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.

I dwell thus upon the death of this horse, because it excited in me a more distressing feeling than anything else I ever saw at a bull-fight. But this horse was not the only victim that day. Fourteen others were stretched dead in the arena, one bull alone killing five.

The picador returned on a fresh horse, and a number of attacks, more or less successful, then ensued. But the bull was beginning to be tired, and his fury to abate, whereupon the banderilleros advanced with their darts, furnished with little pieces of paper, and in a short time the bull's neck was ornamented with a collar of pennons, which all his efforts to shake off only fixed more firmly. A little banderillero of the name of Majaron was particularly bold and successful in discharging his darts, and sometimes he would even cut an entrechat before retiring: as a natural consequence, he was greatly applauded. When the bull had seven or eight banderillas fluttering about him, and felt his skin pierced by their darts, and heard the rustling of their paper pennons in his ears, he began to run about in all directions, and bellow in the most horrible manner. His black muzzle became white with foam, and, in his blind fury, he butted so violently against one of the doors, that he broke it off its hinges. The carpenters, who were closely watching his movements, immediately replaced it, while a chulo enticed him in another direction; but was pursued so closely, that he had scarcely time to clear the barrier. The bull, exasperated and lashed to the highest pitch of fury, made one prodigious effort and followed him over the tablas. All the persons in the intermediate space jumped with marvellous rapidity into the arena, while the bull, receiving on his passage a shower of blows from the sticks and hats of the first row of spectators, re-entered by another door.

The picadores now retired, leaving a free field to the espada, Juan Pastor, who proceeded to salute the box of the ayuntamiento, and requested permission to kill the bull. As soon as this was granted, he threw his montera into the air, as much as to say that he was about to stake everything upon a single cast, and then walked up to the bull with a deliberate step, concealing his sword under the red folds of his muleta.

The espada now waved his piece of scarlet cloth several times, and the bull rushed blindly at it. By a mere movement of his body, the espada avoided the animal's attack. The latter soon returned, however, butting furiously at the light cloth, which he pushed on one side, without being able to pierce it. The favourable instant was come: the espada placed himself exactly opposite the bull, waving his muleta with his left hand, and holding his sword horizontally, with the point on a level with the animal's horns. It is difficult to convey by words an idea of the fearful curiosity, the frantic attention produced by this situation, which is worth all the plays Shakspeare ever wrote. A few seconds more, and one of the two actors will be killed! Which will it be, the man or the bull? There they stand, face to face; the man has no defensive weapon of any kind, he is dressed as if he were going to a ball, in pumps and silk stockings. A woman's pin would pierce through his satin jacket; a mere rag and a slight sword are all that he has to save his life. In this fight all the material advantages belong to the bull, who possesses two terrible horns as sharp as daggers, immense force, and that animal fury which is not conscious of danger. But then, on the other hand, the man has his sword and his courage; the eyes of twelve thousand spectators are fixed upon him, and in a few moments, young and beautiful women will applaud him with their delicate white hands.

The muleta was suddenly thrown on one side, leaving the matador's body exposed to view; the bull's horns were not an inch from his breast; I thought he was lost. A silvery flash passed with the rapidity of lightning between the two crescents, and the bull fell upon his knees with a roar of pain. He had got the hilt of the sword between his shoulders, just as the stag of Saint Hubert is represented in Albert Dürer's marvellous engraving, bearing a crucifix in the midst of his branching antlers.

Thunders of applause burst forth from all parts of the amphitheatre; the palcos of the nobility, the gradas cubiertas of the middle classes, the tendidos of the manolos and manolas cried and shouted with all the ardour and petulance which distinguish the natives of southern climes, "Bueno! Bueno! Viva el Barbero! Viva!!!"

The blow which the espada had just given is held in high estimation, and called la estocada a vuela pies; the bull dies without losing one drop of blood, which is accounted the height of elegance, and by falling on his knees, seems to acknowledge his adversary's superiority. The aficionados (dilettanti) say that the inventor of this blow was Joaquin Rodriguez, a celebrated torrero of the last century.

When the bull does not die immediately, a mysterious little being, dressed in black, and who has hitherto taken no part in the proceedings, is seen to jump over the barrier. This is the cachetero. He advances with a stealthy step, looks at the bull in his death-struggle, to see whether he is capable of getting up again, which is sometimes the case, and, coming behind him, traitorously plunges a cylindrical dagger, shaped at its extremity like a lancet, into his neck; this cuts the spinal marrow, and produces instantaneous death. The best spot is behind the head, some inches from an imaginary straight line drawn from horn to horn.

The military band proclaimed the bull's death, one of the doors was thrown open, and four mules, magnificently caparisoned with feathers, bells, woollen tufts, and little flags, yellow and red, the Spanish national colours, entered the arena. These mules bear off the dead bodies, which are attached to a rope, furnished at the end with a large hook. The horses were taken away first, and then the bull. These four splendid and spirited animals, who dragged along the sand, with frantic velocity, all the dead bodies which, but a short time before, were themselves so active, had a strange, savage look, which made you forget, in some degree, the mournful duty they had to perform. When they had left, a groom came with a basketful of earth, which he spread over the pools of blood, which might otherwise cause the torreros to slip. The picadores resumed their places near the door, the orchestra sounded a flourish, and another bull rushed into the arena, for no time is allowed to elapse between the acts of this drama; nothing stops it, not even the death of a torrero. As we have already mentioned, the doubles are waiting, ready dressed and armed, in case of accidents. It is not our intention to give a separate account of the deaths of eight different bulls who were sacrificed that day; we will merely mention certain variations and remarkable incidents.

The bulls are not always very savage; some are even very gentle, and would only be too happy to lie down quietly in the shade. It is easy to perceive, by their good-natured honest look, that they prefer their pastures to the circus. They turn their backs on the picadores, and, in the most phlegmatic manner, allow the chulos to wave their many-coloured cloaks under their very nose. Not even the banderillas can rouse them from their apathetic condition. In cases like these, it is necessary to have recourse to more violent expedients; such, for example, as the banderillas de fuego. These are slight sticks, with fireworks attached, which go off some minutes after they are planted in the shoulders of the toro cobarde (coward) and explode with a shower of sparks and detonations. By this ingenious contrivance, the bull is goaded, burnt, and stunned simultaneously; were he the most aplomado (leaden) of bulls, he cannot possibly avoid becoming furious. He indulges in a succession of extravagant capers, of which no one would ever suppose so heavy an animal capable; he bellows, foams, and twists himself about in every direction, to escape from the disagreeable proximity of the fireworks, which are burning his ears and scorching his hide.

The banderillas de fuego, however, are never used but at the last extremity; the fight is considered, as it were, disgraced when it is necessary to have recourse to them; but if the alcade is too long before waving his handkerchief as a sign that he allows them to be employed, the public create such a horrible disturbance that he is obliged to yield. The most extraordinary vociferations, howling, shouting, and stamping of feet, break out on all sides. Some holla "Banderillas de fuego!" while others exclaim, "Perros! perros!" (The dogs!) The bull is overwhelmed with abuse; he is called a scoundrel, an assassin, a thief; the spectators offer him a place in the shade, and indulge in all sorts of pleasantry, which is frequently very witty. In a short time a chorus of sticks is added to the vociferations, if the latter do not produce the desired effect. The flooring of the palcos creaks and gapes, and the painting on the ceilings falls in small whitish pellicles, like so much snow mixed with dust. The public becomes exasperated to the highest pitch. "Fuego al alcade! perros el alcade!" (Burn the alcade! to the dogs with him!) shout the incensed multitude, shaking their fists at the box of the ayuntamiento. At last, the much desired permission is granted, and everything becomes quiet again. During these kinds of jawing-matches– excuse the term, but I cannot find a better – you often hear some very humorous remarks. I will instance one that is very concise and very cutting. A picador, magnificently dressed in a completely new suit, was showing off on his horse without taking any part in the proceedings, and remaining in a part of the circus where there was no danger. "Pintura! pintura!" hollaed the spectators to him, clearly perceiving the motives of his conduct.

Very frequently the bull is so cowardly that even the banderillas de fuego are insufficient. He returns to his querenzia, and will not enter. The cries of "Perros! perros!" then recommence. On a sign from the alcade, the canine gentlemen are introduced. They are admirable animals, of the purest breed and most extraordinary beauty. They go straight up to the bull. The latter tosses about half-a-dozen in the air, but that does not prevent one or two of the strongest and most courageous from at length succeeding in catching hold of his ear. When they have once fastened on it they are like leeches; they might be turned inside out before they would let go. The bull shakes his head – dashes them against the barrier – but it is of no avail. When this has lasted for some time, the espada, or the cachetero, plunges a sword into the side of the victim, who bends his knees and falls on the ground, where he is despatched. Sometimes they employ a kind of instrument called a media-luna, (half-moon), with which they hamstring him, and render him incapable of offering any resistance: in this case it is no longer a combat, but a disgusting butchery. It frequently happens that a matador fails; his sword meets with a bone and springs back, or else it enters the throat and causes the bull to vomit blood in large quantities; this is a serious fault according to the laws of Tauromaquia. If the animal is not despatched at the second blow, the espada is overwhelmed with hisses and abuse; for the Spanish public is impartial: it applauds both bull and man in exact proportion to their respective merits. If the bull rips up a horse and over-throws the rider, it shouts "Bravo, toro!" if the man wounds the bull, "Bravo, torrero!" but it will not suffer cowardice either in man or beast. A poor devil who was afraid to go and fix his banderillas in an extremely ferocious bull, occasioned such a tumult, that the alcade, in order to restore order, promised to have him sent to prison.

During this very fight, Sevilla, who is an admirable horseman, was greatly applauded for the following feat: – An extraordinarily strong bull caught his horse under the belly, and, tossing up its head, lifted it completely off the ground. In this perilous situation, Sevilla did not so much as move in his saddle, but kept both stirrups, and held his horse so well in hand that it came down again upon its four feet.

The day's entertainment had been good. Eight bulls and fourteen horses killed, and a chulo slightly wounded: what could any one desire more? Each bull-fight must bring in about twenty or twenty-five thousand francs,⁵ which are given by the queen to the principal hospital, where the wounded torreros are treated with every possible attention. A priest and a surgeon are always waiting in a room at the Plaza de Toros, ready to administer spiritual or corporal assistance as the case may be. Formerly, and I believe it is the case at present as well, a mass used to be said for the combatants during the fight. You see that nothing is neglected, and that the impressarios take every precaution. As soon as the last bull is killed, every one leaps into the arena, and discusses on the way home the merit of the different suertes or cogidas which have struck him as most worthy of notice. And what, you will ask, are the women like? for that is the first question put to a traveller. I own, frankly, that I have not the slightest idea. I have a vague notion that there were some very pretty ones near me, but I will not positively assert the fact.

Let us proceed to the Prado, in order to clear up this important point.