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THE CARTUJA.

LETTER X.

BURGOS-THE CARTUJA-A BULL FIGHT.

MADRID, November 1st, 1857.

In our way to the Cartuja we soon turned aside into a road still more wretchedly uneven than the one which had led us to Las Huelgas. After half an hour of severe jolting

it took us through a massive gateway, by which the possessions of the convent were once entered; but the rest of the enclosure has entirely disappeared. Half a mile from this, we stopped at an imposing Gothic edifice on a hill. This was the convent, and we turned to look at the extensive view it commanded-the view of a broad, smooth vale, stretching league beyond league-of the brown color of the soil, without trees and without houses, except a village to the right, and the city of Burgos to the left. "You should see it in early summer," said Don Pedro, "when it is luxuriant with vegetation." A ragged fellow conducted us into the building, where we passed through long, beautiful, silent cloisters, from the roof of which, in places, the fresco flowers and stars were falling in small flakes, till we reached the chapel, and here a priest, who was already occupied with a French artist and his lady, took charge of us. From the chapel and the other

MONUMENTS IN THE CHAPEL.

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rooms, all the fine pictures have been carried away, and we were shown in their stead what were not worth looking at— some wretched things by a monastic brother. But what most attract and repay the attention of the visitor, are the monuments of the father and mother of Isabella the Catholic, and of her youthful brother, quaintly and delicately carved in alabaster, with a singular combination of grace and grotesqueness-the grace always predominating-in which twining stems, foliage and flowers, figures of quadrupeds and birds, of men and women, and, among these, warriors, patriarchs an evangelists, all exquisitely and airily wrought, are clustered together in marvellous and endless complication.

One of the cells of the Carthusian monks was shown us -a little chamber, with a plank bed on which he slept, covered only with his brown cloak. Opening from it was the little garden, with its separate wall, which he tilled alone; and on another side, the little oratory, where he knelt and prayed. "Here," said Don Pedro, pointing to a little opening from the cell to the cloister, "is the window through which the friar received his meals, to be eaten in solitude.” As we were about to go out, I said to Don Pedro, "Is it the custom to give a fee here?" "No;" he replied, with some quickness, "not by any means." I could not help suspecting, however, that there was something in the rules of Spanish politeness which dictated this answer, for at that moment we passed into the Campo Santo, or burial-ground of the convent —a spacious area enclosed by the building, spotted with little hillocks, where the monks in utter silence dug their own

graves, and Don Pedro said, "You see that part of the ground has been dug up and sown with grain. The ecclesiastics who take care of the building do this to piece out a scanty livelihood, for the government only allows them a peseta, the fifth part of a dollar, a day." The graves had no monuments, but close to the newest of them, where the earth had still a broken appearance, stood an iron cross, with the lower end driven into the ground. As we stepped from the burialground into the cloisters, and the priest locked the door after us, I put a trifle into his hand, which he received with an air that showed he expected it.

That afternoon, at the special urgency of Don Pedro-for I wished to postpone the spectacle till I should arrive at Madrid—I went with one of our party to a bull fight. "This is the last day," said our Spanish friend; "to-morrow the amphitheatre will be removed, every plank of it, and we shall have no more combats for a year." We found the place, which they told us was capable of containing six thousand persons, already full of people impatiently drumming with their feet, to hint that it was high time for the sport to begin. Nine-tenths or more of them were of the laboring class, and their bright-colored costumes, particularly those of the women, gave the crowd a gay appearance. Many children of various ages were among them, and some of these, showily dressed and attended by nurses, were evidently of opulent families. We took our places in the uppermost circle, under a narrow sort of roof which sheltered us from the sun; below us was range after range of seats open to the sky, descending to the

PROCESSION OF

COMBATANTS.

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central circle, the arena, in which the combats were to take place.

An alguazil, in black, first rode round the arena, proclaiming the regulations of the day. He was followed by a procession of the performers, in their gay dresses; the picadores, glittering with gold and silver lace, on horseback, with their broad-brimmed hats and long lances; the chulos on foot, with their red cloaks; the banderilleros, with their barbed shafts, wrapped in strips of white paper; the matadores, with their swords; and lastly, three mules, gayly caparisoned, with strings of little bells on their necks, who were to drag out the slain bulls. Loud shouts rose from the crowd, and then a door was opened, and an enormous bull, jet black, with massive chest and glaring eyes, bounded into the arena. He ran first at the chulos, who shook their cloaks at him, but his rage appeared soon to subside. A picador put his lance against the animal's forehead, but he shook it off and turned away. The chulos again came capering about him and trying to provoke him, but he pursued them only a few steps. Then rose the cry of, Ah, que es manso ! que es manso! codarde! codarde! Finally, the people began to call for the dogs. Los perros! los perros! rose from a thousand throats. Three large dogs were brought, which, barking loudly, flew at the bull with great fury. He took them one after another on his horns, and threw them up in the air; one of them he caught in his fall, and tossed him again. The dogs tore his ears into strings, but they were soon either disabled or cowed, and only

*

*"Ah, how tame he is! how tame he is! a coward! a coward!"

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A BULL KILLED.

attacked him warily, while he kept them off by presenting to them first one horn and then the other. Then the dogs were withdrawn and the chulos tried him again, but he would not chase them far; the picadores poked at him with their lances, but he declined to gore their horses. The crowd shouted vigorously, "Away with him! away with him!" and at length the door by which the bull had entered was set wide open, that he might make his retreat. But the bull would not go; he was not minded either to fight or quit the field. "Kill him! kill him!" exclaimed a thousand throats -and the signal was given, in obedience to which one of the matadores-the primera espada, as the Spaniards call him, just as the Italians say prima donna-made his appearance with a red cloak on his arm, and a long, glittering, straight sword in his right hand. He shook the cloak at the bull, who made a rush at it, while the matador at the same moment attempted to pierce the animal to the heart through the chine. times he sought to make the fatal pass; at the third he was successful, burying the blade up to the hilt. A torrent of blood flowed from the creature's mouth, he staggered and fell ; a sound of little bells was heard; the three mules, harnessed abreast, came in, and dragged out the lifeless carcase.

Three

Another bull, of smaller size, but of more savage temper, was then let into the arena. He ran fiercely at the chulos, chasing them into the places of shelter built for them beside the barrier, and the crowd shouted, "Es muy bravo, ese! muy bravo!"* A picador touched with his lance the forehead of

* He is very fierce, that fellow, very fierce!