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Gautier Théophile
Wanderings in Spain

The mountains continued to tower higher and higher, and when we had ascended one, another, which we had not before seen, rose up before us. The mules were no longer equal to their task, and we were under the necessity of procuring a team of oxen, which gave us an opportunity of alighting, and performing the rest of the ascent on foot. I was actually intoxicated with the pure bracing air; I felt so light, so joyous, so full of enthusiasm, that I cried out and capered about like a young goat. I experienced a desire to throw myself down all the charming precipices, that looked so azure, so vapoury, and so velvet-like. I wished to be carried away by the cascades, to dip my feet in all the springs, to pluck a leaf from every fir, to roll myself in the glittering snow, to be mixed up with all the objects around, and melt like an atom in the immensity before me.

The lofty mountain crests glistened and sparkled in the sun, like the skirt of a dancing-girl's robe under its shower of silver spangles; others, again, had their peaks surrounded by clouds, and merged imperceptibly into the sky, for nothing resembles a mountain so much as a cloud. The whole view was composed of one succession of precipices and undulations. It is beyond the power of art, whether of the pen or the pencil, to convey an adequate idea of their different colours and forms. Mountains realize all that the imagination can picture of them, and this is no small praise. The only difference between the reality and the idea we form of it, arises from the fact of our fancying mountains look larger than they do. We are only aware of their enormous size by comparison. On gazing attentively, you perceive that what, at a distance, you took for a blade of grass, is a fir-tree sixty feet high.

At the turn of a bridge, admirably adapted for an ambuscade of brigands, we beheld a small column surmounted by a cross. It was erected to the memory of a poor devil who had ended his days in this narrow pass, in consequence of his having fallen a victim to manoairada (violent death). From time to time we met travelling maragatos, in their costume of the sixteenth century, which consists of a tight-fitting leathern doublet, fastened with a buckle, wide breeches, and a broad-brimmed hat. We also met several Valencianos, with their white linen drawers, like the robes of the Klephts, their handkerchief twisted about their head, their white gaiters bordered with blue, and without feet, after the fashion of the antique Knemis, and their long piece of cloth (capa de muestra), crossed diagonally by bright-coloured stripes, and draped over their shoulders in a very elegant manner. All that we could perceive of their flesh was as tawny as Florentine bronze. Then, again, we saw strings of mules, caparisoned in the most charming fashion, with bells and party-coloured fringe and housings, while their arrieros were armed with carbines. We were enchanted, for we had found an abundant supply of the picturesque of which we were in search.

The higher we ascended, the thicker and broader became the strips of snow; but a single sunbeam made the mountains stream with water, like a woman laughing in the midst of her tears; on every side little brooks, scattered about like the dishevelled tresses of some Naïad, and clearer than crystal, forced their way downwards. By dint of climbing, we reached the summit of the range, and seated ourselves on the plinth of a large granite lion, which is situated on the further side of the mountain, and marks the boundary of Old Castile; beyond this lion the province of New Castile commences.

We took a fancy to cull a delicious red flower, whose botanical name I do not know, and which was growing in the fissures of the mountain. This necessitated our clambering up on a rock, which is said to be the place where Philip II. used to sit to see how the works of the Escurial were advancing. Either the tradition is apocryphal, or Philip II. must have possessed most astoundingly good eyes.

The coach, which had been toiling up the precipitous steeps, at last rejoined us once more. The oxen were unyoked, and we descended the declivity in a gallop. We stopped to dine at Guadarrama, a little village crouched at the foot of the mountain. The only ornament of which it can boast is a granite fountain, erected by Philip II. At this place, by a strange reversion of the natural order of dinners, goats' milk soup was served up as dessert.

Madrid, like Rome, is surrounded by a desert; it is impossible to convey an idea of its aridity and desolation. There is not a tree, a drop of water, a green plant, or the least appearance of humidity; nothing but yellow sand and iron-grey rocks; and when you leave the mountain, you do not find even rocks, but large stones. From time to time you perceive a dusty venta, a cork-coloured spire, just showing its nose on the horizon, large melancholy-looking oxen dragging along one of the cars we have already described; a countryman on horseback, or on a mule, with a fierce expression of face, a carbine at his saddle-bow, and a sombrero slouched over his eyes, or long strings of whity-brown asses, carrying chopped straw, which is corded up with a network of small ropes, and that is all. The ass which walks first, the coronel, has always a small feather or rosette, indicating his superiority in the hierarchy of the long-eared tribe.

At the expiration of a few hours, which our impatience to reach our destination caused to appear still longer than they really were, we at last perceived Madrid with tolerable distinctness. A few minutes afterwards we entered the Spanish capital by the Puerta de Hierro, and drove along an avenue planted with dwarf pollards and bordered by small brick towers which serve to raise water. Talking of water, although the transition is not very well timed, I forgot to mention that we crossed the Manzanares by means of a bridge that was worthy of a river of a more serious description; we then passed by the Queen's Palace, one of those edifices which people are pleased to designate as tasty. The immense terraces on which it is raised give it rather a grand appearance.

After having undergone the visit of the custom-house officials, we proceeded to take up our quarters in the immediate vicinity of the Calle d'Alcala and of the Prado; the name of our street was the Calle del Caballero de Gracia, and our hotel was called La Fonda de la Amistad, where Madame Espartero, Duchess de la Vittoria, happened at that time to be staying. The first thing we did was to despatch Manuel, our temporary servant, a most ardent aficionado and tauromachist, to procure us tickets for the next bull-fight.

CHAPTER VI
MADRID

Bull-fights – The Arena – Calesins – Espadas, Chulos, Banderilleros, and Picadores Sevilla the Picador – La Estocada a Vuela Pies

We were obliged to wait two days. Never did two days appear so long to me, and in order to overcome my impatience, I read over more than ten times the bills posted up at the corners of the principal streets. These bills promised wonders; they announced eight bulls from the most famous pasturages; the picadores, Sevilla and Antonio Rodriguez; and the espadas, Juan Pastor, also called El Barbero, and Guillen; they wound up by prohibiting the public from throwing into the arena orange-peel or any other projectile capable of injuring the combatants.

The word matador is scarcely ever employed in Spain to designate the person who kills the bull; he is entitled espada (sword), which is more noble and more characteristic. Neither is the word toreador used, but torero. I just mention this as a piece of useful information for those authors who are accustomed to introduce a little local colouring into their ballads and comic operas. The fight is called media corrida, half-course or fight, because formerly there used to be two every Monday, one in the morning and one at five in the afternoon, the two together making up the day's amusement. At present only the fight in the afternoon is preserved.

It has been asserted and reasserted on all sides, that the Spaniards are losing their taste for bull-fights, and that civilization will soon cause the amusement to be discontinued altogether. If civilization does effect this, all I can say is that it will be all the worse for civilization, as a bull-fight is one of the grandest sights that the imagination of man can conceive; but, at any rate, the time for their abolition has not yet arrived, and those sensitive writers who affirm the contrary have only to transport themselves some Monday, between the hours of four and five, to the Puerta d'Alcala, in order to be convinced that the taste for this ferocious pastime is, as yet, very far from extinct.

Monday, which is the bull-day, dia de toros, is a holiday. No one does any work, and the whole town is in commotion. Those persons who have not previously bought their tickets, hasten off towards the Calle de Carretas, where the ticket-office is situated, in the hope of finding some place still vacant, for the enormous amphitheatre is all numbered and portioned into stalls, a plan which cannot be praised too highly, and which might be imitated with advantage in the French theatres. The Calle d'Alcala, the artery into which all the populous streets of the city flow, is filled with foot-passengers, horse-men, and vehicles. To grace this solemnity, the most strange and extravagant calesins and cars emerge from their dusty retreats, while the most fantastic horses, and the most phenomenal mules come forth into the light of day. The calesins reminded me of the Neapolitan corricoli. They have large red wheels and no springs, the body being decorated with paintings more or less allegorical, and lined with old damask silk or faded serge with long silk fringe. Altogether, they produce a most absurd rococo effect. The driver sits upon the shaft; this enables him to harangue and belabour his mule just as he thinks fit, and also makes one place more for his customers. The mule is tricked out with as many feathers, rosettes, tufts, bells, and as much fringe as it is possible to fasten to the harness of any quadruped in existence. A calesin generally contains a manola, and a female friend as well as her manolo, not to mention a bunch of muchachos hanging on behind. All this flies along with the speed of lightning in the midst of a whirlwind of cries and dust. There are also carriages with four or five mules. Nothing equal to them can be found now-a-days, anywhere save in the pictures of Van der Meulen, which represent the conquests and hunting exploits of Louis XIV.

Every vehicle in the town is laid under contribution, for it is accounted the height of fashion by the manolas, who are the grisettes of Madrid, to proceed in a calesin to the Plaza de Toros: they pawn even their mattresses to obtain money on the day of a bull-fight, and without being exactly virtuous the rest of the week, they are most decidedly much less so on Sunday and Monday. You also see country people who have come to town on horseback, with their carbine suspended at the bow of their saddle; others, again, either alone or with their wives, are mounted on asses. Besides all these persons, there are the carriages of the fashionable world, and a whole host of honest citizens and señoras in mantles on foot, who quicken their pace on perceiving the mounted National Guard, headed by their trumpeters, advancing to clear the arena. For nothing in the world would any one miss seeing the clearing of the arena, and the precipitate flight of the alguazil after he has thrown to the helper the key of the toril, where the horned gladiators are confined. The toril is situated opposite the matadero, in which place they flay the animals that have been killed. The bulls are driven, the night before the fight, to a meadow called el arroyo, near Madrid. This meadow is a favourite walk with the aficionados; but it is one, by the way, not wholly free from danger, for the bulls are at liberty, and their drivers find it rather a difficult task to keep them in order. Lastly, the bulls are conducted into the encierro (stable attached to the circus) by the aid of old bulls used to the office, and scattered among the herd of their wild brethren.

The Plaza de Toros is situated on the left-hand side of the road, beyond the Puerta d'Alcala (which, I may mention in a parenthesis, is a fine structure, resembling a triumphal arch, with trophies and other heroic ornaments); it is an enormous circus, with whitewashed walls, presenting no remarkable feature on the outside. As all the tickets are taken beforehand, the audience enter without the least confusion, and every one clambers to his place, and sits down according to the particular number of his ticket.

The interior is arranged in the following manner: – Around the arena, which is of truly Roman grandeur, runs a circular barrier of planks, six feet high, painted a bright red, and furnished on each side, at about two feet from the ground, with a wooden ledge, on which the chulos and banderilleros put one foot, in order to jump over to the other side when they are followed too closely by the bull. This barrier is called las tablas. It has four doors, for the entrance of the officials and the bulls, as well as for carrying off the bodies, &c. Beyond this barrier there is another, rather higher. The space between the two forms a kind of corridor, where the chulos rest themselves when they are fatigued; it is likewise the station of the picador sobresaliente (substitute), whose duty it is always to hold himself in readiness, fully dressed and equipped, in case the chief picador should be killed or wounded; and also of the cachetero and a few aficionados, who, by dint of perseverance, succeed, despite the rules, in smuggling themselves into this blest place, admittance into which is as much sought after in Spain as is the privilege of going behind the scenes of the opera at Paris.

As it frequently happens that the bull, when exasperated, clears the first barrier, the second is surmounted by a network of ropes to prevent his leaping further; and a number of carpenters with axes and hammers are always at hand to repair any damage done to the enclosure, so that accidents are almost impossible. However, bulls de muchas piernas (of much legs), as they are technically called, have been known to clear the second barrier. We have an instance of this in an engraving of the Tauromaquia of Goya, the celebrated author of the "Caprices," representing the death of the alcade of Torrezon, who was miserably gored by one of these leaping gentry.

The seats destined for the use of the public are situated immediately beyond the second barrier. Those near the ropes are called plazas de barrera, those in the middle tendidos, while those next to the first tier of the grada cubierta are distinguished by the appellation of tabloncillos. All these rows, which remind you of the seats in the Roman amphitheatres, are composed of bluish granite, and have no covering but the canopy of heaven. Immediately behind them are the covered places, gradas cubiertas, which are divided into delantera, first seats; centro, middle seats; and tabloncillo, seats with backs. Above these are the boxes, called palcos and palcos por asientos. They are a hundred and twenty in number, very spacious, and capable of containing twenty persons each. The difference between the palco por asientos and the simple palco is, that in the former you can take a single place as you can a balcony-stall at the opera. The boxes of the Reina Gobernadora y de la Innocente Isabel are decorated with silk hangings and closed by curtains. Next to them is the box of the ayuntamiento (municipal authorities), who preside over the sports, and whose duty it is to settle any dispute that may arise.

The circus, thus arranged, contains twelve thousand spectators, all seated at their ease, and enjoying a clear view of everything going forward, – a most indispensable condition in an amusement that is purely ocular. The immense building is always full; and those who are unable to procure plazas de sombra (places in the shade) prefer being broiled alive in the uncovered seats, to missing one fight. It is considered as indispensable by those persons who pride themselves on their gentility to have a box at the bull-fights in Madrid, as it is by Parisians of fashion to possess one at the Italian Opera.

On issuing from the outward corridor to proceed to my place, I was seized with a sort of sudden giddiness. The circus was bathed in torrents of light, for the sun is a chandelier of a very superior description, which possesses the advantage of not spilling the oil upon those beneath, and which not even gas will supersede for some time to come. An immense humming floated like a fog of noise over the arena. On the sunny side of the building palpitated and glistened thousands of fans and little round parasols with handles made of reed. They looked like flocks of birds, of ever-varying hues attempting to fly. There was not one place empty. I can assure the reader that it is in itself a grand sight to see twelve thousand people assembled in a theatre of such a size, that heaven alone is capable of painting the ceiling with the blue which it procures from the palette of eternity.

A detachment of the cavalry of the National Guard, exceedingly well mounted and equipped, now rode round the arena, preceded by two alguazils in their costume, which consists of a large broad-brimmed hat and feather, in the style of Henri IV., black doublet and cloak, and large boots. Their duty was to drive away some few obstinate aficionados and certain dogs that were still loitering in the ring. As soon as this was effected, the alguazils went and fetched the toreros, under which term are included the picadores, chulos, banderilleros, and the espada, who is the principal performer in the drama. These personages made their entry to a flourish of trumpets. The picadores were mounted on horses with their eyes hooded, as the sight of the bull might frighten them and cause them to shy, thereby endangering the safety of their riders. The costume of the picadores is highly picturesque. It is composed of a short vest, which does not button, of orange, carnation, green or blue velvet, loaded with gold or silver embroidery and spangles, fringe, filigree buttons and ornaments of all kinds, especially on the shoulders, where the stuff is completely hidden beneath a glittering and phosphorescent mass of twisted arabesque-work. Under this is a waistcoat in the same style, a frilled shirt, a variegated neck-handkerchief tied carelessly round the neck, and a silk sash round the waist. Their pantaloons are of fawn-coloured buff, stuffed inside and lined with thin metal plates, like the boots of the French postilions, in order to protect the wearers' legs from being gored by the bull. A grey, low-crowned hat (sombrero), with an immense brim, and ornamented with an enormous tuft of favours, and a large mesh or net of black ribbons, which is called, I believe, a moño, and holds the hair gathered up in a pigtail at the back of the head, complete the dress. The picador is armed with a lance, at the end of which is an iron spike two or three inches long. This spike cannot wound the bull dangerously, but is enough to irritate or keep him at bay. A piece of leather fitted to the picador's hand, prevents the lance from slipping. The saddle rises very high, both behind and before, and resembles those strengthened with iron plates, in which the knights of the Middle Ages used to be buried in the tournaments. The stirrups are made of wood, and form a kind of shoe, like the Turkish stirrups. A long, iron spur, as sharp as a dagger, is fixed in the rider's heel. An ordinary spur would not be sufficient to govern the horses, who are often half dead.

The chulos present a very nimble and natty appearance with their breeches of green, blue, or rose-coloured satin, their jacket ornamented with various patterns and flowers, their tight girdle, and their little montera cocked knowingly on one ear. On their arm they carry a piece of cloth (capa), which they unroll and agitate before the bull's eyes for the purpose of exciting, dazzling, and deceiving him. They are all young men, well built, spare and slim, differing in this respect from the picadores, who are, in general, remarkable for their height and athletic proportions; the picadores require strength, and the chulos agility.

The banderilleros wear the same costume as the chulos. It is their especial duty to plant a kind of dart, tipped with an iron barb and ornamented with pieces of paper, in the bull's shoulder. These darts are called banderillas, and are employed to revive the animal's fury and lash him up to the pitch of exasperation necessary to make him present a fair aim to the sword of the matador. The banderillero has to plant two banderillas at a time; in order to do this, he must pass his two arms between the bull's horns, a delicate kind of operation, in performing which it might, perhaps, be rather dangerous for a person to be thinking of anything else.

The espada differs from the banderilleros only by the fact of his having a richer and more highly ornamented costume, which is sometimes of purple silk, a colour particularly offensive to the bull. His weapons consist of a long sword, with a handle in the shape of a cross, and a piece of scarlet cloth stretched on a long stick; the technical term for this kind of waving shield, is muleta. The reader is, at present, acquainted with the theatre and the actors. I will now show the latter enacting their various parts.

The picadores, escorted by the chulos, first go up and bow to the box of the ayuntamiento, whence the keys of the toril are thrown out to them. These are picked up and delivered to the alguazil, who gives them to the groom of the ring, and then gallops off as hard as he can, pursued by the shouts and cries of the crowd; for the alguazils, as well as all the other representatives of justice, are not much more popular in Spain than the gendarmes and sergents-de-ville are in France. Meanwhile, the two picadores take up their position to the left of the door of the toril, which is situated directly opposite the royal box, because the bull's entry is one of the most interesting parts of the fight. The picadores are stationed at a very little distance from each other, with their backs to the tablas, firmly seated in their saddles, holding their lances couched, and valiantly prepared to receive the beast. The chulos and banderilleros station themselves at some distance off, or disperse themselves over the arena.

All these preparations, which appear longer in description than they are in reality, excite the curiosity of the public to the highest pitch. Every person looks anxiously at the fatal door, and out of the twelve thousand spectators present, not one takes his eyes off it. At this moment, the loveliest woman in the world might beg in vain for a single glance.

For my own part, I frankly confess that I felt as oppressed as if my heart had been clutched by some invisible hand. I experienced a strange buzzing in my ears, and the perspiration, alternately hot and cold, ran down my back. I never felt more excited in my life.

A shrill flourish of trumpets was now heard; the red folding-doors were thrown wide open with a loud noise, and the bull rushed into the arena, in the midst of an immense hurrah.

He was a superb animal, with a glossy coat, almost black, an enormous dewlap, a square muzzle, sharp, polished, curving horns, clean-made legs, and a tail that was always in motion. Between his shoulders he had a bunch of ribbons, fastened by a large pin, and representing the colours of his ganaderia. Dazzled by the light of day, and astonished at the tumult, he stopped short for a second, and snuffed the air twice or thrice; then, perceiving the nearest picador, he made a furious bound, and tore towards him at full gallop.

The picador who was thus singled out was Sevilla. I cannot refrain from taking this opportunity to describe this famous Sevilla, who is really the beau-ideal of his class. Imagine a man of about thirty years of age, of a noble expression and demeanour; as robust as Hercules, as bronzed as a mulatto, with superb eyes, and a physiognomy like that of one of Titian's Cæsars. The expression of jovial, contemptuous serenity in his features and bearing, had really something heroic about it. On this occasion he was dressed in an orange-coloured jacket, embroidered and laced with silver; the remembrance of this jacket has ever since remained, even in its minutest details indelibly fixed on my mind. He lowered his lance, and, couching it, sustained the shock of the bull so victoriously, that the savage animal staggered and passed by him, bearing away with him a wound which, ere long, streaked his black coat with red. He stopped, as if uncertain what to do, for a few seconds, and then, with redoubled fury, rushed at the second picador, who was stationed at a little distance further on.

Antonio Rodriguez gave him a tremendous thrust with his lance, and inflicted a second wound just beside the first, for it is only allowable to hit the bull in the shoulder. But he again rushed towards Rodriguez with his head near the ground, and plunged his horn right into the horse's belly. The chulos ran up, waving their pieces of cloth, and the stupid animal, attracted and diverted by this fresh object, turned round and pursued them at full speed; but the chulos, placing one foot on the ledge we have already described, leaped lightly over the barrier, leaving him very much astonished at no longer seeing any one.

The horn had completely ripped up the horse's belly, so that his entrails came through, and almost touched the ground. I thought that the picador would retire and procure another steed; this was, however, far from being the case; he touched his ear, to see whether or not the wound was mortal. The horse was only unseamed; although his wound was most horrible to behold, it could be healed. The entrails are replaced in his belly, a needle and thread are passed through the skin, and the poor creature is still capable of being used again. Rodriguez gave him the spur, and cantered up to take another position at a little distance off.

It now seemed to strike the bull that all he should get from the picadores were hard thrusts, and he began to feel a desire to return to his pasture. Instead of entering again without hesitation, after making a few bounds, he returned, with the most dogged resolution, to his querencia; the querencia is the technical term for some corner or other that the bull chooses for a resting-place, and to which he always retires after having made the cogida. This word is employed to designate the attack of the bull, while la suerte is used in speaking of the torrero, who is likewise named diestro.

A swarm of chulos ran up and waved their bright-coloured capas before the bull's eyes; one of them was even insolent enough to wrap his cloak, that was rolled up, round the animal's head, making him look exactly like the sign of the Bœuf à la mode, which most people have seen at Paris. The bull was furious, and got rid, in the best way he could, of this ill-timed ornament, throwing the innocent piece of stuff into the air, and trampling on it with great rage when it fell on the ground. Taking advantage of this new access of fury, a chulo began irritating him, and drew him towards the picadores. On finding himself face to face with his foes, the bull hesitated, and then, making up his mind, rushed at Sevilla with such force that the horse fell with his four feet in the air, for Sevilla's arm is a buttress that nothing can bend. Sevilla fell under the horse, which is the best manner of falling, because the rider is then protected from the bull's horns, the body of his steed serving him as a shield. The chulos came up, and the horse got off with only a gash in his thigh. They raised Sevilla, who clambered into his saddle again with the greatest coolness imaginable. The horse of Antonio Rodriguez, the other picador, was less fortunate; he received so severe a thrust in the breast that the bull's horn entered up to the root, and disappeared entirely in the wound. While the bull was endeavouring to free his head from the body of the horse, Antonio clung to the edge of the tablas, which he cleared, thanks to the chulos, for when a picador is thrown, he is so weighed down by the iron lining of his boots that he finds it as difficult to move as did the knights of old when encased in their armour.

The poor horse, left to himself, crossed the arena, staggering as if he had been drunk, and entangling his feet in his entrails. A flood of black blood gushed impetuously from his wound, marking the sand with intermittent zigzag lines, which attested the unequalness of his course. At length he fell near the tablas. Two or three times he raised his head and rolled his blue eyes, that were already glazed, drawing back his lips, white with foam, and exposing his fleshless teeth. He struck the ground feebly with his tail, while his hind legs moved convulsively and kicked out for the last time, as if he wished to break the thick skull of Death with his hard hoof. He was hardly dead when the muchachos on service, seeing that the bull was engaged somewhere else, ran up and took off his saddle and bridle. He remained thus, lying on his flank, like some dark outline upon the sand. He was so slight, so flat, that he might have been mistaken for a profile cut out of black paper. I had already remarked, at Montfaucon, what strangely fantastic forms horses assume after death. Of all animals there are certainly none whose dead bodies are so melancholy to look at as that of a horse. His head, that is so noble and pure in form, is so modelled and flattened by the terrible hand of Nothingness that it seems as if it had been inhabited by a human mind; while his dishevelled mane and streaming tail have something picturesque and poetical about them. A dead horse is a corpse; every other animal that has once ceased to live is nothing more nor less than carrion.