Wanderings in Spain

by Théophile Gautier

Montes is not like other espadas, contented with despatching a bull when the signal of his death is given. He is always on the watch, he directs the combat, and comes to the succour of the picadores and chulos in peril. More than one torero owes his life to Montes' intervention. One bull, that would not allow his attention to be diverted by the cloaks that the chulos were waving before him, had ripped up the belly of a horse that he had thrown down, and was endeavouring to do the same to the rider, who was protected by the carcass of his steed. Montes seized the savage beast by the tail, and in the midst of the frantic applause of the whole assembly, caused him to waltz round several times, to his infinite disgust; thus allowing time for the picador to be carried off. Sometimes he will place himself motionless before the bull, with his arms crossed on his breast, and his eye fixed, and the monster will suddenly stop short, subjugated by his opponent's look, which is as bright, as sharp, and as cold as the blade of a sword. A feat of this description is followed by shouts, bellowings, vociferations, stamping of feet and thunders of bravoes, of which it is impossible to form any idea; a feeling of delirium seizes every one present, a general giddiness causes the fifteen thousand spectators, intoxicated with aguardiente, sunshine, and blood, to reel upon their seats; handkerchiefs are waved, and hats thrown up into the air, while Montes alone, calm in the midst of this multitude, enjoys in silence the profound feeling of joy which he restrains within his own breast, merely bowing slightly like a man who is capable of performing many other feats of the same description. I can easily understand a man risking his life every minute for applause like this; it is not dear at the price. O ye singers with golden throats, ye fairy-footed danseuses, ye actors of all descriptions, ye emperors and ye poets, ye who fancy that you have excited a people's enthusiasm, you never heard Montes applauded!

Sometimes the spectators themselves beg him to execute one of those daring feats in which he is always successful. A pretty girl says to him, as she blows him a kiss, "Come, Señor Montes, come, Paquirro" (which is his christian name), "I know how gallant you are; do some trifle, una cosita, for a lady." Whereupon Montes leaps over the bull, placing his head on the animal's neck as he does so, or else, shaking his cape before the animal's muzzle, by a rapid movement, wraps it round him so as to form an elegant piece of drapery with irreproachable folds; he then springs on one side, and lets the bull, who is unable to stop himself, pass by.

The manner in which Montes kills the bull is remarkable for its precision, certainty, and ease: with him all idea of danger ceases; he is so collected and so completely master of himself, he appears so sure of success, that the combat seems no longer to be serious, and, perhaps, loses somewhat of its exciting nature. It is impossible to fear for his life; he strikes the bull where he likes, when he likes, and how he likes. The chances of the conflict become somewhat too unequal; a less skilful matador will sometimes produce a more startling effect by the risks and danger which he incurs. This will, perhaps, appear to be a piece of refined barbarity; but aficionados, and all those persons who have been present at a bull-fight, and felt interested in favour of some particularly courageous, frank bull, will most certainly share our sentiments. A circumstance which happened on the last day of the performances will prove the truth of our assertion as surely as it proved, rather harshly, to Montes, how strictly impartial a Spanish public is both towards man and beast.

A magnificent black bull had just been let loose in the arena. The quick, decided manner in which he issued from the toril caused all the connoisseurs present to conceive the highest opinion of him. He possessed all the qualities requisite for a fighting bull; his horns were long, sharp, and well-curved; his clean-made, slim, and nervous legs, showed his extreme agility, while his broad dewlap and well-developed flanks gave proof of an immense amount of strength; indeed, he was called the Napoleon of the herd, that being the only name capable of conveying a suitable idea of his incontestable superiority. Without hesitating a single instant, he rushed at the picador stationed near the tablas, overthrew him, together with his horse, who was killed on the spot, and then attacked the second picador, who was not more fortunate, and whom the assistants had scarcely time to help over the barrier, severely bruised and injured by his fall. In less than a quarter of an hour, six horses lay ripped open on the ground; the chulos only shook their coloured capes at a very long distance off, without losing sight of the barrier, over which they leaped immediately Napoleon gave signs of approaching. Montes himself appeared troubled, and on one occasion had actually placed his foot on the ledge of the tablas, ready to jump over to the other side, in case he was too closely pressed; a thing he had not done during the two preceding days. The delight of the spectators was made manifest by the most noisy exclamations, and the most flattering compliments for the bull were heard from every mouth. He shortly afterwards performed a new feat of strength, which wound up the enthusiasm to its highest possible pitch.

A sobre-saliente (double) de picador—for the two principal ones were too much injured to appear again, was awaiting, lance in rest, the attack of the terrible Napoleon; the latter, without paying any attention to the wound he received in the shoulder, caught the horse under the belly, and, with one movement of his head, caused him to fall with his fore-legs on the top of the tablas; then, raising his hind quarters by a second movement, sent him and his master completely over the barrier into the corridor of refuge which runs all round the arena.

So great an exploit caused thunders of applause. The bull was master of the field, galloping about victoriously, and amusing himself, in default of any other adversaries, by tossing into the air the dead bodies of the horses he had already gored. The supply of victims was exhausted, and there were no more horses in the stables of the circus to mount the picadores. The banderilleros were seated astride upon the tablas, not daring to harass with their darts, ornamented with paper, so redoubtable an adversary, whose rage most certainly stood in no need of artificial excitement. The spectators became impatient at this pause in the proceedings, and vociferated, Las banderillas! las banderillas! Fuego al alcade! To the stake with the alcade for not giving the necessary order! At last, at a sign from the director of the games, one banderillero detached himself from the rest, and planted two darts in the neck of the furious animal, immediately retreating as speedily as possible, but yet not quickly enough, as the bull's horn grazed his arm, and tore up his sleeve. On seeing this, and in spite of the hooting and vociferations of the public, the alcade gave the death order, and made a sign to Montes to take his muleta and his sword, contrary to all the rules of Tauromachy, which require that a bull shall have received at least four pairs of banderillas before being delivered up to the sword of the matador.

Instead of advancing, according to his usual custom, into the middle of the arena, Montes posted himself at the distance of some twenty paces from the barrier, in order to have a place of refuge in case of failure. He was very pale, and, without indulging in any of those sportive acts and tricks of courage which have procured him the admiration of all Spain, he displayed the scarlet muleta, and called the bull, who required no pressing to come up to him. Montes made two or three passes with his muleta, holding his sword horizontally on a level with the monster's eyes; suddenly the bull fell down, as if struck by lightning, and after giving one convulsive start, expired. The sword had pierced his forehead and entered his brain, contrary to the rules of the art, which require the matador to pass his arm between the horns of the animal, and stab him between the nape of the neck and the shoulders, thereby augmenting the danger of the man, but giving some chance to his four-footed adversary.

When the public understood the blow, for all this had passed with the rapidity of thought, one universal shout of indignation rose from the tendidos to the palcos; a storm of abuse and hisses, accompanied by the most incredible tumult, burst forth on all sides. "Butcher, assassin, brigand, thief, galley-slave, headsman!" were the gentlest terms employed. "A centa Montes! To the stake with Montes! To the dogs with Montes! Death to the alcade!" were the cries which were everywhere heard. Never did I behold such a degree of fury, and I blush to own that I shared in it myself. Mere vociferations, however, did not long suffice; the crowd commenced throwing at the poor wretch fans, hats, sticks, jars full of water, and pieces of the benches torn up for the purpose. There was still one more bull to kill, but his death took place unperceived, in the midst of the horrible tumult. It was Jose Para, the second espada, who despatched the bull, with two very skilful thrusts. As for Montes, he was livid; his face turned green with rage, and his teeth made the blood start from his white lips, although he displayed great calmness, and leant with affected gracefulness on the hilt of his sword, the point of which, reddened against the rules, he had wiped in the sand.

On what does popularity depend! On the first and second days of the performance no person would ever have conceived it possible that so sure an artist, one so certain of his public as Montes, could be punished with such severity for an infraction of the rules, which was, doubtless, called for by the most imperious necessity, on account of the extraordinary agility, strength, and fury, of the animal. When the fight was concluded, he got into a calessin followed by his quadrille, and swearing by all that he held sacred that he would never put his foot in Malaga again. I do not know whether he has kept his word, and remembered the insults of the last day longer than the triumphs and applause of the two preceding ones. At present, I am of opinion that the public of Malaga was unjust towards the great Montes de Chiclana, all whose blows had been superbly aimed, and who, in every case of danger, had displayed heroic coolness, and admirable address, so much so, indeed, that the delighted audience had made him a present of all the bulls he killed, and allowed him to cut off an ear of each, to show that they were his property, and could not be claimed either by the hospital or the proprietor of the circus.

We returned to our parador, giddy, intoxicated, and saturated with violent emotion, hearing nothing, as we passed along the streets, but the praises of the bull, and imprecations against Montes.