The Ladies' Paradise

"Ah!" said she, "you are buying a travelling cloak."

"Oh! dear, no," replied Madame Desforges; "they are frightful."

However Madame Marty had just noticed a striped cloak which she rather liked. Her daughter Valentine was already examining it. So Denise called Marguerite to clear the article out of the department, it being one of the previous year's patterns, and Marguerite, at a glance from her comrade, presented it as an exceptional bargain. When she had sworn that they had twice lowered the price, that they had reduced it from a hundred and fifty francs, to a hundred and thirty, and that it was now ticketed at a hundred and ten, Madame Marty could not withstand the temptation of its cheapness. She bought it, and the salesman who accompanied her thereupon went off, leaving the chair and the parcels behind him with all the debit-notes attached to the goods.

Whilst Marguerite was debiting the cloak, Madame Marty turned her head, and on catching sight of Clara made a slight sign to Madame Desforges, then whispered to her: "Monsieur Mouret's caprice, you know!"

The other, in surprise, looked round at Clara; and then, after again turning her eyes on Denise, replied: "But it isn't the tall one; it's the little one!"

And as Madame Marty could not be sure which of the two it was, Madame Desforges resumed aloud, with the scorn of a lady for chambermaids: "Perhaps both!"

Denise had heard everything, and raised her large, pure eyes on this lady who was thus wounding her, and whom she did not know. No doubt it was the lady of whom people had spoken to her, the lady with whom Mouret's name was so often associated. In the glances that were exchanged between them, Denise displayed such melancholy dignity, such frank innocence, that Henriette felt quite uncomfortable.

"As you have nothing presentable to show me here, conduct me to the dress and costume department," she said all at once.

"I'll go with you as well," exclaimed Madame Marty, "I wanted to see a costume for Valentine."

Marguerite thereupon took the chair by its back, and dragged it along on its hind legs, which were getting rather worn by this species of locomotion. Denise on her side only carried the few yards of silk, bought by Madame Desforges. They had, however, quite a journey before them now that the robes and costumes were installed on the second floor, at the other end of the establishment.

And the long walk commenced along the crowded galleries. Marguerite went in front, drawing the chair along, like some little vehicle, and slowly opening a passage. As soon as she reached the under-linen department, Madame Desforges began to complain: wasn't it ridiculous, a shop where you were obliged to walk a couple of leagues to find the least thing! Madame Marty also declared that she was tired to death, yet she none the less enjoyed this fatigue, this slow exhaustion of strength, amidst the inexhaustible wealth of merchandise displayed on every side. Mouret's idea, full of genius, had absolutely subjugated her and she paused in each fresh department. She made a first halt before the trousseaux, tempted by some chemises which Pauline sold her; and Marguerite then found herself relieved of the burden of the chair, which Pauline had to take, with the debit-notes. Madame Desforges might have gone on her way, and thus have liberated Denise more speedily, but she seemed happy to feel her behind her, motionless and patient, whilst she also lingered, advising her friend. In the baby-linen department the ladies went into ecstasies, but, of course, without buying anything. Then Madame Marty's weaknesses began anew; she succumbed successively before a black silk corset, a pair of fur cuffs, sold at a reduction on account of the lateness of the season, and some Russian lace much in vogue at that time for trimming table-linen. All these things were heaped up on the chair, the number of parcels still increased, making the chair creak; and the salesmen who succeeded one another, found it more and more difficult to drag the improvised vehicle along as its load became heavier and heavier.

"This way, madame," said Denise without a murmur, after each halt.

"But it's absurd!" exclaimed Madame Desforges. "We shall never get there. Why did they not put the dresses and costumes near the mantles department? It is a mess!"

Madame Marty, whose eyes were sparkling, intoxicated by the succession of riches dancing before her, repeated in an undertone: "Oh, dear! What will my husband say? You are right, there is no order in this place. A person loses herself and commits all sorts of follies."

On the great central landing there was scarcely room for the chair to pass, as Mouret had just blocked the open space with a lot of fancy goods – cups mounted on gilt zinc, flash dressing-cases and liqueur stands – being of opinion that the crowd there was not sufficiently great, and that circulation was too easy. And he had also authorized one of his shopmen to exhibit on a small table there some Chinese and Japanese curiosities, low-priced knick-knacks which customers eagerly snatched up. It was an unexpected success, and he already thought of extending this branch of his business. Whilst two messengers carried the chair up to the second floor, Madame Marty purchased six ivory studs, some silk mice, and a lacquered match-box.

On the second floor the journey began afresh. Denise, who had been showing customers about in this way ever since the morning, was sinking with fatigue; but she still continued correct, gentle, and polite. She again had to wait for the ladies in the furnishing materials department, where a delightful cretonne had caught Madame Marty's eye. Then, in the furniture department, a work-table took her fancy. Her hands trembled, and with a laugh she was entreating Madame Desforges to prevent her from spending any more money, when a meeting with Madame Guibal furnished her with an excuse to continue her purchases. The meeting took place in the carpet department, whither Madame Guibal had gone to return some Oriental door-curtains which she had purchased five days previously. And she was standing there, talking to the salesman, a brawny fellow with sinewy arms, who from morning to night carried loads heavy enough to break a bullock's back. Naturally he was in consternation at this "return," which deprived him of his commission, and so did his best to embarrass his customer, suspecting some queer adventure, no doubt a ball given with these curtains, bought at The Ladies' Paradise, and then returned, to avoid the cost of hire at an upholsterer's. He knew indeed that this was frequently done by the economical middle-class people. In short, she must have some reason for returning them; if she did not like the designs or the colours, he would show her others, he had a most complete assortment. To all these insinuations, however, Madame Guibal with queenly assurance replied quietly that the curtains did not suit her; and she did not deign to add any explanation. She refused to look at any others, and he was obliged to give way, for the salesmen had orders to take the goods back even if they saw that they had been used.

As the three ladies went off together, and Madame Marty referred remorsefully to the work-table for which she had no earthly need, Madame Guibal said in her calm voice: "Well! you can return it. You saw it was quite easy. Meantime let them send it to your house. You can put it in your drawing-room, keep it for a time and then if you don't like it, return it."

"Ah! that's a good idea!" exclaimed Madame Marty. "If my husband makes too much fuss, I'll send everything back." This was for her the supreme excuse, she ceased calculating and went on buying, with the secret wish, however, to keep everything, for she was not one of those women who give things back.

At last they arrived in the dress and costume department. But as Denise was about to deliver to another young lady the silk which Madame Desforges had purchased the latter seemed to change her mind, and declared that she would decidedly take one of the travelling cloaks, the light grey one with the hood; and Denise then had to wait complacently till she was ready to return to the mantle department. The girl felt that she was being treated like a servant by this imperious, whimsical customer; but she had vowed to do her duty, and retained her calm demeanour, notwithstanding the rising of her heart and rebellion of her pride. Madame Desforges bought nothing in the dress and costume department.

"Oh! mamma," said Valentine, "if that little costume should only fit me!"

In a low tone, Madame Guibal was explaining her tactics to Madame Marty. When she saw a dress she liked in a shop, she had it sent home, took a pattern of it, and then sent it back. And thereupon Madame Marty bought the costume for her daughter remarking: "A good idea! You are very practical, my dear madame."

They had been obliged to abandon the chair. It had been left in distress, in the furniture department, beside the work-table, for its weight had become too great, and its hind legs threatened to break off. So it was arranged that all the purchases should be centralized at one pay-desk, and thence sent down to the delivery department. And then the ladies, still accompanied by Denise, began roaming all over the establishment, making a second appearance in nearly every department. They were ever on the stairs and in the galleries; and at each moment some fresh meeting brought them to a standstill. Thus, near the reading-room, they once more came across Madame Bourdelais and her three children. The youngsters were loaded with parcels: Madeleine had a dress for herself under her arm, Edmond was carrying a collection of little shoes, whilst the youngest, Lucien, was wearing a new cap.

"You as well!" said Madame Desforges, laughingly, to her old school-friend.

"Pray, don't speak of it!" exclaimed Madame Bourdelais. "I'm furious. They get hold of us by the little ones now! You know how little I spend on myself! But how can you expect me to resist the entreaties of these children, who want everything? I merely came to show them round, and here am I plundering the whole establishment!"

Mouret, who still happened to be there, with Vallagnosc and Monsieur de Boves, listened to her with a smile. She observed it, and complained gaily, though with an undercurrent of real irritation, of these traps laid for a mother's affection; the idea that she had just yielded to the force of puffery raised her indignation, and he, still smiling, bowed, fully enjoying his triumph. Monsieur de Boves meanwhile had manœuvred so as to get near Madame Guibal, whom he ultimately followed, for the second time trying to lose Vallagnosc; but the latter, weary of the crush, hastened to rejoin him. And now once more Denise was brought to a standstill, obliged to wait for the ladies. She turned her back, and Mouret himself affected not to see her. But from that moment Madame Desforges, with the delicate scent of a jealous woman, had no further doubt. Whilst he was complimenting her and walking beside her, like a gallant host, she became deeply absorbed in thought, wondering how she could convict him of his treason.

Meanwhile Monsieur de Boves and Vallagnosc, who had gone on in front with Madame Guibal, reached the lace department, a luxurious room, surrounded by nests of carved oak drawers, which were constantly being opened and shut. Around the columns, covered with red velvet, spirals of white lace ascended; and from one to the other end of the department hung festoons of guipure, whilst on the counters were quantities of large cards, wound round with Valenciennes, Malines, and hand-made point. At the further end two ladies were seated before a mauve silk transparent, on which Deloche was placing some pieces of Chantilly, the ladies meantime looking on in silence and without making up their minds.

"Hallo!" said Vallagnosc, quite surprised, "you said that Madame de Boves was unwell. But she is standing over there, near that counter, with Mademoiselle Blanche."

The count could not help starting back, and casting a side glance at Madame Guibal. "Dear me! so she is," said he.

It was very warm in this room. The half stifled customers had pale faces with glittering eyes. It seemed as if all the seductions of the shop converged to this supreme temptation, this secluded corner of perdition where the strongest must succumb. Women plunged their hands into the overflowing heaps, quivering with intoxication at the contact.

"I fancy those ladies are ruining you," resumed Vallagnosc, amused by the meeting.

Monsieur de Boves assumed the look of a husband who is perfectly sure of his wife's discretion, from the simple fact that he does not give her a copper to spend. The countess, after wandering through all the departments with her daughter, without buying anything, had just stranded in the lace department in a rage of unsated desire. Overcome with fatigue, she was leaning against the counter while her clammy hands dived into a heap of lace whence a warmth rose to her shoulders. Then suddenly, just as her daughter turned her head and the salesman went away, it occurred to her to slip a piece of point d'Alençon under her mantle. But she shuddered, and dropped it, on hearing Vallagnosc gaily saying: "Ah! we've caught you, madame."

For several seconds she stood there speechless and very pale. Then she explained that, feeling much better, she had thought she would take a stroll. And on noticing that her husband was with Madame Guibal, she quite recovered herself, and looked at them with such a dignified air that the other lady felt obliged to say: "I was with Madame Desforges, these gentlemen just met us."

As it happened the other ladies came up just at that moment, accompanied by Mouret who again detained them to point out Jouve, who was still following the suspicious woman and her lady friend. It was very curious, said he, they could not form an idea of the number of thieves arrested in the lace department. Madame de Boves, who was listening, fancied herself between a couple of gendarmes, with her forty-five years, her luxury, and her husband's high position; however, she felt no remorse, but reflected that she ought to have slipped the lace up her sleeve. Jouve, however, had just decided to lay hold of the suspicious woman, despairing of catching her in the act, but fully suspecting that she had filled her pockets, by means of some sleight of hand which had escaped him. But when he had taken her aside and searched her, he was wild with confusion at finding nothing on her – not a cravat, not a button. Her friend had disappeared. All at once he understood: the woman he had searched had only been there as a blind; it was the friend who had done the trick.

This affair amused the ladies. Mouret, rather vexed, merely said: "Old Jouve has been floored this time but he'll have his revenge."

"Oh!" replied Vallagnosc, "I don't think he's equal to it. Besides, why do you display such a quantity of goods? It serves you right, if you are robbed. You ought not to tempt these poor, defenceless women so."

This was the last word, which sounded like the supreme note of the day, in the growing fever that reigned in the establishment. The ladies separated, crossing the crowded departments for the last time. It was four o'clock, the rays of the setting sun were darting obliquely through the large front windows and throwing a cross light on the glazed roofs of the halls; and in this red, fiery glow arose, like a golden vapour, the thick dust raised by the circulation of the crowd since early morning. A broad sheet of light streamed along the grand central gallery, showing up the staircases, the flying bridges, all the network of suspended iron. The mosaics and faiences of the friezes glittered, the green and red paint reflected the fire of the lavish gilding. The Paradise seemed like a red-hot furnace, in which the various displays – the palaces of gloves and cravats, the festoons of ribbons and laces, the lofty piles of linen and calico, the variegated parterres in which bloomed the light silks and foulards – were now burning. The exhibition of parasols, of shield-like roundness, threw forth metallic reflections. In the distance, beyond streaks of shadow, were counters sparkling and swarming with a throng, ablaze with sunshine.

And at this last moment, in this over-heated atmosphere, the women reigned supreme. They had taken the whole place by storm, they were camping there as in a conquered country, like an invading horde installed amidst all the disorder of the goods. The salesmen, deafened and exhausted, were now nothing but their slaves, of whom they disposed with sovereign tyranny. Fat women elbowed their way along; even the thinnest took up a deal of space, and became quite arrogant. They were all there, with heads erect and gestures abrupt, quite at home, not showing the slightest politeness to one another but making as much use of the house as they could, even to the point of carrying away the dust from its walls. Madame Bourdelais, desirous of making up for her expenditure had again taken her children to the refreshment bar: whither the crowd was now rushing with rageful thirst and appetite. Even the mothers were gorging themselves with Malaga; since the morning eighty quarts of syrup and seventy bottles of wine had been drunk. After purchasing her travelling cloak, Madame Desforges had secured some picture cards at the pay-desk; and she went away scheming how she might get Denise into her house, so as to humiliate her before Mouret himself, see their faces and arrive at a conclusion. And whilst Monsieur de Boves succeeded at last in plunging into the crowd and disappearing with Madame Guibal, Madame de Boves, followed by Blanche and Vallagnosc, had the fancy to ask for a red air-ball, although she had bought nothing. It would always be something, she would not go away empty-handed, she would make a friend of her doorkeeper's little girl with it. At the distributing counter they were just starting on the fortieth thousand: thirty nine thousand red air-balls had already taken flight in the warm atmosphere of the shop, a perfect cloud of red air-balls which were now floating from one end of Paris to the other, bearing upwards to the sky the name of The Ladies' Paradise!

Five o'clock struck. Of all the ladies, Madame Marty and her daughter were the only ones to remain, in the final throes of the day's sales. Although ready to drop with fatigue she could not tear herself away, being retained by so strong an attraction that although she needed nothing she continually retraced her steps, scouring the departments with insatiable curiosity. It was the moment in which the throng, goaded on by puffery, completely lost its head; the sixty thousand francs paid to the newspapers, the ten thousand bills posted on the walls, the two hundred thousand catalogues distributed all over the world, after emptying the women's purses, left their minds weakened by intoxication; and they still remained shaken by Mouret's inventions, the reduction of prices, the "returns," and the endless gallantries. Madame Marty lingered before the various "proposal" stalls, amidst the hoarse cries of the salesmen, the clink of the pay-desks, and the rolling of the parcels sent down to the basement; she again traversed the ground floor, the linen, silk, glove and woollen departments; she again went upstairs, yielding to the metallic vibrations of the hanging staircases and flying-bridges; she returned to the mantle, under-linen, and lace departments; she even ascended to the second floor, to the heights of the bedding and furniture galleries; and on all sides the employees, Hutin and Favier, Mignot and Liénard, Deloche, Pauline and Denise, nearly dead with fatigue, were making a final effort, snatching victories from the last fever of the customers. This fever had gradually increased since the morning, like the intoxication emanating from all the tumbled stuffs. The crowd flared under the fiery glare of the five o'clock sun. Madame Marty now had the animated nervous face of a child after drinking pure wine. Arriving with clear eyes and fresh skin from the cold of the street, she had slowly burnt both sight and complexion, by the contemplation of all that luxury, those violent colours, whose everlasting gallop irritated her passion. When she at last went away, after saying that she would pay at home, terrified as she was by the amount of her bill, her features were drawn, and her eyes dilated like those of a sick person. She was obliged to fight her way through the stubborn crush at the door, where people were almost killing each other, amidst the struggle for bargains. Then, when she got into the street, and again found her daughter, whom she had lost for a moment, the fresh air made her shiver, and she remained quite scared, her mind unhinged by the neurosis to which the great drapery establishments give birth.

In the evening, as Denise was returning from dinner, a messenger called her: "You are wanted at the director's office, mademoiselle."

She had forgotten the order which Mouret had given her in the morning, to go to his office when the sale was over. She found him standing, waiting for her. On going in she did not close the door, which remained wide open.

"We are very pleased with you, mademoiselle," said he, "and we have thought of proving our satisfaction. You know in what a shameful manner Madame Frédéric has left us. From to-morrow you will take her place as second-hand."

Denise listened to him motionless with surprise. Then she murmured in a trembling voice: "But there are saleswomen in the department who are much my seniors, sir."

"What does that matter?" he resumed. "You are the most capable, the most trustworthy. I select you; it's quite natural. Are you not satisfied?"

She blushed, feeling a delicious happiness and embarrassment, in which all her original fright vanished. Why had she, before aught else, thought of the suppositions with which this unhoped-for favour would be received? And she remained there full of confusion, despite her sudden burst of gratitude. With a smile he looked at her in her simple silk dress, without a single piece of jewellery, displaying only the luxury of her royal, blonde hair. She had become more refined, her skin was whiter, her manner delicate and grave. Her former puny insignificance was developing into a penetrating, gentle charm.

"You are very kind, sir," she stammered. "I don't know how to tell you – "

But she was cut short by the appearance of Lhomme on the threshold. In his hand he held a large leather bag, and with his mutilated arm he pressed an enormous note case to his chest; whilst, behind him came his son Albert weighed down by the load of bags he was carrying.

"Five hundred and eighty-seven thousand two hundred and ten francs thirty centimes!" exclaimed the cashier, whose flabby, worn face seemed to light up with a ray of sunshine, in the reflection of such a huge sum of money.

It was the day's receipts, the highest that The Ladies' Paradise had ever attained. In the distance, in the depths of the shop through which Lhomme had just slowly passed with the heavy gait of an overladen beast of burden, you could hear the uproar, the ripple of surprise and joy which this colossal sum had left behind it as it passed.

"Why, it's superb!" said Mouret, enchanted. "My good Lhomme, put it down there, and take a rest, for you look quite done up. I'll have the money taken to the central cashier's office. Yes, yes, put it all on my table, I want to see the heap."

He was full of a childish gaiety. The cashier and his son rid themselves of their burdens. The leather bag gave out a clear, golden ring, two of the other bags in bursting let a torrent of silver and copper escape, whilst from the note-case peeped the corners of bank notes. One end of the large table was entirely covered; it was like the tumbling of a fortune picked up in ten hours.

When Lhomme and Albert had retired, mopping their faces, Mouret remained for a moment motionless, dreamy, his eyes fixed on the money. But on raising his head, he perceived Denise, who had drawn back. Then he began to smile again, forced her to come forward, and finished by saying that he would make her a present of all the money she could take in her hand; and there was a sort of love bargain beneath his playfulness.

"Look! out of the bag. I bet it would be less than a thousand francs, your hand is so small!"

But she drew back again. He loved her, then? Suddenly she understood everything; she felt the growing flame of desire with which he had enveloped her ever since her return to the shop. What overcame her more than anything else was to feel her heart beating violently. Why did he wound her with the offer of all that money, when she was overflowing with gratitude? He was stepping nearer to her still, continuing to joke, when, to his great annoyance, Bourdoncle came in under the pretence of informing him of the enormous number of entries – no fewer than seventy thousand customers had entered The Ladies' Paradise that day. And thereupon Denise hastened off, after again expressing her thanks.