French give bulls a fighting chance

Press, 7 December 1976, Page 37

French give bulls a fighting chance

NIALL FINN, a New Zealander on a working holiday in France, describes a bull-fight with a difference. Mr Finn was a geography master at Buller High School, Westport.

Large posters all over Arles had been advertising the “cours libre”—a bullfight with a happy ending, at least in comparison to the “corrida,” where the matador butchers the bull, which is later dragged from the arena by horses. As we were also inter-

ested in the accompanying musical and folk-costume competitions, we went down to the Place de la Republique for the beginning of the traditional procession.

The “Place” is a small, but very attractive square. Its name, changed for obvious reasons from “Place Royal” at the time of the French Revolution in 1789 is its most recent feature. Grouped around the square are the Hotel de Ville, or town hall, (seventeenth century, with a sixteenth century clocktower), a museum of pagan art (housed in a seventeenth century church), the twelth century cathedral of St Trophime and archbishops’ palace. Seniority, however, goes to the obelisk in the centre. It is made of Egyptian granite, and was used 2000 years ago as the winning post for chariot races in the nearby Roman Circus.

Into this beautifully sunlit area flowed a bubbling mass of people. Some, like us, came to watch, but more to take part. Small groups of Arlesiennes gathered in the corners of the square, wearing traditional longflowing dresses of rich brocade in crimson, emerald, or purple. Their dark hair was always knotted to the front of the head and covered with a small bonnet of white lace, while around their shoulders were beautiful white or black lace shawls. The men were almost Spanishly severe in their white shirts and tight-fitting black and grey suits, but they were all very fit, lean, and bronzed — particularly the “guardiens” from the Camargue. This huge area of mudflats, swamp and salt lakes occupies the delta of the Rhone. It is the biggest commune in France and home of the heavv black fighting bulls, as well as of thousands of flamingoes and other wild birds. The “guardiens” are Europe’s nearest equivalent to cowboys and a proud group of them was standing in another corner of the Place, with their small sturdy white horses tethered to the window grills of the Hotel de Ville.

The procession was due to start at 2 p.m., but the Provencal attitude to time is rather elastic and they began to form up at about ten past. In the front row were the musicians carrying cylindrical drums slung from a shoulder strap so they could be banged with the right hand; the left was then

free to play a series of crisp, beautifully clear treble notes on a brown wooden pipe or flute. Behind them came the young women and finally the “guardiens,” several with a young Arlesienne perched rather precariously side-saddle behind the rider.

Swinging to the right of the Place, the procession climbed a narrow street to the top of the low hill on which Arles was founded. We passed the Roman theatre (its scene wall virtually non-existent because its stones were filched to build the cathedral) before turning left at the top to follow the curve of the Roman arena down to the main entrance. The broad, flat area at the top of the steps leading down towards the river was jammed with people. We queued for about 10 minutes for our 12 franc (about $2.50) “entree general” tickets — the cheapest — and went on in to find seats high up on the sunny side. Les Arenes at Arles ranks as one of the largest Roman arenas in existence, larger than that of Nimes and in some ways better preserved than the Colosseum in Rome. The two storeys of 60 arcades each (a third storey has disappeared with the centuries) enclose an oval 450 ft long by 355 ft wide that holds more than 20,000 people. In the first few hundred years of its 2000 year history audiences would have seen wild boars, fighting dogs, bears (elephants and lions, if the emperor ■was present) — or gladiators (wealthy patrons paying extra to be closer to the wounds). But with the fall of the Roman Empire its function changed.

The Saracens in the middle of the eighth century turned it into a defensive bastion that held out for months against the Frankish King ■ Martel. Through the Middle Ages the local people followed their example as Saracens, Normans, Franks, and others repeatedly sacked the town. Many abandoned their homes in the town ah together and built new ones inside the arena until it contained over 200 houses and two churches. This tightly

packed area had become a slum by the time it was cleared early last century, and the arena was gradually restored to its original appearance. A good deal of the original seating remains, but, higher up particularly, there are ranks of plank seats on steel frameworks — much like any country rugby ground in New Zealand. Down in the arena, however, were not only the colourfully dressed Arlesiennes and the mounted guardiens, but also two bands to amuse the crowd until the cours itself started at 3 p.m. Then the “cleaners” came out with large straw panniers to collect the horse dung — the band leader breaking off to offer his top hat in such a good cause. They marched out of the arena to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” Left in the arena were the “razeteurs” — athletic-looking men dressed entirely in white, who immediately began a series of practice leaps over the 4ft high wooden fence that encloses the actual bull ring. Suddenly the large door at the end of the arena, labelled “Toril,” was pushed open and the first bull trotted out. Though not as large as the big Spanish bulls — it was sft at the shoulder — it could move very quickly. On its sharp and wickedly outswept horns, a number of string loops had been placed, and the sport involved getting close enough to snatch them. This tended to mean running past the bull close enough to make it charge, and then trailing a hand behind to make contact with the horns. Meanwhile, of course, the bull was getting closer and closer, so that a huge leap had to be made over the red fence to reach safety. It was obviously a matter of split-second timing.

The first bull seemed to be used for warm-up purposes. It was later permitted to trot off to its pen looking quite pleased with itself.

Bull number two stood no nonsense from the beginning. It raced round the edge of the arena provoking a graceful series of leaps over the fence — like a

squadron of fighters peeling off into a dive. While this, and the next two bulls, were subjected to a never-ending stream of runners, they gave as good as they got. Many runners made it over the fence only inches ahead of the horns. One runner slipped over in the sand; fortunately when the bull was turning to chase someone else. Points earned for touching the bull’s horns and rings were totted up by a jury who also called out donations of prize money as these were received from fans. “Half-time” followed the appearance of the fourth and fifth bulls. The sixth had definitely got “out of pen” on the wrong side for he chased the runners right to the fence and then glared at them while he beat his horns on the wood. I’ve seen pictures in Arles of a bull actually following the runner over the red fence, so perhaps the spectators who scrambled up the grey wall knew what they were about. Not only did the bull succeed in jabbing one runner in the leg, but, when his •quarter of an hour was over, he refused to leave and they had to send out a tame bull (with a bell around its neck) to lead him back to the pen. By contrast the seventh bull indirectly caused a runner to suffer concussion when he crashed into, rather than over, the fence. Then it vzas time to present the prizes. The bands came out again, followed by the young ladies and, finally, the guardiens. Each Arlesienne carried a huge bouquet of flowers (and presumably a cheque) which they gave to each prizewinner along with a congratulatory kiss. The first 10 placegetters stood beside the girl who had presented their prize. At the end of the ceremony, the whole group turned and marched slowly out of the arena, each girl carrying a single rose from her escort’s prize bouquet.