"_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_.
Oh!--I hear many of my countrymen exclaim--"I do not complain so much of the cruelty practised on the bulls, or the dangers incurred by the men. The former were made to be killed for our use; the latter are free agents, and enter the arena from choice. I feel only for the poor horses, exposed to be gored and tortured by an infuriated animal, without a chance of ultimate escape." Doubtless, the sufferings endured by the poor horses are very disgusting to witness; but it is merely because _we see_ their agonies, that we feel so acutely for them. Before we condemn the Spaniards, therefore, let us look again at the amusements of our own country, and _consider_ how many birds every sportsman dooms to linger in the excruciating torments of a broken leg or wing, or some painful bodily wound, for each one that he kills!--"But recollect," rejoins my Interlocutor, "recollect the difference between a bird and such a _noble animal_ as a horse!"--Certes, I reply, a horse is a nobler looking beast than a pheasant or a wild duck; but just observe the wretchedness of our own decayed equinine nobility, standing in Trafalgar Square and other rendezvous of cabs and hackney coaches!--Would it not be comparative charity to end their sufferings by half an hour's exposure in the Arena?