Montes the Matador

Montes the Matador and Other Stories
by Frank Harris
New York: Mitchell Kennerley, 1910.
Copyright 1910 Mitchell Kennerley

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Montes The Matador
First Love: A Confession
Profit and Loss
The Interpreter: A Mere Episode
Sonia

MONTES, THE MATADOR

"YES! I'm better, and the doctor tells me I've escaped once more--as if
I cared!
... And all through the fever you came every day to see me, so my niece
says, and brought me the cool drink that drove the heat away and gave
me sleep. You thought, I suppose, like the doctor, that I'd escape you,
too. Ha! ha! And that you'd never hear old Montes tell what he knows
of bull-fighting and you don't...
... Or perhaps it was kindness; though, why you, a foreigner and a

heretic, should be kind to me, God knows... The doctor says I've not got
much more life in me, and you're going to leave Spain within the
week--within the week, you said, didn't you?... Well, then, I don't mind
telling you the story.
"Thirty years ago I wanted to tell it often enough, but I knew no one I
could trust. After that fit passed, I said to myself I'd never tell it; but as
you're going away, I'll tell it to you, if you swear by the Virgin you'll
never tell it to any one, at least until I'm dead. You'll swear, will you?
easily enough! they all will; but as you're going away, it's much the
same. Besides, you can do nothing now; no one can do anything; they
never could have done anything. Why, they wouldn't believe you if you
told it to them, the fools! ... My story will teach you more about
bull-fighting than Frascuelo or Mazzantini, or--yes, Lagartijo knows.
Weren't there Frascuelos and Mazzantinis in my day? Dozens of them.
You could pick one Frascuelo out of every thousand labourers if you
gave him the training and the practice, and could keep him away from
wine and women.
But a Montes is not to be found every day, if you searched all Spain for
one.
... 'What's the good of bragging? I never bragged when I was at work:
the deed talks--louder than any words. Yet I think, no one has ever
done the things I used to do; for I read in a paper once an account of a
thing I often did, and the writer said 'twas incredible. Ha, ha! incredible
to the Frascuelos and Mazzantinis and the rest, who can kill bulls and
are called espadas. Oh, yes! bulls so tired out they can't lift their heads.
You didn't guess when you were telling me about Frascuelo and
Mazzantini that I knew them. I knew all about both of them before you
told me. I know their work, though I've not been within sight of a ring
for more than thirty years... Well, I'll tell you my story:
I'll tell you my story--if I can."
The old man said the last words as if to himself in a low voice, then
sank back in the armchair, and for a time was silent.

Let me say a word or two about myself and the circumstances which
led me to seek out Montes.
I had been in Spain off and on a good deal, and from the first had taken
a great liking to the people and country; and no one can love Spain and
the Spaniards without becoming interested in the bull-ring--the sport is
so characteristic of the people, and in itself so enthralling. I set myself
to study it in earnest, and when I came to know the best bull-fighters,
Frascuelo, Mazzantini, and Lagartijo, and heard them talk of their trade,
I began to understand what skill and courage, what qualities of eye and
hand and heart, this game demands.
Through my love of the sport, I came to hear of Montes. He had left so
great a name that thirty years after he had disappeared from the scene
of his triumphs, he was still spoken of not infrequently. He would
perhaps have been better remembered, had the feats attributed to him
been less astounding. It was Frascuelo who told me that Montes was
still alive:
"Montes," he cried out in answer to me; "I can tell you about Montes.
You mean the old espada who, they say, used to kill the bull in its first
rush into the ring--as if any one could do that! I can tell you about him.
He must have been clever; for an old aficionado I know, swears no one
of us is fit to be in his cuadrilla. Those old fellows are all like that, and
I don't believe half they tell about Montes. I dare say he was good
enough in his