The White Stallions and Me
I was one of those kids who loved horses from the day I was able to tell them apart from dogs, cats and humans. I grew up on Marguerite Henry—that genteel purveyor of equine crack for young girls everywhere—and the dream of the white Lippizzaner stallions. When I had the amazing chance to visit Vienna at the age of 13, my only goal was to see the horses of the Spanish Riding School.
Every summer, my aunt took a trip. She went all over the world, but this time it was Europe, and she took me and my sister and cousin with her. When we arrived in Vienna, Austria, no one else wanted to see the horses, so my aunt arranged for me to take a city tour that was to go to the Spanische Reitschule. It was summer, so there were no formal performances, but you could see the training sessions until they ended at noon. The rest of our group went off to see the Summer Palace. I waited anxiously in front of the hotel for my bus, unable to read the German signs, but a bellhop was supposed to tell me which bus to board. A bus arrived, he nodded to me cheerfully, so I got on.
I was too young and shy and naive to verify that this was the right tour. We went here and there in Vienna, I have no recollection of where, but as time ticked by, and noon drew closer, I began to worry. Finally, when we pulled up in front of the Summer Palace at 11 am, I asked the guide if we were going to the Riding School. Oh, no, she said. The Summer Palace was the last stop.
I had boarded the wrong bus.
I was devastated. We were leaving Vienna the next day. Wandering through the crowds of tourists in the Summer Palace, listening to the guide drone on about fusty old paintings, I burst into tears. To come all that way, and miss my once-in-a-lifetime chance! Then a small miracle—amid all those throngs of tourists at the Summer Palace, I saw my aunt. I deserted my tour, ducked under the velvet ropes and told her miserably that I’d missed the horses.
She didn’t hesitate a moment. She grabbed my arm, headed outside, and hailed a taxi. It was 11:30. Somehow she made the German driver understand the urgency of the matter, and we raced to the Spanish Riding School. We arrived at 11:45. The person at the window shook their head; it was too late to get a ticket or enter. My aunt explained in desperate English, while I stood there biting my lip, and the ticket lady finally jerked her head and let us pass. It was 11:50.
The Spanish Riding School is a baroque wonder of a building, with tall windows and light falling down in brilliant shafts on the tanbark below. You view the school from above, looking down on the horses from the balcony. In the strict procedure of the training, the youngest horses go last, after all their superiors have finished. I was in time to see the very last group enter.
Lippizzaners are born dark. They turn gray, and then pure white at about the age of 6 or 7. Below us, in the utter silence of the school and the now deserted balcony, was a line of ten young horses with their riders in full uniform. Some of the horses were white, some were nearly white, but one was still iron-gray. There was no sound but the regular beat of the hooves, no light but the shafts of sun streaming down, with the horses passing in and out of shadow and sunlight as they trotted in single file around the school. Around, across, on the diagonal. I vividly remember that one rider gave the iron-gray horse a tap with the whip, and the horse tossed its mane and kicked out, just once, and went on without missing a step.
For ten minutes, I had the honor to watch, until they turned in their perfect single file and silently exited the school. I have ever since wanted to paint that picture, with the light and the horses, all white but one. I tried once, with oil paints, and it was a miserable failure. I tried again with S.T.‘s ride in the school in Italy, in The Prince of Midnight, and perhaps I succeeded a little better there.
Lippizzaners are very long-lived. I have often thought of them over the years. Those young horses must be the old men of the Spanish Riding School now, or passed on. When they came to the U.S. in 2005, the oldest stallion to come was Siglavy Mantua I, born 22 January 1979.
I’m sure that same scene takes place every day, as it has for hundreds of years, the pursuit of equestrian perfection, and a little snort and kick for spice.
My aunt is no longer here for me to say thank you so much, Elva, for making sure I had the chance. I’ve never forgotten it, and I never will.
[1] Posted by laura kinsale on 01.08.2010
All opinions are welcome, positive or negative, but civility and polite language are required for comments to remain. Political or religious references are not allowed, unless directly related to a Laura Kinsale book under discussion. I do answer questions but I seldom give interpretations about my books or characters, because I enjoy hearing what readers see in them. These comments and discussions replace my old forum at The Terrace. (Note that the spam captcha is an english word interspersed with a number—this may help you tell a letter from a number. If it’s still too hard to see, reload the page for another one.)
[2] Posted by Becky Worthington on 01.09.2010
Laura,
I just finished reading about your adventure w the Lippizzaners and could relate to every word. For nearly 50 years, since the first time I saw them on the original Walt Disney show, I have wanted to see the Lippizzaner Stallions. In the last 10 years, I been close to seeing them, both times withing 50 miles of my home, once in Florida and once in Ohio. The first time, I was flat broke and couldn’t go, even though I had transportation. The second time, I had the money, but had no transportation! Maybe the third time I get a chance, it will all work out! I absolutely will see them one day, even if I’m old and gray and have to have someone push me in a wheelchair by then!
[3] Posted by laura kinsale on 01.10.2010
I hope you do get to see them, Becky. (BTW anyone who wants to see the real thing, be aware that the Spanish Riding School very seldom tours overseas. There is a similarly named group that tours the US under the “World Famous” label. These are not the horses from Vienna, though they are an entertaining show.)
[4] Posted by Judy Thommesen on 01.14.2010
Laura,
I enjoy the beauty of a horse from outside the rink having discovered that one actually does see stars when ones head hits a solid object. I confess that a fear remains from having been thrown off several times at the age of 18. What I loved about your story was your Aunt Elva. She knew the value of dreams and soul and how vital they are. She didn’t settle for giving you heartfelt hugs for having missed the riding school, but without hesitation took charge and did her best to rectify the situation. I admire her spirit very much. She turned devastation and heartbreak into smiles and memories. Through her actions those measly 10 minutes showed a young girl not to give up but to find a way to make whatever it is happen; a life lesson for sure. Elva rocked.
[5] Posted by laura kinsale on 01.14.2010
Judy, she did indeed. I learned many many lessons from both of my aunts. In fact The Shadow and the Star is dedicated to them and my grandmother and cousins who were a very big part of who I am.
And you are right, I’ve seen a few of those stars myself. Whoof. ;)
[6] Posted by hope101 on 01.16.2010
Ah, where would any of us be without those feisty elderly women? My grandmother had her faults, but she allowed herself to both feel passionate about a few things and pursue them. She encouraged the same in her grandchildren. Scarcely a day goes by that I don’t think of her.
[7] Posted by Becky on 01.16.2010
And let’s not forget those wonderful older women in our lives who had a sense of humor!! What a gift that is to us while growing up! My grandma - in her late 60s or early 70s at the time - was weeding her tiny garden beside her house one sunny day and lost her balance. Not being all that steady at the best of time, she couldn’t get up from the sidewalk. So, she settled her dress to cover her knees, crossed her ankles in her lady-like manner, and proceeded to reach over and continue weeding her garden. A neighbor soon looked out his window, saw her, and came hurrying over. He asked her what happened and she grinned up at him and said, “Well, I pulled on a weed and it pulled back, so here I am.” Learning to see the humor in any situation is one of the greatest gifts I think anyone can teach us. Like the old saying goes - grief shared is halved and humor shared is doubled!
[8] Posted by Meredith Harris on 01.18.2010
I enjoyed your reminiscence. I was another horse-crazy girl from my earliest memory. My thoughts were consumed by horses - my favorite books (including Henry), my vacation souvenirs (horse figurines), my school projects (science - the anatomy of a horse, history - American horse breeds, home-ec - hunting attire—my teachers were probably taking bets on how I would work horses into math class LOL). And I clearly remember one of my favorite books - a story of the Lippizzaner stallions and the Spanish Riding School with beautiful illustrations of the airs above ground. It caught and held my imagination. The scene in Prince of Midnight did take me back to that book and those dreams. I still hope to make it to the Riding School in Vienna at some point. I’m glad you had that magical experience at the wonderful age of 13.
[9] Posted by Elizabeth Essex on 01.22.2010
Oh, the bliss of young pony love. Much, much better than puppy love. I read everything by Henry and then discovered British author K.M. Peyton. In the 70’s I read everything of hers I could get my hands on: books like The Flambards Series, Fly by Night and the Team just let me fall headlong into that marvelous pony-centric world. She’s still writing fabulous YA horse stories if you want to relive those ecstatic teen feelings. :)
[10] Posted by Robin Wilson on 01.22.2010
Back in the 1970’s, the Lipizzaner tour came to Washington, DC. I remember the tears rolling down my cheeks as I watched them perform the “airs above the ground”. So beautiful. I was glad to read that your story had a happy ending. For a minute there I was really worried.
[11] Posted by Robyn Huffman on 05.31.2010
I just found your books and thought I’d check out your website. I’m a dressage person and I loved this story. I have not been to the Spanish Riding School but I did get to see them in US. {The real ones} I’ve ridden a few Lippizzaners over the years, turns out none of the classic dressage horses are really my ride. I prefer modern German Warmbloods.
Anyway, lovely story. Very similar to the types of things that inspired me.
