The first this Saturday in the constant rain, toros de Gallon and Camino de Santiago for Miguel Angel Perera and the French Clemente and El Rafi. Each of the three bullfighters cut off an ear. The second, Sunday, with a telluric recital by Daniel Luque at the fourth toro.
50 years ago on June 25, 1972 a group of young French bullfighters demonstrated to claim the right to exist. A tribute was paid to them in the presence of two protagonists of the time Simon Casas, the current director of the Madrid and Nîmes bullring, and Marc-Antoine Romero, both accompanied by Sébastien Castella, the greatest French bullfighter in the Story.
Exactly half a century ago the French bullfighters, by a hairy phalanx from Nîmes and Arles, organized in St Sever their first demonstration to demand the right to bullfight. Bullfighters from here who claimed their right to exist. Make way for the French then…for this first real feria in its history, Cap de Gascogne has chosen to highlight national bullfighting. Nice effort. With the farms of the Camargue brothers Gallon and the Gersois Jean Louis Darré. With the star matador of Extremadura Miguel Angel Perera with two kids from here. Clémente, Clément Dubecq, was born in Bordeaux from a Chalossaise family from Pouillon. Matador since 2016. El Rafi, Rafael Raucoule, twenty-two, from Nîmes, crowned at home last fall. Hats off to the people who came to celebrate under a November rain. A trophy for everyone therefore in a mediocre race where we will note the excellent dispositions once again of Clemente, fair, determined, committed and in good agreement with his first toro, then in the stubborn defense of his integrity against a second devil . El Rafi, honorable but one below his own qualities and Perera who makes Perera, in the round, house arrest of a repetitive and predictable bullfighting just as much as by a lot without much background to say the least.
But the big story.
So, call! June 25, 1972. Beautiful day on the Chalosse. A novillada is planned in Morlane with two Spaniards and a Venezuelan. A horde of angry Provençals arrives around the arenas of Morlanne. There are the French bullfighters of the first vertical generation, around Simon Casas, Alain Montcouquiol and Patrick Laugier, Amor Antunez and a few other feverish scruffy people. They distribute leaflets. They denounce the xenophobic Spanish organizations which have control over all the arenas of the south-west and oppose a categorical veto to French bullfighting. And their cronies, smug Gallic barons from Nîmes to Bayonne, of French bullfighting, all submitted to the great imperialist Iberian bullfighting houses. The mayor of St Sever is in the same spirit. The thundering Jean-Marie Commenay declares: “Me alive, no French bullfighter will tread the sand of our arenas”. In the afternoon of this bright June 25, the French jump on the track and prevent El Milto from bullfighting. First significant and demanding act of the union of French bullfighters and subordinates created the year before. St Sever will then integrate into his cartels the French matadors, Nimeño and Milian, among others, with regularity. The great Commenay, unlike others recognizing his fault. The fact remains that in 1992, and this time secretly and at night and without the glory of its elders, a commando from the south-east came to massacre two bulls in the corrales. The next day’s cartel did not include any nationals. A few months later the authors of the low blow were condemned by the court of Mont-de-Marsan after a pagnolesque trial.
This Sunday, we tored to continue the beautiful party, bulls from Puerto de San Lorenzo and Ventana del Puerto for Daniel Luque and the French Thomas Dufau and Juan Leal.
Eruptive recital by Luque on the Aranjuez concerto by Spanish composer Joaquin Rodrigo! A caviar on the lobster!
From Juan Leal we will remember the commitment of the Arlesian from Seville as usual. From Dufau, two fair faenas but lacking in brilliance and two failing blows. But the Cap de Gascogne will be inhabited for a long time to come by the capital ghosts of Daniel Luque’s solar faena. A bullfighting symphony on concerto. Aranjuez, for the large bullfighting recital of a matador in the firmament of his art. We knew. We know. Luque is huge. In Morlanne, it was like almost everywhere else. Wherever it is. Still. His strength. Its second long, intense faena is hemmed like old embroidery, worked on an infinite softness. An incomparable flavor right up to the monumental sword stroke. Moments of eternity. The death of time suspended by him from this lure which carries his constant inspiration. He has this tasty desire, Luque, to slow down the embrace to make it more voluptuous. He has this expressed desire for harmony in stillness. As if it were all simple, self-evident. The silent music of his toreo which, facing the abbey church, resounded like a Te Deum. HHappy Saint-Séverins who have an arena that makes you love bullfighting.