Page 99 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

starving, and there was nothing I could do; I couldn’t even
go to the cafes 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 watch-
ing the bugs running about the ceiling. I don’t want to go
through that again, I can tell you.
‘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 Eloise, who was the PA-
TRON saint of the quarter. I had never taken any notice of
the thing before, but now, as I lay staring at it, a most ex-
traordinary idea came into my head.
‘’ECOUTE, 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 Eloise? Go
down on your knees and ask her to send you some money.
After all, it can’t do any harm. Try it!’
‘Mad, eh? Still, a man will do anything when he’s hun-
gry. Besides, as I said, it couldn’t do any harm. I got out of
bed and began praying. I said:
‘’Dear Sainte Eloise, 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
Eloise, 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 bum a can-
dle for you, at your church down the street. Amen.’

Down and Out in Paris and London