If one takes counsel of his fears and avoids
the shock of combat, the hard-hearted crowd immediately discover it and
rain maledictions on his head. I saw a picador once enter the ring as
pale as death. He kept carefully out of the way of the bull for a few
minutes. The sharp-eyed Spaniards noticed it, and commenced shouting,
"Craven! He wants to live forever!" They threw orange-skins at him, and
at last, their rage vanquishing their economy, they pelted him with
oranges. His pallor gave way to a flush of shame and anger. He attacked
the bull so awkwardly that the animal, killing his horse, threw him also
with great violence. His hat flew off, his bald head struck the hard
soil. He lay there as one dead, and was borne away lifeless. This
mollified the indignant people, and they desisted from their abuse.
A cowardly bull is much more dangerous than a courageous one, who lowers
his head, shuts his eyes, and goes blindly at everything he sees. The
last refuge of a bull in trouble is to leap the barrier, where he
produces a lively moment among the water-carriers and orange-boys and
stage-carpenters. I once saw a bull, who had done very little execution
in the arena, leap the barrier suddenly and toss an unfortunate
carpenter from the gangway sheer into the ring. He picked himself up,
laughed, saluted his friends, ran a little distance and fell, and was
carried out dying. Fatal accidents are rarely mentioned in the
newspapers, and it is considered not quite good form to talk about them.
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