Here we are riding, she and I!
_Browning_.
What is it now, Esmeralda? By your blushing and stammering it is
fairly evident that another of your devices for learning on the
American plan--that is to say, by not studying--is in full
possession of your fancy, and that again you expect to become a
horsewoman by a miracle; come, what is it? A music ride? Nell has
an acquaintance who always rides to music, and asserts that it is
as easy as dancing; that the music "fairly lifts you out of the
saddle," and that the pleasure of equestrian exercise is doubled
when it is done to the sound of the flute, violin, and bassoon,
or whatever may be the riding-school substitutes?
As for lifting you out of the saddle, Esmeralda, it is quite
possible that music might execute that feat, promptly and neatly,
once, and might leave you out, were it produced suddenly and
unexpectedly by "dot leetle Sherman bad," and it is undoubtedly
true that, were you a rider, music would exhilarate you, quicken
your motions, stimulate your nerves, and assist you as it assists
a soldier when marching. It is also true that it will aid even
you somewhat, by indicating on what step you should rise, so that
your motions will not alternate with those of your horse, to your
discomfiture and his disgust, and that thus, by mechanically
executing the movement, you may acquire the power of seeing that
you are not performing it when you rise once a minute or
thereabouts, but a music ride is an exercise which a wise pupil
will not take until advised thereto by her master. Still, have
your own way! Why did George Washington and the other fathers of
the republic exist, if its daughters must be in bondage to common
sense and expediency?
Borrow Nell's habit once more, for the criticism to be undergone
on the road is mild compared to that of a gallery of spectators
before whom you must repeatedly pass in review, and who may
select you as the object of their especial scrutiny. Dress at
home, if possible; if not, go to the school early, and array
yourself rapidly, but carefully, for there may be fifty riders
present during the evening, and there will be little room to
spare on the mounting-stand, and no minutes to waste on buttoning
gloves, shortening skirt straps or tightening boot lacings.
Remember all that you have been taught about mounting and
about taking your reins, and think assiduously of it, with a
determination to pay no attention to the gallery. There will be
no spectators on the mounting-stand, and Theodore, who will take
charge of you in the ring, will mount before you do, and when you
have been put in your saddle by one of the masters, and start, he
will take his place on your right, nearer the centre of the ring.
While you are walking your horses slowly about, turning corners
carefully and never ceasing to control your reins, warn him that
when you say, "Centre," he must turn out to the right instantly,
that you also may do so. If possible, you will not pronounce the
word, but will ride as long as the horses canter or trot in time
to the music.
"Do you understand," Theodore asks, "that these horses adjust
their gait to the music?"
"So Nell's friend says."
"Well, I don't believe it. They are good horses, but I don't
believe that they practice circus tricks. Why must I go to the
centre the minute that you bid me? Why couldn't you pull up and
pass out behind me?"
"Because if I did, somebody might ride over me. It is not proper
to stop while on the track."
"Oh-h! How long do they trot or canter at a time? Half an hour?"
"Only a few minutes," you answer, wondering whether Theodore
really supposes that you could canter, much less trot half an
hour, even if stimulated by the music of the spheres.
"That's a pretty rider," he says, as a girl circles lightly past,
sitting fairly well, and rising straight, but with her arms so
much extended that her elbow is the apex of a very obtuse angle,
though her forearms are horizontal. You explain this point to
Theodore, who replies that she looks pretty, and seems to be able
to trot for some time, whereupon your heart sinks within you.
What will he say when he sees the necessary brevity of your
performance?
Other riders enter: two or three men mounted on their own horses,
beautiful creatures concerning whose value fabulous tales are
told in the stable; the best rider of the school, very quietly
and correctly dressed, and managing her horse so easily that the
women in the gallery do not perceive that she is guiding him at
all, although the real judges, old soldiers, a stray racing man
or two, the other school pupils and the master--regard her
admiringly, and the grooms, as they bring in new horses, keep an
eye on her and her movements, as they linger on their way back to
the stable.
"Her horse is very good," Theodore admits, "but I don't think
much of her. Well, yes, she is pretty," he admits, as she
executes the Spanish trot for a few steps and then pats her
horse's shoulder; "it's pretty, but anybody could do it on a
trained horse, couldn't they, sir?" he asks your master, who
rides up, mounted on his own pet horse.
"Anybody who knew how. The horse has been trained to answer
certain orders, but the orders must be given. An untrained horse
would not understand the orders, no matter how good an animal he
might be. Antinous might not have been able to ride Bucephalus,
and I don't believe that Alexander could have coaxed Rosinante
into a Spanish trot. It isn't enough to have a Corliss engine, or
enough to have a good engineer: you must have them both, and they
must be acquainted with one another. I don't believe that horse
would do that for you."
"No, I don't think he would," Theodore says dryly, for he has
been watching, and has reluctantly owned to himself that he does
not see how the movement is effected. Meantime, you, Esmeralda,
have been arduously devoting yourself to maintaining a correct
attitude, and are rewarded by hearing somebody in the gallery
wonder whether you represent the kitchen poker or Bunker Hill
Monument.
"Don't mind," your master says, encouragingly. "It is better to
be stiffly erect than to be crooked, and as for the person who
spoke, she could not ride a Newfoundland dog," and with that he
touches his hat, and rides lightly across the ring to speak to a
lady whose horse has, in the opinion of the gallery, been showing
a very bad temper, although in reality every plunge and curvet
has been made in answer to her wrist and to the tiny spur which
his rider wears and uses when needed. The lady nods in answer to
something which the master says, the two draw near to the wall,
side by side, the others fall in behind them, and the band begins
a waltz, playing rather deliberately at first, but soon slightly
accelerating the time.
There is very little actual need of guiding your horse,
Esmeralda, because long habit has taught him what to do at a
music-ride, but you do right to continue to endeavor to make him
obey you. Should he stumble; should that man riding before you
and struggling to make his horse change his leading foot fail in
the attempt, and cause the poor creature to fall; should the
rider behind you lose control of her horse, your firm hold of the
reins would be of priceless value to you, but now the waltz
rhythm suddenly changes to that of a march, and your horse begins
to trot, slowly and with little action at first, and then with a
freer, longer stride which really lifts you out of the saddle,
sending you rather too high for grace, indeed, but making the
effort very slight for you, and enabling you to think about your
elbows, and sitting to the right and keeping your right shoulder
back and your right foot close to the saddle and pointing
downward, and your left knee also close, and "about seventy-five
other things," as you sum up the case to yourself. Thanks to
this, you are enabled to continue until the music stops, and
Theodore says, approvingly, "Well, you can ride a little."
"A very little," your master says. She has learned something, of
course, but it would be the unkindest of flattery for me to fell
her that she does well."
"One must begin to ride in early childhood," Theodore says.
"One should begin to be taught in childhood," the master amends,
"but it is not absolutely necessary. Some of the best riders in
the French Army never mounted until they went to the military
school, and some of the best riders at West Point only know a
horse by sight until they fall into the clutches of the masters
there, and then!" His countenance expresses deep commiseration.
"Now," he adds, "if you take my advice, you two, you will take
places in the centre of the ring; you will sit as well as you
know how, Miss Esmeralda, and you will watch the others through
the next music. It is perfectly allowable," he adds, drawing rein
a moment as he passes, "to sit a little carelessly when your
horse is at rest, always keeping firm hold of the reins, but I
would rather that you did not do it until you had ridden a little
more and are firmer in your seat. Hollow your waist the least in
the world, for the sake of our poker-critic in the gallery, and
watch for bad riding as well as for good," and away he goes, and
again the double circle of riders sweeps around the ring, and you
have time to see that the horses seem to enjoy the motion, and
that their action is more easy and graceful than it is when they
are obeying the commands of poor riders.
Theodore indulges in a little sarcasm at the expense of a man
whose elbows are on a level with his shoulders, while his two
hands are within about three inches of one another on the reins,
and his horse has as full possession of his head as of his body
and legs, which is saying much, for his riders toes are pointing
earthward and his heels apparently trying to find a way to one
another through the body of his steed. Another man, riding at an
amble into which he has forced his fat horse by using a Mexican
bit, and keeping his wrists in constant motion; and another, who
leans backward until his nose is on a level with the visor of his
cap, also attract his attention, but he persists in his opinion
that the best riders among the ladies are those who can trot and
canter the longest, until your master, coming up, says in answer
to your protest against such heresy, "No. Ease and a good seat
are indeed essential, but they are not everything. They insure
comfort and confidence, but not always safety. It is well to be
able to leap a fence without being thrown. It is better to know
how to stop and open a gate and shut it after you, lest some day
you should have a horse which cannot leap, or a sprained wrist
which may make the leap imprudent for yourself. You can acquire
the seat almost insensibly while learning the management, but you
must study in order to learn the management. However, you came
mainly for enjoyment to-night, I think. Go and ride some more."
And you obey, and you have the enjoyment. And when you go to the
dressing-room, it is with a feeling of perfect indifference to
the gallery critics, and when you come down, ready for the
street, you have a little gossip with the master.
This is the only kind of music ride, he tells you, practicable
for riders of widely varying ability, but the ordinary circus is
but a poor display of horsemanship compared to what may be seen
in some private evening classes in this country, or in military
schools. There are groups of riders in Boston and in New York,
friends who have long practiced together, who can dancer the
lancers and Virginia reels as easily on horseback as on foot, and
who can ride at the ring as well as Lord Lindesay himself, or as
well as the pretty English girls who amuse themselves with the
sport in India.
"Just think," you sigh, "to be able to make your horse go forward
and back, and to move in a circle, a little bit of a circle, and
to do all of it exactly in time! Oh!"
And then, seeing Theodore perfectly unmoved, your master tells of
the military music rides when, rank after rank, the soldiers dash
across the wide spaces of the school and stop at a word, or by a
preconcerted, silent signal, every horse's head in line, every
left hand down, saber or lance exactly poised, every foot
motionless, horse and rider still as if wrought from bronze. And
then he tells of the labyrinthine evolutions when the long line
moving over the school floor coils and uncoils itself more
swiftly than any serpent, each horse moving at speed, each one
obeying as implicitly as any creature of brass and iron moved by
steam. And then he talks of broadsword fights, in which the left
hand, managing the horse, outdoes the cunning of the right, and
of the great reviews, when, if ever, a monarch must feel his
power as he sees his squadrons dash past him, saluting as one
man, and reflects on the expenditure of mental and physical power
represented in that one moment's display.
"You can't learn to do such things as these," he says, "by mere
rough riding. Why, only the other day, when Queen Victoria went
to Sandringham, the gentlemen of the Norfolk County hunt turned
out to escort her carriage, all in pink, all wearing the green
velvet caps of the hunt, all splendidly mounted and perfectly
appointed. They were a magnificent sight, and it was no wonder
that Her Majesty looked at them with approval.
"In a dash across country they would probably have surpassed any
other riders in the world, unless, perhaps, those of some other
English country, but when Her Majesty and the Prince of Wales
appeared at a front window, and the gentlemen rode past to salute
them, what happened? The first three or four ranks went on well
enough, although Frenchmen, or Spaniards, or Germans would have
done better, because they, had they chosen, would have saluted
and then reined backward, but the Englishmen made a gallant show,
and Her Majesty smiled. Somebody raised a cheer, and the horses
began to rear and perform movements not named in the school
manuals. The Queen laughed outright, and the gentlemen finished
their pretty parade in some confusion. Now a very little school
training would have prevented that accident, and the huntsmen
would have been as undisturbed as Queen Christina was that day
when her horse began to plunge while in a procession, and she
quickly brought him to his senses, and won the heart of every
Spaniard who saw her by showing that 'the Austrian' could ride.
An English hunting-man's seat is so good that he is often
careless about fine details, but a trained horseman is careless
about nothing, and a trained horsewoman is like unto him."
And now the lights are out, and you and Theodore go away, and,
walking home, lay plans for further work in the saddle, for he,
too, has caught the riding-fever, and now you begin to think
about class lessons.