Эмиль Золя
The Ladies' Paradise
"What! you here!" said Madame Bourdelais all at once. "I didn't recognise you."
Near the children sat a lady, her face hidden by the open pages of a review. It was Madame Guibal. She seemed annoyed at the meeting; but quickly recovering herself, related that she had come to sit down for a moment in order to escape the crush. And as Madame Bourdelais asked her if she was going to make any purchases, she replied with her languorous air, veiling the egoistical greediness of her glance with her eyelids:
"Oh! no. On the contrary, I have come to return some goods. Yes, some door-curtains which I don't like. But there is such a crowd that I am waiting to get near the department."
Then she went on talking, saying how convenient this system of returns was; formerly she had never bought anything, but now she sometimes allowed herself to be tempted. In fact, she returned four articles out of every five, and was getting known at all the counters for the strange trafficking she carried on – a trafficking easily divined by the perpetual discontent which made her bring back her purchases one by one, after she had kept them several days. However, whilst speaking, she did not take her eyes off the doors of the reading-room; and she appeared greatly relieved when Madame Bourdelais rejoined her children, to explain the photographs to them. Almost at the same moment Monsieur de Boves and Paul de Vallagnosc came in. The count, who affected to be showing the young man through the new buildings, exchanged a quick glance with Madame Guibal; and she then plunged into her review again, as if she had not seen him.
"Hallo, Paul!" suddenly exclaimed a voice behind the two gentlemen.
It was Mouret taking a glance round the various departments. They shook hands, and he at once inquired:
"Has Madame de Boves done us the honour of coming?"
"Well, no," replied the husband, "and she very much regrets it. She's not very well. Oh! nothing dangerous, however!"
But he suddenly pretended to catch sight of Madame Guibal, and hastened off, approaching her bareheaded, whilst the others merely bowed to her from a distance. She also pretended to be surprised. Paul smiled; he now understood the affair, and he related to Mouret in a low voice how Boves, whom he had met in the Rue de Richelieu, had tried to get away from him, and had finished by dragging him into The Ladies' Paradise, under the pretext that he must show him the new buildings. For the last year the lady had drawn all the money she could from Boves, making constant appointments with him in public places, churches, museums, and shops.
"Just look at him," added the young man, "isn't he splendid, standing there before her with his dignified air? It's the old French gallantry, my dear fellow, the old French gallantry!"
"And your marriage?" asked Mouret.
Paul, without taking his eyes off the count, replied that they were still waiting for the death of the aunt. Then, with a triumphant air, he added: "There, did you see him? He stooped down, and slipped an address into her hand. She's now accepting the rendezvous with the most virtuous air. She's a terrible woman is that delicate red-haired creature with her careless ways. Well! some fine things go on in your place!"
"Oh!" replied Mouret, smiling, "these ladies are not in my house, they are at home here."
Then, still continuing his gossip, he carried his old comrade along to the threshold of the reading-room, opposite the grand central gallery, whose successive halls spread out below them. In the rear, the reading-room still retained its quietude, only disturbed by the scratching of pens and the rustling of newspapers. One old gentleman had gone to sleep over the Moniteur. Monsieur de Boves was looking at the pictures, with the evident intention of losing his future son-in-law in the crowd as soon as possible. And, alone, amid this calmness, Madame Bourdelais was amusing her children, talking very loudly, as in a conquered place.
"You see, they are quite at home," said Mouret, who pointed with a broad gesture to the multitude of women with which the departments were overflowing.
Just then Madame Desforges, after nearly having her mantle carried away in the crowd, at last effected an entrance and crossed the first hall. Then, on reaching the principal gallery, she raised her eyes. It was like a railway span, surrounded by the balustrades of the two storeys, intersected by hanging stairways and crossed by flying bridges. The iron staircases developed bold curves, which multiplied the landings; the bridges suspended in space, ran straight along at a great height; and in the white light from the windows all this iron work formed an excessively delicate architecture, an intricate lace-work through which the daylight penetrated, the modern realization of a dreamland palace, of a Babel with storeys piled one above the other, and spacious halls affording glimpses of other floors and other halls ad infinitum. In fact, iron reigned everywhere: the young architect had been honest and courageous enough not to disguise it under a coating of paint imitating stone or wood. Down below, in order not to outshine the goods, the decoration was sober, with large regular spaces in neutral tints; then as the metallic work ascended, the capitals of the columns became richer, the rivets formed ornaments, the shoulder-pieces and corbels were covered with sculptured work; and at last, up above, glistened painting, green and red, amidst a prodigality of gold, floods of gold, heaps of gold, even to the glazed-work, whose panes were enamelled and inlaid with gold. In the galleries, the bare brick-work of the arches was also decorated in bright colours. Mosaics and faience likewise formed part of the decoration, enlivening the friezes, and lighting up the severe ensemble with their fresh tints; whilst the stairs, with red-velvet covered hand-rails, were edged with bands of polished iron, which shone like the steel of armour.
Although Madame Desforges was already acquainted with the new establishment, she stopped short, struck by the ardent life which that day animated the immense nave. Below and around her continued the eddying of the crowd; the double current of those entering and those leaving, making itself felt as far as the silk department. It was still a crowd of very mixed elements, though the afternoon was bringing a greater number of ladies amongst the shopkeepers and house-wives. There were many women in mourning, with flowing veils; and there were always some wet nurses straying about and protecting their infantile charges with their outstretched arms. And this sea of faces, of many-coloured hats and bare heads, both dark and fair, rolled from one to the other end of the galleries, vague and discoloured amidst the glare of the stuffs. On all sides Madame Desforges saw large price-tickets bearing enormous figures and showing prominently against the bright printed cottons, the shining silks, and the sombre woollens. Piles of ribbons half hid the heads of the customers, a wall of flannel threw out a promontory; on all sides mirrors multiplied the departments, reflecting the displays and the groups of people, now showing faces reversed, and now halves of shoulders and arms; whilst to the right and to the left the lateral galleries opened up other vistas, the snowy depths of the linen department and the speckled depths of the hosiery counters – distant views which were illumined by rays of light from some glazed bay, and in which the crowd seemed but so much human dust. Then, when Madame Desforges raised her eyes, she beheld on the staircases and the flying bridges and behind the balustrades of each successive storey, a continual buzzing ascent, an entire population in the air, passing along behind the open work of this huge carcass of metal and showing blackly against the diffuse light from the enamelled glass. Large gilded lustres were suspended from the ceiling; decorations of rugs, embroidered silks and stuffs worked with gold, hung down, draping the balustrades as with gorgeous banners; and, from one to the other end were clouds of lace, palpitations of muslin, trophies of silks, fairy-like groups of half-dressed dummies; and right at the top, above all the confusion, the bedding department, hanging, as it were, in the air, displayed its little iron bedsteads provided with mattresses, and hung with curtains, the whole forming a sort of school dormitory asleep amidst the tramping of the customers, who became fewer and fewer as the departments ascended.
"Does madame require a cheap pair of garters?" asked a salesman of Madame Desforges on seeing her standing still. "All silk, at twenty-nine sous."
She did not condescend to answer. Things were being offered around her more feverishly than ever. She wanted, however, to find out where she was. Albert Lhomme's pay-desk was on her left; he knew her by sight and ventured to give her an amiable smile, not showing the least hurry amidst the heaps of bills by which he was besieged; though behind him, Joseph, struggling with the string-box, could not pack up the articles fast enough. She then saw where she was; the silk department must be in front of her. But it took her ten minutes to reach it, so dense was the crowd becoming. Up in the air, at the end of their invisible strings, the red air-balls had become more numerous than ever; they now formed clouds of purple, gently blowing towards the doors whence they continued scattering over Paris; and she had to bow her head beneath their flight whenever very young children held them with the string rolled round their little fingers.
"What! you have ventured here, madame?" exclaimed Bouthemont gaily, as soon as he caught sight of Madame Desforges.
The manager of the silk department, introduced to her by Mouret himself, now occasionally called on her at her five o'clock tea. She thought him common, but very amiable, of a fine sanguine temper, which surprised and amused her. Moreover some two days previously he had boldly told her of the intrigue between Mouret and Clara, He had not done this with any calculating motive but out of sheer stupidity, like a fellow who loves a joke. She, however, stung with jealousy, concealing her wounded feelings beneath an appearance of disdain, had that afternoon come to try and discover her rival, a young lady in the mantle department, so Bouthemont had told her, though declining to give the name.
"Do you require anything to-day?" he inquired.
"Of course, or I should not have come. Have you any foulard for morning gowns?"
She hoped to obtain the name of the young lady from him, for she was full of a desire to see her. He immediately called Favier; and then went on chatting whilst waiting for the salesman, who was just serving another customer. This happened to be "the pretty lady," that beautiful blonde of whom the whole department occasionally spoke, without knowing anything of her life or even her name. This time the pretty lady was in deep mourning. Whom could she have lost – her husband or her father? Not her father, for she would have appeared more melancholy. What had they all been saying then? She could not be a questionable character; she must have had a real husband – that is unless she were in mourning for her mother. For a few minutes, despite the press of business, the department exchanged these various speculations.
"Make haste! it's intolerable!" cried Hutin to Favier, when he returned from showing his customer to the pay-desk. "Whenever that lady is here you never seem to finish. She doesn't care a fig for you!"
"She cares a deuced sight more for me than I do for her!" replied the vexed salesman.
But Hutin threatened to report him to the directors if he did not show more respect for the customers. The second-hand was becoming terrible, of a morose severity ever since the department had conspired to get him Robineau's place. He even showed himself so intolerable, after all the promises of good-fellowship, with which he had formerly warmed his colleagues' zeal, that the latter were now secretly supporting Favier against him.
"Now, then, no back answers," replied Hutin sharply. "Monsieur Bouthemont wishes you to show some foulards of the lightest patterns."
In the middle of the department, an exhibition of summer silks illumined the hall with an aurora-like brilliancy, like the rising of a planet amidst the most delicate tints: pale rose, soft yellow, limpid blue, indeed the whole scarf of Iris. There were foulards of a cloudy fineness, surahs lighter than the down falling from trees, satined pekins as soft and supple as a Chinese beauty's skin. Then came Japanese pongees, Indian tussores and corahs, without counting the light French silks, the narrow stripes, the small checks and the flowered patterns, all the most fanciful designs, which made one think of ladies in furbelows, strolling in the sweet May mornings, under the spreading trees of some park.
"I'll take this, the Louis XIV, with figured roses," said Madame Desforges at last.
And whilst Favier was measuring it, she made a last attempt with Bouthemont, who had remained near her.
"I'm going up to the ready-made department to see if they have any travelling cloaks. Is she fair, the young lady you were talking about?"
The manager, who felt rather anxious on finding her so persistent, merely smiled. But, just at that moment, Denise passed by. She had just come from the merinoes which were in the charge of Liénard to whom she had escorted Madame Boutarel, that provincial lady who came to Paris twice a year, to scatter the money she saved out of her housekeeping all over the Ladies' Paradise. And thereupon, just as Favier was about to take up Madame Desforges's silk, Hutin, thinking to annoy him, interfered.
"It's quite unnecessary, Mademoiselle will have the kindness to conduct this lady."
Denise, quite confused, at once took charge of the parcel and the debit-note. She could never meet this young man face to face without experiencing a feeling of shame, as if he reminded her of some former fault; and yet she had only sinned in her dreams.
"But just tell me," said Madame Desforges, in a low tone, to Bouthemont, "isn't it this awkward girl? He has taken her back, I see? It must be she who is the heroine of the adventure!"
"Perhaps," replied the silk manager, still smiling, but fully decided not to tell the truth.
Madame Desforges then slowly ascended the staircase, preceded by Denise; but after every two or three steps she had to pause in order to avoid being carried away by the descending crowd. In the living vibration of the whole building, the iron supports seemed to sway under your feet as if quivering beneath the breath of the multitude. On each stair was a strongly fixed dummy, displaying some garment or other: a costume, cloak, or dressing-gown; and the whole was like a double row of soldiers at attention whilst some triumphal procession went past.
Madame Desforges was at last reaching the first storey, when a still greater surging of the crowd forced her to stop once more. Beneath her she now had the departments on the ground-floor, with the press of customers through which she had just passed. This was a new spectacle, a sea of fore-shortened heads, swarming with agitation like an ant-hill. The white price-tickets now seemed but so many narrow lines, the piles of ribbon became quite squat, the promontory of flannel was but a thin partition barring the gallery; whilst the carpets and the embroidered silks which decked the balustrades hung down like processional banners suspended from the gallery of a church. In the distance Madame Desforges could perceive some corners of the lateral galleries, just as from the top of a steeple one perceives the corners of neighbouring streets, with black specks of passers-by moving about. But what surprised her above all, in the weariness of her eyes blinded by the brilliant medley of colours, was, on lowering their lids, to realize the presence of the crowd more keenly than ever, by its dull roar like that of the rising tide, and the human warmth that it exhaled. A fine dust rose from the floor, laden with odore di femina, a penetrating perfume, which seemed like the incense of this temple raised for the worship of woman.
Meanwhile Mouret, still standing before the reading-room with Vallagnosc, was inhaling this odour, intoxicating himself with it, and repeating: "They are quite at home. I know some who spend the whole day here, eating cakes and writing letters. There's only one thing left me to do, and that is, to find them beds."
This joke made Paul smile, he who, in his pessimistic boredom considered the turbulence of this multitude running after a lot of gew-gaws to be idiotic. Whenever he came to give his old comrade a look-up, he went away almost vexed to find him so full of life amidst his people of coquettes. Would not one of them, with shallow brain and empty heart, some day make him realize the stupidity and uselessness of life? That very day Octave seemed to have lost some of his equilibrium; he who generally inspired his customers with a fever, with the tranquil grace of an operator, was as though caught by the passion which was gradually consuming the whole establishment. Since he had caught sight of Denise and Madame Desforges coming up the grand staircase, he had been talking louder, gesticulating against his will; and though he affected not to turn his face towards them, he grew more and more animated as he felt them drawing nearer. His face became flushed and in his eyes was a little of that bewildered rapture with which the eyes of his customers at last quivered.
"You must be fearfully robbed," murmured Vallagnosc, who thought that the crowd looked very criminal.
Mouret threw his arms out. "My dear fellow, it's beyond all imagination," said he.
And, nervously, delighted at having something to talk about, he gave a number of details, related cases, and classified the delinquents. In the first place, there were the professional thieves; these women did the least harm of all, for the police knew every one of them. Then came the kleptomaniacs, who stole from a perverse desire, a new form of nervous affection which a doctor had classed, showing it to be the result of the temptations of the big shops. And finally came the women who were enceintes and whose thefts were invariably thefts of some especially coveted article. For instance, at the house of one of them, the district commissary of police had found two hundred and forty-eight pairs of pink gloves stolen from well nigh every shop in Paris.
"That's what gives the women such funny eyes here, then," murmured Vallagnosc, "I've been watching them with their greedy, shameful looks, like mad creatures. A fine school for honesty!"
"Hang it!" replied Mouret, "though we make them quite at home, we can't let them take the goods away under their mantles. And sometimes they are very respectable people. Last week we caught the sister of a chemist, and the wife of a judge. Yes, the wife of a judge! However, we always try to settle these matters."
He paused to point out Jouve, who was just then looking sharply after a woman at the ribbon counter below. This woman, who appeared to be suffering a great deal from the jostling of the crowd, was accompanied by a friend, whose mission seemed to be to protect her against all hurt, and each time she stopped in a department, Jouve kept his eyes on her, whilst her friend near by ransacked the card-board boxes at her ease.
"Oh! he'll catch her!" resumed Mouret; "he knows all their tricks."
But his voice trembled and he laughed in an awkward manner. Denise and Henriette, whom he had ceased to watch, were at last passing behind him, after having had a great deal of trouble to get out of the crush. He turned round suddenly, and bowed to his customer with the discreet air of a friend who does not desire to compromise a woman by stopping her in a crowd of people. But Henriette, on the alert, had at once perceived the look with which he had first enveloped Denise. It must be this girl – thought she – yes, this was the rival she had been curious to come and see.
In the mantle department, the young ladies were fast losing their heads. Two of them had fallen ill, and Madame Frédéric, the second-hand, had quietly given notice the previous day, and repaired to the cashier's office to take her money, leaving The Ladies' Paradise at a minute's notice, just as The Ladies' Paradise itself discharged its employees. Ever since the morning, in spite of the feverish rush of business, every one had been talking of this affair. Clara, still kept in the department by Mouret's caprice, thought it grand. Marguerite related how exasperated Bourdoncle was; whilst Madame Aurélie, greatly vexed, declared that Madame Frédéric ought at least to have informed her, for such hypocrisy had never before been heard of.
Although Madame Frédéric had never confided in any one, she was suspected of having relinquished her position to marry the proprietor of some baths in the neighbourhood of the Halles.
"It's a travelling cloak that madame desires, I believe?" inquired Denise of Madame Desforges, after offering her a chair.
"Yes," curtly replied the latter, who had made up her mind to be impolite.
The new decorations of the department were of a rich severity: on all sides were high carved oak cupboards with mirrors filling the whole space of their panels, while a red carpet muffled the continued tramping of the customers. Whilst Denise went off to fetch the cloaks, Madame Desforges, who was looking round, perceived her face in a glass; and she continued contemplating herself. Was she getting old then that she should be cast aside for the first-comer? The glass reflected the entire department with all its commotion, but she only beheld her own pale face; she did not hear Clara behind her, relating to Marguerite a story of Madame Frédéric's mysterious goings-on, the manner in which she went out of her way night and morning so as to pass through the Passage Choiseul, and thus make people believe that she lived over the water.
"Here are our latest designs," said Denise. "We have them in several colours."
She laid out four or five cloaks. Madame Desforges looked at them with a scornful air, and became harsher at each fresh one that she examined. What was the reason of those pleats which made the garment look so scanty? And that other one, square across the shoulders, why, you might have thought it had been cut out with a hatchet! Though people went travelling they could not dress like sentry-boxes!
"Show me something else, mademoiselle."
Denise unfolded and refolded the garments without the slightest sign of ill temper. And it was just this calm, serene patience which exasperated Madame Desforges the more. Her glances continually returned to the glass in front of her. Now that she saw herself there, close to Denise she ventured on a comparison. Was it possible that he should prefer that insignificant creature to herself? She now remembered that this was the girl whom she had formerly seen cutting such a silly figure at the time of her début – as clumsy as any peasant wench freshly arrived from her village. No doubt she looked better now, stiff and correct in her silk gown. But how puny, how common-place she was!
"I will show you some other patterns, madame," said Denise, quietly.
When she returned, the scene began again. Then it was the cloth that was too heavy or of no good whatever. And Madame Desforges turned round, raising her voice, and endeavouring to attract Madame Aurélie's attention, in the hope of getting the girl a scolding. But Denise, since her return, had gradually conquered the department, and now felt quite at home in it; the first-hand had even recognised that she possessed some rare and valuable qualities as a saleswoman – a stubborn sweetness, a smiling force of conviction. And thus when Madame Aurélie heard Madame Desforges she simply shrugged her shoulders, taking care not to interfere.
"Would you kindly tell me the kind of garment you require, madame?" asked Denise, once more, with her polite persistence, which nothing could discourage.
"But you've got nothing!" exclaimed Madame Desforges.
She stopped short, surprised to feel a hand laid on her shoulder. It was the hand of Madame Marty, who was being carried through the establishment by her fever for spending. Since the cravats, the embroidered gloves, and the red parasol, her purchases had increased to such an extent that the last salesman had just decided to place them all on a chair, as to have carried them on his arm, might have broken it; and he walked in front of her, drawing along the chair, upon which petticoats, napkins, curtains, a lamp, and three straw hats were heaped together.
"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.
