"The Rabble Hamstring the Bull with Lances, Sickles, Banderillas, and Other Arms." From Tauromachia, 1816

Goya and Tauromachia

     The Spanish War of Independence left its mark on the imagination of the French, who saw Spain as a nation in the grip of savagery, superstition, and witchcraft, indulging its blood thirst in the bullfight-a spectacle here illustrated by Goya and described by Prosper Mérimée.

     The bull, purposely irritated in the pen beforehand, rushes out furiously. Usually he reaches the middle of the place at a bound and there stops short, astonished by the noise he hears and the scene round about him. He wears on his neck a knot of ribbons hooked into the skin. The colour of these indicates what herd (vacada) he comes from; but an experienced amateur, without looking at them, can tell to which province and breed he belongs.

An etching from Tauromachia: "Banderillas with Firecrackers."

     The chulos approach, wave their brilliant capes, and try to draw the bull toward one of the picadors. If the beast is game, it attacks him unhesitatingly. The picador, with the lance under him; takes his place exactly in front of the bull; seizes the moment at which the head is lowered for the charge to fix the lance in the neck, and not elsewhere; bears down with the full weight of his body and at the same time wheels his horse to the left, so as to leave the bull on the right. If all these movements are well executed, if the picador is vigorous and his horse responsive, the bull, carried by his own impetus, goes by without touching him. Then the duty of the chulos is to distract the bull until the picador has had time to get out of the way, but often the animal knows only too well which is his real aggressor; brusquely he swings about, makes for the horse at a rush, and runs his horns into the bully, overthrowing both horse and rider. The latter is immediately rescued by the chulos. Some picked him up, others wave their capes before the bull’s eyes, draw him toward themselves, and, leaping over the barrier with surprising agility, make their escape, The Spanish bull is as fast as a horse; and, if the chulo is far away from the fence, he barely reaches it. Therefore, the horseman, whose life must depend on the chulo’s agility, does not often venture into the middle of the ring; when he does, it passes for an extraordinary feat of daring.

     Once again on his feet, the picador, if he can get his horse up, remounts. Though the poor beast may be losing streams of blood, though its entrails drag on the ground and twine about its legs, it must face the bull as long as it can stand. When it is down to stay, the picador leaves the ring and returns immediately on a fresh mount.

     I have said that the lances can only make a flesh-wound and serves only to infuriate the bull. Nevertheless, the impact of the horse and the rider, the bull’s own efforts, above all the shock of pulling up short on his hocks, tire him rather promptly. Often, also, the pain of the lance-wounds disheartens him. At last, he no longer dares attack the horses, or, to use the technical term, he refuses to “enter.” By that time, if he is vigorous, he has already killed four or five horses. The picadors rest; the signal is given to plant the banderillas.

"Origin of the Harpoons or Banderillas."

     These are sticks about two feet and a half long wrapped in strips of paper, with a sharp point which is barbed in order to stay in the wound. The chulos hold one of these darts in each hand. The most effective way to use them is to come up softly behind the bull and to strike the banderillas together suddenly. The startled bull turns about at once and charges. Just as, with lowered head, he reaches the chulos, the latter plants both banderillas at once on either side of his neck. This can be done only by remaining for an instant right in front of him and almost between his horns; then, slipping aside, letting him go by and flying for safety. A distraction, a movement of hesitation or of fright, and the man would be lost… If by mischance he falls while planting the banderillas, he must not try to rise, but lie where he is, motionless. The bull rarely gores a man on the ground, not at all out of generosity, but because he closes his eyes as he charges, and goes over him without seeing him. Sometimes, however, he stops, sniffs him to make sure he is dead, then, drawing back several steps, lowers his head to toss him. But at this moment the banderillero’s comrades gather about, and distract the beast until he abandons the supposed corpse.

"The Spirited Moor Gazul Is the First to Spear Bulls According to Rules."	"The Agility and Audacity of Juanito Apiñani in [the Ring at] Madrid."

     When the bull is cowardly and will not take four thrusts of the lance, the accepted number, the spectators, sovereign judges, condemn him by acclamation to a sort of torture--at the same time a punishment and a means of reviving his fury. From all sides goes up a cry of “Fuego! Fuego!” Then, instead of their ordinary arms, the chulos are given banderillas with fire-crackers along the shaft and a piece of light amadou at the top. As soon as it enters the skin, the amadou lights the fuse: The explosives go off toward the bull, burning him to the quick, and, greatly to the satisfaction of the public, he leaps and plunges. It is, in fact, an admirable sight: this enormous animal, foaming with rage, shaking the flaming sticks, and tossing amid fire and smoke. In spite of milords the poets, I must say that of all the animals I have observed, none has less expression in its eyes than the bull. I should say, changes its expression less; for the bull’s is almost always that of brutal and savage stupidity. Rarely does he express his pain by groaning: wounds enrage or frighten him, but never, if it may be said, does he seem to reflect upon his fate; he never weeps like the stag. Therefore, he inspires pity only when his courage is worthy of remark.

"Pedro Romero Killing the Halted Bull."

     Three or four pairs of banderillas have been placed in the bull’s neck; the time has come to make an end of him. There is a roll of drums. Immediately, the matador, one of the chulos, steps forth from among his comrades. Richly clad with gold and silk, he holds a long sword and a scarlet cloak, fastened to a stick so that it may be handled conveniently. This is called the muleta. He pauses under the President’s box, and with a low bow asks permission to kill the bull. Usually this formality takes places only once for the whole performance. Of course the President nods his consent. The matador cries, “Viva,” pirouettes, throws his hat on the ground, and advances to meet the bull.

     Like dueling, these combats are governed by rules, to infringe which is as infamous as to kill one’s adversary treacherously. For example, the matador may strike the bull only where the neck and the back join; the Spaniards call this place the “cross.” The blow must be dealt from above, as one would say, “in second”; never from below. A thousand times better to lose one’s life, than to thrust from below, from the side, or from behind. The matador’s sword is long, strong, and double-edged; the hilt, very short, ends in a ball which is pressed against the balm of the hand. The use of this weapon calls for long experience and peculiar skill…

     Before attempting the sword-thrust, the matador displays the muleta, excites the bull, and attentively observes whether he throws himself upon it, or whether he comes up quietly, in order to gain ground, and to charge only when the adversary seems too near to avoid the impact. Often the bull is seen to shake his head menacingly, to paw the ground without wanting to come forward, or even to draw back slowly, in an attempt to draw the man to the middle of the ring where he cannot escape. Others, instead of attacking in a straight line, sidle up, feigning exhaustion; but having measured their distance, lunge straight at the man.

"A Spanish Knight Kills the Bull After Having Lost His Horse."

     For one who understands the art of bull-fighting, this is an interesting sight: the approaches of the matador and the bull who, like two skilful generals, seem to divine each other’s plans and to vary their technique, moment by moment. For an experienced matador, a movement of the head, a sidelong look, a lowered ear, and so many plain indications of his enemy’s projects. Finally, the impatient bull throws himself upon the red flag behind which the matador hides. His force is sufficient to batter down a wall with his horns; but the man slips aside with a light movement; disappears as if by magic; and defying the bull’s fury, leaves only a light cloth uplifted over his head. The impetus of the animal carries him far and beyond his opponents; then he stops, pulling up short on stiffened legs; and these abrupt and violent reflexes tire him so greatly that if the procedure were continued, it would be enough to kill him… After a number of passes, the matador understands his antagonist thoroughly, and prepares to give the final thrust. He stands firmly, immobile, at the proper distance. The sword is held in the right hand, the right elbow at the height of the head; the left arm holds the muleta out in front where, almost on the ground, it induces the bull to lower his head. This is the moment that the matador gives the mortal thrust with all the force of his arm; and if the thrust is well-directed the man has nothing more to fear: the bull stops short; the blood scarcely flows; he lifts his head; his legs tremble, and he collapses in a great mass. Immediately the arena rings with deafening “Vivas!”

Prosper Mérimée
Letters from Spain, 1931