Those with an affinity for affairs of the turf are faced today with the trickiest forecast of their year. The difficulties of predicting the erratic path of a tornado, pale into insignificance compared to the challenge of forecasting which horse will win at Aintree this afternoon. But, as it happens, the horse is said to be a skilful weather forecaster.
The main area of equine expertise, it seems, is rain. There are a variety of symptoms: if horses stretch out their necks and sniff the air, it portends rain; the same fate awaits us if they are restless or if they assemble in a corner of a field with their tails to the wind.
One of the best accounts of these prognostic skills is in Sir Walter Scott's novel, Quentin Durward.
The eponymous hero is a Scottish adventurer who finds himself in France in the 15th century in the reign of Louis XI. "Upon one occasion," Scott tells us in a footnote to the story, "Louis, intending to hunt and doubtful of the weather, inquired of an astrologer near his person whether it would be fair. The sage, having recourse to his astrolabe, answered with confidence in the affirmative."
The royal party proceeded on its way until, at the entrance to the forest, they were met by "a charcoal man who expressed to some menials of the train his surprise that the king should have thought of hunting in a day which threatened tempest. The collier's predictions proved true. The king and his court were driven from their sport well-drenched."
Now when Louis heard about this accurate prediction, he ordered that the charcoal man be brought before him.
"How were you so more accurate in foretelling the weather than this learned man?" he asked, to which the collier replied: "I am an ignorant man, sire, was never at school and can neither read nor write. But I have an astrologer of my own who shall foretell weather with any of them. It is, with reverence, the horse who carries my charcoal, who always, when bad weather is approaching, points forward his ears, walks more slowly than usual, and tries to rub himself against walls, and it was from these signs that I foretold yesterday's storms."
According to Scott, "the king burst out laughing, dismissing the astrological biped, and assigned the collier a small pension to maintain the quad ruped, swearing that he would never in future trust to any other astrologer than the charcoal man's horse."