The faceless figure vanished when I had
obeyed its injunction. A sound as of many
trampling feet was around me, and soon all
the seats were filled: those on the ground-
floor with the roughs, those in the gallery
with the respectability of Seville. Music
was played by a band, and, after a pause,
a huge bull entered the arena, looking
very strong, and very disagreeable, and
the chulos, whose office it is to tease the
animal, with small cloaks, like the one
with which I was covered, made their
appearance. My exceptional functions as
matador not having yet to be performed,
I was expected to do my duty with the
other chulos.

Much diversion was afforded to the
spectators, when chulo after chulo spread his
cloak close to the bull's nose, and nimbly
sprung out of his way, when danger was
at hand. I spread out my cloak like my
comrades; but it was at a distance from the
bull's nose, and I could not help wondering
that my peculiar caution seemed to attract
no notice on the part of the public. The
picadores, that is to say, the fighters
who ride wretched horses, and tantalise
the bull by poking him with long spears,
began their work. In spite of the real
attempts of the other chulos, and the
pretended attempts on my part to divert the
fury of the bull by the ostentatious exhibition
of cloaks, four or five horses were
ripped up and perished miserably, amid the
deafening plaudits of the spectators. The
time had now arrived for the infliction of the
additional form of torture, which consists of
meeting the bull, and flinging abundantly
feathered darts, called bandilleras, into
his shoulders. A smart little chulo, the
smile on whose countenance, whenever he
came near me, showed that he had
appreciated my manoeuvres, stalked up boldly to
the infuriated animal with a dart in each
upraised hand, and flinging his weapons,
as one would toss a shuttlecock from a
battledore, fixed them with exquisite
precision in each of the hostile shoulders, the
whole circus thundering with acclamations
of delight. The particular bull who
flourished on this occasion was to be treated
with particular honour. The second pair
of bandilleras was to be thrown, not by a
common chulo, but by the matador, namely,
myself.

The darts were placed in my hands, and
approaching the bull, much more nearly
than before, but by no means so nearly as
my predecessor, I threw them both. They
both missed.

Now things extremely small command
admiration, as well as things extremely
large. The whale causes wonder, so likewise
does the eel in vinegar. The vilest
tragedian in the most miserable country
theatre creates, perhaps, more amusement
to his fellow-men than the finest dramatic
artist. The circus rang with sounds, not
of execration, but of ecstasy. I was clearly
the very worst bull-fighter in all Spain,
and I had acquired an inverted eminence.
Let me, however, state the case fairly. I
had not merely missed the bull, but one of
my darts had entered the nose of the
remarkably knowing chulo, who writhed
with agony, and expressed his feelings
in the most vigorous idioms of the
Andalusian dialect. Pain had been inflicted
somehow, and that is a great matter in
Spain.

My more important functions were now
to be performed. A cold hand, which
grasped the nape of my neck, and chilled
me to the very toes, gently pushed me to the
edge of the ring, where I received the
sword of office, and the red cloak, which
was to serve at once as a provocation and
a shield. A thrill of expectation passed
through the assembly. What would the
matador, who had missed his aim with
the darts, do with the more deadly
weapon?

With my cloak on my left arm and my
sword in my right hand, I approached the
bull gingerly, and never shall I forget the
peculiar expression of his eye. Some critics
have remarked of Sir Edwin Landseer, that
he always gives a tinge of humanity to his
painted animals. A similar tinge might be
observed in the face of my bull. The fury
produced by cloaks, spears, and bandilleras
had evidently subsided, and he seemed
possessed with some notion of fun. While
I was approaching him gingerly, as I have
said, he trotted playfully towards me.
Instinctively I turned my back, and in less
than a second I was aware of a violent
blow, which lifted me high from the ground,
while my ascent was honoured with piercing
shouts of  "Bravo, toro!" (bravo bull),
mingled with roars of laughter.

Up—up, I went, as if I had been shot
from a vertically-placed mortar. The height
of the circus was indefinitely increased to
my dazzled eyes. I seemed to pass two—
three—four—any number of galleries one
after another. From all issued volumes of
derision, and here, as at the fair, the loudest
guffaw was from the unmistakable lungs
of stone.