The Bullfight​—A Fiesta in Spain

By “Awake!” correspondent in Spain

HANGING on walls of numerous homes throughout the world are pictures displaying the skill of a bullfighter. Bullfighting is a fascination to people everywhere. But most, people have never actually seen a bullfight. What is it like? Let us take you on a visit to a bullring in Barcelona, Spain​—the Plaza de Toros Monumental.

As you approach you note an atmosphere of excitement and tension. People are milling about the entrance of the Moorish-style, open-roofed structure. Individuals are paying for tickets in notes of 500 and 1,000 pesetas ($9 and $18). But, regardless of the price, there is a good crowd.

As you enter the plaza, you see that high up in the stands, to the left, a band of musicians has struck up a paso doble, the music that is always associated with the bullring. Over to the right and also high up is the box for the presidente, usually a local dignitary who presides over the fight and awards prizes. There is also a section marked toriles, where six pedigree bulls are waiting; they have been prepared and trained for at least four years. On this occasion each bull weighed in at 500 kilos (1,100 lbs.).

Down to the left await three toreros (matadors) with their respective cuadrillas, or troupes of assistants, some mounted and others on foot. Before the day is over, these three matadors will handle all six bulls, two apiece.

“La Corrida de Toros” (The Bullfight) Begins

The arena is cleared except for the senior of the three toreros. The bullpen is opened and out storms a magnificent black bull. This half ton of rippling muscle trots around the ring with his head held high, as if daring anyone to come down and face him. He does not have to wait long. As the torero looks on, his assistants start to test out the bull with their capes.

Now the torero takes the center of the ring, making some initial passes with the capote, or large cape, swinging slowly away from the bull as it charges in. If the torero feels especially confident, he may do his cape work in a kneeling position, causing the bull to pass through the swirling flourish of the cape several times. The crowd responds with a full-throated cry of approval: “¡Ole! . . . ¡Ole!” But now a bugle sounds.

This marks the end of the cape work and the beginning of the varas, or the performance by the picador on horseback. With lance in hand the picador chooses a position on the outside edge of the arena to lure the bull into attacking him. The bull suddenly sees this much bigger target. He hurls himself forward to strike at the horse’s right flank. As the bull digs his horns into the protective armor of the blindfolded horse, both horse and rider are forced back by the impact. The horse struggles to retain balance and, at the same time, the picador drives his lance into the bull’s shoulder and bears down with all his weight, severing some of the bull’s muscles and tendons, causing the mighty animal to carry his head lower, which is necessary for the torero’s later work with the muleta (a smaller cloth). The bull retreats momentarily and then attacks again, only to feel the lance penetrate his shoulders once more, sapping further strength and speed.

It is now time for the banderilleros to go into action. Their role is to plant in the shoulders of the bull 30-inch-long staves with sharp harpoon-like barbs, called banderillas. From a distance of 20 or 30 yards the banderillero attracts the bull’s attention by shouting. He then runs toward the bull with a banderilla in each hand. At the crucial moment he rises up on his toes and, with arms extended, plunges the barbed staves into the bull. This procedure may be repeated up to four times and can also be done on horseback.

By now the bull has lost much of his strength. Blood is pouring out of his shoulder wounds and is streaming down his body. His whole body heaves with great effort and exertion. The bugle sounds again, introducing the part of the bullfight in which the animal meets his death.

Moving In for the Kill

Before moving in for the kill, the torero may raise his bullfighter’s hat and dedicate the bull to someone in the audience, perhaps a prominent person, or even to the public in general. Then he advances toward the animal with his muleta, or small baiting cloth, spread out. He uses this to provoke the bull to attack. The bull, although exhausted, accepts the challenge and charges; but not because the cloth is red (cattle are color blind). He is attracted by the movement of the cloth.

The torero makes the bull go through several passes, each time trying to bring him closer, though carefully watching those dangerous horns. One pass is so close that the bullfighter almost loses his balance. When he turns around to face the bull once more, his suit is smeared with blood from the bull.

The torero now readies himself for the kill with the estoque, or special execution sword. Bull and matador face each other for the last time. The one, spent and bleeding, breathing heavily, and with six barbed staves hanging from its shoulders. The other, feet together, sword poised, intent.

To kill cleanly and according to the rules, the sword should go down between the shoulder blades as far as the hilt the first time, severing an artery or a vital organ. But this seldom happens on the first try. On this occasion it takes two attempts. When finally accomplished the bull just stands there for a few moments, tongue lolling, saliva and blood pouring from its mouth. Then it keels over, dead. Just to make sure, an assistant comes over and, with a special dagger, cuts the spinal cord just behind the horns.

After the Kill

It is now time for the crowd to express its opinion. This can vary from complete silence (indicating disapproval), to whistles, applause and waving of handkerchiefs. While this goes on, a group of horses drags away the carcass. The whole affair, from the moment the bull first appeared, has taken about fifteen minutes.

The presidente now decides whether a trophy will be awarded. If the torero has done a commendable job, he may receive one of the bull’s ears. If he displayed special grace and skill, he may get both ears. A superb performance will bring the supreme award​—both ears and the tail, as well as glory, fame and, possibly, higher pay in future fights.

Bullfighting Through the Centuries

Bullfighting has been developing for thousands of years, especially in Spain. A reason for this is that the Spanish breed of bull possesses the special qualities necessary for this activity. Financial support of bullfighting in Spain has been greatly enhanced during the last fifteen years by the tourist boom that now brings some thirty million people to Spain annually. Most tourists attend a bullfight, for they think it is a typical Spanish experience. This, however, is far from the truth. Although bullfighting is considered Spain’s fiesta nacional (national fiesta), most Spaniards do not attend bullfights and have little interest in them. But as long as there are enough people willing to pay, there will be toreros willing to fight and breeders willing to produce more bulls. But how does bullfighting affect those who watch it?

Effect upon People

Reactions to bullfighting are varied. Some consider it repulsive, while others become fascinated by it. The aficionado (fan), for example, is not at all troubled by the death of the bull. He is more interested in the art, the grace and the skill of the torero in using the cape and the muleta. But, while much is said of the art and grace of the torero, even modern-day apologists for bullfighting acknowledge the cruelty to the animal. One encyclopedia, for instance, while claiming that bullfights have gradually changed through the years, “losing a great part of their harshness,” admits that they are “still cruel in certain details.”​—Italics ours.

Another matter to consider is the deliberate risk to his own life that the torero takes in order to please the public. The Encyclopædia Britannica explains:

“The crowd does not actually wish to see a man killed, but the possibility of death and the man’s disdain and skillful avoidance of injury thrills a crowd. The audience is not interested in simply seeing a man go into an arena, kill an animal in the safest manner and emerge unscathed; they want to see skill, grace and daring. Therefore a corrida is not really a struggle between a man and a bull but rather between a man and himself: how close will he dare to let the horns come, how far will he go to please the crowd?”

Interestingly, Portuguese bullfighting (which does not allow for the bull to be killed) is not as popular with the paying public.

As might be expected, not all fights finish in favor of the torero. The Encyclopædia Britannica explains: “Virtually every matador is gored at least once a season in varying degrees of severity. Belmonte (one of the most famous bullfighters of the 1920’s) was gored more than 50 times. Of the approximately 125 major matadors (since 1700), 42 have been killed in the ring; this does not include the beginning matadors or the banderilleros or picadors who have been killed.” In spite of this, more than 3,000 bulls will be ritually killed in the Spanish bullrings during this season, and dozens of toreros will risk their lives several times a week.

The Catholic Church and Bullfighting

For years the Catholic Church banned bullfights. Pope Pius V (1566-1572) issued papal letters threatening bullfighters with excommunication and denial of Christian burial. Other popes supported this position until Clement VIII (1592-1605), who withdrew the previous excommunications, but, at the same time, stipulated that bullfights in Spain should not be held on holidays. Nevertheless, bullfights became the standard practice for celebrating religious events and festivals. Illustrating this are comments found in the Enciclopedia Universal Ilustrada:

“The transfers of the most holy sacrament (Santisimo Sacramento) from one altar to another were celebrated with bullfights; also that of relics and images of saints; the commemorations of patron saints of cities and towns; the building of churches; canonizations and many other religious festivals. More than 200 bulls, in some 30 bullfights, were blithely sacrificed to celebrate the canonization of saint Teresa de Jesús. Bulls were fought inside the Palencia Cathedral; the meat of the bulls killed in honor of the saints was kept as relics and to effect cures; the ecclesiastical chapters [body of clergy] organized and financed bullfights . . . In Tudela, on the morning of the bullfight a Capuchin monk was taken along to spellbind the bulls so that they would be fierce.”

Toreros are inclined to be religious; but, as some of them admit, it is in a superstitious way. One explained that each bullring has its own private chapel where the toreros can go to pray before they face the bulls. In fact, many of the toreros carry with them in their travels a kind of portable altar that can be set up in a hotel room for prayer before leaving for the plaza.

Is Bullfighting for Christians?

How should a Christian today view bullfighting? A number of questions present themselves in this connection. For example, if man has been made in God’s image, and God is love, can a person reflect that love while practicing cruelty to animals? (Gen. 1:26; 1 John 4:8) If a Christian has dedicated his life to God, is it reasonable to endanger that life by deliberately provoking a wild bull? Will such a practice go on in God’s new order when neither man nor animal will “do any harm or cause any ruin”?​—Isa. 11:9.

What, therefore, about collecting or displaying pictures of bullfight and matadors in one’s home? Does it show a balanced outlook, a sound mind and good judgment to idolize men who disdain the gift of life and then make a living by a public exhibition of cruelty to animals? Another thing: How would having such pictures in one’s house affect fellow Christians? Or what if someone saw a fellow Christian attending a bullfight? These are serious questions for thinking Christians, for the apostle Paul wrote: “Let each one keep seeking, not his own advantage, but that of the other person.”​—1 Cor. 10:24.

Life as a Matador​—How Satisfying?

The story of one who realized his dream of becoming a matador, and what this life was really like.

FOR nearly twenty years I dreamed of becoming a full-fledged matador, and at long last the moment had arrived. It was April 2, 1967, in Alcalá de Henares, Madrid.

When I walked out of the hotel, there was a large crowd of friends and followers who wanted to be with me on this important day. That afternoon, in the ceremony called the alternativa, I was to have conferred on me the title of matador de toros, the highest professional rank in bullfighting.

Those presenting me were senior matador Curro Romero, the godfather of the ceremony, and as official witness the famous matador El Cordobés, Manuel Benitez. After a few words of encouragement welcoming me to this exclusive group of professionals, I received what are commonly called los trastos de matar, the tools of the trade. These are the sword and the muleta, which is the small cape used to deceive the bull.

Then came an embrace from the two veteran matadors. And finally, face to face with the bull. I passed the test. Now a promising career lay before me. At last I had achieved what I had desired for so long.

Early Desire to Be a Matador

When I was a boy, bullfighting was my only interest. I used to sit at the door of the local barbershop just to listen to the men talk about it. At the time, they were still talking about the death of one of the most famous bullfighters of all time, Manolete (Manuel Rodriguez), who was killed by a bull in 1947.

I had been practicing bullfighting for some time, but without a real animal. Finally my opportunity came. It was December 1958, when I was only fifteen.

Some older friends planned to go at night to a corral to practice. I managed to convince them to take me along. With difficulty they separated a wild cow from the herd. Then the four of us took turns at “fighting” it. After we finished, there was an argument as to who had been the best. One boy said that I had been. This surprised me, since I had no idea as to what was good or bad in bullfighting. From then on, my older friends took me along to their nocturnal bullfights, and I gained a lot of experience.

One night I was caught with a thrust of a cow’s horn that opened up my face from the edge of my mouth down to my chin. The only doctor I had was my companion, who poured aguardiente, a cheap brandy, into the wound. This was my first blood spilled, and I considered it an honor. But how would I react the next time? Would I be afraid to face a bull in a ring before an audience?

As I pondered such questions, I was even more determined to become a successful matador.

Pursuing My Goal

My father attempted everything to discourage me. He beat me, and denied me meals. When he discovered that I was missing at night, he locked the door so I would have to spend the rest of the night on the street. So when I was about sixteen I decided to run away with two companions who also wanted to be matadors.

We went to Salamanca in the north of the country, some 700 kilometers (434 miles) from my home in Palma del Río. We hitched rides on freight trains, and suffered cold and hunger, but were able to keep alive by begging food from farms, and sometimes by stealing chickens. At times I thought of returning home, but the thought of the glory of being a matador spurred me on.

One day we heard that there was going to be a bullfight in Ciudad Rodrigo, in Salamanca Province. There the bulls are so big that only a few persons are willing to risk themselves in the ring. But my desire to be a matador was so great that I did not worry about the danger. I just wanted to become famous.

On that occasion, because of my daring, I was given some money, sufficient to get me to Madrid. There, with the help of relatives, I joined a bullfighting school. I attended for three months to practice what is called salón bullfighting, and to improve my style.

My First Formal Fight

Now I was a novice, called a novillero. To reach my goal of becoming a full matador I needed experience and public exposure.

Finally the time came in 1963 when I first fought in a formal bullfight, with my name appearing on advertisements. It was in my hometown, Palma del Río, Córdoba. The occasion was the town’s religious fiesta, and, as is the custom in most towns, it included two bullfights.

Once in the ring, I was so anxious to win that I am sure that my fury was greater than the bull’s. And I did triumph​—I was awarded both ears and the tail of the bull, the maximum prize, and the right to return the next day. On that occasion, too, I was successful. Everybody acclaimed me and said that I would become a good torero, or matador.

A businessman wanted to become my manager and representative. My father had changed his mind and no longer resisted the idea of my becoming a matador, since he could see the economic benefits. Before a notary he emancipated me and turned me over to the manager, as I was still underage. My mother, on the other hand, was against the idea because of the danger involved.

Further Steps Toward My Goal

My manager was very good to me at first, arranging for fights that I needed with young bulls. This permitted me to develop and improve. But then I stopped making progress, since my manager was an amateur in the profession and was not qualified to help me to reach the stature of a full matador. My contract with him was for five years, and the only way out was to buy my freedom, which I did. I had to sign away a large sum of money, but at least I was free to progress in my career.

With a new manager, I obtained a contract to fight in Bilbao, one of the most important and spacious bullrings in Spain. This proved to be an important fight in my professional career.

In the course of my cape work, the bull’s horn caught the cape and pinned it to the ground. So I was left defenseless, without a means of deceiving the bull. I could have run for safety, without loss of honor. But in my inexperience and desire to succeed, I stood my ground, kicking at the bull’s face. However, its horn caught my left thigh, almost piercing it through.

My blood was flowing. The crowd would surely excuse me for withdrawing. Momentarily I was indecisive. But then the desire to triumph and progress toward my goal of becoming a full-fledged matador proved stronger than the pain of the wound. I called for another cape, and despite the fact that bullring authorities tried to stop me, I again faced the bull. I began feeling weak.

Even though the public does not want to see a tragedy, they get excited. and are expectant in situations when the danger to the matador is great. In spite of the injury, I completed the cape work and killed the bull successfully. Amid the acclaim of the crowd I circled the arena, and was then carried off to the infirmary. After receiving first aid, I was transferred to the special hospital for bullfighters in Madrid.

Reports of the fight were published in the papers, bringing me to the attention of the bullfighting public. Also, a picture appeared showing me, horn wound in thigh, fighting the bull. I became famous, and obtained engagements in the best rings in Spain and in the south of France. Thus I eventually reached my goal, taking the alternativa on April 2, 1967.

Satisfaction as a Matador?

I now began receiving up to $2,500 or so for each corrida, or fight. However, after paying my cuadrilla, or troupe, the travel expenses, food, hotel bills and 10 percent to my manager, often less than 10 percent was left for me. I was not accumulating the riches that I desired; in fact, I was spending more than I earned, figuring that the following season I would earn more.

For a time I considered it marvelous to be a matador​—it offered fame and adulation. But I began to see that these people were more the friends of the matador than of me as a person. They wanted to bask in the reflected glory of the victorious matador and to be seen with him. Thus, after successful fights, the hotel would be full of “friends”; fiestas would be arranged in my honor. But on the day when things went badly in the ring, these “friends” were conspicuous by their absence.

Furthermore, I began to realize that bullfighting was run by a small number of powerful persons. A few empresarios controlled the major bullrings, and whether one obtained contracts to fight in them or not depended more on one’s connections than on one’s skills. Also, newspaper writers commonly would not report a matador’s triumphs in the ring unless they received their “tip” beforehand.

Then there were the almost inevitable gorings. Of course, they were painful physically, but they also hurt the pocketbook, since the season only lasts a few months and a goring might put one out of action for from two to four weeks or more. I had seven gorings, and it got to where the scars on my body looked like a road map.

Life as a matador, I began to see, was not all that I had imagined it to be. However, it was something else that caused me to question the value of the life I was living.

The Matador and Religion

Religion is closely associated with bullfighting. Matadors customarily visit an image-filled shrine to worship prior to each fight; many carry a portable shrine with them. I remember, on one occasion, that I prayed before my shrine before entering the ring, as was my custom, but on coming back afterward I discovered that the shrine had caught fire! If I had arrived any later the entire room would have been burned out. That made me think: If these images could not save themselves, how could they possibly protect me in a bullfight? This doubt plagued me.

On another occasion when I was bullfighting in France, I went to confession, as was also my custom. Those of us who were waiting were surprised and disappointed when the priest would not come out to attend to us. Then when he heard that I was there, he came out and attended to me, but ignored the humble people who had been waiting for so long. Incidents such as this began to weaken my faith in the Catholic Church. Yet I believed in God, and had respect for the Bible. In fact, I used to enjoy reading it.

So once I asked a priest about the Bible, explaining that I wanted to understand it. However, he discouraged me, saying that the Bible was for theologians and that it would drive me crazy if I read it. That saddened me, weakening my faith in the Church even more.

A Better Purpose in Life

About this time, in the fall of 1968, my wife and I were having breakfast when a knock came at the door. She opened it and found two women who spoke to us from the Bible. To each question I raised, they provided a Bible answer. I marveled, desiring to handle the Bible like that. On reading the literature I had accepted from them, I realized it could help me to get the Bible knowledge I so much desired. Soon we accepted a regular Bible study in our home.

It was just at this time that I was invited to participate in a bullfight as part of a fiesta on a ranch. The bishop of Seville was there, and I noticed how much he was enjoying the proceedings. But somehow I felt out of place.

In my career I must have killed about 240 bulls. But even then, as I watched other matadors fight a badly bleeding and suffering bull, I felt pity for the animal. As I became more familiar with Bible teachings, I realized that bullfighting was no career for a true Christian. That bullfight in connection with the fiesta on the ranch proved to be my last.

As I came to appreciate God’s purpose to create a righteous new system of things, my desire to serve Him grew stronger.

(2 Pet. 3:13) This became my chief purpose in life. And since the Bible explains that God wants all to know of his new system, I began telling others about it.​—Matt. 24:14.

Many were surprised, as well as pleased, to see me when I called at their door. They were keen on talking with me about bullfighting. But then I would take the opportunity to explain that there is something much better in life than bullfighting​—it is knowing and serving our grand Creator. I have certainly found this to be true. Contributed.