Not Only Mailer Has Problems with Bull

THIS IS THE SEASON when those few locust trees that have escaped the depredations of Madrid’s municipal government blossom, casting their narcotic scent over the quieter residential quarters (where residential quarters remain quiet), their browning – petals to be trod under on the sidewalks _by promenading Madrilefios (where the mayor has spared sidewalks) and also crushed under the tires of hundreds of thousands of automobiles into a slick ooze that will bring about more than the usual incidence of skids on steep streets, and more than the usual number of demolished fenders and smashed taillights and histrionic rodomontade between drivers feeling equally aggrieved and equally the victims of fate, to be pacified by the amiable (and infinitely patient) city traffic policemen. At this time of the year, Madrilefios can be seen standing beside the wreckage of their cars in the midst of.-arteriosclerotic avenues, and, after the first outbursts of hispanic outrage, courteously -exchanging license numbers and insurance cards in’ a manner and with a frequency that have come to . rival the exchange of visiting cards, often flourished between total strangers when the one happens to inquire of the other the time of day. (Last spring, the. cousin of a friend, following an acci-» dent, struck up an intimate acquain_ tanceship with his fellow victim of Madrid’s phlogotic traffic, one that prospered so rapidly that nuptials have been. announced between the children, bride and groom to exchange safety belts in lieu of rings.) ; This is also the time of year when scores of thousands of tourists converge on Madrid to enjoy bloodier spectacles, such as bullfights; the time of San Isidro, which, after the inaugurating festival of the fallas of Valencia and . the flourishing of capes and muletas in the feria of Seville, marks the real beginning of the corrida season; during which, as in the past several years, Spaniards and tourists alike will be defrauded of some $30 million by impresarios and matadors who, with every _year, become less concerned about the dolts who pack the stadiums and cheer clamorously at performances so disgraceful as to have become a national scandal. Bullfights at the big plazas are more often than not exercises in cynicism.

The bigger the plaza, and the more | lustrous the matador, the more is this. likely.to be so. Last year at San Isidro: I watched the great Antonio Ordéfiez spread the cerise and yellow in one superb and two vulgar veronicas; toa | roar of acclamation, because it is in- ‘ deed a gift from the gods to witness any capework at all nowadays. And] watched him in a prefabricated faena with an inoffensive bull perform several competent naturales as well as a nunber of good derechazos, but not one of his heartstopping redondos and not a | single pass with that intensity and passion with which he used to electrify his art; and heard the crowd clamor in | exultation; and watched the thunder burst of white handkerchiefs being flapped all about me after his second entry with the sword in an undistirguished kill (but at least a kill that didn’t require interminable pokings of the animal to death); and saw the president signal the amputation of two eal’, Madrid’s maximum reward; and even read in ABC’s mordant and gloomy | critique next morning what a. glory performance it had been; and realized how dismally the fiesta had been corrupted, because what Orddfiez had achieved that afternoon was little more than a workmanlike performance merit ing a round of applause and perhaps : one circling of the arena, but oh! how grateful we were for mere professional competence. There’s too much money in the game. Tourists aren’t entirely to blame; after all, they can’t be expected to know anything about bullfighting. And toutists, although occupying the best seals i comprise a minority of the audience The Spanish bullfight-going public is at greater fault, paying for the ennui and incompetence they are getting and apparently happy. So long as Spaniards are willing to put up with it, this cruel tacle will continue in its decadence; lack of redeeming art and drama. So mg as the impresarios know that they il year after year and at increasingly xorbitant prices fill the grandstands; 0 long as the star matadors realize that : ; shoddy. cuts ears, the dreadful bore bullfighting has become will be per- -petuated.

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F. Reid Buckley

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THIS IS THE SEASON when those few locust trees that have escaped the depredations of Madrid’s municipal government blossom, casting their narcotic scent over the quieter residential quarters (where residential quarters remain quiet), their browning – petals to be trod under on the sidewalks _by promenading Madrilefios (where the mayor has spared sidewalks) and also crushed under the tires of hundreds of thousands of automobiles into a slick ooze that will bring about more than the usual incidence of skids on steep streets, and more than the usual number of demolished fenders and smashed taillights and histrionic rodomontade between drivers feeling equally aggrieved and equally the victims of fate, to be pacified by the amiable (and infinitely patient) city traffic policemen. At this time of the year, Madrilefios can be seen standing beside the wreckage of their cars in the midst of.-arteriosclerotic avenues, and, after the first outbursts of hispanic outrage, courteously -exchanging license numbers and insurance cards in’ a manner and with a frequency that have come to . rival the exchange of visiting cards, often flourished between total strangers when the one happens to inquire of the other the time of day. (Last spring, the. cousin of a friend, following an acci-» dent, struck up an intimate acquain_ tanceship with his fellow victim of Madrid’s phlogotic traffic, one that prospered so rapidly that nuptials have been. announced between the children, bride and groom to exchange safety belts in lieu of rings.) ; This is also the time of year when scores of thousands of tourists converge on Madrid to enjoy bloodier spectacles, such as bullfights; the time of San Isidro, which, after the inaugurating festival of the fallas of Valencia and . the flourishing of capes and muletas in the feria of Seville, marks the real beginning of the corrida season; during which, as in the past several years, Spaniards and tourists alike will be defrauded of some $30 million by impresarios and matadors who, with every _year, become less concerned about the dolts who pack the stadiums and cheer clamorously at performances so disgraceful as to have become a national scandal. Bullfights at the big plazas are more often than not exercises in cynicism.

The bigger the plaza, and the more | lustrous the matador, the more is this. likely.to be so. Last year at San Isidro: I watched the great Antonio Ordéfiez spread the cerise and yellow in one superb and two vulgar veronicas; toa | roar of acclamation, because it is in- ‘ deed a gift from the gods to witness any capework at all nowadays. And] watched him in a prefabricated faena with an inoffensive bull perform several competent naturales as well as a nunber of good derechazos, but not one of his heartstopping redondos and not a | single pass with that intensity and passion with which he used to electrify his art; and heard the crowd clamor in | exultation; and watched the thunder burst of white handkerchiefs being flapped all about me after his second entry with the sword in an undistirguished kill (but at least a kill that didn’t require interminable pokings of the animal to death); and saw the president signal the amputation of two eal’, Madrid’s maximum reward; and even read in ABC’s mordant and gloomy | critique next morning what a. glory performance it had been; and realized how dismally the fiesta had been corrupted, because what Orddfiez had achieved that afternoon was little more than a workmanlike performance merit ing a round of applause and perhaps : one circling of the arena, but oh! how grateful we were for mere professional competence. There’s too much money in the game. Tourists aren’t entirely to blame; after all, they can’t be expected to know anything about bullfighting. And toutists, although occupying the best seals i comprise a minority of the audience The Spanish bullfight-going public is at greater fault, paying for the ennui and incompetence they are getting and apparently happy. So long as Spaniards are willing to put up with it, this cruel tacle will continue in its decadence; lack of redeeming art and drama. So mg as the impresarios know that they il year after year and at increasingly xorbitant prices fill the grandstands; 0 long as the star matadors realize that : ; shoddy. cuts ears, the dreadful bore bullfighting has become will be per- -petuated.