I, of course, paid a visit to that peculiarly Spanish institution, the circus, in which the people of Madrid are accustomed to glut their savage taste for blood. Immense crowds were bending their footsteps in the direction of the great national spectacle, and like a straw in a torrent I was carried with them along the glaring and dusty road. The roar of the multitude was deafening, and shouts of laughter pealed in the air. The people were arrayed in their gayest holiday attire of lace and gold; and the young women flashed their bright eyes and tossed their black hair in response to the sallies of their cavaliers. Proud dames were borne through the rushing stream in stately carriages, attended by handsome gallants, pushing forward their foaming horses to keep by the side of the fair ones whose favour they sought. High and low, rich and poor, the young maiden and the gallant youth, the strong soldier and the tottering beggar, troops of children and aged crones,—an entire city's people—were jostling each other to be forward in the throng among the thousand horses and vehicles of every sort, and the masses of those who were on foot hastening in the blinding dust and heat along that yellow road.

The building in which the favourite sport takes place is an amphitheatre, having some resemblance to that of old Rome, open at the roof, through which a circle of the soft heavens can be seen hanging above like a broad and azure banner. An eager and seething multitude were struggling and pushing for entrance through the numerous doors and passages, until bank after bank was dark with the thick crowds of men, and all the balconies glowed with the bright garments, waving fans, and fair faces of women. Below was an extensive round space of ground, on which sand and sawdust were spread in anticipation of the approaching slaughter. It is difficult to convey the impression with which I heard around me in such a place the laughter of young girls and the prattle of little children. I could not but wonder for what reason these young creatures had been brought thither. When, at last, the seats and benches of the whole wide circle were filled, the walls seemed white with twelve thousand faces, and glowed with endless colours, while myriads of fans were constantly waving, and the hum of impatience proceeded from the vast assemblage.

At length a trumpet sounded with a loud, clear tone; a sigh of relief arose from the expectant multitude; and their eyes flashed with joy as the sun poured down upon the great ring of sand below in rays of dazzling light. The doors of the arena were opened wide, and a gay procession, consisting of those who were to take part in the sport, made its entrance, accompanied by the sound of martial music. A cavalcade of lancemen [16] and horsemen, clad in the velvet gear of a bygone age, were most conspicuous. [17] These were preceded by a band of footmen, decked in brave array of gold lace, their garments of the brightest hues, orange, violet, rose, and crimson. These men had over their shoulders numerous red cloths and scarlet flags, besides which each one carried in his hand a naked sword. The procession was closed by teams of mules, gaily attired, dragging at their heels a great iron hook.

This gallant company was a pleasant enough sight to the eye; and the maiden's cheek might well redden as the graceful forms of the strong young men, with thew and sinew swelling round and fair beneath the tight jackets of satin, the coloured pantaloons, and the silken hose, passed erect below, glittering bravely in the sunlight that streamed upon them. They all made a low salute to him who was master of the sports that day, and immediately after the arena was cleared of all save three lancemen, sitting silent and still on the backs of lean horses, which had their eyes closely bandaged. The various footmen, each with red cloak in hand, lingered around, behind, or nigh to the high wooden barriers surrounding the ring, as if in case of some anticipated danger.

When the hour announced for the commencement of the sport arrived, the vast assemblage became hushed in silence, which was at last broken by a shrill trumpet-peal that suddenly pierced the air. After a moment of suspense, a broad wooden door flew open, and in rushed a wild bull of Andalusia, decked with a flowing riband, or moÑa. The formidable-looking animal halted in mid-career, and with loud ominous snorts, glared savagely around at the great array of its persecutors, at the same time pawing the ground with ire, and wildly lashing its angry tail. In another instant, with his long horns lowered and levelled, and amidst a cloud of dust, he dashed round the ring swift as a bolt discharged from a catapult, hurling into the air, or casting down on the earth, everything in his path. Three horses which were in his way fell headlong with their riders in confused and dusty heaps, and lay quivering on the ground. The poor animals were disembowelled, and their blood tinged the sand, a sight which was greeted with the cry of "Bravo, Toro!" ringing from twelve thousand throats. A score of footmen leapt down into the ring, and quickly scoured to the scene of action, waving their scarlet mantles in the eyes of the enraged bull to draw off its attention from the picadores, who lay prostrate beneath their wounded horses. At the same time the mules were driven in, and the hook being applied, they galloped off with the carrion, which left a broad red track behind it. The bull, meanwhile, charging here, charging there, dashed now after one foe, now after another, as they darted about, carefully avoiding the long horns, which missed their mark, perhaps only by an inch, as the runner, stopping suddenly, leapt nimbly on one side, and left the furious beast to turn in pursuit of fresh tormentors, trailing a flaunting banner before his eyes. In one of his furious charges he came against the wooden barrier of the arena with a crash that shook the building. He was only half a foot behind the lithe form of one of his enemies, who assured his safety by vaulting over the barrier. A moment or two later, or an orange peel in his path, and no human power could have saved him.

After a series of impetuous charges, the first strength of the bull being exhausted, he was left panting for a short time without provocation, until the gates admitted three fresh lancemen, who urged their sorry blindfolded hacks into the ring with the sharp angles of their ample Moorish stirrups. With a wild snort, a shower of foam falling from his mouth, the bull rushed at the nearest horse; but the dexterous horseman, receiving the charge obliquely with the point of his lance, although well-nigh dismounted by the shock, caused the great beast to rear aside with the sudden smart. A shout of "Bravo, Picador!" arose from the crowd; but ere it ceased, the baffled brute, directing its attack against another opponent, had buried its horns up to its forehead in the ribs of the nearest horse, which, blinded as it was, stood there a mere butt for the onset. The rider's lance at the same moment was plunged into the neck of the bull, and blood flowed in torrents.

A fierce light now glared in the eyes of the people, of man and of maiden, as if the most ferocious instincts had been awakened in them. Near me I saw, in their private balcony, a stately dame alone with her beautiful daughter, both gazing with the deepest interest on the bloody contest. Some young ladies, the daughters of haughty grandees, were actually listening in such a place to the whispers of love from gallant young nobles, while they reclined luxuriously among cushions and flowers. Men were even beating with iron rods the fetlock joints of the dying horses, lest they should fail ere the bull was spent. Ripped and mangled as they were, they were compelled to stand on their legs for another onslaught. I can never forget one poor horse which I saw trotting across the ring to meet each charge with his entrails dragging in the dust. Another wretched animal, from whose eyes the bandage had fallen, looked around on the vast assemblage with an appealing glance; but there was no mercy in any heart that beat there.

Again a trumpet sounded, and several young men appeared in gay attire of lace, silk, and embroidery, with the velvet bonnet of Spain on their crisp shaved heads. The agility of their supple limbs seemed to equal that of the antelope; their forms were graceful as that of Apollo, and they were fearless as young lions. These, the banderilleros, bore in either hand long iron arrows, keen and barbed, to each of which was attached a web of coloured ribbons.

The powerful beast—though rage still burned in his lurid eyes, and foam fell from his dilated nostrils and quivering flank—now showed signs of languor, and a more uncertain though still threatening front. One of the banderilleros advanced boldly in front of the bull, in dangerous proximity to his sharp, bloody horns. He waved his arms, and brandished his ribboned darts as if he were derisively taunting the rabid beast. It seemed dangerous to presume thus much, for the bull, excited to madness, suddenly rushed on him; but cool and watchful, the man lightly stepped aside as if disdaining to move one superfluous inch. As the animal passed him in his furious career, the darts with their ribbons were buried with the speed of lightning in his gory neck. With a wild bellow of rage and pain the furious brute makes at another foe in his path, but distracted by the number of his persecutors dancing like demons around him, and exhausted by the loss of blood, he sinks fainting to the earth, though still to the last defiant, amongst the yells of the excited crowd.

In a few minutes a man with a bright, naked sword, called the espada, entered the arena, and demanded permission from the autoridad to kill the bull. This was accorded amid the increasing buzz and restlessness of the crowd. Carrying in his left hand a dark red flag, to act as a bait for the still sensitive eye of the toro, and in his right a good Toledan blade, the espada cautiously advanced towards the crouching beast, more dangerous now, perhaps, than in the full vigour of his strength. The man appeared to be the incarnation of address as opposed to brute-force; firm of nerve, sharp of sight, undaunted in courage. Approaching to within eight inches of his glaring foe, he stood face to face with him, prepared for mortal struggle. Waving the red flag to the left, to lure away the horns from the front of his chest, he slowly raised his long sword up to the level of his eye, and then drew back his arm with as little motion as possible, to make the fatal plunge at that narrow point in the neck where the spinal cord may best be severed, that immediate death may ensue. As the blow was delivered, the beast, swerving aside, dashed at the red flag waving in his face, his long horns almost grazing the man's left breast, while the steel was plunged to the hilt into his body. The blow had not been fairly struck, and the mad brute darted away, carrying with him the espada's sword, the blood spouting in jets at every stride. A shout of execration proceeded from all the balconies at this unlucky blow, which should have laid the bull motionless. The bull-fighter, meanwhile, determined to retrieve his reputation, remained calm as at first. Crying with a loud voice to some functionary for el cachete, he received a small, sharp dagger, which he screwed slowly and carefully round within the hollow of his right hand. Arranging once more the dark red flag in his left, he calmly awaited the onslaught of the bull. The great brute, still formidable, made straight to the middle of the ring, where his opponent stood, and when his eye caught again the hated red flag which the espada was waving in his face, he pulled up short, with concentrated rage and fury.

As the two thus stood face to face,—the desperate beast and the single man with his bodkin,—we were reminded of Glaucus of Pompeii fronting the lion with his stylus, while the crowd of the amphitheatre thirsted for his blood. The bull-fighter kept his eye fixed on that of the bull, which had it not been for a slow oscillation of the head—as his eyes seemed to follow, fascinated, the gentle waving of the flag—would have appeared motionless. The man crept to within an inch of the long horn-points, cautiously and slowly extending his right arm with the dagger over the animal's neck, and stretching his body forward till the left horn almost touched his chest. The eye of the bull was still distracted by the red flag which was incessantly waved before him, amidst the most profound silence. Suddenly, like a flash of light, the knife was brought down, the exact point was hit, and the ponderous brute rolled over, weltering in a dark torrent of gore. Showers of flowers were thrown on the victor's head by fair hands above, who thus testified that in their eyes the brave man had retrieved his fault. The gaudy mules once more dashed in, and in a moment galloped back again, dragging the great carcass behind them.

How impressive are the contrasts of nature! At the moment when this scene of blood was brought to an end, a lark soared calmly across the blue circle of the quiet heavens above, while near to me a fair young mother hushed her new-born infant to sleep.