The Ladies' Paradise

"What! Is that you?"

"Yes, it's I, rather knocked about though."

"What a crowd – eh? One can't get about. And the oriental saloon?"

"Ravishing!"

"Good heavens! what a success! Stay a moment, we will go upstairs together."

"No, thanks, I've just come down."

Hutin was waiting, concealing his impatience beneath a smile that did not quit his lips. Were they going to keep him there long? Really the women took things very coolly, it was like stealing money out of his pocket. At last, however, Madame Guibal went off to resume her stroll, turning round the large display of silks with an enraptured air.

"Well, if I were you I should buy the mantle ready-made," said Madame Desforges, suddenly returning to the Paris Delight. "It won't cost you so much."

"It's true that the trimmings and making-up – " murmured Madame Marty. "Besides, one has more choice."

All three had risen; Madame Desforges, turning to Hutin, said to him: "Have the goodness to show us to the mantle department."

He remained dumbfounded, unaccustomed as he was to such defeats. What! the dark lady bought nothing! Had he made a mistake then? Abandoning Madame Marty he thereupon attacked Madame Desforges, exerting all his ability as a salesman on her. "And you, madame, would you not like to see our satins, our velvets? We have some extraordinary bargains."

"Thanks, another time," she coolly replied, looking at him no more than she had looked at Mignot.

Hutin had to take up Madame Marty's purchases and walk off before the ladies to show them to the mantle department. But he also had the grief of seeing that Robineau was selling Madame Boutarel a large quantity of silk. Decidedly his scent was playing him false, he wouldn't make four sous! Beneath the amiable propriety of his manners his heart swelled with the rage of a man robbed and devoured by others.

"On the first floor, ladies," said he, without ceasing to smile.

It was no easy matter to reach the staircase. A compact crowd of heads was surging under the galleries and expanding like an overflowing river in the middle of the hall. Quite a battle of business was going on, the salesmen had this population of women at their mercy, and passed them on from one to another with feverish haste. The moment of the formidable afternoon rush, when the over-heated machine led its customers such a feverish dance, extracting money from their very flesh, had at last arrived. In the silk department especially a gust of folly seemed to reign, the Paris Delight had brought such a crowd together that for several minutes Hutin could not advance a step; and Henriette, half-suffocated, having raised her eyes to the summit of the stairs there beheld Mouret, who ever returned thither as to a favourite position, from which he could view victory. She smiled, hoping that he would come down and extricate her. But he did not even recognise her in the crowd; he was still with Vallagnosc, showing him the establishment, his face beaming with triumph the while.

The trepidation within was now stifling all outside noise; you no longer heard the rumbling of the vehicles, nor the banging of their doors; apart from the loud buzzing of the sales nought remained but a consciousness that the immensity of Paris stretched all around, an immensity which would always furnish buyers. In the heavy still air, in which the fumes of the heating apparatus heightened the odours of the stuffs, there was an increasing hubbub compounded of all sorts of noises, of continual tramping, of phrases a hundred times repeated around the counters, of gold jingling on the brass tablets of the pay-desks, which a legion of purses besieged, and of baskets on wheels laden with parcels which were constantly disappearing into the gaping cellars. And, amidst the fine dust, everything finished by getting mixed, it became impossible to recognise the divisions of the different departments; the haberdashery department over yonder seemed submerged; further on, in the linen department, a ray of sunshine, entering by a window facing the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, looked like a golden dart in a mass of snow; while, among the gloves and woollens, a dense mass of bonnets and chignons hid the background of the shop from view. Even the toilettes could no longer be distinctly seen, the head-gear alone appeared, decked with feathers and ribbons, while a few men's hats here and there showed like black spots, and the woman's complexions, pale with fatigue and heat, assumed the transparency of camelias. At last, Hutin – thanks to his vigorous elbows – was able to open a way for the ladies, by keeping in front of them. But on reaching the landing, Henriette no longer found Mouret there, for he had just plunged Vallagnosc into the midst of the crowd in order to complete his bewilderment, he himself, too, feeling the need of a dip into this bath of success. He lost his breath with rapture, feeling the while a kind of continuous caress from all his customers.

"To the left, ladies," said Hutin, still attentive despite his increasing exasperation.

Up above, however, there was the same block. People invaded even the furnishing department, usually the quietest of all. The shawl, the fur, and the under-clothing departments literally swarmed with customers; and as the ladies crossed the lace gallery another meeting took place. Madame de Boves was there with her daughter Blanche, both buried amidst the articles which Deloche was showing them. And again Hutin had to make a halt, parcel in hand.

"Good afternoon! I was just thinking of you."

"I've been looking for you myself. But how can you expect to find any one in this crowd?"

"It's magnificent, isn't it?"

"Dazzling, my dear. We can hardly stand."

"And you're buying?"

"Oh! no, we're only looking round. It rests us a little to be seated."

As a fact, Madame de Boves, with scarcely more than her cab-fare in her purse, was having all sorts of laces handed down, simply for the pleasure of seeing and handling them. She had guessed Deloche to be a new salesman, slow and awkward, who dared not resist a customer's whims; and she had taken advantage of his bewildered good-nature, to keep him there for half an hour, still asking for fresh articles. The counter was covered, and she plunged her hands into an increasing mountain of lace, Malines, Valenciennes, and Chantilly, her fingers trembling with desire, her face gradually warming with a sensual delight; whilst Blanche, close to her, agitated by the same passion, was very pale, her flesh inflated and flabby. However, the conversation continued; and Hutin, standing there waiting their good pleasure, could have slapped their faces for all the time they were making him lose.

"Ah!" said Madame Marty, "you're looking at some cravats and handkerchiefs like those I showed you the other day."

This was true; Madame de Boves, tormented by Madame Marty's lace ever since the previous Saturday, had been unable to resist the desire to at least handle some like it, since the meagre allowance which her husband made her did not permit her to carry any away. She blushed slightly, explaining that Blanche had wished to see the Spanish-blonde cravats. Then she added: "You're going to the mantles. Well! we'll see you again. Shall we say in the oriental saloon?"

"That's it, in the oriental saloon – Superb, isn't it?"

Then they separated enraptured, amidst the obstruction which the sale of insertions and small trimmings at low prices was causing. Deloche, glad to be occupied, again began emptying the boxes before the mother and daughter. And amidst the groups pressing close to the counters, inspector Jouve slowly walked about with his military air, displaying his decoration and watching over all the fine and precious goods, so easy to conceal up a sleeve. When he passed behind Madame de Boves, surprised to see her with her arms plunged in such a heap of lace he cast a quick glance at her feverish hands.

"To the right, ladies," said Hutin, resuming his march.

He was beside himself with rage. Was it not enough that he had missed a sale down below? Now they kept on delaying him at each turn of the shop! And with his annoyance was blended no little of the rancour that existed between the textile and the ready-made departments, which were in continual hostility, ever fighting for customers and stealing each other's percentages and commissions. Those of the silk hall were yet more enraged than those of the woollen department whenever a lady decided to take a mantle after looking at numerous taffetas and failles and they were obliged to conduct her to Madame Aurélie's gallery.

"Mademoiselle Vadon!" said Hutin, in an angry voice, when he at last arrived in the department.

But Mademoiselle Vadon passed by without listening, absorbed in a sale which she was conducting. The room was full, a stream of people were crossing it, entering by the door of the lace department and leaving by that of the under-clothing department, whilst on the right were customers trying on garments, and posing before the mirrors. The red carpet stifled all noise of footsteps here, and the distant roar from the ground-floor died away, giving place to a discreet murmur and a drawing-room warmth, increased by the presence of so many women.

"Mademoiselle Prunaire!" cried out Hutin. And as she also took no notice of him, he added between his teeth, so as not to be heard: "A set of jades!"

He was certainly not fond of them, tired to death as he was by climbing the stairs to bring them customers and furious at the profits which he accused them of taking out of his pocket. It was a secret warfare, into which the young ladies themselves entered with equal fierceness; and in their mutual weariness, always on foot and worked to death, all difference of sex disappeared and nothing remained but their contending interests, irritated by the fever of business.

"So there's no one here to serve?" asked Hutin.

But he suddenly caught sight of Denise. She had been kept folding all the morning, only allowed to serve a few doubtful customers, to whom moreover she had not sold anything. When Hutin recognised her, occupied in clearing an enormous heap of garments off the counters, he ran up to her.

"Look here, mademoiselle! serve these ladies who are waiting."

Thereupon he quickly slipped Madame Marty's purchases into her arms, tired as he was of carrying them about. His smile returned to him but it was instinct with the secret maliciousness of the experienced salesman, who shrewdly guessed into what an awkward position he had just thrown both the ladies and the young girl. The latter, however, remained quite perturbed by the prospect of this unhoped-for sale which suddenly presented itself. For the second time Hutin appeared to her as an unknown friend, fraternal and tender-hearted, always ready to spring out of the darkness to save her. Her eyes glistened with gratitude; she followed him with a lingering look, whilst he began elbowing his way as fast as possible towards his department.

"I want a mantle," said Madame Marty.

Then Denise questioned her. What style of mantle? But the lady had no idea, she wished to see what the house had got. And the young girl, already very tired, bewildered by the crowd, quite lost her head; she had never served any but the rare customers who came to Cornaille's, at Valognes; she did not even know the number of the models, nor their places in the cupboards. And so she was hardly able to reply to the ladies, who were beginning to lose patience, when Madame Aurélie perceived Madame Desforges, of whose connection with Mouret she was no doubt aware, for she hastened up and asked with a smile:

"Are these ladies being served?"

"Yes, that young person over there is attending to us," replied Henriette. "But she does not appear to be very well up to her work; she can't find anything."

At this, the first-hand completely paralyzed Denise by stepping up to her and saying in a whisper: "You see very well you know nothing. Don't interfere any more, please." Then turning round she called out: "Mademoiselle Vadon, these ladies require a mantle!"

She remained looking on whilst Marguerite showed the models. This girl assumed a dry polite voice with customers, the disagreeable manner of a young person robed in silk, accustomed to rub against elegance in every form, and full, unknown to herself, of jealousy and rancour. When she heard Madame Marty say that she did not wish to pay more than two hundred francs, she made a grimace of pity. Oh! madame would certainly give more, for it would be impossible to find anything at all suitable for two hundred francs. Then she threw some of the common mantles on a counter with a gesture which signified: "Just see, aren't they pitiful?" Madame Marty dared not think them nice after that; but bent over to murmur in Madame Desforges's ear: "Don't you prefer to be served by men? One feels more comfortable?"

At last Marguerite brought a silk mantle trimmed with jet, which she treated with respect. And thereupon Madame Aurélie abruptly called Denise.

"Come, do something at all events. Just put that on your shoulders."

Denise, wounded to the heart, despairing of ever succeeding, had remained motionless, her hands dangling by her side. No doubt she would be sent away, and the children would be without food. All the tumult of the crowd buzzed in her head, her legs were tottering and her arms bruised by the handling of so many garments, a porter's work which she had never done before. However, she was obliged to obey and allow Marguerite to put the mantle on her, as on a dummy.

"Stand upright," said Madame Aurélie.

But a moment afterwards Denise was forgotten. Mouret had just come in with Vallagnosc and Bourdoncle; and he bowed to the ladies, who complimented him on his magnificent exhibition of winter novelties. Of course they went into raptures over the oriental saloon. Vallagnosc, who was finishing his walk through the departments, displayed more surprise than admiration; for, after all, thought he, with his pessimist nonchalance, it was nothing more than an immense collection of drapery. Bourdoncle, however, forgetting that he himself belonged to the establishment, likewise congratulated the governor in order to make him forget his anxious doubts and persecutions of the earlier part of the day.

"Yes, yes; things are going on very well, I'm quite satisfied," repeated Mouret, radiant, replying with a smile to Madame Desforges's loving looks. "But I must not interrupt you, ladies."

Then all eyes were again turned on Denise. She placed herself entirely in the hands of Marguerite, who was making her turn round.

"What do you think of it – eh?" asked Madame Marty of Madame Desforges.

The latter gave her opinion, like a supreme umpire of fashion. "It isn't bad, the cut is original, but it doesn't seem to me very graceful about the waist."

"Oh!" interrupted Madame Aurélie, "it must be seen on the lady herself. You can understand, it does not have much effect on this young person, who is so slim. Hold up your head, mademoiselle, give the mantle all its importance."

They smiled. Denise had turned very pale. She felt ashamed at being thus turned into a machine, which they examined and joked about so freely.

Madame Desforges, yielding to the natural antipathy of a contrary nature, annoyed by the girl's gentle face, maliciously added: "No doubt it would set better if the young person's gown were not so loose-fitting."

Thereupon she cast at Mouret the mocking glance of a Parisienne amused by the ridiculous rig of a country girl. He felt the amorous caress of this glance, the triumph of a woman proud of her beauty and her art. And so out of pure gratitude, the gratitude of a man who knew himself to be adored, he felt obliged to joke in his turn, despite his good-will towards Denise of whose secret charm he was conscious.

"Besides, her hair should be combed," he murmured.

This was the last straw. The director deigned to laugh so all the young ladies ventured to do the same. Marguerite risked a slight chuckle, like a well-behaved girl who restrains herself; but Clara left a customer so as to enjoy the fun at her ease; and even some saleswomen of the under-clothing department came in, attracted by the talking. As for the lady customers they took it more quietly, with an air of well-bred enjoyment. Madame Aurélie was the only one who did not smile; it was as if Denise's splendid wild-looking hair and slender virginal shoulders had dishonoured her, compromised the good reputation of her department. Denise herself had turned paler still, amidst all these people who were laughing at her. She felt herself violated, exposed to all their hostile glances, without defence. What had she done that they should thus attack her spare figure, and her too luxuriant hair? But she was especially wounded by Madame Desforges's and Mouret's laughter, instinctively divining their connection and her heart sinking with an unknown grief. That lady was surely very ill-natured to attack a poor girl who had said nothing; and as for Mouret, he most decidedly filled her with a freezing fear, in which all her other sentiments disappeared. And, totally abandoned, assailed in her most cherished feelings of modesty, indignant at such injustice, she was obliged to stifle the sobs which were rising in her throat.

"I should think so; let her comb her hair to-morrow," said the terrible Bourdoncle to Madame Aurélie. Full of scorn for Denise's small limbs he had condemned her the first time he had seen her.

At last the first-hand came and took the mantle off Denise's shoulders, saying to her in a low tone: "Well! mademoiselle, here's a fine start. Really, if this is the way you show your capabilities – It is impossible to be more stupid!"

Fearing that her tears might gush from her eyes Denise hastened back to the heap of garments, which she began sorting on the counter. There at least she was lost in the crowd. Fatigue prevented her from thinking. But all at once near by she perceived the saleswoman of the under-clothing department, who had already defended her that morning. The latter had followed the scene, and murmured in her ear:

"My poor child, you mustn't be so sensitive. Keep that to yourself, or they'll go on worse and worse. I come from Chartres. Yes, Pauline Cugnot is my name; and my parents are millers. Well! the girls here would have devoured me during the first few days if I had not stood up firm. Come, be brave! give me your hand, we'll have a talk together whenever you like."

This outstretched hand redoubled Denise's confusion; she shook it furtively and hastened to take up a load of cloaks, fearing lest she might again be accused of a transgression and receive a scolding if it were known she had a friend.

However, Madame Aurélie herself, had just put the mantle on Madame Marty, and they all exclaimed: "Oh! how nice! delightful!" It at once looked quite different. Madame Desforges decided that it would be impossible to improve on it. A good deal of bowing ensued, Mouret took his leave, whilst Vallagnosc, who had perceived Madame de Boves and her daughter in the lace department, hastened to offer his arm to the former. Marguerite, standing before one of the pay-desks, was already calling out the different purchases made by Madame Marty, who settled for them and ordered the parcel to be taken to her cab. Madame Desforges had found her articles at pay-desk No. 10. Then the ladies met once more in the oriental saloon. They were leaving, but it was amidst a loquacious outburst of admiration. Even Madame Guibal became enthusiastic.

"Oh! delicious! it makes you think you are in the East; doesn't it?"

"A real harem, and not at all dear!"

"And the Smyrnas! oh, the Smyrnas! what tones, what delicacy!"

"And that Kurdestan! Just look, a real Delacroix!"

The crowd was thinning. The bell, at an hour's interval, had already announced the first two dinners; the third was about to be served, and in the departments there now only remained a few lingering customers, whose fever for spending money had made them forget the time. Outside nothing was heard but the rolling of the last cabs breaking upon the husky voice of Paris, a snort like that of a satiated ogre digesting all the linens and cloths, silks and laces with which he had been gorged since the morning. Within, beneath the flaming gas-jets, which, burning in the twilight, had illumined the last supreme efforts of the sale, everything looked like a field of battle still warm with the massacre of the materials. The salesmen, harassed and fatigued, camped amidst the contents of their shelves and counters, which appeared to have been thrown into confusion by the furious blast of a hurricane. It was with difficulty that you traversed the galleries on the ground floor, obstructed by straggling chairs. In the glove department it was necessary to step over a pile of cases heaped up around Mignot; through the woollens there was no means of passing at all, Liénard was dozing on an ocean of bales, in which certain pieces standing on end, though half destroyed, seemed like houses which an overflowing river was carrying away; and, further on, the linen department appeared like a heavy fall of snow, and you stumbled against icebergs of napkins, and walked through flakes of handkerchiefs.

The same disorder prevailed upstairs, in the departments of the first floor: the furs were scattered over the flooring, the mantles were heaped up like the great-coats of soldiers hors-de-combat, the laces and the under-linen, unfolded, crumpled, thrown about everywhere, made you think of a nation of women who had disrobed themselves there; whilst down below, in the depths of the establishment, the delivery department, now in full activity, was still and ever disgorging the parcels which filled it to suffocation and which were carried off by the vans, in a last effort of the overheated machine. But it was on the silk department especially that the customers had flung themselves with the greatest ardour. There they had cleared off everything, there was abundant room to pass, the hall was bare; the whole of the colossal stock of Paris Delight had been cut up and carried away, as if by a swarm of devouring locusts. And in the midst of this great void, Hutin and Favier were running through the counterfoils of their debit-notes, calculating their commission, and still short of breath from the struggle. Favier, it turned out, had made fifteen francs while Hutin had only managed to make thirteen; he had been thoroughly beaten that day, and was enraged at his bad luck. The eyes of both sparkled with the passion for gain. And all around them other shopmen were likewise adding up figures, glowing with the same fever, in the brutal gaiety which follows victorious carnage.

"Well, Bourdoncle!" cried out Mouret, "are you trembling still?"

He had returned to his favourite position against the balustrade, at the top of the stairs, and, in presence of the massacre of stuffs spread out below him, he indulged in a victorious laugh. His fears of the morning, that moment of unpardonable weakness which nobody would ever know of, inspired him with a greater desire to triumph. The battle was definitely won, the small tradespeople of the neighbourhood were done for, and Baron Hartmann was conquered, with his millions and his building sites. Whilst Mouret gazed at the cashiers bending over their ledgers, adding up long columns of figures, whilst he listened to the sound of the gold, falling from their fingers into the metal bowls, he already beheld The Ladies' Paradise growing and growing, enlarging its hall and prolonging its galleries as far as the Rue du Dix-Décembre.

"And now," he resumed, "are you not convinced, Bourdoncle, that the house is really too small? We could have sold twice as much."

Bourdoncle humbled himself, enraptured, moreover, to find himself in the wrong. But another spectacle rendered them grave. As was the custom every evening, Lhomme, the chief sales' cashier, had just collected the receipts from each pay-desk; and after adding them up, he wrote the total amount on a paper which he displayed by hanging it on the iron claw with which the stump of his mutilated arm, severed at the elbow, was provided. And then he took the receipts up to the chief cash office, some in a leather case and some in bags, according to the nature of the specie. On this occasion the gold and silver predominated, and he slowly walked upstairs carrying three enormous bags, which he clasped with his one arm against his breast, holding one of them with his chin in order to prevent it from slipping. His heavy breathing could be heard at a distance as he passed along, staggering and superb, amidst the respectful shopmen.