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A Farewell to Arms Ernest Hemingway
Chapters XXVII–XXIX
Summary: Chapter XXVII
Abstract words such as glory, honor,
courage, or hallow were obscene beside the concrete . . . numbers
of regiments and the dates.
The next morning, Henry travels to the Bainsizza, a succession
of small mountains in which intense fighting has taken place. Henry meets
a man named Gino, who tells him about a battery of terrifying guns
that the Austrians have. The men discuss the Italian army's position
against Croatian troops; Gino predicts that there will be nowhere
for the Italians to go should the Austrians decide to attack. He claims
that the summer's losses were not in vain, and Henry falls silent, thinking
how words like sacred, glorious, and sacrifice embarrass him.
He believes that concrete facts, such as the names of villages and the
numbers of streets, have more meaning than such abstractions.
That night, the rain comes down hard and the enemy begins
a bombardment. In the morning, the Italians learn that the attacking forces
include Germans, and they become very afraid. They have had little
contact with the Germans in the war and would prefer to keep it
that way. The next night, word arrives that the Italian line has
been broken; the forces begin a large-scale retreat. The troops slowly
move out. As they come to the town of Gorizia, Henry sees women
from the soldiers' whorehouse being loaded into a truck. Bonello,
one of the drivers under Henry's command, offers to go with the
women. At the villa, Henry discovers that Rinaldi has taken off
for the hospital; everyone else has evacuated too. Henry, Bonello,
and two other drivers, Piani and Aymo, rest and eat before resuming
the retreat.
Chapter XXVIII
Then the truck stopped. The whole column
was stopped. It started again and we went a little farther, then
stopped.
The men drive slowly through the town, forming an endless
column of retreating soldiers and vehicles. Henry takes a turn sleeping; shortly
after he wakes, the column stalls. Henry exits his vehicle to check
on his men. He discovers two engineering officers in Bonello's car
and two women with Aymo. The girls seem suspicious of Aymo's intentions,
but he eventually, if crudely, convinces them that he means them
no harm. Henry returns to Piani's car and falls asleep. His dreams
are of Catherine, and he speaks aloud to her. That night, columns
of peasants join the retreating army. In the early morning, Henry
and his men decide to separate from the column and take a small
road going north. They stop briefly at an abandoned farmhouse and
eat a large breakfast before continuing their journey.
Chapter XXIX
Aymo's car gets stuck in the soft ground, and the men
are forced to cut brush hurriedly to place under the tires for traction.
Henry orders the two engineering sergeants riding with Bonello to
help. Afraid of being overtaken by the enemy, they refuse and try
to leave. Henry draws his gun and shoots one of them; the other
escapes. Bonello takes Henry's pistol and finishes off the wounded
soldier. The men use branches, twigs, and even clothing to create
traction, but the car sinks further into the mud. They continue
in the other vehicles but soon get stuck again. Henry gives some
money to the two girls traveling with Aymo and sends them off to
a nearby village. The men continue to Udine on foot.
Analysis: Chapters XXVII–XXIX
Hemingway's description of the retreat, which is based
on one of the most large-scale retreats of World War I, is one of
the most famous descriptive passages in the novel. As the lumbering
columns of army vehicles wind through the country night, Hemingway's
prose mimics the dark and streaming motion of the men. When the
movement of the columns becomes choppy, so do Hemingway's sentences: Then
the truck stopped. The whole column was stopped. It started again
and went a little farther, then stopped.
These three chapters are most noteworthy for their powerful, uncompromising,
and unromantic evocation of war. As Henry reflects in his conversation
with the priest, abstract concepts like courage and honor have no
place alongside the concrete reality of war. In describing the retreat,
Hemingway strips war of its romantic packaging and provides the
reader with only the most solid, evocative, and precise details.
In Book Three (which begins with Chapter XXV), the focus
of the novel switches noticeably from love, the major thematic interest of
Book Two, to war. Hemingway reports from the battlefront with a
neutral, journalistic style that heightens the realism of the narrative
and proves surprisingly unsettling. When Henry shoots at the two
engineering officers for refusing to help free the car from the mud,
Hemingway's detached prose refrains from passing moral judgment
on his action. Rather, the text offers just the facts. This spare,
disinterested tone sets Henry's wanton violence against an amoral
landscape; shooting a man out of anger is given the same weight
as pushing a car out of the mud. Refusing to give the reader reliable
moral ground from which he or she may view and judge the scene, Hemingway
challenges the reader to deal with the scene on his or her own terms.
Certainly, the support that Henry receives from his fellow soldiers
suggests that his actions are not abnormal and that there is a larger,
pervasive irrationality at work. Indeed, the lack of a well-defined sense
of right and wrong in the narrative perspective mirrors the situation
in which Henry finds himself. War has stripped the world of its
certainties, leaving men to set their own moral compass. Some, like
Gino, fight for their homeland because they believe in ideals such
as sacred ground and sacrifice, while others, like Henry, attach
no such grandeur or meaning to their behavior on the battlefield.
The murder of the engineering officer is a testament to
Hemingway's brilliant depiction of the confusion and meaninglessness
of war. This act seemingly comes out of nowhere. The reader doesn't expect
the normally self-possessed Henry to display such aggression, nor
does such behavior seem particularly justified. Bonello's ruthless,
point-blank extermination of the man's life is equally senseless.
That the engineer is guilty of no capital crime and thus merits
no punishment so grave as death emphasizes that, oftentimes, one
cannot account for men's behavior in war.
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