The first day of the meeting having arrived, my host introduced me to various other noble persons, descanting loudly, as I could not avoid hearing, on my talent as a coachman; after which, and having partaken of a sumptuous déjeûner, we walked round to the stables. Here my anticipations were somewhat damped, as my noble host, pointing to a very long low char-à-banc, much upon the principle of an elongated Croydon basket, exclaimed: “Ah, ecco a qui chè la carozza. Heer ees my drarg.” And, seizing a long pig-whip from the socket of the carriage, he said: “You can make ze weep, ah yes?” Suiting the action to the word, he began cracking it backwards and forwards over his head with wonderful proficiency, after the manner of the French postilions. My heart sank within me; if this was expected of me, I felt I should signally fail—I who had been brought up to learn that to hear the whip at all was a fault. To be expected to flourish out of the courtyard with a succession of reports like an eighteen-pounder, was rather too severe a test of my knowledge of “making ze weep.”
After walking round the stables, which were very complete and in fine order, the team was brought out. It was composed of four Hungarian horses with very long manes and tails, smacking rather of the circus than the road.
I did not at all approve of the way in which they were being strung together, but an English stud-groom in the prince’s service advised my making no alteration “at present,” as they had always been driven in that way, and they could be very awkward if they liked.
All being ready, and the party having taken their seats, I took mine, and found myself—with a mere apology for a footboard—seated pretty nearly on a level with the wheelers’ backs.
The prince, who had continued to “make ze weep” (albeit of this the animals took not the slightest notice), now handed it to me, and we started, or rather the whole affair went jumping out of the courtyard in a succession of terrible bounds. The horses were, however, very highly bitted, and I had no difficulty in holding them in on our passage through the town; but, when we got to the open “prater,” they became very restless and impatient, a phenomenon explained in a whisper from my host: “Heer I make ze gallop. You not?”
Upon this I slacked my hand, and they went away like four demons; dashing past everything on the road at the rate of fifty miles an hour!
The prince, who expressed his surprise that I had not “knocked” anything in our wild career, was less astonished than myself, especially as when, nearing the course, the track became crowded with every description of vehicle, while the rules of the road were entirely set at defiance!
We managed, however, to reach the grandstand in safety. It was a brilliant day, and the glowing colours of female costume, from the royal family downwards, produced a magnificent effect.
But if the colours worn by the ladies were dazzling and gorgeous, what shall we say of the hues selected for the silk jackets of the gentlemen riders, who, in order to proclaim to the multitude the part they were about to take, hovered about amongst the crowd, like tropical butterflies who had lost their way? Indeed, so much importance is attached to the privilege of sporting silk, that it is no uncommon thing for a noble owner to carry a stone over his weight, in order to display jacket and boots on the course, rather than “give a leg up” to a lighter man.