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A Start in Life-Part2_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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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, apparentlyinsignificant, 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 preliminarypayment 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 superbdiligence 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 new coach was to start

on the morrow. By offering fifteen hundred francs, instead of the two



thousand five hundred still due, he was in hopes that the softened

carriage-builders would give him his coach. But after a few moments'



meditation, his feelings led him to cry out aloud:--

"No! they're dogs! harpies! Suppose I appeal to Monsieur Moreau, the



steward at Presles? he is such a kind man," thought Pierrotin, struck

with a new idea. "Perhaps he would take my note for six months."



At this moment a footman in livery, carrying a leather portmanteau and

coming from the Touchard establishment, where he had gone too late to



secure places as far as Chambly, came up and said:--

"Are you Pierrotin?"



"Say on," replied Pierrotin.

"If you would wait a quarter of an hour, you could take my master. If



not, I'll carry back the portmanteau and try to find some other

conveyance."



"I'll wait two, three quarters, and throw a little in besides, my

lad," said Pierrotin, eyeing the pretty leather trunk, well buckled,



and bearing a brass plate with a coat of arms.

"Very good; then take this," said the valet, ridding his shoulder of



the trunk, which Pierrotin lifted, weighed, and examined.

"Here," he said to his porter, "wrap it up carefully in soft hay and



put it in the boot. There's no name upon it," he added.

"Monseigneur's arms are there," replied the valet.



"Monseigneur! Come and take a glass," said Pierrotin, nodding toward

the Cafe de l'Echiquier, whither he conducted the valet. "Waiter, two



absinthes!" he said, as he entered. "Who is your master? and where is

he going? I have never seen you before," said Pierrotin to the valet



as they touched glasses.

"There's a good reason for that," said the footman. "My master only



goes into your parts about once a year, and then in his own carriage.

He prefers the valley d'Orge, where he has the most beautiful park in



the neighborhood of Paris, a perfect Versailles, a family estate of

which he bears the name. Don't you know Monsieur Moreau?"



"The steward of Presles?"

"Yes. Monsieur le Comte is going down to spend a couple of days with



him."

"Ha! then I'm to carry Monsieur le Comte de Serizy!" cried the coach-



proprietor.




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