Niguet: the shop that won customers over before they stepped inside

Hankar leaves the building alone. It is older, and its upper floors keep their 19th-century look. His commission stops at the ground floor: a few meters of sidewalk, on a shopping street where every window competes with its neighbor for attention. No illuminated sign, no screen, in those days. Wood, glass and the design of a door had to do all the work.

The door sits set back, between two display windows placed at an angle. A window flush with the street merely shows the merchandise; this one already draws the passerby in by a step. The frames are mahogany. Their slender uprights curve out in front of the panes and trace large arcs, like branches meeting. Nothing monumental: it all rests on the fineness of the line.

Inside, cabinets, paneling and galleries displayed the shirts and linen. A good part of this furniture has disappeared. The ceiling, however, has kept its painted decoration, linked to Adolphe Crespin, a collaborator of Hankar’s. It lay hidden under layers of paint, which the restoration of 2002–2003 removed.

The decor displayed the name of Niguet and its date of 1835. That date did not refer to Hankar’s work, but to the age the business claimed. The shop thus said two things at once: people have been coming here for a long time, and the shop is right up to date.

The shirt shop has closed. Florists have taken its place, and the bouquets go rather well with the curves of the wood. A shopfront is the first thing replaced when a store changes hands; this one is among the few of Hankar’s to have stayed in place.