On this road, the highroad to England, there is a place which is not ill named la Cave [the Cellar], a hollow way leading down into one of the most delightful nooks of the Oise valley, and to the little town of l’Isle-Adam, doubly famous as the native place of the now extinct family de l’Isle-Adam, and as the splendid residence of the Princes of Bourbon-Conti. L’Isle-Adam is a charming little town, flanked by two large hamlets, that of Nogent and that of Parmain, both remarkable for the immense quarries which have furnished the materials for the finest edifices of Paris, and indeed abroad too, for the base and capitals of the theatre at Brussels are of Nogent stone.
Though remarkable for its beautiful points of view, and for famous châteaux built by princes, abbots, or famous architects, as at Cassan, Stors, le Val, Nointel, Persan, etc., this district, in 1822, had as yet escaped competition, and was served by two coach-owners, who agreed to work it between them. This exceptional state of things was based on causes easily explained. From la Cave, where, on the highroad, begins the fine paved way due to the magnificence of the Princes of Conti, to l’Isle-Adam, is a distance of two leagues: no main line coach could diverge so far from the highroad, especially as l’Isle-Adam was at that time the end of things in that direction. The road led thither, and ended there. Of late, a highroad joins the valley of Montromency to that of l’Isle-Adam. Leaving Saint-Denis it passes through Saint-Leu-Taverny, Méru, l’Isle-Adam, and along by the Oise as far as Beaumont. But in 1822 the only road to l’Isle-Adam was that made by the Princes de Conti.
Consequently Pierrotin and his colleague reigned supreme from Paris to l’Isle-Adam, beloved of all the district. Pierrotin’s coach and his friend’s ran by Stors, le Val, Parmain, Champagne, Mours, Prérolles, Nogent, Nerville, and Maffliers. Pierrotin was so well known that the residents at Monsoult, Moiselles, Baillet, and Saint-Brice, though living on the highroad, made use of his coach, in which there was more often a chance of a seat than in the Beaumont diligence, which was always full. Pierrotin and his friendly rival agreed to admiration. When Pierrotin started from l’Isle-Adam, the other set out from Paris and vice-versa. Of the opposing driver, nothing need be said. Pierrotin was the favorite in the line. And of the two, he alone appears on the scene in this veracious history. So it will suffice to say that the two coach-drivers lived on excellent terms, competing in honest warfare, and contending for customers without sharp practice. In Paris, out of economy, they put up at the same inn, using the same yard, the same stable, the same coach-shed, the same office, the same booking clerk. And this fact is enough to show that Pierrotin and his opponents were, as the common folks say, of a very good sort.
That inn, at the corner of the Rue d’Enghien, exists to this day, and is called the Silver Lion. The proprietor of this hostlery—a hostlery from time immemorial for coach-drivers—himself managed a line of vehicles to Dammartin on so sound a basis that his neighbors the Touchards, of the Petites Messageries opposite, never thought of starting a conveyance on that road.
Though the coaches for l’Isle-Adam were supposed to set out punctually, Pierrotin and his friend displayed a degree of indulgence on this point which, while it won them the affections of the natives, brought down severe remonstrances from strangers who were accustomed to the exactitude of the larger public companies; but the two drivers of these vehicles, half diligence, half coucou, always found partisans among their regular customers. In the afternoon the start fixed for four o’clock always dragged on till half-past; and in the morning, though eight was the hour named, the coach never got off before nine.
This system was, however, very elastic. In summer, the golden season for coaches, the time of departure, rigorously punctual as concerned strangers, gave way for natives of the district. This method afforded Pierrotin the chance of pocketing the price of two places for one when a resident in the town came early to secure a place already booked by a bird of passage, who, by ill-luck, was behind time. Such elastic rules would certainly not be approved by a Puritan moralist; but Pierrotin and his colleague justified it by the hard times, by their losses during the winter season, by the necessity they would presently be under of purchasing better carriages, and finally, by an exact application of the rules printed on their tickets, copies of which were of the greatest rarity, and never given but to those travelers who were so perverse as to insist.
Pierrotin, a man of forty, was already the father of a family. He had left the cavalry in 1815 when the army was disbanded, and then this very good fellow had succeeded his father, who drove a coucou between l’Isle-Adam and Paris on somewhat erratic principles. After marrying the daughter of a small innkeeper, he extended and regulated the business, and was noted for his intelligence and military punctuality. Brisk and decisive, Pierrotin—a nickname, no doubt—had a mobile countenance which gave an amusing expression and a semblance of intelligence to a face reddened by exposure to the weather. Nor did he lack the “gift of the gab” which is caught by intercourse with the world, and by seeing different parts of it. His voice, by dint of talking to his horses, and shouting to others to get out of the way, was somewhat harsh, but he could soften it to a customer.
His costume, that of coach-drivers of the superior class, consisted of stout, strong boots, heavy with nails, and made at l’Isle-Adam, trousers of
