At the beginning of the following century the Emperor Napoleon I. sent a donation of 30,000 lire (about £1,200) towards the repairs of the Arena, and shortly after he came in person to Verona and expressed his desire to be present at a bull-fight. These fights were conducted chiefly at that time with dogs, whose training required that they should seize the bull by the ear, when the latter was considered vanquished, and the toreadores gave him the _Coup de grace_. The peril run by the hounds--generally mastiffs--was great. The utmost agility and vigilance was needed on their part to escape being gored by the horns of their adversary, and to seize his ear before he ripped up their sides. On the 16th of July 1805 Napoleon took his seat amid a vast crowd who gazed on the mighty conqueror with mixed feelings and emotions, while he doubtless felt himself to be Cæsar indeed, surrounded by the pageantry and _mise en scène_ befitting his new state. A kind of shelter of a circular form was erected in the middle of the Arena wherein the assistants of the fight could take refuge if the bull became too savage. These assistants were dressed half in white and half in red, and their business was to incense the animal by waving red rags in his face, goading him with prongs and sharp sticks, and other devices tending to aggravate him beyond endurance. On the present occasion a young and vigorous bull was turned loose into the Arena, who came on snorting, tossing the sand from beneath his feet, and showing every symptom of courage and sport. The mastiffs were let loose on to him one by one, but all in turn were overcome, and lay in the sand so many heaps of quivering, mangled flesh. At last a splendid hound, spotted black and white, was let loose, and the public admiration and expectation was centred on the graceful movements and wary gait of the dog. His mode of approach and defence was excellent, and he made more than one attempt to pin his adversary by the ear. But his skill and training were of little avail. His final leap up to the bull’s ear proved fatal; the horn ripped him from end to end, and a groan of disappointment and compassion went up from the crowd as they saw the poor beast stretched on the sand in his death agony. Napoleon’s interest was aroused to such an extent that he shouted out, “Loose two against him,” an order promptly obeyed, but attended with no better fortune. The hounds were again gored to death, and the Emperor shouted anew, “Loose three.” Again the bull was victorious. “Loose them all,” cried Napoleon, and the pack was let loose. The bull surrounded by a host of foes held them at bay for a while, and with bloodshot eye and lashing tail made a gallant stand. But the numbers were more than he could contend with, and bitten, beaten and overcome, he sank upon the floor, yielding only to the inexorable doom of force. The story goes on to say that a general in Napoleon’s suite,