When the husband of Se?ora Angustias died, the Se?or Juan Gallardo, an excellent cobbler long established under a doorway in the suburb de la Feria, she wept as disconsolately as was appropriate to the event, but at the same time in the bottom of her heart, she felt the comfort of one who rests after a long march, and lays down an overwhelming burden.

"Poor dear soul! God has him in His glory! So good! ... so hard working!"...

During the twenty years of their life together, he had not given her more troubles than those endured by the other women in the suburb. Of the three pesetas that, one day with another, he earned by his work, he gave one to the Se?ora Angustias for the maintenance of the house and the family, reserving the other two for the up-keep of his own person, and the expenses of the "representacions."[48] He must respond to the civilities of his friends when they invited him to drink a glass, and the wine of Andalusia, although it is the glory of God, costs dear. Besides he must inevitably go to the bull-fights, for a man who neither drinks nor attends corridas ... why is he in the world at all?...

The Se?ora Angustias, left with her two children, Encarnacion and Juan, had to sharpen her wits and develop a multiplicity of talents to carry the family along. She worked as charwoman in the wealthiest houses in the suburb, sewed for the neighbours, mended clothes and laces for a certain pawnbroking friend of hers, made[Pg 60] cigarettes for gentlemen, availing herself of the dexterity acquired in her youth when the Se?or Juan, an ardent and wheedling lover, used to wait for her at the entrance of the Tobacco factory.

She never had to complain of infidelities or bad treatment on the part of the defunct. On Saturdays when he returned to the house in the small hours of the night, tipsy, supported by his friends, happiness and tenderness came with him. The Se?ora Angustias was obliged forcibly to push him in, for he persisted in remaining at the door, clapping his hands, and chanting doleful love songs in a drivelling voice, all in praise of his voluminous companion. And when at last the door was closed behind him, and the neighbours deprived of a source of amusement, the Se?or Juan, in the fullness of his drunken sentimentality would insist on seeing the little ones, kissing them and wetting them with huge tears, all the while chanting his love songs in honour of the Se?ora Angustias (Olé! The best woman in the world!) and the good woman ended by relaxing her frown and laughing, while she undressed him, and petted him like a sick child.

This was his only vice. Poor dear! ... of women or gambling there was never a sign. His selfishness in going well dressed while his family were in rags, and the inequality in the division of the proceeds of his work, were compensated for by generous treats. The Se?ora Angustias remembered with pride how on the great holidays Juan made her put on her Manila silk shawl, the wedding mantilla, and with the children in front walked by her side in a white Cordovan sombrero, with a silver headed stick, taking a turn through las Delicias,[49] looking just like a family of tradespeople of the Calle de las Sierpes. On the days of cheap bull-fights he would treat[Pg 61] her magnificently before going to the Plaza, offering her a glass of Manzanilla in La Campana, or in a café of the Plaza Nueva.

This happy time was now nothing but a faded though pleasant recollection in the poor woman's memory.

Se?or Juan became ill of consumption, and for two years his wife had to nurse him, working harder than ever at her various jobs to make up for the peseta that her husband formerly gave her. Finally he died in the hospital, resigned to his fate, having come to the conclusion that life was worth nothing without bulls and Manzanilla. His last looks of love and gratitude were for his wife, as though he were crying out with his eyes, "Olé! the best woman in the world!"...

When the Se?ora Angustias was left alone, her situation became no worse; on the contrary, she was much less hampered in her movements, freed from the man who in the last two years of his life had weighed more heavily on her than all the rest of the family. Being a woman of prompt and energetic action, she immediately struck out a line for her children. Encarnacion, who was now seventeen, went to the Tobacco factory, where her mother was able to introduce her, thanks to her relations with certain friends of her youth, who were now overseers. Juanillo, who from his babyhood had spent his days under the doorway in the suburb de la Feria, watching his father work, should become a shoemaker, by the will of Se?ora Angustias.

She took him away from school, where he had only learnt to read very badly, and at twelve years old he was apprenticed to one of the best shoemakers in Seville.

Now commenced the martyrdom of the poor woman. Ay! that urchin. The son of such honoured parents!... Almost every day instead of going to his master's shop, he would go to the slaughter-house with certain[Pg 62] ragamuffins, who had their meeting place on a bench in the Alameda de Hercules, and for the amusement of shepherds and slaughtermen, would venture to throw a cloak before the oxen, frequently getting knocked over and trampled. The Se?ora Angustias, who watched many nights needle in hand, so that her son should go decently clad to the workshop in clean clothes, would find him at the house door, afraid to come in, but from the extremity of his hunger equally afraid to run away, with his trousers torn, his jacket filthy, and bruises and grazes on his face.

To the bruises of the treacherous oxen would be added his mother's blows and beatings with a broomstick: but the hero of the slaughter-house endured everything, as long as he could get his poor pittance, "Beat me, but give me something to eat," and with an appetite sharpened by the violent exercise, he would swallow the hard bread, the weevilled beans, the putrefied salt cod, all the damaged goods that the thrifty woman found in the shops, which enabled her to maintain the family on very little money.

Busy all day scrubbing the floors of other people's houses, it was only now and again in the evenings that she was able to look after her son, going to his master's shop to enquire about the apprentice's progress. When she returned from the shoemaker's she was usually panting with rage, promising herself to administer the most stupendous punishments in order to correct the rascal.

On most days he never went near the shop at all. He spent the mornings at the slaughter-house, and in the evenings formed one of a group of other vagabonds at the entrance of the Calle de las Sierpes, prowling round the groups of toreros without contracts, who assembled in La Campana, dressed in new clothes with spick and span hats, and scarcely a peseta between them in their[Pg 63] pockets, each one boasting of his own imaginary exploits.

Juanillo viewed them as creatures of amazing superiority, he envied their fine carriage, and the coolness with which they ogled the women. The idea that each one of those men had in his house a set of silk clothes embroidered with gold, and being dressed in these would march past before the crowd to the sound of music, produced a shiver of respect.

The son of Se?ora Angustias was known to all his ragged companions as "Zapaterin,"[50] and he seemed delighted at having a nickname, like almost all the great men who appeared in the circus. Everything must have a beginning. Round his neck he wore a red handkerchief filched from his sister, and from beneath his cap the hair fell over his ears in long locks, which he smoothed with saliva. He wanted to have his drill blouses made short to the waist with many pleats, his trousers, old remains of his father's wardrobe, high in the waist, full in the legs, well fitting over the hips; and he wept with humiliation when his mother would not give in to these requirements.

A cape! Oh! to possess a fighting cape, not to have to implore the loan of the coveted garment for a few moments from others more fortunate than himself!... In a small room in their house lay an old empty mattress from which Se?ora Angustias had sold the wool in days of distress. The Zapaterin spent one morning shut up in that room, taking advantage of his mother's absence, who was working that day at a canon's house. With the ingenuity of a ship-wrecked man, left to his own resources on a desert island, who has to make everything for himself, he cut out a fighting cape from the damp and ravelled linen. Afterwards he boiled in a pipkin a[Pg 64] handful of red aniline which he had bought at a druggists, and dipped the old linen in the dye. Then Juanillo looked at the result of his work. A cape of the most brilliant scarlet which would arouse many envies at the "capeas" in different villages!... It only wanted drying. So he hung it in the sun among the neighbours' white clothes. The wind waving the dripping rag, spotted the neighbouring garments, and a chorus of maledictions and threats, of clenched fists, and mouths uttering the most abusive words against him and his mother, obliged the Zapaterin to seize his cape of glory and bolt; his hands and face covered with red, as if he had just committed a murder.

The Se?ora Angustias was a strong woman, obese and mustachioed, who feared no man, and compelled respect from other women by her energetic determination, but with her son she was weak and soft-hearted. What could she do?... She had laid violent hands on every part of the boy's body, and broom sticks had been broken with no apparent result. That cursed one, said she, had the hide of a dog. Accustomed out of the house to the tremendous butting of the calves, the cruel tramplings of the cows, to the sticks of the herdsmen and slaughtermen, who thrashed the tauric aspirants without mercy, his mother's blows seemed a natural event, a continuation of his out-door life prolonged into his family life, which he accepted without the slightest intention of amendment, as a fine he had to pay in return for food. So he gnawed the hard bread with starving gluttony, while the maternal blows and maledictions rained on his shoulders.

As soon as his hunger was satisfied he ran away from the house, availing himself of the liberty perforce left by Se?ora Angustias, who was absent, busy at her tasks.

In La Campana, the venerable agora of tauric gossip, where all the great news of the "aficion" circulated, he[Pg 65] got tidings from his friends which made him tremble with delight.

"Zapaterin, there is a corrida to-morrow."

The country villages celebrated the feast-day of their patron saint by "capeas" of already[51] tried bulls, and there the young toreros walked, in the hope of being able to say on their return, that they had spread their cloaks in the celebrated Plazas of Aznalcollar, Bollullos or Mairena. They would begin their journey at night, with their cloaks over their shoulders if it were summer, or wrapped round them if it were winter, their stomachs empty, talking all the time of bulls.

If their tramp lasted several days they would camp on the ground, or be admitted out of charity to the hay-loft of some inn. Alas! for the grapes, the melons and the figs they came across on their way in the warm season. Their only anxiety was lest some other party, some other cuadrilla should have had the same inspiration, and would arrive in the town before them, thus establishing a rough competition.

When they came to the end of their journey, their brows dusty and their mouths parched, tired and foot weary from the tramp, they presented themselves before the alcalde, and the boldest among them, who fulfilled the functions of director spoke of the merits of the troup, who thought themselves lucky if municipal generosity lodged them in the inn stables, and gave them in addition an "olla"[52] which was emptied in a few seconds.

In the square of the town, enclosed with carts and boarded scaffolding, old bulls would be loosed, veritable castles of flesh, covered with seams and scars, with enormous sharp horns, brutes that for many years had been baited at all the holidays in the province, venerable [Pg 66]animals who "knew Latin."[53] Their cunning was so great that accustomed to the perpetual baiting they were in the secrets of all the possibilities of the fight. The boys of the town pricked these beasts from a safe place, and the people derived more amusement from the "toreros" from Seville even than from the bull. The youngsters spread their cloaks with trembling legs, but their hearts comforted by the weight in their stomachs. There was great delight among the crowd when any one of them was knocked over; and when any lad among them in sudden terror took refuge behind the palisades, the peasant barbarians received him with insults, striking the hands clutching hold of the wood, and thrashing him on the legs to make him jump again into the Plaza. "Arre, coward! show your face to the bull. Cheat!"

Sometimes one of the "diestros" would be carried out of the Plaza by four of his companions, pale with the whiteness of paper, his eyes glassy, his head hanging, and his breast heaving like a broken bellows. The barber would arrive, reassuring them all as he saw no blood, it was only the shock the lad had suffered in being tossed to a distance of several yards, and falling on the ground like a bundle of clothes. At other times it was the agony of being trampled under foot by some enormously heavy animal; then a pail of water would be dashed on his head, and when he recovered his senses, he would be treated to a long draught of aguardiente from Cazalla de la Sierra. Not even a prince could be better cared for, and back he went to the Plaza again.

When the grazier had no more bulls to loose and night was beginning to fall, two of the cuadrilla, choosing the best cloak of the company, and holding it by the corners, would go from stand to stand asking for some gratuity. Copper money would rain into the red cloth[Pg 67] according to the amusement the strangers had given to the inhabitants, and the corrida being ended they would recommence their tramp home, knowing their credit at the inn was exhausted. Very often on the way home they quarrelled over the division of the coins which were carried tied up in a handkerchief.

All the rest of the week would be spent narrating their exploits before the wide open eyes of the chums who had not been of the expedition. They would tell of their "veronicas"[54] in El Garrobo, of their "navarras"[55] in Lora, or of a terrible goring in El Pedroso, imitating the airs and attitudes of the true professionals, who, a few steps away from them, were consoling themselves for their failure to get contracts, by every sort of bragging and lies.

On one occasion the Se?ora Angustias was more than a week without news of her son. At last vague rumours came that he had been wounded in a "capea" at the village of Tocino. Dios mio! Where might that village be? How should she get to it?... She made sure her son was dead and wept for him, nevertheless she wished to go to the place herself. While, however, she was considering the journey Juanillo arrived, pale and weak, but speaking with manly pride of his accident.

It was nothing. A prick in the buttock, which, with the shamelessness born of his triumph he wished to show to all the neighbours, declaring that he could put his finger in several inches without its coming to the end. He was proud of the smell of iodoform which he [Pg 68]dispersed as he passed, and he spoke gratefully of the attentions which had been paid to him in that town, which, according to him, was the finest in all Spain. The richest people there, the aristocracy as one might say, were interested in his mishap, and the alcalde had been to see him, afterwards giving him his return fare. He still had three duros in his purse, which he made over to his mother with the air of a grand gentleman. So much fame at fourteen! His pride was all the greater when in La Campana, several toreros (real toreros) deigned to take notice of him, enquiring how his wound was getting on.

After this accident he never again returned to his master's shop. He knew now what bulls were, and his wound only served to increase his boldness. He would be a torero; and nothing but a torero! The Se?ora Angustias abandoned all her projects of correction, judging them to be useless. She tried to ignore her son's existence. When he arrived home at night, at the time his mother and sister were supping together, they gave him his food in silence, intending to crush him with their contempt, but this in no way interfered with his appetite. If he arrived late, they did not even keep a scrap of bread for him, and he was obliged to go out again, as empty as he had come in.

He was one of the evening promenaders in the Alameda de Hercules, with other vicious-eyed lads, a confused mixture of apprentices, criminals, and toreros. The neighbours met him sometimes in the streets talking to young gentlemen whose airs made the women laugh, or grave caballeros to whom slander gave feminine nicknames. Sometimes he would sell newspapers, or during the great festivals of Holy Week he would sell packets of caramels in the Plaza de San Francisco. At the time of the fair, he would loiter about the hotels waiting for[Pg 69] an "Englishman," because for him all travellers were English, hoping to be engaged as guide.

"Milord!... I am a torero!" ... he would say, seeing a foreign figure, as if this professional qualification was an undeniable recommendation to strangers.

In order to establish his identity, he would take off his cap, letting the pigtail fall down behind, the long lock of hair which as a rule he wore rolled up on the top of his head.

His companion in wretchedness was Chiripa, a lad of the same age, small of body and malicious of eye. He had neither father nor mother, and had wandered about Seville ever since he could remember anything. He exercised over Juanillo all the influence of greater experience. He had one cheek scarred by a bull's horn, and this visible wound the Zapaterin considered greatly superior to his invisible one.

When at the door of an hotel some lady, bitten by the idea of "local colour," spoke with the young toreros, admired their pig-tails, listened to the stories of their exploits, and ended by giving them some money, Chiripa would say in a whining voice.

"Do not give it to him, he has a mother, and I am alone in the world. He who has a mother does not know what he has!"

And the Zapaterin, seized with a feeling of compunction, would allow the other lad to take possession of all the money, murmuring:

"That is true; that is true."

This filial tenderness did not prevent Juanillo continuing his abnormal existence, only putting in an occasional appearance at Se?ora Angustias' house, and often undertaking long journeys away from Seville.

Chiripa was a past master of a vagabond life. On the days of a corrida he would make up his mind to get[Pg 70] into the Plaza de Toros somehow with his comrade, and would employ for this end every sort of stratagem, such as scaling the walls, slipping in among the people unperceived, or even softening the officials by humble prayers. A fiesta taurina,[56] and they who were of the profession not there to see it!... When there were no "capeas" in the provincial towns, they would go and spread their cloaks before the young bulls in the pastures of Tablada. These attractions of Sevillian life, however, were not sufficient to satisfy their ambition.

Chiripa had wandered much, and told his companion of all the things he had seen in the distant provinces. He was expert in the art of travelling gratuitously and hiding himself cleverly on the trains. The Zapaterin listened with delight to his description of Madrid, that city of dreams with its Bull-ring, which was a kind of Cathedral of bull-fighting.

One day a gentleman at the door of a café in the Calle de las Sierpes told them, in order to take a rise out of them, that they might earn a great deal of money in Bilbao, as toreros did not abound there as they did in Seville. So the two lads undertook the journey with empty purses, and no luggage but their capes—real capes, which had belonged to toreros whose names figured on placards, and bought by them for a few reals in an old clothes shop.

They crept cautiously into the trains, hiding themselves beneath the seats, but hunger and other necessities obliged them to divulge their presence to their fellow travellers, who ended by pitying their plight, laughing at the queer figures they cut, with their pig-tails and capes, and finally giving them the remains of their victuals. When any official gave chase at the stations, they would run from carriage to carriage, or try to climb on the[Pg 71] roofs to await, lying flat, the starting of the train. Many times they were caught, seized by the ears to the accompaniment of blows and kicks, and left, standing on the platform of a lonely station, to watch the train vanish like a lost hope.

They would wait for the passing of the next train, bivouacing in the open air, or if they found they were being watched would start to walk over the deserted fields to the next station, in the hope that there they would be more fortunate. And so they arrived at Madrid after an adventurous journey of many days, with long waits and not a few cuffs. In the Calle de Sevilla and the Puerta del Sol, they admired the groups of unemployed toreros, superior beings, from whom they ventured to beg—without any result—a little alms to continue their journey. A servant of the Plaza de Toros who came from Seville had pity on them, and let them sleep in the stables, procuring them further the delight of seeing a corrida of young bulls in the famous circus, which, however, did not seem to them as imposing as the one in their own country.

Frightened at their own daring, and seeing the end of their excursion ever further and further off, they decided to return to Seville in the same way that they had come, but from that time they took a pleasure in these stolen journeys on the railway. They travelled to many places of small importance in the different Andalusian provinces, whenever they heard vague rumours of "fiestas" with their corresponding "capeas." In this way they travelled as far as La Mancha, and Estremadura, and if bad luck obliged them to go on foot, they took refuge in the hovels of the peasants, credulous, good-natured people, who were astounded at their youth, their daring and their bombastic talk, and took them for real toreros.

This wandering existence made them exercise the [Pg 72]cunning of primitive man to satisfy their wants. In the neighbourhood of country houses, they would crawl on their stomachs to steal the vegetables without being seen. They would watch whole hours for a solitary hen to come near them, and having wrung her neck would proceed on their tramp, to light a fire of dry wood in the middle of the day, and swallow the poor bird scorched and half raw with the voracity of little savages. The field mastiffs they feared more than bulls; these watchdogs were difficult brutes to fight, when they rushed upon the boys showing their fangs, as if the strange aspect of the latter infuriated them and they scented enemies to personal property.

Sometimes when they were sleeping in the open air near a station waiting for a train to pass, a couple of Civil Guards would rouse them. However, the guardians of law and order were pacified when they saw the red cloth bundles which served these vagabonds as pillows. Very civilly they would take off the urchins' caps, and finding the hairy appendage of the pig-tail, they would move off laughing, and make no further enquiries. They were not little thieves; they were "aficionados" going to the "capeas." In this tolerance there was a mixture of sympathy for the national pastime, and respect towards the obscurity of the future. Who could tell if perhaps one of these ragged lads, with poverty stricken exterior, might not become in the future a "star of the art," a great man who would pledge[57] bulls to kings, would live like a prince, and whose exploits and sayings would be recorded in the newspapers!

At last an evening came, when, in a town of Estremadura the Zapaterin found himself alone.

In order the more to astonish the rustic audience who were applauding the famous toreros "come purposely[Pg 73] from Seville," the two lads thought they would fix banderillas in the neck of an old and very tricky bull. Juanillo had fixed his darts in the beast's neck and stood near a staging, delighting in receiving the popular ovation, which expressed itself in tremendous thumps on his back and offers of glasses of wine. An exclamation of horror startled him out of this intoxication of triumph. Chiripa was no longer standing on the ground of the Plaza. Nothing remained of him but the banderillas rolling on the ground, one slipper and his cap. The bull was tossing his head as if irritated at some obstacle, carrying impaled on one of his horns a bundle of clothes like a doll. By violent head-shakes the shapeless bundle was flung off the horn pouring out a red stream, but before it reached the ground it was caught by the other horn, and twirled about for some time. At last the luckless bundle fell into the dust, and lay there limp and lifeless, pouring out blood, like a pierced wine skin letting out the wine in jets.

The grazier with his bell oxen drew the brute into the yard, for no one dared to approach him, and the unhappy Chiripa was carried on a straw mattress to a room in the Town Hall which usually served as a prison. His companion saw him there with his face as white as plaster, his eyes dull, and his body red with blood which the cloths soaked in vinegar—applied in default of anything better—were unable to staunch.

"Adio, Zapaterin!" he sighed. "Adio, Juaniyo!" and spoke no more.

The dead lad's companion, quite overcome, started on his return to Seville, haunted by those glassy eyes, hearing those moaning farewells. He was afraid. A quiet cow crossing his path would have made him run. He thought of his mother and the wisdom of her advice. Would it not be better to devote himself to shoe-making[Pg 74] and live quietly?... Those ideas, however, only lasted as long as he was alone.

On arriving in Seville he once more felt the influence of the pervading atmosphere. His friends surrounded him anxious to hear every detail of poor Chiripa's death. The professional toreros enquired about it in La Campana, recalling pitifully the little rascal with the scarred face who had run so many errands for them. Juan, fired by such marks of consideration, gave rein to his powerful imagination, and described how he had thrown himself on the bull when he saw his unlucky companion caught, how he had seized the brute by the tail, with other portentous exploits, in spite of which poor Chiripa had made his exit from this world.

This painful impression soon disappeared. He would be a torero and nothing but a torero; if others became that, why not he? He thought of the weevilled beans, and his mother's dry bread, of the abuse which each new pair of trousers drew on him, of hunger, the inseparable companion of so many of his expeditions. Besides he felt a vehement longing for all the enjoyments and luxuries of life, he looked with envy at the coaches and horses; he stood absorbed before the doorways of the great houses, through whose iron wickets he could see court-yards of oriental luxury, with arcades of Moorish tiles; floors of marble and murmuring fountains, which dropped a shower of pearls day and night over basins surrounded by green leaves. His fate was decided. He would kill bulls or die. He would be rich, so that the newspapers should speak of him, and people bow before him, even though it were at the cost of his life. He despised the inferior ranks of the torero. He saw the banderilleros who risked their lives, just like the masters of the profession, receive thirty duros only for each corrida, and, after a life of fatigues and gorings, with[Pg 75] no future for their old age but some wretched little shop started with their savings, or some employment at a slaughter-house. Many died in hospitals; the majority begged for charity from their younger companions. Nothing for him of banderilleros, or of spending many years in a cuadrilla, under the despotism of a master! He would kill bulls from the first and tread the sand of the Plazas as an espada at once.

The misfortune of poor Chiripa gave him a certain ascendancy among his companions, and he formed a cuadrilla, a ragged cuadrilla who tramped after him to the "capeas" in the villages. They respected him because he was the bravest and the best dressed. Several girls of loose life attracted by the manly beauty of the Zapaterin, who was now eighteen, and also by the prestige of his pig-tail, quarrelled among themselves in noisy rivalry, as to who should have the care of his comely person. Added to this, he now reckoned on a Godfather, an old patron and former magistrate, who had a weakness for smart young toreros, but whose intimacy with her son made Se?ora Angustias furious, and caused her to give vent to all the most obscene expressions she had learnt while she was at the Tobacco factory.

The Zapaterin wore suits of English woollen cloth well fitted to his elegant figure, and his hats were always spick and span. His female associates looked to the scrupulous whiteness of his collars and shirt fronts, and on great days he wore over his waistcoat a double chain of gold like ladies wear, a loan from his respected friend, which had already figured round the necks of several youngsters who were beginning their careers.

He now mixed with the real toreros, and he could afford to stand treat to the old servants who remembered the exploits of the famous masters. It was rumoured as true, that certain patrons were working in favour of[Pg 76] this "lad," and were only waiting for a propitious occasion for his début, at the baiting of novillos[58] in the Plaza of Seville.

The Zapaterin was already a matador. One day at Lebrija, a most lively bull was turned into the arena, his companions egged him on to the supreme feat: "Do you dare to put your hand to him?" ... and he did put his hand. Afterwards, emboldened by the facility with which he had come out of the peril, he went to all the "capeas" in which it was announced that the novillos would be killed, and to all the farm houses where they baited and killed cattle.

The proprietor of La Rinconada—a rich grange with its own small bull-ring—was an enthusiast, who kept the table laid, and his hay-loft open for all the starving "aficionados" who wished to amuse themselves fighting his cattle. Juanillo had been there in the days of his poverty with other companions, to eat to the health of the rural hidalgo. They would arrive on foot after a two days' tramp, and the proprietor seeing the dusty troup with their bundles of cloaks would say solemnly:

"To whoever does best, I will give his ticket to return to Seville by train."

The master of the farm spent two days smoking in the balcony of his Plaza, whilst the youngsters from Seville fought his young bulls, being often knocked over and pawed.

"That's no use whatever, blunderer!" he would cry, reproving a cloak pass ill delivered.

"Up from the ground, coward!... And tell them to give you some wine to get over your fright," ... he would shout when a lad continued lying full length on the ground after a bull had passed over his body.

The Zapaterin killed a novillo so much to the taste of[Pg 77] its owner, that the latter seated him at his own table, while his comrades remained in the kitchen with the shepherds and labourers, dipping their horn spoons into the common steaming pot.

"You have earned your journey in the railway, Gacho. You will go far, if your heart does not fail you. You have capabilities."

When the Zapaterin began his return journey to Seville in a second-class carriage, while the cuadrilla commenced theirs on foot, he thought a new life was opening for him, and he cast looks of envy on the enormous grange, with its extensive olive-yards, its mills, its pastures which lost themselves to sight, on which thousands of goats grazed and bulls and cows ruminated quietly with their legs tucked under them. What wealth! If he could only some day arrive at possessing something similar!

The fame of his prowess in baiting the young bulls in the villages reached Seville, attracting the notice of some of the restless and insatiable amateurs, who were always hoping for the rise of a new star to eclipse the existing ones.

"He looks a promising lad" ... they said, seeing him pass along the Calle de las Sierpes, with a short step swinging his arms proudly. "We shall have to see him on the 'true ground.'"

This ground for them and for the Zapaterin was the circus of the Plaza of Seville. The youngster was soon to find himself face to face with "the truth."[59] His protector had acquired for him a gala dress a little used, the cast-off finery of some nameless matador. A corrida of novillos was being organized for some charitable purpose, and some influential amateurs, anxious for novelty,[Pg 78] succeeded in including him in the programme—gratuitously—as matador.

The son of Se?ora Angustias would not allow himself to be announced on the placards by his nickname of Zapaterin, which he wished to forget. He would have nothing to do with nicknames, still less with any subordinate employment. He wished to be known by his father's names, he intended to be Juan Gallardo; and that no nickname should remind the great people, who in the future would indubitably be his friends, of his low origin.

All the suburb of la Feria rushed "en masse" to the corrida, with turbulent and patriotic ardour. Those of la Macarena also showed their interest, and all the other workmen's suburbs were roused to the same enthusiasm. A new Sevillian Matador!... There were not places enough for all, and thousands of people remained outside anxiously awaiting news of the corrida.

Gallardo baited, killed, was rolled over by a bull without being wounded; keeping his audience on tenter hooks with his audacities, which in most cases turned out luckily, provoking immense howls of enthusiasm. Certain amateurs whose opinions were worthy of respect smiled complacently. He still had a great deal to learn, but he had courage and goodwill, which is the most important thing. Above all he goes in to kill truly, and he is at last on the "true ground."

During the corrida the good-looking girls, friends of the diestro, rushed about frantic with enthusiasm, with hysterical contortions, tearful eyes, and slobbering mouths, making use in broad daylight of all the loving words they generally kept for night. One flung her cloak into the arena, another, to go one better, her blouse and her stays, another tore off her skirt, till the spectators seized hold of them laughing, fearing they would throw themselves next into the arena, or remain in their shifts.

[Pg 79]

On the other side of the Plaza, the old magistrate smiled tenderly under his white beard, admiring the youngster's courage, and thinking how well the gala dress became him. On seeing him rolled over by the bull, he threw himself back in his seat as if he were fainting. That was too much for him.

Between the barriers Encarnacion's husband strutted with pride, he was a saddler with a small open shop; a prudent man, detesting vagrancy, he had fallen in love with the cigarette maker's charms, and married her, but on the express condition of having nothing to do with that bad lot, her brother.

Gallardo, offended by his brother-in-law's sour face, had never attempted to set foot in his shop, situated on the outskirts of la Macarena, neither had he ever ceased to use the ceremonious "Uste" when he met him sometimes in the evening at Se?ora Angustias' house.

"I am going to see how they will pelt that vagabond brother of yours with oranges to make him run," he had said to his wife as he left for the Plaza.

But now from his seat he was applauding the diestro, shouting to him as Juaniyo, calling him "tu," peacocking with delight when the youngster, attracted by the shouting at last saw him, and replied with a wave of his rapier.

"He is my brother-in-law" ... explained the saddler, in order to attract the attention of those around him. "I have always thought that youngster would be something in the bull-fighting line. My wife and I have helped him a great deal."

The exit was triumphal. The crowd threw themselves on Juanillo, as if they intended to devour him in their expansive delight. It was a mercy his brother-in-law was there to restore order, to cover him with his body,[Pg 80] and conduct him to the hired carriage, in which he finally took his seat by the side of the Novillero.

When they arrived at the little house in the suburb of la Feria, an immense crowd followed the carriage, and like all popular manifestations they were shouting vivas which made the inhabitants run to their doors. The news of his triumph had arrived before the diestro, and all the neighbours ran to look at him and shake his hand.

The Se?ora Angustias and her daughter were standing at the house door. The saddler almost lifted his brother-in-law out in his arms, monopolizing him, shouting and gesticulating in the name of the family to prevent anyone touching him as though he were a sick man.

"Here he is; Encarnacion"—he said pushing him towards his wife. "He is the real Roger de Flor!"[60]

Encarnacion did not need to ask any more, for she knew that her husband, as a result of some far off and confused reading, considered this historic personage as the embodiment of all greatness, and only ventured to join his name to portentous events.

Other neighbours who had come from the corrida insinuatingly flattered Se?ora Angustias, as they looked admiringly at her portly figure.

Blessed be the mother who bore so brave a son!...

The poor woman's eyes wore an expression of bewilderment and doubt. Could it be really her Juanillo who was making everyone run about so enthusiastically?... Had they all gone mad?

But suddenly she threw herself upon him, as if all the past had vanished, as if her sorrows and rages were a dream; as if she were confessing to a shameful error. Her enormous flabby arms were flung round the torero's neck, and tears wetted one of his cheeks.

[Pg 81]

"My son! Juaniyo!... If your poor father could see you!"

"Don't cry, mother ... for this is a happy day. You will see. If God gives me luck I will build you a house, and your friends shall see you in a carriage, and you shall wear a Manila shawl which will make everyone...."

The saddler acknowledged those promises of grandeur with affirmative nods, standing opposite his bewildered wife, who had not yet got over her surprise at this radical change. "Yes, Encarnacion; this youngster can do everything if he takes the trouble ... he was extraordinary! the real Roger de Flor himself!"

That night in the taverns of the people's suburbs, nothing was talked of but Gallardo.

The torero of the future. As startling as the roses! This lad will take off the chignons[61] of all the Cordovan caliphs.

In this speech Sevillian pride was latent, the perpetual rivalry with the people of Cordova, also a country of fine bull-fighters.

From that day forward Gallardo's life was completely changed. The gentlemen saluted him and made him sit among them in front of the cafés. The girls who formerly kept him from hunger, and looked after his adornment found themselves little by little repelled with smiling contempt. Even the old protector withdrew in view of certain rebuffs, and transferred his tender friendship to other youths who were beginning.

The management of the Plaza de Toros sought out Gallardo, flattering him as though he were already a celebrity. When his name was announced on the placards, the result was certain: a bumper house. The[Pg 82] rabble applauded Se?ora Angustias' son with transports, telling tales of his courage. Gallardo's renown soon spread throughout Andalusia, and the saddler, without anyone having asked for his assistance, now mixed himself up in everything, arrogating to himself the r?le of protector of his brother-in-law's interests.

He was a hard-headed man, very expert, according to himself, in business, and he saw his line of life marked out for ever.

"Your brother ..." he said at nights to his wife as they were going to bed ... "wants a practical man at his side who will look after his interest. Do you think it would be a bad thing for him to name me his manager? It would be a great thing for him. He is better than Roger de Flor! And for us...."

The saddler's imagination pictured to himself the great wealth that Gallardo would acquire, and he thought also of the five children he already had and of the rest which would surely follow, for he was a man of unwearied and prolific conjugal fidelity. Who knew if what the espada earned might not eventually be for one of his nephews!...

For a year and a half Juan killed novillos in the best Plazas in Spain. His fame had even reached Madrid. The amateurs of that town were curious to know the "Sevillian lad" of whom the newspapers spoke so much, and of whom the intelligent Andalusians told such stories.

Gallardo escorted by a party of friends from his own country, who were living in Madrid, swaggered on the pavement of the Calle de Sevilla near the Café Ingles. The girls smiled at his gallantries, fixing their eyes on the torero's thick gold chain and his large diamonds, jewels bought with his first earnings and on the credit of those of the future. A matador ought to show by the adornment of his person, and also by his generous treatment[Pg 83] of everyone, that he has over and above enough money. How distant those days seemed, when he and poor Chiripa, vagabonds on that same pavement, in fear of the police, looked at the toreros with wondering eyes and picked up the fag ends of their cigars!

His work in Madrid was fortunate. He made friendships, and soon gathered round him a party of enthusiasts, anxious for novelty, who also proclaimed him "the torero of the future," protesting loudly at his not yet having received "la alternativa."

"He will earn money by basketsful, Encarnacion," said his brother-in-law. "He will have millions, unless any bad accident happens to him."

The family life had completely changed. Gallardo, who now mixed with the gentry of Seville, did not care for his mother to continue living in the hovel of the days of her poverty. For his own part, he would have liked to move into the best street in the town, but Se?ora Angustias wished to remain faithful to the suburb of la Feria, with that love which simple people feel as they grow older for the places in which their youth has been spent.

They now lived in a much better house. The mother no longer worked, and the neighbours courted her, foreseeing in her a generous lender in their days of distress. Juan, besides the heavy and startling jewelry with which he adorned his person, possessed that supreme luxury of a torero, a powerful sorrel mare, with a Moorish saddle, and a large blanket, adorned with multi-coloured tassels rolled up on the bow. Mounted on her he trotted through the streets, his only object being to receive the homage of his friends who greeted his elegance with noisy Olé's. This for the time being satisfied his desire for popularity. At other times joining some gentlemen, the gallant cavalcade would ride to the pastures of Tablada, on the eve[Pg 84] of some great corrida, to inspect the cattle that others were to kill.

When I shall have received "la Alternativa" ... he said perpetually, making all his plans for the future depend on this event.

For that future time he also left several projects with which he intended to surprise his mother; who, poor woman! already frightened by the comfort which had crept suddenly into her house, would have thought any farther augmentation an impossibility.

At last the day of "la Alternativa" arrived, the public recognition of Gallardo as matador.

A celebrated master ceded his sword and muleta to him in the full circus in Seville, the crowd were nearly mad with delight, seeing how he killed with one sword thrust the first "formal"[62] bull which was placed before him. The following month this doctorate of tauromachia was countersigned in the Plaza in Madrid, where another no less celebrated master gave him "la Alternativa" in a corrida of bulls from Muira.

He was now no longer a novillero; he was a recognized matador, and his name figured on the placards by the side of all the old espadas, whom he had admired as unapproachable divinities, in the days when he went through the little towns taking part in the "capeas." He remembered having waited for one of them at a station near Cordova to beg a little help from him as he passed with his cuadrilla. That night he had something to eat, thanks to the fraternal generosity existing between the people of the pigtail, and which made an espada living in princely luxury give a duro and a cigar to the needy wretch who was trying his first "capeas."

Engagements began to pour in to the new espada. In[Pg 85] all the Plazas of the Peninsula they were curious to see him. The professional papers popularized his portrait and his life, not without adding romantic episodes to this latter. No matador had as many engagements as he had, and it would not be long before he made a fortune.

Antonio, his brother-in-law, viewed this success with scowling brow and grumbling protests to his wife and his mother-in-law. The fellow was ungrateful; it was the way of all those who rose too rapidly. Just think how he had worked for Juan! How obstinately he had discussed matters with Managers when they were arranging the runs of Novillos!... And now that he was "Maestro" he had taken for agent a certain Don José, whom he scarcely knew, who did not belong in any way to the family, and for whom Gallardo had taken a great affection simply because he was an old amateur.

He will suffer for it; he ended by saying: "One can only have one family. Where will he meet with affection like ours, who have known him since his earliest childhood? So much the worse for him! With me, he would have been like the real Roger...."

But here he stopped short, swallowing the rest of the famous name, from fear of the laughter of the banderilleros and amateurs who frequented the matador's house, and who had not been slow in noticing this historical adoration of the saddler's.

Gallardo, with the good nature of a successful man, had endeavoured to give his brother-in-law some compensation, entrusting him with the supervision of the house he was building. He gave him carte-blanche for all expenses, for the espada, bewildered with the ease with which money was pouring into his hands, was not sorry his brother-in-law should make a profit, and he was pleased to make it up to him in this way for not having retained him as agent.

[Pg 86]

The torero was now able to carry out his cherished wish of building a house for his mother. The poor woman, who had spent her life in scrubbing rich people's floors, was now to have her own beautiful patio,[63] with arches of Moorish tiles, and marble floors, her rooms with furniture like that of the gentry, and servants, a great many servants, to wait on her. Gallardo also felt himself drawn by traditional affection to the suburbs where he had spent his miserable childhood. It pleased him to dazzle the people who had employed his mother as charwoman, or to give a handful of pesetas in times of distress to those who had taken their shoes to his father to mend, or had even given himself a crust of bread when he was starving.

He bought several old houses, amongst them the very one with the doorway under which his father had worked, pulled them down, and commenced a fine building, which should have white walls, the iron work of its windows and balconies painted green, a vestibule with a dado of Moorish tiles, and an iron wicket of fine workmanship, through which would be seen the patio with its fountain, and arcades with marble pillars between which would hang gilded cages full of singing birds.

The pleasure his brother-in-law felt on finding himself completely at liberty with regard to the direction and progress of the works, was damped by a terrible piece of news.

Gallardo had a sweetheart. It was then full summer and the matador was travelling from end to end of Spain, from one Plaza to another, giving estocades, and receiving tumultuous applause; but almost every day he wrote to a young girl in the suburb, and during the brief respite between two corridas, he would leave his companions,[Pg 87] taking the train to spend a night in Seville "Pelando la Pava"[64] with her.

"Just fancy that," cried the saddler aghast, in what he called "the bosom of the hearth," that is to his wife and mother-in-law. "A sweetheart, without ever saying a word to his family, which is the only real thing that exists in this world! The Se?or wishes to marry—no doubt he is tired of us.... What a shame!"

Encarnacion assented to her husband's grumbles by energetic nods of her fierce looking but handsome head, pleased on the whole to express what she thought about that brother, whose good fortune had always been a source of envy. Yes, no doubt he had always been utterly shameless.

But his mother raised her voice.

"As for that—No. I know the girl, and her poor mother was a friend of mine at the Fabrica. She is as pure as a river of gold, well mannered, good—handsome.... I have already told Juan that as far as I am concerned ... the sooner the better."

She was an orphan living with some uncles who kept a small provision shop in the suburb. Her father, a former wine merchant, had left her two houses in the suburb of la Macarena.

"It is not much," said Se?ora Angustias; "still the girl will not come empty handed, she brings something of her own.... And for clothes? Jesus; those little hands are worth their weight in gold, see how she embroiders; how she is preparing her dowry!"

Gallardo remembered vaguely having played with her as a child, close to the doorway where the cobbler worked, while their mothers gossiped. She was then like a little dry, dark lizard with gipsy eyes, the whole pupil[Pg 88] as black as a drop of ink, the whites blueish and the corners pale pink. When she ran, nimbly as a boy, she showed legs like thin reeds, and her hair flew wildly about her head in rebellious and tangled curls like black snakes. Afterwards he had lost sight of her, not meeting her again till many years after when he was a novillero, and was already beginning to make a name.

It was on a day of Corpus, one of the few festivals in which the women, generally kept at home by their almost Oriental laziness, all come forth like Moorish women set at liberty, in their lace mantillas, pinned to their breasts with bunches of carnations, Gallardo saw a young girl, tall, slim but at the same time strongly built, her waist well poised above her curved and ample hips, showing the vigour of youth. Her face, of a rice-like paleness, flushed as she saw the torero, and her eyes fell, hidden beneath their long lashes.

That gachi knows me, ... thought Gallardo vainly, most probably she has seen me in the Plaza.

But after following the young girl and her aunt he learnt that it was Carmen, the playmate of his childhood, and he felt confused and delighted at the marvellous transformation of the little black lizard of former days.

In a short time they became betrothed, and all the neighbours spoke of the courtship, which they considered so flattering to the suburb.

"I am like that," said Gallardo, assuming the air of a good prince. "I do not care to imitate those toreros who, when they marry ladies, marry nothing but hats, and feathers and flounces, I prefer what belongs to my own class, a rich shawl, a good figure, grace.... Olé, ya!"

His friends, delighted, hastened to praise the girl.

A queenly presence, curves that would drive anyone mad, and such a figure....

[Pg 89]

But the torero frowned. Enough of these jests if you please. Eh? And the less you all talk of Carmen the better.

One night, as he was talking with her through the iron grating of her window, and looking at her Moorish face framed among the pots of flowers, the waiter from a neighbouring tavern came bearing a tray on which stood two glasses of Manzanilla. It was the messenger come to "Cobrar el piso,"[65] the traditional Sevillian custom, which allows of this offering to fiancés as they talk at the grating.

The torero drank a glass, offering the other to Carmen, and then said to the boy:

"Thank these gentlemen very much from me, and say I will look in presently; ... tell Monta?es also that he is not to take any payment from them, for Juan Gallardo will pay for everything."

And as soon as his interview with his lady-love was ended, he walked across to the tavern where those who had offered the civility were waiting for him, some of them friends, others strangers, but all anxious to drink a glass at the espada's expense.

On his return from his first tour as recognized matador, he spent his nights standing by the iron grating of Carmen's window, wrapped in his elegant and luxurious cape of a greenish cloth embroidered with sprays and arabesques in black silk.

"They tell me you drink a great deal," sighed Carmen, pressing her face against the iron grating.

"What nonsense!... Only the civilities of my friends that I am obliged to return, nothing more. And besides, you see, a torero is ... a torero, and he cannot live like a brother of 'the Mercy.'"

"They tell me also that you go with loose women."

[Pg 90]

"Lies!... That might have been in former days before I knew you. Rascals! Curse them! I should like to know who the slanderers are who whisper such things to you...."

"And when shall we be married?" she continued, cutting short her lover's indignation by this query.

"As soon as the house is finished, and would to God that were to-morrow! That blockhead, my brother-in-law, never gets done with it. The rascal finds it profitable and rests on his oars."

"I will get everything into order when we are married, Juaniyo. You will see, everything will go on all right, and you will see how your mother loves me."

And so the dialogues went on, while they were waiting for the marriage of which all Seville was talking. Carmen's uncle talked over the affair with Se?ora Angustias, whenever they met, but all the same, the torero scarcely ever set foot in Carmen's house, it seemed as though some terrible prohibition forbade him the door, anyhow the two preferred to see each other at the grating according to custom.

The winter was passing by, Gallardo rode and hunted over the country estates of several wealthy gentlemen, who used the familiar "thou" with a patronizing air. It was necessary for him to preserve his bodily agility by continual exercise, till the time of the corridas came round again. He was afraid of losing his great advantages of strength and lightness.

The most indefatigable advertiser of his fame was Don José, the gentleman who acted as his agent, and who called him "his own matador." He had a hand in every act of Gallardo's, not even yielding any prior claims to "the family." He lived on his own income, and had no other employment than that of talking perpetually of bulls and toreros. For him there was [Pg 91]nothing interesting in the world beyond corridas, and he divided the nations into two classes, the elect who had bull-rings, and the numberless others who had neither sun, gaiety, nor good Manzanilla, and yet thought themselves powerful and happy, although they had never seen even the worst run of novillos.

He carried to his love of "the sport" the energy of a champion of the faith, or of an inquisitor. Although he was young he was stout and slightly bald with a light beard; but this sociable man, so jovial and laughter-loving in ordinary life, was fierce and unbending on the benches of a Plaza, if his neighbours expressed opinions differing from his own. He felt himself capable of fighting the whole audience for a torero he liked, and he disturbed the plaudits of the public by unexpected objections, when those plaudits were given to any torero who had not been lucky enough to gain his affection.

He had been a cavalry officer, more on account of his love of horses than of his love of war. His stoutness and his enthusiasm for bulls had made him retire from the service.... Oh! to be the guide, the mentor, the agent of an espada!

When he became possessed of this vehement desire, all the "maestros" were already provided, so the advent of Gallardo was a God-send to him. The slightest doubt cast on his hero's merits made him crimson with rage, and he generally ended by turning a bull-fighting discussion into a personal quarrel. He considered it a glorious heroic act to have come to blows with two evil minded amateurs who censured "his own matador" for being too bold.

The press seemed to him quite insufficient to proclaim Gallardo's fame, so on winter mornings he would go and sit at a sunny corner at the entrance of the Calle de las Sierpes, through which most of his friends passed.

[Pg 92]

"No. There is only one man!" he would say in a loud voice as if talking to himself, pretending not to see the people who were approaching. "The first man in the world! If anyone thinks the contrary let him speak.... Yes, the only man!"

"Who?" enquired his friends chuckling, pretending not to understand.

"Who should it be?" ... "Juan."

"What Juan?"

A gesture of indignation and surprise.

"What Juan is it? As if there were many Juans!... Juan Gallardo."

"Bless the man!" said some of them, "one would think it was you who were going to marry him!"

Seeing other friends approaching he ignored their chaff, and began again:

"No, there is only one man!... The first man in the world! If anyone doesn't believe it, let him open his beak! ... here am I to answer!"

Gallardo's wedding was a great event. At the same time the new house was inaugurated, of which the saddler was so proud, that he showed the patio, the columns, and the Moorish tiles, as if they were all the work of his own hands.

They were married in San Gil, before the "Virgin of Hope," also called la Macarena. As they came out of the church the sun shone on the tropical flowers and painted birds on hundreds of shawls of Chinese design, worn by the bride's friends. A deputy was best man, among the black or white felt hats, shone the tall silk ones of his agent and other gentlemen, enthusiastic supporters of Gallardo, who smiled, well pleased with the increase of popularity they gained by being seen at the torero's side.

At the house door during the day there was a [Pg 93]distribution of alms; many poor people had come even from distant villages, attracted by the reports of this splendid wedding.

There was a grand repast in the patio and several photographers took snapshots for the Madrid papers, for Gallardo's wedding was a national event. Well on in the night the melancholy tinkling of the guitars was still going on, accompanied by the rhythmic clapping of hands and the rattle of castanets. The girls, their arms raised, danced with dainty feet on the marble pavement, and skirts and shawls waved round the pretty figures in the rhythm of Sevillanas. Bottle of rich Andalusian wine were opened by the dozen, glasses of hot Jerez, of heady Montilla, and Manzanilla of San Lucar, pale and perfumed, passed from hand to hand. They were all tipsy, but their drunkenness was gentle, quiet, and melancholy, and only betrayed itself in their sighs and songs; often several would start at once singing melancholy airs, which spoke of prisons, murders and the "poor mother," that eternal theme of Andalusian popular songs.

At midnight the last of the guests departed, and the newly-married couple were left alone in their house with Se?ora Angustias. The saddler on leaving made a gesture of despair; tipsy, he was besides furious, for no one had taken any notice of him during the day. Just as if he were a nobody! As if he did not belong to the family!

"They are turning us out, Encarnacion. That girl with her face like the 'Virgin of Hope,' will be mistress of everything, and there will not even be that for us! You will see the house full of children!..."

And the prolific husband became furious at the idea of the posterity that would come to the espada, a posterity sent into the world with the sole object of damaging his own children.

[Pg 94]

Time went by and a year passed without Se?or Antonio's prognostications being verified. Gallardo and Carmen went to all the fêtes, with the ostentation and show suitable to a rich and popular couple. Carmen with Manila shawls which drew cries of admiration from poorer women; Gallardo displaying all his diamonds, ever ready to take out his purse to treat friends, or to help the beggars who came in swarms. The gitanas, loquacious and copper coloured as witches, besieged Carmen with their good auguries.... Might God bless her! She would soon have a child, a "churumbel" more beautiful than the sun. They knew it by the whites of her eyes. It was already half way on....

But in vain Carmen dropped her eyes and blushed with modesty and pleasure; in vain the espada drew himself up, proud of his work, and hoped the prediction would come true. But still the child did not come.

So another year passed, and still the hopes of the couple were not realized. Se?ora Angustias became sad as she spoke of their disappointment. She certainly had other grandchildren, the children of Encarnacion, whom the saddler was careful should spend most of their time in their grandmother's house, doing their best to please their Se?or tio.[66] But she, who wished to compensate for her former unkindness by the warm affection she now showed Juan, wished to have a son of his to bring up in her own way, giving it all the love she had been unable to give its father during his miserable childhood.

"I know what it is," said the old woman sadly, "poor Carmen has too many anxieties, you should see the poor thing when Juan is wandering about the world!..."

During the winter, the season of rest when the torero was for the most part at home, or only went into the[Pg 95] country for the "trials" of young bulls or for hunting parties, all went well. Carmen was happy, knowing her husband ran no risks; she laughed at anything, ate, and her face was bright with the hues of health. But as soon as the spring time came round, and Juan left home to fight in the different Plazas in Spain, the poor girl became pale and weak, and fell into a painful languor, her eyes, dilated by terror, ready to shed tears on the slightest occasion.

"He has seventy-two corridas this year," said the intimates of the house, speaking of the espada's engagements. "No one is so sought after as he is."

Carmen smiled with a sorrowful face. Seventy-two afternoons of anguish, in the chapel like a criminal condemned to death, longing for the arrival of the telegram in the evening, and yet dreading to open it. Seventy-two days of terror, of vague superstitions, thinking that one word forgotten in a prayer might influence the fate of the absent one; seventy-two days of pained surprise at living in a great house, seeing the same people, and finding life go on in its usual way; as though nothing extraordinary was going on in the world, hearing her husband's nephews playing in the patio, and the flower sellers crying their wares outside while down there far away, in unknown towns, her beloved Juan was fighting those fierce beasts before thousands of eyes, and seeing death lightly pass by his breast with every wave of the red rag that he carried in his hand.

Ay! Those days of a corrida, those holidays, when the sky seemed bluer, and the usually solitary street echoed beneath the holiday maker's footsteps, when guitars tinkled, accompanied by hand clappings and songs in the tavern at the corner!... Then Carmen, plainly dressed, with her mantilla over her eyes, flying from those evil dreams, would leave her house to take refuge in a church.

[Pg 96]

Her simple faith, which anxiety peopled with vague superstitions, made her go from altar to altar, weighing in her mind the merits and miracles of each image. Some days she would go to San Gil, the popular church which had witnessed the happiest day of her life, to kneel before the Virgin de la Macarena. By the light of the numerous tapers she ordered to be lighted, she would gaze at the dark face of that statue with its black eyes and long lashes, which many said so singularly resembled her own. In her she trusted, she was not "the Lady of Hope" for nothing, surely at that time she was protecting Juan with her divine power.

But suddenly uncertainty and fear crept through her beliefs, rending them. The Virgin was only a woman, and women can do so little! Their fate is to suffer and to weep, as she was weeping for her husband, as that other had wept for her Son. She must confide in stronger powers, so with the egoism of pain, she abandoned la Macarena without scruple, like a useless friend, and went to the church of San Lorenzo in search of "Our Father, Jesus of Great Power." The Man-God with His crown of thorns, and His cross by His side, perspiring, and tearful, an image that the sculptor Monta?es had known how to make terrifying.

The dramatic sadness of the Nazarene, stumbling over the stones, borne down by the weight of His cross, seemed to console the poor wife. The Lord of Great Power! ... this vague but grandiose title tranquilised her. If that God dressed in purple velvet with gold embroideries would only listen to her sighs and prayers, repeated hurriedly, with dizzy rapidity, so that the greatest possible number of words should be said in the shortest possible time, she was sure that Juan would come safe and sound out of the arena, where he was at that moment fighting. At other times she would give[Pg 97] money to a sacristan to light some wax tapers and would spend hours watching the rosy reflection of the red tongues on the image, fancying she saw on its varnished face in the changing light and shadow, smiles of consolation, which augured happiness.

The Lord of Great Power did not deceive her. When she returned to her house the little blue paper arrived, which she opened with trembling hands. "Nothing new." She could breathe again, and sleep, like the criminal who is freed for the moment from the fear of instant death, but in two or three days the torment of uncertainty, the terrible fear of the unknown, would begin afresh.

In spite of the love Carmen professed for her husband, there were times when her heart rose in rebellion. If she had only known what this life was before her marriage!... Now and then, impelled by the community of suffering she would go and see the wives of the men who composed Juan's cuadrilla, as if those women could give her news.

The wife of El Nacional, who had a tavern in the same quarter, received the chief's wife tranquilly, and seemed surprised at her fears. She was used to the life, and her husband must be quite well as he sent no news. Telegrams were dear, and a banderillero earned little enough. When the newspaper sellers did not shout an accident, it meant that nothing untoward had happened, and she went on attending to the affairs of her tavern, as if anxiety could not penetrate the hard rind of her susceptibilities.

Other times she would cross the bridge and penetrate into the suburb of Triana, in search of the wife of Potaje the picador, a kind of gitana, who lived in a hovel like a fowl house, surrounded by dirty copper coloured brats, whom she ordered about and terrified by her stentorian shouts. The visit of the chief's wife filled her with[Pg 98] pride, but her anxieties made her laugh. She ought not to be afraid, the men on foot nearly always got clear of the bull, and the Se?or Juan was very lucky in throwing himself on the beast. Bulls killed few people, the terrible things were the falls from horse-back. It was well known what was the end of nearly all picadors after a life of horrible tosses: he who did not end his life in an unforeseen and sudden accident, generally died mad. No doubt poor Potaje would die in this way, he would have endured all these hardships for a handful of duros, whereas others....

She did not conclude her sentence, but her eyes expressed a mute protest against the injustice of fate, against those fine fellows who directly they handled a sword, appropriated all the plaudits, the popularity, and the money, running no more risk than their humble colleagues.

Little by little Carmen became accustomed to the existence. The cruel waits on the days of a corrida, the visits to the saints, the superstitions, doubts, were all accepted as forming part and parcel of her life. Besides her husband's usual good luck, and the constant conversation in the house on the chances of the fight, ended by familiarizing her with the danger. And at last the bull came to be for her a fairly good-natured and noble animal, who had come into the world for the express purpose of enriching and giving fame to their matadors.

She had never been to a corrida of bulls. Since the afternoon when she had seen her future husband at his first novillada, she had never been near the Plaza. She felt she should not have the courage to see a corrida, even though Gallardo were taking no part in it. She should faint with terror seeing other men face the danger, dressed in the same costume as Juan.

After they had been married three years, the espada[Pg 99] was wounded in Valencia. Carmen did not hear of it at once. The telegram came at the usual hour, bearing the habitual "nothing new," and it was through the kindness of Don José, who visited Carmen daily and performed clever sleight of hand tricks to prevent her seeing the papers, that the news was kept from her for over a week.

When through the indiscretion of some neighbours Carmen at last heard of the accident, she wished at once to take the train to join her husband, and nurse him, feeling sure he was neglected. But there was no need, the espada arrived before she could leave, pale from loss of blood, and obliged to keep one leg quiet for some time, but gay and jaunty in order to reassure his family.

The house became at once a kind of sanctuary, all sorts of people passed through the patio, in order to salute Gallardo "the first man in the world," who, sitting in a cane arm-chair, with his leg on a footstool, smoked quietly, as though his flesh had not been torn by a horrible wound.

Doctor Ruiz, who had brought him back to Seville, declaring he would be cured in a month, was astonished at the vigour of his constitution. The facility with which toreros were cured was a mystery for him, in spite of his long practice as a surgeon. The horn, filthy with blood and excrement, very often broken at the ends by blows into small splinters, broke the flesh, lacerated it, perforated it, so that it was at the same time a deep penetrating wound, and a crushing bruise, but all the same these awful wounds were cured far more easily than those of daily life.

"How it can be I know not—it is a mystery"—said the old surgeon, much perplexed. "Either these lads have flesh like a dog, or the horn in spite of its filth has some curative property unknown to us."

[Pg 100]

Shortly afterwards Gallardo recommenced fighting, his wound, in spite of his enemies' predictions, having in no way abated his fighting ardour.

After they had been married about four years, the espada gave his wife and mother a great surprise. They were going to become landed proprietors—proprietors on a large scale—with lands of which they could not see the end, olive yards, mills, herds innumerable, an estate as fine as that of the richest men in Seville.

Gallardo was like all toreros who only dream of being owners of the soil, and to be horse and cattle breeders. Town property, stocks and shares in no way tempt them, and they understand nothing whatever about them. But bulls make them think of the broad plains, and horses remind them of the country; besides, the necessity of constant movement and exercise by hunting and walking during the winter months adds to their desire to possess the soil.

According to Gallardo's ideas, no one could be rich unless he owned a large farm, and immense herds of cattle. Ever since the years of his poverty, when he had wandered on foot, through the cultivated lands and pastures, he had always nourished the fervent desire of possessing leagues and leagues of land, that should be his very own, and that should be enclosed by strong palings from the trespass of other people.

Don José knew of this wish. He it was who ran Gallardo's affairs, receiving the money due to him from the different managers, and keeping accounts which he endeavoured in vain to explain to the matador.

"I don't understand that music," said Gallardo, rather pleased at his own ignorance. "I only understand how to kill bulls. Do whatever you like, Don José. I am quite confident that whatever you do will be for the best."

[Pg 101]

And Don José, who never looked after his own affairs, leaving them to his wife's rather ineffectual management, thought day and night of the matador's fortune, investing the money at good interest, with the keenness of a money-lender.

One day he came gaily to his protegé.

"I have got what you longed for—an estate as big as the world, and very cheap—a splendid bargain. Next week we shall sign all the papers."

Gallardo enquired the name and situation of the domain.

"It is called La Rinconada."

His dearest wishes were fulfilled.

When Gallardo went with his wife and mother to take possession of the Grange, he showed them the hay-loft where he had slept with his companions in misery, the room where he had dined with the former owner, the little Plaza where he had killed the yearling, thereby earning for the first time the right to travel by train without being obliged to hide himself under the seats.
FOOTNOTES:

[48] i.e. bull-fights, etc.

[49] The lovely gardens by the Guadalquiver at Seville.

[50] Little shoemaker.

[51] Toros corridas.

[52] Olla—stew.

[53] i.e. knew all about it.

[54] Pass in which the torero stands with his feet in line with the bull's forefeet. When the animal is in the act of charging he turns it by a pass of the cape either to right or left. It is considered a very brilliant stroke.

[55] Another pass, when the cape is spread nearly flat on the ground, and when the bull is in the act of charging it, it is drawn up suddenly over his head.

[56] Bull-fighting festival.

[57] Brindis, dedication or pledge.

[58] Young bulls—up to about three years old.

[59] La verdad—full-grown bulls fought according to rules laid down.

[60] A soldier of fortune of the Middle Ages.

[61] Quitar la mona—expression used when a torero cuts off his pigtail or chignon and retires into private life.

[62] Toro formal—a bull who fulfils all the conditions necessary for a large bull-fight, age, size, breed, temper, etc.

[63] Central courtyard of a Spanish house—which is always a garden with fountain—and arched round like a cloister.

[64] Plucking the turkey—an expression used of Andalusian lovers who spend the night at a window spooning.

[65] Lit.—recover the rent—something akin to paying the footing.

[66] Uncle.