The Ladies' Paradise

"Have they got any dog's heads like that?"

And he would blink his eyes behind his glasses, whilst judging the dog's head which he was carving, with its lip turned up and its fangs displayed, in a life-like growl. Pépé delighted with the dog, would thereupon get up, resting his two little arms on the old man's knee.

"As long as I make both ends meet I don't care a hang about the rest," the latter resumed, whilst delicately shaping the dog's tongue with the point of his knife. "The scoundrels have taken away my profits; but if I'm making nothing I'm not losing anything yet, or at least only a trifle. And, you see, I'm ready to sacrifice everything rather than yield."

Thereupon he would brandish his knife, and his white hair would blow about in a storm of anger.

"But if they made you a reasonable offer," Denise would mildly observe, without raising her eyes from her needle, "it would be wiser to accept it."

This suggestion, however, only produced an outburst of ferocious obstinacy. "Never! If my head were under the knife I should still say no, by heavens I would! I've another ten years' lease, and they shan't have the house before then, even if I should have to die of hunger within the four bare walls. Twice already they've tried to get over me. They offered me twelve thousand francs for my good-will, and eighteen thousand francs for the last ten years of my lease; in all thirty thousand. But no, no – not for fifty thousand even! I have them in my power, and intend to see them licking the dust before me!"

"Thirty thousand francs! it's a good sum," thereupon resumed Denise. "You could go and establish yourself elsewhere. And suppose they were to buy the house?"

Bourras, now putting the finishing touches to his dog's tongue, appeared absorbed for a moment, a childish laugh pervading his venerable, prophet's face. Then he continued: "The house, no fear! They spoke of buying it last year, and offered eighty thousand francs, twice as much as it's worth. But the landlord, a retired fruiterer, as big a scoundrel as they, wanted to make them shell out more. Besides, they are suspicious about me; they know I should then be even less inclined to give way. No! no! here I am, and here I intend to stay. The emperor with all his cannon could not turn me out."

Denise did not dare to say any more, but went on with her work, whilst the old man continued to vent short sentences, between two cuts of his knife; now muttering something to the effect that the game had hardly begun; and then that they would see wonderful things later on, for he had certain plans which would sweep their umbrella counter away; and, deeply blended with his obstinacy, you detected the personal revolt of the skilled manufacturer against the growing invasion of commonplace rubbish. Pépé, however, at last climbed on his knees, and impatiently stretched out his hands towards the dog's head.

"Give it me, sir."

"Presently, youngster," the old man replied in a voice that suddenly became softer. "He hasn't any eyes as yet; we must make his eyes now." And whilst carving the eyes he continued talking to Denise. "Do you hear them? Isn't there a roar next door? That's what exasperates me more than anything, my word of honour! to have them always on my back like this with their infernal locomotive-like noise."

It made his little table tremble, he asserted. The whole shop was shaken, and he would spend the entire afternoon without a customer of his own but amidst all the trepidation of the jostling multitude in The Ladies' Paradise. From morning to night this was a subject for eternal grumbling. Another good day's work; they were knocking against the wall, the silk department must have cleared ten thousand francs; or else he made merry, not a sound came from behind the wall, a showery day had killed the receipts. And the slightest stir, the faintest vibration, thus furnished him with matter for endless comment.

"Did you hear? some one has slipped down! Ah, if they could only all fall and break their backs! – That, my dear, is a dispute between some ladies. So much the better! So much the better! – Ah! you hear the parcels falling into the basement? What a row they make. It's disgusting!"

It did not do for Denise to discuss his remarks, for he bitterly retorted by reminding her of the shameful way in which she had been dismissed. For the hundredth time she was obliged to relate her life in the jacket and mantle department, the hardships she had at first endured, the small unhealthy bedrooms, the bad food, and the continual battle between the salesmen; and thus they would talk about the shop from morning to night, absorbing it hourly in the very air they breathed.

But with eager, outstretched hands Pépé repeated: "Give it me, sir, give it me!"

The dog's head was finished and Bourras held it at a distance, then examined it closely with noisy glee. "Take care, it will bite you!" he said, "there, go and play, and don't break it, if you can help it." Then speedily reverting to his fixed idea, he shook his fist at the wall. "You may do all you can to knock the house down," he exclaimed. "You shan't have it, even if you invade the whole street!"

Denise now had something to eat each day, and she was extremely grateful to the old umbrella-dealer, realizing that he had a good heart beneath his strange, violent ways. Nevertheless she felt a strong desire to find some work elsewhere, for she often saw him inventing some trifle for her to do and fully understood that he did not require a workwoman in the present collapse of his business, and was merely employing her out of charity. Six months had passed thus, and the dull winter season having again returned, she was despairing of finding a situation before March, when, one evening in January, Deloche, who was watching for her in a doorway, gave her a bit of advice. Why did she not call on Robineau; perhaps he might want some one?

During the previous September, Robineau, though fearing to jeopardize his wife's sixty thousand francs, had made up his mind to buy Vinçard's silk-business. He had paid forty thousand for the good-will and stock, and was starting with the remaining twenty thousand. It was not much, but he had Gaujean behind him to back him up with any amount of credit. Gaujean ever since his quarrel with The Ladies' Paradise had been longing to stir up competitors against the colossus; and he thought victory certain, by creating special shops in the neighbourhood, where the public would find a large and varied choice of articles. Only the very rich Lyons manufacturers, such as Dumonteil, could accept the big shops' terms, satisfied to keep their looms going with them, and seeking their profits in their sales to less important establishments. But Gaujean was far from having the solidity and staying power possessed by Dumonteil. For a long time a mere commission agent, it was only during the last five or six years that he had possessed looms of his own, and he still had a lot of his work done by piece-workers, furnishing them with the raw material and paying them by the yard. It was precisely this system which, increasing his manufacturing expenses, had prevented him from competing with Dumonteil for the supply of the Paris Delight. This had filled him with rancour, and he saw in Robineau the instrument of a decisive battle with those drapery bazaars which he accused of ruining French manufactures.

When Denise called she found Madame Robineau alone. Daughter of an overseer in the Highways and Bridges Service, entirely ignorant of business matters, the young wife still retained the charming awkwardness of a girl educated in a convent. She was dark, very pretty, with a gentle, cheerful manner, which made her extremely charming. Moreover she adored her husband, living solely by his love. Just as Denise was about to leave her name Robineau himself came in, and at once engaged her, one of his two saleswomen having left him on the previous day to go to The Ladies' Paradise.

"They don't leave us a single good hand," said he. "However, I shall feel quite easy with you, for you are like me, you can't be very fond of them. Come to-morrow."

In the evening Denise hardly knew how to announce her departure to Bourras. In fact, he called her an ungrateful girl, and lost his temper. And when, with tears in her eyes, she tried to defend herself by intimating that she could see through his charitable conduct, he softened down, stammered that he had plenty of work, that she was leaving him indeed just as he was about to bring out a new umbrella of his invention.

"And Pépé?" he asked.

This was Denise's great trouble; she dared not take him back to Madame Gras, and could not leave him alone in the bedroom, shut up from morning to night.

"Very good, I'll keep him," said the old man; "he'll be all right in my shop. We'll do the cooking together." And then as she refused the offer fearing that it might inconvenience him, he thundered out: "Great heavens! have you no confidence in me? I shan't eat your child!"

Denise was much happier at Robineau's. He only paid her sixty francs a month, with her board, without giving her any commission on the sales, that not being the rule in the old-fashioned houses; but she was treated with great kindness, especially by Madame Robineau who was always smiling at her counter. He, nervous and worried, was sometimes rather abrupt. At the expiration of the first month, Denise had become quite one of the family, like the other saleswoman, a silent, consumptive, little body. The Robineaus were not at all particular before them, but freely talked of the business whilst at table in the back-shop, which looked on to a large yard. And it was there they decided one evening to start the campaign against The Ladies' Paradise. Gaujean had come to dinner and, after the roast leg of mutton, had broached the subject in his Lyonese voice, thickened by the Rhône fogs.

"It's getting unbearable," said he. "They go to Dumonteil, purchase the sole right to a design, and take three hundred pieces straight off, insisting on a reduction of half a franc a yard; and, as they pay ready money, they also secure the profit of eighteen per cent. discount. Very often Dumonteil barely makes four sous a yard out of it. He simply works to keep his looms going, for a loom that stands still is a dead loss. Under these circumstances how can you expect that we, with our limited plant, and our piece-workers, can keep up the struggle?"

Robineau, pensive, forgot his dinner. "Three hundred pieces!" he murmured. "I tremble when I take a dozen, and at ninety days too. They can sell at a franc or two francs cheaper than we can. I have calculated that their catalogued articles are offered at fifteen per cent. less than our own prices. That's what kills the small Houses."

He was passing through a period of discouragement. His wife, full of anxiety, looked at him with a loving air. She understood very little about the business, all these figures confused her; she could not understand why people worried over things so much, when it was so easy to be gay and love one another. However, it sufficed that her husband desired to conquer, and she became as impassioned as he himself, and would have stood to her counter till death.

"But why don't all the manufacturers come to an understanding together?" resumed Robineau, violently. "They could then lay down the law, instead of submitting to it."

Gaujean, who had asked for another slice of mutton, was slowly chewing. "Ah! why, why? The looms must be kept going, I tell you. When you have weavers a little bit everywhere, in the neighbourhood of Lyons, in the Gard, in the Isère, you can't stand still a day without an enormous loss. Then we who sometimes employ piece-workers with ten or fifteen looms of their own are better able to control our output, whereas the big manufacturers are obliged to have continual outlets, the quickest and most extensive possible. And so they are on their knees before the big shops. I know three or four who out-bid each other, and who would sooner work at a loss than not obtain the orders. But they make up for it with the small establishments like yours. Yes, if they manage to live through the big places, they make their profit out of you little fellows. Heaven knows how the crisis will end!"

"It's odious!" exclaimed Robineau, relieved by this cry of anger.

Denise was quietly listening. With her instinctive love of logic and life she was secretly in favour of the big shops.

They had relapsed into silence, and were eating some preserved French beans, when at last she ventured to remark in a cheerful tone: "The public does not complain."

At this Madame Robineau could not restrain a little laugh, which annoyed both her husband and Gaujean. No doubt the customer was satisfied, for, in the end, it was the customer who profited by the fall in prices. But everybody must live; where would they all be if, under the pretext of conducing to the general welfare, the consumer was fattened at the expense of the producer? And then began a long discussion. Denise affected to be joking, though all the while producing solid arguments. By the new system the middle-men disappeared, and this greatly contributed to cheapen the articles; besides, the manufacturers could no longer live without the big shops, for as soon as one of them lost their custom, failure became a certainty; in short, it was a natural commercial evolution. It would be impossible to prevent things from going on as they ought to, when everybody was working towards that result, whether they liked it or not.

"So you are for those who turned you out into the street?" thereupon asked Gaujean.

Denise became very red. She herself was surprised at the vivacity of her defence. What had she at heart, that such a flame should have risen in her breast?

"Dear me, no!" she replied. "Perhaps I'm wrong, for you are more competent to judge than I. I simply express my opinion. The prices, instead of being settled by fifty houses as they formerly used to be, are now fixed by four or five, which have lowered them, thanks to the power of their capital, and the strength of their immense custom. So much the better for the public, that's all!"

Robineau was not angry, but had become grave, and had fixed his eyes on the table-cloth. He had often felt the force of the new style of business, the evolution which the young girl spoke about; and in his clear, quiet moments he would ask himself why he should try to resist such a powerful current, which must carry everything before it. Madame Robineau herself, on seeing her husband deep in thought, glanced with approval at Denise, who had modestly resumed her silent attitude.

"Come," resumed Gaujean, to cut short the argument, "all that is simply theory. Let's talk of our matter."

After the cheese, the servant brought in some jam and some pears. He took some jam, and ate it with a spoon, with the unconscious greediness of a big man very fond sweet things.

"This is it," he resumed, "you must attack their Paris Delight, which has been their success of the year. I have come to an understanding with several of my brother manufacturers at Lyons, and have brought you an exceptional offer – a black silk, a faille which you can sell at five francs fifty centimes a mêtre. They sell theirs at five francs sixty, don't they? Well! this will be two sous cheaper, and that will suffice to upset them."

At this Robineau's eyes lighted up again. In his continual nervous torment, he often skipped like this from despair to hope. "Have you got a sample?" he asked. And when Gaujean drew from his pocket-book a little square of silk, he went into raptures, exclaiming: "Why, this is a handsomer silk than the Paris Delight! At all events it produces a better effect, the grain is coarser. You are right, we must make the attempt. Ah! I'll bring them to my feet or give up for good!"

Madame Robineau, sharing the enthusiasm, declared the silk superb, and even Denise herself thought they might succeed. The latter part of the dinner thus proved very gay. They talked in a loud tone; it seemed as if The Ladies' Paradise was at its last gasp. Gaujean, who was finishing the pot of jam, explained what enormous sacrifices he and his colleagues would be obliged to make to deliver an article of such quality at so low a price; but they would ruin themselves rather than yield; they had sworn to kill the big shops. As the coffee came in the gaiety was still further increased by the arrival of Vinçard who called, on his way past, just to see how his successor was getting on.

"Famous!" he cried, feeling the silk. "You'll floor them, I stake my life! Ah! you owe me a rare good thing; I told you that this was a golden affair!"

He had just taken a restaurant at Vincennes. It was an old, cherished idea of his, slyly nurtured while he was struggling with his silk business, trembling with fear lest he should not sell it before the crash came, and vowing that he would afterwards put his money into some undertaking where he could rob folks at his ease. The idea of a restaurant had struck him at the wedding of a cousin, who had been made to pay ten francs for a tureen of dish water, in which floated some Italian paste. And, in presence of the Robineaus, the joy he felt at having saddled them with an unremunerative business, which he had despaired of getting rid of, made his face with its round eyes and large loyal-looking mouth, a face beaming with health, expand as it had never done before.

"And your pains?" asked Madame Robineau, good-naturedly.

"My pains?" he murmured, in astonishment.

"Yes, those rheumatic pains which tormented you so much when you were here."

He then recollected the fibs he had told and slightly coloured. "Oh! I suffer from them still!" said he. "But the country air, you know, has done me a deal of good. Never mind, on your side you've done a good stroke of business. Had it not been for my rheumatics, I could soon have retired with ten thousand francs a year. Yes, on my word of honour!"

A fortnight later, the battle between Robineau and The Ladies' Paradise began. It became celebrated, and for a time occupied the whole Parisian market. Robineau, using his adversary's weapons, had advertised extensively in the newspapers. Besides that, he made a fine display, piling huge bales of the famous silk in his windows and displaying immense white tickets, on which the price, five francs and a half per mêtre, appeared in gigantic figures. It was this price that caused a revolution among the women; it was two sous less than that charged at The Ladies' Paradise, and the silk appeared more substantial. From the first day a crowd of customers flocked in. Madame Marty bought a dress she did not need, pretending it to be a bargain; Madame Bourdelais also thought the silk very fine, but preferred waiting, guessing no doubt what would happen. And, indeed during the following week, Mouret boldly reduced the price of The Paris Delight by four sous, after a lively discussion with Bourdoncle and the other managers, in which he had succeeded in convincing them that they must accept the challenge, even at a sacrifice; for these four sous represented a dead loss, the silk being already sold at strict cost price. It was a heavy blow to Robineau, who had not imagined that his rival would lower his price; for this suicidal style of competition, this practice of selling at a loss, was then unknown. However, the tide of customers, attracted by Mouret's cheapness, had immediately flown back towards the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, whilst the shop in the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs gradually emptied.

Gaujean then hastened from Lyons; there were hurried confabulations, and they finished by coming to a heroic resolution; the silk should be lowered in price, they would sell it at five francs six sous, and lower than that no one could go, without acting madly. But the next day Mouret marked his material at five francs four sous. Then the struggle became rageful. Robineau replied by five francs three sous, whereupon Mouret at once ticketed The Paris Delight at five francs and two sous. Neither lowered more than a sou at a time now, for both lost considerable sums as often as they made this present to the public. The customers laughed, delighted with this duel, quite stirred by the terrible thrusts which the rivals dealt one another in order to please them. At last Mouret ventured as low as five francs; and his staff paled and shuddered at such a challenge to fortune. Robineau, utterly beaten, out of breath, also stopped at five francs, not having the courage to go any lower. And thus they rested on their positions, face to face, with the massacre of their goods around them.

But if honour was saved on both sides, the situation was becoming fatal for Robineau. The Ladies' Paradise had money at its disposal and a patronage which enabled it to balance its profits; whereas he, sustained by Gaujean alone, unable to recoup his losses by gaining on other articles, found himself nearing the end of his tether, slipping further and further down the slope toward bankruptcy. He was dying from his hardihood, despite the numerous customers whom the hazards of the struggle had brought him. One of his secret worries was to see these customers slowly quitting him, returning to The Ladies' Paradise, after all the money he had lost in the efforts he had made to secure them.

One day he quite lost patience. A customer, Madame de Boves, had called at his shop for some mantles, for he had added a ready-made department to his business. She would not come to a decision, however, but complained of the quality of the material, and at last exclaimed: "Their Paris Delight is a great deal stronger."

Robineau restrained himself, assuring her that she was mistaken with a tradesman's politeness, all the more respectful, moreover, as he feared to reveal his inward revolt.

"But just look at the silk of this cloak!" she resumed, "one would really take it for so much cobweb. You may say what you like, sir, but their silk at five francs is like leather compared with this."

He did not reply; with the blood rushing to his face, he kept his lips tightly closed. In point of fact he had ingeniously thought of buying some of his rival's silk for these mantles; so that it was Mouret, not he, who lost on the material. And to conceal his practice he simply cut off the selvage.

"Really," he murmured at last, "you think the Paris Delight thicker?"

"Oh! a hundred times!" said Madame de Boves. "There's no comparison."

This injustice on her part, this fixed determination to run down the goods in spite of all evidence filled him with indignation. And, as she was still turning the mantle over with a disgusted air, a little bit of the blue and silver selvage, which through carelessness had not been cut off, appeared under the lining. Thereupon he could not restrain himself any longer; but confessed the truth at all hazards.

"Well, madame, this is Paris Delight. I bought it myself! Look at the selvage."

Madame de Boves went away greatly annoyed, and a number of customers quitted him, for the affair became known. And he, amid this ruin, when fear for the future came upon him, only trembled for his wife, who had been brought up in a happy, peaceful home, and would never be able to endure a life of poverty. What would become of her if a catastrophe should throw them into the street, with a load of debts? It was his fault, he ought never to have touched her money. She was obliged to comfort him. Wasn't the money as much his as hers? He loved her dearly, and she wanted nothing more; she gave him everything, her heart and her life. They could be heard embracing one another in the back shop. Then, little by little, the affairs of the house got into a regular groove; each month the losses increased, but with a slowness which postponed the fatal issue. A tenacious hope sustained them, and they still predicted the approaching discomfiture of The Ladies' Paradise.

"Pooh!" he would say, "we are young yet. The future is ours."

"And besides, what matters, if you have done what you wanted to do?" she resumed. "As long as you are satisfied, I am as well, darling."

Denise's affection for them increased on seeing their tenderness. She trembled, divining their inevitable fall; however, she dared not interfere. And it was here that she ended by fully understanding the power of the new system of business, and became impassioned for this force which was transforming Paris. Her ideas were ripening, a woman's grace was being evolved from the wildness of a child freshly arrived from Valognes. Her life too was a pretty pleasant one, notwithstanding its fatigue and the little money she earned. When she had spent all the day on her feet, she had to go straight home, and look after Pépé, whom old Bourras fortunately insisted on feeding; but there was still a lot to do; a shirt to wash, a blouse to mend; without mentioning the noise made by the youngster, which made her head ache fit to split. She never went to bed before midnight. Sunday was her hardest day: for she then cleaned her room, and mended her own things, so busy that it was often five o'clock before she could comb her hair. However, she sometimes went out for health's sake, taking the little one for a long walk, out towards Neuilly; and their treat over there was to drink a cup of milk at a dairyman's, who allowed them to sit down in his yard. Jean disdained these excursions; he put in an appearance now and again on week-day evenings and then disappeared, pretending he had other visits to pay. He asked for no more money, but he arrived with such a melancholy countenance, that his anxious sister always managed to keep a five-franc piece for him. That was her sole luxury.