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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter eleven. Lord Grenville's Ball, the historic ball given by
the then Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Lord Grenville,
was the most brilliant function of the year. Though the
autumn season had only just begun, everybody who was anybody
(00:23):
had contrived to be in London in time to be
present there and to shine at this ball to the
best of his or her respective ability. His Royal Highness,
the Prince of Wales had promised to be present. He
was coming on presently from the opera. Lord Gremville himself
had listened to the first two Acts of Orpheus before
preparing to receive his guests at ten o'clock, an unusually
(00:43):
late hour in those days. The grand rooms of the
Foreign Office, exquisitely decorated with exotic palms and flowers, were
filled to overflowing. One room had been set apart for dancing,
and the dainty strains of the minuet made a soft
accompaniment to the gay chatter the merry laughter of the
numerous and brilliant company. In a smaller chamber, facing the
top of the fine stairway, the distinguished host stood ready
(01:06):
to receive his guests. Distinguished men, beautiful women, notabilities from
every European country had already filed past him, had exchanged
the elaborate bows and curtsies with him which the extravagant
fashion of the time demanded, and then laughing and talking
had dispersed into the hall, reception and card rooms beyond.
Not far from Lord Grenville's elbow. Leaning against one of
(01:29):
the console tables, Chauvelin, in his irreproachable black costume, was
taking a quiet survey of the brilliant frong. He noted
that Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney had not yet arrived,
and his keen, pale eyes glanced quickly towards the door
every time a newcomer appeared. He stood somewhat isolated. The
envoy of the Revolutionary Government of France was not likely
(01:50):
to be very popular in England at a time when
the news of the awful September massacres and of the
reign of terror and anarchy had just begun to filtrate
across the Channel. In his official capacity, he had been
received courteously by his English colleagues. Mister Pitt had shaken
him by the hand. Lord Grenville had entertained him more
than once, but the more intimate circles of London society
(02:11):
ignored him altogether. The women openly turned their backs upon him,
the men who held no official position refused to shake
his hand. But Chauvelin was not the man to trouble
himself about these social amenities, which he called mere incidents.
In his diplomatic career. He was blindly enthusiastic for the
revolutionary cause. He despised all social inequalities, and he had
(02:32):
a burning love for his own country. These three sentiments
made him supremely indifferent to the snubs he received in
this fog ridden, loyalist, old fashioned England. But above all,
Chauvelin had a purpose at heart. He firmly believed that
the French aristocrat was the most bitter enemy of France.
He would have wished to see every one of them annihilated.
He was one of those who, during this awful reign
(02:54):
of terror, had been the first to utter the historic
and ferocious desire that aristocrats might have but one head
between them, so that it might be cut off with
a single stroke of the guillotine. And thus he looked
upon every French aristocrat who had succeeded in escaping from France,
as so much prey of which the guillotine had been
unwarrantably cheated. There is no doubt that those royalist emigres,
(03:16):
once they had managed to cross the frontier, did their
very best to stir up foreign indignation against France. Plots
without end were hatched in England, in Belgium, in Holland,
to try and induce some great power to send troops
into revolutionary Paris, to free King Louis, and to summarily
hang the bloodthirsty leaders of that monster republic. Small wonder therefore,
(03:37):
that the romantic and mysterious personality of the Scarlet pimpernel
was a source of bitter hatred to Chauvelin. He and
the few young jackanapes under his command, well furnished with money,
armed with boundless staring and acute cunning, had succeeded in
rescuing hundreds of aristocrats from France. Nine tenths of the
emigres who have fated at the English court owed their
safety to that man and to his league. Chauvelin had
(04:00):
sworn to his colleagues in Paris. That he would discover
the identity of that meddlesome Englishman, entice him over to France.
And then Chauvelin drew a deep breath of satisfaction at
the very thought of seeing that enigmatic head falling under
the knife of the guillotine as easily as that of
any other man. Suddenly there was a great stir on
the handsome staircase. All conversations stopped for a moment, as
(04:21):
the majordomo's voice outside announced his royal Highness, the Prince
of Wales and suite Sir Percy Blakeney, Lady Blakeney, Lord Grenville,
went quickly to the door to receive his exhorted guest,
The Prince of Wales, dressed in a magnificent court suit
of salmon colored velvet, richly embroidered with gold, entered with
Marguerite Blakeney on his arm and on his left, Sir
(04:41):
Percy in gorgeous shimmering cream satin cut in the extravagant
uncoiable style, his fair hair free from powder, priceless lace
at his neck and wrists, and the flat chapeau bras
andres arm. After the few conventional words of deferential greeting,
Lord Grenville said to his royal guest, will your highness
per me to introduce Monsieur Chauvelin, the accredited agent of
(05:02):
the French government. Chauvelin, immediately the Prince entered, had stepped forward.
Expecting this introduction. He bowed very low, whilst the Prince
returned his salute with a curt nod of the head.
Monsieur said, his Royal Highness coldly, we will try to
forget the government that sent you, and look upon you
merely as our guest, a private gentleman from France. As such,
(05:23):
you are welcome, Monsieur. Monseigneur rejoined Chauvelin, bowing once again. Madame,
he added, bowing ceremoniously before Marguerite. Ah, my little Chauvelin,
she said, with unconcerned gaiety, and extending her tiny hand
to him. Monsieur and I are old friends. Your Royal Highness, Ah,
then said the Prince this time very graciously. You are
(05:43):
doubly welcome. Monsieur. There is some one else I would
crave permission to present to your Royal Highness. Here, interposed
Lord Grenville. Ah who is it? Asked the Prince. Madame
la comtez de Tournay, the Vassrive and her family, who
hath but recently come from France. By all means they
are among the lucky ones. Then Lord Grenville turned in
search of the Comtesse, who sat at the further end
(06:04):
of the room. Lord love me, whispered his Royal Highness
to Marguerite. As soon as he had caught sight of
the frigid figure of the old lady, Lord love me,
she looks very virtuous and very melancholy. Faith your Royal Highness,
she rejoined with a smile. Virtue is like precious odors,
most fragrant when it is crushed. Virtue alas sighed the
Prince is mostly unbecoming to your charming sex, Madame, Madame
(06:28):
la Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive, said Lord Grenville, introducing
the lady. This is a pleasure, Madame. My royal father,
as you know, is ever glad to welcome those of
your compatriots whom France is driven from her shores. Your
Royal Highness is ever gracious, replied the Comptesse, with becoming dignity,
then indicating her daughter, who stood timidly by her side,
My daughter, Suzanne Monseigneur, she said. Ah charming, charming, said
(06:52):
the Prince. And now allow me, Comtesse, to introduce you
Lady Blakeney, who honors us with her friendship. You and
she will have much to say to one another. I
vow every compatriot of Lady Blakeney's is doubly welcome for
her sake. Her friends are our friends, her enemies the
enemies of England. Marguerite's blue eyes had twinkled with merriment
to this gracious speech from her exalted friend. The Compteesse
(07:14):
de d'urnay, who lately had so flagrantly insulted her, was
here receiving a public lesson at which Marguerite could not
help but rejoice. But the Comtesse, for whom respective royalty
amounted almost to a religion, was too well schooled in
courtly etiquette to show the slightest sign of embarrassment as
the two ladies curtseyed ceremoniously to one another. His Royal
(07:35):
Highness is ever gracious, Madame, said Marguerite, demurely, and with
a wealth of mischief in her twinkling blue eyes. But
there is no need for his kind of meditation. Your
amiable reception of me at our last meeting still dwells
pleasantly in my memory. We poor exiles, Madame rejoined the
Comtesse fruitedly. Show our gratitude to England by devotion to
(07:55):
the wishes of Monseigneur, Madame, said Marguerite, with another ceremonious curtsey.
Madame responded the Comtesse with equal dignity. The Prince in
the meanwhile, were saying a few gracious words to the
young Vicomte. I am happy to know you, Monsieur Vicomte,
he said, I knew your father well when he was
ambassador in London. Ah Monseigneur replied the Vicomte. I was
(08:17):
a little boy then, and now I owe the honor
of this meeting to our protector de Scaralete. Pimpernel. Hush,
said the Prince earnestly and quickly, as he indicated Chauvelin,
who had stood a little on one side throughout the
whole of this little scene, watching Marguerite and the Comtesse,
with an amused, sarcastic little smile around his thin lips. Nay, Monseigneur,
he said, now, as if in direct response to the
(08:39):
Prince's challenge, pray, do not check this gentleman's display of gratitude.
The name of that interesting red flower is well known
to me and to Franz. The Prince looked at him
keenly for a moment or two. Faith Then, Monsieur he said,
perhaps you know more about our national hero than we
do ourselves. Perchance you know who he is. See, he
added to the groups round the room, the ladies hang
(09:02):
upon your lips. You would render yourself popular among the
fair sex if you were to gratify their curiosity. Ah Monseigneur,
said tauvelin significantly. Rumor has it in France that your
Highness could and you would give the truest account of
that enigmatical wayside flower. He looked quickly and keenly at
Marguerite as he spoke, But she betrayed no emotion, and
(09:22):
her eyes met his quite fearlessly. Nay Man replied the Prince,
My lips are sealed, and the members of the league
jealously guard the secret of their chief. So his fair
adorers have to be content with worshiping a shadow here
in England. Monsieur, he added, with wonderful charm and dignity.
We but name the scarlet pimpernel, and every fair cheek
is suffused with a blush of enthusiasm. None have seen him,
(09:45):
save his faithful lieutenants. We know not if he be
tall or short, fair or dark, handsome or ill formed.
But we know that he is the bravest gentleman in
all the world. And we all feel a little proud,
Monsieur when we remember that he is an Englishman. Ah, Monsieur,
Chauvelin added, Marguerite, looking almost with defiance across at the placid,
sphinx like face of the Frenchman. His Royal Highness should
(10:07):
add that we ladies think of him as of a
hero of old. We worship him, we wear his badge,
we tremble for him when he is in danger, and
exult with him in the hour of his victory. Chauvelin
did no more than bow placidly, both to the Prince
and to Marguerite. He felt that both speeches were intended,
each in their way, to convey contempt or defiance the
(10:27):
pleasure loving, idle prince. He despised the beautiful woman, who,
in her golden hair wore a spray of small red
flowers composed of rubies and diamonds. Her he held in
the hollow of hand. He could afford to remain silent
and to wait events. A long, jovial, inane laugh broke
the sudden silence which had fallen over everyone, and we
(10:49):
poor husbands came in slow, affected accents, from gorgeous to percy.
We have to stand by while they worship a damned shadow.
Everyone laughed, the prince more loudly than anyone. The tension
of subdued excitement was relieved, and the next moment everyone
was laughing and chatting merrily as the gay crowd broke
up and dispersed in the adjoining rooms. End of chapter eleven.
(11:12):
Dream Audiobooks hopes you have enjoyed this program.
Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter eleven. Lord Grenville's Ball, the historic ball given by
the then Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Lord Grenville,
was the most brilliant function of the year. Though the
autumn season had only just begun, everybody who was anybody
(00:23):
had contrived to be in London in time to be
present there and to shine at this ball to the
best of his or her respective ability. His Royal Highness,
the Prince of Wales had promised to be present. He
was coming on presently from the opera. Lord Gremville himself
had listened to the first two Acts of Orpheus before
preparing to receive his guests at ten o'clock, an unusually
(00:43):
late hour in those days. The grand rooms of the
Foreign Office, exquisitely decorated with exotic palms and flowers, were
filled to overflowing. One room had been set apart for dancing,
and the dainty strains of the minuet made a soft
accompaniment to the gay chatter the merry laughter of the
numerous and brilliant company. In a smaller chamber, facing the
top of the fine stairway, the distinguished host stood ready
(01:06):
to receive his guests. Distinguished men, beautiful women, notabilities from
every European country had already filed past him, had exchanged
the elaborate bows and curtsies with him which the extravagant
fashion of the time demanded, and then laughing and talking
had dispersed into the hall, reception and card rooms beyond.
Not far from Lord Grenville's elbow. Leaning against one of
(01:29):
the console tables, Chauvelin, in his irreproachable black costume, was
taking a quiet survey of the brilliant frong. He noted
that Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney had not yet arrived,
and his keen, pale eyes glanced quickly towards the door
every time a newcomer appeared. He stood somewhat isolated. The
envoy of the Revolutionary Government of France was not likely
(01:50):
to be very popular in England at a time when
the news of the awful September massacres and of the
reign of terror and anarchy had just begun to filtrate
across the Channel. In his official capacity, he had been
received courteously by his English colleagues. Mister Pitt had shaken
him by the hand. Lord Grenville had entertained him more
than once, but the more intimate circles of London society
(02:11):
ignored him altogether. The women openly turned their backs upon him,
the men who held no official position refused to shake
his hand. But Chauvelin was not the man to trouble
himself about these social amenities, which he called mere incidents.
In his diplomatic career. He was blindly enthusiastic for the
revolutionary cause. He despised all social inequalities, and he had
(02:32):
a burning love for his own country. These three sentiments
made him supremely indifferent to the snubs he received in
this fog ridden, loyalist, old fashioned England. But above all,
Chauvelin had a purpose at heart. He firmly believed that
the French aristocrat was the most bitter enemy of France.
He would have wished to see every one of them annihilated.
He was one of those who, during this awful reign
(02:54):
of terror, had been the first to utter the historic
and ferocious desire that aristocrats might have but one head
between them, so that it might be cut off with
a single stroke of the guillotine. And thus he looked
upon every French aristocrat who had succeeded in escaping from France,
as so much prey of which the guillotine had been
unwarrantably cheated. There is no doubt that those royalist emigres,
(03:16):
once they had managed to cross the frontier, did their
very best to stir up foreign indignation against France. Plots
without end were hatched in England, in Belgium, in Holland,
to try and induce some great power to send troops
into revolutionary Paris, to free King Louis, and to summarily
hang the bloodthirsty leaders of that monster republic. Small wonder therefore,
(03:37):
that the romantic and mysterious personality of the Scarlet pimpernel
was a source of bitter hatred to Chauvelin. He and
the few young jackanapes under his command, well furnished with money,
armed with boundless staring and acute cunning, had succeeded in
rescuing hundreds of aristocrats from France. Nine tenths of the
emigres who have fated at the English court owed their
safety to that man and to his league. Chauvelin had
(04:00):
sworn to his colleagues in Paris. That he would discover
the identity of that meddlesome Englishman, entice him over to France.
And then Chauvelin drew a deep breath of satisfaction at
the very thought of seeing that enigmatic head falling under
the knife of the guillotine as easily as that of
any other man. Suddenly there was a great stir on
the handsome staircase. All conversations stopped for a moment, as
(04:21):
the majordomo's voice outside announced his royal Highness, the Prince
of Wales and suite Sir Percy Blakeney, Lady Blakeney, Lord Grenville,
went quickly to the door to receive his exhorted guest,
The Prince of Wales, dressed in a magnificent court suit
of salmon colored velvet, richly embroidered with gold, entered with
Marguerite Blakeney on his arm and on his left, Sir
(04:41):
Percy in gorgeous shimmering cream satin cut in the extravagant
uncoiable style, his fair hair free from powder, priceless lace
at his neck and wrists, and the flat chapeau bras
andres arm. After the few conventional words of deferential greeting,
Lord Grenville said to his royal guest, will your highness
per me to introduce Monsieur Chauvelin, the accredited agent of
(05:02):
the French government. Chauvelin, immediately the Prince entered, had stepped forward.
Expecting this introduction. He bowed very low, whilst the Prince
returned his salute with a curt nod of the head.
Monsieur said, his Royal Highness coldly, we will try to
forget the government that sent you, and look upon you
merely as our guest, a private gentleman from France. As such,
(05:23):
you are welcome, Monsieur. Monseigneur rejoined Chauvelin, bowing once again. Madame,
he added, bowing ceremoniously before Marguerite. Ah, my little Chauvelin,
she said, with unconcerned gaiety, and extending her tiny hand
to him. Monsieur and I are old friends. Your Royal Highness, Ah,
then said the Prince this time very graciously. You are
(05:43):
doubly welcome. Monsieur. There is some one else I would
crave permission to present to your Royal Highness. Here, interposed
Lord Grenville. Ah who is it? Asked the Prince. Madame
la comtez de Tournay, the Vassrive and her family, who
hath but recently come from France. By all means they
are among the lucky ones. Then Lord Grenville turned in
search of the Comtesse, who sat at the further end
(06:04):
of the room. Lord love me, whispered his Royal Highness
to Marguerite. As soon as he had caught sight of
the frigid figure of the old lady, Lord love me,
she looks very virtuous and very melancholy. Faith your Royal Highness,
she rejoined with a smile. Virtue is like precious odors,
most fragrant when it is crushed. Virtue alas sighed the
Prince is mostly unbecoming to your charming sex, Madame, Madame
(06:28):
la Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive, said Lord Grenville, introducing
the lady. This is a pleasure, Madame. My royal father,
as you know, is ever glad to welcome those of
your compatriots whom France is driven from her shores. Your
Royal Highness is ever gracious, replied the Comptesse, with becoming dignity,
then indicating her daughter, who stood timidly by her side,
My daughter, Suzanne Monseigneur, she said. Ah charming, charming, said
(06:52):
the Prince. And now allow me, Comtesse, to introduce you
Lady Blakeney, who honors us with her friendship. You and
she will have much to say to one another. I
vow every compatriot of Lady Blakeney's is doubly welcome for
her sake. Her friends are our friends, her enemies the
enemies of England. Marguerite's blue eyes had twinkled with merriment
to this gracious speech from her exalted friend. The Compteesse
(07:14):
de d'urnay, who lately had so flagrantly insulted her, was
here receiving a public lesson at which Marguerite could not
help but rejoice. But the Comtesse, for whom respective royalty
amounted almost to a religion, was too well schooled in
courtly etiquette to show the slightest sign of embarrassment as
the two ladies curtseyed ceremoniously to one another. His Royal
(07:35):
Highness is ever gracious, Madame, said Marguerite, demurely, and with
a wealth of mischief in her twinkling blue eyes. But
there is no need for his kind of meditation. Your
amiable reception of me at our last meeting still dwells
pleasantly in my memory. We poor exiles, Madame rejoined the
Comtesse fruitedly. Show our gratitude to England by devotion to
(07:55):
the wishes of Monseigneur, Madame, said Marguerite, with another ceremonious curtsey.
Madame responded the Comtesse with equal dignity. The Prince in
the meanwhile, were saying a few gracious words to the
young Vicomte. I am happy to know you, Monsieur Vicomte,
he said, I knew your father well when he was
ambassador in London. Ah Monseigneur replied the Vicomte. I was
(08:17):
a little boy then, and now I owe the honor
of this meeting to our protector de Scaralete. Pimpernel. Hush,
said the Prince earnestly and quickly, as he indicated Chauvelin,
who had stood a little on one side throughout the
whole of this little scene, watching Marguerite and the Comtesse,
with an amused, sarcastic little smile around his thin lips. Nay, Monseigneur,
he said, now, as if in direct response to the
(08:39):
Prince's challenge, pray, do not check this gentleman's display of gratitude.
The name of that interesting red flower is well known
to me and to Franz. The Prince looked at him
keenly for a moment or two. Faith Then, Monsieur he said,
perhaps you know more about our national hero than we
do ourselves. Perchance you know who he is. See, he
added to the groups round the room, the ladies hang
(09:02):
upon your lips. You would render yourself popular among the
fair sex if you were to gratify their curiosity. Ah Monseigneur,
said tauvelin significantly. Rumor has it in France that your
Highness could and you would give the truest account of
that enigmatical wayside flower. He looked quickly and keenly at
Marguerite as he spoke, But she betrayed no emotion, and
(09:22):
her eyes met his quite fearlessly. Nay Man replied the Prince,
My lips are sealed, and the members of the league
jealously guard the secret of their chief. So his fair
adorers have to be content with worshiping a shadow here
in England. Monsieur, he added, with wonderful charm and dignity.
We but name the scarlet pimpernel, and every fair cheek
is suffused with a blush of enthusiasm. None have seen him,
(09:45):
save his faithful lieutenants. We know not if he be
tall or short, fair or dark, handsome or ill formed.
But we know that he is the bravest gentleman in
all the world. And we all feel a little proud,
Monsieur when we remember that he is an Englishman. Ah, Monsieur,
Chauvelin added, Marguerite, looking almost with defiance across at the placid,
sphinx like face of the Frenchman. His Royal Highness should
(10:07):
add that we ladies think of him as of a
hero of old. We worship him, we wear his badge,
we tremble for him when he is in danger, and
exult with him in the hour of his victory. Chauvelin
did no more than bow placidly, both to the Prince
and to Marguerite. He felt that both speeches were intended,
each in their way, to convey contempt or defiance the
(10:27):
pleasure loving, idle prince. He despised the beautiful woman, who,
in her golden hair wore a spray of small red
flowers composed of rubies and diamonds. Her he held in
the hollow of hand. He could afford to remain silent
and to wait events. A long, jovial, inane laugh broke
the sudden silence which had fallen over everyone, and we
(10:49):
poor husbands came in slow, affected accents, from gorgeous to percy.
We have to stand by while they worship a damned shadow.
Everyone laughed, the prince more loudly than anyone. The tension
of subdued excitement was relieved, and the next moment everyone
was laughing and chatting merrily as the gay crowd broke
up and dispersed in the adjoining rooms. End of chapter eleven.
(11:12):
Dream Audiobooks hopes you have enjoyed this program.
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