We were walking through the market-place with de Nevada the priest, when a large placard caught our eye, announcing a bull-fight for the next day, Sunday: the last of the season.
"I have never seen one," said H. C. "We must go to it."
"Surely you would not visit the barbarous exhibition?" said de Nevada. "In this matter I have nothing of the Spaniard in me. I hold bull-fights as a curse of the country; training up children to cruelty and laying the foundation of a host of evils."
But his words had no weight with H. C.
"I think everyone should see a bull-fight at least once in their lives. If I know nothing of its horrors, how can I join in a crusade against them? Once seen, I will write a scathing poem on the entertainment which shall be translated into Spanish. All my graphic power of description shall be exerted, and it may go far to put down the evil. I might also appeal to the people's superstition, which seems almost the strongest element in their nature. You will come?" turning to us.
But we had had our experience once for all years before, in the bull-ring at Granada, accompanied by eight naval officers whose nerves were in excellent order. When the play was half over, and men shouted and women shrieked and waved, and there was universal applause and uproar, sick of the horrors, we left the building: to the surprise and no doubt contempt of the assembly.
Thus H. C.'s appeal fell upon deaf ears.
And when it came to the point he also would not go. So it fell out that we were both sitting on the breakwater, gazing upon the shimmering sea, revelling in the serene stillness of the atmosphere.
The scene changed. We had to return, and seeing an empty tramcar, found ourselves enjoying the world from a solitary elevation: a short-lived pleasure. From a side-street there suddenly poured forth a crowd of men, who swarmed in and out and up the sides: and stillness and solitude were over.
They were mad with excitement, and being already late, feverishly anxious to make way. One might have thought them intoxicated, but it was excitement only. They raved and shouted; their eyes flashed and glistened; they anticipated the horrors of the bull-ring; speculated as to how many bulls would be killed, whether the toreador would escape. For the moment they were as wild animals, and de Nevada's protest in the market-place wanted no better confirmation.