THE GENTLEMAN-RIDERS
True or false, M. de Cernay's story had awakened my curiosity to such a
point that I was in the greatest hurry to arrive on the race-course.
We started off for the Bois de Boulogne. It was a beautiful day in
February; the sun was shining brightly; the pure fresh air, not too cold
to be pleasant, gave a healthy colour to the ladies who were riding in
open carriages on their way to the races.
We stopped at the Porte Dauphine to mount our saddle-horses. Mine had to
submit to another examination from M. de Cernay, who was apparently
confirmed in the good opinion he had formed of me. This you may be sure
flattered my vanity.
As for his own horses, they were, like everything else he owned, perfect
in every respect.
M. du Pluvier proved himself to be the demonstration of a theory of
mine, namely, that there are some men so constituted that they
inevitably make themselves ridiculous; he was hardly on his horse's back
before he allowed himself to be run away with. We supposed him to be
some distance behind us, when he suddenly shot by us like an arrow. We
watched him for some time, but his horse, turning into a cross-road,
gave him such a shock that he lost his hat, and then he disappeared.
We arrived tranquilly on the ground with Ismaël, laughing at this
mishap. I should mention the fact that De Cernay, being the owner of a
beautiful black Arab horse, and wishing to be as gracious as possible to
his "lion," had offered it to Ismaël as a mount. The renegade had
accepted, and his characteristic, dark face, and strange, brilliant
costume contrasted violently with, and served, as no doubt M. de Cernay
had foreseen, to accentuate the Parisian elegance of the latter.
Once on the ground, I got off my horse and mingled with the habitués of
the races, among whom I found several of my acquaintances. It was then
that I saw the frightful obstacle which was to be leaped over, after the
two miles had been run and the hedges crossed.
Fancy a beam raised five feet above the ground, and nailed across two
perpendicular posts like a gate across a road.
It was then that the story M. de Cernay had told me, strange as it was,
and contrary to all our usual customs, began to seem credible, and to
explain why these two young men were about to run such a terrible risk.
There was quite a crowd of people around the barrier, who were quite as
incredulous as I. They asked each other why two young men, who were rich
and in the best society, should risk their lives in such a way as this.
They wondered if the race was for an enormous sum of money, as that
might in a certain way justify such foolish bravery; but the purse was
but two hundred louis.
At last, after many foolish conjectures, several of the spectators, who
were conversant with the happenings in high life, arrived, either from
their own convictions or from being prompted by M. de Cernay's
story,--arrived, I say, at the same conclusion as he did, and gave the
same interpretation to this deadly duel.
This hypothesis was very generally admitted; because, in the first
place, it had the irresistible attraction of maliciousness; and,
secondly, because any explication of the silliest as well as the most
serious question, which appears to solve the long and vainly sought
answer to the enigma, is hailed with delight.
So that very soon I heard here and there such exclamations as the
following: "Is it possible?" "Ah, really! now that explains it all."
"What utter folly!" "What thoughtful tact!" "How foolhardy to run such
risks for a scornful coquette!" "It is just like her to permit such
behaviour!" "The devilish little marquise! It is disgusting!"
"Incredible!" etc.
I had not the time to question M. de Cernay as to any details about the
performers in this extraordinary entertainment, so while the public was
venting its indignation on Madame de Pënâfiel, I happened to notice
Sir Henry ----, a great sportsman of my acquaintance, and thought that
perhaps he could give me some interesting information.
"Well," said I, "this race will be exciting enough, I hope! Can you tell
me which is the favourite?"
"Opinions are very equally divided," said he, "so that there does not
seem to be any favourite. As for the horses, they both come of good
stock; one, Beverley, is by Augustus out of Cybele, and the other,
Captain Morave, is by Camel out of Vengeress; both of them have spent
two hunting seasons in England. As for the gentleman-riders, they are
the Baron de Merteuil and the Marquis de Senneterre, and have each
acquired a tremendous reputation among the upper crust of the habitués
of Melton. They are said to equal our intrepid Captain Beacher, who
broke his last sound limb (the left forearm) in last year's
steeplechase, at St. Albans. One must be brave to face such danger. I
have seen many races, I have been to hunts and steeplechases in Ireland,
where they have stone walls instead of hedges, but the walls are never
more than three or four feet high. To tell the truth, I have never seen
anything worse than that bar," said Sir Henry ----, turning again
towards the terrible barrier.
At every moment new carriages were arriving, and the crowd of spectators
becoming greater. This crowd was divided into two distinct parties; the
first, which was the greater majority, consisted of persons who knew
nothing of the rumours of society, and only saw in this race a sort of
show, whose peril they never suspected.
The smaller number, enlightened as to the reason and object assigned to
this challenge, understood perfectly well the danger these
gentleman-riders were about to expose themselves to.
But I must say that all of the spectators, especially these last, were
waiting for the hour of the race with an impatience that I shared with
them, and was almost ashamed of. Very soon the crowd rushed towards the
centre of the circle.
Messieurs de Senneterre and de Merteuil had just got out of a carriage,
and were mounting their horses to go to the starting-point.
M. de Merteuil looked to be no more than twenty-five, of an elegant and
graceful figure, and a charming face; he was calm and smiling, though
rather pale. He wore a silk jacket, half black and half white, with a
cap to match, his breeches were of pale yellow buckskin, and, to
complete his costume, he wore top-boots. He rode Captain Morave.
Captain Morave was a splendid bay horse, in such good condition that you
could almost see the blood circulating in the veins under his fine,
silky coat, which fairly reflected the light. You could have counted
each one of his strong muscles, so divested of all superfluous fat was
his firm flesh.
M. de Merteuil stopped a moment at the winning-post, to speak to M. de
Cernay. M. de. Senneterre's horse was cooler, and did not need the
quarter of a mile gallop that M. de Merteuil was taking on his way back
to the starting-place. So he was riding a very pretty piebald back,
curiously marked with black and white. He was about the same size as M.
de Merteuil, and had quite as pleasant a face. Under his long overcoat
could be seen his purple silk jacket; Beverley awaited him at the start.
He approached his rival with a smile on his lips, and held out his hand.
They shook hands with apparently the greatest cordiality, which I
thought was dissimulation, but in good form, considering the terms on
which they were supposed to be.
These two charming young men created a universal and disquieting
interest, so real was the peril they were about to face in this
thoughtless, heedless way. In fact, no matter what it undertakes,
bravery is always admired. An elderly gentleman with white hair, and of
very dignified appearance, approached M. de Merteuil, and evidently made
some remarks to him about the perils of the race. His observations were
received with the most perfect politeness, but had no effect, for, in
the presence of that attentive crowd, Messieurs de Merteuil and de
Senneterre could not now seem to shrink from danger, whatever it might
be.
At last, it was time to go to the starting-place. One of M. de Cernay's
friends went with the gentleman-riders to superintend the weighing, and
give the signal.
The assemblage was now worked up to a breathless state of curiosity, for
now it was about to be satisfied.
At this moment, hearing a confused murmur of voices, which was fast
becoming a clamour of noise and confusion, I turned and beheld that
unfortunate man, Du Pluvier, who, hatless, his hair streaming in the
wind, his body thrown backward, and his legs forward, was stiffening
himself with all his might, and trying to stop his runaway horse; who,
dashing across the open race-course like an arrow, very soon disappeared
in one of the contiguous paths, amidst the shouting and derision of the
spectators.
This, ridiculous episode was hardly finished when another object
attracted my attention.
I saw a very handsome orange-coloured coupé drive up, drawn by two
magnificent black horses of the largest size, and yet of the finest race
and style. The silver mountings of the harness glittered in the sun, and
on the ample blue draperies of the coachman's seat I noted two
coats-of-arms, richly embroidered in coloured silk, surmounted by the
crown of a marquis worked in gold. I was gazing curiously into this
carriage, when M. de Cernay, who was passing near me, said, "I was sure
of it, there is Madame de Pënâfiel. It is infamous!" And, without
giving me time to question him, he rode up to the door of the carriage,
around which several men of Madame de Pënâfiel's acquaintance were
pressing. She seemed to receive M. de Cernay with rather a careless
affability, giving him the tips of her fingers. The count was very
talkative and gay.
I looked again into the carriage, and could see Madame de Pënâfiel
distinctly.
Through the white blonde veil which fell from her simple little mauve
capote, I saw a very pale face, very regularly oval, and of a creamy
white. Her large eyes, which she kept half closed, were of a changeable
greenish shade, almost iridescent, and her eyebrows were beautifully
arched above them. Her smooth, white forehead was slightly prominent,
and was framed in a mass of light chestnut hair, whose golden shade
reminded one of a portrait by Titian. Her nose was small but rather too
straight, and her mouth, though rosy, was large, and the thin lips were
so disdainfully closed that her face had an expression which was at the
same time weary, sardonic, and scornful. The nonchalant pose of Madame
de Pënâfiel, half reclining in her carriage, all wrapped in a black
cashmere shawl, increased this look of languor and want of interest.
While I was gazing at Madame de Pënâfiel's features, she hardly seemed
conscious that De Cernay was speaking to her. Suddenly she turned her
head, in an absent-minded way, in the opposite direction from the count.
At once her pale face brightened, and she leaned forward towards M. de
Cernay, as though to ask him the name of some person she glanced at,
with a look of lively curiosity.
I followed the direction of her eyes, and saw Ismaël, whose horse was
impatiently rearing, though the renegade, who was a splendid horseman,
had him well under control. The long flowing sleeves of his red and gold
vestment were fluttering in the wind, and his white turban set off his
handsome dark face. He frowned savagely while striking his horse's sides
with the blades of his Moorish stirrups. Seen thus, Ismaël was a type
of fierce and powerful beauty.
I turned my head, and saw Madame de Pënâfiel, who, until then, had
been so uninterested, watching with the greatest anxiety every movement
of the renegade.
All at once, the horse of the latter reared so suddenly on its hind legs
that he was on the point of falling over backwards.
When this happened Madame de Pënâfiel threw herself back in her
carriage, and covered her eyes with her hand. However, as Ismaël's
horse did not fall, Madame de Pënâfiel, whose face for an instant had
shown how terribly alarmed she was, became quite serene again, and fell
back in her careless attitude.
All this scene took place in less than five minutes, and yet it gave me
an uncomfortable feeling. Under any other circumstances, the curiosity
Madame de Pënâfiel had shown in noticing Ismaël, whose picturesque
costume and brilliant colouring attracted universal attention, would
have appeared the most natural thing in the world. It was perfectly
natural, too, when the renegade's horse almost fell on him, that she
should have been suddenly terrified; what struck me as strange and
peculiar in her conduct, was that she should manifest so much solicitude
about a man she was not acquainted with, while at the same time she
could be hard-hearted enough to come and look on at a deadly struggle,
which might end in the death of one of those young men who were in love
with her.
As soon as Ismaël's horse became quieted, Madame de Pënâfiel resumed
her nonchalant and bored attitude, then giving M. de Cernay a nod, she
closed the windows of her carriage, probably because she was afraid of
the cold, which was getting to be severe.
At this moment some men on horseback hurried towards the race-track,
crying, "They are off!"
M. de Cernay instantly stepped to the winning-post; a murmur of
excitement and curiosity ran through the assemblage; every one kept
clear of the space on each side of the terrible bar, which reared itself
on the hard and stony ground; while two doctors, sent in case of
accident, stood beside the dismal litter which is one of the obligatory
accessories of every race-course.
After having felt any of the thousand emotions which are excited by a
race,--the vanity of ownership, the real affection a man has for a noble
horse, the pride of a looked-for triumph, the fear or the hope of losing
or winning large sums of money,--we can easily understand the breathless
suspense that pervades the crowd at such a scene.
But on this occasion every spectator seemed to have an immense and
fearful interest at stake, so convinced was the crowd of the fearful
danger these gentlemen were running. I remember that, with the tact that
exists, and always will exist, among well-bred people, not a single bet
was made between any members of the upper classes who were witnesses of
this race, for its issue might be so fatal that the only thing thought
of was the chances of escape these young men might have, for they were
well known to all.
Every one waited eagerly for their appearance. All the opera and field
glasses were brought to bear on the two-mile track, for nothing could be
clearly distinguished.
At last a universal outcry showed that the jockeys had been sighted.
At the farthest end of the course we could see them bending over their
saddles. When they got to the first hedge they leaped it together. Then
they ran neck to neck over the distance between the first and second
hedges.
Then we saw the two horses' heads as they neared the second hedge,--then
the two riders who passed over it royally--both at once!
It was a magnificent race; the applauding was tremendous, but the
nervous excitement was even greater,--we were breathless, we were
frightfully oppressed.
At the third hedge M. de Merteuil had the advantage of a length, but
after the leap M. de Senneterre caught up with him, and they were now
again head to head, and were nearing the last terrible barrier with
incredible speed.
I had gone into the counter alley some feet from the winning-post, so as
to see the faces of the two rivals.
Very soon we heard the dull resonance of the ground under the shock of
the galloping horses. Like a flash they passed before me still head to
head. They were sweeping over the ground at a marvellous pace, their
coats were scarcely damp, their nostrils were open and trembling, their
heads were stretched out, their tails down, and their ears set back on
their necks.
The gentleman-riders, pale, bent over their horses' necks, clutched the
pommels with their bare hands, and pressed their horses between their
muscular legs with almost convulsive energy.
As they passed before me they were neither of them ten feet from the
bar. At this moment I saw M. de Merteuil give a vigorous blow of the
whip to his horse, attacking at the same time with the spur, intending
in this way to lift him over the bar with greater certainty. The brave
horse leaped instantly forward before his rival could get to the bar,
for he was then about half a length behind; but whether his strength
gave out, or whether he had been imprudently urged at that moment,
instead of being allowed to gather himself together so that he might
take more time to the leap, Captain Morave charged so blindly at the
beam that he struck it with his fore feet.
[Illustration]
Then, hearing that great crowd utter a single and formidable cry, I saw
the horse and his rider turn a somersault, and roll on the track, at the
moment when M. de Senneterre, either on a better horse, or a better
rider, dashing up, made Beverley take an enormous leap, and cleared the
bar, which he soon left far behind him, as it was impossible for him to
stop the impetuous speed of his horse for some seconds.
Every one immediately surrounded the unfortunate M. de Merteuil. Not
daring to go near him, so much did I dread such a sight, I turned to
where I had seen Madame de Pënâfiel. Her carriage had disappeared.
Did she leave before or after this horrible accident?
Soon this dreadful murmur, "He is dead!" went through the throng.