~* The Legend of the Scarlet Pimpernel *~


A/N I do not own The Scarlet Pimpernel or any of Orczy's characters. Neither do I own rights to any of the famous quotes I use in this story. All the historical appearances and events have been fictionalized and are intended for entertainment only. I do not intend offense to any government, organization, caste, creed or gender.

If there are any Russian poetry buffs out there, be warned, the Pushkin poem I'm eventually going to use (but do not own) is a deliberate anachronism - no flames for that, please.


"Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it."

- W.H. Murray

"The first person saved by the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel was. . . Percy Blakeney."

- Sir Andrew Ffoulkes


How It Began

"Tell me again, Grandfather. I want to hear it again!"

"Now then, Antony!"

"But. . . Grandfather says he doesn't mind telling it. . . not to me. . . and Father and Uncle Armand say it all really happened."

"That doesn't excuse your making demands of your Grandfather, Antony. Beg his pardon at once!"

"But. . . Aunt Violet!"

Sir Percy Blakeney laughed at this repartee between his daughter and his eldest grandson. When George's little Antony was born, Sir Percy took the boy under his wing as an especial favourite, and, as everyone followed Blakeney's lead, the lad was now in a fair way to being spoiled. But, it didn't seem to make the child mean-spirited, it only emboldened his tongue a little - a trait that Sir Percy's prim daughter Violet had little use for - but, in truth, both daughter and grandson were aching to hear the story told again.

"Now then, now then," said Sir Percy easily, "What's all this fuss?" He harumphed gently and looked as sternly as he could at his two beloved companions.

"This infant jackanapes is demanding "The Story" again, father, and if you're at all inclined to discipline him for it . . ."

"Tush, tush, Violet, my dear," said Sir Percy, with a twinkle in his eye, "La! I declare, it's no trouble, and you know it, my girl!" He laughed heartily, "Ha Ha! It was always your favorite too, as I recall!" Then Violet smiled, ruefully blushing, and nodded. Sir Percy lifted Antony onto the settee beside him, and asked, "Well then, how do you propose we start off, my dear boy?"

"The beginning! The beginning, of course, Grandfather!"

"Mm-hmm. The beginning," said Sir Percy, almost seriously. "Well, let me see. . . " Blakeney leaned back against the cushions, settling in for a long recitation. He took a deep breath, and began -

"Once upon a time. . . in a land not so very far away. . . but. . . oh. . . so very long ago. . . there was a daring young knight, and a beautiful princess, and they lived in a magic kingdom. Now, this magic kingdom was beset by terribly wicked dragons, who would go about the countryside breathing fire and cursing threats throughout all the villages."

Antony grinned, coaxing, "Were they horrible beasts, Grandfather?"

"Yes, great and awful monsters, my lad," said Sir Percy, "With twelve bloody claws on each hand, and their mouths were six feet wide."

Antony shuddered, "But they wouldn't ever eat people, would they Grandfather?" He asked eagerly, for he knew what was coming next.

Blakeney smiled, "No, no, my boy, they wouldn't eat people. They did something much more terrible," Sir Percy lowered his voice to a secretive whisper, "They would make people eat each other. . . . . .

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Freedom! One word, yet so much surrounds it that it's very meaning can get lost in the explanation. What does it mean to be free? All men are free to be born and free to die - though they seldom get to choose the timing of either. A living man is free to breathe if there is air, to eat if there is food, to drink if there is water - and he is equally free to suffocate, starve or go thirsty if there are not these things. Some men are free to make their names great in time and place they live. The men who live in the times following them are free to tear down those great names and set up their own instead. Few men are ever free to do exactly as they please - either with their time or with their thoughts.

It is this last that most mean by freedom.

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The closely knit country community of Grenoble began the month of June quite tranquilly, never expecting to be attacked. Their crops had been poor, certainly. The taxes had risen cruelly, as a matter of course - they had dealt with that before, and would again. There had been some unrest, but what did anyone expect? Of course people were unhappy - their bellies were empty. The regiment of Paris troops that had been dispatched to "look after" them had not had much to do to keep order. No one had much inclination to rebel against what was, then, an insuperable force. Everyone was told to be calm, and so they were. But, today, they gathered together for a council in the town square - a council that had not been announced by the city fathers. They had only done so, so that they could, perhaps, glean some happiness from the Paris men who were come to talk to them. Life was always hard, here in the shadow of the mountains. A new face, new words, new ideas, all were rare. To hear something new, to see something different, why, that was entertainment!

Up on one of the stony tors that surrounded the city, Louis St. Just, an eloquent young lawyer, grinned joyously into the teeth of a fresh summer wind. This place was just exactly right. He turned to his friend - also a lawyer - who had just come up beside him to look down on the red tile roofs of the city.

"Well, Louis, my friend, do you think you can do it?" he asked.

"I am sure I can, Jean. These people can be stirred up to anything - if it is said right. Those troops from the King will get so alarmed at an illegal assembly, that they will probably swarm." Louis gestured expansively. "The people will have just heard that all King's Troops attack for no reason - oppressing the people - and the swarm will convince them of it. Then. . . well. . . who knows what then?" Louis looked excitedly at his friend. "And, is Jean Mounier ready for this day?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," said Jean, "But, I do wish. . ." he hesitated.

"Yes, my friend?"

Jean was reluctant to speak, but he felt he must. "I do wish. . . somehow. . . that there was another way. . . "

Louis laughed. "Another way? Why?" He made a fist and shook it in triumph, "We are going to take this country by storm! Us! The young! The new thinkers, the better thinkers! We must and will wake this people up." He leaned in confidentially to his friend, "A new age is coming, Jean. If you like it or not, this is how it is coming - there is no other way."

"Yes, I suppose that is true."

"Of course it is true, Jean! You wait and you will see. When it comes time for the great and noble names of France to be called, yours and mine will be named first - all because of this day! We will have started it; tipped the first pebble into the balance of Fate. . ."

"Yes, yes, my friend," said Jean impatiently, "No need to waste your eloquence on me. We will need it all down there, in an hour or so." He gestured at the red roofs of the town that was his home. Louis could not really understand how he felt. After all, Grenoble was so far from Paris. . . And, of course, Louis would never feel about Paris what Jean felt about Grenoble. He sighed, just a little. "It might as well begin here. . ." said Jean quietly, "Yes. . . Let it begin here!"

"And let it cover all of France!" Louis was ecstatic.

"I think it will cover all of France," said Jean guardedly, "and faster than you think. Do be careful Louis. . ."

"Yes," said Louis, thoughtfully, "But first, I will not be careful! Come. The day is waiting." He turned and walked purposefully down the hill. Jean took a deep breath, and followed him.

The day turned out far better than either Jean Mounier or Louis Saint-Just ever hoped. The soldiers attacked - right on cue, when Louis knew they would. The people fled, at first, but then they turned, remembering the speech they had just heard about how they were The People - that they, really, were the rulers of France. The soldiers poured through the streets, pushing everybody into the long rows of houses, shouting that they must keep calm, keep order, keep quiet. The people fled into the houses, but did none of these things. No one ever found out who began it, but first one person, then another, stood atop the roof of his house, shouting, jeering, and throwing great shards of roofing tiles down to the heads of the soldiers. Ah! What a new idea! It was the King, no doubt, who had made the crops poor, and the people ignorant, and the soldiers fierce. Why not take that power back? Yes. Yes, why not? And the tiles fell, and the soldiers shot, and everybody was bruised and some people bled, and then. . . as of a sudden. . . it was over.

Did the streets run red? No. Did The People rise up to regain all power? No. But, the step had been taken. A new thought had been born.

A new age had begun.