Complete Works of Emile Zola (715 page)

“We would sooner all leave, if they keep him,” declared Hutin,

This affair bothered Bouthemont, whose gaiety ill-accorded with such an internal vexation. He was pained to see nothing but scowling faces around him. However, he wished to be just.

“Come, leave him alone, he doesn’t hurt you.”

But they protested energetically. “What! doesn’t hurt us! An insupportable object, always irritable, capable of walking over your body, he’s so proud!”

This was the great bitterness of the department. Robineau, nervous as a woman, was intolerably stiff and susceptible. They related scores of stories, a poor little fellow who had fallen ill through it, and lady customers even who had been humiliated by his nasty remarks.

“Well, gentlemen, I won’t take anything on myself,” said Bouthemont. “I’ve notified the directors, and am going to speak about it shortly.”

The second lunch-bell rang, the clang of which came up from the basement, distant and deadened in the close air of the shop. Hutin and Favier went down. From all the counters, the salesmen were arriving one by one, helter-skelter, hastening below to the narrow entrance to the kitchen, a damp passage always lighted with gas. The throng pushed forward, without a laugh or a word, amidst an increasing noise of crockery and a strong odor of food. At the extremity of the passage there was a sudden halt, before a wicket. Flanked with piles of plates, armed with forks and spoons, which he was plunging in the copper-pans, a cook was distributing the portions. And when he stood aside, the flaring kitchen could be seen behind his white-covered belly.

“Of course!” muttered Hutin, consulting the bill of fare, written on a black-board above the wicket. “Beef and pungent sauce, or skate. Never any roast meat in this rotten shop! Their boiled beef and fish don’t do a bit of good to a fellow!”

Moreover, the fish was universally neglected, for the pan was quite full. Favier, however, took some skate. Behind him, Hutin stooped down, saying: “Beef and pungent sauce.”

With a mechanical movement, the cook picked up a piece of meat, and poured a spoonful of sauce over it; and Hutin, suffocated by the ardent breath from the kitchen, had hardly got his portion, before the words, “Beef, pungent sauce; beef, pungent sauce,” followed each other like a litany; whilst the cook continued to pick up the meat and pour over the sauce, with the rapid and rhythmical movement of a well-regulated clock.

“But the skate’s cold,” declared Favier, whose hand felt no warmth from the plate.

They were all hurrying along now, with their plates held out straight, for fear of running up against one another. Ten steps further was the bar, another wicket with a shiny zinc counter, on which were ranged the shares of wine, small bottles, without corks, still damp from rinsing. And each took one of these bottles in his empty hand as he passed, and then, completely laden, made for his table with a serious air, careful not to spill anything.

Hutin grumbled, “This is a fine dance, with all this crockery!”

Their table, Favier’s and his, was at the end of the corridor in the last dining room. The rooms were all alike, old cellars twelve feet by fifteen, which had been cemented over and fitted up as refectories; but the damp came through the paint-work, the yellow walls were covered with greenish spots; and, from the narrow air-holes, opening on the street, on a level with the pavement, there fell a livid light, incessantly traversed by the vague shadows of the passers-by. In July as in December, one was stifled in the warm air, laden with nauseous smells, coming from the neighborhood of the kitchen.

Hutin went in first. On the table, which was fixed at one end to the wall, and covered with American cloth, there were only the glasses, knives, and forks, marking off the places. A pile of clean plates stood at each end; whilst in the middle was a big loaf, a knife sticking in it, with the handle in the air. Hutin got rid of his bottle and laid down his plate; then, after having taken his napkin from the bottom of a set of pigeonholes, the sole ornament on the walls, he heaved a sigh and sat down.

“And I’m fearfully hungry, too!” he murmured.

“It’s always like that,” replied Favier, who took his place on the left. “Nothing to eat when one is starving.”

The table was rapidly filling. It contained twenty-two places. At first nothing was heard but a loud clattering of knives and forks, the gormandizing of big fellows with stomachs emptied by thirteen hours’ daily work. Formerly the employees had an hour for meals, which enabled them to go outside to a café and take their coffee; and they would dispatch their dinner in twenty minutes, anxious to get into the street. But this stirred them up too much, they came back careless, indisposed for business; and the managers had decided that they should not go out, but pay an extra three halfpence for a cup of coffee, if they wanted it. So that now they were in no hurry, but prolonged the meal, not at all anxious to go back to work before time. A great many read some newspaper, between mouthfuls, the journal folded and placed against their bottle. Others, their first hunger satisfied, talked noisily, always returning to the eternal grievance of the bad food, the money they had earned, what they had done the previous Sunday, and what they were going to do on the next one.

“I say, what about your Robineau?” asked a salesman of Hutin.

The struggle between the salesmen of the silk department and their second-hand occupied all the counters. The question was discussed every evening at the Café Saint-Roch until midnight. Hutin, who was busy with his piece of beef, contented himself with replying:

“Well! he’s come back, Robineau has.” Then, suddenly getting angry, he resumed: “But confound it! they’ve given me a bit of a donkey, I believe! It’s becoming disgusting, my word of honor!”

“You needn’t grumble!” said Favier. “I was flat enough to ask for skate. It’s putrid.”

They were all speaking at once, some complaining, some joking. At a corner of the table, against the wall, Deloche was silently eating. He was afflicted with an enormous appetite, which he had never been able to satisfy, and not earning enough to afford any extras, he cut himself enormous chunks of bread, and swallowed up the least savory platefuls, with an air of greediness. They all laughed at him, crying: “Favier, pass your skate to Deloche. He likes it like that. And your meat, Hutin; Deloche wants it for his dessert.”

The poor fellow shrugged his shoulders, and did not even reply. It wasn’t his fault if he was dying of hunger. Besides, the others might abuse the food as much as they liked, they swallowed it up all the same.

But a low whistling stopped their talk; Mouret and Bourdoncle were in the corridor. For some time the complaints had become so frequent that the principals pretended to come and judge for themselves the quality of the food. They gave thirty sous a head per day to the chief cook, who had to pay everything, provisions, coal, gas, and staff, and they displayed a naïve astonishment when the food was not good. This very morning even, each department had deputed a spokesman. Mignot and Liénard had undertaken to speak for their comrades. And in the sudden silence, all ears were stretched out to catch the conversation going on in the next room, where Mouret and Bourdoncle had just entered. The latter declared the beef excellent; and Mignot, astounded by this quiet affirmation, was repeating, “But chew it, and see; “whilst Liénard, attacking the skate, was gently saying, “But it stinks, sir!” Mouret then launched into a cordial speech: he would do everything for his employees’ welfare, he was their father, and would rather eat dry bread than see them badly fed.

“I promise you to look into the matter,” said he in conclusion, raising his voice so that they should hear it from one end of the passage to the other.

The inquiry being finished, the noise of the knives and forks commenced once more. Hutin muttered “Yes, reckon on that, and drink water! Ah, they’re not stingy of soft words. Want some promises, there you are! And they continue to feed you on old boot-leather, and to chuck you out like dogs!”

The salesman who had already questioned him repeated: “You say that Robineau—”

But a noise of heavy crockery-ware drowned his voice. The men changed their plates themselves, and the piles at both ends were diminishing. When a kitchen-help brought in some large tin dishes, Hutin cried out: “Baked rice! this is a finisher!”

“Good for a penn’orth of gum!” said Favier, serving himself.

Some liked it, others thought it too sticky. There were some who remained quite silent, plunged in the fiction of their newspaper, not even knowing what they were eating. They were all mopping their foreheads, the narrow cellar-like apartment was full of a ruddy steam, whilst the shadows of the passers-by were continually passing in black bands over the untidy cloth.

“Pass Deloche the bread,” cried out one of the wags.

Each one cut a piece, and then dug the knife into the loaf up to the handle; and the bread still went round.

“Who’ll take my rice for a dessert?” asked Hutin.

When he had concluded his bargain with a short, thin young fellow, he attempted to sell his wine also; but no one would take it, it was known to be detestable.

“As I was telling you, Robineau is back,” he continued, amid the cross-fire of laughter and conversation that was going on. “Oh! his affair is a grave one. Just fancy, he has been debauching the saleswomen! Yes, and he gets them cravats to make!”

“Silence!” exclaimed Favier. “They’re just judging him.”

And he pointed to Bouthemont, who was walking in the passage between Mouret and Bourdoncle, all three absorbed in an animated conversation, carried on in a low tone. The dining room of the managers and second-hands happened to be just opposite. Therefore, when Bouthemont saw Mouret pass he got up, having finished, and related the affair, explaining the awkward position he was in. The other two listened, still refusing to sacrifice Robineau, a first-class salesman, who dated from Madame Hédouin’s time. But when he came to the story of the neckties, Bourdoncle got angry. Was this fellow mad to interfere with the saleswomen and procure them extra work? The house paid dear enough for the women’s time; if they worked on their own account at night they worked less during the day in the shop, that was certain; therefore it was a robbery, they were risking their health which did not belong to them. No, the night was made for sleep; they must all sleep, or they would be sent to the right-about!

“Getting rather warm!” remarked Hutin.

Every time the three men passed the dining room, the shopmen watched them, commenting on the slightest gestures. They had forgotten the baked rice, in which a cashier had just found a brace-button.

“I heard the word “cravat,”“ said Favier. “And you saw how Bourdoncle’s face turned pale at once.”

Mouret shared his partner’s indignation. That a saleswoman should be reduced to work at night, seemed to him an attack on the organization of The Ladies’ Paradise. Who was the stupid that couldn’t earn enough in the business? But when Bouthemont named Denise he softened down, and invented excuses. Ah! yes, that poor little girl; she wasn’t very sharp, and was greatly burdened, it was said. Bourdoncle interrupted him to declare they ought to send her off immediately. They would never do anything with such an ugly creature, he had always said so; and he seemed to be indulging a spiteful feeling. Mouret, perplexed, affected to laugh. Dear me! what a severe man! couldn’t they forgive her for once? They could call in the culprit and give her a scolding. In short, Robineau was the most to blame, for he ought to have dissuaded her, he, an old hand, knowing the ways of the house.

“Well! there’s the governor laughing now!” resumed Favier, astonished, as the group again passed the door.

“Ah, by Jove!” exclaimed Hutin, “if they persist in shoving Robineau on our shoulders, we’ll make it lively for them!”

Bourdoncle looked straight at Mouret. Then he simply assumed a disdainful expression, to intimate that he saw how it was, and thought it idiotic. Bouthemont resumed his complaints; the salesmen threatened to leave, and there were some very good men amongst them. But what appeared to touch these gentlemen especially, was the rumor of Robineau’s friendly relations with Gaujean; the latter, it was said, was urging the former to set up for himself in the neighborhood, offering him any amount of credit, to run in opposition to The Ladies’ Paradise. There was a pause. Ah! Robineau was thinking of showing fight, was he! Mouret had become serious; he affected a certain scorn, avoided coming to a decision, treating it as a matter of no importance. They would see, they would speak to him. And he immediately commenced to joke with Bouthemont, whose father, arrived two days before from his little shop at Montpellier, had been nearly choked with rage and indignation on seeing the immense hall in which his son reigned. They were still laughing about the old man, who, recovering his Southern assurance, had immediately commenced to run everything down, pretending that the drapery business would soon go to the dogs.

“Here’s Robineau,” said Bouthemont. “I sent him to the stock-room to avoid any unpleasant occurrence. Excuse me if I insist, but things are in such an unpleasant state that something must be done.”

Robineau, who had just come in, passed by the group with a bow, on his way to the table. Mouret simply repeated: “All right, we’ll see about it.”

And they separated. Hutin and Favier were still waiting for them, but on seeing they did not return, relieved their feelings. Was the governor coming down like this to every meal, to count the mouthfuls? A nice thing, if they could not even eat in peace! The truth was, they had just seen Robineau come in, and the governor’s good-humor made them anxious for the result of the struggle they were engaged in. They lowered their voices, trying to find fresh subjects for grumbling.

“But I’m dying of hunger!” continued Hutin, aloud. “One is hungrier than ever on getting up from table!” And yet he had eaten two portions of dessert, his own and the one he had exchanged for his plate of rice. All at once he cried out: “Hang it, I’m going in for an extra! Victor, give me another dessert!”