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PDF Kindle EPub, Free, DigLibrIndia . Hemingway, Ernest, , The Sun Also Rises (Scribner), , Adobe eBook Ms, , Simon&Schuster. Jan 28, The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway - free #EPUB or #Kindle download from The quintessential novel of the Lost Generation, The Sun Also Rises is one of Ernest Hemingway's masterpieces and a classic example of his spare but powerful.

Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton. Do not think that I am very much impressed by that as a boxing title, but it meant a lot to Cohn. He cared nothing for boxing, in fact he disliked it, but he learned it painfully and thoroughly to counteract the feeling of inferiority and shyness he had felt on being treated as a Jew at Princeton. There was a certain inner comfort in knowing he could knock down anybody who was snooty to him, although, being very shy and a thoroughly nice boy, he never fought except in the gym. He was Spider Kelly's star pupil. Spider Kelly taught all his young gentlemen to box like featherweights, no matter whether they weighed one hundred and five or two hundred and five pounds. But it seemed to fit Cohn.

The other yellow. They would both have the same news, so whichever I read first would spoil the other. Le Toril was the better paper, so I started to read it. I read it all the way through, including the Petite Correspondance and the Cornigrams. I blew out the lamp. Perhaps I would be able to sleep. My head started to work. The old grievance. Well, it was a rotten way to be wounded and flying on a joke front like the Italian.

In the Italian hospital we were going to form a society. It had a funny name in Italian. I wonder what became of the others, the Italians. The next building was the Padiglione Zonda. There was a statue of Ponte, or maybe it was Zonda. That was where the liaison colonel came to visit me. That was funny. That was about the first funny thing. I was all bandaged up. But they had told him about it. Then he made that wonderful speech: I would like to have it illuminated to hang in the office.

He never laughed. He was putting himself in my place, I guess. Che mala fortuna! I never used to realize it, I guess. I try and play it along and just not make trouble for people. Probably I never would have had any trouble if I hadn't run into Brett when they shipped me to England.

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I suppose she only wanted what she couldn't have. Well, people were that way. To hell with people. The Catholic Church had an awfully good way of handling all that. Good advice, anyway. Not to think about it. Oh, it was swell advice. Try and take it sometime. Try and take it.

I lay awake thinking and my mind jumping around. Then I couldn't keep away from it, and I started to think about Brett and all the rest of it went away. I was thinking about Brett and my mind stopped jumping around and started to go in sort of smooth waves. Then all of a sudden I started to cry. Then after a while it was better and I lay in bed and listened to the heavy trams go by and way down the street, and then I went to sleep.

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I woke up. There was a row going on outside. I listened and I thought I recognized a voice. I put on a dressing-gown and went to the door. The concierge was talking down-stairs.

She was very angry. I heard my name and called down the stairs. What kind of a dirty business at this time of night! She says she must see you. I've told her you're asleep. Then I heard Brett's voice. Half asleep I had been sure it was Georgette. I don't know why.

She could not have known my address. Brett came up the stairs. I saw she was quite drunk. I say, you weren't asleep, were you? I looked at the clock. It was half-past four.

Don't be cross, darling. Just left the count. He brought me here. The count? Oh, rather. He's quite one of us. I rather think so, you know. Deserves to be, anyhow.

Knows hell's own amount about people. Don't know where he got it all. Owns a chain of sweetshops in the States.

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Something like that. Linked them all up. Told me a little about it. Damned interesting. He's one of us, though. Oh, quite. No doubt. One can always tell. He just brought me here now. Offered me ten thousand dollars to go to Biarritz with him. How much is that in pounds? I told him I couldn't do it.

He was awfully nice about it. Told him I knew too many people in Biarritz. I had only sipped my brandy and soda. I took a long drink. Very funny," Brett said. Told him I knew too many people in Cannes. Monte Carlo. Told him I knew too many people in Monte Carlo. Told him I knew too many people everywhere. Quite true, too. So I asked him to bring me here.

She looked at me, her hand on the table, her glass raised. True, too. Don't look like that. He was damn nice about it. Wants to drive us out to dinner to-morrow night. Like to go? Damned silly idea. Want to get dressed and come down? He's got the car just up the street. And a chauffeur in livery. Going to drive me around and have breakfast in the Bois. Got it all at Zelli's. Dozen bottles of Mumms.

Tempt you? We kissed again on the stairs and as I called for the cordon the concierge muttered something behind her door. I went back up-stairs and from the open window watched Brett walking up the street to the big limousine drawn up to the curb under the arc-light.

She got in and it started off. I turned around. On the table was an empty glass and a glass half-full of brandy and soda. I took them both out to the kitchen and poured the half-full glass down the sink.

I turned off the gas in the dining-room, kicked off my slippers sitting on the bed, and got into bed.

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This was Brett, that I had felt like crying about. Then I thought of her walking up the street and stepping into the car, as I had last seen her, and of course in a little while I felt like hell again. It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing.

In the morning I walked down the Boulevard to the rue Soufflot for coffee and brioche. It was a fine morning. The horse-chestnut trees in the Luxembourg gardens were in bloom. There was the pleasant early-morning feeling of a hot day. I read the papers with the coffee and then smoked a cigarette. The flower-women were coming up from the market and arranging their daily stock. Students went by going up to the law school, or down to the Sorbonne.

The Boulevard was busy with trams and people going to work. I got on an S bus and rode down to the Madeleine, standing on the back platform. I passed the man with the jumping frogs and the man with the boxer toys.

I stepped aside to avoid walking into the thread with which his girl assistant manipulated the boxers. She was standing looking away, the thread in her folded hands. The man was urging two tourists to buy. Three more tourists had stopped and were watching. All along people were going to work. It felt pleasant to be going to work. I walked across the avenue and turned in to my office. Up-stairs in the office I read the French morning papers, smoked, and then sat at the typewriter and got off a good morning's work.

The President of the Council was in Lyons making a speech, or, rather he was on his way back. Several people asked questions to hear themselves talk and there were a couple of questions asked by news service men who wanted to know the answers. There was no news. I shared a taxi back from the Quai d'Orsay with Woolsey and Krum. I've tried to get away, but Sundays it's always rained, and the courts are so damned crowded.

Some day I'm not going to be working for an agency. Then I'll have plenty of time to get out in the country. I banged on the glass. The chauffeur stopped. Woolsey shook his head.

I went to the office in the elevator. Robert Cohn was waiting for me. In the restaurant we ordered hors d'oeuvres and beer. The sommelier brought the beer, tall, beaded on the outside of the steins, and cold. There were a dozen different dishes of hors d'oeuvres. That isn't the sort of thing she likes.

She likes a lot of people around. Brett's her own name. She's a nice girl," I said. He's over in Scotland now. She seems to be absolutely fine and straight. He's going to be rich as hell some day. He stood up from the table his face white, and stood there white and angry behind the little plates of hors d'oeuvres. Cohn smiled again and sat down. He seemed glad to sit down.

What the hell would he have done if he hadn't sat down? I could feel Cohn wanted to bring up Brett again, but I held him off it. We talked about one thing and another, and I left him to come to the office.

At five o'clock I was in the Hotel Crillon waiting for Brett. She was not there, so I sat down and wrote some letters. They were not very good letters but I hoped their being on Crillon stationery would help them. Brett did not turn up, so about quarter to six I went down to the bar and had a Jack Rose with George the barman. Crossing the Seine I saw a string of barges being towed empty down the current, riding high, the bargemen at the sweeps as they came toward the bridge.

The river looked nice. It was always pleasant crossing bridges in Paris. The taxi rounded the statue of the inventor of the semaphore engaged in doing same, and turned up the Boulevard Raspail, and I sat back to let that part of the ride pass.

The Boulevard Raspail always made dull riding. It was like a certain stretch on the P. I suppose it is some association of ideas that makes those dead places in a journey.

There are other streets in Paris as ugly as the Boulevard Raspail. It is a street I do not mind walking down at all. But I cannot stand to ride along it. Perhaps I had read something about it once.

That was the way Robert Cohn was about all of Paris. I wondered where Cohn got that incapacity to enjoy Paris. Possibly from Mencken. Mencken hates Paris, I believe. So many young men get their likes and dislikes from Mencken. The taxi stopped in front of the Rotonde. Ten years from now it will probably be the Dome. It was near enough, anyway. I walked past the sad tables of the Rotonde to the Select.

There were a few people inside at the bar, and outside, alone, sat Harvey Stone. He had a pile of saucers in front of him, and he needed a shave. I figured rapidly back in my mind. It was three days ago that Harvey had won two hundred francs from me shaking poker dice in the New York Bar. Money hasn't come," he paused. When I'm like this I just want to be alone. I want to stay in my own room.

I'm like a cat. He says some pretty funny things. Last time I had dinner with him we talked about Hoffenheimer. You're only a case of arrested development. Harvey Stone laughed.

They won't, though. Because it wouldn't make any difference to me. I'm not a fighter. He walked out and up the street. I watched him crossing the street through the taxis, small, heavy, slowly sure of himself in the traffic. I couldn't get it going. It's harder to do than my first book. I'm having a hard time handling it. The sort of healthy conceit that he had when he returned from America early in the spring was gone. Then he had been sure of his work, only with these personal longings for adventure.

Now the sureness was gone. Somehow I feel I have not shown Robert Cohn clearly. The reason is that until he fell in love with Brett, I never heard him make one remark that would, in any way, detach him from other people. He was nice to watch on the tennis-court, he had a good body, and he kept it in shape; he handled his cards well at bridge, and he had a funny sort of undergraduate quality about him. If he were in a crowd nothing he said stood out.

He wore what used to be called polo shirts at school, and may be called that still, but he was not professionally youthful. I do not believe he thought about his clothes much. Externally he had been formed at Princeton.

Internally he had been moulded by the two women who had trained him. He had a nice, boyish sort of cheerfulness that had never been trained out of him, and I probably have not brought it out. He loved to win at tennis. He probably loved to win as much as Lenglen, for instance. On the other hand, he was not angry at being beaten.

When he fell in love with Brett his tennis game went all to pieces. People beat him who had never had a chance with him. He was very nice about it.

Frances Clyne was coming toward us from across the street. She was a very tall girl who walked with a great deal of movement. She waved and smiled. We watched her cross the street. Are you here? This one"--shaking her head at Cohn--"didn't come home for lunch. But you didn't say anything about it to the cook.

Then I had a date myself, and Paula wasn't at her office. I went to the Ritz and waited for her, and she never came, and of course I didn't have enough money to lunch at the Ritz". No one keeps theirs, nowadays. I ought to know better. How are you, Jake, anyway? I want to talk with you. Would you come over with me to the Dome? You'll stay here, won't you, Robert? Come on, Jake. We crossed the Boulevard Montparnasse and sat down at a table.

A boy came up with the Paris Times , and I bought one and opened it. Of course I wouldn't. I wouldn't marry him now for anything. But it does seem to me to be a little late now, after we've waited three years, and I've just gotten my divorce. It's so childish. We have dreadful scenes, and he cries and begs me to be reasonable, but he says he just can't do it. I've wasted two years and a half on him now.

And I don't know now if any man will ever want to marry me. Two years ago I could have married anybody I wanted, down at Cannes. All the old ones that wanted to marry somebody chic and settle down were crazy about me. Now I don't think I could get anybody. And I'm fond of him, too. And I'd like to have children. I always thought we'd have children. She looked at me very brightly.

I always thought I'd have them and then like them. He's got children, and he's got money, and he's got a rich mother, and he's written a book, and nobody will publish my stuff; nobody at all. It isn't bad, either. And I haven't got any money at all. I could have had alimony, but I got the divorce the quickest way. It's my own fault and it's not, too. I ought to have known better. And when I tell him he just cries and says he can't marry.

Why can't he marry? I'd be a good wife. I'm easy to get along with. I leave him alone. It doesn't do any good. But there's no use talking about it, is there? Just don't let him know I talked to you. I know what he wants. That's what he wants. That's what he wants to do. I know it. That's why he doesn't want to marry. He wants to have a big triumph this fall all by himself.

We got up from the table--they had never brought us a drink--and started across the street toward the Select, where Cohn sat smiling at us from behind the marble-topped table. Everybody will know it soon enough.

I only wanted to give Jake a decent version. Robert's sending me. He's going to give me two hundred pounds and then I'm going to visit friends. Won't it be lovely? The friends don't know about it, yet. But I made him give me two hundred.

He's really very generous. Aren't you, Robert? I do not know how people could say such terrible things to Robert Cohn. There are people to whom you could not say insulting things. They give you a feeling that the world would be destroyed, would actually be destroyed before your eyes, if you said certain things. But here was Cohn taking it all.

Here it was, all going on right before me, and I did not even feel an impulse to try and stop it. And this was friendly joking to what went on later. I'm going to England. I'm going to visit friends. Ever visit friends that didn't want you?

Oh, they'll have to take me, all right. Such a long time since we've seen you. And how is your dear mother? She put all her money into French war bonds. Yes, she did. Probably the only person in the world that did. Poor Frances has had a most unfortunate experience. Don't you think it will be fun, Jake? She turned to me with that terribly bright smile. It was very satisfactory to her to have an audience for this. It's my own fault, all right. Perfectly my own fault.

When I made you get rid of your little secretary on the magazine I ought to have known you'd get rid of me the same way. Jake doesn't know about that.

Should I tell him? Robert had a little secretary on the magazine. Just the sweetest little thing in the world, and he thought she was wonderful, and then I came along and he thought I was pretty wonderful, too. So I made him get rid of her, and he had brought her to Provincetown from Carmel when he moved the magazine, and he didn't even pay her fare back to the coast. All to please me. He thought I was pretty fine, then. Didn't you, Robert? Not even platonic. Nothing at all, really.

It was just that she was so nice. And he did that just to please me. Well, I suppose that we that live by the sword shall perish by the sword. Isn't that literary, though? You want to remember that for your next book, Robert. That's why he's leaving me. He's decided I don't film well. You see, he was so busy all the time that we were living together, writing on this book, that he doesn't remember anything about us.

So now he's going out and get some new material. Well, I hope he gets something frightfully interesting. Let me tell you something. You won't mind, will you?

Don't have scenes with your young ladies.

Try not to. Because you can't have scenes without crying, and then you pity yourself so much you can't remember what the other person's said. You'll never be able to remember any conversations that way. Just try and be calm. I know it's awfully hard. But remember, it's for literature. We all ought to make sacrifices for literature. Look at me. I'm going to England without a protest. All for literature. We must all help young writers.

Don't you think so, Jake? But you're not a young writer. Are you, Robert? You're thirty-four. Still, I suppose that is young for a great writer. Look at Hardy. Look at Anatole France. He just died a little while ago. Robert doesn't think he's any good, though. Some of his French friends told him. He doesn't read French very well himself. He wasn't a good writer like you are, was he, Robert?

Do you think he ever had to go and look for material? What do you suppose he said to his mistresses when he wouldn't marry them? I wonder if he cried, too? Oh, I've just thought of something. It's just come to me. Isn't it mystic? Some day they'll put a tablet up. Like at Lourdes. Do you want to hear, Robert?

I'll tell you. It's so simple. I wonder why I never thought about it. Why, you see, Robert's always wanted to have a mistress, and if he doesn't marry me, why, then he's had one. She was his mistress for over two years. See how it is? And if he marries me, like he's always promised he would, that would be the end of all the romance.

Don't you think that's bright of me to figure that out? It's true, too. Look at him and see if it's not. Where are you going, Jake? Cohn looked up as I went in. His face was white.

Why did he sit there?

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Why did he keep on taking it like that? As I stood against the bar looking out I could see them through the window. Frances was talking on to him, smiling brightly, looking into his face each time she asked: Perhaps she said something else. I told the barman I did not want anything to drink and went out through the side door. As I went out the door I looked back through the two thicknesses of glass and saw them sitting there. She was still talking to him. I went down a side street to the Boulevard Raspail.

A taxi came along and I got in and gave the driver the address of my flat. As I started up the stairs the concierge knocked on the glass of the door of her lodge, and as I stopped she came out. She had some letters and a telegram. She was with a gentleman. It was the one who was here last night. In the end I find she is very nice. He was never here before. He was very large. Very, very large. She was very nice. Very, very nice. Last night she was, perhaps, a little--" She put her head on one hand and rocked it up and down.

Last night I found her not so gentille. Last night I formed another idea of her. But listen to what I tell you. She is of very good family. It is a thing you can see. And that lady, that lady there is some one. An eccentric, perhaps, but quelqu'une, quelqu'une!

The concierge, before she became a concierge, had owned a drink-selling concession at the Paris race-courses. Her life-work lay in the pelouse, but she kept an eye on the people of the pesage, and she took great pride in telling me which of my guests were well brought up, which were of good family, who were sportsmen, a French word pronounced with the accent on the men. The only trouble was that people who did not fall into any of those three categories were very liable to be told there was no one home, chez Barnes.

One of my friends, an extremely underfed-looking painter, who was obviously to Madame Duzinell neither well brought up, of good family, nor a sportsman, wrote me a letter asking if I could get him a pass to get by the concierge so he could come up and see me occasionally in the evenings.

I went up to the flat wondering what Brett had done to the concierge. The wire was a cable from Bill Gorton, saying he was arriving on the France.


I put the mail on the table, went back to the bedroom, undressed and had a shower. I was rubbing down when I heard the door-bell pull. I put on a bathrobe and slippers and went to the door. It was Brett. Back of her was the count.

He was holding a great bunch of roses. While I dressed I heard Brett put down glasses and then a siphon, and then heard them talking. I dressed slowly, sitting on the bed. I felt tired and pretty rotten. Brett came in the room, a glass in her hand, and sat on the bed. She was gone out of the room. I lay face down on the bed. I was having a bad time. I heard them talking but I did not listen.

Brett came in and sat on the bed. I'll go if you like. But I couldn't live quietly in the country. Not with my own true love. He should be back. You know he's extraordinary about buying champagne. It means any amount to him. We went into the dining-room. I took up the brandy bottle and poured Brett a drink and one for myself. There was a ring at the bell-pull. I went to the door and there was the count. Behind him was the chauffeur carrying a basket of champagne. Most of the time it costs you money.

The count was looking at Brett across the table under the gas-light. She was smoking a cigarette and flicking the ashes on the rug.

She saw me notice it. Can't you give a chap an ash-tray? I found some ash-trays and spread them around. The chauffeur came up with a bucket full of salted ice. Wait down in the car. Bring it in, Henry," said the count. He took out a heavy pigskin cigar-case and offered it to me. He lit the cigar, puffed at it, looking across the table at Brett. You got it.

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That's all. Couldn't you write it out, and I'll send it in a letter to her. I never joke people.

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Joke people and you make enemies. That's what I always say. I always joke people and I haven't a friend in the world. Except Jake here. The count reached down and twirled the bottles in the shiny bucket. You're always drinking, my dear. Why don't you just talk? When you talk to me you never finish your sentences at all. I brought a towel and he wiped the bottle dry and held it up. The wine is better but it would have been too hard to cool.

I put out the glasses. You don't want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste. The count poured very carefully. Now you enjoy that slowly, and then you can get drunk.

Barnes," the count poured my glass full. I dare say Jake here has seen as much as you have. Barnes has seen a lot. Don't think I don't think so, sir. I have seen a lot, too. The count stood up, unbuttoned his vest, and opened his shirt. He pulled up the undershirt onto his chest and stood, his chest black, and big stomach muscles bulging under the light.

Below the line where his ribs stopped were two raised white welts. Didn't I? You're a darling. Barnes, it is because I have lived very much that now I can enjoy everything so well.

Don't you find it like that? We drank three bottles of the champagne and the count left the basket in my kitchen. We dined at a restaurant in the Bois. It was a good dinner. Food had an excellent place in the count's values. So did wine. The count was in fine form during the meal. So was Brett. It was a good party. We were the only people left in the restaurant. The two waiters were standing over against the door. They wanted to go home. He was smoking a cigar again.

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Finally we went up to Montmartre. Inside Zelli's it was crowded, smoky, and noisy. The music hit you as you went in. Brett and I danced. It was so crowded we could barely move. The nigger drummer waved at Brett. We were caught in the jam, dancing in one place in front of him. Ernest Miller Hemingway July 21, — July 2, was an American novelist, short story writer, and journalist.

His economical and understated style had a strong influence on 20th-century fiction, while his life of adventure and his public image influenced later generations.

Hemingway produced most of his work between the mids and the mids, and won the Nobel Prize in Literature in He published seven novels, six short story collections, and two non-fiction works. Additional works, including three novels, four short story collections, and three non-fiction works, were published posthumously.

Many of his works are considered classics of American literature. Available Formats. This book is in the public domain in Canada, and is made available to you DRM-free. You may do whatever you like with this book, but mostly we hope you will read it. Here at FadedPage and our companion site Distributed Proofreaders Canada , we pride ourselves on producing the best ebooks you can find.

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