Paris was a beautiful city heading towards modernization, for the most part, that is. Its trains were filthy. They were dirty and disgusting, yet they were the fastest available mode of transportation available to everyone. The Parisians had no other choice, and the trains were full of the third class. The conditions that the lowerclassmen was in were as worse as those of the peasants outside the city. These people could not afford first- or second- tickets.  As a result, these poor people were sitting in cramped, dirty, open compartments. The benches were hard and uncomfortable. Without a doubt, no one wanted to ride these rough trains, but then again, it was not a choice, especially to one Parisian woman.

This Parisian woman was hardworking; she worked at a newly opened bakery from dawn to midday in order to support her kids. She lived on the outskirts of Paris, having to take the railroad everyday at least twice. The woman was approaching her late fifties, and she was widowed mother of two. Along with her son and daughter, she just had left the market, where she had bought bread and fruit. Her daughter was a single parent and had an infant in her hand. Lines to enter the train were too long, and upon entering the last train cart, a gruesome stench was in the air.

After finally finding a place to sit down in the crowded compartments, the odor was almost unendurable. People were having such loud conversations, and as the last passenger sat down, the train engine kicked off and released a high-pitched screech. All of this, the odor, the noise, and the stuffiness were all a part of the typical day of this Parisian mother.

Her daughter always carried her infant in her hand. No one sat next to her except her mother and brother. The single parent had become an outcast in society, because she was not married before having her infant nor does she know who the father of the child is. Almost no one in Paris admired to have such a daughter. The old woman, on the other hand, cared less of these traditions and took care of her daughter.

There was nothing to do on these trains. Men dressed in black and their wives had gathered as a group to initiate a conversation and spread the latest rumors of Paris among themselves. The woman faced forward and blankly stared. Her ten-year-old son was tired and fell asleep very quickly.  Her daughter was breastfeeding her child amidst the annoying noise.

“Hey, have you heard how Napoleon III’s power is weakening over the recent years?” said one man.

“No, his power is not weakening. It’s just that he has become lazy and hasn’t done any recent changes to Paris.” replied another.

“Well, it almost seems as if he put a complete halt to his plans to modernize Paris.”

“At least he kept so many of the Medieval structures. It is a good thing he preserved the cathedral of Notre Dame.”

“No one really cares about religion any more,” radically announced a wife of one of the men. Everyone stared at her, even her own husband. What she said could have been reported and have her exiled.

Nevertheless, someone disregarded her and continued the conversation. “Moving on. All I care if they would just improved the transportation around here, but no one cares about our class.”

“I sure hope so. We need improvement in our lives,” whispered the old woman. No one heard her.

The woman’s tiring day of work was approaching an end. The train was finally slowing down and arriving on the outskirts of Paris. The train came to an abrupt halt, and the ride was over. The woman’s son immediately woke up and mostly everyone was knocked off his or her seat because of the abruption. The woman gathered her two children together and left for her house as a group. As the passengers exited the train car, they groaned and complained. All these Parisians asked for was an improvement of their daily lives, and this daily train ride definitely needed improvement.

Story inspired by The Third-Class Carriage by Honoré Daumier