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Authors: George Orwell
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Salon. Finally he gave us each an expensive ciga-
rette, and after some more talk he went home.
I felt strongly that we should never get any good from
this restaurant. The PATRON had looked to me like a cheat,
and, what was worse, an incompetent cheat, and I had seen
two unmistakable duns hanging about the back door. But
Boris, seeing himself a MAITRE D’HOTEL once more,
would not be discouraged.
‘We’ve brought it off—only a fortnight to hold out. What
is a fortnight? JE M’EN F——. To think that in only three
weeks I shall have my mistress! Will she be dark or fair, I
wonder? I don’t mind, so long as she is not too thin.’
0
Down and Out in Paris and London
Two bad days followed. We had only sixty centimes left,
and we spent it on half a pound of bread, with a piece of
garlic to rub it with. The point of rubbing garlic on bread
is that the taste lingers and gives one the illusion of hav-
ing fed recently. We sat most of that day in the Jardin des
Plantes. Boris had shots with stones at the tame pigeons,
but always missed them, and after that we wrote dinner
menus on the backs of envelopes. We were too hungry even
to try and think of anything except food. I remember the
dinner Boris finally selected for himself. It was: a dozen oys-
ters, bortch soup (the red, sweet, beetroot soup with cream
on top), crayfishes, a young chicken en CASSEROLE, beef
with stewed plums, new potatoes, a salad, suet pudding and
Roquefort cheese, with a litre of Burgundy and some old
brandy. Boris had international tastes in food. Later on,
when we were prosperous, I occasionally saw him eat meals
almost as large without difficulty.
When our money came to an end I stopped looking for
work, and was another day without food. I did not believe
that the Auberge de Jehan Cottard was really going to open,
and I could see no other prospect, but I was too lazy to do
anything but lie in bed. Then the luck changed abruptly. At
night, at about ten o’clock, I heard an eager shout from the
street. I got up and went to the window. Boris was there,
waving his stick and beaming. Before speaking he dragged
a bent loaf from his pocket and threw it up to me.
‘MON AMI, MON CHER AMI, we’re saved! What do
you think?’
‘Surely you haven’t got a job!’
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1
‘At the Hotel X, near the Place de la Concorde—five hun-
dred francs a month, and food. I have been working there
today. Name of Jesus Christ, how I have eaten!’
After ten or twelve hours’ work, and with his game leg,
his first thought had been to walk three kilometres to my ho-
tel and tell me the good news! What was more, he told me to
meet him in the Tuileries the next day during his afternoon
interval, in case he should be able to steal some food for me.
At the appointed time I met Boris on a public bench. He un-
did his waistcoat and produced a large, crushed, newspaper
packet; in it were some minced veal, a wedge of Gamembert
cheese, bread and an eclair, all jumbled together.
‘VOILA!’ said Boris, ‘that’s all I could smuggle out for
you. The doorkeeper is a cunning swine.’
It is disagreeable to eat out of a newspaper on a public
seat, especially in the Tuileries, which are generally full of
pretty girls, but I was too hungry to care. While I ate, Bo-
ris explained that he was working in the cafeterie of the
hotel—that is, in English, the stillroom. It appeared that
the cafeterie was the very lowest post in the hotel, and a
dreadful come-down for a waiter, but it would do until the
Auberge de Jehan Gottard opened. Meanwhile I was to meet
Boris every day in the Tuileries, and he would smuggle out
as much food as he dared. For three days we continued with
this arrangement, and I lived entirely on the stolen food.
Then all our troubles came to an end, for one of the PLON-
GEURS left the Hotel X, and on Boris’s recommendation I
was given a job there myself.
Down and Out in
rette, and after some more talk he went home.
I felt strongly that we should never get any good from
this restaurant. The PATRON had looked to me like a cheat,
and, what was worse, an incompetent cheat, and I had seen
two unmistakable duns hanging about the back door. But
Boris, seeing himself a MAITRE D’HOTEL once more,
would not be discouraged.
‘We’ve brought it off—only a fortnight to hold out. What
is a fortnight? JE M’EN F——. To think that in only three
weeks I shall have my mistress! Will she be dark or fair, I
wonder? I don’t mind, so long as she is not too thin.’
0
Down and Out in Paris and London
Two bad days followed. We had only sixty centimes left,
and we spent it on half a pound of bread, with a piece of
garlic to rub it with. The point of rubbing garlic on bread
is that the taste lingers and gives one the illusion of hav-
ing fed recently. We sat most of that day in the Jardin des
Plantes. Boris had shots with stones at the tame pigeons,
but always missed them, and after that we wrote dinner
menus on the backs of envelopes. We were too hungry even
to try and think of anything except food. I remember the
dinner Boris finally selected for himself. It was: a dozen oys-
ters, bortch soup (the red, sweet, beetroot soup with cream
on top), crayfishes, a young chicken en CASSEROLE, beef
with stewed plums, new potatoes, a salad, suet pudding and
Roquefort cheese, with a litre of Burgundy and some old
brandy. Boris had international tastes in food. Later on,
when we were prosperous, I occasionally saw him eat meals
almost as large without difficulty.
When our money came to an end I stopped looking for
work, and was another day without food. I did not believe
that the Auberge de Jehan Cottard was really going to open,
and I could see no other prospect, but I was too lazy to do
anything but lie in bed. Then the luck changed abruptly. At
night, at about ten o’clock, I heard an eager shout from the
street. I got up and went to the window. Boris was there,
waving his stick and beaming. Before speaking he dragged
a bent loaf from his pocket and threw it up to me.
‘MON AMI, MON CHER AMI, we’re saved! What do
you think?’
‘Surely you haven’t got a job!’
Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
1
‘At the Hotel X, near the Place de la Concorde—five hun-
dred francs a month, and food. I have been working there
today. Name of Jesus Christ, how I have eaten!’
After ten or twelve hours’ work, and with his game leg,
his first thought had been to walk three kilometres to my ho-
tel and tell me the good news! What was more, he told me to
meet him in the Tuileries the next day during his afternoon
interval, in case he should be able to steal some food for me.
At the appointed time I met Boris on a public bench. He un-
did his waistcoat and produced a large, crushed, newspaper
packet; in it were some minced veal, a wedge of Gamembert
cheese, bread and an eclair, all jumbled together.
‘VOILA!’ said Boris, ‘that’s all I could smuggle out for
you. The doorkeeper is a cunning swine.’
It is disagreeable to eat out of a newspaper on a public
seat, especially in the Tuileries, which are generally full of
pretty girls, but I was too hungry to care. While I ate, Bo-
ris explained that he was working in the cafeterie of the
hotel—that is, in English, the stillroom. It appeared that
the cafeterie was the very lowest post in the hotel, and a
dreadful come-down for a waiter, but it would do until the
Auberge de Jehan Gottard opened. Meanwhile I was to meet
Boris every day in the Tuileries, and he would smuggle out
as much food as he dared. For three days we continued with
this arrangement, and I lived entirely on the stolen food.
Then all our troubles came to an end, for one of the PLON-
GEURS left the Hotel X, and on Boris’s recommendation I
was given a job there myself.
Down and Out in
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