Читать книгу The Prussian Terror - Alexandre Dumas - Страница 6

CHAPTER II

THE HOUSE OF HOHENZOLLERN

The immense crowd surrounding the young Frenchman remained for a moment dumb with stupefaction. Many, not understanding French, failed to comprehend his meaning, and others who did understand, appreciating his courage in thug braving a furious crowd, surveyed him with more astonishment than anger. Others again, who realized that a dire insult had been offered them, would nevertheless with typical German deliberation have allowed him time to escape had he wished. But the young man’s demeanour showed that, whatever the consequences of his bravado, he intended to face them. Presently a threatening murmur of “Franzose, Franzose,” arose from the crowd.

“Yes,” said he, in as good German as might be heard anywhere between Thionville and Memel. “Yes, I am French. My name is Benedict Turpin. I have studied at Heidelberg and might pass for a German since I can speak your language as well as most of those here, and better than some. Also I can use a rapier, pistol, sword, sabre, single-stick, boxing gloves, or any other weapon you like to choose. Any one wishing for satisfaction may find me at the Black Eagle.”

The young man had hardly finished his audacious defiance when four men of the lower class advanced upon him. The crowd kept silence, and the contemptuous words, “What! four to one? Leipzig again! Come on! I am ready!” were distinctly heard. Then, not waiting to be attacked, the young Frenchman sprang at the nearest and broke the bottle of champagne over his head, blinding him with foam. The second he tripped up, throwing him a good ten paces off, and disposed of the third with a vigorous blow in the ribs which hurled him against a chair. Then, seizing the fourth by the collar and grasping his waist he actually held him aloft in the air for a moment, then flinging him on the ground he placed a foot on his chest.

“Is not Leipzig avenged?” said he.

Then at last the tempest burst. A rush was made for the Frenchman, but he, still keeping a foot on his fallen enemy, seized a chair and whirled it round him so vigorously that for a moment the crowd was held at bay and only ventured on threats. But the circle drew closer, some one grasped the chair and succeeded in stopping it. A few moments more and the audacious Frenchman would probably have been torn to pieces had not two or three Prussian officers intervened. They forced their way through the crowd and formed a guard around the young man, one of them addressed the crowd thus:

“Come, come, my friends, don’t murder a brave young man because he does not forget he is a Frenchman and has cried ‘Vive la France!’ He will now cry ‘Vive Guillaume IV!’ and we will let him off.” Then, whispering to Benedict, “Cry ‘Vive Guillaume IV!’ or I can’t answer for your life.”

“Yes!” bawled the crowd, “let him cry ‘Vive Guillaume IV!–Vive la Prusse!’ and we will let him go.”

“Very well,” said Benedict, “but I prefer to do so freely, and without compulsion. Leave me alone and let me speak from a table.”

“Stand aside and let him pass,” said the officers, releasing Benedict and leaving him free. “He wishes to address you.”

“Let him speak! let him speak!” cried the crowd.

This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.