The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel E-Book

Baroness Emma Orczy

• Herausgeber: Midwest Journal Press
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Classic Short Story Collections: Thrillers
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel is a sequel book to the classic adventure tale, The Scarlet Pimpernel. Written by Baroness Orczy and first published in 1919, the book consists of eleven short stories about Sir Percy Blakeney's exploits in rescuing various aristos and French citizens from the clutches of the guillotine.The stories are set in 1793 but appear in no particular order. They occasionally refer to events in other books in the series.Sir Percy ExplainsMadeleine Lannoy, whose husband was killed at Versailles defending the Queen from the mob, has become a street dancer in the worst parts of Paris. She has taken on this guise in the hope of finding her only son who has been stolen by Citizen Jean Paul Marat, annoyed by her spurning his advances. All she knows is that her child "is to be reared up in the company of all that is most vile and most degraded in the disease-haunted slums of indigent Paris" and that if she doesn't find him soon he risks becoming a criminal or a drink-sodden reprobate at best.A Question of PassportsCitizen Bibot of the Town Guard has command of the Porte Montmartre – the last commandant there, citizen Ferney, was guillotined for having allowed a whole batch of aristos to escape and find safety outside the walls of Paris. Citizen Marat arrives to warn Bibot to be watchful because the Pimpernel has promised to rescue the Duc and Duchesse de Montreux and their family, (who are on their way to the Conciergerie prison) that very evening, but Bibot is determined that the Scarlet Pimpernel will not get one over on him.Two Good PatriotsBeing the desposition of citizeness Fanny Roussell, who was brought up together with her husband, before the Tribunal of the Revolution on a charge of Treason – both being subsequently acquitted.The Old ScarecrowNobody in the quartier could quite recollect when it was that citizen Lepine, the new public letter-writer first set up in business at the angle formed by the Quai des Augustins and the Rue Dauphine; but he certainly was there on the 28th day of February 1793, when Agnes, with eyes swollen with tears, a market basket on her arm and a look of dreary despair on her young face, turned that self same angle on her way to the Pont Neuf, and nearly fell over the rickety construction which sheltered him and his stock.Baroness Emma Magdolna Rozália Mária Jozefa Borbála "Emmuska" Orczy de Orci (23 September 1865 – 12 November 1947), pen name as Baroness Orczy, was a Hungarian-born British novelist, playwright, and artist of noble origin. She is most known for her series of novels featuring the Scarlet Pimpernel, the alter ego of Sir Percy Blakeney, a wealthy English fop who transforms into a formidable swordsman and a quick-thinking escape artist, representing the original "hero with a secret identity".Opening in London's West End on 5 January 1905, The Scarlet Pimpernel became a favourite of British audiences. Some of her paintings were exhibited at the Royal Academy in London. During World War I, Orczy formed the Women of England's Active Service League, an unofficial organisation aimed at the recruitment of female volunteers for active service.

Leseprobe

The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel

Baroness Emma Orczy

Published: 1919

The original text for this book is in the public domain.

Cover and added text are copyright © 2017 Midwest Journal Press. All Rights Reserved.

Table of Contents

SIR PERCY EXPLAINS

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

A QUESTION OF PASSPORTS

TWO GOOD PATRIOTS

THE OLD SCARECROW

I.

II.

III.

IV.

A FINE BIT OF WORK

I.

II.

III.

IV.

HOW JEAN PIERRE MET THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

I.

II.

III.

OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH

THE TRAITOR

I.

II.

III.

IV.

THE CABARET DE LA LIBERTE

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

“NEEDS MUST— ”

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

A BATTLE OF WITS

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

ABOUT BARONESS EMMA ORCZY

BONUS

SIR PERCY EXPLAINS

I.

It was not, Heaven help us all! a very uncommon occurrence these days: a woman almost unsexed by misery, starvation, and the abnormal excitement engendered by daily spectacles of revenge and of cruelty. They were to be met with every day, round every street corner, these harridans, more terrible far than were the men.

This one was still comparatively young, thirty at most; would have been good-looking too, for the features were really delicate, the nose chiselled, the brow straight, the chin round and small. But the mouth! Heavens, what a mouth! Hard and cruel and thin-lipped; and those eyes! sunken and rimmed with purple; eyes that told tales of sorrow and, yes! of degradation. The crowd stood round her, sullen and apathetic; poor, miserable wretches like herself, staring at her antics with lack-lustre eyes and an ever-recurrent contemptuous shrug of the shoulders.

The woman was dancing, contorting her body in the small circle of light formed by a flickering lanthorn which was hung across the street from house to house, striking the muddy pavement with her shoeless feet, all to the sound of a be-ribboned tambourine which she struck now and again with her small, grimy hand. From time to time she paused, held out the tambourine at arm’s length, and went the round of the spectators, asking for alms. But at her approach the crowd at once seemed to disintegrate, to melt into the humid evening air; it was but rarely that a greasy token fell into the outstretched tambourine. Then as the woman started again to dance the crowd gradually reassembled, and stood, hands in pockets, lips still sullen and contemptuous, but eyes watchful of the spectacle. There were such few spectacles these days, other than the monotonous processions of tumbrils with their load of aristocrats for the guillotine!

So the crowd watched, and the woman danced. The lanthorn overhead threw a weird light on red caps and tricolour cockades, on the sullen faces of the men and the shoulders of the women, on the dancer’s weird antics and her flying, tattered skirts. She was obviously tired, as a poor, performing cur might be, or a bear prodded along to uncongenial buffoonery. Every time that she paused and solicited alms with her tambourine the crowd dispersed, and some of them laughed because she insisted.

“Voyons,” she said with a weird attempt at gaiety, “a couple of sous for the entertainment, citizen! You have stood here half an hour. You can’t have it all for nothing, what?”

The man— young, square-shouldered, thick-lipped, with the look of a bully about his well-clad person— retorted with a coarse insult, which the woman resented. There were high words; the crowd for the most part ranged itself on the side of the bully. The woman backed against the wall nearest to her, held feeble, emaciated hands up to her ears in a vain endeavour to shut out the hideous jeers and ribald jokes which were the natural weapons of this untamed crowd.