Unexplored Spain

by Abel Chapman; Walter John Buck

THE normal British idea of a bull naturally derives colour from those stolid animals one sees at home, some with a ring through the nose, and which are only kept for stud purposes, but occasionally evince a latent ferocity by goring to death some hapless herdsman.

Between such and the Spanish Toro de Plaza there exists no sort of analogy. The Spanish fighting-bull is bred to fight, and the keen experience of centuries is brought to bear on the selection of the fittest—that, moreover, not only as regards the bulls, for the cows also are tested both for pluck and stamina before admission to the herd-register. The result, in effect, assures that an animal as fierce and formidable as the wildest African buffalo shall finally face the matador.

The breeding of the fighting-bull forms in Spain a rural industry as deeply studied and as keenly competitive as that of prize-cattle or Derby winners in England.

At the age of one year preliminary tests are made, and promising youngsters branded with the insignia of the herd. But it is the completion of the second year that marks their critical period; for then take place the trials for pluck and mettle. The brave are set aside for the Plaza, the docile destroyed or gelded; while from the chosen lot a further selection is made of the sires for future years.

At these two-year-old trials, or Tentaderos, it is customary for the owner and his friends to assemble at the sequestered rancho—the event indeed becomes a rural fête, a bright and picturesque scene, typical of untrodden Spain and of the buoyant exuberance and dare-devil spirit of her people.

Nowhere can the exciting scenes of the Tentadero be witnessed to greater advantage than on those wide level pasturages that extend from Seville to the Bay of Cádiz. Here, far out on spreading vega ablaze with wild flowers, where the canicular sun flashes yet more light and fire into the fiery veins of the Andaluz—here is enacted the first scene in the drama of the Toréo. For ages these flower-strewn plains have formed the scene of countless tentaderos, where the young bloods of Andalucia, generation after generation, rival each other in feats of derring-do, of skill, and horsemanship.

The remote estancia presents a scene of unwonted revelry. All night long its rude walls resound with boisterous hilarity—good-humour, gaiety, and a spice of practical joking pass away the dark hours and by daylight all are in the saddle. The young bulls have previously been herded upon that part of the estate which affords the best level ground for smart manœuvre and fast riding, and the task of holding the impetuous beasts together is allotted to skilled herdsmen armed with long garrochas—four-yard lances, with blunt steel tip. All being ready, a single bull is allowed to escape across the plain. Two horsemen awaiting the moment, spear in hand, give chase, one on either flank. The rider on the bull’s left assists his companion by holding the animal to a straight course. Presently the right-hand man, rising erect in his stirrups, plants his lance on the bull’s off-flank, near the tail, and by one tremendous thrust, delivered at full speed, overthrows him—a feat that bespeaks a good eye, a firm seat, and a strong arm. Some young bulls will take two or more falls; others, on rising, will elect to charge. The infuriated youngster finds himself faced by a second foe—a horseman armed with a more pointed lance and who has been riding close behind. This man is termed el Tentador. Straightway the bull charges, receiving on his withers the garrocha point; thrown back thus and smarting under this first check to his hitherto unthwarted will, he returns to the charge with redoubled fury, but only to find the horse protected as before. The pluckier spirits will essay a third or a fourth attack, but those that freely charge twice are passed as fit for the ring.

Should a young bull twice decline to charge the Tentador, submitting to his overthrow and only desiring to escape, he is condemned—doomed to death, or at best to a life of agricultural toil.

Not seldom a bull singled out from the rodéo declines to escape, as expected; but, instead, charges the nearest person, on foot or mounted, whom he may chance to espy. Then there is a flutter in the dovecotes! Danger can only be averted by skilled riding or a cool head, since there is no shelter. Spanish herdsmen, however (and amateurs besides), are adepts in the art of giving “passes” to the bull—a smart fellow, when caught thus in the open, can keep a bull off him (using his jacket only) for several moments, giving time for horsemen to come up to his rescue. Even then it is no uncommon occurrence to see horseman, horse, and bull all rolling on the turf in a common ruin. Seldom does it happen that one of these trial-days passes without broken bones or accidents of one kind or another.

For four to five more years, the selected bulls roam at large over the richest pasturages of the wide unfrequented prairies. Should pasture fail through drought or deluge, the bulls are fed on tares, vetch, or maize, even with wheat, for their début in public must be made in the highest possible condition. The bulls should then be not less than five, nor more than seven years old.