A Start in Life [22]
hundred and fifty pounds at the very least. Pere Leger
belonged to the species of farmer which has a square back, a
protuberant stomach, a powdered pigtail, and wears a little coat of
blue linen. His white gaiters, coming above the knee, were fastened
round the ends of his velveteen breeches and secured by silver
buckles. His hob-nailed shoes weighed two pounds each. In his hand, he
held a small reddish stick, much polished, with a large knob, which
was fastened round his wrist by a thong of leather.
"And you are called Pere Leger?" asked Georges, very seriously, as the
farmer attempted to put a foot on the step.
"At your service," replied the farmer, looking in and showing a face
like that of Louis XVIII., with fat, rubicund cheeks, from between
which issued a nose that in any other face would have seemed enormous.
His smiling eyes were sunken in rolls of fat. "Come, a helping hand,
my lad!" he said to Pierrotin.
The farmer was hoisted in by the united efforts of Pierrotin and the
porter, to cries of "Houp la! hi! ha! hoist!" uttered by Georges.
"Oh! I'm not going far; only to La Cave," said the farmer, good-
humoredly.
In France everybody takes a joke.
"Take the back seat," said Pierrotin, "there'll be six of you."
"Where's your other horse?" demanded Georges. "Is it as mythical as
the third post-horse."
"There she is," said Pierrotin, pointing to the little mare, who was
coming along alone.
"He calls that insect a horse!" exclaimed Georges.
"Oh! she's good, that little mare," said the farmer, who by this time
was seated. "Your servant, gentlemen. Well, Pierrotin, how soon do you
start?"
"I have two travellers in there after a cup of coffee," replied
Pierrotin.
The hollow-cheeked young man and his page reappeared.
"Come, let's start!" was the general cry.
"We are going to start," replied Pierrotin. "Now, then, make ready,"
he said to the porter, who began thereupon to take away the stones
which stopped the wheels.
Pierrotin took Rougeot by the bridle and gave that guttural cry, "Ket,
ket!" to tell the two animals to collect their energy; on which,
though evidently stiff, they pulled the coach to the door of the Lion
d'Argent. After which manoeuvre, which was purely preparatory,
Pierrotin gazed up the rue d'Enghien and then disappeared, leaving the
coach in charge of the porter.
"Ah ca! is he subject to such attacks,--that master of yours?" said
Mistigris, addressing the porter.
"He has gone to fetch his feed from the stable," replied the porter,
well versed in all the usual tricks to keep passengers quiet.
"Well, after all," said Mistigris, "'art is long, but life is short'
--to Bichette."
At this particular epoch, a fancy for mutilating or transposing
proverbs reigned in the studios. It was thought a triumph to find
changes of letters, and sometimes of words, which still kept the
semblance of the proverb while giving it a fantastic or ridiculous
meaning.[*]
[*] It is plainly impossible to translate many of these proverbs and
put any fun or meaning into them.--Tr.
"Patience, Mistigris!" said his master; "'come wheel, come whoa.'"
Pierrotin here returned, bringing with him the Comte de Serizy, who
had come through the rue de l'Echiquier, and with whom he had
doubtless had a short conversation.
"Pere Leger," said Pierrotin, looking into the coach, "will you give
your place to Monsieur le comte? That will balance the carriage
better."
"We sha'n't be off for an hour if you go on this way," cried Georges.
"We shall have to take down this infernal bar, which cost such trouble
to put up. Why should everybody be made to move for the man who comes
last? We all have a right to the places we took. What place has
monsieur engaged? Come, find that out! Haven't you a way-book, a
register, or something? What place has Monsieur Lecomte engaged?--
belonged to the species of farmer which has a square back, a
protuberant stomach, a powdered pigtail, and wears a little coat of
blue linen. His white gaiters, coming above the knee, were fastened
round the ends of his velveteen breeches and secured by silver
buckles. His hob-nailed shoes weighed two pounds each. In his hand, he
held a small reddish stick, much polished, with a large knob, which
was fastened round his wrist by a thong of leather.
"And you are called Pere Leger?" asked Georges, very seriously, as the
farmer attempted to put a foot on the step.
"At your service," replied the farmer, looking in and showing a face
like that of Louis XVIII., with fat, rubicund cheeks, from between
which issued a nose that in any other face would have seemed enormous.
His smiling eyes were sunken in rolls of fat. "Come, a helping hand,
my lad!" he said to Pierrotin.
The farmer was hoisted in by the united efforts of Pierrotin and the
porter, to cries of "Houp la! hi! ha! hoist!" uttered by Georges.
"Oh! I'm not going far; only to La Cave," said the farmer, good-
humoredly.
In France everybody takes a joke.
"Take the back seat," said Pierrotin, "there'll be six of you."
"Where's your other horse?" demanded Georges. "Is it as mythical as
the third post-horse."
"There she is," said Pierrotin, pointing to the little mare, who was
coming along alone.
"He calls that insect a horse!" exclaimed Georges.
"Oh! she's good, that little mare," said the farmer, who by this time
was seated. "Your servant, gentlemen. Well, Pierrotin, how soon do you
start?"
"I have two travellers in there after a cup of coffee," replied
Pierrotin.
The hollow-cheeked young man and his page reappeared.
"Come, let's start!" was the general cry.
"We are going to start," replied Pierrotin. "Now, then, make ready,"
he said to the porter, who began thereupon to take away the stones
which stopped the wheels.
Pierrotin took Rougeot by the bridle and gave that guttural cry, "Ket,
ket!" to tell the two animals to collect their energy; on which,
though evidently stiff, they pulled the coach to the door of the Lion
d'Argent. After which manoeuvre, which was purely preparatory,
Pierrotin gazed up the rue d'Enghien and then disappeared, leaving the
coach in charge of the porter.
"Ah ca! is he subject to such attacks,--that master of yours?" said
Mistigris, addressing the porter.
"He has gone to fetch his feed from the stable," replied the porter,
well versed in all the usual tricks to keep passengers quiet.
"Well, after all," said Mistigris, "'art is long, but life is short'
--to Bichette."
At this particular epoch, a fancy for mutilating or transposing
proverbs reigned in the studios. It was thought a triumph to find
changes of letters, and sometimes of words, which still kept the
semblance of the proverb while giving it a fantastic or ridiculous
meaning.[*]
[*] It is plainly impossible to translate many of these proverbs and
put any fun or meaning into them.--Tr.
"Patience, Mistigris!" said his master; "'come wheel, come whoa.'"
Pierrotin here returned, bringing with him the Comte de Serizy, who
had come through the rue de l'Echiquier, and with whom he had
doubtless had a short conversation.
"Pere Leger," said Pierrotin, looking into the coach, "will you give
your place to Monsieur le comte? That will balance the carriage
better."
"We sha'n't be off for an hour if you go on this way," cried Georges.
"We shall have to take down this infernal bar, which cost such trouble
to put up. Why should everybody be made to move for the man who comes
last? We all have a right to the places we took. What place has
monsieur engaged? Come, find that out! Haven't you a way-book, a
register, or something? What place has Monsieur Lecomte engaged?--