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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Dream Audio Books presents the Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter one, Paris, September seventeen ninety two. A surging, seething,
murmuring crowd of beings that a human only in name.
For to the eye and ear, they seemed nought but
savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust
(00:22):
of vengeance and of hate. The hour some little time
before sunset, and the place the west barricade, at the
very spot where a decade later a proud tyrant raised
an undying monument to the nation's glory and his own vanity.
During the greater part of the day, the guillotine had
been kept busy at its ghastly work. All that France
(00:45):
had boasted of in the past, centuries of ancient names
and blue blood had paid toll to her desire for
liberty and for fraternity. The carnage had only ceased at
this late hour of the day because there were other
more interesting sights for the people to witness a little
while before the final closing of the barricades for the night,
and so the crowd rushed away from the Place de
(01:07):
la Greevee and made for the various barricades in order
to watch this interesting and amusing sight it was to
be seen every day. For those aristos were such fools.
They were traitors to the people, of course, all of
them men, women and children, who happened to be descendants
of the great men who since the Crusades had made
the glory of France her old noblesse. Their ancestors had
(01:30):
oppressed the people, had crushed them under the scarlet heels
of their dainty buckled shoes. And now the people had
become the rulers of Franz and crushed their former masters,
not beneath their heel, for they went shoeless mostly in
these days, but a more effectual weight the knife of
the guillotine, and daily hourly, the hideous instrument of torture
(01:52):
claimed its many victims, old men, young women, tiny children,
until the day when it would finally demand their head
a king and of a beautiful young queen. But this
was as it should be. Were not the people now
the rulers of France. Every aristocrat was a traitor, as
his ancestors had been before him. For two hundred years
(02:13):
now the people had sweated and toiled and starved to
keep a lustful court in lavish extravagance. Now the descendants
of those who had helped to make those courts brilliant
had to hide for their lives, to fly if they
wished to avoid the tardy vengeance of the people. And
they did try to hide and tried to fly. That
(02:33):
was just the fun of the whole thing. Every afternoon,
before the gates closed and the market carts went out
in procession by the various barricades, some fool of an
aristo endeavored to evade the clutches of the Committee of
Public Safety. In various disguises, under various pretexts, they tried
to slip through the barriers, which were so well guarded
(02:54):
by citizen soldiers of the Republic, men in women's clothes,
women in male attire, children disguised in beggar's rags. There
were some of all sorts sie divan counts, marquises, even dukes,
who wanted to fly from France reach England or some
other equally accursed country, and there try to rouse foreign
(03:14):
feelings against the glorious Revolution, or to raise an army
in order to liberate the wretched prisoners in the temple,
who had once called themselves sovereigns of France, but they
were nearly always caught at the barricades. Sergeant b Bos,
especially at the westgate, had a wonderful nose for scenting
an aristo in the most perfect disguise. Then, of course
(03:34):
the fun began. Bibore would look at his prey as
a cat looks upon the mouse, play with him, sometimes
for quite a quarter of an hour, pretend to be
hoodwinked by the disguise, by the whigs and other bits
of theatrical make up which hid the identity of a
sie divon, noble marquise or count oh. Biba had a
keen sense of humor, and it was well worth hanging
(03:55):
round that West barricade in order to see him catch
an Aristo in the very act of trying to flee
from the vengeance of the people. Sometimes Bibau would let
his prey actually out by the gates, allowing him to
think for the space of two minutes at least that
he really had escaped out of Paris and might even
manage to reach the coast of England in safety. But
(04:16):
Bibau would let the unfortunate wretch walk about ten meters
toward the open country. Then he would send two men
after him and bring him back stripped of his disguise. Oh,
that was extremely funny, for as often as not the
fugitive would prove to be a woman, some proud marchioness
who looked terribly comical when she found herself in Bibau's
clutches after all, and knew that a summary trial would
(04:39):
await her the next day and after that the fond
embrace of Madame la Bioghin No wonder that on this
fine afternoon in September, the crowd round Bibau's gait was
eager and excited. The lust of blood grows with its satisfaction.
There is no satiety. The crowd had seen a hundred
noble heads fall beneath the guillotine to day. It wanted
(05:00):
to make sure that it would see another hundred fall
on the morrow. Bibx was sitting on an overturned and
empty cask close by the gate of the barricade. A
small detachment of Citoyen's soldiers was under his command. The
work had been very hot lately. Those cursed aristos were
becoming terrified and tried their hardest to slip out of Paris. Men,
(05:21):
women and children whose ancestors, even in remote ages, had
served those traitorous Bourbons, were all traitors themselves and right
food for the guillotine. Every day Bibau had had the
satisfaction of unmasking some fugitive royalists and sending them back
to be tried by the Committee of Public Safety, presided
over by that good patriot Citoyen Fouquier. Tom Ville, Robespierre
(05:44):
and Danton had both commended Biboors for his zeal and
Bibor was proud of the fact that he, on his
own initiative, had sent at least fifty Aristos to the guillotine.
But today all the sergeants in command of the various
barricades it had special orders. A very great number of
Aristos had succeeded in escaping out of France and in
(06:04):
reaching England safely. There were curious rumors about these escapes.
They had become very frequent and singularly daring. The people's
minds were becoming strangely excited about it all. Sergeant Grospierre
had been sent to the guillotine for allowing a whole
family of Aristos to slip out of the north gate
under his very nose. It was asserted that these escapes
(06:26):
were organized by a band of Englishmen whose darings seemed
to be unparalleled, and who, from sheer desire to meddle
in what did not concern them, spent their spare time
in snatching away lawful victims destined for Madame la guillotine.
These rumors soon grew in extravagance. There was no doubt
that this band of meddlesome Englishmen did exist. Moreover, they
(06:48):
seemed to be under the leadership of a man whose
pluck and audacity were almost fabulous. Strange stories were afloat
of how he and those aristos whom he rescued became
suddenly invisible as they reached the barricades and escaped out
of the gates by sheer supernatural agency. No one had
seen these mysterious Englishmen, as for their leader. He was
(07:09):
never spoken of, save with a superstitious shudder. Citoyen Foucquiertenville
would in the course of the day receive a scrap
of paper from some mysterious source. Sometimes he would find
it in the pocket of his coat, at others it
would be handed to him by someone in the crowd
whilst he was on his way to the sitting of
the Committee of Public Safety. The paper always contained a
(07:30):
brief notice that the band of meddlesome Englishmen were at work,
and it was always signed with a device drawn in red,
a little star shaped flower, which we in England call
the Scarlet Pimpernel. Within a few hours of the receipt
of this impudent notice, the citoyen of the Committee of
Public Safety would hear that so many royalists and aristocrats
had succeeded in reaching the coast and were on their
(07:52):
way to England in safety. The guards at the gates
had been doubled, the sergeants in command had been threatened
with death, whilst liberal rewards were offered for the capture
of these daring and impudent Englishmen. There was a sum
of five thousand francs promised to the man who laid
hands on the mysterious and elusive Scarlet Pimpernel. Everyone felt
(08:13):
that Bibor would be that man, and bib allowed that
belief to take firm root in everybody's mind, and so
day after day people came to watch him at the
West Gate, so as to be present when he laid
hands on any fugitive aristo, who perhaps might be accompanied
by that mysterious englishman Bah. He said to his trusted
corporal citoy young Grospierre was a fool. Had it been
(08:36):
me now at that north gate last week? Citoyen Bibau
spat on the ground to express his contempt for his
comrade stupidity. How did it happen? Citoyen asked the corporal
Grospierre was at the gate keeping good watch. Began bibo
pompously as the crowd closed in round him, listening eagerly
to his narrative. We've all heard of this meddlesome englishman,
(08:58):
this accursed scarlet pimpernel. He won't get through my gate, Morbleau,
unless he be the devil himself. But Gorospierre was a fool.
The market carts were going through the gates. There was
one laden with casks and driven by an old man
with a boy beside him. Grospierre was a bit drunk,
but he thought himself very clever. He looked into the casks,
(09:18):
most of them at least, and saw they were empty,
and let the cart go through. A murmur of wrath
and contempt went round the group of ill clad wretches
who crowded round Citoyen Biopleux. Half an hour later, continued
the sergeant. Up comes a captain of the guard with
a squad of some dozen soldiers with him. Has a
car gone through? He asks of Grospierre breathlessly, Yes, says Crosspier.
(09:41):
Not half an hour ago, and you have let them escape,
shouts the captain furiously. You'll go to the guillotine for
this citoyen sergeant. That cart held the concealed set of Vnt.
Duc de Chalis and all his family. What thunders Grospierre,
aghast aye, and the driver was none other than that
cursed englishman. The scouts St. Pimpernel. A howl of execration
(10:03):
greeted this tale. Citoyen Jrospierre had paid for his blunder
on the guillotine. But what a fool, Oh, what a fool.
Bibo was laughing so much at his own tail that
it was some time before he could continue after them,
my men, shouts the captain. He said, after a while,
remember the reward after them, they cannot have gone far,
(10:23):
And with that he rushes through the gate, followed by
his dozen soldiers. But it was too late. Shouted the
crowd excitedly. They never got them. Curse that Grospierre for
his folly. He deserved his fate. Fancy not examining those
casks properly. But these sallies seemed to amuse citoyen bibo exceedingly.
He laughed until his sides ached and the tears streamed
(10:45):
down his cheeks. Nay, nay, he said, At last, those
Aristones weren't in the cart. The driver was not the
scarlet pimpernel. What No, The captain of the guard was
that damned englishman in disguise, and every one of his
soldiers aristos. The crowd this time said nothing. The story
certainly savored of the supernatural, And though the Republic had
(11:07):
abolished God, it had not quite succeeded in killing the
fear of the supernatural in the hearts of the people. Truly,
that Englishman must be the devil himself. The sun was
sinking low down in the west. Bebore prepared himself to
close the gates. Anavant de carts, he said. Some dozen
covered carts were drawn up in a row, ready to
leave town in order to fetch the produce from the
(11:29):
country close by for market. The next morning. They were
mostly well known to Beoble as they went through his
gate twice every day on their way to and from
the town. He spoke to one or two of their drivers,
mostly women, and was at great pains to examine the
inside of the carts. You never know, he would say,
and I am not going to be caught like that
fool gorospieerre. The women who drove the carts usually spent
(11:53):
their day on the Blais de la Greve, beneath the
platform of the Guillotine, knitting and gossiping whilst they watched
the rows of tumbrils arriving within the victims the reign
of Terror claimed every day. It was great fun to
see the aristos arriving for the reception of Madame de Guillotine,
and those places close by the platform were very much
sought after. Biboor during the day had been on duty
(12:14):
on the BLUs. He recognized most of the old hats
tricoteus as they were called, who sat there and knitted
whilst head after head fell beneath the knife, and they
themselves got quite bespattered with the blood of those cursed aristos.
E la Maire, said Bibo to one of those horrible hags.
What have you got there? He had seen her earlier
(12:34):
in the day, with her knitting and the whip of
her cart close beside her. Now she had fastened a
row of curly locks to the whip handle, all colors
from gold to silver, fair to dark, and she stroked
them with her huge, bony fingers as she laughed at Biba.
I made friends with Madame Guillotine's lover, she said, with
a coarse laugh. He cut these off for me from
(12:54):
their heads as they rolled down. He has promised me
some more to morrow, but I don't know if I
shall be my usual place. Ah, how is that? La
maire asked Bibau, who hardened soldier that he was could
not help shuddering at the awful loathsomeness of the semblance
of a woman with her ghastly trophy on the handle
of her whip. My grandson has got the small pox,
(13:15):
she said, with a jerk of her thumb towards the
inside of her cart. Some say it's the plague. If
it is, I sha'n't be allowed to come into Paris tomorrow.
At the first mention of the words small pox, Biboor
had stepped hastily backwards, and when the old hag spoke
of the plague, he retreated from her as fast as
he could. Curse you, he muttered, whilst the whole crowd
hastily avoided the cart, leaving it standing all alone in
(13:38):
the midst of the place. The old hag laughed, Curse you,
Cito young, for being a coward. She said, Bah, what
a man to be afraid of sickness, more blur the plague.
Everyone was awe struck and silent, filled with horror for
the loathsome malady, the one thing which still had the
power to arouse terror and disgust in the savage, brutalized creatures.
(13:59):
Get out with you and with your plague, stricken Brood,
shouted Bibor hoarsely, and with another rough laugh and coarse jest,
the old Hag whipped up her lean nag and drove
her cart out of the gate. This incident had spoiled
the afternoon. The people were terrified of these two horrible curses,
the two maladies which nothing could cure, and which were
(14:19):
the precursors of an awful and lonely death. They hung
about the barricades, silent and sullen for a while, eyeing
one another, suspiciously avoiding each other, as if by instinct,
lest the plague lurked already in their midst presently, as
in the case of Gorospierre. A captain of the guard
appeared suddenly, but he was known to Bibon, and there
(14:40):
was no fear of his turning out to be a
sly Englishman in disguise a cart. He shouted breathlessly, even
before he had reached the gates. What cart, asked Biba,
roughly driven by an old hag, a covered cart. There
were a dozen, an old hag who said her son
had the plague. Yes, you have not let them go, Morbleu,
(15:01):
said Biba, whose purple cheeks had suddenly become white with fear.
The cart contained the sie de vant Comtes de Tournay
and her two children, all of them traitors and condemned
to death, and their driver, muttered Biba, as a superstitious
shudder ran down his spine. Sacre Tournaire, said the captain.
But it is feared that it was that accursed englishman himself,
(15:22):
the scarlet pimpernel. End of chapter one. Drea Mordiobook's hopes
you have enjoyed this program
Dream Audio Books presents the Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter one, Paris, September seventeen ninety two. A surging, seething,
murmuring crowd of beings that a human only in name.
For to the eye and ear, they seemed nought but
savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust
(00:22):
of vengeance and of hate. The hour some little time
before sunset, and the place the west barricade, at the
very spot where a decade later a proud tyrant raised
an undying monument to the nation's glory and his own vanity.
During the greater part of the day, the guillotine had
been kept busy at its ghastly work. All that France
(00:45):
had boasted of in the past, centuries of ancient names
and blue blood had paid toll to her desire for
liberty and for fraternity. The carnage had only ceased at
this late hour of the day because there were other
more interesting sights for the people to witness a little
while before the final closing of the barricades for the night,
and so the crowd rushed away from the Place de
(01:07):
la Greevee and made for the various barricades in order
to watch this interesting and amusing sight it was to
be seen every day. For those aristos were such fools.
They were traitors to the people, of course, all of
them men, women and children, who happened to be descendants
of the great men who since the Crusades had made
the glory of France her old noblesse. Their ancestors had
(01:30):
oppressed the people, had crushed them under the scarlet heels
of their dainty buckled shoes. And now the people had
become the rulers of Franz and crushed their former masters,
not beneath their heel, for they went shoeless mostly in
these days, but a more effectual weight the knife of
the guillotine, and daily hourly, the hideous instrument of torture
(01:52):
claimed its many victims, old men, young women, tiny children,
until the day when it would finally demand their head
a king and of a beautiful young queen. But this
was as it should be. Were not the people now
the rulers of France. Every aristocrat was a traitor, as
his ancestors had been before him. For two hundred years
(02:13):
now the people had sweated and toiled and starved to
keep a lustful court in lavish extravagance. Now the descendants
of those who had helped to make those courts brilliant
had to hide for their lives, to fly if they
wished to avoid the tardy vengeance of the people. And
they did try to hide and tried to fly. That
(02:33):
was just the fun of the whole thing. Every afternoon,
before the gates closed and the market carts went out
in procession by the various barricades, some fool of an
aristo endeavored to evade the clutches of the Committee of
Public Safety. In various disguises, under various pretexts, they tried
to slip through the barriers, which were so well guarded
(02:54):
by citizen soldiers of the Republic, men in women's clothes,
women in male attire, children disguised in beggar's rags. There
were some of all sorts sie divan counts, marquises, even dukes,
who wanted to fly from France reach England or some
other equally accursed country, and there try to rouse foreign
(03:14):
feelings against the glorious Revolution, or to raise an army
in order to liberate the wretched prisoners in the temple,
who had once called themselves sovereigns of France, but they
were nearly always caught at the barricades. Sergeant b Bos,
especially at the westgate, had a wonderful nose for scenting
an aristo in the most perfect disguise. Then, of course
(03:34):
the fun began. Bibore would look at his prey as
a cat looks upon the mouse, play with him, sometimes
for quite a quarter of an hour, pretend to be
hoodwinked by the disguise, by the whigs and other bits
of theatrical make up which hid the identity of a
sie divon, noble marquise or count oh. Biba had a
keen sense of humor, and it was well worth hanging
(03:55):
round that West barricade in order to see him catch
an Aristo in the very act of trying to flee
from the vengeance of the people. Sometimes Bibau would let
his prey actually out by the gates, allowing him to
think for the space of two minutes at least that
he really had escaped out of Paris and might even
manage to reach the coast of England in safety. But
(04:16):
Bibau would let the unfortunate wretch walk about ten meters
toward the open country. Then he would send two men
after him and bring him back stripped of his disguise. Oh,
that was extremely funny, for as often as not the
fugitive would prove to be a woman, some proud marchioness
who looked terribly comical when she found herself in Bibau's
clutches after all, and knew that a summary trial would
(04:39):
await her the next day and after that the fond
embrace of Madame la Bioghin No wonder that on this
fine afternoon in September, the crowd round Bibau's gait was
eager and excited. The lust of blood grows with its satisfaction.
There is no satiety. The crowd had seen a hundred
noble heads fall beneath the guillotine to day. It wanted
(05:00):
to make sure that it would see another hundred fall
on the morrow. Bibx was sitting on an overturned and
empty cask close by the gate of the barricade. A
small detachment of Citoyen's soldiers was under his command. The
work had been very hot lately. Those cursed aristos were
becoming terrified and tried their hardest to slip out of Paris. Men,
(05:21):
women and children whose ancestors, even in remote ages, had
served those traitorous Bourbons, were all traitors themselves and right
food for the guillotine. Every day Bibau had had the
satisfaction of unmasking some fugitive royalists and sending them back
to be tried by the Committee of Public Safety, presided
over by that good patriot Citoyen Fouquier. Tom Ville, Robespierre
(05:44):
and Danton had both commended Biboors for his zeal and
Bibor was proud of the fact that he, on his
own initiative, had sent at least fifty Aristos to the guillotine.
But today all the sergeants in command of the various
barricades it had special orders. A very great number of
Aristos had succeeded in escaping out of France and in
(06:04):
reaching England safely. There were curious rumors about these escapes.
They had become very frequent and singularly daring. The people's
minds were becoming strangely excited about it all. Sergeant Grospierre
had been sent to the guillotine for allowing a whole
family of Aristos to slip out of the north gate
under his very nose. It was asserted that these escapes
(06:26):
were organized by a band of Englishmen whose darings seemed
to be unparalleled, and who, from sheer desire to meddle
in what did not concern them, spent their spare time
in snatching away lawful victims destined for Madame la guillotine.
These rumors soon grew in extravagance. There was no doubt
that this band of meddlesome Englishmen did exist. Moreover, they
(06:48):
seemed to be under the leadership of a man whose
pluck and audacity were almost fabulous. Strange stories were afloat
of how he and those aristos whom he rescued became
suddenly invisible as they reached the barricades and escaped out
of the gates by sheer supernatural agency. No one had
seen these mysterious Englishmen, as for their leader. He was
(07:09):
never spoken of, save with a superstitious shudder. Citoyen Foucquiertenville
would in the course of the day receive a scrap
of paper from some mysterious source. Sometimes he would find
it in the pocket of his coat, at others it
would be handed to him by someone in the crowd
whilst he was on his way to the sitting of
the Committee of Public Safety. The paper always contained a
(07:30):
brief notice that the band of meddlesome Englishmen were at work,
and it was always signed with a device drawn in red,
a little star shaped flower, which we in England call
the Scarlet Pimpernel. Within a few hours of the receipt
of this impudent notice, the citoyen of the Committee of
Public Safety would hear that so many royalists and aristocrats
had succeeded in reaching the coast and were on their
(07:52):
way to England in safety. The guards at the gates
had been doubled, the sergeants in command had been threatened
with death, whilst liberal rewards were offered for the capture
of these daring and impudent Englishmen. There was a sum
of five thousand francs promised to the man who laid
hands on the mysterious and elusive Scarlet Pimpernel. Everyone felt
(08:13):
that Bibor would be that man, and bib allowed that
belief to take firm root in everybody's mind, and so
day after day people came to watch him at the
West Gate, so as to be present when he laid
hands on any fugitive aristo, who perhaps might be accompanied
by that mysterious englishman Bah. He said to his trusted
corporal citoy young Grospierre was a fool. Had it been
(08:36):
me now at that north gate last week? Citoyen Bibau
spat on the ground to express his contempt for his
comrade stupidity. How did it happen? Citoyen asked the corporal
Grospierre was at the gate keeping good watch. Began bibo
pompously as the crowd closed in round him, listening eagerly
to his narrative. We've all heard of this meddlesome englishman,
(08:58):
this accursed scarlet pimpernel. He won't get through my gate, Morbleau,
unless he be the devil himself. But Gorospierre was a fool.
The market carts were going through the gates. There was
one laden with casks and driven by an old man
with a boy beside him. Grospierre was a bit drunk,
but he thought himself very clever. He looked into the casks,
(09:18):
most of them at least, and saw they were empty,
and let the cart go through. A murmur of wrath
and contempt went round the group of ill clad wretches
who crowded round Citoyen Biopleux. Half an hour later, continued
the sergeant. Up comes a captain of the guard with
a squad of some dozen soldiers with him. Has a
car gone through? He asks of Grospierre breathlessly, Yes, says Crosspier.
(09:41):
Not half an hour ago, and you have let them escape,
shouts the captain furiously. You'll go to the guillotine for
this citoyen sergeant. That cart held the concealed set of Vnt.
Duc de Chalis and all his family. What thunders Grospierre,
aghast aye, and the driver was none other than that
cursed englishman. The scouts St. Pimpernel. A howl of execration
(10:03):
greeted this tale. Citoyen Jrospierre had paid for his blunder
on the guillotine. But what a fool, Oh, what a fool.
Bibo was laughing so much at his own tail that
it was some time before he could continue after them,
my men, shouts the captain. He said, after a while,
remember the reward after them, they cannot have gone far,
(10:23):
And with that he rushes through the gate, followed by
his dozen soldiers. But it was too late. Shouted the
crowd excitedly. They never got them. Curse that Grospierre for
his folly. He deserved his fate. Fancy not examining those
casks properly. But these sallies seemed to amuse citoyen bibo exceedingly.
He laughed until his sides ached and the tears streamed
(10:45):
down his cheeks. Nay, nay, he said, At last, those
Aristones weren't in the cart. The driver was not the
scarlet pimpernel. What No, The captain of the guard was
that damned englishman in disguise, and every one of his
soldiers aristos. The crowd this time said nothing. The story
certainly savored of the supernatural, And though the Republic had
(11:07):
abolished God, it had not quite succeeded in killing the
fear of the supernatural in the hearts of the people. Truly,
that Englishman must be the devil himself. The sun was
sinking low down in the west. Bebore prepared himself to
close the gates. Anavant de carts, he said. Some dozen
covered carts were drawn up in a row, ready to
leave town in order to fetch the produce from the
(11:29):
country close by for market. The next morning. They were
mostly well known to Beoble as they went through his
gate twice every day on their way to and from
the town. He spoke to one or two of their drivers,
mostly women, and was at great pains to examine the
inside of the carts. You never know, he would say,
and I am not going to be caught like that
fool gorospieerre. The women who drove the carts usually spent
(11:53):
their day on the Blais de la Greve, beneath the
platform of the Guillotine, knitting and gossiping whilst they watched
the rows of tumbrils arriving within the victims the reign
of Terror claimed every day. It was great fun to
see the aristos arriving for the reception of Madame de Guillotine,
and those places close by the platform were very much
sought after. Biboor during the day had been on duty
(12:14):
on the BLUs. He recognized most of the old hats
tricoteus as they were called, who sat there and knitted
whilst head after head fell beneath the knife, and they
themselves got quite bespattered with the blood of those cursed aristos.
E la Maire, said Bibo to one of those horrible hags.
What have you got there? He had seen her earlier
(12:34):
in the day, with her knitting and the whip of
her cart close beside her. Now she had fastened a
row of curly locks to the whip handle, all colors
from gold to silver, fair to dark, and she stroked
them with her huge, bony fingers as she laughed at Biba.
I made friends with Madame Guillotine's lover, she said, with
a coarse laugh. He cut these off for me from
(12:54):
their heads as they rolled down. He has promised me
some more to morrow, but I don't know if I
shall be my usual place. Ah, how is that? La
maire asked Bibau, who hardened soldier that he was could
not help shuddering at the awful loathsomeness of the semblance
of a woman with her ghastly trophy on the handle
of her whip. My grandson has got the small pox,
(13:15):
she said, with a jerk of her thumb towards the
inside of her cart. Some say it's the plague. If
it is, I sha'n't be allowed to come into Paris tomorrow.
At the first mention of the words small pox, Biboor
had stepped hastily backwards, and when the old hag spoke
of the plague, he retreated from her as fast as
he could. Curse you, he muttered, whilst the whole crowd
hastily avoided the cart, leaving it standing all alone in
(13:38):
the midst of the place. The old hag laughed, Curse you,
Cito young, for being a coward. She said, Bah, what
a man to be afraid of sickness, more blur the plague.
Everyone was awe struck and silent, filled with horror for
the loathsome malady, the one thing which still had the
power to arouse terror and disgust in the savage, brutalized creatures.
(13:59):
Get out with you and with your plague, stricken Brood,
shouted Bibor hoarsely, and with another rough laugh and coarse jest,
the old Hag whipped up her lean nag and drove
her cart out of the gate. This incident had spoiled
the afternoon. The people were terrified of these two horrible curses,
the two maladies which nothing could cure, and which were
(14:19):
the precursors of an awful and lonely death. They hung
about the barricades, silent and sullen for a while, eyeing
one another, suspiciously avoiding each other, as if by instinct,
lest the plague lurked already in their midst presently, as
in the case of Gorospierre. A captain of the guard
appeared suddenly, but he was known to Bibon, and there
(14:40):
was no fear of his turning out to be a
sly Englishman in disguise a cart. He shouted breathlessly, even
before he had reached the gates. What cart, asked Biba,
roughly driven by an old hag, a covered cart. There
were a dozen, an old hag who said her son
had the plague. Yes, you have not let them go, Morbleu,
(15:01):
said Biba, whose purple cheeks had suddenly become white with fear.
The cart contained the sie de vant Comtes de Tournay
and her two children, all of them traitors and condemned
to death, and their driver, muttered Biba, as a superstitious
shudder ran down his spine. Sacre Tournaire, said the captain.
But it is feared that it was that accursed englishman himself,
(15:22):
the scarlet pimpernel. End of chapter one. Drea Mordiobook's hopes
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