A Start in Life [5]
gait.
"Shall I harness up, master?" asked Pierrotin's hostler, when there
was nothing more to be seen along the road.
"It is a quarter-past eight, and I don't see any travellers," replied
Pierrotin. "Where have they poked themselves? Yes, harness up all the
same. And there are no parcels either! Twenty good Gods! a fine day
like this, and I've only four booked! A pretty state of things for a
Saturday! It is always the same when you want money! A dog's life, and
a dog's business!"
"If you had more, where would you put them? There's nothing left but
the cabriolet," said the hostler, intending to soothe Pierrotin.
"You forget the new coach!" cried Pierrotin.
"Have you really got it?" asked the man, laughing, and showing a set
of teeth as white and broad as almonds.
"You old good-for-nothing! It starts to-morrow, I tell you; and I want
at least eighteen passengers for it."
"Ha, ha! a fine affair; it'll warm up the road," said the hostler.
"A coach like that which runs to Beaumont, hey? Flaming! painted red
and gold to make Touchard burst with envy! It takes three horses! I
have bought a mate for Rougeot, and Bichette will go finely in
unicorn. Come, harness up!" added Pierrotin, glancing out towards the
street, and stuffing the tobacco into his clay pipe. "I see a lady and
lad over there with packages under their arms; they are coming to the
Lion d'Argent, for they've turned a deaf ear to the coucous. Tiens,
tiens! seems to me I know that lady for an old customer."
"You've often started empty, and arrived full," said his porter, still
by way of consolation.
"But no parcels! Twenty good Gods! What a fate!"
And Pierrotin sat down on one of the huge stone posts which protected
the walls of the building from the wheels of the coaches; but he did
so with an anxious, reflective air that was not habitual with him.
This conversation, apparently insignificant, had stirred up cruel
anxieties which were slumbering in his breast. What could there be to
trouble the heart of Pierrotin in a fine new coach? To shine upon "the
road," to rival the Touchards, to magnify his own line, to carry
passengers who would compliment him on the conveniences due to the
progress of coach-building, instead of having to listen to perpetual
complaints of his "sabots" (tires of enormous width),--such was
Pierrotin's laudable ambition; but, carried away with the desire to
outstrip his comrade on the line, hoping that the latter might some
day retire and leave to him alone the transportation to Isle-Adam, he
had gone too far. The coach was indeed ordered from Barry, Breilmann,
and Company, coach-builders, who had just substituted square English
springs for those called "swan-necks," and other old-fashioned French
contrivances. But these hard and distrustful manufacturers would only
deliver over the diligence in return for coin. Not particularly
pleased to build a vehicle which would be difficult to sell if it
remained upon their hands, these long-headed dealers declined to
undertake it at all until Pierrotin had made a preliminary payment of
two thousand francs. To satisfy this precautionary demand, Pierrotin
had exhausted all his resources and all his credit. His wife, his
father-in-law, and his friends had bled. This superb diligence he had
been to see the evening before at the painter's; all it needed now was
to be set a-rolling, but to make it roll, payment in full must, alas!
be made.
Now, a thousand francs were lacking to Pierrotin, and where to get
them he did not know. He was in debt to the master of the Lion
d'Argent; he was in danger of his losing his two thousand francs
already paid to the coach-builder, not counting five hundred for the
mate to Rougeot, and three hundred for new harnesses, on which he had
a three-months' credit. Driven by the fury of despair and the madness
of vanity, he had just openly declared that the
"Shall I harness up, master?" asked Pierrotin's hostler, when there
was nothing more to be seen along the road.
"It is a quarter-past eight, and I don't see any travellers," replied
Pierrotin. "Where have they poked themselves? Yes, harness up all the
same. And there are no parcels either! Twenty good Gods! a fine day
like this, and I've only four booked! A pretty state of things for a
Saturday! It is always the same when you want money! A dog's life, and
a dog's business!"
"If you had more, where would you put them? There's nothing left but
the cabriolet," said the hostler, intending to soothe Pierrotin.
"You forget the new coach!" cried Pierrotin.
"Have you really got it?" asked the man, laughing, and showing a set
of teeth as white and broad as almonds.
"You old good-for-nothing! It starts to-morrow, I tell you; and I want
at least eighteen passengers for it."
"Ha, ha! a fine affair; it'll warm up the road," said the hostler.
"A coach like that which runs to Beaumont, hey? Flaming! painted red
and gold to make Touchard burst with envy! It takes three horses! I
have bought a mate for Rougeot, and Bichette will go finely in
unicorn. Come, harness up!" added Pierrotin, glancing out towards the
street, and stuffing the tobacco into his clay pipe. "I see a lady and
lad over there with packages under their arms; they are coming to the
Lion d'Argent, for they've turned a deaf ear to the coucous. Tiens,
tiens! seems to me I know that lady for an old customer."
"You've often started empty, and arrived full," said his porter, still
by way of consolation.
"But no parcels! Twenty good Gods! What a fate!"
And Pierrotin sat down on one of the huge stone posts which protected
the walls of the building from the wheels of the coaches; but he did
so with an anxious, reflective air that was not habitual with him.
This conversation, apparently insignificant, had stirred up cruel
anxieties which were slumbering in his breast. What could there be to
trouble the heart of Pierrotin in a fine new coach? To shine upon "the
road," to rival the Touchards, to magnify his own line, to carry
passengers who would compliment him on the conveniences due to the
progress of coach-building, instead of having to listen to perpetual
complaints of his "sabots" (tires of enormous width),--such was
Pierrotin's laudable ambition; but, carried away with the desire to
outstrip his comrade on the line, hoping that the latter might some
day retire and leave to him alone the transportation to Isle-Adam, he
had gone too far. The coach was indeed ordered from Barry, Breilmann,
and Company, coach-builders, who had just substituted square English
springs for those called "swan-necks," and other old-fashioned French
contrivances. But these hard and distrustful manufacturers would only
deliver over the diligence in return for coin. Not particularly
pleased to build a vehicle which would be difficult to sell if it
remained upon their hands, these long-headed dealers declined to
undertake it at all until Pierrotin had made a preliminary payment of
two thousand francs. To satisfy this precautionary demand, Pierrotin
had exhausted all his resources and all his credit. His wife, his
father-in-law, and his friends had bled. This superb diligence he had
been to see the evening before at the painter's; all it needed now was
to be set a-rolling, but to make it roll, payment in full must, alas!
be made.
Now, a thousand francs were lacking to Pierrotin, and where to get
them he did not know. He was in debt to the master of the Lion
d'Argent; he was in danger of his losing his two thousand francs
already paid to the coach-builder, not counting five hundred for the
mate to Rougeot, and three hundred for new harnesses, on which he had
a three-months' credit. Driven by the fury of despair and the madness
of vanity, he had just openly declared that the