THE OLD FRUIT-SELLER [_astride a cannon, with a red kerchief about her head_]. To the King! Here's my horse. I took him. I'll hitch him to my little cart and we'll go to Versailles to make a visit to big Louis! I've got a lot to say to him. Lord, for centuries I've lived in misery, I've been so patient! I'm choking; I must get rid of the feeling. I was a good old animal! I thought I had to suffer, in order to enjoy riches. Now at last I understand. I want to live, I want to live! I'm sorry I'm so old. God Almighty, I want to make up for lost time! Get up, old fellow, to the Court! [_The gun-carriage is pushed forward by the People, and the old woman, in her helmet and trappings, rides past in triumph._] THE PEOPLE. On to the Court! On to Versailles! We've suffered too long! We want to be happy! We'll be happy! DESMOULINS [_carrying a green branch_]. The forest of Liberty has sprung up from the stones. Green leaves wave in the wind. The old heart of Paris will flower once again. Spring has come! THE PEOPLE [_bursting with joy and pride, all wave branches, and decorate themselves with green cockades, green ribbons, etc_]. Free! The Heavens are free! [_The sunset filters in through the draw-bridge opening, and bathes in purple the inner court of the Bastille and the People with their waving branches._] HOCHE. Sun, you may sleep now, for we have not wasted our day. LA CONTAT. Its dying rays paint the castle windows, the branches, the heads and little Liberty, a glowing red. HULIN. Heaven announces the war. MARAT. Unlike Him who entered seventeen hundred years ago in the midst of branches, this little child has not come to bring us peace. DESMOULINS. There is blood on our hands. ROBESPIERRE [_with suppressed fanaticism_]. It is our own! THE PEOPLE [_excited_]. It's mine!--It's mine!--We offer it to you, Liberty! DESMOULINS. To the devil with our lives! Great happiness must be bought. HOCHE. And we are ready to pay. ROBESPIERRE [_as before_]. We will pay. THE PEOPLE [_enthusiastically_]. We will pay! [_The People dance and sing about the little figure of Liberty. Music._] LA CONTAT. What joy to be one of you! To love and to suffer with you! Give me your hands! Let us dance, and all be brothers! Sing, for this is your festival, Oh, people of Paris! MARAT. My dear people, you have suffered so long, you have struggled so long in silence. So many centuries had to elapse before this hour of joy! Liberty is yours. Guard well your conquest. DESMOULINS [_to the People_]. And now, finish what you have begun. This Bastille has fallen, but there are others. On to the fight! We must fight against the enemies of truth! Against darkness! Mind will dominate brute force. The past is dead! Death itself is dead!