Hurrah! hurrah!
Kings had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
The nobles had no compassion upon us: Hurrah! hurrah!
We renounce God, kings, and nobles: Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
The Man (to a maiden). I am glad to see you look so gay, so blooming.
The Maiden. I am sure we have waited quite long enough for such a day as this! I have washed dishes and cleaned knives and forks all my life, without ever having heard a kind word spoken to me: it is high time I too should begin to eat, to dance, to make merry. Hurrah! hurrah!
The Man. Dance, citizeness!
The Baptized. For God's sake, be cautious, count! You may be recognized; let us go!
The Man. If any one should recognize me, you are lost. We will mingle with the throng.
The Baptized. A crowd of servants are sitting under the shade of this oak.
The Man. Let us approach them.
First Servant. I have just killed my first master.
Second Servant. And I am on the search for my baron. Your health, citizens!
Valet de Chambre. In the sweat of our brows, in the depths of humiliation, licking the dust from the boots of our masters, and prostrate before them, we have yet always felt our rights as men: let us drink the health of our present society!
Chorus of Servants. Here's to the health of our citizen President! one of ourselves, he will lead us to glory!
Valet de Chambre. Thanks, citizens, thanks!
Chorus of Servants. Out of dark kitchens, dressing rooms, and antechambers, our prisons of old, we rush together into freedom: Hurrah!
We know the ridiculous follies, peevishness, and perversity of our masters; we have been behind the shows and shams of glittering halls: Hurrah!
The Man. Whose voices are those I hear so harsh and wild from that little mound on our left?
The Baptized. The butchers are singing a chorus.
Chorus of the Butchers. The cleaver and axe are our weapons; our life is in the slaughter house; we know the hue of blood, and care not if we kill cattle or nobles!
Children of blood and strength, we look with indifference upon the pale and weak; he who needs us, has us; we slaughter beeves for the nobles; the nobles for the people!
The cleaver and axe are our arms; our life is in the slaughter house: Hurrah for the slaughter house! the slaughter house! the slaughter house! the slaughter house!
The Man. Come! I like the next group better; honor and philosophy are at least named in it. Good evening, madame!
The Baptized. It would be better if your excellency should say, 'citizeness,' or 'woman of freedom.'
Woman. What do you mean by the title, 'madame?' From whence did it come? Fie! fie! you smell of mould!
The Man. Pardon my mistake!
Woman. I am as free as you, I am a free woman; I give my love freely to the community, because they have acknowledged my right to lavish it where I will!
The Man. And have the community given you for it these jewelled rings, these chains of violet amethysts?… O thrice beneficent community!
The Woman. No, the community did not give them to me; but at my emancipation I took these things secretly from the casket of my husband, for he was my enemy, the enemy of freedom, and had long held me enslaved!
The Man. Citizeness, I wish you a most agreeable promenade!
They pass on.
Who is this marvellous-looking warrior leaning upon a two-edged sword, with a death's head upon his cap, another upon his badge, and a third upon his breast? Is he not the famous Bianchetti, a condottiere employed by the people, as the condottieri once were by the kings and nobles?
The Baptized. Yes, it is Bianchetti; he has been with us for the last eight or ten days.
The Man (to Bianchetti). What is General Bianchetti considering with so much attention?
Bianchetti. Look through this opening in the woods, citizen, and you will see a castle upon a hill: with my glass I can see the walls, ramparts, bastions, etc.
The Man. It will be hard to take, will it not?
Bianchetti. Kings and devils! it can be surrounded by subterranean passages, undermined, and....
The Baptized (winking at Bianchetti). Citizen general....
The Man (in a whisper to the Baptized). Look under my cloak how the cock of my pistol is raised!
The Baptized (aside). Oh woe!—(Aloud.) How do you mean to conduct the siege, citizen general?
Bianchetti. Although you are my brother in freedom, you are not my confidant in strategy. After the capitulation of the castle, my plans will be made public.
The Man (to the Baptized). Take my advice, Jew, and strike him dead, for such is the beginning of all aristocracies.
A Weaver. Curses! curses! curses!
The Man. Poor fellow! what are you doing under this tree, and why do you look so pale and wild?
The Weaver. Curses upon the merchants and manufacturers! All the best years of my life, years in which other men love maidens, meet in wide plains, or sail upon vast seas, with free air and open space around them, I have spent in a narrow, dark, gloomy room, chained like a galley slave to a silk loom!
The Man. Take some food! Empty the full cup which you hold in your hand!
Weaver. I have not strength enough left to carry it to my lips! I am so tired; I could scarcely crawl up here—it is the day of freedom! but a day of freedom is not for me—it comes too late, too late!—(He falls, and gasps out:) Curses upon the manufacturers who make silks! upon the merchants, who buy them! upon the nobles, who wear them! Curses! curses! curses!
He writhes on the ground and dies.
The Baptized. What a ghastly corpse!
The Man. Baptized Jew, citizen, poltroon of freedom, look upon this lifeless head, shining in the blood-red rays of the setting sun! Where are now your words and promises; the equality, perfectibility, and universal happiness of the human race?
The Baptized (aside). May you soon fall into a like ruin, and the dogs tear the flesh from your rotting corpse!—(Aloud.) I beg that your excellency will now permit me to return, that I may give an account of my embassy!
The Man. You may say that, believing you to be a spy, I forcibly detained you.—(Looking around him.) The tumult and noise of the carousal is dying away behind us; before us there is nothing to be seen but fir and pine trees bathed in the crimson rays of sunset.
The Baptized. Clouds are gathering thick and fast over the tops of the trees: had you not better return to your people, Count Henry, who have been
