Unbridled Dressage, Brushes with Scandal and a Tragic End: Adèle Drouin

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Scores or maybe even hundreds of women in nineteenth century Europe performed as haute-école riders in circuses and hippodromes* before audiences from all classes. A handful of them became famous, as the expansion of the newspaper market meant that they were the first women to be widely celebrated for their equestrian skills (other than the odd huntress in Britain, some queens and princesses). Their feminity was considered a draw – the spectacle came not just from their performance of complicated dressage movements, but also from the fact that they were respectable and attractive young ladies whose magnificent horses obeyed them utterly.

In a competitive marketplace, these horsewomen needed to stand out. They needed a gimmick. It might be a pink riding whip. It might be the tiniest waist. If you were Jenny De Rhaden, you made your horse rear then laid down on his back, your hair trailing into his tail and onto the floor (and lost your sight when the stunt goes wrong). Adèle Drouin had a unique party trick – she rode a sophisticated pattern of dressage moves with no bridle or even a neck strap on her mare, Diane.**

I first learned about Adèle in Hilda Nelson’s The Ecuyère of the Nineteenth Century Circus, and this post is the result of a few random dips I’ve taken into old French newspapers to try to find out more about her life. It’s not an exhaustive biography but should hopefully give some sense of the often long working lives of these women and the tightrope they walked between celebrity and notoriety in a time when there was little room for error if you were a woman.

According to Baron de Vaux, she made her debut at the tender age of 18 or 19 in either 1865 or 1866 at the hippodrome on what is now the avenue Bugeaud in Paris. He describes her thus (my probably faulty translation):

Of medium size with a pretty face and a marvellously well-made bust, endowed by nature with all that could make her contours more seductive, she was charming in the saddle from the very first day and soon acquired an exceptional bearing.

With M. de Corbie as a teacher, she rode the horses who performed the airs above ground at Versailles and was never unseated. De Corbie had inherited his skill in training “amazones” from his own tutor, the Comte de Montigny, who wrote L’Equitation des Dames. Unlike many horsewomen who lacked balance or suppleness aside, his pupils had no problem with cantering on the left rein, according to the critic “Gladiateur II”.

When de Corbie trained a white horse to perform without a bridle, it was Adèle who first rode him at the hippodrome. When the hippodrome burned down in 1869, she was snapped up by the Cirque des Champs-Elysées and rode there on Diane. Here is their routine, as detailed by de Vaux (all without a bridle, and again, beware my sketchy translation, my International Horseman’s Dictionary wasn’t quite up to the task):

  1. Enter at a canter, halt, salute, rein back, figure-of-eights in rein back.
  2. Turn on the haunches/pirouettes to the right and to the left.
  3. Strong trot. Figure-of-eights.
  4. At a walk, voltes to the right and to the left, travers.
  5. Small successive counter-changes of hand in travers at a walk.
  6. Spanish walk interrupted with halts with tension sustained in each leg.
  7. Canter departs intermixed with flying changes and instant halts followed immediately by half turns in rein back.
  8. Piaffe and passage.
  9. Spanish trot.
  10. Extended canter, sudden halt in the centre and exit in a rapid rein back.

How was Diane trained to do all this with no bridle? According to de Vaux, it’s done by teaching the horse to interpret taps of the whip as instructions instead of rein pressure. Eventually, the whip doesn’t even have to touch the horse for it to respond, and later voice commands can be used. It’s thought-provoking – we should remember that the rein, bit and boot are languages that we have chosen for the horse and not necessarily the only ones that can come to have meaning for him.

To give you an idea of a typical evening’s entertainment involving Adèle, here’s the show on offer at the Cirque Napoléon in October 1868, starting at 8pm (again, I’ve done my best with the translation):

First half

“Travail à cheval” by Mlle Lehmann [no idea what this horse work involved].
La Cachucha danced by Price junior [a Cuban dance performed with castanets. I believe the Prices in this bill are a famous musical clown dynasty, one of whom was painted by Renoir].
Ribbon jumping by Mlle Monfroid [ribbons were run from the balcony to a pole in, I would guess, the centre of the ring. Mlle Monfroid stood on a cantering rosinback horse and leapt over the ribbons]
The Grotesque Dwarves – performed by Jacob and Lehmann.
Le Solo interrupted by Price.
The clown and his elephant, by Chadwick.
Debut performance of the horseman, Pacifico.

Second half

Jumping through hoops [presumably on a rosinback] by Mme Loyal.
The Icarus Games, by Russels and his children.
Adèle on Diane.
Comical interlude by Price senior.
Debut of Hernandez, Spanish horseman.
The Little Postillion by Leguay junior.
Debut of the gymnast Farinis and his son.

By 1875, Mlle Drouin was so well known that Le Figaro had to assure its readers that she was not the unfortunate labourer’s daughter, named only as Adèle, who was described as “the sad heroine of the nocturnal drama at Clichy”. This referred to a story the newspaper had printed the day before, headlined “The Mysteries of Clichy”. The Adèle in this story is a beautiful former écuyère known in her days at the hippodrome for her striking figure and bold eye but now long forgotten by the boulevardiers. I include part of this shadow Adèle’s story here because it makes an interesting contrast to that of the more virtuous Mlle Drouin.

Figaro describes the shadow Adèle riding a white horse with neither saddle nor bridle and pulling off astonishing feats in her performing days. When the hippodrome burned down, she, too, had a contract with the circus, but she also had a drink problem, and her poison of choice was absinthe. She arrived at work drunk and was promptly dismissed. Her subsequent fall was rapid. She fell in with ex-cons. In the midst of a row over some kind of gambling match six or eight months later, one of Adèle’s admirers knocked out his opponent in a cabaret in Saint-Ouen (an incident also covered by Figaro). Adèle ended up serving three months in prison while her partner was put away for five years.

By this time, she was 33 years old. She rapidly found herself a new partner named as “A…..” who was formidably strong and known throughout Clichy, Saint-Ouen and Saint-Denis. This was, Figaro says, less a love match than a business association. Adèle would pick up men and take them to a room in an isolated house on the route de la Révolte, whereupon A…. would stride in as the “outraged husband”, batter the unfortunate man, strip him of all his worldly goods and throw him out into the street.

This worked well until one victim was rescued by a neighbour, Madam L….., who helped him testify to the crimes. The gendarmes went to arrest the pair, but A…. spotted their approaching tricornes, jumped out of the window, scaled a wall and scarpered towards Paris. Adèle disappeared. A few days later, the police staked out the house on the route de la Révolte and nearly caught A…, who escaped once more. A…. then went underground, finding a job in an oil factory in Clichy, where he was recognised and once more evaded arrest.

Two days later, a pair of gendarmes spotted Adèle the square au Batignolles and reasoned rightly that A…. could not be far away. The gendarmes seized him and threatened him with a gun. Adèle slipped away in the uproar and out of this blog post, because at this point I’m going to set this rogue Adèle to one side, lest I get lost in the archives. Maybe I’ll write more about her at a later date.

In June 1885 our respectable Adèle Drouin was still going strong. She appeared at the Cirque d’Été in a quadrille of eight “goddesses”, four of whom were haute-école riders. Adèle played Minerva, Mathilde Vidal was Bellone, Thérèse Gautier Amphitrite and “Mlle Lencka” Diana.

In 1893 she found herself dragged into a scandal involving another écuyère. Jenny de Rhaden’s husband had shot and killed a circus horseman who had been corresponding with his wife. A newspaper published a photograph of Adèle mislabelled as Jenny. I wonder if it was this one from the famous Studio Nadar, as Jenny was also photographed there. A month later Adèle was in the papers again after a “lively discussion” with a madame Marguerite de Clarynkal and had to be separated by circus proprietor Franconi. The writer at Gil Blas (possibly de Vaux himself) believed that the fault was all on Adèle’s side and hoped that she would soon apologise. It was rather a blot on a lady’s history.

According to de Vaux, Adèle left behind the circus and the hippodrome when she married, which would – if we can trust the baron – have been some time in 1893, the year the book was published and the last two reports in Gil Blas cropped up. She would have been 46; 28 years is a formidable reign in any sporting or entertainment field. The era when the écuyère was queen of the circus was ending, and she timed her retirement well.

On the 26 April 1911, Comoedia reported that, at the age of 64, Adèle had been committed to an asylum. At the time she was living on the avenue de Wagram. She had become paranoid and was sitting up all night with a candle in hand. She then turned up at the local police station wearing little but a veil-like piece of cloth, in the belief that the assassins  pursuing her would thus not be able to see her. The scan of the article at Gallica is hard to read, but possibly says that she was married to a very rich antique dealer from the Madeleine district of Paris and lived in a modest flat that cost 400 francs to rent.

She died in 1913 and Baron de Vaux was once more on hand to record the achievements of a horsewoman he’d once found “delicious” and mourn the passing of the “écuyère vedette“phenomenon. Sadly this piece has been too poorly scanned for me to read and will have to wait for another time.

 

* A hippodrome was shaped rather like its Roman namesake and roofed; a circus was not a tent but a building with a ring as its central focus.

** In the 1840s and 1850s, an écuyère called Mathilde Monnet performed with neither bridle nor saddle. She probably used one of these, a surcingle with a leaping head attached; it would have been easy to hide under the long, full skirts women habitually worse for sidesaddle at that time. I saw one in the tackroom at the Académie du Spéctacle Equestre at Versailles in late 2015 when I was researching The Age of the Horse. Going by the dates, Mathilde was not the shadow Adèle.

 

 

 

Haunted by Horses in St Petersburg

Last weekend I travelled to St Petersburg to start research on a new book and I thought I’d share my equestrian shots. I was only in this fascinating, complicated city for two and a half days and did not venture out of the very heart of it but I still found some horse history of interest – and some living horses too. There aren’t many hours of sunlight at 60 degrees north in December, so the photos are a bit brooding and murky – be warned. Also murky, the information in this blog post as my Russian is very, very limited and I can’t find guidebooks that really meet my horsey needs. Anyone with local historical knowledge is welcome to step in and correct what I’ve managed to tap out here!

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This (above) is St Petersburg’s most famous horse. He carries “the Bronze Horseman”, a statue of the city’s founder, Peter the Great, erected by Catherine the Great in 1782. The French sculptor Etienne Falconet intended it to be more allegorical than your average equestrian statue – the horse is Russia and under its feet it tramples a serpent that represents any treasonous opponents to Peter’s sweeping reforms. The repercussions from Peter’s rule and the subsequent history of the city have been embodied in references to the Bronze Horseman in literary works by great writers from Pushkin to Anna Akmatova. Quite often the horseman in these stories pursues deranged literary heroes through the city.

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You know that the Hermitage was the Russian royal family’s palace and is now an enormous compendium of a museum. You maybe didn’t know that its stables are still standing and currently under restoration. This is Konyushennaya Ploschchad or Stable Square, about ten minutes walk away along the Moyka river on icy, sloping pavements. It once housed a “stables museum” featuring the family’s carriage and sleigh collection as early as the 1820s. According to this piece on the Hermitage’s website by Igor Arsentyev, there are now over 40 vehicles in the collection and the ceremonial harness to go with them:

A coupé acquired from [leading carriage builder Johann Conrad] Buchendal for Catherine II in 1793 was reproduced in miniature in 1897 by craftsmen working for the firm of Carl Fabergé; this little gem was then placed inside an Easter egg commissioned by Nicholas II for his wife, Empress Alexandra Fyodorovna. A sledge for ten passengers, also made by Buchendal in 1793, was intended for trips around the park by the imperial family during the cold Russian winters. Eight horses were required to pull it and as well as the coachman required postilions riding on the first two pairs.

One charming piece is a mechanical droshky made in Nizhny Tagil between 1785 and 1801 by the craftsman E.G. Kuznetsov. Its mechanism includes a little organ that plays six melodies as the wheels turn and a verstometer (to measure distance) of ingenious construction (a similar principle underlies the speedometers used in modern forms of transportation).

I cannot work out if these carriages are currently on display in the main museum or will go on display in Konyushennaya Ploschchad. This site says the stable building is currently being decontaminated (having housed a petrol station) and converted into “a place for interaction between the city and its citizens, including a public communication centre, an exhibition hall, shops, cafés and a Start Up Center” but a word of caution – I was unable to verify this information or find much else in English about the old stables. What’s more, I’m not entirely sure that they are the Hermitage’s stables. Bear with me.

About five minutes walk from the Konyushennaya Ploschchad is the Mikhailovsky Palace, now a branch of the Russian Museum (which is not the same thing as the Hermitage). Construction began on it for Grand Duke Mikhail Pavlovich in 1819, and the German traveller Johann Georg Kohl, who described it in a book published in 1841, was impressed by not just the building but its surroundings, including a nearby stables and riding arena:

this quarter of the city might almost be called [the Grand Duke’s] kingdom. Here are the dwellings of his officers, his stables, his riding-school, etc. The latter deserves particular mention, as the finest of the kind that exists any where. In the establishment fifty young people are instructed in riding and in all arts that have the remotest reference to horse or rider; for this object, and for the carousels in the fine riding-house, at which the count is often present, a number of the finest horses are kept, and both horses and riders are so well lodged and fed, that it is a pleasure to pass through the range of clean and elegant sleeping-rooms, sitting, and school rooms, saddle-rooms, stables, &c. All these apartments have double folding-doors in the centre, which stand open the whole day. A long carpet is laid along all the floors down to the stable, and the inspector at a glance can overlook every thing; can satisfy himself whether the beautiful white Arabian Asir, so celebrated for his silken hair and broad forehead, and the fiery Haimak of English blood, out of a mare from the Orloff stud, are in good condition; at the same time he can see what the young cadets, who value themselves so much on their rosy cheeks and sprouting beards, are doing in their chambers. It is wonderful how pure the air is kept in spite of this slight separation; it is as if the stud were perfumed with eau de Cologne, as well as the cadets.

The riding school contained six mirrors large enough for horsemen to see their entire position. While, as Kohl proudly notes, it was Germans who brought the art of riding to Russia, the Russians had recrafted it in their own form. It took six years to prepare each cadet to become a riding master in the army. However, the high standards required were brutal on the horses themselves, who, though dazzling in quadrilles, were soon broken down by keeping up “parade paces”.

Kohl then writes about the “colossal Exercising-house”, and the description makes me wonder if it’s under that rounded roof on the Konyushennaya Ploshchad:

This manege covers a space, unbroken by a single pillar, of 650 feet long, and 150 wide; a regiment can go through its evolutions there with perfect convenience; a battalion may manoeuvre there, and two squadrons might fight a battle there. This establishment originated, as did nearly all such places in St. Petersburg, in the time of Paul. Sixteen giant stoves warm the buildings and the walls are lined with thick woollen-cloth. The roof with its appendages presses on the thick walls with a weight of 300,000 hundred weight; the iron rods alone weigh 12,840,000 pounds, and to this must be added 3000 great trunks of trees made use of in the woodwork, and 2,000 square fathoms of iron plates with which the whole is covered without. The Circassians may be generally seen here busied in their feats of horsemanship, or shooting at a mark, at which times a student in acoustics may make many interesting observations. A pistol-shot awakens so prodigious an echo, that heard from the street one might fancy the whole building falling in one crash.

At this point, anyone who can sort out this mess of the Hermitage and Mikhailovsky Palace stables for me is begged to step forward and save me in the comments. Meanwhile, here’s a more easily identifiable manège:

dsc07501This is the old Horse Guard’s Manège (Konnogvardeyskiy Manège), now an exhibition hall. It was built between 1804 and 1807 and is guarded by twin statues of Castor and Pollux of the “youth trying to stop a rearing horse” variety. They are copies of originals that stand at the Quirinal Palace in Rome, and according to this site they had to be moved to the rear of the manège for a long period after the priests at St Isaac’s cathedral (just over the road) complained about their nudity and pagan nature. You can see some shots of the interior as it is today here, along with a potted history of the building and some earlier images.

It looks as though the facade has lost its more elaborate decorations in the course of the twentieth century. I am not sure if this was the cavalry school at which the famous English écuyer James Fillis taught after Grand Duke Nicholas poached him from the Ciniselli Circus but it seems highly likely. As for non-military riding in the city,  Mrs Alice Hayes, one of my favourite sidesaddle authors, spent some time in Russia later in the nineteenth century than Kohl and was unimpressed. In The Horsewoman she comments:

Although the riding schools of Paris are not to be compared to those of Berlin, the worst of them is far superior to the two miserable civilian riding schools in St. Petersburg, where riding is almost entirely a military function. Very few Russian women ride, although history tells us that Peter III. kept a pack of hounds, and that his wife, Catherine II., according to her memoirs, listened to the loving solicitations of Soltikov while they were riding together “to find the dogs.” A saddle belonging to this amorous lady, which I saw at the Hermitage, was like an Australian buck-jumping saddle, with large knee rolls and a high cantle. It was covered with red velvet and decorated with cowrie shells. The side saddle appears to have been first used in Russia by the daughters of the Emperor Paul.

So where were the civilian riding schools? Where did people ride in summer? Where were the horses kept? And what about the ordinary working horses rather than the fancy parade horses and hunters? The standard housing unit appears to be a series of courtyards, as in Berlin (I wrote about these buildings here in a post on Clever Hans) – could there have been stable buildings in the courtyards? How did people keep horses of all kinds in such low temperatures? How did they cope with the slippery winter conditions?

Had I the Russian I could have asked someone. There are still horses in the very heart of St Petersburg – trotting smartly across terrain that I needed hiking boots and much concentration to cover. Before I caught a glimpse of one, I saw here and there piles of horse manure left neatly on the pavements – once even in a plastic bag, as if it were dog poo (I guess if the manure freezes on the road itself it becomes a hazard). The horses themselves appeared in due course, albeit in a rather more romantic fashion than their road apples.

The time difference of two hours between St Petersburg and Berlin is not large but it is annoying. Combine it with overexcitement about being in a city you’ve dreamed of visiting since you were a teenager and, well, not much sleep is had. My hostel room looked out over the Griboyedov canal – also frozen and much frequented by skating hooded crows – at the Kazan Cathedral and was just around the corner from Nevsky Prospect, which is the Oxford Street of St Petersburg. Despite that I woke groggily early on Saturday morning to the sound of hoofs on icy road, and got to the window in time to see a dark horse trot by pulling a battered black droshky with a bale of hay in the foot well.

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I caught up with the droshky horse that afternoon in Konyushennaya Ploschchad – he’s on the left of this photograph, in the background. Squint and you can make out a little red square over the grey horse’s neck. That’s a prop banner being used to film a crowd scene in a period drama. I’m not sure if the droshkies were involved or just hanging out, but they didn’t get hustled behind the cordon with the rest of us when filming began, and they were also patiently standing in a fog or pall of smoke being generated by the film crew’s machines.

I haven’t had the chance to look into many Russian equestrian sources for the nineteenth century, but even my scanty reading of Russian literature suggests that horses of all kinds were just as culturally important there as in Europe. What about the infamous horse race in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, or his tale of Kholstomer, the talking horse? The most disturbing literary set piece is Raskolnikov’s dream in Crime and Punishment, written some twenty years after Kohl’s account of the city. In it he revisits a childhood scene in the town where he was born:

He always liked looking at those great cart-horses, with their long manes, thick legs, and slow even pace, drawing along a perfect mountain with no appearance of effort, as though it were easier going with a load than without it. But now, strange to say, in the shafts of such a cart he saw a thin little sorrel beast, one of those peasants’ nags which he had often seen straining their utmost under a heavy load of wood or hay, especially when the wheels were stuck in the mud or in a rut. And the peasants would beat them so cruelly, sometimes even about the nose and eyes, and he felt so sorry, so sorry for them that he almost cried, and his mother always used to take him away from the window.

As the child-Raskolnikov watches in the dream, the sorrel’s driver begins to beat her as more and more bystanders climb into the cart, laughing. As the old mare struggles, her driver hits her harder, and soon loses all control – eventually battering her to death with an iron bar (I did warn you it was awful). The mare’s death foreshadows Raskolnikov’s later murder of the elderly money lender Alyona Ivanovna. I should have read Crime and Punishment before I travelled as it turned out that I was staying on the same street where the novel was both set and written – the Griboyedov canal outside my hotel winds its way south west through Kolomna, where Ivanovna, Raskolnikov and Doestoevsky all lived.

Our German traveller Kohl saw peasant horses bought and sold at “Zimnaia Ploshchad” at the end of Nevsky Prospekt. Though less literary than Dostoevsky, he also made a parallel many critics have made between the sorrel in Crime and Punishment and the beleagured peasants of the empire:

The horses sold in this market are duly imbued with the national character. Like their masters they are small, but active and supple; with long manes and beards, ragged hair, delicate joints, and iron constitutions. In the stable they are dull and heavy, but in harness full of spirit, unwearied in the race, and even after the hardest labour tricksy and playful. Cold, heat, hunger, and thirst, they endure with a patience truly admirable, and often receive their dirty straw with more apparent relish than their German brethren do the golden corn. Yet after all, there is but little energy in the Russian horse. He knows not how to husband his force, and if unable to clear the hill at a gallop he remains hopelessly fixed in the mud.

He noted that well-to-do Russians preferred Tartar coachmen – indeed, a visiting Duke of Devonshire even took one home as a souvenir – and that much of the vocabulary for coaching and driving was Mongolian or Tartar. These full-bearded men dressed typically in “a fine blue cloth caftan, fastened under the left arm with three silver buttons, and girded round his middle by a coloured silk sash.” Their postillions were “pretty boys, from twelve to fourteen years of age”. Kohl later comments that literacy was gaining pace in Russia and many servants aspired to learn the alphabet and read, for “even the little postilions may often be seen in a corner of the stables diligently forming the letters with their frozen fingers.”

Mrs Alice Hayes might not have been impressed by Russian ladies but she has nothing but praise for Russian cab men – quite something when one considers the reputation cab horses had for suffering:

… the Russian ishvoshik (cabman), treat their equine charges with far greater sympathy and kindness than our English grooms and cab-drivers do. … When passing through London on my return from a visit to Russia, we put up at an hotel in Oxford Street, where the night was rendered hideous to me by the brutal slashing of cab horses; for one hears nothing of that kind in Russia, and yet we English people pride ourselves on being a horse-loving nation! The speed of Orlov trotters is very great, but no whip is used in driving them; the coachmen drive with a rein in each hand, like the drivers of American trotters, and shout after the manner of firemen to clear the road, for these animals seem to require a good deal of holding. The Russian cabby uses a small whip like an ordinary dog-whip, which he tucks away somewhere under his seat, and when his horse is taking things too easy, it is only necessary for him to show it him, for he is driven without blinkers, to cause him to at once hasten his pace. Very often the man is unprovided even with this toy thing, in which case he obtains a similar result by abusing the animal’s relations! During the whole time that I was in Russia, I never once saw a cabby hurt his horse with the whip. Russia is the last country to which one would go to learn anything about the treatment of human beings, knowing what we do of her past and present history; but we certainly should emulate the Russian coachmen in their kindness to horses, and not shock our neighbours by exhibitions of brutality which may be seen daily in the London streets.

Kohl had a more nuanced take on this:

The Russian cannot be said to illtreat his horse. He rarely flies into a rage against his animal, and expends at all times far more words than blows upon it; on the other hand, however, he bestows but little care upon it, and spoils it as little with over-cherishing as he is himself spoiled with kindness by those in whose school he has been trained and broken in.

So this was a hasty little insight into Russian horses high and low in St Petersburg. As I wrote the bare bones of it I began to Google and turn up more sources that required cross-matching and confirming, and the whole piece began to spiral out of control, so it’s best if I stop now before I accidentally write 10,000 words and forget to write up my notes on the research I actually flew there to do. I’ll leave you with a final Petersburg scene.

At 3am on the Sunday morning I was awake again. The couple in the room next door had argued for hours and were now snoring. Outside, young men were screeching along the Nevsky Prospect in cars whose booming stereos rattled the window just above my head. Women were screaming at their boyfriends and drunks were raging. And then there was a brief lull and I heard hoof beats again – nippy, trotting hoof beats. I hauled myself up to the window sill and poked my head through the curtains.

The road was covered in patches of brown ice two inches thick. On it, trotting south along the Griboyedov canal towards where the droshky horse had come from and the homes of Dostoevsky, Raskalnikov and Alyona Ivanovna, was a bare-headed man with a heavy hood hanging down his back, mounted on a dark horse that moved without fear or hesitation past the neon-lit bars and kiosks and away into the pitch-black early morning.

Dutch Stables: Horses in the Heart of Amsterdam

I went to Amsterdam last weekend to see friends I hadn’t seen for far too long, and ended up doing a little unscheduled horsey tourism. I hadn’t planned it, honest! I had no idea that Amsterdam had a nineteenth century riding manège right by its main park, nor that the building was still home to horses. And I didn’t realise until I wandered into the Van Loon House museum on the Keizersgracht that there was a beautifully preserved coach house and stables tucked away at the end of its garden. Maybe it’s the canals and narrow streets – boats and bikes dominate – but Amsterdam is not Venice, and there are plenty of cobbled streets once traversed by the thousands of horses that made the city on the Amstel function in the nineteenth century and earlier.

Van Loon House Museum, coach house

Van Loon House Museum, coach house

This palladian construction sits at the end of the garden of the Van Loon family’s townhouse. The house itself was built in 1672 and the wealthy Van Loons moved in in 1884, only departing in 1945. The coach house was home to up to six horses (cared for by two grooms, a coachman and a footman) and was enough of a source of pride for the family to take guests to view it. They also had country estates, and the stable has now been reconstructed using mangers from one of these homes. When in town, the family’s equestrian activities were probably confined to the Vondelpark, where they could ride or drive as the fancy took. There are some photographs of the family sleigh in the park, and the sleigh itself is sitting on the old brick floor, opposite a cabinet of harnesses decorated with the family colours:

Sleigh

Sleigh

And this is the charabanc, from the French for “wagon with benches”, also in the family colours (yellow and black). One of the Van Loons was hunting master to King William III, and his hunting horn is strung up on the stable wall, along with a black-and-white photo of a Van Loon lady leaping sidesaddle over a hurdle on an affable, old-fashioned-looking grey.

Charabanc

Charabanc

There’s also a model of the stable as it once looked – a family children’s toy, complete with saddles hanging on the partitions and horses with plaited tails. If you look closely you’ll even see the nameplates over each stall. I bought some postcards with old images of the stables, horses, grooms and coachman. The horses look just like Gelderlanders – chestnut or bay with backs as long as fire dogs.

Children's model stable

Children’s model stable

Mention of the Vondelpark led me to the Dutch Equestrian School Museum on a leafy, blossom-lined street just yards from the park itself. The large detached houses give way to this façade:
IMG_0953Slip under the archway and there’s a potent whiff of horse and horse by-products, a long corridor with a red carpet and a large door that opens into the Hollandesche Manege,  originally founded in 1744 and in its current form since 1882. It’s still in use as a riding stable and still hosts “carousels”. Here are a selection of blurry cameraphone shots (no flash) of the hall, foyer and stables: the grand staircase with its treads worn down by 130 years of riding boots, the loose boxes and their friendly (and hungry) inhabitants and the stucco decorations, with some visual depth added by a layer of manège dust. The foyer is the most beautiful riding “club house” I’ve ever been in (although most of the riding club houses I know where full of janky old heaters, dirty tea mugs and folded up horse blankets, but I digress). Alongside the pony club summer camp adverts, copies of Black Beauty and old plates of “Equitation Around the World”, is a huge nineteenth-century gouache drawing of gentlemen in top hats playing at quintain and running at rings. One of the information cards provided says that women were very much involved at the reopening ceremony in 1882, and there were sidesaddles for sale and on display. My ticket included a free cup of tea, so I sat on the balcony and watched the current crop of riders go through their paces before wandering out to the crowded Vondelpark and hunting for old bridle paths.

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Paper Horses

Thank you to Tony for sending me this link to a New York Times piece on Australian artist Anna-Wili Highfield’s work. She makes three-dimensional paper sculptures of animals – including horses and pegasi – which are featherlight, substantial and full of movement.

There’s a fine “race horse” here and a boxed Whistlejacket which I think I love the most. Scroll through this collection for her brumbies, nightmares and rogue carousel horses.

Dizzying Delights

Here’s a short report at The Local about the restoration of the oldest stationary carousel in the world, in Hanau:

Commissioned by 1780 by Wilhelm I., Elector of Hesse, as part of the Wilhelmsbad park, the complicated ride has had a turbulent history.

“At the very beginning, the carrousel would have been pulled by local serfs,” said Eberhard Schmitt, a retired member of the carousel restoration association. Later the mechanism was powered by oxen, which allowed it to move faster.

“Back then the women in their narrow corsets fainted because of the speed that the oxen could turn the carrousel,” he laughed.

Visitors flocked to see the amusement ride, although not all could afford to experience its thrills, with one ride costing 24 Kreuzer, it was “more expensive than a night in the most expensive hotel,” according to Schmitt.

The carrousel was visited by many notable personalities, including King Wilhelm III of Prussia and Kaiser Franz II of Austria.

Work is expected to take two years. If you’re curious about the carousel, there’s a more detailed history in English here, with information about the mechanism which drove it and lots of photos. The project’s official website is available for wallowing here.