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Frederic Henry, the protagonist in A Farewell to Arms, is a young American in Italy serving, as Hemingway did, as an ambulance driver during World War I. He meets Catherine Barkly, newly arrived with a group of British nurses who are to set up a hospital near the front. Frederic likes Catherine, whom he visits as often as he can between ambulance trips to evacuate the wounded.

Catherine, who has recently lost her fiancé in combat, is vulnerable. Probably she feels more emotion for Frederic than he feels for her. He is about to leave for the front, where an assault is being mounted. She gives him a Saint Anthony medal, but it does not assure him the protection she hopes it will. A mortar shell explodes above Frederic’s dugout, and he is wounded, much as Hemingway himself had been. He is evacuated to a hospital in Milan.

Frederic is not the perfect patient. He keeps wine under his bed and drinks as much of it as he can get away with. By the time Catherine comes to the hospital to see him, it is he who is vulnerable, and he finds that he is in love with her. She stays with him through the surgery that his wounds necessitate; he has a happy recuperation, which Catherine nurses him through. They find restaurants that are off Milan’s beaten path and take carriage rides into the surrounding countryside. Catherine often comes to Frederic’s hospital room at night. He already knows that she is pregnant from a hotel-room encounter before he left for the front.

Frederic recovers quickly, and by October, a few months after he was first injured, he is ready to go on convalescent leave with Catherine in tow. His plans are scuttled, however, when he develops jaundice, a condition the head nurse blames on his surreptitious drinking, accusing him of doing this to avoid further service at the front. When Frederic returns to his post, his unit is ordered to take its ambulances and equipment south to the Po Valley. The Allies, hard pressed by Austrian shelling and by the knowledge that German reinforcements are joining the Austrians, are pessimistic and disheartened. Hemingway shows the unglorious aspects of war in realistic detail.

Hard-pressed by the enemy, the Americans retreat, Frederic driving an ambulance south along roads cluttered with evacuees. Rain is falling, and the whole plain along which the retreat is driving becomes a quagmire. Frederic, with two Italian sergeants he has picked up, begins to drive across open country, hoping to reach Udine at the Austrian border by that route. When his ambulance becomes stuck in the mud, Frederic tries to get the Italians to help him extricate it, but they want to flee. Frederic shoots one of them, wounding him. An Italian corpsman finishes the sergeant off, putting a bullet into his head; life is cheap when people are under this sort of pressure.

When Frederic and his friends set out on foot for Udine, they see German motorcycles ahead of them. Chaos reigns as officers pull off their insignias and people try to flee in every direction. Those whom the Germans capture are given kangaroo trials and are summarily executed. Frederic is detained, and his fate seems sealed. Under cover of night, however, he escapes and jumps into a river, where he holds onto a log. He crosses the plain on foot until he can hop a freight train for Milan, where he tries to find Catherine. Learning that the contingent of British nurses has been sent to Stresa, he makes his way there, now dressed in civilian clothing. He and Catherine reunite. Learning that the authorities plan to arrest him for desertion, Frederic borrows a rowboat, and he and Catherine use it to row all night to neutral Switzerland, where they are arrested but soon released, their passports in order and Frederic’s pockets bulging with money.

They wait out the fall in Montreux in the Swiss mountains, living happily in a small inn as Catherine’s pregnancy advances. Their situation is idyllic. When it is finally time for Catherine to deliver the baby, she has a difficult time. The child is stillborn. Frederic, exhausted, goes out to get them something to eat; when he returns, he learns that Catherine has suffered a hemorrhage. He rushes to her and stays at her side, but she dies. He walks back to his hotel room in the rain.

The love story around which the book revolves has been compared with that of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (1595-1596), to which it bears the affinity of having an unhappy outcome that results not from any weakness within the characters themselves but from circumstances over which they have no control. They are pawns in a large chess game that they neither understand nor can control.

 ORIGINAL ENDING

. Please, please, dear God, don't let her die.

The nurse opened the door and motioned with her finger for me to come. I followed her into the room. Catherine did not look up when I came in. I went over to the side of the bed. The doctor was standing by the bed on the opposite side. Catherine looked at me and smiled. I bent down over the bed and started to cry.

"Poor darling," Catherine said very softly.

She looked gray.

"You're all right, Cat," I said. "You're go­ ing to be all right."

"I'm going to die," she said; then waited and said, "I hate it."

I took her hand.

"Don't touch me," she said. I let go of her hand. She smiled. "Poor darling. You touch me all you want."

"You'll be all right, Cat. I know you'll be all right."

"I meant to write you a letter to have if

anything happened, but I didn't do it."

"Do you want me to get a priest or any one to come and see you?"

"Just you," she said. Then a little later, "I'm not afraid. I just hate it."

"You must not talk so much," the doctor said.

"All right," Catherine said.

"Do you want me to do anything, Cat?

Can I get you anything?"

Catherine smiled, "No." Then a little later, "You won't do our things with another girl, or say the same things, will you?"

"Never."

"I want you to have girls, though." "I don't want them."

"You are talking too much," the doctor said. "Mr. Henry must go out. He can come back again later. You are not going to die. You must not be silly."

"All right," Catherine said. "I'll come and stay with you nights," she said. It was very hard for her to talk.

"Please go out of the room," the doctor

said. "You cannot talk." Catherine winked at me, her face gray. "I'll be right outside," I said.

"Don't worry, darling," Catherine said.

"I'm not a bit afraid. It's just a dirty trick." "You dear, brave sweet."

I waited outside in the hall. I waited a long time. The nurse came to the door and came over to me. "I'm afraid Mrs. Henry is very ill," she said. "I'm afraid for her."

"Is she dead?"

"No, but she is unconscious."

It seems she had one hemorrhage after an­ other. They couldn't stop it. I went into the room and stayed with Catherine until she died. She was unconscious all the time, and it did not take her very long to die.

Outside the room, in the hall, I spoke to the doctor, "Is there anything I can do to­ night?"

"No. There is nothing to do. Can I take you to your hotel ?"

"No, thank you. I am going to stay here a while."

"I know there is nothing to say. I cannot tell you "

"No," I said. "There's nothing to say." "Good-night," he said. "I cannot take you

to your hotel ?"

"No, thank you."

"It was the only thing to do," he said. "The operation proved "

"I do not want to talk about it," I said. "I would like to take you to your hotel." "No, thank you."

He went down the hall. I went to the door

of the room.

"You can't come in now," one of the nurses said.

"Yes I can," I said.

"You can't come in yet."

"You get out," I said. "The other one too." But after I had got them out and shut the door and turned off the light it wasn't any good. It was like saying good-by to a statue.

After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain.

Appendix II

The Alternative Endings

The following forty-seven passages are all of the preserved drafts of the ending for the ov­ el. Unless otherwise noted they are contained in Item 70 of the Hemingway Collection at the John F. Kennedy Library, Boston, Mass­ achusetts.

The Nada Ending

1. Handwritten manuscript page. See Figure 5.

   
   

   That is all there is to the story. Catherine died and you will die and I will die and that is all I can promise you.

2. Handwritten manuscript page with one edit.

   
   

   That is all there is to the story. There is supposed to be something which controls a these things and \'le read not one sparrow is forgotten before God. It was probably

   
   

3. Handwritten manuscript page with three sentence fragments and some crossed-out words.

   
   

   In the end it is better not even to remember things but I know that.

   
   

   That was all gone now, the sunlight and the spring and

   
   

   Nothing was gone.

   
   

   The Religious Ending

   
   

4. Handwritten manuscript page num­ bered 323.

   
   

   
   

   It is a mistake.

   You learn a few things as you go along and one of them is never to go back to places.It is a good thing too not to try too much to re­ member very fine things because if you do you wear them out and you lose them. A valuable thing too is never to let anyone know how fine you thought anyone else ever was because they know better and no one was ever that splendid. YoH see the .visdom of the priest at the mess v,rho has ahvays loved God aad so is happy aad ao oae caa take God away from him. BHt ho'+v mHch is wisdom aad hov,r mHch is lHck to be bora that \Vay? liad '+vhat if yoH are aot hHilt that way?

   
   

5. Handwritten manuscript page num­ bered 324 with all of the text crossed out.

   
   

   Also you will bore them and you learn that if you want to keep anything it is best to keep your mouth shut and not talk about it. At the

   start the nights are the worst times and they seem your worst enemies but in the end the nights are

   At first the nights are the worst times. You learn the wisdom of the priest at the mess who has always loved God and so is happy and you are sure nothing can take God away from him. But how much is wisdom and how much is luck to be born that way? And what if you are not built that way?

   One thing that you learn is that the night which at the start is a bad time and the worst lonely time gets to be a good time.

   
   

6. Handwritten manuscript fragment.

   
   

   The thing is that there is nothing you can do about it.It is all right if you believe in God and love God.

   
   

   The Live- Baby Ending

   
   

7. Handwritten manuscript page. See Figure 6.

   
   

   
   

   There are a great many more details start ing ·.vith my erst meeting with an undertaker and all the business of burial and continuing on vrith the rest of my li:fe which has gone on and1.vill probably go on for a long time.

   I could tell about the boy. He did not seem of any importance then except as trouble and God knows that I was better about him. Any­ way he does not belong in this story. He starts a new one story. It is not fair to start a new story at the end of an old one but that is the way it happens. There is no end except death and birth is the only beginning.

   
   

8. Handwritten manuscript page la­ beled "insert page 641."

   
   

   In a little while the doctor who had been in the room where they had the baby came along the hall. He came over to me.

   "What about the baby? " I asked.

   "He's all right," he said. "We got him go­ ing."

   "He's alive?"

   "Of course he's alive. Who said he wasn't alive?"

   "The nurse."

   "She's crazy.Of course he's alive." "Don't lie to me."

   "I'm not lying to you. The baby is alive."

   "Christ they shouldn't do things like that to me," I said.

   "He's a fine boy," the doctor said.

   "Good," I said. I had a son now-I did not

   know whether to believe it or not.

   
   

9. Handwritten manuscript page la­ beled "insert page 638."

   
   

   "What's the matter with the baby?" I asked.

   "He's all right." "Really?"

   "Of course."

   "You better go back in with Madame," I said.

   I sat down on the chair in front of a table

   
   

   where there were nurses reports hanging on clips from the side and looked out of the win­ dow.I could see nothing but the dark and the rain falling across the light from the window. So he was all right. I had a son now. I didn't give a damn about him. All I cared about was Catherine.

   business of burial. You do not have to write about that day nor the next night of the day after and the night after, and the progress from numbness into sorrow nor all the days after and all the nights after for a long time. In writing you have a certain choice that you do not have in life.

   
   

   The Funeral Ending 12. Handwritten fragment on a man­ uscript page with version 11.

10. Handwritten fragment on same

    manuscript page as version 6. After people die you have to bury them but you do not have to write about it. You do not

    When people die you have to bury them but you do not have to write about it. You meet undertakers but you do not have to write about them.

    
    

11. Handwritten fragment on a man­ uscript page with version 12.

After people die you have to bury them but you do not have to write about it. You do not have to write about an undertaker nor all the

have to write about an undertaker nor the business of burial in a foreign country. Nor do you have to write about that day and the next night nor the day after and all the nights after while numbness turns to sorrow and sorrow blunts with use. In writing you have a certain choice that you do not have in life.

The M orning-After Ending

1. Handwritten manuscript page

   
   

   with many crossed-out lines. That is all there is to the

   I '+valked home that night in the rain.

   lifter Catherine died that night. I walked that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went up to the room and undressed and went to bed and slept finally because I was so tired. To wake in the morning with the sun shining in the win­ dow and there '+Vas a minate before I realized '+vhat had happened. That little time

   There '+Vas a little time/moment betvt'een when I 'tvoke and. It may have been only a second. I do not kno'+v •.vhether it YlaS a sec end or a minate. It v1as probably not more than a second. I saw the sunlight coming in the window and smelled the spring morning after the rain before I realized what had hap­ pened. That last time, that came before the other time that started then.

   
   

2. Handwritten manuscript page with several false starts and numer­ ous edits.

   It v1as raining oatside and I '+valked

   They said there V.'as nothiHg for me to do at the hospital.

   It was raining outside and I walked along the streets back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went in the gate and along the driveway and in the revolving door. I spoke to the porter and rode in the elevator and walked down the hall into 0\:lf' the room where we had lived and undressed and got into bed. Finally, I '+Vent to sleep slept, I sup­ pose because I was so tired. When I woke the sun was coming in the open window and I smelled the rain drying in spring morning af­ ter the rain and there was a moment, proba­ bly it was only a second, before I realized what it was that had happened.

   
   

3. Handwritten manuscript page with single sentence written on the back of version 14.

   
   

   That moment was the last time like that I can ever remember.

   
   

4. Handwritten manuscript page.

It was raining outside the hospital and I walked in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went in the gate and aloag up the driveway and in through the revolving door. I spoke to the porter a:ad, got the key, aad thea rode up the elevator, aad weat walked down the hall a:ad, unlocked the door and went in to the room where we had lived and there undressed and got into bed. Finally I slept; I suppose because I was so tired. When I woke the sun was com­ ing in the open window and I smelled the spring morning after the rain and there was a moment, probably it was only a second, be­ fore I began to realize what it was that had happened.

17a. Handwritten manuscript page.

And then I knew that that was all gone now and that it would not be that way (ever) any more.

17b. Handwritten fragment on back of page with version 17a.

that Catheriae I was alone.

1. Handwritten manuscript page.

   
   

   I walked that night in March nineteen hun­ dred and eighteen in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went up to the room and undressed and got into bed and slept finally because I was so tired to wake in the morning with the sun shining in the window. I saw the sunlight coming in the open window and smelled the spring morning after the rain before I realized what had hap­ pened.

   
   

2. Typewritten manuscript page with

   
   

   two slightly different versions of the waking scene.

   
   

   When I woke the sun was coming in the open window and I smelled the spring morn­ ing after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and in that moment of wak­ ing it was all the way it had been and there was nothing gone; then I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed and I was back where I had left off last night and that is the end of the story.

   
   

3. Typewritten manuscript page with two slightly different versions of the waking scene.

   
   

   When I woke the sun was coming in the open window and I smelled the spring morn­ ing after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard. In that moment of waking it was all the way it had been and nothing was gone and that was the last time it ever was that way; then I saw the electric light still on

   in the daylight by the head of the bed and I was back where I had left off last night and that is the finish of the story.

   
   

4. Typewritten manuscript page with versions 21and 22.

   
   

   When I woke the sun was coming in the open window and I smelled the spring morn­ ing after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and in that moment of wak­ ing it was all the way it had been and nothing was gone then I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed .

   
   

5. Typewritten manuscript page with versions 21and 22.

   
   

   then as I woke completely I had a physical­ ly hollow feeling I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed and I was back where I had left off last night and that is the end of the story.

   
   

6. Typewritten manuscript page with handwritten emendations and addi­ tions.

   
   

   It was raining outside and I walked in the rain from the hospital to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went in the gate and up the driveway and in through the revolving door. I spoke to the porter. He gave me the key and I rode up in the elevator, stepped out, shut the door, and walked down the hall and unlocked the door and went into the room where we had lived and there un­ dressed and got into the bed. Finally I slept; I suppose because I was so tired. When I woke the sun was corning in the open window and I smelled the spring morning after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and for that moment everything was the way it had been, then I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed and I knew aad started agaia to reali2e '+vhat it •.vas that had happeaed that I \Vas aloae from thea ea. that that was all gone now and it would

   not be that way anymore.

   
   

7. Typewritten manuscript page numbered E 322 with handwritten edits.

   
   

   I walked in the rain that night in March nineteen hundred and eighteen from the hos­ pital to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went in the gate and up the drive­ way and in through the revolving door. I spoke to the porter; he gave me the key and I rode up in the elevator, stepped out, shut the door, walked down the hall and unlocked the door and went into the room where we had lived and there undressed and got into the bed. Finally I slept; I must have slept because in the morning I woke. When I woke the sun was corning in the open window and I smelled the spring morning after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and in that moment of waking everything was the way it had been; then I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed

   
   

   and I knew what it was that had happened and that it was all gone now and that it would not be that way anymore.

   
   

8. Typewritten manuscript page numbered 322 with handwritten edits.

It vies reieieg oatsiele en.el I walked in the rain from the hospital to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went in the gate and up the driveway and in through the revolving door. I spoke to the porter; he gave me the key and I rode up in the elevator, stepped out, shut the door, walked down the hall and unlocked the door and went into the room where we had lived and there undressed and got into the bed. Finally I slept; I sappose

becease I 'Nes so tireel. I must have slept be­ cause I woke. When I woke the sun was com­

been, then I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed and then I knew again eeel sterteel to realize egein that that was all gone now and it would not be that way anymore.

(The End)

The Original Basis for the Scribner's Magazine Ending

26. Two handwritten manuscript pages, the first numbered 322, the entire first part is crossed out.

They

I >+velkeel

They said there was nothing I could do at the hospital that night

ing in the open window and I smelled the!1fterNerels I walked back to the hotel

spring morning after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and for that mo­ ment e¥eryd1:ieg it was all the way it had

v,rhere in the rain that night and went upstairs

to the room .,.,.here V+'e heel li¥eel and un­ dressed and got into bed and finally I slept be-

cause I was so tired.

lAl sorts maay of thiags have happeaed It is a long time since March nineteen hundred and eighteen that aight when I walked back that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went upstairs to the room and undressed and got into bed and slept finally, because I was so tired-to wake in the morning with the sun shining in the window, then suddenly to realize what had happened. I could tell what happened that day aad all, about my first meeting with an undertaker and all of the business of burial in a foreign country and what has happened to me since but waking up that morning is the end of this story.

1. Item 64, handwritten manuscript numbered 650-52 with emenda­ tions and parts crossed out.

   
   

   It seems she had one hemorrhage after an­ other. They could not stop it. I went into the room and stayed with Catherine until she

   died. She was unconscious all the time and it did not take her very long to die.

   There are a great many more details, start­ ing with my first meeting with an undertaker and the business of burial in a foreign country and continuing with the rest of my life-­ which has gone on and·.vill probably seems likely to go on for a long time. I could tell how Rinaldi recovered from was cured of the syphilis and lived to find that the technique required in wartime surgery is rarely em ployed not of much practical use in peace. I could tell how the priest in our mess lived to be a priest in Italy under Fascism. I could tell how Ettore became a fascist and the part he took in Fascism that organization. I could tell ho'+v I made a fool of myself by goiag back to Italy. I could tell·.vhat the kind of singer whatshisname became. I could tell about how Piani became got to be a taxi driver in New York. But they are all parts of something that was finished. Piani was the least finished but he went to another country.I do not know ex­ actly where but certainly finished. Italy is a

   
   

   country that every man should love once. I loved it once and lived through it-you ought to love it once or at least live in it. It is some­ thing like the need for the classics. There is less loss of dignity in loving it younger, or, I suppose, living in it.

   I could tell what I have done since March

   nineteen hundred and eighteen when I walked that night in the rain aloae, aad ahvays from thea OH aloae, through the streets of Lau saaae back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went upstairs to our room and undressed and got into bed and slept, finally, because I was so tired-to wake in the morn­ ing with the sun shining; then suddenly to re­ alize what it was that had happened. I could tell what has happened since then but that is the end of the story.

   
   

   End

   
   

   Many things have happened. Things happen all the time. Everything blunts and the world

   keeps on. You get most of your life back like goods recovered from a fire. It all keeps on as long as your life keeps on and then it keeps on. It never stops. It only stops for you. Some of it stops while you are still alive. The rest goes on and you go on with it. On the other hand you have to stop a story. You stop it at the end of whatever it was you were writing about.

   
   

2. Item 64, three-page handwritten manuscript numbered 650 bis-52.

   
   

   There are a great many more details, start­ ing with my first meeting with an undertaker and all the business of burial in a foreign country and going on with the rest of my life

   • which has gone on and seems likely to go on for a long time.

     I could tell how Rinaldi was cured of the syphilis and lived to find that the technique learned in wartime surgery is not of much practical use in peace. I could tell how the priest in our mess lived to be a priest in Italy

     
     

     under Fascism. I could tell how Ettore became a fascist and the part he took in that organiza­ tion. I could tell how Piani got to be a taxi driver in New York and what sort of a singer Simmons became. Many things have hap­ pened. Everything blunts and the world keeps on. You get most of your life back like goods recovered from a fire. It all keeps on as long as your life keeps on and then it keeps on but you do not know about it. It never stops. It only stops for you. Some of it stops while you are still alive. The rest goes on and you go on with it.

     I could tell what I have done since March nineteen hundred and eighteen when I walked that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went upstairs to our room and undressed and got into bed and slept, finally, because I was so tired-to wake in the morning with the sun shining in the window; then suddenly to realize what it was that had happened. I could tell what has happened since then but that is the end of the story.

     
     

3. Typewritten manuscript with handwritten emendations.

   
   

   There are a great many more details, start­ ing with my first meeting with an undertaker, and all the business of burial in a foreign country and going on with everything that has happened since. I could tell how Rinaldi was cured of the syphilis and lived to find that the technique learned in wartime surgery is not of much practical use in peace. I could tell how the priest in our mess lived to be a priest in Italy under Fascism. I could tell how Ettore became a fascist and the part he took in that organization. I could tell what became hap­ pened to Bonello and ef to Piani. I could tell what I have done since March, nineteen hun­ dred and eighteen, when I walked that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived, and went upstairs to our room and undressed and got into bed and slept finally, because I was so tired. When I woke the sun was coming in the open win-

   
   

   dow and I smelled the spring morning after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and in that moment of waking it was all the way it had been and I did not know that it was all gone; then I saw the elec­ tric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed and I was back where I had left off last night and that is the end of the story.

   
   

4. Typewritten manuscript page numbered 322 with handwritten edits and deletions.

   
   

   There are a great many more details, start­ ing with my first meeting with an undertaker, and all the business of burial in a foreign country (that I do not '+Vant to write about.) and going on with the rest of my life '+vhich has gone on and seems likely to go on for a long time.

   I could tell how Rinaldi was cured of the syphilis and lived to find that the technique learned in wartime surgery is not of much practical use in peace. I could tell how the

   priest in our mess lived to be a priest in Italy under Fascism. I could tell how Ettore became a fascist and the part that he took in that or­ ganization. I could tell how Piani got to be a taxi driver in New York and what sort of a singer Simmons became. A4any things have happened. Everything blunts and the·.vorld keeps on. You get most of your life hack like goods recovered from a fire. It all keeps on as long as your life keeps on, hut you do not knov,r about it. It never stops. A,t the end it does not. It only stops for you. Some of it stops v,rhile you are still alive. The rest goes on and you go on with it. finally you get most of your life hack like goods recovered from a fire. In the end certain things you can remember only at night.

   I could tell what I have done since March, nineteen hundred and eighteen, when I walked that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went up­ stairs to our room and undressed and got into bed and slept finally, because I was so tired­ to wake in the morning with the sun shining

   
   

   in the window; then suddenly to realize what had happened. I cowd u Vlhet hes heppeaed

   siace thea, but that is the ead of the story. Vlf ite·nhet has happeaed siace thea but I do aot he¥e to. Ia vlritiag you have e certaia choice that you do aot have ia life.

   
   

5. Item 66, setting copy.What Carlos Baker called the original conclusion to A Farewell to Arms ( Ernest Hemingway, Critiques of Four Ma­ j or Novels [New York: Scribner, 1962]}, 75.See Figure 7.

   
   

   It seems she had one hemorrhage after an­ other.They couldn't stop it.

   I went into the room and stayed with Catherine until she died. She was unconscious all the time, and it did not take her very long to die.

   
   

   There are a great many more details, start­ ing with my first meeting with an undertaker, and all the business of burial in a foreign

   country and going on with the rest of my life

   • which has gone on and seems likely to go on for a long time.

   I could tell how Rinaldi was cured of the syphilis and lived to find that the technique learned in wartime surgery is not of much practical use in peace. I could tell how the priest in our mess lived to be a priest in Italy under Fascism.I could tell how Ettore became a fascist and the part he took in that organiza­ tion. I could tell how Piani got to be a taxi driver in New York and what sort of a singer Simmons became. Many things have hap­ pened. Everything blunts and the world keeps on. You get most of your life back like goods recovered from a fire. It all keeps on as long as your life keeps on. but yo1:1 do aot kaow ebo1:1t it. It never stops. It only stops for you. Some of it stops while you are still alive. The rest goes on and you go on with it.

   I could tell you what I have done since March, nineteen hundred and eighteen, when I walked that night in the rain back to the ho­ tel where Catherine and I had lived and went

   
   

   upstairs to our room and undressed and got into bed and slept finally, because I was so tired-to wake in the morning with the sun shining in the window; then suddenly to real­ ize what had happened. I could tell what has happened since then but that is the end of the story.

   
   

   The End.

   
   

6. Typewritten manuscript page with minor edits by hand.

   
   

   There are a great many more details start­ ing with my first meeting with an undertaker, and all the business of burial in a foreign country and going on with everything that has happened since. I could tell how Rinaldi was cured of the syphilis and lived to find that the technique learned in wartime surgery is not of much practical use in peace. I could tell how the priest in our mess lived to be a priest in Italy under Fascism. I could tell how Ettore became a fascist and the part he took in that

   organization. I could tell what they did to Bonello in Imola and how Piani came to Chicago and became a taxi driver.

   I could tell what I have done since March, nineteen hundred and eighteen, when I walked that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived, and went upstairs to our room and undressed and got into bed and slept finally, because I was so tired. When I woke, the sun was coming in the open window and I smell[ed] the spring morning after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and in that moment of waking it was all the way it had been and nothing was gone and that was the last time it ever was that way; then I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed and I was back where I had left off last night and that is the finish of the story.

   
   

   (The End)

   
   

7. Typewritten manuscript page with hand written "(space)" at top of

   
   

   page. This is the version that was used as the ending in the serialized version published in Scribner's Magazine in September 1929.

   
   

   There are a great many more details, start­ ing with my first meeting with an undertaker, and all the business of burial in a foreign country and going on with everything that has happened since. I could tell how Rinaldi was cured of the syphilis and lived to find that the technique learned in wartime surgery is not of much practical use in peace.I could tell how the priest in our mess lived to be a priest in Italy under Fascism . I could tell how Ettore became a fascist and the part he took in that organization. I could tell what they did to Bonello in lmola and how Piani came to Chicago to be a taxi driver.

   I could tell what I have done since March, nineteen hundred and eighteen, when I walked that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived, and went upstairs to our room and undressed and got

   into the bed and slept finally, because I was so tired. When I woke the sun was coming in the open window and I smelled the spring morn­ ing after the rain and saw the sun on the trees in the courtyard and in that moment of wak­ ing it was all the way it had been and nothing was gone and that was the last time it ever was that way; then I saw the electric light still on in the daylight by the head of the bed and I was back where I had left off last night and that is the finish to the story.

   
   

   (The End)

   
   

   The Fitzgerald Ending

8. Handwritten manuscript page. Everyoae who lived through the \Var had

   You learn a few things as you go along and

   one of them is that the world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will Those it does not break it kills. It kills the very good and very

   
   

   gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.

   
   

9. Two typewritten manuscript pages, the second numbered 323.

   
   

   It is a long time since March nineteen hun­ dred and eighteen when I walked that night in the rain back to the hotel where Catherine and I had lived and went upstairs to the room and undressed and got into bed and slept fi­ nally, because I was so tired, to wake in the morning with the sun shining in the window; then suddenly to realize what had happened.I could tell what happened that day, about my first meeting with an undertaker and all the business of burial in a foreign country and all the things that have happened since but ye-H have to eHd a story some'tvhere the story is finished.

   You can stop your life the way you stop a story but you do not do it and afterwards you are not sorry. It stops for a while by its-self

   and then it goes on again. You learn a few things as you go along and one of them is never to go back to places. It is a good thing too not to try too much to remember things you want to remember because if you do you wear them out and you lose them. A valuable thing too is never to let anyone know how fine you thought anyone else ever was because they know better and no one was ever that splendid. But in the nights you know. In the nights they do not fool you.

   You see we slept when we were tired and if we woke the other one woke too so one was not alone. Often a man wishes to be alone and a girl wishes to be alone too and if they love each other they are jealous of that in each other, but I can truly say we never felt that. We could feel alone when we were to­ gether, alone against the others. It has only happened to me like that once. I have been alone while I was with many girls and that is the way that you can be most lonely. But we were never lonely and never afraid when we were together. I know that the night is not the

   
   

   same as the day; that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day because they do not exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started. But with Catherine there was al­ most no difference in the night except that it was an even better time. If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course, it kills them. The world breaks everyone and after­ wards many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.

   
   

   The End.

   
   

10. Handwritten manuscript fragment numbered 323.

    
    

    f iRaily

    But in the nights you know. In the nights

    they do not fool you.

    The Ending

    
    

11. Three handwritten manuscript pages, the second numbered 2 and the third numbered 3.

    
    

    Late that Right I walked back to the hotel. It was rein-ing and I was v:et \vhen I came in aad weat Hf> the

    
    

    Late t:hat aight I'Nalked baek to the hotel. It was raiRiag aad Catheriae \Yas dead aad it vlas ell 0:er H:O\V.

    
    

    I stood

    
    

    Outside in the hall I spoke to the doctor, "Is there anything I can do tonight?"

    "No. There is nothing to do. Can I take

    you to your hotel?"

    "No thank you. I am going to stay here a while."

    
    

    "I know there is nothing to say. I cannot tell you-"

    "No," I said. "There's nothing to say." "Good night," he said. "I cannot take you

    to your hotel ?"

    "No thank you."

    He went down the hall. I watched him go. Then I went to the door of the room and opened it. There were two nurses in the room, one of them came to the door.

    "Just a moment," she said. "You cannot come in now."

    "I'm coming in," I said. "You can come

    back later."

    "The rules are-" she said.

    "I do not care about the rules. You '+vill come out aad I '+vill go ia. I am going to stay here for a while."

    They went out and I shut the door and turned off the light. The window was open and I could heard it raining in the courtyard .-It '+Vasa't aay good. She·.vas goae. What was there '+Vas Hot her. After a while I said good­ bye and went away. It was like saying good-

    bye to a statue. But I did not want to go. I looked out the window. It was still raining hard. Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on, I thought. Why was that? I went back. Goodbye, I said. I have to go I think. It wasn't any good. I knew it wasn't any good.

    
    

12. Handwritten manuscript page with deletions.

    
    

    But after I had gotten them out and shut the door and turned off the light it wasn't any good. She '+Vas aot there It '+Vas

    '+Vas tryiag to he a last time aloae

    She '+Vas aot there. It v1as like sayiHg goodbye to a statue

    I thought if we were alone we would still be together. But it was not like that. There was not anything. She wasn't there. It was like Se­ ffig saying goodbye to a statue.After a while

    
    

13. Handwritten manuscript page.

    
    

    I thought if I could get them all out and we

    
    

    could be alone we would still be together. But it wasn't any good (not like that). It was like saying goodbye to a statue.

    
    

14. Handwritten manuscript page with emendations and deletions.

    
    

    But after I had gotten them out and shut the door and turned off the light it wasn't any good. I had not kno"+vn I had thought if I could get them out and we "+Vere alone "+Ve would still he together

    But it \Vas not

    There "+VOuld still he something

    B-ut It was like saying goodbye to a statue. After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain.

    
    

15. Handwritten manuscript page. See Figure 8.

    
    

    He went down the hall. I went to the door of the room.

    "You can't come in now," one of the nurses

    said.

    "Yes I can," I said.

    "You can't come in yet."

    "You get out," I said. "The other one too." But after I had gotten them out and shut shut the door and turned off the light it wasn't any good. It was like saying goodbye to a statue. After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in

    the rain.

    
    

    M iscellaneous Endings

    
    

16. Handwritten manuscript page with versions 42 and 43.

    
    

    That was in March nineteen hundred and eighteen. There were many other dead for the rain to fall on in that month (But try some time for that to make any difference.They did not mean anything to me.) and for plenty of months thereafter. But try sometime and see if that makes it any better.

    
    

17. Handwritten manuscript page with versions 42 and 43.

    
    

    That was in March nineteen hundred and eighteen. Plenty of men were killed that month and I am sure a great many women died. But I have not found that because things happen in general that they are any help to you in particular.

    
    

18. Handwritten manuscript fragment on back of versions 42 and 43.

    
    

    Nothing was changed then e*cept that as I woke completely I had an strange physically empty feeling.

    
    

19. Handwritten manuscript page with several false starts and some edits.

    
    

    I .vas too numb to realize it. It was like a wound that you do not feel at first because the shock has made you numb but the

    I knew that she was gone and I was too numb to realize it but as in a wound the numbness did not last very long and by

    I was still so numb that all I could de think was to hate them for taking her without real­ izing that she was really gone but that came later in the night and then it made no differ­ ence who or what had done it but only that she was gone.

    
    

20. Handwritten manuscript page.

    
    

    Maybe you have never been alone. 4aybe you do not know '+vhat it means to be alone from then

    See Naples and die is a fine idea. You will live to hate its guts if you live there. Perhaps there is no luck in a peninsula.

    
    

21. Handwritten manuscript page with a false start and some edits.

    
    

    Your life does not stop the '+Vay a

    You can ne-t stop your life the way you

    
    

    stop a story eJEcept by but you do not do it and afterwards you are not sorry. It stops for

    a while by its-self and then it goes on again. Appendix III

    
    

    List of Titles

    
    

    Possible titles for the novel are listed on two pages, which are Items 76 and 76a in the cat­ alog of the Hemingway Collection at the John

    1. Kennedy Library, Boston, Massachusetts. In addition, the earliest rides clearly associated with the book appear on the first page of the handwritten manuscript (Item 64): "The World's Room" and "Nights and Forever."

       Two additional titles appear later in the same manuscript on an inserted typewritten page: "A Separate Peace" and "The Hill of Heaven" (added in Hemingway's hand).

       
       

       1. Item 76, handwritten page with lists of possible titles for the book. The underlines and crossed-out ti-