"I will do it gladly, but you will not be able to understand me," shrieked the voice. "I am only little in comparison with you, as every one is little who opposes himself to the highest majesty of the earth, the people."
"Hear that," cried one of those who stood nearest to those a little farther away " hear that, he calls us majesties! He seems to be an excellent gentleman, and he does not look down upon us."
"Did you ever hear of a wise man looking down upon the prince royal, who is young, fair, and strong?" asked the barking voice.
"He is right, we cannot understand him," cried those who stood farthest away, pressing forward. "What did he say? He must repeat his words. Lift him up so that we all may hear him."
A broad shouldered, gigantic citizen, in good clothing, and with an open, spirited countenance, and a bold, defiant bearing, pressed through the crowd to the neighborhood of the speaker.
"Come, little man," cried he, "I will raise you up on my shoulder, and, but see, it is our friend Marat, the little man, but the great doctor!"
"And you truly, you are my friend Santerre, the great man and the greatest of doctors. For the beer which you get from his brewery is a better medicine for the people than all my electuaries can be. 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.