Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution by Rafael Sabatini (i want to read a book txt) 📗

just ——— murder. Yet if I were to go amongst messieurs les nobles and crunch an addled head or two with this stick of mine, snap a few aristocratic necks between these fingers which the good God has given me for the purpose, the law would send me to atone upon the gallows. This in a land that is striving after liberty. Why, Dieu me damne! I am not even allowed to keep my hat on in the theatre. But they ——— these ———s!”

“He is right,” said Le Chapelier. “The thing has become unendurable, insufferable. Two days ago M. d’Ambly threatened Mirabeau with his cane before the whole Assembly. Yesterday M. de Faussigny leapt up and harangued his order by inviting murder. ‘Why don’t we fall on these scoundrels, sword in hand?’ he asked. Those were his very words: ‘Why don’t we fall on these scoundrels, sword in hand.’”

“It is so much simpler than lawmaking,” said Andre-Louis.

“Lagron, the deputy from Ancenis in the Loire, said something that we did not hear in answer. As he was leaving the Manege one of these bullies grossly insulted him. Lagron no more than used his elbow to push past when the fellow cried out that he had been struck, and issued his challenge. They fought this morning early in the Champs Elysees, and Lagron was killed, run through the stomach deliberately by a man who fought like a fencing-master, and poor Lagron did not even own a sword. He had to borrow one to go to the assignation.”

Andre-Louis—his mind ever on Vilmorin, whose case was here repeated, even to the details—was swept by a gust of passion. He clenched his hands, and his jaws set. Danton’s little eyes observed him keenly.

“Well? And what do you think of that? Noblesse oblige, eh? The thing is we must oblige them too, these ———s. We must pay them back in the same coin; meet them with the same weapons. Abolish them; tumble these assassinateurs into the abyss of nothingness by the same means.”

“But how?”

“How? Name of God! Haven’t I said it?”

“That is where we require your help,” Le Chapelier put in. “There must be men of patriotic feeling among the more advanced of your pupils. M. Danton’s idea is that a little band of these—say a half-dozen, with yourself at their head—might read these bullies a sharp lesson.”

Andre-Louis frowned.

“And how, precisely, had M. Danton thought that this might be done?”

M. Danton spoke for himself, vehemently.

“Why, thus: We post you in the Manege, at the hour when the Assembly is rising. We point out the six leading phlebotomists, and let you loose to insult them before they have time to insult any of the representatives. Then to-morrow morning, six ——— phlebotomists themselves phlebotomized secundum artem. That will give the others something to think about. It will give them a great deal to think about, by ——! If necessary the dose may be repeated to ensure a cure. If you kill the ———s, so much the better.”

He paused, his sallow face flushed with the enthusiasm of his idea. Andre-Louis stared at him inscrutably.

“Well, what do you say to that?”

“That it is most ingenious.” And Andre-Louis turned aside to look out of the window.

“And is that all you think of it?”

“I will not tell you what else I think of it because you probably would not understand. For you, M. Danton, there is at least this excuse that you did not know me. But you, Isaac—to bring this gentleman here with such a proposal!”

Le Chapelier was overwhelmed in confusion. “I confess I hesitated,” he apologized. “But M. Danton would not take my word for it that the proposal might not be to your taste.”

“I would not!” Danton broke in, bellowing. He swung upon Le Chapelier, brandishing his great arms. “You told me monsieur was a patriot. Patriotism knows no scruples. You call this mincing dancing-master a patriot?”

“Would you, monsieur, out of patriotism consent to become an assassin?”

“Of course I would. Haven’t I told you so? Haven’t I told you that I would gladly go among them with my club, and crack them like so many—fleas?”

“Why not, then?”

“Why not? Because I should get myself hanged. Haven’t I said so?”

“But what of that ——— being a patriot? Why not, like another Curtius, jump into the gulf, since you believe that your country would benefit by your death?”

M. Danton showed signs of exasperation. “Because my country will benefit more by my life.”

“Permit me, monsieur, to suffer from a similar vanity.”

“You? But where would be the danger to you? You would do your work under the cloak of duelling—as they do.”

“Have you reflected, monsieur, that the law will hardly regard a fencing-master who kills his opponent as an ordinary combatant, particularly if it can be shown that the fencing-master himself provoked the attack?”

“So! Name of a name!” M. Danton blew out his cheeks and delivered himself with withering scorn. “It comes to this, then: you are afraid!”

“You may think so if you choose—that I am afraid to do slyly and treacherously that which a thrasonical patriot like yourself is afraid of doing frankly and openly. I have other reasons. But that one should suffice you.”

Danton gasped. Then he swore more amazingly and variedly than ever.

“By ——! you are right,” he admitted, to Andre-Louis’ amazement. “You are right, and I am wrong. I am as bad a patriot as you are, and I am a coward as well.” And he invoked the whole Pantheon to witness his self-denunciation. “Only, you see, I count for something: and if they take me and hang me, why, there it is! Monsieur, we must find some other way. Forgive the intrusion. Adieu!” He held out his enormous hand..

Le Chapelier stood hesitating, crestfallen.

“You understand, Andre? I am sorry that...”

“Say no more, please. Come and see me soon again. I would press you to remain, but it is striking nine, and the first of my pupils is about to arrive.”

“Nor would I permit it,” said Danton. “Between us we must resolve the riddle of how to extinguish M. de La Tour d’Azyr and his friends.”

“Who?”

Sharp as a pistol-shot came that question, as Danton was turning away. The tone of it brought him up short. He turned again, Le Chapelier with him.

“I said M. de La Tour d’Azyr.”

“What has he to do with the proposal you were making me?”

“He? Why, he is the phlebotomist in chief.”