Impressions of Spain

by Albert Frederick Calvert

Mazantini, now grown old and heavy, was in his day an undoubtedly fine matador. There are some that still regard him as the head of his profession. But the majority, remembering what he was, regret that he has not gone into honourable retirement. But Mazantini cannot tear himself away from the fascination of the arena, although his appearances grow less frequent every year. Conejito, who was wounded in Barcelona in the spring of 1903, is generally regarded as the most accomplished matador now before the public; but Fuentes is, par excellence, the best all-round man. For, with the exception of the picador business, Fuentes plays every part in the piece. Other espadas have their assistants, who play the bull with their capas, and stand by while the banderilleros ply their infuriating darts. It is only when the bull has been prepared for the slaughter by the other performers that the matador comes forward to put the finishing touch to the grim tragedy. Fuentes, on the other hand, on special occasions—of which the corrida which I attended in Madrid was one—keeps his assistants entirely in the background; he takes the stage when the picadores leave it, and keeps it to the end. So close does he keep to the bull, that during the corrida in Madrid, of which I am writing, he seldom allowed the animal to be a dart’s length away from him. On one occasion his capa got caught so tightly on the bull’s horns that he tore it in jerking it away; and at another time the bull stopped dead, with his forefeet on the hated sash. As a banderillero, Fuentes is without equal in Spain. He frequently works with darts that have previously been broken short, and he uses them sparingly. Yet the encounter between the banderillero and the bull when Fuentes is on the scene is the most thrilling part of the whole performance. It is a contest between human intellect and brute intelligence—a duel between mind and matter. Fuentes does not avoid the bull, but by exerting some magnetic power he repulses the animal and compels it to halt. When the bull charges, in response to his “defiance,” he waits with the banderillas suspended above his head until the animal is within a few yards of him. Then he deliberately, but without haste, lowers one arm until the arrow is on a level with the brute’s eyes. The bull wavers in his onslaught, slows up, and stops dead within a foot or two of the point. Sometimes Fuentes walks backwards, while the bull glares at him with stupefied impotence, until he escapes the eyes that

THE MATADOR.

hold him, and gallops away. Again and again the banderillero taunts his enemy to attack him, only to arrest his charge and force him to turn from his deadly purpose by the irresistible power of his superior mentality. The crowd follows this superb exhibition with breathless interest, and in a silence that is more eloquent of admiration than the wildest cheers would be. But the end is nearly reached. Fuentes grasps his stumpy darts and advances against his bewildered antagonist, who waits his approach with sulky indifference. The man’s arms are flung up with a gesture of exasperating defiance, and when the bull makes his final rush, his opponent, instead of stopping him, steps lithely on one side, and the brute thunders past him with the two galling arrows firmly implanted in his huge neck. Fuentes has already moved to the side of the ring. The bull turns and charges back at him. The banderillero glides gracefully over the sand, but his pace is not equal to that of his infuriated pursuer. The distance between them decreases rapidly; in half-a-dozen yards he will be upon him. Fuentes glances over his shoulder and, without changing his pace, doffs his cap and flings it in the bull’s face. This stratagem only arrests the rush of the brute for a moment, but it gives the man time to reach the barrier, where he receives his muleta and sword from an attendant and returns to complete his task.

All the kings of the bull-ring have their own particular feats or strokes, which the Spaniards appreciate as Englishmen revel in Ranjitsinhji’s acrobatic hitting, or Morny Cannon’s inimitable “finishes.” Bombita-Chico’s speciality in playing his bull is to kneel in the arena and allow the animal to charge through the capa which is held within three feet of the ground. The nerve required for this feat fires the audience with enthusiastic approval. The tale is told of a torero, whose name I have forgotten, who gained distinction by his exceptional skill in facing the bull with the long vaulting pole, known as the salto de la garrocha. With this instrument he would goad the bull on to the attack. When the brute was in full gallop he would, timing his movements to the instant, run a few yards to meet him, and swing himself high into the air at the end of his pole. The oncoming bull would charge the pole, the grounded end would be tossed upwards, and the torero would drop lightly to the ground and make good his escape. On one occasion the man performed his risky “turn” at a moment when the attention of a royal lady was attracted from the arena, and she sent an attendant to the expert to command him to repeat it. In vain the poor fellow protested that it was impossible for him to accomplish the same feat again with the same bull. The lady’s desire had been expressed. “But it is more than my life is worth,” argued the athlete. “It is the lady’s wish,” responded the attendant. The torero bowed, and “I dedicate my life to Her Royal Highness,” he said. The attempt fell out as he foretold. The bull charged and stopped dead. The man vaulted aloft, his body described a half circle, and fell—on the horns of the bull. He was dead before the attendants could entice the animal from his victim.

THE FINAL STROKE.

Lagartijo, Lagartijillo, Mazantini, and Montes all have their distinguishing methods of attacking and despatching the bull, but none of these are capable of the feat by which Guerrita was wont to throw the bull-ring into transports of deafening enthusiasm. In the ordinary way, the espada having taken the measure of his adversary, receives him standing sideways, and having thrust his sword at arm’s length between the left shoulder and the blade, leaps aside as the bull blunders forward on to his knees and falls to the earth. But Guerrita advanced his left arm across his body and waved his muleta under his right uplifted arm. When the bull lowered his head at the charge he passed the sword over the animal’s horns and plunged the blade into the vital spot behind the shoulder. In other words, he stopped the brute and killed him while his head was under his arm; and so closely were the duellists locked in that last embrace, that Guerrita’s side was frequently scratched by the bull’s horns. One may lecture, write, and preach against the barbarity of bull-fighting; but so long as Spain can breed men of such amazing nerve, and skill, and dexterity that they can successfully defy death and mutilation to provide their countrymen with such lurid sport, so long will bull-fighting continue to flourish in Spain.

A VALENCIAN BEAUTY.