Blood and Sand

uddenly fell, with the violent extremes o

ith flakes of snow, and people who were already dressed in their lig

anager, the employés of the Plaza and the innumerable amateurs whom this enforced inaction put out of temper, watched the sky with the anxiety of peasant

.. We shall have a corrid

torrents. The aficionados were furious with the weather, which seemed to have set it

stom initiated by former maestros living near the capital. It was supposed that the proper domicile of every real torero was in la Corte,[102] and the poor peons and picadors, who lodged in a boarding-house kept by the widow of a banderillero, eked out their existence by all sorts of pett

solitude of his hotel, not on account of

t even those enthusiasts, so noisy and aggressive the previous year, now showed a certain reserve, and when they found occasion to applaud him they did so timidly. On the other hand, his enemies and

a name for himself, and now people could not reconcile themselves to his prudence. Insults were always hurled at any attempt at self preservation. As certainly as he spread the muleta at a certain distance from the bull,

hom he had often forced into danger from a feeling of emulation now babbled with hypocritical expressions of pity about Gallardo's decadence. His courage had given out! His last cogida had made him over prudent.

pinion. The people were tired of watching Gallardo's courage, and now they e

er, had succeeded in killing a bull as in former days, the ovation was neither so prolonged nor so vehement. He seemed to have broken the current of enthusiasm which had formerly existed bet

t they excused them, speaking of the former exploi

g

l," they said. "He seems ti

successes, that the aficionados thought a caprice of his will, were really the work of chance or of a ha

ulted him by the tooting of horns and the ringing of cow bells whenever he delayed in k

he row broke out. That lad from Seville had been changed! That was not Gallardo; it was some one else. He shortened his arm, he turned away his face; he ran with the quicknes

d. The old people who thought everything in the present day was bad spoke of the cowardice of modern toreros. They pr

by the ridicule of his enemies; if he returned to[Pg 286] the provinces with the bad reputation of a fiasco in Madrid he was a lost man. He would master his nervousness, vanquish that dread which made him shrink and fancy t

t he refused. No, he could not cross the seas at present. He must first show Spain that he was the

He went often to the Café Ingles, which the partisans of the Andalusian toreros frequented, thinking his presence would silence all u

cognize it. But you will see at the next corrida,

produce a glorious representative. The remembrance of Frascuelo, whom they considered a son of Madrid, lived everlastingly in those assemblies. Many of them had not been to the Plaza for years, not in fact since the retirement of "El Negro." Why should[Pg 287] they? They were quite

ador. They had discovered in the suburbs a "novillero," who had already done good work in the Plaza

were never fulfilled, either the aspirant fell a victim to a mortal "cogida" or dropped into being one of the loafers in the Plaza del Sol, w

were rejoicing at his decadence. Most of them would not go to see him in the circus, nor admire an

heir exploits; they were all smart, well dressed, with a marvellous display of imitation jewellery. They all saluted him respectfully as "Maestro" or "Se?o Juan"; some were honest fellows enough,

o pestered him with his projects. This man was a tavern-keeper at Las Ventas, a rough Galician of powerful build, short-

destined to be one of the great lights of tauromachia. The tavern-keeper, a great a

d a bit of money to give him a profession ... but he wants a 'padrino'[103] if he is to be pushed, and there could be no one better than your

eeper heavy losses. But he still persisted, being supported by that commercial spirit which made him overl

inking the boy's want of dash, laziness; and his fear, want of enterprise. A cloud of parasites, low class amateurs,[Pg 289] obscure toreros whose only remembrances of the past were their pigtails, who drank gratuitously

ored or trampled by bulls, under the eyes of a few hundred spectators. But those amusements were not to be had for nothing. To enjoy the pleasure of being rolled over in the sand, to have his

port. Moreover, he paid those who formed his son's cuadrilla lavishly, all vagabonds, peons and banderilleros, recruited from among the loafers in

matadors. Seven thousand reals it cost me. I think he ought to be fine in that!... Bu

, and by the flourishing of a big stick. Whenever the youngster came to rest by the wall the fat red fa

and graces like a young lady? Have some dash and enterprise, rascal. Go out into th

nd trembling legs, his father followed all his evolutions from behind the barrier. He was always b

d red silk, most feared, was his return home on the e

uding through rents in his breeches, all his bones aching with tosses the young bulls had given him. His mo

keeper. "He is worse than a 'maleta.' An

st before had murdered two poor little bulls, endeavoured to run away, shi

see he is

case. "That is for 'true' toreros. Put a few stitches in his rags, a

d day. He had seen famous matadors in just as bad case before the public as his boy. And he forth

ndid on record. The espada, by a lucky accident, had killed two young bulls moderately well

hbourhood. The tavern-keeper was an honest man in his dealings, and he had promised to pay them fifty centimes a head if they would sh

y the inquisitive looks of the people on the tramways, which remorselessly cut through the glorious manifestation. The father walked along with his stick under his arm, pretending to have nothing to do with it, but whenever the shou

e tavern-keeper was still exci

have often [Pg 292]carried you; forgive me the comparison. You will see if the youngster

ibly he might manage to direct the novillada, but they could se

ise. A fair-haired lady was getting out of a carriage at the door of the Hotel de Paris.... Do?a Sol! A man who looked

ations subsisting between her and the stranger. So she had looked at him, so she had smiled on him in those

t. When he awoke the dull grey light was coming in through the window, rain mingled with snow was pouring down in torrents, ev

e had gone away without any explanation, and afterwards, knowing him to be in danger of death, she had scarcely enquired after him. Only a telegr

n. He must see her again. Among all the women he had known she stood first, attracting him with a streng

lady on horseback galloping past-a fair-haired Englishwoman in the street, the constant intercourse with all those young men who were her relations, everything recalled the image of Do?a Sol! Ay! that woman!... Never should he meet her like again. Losing her, Gallardo seemed to have gone back in his life,

arried him on to glory in the circus. Again, why not? Possibly Do?a Sol seeing him again after a long

r, took his way towards the Hotel de Paris

94] hall, under the curious eyes of the hotel employés an

to a small sitting-room on the first floor, from whose windo

of silks, and the delicate perfume which seemed to belong to her

t forgotten the smallest detail. She was just the same as in Seville!... No, e

wels as on the night when he had first seen her, with gold embroidered pap

.. I knew you were in Ma

t "usted," which seemed to make them equals, drove the torero to despair. He had wished to be as a servant raised by love to

drid. She had been there with a foreign gentleman, who wished to know Spanish things:

g

. He knew that foreigner-

e two, neither knowing what to say.

am to enquire. But, really, with the life she led, with constant changes of country and new friendships, her memory was in such a state of confusion!... She tho

a' was not r

time he was hovering between life and death he had thought only of her!... With a roughness born of in

e. What did the misfortune of that bull-fighter signify to her.... They were

ange, his memory recalled the image of the man w

e poor fellow? They killed him. I

ad about it in one of the Parisian papers, which spoke of

as a rough uninteresting peasant. From a distance one judges things at their true

he took a flower offered by Do?a Sol ... because she had given the

s expressed ab

I remember nothing about it.... Ay! that sunny land! Ay! the intox

a kind of repentance, bu

hered flower may have been found on his body, a mysterious remembrance that no one could explain.... Did you know nothing of this, Gallardo? Did the papers say nothing?... Be silent, don't say 'No'; do not dispel my

the second time in a few moments came up

beautiful woman, with his melancholy Mo

n [Pg 297]despairing accents, as if wi

iend?" she asked smiling,

ntimidated by the ironical flash in tho

like one who has

been all this

I am a bird of passage. In numberless towns

r who accompanies

advantage of the opportunity to know Spain; a clever man who bears an illustrious name. From he

ll to keep the torero at a distance, and to re-establish s

is unpardonable. You have acted very badly towards me, very b

not even yet know me well enough? Could one not get tired of that time?... If I were a man

ou leave?" per

g

n is bored, I think they have every right to escape in search of

d the torero with a dramatic earnestness whi

nk that everything was created for them!... 'I love you with all my heart,' and that is sufficient reason for you to love me in return.... But no, Se?or. I do not love yo

rds would be quite inefficacious in convincing such a woman. He trusted in action, with the impulsive vehemence of his hopes and hi

torero's arms. A flash of pride and anger shone in her eyes, an

this you will no longer be my friend, and

ed; some time passed in silence, unti

g

thers. There are plenty of girls down in Seville who would think it happiness to be loved by Gallardo. My love is ended. As a famous man accustomed to success your pride is hurt; but it is so; mine is en

iserating eyes, as if she suddenly

rent. The Gallardo in Seville was not the same as the one here. Are you the same?.

r eyes on the espada, looking with astonishment at the long lock of hair plastered on his head, at his clothes, his

product of a cattle-breeding country; here he seemed like an actor. How had she been able for many mont

rns; she thought of that breakfast with the bandit, to whom she[Pg 300] had listened stupefied

ng eyes, and his childish desire to revive those days.... Poor man! As if follies could be r

olours. What would I give to have my former eyes?... When I returned to Spain it seemed to me changed. You also are different from w

ce, but Gallardo thought there was mocking in her v

se he did not now throw himself on the bulls. That is what she so clearly said, she saw him "as if he were another.

e dead for ever, to be a momentary straying,

showed no disposition to leave, content with being near her,

der pretext of going out, she was expecting her[Pg 301] fri

rooms. Her friend would come. No doubt he would be delighted to meet a torero; he

incoherent words, and left the room. Anger

same as the one in Seville!... And she invited him to breakfast with her friend,

himself a man.... It was over

TNO

s called-la Co

er; patron.