© Copyright by FREDERIC JOSEPH SVOBODA 1978 THE CRAFTING OF A STYLE: HEMINGWAY AND THE SUN ALSO RISES BY Frederic Joseph Svoboda A DISSERTATION Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY Department of English 1978 ABSTRACT THE CRAFTING OF A STYLE: HEMINGWAY AND THE SUN ALSO RISES BY Frederic Joseph Svoboda Ernest Hemingway carefully developed his aesthetic 'inciples as he worked to become a writer. The beginnings 3 those principles may be seen in his journalism and .rly stories; they were further developed, during the »mposition of The Sun Also Rises. With the recent opening of materials in the Hem- ngay Collection of the John F. Kennedy Library, it has :come possible to trace Hemingway's shaping of his writ- lg--and his ideas about writing--through examinations f unpublished works and of drafts of the stories of in 1r Time and The Sun Also Rises. In these early manu- =ripts Hemingway reworks his writing while commenting 1 writing in general and the composition of these early irks in particular. As he revised for publication, :mingway deleted such comments, his working notes to Frederic Joseph Svoboda himself, but now these notes can be retrieved and examined in relationship to the works of which they once formed a jpart. This examination reveals a good deal about both Iiemingway's aesthetic principles and his methods of vmriting. As his first novel, The Sun Also Rises signaled t;he end to Hemingway's journeyman work, and so my study (zoncentrates on that novel, discussing other material vvithin the context of it. I first outline Hemingway's (early career, from the end of WOrld War I to the mid-203, aind the events which helped to inspire The Sun Also Rises. IEn my second and third chapters I discuss the existing (traits of the novel and their relationships to each other. Iaittle material appears to be missing, and The Sun Also Rises is represented by a handwritten first draft, sev- eral revised typescripts, and a number of partial drafts ‘VTtich reveal Hemingway's trials of aiternate techniques. I next discuss the development of characteriza- ‘tiuon in the novel, a process which illustrates how Hem- Itngway distanced himself from and fictionalized the eVents of several actual trips to Spain. Because Heming- Way was highly conscious of this process of fictionaliza- tion, I then trace the "submerged" foundation of the novel Frederic Joseph Svoboda in his comments on method and in narrative elements which he deleted before publication. Most of this deleted Inaterial disappeared until the opening of the Kennedy :Library Collection, though some sections were adapted .in other works, most often in A Moveable Feast. In this ssection, I also relate the aesthetic principles Hemingway éiiscusses to the aesthetics of earlier published and un— loublished works. My subsequent chapter continues this (iiscussion of earlier works in the context of the narra— -tive development of The Sun Also Rises. Since many of Hemingway's principles were forged aind honed in the process of revision, I consider that Exrocess in general and then discuss four representative examples of revision, seeking to convey a picture of Hem- irngway, the craftsman, at work. Examined in line-by-line dEi‘tail, the four sections range in length from a several- 1'11-‘lndred-word exchange between Jake and Brett to the en- tfiire final book of the novel. I follow with an examina- t:ion of the late revisions of the novel, focusing in par- llicular on the beginning chapters deleted at least partly at the suggestion of F. Scott Fitzgerald. I also discuss the titling and epigraphs of the novel. Frederic Joseph Svoboda In The Sun Also Rises, then, Hemingway built upon his; earlier works to perfect an apparently-simple but com— pljax style which would help to shape the modern movement of Zunerican literature. He became more than a promising young writer as he achieved mastery in that difficult forum, the novel. In this study I show how he worked and what: he thought as he moved toward that mastery. To my parents ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I especially wish to acknowledge Mrs. Mary Hemingway's gracious permission for me to examine and quote from the unpublished writings of Ernest Heming— way in the collection of the John F. Kennedy Library. Hemingway Collection Curator Jo August provided in- valuable help in my work with the manuscript materials. Linda Wagner suggested that I investigate the Hemingway manuscripts; she more than anyone else helped to guide and encourage me in my investigations. Barry Gross, Bill Johnsen and Joe Waldmeir read, criticized and encouraged my work; I thank them all. iv Au. TABLE OF CONTENTS LIST‘ OF TABLES. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . REFERENCE ABBREVIATIONS . . . . . . . . . . . . . INTRODUCTION. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chapter II. THE MANUSCRIPTS--AN OVERVIEW. . . . . . . III. THE MANUSCRIPTS DESCRIBED . . . . . . . . IIIfi. THE NOVEL'S CHARACTERS AND FICTIONALIZATION . . . . . . . . . . . IV} THE ICEBERG--HEMINGWAY'S NOTES TO HIMSELF V. NARRATION AND THE DEVELOPING SHAPE OF THE NOVEL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VI- "THE MOST DIFFICULT JOB OF REVISION". . . Scene I: Jake and Brett Alone . . . Scene II: The Discussion of Vicente Girones' Death. Scene III: Romero in the Bull Ring. . Scene IV: Jake Alone and with Brett (BOOk III) 0 o o o o o o Page vii viii 15 29 39 57 93 97 103 118 151 Table of Chapter VI I . VIII. SELECTED Contents (cont'd.) Page LATE REVISIONS--HEMINGWAY AND FITZGERALD. 181 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE SUN ALSO RISES. . 205 BIBLIOGRAPHY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 vi LIST OF TABLES Table Page I . THE FIRST DRAFT 0 O O C O O O O O C O O O 0 O 16 II. CHAPTER/BOOK COLLATION OF MAJOR DRAFTS OF THE SUN ALSO RISES O O O O O O I O O C O O 20 III. A COMPARISON OF THE EVENT OUTLINED TO ELEMENTS IN THE FIRST DRAFT AND PUBLISHED VERSION BY CHAPTERS. . . . . . . . . . . . 67 vii REFERENCE ABBREVIATIONS Works frequently referred to are cited in abbre— ‘vciated form, in parentheses within the body of the text. IItzems in the Hemingway manuscript collection are identi- ftied by numbers corresponding to the collection's index- i119 system, explained in Chapter Two. References to Hemingway's published books are abbreviated as follows: iot--in our time, 1924 IOT--In Our Time, 1925 TSAR--The Sun Also Rises, 1926 MFf-A Moveable Feast, 1964 NAS--The Nick Adams Stories, 1972 Other abbreviations: Byline--William White's Byline: Ernest Hemingway EH:ALS--Carlos Baker's Ernest Hemingway: A Life Story H's Craft-~Sheldon Norman Grebstein's Hemingway's Craft H's First War--Michae1 Reynolds' Hemingway's First War: The Making of A Farewell to Arms viii CTther abbreviations (cont'd.) ER Interview--Paris Review Interview with Hemingway reprinted in Linda Wagner's Ernest Hemingway: Five Decades of Criticism Seldes--Gi1bert Seldes' Dial review of The Great Gatsby ix INTRODUCT I ON By July of 1925 it was time. Over a period of five years Ernest Miller Hemingway had already established a pro- xrijsional reputation for himself as a writer of fresh, inno- vative prose. Returning home as a decorated war hero in 1919 he had soon begun to try to shape his experiences into Iprxase fiction, first producing stories which proved only the Promise of his talent. But gradually his career had moved forward. While his stories were rejected by magazines ranging from Argosy to The Dial, he had made himself a reputation as 51 jjournalist of clear and striking, though occasionally less t111251n objective, style. He worked his way into Paris's lit- elt‘ary set, helped to edit transatlantic review, a leading little magazine, and gained the attention of some of the Prominent figures of the literary avant garde of the day-- Eirni the prominent figures of a new literature which was tZhen taking shape. Even a partial list of his friends and Eacquaintances is a roll-call of modernism: Sherwood Ander- son, Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, John Dos Passos, Ford U) S): .. “‘i flu V. 'a ‘S Maddox Ford, F. Scott Fitzgerald. By the mid-20$, his stories, now finely-honed, attracted comment as they appeared in transatlantic and Contact. Small editions of his stories and poems had been published in Paris and a 1x311ger story collection, In Our Time, was about to appear 1J1 .America. His reputation was rising, but its establish- ment required something more--it required that he write vvijzh mastery in the premiere form, that of the novel. In previous years he had twice traveled with IEIriends to Pamplona, in Spain's Basque hill country, to join in the drinking and to run with the bulls during the ‘FVieasta of San Fermin. But in this year, 1925, the fiesta Was changing, becoming chic, a tourist attraction for foreigners who were not aficionados of the corrida. And 13116: beautiful trout stream that had provided a valued <=<>Ixnterpoint of serenity to the frenzy of the fiesta was ITELined, clogged by the slashings and mud left behind by Qlear--cut loggers. His companions of 1925 had not turned out so well, EEither-wthey had been too often drunk and had too often rxganization from its earlier in media beginning, removing I“any sections in which the novel's narrator had addressed ]“is reader directly, and carefully changing the names of tlkuose characters who might easily be confused with their 33Eaa1rlife prototypes. Back in Paris a typist produced a clear transcript (315 at least half his awkwardly spaced typescript. He made Some further emendations in difficult scenes and the novel ‘Nent off to Scribner's, his new publisher. .Copyeditors ‘Worked over the typescript and then, at the suggestion of Scott Fitzqerald, who read a copy of the typescript, Hemingway cancelled most of the first two chapters of the novel, which had begun, "This is a novel about a Lady." Lady Brett Ashley. He tried a short introduction to explain the disappearance of those chapters but finally just began with a line partway through the cancelled second chapter: “Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton . " By mid-October of 1926 The Sun Also Rises had reached the bookstores and by Christmas it was into its third printing. Critics generally praised it as a work of remarkable stature; The New York Times called it "mag- nificent writing, filled with that organic action which gives a compelling picture of character" (New York Times @k Review, October 31, 1926, p. 7.) . Hemingway was no longer a promising new face, but a man who had accomplished a great deal and of whom much could yet be expected. His <2 areer had arrived . And a new style and technique had arrived in Amer- ican writing. In shaping The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway had both followed and shaped a set of principles he was to follow and elucidate for the rest of his life, princi- Ples which could not be ignored, whether they were to be followed or not, by any serious writer who followed him. Recently, the manuscripts and typescripts of Hemingway's writing have been made available to scholars, and the de- velopment of The Sun Also Rises can be carefully elucidated and tracked in these materials, deposited in the Hemingway Collection of the John F. Kennedy Library. Ernest Heming- way solidified the principles of a new kind of fiction as he crafted and honed the prose of The Sun Also Rises; here are the steps he followed in reshaping the form: Chapter One THE MANUSCRIPTS--AN OVERVIEW In the files of the Hemingway Manuscript Collection, donated by Mary Hemingway to the John F. Kennedy Library, the development of The Sun Also Rises can be traced through some fourteen exhibits, ranging from one-page trial drafts t0 tflne complete first and second drafts of the novel. Ma- terixals representing early stages in the novel's writing are {generally handwritten in pen, the writing sure and bold, Perhaps becoming even bolder as the draft progresses. Rounded and regular, Hemingway's handwriting is very easy to read. Later drafts are mostly in typescript, in some Cases typists' transcripts of Hemingway originals apparently 1031; over the years, in other cases in Hemingway's own dis- tirkltive typescripts, readily identifiable as such by Heming- Way! 8 idiosyncratic spacing before and after such punctua- tioh marks as commas and periods (Like this , or this . ). This habitual spacing, of course, makes the separation of HeYuingway's typescripts from the typists' an easy matter. Included in the collection are the two complete drafts of the novel as well as a number of typed and hand- written fragments which represents Hemingway's efforts to deal with specific problems which arose during the compo- sition of the book. The existing manuscripts and type— scripts seem to have been subjected to a more-or-less- continuous process of revision. To judge from the physi- cal evidence, the first draft has been worked over several times. Most of that first draft--written longhand on thirty-four loose sheets of letter-sized typing paper and continuing on through seven small notebooks--is written in black ink, though in places Hemingway uses blue ink and, in one case, pencil. Superimposed on this manuscript are numerous additions and deletions in blue and black ink, as well as in pencil. In addition, a number of running changes are evident, changes that obviously were made during the initial composition process. In such altera- tions Hemingway stops in the middle of a sentence, can- cels a word or two with a single stroke of the pen and then continues writing along the notebook's ruled line. The first draft includes most of the events of the final version of the novel (though, of course, in rougher form) and also a considerable body of writing which was eventually eliminated before publication. In much of this material Hemingway's narrator, Jake Barnes, speaks directly to his reader, providing commentary upon the actions and characters of the novel and also discuss- ing the principles by which the book is being composed, as well as providing information on his own life before becoming a newspaperman in Paris. There are considerable differences in ordering between the first draft and the novel as published. The most notable is a departure from the straight chronology of the story. Following a classic technique of the short story, Hemingway begins his first draft not with the chron- ological beginning of the time period described in The Sun Also Rises, in late June in Paris's Montparnasse district, but with an event close to the climax of the novel's plot- 1ine and with a character central to the meaning of the story but not present at its chronological beginning: the matador, Pedro Romero. (In the first draft Romero is known by the name of his real-life prototype, Cayetano Ordonez, nicknamed ”Nifio de la Palma.") That centrally-important event is the meeting of two Americans, eventually named Jake Barnes and Bill Gorton, with Cayetano in his cramped hotel bedroom as he dresses for his meeting with the bulls. 10 Eventually, this material was worked into the center of the novel, beginning on pages 163 and 164, then continuing with the conversation with Montoya on published page 171 and mov- ing on through page 178 with the cafe argument scene between Mike Campbell and Robert Cohn which occurs after Brett Ashley has expressed her admiration for Romero. Included in the first draft is a considerably longer version of the meeting with the American ambassador which we eventually find briefly mentioned on page 171, as well as a seemingly-' autobiographical account of the funeral of an uncle and Mrs. Hemingway/Barnes' attitudes toward such immoralities as smoking and gambling. While these and other incidents were omitted as Hemingway revised, they seem important in the development of the final moral stance of the novel against Victorian hypocrisy and in favor of a rational moral tolerance. Other sections existing in the first draft are also deleted in later versions with notes that indicate Heming- way was working hard to produce a tightly-structured work. An entire description of the Ledoux-Kid Francis fight, which would have appeared between Chapters VIII and IX of The Sun Also Rises, for example, was cut with this notation in Hemingway's typescript of the second draft: "[The fight] 11 was not part of the story. I am trying to hold this pretty tight down to the story" (198). That second draft exists half in a typist's tran- script of a lost Hemingway version and half in a Hemingway typescript. The order of events in this draft is very close to that of the published novel, with far fewer re- visions than are evident in the manuscript first draft. The typist's transcript begins with a section later deleted (at least partly at the suggestion of F. Scott Fitzgerald) and runs through the published Chapter IIX, and the second draft is completed in a Hemingway typescript which begins with the published Chapter IX and continues to the novel's ending. In this draft only particularly difficult scenes, such as the published Chapter VII love scene between Jake and Brett, are much worked over. By this stage also the characters have acquired the names by which they are called in the final novel. A number of differences do exist between this draft and the published novel, most notably in matters of punctu- ation included in The Sun'Also Rises but not present in the second draft. Whether these changes reflect Heming- way's revision is difficult to discern, given the loss of all proof sheets of the novel except the galleys of the 12 cancelled beginning, which Hemingway apparently re- tained. A number of incomplete drafts, none longer than five pages and some as short as a single sheet, exist to testify to Hemingway's careful attempts to meet certain problems of organization and point-of-view. At least four of these partial drafts clearly fall into an inter- mediate position between the two complete drafts I've called "first" and "second." At least one other was composed after the novel was set in galleys, as Hemingway attempted to replace the early chapters cut from the proofs at Fitzgerald's suggestion. Also included are lists of characters' names, an introduction which was not used (though it did contribute Gertrude Stein's "lost genera- tion" comment used as one of the novel's two epigraphs), lists of potential titles, and experiments in alternate points of view. Clearly missing from the evidence are two major items. One is the Hemingway draft, whether longhand or typescript we cannot know, from which the typist tran— scribed Chapters I through VII of the novel's "second" draft as well as the beginning chapters deleted from the galley proofs. (In the typist's transcript these combined 13 sections are labeled Chapters One through Nine.) The second set of unavailable material includes the proofs of the novel, excepting only three long galleys which Hemingway apparently retained after partially accepting Fitzgerald's suggestion that those several beginning chapters be dropped. At this time, it seems likely that these two sets of materials will not be discovered within the Kennedy Library collection, given their bulk and the fairly complete status of curator Jo August's catalog of material. It is possible that additional fragmentary drafts may be discovered within other classifications. However, it now seems relatively safe to assume that most of the materials that will be found in the Kennedy Library are available. And these materials certainly are complete enough to allow a searching examination of the ways in which Hemingway composed and the problems he solved in completing this first major novel. Close examination tends both to support and to illuminate the several state- ments which Hemingway made about his methods and purposes in writing, as well as to correct the misreadings which, at least for a number of years, skewed critical interpre- tations of The Sun Also Rises. This is a carefully crafted book, one which Hemingway said had to be completely l4 rewritten before he was satisfied with it, yet it was also a book which took shape rapidly, a melding of fluency and craftsmanship, of intuition and contemplation, of the apparent transcription of actual events and the transforma- tion of those events into a wholly realized fiction. Chapter Two THE MANUSCRIPTS DESCRIBED Manuscript/Typescript Versions of The Sun Also Rises in the John F. Kennedy Library (Keyed to Hemingway Collection Identifica- tion Numbers) The First Draft 193 & 194--THE FIRST DRAFT in Hemingway's handwritten version, written between July 21, 1925 and Septem- ber 21, 1925. (l93)--THE LOOSE SHEET BEGINNING of the novel on thirty-two sheets of letter-sized paper which con- tinues in the notebooks. (Also included with item 193 are two additional sheets Hemingway later added to precede the draft. The first of these pages, typed, introduces an early [misquoted] epigraph: "Facing Page one of Chapter One: 'The grave's a fine and secret [sic] place / But none I think do there embrace. . . Marve11.'" The second page, handwritten, represents Hemingway's working out of the characters' names--not the names used in 15 16 the first draft, but those which will appear in the finished novel.) (194)-—THE NOTEBOOKS represent the balance of the first draft. There are seven of these small notebooks, index numbered JFK 194-1 through JFK 194—6. (While in my notes I include a 194-7 reference in discussion of the ending of the novel, the seventh notebook includes only a few written pages and is actually filed with notebook six.) On the front covers of these small school- children's notebooks, Hemingway had identified the city in which he was working and (on the first four) included the dates on which he wrote. The final three notebooks each include only a single date. TABLE 1. The First Draft JFK Location/Date Pages Corresponding Index Pages in TSAR . . a b c 193 Beginning on loose sheets (undated ) 32 163-64, 171-78 . d 194-1 Book I Valenc1a July 23-August 3 92 1-36 194-2 Book II Valencia August 3 80 36-72 Madrid August 5-6 San Sebastian August 8-9 __> Hendaya August 10-11-12 Table 1 (cont'd.) l7 JFK Location/Date Pages Corresponding Index Pages in TSAR 194-3 Book IIIe Hendaya August 12—13-14- 80 74-116 15-16-17 Paris August 19-20 ' f 194-4 Book IV Paris August 20-21-22-23- 100 116-154 24-25-26-27- 28-29 194-5 Book V Paris "Finished Sept 9" 92 154-62, 164-71, 178-206 194-6 Book VI9 Paris September 9 74 207-45 Book VIIh Paris September 21, 1925 5 245-47 Notes, additional included material: aHemingway later said that he began the novel on his birthday, July 21, in an April 1, 1951 letter to Carlos Baker and in the 1958 Paris While Baker discounts the July 21 starting date, given the July 23 dating of notebook I, the birthday beginning date is perfectly reasonable in light of the number of pages completed Review interview. before Hemingway began working in the notebooks. Only the April Fool's Day dating of the letter to Baker might lead us to suspect Hemingway's veracity. Two other sheets, described above, are also indexed as a part of 193, but probably were added later in the process of composition. 0 . . . . The loose sheets are greatly altered in reVlSlon, and include a very long version of the meeting with the American ambassador. dA good deal of material derived from notebook I was deleted in the galley proofs of The Sun Also Rises, at least partially at the sug- gestion of F. Scott Fitzgerald. e . On its back cover, Book III includes a word count, notations of travel expenses and an outline of the projected structure of the rest of the novel. 18 Table l (cont'd.) fOn the back cover are notes, addresses of William Groule, and a very rough map of the Great Lakes. 9On the last page is a partial draft of a letter to the editor(of The- Toronto Star?), apparently in Hadley Hemingway's handwriting. The letter deals with receiving a bull's ear. (The section in which Duff Brett receives the bull's ear from Romero is included in notebook V.) hOn the last three pages of the notebook is the draft of a passage in which Jake examines his relationship with Brett. Later cut, a smoother version of this passage appears as the beginning of BOOK II of the typescript version of the novel. II The Typescript "Second" Draft 198, 199, 200, 201--THE TYPESCRIPT DRAFT incorporates most of the changes Hemingway made while revising his manuscript at Schruns, Austria during "the winter of the avalanches," 1925-26. This type- script "draft" actually is a composite draft, partially composed of a Hemingway typescript, partially of a typist's transcription of a portion of the novel not covered by Hemingway's typescript. Also included and indexed in the Kennedy Library collection are several carbon c0pies of typists' versions. Neither of these carbon c0pies include any handwritten corrections, but such corrections 19 are included in both the Hemingway and typist's originals. (200)--The first section of the typescript draft is represented by a 122 page TYPISTS' VERSION of the first eight (as published) chapters of The Sun Also Riggs. This typescript begins with the first chap- ter and a half later cut from the galley proofs and is divided into ten chapters. It includes a few minor corrections in Hemingway's hand, as well as a considerable reworking of the Jake/Brett love scene which appears on page 55 of the final novel. The Gertrude Stein epigraph has been inserted by hand on the title page. (201)--A CARBON COPY of (200) without corrections or Stein epigraph. (198)--The typescript draft is completed by the HEMINGWAY TYPESCRIPT of the second half of the novel, beginning with published chapter nine. This typescript is marked by the author's characteristic typing style--Hemingway usually spaces both before and after such punctuation marks as commas and 20 periods. The Hemingway typescript includes a num- ber of corrections in the author's hand. (Though this typescript represents a later section of the novel than that contained in the typists' version, it carries a lower Kennedy Library index number under curator Jo August's indexing system, which gives priority to Hemingway's own work.) TABLE 2. Chapter/Book Collation of Major Drafts of The Sun Also Rises (This chart traces the divisions indicated in each draft.) FIRST DRAFT HEMINGWAY TYPESCRIPT TYPIST VERSION PUBLISHED VERSION (193 & 194) (198) (200 & 201) ---- ---- BOOK I Ch t I Deleted in ---- a er ---- p galley stage Ch t r II (Not an exact corres n Cha ter II through mid- a e — -—-- p , .po P Chapter 2 dence. Typist verSIon of 200 Chapter 2 appears several ° pages later in text than first-draft II.) ---- u ---- CHAPTER I 04 a) -a I m H g a: w Chapter IV 8 '8 g 9* g a, Chapter III CHAPTER II o x: .G-H : Eh m m +144.» «4-H-H c u g u 3 8 "a (No Chapter IV HmHg‘um in ZOOor 201.) g -H O G a 5 i H “'3‘? Chapter V -.-+ '1; H 3 g 0) :4.) Chapter V CHAPTER III 5 $4 m 0 Egcu :::n w w: H Chapter VI a) 5 a '8 y ‘3 '5 Chapter VI CHAPTER IV .c tr 6 :4 O a)<3 £4 m £2 6 G ;:<3 ~’11().Q 0 u on (No Chapter VII in 200 or 201.) TABLE 2 FIRST DRAFT (193 & 194) (cont'd.) HEMINGWAY DRAFT (198) 21 TYPIST VERSION PUBLISHED VERSION (200 & 201) Chapter VII Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter (Chapter VIII CHAPTER V [used twice] Chapter VIII CHAPTER VI Chapter IX CHAPTER VII (within preceding chapters) VIII IX X XI XII Chapter XI XIII Chapter XII XIV Chapter XIII XV Chapter XIV XVI Chapter XV XVII Chapter XVI XVIII Chapter XVII Chapter XVIIIa Chapter XIX Book Three Chapter XXII Chapter XXI Chapter XXII b Chapter XXIII Book Two BOOK II Chapter X CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI {% 8 CHAPTER XII H o ,5 H 2 CHAPTER XIII >v> ea c H O 3 CHAPTER XIV m D; 5.2 H 0 CHAPTER xv 8'8 a -H.Q (within C. XV) m m H-H w H >-§ Chapter XVII m Dc u m .3 0 Book III 2'2 4’ 9 CHAPTER XIX m m 'fi {3 b ~I (within C. XIX) aThe deleted Also Rises, p. 164. chapter division would have come at the top of The Sun In the Hemingway typescript, Chapter Seventeen 22 ends just after Bill and Jake meet Romero, then collect field-glasses and wine bottles from their rooms and go downstairs in the Hotel Montoya. Chapter Eighteen begins at the bull ring, with the line, "It was a good bull-fight." This second deleted Chapter division comes just a few pages from the book's end, at the bottom of The Sun Also Rises p. 243. Just before the chapter division, Brett restates her desire never to talk about having left Romero. The new Chapter begins as Jake and Brett leave the Hotel Montana and discover Brett's bill has been paid. III Trial Beginnings 195, 197, 197a, 202C & 202d--These TRIAL BEGINNINGS, some of which the Kennedy Library indexes as "false starts," are perhaps misrepresented by either term. A careful examination of the names assigned charac- ters in these short trials in comparison to the naming in other drafts reveals that none come earlier than JFK item 193, the "loose sheets" beginning to the first draft. In his biography of Hemingway, Carlos Baker identifies one of the typescript trial beginnings (either 197 or 197a, which both begin "It was half past three in the afternoon . . ." and continue in the third person) as preceding the loose sheet draft (EH:ALS, p. 197). However, both such typescripts identify characters by names not established until late in the first 23 draft of the nove1--and in his notes to the chap- ter, Baker admits that "My View that these trial drafts precede the main draft is conjectural" (EH:ALS, p. 765). What these trial beginnings do represent is Hemingway's working out, at different stages in the composition of the novel--but probably no earlier than the completion of the first draft-- of several apparent difficulties. These begin- nings represent alternative versions of already- established beginnings, and are related to each other much as are the numerous trial endings of A Farewell to Arms, in which Hemingway explored two possible endings in some thirty-five different variations (H's First War, p. 49). While far fewer variations exist in the case Of The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway explores three essentially different points of depature--in the first, the novel Opens in Romero's room at the Hotel Montoya; in the second, it begins with a long expository section on the novel's Characters (as in the typescript draft). In the third be- ginning, Hemingway cuts a good deal of that 24 second-draft exposition, beginning midway with an examination of Robert Cohn, after cutting his dis- cussion of Jake, Brett, and others. This third beginning, of course, is that which eventually appeared in the published novel. (195, 197, l97a)-—These three fragments, all in type- script, are reworkings of the novel's first begin- ning in the loose sheets Of the first draft, and probably were composed between the notebook and typescript drafts of the novel. Draft 195 (2pp.) seems a relatively late version, and is headed "The Sun Also Rises Chapter One." It is a first- person account from Jake's point of view and in- corporates the character names used in the pub- lished novel. Both draft 197 (1p.) and draft 197a (5pp.) represent Hemingway's attempt to recast his first- person narration into a third-person account, and lend substance to a statement made early in the second draft of the novel: "I did not want to tell this story in the first person but I find that I must" (200). Both 197 and 197a use the late 25 character names; 197 is the earlier of the two-- words typed in above the lines of 197 are included within the lines of 197a. In 197 only events in Romero's bedroom are covered, while in 197a--the later (and smoother) version--the scene in the hotel is succeeded by a polished version of the first—draft meeting between the revelers and the American ambassador and party. The longer third-person trial (197a) is written from an omniscient viewpoint, including Jakeis analysis of his anger at being persuaded by Brett to meet with the ambassador as well as Romero's thoughts as he plans for his future--at the end of the season he will either go to Mexico or buy a motor car. While this second third-person trial is not bad, certainly much more polished than its predecessor, it still represents a dead end in the composition Of the novel—-allowing the reader to know what is in each character's mind, the third- person viewpoint seems flat and without tension by comparison to the first-person narration Hemingway elected to retain. 26 (202C, 202d)--Both these trial beginnings are related to both the second and third points of departure Hemingway tried. More specifically, they represent Hemingway's attempt to replace or explain the dele- tion of the initial chapter-and-a-half of the novel's Chronological beginning, deleted in the galley proofs of the novel. In 202d, a one-page typescript, Heming- way's narrator notes in beginning that "This is a novel about a lady," beginning with the same sentence that began the second draft. But he then goes on to explain that about twenty-five pages have been cut and that the novel will "now Open with Robert Cohn who may be a great disappointment to the reader who has just been promised Lady Ashley." In 202C, within yet another of his notebooks, Hemingway began to write a forward to his novel, which he here called The Lost Generation. He re- counted the story of a garage owner identifying the young men who went through World War One as 22 generationqperdu, in a conversation with Gertrude Stein. Hemingway went on to maintain that "to this generation . . . the things that are given to peOple 27 to happen have already happened." It is unclear whether this unused introduction was the source for, or merely followed the ”lost generation" quotation written in on the title page of item 200, the first half of the typescript draft. The notebook also includes a list of trial titles. IV Fragmentary Materials 195a, 196, 202, 202a & 202b--These assorted fragments, none more than a few pages long, represent various_ leftovers from the composition of The Sun Also Rises, elements involved in the working out of varied problems. It is likely that other such fragments might have existed, and may yet be found. (195a)--A prenotebook draft of the scene in which Jake and a waiter discuss the death of Vicente Girones, the man gored during the running of the bulls. This is an earlier draft than appears in the notebooks, judging from a comparison of words written in above the lines of 195a with the same words within the lines of the notebook. 28 (196)--A draft of the beginning of Chapter VIII of The Sun Also Rises. Very close to the final version published on page 69 of the novel, this manuscript fragment included three and a half lines at the beginning of paragraph three which do not appear in the first draft. (202 & 202a)--The original (202a) and a photOCOpy including a few notes by Philip Young (202) of the three long galley proofs cut from the novel's beginning. (202b)--Yet another of Hemingway's notebooks, this one blank save for two pages on which Hemingway has written seven or eight statements by Duff/ Brett. Several were worked in to her dialogue in the finished novel. Chapter Three THE NOVEL'S CHARACTERS AND FICTIONALIZATION At least a part of the early fascination The Sun Also Rises held for the sophisticated reader as well as a significant element in many succeeding critical readings and interpretations is the fact that the book's characters seem closely drawn from life. A number of essays and books have traced the parallels between real peOple and the fictional Characters--Kath1een Cannell's "Scenes with a Hero," Donald Ogden Stewart's "Recollections of Fitz- gerald and Hemingway," James Charters' "Pat and Duff, Some Memories," Robert McAlmon's Being Geniuses Together, and Harold Loeb's The Way It Was, among others. A good deal of the discussion of biographical tendencies in The Sun Also Rises has recently been excerpted and analyzed in Bertram Sarason's Hemingway and the Sun Set. Each of these works, and the numerous other articles which address the subject, makes a significant contribution to an understanding of what Hemingway was about. But such treatments, whether by intention or not, also tend to lead to a significant misinterpretation of 29 30 Hemingway's real achievement. In pointing out the paral- lels between the real and the fictional, they inevitably tend to gloss over Hemingway's process of fictionalization. This is most understandable in the case of those who felt they saw themselves portrayed inaccurately, even cruelly, in the novel. Thus, Harold Loeb considered The Sun Also Rises to be no more than a piece of skillful (and not too honorable) journalism, a betrayal of confidence by a trusted friend. Kitty Cannell carefully notes the many inaccuracies in Hemingway's portrayal of the actual hap- penings in Paris and Pamplona. Even Sarason's scholarly work, which meticulously traces real-to-fictional Charac— ter correspondences and then anthologizes comments by Cannell, Loeb, and others, tends somewhat to leave the impression that Hemingway was victimizing those whom he transformed into the characters Of the novel. Writing years later, in an unpublished draft of his memoir of Paris, A Moveable Feast, Hemingway acknowledged the possibility of such confusion between fiction and reality: "When you start writing stories in the first person if the stories are made so real that people believe them the people reading them nearly always think the stories really happened to you" (179). But he 31 goes on to discount such confusions. Given the consistent errors of confusion between the historical and fictional, it is small wonder that Hemingway was so consistently Opposed to biographical study of his life and fiction, as opposed to studies concentrating on the works themselves. That opposition need not be read as irrational secretive— ness or paranoia. Rather, it is an artist's concern that attention be paid to that which is most important--the work of art. The evidence of the manuscriptsijsthat The Sun Also Rises is not a work of journalism, but superbly— realized fiction. If a certain trip to Pamplona helped to provide a framework for that fiction, all well and good. But even that real—world framework was bent, altered, as the book took shape. And one Of the most important artistic transformations which Hemingway made in composition was the transformation Of character--a distancing of the fictional from the historical/ journalistic fact. One of the earliest and most important distanc- ings which Hemingway achieves is the distancing of the fictional narrator (Jake Barnes) from the actual narrator (Ernest Hemingway). The first step in this distancing 32 process is most easily traced by the Changing names given the narrator--and other characters--in successive drafts of the novel. In the first—draft beginning of the novel on loose sheets of letter-sized paper (193), the narrator is first- person, an "I" who is addressed by other characters as Hem and Ernest. Other characters include Pat, Don, Bill, Harold Loeb and Duff, who correspond quite obviously to the real-life Pat Guthrie, Donald Ogden Stewart, Bill Smith, Harold Loeb and Lady Duff Twysden. Also present is an additional character not seen at all in the pub- lished novel, Hadley, corresponding to Hemingway's first wife, Hadley. This assortment of characters suggests that what we are witnessing in the thirty-two pages Of the first-draft beginning is indeed something very close to journalism, if not a completely journalistic account of the 1925 trip to Pamplona. Yet, by the time Hemingway has written through those thirty-two pages and begun work in the first of the seven lined notebooks which complete the first draft, he has already begun the distancing from the journalistic to the fictional which is reflected in his characters' names. 33 By page 12 of the first notebook* Harold has become Gerald and Loeb has become Leopold on page 13. All identification of the narrator with Hemingway ceases shortly after. Indeed, on only three pages of the rough draft are there references to the narrator as Hemingway-~the third refers to him indirectly in dis- cussing a namesake uncle, Rafael Ernest. By page 22 the narrator has been renamed Jake, and by notebook page 39 (which corresponds to page 26 of the published novel) that masterful and much-discussed narrative de- vice, Jake's wound, has already become a part of the rough draft. All mention of Hadley, and the Character so named, has been dropped before the narrative moves into the first notebook. And the novel's Bill is early established in the first notebook through the generally-recognized melding of elements of the personalities of humorous novelist Donald Ogden Stewart and Hemingway's old fishing buddy, Bill Smith. Both men were present on the 1925 Pamplona trip. On the first page of the first draft it is the *The page numbering of these notebooks is not present in Hemingway's manuscript originals, but was added to the working photocopies by Hemingway collection curator Jo August. Each number in this system represents two original notebook pages photOCOpied onto a single sheet. 34 narrator and Bill who go up to meet the young bullfighter as he dresses for the corrida. On page 7 gen is among the group which tries to decide the pr0per attitude to take in greeting (or ignoring) the American ambassador. Halfway through the first notebook, Bill Grundy is established as a synthesis of the two. He does not become Bill Gorton until draft two. Also within the first notebook, Lady Duff Twysden is renamed Lady Duff Anthony, Jake's last name, Barnes, is introduced, and Pat becomes Michael Gordon. (Mike Gordon later becomes Mike Campbell, eliminating possible confusion with the character Bill Gorton.) The process of distancing and fictionalization proceeds rapidly. Yet, elements of reporting which Hem- ingway later drOpped still exist in the first notebook. Mention is made of Dos Passos, Bradox (Ford Maddox Ford) and Scott Fitderald, although these mentions are de- leted before the book finally goes to press. Fitzgerald is mentioned in connection with Jake's wound, in a com- ment which still seems to reflect the direct voice of Ernest Hemingway: "Scott Fitzgerald told me it couldn't be treated except as a humerous [sic] subject." And 35 this first mention of Bradox (later Braddocks in the pub- lished novel) and Dos Passos, who does not appear in any way in the published book, was among the early sections which Fitzgerald himself later suggested Hemingway de- lete. (Never one to waste material, Hemingway later used the Bradox/Dos Passos scene in his posthumously- published manuscript, A Moveable Feast, in the chapter entitled "Ford Maddox Ford and the Devil's Disciple," where Ford misidentifies diabolist Alistair Crowley as poet Hillaire Belloc. Dos Passos is not mentioned in the A Moveable Feast adaptation of this material.) In this first draft a number of other names of real people are used, particularly when these people are only mentioned by other characters. A number of bull- fighters are named, including Aquero, Belmonte, Marcial Lalanda, “Joselito,” "Nacional," and "Algebeno," as well as Juanito Quintana, prototype for Montoya, the hotel owner. The young bullfighter who served as source for the fictional Pedro Romero appears under his real name and his actual fighting nickname: 'Cayetano Ordonez, "Nino de la Palma." (Hemingway omits the accent O and H in OrdOnez and nifio, as he elsewhere omits and simpli- fies punctuation in the handwritten drafts.) By the 36 time Hemingway has written his way into the fifth note- book, Ordonez has been renamed Antonio Guerra Gueritta. In the first draft the young American novelist who critics have identified with Glenway Wescott is named Ralph Severn, and shares Wisconsian Wescott's affected British accent. (In the second draft he is more transparently Roger Pres- cott and then is renamed Roger Prentiss, the name he appears under in The Sun Also Rises.) Other Character names early in the first draft include Duke OZzy (later ZiZi), Count Mippipopolous, Henry Stone (later Harvey), and Francis Clyne. By the end of the novel's first draft, a few pages into Hemingway's seventh notebook, all the characters are fictionally named-—though not always with the names they finally bear in the published The Sun Also Rises. That is, all the characters are so named save one: Duff is still used as the first name for the Brett character, echoing the name of the real Duff Twysden. At this point Hemingway seems to have reflected on the naming of his characters. A longhand sheet listing possible names for characters is inserted before the loose-sheet beginning of the first draft. On it Hemingway tried out and then crossed out a number of "Names for Duff----," 37 including Elizabeth'and Doris, as well as first and sur- names for her husband--Henry or Robert; Marlowe, Lambert, Durham and Ashley. Finally he decides on Elizabeth Neill Brett Murray as her "Original name," Lord Robert Ashley as her husband's name. Hemingway labels Brett Ashley as her "Name generally used." Without any trials, "Other characters" are listed as Bill Gorton, Gerald Cohn, Mike Campbell, Jake Barnes, and Harvey Stone. In many cases these revised Character names are entered onto the loose sheets and notebook pages of the first draft, written in above earlier versions of names. In at least one case, even Gerald is crossed out and Cohn's final first name, Robert, is written in. But in the majority of cases, these name alterations don't Show up until the second draft—-it seems likely that while working over the first draft Hemingway regularized the names when he noticed deviations from his finalized listing of character names, but didn't make a complete, systematic effort at regularization. (The Bill Grundy version of Bill Gorton even slipped once or twice into early editions of the published novel and recently re- appeared in a Scribner's paperback edition.) 38 The incomplete substitution Of names probably doesn't reflect carelessness, for in the existing type- scripts which represent the second draft, characters are uniformly named as in the published novel. The only ex- ceptions: a single use of Gerald rather than Robert Cohn and a mention of Gueritta rather than Romero in the Hem- ingway typescript corresponding to the published chapters IX through XIX. The only other discrepancies between naming in the second draft and naming in the published book are matters Of omission resulting from the later deletion of the initial chapter and a half. Characters mentioned in the deleted section include Flossie (a whore with a heart of gold), Alec Muhr (Dos Passos in the Ford/ Crowley/Belloc anecdote), and Bob Graham (Jake's Washing- ton partner in the Continental Press Association, of which Jake is EurOpean Director). Other names which appear in the first draft but not later include William (or Larry) Tate (the Black boxer Bill befriends in Vienna, unnamed in The Sun Also Rises), Pancho Villa (another boxer men— tioned in conversation) and Charley Gordon (mentioned by Bill as a person he shared an apartment with). Chapter Four THE ICEBERG--HEMINGWAY'S NOTES TO HIMSELF While much of the material Hemingway presents early in his first draft was later altered considerably in style, moved to other locations within the novel, or even omitted entirely, in these beginnings, Hemingway is clearly staking out major thematic considerations: the ways in which experience has shaped himself and his generation, the sorts of values which are worth uphold- ing, and those values which must be rejected as useless. Hemingway's working out of these questions is direct and sometimes intensely personal. Thematic elements which he eventually integrates carefully into the structure of the novel are clearly discussed as Hemingway first works to develop his ideas. Given the characteristic restraint with which he tries to handle such material, it is inevitable that he later would choose to make considerable revisions and deletions as he reworked this early material. Such changes would become less often necessary in the revision of later sections Of 39 40 the first draft, after Hemingway had already clearly de- fined what he was attempting. The Sun Also Rises has the solidity of the ice- berg, seven-eighths unseen, yet carefully based on that early, unseen foundation. Early in the first draft-- most particularly in the loose sheets and the first notebook--some of the submerged foundation of the novel may be Clearly seen. In the voice of narrator Jake Barnes, not yet wholly differentiated from the voice of the artist himself, Hemingway often speaks directly to explain his artistic intentions or to insert material important to the working out of those intentions. Early in the first notebook, Hemingway begins to consider his plans for the book. He hopes to write a new sort of prose derived from the language and facts of real life, yet he is conscious that such a method will call for a discerning and careful reader: In life people are not conscious of these special moments that novelists build their whole structures on. That is most people are not. That surely has nothing to do with the story but you can't tell until you finish it because none Of the significant things are going to have any literary signs marking them. You have to figure them out for yourself (194-1) 41 Not that Hemingway is careless about structure; he is rather very much opposed to the imposition of structure, to the interposition of frameworks between reader and work of art. By eliminating the "literary signs," he hopes to move beyond the existing conventions of literary art, the existing conventions of middle-Class thought which are so familiar and confining to him. A few pages before his renunciation of conven- tional literary signs, Hemingway seems to be working out that renunciation as he presents an incident in which a conventional frame might obscure or distort the reality of the situation he describes. The scene, a memory scene involving the narrator's family, is splendidly comic though perhaps a little too neat. The narrator remembers the death of his namesake uncle, whose funeral he attended with his mother. In the scene, the little boy has been repeatedly warned of the number of minor vices he should avoid and then told how those vices led to the downfall of his deceased uncle. The narrator (Jake or Hemingway--the two have not yet become clearly differentiated) remembers ". . . that there were several things my mother said she would rather see me in my grave than do. They were quite unimportant thing such as 42 smoking cigarettes, gambling, and drinking, and the last two were quite unthought of and far off sins" (194-1). The tone of the mother's warning doesn't quite square with the boy's memories of his uncle, who gave wonderful Christmas gifts, owned the first car in tOwn, and sponsored civic entertainments, including a horse Show and "sinister things known as French Fetes . . . for the benefit of the local hospital . . . ." Arriving late at the funeral and being seated in the front row, the boy tries to discover what has happened to his uncle until he finally sees, "in the midst of the mass of flowers the high, gallant, hooked nose of Uncle Jacob." Through the rest of the funeral he is "frozen with an absolutely new sensation . . . afraid to look and un- able to look away from that majestic, cold purple nose" (194-1) . Young Jacob cannot overlook the reality of his uncle's death; his reaction to the death is juxtaposed by Hemingway to the mother's attitude. The boy thinks about his mother's statement that she would rather see him dead than at all morally tainted, and he wonders why she would wish him to end that way rather than com— mit one of several minor sins. The narrator considers P‘r uh bi ‘)1 'U 43 the inadequacy of a moral framework within which the mother could express such a wish--and he links the wish, by implication, to an inadequate use of language. The mother's moral vision is inadequate at least partly be- cause its expression is not suitable to the sentiment; it lacks restraint and grace. If the mother believes what she literally says, she is a monster; if, as is far more likely, she means something very different from her literal statement, she is a fool guilty Of falsification and confusion. In his formulation of this childhood event-- whether fictional or autobiographical--Hemingway links the moral and the aesthetic, much as he had done in earlier work. In her Clouded vision, the mother of this anecdote is like the unseeing characters of many of the "chapters" of In Our Time. In that collection a WOrld War One adjutant wants the fire doused in a mobile field kitchen because, "It is dangerous. It will be observed," even though the kitchen is fifty kilometers behind the front lines (I92, p. 13); a British Officer discusses a barricade set across a bridge and the result- ing slaughter of troops trying to cross--"It was simply priceless. . . . an absolutely perfect Obstacle." His 44 only emotions result not from a contemplation Of the dead, but from the loss of other positions, which forces a with— drawal and an end to the sport of killing: "We were frightfully put out . . ." (192, p. 43). A young man under bombardment in the trenches prays that he may not be killed; if he lives, he will "tell everybody in the world that you are the only thing that matters. Please, please, dear Jesus" (TOT, p. 87). And then, saved, he is too ashamed to tell anyone anything. A policeman murders two Hungarian burglars without warning, and then discounts his partner's suggestion that the murders may cause trouble: "They're wops, ain't they? Who the hell is going to make any trouble?" (£93! p. 103). But though the murderer policeman protests his ability to spot them "a mile off," the two dead men are not w0ps, Italians, but Hungarians. None of these characters really knows or means what he says. Each uses language in ways that are foolish, insensitive, shameful, or inaccurate, neither clear nor moral. And in his discussion of the mother's inadequate expression of her thoughts and the little boy's fearful, troubled reaction, Hemingway is stating his Opposition to shoddy expression and reaffirming his commitment to a 45 clear, carefully-crafted prose that will avoid all mis- statement. Even some thirty-odd years later, Hemingway contended that "writing well is impossibly difficult" (33 Interview, p. 27). Yet "writing well" was precisely what Hemingway intended, even though the scale of the undertaking was more than a little imposing. In A Moveable Feast he recalls that, ". . . it seemed an impossible thing to do when I had been trying with great difficulty to write paragraphs [like the Chapters Of In Our Time?] that would be the distillation of what made a novel} (ME, p. 75). Writing well is "impossibly difficult" pre- cisely because Hemingway, in his fiction, effects a Close linking of both moral and aesthetic principles. And a reader's understanding of the aesthetics of his fiction will be necessary to an understanding of other levels of meaning--inc1uding the moral level--without the aid of more "conventional literary signs." In the first draft of The Sun Also Rises, particularly early in the first draft, Hemingway continually ex- periments with implied meaning, as he did in the often Chilling misstatements of the "Chapters" of In Our Time, 46 and as he did in the mother and child anecdote. In the anecdote and in later trials he is at once exploring and reaffirming a method. Throughout his first draft, Hemingway continues to explore the morality and aesthetics of language in similar discussions; later, as he revises The Sun Also Riggs, he will cut out his trials completely, as he did with another important section, corresponding to pub- lished chapter XII, the chapter in which Jake and Bill have gone off away from the turmoil of the group to fish the Irati and the Rid de la Fabrica, near Burguette. It should be noted that the description of Jake and Bill's fishing trip has been carefully included in the novel not as a part of the sort of journalistic account the novel has sometimes been viewed as, but for reasons important to the overall effect it will have in juxtaposition to other actions of the charac- ters. A purely journalistic description of the events of June 1925 would have been far different from the idyllic week of relaxation Hemingway describes. In previous years the fishing has been ideal, but in 1925 Bill Smith, Donald Ogden Stewart and Hemingway found 47 the fishing ruined by logging of the beech and pine forests. Carlos Baker describes the ruin: The dark stream bed of the Irati was filled with loggers' trash. "The irony of it," said Don Stewart. "The pity of it." They put away the flies and used worms and grasshoppers, working along the Rid Fabrica and some of the smaller streams. In four days of trying, they did not take a single fish. "Fish killed, pools destroyed, dams broken down," said Ernest. "Made me feel sick." (EH: ALS, p. 193). From the general ruin, it appears that Hemingway salvaged only the contrast of bait- to fly-fishing, and Stewart's comment on irony and pity. The rest of the Chapter appears to owe far more to Hemingway's previous fishing experience, and to his need for a suitable section to work in contrast to his evocation of a morally squalid Paris, and a frentic Pamplona at fiesta time. In the initial draft of the Burguete fishing, Hemingway is already working to develop a clearcut Oppo- sition--the draft contains no hint that 1925's Burguete was surrounded by a ruined country. Within the first- draft version of this chapter, Hemingway also returned to the consideration of the kind of fiction he was writ- ing, working through a comparison hardly SO organic to the structure of the novel as is the Paris/Pamplona/ 48 Burguete juxtaposition. In a set-piece discussion, Jake considers a story he is reading (TSAR, p. 120). Jake and Bill have finished lunch; then Bill falls asleep and Jake goes on to think Of the A. E. W. Mason story, "The Crystal Trench," he has been reading earlier. In the story, a man freezes to death in the Alps and his body falls into a glacial crevasse, "and his bride was going to wait 24 years exactly for his body to come out on the moraine, while her true love waited too . . ." (194-4). Jake analyzes Mason's story, with particular attention to the predictability of its sequence of events. Indeed, to Jake the only thing that makes the story worth reading is its predictability. In the resolution to the story, which Jake retells in considerable detail, the waiting bride discovers a locket around the neck of the corpse, which has reappeared just on schedule, twenty- four years after dropping into the glacier. She opens the locket and discovers—-Of course--the name of another woman. The twenty-four year wait has been a vain gesture. To the romantically unrealistic account of this ridiculous story, Jake compares a far different story-- a "true" story also involving the Alps, and a husband and wife. The contrast is striking--the story Jake tells 49 might have been used by Hemingway as a part Of In Our Time, had it been written earlier. Jake has been skiing in the Austrian Alps. A man is killed in a sudden ava- lanche, and Jake is among those who recover the body and carry it down from the mountainside. And Jake walks in- to the lodge, past the dead man's unsuspecting wife, who is darning a spare pair Of his socks, to find a blanket with which to cover the corpse before it is brought in. The story Jake tells is infinitely better than Mason's story, although it parallels that story in its use of an ironic ending twist for emotional impact. Jake's story contains some of the horror of such a later Hemingway story as "An Alpine Idyll," where a mountaineer stores his wife's body in the woodshed, using it as a lantern stand until the spring thaw makes burial possible, though it is not so sensational. But Jake's story is far different from Mason's, tersely realistic where the Mason story is easily sentimental. In juxtaposition, the two stories demonstrate the sort of fiction Hemingway hoped to avoid, and the sort he valued. But by the second draft, Hemingway had chosen to remove all traces of Jake's tightly-told avalanche story, and had reduced the Mason story to a short mention, 50 leaving the focus of the Chapter on the two fishermen's experiences in Burguete rather than moving outside that framework. In place of the contrast between the two stories, one contrived, the other realistic, Hemingway extended the comic discussion between Jake and Bill, beginning with a verbal parody of William Jennings Bryan and going on to discuss a number of contemporary person- ages, including Episcopal Bishop William Thomas Manning, who called for a fundamentalistic interpretation of scrip— ture and favored prohibition, and Wayne B. Wheeler of the Anti-Saloon League, both notable misusers of the language, at least from the imbibing Jake and Bill's point of view. The discussion in a bantering conversation of these personalities allows Hemingway to suggest the fraud- ulent uses of language in an organic manner at once more subtle ("none of the significant things are going to have any literary signs marking them") and less obtrusive upon the novel's present time on the river than the long dis— cussion of the stories. The revision by substitution, by the way, is quite similar to Hemingway's method in completing his long short story, "Big-Two-Hearted River," one of the most revised of Hemingway's early pieces, to judge from the manuscript evidence. In that story, which 51 also involves an emotionally and physically—scarred fisher- man, Nick Adams, Hemingway originally broke away from his presentation of Nick's fishing in Upper Peninsula Michigan to end with a long discussion of the meaning of writing and what he intended to do with the story. The manuscript of the story is the only surviving Hemingway material pre- vious to the drafts of The Sun Also Rises which shows the sort of working out of ideas on paper which so marks the novel's early drafts. Like the early sections of the novel, this early ending to the story speaks directly of Hemingway's experiences in expatriate literary society, evaluating the work of Donald Ogden Stewart, e. e. cum- mings, Ring Lardner, Sherwood Anderson, Gertrude Stein, Sherwood Anderson, Nathan Asch, James Joyce and others. As at the beginning of The Sun Also Rises' first draft, in this early draft of "Big Two-Hearted River" the separation between author and narrator has not yet been clearly established. Nick Adams is perhaps the most nearly autobiographical of Hemingway's heroes, and in the original ending to the story "Nick" speaks directly of Hemingway's friends, his enthusiasm for bullfighting and painting, and even his theory of writing: 52 Talking about anything was bad. Writing about anything actual was bad. It always killed it. The only writing that was any good was what you made up, what you imagined . . . . Every- thing good he'd ever written he'd made up. None of it had ever happened. Other things had happened. Better things, maybe. That was what the family couldn't understand. They thought it all was experience. (HAS, p. 217) In this original ending to "Big, Two-Hearted River," just recently published under the title "On Writing" in The Nick Adams Stories, Hemingway goes on to make the impor- tant point that even with this, his most nearly autobio- graphical character, "Nick in the stories was never him— self. He made him up" (HAS, p. 217). And the idea that "talking about anything . . . always killed it" can be seen first appearing in print in the ending of The Sun Also Rises, as Jake and Brett sit in the bar of the Palace Hotel, discussing Romero's love for Brett-—very carefully: ". . . He thinks it was me. Not the show in general." [says Brett.] "Well, it was you." "Yes, It was me." "I thought you weren't going to ever talk about it." "How can I help it?" "You'll lose it if you talk about it." "I just talk around it." (TSAR, p. 245) Here the statement of artistic principle is care- fully worked into the fabric of the novel, while it was not well-integrated into the sensuous flow of "Big 53 Two-Hearted River." In revising the long story, Heming- way began again at the point where he began to stray from the clear movement of action (at the end of the partial paragraph at the top of p. 208, where Nick thinks of the difficulty of fishing upstream in a heavy current). From there he wrote the familiar ending in a draft requir— ing almost no revision, carefully keeping to the framework he had earlier established. Similarly, Jake's first-draft discussion of the two alpine stories was not integrated, and the story he tells might more appropriately have added to the extended Characterization of a Nick Adams--the image of Jake Barnes, alipine skier, intrudes into the structure of the novel. In the first draft, Jake is care- fully established as a trustworthy expert in many areas organic to the movement of the novel. Alpine skiing has nothing to do with what happens to the novel's characters in Paris, Pamplona, San Sebastian, Hendaye, or Madrid, and might logically be eliminated as Heming- way tightens his drafts. In a 1958 interview in the Paris Review, Heming- way restated one of the primary principles at work in his early fiction--a principle which he consistently followed throughout his career: 54 . . . I always try to write on the principle of the iceberg. There is seven eights of it under water for every part that shows. Any— thing you know you can eliminate and it only strengthens your iceberg. Like Hemingway's emphasis on not "killing" or "losing" things, this statement on the value of submerged knowledge seems to derive from a belief in careful artistic control, a commitment to a high degree of artistic craftsmanship, a conviction that fiction must be far more than Simple journalism. This commitment is not merely a commitment to "art for art's sake," though certainly Hemingway strives for artistic perfection, but also a result of the conviction that only in a carefully controlled and crafted art can searching, truthful insight be achieved. In speaking of characterization, he eXemplified this conviction in the Paris Review: If you describe someone, it is flat, as a photograph is, and from my standpoint a failure. If you make him up from what you know, there should be all the dimensions. (PR Interview, p. 35) Within Hemingway's framework of artistic inten— tion, the thing left out may be almost as important as that which is left in. In particular, even such masked authorial intrusions as Jake's discussions of his uncle's funeral and his analysis of the A. E. W. Mason story 55 are suspect. In Hemingway's view, explanations may be eliminated, or substantially reduced; explanation is never so truthful as direct presentation; journalistic presentation is never so complete as the artist's inven- tion from his knowledge of the world. The doctor/post of Rutherford, New Jersey, William Carlos Williams, might have been speaking for the author struggling to shape The Sun Also Rises when he stated his prime artis- tic principle, the imagistic "no ideas but in things." Within a framework which relies on the reader's ability to perceive the "significant things" (194-1) and their relationships within the novel, explanations must be suspect. Such fraudulent preaching as the mother's in the funeral anecdote moves neither writer nor reader closer to a direct, unobstructed perception of the author's multi-dimensional reality. Even the most accurate exposi- tory section cannot compare in flexibility and effect to a more direct presentation through invention; explanation cannot evoke the complex of emotions and associations possible in direct presentation to an alert reader. Writing in A Moveable Feast of the early development of his methods, Hemingway notes that his starting point when writing seemed difficult or impossflfle was to "write one 56 true sentence, and then go on from there" (ME, p. 12). If I started to write elaborately, or like someone introducing or presenting something, I found that I could cut that scrollwork or ornament out and throw it away and start with the first true simple declarative sentence I had written. (ME, p. 12) Yet the end point of Hemingway's simple declarative sentence is not intended to be a simple reading exper- ience. He does not aim for the simplicity of a McGuffy reader, but for the apparent simplicity of a Manet, Monet or Cézanne. In A Moveable Feast, he carefully qualifies the place of simplicity in his art, using the work of the Impressionists as a touchstone for judging his effects: I was learning something from the painting of Cézanne that made writing simple true sentences far from enough to make the stories have the dimensions that I was trying to put in them. I was learning very much from him . . . . (ME, p. 13) Hemingway works to convey a multi-dimensioned truth with apparent simplicity. And within such a framework of apparent simplicity, extended comments and explanations, though functional in the working out Of the novel, serve best when subordinated, or consigned to their place in the novel's foundation, in the unseen supporting bulk of the iceberg. Chapter Five NARRATION AND THE DEVELOPING SHAPE OF THE NOVEL While The Sun Also Rises is a tight, carefully- crafted novel, Hemingway found it necessary to rework his early drafts considerably before the novel achieved an acceptable shape. In A Moveable Feast he considers the extreme difficulty of shaping the novel from his first draft; the revision was accomplished during his winter of skiing in Austria, after Hemingway had quickly completed his short satire of Sherwood Anderson, The TorrentS'of'Spring. That book is the antithesis of The Sun Also Rises; it glories in authorial comment, outra- geous overstatement, and a general lack of effective con— trol. But in it, Hemingway set high standards for Ander- son--and for himself. He characterized the task of re- vising to such high standards this way: Schruns was a good place to work. I know because I did the most difficult job of‘rewrit- ing'I have ever done there in the winter of 1925 and 1926, when I had to take the first draft of The Sun Also Rises which I had written in one sprint of six weeks, and make it into a novel. (ME, p. 200-—my emphasis) 57 58 Amd in the first draft of the novel, it sometimes seems that Hemingway is conscious that such rewriting will be— come necessary. At times his comments reflect consid- erable confusion over where the novel is going and how it should be shaped. He worries over which Characters should be at the center Of the book; he considers whether or not he is achieving a proper narrative dis- tance from the events of the novel; and he wonders how his literary friends will receive the work. Yet at other times he is Clearly in control, particularly in control of the overall shape of the book in spite of his concern for the crafting Of the novel, which will lead to "the most difficult job of rewriting." By the time he has written half of published Chapter X, a little less than a month after he began work on the first draft,Hemingway seems very much in control of that overall structure. Inside the back cover of his third notebook, Hemingway jots down an outline projecting the completion of the novel in a total of eighteen chapters. He is being somewhat opti- mistic in his projection--the notebook draft will even- tually comprise twenty-two chapters. But in this outline 59 the major events of the novel's plot line are represented. Included are the involvement of Brett (here Duff) with Romero (here called Nino de la Palma), Mike's conflicts with Robert Cohn (here Gerald), and even Jake's eventual return to Spain after Brett's breakup with Romero. The descencajonada (unloading of the bulls) and the encierro and corrida form Clear centers for two of the projected Chapters, while Brett's involvement with Romero and the resulting fight between Cohn and Romero will be at the center of another. In its Chapter divisions, Hemingway's outline does tend to lump together more material than may fill a chapter in the finished novel. [Hemingway's Outline for the Novel] [on back cover of n.b. III] Chap XIII—-finishes with Gerald not going Chap XIV Ride to Burgette Fishing return to Pamplona Chap XV Duff Gerald and Mike [illegible] then descencajonada when we get in the party out at the wine shop Mike's first out burst Chap XVI Encierro, first corrida brings back to point where book starts. goes on with that night the South American the dancing place Noel Murphy. Count shows up. XVIII Corrida Duff goes off with Nino Count refuses Mike job. Bill goes to Paris. Mike talks, goes to Saint Jean de Luz to wait for Duff, Gerald talks, goes to-Saint—Geaa—Be—Bus—San 60 Sebastian afterwards Paris I go on down into Spain to bring Duff back, get her letter [Chapter XIII in the notebook draft corresponds to Chapter XIII in this outline, ending with Cohn deciding not to go to Burgette. Since the notebook Chapter XIV covers only the ride to Burgette, while the outline projects it as including the entire fishing trip and return to Pamplona, it seems likely that this outline was put together sometime during the writing of notebook Chapter XIII or early in the writ- ing of notebook chapter XIV] The trip to Burguete, fishing and trip back to Pamplona fill two and a half chapters, rather than the single chapter which Hemingway projects in his outline; the section is an idyllic respite from the tensions of the group, and in giving it more Space as he wrote, Hem- ingway provided a more solid base for its juxtaposition to those tensions. Similarly, the events of the final outlined chapter will make up three chapters in the first draft, two in The Sun Also Rises. And the events of The Sun Also Rises'short Chapter XIV (n.b. Chapter XVII), in which Jakes lies in bed thinking about the group and which then bridges two uneventful days before the begin— ning of the fiesta--these events do not correspond to anything listed in the outline. Of course, a good deal Of the material of the completed novel cannot be included 61 in so short an outline focusing only on events. However, the correspondence of the outline to the novel's events is fairly exact, and can be charted: TABLE 3. A Comparison Of the Events Outlined to Elements in the First Draft and Published Version by Chapters Projected First The Sun Outline Draft Also Rises XIII XIII X XIV XIV XI \ XV XII XVI (part) XIII (part) XV XVI (part) XIII (part) no events correspond XVII XIV XVI XVIII XV XVII XVIII XXI* XVIII «uIE==::::::::::::xxI* XIX XXEU? *The two notebook chapters XXI represent a misnumbering. They are separate chapters. **Chapter XXII was apparently written in as the notebook was revised. 62 Aside from its chapters' expansion in the drafts of the novel, the outline differs in only a few particu- lars from the characters and events involved in bringing the novel to its close. In the projected description of the party following the first corrida Hemingway had planned to introduce both a South American (perhaps to work against Robert Cohn's earlier idealization of South America) and a character identified only as "Noel Murphy" (perhaps based on Gerald Murphy, the rich expatriate who later contributed much to F. Scott Fitzgerald's charac- terization of Dick Diver in Tender is the Night. Appar- ently, Hemingway also planned at the same time to reintro- duce Count Mippipopolous, the character out of the novel's Paris section who many critics have compared to Jake in his knowledge of "the values" for proper living, in his appreciation of the good things of life, and in his bear- ing of physical wounds as signs of his experience of the world. According to the outline, in the projected final chapter the count was to have refused Mike a job. How- ever, Count Mippipopolous does not reappear at any point as Hemingway finishes his first draft or as he revises. While no evidence exists as to exactly why Hemingway 63 Chose to ignore this outline and not reintroduce the count, the choice seems to make sense both dramatically and struc- turally: the count tends to serve as a calming force when- ever he appears, and while the earlier juxtaposition with his character helps the reader to understand Jake, while illuminating the values the count exemplifies, his doubling presence in the climax and resolution of the plot might tend to blur our tracking of Jake's reactions and percep- tions. Additionally, the count's presence in the ending of the novel is less necessary than in the Paris section, near the book's beginning, for Jake (and even Brett), the characters closely identified with the count, have changed considerably in the course of the novel. The Jake Barnes Of the early section, who cries at night over his injury and who finds himself unreasonably jealous when Brett is with other men (particularly Robert Cohn), has learned to accept and live with his limitations. Like the count, he takes pleasure in what is available to him; just as the count comments on Brett and Jake's dancing in Zelli's jazz bar, "I would do it if I would enjoy it," and tells Brett "I enjoy to watch you dance" (TSAR, p. 63), Jake comes to peace. In the first—draft version of the bar 64 scene, the count is described as "Sitting there like Buddah" (194—2), completely serene, though the descrip- tion is later revised to emphasize the count's serene enjoyment of the pleasures of life: "He was sitting at the table smoking a cigar" (TSAR, p. 62). By the end of the book, Jake has come closer to the serenity we see exemplified in the count, and the contrast with the count would only have served to emphasize the distance Jake yet had to travel to full maturity. In the absence of that contrast, we can see how far Jake has come, and how inevitable will be the process of his graceful com- ing to terms with the conditions of his life. Another difference between Hemingway's outline and completed draft cannot be precisely established, but seems possible given a close reading of his outline for the novel's final chapter. Ending the outline Hemingway writes, "I go on down into Spain to bring Duff back, get her letter" (194-3). No letter is received in the novel's ending, though it is possible that the letter of the out- line became in the first draft the telegrams calling Jake to Madrid. However, a strict adherence to chronology, which Hemingway does not otherwise depart from in the outline, would have placed those messages before Jake's 1: th ec In tw tbs he dec dra: 65 trip "down into Spain" rather than after, as the nota- tion appears in the outline. It is possible to conjec- ture that Jake and Brett may not have been projected to meet in Madrid, that he might have arrived to find a letter awaiting him. Brett might have left the Hotel Montana before his arrival, or even after a meeting she might have written him to explain her feelings and actions. If either were the case, Hemingway obviously chose in the first draft to work through a meeting of the two. And the meeting of Jake and Brett, leading to their bitter- sweet meal and the ending taxi ride together, accomplishes the novel's resolution at once more.movingly and more economically than could any letter or exchange of letters. In the events of the meeting and in the talks between the two, we see Jake and Brett as closely as possible, at first hand. Their language is more naturally expressive, and their actions more revealing than the language of a letter could have been. Hemingway later rejected another use of a letter-— the letter Bill mentions receiving from the black boxer he befriended in Vienna. Apparently Hemingway had trouble deciding what the boxer would write, for in the notebook draft Hemingway left room for the letter to be written in; in mo de. sic gen 66 a blank notebook page is headed "KOln/Dear Mr. Grundy" and ends with "yours fondly/William Tate." Jake comments after reading, "That's a letter." and Bill echoes, "You're darn right that's a letter" (194—2). But Hemingway never filled in the blank page as he revised--no evidence exists that he ever wrote anything to fill it. Instead, in the second draft Hemingway substituted new material after the first draft description of what happened in Vienna, as told to Jake by the half-drunken Bill Gorton. Bill's description of the fixed fight and its aftermath is splendidly comic; Hemingway continued the comic tone in Bill's delightfully fractured discus- sion of values (TSAR, pp. 72-74) as they relate to stuffed aanimals. ("Simple exchange of values. You give them nuoney. They give you a stuffed dog . . . . Road to hell Euived with unbought stuffed dogs" [TSAR, pp. 72-73].) Long-distance communication always tends to be iJiadequate in The Sun Also Rises. Bill's tale Offers a "Eire direct impression of the events in Vienna than the dfiileted letter could have, and the tone of his discus- sixon of stuffed dogs tells much more about his essential gentleness and accurate perception of the world than the boxer's written expression of gratitude could have conveyed. 67 The meeting between Jake and Brett in Madrid is more evocative than an exchange of letters could have been—- in the published book, the contrast between Brett's terse telegram, "COULD YOU COME HOTEL MONTANA MADRID AM RATHER IN TROUBLE" (TSAR, p. 238), and her conver- sation with Jake is extraordinary. Similarly, Robert's earlier telegram to Jake tells next to nothing: "Vengo Jueves Cohn" (T§AR, p. 127). Cohn is justifiably ridiculed by Bill and Jake for failing to use the ten words he might have sent for the same price as his pompous-sounding message, "I come Thursday.” Even Bill is less than completely expressive in his postcard to Jake, here quoted in full: "Jake, Budapest is wonderful" (TSAR, p. 70). Surprisingly, the best communication is the letter from Mike explaining why he and Brett will be late arriving in Pamplona. While the letter is marred by an overuse of the conven- tional "all our love," it also contains one of Mike's clearest statements of his love for Brett: "I know her so well and try to look after her but it's not so easy" (Z§§§, p. 126). The cables Jake writes in his Paris office are professional rather than personal communications, and VI Ci hi as St< 68 all the other telegrams that fill the novel are concerned only with physical comings and goings. The meanings of all such messages seem as cryptic as Brett's "AM RATHER IN TROUBLE." At most, they only hint at the needs and emotions felt by their senders. In The Sun Also Rises, real communication can take place only face-to-face, per- haps even with the ritual touch on the shoulder that marks the recognition of one aficionado by another. In his rejection of the use of letters and tele- grams to carry important communications between charac- ters--and in his rejection of their narrative use to con- vey information important to the reader--Hemingway Chooses an immediate, direct narration. As he again and again demonstrates the banality of long-distance communication, Hemingway underlines his choice of an immediate and in- volved first-person narration, what Sheldon Grebstein called, "a point of view evolved out of a sense of the continuous present, of the narrator's close proximity in time to the events he recounts" (H's Craft, p. 72). The evidence indicates that in the shaping of his narrative method Hemingway was not without his doubts as to Jake Barnes' ability adequately to present the story. Again and again in the first draft, Jake muses be th 9X, 69 on the efficacy of his narration. The critics have also addressed the question, with varying results. A good deal of criticism has focused on.Rfl$flsreliability as narrator, particulary his ability to present Robert Cohn clearly, and evaluations of the novel have occasionally gone so far as to view Cohn as the best Character in the book, the Optimistic alternative to the sad reality of Jake and Brett's many failures, as does William L. Vance in his "Implications of Form in The Sun Also Rises." Certainly, Jake is not always to be trusted when he begins to analyze other characters--he has reason enough not to view Cohn with an unjaundiced eye, given that both men are hopelessly in love with Brett. Yet, in "the continuous present," Jake faithfully reports all that goes on in Paris and at the fiesta. And he is not unaware of his own biases. Again and again in the notebook draft the nar— rator considers his own reliability and the developing shape of the novel. (If in these analytic passages the writer should be thought of as Jake or as Hemingway may be open to question.) Several of these passages found their way into the completed The Sun Also Rises, as for example in Chapter VI, where Jake muses, "Somehow I feel 70 I have not shown Robert Cohn clearly" (TSAR, p. 45). In this case the comment, potentially bearing on narrative method and reliability, leads into a discussion of Cohn's Character, in particular his incapacity for distinguish- ing himself. Of Cohn's optimistic Cheerfulness, Jake comments, "I probably have not brought it out" (TSAR, p. 45). Again, the potential opening for a discussion of method is suppressed. Rather than following with an exposition of his own biases, Jake continues with a dis— cussion of Cohn playing tennis. Even in the first draft, this section exists essentially as published, skirting about a discussion of method, but leading instead through the admission of potential narrative unreliability to a discussion of character. The potential unreliability is brought to the attention of the reader, but not re- solved. Yet in the composition of The Sun Also Rises, discussion of narrative difficulties—~matters of struc- ture, characterization, and emphasis--formed an integral part of Hemingway's method. Thus, at the end of the notebook draft version of The Sun Also Rises, Chapter V, just after his argument with Cohn over Duff, the narrator considers the problems of character emphasis inherent in In 71 the book-length work: Now you can see. I look as though I was try- ing to get to be the hero of this story. But that was all wrong. Gerald Cohn is the hero. When I bring myself in it is only to clear up something. Or maybe Duff is the hero. Or Nifio de la Palma. He never really had a chance to be the hero. Or maybe there is not any hero at all. Maybe a story is better without a hero. (194-2) Like a number of similar remarks, this passage is crossed out in Hemingway's revision of the notebooks and never appears in any of the typed drafts of the novel. It re- mains partly significant in its suggestion that Heming- way's story is shifting on him, refusing to follow exactly the lines he may have set out for it. That is, rather than finding he is writing a wholly predictable work, Hemingway seems to be discovering that even within his projected structure the exact shape of the novel is not wholly predictable. The statement is perhaps even more significant as it leads to its concluding sentence: "Maybe a story is better without a hero." This statement originally stood in a position of extreme emphasis, at the end of the chapter. What Hemingway suggests is, of course, that maybe a story is better if it moves away from conventional expectations of what elements it should contain. Just as 72 Hemingway projects a fiction without any of the conven- tional literary signs to the plot's significant moments, he also works toward a fiction which acknowledges the ambiguities and paradoxes in the personalities of real people. A Clear and admirable hero is the backbone of formula fiction; a hero (like Cohn) who is far from strong and admirable exists at a remove from such a conventional hero. But in a possibly confusing multi- plicity of heroes or even the lack of any character who can be called a hero, Hemingway reaffirms his movement away from a conventional fiction toward a fiction founded on the careful examination and recreation of life. Of course, this emphasis is not newly formed in The Sun Also Rises. While such very early evidence as the typescripts of "The Woppian Way," an unpublished short story written in Petoskey, Michigan and intended for Argosy, indicates that Hemingway started with formu- listic fiction, he soon moved away from such writing. In A Moveable Feast, he remembers his faith in the methods he chose to employ despite the disappointment of repeatedly sending out stories he had faith in and having the manu- scripts repeatedly come back (ME, pp. 73-75). His reac- tion to and movement away from the conventional story is 73 clearly fixed in the writing of the stories and "Chap- ters" of In Our Time. Passages such as that quoted above indicate his reconsideration and reaffirmation Of his own directions in the new form, the novel. These first-draft discussions of method and direction also seem to serve as Hemingway's notes to himself, clarifying in an expository manner ideas which he will later treat more organically within the scenes of the novel. Thus, at the point that Hemingway writes that Nifio de la Palma "never really had a chance to be the hero" (194-2), we have really only seen Nifio in the first scene of the first draft, in his hotel room. As the plot returns to Nifio later in the notebook draft and as in later drafts Hemingway collects the material referring to Nifio at the center of the novel's chronology of action, he will indeed have a chance to be the hero. Or, more accurately, he will contribute in the character Of Pedro Romero to Hemingway's controlling vision Of what sorts of action might make a person admirable, "heroic." While we might identify Jake Barnes as The Sun Also Rises' narrator/protagonist, Jake cannot eventually be identified as the hero of the novel, even though he 74 looks as if he "was trying to get to be the hero of the story" (194-2). Hemingway does not seem to be using the term, hero, as a technical synonym for protagonist. His idea of the hero is separated by the word's innumerable connotations from the far less complicated protagonist, and The Sun Also Rises finally offers no hero, but in- stead a composite vision and presentation of the heroic (and unheroic) as it operates in the world. Hemingway had examined heroism in his early stories. Aside from high-school writings, which tend somewhat to overblown supernaturalism, only three stories survived from the batch of stories and novel manuscript stolen from Hadley Hemingway on the train to Lausanne in December of 1922. One was the inaccrochable "Up in Michigan.“ In the other two, "The Woppian Way," and "My Old Man," Hemingway tried heroic protagonists. The hero of "The WOppian Way," Pickles McCarty, is a pure, formula- fiction hero. A ranked boxer with a shot at the champion- ship, he chooses to give up fame in the ring in order to fight as a member of the Arditi, shock troops on the Italian Front. This 1919 story is less than successful as serious fiction, though often sidesplittingly funny-- both by intention and by chance--and its too-heroic hero 75 explains that he could never feel the same thrill in the ring after the real fighting in Italy. In "My Old Man," begun in 1919 and often identi- fied as derivative of Sherwood Anderson's racetrack stories, Hemingway examined heroism from a far more in- sightful standpoint. The Old Man of the title is a jockey seen as near-heroic by the story's narrator, the jockey's young son. And the story revolves around the son's discovery after his father's death that he had been seeing only a part of his father's character. While seem- ingly an ideal and loved parent, the father had also been a crooked jockey. After the boy has discovered his father's flaws, a friend reassures him that his father was "one swell guy." But the son is unconvinced: "Seems like when they get started they don't leave a guy nothing" (192, p. 173). As readers, we can see the son cannot immediately comprehend in his disappointment and grief--the father is simultaneously admirable and terribly flawed: he is human. The Sun Also Rises presents a composite of such all-too-human Characters, each contributing to Heming- way's vision of what is most admirable and courageous in human action in a flawed and dangerous world. In 76 spite of his sometime immaturity and prejudice, Jake Barnes partially represents the hero in his attempts to live honorably in the face of his physical and emo- tional handicaps. Nifio/Romero in spite of his youth, perhaps comes closest to idealized heroism in his ex- plorations of frontiers of bravery and artistry. Duff/ Brett is the hero as she finally faces her limitations and accepts responsibility for the damage which she might cause in following her own desires. Even Robert Cohn represents a portion of the heroic vision in his loyalty and idealism, however misplaced those qualities may seem, particularly as seen through Jake's less-than- wholly-objective eyes. Hemingway again and again touches the idea of lack of control, of a story taking its own directions and imposing its own organic imperatives on its telling. In a discussion which first appears in the notebook draft and survives into the gammy'proofs before being cut--the passage would have begun the second Chapter of the beginning he cancelled in the galleys--Hemingway discusses, through Jake, the problem Of distancing the narrator from his narration: I did not want to tell this story in the first person but I find that I must. I wanted to smy'well outside the story so that I would 77 not be touched by it in any way and handle all the people in it with that irony and pity that are so essential to good writing. I even thought I might be amused by all the things that are going to happen to Lady Brett Ashley and Mr. Robert Cohn and Michael Campbell, Esq., and Mr. Jake Barnes. But first I made the unfortunate mistake, for a writer, of first having been Mr. Jake Barnes. 80 it is not going to be so splendid and cool and detached after all. "What a pity!" as Brett used to say. (This version from 202a, the -omitted galley proofs.) Two possible literary sources have been discovered for Jake's espousal of the principles of "irony and pity" as touchstones for good writing. Perhaps the more likely of the two is Gilbert Seldes' 1925 Dial review of another 1920's classic-to-be: ‘The Great Gatsby. In the review, Seldes praises Fitzqerald effusively; in A Moveable Eggsi Hemingway acknowledges having been shown it by Fitzgerald, noting that the review "could only have been better if Gilbert Seldes had been better" (ME, p. 152). Seldes says that Fitzgerald "has ceased to content him- self with a satiric report on the outside of American life and has with considerable irony attacked the spirit underneath . . . . Fitzgerald is regarding a tiny sec- tion of life and reporting it with irony and pity and a consuming passion" (p. 162-3). The review also ranks 78 Fitzgerald as having far surpassed all the men of his generation. A second possible source for the phrase is the title of a story collection published early in 1926 by American author Paul Eldridge: Ironypand Pity: A Book of Tales. However, the second draft of The Sun Also Rises had been completed by the end of March 1926 (the first review of Eldridge's book appeared late in March, 1926) though Hemingway might have seen the story collection during his February 1926 trip to New York. Either Of these two sources, of course, might also have helped to recall Don Stewart's comment on the irony and pity of the ruin of the Irati River. AS Hemingway discusses the difficulties of first- person narration, he suggests his desire to achieve an appropriate narrative distance while at the same time poking fun at the conventional "splendid and cool and detached" stance. The references to the intrusive necessity of the first person narration not only serve dramatically, to characterize Jake as a person drawn in against his judgment and will, to emotional involve- ment in the story he narrates, but also suggest Heming- way's acute consciousness of the form in which he works. Most of his fiction to this point has allowed him the 79 splendid and cool and detached stance of the third-person narrator, excepting only "My Old Man," five of the "chap- ters" of In Our Time (I, III, IV, XIII and "L'ENVOI"), and the still-unpublished "The Woppian Way." But none of the first-person narrators in these pieces of fiction, with the possible exception of the interviewer of "L'ENVOI," is particularly a consciously perceiving character. In the "chapters," Hemingway is trying dif- ferent psnxrae--a kitchen corporal, a British officer, a matador-—as he tries out the persona of the young boy in "My Old Man" and that of the cynical middleaged news- paperman of "The WOppian Way." Particularly in the "chapters," he is presenting character through speech, rather than exploring the use of a central consciousness as a narrative screen or focus for the presentation of a story. Joe Butler, the disillusioned boy narrator of "My Old Man," comes closest to working as such a central screen, yet Joe lacks the maturity and tendency toward introspection--and the lack of involvement-- which might qualify a narrator to view the events and characters he portrays with irony and pity. If Hemingway indeed felt challenged to reproduce Fitzgerald's achievement in The Great Gatsby, working 80 through an involved-yet-peripheral narrator like Nick Carraway, his earlier work had not completely prepared him for such a form of narration. And as he wrote, he discovered a different narration arising out of the events and characters of the novel. His narrator had seen and experienced far more than a Nick Carraway, had made "the unfortunate mistake, for a writer, of first having been Jake Barnes" (202a). And Jake is far closer to the center of the novel he narrates than Nick is to the center of The Great Gatsby. The narrative scheme of The Sun Also Rises will not be "so Splendid and cool and detached? but Hemingway will take up another challenge posed by Seldes' review Of Gatsby, a review he would remember even thirty-Odd years later as he wrote A Moveable Feast, to recognize as Fitzgerald did "both his capacities and his obligations as a novelist" (Seldes, p. 164) and to match Fitzgerald's extraordinary . . . technical virtuosity" (Seldes, p. 162). Of irony, the narration of The Sun Also Rises contains a great deal, beginning with the terrible irony of Jake's wound and continuing through all the wound's effects on his perceptions of the world around him, but of pity there seems to be very little. Pity is precisely 81 the emotion which Jake must carefully guard against, less self-pity overwhelm him and the terrible irony of his situation degenerate into mere banality, as nearly happens in Jake's dinner conversation with Georgette, discussing wound and war. Jake recognizes the danger: "We would probably have gone on and discussed the war and agreed that it was in reality a calamity for civili- zation, and perhaps would have been better avoided. I was bored enough" (ZSAR, p. 17). And Hemingway must similarly guard against the expression of the emotion in his narrative scheme, since he has committed himself to an art which creates rather than discusses reality. As he revises, Hemingway reduces the novel's discussions of irony and pity, removing Jake's discus- sion of "that irony and pity that are so essential to good writing? and also deleting another discussion which centered on Brett's "What a pity!" The remaining refer- ence to the concepts comes in the context of Jake and Bill's idyllic fishing trip to Burguete, as Bill begins the morning by singing, "Irony and Pity. When you're feeling . . . [shitty]. Oh, give them Irony and Give them Pity" (lSAR, p. 114). The passage may probably be read as a Sly dig at Fitzgerald, and perhaps as an 82 even more obscure reference to the publication Of Paul Eldridge's book of short stories by Bill, just arrived with the latest news from literary New York. But while Bill's mocking treatment undercuts the seriousness of irony and pity as principles guiding action or literary composition, Hemingway subtly--and ironically--underlines their significance to Jake in one of the relatively few handwritten additions to his own typescript second draft of the novel's second half. He lines in the title of the tune Bill is singing: "The Bells are Ringing for Me and my Gal" (198). But not for Jake Barnes and his gal. The point is made succincfibm without pausing for emphasis, without direct comment from either Jake, nar- rator, or Hemingway, author. Hemingway seems ever aware of the dangers of overstatement, but his method of first-draft composition works from overstatement and direct comment to the reader. Early in the first notebook, just after commenting that "none of the significant things are going to have any literary signs marking them," he goes on to comment on his own comments: Now when my friends read this they will say it is awful. It is not what they had hoped or expected from me. Gertrude Stein once told me 83 that remarks are not literature. All right, let it go at that. Only this time all the remarks are going in and if it is not litera- ture who claimed it was anyway. (194-1 Underlined sentence was later lined out in the notebook draft.) And the "remarks" did go in to the first draft; they helped Hemingway to Clarify directions and solidify ideas as he hammered out his first draft in five dif- ferent cities over a period of two months. Perhaps, like the passage quoted above, they also helped to discharge some of the tension of writing for an audience which very definitely hoped for and expected great things from Hemingway, an audience of recognized writers with their own ideas of what made "literature." Eventually, all the "remarks" that found their way into the first draft of the novel went back out as Hemingway revised. As Hemingway moves through the first draft of the novel, his manuscript reflects more and more overt consideration of the implications of the elements which shape The Sun Also Rises. He explores the linkings and oppositions between elements of his narration. The novel'eassatblageu Of elements may seem random to the casual reader (American novelist Nathan Asch read part of the manuscript and told Hemingway he was writing a 84 "travel book" rather than a novel.) but Hemingway has carefully considered each part's relationship to the whole, and The Sun Also Rises is actually tightly- reasoned and -structured. In part, the novel is a "travel book,“ but it is first a novel whose settings have received particular attention. Early in the first notebook of the first draft, the narrator reflects on the inclusion of exten- sive descriptions of the expatriate life in Paris's Montmarte quarter, descriptions which make up a good deal of published Book I. The tone of his consideration is similar to that of a March 25, 1922 feature article published by Hemingway in The Toronto Star Weekly; in that early article he reflects that Montmarte's bars are filled nightly with expatriates--but not by serious artists and writers. The inmates of bars like the R0- tonde "are nearly all loafers expending the energy that an artist puts into his creative work in talking about what they are going to do . . ." (Byline, p. 25). Within the draft of his novel, Hemingway again considers the quarter, but begins from a more personal- ized perspective than in the Star Weekly article, first discussing Pat and Duff (later Mike and Brett) as drunks 85 and then going on to explain the importance of his descriptions to the meaning of his story, and particu- larly the relevance of the quarter to two of the novel's potential "heroes," Romero and Cohn. Just after the description of Pat and Duff comes this "remark": "I do not know why I have put all this down. It may mix up the story but I wanted to show you what a fine crowd we were; what a good crowd for a nineteen year old kid [Romero] to get in with" (194-1). Some ten or twelve notebook pages later Hemingway concludes his extensive description of expatriate life in Paris with the seemingly-paradoxical, yet significant statement, "[The quarter] is too sad and dull a place to write about. I have had to put it in because Gerald [Cohn] had spent two years in it. That accounts for a great many things" (194-1). The morally dissolute life of Paris accounts, indeed, for a great deal of what follows. And the character-to-Character tensions set up in the quarter are eventually released in the frenzy of another setting, Pamplona at fiesta time. Just as Hemingway analyzed the role of the Paris setting in shaping the events of the novel, later in the first draft he considered the Pamplona 86 fiesta--but with a very different conclusion, that the fiesta's role was not causative, but catalytic: I do not think English and Americans have ever had any seven day fiestas. A prolonged fiesta does strange things to them. Pamplona is a reckless fiesta and it can be dangerous. It can be [illegible, probably reckless]. Whether the danger grew up out of the recklessness or the recklessness out of the danger I do not know. How much of what happened can be laid to the fiesta and how much must be laid to the natural processes starting in Paris I cannot decide. The fiesta made every one a little crazy certainly but it had the effect of speeding up the natural tendencies through the insistence on the unimportance of conse- quences. Still I think that it is only inci- dental to the story. If it had not been the Fiesta it would have been something else. It was a fiesta and it went on for seven days. (194-5. WOuld follow the first sen- tence on p. 155 of TSAR.) Here again, Hemingway quite consciously is working out the structure of the novel on paper. In this passage he begins by seeming unsure of the exact role of the fiesta in influencing the actions of his characters and ends with absolute certainty, moving from the early "I do not know." through the statement of possible forms for the relationship of action to setting ("I cannot decide.") to the eventual decision "If it had not been the Fiesta it would have been something else." 87 Just a few pages after the beginning of pub- lished Chapter XV as "the fiesta exploded," he has de- cided upon the essentially catalytic rather than causa- tive role of the celebration. "The unimportance of consequences" will not be directly presented in the final draft, but represented in the lines of Chapter XV's first paragraph, where Jake comments that to the peasants early in the fiesta money "still had a definite value in hours worked and bushels of grain sold. Late in the fiesta it would not matter what they paid, nor where they bought" (TSAR, p. 152). Hemingway's consid- eration is replaced by Jake's presentation. Late in the first draft, as Jake recuperates in San Sebastian before Brett's telegrams reach him, func- tional elements of setting are again considered; later in the writing of the novel these considerations are deleted and the effect of place upon Jake is shown rather than analyzed. Again and again in what became published Chapter XIX, one of the most heavily revised sections of the novel, we find such statements as this: It was a splendid place to swim. You could lie on the beach and soak in the sun and get straightend around inside again. Maybe I would feel like writing. San Sebastian was a good place. (196-6. Corresponds to TSAR, p. 232.) 88 Or, again a few pages later, Jake continues his consid- eration of the differences between France and Spain, as he has lunch: It was pleasant to have [too much immediately lined out] a great amount of food served again. You did not have to eat it and it was nice not to have that measured French feeling. (194-6. Corresponds to TSAR, p. 234.) And yet again a page or two later: San Sebastian was a good place. It was a good place to get all straightened inside again. . . . Then I could get back to Paris again. (194-6. Corresponds to TSAR, p. 235.) By this point in the composition process, however, the exact function of these considerations of place seems to have altered somewhat as Hemingway gains a surer sense of his method. The speaking voice has changed: In note- book one, when Hemingway writes that "all the remarks are going in," the speaking voice is clearly that of Ernest Hemingway, author; in the consideration of the Pamplona fiesta and the telling of the story in the first person, the speaker is more ambiguously identified, at once representing a convergence Of the actual and implied authors' interests. In the near-obsessive concern with getting straightened around inside, the considerations of San Sebastian Clearly Operate to characterize Jake 89 Barnes' mental state; these and other of Jake's state- ments near the end of the first draft project a pro- tagonist more bitter and less in control of himself than the Jake Barnes of the completed novel, and a Jake Barnes not at all transcribed out of Hemingway's own experiences at Pamplona but completely transformed, completely created as an independent character. While Jake develops early and naturally as narrator, Hemingway seems to have had a few second thoughts as to his effectiveness; Jake's desire to avoid writing the story in the first person is at least in part the reflection of a desire on Hemingway's part. In his revisions of the novel, Hemingway considered a third-person beginning, going so far as to type out two fragmentary versions of the first-draft beginning in Romero's hotel room. In the second version, the nar- rator was not only third-person, but also omniscient. But these two trials were far from satisfactory--they seem lifeless beside Jake's narration--and were soon abandoned. The longer of the two trials covers only five typewritten pages. But while Hemingway's impuhse toward a third- person narration did not bear fruit, in the course of 90 first-draft composition and subsequent revision, he did introduce a narrative perspective markedly different from that of Jake, in the person of Bill Grundy (later renamed Bill Gorton). Effectively, Bill is a second-- though secondary--narrator. Within Jake's narration, Bill is a storyteller, recounting, for example, the adventures he undertook in befriending a Black boxer in Vienna. Later, Bill will serve as a second control- ling consciousness in Hemingway's presentation of the fiesta. Jake's point-of-view is expanded and enriched as Bill recounts events of the chaotic celebration which he rather than Jake has witnessed at first hand. (Mike Campbell similarly serves to expand Jake's viewpoint, as he tells of Cohn's fight with Romero, at Bill's urging.) And, for several pages in the Burguete seCtion of the first draft, Bill becomes the novel's narrator. At the beginning of Chapter XVI of that draft, speaker identification seems confused. Where the published version reads l, the notebook draft reads £252! and where the published version reads Bill, the notebook reads l. Bill is telling the story directly to the reader. A note in the notebook's margin reads: "lst person now--/Bill--/friend now" (194-4). Later in the 91 composition process (perhaps when Hemingway reworked the novel in Schruns, though no definite proof exists for this tentative dating beyond Hemingway's general state- ment on the reviSion of the novel) another marginal note was added beneath the first: "Change to Jake/be [near- illegible, probably tragic]/throughout" (194-4). Even- tually, both notations were very heavily crossed out, and the speaker identifications were reversed to fit in with a continuation of Jake's point of view. It must remain unknowable whether Hemingway intended only to attempt writing one chapter from Bill's point of view, or whether he was considering some sort of alternating structure, using Bill and Jake as complementary comic and "tragic" filters through which to view the events taking place in Spain. While Bill might have added a comic or ironic perspective (as, indeed, he does in the final version of The Sun Also Rises), his inclusion as a second narrator would have considerably compromised the unity of the novel's narrative scheme. In any case, Hemingway continued the experiment for only a few pages before abandoning it. In revision, however, Bill is developed as storyteller; the "stuffed dog" section, for example, 92 which runs from near the top of page 72 to the appear- ance of Brett on page 74, was a late addition, first appearing in the typist's version second draft. Chapter Six "THE MOST DIFFICULT JOB OF REVISION" While in most cases the typescript second draft of The Sun Also Rises corresponds closely to the finally- published book and while even many sections of the earlier notebook draft match the final novel closely, in a number of instances Hemingway's continued revision of certain scenes can be traced through a number of drafts. In terms of an understanding of his methods and principles, several such scenes can serve as instructive examples, particularly when they represent presentations of material important to the novel's development of theme or Character. I have chosen to discuss four such scenes. They are (1) the early love scene between Jake and Brett, which appears in the published version, Chapter VII, (2) the discussion by Jake and a waiter of the death Of Vicente Girones, the peasant gored while running before the bulls, (3) the description of Romero's performance in the bull ring before Jake and Brett on the day after he has been beaten 93 94 by Robert Cohn, and (4) the final chapter of the book, in which Jake leaves his friends and then returns to bring Brett out of Spain. In each of the four scenes, Hemingway is working with material which has not proved satisfactory in its first-draft form, working to handle such material in a manner which will properly integrate it into the action and th- tone of the entire novel. And in each of these sections to be examined, he is working farthest from that Clear, lyrical gift of first-draft composition which often operates in his work, resulting in a first draft essen- tially identical to the version of a scene eventually selected for publication. (In A Moveable Feast Hemingway called this "the story writing itself," flowing out onto the page [MF, p. 6.].) To use his own term, in the four scenes to be discussed, the book is no longer "writing itself"; here Hemingway is being forced to write it. That is, his solutions to problems in composition are not immediate and intuitive, as is sometimes the case elsewhere, but rather a matter of carefully working toward an appropriate effect. 95 The exact problems the scenes pose vary. In the love scene between Brett and Jake, the essential diffi- culty is of delicacy and restraint; the solution, arrived at over many drafts, follows the iceberg principle. The conversation between the two lovers is ruthlessly pared down to an irreducible minimum which suggests the terrible restraints which govern the relationship while avoiding a tendency toward overly-sentimental dialogue which intrudes in the early draft. In the discussion of the death of Vicente Girones, Hemingway faces again a problem of delicacy in presenta- tion and also the necessity of providing, in a few pages, an alternate and condemnatory view on the value of the corrida. Here the essential length and shape of the con- versation between Jake and the waiter does n3: change from draft to draft--exactly the opposite of what happens in revision of the love scene. Rather, Hemingway solves his difficulties by a sensitive line-by-line revision, a search for 1e mot juste. While some deletions are made, Hemingway is not crossing out entire segments of the conversation, as in the Jake/Brett scene, but deleting a word or two here, changing at most a phrase there. 96 In the corrida scene, Hemingway faces a problem of exemplification--the scene lets us as readers see through the eyes of the narrator that Romero's spirit and worth remain unblemished, however much Robert Cohn has marked Romero physically. Here Hemingway operates partially on the principle of the iceberg, removing elements (mostly Jake's comments and comparisons of Romero to other bull- fighters) in order to ensure that are readers focus on the central, immediately-occurring action. But even more, Hemingway operates in this revision by substitution. While the essential frame of the action, the killing of two bulls, remains the same, he makes great changes within that frame, deleting early-draft descriptions of Romero's actions and substituting later material, completely dif- ferent, which much more adequately exemplifies Romero's character through action. The final chapter is one of the sections of the novel most extensively revised within the framework established for it in the first draft. Here again Heming- way works by deletion of large blocks of narrative explan- ation, as well as by intensive revision in search of lg mot juste. He also substitutes, replacing direct and 97 unrestrained narrative statement by indirect presentation of far greater subtlety. In this final Chapter, of course, Hemingway's dif- ficulties are compounded, for the chapter must work effec- tively as an immediate experience while also serving to tie together and resolve the multiple strands of mood, characterization, action, and theme which have wound their way through the entire novel. The importance of this ending Chapter was underlined by Hemingway's even- tual designation of it as "Book III" of the complete work, by implication a section equal in weight and importance to the seven-chapter Book I, which introduces the Paris- Montmarte background and the ten-chapter Book II, which comprises the main action (in Paris, Burguete and Pamplona) of the novel. Scene I: Jake and Brett Alone Early in the novel, around page fifty-five, Brett and Jake sit together on Jake's bed. It is evening; Brett has just sent her escort, Count Mippipopolous, out for champagne so that she and Jake can talk. 98 Hemingway expended considerable revision on the scene, particularly on the section in which Jake and Brett most directly discuss their love for each other. In its final published version, the essence of the conversation is contained in this exchange between the two, with Brett maintaining her distance as a defense against the pain inherent in the impossibility of the whole relationship, given Jake's wound: "Isn't it rotten? There isn't any use my telling you I love you." "You know I love you." [says Jake] "Let's not talk. Talking's all bilge. I'm going away from you, and then Michael's coming back." (l§§§, p. 55) Words are inadequate to the situation, and Brett's rejection of them at once serves to characterize her, to define the situation, and to introduce a thematic distrust of verbal communication which is later most clearly shown as the aficionados of the corrida must Egggh_Jake before they are willing to believe him as fellow aficionado. For Jake and Brett, of course, touching is impossible, and words are inadequate to express the lovers' feelings, but in earlier versions words were even less adequate, neither meaningful nor seemly. The lovers become maudlin--words run away with and overwhelm the exchange. The notebook 99 first-draft version of the conversation operates at far greater length: "Isn't it rotten? You know I feel rather quiet and cool today. It's good to talk it out now when we're quiet. There isn't any use me telling you I'lovegyou." "You know I love you." "I love you and I'll love you always-and- I never told any man that." "I love you and I'll love you always." "It's terrible loving you when you've loved so many times that you know what it is." "I don't know. I've never loved a lot of pe0ple." "Yes you have." "Not the same way." "Let's not talk. 'Talking's all bilge. I'm going away fromgyou, and then Michael's coming back." (194-2. My italicization of the elements Hemingway eventually chose to include in the published work.) The eventual reduction from 111 words and nine lines of dialogue to thirty-four words and three lines submerges the desperation of the situation as well as the ironic commentary upon the different meanings Of lgyg. In this first-draft version the tension of the situation is obscured by a torrent of words; indeed, Brett's statement on talking it out "now when we're quiet" operates in opposition to the thematic distruct of words and in opposition to Brett's essential wary toughness. And here the repetition of "I love you" carries no weight. It merely seems trite--it is not 100 the sort of repetition that Gertrude Stein termed ingig- Egngg, the haunting periodic repetition of a word or phrase that so often marks Hemingway's best work. By the typescript second draft, Hemingway has cut the scene somewhat, yet he is still having some problems. Indeed, this section is notable as the one scene which has been worked over in some detail in the typist's copy of the novel (item 200). A sense of fatality is intro- duced in this typed version. Instead of "I love you and I'll love you always" (200. My italics.). Brett later replies, "It's a terrible business loving when you've loved so many times . . ." (200. My italics.). In that resort to a conventional idiom, Hemingway moves toward a more reserved Brett, a Brett more like the coolly con- trolled woman we see through so much of the published novel. But Jake is presented more petulantly in this draft; Hemingway underlines the irony of his "Not the same way." by adding a self-pitying second statement: "Not the same way. Never had a chance" (200). But even these revisions do not satisfy; on the typescript copy Hemingway crosses out the two lines which eventually appear in print and adds other material which 101 underlines the ironic fatality of the lovers' predicament. The amended typescript (starting the quote a line or two earlier than above) reads this way: "It wouldn't be any good. I'll go if you like. But I couldn't live quietly in the country. Not with my own true love. If I'd ever had one --" "I know." nIsn4t—it—rottenP—-Isn4t—any—use—my—teiiing— you—f—Iove—yeuen- "I love you and I'll love you always. I never told any man that." "I love you and I suppose I'll have to love you always." I felt like some question and answer game. I didn't love anybody. I only wanted Brett. "It's a terrible business loving when you've loved so many times you know what it is." "I don't know., "I said "I've never loved a lot of people." "Yes you have." "Not the same way. Never had a chance." "Let's not talk . . ." (200. Hemingway's handwritten additions to the typescript under- lined; his deletions on the typescript lined through.) Eventually, probably in the novel's proofs, Heming- way restored the two deleted lines and pared away the rest. In the final version of the exchange, the pain §n§_Jake and Brett's love are clearly presented; in this amended typescript version Hemingway seems to have corrected the maudlin quality of the first-draft version by casting considerable doubt on the quality of the relationship between the two. 102 In the typescript draft, Brett's "If I'd ever had [a true love]--" suggests that she has never had a com- pletely fulfilling relationship with a man, but also sug- gests that Jake did not really love her. Such an impli- cation is far different from the impression Hemingway eventually decides to convey, that Jake is emotionally Brett's true love though physically he can never be true. And while Jake's "I didn't love anybody. I only wanted Brett." suggests his intense feeling and confusion of emotion at being close to Brett, it again undercuts the sense that he is "true love." Instead, in the typescript version Jake seems much more like the Frederic Henry we see early in A Farewell to Arms, playing the word games that will let him take advantage of the need of a Cather- ine Barkley whom he does not yet love. (But here again, in Jake's mention of the "question and answer game," notice a return to the distrust of words which Hemingway eventually will embody in the scene's terse final version.) All the conflicting elements of the typescript version of the scene--and similarly inappropriate elements in the notebook first draft--work against the effect Hem- ingway finally decides upon. In this first private meet- ing between the lovers, he must establish clearly that 103 Jake and Brett emotionally §£g_lovers, must strike a clear note that will resonate through the novel, and so he finally decides upon a restraint in the use of lan- guage which echoes and reinforces our perception of the inescapable restraints fate has placed on the relation- ship between Brett and Jake. Scene II: The Discussion of Vicente Girones' Death The Chapter XVII discussion of the death of Vicente Girones is notable for several reasons. In terms of the structure of The Sun Also Rises, this conversation between Jake and a waiter in a cafe serves to underline the danger of the corrida which Romero later so bravely faces, and also provides a needed balance: The Sun Also Riggg is a book which quite frankly glorifies the values of the bull ring. Yet such values would not necessarily be easily assimilated by all of Hemingway's readers, and certainly would not be shared by all Spaniards, particu- larly by those Spaniards who avoid becoming caught up in the frenzy of the Pamplona fiesta. A balancing view is needed to complete the presentation--both to complete the 104 portrait of the Spanish people and to establish a narra- tive distance between Jake Barnes, aficionado narrator, and Ernest Hemingway, an author committed to making careful judgments. Juxtaposed to the purely descriptive presenta- tion of the frenzied, irrational running of the bulls, the conversation in the cafe--particularly the waiter's weary, wise commentary--lets Hemingway complete his pic- ture. Eventually the waiter, who knows very well the cost of the festive corrida, is contrasted to Brett, who leaves the ear of the bull that killed Vicente Girones in the back of a hotel bed-table drawer. At this point in the book, contrary to some earlier impres- sions, it seems she has not yet learned the values-- neither the aesthetic values of the experienced‘aficion- ado nor the humane values expressed by the waiter. The drafts of this scene represent an interesting departure from the novel's normal pattern of composition. Though the fifth notebook of the "first" draft includes a version of the scene which is fairly Close to the finally- published version, an earlier draft of the conversation exists on four loose sheets headed "insert Book V." It cannot be clearly stated just when this ”pre-first-draft 105 draft" was written. It may have been composed much earlier than the material around it and then saved to be copied into the notebook, but it seems much more likely from an examination of internal evidence that the four loose sheets were written in sequence with the material around them, that Hemingway simply didn't have his current notebook with him when he decided to work on the scene. The "insert Book V" heading suggests this as does the fact that the 385 words of the insert draft end in the middle of a sentence at the top of the fourth page, as if Hemingway is following his practice of stopping when he knew what would come next. That page reads, in full, "the coffin was carried to the" (195a). Apparently when Hemingway again had access to his notebook he copied the scene into it, heightening and revising its language and completing the final sen- tence: "the coffin was carried to the railway station by the members of the different dancing societies of Pamplona" (194-5). Hemingway then continued to expand the description of the loading of the coffin. The sec- tion ends with a summary of the fate of the bull which killed Girones, itself killed by Pedro Romero and its ear ending in the back of Brett's bed-table drawer. 106 From the pre-notebook draft on loose sheets through the final published version, Hemingway's re- vision of this section is a matter of fine tuning for effect. Four versions of the scene exist--the pre- notebook draft, the notebook draft, the Hemingway typescript, and the very similar published version. Given that these last two versions are identical save for minor COpyediting differences, this discussion will generally combine the last two and compare the three differing versions represented by pre-notebook, notebook, and final drafts. A simple wordcount of each version, beginning with Jake's "Back in the town I went to the cafe . . ." (corresponding to ESAR, p. 97) and running through the incomplete sentence at the tOp of the pre-notebook draft reveals that the revision process operating in the section is far different from that Hemingway followed in his re- working of the Jake--Brett love scene. Running each word- count to the same point in that incomplete final sentence, we discover that the final published version is no more than fifteen or so words longer than the first draft (ca. 385 words in the pre-notebook draft compared to ca. 401 words in the published selection). Even the intermediate 107 notebook version of the scene is only a few words longer (ca. 429 words). Throughout the revision, only four very short sentences are cut, all from conversation; expansion of detail in description balances these cuts and leaves the scene essentially unchanged in length and in structure-- no elements are transposed. Excepting one sentence added to the summary description of the life of Vicente Girones, new information is added only by addition to existing structures--and only a little new information is added. The overall tone of the passage changes very little, if at all, in the revisions, yet the effect of the passage is considerably heightened as Hemingway works to derive exact words, exact effects from his initial transcription. He works to establish an absolute objec- tivity of narrative presentation, to reinforce the Charac- terization of the waiter, and to match his language to the demands of his material. Throughout the process of revision, Hemingway works to achieve a precise and Objective narration through the details he presents. His attention is often to minute details, as in the opening lines of the pre— notebook drafts, where he writes, "Back in the town I 108 went to the cafe to have another coffee and some buttered toast“, then crosses out another and writes in "a second coffee" (195a). The detail suggests just how early in the morning all of this has happened; it seems almost tactile in its precision. A few lines later Jake describes where Girones was gored: "'Here.‘ I put my hands on the small of my back and on my chest where it looked as though the horn had come out" (195a). The use of touch and Jake's resort to a demonstration makes this form of presentation more real than a simple spoken description to the waiter could have been, but even in this passage Hemingway can improve the precision of his presentation. He begins to transfer the description word-for-word into his notebook: "'Here.‘ I put m", stopping in the middle of my, Then he lines through the my and revises in this manner: "'Here.’ I put-m— gmg hand on the small of my back and the other on my chest where it looked as though the horn must have come through" (194-5. My italics.). Jake's posture is more accurately portrayed by the separate description of the position of each hand; the substitution of through for gmi_much more accurately suggests the path of the horn, places greater emphasis on the terrible wound. 109 Through the scene, an ironic juxtaposition oper- ates between the characters' consideration of Girones' goring and their ordinary interaction as waiter and cus- tomer in a cafe. As Hemingway makes the first element of that pairing more immediate through his use of pre- cise detail, he also balances and offsets the goring in his revised description of the cafe. Even in so simple a description as that of the waiter pouring milk and coffee into Jake's cup, Hemingway polishes and refines his presentation; he works in greater detail, repeats words for effect ("insistence"), and divides sentences into smaller units. Thus, in the pre-notebook draft, "[the waiter] went away and came back with the coffee and milk pots. He poured the milk and coffee from the long spouts into the big cup. He nodded his head" (195a). Here, already, Hemingway is slowing the tempo of presen- tation not only through the use of short, simple sentences but also by the repetition of milk and coffee. Even in this draft the scene's pacing seems slow and deliberate, leading toward the waiter's stepping out of his role, sitting down at the table, and discussing Girones' death with Jake. 110 In the notebook draft, Hemingway slows the tempo even further, by separating the description of the waiter's deliberate actions from the immediately-preceding presenta- tion of his comments. Hemingway also increases his use of insistence, describing the pots as long handled to set up an echo in the following long spouts (194-5). In the final version, the precisely-slowed and objective tone has been further reinforced by even an introduction and separation (by the division of one sentence into two) of the two streams of coffee and milk from the act of pouring --the effect is slow, slow and deliberately observed; every element is separately observed: He went away and came back with the long- handled coffee and milk pots. He poured the milk and coffee. It came out Of the long spouts in two streams into the big cup. The waiter nodded his head. (TSAR, p. 197) The result, seen in isolation from its context, may seem to epitomize the popular, often-parodied concep- tion of the "Hemingway style." The superficial aspects of this particular example of Hemingway's method are easily copied. But parodists and would-be Hemingways miss the function of the method. Instead of a haunting insistence, they often produce only a superficial repe- tition. They use short sentences not for their effect 111 on tempo and their concentration on the moment, but only because "short sentences" are an easily-identified (or, more often, misidentified) element of Hemingway's prose. But here Hemingway leads toward the waiter's later com- ments and also suggests something of Jake's state of mind, as he concentrates on simple elements of everyday life as a refuge from the horror of the thought of the goring. In following paragraphs of description, Heming- way continues to revise in a similar manner. He works through insistence, particularly the insistence of the waiter's reiterated (seven times in the final version-- eight times in the drafts) ironic use of imm to describe the actions that led up to the death of Girones: "All for fun. Just for fun. . . . All for fun. Fun, you understand" (ZSAR, p. 197). Other insistent repetitions include the use of bad and badly c0gido (gored), the repetition in conversation and in the gestures of both Jake and the waiter of the 239k as the site of Girones' wound, the waiter's repeated emphasis on the bulls as "Animals. Brute animals" (ESAR, p. 197). Some other examples of insistent repetition even cross the Spanish/ English language barrier, combining repetition and 112 in-context explanation of the Spanish. Thus, badly cogido and cornada/a big horn wound, muerto/dead, es muy fla- menco/it's bad. Only two Spanish words are not echoed in the English text--encierro and aficionado. Both have already been explained earlier in the novel. While all these repetitions have their roots in the pre-notebook draft of the scene, Hemingway's revisions operate in most cases to point up their importance. (But in several instances he works to reduce the impact of such insistence in order to balance the overall tone of the passage.) The waiter's echo of Jake's gesture, touch- ing his back to indicate where the horn went in, is intro- duced in the notebook draft; in the final draft it has completely replaced a gesture which comes a line or two earlier, where the waiter shakes his finger at Jake. The sketchy first-draft version: "You're not an aficionado?" He shook his finger. "What are bulls? Animals, That's not fun." He stood up "Right through the back. A cor— nada right through the back. For fun you understand (195a) In the notebook draft, in addition to introducing the waiter's echo of Jake's gesture, Hemingway also in- creases his insistent repetition of bulls/animals: 113 "You're not an aficionado," I said. He shook his finger. "What are bulls? Animals. Dirty Brute animals. That's not fun." He stood up and put his hand on the small of his back. "Right through the back. A cornada right through the back. For fun--you understand. (194-5) But while that eloquent repetition of the gesture has been introduced, the overall effect of revision is not entirely complete. The introduction of the speaker identification, I said, is unnecessary for the careful reader--1ogically only Jake could have made the state- ment about being an aficionado. Along with a number of other such identifications, the I said will be deleted from the final novel and the statement returned to the first draft's question form. (Indeed, one of the more consistent revisions which Hemingway made through his revision of the entire manuscript of The Sun Also Rises was the deletion of such speaker identifications in all sections of the novel.) In this intermediate version, also, the waiter's character is not conveyed as being the same as in the final draft. Here he seems petulant and irascible rather than wearied and wise; the fingershaking is too quick a movement to fit the character Hemingway is drawing, and the phrase "Dirty Brute animals" (my underlining) too 114 vehemently emotional and unthinking to be appropriate. Both elements are deleted in the final version of the scene, as is the first reference to fun, leaving the waiter's rhetorical question-and-answer to be followed by the more appropriate gesture. The tone of this sec- tion becomes consistent with the slow, somber effect of the entire scene: "You're not an aficionado?" "Me? What are bulls? Animals. Brute animals. He stood up and put his hand‘ on the small of his back. "Right through the back. A cornada right through the back. For fun--you understand." (TSAR, pp. 197- 98) Objectivity and attention to the moment continue to characterize Hemingway's revisions of the scene. A late revision, for example, adds the information that as the waiter walks away from Jake, he carries the coffee- pots. In draft one, the two men who announce the death of Girones are identified as "coming from the Plaza" (195a), but in the notebook draft Hemingway has altered that detai1--they become "men going by in the street" (194-5). That is, Hemingway carefully limits his narrator to the information available at the immediate moment; re- counting the story, Jake might well identify the men as coming from the bull ring, but while sitting in the cafe 115 at the moment he first saw them, he could not know where they had come from. Hemingway takes the same kind of care as he describes Girones late in the section. In the first draft, Jake tells us that later in the morning he learns Girones' name (to this point he has not yet been identified by name) and then continues to tell of Girones' home town and life. But in the note- book draft, as he expands the description of Girones, Hemingway is careful to identify the source of informa- tion beyond Girones' name: The next day in the paper we read that he was twenty eight years old and had a farm, a wife and two children. He had continued to come to the fiestas each year after he had married. (194-5. My emphasis.) This precision of objective presentation continues as Hemingway completes the scene, but in the notebook second draft, Hemingway has added the comment on Girones continuing to attend the fiestas even after his marriage-- this sentence is the least easily ascribable as to source in the entire section--it might be information gleaned from the newspaper account or perhaps a fact Jake learned in conversation. The ambiguity, however, serves function- ally to blend in the newspaper information with the fol- lowing description of the funeral procession as Jake 116 observes it. Jake gives us an apparently simple narra- tion of "the facts" of that funeral-~yet in revision Hemingway tunes Jake's narration to continue the somber tone earlier established. Thus, in the pre-notebook draft, Girones' wife "came in from Tafalla to get the body . . ." (195a). In the notebook and subsequent drafts, she comes "the next day . . . to be with the body . . ." (194-5); the change from the active g3; to the passive be with again slows the scene, as does the introduced passing of a day. The passive verb also serves to characterize the hopelessness of what has happened-~nothing can be done. Again slowing the scene, Hemingway first describes the funeral procession in a summary sort of way, noting that "the coffin was carried to the railway." He then expands his description--it was "carried to the railway. -the— station by-the- members of the different dancing societies of Pamplona" (194-5. Hemingway's deletions.). Even that description has been expanded by the time of the final draft--the coffin is carried "by members of the dancing and drinking societies of Tafalla." And after the coffin walk Girones' wife and children, 117 followed by "members of the dancing and drinking societies of Pamplona, Estella, Tafalla and Sanguesa . . ." (lSAR, p. 198). Hemingway works toward ever-finer gradations of apparently-objective description--as apparent narrator, Jake tells us nothing that he does not observe himself-- Hemingway even cuts an earlier judgment by Jake on the first use of the word muerto, dead: "It was a bad sound- ing word" (195a and 194-5). Here, in opposition to the presentation of opinion in equal parts with information which so often characterizes Jake Barnes as narrator (as in the published first chapter description of Robert Cohn): Hemingway has made Jake a perceptually sensitive yet ob- jective narrator. Through the interplay in juxtaposition of the calm cafe scene with the discussion of the death of Vicente Girones, through the intensive use of an echo- ing insistence, and through the slowing of tempo in in- tensive description Hemingway has develped the possibili- ties of his first draft in revision, producing a counter to the philosophy of the aficionado which operates through the sorts of devices most often associated with poetry. Through a careful attention to each element within the scene which often results in words, phrases, and sentences 118 serving multiple functions, Hemingway achieves his effects within an essentially unchanged length. His first draft is compact and effective; his final draft is even more evocative as a result of his continued attention to craft. Scene III: Romero in the Bull Ring In chapter eighteen of the published version of The Sun Also Rises, Jake, Brett and Bill watch as Romero holds center state in the Pamplona bull ring, fighting two bulls. This corrida takes place the day after Robert Cohn beats up Jake and Romero, but in the bull ring Romero asserts his artistry as a matador in spite of his injuries; Romero "was wiping all that out now" (ZSAR, p. 219). In a sense, Romero also wipes out the death of Vicente Girones, reasserting man's control over brute nature as he fights his second bull of the afternoon, the bull that had killed Girones in the morning running. In the final version of the scene, Romero has be- come the perfect matador, intelligently handling his first bull, half blind and cowardly and therefore far less pre- dictable to Romero than a brave, unblemished animal. In 119 his second bull, brave and whole, yet also proved danger- ous in its killing of Girones, Romero produces a perfect bullfight, a bullfight in which he reaches the artistic perfection which Hemingway later so carefully elucidated in Death in the Afternoon. Romero returns to the style of the Classic corrida, completely dominating the bull in pass after pass and finally killing in the style of the great Classical matador, Pedro Romero, after whom Hemingway named his character. The Romero of The Sun Also Rises echoes the historical Romero, killing recibi- gmig—-"receiving"--standing still and provoking the bull to charge him rather than taking the far safer course and running in toward the bull in order to kill him. As Hemingway describes the corrida, the death of the bull comes as the perfect climax to the description of the bullfight, and also works structurally as an antidote to the sordid happenings of the preceding scenes and chapters. In its earlier versions, the scene also works effectively, but less effectively. It does not concen- trate so completely on Romero nor lead so directly toward the climactic death of Romero's second bull--and in the early draft, that death is described in a completely 120 different manner: Romero (called Gueritta in the notebook draft of the scene) does not follow the modern style of moving in toward the bull; the climactic moment is not so perfect, nor is it so perfectly presented, since Jake in- trudes as narrator as he offers a sort of running commen- tary on his reactions to Romero's actions. In revision, then, Hemingway worked to reduce narrative intrusions and produce a clean movement toward the scene's climax in the killing of Romero's second bull, being careful to keep the scene focused more directly on Romero than on Jake and Brett's reactions to the corrida. He works sometimes through the sort of intensive revision which characterized his reworking of the cafe conversation between Jake and the waiter, fine-tuning existing material. In places he deletes a good deal of Jake's exposition and commentary, following his iceberg principle--such deletion becomes particularly important in submerging impressions of the two other matadors and four other bulls involved in the bullfight. Hemingway also substitutes new material for less effective writing, adding a good deal of descrip- tion--in these revisions re-creating the corrida as it occurs, moment to moment. 121 In both drafts of the scene, Jake fills a dual role as narrator and expert commentator on the bull fight, his at-least-outwardly-calm commentary contrast- ing with the role here given Brett, who is tensely silent and near-invisible throughout. In his descrip- tion of the early course of the corrida, before Romero fights his first bull, Jake is most clearly the expert commentator, carefully analyzing Belmonte, the faded great matador whose return from retirement is ruined by the presence of a new young matador just coming into his prime: Romero. In his description of Belmonte, Jake concentrates on all the decisions the old matador has made before he entered the ring, particularly the choice of easy bulls with small horns that make Belmonte's task easier and detract from the moments of greatness he still achieves: "[the greatness] had been discounted and sold in advance . . ." (ESAR, p. 216). But as Gueritta/Romero comes to the center of the scene, Hemingway changes the tone and nature of Jake's narration; from a generalized analysis spiced by the occasional detail of Belmonte's actions we move into a moment-to-moment description of Romero's work in the ring. This immediate description--in its final form--is very 122 seldom interrupted by Jake's explanations. And these explanations do not intrude; they're generally intro- duced only when the reader needs additional information in order to comprehend the significance of the immediate action, as when Jake interprets the course of the bull- fight. A number of revisions serve to strengthen the focus in to the moment, working through added detail and careful pacing. The first-draft version of Gueritta's first quite (the leading of the bull to and then away from the mounted picador) works this way: Gueritta flicked his cape so the color caught the bulls eye and the bull charged with the reflex, charged and found not color but a white horse and a man leaning far down shot the steel point of the long hickory shaft into the bull's shoulder and pulled his horse side- ways as he pivoted on the pic, enforcing the iron into the bulls shoulder, and cutting him down to size for Belmonte. (194-6) The sentence moves with a sense of rushing motion which echoes the movement of the bull, but at the same time a good deal of information is offered about the way a bull- fighter works: The bull's charge is a matter of reflex; the picador does not deliver a clean wound but moves sideways to make a tear as he works to prepare the bull for Belmonte-—perhaps doing more than he should ("cutting 123 him down to size"). Yet in revision Hemingway achieves a more precise description. The first revisions, written into the notebook above the lines, offer additional in- formation and also slow the rushing movement in the end of the sentence, where the bull is caught and held by the pic: "he pivoted on the pic, makingia wound, enforcing the iron into the bulls shoulder, cutting him further down to size for Belmonte" (194-6. Revisions underlined.). The final version of the bull's charge is handled with infinite precision. First, the single sentence is split into two sentences; Hemingway separates Gueritta/ Romero's action from the bull's response--the flick of the cape and the bull's reflexive charge are not one action, but two, and the moment between action and reac- tion is reflected in the period pause. The color of the cape becomes "the flash of color," again emphasizing the momentary nature of the action; "the hump of muscle on the bull's shoulder" is identified as the target of the pig, coming closer to a suggestion of the purpose of the picador's action. (As long as the muscle in the neck remains strong, the bull can hold his head so high that the matador would inevitably be gored as he attempted a killing sword-thrust over the horns. The pic's wound 124 helps weaken that muscle.) The picador is no longer presented as cutting the bull down to size but, more immediately, as "making him bleed for Belmonte." The final tempo of the description derives from all these revisions: Quick (the movement of Romero's cape). Quick (the bull's reflexive charge) and slow (the wounding of the bull by the picador, restated in four different ways): Romero flicked his cape so the color caught the bull's eye. The bull Charged with the reflex, charged, and found not the flash of color but a white horse, and a man leaning far over the horse, shot the steel point of the long hickory shaft into the hump of muscle on the bull's shoulder, and pulled his horse sideways as he pivoted on the pic, making a wound, enforcing the iron into the bull's shoulder, making him bleed for Bel- monte. (TSAR, p. 216) In revision Hemingway also slows the ending of this de- scription by two other devices. He introduces an insis- tent repetition of the word horse, adding the second of the three mentions of the horse in the quote above. He also helps to hold the moment by introducing a paragraph pause just after the quoted description, before going on to describe the breaking off of the contact between pica- dor and bull. This paragraph break, which did not exist in the notebook draft, serves to slow the reader's 125 movement from the description just as a line- or stanza- ending would slow the tempo of movement in a work of poetry. The moment is emphasized and made important by this rhythmic attention as well as by the careful attention paid to the details of the action. The process of refinement by which Hemingway handles the above description of the bull's charge toward the picador includes some substitution of ele- ments. For example, the highly descriptive interpreta- tion of the action by Jake, "making him bleed for Bel- monte," is substituted for the ironic Cliché, "cutting him further down to size." That same sort of substitu- tion of the descriptive for the cliched is made elsewhere in the scene, and can often be seen elsewhere in the draft of The Sun Also Rises, as well. A few lines after the picador section, Romero passes the bull, taking him out away from the horse and rider and completing the gmiE_. In the first version of this gmiig, Romero (here called Gueritta, again) offers the cape. "The bull wanted it and came and Gueritta did not sidestep," Hemingway begins the description, then immediately lines through the "did not sidestep" and continues, "moved one step to the side and swung the 126 cape" (194-6). Here Jake is interpreting the action for us--but not interpreting very eloquently--in the cliched idiom, "the bull wanted it," and the statement throws the focus away from the moment. In revision, Hemingway turns away from Jake's interpretation and toward a direct recreation of the moment in careful description. He also returns to that lined-out first idea, that Gueritta/Romero did not sidestep, as he builds toward Romero's recibiendo killing of his second bull, and then returns in the fol- lowing sentence to the movement of the cape: The bull's tail went up and he charged, and Romero moved his arms ahead of the bull, wheeling, his feet firmed. The dampened, mud-weighted cape swung Open and full as a sail fills, and Romero pivoted with it just ahead of the bull. (ESAR, p. 217) In following sentences, Hemingway purposely moves toward Jake's description and interpretation of the action-- buat he does so only after the completed description of one pass, after a context has been established for that interpretation. In the final version, he lets stand a second use of "the bull wanted it," leading in to the more generalized description of five more passes of the bull which leads in turn into Jake's analysis of the extreme technical difficulties which Romero faces as 127 he works with his own first bull, the bull with im- paired vision. Hemingway, of course, is meeting his own tech- nical difficulty here--he could not describe every pass Romero makes with each bull and hOpe to produce anything more than a hopelessly-long muddle; no matter how pre- cisely he controlled each description, any presentation of each immediate moment in the bullfight would become impossibly long. Instead, all those momentsngt_de- scribed become a part of the seven-eighths of the de- scriptive iceberg, and Jake's commentary must help bring the reader through the scene, helping to suggest the quality of each individual moment in such statements as this, made in reference to Romero's handling of the half-blind bull: "It was not brilliant bull fighting it was only perfect bullfighting" (194-6). Of course, in revision Hemingway separated the two ideas, letting each stand as a separate sentence: "It was not bril— liant bull-fighting. It was only perfect bull-fighting" (Eggg, p. 217). Throughout the scene, Hemingway continues to break sentences into smaller units, slowing Jake's more generalized descriptions much as he earlier slowed and 128 controlled the tempo of the immediate description of one moment, as Romero began the first Quite. This sort of process is particularly obvious in the revisions Heming- way made as he moved from the presentation of that first guite_to Jake's summary description of how the five suc- ceeding passes appeared. In the first draft the effect of a single sentence of the description is diffuse, al- most hazy: "Each time let the bull come so close that the man and the bull and the cape that filled out pivot- ing ahead of the bull were all one mass and it was all so slow and controlled" (194-6). In his revision, Hem- ingway substituted Romero as active subject of the sen— tence in place of the much more abstract each time; he carefully tuned his language to convey exact images, substituting pass so close for come so close in describ- ing the path of the bull; he split his single sentence in two, ending the first with the image of matador and bull as one sharply etched mass and then following that sharp image with a separate sentence of generalization: "Each time he let the bull pass so close that the man and the bull and the cape that filled and pivoted ahead were all one sharply etched mass. It was all so slow and so controlled" (TSAR, p. 217). The single image 129 eloquently conveys the essence of each pass, and Jake's comment binds the whole action together. In this primarily-descriptive action, even the few lines of conversation included move from diffuse to more direct forms as Hemingway completes his revision. In the notebook draft, Jake and Duff/Brett's discussion of the half-blind bull rambles much as conversation rambled in their early love scene: Hemingway tells more than he needs to. And as the profusion of words under- cuts the intense emotion of that early draft of the love scene, in this conversation the words work to draw atten- tion away from the real central concern of the speaking characters, that the matador is in great danger: Nothing very fine could happen with a bull with defective vision but the President would not order him changed. "Why don't they change him?" Duff asked. "They've paid for him. They don't want to lose their money." "One would think they'd have to give another for a blind bull." "Yes," I said. "But he may have done it banging against the wall of the callejon be- fore he came out. "It's hardly fair to Gueritta." "Well," I said, "the crowd give him credit. Watch how he handles a bull that can't see the capes." "It's the sort of thing I don't like to see." 5' " ' ' - i. ‘ ‘ Duff was right. (194-6) 130 In this early version of the conversation, Jake is being too fair to the officials of the bull ring. His explana- tion of the interests of the officials and of the breeder who delivered the bull is eminently rational and fair, but has nothing to do with what is going on in the ring. Here Jake oversteps his proper function as expert guide to the bullfight and introduces wholly extraneous infor— mation rather than information and interpretation that will heighten the reader's appreciation of what Gueritta/ Romero is accomplishing. Hemingway apparently recognized and moved to cor- rect this flaw. As he worked over the notebook draft, he first added Jake's ironically restrained summary com- ment, "It was not nice to watch if you cared anything about the person who was doing it." This line replaced the simple judgment, "Duff was right," and moved the scene a step closer to the sort of immediate impression of danger which is required. As in the earlier love scene, Hemingway completed his revision by paring away extraneous conversation, until the few remaining lines suggest the apprehension with which both Jake and Brett watch the matador's work with the defective bull. (Through the entire description of the bullfight, it is 131 only in the three lines of her dialogue retained in this section that Brett speaks at all. Elsewhere she does not respond to Jake's comments on the course of the corrida nor does she even later answer Romero's "You liked it?" as he hands her the ear out from his second bull, though by that point the tension of the fight is enough dispelled that she smiles (TSAR, p. 221). The final version of the exchange between Jake and Brett completely avoids a discussion of the justi- fication for the officials allowing the use of a defec- tive bull—-they are implicitly judged as Jake comments that they didn't want to lose their money. And Jake's tension is seen as he attempts to divert Brett from the danger to Romero, asking her to concentrate on Romero's technique as he works skillfully with the half-blind bull: Nothing very fine could happen with a bull that could not see the lures, but the Presi- dent would not order him replaced. "Why don't they change him?" Brett asked. "They've paid for him. They don't want to lose their money." "It's hardly fair to Romero." "Watch how he handles a bull that can't see the color." "It's the sort of thing I don't like to see." It was not nice to watch if you cared anything about the person who was doing it. 132 With the bull who could not see the colors of the capes, or the scarlet flannel of the muleta, Romero had to make the bull consent with his body. (TSAR, p. 217) Conversation is pared down again later in the scene: Hemingway eliminates Jake's comment to Bill on the killing of Romero's first bull, the difficult, blind animal. "'That's not a stylish way to kill them,‘ I said. 'But it's one way'" (194-6). A few lines later he reduces the overheard exchange at the barrera between Romero and his sword-handler. In the first draft the conversation is handled this way: “Bad one," said the sword handler. "He made me sweat," said Gueritta. He wiped off his face and put on his hat. "Nice estocade." The sword handler handed over the water jug. Gueritta wiped his lips. "Not so good." He took the cape. "All right if you like it." (194-6) In revision, less is said, but more of the tension Romero felt in killing the bull is conveyed: "Bad one," said the sword-handler. "He made me sweat," said Romero. He wiped off his face. The sword-handler handed him the water-jug. Romero wiped his lips. It hurt him to drink out of the jug. He did not look up at us. (E§§§, p. 219) In both the conversation between Gueritta and the sword handler, and Jake's comment to Bill, Hemingway 133 is working to reduce the attention directly paid to the difficulty of Gueritta/Romero's achievement with the blind bull. Or at least he works to underplay the cues he offers to the reader, particularly since in subse- quent description Romero's performance with the blind bull will be juxtaposed with the presentation of the achievements with his second, perfect bull. Jake's first-draft comment on the lack of style in the killing of the half-blind bull is at least par- tially accurate, since necessity overrode all other con- sideration, including style, in the working of the de- fective animal. But in at least two ways the comment is inappropriate to the overall impression Hemingway seems to be working toward. First, the emphasis on style seems to imply that Gueritta consciously attempts to project a certain style rather than letting whatever style he has result from his careful work with the bull-- in Jake's comment style is treated as ornamental rather than organic. And in the comment Jake undercuts his own credibility as expert narrator. His comment, "That's not a stylish way to kill them . . . . But it's one way," is a little too ironic and balanced, a little too like the sort of comment we might expect from a witty member 134 of the uncomprehending "Biarritz bull-fight experts" Jake so scorns a page or so earlier in the novel ($§§BI pp. 217-18). The tone of Gueritta/Romero's "Not so good. . . . All right if you like it." is similarly inappropriate in its context, too much the sort of cynical, terse com- ment we might expect from a matador more seasoned and worn-down than nineteen-year-old Romero. This first- draft comment offers the reader no new information—-the difficulty of the bull Romero has worked with has already been carefully demonstrated, and Hemingway's substitution of. details of Romero's actions at the barrera functions more appropriately. In these substitutions for the terse comment of the first-draft version, Hemingway chooses to underline the physical difficulty of Romero's working after the beating he has received from Cohn--"It hurt him to drink. . . ." He also emphasizes the isolation (at least partly a chosen isolation) of the matador who will not look up at Jake and Brett. In the concluding sections of Jake's description of the bullfight, differences between first-draft and final versions become more and more obvious, as Hemingway works to transform his initial version's heavy emphasis 135 on Jake's analysis of the action into a more direct pre- sentation rooted in the immediate moment. In the note- book draft, as the bullfight moves toward Romero's climactic killing of his second bull, Jake returns to the analysis of the merits of the three matadors with which he led in to the presentation of Romero's actions in the ring. In his first-draft analyses, Jake sometimes seems to hover on the edge of becoming an omniscient narrator. The conversation between Romero and his sword-handler at the barrera seems to verge on being information Jake could not have known--but Jake and his friends are sitting in front-row seats and so might have overheard. But Jake could not have known Romero's thoughts. Speaking of Romero's second bull, Jake tells us, "This bull made him happy again . . . . incidentally he destroyed Marcial's triumph. That was only incidental he did not care anything about Marcial or Marcial's triumph. . . . he felt whole again inside" (194—6). These statements, like many other statements in the first drafts, seem to represent the direct voice of Ernest Hemingway showing through the as yet inadequately— developed screen of Jake Barnes, narrator. This material 136 seems to serve as Hemingway's note to himself in the pro- cess of developing an element of the finished book as did other such material I discussed earlier. In this case the element is character, and the first—draft treat- ment is not unlike Hemingway's first-draft treatments of the idea of the hero and the importance of the fiesta as a catalytic agent in the action of the novel: Heming— way establishes a clear idea of what he wants to present in his first draft and then modifies his method of pre- sentation to conform to the overall narrative scheme of the finished novel. In this section of the bullfight scene, Heming- way moves away from the omniscient stance to an analysis closely based in things Jake could himself have observed. This movement takes place even in the first draft; just after the section of "omniscient analysis," Hemingway restated that section's ideas in more objective form: During his first bull his hurt face had been very noticeable. Everything he did showed it. All the concentration of the awkwardly delicate working with the bull that could not see well brought it out. It was-ehe- a beaten face of a fighter coming out of the side entrance of the old garden after a hard fight. The fight with Cohn had not touched his spirit. That in the end was what had destroyed Cohn. But his face had been smashed and his body hurt. 137 He was wiping all that out now. Each thing that he did with the bull wiped that out a little. As he worked with the bull he wiped that all away. It was a good bull, a big bull, and with horns and it turned quickly and recharged easily and surely. He was what Gueritta wanted in bulls. When he had finished with the muleta the crowd made him go on and he went on. (194- 6) Here, Jake's judgments--that Romero's spirit was un- touched, that with this second, perfect bull he was "wiping out" the damage to his body--do not seem the result on an omniscient consciousness, but judgments made on the basis of Jake's observations of how Romero worked with his bulls, and so these judgments seem more appropriate to the narrative scheme of the novel. Pre- dictably, Hemingway's later revisions eliminated the preceding "omniscient" analyses of Romero/Gueritta as compared to Marcial and concentrated on integrating this more objective section into the flow of the bull- fight description. Hemingway carefully excised those parts of Jake's description and interpretation which move beyond the immediate context of the corrida. The metaphoric state- ment identifying Romero's face as that of "a fighter coming out of the side door of the old garden after a 138 hard fight" certainly evokes a precise image, yet its reference leaves the framework of the bull ring. In revision, Hemingway deleted it. Jake's reference to the fight with Robert Cohn is, of course, relevant to Romero's accomplishments in the ring. Hemingway retains it. But he cuts the judgment that Romero's spirit, untouched by Cohn's blows, "in the end was what had destroyed Cohn." That judgment offers little new information-~Hemingway already has presented Cohn's defeat, and the reference to Cohn at this point again detracts from the immediacy of Jake's narrative involvement in describing the bull- fight. Hemingway also works to reduce his use of insis- tent repetition to a more manageable level. In the note- book draft, he repeats the idea of "wiping away" the effects of the fight three times in a row: He was wiping all that out now. Each thing that he did with the bull wiped that out a little. As he worked with the bull he wiped that all away. (194-6) In the final draft he has cut the three mentions to two: He was wiping all that out now. Each thing that he did with this bull wiped that out a little cleaner. (T§§§, p. 219) The emphasis of repetition is retained in the double repe- tition; perhaps some of the slowing effect of a triple 139 repetition is lost in the revision, but here (as else- where in the description of the bullfight) Hemingway again slows the rhythm of presentation in other re- visions. The revision of this short sentence illu- strates the process: "When he had finished with the muleta the crowd made him go on and he went on" (194- 6). In his final version of the sentence, set as the beginning of a new paragraph, Hemingway has added a good deal of new information (additions are underlined): When he had finished his work with the muleta and was ready to kill, the crowd made him go on; They did not want the bull killed yet, and they did not want it to be over. Romero went on. (TSAR, p. 219) The single sentence becomes three, and new insistences are added, again slowing the tempo of presentation: Hemingway reintroduces the idea of Romero's work in the ring, and also introduces an insistent repetition of the crowd's desire to have the bullfight go on, restated twice after the first draft's "the crowd made him go on . . ." (194-6). At the end of the paragraph this passage begins he will add yet another repetition of the idea: "The crowd did not want it ever to be finished" (TSAR, p. 220). 140 The most remarkable revisions in this corrida scene come in the description of its climactic moment, Romero's killing of the second bull, described in the long paragraph which fills most of page 220 of The Sun Also Rises. Here Hemingway makes a very considerable substitution of material, replacing the first-draft description of Romero killing in the manner of modern bullfighters with a completely different section, in which Romero kills recibiendo, using the technique of his namesake from the classic era of the corrida. In the first-draft version, Romero's actions are elegantly controlled, yet the description is of the modern style of killing (which Hemingway later termed "decadent" in Death in the Afternoon), and Jake Barnes' narrative voice seems fairly intrusive. Hemingway here continues to use the analytic tone he has been at such pains to integrate as unobtrusively as possible into a narration concentrating on immediate moments. In the first-draft version, Jake describes the position of the bull and then continues with an analysis which includes information seemingly drawn from Romero's consciousness: Then the bull was calmed and squared away to be killed, and Gueritta killed directly below us. He killed not as he had been 141 forced to by the last bull, but as he wanted to (194-6) The tone of that judgment--that Romero killed "as he wanted to . . ."--is continued in the notebook version in a description heavily dependent on Jake's knowledge of bullfighting. Romero killed: . . . as he wanted to not blinding the hull with the muleta but only indicating to him how he should go, executing perfectly the three tempos of the Volapié the-most—beaueé- -éul- best thing in bullfighting. He profiled and sighted along the blade, he made the three steps, the one that takes the measure, the one that gets there and then the one that carries the left shoulder forward and drives in the sword, the left hand crossed in front of the chest gives the sortie with the muleta and the swordsman, having been one with the bull is then alone, the bull having broken the figure himself because the man has planned it so. Handkerchiefs were waving all over the stands before the bull was dead. (194-6) The first difficulty in this description is, of course, that Jake is telling how any skilled matador will kill, given a brave and responsive bull. The tone is somewhat idealized, the matador's actions elegant, but the actions could be those of any fine matador-- too little of the description works to set Romero apart. Indeed, the idealization of the description is an ideali- zation of abstraction, as if the narrator has generalized from the best work he has seen in the bull ring. In 142 revision on the notebook page, Hemingway adds Jake's comment that the volapié is "the best thing I know to watch in bullfighting," not that Romero's execution of the maneuver is the finest Jake has ever seen. The three steps of the volapié seem similarly abstracted in Jake's analysis. During the description of the kill, it is not Gueritta or Romero who acts, but the swordsman, the man, part of the figure formed by man and bull. The implication seems to be that in this confrontation an archetypal man meets an archetypal bull. That implica- tion is not entirely incongruous, given that in the per- fection of Gueritta/Romero's work and the perfection of the second bull's reactions, an archetypal confrontation between man and beast may be developing. But in this first-draft description the archetypal floats too far from the actual. The concentration on the immediate moment has been lost in a too-great idealization, as has the triumph of Romero in fighting superbly despite the physical battering he has earlier received. In his typescript draft of the scene (l98), Hem- ingway has solved the difficulties of the scene, com- pletely replacing Jake's analytically idealized descrip- tion with a newly-created sequence of events in which 143 Romero remains directly at the center of attention. In this new sequence, the element of idealization is closely tied to Romero, who achieves his triumph in controlling the difficult and dangerous technique of killing reci- biendo. In this description are no references to the entire ritual of bullfighting, but only a precisely controlled description of several moments in one bull- fight: The bull was squared on all four feet to be killed, and Romero killed directly below us. He killed not as he had been forced to by the last bull, but as he wanted to. He profiled directly in front of the bull, drew the sword out of the folds of the muleta and sighted along the blade. The bull watched him. Romero spoke to the bull and tapped one of his feet. The hull charged and Romero waited for the charge, the muleta held low, sighting along the blade, his feet held firm. Then without taking a step forward, he became one with the bull, the sword was in high be- tween the shoulders, the bull had followed the low-swung flannel, that disappeared as Romero lurched clear to the left and it was over. (198) Here, nothing floats away from the reality of the moment. Each action described is the action of one man and one bull; the climactic moment of the bullfight is no longer idealized by the narrator's interposition. Rather, the action is ideal-—one fine example of the artistry possible in the bullfight. Each movement is 144 carefully paced in description, longer, fluid sentences describing Romero's preparations to receive the bull and leading to the terse, four—word description: "The bull wanted him." From that still moment of watching, Romero's two actions--speaking to the bull and tapping his foot--break the stillness and lead to the resolu- tion in two longer sentences, the first describing Romero's unmoving wait for the charge, the second por- traying the killing of the bull. As in the earlier description of Romero's first quite, the movement in revision toward a more exact description leads to shorter sentences (though the sen- tences in this descriptive passage are not so short as in the presentation of the earlier action) and attention to shorter units of time. And the action is not always so smoothly presented. In the first draft the matador, "having been one with the bull is then alone, the bull having broken the figure because the man has planned it so" (194—6). In this later version, the action does not end smoothly: ". . . Romero lurched to the left . . . ." Again we are reminded of the immediate reality of what Hemingway is describing; a swordsman who plans the bull's action to let the bull break the unified figure the two 145 contestants form is very different from a man who, despite all his masterful planning, lurches clear of the bull. And the method of presentation has also been altered radically. Instead of a narrator who interprets the matador's planning, we have a narrator who carefully observes the action at hand and then reports in great detail. The narrator's expertise is no longer shown in interpretation, save for one carefully inserted judgment which alerts the reader to what is to follow: "He killed not as he had been forced to by the last bull, but as he wanted to" (198). Instead Jake's expertise as aficionado and observer of the bullfight is shown in his choice of what Hemingway earlier called "these special moments that novelists build their whole structures on" (194-1). Having achieved an effective description of the climactic moment of the bullfight, Hemingway then faced the difficulty of leading his reader back away from that highly-charged moment, a difficulty which led to a good deal of additional revision in his description of the coup de grace administered the bull and the cutting of an ear as tr0phy for Romero's performance. In the de— scription of these two actions, Hemingway reverses the approaches to revision I have mentioned in earlier 146 examples. He does not pare away his description to an irreducible minimum or eliminate whole sections of nar- ration. Nor does he fine—tune his description within the same framework of word length, as in the descrip- tion of Jake and the waiter in the Pamplona cafe. In- stead, he follows an approach similar to that seen near the end of the cafe section, when he worked to detail the description of Vicente Girones' coffin being borne to the railway station. As in the cafe section after the presentation of Jake's conversation with the waiter, in the descrip- tion of the bullfight the high point has been passed, andlmmungway is concerned with bringing his readers down, leading smoothly away from a moment of great intensity. He must provide a proper frame for the special moment in which Romero's bravery and skill are most clearly seen. In revision, Hemingway's description of the bullfight's aftermath is essentially doubled in length. His first-draft description of the aftermath is sketch- ily generalized: . . . it was over. The bull went down on his knees and Gueritta's older brother leaned for- ward behind him and drove a short knife into -his- the bull's neck just at the base of the horns. The bull went over, twitching and 147 rigid. Gueritta's brother looked up at the Pres- ident. All the handkerchiefs were waving. The president waved his and the brother leaning over cut the notched black ear from the dead bull and trotted over with it to Gueritta. Gueritta held it up toward the President. The President bowed and Gueritta, running to get ahead of the crowd, came toward us. He leaned up against the barrera and gave the ear to Duff. (194-6. Additions to the notebook underlined.) This quoted section of Hemingway's first-draft description contains ca. 113 words; by the time final revisions have been completed, the equivalent section of The Sun Also Rises will have expanded to ca. 222 words. From eight sentences, the section will have been expanded to thirteen, and a great deal of new detail-—and some new information--will have been added. The first-draft version is not without detail-- the bull goes over, "twitching and rigid"; Gueritta's brother does not cut merely an ear, but "the notched black ear." He has not stabbed the bull in the neck, but "just at the base of the horns." But in revision, Hemingway layered detail on detail, slowing the tempo of presentation again and again by offering new infor- mation. Particularly, the tempo of the description of the death of the bull is slowed, almost to a painful extent. At the end of the new, substituted description 148 of Romero's killing of the bull, Hemingway writes, ". . . and it was over." But what is over is not the entire action of the bullfight, but Romero's active part in the killing of the bull. The focus shifts suddenly from Romero to the last moments of the bull. In the first- draft version, Hemingway has described the death fairly compactly, in two sentences which depict the bull's fall to his knees, the coup de grace delivered by the brother, and the final fall of the bull. In revision, Hemingway chooses to draw out his description, producing a more realistic and graphically-described account of the bull's death, and then adding additional description, after the bull's death, in which his carcass still domin- ates the bull-ring: The bull tried to go forward, his legs com— mencing to settle, he swung from side to side, hesitated, then went down on his knees, and Romero's older brother leaned forward behind him and drove a short knife into the bull's neck at the base of the horns. The first time he missed. He drove the knife in again, and the bull went over, twitching and rigid. Romero's brother, holding the bull's horn in one hand, the knife in the other, looked up at the President's box. Handkerchiefs were waving all over the bull ring. The President looked down from the box and waved his handkerchief. The brother cut the notched black ear from the dead bull and trotted over with it to Romero. The 149 bull lay heavy and black on the sand, his tongue out. Boys were running toward him from all parts of the arena, making a little circle around him. They were starting to dance around the bull. Romero took the ear from his brother and held it up toward the President. The President bowed and Romero, running to get ahead of the crowd, came toward us. He leaned up against the barrera and gave the ear to Brett. (198. Underlined phrase was inked in on the typescript.) The focus on the drawn-out death of the bull and the domin- ating presence of his black carcass--the first focus of attention even for the boys who've jumped into the ring-- serves not only to lead away from the moment when matador and bull are one, but also serves to emphasize Romero's achievement. The carcass of the bull is "heavy and black," a monolithic presence in the ring even after his death. In the drawn-out description of his death (which incorporates another of those few handwritten additions to the typescript second draft, underlined above) Heming- way creats a terrible inertia. Even after Romero's masterful sword-stroke, which makes inevitable the death of the bull, that death is described in eight steps--the bull will not die easily. The bull tries to move forward (1), his legs begin to give (2), he swings side to side (3), he hesitates (4), he goes down 150 on his knees (5), he takes the first stroke of the coup de grace (6), he takes the second knife-stroke (7), and he falls, "twitching and rigid," finally dead (8). Care- fully, step by step, Hemingway's expert narrator has moved to the background and has allowed us to see the bull's death as a process--the result is a wonder that a man, even a Romero, could prevail against the brute vitality of such a beast. And the crowd's celebration of Romero's achievement rightly focuses first on the vanquished bull and then turns toward the matador. In his description of the bullfight, Hemingway moves from Jake's explanations, necessary for a complete understanding of the action, toward a direct presentation of moments significant in their exemplification of the courage and controlled artistry man may aspire to and reach. None of the conventional "literary signs" Hem— ingway inveighed against early in the first draft re- main to mark those significant moments. Finally, the reader must decide their significance--"You have to figure them out by yourself" (194-1). Hemingway has carefully led his readers to this, the climactic action of the novel, pointing the way in Jake's explanation of the bullfight, in his comments on 151 the value of the work of the other matadors, in earlier sections such as the description of the running of the bulls through the streets of Pamplona and the death of the aficionado, Vicente Girones. The building to the climax has begun even as early as the first-draft ver- sion of Jake's comment to a world-weary Robert Cohn which eventually appears as part of published chapter II: "'Nobody ever lives their life all the way up,‘ I said, 'except bull fighters'" (194-1). Scene IV. Jake Alone and with Brett (Book III) Some of the most extensive efforts at revision mark Hemingway's treatment of The Sun Also Rises' final chapter, which stands as Book III in the published novel. In the chapter/book's twenty-one pages, Hemingway leads away from the climactic events of the fiesta as Jake seeks a peaceful return to a less frenetic existence, then answers Brett's telegram and goes to retreive her from Madrid. As Hemingway works toward a resolution of the action and thought of the entire novel, he returns to 152 the extensive working out on paper of the themes and movements of the novel as reflected in the thoughts of Jake Barnes. But by this point in the composition process, much less confusion of narrative identities seems to occur-—we need not wonder, as we did early in the first draft, whether the narrative voice is that of Jake Barnes or the unfiltered, direct voice of Ernest Hemingway. Here, though the first-draft narrator works out problems at great length, he does so in what is very clearly the voice of Jake Barnes. There are no confu- sions of narrative identity such as occur in the early description of the funeral of Ernest/Jake's namesake uncle. While the musings of the narrator become obtru- sive in the repetition, those repetitions which occur are wholly believable as the obsessively recurring thoughts of a disturbed Jake Barnes. That Hemingway eventually chose to relegate those musings to the submerged seven—eighths of his narrative iceberg reflects their failure to function as compelling narration, not a problem of narrative voice. That is, in the deleted sections, it is clearly Jake who is speaking--but he does not really give us information not already available in the chapter. He 153 does not offer us new insights into what has occurred earlier in the book. And finally, having carefully worked out Jake's state of mind, Hemingway chose to omit most of his musings, concentrating on those ex- periences in which Jake seeks to re-order and compose himself, concentrating not on Jake's statements about his reactions to the aftermath of the fiesta, but in- stead concentrating carefully on the reactions them- selves. Appropriately, Jake's musings do not begin until after he has parted from Bill Gorton and Mike Campbell and installed himself overnight in a Bayonne hotel room. Jake sits and thinks that the next day he will leave Bayonne to go back into Spain, to the sea-side at San Sebastian: I wished I had gone up to Paris with Bill, ex- cept that would have meant more fiesta-ing in Paris and I was through with fiestas. It would be quiet in San Sebastian. The season did not open until August and I could get a good hotel room and read and swim. It was a splendid place to swim. You could lie on the beach and soak in the sun and get straightened around inside again. Maybe I would feel like writing. San Sebastian was a good place. There were wonderful trees along the promenade above the beach and there were good looking children sent down with their nurses before the season opened. In the evening there would be band concerts under the trees across from the Café 154 Marinas. There was a nice old port. It would be quiet and solid and restful. (194-6) Jake's pleasure in the thought of San Sebastian is clearly expressed, as it is clearly expressed in the published version of this passage. And in both versions, the descriptions of San Sebastian are pleasant, underlin- ing Jake's judgments. Yet here in the first draft, those judgments are far more explicit than they will be after revision. Even in the published version, Jake idealizes San Sebastian, with its quiet, good hotel rooms, "fine beach," and "wonderful trees" (TSAR, p. 232). But the first—draft emphases on quiet, restfulness, and getting "straightened around inside again" become submerged, though still clearly present by implication, and the reference to writing, perhaps the writing of The Sun Also Rises, is also dropped. (While composing this section Hemingway was in Paris; he had earlier worked on the first draft's second notebook while in San Sebastian, on August 8 and 9, 1925.) While the first draft version offers an effective essay on Jake's need for quiet, Hemingway makes Jake less self-consciously wounded in revision: I wished I had gone up to Paris with Bill, ex— cept that Paris would have meant more fiesta- ing. I was through with fiestas for a while. 155 It would be quiet in San Sebastian. The season does not open there until August. I could get a good hotel room and read and swim. There was a fine beach there. There were wonderful trees along the promenade above the beach, and there were many chil- dren sent down with their nurses before the season opened. In the evening there would be band concerts under the trees across from the Café Marinas. I could sit in the Marinas and listen. (TSAR, p. 232) The Jake of this final draft is more realistic, and seems better in control of his emotions--though still not wholly happy. Though he chooses not to continue "fiesta- ing" in Paris, he does not reject the idea of the fiesta completely, as in the first draft. Instead, he knows that he is through with fiestas only "for a while." He does not dwell obsessively on "getting straightened around," but instead takes a simple, pure pleasure in the thought of the "fine beach." As in the first draft, the trees along the promenade are "wonderful" in Jake's reflections, but Hemingway again interjects a more healthy realism into Jake's thoughts of the children sent down to the seashore; they are no longer described as "good-looking," but more accurately become "many children." And finally, Jake no longer directly states that San Sebastian will be "quiet and solid and restful." 156 Instead, his thoughts of rest are presented in terms of the activities he plans: "In the evening there would be band concerts under the trees across from the café Marinas. I could sit in the Marinas and listen" (TSAR, p. 232). That final sentence, ending the paragraph of contemplation, lingers delicately in the imagination, evoking an image "quiet and solid and restful" (194-6). Jake's desire for peace is never more clearly expressed than in his desire to sit in the cafe and listen. Through this final chapter, Hemingway works to set France in Opposition to Spain, as the France of early Book I is set in opposition to Spain, where the novel's main action has occurred. After his meditation on what will happen in San Sebastian, Jake goes to dinner and analyzes the difference between French and Spanish meals (French meals seem "carefully apportioned" in com- parison to those of Spain). He reflects that his French waiter's apparent friendship is designed to increase the size of his tip ("No one makes things complicated by be- coming your friend" [194-6]. In revision, the judgment is this: "No one makes things complicated by becoming your friend for any obscure reason" (TSAR, p. 233].). 157 Again and again, Hemingway continues to amend Jake's judgments, making him less a conscious commentator and more a man recording immediate experience. Thus, in his first-draft discussion of the French waiter's love of money, Jake carefully emphasizes the contradiction between the apparently easy values represented by the waiter and the real values Jake espouses, values we've earlier seen represented by the Spanish waiter who talks freely with Jake, or represented by a man like Romero: "It seemed comfortable to be in a country [France] where it is so simple to make people happy" (194-6, My under- lining.). On revision, Hemingway submerges the irony of that seemed, substituting a more direct and less con- sciously ironic phrasing: "It felt comfortable . . ." (3§§§, p. 233). At the bottom of the same page of The Sun Also Rises, Jake again records his feelings directly as he re—enters Spain: At Irun we had to change trains and show passports. I hated to leave France. Life was so simple in France. I felt I was a fool to be going back into Spain. In Spain you could not tell about anything. I felt like a fool to be going back into it, but I stood in line with my passport . . . . (TSAR, p. 233) 158 Here again the emphasis is on Jake's direct impressions and feelings--he does not analyze, but records directly: he feels like a fool. But behind this direct presenta- tion of Jake's emotion stands an earlier analysis in which Hemingway presented Jake's rational working out of his emotions. The notebook first-draft version: At Irun we had to change trains and show passports. I hated to leave France. Life was so simple in France. Never in France have I had any trouble not have I had any adventures. In Spain you could not tell about anything. Spain was another country. I felt like a fool to be going back into it . . . . (194—6) Here the difference between France and Spain is clearly stated-~Jake gives us the reasons behind his feeling a fool and simultaneously underlines the novel's France/ Spain value split. But in a discussion of France and Spain, Jake Barnes, expert commentator, is not so necessary as in the earlier description of the bullfight. The bullfight was new territory to the reader; an expert guide was re- quired to enable the reader to understand the meaning of what occurred in the arena. But in this final chapter, as Hemingway winds his story to a close, such an expert commentator is not needed--the France/Spain value split 159 has been implicitly present throughout the entire novel. And Hemingway has returned his focus to Jake, the con- fused and unhappy man, where in the bullfight scene he focused on Romero through Jake's clearseeing eyes. We have already seen that the novel's Spain is a country more authentic than France, "another country" where trouble and adventures are all too possible, but in the first-draft version Jake continues to belabor the point in a passage describing his first meal since returning to Spain: It was pleasant to have-toe—mueh— a great amount of food served again. You did not have to eat it and it was nice not to have that measured French feeling. There was only an old man in the dining room. He was eating a big lunch over against the window. He talked to his waitress when she brought him his dishes and she seemed to be amused. I had Borrow's Bible in Spain with me and read through the meal and drank a bottle of Alta Novanna [spelling unclear]. (194-6) The mood of the cafe, with the old man talking to the waitress, is far different from the mood of the French cafe, at least in Jake's mind. The peace of the cafe is not unlike that found late at night in the Spanish cafe frequented by another old man, the old man of "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place." And Jake seems to be facing a nothingness like that faced by the old man of the 1933 160 story, a nada defined in the first draft by Jake's com- pulsively repeated discussions of his mental state in San Sebastian. And the San Sebastian cafe is similarly a focus for order and sanity. In another first-draft segment later deleted, Jake sits on the terrace of the Café Marinas, listening to the orchestra he earlier imagined, again dwelling obsessively on the therapeutic value of San Sebastian: San Sebastian was a good place. It was a good place to get all straightened inside again. I had a lot of books, a Turgenieff, two Mrs. Belloc-Sanders, the Bible in Spanish. I could get Toichnitz[?] if I wanted them. It would be fun to swim, to get up late, to eat good meals and to read. Then I could go back to Paris and get to work again. Paris would be nice and it would be fun to eat out at the-Park— Parc Montsouris and at the Quartre Siegents de la Rochelle again. It was always fun to get back to Paris. After the concert was over inside stopped in the cafe, I paid for my drink and walked out to the old harbor. Then I walked all the way around the harbor, along the promenade and way beyond and then turned back and walked into the town and to the hotel to get supper. I was very hungry. It was beginning to get dark as I came away from the harbor and through the streets to the hotel. (194-6 Addition underlined.) Again, in revision, Hemingway muted Jake's ob- sessive refrain, moving the emphasis from his disordered thoughts to the presentation of the ordered world around 161 him. Doing so, Hemingway avoids the jarring juxtapo- sition of Jake's racing thought with the surrounding quiet images. In revising, he shortened the above quoted section into a description in which Jake no longer protests too much what he will do to get straightened around, but instead submerges himself in present events, calming and ordered: I sat in front of the Marinas for a long time and read and watched the people and listened to the music. Later, when it began to get dark, I walked around the harbor and out along the promenade, and finally back to the hotel for supper. (TSAR, 235) Jake has come to rest, just as he hOped he would. Even in San Sebastian, however, Jake's rest will be broken--eventually by Brett's telegram from Madrid, but first by the intrusion of the "French" values he had hoped to escape, in the arrival of the bicycle road- racers. In the first-draft version, the French and Spanish riders are specifically set in opposition to each other: "The french riders did not think much of the competition given them by the Spaniards. They did not take the race seriously except among themselves" (194-6). The chauvinistic team manger, much as in the final published version, pontificates on the sport 162 and on France: The Tour de France was the greatest sporting event in the world. All spring and all summer and all fall he spent on the road with the riders. It had made him know France. That is a thing few people know. It was a very strange country he knew beautiful country. A very rich country. Look at the number of motor cars now that followed the riders from town to town in a road race. It was a rich country and more sportif every year. It would be the most sportif country in the world. It was road racing did it, road racing and foot- ball. He knew France. La France Sportive. He knew road racing after all, though, it wasn't so bad to be back to Paris. There is only one Paris. Paris is the one town the most sportif in the world. (194-6. Heming- way's underscores.) Jake's decision to avoid the excitements of fiesta and the corruption of France's money-centered culture is emphasized, in all drafts, by his decision to sleep in rather than accept the manager's invitation to attend the departure of the Tour. Jake's rejection of bicycle rac- ing seems also to represent a significant deviation from Hemingway's opinions on the sport; in A Moveable Feast he later wrote, "I have started many stories about bicycle racing but have never written one that was as good as the races are both on the indoor and outdoor tracks and on the roads" (ME, p. 64). The point is worth making, for this difference serves to suggest what I have elsewhere 163 maintained, that even in the first draft of The Sun Also Rises Hemingway has carefully distanced himself from his fictional narrator—-and this distancing is one of the factors which makes the novel much more than a simple journalistic recounting of events. And his expressed affection for bicycle racing has been subordinated to the place of the sport within the novel's scheme of meaning. The final intrusion on Jake's San Sebastian holi- day cannot be so easily ignored as the French cycle racers' departure; a telegram arrives from Madrid; another is forwarded from Pamplona: "COULD YOU COME HOTEL MONTANA/AM RATHER IN TROUBLE DUFF" (194-6). In the first draft, Jake's reaction is at once bitter and resigned: Well, that meant San Sebastian all shot to hell. I suppose, vaguely, I had expected something of the sort. Oh well it was the price one paid for knowing the aristocracy. Someone had to pay for the aristocracy. I was being very hard headed and disgusted about it. I saw the concierge standing in- side the doorway. "Bring me a telegram form, please," I said. He brought it with a pen and ink. I took out my fountain pen and printed: LADY ANTHONY/HOTEL MONTANA/MADRID/ ARRIVING SUD EXPRESS TOMORROW 164 Then I stOpped. That handled the matter. There was nothing else to say. -§—prénted— What else was there to say? I printed LOVE JAKE and handed the concierge the wire. There I was doing it again. Why not let it alone? I knew there was not any use trying to let it alone. I had certainly acted like anything but a man. Send a girl off with one man. Introduce her to another to go off with him. Now go and bring her back. And sign the wire with love. (194-6) In the first draft, Jake goes on at great length (about three and a half notebook pages) to discuss the aristoc- racy, which Braddocks has labeled the "good peOple." Jake and Brett have appropriated the term, ironically dubbing themselves "good people," though they might not exactly fit Braddocks' definition. (The term is most closely associated with the characters of Ford Maddox Ford's 1915 novel masterpiece, The Good Soldier, sub- titled A Tale of Passion.) Musing on his relationship with Duff, Jake simultaneously returns to a single example of the sort of discussion of reality in art which occurred early in the first draft. And in this one discussion, Hemingway seems to speak more directly than elsewhere in the chapter; the real and fictional narrators' ideas become difficult to sort out, until at the end of the discussion, Jake's wound reappears in his musings, helping to make the division clearer. 165 In [Braddocks' novels] there was always a good deal of passion, but it took sometimes two and three volumes for anyone to sleep with anyone else. In actual life it seemed there was a good deal of sleeping about among good people, much more sleeping about than passion and when there was any actual passion nobody believed in it. . . . Who knew anything about anybody? You didn't know a woman because you slept with her any more than you knew a horse because you'd ridden him . . . . Besides, you learned a lot about a woman by not sleeping with her. I ought to be glad I was the way I was. Oh, yes, very glad. Glad as hell. Nothing like recognizing your advantages. I went in to lunch. (194—6) Jake discusses his emotional turmoil quite plainly in the above two quotations--the discussion of his doubts about his own manhood is generated as he analyzes his motives for signing the wire with love. And his extremely disturbed state is further demonstrated by the three-and- a-half-page digression on the "good pe0p1e." His view of the relationship between the emotion, passion, and sex as a physical act similarly seems generated out of Jake's unhappiness. That view——that there is more sleep- ing about than actual passion, that knowing a woman is not the same as sleeping with her--seems part of a mature and accurate world-view. But the tone of that view's discussion ("You didn't know a woman because you slept with her any more than you knew a horse because you'd ridden him . . . .") hardly seems mature; certainly it 166 is not objective. Similarly, the use of Braddocks/Ford's novels as targets helps initiate the discussion of pas- sion, but really is not organic to the discussion--and the treatment of the books is perfunctory, and out of character for Jake, a journalist who knows Braddocks as an acquaintance. Finally, the extreme length of the analysis detracts from the movement of the novel to its close. In revision, Hemingway projected a Jake Barnes more in character, and more controlled and mature-~though still not without some bitterness. He cuts the entire three and a half pages of digression on "good people" and passion, and produces a far smoother flow, all the above material being reduced to this: Well, that meant San Sebastian all shot to hell. I suppose, vaguely, I had expected something of the sort. I saw the concierge standing in the doorway. "Bring me a telegram form, please." He brought it and I took out my fountain- pen and printed: LADY ASHLEY HOTEL MONTANA MADRID ARRIVING SUD EXPRESS TOMORROW LOVE JAKE. That seemed to handle it. That was it. Send a girl off with one man. Introduce her to another to go off with. Now go and bring her back. And sign the wire with love. That was it all right. I went in t lunch. (TSAR, p. 239) 167 One further suggestion of Jake's emotional tur— moil replaced the pages of cut material with one detail that achieved a similar effect: In the rough-draft ver- sion of the first sentence following Jake's going in to lunch, Jake sleeps well as he travels to Madrid on the Sud Express. In revision: "I did not sleep much that night on the Sud Express" (TSAR, p. 239). As in so many other revisions, the effect of that tiny change is con- siderable; in one sentence Hemingway does as much as in the pages of unrevised material--Jake's anguished reflec- tions become part of the submerged seven-eighths. The fact of his sleeplessness emerges to suggest all that underlies that fact, invisible yet present. The early- draft explanations of Jake's mental state have been re- placed by a much more direct presentation. In succeeding sections, Hemingway continues to cut as he revises. In final form, Jake's journey to Madrid is presented in one short descriptive passage in which Jake's feelings are set in opposition to the fact that he "does not give a damn" about the scenery (TSAR, p. 239), while in the notebook draft the journey in- cluded a discussion of how it "kills something" to cover distance rapidly. 168 A good deal of extraneous explanation is deleted as Hemingway sets his scenes. While in the final version of the novel, for example, the Hotel Montana is quite adequately identified by the fact it occupies the second story of a building--and by the fact that its elevator cannot be made to work--in early versions Hemingway takes great pains to explain, The Montana was a pension. The English translation of a pension is boarding house. It is a cheap hotel where you have to take your meals. (194-6) This explanation was cut early--crossed out in the note- book draft as a part of the general streamlining revision of the entire chapter. Also streamlined in revision were both Jake's comic conversation with the woman who runs the pension and his succeeding meeting with Brett. In their initial versions, both conversations run a good deal longer than their eventual published versions. As published, the two are subtly juxtaposed--the comic misunderstandings of Jake's impatient conversation with the hotel's manager serve to whet the reader's desire to get on to the upcom- ing confrontation between Jake and Brett; the first con- versation's inanity also stands in marked contrast to 169 the sudden, unexpected level of mature understanding which Brett shows as she talks of her decision not to stay with Romero. But both these functional juxtaposi- tions seem to have been developed in revision--in the notebook draft, the Jake-manager conversation works as an end in itself rather than as a careful introductory transition to the second conversation. And the confron- tation between Jake and Duff suffers the same problems of maudlin wordiness that marked their love scene in Book I. Hemingway eliminates six lines of dialogue from Jake's conversation with the manager, and more than two notebook pages of dialogue from his conversation with Duff/Brett. The Jake-manager conversation is even less rational in its first-draft version than as published: "Muy buenos," I said. "Is there an Englishwoman here? I would like to see this English-lady." . "Yes, there is a female English. Cer- tainly you can see her if she wishes to see you." "She wishes to see me." "The chica will ask her." *"Is this female English a blood relation of you?" *"She is the sister of my sister." *“Ah—yes— "Clearly. Then you are her uncle." "It is very hot." "It is very hot in summer in Madrid." 170 "And how cold in winter." "Yes it is very cold in winter." *"Including that I find Madrid muy bonita." *"If Madrid had the sea what a place." *“That would be muy bonita." (194-6. My asterisks mark subsequently-deleted lines.) In this first-draft version, even the logical progression of the dialogue does not alternate regularly between Jake and the manager. And their conversation about the weather (introduced by Jake) becomes as absurd in its projection of a sea-side Madrid as in the manager's earlier attempt to identify Jake as a relative who might see Brett with- out imprOpriety. The fractured logic of the exchange makes for appealingly light reading as Hemingway ridicules the use of language for obfuscation rather than communica- tion, but must be toned down in revision, leaving the major emphasis to fall on the much more important ensuing conver- sation between Jake and Brett. Early versions of that conversation were a good deal longer--in the first-draft version Brett often seems less sure of herself, less at peace with the decisions she has made. In the pages cut from the notebook draft, her insecurity is plain, as in this selection: "You hate me too don't you." "Just a little." "It's all right," she said. "I de- serve it." 171 "No you don't." "Do you love me still?" "I guess so." "You don't love me any more. It's all right." "I love you. But I try so hard not to." (194-6) In revision, such guilty discussions are cut, while Heming- way expands Brett's discussion of her relationship with Romero. In the first draft, Duff/Brett is sure of her own power to keep Romero, even more sure than in Heming- way's revision: "You could have kept him." [Jake says.] "I should hope so. It isn't the sort of thing one does. I don't think I hurt him any." (194-6) In revision, Brett is presented as less sure of why she gave up Romero--she follows her instincts, which have a good deal to do with concern for people other than her— self: "Why didn't you keep him?" [Jake asks.] "I don't know. It isn't the sort of thing one does. I don't think I hurt him any." (TSAR, p. 241) And in the first-draft version, Brett explains her actions fairly freely, without Jake questioning her, while in the final version, her story emerges in the give-and-take of a conversation. In the notebook first draft: 172 "Oh, hell!" she said, "let's not talk about it. Let's never talk about it." "Only if there's anything you wanted to get off your chest." "Oh no. It was rather a knock his being ashamed of me. He wanted me to grow my hair out. Me, with long hair. I'd look so like hell." "That was funny." "He said it would make me look more womanly. I'd look a fright. "What was it about being in trouble?" (194-6) In the revised version, Jake's continued comments elicit more information, and the effect is much less that of Brett giving a speech, much more a matter of her unburden- ing herself to Jake, whom she both respects and trusts: "Oh, hell!" she said, "let's not talk about it. Let's never talk about it." "All right." "It was rather a knock his being ashamed of me. He was ashamed of me for a while, you know." "NO . fl "Oh, yes. They ragged him about me at the café, I guess. He wanted me to grow my hair out. Me, with long hair. I'd look so like hell." "It's funny." "He said it would make me look more womanly. I'd look a fright." "What happened?" "Oh, he got over that. He wasn't ashamed of me so long." "What was it about being in trouble?" (TSAR, p. 242) Running through each version of the scene is Brett's comment, ironic in the context of the discussion 173 of her relationship with Romero, "Let's not talk about it." Brett's revelations work against that stated desire not to discuss what has happened--Jake stands far enough back to make the careful comments that will elicit the, facts of Brett's relationship with Romero; he stands close enough to her, emotionally, that she will respond to him. Quite obviously, the Brett of this scene is far different from the aloof, controlled Brett we see so often earlier in the novel. She has changed--as he inserted new material to make up for the two-and-a-fraction pages he deleted earlier in the scene, Hemingway had shown that change physically, as Brett first greets Jake and as he holds her. In the published version, the embrace is pre- sented this way: "Darling!" Brett said. I went over to the bed and put my arms around her. She kissed me, and while she kissed me I could feel she was thinking of something else. She was trembling in my arms. She felt very small. (TSAR, p. 241) The cues to the changes in Brett--that she was "thinking of something else," that she "felt very small"—-stand in contrast to earlier presentations of her character. All too often she earlier thought of nothing, or was "blind," 174 drunk. And she never seems physically small--she is assured in the face she presents the world, a strong woman. In the second draft, Hemingway had made the contrast even more obvious in a line deleted before publication, one of those "literary signs" Hemingway was at pains to submerge. This intermediate version: . . . while she kissed me I could feel she was thinking of something else. She was trembling in my arms. She felt very small. I had always thought of us as about the same size. (198) Brett's facade has proved inadequate to shield her from authentic involvement with Romero. And in spite of the depth of that involvement, she has given him up. Although the final book of The Sun Also Rises consists of but one chapter, that book division did not exist until the typescript second draft. As he worked over the notebook version, Hemingway considered splitting that single chapter in two and actually wrote in a divi- sion, "Chapter XXII," just at the end of the scene where Brett explains her leaving Romero. The experimental chapter division comes just before Jake and Brett leave the Hotel Montana; it would have left in the chapter-end position of emphasis Brett's last anguished restatement of her reason for leaving Romero and the extent of the loss: 175 She would not look up. I stroked her hair. I could feel her shaking. "I won't be one of those bitches," she said. "But, oh, Jake, please let's never talk about it." ----Chapter XXII We left the hotel . . . . (194-6) Interpretations of The Sun Also Rises which con- sider Brett solely as an unchanging character, an unthink- ing bitch-goddess must founder on the second confrontation between Jake and Brett. The two leave the Hotel Montana-- and find that there was no financial need for Jake to rescue Brett since Romero has behaved as honorably in leaving Brett as she behaved in making him go--Romero has paid her bill. In the intermediate-draft "chapter," the last four-and-a-fraction pages of the novel as finally published, Hemingway revises a good deal. Yet here the essential tone of his first draft carries clearly through into the published ending of the novel. The use of a separate chapter might have con- tributed to a clearer understanding of the change in Brett, and the change in the relationship between Jake and Brett by separating two kinds of actions by the chap- ter break. The chapter division was not inserted cursor- ily and then immediately dropped, but carried through from its insertion in the notebook first draft into Hemingway's 176 own typescript version of the last eleven (as published) chapters, but disappears in the next available version, the published text of the novel. Exactly why is not ex— tremely difficult to discern; a reasonable conjecture might involve the relative lengths of the two chapters which would have made up Book III--the first fairly long, at seventeen pages, the second very short, at about four. Most importantly, the short final chapter, it should be re-emphasized, became a part of a larger ending unit, as Hemingway introduced the book divisions into the novel in its typescript version, much as he later divided A_ Farewell to Arms into five books at an intermediate stage of its composition (H's First War, p. 53). In the final few pages of the notebook draft, Duff/Brett has moved from dependence on Jake to a position of equality. As she leaves the Hotel Montana, she leaves behind the what-might-have-been of her relationship with Romero, and moves into a new, mutually tolerant and under- standing relationship with Jake. From the stormy emotion- ality of the scene in the Montana,the two move to a calm scene which takes its tone from Jake's comment, "It's wonderful what a wonderful gentility you get in the bar of a big hotel." The two find comfort in each other's 177 company, and in their pleasant surroundings, though Jake continues to protest just a little too much: "Bartenders have always been wonderful" (194-6). In revising this final section, Hemingway generally works for the exact expression of an effect already present in the first-draft manuscript. Thus, in Jake's two lines, Hemingway's re- visions work to reduce the instrusive rather than func- tional insistence of wonderful: "It's funny what a won- derful gentility you get in the bar of a big hotel. . . . Bartenders have always been fine" (198. My underlining.). Yet even in so smoothly-operating a section, Hem- ingway finds it necessary to make one major substitution of material, as Jake and Brett finish their meal in Botin's. Here, as in the earlier San Sebastian section of Book III, Jake is perhaps a littletno self-aware in the first draft, a little too conscious of why he does what he does, in compensation for the things he cannot do: "It's funny how many things you can find comfort in." [says Jake.] "Yes. You like to eat don't you?" Duff said. "Yes. I like to eat and I like to drink and I like to lead a quiet life and I like to read books." "You're a little drunk," Duff said. "Yes," I said. "I like to sail too." "Sailing's rather wonderful," Duff said. (194-7) 178 Hemingway almost completely rewrites the exchange in the typescript draft, throwing theLemphasis away from a direct statement and avoiding the list of activities Jake finds comfort in. Instead, he emphasizes Jake's mild escapism-- he drinks three bottles of rioja alta and eats a big meal, and it is Brett who senses just what he is doing rather than he who explains his own actions: "How do you feel, Jake?" Brett asked. "My God! what a meal you've eaten." "I feel fine. Do you want a dessert?" "Lord, no." Brett was smoking. "You like to eat, don't you?" she said. "Yes," I said. "I like to do a lot of things. Don't you want a dessert?" "You asked me that once," Brett said. (T§§§, p. 246) Continually through this section, along with this large substitution of material, Hemingway works to convey the mutual comforting and tolerance of the two, even as Jake becomes drunk and a little self—pitying. Thus, in- stead of putting "her hand on my thigh under the table" (194-7), Brett "put her hand on my arm" (TSAR, p. 246). Instead of "I put my arm around her and she rested her body against me" (194-7), ". . . she rested against me comfortably" (TSAR, p. 247). 179 And Hemingway reworks his last few lines, working for the precisely appropriate effect. In the first-draft ending: "Oh, Jake," Duff said, "we could have had such a damned good time together." Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. The car slowed suddenly pressing Duff closer against me. "Yes," I said. "It's nice as hell to think so." THE END Paris—-Sept. 21--l925 (194-7) Here, even as the two skirt about the most difficult aspects of their relationship, Hemingway is working in careful detail, using the appearance of the mounted policeman and the slowing cab to lend verisimilitude and to slow the reader, so that Duff's question and Jake's answer will not blend too quickly into each other. But even here the precise expression has not been achieved—-Jake still seems petulant and aggrieved rather than comforted in his "It's nice as hell . . . ." Reworking the first draft later, in a black ink that contrasts with the blue of the body of the text in this notebook, Hemingway wrote a second version at the bottom of the notebook page: "Isn't it nice to think so" (194-7). A wearier, yet more peaceful expression. 180 In the typescript version, Hemingway introduced an explanation of why the cab slowed which simultaneously served further to separate the two lines of dialogue: "Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton and whistled" (198. My underlining.). Hemingway also, of course, changed Duff to Brett and found an even more appropriate expression of Jake's realistic, weary, yet essentially healthy accommodation to the realities of his relationship with Brett. Also, Heming- way later eliminated the sound of the policeman's whistle, leaving a silent pause between Brett's statement and Jake's rhetorical question: "Oh, Jake," Brett said, "we could have had such a damned good time together." Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki di- recting traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me. "Yes," I said. "Isn't it pretty to think so?" THE END (TSAR, p. 247) Chapter Seven LATE REVISIONS--HEMINGWAY AND FITZGERALD While most of the revisions of The Sun Also Rises took place either on the pages of the notebook first draft or in the recasting of that draft into typescript form, one major revision occurred very late in the composition of the novel—-after it had been accepted by Scribner's and set in galley proofs. And unlike the other revisions, which seem to have been painstakingly worked out by Heming- way himself, this revision was strongly influenced by an outside reader--F. Scott Fitzgerald. Hemingway had refused to let Fitzgerald see the novel manuscript until it had been revised into final form: I explained to him that it would mean nothing until I had gone over it and rewritten it and I did not want to discuss it or show it to any— one first. . . . . . . Scott did not see it until after the completed rewritten and cut manuscript had been sent to Scribners at the end of April. I re- membered joking with him about it and him being worried and anxious to help as always once a thing was done. But I did not want his help while I was rewriting. (ME, p. 182) 181 182 Hemingway's contention that the manuscript "would mean nothing" until it had been revised makes sense, both in terms of his possible desire for his work to appear at its best before Fitzgerald, who had just the same year published a masterwork, the splendidly controlled The Great Gatsby, and also in terms of The Sun Also Rises' own deve10ping structure of meaning and style. The rela- tively-uncontrolled first draft of the novel is neither an accurate indication of Hemingway's capabilities in prose fiction nor more than a rough indication of the final version's structure of meaning. However, Hemingway's statement that Fitzgerald did not see the novel until after the ”rewritten and cut" manuscript had been sent to the publisher led to the long- time conclusion that Hemingway was claiming Fitzgerald had no direct influence on the shape of the final novel. Such was not quite the case. Instead, according to Philip Young and Charles Mann, compilers of the 1969 inventory of the Hemingway papers which were later collected in the Kennedy Library, Fitzgerald read the final draft's carbon copy-~after the draft had indeed been sent off to Scrib- ners' but before Hemingway had completed checking the novel in galley proof form. They based their conclusion 183 upon a ten-page critique in Fitzgerald's handwriting which was found folded into one of the first draft's notebooks. The scrawled letter to Hemingway carefully argues for the deletion of a good deal of the novel's beginning all the way through the first two chapters eventually published; Fitzgerald suggests that Hemingway begin with Jake's meeting the prostitute, Georgette, at the beginning of published Chapter III. Carefully referring by page numbers and quoted passages to elements which he considers to be marked by "condescending casualness," Fitzgerald makes a case for deletion of the early material, reminding Hemingway that "the fact that people have committed themselves to you will make them watch you like a cat. & if they don't like it creap [sic] away like one." He is careful to avoid attacking Hemingway's achievements in The Sun Also Riggs, but instead phrases his more general comments in a manner likely to appeal to Hemingway's commitment to craftsmanlike work: "You can't play with people's atten- tion--a good man who has the power of arresting attention at will must be especially careful." Young and Mann point to the letter's comment, "Please see what you can do about it in the proofs", and to the additional discovery of the 184 first three galley proofs of The Sun Also Rises among the other Hemingway papers as conclusive evidence that Fitz- gerald did read the novel in carbon copy after the final version was sent to the publisher. A careful examination of the three galley proofs and Fitzgerald's letter (held in different locations at the time Young and Mann compiled their inventory) as well as the typescript and carbon copies of the novel confirms their conclusion and adds new information. Fitzgerald read a carbon of the novel's final draft and suggested changes to Hemingway, which Hemingway eventually partially implemented by eliminating the first chapter-and-a-half of the typescript draft, approximately 3500 words. While he eventually just began with the next sentence following the cut material, Hemingway tried several devices to fill the place of the deleted material, including a new begin- ning which discussed and explained that such material had been cut and also an introduction to the novel. The tone of the material eventually deleted is reminiscent of Hemingway's first—draft working out of ideas, motivations, character traits; it is essentially expository rather than dramatic. In his first chapter the narrator discusses two of the novel's main characters, 185 Brett and Mike, at once giving information on their per- sonal backgrounds and analyzing their personalities, par- ticularly as those personalities are reflected in their life in bohemian Paris. The method of discussion is very similar to that Hemingway used in introducing the pub- lished novel, in the Chapter I description of Robert Cohn. In the typescript, Jake begins his narration with a brief paragraph in which he sets the scene of the novel's first book: This is a novel about a lady. Her name is lady Ashley and when the story begins she is living in Paris and it is Spring. That should be a good setting for a romantic but highly moral story. As every one knows, Paris is a very romantic place. Spring in Paris is a very happy and romantic time. Autumn in Paris, though very beautiful, might give a note of sadness or melancholy that we shall try to keep out of this story. (202a) Fitzgerald singled out the remark on the "highly moral story" as his first example of the first-chapter elements which give "a feeling of condescending casualness." That probably is the impression the passage would convey to most readers; though such heavily ironic statements on romance and morality might have been read differently if placed in the context of Jake's wound and his natural 186 reactions to Mike's relationship with Brett, here no such context has been established and the feeling evoked does not adequately characterize Jake's ambiguous state as an emotionally-involved narrator struggling to maintain his objectivity. A great deal of information on Brett and Mike is contained in this chapter; while much of it is available elsewhere within the novel (though not necessarily acces- sible without more reader effort than is required in this cut first chapter), at least as much is not. And in addi- tion to factual background, Jake/Hemingway here makes available to the reader judgments which are only implied elsewhere--in the published novel much less is given; much more is left to be discovered in accordance with Heming— way's earlier comment, "you have to figure [things] out by yourself" (l94-l).‘ In the cut chapter one, we learn that Brett has been married twice, divorced once and is now living apart from her second husband, Lord Ashley, "a dipSommfiwc, he having learned it in the North Sea commanding a mine- sweeper" (202a), with whom she has had a son. Apparently Brett has really loved neither of her husbands; the two men she has loved have not turned out well for her. The 187 first was to sit out the war safely in one of its safer theaters, Mesopotamia, but "he had died of some very un- romantic form of dysentery and she certainly could not marry Jake Barnes . . . " (202a). And so instead Brett marries her second husband, who is already unbalanced as a result of his war service and who becomes suicidal when he learns that she really does not love him. Mike and his relationship with Brett are intro- duced in the context of Brett's previous unloving or un— fulfilled relationships with men. They become lovers by chance, going from.London to the Riviera on an impulse but with platonic intentions but finding themselves, be— cause of a lack of planning, in Paris at a hotel with only one vacant room and Brett declining Mike's sugges- tion that they try another hotel. Mike, as is made clear elsewhere in the novel, is a bankrupt; Jake describes him as having nothing left from his business venture in Spain but the "beautifully engraved shares" of the failed company which has absorbed his $15,000 inheritance. Fitzgerald singled out the "beautifully engraved shares" as "(Beautifully engraved 1886 irony) All this is O.K. but so glib when its [sic] glib + so profuse." He generally objected to Hemingway's 188 biographies of the characters, citing Hemingway's own expressed belief "in the superiority (the preferability) of the imagined to the seen not to say to the merely re— counted." Among the information not included in The Sun Also Rises are several additional facts: 1) That Mike during the time span of the novel is very ill, though his exact illness remains unnamed. 2) That Mike may have had homosexual tendencies, though this fact is only rather faintly implied: "[He] had various habits that Brett felt sorry for, did not think a man should have, and cured by constant watchfulness and the exer- cise of her then very strong will" (202a). The chapter ends with a fairly long analysis of Brett and Mike's drinking, its roots in the boredom of remittance-man existence, ever waiting for the arrival, late, of Mike's weekly allowance from home, an allowance already borrowed against in advance. Mike is described as a very well-behaved drunk until he is extremely drunk. Then he becomes like "a bone dissolved in vinegar to prove it has something or other in it. . . . and if it were a long enough bone you could even tie it in a knot" (202a). He is utterly changed by alcohol--this analysis, of course, 189 gives information later dramatized as Mike actually be- comes drunk, as does the discussion of Brett's drinking, which leaves her almost exactly the same as when sober; "She was always clear run, generous, and her lines were always as clear" (202a). But, as is implied later in the novel, her characterization of herself as becoming "blind drunk" is essentially a literal description-- though she does not appear drunk, as an evening of heavy drinking goes on she "first lost her power of speech and just sat and listened, then she lost her sight and saw nothing that went on, and finally she ceased to hear" (202a). But in spite of their weaknesses, Brett and Mike do pass the time fairly pleasantly in Paris, at least until Mike is called home to Scotland and Brett is left alone. Anticipating her involvement with Robert Cohn, Jake ends the first chapter on this note: "She had never been very good at being alone" (202a). The chapter's tone is very much introductory; as yet we are completely within the mind of Jake Barnes or Ernest Hemingway, still far from the action of the novel. (The suggestion that the voice of Jake is not established here runs against the early bitter irony of the chapter, but in 190 accordance with such clues as the treatment of "Jake Barnes" in the third person, and the omission of any personal pronouns.) Fitzgerald did not zero in on this particular characteristic of the first chapter, though its effect is perhaps included within his comment upon the prefer- ability of the imagined to the seen or recounted. But he is strong in his denunciation of less-than—wholly- realized elements, commenting on some specific phrases as "0. Henry stuff," and "mere horseshit," and finding the narration full of "about 24 sneers, superiorities and nose-thumbings-at-nothing" up to the beginning of published chapter III. His page references do not cor- respond to the galley pages (only three galles were de- leted, and the whole material Fitzgerald suggested be eliminated would not have filled more than five or six galleys). Nor do they match the notebooks of the first draft within which Young and Mann first discovered his letter to Hemingway--the notebook pages were unnumbered. However, his references with quotes and page numbers, to pages 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, 10, 14, 23, 30, 64, 65, 77, 78, and 87 (in some of the later references Fitzgerald is praising, rather than complaining) match exactly the 191 pagination of the typists' transcript of the first half of the final draft (item 200) and its carbon (item 201). Possibly supporting the other evidence that Fitzgerald actually read the carbon copy (201) rather than the typist's original (200) is the fact that in his letter he refers to the phrases "'9 or 14' and 'or how many years it was since l9xx'"; both phrases appear in the carbon, but the first has been inked out by Hemingway in the original typescript, possibly reflecting his own revision before Fitzgerald's critique. In the second chapter of the typescript/cancelled galley version, Jake's voice becomes more clearly defined, as the chapter begins with the polished version of his discussion of why he is writing in the first person, "I did not want to tell this story in the first person . . .," which I earlier quoted in discussing the novel's narrative scheme (see my p. 76). From this discussion of his emo- tional involvement with the characters and events of his story, Jake goes on to tell of his own background and motives: So my name is Jacob Barnes and I am writing this story not as I believe is usual in these cases, from a desire for confession, because being a Roman Catholic I am spared that Protes- tant urge to literary production, nor to set 192 things all out the way they happened for the good of some future generation, nor any other of the usual highly moral urges, but because I believe it is a good story. (202a) Fitzgerald's comment was, "If this paragraph isn't mala- droit then I'm a rewrite man for [popular theologian] Dr. [Samuel] Cadman." Jake goes on to tell that he is "a newspaper man living in Paris," describing why Paris is the only city he would want to live in, in a manner which parallels Hemingway's later evocation of an idyllic Paris, in A Moveable Feast. Jake has been discharged from the British hospital where he met Brett in 1916 and after a job on the New York Mail has gone into partner— ship to start the Continental Press Association, of which he now serves as European Director: "When you have a title like that translated into French on the letter- heads, and only have to work about four or five hours a day, and all the salary you want you are pretty well fixed." Jake is careful to keep that salary low enough that too many other newspapermen don't try for his job. And now, leading a fairly contented life, he has decided to write the novel that all newspapermen want to write: ". . . I suppose, now that I am doing it, the novel will have that awful taking-the-pen-in-hand quality that 193 afflicts newspaper men when they start to write on their own hook" (202a). Jake goes on to discuss the quarter as a place where he spent little time until Brett and Mike came to Paris. It is mostly important because Robert Cohn, "one of the non-Nordic heroes of this book, had spent two years there.: The quarter is important for its in- fluence on Robert Cohn. Jake mentions Robert's mistress and his novel ("There was a great deal of fantasy in it."), and then goes on to recount the story of Ford Madox Ford's misidentification of Alistair Crowley which finally appeared in 1962 as the ninth chapter of A Move— able Feast. But, Jake again protests, Braddocks (Ford) is important only as the quarter is important, as he illuminates the character of Robert Cohn: So I have never felt the same about Braddocks since, and I should avoid as far as possible putting him into this story except that he was a great friend of Robert Cohn, and Cohn is the hero. Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton. Do not think that I am very much impressed by that as a boxing title . . . (202a) Fitzgerald considered the introduction of Robert Cohn "a false start" and suggested, "Why not cut the 194 inessentials in Cohen's biography?" (Some were cut.) He signalled his perception of the novel's real begin- nings: From here. Or rather from p. 30 [begin- ning of published chapter III] I began to like the novel but Ernest I can't tell you the sense of disappointment that beginning with its elephantine facetiousness gave me. Please do what you can about it in proof. Its 7500 words--you could reduce it to 5000. And my advice is not to do it by mere pare- ing but to take out the worst of the scenes. Hemingway exceeded Fitzgerald's advice on the ex- tent of the cuts necessary, removing around 3500 words, but still chose to include a good deal of information on Rboert Cohn, half-confirming his narrator's judgment that "Cohn is the hero," or at least one of the book's multiple imperfect heroes. Fitzgerald apparently had envisioned a considerable shortening of the first two chapters of the tyepscript carbon rather than a complete excision of the beginning material--even near the end of his letter he is commenting upon small details which would not be germane if he himself proposed a complete cut, taking Hemingway to task, for example, for his use of dysentery as the cause of Brett's first love's death, as a cliché to avoid the equal cliché of his having been killed in the war. His influence upon Hemingway is probably stronger in the 195 matter of Brett, who is not seen until Chapter III in the published novel, when she shows up at the bal musette. Fitzgerald had called her character "elusive" and felt that "she dramatized herself in terms of Arlen's drama— tization of someone's dramatization of Stephen McKenna's dramatization of Diana Manner's dramatization of the last girl in Well's [sic] Tono Bungay . . . ." That is, Brett seems very much indebted in her actions to other fictional and actual ladies of café society. After deciding to cut to the middle of the second chapter, beginning with Robert Cohn, Hemingway still felt the impulse to include Brett in the book's beginning. So he typed a brief trial beginning to explain the missing material. This brief typescript begins with the same paragraph with which the uncut version began, explaining that the novel is about Lady Ashley and set in Paris in the spring. It then goes on to explain: There were about twenty five more pages like that which have been cut out of this novel which now opens with Robert Cohn who may be a great disappointment to the reader who has just been promised Lady Ashley. But if the reader will stay around Lady Ashley will come in to the story again in a little while and will stay in until the end. A large amount of material about the author has also been eliminated and I feel sure that this will compensate the reader for any loss he may feel about Lady Ashley. We will now start with Robert Cohn. (202d) 196 It is evident from the reference to "twenty five more pages" that Hemingway was writing with the typescript carbon before him; that number of pages would take the reader to the introduction of Cohn in the typescript. It also seems likely that Hemingway was overestimating the appeal of Brett's title as a device for catching the reader's attention. In the published first chapter, a very short chapter, Jake's exposition of Cohn's back- ground--family, literary, and marital--shades quickly into a discussion of his relationship with Frances Clyne and the dramatization of Frances' jealousy of Cohn, when Robert kicks Jake under the table. Chapter II follows a similar pattern, moving from Jake's discussion of Robert's romanticism to its dramatization in the two men's conversation about traveling to South America and Robert's comment, "Don't you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by . . ." (TSAR, p. 11). In these two chapters, Hemingway preserves something of the beginning's casual tone while avoiding elements Fitzgerald justly identified as being marked by "conde- scending casualness." And he moves quickly from an ex- position which piques the reader's curiosity about Cohn to his much stronger dramatization of tensions within 197 Cohn's character while at the same time maintaining a voice consistently identifiable as that of Jake Barnes. Given the strengths of these two chapters in comparison to the weaknesses of the earlier cut chap- ters, the typescript trial beginning is clearly unneces- sary--in its references to the cut chapters it merely capsulizes those chapters' faults. Though Fitzgerald called the sections on Robert Cohn a "false start," preferring the entirely dramatized Chapter III as the section in which "it really gets going," Hemingway was not content entirely to abandon the introductory tone which marked the material cut from the galley proofs. That introductory tone was also obvious in an- other of Hemingway's trials, an introduction which de- rived its central image from the second quotation he chose as one of the book's two epigraphs. The quote was added in ink to the typescript version, just above the long quote from Ecclesiastes: "You are all a lost generation." It is identified as having been spoken by Gertrude Stein, but its complete origins are revealed in the "Forward" to “The Lost Generation/A Novel" (2020). As he worked to choose the novel's final title, both in the Stein anecdote used first as a forward and 198 later as source for the novel's first epigraph and in a listing of possible titles, Hemingway chose to emphasize the optimistic idea of progress within life's cycle. It seems highly probable, though not perhaps completely proveable, that the notebook containing both forward and title list, though representing late material, came chronologically earlier than Fitzgerald's letter and the subsequent cuts in the novel's beginning, probably before the typescript was sent to Scribners. This seems partic- ularly likely, given that the novel's typescript is titled The Sun Also Rises and given that the quotation from Stein, "You are all a lost generation," was written into the tyepscript by hand above the typed epigraph quotation from Ecclesiastes. Handwritten within yet another of Hemingway's ubiquitous notebooks, the forward tells the reader that "One day last summer Gertrude Stein stopped in a garage in a small town in the department of Ain to have a valve fixed in her Ford car" (202C). The repairs are effi— ciently completed by one of several young mechanics at the garage, and Miss Stein remarks to the proprietor that she thought "you couldn't get boys to work any more." The owner informs her that good young workers can indeed ll 199 be found--"It is the ones between twenty two and thirty that are no good. C'est un generation perdu [a lost generationl" (202C). Only those who fought in the war are lost. From the anecdote, told in about 150 words, Hemingway moves to a discussion of the titling of his novel. He has not heard the Gertrude Stein story until after finishing his book, which he first wanted to call Fiesta (British editions of the book have appeared under that name from its publication to the present.) He does not want to use a foreign title like Fiesta,~and Perdu "loses a little by being translated into lost." From the discussion of titling, Hemingway uses the word lost as a bridge into a discussion of his generation, which he sees as unique, unlike any generation whose future has been subject to past "literary speculation." This is not a generation of what kind of mothers will flappers make or where is bobbed hair leading us. This is about something that is already finished. For whatever is going to happen to the gener- ation of which I'm a part has already happened. (202C) In spite of all that will happen to the generation, in spite of all the movements it will seek salvation in, and in spite of the possibility of "another and better" 200 war, nothing will really matter to this generation; it is permanently shaped by its experience of World War One, an event already past. To this generation, Hemingway concludes, "the things that are given to people to hap- pen have already happened" (202C). At once, that judgment seems to confirm and fal- sify the structure of meaning which marks The Sun Also Rises. Certainly, many of the characters have been marked by their experiences of the Great War, as perma- nently imprinted by its psychological effects as by the physical wounds it has inflicted on some of them. From it they have derived an essential toughness and skepti- cism which is seen most clearly in oppositior1to the unrealistic romanticism of Robert Cohn, who did not ex- perience the war at first hand. In this forward's consideration of titling, Hemingway explored titles which reflected the sense of a generation forever scarred by its experience: The Lost Generation, Perdu, LOSt. Elsewhere in the same notebook, he listed other titles, these based on a reading of the Bible. At the head of the list was the title eventually selected, The Sun Also Rises, derived from the first chapter of 201 Ecclesiastes, where the preacher considers man's "Vanity of vanities." The novel's typescript also included the second verse from Ecclesiastes I, "Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity," quoted as part of the epigraph (201). The elimination of that portion of the biblical quotation tends to con- firm that Hemingway had very consciously decided to set the second quote as a more optimistic alternative to Stein's statement; that the second verse was eliminated at a later stage than the final typescript, either in galley or page proofs, might lend some slight support to a supposition that the forward and title list came later, but the preponderance of evidence supports an earlier place in chronology for the material. The next title on this list is River'to the Sea, derrwxf from Ecclesiastes 1:7, eventually quoted as part of the novel's second epigraph, "All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again." While in the context of Ecclesiastes, both titles par— tially serve to characterize the vanity of man's sense of self-importance, as a part of the second epigraph each seems used to suggest that the "lost generation" 202 is not really lost, that it is a part of the cycle of life, that if the sun has set upon the members of Jake's generation, it has set only for a while and in the cyCle of nature will rise again. Hemingway later commented that he felt readings of The Sun Also Rises as a pessi- mistic work ignored a great deal of the novel's content; Hemingway specifically commented upon the optimism of the second epigraph.) In this list of titles, Hemingway apparently also considered another possible epigraph-—a less Opti- mistic one. He wrote in a quotation from Ecclesiastes 1:18: "From much wisdom is much grief and he that in- creases knowledge increaseth sorrow" (202c). This pos- sible epigraph, of course, at once suggests one reason for the unhappiness of many of the book's characters-- their knowledge of the world has increased dramatically and traumatically in their experience of the war--and also ties in with The Sun Also Rises' theme of compensa- tion, clearly expressed in Jake's late-night conclusion that, "You paid some way for everything that was any good" (TSAR, p. 148). The last of the titles drawn from Ecclesiastes derives from that book's chapter four, which discusses 203 at length the strength of two in comparison to the weak- nesses of one. The chapter does not deal as a whole with "two" as an expression of sexuality, discussing all the ways in which being allied with another is a source of strength, but in the exact source of the title, Two Lie Together, the reference may be more explicit: "Again, if two lie together they are warm; but how can one be warm alone?" (Ecclesiastes IV:ll). Such warmth, in its connotations of both sexual expression and com- fortable closeness, is precisely what is denied Jake and often treated without due respect by other characters. (By the novel's ending it may be that, as far as is pos- sible, Jake and Brett do "lie together" in the closeness of their mutual understanding.) The last of the trial titles listed on the note- book page is probably the most obscure in its reference, The Old Leaven. While leaven is variously considered in the Bible, the "old leaven" is treated in the First Letter to the Corinthians, in a blending of Christian rebirth imagery with the Judaic preparations for the festival (fiesta) of Passover: Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened. For Christ, our paschal lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us, therefore, celebrate the festival, not 204 with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. (I Corinthians V:7, 8) Such a title would throw its emphasis onto the negative side of the cycle of life; while many of those who cele- brate the festival of San Fermin are tainted by malice and evil, there are many positive characters, and even the most malicious of the book's main characters is not made wholly evil; leaven is marked by the property that the part becomes the whole; one lump of leaven leavens the whole loaf. But in Hemingway's novel evil is balanced by good; wisdom is gained, though at the price of vexa- tion; the sea is never filled; life continues; the sun goes down, but it also rises. Chapter Eight THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE SUN ALSO RISES More so than with any of his preceding works, the submerged base of Hemingway's narrative iceberg became important in the shaping of The Sun Also Rises. His statement that at least seven-eighths of a work may be left below the surface yet still exert its influence on the finished work, if not quite literally true by weight of manuscript or count of pages, describes the novel's composition by a highly appropriate metaphor. As he later wrote, "I had to take the first draft of The Sun Also Rises which I had written in one sprint of six weeks, and make it into a novel" (ME, p. 200). In the revision of his first novel he may not have been so drastically selective as in the composition of a much later master- work, The Old Man and the Sea, which he said could have been a novel of many hundreds of pages, covering far more material than the old man, the boy, the great fish and the sea. But by all evidence, The Sun Also Rises 205 206 is a highly selected work--a first draft made into a novel, and the first work in which Hemingway's process of selec— tion was highly developed and also capable of being so closely traced. It is also the first work in which we see his inherent respect for selective craftsmanship applied to the novel form. Hemingway's earlier emphasis on such craftsman- ship is evident in a later description—-in his memoir, A Moveable Feast—-of "trying with great difficulty to write paragraphs that would be the distillation of what made a novel" (ME, p. 75). I have already traced the selections and deletions in such earlier stories as "Indian Camp" and "Big Two-Hearted River," and the com- position of the "chapters" of In Our Time, the paragraphs which he mentions. The Sun Also Rises was the masterwork with which Hemingway proclaimed his journeyman efforts to be completely at an end, his method of composition perfected. In this novel, Hemingway confronted the diffi- culty of achieving a craftsmanlike artistry within a long form. His final achievement partly resulted from his earlier work in very short stories and poetry, from his work toward longer forms in such pieces as "Big 207 Two-Hearted River, and from all the fluency he developed in his early writing, from journalism to the novel manu- script Hadley had lost on the train to Switzerland. In The Sun Also Rises, his earlier-defined methods were de- velOped and polished. Although, like so much of Heming- way's other writing, the novel seems simple in language and structure, its underlying complexity is apparent to the careful reader and even more apparent in an examina- tion of its manuscript drafts. Hemingway struggles for the novel's appearance of simplicity, striving for a prose which will work on his readers with the sublety normally associated with such a genre as poetry, and he aims for such a subtle simplicity not in order to create a tour de force, but to recreate the experiences of life and those experiences' effects on men and women. As he wrote in an unbpublished draft for A Moveable Feast, he found himself "trying to make something that will become a part of the reader's experience and a part of his memory. There must be things that he did not notice when he read the story or the novel which, without his knowing it, enter into his memory and experience so that they are a part of his life. This is not easy" (179). The proof of the difficulty of his task is in the drafts of The Sun 208 Also Rises, in such revisions as the reduction of nine lines of dialogue to three in the love scene between Jake and Brett or the complete rewriting of Romero's recibiendo killing of the bull or the elimination of the description of the Ledoux-Kid Francis fight. Hemingway's task of composing and revision was at once eased and complicated by the novel's aspects of roman a clef. While the novel's characters sometimes resemble real people, Brett Ashley is not Duff Twysden. Robert Cohn is not Harold Loeb. Jake Barnes is not Ernest Hemingway. The tendency in building on the events of June, 1925, might have been merely to transcribe from the events of real life--certainly that would have been an easy course to follow, but not the course that Hemingway had to follow in order to come to his maturity as a novelist. Instead, the events of that June provided him less with an outline and cast for his novel than with an ini- tial impulse upon which he expanded and rang changes. He did not describe one trip into Spain, but synthesized from all his experiences of Spain, telescoping scenes and events he derived from several trips to Spain over a period of years. After only a few pages of his first draft he had already be- gun to transform and fictionalize his characters; he was to omit references to such real people as Dos Passos, 209 Fitzgerald and Ford and to continue the process of fic- tionalization of characters through the successive drafts of The Sun Also Rises. He worked to recreate his material in a manner which derived directly from his belief in the superiority of the imagined to the merely described. Even before beginning the novel he had written, "The only writ- ing that was any good was what you made up, what you imagined" (draft of "Big Two-Hearted River" published as "On Writing" in NAS, p. 217). Each revision he made helps to underline that principle; he moves toward a com- pletely realized fictional whole. The process of fictionalization began early in The Sun Also Rises; after the first thirty or so pages of the first draft, the book has clearly been established as a work of fiction. Yet Hemingway's efforts to jimagine" the book continued throughout, forming some of the most interesting--to one concerned with Hemingway's aesthetic and technique--of the passages later cut from the novel's drafts, the passages in which Hemingway directly comments upon his aims and the difficulties he is having in achiev- ing those aims. Hemingway's concern that no "conventional literary signs" mark the book's important sections, linked with the conviction that for maximum effect elements of 210 the work must enter the reader's experience imperceptibly, eventually led him to out these discussions, but they clearly demonstrate and underscore a number of concerns. Hemingway reacted against the conventional formula fiction of his time, with its unrealistic romanticism, and he strove to escape the existing conventions of middle-class thought. He wished to reflect the complexities of life, yet to do so with great precision. Such aims are re- flected in, for example, his effort to achieve a complexity in characterization--to present a number of partial "heroes" in The Sun Also Rises. They are reflected in his work to avoid abstraction whenever possible and in his accompany- ing pursuit of a concrete and honest use of language. Hem- ingway works so precisely with language not merely because he desires a carefully crafted surface for his work, but because of his conviction that only in a carefully con- trolled art can truthful insight be achieved. The discussions later cut from the drafts of the novel also treat narrative difficulties at length. Heming- way particularly comments on the difficulty of achieving a suitably objective narration from a first-person point of view. Yet his experiments soon showed the impossibility 211 of finding an immediate and objective narration within a third-person framework. The story takes its own direc- tions and imposes its own organic imperatives, and it "must" be told in the first person. As he develops the novel, Hemingway moves away from--or at least readapts-- many of the techniques he had used in his earlier short fiction. His adoption of a first—person narration, for example, is in contrast to the third-person presentation of most of his earlier stories, moving him away from a "splendid and cool and detached" stance. He balances that movement carefully in his acute consciousness of the role of irony as a balance, insuring that Jake Barnes' telling of The Sun Also Rises will not become so subjec- tive as to imperil the truthfulness of the presentation. Hemingway moves away from the short-story-style beginning of the first draft near the climax of the novel's action, also. In doing so, he not only adopts a more leisurely, chronological narration which will better suit the amount of material he must handle, but also balances his presentation, contrasting the workaday Jake Barnes of the earlier sections to the narrator in the midst of the swirling fiesta. Knowing more of Jake's 212 involvements and sympathies, readers are better able to judge the varying objectivity of his narration. Hemingway also builds upon his early short fiction as he edits and builds his novel. Such scenes as the in- tense paragraphs of In Our Time had earlier been written as complete units in themselves. Later these scenes were re-ordered and juxtaposed with longer stories as the tbhap- ters" of In Our Time. In The Sun Also Rises, similar scenes are conceived and written as part of the complete longer work, and sometimes ruthlessly edited out when not organic to the flow of plot, theme, characterization and other elements of the novel. Thus, Hemingway carefully develops the novel's bullfight scenes while cutting the similarly exciting and immediate description of the Ledoux- Kid Francis fight to only a mention. In Romero's corridas, plot, theme and characterization are all served; the prize- fight works thematically in much the same way as the bull- fights, but contributes little more to the overall struc— ture of the novel. Such selection is continually at work in Hemingway's writing of the novel; it shows-~as it should --a far tighter organization than In Our Time. If the "chapters" of In Our Time were Hemingway's distillation of what makes a novel, then the process of 213 writing a complete novel was a continuing process of selec- tion, blending, fermentation--not the distillation of a liqueur, but the production of a fine wine which can only mellow and improve with age, its taste at once more subtle and yet more sustained. Hemingway's vision and revision of his novel, then, involved attention both to its largest and tiniest elements. He sometimes scrapped and replaced entire scenes and chapters. He deleted beginning chapters which much later were partially used in A Moveable Feast. He rewrote Romero's corridas, dropped the description of the prizefight and eliminated his retelling of A. E. W. Mason's story--and, of course, he cut his discussions of intention and technique. These changes and a number of others were made with the intention of "trying to hold this pretty tight down to the story" (198), trying to produce a tightly unified work. Hemingway also paid close attention to the language of the novel, carefully tuning words and phrases with a concern more poetic than novelistic. Consider, for example, the haunting, insis- tent repetition of individual words in the discussion of Vicente Girones' death. Consider the paring away of maudlin dialogue until Jake and Brett's discussion of their frustrated love suggests, in its terse restraint, 214 the inescapable barriers between the two. This careful fitting of word to meaning shows continually in the re- vision of the novel and helps to suggest why Hemingway thought that the task was, "the most difficult job of rewriting I have ever done . . ." (Mg, p. 200). In The Sun Also Rises Hemingway demonstrated his mastery over all the skills he had practiced and perfected in his earlier work. The book perhaps more importantly shows his maturation into an artist of the first rank in his ability to integrate and interrelate all the varied elements of the novel, subordinating each to the overall effects he aimed to achieve, emphasizing or downplaying each as required by his material, but never losing sight of the whole. Before The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway had promised much--perhaps even greatness. With this novel he achieved that greatness and promised continuing achieve— ments to come. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY Baker, Carlos. Ernest Hemingway: A Life Story. New York: Scribner's, 1969. , ed. Ernest Hemingway: Critiques of Four Major Novels. New York: Scribner's, 1962. , ed. Hemingway and His Critics: An Inter- national Anthology. New York: Hill & Wang, 1961. . Hemingway: The Writer as Artist. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952, rev. 1972. . "Letters from Hemingway," Princeton University Library Chronicle 24 (Winter 1963) 101-107. Baker, Sheridan. Ernest Hemingway: An Introduction and Interpretation. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1967. Benson, Jackson. Hemingway: The Writer's Art of Self Defense. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1969. , ed. The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: Critical Essays. Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1975. Broer, Lawrence R. Hemingway's Spanish Tragedy. Univer- sity, Alabama: The University of Alabama Press, 1973. Bruccoli, Mathew and C. E. Frazer Clark, Jr., eds. Fitz- gerald/Hemingway Annual. Washington: Microcard Editions, 1969. 215 216 Callaghan, Morley. That Summer in Paris: Memories of Tangled Friendships with Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Some Others. New York: Coward—McCann, 1963. Donaldson, Scott. By Force of Will: The Life and Art of Ernest Hemingway. New York: Viking, 1977. Fenton, Charles A. The Apprenticeship of Ernest Heming- way: The Early Years. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Young, 1954. Giger, Romeo. The Creative Void: Hemingway's Iceberg Theory. 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"My Favorite Subject is Hadley," Connecticut Review 8 (Oct. 1974) 36-41. Lauter, Paul. "Plato's Stepchildren, Gatsby and Cohn," Modern Fiction Studies 9 (Winter 1963-64) 338- 346. Loeb, Harold. The Way It Was. New York: Criterion Books, 1959. McAlmon, Robert. Being Geniuses Together, 1920-1930. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1968. McCaffery, John K. M., ed. Ernest Hemingway: The Man and His Work. Cleveland: World, 1950. Montgomery, Constance C. Hemingwaygin Michigan. New York: Fleet, 1966. Moore, Geoffrey. "The Sun Also Rises: Notes Toward an Extreme Fiction," Review of English Literature 4 (Oct. 1963) 31-46. Miller, Madeline Hemingway. Ernie. New York: Crown, 1975. Moss, Sidney P. "Character, Vision and Theme in The Sun Also Rises," Iowa English Yearbook 9 (1964) 64-67. Peterson, Richard K. Hemingway: Direct and Oblique. The Hague: Mouton, 1969. Reynolds, Michael. Hemingway's First War: The Making of A Farewell to Arms. Princeton: Princeton Univer- sity Press, 1976. Rouch, John. 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