Homer - "The Iliad"

Abraham Cahan - "The Rise of David Levinsky"

Clarence Young - "The Motor Boys on the Pacific"

Hector Malot - "Conscience, v3"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Elusive Pimpernel

B >> Baroness Emmuska Orczy [Full name] >> The Elusive Pimpernel




He leant forward on the table and looked more searchingly at the
thin, pallid face before him.

"If you named that leader to me now, if you described him, we could
go to work more easily. You could name him, and you would, Citizen
Chauvelin."

"I cannot," retorted Chauvelin doggedly.

"Ah! but I think you could. But there! I do not blame your silence.
You would wish to reap the reward of your own victory, to be the
instrument of your own revenge. Passions! I think it natural! But in
the name of your own safety, Citizen, do not be too greedy with your
secret. If the man is known to you, find him again, find him, lure him
to France! We want him--the people want him! And if the people do
not get what they want, they will turn on those who have withheld
their prey."

"I understand, Citizen, that your own safety and that of your
government is involved in this renewed attempt to capture the Scarlet
Pimpernel," retorted Chauvelin drily.

"And your head, Citizen Chauvelin," concluded Robespierre.

"Nay! I know that well enough, and you may believe me, and you
will, Citizen, when I say that I care but little about that. The question
is, if I am to lure that man to France what will you and your
government do to help me?"

"Everything," replied Robespierre, "provided you have a definite plan
and a definite purpose.

"I have both. But I must go to England in, at least, a semi-official
capacity. I can do nothing if I am to hide in disguise in out-of-the-
way corners."

"That is easily done. There has been some talk with the British
authorities anent the security and welfare of peaceful French subjects
settled in England. After a good deal of correspondence they have
suggested our sending a semi-official representative over there to
look after the interests of our own people commercially and
financially. We can easily send you over in that capacity if it would
suit your purpose."

"Admirably. I have only need of a cloak. That one will do as well as
another."

"Is that all?"

"Not quite. I have several plans in my head, and I must know that I
am fully trusted. Above all, I must have power--decisive, absolute,
illimitable power."

There was nothing of the weakling about this small, sable-clad man,
who looked the redoubtable Jacobin leader straight in the face and
brought a firm fist resolutely down upon the table before him.
Robespierre paused a while ere he replied; he was eying the other
man keenly, trying to read if behind that earnest, frowning brow there
did not lurk some selfish, ulterior motive along with that demand for
absolute power.

But Chauvelin did not flinch beneath that gaze which could make
every cheek in France blanch with unnamed terror, and after that
slight moment of hesitation Robespierre said quietly:

"You shall have the complete power of a military dictator in every
town or borough of France which you may visit. The Revolutionary
Government shall create you, before you start for England, Supreme
Head of all the Sub-Committees of Public Safety. This will mean that
in the name of the safety of the Republic every order given by you, of
whatsoever nature it might be, must be obeyed implicitly under pain
of an arraignment for treason."

Chauvelin sighed a quick, sharp sigh of intense satisfaction, which he
did not even attempt to disguise before Robespierre.

"I shall want agents," he said, "or shall we say spies? and, of course,
money."

"You shall have both. We keep a very efficient secret service in
England and they do a great deal of good over there. There is much
dissatisfaction in their Midland counties--you remember the
Birmingham riots? They were chiefly the work of our own spies.
Then you know Candeille, the actress? She had found her way among
some of those circles in London who have what they call liberal
tendencies. I believe they are called Whigs. Funny name, isn't it? It
means perruque, I think. Candeille has given charity performances in
aid of our Paris poor, in one or two of these Whig clubs, and
incidentally she has been very useful to us."

"A woman is always useful in such cases. I shall seek out the
Citizeness Candeille."

"And if she renders you useful assistance, I think I can offer her what
should prove a tempting prize. Women are so vain!" he added,
contemplating with rapt attention the enamel-like polish on his finger-
nails. "There is a vacancy in the Maison Moliere. Or--what might
prove more attractive still--in connection with the proposed National
fete, and the new religion for the people, we have not yet chosen a
Goddess of Reason. That should appeal to any feminine mind. The
impersonation of a goddess, with processions, pageants, and the rest.
... Great importance and prominence given to one personality. ...
What say you, Citizen? If you really have need of a woman for the
furtherance of your plans, you have that at your disposal which may
enhance her zeal."

"I thank you, Citizen," rejoined Chauvelin calmly. "I always
entertained a hope that some day the Revolutionary Government
would call again on my services. I admit that I failed last year. The
Englishman is resourceful. He has wits and he is very rich. He would
not have succeeded, I think, but for his money --and corruption and
bribery are rife in Paris and on our coasts. He slipped through my
fingers at the very moment when I thought that I held him most
securely. I do admit all that, but I am prepared to redeem my failure
of last year, and ... there is nothing more to discuss.--I am ready to
start."

He looked round for his cloak and hat, and quietly readjusted the set
of his neck-tie. But Robespierre detained him a while longer: that
born mountebank, born torturer of the souls of men, had not gloated
sufficiently yet on the agony of mind of this fellow-man.

Chauvelin had always been trusted and respected. His services in
connection with the foreign affairs of the Revolutionary Government
had been invaluable, both before and since the beginning of the
European War. At one time he formed part of that merciless
decemvirate which--with Robespierre at its head--meant to govern
France by laws of bloodshed and of unparalleled ferocity.

But the sea-green Incorruptible had since tired of him, then had
endeavoured to push him on one side, for Chauvelin was keen and
clever, and, moreover, he possessed all those qualities of selfless
patriotism which were so conspicuously lacking in Robespierre.

His failure in bringing that interfering Scarlet Pimpernel to justice and
the guillotine had completed Chauvelin's downfall. Though not
otherwise molested, he had been left to moulder in obscurity during
this past year. He would soon enough have been completely
forgotten.

Now he was not only to be given one more chance to regain public
favour, but he had demanded powers which in consideration of the
aim in view, Robespierre himself could not refuse to grant him. But
the Incorruptible, ever envious and jealous, would not allow him to
exult too soon.

With characteristic blandness he seemed to be entering into all
Chauvelin's schemes, to be helping in every way he could, for there
was something at the back of his mind which he meant to say to the
ex-ambassador, before the latter took his leave: something which
would show him that he was but on trial once again, and which would
demonstrate to him with perfect clearness that over him there
hovered the all-powerful hand of a master.

"You have but to name the sum you want, Citizen Chauvelin," said
the Incorruptible, with an encouraging smile, "the government will
not stint you, and you shall not fail for lack of authority or for lack of
funds."

"It is pleasant to hear that the government has such uncounted
wealth," remarked Chauvelin with dry sarcasm.

"Oh! the last few weeks have been very profitable," retorted
Robespierre; "we have confiscated money and jewels from emigrant
royalists to the tune of several million francs. You remember the
traitor Juliette Marny, who escape to England lately? Well! her
mother's jewels and quite a good deal of gold were discovered by one
of our most able spies to be under the care of a certain Abbe
Foucquet, a calotin from Boulogne--devoted to the family, so it
seems."

"Yes?" queried Chauvelin indifferently.

"Our men seized the jewels and gold, that is all. We don't know yet
what we mean to do with the priest. The fisherfolk of Boulogne like
him, and we can lay our hands on him at any time, if we want his old
head for the guillotine. But the jewels were worth having. There's a
historic necklace worth half a million at least."

"Could I have it?" asked Chauvelin.

Robespierre laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"You said it belonged to the Marny family," continued the ex-
ambassador. "Juliette Marny is in England. I might meet her. I cannot
tell what may happen: but I feel that the historic necklace might prove
useful. Just as you please," he added with renewed indifference. "It
was a thought that flashed through my mind when you spoke--
nothing more."

"And to show you how thoroughly the government trusts you,
Citizen Chauvelin," replied Robespierre with perfect urbanity, "I will
myself direct that the Marny necklace be placed unreservedly in your
hands; and a sum of fifty thousand francs for your expenses in
England. You see," he added blandly, "we give you no excuse for a
second failure."

"I need none," retorted Chauvelin drily, as he finally rose from his
seat, with a sigh of satisfaction that this interview was ended at last.

But Robespierre too had risen, and pushing his chair aside he took a
step or two towards Chauvelin. He was a much taller man than the
ex-ambassador. Spare and gaunt, he had a very upright bearing, and
in the uncertain light of the candle he seemed to tower strangely and
weirdly above the other man: the pale hue of his coat, his light-
coloured hair, the whiteness of his linen, all helped to give to his
appearance at that moment a curious spectral effect.

Chauvelin somehow felt an unpleasant shiver running down his spine
as Robespierre, perfectly urbane and gentle in his manner, placed a
long, bony hand upon his shoulder.

"Citizen Chauvelin," said the Incorruptible, with some degree of
dignified solemnity, "meseems that we very quickly understood one
another this evening. Your own conscience, no doubt, gave you a
premonition of what the purport of my summons to you would be.
You say that you always hoped the Revolutionary Government would
give you one great chance to redeem your failure of last year. I, for
one, always intended that you should have that chance, for I saw,
perhaps, just a little deeper into your heart than my colleagues. I saw
not only enthusiasm for the cause of the People of France, not only
abhorrence for the enemy of your country, I saw a purely personal
and deadly hate of an individual man --the unknown and mysterious
Englishman who proved too clever for you last year. And because I
believe that hatred will prove sharper and more far-seeing than
selfless patriotism, therefore I urged the Committee of Public Safety
to allow you to work out your own revenge, and thereby to serve
your country more effectually than any other--perhaps more pure-
minded patriot would do. You go to England well-provided with all
that is necessary for the success of your plans, for the
accomplishment of your own personal vengeance. The Revolutionary
Government will help you with money, passports, safe conducts; it
places its spies and agents at your disposal. It gives you practically
unlimited power, wherever you may go. It will not enquire into your
motives, nor yet your means, so long as these lead to success. But
private vengeance or patriotism, whatever may actuate you, we here
in France demand you deliver into our hands the man who is known
in two countries as the Scarlet Pimpernel! We want him alive if
possible, or dead if it must be so, and we want as many of his
henchmen as will follow him to the guillotine. Get them to France,
and we'll know how to deal with them, and let the whole of Europe
be damned."

He paused for a while, his hand still resting on Chauvelin's shoulder,
his pale green eyes holding those of the other man as if in a trance.
But Chauvelin neither stirred nor spoke. His triumph left him quite
calm; his fertile brain was already busy with his plans. There was no
room for fear in his heart, and it was without the slightest tremor that
he waited for the conclusion of Robespierre's oration.

"Perhaps, Citizen Chauvelin," said the latter at last, "you have already
guessed what there is left for me to say. But lest there should remain
in your mind one faint glimmer of doubt or of hope, let me tell you
this. The Revolutionary Government gives you this chance of
redeeming your failure, but this one only; if you fail again, your
outraged country will know neither pardon nor mercy. Whether you
return to France or remain in England, whether you travel North,
South, East or West, cross the Oceans, or traverse the Alps, the hand
of an avenging People will be upon you. Your second failure will be
punished by death, wherever you may be, either by the guillotine, if
you are in France, or if you seek refuge elsewhere, then by the hand
of an assassin.

"Look to it, "Citizen Chauvelin! for there will be no escape this time,
not even if the mightiest tyrant on earth tried to protect you, not even
if you succeeded in building up an empire and placing yourself upon a
throne."

His thin, strident voice echoed weirdly in the small, close boudoir.
Chauvelin made no reply. There was nothing that he could say. All
that Robespierre had put so emphatically before him, he had fully
realised, even whilst he was forming his most daring plans.

It was an "either--or" this time, uttered to HIM now. He thought
again of Marguerite Blakeney, and the terrible alternative he had put
before HER less than a year ago.

Well! he was prepared to take the risk. He would not fail again. He
was going to England under more favourable conditions this time. He
knew who the man was, whom he was bidden to lure to France and
to death.

And he returned Robespierre's threatening gaze boldly and
unflinchingly; then he prepared to go. He took up his hat and cloak,
opened the door and peered for a moment into the dark corridor,
wherein, in the far distance, the steps of a solitary sentinel could be
faintly heard: he put on his hat, turned to look once more into the
room where Robespierre stood quietly watching him, and went his
way.






Chapter IV : The Richmond Gala



It was perhaps the most brilliant September ever known in England,
where the last days of dying summer are nearly always golden and
beautiful.

Strange that in this country, where that same season is so peculiarly
radiant with a glory all its own, there should be no special expression
in the language with which to accurately name it.

So we needs must call it "fin d'ete": the ending of the summer; not the
absolute end, nor yet the ultimate departure, but the tender lingering
of a friend obliged to leave us anon, yet who fain would steal a day
here and there, a week or so in which to stay with us: who would
make that last pathetic farewell of his endure a little while longer still,
and brings forth in gorgeous array for our final gaze all that he has
which is most luxuriant, most desirable, most worthy of regret.

And in this year of grace 1793, departing summer had lavished the
treasures of her palette upon woodland and river banks; had tinged
the once crude green of larch and elm with a tender hue of gold, had
brushed the oaks with tones of warm russet, and put patches of
sienna and crimson on the beech.

In the gardens the roses were still in bloom, not the delicate blush or
lemon ones of June, nor yet the pale Banksias and climbers, but the
full-blooded red roses of late summer, and deep-coloured apricot
ones, with crinkled outside leaves faintly kissed by the frosty dew. In
sheltered spots the purple clematis still lingered, whilst the dahlias,
brilliant of hue, seemed overbearing in their gorgeous insolence,
flaunting their crudely colored petals against sober backgrounds of
mellow leaves, or the dull, mossy tones of ancient, encircling walls.

The Gala had always been held about the end of September. The
weather, on the riverside, was most dependable then, and there was
always sufficient sunshine as an excuse for bringing out Madam's last
new muslin gown, or her pale-coloured quilted petticoat. Then the
ground was dry and hard, good alike for walking and for setting up
tents and booths. And of these there was of a truth a most goodly
array this year: mountebanks and jugglers from every corner of the
world, so it seemed, for there was a man with a face as black as my
lord's tricorne, and another with such flat yellow cheeks as made one
think of batter pudding, and spring aconite, of eggs and other very
yellow things.

There was a tent wherein dogs--all sorts of dogs, big, little, black,
white or tan--did things which no Christian with respect for his own
backbone would have dared to perform, and another where a weird-
faced old man made bean-stalks and walking sticks, coins of the
realm and lace kerchiefs vanish into thin air.

And as it was nice and hot one could sit out upon the green and listen
to the strains of the band, which discoursed sweet music, and watch
the young people tread a measure on the sward.

The quality had not yet arrived: for humbler folk had partaken of very
early dinner so as to get plenty of fun, and long hours of delight for
the sixpenny toll demanded at the gates.

There was so much to see and so much to do: games of bowls on the
green, and a beautiful Aunt Sally, there was a skittle alley, and two
merry-go-rounds: there were performing monkeys and dancing bears,
a woman so fat that three men with arms outstretched could not get
round her, and a man so thin that he could put a lady's bracelet round
his neck and her garter around his waist.

There were some funny little dwarfs with pinched faces and a
knowing manner, and a giant come all the way from Russia--so 'twas
said.

The mechanical toys too were a great attraction. You dropped a
penny into a little slit in a box and a doll would begin to dance and
play the fiddle: and there was the Magic Mill, where for another
modest copper a row of tiny figures, wrinkled and old and dressed in
the shabbiest of rags, marched in weary procession up a flight of
steps into the Mill, only to emerge again the next moment at a further
door of this wonderful building looking young and gay, dressed in
gorgeous finery and tripping a dance measure as they descended
some steps and were finally lost to view.

But what was most wonderful of all and collected the goodliest
crowd of gazers and the largest amount of coins, was a miniature
representation of what was going on in France even at this very
moment.

And you could not help but be convinced of the truth of it all, so
cleverly was it done. There was a background of houses and a very
red-looking sky. "Too red!" some people said, but were immediately
quashed by the dictum of the wise, that the sky represented a sunset,
as anyone who looked could see. Then there were a number of little
figures, no taller than your hand, but with little wooden faces and
arms and legs, just beautifully made little dolls, and these were
dressed in kirtles and breeches --all rags mostly--and little coats and
wooden shoes. They were massed together in groups with their arms
all turned upwards.

And in the center of this little stage on an elevated platform there
were miniature wooden posts close together, and with a long flat
board at right angles at the foot of the posts, and all painted a bright
red. At the further end of the boards was a miniature basket, and
between the two posts, at the top, was a miniature knife which ran up
and down in a groove and was drawn by a miniature pulley. Folk who
knew said that this was a model of a guillotine.

And lo and behold! when you dropped a penny into a slot just below
the wooden stage, the crowd of little figures started waving their
arms up and down, and another little doll would ascend the elevated
platform and lie down on the red board at the foot of the wooden
posts. Then a figure dressed in brilliant scarlet put out an arm
presumably to touch the pulley, and the tiny knife would rattle down
on to the poor little reclining doll's neck, and its head would roll off
into the basket beyond.

Then there was a loud whirr of wheels, a buzz of internal mechanism,
and all the little figures would stop dead with arms outstretched,
whilst the beheaded doll rolled off the board and was lost to view, no
doubt preparatory to going through the same gruesome pantomime
again.

It was very thrilling, and very terrible: a certain air of hushed awe
reigned in the booth where this mechanical wonder was displayed.

The booth itself stood in a secluded portion of the grounds, far from
the toll gates, and the band stand and the noise of the merry-go-
round, and there were great texts, written in red letters on a black
ground, pinned all along the walls.

"Please spare a copper for the starving poor of Paris."

A lady, dressed in grey quilted petticoat and pretty grey and black
striped paniers, could be seen walking in the booth from time to time,
then disappearing through a partition beyond. She would emerge
again presently carrying an embroidered reticule, and would wander
round among the crowd, holding out the bag by its chain, and
repeating in tones of somewhat monotonous appeal: "For the starving
poor of Paris, if you please!"

She had fine, dark eyes, rather narrow and tending upwards at the
outer corners, which gave her face a not altogether pleasant
expression. Still, they were fine eyes, and when she went round
soliciting alms, most of the men put a hand into their breeches pocket
and dropped a coin into her embroidered reticule.

She said the word "poor" in rather a funny way, rolling the "r" at the
end, and she also said "please" as if it were spelt with a long line of
"e's," and so it was concluded that she was French and was begging
for her poorer sisters. At stated intervals during the day, the
mechanical toy was rolled into a corner, and the lady in grey stood up
on a platform and sang queer little songs, the words of which nobody
could understand.

"Il etait une bergere et ron et petit pataplon. ... "

But it all left an impression of sadness and of suppressed awe upon
the minds and susceptibilities of the worthy Richmond yokels come
with their wives or sweethearts to enjoy the fun of the fair, and gladly
did everyone emerge out of that melancholy booth into the sunshine,
the brightness and the noise.

"Lud! but she do give me the creeps," said Mistress Polly, the pretty
barmaid from the Bell Inn, down by the river. "And I must say that I
don't see why we English folk should send our hard-earned pennies to
those murdering ruffians over the water. Bein' starving so to speak,
don't make a murderer a better man if he goes on murdering," she
added with undisputable if ungrammatical logic. "Come, let's look at
something more cheerful now."

And without waiting for anyone else's assent, she turned towards the
more lively portion of the grounds, closely followed by a ruddy-
faced, somewhat sheepish-looking youth, who very obviously was her
attendant swain.

It was getting on for three o-clock now, and the quality were
beginning to arrive. Lord Anthony Dewhurst was already there,
chucking every pretty girl under the chin, to the annoyance of her
beau. Ladies were arriving all the time, and the humbler feminine
hearts were constantly set a-flutter at sight of rich brocaded gowns,
and the new Charlottes, all crinkled velvet and soft marabout, which
were so becoming to the pretty faces beneath.

There was incessant and loud talking and chattering, with here and
there the shriller tones of a French voice being distinctly noticeable in
the din. There were a good many French ladies and gentlemen
present, easily recognisable, even in the distance, for their clothes
were of more sober hue and of lesser richness than those of their
English compeers.

But they were great lords and ladies, nevertheless, Dukes and
Duchesses and Countesses, come to England for fear of being
murdered by those devils in their own country. Richmond was full of
them just now, as they were made right welcome both at the Palace
and at the magnificent home of Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney.

Ah! here comes Sir Andrew Ffoulkes with his lady! so pretty and
dainty does she look, like a little china doll, in her new-fashioned
short-waisted gown: her brown hair in soft waves above her smooth
forehead, her great, hazel eyes fixed in unaffected admiration on the
gallant husband by her side.

"No wonder she dotes on him!" signed pretty Mistress Polly after she
had bobbed her curtsy to my lady. "The brave deeds he did for love
of her! Rescued her from those murderers over in France and brought
her to England safe and sound, having fought no end of them single-
handed, so I've beard it said. Have you not, Master Thomas Jezzard?"