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