello, you chaps," Brettsaid. "Im going to have adrink.""Oh, Brett! Brett!" thelittle Greek portrait-painter, who calledhimself a duke, and whomeverybody called Zizi,pushed up toher. "I got something fineto tell you.""Hello, Zizi," Brett said."I want you to meet afriend," Zizi said. A fatman came up."Count Mippipopolous, meetmy friend Lady Ashley."
"How do you do?" saidBrett."Well, does your Ladyshiphave a good time here inParis?"asked Count Mippipopolous,who wore an elks tooth onhiswatch-chain."Rather," said Brett."Paris is a fine town allright," said the count."But I guessyou have pretty big doingsyourself over in London.""Oh, yes," said Brett."Enormous."
Braddocks called to me froma table. "Barnes," he said,"have adrink. That girl of yoursgot in a frightful row.""What about?""Something the patronnesdaughter said. A corkingrow. Shewas rather splendid, youknow. Showed her yellowcard and de-manded the patronnesdaughters too. I say itwas a row.""What finally happened?""Oh, some one took herhome. Not a bad-lookinggirl. Wonder-
ful command of the idiom.Do stay and have a drink.""No," I said. 1 must shoveoff. Seen Cohn?""He went home withFrances," Mrs. Braddock putin."Poor chap, he looksawfully down," Braddockssaid.THE SUN ALSO RISES 29"I dare say he is," saidMrs. Braddocks."I have to shove off," Isaid. "Good night."
I said good night to Brettat the bar. The count wasbuyingchampagne. "Will you take aglass of wine with us,sir?" he asked."No. Thanks awfully. I haveto go.""Really going?" Brettasked."Yes," I said. "Ive got arotten headache.""Ill see you to-morrow?""Come in at the office.""Hardly."
"Well, where will I seeyou?""Anywhere around fiveoclock.""Make it the other side oftown then.""Good. Ill be at theCrillon at five.""Try and be there," I said."Dont worry," Brett said."Ive never let you down,have I?""Heard from Mike?""Letter to-day."
"Good night, sir," said thecount.I went out onto thesidewalk and walked downtoward theBoulevard St. Michel,passed the tables of theRotonde, stillcrowded, looked across thestreet at the Dome, itstables runningout to the edge of thepavement. Some one waved atme from atable, I did not see who itwas and went on. I wantedto gethome. The BoulevardMontparnasse was deserted.Lavignes was
closed tight, and they werestacking the tables outsidethe Closeriedes Lilas. I passed Neysstatue standing among thenew-leavedchestnut-trees in the arc-light. There was a fadedpurple wreathleaning against the base. Istopped and read theinscription: fromthe Bonapartist Groups,some date; I forget. Helooked very fine,Marshal Ney in his top-boots, gesturing with hissword amongthe green new horse-chestnut leaves. My flatwas just across thestreet, a little way downthe Boulevard St. Michel.
30 THE SUN ALSO RISESThere was a light in theconcierges room and Iknocked onthe door and she gave me mymail, I wished her goodnightand went up-stairs. Therewere two letters and somepapers. Ilooked at them under thegas-light in the dining-room. The let-ters were from the States.One was a bank statement.It showed abalance of $2432.60. I gotout my check-book anddeducted four
checks drawn since thefirst of the month, anddiscovered I hada balance of $1832.60. Iwrote this on the back ofthe statement.The other letter was awedding announcement. Mr.and Mrs.Aloysius Kirby announce themarriage of their daughterKath-erine I knew neither thegirl nor the man she wasmarrying.They must be circularizingthe town. It was a funnyname. I feltsure I could rememberanybody with a name likeAloysius. It was
a good Catholic name. Therewas a crest on theannouncement.Like Zizi the Greek duke.And that count. The countwas funny.Brett had a title, too.Lady Ashley. To hell withBrett. To hellwith you, Lady Ashley.I lit the lamp beside thebed, turned off the gas,and openedthe wide windows. The bedwas far back from thewindows, and Isat with the windows openand undressed by the bed.Outside anight train, running on thestreet-car tracks, went bycarrying vege-
tables to the markets. Theywere noisy at night whenyou couldnot sleep. Undressing, Ilooked at myself in themirror of the bigarmoire beside the bed.That was a typically Frenchway to fur-nish a room. Practical,too, I suppose. Of all theways to bewounded. I suppose it wasfunny. I put on my pajamasand gotinto bed. I had the twobull-fight papers, and Itook their wrap-pers off. One was orange.The other yellow. Theywould both
have the same news, sowhichever I read firstwould spoil theother. Le Toril was thebetter paper, so I startedto read it. I readit all the way through,including the PetiteCorrespondance andthe Cornigrams. I blew outthe lamp. Perhaps I wouldbe able tosleep.THE SUN ALSO RISES 31My head started to work.The old grievance. Well, itwas a rot-
ten way to be wounded andflying on a joke front likethe Italian.In the Italian hospital wewere going to form asociety. It had afunny name in Italian. Iwonder what became of theothers, theItalians. That was in theOspedale Maggiore inMilano, PadiglionePonte, The next buildingwas the Padiglione Zonda.There was astatue of Ponte, or maybeit was Zonda. That waswhere the liaisoncolonel came to visit me.That was funny. That wasabout the
first funny thing. I wasall bandaged up. But theyhad told himabout it. Then he made thatwonderful speech: "You, aforeigner,an Englishman" (anyforeigner was anEnglishman) "have givenmore than your life." Whata speech! I would like tohave itilluminated to hang in theoffice. He never laughed.He was put-ting himself in my place, Iguess. "Che mala fortuna!Che malafortuna!"I never used to realize it,I guess. I try and play italong and
just not make trouble forpeople. Probably I neverwould havehad any trouble if I hadntrun into Brett when theyshipped meto England. I suppose sheonly wanted what shecouldnt have.Well, people were that way.To hell with people. TheCatholicChurch had an awfully goodway of handling all that.Good ad-vice, anyway. Not to thinkabout it. Oh, it was swelladvice. Tryand take it sometime. Tryand take it.I lay awake thinking and mymind jumping around. Then I
couldnt keep away from it,and I started to thinkabout Brettand all the rest of it wentaway. I was thinking aboutBrett andmy mind stopped jumpingaround and started to go insort ofsmooth waves. Then all of asudden I started to cry.Then aftera while it was better and Ilay in bed and listened totheheavy trams go by and waydown the street, and then Iwent tosleep.I woke up. There was a rowgoing on outside. Ilistened and I
thought I recognized avoice. I put on a dressing-gown and wentTHE SUN ALSO RISESto the door. The conciergewas talking down-stairs.She was veryangry. I heard my name andcalled down the stairs."Is that you, MonsieurBarnes: 1 " the conciergecalled."Yes. Its me.""Theres a species of womanhere whos waked the whole
street up. What kind of adirty business at this timeof night! Shesays she must see you. Ivetold her youre asleep."Then I heard Bretts voice.Half asleep I had been sureit wasGeorgette. I dont knowwhy. She could not haveknown myaddress."Will you send her up,please?"Brett came up the stairs. Isaw she was quite drunk."Sillything to do," she said."Make an awful row. I say,you werent
asleep, were you?""What did you think I wasdoing?""Dont know. What time isit?"I looked at the clock. Itwas half-past four. "Had noidea whathour it was," Brett said."I say, can a chap sitdown? Dont becross, darling. Just leftthe count. He brought mehere.""Whats he like?" I wasgetting brandy and soda andglasses.
"Just a little," saidBrett. "Dont try and makeme drunk. Thecount? Oh, rather. Hesquite one of us.""Is he a count?""Heres how. I rather thinkso, you know. Deserves tobe, any-how. Knows hells ownamount about people. Dontknow wherehe got it all. Owns a chainof sweetshops in theStates.**She sipped at her glass."Think he called it achain. Something like that.Linked them
all up. Told me a littleabout it. Damnedinteresting. Hes one ofus, though. Oh, quite. Nodoubt. One can alwaystell."She took another drink."How do I buck on about allthis? You dont mind, doyou?Hes putting up for Zizi,you know."THE SUN ALSO RISES 33"Is Zizi really a duke,too?"
"I shouldnt wonder. Greek,you know. Rotten painter. Iratherliked the count.""Where did you go withhim?""Oh, everywhere. He justbrought me here now.Offered meten thousand dollars to goto Biarritz with him. Howmuch is thatin pounds?""Around two thousand.""Lot of money. I told him Icouldnt do it. He wasawfully
nice about it. Told him Iknew too many people inBiarritz."Brett laughed."I say, you are slow on theup-take," she said. I hadonly sippedmy brandy and soda. I tooka long drink."Thats better. Veryfunny," Brett said. "Thenhe wanted me togo to Cannes with him. Toldhim I knew too many peopleinCannes. Monte Carlo. Toldhim I knew too many peoplein
Monte Carlo. Told him Iknew too many peopleeverywhere.Quite true, too. So I askedhim to bring me here."She looked at me, her handon the table, her glassraised."Dont look like that," shesaid. "Told him I was inlove withyou. True, too. Dont looklike that. He was damn niceabout it.Wants to drive us out todinner to-morrow night.Like to go?""Why not?""Id better go now/ 1
"Why?""Just wanted to see you.Damned silly idea. Want toget dressedand come down? Hes got thecar just up the street/"The count?""Himself. And a chauffeurin livery. Going to driveme aroundand have breakfast in theBois. Hampers. Got it allat Zellis.Dozen bottles of Mumms.Tempt you?""I have to work in themorning," I said. "Im toofar behind
you now to catch up and beany fun."34 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Dont be an ass.""Cant do it.""Right. Send him a tendermessage?""Anything. Absolutely.""Good night, darling.""Dont be sentimental.""You make me ill."
We kissed good night andBrett shivered. "Id bettergo," shesaid. "Good night,darling.""You dont have to go.""Yes."We kissed again on thestairs and as I called forthe cordon theconcierge mutteredsomething behind her door.I went back up-stairs and from the openwindow watched Brettwalking up thestreet to the big limousinedrawn up to the curb underthe arc-
light. She got in and itstarted off. I turnedaround. On the tablewas an empty glass and aglass half-full of brandyand soda. Itook them both out to thekitchen and poured thehalf-full glassdown the sink. I turned offthe gas in the dining-room,kicked offmy slippers sitting on thebed, and got into bed. Thiswas Brett,that I had felt like cryingabout. Then I thought ofher walkingup the street and steppinginto the car, as I had lastseen her,
and of course in a littlewhile I felt like hellagain. It is awfullyeasy to be hard-boiledabout everything in thedaytime, but atnight it is another thing.CHAPTER VIN the morning I walkeddown the Boulevard to therue Soufflotfor coffee and brioche. Itwas a fine morning. Thehorse-chestnuttrees in the Luxembourggardens were in bloom.There was the
pleasant early-morningfeeling of a hot day. Iread the papers withthe coffee and then smokeda cigarette. The flower-women werecoming up from the marketand arranging their dailystock. Stu-dents went by going up tothe law school, or down tothe Sor-bonne. The Boulevard wasbusy with trams and peoplegoing towork. I got on an S bus androde down to the Madeleine,standingon the back platform. Fromthe Madeleine I walkedalong the
Boulevard des Capucines tothe Opra, and up to myoffice. Ipassed the man with thejumping frogs and the manwith theboxer toys. I stepped asideto avoid walking into thethread withwhich his girl assistantmanipulated the boxers. Shewas standinglooking away, the thread inher folded hands. The manwas urgingtwo tourists to buy. Threemore tourists had stoppedand werewatching. I walked onbehind a man who waspushing a roller
that printed the nameCINZANO on the sidewalk indamp3536 THE SUN ALSO RISESletters. All along peoplewere going to work. It feltpleasant to begoing to work. I walkedacross the avenue andturned in to myoffice.Up-stairs in the office Iread the French morningpapers,
smoked, and then sat at thetypewriter and got off agoodmornings work. At elevenoclock I went over to theQuai dOrsayin a taxi and went in andsat with about a dozencorrespondents,while the foreign-officemouthpiece, a yqungNouvelle RevueFran^aise diplomat in horn-rimmed spectacles, talkedand answeredquestions for half an hour.The President of theCouncil was inLyons making a speech, or,rather he was on his wayback. Sev-
eral people asked questionsto hear themselves talk andthere werea couple of questions askedby news service men whowanted toknow the answers. There wasno news. I shared a taxiback fromthe Quai dOrsay withWoolsey and Krum."What do you do nights,Jake?" asked Krum. "I neversee youaround/"Oh, Im over in theQuarter/"Im coming over somenight. The Dingo. Thatsthe great
place, isnt it?""Yes. That, or this newdive, The Select.""Ive meant to get over,"said Krum. "You know how itis,though, with a wife andkids.""Playing any tennis?"Woolsey asked."Well, no," said Krum. "Icant say Ive played anythis year.Ive tried to get away, butSundays its always rained,and thecourts are so damnedcrowded."
"The Englishmen all haveSaturday off," Woolseysaid."Lucky beggars," said Krum."Well, Ill tell you. Someday Imnot going to be working foran agency. Then Ill haveplenty oftime to get out in thecountry.""Thats the thing to do.Live out in the country andhave alittle car."THE SUN ALSO RISES 37
"Ive been thinking someabout getting a car nextyear."I banged on the glass. Thechauffeur stopped. "Heresmystreet/ 1 1 said. "Come inand have a drink/ 1"Thanks, old man/ Krumsaid. Woolsey shook hishead. "Ivegot to file that line hegot off this morning/I put a two-franc piece inKrums hand."Youre crazy, Jake/ hesaid. "This is on me/
"Its all on the office,anyway/"Nope. I want to get it."I waved good-by. Krum puthis head out. "See you atthe lunchon Wednesday/"You bet/I went to the office in theelevator. Robert Cohn waswaitingfor me. "Hello, Jake," hesaid. "Going out to lunch?""Yes. Let me see if thereis anything new/"Where will we eat?"
"Anywhere."I was looking over my desk."Where do you want to eat?""How about Wetzels?Theyve got good horsdoeuvres."In the restaurant weordered hors doeuvres andbeer. Thesommelier brought the beer,tall, beaded on the outsideof thesteins, and cold. Therewere a dozen differentdishes of horsdoeuvres."Have any fun last night?"I asked*
"No. I dont think so.""Hows the writing going?""Rotten. I cant get thissecond book going.""That happens toeverybody.""Oh, Im sure of that. Itgets me worried, though.""Thought any more aboutgoing to South America?""I mean that.""Well, why dont you startoff?""Frances."
38 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Well," I said, "take herwith you.""She wouldnt like it. Thatisnt the sort of thing shelikes. Shelikes a lot of peoplearound.""Tell her to go to hell.""I cant. Ive got certainobligations to her."He shoved the slicedcucumbers away and took apickledherring.
"What do you know aboutLady Brett Ashley, Jake?""Her names Lady Ashley.Bretts her own name. Shesa nicegirl," I said. "Shesgetting a divorce and shesgoing to marryMike Campbell. Hes over inScotland now. Why?""Shes a remarkablyattractive woman.""Isnt she?""Theres a certain qualityabout her, a certainfineness. Sheseems to be absolutely fineand straight."
"Shes very nice.""I dont know how todescribe the quality," Cohnsaid. "I sup-pose its breeding.""You sound as though youliked her pretty well.""I do. I shouldnt wonderif I were in love withher.""Shes a drunk," I said."Shes in love with MikeCampbell,and shes going to marryhim. Hes going to be richas hell someday."
"I dont believe shellever marry him.""Why not?""I dont know. I just dontbelieve it. Have you knownher along time?""Yes," I said. "She was aV. A. D. in a hospital Iwas in duringthe war.""She must have been just akid then.""Shes thirty-four now.""When did she marryAshley?"
THE SUN ALSO RISES 39"During the war. Her owntrue love had just kickedoff withthe dysentery.""You talk sort of bitter.""Sorry. I didnt mean to. Iwas just trying to give youthe facts.""I dont believe she wouldmarry anybody she didntlove.""Well," I said. "Shes doneit twice.""I dont believe it."
"Well," I said, "dont askme a lot of fool questionsif youdont like the answers.""I didnt ask you that.""You asked me what I knewabout Brett Ashley.""I didnt ask you to insulther.""Oh, go to hell."He stood up from the tablehis face white, and stoodtherewhite and angry behind thelittle plates of horsdceuvres.
"Sit down," I said. "Dontbe a fool.""Youve got to take thatback.""Oh, cut out the prep-school stuff.""Take it back.""Sure. Anything. I neverheard of Brett Ashley.Hows that?""No. Not that. About megoing to hell.""Oh, dont go to hell," Isaid. "Stick around. Werejust startinglunch."
Cohn smiled again and satdown. He seemed glad to sitdown.What the hell would he havedone if he hadnt sat down?"Yousay such damned insultingthings, Jake.""Im sorry. Ive got anasty tongue. I never meanit when I saynasty things.""I know it," Cohn said."Youre really about thebest friend Ihave, Jake."God help you, I thought."Forget what I said," Isaid out loud.Tm sorry/
THE SUN ALSO RISES"Its all right. Its fine.I was just sore for aminute.""Good. Lets get somethingelse to eat."After we finished the lunchwe walked up to the Caf6 delaPaix and had coffee. Icould feel Cohn wanted tobring up Brettagain, but I held him offit. We talked about onething and an-other, and I left him tocome to the office.
CHAPTER VIAT five oclock I was inthe Hotel Crillon waitingfor Brett. Shewas not there, so I satdown and wrote someletters. They werenot very good letters but Ihoped their being onCrillon stationerywould help them. Brett didnot turn up, so aboutquarter to six Iwent down to the bar andhad a Jack Rose with Georgethe bar-
man. Brett had not been inthe bar either, and so Ilooked for herupstairs on my way out, andtook a taxi to the CafeSelect. Crossingthe Seine I saw a string ofbarges being towed emptydown thecurrent, riding high, thebargemen at the sweeps asthey cametoward the bridge. Theriver looked nice. It wasalways pleasantcrossing bridges in Paris.The taxi rounded the statueof the inventor of thesemaphoreengaged in doing same, andturned up the BoulevardRaspail, and
I sat back to let that partof the ride pass. TheBoulevard Raspailalways made dull riding. Itwas like a certain stretchon theP.L.M. betweenFontainebleau and Montereauthat always mademe feel bored and dead anddull until it was over. Isuppose it issome association of ideasthat makes those deadplaces in a journey.There are other streets inParis as ugly as theBoulevard Raspail.41
42 THE SUN ALSO RISESIt is a street I do notmind walking down at all.But I cannotstand to ride along it.Perhaps I had readsomething about it once.That was the way RobertCohn was about all ofParis. I wonderedwhere Cohn got thatincapacity to enjoy Paris.Possibly fromMencken. Mencken hatesParis, I believe. So manyyoung menget their likes anddislikes from Mencken.The taxi stopped in frontof the Rotonde. No matterwhat cafe"
in Montparnasse you ask ataxi-driver tojbring you tofrom theright bank of the river,they always take you to theRotonde. Tenyears from now it willprobably be the Dome. Itwas near enough,anyway. I walked past thesad tables of the Rotondeto the Select.There were a few peopleinside at the bar, andoutside, alone, satHarvey Stone. He had a pileof saucers in front of him,and heneeded a shave."Sit down," said Harvey,"Ive been looking foryou."
"Whats the matter?""Nothing. Just looking foryou.""Been out to the races?""No. Not since Sunday.""What do you hear from theStates?""Nothing. Absolutelynothing/"Whats the matter?""I dont know. Im throughwith them. Im absolutelythroughwith them."
He leaned forward andlooked me in the eye."Do you want to knowsomething, Jake?""Yes.""I havent had anything toeat for five days."I figured rapidly back inmy mind. It was three daysago thatHarvey had won two hundredfrancs from me shakingpoker dicein the New York Bar.Whats the matter?"
"No money. Money hasntcome," he paused. "I tellyou itsTHE SUN ALSO RISES 43strange, Jake. When Imlike this I just want to bealone. I wantto stay in my own room. Imlike a cat/ 1I felt in my pocket."Would a hundred help youany, Harvey?""Yes/ 1"Come on. Lets go andeat."
"Theres no hurry. Have adrink/ 1"Better eat.""No. When I get like this Idont care whether I eat ornot/We had a drink. Harveyadded my saucer to his ownpile."Do you know Mencken,Harvey?""Yes. Why?""Whats he like?"
"Hes all right. He sayssome pretty funny things.Last time Ihad dinner with him wetalked about Hoffcnheimer.The troubleis/ he said, hes a gartersnapper/ Thats not bad.""Thats not bad.""Hes through now," Harveywent on. "Hes writtenabout allthe things he knows, andnow hes on all the thingshe doesntknow.""I guess hes all right," Isaid. "I just cant readhim."
"Oh, nobody reads him now,"Harvey said, "except thepeoplethat used to read theAlexander HamiltonInstitute/"Well," I said. "That was agood thing, too.""Sure," said Harvey. So wesat and thought deeply fora while."Have another port?""All right," said Harvey."There conies Cohn," Isaid. Robert Cohn wascrossing thestreet.
"That moron," said Harvey.Cohn came up to our table."Hello, you bums," he said."Hello, Robert," Harveysaid. "I was just tellingJake here thatyoure a moron/ 1THE SUN ALSO RISES"What do you mean?""Tell us right off. Dontthink. What would yourather doif you could do anythingyou wanted?"Cohn started to consider.
"Dont think. Bring itright out.""I dont know," Cohn said."Whats it all about,anyway?""I mean what would yourather do. What comes intoyour headfirst. No matter how sillyit is.""I dont know," Cohn said."I think Id rather playfootballagain with what I knowabout handling myself,now."
"I misjudged you," Harveysaid. "Youre not a moron.Youreonly a case of arresteddevelopment.""Youre awfully funny,Harvey," Cohn said. "Someday some-body will push your facein."Harvey Stone laughed. "Youthink so. They wont,though. Be-cause it wouldnt make anydifference to me. Im not afighter.""It would make a differenceto you if anybody did it."
"No, it wouldnt. Thatswhere you make your bigmistake.Because youre notintelligent.""Cut it out about me.""Sure," said Harvey. "Itdoesnt make any differenceto me.You dont mean anything tome.""Come on, Harvey," I said."Have another porto.""No," he said. "Im goingup the street and eat. Seeyou later,Jake."
He walked out and up thestreet. I watched himcrossing thestreet through the taxis,small, heavy, slowly sureof himself in thetraffic."He always gets me sore,"Cohn said. "I cant standhim.""I like him," I said. "Imfond of him. You dont wantto getsore at him.""I know it," Cohn said. "Hejust gets on my nerves. 1Write this afternoon?"
THE SUN ALSO RISES 45"No. I couldnt get itgoing. Its harder to dothan my first book.Im having a hard timehandling it."The sort of healthy conceitthat he had when hereturned fromAmerica early in the springwas gone. Then he had beensure ofhis work, only with thesepersonal longings foradventure. Nowthe surcness was gone.Somehow I feel I have notshown Robert
Cohn clearly. The reason isthat until he fell in lovewith Brett,I never heard him make oneremark that would, in anyway, de-tach him from other people.He was nice to watch on thetennis-court, he had a good body,and he kept it in shape; hehandledhis cards well at bridge,and he had a funny sort ofundergraduatequality about him. If hewere in a crowd nothing hesaid stoodout. He wore what used tobe called polo shirts atschool, and
may be called that still,but he was notprofessionally youthful.I do not believe he thoughtabout his clothes much.Externally hehad been formed atPrinceton. Internally hehad been mouldedby the two women who hadtrained him. He had a nice,boyishsort of cheerfulness thathad never been trained outof him, andI probably have not broughtit out. He loved to win attennis. Heprobably loved to win asmuch as Lenglen, forinstance. On the
other hand, he was notangry at being beaten. Whenhe fell inlove with Brett his tennisgame went all to pieces.People beat himwho had never had a chancewith him. He was very niceabout it.Anyhow, we were sitting onthe terrace of the Caf6Select, andHarvey Stone had justcrossed the street."Come on up to the Lilas,"I said."I have a date.""What time?"
"Frances is coming here atseven-fifteen."There she is."Frances Clyne was comingtoward us from across thestreet. Shewas a very tall girl whowalked with a great deal ofmovement.She waved and smiled. Wewatched her cross thestreet.46 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Hello/* she said, "Im soglad youre here, Jake.Ive been want-ing to talk to you."
"Hello, Frances," saidCohn. He smiled."Why, hello, Robert. Areyou here?" She went on,talkingrapidly. "Ive had thedarndest time. This one"shaking her headat Cohn "didnt come homefor lunch.""I wasnt supposed to.""Oh, I know. But you didntsay anything about it tothe cook.Then I had a date myself,and Paula wasnt at heroffice. I went
to the Ritz and waited forher, and she never came,and of courseI didnt have enough moneyto lunch at the Ritz ""What did you do?""Oh, went out, of course."She spoke in a sort ofimitation joy-ful manner. "I always keepmy appointments. No onekeeps theirs,nowadays. I ought to knowbetter. How are you, Jake,anyway?""Fine.""That was a fine girl youhad at the dance, and thenwent off
With that Brett one.""Dont you like her?" Cohnasked."I think shes perfectlycharming. Dont you?"Cohn said nothing."Look, Jake. I want to talkwith you. Would you comeoverwith me to the Dome? Youllstay here, wont you,Robert? Comeon, Jake."We crossed the BoulevardMontparnasse and sat downat a table.A boy came up with the PansTimes, and I bought one and
opened it."Whats the matter,Frances?""Oh, nothing," she said,"except that he wants toleave me.""How do you mean?""Oh, he told every one thatwe were going to bemarried, andI told my mother and everyone, and now he doesntwant todo it."THE SUN ALSO RISES 47
"Whats the matter?""Hes decided he hasntlived enough. I knew itwould happenwhen he went to New York/She looked up, very bright-eyed and trying to talkinconsequen-tially."I wouldnt marry him if hedoesnt want to. Of courseIwouldnt. I wouldnt marryhim now for anything. Butit doesseem to me to be a littlelate now, after wevewaited three years,and Ive just gotten mydivorce/
I said nothing."We were going to celebrateso, and instead weve justhadscenes. Its so childish.We have dreadful scenes,and he cries andbegs me to be reasonable,but he says he just cantdo it.""Its rotten luck.""I should say it is rottenluck. Ive wasted two yearsand a halfon him now. And I dontknow now if any man willever want
to marry me. Two years agoI could have marriedanybody Iwanted, down at Cannes. Allthe old ones that wanted tomarrysomebody chic and settledown were crazy about me.Now I dontthink I could get anybody.""Sure, you could marryanybody.""No, I dont believe it.And Im fond of him, too.And Id liketo have children. I alwaysthought wed havechildren."
She looked at me verybrightly. "I never likedchildren much,but I dont want to thinkIll never have them. Ialways thoughtId have them and then likethem.""Hes got children.""Oh, yes. Hes gotchildren, and hes gotmoney, and hes gota rich mother, and heswritten a book, and nobodywill publishmy stuff, nobody at all. Itisnt bad, either. And Ihavent got anymoney at all. I could havehad alimony, but I got thedivorce the
quickest way."She looked at me again verybrightly.THE SUN ALSO RISES"It isnt right. Its myown fault and its not,too. I ought to haveknown better. And when Itell him he just cries andsays he cantmarry. Why cant he marry?Id be a good wife. Imeasy to getalong with. I leave himalone. It doesnt do anygood.""Its a rotten shame."
"Yes, it is a rotten shame.But theres no use talkingabout it, isthere? Come on, lets goback to the cafe.""And of course there isntanything I can do.""No. Just dont let himknow I talked to you. Iknow what hewants." Now for the firsttime she dropped herbright, terriblycheerful manner. "He wantsto go back to New Yorkalone, andbe there when his bookcomes out so when a lot oflittle chickens
like it. Thats what hewants.""Maybe they wont like it.I dont think hes thatway. Really.""You dont know him like Ido, Jake. Thats what hewants todo. I know it. I know it.Thats why he doesnt wantto marry. Hewants to have a big triumphthis fall all by himself.""Want to go back to thecafe?""Yes. Come on."
We got up from the tablethey had never brought us adrinkand started across thestreet toward the Select,where Cohn satsmiling at us from behindthe marble-topped table."Well, what are you smilingat?" Frances asked him."Feelpretty happy?""I was smiling at you andJake with your secrets.""Oh, what Ive told Jakeisnt any secret. Everybodywill knowit soon enough. I onlywanted to give Jake adecent version."
"What was it? About yourgoing to England?""Yes, about my going toEngland. Oh, Jake! I forgotto tell you.Im going to England.""Isnt that fine!""Yes, thats the way itsdone in the very besifamilies. Robertssending me. Hes going togive me two hundred poundsand thenTHE SUN ALSO RISES 49
Im going to visit friends.Wont it be lovely? Thefriends dontknow about it, yet/She turned to Cohn andsmiled at him. He was notsmiling now."You were only going togive me a hundred pounds,werentyou, Robert? But I made himgive me two hundred. Hesreallyvery generous. Arent you,Robert?"I do not know how peoplecould say such terriblethings to
Robert Cohn. There arepeople to whom you couldnot say in-sulting things. They giveyou a feeling that theworld would bedestroyed, would actuallybe destroyed before youreyes, if yousaid certain things. Buthere was Cohn taking itall. Here it was,all going on right beforeme, and I did not even feelan impulseto try and stop it. Andthis was friendly joking towhat went onlater."How can you say suchthings, Frances?" Cohninterrupted.
"Listen to him. Im goingto England. Im going tovisit friends.Ever visit friends thatdidnt want you? Oh,theyll have to takeme, all right. How do youdo, my dear? Such a longtime sinceweve seen you. And how isyour dear mother? Yes, howis mydear mother? She put allher money into French warbonds. Yes,she did. Probably the onlyperson in the world thatdid. And whatabout Robert? or else verycareful talking aroundRobert. Tou
must be most careful not tomention him, my dear. PoorFranceshas had a most unfortunateexperience. Wont it befun, Robert?Dont you think it will befun, Jake?"She turned to me with thatterribly bright smile. Itwas verysatisfactory to her to havean audience for this."And where are you going tobe, Robert? Its my ownfault, allright. Perfectly my ownfault. When I made you getrid of your
little secretary on themagazine I ought to haveknown youd getrid of me the same way.Jake doesnt know aboutthat. Should Itell him?""Shut up, Frances, forGods sake/50 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Yes, Til tell him. Roberthad a little secretary onthe magazine,Just the sweetest littlething in the world, and hethought she
was wonderful, and then Icame along and he thought Iwaspretty wonderful, too. So Imade him get rid of her,and he hadbrought her to Provincetownfrom Carmel when he movedthemagazine, and he didnteven pay her fare back tothe coast. Allto please me. He thought Iwas pretty fine, then.Didnt you,Robert?"You mustnt misunderstand,Jake, it was absolutelyplatonicwith the secretary. Noteven platonic. Nothing atall, really. It
was just that she was sonice. And he did that justto please me.Well, I suppose that wethat live by the swordshall perish by thesword. Isnt that literary,though? You want toremember thatfor your next book, Robert."You know Robert is goingto get material for a newbook.Arent you, Robert? Thatswhy hes leaving me. Hesdecided Idont film well. You see,he was so busy all the timethat we wereliving together, writing onthis book, that he doesntremember
anything about us. So nowhes going out and get somenewmaterial. Well, I hope hegets something frightfullyinteresting."Listen, Robert, dear. Letme tell you something. Youwontmind, will you? Dont havescenes with your youngladies. Trynot to. Because you canthave scenes without crying,and thenyou pity yourself so muchyou cant remember what theotherpersons said. Youll neverbe able to remember anyconversa-
tions that way. Just tryand be calm. I know itsawfully hard. Butremember, its forliterature. We all ought tomake sacrifices forliterature. Look at me. Imgoing to England without aprotest.All for literature. We mustall help young writers.Dont youthink so, Jake? But yourenot a young writer. Areyou, Robert?Youre thirty-four. Still,I suppose that is young fora great writer.Look at Hardy. Look atAnatole France. He justdied a little while
ago. Robert doesnt thinkhes any good, though. Someof hisTHE SUN ALSO RISES $1French friends told him. Hedoesnt read French verywell him-self. He wasnt a goodwriter like you are, washe, Robert? Do youthink he ever had to go andlook for material? What doyou sup-pose he said to hismistresses when he wouldntmarry them? Iwonder if he cried, too?Oh, Ive just thought ofsomething." She
put her gloved hand up toher lips. "1 know the realreason whyRobert wont marry me,Jake. Its just come to me.Theyve sentit to me in a vision in theCaf6 Select. Isnt itmystic? Some daytheyll put a tablet up.Like at Lourdes. Do youwant to hear,Robert? Ill tell you. Itsso simple. I wonder why Inever thoughtabout it. Why, you see,Roberts always wanted tohave a mistress,and if he doesnt marry me,why, then hes had one. Shewas his
mistress for over twoyears. See how it is? Andif he marries me,like hes always promisedhe would, that would be theend of allthe romance. Dont youthink thats bright of meto figure thatout? Its true, too. Lookat him and see if its not.Where are yougoing, Jake?"Ive got to go in and seeHarvey Stone a minute."Colin looked up as I wentin. His face was white. Whydid hesit there? Why did he keepon taking it like that?
As I stood against the barlooking out I could seethem throughthe window. Frances wastalking on to him, smilingbrightly,looking into his face eachtime she asked: "Isnt itso, Robert?" Ormaybe she did not ask thatnow. Perhaps she saidsomething else.I told the barman I did notwant anything to drink andwent outthrough the side door. As Iwent out the door I lookedbackthrough the two thicknessesof glass and saw themsitting there.
She was still talking tohim. I went down a sidestreet to theBoulevard Raspail. A taxicame along and I got in andgave thedriver the address of myflat.CHAPTER VIIAs I started up the stairsthe concierge knocked onthe glass ofthe door of her lodge, andas I stopped she came out.She hadsome letters and atelegram.
"Here is the post. Andthere was a lady here tosee you.""Did she leave a card?""No. She was with agentleman. It was the onewho was herelast night. In the end Ifind she is very nice.""Was she with a friend ofmine?""I dont know. He was neverhere before. He was verylarge.Very, very large. She wasvery nice. Very, very nice.Last night
she was, perhaps, a little"She put her head on onehand androcked it up and down. Tilspeak perfectly frankly,MonsieurBarnes. Last night I foundher not so gentille. Lastnight I formedanother idea of her. Butlisten to what I tell you.She is tres, tresgentille. She is of verygood family. It is a thingyou can see.""They did not leave anyword?""Yes. They said they wouldbe back in an hour."
"Send them up when theycome/THE SUN ALSO RISES 53"Yes, Monsieur Barnes. Andthat lady, that lady thereis someone. An eccentric, perhaps,but quelquune,quelquune!"The concierge, before shebecame a concierge, hadowned adrink-selling concession atthe Paris race-courses. Herlife-worklay in the pelouse, but shekept an eye on the peopleof the pesage,
and she took great pride intelling me which of myguests werewell brought up, which wereof good family, who weresports-men, a French wordpronounced with the accenton the men. Theonly trouble was thatpeople who did not fallinto any of thosethree categories were veryliable to be told there wasno one home,chez Barnes. One of myfriends, an extremelyunderfed-lookingpainter, who was obviouslyto Madame Duzinell neitherwell
brought up, of good family,nor a sportsman, wrote me aletterasking if I could get him apass to get by theconcierge so hecould come up and see meoccasionally in theevenings.I went up to the flatwondering what Brett haddone to theconcierge. The wire was acable from Bill Gorton,saying he wasarriving on the France. Iput the mail on the table,went back tothe bedroom, undressed andhad a shower. I was rubbingdown
when I heard the door-bellpull. I put on a bathrobeand slippersand went to the door. Itwas Brett. Back of her wasthe count. Hewas holding a great bunchof roses."Hello, darling/ 1 saidBrett. "Arent you going tolet us in?""Come on. I was justbathing.""Arent you the fortunateman. Bathing.""Only a shower. Sit down,Count Mippipopolous. Whatwillyou drink?"
"I dont know whether youlike flowers, sir," thecount said,"but I took the liberty ofjust bringing these roses.""Here, give them to me."Brett took them. "Get mesome waterin this, Jake." I filledthe big earthenware jugwith water in thekitchen, and Brett put theroses in it, and placedthem in thecentre of the dining-roomtable.54 THE SUN ALSO RISES
1 say. We have had a day.""You dont rememberanything about a date withme at theCrillon?""No. Did we have one? Imust have been blind.""You were quite drunk, mydear," said the count."Wasnt I, though? And thecounts been a brick,absolutely.""Youve got hells own dragwith the concierge now.""I ought to have. Gave hertwo hundred francs."
"Dont be a damned fool.""His," she said, and noddedat the count."I thought we ought to giveher a little something forlast night.It was very late.""Hes wonderful," Brettsaid. "He rememberseverything thatshappened.""So do you, my dear.""Fancy," said Brett. "Whodwant to? I say, Jake, do weget adrink?"
"You get it while I go inand dress. You know whereit is.""Rather."While I dressed I heardBrett put down glasses andthen asiphon, and then heard themtalking. I dressed slowly,sitting onthe bed. I felt tired andpretty rotten. Brett camein the room, aglass in her hand, and saton the bed."Whats the matter,darling? Do you feelrocky?"
She kissed me coolly on theforehead."Oh, Brett, I love you somuch.""Darling," she said. Then:"Do you want me to send himaway?""No. Hes nice.""Ill send him away/"No, dont.""Yes, Ill send him away/"You cant just like that."THE SUN ALSO RISES 55
"Cant I, though? You stayhere. Hes mad about me, Itell you."She was gone out of theroom. I lay face down onthe bed. 1was having a bad time. Iheard them talking but Idid not listen.Brett came in and sat onthe bed."Poor old darling/ Shestroked my head."What did you say to him?"I was lying with my faceawayfrom her. I did not want tosee her.
"Sent him for champagne. Heloves to go for champagne."Then later: "Do you feelbetter, darling? Is thehead anybetter?""Its better/ 1"Lie quiet. Hes gone tothe other side of town.""Couldnt we live together,Brett? Couldnt we justlive to-gether?""I dont think so. Id justtromper you with everybody.Youcouldnt stand it."
"I stand it now.""That would be different.Its my fault, Jake. Itsthe way Immade.""Couldnt we go off in thecountry for a while?""It wouldnt be any good.Ill go if you like. But Icouldnt livequietly in the country. Notwith my own true love.""I know.""Isnt it rotten? Thereisnt any use my tellingyou I love you.""You know I love you."
"Lets not talk. Talkingsall bilge. Im going awayfrom you,and then Michaels comingback.""Why are you going away?""Better for you. Better forme/"When are you going?""Soon as I can.""Where?""San Sebastian."56 THE SUN ALSO RISES
"Cant we go together?""No. That would be a hellof an idea after wed justtalked itout.""We never agreed.""Oh, you know as well as Ido. Dont be obstinate,darling.""Oh, sure," I said. "I knowyoure right. Im just low,and when
Im low I talk like afool."I sat up, leaned over,found my shoes beside thebed and putthem on. I stood up."Dont look like that,darling.""How do you want me tolook?""Oh, dont be a fool. Imgoing away to-morrow.""To-morrow?""Yes. Didnt I say so? Iam."
"Lets have a drink, then.The count will be back.""Yes. He should be back.You know hes extraordinaryaboutbuying champagne. It meansany amount to him."We went into the dining-room. I took up the brandybottle andpoured Brett a drink andone for myself. There was aring at thebell-pull. I went to thedoor and there was thecount. Behind himwas the chauffeur carryinga basket of champagne.
"Where should I have himput it, sir?" asked thecount."In the kitchen," Brettsaid."Put it in there, Henry,"the count motioned. "Now godownand get the ice." He stoodlooking after the basketinside thekitchen door. "I thinkyoull find thats verygood wine," he said."I know we dont get muchof a chance to judge goodwine in theStates now, but I got thisfrom a friend of minethats in thebusiness."
"Oh, you always have someone in the trade," Brettsaid."This fellow raises thegrapes. Hes got thousandsof acres ofthem."THE SUN ALSO RISES 57"Whats his name?" askedBrett. "Veuve Cliquot?""No," said the count."Mumms. Hes a baron.""Isnt it wonderful," saidBrett. "We all have titles.Why havent
you a title, Jake?"I assure you, sir," thecount put his hand on myarm. "It neverdoes a man any good. Mostof the time it costs youmoney.""Oh, I dont know. Itsdamned useful sometimes,"Brett said."Ive never known it to dome any good.""You havent used itproperly. Ive had hellsown amount ofcredit on mine."
"Do sit down, count," Isaid. "Let me take thatstick."The count was looking atBrett across the tableunder the gas-light. She was smoking acigarette and flicking theashes on therug. She saw me notice it."I say, Jake, I dont wantto ruin yourrugs. Cant you give a chapan ash-tray?"I found some ash-trays andspread them around. Thechauffeurcame up with a bucket fullof salted ice. "Put twobottles in it,Henry," the count called.
"Anything else, sir?""No. Wait down in the car."He turned to Brett and tome."Well want to ride out tothe Bois for dinner?""If you like," Brett said."I couldnt eat a thing.""I always like a goodmeal," said the count."Should I bring the winein, sir?" asked thechauffeur."Yes. Bring it in, Henry,"said the count. He took outa heavy
pigskin cigar-case andoffered it to me. "Like totry a real Ameri-can cigar?""Thanks," I said. Tilfinish the cigarette."He cut off the end of hiscigar with a gold cutter hewore onone end of his watch-chain."I like a cigar to reallydraw," said the count."Half the cigarsyou smoke dont draw."58 THE SUN ALSO RISES
He lit the cigar, puffed atit, looking across thetable at Brett."And when youre divorced,Lady Ashley, then you wonthavea title/"No. What a pity/"No," said the count. "Youdont need a title. You gotclass allover you.""Thanks. Awfully decent ofyou.""Im not joking you," thecount blew a cloud ofsmoke. "You got
the most class of anybody Iever seen. You got it.Thats all.""Nice of you," said Brett."Mummy would be pleased.Couldntyou write it out, and Illsend it in a letter toher.""Id tell her, too," saidthe count. "Im not jokingyou. I neverjoke people. Joke peopleand you make enemies.Thats what 1always say.""Youre right," Brett said."Youre terribly right. Ialways joke
people and I havent afriend in the world. ExceptJake here/"You dont joke him.""Thats it.""Do you, now?" asked thecount. "Do you joke him?"Brett looked at me andwrinkled up the corners ofher eyes."No," she said. "I wouldntjoke him.""See," said the count. "Youdont joke him."
"This is a hell of a dulltalk," Brett said. "Howabout some ofthat champagne?"The count reached down andtwirled the bottles in theshinybucket. "It isnt cold,yet. Youre alwaysdrinking, my dear. Whydont you just talk?""Ive talked too ruddymuch. Ive talked myselfall out to Jake/ 1"I should like to hear youreally talk, my dear. Whenyou talkto me you never finish yoursentences at all."
"Leave em for you tofinish. Let any one finishthem as theylike.""It is a very interestingsystem/ the count reacheddown andTHE SUN ALSO RISES 59gave the bottles a twirl."Still I would like to hearyou talk sometime."
"Isnt he a fool?" Brettasked."Now," the count brought upa bottle. "I think this iscool."I brought a towel and hewiped the bottle dry andheld it up."I like to drink champagnefrom magnums. The wine isbetterbut it would have been toohard to cool." He held thebottle,looking at it. I put outthe glasses."I say. You might open it,"Brett suggested.
"Yes, my dear. Now Illopen it."It was amazing champagne."I say that is wine," Brettheld up her glass. "Weought to toastsomething. Heres toroyalty/""This wine is too good fortoast-drinking, my dear.You dontwant to mix emotions upwith a wine like that. Youlose the taste."Bretts glass was empty."You ought to write a bookon wines, count," I said.
"Mr. Barnes," answered thecount, "all I want out ofwines is toenjoy them.""Lets enjoy a little moreof this," Brett pushed herglass for-ward. The count poured verycarefully. "There, my dear.Nowyou enjoy that slowly, andthen you can get drunk.""Drunk? Drunk?""My dear, you are charmingwhen you are drunk.""Listen to the man."
"Mr. Barnes," the countpoured my glass full. "Sheis the onlylady I have ever known whowas as charming when shewas drunkas when she was sober.""You havent been aroundmuch, have you?""Yes, my dear. I have beenaround very much. I havebeenaround a very great deal/"Drink your wine," saidBrett. "Weve all beenaround. I daresay Jake here has seen asmuch as you have."
6O THE SUN ALSO RISES"My dear, I am sure Mr.Barnes has seen a lot.Dont think 1dont think so, sir. I haveseen a lot, too.""Of course you have, mydear," Brett said. "I wasonly ragging.""I have been in seven warsand four revolutions," thecountsaid."Soldiering?" Brett asked."Sometimes, my dear. And Ihave got arrow wounds. Haveyou
ever seen arrow wounds?""Lets have a look atthem."The count stood up,unbuttoned his vest, andopened his shirt.He pulled up the undershirtonto his chest and stood,his chestblack, and big stomachmuscles bulging under thelight."You see them?"Below the line where hisribs stopped were tworaised whitewelts. "See on the backwhere they come out." Abovethe small
of the back were the sametwo scars, raised as thickas a finger."I say. Those aresomething.""Clean through."The count was tucking inhis shirt."Where did you get those?"I asked."In Abyssinia. When I wastwenty-one years old.""What were you doing?"asked Brett. "Were you inthe army?"
"I was on a business trip,my dear.""I told you he was one ofus. Didnt I?" Brett turnedto me.1 love you, count. Yourea darling.""You make me very happy, mydear. But it isnt true.""Dont be an ass.""You see, Mr. Barnes, it isbecause I have lived verymuch thatnow I can enjoy everythingso well. Dont you find itlike that?""Yes. Absolutely."
"I know," said the count."That is the secret. Youmust get toknow the values."THE SUN ALSO RISES 6l"Doesnt anything everhappen to your values?"Brett asked."No. Not any more.""Never fall in love?""Always," said the count."I am always in love.""What does that do to yourvalues?"
"That, too, has got a placein my values.""You havent any values.Youre dead, thats all.""No, my dear. Youre notright. Im not dead atall."We drank three bottles ofthe champagne and the countleftthe basket in my kitchen.We dined at a restaurant inthe Bois.It was a good dinner. Foodhad an excellent place inthe countsvalues. So did wine. Thecount was in fine formduring the meal.
So was Brett. It was a goodparty."Where would you like togo?" asked the count afterdinner.We were the only peopleleft in the restaurant. Thetwo waiterswere standing over againstthe door. They wanted to gohome."We might go up on thehill," Brett said. "Haventwe had asplendid party?"The count was beaming. Hewas very happy.
"You are very nice people,"he said. He was smoking acigaragain. "Why dont you getmarried, you two?""We want to lead our ownlives," I said."We have our careers,"Brett said. "Come on. Letsget out ofthis.""Have another brandy," thecount said."Get it on the hill.""No. Have it here where itis quiet."
"You and your quiet," saidBrett. "What is it men feelaboutquiet?""We like it," said thecount. "Like you likenoise, my dear.""All right," said Brett."Lets have one.""Sommelier!" the countcalled.62 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Yes, sir.""What is the oldest brandyyou have?"
"Eighteen eleven, sir.""Bring us a bottle.""I say. Dont beostentatious. Call him off,Jake.""Listen, my dear. I getmore value for my money inold brandythan in any otherantiquities.""Got many antiquities?""I got a houseful."Finally we went up toMontmartre. Inside Zellisit was
crowded, smoky, and noisy.The music hit you as youwent in.Brett and I danced. It wasso crowded we could barelymove. Thenigger drummer waved atBrett. We were caught inthe jam, danc-ing in one place in frontof him."Hahre you?""Great.""Thaats good."He was all teeth and lips."Hes a great friend ofmine," Brett said. "Damngood drum-
mer."The music stopped and westarted toward the tablewhere thecount sat. Then the musicstarted again and wedanced. I lookedat the count. He wassitting at the tablesmoking a cigar. Themusic stopped again."Lets go over."Brett started toward thetable. The music startedand again we
danced, tight in the crowd."You are a rotten dancer,Jake. Michaels the bestdancer Iknow.""Hes splendid.""Hes got his points.""I like him," I said. "Imdamned fond of him."THE SUN ALSO RISES 63"Im going to marry him,"Brett said. "Funny. Ihavent thoughtabout him for a week/
"Dont you write him?""Not I. Never writeletters.""Ill bet he writes toyou.""Rather. Damned goodletters, too.""When are you going to getmarried?""How do I know? As soon aswe can get the divorce.Michaelstrying to get his mother toput up for it.""Could I help you?"
"Dont be an ass. Michaelspeople have loads ofmoney."The music stopped. Wewalked over to the table.The countstood up."Very nice," he said. "Youlooked very, very nice.""Dont you dance, count?" Iasked."No. Im too old.""Oh, come off it," Brettsaid."My dear, I would do it ifI would enjoy it. I enjoyto watch
you dance.""Splendid," Brett said."Ill dance again for yousome time. I say.What about your littlefriend, Zizi?""Let me tell you. I supportthat boy, but I dont wantto havehim around.""He is rather hard.""You know I think thatboys got a future. Butpersonally Idont want him around.""Jakes rather the sameway."
"He gives me the willys.""Well," the count shruggedhis shoulders. "About hisfuture youcant ever tell. Anyhow,his father was a greatfriend of my father.""Come on. Lets dance/Brett said.We danced. It was crowdedand close.64 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Oh, darling," Brett said,Tm so miserable."
I had that feeling of goingthrough something that hasall hap-pened before. "You werehappy a minute ago."The drummer shouted: "Youcant two time ""Its all gone.""Whats the matter?""I dont know. I just feelterribly."" " the drummer chanted.Then turned to his sticks."Want to go?"
IJiadjthe_fecJing as in anightmare of it all beingsomethingrepeated, something I hadbeen through and that now Imust gothrough, again."~ " the drummer sangsoftly."Lets go," said Brett."You dont mind."" " the drummer shouted andgrinned at Brett."All right," I said. We gotout from the crowd. Brettwent to thedressing-room.
"Brett wants to go," I saidto the count. He nodded."Does she?Thats fine. You take thecar. Im going to stay herefor a while,Mr. Barnes."We shook hands."It was a wonderful time,"I said. "I wish you wouldlet me getthis." I took a note out ofmy pocket."Mr. Barnes, dont beridiculous," the countsaid.Brett came over with herwrap on. She kissed thecount and
put her hand on hisshoulder to keep him fromstanding up. Aswe went out the door Ilooked back and there werethree girls athis table. We got into thebig car. Brett gave thechauffeur theaddress of her hotel."No, dont come up," shesaid at the hotel. She hadrung andthe door was unlatched."Really?""No. Please."THE SUN ALSO RISES 65
"Good night, Brett," Isaid. "Im sorry you feelrotten.""Good night, Jake. Goodnight, darling. I wont seeyou again."We kissed standing at thedoor. She pushed me away.We kissedagain. "Oh, dont!" Brettsaid.She turned quickly and wentinto the hotel. Thechauffeurdrove me around to my flat.I gave him twenty francsand hetouched his cap and said:"Good night, sir," anddrove off. I rang
the bell. The door openedand I went up-stairs andwent to bed.BOOK IICHAPTER VIIII DID not see Brett againuntil she came back fromSan Sebastian.One card came from her fromthere. It had a picture oftheConcha, and said: "Darling.Very quiet and healthy.Love to all
the chaps. BRETT."Nor did I see Robert Cohnagain. I heard Frances hadleft forEngland and I had a notefrom Cohn saying he wasgoing outin the country for a coupleof weeks, he did not knowwhere, butthat he wanted to hold meto the fishing-trip inSpain we hadtalked about last winter. Icould reach him always, hewrote,through his bankers.Brett was gone, I was notbothered by Cohnstroubles, I rather
enjoyed not having to playtennis, there was plenty ofwork to do,I went often to the races,dined with friends, and putin someextra time at the officegetting things ahead so Icould leave it incharge of my secretary whenBill Gorton and I shouldshove offto Spain the end of June.Bill Gorton arrived, put upa couple ofdays at the flat and wentoff to Vienna. He was verycheerful andsaid the States werewonderful. New York waswonderful. There69
70 THE SUN ALSO RISEShad been a grand theatricalseason and a whole crop ofgreatyoung light heavyweights.Any one of them was a goodprospectto grow up, put on weightand trim Dempsey. Bill wasveryhappy. He had made a lot ofmoney on his last book, andwasgoing to make a lot more.We had a good time while hewas inParis, and then he went offto Vienna. He was comingback in
three weeks and we wouldleave for Spain to get insome fishingand go to the fiesta atPamplona. He wrote thatVienna was won-derful. Then a card fromBudapest: "Jake, Budapestis wonderful."Then I got a wire: "Back onMonday."Monday evening he turned upat the flat. I heard histaxi stopand went to the window andcalled to him; he waved andstartedup-stairs carrying hisbags. I met him on thestairs, and took oneof the bags.
"Well," I said, "I hear youhad a wonderful trip.""Wonderful," he said."Budapest is absolutelywonderful.""How about Vienna?""Not so good, Jake. Not sogood. It seemed better thanit was.""How do you mean?" I wasgetting glasses and asiphon.Tight, Jake. I was tight.""Thats strange. Betterhave a drink."
Bill rubbed his forehead."Remarkable thing," hesaid. "Dontknow how it happened.Suddenly it happened.""Last long?""Four days, Jake. Lastedjust four days.""Where did you go?""Dont remember. Wrote youa post-card. Remember thatper-fectly.""Do anything else?""Not so sure. Possible.""Go on. Tell me about it."
"Cant remember. Tell youanything I could remember.""Go on. Take that drink andremember."THE SUN ALSO RISES Jl"Might remember a little/Bill said. "Remembersomethingabout a prize-fight.Enormous Vienna prize-fight. Had a nigger init. Remember the niggerperfectly.""Go on."
"Wonderful nigger. Lookedlike Tiger Flowers, onlyfour timesas big. All of a suddeneverybody started to throwthings. Notme. Niggerd just knockedlocal boy down. Nigger putup hisglove. Wanted to make aspeech. Awful noble-lookingnigger.Started to make a speech.Then local white boy hithim. Then heknocked white boy cold.Then everybody commenced tothrowchairs. Nigger went homewith us in our car.Couldnt get his
clothes. Wore my coat.Remember the whole thingnow. Bigsporting evening.""What happened?""Loaned the nigger someclothes and went aroundwith him totry and get his money.Claimed nigger owed themmoney on ac-count of wrecking hall.Wonder who translated? Wasit me?""Probably it wasnt you.""Youre right. Wasnt me atall. Was another fellow.Think we
called him the localHarvard man. Remember himnow. Studyingmusic.""Howd you come out?""Not so good, Jake.Injustice everywhere.Promoter claimednigger promised let localboy stay. Claimed niggerviolated con-tract. Cant knock outVienna boy in Vienna. MyGod, Mister
Gorton/ said nigger, 1didnt do nothing in therefor forty min-utes but try and let himstay. That white boy mustaruptured him-self swinging at me. Inever did hit him/ ""Did you get any money?""No money, Jake. All wecould get was niggersclothes. Some-body took his watch, too.Splendid nigger. Bigmistake to havecome to Vienna. Not sogood, Jake. Not so good.""What became of thenigger?"
72 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Went back to Cologne.Lives there. Married. Got afamily.Going to write me a letterand send me the money Iloaned him.Wonderful nigger. Hope Igave him the rightaddress.""You probably did.""Well, anyway, lets eat,"said Bill. "Unless you wantme to tellyou some more travelstories.""Go on."
"Lets eat."We went down-stairs and outonto the Boulevard St.Michelin the warm June evening."Where will we go?""Want to eat on theisland?""Sure."We walked down theBoulevard. At the junctureof the RueDenfert-Rochereau with theBoulevard is a statue oftwo men inflowing robes.
"I know who they are." Billeyed the monument."Gentlemenwho invented pharmacy.Dont try and fool me onParis."We went on."Heres a taxidermists,"Bill said. "Want to buyanything? Nicestuffed dog?""Come on," I said. "Yourepie-eyed.""Pretty nice stuffed dogs,"Bill said. "Certainlybrighten upyour flat.""Come on."
"Just one stuffed dog. Ican take em or leave emalone. Butlisten, Jake. Just onestuffed dog.""Come on.""Mean everything in theworld to you after youbought it.Simple exchange of values.You give them money. Theygive youa stuffed dog.""Well get one on the wayback."THE SUN ALSO RISES 73
"All right. Have it yourown way. Road to hell pavedwith un-bought stuffed dogs. Not myfault."We went on."Howd you feel that wayabout dogs so sudden?""Always felt that way aboutdogs. Always been a greatlover ofstuffed animals."We stopped and had a drink."Certainly like to drink,"Bill said. "You ought totry it sometimes, Jake."
"Youre about a hundred andforty-four ahead of me.""Ought not to daunt you.Never be daunted. Secret ofmysuccess. Never beendaunted. Never been dauntedin public.""Where were you drinking?""Stopped at the Crillon.George made me a couple ofJackRoses. Georges a greatman. Know the secret of hissuccess? Neverbeen daunted.""Youll be daunted afterabout three more pernods."
"Not in public. If I beginto feel daunted Ill go offby myself.Im like a cat that way.""When did you see HarveyStone?""At the Crillon. Harvey wasjust a little daunted.Hadnt eatenfor three days. Doesnt eatany more. Just goes offlike a cat. Prettysad.""Hes all right.""Splendid. Wish he wouldntkeep going off like a cat,though.Makes me nervous."
"Whatll we do to-night?""Doesnt make anydifference. Only lets notget daunted. Sup-pose they got any hard-boiled eggs here? If theyhad hard-boiledeggs here we wouldnt haveto go all the way down tothe islandto eat.""Nix," I said. "Were goingto have a regular meal."
74 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Just a suggestion/ saidBill. "Want to start now?""Come on."We started on again downthe Boulevard. A horse-cabpassedus. Bill looked at it."See that horse-cab? Goingto have that horse-cabstuffed foryou for Christmas. Going togive all my friends stuffedanimals.Im a nature-writer."
A taxi passed, some one init waved, then banged forthe driverto stop. The taxi backed upto the curb. In it wasBrett."Beautiful lady," saidBill. "Going to kidnap us.""Hullo!" Brett said."Hullo!""This is Bill Gorton. LadyAshley."Brett smiled at Bill. "Isay Im just back. Haventbathed even.Michael comes in to-night."
"Good. Come on and eat withus, and well all go tomeet him.""Must clean myself.""Oh, rot! Come on.""Must bathe. He doesnt getin till nine.""Come and have a drink,then, before you bathe.""Might do that. Now yourenot talking rot."We got in the taxi. Thedriver looked around."Stop at the nearestbistro," I said.
"We might as well go to theCloserie," Brett said. "Icant drinkthese rotten brandies.""Closerie des Lilas."Brett turned to Bill."Have you been in thispestilential city long?""Just got in to-day fromBudapest.""How was Budapest?"Wonderful. Budapest waswonderful.""Ask him about Vienna."
"Vienna," said Bill, "is astrange city/THE SUN ALSO RISES 75"Very much like Paris/Brett smiled at him,wrinkling the cor-ners of her eyes."Exactly," Bill said. "Verymuch like Paris at thismoment.""You have a good start."Sitting out on the terracesof the Lilas Brett ordereda whiskey
and soda, I took one, too,and Bill took anotherpernod."How are you, Jake?""Great," I said. "Ive hada good time."Brett looked at me. "I wasa fool to go away," shesaid. "Onesan ass to leave Paris.""Did you have a good time?""Oh, all right.Interesting. Notfrightfully amusing.""See anybody?"
"No, hardly anybody, Inever went out.""Didnt you swim?""No. Didnt do a thing.""Sounds like Vienna," Billsaid.Brett wrinkled up thecorners of her eyes at him."So thats the way it wasin Vienna.""It was like everything inVienna."Brett smiled at him again."Youve a nice friend,Jake."
"Hes all right," I said."Hes a taxidermist.""That was in anothercountry," Bill said. "Andbesides all theanimals were dead.""One more," Brett said,"and I must run. Do sendthe waiterfor a taxi.""Theres a line of them.Right out in front.""Good."We had the drink and putBrett into her taxi.
"Mind youre at the Selectaround ten. Make him come.Mi-chael will be there."76 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Well be there/ 1 Billsaid* The taxi started andBrett waved."Quite a girl," Bill said."Shes damned nice. WhosMichael?""The man shes going tomarry.""Well, well," Bill said."Thats always just thestage I meet any-
body. Whatll I send them?Think theyd like a coupleof stuffedrace-horses?""We better eat.""Is she really Ladysomething or other?" Billasked in the taxion our way down to the HeSaint Louis."Oh, yes. In the stud-bookand everything.""Well, well."We ate dinner at MadameLecomtes restaurant on thefar side
of the island. It wascrowded with Americans andwe had to standup and wait for a place.Some one had put it in theAmericanWomens Club list as aquaint restaurant on theParis quais asyet untouched by Americans,so we had to wait forty-five minutesfor a table. Bill had eatenat the restaurant in 1918,and right afterthe armistice, and MadameLecomte made a great fussover seeinghim*"Doesnt get us a table,though," Bill said. "Grandwoman,
though."We had a good meal, a roastchicken, new green beans,mashedpotatoes, a salad, and someapple-pie and cheese."Youve got the world hereall right," Bill said toMadameLecomte. She raised herhand. "Oh, my God!""Youll be rich.""I hope so."After the coffee and a finewe got the bill, chalked upthe same
as ever on a slate, thatwas doubtless one of the"quaint" features,paid it, shook hands, andwent out."You never come here anymore, Monsieur Barnes,"MadameLecomte said."Too many compatriots/THE SUN ALSO RISES 77"Come at lunch-time. Itsnot crowded then/"Good. Ill be down soon/
We walked along under thetrees that grew out overthe riveron the Quai dOrlans sideof the island. Across theriver werethe broken walls of oldhouses that were being torndown."Theyre going to cut astreet through.""They would," Bill said.We walked on and circledthe island. The river wasdark anda bateau mouche went by,all bright with lights,going fast arid
quiet up and out of sightunder the bridge. Down theriver wasNotre Dame squattingagainst the night sky. Wecrossed to theleft bank of the Seine bythe wooden foot-bridge fromthe Quai deBethune, and stopped on thebridge and looked down theriver atNotre Dame. Standing on thebridge the island lookeddark, thehouses were high againstthe sky, and the trees wereshadows."Its pretty grand," Billsaid. "God, I love to getback."
We leaned on the woodenrail of the bridge andlooked up theriver to the lights of thebig bridges. Below thewater was smoothand black. It made no soundagainst the piles of thebridge. A manand a girl passed us. Theywere walking with theirarms aroundeach other.We crossed the bridge andwalked up the Rue duCardinalLemoine. It was steepwalking, and we went allthe way up tothe Place Contrescarpe. Thearc-light shone through theleaves
of the trees in the square,and underneath the treeswas an S busready to start. Music cameout of the door of theNegre Joyeux.Through the window of theCaf6 Aux Amateurs I saw thelongzinc bar. Outside on theterrace working people weredrinking.In the open kitchen of theAmateurs a girl was cookingpotato-chips in oil. There was aniron pot of stew. The girlladled someonto a plate for an old manwho stood holding a bottleof red winein one hand.
"Want to have a drink?"78 THE SUN ALSO RISES"No/ said Bill 1 dontneed it."We turned to the right offthe Place Contrescarpe,walkingalong smooth narrow streetswith high old houses onboth sides.Some of the houses juttedout toward the street.Others were cutback. We came onto the Ruedu Pot de Per and followedit along
until it brought us to therigid north and south ofthe Rue SaintJacques and then walkedsouth, past Val de Gr&ce,set back be-hind the courtyard and theiron fence r to theBoulevard du PortRoyal."What do you want to do? 1 I asked. "Go up to thecaf andsee Brett and Mike? 1"Why not?"We walked along Port Royaluntil it becameMontparnasse, and
then on past the Lilas,Lavignes, and all thelittle cafes, Damoys,crossed the street to theRotonde, past its lightsand tables to theSelect.Michael came toward us fromthe tables. He was tannedandhealthy-looking."Hel-lo, Jake," he said."Hel-lo! Hel-lo! How areyou, old lad?""You look very fit, Mike.""Oh, I am. Im frightfullyfit. Ive done nothing butwalk. Walk
all day long. One drink aday with my mother at tea."Bill had gone into the bar.He was standing talkingwith Brett,who was sitting on a highstool, her legs crossed.She had no stock-ings on."Its good to see you,Jake," Michael said. "Im alittle tight youknow. Amazing, isnt it?Did you see my nose?"There was a patch of driedblood on the bridge of hisnose.
"An old ladys bags didthat," Mike said. "Ireached up to helpher with them and they fellon me."Brett gestured at him fromthe bar with her cigarette-holder andwrinkled the corners of hereyes."An old lady," said Mike."Her bags fell on me. Letsgo inTHE SUN ALSO RISES 79and see Brett. I say, sheis a piece. You are alovely lady, Brett.
Where did you get thathat?""Chap bought it for me.Dont you like it?""Its a dreadful hat. Doget a good hat.""Oh, weve so much moneynow," Brett said. "I say,haventyou met Bill yet? You are alovely host, Jake."She turned to Mike. "Thisis Bill Gorton. Thisdrunkard isMike Campbell. Mr. Campbellis an undischargedbankrupt."
"Arent I, though? You knowI met my ex-partneryesterday inLondon. Chap who did mein.""What did he say?""Bought me a drink. Ithought I might as welltake it. I say,Brett, you are a lovelypiece. Dont you thinkshes beautiful?""Beautiful. With thisnose?""Its a lovely nose. Go on,point it at me. Isnt she alovelypiece?"
"Couldnt we have kept theman in Scotland?""I say, Brett, lets turnin early.""Dont be indecent,Michael. Remember there areladies atthis bar/"Isnt she a lovely piece?Dont you think so, Jake?"Theres a fight to-night,"Bill said. "Like to go?""Fight," said Mike. "Whosfighting?""Ledoux and somebody."
"Hes very good, Ledoux,"Mike said. "Id like to seeit, rather"he was making an effort topull himself together "butI cantgo. I had a date with thisthing here. I say, Brett,do get a newhat."Brett pulled the felt hatdown far over one eye andsmiled outfrom under it. "You two runalong to the fight. Illhave to be tak-ing Mr. Campbell homedirectly.""Im not tight," Mike said."Perhaps just a little. Isay, Brett, you
are a lovely piece."8O THE SUN ALSO RISES"Go on to the fight," Brettsaid. "Mr. Campbellsgetting diffi-cult. What are theseoutbursts of affection,Michael?""I say, you are a lovelypiece."We said good night. "Imsorry I cant go," Mikesaid. Brettlaughed. I looked back fromthe door. Mike had one handon the
bar and was leaning towardBrett, talking. Brett waslooking athim quite coolly, but thecorners of her eyes weresmiling.Outside on the pavement Isaid: "Do you want to go tothefight?""Sure," said Bill. "If wedont have to walk.""Mike was pretty excitedabout his girl friend," Isaid in thetaxi."Well," said Bill. "Youcant blame him such a hellof a lot."
CHAPTER IXTHE Ledoux-Kid Francisfight was the night of the2oth of June.It was a good fight. Themorning after the fight Ihad a letterfrom Robert Cohn, writtenfrom Hendaye. He was havinga veryquiet time, he said,bathing, playing some golfand much bridge.Hendaye had a splendidbeach, but he was anxiousto start on
the fishing-trip. Whenwould I be down? If I wouldbuy him adouble-tapered line hewould pay me when I camedown.That same morning I wroteCohn from the office thatBill andI would leave Paris on the25th unless I wired himotherwise,and would meet him atBayonne, where we could geta bus overthe mountains to Pamplona.The same evening aboutsevenoclock I stopped in at theSelect to see Michael andBrett. They
were not there, and I wentover to the Dingo. Theywere insidesitting at the bar."Hello, darling." Brett putout her hand."Hello, Jake," Mike said."I understand I was tightlast night.""Werent you, though,"Brett said. "Disgracefulbusiness."8l82 THE SUN ALSO RISES
"Look," said Mike, "when doyou go down to Spain? Wouldyou mind if we came downwith you?""It would be grand/"You wouldnt mind, really?Ive been at Pamplona, youknow.Bretts mad to go. Youresure we wouldnt just be abloodyruisance?""Dont talk like a fool/"Im a little tight, youknow. I wouldnt ask youlike this if IWerent. Youre sure youdont mind?"
"Oh, shut up, Michael,"Brett said. "How can theman sayhed mind now? Ill ask himlater/"But you dont mind, doyou?""Dont ask that againunless you want to make mesore. Billand I go down on themorning of the 25th.""By the way, where isBill?" Brett asked."Hes out at Chantillydining with some people.""Hes a good chap."
"Splendid chap," said Mike."He is, you know.""You dont remember him,"Brett said."I do. Remember himperfectly. Look, Jake,well come downthe night of the 25th.Brett cant get up in themorning.""Indeed not!""If our money comes andyoure sure you dontmind.""It will come, all right.Ill see to that."
"Tell me what tackle tosend for.""Get two or three rods withreels, and lines, and someflies.""I wont fish," Brett putin."Get two rods, then, andBill wont have to buyone.""Right," said Mike. Tilsend a wire to the keeper.""Wont it be splendid,"Brett said. "Spain! We willhave fun/"The 25th. When is that?"
"Saturday.""We +vill have to getready."THE SUN ALSO RISES 83"I say," said Mike, Tmgoing to the barbers.""I must bathe," said Brett."Walk up to the hotel withme, Jake.Be a good chap.""We have got the loveliesthotel," Mike said. "I thinkits abrothel!"
"We left our bags here atthe Dingo when we got in,and theyasked us at this hotel ifwe wanted a room for theafternoon only.Seemed frightfully pleasedwe were going to stay allnight.""I believe its a brothel,"Mike said. "And I shouldknow.""Oh, shut it and go and getyour hair cut."Mike went out. Brett and Isat on at the bar."Have another?""Might."
"I needed that," Brettsaid.We walked up the RueDelambre."I havent seen you sinceIve been back," Brettsaid."No.""How are you, Jake?""Fine."Brett looked at me. "Isay," she said, "is RobertCohn going onthis trip?""Yes. Why?"
"Dont you think it will bea bit rough on him?""Why should it?""Who did you think I wentdown to San Sebastianwith?""Congratulations," I said.We walked along."What did you say thatfor?""I dont know. What wouldyou like me to say?"We walked along and turneda corner.
"He behaved rather well,too. He gets a littledull.""Does he?""I rather thought it wouldbe good for him."84 THE SUN ALSO RISES"You might take up socialservice.""Dont be nasty.""I wont.""Didnt you really know?"
"No," I said. "I guess Ididnt think about it.""Do you think it will betoo rough on him?""Thats up to him," I said."Tell him youre coming. Hecanalways not come.""Ill write him and givehim a chance to pull out ofit."I did not see Brett againuntil the night of the 24thof June."Did you hear from Cohn?""Rather. Hes keen aboutit."
"My God!""I thought it was ratherodd myself.""Says he cant wait to seeme.""Does he think yourecoming alone?""No. I told him we were allcoming down together.Michaeland ah.""Hes wonderful.""Isnt he?"
They expected their moneythe next day. We arrangedto meetat Pamplona. They would godirectly to San Sebastianand takethe train from there. Wewould all meet at theMontoya in Pam-plona. If they did not turnup on Monday at the latestwe wouldgo on ahead up to Burguetein the mountains, to startfishing.There was a bus toBurguete. I wrote out anitinerary so theycould follow us.Bill and I took the morningtrain from the GaredOrsay. It was
a lovely day, not too hot,and the country wasbeautiful from thestart. We went back intothe diner and hadbreakfast. Leavingthe dining-car I asked theconductor for tickets forthe firstservice.THE SUN ALSO RISES 85"Nothing until the fifth.""Whats this?"There were never more thantwo servings of lunch onthat
train, and always plenty ofplaces for both of them."Theyre all reserved," thedining-car conductor said."Therewill be a fifth service atthree-thirty.""This is serious," I saidto Bill."Give him ten francs.""Here," I said. "We want toeat in the first service/The conductor put the tenfrancs in his pocket."Thank you," he said. "Iwould advise you gentlemento get
some sandwiches. All theplaces for the first fourservices werereserved at the office ofthe company.""Youll go a long way,brother," Bill said to himin English."I suppose if Id given youfive francs you would haveadvised usto jump off the train.""Comment?""Go to hell!" said Bill."Get the sandwiches madeand a bottleof wine. You tell him,Jake."
"And send it up to the nextcar." I described where wewere,In our compartment were aman and his wife and theiryoungson."I suppose youreAmericans, arent you?" theman asked."Having a good trip?""Wonderful," said Bill."Thats what you want todo. Travel while youreyoung.Mother and I always wantedto get over, but we had towait awhile."
"You could have come overten years ago, if youdwanted to,"the wife said. "What youalways said was: SeeAmerica first!I will say weve seen agood deal, take it one wayand another.""Say, theres plenty ofAmericans on this train,"the husband86 THE SUN ALSO RISESsaid. "Theyve got sevencars of them from Dayton,Ohio. Theyve
been on a pilgrimage toRome, and now theyre goingdown toBiarritz and Lourdes.""So, thats what they are.Pilgrims. Goddam Puritans,"Bill said."What part of the Statesyou boys from?""Kansas City," I said."Hes from Chicago.""You both going toBiarritz?""No. Were going fishing inSpain ."-
"Well, I never cared forit, myself. Theres plentythat do outwhere I come from, though.We got some of the bestfishing inthe State of Montana. Ivebeen out with the boys, butI nevercared for it any.""Mighty little fishing youdid on them trips," hiswife said.He winked at us."You know how the ladiesare. If theres a jug goesalong, or acase of beer, they thinkits hell and damnation."
"Thats the way men are,"his wife said to us. Shesmoothed hercomfortable lap. "I votedagainst prohibition toplease him, andbecause I like a littlebeer in the house, and thenhe talks thatway. Its a wonder theyever find any one to marrythem.""Say," said Bill, "do youknow that gang of PilgrimFathershave cornered the dining-car until half past threethis after-noon?"
"How do you mean? Theycant do a thing likethat.""You try and get seats.""Well, mother, it looks asthough we better go backand getanother breakfast."She stood up andstraightened her dress."Will you boys keep an eyeon our things? Come on,Hubert."They all three went up tothe wagon restaurant. Alittle while
after they were gone asteward went throughannouncing thefirst service, andpilgrims, with theirpriests, commenced filingTHE SUN ALSO RISES 87down the corridor. Ourfriend and his family didnot come back.A waiter passed in thecorridor with oursandwiches and the bottleof Chablis, and we calledhim in."Youre going to work to-day," I said.
He nodded his head. "Theystart now, at ten-thirty.""When do we eat?""Huh! When do I eat?"He left two glasses for thebottle, and we paid him forthe sand-wiches and tipped him."Ill get the plates/ hesaid, "or bring them withyou."We ate the sandwiches anddrank the Chablis andwatched thecountry out of the window.The grain was justbeginning to ripen
and the fields were full ofpoppies. The pasturelandwas green,and there were fine trees,and sometimes big riversand chateauxoff in the trees.At Tours we got off andbought another bottle ofwine, andwhen we got back in thecompartment the gentlemanfrom Mon-tana and his wife and hisson, Hubert, were sittingcomfortably."Is there good swimming inBiarritz?" asked Hubert.
"That boys just crazy tillhe can get in the water,"his mothersaid. "Its pretty hard onyoungsters travelling.""Theres good swimming," Isaid. "But its dangerouswhen itsrough.""Did you get a meal?" Billasked."We sure did. We set rightthere when they started tocome in,and they must have justthought we were in theparty. One ofthe waiters said somethingto us in French, and thenthey just
sent three of them back."They thought we weresnappers, all right," theman said. "Itcertainly shows you thepower of the CatholicChurch. Its a pityyou boys aint Catholics.You could get a meal, then,all right.""I am," I said. "Thatswhat makes me so sore."THE SUN ALSO RISESFinally at a quarter pastfour we had lunch. Bill hadbeen
lather difficult at thelast. He buttonholed apriest who wascoming back with one of thereturning streams ofpilgrims."When do us Protestants geta chance to eat, father?""I dont know anythingabout it. Havent you gottickets?""Its enough to make a manjoin the Klan," Bill said.The priestlooked back at him.Inside the dining-car thewaiters served the fifthsuccessive
table dhdte meal. Thewaiter who served us wassoaked through.His white jacket was purpleunder the arms."He must drink a lot ofwine.""Or wear purpleundershirts.""Lets ask him.""No. Hes too tired."The train stopped for halfan hour at Bordeaux and wewentout through the station fora little walk. There wasnot time to
get in to the town.Afterward we passed throughthe Landes andwatched the sun set. Therewere wide fire-gaps cutthrough thepines, and you could lookup them like avenues andsee woodedhills way off. About seven-thirty we had dinner andwatched thecountry through the openwindow in the diner. It wasall sandypine country full ofheather. There were littleclearings withhouses in them, and once ina while we passed asawmill. It got
dark and we could feel thecountry hot and sandy anddark out-side of the window, andabout nine oclock we gotinto Bayonne.The man and his wife andHubert all shook hands withus. Theywere going on to LaNegresseto change for Biarritz."Well, I hope you have lotsof luck," he said."Be careful about thosebull-fights.""Maybe well see you atBiarritz," Hubert said.
We got off with our bagsand rod-cases and passedthrough thedark station and out to thelights and the line of cabsand hotelTHE SUN ALSO RISESbuses. There, standing withthe hotel runners, wasRobert Cohn.He did not see us at first.Then he started forward."Hello, Jake. Have a goodtrip?""Fine," I said. "This isBill Gorton."
"How are you?""Come on," said Robert."Ive got a cab." He was alittle near-sighted. I had nevernoticed it before. He waslooking at Bill,trying to make him out. Hewas shy, too."Well go up to my hotel.Its all right. Its quitenice."We got into the cab, andthe cabman put the bags upon theseat beside him and climbedup and cracked his whip,and wedrove over the dark bridgeand into the town.
"Im awfully glad to meetyou," Robert said to Bill."Ive heardso much about you from Jakeand Ive read your books.Did youget my line, Jake?"The cab stopped in front ofthe hotel and we all gotout andwent in. It was a nicehotel, and the people atthe desk were verycheerful, and we each had agood small room.CHAPTER X
Lsr the morning it wasbright, and they weresprinkling the streetsof the town, and we all hadbreakfast in a cafe.Bayonne is a nicetown. It is like a veryclean Spanish town and itis on a big river.Already, so early in themorning, it was very hot onthe bridgeacross the river. We walkedout 011 the bridge and thentook awalk through the town.I was not at all sureMikes rods would come fromScotland in
time, so we hunted a tacklestore and finally bought arod for Billup-stairs over a drygoodsstore. The man who sold thetackle wasout, and we had to wait forhim to come back. Finallyhe came in,and we bought a pretty goodrod cheap, and two landing-nets.We went out into the streetagain and took a look atthecathedral. Cohn made someremark about it being avery goodexample of something orother, I forget what. Itseemed like a
nice cathedral, nice anddim, like Spanish churches.Then wewent up past the old fortand out to the localSyndicat dInitiativeoffice, where the bus wassupposed to start from.There they toldus the bus service did notstart until the ist ofJuly. We found outQOTHE SUN ALSO RISES 9!at the tourist office whatwe ought to pay for amotor-car to
Pamplona and hired one at abig garage just around thecornerfrom the Municipal Theatrefor four hundred francs.The car wasto pick us up at the hotelin forty minutes, and westopped at thecaf6 on the square where wehad eaten breakfast, andhad a beer.It was hot, but the townhad a cool, fresh, early-morning smell andit was pleasant sitting inthe cafe, A breeze startedto blow, andyou could feel that the aircame from the sea. Therewere pigeons
out in the square, and thehouses were a yellow, sun-baked color,and I did not want to leavethe cafe. But we had to goto thehotel to get our bagspacked and pay the bill. Wepaid for thebeers, we matched and Ithink Cohn paid, and wentup to thehotel. It was only sixteenfrancs apiece for Bill andme, with tenper cent added for theservice, and we had thebags sent downand waited for Robert Cohn.While we were waiting I sawa
cockroach on the parquetfloor that must have beenat least threeinches long. I pointed himout to Bill and then put myshoe onhim. We agreed he must havejust come in from thegarden. Itwas really an awfully cleanhotel.Cohn came down, finally,and we all went out to thecar. Itwas a big, closed car, witha driver in a white dusterwith bluecollar and cuffs, and wehad him put the back of thecar down.
He piled in the bags and westarted off up the streetand out ofthe town. We passed somelovely gardens and had agood lookback at the town, and thenwe were out in the country,green androlling, and the roadclimbing all the time. Wepassed lots ofBasques with oxen, orcattle, hauling carts alongthe road, andnice farmhouses, low roofs,and all white-plastered. Inthe Basquecountry the land all looksvery rich and green and thehouses and
villages look well-off andclean. Every village had apelota courtand on some of them kidswere playing in the hotsun. Therewere signs on the walls ofthe churches saying it wasforbiddento play pelota againstthem, and the houses in thevillages had92 THE SUN ALSO RISESred tiled roofs, and thenthe road turned off andcommenced toclimb and we were going wayup close along a hillside,with a
valley below and hillsstretched off back towardthe sea. Youcouldnt see the sea. Itwas too far away. You couldsee only hillsand more hills, and youknew where the sea was.We crossed the Spanishfrontier. There was alittle stream and abridge, and Spanishcarabineers, with patent-leather Bonapartehats, and short guns ontheir backs, on one side,and on the otherfat Frenchmen in kepis andmustaches. They only openedone
bag and took the passportsin and looked at them.There was ageneral store and inn oneach side of the line. Thechauffeur hadto go in and fill out somepapers about the car and wegot outand went over to the streamto see if there were anytrout. Billtried to talk some Spanishto one of the carabineers,but it did notgo very well. Robert Cohnasked, pointing with hisfinger, if therewere any trout in thestream, and the carabineersaid yes, but notmany.
I asked him if he everfished, and he said no,that he didntcare for it.Just then an old man withlong, sunburned hair andbeard,and clothes that looked asthough they were made ofgunny-sacking, came striding upto the bridge. He wascarrying a longstaff, and he had a kidslung on his back, tied bythe four legs,the head hanging down.The carabineer waved himback with his sword. Theman
turned without sayinganything, and started backup the whiteroad into Spain."Whats the matter with theold one?" I asked."He hasnt got anypassport."I offered the guard acigarette. He took it andthanked me."What will he do?" I asked.The guard spat in the dust."Oh, hell just wade acrossthe stream."
THE SUN ALSO RISES 93"Do you have muchsmuggling?""Oh/ he said, "they gothrough/The chauffeur came out,folding up the papers andputtingthem in the inside pocketof his coat. We all got inthe car andit started up the whitedusty road into Spain. Fora while thecountry was much as it hadbeen; then, climbing allthe time, we
crossed the top of a Col,the road winding back andforth onitself, and then it wasreally Spain. There werelong brownmountains and a few pinesand far-off forests ofbeech-trees onsome of the mountainsides.The road went along thesummit ofthe Col and then droppeddown, and the driver had tohonk, andslow up, and turn out toavoid running into twodonkeys thatwere sleeping in the road.We came clown out of themountains
and through an oak forest,and there were white cattlegrazing inthe forest. Down belowthere were grassy plainsand clear streams,and then we crossed astream and went through agloomy littlevillage, and started toclimb again. We climbed upand up andcrossed another high Coland turned along it, andthe roadran down to the right, andwe saw a whole new range ofmoun-tains off to the south, allbrown and baked-looking andfurrowedin strange shapes.
After a while we came outof the mountains, and thereweretrees along both sides ofthe road, and a stream andripe fields ofgrain, and the road wenton, very white and straightahead, andthen lifted to a littlerise, and off on the leftwas a hill with anold castle, with buildingsclose around it and a fieldof grain goingright up to the walls andshifting in the wind. I wasup in frontwith the driver and Iturned around. Robert Cohnwas asleep,
but Bill looked and noddedhis head. Then we crossed awideplain, and there was a bigriver off on the rightshining in the sunfrom between the line oftrees, and away off youcould see theplateau of Pamplona risingout of the plain, and thewalls of thecity, and the great browncathedral, and the brokenskyline of the94 THE SUN ALSO RISESother churches. In back ofthe plateau were themountains, and
every way you looked therewere other mountains, andahead theroad stretched out whiteacross the plain goingtoward Pamplona.We came into the town onthe other side of theplateau, theroad slanting up steeplyand dustily with shade-trees on both sides,and then levelling outthrough the new part oftown they arebuilding up outside the oldwalls. We passed the bull-ring, highand white and concrete-looking in the sun, andthen came into
the big square by a sidestreet and stopped in frontof the HotelMontoya.The driver helped us downwith the bags. There was acrowdof kids watching the car,and the square was hot, andthe treeswere green, and the flagshung on their staffs, andit was good toget out of the sun andunder the shade of thearcade that runs allthe way around the square.Montoya was glad to see us,and shookhands and gave us goodrooms looking out on thesquare, and
then we washed and cleanedup and went down-stairs inthedining-room for lunch. Thedriver stayed for lunch,too, andafterward we paid him andhe started back to Bayonne.There are two dining-roomsin the Montoya. One isupstairson the second floor andlooks out on the square.The other isdown one floor below thelevel of the square and hasa door thatopens on the back streetthat the bulls pass alongwhen they run
through the streets earlyin the morning on their wayto the ring.It is always cool in thedown-stairs dining-room andwe had a verygood lunch. The first mealin Spain was always a shockwith thehors doeuvres, an eggcourse, two meat courses,vegetables, salad,and dessert and fruit. Youhave to drink plenty ofwine to get itall down. Robert Cohn triedto say he did not want anyof thesecond meat course, but wewould not interpret forhim, and so
the waitress brought himsomething else as areplacement, a plateof cold meats, I think.Cohn had been rathernervous ever sincewe had met at Bayonne. Hedid not know whether weknew BrettTHE SUN ALSO RISES 95had been with him at SanSebastian, and it made himratherawkward."Well," I said, "Brett andMike ought to get in to-night."
"Im not sure theyllcome," Cohn said."Why not?" Bill said. "Ofcourse theyll come.""Theyre always late," Isaid."I rather think theyre notcoming," Robert Cohn said.He said it with an air ofsuperior knowledge thatirritated bothof us."Ill bet you fifty pesetastheyre here to-night,"Bill said. Healways bets when he isangered, and so he usuallybets foolishly.
"Ill take it," Cohn said."Good. You remember it,Jake. Fiftypesetas.""Ill remember it myself,"Bill said. I saw he wasangry andwanted to smooth him down."Its a sure thing theyllcome," I said. "But maybenot to-night.""Want to call it off?" Cohnasked."No. Why should I? Make ita hundred if you like."
"All right. Ill takethat.""Thats enough," I said."Or youll have to make abook andgive me some of it.""Im satisfied," Cohn said.He smiled. "Youll probablywin itback at bridge, anyway.""You havent got it yet,"Bill said.We went out to walk aroundunder the arcade to theCafe"Iruna for coffee. Cohn saidhe was going over and get ashave.
"Say," Bill said to me,"have I got any chance onthat bet?""Youve got a rottenchance. Theyve never beenon time any-where. If their moneydoesnt come its a cinchthey wont get into-night.""I was sorry as soon as Iopened my mouth. But I hadto callhim. Hes all right, Iguess, but where does heget this inside96 THE SUN ALSO RISES
stuff? Mike and Brett fixedit up with us about comingdownhere."I saw Cohn coming overacross the square."Here he comes.""Well, let him not getsuperior and Jewish.""The barber shops closed,"Cohn said. "Its not opentill four."We had coffee at the Iruna,sitting in comfortablewicker chairslooking out from the coolof the arcade .at the bigsquare. After a
while Bill went to writesome letters and Cohn wentover to thebarber-shop. It was stillclosed, so he decided to goup to the hoteland get a bath, and I satout in front of the cafeand then wentfor a walk in the town. Itwas very hot, but I kept onthe shadyside of the streets andwent through the market andhad a goodtime seeing the town again.I went to the Ayuntamientoandfound the old gentleman whosubscribes for the bull-fight tickets
for me every year, and hehad gotten the money I senthim fromParis and renewed mysubscriptions, so that wasall set. He was thearchivist, and all thearchives of the town werein his office. Thathas nothing to do with thestory. Anyway, his officehad a greenbaize door and a big woodendoor, and when I went out Ilefthim sitting among thearchives that covered allthe walls, and Ishut both the doors, and asI went out of the buildinginto thestreet the porter stoppedme to brush off my coat.
"You must have been in amotor-car," he said.The back of the collar andthe upper part of theshoulderswere gray with dust."From Bayonne.""Well, well," he said. "Iknew you were in a motor-car fromthe way the dust was." So Igave him two copper coins.At the end of the street Isaw the cathedral andwalked up to-ward it. The first time Iever saw it I thought thefaade was
ugly but I liked it now. Iwent inside. It was dim anddark andTHE SUN ALSO RISES 97the pillars went high up,and there were peoplepraying, and itsmelt of incense, and therewere some wonderful bigwindows. Iknelt and started to prayand prayed for everybody Ithought of,Brett and Mike and Bill andRobert Cohn and myself, andall thebull-fighters, separatelyfor the ones I liked, andlumping all the
rest, then I prayed formyself again, and while Iwas praying formyself I found I wasgetting sleepy, so I prayedthat the bull-fights would be good, andthat it would be a finefiesta, and thatwe would get some fishing.I wondered if there wasanything elseI might pray for, and Ithought I would like tohave some money,so I prayed that I wouldmake a lot of money, andthen I startedto think how I would makeit, and thinking of makingmoney re-
minded me of the count, andI started wondering aboutwhere hewas, and regretting Ihadnt seen him since thatnight in Mont-martre, and about somethingfunny Brett told me abouthim, andas all the time I waskneeling with my foreheadon the wood infront of me, and wasthinking of myself aspraying, I was a littleashamed, and regretted thatI was such a rottenCatholic, butrealized there was nothingI could do about it, atleast for a
while, and maybe never, butthat anyway it was a grandreligion,and I only wished I feltreligious and maybe I wouldthe nexttime; and then I was out inthe hot sun on the steps ofthecathedral, and theforefingers and the thumbof my right handwere still damp, and I feltthem dry in the sun. Thesunlight washot and hard, and I crossedover beside some buildings,andwalked back along side-streets to the hotel.
At dinner that night wefound that Robert Cohn hadtaken abath, had had a shave and ahaircut and a shampoo, andsome-thing put on his hairafterward to make it staydown. He wasnervous, and I did not tryto help him any. The trainwas due inat nine oclock from SanSebastian, and, if Brettand Mike werecoming, they would be onit. At twenty minutes tonine we were98 THE SUN ALSO RISES
not half through dinner.Robert Cohn got up from thetable andsaid he would go to thestation. I said I would gowith him,just to devil him. Billsaid he would be damned ifhe would leavehis dinner. I said we wouldbe right back.We walked to the station. Iwas enjoying Cohnsnervousness.I hoped Brett would be onthe train. At the stationthe train waslate, and we sat on abaggage-truck and waitedoutside in the
dark. I have never seen aman in civil life asnervous as RobertCohn nor as eager. I wasenjoying it. It was lousyto enjoy it,but I felt lousy. Cohn hada wonderful quality ofbringing outthe worst in anybody.After a while we heard thetrain-whistle way off belowon theother side of the plateau,and then we saw theheadlight comingup the hill. We went insidethe station and stood witha crowd ofpeople just back of thegates, and the train camein and stopped,
and everybody startedcoming out through thegates.They were not in the crowd.We waited till everybodyhadgone through and out of thestation and gotten intobuses, ortaken cabs, or were walkingwith their friends orrelatives throughthe dark into the town."I knew they wouldntcome," Robert said. We weregoingback to the hotel."I thought they might," Isaid.
Bill was eating fruit whenwe came in and finishing abottleof wine."Didnt come, eh?""No.""Do you mind if I give youthat hundred pesetas in themorn-ing, Cohn?" Bill asked. "Ihavent changed any moneyhere yet.""Oh, forget about it,"Robert Cohn said. "Letsbet on some-thing else. Can you bet onbull-fights?"
"You could," Bill said,"but you dont need to."THE SUN ALSO RISES 99"It would be like bettingon the war," I said. "Youdont needany economic interest.""Im very curious to seethem/ Robert said.Montoya came up to ourtable. He had a telegram inhis hand."Its for you." He handedit to me.It read: "Stopped night SanSebastian."
"Its from them," I said. Iput it in my pocket.Ordinarily Ishould have handed it over."Theyve stopped over inSan Sebastian," I said."Send theirregards to you."Why I felt that impulse todevil him I do not know. OfcourseI do know. I was blind,unforgivingly jealous ofwhat had hap-pened to him. The fact thatI took it as a matter ofcourse didnot alter that any. Icertainly did hate him. Ido not think I ever
really hated him until hehad that little spell ofsuperiority atlunch that and when he wentthrough all that barbering.So Iput the telegram in mypocket. The telegram cameto me, anyway."Well," I said. "We oughtto pull out on the noon busforBurguete. They can followus if they get in to-morrownight."There were only two trainsup from San Sebastian, anearlymorning train and the onewe had just met.
"That sounds like a goodidea," Cohn said."The sooner we get on thestream the better.""Its all one to me when westart," Bill said. "Thesooner thebetter."We sat in the Iruna for awhile and had coffee andthen took alittle walk out to thebull-ring and across thefield and under thetrees at the edge of thecliff and looked down atthe river in thedark, and I turned inearly. Bill and Cohn stayedout in the caf
quite late, I believe,because I was asleep whenthey came in.In the morning I boughtthree tickets for the busto Burguete.It was scheduled to leaveat two oclock. There wasnothing1OO THE SUN ALSO RISESearlier. I was sitting overat the Iruna reading thepapers when Isaw Robert Cohn comingacross the square. He cameup to thetable and sat down in oneof the wicker chairs.
"This is a comfortablecafe," he said. "Did youhave a goodnight, Jake?""I slept like a log.""I didnt sleep very well.Bill and I were out late,too.""Where were you?""Here. And after it shut wewent over to that othercafe Theold man there speaks Germanand English.""The Cafe" Suizo."
"Thats it. He seems like anice old fellow. I thinkits a bettercafe than this one.""Its not so good in thedaytime," I said. "Too hot.By the way,I got the bus tickets.""Im not going up to-day.You and Bill go on ahead.""Ive got your ticket.""Give it to me. Ill getthe money back."Its five pesetas."Robert Cohn took out asilver five-peseta pieceand gave it
to me."I ought to stay," he said."You see Im afraid theressomesort of misunderstanding.""Why," I said. "They maynot come here for three orfour daysnow if they start onparties at San Sebastian.""Thats just it," saidRobert. "Im afraid theyexpected to meetme at San Sebastian, andthats why they stoppedover.""What makes you thinkthat?"
"Well, I wrote suggestingit to Brett."Why in hell didnt youstay there and meet them,then?" Istarted to say, but Istopped. I thought thatidea would come tohim by itself, but I do notbelieve it ever did.He was being confidentialnow and it was giving himpleasureTHE SUN ALSO RISES 1O1to be able to talk with theunderstanding that I knewthere was
something between him andBrett."Well, Bill and I will goup right after lunch/ Isaid."I wish I could go. Wevebeen looking forward tothis fishingall winter/ He was beingsentimental about it. "ButI ought tostay. I really ought. Assoon as they come Illbring them right up.""Lets find Bill.""I want to go over to thebarber-shop.""See you at lunch."
I found Bill up in hisroom. He was shaving."Oh, yes, he told me allabout it last night," Billsaid. "Hes agreat little confider. Hesaid he had a date withBrett at SanSebastian.""The lying bastard!""Oh, no/ said Bill. "Dontget sore. Dont get sore atthis stageof the trip. How did youever happen to know thisfellow,anyway?""Dont rub it in."
Bill looked around, half-shaved, and then went ontalking intothe mirror while helathered his face."Didnt you send him with aletter to me in New Yorklastwinter? Thank God, Im atravelling man. Havent yougot somemore Jewish friends youcould bring along?" Herubbed his chinwith his thumb, looked atit, and then startedscraping again."Youve got some fine onesyourself."
"Oh, yes. Ive got somedarbs. But not alongside ofthis RobertCohn. The funny thing ishes nice, too. I like him.But hes justso awful.""He can be damn nice.""I know it. Thats theterrible part."I laughed."Yes. Go on and laugh,"said Bill. "You werent outwith himlast night until twooclock/
1O2 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Was he very bad?""Awful. Whats all thisabout him and Brett,anyway? Did sheever have anything to dowith him?"He raised his chin up andpulled it from side toside."Sure. She went down to SanSebastian with him.""What a damn-fool thing todo. Why did she do that?""She wanted to get out oftown and she cant goanywhere
alone. She said she thoughtit would be good for him.""What bloody-fool thingspeople do. Why didnt shego offwith some of her ownpeople? Or you?" he slurredthat over"or me? Why not me?" Helooked at his facecarefully in the glass,put a big dab of lather oneach cheek-bone. "Its anhonestface. Its a face any womanwould be safe with.""Shed never seen it.""She should have. All womenshould see it. Its a facethat
ought to be thrown on everyscreen in the country.Every womanought to be given a copy ofthis face as she leaves thealtar.Mothers should tell theirdaughters about this face.My son" hepointed the razor at me "gowest with this face andgrow upwith the country."He ducked down to the bowl,rinsed his face with coldwater,put on some alcohol, andthen looked at himselfcarefully in theglass, pulling down hislong upper lip.
"My God!" he said, "isntit an awful face?"He looked in the glass."And as for this RobertCohn," Bill said, "he makesme sick,and he can go to hell, andIm damn glad hes stayinghere so wewont have him fishing withus.""Youre damn right.""Were going trout-fishing.Were going trout-fishingin theIrati River, and weregoing to get tight now atlunch on the
wine of the country, andthen take a swell busride.""Come on. Lets go over tothe Iruna and start," Isaid.CHAPTER XIIT was baking hot in thesquare when we came outafter lunchwith our bags and the rod-case to go to Burguete.People were ontop of the bus, and otherswere climbing up a ladder.Bill went up
and Robert sat beside Billto save a place for me, andI went backin the hotel to get acouple of bottles of wineto take with us.When I came out the bus wascrowded. Men and women weresitting on all the baggageand boxes on top, and thewomen allhad their fans going in thesun. It certainly was hot.Robertclimbed down and I fittedinto the place he had savedon the onewooden seat that ran acrossthe top.Robert Cohn stood in theshade of the arcade waitingfor us
to start. A Basque with abig leather wine-bag in hislap lay acrossthe top of the bus in frontof our seat, leaning backagainst ourlegs. He offered the wine-skin to Bill and to me, andwhen I tippedit up to drink he imitatedthe sound of a klaxonmotor-horn sowell and so suddenly that Ispilled some of the wine,and every-body laughed. He apologizedand made me take anotherdrink.He made the klaxon again alittle later, and it fooledme the103
104 THE SUN ALSO RISESsecond time. He was verygood at it. The Basquesliked it. Theman next to Bill wastalking to him in Spanishand Bill was notgetting it, so he offeredthe man one of the bottlesof wine. Theman waved it away. He saidit was too hot and he haddrunktoo much at lunch. WhenBill offered the bottle thesecond timehe took a long drink, andthen the bottle went allover that part
of the bus. Every one tooka drink very politely, andthen theymade us cork it up and putit away. They all wanted usto drinkfrom their leather wine-bottles. They were peasantsgoing up intothe hills.Finally, after a couplemore false klaxons, the busstarted, andRobert Cohn waved good-byto us, and all the Basqueswavedgood-by to him. As soon aswe started out on the roadoutside oftown it was cool. It feltnice riding high up andclose under the
trees. The bus went quitefast and made a goodbreeze, and aswe went out along the roadwith the dust powdering thetreesand down the hill, we had afine view, back through thetrees, ofthe town rising up from thebluff above the river. TheBasquelying against my kneespointed out the view withthe neck of thewine-bottle, and winked atus. He nodded his head."Pretty nice, eh?""These Basques are swellpeople," Bill said.
The Basque lying against mylegs was tanned the colorofsaddle-leather. He wore ablack smock like all therest. There werewrinkles in his tannedneck. He turned around andoffered hiswine-bag to Bill. Billhanded him one of ourbottles. The Basquewagged a forefinger at himand handed the bottle back,slappingin the cork with the palmof his hand. He shoved thewine-bag up."Arriba! Arriba!" he said."Lift it up."
Bill raised the wine-skinand let the stream of winespurt outand into his mouth, hishead tipped back. When hestopped drink-ing and tipped the leatherbottle down a few drops randown hischin.THE SUN ALSO RISES 105"No! No!" several Basquessaid. "Not like that/ Onesnatchedthe bottle away from theowner, who was himselfabout to give a
demonstration. He was ayoung fellow and he heldthe wine-bottle at full arms lengthand raised it high up,squeezing theleather bag with his handso the stream of winehissed into hismouth. He held the bag outthere, the wine making aflat, hardtrajectory into his mouth,and he kept on swallowingsmoothlyand regularly."Hey!" the owner of thebottle shouted. "Whose wineis that?"
The drinker waggled hislittle finger at him andsmiled at uswith his eyes. Then he bitthe stream off sharp, madea quick liftwith the wine-bag andlowered it down to theowner. He winkedat us. The owner shook thewine-skin sadly.We passed through a townand stopped in front of theposada,and the driver took onseveral packages. Then westarted on again,and outside the town theroad commenced to mount. Wewere go-
ing through farming countrywith rocky hills thatsloped downinto the fields. The grain-fields went up thehillsides. Now as wewent higher there was awind blowing the grain. Theroad waswhite and dusty, and thedust rose under the wheelsand hungin the air behind us. Theroad climbed up into thehills and leftthe rich grain-fieldsbelow. Now there were onlypatches of grainon the bare hillsides andon each side of the water-courses. We
turned sharply out to theside of the road to giveroom to pass toa long string of six mules,following one after theother, haul-ing a high-hooded wagonloaded with freight. Thewagon andthe mules were covered withdust. Close behind wasanother stringof mules and another wagon.This was loaded withlumber, andthe arriero driving themules leaned back and puton the thickwooden brakes as we passed.Up here the country wasquite
barren and the hills wererocky and hard-baked clayfurrowed bythe rain.We came around a curve intoa town, and on both sidesopened.1O6 THE SUN ALSO RISESout a sudden green valley.A stream went through thecentre ofthe town and fields ofgrapes touched the houses.The bus stopped in front ofa posada and many of thepas-
sengers got down, and a lotof the baggage wasunstrapped fromthe roof from under the bigtarpaulins and lifted down.Bill and Igot down and went into theposada. There was a low,dark roomwith saddles and harness,and hay-forks made of whitewood, andclusters of canvas rope-soled shoes and hams andslabs of bacon andwhite garlics and longsausages hanging from theroof. It wascool and dusky, and westood in front of a longwooden counter
with two women behind itserving drinks. Behind themwereshelves stacked withsupplies and goods.We each had an aguardienteand paid forty centimes forthetwo drinks. I gave thewoman fifty centimes tomake a tip, andshe gave me back the copperpiece, thinking I hadmisunderstoodthe price.Two of our Basques came inand insisted on buying adrink.So they bought a drink andthen we bought a drink, andthen
they slapped us on the backand bought another drink.Then webought, and then we allwent out into the sunlightand the heat,and climbed back on top ofthe bus. There was plentyof roomnow for every one to sit onthe seat, and the Basquewho hadbeen lying on the tin roofnow sat between us. Thewoman whohad been serving drinkscame out wiping her handson her apronand talked to somebodyinside the bus. Then thedriver came out
swinging two flat leathermail-pouches and climbedup, and every-body waving we started off.The road left the greenvalley at once, and we wereup in thehills again. Bill and thewine-bottle Basque werehaving a con-versation. A man leanedover from the other side ofthe seat andasked in English: "YoureAmericans? 1"Sure."THE SUN ALSO RISES
"I been there," he said."Forty years ago."He was an old man, as brownas the others, with thestubbleof a white beard."How was it?""What you say?""How was America?""Oh, I was in California.It was fine.""Why did you leave?""What you say?""Why did you come backhere?"
"Oh! I come back to getmarried. I was going to goback but mywife she dont like totravel. Where you from?""Kansas City.""I been there," he said. "Ibeen in Chicago, St. Louis,KansasCity, Denver, Los Angeles,Salt Lake City."He named them carefully."How long were you over?""Fifteen years. Then I comeback and got married.""Have a drink?"
"All right," he said. "Youcant get this in America,eh?""Theres plenty if you canpay for it.""What you come over herefor?""Were going to the fiestaat Pamplona.""You like the bull-fights?""Sure. Dont you?""Yes," he said. "I guess Ilike them."Then after a little:
"Where you go now?""Up to Burguete to fish.""Well," he said, "I hopeyou catch something."He shook hands and turnedaround to the back seatagain. Theother Basques had beenimpressed. He sat backcomfortably and1O8 THE SUN ALSO RISESsmiled at me when I turnedaround to look at thecountry* But
the effort of talkingAmerican seemed to havetired him. He didnot say anything afterthat.The bus climbed steadily upthe road. The country wasbar-ren and rocks stuck upthrough the clay. There wasno grassbeside the road. Lookingback we could see thecountry spread outbelow. Far back the fieldswere squares of green andbrown onthe hillsides. Making thehorizon were the brownmountains.
They were strangely shaped.As we climbed higher thehorizonkept changing. As the busground slowly up the roadwe could seeother mountains coming upin the south. Then the roadcameover the crest, flattenedout, and went into aforest. It was aforest of cork oaks, andthe sun came through thetrees in patches,and there were cattlegrazing back in the trees.We went throughthe forest and the roadcame out and turned along arise of land,
and out ahead of us was arolling green plain, withdark moun-tains beyond it. These werenot like the brown, heat-baked moun-tains we had left behind.These were wooded and therewereclouds coming down fromthem. The green plainstretched off. Itwas cut by fences and thewhite of the road showedthrough thetrunks of a double line oftrees that crossed theplain towardthe north. As we came tothe edge of the rise we sawthe red
roofs and white houses ofBurguete ahead strung outon the plain,and away off on theshoulder of the first darkmountain was thegray metal-sheathed roof ofthe monastery ofRoncesvalles.Theres Roncevaux," Isaid."Where?""Way off there where themountain starts/"Its cold up here," Billsaid.
"Its high," I said. "Itmust be twelve hundredmetres/"Its awful cold," Billsaid.The bus levelled down ontothe straight l:ne of roadthat ranto Burgnete. We passed acrossroads and crossed abridge over ATHE SUN ALSO RISES 1OQstream* The houses ofBurguete were along bothsides of the
road. There were no side-streets. We passed thechurch and theschool-yard, and the busstopped. We got down andthe driverhanded down our bags andthe rod-case. A carabineerin hiscocked hat and yellowleather cross-straps cameup."Whats in there?" hepointed to the rod-case.I opened it and showed him.He asked to see our fishingper-mits and I got them out. Helooked at the date and thenwavedus on
"Is that all right?" Iasked."Yes. Of course."We went up the street, pastthe whitewashed stonehouses,families sitting in theirdoorways watching us, tothe inn.The fat woman who ran theinn came out from thekitchenand shook hands with us.She took off herspectacles, wiped them,and put them on again. Itwas cold in the inn and thewind was
starting to blow outside.The woman sent a girl up-stairs with usto show the room. Therewere two beds, a washstand,a clothes-chest, and a big, framedsteel-engraving of NuestraSefiora deRoncesvalles. The wind wasblowing against theshutters. Theroom was on the north sideof the inn. We washed, putonsweaters, and came down-stairs into the dining-room. It had astone floor, low ceiling,and was oak-panelled. Theshutters wereall up and it was so coldyou could see your breath.
"My God!" said Bill. "Itcant be this cold to-morrow. Im notgoing to wade a stream inthis weather."There was an upright pianoin the far corner of theroom be-yond the wooden tables andBill went over and startedto play."I got to keep warm," hesaid.I went out to find thewoman and ask her how muchthe roomand board was. She put herhands under her apron andlooked
away from me."Twelve pesetas. 1 11O THE SUN ALSO RISES"Why, we only paid that inPamplona/ 1She did not say anything,just took off her glassesand wipedthem on her apron."Thats too much/ I said."We didnt pay more thanthat at abig hotel/"Weve put in a bathroom/
"Havent you got anythingcheaper?*"Not in the summer. Now isthe big season/ 1We were the only people inthe inn. Well, I thought,its only afew days."Is the wine included?""Oh, yes.""Well," I said. "Its allright."I went back to Bill. Heblew his breath at me toshow how cold
it was, and went onplaying. I sat at one ofthe tables and lookedat the pictures on thewall. There was one panelof rabbits, dead,one of pheasants, alsodead, and one panel of deadducks. Thepanels were all dark andsmoky-looking. There was acupboardfull of liqueur bottles. Ilooked at them all. Billwas still playing."How about a hot rumpunch?" he said. "Thisisnt going to keepme warm permanently."I went out and told thewoman what a rum punch wasand
how to make it. In a fewminutes a girl brought astone pitcher,steaming, into the room.Bill came over from thepiano and wedrank the hot punch andlistened to the wind."There isnt too much rumin that."I went over to the cupboardand brought the rum bottleandpoured a half-tumblerfulinto the pitcher."Direct action," said Bill."It beats legislation."The girl came in and laidthe table for supper.
"It blows like hell uphere," Bill said.The girl brought in a bigbowl of hot vegetable soupand thewine. We had fried troutafterward and some sort ofa stew and aTHE SUN ALSO RISES 111big bowl full of wildstrawberries. We did notlose money onthe wine, and the girl wasshy but nice about bringingit. The oldwoman looked in once andcounted the empty bottles.
After supper we went up-stairs and smoked and readin bed tokeep warm. Once in thenight I woke and heard thewind blow-ing. It felt good to bewarm and in bed.CHAPTER XIIWHEN I woke in the morningI went to the window andlookedout. It had cleared andthere were no clouds on themountains.
Outside under the windowwere some carts and an olddiligence,the wood of the roofcracked and split by theweather. It musthave been left from thedays before the motor-buses. A goathopped up on one of thecarts and then to the roofof thediligence. He jerked hishead at the other goatsbelow and when Iwaved at him he boundeddown.Bill was still sleeping, soI dressed, put on my shoesoutside in
the hall, and went down-stairs. No one was stirringdown-stairs, soI unbolted the door andwent out. It was cooloutside in the earlymorning and the sun had notyet dried the dew that hadcomewhen the wind died down. Ihunted around in the shedbehindthe inn and found a sort ofmattock, and went downtoward thestream to try and dig someworms for bait. The streamwas clearand shallow but it did notlook trouty. On the grassybank where
it was damp I drove themattock into the earth andloosened achunk of sod. There wereworms underneath. They slidout of112THE SUN ALSO RISES 113sight as I lifted the sodand I dug carefully and gota good many.Digging at the edge of thedamp ground I filled twoemptytobacco-tins with worms andsifted dirt onto them. Thegoatswatched me dig.
When I went back into theinn the woman was down inthekitchen, and I asked her toget coffee for us, and thatwe wanteda lunch. Bill was awake andsitting on the edge of thebed."I saw you out of thewindow/ 1 he said. "Didntwant to in-terrupt you. What were youdoing? Burying yourmoney ?""You lazy bum!""Been working for thecommon good? Splendid. Iwant you to
do that every morning/"Come on/ I said. "Getup/"What? Get up? I never getup/He climbed into bed andpulled the sheet up to hischin."Try and argue me intogetting up/I went on looking for thetackle and putting it alltogether inthe tackle-bag."Arent you interested?"Bill asked.
"Im going down and eat.""Eat? Why didnt you sayeat? I thought you justwanted meto get up for fun. Eat?Fine. Now yourereasonable. You go outand dig some more worms andIll be right down.""Oh, go to hell!""Work for the good of all."Bill stepped into hisunderclothes."Show irony and pity."I started out of the roomwith the tackle-bag, thenets, and therod-case.
"Hey! come back!"I put my head in the door."Arent you going to show alittle irony and pity?"1 thumbed my nose."Thats not irony."114 THE SUN ALSO RISESAs I went down-stairs Iheard Bill singing, "Ironyand Pity.When youre feeling . * .Oh, Give them Irony andGive them
Pity. Oh, give them Irony.When theyre feeling ...Just a littleirony. Just a little pity .. ." He kept on singinguntil he camedown-stairs. The tune was:"The Bells are Ringing forMe ando omy Gal." I was reading aweek-old Spanish paper."Whats all this irony andpity?""What? Dont you know aboutIrony and Pity?""No. Who got it up?"
"Everybody. Theyre madabout it in New York. Itsjust likethe Fratellinis used tobe."The girl came in with thecoffee and buttered toast.Or, rather,it was bread toasted andbuttered."Ask her if shes got anyjam," Bill said. "Beironical with her.""Have you got any jam?""Thats not ironical. Iwish I could talk Spanish."
The coffee was good and wedrank it out of big bowls.Thegirl brought in a glassdish of raspberry jam."Thank you.""Hey! thats not the way,"Bill said. "Say somethingironical.Make some crack about Primede Rivera.""I could ask her what kindof a jam they think theyvegotteninto in the Riff.""Poor," said Bill. "Verypoor. You cant do it.Thats all. You
dont understand irony. Youhave no pity. Say somethingpitiful.""Robert Cohn.""Not so bad. Thats better.Now why is Cohn pitiful? Be99ironic.He took a big gulp ofcoffee."Aw, hell!" I said. "Itstoo early in the morning."
"There you go. And youclaim you want to be awriter, too.Youre only a newspaperman. An expatriatednewspaper man.THE SUN ALSO RISES 1You ought to be ironicalthe minute you get out ofbed. You oughtto wake up with your mouthfull of pity.""Go on," I said. "Who didyou get this stuff from?""Everybody. Dont you read?Dont you ever see anybody?
You know what you are?Youre an expatriate. Whydont youlive in New York? Thenyoud know these things.What do youwant me to do? Come overhere and tell you everyyear?""Take some more coffee," Isaid."Good. Coffee is good foryou. Its the caffeine init. Caffeine,we are here. Caffeine putsa man on her horse and awoman inhis grave. You know whatsthe trouble with you?Youre an
expatriate. One of theworst type. Havent youheard that? No-body that ever left theirown country ever wroteanything worthprinting. Not even in thenewspapers."He drank the coffee."Youre an expatriate.Youve lost touch with thesoil. You getprecious. Fake Europeanstandards have ruined you.You drinkyourself to death. Youbecome obsessed by sex. Youspend all yourtime talking, not working.You are an expatriate, see?You hang
around cafeV"It sounds like a swelllife," I said. When do Iwork?""You dont work. One groupclaims women support you.An-other group claims youreimpotent.""No," I said. "I just hadan accident.""Never mention that," Billsaid. "Thats the sort ofthing thatcant be spoken of. Thatswhat you ought to work upinto amystery. Like Henrysbicycle."
He had been goingsplendidly, but he stopped.I was afraid hethought he had hurt me withthat crack about beingimpotent. )wanted to start him again."It wasnt a bicycle," Isaid. "He was ridinghorseback.""I heard it was atricycle."Il6 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Well," I said. "A plane issort of like a tricycle.The joystick
works ihe same way.""But you dont pedal it.""No," I said, "I guess youdont pedal it.""Lets lay off that," Billsaid."All right. I was juststanding up for thetricycle.""I think hes a goodwriter, too," Bill said."And youre a hellof a good guy. Anybody evertell you you were a goodguy?""Im not a good guy."
"Listen. Youre a hell of agood guy, and Im fonder ofyou thananybody on earth. Icouldnt tell you that inNew York. Itd meanI was a faggot. That waswhat the Civil War wasabout. AbrahamLincoln was a faggot. Hewas in love with GeneralGrant. So wasJefferson Davis. Lincolnjust freed the slaves on abet. The DredScott case was framed bythe Anti-Saloon League. Sexexplainsit all. The Colonels Ladyand Judy OGrady areLesbians undertheir skin."
He stopped."Want to heai some more?""Shoot," I said."I dont know any more.Tel! you sonic more atlunch.""Old Bill," I said."You bum!"We packed the lunch and twobottles of wine in therucksack,and Bill put it on. Icarried the rod-case andthe landing-netsslung over my back. Westarted up the road andthen went across
a meadow and found a paththat crossed the fields andwenttoward the woods on theslope of the first hill. Wewalked acrossthe fields on the sandypath. The fields wererolling and grassyand the grass was shortfrom the sheep grazing. Thecattle wereup in the hills. We heardtheir bells in the woods.The path crossed a streamon a foot-log. The log wassurfacedoff, and there was asapling bent across for arail. In the flat pool
THE SUN ALSO RISES liybeside the stream tadpolesspotted the sand. We wentup a steepbank and across the rollingfields. Looking back we sawBurguete,white houses and red roofs,and the white road with atruclc goingalong it and the dustrising.Beyond the fields wecrossed another faster-flowing stream. Asandy road led down to theford and beyond into thewoods. The
path crossed the stream onanother foot-log below theford, andjoined the road, and wewent into the woods.It was a beech wood and thetrees were very old. Theirrootsbulked above the ground andthe branches were twisted.Wewalked on the road betweenthe thick trunks of the oldbeechesand the sunlight camethrough the leaves in lightpatches on thegrass. The trees were big,and the foliage was thickbut it was not
gloomy. There was noundergrowth, only thesmooth grass, verygreen and fresh, and thebig gray trees well spacedas though itwere a park."This is country/ Billsaid.The road went up a hill andwe got into thick woods,and theroad kept on climbing.Sometimes it dipped downbut rose againsteeply. All the time weheard the cattle in thewoods. Finally,the road came out on thetop of the hills. We wereon the top of
the height of land that wasthe highest part of therange ofwooded hills we had seenfrom Burguete. There werewild straw-berries growing on thesunny side of the ridge ina little clearingin the trees.Ahead the road came out ofthe forest and went alongtheshoulder of the ridge ofhills. The hills ahead werenot wooded,and there were great fieldsof yellow gorse. Way off wesaw thesteep bluffs, dark withtrees and jutting with graystone, that
marked the course of theIrati River."We have to follow thisroad along the ridge, crossthese hills,go through the woods on thefar hills, and come down tothe Irativalley/ I pointed out toBill.Il8 THE SUN ALSO RISES"Thats a hell of a hike/ 1"Its too far to go andfish and come hack the sameday, com-fortably/ 1
"Comfortably* Thats a niceword. Well have to go likehellto get there and back andhave any fishing at all."It was a long walk and thecountry was very fine, butwe weretired when we came down thesteep road that led out ofthewooded hills into thevalley of the Rio de laFabrica.The road came out from theshadow of the woods intothe hotsun. Ahead was a river-valley. Beyond the riverwas a steep hill.
There was a field ofbuckwheat on the hill. Wesaw a white houseunder some trees on thehillside. It was very hotand we stoppedunder some trees beside adam that crossed the river.Bill put the pack againstone of the trees and wejointed upthe rods, put on the reels,tied on leaders, and gotready to fish."Youre sure this thing hastrout in it?" Bill asked."Its full of them.""Im going to fish a fly.You got any McGintys?"
"Theres some in there.""You going to fish bait?""Yeah. Im going to fishthe dam here.""Well, Ill take the fly-book, then." He tied on afly. "WheredI better go? Up or down?""Down is the best. Theyreplenty up above, too."Bill went down the bank."Take a worm can.""No, I dont want one. Ifthey wont take a fly Illjust Hick it
around."Bill was down belowwatching the stream."Say," he called up againstthe noise of the dam. "Howaboutputting the wine in thatspring up the road?""All right," I shouted.Bill waved his hand andstarted downthe stream. I found the twowine-bottles in the pack,and carriedTHE SUN ALSO RISES
them up the road to wherethe water of a springflowed out of aniron pipe. There was aboard over the spring and Ilifted it and,knocking the corks firmlyinto the bottles, loweredthem down intothe water. It was so coldmy hand and wrist feltnumbed. I putback the slab of wood, andhoped nobody would find thewine.I got my rod that wasleaning against the tree,took the bait-can and landing-net, andwalked out onto the dam. Itwas built to
provide a head of water fordriving logs. The gate wasup, and Isat on one of the squaredtimbers and watched thesmooth apronof water before the rivertumbled into the falls. Inthe white waterat the foot of the dam itwas deep. As I baited up, atrout shot upout of the white water intothe falls and was carrieddown. BeforeI could finish baiting,another trout jumped at thefalls, makingthe same lovely arc anddisappearing into the waterthat was
thundering down. I put on agood-sized sinker anddropped intothe white water close tothe edge of the timbers ofthe dam.I did not feel the firsttrout strike. When Istarted to pull upI felt that I had one andbrought him, fighting andbending therod almost double, out ofthe boiling water at thefoot of the falls,and swung him up and ontothe dam. He was a goodtrout, and Ibanged his head against thetimber so that he quiveredout
straight, and then slippedhim into my bag.While I had him on, severaltrout had jumped at thefalls. Assoon as I baited up anddropped in again I hookedanother andbrought him in the sameway. In a little while Ihad six. Theywere all about the samesize. I laid them out, sideby side, all theirheads pointing the sameway, and looked at them.They werebeautifully colored andfirm and hard from the coldwater. It
was a hot day, so I slitthem all and shucked outthe insides, gillsand all, and tossed themover across the river. Itook the troutashore, washed them in thecold, smoothly heavy waterabovethe dam, and then pickedsome ferns and packed themall in thebag, three trout on a layerof ferns, then anotherlayer of ferns,12O THE SUN ALSO RISESthen three more trout, andthen covered them withferns. They
looked nice in the ferns,and now the bag was bulky,and I putit in the shade of thetree.It was very hot on the dam,so I put my worm-can in theshadewith the bag, and got abook out of the pack andsettled downunder the tree to readuntil Bill should come upfor lunch.It was a little past noonand there was not muchshade, but Isat against the trunk oftwo of the trees that grewtogether, and
read. The book wassomething by A. E. W.Mason, and I wasreading a wonderful storyabout a man who had beenfrozen inthe Alps and then falleninto a glacier anddisappeared, and hisbride was going to waittwenty-four years exactlyfor his body tocome out on the moraine,while her true love waitedtoo, and theywere still waiting whenBill came up."Get any?" he asked. He hadhis rod and his bag and hisnet
all in one hand, and he wassweating. I hadnt heardhim comeup, because of the noisefrom the dam."Six. What did you get?"Bill sat down, opened uphis bag, laid a big trouton the grass.He took out three more,each one a little biggerthan the last,^5CJand laid them side by sidein the shade from the tree.His facewas sweaty and happy."How are yours?"
"Smaller.""Lets see them."Theyre packed.""How big are they really?""Theyre all about the sizeof your smallest.""Youre not holding out onme?""I wish I were.""Get them all on worms?""Yes."