---
title: "Down and Out in Paris and London"
author: "George Orwell"
languages: [en]
shelf: "Literature"
section: 15 of 38
url: https://scriptura.si/works/orwell-down-and-out-fp20180314/15/
cite: "George Orwell, Down and Out in Paris and London, section 15. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/orwell-down-and-out-fp20180314/15/"
---

# Down and Out in Paris and London

*George Orwell*

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> Title: Down and Out in Paris and London
Date of first publication: 1933
Author: George Orwell (1903-1950)
Date first posted: Mar. 14, 2018
Date last updated: Mar. 14, 2018
Faded Page eBook #20180314

> This eBook was produced by: Delphine Lettau, Howard Ross
& the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

> GEORGE ORWELL

> _Down and Out_
    _in Paris and London_

> O scathful harm, condicion of poverte!
       CHAUCER

> PENGUIN BOOKS

> First published by Victor Gollancz 1933

> Copyright 1933 by Eric Blair

> [The end of _Down and Out in Paris and London_ by George Orwell]

## 15. Chapter XV

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/orwell-down-and-out-fp20180314/15/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/orwell-down-and-out-fp20180314/15/#p-N

[¶0] I heard queer tales in the hotel. There were tales of dope fiends, of
old debauchees who frequented hotels in search of pretty page-boys, of
thefts and blackmail. Mario told me of a hotel in which he had been,
where a chambermaid stole a priceless diamond ring from an American
lady. For days the staff were searched as they left work, and two
detectives searched the hotel from top to bottom, but the ring was never
found. The chambermaid had a lover in the bakery, and he had baked the
ring into a roll, where it lay unsuspected until the search was over.

[¶1] Once Valenti, at a slack time, told me a story about himself.

[¶2] 'You know, _mon p'tit_, this hotel life is all very well, but it's the
devil when you're out of work. I expect you know what it is to go
without eating, eh? _Forcément_, otherwise you wouldn't be scrubbing
dishes. Well, I'm not a poor devil of a _plongeur_; I'm a waiter, and
_I_ went five days without eating, once. Five days without even a crust
of bread—Jesus Christ!

[¶3] 'I tell you, those five days were the devil. The only good thing was, I
had my rent paid in advance. I was living in a dirty, cheap little hotel
in the Rue Sainte Éloïse up in the Latin quarter. It was called the
Hôtel —, after some famous prostitute who was born in that quarter, I
expect. I was starving, and there was nothing I could do; I couldn't
even go to the cafés where the hotel proprietors come to engage waiters,
because I hadn't the price of a drink. All I could do was to lie in bed
getting weaker and weaker, and watching the bugs running about the
ceiling. I don't want to go through that again, I can tell you.

[¶4] 'In the afternoon of the fifth day I went half mad; at least, that's how
it seems to me now. There was an old faded print of a woman's head
hanging on the wall of my room, and I took to wondering who it could be;
and after about an hour I realized that it must be Sainte Éloïse, who
was the patron saint of the quarter. I had never taken any notice of the
thing before, but now, as I lay staring at it, a most extraordinary idea
came into my head.

[¶5] '"_Écoute, mon cher_," I said to myself, "you'll be starving to death if
this goes on much longer. You've got to do something. Why not try a
prayer to Sainte Éloïse? Go down on your knees and ask her to send you
some money. After all, it can't do any harm. Try it!"

[¶6] 'Mad, eh? Still, a man will do anything when he's hungry. Besides, as I
said, it couldn't do any harm. I got out of bed and began praying. I
said:

[¶7] '"Dear Sainte Éloïse, if you exist, please send me some money. I don't
ask for much—just enough to buy some bread and a bottle of wine and get
my strength back. Three or four francs would do. You don't know how
grateful I'll be, Sainte Éloïse, if you help me this once. And be sure,
if you send me anything, the first thing I'll do will be to go and burn
a candle for you, at your church down the street. Amen."

[¶8] 'I put in that about the candle, because I had heard that saints like
having candles burnt in their honour. I meant to keep my promise, of
course. But I am an atheist and I didn't really believe that anything
would come of it.

[¶9] 'Well, I got into bed again, and five minutes later there came a bang at
the door. It was a girl called Maria, a big fat peasant girl who lived
at our hotel. She was a very stupid girl, but a good sort, and I didn't
much care for her to see me in the state I was in.

[¶10] 'She cried out at the sight of me. "_Nom de Dieu!_" she said, "what's
the matter with you? What are you doing in bed at this time of day?
_T'en as une mine!_ You look more like a corpse than a man."

[¶11] 'Probably I did look a sight. I had been five days without food, most of
the time in bed, and it was three days since I had had a wash or a
shave. The room was a regular pigsty, too.

[¶12] '"What's the matter?" said Maria again.

[¶13] '"The matter!" I said; "Jesus Christ! I'm starving. I haven't eaten for
five days. That's what's the matter."

[¶14] 'Maria was horrified. "Not eaten for five days?" she said. "But why?
Haven't you any money, then?"

[¶15] '"Money!" I said. "Do you suppose I should be starving if I had money?
I've got just five sous in the world, and I've pawned everything. Look
round the room and see if there's anything more I can sell or pawn. If
you can find anything that will fetch fifty centimes, you're cleverer
than I am."

[¶16] 'Maria began looking round the room. She poked here and there among a
lot of rubbish that was lying about, and then suddenly she got quite
excited. Her great thick mouth fell open with astonishment.

[¶17] '"You idiot!" she cried out. "Imbecile! What's _this_, then?"

[¶18] 'I saw that she had picked up an empty oil _bidon_ that had been lying
in the corner. I had bought it weeks before, for an oil lamp I had
before I sold my things.

[¶19] '"That?" I said. "That's an oil _bidon_. What about it?"

[¶20] '"Imbecile! Didn't you pay three francs fifty deposit on it?"

[¶21] 'Now, of course I had paid the three francs fifty. They always make you
pay a deposit on the _bidon_, and you get it back when the _bidon_ is
returned. But I'd forgotten all about it.

[¶22] '"Yes—" I began.

[¶23] '"Idiot!" shouted Maria again. She got so excited that she began to
dance about until I thought her sabots would go through the floor.
"Idiot! _T'es louf! T'es louf!_ What have you got to do but take it back
to the shop and get your deposit back? Starving, with three francs fifty
staring you in the face! Imbecile!"

[¶24] 'I can hardly believe now that in all those five days I had never once
thought of taking the _bidon_ back to the shop. As good as three francs
fifty in hard cash, and it had never occurred to me! I sat up in bed.
"Quick!" I shouted to Maria, "you take it for me. Take it to the
grocer's at the corner—run like the devil. And bring back food!"

[¶25] 'Maria didn't need to be told. She grabbed the _bidon_ and went
clattering down the stairs like a herd of elephants, and in three
minutes she was back with two pounds of bread under one arm and a
half-litre bottle of wine under the other. I didn't stop to thank her; I
just seized the bread and sank my teeth in it. Have you noticed how
bread tastes when you have been hungry for a long time? Cold, wet,
doughy—like putty almost. But, Jesus Christ, how good it was! As for
the wine, I sucked it all down in one draught, and it seemed to go
straight into my veins and flow round my body like new blood. Ah, that
made a difference!

[¶26] 'I wolfed the whole two pounds of bread without stopping to take breath.
Maria stood with her hands on her hips, watching me eat. "Well, you feel
better, eh?" she said when I had finished.

[¶27] '"Better!" I said. "I feel perfect! I'm not the same man as I was five
minutes ago. There's only one thing in the world I need now—a
cigarette."

[¶28] 'Maria put her hand in her apron pocket. "You can't have it," she said.
"I've no money. This is all I had left out of your three francs
fifty—seven sous. It's no good; the cheapest cigarettes are twelve sous
a packet."

[¶29] '"Then I can have them!" I said. "Jesus Christ, what a piece of luck!
I've got five sous—it's just enough."

[¶30] 'Maria took the twelve sous and was starting out to the tobacconist's.
And then something I had forgotten all this time came into my head.
There was that cursed Sainte Éloïse! I had promised her a candle if she
sent me money; and really, who could say that the prayer hadn't come
true? "Three or four francs," I had said; and the next moment along came
three francs fifty. There was no getting away from it. I should have to
spend my twelve sous on a candle.

[¶31] 'I called Maria back. "It's no use," I said; "there is Sainte Éloïse—I
have promised her a candle. The twelve sous will have to go on that.
Silly, isn't it? I can't have my cigarettes after all."

[¶32] '"Sainte Éloïse?" said Maria. "What about Sainte Éloïse?"

[¶33] '"I prayed to her for money and promised her a candle," I said. "She
answered the prayer—at any rate, the money turned up. I shall have to
buy that candle. It's a nuisance, but it seems to me I must keep my
promise."

[¶34] '"But what put Sainte Éloïse into your head?" said Maria.

[¶35] "It was her picture," I said, and I explained the whole thing. "There
she is, you see," I said, and I pointed to the picture on the wall.

[¶36] 'Maria looked at the picture, and then to my surprise she burst into
shouts of laughter. She laughed more and more, stamping about the room
and holding her fat sides as though they would burst. I thought she had
gone mad. It was two minutes before she could speak.

[¶37] '"Idiot!" she cried at last. "_T'es louf! T'es louf!_ Do you mean to
tell me you really knelt down and prayed to that picture? Who told you
it was Sainte Éloïse?"

[¶38] '"But I made sure it was Sainte Éloïse!" I said.

[¶39] '"Imbecile! It isn't Sainte Éloïse at all. Who do you think it is?"

[¶40] '"Who?" I said.

[¶41] '"It is —, the woman this hotel is called after."

[¶42] 'I had been praying to —, the famous prostitute of the Empire . . .

[¶43] 'But, after all, I wasn't sorry. Maria and I had a good laugh, and then
we talked it over, and we made out that I didn't owe Sainte Éloïse
anything. Clearly it wasn't she who had answered the prayer, and there
was no need to buy her a candle. So I had my packet of cigarettes after
all.'