Part 20 (1/2)
[Sidenote: THE ENCIERRO.]
The next afternoon all the world crowds to the _Plaza de toros_. You need not ask the way; just launch into the tide, which in these Spanish affairs will a.s.suredly carry you away. Nothing can exceed the gaiety and sparkle of a Spanish public going, eager and full-dressed, to the _fight_. They could not move faster were they running away from a real one. All the streets or open s.p.a.ces near the outside of the arena present of themselves a spectacle to the stranger, and genuine Spain is far better to be seen and studied in the streets, than in the saloon.
Now indeed a traveller from Belgravia feels that he is out of town, in a new world and no mistake; all around him is a perfect saturnalia, all ranks are fused in one stream of living beings, one b.l.o.o.d.y thought beats in every heart, one heart beats in ten thousand bosoms; every other business is at an end, the lover leaves his mistress unless she will go with him,--the doctor and lawyer renounce patients, briefs, and fees; the city of sleepers is awakened, and all is life, noise, and movement, where to-morrow will be the stillness and silence of death; now the bending line of the _Calle de Alcala_, which on other days is broad and dull as Portland Place, becomes the aorta of Madrid, and is scarcely wide enough for the increased circulation; now it is filled with a dense ma.s.s coloured as the rainbow, which winds along like a spotted snake to its prey. Oh the din and dust! The merry mob is everything, and, like the Greek chorus, is always on the scene. How national and Spanish are the dresses of the lower cla.s.ses--for their betters alone appear like Boulevard quizzes, or tigers cut out from our East end tailors'
pattern-book of the last new fas.h.i.+on; what _Manolas_, what reds and yellows, what fringes and flounces, what swarms of picturesque vagabonds, cl.u.s.ter, or alas, cl.u.s.tered, around _calesas_, whose wild drivers run on foot, whipping, screaming, swearing; the type of these vehicles in form and colour was Neapolitan; they alas! are also soon destined to be sacrificed to civilization to the 'bus and common-place cab, or vile fly.
[Sidenote: FILLING THE THEATRE.]
The _plaza_ is the focus of a fire, which blood alone can extinguish; what public meetings and dinners are to Britons, reviews and razzias to Gauls, ma.s.s or music to Italians, is this one and absorbing bull-fight to Spaniards of all ranks, s.e.xes, ages, for their happiness is quite catching; and yet a thorn peeps amid these rosebuds; when the dazzling glare and fierce African sun calcining the heavens and earth, fires up man and beast to madness, a raging thirst for blood is seen in flas.h.i.+ng eyes and the irritable ready knife, then the pa.s.sion of the Arab triumphs over the coldness of the Goth: the excitement would be terrific were it not on pleasure bent; indeed there is no sacrifice, even of chast.i.ty, no denial, even of dinner, which they will not undergo to save money for the bull-fight. It is the birdlime with which the devil catches many a female and male soul. The men go in all their best costume and _majo_-finery: the distinguished ladies wear on these occasions white lace mantillas, and when heated, look, as the Andaluz wag Adrian said, like sausages wrapped up in white paper; a fan, _abanico_, is quite as necessary to all as it was among the Romans. The article is sold outside for a trifle, and is made of rude paper, stuck into a handle of common cane or stick, and the gift of one to his nutbrown _querida_ is thought a delicate attention to her complexion from her swarthy swain; at the same time the lower Salamander cla.s.ses stand fire much better on these occasions than in action, and would rather be roasted fanless alive _a la auto de fe_ than miss these hot engagements.
The place of slaughter, like the _Abattoirs_ on the Continent, is erected outside the towns, in order to obtain s.p.a.ce, and because horned animals when over driven in crowded streets are apt to be ill-mannered, as may be seen every Smithfield market-day in the City, as the Lord Mayor well knows.
[Sidenote: SEAT OF THE CLERGY.]
The seats occupied by the mob are filled more rapidly than our s.h.i.+lling galleries, and the ”G.o.ds” are equally noisy and impatient. The anxiety of the immortals, wishes to annihilate time and s.p.a.ce and make bull-fanciers happy. Now his majesty the many reigns triumphantly, and this--church excepted--is the only public meeting allowed; but even here, as on the Continent, the odious bayonet sparkles, and the soldier picket announces that innocent amus.e.m.e.nts are not free; treason and stratagem are suspected by coward despots, when one sole thought of pleasure engrosses every one else. All ranks are now fused into one ma.s.s of h.o.m.ogeneous humanity; their good humour is contagious; all leave their cares and sorrows at home, and enter with a gaiety of heart and a determination to be amused, which defies wrinkled care; many and not over-delicate are the quips and quirks bandied to and fro, with an eloquence more energetic than unadorned; things and persons are mentioned to the horror of periphrastic euphuists; the liberty of speech is perfect, and as it is all done quite in a parliamentary way, none take offence. Those only who cannot get in are sad; these rejected ones remain outside grinding their teeth, like the unhappy ghosts on the wrong side of the Styx, and listen anxiously to the joyous shouts of the thrice blessed within.
At Seville a choice box in the shade and to the right of the president is allotted as the seat of honour to the canons of the cathedral, who attend in their clerical costume; and such days are fixed upon for the bull-fight as will not by a long church service prevent their coming.
The clergy of Spain have always been the most uncompromising enemies of the stage, where they never go; yet neither the cruelty nor profligacy of the amphitheatre has ever roused the zeal of their most elect or most fanatic: our puritans at least a.s.sailed the bear-bait, which induced the Cavalier Hudibras to defend them; so our methodists denounced the bull-bait, which was therefore patronised by the Right Hon. W. Windham, in the memorable debate May 24, 1802, on Mr. _Dog_ Dent. The Spanish clergy pay due deference to bulls, both papal and quadruped; they dislike being touched on this subject, and generally reply ”_Es costumbre_--it is the custom--_siempre se ha praticado asi_--it has always been done so, or _son cosas de Espana_, they are things of Spain”--the usual answer given as to everything which appears incomprehensible to strangers, and which they either can't account for, or do not choose. In vain did St. Isidore write a chapter against the amphitheatre--his _chapter_ minds him not; in vain did Alphonso the Wise forbid their attendance. The sacrifice of the bull has always been mixed up with the religion of old Rome and old and modern Spain, where they are cla.s.sed among acts of charity, since they support the sick and wounded; therefore all the sable countrymen of Loyola hold to the Jesuitical doctrine that the end justifies the means.
[Sidenote: COMMENCEMENT OF THE BULL-FIGHT.]
CHAPTER XXII.
The Bull-fight--Opening of Spectacle--First Act, and Appearance of the Bull--The Picador--Bull Bastinado--The Horses, and their Cruel Treatment--Fire and Dogs--The Second Act--The Chulos and their Darts--The Third Act--The Matador--Death of the Bull--The Conclusion, and Philosophy of the Amus.e.m.e.nt--Its Effect on Ladies.
When the appointed much-wished-for hour is come, the Queen or the _Corregidor_ takes the seat of honour in a central and splendid box, the mob having been previously expelled from the open arena; this operation is called the _despejo_, and is an amusing one, from the reluctance with which the great unwashed submit to be cleaned out. The proceedings open at a given signal with a procession of the combatants, who advance preceded by _alguaciles_, or officers of police, who are dressed in the ancient Spanish costume, and are always at hand to arrest any one who infringes the severe laws against interruptions of the games. Then follow the _picadores_, or mounted hors.e.m.e.n, with their spears. Their original broad-brimmed Spanish hats are decorated with ribbons; their upper man is clad in a gay silken jacket, whose lightness contrasts with the heavy iron and leather protections of the legs, which give the clumsy look of a French jackbooted postilion. These defences are necessary when the horned animal charges home. Next follow the _chulos_, or combatants on foot, who are arrayed like Figaro at the opera, and have, moreover, silken cloaks of gay colours. The _matadores_, or killers, come behind them; and, last of all, a gaily-caparisoned team of mules, which is destined to drag the slaughtered bulls from the arena.
As for the men, those who are killed on the spot are denied the burial-rites if they die without confession. Springing from the dregs of the people, they are eminently superst.i.tious, and cover their b.r.e.a.s.t.s with relics, amulets, and papal charms. A clergyman, however, is in attendance with the sacramental wafer, in case _su majestad_ may be wanted for a mortally-wounded combatant.
[Sidenote: ENTRANCE OF THE BULL.]
Having made their obeisances to the chief authority, all retire, and the fatal trumpet sounds; then the president throws the key of the gate by which the bull is to enter, to one of the _alguaciles_, who ought to catch it in his hat. When the door is opened, this worthy gallops away as fast as he can, amid the hoots and hisses of the mob, not because he rides like a constable, but from the instinctive enmity which his majesty the many bear to the finisher of the law, just as little birds love to mob a hawk; now more than a thousand kind wishes are offered up that the bull may catch and toss him. The brilliant army of combatants in the meanwhile separates like a bursting sh.e.l.l, and take up their respective places as regularly as our fielders do at a cricket-match.
The play, which consists of three acts, then begins in earnest; the drawing up of the curtain is a spirit-stirring moment; all eyes are riveted at the first appearance of the bull on this stage, as no one can tell how he may behave. Let loose from his dark cell, at first he seems amazed at the novelty of his position; torn from his pastures, imprisoned and exposed, stunned by the noise, he gazes an instant around at the crowd, the glare, and waving handkerchiefs, ignorant of the fate which inevitably awaits him. He bears on his neck a ribbon, ”la devisa,”
which designates his breeder. The picador endeavours to s.n.a.t.c.h this off, to lay the trophy at his true love's heart. The bull is condemned without reprieve; however gallant his conduct, or desperate his resistance, his death is the catastrophe; the whole tragedy tends and hastens to this event, which, although it is darkly shadowed out beforehand, as in a Greek play, does not diminish the interest, since all the intermediate changes and chances are uncertain; hence the sustained excitement, for the action may pa.s.s in an instant from the sublime to the ridiculous, from tragedy to farce.
[Sidenote: BULL BASTINADO.]
The bull no sooner recovers his senses, than his splendid Achillean rage fires every limb, and with closing eyes and lowered horns he rushes at the first of the three picadores, who are drawn up to the left, close to the _tablas_, or wooden barrier which walls round the ring. The horseman sits on his trembling Rosinante, with his pointed lance under his right arm, as stiff and valiant as Don Quixote. If the animal be only of second-rate power and courage, the sharp point arrests the charge, for he well remembers this _garrocha_, or goad, by which herdsmen enforce discipline and inculcate instruction; during this momentary pause a quick picador turns his horse to the left and gets free. The bulls, although irrational brutes, are not slow on their part in discovering when their antagonists are bold and dexterous, and particularly dislike fighting against the p.r.i.c.ks. If they fly and will not face the picador, they are hooted at as despicable malefactors, who wish to defraud the public of their day's sport, they are execrated as ”goats,” ”cows,”
which is no compliment to bulls; these culprits, moreover, are soundly beaten as they pa.s.s near the barrier by forests of sticks, with which the mob is provided for the nonce; that of the elegant _majo_, when going to the bull-fight, is very peculiar, and is called _la chivata_; it is between four and five feet long, is taper, and terminates in a lump or k.n.o.b, while the top is forked, into which the thumb is inserted; it is also peeled or painted in alternate rings, black and white, or red and yellow. The lower cla.s.ses content themselves with a common s.h.i.+llelah; one with a k.n.o.b at the end is preferred, as administering a more impressive whack; their instrument is called _porro_, because heavy and lumbering.
Nor is this bastinado uncalled for, since courage, address, and energy, are the qualities which enn.o.ble tauromachia; and when they are wanting, the butchery, with its many disgusting incidents, becomes revolting to the stranger, but to him alone; for the gentler emotions of pity and mercy, which rarely soften any transactions of hard Iberia, are here banished altogether from the hearts of the natives; they now only have eyes for exhibitions of skill and valour, and scarcely observe those cruel incidents which engross and horrify the foreigner, who again on his part is equally blind to those redeeming excellencies, on which alone the attention of the rest of the spectators is fixed; the tables are now turned against the stranger, whose aesthetic mind's eye can see the poetry and beauty of the picturesque rags and tumbledown hamlets of Spaniards, and yet is blind to the poverty, misery, and want of civilization, to which alone the vision of the higher cla.s.sed native is directed, on whose exalted soul the coming comforts of cotton are gleaming.
[Sidenote: A GOOD BULL.]
When the bull is turned by the spear of the first picador, he pa.s.ses on to the two other hors.e.m.e.n, who receive him with similar cordiality. If the animal be baffled by their skill and valour, stunning are the shouts of applause which celebrate the victory of the men: should he on the contrary charge home and overwhelm horses and riders, then--for the balances of praise and blame are held with perfect fairness--the fierce lord of the arena is encouraged with roars of compliments, _Bravo toro_, _Viva toro_, Well done, bull! even a long life is wished to him by thousands who know that he must be dead in twenty minutes.
A bold beast is not to be deterred by a trifling inch-deep wound, but presses on, goring the horse in the flank, and then gaining confidence and courage by victory, and ”baptized in blood,” a la Francaise, advances in a career of honour, gore, and glory. The picador is seldom well mounted, for the horses are provided, at the lowest possible price, by a contractor, who runs the risk whether many or few are killed; they indeed are the only things economised in this costly spectacle, and are sorry, broken-down hacks, fit only for the dog-kennel of an English squire, or carriage of a foreign _Pair_. This increases the danger to his rider; in the ancient combats, the finest and most spirited horses were used; quick as lightning, and turning to the touch, they escaped the deadly rush. The eyes of those poor horses which see and will not face death, are often bound over with a handkerchief, like criminals about to be executed; thus they await blindfold the fatal horn thrust which is to end their life of misery.
[Sidenote: DEATH OF THE HORSE.]