In Our Time

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Title: In our time

Author: Ernest Hemingway

Editor: Ezra Pound

Illustrator: Henry Strater

Release date: January 3, 2020 [eBook #61085]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer.


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN OUR TIME
***
in our time
the author wood-cut from portrait by henry strater
in our time

by

ernest hemingway

A Girl in Chicago: Tell us about the French women, Hank. What are they
like?
Bill Smith: How old are the French women, Hank?
paris:
printed at the three mountains press and for sale
at shakespeare & company, in the rue de l’odéon;
london: william jackson, took's court, cursitor street, chancery lane.

1924

to
robert mᶜalmon and william bird
publishers of the city of paris
and to
captain eric edward dorman-smith, m.c.,
of his majesty’s fifth fusiliers
this book
is respectfully dedicated
of 170 copies
printed on
rives hand-made paper
this is number
CONTENTS

chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
in our time
chapter 1

Everybody was drunk. The whole battery was drunk going along the road
in the dark. We were going to the Champagne. The lieutenant kept riding
his horse out into the fields and saying to him, “I’m drunk, I tell you, mon
vieux. Oh, I am so soused.” We went along the road all night in the dark
and the adjutant kept riding up alongside my kitchen and saying, “You must
put it out. It is dangerous. It will be observed.” We were fifty kilometers
from the front but the adjutant worried about the fire in my kitchen. It was
funny going along that road. That was when I was a kitchen corporal.
chapter 2

The first matador got the horn through his sword hand and the crowd
hooted him out. The second matador slipped and the bull caught him
through the belly and he hung on to the horn with one hand and held the
other tight against the place, and the bull rammed him wham against the
wall and the horn came out, and he lay in the sand, and then got up like
crazy drunk and tried to slug the men carrying him away and yelled for his
sword but he fainted. The kid came out and had to kill five bulls because
you can’t have more than three matadors, and the last bull he was so tired
he couldn’t get the sword in. He couldn’t hardly lift his arm. He tried five
times and the crowd was quiet because it was a good bull and it looked like
him or the bull and then he finally made it. He sat down in the sand and
puked and they held a cape over him while the crowd hollered and threw
things down into the bull ring.
chapter 3

Minarets stuck up in the rain out of Adrianople across the mud flats. The
carts were jammed for thirty miles along the Karagatch road. Water buffalo
and cattle were hauling carts through the mud. No end and no beginning.
Just carts loaded with everything they owned. The old men and women,
soaked through, walked along keeping the cattle moving. The Maritza was
running yellow almost up to the bridge. Carts were jammed solid on the
bridge with camels bobbing along through them. Greek cavalry herded
along the procession. Women and kids were in the carts crouched with
mattresses, mirrors, sewing machines, bundles. There was a woman having
a kid with a young girl holding a blanket over her and crying. Scared sick
looking at it. It rained all through the evacuation.
chapter 4

We were in a garden at Mons. Young Buckley came in with his patrol


from across the river. The first German I saw climbed up over the garden
wall. We waited till he got one leg over and then potted him. He had so
much equipment on and looked awfully surprised and fell down into the
garden. Then three more came over further down the wall. We shot them.
They all came just like that.
chapter 5

It was a frightfully hot day. We’d jammed an absolutely perfect barricade


across the bridge. It was simply priceless. A big old wrought iron grating
from the front of a house. Too heavy to lift and you could shoot through it
and they would have to climb over it. It was absolutely topping. They tried
to get over it, and we potted them from forty yards. They rushed it, and
officers came out alone and worked on it. It was an absolutely perfect
obstacle. Their officers were very fine. We were frightfully put out when we
heard the flank had gone, and we had to fall back.
chapter 6

They shot the six cabinet ministers at half-past six in the morning against
the wall of a hospital. There were pools of water in the courtyard. There
were wet dead leaves on the paving of the courtyard. It rained hard. All the
shutters of the hospital were nailed shut. One of the ministers was sick with
typhoid. Two soldiers carried him downstairs and out into the rain. They
tried to hold him up against the wall but he sat down in a puddle of water.
The other five stood very quietly against the wall. Finally the officer told
the soldiers it was no good trying to make him stand up. When they fired
the first volley he was sitting down in the water with his head on his knees.
chapter 7

Nick sat against the wall of the church where they had dragged him to be
clear of machine gun fire in the street. Both legs stuck out awkwardly. He
had been hit in the spine. His face was sweaty and dirty. The sun shone on
his face. The day was very hot. Rinaldi, big backed, his equipment
sprawling, lay face downward against the wall. Nick looked straight ahead
brilliantly. The pink wall of the house opposite had fallen out from the roof,
and an iron bedstead hung twisted toward the street. Two Austrian dead lay
in the rubble in the shade of the house. Up the street were other dead.
Things were getting forward in the town. It was going well. Stretcher
bearers would be along any time now. Nick turned his head carefully and
looked down at Rinaldi. “Senta Rinaldi. Senta. You and me we’ve made a
separate peace.” Rinaldi lay still in the sun breathing with difficulty. “Not
patriots.” Nick turned his head carefully away smiling sweatily. Rinaldi was
a disappointing audience.
chapter 8

While the bombardment was knocking the trench to pieces at Fossalta, he


lay very flat and sweated and prayed oh jesus christ get me out of here.
Dear jesus please get me out. Christ please please please christ. If you’ll
only keep me from getting killed I’ll do anything you say. I believe in you
and I’ll tell everyone in the world that you are the only thing that matters.
Please please dear jesus. The shelling moved further up the line. We went to
work on the trench and in the morning the sun came up and the day was hot
and muggy and cheerful and quiet. The next night back at Mestre he did not
tell the girl he went upstairs with at the Villa Rossa about Jesus. And he
never told anybody.
chapter 9

At two o’clock in the morning two Hungarians got into a cigar store at
Fifteenth Street and Grand Avenue. Drevitts and Boyle drove up from the
Fifteenth Street police station in a Ford. The Hungarians were backing their
wagon out of an alley. Boyle shot one off the seat of the wagon and one out
of the wagon box. Drevetts got frightened when he found they were both
dead. Hell Jimmy, he said, you oughtn’t to have done it. There’s liable to be
a hell of a lot of trouble.

—They’re crooks ain’t they? said Boyle. They’re wops ain’t they? Who
the hell is going to make any trouble?

—That’s all right maybe this time, said Drevitts, but how did you know
they were wops when you bumped them?

Wops, said Boyle, I can tell wops a mile off.


chapter 10

One hot evening in Milan they carried him up onto the roof and he could
look out over the top of the town. There were chimney swifts in the sky.
After a while it got dark and the searchlights came out. The others went
down and took the bottles with them. He and Ag could hear them below on
the balcony. Ag sat on the bed. She was cool and fresh in the hot night.

Ag stayed on night duty for three months. They were glad to let her.
When they operated on him she prepared him for the operating table, and
they had a joke about friend or enema. He went under the anæsthetic
holding tight on to himself so that he would not blab about anything during
the silly, talky time. After he got on crutches he used to take the
temperature so Ag would not have to get up from the bed. There were only
a few patients, and they all knew about it. They all liked Ag. As he walked
back along the halls he thought of Ag in his bed.

Before he went back to the front they went into the Duomo and prayed. It
was dim and quiet, and there were other people praying. They wanted to get
married, but there was not enough time for the banns, and neither of them
had birth certificates. They felt as though they were married, but they
wanted everyone to knew about it, and to make it so they could not lose it.

Ag wrote him many letters that he never got until after the armistice.
Fifteen came in a bunch and he sorted them by the dates and read them all
straight through. They were about the hospital, and how much she loved
him and how it was impossible to get along without him and how terrible it
was missing him at night.

After the armistice they agreed he should go home to get a job so they
might be married. Ag would not come home until he had a good job and
could come to New York to meet her. It was understood he would not drink,
and he did not want to see his friends or anyone in the States. Only to get a
job and be married. On the train from Padova to Milan they quarrelled
about her not being willing to come home at once. When they had to say
good-bye in the station at Padova they kissed good-bye, but were not
finished with the quarrel. He felt sick about saying good-bye like that.

He went to America on a boat from Genoa. Ag went back to Torre di


Mosta to open a hospital. It was lonely and rainy there, and there was a
battalion of arditi quartered in the town. Living in the muddy, rainy town in
the winter the major of the battalion made love to Ag, and she had never
known Italians before, and finally wrote a letter to the States that theirs had
been only a boy and girl affair. She was sorry, and she knew he would
probably not be able to understand, but might some day forgive her, and be
grateful to her, and she expected, absolutely unexpectedly, to be married in
the spring. She loved him as always, but she realized now it was only a boy
and girl love. She hoped he would have a great career, and believed in him
absolutely. She knew it was for the best.

The Major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time. Ag never
got an answer to her letter to Chicago about it. A short time after he
contracted gonorrhea from a sales girl from The Fair riding in a taxicab
through Lincoln Park.
chapter 11

In 1919 he was travelling on the railroads in Italy carrying a square of


oilcloth from the headquarters of the party written in indelible pencil and
saying here was a comrade who had suffered very much under the whites in
Budapest and requesting comrades to aid him in any way. He used this
instead of a ticket. He was very shy and quite young and the train men
passed him on from one crew to another. He had no money, and they fed
him behind the counter in railway eating houses.

He was delighted with Italy. It was a beautiful country he said. The


people were all kind. He had been in many towns, walked much and seen
many pictures. Giotto, Masaccio, and Piero della Francesca he bought
reproductions of and carried them wrapped in a copy of Avanti. Mantegna
he did not like.

He reported at Bologna, and I took him with me up into the Romagna


where it was necessary I go to see a man. We had a good trip together. It
was early September and the country was pleasant. He was a Magyar, a
very nice boy and very shy. Horthy’s men had done some bad things to him.
He talked about it a little. In spite of Italy, he believed altogether in the
world revolution.

—But how is the movement going in Italy? he asked.

—Very badly, I said.

—But it will go better, he said. You have everything here. It is the one
country that everyone is sure of. It will be the starting point of everything.

At Bologna he said good-bye to us to go on the train to Milano and then


to Aosta to walk over the pass into Switzerland. I spoke to him about the
Mantegnas in Milano. No, he said, very shyly, he did not like Mantegna. I
wrote out for him where to eat in Milano and the addresses of comrades. He
thanked me very much, but his mind was already looking forward to
walking over the pass. He was very eager to walk over the pass while the
weather held good. The last I heard of him the Swiss had him in jail near
Sion.
chapter 12

They whack whacked the white horse on the legs and he knee-ed himself
up. The picador twisted the stirrups straight and pulled and hauled up into
the saddle. The horse’s entrails hung down in a blue bunch and swung
backward and forward as he began to canter, the monos whacking him on
the back of his legs with the rods. He cantered jerkily along the barrera. He
stopped stiff and one of the monos held his bridle and walked him forward.
The picador kicked in his spurs, leaned forward and shook his lance at the
bull. Blood pumped regularly from between the horse’s front legs. He was
nervously wobbly. The bull could not make up his mind to charge.
chapter 13

The crowd shouted all the time and threw pieces of bread down into the
ring, then cushions and leather wine bottles, keeping up whistling and
yelling. Finally the bull was too tired from so much bad sticking and folded
his knees and lay down and one of the cuadrilla leaned out over his neck
and killed him with the puntillo. The crowd came over the barrera and
around the torero and two men grabbed him and held him and some one cut
off his pigtail and was waving it and a kid grabbed it and ran away with it.
Afterwards I saw him at the café. He was very short with a brown face and
quite drunk and he said after all it has happened before like that. I am not
really a good bull fighter.
chapter 14

If it happened right down close in front of you, you could see Villalta
snarl at the bull and curse him, and when the bull charged he swung back
firmly like an oak when the wind hits it, his legs tight together, the muleta
trailing and the sword following the curve behind. Then he cursed the bull,
flopped the muleta at him, and swung back from the charge his feet firm,
the muleta curving and each swing the crowd roaring.

When he started to kill it was all in the same rush. The bull looking at
him straight in front, hating. He drew out the sword from the folds of the
muleta and sighted with the same movement and called to the bull, Toro!
Toro! and the bull charged and Villalta charged and just for a moment they
became one. Villalta became one with the bull and then it was over. Villalta
standing straight and the red kilt of the sword sticking out dully between the
bull’s shoulders. Villalta, his hand up at the crowd and the bull roaring
blood, looking straight at Villalta and his legs caving.
chapter 15

I heard the drums coming down the street and then the fifes and the pipes
and then they came around the corner, all dancing. The street full of them.
Maera saw him and then I saw him. When they stopped the music for the
crouch he hunched down in the street with them all and when they started it
again he jumped up and went dancing down the street with them. He was
drunk all right.

You go down after him, said Maera, he hates me.

So I went down and caught up with them and grabbed him while he was
crouched down waiting for the music to break loose and said, Come on
Luis. For Christ sake you’ve got bulls this afternoon. He didn’t listen to me,
he was listening so hard for the music to start.

I said, Don’t be a damn fool Luis. Come on back to the hotel.

Then the music started up again and he jumped up and twisted away from
me and started dancing. I grabbed his arm and he pulled loose and said, Oh
leave me alone. You’re not my father.

I went back to the hotel and Maera was on the balcony looking out to see
if I’d be bringing him back. He went inside when he saw me and came
downstairs disgusted.

Well, I said, after all he’s just an ignorant Mexican savage.

Yes, Maera said, and who will kill his bulls after he gets a cogida?

We, I suppose, I said.


Yes, we, said Maera. We kills the savages’ bulls, and the drunkards’
bulls, and the riau-riau dancers’ bulls. Yes. We kill them. We kill them all
right. Yes. Yes. Yes.
chapter 16

Maera lay still, his head on his arms, his face in the sand. He felt warm
and sticky from the bleeding. Each time he felt the horn coming. Sometimes
the bull only bumped him with his head. Once the horn went all the way
through him and he felt it go into the sand. Someone had the bull by the tail.
They were swearing at him and flopping the cape in his face. Then the bull
was gone. Some men picked Maera up and started to run with him toward
the barriers through the gate out the passage way around under the grand
stand to the infirmary. They laid Maera down on a cot and one of the men
went out for the doctor. The others stood around. The doctor came running
from the corral where he had been sewing up picador horses. He had to stop
and wash his hands. There was a great shouting going on in the grandstand
overhead. Maera wanted to say something and found he could not talk.
Maera felt everything getting larger and larger and then smaller and smaller.
Then it got larger and larger and larger and then smaller and smaller. Then
everything commenced to run faster and faster as when they speed up a
cinematograph film. Then he was dead.
chapter 17

They hanged Sam Cardinella at six o’clock in the morning in the corridor
of the county jail. The corridor was high and narrow with tiers of cells on
either side. All the cells were occupied. The men had been brought in for
the hanging. Five men sentenced to be hanged were in the five top cells.
Three of the men to be hanged were negroes. They were very frightened.
One of the white men sat on his cot with his head in his hands. The other
lay flat on his cot with a blanket wrapped around his head.

They came out onto the gallows through a door in the wall. There were
six or seven of them including two priests. They were carrying Sam
Cardinella. He had been like that since about four o’clock in the morning.

While they were strapping his legs together two guards held him up and
the two priests were whispering to him. “Be a man, my son,” said one
priest. When they came toward him with the cap to go over his head Sam
Cardinella lost control of his sphincter muscle. The guards who had been
holding him up dropped him. They were both disgusted. “How about a
chair, Will?” asked one of the guards, “Better get one,” said a man in a
derby hat.

When they all stepped back on the scaffolding back of the drop, which
was very heavy, built of oak and steel and swung on ball bearings, Sam
Cardinella was left sitting there strapped tight, the younger of the two
priests kneeling beside the chair. The priest skipped back onto the
scaffolding just before the drop fell.
chapter 18

The king was working in the garden. He seemed very glad to see me. We
walked through the garden. This is the queen, he said. She was clipping a
rose bush. Oh how do you do, she said. We sat down at a table under a big
tree and the king ordered whiskey and soda. We have good whiskey
anyway, he said. The revolutionary committee, he told me, would not allow
him to go outside the palace grounds. Plastiras is a very good man I believe,
he said, but frightfully difficult. I think he did right though shooting those
chaps. If Kerensky had shot a few men things might have been altogether
different. Of course the great thing in this sort of an affair is not to be shot
oneself!

It was very jolly. We talked for a long time. Like all Greeks he wanted to
go to America.

Here ends The Inquest into the state


of contemporary English prose, as
edited by Ezra Pound and printed at
the Three Mountains Press. The six
works constituting the series are:

Indiscretions of Ezra Pound

Women and Men by Ford Madox Ford

Elimus by B. C. Windeler
with Designs by D. Shakespear
The Great American Novel by William Carlos Williams

England by B.M.G.-Adams

In Our Time by Ernest Hemingway


with Portrait by Henry Strater
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