These prices are necessary to cover
the heavy expenses of bulls, horses, and gladiators.
The way to the bull-ring is one of indescribable animation. The cabmen
drive furiously this day their broken-kneed nags, who will soon be found
on the horns of the bulls, for this is the natural death of the Madrid
cab-horse; the omnibus teams dash gayly along with their shrill chime of
bells; there are the rude jests of clowns and the high voices of excited
girls; the water-venders droning their tempting cry, "Cool as the snow!"
the sellers of fans and the merchants of gingerbread picking up their
harvests in the hot and hungry crowd.
The Plaza de Toros stands just outside the monumental gate of the
Alcala. It is a low, squat, prison-like circus of stone, stuccoed and
whitewashed, with no pretence of ornament or architectural effect. There
is no nonsense whatever about it. It is built for the killing of bulls
and for no other purpose. Around it, on a day of battle, you will find
encamped great armies of the lower class of Madrilenos, who, being at
financial ebb-tide, cannot pay to go in. But they come all the same, to
be in the enchanted neighborhood, to hear the shouts and roars of the
favored ones within, and to seize any possible occasion for getting in.
Who knows? A caballero may come out and give them his check. An English
lady may become disgusted and go home, taking away numerous lords whose
places will be vacant.
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