The last great act in the drama is the suerte de matar. It is then that the espada steps into the ring, carrying his red cloth over one arm, while the other arm is engaged with the sword. Bowing to the President, the espada turns around and faces the bull, who is now somewhat fatigued from his exercise in chasing the banderilleros and butting at the horses of the picadores. The bull, whose neck bristles with the darts, stands slowly moving his tail, and staring at his new aggressor in sullen anger. Waving the muleta, or red cloth, the espada advances to toro, and impudently flutters the cloth in his face. The bull charges; the muleta receives his horns, and is tossed in the air, while the espada skips aside. Again and again the bull attempts to impale the man, but only succeeds in striking the muleta. Baffled and exasperated, toro pauses as though in sober reflection. How can he outwit that smiling, calm assailant who fixes him with an insolent stare? The bull walks round and round the motionless espada, trying, as it were, to find a weak point for a charge, but the swordsman follows every movement with a shrewd and practised eye, and even divines what ruse the bull intends to adopt.
It is a wonderful display of coolness and courage. There are moments in the fight between the bull and the espada when a deep hush spreads among the spectators; and, then, as the man swerves aside from the on-rush of the beast, a deafening roar goes up from the crowd. The last act is protracted at the discretion of the espada, who is always delighted to exhibit his cleverness and nimbleness to his thousands of admirers in the palcos and galleries. A master of the art of the espada has an extensive répertoire of tricks and passes of the sword, which he loves to display, and he will risk his life a dozen times in the afternoon in exhibiting his skill and prowess. Often the bull is stupid. He must be made to prove his mettle. But usually toro is already mad with anger when called upon to fight the last duel with the espada. It is curious to note how the muleta enrages the bull, who seems to hate it more than the banderillas or the pike of the picador.
At length the espada determines that toro shall die. There is only one legitimate way to kill him. The thrust must be delivered in the neck, and the point of the sword should reach the heart. Before this death-stroke there is a stillness and tense feeling in the Plaza. Will the espada blunder, or will the blade go home at the first thrust. A rapt excitement is on the faces of the crowd. And now the bull makes his last headlong rush; there is a flash of steel in the sunshine, and the sword pierces the black hide, and the blade disappears up to the hilt. Toro staggers, turns and makes a final assault on the espada, only to receive the muleta on his horns. The bull falls, and blood gushes from his wound. He lies dying amid the thunderous din of applause. An attendant appears with a narrow-bladed dagger. He stoops over the bull and plunges the weapon into the spine, near the head. With a shudder, toro dies. During the babel of voices discussing the fight, the mules are driven into the ring, traces are fixed to the horns of the dead bull, and the corpse is dragged out; and with scarcely an interval, another victim is turned into the arena.
In “Childe Harold,” Lord Byron records his impressions of a bull-fight:
“Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls,
The den expands, and Expectation mute
Gapes round the silent circle’s peopled walls.
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot,
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe;
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit
His first attack, wide waving to and fro
His angry tail; red rolls his eye’s dilated glow.
Foil’d, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last,
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay—
’Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast,
And foes disabled in the brutal fray:
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand;
Once more through all he bursts his thundering way—
Vain rage! the mantle quits the conynge hand,
Wraps his fierce eye—’tis past—he sinks upon the sand!”
Every literary man who has visited Madrid, from the Chevalier de Bourgoanne to Mr Arthur Symons, has given us his impressions of the sport of bull-fighting. De Bourgoanne, in his “Travels in Spain” (1789), writes of the severity with which the spectators at the Madrid bull-fights criticised any deficiencies on the part of the toreros. Speaking of the final act of the corrida, the Chevalier states that, “if the animal immediately falls, the triumph of the conqueror is celebrated by a thousand acclamations; but if the blow be not decisive, if the bull survives and again strives to brave the fatal knife, the murmurs are not less numerous. The espada, whose address was about to be extolled to the skies, is considered only as a clumsy butcher. He instantly endeavours to recover from his disgrace, and disarm the severity of his judges.”
De Bourgoanne found the Madrileños divided in their admiration for the two celebrated espadas of that day. One coterie swore by Costillares; another avowed that Romero was the better exponent of the art of tauromachy. This extravagant enthusiasm of the Madrid populace, aroused by the bull-fight, greatly bewildered the French traveller; but he admits that, in spite of the indifference evinced by the spectators at the corrida, the Spaniard is not lacking in compassion nor “devoid of every amiable and delicate emotion.” He relates that the government was alive to “the moral and political inconvenience of that kind of frenzy,” and the economists declared that the destruction of so many robust bulls was prejudicial to agriculture. “The reigning monarch,” writes the Chevalier, “who endeavours to polish the manners of his nation and to turn its attention towards more useful objects, wishes to destroy in it an inclination in which he perceives nothing but inconvenience; but he is too wise to employ violent means.”
An American traveller, writing anonymously in 1831, says that a bull-fight always drew several thousand people to the Plaza. In the winter, states this observer, the corridas took the form of combats with young bulls, whose horns were covered with pads or balls. These bulls were called novillos embolados, and they were baited by novices and amateurs. This writer describes the tragic encounter of a notable torero, known as El Sombrerero, who was so called because he had been a hatter. El Sombrerero was the foremost espada in Spain in his time, and he was wont to perform the most valiant feats in the ring. He was once fighting an exceptionally savage bull, which swerved suddenly in a charge, and caught his opponent upon the point of his horns. The espada was lifted off, and carried from the ring in a state of insensibility. He recovered of his injuries, and resolved to abandon bull-fighting and to return to his trade of hat-making. But the small earnings of this occupation did not satisfy him, and El Sombrerero went back to the ranks of the bull-fighters. He had, however, lost his nerve, and in a fight at Granada he was hissed for his timidity in engaging a very fierce bull.
Manuel Romero was one of the most popular of toreros in 1830. He was a short, rather stout man, though well built and extremely nimble. His features had “an air of cold-blooded ferocity as became one whose business it was to incur danger and to deal death.” Romero wore a very resplendent dress in the ring, with much lace and jewellery.