The Scarlet Pimpernel: A Daring Tale of Courage - Chapter 04

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter four, The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. They all
looked a merry even a happy party as they sat
round the table, Sir Andrew Folkes and Lord Anthony Dewhurst,
two typical, good looking, well born and well bred Englishmen

(00:23):
of that year of Grace seventeen ninety two, and the
aristocratic French comtesse with her two children, who had just
escaped for such dire perils and found a safe retreat
at last on the shores of protecting England. In the corner,
the two strangers had apparently finished their game. One of
them arose, and, standing with his back to the merry
company at the table, he adjusted with much deliberation his

(00:46):
large triple caped coat. As he did so, he gave
one quick glance all around him. Everyone was busy, laughing
and chatting, and he murmured the words all safe. His companion, then,
with the alertness born of long practice, slipped on to
his knees in a moment, and the next had crept
noiselessly under the oak bench. The stranger, then, with a

(01:08):
loud good night, quietly walked out of the coffee room.
Not one of those at the supper table had noticed
this curious and silent maneuver. But when the stranger finally
closed the door of the coffee room behind him, they
all instinctively sighed a sigh of relief. Alone at last,
said Lord Antony jovially. Then the young Vicomte de d'urnay

(01:29):
rose glass in hand, and with the graceful affection peculiar
to the times, he raised it aloft and said, in
the broken English, to his Majesty George three of England,
God bless him for his hospitality to us, all bore
exiles from France. His Majesty the King, echoed Lord Antony
and Sir Andrew, as they drank loyally to the toast.

(01:50):
To his Majesty, King Louis of France, added Sir Andrew,
with solemnity, may God protect him and give him victory
over his enemies. Every one rose and drank the toast
in silence. The fate of the unfortunate King of France,
then a prisoner of his own people, seemed to cast
a gloom even over mister Jellyband's pleasant countenance, and to

(02:11):
Monsieur Le Comte durn de Basserive, said Lord Antony merrily,
May we welcome him in England before many days are over?
Ah Monsieur, said the comtesse, as with a slightly trembling hand,
she conveyed her glass to her lips. I scarcely dared
to hope. But already Lord Antony had served out the soup,
and for the next few moments all conversation ceased, while

(02:33):
Jellyband and Sally handed round the plates and everyone began
to eat. Faith, Madame, said Lord Antony. After a while,
mine was no idle toast seeing yourself, Mademoiselle Suzanne, and
my friend the Vicomte safely in England. Now, surely you
must feel reassured as to the fate of monsieur le Comte.
Ah Monsieur replied the Comtesse with a heavy sigh. I

(02:56):
trust in God. I can but pray and hope. Madame
here interposed Sir Andrew Folkes, trust in God by all means,
but believe also a little in your English friends who
have sworn to bring the count safely across the channel,
even as they have brought you to day. Indeed, indeed, Monsieur,
she replied, I have the fullest confidence in you and

(03:17):
your friends. Your fame, I assure you, has spread throughout
the hall of France. The way some of my own
friends have escaped from the clutches of that awful revolutionary
tribunal was nothing short of a miracle, and all done
by you and your friends. We were but the hands,
Madame la Comtesse. But my husband, monsieur, said the Comtesse,

(03:39):
whilst unshed tears seemed to veil her voice. He is
in such deadly peril. I would never have left him.
Only there were my children. I was torn between my
duty to him and to them. They refused to go
without me, and you and your friends assured me so
solemnly that my husband would be safe. Oh, now that

(04:01):
I am here amongst you all, in this beautiful free England,
I think of him flying for his life, hunted like
a poor beast, in such peril. Ah, I should not
have left him. I should not have left him. The
poor woman had completely broken down. Fatigue, sorrow and emotion

(04:21):
had overmastered her rigid aristocratic bearing. She was crying gently
to herself, whilst Suzanne ran up to her and tried
to kiss away her tears. Lord Antony and Sir Andrew
had said nothing to interrupt the comtesse while she was speaking.
There was no doubt that they felt deeply for her.
Their very silence testify to that. But in every century

(04:43):
and ever since England has been what it is, an
Englishman has always felt somewhat ashamed of his own emotion
and of his own sympathy. And so the two young
men said nothing and busied themselves in trying to hide
their feelings, only succeeding in looking immeasurably sheepish. As for me, monsieur,
said Suzanne suddenly, as she looked through a wealth of

(05:04):
brown curls across at Sir Andrew. I trust you absolutely,
and I know that you will bring my dear father
safely to England, just as you brought us to day.
This was said with so much confidence, such unuttered hope
and belief, that it seemed as if by magic to
dry the mother's eyes and to bring a smile upon
everybody's lips. Nay, you shame me, mademoiselle, replied Sir Andrew.

(05:27):
Though my life is at your service. I have been
but a humble tool in the hands of our great leader,
who organized and affected your escape. He had spoken with
so much warmth and vehemence that Suzanne's eyes fastened upon
him in undisguised Wonder your leader, monsieur, said the comtesse eagerly. Ah,
of course you must have a leader, and I did

(05:48):
not think of that before. But tell me where is he.
I must go to him at once, and I and
my children must throw ourselves at his feet and thank
him for all that he has done for us. Alas, Madame,
said Lord Antony, that is impossible. Impossible. Why because the
scarlet Pimpernel works in the dark, and his identity is

(06:08):
only known under the solemn oath of secrecy to his
immediate followers. The Scarlet Pimpernel, said Suzanne, with a merry laugh.
Why what a droll name. What is this scarlet pimpernel, monsieur.
She looked at Sir Andrew with eager curiosity. The young
man's face had become almost transfigured, his eyes shone with enthusiasm,

(06:29):
hero worship, love, admiration for his leader seemed literally to
glow upon his face. The Scarlet Pimpernel, Mademoiselle, he said,
at last, is the name of a humble English wayside flower.
But it is also the name chosen to hide the
identity of the best and bravest man in all the world,
so that he may better succeed in accomplishing the noble

(06:50):
task he has set himself to do. Ah. Yes, here
interposed the young vicomte. I have heard speak of this
scarlet pimpernel, a little flower red. Yes, they say in
Paris that every time a royalist escapes to England, that
devil Fouquier Tinville, the public prosecutor receives a paper with

(07:11):
that little flower designated in red upon it. Yes, yes,
that is so, assented, Lord Antony. Then you will have
received one such paper to day. Undoubtedly, Oh, I wonder
what you will say, said Suzanne merrily. I have heard
that the picture of that little red flower is the
only thing that frightens him. Faith, then, said Sir Andrew.

(07:31):
He will have many more opportunities of studying the shape
of that small scarlet flower, Ah, monsieur, sighed the comtesse.
It all sounds like a romance, and I cannot understand
it all. Why should you try, madame? But tell me
why should your leader? Why should you all spend your
money and risk your lives? For it is your lives

(07:52):
you risk, monsieur, when you set foot in France, and
all for us french men and women who are nothing
to you. Sport, Madame la Conte sport, asserted Lord Antony
with his jovial, loud and pleasant voice. We are a
nation of sportsmen, you know, and just now it is
the fashion to pull the hair from between the teeth
of the hound. Ah. No, no, not sport, only, Monsieur,

(08:14):
you have a more noble motive, I am sure, for
the good work you do, faith, Madame, I would like
you to find it. Then. As for me, I vow
I love the game, for this is the finest sport
I have yet encountered. Hair breath escapes the devil's own risks,
tally ho and away we go. But the Comfess shook
her head still incredulously. To her, it seemed preposterous that

(08:35):
these young men and their great leader, all of them rich,
probably well born and young, should, for no other motive
than sport, run the terrible risks which she knew they
were constantly doing. Their nationality once they had set foot
in France would be no safeguard to them. Any one
found harboring or assisting suspected royalists would be ruthlessly condemned
and summarily executed, whatever his nationality might be. And this

(08:59):
band of year young Englishman had, to her own knowledge,
bearded the implacable and bloodthirsty tribunal of the Revolution within
the very walls of Paris itself, and had snatched away
condemned victims almost from the very foot of the guillotine.
With a shudder, she recalled the events of the last
few days, her escape from Paris with her two children,
all three of them hidden beneath the hood of a

(09:20):
rickety cart, lying amidst a heap of turnips and cabbages,
not daring to breathe, whilst the mob howled a la
lantern des ariston at the awful West barricade. It had
all occurred in such a miraculous way. She and her
husband had understood that they had been placed on the
list of suspected persons, which meant that their trial and

(09:41):
death were but a matter of days of hours. Perhaps
then came the hope of salvation. The mysterious epistle, signed
with the enigmatical scarlet device, the clear peremptory directions, the
parting from the Comte Durnay, which had torn the poor
wife's heart in two, the hope of reunion, the flight
with her two children, the covered cart, that awful hag

(10:02):
driving it, who looked like some horrible, evil demon, with
the ghastly trophy on her whip handle. The comtesse looked
round at the quaint, old fashioned English inn the peace
of this land of civil and religious liberty, and she
closed her eyes to shut out the haunting vision of
that west barricade and of the mob retreating, panic stricken.
When the old hag spoke of the plague every moment

(10:25):
under that cart, she expected recognition, arrest, herself and her children,
tried and condemned. And these young Englishmen, under the guidance
of their brave and mysterious leader, had risked their lives
to save them all, as they had already saved scores
of other innocent people, and all only for sport impossible.
Suzanne's eyes, as she sought those of Sir Andrew, plainly

(10:49):
told him that she thought that he, at any rate,
rescued his fellow men from terrible and unmerited death through
a higher and nobler motive than his friend would have
her believe. How many are there in your brave league, monsieur,
she asked timidly. Twenty, all told, Mademoiselle. He replied, one
to command, and nineteen to obey. All of us Englishmen

(11:10):
and all pledged to the same cause, to obey our
leader and to rescue the innocent. May God protect you all, monsieur,
said the Comtesse fervently. He has done that so far, Madame.
It is wonderful to me, wonderful that you should all
be so brave, so devoted to your fellow men. Yet
you are English, and in France treachery is rife, all

(11:33):
in the name of liberty and fraternity. The women, even
in France, have been more bitter against us aristocrats than
the men, said the Vicomte, with a sigh. Ah. Yes,
added the Comtesse, while a look of haughty disdain and
intense bitterness shot through her melancholy eyes. There was that woman,
Marguerite Saint. Just for instance, she denounced the Marquis de

(11:56):
Saint Cyr and all his family to the awful tribunal
of the terror. Marguerite Saint, just, said Lord Antony as
he shot a quick and apprehensive glance across at Sir Andrew.
Marguerite Saint Just. Surely, yes, replied the Comtesse. Surely you
know her. She was a leading actress of the commedif Franseise,
and she married an Englishman. Lately, you must know her,

(12:18):
know her, said Lord Antony. No, Lady Blakeney, the most
fashionable woman in London, the wife of the richest man
in England. Of course we all know Lady Blakeney. She
was a schoolfellow of mine at the convent in Paris,
interposed Suzanne, and we came over to England together to
learn your language. I was very fond of Marguerite, and
I cannot believe that she ever did anything so wicked.

(12:42):
It certainly seems incredible, said sir Andrew. You say that
she actually denounced the Marquis de Saint Cyr. Why should
she have done such a thing. Surely there must be
some mistake. No mistake is possible, Monsieur rejoined the Comtesse coldly.
Marguerite Saint Just's brother is a noted Republican. There some
talk of a family feud between him and my cousin.

(13:03):
The Marquis Saint Cyr. Saint Justs are quite Plebeian, and
the Republican government employs many spies. I assure you there
is no mistake you had not heard this story, Faith Madame.
I did hear some vague rumors of it, but in
England no one would credit it. Sir Percy Blakeney, her
husband is a very wealthy man of high social position,

(13:23):
the intimate friend of the Prince of Wales, and Lady
Blakeney leads both fashion and society in London. That may be, Monsieur,
and we shall, of course lead a very quiet life
in England. But I pray God that while I remain
in this beautiful country, I may never meet Marguerite Saint.
Just the proverbial wet blanket seemed to have fallen over

(13:43):
the merry little company gathered round the table. Suzanne looked
sad and silent, Sir Andrew fidgeted uneasily with his fork,
whilst the Comptesse, encased in the plate armor of her
aristocratic prejudices, sat rigid and unbending in her straight backed chair.
As for Lord Ante, he looked extremely uncomfortable and glanced
once or twice apprehensively towards Jellyband, who looked just as

(14:06):
uncomfortable as himself at what time do you expect, Sir
Percy and Lady Blakeney. He contrived a whisper unobserved to
mine host. Any moment, my Lord whispered jellyband in reply.
Even as he spoke, a distant clatter was heard of
an approaching coach, louder and louder. It grew one or
two shouts, became distinguishable than the rattle of horses hoofs

(14:26):
on the uneven cobblestones, And the next moment a stable
boy had thrown open the coffee room door and rushed
in excitedly. Sir Percy, Blakeney, and my lady, he shouted
at the top of his voice, They're just driving. And
with more shouting, jingling of harness and iron hoofs upon
the stones, a magnificent coach drawn by four superb bays
had halted outside the porch of the Fisherman's Rest end

(14:49):
of Chapter four. Dream Audio Books hopes you have enjoyed
this program.