a Crusade as much as ever the cause for which the
Templars went eastward."

The Plaza de Toros was thronged with a crowd of men, women and children,
who could not pay the fee or were too late for admission. If unable to
enter, it was something to look upon the outer walls, whilst the
thunders of applause helped them to realise the scene.

The tramcar waited some twenty minutes, and we remained studying the
crowd of eager faces that surged to and fro. From the bull-ring--one of
the largest and finest in Spain--arose that constant roar and tempest of
voices.

We were almost prisoners, wondering how we should escape, when a city
tramcar came up, stood side by side with ours, and we made the exchange.
This slowly moved through the crowd and turned into a quieter
thoroughfare, and the raving followed us far down the road.

The car travelled slowly round the town, through the Cathedral Square,
in and out of ancient gateways. Street after street, comparatively
deserted, wore its Sunday dress. Flowers abounded. We were on a level
with first-floor windows, and from many an open casement came a glimpse
of domestic interiors: the scent of roses; fair ladies dressed in
rustling silks and sheeny satin; ripples of laughter and conversation;
occasional streams of melody from a fair performer. Absorbed, we did not
observe the car gradually getting round to its starting-point, until we
once more found ourselves in the centre of the crowd outside the
bull-ring.

They had not moved an inch. The spectacle was just over, the great doors
were thrown open, and a cortege passed out: cart after cart with dead
horses and bulls, the latter decorated as if for a prize show. A
deafening roar, louder than ever, went up from the people. Finally came
the vehicle with the toreadors and matadors dressed in all their fine
colours, flushed with their performance, calmly taking the hurrahs. The
very horses seemed maddened as they tore out of sight. Then the crowd
began to disperse. Strolling out after dinner, we found ourselves once
more in front of the bull-ring, looking in the darkness like a second
Roman Coliseum. The square was deserted, its crowds having gone home to
live the horrors over again in their dreams. Silence reigned. But the
time would come round for fresh spectacles and more horrors.

And so it goes on from one generation to another.

That night our own dreams were fitful and broken. We had watched the
sunset from the tramcar, full