Many scowling fellows, enveloped in capacious cloaks, seemed to have no object in view but to examine with searching eyes the persons of the assembled multitude, and to conceal as much as possible their own from counter observation; and some of the savage mountaineers,—whom nothing but a bull fight, or perhaps the hope of plunder, could draw from their mountain fastnesses,—gave evident signs of never before having seen the British uniform.
I may observe here, en passant, that a few robberies are generally heard of, at the breaking up of the fair; the temptation of well filled pockets and bales of merchandize drawing all the ladrones of the surrounding mountains down to the high roads.
The cattle fair is held on a rocky plain beyond the northern limits of the New Town. It is not so celebrated as some others held on the banks of the Guadalquivir; the narrow stony tracts across the mountains being both inconvenient for driving cattle, and injurious to their feet. Nevertheless, it offers a good opportunity for swapping “a Haca,”[86] though Spanish jockeys—like all others—must be dealt with according to their own proverb—à picaro, picaro y medio.[87] The horses of the South of Spain are small, hardy animals, well suited to the mountain roads of the country, but possessing no claims to beauty, beyond a lively head and a sleek coat. The Spaniards, by the way, have a strange prejudice in favour of Roman-nosed horses. They not only admire the Cabeza de Carnero, (sheep’s head) as they call it, but maintain that it is a certain indication of the animal being a “good one.” I presume, therefore, the protuberance must be the organ of ambulativeness.
I was much mortified to find that “Almanzor,” whose finely finished head, straight forehead, sparkling eye, and dilated nostril, I certainly thought entitled him to be considered the handsomest of his kind in the fair, was looked upon as a very ordinary animal.
No ai vasija que mida los gustos, ni balanza que los iguale,[88] as Guzman de Alfarache says; and my taste will certainly be disputed in other matters besides horseflesh by all Spaniards, when I confess to having frequently retired from the busy throng of the fair, or abstained from witnessing the yet more exciting bull fight, to enjoy, without fear of interruption, the lovely view obtained from the shady walks of the new Alameda.[89] This delightful promenade is situated at the further extremity of the modern town, overhanging the precipice which has been mentioned as bounding it to the west. The view is similar to that obtained from the parapet of the bridge; but here, the eye ranges over a greater extent of country, commanding the whole of the southern portion of the fertile valley, and taking in the principal part of the mountain chain that encompasses it.
For hours together have I sat on the edge of the precipice, receiving the refreshing westerly breeze, and feasting my eyes on the beauteous scene beneath; tracing the windings of the serpent streamlet, and watching the ever-changing tints and shadows, cast by the sun on the deeply-furrowed sides of the mountains, as he rolled on in his diurnal course. All nature seemed to be at rest; not a human being could be seen throughout the wide vale; not a sound came up from it, save now and then the bay of some vigilant watch dog, or the call of the parent partridge to her infant brood. Its carefully irrigated gardens, its neatly trimmed vineyards, and, here and there, a low white cottage peeping through blossoming groves of orange and lemon trees, bore evidence of its being fertilized by the hand of man: but where are its inhabitants? nay, where are those of the city itself, whose boisterous mirth but lately rent the air! All is now silent as the grave: the cries of showmen have ceased. The tramp of horses and the lowing of cattle are heard no longer; the Thebaic St. Anthony himself could not have been more solitary than I found myself.—But, hark. What sound is that? a buz of distant vivas is borne through the air!—It proceeds from the crowded circus—the Matador has made a successful thrust—his brave antagonist bites the dust, and he is rewarded with a shower of pesetas,[90] and those cries of triumph!—I regret not having missed witnessing his prowess! but the declining sun tells me that my retreat is about to be invaded; the glorious luminary sinks below the horizon, and the walk is crowded with the late spectators of the poor bull’s last agonies.
“Jesus![91] Don Carlos”—would exclaim many of my bright-eyed acquaintances—“why were you not at the Bull fight?”—“I could not withdraw myself from this lovely spot.”—“Well, no ai vasija que mida los gustos.... You might see this at any other time.” There was no replying to such an indisputable fact, but by another equally incontrovertible—viz.—“The sun sets but once a day.”
The Bull-fights of Ronda are amongst the best of Spain; the animals being selected from the most pugnacious breeds of Utrera and Tarifa; the Picadores from the most expert horsemen of Xeres and Cordoba; the Matadores from the most skilful operators of Cadiz and Seville; and the whole arrangement of the sports being under the superintendence of the Royal Maestranza. During the fair there are usually three Corridas,[92] at each of which, eight bulls are slaughtered.
A Bull-fight has been so often described that I will content myself with offering but very few remarks upon the disgusting, barbarous, exciting, interesting sport,—for such it successively becomes, to those who can be persuaded to witness it a second, third, and fourth time.
In the first place, I cannot admit, that it is a bit more cruel than an English bull-bait (I speak only from hearsay of the latter), or more disgusting than a pugilistic contest; which latter, whatever pity it may occasion to see human nature so debased, can certainly possess little to interest the spectator, beyond the effect its termination will have upon his betting-book.