EQUESTRIANS.
I retain amongst the recollections of my provincial childhood, the
remembrance of an annual festival, in itself noisy and marvellous,
and even now, when I close my eyes, I can recall the brightness of
its lamps.
Every year, at Saint Michel, in the month when the clear heaven is
spotted with kites, in one square of the old city, by the side of the
paved road by which the Paris coaches formerly passed with sonorous
smacking of the whip, a palace of new planks would rise in a few
days as light as a house of cards. Enormous placards on every wall
announced the arrival of a grand circus consisting of fifty horses
and one hundred and fifty artists.
For some weeks beforehand our boyish hearts were seriously disturbed.
Every day, after school-hours, with [p160] books under our arms,
walking like truant schoolboys, we went to enjoy, through the
half-open doors of the stables, the intoxicating smell of horses,
blended with the scent of fresh sawdust and that perfume of musk
which turns the brains of men. And then, peeping through the chinks
between the badly fitting planks, we could watch, in the half light
of the circus, the rehearsals of the beautiful equestrians for whom
our youthful hearts were beating, as naïve and courageous as those of
their own horses.
At last some fine morning the passers by would see on the
placards the announcement of a gala performance. “The professors
of the college and MM. the pupils of the Lycée will honour this
entertainment by their presence.”
It was on one of these evenings, now almost twenty years ago, that
I first saw and loved poor Émilie Loisset, before her success in
Paris and Vienna, when she made her _début_ in the _haute école_, and
played in a pantomime disguised as Prince Charming, with her sister
Clotilde, now an Hungarian princess. Her touching story has been
related by Philippe Daryl in his charming novel _La Petite Lambton_.
At that time Émilie was not more than eighteen years old, and she was
the most charming creature in the world. Still her eyes and her face
wore a curiously melancholy expression. I learnt afterwards that the
most flattering success could never dispel the instinctive distrust
of life, the romantic fancy for gloomy subjects which afterwards
led her to take a house exactly opposite the little cemetery of
Maisons-Laffitte.
She was buried in it two days after she had been carried from the
circus mutilated and crushed by the fall of her horse, which, in
refusing a jump, had fallen upon her. [p161]
Forgive me for opening this chapter by evoking the melancholy smile
of one who is no more. But I owe this tribute to Émilie Loisset; for
it is through her, that, as a child, I received the first revelation
of the beauty of a woman on horseback, of the artistic union of the
two most perfect curvilineal forms in creation—the horse adding
height to the woman by the majesty of its stature, the woman daringly
poised on the animal like a wing.
[Illustration]
But long and serious work, both for the equestrian and the horse, has
preceded this harmonious union. Although the woman and the animal
have acquired the habit of conquering difficulties together, and have
even attained perfect unison of will and obedience, yet they have
each studied alone, slowly [p162] reaching that perfection, that
confidence in their own powers, which produce the success of their
alliance.
It is important that the various phases of this education should be
defined at once. The studies of the equestrians of the _haute école_,
the highest form of training for horse and rider, differ completely
from those of the pad equestrian, whilst the lessons given to
performing horses differ equally from those of the _haute école_.
[Illustration: EMILIE LOISSET.]
France possesses the legendary trainer of performing horses, M.
Loyal. For thirty-five years he has introduced his pupils to the
public. M. Franconi possesses an old mare—_la mère Tulipe_—twenty-two
years old, who was trained under his whip. Every year M. Loyal
undertakes some new [p163] pupils, and enlarges the sphere of
his conquests. He is so certain of his own pre-eminence that he
takes no trouble to conceal his method. He has often invited me to
his rehearsals, and I have met fellow-workers there who had gone,
like myself, to learn from him. One day M. Loyal even gave one of
us a short essay on the subject of his work, which has since been
published.
[Illustration] [p164]
The horse, in the opinion of the celebrated trainer, is one of the
dullest animals created; it has but one faculty, memory. On this
account it must be forced to learn its tricks by the aid of the curb
and whip; they are imprinted in its memory by the whip if it resist,
and by presents of carrots if it obey. On these terms every horse can
be trained, but it is well understood that certain breeds, such as
Arabian and German horses from Old Prussia, are easier to teach than
any others, and also that the animal’s age is of great importance.
It must not be either too young or too old; the best educations are
given between five and seven years old. Before that age the horse is
too excitable, too nervous; he gets confused. Later than that his
muscles are not sufficiently flexible.
The A B C of education consists in rendering the horse familiar with
the arena, making it go round regularly and stop at a given signal.
To teach it this first lesson, M. Loyal leads the creature into the
circus and places it close to the palisade, whilst he goes into the
centre of the ring. In his left hand he holds a long leash, which has
been passed through the curb or _cavesson_—every one knows that this
is a semicircle of iron armed with a sharp point, which is placed
upon the nose of the horse. In his right hand he holds a long whip,
whilst an assistant, armed with a strong riding-whip, is concealed
behind the animal. In this position the trainer utters a call, then
lightly pulling the horse, forces it to walk. If it resist the
assistant gives it a blow with the whip, if it obey it receives a
carrot from its master as a reward, after three or four turns round
the arena. To make it stop, the trainer suddenly cracks the whip in
his pupil’s face, whilst the assistant throws himself in front of
it. [p165]
The same method is used in teaching a horse to leap. It is placed in
front of a barrier, and is encouraged to jump over it by voice and
gesture; if it refuse, the assistant gives it a volley of blows on
the croup with his whip. If it jump, the ever ready carrot is its
reward.
[Illustration: THE MARE TULIPE]
To make it point, the ring-master has simply to place [p166] himself
squarely in front of the horse, to shake his riding-whip with the
left hand, whilst he cracks his long whip with the right.
But although the horse learns these tricks with comparative facility,
a great effort is required before it can be taught to kneel. The
trainer is obliged to resort to surprise. A bracelet is attached to
the two fore pasterns just above the hoof, and a cord is attached to
it by one end, the other being held by the trainer. Suddenly M. Loyal
attracts the attention of the horse by a sharp cry; at the same time
he shakes its confidence by a pull at the cord and a vigorous blow on
its shoulder. In a short time the horse kneels down at the master’s
call without being tripped or coerced in any way.
Next to this achievement, the most difficult feat is teaching a horse
the trick of _changing feet_. This requires fully a year of patience.
The animal is led into the arena and commences its usual exercise
round it. The trainer allows it to settle quietly into its stride,
then abruptly, with a touch of the whip cleverly applied, he tries
to break its pace; that is to say, to make it change step. If this
result is obtained, the horse is allowed to gallop round the ring
once or twice, then it is checked again to make it return to its
former step. When the animal understands what it ought to do at the
touch of the whip, instead of completing the turn round the ring on
one foot, it is forced to change at the half round. Afterwards it is
only allowed a quarter turn, then only three or four steps without
changing, and lastly only two. The horse thus appears to dance the
polka when it performs to music, which accompanies and follows its
movements.
The ring-master usually chooses a well-bred horse from [p167]
amongst the animals trained in this way, and already broken, for
initiation into the _haute école_.
[Illustration]
No one will expect me to discuss here the principles of this
training, nor even the theories of circus horsemanship. [p168] I
refer the reader to the special treatises written upon the subject
by men in the profession, particularly to the fine book which the
historian of sport, Baron de Vaux, has published under the title of
_Les Hommes de Cheval_.[10] I especially recommend the perusal of the
chapter consecrated to the Franconi family. It contains an account of
how Laurence Franconi taught the present manager of the two circuses
the principles of the School of Versailles, whilst freeing good
horsemanship from the superfluities in use in the time of Pluvinel.
Laurence Franconi wished for a less formal, less studied style of
horsemanship. The introduction into France of English horses trained
in the hunting-field and on the race-course, and the re-organization
of the cavalry, had demonstrated the necessity of preparing horses
for greater freedom of action. It was realized that good riding did
not consist merely in forcing a horse to show off and tire itself
uselessly in obtaining a striking effect, but in well calculating
the strength of the steed, in husbanding its forces, and regulating
its paces. It was at last recognized that the ideal horse of the
_haute école_ should be easy in its balance and in its artificial
paces under the guidance of its rider, and that on his side the rider
should only use the force necessary to maintain this balance, and to
secure the execution of the airs of the _haute école_.
On these principles Laurence Franconi trained _Blanche_, _Norma_,
and _Hector_; Victor Franconi, his son, trained _Frisette_, _Ajax_,
_Waverley_, and _Brillante_; and Charles Franconi, his grandson,
educated _Régent_ and _Moscou_. [p169]
[Illustration]
I remember being present at the Cirque d’Été during one of Moscou’s
rehearsals, ridden by Mdlle. Marguerite Dudlay. The little empty
circus was illumined by a red light, the reflection of the April sun
upon the velvet of the benches. Charles Franconi was watching the
work of the equestrian and her horse. It was a Russian stallion,
beautifully shaped and very elegant; in its veins it showed the
vigour of the [p170] Slav-blood, full of revolt, excitement,
passion, and violence, veiled by affected gentleness, lost in
compliance with its rider’s will.
A ring-master, armed with a whip, held the horse in front of a
barrier which he gradually raised. Without any apparent effort Mdlle.
Dudlay lifted the grand quivering beast over the bar. The young girl
was bareheaded, and her hair had fallen down with the shock. She was
a charming picture in her dangerous leaps, with her long wavy hair
flowing over her shoulders.
[Illustration]
After the rehearsal I went up to her to speak about her horses. She
was very fond of them, and would not allow them to be scolded. They
were her friends.
[Illustration]
“Moscou is so gentlemanly!” she said, showing me the [p172] horse,
which an attendant was leading away covered with foam. “He has such
good manners!”
And in a low tone she owned to me that she preferred him to Regent,
a grey of classic beauty, much more reliable than his comrade—loyal,
vigorous, and brave; but he replaced coaxing by a military
deportment, the correct stiffness of an officer.
“No doubt I am unjust,” said Mdlle. Dudlay, “but how can I help it?
Moscou and I love each other.”
That is the secret of the _haute école_ as well as of everything
else. Habit and skill are insufficient—love is necessary too. It is
through love of the little hands which caress their necks that these
great horses throw all their energies into leaps which exhaust them;
it is through love that they humiliate themselves, that they kneel
down. For my own part, I know no grander spectacle, no more spiritual
combination, no triumph more admirable of mental over physical force.
It is almost unnecessary to add that these instances of perfect
harmony are the exception, not the rule. The little “mashers” in
white ties and dress-coats who encumber the entrance to the ring, and
surround the equestrian as she mounts her saddle, crying “Bravo!” and
“_Très chic!_” at every movement she makes, hope by their eagerness,
by these exclamations, to pose as horsey men in the eyes of the
crowd; but they never imagine the duplicity of which they are the
victims nineteen times out of twenty.
[Illustration: HAUTE ÉCOLE.]
There are, in fact, two very different categories of equestrians of
the _haute école_; first the wives, daughters, and sisters of the
circus managers, who are placed on a horse [p173] trained in the
establishment at an early age. Let us softly add that these subjects
are nearly always, to quote an expression of M. Molier, “Les fruits
secs du panneau.”[11] It sometimes occurs also that a well-to-do
manager, who thinks of marrying his daughter in the _bourgeoisie_—or
even in the aristocracy—hesitates to exhibit the young girl in the
semi-nudity of tights. He is afraid of alarming the future husband.
This has happened with several accomplished equestrians like the late
Émilie Loisset, and, at the present moment, Mdlle. Renz.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
As a rule, the equestrian of the _haute école_ is a pretty girl who
wishes to appear in a circus, and who has found some one [p174] to
minister to her vanity. This “some one” must be rich—very rich. The
horsewoman in question must take with her three trained horses—two of
the _haute école_, and one leaper. This trio of horses costs a great
deal. It is only in a circus that they can be obtained ready to work
[p175] with a woman, and the trade in them is a speciality of German
circuses. Old horses trained in the _haute école_, regular as clocks
in their movements, may be found there for sale at from 10,000 to
15,000 francs each. The value of the horse sometimes even rises to
20,000 francs if it has a good tail.
A few weeks’ work suffice to “adapt”—another expression of M. Molier,
to whom I owe the revelation of all these secrets—a very mediocre
equestrian to one of these mechanical horses. The animal, annoyed by
its bad rider, who shuffles on her saddle, does not perform one-half
of the work which the man has taught him. But the public does not
know this, and the would-be sportsmen who adorn the entrance to the
ring open admiring eyes when the pretty girl assures them, from the
superior height of her saddle, that she trained the horse herself.
These frank explanations will probably make many pretty enemies for
me; but, at least, they ought to assure you of the sincerity of the
admiration and respect which I profess for the _pad equestrians_ or
_standing equestrians_.
Apparently, in a circus, a woman’s virtue is in inverse proportion
to the length of her skirts; the riding-habit is suspected, whilst
muslin petticoats soar above all scandalous aspersions.
[Illustration]
The “standing” equestrian is usually married to a circus artiste
whilst still very young; she is an excellent housewife and a model
mother. As long as maternity does not interfere with her profession,
she shares her husband’s dangerous performances during her youth.
With him she dislocates herself, and bravely fractures her arms and
legs. She has [p176] scarcely recovered before she recommences her
work. Her circus education is complete. She was placed on a horse at
six years old, and besides her standing-up performances—the [p177]
most difficult of all—she has learnt the mimic art, the slack wire,
juggling, gymnastics, sometimes even the “carpet.” I am not alluding
to the _haute école_. An equestrian who can ride standing is so sure
of her balance, and so much accustomed to her horse, that she can
ride on a side saddle with very little instruction. She can therefore
appear as an equestrian of the _haute école_ with only a few days’
rehearsal.
But amongst all the necessary studies that form part of the education
of a pad equestrian, there is one fundamental and primary one to
which she devotes as much time as to the riding-school; this is the
art of dancing. The equestrian follows the same classes as a ballet
girl. Dancing lessons make her turn her feet and knees out, teach her
to carry her arms and head well, and give her equilibrium and grace.
There are some instances of dancers who, having injured themselves in
the exercise of their art, have learnt to ride standing in less than
a year.
[Illustration]
The horse ridden by a pad equestrian should be a reliable animal,
with smooth even paces. The regularity of its movements is so
important that now the most popular equestrians possess their own
horses, and insist upon the manager of the circus engaging them
too. This is a wise precaution. I remember one day at the Cirque
d’Été seeing Mdlle. Adèle Rossi contend with a fine piebald horse
which replaced her usual steed. She appeared as a jockey, standing
and booted, in a vaulting performance in which she was charmingly
jaunty and graceful. She made her spring in the ring, and alighted
standing upon the galloping horse. Each time she leaped the animal
was startled and changed [p179] its foot; this produced an abrupt
movement of the shoulder, which sent Mdlle. Rossi back into the
arena. The young girl was obliged to recommence her performance a
dozen times before she succeeded in it, amidst the applause of the
audience.
[Illustration]
This wonderful equilibrium is only acquired by great practice and
much patience. You may now see an amusing performance at the Nouveau
Cirque styled a “Riding Lesson” on the programme. The stablemen
place a large gibbet, which moves on its own axis, in the centre
of the arena. From the arm of this apparatus a ring, attached to a
cord, hangs above the ring-master, who is on horseback. The other
end of the cord is attached to the pupil’s waist. You will at once
realize the amusement which is derived from the awkward movements
of the gibbet. The man in the black coat, who wished to take a
riding-lesson, is left swimming in the air, whilst the horse gallops
on the other side of the [p180] arena. But at the rehearsals of an
artist, the gibbet manœuvres with more circumspection, and it has
very generally replaced the cord, which was formerly fastened on one
side to the pupil’s waist-belt and held by the riding-master at the
other end, whilst it passed in the middle through a ring hanging from
the ceiling.
The first time that an equestrian, supported in this manner, takes a
lesson on the pad, she is made to gallop in a sitting posture until
she is thoroughly accustomed to the movements of the horse. Then she
raises herself upon one knee before she stands upright, her shoulder
turned inside the ring, between the horse and the master. The
equestrian then gradually rises to her feet, and performs upon the
pad all the steps that she has acquired in the dancing academy. The
man who has followed the same classes with her, now adds to her work
the attitudes and movements of an acrobat; together they perform the
_pas de deux_ and the vaulting acts which amateurs delight in.
But although these vaulting acts, this springing through hoops, may
charm the public, they are a violent, ungraceful performance, which
can rouse the admiration of the ignorant only. Ask the real artists,
like Jenny O’Brien, what they think of these acrobatic exercises.
They will not hesitate to tell you that if these leaps are a sure
way of winning applause, they are the worst method of satisfying the
conscience of an artist.
At the same time, if it be true that danger defied adds some dignity
to the effort made, then the warmest expressions of public sympathy
are due to pad equestrians. Perhaps no one will be surprised to
learn that, according to statistics, [p181] circus-riders are more
frequently killed than even gymnasts. The reason is that an accident
is not produced by an unfortunate physical cause only, or by the
distraction of one second: a mistake of the horse may kill the man
who is riding it.
During the years that I have frequented the Parisian circuses, I was
once present at a cruel accident.
[Illustration]
An equestrian, named Prince, was performing at the Cirque d’Été a
vaulting act on two horses, which were leaping fixed bars. Suddenly
one of the animals fell on its knees, and the man was thrown forward
upon his head. The assistants at once rushed towards him and covered
the body with a mantle. It was carried out, and M. Loyal, in a choked
voice, but with a smile on his lips, came forward and said:
“It is nothing, ladies and gentlemen—a slight accident. M. Prince
begs that the public will excuse him.”
The truth was that the rider had been killed on the [p182] spot—he
had broken his neck. And whilst a number of clowns tumbled into
the ring, reassuring the public by their jokes, Prince’s wife and
children were weeping over his body in the great whitewashed room,
where the reins of the performing donkeys were hanging on the walls
side by side with clowns’ wigs, training whips, and spangled tights.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[10] J. Rothschild, éditeur, 1888.
[11] Those who are too old for the pad.
[p183] [Illustration]