As the curtain rises, the scene is merged in the dim light of early dawn. In front of a brazier are seated, in a group, snoring custom-house officers. From the tavern at intervals one may hear laughter, shouts, and the clink of glasses. A custom-house official comes out of the tavern with wine. The toll-gate is closed.
Behind the toll-gate, stamping their feet and blowing in their frost-bitten fingers, stand several street-scavengers._
SCAVENGERS. What ho, there! What ho, there! Admit us!
Make haste and let us pass,
The sweepers are we. (stamping their feet)
Look how it's snowing! What ho, there!
We are frozen!
AN OFFICIAL. (yawning and stretching himself) All right!
(Goes to open the gate; the scavengers pass through to the Rue d'Enfer. The official closes the gate again.)
CHORUS. (from the tavern; the clink of glasses forms an accompaniment
to the song)
Pass the glass,
Let each toast his lass;
Pass the glass,
Let each lad toast his lass;
Ha! Ha!
Each one as he sips,
As he sips his wine,
Shall dream of lips
Made for love divine!
MUS. (from the tavern)
Ah!
As the toper loves his glass,
So the gallant loves his lass.
CHORUS. (all bursting into laughter) Noah and Eve!
MILK WOMEN. (from within) Houp-la! Houp-la!
(A sergeant comes out of the guard-house and orders the toll-gate to be opened.)