Part 2

The taste for bull-fights, introduced by the early Spaniards, is retained by their American descendants with undiminished ardour. The announcement of an exhibition of this kind produces a state of universal excitement. The streets are thronged, and the population of the surrounding country, dressed in their gayest attire, add to the multitudes of the city. The sport is conducted with an éclat that exceeds the bull-fights in every other part of South America, and perhaps even surpasses those of Madrid. The death of the bull, when properly managed, creates as much interest in the ladies of Lima, as the death of the hare to the English huntress, or the winning horse to the titled dames at Newmarket or Doncaster. Nor can the pugilistic _fancy_ of England take a deeper interest in the event of a prize-fight, than the gentlemen of Lima in the scientific worrying of a bull. It is curious to observe how various are ideas of cruelty in different countries. The English, for instance, exclaim against the barbarity of the bull-fight, as compared with the noble sport of cock-fighting, badger-baiting, &c. But their enlightened horror could not exceed the disgust shown by a young South American, who witnessed a casual boxing-match between two boys in Hyde Park, surrounded and encouraged, as he expressed himself, by well-dressed barbarians. It is amusing to witness the complacency with which one nation accuses another of cruelty, without taking a glance at customs at home. The bulls destined for the ring are obtained principally from the woods in the valleys of Chincha, where they are bred in a wild state. To catch and drive them to Lima, a distance of sixty leagues, is a matter of no inconsiderable expense. A bull is given by each _gremio_, or incorporated trading company of the city. The gremios vie in decorating their donation, which is bedizened with ribbons and flowers; across its shoulders are suspended mantles richly embroidered with the arms of the gremio to which it belongs, all of which become the perquisite of the _Toreador_ or _Matador_ who slays the bull. The price of admission is four reals, or two shillings; but an additional charge is made for seats in the boxes; and the managers pay a considerable tax to government on every performance. Early in the afternoon of the day fixed upon for a bull-fight, every street leading to the amphitheatre is crowded with carriages, horsemen, and pedestrians. All are in the highest state of excitement, the highest glee, and in full dress. The business of the ring commences, about 2 p.m. by a curious sort of prelude. A company of soldiers perform a _despejo_, or a military pantomime. The men having been previously drilled for that purpose, go through a variety of fanciful evolutions, forming the Roman and Greek crosses, stars, and figures, so describing a sentence, such as _viva la patria, viva San Martin_, or the name of any other person who happens to be at the head of the government. As a _finale_, the soldiers form a circle, face outwards, then advance towards the boxes, preserving their circular order, which they extend, until they approach close enough to climb up to the benches. Every movement is made to the sound of the drum; the effect is exceedingly good. A band of music is likewise in attendance, and plays at intervals. The prelude being over, six or seven toreador enter the arena on foot, dressed in silk jackets of different colours, richly spangled or bordered with gold or silver lace. One or two of these men, and who are called _matadores_, are pardoned criminals, and they receive a considerable sum for every bull they kill. About the same time various amateurs, well mounted on steeds gaily caparisoned, fancifully and tastefully attired, present themselves. When all is prepared, a door is opened under the box occupied by the municipality, and a bull rushes from a pen. At first he gazes about as if in surprise, but is soon put upon his mettle, by the waving of flags and the throwing of darts, crackers, and other annoyances. The amateur cavaliers display their horsemanship and skill in provoking and in eluding his vengeance, in order to catch the eye of some favourite fair one, and to gain the applause of their friends and the audience. They infuriate the animal by waving a mantle over his head, and when pursued they do not allow their horses to advance more than a few inches from the horns of the angry bull. When at full speed, they make their horse revolve upon his hind legs, and remain in readiness to make a second turn upon the animal. This operation is several times repeated with equal agility and boldness, and is called _capear_. The amateurs then promenade around to acknowledge the plaudits bestowed. This species of sparring on horseback with the bull, is practised only in South America. Indeed in no other part of the world is the training of the horses, or the dexterity of the horseman, equal to the performance of such exploits. Effigies made of skin and filled with wind, and others made of straw, in which are live birds, are placed in the arena. The bull tosses them in the air, but being made heavy at the base, they come to the ground always retaining an upright posture. The straw figures are furnished with fire-works, which are made to take fire when the birds escape from within, and it sometimes happens that the bull has the flaming and cracking figure upon his horns. Sometimes the bull is maddened by fire-works being fastened on him, which go off in succession. The crackers being expended, the animal usually stands gazing around with rolling tongue, panting sides, and eyes sparkling with rage. He is then faced by the principal matador, who holds a straight sword in one hand and a flag in the other; as the bull runs at him with full speed, the matador coolly, but with great celerity, takes one step to the left, holding the flag just over the spot he occupied when the bull took aim. Being foiled, the bull wheels round, and charges his tormentor a second time, who again skilfully eludes being caught on the horns: this is repeated about three times, to the great delight of the audience. At length the matador assumes a sort of fencing attitude, and at the critical moment, plunges his sword into the bull's neck, near to its shoulders, when it falls dead at his feet. Handkerchiefs are waved, and applauding shouts resound from every side. Four horses richly harnessed then appear. The dead bull is quickly fixed to traces, and dragged out at a gallop, cheered by continued acclamations.

"Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by."

BYRON.

Other bulls are killed in the same way by successive matadores. One is generally despatched by means of a long knife grasped by the matador, so that when his arm is extended, the blade is perpendicular to the wrist. The bull being worried for a time, the matador, instead of receiving him on the point of a sword as before, steps one pace aside as the bull runs at him, and adroitly plunges the knife into the spinal marrow behind the horns, and the animal drops dead instantaneously. Another bull is next attacked by mounted picadores, armed with lances. Their legs are protected by padding. Their horses are of little value, and cannot easily get out of the way of the bull. Neither do the riders often attempt it; to do so being considered cowardly. The consequence is, the horses generally receive a mortal gore; part of their entrails are frequently torn out, and exhibit a most disgusting spectacle. The riders run considerable risk, for their lances are inadequate to killing the bull, which after being gored and mangled, is finally despatched by a matador.

The next bull, as he sallies from the pen, is encountered by six or eight Indians with short lances, who kneel down like the front rank of a battalion to receive a cavalry charge. One or two Indians are usually tossed; the others follow up the bull, and when he turns upon them, they drop on one knee and receive him as before. They are seldom able to despatch him, and a matador steps forward to end his sufferings. Some of the Indians are often much hurt: they invariably make themselves half drunk before they enter the circus, alleging that they can fight the bull better when they see double. Again, another bull is let into the ring for the lanzada, or trial of the lance, the handle of which is very long and strong, fixed into a wooden socket secured to the ground, and supported by an Indian torrero. The head of the lance is a long blade of highly tempered steel; and made sharp as a razor. Before the bull is permitted to leave the pen, he is rendered furious by a variety of torments. When he has been sufficiently maddened, the doors are thrown open, and the animal makes a rush at the Indian, who is dressed in scarlet, and directs the lance as he kneels on the ground. The raging bull runs at him; but he steadily points the lance, so as to receive the bull on its point. Such is the force with which he plunges at his opponent, that the lance generally enters at the head, and breaking through skull and bones, comes out at the sides or back. Finally, a bull with tail erect, comes bellowing and bounding in, with a man strapped on his back. The animal jumps and capers about, making every effort to rid himself of his burthen, to the no small amusement of the spectators. The rider at length loosens the straps, and the bull is attacked on all sides by amateurs and matadores on foot and on horseback. When a matador has killed a bull, he bows to the government box, then to the municipality, and then all around, receiving plaudits in proportion to the skill he has shown, and the sport he has afforded. Advancing then to the box of the municipality, he receives his reward from one of the members, who is appointed as judge on the occasion, which consists of a few dollars thrown into the arena. When the spectators are particularly gratified by the performance, they also throw money into the ring.

* * * * *

THE ANECDOTE GALLERY.

ANECDOTES OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS, FRENCH AND ITALIAN.

Crebillon's manner of life was extremely singular. He slept little, and lay very hard; he was always surrounded with about thirty cats and dogs; and used to smoke tobacco, to keep his room sweet against their exhalations. Being one day asked, in a large company, which of his works he thought the best? "I don't know," answered he, "which is my best production; but this (pointing to his son, who was present) is certainly my worst." "It is," replied the son, with vivacity, "because no Carthusian had a hand in it," alluding to the report that the best passages in his father's tragedies had been written by a Carthusian friar, who was his friend.

Molieres, the celebrated French priest and mathematician, was a very irritable man, which led him frequently into passions, of which one was the cause of his death in 1742. In other respects he was reckoned a very amiable character; but was apt to be so absent, or absorbed in his studies, as to appear almost wholly insensible to surrounding objects. His infirmity in this respect became known, and he was accordingly made the subject of depredations. A shoe-black once finding him profoundly absorbed in a reverie, contrived to steal the silver buckles from his shoes, replacing them with iron ones. At another time, while at his studies, a villain broke into the room in which he was sitting, and demanded his money; Molieres, without rising from his studies, or giving any alarm, coolly showed him where it was, requesting him, as a great favour, that he would not derange his papers.

Ariosto, the celebrated Italian poet, being asked why he had not built his house in a more magnificent manner, and more suitable to the noble descriptions which he had given of sumptuous palaces, beautiful porticoes, and pleasant fountains, in his _Orlando Furioso_, he replied, "that words were combined together with less expense than stones." To such a degree was he charmed with his own verse, and so much did he also excel in his manner of reading, that he was always disgusted if he heard his own writings repeated with an ill grace and accent. Accordingly, it is said, that, when he accidentally heard a potter singing a stanza of his _Orlando_ in an incorrect and ungraceful manner, he was so incensed, that he rushed into his shop and broke several of the pots which were exposed to sale; when the potter expostulated with him for this unprovoked injury, Ariosto replied, "I indeed have broken half a dozen of your pots, which are not worth so many halfpence, and you have spoiled a stanza of mine, which is worth a considerable sum of gold." He was so attached to a plain and frugal mode of life, that he says of himself in one of his poems, "that he was a fit person to have lived in the world when acorns were the food of mankind." His constitution was delicate and infirm; and, notwithstanding his temperance and general abstemiousness, his health was often interrupted. He bore his last sickness with uncommon resolution and serenity; affirming, "that he was willing to die on many accounts, and particularly because he found that the greatest divines were of opinion that we shall know one another in the other world;" and he observed to those who were with him, "that many of his friends were departed, whom he desired to visit, and that he thought every moment tedious till he gained that happiness."

Dante, the celebrated Italian poet, has been described by Boccacio, as of a middle stature, of a pensive and melancholy expression in his countenance. He was courteous and civil, and his way of living extremely temperate. He is said to have been a very absent man, of which instances have been recorded; once meeting with a book in an apothecary's, which he had been long looking for, he opened it, and read from morning till night without being roused from his pursuit by the distraction and tumult occasioned by a great wedding passing through the street. For some time he roved about Italy in an indigent and distressed condition, till he was hospitably received by the Lord of Ravenna, his patron and friend.

Paul Scarron, whose life abounds with curious features, married Mademoiselle d'Aubignè, afterwards the celebrated Madame de Maintenon, who was at that time only sixteen years of age. On his marriage, the notary asked him what dowry he would settle upon his wife? he replied, "Immortality: the names of the wives of kings die with them, but the name of Scarron's wife shall live for ever." He was accustomed to talk to his superiors with great freedom, and in a very jocular style. In a dedication to the king, he thus addressed his majesty: "I shall endeavour to persuade your majesty, that you would do yourself no injury, were you to do me a small favour; for in that case I should become gay. If I should become more gay, I should write sprightly comedies; and if I should write sprightly comedies, your majesty would be amused, and thus your money would not be lost. All this appears so evident that I should certainly be convinced of it, if I were as great a king as I am now a poor unfortunate man." Scarron took pleasure in reading his works to his friends, as he composed them; he used to call it trying them. Segrais and another person coming to him one day, "Take a chair," he said, "and sit down, that I may examine my Comic Romance." When he saw them laugh very heartily, he said he was satisfied, "my book will be well received since it makes persons of such delicate taste laugh." He was not disappointed in his expectations, for the Romance had a great run. In the year 1638, he was attending the Carnival at Mons, of which he was a canon. Having put on the dress of a savage, he was followed by a troop of boys into a morass, where he was kept so long, that the cold penetrated his debilitated limbs, which became contracted in such a manner, that he used to compare his body to the shape of a Z. He died in 1660, at the age of fifty; he said to his friends who surrounded his dying bed, "I shall never make you weep so much as I have made you laugh." In his epitaph, made by himself, he desires, in a mixture of the comic and the pathetic, that the passengers would not awaken, by their noise, poor Scarron from the first good sleep he had ever enjoyed.

P.T.W.

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS_.

LEGENDS OF THE LAKES; OR, SAYINGS AND DOINGS AT KILLARNEY.

_By T. Crofton Croker, Esq._

Two volumes of "tickling" legendary tales are almost too much for our laughter-holding sides, but more especially at this merry season--fraught with humour--and when reminiscences of the past make up for lack of realities of the present. To "notice" such a work is ten times more (we had almost said) trouble than to despatch half a dozen dull books, or a dozen harmless, well-meaning satires on human nature. But we will do our best to detach some of the good things from Mr. Croker's volumes, although the humour of the _sketches_ which adorn them, is of too subtle a quality for our pen or sheet to hold.

Mr. Croker takes for granted that when people go to see the Lakes of Killarney, they do not intend making a very serious business of the excursion; but rather desire, while their eyes are pleased with romantic scenery, that their ears should be tickled by legendary tales; and accordingly he thinks it extraordinary that no guide-book should exist for the local traditions of Killarney. This accounts for our finding Mr. Croker on the box of the Killarney mail coach, beside Mat. Crowley, the driver, at page 2, of his first volume. Here is no preamble about "friends pressing the author to print--not intended for the public eye--a mere note-book," &c.--but he begins his journey with the first crack of the whip, and a "righte merrie" journey it is.

Our facetious friend soon reaches Killarney, and is introduced to the lord high-admiral of the lakes, and then, as the newspapers say of a pantomime, the "fun begins." Our first extract is

O'SULLIVAN'S PUNCH BOWL.

"What are we to land here for?" said I to the coxswain.

"Only just to show your honour O'Sullivan's cascade," was the reply. "Here, Doolan, show the gentleman the way." Ascending a rugged path through the wood, we soon reached the foot of the fall.

"Isn't that as fine a sight as you'd meet with in a month of Sundays," said Doolan. "Only see how the white water comes _biling_ like a pot of _praties_ over the big, black rocks, down it comes, one tumble over the other, the green trees all the while stretching out their arms as if they wanted to stop it. And then it makes such a _dickins_ of a _nise_ as it pounces into that black pool at the bottom, that it's enough to bother the brains of a man entirely. Why, then, isn't it a wonder how all that water sprung up out of the mountain? for sure, isn't there a bit of a lake above there, in the hollow of the hill that the waterfall comes out of,--they calls it O'Sullivan's Punch Bowl?"

"And, pray, who was this O'Sullivan that had such a capacious Punch Bowl?"

"Och, then, 'tis he's the fine, portly looking _jantleman_, and has a _vice_ (voice) as big as twenty; 'twould do your heart good to hear the cry of him on a stag hunt day, making the mountain ring again."

"Well, Doolan, you haven't told me all this time who O'Sullivan is."

"Why, then, that's the _quare_ question for your honour to be after _axing_ me. Sure all the country knows O'Sullivan of Toomies, for didn't him, and his father before him, live at the butt end of the mountain, near the neck of the Lawn; and wasn't they great chieftains in the _ould_ times; and hadn't they a great sketch of country to themselves: they haven't so much now, for their hearts were too big for their _manes_ (means;) and that's the _rason_ O'Sullivan was obligated to sell this part of the mountain to Mr. Herbert of Mucruss?"

"A sad story this, Doolan; but it seems to me these O'Sullivans must have been very fond of a bowl of punch, or why is the lake you mentioned called O'Sullivan's Punch Bowl?"

"Oh, then, your honour's as sharp as a needle entirely; but about that same lake it's a _quare_ story sure enough. A long time before there was a waterfall here at all, one of the _rale ould_ O'Sullivans was out all day hunting the red deer among the mountains. Well, sir, just as he was getting quite weary, and was wishing for a drop of the _cratur_ to put him in spirits--"

"Or spirits into him," said I.