The following particulars were communicated to the _Gentleman's
Magazine_ of this month by a witness to a recent bull-fight in the
city of Lisbon. Speaking without reference to its humane character or
moral tendency, the writer remarks that no spectacle in the world can be
compared, for interest and effect, to a Spanish bull-fight, every part
of which is distinguished for striking parade or alarming danger.
The grand sweep of the amphitheatre in Cadiz, Seville, or Madrid,
crowded with a gay and variegated mass of eager and shouting spectators,
and garnished at distances with boxes for the judges, the court, or the
music--the immense area in which the combats take place, occupied with
the _picadors_ in silk jackets, on horses richly caparisoned, and
with the light skipping and elastic _bandarilleros_, carrying their
gaudy silk flags to provoke the rage and to elude the attack of the
bull, form of themselves a fine sight before the combat begins. When the
door of the den which encloses the bull is opened, and the noble animal
bursts in wildly upon this, to him, novel scene--his eyes glaring with
fury--when he makes a trot or a gallop round the ring, receiving from
each horseman as he passes a prick from a lance, which enrages him still
more--when, meditating vengeance, he rushes on his adversaries, and
scatters both horsemen and bandarilleros, by his onset, ripping up and
casting the horses on the ground, and causing the bandarilleros to
leap over the railing among the spectators--or when, after a defeated
effort or a successful attack, he stands majestically in the middle
of the area, scraping up the sand with his hoof, foaming at the mouth,
and quivering in every fibre with rage, agony, or indignation, looking
towards his adversaries, and meditating a fatal rush--the sight combines
every element of interest and agitation which can be found in contempt
of danger, in surprising boldness, and great animal force intensely
excited. The horns of the Spanish bull are always sharp, and never
covered. An animal of sufficient power and spirit to command popular
applause frequently kills five or six horses, the riders taking care to
fall over on the side most distant from the enemy, and being instantly
relieved from their perilous situation by the bandarilleros, who attract
his attention: and the bull himself is always killed in the ring by the
_matador_, who enters in on foot with his bright flag in the left
hand, and his sword in the right, and who, standing before the enraged
animal waiting the favourable moment when he bends his head to toss
him on his horns, plunges his sword into his neck or spine in such a
fatal manner that he frequently falls instantaneously as if struck by
lightning. This last operation is as dangerous as it is dexterous.
At the moment in which the matador hits the bull, the pointed horn must
be within an inch or two of his heart, and if he were to fail he must
himself be the victim. When he succeeds in levelling to the ground with
a single stroke his furious and irresistible enemy, the music strikes
up, the applauses of the amphitheatre are showered upon the conqueror,
he stalks proudly round the area, strewed with dead horses, and reddened
with blood, bowing first to the judges of the fight, and then to the
spectators, and leaves the place amid enthusiastic _vivas_ for his
successful audacity. The field of slaughter is then cleared by a yoke of
horses, richly decorated with plumes on their heads and ribands on their
manes, to which the dead bull or horses are attached, and by which they
are dragged out at a gallop. That no part of the amusement may want its
appropriate parade, this operation goes on amid the sound of a trumpet,
or the playing of a military band. The horsemen are then remounted anew,
and enter on fresh steeds--the door of the den is again opened--another
furious animal is let loose on the possessors of the ring, till ten or
twelve are thus sacrificed.
The bull-fights in Lisbon are a very inferior species of amusement to
this, though much better than I was led to anticipate. Here the bulls
are generally not so strong or so spirited as the Spanish breed. In the
morning of the sport, the tips of their horns, instead of being left
sharp, are covered with cork and leather. None but one horseman appeared
in the ring at a time--no havoc was of course made among the horses;
bulls were introduced and baited without being killed, and the matador,
though he sometimes displays the same dexterity, never encounters the
same danger as in Spain. In Lisbon the most interesting part of the
sport consists in an operation which could not be practised in Spain,
and is conducted by performers who are unknown where bull-fighting is
more sanguinary. These performers are what they call here _homens de
furcado_, or men of the fork; so denominated from their bearing a
fork with which they push or strike the head of the bull, when he throws
down a man or a horse. After the bull, not destined to be killed, has
afforded amusement enough, these men go up before him, one of them
trying to get in between his horns, or to cling to his neck, till the
rest surround, master him, and lead him out of the area. The _man of
the fork_, who gets between the bull's horns, is sometimes tossed in
the air or dashed to the ground, and in this one of the chief dangers of
the fight consists. On Sunday one of them was dashed down so violently
as to be carried out of the ring in a state of insensibility. Only four
bulls were killed out of the twelve exhibited. The rest being reserved
for future sport, were either dragged out of the ring in the manner
above described, or, when supposed to be too strong to be mastered
by the men of the fork, were tamely driven out among a flock of oxen
introduced into the area as a decoy. Another peculiarity of the Lisbon
bull-fights is the presence of a buffoon on horseback called the
_Neto_, who first enters the ring to take the commands of the
_Inspector_, and occasionally bears the shock of the bull, to
the no small diversion of the lower class of spectators. The Spanish
bull-fight is too serious an affair for a buffoon: it is a tragedy,
and not a farce.
From these few points of comparison, it is evident that the Spanish
exhibition is a much more splendid and interesting spectacle than that
of Portugal, and that there is nearly as much difference as between a
field of battle and the sham fight of a review. Probably the Portuguese
sport has danger enough to excite common interest, and more than enough
to be a popular diversion. The place where these entertainments are
given at Lisbon, is a large octagon amphitheatre called the _Saletre_,
near the public walk behind the Rocio. It has what is called a pit, into
which the bull sometimes, but rarely, jumps, and on one side two tier of
boxes, and is capable of containing about 4,000 or 5,000 spectators. The
amusements are always exhibited on Sundays, and are generally attended
with great crowds. On Sunday last every part of the amphitheatre was
full, and the people betrayed such extravagant marks of pleasure as
I could not have expected, from their usual sedate and dull habits.
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