Hotel Splendide by Ludwig Bemelmans

Author:Ludwig Bemelmans [Bemelmans, Ludwig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Classics, Humour
ISBN: 9781782277910
Google: 9ORjEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B09SKZ2BSJ
Barnesnoble: B09SKZ2BSJ
Goodreads: 61760061
Publisher: Pushkin Press
Published: 1941-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

‘I don’t know what to choose,’ said the Professor.

Fritzl announced to the Professor and me that we were his guests. He put the big menus away and called the proprietor and explained to him that we wanted a good dinner. We wanted some caviar, some Truites au bleu, and a Poularde rôtie, with some compote.

‘Ah, yes, but certainly,’ said the proprietor, ‘but the price, mein Herr?’

‘The price,’ Fritzl explained to him, ‘usually appears on the bill at the end of the meal.’

‘After the Poularde,’ Fritzl continued, ‘we want some asparagus with Hollandaise.’

Now the proprietor clasped his hands together hard, and let them remain in the position of prayer. Asparagus, he said, a thousand apologies, asparagus he had not, he could not afford to keep it.

Fritzl complained about the kind of restaurant he was running. The man looked stupid, hopeless, and embarrassed, and I told him he could send someone to Dallmeyer’s, Munich’s de luxe delicatessen store which is located close to the Feldherrnhalle, and ask for the best they had; large, fat, white Belgian asparagus – enough for three people.

The proprietor almost kicked the Piccolo through the door, to hurry him to Dallmeyer’s shop. In the meantime we ate the caviar, very small portions of it.

Professor Hellsang sat between us, silent and uncomfortable. He looked into the wine-glasses as they were filled, and then he moistened the tip of a finger and with it picked up breadcrumbs that lay about his butter-plate. He wolfed his food down and nibbled clean every bone of the Poularde, holding a leg in his hands. When the asparagus came, we each had six stalks, nice and white and large, with excellent Hollandaise of just the right consistency. The Herr Professor ate one, then one more, and after a while a third.

Suddenly he paused and looked around. Fritzl looked at me. Now, I thought, the time is ripe. Fritzl leaned across the table and said, ‘Herr Professor –’ He repeated, ‘Oh – Herr Professor,’ and reached to touch him. But Professor Hellsang did not hear him.

The Herr Professor tried to catch the eye of a waiter; then he asked to be excused. He walked to the kitchen entrance, and as he took two steps up to the service door, I saw that the Herr Professor had holes in his socks, and a disorderly pair of trousers with frayed cuffs. Fritzl looked after him and said to me, ‘My God, this cannot be – look at Professor Hellsang, a German professor, with holes in his socks and torn trousers.’

The Professor had disappeared into the kitchen. Presently he returned with a piece of wrapping paper. He sat down at the table, and his eyes were on his three remaining asparagus stalks. He took them one after another, and carefully wrapped them up in the paper he had brought. Then he tucked them away inside his coat.

At last he said, talking down to the table, without raising his eyes, in a toneless voice and with much clearing of his throat, ‘This asparagus is for my wife.

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