The banners go up on the royal stand, and
group themselves picturesquely; the heralds disappear at the other
end of the list; and almost immediately the horses, ridden by young
jockeys in stunning colors, come flying past in a general scramble.
There are a dozen or more horses; but, after the first round, the
race lies between two. The course is considerably over an English
mile, and they make four circuits; so that the race is fully
six-miles,--a very hard one. It was a run in a rain, however, which
began when it did, and soon forced up the umbrellas. The vast crowd
disappeared under a shed of umbrellas, of all colors,--black, green,
red, blue; and the effect was very singular, especially when it moved
from the field: there was then a Niagara of umbrellas. The race was
soon over: it is only a peasants' race, after all; the aristocratic
races of the best horses take place in May. It was over. The king's
carriage was brought round, the people again shouted, the cannon
roared, the six black horses reared and plunged, and away he went.
After all, says the artist, "the King of Bavaria has not much power."
"You can see," returns a gentleman who speaks English, "just how much
he has: it is a six-horse power."
On other days there was horse-trotting, music production, and for
several days prize-shooting.
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