Nineteenth Century Medical Guide

Chapter 484, Section 480: Bullfighting
To travel to Spain during this particular period of the 19th century, two types of travel preparations were required. One was for the individual's travel arrangements, and the other was for the passport.

Kavi's passport is frequently used for long-distance travel. Last month, he started his journey south from Vienna, paying a one-franc entry fee at each of the Swiss and French borders.

The price was the same three years ago, and everything seems to be going smoothly.

But things started to get complicated when he reached the Spanish border.

In Saint-Jean-Drüz, they paid the consul 5 francs per person for their passports. Crossing the border cost several hundred francs, and upon arrival in Saint-Sebastián, they were required to hand over another 10 francs per person as stipulated.

The money wasn't the main issue; the procedures were far too complicated, with the consulate being just a small part of the many fees charged.

After leaving the consulate, you need to hurry to the next stop, the city hall, with your passport in hand. Then it's the mayor's house, followed by the police station. For each subsequent move, you'll need to obtain a visa for each office—literally, a "visa"—and then hand over 3 pesetas per person as required.

Solving these problems is far from the end, because you will be asked questions by many people when you walk on the street.

They dressed in all sorts of clothes, some even looking disheveled like beggars on the street. They would gently pat you on the shoulder, respectfully call you "Sir," and then show you their government identification, demanding to see your passport and a bunch of so-called visas.

The documents were genuine, and they were all local public officials. The passport check was brief, and the people were friendly; the only downside was that each person had to pay half a peseta.

The fees were so consistent, it was as if they had been agreed upon beforehand.

According to Bergett, this was the price of Cavill's capriciousness. Had he chosen the train from the start, presenting the invitation to the new emperor's coronation along the way, or followed Queen Elizabeth's special train directly to Madrid, he could have avoided a great deal of trouble.

Fortunately, the police station, considering the two mounted officers' mistake, didn't give them a hard time. They issued four "Do Not Disturb" passes, valid indefinitely in San Sebastián. Then they settled them in a penthouse suite at the city's most luxurious hotel, as a small compensation for the little incident.

The hotel's exterior walls were cracked, with some areas even exposing the bricks, but the interior was quite nice, at least spacious enough.

From the fireplace with a sphinx, the imported Italian marble, the exquisite bronze ornaments, and the silver tableware, to the tall, intricately carved wardrobe and the large armchairs covered with red velvet, everything exudes a sense of luxury.

Of course, the biggest surprise was the view of the sea that came into view after opening the bedroom window.

The four had just unpacked their luggage and eaten something quick when someone knocked on the door. It was a young policeman named Orni. He spoke fairly fluent French and brought four tickets for a square event.

The event is this afternoon, and there will be some great performances.

Kavi lay down on a large bed with a 17th-century canopy, too comfortable to move: "I want to stay quiet for a while, so I won't go."

"You may not know this yet, but Mr. Manuel has been sent to the Constitution Square and will be executed before the afternoon's events begin. It's quite a unique feature of Spanish criminal law."

Orni was waiting for their surprised expressions, but after a few seconds, he saw nothing. Three of them had crawled out of piles of corpses on the battlefield, and one was even more skilled in various forms of private torture; whipping them was rather ordinary for him.

"If you're not interested in flogging, you can watch the bullfight later, around 2 a.m. The bulls in Spain are carefully selected; they're incredibly fierce and a perfect opponent."

No matter how eloquently he described the bullfighting, Kavi had no interest: "Did the director ask you to deliver the event tickets?"

The message was clear: if it was an invitation from the bureau chief, Kavi would be willing to go out of respect for the hotel arrangements and document processing. But if not, he couldn't do anything about it; "I have to travel the next day" was the best excuse.

Olney's attire differed from that of the mountain police; he wore a formal police uniform, and his demeanor was more refined than that of Gallardo, who came from a less formal background.

Even if he answered "yes," the matter would be settled, and no one would actually go to the police station to verify it. But after hesitating, he chose to tell the truth: "No, I bought it myself."

"I'm so sorry," Kavi said honestly.

"I just think."

"I do not need it, thank you."

"Gallado said you need a Spanish translator."

"We'll find it ourselves."

“You also need a guide, a guide who is familiar with the Spanish wilderness!” Olni said anxiously, his voice louder than Kavi’s, and his speech becoming faster and faster. “What I mean is, Gallardo is very smart; he can be both a translator and a guide.”

Sitting on the sofa, Casper laughed and put the map aside: "Officer, he's a thief. We can't keep a thief around."

“He was in the wrong. Now he has lost his job and has been fined six months’ salary. It’s all his own fault.”

Olney took off his hat, grabbed a handful of hair, and tried to vent his frustration: "He wants to work for you so he can at least earn some income to support himself. He's not a bad person at heart, and I still hope you can give him a chance!"

"Are you mistaken?" Casper's voice was as cold as if it had been soaked in ice water. "There are tour guides and translators everywhere. Why should we take the risk? Or are you going to vouch for him?"

How can I provide a guarantee?

"1000 pesetas. Once you get to Madrid, have him bring the money back to you."

Orni sighed: "I don't have that much money. How about 750 pesetas?"

This is no small sum, and the fact that they are willing to hand it over shows that they trust Gallardo's character, especially since he is expected to bring the money back to San Sebastián intact.

But upon entering Spain, he was tricked by the local mounted police, making Casper extremely cautious. The 1000 pesetas was just an excuse; since the other party couldn't raise the money, he could only apologize.

Seeing his reaction, Orni stopped pressing the matter.

He put his police cap back on, straightened his uniform, and placed four event tickets on the table: "I'm sorry to have kept you from resting, but I still hope you can come and see this bullfighting performance."

Kavi lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to their conversation, but his mind was elsewhere.

Seeing that he was about to leave, she suddenly asked, "I'm quite curious, why are you so concerned about the bullfighting performance? Is it related to that young man?"

When her thoughts were spoken aloud, Olney became somewhat agitated.

He tried to control his tone, hoping to narrate the matter from the perspective of an ordinary friend: "A fine of half a year's salary is too much for Gallardo. If he doesn't pay it in two days, he will be whipped and forced to do hard labor like Manuel."

"Aren't you quite wealthy?"

“He didn’t want my charity,” Olney continued. “He wanted to face and overcome difficulties like a man.”

“So he went to the bullring,” Kavi said. “Yes, sir, the audience wants to see how an ordinary person without systematic training deals with a bull.”

Constitution Square is the largest square in this seaside city, and almost all events and celebrations take place here.

The north and south sides are lined with rows of residential buildings and shops, while the west side faces the sea. On the open ground near the beach stands a stone pillar cast with the Spanish coat of arms from the era of Philip II.

The square was covered with a thick layer of dust beforehand, and tiered viewing platforms were also built, so that those with tickets could sit in the closest seats to watch the performance and cheer for the bullfighters.

Ordinary citizens would climb to the rooftops of the buildings on both sides, or book rooms there. Although it was a bit far, the view from above was thrilling enough.

At this moment, the former mounted policeman, dressed only in a white shirt and shorts, was firmly bound to a wooden frame. Three executioners beside him shouted out a brief account of what had happened.

This is just the appetizer. The executioner's job is not just to whip the target, but more importantly, to control the pace.

Thirty lashes can be whipped in a minute or two, which is clearly unacceptable here.

If time passed too quickly, it would be impossible to engage the audience; if it dragged on, their interest in watching the next act would turn into impatience. The Nine-Tailed Cat Whip lashed at Manuel's body, perfectly timed with his groans and the cheers from the stands.

In the lounge of a chapel at the end of the square, Gallardo was pale and covered in sweat, looking like a seriously ill patient lying in a hospital bed.

He knew too much about caning; he'd watched the shows since he was a child, and joining the mounted police force had further supplemented his theoretical knowledge with practical experience. Now, his ears were filled with the rhythmic cheers of the audience, and he was unconsciously picturing the execution in his mind.

"Brother, it's almost time."

The bullfighter's servant brought in a doctor, along with a large bag of supplies: "You need to bandage your legs, put on leg guards, and wrap your belt within ten minutes. Here's a complete set of short gunner's clothes and boots; let's hurry."

The servants served the bullfighting team, mainly helping with makeup, hair and braids, and dressing them in jewelry and clothes.

The doctor's role is more of a formality, checking for any unusual physical symptoms in the matadors before the performance. They are facing a ferocious bull, and it's normal for them to experience vomiting, chest tightness, palpitations, and general weakness due to fear.

Are you feeling unwell?

"The belt is a bit tight, it's making it hard for me to breathe." Gallardo doesn't like this kind of thing that women wrap around their waists. "Luckily I haven't eaten much, otherwise I would definitely be throwing up everywhere."

"This 4-meter-long ribbon allows you to keep your muscles taut at all times, enabling you to dodge a bull's attack at the first sign of trouble."

The servant explained its importance simply and somewhat mechanically: "If you unfortunately can't dodge it, it can still provide some cushioning, reduce bleeding, and prevent your intestines from falling out as much as possible. Of course, if your stomach is cut open, these ribbons won't be of any use. Remember to dodge them if you can, and never let the bull's horns seal you completely."

A white vest over a bright red short jacket, followed by a tie and decorative handkerchief, all in red, made Gallardo look like a burning fireball.

A voice came from outside the chapel: "The flogging is over, and the carriage will be here soon!"

Gallardo was participating in a bullfight for the first time and was so anxious that he prepared to leave before his servants could speak.

"Wait a minute, it's your bullfighting hat!"

The servant took a round box out of the bag and pulled out a small round hat with black and gold trim: "It's a pity you're just an apprentice short gunner, you're not qualified to wear a cloak."

"It's okay, as long as you come back safely."

Gallardo has watched bullfighting for many years, but only now does he realize that a bullfighting team is composed of several people with different roles.

Two pistolmen, two mounted bayonet bearers, three foot sword bearers, and one bayonet bearer. The entire unit was highly disciplined, even more so than some armies, and the most important rule was absolute obedience to the bayonet bearer.

"So you're the new guy?" The swordsman approached the door, a cigar dangling from his lips and a magnificent cloak draped over his shoulders. "You don't look too well."

"He's probably too nervous," the servant explained for him. "After all, it's his first time."

"It's okay to hold the team back, but you need to change your face." As the absolute protagonist in the bullfighting performance, everything he does serves the performance. "You need to smile, smile at everyone."

"Okay, sir."

"Get ready and let's go, the car is already at the door."

The four horses pulling the six-seater open carriage were all adorned with golden tassels and bells. The carriage was packed with two pistolmen, three swordsmen, and a newly arrived bayonet bearer. Two other mounted bayonet bearers rode their own horses to either side of the carriage.

Gallardo was a temporary addition and could only sit in the coachman's seat with the servants.

The chapel leads to the square via a small street called Alcázar, where the afternoon sun makes the pavement look snow-white, the trees on both sides turn a yellowish-brown, and a large crowd of people stands on the balconies.

The car sped forward, and the sound of bells could be heard throughout the street.

The crowd on the street parted to the sides, with only a few daring to grab onto the carriage and, risking being run over, run wildly, shouting frantically at the bullfighters inside:

"Long live Anders, the greatest swordsman of San Sebastián! Long live the brave bullfighter! Long live Spain!"

Gallardo sat quietly, enjoying the bumpy ride, while responding to the cheers with the smile Anders had just requested.

Suddenly, a wild child darted out of the crowd, quickly walked to the carriage, and pointed at Gallardo in the driver's seat: "It's Gallardo! Juan Gallardo, the little shoemaker!!"

All eyes were on him: "How did he get into the bullfighting team's carriage?"

"I heard he tried to steal something like Manuel, but he was only punished by having to participate in a bullfight!"

“Then I’d rather choose the whip; today’s bull is not easy to deal with.”

"That makes sense, the bulls today are incredibly strong."

Gallardo turned his face away with a grin, his mind blank, ignoring the gossip about him in the street, having long since given up on explaining himself. No matter how dangerous bullfighting was, he just wanted to end it all as quickly as possible and use the money he earned to avoid the caning and some of the fine.

If those four distinguished guests had seen his performance last night, they might have changed their minds, and the rest of the fine wouldn't be a problem.

The entrance to the square was already in sight. The band began to play louder, the music mingling with various sounds. The sound was like a volcanic eruption, startling the white doves in the distance into flight and making the audience even more excited.

As the carriage entered the square, the main event of the day officially began.