No other human activity represents such a symbolic and emotive charge as the Corrida. Modern man has decided to abandon the road of self knowledge, to reject that complex nature, somewhere between the sublime and the obscure, that bears witness, as documented by Aeschylus and Shakespeare, to a past in which he finds it difficult to recognise himself today. Though born an individual, man is educating himself increasingly to thinking as a group, be it religious, political, national, company, trade union or football. There would be nothing wrong with this, if this collective man had not been born passing off his social purpose for an assumption which has already been fulfilled, or if he had not preferred to give evidence of his improvement with contrived formulae and dogmatic claims, thus avoiding actually having to improve. As required by group logic, he has claimed to have suddenly become peace-loving and egalitarian. Hypnotised by his own slogans, he soon came to believe them himself. Leaving behind the frying pan of mal de vivre, explored by the literary talents of the twentieth century, Man thus encountered an even more pernicious fire: compulsory joie de vivre.
We strike a discordant note in this choir of trebles, this single-class train, this audience all kisses and applause, this parade with no Heroes. We believe that any process of civil uplifting can begin with individuals and spread to the whole of humankind, but not the other way round. The trumpets of the Plaza de Toros break into every squalid imitation with their first note, placing Man, each and every individual, before himself and the things that really matter. The full seriousness of everything is guaranteed by the presence of Death, before whom the rhetoric of tomb epitaphs or the moves of the toreadors, which without it would fall into ridicule, take on an incontrovertible dignity.

The Corrida may be interpreted in infinite ways. It is tragedy, seduction, pomp, initiation, redemption, rite, communion, passion, art and identification. The corrida is staged and regulated rigidly not only by tradition but even by state laws. Protected by such solid rituality, the spectator finds comfort enough to abandon reality and plunge into a world of magic. He is then invested with the symbol and gains in the torero and in the bull the clear vision of the ancestral values of courage and beauty, becoming part of them to the extent of exaltation. In an abstract way, everything is schematised and takes place in the same way. In a concrete sense though, the difference lies in the sensitivity of the individual spectators, in the interpretation of the torero, in the lineage of the bull and in the unpredictable way all this comes together.

In the bull speaks that most ancient of gods, he who has never spoken through prophets. His language, that of the Cosmos, is for us incomprehensible. It is only the torero who can translate the odd word and the solemn sound of them both exalts and moves us. What enthusiast has not felt the brimming urgency of tears, has not felt himself transfigured in paying tribute to the torero or the bull with a well-deserved triumph?

Each show arouses emotion through self-identification. In the arena this mechanism is so powerful that we cannot just say the Corrida is the most beautiful show. It is the only show. It is such first of all for its supernatural punctuality. The paseo* enters the arena with chronometrical precision. Only here, where Man is truly respected, does the spectator also respect himself in him. If you have paid for a show which begins at six o’clock, at six o’clock sharp you will see it begin, come hell or high water. This is no small thing. It shows right from the start that this is serious. There is no messing around with things to be sorted out before or afterwards. It doesn't make any difference anyway. There are no excuses for anyone who makes a mistake, nor encores for the triumphant. It’s all there, consigned to memory, the true mother of the toreo. Even with the best line-up of toreri and the best bull breeding farm, nobody can seriously predict whether the show will come closer to ecstasy or butchery. The improvisation of the torero gives the spectators a memory which may turn out so vivid that it can stretch into tales of dozens of minutes for a tanda ** which actually only lasted a handful of seconds. The Corrida cannot be reproduced. The work of the great toreri is preserved mysteriously in the memory of those who have seen it and is handed down in the stories of aficionados. Videos are not much use, except merely for demonstrating the existence of a spectacle which is much more aristocratic than the Wimbledon tournament or the United States Open. You see and you believe, you who know how to notice even what is absent: not even the smallest advertisement is to be seen in almost every arena, despite the presence of fifteen, maybe twenty, thousand people and the national television networks. Gentlemen, rise from your seats to pay homage to a greatness that elsewhere is no more!

Love for life lived and love for the Corrida often go hand in hand. When he introduced the topic, Ernest Hemingway, who was a great connoisseur of both, wrote that the Corrida cannot be justified. This is true only if to do so we intend to use the same measure as its detractors. If instead we respect a different morality, that which is used at truly important times, things begin to look differently. Sad animal-lovers, unable to see anything in an animal or in man but the life of the single individual, are incapable of seeing this. Always being on the side of the weak is an easy way to be right, so we are left only with being wrong. This is not a problem. We defend Beauty wherever it is to be found and it is often in the most uncomfortable places. Though it is a difficult battle, here and always we Knights claim that the aims of existence go beyond mere existence alone and that for this reason life too can be played and lost for excellent reasons. Often when you go to the cinema, you'll spend a handful of Euro to share this opinion and see the latest hero risk everything or sacrifice himself for his friend, his homeland, his children or love. This is money badly spent if when you come out you change your mind at the first heart-rending sentimental complaint. And by the way, even in the most sentimental stories, the best parts are illuminated or conclude with death.

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