Complete Works of Emile Zola (1818 page)

It is not so easy as one might think to be a connoisseur in ugliness, to make up a collection of truly ugly women who will not stand in the way of the good-looking ones, and practically make them look small.

Durandean proved his genius in the selections he made, for he showed what a profound knowledge he had of the heart and the passions. The great question with him arose as to physiognomy. This he studied diligently, and he only engaged those who had discouraging faces, those who would freeze any one by their heaviness and stupid look, and those with thin lips, hard gums, and inadequate noses.

On the day that the agency got into thorough working order, when he was able to offer to the pretty girls on their arrival ugly girls to match their colour and style of beauty, he issued the following prospectus. But this must have a section to itself.

IV

“THE CONTRAST AGENCY.

“L. Durandean,

18 rue M — , Paris.

Office Hours:

10 a m. to 4 p m.

“Paris, the 1st May, 19.

“Madame, — I have the honour to inform you that I have just opened an institution for the purpose of conferring the greatest possible benefit on all ladies for the preservation of their beauty. I am the inventor of an article of
vertu
, in a manner of speaking, which will enhance with fresh brilliancy the attractions which have been granted you by nature.

“Hitherto, the accessories of adornment have not been concealed from the public eye of inquisitive examination. One sees lace and jewellery, one even knows that there is false hair in the chignon or pad, and that the rosiness of the lips and the tender pinkness of the cheeks are clever aids of an artificial growth.

“Now, I wished to solve a problem which, at first sight, seemed impossible of solution: to adorn ladies in such a way that the eye could not detect whence the new attraction came. The object was not to meddle with ribbons or laces, or figures or faces, but to find something unique. It was therefore a question of finding out some infallible means of attraction, so that they should not find their charms and allurements thrown away.

“I think I may flatter myself that I have completely solved the insoluble problem which I had set before me.

“Now, every lady who is kind enough to honour me with her confidence can obtain, without any effort on her part, the worship of the many and the few at a very moderate cost” My
article de toilette
is of extreme simplicity and sure effect. When I describe it to you, madame, once, you will immediately understand its marvellous value. Allow me to give you an idea of what I mean. Have you ever noticed a beggar woman near a beautiful lady in silks and laces, giving her alms with gloved hand? Have you perceived how the silk shone in magnificent contrast to the rags; how all this rich stuff gained in display and elegance by contrast with all the misery?

“I come to the point, madame. I have the most valuable collection of ugly faces to offer for the use as contrasts to beautiful faces that you could possibly imagine. Ragged clothes show up new clothes. My ugly faces will give additional loveliness to pretty faces.

“No more false teeth, no more false hair or false busts; no more expensive
toilettes
, no more enormous outlays on laces and furbelows. Contrasts, that is my point, simply contrasts. Contrasts with whom you go arm-in-arm and walk with along the streets to enhance your own beauty and make you receive those tender looks and attentions for which all women sigh.

“Be pleased, madame, to honour me with your patronage. You will find in my establishment the ugliest and most varied assortment of unrequited goods possible. You can pick and choose and match your beauty with the style of ugliness which will best set it off.

“Our charges are — By the hour, 5 francs; the whole day, 50 francs.

“Be pleased to accept, madame, the assurance of my most distinguished attention.

“DURANDEAN.

“N.B. — The agency also supplies mothers and fathers, uncles and aunts on moderate terms.”

V

THE success was great. The very next day the agency was in full swing; the office was overwhelmed with clients, who each came to choose their “relievers” — Durandean’s invention — and take them off with them with ferocious joy. No mere male creature can ever imagine what a voluptuous feeling thrills the heart of a pretty woman when she can lean on the arm of an ugly one. She heightens her own beauty and enjoys the ugliness of the other. Alas, we have to confess that Durandean was a great philosopher.

It must not, however, be concluded that the organisation of the business was easy. A thousand unforeseen obstacles cropped up. It had been difficult enough to get the staff together, but there was much more trouble in trying to satisfy the clients.

One lady, for instance, presented herself, and asked in the ordinary course of business for a “contrast.” The merchandise was drawn up in a row, and she was told to make her choice, the clerk only giving, or, shall we say? insinuating, a hint or two to help her in her selection. So she went from one girl to another, in a contemptuous manner, finding the poor girls either too ugly or not ugly enough, and pre tending that none of the kinds of uglinesses submitted set off her good looks to me right purpose. The clerks in vain pointed out the special value of this one’s crooked nose, of that one’s enormous mouth, the retreating forehead and idiotic look of another, and the receding, dim, and goggle eyes of a special spinster. All their eloquence was wasted.

On another occasion a lady called who was horribly ugly herself, and Durandean had a mad desire to secure her as a “reliever” or “contrast,” even if he had to pay a fabulous price for her. She said she had come to enhance her beauty; she wanted a young, not very ugly, “reliever,” as she only needed a trifling adornment. The clerks graciously planted her before a great mirror, and caused all the staff to file past her one by one. She certainly, amongst all that collection of freaks, would at a test have carried off the prize, and yet she retired, indignant that they had dared to offer her such frights when she only wanted a little moderate “set-off.”

Little by little, however, greater order set in amongst the clients; each “contrast” had her special patronesses. And so Durandean was able at last to enjoy the firm conviction that he had helped humanity to make one step more towards progress.

I do not know whether any one quite appreciates what it is to be a “reliever.” There are some manifest joys in it, but there are also secret tears attached to the position.

The “reliever” is ugly; she is a slave; she endures the suffering of being paid because she is a slave and because she is ugly. Moreover, she is well dressed, she goes arm-in-arm with the celebrities of the
demi-monde
, rides in carriages, eats at the best restaurants, and passes her evenings at the theatre. She speaks familiarly with the most beautiful girls, and simpletons think she belongs to the fashionable world of racecourses, and all the day long she is full of gaiety. At night she rages angrily, and weeps bitter tears. She has put off the dress which belongs to the agency; she is alone in her garret, in front of a bit of glass which tells her the truth. Her ugliness is there, in all its nakedness, and she feels utterly that she will never be loved. She helps others to win kisses, but will never know the taste of them herself.

VI

FOR the present, however, I only wish to give an account of the formation of the agency and hand Durandean’s name down to posterity. Such men have their recognised place in history.

One day, perhaps, I shall be enabled to write the memories of a “contrast.” I was once acquainted with one of these wretched creatures, who wounded me to the heart by telling me of her sufferings.

She had girls for clients whom all Paris knows, and who showed her much harshness and cruelty. The “contrast” I am speaking of had a heart of fire, and she had, I suspect, read a great deal of Sir Walter Scott’s works. I know nothing more sad than a hunchback in love, or than an ugly girl braying after an impossible ideal. The miserable girl loved all the young men who were attracted only by her deplorable countenance, who immediately afterwards fixed their attention on the beauty of her clients. Just imagine the mirror in love with the larks which attracts the sportsmen to kill them.

Her life has been a constant drama. She was frightfully jealous of the women who paid her as one pays for a pot of pomatum or a pair of boots. She was merely a thing hired at so much an hour, but it happened that this thing had feelings. Whilst she smiled and spoke on familiar terms with those who robbed her of her share of love, her feelings of bitterness were inexpressible. And the beautiful girls who took a wicked pleasure in flattering her like a friend before the world, treated her like a servant privately, and would have broken her to pieces from caprice, just as they broke their china ornaments at times.

But of what importance is a suffering soul compared to progress? Humanity must march forward, and Durandean will be blessed by future ages because he put into circulation merchandise which was hitherto lying unused, and because he invented an adjunct to dress which had so long been neglected.

LOVE UNDER THE ROOF

MOROSE people, those who are growing old and who vex young people with their selfish ways, declare that the roses of their time are faded and that we no longer possess anything but thorns. They go about saying with malicious pleasure to the younger generation: “The grisette is dead, the grisette is dead.”

But this is all false for Paris. Work and love cannot die, and the gay little birds of the attics can never fly away.

I know one of these little birds. She is called Martha and her age is twenty. One day she found herself alone in life. She was a child of the great city, Paris, which, more often than not, offers its daughters either a needle to thread, or jewellery. She chose the needle and became a grisette.

The occupation is a simple one. All that is needed is a heart and a needle. It is a question of much love and much work. In this case work is the salvation of love; the fingers assure the independence of the heart.

Martha, in the morning of her life, put her head between her hands, and plunged bravely into the gravest reflections.

“I am young, I am pretty, and it only rests with me to wear silk dresses, laces, and jewellery. I can live on the fat of the land, enjoy the greatest delicacies, never go out but in a carriage, and remain idle and seated all the blessed day. But one fine morning when I am full of satiety, I shall wake up in the mud, and shall hear the reproaches of my heart. Therefore I prefer obeying its dictates now. I will make it my sole guide. That I may listen to it in peace, I will wear cotton frocks; I will consult it inwardly during my long hours of needlework. I want to be free to love whomsoever my heart may fancy.”

And so this beautiful child constituted herself a citizeness of the Republic of the honest girls who work and love.

From that day forward Martha resided in a little sunny room under the roof. You could easily recognise this nest, for poets have described it. The sole luxury of the housekeeping is an exquisite cleanliness and an inexhaustible gaiety. Everything in it is white and shining. The old furniture itself sings in the attic a song of which the theme is “We are twenty to-day.”

The bed is small and white, like that of a schoolgirl; only at the end of the rod which supports the curtain is hung a Cupid in gilt plaster, with its wings and arms spread out.

At the head of the bed a bust of Beranger, the poet of garrets, smiles benignantly; against the walls are pasted some lithographic pictures of yellow and blue parrots, and engravings depicting the travels of Dumont-d’Urville. Quite a world of porcelain and glass ornaments won at fairs is spread out on a shelf.

Then there are a wardrobe, a sideboard, a table, and four chairs. Indeed, the little room is overcrowded with furniture.

The nest is dull-looking when the bird is not there, but the moment Martha comes in the whole garret begins to look bright. She is the soul of this little universe, and just as she laughs or cries the sun is or is not there. Let us watch her.

She is seated before a little table. She is singing as she works, and the sparrows of the roof take up the refrain. She is in a hurry to finish her work. She knows there will be some one waiting for her to-morrow on the shady heights of Verrières.

If the truth must be told, her heart has already spoken, and she knows perfectly well what her heart has said to her. Two months ago she first began to obey it. She is no longer alone in the world. She has come across a good fellow who loves her. As she is a good girl, she has allowed herself to be loved and has loved in return — honestly, purely, truly.

Look at her in the street with her needlework in her hand. She skips lightly over the little streams of water, tucks up her skirts, and discloses her slim ankles. Her demeanour is at the same time both bold and frightened, combining the impudence and the timidity of the sparrows in the Luxembourg gardens. She is, notwithstanding, the quick, watchful bird of the Parisian pavements. That is her territory, her home. Nowhere else can you meet with that sweet smile, that marked attractiveness, that natural elegance. The young girl, quite simple and full of laughter as she is, has the humble plumage and the bright gaiety of the lark.

What joy she had the next day in the Verrières woods! There are found strawberries and flowers, extensive lawns and dense foliage. Martha takes with her a stock of gaiety for a whole week. She intoxicates herself with air and freedom, affected to tears by the bright blue of the sky and the dark green of the leaves. Then in the evening she turns slowly homewards, a branch of lilac in her hand and more love and more courage in her heart.

In this way she maps out her life of work and love. She has learned how to earn her bread, and to keep herself for the one who most takes her fancy. Who would dare find fault with this young thing? She gives more than she receives. Her life has all the dignity of a true passion, all the morality of incessant toil.