The Ladies' Paradise

“You don’t say anything?” repeated Baudu.

No, he said nothing, he could find nothing to say. The draper then slowly continued: “I was sure this would grieve you. You must muster up courage. Pull yourself together a bit, don’t let yourself be crushed in this way. Above all, understand my position. Can I hang such a weight on your neck? Instead of leaving you a good business, I should leave you a bankruptcy perhaps. No, it’s only a scoundrel who would play such a trick! No doubt, I desire nothing but your happiness, but no one shall ever make me, go against my conscience.”

And he went on for a long time in this way, swaying about in a maze of contradictions, like a man who would have liked to be understood at half a word and finds himself obliged to explain everything. As he had promised his daughter and the shop, strict probity forced him to deliver both in good condition, without defects or debts. But he was tired, the burden seemed to be too much for him, his stammering voice was one of supplication. He got more entangled than ever in his words, he was still expecting a sudden rally from Colomban, some heartfelt cry, which came not.

“I know,” murmured he, “that old men are wanting in ardour. With young ones, things light up. They are full of fire, it’s natural. But, no, no, I can’t, my word of honour! If I gave it up to you, you would blame me later on.”

He stopped, trembling, and as the young man still kept his head down, he asked him for the third time, after a painful silence: “You don’t say anything?” At last, but without looking at him, Colomban replied: “There’s nothing to say. You are the master, you know better than all of us. As you wish it we’ll wait, we’ll try and be reasonable.”

It was all over. Baudu still hoped he was going to throw himself into his arms, exclaiming: “Father, do you take a rest, we’ll fight in our turn; give us the shop as it is, so that we may work a miracle and save it! Then he looked at him, and was seized with shame, accusing himself of having wished to dupe his children. The deep-rooted maniacal honesty of the shopkeeper was awakened in him; it was this prudent fellow who was right, for in business there is no such thing as sentiment, it is only a question of figures.

“Give me your hand, my boy,” said he in conclusion. “It’s settled we won’t speak about the marriage for another year. One must think of the business before everything.” That evening in their room when Madame Baudu questioned her husband as to the result of the conversation, the result of the conversation, the latter had resumed his obstinate wish to fight in person to the bitter end. He gave Colomban high praise, calling him a solid fellow, firm in his ideas, brought up with the best principles, incapable, for instance, of joking with the customers like those puppies at The Paradise. No, he was honest, he belonged to the family, he didn’t speculate on the business as though he were a stock-jobber.

“Well, then, when’s the marriage to take place?” asked Madame Baudu.

“Later on,” replied he, “when I am able to keep to my promises.”

She made no gestures, she simply observed: “It will be our daughter’s death.”

Baudu restrained himself, stirred up with anger. He was the one whom it would kill, if they continually upset him like this! Was it his fault? He loved his daughter – would lay down his life for her; but he could not make the business prosper when it obstinately refused to do so. Geneviève ought to have a little more sense, and wait patiently for a better balance-sheet The deuce! Colomban was there, no one would run away with him!

“It’s incredible!” repeated he; “such a well-trained girl!”

Madame Baudu said no more. No doubt she had guessed Genevieve’s jealous agony; but she did not dare to inform her husband. A singular womanly modesty always prevented her approaching certain tender, delicate subjects with him. When he saw her so silent, he turned his anger against the people opposite, stretching his fists out in the air, towards the works, where they were setting up large iron girders, with a great noise of hammers.

Denise had decided to return to The Ladies’ Paradise, having understood that the Robineaus, though forced to cut down their staff, did not like to dismiss her. To maintain their position, now, they were obliged to do everything themselves. Gaujean, obstinate in his rancour, renewed their bills, even promised to find them funds; but they were frightened, they wanted to go in for economy and order. During a whole fortnight Denise had felt uneasy with them, and she had to speak first, saying she had found a situation elsewhere. This was a great relief. Madame Robineau embraced her, deeply affected, saying she should always miss her. Then when, in reply to a question, the young girl said she was going back to Mouret’s, Robineau turned pale.

“You are right!” he exclaimed violently.

It was not so easy to tell the news to old Bourras. However, Denise had to give him notice, and she trembled, for she was full of gratitude towards him. Bourras just at this time was in a continual fever of rage – full of invectives against the works going on next door. The builder’s carts blocked up his doorway; the picks tapped on his walls; everything in his place, the umbrellas and the sticks, danced about to the noise of the hammers. It seemed that the hovel, obstinately remaining amid all these demolitions, was going to give way. But the worst of all was that the architect, in order to connect the existing shops with those about to be opened in the Hôtel Duvillard, had conceived the idea of boring a passage under the little house that separated them. This house belonged to the firm of Mouret & Co., and the lease stipulating that the tenant should submit to all necessary repairs, the workmen appeared on the scene one morning. At this Bourras nearly went into a fit. Wasn’t it enough to strangle him on all sides, on the right, the left, and behind, without attacking him underfoot as well, taking the ground from under him! And he drove the masons away, and went to law. Repairs, yes! but this was rather a work of embellishment. The neighbourhood thought he would carry the day, without, however, being sure of anything The case, however, threatened to be a long one, and people became very excited over this interminable duel. The day Denise resolved to give him notice, Bourras had just returned from his lawyer.

“Would you believe it!” exclaimed he, “they now say the house is not solid; they pretend that the foundations must be strengthened. Confound it! they have shaken it up so with their infernal machines, that it isn’t astonishing if it gives way!”

Then, when the young girl announced she was going away, and that she was going back to The Ladies’ Paradise at a salary of a thousand francs, he was so amazed that he simply raised his trembling hands in the air. The emotion made him drop into a chair.

“You! you!” he stammered. “Ah, I’m the only one – I’m the only one left!” After a pause, he asked: “And the youngster?”

“He’ll go back to Madame Gras’s,” replied Denise.

“She was very fond of him! that can’t be refused. You’ll all go. Go, then, leave me here alone. Yes, alone – you understand! There shall be one who will never bow his head. And tell them I’ll win my lawsuit, if I have to sell my last shirt for it!”

Denise was not to leave Robineau’s till the end of the month. She had seen Mouret again; everything was settled. One evening as she was going up to her room, Deloche, who was watching for her in a doorway, stopped her. He was delighted, having just heard the good news; they were all talking about it in the shop, he said. And he told her the gossip of the counters.

“You know, the young ladies in the dress department are pulling long faces!” Then, interrupting himself, he added: “By the way, you remember Clara Primaire? Well, it appears the governor has – You understand?”

He had turned quite red. She, very pale, exclaimed: “Monsieur Mouret!”

“Funny taste – eh?” he resumed. “A woman who looks like a horse. The little girl from the under-linen department, whom he had twice last year, was, at least, good-looking. However, that’s his business.”

Denise, once upstairs, almost fainted away. It was surely through coming up too quick. Leaning out of the window she had a sudden vision of Valognes, the deserted street and grassy pavement, which she used to see from her room as a child; and she was seized with a desire to go and live there – to seek refuge in the peace and forgetfulness of the country. Paris irritated her, she hated The Ladies’ Paradise, she hardly knew why she had consented to go back. She would certainly suffer as much as ever there; she was already suffering from an unknown uneasiness since Deloche’s stories. Suddenly, without any notice, a flood of tears forced her to leave the window. She wept on for some time, and found a little courage to live on still. The next day at breakfast-time, as Robineau had sent her on an errand, and she was passing The Old Elbeuf, she pushed open the door on seeing Colomban alone in the shop. The Baudus were breakfasting; she could hear the clatter of the knives and forks in the little room.

“You can come in,” said the shopman. “They are at breakfast.”

But she motioned him to be silent, and drew him into a corner. Then, lowering her voice, she said: “It’s you I want to speak to. Have you no heart? Don’t you see that Geneviève loves you, and that it’s killing her.”

She was trembling, the previous night’s fever had taken possession of her again. He, frightened, surprised at this sudden attack, stood looking at her, without a word.

“Do you hear?” she continued. “Genevieve knows you love another. She told me so. She wept like a child. Ah, poor girl! she isn’t very strong now, I can tell you! If you had seen her thin arms! It’s heart-breaking. You can’t leave her to die like this!”

At last he spoke, quite overcome. “But she isn’t ill – you exaggerate! I don’t see anything myself. Besides, it’s her father who is postponing the marriage.”

Denise sharply corrected this falsehood, certain that the least persistence on the part of the young man would decide her uncle. As to Colomban’s surprise, it was not feigned; he had really never noticed Genevieve’s slow agony. For him it was a very disagreeable revelation; for while he remained ignorant of it, he had no great blame to tax himself with.

“And who for?” resumed Denise. “For a worthless girl! You can’t know who you are loving! Up to the present I have not wanted to hurt your feelings, I have often avoided answering your continual questions. Well! she goes with everybody, she laughs at you, you will never have her, or you may have her, like others, just once in a way.”

He listened to her, very pale; and at each of the sentences she threw into his face, his lips trembled. She, in a cruel fit, yielded to a transport of anger of which she had no consciousness. “In short,” said she in a final cry, “she’s with Monsieur Mouret, if you want to know!”

Her voice was stifled, she turned paler than Colomban himself. Both stood looking at each other. Then he stammered out: “I love her!”

Denise felt ashamed of herself. Why was she talking in this way to this young fellow? Why was she getting so excited? She stood there mute, the simple reply he had just given resounded in her heart like the clang of a bell, which deafened her. “I love her, I love her!” and it seemed to spread. He was right, he could not marry another woman. And as she turned round, she observed Genevieve on the threshold of the dining-room.

“Be quiet!” she said rapidly.

But it was too late, Genevieve must have heard, for her face was white bloodless. Just at that moment a customer opened the door – Madame Bourdelais, one of the last faithful customers of the Old Elbeuf where she found solid goods for her money; for a long time past Madame de Boves had followed the fashion, and gone over to The Ladies’ Paradise; Madame Marty herself no longer came, entirely captivated by the seductions of the display opposite. And Genevieve was forced to go forward, and say in her weak voice:

“What do you desire, madame?”

Madame Bourdelais wished to sec some flannel. Colomban took down a roll from a shelf. Genevieve showed the article; and both of them, their hands cold, found themselves brought together behind the counter. Meanwhile Baudu came out of the dining-room last, behind his wife, who had gone and seated herself at the pay-desk. At first he did not meddle with the sale, but stood up, looking at Madame Bourdelais.

“It is not good enough,” said the latter. “Show me the strongest you have.”

Colomban took down another bundle. There was a silence. Madame Bourdelais examined the stuff.

“How much?”

“Six francs, madame,” replied Genevieve. The lady made an abrupt movement. “Six francs!” said she. “But they have the same opposite at five francs.”

A slight contraction passed over Baudu’s face. He could not help interfering politely. No doubt madame made a mistake, the stuff ought to have been sold at six francs and a half; it was impossible to give it at five francs. It must be another quality she was referring to.

“No, no,” she repeated, with the obstinacy of a lady who could not be deceived. “The quality is the same. It may even be a little thicker.”

And the discussion got very warm. Baudu, his face getting bilious, made an effort to continue smiling. His bitterness against The Ladies’ Paradise was bursting in his throat.

“Really,” said Madame Bourdelais at last, “you must treat me better, otherwise I shall go opposite, like the others.”

He then lost his head, and cried out, shaking with a passion he could not repress: “Well! go opposite!”

At this she got up, greatly annoyed, and went away without turning round, saying: “That’s what I am going to do, sir.”

A general stupor ensued. The governor’s violence had frightened all of them. He was himself scared, and trembled at what he had just said. The phrase had escaped against his will in the explosion of a long pent-up rancour. And the Baudus now stood there motionless, following Madame Bourdelais with their looks, watching her cross the street. She seemed to be carrying off their fortune. When she slowly passed under the high door of The Ladies’ Paradise, when they saw her disappear in the crowd, they felt a sort of sudden wrench.

“There’s another they’ve taken from us!” murmured the draper. Then turning towards Denise, of whose re-engagement he was aware, he said: “You as well, they’ve taken you back. Oh, I don’t blame you for it. As they have the money, they are naturally the strongest.”

Just then, Denise, still hoping that Geneviève had not overheard Colomban, was saying to her: “He loves you. Try and cheer up.”

But the young girl replied to her in a very low and heartbroken voice: “Why do you tell me a falsehood? Look! he can’t help it, he’s always glancing up there. I know very well they’ve stolen him from me, as they’ve robbed us of everything else.”

Geneviève went and sat down on the seat at the desk near her mother. The latter had doubtless guessed the fresh blow received by her daughter, for her anxious eyes wandered from her to Colomban, and then to The Ladies’ Paradise. It was true, they had stolen everything from them: from the father, a fortune; from the mother, her dying child; from the daughter, a husband, waited for for ten years. Before this condemned family, Denise, whose heart was overflowing with pity, felt for an instant afraid of being wicked. Was she not going to assist this machine which was crushing the poor people? But she felt herself carried away as it were by an invisible force, and knew that she was doing no wrong.

“Bah!” resumed Baudu, to give himself courage; “we sha’n’t die over it, after all. For one customer lost we shall find two others. You hear, Denise, I’ve got over seventy thousand francs there, which will certainly trouble your Mouret’s rest. Come, come, you others, don’t look so glum!”

But he could not enliven them. He himself relapsed into a pale consternation; and they all stood with their eyes on the monster, attracted, possessed, full of their misfortune. The work was nearly finished, the scaffolding had been removed from the front, a whole side of the colossal edifice appeared, with its walls and large light windows.

Along the pavement at last open to circulation, stood eight vans that the messengers were loading one after the other.

In the sunshine, a ray of which ran along the street, the green panels, picked out with red and yellow, sparkled like so many mirrors, sending blinding reflections right into The Old Elbeuf. The drivers, dressed in black, of a correct appearance, were holding the horses well in, superb pairs, shaking their silvered bits. And each time a van was loaded, there was a sonorous, rolling noise, which made the neighbouring small shops tremble. And before this triumphal procession, which they were destined to submit to twice a day, the Baudus’ hearts broke. The father half fainted away, asking himself where this continual flood of goods could go to; whilst the mother, tormented to death about her daughter, continued to gaze into the street, her eyes drowned in a flood of tears.

CHAPTER IX

It was on a Monday, the 14th of March, that The Ladies’ Paradise inaugurated its new buildings by a great exhibition of summer novelties, which was to last three days. Outside, a sharp wind was blowing, the passers-by, surprised by this return of winter, spun along, buttoned up in their overcoats. However, behind the closed doors of the neighbouring shops, quite an agitation was fermenting; and one could see, against the windows, the pale faces of the small tradesmen, occupied in counting the first carriages which stopped before the new grand entrance in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin. This door, lofty and deep like a church porch, surmounted by a group – Industry and Commerce hand-in-hand amidst a complication of symbols – was sheltered by a vast awning, the fresh gilding of which seemed to light up the pavement with a ray of sunshine. To the right and left stretched the shop fronts, barely dry and of a blinding whiteness, running along the Rue Monsigny and the Rue de la Michodière, occupying the whole island, except on the Rue du Dix-Décembre side, where the Crédit Immobilier intended to build. Along this barrack-like development, the small tradesmen, when they raised their heads, perceived the piles of goods through the large plate-glass windows which, from the ground floor up to the second storey, opened the house to the light of day. And this enormous cube, this colossal bazaar, shut out the sky from them, seeming to cause the cold which was making them shiver behind their frozen counters.

As early as six o’clock, Mouret was on the spot, giving his final orders. In the centre, starting from the grand entrance, a large gallery ran from end to end, flanked right and left by two narrower galleries, the Monsigny Gallery and the Michodière Gallery. The court-yards had been glazed and turned into halls, iron staircases rose from the ground floor, iron bridges were thrown from one end to the other on the two storeys. The architect, who happened to be a young man of talent with modern ideas, had only used stone for the under-ground floor and the corner pillars, constructing the whole ground with the corner pillars, constructing the whole carcase of iron, the assemblage of beams and rafters being supported by columns. The arches of the flooring and the partitions were of brickwork. Space had been gained everywhere, light and air entered freely, and the public circulated with the greatest ease under the bold flights of the far-stretching girders. It was the cathedral of modern commerce, light but solid, made for a nation of customers. Below, in the central gallery, after the door bargains, came the cravat, the glove, and the silk departments; the Monsigny Gallery was occupied by the linen and the Rouen goods; the Michodière Gallery by the mercery, the hosiery, the drapery, and the woollen departments. Then, on the first floor were installed the ready-made, the under-linen, the shawl, the lace, and other new departments, whilst the bedding, the carpets, the furnishing materials, all the cumbersome articles difficult to handle, had been relegated to the second floor. The number of departments was now thirty-nine, with eighteen hundred employees, of whom two hundred were women. Quite a little world operated there, in the sonorous life of the high metallic naves.

Mouret’s unique passion was to conquer woman. He wished her to be queen in his house, and he had built this temple to get her completely at his mercy. His sole aim was to intoxicate her with gallant attentions, and traffic on her desires, work on her fever. Night and day he racked his brain to invent fresh attractions. He had already introduced two lifts lined with velvet for the upper storeys, in order to spare delicate ladies the trouble of mounting the stairs. Then he had just opened a bar where the customers could find, gratis, some light refreshment, syrups and biscuits, and a reading-room, a monumental gallery, decorated with excessive luxury, in which he had even ventured on an exhibition of pictures. But his most profound idea was to conquer the mother through the child, when unable to do so through her coquetry; he neglected no means, speculated on every sentiment, created departments for little boys and girls, arresting the passing mothers by distributing pictures and air-balls to the children. A stroke of genius this idea of distributing to each buyer a red air-ball made of fine gutta-percha, bearing in large letters the name of the shop, and which, held by a string, floated in the air, parading in the streets a living advertisement.

But the greatest power of all was the advertising. Mouret spent three hundred thousand francs a year in catalogues, advertisements, and bills. For his summer sale he had launched forth two hundred thousand catalogues, of which fifty thousand went abroad, translated into every language. He now had them illustrated with engravings, even accompanying them with samples, gummed between the leaves. It was an overflowing display; The Ladies’ Paradise became a household word all over the world, invading the walls, the newspapers, and even the curtains at the theatres. He declared that woman was powerless against advertising, that she was bound to follow the crowd. Not only that, he laid still more seductive traps for her, analysing her like a great moralist. Thus he had discovered that she could not resist a bargain, that she bought without necessity when she thought she saw a cheap line, and on this observation he based his system of reductions in price, progressively lowering the price of unsold articles, preferring to sell them at a loss, faithful to his principle of the continual renewal of the goods. He had penetrated still further into the heart of woman, and had just thought of the “returns,” a masterpiece of Jesuitical seduction. “Take whatever you like, madame; you can return the article if you don’t like it.” And the woman who hesitated was provided with the last excuse, the possibility of repairing an extravagant folly, she took the article with an easy conscience. The returns and the reduction of prices now formed part of the classical working of the new style of business.

But where Mouret revealed himself as an unrivalled master was in the interior arrangement of the shops. He laid down as a law that not a corner of The Ladies’ Paradise ought to remain deserted, requiring everywhere a noise, a crowd, evidence of life; for life, said he, attracts life, increases and multiplies. From this law he drew all sorts of applications. In the first place, there ought always to be a crush at the entrance, so that the people in the street should mistake it for a riot; and he obtained this crush by placing a lot of bargains at the doors, shelves and baskets overflowing with very low-priced articles; so that the common people crowded there, stopping up the doorway, making the shop look as if it were crammed with customers, when it was often only half full. Then, in the galleries, he had the art of concealing the departments in which business was slack; for instance, the shawl department in summer, and the printed calico department in winter, he surrounded them with busy departments, drowning them with a continual uproar. It was he alone who had been inspired with the idea of placing on the second-floor the carpet and furniture counters, counters where the customers were less frequent, and which if placed on the ground floor would have caused empty, cold spaces. If he could have managed it, he would have had the street running through his shop.