Baroness Emmuska Orczy - Scarlet Pimpernel

Baroness Emmuska Orczy

(4 Unabridged Classics)

Imprint: This e-book is protected by copyright.e-artnow, 2013ISBN 978-80-7484-923-7

The Scarlet Pimpernel The Scarlet Pimpernel Table of Contents

CHAPTER I PARIS: SEPTEMBER, 1792

CHAPTER II DOVER: "THE FISHERMAN'S REST"

CHAPTER III THE REFUGEES

CHAPTER IV THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

CHAPTER V MARGUERITE

CHAPTER VI AN EXQUISITE OF '92

CHAPTER VII THE SECRET ORCHARD

CHAPTER VIII THE ACCREDITED AGENT

CHAPTER IX THE OUTRAGE

CHAPTER X IN THE OPERA BOX

CHAPTER XI LORD GRENVILLE'S BALL

CHAPTER XII THE SCRAP OF PAPER

CHAPTER XIII EITHER—OR?

CHAPTER XIV ONE O'CLOCK PRECISELY!

CHAPTER XV DOUBT

CHAPTER XVI RICHMOND

CHAPTER XVII FAREWELL

CHAPTER XVIII THE MYSTERIOUS DEVICE

CHAPTER XIX THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

CHAPTER XX THE FRIEND

CHAPTER XXI SUSPENSE

CHAPTER XXII CALAIS

CHAPTER XXIII HOPE

CHAPTER XXIV THE DEATH-TRAP

CHAPTER XXV THE EAGLE AND THE FOX

CHAPTER XXVI THE JEW

CHAPTER XXVII ON THE TRACK

CHAPTER XXVIII THE PERE BLANCHARD'S HUT

CHAPTER XXIX TRAPPED

CHAPTER XXX THE SCHOONER

CHAPTER XXXI THE ESCAPE

The League Of The Scarlet Pimpernel

I SIR PERCY EXPLAINS

II A QUESTION OF PASSPORTS

III TWO GOOD PATRIOTS

IV THE OLD SCARECROW

V A FINE BIT OF WORK

VI HOW JEAN PIERRE MET THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

VII OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH

VIII THE TRAITOR

IX THE CABARET DE LA LIBERTE

X "NEEDS MUST—"

XI A BATTLE OF WITS

The Elusive Pimpernel

CHAPTER I: PARIS: 1793

CHAPTER II: A RETROSPECT

CHAPTER III: EX-AMBASSADOR CHAUVELIN

CHAPTER IV: THE RICHMOND GALA

CHAPTER V: SIR PERCY AND HIS LADY

CHAPTER VI: FOR THE POOR OF PARIS

CHAPTER VII: PREMONITION

CHAPTER VIII: THE INVITATION

CHAPTER IX: DEMOISELLE CANDEILLE

CHAPTER X: LADY BLAKENEY'S ROUT

CHAPTER XI: THE CHALLENGE

CHAPTER XII: TIME—PLACE—CONDITIONS

CHAPTER XIII: REFLECTIONS

CHAPTER XIV: THE RULING PASSION

CHAPTER XV: FAREWELL

CHAPTER XVI: THE PASSPORT

CHAPTER XVII: BOULOGNE

CHAPTER XVIII: NO. 6

CHAPTER XIX: THE STRENGTH OF THE WEAK

CHAPTER XX: TRIUMPH

CHAPTER XXI: SUSPENSE

CHAPTER XXII: NOT DEATH

CHAPTER XXIII THE HOSTAGE

CHAPTER XXIV: COLLEAGUES

CHAPTER XXV: THE UNEXPECTED

CHAPTER XXVI: THE TERMS OF THE BARGAIN

CHAPTER XXVII: THE DECISION

CHAPTER XXVIII: THE MIDNIGHT WATCH

CHAPTER XXIX: THE NATIONAL FETE

CHAPTER XXX: THE PROCESSION

CHAPTER XXXI: FINAL DISPOSITIONS

CHAPTER XXXII: THE LETTER

CHAPTER XXXIII: THE ENGLISH SPY

CHAPTER XXXIV: THE ANGELUS

CHAPTER XXXV: MARGUERITE

The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel

CHAPTER I: "THE EVERLASTING STARS LOOK DOWN, LIKE GLISTENING EYES BRIGHT WITH IMMORTAL PITY, OVER THE LOT OF MAN"

CHAPTER II: FEET OF CLAY

CHAPTER III: THE FELLOWSHIP OF GRIEF

CHAPTER IV: ONE DRAM OF JOY MUST HAVE A POUND OF CARE

CHAPTER V: RASCALITY REJOICES

CHAPTER VI: ONE CROWDED HOUR OF GLORIOUS LIFE

CHAPTER VII: TWO INTERLUDES

CHAPTER VIII: THE BEAUTIFUL SPANIARD

CHAPTER IX: A HIDEOUS, FEARFUL HOUR

CHAPTER X: THE GRIM IDOL THAT THE WORLD ADORES

CHAPTER XI: STRANGE HAPPENINGS

CHAPTER XII: CHAUVELIN

CHAPTER XIII: THE FISHERMAN'S REST

CHAPTER XIV: THE CASTAWAY

CHAPTER XV: THE NEST

CHAPTER XVI: A LOVER OF SPORT

CHAPTER XVII: REUNION

CHAPTER XVIII: NIGHT AND MORNING

CHAPTER XIX: A RENCONTRE

CHAPTER XX: DEPARTURE

CHAPTER XXI: MEMORIES

CHAPTER XXII: WAITING

CHAPTER XXIII: MICE AND MEN

CHAPTER XXIV: BY ORDER OF THE STATE

CHAPTER XXV: FOUR DAYS

CHAPTER XXVI: A DREAM

CHAPTER XXVII: TERROR OR AMBITION

CHAPTER XXVIII: IN THE MEANWHILE

CHAPTER XXIX: THE CLOSE OF THE SECOND DAY

CHAPTER XXX: WHEN THE STORM BURST

CHAPTER XXXI: OUR LADY OF PITY

CHAPTER XXXII: GREY DAWN

CHAPTER XXXIII: THE CATACLYSM

CHAPTER XXXIV: THE WHIRLWIND

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

A surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust 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 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 la Greve 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 oppressed the people, had crushed them under the scarlet heels of their dainty buckled shoes, and now the people had become the rulers of France 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 claimed its many victims—old men, young women, tiny children until the day when it would finally demand the head of 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 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 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 endeavoured 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 by citizen soldiers of the Republic. Men in women's clothes, women in male attire, children disguised in beggars' rags: there were some of all sorts: CI-DEVANT counts, marquises, even dukes, who wanted to fly from France, reach England or some other equally accursed country, and there try to rouse foreign 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 Bibot especially at the West Gate had a wonderful nose for scenting an aristo in the most perfect disguise. Then, of course, the fun began. Bibot 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 wigs and other bits of theatrical make-up which hid the identity of a CI-DEVANT noble marquise or count.