Chapter 11 - Page 2

sweetening their lives and softening their hearts
with the gentle teachings of our religion, and I wish you could
have seen what we saw that day, Thorndike.

"The amphitheatre was packed, from the bull-ring to the highest row
- twelve thousand people in one circling mass, one slanting, solid
mass - royalties, nobles, clergy, ladies, gentlemen, state
officials, generals, admirals, soldiers, sailors, lawyers, thieves,
merchants, brokers, cooks, housemaids, scullery-maids, doubtful
women, dudes, gamblers, beggars, loafers, tramps, American ladies,
gentlemen, preachers, English ladies, gentlemen, preachers, German
ditto, French ditto, and so on and so on, all the world
represented: Spaniards to admire and praise, foreigners to enjoy
and go home and find fault - there they were, one solid, sloping,
circling sweep of rippling and flashing color under the downpour of
the summer sun - just a garden, a gaudy, gorgeous flower-garden!
Children munching oranges, six thousand fans fluttering and
glimmering, everybody happy, everybody chatting gayly with their
intimates, lovely girl-faces smiling recognition and salutation to
other lovely girl-faces, gray old ladies and gentlemen dealing in
the like exchanges with each other - ah, such a picture of cheery
contentment and glad anticipation! not a mean spirit, nor a sordid
soul, nor a sad heart there - ah, Thorndike, I wish I could see it
again.

"Suddenly, the martial note of a bugle cleaves the hum and murmur -
clear the ring!

"They clear it. The great gate is flung open, and the procession
marches in, splendidly costumed and glittering: the marshals of
the day, then the picadores on horseback, then the matadores on
foot, each surrounded by his quadrille of CHULOS. They march to
the box of the city fathers, and formally salute. The key is
thrown, the bull-gate is unlocked. Another bugle blast - the gate
flies open, the bull plunges in, furious, trembling, blinking in
the blinding light, and stands there, a magnificent creature,
centre of those multitudinous and admiring eyes, brave, ready for
battle, his attitude a challenge. He sees his enemy: horsemen
sitting motionless, with long spears in rest, upon blindfolded
broken-down nags, lean and starved, fit only for sport and
sacrifice, then the carrion-heap.

"The bull makes a rush, with murder in his eye, but a picador meets
him with a spear-thrust in the shoulder. He flinches with the
pain, and the picador skips out of danger. A burst of applause for
the picador, hisses for the bull. Some shout 'Cow!' at the bull,
and call him offensive names. But he is not listening to them, he
is there for business; he is not minding the cloak-bearers that
come fluttering around to confuse him; he chases