MONTES, THE MATADOR.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 43, 24 October 1891, Page 502

MONTES, THE MATADOR.

BY

A REMARKABLE MAN.

A FIRST ATTEMPT AT STOpY-TELLING-FROM THE ‘ FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW.’

SUPPOSE,’ Montes went on, after a pause, ‘ I ought to have SuBMj:S been excited and nervous on » t '’ at *’ rsfc Sunda y — but i —Si” T?--JL S"-., wasn’t; I was only eager to MBl' £-~ -7.. Ea iJj/F^P- ! do well in order to get engaged £ Bli t f°r the season. The blackf '■ z smith, Antonio, whom I had Jo worked with, had advanced Ci me the money for my costume, and Juan had taken me to a 'SV ’■*' tailor and got the things made, ■ and w '*at I owed Antonio and the tailor •<£. V.' “« weighed on me. Well, on that Sunday I , was at first a failure ! I went in the procession with the rest, then with the others ...77 I got my capa ; but when the bull rushed ' ' at me ’ “stead of running away, like the rest, i ' vra pped my capa about me and, just yJtSi.'W as his horns were touching me, I moved i aside —not half a pace. The spectators cheered me, it is true, and I thought I had /'■ -J? done very well, until Juan came over to me V and said—c' 7 ‘ “ You mustn’t show off like that. First S of all, you’ll get killed if you play that game ; and then you fellows with the capa are there to make the bull run about, to tire him out so that we matadorcs may kill him.” • That was my first lesson in professional jealousy. After that I ran about like the rest, but without much heart in the sport. It seemed to me stupid. Besides, from Juan’s anger and contempt, I felt sure I shouldn’t get a permanent engagement. . . . Bit by bit, however, my spirits rose again with the exercise, and when the fifth or sixth bull came in I resolved to make him run. It was a good, honest bull ; I saw that at once ; he stood in the middle of the ring, excited, but not angry, in spite of the waving of the capas all round him. As soon as my turn came, I ran forward, nearer to him than the others had considered safe, and waved the challenge with my capa. At once he rushed at it, and I gave him a long run, half round the circle, and ended it by stopping and letting him toss the capa which I held not quite at arm’s length from my body. As I did this I didn’t turn round to face him. I knew he’d toss the capa and not me, but the crowd rose and cheered as if the thing were extraordinary. Then I felt sure I should be engaged, and I was happy. • Only Juan said to me a few minutes later : ‘ “ You’ll be killed, my boy, one of these fine days if you try those games. Your life will be a short one if you begin by trusting a bull.” ‘ But I didn’t mind what he said. I thought he meant it as a friendly warning, and I was anxious only to get permanently engaged. And sure enough, as soon as the games were over, I was sent for by the director. He was kind to me, and asked me where I had played before. I told him that was my first trial. ‘ “Ah !” he said, turning to a gentleman who was with him, “ I knew it, Senor Duque ; such courage always comes from—want of experience, let me call it.” ‘ “ No,” replied the gentleman, whom I afterwards knew as the Duke of Medina Celi, the best aficionado, and one of the noblest men in Spain ; “ I’m not so sure of that. Why,” he went on, speaking now to me, “ did you keep your back turned to the bull ?” ‘“Senor,” I answered, “’twas an honest bull and not angry, and I knew he’d toss the capa without paying any attention tome.” ‘ “ Well,’ said the Duke, “If you know that much, and aren’t afraid to risk your life on your knowledge, you’ll go far. I must have a talk with you some day, when I’ve more time ; you can come and see me. Send in your name ; I shall remember.” And as he said this, he nodded to me and waved his hand to the director, and went away. • Then and there t he director made me sign an engagement for the season, and gave me one hundred duros as earnest money in advance of my pay. What an evening we had after that! Juan, the tailor, Antonio the blacksmith, and I. How glad and proud I was to be able to pay my debts and still have sixty duros in my pocket after entertaining my friends. If Juan had not hurt me every now and then by the way he talked of my foolhardiness, I should have told them all I knew ; but I didn’t. I only said I was engaged at a salary of a hundred duros a month. ‘ “ What 1” said Juan. “Come, tell the truth ; make it fifty.” ‘ “ No,” I said ; “ it was a hundred,” and I pulled out the money. • “ Well,” he said, “ that only shows what it is to be small and young and foolhardy ! Here am I, after six years’ experience, second, too, in the cuadrilla of Girvalda, and I’m not getting much more than that 1” ‘ Still, in spite of such little drawbacks, in spite, too, of the fact that Juan had to go away early, to meet “ a lovely creature,” as he said, that evening was one of the happiest I ever spent. • All that summer through I worked every Sunday, and grew in favour with the Madrilenos, and with the Madrilenas, though not with these in Juan’s way. I was timid an<i young ; besides I had a picture of a woman in my mind, ami I saw no one like it. So I went on studying the bulls, learning all I could about the different breeds, and watching

them in the ring. Then I sent money to my sister and to my father, and was happy. ‘ln the winter I was a good deal with Antonio ; every day I did a spell of work in his shop to strengthen myself, ana he, I think, got to know that I intended to become an espada. At any rate after my first performance with the capa, he believed I could do whatever I wished. Often he used to say God had given him strength and me brains, and he only wished he could exchange some of his strength for some of my knowledge. Antonio was not very bright, but he was good-tempered, kind, and hard-working, the only friend I ever had. . . . May Our Lady give his soul rest!

‘ In the next spring when the director sent for me, I told him I wanted to be a banderillero. He seemed to be surprised, told me I was a favourite with the capa, and had better stick to that for another season at least. But I was firm. Then he asked me whether I had ever used the bandcrillas and where? The director never believed I hadn’t worked in any ring before I came to Madrid. I told him I was confident I could do the work. “ Besides,” I added, “ I want more pay,” which was an untruth ; but the argument seemed to him decisive, and he engaged me at two hundred duros a month, under the condition that, if the spectators wished it, I should work now and then with the capa as well. It didn’t take me long to show the aficionados in Madrid that I was as good with the bandcrillas as I was with the capa. I could plant them when and where I liked. For in this season I found I could make the bull do almost anything. You know how the banderillero has to excite the bull to charge him before he can plant the darts. He does that to make the bull lower his head well, and he runs towards the bull partly so that the bull may not know when to toss his head up, partly because he can throw himself aside more easily when he’s running fairly fast. Well, again and again Imadethebull lower his head and then walked to him, planted the bandcrillas, and as he struck upwards swayed aside just enough to avoid the blow. That was an infinitely more difficult feat than anything I had ever done with the capa, and it gave me reputation among the aficionados and also with the espadas ; but the ignorant herd of spectators preferred my trick with the capa. So the season came and went. I had many a carouse with Juan, and gave him money from time to time, because women always made him spend more than he got. From that time on, too, I gave my sister fifty duros a month, and my father fifty. For before the season was half over my pay was raised to four hundreds duros a month, and my name was always put on the bills. In fact I was rich and a favourite of the public. . . . ‘ So time went on, and my third season in Madrid began, and with it came the beginning of the end. Never was any one more absolutely content than I when we were told los toros would begin in a fortnight. On that Sunday I was walking carelessly in the procession beside Juan, although I could have been next to the espadas had I wished, when he suddenly nudged me, and said :

‘ “Look up ! there on the second tier ; there’s a face for you !” ‘ I looked up, and saw a girl with the face of my dreams, only much more beautiful. I suppose I must have stopped, for Juan pulled me by the arm, and said : “ You’re moonstruck, man ; come on !” and on I went —lovestruck in heart and brain and body. What a face it was! The golden hair framed it like a picture, but the great eyes were dark, and the lips scarlet, and she wore the mantilla like a queen. I moved forward like a man in a dream, conscious of nothing that went on around me, till I heard Juan say : ‘ “ She’s looking at us. She knows we’ve noticed her. All right, pretty one ! we’ll make friends afterwards.” ‘ “ But how ?” I asked, stupidly. ‘ “ How I” he replied, mockingly. “ I’ll just send some one to find out who she is, and then you can send her a paleo for next Sunday, and pray for her acquaintance, and the thing’s done. I suppose that’s her mother sitting behind her,” he went on. “ I wonder if the other girl next to her is the sister. She’s as good looking as the fair-haired one, and easier to win, I’d bet ! Strange how all the timid ones take to me !” and again he looked up.

* I said nothing ; nor did I look up at the place where she was sitting ; but I worked that day as 1 had never worked before. Then, for the first time, I did something that has never been done since by anyone. The first bull was honest and kindly ; I knew the sort. So, when the people began to call for El Pequeno (the little fellow) —that was the nickname they had given me—l took up a capa, and when the bull chased me, I stopped suddenly, faced him, and threw the capa round me. lie was within six paces of me before he caught my look, and began to stop ; but before he came to a standstill his horns were within a foot of me. The people cheered and cheered as if they would never stop. Then I looked up at her. She must have been watching me, for she took the red rose from her hair and threw it into the ring towards me, crying, ‘ Bien! Muy bien ! El Pequeno!’ ‘As I picked up the rose, pressed it to my lips, and hid it in my bieast, I realised what life holds of triumphant ioy! . . . Then I made up my mind to show what I could do, and everything I did that day seemed to delight the public. At last, as I planted the bandcrillas, standing in front of the bull, and he tried twice in quick succession to strike me and failed, the crowd cheered and cheered and cheered, so that, even when I went away after bowing, and stood among my fellows, ten minutes passed before they would

let the game go on. ... I didn’t look up again. No ! I wanted to keep the memory of what she looked like, when she threw me the rose ! ‘ After the games were over, on that afternoon, we met. Juan had brought it about, and he talked easily enough to the mother and daughter and to the niece, while I was silent. We all went, I remember, to a restaurant in the Puerta del Sol, and ate and drank together. But I said little or nothing all the evening. The mother told us they were from the north. Alvareda was the family name, and her daughter was Clemencia ; the niece was called Liberata. I listened and heard everything, but I scarcely spoke, while Juan talked and told them all about himself, and what he meant to do and be. While Clemencia looked at him I gazed at her in peace. Juan, I remember, invited them all to los toros on the following Sunday, and promised them the best paleo in the ring. He found out, too, where they lived in a little street running parallel to the Alcala, and assured them of our visit during the week. Then they left, and as they went out of the door Liberata looked at Juan, while Clemencia chatted with and teased him. ‘ “That’s all right,’ said Juan, turning to me when they were gone, ‘ and I don’t know which is the more taking, the niece or Clemencia ! Perhaps the niece; she looks at one so appealingly ; and those who talk so with their eyes are always the best. I wonder have they any money. One might do worse than either with a good portion.’ ‘ “ Is that your real opinion ?” I asked hesitatingly. ‘ “ Yes,” he answered ; “ why ?” ‘ “ Because, in that case leave Clemencia to me. Of course you could win her if you wanted to. But it makes no difference to you, and to me all ! If I cannot marry her I shall never marry.” ‘ “ Whew !” he said, “ how fast you go, but I’d do more than that for you ; and besides, the niece really pleases me better. ” ‘ So the matter ended between us. Now if I could tell you all that happened I should. But much escaped me at the time that I afterwards remembered, and many things that then seemed to me to be as sure as a straight stroke, have since grown confused. I only know that Juan and I met them often, and that Juan paid court to the niece, while I from time to time talked timidly to Clemencia. ‘ One Sunday after another came and went, and we grew to know each other well. Clemencia did not chatter like other women : I liked her the better for it, and when I came to know she was very proud I liked that, too. She charmed me ; why ? I can scarcely tell. I saw her faults gradually, but even her faults appeared to me fascinating. Her pride was insensate ! I remember one Sunday afternoon after the games, I happened to go into a restaurant, and found her sitting there with her mother. I was in costume and carried in my hand a great nosegay of roses that a lady had thrown me in the ring. Of course as soon as I saw Clemencia I went over to her and—you know it is the privilege of the matadores in Spain, even if they do not know the lady—taking a rose from the bunch I presented it to her as the fairest of the fair. Coming from the cold North, she didn’t know the custom and scarcely seemed pleased. When I explained it to her, she exclaimed that it was monstrous ; she’d never allow a mere matador to take such a liberty unless she knew and liked him. Juan expostulated with her laughingly ; I said nothing ; I knew what qualities our work required, and didn’t think it needed any defence. ... I believe in that first season, I came to see that her name Clemencia wasn’t very appropriate. At any rate she had courage and pride, that was certain ! . . . Very early in our friendship she wanted to know why I didn’t become an espada. ‘ “A man without ambition,” she said, “was like a woman without beauty.” ‘ I laughed at this, and told her my ambition was to do my work well, and advancement was sure to follow in due course. For love of her seemed to have killed ambition in me. But no 1 She wouldn’t rest content in spite of Juan’s telling her my position already was more brilliant than that of most of the espadas. ‘ “ He does things with the capa and bandcrillas which no espada in all Spain would care to imitate ! And that’s position enough. Besides, to be an espada requires height and strength 1” ‘ As he said this she seemed to be convinced, but it annoyed me a little, and so afterwards as we walked together, I said to her : ‘ “ If you want to see me work as an espada you shall.” ‘ “ Oh, no 1” she answered, half carelessly ; “ if you can’t do it, as J uan says, why should you try ? to fail is worse than to lack ambition.” ‘ “ Well,” I answered, “ you shall see.” ‘ And then I took my courage in both hands and went on. ‘ “ If you cared for me I should be the first espada in the world next season I” ‘ And she turned and looked at me curiously and said : ‘ “ Of course I'd wish it if you could do it !” ‘ And I said, “ See, I love you as the priest loves the Virgin ; tell me to be an espada and I shall be one for the sake of your love 1” ‘ “ That’s what all men say, but love doesn’t make a man tall and strong.” ‘ “ No ; nor do size and strength take the place of heart and head. Do you love me ? That’s the question.” “‘I like you, yes ? but love—love, they say, comes after marriage. ’ ‘ “ Will you marry me ?” ‘ “ Become an espada and then ask me again,” she answered laughingly. . . . ‘ On the very next day I went to see the duke of Medina Celi; the servants would scarcely let me pass till they heard my name and that the Duke had asked me to come. He received me kindly. I told him what I wanted. ‘ “ But,” he said, “ have you ever used the sword? Can you do it ? You see we don’t want to lose the best man with capa and bandcrillas ever known, to get another secondclass espada.” ' And I answered him : ‘ “ Senor Duque, I have done better with the bandcrillas than I could with the capa. Believe me I shall do better with the espada than with the bandcrillas.” ‘ “ You little fiend !” he laughed, “ I believe you ; but now for the means. All the espadas are engaged ; it’ll be difficult. . . . But early in July the Queen has asked me to superintend the sports, and then I shall give you your chance. Will that do? In the meantime, astonish us all with capa and banderillas, so that men may not think ma mad when I put your name first on the bill.” ‘ I thanked him from my heart, as was his due, and after

a little more talk I went away to tell Cleniencia the news. She only said—- “‘ I’m glad. Now you’ll get Juan to help you.” . . . * I stared at her. * “ Yes !” she went on a little impatiently ; “ he has been trained to the work ; he’s suie to be able to teach you much.” . . . * I said not a word. She was sincere, I saw, but then she came from the North, and knew nothing. ... I said to myself, “ That’s how women are ‘ She continued, “Of course you’re clever with the capa and banderillas, and now you must do more than ever, as the Duke said, to deserve your chance!” And then she asked carelessly, “ Couldn’t you bring the Duke and introduce him to us some time or other 1 I should like to thank

him. ” ‘And I, thinking it meant our betrothal, was glad, and promised. And I remember I did bring him once to the box and he was kind in his way, but not cordial as he always was when alone with me, and he told Clemencia that I’d go very far, and that any woman would be lucky to get me for a husband, and so on. And after a little while he went * away. But Clemencia was angry with him and said he put on airs, and, indeed, I had never seen him so cold and reserved, therefore I could say nothing in his defence. . . . Well, all that May I worked as I had never done. . . . The Director told me he knew I was to use the espada on the first Sunday in July, and he seemed to be glad ; and one or two of the best espadas came to me ana said they’d heard the news and should be glad to ■welcome me among them. All this excited me— and I did better and better. I used to pick out the old prints of Goya, the great painter — you know his works are in the Padro — and do everything the old matadores did, and invent new’ things. But nothing “ took ” like my trick with the capa. One Sunday, I remember, I had done it with six bulls, one after the other, and the people cheered and cheered. But the seventh was a bad bull and, of course, I didn’t do it. And afterwards Cleniencia asked me why I didn’t, and I told her. For you see I didn’t know then that women rate high what they don’t understand. Mystery is everything to them. As if the explanation of such a thing makes it any easier. A man wins great battles by seizing the right moment and using it—the explanation is simple, the feat is difficult. One must be great in order to know the moment, that’s all. But women don’t see that small men alone exaggerate the difficulties of their work. Great men find their work easy and say so, and you’ll find that women always underrate great men and overpraise small ones. Clemencia really thought I should learn the espada's work from Juan. Ah ! women are strange creatures. . . . Well, after that Sunday she was always bothering me to do the capa trick with every bull.

‘“lf you don’t,” she used to say, “ you w-on’t get a chance of being an espada." And when she saw I laughed and paid no attention to that she became more and more obstinate. ‘ “ If the people get to know you can only do it with some bulls, they won’t think much of you. Do it with every bull, then they can’t say anything.” ‘ And I said “ No ! and I shouldn’t be able to say anything either. ” ‘ “ If you love me you will do as I sav.” ‘ And when I didn’t do as she wished, —it was madness—she grew cold to me, and sneered at me, and then urged me again, till I half yielded. Really, by that time f didn’t know what I couldn’t do, for each day I seemed to get greater power over the bulls. At length a Sunday came, the first, I think, in June, or the last in May. Clemencia sat with her mother and cousin in the best paleo : I had got it from the Director who now refused me nothing. . . . I’d done the capa trick with three bulls, one after the other, then the fourth came in. As soon as I saw him I knew he was bad, cunning I mean, and with black rage in the heart of him. The other men stood aside to let me do the trick, but I wouldn’t. I ran away like the rest, and let him toss the capa. The people liked me, and so they cheered just the same, thinking I was tired ; but suddenly Clemencia called out: “ The capa round the shoulders ; the capa trick !” and I looked up at her ; and she leaned over the front of the paleo and called out the words again. ‘ Then rage came into me, rage at her folly and cold heart; I took off my cap to her, and turned and challenged the bull with the capa, and, as he put down his head and rushed, I threw the capa round me and stood still. I did not even look at him. I knew it was no use. He struck me here on the thigh, and I went up into the air. The shock took away my senses As I came to myself they were carrying me out of the ring, and the people were ail standing up ; but, as I looked towards the paleo, I saw she wasn’t standing up : she had a handkerchief before her face. At first I thought she was crying, and I felt well, and longed to say to her, “It doesn’t matter, I’m content ’; then she put down the handkerchief and I saw she wasn’t crying. There wasn’t a tear in her eyes. She seemed surprised merely and shocked and perhaps a little anxious. ... I suppose she thought I could work miracles, or rather she didn't care much whether I was hurt or not. ... I came to myself in my bed, where I spent the next month. The doctor told the Duke of Medina Celi—he had come to see me the same afternoon—that the shock hadn’t injured me, but I should be lame always, as the bull’s horns had torn the muscles of my thigh from the bone. “How he didn’t bleed to death,” he said, “is a wonder; now he’ll Sull through, but no more play with the hulls for him.” I new better than the doctor, but I said nothing to him, only to the Duke 1 said : ‘ “ Senor, a promise is a promise ; I shall use the esj/ada in your show in July.” ‘ And he said, “ Yes, my poor boy, if you wish it, and are able; but how came you to make such a mistake ‘ “ I made no mistake, Senor I”

‘ “ You knew you’d be struck ‘ I nodded. He looked at me for one moment, and then held out his hand. He understood everything I’m sure ; but he said nothing to me then. . . Juan came to see me in the evening, and next day Clemencia and her mother. Clemencia was sorry, that I could see, and wanted me to forgive her. As if I had anything to forgive when she stood there so lithe and straight, with her flower-like face and the appealing eyes. . . . Then came days of pain when the doctors forced the muscles back into their places. . . . Soon 1 was able to get up, with a crutch, and limp about. . . As I grew better, Clemencia came seldomer, and when she came, her mother never left the room. I knew what that meant ! She had told her mother not to go away ; for,

though the mother thought no one good enough for her daughter, yet she pitied me, and would have left us alone—sometimes. She had a woman’s heart. But no, not once. Then I set myself to get well soon. I would show them all, I said to myself, that a lame Montes was worth more than other men. And I got better, so the doctor said, with sur- ? rising speed. .. . One day, towards the end of June, said to the servant of the Duke of Medina Celi—he sent a servant every day to me with fruit and flowers —that 1 wished greatly to see the Duke. And the Duke came to see me the very same day. * I thanked him first for all his kindness to me, and then asked—-

‘ “ Senor, have you put my name on the bills as espada I" ‘ “ No; but I can still,” he replied, “ though if I were in your place, I should wait till next season !” ‘And I said, “Senor Duque, it presses. Believe me, weak as I am, I can use the sword.” ‘ And he answered my very thought. “Ah! She thinks you can’t. And you want to prove the contrary. I shouldn’t take the trouble, if I were you ; but there! Don’t deceive yourself or me ; there is time yet for three or four days : then I’ll come again to see you, and if you wish to have your chance you shall. I give you my word.” As he left the room I had tears in my eyes, but I was glad, too, and confident. They should see. . . . Save Antonio, the blacksmith, and some people I didn't know, and the Duke’s servant, no one had come near me for more than a week. . . . Three days afterwards I wrote to the Duke, claiming the fulfilment of his promise, and the very next day Juan, Clemencia, and her mother all came to see me together. They all wanted to know what it meant. My name as espada for the next Sunday, they said, was first on the bills placarded all over Madrid, and the Duke de Medina Celi had put underneath it—“By special request of H.M. the Queen.” ... I said nothing but that I was going to play ; and I noticed Clemencia wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘ What a day that was ! That Sunday I mean. The Queen was in her box with the Duke beside her as our procession saluted them, and the great ring was crowded tier on tier, and she was in the best paleo 1 could get. But I tried not to think about her. And really my heart seemed to be frozen. Still I know now I worked for her even then. . . . When the first bull came in and the capa men played him, and the people began to shout for me—- “ El Pequeno ! El Pequeno ! El Pequeno 1” —and wouldn’t let the games go on. . . . So I limped forward in my espada’s dress and took a capa from a man and challenged the bull, and he rushed at me—the honest one—and I caught his eye and knew ’cwas all right, so I threw the capa round me and turned my back upon him. I saw all the people rise in their excitement, and the Duke lean over the front of the paleo— just for one moment —then, as the bull stopped and they began to cheer, I handed back the capa, and after bowing, went again among the espadas. Then the people christened me afresh—“ El Cojo !” (The Lame One !) —and I had to come out and bow again and again, and the Queen threw me down a gold cigarette case. I have it still. There it is. ... I never looked up at Clemencia, though I could see her always. She threw no rose to me that day. . . . Then the time came when I should kill the bull. I took the muleta in my left hand and went towards him with the sword uncovered in my right. I needed no tricks. I held him with my eye, and he looked up at me. “ Poor brute !” I thought, “ you are happier than I am.” And he bowed his head with the great, hurt, kindly eyes, and I struck straight through to the heart. On his knees he fell at my feet, and then rolled over dead, almost without a quiver. As I put the sword in the muleta and turned away, the people found their voices, “ Well done, Lame One ! Well done!” . . . When I left the ring that day I left it as the first espada in Spain. So the Duke said, and he knew. . . . After one more Sunday the sports were over for the year, but on that second Sunday I did better than on the first, and I was engaged for the next season as first espada, with fifty thousand duros salary. Forty thousand I invested as the Duke advised—l have lived on the interest ever since—the other ten thousand I kept by me.’ [TO BE CONTINUED.]