Bull-fights are still much in vogue in Spain , but among the Spaniards of the better classes, there are few who are not ashamed to confess their partiality for so cruel an amusement. They seek, therefore, many grave reasons to justify it. For instance, it is a national amusement. This word national would alone be sufficient, for the patriotism of the anti-chamber is as strong in Spain as in France. Then, say they, the Romans were still more barbarous than we, because they pitted men against men. And the economists come to their aid with the argument, that agriculture profits by the custom, for the high price of fighting bulls encourages the owners to raise them in large numbers. You must know that all bulls have not the courage to rush upon men and horses, and that out of twenty you will hardly find one brave enough to figure in a circus ; the nineteen others answer for the farms.
The only argument which they are afraid to advance, and yet which would be unanswerable, is this — that the spectacle, whether cruel or not, is so interesting, so attractive, and causes such powerful emotion, that it is impossible to give it up after one has conquered the repugnance of a first sitting. Strangers, who enter the circus for the first time with a degree of horror, and only to acquit themselves of a duty as faithful travelers — strangers, I say, soon become as passionately fond of bull-baiting as the Spaniards themselves. We must confess, to the shame of humanity, that war itself, with all its horrors, possesses irresistible charms to those who contemplate ii from its borders.
St. Augustin relates that, in his youth he had an extreme repugnance for gladiatorial combats, and had never witnessed one. Being induced by a friend to accompany him to one of these splendid butcheries, he swore to himself that he would keep his eyes closed during the whole exhibition. For a while he kept his promise manfully, and managed to think of something else ; but on a shout raised by the whole assembly at the fall of a celebrated gladiator, he opened his eyes ; he opened them, and could not close them. From that time and to the period of his conversion, he was one of the most devoted amateurs of the sports of the circus.
There are circuses in almost all the great cities of Spain. These edifices are very simply, not to say rudely constructed. They are in general nothing but great plank barracks — and the amphitheatre of Ronda is cited as a wonder, because it is built entirely of stone. It is the most beautiful in Spain, as the Chateau of Thunder-ten-trenkh was the most beautiful in Westphalia, because it had a gate and windows. But what matters the decoration of a theatre, when the spectacle is attractive ?
The circus of Madrid can contain about seven thousand spectators, who enter and leave without confusion, by a large number of doors. They sit on benches of stone or wood ; some boxes have chairs. That of his Catholic majesty is the only one elegantly ornamented.
The arena is surrounded by a very strong palisade, about six feet high. About two feet from the ground, and on both sides of the palisades, extends a projection of wood, a kind of footstep or stirrup, which serves to assist the pursued bull-fighter in leaping the barrier. A narrow gallery separates it from the seats of the spectators, which are also protected by a double cord fastened by strong pickets. This precaution has been practised but a few years. A bull had not only leaped the barrier — a matter of not uncommon occurrence — but had even thrown itself among the seats, and killed or wounded several of the spectators. The tight cord is thought sufficient to prevent the recurrence of such an accident.
Four gates open into the arena. One communicates with the stable; another leads to the shambles, where they skin and dissect the bulls. The other two are used by the human actors in this tragedy.
There are two classes of bull-fighters : the picadors, who fight on horseback and with spears ; and the chulos, on foot, who har- rass the bull by shaking drapery, of various brilliant colors. Among the last are the banderilleros and the matadors, of whom I shall again speak. All wear the Andalusian costume, very like that of Figaro in the Barber of Seville ; but, instead of breeches and silk stockings, the picadors wear pantaloons of thick hide, ribbed with wood and iron, to protect their legs and thighs from the horns of the bull. On foot, they walk straddling like a pair of compasses ; and when thrown, they can hardly raise themselves without the aid of the chulos. Their seats are very high, after the Turkish fashion, with stirrups of iron, like a shoe, entirely covering the foot. To guide their horses, they wear spurs with points six inches long. Their spear is large, very heavy, and topped with a very sharp point; but, as the pleasure must be economized, this point is furnished with a bandage of cord, which allows but about an inch of steel to penetrate the body of the bull.
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Well — the picadors have taken their places. There are usually two mounted in the arena ; two or three others hold themselves in readiness to take their places, in case of any accident, such as death or severe wounds. A dozen chulos, on foot, are distributed about the place, within reach, if their assistance be required.
The bull, which has been previously irritated in his cage, by picking with the pike and rubbing with nitric acid, comes forth furiously. Ordinarily, he passes by a bound to the centre of the arena, and there stops short, astounded by the noise and spectacle about him. He wears on his neck a knot of ribbons, fastened by a little hook, which enters the skin. The color of these ribbons indicates the drove to which he belongs ; but an experienced amateur knows at a glance to what province and race he belongs.
The chulos draw near, shake their brilliant capes, and try to draw the bull towards one of the picadors. If the beast is brave, he attacks without hesitation. The picador, holding his horse well collected, is placed, his spear under his arm, directly in the face of the bull ; he seizes the moment when he lowers his head, in readiness for a blow with his horns, to give him a thrust in the nape of the neck, but nowhere else ; he bends on this blow all the strength of his body, and at the same time gives the horse a direction to the left, so that he may leave the bull on the right. If all these movements are well executed, if the picador is strong, and his horse manageable, the bull, borne along by his own impetuosity, passes him without touching. Then it is the duty of the chulo to engage the bull, while the picador has time to recover himself. But the animal often too well distinguishes his enemy ; he turns abruptly, overtakes the horse, plunges his horns into his belly, and overthrows him with his rider. In this event he is also rescued by the chulos ; some raise the fallen combatant, others divert the bull by throwing their capes at his head, draw him upon themselves, and escape him by gaining the barrier, which they leap with astonishing agility. The Spanish bulls run as swiftly as a horse ; and if the chulo were any distance from the barrier, he could hardly escape. It is seldom, therefore, that the rider, whose life always depends on the skill of the chulos, trust themselves in the centre of the arena ; when they do, it is thought a mark of extraordinary boldness.
Having once regained his feet, the picador remounts his horse, if the horse can again rise. It matters little that the poor beast has lost torrents of blood ; if he can stand, he must face the bull. If he remains utterly prostrated, the picador leaves the arena and returns immediately with a fresh horse.
I have said that the spears can only give a slight wound to the bull, and that they have no other effect than to irritate him. However, the onsets of the horse and rider, his own action, especially the shock that he suffers in stopping himself short on his hams, soon weary him out. Often, also, the pain of the spearwounds overcome him, and then he is afraid again to attack the horses — or, to speak the jargon of the bull-fight, he refuses to enter. However, if a bull of vigor, he has already killed four or five horses. The picadors now rest themselves, and the signal is given to throw the banderillas.
These are staffs, about two and a half feet long, terminating in a sharp and barbed point. The chulos hold one of these darts in each hand. The surest mode of giving them effect is to advance quietly behind the bull, and then to excite him by striking these banderillas against each other with a sudden clash. Astonished, the bull suddenly turns and attacks his enemy without hesitation. At the moment when he almost touches him, as he lowers his head to strike, the chulo at once thrusts the two darts one on each side of the neck — a feat which he can perform only by standing a moment directly opposite the bull, very near, and almost between his horns ; then he slips aside to put himself out of harm’s way. A mistake, a movement of doubt or fear, would be his destruction. Connoisseurs regard the offices of the banderillo as the least dangerous of all. If he fall by accident, in planting his dart, he need not attempt to rise ; he remains quiet in the place where he has fallen. The bull but seldom strikes on the ground, not from generosity, but because in the onset he closes his eyes, and passes the man without seeing him. Sometimes, however, he stops and smells him, to ascertain whether he is alive ; then, recoiling some paces, he lowers his head to raise him on his horns ; but the comrades of the banderillo surround him, and engage him so busily that he is obliged to abandon the pretended carcass.
When the bull has shown cowardice, that is, when he has not gallantly received four blows of the spear — for that is the requisite number, the spectators — sovereign judges — condemn him by acclamation to a process, which is at once a punishment and a means of exciting his fury. On all sides they raise the cry of ‘ Fire ! Fire !’ Then they distribute among the chulos — instead of their ordinary arms — banderillas, whose hafts are surrounded with fire-works. The point is provided with a bit of lighted tinder. As soon as it penetrates the skin, the tinder is forced back upon the fire-works ; they ignite, and the flame, which turns toward the bull, burns him to the quick, and drives him to leap and bound about, to the great amusement of the spectators. It is indeed a wonderful exhibition — the sight of this enormous animal, foaming with rage, shaking the burning banderillas, and driving about enveloped in fire and smoke. Poets to the contrary notwithstanding, I must say that, of all animals that ever fell under my observation, none has less expression in his eyes than the bull. None changes the expression less ; for his is almost always that of brutal and savage stupidity. He rarely indicates his suffering by groans ; wounds irritate or frighten him; but — pardon me the phrase — he never seems to reflect on his fate ; he never weeps like the stag ; consequently, he never inspires pity, except when it is excited by his courage.
When the bull has three or four banderillas fixed in bis neck, it is time to finish with him. A roll of drums is heard ; wrhen one of the chulos, designated beforehand, advances from the group of his comrades. He is the matador. Richly clad in garments of gold and silk, he carries a long sword, and a scarlet mantle attached to a staff, that he may the more easily manage it. This mantle is called the muleta. He advances under the box of the president, and with a profound reverence asks permission to kill the bull. This formality is observed but once for the whole exhibition. The president nods assent. Then the matador raises a »ira, makes a pirouette, throws his hat on the ground, and advances to encounter the bull.
Now to kill a bull handsomely, it is desirable to understand his character. On this knowledge depends not merely the fame, but the life of the matador. We can suppose that there are as many different characters among bulls as among men ; however, they are separated into two divisions: the clear and the obscure. I speak here the language of the circus. The clear bulls attack openly ; the obscure, on the contrary, resort to a variety of ruses to entrap their enemy. This last class are exceedingly dangerous.
Before trying to strike the bull with his sword, the matador presents the muleta, excites him, and observes carefully if he rushes openly forward as soon as he perceives it, or if he approaches gently to gain ground, and not to rush upon his adversary till he seems too near to be able to avoid the shock. We frequently see a bull shake his head with an air of menace, grate the ground with his foot without advancing, or even recoil with a slow pace, trying to draw his enemy towards the middle of the arena, where he could not escape him. Others, instead of rushing on in a straight line, approach by a roundabout course, slowly, and affecting fatigue ; but when they feel satisfied with the distance, they spring forward with the swiftness and directness of an arrow.
To any one who understands the matter, it is very interesting to witness the approaches of the matador and the bull, who, like two skilful generals, seem to divine each other’s intentions, and every instant vary their manoeuvres. A motion of the head, a side glance, the sinking of an ear, are, to an experienced matador, unequivocal signs of the intentions of his enemy. At last, the impatient bull shoots against the red drapery, with which the matador has enveloped himself. His face is such that he would batter down a wall with his horns ; but the man avoids him by a pliant movement of the body ; he disappears as by enchantment, and leaves him only the light drapery, which, in escaping, he throws over his horns. The impetuosity of the bull makes him pass his enemy some distance ; he then stops himself short by stiffening his hams, and these sudden and violent reactions are so exhausting, that, if the combat were prolonged, they would alone be sufficient to cause his death. This led to the remark of Romero, the famous professor, that a good matador ought to kill eight bulls by seven blows of his sword. One of the eight would die of fatigue and rage.
After many passes, when the matador thinks that he understands his antagonist, he prepares to give him his last blow. Taking a firm attitude, he places himself directly in front of the bull, and remains immovably at a suitable distance. The right hand, holding a sword, is raised to the height of his head ; the left, extended, holds the muleta, which, almost touching the ground, induces the bull to lower his head. It is at this moment that he inflicts the fatal blow, with all the strength of his arm, aided by the weight of his body and the impetuosity of the bull. The sword, three feet long, often enters to the very hilt; and if the blow is well directed, the man has nothing more to fear. The bull stops short; the blood hardly flows ; he raises his head ; his legs tremble and he falls suddenly, like a weight of lead. Then, from all the benches, rise the deafening vivas ; handkerchiefs are waved ; hats are thrown into the arena, and the victorious hero kisses his hand modestly to the spectators on all sides.
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It has been observed that almost all the bulls have a place in the circle to which they always return. It is called their querencia. Usually it is the gate by which they enter the arena
We frequently see the bull bearing the fatal weapon in his neck — the hilt only appearing above his shoulder—traversing the arena at a slow pace, disdaining the clnilos and their draperies, with which they pursue him. He thinks only of dying at his ease. He seeks the place that he has taken a fancy to, kneels. lies down, stretches out his head, and dies tranquilly, if the blow of a poniard does not come to hasten his end.
If the bull refuses fight, the matador runs towards him, and. always at the moment when the animal wavers his head, he pierces him with his sword ; but if he keep his head erect, or still flees, it is necessary to employ a more cruel method for his death. A man, armed with a long pole, terminating in a sharp iron, shaped like a crescent, strikes him, assassin-like, from behind, and when he is prostrate, completes the work with his poniard. It is the only episode of the combat at which every one revolts. Fortunately, it is seldom necessary to resort to it.
A flourish of trumpets announces the death. Three coach- mules then enter the circus at a full trot; a knot of cords is fixed between the horns of the bull, a hook is passed through it, and the mules gallop from the arena, in two minutes, the carcasses of the horses and the bull disappear from the arena.
Each combat lasts about twenty minutes, and usually they kill about eight bulls in an afternoon. If the entertainment has been but indifferent, and the public demand it, the president of the exhibition usually permits a supplement of two or three courses.
From “A Bull-Fight in Madrid, The New-England Magazine, Volume IX, July-December, Boston, Eastburn’s Press, 1835, pag. 252-62. To read the original and unabridged text: http://books.google.it/books?id=0CcAAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA252&dq=bull+fight&lr=&as_brr=1&ei=VTWsSZGtMIjYNdPtnJIF#PPA252,M1
