Un Peu Loufoque and the Black Stallion

I was aroused this morning ,when it was still dark, from my fitful sleep, disturbed by vivid dreams of black stallions and myself riding bareback, plunging deeper and deeper into dark forests, the pace ever quickening as we moved together as one, faster and faster, until I emerged panting and exhausted into startling sun light.

Goodness only knows why I should dream of such things but it has left me quite agitated and with a slight headache. It is most unlike me to dream at all, I have far more decorum. Perhaps it is the artist awakening in me? Or, possibly merely, the noises emanating from the stable block in the early hours as Madame Grognonne and Henri Le Cravacher attempted to swiftly and quietly manoeuvre its new resident into the stalls. I use the terms “swiftly and quietly” in the broadest possible sense as there was little evidence apparent, from where I lay listening, of them attempting to employ either. There was however a great deal of agitated whispering and clattering of hooves on the cobbled courtyard and several muffled “gros mots” when the horse in question trod on its handler's toes.

I have the latter information from Eldest who brought me my tea this morning as Madame Grognonne is feeling a little bruised and unable to make the stairs, nor apparently, sit down for more than a short period at a time, as a result her last night's escapades.

The day is dark and damp, and heavy with thunder reverberating around the hills and the sky full of rain. Neither a day for a picnic nor, apparently, a day to make one's acquaintance with one's new horse. Monsieur Le Cravacher has advised we leave him undisturbed in the stables so that he might settle and become accustomed to his new home. Meanwhile he and Madame Grognonne are planning to be close at hand in the hay loft above to meet any needs he may have. It is hoped that once the storm has passed and he has calmed down we may be able to harness him and take him out for a jaunt tomorrow either very early in the morning or late in the evening so as to avoid meeting other traffic.

I am reliably informed by Eldest that Monsieur Le Cravacher feels it is better we take things gently at first in case he becomes unnecessarily agitated. I do hope I have done the right thing in purchasing this horse! He does sound, to my non equestrian mind, a trifle flighty and highly strung for a carriage horse. I am not utterly convinced it is an awfully good sign that I can still hear the rhythmic sound of his hooves drumming against the stable floor and kicking out violently at the closed doors.

Eldest has brought me luncheon in bed, thoughtfully prepared in advance by Madame Grognonne before she took up stable duty for the afternoon. A simple repas of quails eggs , veal in a white wine sauce and a junket together with a restorative glass of champagne and brandy for my nerves as I am feeling slightly jaded.

What with the absence of Chief Patissier, the worrisome rollicking in the stable block and the unseasonable weather I have decided I would de eminently better off in bed languishing on my pillows for the remainder of the day with the blinds drawn. Thus I may perhaps sleep, perchance to dream of wild black stallions once more.

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This illustration a sketch of a horse by Leonardo de Vinci. The image speaks for itself. I need say no more.