In the Riding School; Chats With Esmeralda - Theo. Stephenson Browne
In order to do this, it is not enough to sit up straight and to
say "back," or even to say "bake," which, according to certain
"natural riders," is the secret of having the movement executed
properly. You must draw yourself up and lean backward, touching
your horse both with your foot and with your whip, in order that
he may stand squarely, and you must raise your wrists a little,
and the same time turning them inward. The horse will take a
step, you must instantly sit up straight, lower your hands, and
then repeat the movement until he has backed far enough. Four
steps will be quite as many as you should try when working thus
by yourself, because you do not wish to form any bad habits, and
your master will probably find much to criticise in your way of
executing the movement. The most that you can do for yourself is
to be sure that Abdallah makes but one step for each of your
demands. If he make two, lower your hands, and make him go
forward, for a horse that backs unbidden is always troublesome
and may sometimes be dangerous.
"Just watch that man on Billy Buttons," says your master, coming
up to you, "and make up your minds never to do anything that you
see him do. And look at those two ladies who are mounting now,
and see how well it is possible to ride without being taught in
school, provided one rides enough. They cannot trot a rod, but
they have often been in the saddle half a day at a time in
Spanish America, whence they come, and they can 'lope,' as they
call it, for hours without drawing rein. They sit almost, but not
quite straight, and they have strength enough in their hands to
control any of our horses, although they complain that these
English bits are poor things compared to the Spanish bit. You
see, they can stay on, although they cannot ride scientifically."
"And isn't that best?" asked Nell.
"It is better," corrects the master. "The very best is to stay on
because one rides scientifically, and that is what I hope that
you two will do by and by. There's that girl who always brings in
bags of groceries for her horse! Apples this time!"
"Isn't it a good thing to give a horse a tidbit of some kind
after a ride?" asked Nell.
"'Good,' if it be your own horse, but not good in a riding-
school. It tends to make the horses impatient for the end of a
ride, and sometimes makes them jealous of one another at the
mounting-stand, and keeps them there so long as to inconvenience
others who wish to dismount. Besides, careless pupils, like that
girl, have a way of tossing a paper bag into the ring after the
horse has emptied it, and although we always pick it up as soon
as possible, it may cause another horse to shy. A dropped
handkerchief is also dangerous, for a horse is a suspicious
creature and fears anything novel as a woman dreads a mouse."
What is the trouble on the mounting-stand? Nothing, except that a
tearful little girl wants "her dear Daisy; she never rides
anything else, and she hates Clifton, and does not like Rex and
Jewel canters, and she wants Da-a-isy!"
"But is it not better for you to change horses now and then, and
Daisy is not fit to be in the ring to-day," says your master.
"Jewel is very easy and good-tempered. Will you have him?"
"No, I'll have Abdallah."
"A lady is riding him."
"Well, I want him."
It is against the rules for your master to suggest such a thing
to you, Esmeralda, but suppose you go up to the mounting-stand
and offer to take Jewel yourself and let her have Abdallah. You
do it; your master puts you on Jewel, and sends the wilful little
girl away on Abdallah, and then comes up to you and Nell, thanks
you, and says, "It was very good of you, but she must learn some
day to ride everything, and I shall tell her so, and next time!"
He looks capable of giving her Hector, Irish Hector, who is
wilful as the wind, but in reward for your goodness he bestows a
little warning about your whips upon Nell, who has a fancy for
carrying hers slantwise across her body, so that both ends show
from the back, and the whole whip is quite useless as far as the
horse is concerned, although picturesque enough with its loop of
bright ribbon.
"It makes one think of a circus picture," he says; "and, Miss
Esmeralda, don't hold your whip with the lash pointing outward,
to tickle Miss Nell's horse, and to make you look like an
American Mr. Briggs 'going to take a run with the Myopias, don't
you know.' Isn't this a pretty horse?"
"Well, I don't know," you say frankly; "I'm no judge. I don't
know anything about a horse."
For once your master loses his self-possession, and stares
unreservedly. "Child," he says, "I never, never before saw
anybody in this ring who didn't know all about a horse."
"Well, but I really don't, you know."
"No, but nobody ever says so. Now just hear this new pupil
instruct me."
The new pupil, who thinks a riding habit should be worn over two
or three skirts, and is consequently sitting with the aerial
elegance of a feather bed, is riding with her snaffle rein, the
curb tied on her horse's neck, and is clasping it by the centre,
allowing the rest to hang loose, so that Clifton, supposing that
she means to give him liberty to browse, is looking for grass
among the tan. Not finding it, he snorts occasionally, whereupon
she calls him "poor thing," and tells him that "it is a warm day,
and that he should rest, so he should!"
"Your reins are too long," says your master.
"Do you mean that they are too long, or that I am holding them so
as to make them too long," she inquires, in a precise manner.
"They are right enough. Our saddlers know their business. But you
are holding them so that you might as well have none. Shorten
them, and make him bring his head up in its proper place."
"But I think it's cruel to treat him so, when he's tired, poor
thing! I always hold my reins in the middle when I'm driving, and
my horse goes straight enough. This one seems dizzy. He goes
round and round."
"He wouldn't if he were in harness with two shafts to keep his
head straight"--
"But then why wouldn't it be a good thing to have some kind of a
light shaft for a beginner's horse?"
"It would be a neat addition to a side saddle," says your master,
"but shorten your reins. Take one in each hand. Leave about eight
inches of rein between your hands. There! See. Now Guide your
horse."
He leaves her, in order that he may enjoy the idea of the side
saddle with shafts, and she promptly resumes her old attitude
which she feels is elegant, and when Clifton wanders up beside
Abdallah, she sweetly asks Nell, "Is this your first lesson? Do
you think this horse is good? The master wants me to pull on my
reins, but I think it is inhuman, and I won't, and"--but
Clifton strays out of hearing, and your arouse yourselves to
remember that you are having more fun than work.
There is plenty of room in the ring, now, so you change hands,
and circle to the left, first walking and then trotting, slowly
at first, and then rapidly, finding to your pleasant surprise,
that, just as you begin to think that you can go no further, you
are suddenly endowed with new strength and can make two more
rounds. "A good half mile," your master says, approvingly, as you
fall into a walk and pass him, and then you do a volte or two,
and one little round at a canter, and then walk five minutes, and
dismount to find the rider of the alleged William assuring John,
the head groom, that redoubtable animal needs "taking down."
"Shall ride him with spurs next time," he says. "I can manage
him, but he would be too much for most men," and away he goes and
a flute-voiced little boy of eight mounts William, retransformed
into Billy Buttons, and guides him like a lamb, and you escape up
stairs to laugh. But you have no time for this before the
merciful young woman enters to say that she is going to another
school, where she can do as she pleases and have better horses,
too, and the more you and Nell assure her that there is no school
in which she can learn without obedience, and that her horse was
too good, if anything, the more determined she becomes, and soon
you wisely desist.
As she departs, "Oh, dear," you say, "I thought there was nothing
but fun at riding-school, and just see all these queer folks."
"My dear," says philosophic Nell, "they ar part of the fun. And
we are fun to the old riders; and we are all fun to our master."
Here you find yourselves enjoying a bit of fun from which your
master is shut out, for three or four girls come up from the ring
together, and, not seeing you, hidden behind your screens, two,
in whom you and Nell have already recognized saleswomen from whom
you have more than once bought laces, begin to talk to overawe
the others.
"My deah," says one, "now I think of it, I weally don't like the
setting of these diamonds that you had given you last night. It's
too heavy, don't you think?"
The other replies in a tone which would cheat a man, but in which
you instantly detect an accent of surprise and a determination to
play up to her partner as well as possible, that she "liked it
very well."
"I should have them reset," says the former speaker. "Like mine,
you know; light and airy. Deah me, I usedn't to care for
diamonds, and now I'm puffectly infatooated with them, don't you
know! My!" she screams, catching sight of a church clock, and,
relapsing into her everyday speech: "Half-past four! And I am due
at"--[An awkward pause.] "I promised to return at four!"
There is no more talk about diamonds, but a hurried scramble to
dress, an a precipitate departure, after which one of the other
ladies is heard to say very distinctly: "I remember that girl as
a pupil when I was teaching in a public school, and I know all
about her. Salary, four dollars a week. Diamonds!"
"She registered at the desk as Mrs. Something," rejoins the
other. "She only came in for one ride, and so they gave her a
horse without looking up her reference, but one of the masters
knew her real name. Poor little goosey! She has simply spoiled
her chance of ever becoming a regular pupil, no matter how much
she may desire it. No riding master will give lessons to a person
who behaves so. He would lose more than he gained by it, no
matter how long she took lessons. And they know everybody in a
riding-school, although they won't gossip. I'd as soon try to
cheat a Pinkerton agency."
"I know one thing," Nell says, as you walk homeward: "I'm going
to take an exercise ride between every two lessons, and I'm going
to ride a new horse every time, if I can get him, and I'm going
to do what I'm told, and I shall not stop trotting at the next
lesson, even if I feel as if I should drop out of the saddle.
I've learned so much from an exercise ride."
XI.
Ride as though you were flying.
_Mrs. Norton_.
"Cross," Esmeralda? Why? Because having had seven lessons of
various sorts, and two rides, you do not feel yourself to be a
brilliant horsewoman? Because you cannot trot more than half a
mile, and because you cannot flatter yourself that it would be
prudent for you to imitate your favorite English heroines, and to
order your horse brought around to the hall door for a solitary
morning canter? And you really think that you do well to be
angry, and that, had your teacher been as discreet and as
entirely admirable as you feel yourself to be, you would be more
skilful and better informed?
Very well, continue to think so, but pray do not flatter yourself
that your mental attitude has the very smallest fragment of an
original line, curve or angle. Thus, and not otherwise, do all
youthful equestrians feel, excepting those doubly-dyed in
conceit, who fancy that they have mastered a whole art in less
than twelve hours. You certainly are not a good rider, and yet
you have received instruction on almost every point in regard to
which you would need to know anything in an ordinary ride on a
good road. You have not yet been taught every one of these
things, certainly, for she who has been really taught a physical
or mental feat, can execute it at will, but you have been partly
instructed, and it is yours to see that the instruction is not
wasted, by not being either repeated, or faithfully reduced to
practice. Remember clever Mrs. Wesley's answer to the unwise
person who said in reproof, "You have told that thing to that
child thirty times." "Had I told it but twenty-nine," replied the
indomitable Susanna, "they had been wasted." What you need now is
practice, preferably in the ring with a teacher, but if you
cannot afford that, without a teacher, and road rides whenever
you can have them on a safe horse, taken from a school stable, if
possible, with companions like yourself, intent upon study and
enjoyment, not upon displaying their habits, or, if they be men,
the airs of their horses, and the correctness of their equipment,
or upon racing.
As for the solitary canter, when the kindly Fates shall endow
that respectable American sovereign, your father, with a park
somewhat bigger than the seventy-five square feet of ground
inclosed by an iron railing before his present palace, it will be
time enough to think about that; but you can no more venture upon
a public road alone than an English lady could, and indeed, your
risk in doing so would be even greater than hers. Why? Because in
rural England all men and boys, even the poorest and the
humblest, seem to know instinctively how a horse should be
equipped. True, a Wordsworth or a Coleridge did hesitate for
hours over the problem of adjusting a horse collar, but Johnny
Ragamuffin, from the slums, or Jerry Hickathrift, of some shire
with the most uncouth of dialects, can adjust a slipping saddle,
or, in a hand's turn, can remove a stone which is torturing a
hoof.
Not so your American wayfarer, city bred or country grown; it
will be wonderful if he can lengthen a stirrup leather, ad,
before allowing such an one to tighten a girth for you, you would
better alight and take shelter behind a tree, and a good large
tree, because he may drive your horse half frantic by his well-
meant unskilfulness. Besides, Mrs. Grundy very severely frowns on
the woman who rides alone, and there is no appeal from Mrs.
Grundy's wisdom. Sneer at her, deride her, try, if you will, to
undermine her authority, but obey her commands and yield to her
judgment if you would have the respect of men, and, what is of
more consequence, the fair speech of women. And so, Esmeralda, as
you really have no cause for repining, go away to your class
lesson, which has a double interest for you and Nell, because of
the wicked pleasure which you derive from hearing the master
quietly crush the society young lady with unanswerable logic.
You have seen him with a class of disobedient, well-bred little
girls, and know how persuasive he can be to a child who is really
frightened. You have seen him surrounded by a class of eager
small goys, and beset with a clamorous shout of, "Plea-ease let
us mount from the ground." You have heard his peremptory "No,"
and then, as they turned away discomfited, have noted how kindly
was his "I will tell you why, my dear boys. It is because your
legs are too short. Wait until you are tall, then you shall
mount." You know that when Versatilia, having attended a party
the previous evening and arisen at five o'clock to practise
Chopin, and then worked an hour at gymnastics, could not, from
pure weariness, manage her horse, how swift was his bound across
the ring, and how carefully he lifted her from the saddle, and
gave her over to the ministrations of the wise fairy. You know
that any teacher must extract respect from his scholars, and you
detect method in all the little sallies which almost drive the
society young lady to madness, but this morning it is your turn.
You do, one after the other, all the things against which you
have been warned, and, when corrected, you look so very dismal
and discouraged that the Scotch teacher comes quietly to your
side and rides with you, and, feeling that he will prevent your
horse from doing anything dangerous, you begin to mend your ways,
when suddenly you hear the master proclaim in a voice which, to
your horrified ears, seems audible to the whole universe: "Ah,
Miss Esmeralda! she cannot ride, she cannot do her best, unless
she has a gentleman beside her." In fancy's eye you seem to see
yourself blushing for that criticism during the remainder of your
allotted days, and you almost hope that they will be few. You
know that every other girl in the class will repeat it to other
girls, and even to men, and possibly even to Theodore, and that
you will never be allowed to forget it. Cannot ride or do your
best without a gentleman, indeed! You could do very well without
one gentleman whom you know, you think vengefully, and then you
turn to the kindly Scotch teacher, and, with true feminine
justice, endeavor to punish him for another's misdeeds by telling
him that, if he please, you would prefer to ride alone. As he
reins back, you feel a decided sinking of the heart and again
become conscious that you are oddly incapable of doing anything
properly, and then, suddenly, it flashes upon you that the master
was right in his judgment, and you fly into a small fury of
determination to show him that you can exist "without a
gentleman." Down go your hands, you straighten your shoulders,
adjust yourself to a nicety, think of yourself and of your horse
with all the intensity of which you are capable, and make two or
three rounds without reproof.
"Now," says the teacher, "we will try a rather longer trot than
usual, and when any lady is tired she may go to the centre of the
ring. Prepare to trot! Trot!"
The leader's eyes sparkle with delight as she allows her good
horse, after a round or two, to take his own speed, the teacher
continues his usual fire of truthful comments as to shoulders,
hands and reins, and one after another, the girls leave the
track, and only the leader and you remain, she, calm and cool as
an iceberg, you, flushed, and compelled to correct your position
at almost every stride of your horse, sometimes obliged to sit
close for half a round, but with your whole Yankee soul set upon
trotting until your master bids you cease. Can you believe your
ears?
"Brava, Miss Esmeralda!" shouts the master. "Go in again. That is
the way. Ah, go in again! That is the way the rider is made!
Again! Ah, brava!"
"Prepare to whoa! Whoa!" says the teacher, and both he and your
banished cavalier congratulate you, and it dawns upon you that
the society young lady is not the only person whom the master
understands, and is able to manage. However, you are grateful,
and even pluck up courage to salute him when next you pass him;
but alas! that does not soften his heart so thoroughly that he
does not warningly ejaculate, "Right foot," and then comes poor
Nell's turn. She, reared in a select private school for young
ladies, and having no idea of proper discipline, ventures to
explain the cause of some one of her misdeeds, instead of
correcting it in silence. She does it courteously, but is met
with, "Ah-h-h! Miss Esmeralda, you know Miss Nell. Is it not with
her on foot as it is on horseback? Does she not argue?"
You shake your head severely and loyally, but brave Nell speaks
out frankly, "Yes, sir; I do. But I won't again."
"I would have liked to ride straight at him," she confides to you
afterwards, "but he was right. Still, it is rather astounding to
hear the truth sometimes."
And now, for the first time around, you are allowed to ride in
pairs, and the word "interval," meaning the space between two
horses moving in parallel lines, is introduced, and you and Nell,
who are together, congratulate yourselves on having in your
exercise ride learned something of the manner in which the
interval may be preserved exactly, for it is a greater trouble to
the others than that "distance" which you have been told a
thousand times to "keep." You have but very little of this
practice, however, before you are again formed in file, and
directed to "Prepare to volte singly!"
When this is done perfectly, it is a very pretty manoeuvre, and,
the pupils returning to their places at the same movement, the
column continues on its way with its distances perfectly
preserved, but as no two of your class make circles of the same
size, or move at similar rates of speed, your small procession
finds itself in hopeless disorder, and in trying to rearrange
yourselves, each one of you discovers that she has yet something
to learn about turning. However, after a little trot and the
usual closing walk, the lesson ends, and you retire from the
ring, with the exception of Nell, who, having been taught by an
amateur to leap in a more or less unscientific manner, has begged
the master to give her "one little lesson," a proposition to
which he has consented.
The hurdle is brought out, placed half-way down one of the long
sides of the school, and Nell walks her horse quietly down the
other, turns him again as she comes on the second long side,
shakes her reins lightly, putting him to a canter, and is over--
"beautifully," as you say to yourself, as you watch her
enviously.
"You did not fall off," the master comments, coiling the lash of
the long whip with which he has stood beside the hurdle during
Miss Nell's performance, "but you did not guard yourself against
falling when you went up, and had you had some horses, you might
have come down before he did, although that is not so easy for a
lady as it is for a man. When you start for a leap, you must draw
your right foot well back, so as to clasp the pommel with your
knee, and just as the horse stops to spring upward, you must lean
back and lift both hands a little, and then, when he springs,
straighten yourself, feel proud and haughty, if you can, and, as
he comes down, lean back once more and raise your hands again,
because your horse will drop on his fore legs, and you desire him
to lift them, that he may go forward before you do. You should
practise this, counting one, as you lean backward, drawing but
not turning the hands backward and upward; two, as you straighten
yourself wit the hands down, and three, as you repeat the first
movement; and, except in making a water jump, or some other very
long leap, the 'two' will be the shortest beat, as it is in the
waltz. And, although you must use some strength in raising your
hands, you must not raise them too high, and you must not lean
your head forward or draw your elbows back. A jockey may, when
riding in a steeplechase for money, but he will be angry with
himself for having to do it, and a lady must not. I would rather
that you did not leap again to-day, because what I told you will
only confuse you until you have time to think it over and to
practise it by yourself in a chair. And I would rather that you
did not leap again in your own way, until you have let me see you
do it once or twice more, at least."
"You did not have to whip my horse to make him leap," Nell says,
"The whip was not to strike him, but to show him what was ready
for him if he refused," says the master. "One must never permit a
horse to refuse without punishing bum, for otherwise he may
repeat the fault when mounted by a poor rider, and a dangerous
accident may follow. One must never brutalize a horse--indeed,
no one but a brute does--but one must rule him."
By this time he has taken Nell from her saddle and is in the
reception room where he finds you grouped and gazing at him in a
manner rather trying even to his soldierly gravity, and decidedly
amusing to the wise fairy, who glances at him with a laugh and
betakes herself to her own little nest.
"My young ladies," he says. "I will show you one little leap, not
high, you know, but a little leap sitting on a side saddle," and,
going out, he takes Nell's horse, and in a minute you see him
sailing through the air, light as a bird, and without any of the
encouraging shouts used by some horsemen. It is only a little
leap, but it impresses your illogical minds as no skilfulness in
the voltes and no _haute ecole_ airs could do, for leaping is the
crowning accomplishment of riding in the eyes of all your male
friends except the cavalryman, and when he returns to the
reception room, you linger in the hope of a little lecture, and
you are not disappointed.
"My young ladies," he says, "at the point at which you are in the
equestrian art, what you should do is to keep doing what you
know, over and over again, no matter if you do it wrong. Keep
doing and doing, and by and by you will do it right. I have tried
that plan of perfecting each step before undertaking another, but
it is of no use with American ladies. You will not do things at
all, unless you can do them well, you say. That is to say if you
were to go to a ball, and were to say, 'No, I have taken lessons,
I have danced in school, but I am afraid I cannot do so well as
some others. I will not dance here.' That would not be the way to
do. Dance, and again dance, and if you make a little mistake,
dance again! The mistake is of the past; it is not matter for
troubling; dance again, and do not make it again. And so of
riding, ride, and again ride! Try all ways. Take your foot out of
the stirrup sometimes, and slip it back again without stopping
your horse, and when you can do it at the walk, do it at the
trot, and keep rising! And learn not to be afraid to keep
trotting after you are a little tired. Keep trotting! Keep
trotting! Then you will know real pleasure, and you will not hurt
your horses, as you will if you pull them up just as they begin
to enjoy the pace. And then"--looking very hard at nothing at
all, and not at you, Esmeralda, as your guilty soul fancies--
"and then, gentlemen will not be afraid to ride with you for fear
of spoiling their horses by checking them too often."