Эмиль Золя
The Ladies' Paradise
CHAPTER XII
It was on the 25th of September that the building of the new façade of The Ladies' Paradise commenced. Baron Hartmann, according to his promise, had managed to settle the matter at the last general meeting of the Crédit Immobilier. And Mouret was at length approaching the realization of his dream: this façade, about to arise in the Rue du Dix-Décembre, was like the very blossoming of his fortune. He therefore desired to celebrate the laying of the foundation stone; and made it a ceremony, besides distributing gratuities amongst his employees, and giving them game and champagne for dinner in the evening. Every one noticed his wonderful good humour during the ceremony, his victorious gesture as he made the first stone fast with a flourish of the trowel. For weeks he had been anxious, agitated by a nervous torment that he did not always manage to conceal; and his triumph brought a respite, a distraction to his suffering. During the afternoon he seemed to have returned to his former healthy gaiety. But, at dinner-time, when he went through the refectory to drink a glass of champagne with his staff, he appeared feverish again, smiling with a painful look, his features drawn by the unconfessed suffering which was consuming him. He was once more mastered by it.
The next day, in the cloak and mantle department, Clara Prunaire tried to be disagreeable with Denise. She had noticed Colomban's lackadaisical passion, and took it into her head to joke about the Baudus. As Marguerite was sharpening her pencil while waiting for customers, she said to her, in a loud voice:
"You know my admirer opposite. It really grieves me to see him in that dark shop which no one ever enters."
"He's not so badly off," replied Marguerite, "he's going to marry the governor's daughter."
"Oh! oh!" resumed Clara, "it would be good fun to flirt with him then! I'll try the game, on my word of honour!"
And she continued in the same strain, happy to feel that Denise was shocked. The latter forgave her everything else; but the thought of her dying cousin Geneviève being finished off by such cruelty, exasperated her. As it happened, at that moment a customer came in, and as Madame Aurélie had just gone downstairs, she took the direction of the counter, and called Clara.
"Mademoiselle Prunaire, you had better attend to this lady instead of gossiping there."
"I wasn't gossiping."
"Have the kindness to hold your tongue, and attend to this lady immediately."
Clara gave in, conquered. When Denise showed her authority, without raising her voice, not one of them resisted. She had acquired this absolute authority by her very moderation. For a moment she walked up and down in silence, amidst the young ladies who had become serious again. Marguerite had resumed sharpening her pencil, the point of which was always breaking.
"What! you're getting angry?" all at once said a voice behind Denise.
It was Pauline, on her way across the department. She had noticed the scene, and spoke in a low tone, smiling.
"But I'm obliged to," replied Denise in the same tone, "I can't manage them otherwise."
Pauline shrugged her shoulders. "Nonsense, you can be queen over all of us whenever you like," she replied. She was still unable to understand her friend's refusal.
Since the end of August, Pauline had been married to Baugé; a most stupid affair, she would sometimes gaily remark. That terrible Bourdoncle treated her anyhow, now, considering her as lost for trade. Her great fear was that they might some fine day send her to love her husband elsewhere, for the managers had decreed love to be execrable and fatal to business. So great was her dread, that when she met Baugé in the galleries she often affected not to know him. She had just had a fright – old Jouve having nearly caught her talking to her husband behind a pile of dusters.
"See! he's followed me," she added, after hastily relating the adventure to Denise. "Just look at him sniffing for me with his big nose!"
Jouve, in fact, was just then coming from the lace department, correctly arrayed in a white tie, and with his nose on the scent for some delinquent. But when he saw Denise, his face relaxed and he passed by with an amiable smile.
"Saved!" murmured Pauline. "My dear, you made him swallow that! I say, if anything should happen to me, you would speak for me, wouldn't you? Yes, yes, don't put on that astonished air, we know that a word from you would revolutionize the house."
And thereupon she ran off to her counter. Denise had blushed, troubled by these friendly allusions. It was true, however. She had a vague sensation of her power from the flattery with which she was surrounded. When Madame Aurélie returned, and found the department quiet and busy under the surveillance of the second-hand, she smiled at her amicably. She threw over Mouret himself, and her amiability daily increased for the young person who might some fine morning desire her situation as first-hand. In a word Denise's reign was commencing.
Bourdoncle alone still stood out. In the secret warfare which he carried on against the young girl, there was in the first place a natural antipathy. He detested her for her gentleness and her charm. Then too he fought against her as against a fatal influence which would place the house in peril on the day when Mouret should succumb. The governor's commercial genius seemed certain to founder in this stupid affection: all that they had gained by women would be swallowed up by this one. None of them touched Bourdoncle's heart, he treated them all with the disdain of a passionless man whose business was to live by them, and whose last illusions had been dispelled by seeing them so closely amidst the worries of his trade. And what made him especially anxious in the presence of this little saleswoman, who had gradually become so redoubtable, was that he did not in the least believe in her disinterestedness, in the genuineness of her refusals. In his opinion she was playing a part, the most skilful of parts, rendering Mouret absolutely mad, capable of any folly.
Thus Bourdoncle could never now catch sight of her, with her clear eyes, sweet face, and simple attitude, without experiencing a real fear, as if he had before him some disguised female flesh-eater, the sombre enigma of woman, Death in the guise of a virgin. In what way could he possibly confound the tactics of this spurious novice? He was now only anxious to penetrate her artful ways, in the hope of exposing them to the light of day. She would certainly commit some fault at last; he would surprise her with one of her sweethearts, and she would again be dismissed. The house would then resume its regular working like a well-appointed machine.
"Keep a good look-out, Monsieur Jouve," Bourdoncle kept saying to the inspector. "I'll take care that you shall be rewarded."
But Jouve was somewhat lukewarm for he knew something about women, and asked himself whether he had not better take the part of this girl, who might be the sovereign mistress of the morrow. Though he did not now dare to touch her, he still thought her bewitchingly pretty. His colonel in bygone days had killed himself for a similar little thing, with an insignificant face, delicate and modest, one look from whom had ravaged all hearts.
"I'm watching," he replied. "But, on my word, I cannot discover anything."
And yet stories were circulating, there was quite a current of abominable tittle-tattle running beneath the flattery and respect which Denise felt arising around her. The whole house now declared that she had formerly had Hutin for a sweetheart; and they were suspected of still meeting from time to time. Deloche also was said to keep company with her; they were continually meeting in dark corners and talking for hours together. It was quite a scandal!
"So, there's nothing about the first-hand in the silk department, or about the young man in the lace one?" asked Bourdoncle.
"No, sir, nothing yet," replied the inspector.
It was with Deloche especially that Bourdoncle expected to surprise Denise, for one morning he himself had caught them laughing together downstairs. In the meantime, he treated her on a footing of perfect equality, for he no longer disdained her, feeling that she was strong enough to overthrow even himself notwithstanding his ten years' service, should he lose the game.
"Keep your eye on the young man in the lace department," he concluded each time. "They are always together. If you catch them, call me, and I'll manage the rest."
Mouret, meanwhile, was living in anguish. Was it possible that such a child could torture him in this manner? He could always recall her arrival at The Ladies' Paradise, with her heavy shoes, thin black dress, and wild look. She stammered, they all used to laugh at her, he himself had thought her ugly at first. Ugly! and now she could have brought him to his knees by a look, for he thought her nothing less than an angel! Then she had remained the last in the house, repulsed, joked at, treated by him as a curious specimen of humanity. For months he had wanted to see how a girl sprung up, and had amused himself with this experiment, not understanding that he was risking his heart. She, little by little had grown and become redoubtable. Perhaps he had loved her from the very first, even at the time when he had thought that he felt nothing but pity for her. And yet, he had only really begun to feel this love on the evening of their walk under the chestnut trees of the Tuileries. His life dated from then; he could still hear the laughter of a group of little girls, the distant fall of a jet of water, whilst in the warm shade she walked on beside him in silence. After that, he knew no more, his fever had increased hour by hour; all his blood, his whole being, in fact, had been given to her. And she, such a child – was it possible? When she passed by now, the slight gust from her dress seemed to him so powerful that he staggered.
For a long time he had struggled, and even now he frequently became indignant and endeavoured to free himself from this idiotic possession. What power was it she possessed that she should be able to bind him in this way? Had he not seen her without boots to her feet? Had she not been received almost out of charity? He could have understood had it been a question of one of those superb creatures who charm the multitude! but this little girl; this nobody! She had, in short, one of those insignificant faces which excite no remark. She could not even be very intelligent, for he remembered her bad beginning as a saleswoman. But, after every explosion of anger, he experienced a relapse of passion, a kind of sacred terror at having insulted his idol. She possessed everything a woman can have that is good – courage, gaiety, simplicity; and from her gentleness a charm of penetrating, perfume-like subtlety was exhaled. One might at first ignore her, or elbow her like any other girl; but the charm soon began to act with invincible force; and one belonged to her for ever, if she deigned to smile. Everything then beamed in her white face, her soft eyes, her cheeks and chin full of dimples; whilst her heavy blonde hair also seemed to light up with a royal and conquering beauty. He acknowledged himself vanquished; she was as intelligent as she was beautiful, her intelligence came from the best part of her being. Whilst in his eyes the other saleswomen only possessed a superficial education, the varnish which scales off from girls of that class, she, without any false elegance, retained her native grace, the savour of her origin. The broadest commercial ideas sprang up from her experience, behind her narrow forehead, whose pure lines clearly announced the presence of a firm will and love of order. And he could have clasped his hands to ask her pardon for blaspheming in his hours of revolt.
Why did she still refuse with such obstinacy? Twenty times had he entreated her, increasing his offers, offering money and more money. Then, thinking that she must be ambitious, he had promised to appoint her first-hand, as soon as there should be a vacancy. And she had refused, and still refused! For him it was a stupor, a struggle in which his desire became rageful.
All his days were now spent amidst the same grievous obsession. Denise's image rose with him. After he had dreamed of her all night, she followed him to the desk in his office, where he signed the bills and orders from nine to ten o'clock: a work which he accomplished mechanically, never ceasing to feel her present, still saying "no," with her quiet air. Then, at ten o'clock, came the board-meeting, quite a cabinet council composed of the twelve directors, at which he had to preside; they discussed matters affecting the in-door arrangements, examined the purchases, settled the window displays; and yet she was still there, he heard her soft voice amidst the figures, he saw her bright smile amidst the most complicated financial situations. After the board-meeting, she accompanied him on the daily inspection of the departments, and returning with him to his office in the afternoon, she remained close to his chair from two till four o'clock, whilst he received a crowd of important business men, the principal manufacturers of France, bankers and inventors: a continual coming-and-going of the wealth and intelligence of the land, a mad dance of millions, rapid interviews during which the biggest affairs of the Paris market were concluded. If he forgot her for a moment whilst he was deciding to ruin or support an industry, he found her again at a sudden twitch of his heart; his voice died away, and he asked himself what could be the use of this princely fortune since she still refused. At last, when five o'clock struck, he had to sign the day's correspondence, and the mechanical working of his hand began again, whilst she rose up before him more domineering than ever, seizing him entirely, to hold possession of him throughout the solitary and ardent hours of the night. And the morrows were the same days over again, days which were so active, so full of colossal labour but which the slight shadow of a child sufficed to ravage with anguish.
However, it was particularly during his daily inspection of the departments that he felt his misery. To have built up this giant machine, to reign over such a world of people, and yet to be dying of grief because a little girl would not accept him! He scorned himself, dragging the fever and shame of his pain about with him everywhere. On certain days he became disgusted with his power; from one end to the other of the galleries he felt nothing but nausea. At other times he would have wished to extend his empire, and make it so vast that she would perhaps have yielded out of sheer admiration and fear.
He would begin by stopping in the basement opposite the shoot. This was still in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin; but it had been necessary to enlarge it, and it was now as wide as the bed of a river, down which the continual flood of goods rolled with the loud noise of rushing water. There was a succession of arrivals from all parts of the world, rows of waggons from every railway, a ceaseless unloading, a stream of packing-cases and bales flowing underground and absorbed by the insatiable establishment. He gazed at this torrent pouring into his house, he felt that he was one of the masters of the public fortune, that he held in his hands the fate of French manufactures, and yet was unable to buy a kiss from one of his saleswomen.
Then he passed on to the receiving department, which now occupied that part of the basement skirting the Rue Monsigny. Twenty tables were ranged there, in the pale light from the air-holes; quite a crowd of assistants was bustling about, emptying cases, checking goods, and marking them in plain figures, amidst the neighbouring roar of the shoot, which almost drowned their voices. Various managers of departments stopped him, he had to solve difficulties and confirm orders. The cellar filled with the soft glimmer of satin and the whiteness of linen, a prodigious unpacking in which furs were mingled with lace, French fancy goods with Eastern hangings. With a slow step he wended his way amidst all these riches thrown about in disorder, heaped up in their rough state. Up above, they would shine in the window displays, set money galloping through the departments, no sooner shown than carried off, in the furious rush of business which traversed the place. But he kept on thinking that he had offered Denise silks and velvets, anything she might like to take in no matter what quantity, from among these enormous heaps, and that she had refused his offer by a slight shake of her fair head.
After that, he went to the other end of the basement, to pay his usual visit to the delivery department. Interminable corridors ran along, lighted by gas; to the right and the left, the reserves, closed in with gratings, seemed like so many subterranean stores, a complete commercial district, with its haberdashery, underclothing, glove, toy and other shops, all sleeping in the gloom. Further on stood one of the three hot-air stoves; further still, was a post of firemen guarding the main gas-meter, enclosed in its iron cage. He found, in the delivery department, the sorting tables already littered with heaps of parcels, band-boxes, and cases which were continually arriving in large hampers; and Campion, the superintendent, gave him particulars about the current work, whilst the twenty men placed under his orders distributed the parcels among large compartments, each of which bore the name of a district of Paris, and whence the messengers took them up to the vans waiting beside the foot pavement. There was a succession of cries, names of streets and other instructions were shouted out, quite an uproar arose, all the bustle of a mail-boat about to leave her moorings. And he stood there for a moment, motionless, watching this emission of goods which he had just seen the house absorb at the opposite end of the basement: the huge current ended here; it was here that it discharged itself into the street again after filling the tills with gold. But his eyes became dim, this colossal business no longer had any importance for him; he had but one idea, that of going away to some distant land, and abandoning everything, should she persist in saying no.
Then he went upstairs, continuing his inspection, talking and bestirring himself more and more, but without finding any respite. On the second floor, he entered the forwarding department, seeking quarrels and secretly exasperated with the perfect regularity of the machine which he had himself built up. This department was the one that was daily assuming a more considerable importance: it now occupied two hundred employees – some of whom opened, read, and classified the letters coming from the provinces and abroad, whilst others collected in compartments the goods ordered by customers. And the number of letters was increasing to such an extent that they no longer counted them; they weighed them, receiving as much as a hundredweight a day. He feverishly went through the three offices, questioning Levasseur, the chief, as to the weight of the correspondence; now it was eighty, now ninety, sometimes, on a Monday, a hundred pounds. The figure increased daily, he ought to have been delighted. But he stood quivering amid the noise made by a neighbouring squad of packers nailing down the cases. It was in vain that he roamed about the building: his fixed idea remained fast in his mind, and as his power unfolded itself before him, as the mechanism of the business and the army of employees passed before his gaze, he felt more deeply than ever the taunt of his powerlessness. Orders from all Europe were flowing in, a special post-office van was required for his correspondence; and yet she said no, always no.
He returned downstairs and visited the central cashier's office, where four clerks guarded the two giant safes, through which eighty-eight million francs had passed during the previous year. He glanced at the clearing-house office which now occupied thirty-five clerks, chosen from amongst the most trustworthy. He went into the checking office, where twenty-five young men, junior clerks, checked the debit-notes and calculated the salesmen's commissions. He returned to the chief cashier's office, grew exasperated by the sight of the safes, wandered about amidst these millions, the uselessness of which was driving him mad. She said no, always no.
And it was always and ever no, in all the departments, in the galleries, the saloons, in every part of the establishment! He went from the silk to the drapery department, from the linen to the lace; he ascended to the upper floors, pausing on the hanging bridges, prolonging his inspection with a maniacal, grievous minuteness. The house had grown and spread beyond all bounds, he had created this department, then that other; he governed that fresh domain, he extended his empire into that industry, the last one conquered; and it was no, always no, in spite of everything. His staff would now have sufficed to people a small town: there were fifteen hundred salesmen, and a thousand other employees of every sort, including forty inspectors and seventy cashiers; the kitchens alone gave occupation to thirty-two men; ten clerks were set apart for the advertising service; there were three hundred and fifty shop messengers, all wearing livery, and twenty-four firemen living on the premises. And the stables, royal buildings situated in the Rue Monsigny, opposite the warehouses, accommodated one hundred and forty-five horses, a splendid set of animals already celebrated. The first four conveyances which had stirred up the whole neighbourhood formerly when the house occupied only the corner of the Place Gaillon, had gradually increased to sixty-two: small hand-trucks, one-horse vans, and heavy two-horse ones. They were continually scouring Paris, skilfully driven by coachmen clad in black, and bearing hither and thither the gold and purple sign of The Ladies' Paradise. They even went beyond the fortifications, and sped through the suburbs; they were to be met in the hollow roads of Bicêtre and along the banks of the Marne, along even the shady drives of the Forest of Saint-Germain. Sometimes one would emerge from the depths of some sunny avenue, where all was silent and deserted, the superb animals which drew it passing by at a trot, whilst it cast the glaring advertisement of its varnished panels upon the mysterious peacefulness of nature. Mouret was actually thinking of sending these vehicles further still, even into the neighbouring departments; he would have liked to hear them rolling along every road in France, from one frontier to the other. But he no longer even crossed the street to visit his horses, though he was passionately fond of them. Of what good was this conquest of the world, since it was no, always no?
Nowadays of an evening, when he arrived at Lhomme's desk, he still from force of habit glanced at the amount of the takings written on a card, which the cashier stuck up on an iron file beside him; this figure rarely fell below a hundred thousand francs, sometimes on big sale days it ran up to eight and nine hundred thousand; but the amount no longer sounded in Mouret's ears like a trumpet-blast, he regretted having looked at it, and bitterly went his way, full of hatred and scorn of money.
But his sufferings were destined to increase, for he became jealous. One morning, in the office, before the board-meeting began, Bourdoncle ventured to hint that the little girl in the mantle department was playing with him.
"How so?" he asked, turning very pale.
"Why yes! she has sweethearts in this very building."
Mouret found strength to smile. "I don't think any more about her, my dear fellow. You can speak freely. Who are they?"
"Hutin, they say, and then a salesman in the lace department – Deloche, that tall awkward fellow. I can't speak with certainty, never having seen them together. But it appears that it's notorious."
There was a silence. Mouret affected to arrange the papers on his table in order to conceal the trembling of his hands. At last, he observed, without raising his head: "One must have proofs, try and bring me some proofs. As for myself, I assure you I don't care in the least, for I'm quite sick of her. But we can't allow such things to go on here."
"Never fear," replied Bouthemont, "you shall have proofs one of these days. I'm keeping a good look-out."
This news deprived Mouret of all rest. He had not the courage to revert to the conversation, but lived in continual expectation of a catastrophe, in which his heart would be crushed. And this torment rendered him terrible; he made the whole house tremble. He now disdained to conceal himself behind Bourdoncle, and performed the executions in person, feeling a nervous desire for revenge, solacing himself by abuse of his power, that power which could do nothing for the contentment of his sole desire. Each of his inspections became a massacre; as soon as he was seen a shudder of panic sped from counter to counter. The dead winter season was just then approaching, and he made a clean sweep in each department, piling up victims and hustling them into the street. His first idea had been to dismiss Hutin and Deloche; but he had reflected that if he did not keep them, he would never discover anything; and the others suffered for them: the whole staff trembled. In the evening, when he found himself alone again, tears made his eyelids swell.
One day especially terror reigned supreme. An inspector had the idea that Mignot was stealing. There was always a number of strange-looking girls prowling around his counter; and one of them had lately been arrested, her hips and bosom padded with sixty pairs of gloves. From that moment a watch was kept, and the inspector caught Mignot in the act of facilitating the sleight of hand of a tall fair girl who had formerly been a saleswoman at the Louvre. His plan was very simple, he pretended to be trying some gloves on her, waited till she had padded herself, and then conducted her to the pay-desk, where she paid for a single pair only. Mouret happened to be there, just at that moment. As a rule, he preferred not to mix himself up in affairs of this sort, which were fairly frequent; for notwithstanding the regular machine-like working, great disorder reigned in certain departments of The Ladies' Paradise, and scarcely a week passed by without some employee being dismissed for theft. The management preferred to hush up such matters as far as possible, considering it undesirable to set the police at work, and thus expose one of the fatal plague-spots of these great bazaars. But, that day, Mouret felt a real need of venting his anger on some one, and treated handsome Mignot with such violence, that the latter stood there trembling with fear, his face pale and distorted.
"I ought to call a policeman," cried Mouret, before all the other salesmen. "But answer me! who is this woman? I swear I'll send for the police commissary, if you don't tell me the truth."
The woman had been taken away, and two saleswomen were searching her. "I don't know her, sir," Mignot stammered out: "She's the one who came – "
"Don't tell lies!" interrupted Mouret, more violently still. "And there's nobody here to warn us! You are all in the plot, on my word! We are robbed, pillaged, plundered. It's enough to make us have the pockets of each one searched before he leaves!"
Murmurs were heard. The three or four customers buying gloves stood looking on, frightened.
"Silence!" he resumed, furiously, "or I'll clear the whole place!"
However, Bourdoncle came running up, all anxiety at the idea of the scandal. He whispered a few words in Mouret's ear, the affair was assuming exceptional gravity; and he prevailed on him to take Mignot into the inspectors office, a room on the ground-floor near the entrance in the Rue Gaillon. The woman was there, quietly putting on her things again. She had just mentioned Albert Lhomme's name. Mignot, on again being questioned, lost his head, and began to sob; he wasn't in fault, it was Albert who sent him these girls; he had at first merely afforded them certain advantages, enabling them to profit by the bargains; and at last when they took to stealing, he was already too far compromised to report the matter. The principals now discovered a series of extraordinary robberies; goods taken away by girls who went into the luxurious lavatories, situated near the refreshment bar and surrounded by evergreen plants, to hide them under their skirts; purchases which a salesman neglected to call out at a pay-desk, when he accompanied a customer there and the price of which he divided with the cashier; and even false "returns," articles which employees said had been brought back in order that they might pocket the refunded money; without mentioning the common robberies of things which the salesmen took away under their coats in the evening, sometimes rolled round their bodies, and sometimes even hung down their legs. For the last fourteen months, thanks to Mignot and other salesmen, no doubt, whom they refused to name, this pilfering had been going on at Albert's desk – quite an impudent trafficking in articles representing a large amount of money which was never correctly ascertained.
Meanwhile the news had spread through the various departments, causing guilty consciences to tremble, whilst the most honest quaked at thought of the general sweep that seemed imminent. Albert had disappeared into the inspector's office. Next his father had passed by, half choking, his face red and showing signs of apoplexy. Then Madame Aurélie herself was called; and came down bearing the affront with head erect, her fat puffy countenance having the appearance of a wax mask. The explanation lasted for some time; no one knew the exact details, but it was said that the first-hand had slapped her son's face, whilst the worthy old father wept, and the governor, contrary to all his elegant habits, swore like a trooper, absolutely wanting to hand the offenders over to justice. However, the scandal was hushed up. Mignot was the only one dismissed there and then. Albert did not disappear till two days later; his mother had doubtless begged that the family might not be dishonoured by an immediate execution. Still the panic lasted several days longer, for after this scene Mouret wandered from one end of the establishment to the other, with a terrible expression, venting his anger on all those who dared even to raise their eyes.
