Scaramouche: A Romance of the French RevolutionSabatini, Rafael
History
Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution
Sabatini, Rafael
Adventure stories; France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Love stories; War stories
“Do you really? Yet you cannot say that I have made a success of any
of those which I have played. I have always ended by running away. I
am running away now from a thriving fencing-academy, which is likely to
become the property of Le Duc. That comes of having gone into politics,
from which I am also running away. It is the one thing in which I really
excel. That, too, is an attribute of Scaramouche.”
“Why will you always be deriding yourself?” she wondered.
“Because I recognize myself for part of this mad world, I suppose. You
wouldn’t have me take it seriously? I should lose my reason utterly if I
did; especially since discovering my parents.”
“Don’t, Andre!” she begged him. “You are insincere, you know.”
“Of course I am. Do you expect sincerity in man when hypocrisy is the
very keynote of human nature? We are nurtured on it; we are schooled in
it, we live by it; and we rarely realize it. You have seen it rampant
and out of hand in France during the past four years--cant and hypocrisy
on the lips of the revolutionaries, cant and hypocrisy on the lips of
the upholders of the old regime; a riot of hypocrisy out of which in
the end is begotten chaos. And I who criticize it all on this beautiful
God-given morning am the rankest and most contemptible hypocrite of all.
It was this--the realization of this truth kept me awake all night. For
two years I have persecuted by every means in my power... M. de La Tour
d’Azyr.”
He paused before uttering the name, paused as if hesitating how to speak
of him.
“And in those two years I have deceived myself as to the motive that was
spurring me. He spoke of me last night as the evil genius of his life,
and himself he recognized the justice of this. It may be that he was
right, and because of that it is probable that even had he not killed
Philippe de Vilmorin, things would still have been the same. Indeed,
to-day I know that they must have been. That is why I call myself a
hypocrite, a poor, self-duping hypocrite.”
“But why, Andre?”
He stood still and looked at her. “Because he sought you, Aline.
Because in that alone he must have found me ranged against him, utterly
intransigeant. Because of that I must have strained every nerve to bring
him down--so as to save you from becoming the prey of your own ambition.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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