The confusion was frightful. Annoyance and good-humour vied with each other in curses and jests. The strongest fairly elbowed their way through the weaker, the nimblest leaped from seat to seat between the old and stout, women implored for help, boys howled, the smart bourgeoise had a head like a sponge and the men streamed like Tritons. A few here and there, opened umbrellas which got in each other’s way, their points hooking and catching like bats’ claws.
In the arena, meanwhile, the dripping fighters went on with the sport and the bull, startled and drenched, was in no mood for play. The flood of rain washed away every trace of the blood and the wretched horses snorted up the moist air that refreshed them in their agony. However, it was soon impossible to continue the fight; the flags were streaming, it was hardly possible to see across the amphitheatre. The bell of the tame bull was heard, and the baited beast, following the sound, was led back into the stable.
The crowd, flying from the rain as if it had been a fire, collected in the passages which could not contain them in spite of their great size. Every staircase was blocked, and as no one cared to leave the place so long as the torrent continued, the vast circular structure was more like a huge barrel of soaked sardines than anything else. Not one more could be wedged in. The women shook their cloaks, the men cursed the skies, and some wrangled to get their money back. Cries, laughter, jokes; feet trodden on; hats shedding little rivulets of water; sneezing, shivering, coughing.
A party of young men from the barrier seats tried to force a way up to the boxes.
“Let us get upstairs,” said one, “I think that Leon is there. He will lend us his carriage and go home with the minister.”
“And if he is not there we can go with the Fúcars—gentlemen, if you please—allow me.—Go on Polito, why are you staying behind?”
“Confound you! don’t you see that I am dying for want of breath?... and wet to the skin? Wait till I have put a tar lozenge in my mouth—what a deluge! what a scene!”
With the greatest difficulty, pushing hard and being roundly abused, they succeeded in reaching the boxes. The crush there was equally great for, as the rain fell obliquely and had flooded the boxes on one side of the amphitheatre, the occupants had crowded out into the corridor behind.
“Here is Leon,” cried Polito, going up to a group that stood round some great man. “I say, Leon, will you let us have your carriage?”