When all the bull-fighting company have advanced and passed the president, a trumpet sounds; the president throws the key of the cell of the bull to the alguacil or policeman, which he ought to catch in his feathered hat. The different performers now take their places as fielders do at a cricket match. The bull-fight is a tragedy in three acts, lasts about twenty minutes, and each consists of precisely the same routine. From six to eight bulls are usually killed during each “funcion”; occasionally another is conceded to popular clamor, which here will take no denial.
When the door of the cell is opened, the public curiosity to see the first rush out is intense; and as none knows whether the bull will behave well or ill, all are anxious to judge of his character from the way he behaves upon first entering the ring. The animal, turned from his dark cell into glare and crowd, feels the novelty of his position; but is happily ignorant of his fate, for die he must, however skillful or brave his fight. This death does not diminish the sustained interest of the spectators as the varied chances in the progress of the acts offer infinite incidents and unexpected combinations. In the first of the three acts the picadores are the chief performers; three of them are now drawn up, one behind the other, to the right, at the tablas, the barrier between the arena and spectators; each sits bolt upright on his Rosinante, with his lance in rest, and as valiant as Don Quixote. They wear the broad-brimmed Thessalian hat; their legs are cased with iron and leather, which gives a heavy look; and the right one, which is presented to the bull, is the best protected. This greave is termed la mona—the more scientific name is gregoriana, from the inventor, Don Gregorio Gallo—just as we say a spencer, from the noble earl. The spear, garrocha, is defensive rather than offensive; the blade ought not to exceed one inch; the sheathing is, however, pushed back when the picador anticipates an awkward customer. When the bull charges, the picador, holding the lance under his right arm, pushes to the right, and turns his horse to the left; the bull, if turned, passes on to the next picador. This is called recibir, to receive the point. If a bull is turned at the first charge, he seldom comes up well again. A bold bull is sometimes cold and shy at first, but grows warmer by being punished. Those who are very active, those who paw the ground, are not much esteemed; they are hooted by the populace, and execrated as goats, little calves, cows, which is no compliment to a bull; and, however unskilled in bucolics, all Spaniards are capital judges of bulls in the ring. Such animals as show the white feather are loathed, as depriving the public of their just rights, and are treated with insult, and, moreover, soundly beaten as they pass near the tablas, by forests of sticks, la cachiporra. The stick of the elegant majo, when going to the bull-fight, is sui generis, and is called la chivata; taper, and between four and five feet long, it terminates in a lump or knob, while the top is forked, into which the thumb is inserted. This chivata is peeled, like the rods of Laban, in alternate rings, black and white or red. The lower classes content themselves with a common shillalah; one with a knob at the end is preferred, as administering a more impressive whack. While a slow bull is beaten and abused, a murderous bull, duro chocante carnicero y pegajoso, who kills horses, upsets men, and clears the plaza, becomes deservedly a universal favorite; the conquering hero is hailed with “Viva toro! viva toro! bravo toro!” Long life is wished to the poor beast by those who know he must be killed in ten minutes.
The horses destined for the plaza are of no value; this renders Spaniards, who have an eye chiefly to what a thing is worth, indifferent to their sufferings. If you remark how cruel it is to “let that poor horse struggle in death’s agonies,” they will say, “Ah que! na vale na” (“Oh! he is worth nothing”). When his tail quivers in the last death-struggle, the spasm is remarked as a jest, mira que cola! The torture of the horse is the blot of the bull-fight: no lover of the noble beast can witness his sufferings without disgust; the fact of these animals being worth nothing in a money point of view increases the danger to the rider; it renders them slow, difficult to manage, and very unlike those of the ancient combats, when the finest steeds were chosen, quick as lightning, turning at touch, and escaping the deadly rush: the eyes of these poor animals, who would not otherwise face the bull, are bound with a handkerchief like criminals about to be executed; thus they await blindfold the fatal rip which is to end their life of misery. If only wounded, the gash is sewed up and stopped with tow, as a leak! and life is prolonged for new agonies. When the poor brute is dead at last, his carcass is stripped as in a battle. The high-class Spaniard admits and regrets the cruelty to the horses, but justifies it as a necessity. The bull, says he, is a tame, almost a domestic animal, and would never fight at all unless first roused by the sight of blood. The wretched horse is employed for this purpose as a corpus vile; and the bull, having gored him once or twice, becomes “game.”
The picadores are subject to hair-breadth escapes and severe falls: few have a sound rib left. The bull often tosses horse and rider in one run; and when the victims fall on the ground, exhausts his rage on his prostrate enemies, till lured away by the glittering cloaks of the chulos, who come to the assistance of the fallen picador. These horsemen often show marvelous skill in managing to place their horses as a rampart between them and the bull. When these deadly struggles take place, when life hangs on a thread, the amphitheater is peopled with heads. Every expression of anxiety, eagerness, fear, horror, and delight is stamped on speaking countenances. These feelings are wrought up to a pitch when the horse, maddened with wounds and terror, plunging in the death-struggle, the crimson streams of blood streaking his sweat-whitened body, flies from the infuriated bull, still pursuing, still goring: then is displayed the nerve, presence of mind, and horsemanship of the undismayed picador. It is, in truth, a piteous sight to see the poor dying horses treading out their entrails, yet saving their riders unhurt. The miserable steed, when dead, is dragged out, leaving a bloody furrow on the sand. The picador, if wounded, is carried out and forgotten—los muertos y idos, no tienen amigos (the dead and absent have no friends)—a new combatant fills the gap, the battle rages, he is not missed, fresh incidents arise, and no time is left for regret or reflection. The bull bears on his neck a ribbon, la devisa; this is the trophy which is most acceptable to the querida of a buen torero. The bull is the hero of the scene, yet, like Milton’s Satan, he is foredoomed and without reprieve. Nothing can save him from the certain fate which awaits all, whether brave or cowardly. The poor creatures sometimes endeavor in vain to escape, and leap over the barrier (barrera) into the tendido, among the spectators, upsetting sentinels, water-sellers, etc., and creating a most amusing hubbub. The bull which shows this craven turn—un tunante cobarde picaro—is not deemed worthy of a noble death, by the sword. He is baited, pulled down, and stabbed in the spine. A bull that flinches from death is scouted by all Spaniards, who neither beg for their own life nor spare that of a foe.
At the signal of the president, and sound of a trumpet, the second act commences with the chulos. This word chulo signifies, in the Arabic, a lad, a clown, as at our circus. They are picked young men, who commence in these parts their tauromachian career. The duty of this light division is to draw off the bull from the picador when endangered, which they do with their colored cloaks; their address and agility are surprising, they skim over the sand like glittering humming-birds, scarcely touching the earth. They are dressed, á lo majo, in short breeches, and without gaiters, just like Figaro in the opera of the “Barbiere de Sevilla.” Their hair is tied into a knot behind, mono, and inclosed in the once universal silk net, the redecilla—the identical reticulum—of which so many instances are seen on ancient Etruscan vases. No bull-fighter ever arrives at the top of his profession without first excelling as a chulo (apprentice); then he begins to be taught how to entice the bull, llamar al toro, and to learn his mode of attack, and how to parry it. The most dangerous moment is when these chulos venture out into the middle of the plaza, and are followed by the bull to the barrier, in which there is a small ledge, on which they place their foot and vault over, and a narrow slit in the boarding, through which they slip. Their escapes are marvelous; they seem really sometimes, so close is the run, to be helped over the fence by the bull’s horns. Occasionally some curious suertes are exhibited by chulos and expert toreros, which do not strictly belong to the regular drama; such as the suerte de la capa, where the bull is braved with no other defense but a cloak; another, the salto tras cuerno, when the performer, as the bull lowers his head to toss him, places his foot between his horns and is lifted over him. The chulos, in the second act, are the sole performers; another exclusive part is to place small barbed darts, banderillas, which are ornamented with cut paper of different colors, on each side of the neck of the bull. The banderilleros go right up to him, holding the arrows at the shaft’s end, and pointing the barbs at the bull; just when the animal stoops to toss them, they dart them into his neck and slip aside. The service appears to be more dangerous than it is, but it requires a quick eye, a light hand and foot. The barbs should be placed exactly on each side—a pretty pair, a good match—buenos pares. Sometimes these arrows are provided with crackers, which, by means of a detonating powder, explode the moment they are affixed in the neck, banderillas de fuego. The agony of the tortured animal frequently makes him bound like a kid, to the frantic delight of the people. A very clever banderillero will sometimes seat himself in a chair, wait for the bull’s approach, plant the arrows in his neck, and slip away, leaving the chair to be tossed into the air. This feat is uncommon, and gains immense applause.
The last trumpet now sounds; the arena is cleared for the third act; the espada, the executioner, the man of death, stands before his victim alone, and thus concentrates in himself an interest previously frittered among the number of combatants. On entering, he addresses the president, and throws his montera, his cap, to the ground, and swears he will do his duty. In his right hand he holds a long straight Toledan blade, la spada; in his left he waves the muleta, the red flag, the engano, the lure, which ought not (so Romero laid down) to be so large as the standard of a religious brotherhood (cofradia), nor so small as a lady’s pocket-handkerchief (panuelito de senorita): it should be about a yard square. The color is red, because that best irritates the bull and conceals blood. There is always a spare matador, in case of accidents, which may happen in the best regulated bull-fights; he is called media espada, or sobresaliente. The espada (el diestro, the cunning in fence in olden books) advances to the bull, in order to entice him toward him—citarlo á la suerte, á la jurisdiccion del engano—to subpœna him, to get his head into chancery, as our ring would say; he next rapidly studies his character, plays with him a little, allows him to run once or twice on the muleta, and then prepares for the coup de grace. There are several sorts of bulls—levantados, the bold and rushing; parados, the slow and sly; aplomados, the heavy and leaden. The bold are the easiest to kill; they rush, shutting their eyes, right on to the lure or flag. The worst of all are the sly bulls; when they are marrajos, cunning and not running straight, when they are revueltos, when they stop in their charge and run at the man instead of the flag, they are most dangerous. The espada who is long killing his bull, or shows the white feather, is insulted by the jeers of the impatient populace; he nevertheless remains cool and collected, in proportion as the spectators and bull are mad. There are many suertes or ways of killing the bull; the principal is la suerte de frente—the espada receives the charge on his sword, lo mato de un recibido. The volapie, or half-volley, is beautiful, but dangerous; the matador takes him by advancing, corriendoselo. A firm hand, eye, and nerve form the essence of the art; the sword enters just between the left shoulder and the blade. In nothing is the real fancy so fastidious as in the exact nicety of the placing this death-wound; when the thrust is true—buen estoque—death is instantaneous, and the bull, vomiting forth blood, drops at the feet of his conqueror, who, drawing the sword, waves it in triumph over the fallen foe. It is indeed the triumph of knowledge over brute force; all that was fire, fury, passion, and life, falls in an instant, still forever.
The team of mules now enter, glittering with flags, and tinkling with bells, whose gay decorations contrast with the stern cruelty and blood; the dead bull is carried off at a rapid gallop, which always delights the populace. The espada wipes the hot blood from his sword, and bows with admirable sangfroid to the spectators, who throw their hats into the arena, a compliment which he returns by throwing them back again.
When a bull will not run at all at the picador, or at the muleta, he is called a toro abanto, and the media luna, the half-moon, is called for; this is the cruel ancient Oriental mode of houghing the cattle (Joshua xi. 6). The instrument is the Iberian bident—a sharp steel crescent placed in a long pole. The cowardly blow is given from behind; and when the poor beast is crippled, an assistant, the cachetero, pierces the spinal marrow with his cachete—puntilla, or pointed dagger—with a traitorous stab from behind. This is the usual method of slaughtering cattle in Spain. To perform all these operations (el desjarretar) is considered beneath the dignity of the matadores or espadas; some of them, however, will kill the bull by plunging the point of their sword in the vertebræ, el descabellar—the danger gives dignity to the difficult feat. The identical process obtains in each of the fights that follow. After a short collapse, a fresh object raises a new desire, and the fierce sport is renewed through eight repetitions; and not till darkness covers the heavens do the mob retire to sacrifice the rest of the night to Bacchus and Venus, with a passing homage to the knife.
APPENDIX
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLES