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THE BULLFIGHT 269
encircling wall; the others are in the sun. These are
respectively the seats of the rich and the seats of the
poor. Contrary to the usual rule, the poor have their
place in the sun. But they have had to sacrifice for it,
having arrived at one o’clock to get as much as possible
for their money. The performance begins at three.
Happy and carefree is this human swarm; in fact,
they begin to bustle about on the white sunlit giant
steps, in their mantles draped in many folds, their ab-
breviated jackets, their red sashes and shirt sleeves,
barefoot or in laced sandals or in tight patent leather
shoes; bareheaded, or with their handkerchiefs wound
about their foreheads like turbans, or with rakish
broad-brimmed Spanish sombreros. All these types
are mixed at random, but all are free, careless, putting
no restraint upon their expression of feeling, or on any
impulse that comes along!
“Toros! Toros!’ (Bulls) they suddenly roar in
unison, although it will be more than an hour before
the performance begins. They sing whistling signals
to the empty box of the Prefect and greet with shouts
of applause a dog who runs across the arena. Why?
Just for the fun of it! They enjoy their power as a
Nero; they dictate laws and pronounce judgments by
the simple method of sticking all their ten fingers into
their mouths and whistling. The whitewashed rows
of seats shine dazzlingly bright in the sun, a ceaseless
bustle passing over them; soldiers, peasants, women,
ladies nursing their children with no sense of embar-
rassment, Spanish dandies with sunken cheeks, blazing
feverish eyes and moistened coal-black locks, filles de
joie carrying expensive fans, proud Spanish beggars in
brown horse-blankets, young artisans who express all
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