Эмиль Золя
The Ladies' Paradise
CHAPTER XI
That day, Bouthemont was the first to arrive at Madame Desforges's four o'clock tea. Waiting alone in her large Louis XVI. drawing-room, the brasses and brocatel of which shone with a clear gaiety, she rose with an air of impatience, saying, "Well?"
"Well," replied the young man, "when I told him that I should no doubt call on you he formally promised me to come."
"You made him thoroughly understand that I expected the baron to-day?"
"Certainly. That's what appeared to decide him."
They were speaking of Mouret, who, the year before, had suddenly taken such a liking to Bouthemont that he had admitted him to share his pleasures; and had even introduced him to Henriette, glad to have an agreeable fellow always at hand to enliven an acquaintanceship of which he was getting tired. It was thus that Bouthemont had ultimately become the confidant of his employer and the handsome widow; he did their little errands, talked of the one to the other, and sometimes reconciled them. Henriette, in her jealous fits, displayed a familiarity which sometimes surprised and embarrassed him, for she was losing the prudence of a woman of the world who employed all her art to save appearances.
"You ought to have brought him," she exclaimed violently. "I should have been sure then."
"Well," said he, with a good-natured laugh, "it isn't my fault if he escapes so frequently now. Oh! he's very fond of me, all the same. Were it not for him I should be in a bad way at the shop."
His situation at The Ladies' Paradise had really been menaced since the last stock-taking. It was in vain that he talked of the rainy season, they could not overlook the considerable stock of fancy silks left on hand; and as Hutin was improving the occasion – undermining him with the governors with an increase of sly ferocity – he could feel the ground giving way beneath him. Mouret had condemned him, weary already, no doubt, of this witness who prevented him from breaking off with Henriette and tired of an acquaintanceship which yielded no profit. But, in accordance with his usual tactics, he was pushing Bourdoncle forward: it was Bourdoncle and the other partners who insisted on Bouthemont's dismissal at each board meeting; whilst he according to his own account resisted then, defending his friend energetically, at the risk even of getting into serious trouble with the others.
"Well, I shall wait," resumed Madame Desforges. "You know that the girl is to be here at five o'clock. I want to see them face to face. I must discover their secret."
And thereupon she reverted to her long-meditated plan, mentioning in her agitation that she had requested Madame Aurélie to send her Denise to look at a mantle which fitted badly. When she should once have got the young girl in her room, she would find some reason for calling Mouret, and would then act. Bouthemont, who had sat down opposite to her, was gazing at her with his handsome laughing eyes, which he was endeavouring to keep serious. This jovial fellow, with coal-black beard, this dissipated blade whose warm Gascon blood empurpled his cheeks, was thinking that fine ladies were not of much account after all, and let out a nice lot of things when they ventured to open their hearts.
"Come," he made bold to say at last, "what can that matter to you since I assure you that there is nothing whatever between them?"
"Just so!" she cried, "it's because he loves her! I don't care a fig for the others, the chance acquaintances, the friends of a day!"
She spoke of Clara with disdain. She was well aware that Mouret, after Denise's rejection, had fallen back on that tall, red-haired girl, with the horse's head: and he had done this doubtless by calculation; for he maintained her in the department, loading her with presents. Moreover for the last three months he had been leading a terribly dissipated life, squandering his money in costly and stupid caprices, with a prodigality which caused many remarks.
"It's that creature's fault," repeated Henriette. "I feel sure he's ruining himself with others because she repulses him. Besides, what's his money to me? I should have preferred him poor. You know how fond I am of him, you who have become our friend."
She stopped short, half choking, ready to burst into tears; and, in her emotion, she held out her hands to him. It was true, she adored Mouret for his youth and his triumphs, never before had any man thus conquered her; but, at the thought of losing him, she also heard the knell of her fortieth year, and asked herself with terror how she should replace this great affection.
"I'll have my revenge," she murmured, "I'll have my revenge, if he behaves badly!"
Bouthemont continued to hold her hands in his. She was still handsome. But hers would be a troublesome acquaintance to keep up and he did not care for that style of woman. The matter, however, deserved thinking over; perhaps it would be worth his while to risk some annoyance.
"Why don't you set up on your own account?" she asked all at once, drawing her hands away.
For a moment he was astonished. Then he replied: "But it would require an immense sum. Last year I had such an idea in my head. I feel convinced that there are enough customers in Paris for one or two more big shops; but the district would have to be well chosen. The Bon Marché holds the left side of the river; the Louvre occupies the centre of the city; we monopolize, at The Paradise, the rich west-end district. There remains the north, where one might start a rival establishment to the Place Clichy. And I had discovered a splendid position, near the Opera House – "
"Well, why not?" she asked.
He set up a noisy laugh. "Just fancy," he replied, "I was stupid enough to go and talk to my father about it. Yes, I was simple enough to ask him to find me some shareholders at Toulouse."
And he gaily described the anger of the old man who remained buried in his little country shop, full of rage against the great Parisian bazaars. Bursting at the thought of the thirty thousand francs a year which his son earned, he had replied that he would sooner give his money and that of his friends to the hospitals than contribute a copper to one of those great establishments which were the pests of trade.
"Besides," the young man concluded, "it would require millions."
"Suppose they were found?" observed Madame Desforges, quietly.
He looked at her, becoming serious all at once. Was not this merely a jealous woman's remark? However, she did not give him time to question her, but added: "In short, you know what a great interest I take in you. We'll talk about it again."
The outer bell had just rung. She got up, and he, himself, drew back his chair with an instinctive movement, as if some one might have surprised them. Silence reigned in the drawing-room with its gay hangings, and decorated with such a profusion of green plants that there was like a small wood between the two windows. Henriette stood waiting, with her ear towards the door.
"It is he," she murmured.
The footman announced Monsieur Mouret and Monsieur de Vallagnosc. Henriette could not restrain a movement of anger. Why had he not come alone? He must have gone for his friend, fearful of a tête-à-tête with her. However, she smiled and shook hands with both men.
"What a stranger you are becoming! I say the same for you, Monsieur de Vallagnosc."
Her great grief was that she was getting stout, and she now squeezed herself into the tightest fitting black silk dresses, in order to conceal her increasing corpulency. Yet her pretty head, with its dark hair, preserved its pleasing shapeliness. And Mouret could familiarly tell her, as he enveloped her with a look: "It's useless to ask after your health. You are as fresh as a rose."
"Oh! I'm almost too well," she replied. "Besides, I might have died; you would have known nothing about it."
She was examining him also, and thought that he looked tired and nervous, his eyes heavy, his complexion livid.
"Well," she resumed, in a tone which she endeavoured to render agreeable, "I cannot return your compliment; you don't look at all well this evening."
"Overwork!" remarked Vallagnosc.
Mouret shrugged his shoulders, without replying. He had just caught sight of Bouthemont, and nodded to him in a friendly way. During their closer intimacy he himself had been wont to take him away from the department, and bring him to Henriette's during the busiest moments of the afternoon. But times had changed; and he now said to him in an undertone:
"You went away very early. They noticed your departure, and are furious about it."
He referred to Bourdoncle and the other persons who had an interest in the business, as if he were not himself the master.
"Ah!" murmured Bouthemont, anxiously.
"Yes, I want to talk to you. Wait for me, we'll leave together."
Henriette had now sat down again; and, while listening to Vallagnosc, who was announcing that Madame de Boves would probably pay her a visit, she did not take her eyes off Mouret. The latter, again silent, gazed at the furniture, and seemed to be looking for something on the ceiling. Then, as she laughingly complained that she now only had gentlemen at her four o'clock tea, he so far forgot himself as to blurt out:
"I expected to find Baron Hartmann here."
Henriette turned pale. No doubt she well knew that he merely came to her house to meet the baron; still he might have avoided throwing his indifference in her face like that. At that moment the door had opened and the footman was standing behind her. When she had interrogated him by a sign, the servant leant over and said in a very low tone:
"It's for that mantle. Madame wished me to let her know. The young woman is there."
Henriette at once raised her voice, so as to be heard; and all her jealous suffering found relief in these scornfully harsh words: "She can wait!"
"Shall I show her into madame's dressing-room?" asked the servant.
"No, no. Let her stay in the ante-room!"
And, when the servant had gone, she quietly resumed her conversation with Vallagnosc. Mouret, who had relapsed into his former lassitude, had listened in an absent-minded way, without understanding, while Bouthemont, worried by the adventure, remained buried in thought. Almost at that moment, however, the door was opened again, and two ladies were shown in.
"Just fancy," said Madame Marty, "I was alighting at the door, when I saw Madame de Boves coming along under the arcade."
"Yes," explained the latter, "it's a fine day, and my doctor says I must take walking exercise."
Then, after a general hand-shaking, she inquired of Henriette: "So you're engaging a new maid?"
"No," replied the other, astonished. "Why?"
"Because I've just seen a young woman in the ante-room."
Henriette interrupted her, laughing. "It's true; all those shop-girls look like ladies' maids, don't they? Yes, it's a young person come to alter a mantle."
Mouret gazed at her intently, a suspicion flashing across his mind. But she went on with a forced gaiety, explaining that she had bought the mantle in question at The Ladies' Paradise during the previous week.
"What!" asked Madame Marty, "have you deserted Sauveur, then?"
"No, my dear, but I wished to make an experiment. Besides, I was pretty well satisfied with a first purchase I made – a travelling cloak. But this time it has not succeeded at all. You may say what you like, one is horribly rigged out in the big shops. I speak out plainly, even before Monsieur Mouret. He will never know how to dress a woman who is in the least degree stylish."
Mouret did not defend his establishment, but still kept his eyes on her, consoling himself with the thought that she would never have dared to do what he had suspected. And it was Bouthemont who had to plead the cause of The Ladies' Paradise.
"If all the aristocratic ladies who patronize us were to proclaim it," he retorted gaily, "you would be astonished by the names of our customers. Order a garment to measure at our place, it will equal one from Sauveur's and cost you but half the money. But there, just because it's cheaper, it's not so good."
"So it doesn't fit, the mantle you speak of?" resumed Madame de Boves. "Ah! now I remember the young person. It's rather dark in your ante-room."
"Yes," added Madame Marty, "I was wondering where I had seen that figure before. Well! go, my dear, don't stand on ceremony with us."
Henriette assumed a look of disdainful unconcern. "Oh, presently, there is no hurry."
Then the ladies continued the discussion on the garments sold at the large establishments; and afterwards Madame de Boves spoke of her husband, who, said she, had gone to inspect the stud-farm at Saint-Lô; while at the same time Henriette related that, owing to the illness of an aunt, Madame Guibal had been suddenly called into Franche-Comté. Moreover, she did not reckon that day on seeing Madame Bourdelais either, for at the end of every month the latter shut herself up with a needlewoman to look over her young people's clothes. Madame Marty, meantime, seemed agitated by some secret trouble. Her husband's position at the Lycée Bonaparte was menaced, in consequence of the lessons which the poor man gave in certain private establishments where a regular trade was carried on in B.A. diplomas; he now feverishly earned money wherever he could, in order to meet the rage for spending which was pillaging his household; and his wife, on seeing him weeping one evening from fear of dismissal, had conceived the idea of asking her friend Henriette to speak to a director at the Ministry of Public Instruction with whom she was acquainted. Henriette finished by quieting her with a few words. Monsieur Marty, however, was coming himself that afternoon to learn his fate and thank her.
"You look unwell, Monsieur Mouret," all at once observed Madame de Boves.
"Overwork!" repeated Vallagnosc, with ironic apathy.
Mouret quickly rose as if ashamed of forgetting himself in this fashion. He took his accustomed place in the midst of the ladies, and recovered all his agreeable manners. He was now busy with the winter novelties, and spoke of a considerable arrival of lace, whereupon Madame de Boves questioned him as to the price of Alençon point: she felt inclined to buy some. She was, however, now obliged to be sparing of even thirty sous for a cab fare and would return home quite ill from the effects of stopping before the displays in the shop windows. Draped in a mantle which was already two years old, she tried, in imagination, on her queenly shoulders all the most expensive garments she saw; and it was as though they had been torn from off her when she awoke and found herself still wearing her patched-up dresses, without the slightest hope of ever satisfying her passion.
"Baron Hartmann," now announced the footman.
Henriette observed with what pleasure Mouret shook hands with the new arrival. The latter bowed to the ladies, and glanced at the young man with that subtle expression which sometimes illumined his big Alsatian face.
"Always plunged in dress!" he murmured, with a smile; and like a friend of the house, he ventured to add: "There's a charming young person in the ante-room. Who is she?"
"Oh! nobody," replied Madame Desforges, in her ill-natured voice. "Only a shop-girl waiting to see me."
The door had remained half-open as the servant was bringing in the tea. He went out, came in again, placed the china service on the table and then brought some plates of sandwiches and biscuits. In the spacious room, a bright light, softened by the green plants, illumined the brass-work, and bathed the silk hangings in a tender glow; and each time the door opened one could perceive a dim corner of the ante-room, which was only lighted by two ground-glass windows. There, in the gloom, appeared a sombre form, motionless and patient. Denise was standing; there was indeed a leather-covered bench there, but a feeling of pride prevented her from sitting down on it. She felt the insult intended her. She had been there for the last half-hour, without a sign, without a word. The ladies and the baron had taken stock of her in passing; she could now just hear the voices from the drawing-room; all the pleasant luxury wounded her with its indifference; and still she did not move. Suddenly, however, through the half-open doorway, she perceived Mouret; and he, on his side, had at last guessed it to be her.
"Is it one of your saleswomen?" asked Baron Hartmann.
Mouret had succeeded in concealing his great distress of mind; still his voice trembled somewhat with emotion: "No doubt; but I don't know which."
"It's the little fair girl from the mantle department," replied Madame Marty, obligingly, "the second-hand, I believe."
Henriette looked at Mouret in her turn.
"Ah!" said he, simply.
And then he tried to change the conversation, speaking of the fêtes that were being given to the King of Prussia who had arrived in Paris the day before. But the baron maliciously reverted to the young ladies in the big establishments. He pretended to be desirous of gaining information, and put several questions: Where did they come from in general? Was their conduct as bad as it was said to be? Quite a discussion ensued.
"Really," he repeated, "you think them well-behaved?"
Mouret defended their conduct with a conviction which made Vallagnosc smile. Bouthemont then interfered, to save his chief. Of course, there were some of all sorts, bad and good, though they were all improving. Formerly they had secured nothing but the refuse of the trade; a poor, doubtful class of girls who had drifted into the drapery business; whereas now respectable families in the Rue de Sèvres positively brought up their daughters for the Bon Marché. In short, when they liked to conduct themselves well, they could; for they were not, like the work-girls of Paris, obliged to board and lodge themselves; they had bed and board given them, their existence, though an extremely hard one, no doubt, was at all events provided for. The worst was their neutral, ill-defined position, something between the shopwoman and the lady. Thrown into the midst of luxury, often without any primary instruction, they formed a nameless class apart from all others. Their misfortunes and vices sprang from that.
"For myself," said Madame de Boves, "I don't know any creatures who are more disagreeable. Really, one could slap them at times."
And then the ladies vented their spite. Quite a battle was waged at the shop-counters, where woman was pitted against woman in a sharp rivalry of wealth and beauty. There was the sullen jealousy of the saleswomen towards the well-dressed customers, the ladies whose manners they tried to imitate, and there was a still stronger feeling on the part of the poorly-dressed customers, those of the lower middle-class, against the saleswomen, those girls arrayed in silk, from whom they would have liked to exact a servant's humility even in the serving of a half franc purchase.
"Don't speak of them," said Henriette, by way of conclusion, "they are a wretched lot as worthless as the goods they sell!"
Mouret had the strength to smile. The baron was looking at him, so touched by his graceful command over himself that he changed the conversation, returning to the fêtes that were being given to the King of Prussia: they would be superb, said he, the whole trade of Paris would profit by them. Henriette meanwhile remained silent and thoughtful, divided between the desire to let Denise remain forgotten in the ante-room, and the fear that Mouret, now aware of her presence, might go away. At last she rose from her chair.
"You will allow me?" said she.
"Certainly, my dear!" replied Madame Marty. "I will do the honours of the house for you."
She got up, took the teapot, and filled the cups. Henriette turned towards Baron Hartmann, saying: "You will stay a few minutes, won't you?"
"Yes; I want to speak to Monsieur Mouret. We are going to invade your little drawing-room."
She went out, and her black silk dress, in rustling against the door, made a noise like that of a snake wriggling through brushwood. The baron at once manœuvred to carry Mouret off, leaving the ladies to Bouthemont and Vallagnosc. Then they stood talking before the window of the other room in a low tone. A fresh affair was in question. For a long time past Mouret had cherished a desire to realize his former project, the invasion of the whole block of building from the Rue Monsigny to the Rue de la Michodière and from the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin to the Rue du Dix-Décembre, by The Ladies' Paradise. Of this enormous square there still remained a large plot of ground fronting the last named street, which he had not acquired; and this sufficed to spoil his triumph, he was tormented by a desire to complete his conquest, to erect there a sort of apotheosis, a monumental façade. As long as his principal entrance should remain in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, in a dark street of olden Paris, his work would be incomplete, deficient in logic. He wished to set it up face to face with new Paris, in one of those modern avenues through which the busy multitude of the end of the nineteenth century passed in the full glare of the sunlight. He could imagine it dominating, imposing itself as the giant palace of commerce, casting even a greater shadow over the city than the old Louvre itself. But hitherto he had been baulked by the obstinacy of the Crédit Immobilier, which still clung to its first idea of building a rival establishment to the Grand Hôtel on the site in question. The plans were ready, they were only waiting for the clearing of the Rue du Dix-Décembre to begin digging the foundations. At last, however, by a supreme effort, Mouret had almost convinced Baron Hartmann.
"Well!" the latter began, "we had a board-meeting yesterday, and I came to-day, thinking I should meet you, and wishing to keep you informed. They still resist."
The young man allowed a nervous gesture to escape him. "But it's ridiculous. What do they say?"
"Dear me! they say what I have said to you myself, and what I am still inclined to think. Your façade is only an ornament, the new buildings would only increase the area of your establishment by about a tenth, and it would be throwing away immense sums on a mere advertisement."
At this, Mouret burst out. "An advertisement! an advertisement! In any case this one would be in stone, and outlive all of us. Just consider that it would increase our business tenfold! We should see our money back in two years. How can ground be lost if it returns you an enormous interest! You will see what crowds we shall have when our customers are no longer obliged to struggle through the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, but can pass freely down a thoroughfare broad enough for six carriages abreast."
"No doubt," replied the baron, laughing. "But you are a poet in your way, let me tell you once more. These gentlemen think it would be dangerous for you to extend your business further. They want to be prudent for you."
"How! prudent? I no longer understand. Don't the figures show the constant increase in our sales? At first, with a capital of five hundred thousand francs, I did business to the extent of two millions, turning over the capital four times every year. It then became four million francs, which, turned over ten times, produced business to the extent of forty millions. In short, after successive increases, I have just learnt, from the last stock-taking, that the business done now amounts to a total of eighty millions; the capital, which has only been slightly increased – for it does not exceed six millions – has passed over our counters, in the form of goods sold, more than twelve times in the year!"
He raised his voice and tapped the fingers of his right hand on the palm of his left, knocking down those millions as he might have cracked nuts. The baron interrupted him. "I know, I know. But you don't hope to keep on increasing in this way, do you?"
"Why not?" asked Mouret, ingenuously. "There's no reason why it should stop. The capital can be turned over as many as fifteen times, I predicted as much long ago. In certain departments it can even be turned over twenty-five or thirty times. And after? well! after, we'll find a means of turning it over still more."
"So you'll finish by swallowing up all the money in Paris, as you'd swallow a glass of water?"
"Most decidedly. Doesn't Paris belong to the women, and don't the women belong to us?"
The baron laid his hands on Mouret's shoulders, looking at him with a paternal air. "Listen, you're a fine fellow, and I like you. There's no resisting you. We'll go into the matter seriously, and I hope to make them listen to reason. So far, we are perfectly satisfied with you. Your dividends astonish the Bourse. You must be right; it will be better to put more money into your business, than to risk this competition with the Grand Hôtel, which is hazardous."
Mouret's excitement at once subsided and he thanked the baron, but without any of his usual enthusiasm; and the other saw him turn his eyes towards the door of the next room, again a prey to the secret anxiety which he was concealing. Meanwhile Vallagnosc had come up, on seeing that they had finished talking business. He stood close to them, listening to the baron, who, with the air of an old man who had seen life, was muttering: "I say, I fancy they're taking their revenge."
"Who?" asked Mouret in embarrassment.
"Why, the women. They're getting tired of belonging to you, and you now belong to them, my dear fellow: it's only just!"
Then he joked him, well aware as he was of the young man's notorious love affairs. The enormous sums squandered by Mouret in costly and stupid caprices, amused him as an excuse for the follies which he had formerly committed himself. His old experience rejoiced to think that men had in no wise changed.
"Really, I don't understand you," repeated Mouret.
"Oh! you understand well enough," answered the baron. "They always get the last word. In fact, I thought to myself: It isn't possible, he's boasting, he can't be so strong as that! And now there you are! So though you obtain all you can from woman and work her as you would a coal mine, it's simply in order that she may work you afterwards, and force you to refund! And take care, for she'll draw more money from you than you have ever drawn from her."
He laughed louder still, and Vallagnosc standing by also began to grin, without, however, saying a word.
"Dear me! one must have a taste of everything," confessed Mouret, pretending to laugh as well. "Money is worthless, if it isn't spent."
"As for that, I agree with you," resumed the baron. "Enjoy yourself, my dear fellow. I'll not be the one to preach to you, or to tremble for the great interests we have confided to your care. Every one must sow his wild oats, and his head is generally clearer afterwards. Besides, there's nothing unpleasant in ruining one's self when one feels capable of building up another fortune. But if money is nothing, there are certain sufferings – "
He stopped and his smile became sad; former sufferings doubtless returned to his mind amid the irony of his scepticism. He had watched the duel between Henriette and Mouret with the curiosity of a man who still felt greatly interested in other people's love battles; and he divined that the crisis had arrived, he guessed the pending drama, being well acquainted with the story of that girl Denise whom he had seen in the ante-room.
"Oh! as for suffering, that's not in my line," said Mouret, in a tone of bravado. "It's quite enough to have to pay."
The baron looked at him for a moment without speaking. And not wishing to insist on the subject he added, slowly – "Don't make yourself out to be worse than you are! You'll lose something else besides your money. Yes, you'll lose a part of yourself, my dear fellow."
Then he broke off again, laughing, to ask: "That often happens, does it not, Monsieur de Vallagnosc?"
"So they say, baron," the latter merely replied.
Just at this moment the door opened. Mouret, who was about to answer in his turn, started slightly, and both he and his companions turned round. It was Madame Desforges who, looking very gay, had put her head through the doorway to call, in a hurried voice – "Monsieur Mouret! Monsieur Mouret!" And then perceiving the others, she added, "Oh! you'll excuse me, won't you, gentlemen? I'm going to take Monsieur Mouret away for a minute. The least he can do, as he has sold me such a frightful mantle, is to give me the benefit of his experience. This girl is a stupid thing without an idea in her head. Come, come! I'm waiting for you."
He hesitated, undecided, flinching from the scene he could foresee. However, he had to obey.
"Go, my dear fellow, go, madame wants you," the baron said to him, with his air at once paternal and mocking.
Thereupon Mouret followed her. The door closed, and he thought he could hear Vallagnosc's laugh, muffled by the hangings. His courage was entirely exhausted. Since Henriette had quitted the drawing-room, and he had known Denise to be there in jealous hands, he had experienced a growing anxiety, a nervous torment, which made him listen from time to time, as if suddenly startled by a distant sound of weeping. What could that woman invent to torture her? And all his love, that love which surprised him even now, went forth to the girl like a support and a consolation. Never before had he loved like this, found such a powerful charm in suffering. His former affections, his love for Henriette herself – so delicate, so handsome, so flattering to his pride – had never been more than agreeable pastimes; whereas nowadays his heart beat with anguish, his life was taken, he could no longer even enjoy the forgetfulness of sleep. Denise was ever in his thoughts. Even at this moment she was the sole object of his anxiety, and he was telling himself that he preferred to be there to protect her, notwithstanding his fear of some regrettable scene with the one he was following.
