Wanderings in Spain

by Théophile Gautier

Never did more gentle, Madonna-like faces, more silken eyelashes, or more gentle smiles ever watch over a sleeping child. The various chances of the bull's death are attentively observed by pale, lovely beings, of whom an elegiac poet would be glad to make an Elvira. The merit of the different thrusts is discussed by mouths so pretty that you would fain hear them talk of nothing but love. Because they behold unmoved scenes of carnage which would cause our sensitive Parisian beauties to faint, it must not be inferred that they are cruel and deficient in tenderness of soul; in spite of their presence at such sights, they are good, simple-minded, and full of compassion for the unfortunate. But custom is everything; the sanguinary side of a bull-fight, which is what strikes foreigners the most forcibly, is exactly that which least interests Spaniards, who devote their whole attention to the importance of the different blows and the amount of address displayed by the toreros, who do not run so great a risk as might at first be imagined.

It was not more than two o'clock, and the sun inundated with a deluge of fire all the seats on the side we were placed. How we envied those favoured individuals who were revelling in the bath of shade, thrown over them by the upper boxes! After riding thirty leagues in the mountains, the fact of remaining the whole day exposed to an African sun, with the thermometer at thirty-eight, is rather creditable on the part of a wretched critic, who, on this occasion, had paid for his place and did not wish to lose it.

The asientos de sombra (places in the shade) hurled all kinds of sarcasms at us; they sent us the water-merchants, to prevent us from catching fire; they begged permission to light their cigars at our fiery noses, and kindly offered us a little oil in order that we might be properly fried. We answered as successfully as our means would allow, and when the shade, shifting as the day advanced, delivered up one of our tormentors to the rays of the sun, the event was celebrated by shouts of laughter and an endless tumult of applause.

Thanks to some jars full of water, some dozen oranges, and two fans in constant movement, we managed not to catch fire, and we were not quite roasted, nor struck by apoplexy when the musicians took possession of the places set apart for them, and the picket of cavalry proceeded to clear the arena for a whole host of muchachos and mozos, who, by some inexplicable process, found places among the general mass of spectators, although, mathematically speaking, there was not room for one more; under certain circumstances, however, a crowd is marvellously elastic.

An immense sigh of satisfaction proceeded from the fifteen thousand breasts that were now relieved from the irksome necessity of waiting any longer. The members of the Ayuntamiento were greeted with frantic applause, and on their entering their box, the orchestra struck up the national airs—Yo que soy Contrabandista and the march of Riego—the whole assemblage singing them at the same time, clapping their hands, and stamping their feet.

We do not here pretend to give a detailed account of a bull-fight. We have already had occasion to describe one with conscientious accuracy, during our sojourn in Madrid, and shall therefore only relate the principal events and remarkable instances of skill that occurred in the course of the performances, during which the same combatants appeared three days without resting, twenty-four bulls were killed and ninety-six horses stretched dead upon the arena, without any accident happening to any of the combatants, with the exception of one capeador, whose arm was slightly gored by a bull's horn; his wound, however, was not dangerous, and did not prevent his appearance in the circus the following day.

At five o'clock precisely the gates of the arena were thrown open, and the actors in the drama about to be presented proceeded in procession round the circus. At the head were the three picadores, Antonio Sanchez and Jose Trigo, both from Seville, and Francisco Briones, from Puerto Real, with their hand upon their hip and their lance upon their foot, as grave as Roman conquerors going in triumph to the Capitol. On the saddles of their horses was the name of the proprietor of the circus, Antonio Maria Alvarez, formed with gilt-headed nails. After them came the capeadores or chulos, with their cocked-hats and gaudy-coloured mantles; while the banderilleros, dressed like Figaro, followed close behind. In the rear of the cortége, in majestic isolation, marched the two matadores,—the swords, as they are styled in Spain,—Montes de Chiclana, and Jose Parra de Madrid. Montes was always accompanied by his own faithful quadrille, a very important thing for the safety of the combatants; for in these times of political dissensions, it often happens that the Christino toreros will not assist the Carlist toreros when in danger, and vice versâ. The procession was significantly terminated by the team of mules destined to remove the dead bulls and horses.

The conflict was about to commence. The Alguazil, dressed in everyday costume, and whose duty it was to carry the keys of the toril to the groom of the circus, had a spirited horse, which he managed very awkwardly, prefacing the tragedy with rather an amusing farce. He first lost his hat, and then his stirrups. His trousers, which had no straps, were rucked up as far as his knees in the most grotesque fashion, and, in consequence of the door having been maliciously opened for the bull's entrance, before the alguazil had had time to quit the circus, his fright was increased to a fearful pitch, rendering him still more ridiculous by the contortions he threw himself into on his steed. He was not, however, unhorsed, to the great disappointment of the vulgar; the bull, dazzled by the torrents of light which inundated the arena, did not instantly perceive him, but allowed him to escape without injury. It was therefore in the midst of an immense Homeric and Olympian fit of laughter that the fight began, but silence was soon restored, the bull having ripped up the horse of the first picador, and thrown the second.

All our attention was engrossed by Montes, whose name is popular all through Spain, and whose feats of daring form the subject of a thousand wonderful stories. Montes was born at Chiclana, in the neighbourhood of Cadiz. He is from forty to forty-three years of age, and rather above the middle size. He has a serious cast of countenance, a deliberate, measured walk, and a pale olive complexion, with nothing remarkable about him save the mobility of his eyes, which appear to be the only part of his impassible face endowed with life; he seems to be more supple than robust, and owes his success more to his coolness, the justness of his glance, and his profound study of the art, than to his muscular force. At the very first step a bull takes in the arena, Montes can tell whether he is short or long sighted, whether he is clear or dark; that is to say, whether he attacks frankly or has recourse to stratagem, whether he is de muchas piernas or aplomado, light or heavy, and whether he will shut his eyes to execute the cogida, or keep them open. Thanks to these observations, made with the rapidity of thought, Montes is always enabled to vary his mode of defence as circumstances require. However, as he carries his cool temerity to the greatest possible lengths, he has during his career received a considerable number of thrusts, as the scar down his cheek proves, and, on several occasions he has been borne out of the circus grievously wounded.

On this occasion, he wore an extremely elegant and magnificent suit of apple-green silk embroidered with silver, for Montes is a rich man, and, if he still continues to appear in the arena, it is from a love of the art, and the want of strong emotions; his fortune amounts to more than 50,000 duros, which is a considerable sum for him to possess, if we consider what the matadores have to pay for their dress, a complete suit costing from 1,500 to 2,000 francs, and, also the perpetual journeys they are always making, accompanied by their quadrille, from one town to another.