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.