French fiction -- Translations into English; Garrick, David, 1717-1779 -- Fiction
With brandished canes a dozen of the younger members fell suddenly upon
the multitude and disengaged a friend from his perilous situation.
Several times was this manoeuvre repeated, with visible pleasure on
the part of those who executed it. What sport it was to warm the
rascals' backs! Directly their canes did not suffice, they drew their
swords and let a little blood for the good of their patients. Each time
that this occurred the populace fell back with a howl to give them place
out of respect for their quality, but instantly closed in again more
furious than ever. Soon with that destructive power of crowds it had
broken down the gates which had been closed against them, and had
invaded the courtyard; even now it had surged to the foot of the
staircase. Separated from the insurgents by only a few steps, the
deputies, crowded together in a solid mass, stamped with rage the
vestibule leading to the House. From time to time a member of the
government would come to take a bird's-eye view of the state of affairs,
as a sailor watches the weather, and would then return to the
Treasurer's office and report to his colleagues.
Nathaniel Wraxall, who had travelled everywhere, conspired with a queen,
risked his head in various countries, and had been mixed up in all the
brawls of his time, stood leaning upon the balustrade, watching the
spectacle with the calmly profound scrutiny of an entomologist at his
microscope. He listened to the remarks, studied the faces, and took
mental notes for the edification of posterity. From time to time he
would draw forth his watch, a beautiful work of art purchased in Paris,
which struck the hours and played the chimes of Dunkirk at noon and
midnight, in order not to make any error in the chronology of the
different phases of the day. If the precincts of Parliament, violated by
Cromwell and his Round-heads, but unassailed unto the present time by
vulgar invasion, were fated to be profaned by the mob, it was important
that Wraxall should be able to state historically at what precise moment
the fact was accomplished.
At this moment Lord George Gordon, borne in triumph upon the shoulders
of the people, and accompanied by a deafening tumult, mounted the
staircase. He was received with a burst of violent exclamations. His
colleagues apostrophized him, seized him by the arms, and called upon
him to order back the crowd. Without paying the slightest heed, Lord
George, with his eternal smile upon his face and as calm as possible,
very gently remarked:--
"By your leave, gentlemen."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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