A Moveable Feast

Hemingway recalls that racing never came between him and his wife, Hadley, and that only people could do that. Nevertheless, he begins attending races alone. He works two tracks into every season, usually Auteuil or Enghien. Hemingway calls these horse races a “demanding friend,” who he tolerates because it could be profitable (27). Hemingway outlines exactly how one should bet and on which horses. He describes running to the top of the stands at Auteuil to observe the horses jump. He writes, “You watched the prices and all the shifts of odds each time a horse you were following would start, and you had to know how he was working and finally get to know when the stable would try with him” (28). Hemingway only bet on horses he was educated on but would sometimes take a risk on horses no one believed in. He states that Auteuil was beautiful, and that, while he soon became acquainted with many people and many horses, working the races grew too time consuming.

While walking to deposit his racing capital, Hemingway ran into an old friend named Mike Ward. The two have lunch at the square Louvois and Hemingway asks Mike why he never goes to the track. Mike responds that “anything you have to bet on to get a kick isn’t worth seeing” (28). He suggests bicycle racing instead. While the two eventually bond over watching bicyclists, Hemingway says that, for now, it was enough to get on with his work and his life in Paris. Despite starting many stories about bicycle racing, none has ever been as thrilling as the horseracing stories. Hemingway concludes the chapter with an attempt to describe the races, explaining that French is the only language where bicycle racing is properly portrayed.

Being hungry in Paris is torturous for Hemingway; the streets are lined with bakeries and people eating outside. To escape the allure of good smelling pastries, Hemingway visits the Luxembourg Museum. He writes that studying Cezanne on an empty stomach helped him truly see how his landscapes were painted. Hem He wonders if Cezanne was hungry when he painted and concludes that he “was probably hungry in a different way” (31). Hemingway describes how walking through Paris, avoiding all restaurants and bakeries, hunger becomes contained and the senses are heightened. While on a walk, Hemingway stops into the bookshop to talk with Sylvia, who comments on his slim figure. She invites him and his wife to dinner, reminding him that he must eat at some point. Before leaving, Sylvia hands him his mail, which is a letter from Der Querschnitt, a German publishing company paying him his royalties. Hemingway complains to Sylvia about his work only selling in Germany, and she responds that one day he’ll sell stories to Ford. She reminds him that it’s not about the royalties and that soon his talents will be recognized.

Hemingway is disgusted at himself for complaining about money to Sylvia. He thinks to himself, “You dirty phony saint and martyr” (33). He continues, “Hunger is healthy and the pictures do look better when you are hungry. Eating is wonderful too and do you know where you are going to eat right now?” (33). Acknowledging the role of his own stubbornness in his misfortune, Hemingway decides to eat at a local café, Lipp’s. He has a feast, ordering potato salad, sausage, and beer. He thinks back on his Paris apartment being ransacked and all of his stories being stolen out of his wife’s luggage. He thinks of a man named Edward O’Brien who published Hemingway’s My Old Man and awarded it Best Short Story. After losing his work, he assured O’Brien that he would keep writing stories. He contemplates the irony of having plenty of stories now but no one to understand them. It was only once his work was lost that others noticed the value of his writing. He then resolves to write a novel.

Hemingway begins this chapter with a description of The Closerie des Lilas. One of the best cafes in Paris, The Closerie des Lilas primarily served “elderly bearded men in well-worn clothes who came with their wives or their mistresses” (36). Despite being known for serving poets, Hemingway recalls that he very rarely saw poets dine. Instead, he saw professors, savants, and military men. Hemingway had much respect for the men who experienced mutilation in war. He also respected that no individual customer was made an exhibition at The Closerie des Lilas. One evening, while sitting outside along the boulevard, a man approaches Hemingway. He recognizes the man as Ford Madox Ford. Ford invites Hemingway to an event at the Bal Musette. Hemingway finds Ford both difficult to observe and to converse with. He needlessly corrects Hemingway about the location of the Bal Musette despite Hemingway having lived there years prior. The two discuss criteria for being considered a gentleman, including “cutting cads” or rather, ignoring those who are not gentlemen (39). Ford Madox Ford makes a scene correcting the waiter about his drink order. A man in a cape walks by on the sidewalk and looks at their table; Ford says it’s Hilaire Belloc, a young writer, and proclaims to Hemingway that he “cut” him too. Later on, a friend informs Hemingway that the man in the cape is not Belloc but Aleister Crowley, a diabolist, or in other words, a Satanist.

Hemingway provides a list of what is needed to write well, which includes blue-backed notebooks, two pencils, a pencil sharpener, marble-topped tables, the smell of early morning, sweeping out and mopping, and luck (41). For luck, he continues, one only needed a horse chestnut and a rabbit’s foot in their right pocket (41). Writing in cafés often proves difficult for Hemingway, as privacy is next to impossible. One particular afternoon, Hemingway picks a fight with a man at The Closerie des Lilas who breaks his concentration. He asks the man why he has to ruin a perfectly good café, to which the man responds that Hemingway is simply trying to be eccentric. Hemingway then attempts to ignore the man and continue writing, but the man cannot let the argument rest. The man mentions a trip to Greece and when asked if he should continue the story, Hemingway says no. The man responds, “Don’t you care how it came about? Don’t you care about life and the suffering of a fellow human being?” (42-43). The man concedes that he too is trying to write, but that it is terribly difficult. Tired of the man’s complaining Hemingway says, “You shouldn’t write if you can’t write. What do you have to cry about it for? Go home. Get a job. Hang yourself. Only don’t talk about it. You could never write” (43). Hemingway tells the man he should be a critic, a commentary on his constant complaining. The two decide to have a drink, and the man tells Hemingway that he finds his work “a little too stark” (44). Hemingway reflects that the man never became a critic and that one doesn’t need luck to write well.