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The Scarlet Pimpernel-Part1_Baroness Emmuska Orczy(1865-1947)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Robespierre and Danton both had commended Bibot for his zeal



and Bibot was proud of the fact that he on his own initiative had sent

at least fifty aristos to the guillotine.



But to-day all the sergeants in command at the various

barricades had had special orders. Recently a very great number of



aristos had succeeded in escaping out of France and in reaching

England safely. There were curious rumours about these escapes; they



had become very frequent and singularly daring; the people's minds

were becoming strangely excited about it all. Sergeant Grospierre had



been sent to the guillotine for allowing a whole family of aristos to

slip out of the North Gate under his very nose.



It was asserted that these escapes were organised by a band of

Englishmen, whose daring seemed to be unparalleled, and who, from



sheer desire to meddle in what did not concern them, spent their spare

time in snatching away lawful victims destined for Madame la



Guillotine. These rumours soon grew in extravagance; there was no

doubt that this band of meddlesome Englishmen did exist; moreover,



they seemed to be under the leadership of a man whose pluck and

audacity were almost fabulous. Strange stories were afloat of how he



and those aristos whom he rescued became suddenly invisible as they

reached the barricades and escaped out of the gates by sheer



supernatural agency.

No one had seen these mysterious Englishmen; as for their



leader, he was never spoken of, save with a superstitious shudder.

Citoyen Foucquier-Tinville would in the course of the day receive a



scrap of paper from some mysterious source; sometimes he would find it

in the pocket of his coat, at others it would be handed to him by



someone in the crowd, whilst he was on his way to the sitting of the

Committee of Public Safety. The paper always contained a brief notice



that the band of meddlesome Englishmen were at work, and it was always

signed with a device drawn in red--a little star-shaped flower, which



we in England call the Scarlet Pimpernel. Within a few hours of the

receipt of this impudent notice, the citoyens of the Committee of Public



Safety would hear that so many royalists and aristocrats had succeeded

in reaching the coast, and were on their way to England and safety.



The guards at the gates had been doubled, the sergeants in

command had been threatened with death, whilstliberal rewards were



offered for the capture of these daring and impudent Englishmen.

There was a sum of five thousand francs promised to the man who laid



hands on the mysterious and elusive Scarlet Pimpernel.

Everyone felt that Bibot would be that man, and Bibot allowed



that belief to take firm root in everybody's mind; and so, day after

day, people came to watch him at the West Gate, so as to be present



when he laid hands on any fugitive aristo who perhaps might be

accompanied by that mysterious Englishman.



"Bah!" he said to his trusted corporal, "Citoyen Grospierre

was a fool! Had it been me now, at that North Gate last week. . ."



Citoyen Bibot spat on the ground to express his contempt for

his comrade's stupidity.



"How did it happen, citoyen?" asked the corporal.

"Grospierre was at the gate, keeping good watch," began Bibot,



pompously, as the crowd closed in round him, listening eagerly to his

narrative. "We've all heard of this meddlesome Englishman, this



accursed Scarlet Pimpernel. He won't get through MY gate,

MORBLEU! unless he be the devil himself. But Grospierre was a fool.



The market carts were going through the gates; there was one laden

with casks, and driven by an old man, with a boy beside him.



Grospierre was a bit drunk, but he thought himself very clever; he

looked into the casks--most of them, at least--and saw they were



empty, and let the cart go through."

A murmur of wrath and contempt went round the group of



ill-clad wretches, who crowded round Citoyen Bibot.

"Half an hour later," continued the sergeant, "up comes a



captain of the guard with a squad of some dozen soldiers with him.

`Has a car gone through?' he asks of Grospierre, breathlessly. `Yes,'



says Grospierre, `not half an hour ago.' `And you have let them

escape,' shouts the captain furiously. `You'll go to the guillotine



for this, citoyen sergeant! that cart held concealed the CI-DEVANT

Duc de Chalis and all his family!' `What!' thunders Grospierre,



aghast. `Aye! and the driver was none other than that cursed

Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel.'"



A howl of execration greeted this tale. Citoyen Grospierre

had paid for his blunder on the guillotine, but what a fool! oh!



what a fool!

Bibot was laughing so much at his own tale that it was some






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