When road racing was first introduced to Europe less than a decade earlier, the sedate speeds posed relatively little threat to spectators or participants. But the technological advances which had been made in the motor industry in the intervening years had enabled cars to achieve speeds in excess of 90mph (145km/h). Clearly this represented a considerable hazard on public roads, especially to a public which was still not fully accustomed to the motor car. The death of a boy spectator during the 1901 Paris-Berlin race had resulted in the French government banning all road racing in France, but when the 1902 Paris-Vienna marathon passed off without any fatalities, the authorities bowed to pressure to allow racing to resume on public thoroughfares. In doing so, they gave the green light to a contest which would be known thereafter as the ‘race to death’. The Auto Club de France came up with the idea of a three-day race from Paris to Madrid – a distance of 872 miles (1,403km), much of it over roads which had barely seen a motor car. The first day was to take the drivers 342 miles (550km) through Chartres, Tours, Poitiers and Angoulême to Bordeaux. The second and third days were to be spent negotiating the treacherous tracks across the Guadarrama mountains near Madrid. This was reckoned to be the most difficult section of the route, but in the event, none of the drivers got that far.
King Alfonso of Spain raised no objections to the proposed race and when the French government also consented, planning began in earnest for what was expected to be a major spectacle for both countries. Indeed no fewer than three million spectators lined the route between Paris and Bordeaux. The starters – 275 in all – were divided into four groups. There were 112 in the heavy car group (including 1.5-litre Panhards and 12.5-litre Mercedes); 64 light cars; 40 voiturettes (the section for vehicles under 1.5 litres); and 59 motorcycles. To reduce weight, most of the cars were stripped down to the bare minimum with the result that the drivers sat on nothing more comfortable than a wooden plank. The entrants gathered at Versailles on Sunday 24 May for a 3.45a.m. start, which, even by the standards of those days, was unreasonably early. First to go was Charles Jarrott in a De Dietrich, the remainder following at one-minute intervals. So by the time the final car was away, the leaders were 135 miles (217km) off down the road.
The Renault brothers were again to the fore, Marcel having a starting number of 39 and Louis being third away. When the two cars in front of Louis fell back, he had the benefit of a clear road ahead from Rambouillet to Bordeaux while those behind had to battle through clouds of dust. Louis Renault duly reached Bordeaux at 12.15p.m. after some eight and a half hours on the road, having averaged over 62mph (99.8km/h). He was followed 16 minutes later by Jarrott, but behind him there was carnage. Marcel Renault had worked his way up to third when, travelling at speed between Poitiers and Angoulême, he put two wheels in a ditch while trying to overtake a slower car. Marcel’s car overturned and he was killed. On the outskirts of Bordeaux, Lorraine Barrow’s De Dietrich swerved off the road in trying to avoid a dog. The car smashed into a tree, killing Barrow’s companion Pierre Rodez. Stray spectators were as great a danger as dogs. At one point a child ran into the road in front of a Brouhot driven by M. Touran. In taking evasive action, the unfortunate Touran careered into a crowd of onlookers. His own passenger, one spectator and the errant child were all killed. In another horrific smash, Leslie Porter’s Wolseley veered out of control on the approach to a level crossing, ploughed into a house and caught fire. His riding mechanic, Nixon, was thrown to his death.
The exact figures vary, but following around nine deaths and countless injuries, the French Prime Minister, Emile Combes, ordered the race to be stopped at Bordeaux. It was all too apparent that spectators had no regard for their own safety and that today’s motor cars were simply too fast for racing on public highways. The authorities suddenly became so jumpy that, having called a halt to proceedings, they would not even permit the cars to be driven under their own power to Bordeaux railway station in readiness for the return trip to Paris. Instead each car had to be towed to the station by horse. The inevitable backlash to the tragedy followed, both French and Spanish governments issuing edicts banning all further racing. Paris to Madrid would go down in history as the last of the great city-to-city races.
Amid the rows and recriminations, the outcome of the curtailed race was almost incidental. Yet there were some heroic performances, including that of Madame Camille du Gast in a 5.7-litre De Dietrich. An accomplished and versatile sportswoman, she had attained the lofty heights of fifth place by the town of Châtellerault, north of Poitiers, before dropping back to forty-fifth after stopping to help a fellow competitor who had been involved in an accident. In the end, first place was awarded to Fernand Gabriel who, having started a lowly eighty-second, reached Bordeaux in his 12-litre Mors in third place, just 40 minutes behind Charles Jarrott. His average speed of 65⅓mph (105km/h) put him ahead of Louis Renault, Joseph Salleron in a Mors and Jarrott. But few people, least of all Louis Renault who had just lost his brother, felt much like celebrating.