A Start in Life | Page 3

of the duty of
keeping exactly to the rules written on the tariff, copies of which were,
however, never shown, unless some chance traveller was obstinate
enough to demand it.
Pierrotin, a man about forty years of age, was already the father of a
family. Released from the cavalry on the great disbandment of 1815,
the worthy fellow had succeeded his father, who for many years had
driven a coucou of capricious flight between Paris and Isle-Adam.
Having married the daughter of a small inn-keeper, he enlarged his
business, made it a regular service, and became noted for his
intelligence and a certain military precision. Active and decided in his
ways, Pierrotin (the name seems to have been a sobriquet) contrived to
give, by the vivacity of his countenance, an expression of sly
shrewdness to his ruddy and weather-stained visage which suggested
wit. He was not without that facility of speech which is acquired
chiefly through "seeing life" and other countries. His voice, by dint of
talking to his horses and shouting "Gare!" was rough; but he managed
to tone it down with the bourgeois. His clothing, like that of all
coachmen of the second class, consisted of stout boots, heavy with
nails, made at Isle-Adam, trousers of bottle-green velveteen, waistcoat
of the same, over which he wore, while exercising his functions, a blue
blouse, ornamented on the collar, shoulder-straps and cuffs, with
many-colored embroidery. A cap with a visor covered his head. His
military career had left in Pierrotin's manners and customs a great
respect for all social superiority, and a habit of obedience to persons of
the upper classes; and though he never willingly mingled with the

lesser bourgeoisie, he always respected women in whatever station of
life they belonged. Nevertheless, by dint of "trundling the world,"--one
of his own expressions,--he had come to look upon those he conveyed
as so many walking parcels, who required less care than the inanimate
ones,--the essential object of a coaching business.
Warned by the general movement which, since the Peace, was
revolutionizing his calling, Pierrotin would not allow himself to be
outdone by the progress of new lights. Since the beginning of the
summer season he had talked much of a certain large coach, ordered
from Farry, Breilmann, and Company, the best makers of diligences,--a
purchase necessitated by an increasing influx of travellers. Pierrotin's
present establishment consisted of two vehicles. One, which served in
winter, and the only one he reported to the tax-gatherer, was the coucou
which he inherited from his father. The rounded flanks of this vehicle
allowed him to put six travellers on two seats, of metallic hardness in
spite of the yellow Utrecht velvet with which they were covered. These
seats were separated by a wooden bar inserted in the sides of the
carriage at the height of the travellers' shoulders, which could be placed
or removed at will. This bar, specially covered with velvet (Pierrotin
called it "a back"), was the despair of the passengers, from the great
difficulty they found in placing and removing it. If the "back" was
difficult and even painful to handle, that was nothing to the suffering
caused to the omoplates when the bar was in place. But when it was left
to lie loose across the coach, it made both ingress and egress extremely
perilous, especially to women.
Though each seat of this vehicle, with rounded sides like those of a
pregnant woman, could rightfully carry only three passengers, it was
not uncommon to see eight persons on the two seats jammed together
like herrings in a barrel. Pierrotin declared that the travellers were far
more comfortable in a solid, immovable mass; whereas when only
three were on a seat they banged each other perpetually, and ran much
risk of injuring their hats against the roof by the violent jolting of the
roads. In front of the vehicle was a wooden bench where Pierrotin sat,
on which three travellers could perch; when there, they went, as
everybody knows, by the name of "rabbits." On certain trips Pierrotin

placed four rabbits on the bench, and sat himself at the side, on a sort of
box placed below the body of the coach as a foot-rest for the rabbits,
which was always full of straw, or of packages that feared no damage.
The body of this particular coucou was painted yellow, embellished
along the top with a band of barber's blue, on which could be read, on
the sides, in silvery white letters, "Isle-Adam, Paris," and across the
back, "Line to Isle-Adam."
Our descendants will be mightily mistaken if they fancy that thirteen
persons including Pierrotin were all that this vehicle could carry. On
great occasions it could take three more in a square compartment
covered with an awning, where the trunks, cases, and