H. C. shuddered. His poetical mind had received a shock in coming into contact with this coarse and savage element.
"I am glad I decided not to go," he said. "De Nevada is right. Bull-fighting should be put down, even though the people rose up in revolt. It needs a Crusade as much as ever the cause for which the Templars went eastward."
The Plaza de Toros was thronged with a crowd of men, women and children, who could not pay the fee or were too late for admission. If unable to enter, it was something to look upon the outer walls, whilst the thunders of applause helped them to realise the scene.
The tramcar waited some twenty minutes, and we remained studying the crowd of eager faces that surged to and fro. From the bull-ring—one of the largest and finest in Spain—arose that constant roar and tempest of voices.
We were almost prisoners, wondering how we should escape, when a city tramcar came up, stood side by side with ours, and we made the exchange. This slowly moved through the crowd and turned into a quieter thoroughfare, and the raving followed us far down the road.
The car travelled slowly round the town, through the Cathedral Square, in and out of ancient gateways. Street after street, comparatively deserted, wore its Sunday dress. Flowers abounded. We were on a level with first-floor windows, and from many an open casement came a glimpse of domestic interiors: the scent of roses; fair ladies dressed in rustling silks and sheeny satin; ripples of laughter and conversation; occasional streams of melody from a fair performer. Absorbed, we did not observe the car gradually getting round to its starting-point, until we once more found ourselves in the centre of the crowd outside the bull-ring.
They had not moved an inch. The spectacle was just over, the great doors were thrown open, and a cortége passed out: cart after cart with dead horses and bulls, the latter decorated as if for a prize show. A deafening roar, louder than ever, went up from the people. Finally came the vehicle with the toreadors and matadors dressed in all their fine colours, flushed with their performance, calmly taking the hurrahs. The very horses seemed maddened as they tore out of sight. Then the crowd began to disperse. Strolling out after dinner, we found ourselves once more in front of the bull-ring, looking in the darkness like a second Roman Coliseum. The square was deserted, its crowds having gone home to live the horrors over again in their dreams. Silence reigned. But the time would come round for fresh spectacles and more horrors.
And so it goes on from one generation to another.
That night our own dreams were fitful and broken. We had watched the sunset from the tramcar, full of splendour and colouring. As the sun went down, a chilliness had risen upon the air, and suddenly we shivered. Then it passed away, but there was no rest on retiring. Fever came on, and in semi-delirium we imagined that we were taking part in a bull-fight; warring with infuriated animals. There was no repose and no escape. Deafening shouts rang in our ears, but still the combat went on; seemed to have gone on for years, and must go on for ever.
The agony was terrible. Molten lead coursed through our veins. We tried to rise, but chains bound us down. The night passed. In the early morning the fever abated, and presently we awoke from a short, unrefreshing slumber; rose as one who has gone through a long illness. When H. C. appeared and said it was time for the flower-market and the Lonja, he went alone.