The trainer, eaten away by anxiety on the subject of Peau-de-Balle, had decided on a personal approach to his new owner. It was necessary, at all costs, that Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes kept the crack and ran him in his own colors; obviously, it was not the prelate who would come to palpate Peau-de-Balle in order to see whether he was alive.
The Monseigneur welcomed the visitor whom Providence had sent in such a timely fashion with an almost joyful benevolence.
“Be welcome, Monsieur. Maître Dessumeaux told us to expect your visit. We know that you give your vigilant and enlightened care to the horses that belong to us…but which will not belong to us for much longer, since Monsieur l’Abbé Tacot, here present, has just demonstrated to us that the possession of a racehorse would not be appropriate for an ecclesiastic, all the more so for a bishop.
“Indeed,” said Abbé Tacot, intending to knock out the English trainer with a single blow—the Latin punch—“levia autem delicta, quae in ipsis maxima esse affugiant, ut eorum actiones cunctis afferent venerationem.”85
Griffith’s church Latin was mediocre, but, surprising as it might seem, he was entirely prepared to sustain a controversy on racing, even by looking at it from the viewpoint of canon law. In fact, the previous day, he had paid a visit to the protestant pastor of Chantilly; by steering the conversation adroitly around to the subject he wanted to prepare, he had been able to make a provision of arguments and texts.
So, as Gustave Louffe would have put it, he backed Abbé Tacot into a corner.
“I don’t see,” Griffith said, “that anything in the Christian religion can motivate the proscription of the horse, or to have it considered as an accursed animal. I’ve never heard it said that Noah refused the horse entry to the Ark, or that it was a horse that presented the fatal apple to our mother Eve. On the contrary, the horse played a very honorable role in the Scriptures. The prophet Elijah was carried to heaven by a chariot drawn by four horses. According to the Apocalypse, it is a horse that transported Saint John to the seventh heaven. It was on a representative of the equine race—modest, it is true, but the thoroughbred had not yet been invented—that Joseph led his family into Egypt, and also on which, thirty years later, the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem took place. Saint Martin and Saint George are always represented on horseback, and that has not prevented them, I think, from occupying a good place in hagiography. As for Saint Paul, he was also on a horse when he emptied his stirrups on the road to Damascus.”
“Exactly!” cried Abbé Tacot, triumphantly. “The finger of Providence is found in that! Paul of Tarsus, who was simply a despicable gentile when he was on horseback, became the greatest saint of the day when he was on foot.”
Abbé Tacot had noticed that Griffith’s arguments, crude as they were, had made a certain impression on Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes. He wanted to destroy that effect.
“In any case,” he went on, with the objective of finishing off his adversary, “the horses of which Monsieur speaks were honest animals employed by their masters as means of transport, not instruments of diabolical gain destined to amass, in the form of race prizes, money derived from gambling.”
Griffith then showed an admirable presence of mind.
“Monsieur l’Abbé, there is a parable that I want to relate to you, very poorly, but which is certainly in your gospels. It’s a matter of a master who has two stewards. He confides fifty talents to each of them. He comes back a year later and asks for their accounts. The first steward returns his fifty talents, which he has kept carefully. The other, who has put his money to work, like a good Israelite, returns a hundred to him, which represents a very good interest. The master criticizes the first steward and praises the second, which proves that it is always necessary to make the gifts of the Lord fructify, and which also proves that when one has a racehorse, it is not to be sold or left in the stable, but raced in order to earn money, even when one is an archbishop.”
“Money from gambling!” insisted Abbé Tacot. “Saint Bonaventure, and after him the scholarly theologian Alexander of Hales, who clarified the Summa Theologica by order of Pope Innocent IV, considered that one must make restitution to the poor of money won by gambling.”
“Precisely!” said Griffith, with authority. “Precisely! We’re in agreement. The money harvested on racecourses is centralized in order to be distributed in the form of prizes. Those prizes will be won by Peau-de-Balle, the Monseigneur’s horse. And Monseigneur will distribute the money to the poor, which is entirely in conformity with the ideas of the Church and the desire of the Messieurs that you have just cited.”
At that precise moment, unexpected aid came to tip the balance in favor of Griffith and decide his victory; it was brought by Abbé Tronche, the curé of Tassigny-la-Raclée.
The venerable ecclesiastic, who had the privilege of entry to see Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes officially or unofficially at any hour, had arrived in time to hear the end of the conversation. He had humbly sat down in a corner on the edge of the most modest seat he could find, but he seemed to be in a state of extraordinary agitation and was shivering nervously while waiting for an opportunity to speak to the archbishop.
The two casuists had paused momentarily to get their breath and assemble their arguments. He took advantage of that brief suspension of hostilities to advance toward the prelate, who extended his hand to him, smiling.
“A miracle! A miracle!” cried Abbé Tronche, in a tone that reminded Griffith of the manner in which enthusiastic sportsmen on the course shout the name of the horse that they have backed when it crosses the finish line first, and even when it trails in last, well beaten.
“What news is there from Tassigny-la-Raclée?” asked Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes.
“Our visionary, young Sophie Poirier, had a new vision this morning, manifestly come from heaven. The Archangel Michael appeared to her on a horse. That horse bore an aureole on its head and on that aureole young Sophie was able to read the words, in letters of fire: In hoc signo vinces,86 Now Monseigneur, young Sophie does not know Latin, which ought to convince the incredulous.”
“On saying these last words the worthy curé looked severely at Abbé Tacot. Abbé Tacot had, thus far, exhibited a regrettable skepticism in the matter of the apparitions of Tassigny-le-Raclée, and had even cited texts as trenchant as razor blades.
Abbé Tronche’s words produced a considerable effect. The savant professor of exegesis visibly lacked confidence; Griffith judged that he had run out of steam, and was about to collapse.
In fact, young Sophie’s apparition of a horse aureoled with the prophetic words took on a very clear significance in the present circumstances; the propriety of the celestial message was evident, and its import imperious. Evidently, Providence was intimating to the archbishop the instruction to keep Peau-de-Balle, and promised him imminent victories. The involvement in the project of the Archangel Michael became so obvious that it was necessary, in order to deny it, to have eyes in order not to see: oculus habent et non videbunt. The construction of the basilica was to be the prize of the victories of a horse, a horse whose prizes would appease the hungry mob of creditors and constructors.
Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes no longer hesitated.
“Thank you, my dear Abbé, for having brought us the good news, like the dove of the Ark. Monsieur Griffith, you will have the kindness to keep, in our name, the horses that you trained on Madame Tafoireau’s account.”
Griffith took his leave, bowing to the Monseigneur and then extending his hand to Abbé Tacot, as a polite boxer does after a fight.
Abbé Tacot, however, turned his back rancorously, muttering words in which there was mention of Luther, Calvin, Balaam’s ass and Colas’ cow.87
IV. The Amethyst Silks
“Monseigneur,” said Abbé Douillet, “these racecourse matters are terribly obscure and complicated. I’ve heard it said that in order to direct a stable in the capacity of an owner, it’s necessary to possess a remarkable intelligence
and a great sporting erudition. One has to know the names of all the horses, their sires and dams, the color of all the silks and the weight, to the nearest ten grams, of jockeys, trainers and journalists. We’ll never get through it. We ought to take advice, I order to avoid any mistakes, from a discreet and experienced person.”
“One might perhaps assemble the chapter.”
“The chapter is made up of eminent ecclesiastics, knowledgeable about all things, but its luminaries do not understand these purely mundane matters. It would be better to consult Maître Dessumeaux, who is accustomed to them.”
A few days later the archbishop received the following letter from the notary.
Monseigneur,
I have learned with satisfaction that the Court of Rome has not raised any objection to the project formed by Your Highness relative to the exploitation of a racing stable. In conformity with your desire, after having consulted Monsieur le Comte Jérôme Thomas, who is one of the most remarkable minds of our epoch, I am able to submit to you my advice on certain matters of detail, desiring to reconcile archiepiscopal dignity with the practical establishment of a sport that certainly brings together the greatest names in France, but which is also sometimes exposed to a disquieting publicity and promiscuity.
It is thus that the color purple, which is the color par excellence of bishops, a discreet color in good taste, appears to me to be clearly indicated for Your Highness’ silks. We wondered whether it would not be excellent to complete them by adding an old gold cross on the back, but that genre of ornamentation is a little too special; only hoops, sashes and Saint Andrew’s crosses are habitually employed. As for the cap, the color red would signal, in the most fortunate fashion, the titles Your Highness possesses to a cardinal’s robes.
A fortunate circumstance arises from the fact that Your Highness’ jockey, Gustave Louffe, is French and Catholic, a double condition rather infrequent in professional milieux, and which ought to rejoice our hearts in these unhappy times when cosmopolitan hordes and foreign agents are striving, by the most reprehensible means, to destroy national sentiment.
I shall pass on to another order of ideas. It will be preferable that no ecclesiastic belonging to the diocese of Caudebec-en-Caux show themselves at racecourses when Your Highness’ colors are represented there. The trainer Griffith, assisted by Comte Jérôme Thomas, who will graciously lend Your Highness the collaboration of his enlightenment will be sufficient for the good management of your interests.
You have also asked me whether it might not be convenient to change the name of the horse Peau-de-Balle, which appears to you to be a trifle suspect in it lightness. I shall dare to observe to Your Highness that the name has no obscene and offensive significance for the pure-minded, and that, the horse having already made that name illustrious and popular, it is better to conserve it.
Accept, Monseigneur, the respectful, etc.
Dessumeaux, notary.
As the worthy archbishop, reading this letter, was rejoicing to see things progressing as desired, Abbé Tacot hurtled into the senior curate’s office, brandishing a newspaper with a vengeful hand.
“What did I tell you, Monsieur l’Abbé Douillet? The scandal’s beginning!”
“What scandal? And what newspaper is that?”
“This newspaper is Le Balai, the organ of the Freemasonic Lodge of Caudebec-en-Caux!”
“Permit me Monsieur l’Abbé, not to congratulate you on your choice of reading material.”
“Let me continue. This newspaper contains a most virulent article on the Monseigneur’s racing stable. The article is visibly inspired by Baron Isaac de l’Échelle-Jacob, who, by virtue of his dignity as a Grand Mason and also by virtue of his fortune, is very well placed to drag anyone through the mud that he finds in the way of his interests. The excellent man, having been unable to obtain what he desired from the Monseigneur, seems fully determined to make His Highness disgusted with a métier that, I was the first to say, is unsuitable for an archbishop. Listen, Monsieur l’Abbé, to this article signed Léo Letaxi:88
“The horse, as Chateaubriand says, is in the process of becoming the noblest conquest of clericalism...”
“Le Balai is not very reliable from the point of view of literary sources,” put in Abbé Douillet.89
“…Not content with having put their hand on consciences, the representatives of ultramontane obscurantism have set foot in our hippodromes, and the Bishop Bénin-Despalmes has just inherited from an old devotee...”
“Le Balai’s information service leaves a little to be desired,” said Abbé Douillet, mildly.
“…a stable whose finest ornament, an ornament that ought to be sacerdotal, bears the suggestive name of Peau-de-Balle. Let us hope that Peau-de-Balle will not devour, like a mere peck of oats, the denier of the religion and the purse of the faithful, and that the clerics, in their turn, will not have to cry out: A bas la culotte!”90
“Well, that’s very nice,” said the curate, “but there’s no point in that article falling under the Monseigneur’s eyes. Put it in your archives, Abbé Tacot.”
The following Sunday, the excellent Abbé Tronche, curé of Tassigny-la-Tachée, at the end of his sermon, said to his parishioners:
“My dear brethren, let us pray for the Monseigneur’s horse, which is carrying our most cherished hopes. The fate of our basilica, whose walls are beginning to emerge from the ground, is intimately linked to the fate of the charger blessed by Saint Michael himself. The great archangel, appearing to one of our children of Mary, has given a certain sign of the interest he has in him. Let us therefore pray ardently today that he gives victory to the representative of the Lord’s anointed.”
That day, in fact, Peau-de-Balle, wearing the amethyst silks and red cap for the first time, was due to run in the Prix du Grand-Argentier at Maisons-Lafitte; and the sales of the Sport du Soir in the diocese of Caudebec-en-Caux were exceptional, the reading of that newspaper even distracting considerable attention from the breviary.
V. The Prix du Grand-Argentier
The Prix du Grand-Argentier, which is run over sixteen hundred meters on a straight course, had been founded under the auspices of a Minister of Finance imbued with strange ideas on the subject of racehorses; he thought that the interests of the equine race were intimately linked to the general interests of agriculture, and by that token to the general wealth of the nation. One can tell that the story of Peau-de-Balle is set in a very remote era.
That minister had inscribed in the budget an annual sum of twenty-five thousand francs for the allocation of that trial, an allocation all the richer for that epoch because it was a matter of a handicap: a limited handicap, since the weights, on publication, went from fifty to sixty-five kilos, and only horses that had won ten thousand francs during the years were admitted.
Peau-de-Balle had the honor of top weight, sensible aggravated by the penalties incurred following his victories since the establishment of the handicap, so his weight was seventy-two kilos.
His participation, however, was not in doubt. His owner, the saintly man, was completely ignorant of the influence of weight on races. As for Griffith, he had his reasons for knowing that the horse could carry that mountain of lead with perfect ease.
Baron Isaac de l’Échelle-Jacob, who was pursuing his campaign with the determination of his race, had decided that Peau-de-Balle would not win this time. He explained his plan to Sem Lévy on the morning of the race.
“Monsieur le Baron,” the bookmaker had insinuated, “I’m wondering why you’ve left your three horses in this handicap. Piston, fair enough—he might gain a place with his low weight—but Échalote and Fin-Courant, who have only ever run in claimers and over a very short distance?”
“Lévy,” said the Baron, “do you know how football is played?”
“Football? Yes, I have a pretty good idea what it is.”
“Well, in football, you’ve been able to remark that, for one player who has to carry the ball to a determined p
lace, there are four or five others, of the adverse camp, who are exclusively charged with preventing him from getting through.”
“I understand, I understand, Monsieur le Baron. Piston, Échalote and Fin-Courant aren’t running to win, but to prevent the enemy from winning.”
“You’re very intelligent, Lévy.”
“At the start, they’ll take the lead, come back into Peau-de-Balle’s line...”
“Yes…”
“To interrupting his action, striking into his legs, boxing him in...”
“Yes, yes...”
“And the distance is too short for Peau-de-Balle, supposing he can get free thereafter, to recover from his initial disadvantage.”
“Very good. So, you’ll do me the pleasure of laying Peau-de-Balle with open taps. The horse is dead...”
Thanks to those instructions, the archbishop’s horse started at the remunerative price of four to one, in spite of the enthusiasm of his partisans and the unusual popularity of the phenomenal crack. In any case, his heavy weight and a field of twelve competitors might have been sufficient to explain the apparent opposition.
At the departure signal, a bizarre hesitation seemed to occur. Piston and Fin-Courant, after having bounded forward, seemed to veer sideways, but that jink, well concerted, brought them hoof-to-hoof with Échalote, the third rogue—which is to say, directly ahead of Peau-de-Balle, whose initial acceleration, being mechanical and not purely impulsive, had, as always, required two seconds.
Gustave Louffe had not taken any precaution to isolate his horse; this time, in fact, he had no reason for caution, the course being a straight line and not involving any dangerous bend.
Griffith was in the stand and following the race with his binoculars. He understood the maneuver.”
“Oh, the swines!” he muttered, between his teeth.
The Mirror of Present Events Page 19