Then came forward the picadores, mounted on their unfortunate horses, who with head lowered and sorrowful eyes seemed to be—and were in reality—victims marching to the sacrifice.
THE BULL-FIGHT.
Photogravure from a painting by Alexander Wagner.
Stein, at the appearance of these poor animals, felt himself change to a painful compassion; a species of disgust which he already experienced. The provinces of the peninsula which he had traversed hitherto were devastated by the civil war, and he had had no opportunity of seeing these fêtes, so grand, so national, and so popular, where were united to the brilliant Moorish strategy the ferocious intrepidity of the Gothic race. But he had often heard these spectacles spoken of, and he knew that the merit of a fight is generally estimated by the number of horses that are slain. His pity was excited towards these poor animals, which, after having rendered great services to their masters,—after having conferred on them triumph, and perhaps saved their lives,—had for their recompense, when age and the excess of work had exhausted their strength, an atrocious death which by a refinement of cruelty they were obliged themselves to seek. Instinct made them seek this death; some resisted, while others, more resigned or more feeble, went docilely before them to abridge their agony. The sufferings of these unfortunate animals touched the hardest heart; but the amateurs had neither eyes, attention, nor interest, except for the bull. They were under a real fascination, which communicated itself to most of the strangers who came to Spain, and principally for this barbarous amusement. Besides, it must be avowed—and we avow it with grief—that compassion for animals is, in Spain, particularly among the men, a sentiment more theoretical than practical. Among the lower classes it does not exist at all.
The three picadores saluted the president of the fête, preceded by the banderilleros and the chulos, splendidly dressed, and carrying the capas of bright and brilliant colors. The matadores and their substitutes commanded all these combatants, and wore the most luxurious costumes.
"Pepe Vera! here is Pepe Vera!" cried all the spectators. "The scholar of Montés! Brave boy! What a jovial fellow! how well he is made! what elegance and vivacity in all his person! how firm his look! what a calm eye!"
"Do you know," said a young man seated near to Stein, "what is the lesson Montés gives to his scholars? He pushes them, their arms crossed, close to the bull, and says to them, 'Do not fear the bull—brave the bull!'"
Pepe Vera descended into the arena. His costume was of cherry-colored satin, with shoulder-knots and silver embroidery in profusion. From the little pockets of his vest stuck out the points of orange-colored scarfs. A waistcoat of rich tissue of silver and a pretty little cap of velvet completed his coquettish and charming costume of majo.