Les Rougon-Macquart #11
The business world of 1860 France comes down to two words, “nouveau commerce.” This translates to one word, investment. And that leads to bigger things.
Like a big shiny store full of all those items that a modern woman in Paris would want to own: dresses, skirts, blouses, lingerie, gloves, scarves, belts, bags, umbrellas, trinkets, jewellery, and kilometres of fabrics from silk to lace, velour to crinoline. The latest colours. C’est chic, Mademoiselle. Oh so glorious store front windows. Murals and posters everywhere. A bookstore, photo albums galore, a stationery centre with big plumes to write in your daughter’s diary. There is even home decor too. Make your big house a happy home, Madame.
Whatever you desire we have it, in store, in stock. We have catalogues, translated in many languages. We don’t miss a thing. Target the audience. Thousands of red balloons too. Buy, buy, buy. Big sales. Prices reduced. Three days long. Shop till you drop. Ooh la la.
Feeling peckish? Run down from all that shopping? A husband driving you nuts? There is an unbelievable big and free buffet, a dreamy fountain bar, and a wine bar. The cellar is well stocked! It’s like going to the theatre. It’s big, its better, its a spectacle. Le Bonheur des Dames. Un bon marché. Ladies, it’s grande.
Our owner, Octave Mouret* fills that shiny store with everything, priced right, and eager to serve the new petit bourgeois clientele. He has three thousand people working for him, mostly women. He treats the women with disdain. Of course back then, the sales women were paid a pittance. Commissions got you your day’s wage. To really survive one should find a man and get married.
Not Denise Baudu. After her parents died, she headed into town in charge of her younger brothers asking for her uncle for help. His business was not doing so well so she found work at Le Bonheur just down the street. Things changed for the better for Denise. Sadly not necessarily for all.
Octave Mouret was obsessed with making money. When he reaches one million francs per day, he knows that he made it. He is ruthless. He forces everyone around to sell or loose their shirts. When they close, he just expands his store. Yet something happens and he notices that sales clerk Denise. She stands her ground but one day he goes too far.
It seems that Émile Zola has a passion for marketing (or a very keen eye). Words sells this fabulous store. Le Bonheur seems to flow off the page. There are passages, like the big sale in chapter 9 that is a combination of brilliant writing built on marketing phrases that was hard to put down. Or when one of the fashionable wealthy women get caught stealing. It was a treat to read, almost like being there. C’est vrai!
Of course, it’s not all fun and games. Zola is the master of realism. Some folks really are dealt a bad hand. And that is what makes this book so good. Highs and lows, laughs and tears, love and death. And a whole lotta money. Perhaps, there is just a little cynicism behind all that new money made in the shiny new Third Republic. Perhaps. So good. So Zola.
*according to the timeline, the store Le Bonheur des Dames was started in 1822 by the brothers Deleuze. After the older brother died, his eldest daughter Caroline married Charles Hédouin, who made fabric. Hédouin passed away and his widow Caroline married the young eager clerk Octave Mouret. He inherited the entire store after his wife and the other Deleuze had passed away. Mouret kept a framed photo of his dearly departed wife on his desk, vowing never to remarry. See Pot-bouille, the previous book for all the intrigue. An equally great romp.