iege, 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 waiting so long for you in the vault of St. Ignatius?

THE MAN. Thank you for your exceeding care of me, Sir Jew! But back! I
will return and take another look at the festival of the citizens.

VOICES (_under the trees_). The children of Ham bid good night to thee,
old Sun!

VOICE (_on the right