Chouans, had started from the little town of Ernee a few moments
before the skirmishing began. Nothing pictures a region so well as the
state of its social material. From this point of view the coach
deserves a mention. The Revolution itself was powerless to destroy it;
in fact, it still rolls to this present day. When Turgot bought up the
privileges of a company, obtained under Louis XIV., for the exclusive
right of transporting travellers from one part of the kingdom to
another, and instituted the lines of coaches called the "turgotines,"
all the old vehicles of the former company flocked into the provinces.
One of these shabby coaches was now plying between Mayenne and
Fougeres. A few objectors called it the "turgotine," partly to mimic
Paris and partly to deride a minister who attempted innovations. This
turgotine was a wretched cabriolet on two high wheels, in the depths
of which two persons, if rather fat, could with difficulty have stowed
themselves. The narrow quarters of this rickety machine not admitting
of any crowding, and the box which formed the seat being kept
exclusively for the postal service, the travellers who had any baggage
were forced to keep it between their legs, already tortured by being
squeezed into a sort of little box in shape like a bellows. The
original color of coach and running-gear was an insoluble enigma. Two
leather curtains, very difficult to adjust in spite of their long
service, were supposed to protect the occupants from cold and rain.
The driver, perched on a plank seat like those of the worst Parisian
"coucous," shared in the conversation by reason of his position
between his victims, biped and quadruped. The equipage presented
various fantastic resemblances to decrepit old men who have gone
through a goodly number of catarrhs and apoplexies and whom death
respects; it moaned as it rolled, and squeaked spasmodically. Like a
traveller overtaken by sleep, it rocked alternately forward and back,
as though it tried to resist the violent action of two little Breton