Carriages _ Coaches_ Their History _ Their Evolution Ralph Straus 1276 downloads.pdf

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Title: Carriages & Coaches: Their History & Their Evolution

Author: Ralph Straus

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARRIAGES &
COACHES: THEIR HISTORY & THEIR EVOLUTION ***

CARRIAGES & COACHES

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

BIOGRAPHICAL
ROBERT DODSLEY: POET, PUBLISHER AND PLAYWRIGHT
JOHN BASKERVILLE: A MEMOIR [with R. K. Dent]

NOVELS
THE PRISON WITHOUT A WALL
THE SCANDALOUS MR. WALDO
THE LITTLE GOD’S DRUM
THE MAN APART

PAMPHLETS
THE DUST WHICH IS GOD
5000 A.D.

CARRIAGES
& COACHES
THEIR HISTORY &
THEIR EVOLUTION
By Ralph Straus
FULLY ILLUSTRATED WITH REPRODUCTIONS
FROM OLD PRINTS, CONTEMPORARY
DRAWINGS & PHOTOGRAPHS

L ondon : Published by M artin
S ecker at Number Five
John Street Adelphi mcmxii

PRINTED BY
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
PLYMOUTH

The State Coach of Great Britain

To
B. S. S.

Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE PRIMITIVE VEHICLE 17
II. THE AGE OF LITTERS 42
III. THE INTRODUCTION OF THE COACH 56
IV. INTERLUDE OF THE CHAIR 85
V. SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY INNOVATIONS 109
VI. EARLY GEORGIAN CARRIAGES 147
VII. THE WAR OF THE WHEELS 176
VIII. THE AGE OF TRANSITION 204
IX. INVENTIONS GALORE 227
X. MODERN CARRIAGES 255
INDEX 287

List of Illustrations
The State Coach of Great Britain Frontispiece
Types of Primitive Carts facing page 20
Assyrian Chariot ” ” 22
Cisium ” ” 30
Carpentum ” ” 30
Pilentum ” ” 32
Benna ” ” 32
Fourteenth Century English Carriage ” ” 46
Fourteenth Century Reaper’s Cart ” ” 46
Elizabethan Carriages ” ” 70
Neapolitan Sedan-chair ” ” 100
The “Social Pinch” ” ” 104
Sedans ” ” 104
Coach in the Time of Charles I ” ” 112
Coach in the Time of Charles II ” ” 112
Early French Gig ” ” 136
Early Italian Gig ” ” 142
The State Carriage of Bavaria ” ” 148
The Darnley Chariot ” ” 152
Queen Anne’s Procession to the Cathedral of S. Paul ” ” 158
“The Carriage Match” ” ” 190
“Phaetona, or Modern Female Taste” ” ” 196
“Sir Gregory Gigg” ” ” 196
George III’s Posting Chariot ” ” 206
The Lord Chancellor of Ireland’s Coach ” ” 208
“English Travelling, or the First Stage from Dover” ” ” 216
“French Travelling, or the First Stage from Calais” ” ” 218

Early American Shay ” ” 220
English Posting Chariot ” ” 220
Barouche ” ” 232
Landaulet ” ” 232
Stanhope ” ” 234
Tilbury ” ” 234
Cabriolet ” ” 234
“The Coffin-Cab ” ” 246
London Cab of 1823 ” ” 246
Dioropha ” ” 252
Brougham in 1859 ” ” 252
Edward VII’s Coronation Landau ” ” 258
Dress Coach, 1860 ” ” 260
English State Carriage, 1911 ” ” 260
“Princess Victoria in Her Pony Phaeton ” ” 266
Canoe-shaped Landau ” ” 268
Drag ” ” 268
Modern American Station Wagon ” ” 274
Modern American Buggy ” ” 274

Preface

I AM not a coachbuilder. Though such a pronouncement will seem
entirely superfluous to any coachbuilder who reads the following pages,
it is not perhaps a wholly unnecessary remark. For, with one or two
exceptions, such books upon the evolution or structure of vehicles as have
been written have been the work of industrious coachbuilders. And I have
not the least doubt that they are eminently the fit and proper folk to carry
out any such task. It is a melancholy fact, however, that useful though these
books may be to coachbuilders, they lack, again with one or two exceptions,
any general interest to the layman. The language in which they are written
is, to say the least, peculiar, and the authors have obviously had small
training in the art of book-making. On the other hand, there is a whole
library of books dealing with the old stage and mail coaches, with all the
romance and adventure of the roads, packed with delightful anecdotes and
personal reminiscences. But such books hardly touch upon the structure of
the coaches themselves, and, so far as I know, there is no book entirely
devoted to a non-technical description of carriages in general, based upon a
chronological arrangement.
The nearest approach to such a book is Mr. G. A. Thrupp’s The History of
Coaches, published in 1877, a meritorious undertaking from which I have
freely quoted. Here, however, there are numerous gaps which I have
endeavoured to fill, and the various lectures from which it was composed
do not fit together so aptly as might be. As a whole, it is diffuse. Sir Walter
Gilbey’s two books, Early Carriages and Roads and Modern Carriages,
have also been of great assistance, but here, too, the ground covered is not
so large as in the following pages. Other pamphlets and small books have
appeared in this country, but seemingly owe a great deal of their
information to Mr. Thrupp’s work. Indeed, I notice that some of the authors
have been almost criminally forgetful of their inverted commas. For purely
technical details there are, of course, many books and trade papers to
consult; but with these I have not been concerned.

In the present book there are, indeed, large gaps, and it is not to be taken
either as a manual of the art of coach-building or as a history of locomotion.
It is merely a book about carriages, in which particular regard has been paid
to chronological sequence, and particular attention to such individual
carriages as have at all withstood the test of social history. And it is written
by a layman who, until he enquired into the subject, had never looked at a
carriage with any particular emotion. The result of his labours, therefore, is
not meant for the expert, but for the general reader, who may have pondered
over the various vehicles he has seen, and idly wondered how they may
have been evolved.
Where possible, I have endeavoured to quote from contemporary authors
and documents. Most of such quotations are now included in a carriage
book for the first time.
I wish to thank the various publishers and authors who have given me
permission to reprint illustrations of carriages in books published or written
by them. Also I am obliged to Messrs. Maggs Bros., the well-known
booksellers, for permission to photograph a rare print entitled The Carriage
Match, in their possession.
RALPH STRAUS.
Badminton Club, August, 1912.

Chapter the First
THE PRIMITIVE VEHICLE
“This is a traveller, sir, knows men and
Manners, and has plough’d up sea so far,
Till both the poles have knock’d; has seen the sun
Take coach, and can distinguish the colour
Of his horses, and their kinds.”
Beaumont and Fletcher.

I T has been suggested that although in a generality of cases nature has
forestalled the ingenious mechanician, man for his wheel has had to
evolve an apparatus which has no counterpart in his primitive
environment—in other words, that there is nothing in nature which
corresponds to the wheel. Yet even the most superficial inquiry into the
nature of the earliest vehicles must do much to refute such a suggestion.
Primitive wheels were simply thick logs cut from a tree-trunk, probably for
firewood. At some time or another these logs must have rolled of their own
accord from a higher to a lower piece of ground, and from man’s
observation of this simple phenomenon must have come the first idea of a
wheel. If a round object could roll of its own accord, it could also be made
to roll.
Yet it is to be noticed that the earliest methods of locomotion, other than
those purely muscular, such as walking and riding, knew nothing of wheels.
Such methods depended primarily upon the enormously significant
discovery that a man could drag a heavier weight than he could carry, and
what applied to a man also applied to a beast. Possibly such discovery
followed on the mere observation of objects being carried down the stream
of some river, and perhaps a rudely constructed raft should be considered to
be the earliest form of vehicle. From the raft proper to a raft to be used upon
land was but a step, and the first land vehicle, whenever or wherever it was
made, assuredly took a form which to this day is in common use in some
countries. This was the sledge. On a sledge heavy loads could be dragged
over the ground, and experience sooner or later must have shown what was
the best form of apparatus for such work. As so often happens, moreover, in
mechanical contrivances, the earliest sledge of which there is record—a

sculptured representation in an Egyptian temple—bears a remarkable
resemblance to those in use at the present time.1 Then, as now, men used
two long runners with upturned ends in front and cross-pieces to unite them
and bear the load. Such sledges were largely used to convey the huge stones
with which the Egyptians raised their solemn masses of masonry and,
incidentally, also as a hearse. In time, however, it was found that better
results were obtained by the use of another and rather more complicated
apparatus which had for its chief component—a wheel. This second
discovery that to roll a burden proved an easier task than to drag it was
fraught with such tremendous consequences as altered the entire history of
the world.
It remained to find a better fulcrum than that afforded by the rough turf over
which such logs, when burdened, were rolled. What probably followed is
well described by Bridges Adams.2 “The next process,” he thinks, “would
naturally be that of cutting a hole through the roller in which to insert the
lever. The convenience of several holes in the circumference of the roller
would then become apparent, and there would be formed an embryo wheel
nave. It could not fail to be remarked also, that the larger the roller, the
greater the facility for turning it, and consequently the greater the load that
could be borne upon it.” Owing to the difficulty of using such large logs, he
goes on to suggest, a time would come when it was found that a roller need
not bear upon the ground throughout its length, but only at its extremities.
So from the single roller would be evolved two rough wheels joined by a
beam, square at first though afterwards rounded, upon which could be fixed
a frame for the load.
Such axle and wheels would revolve together and keep the required position
by means of pieces of wood which may be compared with the thole-pins of
a boat. And it is a remarkable fact that until last century such primitive carts
were in use in Portugal and parts of South America. The chief drawback to
a vehicle of this kind is its inability to turn in a small space, and the
pioneers, whoever they were, finally discovered the principle of the fixed
axle-tree, the wheels revolving upon their own centre. So, “instead of fixing
the cross-beam or axle in a square hole,” these pioneers “would contrive it
to play easily in a round one of a conical form, that being the easiest form
of adjustment.” Such a car as this, with solid wheels and a rude frame, was
used by the Romans, and is still to be seen in parts of Chili. The next

process in the evolution of the wheel doubtless followed upon the necessity
of economising with large sections of wood, and there was finally invented
a wheel made of three portions—a central pierced part, the nave, an outside
circular piece, the rim or felloe, and two or more cross-pieces, joining the
two, the spokes. Of these the felloes would tend to wear soonest, and a
double set would be applied to the spokes, as was the case until recently in
the ox-carts of the Pampas, or barcos de tierra, as they were called by the
natives.
And indeed, the first carriages of which we have particular information, the
chariots of the Egyptians and their neighbours, differ essentially from such
primitive carts only in the delicacy and ornamentation of the carriage body.

Types of Primitive Carts
Various vehicles are mentioned in the Bible, though one must be chary of
differentiating between them merely because the translators have given
them different names. Both waggons and chariots are mentioned in Genesis.
Jacob’s family were sent to him in a waggon. Joseph rode in the second
chariot of Pharaoh as a particular mark of favour. At the time of the Exodus,
war-chariots formed an important part of the Egyptian army, and indeed,
right through the various dynasties, there is an almost continuous mention

of their use.3 “The deft craftsmen of Egypt,” says Breasted,4 “soon
mastered the art of chariot-making, and the stables of the Pharaoh contained
thousands of the best horses to be had in Asia.” About 1500 B.C. Thutmose
III went forth to battle in “a glittering chariot of electrum.” He slew the
enemy’s leader, and took captive their princes and “their chariots, wrought
with gold, bound to their horses.” These barbarians also had “chariots of
silver,” though this probably means that they were built of wood and
strengthened or decorated with silver. At the dissolution of the Empire the
Hittites had increased wonderfully in power, and it is told of them that they
excelled all other nations in the art of chariotry. The Hittite chariot was
larger and more heavily built than that of the Egyptians, as it bore three
men, driver, bowman, and shield-bearer, while the Egyptian was satisfied
with two. The enormous number of chariots used in warfare is shown by the
fact that in the fourteenth century before Christ, when the Egyptians
defeated the Syrians at Megiddo, nearly a thousand were captured, and
against Ramses II the Hittites put no less than 2500 into the field.
“The Egyptian chariots,” says H. A. White,5 “were of light and simple construction, the material
employed being wood, as is proved by sculptures representing the manufacture of chariots. The axle
was set far back, and the bottom of the car, which rested on this and on the pole, was sometimes
formed of a frame interlaced with a network of thongs or ropes. The chariot was entirely open behind
and for the greater part of the sides, which were formed by a curved rail rising from each side of the
back of the base, and resting on a wooden upright above the pole in front. From this rail, which was
strengthened by leather thongs, a bow-case of leather, often richly ornamented, hung on the right-
hand side, slanting forwards; while the quiver and spear cases inclined in the opposite direction. The
wheels, which were fastened on the axle by a linch-pin secured with a short thong, had six spokes in
the case of war chariots, but in private vehicles sometimes only four.6 The pole sloped upwards, and
to the end of it a curved yoke was attached. A small saddle at each end of the yoke rested on the
withers of the horses, and was secured in its place by breast-band and girth. No traces are to be seen.
The bridle was often ornamented; a bearing-rein was fastened to the saddle, and the other reins
passed through a ring at the side of this. The number of horses to a chariot seems always to have been
two; and in the car, which contained no seat, only rarely are more than two persons depicted, except
in triumphal processions.

Assyrian Chariot
(From Smith’s “Concise History of English Carriages”)

“Assyrian chariots did not differ in any essential points from the Egyptian.7 They were, however,
completely panelled at the sides, and a shield was sometimes hung at the back. The wheels had six,
or, at a later period, eight spokes; the felloes were broad, and seem to have been formed of three
distinct circles of wood, sometimes surrounded by a metal tyre. While only two horses were attached
to the yokes, in the older monuments a third horse is generally to be seen, which was probably used
as a reserve. The later chariots are square in front, not rounded; the car itself is larger and higher; the
cases for the weapons are placed in front, not at the side; and only two horses are used. The harness
differs somewhat from the Egyptian. A broad collar passes round the neck, from which hangs a breast
ornament, the whole being secured by a triple strap under the belly of the horse. As in Egypt there are
no traces visible; two driving-reins are attached to each horse, but the bearing-rein seems to be
unknown. In addition to the warrior and the charioteer, we often see a third man who bears a shield;
and a fourth occupant of the chariot sometimes appears.
“The Hittite chariots, as represented on Egyptian monuments, regularly contain three warriors. In
construction they are plainer and more solid than the Egyptian, and the sides are not open. The
chariots on Persian sculptures closely resemble the Assyrian.”

There is still preserved in the Archæological Museum at Florence an
Egyptian chariot, a light, simple, two-wheeled affair with a single shaft and
four spokes to the wheels. From the number of spokes it may be supposed

that this particular chariot was not used in war. In New York, too, there is
preserved the wheel of an Egyptian chariot found at Dashour. The
particulars of this bear out Mr. White’s description. The wheel itself is three
feet high, with a long axle arm, six spokes, tapering towards the felloe, and
a double rim. “The six inner felloes do not meet as in modern wheels,” says
Thrupp,8 “but are spliced one over the other, with an overlap of three
inches.”
Artificial roads seem to have existed at an early period in Palestine, but the
country was hardly suitable for vehicles, and one first hears of waggons in
the flatter wastes of Egypt and the level plains of Philistia. Agricultural
carts these were, though no doubt early used for passenger traffic. Some of
these carts were most probably covered, though no coverings seem to have
been fixed to the chariots. The Assyrians, however, occasionally took into
their private chariots an attendant, who was provided with a covering
shaped somewhat like a modern umbrella. This covering was held over the
owner’s head, and was sometimes provided with a curtain which hung
down at the back.
Details of the private carriages in use during these Biblical times filter
through the chronicles. In Syria the merchants despatched by Solomon to
buy chariots had to pay 600 shekels each for them. Solomon in his quest for
luxury seems to have been the first man to build a more elaborate car than
satisfied his contemporaries. One to be used on state occasions was built of
cedar wood and had “pillars of gold.” Probably it was some form of litter.
The number of private cars was increasing enormously in all these Eastern
cities. The prophet Nahum in lamenting the future woes of Nineveh speaks
of “the noise of the whip, and the noise of the rattling of the wheels, and of
the prancing horses, and of the jumping chariots,” which will no longer bear
witness to the city’s prosperity. The absence of wide roads, however,
militated against great changes of form in the carriages, which maintained
their simple shape until many centuries later.

The war-chariot (ἄρμα or δίφρος) of the early Greeks was curved in front,
and loftier than that of the Egyptians. The entrance was at the back. It was
never covered, but frequently bore a curious basket-like arrangement, the
πείρινς, upon or in which two people could sit. The ἄντυξ, or rim, in most
cases ran round the three sides of the body, but occasionally there was only

a curved barrier in front. The body itself was often strengthened by a trellis-
work of strips of light wood or metal. The barrier was of varying height; in
some chariots it did not reach above the driver’s knee; in others it came up
to his waist, but in war-chariots never higher than that. The axle was of oak,
ash, elm, or even of iron, and precious metals, according to the legend, were
used for the chariots of the gods. So of Juno’s car we read:—
“The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung.
On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel
Of sounding brass: the polish’d axle steel.
Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame;
The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame,
Such as the heavens produce; and round the gold
Two brazen rings of work divine were roll’d.
The bossy naves of solid silver shone;
Braces of gold suspend the moving throne.”

The last line suggests an innovation which was certainly not followed for
some considerable time.
The chariot in general was about seven feet long, and could be lifted by a
strong man like Diomed. Indeed, it could be driven over the bodies of dead
warriors. The pole sloped sharply upwards, and sometimes ended in the
head of a bird or animal. It emerged either from the floor of the car or from
the axle. Towards its end the yoke for the horses was fastened about a pin
fixed into it. Though the Lydians used chariots with two or even three poles,
the Greeks never had more than one; and as with the Egyptians, there were
no traces. If the pole broke, the horses must have dashed away with part of
it, leaving the chariot at a standstill. Occasionally, too, a third horse was
used, upon which sat a postilion.
At a later period several Grecian carriages were in common use, though not
in warfare. Representations of such cars are to be found on the Elgin
Marbles. And, as was the case a dozen or more centuries afterwards, the
carriage became the outward sign of luxury. It invariably appeared in the
state processions, and was made the receptacle for the most gorgeous
ornamentation. Gold, ebony, copper, ivory, and white lead were all used for
this purpose, while the interiors of the cars were made comfortable with soft
cushions and fine tapestries. They appeared, too, in great numbers at the
famous chariot races, at which four or more horses were driven abreast.
Often the same man was rich enough to possess more than one carriage. So
we read of Xerxes changing from his ἄρμα to his ἁρμάμαξα, or state-

carriage, at the end of a march. Besides these, there were also the ἀπήνη, a
kind of family sociable, the ἅμαξα, a waggon, the κάναθρον, and the
φορεῖον, or litter.
The ἁρμάμαξα was a large four-wheeled waggon, enclosed by curtains and
provided with a καμάρα or roof. Four or more horses were required to draw
it. It was so large that a person could lie in it at full length, and, indeed, on
many occasions it acted the part of a hearse. By far the most extraordinary
hearse ever built was a ἁρμάμαξα used to convey the body of Alexander the
Great—himself the possessor of numerous carriages—from Babylon to
Alexandria.
“It was prepared,” says Thrupp, “during two years, and was designed by the celebrated architect and
engineer Hieronymus. It was 18 feet long and 12 feet wide, on four massive wheels, and drawn by
sixty-four mules, eight abreast. The car was composed of a platform with a lofty roof supported by
eighteen columns, and was profusely adorned with drapery and gold and jewels; round the edge of
the roof was a row of golden bells; in the centre was a throne, and before it the coffin; around were
placed the weapons of war and the arms that Alexander had used.”

The ἁρμάμαξα was also largely used by the ladies of Greece, who when
they drove forth were careful to see that the curtains completely enclosed
them. The ἅμαξα, also a four-wheeled waggon, was probably similar to the
ἁρμάμαξα, though built upon a less imposing scale. The ἀπήνη was a still
lighter carriage. It is described by Herodotus, and seems to have been a
covered vehicle surrounded by silken curtains which could be pulled back
when required. Its interior was generally furnished with cushions of goat
leather. Two wheels were more frequent, but four were sometimes found. It
was said that Timoleon, an old blind man, drove upon one occasion into the
senate house and delivered a speech from his ἀπήνη. In some cases a two-
wheeled carriage of this kind was not furnished with curtains, but enclosed
in an oval-shaped covering of basket-work. Hesiod objected to such a
conveyance because of its inability to keep out the dust. Little is known of
the κάναθρον, but it was a Laconian car made of wood, with an arched,
plaited covering, used chiefly by women. Doubtless it was little different
from the ἀπήνη.
Coming to the Romans, we find a far greater variety of vehicles, though the
descriptions that have come down are meagre and not particularly
distinctive. That the Romans early realised the enormous importance, both
military and otherwise, of carriages, is shown by their amazing roads. Such

roads had never before been constructed. They were, says Gibbon,
“accurately divided by milestones, and ran in a direct line from one city to
another, with very little respect for the obstacles, either of nature or private
property. Mountains were perforated, and bold arches thrown over the
broadest and most rapid streams. The middle part of the road was raised
into a terrace, which commanded the adjacent country, consisted of several
layers of sand, gravel, and cement, and was paved with large stones, or, in
some places near the capital, with granite.” Probably the most famous of
these roads was the Appian Way, connecting Rome with Capua. It was wide
enough, according to Procopius, who marched along it in the sixth century,
for two chariots to pass one another without inconvenience or delay, a
matter certainly not possible, for instance, in most of the Eastern cities at
that time. And so, with the finest engineers the world had seen linking up
various cities, cross-country travelling in a carriage, from being well-nigh
impossible, became comparatively easy. Gibbon mentions in this
connection the surprising feat of one Cæsarius, who journeyed from
Antioch to Constantinople, a distance of 665 miles, in six days.
The Roman war-chariot, or currus, was practically the same as the Greek
ἄρμα, though certain modifications were introduced. More than two horses
were driven, and from their number came several words, such as sejugis,
octojugis, and decemjugis, which sufficiently explain themselves. It
appears, moreover, that the currus was occasionally driven by four horses
without either pole or yoke, and it has been suggested that in such a case the
driver probably stopped the car by bearing all his weight on to the back of
the body, so that its floor would touch the ground, thus forming a primitive
brake. Besides the currus, and even before their marvellous roads had been
laid down, the Romans possessed other cars. The earliest of these seems to
have been a long, covered, four-wheeled waggon, called arcera, which was
mainly used to carry infirm or very old people. In this the driver sat on a
seat in front of the body, and drove two horses abreast. Though the most
ancient of the Roman carriages, the arcera, as seen on monuments, has a
very modern appearance. In more luxurious times the lectica, a large litter,
seems to have led to its gradual extinction.
The essedum, at one time very popular in Italy, was brought in the first
place to Rome by Julius Cæsar. It was the war-chariot of the Britons, and
was entirely unlike the Roman or Egyptian cars. The wheels were much

larger, the entrance was in front and not at the back, there was a seat, and
the pole, instead of running up to the horses’ necks, remained horizontal,
and was so wide that the driver could step along it. The British charioteers
could drive their cars at a very great rate, and were exceedingly agile on the
flat pole, from the extremity of which they threw their missiles. The cars
were purposely made as noisy as possible to strike dismay into the enemy’s
lines. At times the wheels were furnished with scythes, which projected
from the axle-tree ends, and helped to maim those unfortunate enough to be
run down.9 Cicero, hearing good opinions of it, besought a friend to bring
him a good pattern from Britain, and took occasion to add that the chariot
was the only pleasing thing which that benighted country produced. The
essedum speedily became popular in Rome, though not as an engine of war.
Decorated and constructed of fine materials, it was the fashionable pleasure
carriage. Curiously enough, however, the seat which had been so
conspicuous a feature of the chariot in its native place was not used in
Rome. The owner drove the essedum himself, and yoked two horses to the
pole. There was some opposition to its use on the grounds of undue luxury,
and a tribune who rode abroad in one was on that account considered
effeminate. Seneca put the esseda deaurata amongst things quæ
matronarum usibus necessaria sint. Emperors and generals used them as
travelling carriages, and they were to be hired at regular posting-stations. A
somewhat similar carriage, the covinus, was also in use in various countries
at this date. This was covered in except in front; like the essedum, it had no
seat for the driver, and in times of war it seems to have had scythes attached
to the axle in the British fashion. Little, however, is known of it, and it may
be dismissed here with a mere mention of its existence.

Cisium
The Primitive Gig
(From a Roman Inscription)

Agrippina’s Carpentum
(From a Roman Coin)
The essedum is of particular importance insomuch as it may be considered
to be the prototype of all the vehicles of the curricle or gig type. The first of
these in use amongst the Romans was the cisium, whose form is well shown
on a monumental column near Treves. It was surprisingly like the ordinary
gig of modern times. The body at first was fixed to the frames, but
afterwards seems to have been suspended by rough traces or straps. The
entrance was in front, there was a seat for two, and underneath this a large
box or case. Mules were generally used to draw it, one, a pair, or, according
to Ausonius, three—in which case a postilion sat on the third horse. They
were built primarily for speed, and were in common use throughout Italy
and Gaul, though the ladies, unwilling to be seen in an uncovered carriage,
drove in other conveyances. The cisium on the whole must have been
comfortable and light. Seneca admits that you could write a letter easily
while driving in one. And in due course the new carriage became so popular
that it could be hired, and the cisiarii, or hackney coachmen, could be
penalised for careless driving. Indeed, so very modern were the Roman
ideas upon the question of travel, that there were certain places at which the
cisium was always to be found—a kind of primitive cab-rank.

Coming to the larger waggons and carriages, there were the sarracum, the
plaustrum, the carpentum, the pilentum, the benna, the reda, the carruca,
the pegma—a huge wheeled apparatus used for raising great weights,
particularly in theatrical displays—and a mule-drawn litter, the basterna. Of
these the sarracum was a common cart used by the country folk for
conveying produce. It had either two or four wheels, and was occasionally
used by passengers, though, as Cicero observed, as a conveyance the
sarracum was very vulgar. It was not confined to Italy, but was common
enough amongst those barbaric tribes against whom Rome was so often
victorious. It was in sarraca, moreover, that the bodies were removed from
Rome in times of plague. Rather lighter than this carriage, though heavy
enough to our modern ideas, was the plaustrum,10 an ancient two or four-
wheeled waggon of rude construction. This was, in its primitive form, just a
bare platform with a large pole projecting from the axle; there were no
supporting ribs at all, and the load was simply placed on the platform.
Upright boards, or openwork rails, however, were used to make sides, and
at a later period a large basket was fastened on to the platform by stout
thongs. The wheels of the plaustrum were ordinarily solid, of a kind called
tympana, or drums, and were nearly a foot thick. Such a cart was but a slow
vehicle, and could turn only with great difficulty. It was drawn by oxen or
mules, and like the sarracum was also used to carry passengers.11

Pilentum
The State Carriage of the Romans

Benna
The carpentum, though two-wheeled, bore resemblance to the Greek
ἁρμάμαξα. It had an arched covering. It was in use during very early times
at Rome, though only distinguished citizens were privileged to ride in it.
The currus arcuatus, given by Numa to the Flamines, was no doubt a form
of carpentum, which was also the travelling carriage of the elder Tarquin. It
seems to have been evolved from the plaustrum, being originally little more
than a covered cart; but in the days of the Empire it became most luxurious,
and was not only furnished with curtains of the richest silk, but seems to
have had solid panellings and sculptures attached to the body. Agrippina’s
carpentum, for instance, had fine paintings on its panels, and its roof was
supported by figures at the four corners. Like the ἁρμάμαξα, it was also
used as a hearse. Two mules were required to draw it. The pilentum was a
carriage of a more official character. It may be called the state coach of the
Romans—a four-wheeled becushioned car with a roof supported by pillars,
but, unlike the carpentum, open at the sides. It was always considered to be
the most comfortable of the Roman carriages, and may indeed have been
hung upon “swing-poles” between the wheels. The social difference
between the pilentum and the carpentum may be deduced from one of the
many carriage laws passed by the Senate. The Roman matrons were
allowed to drive in the carpentum on all occasions, but might use the
pilentum only at the games or public festivals. Such “sumptuary laws” were

constantly being passed, and a special vote was even required to enable the
mother of Nero to drive in her carriage in the city itself. It was not until the
fourth century A.D. that all such restrictions were banished.
Pliny mentions another carriage of imperial Rome—the carruca, which had
four wheels and was used equally in the city and for long journeys. Nero
travelled with great numbers of them—on one occasion with no less than
three thousand. In Rome itself the fashionable citizen drove forth in a
carruca that was covered with plates of bronze, silver, or even gold.
Enormous sums were spent upon their decoration. Painters, sculptors, and
embroiderers were employed. Martial speaks of an aurea carruca costing as
much as a large farm. The carruca, indeed, may be said to correspond with
the phaeton, which was so fashionable in England towards the end of the
eighteenth century. As with the phaeton, so with the carruca—the higher it
was built the better pleased was its owner. Various kinds of carruca existed.
The carrucæ argentatæ were those granted by Alexander Severus to the
senators. There is also mention of a carruca domestoria. Unfortunately,
however, no contemporary representation of a carriage can definitely be
said to be a carruca. Little enough, moreover, is known of the two other
waggons, the reda and the benna. The reda was a large four-wheeled
waggon used mainly to convey agricultural produce. It seems to have been
brought into Italy from Wallachia. The benna was a cart whose body was
formed entirely of basket-work. There is a drawing of it on the column of
Antoninus at Rome. A similar vehicle persists to this day in Italy, South
Germany, and Belgium, and bears a similar name.
Under the Empire, then, carriage-building flourished, particularly after
Alexander Severus had put an end to all the older restrictions. Various
forms of carriages were to be seen on the roads, and there was, as I have
hinted, even an attempt at a spring. One of the carriages of this period is
definitely described as “borne on long poles, fixed to the axles.” “Now a
certain amount of spring,” says Thrupp, “can be obtained from the centre of
a long, light pole. The Neapolitan Calesse, the Norwegian Carriole, and the
Yarmouth Cart were all made with a view to obtaining ease by suspension
on poles between bearings placed far apart. In these the seat is placed
midway between the two wheels and the horse, on very long shafts, which
are there made into wooden springs.” And in the old Roman carriages, he
goes on to say, “the weight was carried between the front and hind axles, on

long poles or wooden springs. The undercarriage of the later four-wheeled
vehicles used by the Romans was, in all probability, the same as is in use at
the present day, both in this country and on the Continent, and indeed in
America, for the under-carriages of agricultural waggons.” Even with such
splendid roads as the Romans possessed, however, the streets of their towns
do not seem to have been very wide, and this must be one of the reasons for
the early appearance of another kind of conveyance, the litter, which, during
the dark ages, was practically the only carriage to be used.
These litters came from the East. The Babylonians in particular preferred to
be carried about in a chair or couch rather than to be jolted in a carriage.
Ericthonius, a lame man, is supposed to have introduced them into Athens,
where they were known as φορεῖα or σκιμπόδια. Speedily they became
popular, especially with the women. Magnificently decorated, the φορεῖον
was constantly carried along the narrow streets, and on being brought over
to Rome proved no less agreeable to the Romans. The lectica, or, as it was
called at a later period, the sella, may in the first instance have been used to
carry the sick, but in a short time became a common form of conveyance.
This palanquin had an arched roof of leather stretched over four posts. The
sides were covered by curtains, though at a later period it would seem that
crude windows of talc were used. The interior was furnished with pillows,
and when standing the litter rested upon four feet. Two slaves bore it by
means of long poles loosely attached. In Martial’s time these lecticarii wore
red liveries, and were sometimes preceded by a third slave to make way.
Julius Cæsar restricted their numbers, and in the reign of Claudius
permission to use them was granted only as a particular mark of the royal
favour. Several varieties of litter appeared. The sella portatoria or
gestatoria was a small sedan chair. Some, however, were constructed to
hold two. The cathedra, which was probably identical with the sella
muliebris mentioned by Suetonius, was mostly used by women. The
basterna was a much larger litter, also used by women under the Empire,
which was carried by two mules. In this carriage the sides might be opened
or closed, and the whole body was frequently gilded.

A few other primitive carriages here call for mention. The Dacians, who
inhabited parts of what is now Hungary, used square vehicles with four
wheels, in which the six spokes widened towards the rims. The Scythians

used a peculiar two-wheeled cart consisting of a platform on which was
placed a conical covering, resembling in shape a beehive, and made of a
basket-work of hazelwood, over which were stretched the skins of beasts or
a thatching of reeds. When camping out these people would lift this
covering bodily from the cart and use it as a tent. Much the same custom
was followed by the wandering Tartars. “Their huts or tents,” says Marco
Polo, “are formed of rods covered with felt, and being exactly round and
nicely put together, they can gather them into one bundle, and make them
up as packages, which they carry along with them in their migrations, upon
a sort of car with four wheels.” “Besides these cars,” he continues, “they
have a superior kind of vehicle upon two wheels, covered likewise with
black felt, and so effectually as to protect those within it from wet during a
whole day of rain. These are drawn by oxen and camels, and serve to
convey their wives and children, their utensils, and such provisions as they
require.” The same traveller described the carriages of Southern China.
Speaking of Kin-sai, then the capital, he says, “The main street of the city ...
is paved with stone and brick to the width of ten paces on each side, the
intermediate part being filled up with small gravel, and provided with
arched drains for carrying off the rain-water that falls into the neighbouring
canals, so that it remains always dry. On this gravel it is that the carriages
are continually passing and re-passing. They are of a long shape, covered at
top, having curtains and cushions of silk, and are capable of holding six
persons. Both men and women who feel disposed to take their pleasure are
in the daily practice of hiring them for that purpose, and accordingly at
every hour you may see vast numbers of them driven along the middle part
of the street.” To this day such carriages as are here described can be had
for hire in China, though in general they are of a smaller size. In some
respects they resembled what is called in this country a tilted cart.
The Persians used large chariots in which was built a kind of turret from
whose interior the warriors could at once throw their spears and obtain
protection. One, taken from an ancient coin, is thus described by Sir Robert
Ker Porter in his Travels in Georgia, Persia, and Ancient Babylon (1821):
—
” ... a large chariot, which is drawn by a magnificent pair of horses; one of the men, in ampler
garments than his compeers, and bareheaded, holds the bridle of the horses ... [which] are without
trappings, but the details of their bits and the manner of reining them are executed with the utmost
care. The pole of the car is seen passing behind the horses, projecting from the centre of the carriage,

which is in a cylindrical shape, elevated rather above the line of the animals’ heads. The wheel of the
car is extremely light and tastefully put together.”

Here, too, it is to be noticed that the driver is shown with his arms over the
backs of the animals. In another chariot, which most probably was Persian,
the body seems to be made of a “light wood, as of interlaced canes. Similar
chariots are seen in the Assyrian bas-reliefs and others, somewhat
resembling this, on Etruscan and Grecian painted vases. A chariot thus
constituted must have been of extreme rapidity and of scarcely any
weight.”12
The Persians also had an idol-car, which was a kind of moving platform,
and their chariots were at one period armed with scythes. These scythes,
generally considered to be the invention of Cyrus, do not seem to have hung
from the axle-ends, as was the case in Britain, but from the body itself, “in
order,” thinks Ginzrot, who wrote on these early carriages, “to allow the
wheels to turn unobstructed. In this way,” he says, “the scythes had a firm
hold, and could inflict more damage than if they had been applied to the
wheels or felloes and revolved with them. Nearly all writers treating on this
subject are of this opinion, and Curtius says: Alias deinde falces summis
rotarum orbibus hærebant [thence curving downwards]. The scythes could
easily have been attached to the body ... and, notwithstanding, it might be
said they extended over the felloe, for Curtius said, not that the scythes
revolved with the wheels, but hærebant.”13
Early Indian carriages were probably not very different from some of those
now in use amongst the natives. The common gharry is certainly built after
a primitive model. In this there are two wheels, “a high axle-tree bed, and a
long platform, frequently made of two bamboos, which join in front and
form the pole, to which two oxen are yoked.” In Arabia there was the
araba, a primitive latticed carriage for women, which possessed “wing-
guards”—pieces of wood shaped to the top of the wheels and projecting
over them—a feature also to be found in the early Persian cars.
Taking these early carriages as a whole one may be inclined to feel surprise
at the varieties displayed, yet there were not after all very great differences
between them. They were two-or four-wheeled contrivances with a long
pole in front, and it is only in mere size and decoration that discrimination
can properly be made. “The Egyptians,” says Thrupp, “with all their

learning and skill, appear to have made no change during the centuries of
experience; as at the beginning, so at the end, the kings stand by the side of
their charioteers, or hold the reins themselves. The Persians and Hindoos
introduced luxurious improvements, and in lofty vehicles elevated the
nobles above the heads of the people, and secluded their women in
curtained carriages. The Greeks introduced no new vehicles, but perfected
so successfully the useful waggon, that their model is still seen throughout
Europe, without change of principle or structure. The Romans, on the other
hand, in their career of conquest, gathered from every nation what was
good, and, wherever possible, improved upon it.” After the fall of the
Roman Empire, however, there was little further progress for several
centuries. In the general retrogression, which, rightly or wrongly, one
associates with those dark ages, the wheeled carriage, in common with a
multitude of other adjuncts to civilisation, was to suffer.

Chapter the Second
THE AGE OF LITTERS
“There is a litter; lay him in ’t and
drive toward Dover, friend!”
King Lear.

A S roadmakers, the Romans, if they can be said to have had
successors at all, were succeeded by the monks. On the assumption
that travellers were unfortunate people, as indeed they were, needing
help, religious Orders were founded whose chief work was that of building
bridges and repairing the roads. Other Orders likewise performed such
tasks, though possibly for more selfish reasons, being as they were large
owners of cattle, and immersed as much in agricultural as in theological
occupations. So in many parts of Europe the Pontife Brothers, or bridge-
makers, were to be found. There were also Gilds formed to repair the roads,
such as the Gild of the Holy Cross in Birmingham, founded in the reign of
Richard II, which “mainteigned ... and kept in good reparaciouns the greate
stone bridges, and divers foule and dangerous high wayes, the charge
whereof the towne of hitsellfe ys not hable to mainteigne.” In Piers the
Plowman, too, the rich merchants are exhorted to repair the “wikked
wayes” and see that the “brygges to-broke by the heye weyes” may be
mended “in som manere wise.” The maintenance of the roads in England,
says M. Jusserand,14 “greatly depended upon arbitrary chance, upon
opportunity, or on the goodwill or the devotion of those to whom the
adjoining land belonged. In the case of the roads, as of bridges, we find
petitions of private persons who pray that a tax be levied upon those who
pass along, towards the repair of the road.” So in 1289, Walter Godelak of
Walingford is praying for “the establishment of a custom to be collected
from every cart of merchandize traversing the road between Jowemarsh and
Newenham, on account of the depth, and for the repair, of the said way.”
Unfortunately for him—and doubtless he was no exception to the rule—the
reply came: “The King will do nothing therein.”
Indeed the roads were in a truly abominable condition. As often as not, deep
ruts marred what surface there had ever been, and here and there brooks and

pools rendered easy passage an impossibility. There is a patent of Edward
III (Nov. 20, 1353) which ordered “the paving of the high road, alta via,
running from Temple Bar”—then the western limit of London—“to
Westminster.” “This road,” says M. Jusserand, “had been paved, but the
King explains that it is ‘so full of holes and bogs ... and that the pavement is
so damaged and broken’ that the traffic has become very dangerous for men
and carriages. In consequence, he orders each proprietor on both sides of
the road to remake, at his own expense, a footway of seven feet up to the
ditch, usque canellum,” and see to it that the middle of the road is well
paved. In France matters were just as bad. “Outside the town of Paris,” runs
one fourteenth-century ordinance, “in several parts of the suburbs ... there
are many notable and ancient high-roads, bridges, lanes, and roads, which
are much injured, damaged or decayed and otherwise hindered by ravines
of water and great stones, by hedges, brambles, and many other trees which
have grown there, and by many other hindrances which have happened
there, because they have not been maintained and provided for in time past;
and they are in such a bad state that they cannot be securely traversed on
foot or horseback, nor by vehicles, without great perils and inconveniences;
and some of them are abandoned at all parts because men cannot resort
there.” Wherefore it was proposed that the inhabitants should be compelled,
by force if necessary, to attend to the matter.
While, however, the wretched state into which the roads were being allowed
to fall had a great deal to do with the almost total, though indeed temporary,
extinction of the wheeled pleasure carriage in western Europe, there is
another fact which must be taken into consideration in any endeavour to
account for it. As will appear in a little, the renaissance of carriage-building
in the sixteenth century was for a time retarded in various places by a
widespread feeling of distrust against anything that could be thought to lead
to an accusation of effeminacy. Laws were passed—as was the case, for
instance, in 1294, under Philip the Fair of France—forbidding people to
ride in coaches, and sharp comparisons were drawn by the satirists between
the hardy horsemen of old and the modern comfort-loving individuals who
lolled, or were supposed to loll—though how they could have done so in
those springless monstrosities is past comprehension—in their gaudily
decorated carriages. I would not insist upon the point, but it may be that in
the reaction against such undue luxuries as had helped to bring ruin to the
Roman Empire, carriages for that reason became unpopular. From which, of

course, it would follow that the disappearance of the carriage led, in part at
any rate, to the neglect of the roads, and such new roads as were made
would be laid down primarily for the convenience only of the horsemen.
The same thing applied also to the litters, though their popularity naturally
followed merely upon the state of the roads.
Before attempting to deal with these litters, it will be well to see what is
known—it is not very much—of such wheeled carriages as there were at
this time, and at the outset it is necessary to bear in mind that the old
chroniclers used the word carriage in anything but its modern significance.
To them a carriage was no more than an agricultural or baggage cart. Time
and again you have accounts of this or that great man making his way,
peaceably or otherwise, through some country, accompanied by numbers of
carriages. These were simply his luggage carts, and although, as in earlier
times, the cart, gaily ornamented, could very easily be converted into a
pleasure carriage, it is important to remember the real meaning of the word.
Such carts, in point of fact, were extremely common. In England they were
generally square boxes made of planks borne on two wheels. Others, of a
lighter pattern, were built of “slatts latticed with a willow trellis.” Their
chief peculiarity was to be found in their wheels, which were furnished with
extraordinarily large nails with prominent heads. Contemporary
manuscripts give rough pictures of such carts. One of these is shown drawn
by three dogs. One man squats inside, a second helps to push it from
behind. A most interesting illustration in the Louterell Psalter—a
fourteenth-century manuscript—shows a reaper’s cart going uphill. Here
the two huge, six-spoked wheels with their projecting nails are clearly
shown. The platform of the cart is strengthened by upright stakes with a
cross-rail connecting them at the sides. The driver, standing over the wheels
on the poles, is holding a long whip which is flicking the leader of three
horses. Three other men are helping at the rear, and the stacks of wheat are
held in position by ropes.
The earliest Anglo-Saxon carriage of which there is record belongs to the
twelfth century. Strutt refers to a drawing in one of the Cottonian
manuscripts, which represents a peculiar four-wheeled contrivance with two
upright poles rising from the axle-trees, from which poles is slung a
hammock. Such a chariot or chaer was apparently used by the more
distinguished Anglo-Saxons when setting out upon long journeys. The

drawing shows the figure of Joseph on his way to meet Jacob in Egypt, but
is no doubt a correct representation of a travelling carriage in the artist’s
lifetime. This hammock is interesting as being a primitive form of
suspension, which may or may not have led to the later experiments in that
direction.

Fourteenth Century English Carriage
(From the Louterell Psalter)

Fourteenth Century Reaper’s Cart
(From the Louterell Psalter)
A most luxurious English carriage of the fourteenth century is shown in the
Louterell Psalter. This was obviously evolved from a four-wheeled waggon.
Five horses, harnessed at length, drew it, a postilion with a short whip
riding on the second, and another with a long whip on the wheeler. The
tunnel-like body was highly ornamented, and its front decorated with
carved birds and men’s heads. The frame of the body was continued in front
as two poles, and underneath, hanging by a ring and looking rather
ludicrous, is shown a small trunk. Women only appear in this carriage, the
men riding behind it.
“Nothing,” remarks M. Jusserand, “gives a better idea of the encumbering, awkward luxury which
formed the splendour of civil life during this century than the structure of these heavy machines. The
best had four wheels; three or four horses drew them, harnessed in a row, the postilion being mounted
on one, armed with a short-handled whip of many thongs; solid beams rested on the axles, and above
this framework rose an archway rounded like a tunnel; as a whole, ungraceful enough. But the
details,” he goes on to say, speaking of the carriage shown in the Louterell Psalter, “were extremely
elegant, the wheels were carved and their spokes expanded near the hoop into ribs forming pointed
arches; the beams were painted and gilt, the inside was hung with those dazzling tapestries, the glory
of the age; the seats were furnished with embroidered cushions; a lady might stretch out there, half
sitting, half lying; pillows were disposed in the corners as if to invite sleep, square windows pierced
the sides and were hung with curtains. Thus travelled,” he continues with a touch of picturesqueness,
“the noble lady, slim in form, tightly clad in a dress which outlined every curve of the body, her long,
slender hands caressing the favourite dog or bird. The knight, equally tightened in his cote-hardie,
regarded her with a complacent eye, and, if he knew good manners, opened his heart to his dreamy
companion in long phrases like those in the romances. The broad forehead of the lady, who has
perhaps coquettishly plucked off her eyebrows and stray hairs, a process about which satirists were
indignant, brightens up at moments, and her smile is like a ray of sunshine. Meanwhile the axles
groan, the horse-shoes—also heavily nailed—crunch the ground, the machine advances by fits and
starts, descends into the hollows, bounds altogether at the ditches, and falls violently back with a dull
noise.”

Other gaily decorated carriages, surprisingly like our modern vans, though
on two wheels, are shown in Le Roman du Roy Meliadus, another
fourteenth-century manuscript preserved in the British Museum, but only
the richest and most powerful of the nobles could afford to keep them.
“They were bequeathed,” says M. Jusserand, “by will from one another, and the gift was valuable.
On September 25, 1355, Elizabeth de Burgh, Lady Clare, wrote her last will and endowed her eldest
daughter with ‘her great carriage with the coverture, carpets, and cushions.’ In the twentieth year of
Richard II, Roger Rouland received £400 sterling for a carriage destined for Queen Isabella; and John
le Charer, in the sixth [year] of Edward III, received £1000 for the carriage of Lady Eleanor—the
King’s sister.”

These were fabulous sums, when it is remembered that an ox cost about
thirteen shillings and a sheep but one shilling and five pence.
Now it may be that such a “great carriage” as is shown in the Louterell
Psalter was identical with the whirlicote in which, according to Stowe,
Richard II and his mother took refuge on the occasion of Wat Tyler’s
rebellion.
“Of old time,” says this honest tailor, who himself witnessed the introduction of coaches into
England, “coaches were not known in this island, but chariots or whirlicotes, then so called, and they
only used of princes or great estates, such as had their footmen about them; and for example to note, I
read that Richard II, being threatened by the rebels of Kent, rode from the Tower of London to the
Mile’s End, and with him his mother, because she was sick and weak, in a whirlicote, the Earl of
Buckingham ... knights and Esquires attending on horseback. But in the next year [1381] the said
King Richard took to wife Anne, daughter to the King of Bohemia, that first brought hither the riding
upon side saddles; and so was the riding in whirlicotes and chariots forsaken, except at coronations
and such like spectacles.”

From this it would appear that the whirlicote (which may, as Bridges Adams
suggests, have been derived from “whirling” or moving “cot” or house) was
identical with the chariot or chaer. Unfortunately the translators of
Froissart, who mentions the incident of Richard’s ride from the Tower,
cannot agree upon the correct word to render the original charette. Charette,
chariette, chare, chaer (Wicliffe), and char (Chaucer) all occur in the early
chronicles, and there seems no means, if, indeed, there is any need, of
differentiating between them. All were probably waggons modified for the
conveyance of such passengers as could afford to pay highly for the
privilege. One fact, however, suggests that there were at any rate two
different kinds of carriages in England at this time, for we read that the
body of Richard II was borne to its last resting-place “upon a chariette or
sort of litter on wheels, such as is used by citizens’ wives who are not able
or not allowed to keep ordinary litters.” With this in mind, it is difficult to
agree with Sir Walter Gilbey when he says15 that the chare was a horse
litter, though it is fair to add that he acknowledges an opposite view.
The charette is obviously the French form of caretta, which was the
carriage in which Beatrice, the wife of Charles of Anjou, entered Naples in
1267.16 This vehicle is described as being covered both inside and without
with sky-blue velvet powdered with golden lilies. Pope Gregory X entered
Milan in 1273 in a similar carriage. The caretta was probably an open car
“shaded simply by a canopy.” In the next century, the Anciennes

Chroniques de Flandres, a manuscript belonging to 1347, shows an
illustration of Ermengarde, the wife of Salvard, Lord of Rousillon,
travelling in a four-wheeled conveyance remarkably like the ordinary
country waggon of to-day.
“The lady,” says Sir Walter Gilbey, “is seated on the floor-boards of a springless four-wheeled cart or
waggon, covered in with a tilt that could be raised or drawn aside; the body of the vehicle is of
carved wood and the outer edges of the wheels are painted grey to represent iron tyres. The
conveyance is drawn by two horses driven by a postilion who bestrides that on the near [left] side.
The traces are apparently of rope, and the outer trace of the postilion’s horse is represented as passing
under the saddle-girth, a length of leather (?) being let in for the purpose; the traces are attached to
swingle-bars carried on the end of a cross-piece secured to the base of the pole where it meets the
body.
“Carriages of some kind,” he continues, “appear also to have been used by men of rank when
travelling on the Continent. The Expeditions to Prussia and the Holy Land of Henry, Earl of Derby,
in 1390 and 1392-3 (Camden Society’s Publications, 1894) indicate that the Earl, afterwards King
Henry IV of England, travelled on wheels at least part of the way through Austria.
“The accounts kept by his Treasurer during the journey contain several entries relative to carriages;
thus on November 14, 1392, payment is made for the expenses of two equerries named Hethcote and
Mansel, who were left for one night at St. Michael, between Leoban and Kniltefeld, with thirteen
carriage horses. On the following day the route lay over such rugged and mountainous country that
the carriage wheels were broken despite the liberal use of grease; and at last the narrowness of the
way obliged the Earl to exchange his own carriage for two smaller ones better suited to the paths of
the district.
“The Treasurer also records the sale of an old carriage at Friola for three florins. The exchange of the
Earl’s ‘own carriage’ is the significant entry: it seems very unlikely that a noble of his rank would
have travelled so lightly that a single cart would contain his own luggage and that of his personal
retinue; and it is also unlikely that he used one luggage cart of his own. The record points directly to
the conclusion that the carriages were passenger vehicles used by the Earl himself.”

It is to be noted that the carriage of the Lady Ermengarde was a Flemish
vehicle. Flanders, indeed, seems to have shared with Hungary the honour of
playing pioneer in carriage-building throughout the ages, and long after the
general adoption of coaches in Europe, Flemish models, and also Flemish
mares, were freely imported into the various countries.
Another carriage of this time is described in a pre-Chaucerian poem called
The Squyr of Low Degree, in which the father of a Hungarian princess is
made to say:—

“Tomorrow ye shall on hunting fare,
And ride my daughter in a chare.
It shall be covered with velvet red,
And cloths of fine gold all about your head;
With damask white, and azure blue,
Well diapered with lilies new;
Your pomelles shal be ended with gold,
Your chains enammelled many a fold.”

The pomelles no doubt were “the handles to the rods affixed to the roof, and
were for the purpose of holding on by, when deep ruts or obstacles in the
road caused an unusual jerk in the vehicle.” One notices that lilies were
apparently a common form of decoration on these early carriages, but it is
to be regretted that the accounts in general are so scanty.

We come to the litters.
Of these the commonest, both in England and on the Continent, seem to
have been modifications of the Roman basterna. Generally they were
covered with a sort of vault with various openings. Two horses, one at
either end, carried them. The great majority held only one person. Thrupp
describes them in some detail.
“They were,” he says, “long and narrow—long enough for a person to recline in—and no wider than
could be carried between the poles which were placed on either side of the horses. They were about
four to five feet long, and two feet six inches wide, with low sides and higher ends. The entrance was
in the middle, on both sides, the doors being formed sometimes by a sliding panel and sometimes
simply by a cross-bar. The steps were of leather or iron loops, the latter being hinged to turn up when
the litter was placed on the ground. The upper part was formed by a few broad wooden hoops, united
along the top by four or five slats, and over the whole a canopy was placed, which opened in the
middle, at the sides, and ends, for air and light.”

Isolated references to these horse-litters are scattered throughout the old
chronicles, but afford meagre information. William of Malmesbury states
that the body of William Rufus was placed on a reda caballaria, a horse-
litter, the name of which suggests its origin. According to Matthew of
Westminster, King John, during his illness in 1216, was removed from
Swinstead Abbey to Newark in a similar vehicle, the lectica equestre.
Generally, however, the horse-litter was reserved exclusively for women,
men being unwilling to risk an accusation of effeminacy. So, in recording
the death of Earl Ferrers in 1254, from injuries received in an accident to
his conveyance, the historian is careful to explain that his Lordship suffered
from the gout, which was why he happened to be in a litter at all.

As time passed, the litter rather than the wheeled carriage became the state
vehicle. Froissart, writing of the second wife of Richard II, describes “la
june Royne d’Angleterre” as travelling “en une litere moult riche qui etoit
ordondée pour elle.” Margaret, the daughter of Henry VII, journeyed to
Scotland, it is true, on the back of a “faire palfrey,” but she was followed by
“one vary riche litere, borne by two faire coursers vary nobly drest; in wich
litere the sayd queene was borne in the intryng of the good townes, or
otherwise to her good playsher.” But on the Continent new improvements
were being made in wheeled carriages, and when in 1432 Henry VI wrote to
the Archbishop of Canterbury and other high dignitaries of the Church, with
regard to the widow of Henry of Navarre, he ordered them to place two
chares at her disposal, rather than the litter to which one might have thought
she would be entitled. Sir Walter Gilbey translates the word to mean a
horse-litter, but Markland, in his paper on the Early Use of Carriages in
England (Archæologia, Vol. XX), differentiates between the two, ascribing
a more ceremonial use to the litter, and this seems to me to be nearer the
truth. Both vehicles, for instance, are mentioned by Holinshed in his
description of the coronation ceremony of Catherine of Aragon in 1509. The
Queen herself rode in a litter of “white clothe of golde, not covered nor
bailed, which was led by two palfreys clad in white damask doone to the
ground, head and all, led by her footman. Over her was borne a canopie of
cloth of gold, with four gilt staves, and four silver bells. For the bearing of
which canopie were appointed sixteen knights, foure to beare it one space
on foot, and other foure another space.” But the Queen’s ladies followed her
in chariots decorated in red, and the same thing is true of Anne Boleyn,
who in 1533 rode to her coronation in a litter, but was followed by four
chariots, three decorated with red, and one with white. Such chariots
probably resembled those to be described in the next chapter; the point to
notice here is that they were being used now, and although the litters still
continued until the time of Charles II—Mary de Medicis, the Queen-Mother
of France, entered London in 1638 in a litter, though she had travelled from
Harwich in a coach, and as late as 1680 “an accident happened to General
Shippon, who came in a horse-litter wounded to London; when he paused
by the brewhouse in St. John Street a mastiff attacked the horses, and he
was tossed like a dog in a blanket”—the wheeled carriage once again
became the vehicle of honour, and at the coronation of Mary in 1553 a
chariot17 and not a litter was used by the Queen. This had six horses, and

was covered with a “cloth of tissue.” Whatever its discomforts may have
been, it cannot have been less dignified than the litter which it had, now for
all time, supplanted.

Chapter the Third
INTRODUCTION OF THE COACH (1450-1600)
“Go—call a Coach; and let a Coach be called:
Let him that calls the Coach, be called the Caller!
And in his calling, let him no thing call,
But Coach! Coach!! COACH!!!”
Chrononhotonthologos.

B OTH horse-litters and early wheeled carriages seem to have had
some pretensions towards comfort. They afforded protection against
the inclemency of the weather; there had been certain rude attempts
at suspension, and the soft cushions helped to minimise the unpleasant
joltings to which every carriage was liable. When, however, the renaissance
of carriage-building occurred, people seem to have been but little more
progressive than they had been centuries before. There were, as I have
already hinted, still two factors which militated against a speedy adoption
of such vehicles, more comfortable though they undoubtedly were, as now
began to be made—the state of the roads, and the dislike of anything
bordering upon the effeminate.
The roads had become no better. Even those most eager to welcome the
new carriages must have been dismayed at the state of the country, not only
in England, but in every European country. As one writer of the sixteenth
century complains, the roads, “by reason of straitness and disrepair, breed a
loathsome weariness to the passenger.” Nor is this writer a solitary
grumbler: there are numerous complaints. In 1537 Richard Bellasis, one of
the monastery-wreckers, was unable to proceed with his work: “lead from
the roofs,” he reports, “cannot be conveyed away till next summer, for the
ways in that countrie are so foule and deepe that no carriage [cart] can pass
in winter.” Indeed, no one seems to have looked after the roads with any
care, either in the fifteenth or the sixteenth century. Yet there were, in this
country, repeated bequests for their preservation. Henry Clifford, Earl of
Cumberland, a sufferer himself, left one hundred marks to be bestowed on
the highways in Craven, and the same sum on those of Westmorland. John
Lyon, the founder of Harrow School, gave certain rents for the repair of the

roads from Harrow and Edgware to London. This was in 1592, and Lyon’s
example was speedily followed by Sutton, the founder of the Charterhouse.
There was, indeed, legislation of a kind, but in general the roads were in a
terrible condition, and for a long time, so far as men were concerned, the
saddle remained triumphant.
And for an even longer time continued that prejudice against carriages
which led to the framing of actual prohibitive laws. Even women were
occasionally forbidden the use of coaches, and there is the story of the
luxurious duchess who in 1546 found great difficulty in obtaining from the
Elector of Saxony permission to be driven in a covered carriage to the baths
—such leave being granted only on the understanding that none of her
attendants were to be allowed the same privilege. So, too, in 1564, Pope
Pius IV was exhorting his cardinals and bishops to leave the new-fangled
machines to women, and twenty-four years later Julius, Duke of Brunswick,
found it necessary to issue an edict—it makes quaint reading now—
ordering his “vassals, servants, and kinsmen, without distinction, young and
old,” who “have dared to give themselves up to indolence and to riding in
coaches ... to take notice that when We order them to assemble, either
altogether or in part, in Times of Turbulence, or to receive their Fiefs, or
when on other occasions they visit Our Court, they shall not travel or
appear in Coaches, but on their riding Horses.” More stringent is the edict,
preserved amongst the archives of the German county of Mark, in which the
nobility was forbidden the use of coaches “under penalty of incurring the
punishment of felony.” So, also, we have the case of René de Laval, Lord of
Bois-Dauphin, an extremely obese nobleman living in Paris, whose only
excuse for possessing a coach was his inability to be set upon a horse, or to
keep in that position if the horse chanced to move. This was in 1550. In
England there was a similar feeling of opposition. In 1584 John Lyly, in his
play Alexander and Campaspe, makes one of his characters complain of the
new luxury. In the old days, he says, those who used to enter the battlefield
on hard-trotting horses, now ride in coaches and think of nothing but the
pleasures of the flesh. The once famous Bishop Hall speaks bitterly of the
“sin-guilty” coach:—

“Is’t not a shame to see each homely groome
Sit perched in an idle chariot roome
That were not meete some pannel to bestride
Sursingled to a galled hackney’s hide?
Nor can it nought our gallant’s praises reap,
Unless it be done in staring cheap
In a sin-guilty coach, not closely pent,
Jogging along the harder pavement.”

Possibly the same idea is to be found in the framing of a Parliamentary Bill
of 1601 “to restrain the excessive use of coaches,” which, however, was
thrown out. So again in 1623, the delightful though sadly biased water-poet,
John Taylor, is lamenting the decadence of England, due, according to him,
to the growing custom of driving in coaches.
“For whereas,” he says, “within our memories, our Nobility and Gentry would ride well mounted
(and sometimes walke on foote) gallantly attended with three or four, score brave fellowes in blue
coates, which was a glory to our Nation; and gave more content to the beholders, then [sic] forty of
your Leather tumbrels: Then men preserv’d their bodies strong and able by walking, riding, and other
manly exercises: Then saddlers was a good Trade, and the name of a Coach was Heathen Greek. Who
ever saw (but upon extraordinary occasions),” he goes on to ask, “Sir Philip Sidney, Sir Francis
Drake, Sir John Norris, Sir William Winter, Sir Roger Williams, or (whom I should have nam’d first)
the famous Lord Gray and Willoughby, when the renowned George Earle of Cumberland, or Robert
Earle of Essex? These sonnes of Mars, who in their time were the glorious Brooches of our Nation,
and admirable terrour to our Enemies: these, I say, did make small use of Coaches, and there were
two mayne reasons for it, the one was, that there were but few Coaches in most of their times: and the
second is, they were deadly foes to all sloth and effeminacy.”

To Taylor, indeed, and probably to every one of his fellow-watermen, a
coach was always a “hell-cart” designed on purpose to put an end to his
own most worthy calling. But less biased poets than outspoken Taylor gave
tongue to an opposition which continued for nearly two centuries. Gay, for
instance, looked on the vastly improved vehicle of his day as no more than
an excuse for extravagant display:—
“O happy streets, to rumbling wheels unknown,
No carts, no coaches shake the floating town!
Thus was of old Britannia’s city bless’d,
Ere pride and luxury her sons profess’d.”

And again:—
“Now gaudy pride corrupts the lavish age,
And the streets flame with glaring equipage;
The tricking gamester insolently rides,
With Loves and Graces on his chariot’s sides;
In saucy state the griping broker sits,
And laughs at honesty, and trudging wits.”

Perhaps he is thinking of some personal inconvenience, rather than of mere
unnecessary luxury, when he asks:—
“What walker shall his mean ambition fix
On the false lustre of a coach and six?”

And so late as 1770, the eccentric Lord Monboddo, who still maintained the
superiority of a savage life, refused to “sit in a box drawn by brutes.” It is,
of course, easy to magnify such opposition to coaches as followed on the
grounds of mere luxury and display, but in the earlier history of the coach,
to which we are now come, it is a factor which must by no means be
neglected. The coach, like every other novelty, had to fight its way, and if
one is inclined to believe, after reading such accusations as there are of the
earliest coaches with their magnificent adornments and numerous
attendants, that the owners altogether deserved the reproaches of their more
Spartan fellows, it may be well to recall Macaulay’s words. In his sketch of
the state of England in 1685, when coaches were still lavishly adorned, he
says of them: “We attribute to magnificence what was really the effect of a
very disagreeable necessity. People in the time of Charles the Second
travelled with six horses, because with a smaller number there was great
danger of sticking fast in the mire.” And what is true of 1685 is certainly
true of 1585.
Buckingham is supposed to have been the first man to use a coach and six
in this country, though this is by no means certain. Of him a well-known
story apropos of this question of undue luxury is told. “The stout old Earl of
Northumberland,” it runs, “when he got loose, hearing that the great
Favourite Buckingham was drawn about with a Coach and six horses
(which was wondered at then as a novelty, and imputed to him as a mastring
pride) thought if Buckingham had six he might very well have eight in his
Coach, with which he rode through the City of London to the Bath, to the
vulgar talk and admiration.... Nor did this addition of two horses by
Buckingham grow higher than a little murmur. For in the late Queen’s time
there were no coaches, and the first [had] but two Horses; the rest crept in
by Degrees as men at first venture to sea.”18 Yet what may have been true
of Buckingham, whose love of luxury was notorious, need not have been
true of those other owners of coaches, who were constantly travelling about
the country.

Finally there is the other side of the question to be remembered, and, as M.
Ramde quaintly points out in his History of Locomotion, the very luxury
which people so disliked had a beneficent effect; for “after the development
of the use of carriages, and their frequent employment by the court and
nobility, the liberty to throw everything out of the window became
intolerable! Thus the carriage of luxury has been the cause of cleanliness in
the streets.”
Now it must be understood that the coach proper differs from all earlier
vehicles in being not only a covered, but also a suspended carriage. The
canopy has given place to the roof, a roof, that is to say, which forms part of
the framing of the body; and the body itself is swung in some fashion,
however primitive, from posts or other supports. Further, it seems
reasonable to suppose, on the analogy of the berlin and the landau—two
later carriages which took their names from the towns in which they were
first made—that the first coaches were built in a small Hungarian town then
called Kotzee. Yet it is to be observed that Spain, Italy, and France, in the
persons of various enthusiasts, have claimed the invention—their claims
being mainly based on such similarities as may be observed between the
real coach and the earlier cars and charettes.19 Bridges Adams, indeed, not
to be outdone, hazards the suggestion that England might also be included
in such a list by reason of her invention of the whirlicote, though he is
obliged to admit that nobody knows exactly what a whirlicote was like. It is
probably due to these patriotic gentlemen that several rather ludicrous
suggestions have been made to explain the derivation of the word coach,
which has a similar sound in nearly all European languages. Menange
rashly suggests a corruption of the Latin vehiculum. Another writer puts
forward the Greek verb ὀχέω, to carry. Wachten, a German, finds in kutten,
to cover, a suitable explanation, and Lye produces the Flemish koetsen, to
lie along. This last, perhaps, is the most reasonable suggestion of those
unwilling to give the palm to Hungary, for not only were the Flemish
vehicles well known before the introduction of the new carriage, but there is
also some confusion, at any rate, in this country, between the two words
coach and couch, both being found in the old account books. Even in the
sixteenth century the word seems to have bothered people. There is an
amusing reference to this point in an early seventeenth-century tract called
Coach and Sedan Pleasantly Disputing, of which I shall have more to say
in the next chapter.

“Their first invention,” says a character in this dialogue, “and use was in the Kingdome of Hungarie,
about the time when Frier George, compelled the Queen and her young sonne the King, to seeke to
Soliman the Turkish Emperour, for aid against the Frier, and some of the Nobilitie, to the utter ruine
of that most rich and flourishing Kingdome, where they were first called Kottcze, and in the
Slavonian tongue Cottri, not of Coucher the French to lie-downe, nor of Cuchey, the Cambridge
Carrier, as some body made Master Minshaw, when hee (rather wee) perfected his Etymologicall
dictionarie, whence we call them to this day Coaches.”

It is also to be noted that the first English coaches, so called, were probably
not suspended at all, but merely upholstered carts for reclining—in fact
nothing more than the old chariots. In the second half of the sixteenth
century, practically every pleasure carriage in England, though not on the
Continent, was called a coach or a carroche. Consequently it is difficult to
give a date for the importation of the first real coach into this country.
Indeed, it is impossible to say with any degree of certainty precisely when
carriages of the suspended type were first made. Such early accounts as
exist are at once fragmentary and obscure, and the few illustrations little
better than caricatures with a perspective reminiscent of that in Hogarth’s
famous example of false drawing. It can only be repeated that the hammock
slung from the four posts of a waggon, such as we have seen existed
amongst the Anglo-Saxons and possibly was also in use in parts of Europe,
may have provided the idea of permanent suspension as a means to comfort,
and that such scanty evidence as there is goes to prove that the carriages
exported from Hungary towards the end of the fifteenth century seem to
have been the first coaches to be built.
So early as 1457 there is mention of such a carriage, given by Ladislaus,
King of Hungary, to the French King, Charles VII. The Parisians who saw it
described it as “branlant et moulte riche.” What this “trembling” carriage
was like there is no means of discovering, but it certainly suggests an
attempt at suspension, and may perhaps be taken for the earliest coach to be
recorded by history. This obviously was Hungarian, and Hungary is again
mentioned in the same connection by Stephanus Broderithus, who relates
that in 1526, “when the archbishop received intelligence that the Turks had
entered Hungary, not content with informing the King of this event, he
speedily got into one of those light carriages which from the name of the
place we call kotcze, and hastened to His Majesty.” And apparently these
light carriages were actually used for military purposes, Taylor avowing
that “they carried soldiers on each side with cross-bowes,” this being the
best purpose to which he considered the coach had ever been put or was

likely to be put in the future. All this is clear enough, but Beckmann, in his
History of Inventions, mentions another circumstance which strengthens the
evidence: “Siegmund, Baron de Herberstein, ambassador from Louis II, to
the King of Hungary, says in his Commentarie de rebus Moscoviticis, where
he occasionally mentions some travelling-stages in Hungary: ‘The fourth
stage for stopping to give the horses breath is six miles below Taurinum, in
the village of Cotzi, from which both drivers and carriages take their name,
and are generally called cotzi.’”20
Very probably these new Hungarian carriages were seen in most European
countries before 1530. “At tournaments,” says Bridges Adams, “they were
made objects for display; they are spoken of as being gilded all over, and
the hangings were of crimson satin. Electresses and duchesses were seldom
without them; and there was as much rivalry in their days of public
exhibition as there is now [1837] amongst the aspirants of fashion in their
well-appointed equipages at a queen’s drawing-room.”
What did these early coaches look like? Shorn of their hangings, they must
have resembled nothing so much as the hearse of to-day. The first
illustrations show no signs of suspension, and portray what appear to be
gaudily decorated waggons, and that in effect is what they were. The first
coach makers of Hungary, like their predecessors, were certainly content to
take for their model the common agricultural waggon of Germany. Indeed,
Hungary seems to have played pioneer in this respect at a very early date.
Von Ginzrot, in his work on early vehicles, gives an illustration of a closed
passenger carriage which bears more than a superficial resemblance to the
later coaches. “The body,” says Thrupp, “is a disguised waggon; the tilt-top
has two leather flaps to fall over the doorway, and the panels are of wicker-
work.” It would have been quite easy, he continues, to use such waggons, as
had been the case long before, for passenger traffic, “by placing the planks
across the sides, or suspending seats by straps from the sides”; and he
further mentions an oil painting at Nuremberg, of two waggons “with
carved and gilt standard posts both in front and behind the body”—an
interesting stage in the transformation from rude cart to private coach.
There is a detailed and technical description of these waggons in Thrupp’s
own book, but it will be enough here to notice that they were generally
narrower at the bottom than at the top, as were the first coaches, and that the
four wheels were nearly of the same size. Working from such a model, the

Hungarian artificers produced a comparatively light, though large, four-
wheeled carriage with some pretensions to grace of line, a roofed body,
broad seats, and a side entrance. The body, however, was not completely
enclosed by solid panels, which only took the place of the curtains at a later
date. Carvings and other ornamentation followed on the owner’s rank and
taste. And towards the end of the sixteenth century, if not before, the actual
body was suspended on straps or braces. There are preserved at Coburg and
Verona one or two coach-bodies which show signs of the iron hoops by
which they were hung. The earliest of these was built for Duke Frederick of
Saxony in 1527, and Count Gozzadini, in a slim folio which he privately
printed some sixty years ago, describes a coach-body built in 1549 which
still shows traces of its heraldic ornamentation on the framework.
“This coach,” says Thrupp, acting as the Count’s translator, “was built under the direction of an
Italian at Brussels, for the ceremony of the marriage of Alexander, the son of Octavius Farnese, Duke
of Parma, with a Portuguese princess. The wedding took place in 1565 at Brussels. There were four
carriages Flanders fashion [? charettes] and four coaches after the Italian fashion, swinging on leather
braces. The chief, or state, coach is described as being in the most beautiful manner, with four statues
at the ends, the spokes of the wheels like fluted columns. There were seraphims’ heads at the end of
the roof and over the doorway, and festoons of fruit in relief over the framing of the body. The
coachman was supported by two carved figures of lions, two similar lions were at the hind wheel,
and the leather braces that supported the body and the harness were embossed with heads of animals.
The ends of the steps were serpents’ heads. The whole of the wood and ironwork was covered with
gold relieved with white. The coach was drawn by four horses, with red and white plumes of
feathers, and the covering of the body and of the horses was gold brocade with knotted red silk
fringe. The cushions of gold-embroidered stuff were perfumed with amber and musk, that infused the
soul of all who entered the coach with life, joy, and supreme pleasure.”

Truly a Southern notion!
What is apparently the oldest coach to be preserved practically intact is to
be seen at Coburg. This coach was built for a particular occasion—the
marriage of John, Elector of Saxony, in 1584. The body is long and ornate,
and is hung from four carved standard posts surmounted by crowned lions.
The wheels are large—four feet eight inches and five feet—and the roof is
at a slightly higher level than the lions’ heads. Mounting steps must have
existed, but have been lost.
Not unnaturally the advent of these coaches followed upon the commercial
prosperity of each country. Germany seems to have imported a number of
carriages from Hungary, and made others from Hungarian models, but even
more prosperous than Germany at this time was Holland, which probably
possessed more coaches than any other country in Europe. Here there

would have been native designs to follow and improve upon, and, as I shall
show in a moment, it was probably from the Netherlands that the first coach
was imported into England. Antwerp, for instance, a superlatively rich city
in the sixteenth century, is credited by Macpherson with having no less than
five hundred coaches —and so five hundred scandals, according to the local
philosophers—in 1560, at which date London had but two, and Paris no
more than three. Of the French trio of carosses, as they were called, one
was the Queen’s property, a second belonged to the fashionable Diana of
Poitiers, and the third had been built for the use of that corpulent noble who
has already been mentioned. Some Italian towns possessed many, others
none. There is preserved at the Musée Cluny in Paris a Veronese carriole
built in the sixteenth century by Giovanna Batta Maretto, with panels
painted by a distinguished artist of the time. Verona, indeed, seems to have
had many coaches. But it was easily surpassed by Ferrara, which so early as
1509 is credited with the possession of no less than sixty coaches, the whole
of these forming the Duke’s procession on the occasion of a state visit from
the Pope. And, as Thrupp points out, these sixty carriages were not litters or
cars, as might be supposed, but coaches, for it is particularly mentioned by
the historian that “the Duchess of Ferrara rode in a litter, and her ladies
followed her in twenty-two cars.” Spain had apparently no coaches until
1546, and here again there was considerable opposition to their use. Yet
although England, France, and Spain seem to have been behind other
countries in taking to the new carriages, all three possessed a flourishing, if
not very large, coach-building trade before 1600.

From a Print by Hofnagel, 1582

Here, perhaps, we may consider the introduction of the coach into England
in rather greater detail. “It is a doubtful question,” remarks Taylor in his ill-
natured way,” whether the divell brought Tobacco into England in a Coach,
or else brought a Coach in a fogge or mist of Tobacco.” Apparently he had
an equal dislike for both coach and tobacco. But although we owe to the
water-poet such contemporary satirical writings on the subject as there are,
he is not to be trusted as an historian. Taylor, indeed, is a very bad historian,
not so much on account of his inability to see two sides of a question, as
because, like many another poet, he has made of exaggeration a fine art,
and allowed his memory to play second fiddle to his inclinations. It is to the
worthy Stowe that we must turn for the facts. Stowe liked the coaches little
better than did Taylor, but his training had made him exact, and we may
take it for granted that he is more or less correct when he says that the first
coach to be seen upon British roads belonged to the year 1555. Curiously
enough, this is the date of the first General Highways Act. The preamble of
this Bill stated that certain roads were “now both very noisesome and
tedious to travel in and dangerous to all passengers and carriages [carts].”
The local authorities were empowered to compel parishioners to give four
days’ work every year to the repairing of the roads, though how far such
orders were carried out it would be impossible to say. The merit of actually
introducing the coach is given by Stowe to Henry Manners, second Earl of
Rutland, who caused one Walter Rippon to build him a carriage from some
foreign, most probably Dutch, pattern. This Earl of Rutland had borne the
Spurs at the coronation of Edward VI, and in 1547 had been made
Constable of Nottingham Castle. He had received the French hostages in
1550 at the time of the treaty which followed on the loss of Boulogne. It is
to be regretted that neither in his correspondence nor in the family account-
books preserved at Belvoir is there mention of either Rippon or his coach.
There is, indeed, the “Book of John Leek of riding charges carriages [carts]
and forrene paymentes” in 1550, and another book compiled by Leek’s
successor, George Pilkington, in the following year, but all travelling entries
concern only horses and the cartage of goods. In 1555 “George Lassells,
Esquyer” was “Comptroller to the householde” and paid “to Edward
Hopkynson for ij ryding roddes of bone for my Ladye and other thinges,
xxijd,” but there is no mention of any carriage for his Lordship’s own use.
What is more unfortunate is that there are no account-books of the Manners

family between 1559 and 1585, and it is not until 1587, when a fourth Earl
of Rutland was head of his house, that this significant entry occurs:—
“Coach, a newe, bought in London, xxxviijli.xiijs.ijd.”
To go back to Rippon, it is not known who he was. He is supposed to have
built a coach for Queen Mary in 1556, and in 1564 the first “hollow turning
coach” with pillars and arches, for Queen Elizabeth, though precisely what
is meant by a “hollow turning” coach it is difficult to conjecture. This same
Rippon twenty-four years later built another coach for the Queen, which is
described as “a chariot throne with foure pillars behind, to beare a crowne
imperiale on the toppe, and before two lower pillars, whereon stood a lion
and a dragon, the supporters of the armes of England.” It cannot have been
very comfortable, and Elizabeth seems to have preferred another coach
brought out of Holland by one William Boonen, who about 1560 was made
her coachman, a position he was still occupying at the end of the century.
This Boonen was a Dutchman, whose wife is said to have introduced the art
of starching into England, whence followed those huge ruffs so conspicuous
in all the Elizabethan portraits. Boonen’s coach could be opened and closed
at pleasure. On the occasion of the Queen’s passing through the town of
Warwick, she had “every part and side of her coach to be opened, that all
her subjects present might behold her, which most gladly they desired.”
This coach is described as “on four wheels with seven spokes, which are
apparently bound round with a thick wooden rim secured by pegs. It is
precisely such a vehicle,” adds the anonymous historian in the Carriage
Builder’s and Harness Maker’s Art Journal, “as is now [1860] used by the
brewers, with a tilt over it, which opens in the centre on one side, and
would contain half a dozen persons.” On the other hand, one may safely
assert that no brewer’s cart was ever decorated in the same way, for the
framing of Elizabeth’s carriage was of wood carved in a shell pattern and
gilded. “The whole composition,” runs another account, “contains many
beautiful curves. The shell-work creeps up to the roof, which it supports,
and which is dome-shaped.... The roof is capped by five waving ostrich
feathers, one at each corner, and the fifth on the centre of the roof, and
springing from a kind of crown.” The driver’s seat was apparently a kind of
movable stool, and two horses were used. Even this coach, however, of
which there is a print by Hoefnagle, dated 1582, cannot have been very
comfortable, and in 1568, when the French ambassador obtained an

audience, Elizabeth was complaining of “aching pains” from being knocked
about in a coach driven too fast a few days before. “No wonder,” comments
one historian, “that the great queen used her coach only when occasions of
state demanded.” Whenever possible, indeed, she used her horse. “When
Queen Elizabeth came to Norwich, 1578,” wrote Sir Thomas Browne a
hundred years later, “she came on horseback from Ipswich, by the high road
to Norwich, in the summer time; but she had a coach or two,” he added, “in
her trayne.”
In the print just mentioned there is shown a second coach, which is perhaps
a better example of the carriage of the period. One sees again its hearse-like
appearance, though the top is broader than the bottom, and the body is
partially enclosed; but there is one peculiarity which deserves particular
mention. This was a small seat which projected on either side, between the
wheels. It was known as the boot. Here sat the pages or grooms or the ladies
in attendance. Taylor, of course, has his fling against it. The booted coach,
he says, is like a perpetual cheater, wears “two Bootes and no Spurs,
sometimes having two paire of Legs and one boote; and oftentimes (against
nature) most preposterously it makes faire Ladies weare the boote; and if
you note, they are carrried backe to backe like people surpriz’d by Pyrats to
be tyed in that miserable manner, and throwne overboard into the Sea.
Moreover, it makes people imitate Sea-crabs, in being drawne Side-wayes,
as they are when they sit in the boote of the Coach.” The boot, however,
was already tending to disappear in Taylor’s day. How it originated is not
clear. It was always uncovered, whence followed much hardship,
particularly if the weather was unfavourable. Nor can one think that it was
very capacious. There is an early seventeenth-century pamphlet entitled My
Journie, in which a stout old lady is put into the boot of a coach, and cannot
move. When going uphill all the passengers are supposed to get out and
walk, but the old lady, once settled, refuses to budge, and, indeed, cannot be
extricated until the end of the journey. There is further mention of the
discomfort in a boot in 1663, when Edward Barker, writing to his father, a
Lancashire squire, complains of his troubles in the side seat. “I got to
London,” he says, “on Saturday last, my journey was noe ways pleasant,
being forced to ride in the boote all the waye, ye company yt came up wth
mee were persons of greate quality as knightes and ladyes. My journeys
expence was 30 s. This traval hath soe indisposed mee, yt I am resolved

never to ride againe in ye coatch. I am extreamly hot and feverish.” The
monstrous width of these early coaches followed, of course, on their
projecting side seats, which only entirely disappeared when the coach had
come to be completely enclosed and provided with glass windows.
It may be that the boot in process of time was metamorphosed into the
large, deep, four-sided basket which was strapped to the back of public
coaches in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and, indeed, this basket
seems to have been called the boot in eighteenth-century stage coaches. It
was probably in such a basket-boot as this that Mr. Pepys put his great
barrel of oysters, “as big as sixteen others,” which was given him in 1664.
An interesting point in this connection is that those who travelled on the
seatless and presumably most uncomfortable roof of a coach plying for hire,
paid more for the privilege than did those who rode in the boot.
However greatly the chroniclers may differ as to the date of the actual
introduction, and others besides Taylor disagree with Stowe, there seems no
doubt that by 1585 many of the nobility and some wealthy commoners
owned private coaches, and, indeed, certain enterprising tradesmen, as will
appear, let other coaches on hire at so much per day.
“After a while,” says Stowe, “divers great ladies, with a great jealousy of the Queen’s displeasure,
made them coaches and rid them up and down the countries, to the great admiration of all the
beholders, but then little by little they grew usual amongst the nobilitie and others of sort, and within
twenty years became a great trade of coach-making.”

Indeed, every one of any wealth was eager to possess them. A private coach
settled any doubts as to your quality. It was a new fashion, a new
excitement. “So a woman,” says Quicksilver, the rake, in Eastward Hoe,
“marry to ride in a coach, she cares not if she rides to her ruin. ’Tis the great
end of many of their marriages.” And again, in Ben Jonson’s Alchemist it is
said of the Countess that she
“... has her pages, ushers
Her six mares—
Nay, eight!
To hurry her through London, to the Exchange,
Bethlem, the china-houses—
Yes, and have
The citizens gape at her, and praise her tires.”

Even the plain country-folk seem to have been smitten with the new toy, for
toy it was to them. “Has he ne’er a little odd cart,” asks Waspe in
Bartholomew Fair, “for you to make a coach on, in the country, with four
pied hobby-horses?” Any shift for a coach, thought he, and no doubt voiced
public opinion.
The first owners of coaches appear to have been those who had travelled
abroad. So early as 1556, Sir Thomas Hoby, who had been our ambassador
to France, possessed a coach and offered to lend it to the Lady Cecil. The
account-book for 1573 of the Kytson family, of Hengrave, in Suffolk,
mentions another early coach. “For my mres [mistress’s] coche, with all the
furniture thereto belonging except horses—xxxiiijli.xiiijs. For the painting
of my mr and mres armes upon the coche—ijs.vjd.” In 1579 the Earl of
Arundel is said to have brought a coach into England from Germany, and
this coach is interesting from the fact that certain historians have credited it
with being the first coach in England. How such a tradition arose is not
clear, but it may be that this German coach had certain features which more
nearly approached those of the later Stuart, fully-enclosed, coaches. Further
details are to be found in the Manners notebooks, and these afford a glimpse
of the methods adopted by the coachmakers, not yet a large body, of the
day. In the notebooks of Thomas Screven, 1596-97, after an item for
twenty-eight shillings for three-quarters of “scarlet sleves and labelles for
his L[ordship’s] parlyament robes” comes another of six shillings “to my
Lady Adeline’s coachman,” and one, just below, of greater interest:—
“Item paid to Wm. Wright, coachmaker, in parte of xlli. for a coache now made, xxli.”

After that, in the 1598-99 book comes an item to “the Countess of
South[ampton’s] coachman that wayted on my Lord to Dertford, vs.” This
suggests the growing popularity of the coach, more especially as there is
another disbursement in the same year to the Countess of Essex’s
coachman. Then follow from November 25th, 1598, details of the expenses
of the new coach for my Lord’s own use—which apparently took
considerable time to furnish.
“Item for ij paire of new wheeles for the coache, tymber worke and iron work, and setting them on
the axeltrees, iijli.xiijs.iiijd.; payntinge them in oyle colour, vjs.viijd.; a new pole for the horses to
drawe by, ijs.vjd.; a paire of springe trees, iijs.iijd.”

The provender bill for six horses is given, also an item “for setting up the
coach horses at dyvers times at Walsingham Howse, iiijs.; at Hatton Howse,
xijd.; at Baynardes Castle, ijs.; dressing and oyling the coach, ijs.”; while
the most necessary whip costs Mr. Screven twelve pence. Other payments
are six shillings for two new bearing braces for the “double hanging” of the
coach—here at any rate is definite mention of suspension, a fact which
might suggest that, after all, either Rippon’s or Lord Arundel’s coach had
been of the suspended type—four shillings for a long spring brace, two
shillings and sixpence for a new “wynge,” and sixteen pence for two
“bearing raynes.” The new coach, however, is not ready in time for his
Lordship, who thereupon hires one with three horses to take him “to the
Court at Nonesuch, 23, 24, and 25 of September, at xvjs. per diem.”
Meanwhile payments for his own coach continue. For four “skynnes of
orange colour leather goate” he pays various sums; for the timber work, for
more painting, for a covering in “black lether,” and for making the
“curtaynes, and setting on the firinge, and making the blew cloth cover” a
sum of twenty-six pounds, nineteen shillings, is expended. Nor is this all.
My Lord was evidently determined to make his coach as gorgeous as
possible. Nine yards of “marygold coulour velvet for the seat and bed in the
coach” were required, and each yard cost twenty-three shillings. The
quilting for the bed cost forty shillings. In addition, there was a lace of
“crymosin silk” and no less than “v elles of crymosin taffaty for curtaynes,”
costing three pounds fifteen shillings; also “9 yardes of blew clothe for a
cover.” Then, of great interest, comes the final entry:—
“Item, paid to Ryly, embroderer, in full for embrodering iij sumpter clothes of crymosin with his
L[ordship’s] armes thereon at large, and vij otheres embrodered onely with great peacocks, with
carsey for the garding and tasselles and frynge, 14 July, lxiiijli.”

Mr. Ryly was well paid for his work21.
From such details it is possible to imagine what this and other coaches of
the time were like. You figure a huge, gaudy, curtained apparatus with
projecting sides and incomplete panels, large enough to contain a fair-sized
bed, hung roughly from four posts, and capable of being dragged at little
better than a snail’s pace—“four-wheeled Tortoyses” Taylor calls them—
along roads hardly worthy of the name. Twenty miles a day was considered
good going. Says Portia, in the Merchant of Venice:—

“... I’ll tell thee all my whole device
When I am in my coach, which stays for us
At the park gate; and therefore haste away,
For we must measure twenty miles to-day.”

The coachman, as we learn from the water-poet, was “mounted (his fellow-
horses and himselfe being all in a finery) with as many varieties of laces,
facings, Clothes and Colours as are in the Rainebowe.” Nor was he over-
polite, particularly if the coach he drove was hired. In Jonson’s Staple of
News one of the pieces of mock-news to appear in the ideal paper concerns
the fraternity:—
“and coachmen
To mount their boxes reverently, and drive
Like lapwings with a shell upon their heads
Through the streets.”

They seem to have thought that their finery allowed them to treat the
pedestrians with but scant respect. And no wonder these “way-stopping
whirligigges,” as Taylor calls the coaches, surprised the inhabitants. When
one of them was seen for the first time, “some said it was a great Crab-shell
brought out of China, and some imagin’d it to be one of the Pagan Temples
in which the Cannibals adored the devill.” For some time, indeed, the
coaches must have given the common folk something to think about. A
coach rumbling along brought them to their windows, just as the horseless
carriage, centuries later, proved a similar attraction. There is a scene in
Eastward Hoe which well illustrates this point.
Enter a Coachman in haste in ’s frock, feeding.
Coach. Here’s a stir when citizens ride out of town indeed, as if all the house were afire! ’Slight, they
will not give a man leave to eat ’s breakfast afore he rises.
Enter Hamlet, a footman, in haste.
Ham. What coachman? My lady’s coach, for shame! her ladyship’s ready to come down.
Enter Potkin, a tankard bearer.
Pot. ’Sfoot, Hamlet, are you mad? whither run you now?...
Enter Mrs. Fond and Mrs. Gazer.
Fond. Come, sweet mistress Gazer, let’s watch here, and see my Lady Flash take coach.
Gazer. O’ my word, here’s a most fine place to stand in. Did you see the new ship launch’d last day,
Mrs. Fond?
Fond. O God, and we citizens should lose such a sight!
Gazer. I warrant here will be double as many people to see her take coach, as there were to see it take
water.

My lady’s point of view is put forward by Lady Eitherside in The Devil is
an Ass. Says she:—
“If we once see it under the seals, wench, then,
Have with them for the great caroch, six horses,
And the two coachmen, with my Ambler bare,
And my three women; we will live, i’ faith,
The example of the town, and govern it.
I’ll lead the fashion still.”

Contemporary references to coaches, however, are but scarce. The most
important of these is Taylor’s own The World runnes on Wheeles: or, Oddes
betwixt Carts and Coaches, an amusing pamphlet written in prose and not
in verse, because the author, as he says, was lame at the time of its
composition, and because beyond the three words, broach, Roach, and
encroach, he could find no suitable rhymes. Encroach, however, he thinks
might have done, for that word, as he explains in his dedication to various
companies likely to suffer from the importation of the coach, “best befits it,
for I think never such an impudent, proud Intruder or Encroacher came into
the world as a Coach is; for it hath driven many honest Families out of their
Houses, many Knights to Beggers, Corporations to poverty, Almesdeedes to
all misdeedes, Hospitality to extortion, Plenty to famine, Humility to pride,
Compassion to oppression, and all Earthly goodnes to an utter confusion.”
To the cart he does not object, but for the “hyred Hackney-hell-carts” he
cannot find sufficient abuse. His arguments in favour of carts as against
coaches are certainly novel, if not entirely convincing as coming from a
waterman well used to live passengers himself.
“And as necessities and things,” he says, “whose commodious uses cannot be wanted, are to be
respected before Toyes and trifles (whose beginning is Folly, continuance Pride, and whose End is
Ruine) I say as necessity is to be preferred before superfluity, so is the Cart before the Coach; For
Stones, Timber, Corne, Wine, Beere, or any thing that wants life, there is a necessity they should be
carried, because they are dead things and cannot go on foot, which necessity the honest Cart doth
supply: But the Coach, like a superfluous bable, or uncharitable Miser, doth seldom or never carry or
help any dead or helplesse thing; but on the contrary, it helps those that can helpe themselves ... and
carries men and women, who are able to goe or run; Ergo, the Cart is necessary, and the Coach
superfluous.”

In fact, the coach, according to poor Taylor, is directly responsible for every
calamity from which the country has suffered since its introduction. Leather
has become dearer, the horses in their traces are being prostituted, and there
is a “universal decay of the best ash-trees.”

“A Wheele-wright,” he continues, “or a maker of Carts, is an ancient, a profitable and a Trade, which
by no meanes can be wanted: yet so poore it is, that scarce the best amongst them can hardly ever
attaine to better than a Calves skin fate, or a piece of beefe and Carret rootes to dinner on a Sunday;
nor scarcely any of them is ever mounted to any Office above the degree of a Scavenger, or a
Tything-man at the most. On the contrary, your Coachmakers trade is the most gaine-fullest about the
Towne, they are apparelled in Sattens and Velvets, and Masters of their Parish, Vestry-men, who fare
like the Emperors Heliogabalus or Sardanapalus, seldome without their Mackroones, Parmisants,
Jellies and Kickshawes, with baked Swannes, Pasties hot, or cold red Deere Pyes, which they have
fro their Debtor Worships in the Country: neither are these Coaches onely thus cumbersome by their
Rumbling and Rutting, as they are by their standing still, and damming up the streetes and lanes, as
the Blacke Friers, and divers other places can witnes, and against Coachmakers doores the streets are
so pestered and clogg’d with them, that neither man, horse or cart can passe for them; in so much as
my Lord Maior is highly to bee commended for his care in their restraint, sending in February last,
many of them to the Courtes for their carelessnesse herein.”

In another work of Taylor’s, The Thiefe, there is a passage of equal interest:
—

“Carroaches, Coaches, Jades and Flanders Mares
Do rob us of our shares, our wares, our Fares:
Against the ground we stand and knock our heeles,
Whilest all our profit runs away on wheeles;
And whosoever but observes and notes,
The great increase of Coaches and of Boats,
Shall finde their number more than e’r they were
By halfe and more within these thirty yeeres.
Then watermen at Sea had service still,
And those that staid at home had worke at will:
Then upstart Helcart-Coaches were to seeke,
A man could scarce see twenty in a weeke,
But now I thinke a man may daily see,
More than the Whirries on the Thames can be.
When Queen Elizabeth came to the Crowne,
A Coach in England, then was scarcely knowne,
Then ’twas as rare to see one, as to spy
A Tradesman that had never told a lye.”

It will be seen from the first of these lines, that a difference is made
between the coach and the caroche (carroch or carroache). On this point
there is a definite statement in the Elizabethan play Tu Quoque:—
“Prepare yourself to like this gentleman,
Who can maintain thee in thy choice of gowns,
Of tires, of servants, and of costly jewels;
Nay, for a need, out of his easy nature,
May’st draw him to the keeping of a coach
For country, and carroch for London.”

This, too, is borne out by the speech of Lady Eitherside already quoted.
Many servants were needed for the carroch. Massinger speaks of one being
drawn by six Flanders mares, and having its coachman, groom, postilion,
and footman, to look after it. “These carroaches,” says Croal22 “were larger
and clumsier” than the coaches, “but were considered more stately.” Taylor
speaks of the town Vehicle as “a mere Engine of Pride,” and gives a rather
ludicrous account of some common women who had hired one of them to
go to “the Greene-Goose faire at Stratford the Bowe.” The occupants of this
carroch “were so be-madam’d, be-mistrist, and Ladified by the beggers, that
the foolish Women began to swell with a proud Supposition or Imaginary
greatnes, and gave all their mony to the mendicanting Canters.”
Poor Taylor! He felt very deeply on the question of these new coaches
which were to put an end once and for all time to his trade. He must have
felt that Henry of Navarre’s assassination in 1610 would never have taken

place but for that monarch’s affection for his coach; yet in spite of his deep
hatred, he was once prevailed upon to ride inside one of them. “It was but
my chance” he records, “once to bee brought from Whitehall to the Tower
in my Master Sir William Waades Coach, and before I had been drawn
twenty yardes, such a Timpany of Pride puft me up, that I was ready to
burst with the winde chollicke of vaine-glory. In what state I would leane
over the boote, and looke, and pry if I saw any of my acquaintance, and
then I would stand up vailing my Bonnet.”
It almost looks as though he had enjoyed his ride!

Chapter the Fourth
INTERLUDE OF THE CHAIR
“I love sedans, cause they do plod
And amble everywhere,
Which prancers are with leather shod,
And ne’er disturb the eare.
Heigh doune, derry derry doune,
With the hackney Coaches doune,
Their jumping make
The pavements shake,
Their noise doth mad the toune.”
Ancient Ballad.

J UST as the horse-litter gave way before the coach, so the coach, not
long after its appearance, found a serious rival in the man-drawn litter
or Sedan chair. When or where this chair came from, or who brought it
into use once again, is not known. That Sedan itself was the first place to
adopt this chair may be true—the analogy already mentioned holding good
—but beyond a few half-serious words in a curious seventeenth-century
pamphlet to be quoted in a little, there is no positive evidence whatever.
Several writers, indeed, assert that Sedan had nothing to do with the chair
for ever associated with its name, but in that tantalising manner which is
unfortunately characteristic of former times, omit to state their reason. It has
been suggested that sedan was the name of the cloth with which the chair
was lined, but if this were so, the cloth most probably took its name from
the chair it adorned. But wherever it was first made it is reasonable to
suppose that the narrowness of the streets made a smaller vehicle than
either coach or horse-litter convenient.
The earliest chair, other than those ancient lecticæ and φορεῖα mentioned in
the first chapter, appears to have belonged to the Emperor Charles V, in the
first half of the sixteenth century. This, indeed, does bear some resemblance
to the common conception of a chair, but the first Sedans of some fifty
years later resembled nothing so much as a modern dog-kennel provided
with two poles. A more unsociable apparatus was surely never built, and yet
its almost immediate popularity is easily explained. With the urban streets
not yet properly paved and the eternal jolting of the coach, to the

accompaniment of such a clatter as must have made speech almost
impossible, anything in the nature of a conveyance that made at once for
physical comfort and comparative silence would have been favourably
received.
There is mention of a chair being shown in England in 1581—just at the
time when the country was beginning to show an interest in carriages—but
it was not until after the death of Elizabeth that such a novelty was seen in
the streets of London. You are not wholly surprised, moreover, to hear that
the innovation was due to Buckingham, that apostle of luxury, who
probably first saw the chair on his visit to Spain with Prince Charles. Indeed
the Prince is supposed to have brought back three of them with him.
At first, of course, there was opposition.
“Every new thing the People disaffect,” wrote Arthur Wilson, the historian, “They stumble
sometimes, at the action for the person, which rises like a little cloud but soon after vanishes. So
after, when Buckingham came to be carried upon Men’s shoulders the clamour and the noise of it was
so extravagant that the People would rail on him in the Streets, loathing that Men should be brought
to as servile a condition as Horses. So irksome is every little new impression that breaks an old
Custom and rubs and grates against the public humour. But when Time had made these Chairs
common, every loose Minion used them, so that that which got at first so much scandal was the
means to convey those privately to such places where they might give much more. Just like long
hair, at one time described as abominable, at another time approved as beautiful. So various are the
fancies of the times!”

It is to be noticed that Buckingham, according to this account, was carried
upon men’s shoulders. This was the case at first, but such a mode was
speedily changed for that of hand-poles—at once safer and more
comfortable for the occupant, and certainly more convenient for the men.23
John Evelyn disagrees with Wilson and ascribes the introduction of the
chair into England to Sir Saunders Duncombe, a Gentleman-Pensioner
knighted by James I in Scotland in 1617, who enjoyed Buckingham’s
patronage. In his Diary for 1645, he writes of the Neapolitans: “They
greatly affect the Spanish gravity in their habit; delight in good horses; the
streets are full of gallants on horseback, in coaches and sedans, from hence
brought first into England by Sir Saunders Duncombe.” Undoubtedly
Duncombe was responsible for the great popularity of the chair in England,
and for a time held a monopoly in such chairs as could be had for hire, but
it may be that Buckingham suggested this monopoly in the first place, after
the temporary opposition to their use had been overcome. Which rather

suggests that Spain was actually the first country where they were used,
though this is mere conjecture.
In the meantime much was happening to the coaches. They were increasing
enormously in number, not only those privately owned, but also those hired
out by the day. These latter soon became known as hackney-coaches.24
They seem to have been put on the streets as early as 1605, but “remained
in the owner’s yards until sent for.” In 1633 the Strand was chosen as the
first regular stand for such coaches by a Captain Bailey, one of the pioneers
of the movement.
“I cannot omit to mention,” writes Lord Stafford, “any new thing that comes up amongst us though
ever so trivial. Here is one Captain Bailey, he hath been a sea captain, but now lives on land about
this city where he tries experiments. He hath erected, according to his ability, some four hackney
coaches, put his men in livery and appointed them to stand at the Maypole in the Strand, giving them
instructions at what rate to carry men into several parts of the town where all day they may be had.
Other hackney men veering this way, they flocked to the same place and performed their journeys at
the same rate, so that sometimes there is twenty of them together, which dispose up and down, that
they and others are to be had everywhere, as watermen are to be had at the waterside. Everybody is
much pleased with it, for whereas before coaches could be had but at great rate”—one recalls the
prices paid by Lord Rutland a few years before—“now a man may have one much cheaper.”

Most of these coaches that were put on to the streets seem to have been old
and disused carriages belonging to the quality. Many of them still bore
noble arms, and, indeed, it would seem that when the hackneys were no
longer disused noblemen’s carriages, the proprietors found it advisable to
pretend that they were. Nearly every hansom and four-wheeled cab at the
end of the nineteenth century bore some sort of coronet on its panels.
The drivers of these first hackneys wore large coats with several capes, one
over the other, for warmth. London, however, seems to have been the only
town in which they were to be seen. “Coaches,” wrote Fynes Morison in
1617, “are not to be hired anywhere but in London. For a day’s journey a
coach with two horses is let for about 10s. a day, or 15s. with three horses,
the coachman finding the horses’ feed.” From the same author it would
appear that most travellers still doggedly kept to their horses, and indeed, in
some counties a horse could be hired for threepence a day, an incredibly
small sum. “Carriers,” he also records, “have long covered waggons in
which they carry passengers too and fro; but this kind of journeying is very
tedious; so that none but women and people of inferior condition travel in

this sort.” These were the stage-waggons which in due course gave rise to
the stage-coaches, which in their turn were superseded by the mail-coaches.
A similar movement in France gave rise to the fiacres, so called from the
sign of St. Fiacre, which adorned one of the principal inns in Paris, in front
of which the public coaches stood. In Scotland, too, one Henry Andersen, a
native of Pomerania, had in 1610 been granted a royal patent to provide
public coaches in Scotland, and for some years ran a service between
Edinburgh and Leith. England had yet to follow Andersen’s example, but
the hackneys were increasing so rapidly in London that in 1635 a
proclamation was issued to suppress them. And it is to be noticed that
Taylor’s diatribes were directed more particularly against these public
conveyances than against the privately owned carriages, which, after all,
could hardly affect his trade. The proclamation was as follows:—
“That the great numbers of Hackney Coaches of late time seen and kept in London, Westminster, and
their Suburbs, and the general and promiscuous use of Coaches there, were not only a great
disturbance to his Majesty, his dearest Consort the Queen, the Nobility, and others of place and
degree, in their passage through the Streets; but the Streets themselves were so pestered, and the
pavements so broken up, that the common passage is thereby hindered and more dangerous; and the
prices of hay and provender and other provisions of stable, thereby made exceeding dear: Wherefore
We expressly command and forbid, That, from the feast of St. John the Baptist next coming, no
Hackney or Hired Coach, be used or suffered in London, Westminster, or the Suburbs or Liberties
thereof, excepting they be to travel at least three miles out of London or Westminster, or the Suburbs
thereof. And also, that no person shall go in a Coach in the said Streets, except the owner of the
Coach shall constantly keep up Four able Horses for our Service, when required.”

It is dated January 19th, 1635/6, and must have had a considerable, if
temporary, effect, for as Samuel Pegge points out in his unfinished
manuscript on the early use of coaches25 it could not “operate much in the
King’s favour, as it would hardly be worth a Coach-master’s while to be at
so great a contingent charge as the keeping of four horses to be furnished at
a moment’s warning for His Majesty’s occasional employment.”
It was then that Sir Saunders Duncombe obtained his monopoly, and, of
course, everything was in his favour. The actual patent granted to him
belongs to the previous year, but the two are approximately contemporary.
From a letter written in 1634 to Lord Stafford, it appears that Duncombe
had in that year forty or fifty chairs “making ready for use.” Possibly the
whole thing was worked up by Buckingham and his satellites. Duncombe’s
patent gave the enterprising knight the right “to put forth and lett for hire”
the new chairs for a term of fourteen years. In his petition he had explained

that “in many parts beyond the seas, the people there are much carried in
the Streets in Chairs that are covered; by which means very few Coaches
are used amongst them.” And so Duncombe was allowed to “reap some
fruit and benefit of his industry,” and might “recompense himself of the
costs, charges, and expences” to which he had, or said he had, been put.
For two years these covered chairs held the advantage, and indeed seem to
have been exceedingly popular. There is a most amusing pamphlet, which I
have already mentioned, “printed by Robert Raworth, for John Crooch,” in
1636, entitled Coach and Sedan pleasantly disputing for Place and
Precedence, the Brewer’s Cart being Moderator. It is signed “Mis-
amaxius,” and is dedicated “to the Valorous, and worthy all title of Honor,
Sr Elias Hicks.” “Light stuffe,” the author calls it, and tells us that he is “no
ordinary Pamphleteer ... onely in Mirth I tried what I could doe upon a
running subject, at the request of a friend in the Strand: whose leggs, not so
sound as his Judgement, enforce him to keepe his Chamber, where hee can
neither sleepe or studie for the clattering of Coaches.” It is an interesting
little production, both for its own whimsicalities and for the sidelights it
affords into the town’s views on the subject of vehicles at the time. It starts
with the cuckoo warning the milkmaids of Islington to get back to
Finsburie. The writer, accompanied by a Frenchman and a tailor, walks
back to the city, and in a narrow street comes across a coach and a sedan
quarrelling about which of them is to “take the wall.”
“Wee perceived two lustie fellowes to justle for the wall, and almost readie to fall together by the
eares, the one (the lesser of the two) was in a suite of greene after a strange manner, windowed before
and behind with Isen-glasse, having two handsome fellowes in greene coats attending him, the one
went before, the other came behind; their coats were lac’d down the back with a greene-lace sutable,
so were their halfe sleeves, which perswaded me at first they were some cast suites of their Masters;
their backs were harnessed with leather cingles, cut out of a hide, as broad as Dutch-collops of
Bacon.
“The other was a thick burly square sett fellow, in a doublet of Black-leather, Brasse-button’d down
the brest, Backe, Sleeves, and winges, with monstrous wide bootes, fringed at the top, with a net
fringe, and a round breech (after the old fashion) guilded, and on his back-side an Atcheivement of
sundry Coats in their propper colors, quarterd with Crest, Helme and Mantle, besides here and there,
on the sides of a single Escutchion or crest, with some Emblematicall Word or other; I supposed, they
were made of some Pendants, or Banners, that had beene stollen, from over some Monument, where
they had long hung in a Church.
“Hee had onely one man before him, wrapt in a red cloake, with wide sleeves, turned up at the hands,
and cudgell’d thick on the backe and shoulders with broad shining lace (not much unlike that which
Mummers make of strawe hatts) and of each side of him, went a Lacquay, the one a French boy, the
other Irish, all sutable alike: The Frenchman (as I learned afterward) when his Master was in the

Countrey, taught his lady and his daughter French: Ushers them abroad to publicke meetings, and
assemblies, all saving the Church whither shee never came: The other went on errands, help’d the
maide to beate Bucks, fetch in water, carried up meate, and waited at the Table.”

The writer attempts mediation, and his offer is favourably received. The
combatants explain who they are. The burly fellow speaks first:—
“My name Sir (quoth hee) is Coach, who am a Gentleman of an anciente house, as you may perceive
by my so many quarter’d coates, of Dukes, Marquises, Earles, Viscounts, Barons, Knights, and
Gentlemen, there is never a Lord or Lady in the land but is of my acquaintance; my imployment is so
great, that I am never at quiet, day or night; I am a Benefactor to all Meetings, Play-houses, Mercers
shops, Taverns, and some other houses of recreation.... This other that offers me the wrong, they call
him Mounsier Sedan, some Mr. Chair, a Greene-goose hatch’d but the other day ... and whereas hee
is able with all the helpe and furtherance hee can make and devise, to goe not above a mile in an
houre; as grosse as I am, I can runne three or foure in halfe an houre; yea, after dinner, when my
belly is as full as it can hold (and I may say to you) of dainty bitts too.”

Whereupon the sedan chimes in:—
“Sir, the occasion of our difference was this: Whether an emptie Coach, that has a Lords head painted
Coate and Crest, as Lion, Bull, Elephant, &c. upon it without, might take the wall of a Sedan that had
a knighte alive within it.” I confess, he goes on to say, I am “a meere stranger, till of late in England;
therefore, if the Law of Hospitalitie be observed (as England hath beene accounted the most
hospitable kingdome of the World,) I ought to be the better entertained, and used, (as I am sure I
shall) and find as good friends, as Coach hath any, it is not his bigge lookes, nor his nimble tongue,
that so runnes upon wheeles, shall scare mee; hee shall know that I am above him both in esteeme,
and dignitie, and hereafter will know my place better.... Neither, I hope, will any thinke the worse of
mee, for that I am a Forreiner; hath not your Countrey Coach of England been extreemly enriched by
strangers?”

Indeed, all your luxuries, he continues, are foreign, your perfumes are
Italian, and your perukes made in France.
For some time it seems that Sedan is getting the best of it. Whereas the
coach, he argues, has to wait out in the cold streets often for hours at a time,
he is many times admitted into the privacy of my Lady’s chamber, where he
is rubbed clean both within and without. “And the plain troath is,” he
concludes, “I will no longer bee made a foole by you ... the kenell is your
naturall walke.” At this moment a carman appears and supports the sedan.
Coaches, he says, keep the town awake, endanger the lives of children, and,
particularly in the suburbs, “be-dash gentlemen’s gowns.” There then
follows a curious piece of dialogue between Sedan and Powel, a Welshman,
one of his attendants:—
“Sedan. We have our name from Sedanum, or Sedan, that famous Citie and Universitie, belonging to
the Dukes of Bevillon, and where hee keepes his Court.”

“Powel. Nay, doe you heare mee Master, it is from Sedanny, which in our British language, is a
brave, faire, daintie well-favoured Ladie, or prettie sweete wench, and wee carrie such some time
Master....”

Most of the morning is wasted by such desultory talk, and the street
becomes blocked. There comes on the scene a waterman, who, of course, is
equally antagonistic to both, and would throw coach and sedan into the
Thames if he were not afraid of blocking the stream, and so bringing harm
to himself. There follows him a country farmer, who thinks the sedan the
honester and humbler of the two, but really knows very little about it. “I
heare no great ill of you,” he is good enough to say, but is bound to add, “I
have had no acquaintance with your cowcumber-cullor’d men.” Yet in the
country he has in his way tried a sedan-chair, which is a “plaine wheele-
barrow,” just as his cart is his coach “wherein now and then for my pleasure
I ride, my maides going along with me.” But if they both come to
Lincolnshire, the sedan, he thinks, will receive a warmer welcome than the
coach.
After him comes a country vicar who has no hesitation in accusing the
coach of all sorts of robberies. Soon, he cries, you will be “turned off.” You
never cared for church, and indeed, during service, you disturb everybody
rumbling your loudest outside. Also you are so set up that you will never
give place “either to cart or carre.” A surveyor is less personal than the
vicar, but has little good to say of the coach, although he agrees with most
of the others that for a nobleman of high rank, it is something of a necessity.
Finally the brewer appears and speedily puts an end to the wrangle.
“With that, comes up unto us a lustie tall fellow, sitting betweene two mōstrous great wheeles,
drawne by a great old jade blinde of an eie, in a leather pilch, two emptie beere-barrels upon a
brewer’s slings besides him, and old blew-cap all bedaub’d, and stincking with yest.... My name is
Beere-cart, quoth hee, I came into England in Henry the Seventh’s time.”

And the decision of the cart is, of course, that both coach and sedan shall
give way to him. They are both to exercise great care, and the sedan is to
have the wall. And he adds, turning to the smaller vehicle, a sentence which
it is difficult to understand.
“You shall never,” he says, “carrie Coachman againe, for the first you ever carried was a Coachman,
for which you had like to have sufferd, had not your Master beene more mercifull.”

Such quarrels were very frequent, not only at this time, but right on through
the eighteenth century. Swift in one of his letters to Stella mentions an
accident due to the carelessness of a chairman. “The chairman that carried
me,” he says, “squeezed a great fellow against a wall, who wisely turned his
back, and broke one of the side glasses in a thousand pieces. I fell a
scolding, pretended I was like to be cut to pieces, and made them set down
the chair in the Park, while they picked out the bits of glasses: and when I
paid them, I quarrelled still, so they dared not grumble, and I came off for
my fare: but I was plaguily afraid they would have said, God bless your
honour, won’t you give us something for our glass?”
Swift was the author of an amusing satire on the same subject, wherein
coach and sedan were no better friends than of old.
A CONFERENCE BETWEEN SIR HARRY PIERCE’S CHARIOT AND
MRS. D. STOPFORD’S CHAIR
Chariot
“My pretty dear Cuz, tho’ I’ve roved the town o’er,
To dispatch in an hour some visits a score;
Though, since first on the wheels, I’ve been everyday>
At the ’Change, at a raffling, at church, or a play;
And the fops of the town are pleased with the notion
Of calling your slave the perpetual motion;—
Though oft at your door I have whined [out] my love
As my knight does grin his at your Lady above;
Yet, ne’er before this though I used all my care,
I e’er was so happy to meet my dear Chair;
And since we’re so near, like birds of a feather,
Let’s e’en, as they say, set our horses together.

Chair

“By your awkward address, you’re that thing which should carry,
With one footman behind, our lover Sir Harry.
By your language, I judge, you think me a wench;
He that makes love to me, must make it in French.
Thou that’s drawn by two beasts, and carry’st a brute,
Canst thou vainly e’er hope, I’ll answer thy suit?
Though sometimes you pretend to appear with your six,
No regard to their colour, their sexes you mix:
Then on the grand-paw you’d look very great,
With your new-fashion’d glasses, and nasty old seat.
Thus a beau I have seen strut with a cock’d hat,
And newly rigg’d out, with a dirty cravat.
You may think that you make a figure most shining,
But it’s plain that you have an old cloak for a lining.
Are those double-gilt nails? Where’s the lustre of Kerry,
To set off the Knight, and to finish the Jerry?
If you hope I’ll be kind, you must tell me what’s due
In George’s-lane for you, ere I’ll buckle to.

Chariot
“Why, how now, Doll Diamond, you’re very alert;
Is it your French breeding has made you so pert?
Because I was civil, here’s a stir with a pox:
Who is it that values your —— or your fox?
Sure ’tis to her honour, he ever should bed
His bloody red hand to her bloody red head.
You’re proud of your gilding; but I tell you each nail
Is only just tinged with a rub at her tail;
And although it may pass for gold on a ninny,
Sure we know a Bath shilling soon from a guinea.
Nay, her foretop’s a cheat; each morn she does black it,
Yet, ere it be night, it’s the same with her placket.
I’ll ne’er be run down any more with your cant;
Your velvet was wore before in a mant,
On the back of her mother; but now ’tis much duller,—
The fire she carries hath changed its colour.
Those creatures that draw me you never would mind,
If you’d but look on your own Pharaoh’s lean kine;
They’re taken for spectres, they’re so meagre and spare,
Drawn damnably low by your sorrel mare.
We know how your lady was on you befriended;
You’re not to be paid for ’till the lawsuit is ended:
But her bond it is good, he need not to doubt;
She is two or three years above being out.
Could my Knight be advised, he should ne’er spend his vigour
On one he can’t hope of e’er making bigger.”

Gay seems to have shared the watermen’s disgust at both coach and sedan.

“Boxed within the chair, contemn the street
And trust their safety to another’s feet,”

he says of those willing to use the chair. In another place he is comparing
the two:—
“The gilded chariots while they loll at ease
And lazily insure a life’s disease;
While softer chairs the tawdry load convey
To court, to White’s, assemblies or the play.”

Elsewhere he exhorts the pedestrian to assert his rights:—
“Let not the chairman, with assuming stride,
Press near the wall, and rudely thrust thy side;
The laws have set him bounds; his servile feet
Should ne’er encroach where posts defend the street.”

By this time, however, many changes in the chairs had taken place. They
seem to have been introduced into Paris in 1617 by M. de Montbrun,
though unfortunately from whence this gentleman brought them we are
nowhere informed. They were called chaises à porteurs. Possibly English
and French chairs were at first quite similar to each other in appearance—
square boxes with a pent-house—but in the middle of the century—in Paris,
at any rate, they became far more elegant in form, and began to be
ornamented and richly upholstered. Some of them resembled, in shape, the
body of the modern hansom-cab. This was particularly the case with a new
carriage, introduced about 1668, called the brouette (wheelbarrow),
roulette, or vanaigrette, which was merely a sedan upon two wheels. It was
drawn in the usual way by a man, and was an early form of that vehicle
which still survives in the East as the jin-rick-shaw. The brouette held but
one person, its wheels were large, and its two poles projected some way in
front. One Dupin was apparently the only person to manufacture them, and
after his first experiments he applied “two elbow-springs beneath the front,
and attached them to the axle-tree by long shackles, the axle-tree working
up and down in a groove beneath the inside-seat.” This improvement is of
more than ordinary interest in so far as it is the first mention of steel springs
to carriages. In the ordinary coaches these steel springs were first applied
beneath the bottom of the body. They were probably formed out of a single
piece of metal.
In the case of the brouette there was the usual opposition—this time from
the proprietors of the ordinary sedans—but although a temporary

prohibition was made, the brouette triumphed, and in 1671 was a common
sight in the streets of Paris. It was not very suitable for decoration. As one
French writer remarks, it was enough if the machine were solidly
constructed. The brouette had windows at the sides and a small support in
front of the wheels to allow the carriage to maintain its proper position
when not held up by an attendant.
The brouette does not seem to have come immediately to England, though
in the eighteenth century there was a sedan cart, similar in appearance to it,
to be seen in London. On the other hand, the ordinary sedans were rapidly
gaining in popularity, and maintained that popularity right through the
reigns of the first three Georges.

Neapolitan Sedan Chair
Early Sixteenth Century
(At South Kensington)
In appearance they became rather more graceful towards the middle of the
century, though less so in later days. The public chairs were generally made
of black or dark green leather, ornamented with gold “beading,” the frame
and roof, which had a double slope, being of wood, as was also the small
square window-frame. Private chairs, however, could be as gorgeous as the
owner pleased, though in this respect continental chairs far surpassed our

own. At Paris are shown two magnificent chairs which belonged to Louis
XV.
“These,” says Croal, “have glass windows in side and front, through which the sumptuous lining of
crimson velvet is discernible. The outside is beautifully painted and gilt, and though now somewhat
faded, the splendour of the vehicles can be imagined, even in their decay. The gorgeously attired king
within, or it might be the queen or some reigning favourite, would be attended by a gay escort of
gentlemen of the court, with a crowd of bearers and lacqueys, not to speak of armed guards, whose
liveries probably equalled in grandeur the courtly habits of the greater men who surrounded the royal
chair.”

At South Kensington a private English chair of about 1760 is shown,
“rather handsomely ornamented in ormolu, the sides being divided into four
panels, but without windows. In form,” continues Croal, “the chair may be
described as ‘carriage-bodied,’ not being, as the later chairs, square at the
bottom. At the two front corners heavy tassels are hung, and through the
door in front it can be seen that the interior lining is of figured damask. The
bearing rings through which the poles passed are of brass.” This, however,
cannot compare with an Italian nobleman’s large conveyance of the early
eighteenth century which shows a profusion of gold filigree work on the
roof that calls to mind nothing so strongly as a Buszard wedding-cake. It
belonged to a member of the Grand Ducal family of Tuscany, by whom it
was used on baptismal occasions. Here, besides the gilt work on the roof,
there is a medallion-painting of figures in antique costume over the door.
The walls are painted a pale French grey “with elaborately carved
mouldings round the panels, with groups of flowers painted in the middle.
The interior is lined with satin corresponding to the painting outside, being
in gold and colours upon a pale ground.”
The chairmen do not seem to have been a particularly agreeable lot of
fellows. In London they were generally Irish or Welsh. They were often
drunk, often careless, and nearly always uncivil. Says Gay:—
“The drunken chairman in the kennel spurns,
The glasses shatter, and his charge o’erturns.”

In Edinburgh, however, where there were ninety chairs in 1738, the
chairmen were Highlanders and rather more civil. “An inhabitant of
Edinburgh,” says Hugh Arnot in his history of that city (1789), “who visits
the metropolis can hardly suppress his laughter at seeing the awkward
hobble of a street chair in the city of London.” We learn from Markland that
in 1740 a chair in Edinburgh could be hired for four shillings a day or

twenty shillings a week.26 In London, according to George Selwyn, you
could be carried three miles for a shilling.27 In Edinburgh, again, where
chairs were used at a later date than anywhere in England, rules were made
for the public convenience in 1740, the most interesting of these being one
which forbade a soldier in the service of the city guard to carry a chair at
any time. By 1789 their numbers had increased to 238, including fifty
privately owned.
Scattered mention of them occurs amongst British authors. Steele, in one of
his Tatler papers, proposes to levy a tax upon them, and regrets that the
sumptuary laws of the old Romans have never been revived. The chairmen,
or “slaves of the rich,” he says, “take up the whole street, while we
Peripatetics are very glad to watch an opportunity to whisk across a
passage, very thankful that we are not run over for interrupting the machine,
that carries in it a person neither more handsome, wise, nor valiant, than the
meanest of us.”
Matthew Bramble in Humphrey Clinker is made to draw a wretched picture
of the chairs which abounded in Bath at the middle of the century:—
“The valetudinarian,” he writes, “is carried in a chair, betwixt the heels of a double row of horses,
wincing under the curry-combs of grooms and postilions, over and above the hazard of being
obstructed or overturned by the carriages which are continually making their exit or their entrance. I
suppose, after some chairmen shall have been maimed, and a few lives lost by those accidents, the
corporation will think in earnest about providing a more safe and commodious passage.... If, instead
of the areas and iron rails, which seem to be of very little use, there had been a corridor with arcades
all round, as in Covent Garden, the appearance of the whole would have been more magnificent and
striking; those arcades would have afforded an agreeable covered walk, and sheltered the poor
chairmen and their carriages from the rain, which is here almost perpetual. At present the chairs stand
soaking in the open street from morning to night, till they become so many boxes of wet leather, for
the benefit of the gouty and rheumatic, who are transported in them from place to place. Indeed, this
is a shocking inconvenience, that extends over the whole city; and I am persuaded it produces infinite
mischief to the delicate and infirm. Even the close chairs, contrived for the sick, by standing in the
open air, have their fringe linings impregnated, like so many sponges, with the moisture of the
atmosphere.”

It was to Bath that Princess Amelia was carried in a sedan by eight
chairmen from St. James’s, in April, 1728. This must easily have been the
longest, and, so far as the chairmen were concerned, the most wearisome
journey ever performed by a chair.

“The Social Pinch”
By John Kay

Sedans in “The Present Age”
By L. P. Boitard (1767)
John Wilkes mentions in one of his letters to his daughter that he ascended
Mont Cenis in a chair “carried by two men and assisted by four more.”
“This,” he says, “was not a sedan chair, but a small wicker chair with two

long poles; there is no covering of any kind to it.” Such open chairs seem to
have been very uncommon, and were, I imagine, unknown in England.
Some, however, had more glass than others, and their size fluctuated.
Fashionable ladies must have found a difficulty in getting into a public chair
of the ordinary size at the time of the large hoop petticoat, and there is a
satiric print, dated 1733, which shows a lady thus attired, being hauled out
through the opened roof of one with ropes and pulleys. Similarly, when
forty or fifty years later the head-dress of the women became so enormous,
a ludicrous print appeared showing a patent arrangement whereby the roof
of a chair could be raised on rods to as great a height as was required.
In general the roof opened upwards, being hinged at the back. This is
clearly shown in a print published in 1768, called The Female Orators, in
which a clergyman is stepping out of his chair, and the chairmen very
obviously demanding their fare. Another print published about 1786, called
the Social Pinch, shows a very famous chairman, Donald Kennedy, offering
his “mull” to Donald Balack, a native of Ross-shire, whom he had just set
down. Here the structure of the public chair in use at this date is clearly
shown.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, however, the chair as a mode of
conveyance was on the wane. Fenimore Cooper in his Sketches of English
Society (1837) was able to write: “Sedan chairs appear to have finally
disappeared from St. James’ Street. Even in 1826 I saw a stand of them that
has since vanished. The chairs may still be used on particular occasions, but
were Cecilia now in existence, she would find it difficult to be set down in
Mrs. Benfield’s entry from a machine so lumbering.” Which suggests that
the chair had not only degenerated in numbers, but also in appearance. They
had become larger and uncouth in Cooper’s day. One is reminded of that
chair in Pickwick, which “having been originally built for a gouty
gentleman with funded property, would hold Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman
at least as comfortably as a modern post-chaise.” Yet so late as 1775 the
popularity of the chair had been at its highest. It was the old story. With the
new century were coming new ideas. The chair slowly and quite naturally
was dropping out of existence.
In Edinburgh, as I have said, it lingered on for rather a longer time. In 1806
stringent regulations were still required. Those chairs which maintained
their stand at night had to have “a light fixed on the fore part of one of the

poles.” On the occasion of a fire or a mob the chairmen had to hurry to the
scene of excitement, and there await the magistrate’s orders. They were not
allowed to charge more than ninepence a mile, seven-and-six a day, or a
guinea and a half a week. Such rates, too, continued to be set out in the
Edinburgh Almanac until 1830. After that comes an ominous silence. By
that time only the private chair was in use.
“Lady Don,” says Lord Cockburn in his Memorials, “was about the last person (so far as I recollect)
in Edinburgh, who kept a private sedan chair. Hers stood in the lobby and was as handsome and
comfortable as silk, velvet, and gilding could make it. And when she wished to use it two well-
known respectable chairmen, enveloped in her livery cloaks, were the envy of her [superannuated]
brethren. She and Mrs. Rochead both sat in Tron Church; and well do I remember how I used to form
one of the cluster that always took its station to see these beautiful relics emerge from coach and
chair.”

The time, indeed, had come when the sight of a chair was as much a public
entertainment as it had been when Buckingham had been borne through the
streets “on men’s shoulders.”
Yet although they so rapidly disappeared off the face of Europe, in Asia
they lost little of their popularity, and in many places to-day are the only
methods of conveyance in common use. China, in particular, had long been
a land of sedans. John Barrow in his Collection of Authentic, Useful, and
Entertaining Voyages and Discoveries, 1765, mentions the fact that at an
early date the Chinese “small covered carriages on two wheels, not unlike
in appearance to our funeral hearses, but only about half their length,” had
been superseded by chairs. To a European, he relates, this was hardly
surprising, as the carriage was anything but comfortable, and required you
to sit on your haunches at the bottom—“the most uneasy vehicle that can be
imagined.”
“‘The Chinese,’ records another eighteenth-century traveller, ‘occasionally travel on horseback, but
their best land conveyance by far is the sedan, a vehicle which certainly exists among them in
perfection. Whether viewed with regard to lightness, comfort, or any other quality associated with
such mode of carriage, there is nothing so convenient elsewhere. Two bearers place upon their
shoulders the poles, which are thin and elastic and in shape something like the shafts of a gig,
connected near the ends, and in this manner they proceed forward with a measured step in an almost
imperceptible motion, and sometimes with considerable speed. Instead of panels, the sides and back
of the chair consist of woollen cloth for the sake of lightness with a covering of oilcloth against rain.
The front is closed with a hanging blind of the same materials in lieu of a door, with a circular
aperture of gauze to see through.... Private persons among the Chinese are restricted to two bearers,
ordinary magistrates to four, and the viceroys to eight, while the Emperor alone is great enough to
require sixteen.’”

There is further mention of these Chinese chairs in Oliphant’s much later
account of Lord Elgin’s mission. Lord Elgin himself travelled in a chair of
the kind usually reserved for mandarins of the highest rank, which was
larger than those in ordinary use and had a fine brass knob on the top. Eight
bearers carried it. In processions a hwakeaou or flowered chair was often
used.
Japan, too, had early had sedans both for travelling and for more purely
ceremonial purposes. Light bamboo chairs, they were, called kangoes or
norimons, which were borne by two or more persons. On the introduction
of the European coach, however, a kind of brouette, as I have said, was
substituted, and in a few years there were hundreds of thousands of these
jin-rick-shaws on the streets, not only in Japan, but throughout Asia. At first
many of these were grotesquely adorned, but their appearance is too well-
known at the present day for need of a lengthy description. Equipped with
“every modern convenience” and very well built indeed, they afford a
European a delightful sensation on his first ride, even though he may have
visions of those earlier days of his youth when he was carried about in a
similar way (though at a less speed) in the homely perambulator.

Chapter the Fifth
SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY INNOVATIONS
“We took our coach, two coachmen and four horses,
And merrily from London made our courses.
We wheel’d the top of th’ heavy hill called Holborne
(Up which hath been full many a sinful soule borne,)
And so along we jolted past St. Gileses,
Which place from Brainford six (or neare) seven miles is.”
Taylor.

T HE seventeenth century saw great changes in vehicular design. In
1660 the first berlin was made. Steel springs, as we have seen,
appeared a few years later in the brouette. About this time, too, a
hooded gig or calèche made its appearance in the streets of Paris, the first of
many carriages to be built upon entirely new lines. Glass windows and
complete doors were used in the coaches, both public and private, which
became smaller, more compact, and certainly more graceful. Improvements
were not confined to one country, but proceeded simultaneously not only in
various European countries, but also in South America. Roads, too, were
improved, and laws for the regulation of traffic framed with some regularity
and effect.
John Evelyn in his Diary gives interesting glimpses of such carriages and
other vehicles as he saw during his several European tours. In Brussels
(1641) he was allowed the use of Sir Henry de Vic’s coach and six, and
travelled luxuriously in it as far as Ghent. “On the way,” he notes, “I met
with divers little waggons, prettily contrived, and full of peddling
merchandize, drawn by mastiff dogs, harnessed completely like so many
coach-horses; in some four, in others six, as in Brussels itself I had
observed. In Antwerp I saw, as I remember, four dogs draw five lusty
children in a chariot.” When dogs were first used for the purpose of traction
does not appear, but they are still to be seen in the Netherlands in a like
capacity. A few days later, to continue with Evelyn’s observations, he was
going from Ostend to Dunkirk “by waggon ... the journey being made all on
the sea sands.” On his return to England, however, it is to be noticed that he
rode post to Canterbury. In 1643 he was again in Paris, mentioning “the

multitude of coaches passing every moment over the bridge,” this being, he
says, to a new spectator, “an agreeable diversion.” In the following year,
while standing in the garden of the Tuileries, he saw “so many coaches as
one would hardly think could be maintained in the whole city, going late as
it was, towards the course”—the fashionable rendezvous of the day—“the
circle being capable of containing a hundred coaches to turn commodiously,
and the larger of the plantations for five or six coaches abreast.” The road
from Paris to Orleans he describes as “excellent.” Coming to Italy, he found
Milan, in spite of the narrowness of its streets, abounding in rich coaches.
In Paris again, two or three years afterwards, the design of a new coach so
took his fancy that he determined, like his friend Mr. Pepys, to possess one
for himself. And so on May 29th, 1652, “I went,” he writes, “to give orders
about a coach to be made against my wife’s coming, being my first coach,
the pattern whereof I brought out of Paris.” This was probably “booted,” but
differed from the earlier coaches in having a curved roof.
The commonest French coach of this time seems to have been the
corbillard, a flat-bottomed, half-open, half-close coach, furnished with
curtains of cloth or leather in the front part. These were merely tied on to
the supports, and would roll up when required. Doors there were none, but
there was a “movable rail, over which a leather screen was hung” at the
back portion of the carriage, which was about six feet long, and here were
the seats. There were also projecting movable step-seats. Possibly Evelyn
saw a newer model with a curved bottom and door half-way up, panelled in
the lower part, but curtained above. Such a carriage was hung low, and
would have swung from side to side, giving such passengers as were “bad
sailors” a fit of nausea.
The English-designed coaches of this time, though without glass windows,
were almost completely enclosed, and, compared with the new chariots,
which were just upon making their appearance, of a huge size. In many of
them three people could sit abreast, and seven or eight find room for
themselves. In 1641 when Charles I passed through London on his return
from Scotland, his was the only coach in the royal procession, but seven
people, including His Majesty, were driving, apparently in comfort, within
it.
The Commonwealth produced no new carriage, although isolated
experiments were already being made. Cromwell himself was wont to drive

his own coach and six “for recreation-sake” in Hyde Park, then as now a
fashionable resort.
“When my Lord Protector’s coach,” wrote Misson, a Frenchman then on a visit to England, “came
into the Park with Colonel Ingleby and my Lord’s three daughters, the coaches and horses flocked
about them like some miracle. But they galloped (after the mode court-pace now) round and round
the Park, and all that great multitude hunted them and caught them still at the turn like a hare, and
then made a lane with all reverent haste for them, and so after them again, and I never saw the like in
my life.”

Cromwell’s desire to play coachman once led to an accident which might
have been serious. The particulars are given in a letter from the Dutch
Ambassador to the States-General, dated October 16th, 1654:—
“His Highness, only accompanied with secretary Thurloe and some few of his gentlemen and
servants, went to take the air in Hyde Park, when he caused some dishes of meat to be brought, when
he had his dinner; and afterwards had a mind to drive the coach himself. Having put only the
secretary into it,” he whipped up “those six grey horses, which the Count of Oldenburgh had
presented unto His Highness, who drove pretty handsomely for some time. But at last, provoking
these horses too much with the whip, they grew unruly and ran so fast that the postillion could not
hold them in, whereby His Highness was flung out of the coach upon the pole.... The secretary’s
ankle was hurt leaping out, and he keeps his chamber.”

Coach in the time of Charles I
(From “Coach and Sedan Pleasantly
Disputing”)

Coach in the time of Charles II
(From Thrupp’s “History of Coaches”)
“From this,” comments Sir Walter Gilbey, who quotes the letter, “it is
evident that when six horses were used a postillion rode one of the leaders
and controlled them; while the driver managed the wheelers and middle
pair. When four horses were driven,” he continues, “it was the custom to
have two outriders, one to ride at the leaders’ heads, and one at the two
wheelers’. In town this would be merely display, but on a journey the
outriders’ horses might replace those of the team in case of accident, or,
more frequently, be added to them to help drag the coach over a stretch of
bad road.”
It is just possible that this coach which was overturned by Cromwell’s
faulty driving is at present in existence, repaired, of course, and
redecorated, and, incidentally, painted by Cipriani, as Mr. Speaker’s coach.
This undoubtedly belongs to the period, and one writer actually commits
himself to the statement that the two are identical. A commoner report
assigns the Speaker’s coach in the first place to Lenthall, Cromwell’s
Speaker. Whatever be its history, the coach is a fine example of Jacobean
work. It is of carved oak, the body being hung upon leather braces. The
workmanship, Mr. Oakley Williams thinks,28 is Flemish. Cipriani’s work,
added late in the eighteenth century, is still in good preservation. Five
people can comfortably sit inside. “The Speaker,” says Mr. Williams,
“presumably occupied the seat of honour alone. Opposite him sat his

Chaplain and the Sergeant-at-Arms. For the accommodation of his other
attendants ... a low bench is arranged across the floor of the coach, with a
semicircular space for the legs of its occupants scooped out against either
door”—relic, of course, of the boot. “The coach,” he continues, after
mentioning that the Speaker always has his own arms painted on the side of
the body, and is allowed an escort of a single Lifeguardsman, “weighs two
tons one hundredweight and several pounds, yet for all its size it so
beautifully hung and balanced that an able-bodied man was able without
undue effort to draw it out for my inspection. Its coach-house is one of the
vaults in the inner courtyard of the House of Lords.” Both origin and
subsequent history of this coach, however, are wrapped in an impenetrable
mystery.
Cromwell’s mishap naturally gave the Royalist writers an opportunity for
satire. Cleveland wrote the following lines:—
“The whip again; away! ’tis too absurd
That thou should lash with whipcord now, but sword.
I’m pleased to fancy how the glad compact
Of Hackney coachmen sneer at the last act.
Hark! how the scoffing concourse hence derives
The proverb, ‘Needs must go when th’ devil drives.’
Yonder a whisper cries, ‘’Tis a plain case
He turned us out to put himself in place;
But, God-a-mercy, horses once for aye
Stood to ’t, and turned him out as well as we.’
Another, not behind him with his mocks,
Cries out, ‘Sir, faith, you were in the wrong box.’
He did presume to rule because, forsooth,
He’s been a horse-commander since his youth,
But he must know there’s a difference in the reins
Of horses fed with oats and fed with grains.
I wonder at his frolic, for be sure
Four hamper’d coach-horses can fling a brewer;
But pride will have a fall; such the world’s course is.
He [who] can rule three realms can’t guide four horses;
See him that trampell’d thousands in their gore;
Dismounted by a party but of four.
But we have done with ’t, and we may call
The driving Jehu, Phaeton in his fall.
I wish to God, for these three kingdoms’ sake,
His neck, and not the whip, had giv’n the crack.”

Evelyn met with a similar mishap, but fortunately escaped injury. He, too,
was accustomed to ride in Hyde Park, and on one occasion is grumbling

that “every coach” there “was made to pay a shilling, and a horse sixpence,
by a sordid fellow who had purchased it of the State, as they called it.”
Such experiments as were being made in this country were in the direction
of a safer and swifter vehicle than those in general use. So early as 1625,
one Edward Knapp had been granted a patent for “hanging the bodies of
carriages on springs of steel.” Apparently Knapp was wholly unsuccessful,
but forty years later Colonel Blunt, working upon similar lines, produced
several carriages which, if not entirely satisfactory in themselves, led the
way towards a wider appreciation of the problems in question. If, as seems
probable, he was identical with the Blunt or Blount of Wicklemarsh, near
Blackheath (afterwards Sir Harry Blount), who had travelled extensively in
Turkey and elsewhere, it may be that he had brought back with him several
continental curiosities. We hear, indeed, of a French chariot in his
possession. In 1657 the Colonel was making experiments with a “way-
wiser” or “adometer” which exactly “measured the miles ... showing these
by an index as we went on. It had three circles, one pointing to the number
of rods, another to the miles, by 10 to 1000, with all the subdivisions of
quarters; very pretty,” opines Evelyn, “and useful.” This seems to have been
the first instrument of the kind, and is overlooked by Beckmann in his
account of such contrivances. The Colonel’s work was brought to the notice
of the newly formed Royal Society, and a committee was formed to
investigate it. The first model shown to this committee was of “a chariot
with four springs, esteemed by him very easy both to the rider and the
horse, and at the same time cheap.” The Committee also examined the
designs of Dr. Robert Hooke, a distinguished member of the Society, and
Professor of Geometry at Gresham College, who “produced the model of a
chariot with two wheels and short double springs to be driven by one horse;
the chair of it being so fixed upon two springs that the person sitting just
over or rather a little behind the axle-tree was, when the experiment was
made at Colonel Blunt’s house, carried with as much ease as one could be
in the French chariot without at all burthening the horse.”29 Dr. Hooke
showed “two drafts of this model having this circumstantial difference—
one of these was contrived so that the boy sitting on a seat made for him
behind the chair and guiding the reins over the top of it, drives the horse.
The other by placing the chair behind and the saddle on the horse’s back
being to be borne up by the shafts, that the boy riding on it and driving the
horse should be little or no burden to the horse.”

The Colonel continued experimenting both with the older coaches and a
new light chariot. In 1665 Mr. Pepys was taken to see an improvement of
his on a coach.
“I met my Lord Brouncker, Sir Frederick Murrey, Dean Wilkins, and Mr. Hooke, going by coach to
Colonel Blunt’s to dinner.... No extraordinary dinner, nor any other entertainment good; but
afterwards to the tryal of some experiments about making of coaches easy. And several we tried; but
one did prove mighty easy, not here for me to describe, but the whole body of the coach lies upon one
long spring, and we all, one after another, rid in it; and it is very fine and likely to take.”

A few months later Pepys saw the new chariot itself.
“After dinner comes Colonel Blunt in his new chariot made with springs; as that was of wicker,
where in a while since we rode at his house. And he hath rode, he says, now his journey, many miles
in it with one horse, and out-drives any coach, and out-goes any horse, and so easy he says. So for
curiosity, I went into it to try it, and up the hill [Shooter’s Hill] to the heath [Blackheath], and over
the cart ruts, and found it pretty well, but not so easy as he pretends.”

The Colonel persevered. At the beginning of the next year the Royal
Society’s committee met again at his house to consider, says Pepys, “of the
business of chariots, and to try their new invention, which I saw here my
Lord Brouncker ride in: where the coachman sits astride upon a pole over
the horse, but do not touch the horse, which is a pretty odde thing; but it
seems it is most easy for the horse, and, as they say, for the man also.”
Others were also at work upon carriage improvement, and in 1667 the
Royal Society “generally approved” of a chariot invented by a Dr. Croune.
“No particulars of the vehicle are given,” says Sir Walter Gilbey, “we are
only told that ‘some fence was proposed to be made for the coachman
against the kicking of the horse.’” In the same year, Sir William Pen
possessed a light chariot in which Pepys drove out one day. This, he says,
was “plain, but pretty and more fashionable in shape than any coaches he
hath, and yet do not cost him, harness and all, above £32.”
All such experiments were undoubtedly in the direction of a light, swift
carriage, such as was built about 1660 in Germany by Philip de Chiesa, a
Piedmontese, in the service of the Duke of Prussia. Indeed, it is quite
possible that Colonel Blunt either possessed, or had seen, one of de
Chiesa’s carriages, which were none other than the famous and popular
berlins.30
So far Germany had been taking the lead. Her State coaches were the most
wonderful in the world, and her coachbuilders were designing lesser

coaches for the ordinary folk. But the berlin was the first of these lesser
carriages to catch the public fancy, and enjoy more than a local success.
Now the berlin differed in the first place from previous carriages in having
two perches instead of the single pole, “and between these two perches,
from the front transom to the hind axle-bed, two strong leather braces were
placed, with jacks or small windlasses, to wind them up tighter if they
stretched.” The bottom of the coach was no longer flat, and these braces of
leather allowed the body to play up and down instead of swinging from side
to side as before. Here, then, you had an entirely new principle.
“In the Imperial mews at Vienna,” says Thrupp, “are four coach berlins, which, I think, may belong
to this period. They are said to have been built for the Emperor Leopold who reigned at Vienna from
1658 to 1700, and Kink describes this Emperor’s carriage as covered with red cloth and as having
glass panels; he also says they were called the Imperial glass coaches. It is possible that the coaches
have been a little altered from the time of their construction, but I consider that in these four we have
the oldest coaches with solid doors and glasses all round that exist in Europe. Whether they are
identical with the Emperor Leopold’s wedding-carriages matters much less than the influence the
berlin undoubtedly had upon the coach-building of that period. It was the means of introducing the
double perch, which, although it is not now in fashion, was adopted for very many carriages both in
England and abroad, up to 1810. Crane-necks to perches were suggested by the form of the berlin
perch; and as bodies swinging from standard posts suggested the position of the C spring, so bodies
resting upon long leather braces suggested the horizontal and elbow springs to which we owe so
much. The first berlin was made as a small vis-à-vis coach—small because it was to be used as a
light travelling carriage, and narrow because it was to hang between the two perches, and was only
needed to carry two persons inside. It was such an improvement in lightness and appearance upon the
cumbersome coaches that carried eight persons, that it at once found favour, and was imitated in
Paris and still more in London.”

These early berlins were not nearly so gorgeous as the heavier coaches
which they gradually supplanted. Red cloth and black nails had taken the
place of the gilt ornamentation and crimson hangings of the previous
generation.31 Only on festivals, we learn, the black harness “was
ornamented with silk fringe.” The coaches used by the Emperor himself had
leather traces, but the ladies of his suite had to be content with carriages the
traces of which were made of rope.
The glass windows which were such a conspicuous feature of the berlins,
were also used in the larger coaches, finally, as I have said, eliminating the
boot. Mr. Charles Harper thinks that the first English coach to possess them
belonged in 1661 to the Duke of York. At first these windows seem to have
caused trouble, and there is the ludicrous incident mentioned by Pepys, of
my Lady Peterborough who “being in her glass-coach with the glass up and
seeing a lady pass by in a coach whom she would salute, the glass was so

clear that she thought it had been open, and so ran her head through the
glass!” Lady Ashly did not like the new invention, because, as she said, the
windows were for ever flying open while the coach was running over a bad
piece of road. Lady Peterborough’s misfortune was tribute indeed to the
maker!
In this matter of the glass it would seem that Spain had taken the lead, and it
is quite possible that Spain invented the first two-seated chariots. In 1631,
thirty years before the first berlin was made, an Infanta of Spain is reported
to have traversed Carinthia “in a glass-carriage in which no more than two
persons could sit.” What this was like we do not know. It may have had
rude springs, and been built from the common coach models to a smaller
measurement; it was certainly bootless, and framed glass or mica took the
place of curtains. In France the first coaches to have glass windows,
according to M. Roubo, created something of a Court scandal in the time of
Louis XIII. The glass, he says, was first used in the upper panels of the
doors, but was soon extended to the whole of the upper half of the sides and
front of the body, so making of the carriage literally a glass-coach.
You may learn more of the English seventeenth-century carriages from
Pepys than from any other writer; nor is this a matter for wonder. Pepys had
a knack of knowing just exactly what posterity would desire to know. From
his Diary, we learn incidentally that the watermen were still endeavouring
to regain their lost prestige and custom, but by this time coaches had
enormously increased in number—in 1662 there were nearly 2500 hackneys
in London alone—and thenceforth they are hardly heard of. To be any one,
moreover, you had to have your private coach. Doctors, for instance, found
it very well worth their while to keep a coach, though, as Sir Thomas
Browne told his son, they were certainly “more for state than for
businesse.” On the other hand those who were well able to keep a private
carriage occasionally preferred the use of a hackney, and sometimes at
times when they had no business to do so. Mr. Pepys, with clear ideas upon
the dignity and responsibilities of rank, was indignant at any such foolery.
He was told, he recalls in one place, “of the ridiculous humour of our King
and Knights of the Garter the other day, who, whereas heretofore their robes
were only to be worn during their ceremonies and service, these, as proud
of their coats, did wear them all day till night, and then rode into the Park
with them on. Nay, and he tells us he did see my Lord Oxford and Duke of

Monmouth in a hackney-coach with two footmen in the Park, with their
robes on; which is a most scandalous thing, so as all gravity may be said to
be lost amongst us.”
The private coach, too, was the last luxury to be given up after financial
embarrassment. So we have Lady Flippant, in Wycherley’s Love in a Wood,
saying, “Ah, Mrs. Joyner, nothing grieves me like the putting down my
coach! For the fine clothes, the fine lodgings,—let ’em go; for a lodging is
as unnecessary a thing to a widow that has a coach, as a hat to a man that
has a good peruke. For, as you see about town, she is most probably at
home in her coach:—she eats, and drinks, and sleeps in her coach; and for
her visits, she receives them in the playhouse.” No lady’s virtue, according
to this cynical dramatist, was proof against a coach and six.
At the time of the introduction of the light, two-seated chariots, ordinary
private coaches were also changing in shape. In Charles I’s reign they had
been both very long and very wide; in his son’s time they became much
slenderer and less unwieldy. Alterations in this direction were possibly
suggested by the ubiquitous and most convenient sedans, and, indeed, there
is an allusion to this change of shape in Sir William Davenant’s First Day’s
Entertainment at Rutland House, in which, during a dialogue between a
Russian and a Londoner, the foreigner says: “I have now left your houses,
and am passing through your streets; but not in a coach, for they are
uneasily hung, and so narrow that I took them for sedans upon wheels.”
Stage-coaches, however, remained just as huge and just as gorgeous as ever.
They were built, more particularly in Italy, in the old fashion—unenclosed
and curtained. Count Gozzadini describes a State coach built in 1629 for the
marriage of Duke Edward Farnese with the Lady Margaret of Tuscany, and
as we shall see in a moment, this differed only in the details of its
ornamentation from the State coach in which Lord Castlemaine made his
public entry into Rome sixty years later.
The body of the Farnese coach, says Gozzadini, “was lined with crimson
velvet and gold thread, and the woodwork covered with silver plates,
chased and embossed and perforated, in half relief. It could carry eight
persons, four on the seats attached to the doors, and four in the back and
front. The roof was supported by eight silver columns, on the roof were
eight silver vases, and unicorns’ heads and lilies in full relief projected from

the roof and ends of the body here and there. The roof was composed of
twenty sticks, converging from the edge to the centre, which was crowned
with a great rose with silver leaves on the outside, and inside by the
armorial bearings of the Princes of Tuscany and Farnese held up by cupids.
The curtains of the sides and back of the coach were of crimson velvet,
embroidered with silver lilies with gold leaves. At the back and front of the
coach-carriage were statues of unicorns, surrounded by cupids and
wreathed with lilies, grouped round the standards from which the body was
suspended; on the tops of the standards were silver vases, with festoons of
fruit, and wraught in silver. In the front were also statues of Justice and
Mercy, supporting the coachman’s seat. The braces suspending the body
were of leather, covered with crimson velvet; the wheels and pole were
plated with polished silver. The whole was drawn by six horses, with
harness and trappings covered with velvet, embroidered with gold and
silver thread, and with silver buckles. It is said that twenty-five excellent
silversmiths worked at this coach for two years, and used up 25,000 ounces
of silver; and that the work was superintended by two master coachbuilders,
one from Parma and the other from Piacenza.” Lord Castlemaine’s
procession into Rome contained three hundred and thirty coaches, of which
thirteen were his own property; and of these two were State coaches. These
likewise were not properly enclosed, and had no glass.
“They were hung,” says Thrupp, “inside and out, with beautifully embroidered cloths, the one coach
with crimson, the other with azure-blue velvet, and gold and silver work. The roofs were adorned
with scroll work and vases gilt; under the roof were curtains of silver fringes, and the ambassador’s
armorial bearings. The carriage of the principal coach was adorned in front with two large Tritons, of
carved wood, gilt all over, that supported a cushion for the coachman between them, and from their
shoulders the braces depended. The footboard was formed by a conch shell, between two dolphins. In
the rear of the coach were two more Tritons, supporting not only the leather braces of the coach, but
two other statues of Neptune and Cybele, who in turn held a royal crown. Below Neptune and
Cybele, and projecting backwards, were a lion and a unicorn, and several cupids and wreaths of
flowers. The wheels had moulded rims, and the spokes were hidden by curving foliage carving. The
second coach had plainer wheels and fewer statues about it.”

They may have been magnificent, but they were certainly not very
beautiful. Much the same, too, might be said of those coaches in which
foreign ambassadors made their public entry into London. In 1660 Evelyn
saw the Prince de Ligne, Ambassador-Extraordinary from Spain, make a
splendid entry with seventeen coaches, and a month later Pepys was
watching “the Duke de Soissons go from his audience with a very great deal

of state: his own coach all red velvet covered with gold lace, and drawn by
six barbes, and attended by twenty pages very rich in cloths.”

In this year, 1660, there was a proclamation against the excessive number of
hackney-coaches, and two years later Commissioners were appointed “for
reforming the buildings, ways, streets and incumbrances, and regulating the
hackney-coaches in the city of London.” Of this body Evelyn was sworn a
member in May, 1662. Pepys, however, never found any difficulty in
obtaining one when he desired, and, indeed, of late years, pressure of
business had made a hackney-coach an almost daily necessity. Finally, he
found it cheaper to possess one of his own, and the story of this coach is
particularly interesting, and may be told in some detail.
Long ago, Mr. Pepys had dreamt of owning a private coach. “Talking long
in bed with my wife,” he writes on March 2nd, 1661-2, “about our frugal
life for the time to come, proposing to her what I could and would do, if I
were worth £2000, that is, be a knight, and keep my coach, which pleased
her.” Times were bad, however, and although Pepys enjoyed many a ride in
a friend’s coach and witnessed Colonel Blunt’s experiments, the great idea
did not mature. But one of his particular friends, Thomas Povey, M.P., who
had been a colleague of his on the Tangier committee, himself the owner of
at least one coach, seems to have kept Pepys’s ambitions astir. This was
more especially the case in 1665, at which time Mr. Povey had purchased
one of the new and already fashionable chariots. This excited Pepys’s
admiration. “Comes Mr. Povey’s coach,” he records, “and so rode most
nobly, in his most pretty and best-contrived chariot in the world, with many
new contrivances, his never having till now, within a day or two, been yet
finished.” Povey was something of an inventor himself. Evelyn calls him a
“nice contriver of all elegancies, and most formal.” The necessary money
was apparently not forthcoming for a year or two, but in April, 1667, Pepys
had a mind “to buy enough ground to build a coach-house and stable; for,”
says he, “I have had it much in my thoughts lately that it is not too much for
me now, in degree or cost, to keep a coach, but contrarily, that I am almost
ashamed to be seen in a hackney.” Accordingly, Mr. Commander, his
lawyer, was bidden to look for a suitable piece of ground. The idea had now
taken definite shape, and Pepys was committed. “I find it necessary,” he
says, “for me, both in respect of honour and the profit of it also, my

expence in Hackney coaches being now so great, to keep a coach, and
therefore will do it.” The next entry shows the first of his disappointments:
—
“Mr. Commander tells me, after all, that I cannot have a lease of the ground for my coach-house and
stable, till a lawsuit be ended. I am a little sorry, because I am pretty full in my mind of keeping a
coach; but yet,” he adds philosophically—the date was June 4th, 1667—“when I think of it again, the
Dutch and French both at sea, and we poor, and still out of order, I know not yet what turns there may
be.”

So the summer passed, and “most of our discourse,” he admits, “is about
our keeping a coach the next year, which pleases my wife mightily; and if I
continue as able as now, it will save me money.” At the beginning of the
new year Will Griffin was ordered to make fresh inquiries about the most
necessary coach-house, but nothing seems to have been done until the
autumn. Then Pepys, more or less it would seem on the spur of the moment,
chose a coach for himself, and immediately disliked it. No one seems to
have given him the same advice. Some ladies, for instance, Mrs. Pepys
amongst them, preferred the large old-fashioned coaches. Others wanted the
latest thing from Paris. Says Mrs. Flirt in The Gentleman Dancing-Master:
“But take notice, I will have no little, dirty, second-hand chariot, new
furnished, but a large, sociable, well-painted coach; nor will I keep it till it
be as well-known as myself, and it comes to be called Flirt-coach.” Her
friend, Monsieur Paris, shrugs his shoulders. “’Tis very well,” says he, “you
must have your great, gilt, fine painted coach. I’m sure they are grown so
common already amongst you that ladies of quality begin to take up with
hackneys again.” It was felt, no doubt, that fashion in carriages as in
everything else would speedily change. Mr. Pepys must have found
considerable difficulty in making up his mind. The new chariots were small,
light and, so far as he knew, most fashionable; but possibly they were not
quite to his taste, and equally possibly they might not be fashionable in ten
years’ time. Also they perhaps lacked the solid dignity of the older
carriages, and were less likely to attract public attention—two important
considerations. In the end, however, he seems to have chosen a large coach
of the old style. Mr. Povey saw it, and poor Pepys knew at once that a
dreadful mistake had been made.
“He and I ... talk of my coach,” runs the Diary for 30th October, “and I got him to go and see it,
where he finds most infinite fault with it, both as to being out of fashion and heavy, with so good

reason, that I am mightily glad of his having corrected me in it; and so I do resolve to have one of his
build, and with his advice, both in coach and horses, he being the fittest man in the world for it.”

Accordingly on the following Sunday, “Mr. Povey sent his coach for my
wife and I to see, which we liked mightily, and will endeavour to have him
get us just such another.” Mr. Povey thought that his own coachmaker had a
replica for sale. Pepys thereupon went down into the neighbourhood of
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, found the man, but learnt to his disgust that the coach
had been sold that very morning. At the end of the week, however, in
company with his friend, he “spent the afternoon going up and down the
coachmakers in Cow Lane, and did see several, and last did pitch upon a
little chariott, whose body was framed, but not covered, at the widow’s, that
made Mr. Lowther’s fine coach; and we are mightily pleased with it, it
being light, and will be very genteel and sober; to be covered with leather,
but yet will hold four. Being much satisfied with this, I carried him to White
Hall. Home, where I give my wife a good account of the day’s work.”
Having bought the coach, it was necessary to complete the arrangements
about a coach-house, and in the same week Pepys fared forth again for the
purpose.
“This afternoon I did go out towards Sir D. Gauden’s, thinking to have bespoke a place for my coach
and horses, when I have them, at the Victualling Office; but find the way so bad and long that I
returned, and looked up and down for places elsewhere, in an inne, which I hope to get with more
convenience than there.”

This not proving satisfactory, Sir Richard Ford was persuaded to lend his
own coach-yard. Then follow in quick succession the other entries:—
“28th November, 1668.—All the morning at the Office, where, while I was sitting, one comes and
tells me that my coach is come. So I was forced to go out, and to Sir Richard Ford’s, where I spoke to
him, and he is very willing to have it brought in, and stand there: and so I ordered it, to my great
content, it being mighty pretty, only the horses do not please me, and, therefore, resolve to have
better.”
“29th November.—This morning my coachman’s clothes come home and I like the livery mightily....
Sir W. Warren ... tells me, as soon as he saw my coach yesterday, he wished that the owner might not
contract envy by it; but I told him it was now manifestly for my profit to keep a coach, and that, after
employments like mine for eight years, it were hard if I could not be thought to be justly able to do
that.”32
“30th November.—My wife after dinner, went abroad the first time in her coach, calling on Roger
Pepys, and visiting Mrs. Creed, and my cozen Turner. Thus ended this month, with very good intent,
but most expenseful to my purse on things of pleasure, having furnished my wife’s closet and the
best chamber, and a coach and horses, that ever I knew in the world; and I am put into the greatest

condition of outward state that ever I was in, or hoped ever to be, or desired; and this at a time when
we do daily expect great changes in this office; and by all reports we must, all of us, turn out.”
“2nd December.—Abroad with my wife, the first time that ever I rode in my own coach, which do
make my heart rejoice, and praise God, and pray him to bless it to me and continue it.”
“3rd December.— ... and so home, it being mighty pleasure to go alone with my poor wife, in a coach
of our own, to a play, and makes us appear mighty great, I think, in the world; at least, greater than
ever I could, or my friends for me, have once expected; or, I think, than ever any of my family ever
yet lived, in my memory, but my cozen Pepys in Salisbury Court.”
“4th December.—I carried my wife ... to Smithfield, where they sit in the coach, while Mr. Pickering,
who meets me at Smithfield and I, and W. Hewer and a friend of his, a jockey did go about to see
several pairs of horses, for my coach; but it was late, and we agreed on none, but left it to another
time: but here I do see instances of a piece of craft and cunning that I never dreamed of, concerning
the buying and choosing of horses.”

There were plenty of horses to be had, it seems, but either Mr. Pepys did not
like them or he was afraid of being cheated. “Up and down,” he is recording
a week or so later, “all the afternoon about horses, and did see the knaveries
and tricks of jockeys. At last, however, we concluded upon giving £50 for a
fine pair of black horses we saw this day se’nnight; and so set Mr. Pickering
down near his house, whom I am much beholden to, for his care herein, and
he hath admired skill, I perceive, in this business, and so home.” So the
horses were changed, and for a while Mr. Pepys was obliged to revert to the
despised hackney, his “coachman being this day about breaking of my
horses to the coach, they having never yet drawn.” Towards the end of the
month the new horses were ready, and their master made his first ride
behind them on a visit to the Temple, though later in the day he was again
using the old pair, “not daring yet to use the others too much, but only to
enter them.” Then, before the new year, came the first mishap.
“Up, and vexed a little to be forced to pay 40s. for a glass of my coach, which was broke the other
day, nobody knows how, within the door, while it was down; but I do doubt that I did break it myself
with my knees.”

At the beginning of February another misfortune is recorded:—
“Just at Holborn Circuit the bolt broke, that holds the fore-wheels to the perch, and so the horses
went away with them, and left the coachman and us; but being near our coachmaker’s and we staying
in a little ironmonger’s shop, we were presently supplied with another.”

Accidents of this kind were continually happening. Glasses smashed, bolts
broke, and, what seems incredible, doors were lost! Even so late as 1710, a
reward of 30s. was offered for a lost door. “Lost,” runs this remarkable
advertisement, “the side door of a Chariot, painted Coffee Colour, with a

Round Cipher in the Pannel, Lin’d with White Cloath embos’d with Red,
having a Glass in one Frame, and White Canvas in another, with Red
Strings to the Frames.”
To return to Pepys. In a month or two another matter connected with his
coach was occupying his attention. There were some people who did not
think that a man in the comparatively humble position of Secretary to the
Admiralty had any right to possess a coach, even though, in its owner’s
estimation, it might be “genteel and sober.”
“To the Park,” he is recording in April, “my wife and I; and here Sir W. Coventry did first see me and
my wife in a coach of our own; and so did also this night the Duke of York, who did eye my wife
mightily. But I begin to doubt that my being so much seen in my own coach at this time, may be
observed to my prejudice, but I must venture it now.”

This was no idle fear, for in a while there was printed an ill-written and
scurrilous pamphlet called Plane Truth, or Closet Discorse betwixt Pepys
and Hewer, in which the following passage occurs:—
“There is one thing more you must be mightily sorry for with all speed. Your presumption in your
coach in which you daily ride as if you had been son and heir to the great Emperor Neptune, or as if
you had been infallibly to have succeeded him in his government of the Ocean, all which was
presumption in the highest degree. First, you had upon the fore-part of your chariot, tempestuous
waves and wrecks of ships; on your left hand, forts and great guns, and ships a fighting; on your right
hand was a fair harbour and galleys riding, with their flags and pennants spread, kindly saluting each
other, just like P[epys] and H[ewer—his chief clerk].”

How far Pepys’s carriage was decorated is not known, though this
description does not tally in the least with Pepys’s own. In any case, he took
no notice of such attacks, and so far from making his coach less
conspicuous, arranged to have it newly painted and varnished.
“19th April, 1669.—After dinner out again, and, calling about my coach, which was at the
coachmaker’s, and hath been there for these two or three days, to be new painted, and the window-
frames gilt against next May-day, went on with my hackney to White Hall.”

A few days later he gave orders for some “new sort of varnish” to be used
on the standards at a cost of forty shillings, this being in his view very
cheap. Indeed, “the doing of the biggest coach all over,” he learnt, “comes
not above £6.” On his next visit to the coachmaker, he was surprised to find
several great ladies “sitting in the body of a coach that must be ended
tomorrow ... eating of bread and butter and drinking ale.” His own coach

had been silvered over, “but no varnish yet laid on, so I put it in a way of
doing.” A few hours later he called back again,
“and there vexed to see nothing yet done to my coach, at three in the afternoon; but I set it in doing,
and stood by till eight at night, and saw the painter varnish it which is pretty to see how every doing
it over do make it more and more yellow: and it dries as fast in the sun as it can be laid on almost;
and most coaches are, now-a-days, done so, and it is very pretty when laid on well, and not too pale,
as some are, even to show the silver. Here I did make the workmen drink, and saw my coach cleaned
and oyled.”

And so eager was he to have it without delay that his coachman and horses
were sent to fetch it that very evening, and on the following gala day, May
1st,
“we went alone through the town with our new liveries of serge, and the horses’ manes and tails tied
with red ribbons, and the standards gilt with varnish, and all clean, and green reines, the people did
mightily look upon us; and, the truth is, I did not see any coach more pretty, though more gay, than
ours all the day. But we set out, out of humour—I because Betty, whom I expected, was not come to
go with us; and my wife that I would sit on the same seat with her, which she likes not, being so fine:
and she then expected me to meet Sheres, which we did in Pell Mell, and against my will, I was
forced to take him into the coach, but was sullen all day almost, and little complaisant; the day being
unpleasing, though the Park full of coaches, but dusty and windy, and cold, and now and then a little
dribbling of rain; and what made it worse, there were so many hackney-coaches as spoiled the sight
of the gentlemen’s; and so we had little pleasure.”

Henceforth Mr. Pepys, in spite of sundry warnings from his friend Mr.
Povey and others, continued to use his coach, and although perhaps as he
grew older, his coach was less brilliantly adorned, there seems no reason to
suppose that he ever regretted its purchase.

Though it is not my intention to speak in any detail of public conveyances,
a word must be said here of the stage-coaches,33 which made their
appearance on English roads in 1640. These were large coaches, leather-
curtained at first—glass does not seem to have been used until 1680—and
capable of seating six or eight passengers. Their chief feature was the huge
basket strapped to the back.
“There is of late,” says Chamberlayne in his well-known Present State of Great Britain (1649), “such
an admirable commodiousness both for men and women, to travel from London to the principal
towns in the country, that the like hath not been known in the world; and that is by stage-coaches,
wherein one may be transported to any place sheltered from foul weather and foul ways, free from
endangering of one’s health and one’s body by hard jogging or over-violent motion on horseback;
and this not only at the low price of about a shilling for every five miles, but with such velocity and
speed in an hour as the foreign post can make but in one day.”

Of course, there was opposition to these public coaches. In 1662, when
there was not a round dozen of them, one writer was already exhorting their
extinction on the ground that simple country gentlemen and their simple
country wives could now come to London without due occasion, and there
learn all the vice and luxury that were rampant. So in 1673, in a singular
production called The Grand Concern of England, amongst the many
proposals set forth for the country’s good, was one “that the Multitude of
Stage Coaches and Caravans be suppressed.” One or two pamphlets of no
particular interest appeared, both for and against these coaches, but it may
be sufficient here to observe that they steadily increased in numbers and
maintained their existence until the mail-coaches finally superseded them.

Early (?) French Gig at the South Kensington Museum
One other public carriage of this time also deserves mention. This was the
carosse à cinq sous, which appeared in the streets of Paris in 1662. The
history of this primitive omnibus is well told by Mr. Henry Charles
Moore.34
“The leading spirits in this enterprise were the Duc de Rouanès, Governor of Poitou, the Marquis de
Sourches, Grand Prévôt, the Marquis de Crenan, Grand Cup-bearer, and Blaise Pascal, the author of
Lettres Provinciales. The idea was Pascal’s, but not being sufficiently wealthy to carry it out unaided,
he laid the matter before his friend the Duc de Rouanès, who suggested that a company should be
formed to start the vehicles. Pascal consented to this being done, and the Duc set to work at once to
prevail upon members of the aristocracy to take shares in the venture.” After obtaining a royal decree,
“seven vehicles to carry eight passengers each, all inside, were built, and on March 18th, 1662, they

began running. The first one was timed to start at seven o’clock in the morning, but an hour or two
earlier a huge crowd had assembled to witness the inauguration ceremony, which was performed by
two Commissaires of the Châtelet, attired in their official robes. Accompanying them were four
guards of the Grand Prévôt, twenty men of the City Archers, and a troop of cavalry. The procession,
on arriving at the line of route, divided into two parts, one Commissaire and half of the attendants
proceeded to the Luxembourg, and the others to the Porte St. Antoine. At the latter place three of the
twopenny-halfpenny coaches were stationed, the other four being at the Luxembourg. Each
Commissaire then made a speech, in which he pointed out the boon that carosses à cinq sous would
be to the public, and laid great stress on the fact that they would start punctually at certain times
whether full or empty. Moreover, he warned the people that the king was determined to punish
severely any person who interfered with the coaches, their drivers, conductors, or passengers. The
public was also warned that any person starting similar vehicles without permission would be fined
3000 francs, and his horses and coaches confiscated.
“At the conclusion of his address, the Commissaire commanded the coachmen to advance, and, after
giving them a few words of advice and caution, presented each one with a long blue coat, with the
City arms embroidered on the front in brilliant colours. Having donned their livery, the drivers
returned to their vehicles and climbed up to their seats. Then the command to start was given, and the
two vehicles drove off amidst a scene of tremendous enthusiasm. The first coach each way carried no
passengers—a very unbusinesslike arrangement—the conductor sitting inside in solitary state. But
the next two, which were sent off a quarter of an hour after the first, started work in earnest, and it
need scarcely be said that there were no lack of passengers. The difficulty experienced was in
preventing people from crowding in after the eight seats were occupied. At the beginning of every
journey the struggle to get into the coach was repeated, and many charming costumes were ruined in
the crush. Paris, in short, went mad over its carosses à cinq sous, and the excitement soon spread to
the suburbs, sending their inhabitants flocking to the city to see the new vehicles. But very few of the
visitors managed to obtain a ride, for day by day the rush for seats became greater. The king himself
had a ride in one coach, and the aristocracy and wealthy classes hastened to follow his example,
struggling with their poorer brethren to obtain a seat. Many persons who possessed private coaches
daily drove to the starting-point, and yet failed to get a drive in one for a week or two.
“Four other routes were opened in less than four months, but at last the fashionable craze came to an
end, and as soon as the upper classes ceased to patronise the new coaches the middle and lower
classes found that it was cheaper to walk than to ride. The result was that Pascal, who died only five
months after the coaches began running, lived long enough to see the vehicles travelling to and fro,
half, and sometimes quite, empty.
“For many months after Pascal’s death the coaches lingered on, but every week found them less
patronised, and eventually they were discontinued. They had never been of any real utility, and were
regarded by the public much in the same light as we regard a switchback railway.”

And, indeed, it was a century and a half before the next omnibus was tried.

So then, at the middle of the century, when heavy and slow stage-coaches
were making their appearance on the English country roads, and the
unsuccessful carosse à cinq sous was being tried in the streets of Paris, the
success of the berlin, the brouette, and other chariots, was in process of
remodelling men’s ideas upon the most feasible carriage for town use. The
older coaches, as I have said, were still retained for particular occasions,

and, indeed, continued to be built with more ornamentation than ever
before. The very spokes of the wheels were decorated, paintings appeared
on the panels, and every inch of the coach made as brilliant as possible.
France in particular possessed carriages of the most gorgeous possible
description. These were not only entirely gilded over, but in some cases
actually bejewelled. The richest stuffs lined their interiors, and masters
painted their panels. Immense sums were spent. There is preserved at
Toulouse a carriage of this date which shows most of these features. The
interior “is, or rather was, lined with white brocade embroidered with a
diaper of pink roses, the roof being lined with the same, while its angles are
hidden by little smiling cupids gilded from top to toe. The surface of the
panels is, or rather was, a piece of opaque white, exceedingly well
varnished, and edged with a thick moulding of pink roses; the foliage,
instead of being green, was highly gilded and burnished.”
But the ever-increasing traffic rendered necessary a much smaller vehicle
than these monstrosities for general use, and this led, somewhere about
1670, to the introduction of the gig. This was a French invention, which,
while no doubt the logical outcome of the brouette, bore resemblance to the
old Roman cisium, and led ultimately to the cabriolets, once so popular both
in France and England. Certain experiments tending towards a gig had been
made earlier in the century with a chair fixed to a small cart. The first
successful gig was a slender, two-wheeled contrivance, “the body little
more than a shell,” says Thrupp, provided with a hood “composed of three
iron hoop-sticks joined in the middle to fall upwards.” It was the prototype
of the calèche in France, the carriole of Norway, the calesso of Naples, and
the volante of Cuba. Gozzadini describes one of them as “an affair with a
curved seat fixed on two long bending shafts, placed in front on the back of
the horse and behind upon the two wheels.” They were introduced into
Florence, he says, in 1672, and “so increased in numbers that in a few years
there were nearly a thousand in the city.” An early gig of this kind is
preserved at South Kensington. It is a forlorn-looking vehicle. The body is
curved, but there is no hood. The seat is absurdly small and “beneath the
shafts are two long straps of leather and a windlass to tighten them—this
apparatus was, no doubt, to regulate the spring of the vehicle to the road
travelled over.”

The gig speedily underwent several minor changes of form. In France it was
known as calèche35 or chaise, in England, as calash, calesh, or chaise, in
America as shay. Unfortunately there is small mention of them in
contemporary writings, and one is left to suppose that for some time they
did not, except in certain cities, prove serious rivals to the berlins and other
four-wheeled chariots. It may be that the berlin itself was taken as a model
from which these lighter carriages were evolved. You had first the big
double berlins for four people, then you had a vis-à-vis for two or more
persons facing each other. Later the front part of the carriage would be cut
away for the sake of lightness. When not covered such a vehicle as this
seems to have been known as a berlingot. Two could travel in these
berlingots sitting side by side, “while a third person might travel
uncomfortably in front on a kind of movable seat, which was not much
patronised; for it was not only dangerous, but what was much worse in the
eyes of the grand court gentlemen who used them—ridiculous.” There was
also evolved a smaller and narrower berlin with the front cut away and
capable of holding only one passenger, called the désobligeante. The bodies
of the ordinary chaises, which seated one or two people, seem to have
differed from those of the older berlins in being placed partly below the
frame. There were no side doors, but one at the back which opened
horizontally. When and where all such changes were made, however, it is
impossible to say. The accounts, such as they are, are often contradictory,
and the same names used to describe what are obviously not identical
carriages. But the two-wheeled gig having appeared there was nothing to
prevent improvements of every conceivable sort or shape, and innumerable
hybrid carriages appeared, some of which are only known by name.
There is mention of a truly remarkable calash which was tried in Dublin in
1685. Exactly who the inventor was is not known, but Sir Richard Bulkeley
interested himself in the experiments, and read a paper on his carriage
before the Royal Society. Evelyn was one of those who were present on this
occasion.
“Sir Richard Bulkeley,” he says, “described to us a model of a chariot he had invented which it was
not possible to overthrow in whatever uneven way it was drawn, giving us a wonderful relation of
what it had performed in that kind, for ease, expedition, and safety; there were some inconveniences
yet to be remedied—it would not contain more than one person; was ready to take fire every few
miles; and being placed and playing on no fewer than ten rollers, it made a most prodigious noise,
almost intolerable.”

It is to be deeply regretted that there is no print of this remarkable carriage,
but further details may be found in a letter, dated May 5th, 1685, from Sir
Richard Bulkeley himself.
“Sir William Petty,” he writes, “Mr. Molyneux, and I have spent this day in making experiments with
a new invented calesh, along with the inventor thereof; ’tis he that was in London when I was there,
but he never made any of these caleshes there, for his invention is much improv’d since he came
from thence: it is in all points different from any machine I have ever seen: it goes on two wheels,
carries one person, and is light enough. As for its performance, though it hangs not on braces, yet it is
easier than the common coach, both in the highway, in ploughed fields, cross the ridges, directly and
obliquely. A common coach will overturn, if one wheel go on a superficies a foot and a half higher
than that of the other; but this will admit of the difference of three feet and a half in height of the
superficies, without danger of overturning. We chose all the irregular banks, the sides of ditches to
run over; and I have this day seen it, at five several times, turn over and over; that is, the wheels so
overturned as that their spokes laid parallel to the horizon, so that one wheel laid flat over the head of
him that rode in the Calesh, and the other wheel flat under him; so much I all but once overturned.
But what I have mentioned was another turn more, so that the wheels were again in statu quo, and the
horse not in the least disordered: if it should be unruly, with the help of one pin, you disengage him
from the Calesh without any inconvenience. I myself was once overturned, and knew it not, till I
looked up, and saw the wheel flat over my head; and, if a man went with his eyes shut, he would
imagine himself in the most smooth way, though, at the same time, there were three feet difference in
the heights of the ground of each wheel. In fine, we have made so many, and so various experiments,
and are so well satisfied of the usefulness of the invention, that we each of us have bespoke one; they
are not (plain) above six or eight pounds a-piece.”

Early Italian Gig at the South Kensington Museum
Why the nobility, gentry, and worthy burgesses of England, Scotland, and
Ireland did not go and do likewise, history hides from us. There is no
further mention of Sir Richard’s truly remarkable carriage, and one is left to

imagine that some of the Irish roads were too bad even for its freakish
agility.
On the other hand, they were probably superior to the Scottish roads of the
time, even those in the more civilised southern districts. “It is recorded,”
says Croal, “that in 1678”—the year after the founding of the Coach and
Coach-Harness Makers’ Company in London—“the difficulties in the way
of rapid communication were such that an agreement was made to run a
coach between Edinburgh and Glasgow, a distance of forty-four miles,
which was to be drawn by six horses, and to perform the journey to
Glasgow and back in six days!”
Cross-country travelling, indeed, was very bad, and the rough tracks over
which the heavy stage-coaches rumbled along would have proved too much
for the lighter chariots and gigs which were so popular in town. I may
conclude this chapter by quoting an amusing description of such cross-
country travelling at the end of the century, taken from Sir John Vanbrugh’s
Provoked Husband. A family is going in its private coach from Yorkshire to
London:—

Lord Townley. Mr. Moody, your servant; I am glad to see you in London. I
hope all the family is well.
John Moody. Thanks be praised, your honour, they are all in pretty good
heart, thof’ we have had a power of crosses upo’ the road.
Lady Grace. I hope my Lady has no hurt, Mr. Moody.
John. Noa, an’t please your ladyship, she was never in better humour:
There’s money enough stirring now.
Manly. What has been the matter, John?
John. Why, we came up in such a hurry, you mun think that our tackle was
not so tight as it should be.
Manly. Come, tell us all: pray how do they travel?
John. Why i’ the auld coach, Measter; and cause my Lady loves to do things
handsome, to be sure, she would have a couple of cart horses clapt to th’
four old geldings, that neighbours might see she went up to London in her
coach and six! And so Giles Joulter the ploughman rides postilion!

. . . . . .
Lord Townley. And when do you expect them here, John?
John. Why, we were in hopes to ha’ come yesterday, an’ it had no’ been that
th’ owld wheaze-belly horse tired; and then we were so cruelly loaden, that
the two fore-wheels came crash down at once in Waggon-Rut Lane; and
there we lost four hours ’fore we could set things to rights again.
Manly. So they bring all their baggage with the coach then?
John. Ay, ay, and good store on’t there is. Why, my Lady’s gear alone were
as much as filled four portmantel trunks, besides the great deal box that
heavy Ralph and the monkey sit on behind.
Lady Grace. Well, Mr. Moody, and pray how many are there within the
coach?
John. Why, there’s my Lady and his Worship, and the young squoire, and
Miss Jenny, and the fat lap-dog, and my lady’s maid Mrs. Handy, and Doll
Tripe the cook; that’s all. Only Doll puked a little with riding backward, so
they hoisted her into the coach-box, and then her stomach was easy.
Lady Grace. Oh! I see ’em go by me. Ah! ha!
John. Then, you mun think, Measter, there was some stowage for the belly,
as well as th’ back too; such cargoes of plum cake, and baskets of tongues,
and biscuits and cheese, and cold boiled beef, and then in case of sickness,
bottles of cherry-brandy, plague-water, sack, tent, and strong beer, so plenty
as made the owld coach crack again! Mercy upon ’em! and send ’em all
well to town, I say.
Manly. Ay! and well on’t again, John.
John. Ods bud! Measter, you’re a wise mon; and for that matter, so am I.
Whoam’s whoam, I say; I’m sure we got but little good e’er we turned our
backs on’t. Nothing but mischief! Some devil’s trick or other plagued us,
aw th’ day lung. Crack goes one thing: Bawnce goes another. Woa, says
Roger. Then souse! we are all set fast in a sleugh. Whaw! cries Miss;
scream go the maids; and bawl! just as thof’ they were struck! And so,
mercy on us! this was the trade from morning to night.

Chapter the Sixth
EARLY GEORGIAN CARRIAGES
“May the proud chariot never be my fate,
If purchased at so mean, so dear a rate.
Oh, rather give me sweet content on foot,
Wrapt in my virtue and a good surtout.”
Gay’s Trivia.

F EW new private carriages seem to have been designed during the
earlier decades of the eighteenth century, although improvements and
small alterations were constantly being carried out. There is an
isolated reference to a sociable built apparently in Germany, and the four-
wheeled chaise, or chariot à l’Anglaise, which was to be so popular thirty
or forty years later, put in an appearance about this time. Of the sociable
little enough can be said. The particular carriage mentioned from its small
size would appear to have been built for the royal children. It was a low-
hung, open carriage over a single perch, and with seats facing each other.
The four-wheeled chaise was a small chariot with a wide window in front.
Gray, writing to his mother in 1739, speaks of the French chaise in which
he was making the grand tour with Horace Walpole.
“The chaise,” he writes, “is a strange sort of conveyance, of much greater use than beauty;
resembling an ill-shaped chariot, only with the door opening before instead of the side. Three horses
draw it, one between the shafts, and the other two on each side, on one of which the postillion rides,
and drives too: This vehicle will upon occasion, go fourscore miles a day, but Mr. Walpole, being in
no hurry, chooses to make easy journies of it, and they are easy ones indeed; for the motion is much
like that of a sedan, we go about six miles an hour, and commonly change horses at the end of it. It is
true they are not very graceful steeds, but they go well, and through roads which they say are bad for
France, but to me they seem gravel walks and bowling-greens; in short, it would be the finest
travelling in the world, were it not for the inns.”

Such a chaise as Gray describes came to be known as a diligence, while in
England the one-horse chaise was more frequently spoken of as a one-horse
chair. Contemporary prints of carriages, however, are scarce, and for the
most part show only the larger coaches.

The State Carriage of Bavaria. Early Eighteenth Century
(From Smith’s “Concise History of English Carriages”)
These coaches were of two distinct patterns. There were the large square
coaches of Charles II’s time, but there was also a new type of coach or
chariot which had a curious backward tilt to the body. From a superficial
examination of such a carriage, it would appear impossible for the seats to
have been horizontal, and, indeed, one wonders why this form was adopted.
The result of this backward tilt was to leave a space between the
coachman’s box and the carriage-body itself. Here one of the grooms sat or
sprawled as best he could. Four, five, or even six other grooms stood
uncomfortably huddled together on a seat or slab at the back. These men
must have added considerably to the weight of the coach, and certainly did
not make travelling any swifter; but how necessary they were is shown by a
letter of the period in which one nobleman’s servant in London informs
another in Essex that my lord is resolved to set out. The Essex man is
bidden to have “the keepers and persons who know the holes and the
sloughs” ready to meet his lordship “with lanterns and long poles” to keep
the coach on its way. So many accidents happened even on the shortest
journeys that five or six men were necessary to put the coach aright. A road,
such as we think of one now, simply did not exist. You had often to drive
across fields in tracks which exceedingly heavy waggons had made. In
1703, to take another instance, the King of Spain, then in this country, was

journeying from Portsmouth to Windsor. The difficulties he experienced on
that occasion were recorded by one of the attendants.
“We set out at six in the morning to go to Petworth, and did not get out of the coaches (save only
when we were overturned or stuck fast in the mire) till we arrived at our journey’s end. ’Twas hard
service for the prince to sit fourteen hours in the coach that day without eating anything and passing
through the worst ways that I ever saw in my life; we were thrown but once indeed in going, but both
our coach, which was the leading, and his highnesse’s body-coach would have suffered very often if
the nimble boors of Sussex had not frequently poised it or supported it with their shoulders from
Goldalmin almost to Petworth; and the nearer we approached to the Duke’s house the more
unaccessible it seemed to be. The last nine miles of the way cost us six hours’ time to conquer them,
and indeed we had never done it if our good master had not several times lent us a pair of horses out
of his own coach, whereby we were enabled to trace out the way for him.”

After reading such an account, it is difficult to understand why any one
preferred coach to horseback on a cross-country journey. No wonder Gay
was goaded to ask:—
“Who can recount the coach’s various harms,
The legs disjointed, and the broken arms?”

“In the wide gulph,” he says in another place,
“the shatter’d coach o’erthrown
Sinks with the snorting steeds; the reins are broke,
And from the crackling axle flies the spoke.”

Yet, according to Swift, Gay was not so averse to the coach in his later
years. Writing to him in 1731, the Dean says:—
“If your ramble was on horseback, I am glad of it on account of your health; but I know your arts of
patching up a journey between stage-coaches and friends’ coaches: for you are as arrant a cockney as
any hosier in Cheapside.... You love twelve-penny coaches too well, without considering that the
interest of a whole thousand pounds brings you but half a crown a day.”

“A coach and six horses,” he goes on to say in another letter, “is the utmost
exercise you can bear, and this only when you can fill it with such company
as is best suited to avoid your taste, and how glad would you be if it could
waft you in the air to avoid jolting.”
There is preserved a chariot of this period which is probably typical of a
nobleman’s carriage of the time. It was built for one of the Bligh family,
possibly the first Lord Darnley, about 1720. It is a small carriage, curved
curiously in a fashion which recalls some of the French furniture of the
period. The body is slung upon leather braces, there is a single wide perch,
and there are small elbow springs under the body at the back. It is very

elaborately ornamented, and still keeps some of its pristine magnificence. A
curious point about the Darnley chariot, to which some people have
wrongfully ascribed a much earlier date, is the length of the door, which
reaches nearly a foot below the bottom of the body. A similar peculiarity is
to be seen in another coach of the period which was built in 1713 for the
Spanish representative at the time of the Peace of Utrecht. Here “the
quarters rake towards the roof considerably, the roof over the doorway is
arched upwards, the upper quarters are filled with large glasses of mirror
plate glass.... The wheels have carved spokes and felloes.... There is a
hammercloth cushion in front and a footboard supported by Tritons blowing
horns.” Another Spanish coach, with spiral spokes and similar peculiarities,
is preserved at Madrid. This elongated door seems peculiar to the period
and may have followed upon a desire to hide the steps, though the lowness
of the carriage made more than one or two of these unnecessary. Many of
the Spanish coaches of this time, by the way, were without the coach-box,
postilions only being employed—the story being that a certain Duke of
Olivarez found that his coachman had heard and betrayed a State secret.
There was, I believe, actually a law passed in Spain forbidding coachmen
altogether.
French coaches were very resplendent. “When I was in France,” writes
Addison in one of the earlier Spectators, “I used to gaze with great
Astonishment at the Splendid Equipages and Party-Coloured Habits, of that
Fantastick Nation. I was one Day in particular contemplating a Lady, that
sate in a Coach adorned with gilded Cupids, and finely painted with the
Loves of Venus and Adonis. The Coach was drawn by six milk-white
Horses, and loaden behind with the same Number of powder’d Footmen.
Just before the Lady were a Couple of beautiful Pages that were stuck
among the Harness, and, by their gay Dresses and smiling Features, looked
like the elder Brothers of the little Boys that were carved and painted in
every corner of the Coach.” The boys “stuck among the harness” obviously
were resting in that space which was made by the back-tilting of the body.
The Viennese coaches of this time seem to have had a very great deal of
glass about them, but the Turkish coaches had none. Writing home from
Adrianople in 1717, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu says:—
“Designing to go [to Sophia] incognita, I hired a Turkish coach. These voitures are not at all like
ours, but much more convenient for the country, the heat being so great that glasses would be very

troublesome. They are made a good deal in the manner of the Dutch coaches, having wooden lattices
painted and gilded; the inside being painted with baskets and nosegays of flowers, intermixed
commonly with little poetical mottoes. They are covered all over with scarlet cloth, lined with silk,
and very often richly embroidered and fringed. This covering entirely hides the persons in them, but
may be thrown back at pleasure, and the ladies peep through the lattices. They hold four people very
conveniently, seated on cushions, but not raised.”

The Darnley Chariot. Early Eighteenth Century
(From Smith’s “Concise History of English Carriages”)
They were, it would seem, mere covered waggons, and, indeed, in another
place Lady Mary speaks of them as such. Turkey possessed also “open
gilded chariots,” but in these the women were not allowed to drive.
Russia, too, at this time possessed coaches, and we read that Peter the Great
in his trans-European journey travelled with “thirty-two four-horse
carriages and four six-horse waggons.” One or two particulars are
forthcoming of the royal coach-house. It contained but two coaches, with
four places in each, for the use of the Empress and a smaller, low-hung
carriage, painted red, for the Emperor. This was replaced in winter by a
small sledge. Peter, however, was not fond of his carriage. “He never,” says
Waliszewski,36 “got into a coach, unless he was called upon to do honour to
some distinguished guest, and then he always made use of Menshikof’s
carriages. These were magnificent. Even when the favourite went out alone,

he drove in a gilded fan-shaped coach, drawn by six horses, in crimson
velvet trappings, with gold and silver ornaments; his arms crowned with a
prince’s coronet, adorned the panels; lacqueys and running footmen in rich
liveries ran before it; pages and musicians, dressed in velvet, and covered
with gold embroideries, followed it. Six gentlemen attended it at each door,
and an escort of dragoons completed the procession.”
It is difficult to conceive the appearance of this fan-shaped coach, but it
must have been almost startlingly magnificent, just the kind of carriage for
the Russian Buckingham.
In the imperial collection at Petersburg are preserved one or two Russian
carriages of this period. “One,” says Bridges Adams, “is close, made of
deal, stained black, mounted on four wheels, the windows of mica instead
of glass, and the frames of common tin: the other is open, with a small
machine behind of the shipwright-emperor’s invention—its purpose to
determine the number of miles traversed on a journey. In the same
collection,” he adds, “is the litter of Charles XII used at the battle of
Pultowa.”
In England glass seems to have been reserved for the private coaches. For
the commoner hackneys a substitute had been found. “For want of Glasses
to our Coach,” wrote the inimitable Ned Ward in The London Spy, a book
whose outspokenness unfortunately must, I suppose, have prevented its
reprinting in modern days, “we drew up our Tin Sashes, pink’d like the
bottom of a Cullender, that the Air might pass thro’ the holes, and defend us
from Stifling.”
If, however, contemporary plates are singularly scarce, and the historians
have little to say of the period, there is a new source of information to be
tapped, at any rate in this country, in the advertisements which just now
began to fill whole pages in the periodicals. Of these I may quote one or
two. One deals specifically with the question of glass windows:—
“These are to give notice to all Persons that have occasions for Coach Glasses, or Glasses for Sash
Windows, that they may be furnished with all sorts, at half the prices they were formerly sold for.”

Twelve inches square cost half a crown, thirty-six inches two pounds ten
shillings.

Other advertisements concern the coaches themselves. In Anne’s day
calashes, chaizes, both two-and four-wheeled, as well as the larger chariots
—these often flamboyantly decorated—were constantly for sale.
“A very fine CHAIZE,” we read, “very well Carved, gilded and painted, and lined with Blue Velvet,
and a very good HORSE for it, are to be sold together, or apart.”
“A curious 4-Wheel SHAZE, Crane Neck’d, little the worse for wearing, it is to be used with 1 or 2
Horses, and there is a fine Harness for one Horse, and a Reputable Sumpture Laopard Covering.”

Here then is mention of a four-wheeled chaise with a perch curved in front
after the German fashion. Other chaises for sale had only two wheels:—
“At the Greyhound in West Smithfield is to be sold a Two-Wheeled Chaize, with a pair of Horses
well match’d: It has run over a Bank and a Ditch 5 Foot High; and likewise through a deep Pit within
the Ring at Hide Park, in the presence of several persons of Quality; which are very satisfied it
cannot be overturn’d with fair Driving. It is to be Lett for 7s. 6d. a Day, with some Abatement for a
longer Time.”

One is reminded of Sir Richard Bulkeley’s wonderful calash. Here was
surely a rival. Calashes were now common, though precisely what the
difference was between them and the two-wheel chaises I am unable to say.
Indeed, there is some confusion also between the small chariots and the
four-wheel chaises, and the words seem to have become interchangeable.
Both came to resemble the coupé of a later day, being like a modern coach
with the front part removed. Sometimes the coachman’s box was on a level
with the roof, but often much lower, and sometimes altogether absent, the
horses being ridden by a postilion. Probably the carriage was called a
chariot when it possessed a coachman’s box, such as was used in town, and
a chaise when it was absent.
It was a calash that Squire Morley of Halstead wished for, but did not
obtain, in Prior’s ballad of Down-Hall, 1715.
“Then answer’d Squire Morley; Pray get a calash,
That in summer may burn, and in winter may splash;
I love dust and dirt; and ’tis always my pleasure,
To take with me much of the soil that I measure.

“But Matthew thought better: for Matthew thought right,
And hired a chariot so trim and so tight,
That extremes both of winter and summer might pass:
For one window was canvas, the other was glass.”

Prior evidently liked the chaises of Holland.

“While with labour assiduous due pleasure I mix,
And in one day atone for the business of six,
In a little Dutch chaise on a Saturday night,
On my left hand my Horace, a nymph on my right:
No Memoirs to compose, and no Post-boy to move,
That on Sunday may hinder the softness of love;
For her, neither visits, nor parties at tea,
Nor the long-winded cant of a dull Refugee:
This night and the next shall be hers, shall be mine,
To good or ill-fortune the third we resign:
Thus scorning the world and superior to fate,
I drive on my car in processional state.”

Another advertisement tells of a gentleman who brought a one-horse calash
to an Inn near Hyde Park Corner, took away the horse ten days later, but left
his carriage “as a pawn for what was due for the same.” In a while the inn-
keeper was advertising the fact that unless the owner claimed it within ten
days he should sell the carriage for what it would fetch. A more curious
advertisement belonging to this period may be quoted in full:—
“Lost the 26th of February, about 9 a Clock at Night, between the Angel and Crown Tavern in
Threadneedle Street, and the end of Bucklers Berry, the side door of a Chariot, Painted Coffee
Colour, with a Round Cypher in the Pannel, Lin’d with White Cloath embos’d with Red, having a
Glass in one Frame, and White Canvas in another, with Red Strings to both Frames. Whoever hath
taken it up are desir’d to bring it to Mr. Jacob’s a Coachmaker at the corner of St. Mary Ax near
London Wall, where they shall receive 30s. Reward if all be brought with it; or if offer’d to be
Pawn’d or Sold, desire it may be stop’d and notice given, or if already Pawn’d or Sold, their money
again.”

At this time, if not before, it became customary for wealthy people to
possess coaches used only when they were in mourning. So we have:—
“At Mr. Harrison’s, Coach Maker, in the Broadway, Westminster, is a Mourning Coach and Harness,
never used, with a whole Fore Glass, and Two Glasses and all other Materials (the Person being
deceased); also a Mourning Chariot, being little used, with all Materials likewise, and a Leather Body
Coach, being very fashionable with a Coafoay Lining and 4 Glasses, and several sorts of Shazesses,
at very reasonable rates.”

What these reasonable rates were does not appear, but we learn from an
agreement made in 1718 between one Hodges, a job-master, and a private
gentleman, the cost of hiring a complete equipage. Hodges was to maintain
“a coach, chariot, and harness neat and clean, and in all manner of repair at
his own charge, not including the wheels, for a consideration of five
shillings and sixpence a day—this to include a pair of well-matched horses
and a good, sober, honest, creditable coachman.” If extra horses were
required for country work, they were to be had for half a crown the pair per

day. And if the coachman should break the glass when the coach was empty,
Hodges and not the private gentleman should be responsible for the
damage.
From another advertisement of about the same time comes the information
that the hammercloth of carriages was constantly being stolen. Ashton37
gives three such advertisements.
“Lost off a Gentleman’s Coach Box a Crimson Coffoy Hammer Cloth, with 2 yellow Laces about it.”

“Lost off a Gentleman’s Coach Box, a Blue Hammer Cloth, trimm’d with a Gold colour’d Lace that
is almost turn’d yellow.”

“Lost a Red Shag Hammock Cloth, with white Silk Lace round it, embroider’d with white and blue,
and 3 Bulls Heads and a Squirrel for the Coat of Arms.”

The etymology of this hammercloth, which was simply a covering over the
coach-box, seems to have puzzled people considerably. Most coachbuilders
consider that the box beneath the seat used to contain a hammer and other
tools necessary in case of a breakdown, whence the name. The anonymous
author of the coach-building articles in the Carriage Builders’ and Harness-
Makers’ Art Journal scouts this idea, and suggests that it is merely a
corruption of hamper-cloth—the box or chest having originally contained a
hamper of provisions. The last advertisement quoted above gives hammock-
cloth, which vaguely suggests suspension of a kind. It is perhaps not a very
important question.

Queen Anne’s Procession to the Cathedral of S. Paul
(From Pennant’s “London”)
Advertisements also mention a “Curtin Coach for 6 People,” and “a Chasse
marée Coach,”38 which was some form of covered waggon; but,
unfortunately, I have not been able to discover any information about them.
The State Coaches of this time were as handsome as ever. George I, Mrs.
Delaney has recorded, rode in a coach that was “covered with purple cloth;
the eight horses the beautifullest creatures of their kind were cream
colour”—the custom of using cream-coloured horses still obtains in the
State Coach of Great Britain—“the trapping purple silk, and their manes
and tails tied with purple riband.” Luttrell in his Diary for May 20th, 1707,
says of a foreign coach:—
“Yesterday the Venetian Ambassadors made their public entry thro’ this citty to Somerset House in
great state and splendour, their Coach of State embroidered with gold, and the richest that ever was
seen in England: they had two with 8 horses, and eight with 6 horses, trimm’d very fine with ribbons,
48 footmen in blew velvet cover’d with gold lace, 24 gentlemen and pages on horseback, with
feathers in their hats.”

The Venetians apparently prided themselves on a magnificent display, and
four years later Swift, in one of his letters to Stella, was commenting upon
their ambassador’s coach again—“the most monstrous, huge, fine, gilt thing
that ever I saw,” he says of it. Every possible luxury was commandeered for
these State vehicles. One of the Emperors built a coach “studded with gold”
for his bride. Another’s consort rode in a carriage “covered with perfumed
leather.” The wedding carriage of the first wife of the Emperor Leopold had

cost 38,000 florins. But the Austrian State Imperial Coach, built in 1696,
was perhaps the most gorgeous of all. Immense sums too were being spent
on coaches by private individuals. Swift writes on February 6th, 1712:
“Nothing has made so great a noise as one Kelson’s chariot, that cost nine
hundred and thirty Pounds, the finest was ever seen. The rabble huzzaed
him as much as they did Prince Eugene.” Fashion decreed six horses. “I
must have Six Horses in my Coach,” says Mrs. Plotwell in the Beau’s Duel,
“four are fit for those that have a Charge of Children, you and I shall never
have any”; and in another of Mrs. Centlivre’s comedies, Lucinda says to Sir
Toby Doubtful: “You’ll at least keep Six Horses, Sir Toby, for I wou’d not
make a Tour in High Park with less for the World: for me thinks a pair looks
like a Hackney.” Abroad even more display was made. “Two coaches,”
wrote Lady Mary from Naples in 1740, “two running footmen, four other
footmen, a gentleman usher, and two pages, are as necessary here as the
attendance of a single servant is at London.”
Nor was carriage-driving confined to the gentry. Every retired tradesman
appeared abroad in his coach and aped the noble, a matter which disturbed
Sir Richard Steele, who in one of the Tatlers drew attention to the truly
lamentable fact that you could not possibly estimate the social position of
the occupant of a coach by the appearance of his equipage.
“For the better understanding of things and persons,” he writes, “in this general confusion, I have
given directions to all the coachmakers and coachpainters in town, to bring me in lists of their several
customers; and doubt not, but with comparing the orders of each man, in the placing of his arms on
the door of his chariot, as well as the words, devices and ciphers to be fixed upon them, to make a
collection which shall let us into the nature, if not the history, of mankind, more usefully than the
curiosities of any medallist in Europe. It is high time,” he continues, “that I call in such coaches as
are in their embellishment improper for the character of their owners. But if I find I am not obeyed
herein, and think I cannot pull down those equipages already erected, I shall take upon me to prevent
the growth of this evil for the future, by inquiring into the pretensions of the persons, who shall
hereafter attempt to make public entries with ornaments and decorations of their own appointment. If
a man, who believed he had the handsomest leg in this kingdom, should take a fancy to adorn so
deserving a limb with a blue garter, he would be justly punished for offending against the Most Noble
Order; and, I think, the general prostitution of equipage and retinue is as destructive to all distinction,
as the impertinences of one man, if permitted, would certainly be to that illustrious fraternity.”

The temptation for display must have been great. Nothing attracted the
public attention like a fine coach. In the north of Scotland, indeed, any
carriage caused the profoundest astonishment.
“I was entertained,” says a contemporary writer, “with the Surprise and Amusement of the Common
People when in the year 1725 a Chariot with six monstrous great Horses arrived here by way of the

Sea Coast. An Elephant publicly exhibited in the Streets of London could not have excited greater
admiration. One asked what the Chariot was; another, who had seen the gentlemen alight, told the
first with a Sneer at his Ignorance, it was a great cart to carry people in, and such like.”

And even in Johnson’s day, when there were few coaches to be found in this
part of the country, though a lighter vehicle called in old account books a
cheas was sometimes used, public astonishment was great. Yet it was in the
north of Scotland that military roads were constructed in 1726 and 1737—
not particularly good roads, but very necessary—and the first of their kind.
Swift in Apollo, or a Problem Solved, satirised the prevailing luxury.
Compared with Apollo, he says:—
“No heir upon his first appearance,
With twenty thousand pounds a year rents,
E’er drove, before he sold his land,
So fine a coach along the Strand:
The spokes, we are by Ovid told,
Were silver, and the axle gold:
I own, ’twas but a coach-and-four,
For Jupiter allows no more.”

But whether Jupiter allowed it or not, your fashionable dame had six horses
put into her coach, and the more grooms in attendance upon her, the better
for her reputation as a Person of Quality. There is a good story, by the way,
of Swift and a hackney coach. It is told by Leigh Hunt in his essay on
Coaches.
“He was going,” says Hunt, “one dark evening, to dine with some great man, and was accompanied
by some other clergymen, to whom he gave their clue. They were all in their canonicals. When they
arrive at the house, the coachman opens the door, and lets down the steps. Down steps the Dean, very
reverend in his black robes; after him comes another personage, equally black and dignified; then
another; then a fourth. The coachman, who recollects taking up no greater number, is about to put up
the steps, when another clergyman descends. After giving way to this other, he proceeds with great
confidence to toss them up, when lo! another comes. Well, there cannot, he thinks, be more than six.
He is mistaken. Down comes a seventh, then an eighth; then a ninth; all with decent intervals; the
coach in the meantime rocking as if it were giving birth to so many daemons. The coachman can
conclude no less. He cries out ‘The devil! the devil!’ and is preparing to run away, when they all burst
into laughter. They had gone round as they descended, and got in at the other door.”

It may be that the private coaches and chariots were rather more
comfortable than the hackneys, but nothing, it seems, could equal the
tortures which were inflicted upon the unfortunate passengers who were
forced to ride in the public carriages.

“When our Stratford Tub,” writes Ned Ward, “by the Assistance of its Carrionly Tits of different
colours, had outrun the Smoothness of the Road, and enter’d upon London-Stones, with as frightful a
Rumbling as an empty Hay-Cart, our Leathern-Conveniency39 being bound in the Braces to its good
Behaviour, had no more Sway than a Funeral Hearse, or a Country-Waggon, that we were jumbled
about like so many Pease in a Childs-Rattle, running, at every Kennel-Jolt, a great hazard of a
Dislocation: This we endured till we were brought within White-Chappel Bars, where we Lighted
from our Stubborn Caravan, with our Elbows and Shoulders as Black and Blew as a Rural Joan, that
had been under the Pinches of an Angry Fairy. Our weary Limbs being rather more Tir’d than
Refresh’d, by the Thumps and Tosses of our ill-contriv’d Engine, as unfit to move upon a Rugged
Pavement as a Gouty Sinner is to valt o’er London Bridge, with his Boots on. For my part, said I, if
this be the Pleasure of Riding in a Coach thro’ London-Streets, may those that like it enjoy it, for it
has loosen’d my Joynts in so short a Passage, that I shall scarce recover my former Strength this
Fortnight; and, indeed, of the two, I would rather chuse to cry Mouse-Traps for a Livelihood, than be
oblig’d every day to be drag’d about Town under such uneasiness; and if the Qualities Coaches are as
troublesome as this, I would not be bound to do their Pennance for their Estates. You must consider,
says my Friend, you have not the right Knack of Humouring the Coaches Motion; for there is as
much Art in Sitting in a coach finely, as there is in riding the Great Horse; and many a younger
Brother has got a good Fortune by his Genteel Stepping in and out, when he pays a Visit to her
Ladyship.”

In Fleet Street, it seems, things were very bad. “The Ratling of Coaches,”
says Ward, “loud as the Cataracts of Nile Rob’d me of my Hearing, and put
my Head into as much disorder as the untunable Hollows of a Rural Mob at
a Country Bull-Baiting.” More trouble followed later in the day.
“Now, says my Friend, I believe we are not tired with the Labours of the Day; let us therefore
Dedicate the latter part purely to our Pleasure, take a Coach and go see May-Fair. Would you have
me, said I, undergo the Punishment of a Coach again, when you know I was made so great a sufferer
by the last, that it made my Bones rattle in my Skin, and has brought as many Pains about me, as if
troubled with Rheumatism. That was a Country Coach, says he, and only fit for the Road; but London
Coaches are hung more loose to prevent your being Jolted by the Roughness of the Pavement. This
Argument of my Friends prevail’d upon me, to venture my Carcase a second Time to be Rock’d in a
Hackney Cradle. So we took Leave of the Temple, turn’d up without Temple-Bar, and there took
Coach for the General Rendezvous aforementioned.
“By the help of a great many Slashes and Hey-ups, and after as many Jolts and Jumbles, we were
dragg’d to the Fair, where our Charioteer had difficulty with his fare—the gay ladies refusing to pay,
but one eventually pledging her scarf and taking his number.”

It is to be remembered that at this time, as in the last century, the hackney
coaches were used much in the manner of the modern omnibus. You did not
necessarily have one to yourself. The same held good with regard to the
post-chaises. Advertisements were constantly appearing for a “partner.”
The uneasy motion which so disturbed Ned Ward was a matter which was
receiving the attention of carriage-builders, but little enough was done. Yet
in England, France and Spain, quite a number of strange machines

(including one which was supposed to go without horses) were invented,
and had their day, and disappeared into the lumber-room of time. Two in
particular, though in the main unsuccessful, deserve mention.
One, properly belonging to the seventeenth century, concerned a new steel
spring, patented in 1691 by a Mr. John Green. It was thus advertised:—
“All the nobility and gentry may have the carriages of their coaches made new or the old ones
altered, after this invention, at reasonable rates; and hackney and stage coachmen may have licences
from the Patentees, Mr. John Green and Mr. William Dockwra, his partner, at the rate of 12d. per
week, to drive the roads and streets, some of which having this week began, and may be known from
the common coaches by the words patent Coach being over both doors in carved letters. These
coaches are so hung as to render them easier for the passenger and less labour for the horses, the
gentleman’s coaches turning in narrow streets and lanes in as little or less room than any French
carriage with crane neck, and not one third of the charge. The manner of the coachman’s sitting is
more convenient, and the motion like that of a sedan, being free from the tossing and jolting to which
other coaches are liable over rough and broken roads, pavements or kennels. These great
Conveniences (besides others) are invitation sufficient for all persons that love their own ease and
would save their horses draught, to use these sort of carriages and no other, since these carriages need
no alteration.”

Here, in addition to the spring, there was some kind of turning head—a
question which occupied the attention of designers throughout the next
century, but nothing more of Mr. John Green or of his partner was heard of,
and his patent coaches found few if any purchasers.
The other contrivance was a primitive form of gear invented by one James
Rowe. In 1727 this Rowe wrote a book—not, however, published until
1734—called All Sorts of Wheel Carriage, Improved. This was a small tract
“wherein is plainly made to appear, that a much less than the usual Draught
of Horses, etc., will be required, in Waggons, Carts, Coaches, and all other
Wheel Vehicles” by the application of small “friction wheels and pulleys.”
Rowe obtained a patent for his gear and apparently applied his small wheels
to the axle just within the ordinary wheels, but his own coach was probably
the only one ever to be so fitted. It was felt no doubt that the whole question
was one of roads rather than of carriages. Improve your roads, and the
discomforts of travelling would disappear.
The British stage-coaches of this time were, according to Sir Walter Scott,
“constructed principally of a dull black leather, thickly studded, by way of ornament, with black-
headed nails tracing out the panels; in the upper tier of which were four oval windows, with heavy
red wooden frames, and green stuff or leathern curtains. Upon the doors, also, there appeared but
little of that gay blazonry which shines upon the numerous quadrigae of the present time; but there

were displayed in large characters the names of the places whence the coach started, and whither it
went, stated in quaint and ancient language. The vehicles themselves varied in shape. Sometimes
they were like a distiller’s vat; sometimes flattened, and hung equally balanced between the immense
front and back springs; in other instances they resembled a violincello case, which was past all
comparison the most fashionable form; and they hung in a more genteel posture, namely, inclining on
to the back springs, and giving to those who sat within the appearance of a stiff Guy Faux, uneasily
seated. The roofs of the coaches, in most cases, rose into a swelling curve, which was sometimes
surrounded by a high iron guard.... The coachman, and the guard, who always held his carabine ready
bent, or, as we now say, cocked upon his knee, then sat together; not as at present, upon a close,
compact varnished seat, but over a very long and narrow boot, which passed under a large spreading
hammer cloth, hanging down on all sides, and finished with a flowing and most luxurious fringe.
Behind the coach was the immense basket stretching far and wide beyond the body, to which it was
attached by long iron bars or supports passing beneath it; though even these seemed scarcely equal to
the enormous weight with which they were frequently loaded. They were, however, never very great
favourites, although their difference of price caused them frequently to be well filled, for, as an
ancient Teague observed, ‘they got in so long after the coach, that they ought to set out a day sooner,
to be there at the same time. Arrah!’ continued he, ‘can’t they give it the two hind wheels, and let it
go first?’ The wheels of these old carriages were large, massive, ill-formed, and usually of a red
colour; and the three horses that were affixed to the whole machine—the foremost of which was
helped onward by carrying a huge long-legged elf of a postillion, dressed in a cocked hat, with a
large green and gold riding coat—were all so far parted from it by the great length of their traces, that
it was with no little difficulty that the poor animals dragged their unwieldy burthen along the road. It
groaned, and creaked, and lumbered, at every fresh tug which they gave it, as a ship, rocking or
beating up, through a heavy sea, strains all her timbers with a low-moaning sound, as she drives over
the contending waves.”

No wonder, said Scott, that at this time people invariably made their wills
before setting out on a journey of any length. The dangers were manifold
and very real.
In France the stage-coaches, or diligences, were very similar “with large
bodies, having three small windows on each side and hung by leather braces
on long perch carriages, with high hind wheels and low front wheels,
without any driving box and fitted with large baskets, back and front for
passengers or luggage; they were drawn by five horses and driven by a
postillion on the off wheeler instead of the near wheeler as in England.”
One, at any rate, of these diligences had springs of a kind. Another public
coach in France at this time was the gondola, holding ten or twelve
passengers inside, these sitting sideways with one at each end, a second
attempt at a kind of omnibus. Still another public vehicle popular about this
time in Paris was the coucou. Of this weird machine Ramée says:—
“Figure a box, yellow, green, brown, red, or sky blue, open in front, having two foul benches which
had formerly been stuffed, on which were placed six unfortunate voyagers. In the sides it had, right
and left, one or two square openings, to give air during the day or in summer. While the interior was
sufficiently open to the world, there was built an apron in front, framed in woodwork and covered

with sheet iron. Upon this apron was thrown a third bench, on which were seated the driver of the
coucou and two passengers who were termed lapins (rabbits).”

The coucou was regularly to be seen lumbering painfully along with its ten
or a dozen passengers, its snail’s pace giving it the ironical name of
vigoureux. The poorer people almost exclusively used the coucou, although
a smart woman with her pet dog, or a gentleman who had been unable to
find a place in the more aristocratic gondola, were occasionally to be seen
in its interior sandwiched in between two peasants.
In Spain the coucou found an equivalent in the galera, which was provided
with the ubiquitous basket—a low waggon it was, with its sides formed of a
number of wooden spokes at a considerable distance from each other, and
having no bottom save a strip of spartum on which the trunks and packages
were heaped. In Spain there were several types of cart, two-or four-
wheeled, which likewise plied for passenger hire. One of these, called a
correo real, seems to have travelled at rather a greater pace, though with
even less comfort to the unfortunate passengers than the others. A century
later this correo real was described by Théophile Gautier, who speaks of it
as “an antediluvian vehicle, of which the model could only be found in the
fossil remains of Spain, immense bell-shaped wheels, with very thin spokes,
considerably behind the frame, which had been painted red somewhere
about the time of Isabella the Catholic; an extravagant body full of all sorts
of crooked windows, and lined in the inside with small satin cushions,
which may at some period have been rose-coloured, and the whole
decorated with a kind of silk that was once probably of various colours.”
In 1743 the system of travelling post, which so long before as 1664 had
been common in France, was introduced into England by one John Trull, an
artillery officer, who obtained a patent for letting carriages for hire across
country. These were the post-chaises, of which the first were two-wheeled
with the door in front—in this respect being similar to the French chaises de
poste, from which the idea was taken. Trull’s scheme, however, though
successful in itself does not seem to have brought money to its inventor,
who thirty years later died in the King’s Bench. The door of these first post-
chaises “was hinged at the bottom and fell forward on to a small dasher like
a gentleman’s cabriolet,” and there was a window on either side. “It was
hung upon two very lofty wheels,” says Thrupp, “and long shafts for one
horse, and the body was rather in front of the wheels, so that the weight on

the horse’s back must have been considerable. It was suspended at first
upon leather braces only, but later upon two upright or whip springs behind,
and two elbow springs in front from the body to the cross-bar, which joined
the shafts and carried the step.” Soon, however, these post-chaises were
built with four wheels, and resembled the ordinary private chariots of the
day, though without their lavish ornamentation. In less than ten years,
however, a larger body was given to them, so that they came to resemble
the coach rather than the smaller and slimmer chariots, while the
coachman’s box was made very much higher.
The post-chaise became extraordinarily popular. The literature of the mid-
eighteenth century is full of references to it. All kinds of adventures
happened to people in post-chaises. They were seen in every part of the
country, they could be hired here, there, and everywhere. Dr. Johnson was
only one amongst thousands who loved them. “If I had no duties,” he
records, “and no reference to futurity, I would spend my life in driving
briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman.” “I have tried almost every
mode of travelling since I saw you,” wrote Wilkes to his daughter, “in a
coach, chaise, waggon, boat, treckscuyt, traineau, sledge, etc. I know none
so agreeable as my English post-chaise.”
One thinks naturally of Laurence Sterne. Both in Tristram Shandy and in
the Sentimental Journey he has much to say of the post-chaises. “Something
is always wrong,” he is grumbling somewhere, “in a French post-chaise,
upon first setting out.... A French postillion has always to alight before he
has got three hundred yards out of town.” And then, of course, there is that
never-to-be-forgotten désobligeante which he purchased from M. Dessein
at Calais.40
“There being no travelling in France and Italy,” he recounts, “without a chaise—and nature generally
prompting us to the thing we are fittest for, I walk’d out into the coach-yard to buy or hire something
of that kind to my purpose: an old Désobligeante, in the furthest corner of the court, hit my fancy at
first sight, so I instantly got into it.”

And there it was in that queer little carriage which would hold but one
person, that Sterne wrote his famous Preface about Travellers, “though it
would have been better,” he observed, when interrupted, “in a Vis-à-Vis.”
The particular désobligeante seems to have proved satisfactory, but for the
species Sterne could not find much praise.

“In Monsieur Dessein’s coach-yard,” he says, “I saw another old tatter’d désobligeante; and
notwithstanding it was the exact picture of that which had hit my fancy so much in the coach-yard
but an hour before, the very sight of it stirr’d up a disagreeable sensation within me now; and I
thought ’twas a churlish beast into whose heart the idea could first enter, to construct such a machine;
nor had I much more charity for the man who could think of using it.”

It was certainly not a very sociable carriage, but then neither was the sedan:
both were very useful.

I may conclude this chapter by drawing attention to the tax upon coaches
which was levied at the beginning of 1747. From the fuss that was made
when such a bill was first introduced—it was temporarily abandoned—you
might imagine that one of the most treasured articles of the Constitution
was about to be swept away.
“It is impossible to express,” wrote a country clergyman to his bishop in a letter which deserves
quotation as affording an insight into the lesser equipages used in the country at this time, “the
various impressions your lordship’s letter, relating to the tax upon coaches, made here; as people
imagined it a jest, or serious: As most inclined to the former, it would be too tedious to trouble you
with the witticisms and conundrums it occasioned. B. said the Church was in danger; C. observed it
would be like the gospel-feast inverted, that the maimed and lame being the only guests admitted
there, would be the only ones excluded here.... As we have now no reason to doubt such a tax being
really intended, give me leave to represent to you our thoughts of it here. My living, your Lordship
knows, is under £70 per Ann., yet out of this, some years since, I made a shift to lay out six pounds
on an old chariot, which, with the help of my ploughman and a pair of cart-horses, has drawn my
wife, etc., half a mile to church, who, for the future, must go in a cart, or stay at home. Repairs, etc.,
have cost me, communibus annis, for the eleven years I have had it, about 7s. so the interest of my
money, at 5 per cent, on the £6 and 7s. in repairs, is 13s. per Ann., which with tax on this my
pompous luxury, will be increased to £4 13s. per Ann., almost the prime cost of setting up my
Equipage. I am afraid this is not my case singly, but will be found pretty nearly so, of most of the
small clergy in England. Among the laity we have several gentlemen farmers, who manage, in some
degree, with the same frugality, and who, for the same reasons, are prepared to part with, or continue
them according to the fate of this bill; insomuch, that I can compute that in sixteen parishes I have in
my eye three times that number of coaches will be disposed of, for we look on the same sum, which
is but a trifling duty on grand equipages, to amount to a prohibition on ours, which resembles them
no more than a ragged coat does an embroidered suit. I shall not dwell on the quantity of glass (not to
mention leather, etc.), this will bring to market, nor the future consumption of these commodities it
will prevent.... To me I own it looks a little like the son eating the father.... How many single
gentlemen,” he goes on to ask, after pointing out that it is the poorer married men who will suffer
most, “from 2, 3, to 800l. a year, and more, have no coaches, yet keep a stable of hunters (the worst
of which would purchase my equipage) and a pack of hounds, whom this duty will not affect?”

But the bill was passed, and so we must suppose that our clergyman and his
farmer friends were forced to walk to church.

Some verses printed in the Gentleman’s Magazine at this time may also be
quoted as reflecting the general opinion about the bill.
“Before Bohemian Anne was Queen,
Astride their steeds were ladies seen;
And good Queen Bess to Paul’s, I wot,
Full oft astride has jogg’d on trot:
Beaus then could foot it thro’ all weather,
And nothing fear’d but wear of leather.
But now (so luxury decrees)
The polish’d age rolls on at ease:
Coach, chariot, chaise, berlin, landau41
(Machines the ancients never saw)
Indulge our gentle sons of war,
Who ne’er will mount triumphant car.
The carriage marks the peer’s degree,
And almost tells the doctor’s fee;
Bears ev’ry thriving child of art;
Ev’n thieves to Tyburn claim their cart.
O cruel law! replete with pain,
That makes us use our feet again;
Or, half our pair oblig’d to lack,
Bids us bestride the other’s back.
A shilling stage would suit with many,
Who cannot reach an eighteen penny.
Rock must enhance the price of pills,
Or drive again—one pair of wheels.
The graduate too will be to seek,
Who mounts his chariot twice a week:
For if the hackneymen should grumble,
I fear our Phaeton41 must tumble.
O cruel law! to raise the fare
Of Christmas turkey, chine, and hare;
The vails or wages to retrench
Of country serving-man or wench,
Who twice a year ride up and down,
Betwixt their native place and town.
O cruel tax! who must not say,
Which only those who will—need pay?”

From this bill, those who used the one-horse chaises certainly suffered.
Rusticus thereupon offered the following advice to his fellow-sufferers at
the time of the next General Election:—

“Ye who late loll’d in easy chaise and one,
And now must walk, or ride Old Grey or Dun,
Enquire when wheels were tax’d (to mend your fate)
What patriots, spokesmen were in the debate.
And get this act, a promise to revoke,
Or put into each spokesman’s wheel a spoke.”

Chapter the Seventh
THE WAR OF THE WHEELS:
WITH SOME CURIOSITIES, REGAL AND OTHERWISE
“The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allowed
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.

“So three doors off the chaise was stayed,
When they did all get in,
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.”
John Gilpin.

“
I N my journey to London,” wrote an indignant correspondent to the
Gentleman’s Magazine, early in 1747, “I travell’d from Harborough
to Northampton, and well was it that I was in a light Berlin, and six
good horses, or I might have overlaid in that turnpike road. But for fear of
life and limb, I walk’d several miles on foot, met 20 waggons tearing their
goods to pieces, and the drivers cursing and swearing for being robb’d on
the highway by a turnpike, screen’d under an Act of Parliament.” These
turnpikes, or toll-gates, had been but lately established in England for the
preservation of the roads. That they did very much immediate good,
however, may be doubted. A few years afterwards an English traveller was
grumbling at the superiority of the French roads over our own. “Nothing
piques me more,” he wrote in an amusingly satirical passage, “than that a
trumpery despotic Government, like France, should have enchanting roads
from the capital to each remote part.” He seems to have taken trouble to
find out the cause for so lamentable a difference, and for this purpose
consulted “the most solemn looking waggoner on the road.”
“This prov’d to be Jack Whipcord of Blandford. Jack’s answer was ‘That roads had but one object,
namely, waggon-driving. That he requir’d but five feet wedth in a line [which he resolved never to
quit], and all the rest might go to the d—— l. That the gentry ought to stay at home and be d—— and
not run gossiping up and down the country. But, added Jack, we will soon cure them, for my brethren
since the late act have made a vow to run our wheels in the coach quarter. We tack on a sixth or
seventh horse at pleasure. What a plague would they send us to the galleys for this, as papishes do in
beyond-sea countries.’”

The Act to which Jack referred had been passed in 1745. It followed upon
the fact that while coaches, generally speaking, were in process of
becoming lighter, carts and waggons were becoming much heavier. And so
it had been proposed that no waggon should be drawn by more than four
horses, no matter whether these were “in length, pairs or sideways,” and no
cart should have more than three. Every horse above these numbers could
be forfeited together “with all geers, bridles, halters, harness and
accoutrements.” There were to be collectors of tolls, and gentlemen’s
private carriages and purely agricultural waggons were to be exempt. Also
certain roads, presumably those but lately laid down according to the best
ideas of the time, were to be treated as outside the scope of the Act. And if
the wheels of these heavy waggons and carts possessed “wheels bound with
streaks or tire of the breadth of eight inches at least when worn and not set
on with rose-headed nails,” they might likewise be exempt.
This Bill gave rise to a curious wordy warfare, which was carried on for
some years, and may be said to have interested people in the general
questions of wheeled traffic right on until the time when McAdam’s
schemes altogether altered general opinion. This war, of course, hardly
touched private carriages, but was waged in so many quarters and with such
various weapons that it deserves some mention in any account of carriages.
It was immediately “objected by multitudes” that the Bill of 1745 would
“greatly enhance the price of carriage of goods,” but its apologists argued
that even if it did, better-designed carriages and carts would be built, so that
the roads would improve, and the price of cartage ultimately go down. “It is
urged,” they said, “that light carts or waggons may be used, and the horses
draw double, as in the rabbet waggons of Norfolk, which improves the road
and contributes to expedition.”
At an early stage in this war two factions arose. On the one hand you had
coachbuilders and others filling the newspapers and publishing tracts, some
very serious, some extraordinarily mathematical, others merely facetious, to
prove that the roads could be preserved only by using very broad wheels—
some, indeed, advocated rollers, which, as we shall see, were actually tried
—and on the other hand you had people filling more columns, and very dull
columns some of them were, to show that a low broad wheel was the one
thing which no really satisfactory vehicle could possibly possess. These
were the apologists for the lighter waggons with large but slender wheels.

Decrease your weight, said they, and never mind about the wheels; it is the
great weight that ruins the roads. How can you decrease the weight, asked
the broad-wheel faction, without increasing the cost of carriage? Increase
the cost of carriage for a while, was the reply, and see what happens to the
roads.
For a time, however, the broad-wheel faction held the advantage, and when
further legislation was made in 1754, it was entirely in their favour.
“It is enacted that after next Michaelmas, no wheel carriage of burthen (except it be drawn by oxen
only, or if by horses with less than five, if a four-wheeled carriage, with less than four) shall travel
any turnpike road, unless the fellies of the wheels shall be nine inches from side to side under a
penalty of £5, or the forfeiture of one of the horses, with all his accoutrements, to the sole use of the
person who shall seize them.”

So soon as such proposals had become law, it was asked with some
pertinence: where were these huge wheels to come from? What of the heavy
expenses that would fall on the farmers? The parrot cry, “Your wheels will
cost you more,” was hinted at, if not expressed in so modern a way.
Arguments were put forward to show that the correct height for wheels was
anything between two and eight feet, and the correct breadth from three to
eighteen inches. And the disputes became tinged with personalities. But the
net result seems to have been that most people fought shy of the very wide
wheels, and were content to use less horses.
The war dragged on, and particular inventions to cope with the difficulty
began to appear. A new tire was widely advertised. An enthusiastic inventor
occupied two or three pages of the Gentleman’s Magazine with details of
his particular waggon, which had the front and back wheels of very
different sizes, but what exactly its advantages might be were not very clear
to any one but himself. Then on the 14th of April, 1764, one Daniel Bourn
of Leominster produced a waggon on small rollers. Though it was
unsuccessful, it led the way to further experiments, and as will be seen from
the contemporary account immediately below, contained at any rate one
novel feature which was subsequently widely adopted not only in waggons
and carts, but also in four-wheeled carriages of every description.
“Mr. Bourn’s new machine for travelling the roads was tried against a common broad-wheeled
waggon, but did not answer, the common waggon going as well with four horses, as the new one with
eight. The weight carried was five ton besides the carriage. The wheels of this waggon are 14 inches;
the fore wheels go within the hind wheels, and are so shallow as to turn under the bed of the waggon.
The Leominster stage waggon has these wheels.”

The experiment took place “abreast between the new road just by Pancras
to within a small distance of Bog-house Bar.” Apparently the only
advantage which the new waggon possessed was its ability to turn in a
narrow road, but although Mr. Bourn not only continued to build such
waggons, but also answered his opponents in two tracts, we hear little more
of him. Such “rolling-carts,” however, were also made by one James
Sharpe, of Leadenhall Street. Sharpe was a pushful man. He believed in his
system, and apparently made those in authority see its advantages. His
rollers, you learn, were cylinders of cast iron, two feet in diameter and
sixteen inches broad. An iron spindle was inserted through the centre of
each. Several of Sharpe’s waggons were on the roads, but although every
facility was given them, they never really took the popular fancy. And
indeed, they must have been uncouth monsters rattling along the roads
something after the fashion of the steam-roller of ten years ago. Just about
this time, too, the light-cart faction showed that it was not in the least
moribund. It indited learned and highly technical articles which the
newspapers found space to print with some regularity. A typical reply to
such articles was inserted in the Public Advertiser early in 1767:—
“There are people, I may say,” runs this most impolite retort, “a depraved Number, who write long
letters upon this Subject in an ignorant Manner. Their Errors confirm Mankind of a sensible Turn
what Measures ought to be taken for the Benefit of the trading Part of this Nation. The illiterate
Scribblers he [the last correspondent] means to lash are those that insist upon the Necessity of Horses
going at length instead of being placed abreast. The Power that draft Horses have in being placed
abreast is so well known, that ’tis amazing any body is absurd enough to advance a Doctrine to the
contrary. Then again, these deluded Idiots propagate, that the Loads drawn by eight Horses, having
the Wheels placed nine Inches within nine, are destructive to the Roads, and that the Weight had
better be divided into several narrow wheeled Carriages. Being thus destitute of Judgment upon the
Subject, they do not reflect that the more Horses and Carriages the more the Expence increases,
consequently that the internal Trade of this Kingdom would advance in this Article 100 per Cent. One
Waggon with eight Horses in Pairs, drawing eight Ton upon the new Plan, don’t do near the Mischief
that the same Weight would in two Waggons with narrow Wheels. Besides, four Horses at length
cannot draw four Ton Weight. A late trifling Writer upon the Subject says, the Appearance of a broad
Wheel Waggon was terrific. I think he may be pronounced a Cockney without Ceremony—a Cit that
carries his Wife and Children four Miles out of Town in a Tim-Whisky, and, being most likely an
aukward Driver, suffers the Squalls of his Horn-making Spouse to alarm his Dove-like
Pusillanimity.”

Such a man, the article goes on to say, would surely be frightened if he saw
a three-master sailing the seas, and he and his kind had better keep quiet
upon a subject of which they appeared so entirely and pitiably ignorant.

The contest began to embrace wider issues than the mere wheels of
waggons. It took in the whole question of wheeled carriages. It even went
so far as to include a denunciation of the general policy of the Government,
whose legislation, or lack of it, on this vexed question was, so the light-cart
faction maintained, leading directly to an increase in the price of provisions.
Nothing, apparently, was right. If waggons were constructed on principles
which were as bad as they could be, so were the Stage-coaches, which also
were using the public roads, though some of the controversialists seemed to
forget the fact.
“We are desired,” runs a paragraph in the newspapers of this time, “to inform the Masters of Stage-
Coaches, Machines, &c., that their present Method of hanging their Carriages high with a low Fore-
Wheel, and the body of the Coach hung forwards with the Stems of the Box leaning likewise
forwards, is all upon a ridiculous wrong Principle,—the Effect of the Stupidity of Coachmen and
Wheelwrights; that if they pursue the following Regulations, they will find the same Advantage that
the Nobility and Gentry have already done by adopting this Plan: Let the fore Wheels be three Feet,
six, eight, or ten Inches high, the Stems of the Box upright, and admit as little Weight forward as
possible upon the low Wheel; the Body of the Coach to hang low for the Convenience of Passengers,
as no Benefit arises from its Hanging high to the Horses, their Advantage laying intirely upon the
Height of the Fore-Wheels.”

This in its turn was argued. Then came a proposal to tax private carriages
according to the number of horses used, and see whether such revenue
would not counterbalance in some way the increase in the prices of
provisions, which, of course, was following on this eternal wrangle of the
waggons. Also there was more legislation. Some of the new regulations
read curiously. “No tree or bush is to be allowed to grow or stand within
fifteen feet of the center of the highway, on forfeiture of 10s. by the owner.”
Cartways were to be at least twenty feet wide, and horse causeways three
feet wide. No waggon with more than four horses might have wheels less
than nine inches in width, and some one on horseback or on foot had to go
in front of it. More criticism filled the newspapers, and more inventions
appeared.
Meetings were held. One advertisement which appeared in 1767 has an
agreeable air of mystery about it.
“All persons working Shod-wheel’d Carts, Waggons, Drays, &c. of all Breadths, are desired to meet
at the Sun Tavern in St. Paul’s Churchyard, on Friday next, at four o’clock in the Afternoon. Enquire
for No. 1.”

And more pamphlets appeared, but the roads failed to improve.

Then in 1770 another Act was passed giving privileges to the roller-carts
which were denied to the ordinary waggons. “All carriages,” it ordered,
“moving upon rollers the breadth of fifteen inches, are allowed to be drawn
with any number of horses, or other cattle.” And, as a further inducement,
such carts were to be toll-free for a year. Mr. Sharpe, of Leadenhall Street,
prospered, and wrote to the papers to say so. The rollers, he maintained,
were light and strong, and there was considerably less friction when they
were used. And he challenged the world to disprove his statement.
Whereupon an anonymous writer belonging to the rival faction—possibly
Joseph Jacob, a coachbuilder who had already written against the system—
entered the field, and ventured to suggest that cast iron was exceedingly
brittle and not very light. Mr. Sharpe speedily replied. “The principle,” he
said, and his point is of interest, “upon which rolling carriages are adopted
is simply this, That, by the use of them the roads may be made smooth and
hard, and by that means, become part of the mechanism: for thus the rollers
are made to answer all the purposes of light wheels.” The anonymous writer
appears to have felt the point of this argument, and was forced to retort,
quite unworthily, that in any case Mr. Sharpe’s rollers were not his own
ideas. “No,” replied Sharpe, “they were Mr. Daniel Bourn’s idea—a very
sensible man and good mechanic, and who was also the first contriver of
nine-inch broad wheels, who so long as ten or eleven years ago built a
waggon on rollers at Leominster where he then lived, and brought it to the
Society of Arts and Sciences in the Strand, by whom upon trial it was
rejected.” The anonymous writer left it at that, but the controversy raged
fiercely. It became so highly technical and apparently so interminable that
somebody suggested we should all use flying machines and leave the
wretched roads to look after themselves.
We may leave the war of the wheels here. The roller-carts were discarded
soon afterwards, and M’Adam and his successors rendered for ever such
wars unnecessary. But it must not be wholly neglected, and is a tiny chapter
by itself in the history of locomotion.

We come to the curiosities.
To this period belongs the present State Coach of Great Britain—that
famous “glass-coach” which Londoners had an opportunity of seeing at
King George’s Coronation. Who built it is not known. Sir William

Chambers, “an amateur,” as Thrupp is careful to point out, designed it in
1761 for George III. “There is come forth,” wrote Walpole to Horace Mann,
“a new State Coach which has cost £8000. It is a beautiful object, though
crowded with improprieties. Its supports are Tritons, not very well adapted
to land carriage, and formed of palm trees, which are as little aquatic as
Tritons are terrestrial. The crowd to see it on the opening of Parliament was
greater than at the Coronation, and much more damage done.”
The ornamentation of the coach, indeed, is a mass of contradictions, but Sir
William Chambers did no more than follow tradition. For over a century the
principal State Coaches had had Tritons and other queerly inept figures, and
Tritons there were in the new coach for King George. Gorgeousness was
aimed at, and gorgeousness obtained. There is a detailed contemporary
description of this coach which may be given with an account of the
expenditure, not quite £8000 as Walpole writes, which it entailed.
“The carriage is composed of four Tritons, who support the body by cables fastened to the roots of
their fins: The two placed on the front of the carriage, bear the driver on their shoulders, and are
represented in the action of sounding shells to announce the approach of the monarch of the sea; and
those on the back part, carry the imperial fasces, topt with tridents instead of the ancient axes. The
driver’s footboard is a large scollop shell, supported by a bunch of reeds, and other marine plants.
The pole represents a bundle of lances, and the wheels are imitated from those of the ancient
triumphal chariots. The body of the coach is composed of eight palm-trees, which, branching out at
the top, sustain the roof. The four angular trees are loaded with trophies, allusive to the victories
obtained by Britain during the course of the present glorious war. On the center of the roof stand
three boys, representing the Genii of England, Scotland, and Ireland, supporting on their heads the
Imperial Crown, and holding in their hands the scepter, the sword of state, and ensigns of
knighthood. Their bodies are adorned with festoons of laurel, which fall from thence towards the four
corners of the roof. The intervals between the palm-trees which form the body of the coach, are filled
in the upper parts with plates of glass, and below with pannels adorned with paintings. On the front
pannel is represented BRITANNIA seated on a throne, holding in her hand, a staff of liberty, attended
by Religion, Justice, Wisdom, Valour, Fortitude, and Victory, presenting her with a garland of laurels.
On the back pannel, Neptune issuing from his palace, drawn by sea-horses, and attended by the
Winds, the Rivers, Tritons, Naids, &c., bringing the tribute of the world to the British shore. On one
of the doors are represented Mars, Minerva, and Mercury, supporting the Imperial Crown of Britain;
and on the other, Industry and Ingenuity, giving a cornucopia to the Genius of England. The other
four pannels represent the liberal Arts and Sciences protected; History burning the implements of
war. The inside of the coach is lined with Crimson Velvet richly embroidered with gold. All the wood
work is triple gilt, and all the paintings highly varnished. The harness is of Crimson Velvet, adorned
with buckles and other embelishments of silver gilt; and the saddle-cloths are of Blue Velvet,
embroidered and fringed with gold.”

The account was as follows:—
£ s. d.

Coachmaker 1673 15 0
Carver 2500 0 0
Gilder 933 14 0
Painter 315 0 0
Laceman 737 10 7
Chaser 665 4 6
Harnessmaker 385 15 0
Mercer 202 5 10½
Bitt-maker 99 6 6
Millener 31 3 4
Sadler 10 16 6
Woollen-draper 4 3 6
Cover-maker 3 9 6
———————
£7562 4 3½
———————
Hardly less resplendent was the Lord Mayor’s coach which had been built
at a cost of over a thousand pounds in 1757, and still performs its duties at
stated and regular intervals. It was in 1711 that a Lord Mayor of London
had ridden for the last time on horseback in his State procession, this
distinction falling to Sir Gilbert Heathcote. Since that date he has been
driven in his coach. The 1757 coach was not at first the property of the
corporation, but had been built by subscription amongst the aldermen, to
whom it belonged until 1778, when the corporation bought it. In that year it
had been repaired and repainted—the panels possibly by Cipriani, the
heraldic devices by Catton, one of the original members of the Royal
Academy and “coach-painter to George III.” The Lord Mayor’s coach, like
many other State coaches of this date, is full of allegorical devices of
ornamentation, very plutocratic, very rich, very gorgeous, and incidentally
rather more comfortable to drive in than that in which the British Sovereign
drives to his Coronation.
Coming to lesser matters, we have mention of a carriage which performed a
remarkable feat in 1750.

“On Wednesday 29,” runs a notice of this, “at seven in the morning was decided at Newmarket a
remarkable wager for 1000 guineas, laid by Theobald Taaff, Esq., against the E. of March and Lord
Eglington, who were to provide a four-wheel carriage with a man in it to be drawn by four horses 19
miles in an hour; which was performed in 53 minutes and 27 seconds. The pole was small but lapp’d
with fine wire; the perch had a plate underneath, two cords went on each side from the back carriage
to the fore carriage, fastened to springs: the harness was of thin leather covered with silk; the seat, for
the man to sit on, was of leather straps and covered with velvet; the axles of the wheel were brass,
and had tins of oil to drop slowly for an hour. The breechens for the horses were whale-bone; the bars
were small wood, straightened with steel-springs, as were most parts of the carriage, but all so light
that a man could carry the whole with the harness.” Then followed the names of each of the four
horses—all had riders—and “lord March’s groom sat in the carriage. Two or three other carriages had
been made before, but disapproved; and several horses killed in trials—to the expence of 6 or 700l.”

Now such a carriage—there is a print of it by Bodger—was, of course, little
more than a freak. It was a mere skeleton, fragile and entirely useless as a
mode of conveyance over the ordinary roads. But the knowledge of those
nineteen miles covered easily within the hour must have set people
thinking. Such a speed was almost incredible to those accustomed to five or
six miles an hour. The carriage itself was the work of Mr. J. Wright, a
coachmaker in Longacre, already becoming the home of his brother
tradesmen, and it was doubtless exhibited in London. It showed what could
be done, and must have opened out agreeable vistas. Twenty miles an hour
was something to aim for, and with the war with France concluded, people
were able and willing to give rather more attention to the peaceful arts.
Amongst other things they showed a desire for strange vehicles. I have
mentioned the rolling-carts; there were far queerer carriages, as we shall
see, used by the gentry.
The next curiosity I may speak of was seen in the streets of London during
the following year.
“An odd machine, like an English waggon, drawn by 10 horses, after the Danish manner, belonging
to Baron Rosencrantz, the new Danish envoy, came to his house in Cleveland Row, St. James’s, from
Harwich; a coachman drove it and a postilion rode upon the 4th horse.”

It suggests rather a primitive type of coach, possibly innocent of springs.
What the Baron suffered during his journey through East Anglia must be
left to the imagination.
Eight years later, on August 30th, 1758, another strange carriage was seen.
“This day a remarkable carriage set out from Aldersgate-street for Birmingham, from which it
arrived on Thursday last full of passengers and baggage, without using coomb, or any oily, unctuous,
or other liquid matter whatever, to the wheels or axles, its construction being such as to render all
such helps useless. The inventor has caused to be engraved on the boxes of the wheels, these words,

Friction Annihilated, and is very positive that the carriage will continue to go as long and as easy, if
not longer and easier, without greasing, than any of the ordinary stage-carriages will do with it: This
invention, if really answerable in practice, is perhaps the must useful improvement in mechanicks
that this century has produced.”

“The Carriage Match”
(From a Print by Bodger)
One would like to know who was the inventor of this coach, which,
however, did not prosper—I doubt if it performed another journey—for it
dropped out of history as suddenly as it had appeared. It would seem that
the inventor was a Birmingham man. Possibly he was helped in his scheme
by a very extraordinary character who lived and flourished in that town at
this time—John Baskerville, successively footman, schoolmaster, graver,
japanner, typefounder, and printer—a man whose beautifully printed books
have hardly been excelled to this day. Baskerville had made a fortune
japanning bread-baskets and the like, and now drove about the country
wonderfully dressed in a coach apparently of his own design—he was a
man who had to do everything for himself, and being of somewhat eccentric
disposition, never did anything like anybody else—and his coach, like his
house and his printing and his religious opinions, was like nothing in the
world. He had a considerable idea of his own importance, and his coach
was a reflection of his character. With its wonderful arms—the real

Baskerville arms, to which the printer had no right whatever—it was
standing until quite recently in an old barn in a field at Manton. It was thus
described fifty years ago:—
“The body hangs by double straps, from the coachman’s seat under the carriage, to which they are
fastened, to the frame behind.... It could be either closed or open, and when open the leather top was
rolled back upon crossed straps hung from the coachman’s seat, and hooks secured to the front part of
the body. The whole framework of the carriage has been elaborately carved and gilt, and the panels
painted with what appears to be a brownish green, with flowers and vases, rock and shell-work,
among which were numerous figures of boys and emblems. In the centre panel on each side were the
arms, on the side panel the crest....”

None of the panels were identical, but all had been decorated by his
workmen. “The pattern-cart of his trade,” Hutton, the Birmingham
historian, calls this curiosity, which was once familiar to every village in the
Midlands, and his daughter, Catherine Hutton, could remember the printer,
“in his gold-laced waistcoat, and his painted chariot, each panel a picture,
fresh from his own manufactory of japanned tea-boards.”
A most extraordinary conveyance appeared in London in 1771—this being
“Mr. Moore’s new-invented Coal-carriage,” the wheels of which were no
less than fifteen feet high.42 A great concourse of people followed it through
the streets, and no doubt applauded its ability to draw two caldrons and two
sacks of coal, using only two horses abreast, “with more ease and
expedition than the common carts do one caldron with three horses at
length.” Unfortunately I have not been able to discover a print of this
monstrous vehicle, which, like so many of the other mid-century freaks,
disappeared almost at once.

To this period also belongs that wondrous phaeton, which in a few years
threatened to become so lofty as to suggest to some ingenious artist the
possibility of applying to it some pantograph arrangement whereby its seat
could be raised or lowered at will. This print, called The New Fashioned
Phaeton—Sic itur ad Astra, was published in 1776, a curious mezzotint
showing a lady of fashion stepping out of a first-floor window into the seat
of a phaeton which has been raised to the required height. The phaetons,
indeed, seem to have been built high since their invention, and the
importance of this feature must not be overlooked, when one remembers
that almost every carriage, both English and foreign, was hung enormously

high in the last years of the century, nine or ten steps being sometimes
necessary to get inside.
Exactly when or where the phaeton was first made I cannot determine, but,
like the landau, which has generally, though incorrectly, been considered to
have been first built in 1757, it is mentioned so early as 1747 in the poem
quoted at the end of the last chapter. That it was already popular with the
fashionable people is shown by Tom Warton’s poem, The Phaeton and the
One Horse Chair, which was first published in the Gentleman’s Magazine
for December, 1759. This is worth quoting in its entirety:—

“At Blagrave’s once upon a time,
There stood a phaeton sublime:
Unsully’d by the dusty road
Its wheels with recent crimson glow’d;
Its sides display’d a dazzling hue,
Its harness tight, its lining new:
No scheme-enamoured youth, I ween,
Survey’d the gaily deck’d machine,
But fondly long’d to seize the reins,
And whirl o’er Campsfield’s tempting plains.
Mean time it chanc’d, that hard at hand
A one-horse chair had took its stand;
When thus our vehicle begun
To sneer the luckless chair and one.
‘How could my master place me here
Within thy vulgar atmosphere?
From classic ground pray shift thy station,
Thou scorn of Oxford education!
Your homely make, believe me, man,
Is quite upon the Gothic plan;
And you, and all your clumsey kind,
For lowest purposes design’d:
Fit only with a one ey’d mare,
To drag, for benefit of air,
The country parson’s pregnant wife,
Thou friend of dull domestic life,
Or, with his maid and aunt, to school,
To carry Dicky, on a stool.
Or, haply to some christ’ning gay,
A brace of godmothers convey.—
Or, when blest Saturday prepares
For London tradesmen rest from cares,
’Tis thine, o’er turnpikes newly made,
When timely show’rs the dust have laid,
To bear some alderman serene
To fragrant Hampstead’s sylvan scene.
Nor higher scarce thy merit rises
Among the polish’d dons of Isis.
Hir’d for a solitary crown,
Canst thou to schemes invite the Gown?
Go, tempt some prig, pretending taste,
With hat new cock’d and newly lac’d,
O’er mutton chops, and scanty wine,
At humble Dorchester to dine!
Mean time remember, lifeless drone!
I carry Bucks and Bloods alone.
And oh! when ’er the weather’s friendly,
What inn at Wallingford or Henley,
But still my vast importance feels,
And gladly greets my entring wheels.
And think, obedient to the throng,

, g,
How yon gay streets we sneak along:
While all with envious wonder view
The corner turn’d so quick and true.’
To check an upstart’s empty pride,
Thus sage the one horse chair reply’d.
‘Pray, when the consequence is weigh’d
What’s all your spirit and parade?
From mirth to grief what sad transitions,
To broken bones—and impositions!
Or if no bones are broke, what’s worse,
Your schemes make work for Glass and Nourse.
On us pray spare your keen reproaches,
From one-horse chairs men rise to coaches;
If calm discretion’s steadfast hand,
With cautious skill the reins command,
From me fain health’s fresh mountain springs,
O’er me soft snugness spreads her wings:
And innocence reflects her ray
To gild my calm sequester’d way;
E’en kings might quit their state to share
Contentment and a one horse chair.—
What though, o’er yonder echoing street,
Your rapid wheels resound so sweet,
Shall Isis’ sons thus vainly prize
A rattle of a larger size?’
Blagrave, who during the dispute,
Stood in a corner, snug and mute,
Surpriz’d no doubt, in lofty verse,
To hear his carriages converse,
With solemn care, o’er Oxford ale,
To me disclos’d this wondrous tale.

Moral
“Things may be useful if obscure;
The pace that’s slow is often sure;
When empty pageantries we prize,
We raise but dust to blind our eyes.
The Golden Mean can best bestow
Safety for unsubstantial Show.”
From this poem it is possible to understand that this new-fangled carriage
was used rather as a toy than anything else. That it was dangerous clearly
appears, and it was this very danger which must have contributed not a little
to its popularity. It was driven at a very great rate, and with a recklessness
that excited the anger of the commoner folk—unless, as was often the case,
it excited their admiration instead. The phaeton was the most sporting
carriage you could have. It lent itself to the idea of racing, and there was
always the chance that an accident might be fatal—an allurement in itself.

And so in a very few years there was hardly a fashionable young gentleman
in London who did not possess one of these carriages and drive about,
insolently staring down from his enormously high seat on to the heads of
the crowds below.
Experiments, too, were being made with them. The position of the body
was gradually brought forward until it was directly over the front axle. In
1766 “the Hon. Sir Francis Blake Delavel, Knight of the Bath,” was
experimenting with a “new-invented phaeton the other side of Westminster
Bridge, where he put his horses in a full gallop, and in a moment, by pulling
a string, the horses galloped off and left him in the carriage, which stood
still.” Sir Francis was apparently working at some contrivance to be used in
case the horses chose to run away—a common occurrence, no doubt, and
apt to be far more dangerous to the driver than would be the case with other
carriages, for the body of these early phaetons was slung high above the
undercarriage by the most delicate supports, which bent and creaked and
were obviously unfitted to bear any great strain. The body itself must have

resembled that of the curious chaises which were still to be seen at this time
in France and Italy—just a small chair varnished and sometimes painted,
fixed to four thin and often carved and curled posts, which as often as not
rose merely from the shafts, there being no springs of any kind. The shafts
were very long, and the common practice seems to have been to drive two
horses tandem, with, no doubt, a postilion on the leader. The phaeton was
probably slimmer than these equally curious vehicles, and much higher, and
their ability to turn corners with ease may be deduced from the lines just
quoted.

“Phaetona, or Modern Female Taste,” 1776

“Sir Gregory Gig”
(From a Print by Bunbury, 1782)
A phaeton built for a lady is shown in a print published in 1776, called
Phaetona; or Modern Female Taste. Here the carriage has a very small
body, hung very high on large wheels, the undercarriage being abnormally
long in consequence. The two horses which draw it are very undersized—
another peculiarity possibly demanded by contemporary fashion.
Two years later the scandalous Town and Country Magazine published a
short and probably true tale called The Rival Phaetons, which shows to
what lengths, or, rather, what heights the Bucks of the time would go.
“Lord M——,” it runs, “emulous of shining in the most elevated sphere, first drove a phaeton seven
feet from the ground: Sir John L[ade] immediately made an addition of a supernumerary travelling
case to his, and raised it six inches higher. Lord M—— applied immediately to his coachmaker in
Liquor-pond-street for two travelling cases, with which he speedily drove about the streets for the
entertainment of the public. Sir John L[ade] was stung to the quick; and Lord M—— ’s round hat
was now a mere pigmy to his. His Lordship, happy at rival inventions, immediately added two more
horses to his triumphal car, and drove four for expedition, from Grosvenor Square to Gray’s-inn-lane.
‘Now, my Lad,’ said he, ‘I have you;’ but how vain are the boastings of mankind? The knight
appeared the very next day with a phaeton and six in Holborn. ‘Zounds,’ said his lordship, ‘this is too
much! what shall I do?—how can I match my four with two more? No credit at my banker’s—in
arrears with my horse-dealer—I am at my wit’s end. John, I shall not take an airing in Smithfield to-
day; I’ll give my horses some rest—they were hard worked over the stones yesterday.’ Here the
contest now lies—its importance must be obvious to every beholder—his lordship has not slept these
three nights, and it is imagined he will at length be obliged to take the hint from Colman’s prologue
to the Suicide, and preposterous as it may appear, add a fifth wheel to his phaeton. Sir John is greatly
elated, and may literally be said to be in very high spirits upon his temporary triumph.”

Writing to Mann in June, 1755, Walpole, after regretting the absence of
social news in England, mentions the latest Paris fashion. “All the news
from France,” he says, “is that a new madness reigns there, as strong as that
of Pantins was. This is la fureur des cabriolets, Anglicè, one-horse chairs, a
mode introduced by Mr. [Josiah] Child; they not only universally go in
them, but wear them; that is, everything is to be en cabriolet; the men paint
them on their waistcoats and have them embroidered for clocks to their
stockings; and the women, who have gone all the winter without anything
on their heads, are now muffled up in great caps [calash hoods] with round
sides, in the form of, and scarce less than the wheels of chaises.”
“The cabriolet head-dress,” says Wright,43 “was soon improved into post-
chaises, chairs-and-chairmen, and even broad-waggons.” So we have A
Modern Morning, published in 1757:—
“Then Caelia to her toilet goes,
Attended by some favourite beaux.

‘Nelly! why, where’s the creature fled?
Put my post-chaise upon my head.’
‘Your chair-and-chairman, ma’am, is brought.’
‘Stupid! the creature has no thought!’
‘And, ma’am, the milliner is come,
She’s brought the broad-wheel’d waggon home.’”

In which structures Caelia sallies forth.
These cabriolets rivalled the phaetons as fashionable carriages, and indeed
as the new gigs came to resemble them in every point save the number of
the wheels. There is a print by Colley, dated 1781, showing one of these
new gigs. The small chair, very high, holding two people, is supported by
long curved supports, which in themselves of course acted as springs of a
kind. Two horses are being driven tandem, with a postilion driving the
leader. Another print, by Bunbury, called Sir Gregory Gigg, shows a young
man driving a pair of horses abreast. He is seated in a still smaller, and
slightly lower, chair. This was a curricle rather than a cabriolet, and it was
such a carriage which the braggart sportsman, John Thorpe, describes to
Catharine in Northanger Abbey: “Curricle-hung, you see, seat, trunk,
sword-case, splashing board, lamps, silver-moulding, all, you see, complete;
the ironwork as good as new, or better. He [the first owner] asked fifty
guineas; I closed with him, threw the money down, and the carriage was
mine.” The shape of these curricles is well seen in Bunbury’s drawing.

A glance at the newspaper advertisements of the day will afford an insight
into the various carriages in use. So, for instance, in 1767 we have:—
An exceeding good Post chariot, the Box to take off.
A neet genteel Single Horse Chaise, painted green, and hung upon Steel Springs.
An exceeding fine black gelding that goes well in an Italian Chair, with a Tail.
A very neat fashionable Chaise.
A very good second-hand Phaeton Chaise, that goes either with one horse or two, with Shafts, Poles,
and Harness suitable, Steel Springs, and Iron Axletrees. Also a good second-hand Landau, which
alters occasionally into a Phaeton, steel springs and Iron Axletrees to the Carriage.

The landau, by the way, was a recent invention (though made, as we have
seen, before 1757) which may be dismissed with the observation that it was
a coach made to open when required.
And put up for auction together on one occasion were:—
A green windsor chair,
A good Post-Coach,
A Post Landau,
A very neat Italian Chair,
3 old Chariots,
4 Post-Chaises, and
3 single Chaises.
So run these advertisements, with scraps of information interspersed and
little puffs of the advertiser on every other line. What the windsor chair was
I have not been able to discover; but it is to be noticed both that Italian
chairs (or chaises) were apparently popular, and that the English-built
carriages were being constructed on rather a loftier scale. The curious
reason for this will appear in the next chapter.
Meanwhile I may conclude by drawing attention to two other
advertisements of a curious nature.
The first of these deals with a hackney coachman who had refused to carry
a fare. The second, which I do not think has been reprinted since it
originally appeared in 1767, shows the dangers to which travellers were still
liable.
From the time when the dramatist Congreve had been appointed a
Commissioner for Licensing Hackney Coaches (1695) there had been

frequent legislation with regard to these hackney coaches. At this time there
were stringent regulations, some of which are still in force, with regard to
the taking up of passengers. It was the refusal of a coachman to drive a
gentleman who had hailed him that led to the following pitiful notice:—
“Whereas I William Ford, late driver of an hackney coach, No. 694, did refuse to carry a gentleman,
and did also grosly abuse him; for this I was fined thirty shillings by the Commissioners. I then most
wickedly and falsely swore an assault against, and had the same gentleman carried before Sir John
Fielding, who discharged the warrant. For this false imprisonment, I had a prosecution commenced
against me, and though I made frequent application for pardon, I could not obtain it until the expence
amounted to a sum which has almost ruined me, and which I have paid. I therefore voluntarily [?]
insert this as a caution to other hackney coachmen, who well know that it is from the hope of
forgiveness, which they too often meet, that they venture so daringly to abuse and insult their fare.
“William X Ford
“His mark.”

It was this same Sir John Fielding, the blind magistrate, who inserted, some
little time afterwards, the following warning to travellers and others:—
“To the Stage Coachmen, Carriers, Book-keepers,
“Tradesmen in general, and others.
“Public Office, Bow Street, September 24, 1767.
“A most necessary caution at this season of the year.
“The remainder of that Gang of unhappy wretches, who live in Idleness and subsist on Plunder, and
who make it their particular Business, from this Time to the End of Winter to cut off Trunks from
behind Post Chaises, to steal Goods out of Waggons, from the Baskets of Stage-Coaches, Boots of
Hackney Coaches, and out of Carts which carry Goods to and from Inns, &c. (though but few in
Number) having already begun to wait in the Dusk of the Evenings, at the different Avenues leading
to Town, and at several Inns, &c., for the above Purposes; ’tis hoped that an Attention to the
following Observation, may be the Means of preserving much Property, which when once lost by
these Means, is difficult to recover, or the Offenders to be detected.
“1. Those who cannot conveniently fasten their Luggage before them in Post Chaises, should take
care to secure it behind with a small Chain instead of a Rope or Strip, and to place the Padlock that
fastens it out of Sight or Reach; and those who have Servants to attend them, should direct them to
keep close to the Carriage as they come to London, for these Plunderers extend themselves for fifteen
Miles out of Town to the very Inns themselves in London, and are ready in an amazing Manner to
take Advantage of the least Neglect.
“2. As it is common for Persons on their Arrival in Town to take a Hackney Coach when they come
on the Stones, in the Boot of which they generally deposit their Luggage, they should be cautious
never to send the Coachman from his Box, to make an Enquiry, &c. for if he be absent a Minute his
Fare will be in great danger of losing his Property, by some of the above Offenders, who attend at the
Inns at the Entrance of the Town, in order to follow Hackney Coaches to the Places where they set
down or stop, to watch an Opportunity to plunder.

“3. Nothing can secure the Goods in Waggons, or the Baskets of Stage Coaches, but the Care of the
Drivers, who should have them watched both on and off the Stones, and the Proprietors of the several
Road Waggons should have a Man at least on Purpose to guard them five or ten Miles out of Town, a
step which is absolutely necessary.
“J. Fielding.”

Also, of course, there were the highwaymen.

Chapter the Eighth
THE AGE OF TRANSITION
“So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourne, glides
The Derby Dilly, carrying three insides.
One in each corner sits and lolls at ease,
With folded arms, propt back, and outstretched knees;
While the press’d Bodkin, pinch’d and squeezed to death,
Sweats in the mid-most place, and scolds, and pants for breath.”
Canning.

“
I N the year 1790,” wrote Mr. William Felton in an account of the
carriages of his day, “the art of Coach-building had been in a gradual
state of improvement for half a century past, and had now arrived at a
very high degree of perfection, with respect to the beauty, strength, and
elegance of our English carriages.” And the most cursory glance at his
carefully compiled, if technical book, is evidence enough of the truth of his
statement. At this time, indeed, the old flamboyant ornamentation had all
but disappeared from the carriages, which were in process of taking on the
appearance they largely retain to this day. Most vehicles, it is true, were still
hung far higher than those of the nineteenth century—a fact due to the
curious, though mistaken, belief, “that a high and short load possessed some
mysterious property which made it easier to draw than a long one,” but new
principles were being adopted as the result of careful experiments. Prizes
were offered by learned societies, and won. Men like Dr. Lovell Edgeworth,
who had been experimenting so early as 1768, and had shown that springs
—then but little understood—were at least as advantageous to the horses as
to the passengers, were at work. But it was only in 1804, when Mr. Obadiah
Elliott produced his patent elliptic springs, which rendered unnecessary the
old heavy perch, that a definite period in the art of coach-building was
clearly marked. Thenceforth the older, cumbrous machines disappeared
from the roads and made way for the lighter and more comfortable
carriages which were to be seen at the time of Queen Victoria’s accession.
The question of the roads, too, was receiving the attention of experts.
Anstice and Edgeworth published the results of their investigations, but
were both completely overshadowed by James M’Adam, who about 1810

started those metal roads which have proved so wonderfully successful.
Before his time gravel and the like had formed the basis of road-material;
M’Adam used granite and other allied substances, and produced such a
surface as had not been seen since the Romans had constructed their vast
highways hundreds of years before.
Methods of travelling, moreover, were altering. The stage-coaches, useful
though they were, disappeared before Palmer’s mail-coaches, which held
their supremacy until the era of steam revolutionised locomotion. Post-
chaises were still in favour, and less dangerous than of old. Incidentally, the
highwaymen were taking to less romantic pursuits. And what is true of
England was also in a great measure true of Europe as a whole. North
America, too, at this period was providing herself with coachbuilders, who
produced distinctive vehicles peculiarly adapted to the conditions of that
country.
It was, in fact, a transition period.
We may consider in the first place such types of carriages as already
existed. There is a whole catalogue of them, and only one of the older
carriages is conspicuously absent. This was the calash—“now almost
obsolete for any purpose,” comments Leigh Hunt, and indeed there is
hardly a reference to it. But the others still survived, and one characteristic
is immediately noticeable; the wheels of almost every sort of carriage at this
time were enormously large. Consequently the carriages were generally
very long. Crane-neck perches were still used, and what was called an
upright spring. A coach of this period, belonging to the museum at South
Kensington, is now exhibited in Edinburgh. It was built for the Lord
Chancellor of Ireland. It has “a large body,” says Thrupp, describing it,
“with deep panels, flat-sided, longer on the roof than at the elbow, with
windows in the upper quarters; the carriage with two crane perches (easily
seen in the accompanying photograph), Berlin fashion, whip springs, and
very high wheels. There is no footboard, whilst a hammercloth for the
footman is raised upon scroll ironwork, very well made.” Napoleon’s state
coach, built at the time of his second marriage, and preserved at Vienna
along with a chariot and barouche, is of a somewhat similar pattern. His
travelling coach, with all its household contrivances, is now at Madame
Tussaud’s exhibition, and must be familiar to all Londoners. Two Spanish
coaches of the period are also to be seen at Madrid.

George III’s Posting Chariot
(At South Kensington)
The Lord Chancellor’s coach was of course an exceptional carriage, and
Mr. Felton is careful to give details of such lesser coaches as were being
made. These he catalogues as a plain coach, a neat ornamental town coach,
a landau, a travelling coach, an elegant crane-neck coach, and a vis-à-vis,
which last, he says, “is seldom used by any other than persons of high
character and fashion.” And, indeed, this particular carriage is to be seen in
numerous plates and caricatures of the time.
Coming to the chariots and post-chaises, there is a good example of an
English carriage of the kind at South Kensington. This apparently belonged
to George III. The photograph gives but a poor idea of the great size of the
original. The wheels are taller than an average man, and the length of the
carriage is prodigious. The single window on either side is small, the panels
are deep, and there is a small platform at the back of the body to carry
luggage. A footboard still remains with supports for the driver’s seat that
has disappeared.

It was in such a chariot, though even larger than George III’s, that the
unhappy King and Queen of France attempted to escape from Paris—that

“miserable new Berline,” as Carlyle calls it, which was the very last
carriage to be used for such a purpose.
“On Monday night, the Twentieth of June, 1791,” runs Carlyle’s own wonderful account, “about
eleven o’clock, there is many a hackney-coach and glass-coach (carrosse de remise), still rumbling,
or at rest, on the streets of Paris.” Into one of these glass-coaches steps “a hooded Dame with two
hooded Children, a thickset Individual, in round hat and peruke.” The coachman is Fersen himself.
“Dust shall not stick to the hoofs of Fersen: crack! crack! the Glass-coach rattles, and every soul
breathes lighter. But is Fersen on the right road? Northeastward, to the Barrier of Saint Martin and
Metz Highway, thither were we bound; and lo, he drives right Northward! The royal Individual, in
round hat and peruke, sits astonished; but right or wrong, there is no remedy. Crack, crack, we go
incessant, through the slumbering City. Seldom, since Paris rose out of mud, or the Longhaired Kings
went in Bullock-carts, was there such a drive. Mortals on each hand of you, close by, stretched out
horizontal, dormant; and we alive and quaking! Crack, crack, through the Rue de la Chaussée
d’Antin,—these windows, all silent, of Number 42, were Mirabeau’s. Towards the Barrier not of
Saint-Martin, but of Clichy on the utmost North! Patience, ye royal Individuals; Fersen understands
what he is about. Passing up the Rue de Clichy, he alights for one moment at Madame Sullivan’s:
‘Did Count Fersen’s Coachman get the Baroness de Korff’s new Berline?’—‘Gone with it an hour-
and-half ago’ grumbles responsive but drowsy porter. ‘C’est bien.’ Yes, it is well;—though had but
such hour-and-half been lost, it were still better. Forth therefore, O Fersen, fast, by the Barrier de
Clichy; then Eastward along the Outer Boulevard, what horses and whipcord can do!

The Lord Chancellor of Ireland’s Coach
(Now in Edinburgh)
“Thus Fersen drives, through the ambrosial night. Sleeping Paris is now all on the right-hand of him;
silent except for some snoring hum: and now he is Eastward as far as the Barrier de Saint-Martin;
looking earnestly for Baroness de Korff’s Berline. This Heaven’s Berline he at length does descry,
drawn up with its six Horses, his own German Coachman waiting on the box.... The august Glass-
Coach fare, six Insides, hastily packs itself into the new Berline; two Bodyguard Couriers behind.

The Glass-coach itself is turned adrift, its head towards the City; to wander whither it lists,—and be
found next morning in a ditch. But Fersen is on the new box, with its brave new hammer-cloths;
flourishing his whip; he bolts forward towards Bondy. There a third and final Bodyguard Courier of
ours ought surely to be, with post-horses already ordered. There likewise ought that purchased
Chaise, with the two waiting-maids and their band-boxes, to be; whom also her Majesty could not
travel without....
“Once more by Heaven’s blessing, it is all well. Here is the sleeping Hamlet of Bondy; Chaise with
Waiting-women; horse all ready, and postilions with their churn-boots, impatient in the dewy dawn.
Brief harnessing done, the postilions with their churn-boots vault into the saddles; brandish circularly
their little noisy whips....
“But scouts, all this while, and aides-de-camp, have flown forth faster than the leathern
Diligences....”

The grand new Berline has been seen in the Wood of Bondy.
“Miserable new Berline!” apostrophises Carlyle. “Why could not Royalty go in some old Berline
similar to that of other men? Flying for life, one does not stickle about his vehicle. Monsieur, in a
commonplace travelling-carriage, is off Northwards; Madame, his Princess, in another, with variation
of route; they cross one another while changing horses, without look of recognition; and reach
Flanders, no man questioning them....
“All runs along, unmolested, speedy, except only the new Berline. Huge leathern vehicle:—huge
Argosy, let us say, or Acapulco-ship; with its heavy stern-boat of Chaise-and-pair; with its three
yellow Pilot-boats of mounted Bodyguard Couriers, rocking aimless round it and ahead of it, to
bewilder, not to guide! It lumbers along lurchingly with stress, at a snail’s pace; noted of all the
world.”

It has indeed been seen, and soldiers rush after it, and the huge Berline is
brought back to Paris in what was surely the most terrible procession ever
witnessed....

The Korff Berline was probably not built so high as some of the English
posting chariots of the time. The perch of these was often more than four
feet from the ground. According to Felton you could buy a plain post-chaise
for £93, or a neat town chariot for £91. Or you might have a landaulet, a
demi-landau, or a sulky, which at this time was “a light carriage built
exactly in the form of a post-chaise, chariot, or demi-landau,” and like the
vis-à-vis was “contracted on the seat, so that only one person can sit
thereon, and is called a sulky from the proprietor’s desire of riding alone.”
The landaulet was to the landau as the chariot was to the coach. It was
simply a chariot made to open. The hood was of “greasy harness leather,
disagreeable to the touch or smell, and continually needing oil and
blacking” rubbed into it to keep it supple and black.

Then there was the phaeton, which had lost none of its popularity, and was
built as lofty as ever.
“The handsomest mixture of danger with dignity,” wrote Leigh Hunt, “in the shape of a carriage, was
the tall phaeton with its yellow wings. We remember looking up to it with respect in our childhood,
partly for its loftiness, partly for its name, and partly for the show it makes in the prints to novels of
the period. The most gallant figure which modern driving ever cut was in the person of a late Duke of
Hamilton; of whom we have read or heard somewhere, that he used to dash round the streets of
Rome, with his horses panting, and his hounds barking about his phaeton, to the equal fright and
admiration of the Masters of the World, who were accustomed to witness nothing higher than a
lumbering old coach, or a cardinal on a mule.”

But far more conspicuous a figure than this Duke of Hamilton was Colonel
(Tommy) Onslow, afterwards Lord Cranley, of whom there is a caricature
by Gillray, with the following once famous lines:—
“What can little T. O. do?
Why drive a phaeton and two.
Can little T. O. do no more?
Yes, drive a phaeton and four!”

The Colonel, however, was surpassed, as we have seen, by Sir John Lade,
who drove six greys. George IV, when Prince of Wales, was satisfied with a
pair, but his horses were “caparisoned with blue harness stitched with red,”
their manes “being plaited with scarlet ribbons, while they wore plumes of
feathers on their heads.”
The structure of these phaetons differed. Gillray’s picture shows the body
hung midway between the two axles, though he may not have troubled to be
exact in this respect. The commonest form was the perch-high phaeton, in
which the body was hung directly over the front axle, the hind wheels being
much larger than those in front, and the bottom of the body being five feet
from the ground. Others were less lofty. In the one-horse phaeton the body
was hung over the back axle with “grasshopper” springs, and “was joined to
the forecarriage, which was without springs, by wooden stays”—a very
different carriage. This in time led to the pony phaeton used by George IV
in 1824. Here all idea of great height had been abandoned so as to allow His
Majesty to enter his carriage without the fatigue of climbing several steps.
Queen Victoria’s pony phaeton was a similar vehicle, and indeed it was
from such a carriage that the victoria was evolved at a rather later date.
“What connexion there could be,” wrote Bridges Adams some forty years later in a passage not
altogether devoid of epithets, “between this vehicle and the fabled car of the Sun-God, to obtain for it
such a title, it is difficult to conceive.... The vehicle looked like a mechanical illustration of the play

of Much Ado about Nothing. It was a contrivance to make an enormously high and dangerous seat for
two persons, inconvenient to drive from, and at the same time to consume as much material and mix
as many unsightly and inharmonious lines as possible. The framework of the carriage was
constructed with two iron perches, the outline of which was hideously ugly; but the camel-like hump
had at least the mechanical advantage of permitting a higher fore wheel than could otherwise be used.
The shape of the body was as though the rudest possible form capable of affording a seat had been
put together. An ungraceful form of upright pillar or standard was first selected, into which was
framed a horizontal ugly curve for a seat, connected at the top by an ungainly-looking elbow, and a
formal serpentine curve behind, from which was projected like an excrescence an ugly leathern box
called a sword-case. The front of the upright pillar was continued into a most formal curve, and from
its point rose an ungraceful bracket, to support a footboard, on the extreme edge of which was coiled
an ugly piece of leather called an apron. The construction of the body was such that it could not
possibly hold together by the strength of its own framing; and to remedy this, a curved iron stay was
introduced in the worst possible taste.... The fore springs rather resembled the flourishing strokes
made by a schoolmaster, when heading a copy-book or Christmas piece, than any legitimate
mechanical contrivance; and the motion must have been detestable, rendering the act of driving
difficult, and lessening the power of the drivers over their horses. The servant’s seat behind”—not
always present—“placed on curved blocks without any springs, completed this extraordinary-looking
vehicle. To sit on such a seat, when the horses were going at much speed, would require as much skill
as is evinced by a rope-dancer at the theatre.”

Which shows that in 1837, at any rate, people’s ideas had undergone a
considerable change with regard to a really fashionable equipage.
The only other four-wheeled vehicle I need mention here was the sociable
which, according to Felton, was “merely a phaeton with a double or treble
body.” It was made with or without doors, and with or without a driving
seat. A good example of this carriage is shown in Gillray’s print The
Middlesex Election of 1804.
Coming to the two-wheeled vehicles, the chief of these were the curricle,
the gig or chaise, and the whiskey. As a general rule it may be taken that
when a gig had two horses it was called a curricle, and when there was only
one, a chaise. In the Prince Regent’s time the curricle was “the most stylish
of all conveyances.” In shape nearly all these gigs were identical, though
one reads that the notorious “Romeo” Coates drove in one whose body was
shaped like a shell.44 They were of various heights, a particularly lofty one
being known in Ireland as the suicide gig. The caned whiskey was a gig
whose body, “fixed upon the shafts—which again were connected with the
long horizontal springs by scroll irons,” had a movable hood. The Rib Chair
was similar to the whiskey, but without springs. It is really only possible to
differentiate properly between these light carriages and the other hybrids, so
soon to appear, by means of prints and photographs. To the non-technical
mind they are almost identical with each other.

“The prettiest of these vehicles,” Leigh Hunt writes, after confessing that he has no ambition to drive
tandem, as was so often done, or to run into danger with a phaeton, “is the curricle, which is also the
safest. There is something worth looking at in a pair of horses, with that sparkling pole of steel laid
across them. It is like a bar of music, comprising their harmonious course. But to us, even gigs are
but a sort of unsuccessful gentility. The driver, to all intents and purposes, had better be on the
horse.”

I need say very little of the public carriages. There is, however, one point in
connection with the later stage-coaches which bears upon the question that
was only solved by Obadiah Elliott in 1804. On September 20, 1770,
according to the Annual Register, there was an accident to one of them
which was growing increasingly common.
“It were greatly to be wished,” runs this account, “the stage coaches were put under some regulations
as to the number of persons and quantity of baggage. Thirty-four persons were in and about the
Hertford Coach this day when it broke down by one of the braces giving way.”

No wonder it broke down! It is interesting to note, however, that even the
more humane stage-coachmen, so far from objecting, as you might imagine
they would have done, to such overcrowding, actively encouraged it and for
a very odd reason. At this time springs of a kind were being applied to the
coaches, which consequently travelled with greater ease than before, but the
coaches themselves happened also to be built very high, like all other
vehicles, and nothing could convince the silly coachmen that the easy
running was not due to a heavy load being applied to the top of a high
carriage. It became necessary, therefore, to pass legislation, which was
accordingly done in 1785 and again in 1790, restricting the number of
passengers allowed.
At this time, too, Mr. John Palmer’s first diligence, or mail-coach, had
appeared as a quick and cheap method of carrying letters, and these mail-
coaches very rapidly took the fancy of passengers. Palmer, however, was a
man with great powers of organisation, and before the new century had
dawned, had his coaches running upon every high road in the country.45
“The mail coaches,” wrote a French nobleman after visiting this country at the beginning of the new
century, “afford means of travelling with great celerity into all parts of England. They are Berlins,
firm and light, holding four persons; they carry only letters, and do not take charge of any luggage.
They are drawn by four horses, and driven by one coachman; they travel never less than seven to
eight miles an hour.”

One or two particular inventions may also be noted. This same nobleman,
continuing his account, says:—

“Stage Coaches are very numerous, they are kept in every City, and even in small towns; all these
carriages have small wheels, and hold six persons, without reckoning the outside passengers. About
twenty years ago a carriage was invented in the form of a gondola; it is long, and will hold sixteen
persons sitting face to face; the door is behind, and this plan ought to be generally adopted, as the
only means of escaping a great danger when the horses run away. What adds to the singularity of
these carriages is, that they have eight wheels; thus dividing equally the weight, they are less liable to
be overturned, or cut up the roads; they are, besides, very low and easy.
“When these long coaches first appeared at Southampton, a City much frequented in summer by rich
inhabitants of London, who go there to enjoy sea bathing, they had (as every new thing has) a great
run, so that it was nearly impossible to get a place in them.
“One of the principal Innkeepers, jealous of this success, set up another, and, to obtain the preference,
he reduced the fare to half-price, at that time a guinea. In order to defeat this manœuvre, the first
proprietor made a still greater reduction, so that, at last, the receipts did not cover the expenses. But
the two rivals did not stop here; for one of them announced that he would take nothing of gentlemen
who might honour him by choosing his Coach, but he would beg them to accept a bottle of Port
before their departure.”

“English Travelling, or the First Stage from Dover”
(From a Drawing by Rowlandson, 1792)
But not even such a temptation seems to have made these long coaches a
success.
The other innovation, though properly belonging to a slightly later date, was
the patent coach invented by the Reverend William Milton. He explained
his coach in a letter to Sir John Sinclair.46

“Permit me, Sir, to explain, in a few words, the nature of my invention.—In a stage-coach, an
overturn is rendered much less likely to happen, by placing as much as possible of the heavy luggage
of each journey, in a luggage-box below the body of the carriage; the body not being higher than
usual. This brings down the centre of gravity of the total coach and load (a point which at present, at
every inequality of the road and change of quarter, vacillates most dangerously), it brings it down to a
place of great comparative safety.
“To prevent the fatal and disastrous consequences of breaking down, there are placed, at the sides or
corners of this luggage-box, small strong idle wheels, with their periphery below its floor; ready, in
case of a wheel coming off or breaking, or an axle-tree failing, to catch the falling carriage, and
instantly to continue its previous velocity; thereby preventing that sudden stop to rapid motion, which
at present constantly attends the breaking down, and which has so frequently proved fatal to the
coachman and outside passengers.—The bottom of this luggage-box is meant to be about twelve or
thirteen inches from the ground, and the idle wheels seven, six, or five. If at a less distance still, no
inconvenience will result; for when either of them takes over an obstacle in the road, it instantly, and
during the need, discharges its respective active wheel from the ground, and works in its stead.”

Several coaches were built to Mr. Milton’s specifications, but like so many
other patent coaches they were speedily forgotten.
It is only necessary to add here that about 1800 “outside passengers were
first enabled to ride on the roofs of coaches without incurring the imminent
hazard of being thrown off whenever their vigilance and their anxious grip
relaxed.” For it was then, says Mr. Harper, “that fore and hind boots, framed
to the body of the coach, became general, thus affording foothold to the
outsides. Mail coaches were not the cause of this change, for they originally
carried no passengers on the roof. We cannot fix the exact date of this
improvement,” he adds, “and may suppose that in common with every other
innovation, it was gradual, and only introduced when new coaches became
necessary on the various routes. The immediate result was to democratise
coach-travelling.”
On the other hand, it became a common practice amongst the smart youths
of the day to drive the stage-coaches themselves. So we read in a paper of
this time:—
“The education of our youth of fashion is improving daily: several of them now drive Stage Coaches
to town, and open the door of the Carriage for passengers, while the coachman remains on the box.
They farm the perquisites from the Coachman on the road, and generally pocket something into the
bargain.”

Which was, according to the writer, “a fit subject for ridicule on any stage.”
The post-chaises were as ubiquitous as ever. The French nobleman, from
whose book I have already quoted, entered one so soon as he landed at

Dover.

“French Travelling, or the First Stage from Dover”
(From a Drawing by Rowlandson, 1785)
“The Post,” he records, “is not, as on the Continent, an establishment dependent upon the
Government; individuals undertake this business; most of the inns keep Post Chaises; they are good
Carriages with four wheels, shut close, the same kind as we call in France diligences de ville. They
hold three persons in the back with ease are narrow, extremely light; well hung, and appear the more
easy, because the roads are not paved with stone. The postilions wear a jacket with sleeves, tight
boots, and, altogether, their dress is light, and extremely neat; and they are not only civil, but even
respectful. On your arrival at the Inn, you are shown into a good room, where a fire is kept in winter,
and tea is ready every hour of the day. In five minutes at most, another Chaise is ready for your
departure. If we compare these customs with those of Germany, or particularly in the North, where
you must often wait whole hours to change horses, in a dirty room, heated by an iron stove, the smell
of which is suffocating; or even those of France, where the most part of the post-houses, not being
Inns, have no accommodation for travellers, it is evident that the advantage is not in favour of the
Continent.”

Indeed, England at this time was superior to most European countries so far
as her posting-carriages and roads were concerned. Leigh Hunt, in
expressing his delight of them, was only following in the wake of Johnson
and the others who had always enjoyed their cross-country rides.
“A post-chaise,” he says, “involves the idea of travelling which, in company of those we love, is
home in motion. The smooth running along the road, the fresh air, the variety of scene, the leafy

roads, the bursting prospects, the clatter through a town, the gaping gaze of a village, the hearty
appetite, the leisure (your chaise waiting only upon your own movements), even the little
contradictions to home-comfort, and the expedients upon which they set us, all put the animal spirits
at work, and throw a novelty over the road of life. If anything could grind us young again, it would
be the wheels of a post-chaise. The only monotonous sight is the perpetual up-and-down movement
of the postilion, who, we wish exceedingly, could take a chair. His occasional retreat to the bar which
occupies the place of a box, and his affecting to sit upon it, only remind us of its exquisite want of
accommodation. But some have given the bar, lately, a surreptitious squeeze in the middle, and
flattened it a little into something obliquely resembling an inconvenient seat.”

Prints of these post-chaises are common. Rowlandson, in particular, loved
to draw them. Gillray, too, shows the post-chaise in Scotland and Ireland,
where apparently things were not quite so easy as in England. The Scottish
post-chaise is shown breaking to pieces, and the Irish chaise is little better
than a wreck, with the body held together by a piece of rope, with hardly a
spoke left to the wheels, and a roof put roughly together of thatched straw.
The unfortunate lady inside has put one foot through the panelling and
another through the floor, which reminds one that it was of an Irish post-
chaise that the famous story of the poor man who had to run with the
carriage because the bottom had fallen out was originally told.

It remains to consider a few particular eighteenth-century carriages of other
countries.

Early American Shay
(From “Stage Coach and Tavern Days”

[A. M. Earle])

English Posting Chariot—Early Nineteenth
Century
(From a Photograph)
Mr. Stratton thinks that the Indians of North America had rude litters at an
early date. The Incas of Peru certainly possessed magnificently decorated
sedans or palanquins, in which they progressed through their kingdom. It
was not, however, until the seventeenth century that wheeled carriages
appeared in America. Sir Thomas Browne quotes from an English
traveller’s book, which states that by the middle of this century there were
at least twenty thousand coaches in Mexico, and possibly this was true. But
into North America carriages filtered but slowly. There had been coaches in
Boston so early as 1669, and in Connecticut in 1685. William Penn, writing
to Logan in 1700, bids his servants have the coach ready. The calash was
also known at that time, but being “clumsy” was less popular than the
French cabriolet or gig, which had been brought over by the Huguenots,
and rapidly transformed into the well-known one-horse shay, which in its
turn was supplanted by the more comfortable and certainly more distinctive
buggy.
Bennet, travelling in America in 1740, saw many carriages in Boston.

“There are several families,” he records, “in Boston that keep a coach and a pair of horses, and some
few drive with four horses; but for chaises and saddle-horses, considering the bulk of the place, they
outdo London. They have some nimble, lively horses for the coach, but not any of that beautiful
black breed so common in London.... The country carts and wagons are generally drawn by oxen,
from two to six, according to the distance, or the burden they are laden with.”

A Boston advertisement of 1743 mentions “a very handsome chariot, fit for
town or country, lined with red coffy, handsomely carved and painted, with
a whole front glass, the seat-cloth embroidered with silver, and a silk fringe
round the seat.” This was offered for sale by John Lucas, a local
coachbuilder, and had most probably been built by him.
At this time several stage-coaches were running, and the shay was being
used by even the poorer folk. A Philadelphian advertisement of 1746 speaks
of “two very handsome chairs, with very good geers,” and at this time, too,
the Italian chairs and curricles were also popular. They were generally
driven tandem.
Even more distinctive than the shay, however, was the coachee, which is
described by Isaac Weld in his travels (1795):—
“The body of it is rather longer than a coach, but of the same shape. In the front it is left quite open
down to the bottom, and the driver sits on a bench under the roof of the carriage. There are two seats
in it for passengers, who sit in it with their faces to the horses. The roof is supported by small props,
which are placed at the corners. On each side of the door, above the panels, it is quite open; and, to
guard against bad weather, there are curtains which let down from the roof and fasten to buttons on
the outside. The light wagons are in the same construction,” he adds, “and are calculated to hold from
four to twelve people. The wagon has no doors, but the passengers scramble in the best way they can
over the seat of the driver. The wagons are used universally for stage-coaches.”

The American stage-waggon is also described by another Englishman,
Thomas Twining, who visited the country in 1795.
“The vehicle,” says he, “was a long car with four benches. Three of these in the interior held nine
passengers. A tenth passenger was seated by the side of the driver on the front bench. A light roof was
supported by eight slender pillars, four on each side. Three large leather curtains suspended to the
roof, one at each side and the third behind, were rolled up or lowered at the pleasure of the
passengers. There was no place nor space for luggage, each person being expected to stow his things
as he could under his seat or legs. The entrance was in front over the driver’s bench. Of course, the
three passengers on the back seat were obliged to crawl across all the other benches to get to their
places. There were no backs to the benches to support and relieve us during a rough and fatiguing
journey over a newly and ill-made road.”

The body of these public carriages was high, and the back wheels were
larger than those in front. A somewhat similar conveyance is still used to-
day in some of the northern districts of Australia.

The commonest vehicle in Russia at this time seems to have been the
taranta, which is described as “a travelling carriage whose body resembles
a flat-bottomed punt.” The natives apparently considered that it was a very
comfortable carriage, and it certainly could hold a great quantity of luggage
and wraps, but the foreigners using it did not always express a similar
opinion.
“We travelled certainly with speed,” says Madame Pfeiffer of the taranta, in her Journey round the
World, “but any one who had not a body of iron, or a well-cushioned spring carriage, would not find
this very agreeable, and would certainly prefer to travel slower upon these uneven, bad roads. The
post-carriage, for which ten kopecs a station is paid, is nothing more than a very short wooden open
car, with four wheels. Instead of a seat some hay is laid in it, and there is just room enough for a
small chest, upon which the driver sits. These cars naturally jolt very much. There is nothing to take
hold of, and it requires some care to avoid being thrown out. The draught consists of three horses
abreast; over the centre one a wooden arch is fixed, on which hang two or three bells, which
continually made a most disagreeable noise. In addition to this, imagine the rattling of the carriage,
and the shouting of the driver, who is always in great activity urging on the poor animals, and it may
be easily understood that, as is often the case, the carriage arrives at the station without the
travellers.”

Even less “genteel” than the taranta was the kibitka, “a common posting-
waggon,” according to Stratton, “consisting of a huge frame of unhewn
sticks, fastened firmly upon two axles, the fore part of it having underneath
a solid block of hard wood, on which it rests, elevating it so as to allow the
wheels to play.”
Other Russian carriages were the teleka, the telashka, and the better-known
droitzschka, or, as it was known in England, drosky—an improvement
originally of the sledge by the mere addition of springs and wheels. In
Norway the carriole was very similar to the original French gig, and like
the char-à-cote of Switzerland, was long and narrow and peculiarly adapted
for mountainous countries. But in nearly all the colder regions, wheel
carriages were scarcely used at all, the snow making some kind of sledge
far more convenient. Captain King, in his Journey across Asia, gives a
detailed description of the sledges then in use (1784) in Kamtschatka.
“The body of the sledge,” he says, “is about four feet and a half long and a foot wide, made in the
form of a crescent, of light, tough wood, strongly bound together with wicker-work; which in those
belonging to the better sort of people is elegantly stained of a red and blue colour, and the seat
covered with bear-skins, or other furs. It is supported by four legs, about two feet high, which rest on
two long flat pieces of wood, extending a foot at each end beyond the body of the sledge. These are
turned up before, in the manner of a skate, and shod with the bone of some sea animal. The fore part
of the carriage is ornamented with thongs of leather and tassels of coloured cloth; and from the cross-
bar, to which the harness is joined, are hung links of iron, or small bells, the jingling of which they

conceive to be encouraging to the dogs. They are seldom used to carry more than one person at a
time, who sits aside [? astride], resting his feet on the lower part of the sledge, and carrying his
provisions and other necessaries, wrapped up in a bundle, behind him. The dogs are usually five in
number, yoked two and two, with a leader. The reins not being fastened to the head of the dogs, but to
the collar, have little power over them, and are therefore generally hung upon the sledge, whilst the
driver depends entirely on their obedience to his voice for the direction of them.... The driver is also
provided with a crooked stick, which answers the purpose both of whip and reins; as by striking it
into the snow, he is enabled to moderate the speed of the dogs, or even to stop them entirely.... Our
party consisted in all of ten sledges. That in which Captain Gore was carried, was made of two lashed
together, and abundantly provided with furs and bear-skins; it had ten dogs, yoked four abreast, as
had also some of those that were heavy laden with baggage.”

In Europe and North America these sledges were also used, and could be
highly ornamented. Two of this kind, narrow and low, may be seen at South
Kensington. They are mentioned by several travellers. Edward Wright,
visiting Amsterdam in 1719, had seen “several coach-bodies drawn upon
sledges,” and explained that the inhabitants did not use wheels “to avoid
shaking the foundations of the houses.” Holcroft, too, at the end of the
century, journeyed from Hamburg to Paris by way of Holland, and did not
hide his surprise at the appearance of these sledges.
“And pray, sir, what are you?” he asks in the Shandean manner. “We never saw so staring or so
strange an animal before.”
“’Tis a tropical bird, on a mast.”
“Can it be? A coach without wheels? Yes: dragged on a sledge by a single horse, and a lady in it.”

Holcroft also noticed in Amsterdam what he called “a travelling
haberdasher’s shop with wheels, rolled through the streets by its master.”
This appears to have been some sort of light travelling booth. In Paris itself,
he records, “there is scarcely a street which is not so narrow as to be
extremely dangerous to foot passengers. They are rendered more so at some
times by the extreme carelessness, and at others by the brutal insolence, of
coachmen. There is no foot pavement; and the only guard against carriages
is formed by large stones placed at certain distances, but close to the wall.”
In Germany, too, he found little to please him, and warns Englishmen
against bringing English-built carriages into that country, for of a surety
they will be “broken up.” England, indeed, about this time, seems to have
been by far the most progressive country as regards locomotion.

Chapter the Ninth
INVENTIONS GALORE
“Prime of Life to ‘go it!’ where’s the place like London:
Four-in-hand to-day, tomorrow you may be undone:
Where the Duke and the ’prentice they dress much the same:
You cannot tell the difference, excepting by the name!
Then push along with four-in-hand, while others drive at random,
In buggy, gig or dog-cart, in curricle or tandem.”
Egan, Life in London.

I F William Felton’s book shows the great improvements that had taken
place in English carriage-building during the latter half of the eighteenth
century, William Bridges Adams’s English Pleasure Carriages,
published in 1837, sufficiently shows the enormous improvements which
had followed upon Obadiah Elliott’s invention of the elliptic springs.47 In
the first place you had a whole series of light, perchless carriages being
built, and in the second you had the new macadamised roads upon which to
run them.
In treating of all these various carriages, it is difficult to know where to
begin. A mere catalogue with a few lines of description cannot be very
satisfactory, and yet there seems no other method to adopt. Bridges Adams,
who was a coachbuilder himself and the inventor of several novel carriages,
is a good guide, but one could have wished that his book had been
illustrated by anything rather than those fearsome diagrams which mean so
little to any one but a coachbuilder himself. From the beginning of the
century, indeed, illustrations of carriages began to take on that
diagrammatic aspect which the trade-papers still maintain; while at the
same time the old prints and caricatures began to disappear. It is a pity, but
it cannot be helped.
“Though it would be difficult,” says Bridges Adams, “to describe every
particular variety of carriage now in use, it is comparatively easy to set
forth the leading features—the original models, as it were, of each
particular class. The distinguishing characteristics are to be found in the
form of the bodies and not in the mechanism of the springs or framework.

Thus a particular shaped body entitles the carriage to the term Chariot,
whether it be constructed with under springs or C springs, or with both, or
whether it be with or without a perch. This rule obtains throughout the
whole varieties of carriages; and in those bodies which are formed by a
combination”—as now began to be the case—“it is customary to call them
by a double name—as Cab-Phaeton, Britzschka-Chariot, Britzschka-
Phaeton, &c.” Accordingly, I shall endeavour in a brief catalogue to point
out such changes as were being made in each broad class of vehicle.
The coach was still being made with a perch. It was not hung so high, but in
other respects it differed but little from its predecessors. The Salisbury boot,
which carried the coachman’s seat, and the hammercloth, were still used,
but for travelling long distances were removed, a smaller platform being
substituted in their place. In the Driving Coach, a novelty which now
became popular with gentlemen of means, and at a later date came to be
commonly known as the four-in-hand, the wheels were rather nearer
together, and the perch was short and straight. This had the boots which, as
we have seen, had been already added to the mail-coaches for the
convenience of outside passengers. “The boots and body,” says Bridges
Adams, “are framed together, and suspended on springs before and behind
—the connection with the carriage being by means of curved blocks.”
Another variety of the coach was the barouche, which, though, I suppose,
not technically a coach at all, if one accepts Thrupp’s definition—for it was
roofless—is generally classed with this kind of vehicle. There had been, I
believe, a barouche in England so early as 1767, but it was not popular until
a much later date. The barouche was simply a coach-body without its upper
portion—an open carriage, that is to say, with high driving seat, and a hood
fixed to the back if required—not indeed unlike an opened landau to look
at. It was purely a town carriage. Its driving seat, similar to that in a landau,
was built to hold both coachman and footman, “the hinder part being
unprovided with a standard, which would,” says Bridges Adams, “be
useless, as when the head is down there is little convenience for the
servant’s holders, and he would moreover be unpleasantly placed, looking
down on the sitters within, and listening to all the conversation,” a matter of
course which he would have been only too pleased to do. The barouche
would hold four or six persons, and in fine weather was considered to be
“the most delightful of all carriages.” There was, too, a certain amount of

state about it, and several noble families continued to drive in them long
after most other people had given them up. When Ackermann, the
publisher, invented his patent movable axles about 1816, the barouche was
one of the carriages to which these axles were fitted. A print of this carriage
is shown in the accompanying illustration. A barouchet, corresponding to
the landaulet, was also built at this time, but was never popular. Bridges
Adams speaks of it as a graceless carriage for one horse.
The town chariot, or coupé, as it was called in France, and indeed, at a later
date in England, was being built lower than before, but otherwise remained
unaltered. The high driving seat was still removed to transform the carriage
into a post-chaise. Amusing instructions for buying a chariot are given by
John Jervis, an old coachman, in the second volume of the Horse and
Carriage Oracle, 1828. “The form of Carriages,” he opines, “is as absurdly
at the Mercy of Fashion, as the Cut of a Coat is—however, if the Reader is
willing to let the Builder please himself with the form of the Exterior, he
will not be quite so polite as to submit the construction of the Interior
entirely to the caprice of his Coachmaker.” Don’t, he advises, have too
much stuffing inside: “The present fashion of Stuffing is preposterous, it
reduces a Large Body to the size of a small One: however,” he adds
obligingly, “if you like to ride about for the benefit of public inspection, as
your friends, my Lady Look-out, the Widow Will-be-seen—and Sir Simon
Stare, do, pray, study Geoffrey Gambado on the Art of sitting politely in
Carriages, with the most becoming attitudes, &c., and choose wide Door
Lights and full Squabbing;—if you wish to go about peaceably and quietly,
like Sir Solomon Snug, and are contented with seeing without being seen,
adopt the contracted Lights, and common Stuffing, which, among others,
have this great advantage that when you sit back, you may have the side
Window down, and a thorough Air passing through the Carriage, without it
blowing directly in upon you: this, to Invalids who easily catch Cold, is
very important.” The lining of the chariot, he recommends, should be
“green, with Lace to correspond, and the Green silk Sun Shades of the same
Colour,” green being pleasant to the eye. Venetian blinds, he says, are very
nice in warm weather, and should be painted verdigris green on the inside
and on the outside a colour which matches with that of the coach-body.
Further instructions follow. You are advised never to permit officious
strangers to shut your carriage door—a piece of sound advice which might
well be followed to-day when seedy people expect a small tip for having

Barouche
With Ackerman’s Patent Movable Axles

Landaulet
With Patent Roof and Movable Axles

Mr. Jervis’s remarks about the coachmaker’s being allowed to choose the
exterior of his customer’s carriage no doubt followed on the practice,
mentioned by Bridges Adams, of building particular carriages upon a
general chariot basis. Of these hybrids, perhaps the most popular was the
Briska-chariot. The briska itself (more correctly the britzschka) had been
introduced into England from Austria about 1818 by Mr. T. G. Adams,
though Bridges Adams thinks that it was first brought here at a rather later
date by the Earl of Clanwilliam, “who liked it for its lightness; for which
reason it probably obtained, amongst coachmen and mechanics, the
translated name Brisker or Brisky.” In England it was made in various sizes
and with various modifications. A small one for one horse was “a light open
carriage, fitted with a leathern top over the front inside seat; which top had
a glazed front and sides, or glazed front and Venetian blinds to the sides.”
Its chief characteristics were a small seat at the back of the main body and a
straight bottom line to the body itself—this giving it “a ship-like and fast-
going appearance.” Ten years after its introduction it was so immensely
popular as to threaten every other carriage; nor was this altogether
surprising, for in addition to being liked for the sake of its own lightness, it
lent itself so well to every variety of purpose. And of these modified
briskas, the briska-chariot was one of the most favoured. It was in
particular demand with those travelling abroad, inasmuch as its great length
enabled its passengers to lie at full length. Another variety, the droitzschka
or drosky, was a modification of the Russian vehicle of that name. This was
built low, an open perch carriage with a hood, used chiefly by “languid,
aged, or nervous persons, and children.” The drosky seems to have given
the idea to Mr. David Davies for his pilentum, which was very similar in
appearance. This Mr. Davies is also supposed to have been the inventor of
the popular cab-phaeton, a one-horse, low-hung carriage suspended on four
elliptic springs. On the Continent this carriage became known as a milord,
once most aristocratic, but by 1850 little better than a hack. It was
somewhat similar in appearance to the victoria.
The phaeton was still made, but was being superseded by the briska. The
main seat of the carriages, as in the old perch-high phaetons, was still over
the front axle, but the body was now hung low on elliptic springs. Such a
perchless carriage was called by Adams “the very simplest form of wheeled
vehicle in ordinary use. It is literally a long box, with an arm-chair in front,

and a bench behind.” And that is a remarkably good description. Here, too,
as with the chariots, there were also various hybrids.
Landaulets were very popular in London, and were made in great quantities
by the firm with which Obadiah Elliott himself was connected. A patent
roof and Ackermann’s movable axles are shown in the accompanying
illustration of this carriage.

Stanhope

Tilbury

Cabriolet
We come now to the two-wheeled carriages. Of these the most fashionable
was still the curricle, though Bridges Adams considered the shape of the
body “certainly unsightly.” It is interesting to notice in this connection that
the mode of attaching the two horses to the curricle was “precisely that of
the classic car, only more elegant.” It was in a curricle that Charles Dickens
rode about so soon as he was able to afford the luxury of a private carriage.
The cabriolet, somewhat similar to it in form, was simply the old one-horse
chaise brought up to date. The body resembled a nautilus shell, thus
differing from the popular two-wheeled carriage called a tilbury. This had
been built first by a carriage-maker of the same name. It was constructed
without a boot (or hind seat) and was a very light carriage, with, however,
rather too much ironwork and too many springs—seven in all—about it.
Italy and Portugal seem to have taken to this particular gig and numerous
consignments were sent south by water. Another vehicle, not very different,
was the stanhope, also built by Tilbury to the order of the Hon. Fitzroy
Stanhope, a brother of Lord Petersham. This was much like the old rib
chair, but hung from four springs. The only difference, so far as the shape of
their bodies goes, between the tilbury and the stanhope is to be found in the
fact that in the stanhope it is rather larger and more capacious. The dennet,
invented by a Mr. Bennett of Finsbury, had a body resembling that of a
phaeton. It had three springs, and Bridges Adams, without being certain
upon the point, thinks that it took its name from these three springs, which
were named after the three Misses Dennet, “whose elegant stage-dancing
was so much in vogue about the time the vehicle was first used.” The
lightest of all these carriages, however, was the common gig, such as that
arch-joker, Theodore Hook, was accustomed to drive in, which at this time

was “simply an open railed chair, fixed on the shafts, and supported on two
side springs, the harder ends of which were connected to the loop irons by
leathern braces—to give more freedom to the motion.” Small alterations in
the gig, such as the addition of a deep boot and Venetian blinds to the
lockers (to carry dogs) led to the first dog-cart. Here the passengers sat
back to back. Tandem-carts were very similar, though here the driver’s seat
was raised. The dog-cart itself gave rise to numerous varieties, such as the
Newport, the Malvern, the Whitechapel, the sliding body, and the Norwich
carts.
In America the buggy, a light waggon, the sulky, the fantail gig, the tub-
bodied gig, the chariotee, and the public sociable were the chief carriages.
The rockaway, made first in 1830, was a light waggon with wooden springs
on the outside of the body. The volante, much used at this time by the
Spanish ladies of South America and Cuba, was a hooded gig upon two
high wheels. But in America, as in Europe, no entirely new bodies or
methods of framing were needed, and such little differences as there were
are only of interest to the coachbuilder or the expert.
Before passing, however, to the public conveyances, to which, it would
seem, most carriage-builders of an inventive turn were now giving their
attention, I may mention one or two particularly quaint or fanciful carriages
which do not readily fall into a recognised class.
About this time several people seem to have been at pains to produce a
three-wheeled carriage, “apparently designed,” says Croal, “to overcome an
element of danger in the ordinary two-wheeled gig, in which so much of the
business and pleasure of travelling took place.” In America, the chief
experiments in this direction were made by Dr. Nott, president of Union
College at Schenectady, who produced a three-wheeled chariot, in which he
drove about.48 “The body of the vehicle was supported by the near axle on
two wheels, while a third wheel in front was in close connection with the
shafts, so that it revolved with them as they turned. By this arrangement the
body of the carriage could be hung low, supported entirely by the wheels,
while the third wheel in front, revolving in a small circle with the shaft,
enabled the occupants to make a short and safe turn.” What became of this
weird vehicle is not known, but its inventor’s memory was enshrined in a
song, one verse of which runs as follows:—

“Where, oh where, is the good old Doctor?
Where, oh where, is the good old Doctor?
He went up in the Three Wheel Chariot,
Safe into the Promised Land!”

A six-wheeled carriage was also proposed by Sir Sidney Smith. Here, as in
Bridges Adams’s various equirotal carriages (never successful and
particularly ugly, so far as the pictures of them are concerned), the wheels
were all of equal size. Great things were promised of it, but that was all.
The question, however, of safety carriages was being very widely
considered. Accidents must have been all too frequent. Runaway horses and
high gigs between them were constantly bringing the more reckless drivers
to an untimely end. In 1825 a good proposal was made for a safety gig,
which was to have a contrivance fixed to the shafts so that they should
remain in a horizontal position, whether the horse were between them or
not. Experiments were also made with some such contrivance as Sir Francis
Delavel had first tried with his eighteenth-century phaeton. And then came
a time when almost every coachbuilder had some “pet dodge” with which
the dangers of travelling were supposed to be reduced to a minimum.
In Ireland, where at a very early date a rough, flat-boarded waggon on two
solid wheels had been used for passenger-traffic—in which case the
passengers sat on the boards back to back with their legs dangling over the
sides—a peculiar vehicle called a noddy was now popular. A writer in
Blackwood’s Magazine for 1826 speaks of this carriage.
“A chaise and pair, miserable in show and substance as both really were, was a species of luxurious
conveyance to which the ambition of the middle class of travellers in Ireland before 1800 never
ventured to aspire. Such as were content with a less dignified mode of travelling on wheels, the city
of Dublin accommodated with a vehicle unparalleled, I believe, in any part of the world, and singular
in name as well as construction. It was called a Noddy, drawn by one horse, and carrying two, or if
not of overgrown dimensions, three passengers. The body of this ‘leathern convenience,’ which bore
some resemblance to an old-fashioned phaeton, ‘beetled o’er its base’ in front, the better to protect
the inmates; and being slung from cross-bars by strong braces instead of springs, nodded formidably
at every movement of the horse, hence deriving the appropriate appellation of Noddy. In case of rain
blowing in, a curtain of the same material afforded its friendly shelter, wrapping the passengers in
total darkness, though, as far as the prospect was concerned, the inconvenience was little; the only
visible object when it was withdrawn being the broad back and shoulders of the brawny driver, who
rested his legs upon the shaft, and his sitting part on a sort of stool a very little way removed from the
knees of the person seated within. Simple, awkward, and uneasy as this contrivance was, it was not
disdained even by senators at an earlier period than that of which I write; and a nobleman, some
thirty years older than myself, too, of high rank and large estate, assured me that it was his usual
conveyance to and from college accompanied by a trusty servant or private tutor.”

The ordinary jaunting car and the larger bian—the invention of Bianconi, a
rich tradesman in Dublin, though for many years an itinerant dealer—hardly
differed in points of construction from English carriages, though the
passengers sat back to back on a seat that ran parallel to the shafts.
In Wales the market cart was even more primitive than the noddy of
Ireland. This was a low, two-wheeled, springless box of an affair, in which
you sat as best you could on the boards. There was no covering at all. A rail
at the back, extending some way along the sides, helped to prevent you
from falling out behind, if the horse gave a sudden lurch forward.

Whilst European carriages were thus taking on a soberer aspect, Eastern
coaches were maintaining all their old magnificence. The Maharajah of
Mysore, to take one instance, travelled in a truly marvellous elephant
carriage in the early years of the nineteenth century.
“Its interior was a double sofa for six persons, covered with dark green velvet and gold, surmounted
by an awning of cloth of gold, in the shape of two small scalloped domes, meeting over the centre,
and surrounded by a richly ornamented verandah, supported by light, elegant, fluted gilt pillars. The
whole was capable of containing sixty persons, and was about twenty-two feet in height. It moved on
four wheels, the hinder ones eight feet in diameter, with a breadth of twelve feet between them. It
was drawn by six immense elephants, an exact match in size, with a driver on each, harnessed to the
carriage by traces, as in England, and their huge heads covered with a sort of cap made of richly
embroidered cloth. The pace at which the elephants moved was a slow trot, of about seven miles an
hour—they were very steady, and the springs of the coach particularly easy. The shape of the body
was that of an extremely elegant flat scallop-shell, painted dark green and gold. This magnificent
carriage was the production of native workmen, assisted by a half-caste Frenchman.”

Even this vehicle, however, was eclipsed by the state carriage of a ruling
Burmese chief, captured by the British in 1824. “This carriage presented
one entire blaze of gold, silver, and precious stones; the last-named
amounting to many thousands, including diamonds, rubies, blue and white
sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, garnets, topazes, crystals, and the curious
and rare stones known as cat’s eyes. The carriage stood nearly thirty feet in
height,” and was drawn by elephants. “In form and construction,” says
Croal, “in its elaborate and superior carving, and its grand and imposing
effect, this coach takes rank as one of the most splendid equipages in
existence.”

Many changes, meanwhile, were taking place in the public carriages.

Of the mail-coaches I need say nothing at all. Numerous books exist which
retell all those romances of the road which even in these days of motor-cars
cannot be altogether forgotten. The Golden Age of coaching was at hand,
and no print-shop is complete without some score or more of carefully
coloured engravings of one or other of “the Mails.” They bore particular
names—there were Flying Machines and Telegraphs and the like—and they
were larger than in the days when Palmer had inaugurated the system, but
that was all.49
Coming to such public vehicles, however, as were in general confined to the
metropolis, we find many changes.
The old hackney-coaches still plied for hire. They had their particular
stands, and the fares were subject to strict, though sometimes exceedingly
quaint, regulations. The first section of the new Orders issued in 1821 may
be quoted as bearing upon the structure of the hackneys.
“It is ordered, constituted, and ordained, that, from and after the four-and-twentieth Day of June next
ensuing the Day of the Date of these Presents, the Perch of every Coach shall be Ten Feet long at the
least; and such Coach [shall] have cross Leather Braces before, and not braced down, but shall hang
upon a Level, and not higher behind than before, and to be

decent, clean, strong, and warm, with Glass Windows on each Side, or Shutters with Glasses of Nine
Inches in Length, and Six Inches in Breadth in each Shutter; and large enough to carry Four Persons
conveniently; and the Horses to every such Coach shall be able and sufficient for the Business when
such Coach and Horses come from Home, to Ply; on a Penalty not exceeding Ten Shillings, at the
Discretion of the said Commissioners, to be paid by the Owner of the License, if the same be not
rented out, and in Case the same shall be rented out, then upon a Renter thereof.”

Leigh Hunt could find little good to say of them. Says he, quoting from a
supposititious poetess:—

“Thou inconvenience! thou hungry crop
For all corn! thou small creeper to and fro
Who while thou goest ever seem’st to stop,
And fiddle-faddle standest while you go;
I’the morning, freighted with a weight of woe,
Unto some Lazar-house thou journiest,
And in the evening tak’st a double row
Of dowdies, for some dance or party drest,
Besides the goods meanwhile thou movest east and west.

“By thy ungallant bearing and sad mien,
An inch appears the utmost thou couldst budge;
Yet at the slightest nod, or hint, or sign,
Round to the curb-stone patient dost thou trudge;
School’d in a beckon, learned in a nudge;
A dull-eyed Argus watching for a fare;
Quiet and plodding, thou doest bear no grudge
To whisking Tilburies, or Phaetons rare,
Curricles, or Mail-coaches, swift beyond compare.”

Dickens was familiar with these hackneys, and in one of the Sketches by
Boz draws a picture of them.
“Take a regular, ponderous, rickety, London hackney-coach, of the old school, and let any man have
the boldness to assert, if he can, that he ever beheld any object on the face of the earth which at all
resembles it unless, indeed, it were another hackney-coach of the same date. We have recently
observed on certain stands, and we say it with deep regret, rather dapper green chariots, and coaches
of polished yellow, with four wheels of the same colour as the coach, whereas it is perfectly
notorious to every one who has studied the subject, that every wheel ought to be of a different colour,
and a different size. These are innovations, and, like other miscalled improvements, awful signs of
the restlessness of the public mind, and the little respect paid to our time-honoured institutions. Why
should hackney-coaches be clean? Our ancestors found them dirty, and left them so. Why should we,
with a feverish wish to ‘keep moving,’ desire to roll along at the rate of six miles an hour, while they
were content to rumble over the stones at four? These are solemn considerations. Hackney-coaches
are part and parcel of the law of the land; they were settled by the Legislature; plated and numbered
by the wisdom of Parliament.
“Then why have they been swamped by cabs and omnibuses? Or why should people be allowed to
ride quickly for eightpence a mile, after Parliament had come to the solemn decision that they should
pay a shilling a mile for riding slowly? We pause for a reply—and, having no chance of getting one,
begin a fresh paragraph....
“There is a hackney-coach stand under the very window at which we are writing; there is only one
coach on it now, but it is a fair specimen of the class of vehicles to which we have alluded—a great,
lumbering, square concern, of a dingy yellow colour (like a bilious brunette), with very small glasses,
but very huge frames; the panels are ornamented with a faded coat of arms, in shape something like a
dissected bat, the axle-tree is red, and the majority of the wheels are green. The box is partially
covered by an old great-coat, with a multiplicity of capes, and some extraordinary-looking clothes;
and the straw, with which the canvas cushion is stuffed, is sticking up in several places, as if in
rivalry of the hay, which is peeping through the chinks in the boot. The horses with drooping heads,
and each with a mane and tail as scanty and straggling as those of a worn-out rocking-horse, are

standing patiently on some damp straw, occasionally wincing, and rattling the harness; and now and
then, one of them lifts his mouth to the ear of his companion, as if he were saying in a whisper, that
he should like to assassinate the coachman. The coachman himself is in the watering-house; and the
waterman, with his hands forced into his pockets as far as they can possibly go, is dancing the
‘double shuffle,’ in front of the pump, to keep his feet warm....
“Talk of cabs! Cabs are all very well in cases of expedition, when it’s a matter of neck or nothing, life
or death, your temporary home or your long one. But, besides a cab’s lacking that gravity of
deportment which so peculiarly distinguishes a hackney-coach, let it never be forgotten that a cab is a
thing of yesterday, and that he never was anything better. A hackney-cab had always been a hackney-
cab, from his first entry into life; whereas a hackney-coach is a remnant of past gentility, a victim to
fashion, a hanger-on of an old English family, wearing their arms, and in days of yore, escorted by
men wearing their livery, stripped of his finery, and thrown upon the world, like a once-smart
footman when he is no longer sufficiently juvenile for his office, progressing lower and lower in the
scale of four-wheeled degradation, until at last it comes to—a stand!”

These new cabs, indeed, were, as Dickens says, a thing of yesterday, but
they had had ancestors. Their immediate forefathers came from Paris, where
they had been known for some time under the name of cabriolets de place.
Light two-wheeled carriages, these were, which had been evolved quite
naturally from the original French gig of the seventeenth century. The
popularity of these cabriolets in Paris naturally led certain enterprising
people in London to attempt their importation, but there was a difficulty to
be surmounted. The proprietors of the hackney-coaches had secured a
monopoly for carrying people in the streets of London. In 1805, however,
licences were obtained for nine cabriolets, which thereupon started to run.
In these two passengers could be carried, and the driver sat side by side
with his fares.
They were not a great success. In the first place they were not allowed
except in certain areas, and in the second passengers did not apparently
appreciate the close proximity of the driver. A number of years passed
before they either increased in numbers or caught the public fancy. But in
1823, the Mr. Davies who had designed the cab-phaeton built twelve new
cabriolets, which were put on to the streets for hire at the end of April.
“‘Cabriolets,’ runs a newspaper account, ‘were, in honour of His Majesty’s birthday, introduced to
the public this [April 23rd] morning. They are built to hold two persons inside besides the driver
(who is partitioned off from his company), and are furnished with a book of fares for the use of the
public, to prevent the possibility of imposition. These books will be found in a pocket hung inside the
head of the cabriolet. The fares are one-third less than hackney-coaches.’”

These new cabs, painted yellow, had one novel feature which must have
astonished the inhabitants, for the driver’s seat was a rather comical affair at

the side—entirely outside the hood. In this way privacy was ensured,
particularly if the curtains in front of the hood were drawn together. “The
hood,” says Mr. Moore,50 “strongly resembled a coffin standing on end, and
earned for the vehicle the nickname of ‘coffin-cab.’” Cruikshank’s picture
of one of these, to illustrate a Sketch by Boz, shows the curious shape of the
hood very well. In a short while these cabriolets became popular—there
were over one hundred and fifty of them in 1830—particularly with the
younger generation. A verse of a then popular song mentions them:—
“In days of old when folks got tired,
A hackney-coach or a chariot was hired;
But now along the streets they roll ye
In a shay with a cover called a cabrioly,”

which hints at a slightly incorrect pronunciation! But in a short while the
cockney found it easier to say cab, did so, and has done so ever since.
Dickens describes these cabs in his essay on the London streets:—
“Cabs, with trunks and band-boxes between the drivers’ legs and outside the apron, rattle briskly up
and down the streets on their way to the coach-offices or steam-packet wharfs; and the cab-drivers
and hackney-coachmen who are on the stand polish up the ornamental part of their dingy vehicles—
the former wondering how people can prefer ‘them wild beast cariwans of homnibuses, to a riglar
cab with a fast trotter,’ and the latter admiring how people can trust their necks into one of ‘them
crazy cabs, when they can have a ’spectable ’ackney cotche with a pair of ’orses as von’t run away
with no vun’; a consolation unquestionably founded on fact, seeing that a hackney-coach horse never
was known to run at all, ‘except,’ as the smart cabman in front of the rank observes, ‘except one, and
he run back’ards.’”

The Coffin-Cab
(From a Drawing by Cruikshank)

London Cab of 1823, with Curtains drawn
(From “Omnibuses and Cabs”)
There is another sketch of Dickens which merits quotation here. The two-
wheeled cabs were, of course, soon superseded by others of more modern
appearance, and Dickens speaks of the last of the cab-drivers and his
particular cab, with a few instructions upon riding in it.
This cabriolet “was gorgeously painted—a bright red; and wherever we went, City or West End,
Paddington or Holloway, North, East, West, or South, there was the red cab, bumping up against the
posts at the street corners, and turning in and out, among hackney-coaches, and drays, and carts, and
waggons, and omnibuses, and contriving by some strange means or other, to get out of places which
no other vehicle but the red cab could ever by any possibility have contrived to get into at all. Our
fondness for that red cab was unbounded. How we should have liked to have seen it in the circle at
Astley’s!...
“Some people object to the exertion of getting into cabs, and others object to the difficulty of getting
out of them; we think both these are objections which take their rise in perverse and ill-conditioned
minds. The getting into a cab is a very pretty and graceful process, which, when well performed, is
essentially melodramatic. First, there is the expressive pantomime of every one of the eighteen
cabmen on the stand, the moment you raise your eyes from the ground. Then there is your own
pantomime in reply—quite a little ballet. Four cabs immediately leave the stand, for your especial
accommodation; and the evolutions of the animals who draw them are beautiful in the extreme, as
they grate the wheels of the cabs against the curb-stones, and sport playfully in the kennel. You single
out a particular cab, and dart swiftly towards it. One bound, and you are on the first step; turn your
body lightly round to the right, and you are on the second; bend gracefully beneath the reins, working
round to the left at the same time, and you are in the cab. There is no difficulty in finding a seat: the
apron knocks you comfortably into it at once, and off you go.
“The getting out of a cab is, perhaps, rather more complicated in its theory, and a shade more difficult
in its execution. We have studied the subject a good deal, and we think the best way is to throw
yourself out, and trust to chance for alighting on your feet. If you make the driver alight first, and
then throw yourself upon him, you will find that he breaks your fall materially. In the event of your
contemplating an offer of eightpence, on no account make the tender, or show your money, until you
are safely on the pavement. It is very bad policy attempting to save the fourpence. You are very much
in the power of a cabman, and he considers it a kind of fee not to do you any wilful damage. Any
instruction, however, in the art of getting out of a cab is wholly unnecessary if you are going any
distance, because the probability is that you will be shot lightly out before you have completed the
third mile.
“We are not aware of any instance on record in which a cab-horse has performed three consecutive
miles without going down once. What of that? It is all excitement. And in these days of derangement
of the nervous system and universal lassitude, people are content to pay handsomely for excitement;
where can it be procured at a cheaper rate?”

Thomas Hood also mentions both hackney-coaches and cabs in one of his
comic poems, Conveyancing.

“O, London is the place for all
In love with loco-motion!
Still to and fro the people go
Like billows of the ocean;
Machine or man, or caravan,
Can all be had for paying,
When great estates, or heavy weights,
Or bodies want conveying.

“There’s always hacks about in packs,
Wherein you may be shaken,
And Jarvis is not always drunk,
Tho’ always overtaken;
In racing tricks he’ll never mix,
His nags are in their last days,
And slow to go, altho’ they show
As if they had their fast days!

“Then if you like a single horse,
This age is quite a cab-age,
A car not quite so small and light
As those of our Queen Mab age;
The horses have been broken well,
All danger is rescinded,
For some have broken both their knees,
And some are broken-winded.”

While these cabs were still running, several experiments were being made
with patent carriages. One of these, placed on the streets for a short while,
was the invention of Mr. William Boulnois. “It was a two-wheeled closed
vehicle,” says Mr. Moore, “constructed to carry two passengers sitting face
to face. The driver sat on a small and particularly unsafe seat on the top of
it, and the door was at the back. It was, in fact, so much like the front of an
omnibus that it was well known as the omnibus slice. Its popular name was
the back-door cab. Superior people called it a minibus. This cab was
quickly followed by a very similar, although larger, vehicle invented by Mr.
Harvey. It was called a duobus.” These two cabs cannot have been very
comfortable; the shafts were too short, and the knowledge that a possibly
heavy coachman was sitting just above your head seems to have militated
against their success.
Another cab, not wholly successful in itself, led the way to the widely
popular hansom. This was a carriage invented in 1834 by Mr. Aloysius
Hansom, the architect of the Birmingham Town Hall. Here the body was
“almost square and hung in the centre of a square frame.” The driver, as

before, sat on the roof, but had a small seat fixed there for his convenience.
The doors were in front, on either side of the driver’s seat. And the wheels
were of a prodigious height—being seven feet six inches. Mr. Hansom, who
had obviously seen one of Francis Moore’s patent carriages of 1790,51
himself drove this carriage from Hinckley in Leicestershire to London, and
found financial support from Mr. Boulnois. Further experiments were made
—in one model you had to enter the carriage actually through the wheels,
the door being in this case at the sides—and it was found that the wheels
could be made considerably smaller without danger or inconvenience.
Whereupon a company was formed to purchase the invention for a sum of
ten thousand pounds. Hansom, however, obtained no more than three
hundred, the balance being used to perfect the far from satisfactory cabs
which had been placed on the streets. Such improvements as were carried
out were the work of Mr. John Chapman,52 then secretary to the Safety
Cabriolet and Two-Wheel Carriage Company, who produced a much safer
vehicle, afterwards purchased by
Hansom’s company. This new cab was placed on the streets in 1836, and
proved such a success that it was imitated by numerous other companies.
Legal proceedings were instituted, but proved both expensive and not
particularly successful, and the “pirate” cabs were allowed to flourish as
best they could.
Then, in 1836, was made the first of those four-wheeled cabs,53 which were
not really cabs at all, but which will never be known by any other name.
The first of these was built by the ingenious Mr. Davies. It bore superficial
resemblance to the chariot. Two passengers could ride inside, and a third on
the box at the coachman’s side. At this date the old two-wheeled cabs were
“a source of acknowledged disgrace, of many alarming accidents, and of
lamentable loss of life,” and a company was formed to provide “a cheap,
expeditious, safe, and commodious mode of conveyance in lieu of the
present disgraceful and ill-conducted cabriolets.” Two years later Lord
Brougham was so pleased with the appearance of these new cabs that he
ordered one for his own use. So was the first brougham constructed—the
earliest private four-wheeled closed carriage to be drawn by a single horse.
“The original brougham,” says Sir Walter Gilbey,54 “differed in many particulars of design,
proportion, construction, and finish from the modern carriage. The body ... was several inches wider
in front than at the back, and though both larger and heavier, was neither so comfortable nor so

convenient.... [It] was held together by heavy, flat iron plates throughout, and the front boot was
connected with the front pillars by strong outside iron stays, fixed with bolts. The wheels were at
once smaller in diameter and much heavier. [The carriage] carried a large guard or ‘opera board’ at
the back of the body to protect the occupants from risk of injury in a crush, when the pole of a
carriage behind might otherwise break through the back panel—an accident now occasionally seen in
our crowded streets. Like all other carriages of the time there was a sword case in the back panel for
weapons. It was painted olive green, a very fashionable colour at that period.”

Another hansom, the tribus, may be noticed here, though it was not
invented until 1844. In this carriage the driver’s seat was at the back on a
level with the roof, and the door to his left at the back—the reason of this
being that the driver could open or close it without leaving his seat. Another
peculiarity was the presence of five windows, two in front, one at either
side, and a fifth at the back underneath the driver’s seat. The tribus was the
invention of Mr. Harvey, who also built a curricle tribus, for two horses, but
neither was successful. The quartobus (1844) of Mr. Okey, a four-wheeled
vehicle to hold four inside passengers, was likewise withdrawn after a short
trial.

Roch’s Patent Dioropha, 1851

Brougham, 1859
A word may here be said of the omnibus, which had been introduced in
1819 into Paris, though not under that name, by M. Jacques Laffitte. It was
a modern outcome of the old gondola. Nine years later the modern name
was given to it by M. Baudry, a retired military officer. Laffitte had rivals,
and ultimately determined to triumph over them by building a superior
vehicle. At this time one of the most celebrated coachbuilders in Paris was
an Englishman, once in the Navy, named George Shillibeer. To him came
Laffitte, and Shillibeer, whilst at work on the new conveyance, conceived
the idea of starting a similar one in London. Accordingly he shipped one
over and ran it from Paddington to the Bank. This first omnibus of his was a
long, much be-windowed, four-wheeled carriage with a door at the back,
and not unlike a private omnibus of to-day. A top-hatted coachman sat on a
high seat in front and drove three horses abreast. This was in 1819, and
from that time, in spite of the usual opposition, these new and rather
unsightly vehicles increased in numbers until there were forty or fifty routes
in London alone upon which they were to be hourly seen. A song sung with
great success at a time when Shillibeer was extending his operations,
particularly in the direction of Greenwich, whither it was proposed to run
one of the new railroads, may be quoted:—

“By a Joint-Stock Company taken in hand,
A railroad from London to Greenwich is plann’d,
But they’re sure to be beat, ’tis most certainly clear,
Their rival has got the start—George Shillibeer.

“I will not for certainty vouch for the fact,
But believe that he means to run over the Act
Which Parliament pass’d at the end of last year,
Now made null and void by the new Shillibeer.

“His elegant omnis, which now throng the road,
Up and down every hour most constantly load;
Across all the three bridges how gaily appear
The Original Omnibus—George Shillibeer.

“These pleasure and comfort with safety combine,
They will neither blow up nor explode like a mine;
Those who ride on the railroad might half die with fear—
You can come to no harm in the new Shillibeer.
“How exceedingly elegant fitted, inside,

With mahogany polished—soft cushions—beside
Bright brass ventilators at each end appear,
The latest improvements in the new Shillibeer.

“Here no draughts of air cause a rick in the neck,
Or huge bursting boilers blow all to a wreck,
But as safe as at home you from all danger steer
While you travel abroad in the gay Shillibeer.

“Then of the exterior I safely may say
There never was yet any carriage more gay,
While the round-tire wheels make it plainly appear
That there’s none run so light as the smart Shillibeer.

“His conductors are famous for being polite,
Obliging and civil, they always act right,
For if just complaint only comes to his ear,
They are not long conductors for George Shillibeer.

“It was meant that they all should wear dresses alike,
But bad luck has prompted the tailors to strike.
When they go to their work, his men will appear
A la Française, Conducteur à Mons. Shillibeer.

“Unlike the conductors by tailors opprest,
His horses have all in new harness been drest:
The cattle are good, the men’s orders are clear,
Not to gallop or race—so says Shillibeer.

“That the beauties of Greenwich and Deptford may ride
In his elegant omni is the height of his pride—

So the plan for a railroad must soon disappear
While the public approve of the new Shillibeer.”

Chapter the Tenth
MODERN CARRIAGES
“Soon shall thy arm, unconquered steam, afar
Drag the slow barge, or urge the rapid car;
Or on wide waving wings expanded bear
The flying chariot through the realms of air.”
Erasmus Darwin.

T HE year of Queen Victoria’s Coronation saw the successful opening
of the London and Birmingham Railway, and from that time all but a
few obstinate folk recognised the fact that the horse as a necessary
adjunct to cross-country travelling was doomed. For some time, indeed,
certain ingenious gentlemen had been carrying out a number of experiments
with self-propelled carriages. Fifteen years before, several inventors had
produced cumbrous machines which, without requiring rails, were able to
progress along the roads at speeds which compared favourably with those
attained by the ordinary coaches. Sir Goldsmith Gurney—to mention,
perhaps, the most prominent of these men—had patented a steam-carriage
in 1827 which, in spite of attacks from an irate populace who feared
machinery as they feared the devil, was quite successful enough to lead the
enterprising Mr. Hanning to ask for, and obtain, permission to run similar
machines on many of the principal roads of England. Indeed, for a short
while, there seems to have been a regular service of these primitive
automobiles. Many people, it is true, fought shy of Gurney’s boilers, which
in spite of the fact that they had been “constructed upon philosophical
principles” occasionally exploded. It was after such an explosion at
Glasgow that Tom Hood seized the opportunity to write the following lines:
—
“Instead of journeys, people now
May go upon a Gurney,
With steam to do the horses’ work
By power of attorney:

“Tho’ with a load it may explode
And you may all be undone;
And find you’re going up to Heaven
Instead of up to London.”

Similarly, many people declared their intention of never patronising the
railroads. Steam, however, had come to stay, and the days of coaching were
already numbered.
The net result of the new state of things, so far as private carriages were
concerned, seems to have been that the coachbuilders set themselves to
perfect the urban vehicles, which became lighter, soberer, and more various.
New and less conventional “models” were constantly being exhibited, while
for those who could not afford more than a single carriage adaptable bodies
were devised. So you might order a vehicle which with small trouble could
be entirely changed in appearance. The older dignity, moreover, was giving
place to a new smartness. “Carriage people” still formed a class, but
families which before had been satisfied to use such public conveyances as
there had been, now drove forth in one or other of the cheaper private
carriages which were being constructed particularly for their convenience.
The dog-cart, for instance, had become common and was undergoing
various metamorphoses, and the brougham was rapidly becoming the most
popular of all town vehicles. In country lanes, too, appeared the waggonette
and its kind. Nothing, indeed, was quite so light as the American buggy
with its shallow dish of a body and its extraordinarily thin wheels, but there
was no longer that heaviness of line which gives to the older carriages what
is to modern eyes such an uncomfortable appearance.
So in 1860 a London coachbuilder could write to the American author of
The World on Wheels:—
“Ten years have completed a total revolution in the carriage trade in England. Not only have the
Court and the nobility adopted economical habits, and insisted on cheap carriages, but they carry no
luggage, as was formerly the case when carriages had to sustain great weight, both of passengers and
luggage. The cumbrous Court carriages of former times are being gradually abolished, and instead of
the rich linings, laces, fringes, and elaborate heraldry usual to the carriages of the nobility, light
vehicles, furnished only with a crest, are used. The changes in construction, and consequent
depreciation of stock, were a heavy blow to the master coachbuilders; many of the large houses must
have lost, in this manner, from ten to twenty thousand pounds. The trade, having recovered from this
blow, is in a more healthy state. The favourite carriages in England at this time were waggonettes,
sociables, Stanhope and mail phaetons, basket phaetons and landaus.”
I may speak first of the state or “dress” carriages. “These vehicles,” says Thrupp, “had long passed
the period in which beautiful carving and elegant painting had been used to disguise, as far as
possible, the clumsy state carriages of the eighteenth century. Ever since the building of the Irish
Lord Chancellor’s state coach by Hatchett or Baxter in 1790, coachbuilders had endeavoured to
produce a graceful outline of body, of a fair size no larger than was necessary; the C-springs had been
made of a perfect curve, the perch followed the sweeps of the body, the carving was reduced to a
moderate amount, the ornamental painting was confined to the stripes upon the wheels, and the

heraldic bearings of the owners of the carriages were beautifully emblazoned on the panels. For
further ornament they relied on plated work in brass or silver round the body and on loops and wheel
hoops. In every capital of Europe such carriages had superseded the old style, and London and Paris
had supplied other countries with most of these state carriages.”

At the Queen’s Coronation in 1838, Londoners had a good opportunity of
seeing these dress carriages, a number of which early in the day were lined
up in Birdcage Walk. Most of these belonged to the various ambassadors.
The one which excited the widest admiration belonged to Marshal Soult—a
French-built carriage, originally built for one of the Royal family. Thrupp
describes it. “The body had four upper quarter glasses, with a very elegant
deep and pierced cornice of silver round the roof; there were four lamps
with large coronets on the tops, and the coach bore a coronet on the roof
also. The colouring of the painting was a lovely blue, such as was then
called Adelaide blue;55 this had been varnished with white spirit varnish,
and seemed almost transparent in lustre. The whole coach was ornamented
with silver and was finished in great taste.” Other particulars of these
carriages are to be found in the contemporary newspaper reports. We are
told of the enormous prices paid. Count Strogonoff purchased for £1600 the
carriage which had originally been built at a cost of £3000 by the Duke of
Devonshire for his state visit to St. Petersburg. Another ambassador, finding
that it was too late to buy a carriage, hired one from one of the Sheriffs at a
cost of £250 for the occasion, which strikes one as an excessive price even
for Coronation Day.

Edward VII’s Coronation Landau
(From Sir Walter Gilbey’s “Modern Carriages”)
Modern state carriages retain all their former magnificence with little if any
of the old cumbersome and unnecessary ornament. One of the finest
examples of this kind of carriage is the state landau built for King Edward
and used by him in the Coronation procession.
“This magnificent example of the coachbuilder’s art,” says Sir Walter Gilbey, “is over eighteen feet
long. The body is hung upon C-springs by strong braces covered with ornamentally stitched
morocco; each brace is joined with a massive gilt buckle with oak leaf and crown device. Between
the hind springs is a rumble for two footmen; there is no driving seat, as the carriage is intended to be
drawn only by horses ridden postilion. The panels are painted in purple lake considerably brighter
than is usual in order to secure greater effect; marking the contours of the body and the outlines of
the rumble are mouldings in wood carved and gilt, the design being one of overlapping oak leaves.
“The door panels, back and front panels, bear the Royal Arms with crown, supporters, mantle, motto,
helmet, and garter. On the lower quarter panel is the collar of the Order of the Garter, encircling its
star and surmounted by the Tudor crown. Springing in a slow, graceful curve from the underpart of
the body over the forecarriage is a ‘splasher’ of crimson patent leather. Ornamental brass lamps are
carried in brackets at each of the four corners of the body.
“As regards the interior of this beautiful carriage, it is upholstered in crimson satin and laces which
were woven in Spitalfields; the hood is lined with silk, as better adapted than satin for folding. The
rumble is covered with crimson leather. It is to be observed that with the exception of the pine and
mahogany used for the panels, English-grown wood and English-made materials only have been used
throughout.
“While less ornate than the wonderful ‘gold coach’ designed by Sir William Chambers and Cipriani
in 1761, the new state landau, in its build, proportions, and adornment, is probably the most graceful
and regal vehicle ever built.”

Dress Coach

George V’s State Carriage
(From a Photograph)
Other English state carriages hardly less successfully designed have been
made for the Lord Mayor of London (1887), for Sir Marcus Samuel, when
holding that position in 1902-3, for the Sheriffs, and for various Indian
Princes.
Coming to less pretentious vehicles, we may briefly consider in the first
place the coach proper. At the time of Queen Victoria’s Coronation, coaches
of the old pattern were, of course, still being constructed. There is in
possession of Messrs. Holland and Holland a mail-coach built by Waude,
one of the best-known coachbuilders of that time, which is typical of the
period. This, says Mr. Charles Harper,
“is substantially and in general lines as built in 1830. The wheels have been renewed, the hind boot
has a door at the back, and the interior has been relined; but otherwise it is the coach that ran when
William IV was King. It is a characteristic Waude coach, low-hung, and built with straight sides,
instead of the bowed-out type common to the productions of Vidler’s factory. It wears, in
consequence, a more elegant appearance than most coaches of that time; but it must be confessed that
what it gained in the eyes of the passers-by it must have lost in the estimation of the insides, for the
interior is not a little cramped by those straight sides. The guard’s seat on the ‘dickey’—or what in
earlier times was more generally known as the ‘backgammon-board’—remains, but his sheepskin or
tiger-skin covering, to protect his legs from the cold, is gone. The trap-door into the hind boot can be
seen. Through this the mails were thrust and the guard sat throughout the journey with his feet on it.
Immediately in front of him were the spare bars, while above, in the still remaining case, reposed the
indispensable blunderbuss. The original lamps in their reversible cases remain. There were four of
them—one on either forequarter, and one on either side of the fore boot, while a smaller one hung
from beneath the footboard, just above the wheelers. The guard had a small hand lamp of his own to
aid him in sorting his small parcels. The door panels have apparently been repainted since the old

days, for although they still keep the maroon colour characteristic of the mail-coaches, the Royal
Arms are gone, and in their stead appears the script monogram in gold, V.R.”

It is the coach which of all vehicles has least changed its appearance in the
last hundred years. The drag of to-day and the old coach just described
differ from one another only in a few minor details of construction. The
reason for this is not far to seek. “The brief ‘Golden Age,’” says Sir Walter
Gilbey, “of fast coaching saw the vehicle, of which such hard and
continuous work was required, brought as near perfection as human
ingenuity and craftsmanship was capable of bringing it. No effort was
spared to make the mail or road-coach the best possible conveyance of its
kind, and in retaining the model of a former age the modern coachbuilder
confesses his inability to improve upon the handiwork of his progenitors.”
It is curious to note, by the way, that for a short time such coaches were
hardly made at all, and the Report on the carriages shown at the London
Exhibition of 1862 speaks of the “revival of an almost obsolete carriage, the
four-in-hand coach, which had taken place within a few years.” This was
undoubtedly due to the founding in 1856 of the Four-in-Hand Driving Club.
Nor was this revival confined to England. In the official Reports upon
Carriages at the Paris Exhibition of 1878, Mr. G. F. Budd draws attention to
the fact that “the French have closely adhered to the English styles in the
general design and shape of the bodies of their vehicles, especially in
broughams ... landaus ... and drags. In the latter description of carriage,
which has become so popular during the last few years, though it is
peculiarly an English carriage, the style has been closely followed, and with
such considerable success, that the French builders now appear as our
formidable rivals in this branch of the manufacture.” “A novelty,” he
continues, “in the design ... consists in the roof being so constructed as to
admit of being opened in the centre ... a cover is placed on the top of the
two portions of the head thus opened, and so forms, to all appearance, an
ordinary luncheon-case with the ends open: it thus serves the purpose of a
table when required ... and affords an increase of ventilation to those riding
inside the vehicle.” Similarly in America drags began to be built after the
establishment of a driving club. These are identical with the English
models.
With regard to the other four-wheeled carriages, we have now arrived at a
period when it is almost impossible to speak at any length of each particular

kind.56 For in the first place such a classification as I have used to describe
the older vehicles must to a large extent break down, and in the second
place, from the time when the great exhibitions did so much to make the
manufacturers of all nations familiar with each other’s work, nearly every
coachbuilder of standing has produced one model, if not more, peculiar to
itself. So, in the middle of last century, you had carriages which
approximated to the barouche, yet which had been evolved indirectly from
so different a vehicle as the phaeton. You saw carriages, obviously
dissimilar in appearance, yet bearing, to the layman, the same name. You
had new combinations of perches and springs. And carriages were being
exported from one country to be improved upon the lines most suitable to
the roads and tastes of another.
Of all these carriages perhaps the two which deserve most mention are the
landau and the victoria, both open carriages, which can be closed at will.
The landau, as I have said, had originally been a coach made to open. At
the beginning of the century it had hardly been so popular as the landaulet,
but at this time it underwent several improvements at the hands of Mr. Luke
Hopkinson, a celebrated coachbuilder of Holborn. It was Hopkinson who
first built what was known as a briska-landau, but he chiefly concerned
himself not so much with the shape of the carriage-body as with the hood.
He built his new landaus in such a way as to allow the hood to be folded, so
that it lay horizontally at the back of the seat. At the same time the floor and
the seats were raised so as to make the whole carriage a far more spacious
and comfortable vehicle than had been possible when the hood could not be
completely opened.57 And with the hood entirely “down” you had
practically the landau of to-day, possibly the commonest carriage on the
road. Nearly every “fly” which so often is to be seen standing rather
forlornly outside the village station as your train thunders past is a landau
modelled on Hopkinson’s designs. He was not, however, the only
coachbuilder whose attention was being given to this useful carriage. Of
one of the new landaus built by other firms a trade journal of the day
observed with some truth that “its graceful outline and roominess” made it
“the very beau-ideal of vehicular luxury.” And as the years passed the
landau in its several varieties increased in popularity. Improvements tended
almost solely in the direction of lightness. The Report on the carriages at the
exhibition of 1862 pays particular attention to the landau. “The demand for

them,” it runs, “has ... increased. They are well suited to the variable
climate of the British Isles, as they can readily be changed from an open to
a closed carriage and vice versa.” At a later exhibition—in 1885—the
landau58 had become so popular that there was actually shown one, built for
the Earl of Sefton, suited to the capabilities of a single horse. This was an
important departure from tradition which seems to have shocked some of
the old-fashioned designers. “That an established house with an aristocratic
connection,” lamented one trade paper at the time, “should exhibit a landau
for one horse would have been considered incredible twenty years ago.” No
doubt this was true, but people persisted in their desire for light carriages,
and a one-horse landau was the natural outcome. At a later date there was a
tendency to alter the shape of the body. Hitherto this had generally been
angular; now the lines became curving, the body, looked at from the side,
forming the arc of a huge circle. Such a carriage was known as the canoe
landau. To-day the canoe bodies, both in England and abroad, are made
rather deeper than at the time of their introduction, but the square shape still
persists. If there is one English vehicle which may be called the favourite
carriage it is surely the landau.

Princess Victoria in her Pony Phaeton
(From a Drawing by Lowes Dickinson, 1835)

The earlier history of the victoria, the landau’s chief rival, is rather obscure.
As I have mentioned, the once popular cab-phaeton was still to be seen in
the ’forties in many continental cities as the milord, which from a most
aristocratic vehicle had descended into the realms of hackdom. An English
coachbuilder, however, Mr. J. C. Cooper, saw possibilities in such a vehicle
and prepared a series of designs. His drawings were scornfully treated in
England, but “found favour in the eyes of his continental clients,” who
about 1845 constructed from them a four-wheeled cabriolet with seats for
two. This small open carriage was copied in more than one place,
particularly, it would seem, in Paris and Vienna. Whether these copies were
still called milords I am not sure, but in 1856 they seem to have been
described as victorias. In the meantime the pony phaeton had become
popular in England, and in 1851 a new model designed for Her Majesty
was, according to Stratton, also called a victoria.
“In the summer of 1851,” he writes, “a unique little pony phaeton was built by Mr. Andrews, of
Southampton, for the Queen. The original announcement stated that when the carriage was delivered
in front of the palace in the Isle of Wight, ‘the Queen and Prince expressed to Mr. Andrews their
entire satisfaction with the style, elegance, and extraordinary lightness and construction of the
carriage,’ which scarcely weighed three hundredweight. The height of the fore wheels is only
eighteen inches, and of the hind ones thirty inches. The phaeton is cane-bodied, of George IV style,
with movable head; the fore part is iron, but very light and elegant and beautifully painted. This
carriage is known as the victoria, and has since been much improved in England and America.”

Mr. Stratton is probably right; but it was the French-built carriage which the
then Prince of Wales brought to England in 1869 to which the name may be
more correctly ascribed. It is to be noticed, however, that the pony phaeton
and the victoria proper differ from one another only in size and in the
presence or absence of a driver’s seat. The Prince of Wales’s carriage was
curved in shape and hooded, but about the same time Baron Rothschild
imported a victoria from Vienna of the square shape. Both forms persist. At
first, of course, the victoria was looked on with suspicion, but the Princess
of Wales speedily showed her liking for it—it did indeed make an ideal
lady’s carriage—and in a short while the world followed suit. “Light, low,
easy, fit for one horse, and looking very well behind a pair of cobs,”
remarks Thrupp, “it is not surprising that the victoria meets with so much
patronage.” At first it would seem that the hood was not made to lie flat, a
fact amongst others which prompted a caustic critic in 1877 to grumble at
the conservatism of English manufacturers. “Even with so good a model of
this carriage as that presented to them in the victoria,” he wrote, “the

English builders do not see fit to maintain the same lines, and for some
inscrutable reason deem that the hood when down should rest at an angle;
whereas the ‘cachet’ of the Parisian equipages lies in the absolute straight
line it maintains with the horizon.” Only a few years later, however, another
critic was drawing attention to the superiority of the English victoria over
its French counterpart. “Their rattle,” he wrote of the latter, “is enough to
distinguish them. The French victoria is a low-mounted and decidedly
unsymmetrical machine. The pole [is] a foot longer than it should be, the
splinter bar and fore carriage too low”—a criticism which holds good to-
day with most of the Italian carriages of this type.
Varieties of the victoria were constructed almost as soon as the carriage had
reached to any degree of popularity. A hinge-seat was fitted into the front
boot to face the ordinary seat, and this not proving enough, a permanent
seat for two was built in its place, this innovation giving rise to the double
victoria, which was built with or without doors. I need not, perhaps, dwell
further on the victoria, except to observe that such changes as took place in
the landau also took place in its more delicate rival.

Canoe-shaped Landau, 1860

Drag, 1860
Another open carriage which remained popular until the introduction of
automobiles is the phaeton. Sir Walter Gilbey mentions several varieties. Of
these the largest seems to have been the mail phaeton.
“It was a favourite carriage,” he writes, “seventy years ago or more, and was frequently used by
gentlemen for long posting journeys in England and on the Continent. In these days this carriage was
always built with a perch, the undercarriage resembling that of a coach, whence its name. For a time
elliptical springs were adopted, but during the last ten years the fashionable mail phaeton has been a
solid-looking square-bodied vehicle on its old undercarriage.”

In 1889, he also observes that a jointed perch was used, the object being “to
prevent the vehicle being twisted on bad roads, and also to preserve its
equilibrium under trying conditions of roads.” The demi mail phaeton, to
which Sir Walter gives the credit of having ousted the ugly perch high
phaeton from public favour, “derives its names from the peculiar
arrangement of the springs in the construction of the undercarriage.”
Another variety, the Beaufort phaeton, is large enough to carry six people,
and was, in the first place, expressly designed to carry people to the meet.
Yet another modification, the Stanhope phaeton, invented by the peer of
that name, is smaller than the last-mentioned, and has achieved a world-
wide popularity. “The head and apron render it suitable for winter work,
and when the hood is thrown back the stanhope is an admirable vehicle for
summer use whether in town or country.” The T-cart is a smaller stanhope
“with compassed rail and sticked body in front and a seat for the groom
behind.” Sir Walter records the fact that its greatest popularity was about

1888, after which it was supplanted by the spider phaeton—a “tilbury body
on four wheels with a small seat for the groom supported on branched irons
behind.”
It would be possible to mention half a dozen other varieties of the
phaeton,59 but such a list is best relegated to a coachbuilder’s catalogue.
There is only one innovation which should not be allowed to pass unnoticed
here. Many of the phaeton bodies during the ’sixties were constructed of
basket-work; indeed, Croydon, where lived the inventor, received all the
benefits which a new industry brings in its trail, but the popularity of these
basket-carriages waned as rapidly as it had waxed—due, according to one
writer, to the ridicule heaped upon them by Punch. A revival was attempted
in 1886, and “we have a reminiscence of it in the imitation cane-work
painted on the panels of many carriages” at a still later date.60
We come to the closed carriages.
The brougham was undergoing about as many changes and improvements
as fell to the lot of any other carriage, yet superficially it maintained much
the same appearance. The coupé brougham so popular to-day is the relic of
the old chariot.61 Of its several varieties the best-known is, or rather was—
for it is rarely, if ever, seen now—the clarence. “It was introduced,” says
Sir Walter, “about the year 1842 by Messrs. Laurie and Marner, of Oxford
Street, and has fairly been described as “midway between a brougham and a
coach.” It had very curved and rather fanciful lines, seated four persons
inside, and was entered by one step from the ground, carried the coachman
and footman on a low driving seat, and was used with a lighter pair of
horses than the family coach.” Certain models, however, show the driver’s
seat to have been high, on a level, that is to say, with the roof; and not long
after the first clarence was designed, Lytton Bulwer caused to be built what
was called a Surrey clarence, which possessed a hammercloth. The attempt,
however, to produce a miniature chariot did not succeed. Another variety,
named uncomfortably the dioropha, was shown at the Great Exhibition of
1851.62 Here the side windows would slide up and down upon a new
principle, and “the whole upper part of the body from the elbow-line could
be lifted from the lower, leaving a barouche body.” You were shown models
of this upper portion hanging rather forlornly from the roof of a coach-
house. But improvements in the landau caused the extinction of the

dioropha, which does not seem to have been built after 1875. The
amempton, invented by a Mr. Kesterton, was a smaller form of this carriage.
The one-horse “growler” or “four-wheeler,” by the way, which still wanders
up and down the streets of London, is the lineal descendant of the clarence.
Of the more unconventional four-wheeled carriages, the waggonette seems
to have been introduced about 1845 by the Prince Consort after a German
model, though one writer gives the credit of the design to the Prince
himself. Here, as every one knows, the seats faced each other at right-angles
to the driver’s seat, the door being at the back. At first they were built very
large—to carry out the original intention of providing a family carriage
which should really be worthy of the name. Afterwards smaller models
were produced, and proved equally popular. “The principle of riding
sideways,” remarks Thrupp, “was not new. The Irish car, the four-wheeled
Inside car of the Westmorland district, the old Break, and the Omnibus all
contributed to the design of the modern vehicle.” A few particular varieties
may be mentioned. The now forgotten perithron, a Suffolk invention, was a
waggonette in which the driving seat was bisected down its centre, so as to
allow a passenger entering from the back to reach the front seat. The
Portland waggonette, built for the Duke of Portland in 1893, was a large
carriage with a folding hood. Another carriage of the kind with a folding
leather hood was presented by Lord Lonsdale to the King and Queen at the
time of their wedding. This is known as a Lonsdale waggonette. “Lord
Lonsdale,” remarks Sir Walter Gilbey, “allowed his name to be given to this
device under the impression that he was the first to originate a head of this
description; but his claim for invention of it was disputed at the time. Mr.
Robertson stated that he had built such a waggonette so far back as 1864;
Mr. Kinder had built one in 1865; and Messrs. Morgan stated that they had
turned out a similar vehicle before the year 1870.” A very large waggonette,
the brake, is a common enough object to-day, and is built in various forms.
Sometimes a second seat is placed directly behind and parallel to the
driver’s seat. In some models these seats stretch back throughout the length
of the carriage, in which case it is a char-à-banc. Awnings, permanent or
temporary, are generally provided.
In America the commonest four-wheeled carriage is the light wagon or
buggy, a name given in England to a light two-wheeled, single-seated cart
(also called a sulky63) towards the end of the eighteenth century. The buggy

has one seat fixed on to a long, shallow tray; the wagon is similar, but has
two or more seats.
“These American waggons,” says Thrupp, “were modelled from the old German waggon, but they
have been so much improved as to be scarcely recognised. The distinctive feature of the German
waggon was a light, shallow tray, suspended above a slight perch carriage on two grasshopper
springs placed horizontally and parallel with and above the front and hind axle-tree; on the tray one
or two seats were placed, the whole was light and inexpensive, and well adapted to a new, rough
country without good roads. These waggons may still be found in Germany and Switzerland....
“American ingenuity was lavished upon these waggons, and they have arrived at a marvel of
perfection in lightness. The two grasshopper springs have been replaced with two elliptical springs.
The perch, axle-trees, and carriage timbers have been reduced to thin sticks. The four wheels are
made so slender as to resemble a spider’s web; in their construction of the wheels the principle of the
patent rim used in England in 1790 has been adopted. Instead of five, six, or seven felloes to each
wheel, there are only two, of oak or hickory wood, bent to the shape by steam. The ironwork of the
American buggy is very slender, yet composed of many pieces, and, in order to reduce the cost, these
pieces of iron are mostly cast, not forged, of a sort of iron less brittle than our cast iron.... The weight
of the whole waggon is so small that one man can lift it upon its wheels again if accidentally upset,
and two persons of ordinary strength can raise it easily from the ground. The four wheels are nearly
of the same height, and the body is suspended centrally between them. There are no futchels; the pole
or shafts are attached to the front axle-tree bed, and the front of the pole is carried by the horses just
as they carry the shafts; the splinter-bar and whipple-trees are attached to the pole on swivels. Some
are made without hoods and some with hoods. These are made so that the leather of the sides can be
taken off and rolled up, and the back leather removed, rolled, or fixed at the bottom, a few inches
away from the back, the roof remaining as a sunshade....
“The perfection to which the American buggy or waggon has been carried, and every part likely to
give way carefully strengthened, is marvellous. Those made by the best builders will last a long time
without repair. The whole is so slender and elastic that it ‘gives’—to use a trade term—and recovers
itself at any obstacle. The defect in English eyes of these carriages consists in the difficulty of getting
in or out by reason of the height of the front wheel, and its proximity to the hind wheel—it is often
necessary partly to lock round the wheel to allow of easy entrance. There is also a tremulous motion
on a hard road which is not always agreeable. It is not surprising that, with the great advantages of
extreme lightness, ease, and durability, and with lofty wheels, the American waggons travel with
facility over very rough roads, and there is a great demand for them in our colonies. It must be
remembered that the price is small, less than the price of our gigs and four-wheeled dog-carts.”

Modern American Station Wagon

Modern American Buggy
Both from Studebaker’s (Chicago) Catalogue
Indeed, the tourist in America will come away with the impression that
there is hardly a family in the continent which does not possess at least one
buggy or waggon. They can be driven, too, at a very great pace. In this
connection it is interesting to notice that it was a buggy which Lord
Lonsdale selected in order to carry out his great driving feat in 1891, when

“he undertook to drive four stages of five miles within an hour, using for
the first three stages one, a pair, a team, and riding postilion in the fourth.”
There are, of course, many varieties, several invented after Thrupp wrote
the above account. Of these some are peculiar to a particular State, while
others seem to be in general use throughout the continent. In Chicago, for
instance, and other towns of the middle west, the commonest buggy seems
to be the bike wagon, of which a variety is the cut-under bike wagon, where
the tray is double—the seat forming a bridge between its two parts.
Stanhopes and phaetons are also manufactured in America, though on a
much lighter scale than in England. Another popular American carriage is
the surrey, which has the two-seated arrangements of the larger waggons,
but is without the tray. The station wagon, very popular in New England,
resembles the old English chariot, and differs from it only in its driving
seat, which is on a level with the inside seat and directly against the front
lines of the carriage-body. This is one of the most comfortable carriages in
the country. The buckboard, even slenderer than the buggy, is hardly more
than the skeleton of a carriage, but seems none the less popular on that
account. The barge is the name given in Massachusetts to a two-seated
waggon, and the word has a curious origin. It seems probable that it is a
relic of the days when in that part of the country the boat sleighs used in the
winter were put upon wheels in the summer. At a later date ordinary
waggons were used for summer traffic, but the old name stuck. And I dare
say there are a dozen or more local names of some peculiarity in other parts
of America which to-day are given to carriages not in the least like those to
which the name was originally applied.
Coming to the two-wheeled carriages, we find similar changes to those
described above showing themselves. The old curricle, for instance, is now
but rarely seen, its place being taken by one or other of the dog-carts. What
was probably the most fashionable of these carriages during the early
Victorian era is now practically extinct. This was the cabriolet, rather
different in appearance from the vehicles of that name which had plied for
hire but a few years before, yet built on the same principles as the earliest
French gigs.
“They were greatly improved,” wrote Mr. G. N. Hooper in 1899,64 “about fifty years ago by the
well-known Count D’Orsay and the late Mr. Charles B. Courtney, who greatly refined the outlines
and proportions, making them lighter, more compact, and far more stylish. They became par

excellence the equipage of the jeune noblesse, and no more stylish two-wheel carriages for one horse
were driven for many years while they were fashionable. A large, well-bred horse was a necessity,
and this the cabriolet generally had.
“The groom, or ‘tiger’ as he was then called, was a special London product: he was produced in no
other city, British or foreign; all the genuine tigers hailed from London. His age varied from fifteen to
twenty-five. Few there were that were not perfect masters of their horses, were they never so big. In
shape and make he was a man in miniature, his proportions perfect, his figure erect and somewhat
defiant: his coat fitted as if it had been moulded on him; his white buckskin breeches were spotless;
his top-boots perfection; his hat, with its narrow binding of gold or silver lace, and brims looped up
with gold or silver cord, brilliant with brushing, was worn jauntily. As he stood at his horse’s head,
ready to receive his noble master, you might expect him to say, ‘My master is a duke, and I am
responsible for his safety.’”

There is little enough to say of the gigs. The curricle, as I have said, is now
rarely seen, though Sir Walter Gilbey mentions a particular one introduced
about 1883 “which differed materially from the vehicle formerly known by
that name. It consisted of a cabriolet, or whisky body, having an ‘ogee’ or
chair back, the body being suspended by braces from C or S springs upon
the undercarriage. Its peculiarity lay in the use of long lancewood shafts, set
so far apart that the pole could be placed between them; the saddle-bar
being used to support the pole, the shafts, it would seem, were somewhat
unnecessary.” The Cape cart brought into England from South Africa is a
two-wheeled vehicle of this class with a pole in place of shafts, and “the
sides being framed so as to present three panels.”
“At the back,” says Sir Walter, “was built in a large box for provisions, the full width and depth of the
cart, the back seat forming the lid; the tail-board was used only as a foot-rest. An adjustable centre
seat with backrest could be used so as to provide accommodation for six passengers. A white canvas
tilt on wooden hoops with sunblinds at the sides, which could be strapped up when not wanted,
covered the whole body of the cart.”

And similar to the Cape cart is the Whitechapel cart, which brings me to a
brief consideration of the dog-carts.
As originally designed, the dog-cart seems to have been built high, and, as
its name implies, for the purpose of carrying dogs. Such a vehicle would
seat four, a roomy, comfortable trap “with space under the seats, where a
brace of pointers or other dogs could lie at ease.” As I have said in a
preceding chapter, the sides of the cart “were made with Venetian slats to
provide ventilation.” Such a cart, however, proved so agreeable that no long
time elapsed before its original purpose was lost sight of, and it became one
of the commonest of country carriages. Built on a small scale it was
admirably suited for pony or cob. Numerous varieties exist. In the tandem

cart, as generally constructed, the driver’s seat is high—the only cart,
indeed, of the kind to maintain any height at all. In the Ralli cart two seats
are placed back to back, the foot-rest to the latter closing on the body when
required. (Built somewhat on the lines of the ralli, by the way, is the Indian
tonga, “a rather low, hooded vehicle ... furnished for draught by a pair of
ponies on the curricle principle with pole and bar.”) The Battlesden,
Bedford, and Malvern carts are other varieties. More popular, perhaps, than
any of these is the governess cart, which, while really in a class by itself,
may be mentioned here. This is a low and particularly safe carriage, in
which the seats are placed at the sides, as in the waggonette, and the door is
at the back. An improvement on the governess cart, though not nearly so
popular, is the Princess car, first designed in 1893. Here the back door is
dispensed with, the entrance being in front. “The driving seat is arranged on
a slide, whereby it can be moved forwards or backwards to adjust the
balance; and it also enables the driver to sit facing the horse instead of
sitting sideways as in the governess cart.”
In the last chapter I pointed out the chief varieties of public carriages. Of
these the hansom and the omnibus have undergone considerable changes.
The hansom was enormously improved by Mr. Forde, a Wolverhampton
coachbuilder, in 1873, when the Society of Arts offered a prize for the best
two-wheeled public conveyance. Mr. Forde’s carriage was much lighter
than the older hansoms, and “its merits attracted the appreciative attention
of foreigners, whereby an export trade became established.” Four years
later another vehicle, the two-wheeled brougham, was introduced, but did
not meet with success. The Floyd hansom of 1885 showed other
improvements, and for the first time the hansom became a private carriage.
Here the “side windows were made to open, as were two small windows at
the back of the cab.” For a short while, indeed, the private hansom was one
of the smartest of gentlemen’s carriages. Then in 1889 was shown another
hansom with a movable hood. This was wholly unsuccessful, but the
Arlington cab, a Dorchester invention of this time, may still be seen in
provincial towns to which the taximeter petrol cab has not yet reached. The
chief peculiarity about this hansom is its doors, which, instead of reaching
only half-way up and being constructed at a backward angle, reach from
door to roof and are upright—thus giving a more spacious interior. These
doors are “fitted with sliding glasses in the top part after the manner of an
ordinary brougham door.” A brougham hansom was introduced in 1887.

“This afforded sitting-room inside for three or four; it was entered at the
back, and when the door was shut, a seat across it was so arranged that there
was no possibility of the door opening till the occupants’ weight was off the
seat. The driver’s seat was in front, on the roof of the vehicle.” A four-
wheeled hansom was also seen in London some twenty-five years ago. Here
the driver’s seat was behind the carriage on a level with the roof.
“Everybody knows,” remarks Sir Walter Gilbey, “that the hansom, by
reason of its steadiness, is an exceedingly comfortable conveyance; there is
no vehicle that runs more easily, particularly when the load is truly
balanced.” But in spite of such improvements as rubber tyres and patent
windows, the hansom seems doomed.
Shillibeer’s huge omnibuses were succeeded by smaller vehicles of similar
construction. For some years no passengers were carried upon the roof
except one or two beside the driver. Then in 1849 an “outside seat down the
centre of the roof was added,” to reach which you had to climb an iron
ladder. This continued until 1890, when the much more convenient “garden-
seats” were substituted, and a curved flight of steps took the place of the
rather dangerous ladder. Private omnibuses were first constructed about
1867. They contained a rumble at the back for the footman, but this was
speedily dispensed with. As built to-day, they are of various sizes.
One other carriage may be mentioned, and then I am done. This is the Irish
car. Here, as in the larger bian, the seats are arranged back to back and
sideways. “The wheels are very low and are concealed as far as the axle-
boxes, or farther, by the panel of the footboard, which panel is hinged to the
end of the tray, either side of which forms the seat, to allow of its being
turned up when not in use.” Occasionally there is a well between the seats
for small packages. In private cars of this kind there is a small seat in front
for the driver, but this is rarely to be found in the public vehicles. The width
of the Irish car is enormous, and occasionally leads the neophyte into
trouble. Outside Ireland, I believe, the car is not seen.
“Walking in the pleasant environs of Paris,” wrote Mr. H. C. Marillier some seventeen years ago, in
an article entitled The Automobile: A Forecast, “or even further afield, upon the broad routes
nationales of Charente and La Beauce, it is no uncommon thing to meet on a summer’s day a little
open vehicle flitting along without apparent means of motion, upon noiseless rubber-shod wheels, or
panting forth a gentle warning from a square-shaped box in front. Two, and sometimes three, persons
are seated in it, one of whom drives by means of a handle. To stop or to start again requires the turn
of a screw or the push of a pedal. Such, in its most accomplished and most graceful form, is the

automobile. To see it pass at racing speed—some of these little machines can spurt at twenty miles an
hour—takes one’s breath away at first. The apparition is uncanny.”

In another passage he speaks of these horseless carriages as playing “a
prominent part as the natural successors of the hansom cab and the
omnibus,” and draws what must then have been a fanciful picture of a city
upon whose roads there would be seen almost as many horseless as horse-
driven vehicles. To-day we know what has happened since these words
were written. The hansom is a rarity, except during a strike of petrol-car
drivers. The omnibus is a speedy machine with a powerful engine. The
growler persists, but only for the benefit of those with much luggage or for
those afraid of the internal combustion engine, that extraordinary discovery
which has revolutionised locomotion even more than did steam eighty years
ago. With such facts as these it would be easy to prophesy a total extinction
of horse-driven vehicles except for purely ornamental purposes. Yet I
believe that there may be a reaction in favour of a more leisurely means of
locomotion. As yet it is impossible to be truly dignified in even the most
gorgeously appointed motor-car. “Carriage people” no longer form a class,
and the old coach-building firms which have not followed the times and
shown one or other make of automobile in their rooms are few in number.
Mr. Marillier, moreover, in the article just quoted, speaks of “that ideal
future when life shall consist of sitting in a chair and pressing buttons”; but
the horse is not yet extinct, and although it is not probable that any horse-
carriages of an entirely new type will be constructed, I imagine that the
older forms will persist, at any rate, for the next century or two. Indeed, to
my mind, there must always be the man who will prefer the reins to the
driving wheel. And who can blame him for the choice?

Footnotes
[1] “In Europe, sledge is the name applied to a low kind of cart, but in America
the word has been abbreviated to sled or changed to sleigh, which in either case
involves the idea that a sliding vehicle is meant. In the rural districts, the farmer
employs a machine we call a stone-sledge. This is commonly made from a plank,
the flat under surface of which is forced along the surface of the ground by ox-
power.” The World on Wheels. Ezra N. Stratton. New York, 1888.
[2] English Pleasure Carriages. By William Bridges Adams. London, 1837.
[3] “They also possessed baggage-carts shaped like the chariots. One of these
appears to have had a very high, six-spoked wheel and a curved roof box. In
front of the box is a low seat, from underneath which projects a crooked drag-
pole.” Stratton.
[4] A History of Egypt. J. H. Breasted. New York. 1909.
[5] Dictionary of the Bible. 1906. Edited by J. Hastings. Art. Chariot.
[6] “We account for this difference by supposing that in battle, when success
depended in a great measure upon the stability of the chariot, special care was
taken to provide a strong wheel, while a weaker one was considered good
enough for a more peaceful employment, a four-spoked wheel in those days
being much cheaper and lighter.” Stratton.
[7] The Assyrians also possessed curious litters. “Two eunuchs,” says Stratton,
“are shown carrying a sort of arm-chair on their shoulders, elegant in design,
supplied with wheels, to be drawn by hand should the king have occasion to visit
mountainous regions inaccessible for chariots.”
[8] The History of Coaches. G. A. Thrupp. London, 1877.
[9] See p. 39.
[10] Stratton treats of these Roman carriages and carts in considerable detail, and
mentions in addition to the plostellum, or small plaustrum, the carrus,
monarchus, and birotum. Of these the carrus, or cart, differed from the
plaustrum in the following particulars: “The box or form could not be removed,
as in the former case, but was fastened upon the axle-tree; it lacked the broad
flooring of planks or boards, which served as a receptacle for certain
commodities when the sides were removed; the wheels were higher [and] ...
spoked, not solid like the tympana.” The carrus clabularius, or stave-waggon,
could be lengthened or shortened as required. The monarchus was a very light
two-wheeled vehicle something like the cisium. The birotum was also a small
two-wheeled vehicle, with a leather-covered seat, used in the time of
Constantine, an “early post-chaise,” as Stratton puts it.
[11] The carts of north Italy in the eighteenth century had remained practically
unchanged. Edward Wright, who visited Italy in 1719, thus describes them: “The
carriages in Lombardy, and indeed throughout all Italy, are for the most part

drawn with oxen; which are of a whitish colour: they have very low wheels.
Some I saw without spokes, solid like mill-stones; such as I have seen describ’d
in some antique basso-relievos and Mosaicks. The pole they draw by is sloped
upwards towards the end; which is rais’d considerably above their heads; from
whence a chain, or rope, is let down and fasten’d to their horns; which keeps up
their heads, and serves to back the carriage. In some parts they use no yokes, but
draw all by the horn, by a sort of a brace brought about the roots of them: the
backs of the oxen are generally cover’d with a cloth. In the kingdom of Naples,
and some other parts, they use buffaloes in their carriages, &c. These do
somewhat resemble oxen: but are most sour, ill-looking animals, and very
vicious; for the better management of them they generally put rings in their
noses.”
[12] The World on Wheels.
[13] On the other hand, the scythes used by other nations may well have been on
the wheels. Livy describes those used by Antiochus (currus falcatus): “Round
the pole were sharp-pointed spears which extended from the yoke of the two
outside horses about fifteen feet; with these they pierced everything in their way.
On the end of the yoke were two scythes, one being placed horizontally, the
other towards the ground. The first cut everything from the sides, the others
catching those prostrate on the ground or trying to crawl under. The long spears
(cuspides) were not on the yoke, as some say.”
[14] English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages. J. J. Jusserand. London, 1888.
[15] Early Carriages and Roads. Sir Walter Gilbey, Bart. London, 1903.
[16] This appears to have been similar to the carroccio, described by Stratton as
a very heavy four-wheeled car, surmounted by a tall staff, painted a bright red.
Stratton also mentions the cochio, which he describes as a thirteenth-century
carriage having a covering of red matting, under which, in the fore-part of the
body, the ladies were seated, the gentlemen occupying the rear end. Both these
words, however, seem to belong to a much later date and may be translations of
an earlier original.
[17] “The xxx day of September the Queen’s Grace came from the Tower
through London, riding in a charrett gorgeously beseen, unto Westminster.” MS.
Cotton. Vitellius, F.v.
[18] History of Great Britain. Arthur Wilson. London, 1653.
[19] cf. Spenser, who uses three words which appear to be interchangeable.
“Tho’, up him taking in their tender hands
They easily unto her charett beare;
Her teme at her commandement quiet stands,
Whiles they the corse unto her wagon reare.
And strowe with flowers the lamentable beare;
Then all the rest into their Coches climb.”
[20] It is probable that the closed carriage in which the Emperor Frederick III
paid a visit to Frankfort in 1474 was one of these cotzi. Here the interesting point
is that the Emperor’s attendants, apparently for the first time, were relieved of
the necessity of holding a canopy over His Majesty’s head, except when he went
to and returned from the Council Chamber.

[21] Taylor mentions in one place that “for the mending of the Harnesse, a
Knights Coachman brought in a bill to his master of 25 pounds.” He also says
that the owners of coaches liked to match their horses if possible.
[22] A Book about Travelling, Past and Present. Thomas Croal. London, 1877.
[23] So Massinger in The Bondman says:—
“For their pomp and ease being borne
In triumph on men’s shoulders.”
[24] The word hackney, possibly derived from the old French Haquenée, was the
natural word to be used for a public coach, it being merely a synonym, used by
Shakespeare and others, for common.
[25] Curialia Miscellanea. Samuel Pegge, F.S.A. London, 1818.
[26] Which was about the same sum that Defoe had to pay in London earlier in
the century. “We are carried to these places [the coffee-houses],” he wrote in
1702, “in chairs which are here very cheap—a guinea a week, or a shilling per
hour; and your chairmen serve you for porters, to run on errands, as your
gondoliers do at Venice.”
[27] cf.
“With chest begirt by leathern bands,
The chairman at his corner stands;
The poles stuck up against the wall
Are ready at a moment’s call.
For customers they’re always willing
And ready aye to earn a shilling.”
Echoes of the Street.
[28] In an article in the Pall Mall Magazine for March, 1912.
[29] Birch’s History of the Royal Society.
[30] Some people have considered that the name was not derived from the city of
Berlin, but from an Italian word berlina, “a name given by the Italians to a kind
of stage on which criminals are exposed to public ignominy.” This seems rather
far-fetched. In England it was always thought to have been built first in Berlin,
and was a common enough term for a coach early in the eighteenth century.
Swift mentions it in his Answer to a Scandalous Poem (1733):—
“And jealous Juno, ever snarling,
Is drawn by peacocks in her berlin.”
“It should be noted,” says Croal, “that we find the word differently applied in the
earlier years of the century, and in such a way as to cast doubts on the derivations
quoted. In some of the last Acts passed by the Scottish Parliaments before the
Union, there are references to a kind of ship or boat, called a berline. The royal
burghs on the west coast of Scotland were in 1705 ordered to maintain two
‘berlines’ to prevent the importation of ‘victual’ from Ireland, this importation
being forbidden at the time, and two years later an Act was passed to pay the
expenses of the berlines.”
[31] A point of minor interest may here be noticed. When leather was first used
for the covering of the coach quarters, the heads of the nails showed. But about

1660, “these nail-heads were covered with a strip of metal made to imitate a row
of beads; from this practice arose the name of ‘beading’ which has been retained,
although beading is now made in a continuous, level piece, either rounded or
angular.” Thrupp.
[32] See below, p. 133.
[33] The reader is referred for the fullest information on the subject of these
stage-coaches to Mr. Charles G. Harper’s Stage-Coach and Mail in Days of Yore.
2 vols. London, 1903.
[34] Omnibuses and Cabs. London, 1902.
[35] It was over a calèche presented by the Chevalier de Grammont to Charles
II, that the famous quarrel took place between Lady Castlemaine and Miss
Stewart, afterwards the Duchess of Richmond. The ladies had been complaining
that coaches with glass windows, but lately introduced, did not allow a
sufficiently free display of their charms, whence followed the gift of a French
calèche which cost two thousand livres. When the queen drove out in it, both the
ladies agreed with de Grammont that it afforded far better opportunities than a
coach for showing off their figures, and both endeavoured to get the first loan of
it. In the fierce quarrel that followed Miss Stewart came off the conqueror.
[36] Peter the Great. By K. Waliszewski. Translated by Lady Mary Loyd.
London, 1898.
[37] Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne. John Ashton. London, 1883.
[38] Originally, I understand, a fish-cart or lugger.
[39] This well-known expression for a carriage is generally thought to have been
used first by an American quaker later in the century. Ned Ward, however, would
seem to have been its real inventor.
[40] At this time M. Dessein used to advertise in the London papers. In The
Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser for July 21, 1767, is the following: “To be
sold, at Calais, a Travelling Vis-à-Vis, built at Paris about a year and a half ago;
very fit also to use in the towns on the Continent upon occasion; being varnished
in the newest taste, and covered with an oiled case to preserve it from the
weather in travelling, and requires nothing but a new set of wheels to be in
perfect repair to make the tour of Europe. Enquire of Mr. Dessein, at the Hôtel
D’Angleterre at Calais, with whom the lowest price is left.”
[41] See next chapter.
[42] This was the Mr. Francis Moore, of Cheapside, who in 1786 and 1790
obtained patents for two two-wheeled carriages. The second of these bore
considerable resemblance to the hansom-cab of a later date. It had enormous
wheels—higher, indeed, than the body of the carriage—and the driver sat on a
small box-seat in front and at a level with the top of the roof. The door was at the
back.
[43] Caricature History of the Georges, Thomas Wright. London, n.d.
[44] “The shape of the body,” says Bridges Adams, describing Coates’s carriage,
“was that of a classic sea-god’s car, and it was constructed in copper. This
vehicle was very beautiful in its outline, though disfigured by the absurdity of its

ornamental work.” When Coates had a fall, Horace Smith, of Rejected Addresses
fame, seized the occasion to write a mock condoling poem.
[45] For a detailed account of these mail-coaches the reader is referred to Mr.
Charles Harper’s book, Stage Coach and Mail in the Days of Yore.
[46] The Danger of Travelling in Stage-Coaches; and a Remedy Proposed to the
Consideration of the Public, by the Rev. William Milton, A.M., Vicar of
Heckfield, Hants. Reading, 1810.
[47] It may be well to add here a note on the simpler springs which were in use
at this time. These seem to have been of five distinct varieties—the straight or
elbow spring, the elliptic spring, the regular-curved, and the reverse-curved
springs, all these being either single or double, and the spiral spring. The straight
spring was used in the stage-coaches, in the later phaetons, in the Tilbury, and in
most of the two-wheeled carriages. The elliptic spring, invented by Elliott, was
“used single in what are called under-spring carriages, where the spring rests on
the axle, and is connected with the framework by means of a dumb or imitation
spring so as to form a double or complete ellipse. This is technically called an
under spring.” Its importance, of course, followed on its power of acting as a
complete support, no perch being required to hold the two parts of the
undercarriage together. Sometimes four of these springs were “hinged together in
pairs,” and used thus in the larger four-wheeled carriages. When a regular-curved
or C spring was used, “a leathern brace was suspended from it to carry the body
or weight.” The reverse-curved spring was used in the older phaetons, and in the
fore springs of the Tilbury, and springs similar to this had been used as body
springs in place of suspension brackets or loops, or as upright springs, to the
earlier coaches and chariots, under the technical name of S springs—“in which
case leather braces were attached to them, and they were supported by a bracket
or buttress of iron called the spring stay. The whip spring which succeeded them
... was used in the same way.” But in addition to these springs, there were all
kinds of combinations, and the whole subject is too complicated for the lay mind
to understand. The chief point, however, to notice is the changes in structure
which were made possible by the elliptic spring of Elliott’s resting on the axle.
[48] Which reminds me that at the present day there is a singular three-wheeled
cab to be hired in London, if only you know where to look for it. It is the only
one of its kind, and rarely, I believe, appears until after nightfall. It is the kind of
carriage which is to be avoided by those who have drunk not wisely but too well.
[49] A good description is given of the appearance of these coaches by Baron
d’Haussez, an exiled Frenchman, in 1833.
“The appointments of an English coach are no less elegant than its form. A
portly, good-looking coachman seated on a very high coach-box, well dressed,
wearing white gloves, a nosegay in his button-hole, and his chin enveloped in an
enormous cravat, drives four horses perfectly matched and harnessed, and as
carefully groomed as when they excited admiration in the carriages of Grosvenor
and Berkeley Squares. Such is the manner in which English horses are managed,
such also is their docility, the effect either of temperament or training, that you
do not remark the least restiveness in them. Four-horse coaches are to be seen
rapidly traversing the most populous streets of London, without occasioning the
least accident, without being at all inconvenienced in the midst of the numerous
carriages which hardly leave the necessary space to pass. The swearing of ostlers

is never heard at the relays any more than the neighing of horses; nor are you
interrupted on the road by the voice of the coachman or the sound of his whip,
which differs only from a cabriolet whip in the length of the thong, and serves
more as a sort of appendage than a means of correction in the hand which carries
it.”
[50] Omnibuses and Cabs.
[51] See note on p. 192.
[52] According to Mr. Moore, whose account of this matter seems perfectly
clear, the actual vehicle which proved so popular when plying the streets
contained very much more of Chapman’s work than of Hansom’s, and, indeed, if
full justice had been done, these light carriages should have come down to
posterity as chapmans and not hansoms at all. On the other hand it is quite
possible, that but for Hansom’s work, Chapman would never have given such
careful attention to this class of vehicle.
[53] It seems, however, that so long as ten years before one-horse cars of this
form had been plying for hire in Birmingham and Liverpool.
[54] Modern Carriages. Sir Walter Gilbey, Bart. London, 1905.
[55] Bridges Adams has an amusing passage on the question of colour. He had
his own ideas upon the best colours to use on a carriage body. “For bright sunny
days,” he thinks, “the straw or sulphur yellow is very brilliant and beautiful; but
for the autumnal haze, the rich deep orange hue conveys the most agreeable
sensations. The greens used are of innumerable tints, commencing with the
yellowish olive, and gradually darkening till they are barely distinguishable from
black. Neither apple green, grass green, sea green, nor any green of a bluish tint,
can be used in carriage painting with good effect as a ground colour; but in some
species of light carriages a pleasing effect may be produced for summer by the
imitation of the variegated grasses.” Quite a poetical idea! “Blues,” he continues,
“were formerly principally used as a ground colour for bodies, to contrast with a
red carriage and framework. Of late very dark blues have been used as a general
ground colour, and when new they are very rich, being a glazed or partially
transparent colour; but they very soon become worn and faded, the least speck of
dust disfiguring them. Blue is also a cold colour, and while it is unfitted for
summer by reason of its easy soiling, it is unpleasant in winter, owing to its want
of warmth.”
[56] For full and particular accounts of all such carriages as have been
constructed since the middle of last century, the reader is referred to the various
trade journals. Further information is to be obtained from the Reports on
carriages at the successive London and Paris Exhibitions. Here the more
important differences between English, French, and Austrian carriages are
clearly shown in a language which is not too technical for the ordinary reader to
understand.
[57] This was also the case in France.
[58] There is an interesting passage in the 1878 Report which may be quoted
here. “It is somewhat singular,” this runs, “that while the attention of the English
coachbuilders has, for the past few years, been directed to perfect an
arrangement to open and close landau heads in a simple and effectual manner,

the French builders have paid little or no heed to the attainment of this
desideratum, but have instead adopted a plan which allows of the doors of a
landau being opened when the glass is up, being first introduced by M. Kellner
... in 1866.... The simplest method is to have two pieces of brass, about ten
inches long, in the form of a groove, for the glass frame to slide in, hinged to the
upper extremities of the door pillars, and to close down on the fence rail when
not required for use.”
[59] Here, I suppose, should be included the Eridge cart, invented by Lord
Abergavenny. It holds four persons on two parallel seats.
[60] The phaeton has found particular favour in France. At the Paris Exhibition
in 1878 was shown a phaeton built at Rouen, which, according to the official
Report, was “the finest small carriage exhibited in the French department for
ingenuity and fitness for work.”
[61] Sir Walter Gilbey had a posting brougham built for his own use, which to an
even greater extent resembled the old chariot. In this case postilions were used.
[62] “The Patent Dioropha, or two-headed carriage, combining in one a clarence
or pilentum coach, complete with all its appointments; a barouche, with folding
head and three-fold knee-flap; and an open carriage. The heads can be removed
or exchanged with facility by means of a pulley attached to the ceiling of the
coach-house, aided by a counterpoise weight.” Vide the Official Catalogue,
which also gives illustrations of several Indian carriages, such as the Keron, the
rath, a Mahratta carriage from Bengal, and a lady’s carriage from Lahore—the
last being a four-wheeled conveyance covered with scarlet and crimson cloth,
and shut in with thick curtains.
[63] The only sulky now to be seen in this country is the trotting carriage used in
races—a mere skeleton. See also p. 210.
[64] Suspension of Road Carriages. A Paper read before the Institute of British
Carriage Manufacturers at York. 1899.

Index
Abergavenny, Marquis of, 270 n.
Ackermann, William, 230, 234
Adams, T. G., 232
Adams, William Bridges, 19, 49, 62, 65, 154, 212, 214 n., 227-230, 232-236, 258 n.
Addison, Joseph, 151
adometer, 115
Adrianople, 152
Africa, South, 278
Agrippina, 33
Alchemist, The, 75
Aldersgate Street, 190
Alexander and Campaspe, 58
Alexander of Parma, 67
Alexander Severus, 35
Alexander the Great, 27
Alexandria, 27
All sorts of Wheel Carriage, Improved, 166
ἅμαξα, 26, 27
Amelia, Princess, 104
amempton, 272
America, North, 36, 140, 205, 220, 221, 225, 236, 263
America, South, 20, 189, 236
Amsterdam, 225, 226
Andersen, Henry, 90
Andrews, coachbuilder, 267
Anne, wife of Richard II, 49
Anne, Queen, 154, 174
Anne, Social Life in the Reign of Queen, 158 n.
Anne Boleyn, 54

Annual Register, 214
Anstice, J., 205
Antioch, 29
Antiochus, 40 n.
ἄντυξ, 25
Antwerp, 68, 110
ἀπήνη, 26-28
Apollo, or a Problem Solved, 162
Appian Way, 28
araba, 40
Arabia, 40
arcera, 29
Arlington cab, 280
ἄρμα, 25, 26, 29
ἁρμάμαξα, 26, 27, 29
Arnot, Hugh, 102
Arundel, Earl of, 76, 77
Ashby, Lady, 120
Ashton, John, 158
Asia, 107, 108
Assyrian chariot. See chariot
Athens, 36
Ausonius, 31
Australia, 223
Austria, 51, 232
automobile, 256, 269, 282
Automobile: a Forecast, The, 281
axles, movable, 256, 269, 282

Babylon, 27
back-door cab, 249
Bailey, Captain, 88
Balack, Donald, 105
barcos de tierra, 20

barge, 276
Barker, Edward, 74
barouche, 206, 229, 230, 264, 271 n.
barouchet, 230
Barrow, John, 107
Bartholomew Fair, 75
Baskerville, John, 191
basket, the, 168, 169. See also under boot
basterna, 32, 37, 52
Bath, 61, 103, 104
Battlesden cart, 279
Baudry, M., 252
Baxter, coachbuilder, 258
Baynardes Castle, 77
beading, 120n.
Beatrice of Anjou, 50
Beau’s Ideal, The, 160
Beckmann, 65, 116
Bedford cart, 279
Belgium, 35
Bellasis, Richard, 57
Belvoir, 71
benna, 32, 35
Bennet, Mr., 221
Bennett, coachbuilder, 235
Berlin, 118 n.
berlin, 62, 109, 118-121, 139, 141, 175, 176, 216;
Korff berline, 207 et seq.
berlina, 118 n.
berline. See berlin
berlingot, 141
bian, 239, 281
Bianconi, 239
Bible, Dictionary of the, 22 n.

bike wagon, 275;
cut-under bike wagon, 275
Birch, Thomas, 116 n.
Bird-Cage Walk, 258
Birmingham, 42, 190, 191, 250, 251 n., 255
birotum, 32 n.
Blackfriars, 82
Blackheath, 115-117
Blackwood’s Magazine, 238
Bligh family. See Darnley
Blount. See Blunt
Blunt, Colonel [Sir Harry, of Wicklemarsh], 115, 117, 118, 126
Bodger, 189
Bondman, The, 87 n.
Boonen, William, 71, 72
boot, first mention of, 73;
metamorphosed into basket, 74, 84, 111, 114, 168, 218, 229, 234, 235
Boston, U.S.A., 221
Boulnois, William, 249, 250
Boulogne, 70
Bourn, Daniel, 180, 181, 185
brake, 273
Breasted, J. H., 21
brewer’s cart, 96
Britain, 30, 39
British Museum, 48
britzschka (briska, brisker, brisky), 232-234;
briska-chariot, 229, 232, 233;
briska-phaeton, 229;
briska-landau, 264
broad-waggons, 198
Broderithus, Stephanus, 65
brouette (wheelbarrow), 99, 100, 108, 139
Brougham, Lord, 251

brougham, 251, 252, 257, 262, 271;
posting-brougham, 270 n.;
two-wheeled brougham, 279;
brougham-hansom, 280
Brouncker, Lord, 117
Browne, Sir Thomas, 73, 121, 221
Brussels, 67, 110
buckboard, 276
Buckingham, Duke of, 61, 86-88, 91, 107, 153
Buckingham, Earl of, 49
Budd, G. F., 262
buggy, 221, 236, 257, 273-275
Bulkeley, Sir Richard, 142, 143, 155
Bulwer Lytton, 271
Bunbury, H., 199
Burgh, Elizabeth de, Lady Clare, 48

cab, hackney. See cabriolet
cab-phaeton, 229, 233, 245, 266
cabriolet, 139, 170, 198, 199, 221, 234, 244 et seq., 266, 276;
cabriolet de place, 244
Cæsar, Julius, 29, 36
Cæsarius, 29
Calais, 172
calash (calesh, calèche), 109, 140 et seq., 154, 155, 206, 221
calesse (calesso), 35, 140
caned whiskey, 214
Canterbury, 110
Cape cart, 278
Capua, 28
Caricature History of the Georges, 198 n.
Carinthia, 121
Carlyle, Thomas, 207, 209
carpentum, 31, 33, 34

carretta, 50
carriage, early use of the word, 45;
early English carriage described, 47;
Chinese, 38, 107;
Dacian, 37
Carriage Builder’s and Harness Maker’s Art Journal, 72, 158
carriage-match, 188
carriole, 35, 69, 140, 224
carroccio, 50 n.
carroch (caroch, carroach, carroche), 64, 80, 83
carrosse, 69;
carosse à cinq sous, 136 et seq.
carruca, 32, 34;
carruca argentata, 35;
carruca domestoria, 35
carrus, 32 n.;
carrus stabularius, 32 n.
cart, 24, 81, 82, 247;
early English cart described, 45
Castlemaine, Earl of, 123, 124;
Countess of, 140 n.
cathedra, 37
Catherine of Aragon, 54
Catton, coach-painter, 188
Cecil, Lady, 76
Cenis, Mont, 104
Centlivre, Mrs., 160
chaer. See chare
chair, sedan, 85 et seq.;
introduced into England, 87;
hackney chairs established, 87, 91;
characteristics of chairmen, 96, 102;
appearance, 99-101;
at Bath, 104;

persist at Edinburgh, 106;
regulations, 106;
Eastern chairs, 107;
mentioned, 123, 148, 166, 173, 221, 222
chair, one-horse. See chaise
chairs-and-chairmen, 198
chaise, 140, 141, 147, 148, 155, 156, 170, 171, 175, 196;
French chaise described, 147, 148;
chaise à porteur, 99;
chaise de poste, 170
Chamberlayne, William, 135
Chambers, Sir William, 185, 186, 260
Chapman, John, 250
char. See chare
char-à-banc, 273
char-à-cote, 224
chare (car), 46, 49, 50, 52, 54, 69
charette (chariette), 49, 50, 62, 67
chariot, Hittite, 21, 23;
Egyptian, 20, 22;
Assyrian, 22, 24, 39;
Persian, 23, 38-40;
Grecian, 24 et seq.;
Lydian, 26;
British, 29, 30;
mentioned, 49, 54, 55, 97, 111, 120 et seq., 141, 144;
Col. Blunt’s chariots, 115 et seq.;
Spanish, 121;
Mr. Povey’s, 126;
Sir Richard Bulkeley’s, 142;
chariot à L’anglaise, 147;
the Darnley chariot, 150 et seq.;
advertisements of, 157;
George IV’s, 207;

cost of, 210;
Hobson’s chariots, 232;
also mentioned, 148, 150, 153, 161, 171, 175, 200, 206, 210, 221, 229, 234, 251,
270, 271, 276
chariotee, 236
Charles of Anjou, 50
---- I, 86, 90, 91, 111, 123
---- II, 55, 61, 140 n., 148
---- V, 86
---- VII, of France, 64
---- XII, 154
chasse marée, 159
Chaucer, Geoffrey, 49
Cheapside, 150, 192 n.
cheas, 162
Chicago, 275
Chiesa, Philip de, 118
Child, Josiah, 198
Chili, 20
China, 38, 79, 107
Cicero, 30, 32
Cipriani, 113, 188, 260
cisium, 31, 32 n., 139;
cisiarii, 31
Clanwilliam, Earl of, 233
clarence, 271, 272;
Surrey clarence, 271
Claudius, the Emperor, 36
Cleveland, John, 114
Clinker, Humphrey, 103
coach, introduction of, 56 et seq.;
women forbidden their use, 57;
Taylor’s opinion of, 59;
first coach-and-six, 61;

definition of, 62;
where first made, 62;
derivation of the word, 63;
similar to couch, 63;
first English coaches only carts, 64;
appearance of early coaches, 66;
how evolved from the waggon, 66;
a sixteenth-century coach described, 67;
oldest coach in existence, 68;
introduction into England, 69;
first “hollow, turning coach” for Queen Elizabeth, 71;
her Dutch coach, 72;
Earl of Rutland’s coach, 77, 78;
coach compared with cart, 81;
Taylor’s ride in, 84;
hackney coaches, 88, 165, 201, 241 et seq.;
proclamations concerning, 90, 125;
early French coach, 111;
size of English coaches, 111;
oldest coaches with solid doors, 119;
Roman coaches, 123;
overturning of, 142;
early Georgian coaches, 148;
Turkish, 152;
Russian, 153, 154;
Venetian, 159;
patent coaches, 166, 217, 218;
Spanish, 170;
“frictionless” coach, 190;
Baskerville’s, 191;
Lord Chancellor’s Irish coach, 206, 207, 258;
reasons for overcrowding, 215;
nineteenth-century coach, 229;
Victorian, 261

Coach and Coach Harness Makers’ Company, 143
Coach and Sedan pleasantly disputing, 63, 92 et seq.
coachee, 222
Coaches, The History of, 24 n.
coal-carriage, 192
Coates, “Romeo,” 213
Coburg, 67, 68
Cockburn, Lord, 106
cochio, 50 n.
Colley, 199
Colman, J., 198
Commander, Mr., 127
Conference between ... chariot ... and ... chair, A, 97
Congreve, William, 201
Connecticut, 221
Consort, Prince, 272
Constantine, 32 n.
Constantinople, 29
Conveyancing, 248
Cooper, Fenimore, 105
Cooper, J. C., coach-designer, 266
corbillard, 111
correo real, 170
cottri, 63
Cotzi. See Kotzee
couch. See coach
coucou, 169
coupé, 155, 230, 270
Courtney, C. B., 277
Covent Garden, 104
Coventry, Sir William, 132
covinus, 30
Cow Lane, 129
crane-neck perches, 119

Craven, 57
Creed, Mrs., 130
Crenan, Marquis de, 136
Croal, Thomas, 84, 101, 118 n., 143, 236, 240
Cromwell, Oliver, 112-114
Crooch, John, 92
Croune, Dr., 117
Croydon, 270
Cruikshank, George, 246
C-spring, 119
Cuba, 140, 236
Cuchey, Cambridge carrier, 63
Cumberland, George, Earl of, 59;
Henry Clifford, Earl of, 57
Curialia Miscellanea, 91 n.
curricle, 199, 213, 214, 222, 234, 242, 276, 277;
curricle tribus, 252
currus, 29;
currus arcuatus, 33;
currus falcatus, 40 n.
curtin coach, 159
Curtius, 39, 40
Cyprus, 39

Darnley, Lord, 150
Dashour, 24
Davenant, Sir William, 123
Davies, David, 233, 245, 251
decoration of carriages, 139
Defoe, Daniel, 102 n.
Delaney, Mrs., 159
Delavel, Sir Francis, 196, 237
demi-landau, 210
dennet, 235;

the Misses, 235
Dertford, 77
désobligeante, 141, 172
Dessein, M., 172
Devil is an Ass, The, 80
Devonshire, Duke of, 259
Diana of Poitiers, 69
Dickens, Charles, 234, 242, 244, 246, 247
diligence, 148, 168;
diligence de ville, 219.
See also mail-coach
Diomed, 26
dioropha, 271
δίφρος. See ἅρμα
Dockwra, William, 166
dog-cart, 235, 257, 275, 276, 278
dogs used as beasts of burden, 110
Don, Lady, 106
Dorchester, 280
Dover, 218
Down-Hall, 156
drag, 262, 263
Drake, Sir Francis, 59
driving-coach, 229
droitzschka (drosky), 224, 233
Dublin, 142, 238, 239
Duncombe, Sir Saunders, 87, 91
Dunkirk, 110
duobus, 249
Dupin, 99

Early Carriages and Roads, 50 n.
Early Use of Carriages in England, 54
Eastward Hoe, 75, 79

Echoes of the Streets, 103 n.
Edgeworth, Dr. Lovell, 205
Edgware, 57
Edinburgh, 90, 102, 103, 106, 144, 206
Edinburgh Almanac, The, 106
Edward III, 43, 48
Edward VI, 70
Edward VII, 259
effeminacy and carriages, 44, 56 et seq.
Eglinton, Earl of, 188
Egypt, 23, 24, 46
Egypt, A History of, 21 n.
Eleanor, the Lady, 48
elephant carriage, 239, 240
Elgin, Earl of, 108;
Elgin marbles, 26
Elizabeth, Queen, 71-73, 83, 86, 174
Elliott, Obadiah, 205, 214, 227, 228 n., 234
elliptic springs, 205
English Pleasure Carriages, 19 n., 227
English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages, 43 n.
Entertainment at Rutland House, First Day’s, 123
equirotal carriages, 237
Erichthonius, 36
Eridge cart, 270 n.
Ermengarde, the Lady, 51
essedum, 29-31;
essedum deauratum, 30
Essex, Robert, Earl of, 59;
Countess of, 77
Eugene, Prince, 160
Evelyn, John, 87, 109, 111, 115, 116, 125, 126, 142
Expeditions to Prussia and the Holy Land, of Henry, Earl of Derby, 51

Fantail gig, 236
Farnese, Duke Edward, 123
Felton, William, 204, 207, 210, 213, 227
Ferrara, 69;
Duchess of, 69
Ferrers, Earl, 53
Fersen, Count, 208, 209
fiacre, 90
Fielding, Sir John, 201, 203
Finsbury, 92, 235
Flanders, 51, 209;
Flemish mares and carriages, 52, 63, 83
Flandres, Anciennes Chroniques de, 50
Fleet Street, 164
Florence, 23, 140
fly, 265
Ford, Sir Richard, 129
Ford, William, 201
Forde, coachbuilder, 279
four-in-hand, 229, 262
Four-in-Hand Driving Club, 262
“four-wheeler,” 89
France, 43, 62, 76, 90, 94, 121, 139, 140, 148, 151, 165, 168, 171, 172, 177, 189, 196, 198,
219, 230
Frankfort, 65
Frederick, Duke of Saxony, 67
Frederick III, the Emperor, 65 n.
Friola, 51
Froissart, Sir John, 49, 53

galera, 169
Gauden, Sir D., 129
Gaul, 31
Gautier, Théophile, 170

Gay, John, 60, 98, 102, 150
Gazetteer, The, 172 n.
General Highways Act, the first, 70
Gentleman Dancing Master, The, 127
Gentleman’s Magazine, 174, 176, 180, 193
George I, 159
George III, 185, 186, 188, 207
George IV, 211, 212, 267
George V, 185
Germany, 35, 66, 68, 76, 118, 147, 219, 226, 273
gharry, 40
Ghent, 110
Gibbon, Edward, 28, 29
gig, 107, 139-141, 144, 199, 213, 214, 221, 224, 235-237, 245, 275-277;
primitive form of, 31
Gigg, Sir Gregory, 199
Gilbey, Sir Walter, Bart., 50, 54, 113, 117, 251, 259, 262, 269-272, 277, 278, 280
Gild of the Holy Cross, 42
Gillray, James, 211, 213, 220
Ginzrot, von, 39, 66
Glasgow, 144, 256
glass for coaches and chairs, 104, 109, 111, 120, 121, 131, 135, 154
glass-coach, 119, 121, 185, 207
Godalming, 149
Godelak, Walter, 43
gondola, 169, 216, 252
governess cart, 279
Gozzadini, Count, 67, 123, 140
Grammont, Chevalier de, 140 n.
Grand Concern of England, The, 136
Gray, Thomas, 147, 148
Gray’s-inn-lane, 197
Green, John, 165, 166
Greenwich, 253, 254

Gregory X, Pope, 50
Gresham College, 116
Griffin, Will, 127
Grosvenor Square, 197, 241 n.
Gurney, Sir Goldsmith, 255, 256

Hackney, 88, 121, 127;
derivation of the word, 88 n.
Hamburg, 226
Hamilton, Duke of, 211
hammercloth, 158, 206, 229, 271
Hanning, Mr., 255
Hansom, Aloysius, 250, 251
hansom-cab, 89, 99, 192 n., 250 et seq., 279, 280, 282;
Floyd hansom, 279;
four-wheeled hansom, 280
Harborough, 176
Harper, Charles, 120, 135 n., 215 n., 218, 261
Harrow, 57;
Harrow School, 57
Harvey, Mr., 249, 252
Harwich, 55, 190
Hastings, J., 22 n.
Hatchett, coachbuilder, 258
Hatton House, 77
Haussez, Baron D’, 241 n.
Heathcote, Sir Gilbert, 188
Heliogabalus, 82
“hell-cart,” 81
Hengrave, 76
Henry IV, 51
Henry VI, 54
Henry VII, 96
Henry of Navarre, 84;

his widow, 54
Herodotus, 27
Hesiod, 28
Hewer, Will, 131, 133
Hicks, Sir Elias, 92
Hieronymus, 27
Hinckley, 250
History of Great Britain, 61 n.
History of Inventions, 65
History of Locomotion, 62
Hobson, Samuel, 232
Hoby, Sir Thomas, 76
Hodges, coachmaster, 157, 158
Hoefnagle, 72
Hogarth, 64
Holborn, 132, 197, 264
Holcroft, Thomas, 226
Holinshed, 54
Holland, 68, 71, 156, 226
Holland & Holland, 261
Holloway, 247
Hood, Thomas, 248, 256
Hook, Theodore, 235
Hooke, Dr. Robert, 116, 117
Hooper, G. N., 276
Hopkinson, Luke, 264, 265
Hopkynson, Edward, 71
Horse and Carriage Oracle, The, 231
Hungary, 37, 51, 63-66, 68
Hunt, Leigh, 162, 206, 210, 214, 219, 242
Hutton, Catherine, 192
Hutton, William, 191
Hyde Park, 112, 115, 122, 155, 156

hwakeaou, 108

idol-car, Persian, 39
Indian carriages, early, 40
Ingleby, Colonel, 112
Ipswich, 73
Ireland, 143, 206, 214, 220, 238, 239, 281
Irish car, 281
Isabella of Spain, 170
isinglass, or talc, used for windows, 92
Islington, 92
Italy, 31, 32, 33 n., 35, 62, 110, 123, 172, 196, 235

Jacob, 21, 46
Jacobs, Joseph, coachbuilder, 157, 184
James I, 87
Japan, 108
jaunting car, Irish, 239
Jervis, John, coachman, 239
jin-rick-shaw, 99, 108
John, Elector of Saxony, 68
John, King, 53
Johnson, Samuel, 162, 171, 219
Jonson, Ben, 75, 79
Joseph, 21, 46
Journey across Asia, King’s, 224
Journey round the World, Pfeiffer’s, 223
Jowermarsh, 43
Julius, Duke of Brunswick, 58
Juno, 25, 118 n.
Jupiter, 162
Jusserand, J. J., 43, 47, 48

καμάρα, 27
Kamtschatka, 224

κάναθρον, 26, 28
kangoe, 108
Kellner, M., 265 n.
Kelson, Mr., 160
Kennedy, Donald, 150
keron, 271 n.
Kesterton, Mr., 272
kibitka, 224
Kinder, coachbuilder, 273
King, Captain, 224
Kink, 199
Kin-sai, 38
Knapp, Edward, 115
Korff, Baroness de, 208
Kottcze (Kotcze), 63, 65
Kotzee (Kotzi), 62, 65
Kytson family, 76

Lade, Sir John, 197, 211
Ladislaus, King of Hungary, 64
Lafitte, Jacques, 252, 253
landau, 62, 175, 193, 200, 207, 210, 230, 257, 263-266, 268, 271;
state landau, 259, 260;
canoe landau, 266
landaulet, 210, 230, 234, 264
Lassells, George, 71
Laurie & Marner, 271
Laval, René de, 58
Leadenhall Street, 181, 184
“leathern-conveniency,” 163, 238
lectica, 29, 36, 86;
lecticarii, 36
Leek, John, 71
Leith, 90

Lenthall, Speaker, 113
Leominster, 180, 185
Leopold, the Emperor, 119, 160
Ligne, Prince de, 125
lilies, a common form of decoration, 52
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 129
Lincolnshire, 95
litter, Grecian, 26;
Roman, 29;
Babylonian, 36;
mentioned, 36, 45, 52 et seq., 69;
on wheels, 49
Liverpool, 251 n.
Livy, 40 n.
Lombardy, 33 n.
London, 43, 57, 61, 69, 74, 86, 89, 90, 100, 102, 111, 120, 135, 136, 143-145, 149, 160, 176,
189, 192, 196, 216, 221, 236 n., 241 n., 242, 245, 246, 248, 250, 253, 255, 258, 262, 277,
280
London Spy, The, 154
Longacre, 189
Lonsdale, Earl of, 272, 275
Lords, House of, 114
Louis II, of Hungary, 65
Louis XIII, 121
Louis XV, 101
Louterell Psalter, 46, 48
Love in a Wood, 122
Lowther, Mr., 129
Loyd, Lady Mary, 153 n.
Lucas, John, coachbuilder, 222
Luttrell, Mr., 159
Lye, 63
Lyly, John, 58
Lyon, John, 57

Macaulay, Lord, 61
Macpherson, 68
M’Adam, James, 178, 185, 205
Madrid, 151, 206
mail-coach, 89, 136, 205, 215, 218, 240, 242, 246
Malvern cart, 235, 279
Mann, Sir Horace, 185, 198
Manners, Henry, 2nd Earl of Rutland, 70;
4th Earl of Rutland, 71, 89
Manton, 191
March, Earl of, 188, 189
Marco Polo, 37
Maretto, Giovanna Batta, 69
Margaret, daughter of Henry VII, 53
Marillier, H. C., 281, 283
market cart, Welsh, 239
Markland, J. H., 54, 102
Martial, 36
Mary, Queen, 55, 71
Mary de Medicis, 55
Massachusetts, 276
Massinger, Philip, 83, 87 n.
Matthew of Westminster, 53
“Maypole,” The, 88
Megiddo, battle of, 21
Meliadus, le Roman du Roy, 48
Menange, 63
Menshikof, 153
Merchant of Venice, 79
metal roads, 205
Mexico, 221
Middlesex Election, The, 213
Milan, 50, 110
Mile End, 49

milord, 233, 266
Milton, Rev. William, 217, 218
minibus, 249
Mirabeau, G. H., 208
Misson, M., 112
Modern Carriages, 251 n.
Modern Morning, A, 198
Molyneux, Mr., 142
monarchus, 32 n.
Monboddo, Lord, 60
monks as roadmakers, 42
Monmouth, Duke of, 120
Montagu, Lady M. W., 152, 160
Montbrun, M. de, 99
Moore, Francis, 192, 250
Moore, Henry Charles, 136, 246, 249, 250 n.
Morgan, Messrs., coachbuilders, 273
Morison, Fynes, 89
mourning chariot, 157
Much Ado about Nothing, 212
Murrey, Sir Frederick, 117
Musée Cluny, 69
My Journie, 74
Mysore, Maharajah of, 239

Nahum, 24
Naples, 33 n., 50, 140, 160;
Neapolitans, the, 87
Napoleon, 206
Nero, 34
Newark, 53
Newenham, 43
Newmarket, 188
Newport cart, 235

New York, 23
Nineveh, 24
noddy, 238, 239
Nonesuch, 77
Norfolk, 178
norimon, 108
Norris, Sir John, 59
Northampton, 176
Northanger Abbey, 199
Northumberland, Earl of, 61
Norway, 140, 224
Norwich, 73
Norwich cart, 235
Nott, Dr., 236
Numa, 33
Nuremberg, 66

Okey, Mr., 252
Oldenburgh, Count of, 112
Olivarez, Duke of, 151
omnibus, 138, 165, 169, 247, 252 et seq., 272, 279-282;
omnibus slice, 249
Omnibuses and Cabs, 136n., 246n.
one-horse cars, 251n.
Onslow, Colonel Tommy (Lord Cranley), 211
Orators, The Female, 105
Orleans, 110
Orsay, Count D’, 277
Ostend, 110
Oxford, Lord, 122

Paddington, 247, 253
Palestine, 24
Pall Mall, 133

Palmer, John, 205, 215, 241
Paris, 44, 58, 69, 90, 99-101, 109-111, 120, 127, 136, 138, 169, 172 n., 198, 207, 208, 226,
244, 245, 252, 253, 258, 262, 266, 281
Parma, 124
Pascal, Blaise, 136, 138
Pegge, Samuel, 91
pegma, 32
πείρινς, 25
Pen, Sir William, 118
Penn, William, 221
Pepys, Samuel, 74, 111, 116, 117, 118, 120, 121, 122, 125;
his coach, 126 et seq.;
Mrs. Pepys, 127;
Roger Pepys, 130
perambulator, 108
perch, 119
perithron, 272
Peru, 220
Peter the Great, 153
Peter the Great, 153 n.
Peterborough, Lady, 120, 121
Petersburg, 153, 259
Petersham, Lord, 235
Petty, Sir William, 142
Petworth, 149
Pfeiffer, Madame, 223
phaeton, 34, 175, 192, 193, 195-198, 200, 210, 212, 214, 227 n., 228 n., 234, 237, 238, 242,
262, 269, 275;
perch-high phaeton, 211, 234, 269;
one-horse phaeton, 212;
pony phaeton, 212, 267;
spider phaeton, 270;
phaeton chaise, 199;
mail-phaeton, 257, 269;

basket phaeton, 257, 270;
demi-mail phaeton, 269;
Beaufort phaeton, 269.
See also cab-phaeton
Phaeton, The New Fashioned, 192
Phaeton, and the One Horse Chair, The, 193
Phaetona, or Modern Female Taste, 197
Philip the Fair, 44
Philistia, 24
φορεῖον, 26, 36, 86
Piacenza, 124
Pickering, Mr., 131
Pickwick, 105
Pierce, Sir Harry, 97
Piers the Plowman, 42
pilentum, 32, 34, 233, 271 n.
Pilkington, George, 71
Pinch, the Social, 105
Pius IV, Pope, 58
Plane Truth, 132
plaustrum, 31, 32, 33
Pliny, 34
plostellum, 32 n.
Pomerania, 90
Pontife Brothers, 42
Portland, Duke of, 272
Portsmouth, 149
Portugal, 20, 235
post-chaise, 32 n., 165, 170 et seq., 198, 200, 205, 210, 219, 220, 231;
cost of, 210;
post-coach, 200;
post-landau, 200
postilion, 26, 31, 47, 50, 83, 113, 156, 168, 171, 190, 196, 199, 220, 260, 270 n., 275
Povey, Thomas, 126, 128, 129, 135

Princess car, 279
Prior, Matthew, 156
Procopius, 28
Provoked Husband, The, 144
Prussia, Duke of, 118
Public Advertiser, 181
Pultowa, 254
Punch, 270

quar obus, 252

raft, primitive, 18
Ralli car, 278
Ramée, M., 61, 169
Ramses II, 21, 21
rath, 271 n.
Raworth, Robert, 92
reda, 32, 35;
reda caballaria, 53
Rejected Addresses, 214 n.
Reports on Carriages, 262
rib chair, 214, 235
Richard II, 42, 48, 49, 53
Richmond, Duchess of (Arabella Stewart), 140 n.
Rippon, Walter, 70, 71, 77
roads, 28, 43, 56
Robertson, coachbuilder, 273
Rochead, Mrs., 106
rockaway, 236
rolling-carts, 181, 189;
rollers used, 179, 180, 181, 184, 185
Rome, 28, 29, 32-36, 123, 124, 211
Rosencrantz, Baron, 190
Ross-shire, 105