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!