Blood and Sand. Vicente Blasco Ibanez

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СКАЧАТЬ superstitious spirit being comforted by this empty repentance, he left the chapel still under its influence, with clouded eyes, that did not see the people who obstructed his way.

      Outside in the room where the toreros were waiting he was saluted by a clean-shaven gentleman, in black clothes in which he appeared ill at ease.

      "Bad luck!" murmured the torero moving on. "As I said before, something will happen to-day!" …

      It was the chaplain of the Plaza, an enthusiast in Tauromachia, who had arrived with the Holy Oils concealed beneath his coat. He was priest of the suburb of la Prosperidad and for years past had maintained a heated controversy with another parish priest in the centre of Madrid who claimed a better right to monopolise the religious service of the Plaza. He came to the Plaza accompanied by a neighbour, who served him as sacristan in return for a seat for the corrida.

      On these days he chose by turns from amongst his friends and protégés the one whom he wished to favour with the seat reserved for the sacristan. He hired a smart carriage, at the expense of the management, and, carrying under his coat the sacred vessel, started for the Plaza, where two front seats were kept for him close to the entrance for the bulls.

      The priest entered the chapel with the air of a proprietor scandalised by the behaviour of the public. All had their heads uncovered, but they were talking loudly, and some even smoking.

      "Caballeros, this is not a café. You will do me the favour of going outside. The corrida is about to begin."

      This news caused a general exodus, during which the priest took out the hidden Oils and placed them in a painted wooden box. He, too, having concealed his sacred deposit, hurried out in order to reach his seat in the Plaza before the appearance of the cuadrillas.

      The crowd had vanished. Nobody was to be seen in the courtyard but men dressed in silk and gold embroidery, horsemen in yellow with large beavers, Alguaciles on horseback, and the servants on duty in their liveries of blue and gold.

      In the doorway called "De Caballos," under the arch forming the entrance to the Plaza, the toreros formed up for the procession with the promptitude which comes of constant practice. In front the "Maestros," some distance behind them the banderilleros, and beyond these again, in the courtyard outside, the clattering rearguard, the stern, steel-clad squadron of picadors, redolent of hot leather and manure, and mounted on skeleton horses with a bandage over one eye. In the far distance, like the baggage of this army, fidgeted the teams of mules destined to drag out the carcases, strong, lively animals with shining skins, their harness covered with tassels and bells, and their collars ornamented with a small national flag.

      At the other end of the archway, above the wooden barricade which closed the lower half, could be seen a shining patch of blue sky, the roof of the Plaza, and a section of the seats with its compact, swarming mass of occupants, amongst which fluttered fans and papers like gaily coloured butterflies.

      Through this arcade there swept a strong breeze, like the breath of an immense lung, and faint harmonious sounds floated on the waves of air, betokening distant music, guessed at rather than heard.

      Along the sides of the archway could be seen a row of heads—those of the spectators on the nearest benches, who peered over in their anxiety to get the first possible glimpse of the heroes of the day.

      Gallardo took his place in line with the other espadas. They neither spoke nor smiled, a grave inclination of the head being all the greeting that they exchanged. Each seemed wrapped in his own preoccupation, letting his thoughts wander far afield, or, perhaps, with the vacuity of deep emotion, thinking of nothing at all. Outwardly this preoccupation was manifested in an apparently unending arrangement and re-arrangement of their capes—spreading them over the shoulder, folding the ends round the waist, or arranging them so that under this mantle of bright colours their legs, cased in silk and gold, should be free and without encumbrance. All their faces were pale, not with a dull pallor, but with the bright, hectic, moist shine of excitement. Their minds were in the arena, as yet invisible to them, and they felt the irresistible fear of things that might be happening on the other side of a wall, the terror of the unknown, the indefinite danger that is felt but not seen. How would this afternoon end?

      From beyond the cuadrillas was heard the sound of the trotting of two horses, coming along underneath the outer arcades of the Plaza. This was the arrival of the alguaciles in their small black capeless mantles and broad hats surmounted with red and yellow feathers. They had just finished clearing the ring of all the intruding crowd and now came to place themselves as advance-guard at the head of the cuadrillas.

      The doorways of the arch were thrown wide open, as also were those of the barrier in front of them. The huge ring was revealed, the real Plaza, an immense circular expanse of sand on which would be enacted the afternoon's tragedy, one which would excite the feelings and rejoicings of fourteen thousand spectators. The confused, harmonious sounds now became louder, resolving themselves into lively reckless music, a noisy, clanging triumphal march that made the audience hip and shoulder to its martial air. Forward, fine fellows!

      The bull-fighters, blinking at the sudden change, stepped out from darkness to light, from the silence of the quiet arcade to the roar of the Ring, where the crowd on the tiers of benches, throbbing with excitement and curiosity, rose to its feet en masse, in order to obtain a better view.

      The toreros advanced, dwarfed immediately they trod the arena, by the immensity of their surroundings. They seemed like brilliant dolls on whose embroideries the sunlight flashed in iridescent hues, and their graceful movements fired the people with the delight that a child takes in some marvellous toy. The mad impulse which agitates a crowd, sending a shiver down its backbone and giving it goose-creeps for no particular reason, affected the entire Plaza. Some applauded, others, more enthusiastic or more nervous, shouted, the music clanged, and in the midst of this universal tumult, the cuadrillas advanced solemnly and slowly from the entrance door up to the presidential chair, making up for the shortness of their step by the graceful swing of their arms and the swaying of their bodies. Meanwhile on the circle of blue sky above the Plaza fluttered several white pigeons, terrified by the roar which arose from this crater of bricks.

      They felt themselves different men as they advanced over the sand. They were risking their lives for something more than money. Their doubts and terrors of the unknown had been left outside the barricades. Now they trod the arena. They were face to face with their public. Reality had come. The longing for glory in their barbarous, ignorant minds, the desire to excel their comrades, the pride in their own strength and dexterity, all blinded them, making them forget all fears, and inspiring them with the daring of brute force.

      Gallardo was quite transfigured. He drew himself up as he walked, wishing to appear the tallest. He moved with the arrogance of a conqueror, looking all round him with an air of triumph, as though his two companions did not exist. Everything was his, both the Plaza and the public. He felt himself at that moment capable of killing every bull alive on the broad pasture lands of Andalusia or Castille. All the applause was meant for him, he was quite sure of that. The thousands of feminine eyes, shaded by white mantillas, in the boxes or along the barriers, were fixed on him only, of that there could be no manner of doubt. The public adored him, and while he advanced smiling with pride, as though the ovation were intended for himself alone, cast his eyes along the rows of seats, noticing the places where the largest groups of his partizans were massed, and ignoring those where his comrades' friends had congregated.

      They saluted the president, montero in hand, and then the brilliant parade broke up, peons[38] and horsemen scattering in all directions. Whilst an alguacil caught in his hat the key thrown to him by the president, Gallardo walked towards the barrier behind which his most enthusiastic supporters stood, and gave into their charge his beautiful СКАЧАТЬ