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THE BULLFIGHT 271
low in salutation. The Prefect throws to them the key
of the bull pen, and off they gallop again. “Toros!
Toros!” is the roar, increasing in volume, proceeding
from ten or twelve thousand throats.
The band plays 4 subdued march and a splendid pro-
cession moves into the arena. Two by two, the bull-
fighters enter, dressed in silk, embroidered with gold;
then the columns separate and each proceeds to its
own side, single file, as in a folk dance. The first couple
are the espadas, who are to take turns in slaying the
beasts; the following six couples are the banderilleros
and chulos; then come the picadores, on horseback,
and last of all two beautifully caparisoned teams of
four mules each, which are to drag out the beasts after
they are killed.
All smile happily, assured of victory, at the as-
sembled public, as if the whole business were a grave
form of trifling. But in their course they reach a little
chapel under the circus, where a priest administers the
sacrament to them; a stretcher is held ready under the
circular passageway, and ina little hospital next to the
circus stand two surgeons with their instruments ready.
The procession has saluted the Prefect and the
audience; the mule teams and the espadas have retired
to their places; the rest of the bullfighters stand around
in groups, conversing nonchalantly. The cake-sellers
have not yet all left the arena; the last of them are
still picking up their wares; all seem inclined to be-
lieve that there is still time. Suddenly a horn is
sounded; a barn door flies upward; the bull dashes
into the arena. The swift-footed chulos barely have
time to jump aside and seize their red blankets; here
and there on the fence a cake-seller is still clutching in
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