And
you, my worthy friend of the hop-pole, will you condescend to take
the ugly monkey Marat on your shoulders, that he may tell the people
the great news of the day?"
Instead of answering, the brewer Santerre seized the little crooked
man by both arms, swung him up with giant strength, and set him on
his shoulders.
The people, delighted with the dexterity and strength of the
herculean man, broke into a loud cheer, and applauded the brewer,
whom all knew, and who was a popular personage in the city. But
Marat, too, the horse-doctor of the Count d'Artois, as he called
himself derisively, the doctor of poverty and misfortune, as his
flatterers termed him--Marat, too, was known to many in the throng,
and after Santerre had been applauded, they saluted Marat with a
loud vivat, and with boisterous clapping of hands.
He turned his distorted, ugly visage toward the Tuileries, whose
massive proportions towered up above the lofty trees of the gardens,
and with a threatening gesture shook his fist at the royal palace.
"Have you heard it, you proud gods of the earth? Have you heard the
sacred thunder mutterings of majesty? Are you not startled from the
sleep of your vice, and compelled to fall upon your knees and pray,
as poor sinners do before their judgment? But no. You do not see and
you do not hear.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119