can he stop and say to
himself, ‘This toast is to be eaten—I must make it eatable’?
All he knows is that it must look right and must be ready
in three minutes. Some large drops of sweat fall from his
forehead on to the toast. Why should he worry? Presently
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the toast falls among the filthy sawdust on the floor. Why
trouble to make a new piece? It is much quicker to wipe the
sawdust off. On the way upstairs the toast falls again, butter
side down. Another wipe is all it needs. And so with every-
thing. The only food at the Hotel X which was ever prepared
cleanly was the staff’s, and the PATRON’S. The maxim, re-
peated by everyone, was: ‘Look out for the PATRON, and
as for the clients, S’EN F—PAS MAL!’ Everywhere in the
service quarters dirt festered—a secret vein of dirt, running
through the great garish hotel like the intestines through a
man’s body.
Apart from the dirt, the PATRON swindled the custom-
ers wholeheartedly. For the most part the materials of the
food were very bad, though the cooks knew how to serve it
up in style. The meat was at best ordinary, and as to the veg-
etables, no good housekeeper would have looked at them
in the market. The cream, by a standing order, was diluted
with milk. The tea and coffee were of inferior sorts, and the
jam was synthetic stuff out of vast, unlabelled tins. All the
cheaper wines, according to Boris, were corked VIN OR-
DINAIRE. There was a rule that employees must pay for
anything they spoiled, and in consequence damaged things
were seldom thrown away. Once the waiter on the third
floor dropped a roast chicken down the shaft of our service
lift, where it fell into a litter of broken bread, torn paper and
so forth at the bottom. We simply wiped it with a cloth and
sent it up again. Upstairs there were dirty tales of once-used
sheets not being washed, but simply damped, ironed and
put back on the beds. The PATRON was as mean to us as
Down and Out in Paris and London
to the customers. Throughout the vast hotel there was not,
for instance, such a thing as a brush and pan; one had to
manage with a broom and a piece of cardboard. And the
staff lavatory was worthy of Central Asia, and there was no
place to wash one’s hands, except the sinks used for wash-
ing crockery.
In spite of all this the Hotel X was one of the dozen most
expensive hotels in Paris, and the customers paid startling
prices. The ordinary charge for a night’s lodging, not in-
cluding breakfast, was two hundred francs. All wine and
tobacco were sold at exactly double shop prices, though of
course the PATRON bought at the wholesale price. If a cus-
tomer had a title, or was reputed to be a millionaire, all his
charges went up automatically. One morning on the fourth
floor an American who was on diet wanted only salt and hot
water for his breakfast. Valenti was furious. ‘Jesus Christ!’
he said, ‘what about my ten per cent? Ten per cent of salt and
water!’ And he charged twenty-five francs for the breakfast.
The customer paid without a murmur.
According to Boris, the same kind of thing went on in
all Paris hotels, or at least in all the big, expensive ones.
But I imagine that the customers at the Hotel X were es-
pecially easy to swindle, for they were mostly Americans,
with a sprinkling of English—no French—and seemed to
know nothing whatever about good food. They would stuff
themselves with disgusting American ‘cereals’, and eat mar-
malade at tea, and drink vermouth after dinner, and order a
POULET A LA REINE at a hundred francs and then souse
it in Worcester sauce. One customer, from Pittsburg, dined
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every night in his bedroom on grape-nuts, scrambled eggs
and cocoa. Perhaps it hardly matters whether such o people
are swindled or not.
Down and Out in Paris and London
XV
I heard queer tales in the hotel. There were tales of dope
fiends, of
himself, ‘This toast is to be eaten—I must make it eatable’?
All he knows is that it must look right and must be ready
in three minutes. Some large drops of sweat fall from his
forehead on to the toast. Why should he worry? Presently
Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
the toast falls among the filthy sawdust on the floor. Why
trouble to make a new piece? It is much quicker to wipe the
sawdust off. On the way upstairs the toast falls again, butter
side down. Another wipe is all it needs. And so with every-
thing. The only food at the Hotel X which was ever prepared
cleanly was the staff’s, and the PATRON’S. The maxim, re-
peated by everyone, was: ‘Look out for the PATRON, and
as for the clients, S’EN F—PAS MAL!’ Everywhere in the
service quarters dirt festered—a secret vein of dirt, running
through the great garish hotel like the intestines through a
man’s body.
Apart from the dirt, the PATRON swindled the custom-
ers wholeheartedly. For the most part the materials of the
food were very bad, though the cooks knew how to serve it
up in style. The meat was at best ordinary, and as to the veg-
etables, no good housekeeper would have looked at them
in the market. The cream, by a standing order, was diluted
with milk. The tea and coffee were of inferior sorts, and the
jam was synthetic stuff out of vast, unlabelled tins. All the
cheaper wines, according to Boris, were corked VIN OR-
DINAIRE. There was a rule that employees must pay for
anything they spoiled, and in consequence damaged things
were seldom thrown away. Once the waiter on the third
floor dropped a roast chicken down the shaft of our service
lift, where it fell into a litter of broken bread, torn paper and
so forth at the bottom. We simply wiped it with a cloth and
sent it up again. Upstairs there were dirty tales of once-used
sheets not being washed, but simply damped, ironed and
put back on the beds. The PATRON was as mean to us as
Down and Out in Paris and London
to the customers. Throughout the vast hotel there was not,
for instance, such a thing as a brush and pan; one had to
manage with a broom and a piece of cardboard. And the
staff lavatory was worthy of Central Asia, and there was no
place to wash one’s hands, except the sinks used for wash-
ing crockery.
In spite of all this the Hotel X was one of the dozen most
expensive hotels in Paris, and the customers paid startling
prices. The ordinary charge for a night’s lodging, not in-
cluding breakfast, was two hundred francs. All wine and
tobacco were sold at exactly double shop prices, though of
course the PATRON bought at the wholesale price. If a cus-
tomer had a title, or was reputed to be a millionaire, all his
charges went up automatically. One morning on the fourth
floor an American who was on diet wanted only salt and hot
water for his breakfast. Valenti was furious. ‘Jesus Christ!’
he said, ‘what about my ten per cent? Ten per cent of salt and
water!’ And he charged twenty-five francs for the breakfast.
The customer paid without a murmur.
According to Boris, the same kind of thing went on in
all Paris hotels, or at least in all the big, expensive ones.
But I imagine that the customers at the Hotel X were es-
pecially easy to swindle, for they were mostly Americans,
with a sprinkling of English—no French—and seemed to
know nothing whatever about good food. They would stuff
themselves with disgusting American ‘cereals’, and eat mar-
malade at tea, and drink vermouth after dinner, and order a
POULET A LA REINE at a hundred francs and then souse
it in Worcester sauce. One customer, from Pittsburg, dined
Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
every night in his bedroom on grape-nuts, scrambled eggs
and cocoa. Perhaps it hardly matters whether such o people
are swindled or not.
Down and Out in Paris and London
XV
I heard queer tales in the hotel. There were tales of dope
fiends, of
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