DRIVING.
Among the ancients, for more than one thousand years, the greatest honour that could be bestowed upon a man was a sprig of the wild olive tree entwined round his brow, for having gained a victory in the chariot-race at the Olympic games of Greece. This sprig of olive, moreover, was accompanied by other marks of distinction: the wearer of it was not only honoured with statues and inscriptions during his life-time, but the immortal Pindar, or some other great poet, was called upon to hand his name down to posterity in an ode. The Olympic games were revived, as a religious ceremony, by Iphitus, an Elean, about nine hundred years before Christ. They were celebrated near Olympia, in the territory of Elis. Horse and chariot races were considered their noblest sports. No one was there prevented from driving his own chariot; and kings were often seen contending against kings.
The Greeks were the most enlightened of the ancients, and their taste in the arts has never been even rivalled. What they did, therefore, on this occasion, could not be considered as in bad taste; and, when we remember that the celebration of these pastimes outlived the laws, customs, and liberty of their country, we need not say more in their vindication. The honours of victory were not even confined to the brave and skilful man who won the race: even the horses were crowned amidst the applauses of the spectators; and in one race, where forty chariots were broken, the victorious one was preserved in the temple of Apollo. Such being the havoc among the competitors, it is not wonderful that Ovid should say, that the honour of contending for the Olympic prize was almost equal to the winning of it.
Sophocles modestly speaks of ten starting at the same time in the race; but Pindar, availing himself, perhaps, of poetic licence, makes the number forty. Four horses driven abreast was the usual number. The length[72] of the course on which they ran did not exceed an English mile, and as they had to make twenty-two turnings round the two pillars—generally, we may suppose, at full speed—it is not difficult to imagine what dreadful accidents must have happened.
[72] The Circus Maximus at Rome, in which the Romans exhibited their chariot-races, was an oval building of one thousand eight hundred feet in length, and four hundred in breadth.
Nothing indeed but the form of chariot used could have ensured safety to any one. From the representations on ancient coins, it appears to have been very low, and only on two wheels, somewhat resembling our curricle. It had of course no springs; and, as there was no seat for the charioteer, much of his skill consisted in preserving his balance, and keeping upon his legs.
According to Pausanias, the following was the method of starting:—The chariots entered the course according to order, previously settled by lot, and drew up in a line. They started at a signal given, and to him who passed the pillar at the top of the course twelve times, and that at the bottom ten times, in the neatest manner, without touching it, or overturning his chariot, was the reward given.—As, however, it was the aim of every one who started to make for this pillar, as to a centre, we can easily imagine the confusion there must have been in forty, twenty, or even ten chariots, all rushing to one given point, amidst the clanging of trumpets, &c.
The following translation of a description of a chariot-race, from the Electra of Sophocles, is worthy of a place.
“When on the sacred day, in order next
Came on the contest of the rapid car,
As o’er the Phocian plain the orient sun
Shot his impurpled beams, the Pythic course
Orestes enter’d, circled with a troop
Of charioteers, his bold antagonists.
One from Achaia came; from Sparta one;
Two from the Lybian shores, well practised each
To rule the whirling car: with these the fifth,
Orestes, vaunting his Thessalian mares:
Ætolia sent a sixth, with youthful steeds
In native gold arrayed: the next in rank
From fair Magnesia sprang: of Thrace the eighth
His snow-white coursers from Thesprotia drove:
From heaven-built Athens the ninth hero came:
A huge Bœotian the tenth chariot filled.
These, when the judges of the games by lot
Had fix’d their order, and arranged their cars,
All, at the trumpet’s signal, all at once
Burst from the barrier; all together cheer’d
Their fiery steeds, and shook the floating reins.
Soon with the din of rattling cars was filled
The sounding hippodrome, and clouds of dust
Ascending, tainted the fresh breath of morn.
Now mix’d and press’d together, on they drove,
Nor spared the smarting lash; impatient each
To clear his chariot, and outstrip the throng
Of dashing axles, and short-blowing steeds,
They panted on each other’s necks, and threw
On each contiguous yoke the milky foam.
“But to the pillar as he nearer drew,
Orestes, reining-in the nearmost steed,
While in a larger scope, with loosen’d reins,
And lash’d up to their speed, the others flew,
Turn’d swift around the goal his grazing wheel.
“As yet erect, upon their whirling orbs
Roll’d every chariot, till the hard-mouth’d steeds
That drew the Thracian car, unmaster’d, broke
With violence away, and turning short,
(When o’er the hippodrome with winged speed
They had completed now the seventh career),
Dash’d their wild foreheads ’gainst the Lybian car.
From this one luckless chance a train of ills
Succeeding, rudely on each other fell
Horses and charioteers, and soon was fill’d
With wrecks of shatter’d cars the Phocian plain.
“This seen, the Athenian, with consummate art,
His course obliquely veer’d, and, steering wide
With steady rein, the wild commotion pass’d
Of tumbling chariots and tumultuous steeds.
Next, and, though last, yet full of confidence
And hopes of victory, Orestes came;
But when he saw of his antagonists
Him only now remaining, to his mares
Anxious he raised his stimulating voice.
And now with equal fronts abreast they drove,
Now with alternate momentary pride
Beyond each other push’d their stretching steeds.
“Erect Orestes, and erect his car,
Through all the number’d courses now had stood;
But luckless in the last, as round the goal
The wheeling courser turn’d, the hither rein
Imprudent he relax’d, and on the stone
The shatter’d axle dashing, from the wheels
Fell headlong; hamper’d in the tangling reins
The frighted mares flew diverse o’er the course.
“The throng’d assembly, when they saw the chief
Hurl’d from his chariot, with compassion moved,
His youth deplored; deplored him, glorious late
For mighty deeds, now doom’d to mighty woes;
Now dragg’d along the dust, his feet in air:
Till, hasting to his aid, and scarce at length
The frantic mares restraining, from the reins
The charioteers released him, and convey’d,
With wounds and gore disfigured, to his friends.
The just Amphictyons on the Athenian steeds
The Delphic laurel solemnly conferr’d.”
In a political view, these games were productive of local advantages; for, being sacred to Jupiter, they protected the inhabitants of Elis against all the calamities of war. In an economical point of view, they were of general use; for, as Greece was generally short of horses, nothing was so likely to encourage the breeding of them as the emulation thus raised among the different states. The circulation of money also was not a trifling consideration; for the olive crown was obtained at great expense. By these games being celebrated at the beginning of every fifth year, the Greeks settled their chronology and dates; and as they lasted a thousand years, a great part of the traditional history of Greece rests upon their base. That the honour of the prize was above all price, the following anecdote shows:—A Spartan having gained the victory at the Olympic games with much difficulty, was asked what he should profit by it? “I shall have the honour,” said he, “of being posted before my king in battle.” As a further proof of the value and the moral effect of these contentions for honour, it is stated that, when a conqueror returned to his native city, he made his entry through a breach in the wall—by which was implied that cities inhabited by such men had no need of walls.
A senator of Rome, indeed, says Gibbon, “or even a citizen, conscious of his dignity, would have blushed to expose his person or his horses in a Roman circus. There, the reins were abandoned to servile hands; and, if the profits of a favourite charioteer sometimes exceeded those of an advocate, they were considered as the effect of popular extravagance, and the high wages of a disgraceful profession.” The Romans, with more pride, were far less intellectual than the Greeks; but it must still be borne in mind, that, inconsistently enough, the interest taken in the charioteers of Rome shook the very foundation of the government.
In modern times, notwithstanding the sneers directed against gentlemen-coachmen and driving-clubs, it is to them chiefly that this country is indebted for the present excellent state of the roads, and for safe and expeditious travelling. The taste for driving produced, between men of property and those connected with the road, an intercourse which has been productive of the best results. Road-makers, and those who have the care of roads, if they have not acted under the immediate direction of these amateur drivers, have been greatly benefited by their advice—doubly valuable, as proceeding from knowledge of what a road ought to be. The intercourse also that has lately been carried on between proprietors of inns and of coaches, and gentlemen fond of driving, has greatly tended to direct the attention of the former to the accommodation and comfort of travellers. The improvement in carriages—stage-coaches more especially—would never have arrived at its present height, but for the attention and suggestions of such persons.
Moreover, the notice taken by gentlemen of coachmen, who are at once skilful and who conduct themselves well, has worked the reformation which has been of late years witnessed in that useful part of society.
Gentleman-driving, however, has received a check, very few four-in-hands being visible. The B. D. C., or Benson Driving Club, which now holds its rendezvous at the Black Dog, Bedfont, is the only survivor of those numerous driving associations whose processions used, some twenty years ago, to be among the most imposing, as well as peculiar spectacles in and about the metropolis.[73]
[73] The reader will bear in mind that this is many years after date. The R.D.C., which is now in the “Crescent,” promises an ascendant of no mean effulgence.—Ed. Fifth Edition.