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It is Sunday the 12th of July, At the back is the "Cirque"; at the right, a fountain, playing. Between the "Cirque" and the promenades running round the Palais-Royal is a row of trees. The shopkeepers stand before their shops, which are hung with patriotic emblems: "At the Sign of the Great Necker," "At the Sign of the National Assembly," etc.
Women, with breasts, shoulders, and arms bare, and wearing immense bouquets, walk about among the crowd displaying their charms. Newsdealers cry out the news; gambling-house keepers appear here and there in dressing-gowns, escorted by men armed with clubs; swindlers brazenly slip between groups of people with their folding tabourets, stop for an instant, display a trick, bring out sacks of silver, then quickly disappear into the surging mass.
The crowds gradually increase up to the end of the act, until there is so little room left that the more venturesome climb into the trees.
Famine, famine is at hand! The murderers have come! The Crowd [ calling to the news-criers ]. A Man of the People [ anxiously, to a bourgeois, who is reading ]. The Bourgeois. They're coming! The Germans, the Swiss Guards! Paris is surrounded! They'll be here any minute! The Man of the People. A Vagabond. He's with them at the camp of Sablons, surrounded by Germans.
The Austrian woman hates us. Her brigand Marshal de Broglie has sworn to raze Paris to the ground. We are caught between the cannon of the Bastille and the troops of the Champ de Mars. A Student. Monsieur Necker is at Versailles; he will take care of us. The Vagabond.